#like it starts and i get excited every time

[ruinix]

Thinking about Quinn losing his shit after you surprise him with a tattoo of his number on your hip

Hello, lovely… I tried, of course. Let me preface this, let’s imagine the tattoo healed for exactly 2 weeks (google says: the minimum healing time of the (surface) skin is about 2-4 weeks, deeper layers heal for approx. 3-4 months)...so yes. What i wanna say is: Be safe. Hope you enjoy 😌

Breakfast & Tattoos

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Unprotected sex (use protection, silly), Tattoo healing inaccuracy (let it heal pls), Quinn being a literal Horny one

Count: 3544 words | Masterlist

You have that grin. A silly and mischievous grin. Quinn cautiously takes a sip of tea you brewed for him—you might’ve put something in it—but it’s just tea.

He greets you, receiving an immediate response. The grin never wavers even as he cooks you two breakfast. You’re…suspicious. Pretty with your comfy pajama shorts and—his—hoodie but suspicious.

He tries to let you be. Maybe you’ll drop it. Maybe you’ll just outright tease him for his bedhead, because his waves are all over the place from sleeping like dead after a two-week road trip. Maybe you just want to tell him something silly. Maybe. You always tend to do those things. He likes that.

He wants to ask, but you move to the sofa with your iPad, humming a tune. You’re on your back with your legs up an arm rest, feet covered with fluffy socks with strawberries. Still, you throw glances at him, grinning whenever he meets your gaze. He hears the upbeat sound of a game. You definitely found another game. That must be it. You love your games especially on that specific iPad—that was his, now yours—with those stickers of him.

Stickers. They’re cute, but he can’t help the blush on his face whenever he sees them. You’ve never stopped buying stickers from Etsy or from artists on different social media. Of him. It doesn’t matter if it’s memes or little cute cartoons. It’s just him. He knows your little hoarding box where you put your spares which also got their own spares—spare of a spare, you describe them.

It’s adorable but the way he looks so haunted in some of them... He can’t help it. It’s his face.

It’s funny and a bit embarrassing—in a good way

But he never feels bad about it. Not when you cherish every sticker. Not when you are so giddy and filled with excitement every time you buy one. Not when he catches you just gazing at them before hugging it so tightly.

Quinn has to turn away. His cheeks are burning. You make him feel good even through cute little stickers.

Sighing, Quinn finishes up with breakfast. He takes the plates to the coffee table, jumping when you suddenly sit up. You give him a fat smooch on the cheek before you mutter about getting him more tea and your coffee. But, fuck, his cheek burns from your touch. The kiss is soft and quick, but it seeps down to his bones, down to his… It’s way too early to be horny.

Quinn shakes his head, trying his best to clear it. However, he catches your shorts glide up your thighs when you bend over to get something from the lower cabinets. Oh, he’s fucked. It’s not helping how he notices your lace panties imprinting through your shorts.

Somebody, help him.

He looks away, counting down from ten to one, up from one to ten. He’s hard. It’s fucking eight in the morning. What the fuck is wrong with him? He closes his eyes for a second, thinking about hockey, practice, and literally anything else. He fails. His mind keeps showing him the image your ass, grinding against him as he fucked you—

“I think I want some orange juice right now,” he forces out, planting one foot up to hide his erection. He needs something to cool him down.

“mm’kay!” Your sweet voice just made him painfully harder.

“Thanks,” he coughs out. “Maybe a couple of ice?”

“Anything for my Quinny,” you say in a singsong voice, then you start humming a tune, moving your hips with it.

Fuck.

Quinn might need to lock himself in the bathroom at this point. You’re not letting him catch a break. How can he not get turned on after not having his fill of you for two weeks? He can see the jiggle of your ass. He can see your pebbled nipples through your thin and cropped shirt, because you just got rid of your hoodie. Why did you get rid of it? The air conditioning is literally on.

Thank fuck he’s wearing his boxer and his black sweatpants. There would be a dark patch there, because he’s leaking pre-cum. He might even come right there if you don’t stop—

“You want the one with pulp?” you ask, weight in one leg, while holding two orange juice cartons.

“Any,” he barely says, catching a glimpse of something peeking out the waistband of your shorts—what exactly is it, he doesn’t know—but you quickly turn away, bending over again which distracts him. “You slept good when I wasn’t here?” Quin pathetically asks, trying to shake away his hard-on away by pure will—it’s not working.

“Yep,” you gleefully say, finally finishing your instant coffee.

Quinn makes a mental note to make your usual brewed coffee later. He can’t just let you with a cup of instant coffee throughout the day. That’s not okay. His sweet girl deserves the best after all.

Well, after he cools the fuck down.

He settles on the floor, snatching the fleece blanket from the couch to cover himself. He swallows a groan when you slide into the same blanket, leaning against him. Your heat only seeps down his cock more than his shoulder. You are killing him.

He stiffly drinks his juice, shuddering when you kiss his cheek again. He almost doesn’t kiss your cheek too, because he’s a hair away from losing control. But he still does. He gives your cheek a peck. He wishes to kiss you deeper, bend you over the coffee table and just fuck you. He knows you’ll agree if he asks. He knows you’ll let him have his way with you.

He knows.

But he hears your tummy rumble.

He can’t fuck you when you’re hungry. You’ll need energy. Besides, it’s fucking 8AM. He’s so close to punching himself as a reprimand. No one should be this horny this early. That sounds hypocritic, because he remembers several times where he waited for you to wake up so he could fuck you sideways, kissing you through your just-woken-up haze.

Someone needs to bash his head until he gets amnesia.

He’s digging himself a deeper grave. Seriously.

Quinn focuses on breakfast. He loves breakfast with you. He loves it when your weight is partially on him. When you take sips of your coffee, urging him to drink his own beverage. When you talk about what you’ll be doing for work or for your day offs.  When you snatch some of his eggs and replace with potatoes or the other way around, because wanting more of one depends on the day. Today, you are doing the latter. All while, you grin at him with so many things brewing in your eyes.

He finally says, when you two are almost done with breakfast, “Okay, you are acting suspicious.” He narrows his eyes just a tad. “What are you planning?”

You turn and hug him from his side.

Quinn expertly holds you without you getting on his cock. It’s so hard. Especially when you shimmy to get more comfortable over his thigh. He almost starts pleading for you to move and get off him, because you’re so near.

“I have a surprise for you.”

A surprise? He blinks, repeating the word over and over in his head. For him? You have a surprise for him? Excitement courses through his body, temporarily distracting him from his aching member. He likes your gifts. He feels special whenever you give him something. It doesn’t matter what it is. Cookies, shirts, chocolates, a piece of candy. Even if it’s a kiss. Especially if it is. Speaking of a kiss, he wants to kiss you right now.

And he’s back to being a horny fucker.

He can’t help it. Your lips look so delicious, so damn kissable. When you run your tongue over your lower lip, biting it after, he’s done. He kisses you. Languidly. Unhurried in any way. The best thing about kissing you is you kissing back with the same intensity. When he deepens the kiss, tongue sliding past your lips, you are ready for him. You taste like your coffee and it’s perfect.

He missed this while he was away. He doesn’t know how he survived last night with a simple kiss to your forehead. He’s a fucking idiot. He missed out. Not that kissing your forehead is less than your kiss. No. Never. Just kissing your skin makes his heart ache. Just feeling your warmth is enough.

However, kissing your lips while breathing in your exhales, your moans, and your groans, that’s one way to live. If only he can exist with your air. If he can only kiss you every second of his life. If only.

When he parts from you, he feels your chasing lips as his. You two want so much more than a kiss. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

Still, he must know what your surprise is. He needs it.

“A surprise, huh?” he murmurs, getting distracted by the flush on your cheeks. Wow. Just…wow. “Surprise for what?”

“I don’t need a reason to surprise my boyfriend.” Your nose scrunches, clearly and teasingly dissatisfied with his stupid question.

He can’t help but grab your cheeks, chuckling when you pout for good measure. When he caresses his thumbs over your skin, it makes you relax further into him. Your lips are red from the kiss. So plump. So wet from each other’s saliva. If he kisses you again, right now, he might end up just coming in his pants. Later. In a bit.

He coaxes, “What is it?”

You’ve hypnotized him when you drag your nail over his jaw and kiss along it. He can only cling to your waist. A whine left his lips when you let go. Where the fuck are you going? You can’t just leave him—

“Close your eyes,” you say, putting a halt to his thoughts. There’s that devilish gleam again, yet you add, “Please?”

You don’t need to say please. Quinn closes his eyes, immediately hearing the clatter of dishes and mugs being taken away. His hands curl into fists, turning irritated. You don’t need to clean up for him. He can do it, but he keeps his eyes closed, not wanting to betray your wishes. You are surprising him. He’ll be an idiot if he tries to sour the mood. But he dislikes it. If you’re going to do the dishes, he’ll do it with you. He doesn’t like not doing things with you, especially when it’s the regular season. He’s always away. It’s exhausting but you make it better.

One moment he’s horny. The next he’s acting pathetic.

“You’re overthinking, Quinn.” Your gentle voice hums, easing his troubled soul.

He feels and hears you sit down in front of him. On the coffee table. He fucking shivers when your feet brush the outside of his thighs. No blanket can mask your warmth, your touch. He can feel your eyes running all over him. His face. His neck. His hair. His chest. His cock. He really, really, really might fucking come.

He can hear your shaky inhale. You finally notice. Your voice turns higher, “Come closer.”

He does it. It’s more of moving the low table rather than scooting closer. Oh, the tiny squeak that you let out is adorable. You always forget that he’s strong. You’ve admitted that to him, that he looks small on ice, that he’s cute. He couldn’t blame you. He is just 5-foot-10 around people who are 6-feet and taller. You told him he looked like he wouldn’t be able to lift you. So, Quinn learned to remind you that he can lift you and more.

Now, his mind pesters with image of you against the wall, legs around his waist while he fucks you hard. That’s his favorite way to prove it—Can he fucking stop? Seriously?

He feels your touch over his shoulders, thumb rubbing into his muscles, up his neck, up his jaw. Soon, you have your forehead against his. Quinn’s trying to feel the table any clues about your surprise. So far, he hasn’t found any. He’s so curious. Just what is it?

“Open your eyes for me, handsome.”

Quinn does. He instantly gets mesmerized by your eyes, the eyelashes delicately framing them, your blinks. You’re just beautiful. He won’t have any complaints if this is your surprise. A simple eye-to-eye contact minute with you. Now that’s an amazing gift. Because now, he sees the details of your eyes—the darker and lighter specks of your color and the impossibly wide pupils.

“I love it,” he says with satisfaction.

You laugh, blushing so hard. “You’re silly.” You kiss the tip of his nose, taking his hands to plant it around your waist. “Look down…”

Again, he does. He gazes at every inch of you like he hasn’t. He can’t help but feel your breasts, thumb swirling over your nipples that were begging to be seen and touched and freed from your shirt. After hearing you moan and making your back arch into his touch, he moves on, smirking when you grumble about your need. Later.

He teases your skin, your navel. He’s so lost seeing how you tremble, hips slightly moving and trying to create friction. He bet you’re soaking through your pretty panties—

Quinn stills the moment he catches something on your skin. On your hipbone. What the fuck. What the fuck is that?

His heart hammers against his chest as he hooks a thumb into your shorts and tugs down.

Holy shit.

No matter how much he blinks it doesn’t change.

A tattoo. A fucking tattoo on your left hip.

‘QH43’, it says.

Quinn is literally felt his stomach flutter with fucking butterflies, thumb subbing over it, trying to see if it’s temporary, but it doesn’t have a shine nor does it crack.

He should be worried. It must’ve fucking hurt. It’s over a bone. He should shake you and ask if you got caught up in a dare. He should be livid you kept this from him. Tattoos are big decisions. You always confide in him for big decisions. You didn’t have this when he left for the road trip. It looks healed. He should’ve been with you and helped you take care of it. Damn it.

Yet, the more he looks at it, the more desire courses through his veins. It melts his worries.

It’s just ink in your skin. Ink in your blood. His fucking initials and numbers on you. Permanently. Forever.

QH43. Just four characters in a normal script. So simple yet it’s enough to get him all shaken up.

“Why?” He asks, taking a hand into his cock. He looks up to your eyes, except you aren’t looking at him. You’re staring at what he’s doing with a blush on your face like you haven’t seen him jerk off, haven’t seen his dick in your pussy. You’re cute.

“Because I want it.”

“It’s bad to have your boyfriend’s name tattooed on your person.” Quinn wants to smack himself for saying that, because he likes it.

“Good thing it’s his number.” You crossed your arms, smirking and unfazed. “Besides, my boyfriend will never leave me. He promised me all the time.”

“Yes. I will never leave you.” He nods, moaning when you put a hand over his cheek. “’m so turned on.”

“I can see that.” Your nails scratch over his jaw again.

He’s losing it. “Did it hurt?”

“It stung but not too much. Want help?”

Quinn shakes his head. He needs an initial relief. His hand will do. For now. He can’t help but preen as you snatch away the blanket. Sweat starts to bead on his skin as he nudges his pants down, tightly gripping and working his cock. Fuck.

“Wanna cum on it?” You ask, your voice shaking as you pant. You lean back, planting your hands on the table, spreading your thighs wide, showing him the wet patch over your thin shorts. You’re evil for that.

Quinn doesn’t know he can get any harder, but he does. Especially when he can basically smell you, taste you through it. He missed this so much. An ache forms in his chest for missing out, for not being with you.

“Is that safe?” Quinn moans, swiping a thumb over his slit, shivering as his pre-cum dribbles down his length. Totally forgetting how he was rubbing it a minute ago, he gasps, “Don’t want it to hurt.”

“It’s healed,” you reassure. “Ugh, I hate my panties. They’re so wet.”

See, you’re really complaining. The annoyance is clear on your face, but it’s cute as fuck. You shimmy your shorts and panties down, shivering when your arousal creates a string from the lace to your pussy. You still sit at the table, waiting for him to come on you.

“You’re killing me, my Love.” Quinn crawls up to his knees. “All wet for me?”

“Yeah.” Then you slide one hand over your pussy, parting it for him, making him see you quivering hole. “You really like my tattoo?”

Quinn can only nod. There’s a lump in his throat. He’s panting as he chases his relief. The way your pussy drip is getting to his head. Fuck, why is he still jerking off when your pussy is right there? He scoots closer, sliding his cock along your pussy. Both of you groan. You feel so good and he’s not even inside.

“Quinn,” you gulp, hands coming up his shoulder. “Maybe. You can jerk off later? I’m right here. I need you, handsome.”

He feels your pain and he feels the same. He presses his dick in your entrance. He warns, “I’m going to come soon.”

“Yes, please.”

Something snaps.

It’s his control.

You really know how to make him lose it. Those two fucking words. It might as well be a prophecy. He will listen and make it happen rather than wait for it to come true.

One smooth movement, he’s inside. His eyes nearly roll up as your pussy squeezes around him, seemingly determined to milk his cum out. By some miracle, he doesn’t come right away. He doesn’t it matters he did. He fucks you with urgency.

You feel divine. Your pussy. Your heated skin. Your arms that slot over his shoulders, urging him to fuck you faster. Your long nails dragging red stripes down his nape and back. Pain and pleasure sears down his soul.

“Quinn,” you call, tugging at his hair.

He moans your name like a prayer just for you. For his Love eternal. Fuck, he deeply loves you so much that it. More than anything in this world. You are the light of his life. Light, not a flame that would burn him. A light makes everything clear and visible. He’ll never get lost with you by his side. Lost in you, now, that’s a different topic.

