#or he gets nervous and anxious that i like too

[motorsportbarbie13]

Post It - Part 3 - LN4

when lando stumbles upon a random tiktok of a pretty american influencer, he can't stop himself from sliding into her DMs. what happens next is more than both of them ever bargained for.

Part 1 Part 2 Master List

warnings: nothing. this entire series is going to be pretty fluffy so :) I do say the word ‘papaya’ a concerning amount though 😂 (a note: as per usual, kudos to @lestapiastrisgirl for always answering my 2am ‘SO HEAR ME OUT’s and ‘BUT WHAT IF WE’s’ ❤️) pairing: lando norris x influencer!reader word count: 3.7k

story replies: lando lord have MERCY >>>yourusername 🤭 hannahstjohn god we're cute >>>yourusername <3 thank you for being there for me, my love. >>>hannahstjohn i'm so happy you're happy and you are gloooowing today, btw >>>yourusername i've got butterflies han! HE gives me butterflies and i have no idea what i'm doing but oh my god. >>>hannahstjohn thats how it felt with liam. it happened quick but it happed hard >>>yourusername i'm in so much trouble >>>hannahstjohn :)))

The morning of the sprit race starts off almost identically as the day before: you and Hannah arriving at the track together an hour or so behind Liam, the noise and crowds of the paddock overwhelming you once again the moment you scan your badge at the gate. 

“All I’m saying is, I’m quite impressed with him. I didn’t know Lando could be such a…gentleman.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief, tone teasing you. 

You shoot her a look, already regretting the fact that you had told how how last night had ended. “He was nervous, okay?” You say with a laugh, closing your eyes as you shake your head. 

The chemistry between you two had been undeniable during dinner and after, he had offered to walk you back to your room. Tension sparked in the elevator as you waited for Lando to make a move. His shoulder brushed yours, fingertips barely grazing your lower back when the doors slid open to allow you off at your floor. You had propped yourself up against the door, room key dangling from your fingers as you looked up at him. 

‘Thank you for dinner’ You had murmured, fluttering your lashes at him in hopes he got the message. 

‘Of course.’ Had been his response as he palmed the back of his neck, shifting his weight as his eyes darted between your lips and back up to meet your gaze. For a moment you had thought he was going to actually kiss you and as he leaned in, your breath hitched in the back of your throat, anticipation buzzing through your veins. 

At the last moment, Lando moved his lips and grazed your cheek instead. The touch had been light, almost tentative, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to be so close to you. You barely bit back the whine in your throat when he pulled away to look at you again. ‘I’ll have McLaren passes waiting for you at the front desk tomorrow morning, okay?” 

You had nodded, brain trying to process what had just not happened. “Okay.” You replied weakly, the spot where his lips had touched your skin burning. 

“Text me when you get to the paddock and I’ll come meet you. Get some sleep, pretty girl.” 

And with that, he had turned around and walked back towards the elevator. 

You had spent the rest of the night analyzing everything with Hannah, trying to figure out what had been going through his head in that moment. 

“I had no idea Lando Norris knew how to be nervous.” Hannah chuckles as you walk through the paddock. You chuckle in response but you know better. The Lando you knew, that Lando was totally different from his public persona. He was quiet and anxious and seemed to get into his head too easily. But that was a side of Lando you were beginning to realize that he didn’t show just anyone and that made you feel all the more special. 

30 feet in front of you, the McLaren hospitality building looms, first in the paddock as a result of their Constructors Championship last year. You spot a certain curly haired Brit leaning against the railing, eyes scanning the crowd underneath a pair of dark sunglasses. Your stomach flips when he raises the glasses, light blue eyes catching your gaze as a half-smile hitches at the corner of his mouth. 

“Oh, he’s so down bad for you.” Hannah murmurs at your side and you elbow her with a laugh. “I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me for the enemy. Liam is devastated.” 

You chuckle, picking up your pace to get to Lando quicker. When you had met Hannah in the lobby this morning, you had asked if she was okay with you spending the day at McLaren. Much to your surprise, Hannah had encouraged you to go. She had seen how Lando had looked at you yesterday, had heard the way you talked about him when you called her for a post-dinner debrief. 

“I think Liam will survive. He’s probably thankful even that he doesn’t have to deal with the pair of us this morning.” 

“You’re probably right.” Hannah agrees just as you two reach McLaren’s hospitality. 

Lando’s been watching you approach for the last several minutes from his perch at the top of the ramp of the large orange building. He still can’t believe he chickened out last night, abandoning his plan for a juvenile kiss on the lips. The truth was, he had been so anxious that he was going to mess this up that he hadn’t wanted to push you to a place where you were uncomfortable. He hadn’t wanted to blow this second chance you had just given him so when it came down to it, a peck on the cheek had seemed the only right thing to do. 

He watches you and Hannah chat, the laugh that spills out of your lips when you get closer sending fiery pleasure skittering over his skin. 

“Morning, Lan.” You singsong, watching at he bounds down the ramp to join you and Hannah on the sidewalk. 

“What are you wearing?” He asks so abruptly for a moment you just blink at him. 

“Okay, so like, let’s agree to never start off a conversation with that ever again, yeah?” 

Beside you, Hannah huffs a laugh. 

Lando rolls his eyes, “You can’t wear navy in my garage!” He protests as if you’re the one missing the point. 

“Lando.” You deadpan, “I think this is the only bit of orange clothing I even own! You’re lucky I just happened to have this in my suitcase!” 

“It’s papaya!” He says with an exaggerated sigh. 

“This shirt has papaya in it!” You point to the thin stripes of orange…papaya…that the predominately navy tank top has all over it. 

Lando frowns before shaking his head. “It’s not enough.” He declares before reaching for your hand. “Come on, we need to fix this before I can take you anywhere.” 

You make an indignant sound as he drags you away from where Hannah stands laughing. “I guess I’ll text you later, H!” You shout over your shoulder. 

“Come to Red Bull for lunch!” She calls after you. 

“She’s eating lunch with me!” Lando yells before dragging you through the sliding glass doors of McLaren’s hospitality. 

You hear the echos of Hannah’s laughter as the doors whisper shut behind you. “Okay, that was rude! I didn’t even get to say goodbye to her!” 

Lando just shrugs, not letting go of your hand, as he pulls you towards a set of stairs just inside the double doors. “We have more important things to take care of and I have to be in the car in a bit.” 

“You are so dramatic.” You huff. 

When Lando doesn’t respond, you take a moment to glance around the first floor of the building he’s dragging you through. There are McLaren employees, all dressed in various amounts of papaya and black, bustling through the space. Some sit at sleek black high top tables, tapping away on computers or eating a snack before they’re pulled to another task. There’s a food counter tucked away in the other corner, laden down with breakfast and lunch foods. On the opposite side are several doors that lead to what you assume are team offices. 

You follow Lando up the stairs, trying to ignore the sideways glances you two are attracting as you quickly walk through the space. There’s several sets of doors on the landing and he pulls you towards an open one with his name tacked up on the wall just outside of it. 

Lando’s drivers room is small, with just enough room for a couch, massage table, and small desk. Light spills in through the three floor to ceiling windows that face out towards the back of the paddock, making the entire space bright and well lit. Lando shuts the door behind him before dropping your hand in favor of opening a closet that’s tucked away in the corner. He digs around for a few moments, mumbling something about how he just knows you’re going to look so good in papaya. 

Finding what he was apparently looking for, he crosses the room to where you stand, arms folded across your chest. “Take that off.” He tugs at your navy cardigan you had grabbed to keep the chill of the morning air off your skin. 

“Lando!” You scold, swatting his arm away when he continues to try to undress you. “At least kiss me before you try to get me naked.” 

The driver freezes, eyes flying up to yours before a smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. “Cheeky.” He murmurs before allowing you to remove the cardigan yourself. 

Tossing the cardigan across the room, Lando pulls a papaya colored hoodie over your head. The first thing you notice is how soft and warm the sweatshirt is but the second thing? The second thing you notice is how is smells. Lando’s cologne, the same woodsy scent that had kept you up last night as it clung to your clothes after your dinner with him. The earthy scent of cedar and something citrusy filled your nose and you can’t help but inhale deeply. 

“Wait, is this the hoodie you wore into the paddock this morning?” 

Lando looks at you like you couldn’t have asked a more obvious question. “Of course?” 

“So people will know it’s yours when they see me in it…” 

Again, Lando gives you a look that seems to say ‘duh, silly girl’. “Exactly. That’s kind of the point, so people know who you belong to.”  

“Belong to?” You arch a brow, managing to keep the tone light even though you suddenly can’t feel your toes. 

“Yep.” He says simply before dropping a kiss onto the tip of your nose. 

The blush that flashes across your cheeks has Lando smirking down at you. His stomach swoops a little at the the way it feels having you standing there in his drivers room wearing his clothing. The possessive streak that winds it’s way through his veins at the sight of you catches him off guard. He’d never really considered himself territorial when it came to relationships but something about the sight of you in his hoodie he had just taken off had his heart pounding.  

Lando’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he’s pulled away for a moment. While he talks to his performance coach on the phone, you wander over to where your purse sits on the small black leather couch. Your stomach rumbles a bit, reminding you that both Hannah and you had been running so late this morning you’d had to skip breakfast. 

You sink down into the soft couch, pulling out the fruit you’d snagged from the hotel’s grab and go store. Popping open the lid, you stab at a bit of fruit before popping it in your mouth. You’re distracted for a moment, feeling the couch dip beside you as Lando sits down. “Did you bring snacks?” He asks, tugging you towards him so your shoulders are pressed up against each other.

“I brought myself breakfast. I slept in past my alarm this morning because someone wouldn’t stop texting me last night and kept me up past my bedtime so I didn't have time to eat.” 

Lando smirks, enjoying the way you sass him. “I managed to get here on time, my love.” 

You narrow your eyes at him playfully before you take another bite of your breakfast. “Whatever. I’m not sharing.” 

Lando frowns. “Who even said I wanted any of your gross fruit anyway. What even is that…It’s too dark to be a mango.” 

