#i don’t know him and what he does and says is none of my business

[morganbritton132]

Eddie wants to know why Steve has a dog.

He wishes he didn’t want to know because it doesn’t matter, because it makes him feel like - “An asshole? You’re being an asshole.”

“I can fire you, Jeff.”

“Uh, no you can’t,” Jeff shrugs. “I work at the Subway. You don’t employee me. and it’s none of your business.”

“I know it’s not of my business but…”

Steve doesn’t seem much different than what Eddie remembers of high school. Maybe a little slower, a little air-headed and easily distracted but people have been calling Steve dumb since Eddie’s known about him. So that might be normal?

But there’s the dog. Theres the former band geek and the joint resume, and all this other stuff that makes no sense, and shouldn’t matter, and yet…Eddie can’t stop thinking about it.

He gets radioed out to the floor where a customer is complaining about one of the cashiers. He’s not sure if he’s surprised or not that it’s the Robin/Steve cashier/bagger duo.

They’re either no problem at all or all the problems so, “What’s the issue?”

“There is no issue,” Robin says. “I simply told Mrs. Carter if she has an issue with how we bag her groceries than she can do it herself. And maybe if she has a problem with people using a disability aid then she should go k-“

“Robin,” Steve warns with an incredulous look.

Robin rolls her eyes.

Eddie smooths it over, gets Mrs Carter to a different register and assured her that their cleaning policy compensates for dog hair. He even suggests as politely as he can if the sight of a service animal continues to be a cause of concern, she should try their sister store the next town over.

He takes a deep breath and goes back over to Steve and Robin to remind them (and god does he hate every time he has to say this) not to antagonize their customers.

Except he doesn’t do that. He asks the questions that’s been on his mind since these two started working here, “Why do you have a service dog?”

“You literally cannot ask someone that, asshole,” Robin replies. “Steve, bite him.”

“I’m not going to bite someone, Robin.”

“Not you,” She says to Human Steve. “The better Steve.”

“His name is not Steve!”

Eddie graduates, finds himself a shitty job that he keeps getting promoted at, and now he’s the manager.

That’s how he found himself wearing a tie, sitting across Goddamn Dave, the district manager, being told that he has to hire one of his friend’s kids, “And the kid’s friend, they’re a pair apparently.”

Which…what is this? Chain store nepotism? It’s bullshit.

“The kid’s not all there, head injury,” Goddamn Dave tells him. “Go easy on him.”

Then it turns out the kid isn’t even a teenager looking for a summer job. It’s twenty-something Steve Harrington from high school??? With a dog. And a lesbian.

“Service dog,” Steve says when he sees Eddie looking at it. “A dog with a job.”

“More of a hobby,” his friend - Robin, Eddie recognizes her - says. “He doesn’t get paid. His name is Steve.”

“His name is NOT Steve,” Steve - human - scoffed. “His birth name was Steve. He changed it.”

“They’re twins.”

Eddie does not roll his eyes into oblivion because he’s a goddamn professional. He just rolls them to the back of his head where Gene Simmons reminds him that if he wants to rock and roll all night, he needs to be employed.

He informs them of their shift schedules and barely gets through Steve’s when Robin says, “We have to work the same shifts. It was on our resume.”

Steve adds, “Also, we need to leave early today.”

Eddie thinks, goddamn Dave.

[sturnsblogs]

Wreck My Night

Fratboy!Chris X Toxic!Fwb!Reader

Word count-

Warnings- Slight angst if you squint. Suggestive content. Cussing.

Text Message — 9:43 PM

Chris: Yo. You busy?

you: Maybe.

Chris: Come over.

you: Why?

Chris: Cause I’m horny and you’re good at fixing that.

you: Classy.

Chris: Not complaining last time.

you: Can’t. Going out.

Chris: Out where?

you: none of your business.

Chris: With who?

you: Friends.

Chris: What friends?

you: Why do you care?

Chris: Cause you don’t go out. Unless it’s with me.

you: Guess there’s a first time for everything.

Chris: Are you serious?

you: Mhmm. Anyway, gotta go.

Chris: Where.

you: Out.

Chris: Where, Y/N.

No response.

—

Chris stares at his phone, jaw clenched. The idea of her out somewhere, looking hot as hell, talking to other guys — guys who don’t know she belongs to him — twists something ugly inside him.

He slams his fist against the wall, muttering a curse. He shouldn’t care. They’re not exclusive. Not official. Not anything. But he can’t stop picturing her in a tiny dress, batting her lashes at some dude who doesn’t even know how she sounds when she moans his name.

Chris grabs his keys. If she thinks she can just ignore him, she’s got another thing coming.

Club — 11:27 PM

The bass thumps through your veins, vibrating in your chest as you toss back another shot. It burns, but you barely feel it. The lights are dizzying, flashing pink and blue, and your friend drags you deeper into the crowd, laughing as you stumble.

Your body is loose, liquid, moving to the beat like it owns you. You press against the guy behind you — some tall, dark-haired stranger with hands that grip your hips too tight and a mouth that hovers too close to your ear. You don’t know his name, and you don’t care.

His hands slide lower, fingers brushing the hem of your dress, and you tilt your head back, eyes fluttering closed. You’re not thinking about Chris. Not thinking about the way he texted you earlier, demanding to know where you were going like he had any right to know.

Your phone buzzes in your tiny purse, vibrating against your thigh, but you ignore it. You already know who it is.

“Having fun?” the guy behind you murmurs, lips ghosting along your jaw.

“Mmhm,” you hum, pushing back against him, feeling the solid line of his body against yours. Your head is spinning, a mix of alcohol and adrenaline, and for a second, you almost forget the way Chris’s hands feel when they’re on you. The way his mouth tastes when he kisses you like he hates you.

Your phone buzzes again. Longer this time. A call.

You pull it out, squinting at the screen. Chris’s name flashes up at you, and your heart does that stupid, traitorous flip it always does.

You hit ignore.

Then you shove the phone back in your purse and let the guy behind you spin you around, hands sliding up your waist as he leans in, mouth grazing the shell of your ear.

You don’t feel guilty. You don’t. But you can’t shake the feeling that someone’s watching you.

Club — 11:46 PM

You stumble out of the crowd with your friend’s arm slung around your shoulders, both of you laughing like you just heard the funniest joke in the world. The bar is packed, bodies pressed together, the air heavy with sweat and perfume and spilled liquor.

Your friend, Mia, pushes a shot into your hand. “Drink up, babe.”

You don’t need to be told twice. The tequila burns, but it’s a good burn, the kind that numbs all the things you don’t want to think about. Like the fact that your phone won’t stop buzzing in your purse.

Mia notices. She leans in, eyes glittering beneath the flashing lights. “Someone’s blowing you up.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s just Chris.”

“Let me guess,” she says, mimicking his voice, deep and annoyed. “‘Where are you?’ ‘Who are you with?’ ‘Why aren’t you answering me?’”

You laugh, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “Pretty much.”

Mia shakes her head, taking a sip of her drink. “You two are so messed up.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Your phone buzzes again, and Mia snatches it off the counter before you can stop her. Chris’s name lights up the screen, a string of missed calls and unread messages.

Mia raises a brow. “Damn. Did you set his house on fire or something?”

You yank the phone out of her hand, shoving it back into your purse. “He’s just being dramatic.”

Mia studies you for a second, head tilted. “Or he’s in love with you.”

You laugh, but it’s forced, too loud. “Chris? In love with me? Please.”

Mia shrugs, tossing back another shot. “Hey, I’m just saying. If a guy was blowing up my phone like that, I’d start thinking he was obsessed.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, reaching for her drink and taking a long, slow sip. “Chris doesn’t get obsessed. He just hates losing.”

Mia gives you a look, eyes sharp and knowing. “And what about you?”

You shrug, but the question lingers, heavy and sour, sticking to the back of your throat. You’re not obsessed. You’re not. You’re just … having fun. That’s all this is.

Your phone vibrates again. You don’t check it. You don’t have to.

Club — 12:14 AM

Chris pushes through the crowd, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. The music is deafening, pulsing through his skull, and the air reeks of stale booze and too many bodies pressed too close together. He scans the dance floor, shoulders tense, fists clenched at his sides.

His phone is still in his hand, her name lighting up the screen from the unanswered texts and missed calls. Every single one of them ignored. Every single one making his blood boil hotter.

And then he sees her.

You’re backed against the wall, your hands tangled in some guy’s hair, lips locked, bodies swaying to the beat like you can’t get close enough. The guy’s hands are on your waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your dress, and your head is tipped back, eyes closed, a giggle bubbling from your mouth as he kisses your neck.

Chris sees red.

Before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s there, shoving the guy back so hard he stumbles, nearly falling into a group of girls behind him.

“Yo, what the—”

“Get lost,” Chris snaps, eyes blazing.

The guy lifts his hands, eyes darting between Chris and you, before he mutters something under his breath and disappears into the crowd.

You blink up at Chris, eyes hazy, pupils blown wide. Your lipstick is smudged, hair a mess, and you look like you couldn’t care less that he’s standing there, fists clenched and chest heaving.

“Chrissy!” you squeal, throwing your arms around his neck, your giggle muffled against his collar. “You’re here!”

Chris clenches his jaw, forcing himself to breathe. You smell like vodka and that stupid strawberry perfume you always wear, and you’re swaying against him, half-limp, eyes fluttering like you’re seconds away from passing out.

“Yep,” he mutters, voice tight as he hooks an arm around your waist. “That’s me.”

You grin up at him, eyes unfocused. “I was just dancing. Just a little dancing.”

“Mhm,” Chris says, yanking your tiny purse off the bar and slinging it over his shoulder. “You’re done now.”

You pout, bottom lip sticking out. “But I was having fun.”

Chris ignores you, bending down to scoop you up effortlessly, one arm under your knees, the other around your back. You wrap your arms around his neck, still giggling, nose pressed against his jaw as he makes his way through the crowd.

“Chrissy,” you slur, fingers playing with the chain around his neck. “Can we get a slurpee?”

“No,” he says flatly, pushing through the front doors and into the cool night air. The wind hits you, and you shiver, pressing closer to him.

“But I want a slurpee,” you whine, nuzzling into his neck, lips grazing his skin. “And some chips. And, like, a hot dog.”

“Jesus,” Chris mutters, shifting you higher in his arms as he reaches his car. He balances you against the side while he digs out his keys, your legs dangling over his arm. “You’re a mess.”

“Am not,” you say, poking his cheek. “You’re just mean.”

He finally gets the door open and sets you down in the passenger seat. You slump back, eyes half-closed, and he leans over you, fumbling with the seatbelt. You’re too close, too warm, and he can feel your breath on his neck, sweet and sticky with tequila.

“Chris,” you whisper, eyes drooping as he clicks the buckle into place. “Did you come for me?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice low, more to himself than to you. “I came to get you.”

You smile, eyes falling shut. “Good.”

Chris stares at you for a second longer, jaw tight, hands shaking as he pulls away and slams the door shut. He stalks around to the driver’s side, his mind racing with everything he wants to say and everything he knows he shouldn’t.

But when he gets in, you’re already slumped against the window, mouth parted, breathing soft and even. Passed out. Oblivious. Still wearing another guy’s fingerprints on your skin.

Chris grips the steering wheel so tight his knuckles crack, eyes dark as he stares straight ahead, the engine rumbling beneath him.

“Slurpee,” you mumble in your sleep, a tiny, dreamy smile on your lips.

Chris shakes his head, jaw clenched. “Yeah. Sure.”

And he pulls out of the parking lot, foot heavy on the gas.

Gas Station Parking Lot — 12:47 AM

The fluorescent lights cast a harsh, cold glow over the empty parking lot. The engine is off, but the air is still heavy, thick with everything unsaid. The slurpee you begged for is melting in the cup holder, untouched, and the silence between you and Chris is suffocating.

You’re more awake now, head pounding and stomach churning as the alcohol starts to wear off. You press your forehead against the cool glass of the window, eyes half-lidded as you watch a group of guys stumble out of the gas station, laughing too loud.

Chris is silent in the driver’s seat, jaw tight, one hand gripping the steering wheel even though the car isn’t moving. You can feel his anger radiating off him in waves, thick and oppressive, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when the room is spinning and your throat is dry and your body is still thrumming from the tequila.

“You can’t just show up and drag me out like that,” you mutter, voice scratchy.

Chris’s jaw clenches. “What the hell was I supposed to do? Let you grind all over some random loser?”

You roll your eyes, sinking deeper into the seat. “Maybe. Not like you care.”

Chris laughs, but it’s cold, empty. “Yeah. Sure. That’s why I was blowing up your phone all night. Because I don’t care.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, tasting blood. “You’re not my boyfriend, Chris.”

“And you’re not my girl,” he snaps back, but the words hang heavy in the air, almost like a lie. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and his eyes are fixed straight ahead, refusing to look at you.

Your chest feels tight, and the tequila is making you reckless, words spilling out before you can stop them. “If you don’t care, then why are you here? Why did you come to get me? Why do you always come to get me?”

Chris finally turns to you, eyes dark, jaw clenched. “Because you’re a fucking mess. That’s why.”

You laugh, but it’s hollow, bitter. “Right. A mess. That’s all I am to you.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you like he’s waiting for you to crack. But you’re not going to crack. Not tonight. Not when your skin is buzzing and your heart is pounding and you can still feel the ghost of that guy’s hands on your waist.

Before you can think twice, you unbuckle your seatbelt and swing one leg over his lap, straddling him in the cramped space of the car. His hands fly up to your hips, a reflex, and his eyes flash with something dark and dangerous.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he mutters, but his grip tightens, fingers digging into your bare skin.

You don’t answer. You just lean in, pressing your mouth to his, tasting his anger and your own desperation. It’s sloppy and rough, your hands tangling in his hair, nails scratching at his scalp as you kiss him like you’re trying to erase everything he just said.

Chris doesn’t kiss you back. Not right away. He lets you push and pull and bite, lets you grind down against him until you feel the outline of him straining against his jeans. You think he’s going to give in, that he’s going to grab your hips and pull you closer, but then he pulls back, chest heaving, eyes burning.

“You taste like fucking alcohol,” he says, voice low and cold. “Like a cheap shot and a bad decision.”

Your heart drops, and you swallow, throat dry. “Chris—”

“You think you can just do this?” he cuts you off, fingers digging harder into your hips, almost painful. “You think you can just go out, act like a slut, and then come crawling back to me when you’re done?”

Your eyes sting, but you refuse to cry. Not here. Not in front of him. You lean back, putting some space between your bodies even though it feels wrong. “I wasn’t—”

“You were,” he snaps, eyes narrowing. “You were all over him. Letting him touch you. Letting him put his hands all over what’s mine.”

You blink, your heart hammering in your chest. “Yours?”

Chris swallows, jaw clenched, and for a second, he looks like he wants to take it back. But then he leans in, breath hot against your ear. “Yeah. Mine.”

Your pulse skips, and before you can stop yourself, your hands are on his shoulders, nails digging in. “Then prove it.”

A/N- Yay!

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho @emely9274 @cherryystemm @realuvrrr @zenithsturniolo @kier-with-a-k @eeyoresturnz @elizasturn @ribread03 @sturnslux3 @costalgirlyr @pizzapocketpocketpizza @arianna1342 @mattsplaything @ed1tssturnn @ivysturnss @ilovemenwithlonghairr @whore4-chrissturniolo

[sugardollcurse]

any headcanons about in what ways the boys would be protective of a reader who's in the band too, that they just happen to fancy? feel like you've gotta be made of pretty strong stuff to deal with all the beatlemania & press & the like

𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒐'𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒐 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅

꒰ pairing ꒱ paul mccartney x reader, john lennon x reader, george harrison x reader, ringo starr x reader

꒰ note ꒱ YES I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. i love stuff with the reader being in the band zbsdhfaf enjoy

꒰ JOHN ꒱

“You alright, then? D’you need me to fight someone? I will, y’know.”

John is a strange mix of bold and subtle when it comes to protecting you.

He acts like nothing bothers him, like he couldn’t care less what people are saying or writing, but when it’s you in the press line of fire, suddenly he’s seeing red.

“Buncha bastards,” he growls under his breath when someone asks you a slimy question at a press conference.

He’ll cut in with sarcasm, derail the interview, and leave a mess for Brian to clean up. Worth it.

He’ll shoulder the crowd a bit more aggressively when you're walking together, keeping you close without ever calling attention to it.

If you look tired or cornered or even slightly overwhelmed, he notices. Always.

And after a long day, he’ll knock on your door with some excuse like, “Left my lighter,” but it’s really just to see you, to check you’re still in one piece.

꒰ PAUL ꒱

“I just think… if it were me, I’d want someone to notice. So I do.”

Paul is the most emotionally attuned to your wellbeing.

He clocks the tremble in your voice, the blank look after a rough show, the way your hands clench backstage.

He uses that natural charm of his to deflect heat off you when things get intense.

If a reporter gets too personal, he’ll swoop in with a joke or change the subject like a pro.

He’s always near you in group settings, subtle, but consistent.

You’re in his eyeline constantly.

“Have you eaten today?” is something he asks way too often for someone who’s supposedly not your boyfriend.

He’s also the first to call after you’ve had a hard interview or a rough night on tour.

“Want me to come over? I’ve got wine. And biscuits. And an ego the size of... what? Come on, how can you say no?”

He doesn’t want to overstep, but you can feel his protectiveness in every little thing he does.

꒰ GEORGE ꒱

“Just let me be near, alright? Don’t need to talk if you don’t want to.”

George notices when you're drained.

He doesn't ask, he sees it.

If you’re being pushed to play nice or smile when you clearly don’t want to, he leans over and mutters something snide in your ear.

“Tell ‘em to piss off. You’re allowed.”

He knows how fake the business is and hates seeing you have to perform outside the music.

During soundcheck, if someone critiques your part too harshly, he defends you subtly: “No, I like how they played it. Felt right to me.”

It sounds offhand, but it’s firm.

George isn’t loud, but he’s persistent.

And when the press asks personal questions that make you freeze, George quietly steps in: “That’s none of your business, is it?”

He has not told you how he feels.

He barely admits it to himself.

But if anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, his whole body tenses.

And he stands closer to you than he does to anyone else.

꒰ RINGO ꒱

“Tell me if you need out. We can say you’ve got food poisoning or somethin’...no one’s gonna argue with that.”

Ringo is accidentally protective in the way that only someone deeply gone for you can be.

He’s not confrontational, but he is loyal, and nothing gets past him.

He hovers, sweetly, awkwardly, always near. Carries your coat.