He catches sight of a sweat dripping down from your temple, your cheek, your jaw, your neck, to your collarbones. He’s there, licking it up from its destination and up your jaw. Fuck, your taste—the saltiness, your scent on his tongue—is alluring.

Your moans mix with his, drowning out the buzz of the air-conditioning, the slight creaking of the coffee table, the ringing of his fucking phone. Who the fuck is calling him this early in the morning? It doesn’t matter. Not important right now. No.

Your hands cling to his arms, nails digging deep crescents into his skin. When his thumb circles your clit, he feels your pussy walls contract and pulse, making him come deep inside you. One spurt. Two. Three. Then he pulls out, so he spills right over your tattoo. You both pant, watching his cum make a mess on your skin, watching the cum dripping down your used pussy.

Your hand wraps around his cock, squeezing him fucking dry, making sure every drop is on your skin, your hips, and your thighs. He can’t help but gasp, forehead resting against yours.

He can’t believe he got you to come before him when he was so close to the edge.

So happy that you did.

So fucking ecstatic that he starts rubbing his cum into your skin, swiping its thickness into your damn tattoo, making sure it’s thoroughly coated. This is what you wanted. He also fucking wants it. His other hand travels to your pussy to push his cum back in. Your thighs quiver, shaking. Your moans and whines are loud and clear in his ears.

Fuck, he’s still so hard.

And you know it. How can you not? You’re holding him. It’s so evident that he’s ready for more.

You meet his eyes as you pant. Your lips are so red from being bitten. Quinn reaches up, taking his pushing his thumb slicked with his cum in your lips. When you immediately lick and suck on it, he can’t stop himself from grinding on your pussy. You’re just as greedy as him.

He loves that and he needs to fuck you again.

“Another?” he pleads.

“Yes,” you murmur, kissing his thumb. “Please.”

You don’t need to say anything else.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Can you do a Carlos dad were lando swears around his kid and now she won’t stop repeating it and he is trying to get her to stop but Carlos finds out (toddler daughter) if possible

Little Parrot

Carlos loved nothing more than being a father. From the moment Yn was born, he had promised himself that she would always know she was loved, always feel safe, and always be happy. And, of course, he had made it his mission to teach her Spanish so they could have their own secret conversations.

It had started as a joke between him and Rebecca—she had been determined to learn Spanish, but Carlos had made it harder by talking faster and using slang. In the meantime, he whispered little words to their baby girl at night, spoke to her in Spanish every morning, and now, at four years old, Yn was perfectly bilingual.

It was something he took great pride in, especially when Lando—her ever-dedicated godfather—tried (and often failed) to understand their conversations.

Lando had always adored Yn. He was there the day she was born, had cried when he held her for the first time, and spoiled her beyond reason. He tried his hardest to pick up Spanish, just so he wouldn’t be left out when Carlos and Yn had their little chats. But his progress was... questionable.

And now, as the paddock buzzed with activity before a race weekend, Lando had a new mission—one that involved a lot of pleading.

"Come on, just for a few hours!" Lando begged, his hands clasped together as he followed Carlos through the Williams hospitality.

Carlos sighed, adjusting the little pink backpack slung over his shoulder. Yn had demanded she bring her favorite stuffed bunny, a coloring book, and snacks for the day, and he, being the soft-hearted father he was, had agreed.

"Lando, I don’t know," Carlos said, casting a glance at his daughter, who was currently sitting on a chair, happily eating some fruit while kicking her feet.

"Please, please, please," Lando whined. "I swear I’ll take good care of her! She loves me! Right, Yn?"

Yn perked up at the sound of her name and turned to look at Lando with a big smile. "Sí!"

"See!" Lando grinned triumphantly. "She wants to stay with me."

Carlos narrowed his eyes. "You say that now, but last time you almost lost her in the McLaren garage."

"It was one time!" Lando argued. "And she wasn’t lost, she was just—exploring."

Carlos raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, fine. She wandered off a little," Lando admitted sheepishly. "But I promise, this time, I’ll watch her like a hawk. She won’t leave my side!"

Yn looked between them curiously before tilting her head at her father. "Papá, por favor?" she asked sweetly, blinking her big brown eyes up at him.

Carlos groaned. She knew exactly what she was doing.

"Fine," he relented. "But—" he pointed a firm finger at Lando, "—if anything happens, it’s your fault. And I will make you regret it."

Lando beamed, scooping Yn up in his arms. "Deal!"

Yn giggled as he spun her around, and Carlos exhaled, already wondering if he had made a mistake.

Lando was determined to be the best godfather in the world today.

"Alright, Mini," he said as he set Yn down gently on a chair. "We are gonna have so much fun today."

Yn nodded eagerly, swinging her legs as she held her stuffed bunny close. "What are we doing?"

"First, we have very important jobs," Lando said, crouching down to her level. "We have to inspect my car. Make sure it's all good for the race."

Yn's eyes widened with excitement. "Really?"

"Yep! And since you're my assistant today, that means you get a headset, too!"

Yn gasped. "Like you?"

"Exactly like me."

A few minutes later, Yn was sitting on Lando’s lap in the garage, wearing an oversized headset as she watched the engineers work. She looked absolutely serious, as if she really was his assistant, nodding along as he explained things in the simplest way possible.

"And this is my steering wheel," Lando said, holding it up for her. "It has so many buttons. Want to press one?"

Yn gasped. "Can I?"

"Yeah, but not the important ones," Lando said, pointing at a harmless button. "Try this one."

Yn pressed it with a determined look, and the lights on the steering wheel flickered. She clapped her hands in delight.

"You're a natural!" Lando grinned, ruffling her hair.

For a while, things were going perfectly. Yn was entertained, happy, and sticking to Lando like glue.

Then he messed up.

It happened when he was helping her climb up onto a higher chair. He wasn’t paying attention, knocked his knee against the table, and immediately hissed, "Fuck!"

There was a beat of silence.

Yn blinked up at him. "Fuck," she repeated.

Lando froze.

Oh no.

Oh no no no no.

"Um, no, no, no, we don’t say that," he said quickly, shaking his head.

Yn tilted her head. "But you said it."

"I—I didn’t mean to!" Lando panicked. "It’s a bad word."

Yn nodded seriously. "Fuck is bad word."

"Yes, exactly!"

"Fuck," Yn repeated, nodding like she was learning something important.

Lando slapped a hand over his face. "Oh, shit."

"Shit," Yn said immediately.

Lando nearly choked. "No, no, no, stop!"

But it was too late.

Yn found it hilarious. She giggled, kicking her feet, and started chanting, "Fuck! Shit! Fuck! Shit!"

Lando was screwed.

"Lando," Carlos’ voice cut through the air, dangerously calm.

Lando froze. Slowly, he turned, still holding Yn, who was currently humming to herself.

Carlos stood with his arms crossed, looking unimpressed. "Why is my daughter running around saying fuck and shit?"

Lando gulped. "Uh—"

"Fuck!" Yn chirped happily. "Shit!"

Lando shut his eyes. He was so dead.

Carlos pinched the bridge of his nose. "Lando."

"It was an accident!" Lando blurted. "I swear! I hit my knee, and I didn’t mean to say it, and then she memorized it like a little parrot, and I’ve been trying to get her to stop!"

Carlos sighed, rubbing his face. "Do you know what Rebecca will do if she hears her saying that?"

Lando’s eyes widened in horror. "We can’t let her find out!"

Carlos shook his head, but there was amusement in his eyes now. He turned to his daughter, kneeling in front of her.

"Yn, mi amor," he said gently, "those are bad words, okay? We don’t say them."

Yn pouted. "But Lando says them."

"Lando is dumb," Carlos said, sending a glare his way. "You’re much smarter than him, aren’t you?"

Yn giggled. "Sí!"

Carlos smiled. "Good. So, let’s not say those words anymore, okay?"

Yn nodded, then leaned in to whisper, "But they’re kinda funny."

Carlos sighed.

Lando snorted.

Carlos shot him a look. "Not helping."

Lando held his hands up in surrender. "Look, she’s gonna hear worse when she’s older."

"Not today, she won’t," Carlos muttered. He turned back to his daughter, who was already distracted playing with her bunny.

"Alright, no más palabrotas," Carlos said firmly. ("No more swear words")

Yn giggled. "No más palabrotas."

Carlos kissed the top of her head before glaring at Lando one last time.

"You," he said, pointing at him, "are never babysitting again."

Lando gasped. "That’s not fair!"

Carlos smirked. "Jódete." ("Fuck you")

Lando groaned.

Yn, despite her father’s warning, giggled under her breath. "Jódete"

Carlos sighed.

It was going to be a long day.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀

[goron-king-darunia]

Story time! I thought writing and essays especially were stupid for most of grade school. Teachers would "correct" deliberate choices I made for creative writing and spelling was my absolute nemesis because we didn't exactly have dictionaries in class let alone the internet so I couldn't figure out how to spell words I'd heard and got marked down for using them.

When it came to essays on reading comprehension the questions seemed... How do I put this. I understood solving equations in math. They put a bunch of similar questions to make sure you could get consistent results so they knew you knew the process and not just that you memorized that 2+2 was 4 but weren't grasping somehow that 2 was a unit of two ones each so that 1+1+1+1 also equaled 4. But with reading questions they always seemed... like they weren't testing consistent things? Some questions would make sense like "Why do you think character did X? (Though my ass would get so mad if I got marked down on those because like "You're asking my opinion? You're asking me to interpret the text, the answer should vary?!" Even though I didn't have the language for that.) And then the other half of the questions were the questions I also hated on history tests where it was just memorizing pointless trivia that no human being would need to know like "what color were the curtains in the MC's bedroom?" which is the same shit as like "what happened on the 4th Thursday of May in 1411?" Like bitch, why would I know that? The date isn't as important to history as the actual events so ask me "what was X historical event about?" instead. I can tell you what the Boston Tea Party was about but why the fuck would I memorize the date? "What happened on page 12?" JUST ASK ME WHAT THE INCITING INCIDENT IS INSTEAD, I CAN GIVE YOU THAT ANSWER!

So I grew up putting minimal effort into English class for a while because a lot of the questions were some form of "what is the title of the book" levels of dumb, "give us your pre-approved opinion" frustration questions or the goddamn trap questions of "what was the MC's cousin's name that gets mentioned once in the entire book?" type questions. So I just phoned a lot of stuff in. Made my essays the bare minimum so I could move on to stuff I liked more.

Until about 7th grade when my English teacher made us do daily writing exercises. You had to write 5 paragraphs at least on any topic you wanted and it had to be 5 good paragraphs every day, around 5 sentences per paragraph. And I HATED it. "What do you MEAN I have to write an ESSAY every day?! This sucks!"

But the more I had to do it, the easier it was. Especially when the teacher realized that my handwriting was just not going to improve so I was allowed to write my entries during class but then type them at home and paste them into the book. So then I could actually look up words I wanted to use and learn to spell them correctly instead of having to guess or flip through a big ass book that at best the class had to share during school hours. (Electronic Pocket dictionaries of the 2000s my beloved. I carried mine everywhere when I finally got one.)

And for once I wasn't being graded on if my opinions on fucking Sonic the Hedgehog were valid or not. I wasn't being graded on whether Sonic being blue is actually deep symbolism or if blue is just a neat color. I was being graded on tangible qualitative skills like whether I could construct a good argument and whether my sentences were full sentences and whether all 5 paragraphs related to each other.

And suddenly writing was fun. And when we had free reading periods and could read for pleasure instead of "Okay, pick one of these pre-selected books so you can do a report on it later" I started to enjoy reading too. Enough that by the time I reached high school, I'd picked up Dante's Inferno at the nearby public library and read it on my own only to get excited when the next year it was required reading and I was ahead of the curve because I'd read it once before.

I get it. School is fucking terrible and the measures they use to test when you're "good" at something or not are fucked.

But if I decided to phone it in forever, I wouldn't be able to read through a full news article today or read through contracts and insurance benefits. I would have to trust strangers to tell me the truth on current events and business things. I could be fed easy-to-read lies and swallow them hook, line, and sinker because lies can be as short as you want but the truth is rarely brief.

If I kept phoning things in, I wouldn't have enjoyed half the stories and games that I do, met the friends that I've met, or made the art that I've made.

Having to write 5 paragraphs every day for a year taught me that... 5 paragraphs isn't much at all. Nowadays when I write a "short" story, it's 5,000 words or more. For fun.

I wouldn't know the things I know or how to find out the things I've learned if I just gave up and let the Liar Box with the Fake Answers write all my papers.

I get why it's tempting. School is awful if you're a normal kid, let alone a special needs kid like my ADHD ass. But not only will you not learn very useful and necessary skills by asking the liar box to write your papers, but you're setting yourself up to trust and rely on the liar box, and by direct extension, setting yourself up to forever rely on and trust strangers to give you "correct" information without having any of the skills to learn for yourself if their information is correct.

600 words is not that much. It's a chunk to be sure. But it's not that much.

This is already 1000 words. It doesn't take that long and I promise it's so worth it to be able to express your thoughts in your own words and learn things with your own power instead of having to trust a machine and the strangers that lie for fun to give you the stuff you want to know.

[mintmatcha]

inevitable bonus content:

the unfamous Christmas party. cw: mentions of drug use, depictions of abuse.

Two years before the story:

It's not that you're embarrassed of Touya, even though he wore the jeans you specifically told him not to, even though you explained it's a formal party. You're actually quite proud. Proud that he's chewing on nicotine gum, proud that he's slipping a second suboxone under his tongue. Recovery is slow and painful, and yet he's trying for you, trying again.

The event is loud enough that it sets your teeth on edge. All of your coworkers look different like this, in low light and nice clothes, like different versions of themselves, buzzing with excitement for the holidays and free food. Your dress isn't new, or particularly fancy. Neither of you fit in, you suppose. When you try to loop your arm into his, Touya shrugs you away with a scoff.

The restaurant Prome has rented for the evening is nice, way nicer than anything you could possibly afford. Usually, you wouldn't bother Touya with something like this, something so self serving, but... maybe you just wanted to pretend for an evening.

Touya had been gone for 21 days. It was supposed to be longer - the full 90 day program the doctor had recommended - but he had checked himself out early. Seeing him made you... Happy, you guess. At least now you get to enjoy a night together.

"Don't drink too much, please," you say.

He shouldn't be drinking at all, but you're a realist and you're not ready for the inevitable fight that's brewing between you.

"Fine."

The withdraw anger. You're used to it by now. It's his third time going through rehab and you swear it gets worse with every round, more angled and pointed, purposefully stabbing. You try to remind yourself that it's not actually him acting like this. No, it's the pain, the need, the chills and aches he should be done with by now, but he never seems to shake.

"It's a nice party," you comment.

"I said fine," Touya shoots you a look and you try to smile back. His scalp is stained blue, his hair freshly dyed. It matches the bright black tattoo on his neck, only a couple days healed. It's a fight you chose not to have; you can't say you're fond of it - this... skull thing that creeps down his jaw and certainly cost more money than he should have spent - but you suppose that you need to be grateful for anything that makes him happy.

As soon as you two settle into a table, a familiar figure catches your eye. The man is tall, taller than you remember, with an upward turned mouth and wide, wild eyes. You perk up and the man looks you way, lighting up with excitement.

"Hey!" he practically leaps across the room. "Good to see you!"

"Mirio!" Standing, you open your arms for a hug. Mirio hugs you so hard that he lifts you off of your feet-- and your stomach immediately sinks. You're quick to back away, but Touya is already up. "Oh, I- uh--I've missed you, uh. How's the PhD?"