Your grin widens as you realize he has no idea what’s in the cup in your hands. “Lando, it’s a papaya.” 

yourusername posted

yourusername hiya papaya hannahstjohn enemy territory >>>lando joint custody >>>hannahstjohn as long as you pay child support >>>yourusername i can see the calendar invite now: PR meeting with McLaren, 9am Monday >>>lando hahaha fuck off >>>yourusername meetings been moved up to 2pm TODAY!!! >>>user2010 guys, i fear she is hilarious and i am in love user222 wasn't she in red bull yesterday??? >>>user239 this girl is getting around the paddock, isn't she??? jfc user029 the adhd hyperfixation crossover i never knew i needed >>>user483 why did this speak to me on a spiritual level?

The elevator dings, signaling it’s arrival to your floor later that night. Lando had insisted on walking you back to your room after you’d finished dinner with Carlos and Rebecca in the hotel restaurant. 

“Did you have a good time today?” Lando asks quietly, the exhaustion from the activity of the day edging into his voice as you both walk slowly down the empty hallway. 

“I mean, I got to see you make a wild pass on the very last lap to steal the win away from that Ferrari, didn’t I?” You say, bumping your shoulder against his. Grinning, your memory flickers back to the way the garage had exploded when he had dove into the corner with millimeters to spare. You hand’t anticipated how electrifying it would be to watch Lando win but it was an experience you knew you’d never forget. 

Lando’s fingers brush the small of your back as you reach your hotel room. It takes a brief moment for you to find your key and when you turn around to face him fully, you’re surprised at the hungry look in his eyes. 

“That was pretty good, wasn’t it?” He asks, the cocky grin on his face grows as you lean back into the wall, looking up at him through your lashes. 

“Now all I need is to see you take a champagne shower tomorrow and the weekend will be complete.” 

Your heart pounds when Lando leans in closer, so close that you can feel the heat of his breath fan out over your cheek. His cologne distracts you, that same woody and citrus smell digging its way under your skin so you’ll forever associate it with him. 

“Is that so?” He murmurs. 

“Yep.” You manage to whisper, trying desperately hard not to give away how flustered he’s got you. 

“Speaking of tomorrow, did you know that I’m a very superstitious person?” Lando shifts almost imperceptibly closer to you.

Your cheeks heat as you struggle to focus on the words that are coming out of his mouth instead of his lips that are so full that you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like being kissed by them. “Is that so?”

Your voice is so embarrassingly breathy Lando nearly laughs. He’s enjoying watching you squirm under the heat of his gaze.

“Mmmhmm” He hums, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip.  

Your brain scrambles to keep up. “So, how can I help you with that, sir?” 

The flare in Lando’s eyes at your words is near feral. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and reaches up a hand to turn his black McLaren hat around so the bill is facing backwards. Your knees nearly buckle at the move and you swear you whimper when he braces his arm against the wall, his palm settling inches away from your head. His other hand rests heavily on your hip, squeezing at the flesh there. 

“Sir?” He growls. “Oh I like that.” You blink up at him, suddenly unable to form coherent words. Lando’s lips curl into a satisfied grin. “We’ll come back to that little bit later, though. Let’s discuss how you can help. I’m going to need you in my garage tomorrow because again, superstitious. You’re probably the reason I won today, after all.” 

“Oh? I didn’t know I had that kind of effect on you.” You finally find the words to tease back. 

Lando shifts his weight towards you then, pressing his hips into your body. You feel his unmistakable hardness digging into you, your pupils blowing wide. 

“You have no idea what kind of effect you have on me.” He murmurs into the soft skin at your neck. “Come on, I need my good luck charm cheering me on. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for messing up what could be my first big win of the season, now would you?” 

All you can do is shake your head, once again fully lost to the way Lando is looking at you, breathing on you, pressing his entire length into your belly. It’s a surprise you’ve maintained the ability to stand, really. 

“Come on, baby please? Drive with me to the track tomorrow. Spend the day with me.” 

You almost laugh at the absurdity of his request. Drive with Lando to the track where you would most certainly be photographed arriving with him? Spend the day with him? Give the photographers more opportunities to connect you two? 

“Do you want to cause chaos?” You say, laughter edging its way into your voice. 

“With you? Always.” 

The air sparks between you, thick and heavy with the tension that’d been building since the moment he put his hand on your thigh while he drove you back to the hotel earlier. Lando’s eyes, usually bright and playfully shifted into something darker, something hungrier that had you swallowing thickly. The playful banter that you’d been batting back and forth all day had shifted in the last few moments, the undercurrent of tension now a physical force you could feel pressing against your chest. 

“You’re crazy.” You shake your head, eyes darting away from Lando’s down towards his lips. 

Lando sees where you’re looking and catches his bottom lip between his teeth, smirk growing even wider. He lowers his head, breath warm against your lips. “Crazy about how you’re looking at me right now.” He rasps, voice husky and low. 

The world narrows, the hallway fading into a blur of black and white as his lips finally meet yours. It’s soft at first, tentative and gentle like he’s taking his time with you, savoring the way you feel against him. After a moment though, the dam breaks and Lando tilts his head to deepen the kiss. He drags his hand away from your hip up to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he yanks you closer. 

You melt against him, your own hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the solid warmth beneath his shirt. The kiss was everything you’d been thinking about since the moment you met him, a fusion of sweetness and heat, a delicious blend of anticipation and raw desire. 

Lando pulls back slightly, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes, still stormy with passion, searched yours. “Fuck.” He whispers before dragging his mouth down the column of your throat. You tilt your head back to give him better access, a desperate whine spilling from your lips. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.” Lando says against the crook of your neck. 

A shiver runs down your spine at his words. Lips still tingling, you struggle to catch your breath and slow your pounding heart as it hammers out a frantic rhythm against your ribcage. 

Lando lifts his head up to look at you. The intensity of his gaze has you clutching at the fabric of his white button down. “Can I kiss you again?” He murmurs. 

“Please.” You beg. 

Lando’s eyes flare, pupils going wide. “Good girl.” 

It’s a miracle you stay on your feet. 

He closes the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a desperate, hungry kiss. This time, there’s no hesitation, no restraint. He doesn’t hold back as he covers your lips with his, nipping at the your bottom lip just hard enough to elicit a gasp from you. The kiss deepens even further, a connection that runs deeper than either of you had anticipated sparking to life. 

The world outside the hallway ceases to exist. Someone could have come running past shouting about a fire and neither of you would have reacted. The only thing you feel is Lando’s lips on yours, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the intoxicating scent of his cologne filling your senses. It felt like a moment suspended in time, a stolen moment of pure passion that deepens the already growing connection you shared with him. 

You have no idea how long Lando spends kissing you but when he pulls back, you lift your hands to your lips, feeling how swollen they’ve become from how good he’s worked you over. 

“I should go before I can’t anymore.” Lando says, eyes full of hesitation like he doesn’t really believe what he’s saying. 

“You could stay.” You whisper, reaching out to trail your fingers down his jaw. He leans into the palm of your hand, kissing the warm skin there before he shakes his head. 

“I could, but I won’t.” 

Disappointment surges through you so sharply a whine escapes before you can control yourself. 

Lando chuckles while he runs his fingers through your hair. “I said no more flings and I meant it. I’m going to do this the right way this time and that means turning around and walking away before I throw you over my shoulder and open that fucking door myself.” 

Lando was seriously impressed with the amount of restraint he was showing right now. He’d been thinking of this, of the moment he finally got to touch you, taste you, feel you against him, since the moment he ran into you in the paddock yesterday. When you two had started talking and getting to know each other, he’d been attracted to your personality, the way you had such a passion for life, the way you never felt anything halfway or lightly. But now that he was here with you, had you physically within his reach, the way his skin tingled whenever you were nearby was a feeling he’d never experienced before and he was obsessed. 

You can’t help the frown that forms on your face and Lando leans down to kiss it away. “So you don’t want…” You say against his lips. 

Lando shakes his head, pulling away. “No, baby. I do. Very much, trust me. I just…” He rakes his hand through his curls, trying to find the right words, the vulnerability you’re pulling from him is unsettling but not all that unwelcome either. “I just don’t want to rush this. This isn’t a stolen weekend for me. I want to take my time with you, okay?” 

Your heart thuds at his words, thankful that you’re not the only one feeling this way. After a beat you finally find your voice. “Okay.” 

Lando smiles before dropping a kiss onto your forehead while he holds onto your chin. “Good. Get some sleep, I’ll text you when I figure out what time we have to leave tomorrow morning for the track, okay?” 

It’s all you can do to nod in agreement before you watch Lando turn on his heel and walk towards the elevator. 

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source new couple alert???? @/lando and @/yourusername were spotted arriving at the track together ahead of sunday's grand prix. They've been spotted together frequently this weekend with the American influencer spending a second day in McLaren's garage cheering on the British driver. They were also spotted late last night on what looked to be a double date with Carlos Sainz and his partner Rebecca. I think this is all the confirmation we need that Norris is officially DONE with once rumored fling and british model @/its_allegra_babes user999 ohhhh this is juicy user919 @/its_allegra_babes uh...so what was that hint about going to Monaco for the off week??? >>>user111 looks like she's gonna be alone in Monaco...or third wheeling it. hahahahah >>>user928 HAHA seriously. where are the 'private but not secret' people now? SEE he does know how to claim a girl in public >>>user992 he hasn't claimed her either??? until that man says the words 'my girlfriend' they're all clout chasing wannabes... user333 NAH because i have NEVER seen this man look that happy when he's with allegra tho. >>>user832 i'm here for the race and have paddock club tickets. i saw them eating lunch before the race and BOY let me tell you. that man is not thinking about anyone but @/yourusername

tag list:

@shelbyteller, @martygraciesversion381, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx @mel164 @schumi-angel @myescapefromthislife @supertrashbread @sunny44 @tinystudentblaze-stuff @sarx164

[daisymbin]

prenups no escape plans! - choi seungcheol

pairings: fiancé!seungcheol x reader

warnings: mentions of slight overthinking, finances

wc: 1.6k

a/n: forgive me 😭😭 ive been mia for so long because I just got back a week ago as i travelled to singapore & bangkok for the svt concert & bc of that, I bought a new phone so I could have better camera quality but I ended up not being able to login into my tumblr acc 🫠🫠🫠🫠 reqs are closed for now until I get thru all of them!! so sorry guys 😭😭

check out my masterlist! // cheol's m.list

two weeks.

fourteen days.

three hundred and thirty-six hours.

every second that passed brought you closer to the moment you had dreamed of your whole life—walking down the aisle, hand in hand with seungcheol, vowing forever with him. but as the excitement grew, so did the nerves. an entirely new phase of life, a lifetime commitment, a future with no escape plan.

you weren’t scared of marrying seungcheol. no, never. you loved him more than anything. you were just… overthinking. what if things changed? what if marriage wasn’t the fairytale you imagined? what if—

you groaned, flopping back against the couch, phone in hand, the glow of the screen illuminating your furrowed brows. maybe if you read up on it, you’d feel better.

you started with the basics. "how to make marriage work," "best marriage advice," "what to expect after getting married." some articles reassured you, others made you even more anxious. and then, as you scrolled further, your eyes landed on a title that made your stomach drop.