Pulls you out of a crush of reporters without even thinking.

Lingers when he knows you don’t want to be left alone.

He’ll deflect questions you don’t want to answer with a joke or a silly face.

Total clownery.

But you know he’s doing it for you!

When you’ve had a hard day, he shows up to your hotel room with crisps and your favorite drink.

“Thought maybe we could hide in here a bit. Just us.”

He doesn’t make a fuss.

But you catch him glaring at a bodyguard who got too handsy, or stepping closer when the press gets too loud.

If he thinks you’re being undervalued or manipulated, he’ll not let it go.

Goes to Brian privately, brings it up to the others, keeps advocating for you in ways you don’t even hear about.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee

[wintersoldierwhore]

covet — joel miller

Chapter Nine — “Sir, yes, sir!”

masterlist

< previous

next >

Joel: I want a divorce.

Joel was tired. Both mentally and physically. Another sleepless night, thinking about you, about having some romantic contact. But also with this limbo he was playing with Julia.

She’d been packing for days now, hauling it to God knows where. Probably to her new work friend’s house. Joel couldn’t complain about inappropriate behaviour from her, when he was getting friendly with you.

How he wish he could be getting friendly with you. Instead of sat in his hot truck, in traffic, on the way to collect Sarah from her friends house.

He texted Julia last night, the moment he got home from his little escapade with you. And to no avail, she hadn’t responded.

He did wonder where it went wrong with Julia — was it the constant workload? Or being too tired to initiate anything at night? Or just the loneliness. Whatever it was, they were both guilty of it.

“Hey, kiddo,” Joel called out the window, watching Sarah jog down her friends driveway and into his truck. “How was the movie last night?”

Sarah stiffened, before shoving her bag of things into the foot well. “It was good.”

Joel noticed the tension between them both, hell, he would notice if Sarah cut her hair a centimeter shorter, he knew his daughter.

“What’s goin’ on?” He probed, hands tightening around the wheel. This could be anything.

“You and mom are breaking up, aren’t ya?” She asked, not even bothering to turn and look at her dad. Instead, training her eyes on the specs of hardened water on the window.

“What makes ya say that?” Joel’s heartrate slowed, relieved it wasn’t anything to do with you.

“Mom’s barely been home, and Emma asked last night in front of all of our friends why it looked like you were on a date last night.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Joel huffed.

“Is it? And your best friend’s daughter? You couldn’t find anyone else your age?”

“It ain’t like that, she jus’ wanted to watch it too. And it ain’t none of ya friend’s business.”

“But it is mine, dad!”

She had him there.

“Your mom and I are splittin’ up.” Joel admitted. “We wanted to tell ya together, but I want ya to know it’s nothin’ ‘bout you. It’s us.”

“I don’t need the ‘it’s not you, its me’ dad. I know why parents divorce.” Sarah laughed. She was strangely okay with it all, or at least pretending to be.

“I’m old enough to know it’s for the best, I’m not gonna break down and cry. I just want ya both to be happy, and if that ain’t together, then fine.” Sarah declared, and Joel could hardly believe the maturity of his daughter.

“Who are you and where’s my daughter? The one that used to demand the colourful cereal every mornin’.” Joel laughed.

They both shared a chuckle and Joel’s heart warmed. “Seriously kid, I love ya to death.”

Sarah beamed, reaching for the radio.

”Does this mean I get two Christmases?”

Your dad arrived home just after lunch, and you were on a sun lounger clutching a book.

“Hm, I don’t suspect any parties.” Your dad joked. “So you must be a mighty good cleaner.”

You giggled, folding the page of your book and standing from your spot in the sun. “How was your business trip?”

“Well, I got the job. Some rich bachelor wantin’ an extension on his house,” your dad strolled into the house behind you, “reckon work’s gonna take a week or so. Still gotta tell Joel, we’ll be leavin’ in a few days.”

”For how long?” You stopped in your tracks.

“We’ll be takin’ a few days off but it ain’t worth drivin’ back for. So we’ll be out there for ‘bout two weeks.”

Two weeks without Joel.

Fuck.

“Why? You gonna miss your old man?”

Both of them. For very different reasons. “Yeah.”

“Well you can always visit, kiddo.” Your dad shook your shoulder. “How ‘bout I give ya the address ‘nd you can come visit on a few days. We’ll be sleepin’ on site, he’s got a few spare bedrooms.”

“Sure thing.”

“I’ll let Mr Bachelor know.”

The planned dinner was an hour away, and you were all travelling together. So Joel could have a much needed beer with your dad, whilst you drove.

You were the last to be ready, as always. No other woman in this house to compete with on time. Joel and Sarah had arrived and were downstairs, and you’d sauntered downstairs in your best jeans and nicest shirt.

“She’s finally ready!” Your dad exclaimed. “You look lovely, kiddo. Now let’s go.”

Sarah trailed after your dad, and lastly Joel. He raised his eyebrows at you, winking then sliding his hand over your ass as he passed you.

You were stunned, but had no choice but to keep your cool and lock up the house.

As you sat in the drivers seat of your car, beaming at the interior, Sarah gasped at you.

“You’ll never guess what Emma said about you yesterday.”

The two dads in the back were chatting away about this upcoming job out of town, but Joel was listening to Sarah, trying to watch your reaction, and keep your dad out of the conversation happening in the front of the car.

“What?”

Sarah laughed quietly, looking behind at your dad to make sure he was occupied, before leaning in closer to you. “She said it looked like you and my dad were on a date.”

Stunned, once again, except this was bad. This was very bad.

“What would make her think that?” You questioned, frowning as you turned out of your driveway.

“It’s how everyone our age thinks, if they see a boy and girl together, they assume something is happening.” Sarah explained. “It’s just hilarious to me. You and my dad!”

The four of you were outside the restaurant, Sarah taking pictures of the sun and the trees together, your dad analysing the parking information and you and Joel having a silent staring contest. He’d broken away to dig around for his phone, before looking back up at you.

Joel: You look good.

You: Oh really?

Joel: Good enough to eat.

You: So do it.

Joel shook his head. Not in defiance, because if given the chance, he would. But you were a tease. And you knew it.

Just as you had looked away to answer your dad’s query, Joel snapped a picture of you. The sun made you glow, your sweet smile made you look ethereal. It was the perfect image.

You’d been seated, greeted, and you’d ordered your food.

You sat beside your dad and opposite Joel, immediately feeling his hand graze your leg as you rested it between his. Luckily, the stunningly white tablecloth was almost floor length.

“So, what’s the plan for when you do this job in Dallas? Am I completely alone for two weeks?” Sarah asked, eyes lit up at the sound of a free house. You giggled at her, before hardening your face when looking back at Joel. He glared back at you, almost telling you not to encourage her.

“No.” Joel was firm, and it was kind of hot. “I’ll arrange it with your mom. I’m sure she’ll be able to stay at home for a while with you.”

“I could keep an eye on her. And when I visit you guys in Dallas, then Julia can stay at the house.” You offered, all eyes on you.

Sarah’s filled with excitement.

Your dad’s filled with concern.

Joel’s filled with confusion.

“Please, dad, please!” Sarah begged, like a little girl again. “Just like old times.”

“Fine.” He gave in to Sarah, and turned to you. “I’ll send you a list of rules for ‘er. She’s got chores, she’s got curfews, and she’s gotta listen to ya.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” You winked at Sarah.

The drive back was close to silent. The four of you tired and full of food. Almost Thanksgiving full.

You’d returned back to your home, everyone piling out of the car.

“See ya tomorrow, Joel. I gotta take a long sleep.” Your dad waved, dragging himself onto the porch. Sarah almost leapt into the backseat of the truck, using the seats as a makeshift bed.

Leaving you and Joel.

“You sure you wanna take on Sarah for two whole weeks?” Joel asked. “Ya can back out.”

“No! She’ll be great, I’ll make sure she’s on time for school ‘nd all that.”

“Want me to pay ya?”

“No, Joel, it’s fine.”You laughed, Joel looked back at his daughter nearing sleep in the backseat.

“Okay, how ‘bout I sit through one of them movies for ya?”

“Perfect.”

“I’ll text ya the rules tomorrow,” Joel spoke, stepping closer to you for a brief moment, “thanks darlin’.”

[trulydeep]

I learned early in my dance life, when I spent a couple of seasons with a company overseas and had to learn 21 complete choreographies in six weeks, that while I might learn material a little bit slower than many dancers, I will know it well if I immediately go over and make notes on what the instructor has just shown us as soon as the session ends. Practicing it is even better, but the studio space is too tight for that.

I’ve continued this habit ever since, including last night. We had worked through four entire dances, and it was soooo good, but my head was spinning with all the details. I was also distracted by a sudden influx of new people in the studio, so my notes took a little longer than usual. I’d finished stretching but was still there when X arrived.

X didn’t say hello, she didn’t even sit down before she launched her attack on me, demanding in a nasty, accusatory tone, “What are you still doing here? Weren’t you done at 5:30? You’re not allowed to private practice.”

This is 100% typical of X. I reminded her that I always make notes, to which she replied that she would like to see my notes because she can’t imagine how I could have so much to write. It’s none of her damn business how long I’m at the studio, what I’m doing there, or what’s in my notes. She also made a snarky inference about the cake I’d brought to the studio that week, on Q’s suggestion (which I thought was very thoughtful of him).

I completely ignored X’s demand, and insult about the cake, finished chatting with a friend (who was staring at X’s rudeness) about the fundraiser, wished X a nice evening, and left.

Ugh. I’m already dreading the event we’re dancing in soon. X is going to be absolutely hateful. She can’t stand to see me excel. X will be supportive and charming around Q and others, saying all the right things in public. But she’ll do her best to separate me from the group, cut me off from Q, accuse me of trying to get Q’s attention, and otherwise be obnoxious. I wish it weren’t so, but she has become progressively worse over the last two years, and I fully expect her mentally ill behavior to continue. Sigh…

Still, on the other hand, our progress yesterday and lately was so, so good that it makes me excited to dance in public again soon! I don’t know if I could do it if I didn’t think Q believed in me. But I know he does, and I can always trust him as my dance partner.

May 2025

[electric-friend]

WANT CON TO STOP TALKING ABOUT NOT EATING CAKE IT’S ACTUALLY MAKING ME SO SAD

[tariah23]

Coworker was talking about how his wife “let herself go,” and is fat af out of the blue (context: his wife has cancer and he’s always going on about how he does sm for her and yadda yadda 🗿) after working on a client and talking about how she “had a tight ass,” to my sister and other coworker (she’s so sweet) and they just looked at him like he was crazy. My sister reported him to our manager today eek. He was complaining about her turning up the air in the building and idk if she was even going to say anything at first but she learned that he was bitching about her so oh well. Also, outside of oversharing with strangers and so on, why would he think that talking shit about his sick wife to two other women would go over well for him 🗿………. Crazy to me. One of our over coworkers mentioned that he’d previously worked together at another location with the dude but the guy ended up leaving that location because of the same things really. Just talking too much and making others feel uncomfortable so he left before things got too bad. I wouldn’t have expected that from him tbh.

[areislol]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤhow they react to a child wooing you

pairings. various (hsr + genshin impact) x gn! reader

warnings. fluff, mentions of jealousy, established relationship

a/n. i find men getting jealous over a little kid so funny, never fails to crack me up.

wordcount. 2.4k

synopsis. how they react to seeing you getting wooed by a child

you’re casually minding your business when a bold little kid struts up to you with a flower they picked from who-knows-where. "you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen!" they declare, face as bright as their words.

"awww, thank you sweetie!"

"...."

the jealous one (despite their big age)

the moment the child runs up to you with wide eyes and a flower clutched in their tiny hand, you can practically feel the temperature shift around you.

whether he's subtle about it or blatantly obvious, as they watch this scene unfold, he is most definitely NOT thrilled. he can not believe his eyes right now.

he doesn’t mean to react the way he does—it’s not like a child could ever be serious competition—but something about the moment sends a spark of possessiveness through him. his entire demeanor changes. his arms cross over his chest, his jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow slightly as he watches the scene unfold.

just what in tarnation is this stupid kid doing?!!?!?

he’s not angry at the child, but the audacity of it throws him off. really? even kids are lining up now? he thinks to himself, feeling his pride take an unexpected hit. as you crouch down to accept the flower with that sweet smile of yours, he can’t help but bristle. there’s a tug at the corner of his mouth that he tries to suppress, but the faint scowl is hard to miss

he crosses his arms, as if the whole situation is beneath their concern, but his sharp eyes never leave the child. he visibly stiffen, his body going tense as they quietly seethe.

when the child boldly proclaims their affection for you, offering their flower with the confidence only a child could muster, you suddenly hear a quiet scoff under his breath, muttering something like, “ridiculous,” before he speaks up, eyes trained on the poor child.

“a bold move, kid, but maybe aim for someone your own size next time.” his tone is teasing (is it really??), but there’s an unmistakable edge to his words, his presence looming protectively by your side.

after the child scurries off, his chest puffed up with pride at his bravery, the jealous one steps in almost immediately, closing the distance between you as if to reclaim his territory.

“so,” he starts, his tone casual but laced with pointed sarcasm, “should i be worried? do i need to watch my back now?” his eyes search yours, and though he’s trying to play it cool, there’s a hint of vulnerability in his gaze—a silent plea for reassurance.

if you laugh and tease him about being jealous, his cheeks darken slightly, and he huffs, looking away. “i’m not jealous,” he insists, though the way his arms cross tighter over his chest says otherwise.

“it’s just… what kind of guy lets someone else give his girl flowers without saying something?” his voice trails off, grumbly and defensive, but you can tell he’s mostly embarrassed by his own reaction.

later, he finds ways to reassert his place by your side, subtle but deliberate. maybe it’s the way he holds your hand a little tighter or slings an arm around your shoulders when you’re out together. he doesn’t need to say it outright, but his actions make it clear: you’re mine.

there’s a faint air of possessiveness to their actions, whether it’s the way they guide you away from the scene with a hand on the small of your back or the way they glance over their shoulder to make sure the child is gone.

if you call him out on their jealousy, the reactions are just as varied. he will deny it outright, scoffing, “jealous? of a kid? don’t flatter yourself.” but their lingering glances and subtle protectiveness give them away.

he simply shrugs, his calm voices betraying none of his innerturmoil: “it’s only natural. beauty like yours is bound to attract attention, even if it’s… unconventional.”

for the rest of the day, you’ll notice small shifts in his behaviour. he'll stand closer, touch you more often—whether it’s a hand on your arm, your waist, or your shoulder—and find little ways to remind you of their presence.

his jealousy, as amusing as it is, only serves to highlight one thing: he want you to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's the only one who deserves your attention.

— CHILDE, SAMPO, WANDERER, BLADE, aventurine, MOZE, DR. RATIO, jiaoqiu, gorou, lyney, XIAO

the (soft) supporter

when the child shyly approaches you, clutching a flower with trembling hands and nervously stammering out a confession, his reaction is immediate but far from possessive. instead of jealousy or annoyance, he watches with a warm smile, his eyes softening as he takes in the innocence of the moment.

his first thought isn’t to interrupt or overshadow but to appreciate the sincerity of the child’s feelings and your gentle response to it.

he watches the scene unfold with quiet amusement, his heart swelling as he takes in the sweetness of the moment. he doesn’t see the child as a rival or a nuisance—far from it. instead, he’s struck by how earnest and brave the little boy is for approaching you with such sincerity.

he knows how kind and patient you are, and seeing you respond with such gentle affection only reminds him of why he adores you.

as you crouch down to accept the flower, thanking the child with a kind smile, he can’t help but admire you even more. there’s a tenderness in the way you interact with the child that makes his heart ache in the best way possible.

he doesn’t feel threatened by the situation—in fact, he finds it endearing. if anything, it reminds him of how natural it is for people to be drawn to you, no matter their age.

standing just a step behind you, he chuckles softly to himself, murmuring under his breath, “well, that’s brave of him.” his voice carries a note of amused admiration, but he doesn’t feel the need to insert himself into the moment.

instead, he stands by as a quiet presence, ready to step in if the child needs a little encouragement but content to let you handle it.

if the child looks nervous or unsure, he might step closer and kneel down to meet the boy’s eye level, his tone kind and reassuring. “that’s a beautiful flower you’ve got there,” he’d say with a small smile. “you chose well.” he has no intention of stealing the spotlight or intimidating the child; he just wants to make the situation feel a little easier for everyone.

his gentle demeanor leaves no room for misunderstanding—he’s here to support you, not compete for attention.

after the child scampers off, cheeks flushed with pride and excitement, he turns to you with a soft laugh. “you’ve got quite the admirer,” he says, his tone light and teasing but laced with genuine affection. there’s no jealousy in his voice, just quiet amusement and warmth.

he even suggests preserving the flower as a keepsake, offering to press it in a book or find a small vase for it later. to him, it’s a sweet moment worth cherishing.

you thank him for being so calm about the situation, he simply shrugs, his smile soft and unassuming. “he’s just a kid,” he says, his voice full of understanding. “and honestly, it’s sweet. how could anyone not fall for you?” the sincerity in his words is undeniable, and the way his gaze lingers on you for just a second too long tells you everything you need to know about how he feels.

later, he might bring it up again in passing, unable to resist a little playful teasing. “so, should i be worried?” he asks with a grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “seems like you’ve got admirers lining up these days.”

despite the joke, his actions remain steady and reassuring—he never leaves your side for long and finds subtle ways to remind you of how much you mean to him. whether it’s brushing his hand against yours, standing a little closer than usual, or simply looking at you with that soft, adoring expression, his quiet support is unwavering.

for him, the moment wasn’t about competition or insecurity. it was just another reminder of how incredible you are, and how lucky he feels to be the one by your side.

— KAZUHA, ZHONGLI, WELT, GEPARD, ARGENTI, LUKA, SUNDAY, LUOCHA, JING YUAN, tighnari, THOMA, DILUC, BAIZHU

the dramatic ones

when the child approaches you, holding out a flower with all the sincerity in the world, the dramatic one immediately acts as if the universe itself has betrayed him. his eyes widen in exaggerated shock, a hand flying to his chest as if struck by an invisible arrow.

“oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” he exclaims, his voice dripping with mock offense. he takes a step back, looking between you and the child with theatrical disbelief, as though he’s stumbled into the climax of some tragic love story.

as the child nervously stammers out his confession, the dramatic one groans, running a hand through his hair as if trying to collect himself. “really? really? even kids now?” he mutters under his breath, though loud enough for you to hear. his tone is less genuine frustration and more exaggerated exasperation, the kind that begs for your attention.

when you smile at the child and crouch down to accept the flower, his reaction shifts into full-blown melodrama. “a flower? oh no, not a flower!” he gasps, pretending to stagger backward as if this tiny gesture has dealt him a mortal wound.