"Difficult, but amazing," he smiles a million watt smile. "Did you just get here? Want me to grab you a drink? There's like little peppermint thing that's-"

"She can get her own drink."

Touya's hand clamps on the back on your neck. It's a warning, a leash and collar all in one: a reminder both for you and for Mirio. The grip isn't tight, but a thumb digs into the spot between muscles. From the corner of your eye, you watch how Touya slides his tongue piercing across his lips, his jaw flexing hard.

"Can't you, princess?"

Your body is immediately on spikes and you freeze, trying to avoid being stabbed.

"Oh, uh. Yeah. Yeah, totally. Sorry, um, this is my boyfriend! Touya, this is Mirio! He was an intern when I first started here. I haven't seen him in-"

"I'm getting a drink." Your boyfriend lets his hand fall away and a scoff. Touya dips into your ear as he passes, whispering into your ear with a bitten sneer. "Take your fucking jaw off the ground."

Rehab was different this time. You keep telling yourself that.

"Um-" Mirio says uncomfortably, no longer smiling. He shifts on the balls of his feet, glancing around as if wondering if anyone else had seen that interaction. You certainly hope they hadn't. "You okay?"

"Sorry, he's just--" You're already following Touya. "He's having a bad day. I'll catch up with you in a little, okay?"

There's a creeping feeling in your throat that you'll never talk to him again.

By the time you weave through the crowd behind your boyfriend, he's already saddled up at the bar. The drink in his hand is already drained, only ice clanking around as he turns to you with an ice expression.

"Thought you were busy humping that guy's leg."

There's a dry spot on your lips that you can't stop picking at, even though the spot is tender and raw. "It's not like that."

"You're a fucking whore," he taps the glass against the Bar top to summon the bartender's attention. "Bet you're gonna have a headache when we get home though."

Something flips inside you. No, you don't want to have sex tonight. Why would you? Ever since he's gotten back, Touya's been on a tear-

"I won't."

- but you make sacrifices for peace.

"Whatever." Touya says. You don't miss the bartenders annoyed look when he makes his way over. "Another whiskey sour."

"D-"

"Don't fucking nag me." The drink comes quick and he tips half of his drink down even quicker. "Hold this. I'm gonna go take a drag."

You open your hands and let him slot to glass into them. "I thought you were doing to gum instead."

"Oh, yeah." He jams his fingers into his mouth and pulls out the wad of gum, jamming it to the edge of his cup. "Thanks for the reminder."

Touya stalks away, throwing a shoulder into yours as he passes. It's almost enough to knock you off of your balance, but you get a hand on the bar top just in time.

"Are you alright?"

Why do people keep asking you that? You glance up and realize it's another familiar face. One of the engineers, you think. It's hard to recognize him without his sunny yellow sweatshirt.

"Yeah. Yeah! Totally, yeah." You suck in your lips and they taste of copper; the spot you have been touching has broken. Aizawa sucks in air between his teeth, his neutral expression never breaking.

"If-" he pauses himself. There's a quick, outward breath. "Hizashi is looking for you."

That's not what he was going to say, you think, but you aren't sure you want to know what he was really thinking. Not when you already feel so small. You truly feel sixteen again, but in the worst ways, the helpless, voiceless way, the one that's easily dismissed and forgotten.

"Yeah. Thanks, yeah," you reply.

.

When you finally run into Hizashi and Nemuri, you make sure to only hug her. Touya hadn't returned yet, but you still feel the needle prick of his attention. Most nights with him are good, but others are the loaded chamber in Russian Roulette. There's been too many quiet nights in a row; the bullet is coming and you aren't sure if you can dodge this one.

Hizashi is leaned across the table, lost in a work story. It's not as captivating as he thinks he is, but it's nice. Mundane is always a nice reprieve from the highs and lows of your home life.

"You're quiet tonight!" Hizashi suddenly gripes. "'muri, she's usually not this quiet. This girl is an absolute riot."

"I'm just tired, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry!" Nemuri places her hand over yours. "I thought your bad boy boyfriend was supposed to be here?"

"He is, somewhere," you say. "I have his drink. And gum."

"He gave you his gum?" Nemuri winks. "In like- a sexy way?"

"No. Is there a sexy way to share gum?"

"Are you kidding? Anything can be sexy if you're dedicated."

You smell him before you hear him, then feel his touch before you can react. Again, his hand clamps onto your neck, but this time he pulls, yanking you back like a marionette on a string. You stumble with a seasick smile.

"There she is!" There's a loud slur to Touya's words. He's unstable himself, nearly falling into Nemuri. "Knew I'd find you whoring it up."

"Whoa," Hizashi says, all humor gone from his voice.

"Whoa," Nemuri echos, nearly jumping out of her skin. Her eyes narrow hard, snarling. "I know you did not just smack my ass."

"Aw," Touya tugs at your neck again. It's easier to go limp and play along, to let your head bop from side to side. "She can flirt, but I can't?"

Attempting to change the air, you laugh, but only Touya smiles back. He reeks of cigarettes, with something else brewing underneath. Alcohol, maybe. You hope it's alcohol. You really want it to be alcohol. Your pleasant charade only lasts a moment; your body sighs with disappointment.

"I'm so sorry," you say. "He's just-"

"I'm just fucking fun." Touya jerks you back again and your neck aches. "She's just a lame cunt."

"Whoa." Hizashi has never looked more unamused. He's not the only one either; when you glance around, you notice more than a few watchful eyes. Shame starts prickling at the corners of your eyes.

"He doesn't mean it. He's-- Touya, apologize." You clutch at his arm with mock affection. "Touya, say you're sorry."

You turn back to your friends. Maybe ex-friends. The apology is meant for them and them alone; you don't need an apology from Touya, mostly because you know it would be hollow.

"I'm so sorry," you try again. When you look up again, you catch Yagi out of the corner of your eye. With his mask on, it's too difficult to read his expression, but you doubt it's good. "We're gonna go. I'm so, so, so sorry."

Luckily, you had left your coats in the car. It's a quick get away-- just like you had planned. The two of you can escape before-

The smile slides off of Touya's face and the gun goes off.

"There she goes." The way he addresses the room makes your gut twist. He does it with a practiced pomp and circumstance, a tactless grace- "Always so fucking embarrassed of me."

You pull at his arm. Luckily, he's wiggly enough that he stumbles along with you, even as his tone rises and rises.

"You always make me out to be the asshole."

"Let's go."

"So fucking embarrassed."

"Let's go, baby. Please."

"Anything for the fucking princess."

Somehow, you manage to get him outside. The weather is biting cold, with moisture clinging to the air in the anticipation of snow. Touya's breath puffs out visibly, each labored breath faster and faster. A real blow out is coming. Saying something will either mitigate it or push him over the edge.

"I just wanted to spend time together." You take the risk. "I just wanted-"

The gamble doesn't pay off.

"It's always about what you want." He yanks himself away from you. "You just fucking hate me, don't you?"

"I love you!" You do, you really do. It's why these bad moments hurt so badly, why your heart's so heavy when he gets this angry. "I love you so much, but this is my work and I want you to behave. Just for one night."

"It's always about you. What you want. What you want to do." The dark of his eyes are blown out, nearly swallowing the blue completely. "Never about fucking Touya. Never do anything for me, you fucking--"

Shit. He's high. You should have seen it earlier.

"You're heartless. You're a bitch." It's in the way he rambles, the laziness in his tongue. "Never what I wanna do."

There's a flash of anger inside you. All of this. All of your effort, your love, your money: it all feels wasted.

"Because all you ever wanna do is get high."

Touya whips around, fists bunched, lip sneered-

"You have no fucking idea how bad-" Spittle flies from his mouth as he speaks and you jump at their intensity. Every inch of your spine dissolves. "I wanna fucking bash your face in right now."

His body heaves with every breath. You wait for the retraction, wait for the realization, but his expression stays hard, firm with conviction. Suddenly, you're glad to be in the parking lot, bearing with the cold and ice, because it affords you silence. There's time to swallow down your tears, to remind yourself that he doesn't mean that, that it's just the withdraw talking.

(He's not in withdraw anymore. He's not in withdraw.)

Touya shoves a hand out.

"Gimme the car keys."

"You're drunk." And high. Where did he even get the drugs? Did he bring them?

"Give me the fucking keys." When you do, he starts to stalk off. "Take the fucking train home-- I don't wanna look at your fucking face."

"Touya..." you step after him. Your voice is wild and wet. "Touya, I-"

"I will fucking hit you, I swear to-"

He wheels around again, then freezes. His eyes are locked behind you. Shit- Hizashi, who had clearly followed you both outside. Relief and worry flood your system at the same time, so thick you might choke on them. Your boyfriend backs off, keys gripped tight in his hand.

"I'm leaving."

You watch him prowl away, through the parking lot, into the first flakes of snow. Quickly, you wipe away your snot and tears with the back of your hand. That's when you realize Touya's drink is still in one hand, gum still pressed into the edge.

"Hey-" You friend takes a couple steps forward. You're quick to start rambling.

"Hey, um-- ignore that, I--"

"Yeah. Totally. Yeah." Hizashi throws his hands up, expression open, yet twinging on sad. "Hey, I was just thinking; Nemuri and I just redid our guest room if you wanted to stay at our place for a little. We'll have a little sleepover."

"I couldn't-" Pity: you hear it in his voice. Guilt rises in your throat; you don't need his help. Tonight was just a bad one. "I don't have a toothbrush or my phone charger-"

"Oh my god, don't worry about it." Hizashi reassures you. "We'll take care of you, it's fine. I need someone to tell me if the mattress is good! You'd be doing me a favor, really."

There isn't a train station nearby. You'd have to cross the highway, you think. There's no guarantee you'd make it home tonight and if you did, there's only a chance that Touya will be over his mood.

"Okay, thank you." You rub your palm into your eye again. The tears have dried your contacts up. "I'm so sorry about him."

Hizashi cups a hand at your back. The contact makes you paranoid, as if someone's still watching, but it also eases your ache, just a bit.

"It's gonna be okay, babygirl, don't worry."

.

Touya calls you that night, just after 4am. It's a bad idea to answer, but you do anyway, voice low.

"Where are you?" Touya asks. His voice is smoothed out, calm and sweet. It soothes your headache, irons out a bit of your worry.

"Friend's house."

"Text me the address."

The guest room is nice, with finer sheets than you've ever slept on. Your eyes are puffy from the salt of your tears. "Touya, I don't know..."

"Princess, baby..." he pleads. "You know I'm sorry. Can't sleep in this apartment without you."

This is the side of his you like. The syrupy, soft kindz the one that sticks to your teeth like caramel.

"I was worried 'bout you, yeah?" he continues. "I miss my pretty girl. Miss kissing you."

"You were so mean."

"I didn't mean it. You know that. It's not me- I was just coming down real bad. You know that. You know that, right?"

"I do."

"And you know I love you. So much it makes my fucking head go crazy. Love you so fucking much. You're my princess." He rambles on, tugging at the strings. "You're my girl, right?"

The clock in the corner ticks. You count the seconds until you answer, voice small. "Yeah."

Touya blossoms at the inch you've given him. "My favorite girl. Always gonna be my girl, aren't you? It's just you and me 'til the end of the line."

Affection and dread. You can't decide with one you feel.

"Gimme the address, princess," Touya pleads again. "Lemme come get you. Take you home."

You do.

The car pulls up outside within the hour. All you have on is the loaned sweat set that Nemuri had lent you and the heels you had worn to the party. Snow has gathered enough that it wets your feet as you walk out to him. Touya is leaning against the car, arms open.

"Hey, princess." He sniffs. The tension is gone from his face and body. "Come'ere."

When he hugs you, his arm wraps around your neck.

[alinathinkstoomuch]

BEST WORST DATE EVER

pairing: aaron hotchner x fake!fiancee!reader summary: you finally score a date with your favourite FBI agent but none of it goes to plan. warnings | an: everything that could possibly go wrong goes wrong, reader wears dress, heels & makeup, reader also has hair rollers in for a sec, fluff, the usual romcom feels, kissing in the rain, two fools falling in love. word count: 4.2k

✧ masterlist | pt. one pt. two pt. three

Finally, after literal weeks, the stars – or, more accurately, the schedules – had aligned, and you had a date booked in your diary, with the only FBI agent who had ever made you forget how to spell your own name. Aaron Hotchner. The man who singlehandedly caused your brain to malfunction whenever he so much as breathed in your direction, or replied to your texts with perfect punctuation and no smiley faces.

This was it.

Date of the year. Date of the century. There would be bubbles, stolen glances, banter so electric it could power a small city or the entire FBI headquarters. Delicious food you wouldn’t even taste because, let’s be honest, who could chew in the presence of Aaron Hotchner looking at you like that?

All you had to do was get ready.

And you had. For three hours.

The dress was flawless – not even out on the racks yet – paired with colour-coordinated heels (obviously). Your feel-good playlist was echoing through the apartment, every song making your soul shimmy a little harder. You were glowing – literally, thanks to a brand-new highlighter and the sheer power of giddy excitement.

The evening itself? Divine. A soft summer night, the sky painted in dreamy strokes of orange and lavender. The breeze was so perfect, you had opened every window just so it could slip and wrap around your apartment.  It was giving beach house in the Hamptons – if the Hamptons had rush-hour traffic and someone aggressively yelling downstairs. Still, you’d take what you could get.

The night had started out on such a high that you chose to completely ignore the literal kink in your hair from a rogue roller that, for the first time ever, had gotten stuck. Like, really stuck. You had pulled. You had pleaded. You had given it a stern talking-to. Nothing worked.

So you yanked it free, wincing at the small collection of sacrificed strands now floating to the floor like sad little snowflakes. Whatever, you had told yourself, fluffing the misbehaving section. This just gave you an excuse to finally try that overpriced hair mask hiding at the back of your vanity. Self-care, right?

Crisis managed (ish), you turned to your dress – still hanging like royalty on its satin hanger, just waiting to be slipped into. It slid on like a dream, hugging every curve like it had been custom-made for your body and your body only. Which, technically, it had. A little tailoring here, a few adjustments there – you’d poured hours into making sure it was the dress. All that was left now? Zip. It. Up.

Which would’ve been a total breeze if you weren’t doing this solo.

“If you were a little taller, Gus, you’d be able to put those paws to good use,” you sighed, glancing down at your dachshund, who blinked up at you like you were insane. 

With Gus officially out of the running for Most Helpful Roommate, you took matters into your own hands. You twisted, reached and arched your back like a ballerina in The Nutcracker attempting an interpretive piece titled Why Am I Alone on Zipper Night? You even tried the shimmy-and-zip method that had worked exactly once in college when your roommate had bailed on you before formal.

No luck.

You huffed, shaking out the upcoming cramp in both of your arms. “Alright. We’re doing this the old-fashioned way.”

Marching into your office-slash-design-studio, you grabbed a roll of ribbon from the supply shelf and snipped a decent length off. Back at the mirror, you looped the ribbon through the zipper pull. Once it was securely hooked, you angled your body just right and gave the ribbon a gentle tug upward.

Your go-to method. She had never let you down before.

It moved and you felt it glide smoothly up your back, the zipper obeying like it knew who was in charge. You kept going – slowly, carefully – completely unaware you were holding your breath until –  

Snap.

You froze. Ribbon in hand. Soul temporarily exiting the premises.

Eyes squeezed shut, you stood there in absolute silence. You needed a moment, maybe two and possibly a drink.

You opened one eye.

Then the other.

You turned yourself to face the mirror and catch a glimpse of the back of the dress.

There it was, lodged three quarters of the way up your spine like a passive-aggressive ex refusing to leave. The pull? Gone. Vanished. Probably sipping a margarita in the Bahamas with your last bobby pin.