"why every couple should consider a prenuptial agreement"

your fingers hovered over the screen before tapping on it hesitantly.

> a prenuptial agreement, commonly known as a prenup, is a legal contract between two people before they get married. it outlines how assets, finances, and property will be divided in case of a divorce. while many see it as ‘planning for failure,’ a prenup actually provides clarity, protection, and security for both partners, ensuring that each party’s hard-earned money and possessions remain fairly distributed should the marriage end. in cases where one partner has significantly more wealth, a prenup is especially important to prevent financial disputes.

you bit your lip.

you and seungcheol never talked about this. should you have?

he was the one with all the money. you weren’t struggling, but he had worked hard for years, built his career from the ground up, secured a future for himself. you, on the other hand, were just… you. it would definitely be more of a disadvantage for him if things didn’t work out.

your stomach twisted at the thought.

would he want one? had he thought about it and just didn’t know how to bring it up? maybe he was waiting for you to mention it first. would it be selfish of you not to? what if he wanted to protect himself but was too kind to say it?

too lost in your thoughts, you dont hear as seungcheol unlocks the front door.

seungcheol stepped inside, dropping his gym bag onto the table as he toed off his shoes. his black tshirt clung to his skin, damp with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. usually, the moment he walked in, you’d run to him, throw your arms around his neck, melt into him and demand a kiss. but today, you were too distracted to notice.

he blinked, watching you, a small but loving smile tugging at his lips. you looked cute like that, completely immersed in whatever was on your phone, lips slightly pursed, fingers fidgeting against the edge of your sweater sleeve.

but then, he saw it. the crease between your brows, the way your shoulders were slightly hunched, the way your lips were pressed together just a little too tightly.

his smile faded.

he knew that look.

“what’s wrong?”

your head snapped up, eyes widening slightly as if you just realized he was there. “oh… cheol, you’re home.”

seungcheol narrowed his eyes. you sounded distracted. nervous. sad. scared. all things he saw right through immediately.

he made his way over to you, sitting beside you on the couch, his knee bumping against yours. “what’s wrong, baby?” he asked again, softer this time.

you hesitated. “nothing, i was just reading some article.”

his frown deepened. “what about?”

you looked away, fingers gripping your phone a little tighter.

that was all he needed to see to know you were spiraling.

“come on, baby, talk to me.” he nudged you gently, voice laced with concern.

you inhaled deeply, fingers still fiddling with your sleeve. “prenups.”

he blinked with a pause, “pre-what?”

“prenups,” you repeated, a little louder this time.

seungcheol stared at you, clearly confused. “okay… but like, what about them?”

you swallowed, debating whether to brush it off, but the question had already rooted itself in your mind. you had to ask.

“do you want one?”

his brows furrowed. “what for?”

you chewed on your bottom lip. “just in case… you know.”

his frown deepened. “no, i don’t know. just in case what?”

irritation simmered in his voice, but not the kind that meant he was mad—more like the kind that meant he didn’t understand why you were even thinking about this.

you sighed, exasperation creeping into your tone. “don’t you know what prenups are? or what they’re for?”

“no, i know what they are and what they’re for,” he said, eyes locked onto yours. “i’m asking why you’re asking me if i want one.”

you hesitated.

he raised an eyebrow. “do you really need me to spell it out for you?” you huffed with a pout.

“enlighten me, babe.”

you exhaled, gripping your phone tightly. “one day when we— if we ever get a divorce, it’s not going to be good for you, no? that’s all your hard-earned money we’re talking about, and it’s a lot of it, and—”

seungcheol sighed through his nose, watching you intently as you started spiraling.

“—i mean, you’ve worked so hard for everything you have, and i just don’t want you to ever feel like you lost something because of me. and what if things change? what if we change? people don’t get married expecting to get divorced, but it happens all the time, and i just— i dont want you to hate me for it in the future if you lose a lot of money, i just, i don’t want to be the reason you regret anything, i don't want you to regret marrying me & i don’t want you to feel like you have to choose between protecting yourself and—”

“baby.”

you stopped rambling.

he reached out, cupping your cheek in his large, warm palm, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. his voice was firm but soft, steady in a way that made your racing thoughts slow and quietly drown out in the background.

“what the hell are you talking about?” he murmured. “if we get divorced? when we get a divorce? yeah, that shit is not happening, babe. i’m taking care of you for the rest of our lives.”

your lips parted, but no words came out.

his eyes softened as he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. “do you hear yourself? you’re planning for something that’s never going to happen.”

“but cheol—”

“no.” he shook his head, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “im marrying you because i want to spend every single day of my life with you. not until things get hard, not until we fight, not until we hit a rough patch. & i mean it. for the rest of our lives.”

you swallowed, feeling your chest tighten with emotion.

he pulled back just enough to look at you properly, tilting his head. “do you want a prenup?”

you blinked, “what? no. i have like maybe 2 cents in my bank account and 0 assets whatsoever, what do i have to lose?”

the way you said it oh so seriously made seungcheol bite back his laugh.

“then why the hell would i want one if you don't?”

"because we're not the same!"

only then, does seungcheol pull you onto his lap, his hands rests firmly on your waist, drawing calming circles against the fabric of your shirt.

his arms stayed locked around you, warm and strong, like he was trying to shield you from your own thoughts. he slowly tugs you closer to him as he pressed a kiss to your temple, then one to your forehead, then your cheek, and then, finally, his lips found yours in a kiss so soft, so unhurried, that it made your heart swell.

“you’re really that worried about this, huh?” he murmured against your lips, voice barely above a whisper.

you sighed, fingers curling into his tshirt. “i don’t know. i just— i don’t ever want to be the reason you regret anything.”

seungcheol exhaled sharply, almost like he was in disbelief as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck, lips brushing against your skin as he spoke.

“baby,” he started, voice muffled against your shoulder, “if i ever regret anything, it’ll be not kissing you enough, not holding you enough, not making sure you know how much i love you every single day.”

your breath hitched. his words, his warmth, the way his hands roamed your back as if to remind himself you were real.

he pulled back just enough to cup your face, thumbs tracing gentle circles against your cheeks. his dark eyes searched yours, serious yet so incredibly tender.

“i don’t care about the money. or the prenup, i don’t care about any of that. i care about you. i care about us. i don’t need a contract to tell me how to protect what’s mine.” he tilted his head, lips ghosting over yours. “so stop worrying about things that will never happen and just let me love you, okay?”

you nodded slowly, heart thudding. “okay.”

seungcheol grinned, a teasing glint in his eyes. “say it properly, baby.”

you let out a small laugh. “okay, cheol.”

satisfied, he kissed you again, deeper this time, holding you like he had no plans of letting go anytime soon.

“good,” he murmured, squeezing your waist before nuzzling his nose against yours. “because you’re stuck with me. forever.”

and with every kiss he left on your skin, every whispered ‘i love you,’ and every way he held you close like you were the most precious thing in the world; he made sure you believed it.

[pretentious-blonde]

breaking point

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: you get a call from steve, asking for help. but as the night unfolds, nothing could have prepared you for what you were about to witness—or the pain you were about to endure

warnings: migraines, nightmares, physical violence, flashbacks, panic attacks, avoidance, steve fucks up badly

a/n: angst is here, you have been warned

series masterlist

You’re perched behind the counter of your bookshop, legs tucked beneath you on the tall stool as you idly flip through a well-worn novel. 

The place is peaceful this time of day—Thursday afternoons rarely bring in crowds, and you’re content with the stillness. It’s quiet, broken only by the occasional car driving past and the intermittent rustle of pages as you turn them. 

You’ve already spent most of the morning sorting through a particularly large order for an elderly gentleman who’ll be picking it up on Friday—he insisted on a dozen specific editions, which meant verifying your supplier’s stock twice just to be certain every book was correct. 

Now the boxes are waiting in neat stacks, and you’ve been procrastinating on finalising them, letting yourself sink into the comforting distraction of your story.

A sharp ringing pulls you abruptly from the page. You straighten, setting the book down on the counter without marking your place, the spine open as if you might return to it any second. Sliding off the stool, you reach for the phone and lift the receiver to your ear, greeting whoever is on the other end with the usual warmth you reserve for customers, stating your name and if you could be of service. 

At first, all you hear is soft static, followed by a hesitant intake of breath. Then a familiar voice fills your ear—slightly strained, yet gentle. 

It’s Steve. 

Immediately, you stand a little straighter, concern creeping into your expression. He almost sounds winded or like he’s trying to tamp down on some discomfort.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, voice edged with an apologetic note. “How’s it going?”

Your brow knits at the tone, but you do your best to keep your voice light. 

“It’s going good. Not too busy today.” You hesitate before speaking further. “Are you all right?”

You hear another sigh across the line. 

God, he really doesn’t want to ask. 

“Yeah, I’m... I’m okay, I guess,” he replies, a faint pause lingering afterward, as though he’s summoning the courage to contradict his own words. “Um… actually, I’m not.” He exhales, the sigh audible over the crackle of the line. “And I’m really sorry to do this to you. I already tried Rob, but she’s not picking up, and… I didn’t know who else to call.”

His voice is laced with genuine remorse, and you can practically picture him pinching the bridge of his nose or running a hand through his hair—anxious that he’s inconveniencing you. 

“Hey,” you soothe, pressing the phone closer, “it’s fine. What do you need?”

There’s a nervous kind of silence before he speaks. 

“Would you be able to pick me up after work today? I—I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I get these migraines sometimes, and they’re, well, they’re killers. I... they say not to drive when it’s really bad, you know, because it affects your vision and everything.”

You can hear him falter, like he’s trying not to sound dramatic, and a pang of concern spikes through you. 

“Steve,” you say gently, “I know what a migraine is.”