“this is how it starts! next thing i know, he’ll be writing you love letters and stealing your heart!” he places a hand on his forehead, tilting his head back with a long-suffering sigh, as though the betrayal is simply too much to bear.

if the child dares to glance his way, he leans in slightly, crossing his arms with a mock-serious expression. “you’re bold, kid. i’ll give you that,” he says, narrowing his eyes playfully. “but do you have what it takes to keep them happy? hmm? flowers are just the beginning, you know.” despite his words, there’s no real malice—he’s just playing up the moment, reveling in the absurdity of the situation.

when the child finally scampers off, proud of his bravery, the dramatic one steps closer to you, shaking his head with a heavy sigh. “unbelievable. i leave you alone for one second, and this is what happens?” he grumbles, though the grin tugging at his lips betrays his amusement. “what’s next? a line of admirers waiting around the corner?”

if you laugh at his antics, it only fuels his performance. “don’t laugh! this is serious!” he says, though his voice is far from convincing. he leans in closer, his tone dropping to a mock whisper. “tell me the truth—did he win you over? do i have competition now? should i be worried?” his eyes glimmer with playful mischief, his entire demeanor practically begging you to reassure him.

later, he won’t let you forget it. “do you remember earlier? that kid? yeah, i’m still recovering,” he teases, his voice full of faux indignation. “i mean, who does that? confessing right in front of me? bold move, i’ll give him that.” he’ll recount the story to anyone willing to listen, embellishing every detail to make it sound even more dramatic.

“i had to stand there and watch my partner get swept off their feet by a four-foot-tall rival. you have no idea the pain i endured.”

despite all the dramatics, his actions make it clear that it’s all in good fun. he doesn’t actually feel threatened—in fact, he enjoys watching you smile and laugh at his antics. the entire situation only gives him another excuse to shower you with playful affection and remind you in his own ridiculous way just how much you mean to him.

— KAVEH, SAMPO, venti, luka, BOOTHILL, JING YUAN, ITTO, CYNO, kaeya, lyney, BAIZHU, MR. RECA, wriothesley

the quiet ones

when the child approaches you, holding out a flower with trembling hands and a nervous confession, he is instantly at a loss. his breath catches, and he freezes in place, wide-eyed as he tries to process what’s happening. for a moment, he just stands there, completely still, as though moving might draw attention to himself. his hands awkwardly hover near his sides, unsure whether to intervene or stay back.

his gaze darts between you and the child, his face rapidly turning pink as he realizes how sweetly you’re smiling at the little boy. the warmth and gentleness in your voice as you thank the child make his heart ache in the best way possible. he swallows hard, suddenly hyperaware of how soft and kind you are, and it only makes his cheeks burn hotter.

as you crouch down to accept the flower, he glances away, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve or brushing through his hair in a nervous attempt to compose himself. it’s not that he’s jealous—no, he wouldn’t even know how to be jealous in this situation—it’s just that seeing someone else, even a child, shower you with admiration leaves him tongue-tied and painfully aware of his own feelings.

he mumbles something under his breath, barely audible, like, “that’s… bold of him.” but the moment the words leave his mouth, he cringes internally, wondering why he couldn’t come up with something better. instead of saying more, he stays rooted in place, trying to appear calm even as the tips of his ears betray him with their deep blush.

when the child looks at him, perhaps seeking approval, he manages a small, awkward smile and a quiet, “good choice.” his voice is soft, almost shy, and there’s a hesitant nod to go along with it. he wants to be encouraging after all, this is a child.

still, he’s not upset—he’s impressed by the child’s courage and, more than anything, endeared by how naturally you handle the situation.

after the child runs off, proud of his brave confession, the flustered quiet one exhales a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging slightly as he finally allows himself to relax. he hesitates before speaking, his voice low and slightly uneven. “that was… something,” he murmurs, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he dares to meet your eyes.

if you tease him, his blush deepens, and he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “i’m not flustered,” he insists, though his tone is far from convincing. he might even add, “it’s just… surprising, that’s all.” his attempt to downplay his reaction only makes him seem more endearing, his bashful demeanor a clear giveaway of how much the moment affected him.

for the rest of the day, he’s quieter than usual, replaying the scene in his mind and feeling his heart skip all over again. when he finally gathers the courage to bring it up, it’s in the form of a shy, almost hesitant comment.

“he was pretty brave, you know,” he says softly, his gaze flickering to you before quickly looking away. “but, uh… i hope you know that… well, i admire you too. a lot.”

his words are sincere, even if his voice is barely above a whisper. while he may not be as bold as the child who approached you, his quiet admiration and the way he lingers close to you for the rest of the day speak volumes.

— CAELUS, IMBIBITOR LUNAE/DAN HENG, gallagher, GEPARD, XIAO, DILUC, DAINSLEIF, ALBEDO, ALHAITHAM, NEUVILLETTE

note: got hit w baby fever sadly

taglist: @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @v4an @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls if im missing anyone please tell me because i have an inkling feeling i missed a few..

liking + following + reblogs are very much appreciated!!!

another note: not proof read so if you found any spelling/grammar mistakes PLEASE tell me

[cameronsbabydoll]

ex!husband!rafe when he finds out you had another guy over while your son was there

divider is from @princessbrunette

wc: 947 — a/n: sorta a new layout

you hear the knock at your door late at night, sharp and deliberate. you already know who it is before you open it.

rafe stands in the doorway, jaw clenched, eyes dark with something between anger and possession. he’s still dressed from work—white button-down undone at the collar, sleeves rolled up, rolex catching in the dim porch light. he looks every bit the man you once loved, the man you once shared a life with. the man you thought you had finally left behind.

but you didn’t. not really.

“you wanna tell me why my son is talking about some man in my house?” his voice is low, biting, laced with an authority he has no right to wield over you anymore.

your stomach knots. “rafe—”

“don’t,” he cuts you off, stepping inside, closing the door behind him like he still owns the place. like he still owns you. “who the fuck was he?”

you exhale sharply. “it’s none of your business.”

“the fuck it isn’t,” rafe scoffs. “some guy plays house around my kid, and i’m just supposed to sit back and take it?” he steps closer, eyes locking onto yours. “you still belong to me.”

you shake your head, voice firm. “no, rafe. that’s not how this works anymore.”

his hand grips your chin, tilting your face up to meet his, forcing you to hold his gaze. his touch isn’t rough, but it isn’t gentle either. “does he take care of you? huh? what does he make? forty, fifty grand a year?” he laughs, shaking his head. “you slumming it now? is that what you want our son to see?”

your jaw tightens. “i don’t want our son to be like you.”

that makes him pause. his grip tightens just slightly, enough to make your breath hitch.

“like me?” he murmurs, tilting his head. “entitled? condescending?” his lips curl into something dark, something cruel. “or just a man who gets what he wants?”

you glare at him, trying to pull back, but he doesn’t let you.

“you forget your place,” rafe murmurs, voice like a promise. he leans in, his breath hot against your skin. “you’re mine, baby. always have been. always will be.”

your body betrays you, shivering at the claim, at the truth laced within it.

his lips brush against your cheek as he whispers, “you can let him pretend all you want. but we both know—no one else will ever be me.”

you press your hands against his chest, pushing him back with more force this time. “stop, rafe.” your voice wavers, not as firm as you want it to be.

he lets you push him—barely—but he doesn’t step back. he lingers, watching you with something knowing in his eyes, something that says he sees right through you.

“you don’t get to do this,” you say, voice quieter now. “we’re done.”

he hums, like he’s considering your words. then he smirks, that same infuriating, arrogant smirk that used to drive you crazy. “and yet… i’m still here. in your house. late at night.” his voice dips, low and dangerous. “like always.”

you swallow hard, refusing to let him pull you back in. “because you forced your way in.”

his fingers trail up your arm, slow and deliberate. “and you haven’t made me leave.”

you jerk away from his touch, breath unsteady. “i don’t want you here, rafe.”

he lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “that’s cute, baby. real fucking cute.” his expression darkens. “you think i’m gonna just sit back while you play house with some nobody? while my son—my fucking son—is around some piece of shit you brought home?”

your jaw tightens. “he’s a good man.”

rafe’s hand snaps out, gripping your chin again, firmer this time. “he’s not me.”

you glare at him, but the intensity in his gaze makes your stomach twist.

his thumb drags across your lower lip, slow and possessive. “tell me something, sweetheart.” he leans in, his voice barely above a whisper. “does he even know what to do with you?”

your breath catches. “rafe—”

his lips brush against your ear. “does he know how to handle you? how to make you beg?”

you push against his chest again, but this time he doesn’t move.

he chuckles, dark and satisfied. “yeah. that’s what i thought.”

your hands tremble as you shove harder. “i don’t want this! i don’t want you!”

he catches your wrist, holding it against his chest. “liar.”

you shake your head, tears burning your eyes. “you don’t own me.”

rafe exhales, shaking his head like you’re saying something ridiculous. then his hand moves to your jaw, tilting your head up until you have no choice but to look at him.

“you really think you can change what you are?” his voice is softer now, but no less dangerous. “what we are?”

your breath is shallow, and your pulse is erratic.

his thumb strokes your cheek, almost gentle. “you’re mine. you always will be. no one else will ever touch you the way i do.”

you hate the way your body reacts to him. hate the way his words sink into your skin like they belong there.

he watches you, eyes flickering with something dark and triumphant. “so go ahead, baby. let him pretend he has a chance.” his lips hover over yours, teasing. “we both know where you’ll end up.”

your voice is barely a whisper. “rafe…”

he smiles, pressing one last lingering kiss to your jaw before finally—finally—pulling away.

“for now,” he murmurs. then he turns, walking to the door like he owns the place.

like he still owns you.

and maybe, just maybe… he does.

[caramelkoo]

no questions asked— jjk

Jeon jungkook wants nothing more than to get settled with his girlfriend, but what if her fear of commitment makes him take a step back? Will he do it, or will he be able to changer her mind for good?

pairing : Jungkook X reader

genre : established relationship, smut, fluff

word count : 6.6k (im begging for forgiveness)

Based on this ask <33

warnings : nsfw, strong language, mature, oc is an anxious girly (same), mentions of emotionally unavailable parents, jungkook is a man of dreams, simp boyfriend jungkook, car sex, unprotected sex (be safe), begging, reference of titanic if you squint, yeah that's pretty much it.

a/n : this took million business days lmao but finally it's here. the sweetest anon requested a drabble but i couldn't do it and as much as i tried to make it shorter, it got stretched to 6k words 😭 so im deeply sorry anon. the rest of you who enjoy longer fics, dig in. I love you guys so much, you might not know this but yall are my besties for resties. kisses. 💌

˚��୧⋆｡˚

Your boyfriend is going to propose to you.

Oh god

Oh. my. God.

Anxiety is not a foreign feeling for you. Although this time, it’s an indescribable sort. Something which is lingering in the deepest pit of your stomach for a lack of better word. Besides, there’s a mayhem inside your head, the voices are loud and intimidating, causing you to bite your lip to a point where they bleed while also staring at nothing. 

Jungkook has been nothing but secretive— the poor boy has no idea that you have already seen the navy blue box sitting inside his side of the drawer. You can swear it was totally unintentional.

In your defense, you had been searching for your glasses and that was the only place left to fish around. Nobody could have prepared you for the utter shock when your eyes fell on that box and so for a minute or two you just stood there, horrifyingly still and stunned. However, you recovered quickly, because to be quite honest it was about time one of you mustered up enough courage to ask the question.

It’s supposed to make you thrilled right? So why does something feel… off? 

“Penny for your thoughts?”, as soon as Cherry’s voice reaches your ears, you snap out of it and flash her a forced smile. 

“Yeah-” you begin, “Yeah uh- I’m just thinking about nothing in particular.” 

“_____ you’re an amazing girl but you gotta work on those lying skills.”

A chuckle leaves your mouth. You shouldn’t even have bothered in the first place, the girl can read you like a book. 

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours huh?” 

She picks up the book before scanning it with the barcode scanner all the while you marvel if you should tell her or just let it go, but then you also know how she would become a pain in the ass if you don’t spill the beans to her. Anyway, she can;t make you overthink it any more than you already have. 

You bite your lower lip before saying, “I feel like Jungkook is going to propose.” 

If looks alone could kill, you would have been buried deep by now with the way the man wearing an olive green cardigan, probably in his 50s, gives you side eye when Cherry drops the book with a loud thud on the counter. 

You wince.

“I’m sorry what?” 

When you subtly signal her to pick what she’s dropped, she takes a hold of the book, apologizes to the man who— you’re hundred percent sure hates your guts now, and resumes her work. 

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Ha! Girl you better start telling me more or none of us are going home today.”

She’s talking to you but her hands keep shuffling between scanning the books and expeditiously typing on the keyboard.

A spark of hesitation finds a way inside your heart. The thing is, you’re not sure. Do you want to marry the love of your life? Absolutely. Do you think you can keep the marriage going and stable? No. 

There you said it.

And that kills you because jeopardising your bond and connection with Jungkook is the last thing you want to do.

Maybe, it’s because nobody in your family has been able to keep their inner spark alive after they had gotten married or you might as well blame it on the relationship your own parents have had before your eyes. 

For everyone who couldn’t see past the walls of your house, your parents were an ideal couple. A pair who were equally efficient and successful in their respective areas of life. With your father being a renowned businessman and your mother holding the title of a world famous fashion designer, they couldn’t have been a better partner for each other, right?

Wrong. Too bad you had the honor of being an onlooker of their facade slipping away before getting replaced by their real impudent selves. 

But that’s all you could do though. You were merely just an audience. Someone who could see everything shatter before her eyes and not do a single thing to put an end to it. 

Constant fights, fuming with jealousy over one of them achieving more than the other, sabotaging each other.

All hell broke loose when they began making you take sides. 

You think mommy is better don’t you, honey?

You should be proud of your dad, ____. You’re living such a luxurious life thanks to me. 

For the love of god you were five. What does a five year old know about luxury or human ego? What could you have possibly known about who is better? In your eyes, they were your mom and dad and not some squish mellows placed side by side from which you had to take your pick. Let’s not even start with the emotional unavailability they provided you with.

A knot lodges in your throat and you struggle to get the words out. “I happen to see the box inside his drawer”

“You’re sure it had a ring inside- Wait, don't answer that”, she shakes her head as if she just asked the most ridiculous question ever.

No shit.

“But that’s a good thing right? I mean you guys have been seeing each other for a while now and marriage is the final stop.” she continues and you can’t help but feel terrible, because she is making sense. 

A sigh leaves you, “Yeah no- I mean yeah it is but I didn’t expect him to take the initiative so suddenly. No hints were dropped at all. Marriage is, gosh, I can’t believe I’m saying this but it seems intimidating to me.” 

The queue has finally dissipated at this point so she faces you fully showcasing her engrossment in your dilemma. The girl feeds off drama but refuses to get involved in one.

Her expression morphs into something between horrified and sympathetic. “_____, is that because of your parents?” 

Your heart skips a beat. This whole time you and only you had authority over this thought that your fear of marriage is deeply rooted in your own parents’ fucked up relationship. A belief that lay sly and unseen.

Only after those words left Cherry’s mouth did you realise how venomous they sound. It makes you aware that the fear was not as concealed as you intended to keep it. What are you supposed to do when you find out that somebody else knows about your deepest terrors? Run? Hide? Or simply not say anything? 

Your mouth feels suddenly dry. “What?” 

Cherry takes a hold of your palm and rubs it gently, “If it is, I want you to know that it’s not the case for everyone. Marriage is a beautiful concept, a lovely commitment. Are there some pitfalls to it? Yes. But that’s the beauty of it. The way two people come together and resolve them-”

Your phone buzzes inside your pocket causing you to flinch. Releasing your hands from her hold, you take it out and see your grandmother’s number stare up at you. 

“I’ll just be back.” you excuse yourself just as a woman places a stack of books on the counter.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

“Hey, beautiful” you greet her, a smile lighting up your entire face.

“My baby, did I catch you at the wrong time?” her voice is like a balm to your heart. So warm and comforting. It reminds you of your movie nights with her where you didn’t have to be anything or pretend. You just had to exist and she made it worth it. Always. 

“Now you know even the devil himself can’t stop me from talking to you.” 

A loud chortle reaches your ears and you imagine her throwing her head back, laughing. 

“I was calling to ask if you and your eye candy of a boyfriend are visiting home this year for thanksgiving, dear?” 

Dear lord, you can’t believe you forgot about that.

Your eyes widen, and just when you think you could bubble up some other lie, she speaks up, “You forgot, didn’t you?” 

Yeah, bold of you to assume you can do that and get away. You actually need to work on your lying skills. For whatever reason. You want to pluck your eyelashes out one by one because of how gloomy she sounds.

“I’m genuinely sorry, grams.” pinching the bridge of your nose you continue, “I’ve just been busy with work and barely making ends meet. I promise this is the first and last time I let it slip my mind.” 

With the job you have, there’s only so much cash you can count and while you would love to make a career out of writing, the thought of publishing your own book sends shivers down your spine.

Every time you open the draft a new mistake pops up, taking a percentage of your self confidence down the drain. You’re only human. A microscopic slip catches your attention and you start questioning your life choices. 

“Honey, come home and give yourself some time off, what do you youngsters like to call it? Oh yes, grind. Yeah?” 

It’s your turn to laugh. “Wow someone has been too into love island lately.”

Cherry raises her eyebrows from across the room and you mouth her the word ‘grandma’. She nods with a smile on her face, going back to work. 

A long stretch of silence hangs in the air before you hear her ask, “_____, what else is wrong?” 

The smile which has been adorning your face this whole time instantly drops. You blink.

Once

Twice

Thrice 

“I don’t understand.” Liar.

“You know what I mean, baby. I want you to tell me more, because I know something has been bothering you. What is it?”

Humans are so funny sometimes. They can be as close to you as your own soul and not have a hint of your torment. Meanwhile, there is your grandmother, who despite being so far away from you just….. knew. But again, it has always been like this hasn’t it? 

Whenever you got tired of your parents throwing stuff around the house, making each other lick the floors, trying to make their own and your life a living hell, she knew. 

She was the one who allowed you to cry, and assured you that she would not call you dramatic if she happened to hear your sobs.

You were allowed to cry,

You were allowed to ask for help,

You were allowed to not hold back.

