sevikasblackgf

[sevikasblackgf]

ON CRACK

⋆౨ৎ˚✧ ₊ in which your dealer is inlove

ft. Gojo, Geto, Toji, Sukuna, Shiu, Ino

due to a gun being held against my head. Here’s part 2 of SNOWING

[sevikasblackgf]

kento just being attached to his pregnant wife’s stomach.

you didn’t even hear him get inside the bathroom, you only recognized his presence when you felt a hand snaking down to your stomach.

he carresses it with so much care, too—as if it’s so fragile that with one rough move, it would break.

whether you’d be lounging on your couch,—watching whatever filled your heart’s content, his hand would always rest on top of your belly—occasionally rubbing it so gently you’d fall asleep ‘cause of the soothing motions. just hearing your soft snores calms every part of his body...

he decided to try a trick he found online where husbands lift their pregnant wife’s stomach to relief them and when he found out that you liked it—he’s always doing it. following you around the house, holding your belly as if he’d die if he ever lets go.

kento who just can’t wait for his darling baby girl to be born...

[sevikasblackgf]

I really like to believe that if you were dating Suguru and Satoru, Satoru’s clinginess would rub off onto Suguru. But not as badly, but I think he’d have his days.

It’s just one of those nights where you wake up hot, sticky, and with the urge to piss. slowly climbing out of bed, careful not to wake up the two men who swore you needed to be sandwiched between them to be safe.

It takes about 30 seconds max for Suguru to shift in his sleep to realise you’re not there. His eyes are still closed, but he’s patting his hand on the bed like you’re the lost remote on the couch. He’s mumbling shit till he finally opens his eyes and sees you’re not there, and oh boy, he doesn’t like that. He hates the fact that when he woke up, you’re not there beside him with Satoru, sleeping peacefully.

you finish your business, rolling up your pants when you hear a sudden deep voice that scares the fuck out of you.

“babe?”

“fuck! suguru? why are you up?”

“why aren’t you in bed?”

He won’t admit it, but you and Satoru have seen it enough to know that Suguru whines. And he definitely pouts, but that’s only behind closed doors when he’s away from everyone and nothing else matters but you two.

“Go back to bed, I was just using the bathroom.” You answered, pushing past him to wash your hands. He leans against the wall next to the sink, not saying anything, just admiring you. His eyes are barely open, his hair is such a mess, and his clothes are wrinkled, sweats barely hanging on his hip (yummy), his arms crossed, and that shirt does nothing to help hide those ridiculous big biceps he has.

“Suguru? Y/n?” another voice calls out, and you groan. Satoru always had trouble sleeping, so the fact he was up during this hour meant it was going to take forever for him to sleep. “Here!” Suguru mumbled, and he opened the door to meet a somewhat arguable sleepier Satoru.

“Why aren’t you two in bed?”

“I had to piss.”

“They weren’t in bed.”

You sighed and grabbed their hands, walking to the bed. “OK, are we all good to go to bed now?” you asked them. They both nodded a yes and climbed into bed.

But if we’re going back to talk about Suguru, he does get clingy. He’s the first one to wrap his arm around your waist as you’re facing Satoru, who wraps his arm around your waist. Is it comfortable? Not really. Is it hot and really only works during winter? Yeah. But does it make you feel nice and loved? Yeah. It does.

[sevikasblackgf]

before you started seeing each other, nanami was never late for work. however, the typically punctual business man has a terribly hard time resisting you.

when his alarm goes off at 7am, you always let out a small whine, rolling over and curling up against his side. how is he supposed to brace the chilly morning air when you're so warm beside him?

once he finally does gather the willpower, he'll tap your waist and offer a quiet, "okay, sweetheart. it's time."

your eyes don't even open when you press your lips to his neck and tangle your legs with his.

"please not yet," you plead softly.

"alright," he sighs almost immediately, pulling you impossibly closer and cradling your body against his chest. "a few more minutes."

and so recently, he shows up to work caffeine deprived at 9:03am, sporting a crooked tie.

worth it, he thinks.

[sevikasblackgf]

synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ nanami accidentally finds your small, anxious-but-sincere vlogs and quietly falls for you through the screen. and when you meet, he becomes a gentle, faceless presence behind the camera—helping you grow, and loving you all the while.

tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ this was so fun to write

nanami doesn’t really use youtube. it’s too loud, too cluttered, too full of people trying too hard. he’s more of a quiet reader or podcast listener—he likes his content slow and thoughtful. but sometimes, during quiet lunch breaks or sleepless nights, he finds himself scrolling, searching for something simple to fill the silence.

the first time he sees your face, he skips the video. it’s nothing personal. the thumbnail just seems… ordinary. a soft smile, a blurry background of what looks like a street food stall, and a simple title: “trying something new today (๑•́‿•̀๑)”. he doesn’t think much of it.

but youtube, in all its persistence, keeps putting you in his recommendations.

every few days, your face reappears. new title. new blurry background. another small smile. there’s something oddly comforting about it, even if he hasn’t clicked yet. eventually, curiosity wins. one night, half-asleep and curled up on his couch, he taps on a thumbnail without thinking.

the video is quiet. not silent, but there’s no obnoxious background music or jump cuts. just you. talking a little nervously to the camera, explaining how you’ve never tried this kind of food before, how it makes you anxious to eat alone in public but you’re doing it anyway, for yourself. you pause a lot. laugh at yourself. your editing is minimal—sometimes you just leave long clips in where you sit there silently, debating the next bite.