“Oh,” he breathes, sounding oddly relieved that you understand. “Right. Course you do. I didn’t mean—sorry.” You can practically sense him shaking his head at himself. “I just… would you be able to do that? I wouldn’t ask, but this one’s coming on pretty strong, and I’m—”

“Of course I can,” you cut in, determined to stop his roundabout apologies before they spiral. “I can leave here around three-ish, maybe get to the school by three-thirty. Does that work?”

“Yeah,” he says, almost too quickly, like he’s trying to keep the relief from flooding his voice. “That’s... that’s perfect, actually. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem,” you assure him. You tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, heart soft at just how grateful he sounds. “Take care of yourself until then, all right?”

“I will.” He lets out a small, breathy laugh that doesn’t quite hide the discomfort, but you appreciate the effort. “Promise.”

With that, you both say your goodbyes, and you hang up the phone gently, lingering with your hand on the receiver for a moment longer. After a moment, you glance over at the boxes waiting to be packed, then at your open book on the counter, the pages still spread as though silently beckoning you to return.

There are only a few hours until you have to leave. You heave a soft sigh, sliding the receiver back into place. Stepping back around the counter, you pick up your novel once more, sliding onto the stool and returning your feet to their familiar tucked position, determined to read away the worry until it’s time to collect him. 

After all, you’ve already done almost everything else that needs doing—and you can’t shake the feeling you’ll want your energy later to take care of him properly.

You wait by your car, leaning against the driver’s side door with the keys in your hand. The afternoon sun feels pleasantly warm on your skin—though to you, it’s nothing compared to the heat of summer. 

You glance at your watch, noticing it’s just past three-thirty, and there’s a steady stream of kids already pouring out of the school’s double doors. They rush in all directions—some sprinting to the buses parked in a neat line, others trudging over to waiting parents who greet them with warm hugs and scattered conversation.

Your eyes wander across the lively scene until they land on the figure you’ve been anticipating. Steve steps out of the building, shoulders slumped slightly beneath a jacket, his fingertips pressed tentatively to the bridge of his nose. He’s wearing a pair of simple, thick-framed sunglasses—something you’ve never actually seen on him before. The glare off the pavement makes him wince, and you can practically see the dull ache of pain behind his eyes.

He catches sight of you almost immediately, a fleeting look of relief flickering over his face. You give a small wave, and he lifts a hand to wave back, smile tugging at his lips—grateful, but a little strained. 

Before he can take more than a couple of steps, a tiny blur of energy suddenly barrels up to him. It’s one of his students, a little boy clutching a crumpled piece of paper in his fist, words spilling from his mouth so fast you can’t even pick them out from where you’re standing.

You watch as he stops in his tracks, forehead furrowing at the sharp twinge of discomfort that crosses his features. 

It would be easy for him to brush the kid off, to hurry away toward the car where relief beckons. But instead, he crouches down, bringing himself to the child’s eye level. He offers a reassuring nod, swallowing down what’s obviously a pounding headache so he can focus on what the boy is saying. 

You notice how his free hand fists gently at his side—an involuntary motion—but he never lets it show in his words or his face. He’s too busy listening intently, nodding along, and replying in a voice you can’t quite catch.

He stands, guiding the boy gently by the shoulder or hand—making sure he feels safe. The two of them make their way through the swirling crowd of other kids, looking around for the boy’s parent. 

Even from a distance, you can see how carefully he navigates the chaos. His eyes dart back and forth as he’s quietly asking the child more questions, probably trying to figure out who’s come to pick him up. Every now and then, his posture tightens, a reminder that the bright afternoon sun is hitting him just a little too hard, but he doesn’t let go of the kid, and he doesn’t break away.

You shift on your feet, considering whether you should go over and give him a hand. Part of you aches at the sight—he’s clearly in discomfort, yet he’s still looking out for the child as though that’s the only thing on his mind. 

Before you can move, a woman waves from a few yards away, and the little boy’s face lights up. Steve offers him a warm grin, even if it’s tinged at the edges, and guides him in that direction. You see the mother mouth a thankful greeting, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder as he steps back. 

She seems effusive in her gratitude, and Steve nods politely, responding with quiet words that look like, No problem at all, or something similar. 

He forces another small smile, and though you can’t hear their conversation, you can read his body language—he’s not trying to appear rude or dismissive, but you can tell he’s longing for a reprieve.

Finally, he manages to say his goodbyes. The mother gives a final wave of thanks, and the child practically bounces at her side, happily reunited. You see him rub the back of his neck as he turns away, then, at last, he makes his way toward you. His steps are quick as though crossing those last few feet to your car is suddenly the only thing that matters.

You’re about to ask how he’s doing, the words right on the tip of your tongue.

Are you okay? Do you need anything?

But Steve beats you to it. 

He steps in close, sliding both arms around your waist, and pulls you to him in a tight, desperate hug. It’s unexpected, for a moment you just blink, caught up in the feel of him against you. Then you sink into the embrace, returning it wholeheartedly. He tucks his face into the curve of your shoulder and breathes out a heavy sigh that’s filled with relief. The tension in his body practically radiates, but you can feel it lessening with every second he clings to you.

“Long day?” you manage, your voice soft near his ear.

He makes a low, rueful sound that’s almost a laugh. 

“You have no idea,” he murmurs, pressing his lips in a weary half-smile against the side of your neck.

You pull back slightly to look up at him, studying the pained pinch to his brow. Gently, you reach to straighten his glasses where they’ve slid down his nose, the tender motion making him close his eyes like the simple touch is a balm. Then you skim your fingers through the hair at his temple, careful not to add any pressure that might worsen his headache. 

“Ready to go?”

His eyes open, and though they still flicker with discomfort, there’s something warm and thankful in them. 

“Yes, please,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

He eases himself into the passenger seat of your car and places his bag by his feet, wincing faintly as he pulls the door shut. From his vantage, even the soft click of the latch feels just a bit too loud. His head throbs behind his temples, and he presses the tips of his fingers to his brow, exhaling shakily. 

He doesn’t want to drag you into this discomfort—he’s already apologetic that you had to come out of your day to scoop him up. But as soon as he’s settled in, he glances your way and catches the concern etched across your face. 

You’re trying not to show it too obviously, but he’s learned to read you well enough by now.

He notices you carefully put the keys into the ignition, turning them just enough to bring the engine to life, and then pause. You don’t reach for the radio. Instead, you cast a quick, reassuring look in his direction, clearly determined to keep things as calm as possible. 

There’s a softness in your eyes that makes a knot of gratitude twist in his chest. He almost apologises again—he can feel the words rising to his lips—but he decides against it, not wanting to strain his voice more than necessary.

As you begin to pull away from the curb, you lean over slightly, speaking in a near-whisper. 

“Should I take you home?” Your tone is gentle, as though you’re wary of aggravating his headache. “Or…?”

He hesitates. 

He really does consider letting you drive him back to his place, but the thought of being left alone in that quiet apartment—especially with how it’s been feeling today—sends a wave of apprehension through him. 

Plus, he knows you’re juggling the shop, and he doesn’t want to pull you away from your responsibilities. He craves your presence more than he’ll ever admit out loud. Being around you, he can breathe a little easier; the tension in his chest seems to unfurl just enough for him to bear the pain.

“Is it… is it all right if we go to yours?” he asks, his voice hushed and edged with that uncertain apology he can’t quite hide. “I promise I won’t, like, get in your way. I just—your place is… it’s quieter. And it… helps.”

You steal a quick glance at him, one hand steady on the steering wheel. 

“Are you sure?” you ask softly. “Not that I don’t want you around, but I don’t want you feeling—”

“Please?” The word comes out almost too fast, earnest and low. “I like your place,” he admits, managing a small, sheepish smile that tugs at his features despite the throbbing in his head. 

He hopes you can see the sincerity in his eyes—that your space feels safe to him in a way his own doesn’t right now.

A slow, gentle laugh escapes you. It’s the kind of sound that soothes him, even through the pounding ache behind his eyes. 

“All right,” you say, turning onto a side street that leads toward your neighborhood. “We can do whatever you want.”

Those words settle something in him. He sinks a bit more into the seat, letting his head rest against the headrest. 

By the time you turn onto your street, his eyelids have grown a little heavy. He hasn’t fully drifted off, but the combination of your presence and the gentle lull of the car has lulled him into a sort of half-doze. He manages a small smile when you finally come to a stop.

The moment he steps inside your shop, he’s relieved by the quiet of the space—like stepping out of a bright, noisy world into a sanctuary scented with old paper and fresh ink. The cramped ache in his head hasn’t loosened much, but at least here, within these walls, it feels less oppressive. 

You guide him in gently, one hand hovering at his elbow as though you’re ready to steady him if he stumbles. He can sense your concern in every small gesture.

Before you can lead him upstairs, his gaze snags on the piles of books around your register—stack upon stack of hardcovers, paperbacks, a towering sea of spines. His brow furrows with mild curiosity. 

“Big order?” he asks, voice still hushed from the pain.

“Huge.” You tilt your head in the direction of the counter. “I was planning to sort it out after I picked you up.”

He’s about to form some sort of apology—maybe for interrupting your workday, or adding to your to-do list—when you catch the flicker of remorse in his expression. You shake your head before he can speak. 

“If you’re going to say sorry, I don’t want to hear it.”

A weary but grateful smile ghosts across his lips. He nods, accepting the gentle reprimand, then follows you up the narrow staircase that leads to your living quarters above the shop. 

The building is old, the steps squeaking quietly beneath your combined weight. He keeps a hand on the banister, half to steady himself, half to keep from bumping into you if his vision swims.

You place his bag by the door and usher him into your bedroom, he’s reminded of how warm and personal the space is—your favourite blanket tossed over the foot of the bed, a small reading lamp perched on the nightstand, the faint scent of coffee or tea lingering in the air. You head to the windows first, drawing the blinds to blunt the intruding sunlight.

“Lie down,” you say softly, motioning him over. “Rest your head for a bit.”

He sets his glasses on the nightstand, and this is the first time you’ve seen his eyes without the frames all day. They’re red-rimmed and shadowed, fatigue radiating from them in a way he’s tried to conceal. Your heart clenches with sympathy at just how worn he looks. He catches the expression on your face and musters a small, apologetic shrug—like he’s saying sorry yet again, without the words this time.

“Steve,” you whisper, voice dipped in concern, “come here.”