You stared at your reflection. Stared at the zipper. Stared at yourself staring at the zipper.

And then – you smiled.

Because you were not just any woman. You were a woman well-acquainted with last minute fashion emergencies. It’s what you did for a living. You’d made Halloween costumes of out duct tape and dreams. You’d hemmed dresses fifteen minutes before walking out the door. You’d once fixed a broken strap with a paperclip and a prayer – and it had held through a full night of dancing.

A snapped zipper? Please.

Back in your mini home studio, you slipped your arms out of the dress and rotated the back to the front so you could get to work. It wasn’t elegant nor graceful and there was a brief moment where you may or may not have used your teeth. But five minutes later?

The zipper had a new pull.

Was it technically a vintage charm from a bracelet you hadn’t worn since sophomore year? Yes.

Did it match the dress perfectly and look like it belonged there? Also yes.

You put the dress back on like it was made of glass and you were the belle of a very last-minute ball. The zipper held, the charm glinting in the mirror like a little badge of honour – or maybe the reason for your first grey hair.

Crisis: officially handled.

With your heels and clutch within reach, you made sure Gus was all set for the night. A little blanket nest on the couch with his favourite chew toy (the one that somehow still squeaked despite being mauled within an inch of its life). Your feel-good playlist had also been swapped out for classical music because apparently, according to the internet, dogs appreciated it. You weren't totally sure Gus cared, but you liked the ambiance.

“You good, little man?” you asked, scratching behind his ears.

He let out a dramatic yawn, turned in a slow, sleepy circle, and flopped onto his blanket like he had also just survived a zipper-induced emotional rollercoaster.

You grinned. “Same, honestly.”

And then – a knock at the door.

Your heart fluttered. Not dramatically, but enough to make you pause. You smoothed your dress one last time and gave Gus a look. “This is it,” you whispered. “Wish me luck.”

He blinked at you. Supportive, if slightly bored.

You crossed the room, lifted your chin, and opened the door.

There he was.

Aaron Hotchner.

Suit perfectly pressed, hair slightly wind-swept and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. For a moment, he didn’t say a word. He just looked at you, eyes warm and fixed on you like you had just walked straight out of a dream and into his reality.

His gaze moved slowly, drinking in the details like you were the best top-shelf wine he’d ever been offered – the kind you don’t rush, the kind you remember. When his eyes met yours again, something in his expression softened.

“…Wow,” he said, voice low.

“Careful, Aaron Hotch Hotchner. You keep looking at me like that and I might start thinking you missed me.”

That earned a smile – not the tight-lipped professional one, not the guarded BAU version. No, this one was real. It reached his eyes, it crinkled at the corners and it felt like something just for you. “I did,” he replied simply.

Your smile widened. “Good answer.”

He held out the bouquet. “These are for you – though, I have to say, they feel a little underwhelming after seeing you.”

“Wow. Look at you being all smooth.”

“I had a whole line prepared,” he admitted. “You kind of ruined it by looking like that.”

“Guess I’ll try to tone it down next time.”

“Don’t,” he said, already a little too soft again.

You took the flowers, their stems cool against your fingers and stepped aside. “Let me get these in water, and you can meet the most important man in my life.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow.

You gestured toward the living room. “Gus.”

Right on cue, the little dachshund trotted in, ears perked, tail wagging.

Hotch crouched down immediately, like the well-trained guest he was. “Hey, buddy.”

Gus sniffed his palm, then turned and padded right past him, deeming the man neither a threat… nor particularly impressive.  

From the kitchen, you laughed. “Don’t take it personally. He’s playing hard to get.”

“I’m familiar with the type,” Aaron called back.

“Really? Who?” You reached for your tallest vase – the one that only ever saw the light of day when something mildly romantic happened. “Because it definitely can’t be me,” you continued, “I’ve been practically sending smoke signals.”

You turned on the tap, the water rushing out as you tried – and failed – to bite back your smile. You had light grip on the vase, distracted by the sound of Aaron chuckling behind you. The vase filled faster than expected and before you could react, it slipped right of your hands, clattered loudly in the sink, and half its contents splashed right onto your dress, the countertop and the floor.

“…That sounded expensive.”

“It was,” you said flatly, staring down at the soaked fabric of your dress. “It also doubles as a statement piece and apparently, a hazard.”

Aaron was at your side in a second, gently picking up the vase from where it was now sitting crooked in the sink. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, totally.” You grabbed the nearest dish towel and dabbed at your dress. “I only spent three hours getting ready, survived a zipper mutiny, and now I’m just casually being waterboarded by a flower arrangement. It’s fine.”

Hotch’s lips twitched. “Want to reschedule?”

You shot him a look. “If I put on another dress, I might start charging emotional labour.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Fair.”

You kept dabbing at your dress, pretending to ignore the fact that this was the second wardrobe-related crisis of the evening, while Aaron rescued the bouquet, reassembling it like it hadn’t just committed a minor act of sabotage.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, glancing down at the damp patches, “I still look cute, right?”

Hotch looked up, dead serious. “You look incredible.”

The words landed somewhere in your chest, like he wasn’t just saying it to flatter you, but simply stating a fact. “Well,” you exhaled, fluffing your hair like that might buy you back a sliver of composure, “I’m not changing again, so I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

You grabbed your clutch, slipped on your heels and gave your apartment one last once-over before turning to Aaron. “Alright. Let’s try this again.”

He offered his arm. “Shall we?”

You looped your arm through his. “We shall.”

You made it downstairs without incident and Aaron, ever the gentleman, opened the passenger side door of his car, and you slipped in without doing some ridiculous like flashing him your underwear.

Once he was settled in the driver’s seat, he started the engine, sparing you a glance. “Seatbelt?”

You clicked it into place. “What kind of date do you think this is?”

“The kind where I don’t want to fill out paperwork after.”

You grinned, turning slightly. “You’re funnier than I expected.”

“I’m told it’s my most surprising quality.”

“You are full of surprises, Hotchner.”

Just as he pulled out of the lot, the universe – ever the drama queen – decided it had been too quiet for too long. The GPS, unprompted and in the loudest possible volume setting, blared: “Turn left in twenty feet!”

You both flinched.

“Wow. Okay. Was she… yelling at us?”

Hotch reached forward to lower the volume. “She gets a little aggressive when I don’t use her often.”

“Hm,” you hummed. “Sounds familiar.”

“Is this your way of telling me I’ve been ignoring you?”

“I would never be that passive-aggressive.”

The GPS interrupted again, louder. “Turn left now!”

You jumped. “Okay, well she would.”

“I think she’s siding with you.”

“As she should.”

Things finally settled as Aaron pulled away from the curb, the GPS now speaking in something resembling an inside voice. You stole a glance at him. Then another. It wasn’t your fault. The way his hands gripped the wheel? Illegal.

And God, he smelled good. Not cologne-overkill good – the kind of good that was understated and wildly unfair. Like expensive soap, confidence and something distinctively manly. You shifted in your seat, trying to look not as flustered as you felt.

“This is fine,” you muttered to yourself, staring out the window. “Totally normal. Just a casual date with the FBI’s finest.”

“What was that?” Aaron asked, glancing at you.

You smiled sweetly. “Just talking to the GPS. Making sure she knows who’s in charge now.”

He smirked – and that should be illegal too. “Let me know how that goes for you.”

You were just about to fire back a quick, witty response (something equal parts charming and slightly unhinged), when the car made a new sound. Not a thud. Not a rattle. More like a… dramatic wheeze, a mechanical sigh of defeat.

Your head snapped toward him. “Oh no.”

Aaron frowned and pulled the car over. “It’s probably nothing. Just a –”

The engine sputtered again, the lights flickered once, then everything died.

“That felt like something.”

Aaron tried the ignition once, then twice and was met with nothing but an empty click. He sighed, finally admitting what you could already see written all over his face.

Defeat.

You leaned back in your seat, trying not to laugh. “So… what’s the verdict Hotch Hotchner?”

“It’s not the battery, not the alternator…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I’m not a mechanic.”

“I thought you were the FBI,” you teased. “You’re telling me you can dismantle a semi-automatic in ten seconds, but you can’t hotwire your own car?”

“I could hotwire a car,” he corrected - and, okay, that was absolutely a visual you were going to revisit later. “But I’m pretty sure it’s frowned upon when it’s your own.” He undid his seatbelt and added, “I’ll take a look under the hood.”

You slid out of the passenger seat and followed, heels clicking as you caught up with him. He had already shrugged off his suit jacket by the time you reached him, revealing a fitted black dress shirt that was doing far too much damage to your eyes, brain and heart.

“Here,” you offered, extending your hand. He glanced over, momentarily surprised, then handed the jacket to you with a grateful nod. You folded the jacket over your arm, watching him roll up his sleeves. Wow, even more damage. It felt like you were in some kind of fighting video game, watching all your health bars flash red in every area marked vulnerable to manly forearms.

He leaned into the engine compartment, brows furrowed, sleeves pushed back, giving you a front-row seat to the this-shouldn’t-be-so-attractive show.

“So,” you began conversationally, “did you always want to catch bad guys or was FBI agent your backup plan after professional modelling fell through?”

"I think you might have me confused with someone else."

“Nope.” You shook your head. “I’ve seen those arms. Definitely modelling material. Like, trench coat on a rooftop, smouldering into the sunset kind of thing.”

“Flattery isn’t going to restart the engine.”

“Maybe not, but it’s certainly improving the situation for me,” you shot back with a grin. “Besides you haven’t answered my question.”

He straightened up, eyes on you now instead of the uncooperative car. "I was actually a lawyer first."

"A lawyer too? That's no fair. Is there anything you can’t do?"

He glanced down at his watch, then back at you with a half-smile. “Get us to dinner on time, apparently.” His line of sight then briefly shifted to your shoes. “Think those heels of yours can survive a walk? The restaurant isn’t much further from here.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please. You know what they say – give a woman the right pair of shoes and she can conquer the world.”

He shut the hood of the car with a thump, then looked at you again, eyes lingering a little longer this time. “Is that what you’re doing tonight? Conquering the world?”

“Absolutely,” you confirmed, sweeping the hand that wasn’t holding his jacket down your still-slightly-damp outfit. “One malfunctioning car, soggy dress, broken zipper and FBI agent at a time.”

His smile deepened. “You know…most people wouldn’t be laughing through all of this.”

“Are you calling me most people? Because I can give you your jacket back right now, no problem.”

He shook his head slowly, his gaze still on you. “No. I’m saying you’re beautiful, and I don’t think I’ve met anyone quite like you.”

That stopped you cold. The words catching you off guard completely, so much so that you dropped your eyes down to the pavement. You couldn’t remember the last time someone made you feel so…seen. So genuinely appreciated.

Considering you track record – dating, even being engaged to nothing but jerks – it was hard not to feel like all you’d ever known were bad eggs. But standing here, it finally felt like maybe, just maybe… Aaron Hotchner was one of the good ones.

“You’re not going shy on me now, are you?” he asked and you felt his hand brush against yours as he gently took back his jacket.

You shook your head with a soft laugh. “No. Just trying really hard not to picture you as an egg.”

He moved behind you then, and before your brain could catch up, he was carefully draping the jacket over your shoulders – warm from where it had rested on your arm, smelling like him in a way that made your heart stutter.

“Do I even want to know?” he murmured near your ear.

You turned your head just enough to catch his eye over your shoulder, your voice quieter now. “Just that you’re a good one.”

“A good egg?”

You grinned. “The best.”

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you to that lava cake.”

Within seconds his car was locked and left behind on the side of the road – forgotten in favour of the glow ahead. His jacket was too big on you, but it was warm. And for some reason you couldn’t quite explain, it made you feel safe. Every time the fabric shifted, brushing lightly against your arm, it reminded you he was still there, walking beside you.

And then, as if the universe wasn’t quite done with you yet, a few stray raindrops tapped against your cheek, the kind of drizzle that made everything smell like damp concrete and slow evenings.

You glanced up toward the sky, then over at him. “Seriously?”

Aaron looked up too, lips twitching. “We can call a cab.”

“It’s fine. I put on waterproof mascara, might as well see if it lives up to the hype.”

He gave you a sidelong glance, like he was trying to decide if you were serious, then just nodded once – like a man who didn’t quite know what waterproof mascara was, but respected the commitment – and kept walking.

You followed, doing your best runway walk despite the slick pavement and the extra weight of his jacket. It actually looked like the two of you might make it to dinner on time.

Until your heel caught.

It was subtle at first – a shift in your step, a little tug – until you stopped walking completely and looked down to find your heel wedged neatly into the crack between the curb and the sidewalk.

You sighed, long and theatrical. “Oh, come on.”

Aaron paused, turned back, and took in the situation as you gestured dramatically at your trapped shoe. “I’m telling you, the universe is sending a message.”

He walked back toward you, crouched without a word, and gently wrapped a hand around your ankle – because of course he knew how to rescue people from their own footwear.

“I’ve had crime scenes less complicated than this,” he said, voice dry.

“Are you calling my shoe a crime scene?”

“Not yet,” he muttered, and with one swift motion, freed your heel from the crack like it was second nature.

“Wow. That was… weirdly attractive.”

He stood and handed you your balance back with one steady hand. “Try not to fall for me again.”

You shoved lightly at his chest. “Okay, absolutely not the time or place to be charming.”

His brows lifted, but he didn’t argue.

“I’m serious,” you went on, gesturing wildly. “A broken zipper, a chunk of my hair lost to a stupid roller, an almost shattered vase that somehow exploded all over me anyway, a dead car, mascara that’s probably migrated to my chin – I don’t know, I can’t see – and now the sidewalk is trying to eat my vintage Dior heels? Aaron, these are all signs.”

He tiled his head slightly. “Signs of what, sweetheart?”

Your breath caught – not because of the word, but because of the timing. He said it so gently, like it wasn’t the thousand-pound weight you were already carrying.

“Don’t sweetheart me,” you said quickly, your voice wobbling. “Not when my heart is already starting to hurt. These are signs that you need to run. Far. Like sprint away from me and this whole fake fiancé pyramid scheme I’ve roped you into. The universe is practically screaming at you to get out and I think, at this point, you really ought to listen.”

Aaron didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you. The rain had flattened his hair, darkened his clothes, but he stood there like it didn’t matter. Like you were the only thing he was aware of.

“Are you done?”

“Excuse me?”

“The speech, the spiral, the dramatic monologue,” he continued, stepping closer. “Was that the end, or should I expect an encore?”

You opened your mouth, whether to defend yourself or double down, you weren’t even sure, but he was already there, just a foot away, the rain closing in around you both like a curtain.

“You think I haven’t seen chaos before? You really think I’d be here if I needed to run?” He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t trying to fix you. He was just there. Standing in the middle of the mess you were trying to warn him away from… and not moving.

“I’m a walking disaster tonight.”

“You’re soaked and dramatic,” he corrected. “Not the same thing.”

“I’ve done everything I can to prove this is a bad idea.”

“And I’m still here.”

You stared at him, rain blurring your lashes. “Why?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Because I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

That stopped the noise in your head – the overthinking, the spiralling, the guilt, the sheer panic of letting yourself want something that wasn’t wrapped in self-protection.

And then the rain really came.

No longer a gentle drizzle, but a full-on downpour.

You gasped as it hit, cold and immediate. Rain clung to your lashes, soaked through your hair, slid down your neck in rivulets. Your dress plastered to your skin and Aaron’s jacket felt ten times heavier as it soaked up the water.