Sucking in a deep breath, you release it, “Everything else is perfect, grams.”

Mr William is always the first person to greet you everyday when you reach the apartment. He’s been working as a guard for years now and you’ve grown quite familiar with him. While being the sweetest man you’ve ever come across, he also brings his wife’s yummiest tarts for you whenever she makes them. Arguably, they deserve more hype than they get.

“She knows how much you love her tarts” he says, making you feel immense gratitude towards his kindness. 

This particular night, he seems…. restless. He’s shifting from one foot to another as you shut the cab’s door behind you. Striding over to him, you mentally try your best to figure out his uneasiness. 

Clearing your throat, your throat as you ask, “Is everything alright, Mr William?” 

Only after he hears your voice, he gains his composure. Or so he tries. 

He hands you a piece of paper which feels a bit wet and you wonder what could have been so intense that the man began having clammy palms.

It’s nearly concerning, not to mention it doesn’t help with your own anxiety at all. If not, shoot it up. 

“Your boyfriend dropped by around lunch time, miss. He handed me this and asked me to give it to you as soon as you come back from work.”

He couldn’t have given it to you yesterday when he was with you in the first place? Weird.

“I see, but why are you so tense? Has something happened?” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “My wife has been sick and I was supposed to leave early but I figured it would be better if I gave it to you safely before going home to her.” 

Fuck

“You could have given this to me later. Your wife comes first, sir.” you gulp, “Please, I appreciate your gesture but she needs you more. Thank you so much and please let me know if I can be of help.”

He releases an empty chuckle. “Thank you, Miss” 

With one last nod you walk inside the building while also hoping he doesn’t call you for help. Not because you won’t do anything it takes to help him, but because you hope it wouldn’t come to it. The moment you shut the apartment door behind and turn on the light, the piece of paper steals your attention. Without waiting any further, you unfold it, coming across Jungkook’s writing. 

The note alone feels like he whispered it into your ear before placing the softest kiss on your skin. Your lips stretch into a serene smile as you stride over to the bedroom, turning the doorknob as your gaze catches a purple bodycon resting on top of your bed. It is accompanied with a bouquet of pink tulips as well as a bar of Dubai chocolate. 

Your head that has been nothing short of a commotion is now finally at peace. Not entirely but at peace nonetheless.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Jungkook was 12 when he went on his first roller coaster ride. He was, like every other child, afraid. Afraid that he might fall and hurt himself so bad, he wouldn’t ever be able to get up. The roller coaster had a massive drop followed by a corkscrew which took him upside down. Until the moment Jungkook saw a woman in yellow dress buying a bunch of tulips from the flower shop he very often visited, he had never felt his stomach bottom out as strongly as it did during that drop back then.

There she was, chatting with the florist as if they’re best friends. He could see her behind the glass picking out the pink tulips before sniffing them. Meanwhile, Jungkook stood across the road, soaked and enchanted as he wondered if he should ask for her number or chicken out. Eventually, the latter won. 

But here’s the thing, Jungkook is not one for losing. He hates losing, even the term makes him want to peel his own skin off. 

He saw her hair first, becoming curly locks reaching down to her waist and just above her hips. Granted that his line of sight only allowed him to see her side profile, he assumed she was gorgeous. It was not unlikely for him to see beautiful women on a daily basis, but something about her just sucked him in. His eyes could not leave her face and he believed even if they tried, he would pluck them out just to punish them. Was it weird that his hands itched to hold a woman he doesn’t even know? 

What’s her name?

Where does she live?

What’s her favorite color?

How does she like her coffee?

There’s a japanese phrase called koi no yokan which means that you eventually will fall in love with a person you meet. You’re going to grow so fond of that person that you would want to see no one by your side but them. She was that person for him. 

He rubs his hands for the nth time in a futile attempt to warm them up, waiting outside ____’s building. How is this evening going so slow? He has been here for perhaps half an hour now, so why does it feel like it’s been a decade? 

And funnily enough, the only person who can put him out of his misery is _____. At this point, the guy fears he wouldn’t be able to so much as look her in the eye, but not doing that will be the end of him too.

He looks down and lets his hands run over his black button down shirt, wondering if she would like it. She loved seeing him in black on the first date. A loud click clack of heels grab his attention, perking his ears up. He looked up and there she was in all her glory. 

Jungkook releases a breath and rubs his chest as if his heart hurts. As if it’s telling him how unworthy he is of this woman who is walking up to him, who may be as nervous as him but still chose him as her man. 

The woman who could have anyone she wanted wrapped around her pinky finger gave her days, nights and evenings to him. She smiled at him, for him and if he was lucky, because of him.

_____ stops before him while he’s still adjusting to the sight of her. “How do I look?” 

Unreal, exquisite and way out of his league.

He shakes his head from side to side, thinking of a single word that would suffice the answer to that. He fails and so instead he runs his fingers down her forearm until he reaches her soft hands and takes it into his own cold ones. 

Placing a chaste kiss on her knuckles, he begins. “My imagination of you in this dress has got nothing on this vision.” 

Her face morphs into the softest expression of love, “And exactly how many times have you imagined me in this dress, Jeon Jungkook?” 

He takes a step forward, his chest almost touching hers. “I can’t answer that. You want to know why?” 

“Why?” Her voice is emotionless. His thumb grazes her lower lip as he tries not to smudge her nude lipstick. “Because if I do, we’ll have to go back into your apartment and try not to wake your neighbours up.” She swats his chest and softly pushes him back, dissolving into a giggle. 

“You’re looking quite handsome yourself.” she says as her eyes shamelessly check him out. His sleeves are halfway folded stopping just below his elbow, beautifying his tattooed forearms.

He’s also wearing his favorite blue baggy jeans with his usual black chunky boots. The same ones he goes for when he knows _____ might not be able to bear the pain caused by her heels, so he ends up swapping them with the boots.

He would argue carrying her all the way to her apartment instead, but settles elseways. 

Jungkook opens the car door for her and only after she’s well seated, he runs to his side and takes off. 

The ride to the restaurant is quiet despite the obvious tension that doesn't go unnoticed by either him or her. As much as he would like to spend the rest of the night snuggled into bed with her, he knows there is something more significant than that. So instead he indulges in caressing her thigh. 

“After you, angel.” He places a hand on the small of her back. 

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

The ambience looks straight out of the movies. Like a paradise. Violinists are playing a chorus of Fuck her gently by Tenacious D far across the room. 

Jungkook catches an unknown look on her face. “Something’s wrong?” 

She shakes her head, flashing him a smile. “I love this song.”

He places a tiny kiss on her temple. “I know, baby. C’mon.” 

You know how women have this killer instinct of knowing if and when somebody’s watching them? It’s like they have a separate pair of googly eyes on the back of their head to protect them from creeps. 

From the moment you have entered the place, the man in the wine shirt has been making a hole in your face with the way he’s been staring at you. 

Is your dress too revealing? Are you showing too much skin?

“Oh I forgot to tell you. Your grandmother called earlier today.” Jungkook disrupts your thoughts. 

You gulp down the last piece of steak before answering. “Let me guess she asked you to join her for thanksgiving?” He nods, a bright smile on his face. “I told her I would love to.” 

A cheeky smile unfurls slowly on your face. Jungkook loves your grandmother. Maybe a little bit more than you do. Just a tiny bit though. Last year when you and he visited her, he was the first person apart from you to get a hug out of her.

Your grandma is not much of a hugger by the way. Her hugs are totally exclusive. 

“I’m sure she loves having my ‘eye candy of a boyfriend’ there.” 

Jungkook snorts, placing his fork down. “She called me an eye candy?” 

He dissolves into a fit of laughter when you answer his question with a nod. 

“See now that’s the biggest achievement I have had in a while. I mean what are the odds your wife’s grandma calls your an eye candy-”

Something sours in your stomach. The steak here tastes awful or maybe it’s just you feeling pathetic that as soon as he says ‘wife’ your expression morphs into something so dreadful that it causes him to stop. What are the odds that you just gave him a reality check and dragged him out of a fool’s paradise?

“Angel, what’s-” 

You stand abruptly, cutting him off yet again. His eyes bob all over you, and then a sad frown puckers between his brows. 

“I’ll just be back. I need to use the washroom.” You say as you grab your handbag as quickly as you can before leaving him there. Confused and wondering what the fuck just happened?

Few minutes later, just as you’re walking outside the washroom and making a way towards your table someone’s voice causes you to stop midway. 

“Excuse me.” 

Turning to face the person, you come face to face with the same man from earlier. The one wearing a wine colored shirt along with a nasty expression. You believe he’s trying to look cocky but is failing miserably.

“Can I help you?” 

A slow smile spreads over his mouth. “I couldn’t help but notice that the man you’re here with seems to upset you in some way.”

An awkward chuckle leaves you. “The man is my boyfriend and I don’t think it concerns you if he’s upsetting me or not.” 

He walks a little closer. Oh no, this is bad. 

“Fair enough,” he shrugs, “But clearly he’s not being a good boyfriend, is he?” 

The audacity of this man.

You huff out a frustrated breath, “Listen, you need to shut up and stay within your limits. It’s not healthy going around poking your nose into everyone’s business.” 

His sly smile grows even more as he steps closer than before. 

The hair on your body stands up, and not in a good way, but in a very uncomfortable way. You suddenly regret the idea of leaving Jungkook’s side. Bad, bad decision. 

Currently, you have two options. You can either just walk off and act like nothing happened, which by the way, is a safe option or you can kick the man in the balls and then act like nothing happened.

Since you're much more accustomed to the former option, you decide to do just that but when his hands grip your wrist with an iron grip, you settle on the latter. 

You knee him between the legs with an intention to hurt him as he grunts in pain, his hands gripping where you just kicked him. 

“You fucking bitch.” 

Before he can say anything further, you storm off. Your phone buzzes inside your handbag and you automatically assume it to be Jungkook’s call. As soon as you spot him across the room, you feel the clouds parting, there’s a feeling threatening to arise. It’s something between protected and anguished. 

Anguished because you let your mind speak so deafeningly that it silenced the oh so loud love Jungkook has for you. And protected because you know for a fact that if he had any idea about what that man just did to you, he would not think twice before dragging him by the hair before bringing him to his knees in front of you to apologize. 

He stands once he sees you and you waste no time running towards him. Your arms go around him as you nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck. His arms immediately embracing you in return, securing you against his chest.

It feels warm.

Concern laces his voice as he says, “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you. Breathe” 

You don’t even realise you’re panting unless he says that. You’re aware that at this point the way you flung yourself at him must have got everyone’s attention. But you genuinely don’t care. It might as well be an auditorium full of people watching you hug your boyfriend like an anchor, you just don’t care. 

You realise that’s exactly what Jungkook is. Your anchor. Someone who didn’t even ask as to what happened before he straight away began consoling you. 

His hand envelops the back of your head in a protective way while the other soothes your back. 

“Do you want to leave? We can leave right now if you want to.”

“Yes, please.”

His body shakes as though he just nodded. “All right, let me pay real quick and we’ll leave yeah?”

Your voice is muffled against his chest. “Yeah.”

You suck in a sharp breath as he lets you go. The small folder on the table grabs your attention. He opens it only to find a note inside of it saying— “It’s on me, gorgeous”. 

You can see the wheels in his mind turning, but before he starts asking you any questions which may or may not cause a breakdown of yours, you say, “I’ll explain it to you outside. Can we please go?” 

“Let me see wh-”

“Please?” He lets out a defeated sigh and nods. “Yeah- Yeah let’s go.” 

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

At first when Jungkook saw that note, the first emotion that he felt was rage and a very serious one at that. But it was soon replaced by realization. It doesn’t take a scientist to figure out that something nasty went down after _____ left to use the washroom. Something he can’t wait to get to the bottom of. Nevertheless, he didn’t want her to be pressured to answer the more obvious question. 

Jungkook’s girl is attractive. She’s kind and empathetic and fucking stunning which makes her worthy of all the attention she gets. Of course men are going to want to be with her. 

Initially, it bothered him. A lot. 

Now, though? He’s grown rather used to it. However, it has never come to having someone pay for her in a restaurant. Even the thought of someone so much as speaking to her in an inhumanely manner makes him want to punch a hole through a wall. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

The silence is too loud inside the car. He can hear ____’s heart beating loudly or is it his own?

She’s leaning back with her head against the headrest. When she doesn’t respond, Jungkook speaks again, “_____ baby, will you please at least look at me?” 

Her eyes connect with his and he flashes her the softest of smiles.

Taking her hand, he kisses the inside of her wrist where he can feel her pulse. 

Thump thump thump. 

“I want you to give me something, angel. Anything.” 

He can see her gulp before admitting, “There was um… there was a guy outside the washroom and he kind of tried to force himself on me,” she closes her eyes for a brief moment, “Maybe I’m just being dramatic, but I handled him.” 

Jungkook’s stomach drops. He was right. His hands fly out to open the car door before _____ holds him back. “Don’t. I said I handled it.”

He turns back, his voice leaking with anger along with something more barbaric. “And I’m proud that you did, but if I don’t go in and beat that asshole into a new one I won’t be able to call myself a man worthy of you anymore. I need him to know that he can’t fuck with my girl and go about his goddamn day.” “Jungkook, please. I can’t take it anymore. Please stop.” 

And he does. For now. 

He leans back, running his hands over his face with frustration. For a few minutes he and ____ just stare outside the front glass of the car. The parking lot slowly gets empty as people leave for their homes one by one. 

Just when he thinks  _____ has dozed off, her voice reaches him. “Can I get one more hug?” 

“Come here.” 

He takes her into a warm embrace before kissing the top of her head, settling his lips there. His anger has yet not fully dissipated, but having her so close calms his heart. It calms his whole being. Her touch, her breath against his skin, her presence heals something in him.

Therefore, he made up his mind about spending his whole life with her. The little slip of words, which by the way was totally unintentional, soured _____'s expression and that didn’t go unnoticed by him. 

She’s scared but he fully intends to let her know that she doesn’t have to.

______ unwraps herself from his arms and pushes back. Just enough for their noses to touch.

She shakes her head, “Don’t give me those eyes.” 

Jungkook holds back a smile. “What eyes, angel?” 

“The same ones you give me when you want something dirty to happen. Those big brown eyes of yours.”

He lets a chuckle slip out. “I’m down if you are.” 

When she offers him her own laugh, gosh it’s as though he comes alive. If he could bottle up the sound, he would. Something passes in _____’s eyes. Lust? Desire? He can’t pinpoint. 

He wants to kiss the hell out of her though and he wants to do it desperately. Her eyes drop to his mouth and he takes it as a sign to lean forward and press his mouth against hers. 

Her lips part ever so slightly followed by her gripping Jungkook’s collar to bring him even closer. So close as if she wants their souls to intertwine. 

The feeling is very much mutual. 

She gets up from the passenger’s seat without breaking the kiss and straddles his lap. Her legs on either side of his thigh as their core’s touch. Jungkook is not sure how long he can endure this sweet pain of waiting. 

In all sincerity, he’s been holding himself back from the very moment he saw her walking up to him in that dress. Do with that information what you will. 

Now, he just wants to say fuck it and get inside her— only that he can’t, because he wants her to take her time and ask for it. Then and then only he will fuck her. If it’s inside this car then so be it. 

The kiss is electric and filled with passion, tingling his skin in all the right places as she matches his enthusiasm with her own.

______ pulls back with a deep breath, leaving Jungkook panting heavily. 

“Please.” she begs. 

A strand of hair falls on her face. He tucks it behind her ear. “Please what baby?” 

“Please fuck me, Jungkook. I want you so bad and I want you right now.” she whines.

He grins. “At your service, ma’am.” 

He hears _____’s light chuckle as he gets out of the car, carrying her with him while also making sure she doesn’t hit her head on the hood. She detaches herself from him once they’re out and settles in the back seat. Only after ensuring she’s comfortable enough, Jungkook follows her. 

His body lays on top of her and he wastes no time as their mouths collide. Her finger grip the hair on his nape and he groans with pleasure, his cock going thick. He rubs it on her lower stomach to show her how much he wants her, gaining a moan out of her. 

Jungkook’s head goes fuzzy with every passing second. He almost comes when she lifts her hips up and rubs a slow circle against his cock. 

“Fuck.” He groans, pulling back from the kiss. _____’s cheeks are heated and lips are swollen. He did that. Her man did that. 

Suddenly, he’s grateful for the tinted glass and his big car. 

_____ lifts her head up and kisses his sweaty cheek, swiping his forehead with her palm. “You’re sweating, honey.” 

“Yeah, I tend to do that in your presence. Do you know how hard it was for me to stay sane after seeing you look so unbelievably gorgeous?” 

She passes him a lazy smile, “You’ve always been so good at controlling yourself, haven’t you?” 

“Not anymore.” He sits up, knees on either side of her body and starts unbuckling his belt all the while panting with excitement. His pants slide halfway down letting his cock spring free. Thick, angry and leaking with precum. His shirt goes next.

______’s eyes flash with lust as she bites her lower lip. The straps of her dress have slipped down, leaving her tits bare and open for Jungkook.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, baby.” he leans forward as she runs a hand up his bare spine, hooking her legs over his hip.

“Please.” she whispers. 

A loud thunder outside the car grabs Jungkook’s attention. Nice, he’s so horny he didn’t even realise that it’s raining. Another rumble of thunder drowns their panting breath but he still only focuses on the woman beneath him. The goddess of a woman who trusts him with her body. How lucky he is to call her his own. 

She brushes his hair out of his face, her thumb dusting over the mole on the bridge of his nose before her hand follows the path of his tattooed arm, his rib, his ass, until she wraps a fist around his dick. 

He pushes into her hand. “I need to grab the condoms from the console, angel.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, the car filling with the pants and whimpers before she says, “I want you bare. I’m on the pill.” 

Jungkook has never gone without condom nor has he considered going without one, but this woman right here just asked him to get inside her bare and fuck if it doesn’t tempt him.

And so he gives in, but not before asking, “Are you sure?” 

“As sure as one can be.” 

He nods, bringing his lips back to hers. His hand finds her thong under the dress as he slides it down her legs. Then he strokes a single line up and down her slit, wetting his finger with her cum. When he brings the same finger to his mouth and sucks on it, _____ all but whimpers. 

His cock follows next and he does the same with it, rubbing himself up and down her slit as he coats himself in her before he presses his thumb down on the head of his cock, curls his hips forward, and pushes into her. 

Tortuously slowly, inch by fucking inch. 