He does as asked, easing onto the bed alongside you, with a careful shift of his weight. The cool sheets feel like a blessing against his feverish skin. He closes his eyes as you card your fingers through his hair, the motion tender and calming, each pass easing the tension behind his temples.

“Do you need anything?” you ask, voice low. “Another pillow? Something for the pain?”

“No, I’m good.” He exhales a sigh he’s been holding onto for hours. “Took some pills before I left work. Should kick in soon—an hour or two, tops.”

You nod, leaning in to brush a delicate kiss against his temple, careful not to aggravate the sensitive area. It’s so gentle and so you that it sparks a little warmth in his chest, even through the pulsing ache. 

“Are you sure you’ll be all right here on your own?” you ask, a note of hesitation in your tone. “I can grab anything else you need—”

“I’ll be fine.” He gives you a tired half-smile. “Promise I won’t go through your stuff while you’re gone.”

A soft laugh leaves your lips, and relief glimmers in your eyes. He’s glad you can still share a light moment, despite the dull throb in his head.

Rising from the mattress, you step across the room and return a moment later with a tall glass of water, setting it carefully on the nightstand within easy reach. The sound of it touching down is soft, but in the quiet, it feels pronounced.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything,” you remind him.

Just as you move to go, he lifts his gaze. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, holding out a hand. You curl your fingers around his, and he tugs gently, guiding you back in for a brief, tender kiss that lingers longer than you expect. There’s gratitude in the tilt of his head, in the way his lips press against yours. “Thanks, angel.”

Your cheeks flush, and you give his hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“It’s nothing,” you say, but he can tell by your voice that it means a lot to you to help him.

You ease away, shutting the door behind you with a quiet click, leaving the room filled with hushed light. He settles back against the pillows, letting the muffled sounds of the shop downstairs lull him. The pain still stabs at his temples, but now it feels manageable—less like a prison sentence and more like something he can endure with you close by.

He emerges an hour later, surfacing from a surprisingly restful sleep. The dull throb that had settled behind his eyes is now a faint echo, and as he scrubs a hand across his face, he realises he feels… better. 

Much better. 

There’s a fleeting sense of relief—he’d almost forgotten what it was like not to have that constant, pounding pressure.

He rubs at his eyes and grabs his glasses from the nightstand, sliding them back onto the bridge of his nose. Outside the bedroom door, all is quiet, save for the faint rustle of movement. He recalls where he is—your place—and a tiny smile flits across his lips, fueled by a sudden warmth in his chest.

Deciding he shouldn’t just linger, he ventures out of the room. He notices quickly that you’re nowhere to be seen upstairs.

When he reaches the shop floor, he sees you standing near the entrance, turning the lock on the front door. Apparently, you’re closing up for the evening. You exhale a tired breath, flicking off the main lights, and in that moment he decides to have some fun in making his presence known. 

He moves silently, inching closer, taking full advantage of the fact that your focus is on the street outside. Then, in one swift motion, he lunges—his hands gripping your shoulders, pulling you toward him. 

You stumble, nearly losing your balance, but he catches you just in time. It takes effort to hold in his giggle at your squeal. 

You nearly jump out of your skin, whirling around in alarm—only to roll your eyes when you realise it’s him.

He smirks, tugging you closer, and before you can scold him, he leans in, pressing a trail of soft, lingering kisses up your neck—his version of an apology.

 “I see you’re feeling better,” you tease at his sudden affection, putting on your best irritated tone, though his lips on your neck send a shiver through you, the sensation ticklish and distracting.

You feel him grin against your neck, the feeling of it settling something deep inside you. The pain isn’t entirely gone for him, but with you here, it’s a thousand times more bearable than before.

“Yeah… a lot,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, steadier.

He pulls back to meet your eyes, and you notice the lingering exhaustion in them. It’s subtle, but it’s there—a heaviness he hasn’t managed to sleep away.

Guilt tugs at you. He’s spent the whole day powering through, surrounded by kids, pushing through. You wonder how often this happens, how many days he forces himself through without letting anyone see.

“So,” you begin, eyes flicking up to meet his, “does that happen a lot?”

He blinks, caught off guard. 

“Huh?”

“The migraines,” you clarify, voice soft and yet insistent as you brush a thumb against his temple to emphasise your point.

He hesitates. He’s never exactly hidden the fact that he gets them, but he’s never brought it up either—never put words to it, much less explained the reasoning behind them.

Usually, they’re a warning sign, a foreshadowing of rough nights ahead. His anxiety always lingers, never too far out of reach, even though being around you has helped. He' knows's aware this isn’t something that just disappears. It’s a lifelong journey, one he’s learned to live with, however reluctantly.

“Oh, uh… yeah, they come and go,” he says, trying for a casual shrug. “Some are worse than others.”

You purse your lips sympathetically. “That’s annoying.”

He releases a soft huff of a laugh, running his hand gently across your lower back. 

“Yeah, well… what can you do?”

A brief, comfortable silence follows until you tip your head, studying him. “Did you eat today?”

He thinks back, sifting through the blur of his morning. 

“Uhh,” he scratches the back of his neck, “I don’t think so?”

You click your tongue, the corner of your mouth quirking up. 

“Oh, good, because I’ve been craving Chinese all week.”

He raises a brow, not entirely following. 

“Huh?”

“Are you not staying for dinner?” you reply, bemusement colouring your tone.

Immediately, his guard goes up. Something feels off, and he knows it. He doesn’t want to stay—every instinct is telling him to leave. He knows his body well enough to recognise when it’s warning him. 

“Oh, um. I mean, I can. But I was thinking, y’know, you’d want me out of your hair soon, so…”

He trails off, and you give him a look that’s telling him to stop being ridiculous. 

“Not at all,” you say. “I was gonna ask if you’d stay the night.”

Now that would be a problem.

He wants to say yes. He wants to say yes so badly.

The last night you spent together had been nothing but sweetness, the two of you tangled under the covers, whispering until the early hours, scolding each other for not sleeping yet making no real effort to stop. 

He wants that again. He wants you again.

But he can feel the anxiety thrumming at the base of his neck, a low, insistent pulse that hasn't let up all day. The migraine was usually the first sign—a warning, subtle but familiar. He knows how this goes. Knows how easily it can spiral if he doesn’t listen to it.

So he does what feels safest. He deflects. Shoves his hands into his pockets, schooling his expression into something easy, something unreadable, and lets you down gently. Or at least, he tries.

“No, that’s—honestly, I’m good,” he says, uncertainty slipping into his tone.

By the look on your face, you are not pleased with his answer. 

“C’mon. It’s not a big deal,” you press gently. “I can wake up early and drop you off at work—no trouble at all.”

This is a fucking dilemma—choosing between the unknowns, between what he wants and what his mind is screaming at him.

Technically, he has everything he needs. His jumper is still here from the other day, his emergency medication is in his bag if things go sideways. You’re good, you’re understanding. He knows that. But the anxiety clawing at his ribs doesn’t care about logic. It only knows one thing.

He really doesn’t want to put you out. And the look on your face—soft, playful, pleading—is downright dangerous. You don’t understand, but that’s not your fault. How could you? And it’s not fair to say no to you, not when all you’ve ever done is offer him kindness.

You take half a step closer, eyes shining with encouragement. 

“Are you really gonna make me beg?” you tease, and he can’t help but let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

Uncharted territory. 

The words ring in his head. 

He steels himself, reminding himself that last time was good, that he survived it, that maybe he’s stronger than he gives himself credit for.

“Fine,” he says at last, voice almost resigned, but a tiny smile playing at his lips. “Fine, all right.”

You beam, and it’s the kind of smile that makes all his lingering worries recede at least an inch. You tighten your arms around him in a grateful squeeze and pepper a quick, playful kiss against his chin. 

“Okay, so,” you say, a gleam of excitement in your eye, “I’m totally fine with sharing, but if we order spring rolls, we have to get two orders. Non-negotiable. They’re my favorite, so…”

You launch into a happy little ramble about the menu options, rattling off sauce preferences and side dishes, trying to piece together the perfect meal. He watches the way your face lights up, and though the knots of anxiety still tug at his gut, he finds them easing—at least for now. 

He never wants to be the one to dampen your mood, never wants to be the reason your smile fades.

But nothing could have prepared him for what happened the moment he closed his eyes.

It hit him fast, relentless—dragging him under before he even had the chance to fight it. A night he can never forget, no matter how hard he tries.

He's in the Creel House again, though he can’t recall how he got there. 

One moment, he was drifting in a half-conscious haze, and the next, he’s stumbling over warped floorboards that groan under his weight. The hallway is impossibly long, stretched out like a sick parody of reality. The walls are all wrong, shifting and pulsing with deep veins that look alive. In his chest, his heart drums a vicious beat, every thud echoing in his ears.

He tries to turn around—to find a window, a door, anything that leads outside—but the corridor twists, forcing him forward. Panic grips him. He knows he shouldn’t be here. 

This place was supposed to be gone, sealed away. 

Yet it’s all here, clear as day. The chipped wallpaper, the stench of rot, the cold air that clings to his skin like a shroud.

He senses movement at the edge of his vision. The thick, slithering mass of vines creeps along the plaster, reaching out like greedy hands. He swallows hard, adrenaline thrumming in his veins. 

Gotta keep moving.

The floor beneath his shoes seems to splinter in protest with each uncertain step. His breath comes ragged, visible in the stale gloom. He can almost taste the decay in the back of his throat.

Suddenly, something coils around his ankle—cold and slick. He yanks his foot back, but the vine refuses to let go, sliding tighter around his leg. He gasps, stumbling as fear knots in his stomach. 

This is the moment everything always goes wrong. 

His instincts scream at him to run, but the more he struggles, the more the house closes in. Another vine snakes up from beneath the floorboards, twining around his wrist. The pressure is sharp—like iron shackles—and he chokes on a panicked sound.

“Stop,” he manages to rasp, voice hollow against the silence. The vines press in like they understand, as though taunting him. He jerks his arm, fighting to free it. Finally, by some miracle, he manages to tear himself away, practically lurching sideways into the wall. The texture of the wallpaper is spongy and damp beneath his palm, and horror climbs his spine. 

Get out, get out, get out.

He staggers down the hallway, half running, half limping. Every muscle in his body is ready to snap, like he’s been caught in this hellish loop for hours. The floor shifts again, throwing him off balance. He falls to his knees with a grunt, his heart pounding so violently he can hardly see straight. 