The street around you emptied in an instant as people scattered for shelter. But neither of you moved, frozen in the middle of the sidewalk like the storm had carved out a private world just for this moment.  

Aaron didn’t flinch. Didn’t suggest shelter. He just watched you through the rain, like the sight of you standing there – drenched, dramatic, furious at fate – was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You still don’t think this is a sign?” you asked, breathless, rain slipping over your lips like punctuation.  

“I do actually,” he answered the same time his hand moved to cradle your cheek. “I think it’s a sign for me to do this.”

His lips were on yours before you could even process it. There was no hesitation, no searching for the right moment because this was the moment. You kissed him back, tasting the rain, your fingers fisting into the damp fabric of his shirt as if that would help with the dizziness you felt. The kiss wasn’t perfect, not by movie standards – it was messy and soaked and your teeth bumped slightly when you smiled against his mouth.

But it was real.

It was the kind of kiss you felt everywhere. In your knees. In your ribs. In all the places you’d spent years protecting.

When he finally pulled back, you almost winced at the loss of him, like your body hadn’t quite agreed to let go. You stood there, blinking up at him through rain-slick lashes, barely breathing.

“You’re smiling,” he murmured, his thumb brushing across your cheek, as if to make sure it was still really you.

“You make it incredibly hard not to.”

He gave a small nod, then leaned in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he said softly against your skin. “We can still make the reservation.”

You groaned, tipping your head back. “I’m soaked, I can feel mascara on my collarbone, and I’m pretty sure my heels would make a squidge noise with every step.”

He said nothing, just waited because of course he knew there was more.

You looked back at him, a little hesitant now. “Would you kill me if I said…we skip the reservation, grab takeout and spend the night with Gus instead?”

He shook his head again. “We could spend the rest of the night standing out here in the rain and I wouldn’t have many complaints.”

tags - @fandomscombine @dohmeti @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue

[azzibuckets]

letters from dallas part 1

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: in which i neglect all the other series and fics im supposed to be writing to send more angst ur way <3

lfd masterlist | main masterlist

May 1, 2025

Dear Azzi,

It fucking sucks here.

I know I’m supposed to be thankful for this opportunity. And I am, I swear. My teammates are nice. Arike’s been showing me around downtown. Nai and Lyss are funny. They’ve adopted me, called me their child. They remind me of us.

My therapist said it’s good to write down my feelings. Not sure how she’d say if it was letters, letters to you, but hey, something is better than nothing.

I saw a trailer for Frozen 3 last week and I thought of you. I hope you’re doing well. I called KK the other day. She was so excited - I felt bad. I haven’t been as good as I wanted to be with talking to our team - well, your team now - but it hurts too much knowing that they get to spend every day with you and I can’t. I asked her about you. She seemed hesitant to tell me. But I kept nagging her and she told me you’re good, spending a lot of time reading and stuff. Said they finally got you off Colleen Hoover. She wants me to move on, I can tell. It’s killing both of us, how I can’t let you go. But I guess writing these letters and stuffing them in my closet are how I’m trying to get my closure and deal with my feelings, so maybe this will help.

You’re on my fucking mind all the time, and I wish you weren’t. I miss you so bad sometimes it hurts to exist. If you saw the amount of melatonin I take every every night just to avoid you in my dreams, you’d probably yell at me.

Love,

Paige

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

June 7, 2025

Dear Azzi,

Have I mentioned that Drew hasn’t been talking to me? He blames me for our breakup, and he misses you like hell. I do too.

I played like shit in the game yesterday. I can’t believe we lost to the Sparks. It was nice seeing Cam again though. I don’t know if you remember, but it’s our anniversary. I saw that you were at the soccer game with the girls. You looked really good, really happy. I guess it doesn’t affect you like it affects me. And I know that should make me like, mad, or jealous. But I’m glad at least one of us is healing?

Honestly? it sucks having to see your face all over social media. It sucks even more whenever I go on my Instagram page and you’re all over it too. I could be salty and delete all of it, but that would start too much drama. Besides, that would mean deleting like half my posts

I wonder how Jose and Jon are doing. Jon unfollowed me the other day. That one hurt pretty bad. I miss my little brothers, and I miss your parents.

Love,

Paige

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

August 28, 2025

Dear Azzi,

Yesterday was a fucking shit show. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to even show up when I heard you guys were coming. It was weird, seeing you in the audience. It was everything I’d always imagined, you coming to my games, but it also made me feel sick, knowing this is what could’ve been. What should’ve been. I was nervous the last quarter thinking about what to say to you after the game, but god, Azzi, you couldn’t even look at me. I tried to talk to you after the group pic but you disappeared.

Maybe it’s a good time to tell you that Katie and Tim were at my game last week, against the Mystics. I’m gonna be honest, when I saw they were there, I avoided them, and I’m not proud of it. I ran to my car straight after the presser but somehow they found where I parked and were waiting next to it?? If this was a different circumstance I would’ve laughed.

All they told me was great game before I started crying. I don’t even know what came over me. But your mom hugged me and that made me cry even harder. They told me I was their daughter no matter what, and they loved me. I wrote it down as soon as I left because I didn’t ever wanna forget.

Azzi, we didn’t even marry each other like we promised, and I still feel like we left a broken family. I didn’t mean for this many people to get hurt, for this many relationships to shatter because ours did.

It makes forgetting you so much harder, and that’s what pisses me off. That I’ve injured my knee and gone through months of rehab and moved across the country to a brand new city, yet this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

From,

Paige

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

October 2nd, 2025

Dear Azzi,

I was calling KK again and I didn’t ask about you this time. I think I’m making some progress.

Arike keeps trying to get me with some of her friends, but it still doesn’t feel right. I think I need a little bit more time.

From,

Paige

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

October 20, 2025

Dear Azzi,

I turn 24 today. Damn I feel old. I’ve spent a third of my life now loving you.

From,

Paige

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

October 22nd, 2025

Dear Azzi,

I just got your present in the mail. You didn’t have to. I love it. Thank you.

- Paige

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

November 11, 2025

Happy birthday big head. I think you probably received my gift by now. I debated on writing a card, but you didn’t write me one, and I’ve decided to leave the cards (haha) in your hand. So I’m just following your lead. I hope you enjoy 23.

- Paige

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

December 7, 2025

Azzi,

Hell of a game yesterday. Proud of you. National player of the year performance

- P

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

April 5, 2026

Az,

LET’S FUCKING GOOOO. Shit, man. Two peat natty champs??? Unbelievable. My hands are tweaking out, I can’t even read my own handwriting. I knew you could do it, Az. Thank you for not forcing me to wear irish merch..I never look good in green like you do

- P

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

April 13, 2026

Azzi,

Drafted to the Sky????

See you so fucking soon

Nice fit at the draft btw

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

May 16, 2026

Dear Azzi,

Fuck, the way you smiled at me after that game. Maybe I’ll have the courage to finally text you. I know it’s probably not the best idea but…I still regret everything. It’s been a little bit more than a year and it still hurts as bad as it did the first day. Is this normal?

Love,

Paige

[no1blacksapphirefan]

I live your self aware au stuffs! I think it would be really cute to see the self aware beasts/ancients reaction to oblivious reader making a little area in the kingdom just for them. QwQ

Imagine how flustered and warm they would feel to know that the weird sky god cares about them so. Hehe!!

Also, I have no idea if anyone else does this, but the J a r you can buy... I love putting Shmilky in it or the little love tent with my own cookie. I WONDER WHAT THE COOKIES THINK OF THIS TEE HEE!! >:D

-🐰🐱 (Do you mind if I take these emojis? If you don't allow anon emojis, that's okay!!!)

RIAESJDROINOSGSPF TYSM FOR Y'ALLS KIND WORDS!! I honestly never thought my silly Self-Aware AU thoughts would get as many notes as it ended up getting. Very thankful/grateful for all of you.

🐰🐱 anon, ofc you can take those emojis! :D Very honoured to already have anons honestly. As for the 2nd anon, here's your Self-Aware Pitaya Dragon :3 I apologise if they're OOC </3

(Reader isn't aware that they are aware) ((More romantic-ish I think but not strictly romantic))

Pitaya Dragon is honoured. And completely in love with however you ended up decorating the place. If I recall their story correctly, they did used to rule over Hollyberry Kingdom or something like that until well Hollberry came back and defeated them. So to have, practically a god. Someone higher then the witches technically, make an entire area dedicated to them. Just for them. Because you love them. It's just hell yeah!! If they could, they'd pay you back ten fold, unfortunately they can't...perhaps if they found a way out...hmmm, they wonder how you feel about free dragon back rides.

As for the jar, me thinks Pitaya Dragon would sulk if you ever put them in it. Don't get me wrong, they probably do know it's just your silly quirks and weird ways to show how much you love them but they want to stretch their wings!! They would love the love tent though. Bonus points if the cookie you put them with is similar to yourself. Closest thing they're ever gonna get.

Pure Vanillas heart might explode. He saw what you were doing, happily tapping away at your device as you were decorating parts of the kingdom, then when it updated he just saw an area that seemed to be made just for him. And his seemed to be proven right as you carefull picked him up and placed him there. Lord is he flustered, he can't show you that. What if you think the game is buggy and delete the game? He tries his best to contain himself but as soon as you leave he can't help but burst into a blushing mess.

You? Favouring him this much to the point of making an area dedicated to him? He is so happy and content, not even Shadow Milk can disrupt his mood now. I don't think he'd mind being put in a jar, if it makes you smile he supposes he can deal with it. He'd be incredibly happy if you put your cookie (Again assuming it looks like you) in the love tent. If only he could stay there...

White Lily feels almost unworthy of it at first. How could you treat her so kindly after all she's done? And you KNOW what she did. You know what happened to her...you know the reason. And sure maybe that's why, you understand her a bit more then any other cookie but, she still did horrible thing.

It takes her time getting used to you and how you show'd your affection. But eventually she starts going toward the area you made just for her more. Almost excited when you happily put her in the jar (almost) and content when you put your cookie self and her in the love tent. It took her awhile to get used to but she's honestly so grateful someone like you loves her as much as you do. She's honoured.

HollyBerry loves it hands down. She is the Light of Passion of course, she's excited as you finish making the area for her. Quickly running over and staying there, to check out every single thing you put in there that either matches her, reminds you of her or just something that's in her general kingdom decorating category. If she could spend all her time there she would, unfortunately she can't, you need her to cut down wood.

But as soon as she's done and you don't need her for the work anymore? She's back to hanging around there, talking the other ancients ears off as she talks about how kind hearted you are. She loves your silly gestures of love. If putting her in that jar is you showing how much you love her? Hells yeah, she's up for it.

Put her in the love tent with your cookie? Oh she's hugging the life out of that cookie, it's the closest thing she'll get to hugging you.

Dark Cacao is a bit scared at first at the amount of affection you've been giving him. And when he sees you make a section of your kingdom based on him? For him? He doesn't know what to say, he wants to pay you back and if he could he would as soon as he could. But all he could do now was stare at that area.

He's still a bit scared/concerned at your displays of affection. Confused on why putting him in a jar is one of your ways but he supposes that if it meant hearing your giddy smile he can deal with it. When you first started putting your cookie self and his in the love tent, he's a bit tense. (He's scared of affection/hj) but he grows used to it, almost expecting it eventually. Even if it's not you, being in the presence of your cookie is enough for him. He hopes one day he'll be able to see you in person and not through a screen.

Golden Cheese oh she loves it. When you finish making that area she stares at it before looking at you like "Is this for meeeeeee?" She is so honoured to have so much affection from you to the point you'd make a special section in your busy kingdom for her. She just wishes she could pay you back somehow.

Such affection deserves to be repaid of course!! Though she is confused on the act of putting her in that jar. Perhaps it's a custom you do where ever you are, well even though she'd prefer to walk around, she can stay in the jar for a bit just for you.

She loves holding your cookie in the love tent, no she doesn't care that it's not you. You made it, from your own hands and wishes. So in turn it's very special to her. She sometimes follows your cookie around the kingdom as if something were to happen with them. Can never be too careful.

Shadow Milk is absolutely thrilled upon seeing the section you've made for him. It has everything he looks, shucks you know him so well. As much as other cookies tend to ensure you think they're still code...Shadow Milk doesn't care too too much, besideeessss. Who's to say that his compliments to that area aren't just his code hm??

He is Shadow Milk, he can break the 4th wall a few times right?...hey why are you putting him in a jar!? He does not like being in the jar, you are so lucky he likes you. If it were anyone else he'd be banging on that screen of yours. Sigh, the exceptions he's made for you. (He doesn't mind, your laughs are what he enjoys listening to anyways)

Gets so giddy upon being placed in the love tent with "you". Gosh he finds how you show affection so nice. Hm...if you like placing your cookie and himself in the love tent, then perhaps he'll just have to hurry with figuring out how to get out. He'll make sure you'll be able to experience the real deal soon and not just see it.

Burning Spice he could kiss you if he could. He loves the new area you gave him just for him. Probably a rare moment where he'd show a small bit of blush at this act of affection from you. He's so used to your other displays of affection, placing him in a jar (He wants to break out), tapping the hell out of him on his cookie profile, just holding him in your kingdom??

But when he sees this act of affection? You truly are higher than the witches, he loves spending his time there and bringing his minions/children along with him. Parading it around like it's the best area ever (it is...to him)

The best way he can thank you right now is put down his axe and spend some quality time with "you" as you place your cookie and himself in the love tent. He isn't sure if that cookie only looks like you or perhaps shares the same interests as you. But he'll talk to it like it's you. Can't get you suspicious, that'll ruin the surprise for when he finally escapes.

Mystic Flour cookie almost smiles at it. She is the Light of Apathy after all. But other cookies around her can tell this is one of the things that she does enjoy, even if she doesn't seem like it.

You can tell with how much she ends up walking over to the section of your kingdom. You not knowing that she's aware. Often make jokes to your friend that she loves it and cares for it. You don't know how much of that is true. If even a spec of dirt gets on that area, she'll stare coldly at the other cookie as she cleans it up quickly.

She doesn't seem to care all too much about being placed with a jar, she doesn't get why others care so much either. To her it's just more confinement but just for a short amount of time. As long as she isn't trapped their like she was in the tree, you have no problems.

She does find it almost amusing when you place her and your cookie in the love tent, almost flattered (...almost) but she has no trouble against it either, she likes the silence between herself and your cookie. Looking forward to when she can do this with you in your own world.

Black Sapphire (can't forget my pookie) oho, you raised his ego a bit. An epic cookie getting such a dedicated area? Sure epics are still sought after in the game, but with the amount of rarities above him? He can't help but feel satisfied with how much you decorated that area for him. Bonus points if you have the other ancients/beasts but he's the one with the area.

He spends a good amount of time there, bringing your cookie alongside him. Almost giving a tour as if you didn't literally make it. Though in his defense, that cookie isn't technically you.

Do NOT put him in a jar/hj Whilst he does enjoy your giggles of delight, please let him out. There's only so much time one cookie can spend in a jar before they grow tired of it. You're lucky he loves you...

Oh? Putting him in the love tent with your cookie? Alright, all is forgiven, he'll bombard your cookie with thousands rumours in hopes to impress you, or at the very least, practice. He knows his master is looking for a way out, and he'll be right behind him when he does.

.

.

.

Would've added Eternal Sugar and Silent Salt but they aren't released yet and I don't know too too much on them </3

I hope this satisfies you anons though! :3 Wrote this in the middle of the like night so I'll probably fix it when I get the chance after I wake up hehe

- #1 BLACK SAPPHIRE FAN/LISTENER OUT

[sevsgiirl]

Sevika headcanons please? Romantic & sexual, when she has crush etc? Pretty pleaseeee?