She’s so warm and tight for him. He’s not sure how long he can take before he shoots his load inside of her. 

“More.” she pleads, her face morphing into the most beautiful expression of pleasure. 

Jungkook pulls back and pushes again, watching more of a length disappear inside of her. He’s not even halfway in and she’s already crying out his name. 

Leaning in, he bites her neck in an attempt to give her his all. All his love, all his nights and all his life. The question is at the tip of his tongue but considering what happened inside, he quickly holds himself back. 

“You’re doing so good for me, my angel. Taking me so well,” He thrusts again. “You’re made for me, aren’t you?” 

She cries out. 

“What was that?” She throws her head back. “Yes. Oh my god” 

Thrust. “Yes, what baby? I’m gonna need you to say it.” 

Jungkook takes her nipple in his mouth, sucking on it until she cries out again, “I’m made for you. Fuck.”

He releases the nipple with a loud pop. “That’s right you are.” His pelvic bone is flush with hers, ____’s legs as wide as possible to accommodate him. She dusts her fingertips up and down his spine while he slowly kisses along her jaw.

When she pushes her heels into his ass, urging him to move, he pulls out part way before pushing back in again. 

She lets out a moan quickly followed by his own. _____’s hands run over Jungkook’s abs, nipples, and wrap around his shoulders. 

He’s fucking her slowly, taking his time, feeling her body and letting her feel his too. Every brush, every graze, every breath is precious to him.

Soft and intimate. 

So when the next words leave Jungkook’s mouth, he blames it on the moment. “Marry me.”

_____’s eyes which were closed earlier, savoring the very moment, pop open and his movement halts. 

“What?” 

“Fuck. Okay, I know this is not a position or place a woman wants to be proposed in, but I have to say this before I go insane. _____, I know you’re scared and I also know the reason behind it. Of course, I won’t ask you why you kept that part a secret from me, because I respect you and want you to take your time. But baby,” he brushes his thumb over her cheekbone, “I need you to know that I will die before I let anything like that go down between us. I love you so much you don’t even realise. Sometimes I even shock myself with how much I cherish you. You’re a gift to me, a gift which brings out the best not just in me but in everyone she meets.”

He places a small kiss on her forehead before continuing, “I can go anywhere, see everything but it still wouldn’t match the level of affection I hold for you in my heart. Still wouldn’t match the beauty of your smile, you amazing woman. You’re all I have ever wanted. So please, make me the happiest motherfucker in the world by saying ye-”

“Yes” 

‘What?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you. Now will you please shut up fuck me like you promised, husband?” 

He bites her jaw, “Oh, I’ll fuck you so nice you’ll be begging for more, wife.”

Soon enough, _____’s lower lip trembles as her orgasm takes over, and he has the privilege to watch it all. The fluttering of her lashes, the marks of her nail down his arm and the way she calls him her husband again when she’s able to find her words. 

He’s so gone.

About half an hour later when he asks her again as to what changed her mind about marriage, she says something so deep yet in such a casual way, he wants to cry. 

“When I hugged you inside, you didn’t ask questions. You just let me be and that may seem like a miniscule thing for someone else, but for me it was enough. Enough to stay with you until I turn all wrinkly and grey haired.” 

[astonmartinii]

i love him, it's ruining my life [guilty as sin part one] | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x fem sainz!reader

a contract ends, a relationship is exposed and even with everything on the line, she still loves him.

MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 621,099 others

yourusername: out and about town

view all comments

user1: girl? girl? GIRL?

user2: carlos' career is DEAD AND SHE'S POSTING VACATION PICS ON INSTAGRAM

user3: at least they're cute instagram pics

landonorris: y/n i think it's time you finally take that phone off of do not disturb

yourusername: but that's the perpetual state of my phone i am a poet i was born to be in the woods, if you have news tell me now before i close this app in 20 seconds

landonorris: i don't want to air your brother's business out in a public instagram comments literally just scroll through your timeline idiot

yourusername: wait let me open the family group chat

yourusername: WHAT

user4: are we about to see her reaction to carlos losing his seat in real time?

user5: let me grab my popcorn one sec

yourusername: WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME?

landonorris: take your phone off DND for once in your life and maybe you’d be clued in on the news

charles_leclerc: and while you’re at it reply to all the tiktoks i sent you

landonorris: not the time leclerc

charles_leclerc: but but but my tiktoks… i finally got a tarot card reading that resonates

landonorris: NOT THE TIME

charles_leclerc: don’t hate the player hate the game

carlossainz55: really?

charles_leclerc: i am TALKING ABOUT TIKTOKS LEAVE ME ALONE

yourusername: this is a lot - gosh can’t a girl go on holiday without everything imploding (i'll check the tiktoks in a second)

user6: anyone kinda weirded out that charles is just here joking with y/n as if his teammate and her brother hasn’t just been forced out of a job?

liked by carlossainz55

user7: babe he wasn’t forced out of a job, his contract wasn’t renewed. the last time i checked this was a sport where they compete not sit around and sit kumbaya

liked by charles_leclerc

user8: oh! they’re both liking shady comments already, it’s been a day since the announcement

user9: this is gonna get ugly isn’t it?

user10: awful, truly. i’m sat.

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 1,029,458 others

carlossainz55: love all, trust a few and do wrong to none

view all comments

user11: .... right, what ever the fuck that means?

user12: i mean i was just here to celebrate the win what is all this poetry

user11: are we shading charles? lewis? ferrari?

yourusername: shakespeare, really?

carlossainz55: i can read you know

yourusername: oh really, that's news to me

user13: erm you guys i thought the whole job loss thing was meant to bring the family together....

user14: they joke like this all the time this is just sibling banter

user15: idk it's reading a lil more tense than usual, not that there's any reason for that (that we know of)

charles_leclerc: doing the tifosi proud ❤️

carlossainz55: will do while i can

user16: yall .... what happened to the chemistry

user17: they were never friends - pierre tried to tell yall

landonorris: a carlando podium !!! lets do this every week

carlossainz55: golf buddies and podium buddies - you love to see it

landonorris: LETS GO WILD AND PUT IT ON FERRARIS TAB THEY OWE YOU

landonorris: i mean let's celebrate your triumph good pal!

user18: the PR monster got lando :( rip

carlossainz55: just being able to win in front of the most important people in my life is enough

user19: does anyone else think it was weird that y/n wasn't at the race?

user20: like y/n loves australia she litr says that she was an aussie in a past life...

user21: also the most recent carlos comment... is y/n not one of the most important people in his life?

user22: do we think something has happened? like maybe he thought she should've cut her holiday short to come home to support him?

user23: also the fact that her and charles were immediately like joking around with each other? maybe it just rubbed him the wrong way

user24: but not even considering her an important person to him? and also that just seems like he's shifting all the blame to charles when it's ferrari who haven't extended the contract

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and 892,309 others

tagged: kellypiquet & yourusername

maxverstappen1: she says she's a professional third wheel, i call that being a LEECH

view all comments

user29: unlikely trio but somehow my favourite

user30: y/n really be their overgrown child

yourusername: how am i the leech when i paid for the ice cream mr millionaire 🤨

maxverstappen1: ever thought about how i want to spend quality time with my girlfriend?

yourusername: won't someone think of the children

maxverstappen1: ur 23

yourusername: that's it! p and i are unionising against this if you find suspiciously well drawn crayon graffiti on your walls it was NOT me

maxverstappen1: don't threaten my walls if you still want to come to races

yourusername: low blow 😩

user31: does that mean... she's not going to races with carlos?

user32: she's always been in his garage tho like even with how close her and max have always been SHE'S ALWAYS IN GARAGE 55

user33: i feel like this has something to do with the whole seat situation i'm not sure how but like i think there's something weird going on here

kellypiquet: don't worry @yourusername it might be max's house but it's p that has the final say

yourusername: no one gets bluey like i do

maxverstappen1: yeah but while you're here you get the best seat at the tea party IT'S NOT FAIR

yourusername: well one of us can name all the disney princesses and one of us can't

user34: so.... y/n is living with max? but i thought her and carlos shared an apartment in madrid?

user35: guys i'm so confused

user36: we need the twitter detectives on this asap

charles_leclerc: no lec... when i specifically sent you a PR bundle, you hate to see it

maxverstappen1: you only sent that to us for y/n

charles_leclerc: maybe! but i have it on good authority that you loved the vanilla

maxverstappen1: ummmmmmm no i'm a professional athlete, y/n ate all of it

yourusernames: FALSEHOODS

charles_leclerc: i know who i believe

maxverstappen1: why is everyone ganging up on me in this comment section

user37: charles sending lec to max's house just for y/n WHAT DOES THIS ALL MEAN

user38: and does it have anything to do with carlos maybe kicking her out

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 673,892 others

yourusername: gotta make sure i give p a reason to tell me stick around

view all comments

user39: charles is always in the likes before me and i have notifications on

user40: they seem like such close friends it's so annoying that they're never spotted together at a race and we have no pictures of them :(

charles_leclerc: why do i never get any baked goods i literally sent my ice cream to my arch rivals house just for you

yourusername: you're never in the fucking country that's why

charles_leclerc: i have this kind of demanding job i don't know if you knew

yourusername: i also have the demanding job of being sexy and i cope just fine

charles_leclerc: i heard you got employee of the year, hard to be too upset when you're the competition

yourusername: better luck next time babe

user41: openly flirting with the guy that caused her brother to lose his job, this girl is just shameless

yourusername: do you think charles is the literal ceo of ferrari?

user42: why are you defending charles more than your actual brother?

yourusername: i feel like i gotta make this statement every three buisness days on here but like you people don't know what happens in our personal lives and i can defend my friends if i feel they're being unnecessarily questioned

user43: queen snapped omg

user38: they always be out here trying her like she's not a writer and poet SHE WILL READ YOU FOR FILTH

maxverstappen1: pretty sure she'd replace you with me in like two seconds so you're safe until [redacted] gets home

yourusername: i'm pretty sure with the right campaign i could sway jimmy and sassy to my side as well

user44: who the FUCK IS REDACTED

maxverstappen1: wouldn't you like to know 🤨

yourusername: max ???

maxverstappen1: what? i didn't have friends growing up i like that you tell me secrets

yourusername: oh :(

maxverstappen1: you wanna tell me more?

yourusername: NO YOU ALREADY KNOW THE BIGGEST ONE

maxverstappen1: true 💅🏻

user45: so like the secret is defo a relationship right?

user46: do we think carlos knows?

user47: by the fact that he's not in these comments... probably not

user48: so like he looses his seat and finds out his sister is in a secret relationship? someone give the guy a break

user49: or maybe, just maybe, there's a reason that y/n hasn't told carlos and he's not the guy we all think he is

liked by charles_leclerc

user50: OH? this war is so on ....

f1teaspill

liked by user51, user52 and 31,845 others

tagged: yourusername & charles_leclerc

f1teaspill: the war at ferrari is heating up... turns out there's a lot carlos didn't know and FOR YEARS. yes, you're reading that right, y/n sainz and charles leclerc have been in a relationship for at least two years and believe us we have a VERY credible source like WITHIN THE FAMILY level source.

the most important thing about this whole relationship is how carlos did not know for years, so how much more was hidden from him? did y/n know about the seat swap for lewis? was she leaking strategies to charles? was she sabotaging her own brother?

view all comments

user53: OH SHITTTTTTTTTT

user54: cancel me if you will but i think the hottest couple in f1 just dropped

user55: the fact we've been robbed of content of them for years .... i'm angry I NEED THE POETRY ABOUT CHARLES

user56: i'm gonna need y/n or charles to drop all the pics in response

user57: y'all a source "within the family"? did these fools find out about y/n's relationship and immediately run to an f1 TEA PAGE???

user58: that's some goofy ass shit

user59: i find it funny that instead of sitting down and thinking about why their daughter/sister didn't feel comfortable enough to tell you about her relationship they're like i know EXACTLY who needs to hear this

user60: the way it's proved her completely right to not tell them

user61: do you guys think this is like a tv show or like fan fiction? in what world is y/n sharing strategies to fuck over her own BROTHER?

user62: also be for fucking real... strategies? ferrari? at least try and be realistic

user63: also.... walk with me .... why would y/n and charles conspire to put lewis hamilton in carlos' seat? LEWIS FUCKING HAMILTON AND SEVEN TIME WORLD CHAMPION? WHY WOULD CHARLES WANT TO TAKE HIM ON OVER A GUY HE'S ALREADY BEATEN TWICE

user64: see this is the point! sainz camp you can try and demonise charles and yOUR OWN DAUGHTER all you want but we all know it's bull shit

user65: one thing about this that really rubs me the wrong way is that the sainz camp clearly expected that if y/n was in a relationship with charles that she would've been a double agent for carlos? and because she's not fucking insane they're now going for character assassination of their own SISTER/DAUGHTER

user66: THIS THIS THIS

user67: carlos won't even consider y/n an "important" person in his life but expect her to sacrifice or exploit her relationship for cheap psychological points

user68: also y/n isn't even at most races so how is she getting carlos' strategies to give to charles? this shit doesn't make any sense

user69: carlos himself has said in an interview that y/n is useless when it comes to racing that she's just a supportive figure rather than someone who has any in depth racing knowledge

user70: this is insane level hating with all the evidence out here... and against your own family...

user71: this just makes me think that y/n wasn't in australia for a reason - like was she banned from carlos' garage

user72: and the fact she's been staying at max's it just makes me think that y/n was kicked out of her and carlos' apartment

user73: now tHATS INSANE

espnf1

liked by pierregasly, maxverstappen1 and 1,025,788 others

tagged: carlossainz55, charles_leclerc & yourusername

espnf1: well... this could be awkward

view all comments

user77: espn babe you're just like me

user78: *slides $5 across the bar* get a camera in the ferrari garage?

espnf1: we're working on it 😩

user79: pierre and max here... they really are the paddock gossip girls

maxverstappen1: i guess carlos couldn't handle that i knew who redacted was before him 🤷🏻‍♂️

carlossainz55: really?

maxverstappen1: don't put your sister on the streets and i won't dunk these jokes on your head

user80: is this like the official f1 civil war?

carlossainz55: you don't know anything max, i'd really keep your nose out of our business

maxverstappen1: i actually know exactly how you guys move, you tried it on 17 year old me and it becomes my business when my best friend calls me with no where else to go (also i know you changed the locks while you were in maranello so she wouldn't be able to go to charles, you're not slick)

carlossainz55: i never took you as a lap dog max

yourusername: calling him the lap dog when you're the biggest bitch on the grid - bold

carlossainz55: you're burning a lot of bridges for a talentless slut who had to start fucking my teammate when we cut you off

yourusername: keep throwing your PR to the fire and see who fucking hires you, i guess we'll both be unemployed bums

user80: also imagine calling her talentless like she isn't a well established poet LOL

user81: guys this is getting so bad so quickly

user82: we got the whole rest of the season of this

user83: mad respect to max for sticking up for his bestie

user84: and her actual boyfriend isn't?

yourusername: charles will do his talking on the track like he always does. he won't debase himself with bickering in instagram comments, funnily enough ferrari don't like that - might be the reason he still has a seat and someone doesn't

carlossainz55: or he's a pussy who has his woman talk for him

yourusername: at least he has a woman to talk for him, he doesn't behind his dad at any sign of trouble. i've always known i didn't matter to dad the moment i wasn't a boy but i'm not afraid of him or you and i know exactly how you work. good luck

user85: do they know we can all read this?

user86: when i'm in an oversharing contest and the sainz siblings walk in

user87: those ferrari debriefs are gonna be AWKWARD

yourusername: especially since he doesn't have binotto to hide behind any more

user88: girl you good?

yourusername: i've never been better, this has been building for years even before charles and i got together

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 908,487 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: i love you, it's ruining my life

view all comments

user89: y/n i'm gonna let you finish but we could really get the best poetry out of all of this

user90: for real like yeah i'm sorry your brother tried to make you homeless, exposed your relationship, accused you of treason and called you a talentless slut - but think of the poetry!

charles_leclerc: i love you and i hope you're okay

yourusername: i'll always be okay with you

charles_leclerc: it's out now and no one can take us away from each other

charles_leclerc: i'd actually love to see them try

yourusername: i'd go through this fortnight of hell over and over again if it meant i'd still keep you

charles_leclerc: i'd like to say this is the end of it but i think we're in for the long run now

yourusername: i'm prepared to go to war for you

charles_leclerc: there's no one i'd rather be on the front lines with

user91: oh brother... YOU'RE IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH A POET WE GET IT

charles_leclerc: * in love with

user91: oh my bad

charles_leclerc: no worries

user91: STILL GROSS BRO

liked by maxverstappen1

charles_leclerc: max ???

maxverstappen1: you guys need to calm down cause i'm not good with words and kelly is gonna start scrutinising my cards and i DO NOT HAVE THE VOCABULARY FOR IT

yourusername: lol

maxverstappen1: lol? LOL? did our brief yet forced stint as roommates mean nothing?

yourusername: fine i'll ghostwrite your valentines cards

user92: so this is all a bit melodramatic

user93: he CHANGED THE LOCKS BRO SHE HAS THE RIGHT TO BE MELODRAMATIC

liked by charles_leclerc

user94: okay so now we're in full blown f1 civil war - who is on each side?

user95: well max and pierre are on charles' side. i'd also add in lewis, seb, oscar, esteban, george, alex, yuki and daniel

user96: so carlos has lando and fernando?

fernandoalo_oficial: it might not be blood but that's my daughter

user96: ????

user97: did he just show up to diss carlos and then refuse to elaborate?

user98: sounds like a nando thing to do .... also just leaves carlos with lando lol

user99: this feels a bit unfair

yourusername: all is fair in love and poetry

fin.

note: so as soon as i had this idea (litr TTPD release day) i have been so busy and WHACKED with the worst writer's block but i hope this is a good start and rest assured knowing the beef will only get worse... I LOVE DRAMA

note: hiii extra note from me here. first, i will fix this tag list at some point idk why it's not working rn. secondly, i have been made aware by multiple people that there is a series just like this one down to characters and the name of the series on here and i can't lie i'm bummed about it. as i said on the first part (?) this is an idea i've had since the release of TTPD (and people will back me up on this) so it bums me out that there are blatant copies coming out! i'm all for inspiration but sometimes there's a difference between taking inspo and copying especially when my masterlist was posted ages ago and my first part was posted on the 9th of may.... anyways that's all i have to say! enjoy xx

taglist: @aadu2173 @rhythmstars @kqliie @booksandflowrs @2bormaybenot @firelily-mimi @evie-119

[monzabee]

You know I'm obsessed with the nanny series so of course I have to send my little request to get more of them!!