In the corner of his eye, a vine rears up, poised to coil around his shoulder. He twists away just in time, the motion jarring him so badly he cries out. His lungs burn with each gulp of stale air.

Then he hears it—a voice, faint and familiar in the distance. His name. Just a whisper.

He freezes. 

No. 

He doesn’t want you in this hellscape, not even your voice. It feels all wrong. He whips his head around, searching for you, but all he sees are the same endless vines reaching across the ceiling like greedy fingers. The voice rises again, achingly gentle. 

Steve. 

Fear lances through his chest. 

Why are you here? 

He needs to get to you, save you, do something. 

He staggers forward, arms flailing at the vines that try to yank him back.

He can’t tell which way is up anymore—everything is crumbling, flickering, drifting in and out of focus. It wraps around his shoulder, and he loses the last shred of composure. His stomach drops, pure terror fueling him. He clamps his hand around the rubbery texture and wrenches it off with all the strength he has left. 

It has to let go. 

A guttural shout rips from his throat. He pins it down, vision blurred by panic.

Then, at the edge of his consciousness, there’s a softer noise. A plea, quieter this time, but insistent. 

His name, spoken with shaking breath. 

That voice… it’s definitely yours.

Steve blinks, pushing back an onslaught of nausea. He’s still gripping something. But the vine dissolves, the hallway dissolves, the entire hellish scene dissolves—replaced in a nauseating rush by the dim light of early morning and the disheveled duvet beneath his knees. His chest still heaves with exertion, sweat slicking the back of his neck. For a second, he’s disoriented, mind torn between there and here. 

Then his gaze lands on you.

And he realises what he’s clutching. It’s not a vine. It’s your wrist—your delicate wrist pinned beneath his trembling fingers. It’s at an awkward angle, balled into a fist as you try to resist his attack. 

He’s nearly on top of you, looming in the half-dark with wild, panic-stricken eyes. Your breathing is ragged too, your face filled with dawning horror. You’re staring at him like you don’t even recognise him, and the second his mind comprehends that, he feels his heart drop to his stomach.

“Steve…” you say shakily, voice low, tears lacing each syllable. “You’re hurting me.”

He’s hurting you. 

Your words pierce him like a blade to the gut. 

His grip slackens instantly, and he recoils, dropping your wrist as though it’s scalding hot. His chest on fire, eyes wide and filled with guilt. You cradle your arm close, still trembling, and he realises what he’s done—he was the danger in your bed, he was the one who scared you.

“Fuck—” he breathes, voice cracking. “No, I didn't—”

He wants to reach for you, to reassure you, but the look on your face stops him cold. 

Terror. 

Terror… of him. 

The same man who promised he’d never harm you. A silent horror seeps into his lungs, making it impossible to draw a full breath.

He hovers half above you, heart hammering a rapid, disbelieving rhythm in his ears. His vision tunnels on your trembling hand, clutched protectively against your chest. You flinch, just the tiniest bit, and it feels like a knife twisting in his gut. 

He shifts back, giving you space, but panic throbs in his veins like a second pulse.

“Angel,” he manages, voice raw, “are you—are you all right? Fuck—I swear—”

You’re breathing unevenly, tears quivering in the corners of your eyes. He can see the hesitation carved across your features—the part of you that can’t decide if you should move closer or farther away. It breaks him more than he thought possible.

When you finally nod, it’s a tiny movement, barely there.

“I…I’m okay,” you whisper, but the tremor in your voice betrays your fear. “You just…you scared me.”

Those words hit him like a tidal wave, drowning him in remorse. Guilt churns in his stomach, hot and relentless.

He knows what it’s like to be truly afraid—to feel that kind of fear deep in his bones. And the last thing he ever wanted was to make someone else feel the same, never when he was around.

“I know—I know I did,” he says, voice cracking on each syllable. “Jesus, I—I’m sorry. Can I see?” He looks pointedly at your wrist, the one you’re cradling so protectively.

“Steve, it’s fine,” you protest, though the wariness in your voice says otherwise.

He swallows the lump in his throat. 

It’s not fine. Nothing about this is fine. 

“Just…let me look, please,” he pleads, extending a shaking hand. Every muscle in his body is alive with self-loathing.

How on earth could he do this? He knew this would happen. He never should have stayed over after yesterday—he hadn’t been feeling a hundred percent and should have trusted his instincts. They hadn’t failed him before.

He wanted to blame you for insisting, but he couldn’t. Not when he remembered the way your face had lit up when he agreed. That smile had been worth it then, but now, seeing the uncertainty in your eyes, it didn’t feel like enough.

Finally, you shift, slowly offering him your wrist. Your hand trembles, and he hates himself for it—hates that you’re scared of him, even if you’re trying to push it down. The sight makes bile rise in his throat.

“Is it okay if I turn on the light?” he asks softly, afraid that even the sound of his voice might startle you.

You nod, a wordless motion. He flicks on the bedside lamp, wincing at the sudden wash of yellow light. 

Now he can see everything.

The faint imprint of his fingers around your wrist, the bruises threatening to form beneath the skin. But the most devastating sight is your eyes, wide and teary, brimming with a kind of apprehension he’s never wanted to see directed at him. He inhales sharply, wrestling down the urge to look away because he knows you deserve more than his cowardice.

The look in your eyes shatters him. It guts him in a way he can’t put into words.

He tries to recall everything his therapist and friends have ever told him after an episode—something reassuring, something grounding—but how can he, when he’s the one scaring you?

His mind scrambles for the right thing to say, some way to make you understand that he’d never, ever hurt you—not willingly, not ever.

“I’m not—I’m not going to hurt you, all right?” He hates how desperately he needs your affirmation, how terrified he is that you might doubt him. “I didn’t realise I—” 

“Was it a nightmare?” You interrupt him before he can spiral further, your own voice still trembling.

He swallows, nodding. That’s certainly an understatement. 

“Yeah,” he admits, though the confession tastes bitter on his tongue. 

He put you directly in harm's way. 

His brain flashes with the vivid memory of the vines, the crawling floors. 

What has he done?

You press your lips together, trying to steady yourself. 

“You were…talking,” you say, your tone careful, as if you’re unsure how much you’re allowed to pry.

“Was I?” He forces out. His throat feels painfully tight. 

The idea of you overhearing any part of those twisted images. 

He doesn’t want you to know. 

Not like this, not when you’re already shaken and he’s feeling like a monster in the softness of your room. He wants to say more, explain it, but the words stick in his throat. He’s not ready to unravel that story yet, not when he’s still trying to absorb the fact that he frightened you.

He slides his gaze to the clock, ignoring the knot of dread forming in his chest. Nearly five in the morning. He was supposed to wake up soon anyway, but now the ticking minutes feel like an escape route. 

He can see in your eyes that you’re about to push for more—questions, understanding, some explanation of what just happened. And he can’t face it. Not now, not with the shame burning under his skin.

Now? He’s going to be a fucking coward. 

“I should, um—I should probably get ready,” he mumbles and you can barely believe what you are hearing. 

His voice sounds foreign in his own ears, devoid of its usual warmth. Anxiety stabs at him, driving the compulsion to leave, to put distance between himself and the scene of this half-waking horror. Maybe if he puts on his clothes and gets out the door, he can pretend for a few hours that this didn’t happen.

He sees the confusion flicker across your features, the hurt you try to hide. But the terror from moments ago still lingers in your eyes, and he feels it like a physical wound. Everything in him screams to fix this, hold you, tell you it’s going to be okay. 

Yet the fear of hurting you again—of losing control—fights him at every turn.

He practically trips as he scrambles off the bed, his heart hammering loud enough to drown out any rational thought. He needs to get away—needs to stop the spiral he feels uncoiling in his chest. Grabbing for yesterday’s clothes, he balls them up against his chest, grimacing when the fabric tangles in his unsteady fingers.

“Hey, no—wait,” you say, voice still tight with fear and confusion. But he’s already halfway to the door, jaw clenched against the wave of panic threatening to swallow him whole. 

He can’t look at you—won’t look at you—because the second he does, he knows he’ll see the hurt carved into your features, the tears in your eyes, and it’ll break him. 

He focuses on each step, on the ache thrumming behind his ribs. He wants to disappear.

“W-what are you doing?” you stutter out, following him into the narrow hallway just outside your bedroom. He tries to ignore the tremble in your tone, tries to ignore the fact that his own chest feels like it’s collapsing.

He finds his shoes by the wall, jamming his feet into them. 

“You don’t have to drop me off,” he mutters, not quite meeting your gaze. His voice sounds so hollow it startles even him. “I’ll get the bus. Just…go back to sleep, okay?”

He knows the request is insane—knows you’re not going to waltz back into your bedroom and pretend none of this happened. 

But what else can he do?

“Are you seriously going to work right now?” you press, frustrated and hurt at the same time.

You can’t believe he’s running away—ignoring everything that just happened. He doesn’t sound like himself. His voice is flat, as if he’s reciting some script you can’t quite decipher.

You don’t understand how he can act like this, not now, not when you need him the most.

“It’s fine,” he insists, though his voice cracks. 

But you’re both not.

He doesn’t feel remotely fine. He feels like his insides are strangling themselves. 

“It just…happens sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” you echo, exasperated. “Steve, wait—”

But he’s crouching to grab his bag, rummaging for anything else he might have left scattered around the room. 

He can’t stay here. If he does, the reality of what he’s done—of the rawness he saw in your eyes—will crush him.

“I’ll call you at lunch, okay?” he rattles off, his words mechanical, cold. As if scheduling this conversation might keep him afloat. 

Just keep moving.

He shoves his shirt into his bag, barely registering your expression. 

Just get out of here.

He’s so far into his own head that he almost misses the sound of your voice, pitched higher with desperation.

“Steve! Fuck—please!”

That tone stops him in his tracks. He freezes like you’ve yanked a chain on his spine. Slowly, he forces himself to turn, his eyes finally meeting yours. 

Christ, the way you're looking at him.

It obliterates any last shred of composure he has. Your pupils are blown wide, tears shimmering at the edges, and there’s a panic there he’s never seen before—like you’re grappling with a slow-motion wreck and can’t stop it.

All the oxygen seems to vanish from the room. He can’t form words, can’t even pretend he has them. He just stares, his chest tight as tears prick at the corners of his own eyes. 