— sevika being a lovesick puppy for you

synopsis: sevika doesn’t understand why she can’t seem to act normally around silco’s new hire. she’s never had a problem letting anybody know what she thinks about them, but you? you were different. and it was driving her insane.

note: my first req 🥹 so sorry if this was sloppy I did it last minute but I was just excited to write this for you. I hope you like it and thank you for sending this in!

𖥔 sevika wouldn’t consider herself a shy romantic. she isn’t the type to stutter when she sees a person she likes and she definitely has no problem walking up to people she finds attractive and asking them out. when she wants something, she goes for it.

𖥔 that’s why she was baffled when she met you. you were silco’s new hire and when he informed sevika about you saying you were his new informant and that you’d be joining her in missions, she didn’t think much of it.

𖥔 what she didn’t expect was her becoming so smitten by you that she avoided talking to you for the first couple of weeks. there was just something about you and the way you walked into a room and her eyes immediately gravitated towards you but she just couldn’t seem to muster the courage to introduce herself.

𖥔 you assumed she was either just guarded or that she didn’t like you. you tried not to take it personally but you had to admit it was torture because you found the older woman incredibly interesting and wanted to strike up a conversation with her.

𖥔 but it seems like whenever she sees you she refuses to acknowledge your presence. walking past you, answering your work related questions with either a hum or a nonchalant ‘yes’ or ‘no’

𖥔 what you didn’t know is that sevika was losing her mind because she’s never acted this way around anybody.

𖥔 perhaps it was your innocent and warm personality that made her hesitant to talk to you, because you were so different from her and everybody else that worked for silco. you didn’t seem like you fit here but you always got the job done when asked and that just flustered her even more.

𖥔 not to mention, you’re hot. so fucking hot especially when you’d walk around in those tight fitted shorts you always wore that showed off your legs and thighs that made her mouth go dry every single time.

𖥔 sometimes you’d do things by accident that would make her brain go haywire. whether it was leaning against the bar talking to thieram and you’d arch your back enough for your ass to poke out. how you’d fold your arms together and it’d cause your tits to be pushed together. how every time you’d talk to someone, you have this habit of tilting your head and biting your lower lip and she’d have to restrain yourself from biting her entire fist.

𖥔 don’t even get her started on the way you say her name, your voice all sultry and sweet “sevika? are you ready to go?” she always ends up giving you a nod because she knew if she responded verbally she’d be a spluttering mess.

𖥔 she didn’t want to come across as a bitch but she knew it was likely looking that way, but she just didn’t know how to act around you. it was frustrating.

𖥔 eventually though, you’ve had enough and asked her about it “sevika? can I have a word with you?”

𖥔 she was backed into a corner and she tried so hard not to sound like an idiot “what for?” she asked, hoping you didn’t notice the panic in her tone.

𖥔 you sighed, looking down on your feet “I just wanted to ask if we’re good? I’ve been working here for almost a month now and I know it’s probably not that serious but I just can’t let it slide how you talk to everyone here but me. if I did something wrong that made you dislike me please just-“

𖥔 “what? no!” she exclaimed which surprised you “I mean… fuck. I don’t hate you, princess. you’ve done nothing wrong and you’re…” basically fucking perfect is what she wanted to say, but she stopped herself “you’re good. you’re more than good but I just have a hard time with new hires, it doesn’t help that you’re younger.”

𖥔 “well, that’s silly. you know you can talk to me, I won’t bite.” the implications of your words made her gulp “how about you come to my place this saturday and I cook you lunch? please? I really want to get to know you.”

𖥔 trying to talk to you while there was so many people around was already a struggle, imagine being left alone with you “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

𖥔 “please?” and there it is again, that tone you always use that makes her fucking melt “I promise I’ll make it worth it.”

𖥔 the next thing sevika knew, it was saturday and she was in front of your door wondering whether or not her decision to come to your place was a great idea.

𖥔 truth be told, you had every right to feel hurt about sevika’s ambivalence towards you, but usually people would just let it slide because they were scared of her. you though?

𖥔 “sevika, hi!” you said as you greeted her at your door “I was wondering when you’d show.”

𖥔 she offered an awkward smile “yeah well, I didn’t want to leave you hanging.”

𖥔 what she came to realize as soon as she arrived however, both to her pleasure and horror, was that you were good company to have around. which she hated. it was enough that she was not only attracted to you physically but the fact she was smitten by your personality as well made her want to pull her hair out. you could talk for hours and she’d listen to every single word.

𖥔 “I’m really glad we cleared the air because I was scared that I did something wrong for you to ignore me,” you said with a sheepish smile as you ate lunch with her “for a moment, I thought I was being a show off which might’ve annoyed you…”

𖥔 sevika immediately shook her head “no, that’s not… don’t ever think that.” you blinked up at her, as if to coax her into saying what really was the reason why she avoided you like the plague.

𖥔 and she thought since she’s here and there’s no point in acting like a sappy teenager at her grown age, she might as well come clean “I just find you attractive is all, princess. you came in and you had this sparkle about you and I didn’t know how to handle it. I’m used to being surrounded with old men at work so seeing you - young, bright and full of potential… I didn’t know how to make of it.”

𖥔 you were stunned for a second, your mouth agape “sev…” you bit your lip as you look down on your plate “well… if it’s any consolation I must say the feelings are mutual.”

𖥔 sevika’s eyes widened so much she swore they almost popped out.

𖥔 “what?” she asked as you nodded.

𖥔 “yeah, you’re so experienced and good at your job and silco trusts you so much. that’s why it was a big deal that you liked me or not because the truth is, out of everyone at work, I crave your validation the most.”

𖥔 her throat bobbed at your confession, an unmistakable heat pooling at her insides “yeah?” she said hoarsely.

𖥔 you smiled “I mean, of course, take it as you will. but I just wanted to let you know.”

𖥔 sevika swore she wasn’t going to cave into the allure of your words, of what they suggested, you were the new hire and it’d be so unprofessional of her to make a move on you. she kept that in mind even as you both finished lunch and she was about to walk out your apartment and leave…

𖥔 that’s why she doesn’t understand how she got here, stomach flat on the bed with your thighs trembling on both sides of her head as she licked a fat stripe off your leaking pussy. looking up at you with needy eyes and you stared back at her, a sly grin on your face.

𖥔 “oh sevi…” you moaned “and here I thought you hated me.”

[slutoru1207]

Is it alright if you make an invincible story where Mark and the reader started out as childhood friends. He dated Amber, then Eve then next is the reader. Then after that have been together for a long while now, Mark would have some crazy baby fever. Please?🥺🙏

Ooh, I love this idea!💞🥹 It’s got the perfect mix of nostalgia, romance, and a hint of humor with Mark’s baby fever. Here’s how it could go:

You and Mark had known each other for as long as you could remember. Childhood friends, then more, though neither of you really understood the difference when you were younger.

You’d both been through a lot—he with his journey to becoming Invincible, and you, just by his side through all of it. You’d been there when he dated Amber, then again when he had that short-lived relationship with Eve. But now? Now it was you and him. You’d been together for years, and every day with Mark was something new, yet always familiar, like the way he made you laugh with his clumsy yet endearing superhero stunts or the way he’d always hold your hand in public like it was a quiet declaration of his love.

Mark was the guy in your life, and somehow, it still felt like nothing had changed, even after all the twists and turns. The love between you had grown stronger, deeper, more solid with time. It was perfect, or at least it felt that way until one thing started taking over his thoughts.

It had started out subtle. A conversation here and there, as you’d talk about your future—about what it would look like a few years down the road. You'd been dreaming together, as you always did, about the house you might have someday, the trips you’d take, the quiet moments you’d share.

But lately, Mark’s eyes seemed to linger a little longer when he saw baby ads on TV. Or when he’d get super excited when a new friend or family member would have a baby.

At first, you thought it was a passing thing.

But then... it wasn’t.

One evening, as you two sat on the couch together, flipping through channels, Mark’s gaze was fixed on a commercial for a baby product. You didn’t think much of it until you noticed how still he was. His lips parted as if he were about to say something.

“Mark?” you called, tilting your head.

He blinked and snapped out of it, looking at you with a sheepish smile. "Sorry, I was... thinking."

You raised an eyebrow, suspicious. "About what?"

Mark shifted in his seat, then hesitated. His voice lowered, and his eyes were slightly sheepish. “About... babies.”

You couldn't help but laugh lightly. "Babies? As in, your babies?"

He looked over at you, eyes wide with a mix of excitement and hesitation. "Yeah... I don't know, it’s just... I mean, you know, we’ve been together for a while now, and I’ve been thinking..."

"Thinking about what?" you asked, leaning toward him, curiosity piqued.

Mark’s face softened. "About how nice it would be to have a little one around. Someone to love and take care of. Maybe someone who looks like us." He added quickly, "Not right now, of course! I mean, I’m just thinking about it. But I don’t know, I can’t help but get excited whenever I see something about babies."

Your heart warmed at the idea of Mark getting all soft over the thought of having a little family someday. But you still couldn’t stop teasing. "So, you’re having baby fever, huh?"

Mark rubbed the back of his neck nervously, his cheeks a little red. “Maybe... just a little. But it’s not just that! It’s the whole family thing, you know? A future with you... with us... It just sounds so perfect.”

You chuckled, sitting next to him. “Well, I’m glad you’re excited. But we’ve still got a lot to figure out before that happens, don’t we?”

Mark nodded, but his gaze was soft, dreamy. "Yeah... but one day, I just want to hold our baby in my arms, y’know? Teach them stuff. Be there for them."

You smiled, your heart melting at how genuine and tender his voice was. You wrapped your arms around him, snuggling into his side. "It’s a nice dream, Mark. And when the time’s right, we’ll make it happen. But for now, we can just enjoy the thought of it, right?"

"Yeah," he agreed softly, his arm wrapping around you tightly. "Right. But don’t be surprised if I start getting a little more obsessed with baby stuff around here."

It didn’t take long for Mark’s baby fever to escalate. Soon, he was the one who kept bringing up the idea of starting a family. Every time you’d talk about your future together, he'd slip in something about how awesome it would be to have kids, how he could already picture it. His enthusiasm was adorable, even if it was a little overwhelming at times.

One day, you came home to find him watching a parenting video on YouTube, his eyes wide with wonder as he took in every word. You stared at him, hands on your hips. “Mark... you really have it bad, huh?”

He looked up at you, a grin stretching across his face. “I mean, it’s all very important stuff. I gotta be prepared, right?”

You laughed. “You’re adorable. But I’m not going to let you get a baby before we even finish organizing the living room.”

Mark pouted dramatically, but you could see the spark of excitement in his eyes, even if he tried to hide it behind a little humor. “Hey, I’m just saying. Maybe we should go ahead and practice.”

You arched an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh yeah? How would you practice?”

Before you could react, Mark scooped you up into his arms, his grip strong but warm. “I’ll take care of everything. Starting with you.”

You laughed, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. "You're impossible."

But, for once, it felt right. You could already picture it: the two of you, growing a family, starting the next chapter of your lives together. And you couldn’t wait.

[httpsdana]

Have you planned to do some boyfriend headcanon for Pedri, Kenan and Jamal aswell? I would love to read then > ^ <

Boyfriend Headcanon~Pedri González

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

・❥・a/n: this has got to be my fav headcanon I've written. i hope you enjoy <3

❖ bf! Pedri is the type to always have a hand on you. Whether it’s holding your hand, resting his palm on your thigh. He's always absentmindedly playing with your fingers, tracing over your knuckles, or squeezing your hand in random rhythms. Sometimes, he intertwines your fingers and murmurs, “Your hands are so tiny.”

❖ bf! Pedri is lowkey obsessed with your scent. He buries his face in your neck just to breathe you in, and if you ever leave a hoodie at his place, he refuses to wash it for a while.

❖ bf! Pedri gets jealous when you call someone else ‘love’. You could be talking to a waiter, a friend, or even your mom, but the moment you say “Thanks, love” to someone who isn’t him, Pedri side-eyes you. “I thought I was your only love,” he grumbles, pulling you closer.

❖ bf! Pedri randomly texts you “I miss you” even when he just saw you. If he’s in training or sitting at home, you’ll get messages like “I miss you.” Sometimes, they’re followed by pictures of him looking dramatic or a voice note with a sad sigh. If you respond teasingly, he’ll double down with “It’s serious, cariño. I think I need to see you right now.”

❖ bf! Pedri secretly loves when you steal his hoodies, but he pretends to complain. Every time you take one of his hoodies, he sighs dramatically. “Amor, I’m running out of clothes.” But in reality, he loves seeing you in them. Sometimes, he ‘forgets’ to take his hoodie back, just so you’ll wear it again.

❖ bf! Pedri knows the sidewalk rule. Without fail, every time you walk together, Pedri subtly moves you to the inside of the sidewalk. If you try to switch back, he gently tugs you closer, shaking his head. “Just stay here, princesa,” he mutters, like it’s non-negotiable.

❖ bf! Pedri kisses you randomly, especially in the middle of conversations. You could be in the middle of explaining something, and suddenly, he leans in to kiss you mid-sentence. When you blink at him, he just shrugs. “What? You looked too cute not to kiss.”

❖ bf! Pedri always pulls you onto his lap when you sit next to him. It doesn’t matter if you’re at home, at a friend’s house, or in a casual setting. If there’s space, Pedri pulls you onto his lap. “Sit here,” he says, already guiding you over. If you try to protest, he gives you a look like “You belong here, end of discussion.”

❖ bf! Pedri gets grumpy when you take too long to reply but won’t admit it. If you take longer than usual to text back, Pedri starts overthinking. He won’t say anything, but the moment you text him, he replies within seconds. If you ask if he was waiting, he scoffs. “Pfft, no. I was just already on my phone.” He was absolutely waiting.

❖ bf! Pedri insists on choosing your nail color and paying for them. Every time you book a nail appointment, Pedri gets excited like it's a national event. He’ll scroll through Pinterest, sending you options like “This one would look so good on you” and “What about red? You know I love red.” No matter what color you end up choosing, he always pays, leaving a generous tip for the nail tech.

❖ bf! Pedri sends you videos of dogs and says “this is us”. Out of nowhere, Pedri will send you a random video of two golden retrievers cuddling and caption it “Us”.

❖ bf! Pedri gets pouty when you wear socks to bed. He loves feeling your bare legs tangled with his under the sheets, so when you crawl into bed wearing socks, he immediately frowns. “Amor, take them off, por favor,” he whines, already pulling at the fabric. If you refuse, he’ll start a whole argument about “How can I warm you up if you’re wearing these?”

❖ bf! Pedri gets jealous but in a quiet way. He won’t make a scene, but you’ll notice his arm tightening around your waist or the way he stares down the guy talking to you. Later, he’ll casually ask, “So… who was that?”

❖ bf! Pedri insists on carrying your bag, no matter how small it is. Even if it’s the tiniest purse imaginable, Pedri insists on carrying it. “It’s fine, give it to me.” He’ll throw it over his shoulder like it’s the most normal thing, completely unfazed when his teammates tease him about it.

my taglist: @barcapix @paucubarsisimp @spidybaby @mxryxmfooty @n0vazsq @joaosnovia @ilovebarcaaaa @f1lover55 @jajajhaahaha @universefcb @mariejuli (lmk if you want to be added!!)

[cuddlyeren]

Sketching us back together

After an argument before a friend’s birthday party, Hamzah and Y/N spend the night being petty toward each other. Hamzah, still annoyed, decides to get a caricature drawing with Chase instead of Y/N, knowing she had been looking forward to it. As Hamzah gets his drawing done, guilt starts to eat at him.