And I was thinking, what if Jack has a football game and so Hotch and the nanny come to see him? I let you work your magic on that one, I trust you with all my heart 👀🩷

ice pops, jerseys, and the hotchner frown - a. hotchner

criminal minds masterlist || part of the nanny series

Summary: you show up for one of jack’s soccer games, and aaron has never been so distracted in his life.

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Word Count: 2.5k 

Warnings: hotch is down baaaad and he is in his feeelingssss, jealousy (duh) but other than that, none

Author’s Note: ALI THANK YOU FOR THIS REQUEST, this was very fun for me to work with and i hope you like this!!!

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

Aaron likes to think that he is a modern man. He is up with the times; thanks to Penelope Garcia and her newsletter updates on pop culture news as well as tech updates, for him to consider as their unit chief, of course. And he would never dream of telling anyone what to wear, let alone a woman—let alone you. He’d also like to think that you’ve managed to break down all his expectations when it comes to fashion, he’s only now realizing how wrong he’s been.  

But when he steps into Jack’s soccer practice and sees you standing there in that jersey, it takes everything in him to keep his expression neutral. Jack spots him first, waving excitedly from the field. “Dad!” he calls, voice full of excitement. “Did you see? Y/N’s wearing my jersey!” 

Aaron’s mouth parts slightly before he clamps it shut. He does see. The red and white jersey with “Hotchner” stamped across the back fits on you like a glove. It’s his son’s, and yet, for some inexplicable reason, the sight of you in it makes something tighten in his chest, and somewhere else he’d rather not focus on at the moment. 

You turn at Jack’s announcement, grinning as you meet Aaron’s gaze. “Hey, Mister Hotchner,” you say, and it makes him feel a thousand times worse because you genuinely don’t realize what you’ve just done to him. “Jack said I needed to wear this for good luck.” 

Aaron blinks, willing himself to focus on your words rather than the way the jersey clings to you in places it has no business clinging to. “Good luck,” he echoes, voice steady—only because he’s had years of practice keeping his emotions in check. 

“Duh, for the game, obviously.” You gesture to the field, where Jack and his teammates are running drills. “I’ve been promoted to unofficial team mascot.” Aaron exhales slowly, nodding as if this is all perfectly normal. It should be. And yet, it’s not. Because it’s his name stretched across your back, his son’s jersey molding against your frame. And now, all he can think about is how easily you’ve slipped into their lives, how natural it feels to see you here, cheering Jack on, standing beside him. “I know your meeting ran late, but Dave got here early so he could set up for the drills, so you should be fine, coach.” 

“What did you just call me?” He asks as he turns towards you faster than he’d like. 

You blink up at him, completely unfazed by the sharpness of his tone. You tilt your head, clearly amused. “Coach? That is what you are, right?” 

Aaron narrows his eyes at you, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Since when do you call me that?” 

You shrug. “Since you started bossing people around with that serious FBI voice of yours. Thought it was fitting.” 

A small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips before he tamps it down. He is the coach, and he’s used to being called that by the kids and their parents. But hearing you say it in that teasing lilt, wearing his name—it does something to him.  Before he can say anything, the whistle blows, signaling the end of practice. Jack waves at you from afar as he calls for his father to join them. 

“Are you sticking around?” Aaron asks, already knowing the answer. 

You shrug, rocking back on your heels. “Of course. Someone’s gotta be here to hand out the orange slices.” 

He gives you a dutiful nod—something Jack also does, now that you think about it. “I’ll see you after the game.” 

He tries to focus on the game, he really does. He is the coach, after all. But the task proves to be nearly impossible, as all he can think about is the way his son’s old jersey fits around you, snug as a bug, and those goddamn shorts that you are wearing. He’d love nothing more to march up to Washington and make them pass a law that prohibits you from ever wearing shorts like that outside the house, but he’s a little preoccupied at the moment. And don’t even get him started by the way you’ve made yourself at home on the sidelines—legs crossed, sun-kissed skin on full display, completely oblivious to the chaos you’re causing in his head. 

It’s absurd, really. He’s a grown man, an FBI agent, a father, and yet he can’t seem to stop himself from glancing over between plays, from tracking your movements out of the corner of his eye. It’s distracting in a way he’s not proud of. Aaron is a disciplined man. He has spent years perfecting his ability to compartmentalize, to suppress, to control—but right now? But it proves to be an arduous task to compartmentalize, as you lean forward to hand Jack a water bottle, the jersey riding up just enough to make his already wayward thoughts worse—he feels like he’s losing a battle he didn’t even realize he was fighting. 

And don’t even get him started on the way you cheer. 

It should be innocent. It is innocent. But every time you call out Jack’s name, every time you shout encouragement in that bright, excited voice, Aaron feels something deep in his chest unravel. He swears he even hears Dave chuckle from the other end of the bench, because of course he would notice.  

Rossi has a talent for sniffing out trouble, and right now, Aaron is drowning in it.  From his spot near the bench, he lets out a quiet chuckle “You know, for a man who prides himself on control, you’re slipping,” Rossi murmurs, just low enough for Aaron to hear. 

Aaron doesn’t look away from the field. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Rossi hums knowingly. “Right.” 

Aaron exhales sharply, forcing himself to focus. But when he hears you laugh, it takes everything in him not to look. And then he does.  

And he immediately regrets it. 

Because you’re sitting there, completely unaware of the absolute disaster you’re causing in his head, eating a popsicle like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Aaron feels his jaw tighten. His grip on the clipboard in his hand, already tense, threatens to snap it in two. He tells himself to look away, to focus on the game, to coach—but it’s impossible when you’re sitting there, all sun-kissed skin and bright eyes, tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of melted syrup before it drips onto your fingers. And he even hates himself for catching the way a stray drop drips onto your bare skin.  

He should not be watching this. 

And yet, he can’t seem to stop. 

The ice pop is red—strawberry? cherry?—he doesn’t know, doesn’t care, except that it’s leaving a stain on your lips, and his thoughts spiral into places they should not go. He drags a hand over his face, as if that will somehow erase the image from his brain. It doesn’t. 

“Hotch.” He hears Rossi calling out to him, but it’s a distant sound in his head. 

Aaron blinks, forcing his attention back to the field, only to find Rossi staring at him with an expression that’s far too smug for his liking. “Hmm?” he grunts, clearing his throat. 

“You’re staring.” 

“I’m coaching,” Aaron corrects, schooling his face into something neutral. 

Rossi smirks. “Right. And I’m the Queen of England.” 

Aaron exhales slowly through his nose, gripping the clipboard even tighter. He is coaching. He is focused on the game. Except he can still see you out of the corner of his eye, tilting your head back slightly as you take another slow, deliberate pull of the ice pop. 

He’s never hated frozen desserts more in his life, and he’s convinced of three things: 

One, this is, without a doubt, some kind of karmic punishment. Two, he is well and truly screwed. And three, Rossi is heading towards you.  

Rossi is heading towards—you. 

Rossi is heading towards you! 

Aaron does what a normal, adult, person would do. Try and focus on the task at hand—the task being his son’s soccer the game, the very game that he is supposed to be coaching, by the way. But he fails. Spectacularly. 

Because Rossi is already strolling toward you with that damn smug expression, hands in his pockets, every step of his leisurely pace feeling like a direct attack on Aaron’s sanity. And then—you look up, all bright-eyed and warm, like you belong here, like you’re completely unaware of the way you’ve turned his world sideways. 

“Y/N,” Rossi greets, easy as ever. “Come sit with us at the bench.” 

You blink up at him, mid-bite into your ice pop. “Oh, I’m okay here—” 

“Nonsense.” Rossi waves a dismissive hand. “You’re already part of the team, unofficial mascot and all. Plus,” he adds, barely sparing Aaron a glance, “our dear coach could use some company.” 

Aaron will kill him. 

You hesitate for only a second before grinning. “Well, if you insist.” 

Rossi definitely insists. Before Aaron can even think to protest, you’re already standing, brushing your hands off on your shorts before following Rossi back to the bench—back to him. 

And suddenly, you’re dropping down onto the seat beside him, close enough that he can smell your sunscreen, the faintest trace of something sweet lingering on your skin. The heat of your leg presses into his, and— 

This is fine. 

This is totally fine. 

“So, Coach,” you tease, nudging his arm. “How do you think we’re doing?” 

Aaron swallows hard. He keeps his eyes fixed on the field, straightening his clipboard as if it will somehow ground him. “They’re playing well,” he says, voice steady. He will not react to the warmth of your touch, to the way your shoulder brushes against his. 

You hum, leaning forward on your elbows and rest them on your knees. “That’s good.” Aaron does not look. Rather, he forces himself not to look. And this strategy proves to be utterly useless, because if he’s been completely honest, it’s very hard for him to focus on his son’s soccer game when you are sitting next to him. You pause for a beat, squinting at the field with a serious expression that makes Aaron glance at you from the corner of his eye. You look…focused. Intent. But then you speak. “Still think we need to work on defense though. Number eleven keeps drifting too far left.” 

Aaron’s head snaps toward you. You don’t look at him, just sip the last of your melting ice pop and squint again, like you’re some kind of assistant coach. “How do you know that?” he asks before he can stop himself. 

You smile, finally meeting his eyes. “What, you think I come to all these practices just for the orange slices?” 

Yes, actually. That is what he thought. You weren’t supposed to notice things like this. You weren’t supposed to talk tactics with him, like it was the most normal thing in the world to be sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the sidelines of his son’s soccer game, sharing this—what is this? 

Rossi, still sitting a few feet away, chuckles low under his breath. “Told you she’s sharper than she looks.” 

You roll your eyes. “Gee, thanks, Dave.” 

Aaron, for once in his life, is speechless. And maybe—maybe a little charmed. Okay, a lot charmed. He watches the way your brow furrows as Jack misses a goal, how you mutter something encouraging under your breath even though Jack can’t hear you from here. You care. You’re invested. And it stirs something deep in his chest, something warm and a little terrifying.  

And he knows he’s screwed.  

Royally, thoroughly screwed. 

“Okay,” you say, stretching your arms over your head with a satisfied sigh. “Game’s almost over. Win or lose, I say they deserve ice cream.” 

Aaron arches a brow. “You handing that out too 

You flash him a grin that’s definitely not innocent and your voice is nothing but mischievous. “If you’re lucky.” 

His mouth goes dry and he hears Dave cackle. He’s thanking God when the whistle blows, mercifully, signaling the end of the game. The kids scatter across the field, high fives and messy celebrations all around. Jack is beaming, the team won. But Aaron can barely focus on the score because you’re already standing, calling out to Jack, arms open wide as he barrels into you for a hug. It should be cute. It is cute. But it also knocks the air out of Aaron’s lungs, seeing his son wrapped up in your arms like you’ve always been a part of their little world. 

Jack is still bouncing with excitement as you ruffle his hair, beaming down at him like he just won the World Cup. “You were so good out there,” you say, and Jack practically glows under the praise. “That pass you made in the second half? Genius. I might need your autograph before you get famous.” 

Jack giggles. “You really think so?” 

“Think so? I know so,” you say, eyes twinkling. “Soccer and math whiz? You're unstoppable.” 

Hotch watches it all from a short distance away, pretending not to stare while Rossi mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “whipped” beside him. Jack tugs on your sleeve suddenly, glancing up at you, then at his dad. “Hey, did you notice how Dad was frowning the whole game?” 

You snort, trying not to laugh too hard. “Oh, I noticed. He looked like the team was negotiating with serial killers instead of playing soccer.” 

Aaron sighs—loudly—and gives you both a long-suffering look. “I wasn’t frowning.” 

“Yes, you were,” Jack and you say in perfect unison. Jack starts giggling again, and you bump shoulders with him like you’re part of some inside joke. “I think he was just concentrating,” you offer dramatically. “On pretending not to be nervous that someone else might know what ‘offsides’ means.” 

Aaron huffs, but there’s no real heat to it. “I’m surrounded.” 

You just flash him that same not-so-innocent grin, and Jack grabs your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Can we still get ice cream?” 

“Obviously,” you say, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “A deal’s a deal. Even your grumpy dad can’t argue with that.” 

Jack turns to Aaron, wide-eyed. “Please?” 

Hotch nods, slow. “Sure. Ice cream it is.” 

But even as he speaks, his attention is somewhere else—on you, your fingers still wrapped around Jack’s, the way you’re talking to his son like he’s yours too, the easy, natural way you fit beside them.You weren’t supposed to become part of this. Not like this. Certainly not this fast. But now you’re here, and Jack is looking at you like you’ve always been here. And Aaron feels it again—that sudden, tight warmth in his chest.  

And maybe that’s what does it. 

Maybe that’s what finally makes Aaron Hotchner realize—he’s not just charmed. Not just distracted. He’s falling. Hard. And there’s not a damn thing he can do to stop it. But maybe it’s also okay. 

Because as Jack tugs you both toward the car, chattering about his goal and asking what flavors you think the shop has today, Aaron can’t help but think—this is what home could look like. Not just peace and quiet and safety. But laughter. Teasing. Ice cream plans. 

And you. 

God help him, it’s you. 

[rafey-baby]

sweet treat 5

shy!reader really wants to tell construction worker!rafe how she feels but what if he doesn’t feel the same way?  

c/w: the L word, mostly fluff, her being an overthinker & getting a little jealous, pda, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2.3k 

sooo this is the last part! (might write some extras but i make no promises) & just wanted to say how much i appreciate everyone who reads my stuff. the first part was my first piece of writing on this blog and i was overjoyed by the warm welcome and all the kind comments, asks & reblogs (nothing goes unnoticed by me!) so thank u so so much for being so lovely <33

series masterlist

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

It’s been exactly two weeks since she came to terms with the fact that she’s in love with him.

She hasn’t been able to sleep all that well and has tried her very best to avoid Rafe, albeit fruitlessly since he insists on driving her home every day and on top of that, often invites himself over or asks her to stay the night at his— not accepting her excuses about being tired and having to wake up early.   

“Why don’t we jus’…be tired ‘n wake up early together then?” his grin is playful. And how is she meant to refuse that?  

And if everything he does wasn’t already suffocating her enough, he’s now helping with the renovation of the cafe since her boss wanted to expand the business; turn the small coffee shop into a bigger one in hopes of more space for new tables and seats, because the amount of clients they got was beginning to be too much for everyone to comfortably enjoy their stay. 

Therefore, she now has to work in the same building as him every single day because (unfortunately) the renovation work isn’t disturbing the current cafe from running nor decreasing the number of customers with a sweet tooth or a craving for their usual morning coffee.   

And none of this would be a problem, if Rafe wasn’t walking around all sweaty and dusty, biceps bulging whenever he’d lift wooden planks over his shoulder or carry around different equipment— looking as attractive as ever.

And with these newfound lovey-dovey feelings trying to break through the surface, she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to stop herself from ogling him or keep her rapid heartbeats to herself whenever he wanders over for a chat on his breaks. She tries to act as normal as she can, but she can tell that he’s starting to pick up on her excessive rambling and stuttering, flushed cheeks and anxious fingers fixing her hair every two seconds whenever he’s talking to her.  

In fact, she’s certain he can see right through her, knows that she’s hiding something. She can practically see how he wants to bring it up more often than not, but seemingly hasn’t found the right way to approach the subject yet, and she can sense that she’s running out of time— can’t tolerate lying to him for much longer.   

She’s been thinking this whole thing through over and over again, to the point of her head hurting while she bakes Rafe’s favorite lemon raspberry cookies as a distraction and because he’s been working so hard she wants to surprise him; see the soft smile that makes the whole world glitter whenever he graces her with it.  

And she wants to tell him, wants him to know how deeply she feels for him; how much she appreciates him but every time she tries to open her mouth, the words seem to evaporate before they’ve even begun to sprout on her nervous tongue.

Because what if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if this is all just a casual thing for him and she’s making it into something more than it is? These bleak thoughts turn her mood sour— a pout forming on her lips as she concentrates on topping the flamingo pink icing with fresh blueberries, adding the final touches to their most popular vanilla cupcakes.

And as she’s taking Rafe’s cookies out the oven, she comes to the conclusion that she really only has two options; she either tells him or she doesn’t.

If she tells him, there’s a very high possibility that he looks at her with a crease between his brows and words about not wanting for this to be anything serious hitting her against the face. And if she doesn’t, then…well she doesn’t really have anything to lose, does she? Except maybe the what ifs haunting her for the rest of eternity.   

She tries to get rid of the tormenting thoughts with a shake of her head as she sets the cookies off to cool down, and begins to place the finished cupcakes onto the display counter, trying her hardest to just forget about it all.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - -  

Later that day, when Rafe is contently munching on the cookies she plated for him and happily distracting her from work, someone approaches the counter; a girl with glossy lips and shiny hair.   

“Hi! Could I please get a mango matcha latte?” her eyes are as green as grass as she places her order.  

“Of course, would you like it with ice or no ice?”   

“With ice, please.”

“Coming right up,” she gives the girl a polite smile when her payment goes through.   

“You’re working on the renovation?” the girl’s attention then turns towards Rafe, making Y/N’s gaze flicker over to them as she puts blended mango into the bottom of a tall glass.  

“Yeah, the cafe’s gon’ be twice as big as it’s now,” he drawls, putting the half-eaten baked good down.   

“That’s so cool. You know, I’ve always wondered how construction workers are so strong. Do you go to the gym a lot?” a saccharine voice reaches Y/N’s ears, making her brows furrow while she measures the right amount of matcha powder, trying to appear nonchalant.   

“Uh, yeah, yeah, also think m’workdays sometimes count as workouts,” he scratches the back of his head as she lets out a giggle. It wasn’t that funny, Y/N thinks with a roll of her eyes.   

“Hey, I was actually wondering if maybe you’d wanna hang out sometime? Could give you my number?”   

Something muddy swirls in her stomach in response to the girl’s straightforward question. She doesn’t particularly appreciate the fact that she’s blatantly hitting on Rafe right in front of her, even if she’s painfully aware that they’re not together and the girl probably assumed they were just friends, which they are.  

However, she can’t prevent herself from turning grumpy from the mere notion of him being interested in someone else. After all, the girl is stunning and she wouldn’t really blame him if he wanted to at least consider her offer.  

“Uh, m’actually not available right now,” he offers an apologetic smile when the girl’s shoulders slump.   

“No? That’s a shame. Well, let me know when that changes?” she gives him a flirty smile that makes Y/N quietly scoff as she pours the milk into the mix.  

“S’not changing anytime soon,” she mutters under her breath, making both of their heads turn towards her.   