The shame, the fear, the longing to make this go away—it all comes crashing in.

“Please,” you whisper, voice trembling. “Don’t go. You—you can’t just leave like this. We—we have to talk.”

Every hair on the back of his neck stands on end. 

He can’t. He just fucking can’t.

He knows if he stays, if he tries to talk through the nightmare he’s dragged you into, he’ll fall apart completely.

His eyes sting, and he’s dangerously close to crying in front of you. He wants to beg your forgiveness, to promise that he’ll never let this happen again. But the weight of his fear for you—of you being near him—is suffocating. 

He has to escape, or he’ll lose it.

“I’ll call you later,” he chokes out, not even believing his own words. It’s a weak, hollow promise, and the guilt in his chest crushes him as he brushes past you.

You call after him, the sound of your plea ricocheting in his skull. 

But he doesn’t stop. He’s already breaking into a near-run, stumbling down the steps, out the shop door, onto the barely-light street. He shoves his arms into his jacket, hardly noticing the early-morning chill seeping through the fabric. 

He can hear your voice behind him—unsteady, laced with heartbreak—and it nearly makes his knees buckle. 

Instead, he forces himself forward, practically sprinting until the sound of your cries fades into the back of his memories.

All the while, the same thought hammers through his brain. 

He’s running again. 

He’s been running in his nightmares for years, and it turns out he’s just as good at it in real life.

taglist: @daisy-is-a-writer @chiliwhore @kvroomi @just-lilita @negomi123 @catluver02 @tinythebunni @everythinghasafacee @irrelevantbutembarrassing @almostfullstarfish

[div4down]

chris and itgirl!reader have a slow morning in milan 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒／ ⋆ ۪

chris’ lips danced all around your neck, placing sweet and gentle kisses of comfort. “how ya’ feelin’ mama?”

his words scattered out with his kisses and the soft rasp of his voice soothed your brain. you sat in bed with your body tucked away into chris’ side, warm tea in your hand as the sun seeped into the room and the italian breeze flowed through the curtains.

“ya’ nervous?” the kisses didn’t stop as you nodded your head and took a sip of your tea.

“i’m so scared” you breathed out at the feeling of his lips brushing over your sensitive skin so lightly and tilted your head, allowing full affection to your neck.

he felt bad for you, couldn’t stand to see you all anxious when you should be celebrating your success. you were walking for prada in a few hours after having a delayed flight and running off of five hours of sleep and he could tell it was getting to you.

he sensed the tension in your body and made it his personal mission to relieve all your stress. he felt it in his dick too, nothing else would give him the pleasure of pleasing you.

“i know baby” after grabbing the mug from your hands and placing it on the nightstand, chis slowed down his kisses, eventually sucking your neck. he positioned himself hovering over you and his hand softly messaging your tits. “don’t worry bout’ none of that shit ma”.

“mm—we have to get ready s-soon” you tucked your bottom lip between your teeth while chris rubbed circles around your buds and pulled you close.

he pushed your tank top over your head and immediately connects his mouth to your tits. “take some beep breaths f’me baby”

you do what he says.

you close your eyes and take some deep breaths. pushing the thought of having hundreds of people staring at you all judging and having different perceptions of you and let chris’ lips consume you completely, the warm and plush-like feeling only traveling lower and lower.

and just like that chris was nose deep in your pussy, leaking all over his face. “mmm—ooh, chris”.

looking down you seen chris lapping desperately at your pussy, making sloppy mooches around your clit, his tongue teasing in just the right spot and his gaze already waiting for you. “just relax f’me baby…fuck! you’re s’good”.

your hands flew to his hair as your back arched off of the hotel mattress. you had a clear view of chris’ head rolling in circles, while his tongue stutters at your clit.

he groans into your pussy, feeling his dick twitch at the sight of you using his face for your own pleasure, grinding and pressing down into his mouth. “ya’ like that baby?” he murmured while trying to catch his breath. “keep riding m’face just like that ma”

squealing and gasping with pleasure your legs were wrapped around his neck, feet pointed and teetering little kicks as chris builds you up to your orgasm.

“ugh, fuck chris—eating me s’good…i’m gonna cum”

he whimper at your praises and bucked his hips against the bed, precum leaking from the tip while you blessed his ears with your sweet cries.

his right hand grabs your throat and his left leaving indents in your hip. his head shook like crazy from side to side and you both went dizzy from the friction and pleasure.

“that’s it pretty girl—cum all over m’face”

you feel that coil in the pit of your stomach, the heat that rises and eventually gets too hot, all of that came crashing down on you, letting out a high pitched moan as you dripped from chris’ nose and chin

chris sighs, “love this fuckin’ pussy” he gives you one more kiss on your puffy clit before climbing back to you, kissing your lips slow and sensual. “love you”

he connected your foreheads staring into your eyes, you staring back at him. you whisper, “i love you too baby”, rubbing the hair on the back of his neck.

“listen, if you don’t wanna’ walk then you won’t” he says softly and brings his hand to the side your your face. “i’d say you’re a fuckin’ dumbass, but whatever ya’ want, we’ll do it”

you cracked a tired smile, “you’re bein’ so sweet, wish you were like this all the time—”

“nah, we not going there.”

tags 𓂅 @riasturns @sturns-mermaid

[rafesplaymate]

can we please get a darkstalker! rafe🤭

mhmm. MHHHMMMMMMM.

Dark!Stalker!Rafe x Reader

ᡣ𐭩. ݁˖ . navigation. ᡣ𐭩. ݁˖ . masterlist.

warnings: stalking. domineering men.

a/n: i love me some dark!rafe

. ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

He’s been watching her.

Calculating every movement she makes. Every minute of her day. Her likes - her dislikes. Her wants. Her needs. He knows everything about her.

He knows her routine like the back of his hand. He knows what times she leaves, when she gets home. Where she’s at, who she’s with. What perfume she wears, what clothes she likes. What stuffed animal she sleeps with at night.

He knows the best angle to watch her at night through her window. Stupid girl. Unknowingly giving him a show every night as she strips bare and gives him a view of the sweet body he’s itching to claim.

And it’s making him desperate to catch her in his grasp.

When the sweet, little thing he saw working at the country club came into his line of sight that day. He knew it was over for him. Topper and Kelce following the movement of his eyes as they caught onto what captured his attention. Their faces turning into twisted smirks.

“Yeah man, we noticed her too.” Jokes Topper, nudging Rafe with his arm as him and Kelce made small quips of ‘what I would do to her’ and ‘she’s sexy for a pogue.’

Rafe hated it. His gaze turning onto them with a darkness in them that they had come to know —all too well. Their lightened mood and chummy jokes coming to a hault as he glared at them. Rafe has yet to say anything, but he didn’t need to. He spoke with his mannerisms and domineering presence —as he always does. Pounding back the rest of his drink and abruptly getting up from his seat. Swaggering toward the bar as his gaze zoned into the sweet waitress who’s quickly becoming the main topic in his twisted mind.

When he sits down at the bar with abrupt movements, his empty glass clanking on the bar top and the legs of the stool squeaking from being pulled out —is when she finally looks up at him. And fuck —if she isn’t the cutest doll he’s had the pleasure of seeing on this island.

“Oh —hi!” She squeaks out, her groomed brows furrowing with the anxiety rising in her chest from the startle he gave her. Quickly falling as she gives him a sweet smile and bats her faux lashes at him. All while Rafe stares at her with little emotion on his face. Making it difficult to decipher anything about him.

“Can I get you something, Mr. Cameron?” She said sweetly, his gaze falling to her plump pout slathered in glittery gloss.

The ones he wants wrapped around him or crying his name. The ones he wants to bruise and bite, leaving them swollen as he stakes his claim.

It’s when his gaze flits back to her pretty eyes, does he finally crack a million-dollar smirk. Leering at her and surrounding her soft energy with his domineering one. Watching as she gets nervous by his presence while he leans forward on his forearm and reaches out for to push a fallen strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb grazing her jawline and down to her chin as he gives it a quick pinch. “Good, you know who I am. Hmm?” He said under his breath. His voice gruff.

She stared at him perplexed, his actions too sudden for her to immediately process what he’s doing. But it’s when his index finger grazes down the side of her neck as he stares into her anxious eyes does she realize he’s waiting for her to answer him.

“Oh-um. Yes, of course Mr. Cameron. The whole island knows you.” She said softly, voice shaky as she lets this man caress her face. Faux lashes fluttering as he grazes the tip of this thumb lightly over the bottom of her lip. She doesn’t know why she’s letting him, too many emotions and confusion swirling through her. But something about his caress leaves her tummy tingling and her inner thighs wet.

Rafe gives a patronizing laugh under his breath as he finally leans back. Maintaining eye contact with her as he pulls out his wallet. Taking out a crisp couple of c-notes before laying them in front of her. Her eyes widening as she takes in the amount he’s tipping her. She’s not sure why, she didn’t serve him to begin with and she doesn’t know if he wants her to hand them over to her co-worker.

It’s like he knows what she’s thinking as she stares down at the cash. Wanting her to know that he can offer her everything she wants and needs. It’s just the start.

“That’s for you.” He confirms, pushing his wallet into his back pocket as the corner of his lips lift into a small smirk. Her mouthing opening and tumbles of “but-I didn’t-I didn’t serve you. And this is too much, sir.” She says with her nerves on haywire. Confused why her body and mind are reacting this way to him. It’s intoxicating.

“I know. But I told you, it’s for you alright. Don’t argue with me.” He told her firmly, her eyes still on the cash in front of her as she takes in what he tells her. His mind still reeling from the way she called him sir. Perfect. “Bu-but, why?” She asked, still perplexed. She doesn’t understand and he’s willing to teach her.

“Because I take care of what’s mine.” He said with finality. His words taking a minute to register in her brain and when they do that’s when she looks at him with furrowed brows and her gut screaming at her that this was dangerous.

Before she can say anything he leans over to nudge on her chin as he gives her one last…

“You’ll be seeing a lot more of me baby. I’ll be sure to see a lot more of you.” And with that, he turns to walk out and swaggers past his friends toward the entrance as they look at him with confusion and calls of his name.

His sweet girl watching his figure walk away from her; he can feel her gaze burning into his back. His words to vague for her to understand exactly what he was getting at.

And as Rafe walks to his truck, a triumphant smirk splayed across his handsome face. He can only think one thing.

Little does she know. This was just the start.

. ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

a/n: i hope this isn’t too bad…

[vesna-v-irkutske]

How do you imagine Nikita as a boyfriend? (Even if you doubt he would have a girlfriend, dang if he just knew how many girls like him now😭)

I need to add "headcanon tcc" to all my other achievements, lol.

I feel like it'd be like with his friendships, but with more awkwardness, at least at first. He'd never have taken the initiative, everything would have to be done by another person. I don't think he'd have even genuinely hoped for anything, he considered himself crap and worthless. And it'd feel a little strange for him that someone is really kind to him and wants to spend time with him (and possibly in a ROMANTIC way!), and doesn't mock him or use him. He'd be equally happy and anxious. Perhaps he'd have lost sleep over it, thinking about everything, it could be summed up as "Maybe..! No..." In short, the other person would have to take the initiative in communicating with him, at least at the very beginning, make him feel comfortable, support and listen to him. He needed someone with whom he could just be his quiet self, and another person would take lead, and it'd give HIM confidence, and he'd also start doing something.

More below. 👇🏻

🤍× In the established relationship, well, I think he'd still feel awkward and nervous, it'd take time for him to stop worrying about possibly being boring and not good enough. I mean, he wouldn't be all 🥺😔🙁, he'd just feel insecure from time to time, just some self-doubt in the back of his head, especially if he felt bad mentally. 🤍× He'd probably feel kinda ashamed of himself being good-for-nothing, not conventionally attractive or rich, for being an apathetic wreck that struggles with basic things such as hygiene. 🤍× Maybe he'd feel the pressure of responsibility. Because it's so serious now! He'd feel like the other person expects him to do something, like in typical TV series and movies, and it'd stress him out. He'd constantly need to be reassured, to have some (non-verbal) confirmation that the person was having fun with him and didn't feel some kinda envy when looking at other couples. 🤍× From time to time, he'd internally struggle with "I don't want to be a loser, I'm a MAN, I have to be a leader in this relationship." Another thing to be insecure about. 🤍× But apart from that, he'd constantly try to come up with something interesting to do. But he didn't really like ACTUALLY doing things and leaving the house, he probably wouldn't be a big fan of typical dates and all that jazz, he was broke anyway (but I think it'd be possible to drag him somewhere, but he'd feel awkward and nervous at first, and he'd kinda hate it because it'd be new to him, but then he'd start having fun in the process and think, "Well, I guess it wasn't that bad"). He'd rather be at home or at another person's place, or just taking a walk with them. Or doing some stupid shit if he feels comfortable and silly enough. 🤍× He's the type of person to suggest something and look at the other person, gauging their reaction, waiting for an approving signal to continue and develop the thought. It'd make him more at ease, more confident. 🤍× One of his favorite things to do would be to browse the internet, watching videos and playing games together. I think he'd feel pretty hyped and confident when he showed what he liked, what he was interested in, anything to make himself look cool, interesting, knowledgeable in something. He desperately needed someone who shared his interests and understanded him. Maybe he would have offered to participate in the making of his new album somehow. 🤍× Overall, he'd be kinda fun and chill if he felt comfortable. And maybe a little crazy, saying and doing weird stuff, if too comfortable. 🤍× The type of person to get PAINFULLY attached. Sometimes he'd prefer to be alone, but he'd miss the person pretty quickly. He'd HATE to be physically far away and for a long period of time (and that long period would be, like... a week or less), like, he'd be VERY upset. Would feel SUPER frustrated if one of them had some stuff to do and they wouldn't be able see each other. For example, some kinda trip. 🤍× He could get upset/frustrated/mad because of something, but he wouldn't talk about it and say what it was. He probably would have said that everything was fine, but you could tell by his frown that something was wrong. You'd have to torture him to get him to tell you. 🤍× There's a possibility of him hiding behind the "Oh, I'm so tuff" persona and 100 layers of irony, sarcasm and trolling (and then lowkey forgetting who the hell he actually is) when he doesn't feel like opening up and being vulnerable. 🤍× Overall, he'd be inexperienced in right about everything and make mistakes because of it, but he wouldn't actually wanna mess it all up. He'd be pretty reliable and trustworthy. And easy to control. Don't use that against him. </3 🤍× He'd feel scared of getting hurt.

[inkybitt]

♥︎Paradise part one ♥︎

(Bill Dickey x Fem Reader)

“♪ Feels right, so fine I'm yours, you're mine Like paradise ♪”

♡-Summary: You walk in to a comic store to find an x men comic then you bump into some asshole

♡-Genre fluff (Sfw)

♡-Warnings: misogynistic comments and fat jokes

♡-Notes: i am currently working on part two!! Lmk if i went too ooc and hopefully you enjoy this first part!!

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

It is a Sunday afternoon and Bill decides to check if Joe’s Comic Store has anything new in stock

He looks around and checks out the comic book aisle he is in the x men's section just browsing around

*what the fuck? $2.25 for an x men's comic?..

Whatever I'm stealing this* Bill thought to himself

Then he hears the door chime ring he turns his head Bill's eyes widen He sees a girl walk-in

All eyes are on you but Joe seems annoyed thinking that you’re here for attention

One thing that stood out was how pretty you were

Bill was shocked for a bit and tried to snap out of it

Bill watches you walk to the comic aisle which is the same aisle he is in, but you are checking out the “invincible” comic section which is a bit further

Bill notices how you ignore everyone glaring at you as if you just don’t care at all.

Then slowly you walked near the x men’s comic section to the point you were somewhat next to him

Bill tries to act like he is looking for something but in reality, he’s secretly observing you mostly at your hair and clothes what stood out the most was your scent he isn't used to getting a trace of perfume which was very new to him

Bill isn't used to being close to a girl he started to get a bit anxious but tried to hide it

*meh she doesn't know jack shit about X-men* Bill thought to himself then he had an idea.

————

You were checking out for some x-men comics mostly looking for volume 3 due to your little cousin accidentally ripping it

You were just browsing through until you heard someone say “Hey you!” In a snarky tone

You turned your head then you saw this guy with messy greasy hair, a Batman tee shirt, somewhat baggy jeans, and acne all over his face

Then you point at yourself with a confused look “Me?”

“Yes, you! Who else would I be talking to?” He said with a very impolite tone. Although.. he sounded a bit funny how he was trying to act all intimidating

“So you like X-men huh?” He said

“Oh yeah, why you ask?”

Bill started to get a little flustered he didn't get why you were just calm about this in his mind he expected you to be nervous but he just tried to snap out of it

“Well then if you read the comics then.. what's toad's REAL name huh?” He gave you a smug look as he thought you wouldn’t even have an answer

You had to think for a second before answering because you wouldn’t like to look stupid

“Oh isn't it Mortimer Toynbee!?” You said

His jaw dropped he didn’t expect you to get that answer right he couldn’t believe that you knew

You started to giggle due to this random guy trying to humiliate you

Now he got more flustered than ever he felt so stupid he looks pissed but didn't say anything else

You just walk out of the store with the exact volume you were looking for

You start to think about that guy who tried to embarrass you but failed miserably you thought that was pretty cute of him

You started to feel like you had probably seen him around school before but you doubt it

When Bill came back home and headed over to his room he was still pissed about earlier today

*what the hell I thought girls like her were idiots* Bill thought to himself

He did keep on thinking about you and noticed how attractive you are and how calm you were but he would never admit that!..or would he?

——————

It's Monday morning and you finish your makeup routine and pick out a black babydoll top with some flare jeans with a washed-off color then put on your “Miss Dior” fragrance

Later on, you were hanging out with your friend group outside on the benches when you saw a group of guys sitting at the lunch tables

You made eye contact with the same guy you saw at the shop last night, he does go to your school!

Then you see one of your (guy) friends walking up to you and waving at you, you break eye contact with that guy from yesterday

“Hey y/n!!”

“Oh hey h/n” you smiled back

You gotta admit you did have a hallway crush on him but it lasted for two days and you never confessed, but you thought it was better off that way

————-

Bill was just talking to his club till he made eye contact with you He recognized you from yesterday but then he noticed a guy walk up to you

He started to observe this guy you were talking to, the way you two were almost close together, how you were smiling at him, and the way you looked at him

He started to get pissed off but he couldn’t hide it due to his facial expression although it kinda hit him that you two only talked for a little bit so there isn't much he can do

“Hey, Bill what's up with you man?” Pete said trying to get Bill to snap out of his thoughts

“What do you want!!!” Bill yelled out

“Dude whats the hell is wrong with you? I was trying to ask you something” Pete said

“Hey, I think bills turning into a tard!” Josh laughed (at his joke..)

“Fuck off fatso!!..” Bill said

Bill was trying to get you off of his mind by ignoring you but he couldn’t

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

[salty-autistic-writer]

Gerrard??!??! In a scene with all the people he hates and Tommy? Oh, he's definitely there for a reason ... I'm very excited for the next episode now. Feels like they are bringing back all the right people this season.

[fraternum-momentum]

apartment hunting lead me to a job interview tomorrow, wish me luck 🙏😭

[animationismycomfort]

I feel like clumsy smurfs personality in every iteration is kinda bad

[lovelystrawby]

it's physically impossible for me to watch a video about super paper mario and be normal about it because i'll always get so excited when i see dimentio <3

[fragiledate]

cringetober day 31: HALLOOWEEEEENNN!!!!

[hballegro]

I had a dream where there was a murder mystery and some of the suspects were Obama, the couple from Ruthless People, Scott Bakula [like, present day, not QL era], three people from my middle school, and like half my immediate family, and upon getting an ending I didn't like [Scott was the killer] I woke up, remembered 90% of the dream including a final chase sequence, decided that ending SUCKED and I didn't wanna be awake yet, fell RIGHT back asleep, and returned right back to my fuckin dream and got a different ending that I now cannot remember [it wasn't any of the people I listed, but I also can't really remember who it was? It was a guy, and he was affluent, but I dont remember rip]

You WISH you were me

[cryptidcalling]

Not to have two brat characters in a row but honestly I think Cosmo has some (poorly) suppressed bratty tendencies that he's gonna need to indulge eventually

[super-done-dead]

GUESS WHO HAS A BOYFRIENDDDD

[buckpaws]

I really can't tell if altar is gonna b my new nightmare in this game/fandom or sooo quirky that I die loving her forever. we'll see in a few weeks

(this post is now about brothers see the tags)