(Long fic 3: )

—

The party was already in full swing by the time Y/N and Hamzah arrived, but the tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife. They had argued earlier over something small—something that, in hindsight, probably wasn’t worth the cold silence now settling between them. Y/N didn’t want to fight anymore, but Hamzah was still annoyed, his jaw clenched as he walked a step ahead of her into the party.

“Hamzah!” Chase called from across the room, waving him over. Hamzah didn’t hesitate, choosing to head straight toward him instead of lingering near Y/N. She sighed, crossing her arms as she glanced around for Mandy and Martin.

“You two still mad at each other?” Mandy asked as she and Martin approached.

Y/N shrugged. “I don’t even know anymore. He’s just being petty now.”

“Yeah, he is,” Martin agreed, watching as Hamzah and Chase laughed at something across the room.

As the party carried on, Y/N tried to enjoy herself, chatting with a few people and sipping on her drink, but she couldn’t ignore the way Hamzah barely acknowledged her. She could feel his eyes on her sometimes, but every time she looked his way, he was quick to turn back to Chase or someone else.

Then, she noticed the caricature artist set up in one corner, already sketching people. Excitement bubbled in her chest—she had always wanted to get one done with Hamzah. Maybe this could be their way of making up.

She turned to find Mandy and Martin, who had already clocked Hamzah’s behavior.

“Go tell him to come do it with you,” Martin suggested.

“Yeah, it’d be cute,” Mandy added.

Y/N hesitated, glancing at Hamzah, who still looked irritated despite laughing with Chase moments ago. She exhaled and made her way toward him.

“Hey,” she said, standing beside him. “Want to get a caricature together?”

Hamzah barely spared her a glance. “Nah, I’m good.”

Her stomach sank. “Really?”

Chase raised a brow but didn’t say anything.

Martin and Mandy, who had followed behind Y/N, stepped in. “Come on, dude, don’t be lame,” Martin said. “Go with her.”

Hamzah let out a small scoff, then turned to Chase. “Nah, I’ll do it with Chase instead.”

Y/N blinked, the words hitting her harder than she expected. Chase, caught in the middle, looked between them awkwardly. “Uh…, are you sure?”

Hamzah nodded, standing up. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Y/N forced herself to nod, swallowing the lump in her throat as she took a step back. “Got it,” she mumbled, turning away before anyone could see the disappointment on her face.

Mandy nudged Hamzah’s arm, giving him a really? look, but he just shrugged it off, still too caught up in his pettiness to realize what he had just done.

As Y/N walked away, Martin sighed, shaking his head. “Dude, you’re being an idiot.”

Hamzah rolled his eyes, but when he finally looked toward where Y/N had gone, a pang of guilt settled in his chest. Maybe he was being an idiot.

————

Y/N sat on the couch, her arms crossed as she fumed. At first, she had been sad—disappointed that Hamzah was still holding onto their dumb argument—but now? Now, she was pissed. If he wanted to be petty, then fine. Two could play that game.

Mandy sat beside her, sighing. “You good?”

Y/N exhaled sharply. “No, but whatever. If he wants to act like that, I’m not gonna sit around waiting for him to get over it.”

Mandy smirked. “That’s what I like to hear. Come on, let’s go hang with some of the other girls.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. Together, they made their way to a group of girls who were chatting near the drinks. It didn’t take long before they were all laughing, sipping on their drinks, and enjoying the party. Y/N made sure to be extra engaged, laughing a little louder, smiling a little brighter—just enough so that if Hamzah was watching, he’d know she wasn’t sitting around sulking over him.

Meanwhile, across the room, Hamzah sat beside Chase as the artist worked on their caricature. At first, he had been smug about it, thinking he had won whatever silent battle he was having with Y/N. But as the minutes passed, that feeling faded.

He knew how much Y/N had wanted them to get their caricature done together. She had mentioned it more than once, even getting excited about it before they arrived at the party. And what had he done? Chosen to be petty instead of just letting it go.

Chase, who had been quiet for a bit, finally spoke up. “Hamzah… I feel like you should’ve done this with Y/N.”

Hamzah let out a deep sigh, rubbing his face. “Yeah,” he admitted, glancing toward where she stood with Mandy and the other girls.

He messed up. And now, he had to figure out how to fix it.

——

As soon as the artist handed Hamzah the finished caricature, he barely glanced at it before standing up. The guilt was eating at him, and he knew he had to fix this. He didn’t care how annoyed Y/N was—he wasn’t about to let this drag on any longer.

He scanned the party until his eyes landed on her. She was still with Mandy and the other girls, laughing and looking like she didn’t have a care in the world. But Hamzah knew better. He knew her.

Taking a deep breath, he made his way over, his heart thudding in his chest. As he got closer, Mandy spotted him first. She raised an eyebrow, then subtly shook her head, giving him a clear don’t do it look.

Hamzah hesitated for a second, but he wasn’t about to back down. Ignoring Mandy’s silent warning, he walked right up to Y/N.

“Hey,” he said, standing beside her.

Y/N didn’t even acknowledge him. She kept talking to the girl in front of her as if he weren’t there.

Hamzah clenched his jaw. “Y/N,” he tried again, his voice softer.

Still nothing. She didn’t glance his way, didn’t pause in her conversation—nothing.

Mandy smirked, sipping her drink. “Told you not to come over here.”

Hamzah shot her a glare before turning his attention back to Y/N. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, I get it. You’re mad. But can you at least talk to me?”

Y/N finally turned slightly, just enough to meet his gaze for a second before looking away again. “Didn’t seem like you wanted to talk earlier,” she said coolly.

Hamzah exhaled. Yeah, he deserved that.

Mandy leaned over to Y/N, fake whispering, “He had so much fun getting his drawing with Chase, though.”

Hamzah groaned. He knew Mandy was milking this just to mess with him.

Y/N crossed her arms. “You should go back to him. Maybe you guys can frame it and put it up in your apartment.”

Hamzah sighed, stepping closer. “Come on, don’t be like that—”

Y/N turned away from him again, fully ignoring him now.

Hamzah was getting desperate. He knew if he let this go on, it would only get worse. And he hated it—hated when she was upset with him, hated when she pulled away.

Hamzah wasn’t going to let Y/N keep ignoring him. So, before she could turn away again, he grabbed her wrist—gently but firmly—and pulled her toward a quieter corner of the party.

“Hamzah—what the hell?” Y/N hissed, yanking her arm away as soon as they were out of sight from the group. She crossed her arms, glaring at him.

From across the room, Mandy spotted them and shot Hamzah a you just made it worse look before turning back to the girls, smirking.

Hamzah sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I know I messed up. I was being an ass, and I shouldn’t have done the caricature with Chase.”

Y/N didn’t say a word. She simply stared at him, unimpressed, before shifting her gaze to the party like she had somewhere better to be.

Hamzah clenched his jaw. “Y/N, I’m serious. I know you wanted to do it together, and I was being petty. I’m sorry.”

Silence.

Hamzah groaned, rubbing his face. “Damn, you’re really mad at me, huh?”

Still nothing.

He stared at her, frustration bubbling inside him. But beneath it, there was something else—something like panic. He hated this. Hated being on bad terms with her, hated the way she was shutting him out.

He exhaled, his voice softer now. “Y/N… please.”

She finally looked at him, her expression unreadable. Then, she shrugged. “I don’t know, Hamzah. Maybe you should go back to Chase.”

Hamzah shut his eyes for a second, knowing he deserved that. But he wasn’t giving up. Not yet.

Hamzah sighed, stepping closer. “Okay, I get it. But listen, we can still get our drawing done together.”

Y/N gave him a blank stare. “The line is longer now, Hamzah.”

“So? We can wait,” he said quickly. “Come on, you wanted this, right?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, shifting on her feet. “I wanted to do it earlier, with you. But you already got yours with Chase, remember?”

Hamzah groaned. “I know, I know, but let’s just do it, okay? Please?”

Y/N pursed her lips, looking at him for a long moment. Hamzah could tell she was still pissed, but after a sigh, she finally muttered, “Fine.”

He let out a relieved breath and gently grabbed her hand, leading her toward the line. She followed, but her annoyance was clear in the way she barely spoke or reacted to anything he said.

They stood in line, and at first, Hamzah tried to make conversation, cracking jokes or nudging her playfully, but Y/N wasn’t having it. She gave short answers, if she answered at all.

Five minutes passed.

Ten minutes.

Fifteen.

Y/N tapped her foot impatiently, crossing her arms. “This is taking too long.”

Hamzah sighed, glancing ahead. There were still a few people before them, but they were getting closer. “Just a little longer, alright?”

Y/N let out a sharp exhale but didn’t move.

Twenty minutes.

Twenty-five.

Hamzah could feel her patience running thin, and he was getting nervous again. He had just convinced her to do this with him, and if she left now, he’d be screwed.

Thirty minutes.

That was it. Y/N let out an annoyed huff and turned to leave.

“Y/N—wait—” Hamzah reached for her hand, but she pulled away.

“No, Hamzah, I’m done.” Her voice was firm, and for the first time that night, he saw real frustration in her eyes. “I already wasted enough time waiting for you earlier. I’m not waiting anymore.”

And with that, she walked away.

Hamzah stood there, watching her disappear into the crowd, realizing that somehow, he had made everything even worse.

——-

Y/N stood off to the side, away from the party, staring into the distance. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her mind replaying the night over and over again. She wasn’t just annoyed—she was disappointed.

She had wanted this to be something special, something fun. But instead, it turned into another reminder that Hamzah could be so stubborn and frustrating.

She didn’t want to talk to anyone. Not Mandy, not Martin, and especially not him.

But, of course, he was the one who came looking for her.

Hamzah approached cautiously, his heart sinking at how closed off she looked. He didn’t say anything at first—he just stepped closer and, without warning, wrapped his arms around her.

Y/N tensed immediately. “Hamzah, no—” She tried to push him away, placing her hands against his chest, but he only hugged her tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her head. “I’m really, really sorry.”

Y/N let out a frustrated sigh, still trying to push him away, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he buried his face in her neck, pressing gentle kisses along her skin. “I was being stupid. I shouldn’t have been petty, and I shouldn’t have ignored you. You deserved better.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, her resolve starting to crack. She was still annoyed, still frustrated—but she was also tired. Tired of being upset, tired of fighting.

Her arms, which had been pushing against him, slowly relaxed.

Hamzah felt it—the way she wasn’t resisting anymore. He took it as a sign and hugged her even tighter, pressing one last lingering kiss to her cheek. “Please don’t be mad anymore,” he whispered.

Y/N sighed, finally giving in. She rested her head against his chest, letting his warmth calm her. “I should still be mad at you.”

Hamzah smiled slightly, running his hand over her back. “I know.”

She stayed quiet for a moment before mumbling, “I really wanted that drawing.”

Hamzah squeezed her gently. “I know. We’ll still get one. I don’t care if I have to hunt down another artist tomorrow—I’ll make it up to you.”

Y/N let out a tired breath, finally wrapping her arms around him. “You better.”

Hamzah grinned, knowing he was finally out of the danger zone. “I will. Anything for you.”

And this time, he meant it.

-

Hamzah kept Y/N in his arms, rubbing slow circles on her back as she finally leaned into him. He felt relieved, but the guilt still lingered. He had ruined her night, and he needed to make it up to her.

Before he could say anything else, Mandy and Martin appeared, smirking as they spotted them in their embrace.

“Aww, look at him, all soft now,” Mandy teased, nudging Martin. “Wasn’t this the same guy who was too busy with Chase an hour ago?”

Hamzah groaned, rolling his eyes but keeping his arms wrapped around Y/N. “Not now, Mandy.”

Martin chuckled. “Nah, man, we gotta talk about this. You had her out here mad as hell, and now you’re acting like a lovesick puppy.”

Y/N smirked slightly but didn’t say anything, just letting Hamzah suffer through the teasing.

Hamzah sighed, finally pulling away just enough to look at Y/N. “Okay, I need to fix this.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he was already moving, scanning the party for the artist. He spotted the caricature station and saw that the line was still long. Damn.

But Hamzah was determined. Without hesitation, he walked up to the group in line.

“Yo, I need to go next,” he said, already pulling out his wallet.

A few people raised their eyebrows. “Uh, bro, we’ve been waiting—”

“I’ll pay for all your drawings.”

That got their attention. The group exchanged glances before someone shrugged. “Bet.”

Hamzah smirked. One by one, they all agreed, and soon enough, he was at the front.

Wasting no time, he turned on his heel and rushed back to find Y/N.

Y/N raised an eyebrow as he grabbed her hand, dragging her through the party. “Hamzah—what are you—”

“No time, let’s go,” he said, weaving through the crowd.

She barely had time to process before they were back at the caricature station. Hamzah sat down first and, without hesitation, pulled Y/N onto his lap.

Y/N gasped slightly, her hands instinctively gripping his shoulders. “Hamzah—”

“We’re getting our drawing,” he said firmly, wrapping his arms around her waist so she couldn’t escape.

The artist raised an eyebrow but smiled. “Alright, now this is a pose.”

Mandy and Martin had followed them, and Mandy laughed. “This man just paid off an entire line to make this happen.”

Y/N blinked, looking at Hamzah. “Wait—you paid everyone?”

Hamzah smirked, holding her tighter. “You wanted this, right?”

Y/N stared at him for a moment before shaking her head with a small smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

Hamzah grinned. “Yeah, but you love me.”

She rolled her eyes, but when the artist started sketching, she relaxed in his arms, leaning into him. And just like that, the night finally felt right.

—————————

This fic has been done for like 2 months already but I’m so lazy to post lol. Anyways I’m for sure being active now

I need ideas for stories tho):

[tigermark]

˗ˏˋ bf mark scenarios 𝜗𝜚

pairing : mark x fem!reader

genre : fluff like so fluffy like a cat like mark!!!

tw : established relationship, skinship

a/n : losing my mind over this man is like a pass-time for me... i'm so excited for the firstfruit ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ if u want more of these with other members or just with mark lmk!!! these were sm fun to write

bf!mark who cuddles you whenever and wherever, nuzzling against your neck with his nose. a movie played on your tv, long forgotten by mark, as you reached up to comb through his hair, his hand intertwining with your free one. he rests his whole body against yours, head resting against your shoulder affectionately. "y/n..." he whines. "we can't watch a movie and, like, not cuddle," he swears, making you smile as you wrap your arms around his waist.

bf!mark who plays with your hands for comfort, grounding him in certain situations. often you'll be at a restaurant or bar and he'll grab your hand and start fiddling with your fingers, switching his rings over to your fingers and so forth. he'd trace your palm and rub his fingers over the back of your hand as he admires how even such a small part of you can be so beautiful. his touches often times pull you out of your spacing out, and for mark it reminds him that you're there next to him.

bf!mark who always complains about hating ketchup but always forgets to ask for none on his burger. he always opens the bun, his lips forming into a pout as he looks up at you from across the table. when you ask him why he doesn't just tell the server that he doesn't want ketchup, he shrugs and slides the burger across the table so you can scrape it off for him with a french fry. "they're gonna think i'm weird or annoying..." he'd whine. and to which you'd inform him that they don't give a rats ass, all they want is the paycheck at the end of the week.

bf!mark who always writes songs for you and about you, strumming his guitar into the late hours of night. he'd sit on the floor as you laid in your bed across the room, scrolling on your phone. "y/n i think i've got it!" he'd say with so much enthusiasm you'd never believe he was whining to you about having no idea what to do with this song less than 5 minutes ago. he'd excitedly get up from the floor and sit next to you on your bed and play what he had written of the song. he'd kiss your forehead as you clapped and smiled once he finished, mainly happy he was able to make you proud and feel loved.

bf!mark who'd facetime you every chance he gets, sharing little tidbits of his day with you. from the person with the fugly outfit he saw to every last item he bought from the grocery store, he'd tell you everything with so much detail and emotion. he'd even call you while he made lunch, explaining the recipe to you like some sort of social media influencer. but before he'd hang up, he'd kiss his phone camera as if it was your forehead, making sure to say his final 'i love you's and 'i miss you's.