Fuck, did she really say that out loud?  

“Sorry?” the girl asks, muted jade settling on her suddenly tense form.

“Oh, um— jus’ that…here’s your drink,” she peeps out in her state of embarrassment, feeling Rafe’s eyes burning into the side of her face as she sticks a paper straw into the beverage; the ice cubes clinking together when she hands it out to her.

“Right, thanks,” she says before looking over to Rafe once more, seemingly expecting him to give her an answer of his own.  

“Uh…yeah, what she said. Not changin’ anytime soon,” his grin is wide, making the girl’s cheeks flush.  

And when it’s just the two of them again, she flits her eyes down— busying herself with a wooden container of tea bags she’s trying to organize, unable to face him.  

“What was, uh…what was that about?” his tone is taunting, an annoying smirk playing on his features.  

“Nothing,” she quickly dismisses, avoiding his gaze.  

“Nothin’? You’re tellin’ me you weren’t just real fuckin’ jealous two seconds ago?”  

“N—no,” she can’t even convince herself with the pitiful denial.  

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, m’all yours, alright?” he chuckles as he stuffs the rest of the cookie into his mouth.  

“How did you know I jus’ was cravin’ these?” he asks around the mouthful as she tries to brush aside the sudden tingle in her ribcage.   

- - - - - - - - - - - - -  

A few days later, when her shift is coming to an end, her other coworker already beginning to take orders and telling her she’s free to go, she drags Rafe behind the counter and practically forces him to taste test a new recipe she’s tried out; a walnut carrot cake with lime buttercream. 

“Wow, this is…amazing. The sourness in the frosting is so good,” his voice is muffled by his chewing and her heart warms in response to his commentary, never one to shy away from showering her in compliments.  

“You think so? I actually added the lime jus’ cause I know how much you like citrus fruits so, m’really glad you like it,” she beams at him.  

“Yeah? Made this jus’ for me, huh? Can I ask why m’gettin’ this special treatment all of a sudden?” his tone is playful, tongue licking over his bottom lip to clean up the bit of icing lingering there.   

“Well, cause I love you and—” she blurts out before her entire body tenses; mouth hanging open in shock and wide eyes slowly moving to look at him, trying to verify whether he heard it or not. Of course he did. She wasn’t exactly quiet now, was she?   

“You…you love me?” he raises his brows in surprise.  

“Uh…I— I didn’t mean to…I mean, you probably don’t feel the same so doesn’t really matter. Just— um...jus’ forget I said that. I don’t know why I—”   

“What are you talkin’ about? You think I spend most of my time with you cause I…what? Dislike you? You can be so silly sometimes, you know?” he scoffs, setting the golden fork down on the porcelain plate.  

She stays silent. 

“What I’m sayin’ is that m’obsessed with you. I mean, you’re even in my fuckin’ dreams, right? But listen, love has always been a little, uh, tricky for me cause m’relationship with my family has always been, uh, complicated? But if me wantin’ to spend every second of my day with you means I love you too, then, shit, maybe I do. But I need some time before I can really say that shit, you get that?” his words are honest and raw and she thinks her rattling heart is going to beat out of her chest.  

“I— um…yeah, of course. Take all the time you need,” she finally manages out.  

“Hey, c’mere,” he says before he’s practically dragging her dumbfounded form into his embrace; — beefy arms pulling her flush against his chest.  

“I mean, we’re basically already datin’ at this point, no? Wasn’t sure how to make it official without freakin’ you out but since you love me, think you’re all good, yeah?” 

She mumbles something incoherent in response.  

“So wanna be my little girlfriend or what?” he murmurs into her hair.  

“I— of course I do,” she speaks against his shirt.   

“Yeah?”   

“Mhm,” she hums before he tucks an index finger under her chin and lifts her face to look up at him—his thumb toying with her bottom lip before he’s leaning down and smearing a sloppy kiss against her mouth.   

“Shit, you’re so adorable, jus’ wanna swallow you whole sometimes,” he murmurs with a soft smile tugging at his lips and eyes twinkling with something syrupy in them.   

“I love you,” she mumbles, almost inaudible; words still too tender to consciously say out loud.   

“Say it again,” he practically demands.  

“Um…I love you,” her voice is nearly a whisper.  

“What was that? Think you can say it a little louder?” he teases.   

“Rafe, stop…you’re embarrassing me,” she whines, cheeks heating up.

“No, m’not. Jus’ wanna hear you say it,” his smirk is all big and smug and it makes her huff.  

“ILOVEYOU, okay?” the words mesh together like fluffy clouds in the sky and her volume is louder than he’s probably ever heard it, causing a couple of curious heads to turn and the lively chatter around them to quiet down some.   

“Yeah? You guys heard that? She LOVES me,” he’s nearly shouting, looking around with a stupid grin on his face— making her flush and hide behind her hands as a few customers cheerfully titter in entertainment.  

“Congrats, dude!” someone even yells.

“Oh my god, Rafe. Why would you do that?” her mortified eyes widen as she crouches down; trying to find shelter behind the pale-yellow counter. “M’never leaving my house again,” she complains with a glare.   

However, he doesn’t seem all that bothered by the whole thing, simply chuckling with dimples denting his cheeks— the light-hearted sound making her stomach flutter despite the humiliation crawling up her spine and making her want to vanish into the cracks on the floorboards.   

“Of course you are, m’your boyfriend now which means m’takin’ you out on a date tomorrow, yeah?” he lifts her up with a grip on her waist, pulling her flush against him while his fingertips slip underneath the hem of her shirt, smoothing over her bare stomach and making her let out a squeak.  

Then, he’s grasping her jaw in one hand and pressing his mouth on hers again— her protests withering away like a dead rose when he slips his tongue past the seam of her lips, dragging out an involuntary whimper from her, before she pulls away and hides her face in his chest when she feels multiple pairs of eyes staring at them.  

“Rafe, can we just go already?” she pleads, voice small before he’s guiding her out of the coffee shop; his hand resting on the small of her back and calming her down some. 

And despite the little scene he caused, she thinks she might just be the happiest girl on the island as he helps her climb into his truck with a honeyed kiss warming the apple of her cheek.

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 (𝐈𝐈)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader

Summary: After you reveal the truth of what your relationship really was between you and Miguel, everyone's keen on learning more. So what better way to give a little more insight than a dinner at your shared home?

Warnings: None~ Just back again with silly shenanigans and the softest of fluff :3

A/N: Hello, everyone! After the first part of 'What's In Between' blew up (you can read it here, thank you so much by the way, you're all so sweet), many people have asked for a part two, so here it is! Enjoy <3

The moment you break the news to them, the volume of the table booms to a fever pitch as everyone begins talking at the same time.

“W-WHAT?!”

“Married? No way,” Hobie says.

“How long have you been together?” Pavitr asks.

“I can’t say I saw this coming…” Miles says, eyes widening in surprise.

Miguel had been watching you the moment you snuck up on the group, but with the newfound panic from everyone he couldn’t help but make his way over to the commotion.

“You’re all being loud, what are you yelling about now?” Miguel asks, walking over and standing by your side.

“HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL US YOU WERE MARRIED?!” Gwen shouts.

“You never asked,” he blinks, “and also, it’s none of your business.”

“Miguel, as your best friend I am deeply offended that you haven’t told me after this long, does our friendship mean nothing to you?” Peter says, hand on his chest in pretend hurt.

“You are not my best friend,” Miguel deadpans.

“After I opened up to you no less, I mean, you were the first person I told about Mayday! All the details-” he continues, ignoring the comment.

“Not by choice,” he mutters.

“Does no one know about this?? At all???” Pavitr asks, “I mean, you two are married.”

“I mean, Jess knows about it,” you gesture, and she only grins.

“And now all of you do too,” Miguel sighs. “Vida mía, I thought we talked about this,” he admonishes.

“Oh, c’mon, it was cute how they were all trying to figure it out for so long. I was starting to feel bad,” you say, smoothing your hair back. He only stares at you for a moment before sighing.

“Fine,” he relents, “Can’t do anything about it now anyway.” He smiles softly at you, and the group watches in awe as their cold leader softens in your presence, but his gaze quickly grows dark as he turns back to the group.

“One word of this to anyone outside of this group,” he says with a pointed finger before trailing off, allowing everyone to fill in the blanks as to what he might do.

Everyone’s faces pale like a sheet at the unnamed threat (well, except for Hobie, he only watches with blatant amusement on his face), but you only laugh.

“Miguel, don’t threaten the kids,” you giggle. “Don’t worry, he’s all bark and no bite,” you whisper to them with a wink.

“Hey, that’s what I say!” Peter says.

“You are his best friend after all,” you grin.

“I have never said those words a day in my life,” he scoffs, but you ignore him, eyes lighting up with an idea.

“Oh! I have a lovely idea, how about you all swing by our place for dinner later? We never have guests,” you suggest.

Gwen gasps, “Really?”

“This…maybe doesn’t seem like the best idea,” Miles says as he shrinks down in his seat at Miguel’s glare towards you.

“I have plans tonight…though I don’t think they’d mind if I cancel,” Hobie says nonchalantly, but everyone knew there was no way in hell he’d miss something like this.

“What am I, cat litter?” Jess asks. She was the only person to have been at your shared home, having joined around the same time as you, and being one of the few people Miguel fully trusts.

“You know it's not like that, Jess,” you turn to her with a grin.

“Absolutely not, it's already a liability that they know querida, now you want them traipsing into our home?” Miguel argues, and you narrow your eyes at him, never one to back down from a fight. While it got on his nerves, it's what he loved about you too. He needed someone that wouldn’t take his shit.

“Miguel,” you say, giving him a look. “All our enemies are literally in alternate universes who, aside from those small tears, have no way to go cross-dimensional, let alone find us in the expanse of a universe. Besides, I think it would be nice,” you say, and Mayday seems to agree since she climbs right up into your arms, babbling happily.

“And don’t think I don’t know you have a soft spot for this lil ragtag team,” you smile, bouncing up and down as Mayday laughs.

He huffs, “I am anything but soft, especially for them. They never listen, don’t follow protocol, are immature, and the list goes on.”

“He’s lying,” you whisper, covering your mouth from his direction as though that would stop him from happening. Mayday grabs your hand though, playing with your fingers happily. “See how his ears are turning red?”

At that, his ears turn more red and the group tries to stifle their snickers to no avail.

“Querida,” he warns. “Do you feel the need to share anything else about me? Or have you had enough,” he asks, poking your shoulder. You place a hand on his bicep with a gentle smile, and his expression softens much to his dismay.

“Honey, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you grin. “Alright, it’s settled then! You’re all coming over tonight.”

~

You hummed softly to yourself as you moved around the kitchen, preparing the food for dinnertime when everyone would be coming over.

Then, you feel the hair rise on the back of your neck as a familiar presence makes himself known, strong arms wrapping around your waist as his head rests on top of yours.

“Vida mía, the food smells good,” he says softly before sighing. “But I’m not very happy with you today.”

You let out a sigh of your own as you turn off the stove before turning around in his arms to face him.

“Miguel, my love,” you say, smoothing out the collar of the pullover he wore before looking up at him. “I know you well, don’t I?”

“More than anyone,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting the tiniest amount as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Then it’s safe to assume that you’ve been wanting to hang out with more people in the Society apart from work-related things?” you ask, placing your hand on his chest.

“I can’t afford anything like that in this line of work, you know that querida,” he sighs, that familiar hardened look in his eyes for a moment.

“Miguel, your only friends can’t be me, Lyla and Jess,” you pout.

“Vida mía, you are my wife,” he says.

“Yes, and it's miracle enough that I was able to grow close enough to you to get to that point,” you chuckle, “so my existence in your life is proof itself that you are capable of growing close to people. I’ve seen you, I think you’re ready and deep down I know you don’t always want to be perceived as the cold and unfeeling leader of the Society. Why not start with them?”

“That’s not a decision for you to make,” he says, glancing away from you.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” you apologize, feeling a bit guilty that you threw Miguel into this without warning. “I should have spoken to you about it first but who knows. Maybe this is a good thing, opening your heart a little more,” you explain. “Don’t think I realize you’re the hardest on them because you believe in them,” you smile.

He huffs before pausing to think for a moment. “Sometimes I wonder when you snuck your little way into my head, querida.”

“Admit it, you’re growing soft,” you giggle softly.

“Never,” he counters, tickling your side which makes you scrunch up your face as you laugh breathlessly.

“OKAY! Okay, you’re one soft fluffy teddy bear, happy?” you say which only makes him continue with even more fervour.

“That is the most ridiculous thing I think I have ever heard you say, querida,” he snorts but finally relents.

“Yeah….I can’t even say that with a serious face,” you chuckle. “But you do have your moments, tough guy,” you smile, leaning up on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his lips.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” he rolls his eyes. That’s when the doorbell rings, and immediately your eyes light up.

“Oh! They’re here!!” you say excitedly, escaping from his grasp as you move to open up the door.

“Here we go,” he murmurs to himself, and you turn to face him.

“What was that?” you ask.

“Nothing, vida mía,” he replies, and you narrow your eyes in disbelief.

“Behave, Miguel,” you tell him.

“Wouldn’t dream of anything else,” he replies, and you grin before opening up the front door.

There, you find Miles, Gwen, Pavitr, Peter (alongside Mayday of course), Hobie and Jess all standing outside, chatting amongst themselves before turning to you.

Miles almost looks like he’s in disbelief like he couldn’t really believe this was your home quite yet.

“Hi!” Gwen starts.

“Took you lot long enough,” Hobie says. “Was starting to think we'd have to build a fire and cook it ourselves.” Gwen punches his shoulder, to which he lets out a little “Ow!”

“Sorry about him,” Gwen apologizes.

You just find yourself laughing at it all though.

“No apologies needed, we were a little preoccupied. Come on in, make yourself at home,” you say, opening the door a little wider for them to make their way through.

“Not too at home though,” you hear Miguel say, leaning into the foyer from the living room, arms crossed over his chest.

“Ignore him,” you say, giving him a pointed look to which he just stares at you blankly. “Dinner will be ready soon, I just have to set the table and we can eat, alright?”

“It smells delicious,” Pavitr says, “I’m starving.”

Mayday seems to agree as she crawls up from the baby carrier onto Peter’s head, making grabby hands from the top.

“Someone’s hungry,” Peter chuckles. “Got anything she can eat?”

“I have a few things, don’t worry,” you smile.

“It really does smell really good though, but it always does,” Jess adds.

“It’s nothing special,” you say sheepishly. “Just some of Miguel’s favourites.”

You guide them all into the living room. “Settle in! I’ll be done in a snap,” you say.

As you make your way back to the kitchen (with Jess joining you to help out), back in the living room the squad of spiders settle in almost hesitantly, a watchful eye monitoring all of their reactions.

No one dares say anything, only sitting around nervously.

“So…nice weather we’re having,” Peter says, trying to lighten the mood but even Mayday gives him a deadpanned expression.

Miguel sighs. “You’re all acting like there’s a ticking time bomb waiting for you to speak before setting off,” he says, still leaning up against the doorway.

“We don’t know, mate. Is there?” Hobie jokes, but Miles’ face drops anyway.

“There isn’t, for the record. I can be harsh but I’m not evil,” Miguel scoffs before making eye contact with Pavitr who looks like he wanted to ask something but was holding back.

“One question,” he says simply with a nod.

“How long have you two been together?”

“…a little over 4 years now,” he replies.

“How did you meet?” Gwen asks.

“I said one question,” he says before your voice cuts in.

“My universe was one of the first he visited! He hated me back then, though,” you laugh as you walk back in. “Speaking of which!! I have some things you might all want to see after dinner,” you grin mischievously.

“I thought you said I was the one that had to behave, mi corazón,” Miguel says, a warning tone in his voice.

“And I am, aren’t I?” you say, poking his side playfully. “Anyway, dinner’s ready,” you say, leading them to the dining room. “I know it's not much but-”

“How in the hell is this not much??” Hobie exclaims, and you just shrug. “You should see dinner with my family, then you will think that it’s not much,” you say with a chuckle.

On the table sat a wide expanse of food, all of Miguel’s favourites from Mexico. Empanadas as the appetizer, alongside pozole, ceviche, enchiladas, and chicken with mole poblano all served with a side of rice, beans, or homemade corn tortillas depending on each person’s preference.

You can see Miguel’s eyes visibly brighten as he looks at the food, settling in at the head of the table with you by his side.

“Come eat!” As you say that, everyone sits down before beginning to eat, everyone heading straight to what appealed to them the most.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” Miles says, eyes closed in bliss.

“Oye, don’t let your Mother hear that, kid,” Miguel says, but the corner of his lip was upturned in the tiniest of smiles. The most he would allow himself around this many people.

“Thank you, Miles,” you smile.

“This, uhh, how do you say it again? Poh-zuhl?” Gwen asks, and you laugh out loud as she turns pink, meanwhile both Miguel and Miles cringe slightly.

“I’m sorry for laughing, sweetheart. You’re almost there; it’s pronounced like ‘poh-zoh-lay’,” you say kindly.

“Ohh, okay gotcha. Pozole. It’s really good! Feels…comforting, almost,” she says.

“Yes,” you say, glancing at your husband with a soft smile, “it’s Miguel’s favourite. Says it ‘tastes like home’.” A chorus of ‘awws’ go around the table, while Miguel only holds the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

“Alright, alright. Enough with the cheesy stuff, let’s get back to eating, yeah?” Hobie says before shoving his fork back into his mouth.

~

Once dinner was finished (and after both Miles and Gwen insisted that they did the dishes despite much argument from you), everyone was settled again in the living room laughing and talking together, and while Miguel only said a few things here and there and sat by your side like a lost puppy, he did seem to be enjoying himself.

“Alright! Now, before everyone goes back home, I have one more thing I’d like to show you,” you say once it quiets down a bit. Standing up, you make your way over to a large bookshelf you and Miguel had built together when you first moved in together.

“I’ve gotten tired of having only myself to show these photos to, so this is the perfect opportunity,” you smile.

“Querida-” Miguel says, holding out a hand to block your way but you look at him with pleading eyes, and he can’t do anything but relent. He couldn’t say no when you looked at him like that.

With a triumphant ‘haha!’ you grab a photo album labelled with a date and a single word; ‘Ours’.

Everyone crowds around as you place it down on the coffee table, and you open it up to the first page.

Gwen is the one that gasps first, eyes wide with awe.

“You both look so beautiful,” she says softly.

There, front and centre was a photo of you and Miguel on your wedding day. You were smiling wide at the camera, a bouquet of your favourite flowers in hand while Miguel only looked at you with an expression so in awe it was as though you painted the stars in the sky.

“You clean up nicely, big man,” Hobie comments, and Pavitr nods.

“Weddings, my favourite,” Jess says, a fond expression on her face as she thinks back to her own husband.

“I had a bird fly into my face at my wedding…but they are nice,” Peter says, rocking Mayday gently as she naps away after the hearty dinner even despite the commotion.

You continue to flip through the photobook, pausing periodically for a little anecdote about each one. Miguel had long stood up to make room for everyone else, but he looked at you in the same way he did on your wedding day.

Like you were the light of his life, the one good thing he had amongst the millions of universes parallel to his own. Like you were his everything.

~

“Admit it, you like them,” you smile, the house finally quiet after everyone headed home. He only rolls his eyes before pulling you into his lap, his face going into the crook of your neck as he holds you close.

“There is a big difference between ‘liking’ and ‘tolerating’, sweetheart,” he says, rubbing circles into your hip soothingly.

“Yeah, yeah, tough guy. Whatever you say,” you reply, wrapping your arms around his neck and settling into his touch with a happy sigh.

You both sit there for a moment in silence, the two of you weren’t ones to fill silence with mindless chatter. If words needn’t be said then they weren’t.

“That was…nice, though,” he admits softly after a little while.

“I know,” you whisper.

~

~

~

“That won’t happen again for a long while though,” he says, pulling away to look at you, crimson eyes pleading with you wordlessly.

You can’t do anything but laugh.

Taglist (for those who requested a part two): @lotustv @mars-ifuknowmeirlplsgoaway @elliewilliamsactualgf @randomhumans-blog @iluvkonig @phillygraves @gothgirlziez

[uppersidedreaminnn]

ENOUGH FOR YOU ★ S.JY

SYNOPSIS: jake has been on tour for two months now. awhile you should feel happy for him. your boyfriend living his dream, performing in front of thousands, city after city—there’s something else growing inside you. a quiet, creeping insecurity that he’s slowly slipping away.

PAIRING: idol!sim jaeyun x reader

GENRE: angst, hurt & comfort, feelings of insecurities, long distance relationship.

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated. let me know your thoughts!

the soft breeze brushes against your skin as you make your way home, the sky above dipped in rich pinks and oranges. it’s a beautiful afternoon—the kind that should make you feel at peace. and in some ways, it does. you smile to yourself, still floating from a client meeting that went surprisingly well. for once, the day felt like a win.

but just as you reach your apartment building, something stops you in your tracks.

a dog. a golden retriever, chasing after a ball that rolls to a stop right by your feet. his golden fur gleams in the light, tail wagging, tongue hanging out joyfully. you chuckle and crouch down, picking up the ball and tossing it again. the dog watches you intently before dashing after it like a bullet.

you pause, watching him go.

the golden retriever reminds you of jake.

that same playful energy, that same affectionate sparkle in his eyes. that warm, golden presence that always filled up any room he was in — and lately, one you’ve been missing more than you care to admit.

still smiling from the interaction, you make your way upstairs to your apartment, the image of the retriever lingering in your mind. as soon as you’re inside, you settle into the couch and reach for your phone almost instinctively. jake.

your fingers hover above the keyboard, wondering if he’ll even have time to read it. but you decide to text him anyway.

"hi, baby."

you pause, taking a moment to type your next words.

"you’re probably really busy... anyway, i had a good day today—something went right for once."

you add a smile emoji. then:

"oh, and i saw a golden retriever on my way up. he reminded me of you."

you chuckle softly at yourself.

"the universe keeps finding ways to remind me that you’re not here."

then, after a pause:

"don’t forget to rest, okay? and eat something before the show. i can’t wait to see you perform tonight. good luck, baby."

you stare at the screen for a second before sending it. you were about to get up when another thought strikes you, and you add:

“i’m proud of you.”

it’s been over six hours.

three since enhypen’s concert ended.

you’re in bed now, phone on your chest, the quiet glow of your room doing nothing to calm your nerves.

you know firsthand how busy jake is.

you know this is what dating an idol looks like—crazy schedules, endless traveling, demanding rehearsals.

you know.

but it doesn’t stop the ache from building in your chest. because it wasn’t just this text. it hasn’t just been today. it’s been happening a lot lately—short replies, late responses, sometimes none at all.

out of instinct, you grab your phone and open social media, hoping to feel some sort of presence from him. you scroll through the fancams and concert clips from today. you pause when you see jake. your heart swells at the sight of him on stage, glowing, confident, ethereal.

you continue scrolling until an upload catches your eye.

a video. a fan holding their banner that reads: “jake, i love you. say it back.”

and jake... he reads it. smiles. winks. says it back into the mic with that playful charm you fell in love with.

"i love you," he says, voice soft and flirty, the crowd screaming in return.

you try to brush it off.

but then you keep scrolling through the account. her videos are full of clips— him smiling in her direction, glancing her way multiple times.

your chest tightens the longer you watch. it’s not like this is new. you know it’s part of the job. fanservice. it’s expected.

still, something in your chest twists cruelly.

you open the comments, something you knew would do nothing to make you feel better.

"no bc he wants you," the top comment reads. you frown at the remark, but continue scrolling.

"i'd risk it all for jake," another person writes.

"girl, jake was looking at you all night."

you close the app.

you stare at the ceiling, lost in thought. you realize it’s not just that fan interaction that hurt.

it’s the silence from him. the long stretches of not knowing what he’s doing, how he’s feeling, or even if he misses you as much as you miss him.

at first, you were sure you and jake would never be the couple that drifts apart just because you’re physically apart, but now? doubt has crept in, gnawing at you.

you roll over, burying your face in the pillow.

why hasn’t he texted back?

you sink deeper in your bed, your emotions consuming you. you hate feeling like this— clingy, overly sensitive.

you try to remind yourself that you’re his girlfriend, that you matter. but right now, it just feels like you’re fading into the background of his world. like some quiet afterthought.

the night passes with no reply.

the next day isn’t much better. you decide to distract yourself with work, smile when needed, pretend like you’re not checking your phone every twenty minutes. pretending you’re not crumbling a little more inside, as you see your last messages to him.

it’s late in the evening now. you’re on the couch, laptop open, busying yourself with work, when your phone rings faintly from the other side. you reach for it instantly, eyes reading who the caller is.

jake.

your heart leaps, your thumb freezing just before answering. you take a beat too long and the call ends before you could even answer. you stare at the screen, waiting for another call.

minutes pass.

no call back.

you slump into the couch, your chest heavy with disappointment.

you don’t even know how long you sit there—just watching the screen like it might somehow blink to life on its own.

eventually, you open your messages app and text him.

"hey… just checking in. why didn’t you call back?"

you don’t expect a response, already in the motion to closing your phone.

but then—he reads it. and a few seconds later, three dots appear on the screen, a reply.

"hi. i’ll call back now, baby."

and he does. his name flashes across the screen again. you answer this time, even though your heart is beating painfully in your chest.

"hi," you whisper.

"hey," jake says, his voice soft.

you take in his appearance. his tousled hair, plain shirt draped on and glossy eyes.

he smiles. "i’m just leaving the hotel now. we’re headed out again, so i might not have long."

your smile falters a little.

"oh," you manage to say.

"how have you been?" he asks, eyes lighting up. "did you get that client? what’s her name again?"

you nod slowly. "catherine," you respond. "yeah, we got her."

jake grins at you. "that’s amazing. i knew you would."

you shift slightly. you know now’s the time to express to jake how you’ve been feeling the last few days. who knows when you’ll next be able to talk to him like this. so though the words are heavy on your tongue, you force yourself to speak them.

"jake," you begin, taking a breath. "why haven’t you texted me back?" you ask softly.

his face drops as he registers your words. he bites his lip, clearly caught off guard. you know that habit—it’s what he does when he’s trying to find the right words.

"i’m sorry, y/n," he finally settles on saying. he’s looking at you intently, eyes filled with guilt as realization creeps up on him.

"i got caught up with the guys after the concert. i didn’t even think to check my phone. i didn’t see your messages until just now," he murmurs, almost ashamed.

you nod again, but something in you cracks open, and you don’t have to force the next few words out anymore.

"we’re supposed to be a team, jake," you whisper.

his eyes widen, opening and closing his mouth, trying to find the right thing to say.

"i’ve been waiting for you to reach out lately," you breathe out, your voice shaking, but you continue.

"it feels like i’m always the one reaching out. like… like i’m the only one trying sometimes."

"y/n…"

before he can continue, someone off-camera calls his name.

"jake, come one. we gotta go!"

he swallows hard, turning his head to the voice.

"y/n, i promise i’ll message you, okay? please wait for me. just—please?" he says firmly, pleading.

and the screen goes black. the call ends.

you stare at the empty screen, whispering to nothing, "okay."

hours pass, and you’ve already gone to bed for the day.

when you wake up the following morning there’s a string of messages waiting for you, a stark contrast to the lack of messages lately.

"y/n, i know you’re asleep now, but i can’t stop thinking about what you said during the call," the first text reads.

"i don’t even know what to say. i’m so, so sorry. i never meant to make you feel like that."

"i should’ve been better. you’ve always been there for me, and i’ve been letting the distance win. but i never stopped thinking about you."

"you’re right. we’re a team. and i’m going to do better. i need to do better."

"i love you more than anything. please let me prove that."

finally, your eyes read the last message he sent.

"wait’s over, sweetheart. i’m coming home to you."

there’s a photo attached: a blurry photo of a plane ticket, jake’s face peeking in, smiling gently.

your heart stirs—this time not from pain and uncertainty, but from appreciation. you let out a deep breath. he’s making it up to you.

maybe this ache won’t last forever. maybe, just maybe, it was worth waiting for someone like him.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

(Dark!) BNHA: Trying to get you pregnant

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

Boys -> Hawks + Bakugo + Deku + Shoto

Reaction: An inside view of some moments between the boys and their darling when they're deeply invested in getting you pregnant - willingly or not.

WARNINGS: Implied Kidnapping; Captive reader; Implied Non-con.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback 😊

–

Hawks

“... none of that, babe, just close your nose and gulp it all the way down.” Keigo’s soft voice does little to help you, and you quickly slap a hand over your mouth, desperately trying to hold back the contents that attempt to rise up to your mouth. 

He patiently stands by your side, holding the cup of the disgusting mix of vitamins, nutritional powders and vegetables, waiting for you to recover from the small sip.

The taste is somehow even worse than the putrid smell, lingering in the corners of your mouth – bitter and repulsive. It takes long minutes before you’re reasonably recovered – after painfully  swallowing back the bile that kept rising up your throat. 

“C’mon, just a few more sips and it’ll be over quickly, okay? Just pretend this is a soda and trust me, this will go down much easier.” you turn your face away, pursing your lips shut when Keigo pushes the cup closer to your mouth. 

“I can’t drink more.” 

“Babe, we talked about this.” he sighs. “This is for your own good, to make you healthier and stronger.” 

“I’m just fine.” you weakly scoff, pushing his hand away. “And you’re just saying that because you’re not the one drinking this gross thing. It’s seriously awful.”

“Babe…” he starts, wings ruffling behind him, restless. “You know exactly why drinking this is so important.”

“And I already told you – I don’t want a kid. So why bother?” you argue back. 

Keigo visibly frowns at that. 

“Don’t be like that.” he says. “Of course you want a kid. Maybe not now, but trust me, when our little birdie is born you’re gonna love it.” 

“I won’t.” 

“Yes, you will.”

“I won’t.”

“You will. And arguing with me won’t let you off the hook.” his tone hardens at that, brows tightening for a moment before Keigo forces himself to relax. “C’mon, just a few more sips, okay? Super tiny sips and I promise it’ll be all for today.”

“Keigo, I can’t, it tastes so bad, I’ll just end up throwing up.” you grab his arm vehemently, begging. 

“You’re a strong girl, I’m sure you can hold it all down, right?” he cheers you, immediately pressing the cup back to your lips. You gasp, feeling the sickening content touching your lips.

Keigo doesn’t relent until you finally open your lips, even when your hands attempt to push back the glass away. In the end, it takes the sharp stab of a red-feather against your thigh for you to at last open your mouth and Keigo is eagerly tilting the cup and slipping as much as he can into your throat. 

“That my good girl, drinking it all down.”

Your ears barely catch onto his praise as you’re too busy choking, the retching content refusing to slip down your throat and worse, it seems like all of it – including what you had already swollen – is aiming to come to the surface, much to your dismay. 

All it takes is one fleeting glance towards the kitchen sink and Keigo is immediately behind you, aggressively tilting your face backwards.

One hand slaps down on your mouth while the other works on pinching your nose shut. Muffled screams and tears are the only reaction you’re able to deliver, unable to push Keigo away. 

Fumbling and pushing is futile against his overwhelming strength and your vision starts getting fuzzy, the lack of oxygen getting to your head and you barely realize that you’ve swollen the nasty liquid until Keigo is finally allowing you to breathe again. 

“See, I told you it wasn’t that bad.” 

Shoto

Slowly scanning the test, it comes back as negative and relief immediately floods you, tense shoulders relaxing at the good news.

But the tension returns just as quickly when Shoto reaches from behind you, retrieving the test to see for himself. 

Controlling your face to be neutral is harder than it seems when Shoto’s disappointment switches into cold rage in a heartbeat. His hand angrily presses down on the pregnancy test, crushing it between his fingers before your silent figure catches his attention. 

Pressing your arms to your sides and lowering your eyes to the ground do little to calm Shoto's emotions and the tall man walks closer to you until he’s breathing on your hair. 

“I’m sorry.” the words escape from your lips, coated with softness. 

“Yes, you should be.” he icily glares at you, squinting his two-colored eyes down at you. “It’s been five months since we started trying and there are yet no positive results.”

“I’m sorry.” you repeat. 

“Look at me when I’m talking.” Shouto hisses at you, his simmering frustration leaving you uneasy as you reluctantly raise your eyes to meet his monochromatic eyes. “I don’t care about your meaningless apologies. What I want to know is why aren’t you pregnant yet? Care to explain that to me?” 

“I don’t know…” you quietly mutter, fingers fidgeting with each other in a nervous tick. “... but I didn’t do anything, I swear.” 

“Yes, I know that. There are no ways for you to prevent a pregnancy – I made sure of that – but clearly your effort and desire of building a family together is disappointingly low, to say the least.” 

If you could, you’d roll your eyes at that, frankly insulted on why would Shoto even think you’d be thrilled to have a child with your kidnapper.

Instead, you shrug your shoulders. 

He groans in frustration, hand rubbing all over his face. 

“Clearly you don’t desire this child as much as I do. I can’t force you to want a child, I’m aware of that.” he starts, provoking a wince in you when he brings his hand - his cold hand - to cup your cheek a little tighter than usual. “But I’ll be damned if I can’t make you love them. They deserve your love and attention, just as much as I do.”

His eyes burn into you, hot turmoil behind them. 

“And then we shall be a perfect family. No matter what I have to do in order to achieve that reality.” 

Bakugo

“Bak– Katsuki, can I take a break? I’m tired…” you beg breathlessly, sweat profusely running down your forehead.

Your feet are numb and the muscles of your legs burning with how long you’ve been forced to walk on the treadmill. 

Ever since Bakugo cemented the idea of having a baby you haven’t been able to rest for a single minute, constantly terrorized by the man that demands you to exercise following an incredibly demanding and exhausting physical plan. 

“And I don’t care. I told you before, the exercise plan has to be followed correctly to get results.” Bakugo sharply reprimands you. “How the hell are you supposed to be healthy and in shape to carry our kid if you can’t even walk the treadmill for 45 minutes, huh?” 

You frown at that, sending him a dirty look that he clearly chooses to ignore. Fuck him and fuck the kid. If it’s up to you, he won’t ever get that baby he wants so much.

But much like everything that has been happening, your level of decision is frankly limited. 

“You’re almost done with the treadmill anyways. 10 minutes left, that's a piece of cake.” he declares, checking the smartwatch on his wrist before returning his full attention to you. “After that, it’s the 60 push-ups and some light pilates. See? Easy work-out since you’re whiny today.”

You scoff.

“Oh yes, soo easy, thanks a lot.” your sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed as Bakugo raises a brow at that. 

“Keep bitching and I might add more exercises to it.” he lightly threatens you. Pressing your lips together, you push yourself to keep going and finish the stupid workout. 

Bakugo doesn’t give up on pestering you as he leans forward, veiny hands holding onto the handrail and pink lips curling into a smirk.

He looks you up and down, drinking in your figure dressed with a revealing sports bra and tight leggings and his eyes darken with desire. 

“Might even create a new special workout exercise just for you.” he rasps out. “Get those legs ready cause I’m gonna make you ride me till I knock you up.” 

Deku

“Is this uncomfortable, my love?” he asks, fingers gently tracing random patterns against the slightly wet skin of your legs. Izuku’s messy hair tickles you when he leans to press a few loving kisses over the expanse of your naked stomach. 

“Silly question, of course it’s uncomfortable.” he replies to his own question, shaking his head. “But you’re fine with this, right, my love?” 

He looks up, sickly smiling at your exhausted figure.

You can’t answer – not with a gag-ball stuffed inside your mouth. You can’t move either – not with your arms rigidly tied to the bed’s headboard.

But what Izuku truly means is the obnoxious position way your legs are being held up into the air, blackwhip rigidly holding them up.

You’re not even certain if the old trick to holding legs in the air is scientifically proven to be accurate, but Izuku has been obsessed with forcing you into such a pose ever since Kaminari confided to him how Jiro got pregnant after a short period of time by doing this trick. 

Izuku coos, noticing the clear discomfort on your face. 

“Hey, I know, I know. It’s not very cozy, is it?” he apologizes, moving up so that he can hover over your face. His face is glowing, covered by a thin layer of sweat and happiness.

“But just think about it, my love, how all of your little sacrifices are going to be worth it in the end when we finally get to hold our little bundle of joy. Our own sweet baby!”

His eyes glint, unhealthy obsession and delusional love glimmering in those green esmeralds. Izuku looks nothing but personified insanity. 

“Oh, I can’t wait!” he reveals blithely, shuffling his body to lay your head on his bicep as he nuzzles your neck. “We’re going to have the cutest babies ever. Even Kacchan will get jealous, I bet.” 

You screw your eyes shut but that doesn’t stop a lonely tear from sliding down your cheek. Izuku hums, kissing the tear away. 

“You’ll see, my love, we are going to be one big happy family.”