[lilislegacy]

in classic rick riordan fashion, birthdays and holidays for percabeth probably consist of annabeth planning his gift six months in advance and nailing it every time, and percy waiting till the last minute and panicking every time (but still doing alright).

however, i personally like to think that gift-giving started off equally difficult for both of them in the early stages of their relationship. but then, the longer they’re together, the more fun they have shopping for each other—to the point where they get so excited about the other opening their gifts that they enjoy the giving aspect more than receiving. like, by the time they’re married, they’re both buying at least ten gifts for each other every holiday, and each one is perfect and either results in tearful emotion or hysterical laughter.

[drtyelvisfantasy]

SAVE YOUR LOVE

LINEMAN!RAFE X STRIPPER!READER AU

note: thank you to all who voted in my poll and i hope you all enjoy this<3 please send in any questions you have abt this au, I'll be very excited to answer them all and I am also trying to find a nickname for out reader so if you have any ideas please send them. please like and reblog🎀

summary: rafe takes the reader on a week long trip to florida

warnings: fluff, angst, infidelity, I don't think theres any more warnigs but let me know if I'm missing any :)

Rafe decided that we should go on a small vacation. He said it would be best if we took a break from the hectic lifestyles we were living, and he was right. The drive to Florida was long. I kept trying to convince Rafe to book us a plane ticket, but he kept telling me no. Every time I asked him why, he responded with complete silence.

I had never been to Florida before, so I was excited for the week-long trip.

As Rafe and I entered the small beach house, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of normalcy. It almost felt like a home. Rafe said it would be better if we rented a small beach house for the week instead of staying in a hotel—he said we needed a change of scenery. Rafe carried our bags inside as he looked around, his eyes taking in the small, cozy space.

“You did a good job picking this house out,” I said to Rafe.

He smiled, setting down the bags in a small corner. “Yeah, it’s nice. Better than those cramped hotel rooms, right?”

“Yeah… that’s why you should stay at my place more often.”

Rafe glanced at me, a sly smirk on his face. He took a step closer, his voice low. “You always make excuses an—”

Rafe interrupted himself, his voice firm. “No arguments. No fighting. This is supposed to be a relaxing trip, sweetheart. I don’t want any of that bullshit.”

“Sorry.” I was quick to apologize—I couldn’t ruin the trip on the first day. I didn’t want him to hate me for the rest of the week.

“No apologies, baby. I just want us to have a good time, alright? I just want to spend time with you.”

Rafe leaned down and pressed a soft, gentle kiss to my cheek, his hand coming up to cup my face tenderly. He pulled away with a small grin.

-

Since we were staying in a house instead of a hotel, we had to go grocery shopping instead of relying on room service and takeout. Rafe grabbed a grocery cart and pushed it through the aisles, eyeing different foods and snacks. We made sure not to buy too much since we were only staying at the rental property for a week.

“What should we make for dinner tonight?”

Rafe looked at me, shrugging as he scanned the frozen meat section. “I’m not sure. What do you feel like having? Something light or something heavy?”

I shrugged my shoulders, not really knowing what I wanted to eat. At the end of the day, it was all up to Rafe—I just wanted to see him happy. He looked at me for a moment before returning his gaze to the freezer. He reached for a pack of steaks, tossing them into the cart.

“Steak? Feeling fancy, huh?”

“Yeah, I figured we could treat ourselves. Besides, you know I love red meat,” Rafe teased.

-

We finally arrived back at the house. Rafe and I collapsed onto the shared bed, both of us drained from the long trip to Florida. Rafe pulled me into his arms, burying his face in my neck as he yawned. I never had to worry about feeling cold or scared at night when Rafe was with me—he gave me a sense of clarity and safety. Every time I had a nightmare, he was there—holding me, whispering that I had nothing to fear because he was right beside me. His presence was my safety, my comfort. I couldn’t imagine a life without him.

Once Rafe and I woke up, we made our way to the kitchen to start cooking. Rafe took charge of the stove, preparing the steaks while I set the table. I could get used to this life. I wanted it to be like this forever.

Rafe glanced at me, his attention still on the steaks sizzling on the stove, making sure he didn’t burn them. “How do you like your steak, baby? Rare or well done?”

“Medium rare,” I replied.

Rafe nodded, his tone firm. “Medium rare it is. That’s the only right way to eat steak.”

After finishing our meal, we took a moment to relax and continue our conversation at the dinner table. Rafe leaned back in his chair, a content smile on his face as he looked at me.

“So… how’s life back home?”

His expression quickly changed, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice.

“Home? Home is just… home. There’s not much to say.”

“You sure?” I asked eagerly. I wanted to know what it was like back home for him, but more than anything, I wanted to know about his wife. Does she treat him well? Does she know about this trip? Does she know about us?

“Yeah, I’m sure. It’s just… not that interesting, ya know?”

“Sorry to hear that.” The words felt hollow, but I didn’t know what else to say. Apologizing was all I ever seemed to do.

Rafe shook his head, waving off my apology. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. I’d rather not think about home right now. I’m just here to spend time with you.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Rafe reached over and stroked my head gently, his expression softening. “Exactly. We’re here to enjoy our time together, not talk about boring stuff.”

There was a moment of quiet between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Rafe’s attention was focused on me, his gaze fixed on my face. He studied me for a second.

“What are we gonna do tomorrow?” I asked.

“Well, I was thinking of going to the beach. Spend the day on the sand. Just us.”

“Sounds fun. Been a while since I got a nice tan. You need a tan too—you live on an island and still look pale,” I teased.

Rafe rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “Hey, not all of us can be constantly tan, sweetheart. Some of us burn too easily.”

I gave Rafe a small smile in response. He reached out to brush a strand of hair out of my face, his touch gentle and affectionate.

-

The next day, Rafe took me to the beach as promised. The warmth of the sun on my skin and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore made everything feel so peaceful. In that moment, all my worries faded, and it was just us—playing in the water, laughing, and losing ourselves in the simplicity of being together. Rafe took every opportunity to touch me, his hands always finding an excuse to be on my body.

“Rafe, put me down! You’re gonna make me all wet!” I giggled, trying to squirm out of his grasp.

Rafe laughed along with me, his gaze heated as he looked down at me. “You’ll get even wetter when we get back to the house. But for now…” He tossed me back into the water playfully.

As time passed, we found ourselves back at the house, lying in the shared bed, talking in hushed tones. The conversation was easy, a sign of the growing comfort between us.

“I like it here,” I said.

A warm smile spread across Rafe’s face at my words, his expression softening. “Yeah… me too. I like having you all to myself.”

“We should move here, you know? Just me and you.”

Rafe stayed silent, his expression shifting at the suggestion. He didn’t answer right away, his eyes searching my face as he considered the implications of what I was saying.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Rafe shook his head, taking in my words. The idea of living in this peaceful place with me seemed to resonate with him, pulling him in. He shifted closer, his arm wrapping around my waist, his presence grounding me in a way that felt both comforting and intense.

His tone was soft but firm as he gently pulled me closer. “You need to rest, baby. Today was a long day. Come on, close those pretty eyes and get some sleep.”

“Okay,” I responded obediently. He pulled me into his arms, holding me close to his chest. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head, his hand rubbing up and down my back soothingly.

We made the most of the rest of our trip, enjoying each other’s company, living a simple life, playing house. He seemed happier than ever, his usual tension and anger melting away in my presence. But I couldn’t help but feel a little sad, realizing this was just a temporary escape from reality—and the life I so desperately wanted was still out of reach.

[gottencents]

Just Us - Jennie Kim

main masterlist. navi.

pairing. bp!addedmember!reader x idol!jennie

synopsis. The backstage area was alive with excitement and the buzzing energy of BLACKPINK’s upcoming performance.

The crowd outside was already starting to roar, the anticipation for the night’s show reaching a fever pitch. Y/n stood near the entrance to the stage, adjusting the last details of her outfit, her nerves making her pulse race.

Tonight was special—she was about to perform a duet with none other than Jennie, her fellow BLACKPINK member, her best friend, and the person who had a way of making her heart beat faster with just a look.They had rehearsed this duet countless times, their choreography flawless, their harmonies in perfect sync. But tonight, something felt different. Y/n couldn’t quite place it, but there was a lingering feeling in the air, a tension that wasn’t just about the performance.

Jennie, looking effortlessly beautiful in her stage outfit, was adjusting her makeup in the corner. She had always exuded confidence, but tonight, Y/n could see a hint of nervousness in her eyes. It was rare, but Y/n recognized it. She stepped over to her, wanting to offer some kind of reassurance, but just as she opened her mouth, Jennie turned to face her, grabbing her arm.

Y/n’s breath caught at the sudden contact, the feeling of Jennie’s fingers wrapping around her wrist sending a jolt of electricity through her body. Jennie’s gaze was intense, her eyes locked onto Y/n’s with a quiet seriousness that made her heart skip.

“Y/n,” Jennie’s voice was low, but strong, “If we want the performance to be smooth, we’ll have to warm up together.”Y/n blinked in surprise, her heart racing at the way Jennie’s words were laced with both authority and something softer, something more intimate.

“Warm up?” Y/n repeated, confusion flickering in her eyes. “We’ve been rehearsing all week… Are you sure?”Jennie gave her a knowing smile, her thumb brushing lightly over Y/n’s wrist, sending an unexpected shiver down her spine. “I don’t mean just physically. I mean mentally. Emotionally. We’re already in sync when it comes to the moves and the music, but there’s something more we need to connect before we go out there.”

Y/n felt a flutter in her chest. Jennie was always the more confident one, the one who made things feel effortless. But in this moment, there was something about her—something gentle and commanding—that made Y/n feel like she was exactly where she needed to be.

“Okay…” Y/n said softly, though she didn’t quite understand what Jennie was getting at.

“How do you want to do that?”Jennie didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she slowly moved closer to Y/n, closing the space between them. Her hand, which had been holding Y/n’s wrist, slid up to gently cup her face.

The simple touch sent warmth flooding through Y/n, and she could feel her breath hitch in her throat.“I want us to take a moment,” Jennie murmured, her voice so soft that it felt like a secret, “Just the two of us. No distractions. We’ve got this, but I want us to trust each other completely, in every way. Not just as bandmates, but as… as something more.”

Y/n’s heart began to race, her thoughts scattered. Jennie was always so direct, so sure of herself, but this felt different. This felt personal in a way Y/n hadn’t expected. She glanced up at Jennie, her eyes searching for something—an answer, a clue—but all she saw was sincerity and a tenderness that made her breath catch.

Jennie’s lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. “Trust me, okay?”Y/n swallowed, nodding. “Okay.”Jennie then led her by the hand to a small, quiet corner near the stage, away from the hustle and bustle of the crew and staff. It was dimly lit, the glow of soft light creating an intimate, almost romantic atmosphere.

Y/n felt a flutter in her chest as she stood there, facing Jennie, unsure of what was about to unfold, yet entirely trusting the woman in front of her.

Jennie turned to face her, her eyes never leaving Y/n’s as she slowly took a step closer. “I know we’re about to perform, but I want to make sure you’re not just ready physically,” Jennie whispered. “I want you to feel this moment with me, feel our connection.”Y/n’s heart raced as she watched Jennie’s gaze flicker down to her lips for just a moment before meeting her eyes again. “Jennie…” Y/n breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jennie’s lips curled into a soft, almost teasing smile. “I know it’s tempting to think of everything as just a show, just something to perform perfectly. But it’s so much more than that. It’s about us. I want you to remember why we’re here.”Jennie stepped even closer, her presence overwhelming in the most wonderful way.

Y/n’s pulse quickened as Jennie’s fingers lightly grazed her cheek, the contact electrifying. The tension between them was palpable, a slow burn that made Y/n feel alive in a way she hadn’t expected. She felt like the whole world had stopped moving, the only thing that mattered in this moment was Jennie and her, standing here together, ready to face whatever came next—not as performers, but as something more.

Jennie’s hand slid down to Y/n’s neck, her fingers brushing gently against her skin. “We don’t have to rush,” she murmured, her voice low and steady. “I just want you to feel this with me.”Y/n nodded, her mind racing. She wasn’t sure what Jennie meant exactly, but she could feel it—the way Jennie’s touch made her feel grounded, calm, and completely in tune with the woman in front of her.

Everything else faded away. There was only Jennie, only the soft warmth of her skin, the deep intensity in her gaze.Jennie’s eyes softened as she closed the distance, her lips brushing against Y/n’s ear as she whispered, “I trust you, Y/n. Let’s go out there and give them something they’ll never forget.”Y/n’s breath caught in her throat, her heart hammering in her chest. “Jennie…” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

Jennie pulled back just enough to look into Y/n’s eyes, her thumb gently caressing her jawline.

“You’re ready, Y/n. We’re ready. Let’s take this moment for ourselves, and then let’s share it with everyone else. Together.”And in that moment, Y/n realized exactly what Jennie meant.

This wasn’t just a performance. This was a connection, an unspoken bond between them that transcended the stage. It wasn’t about impressing anyone. It was about giving everything they had to the music, to the moment, and to each other.With a final, soft smile, Jennie leaned in, pressing her lips to Y/n’s forehead in a gentle kiss.

The warmth of her touch lingered long after she pulled away, and for the first time, Y/n felt truly at peace.“Let’s go show them what we’ve got,” Jennie said, her voice now confident and sure.Y/n nodded, her heart full of gratitude and something deeper. “Let’s do it.”As they walked back toward the stage, side by side, Y/n could feel the energy shift.

They weren’t just performers; they were partners, connected in a way that made everything feel effortless. The performance was about to begin, but for Y/n and Jennie, this moment—this quiet, intimate exchange—was already their best performance yet.They stepped onto the stage, their hearts beating in perfect harmony, ready to give the audience a show they would never forget.

And together, they did.

[kaivenom]

sanji x sweet tooth reader and he loves feeding them🍨

Sanji with a sweet tooth!reader

Masterlist

The thing Sanji loves the most is cooking for him, the thing he never expected is to be so excited to feed someone.

Once you entered on his life and become closer, he always gave you a little bite of everything he cooked so you can give your opinion.

Then he started to recognize your tastes and make variations of the food you like.

Even though his favourite food to prepare are anything related to seafood, he began doing a lot of baking: chocolate, sweets, pastries, cookies, etc. everything.

And with each bit you took of his new recipes he began to think about not just giving you a spoon of it.

Once you both start to get closer and even start dating, he got more relaxed around you but more fixated on the idea.

One day he was giving you a donut and you took a bite.

"Sanji, this is delicious..." you said with a smile.

"I want to feed you all of this." his words took you out of guard, he was also very impressed about his thoughts coming out that way.

You accepted happily and took every bite he gave you.

This practice became more and more often and closer each time.

Even to the point that one day you started sitting on his lap while doing this and he was more than blessed to have you as his partner.

You also tried putting your head on his lap but you choked so never again.

The crew started being grossed out when they catch you both doing this but that doesn't stop you.

This is the perfect way to combine your likings and be closer, doing some good old intimacy.

Sanji couldn't be more blessed about making you eat his recipes while having you on his lap.