and nanami… stays.

he doesn’t mean to. he thinks he’ll just let the video play in the background while he dozes off. but he finds himself watching. then clicking on another one. and another. you talk to the camera like it’s a friend. you say things like “i know no one’s really watching this, but…” and “this was scary for me, but i’m proud of myself anyway.”

there’s no performance. no show. just you, trying. trying to live a little braver. trying to make the world a little softer for yourself. and even though your videos have only a few thousand views at most, and a comment section with maybe ten or twenty kind words, nanami can tell you read every single one. you reply with gratitude and sincerity. you sign your replies with hearts and “thank you for watching!!” even when someone just says “nice vid :)”.

he doesn’t comment for a long time. he watches quietly, always late at night, a silent companion to your small adventures. his favorite video becomes one where you try to bike through a park trail you’ve never been on before. the camera shakes the entire time, the sky is gray, and you end up getting rained on halfway through. soaked and breathless, you laugh and say, “this was a disaster. but i don’t regret it.” and something about that sticks in his chest.

he comments on a video one day. it’s short, awkwardly formal:

“i admire your courage to keep stepping outside your comfort zone. thank you for sharing.”

a few hours later, you reply.

“thank you so much!!! i get really nervous about posting sometimes so this means a lot ;; i’m trying my best!! ♡”

nanami reads that reply more times than he’d like to admit.

—

he doesn’t think he’ll ever meet you. you feel like a little glowing orb in his private world. something precious that lives on his phone, just a click away, not real, not tangible.

but then, he’s at a weekend market. the kind of place you’d probably vlog, actually. he’s just there to buy fresh bread, enjoy the quiet, maybe grab a coffee. he’s walking past a stand selling handmade keychains when he hears a familiar voice.

soft. a little unsure. asking for the price of something.

he turns.

and you’re there.

you look just like your videos—maybe a little shorter, bundled in a cardigan despite the warmth, your bag too big for your frame, holding a small camera that’s not even recording. your hair’s a little messy. your eyes bright, darting around nervously. you’re alone.

and suddenly, nanami is nervous in a way he hasn’t been in years.

he debates not saying anything. he could let this pass. keep you as a digital secret. but then you glance in his direction, and smile—just polite, a brief flicker of recognition for another passerby—and nanami finds himself stepping forward before his brain catches up.

“…excuse me,” he says, and your eyes widen a little.

“yes?” you ask, voice soft.

“i’ve… watched your videos,” he says, and you freeze for a second. “they mean a lot to me.”

you blink. your mouth opens a little in surprise, then closes. and then you smile.

“really?” you say, a little breathless. “you… you actually watch them?”

“yes,” he says simply. “i think you’re brave.”

your hand flies up to your mouth, eyes darting away. “oh my god,” you mumble. “that’s—thank you. that’s so nice. i didn’t think anyone recognized me. my channel’s tiny.”

“doesn’t change the impact,” he says, and it’s honest. the way he always is.

you talk for a while after that. awkwardly at first—your nerves, his reserved nature—but slowly, something soft and lovely builds in the air between you. you laugh a lot, mostly just nervous. he listens a lot, mostly because that’s just the way he is. he tells you his name is kento. you tell him you were scared to even leave the house today, but you’re glad you did. he smiles.

before you part ways, you ask, very shyly, if he’d be okay with you filming just a little. not his face, of course—just his voice, his presence. he agrees.

that night, a new video goes up.

“a tiny adventure at the weekend market ✿ i made a new friend today…”

nanami watches it from his bed, and when his offscreen voice appears—gentle, amused, offering to carry your bag for you—his heart does something strange in his chest.

—

the first time nanami appears in a vlog, it’s his hand passing you a coffee.

you call him “a friend i made recently,” and giggle when he corrects your pronunciation of a pastry. he’s never shown — not fully. a shoulder here. the back of his head. your viewers are very curious. you just smile, almost bashful, and say, “he’s camera-shy, but he’s very sweet.”

you start mentioning him more in your vlogs. he’s still off-screen, but you’ll glance his way and smile. say something like “he helped me set this up,” or “he picked this place,” or just “he’s here with me.”

you don’t have to say his name. he stays a faceless figure in your videos. your viewers start to notice something more.

you never confirm anything. you just smile, cheeks pink, and say, “he’s really sweet. i’m lucky.”

nanami doesn’t need the spotlight. he’s happy to carry your bag, offer a steady hand when you’re nervous, and hold the camera when you want to capture something new. he’s happy to be the one encouraging you behind the scenes, whispering that you’re doing great when you doubt yourself.

you film together more and more. he goes with you to bookstores, little food stalls, quiet museums. he carries your tripod. holds your coat. gives you gentle encouragement when you freeze up in public and smile too hard when it’s over.

he falls in love with you quietly. over time. he doesn’t say it at first. he lets it bloom through little gestures — buying the tea you liked, learning how to edit videos just to help you with cuts, leaving voice notes when you’re too anxious to leave the house. he listens. he supports. he stays.

and he’s happiest when, in a quiet clip near the end of a video, you look off-camera and say, “i think i’m a little less scared of the world lately.”

he squeezes your hand off-screen. you smile at the touch.

and your viewers never hear the softest part—how, when the camera stops recording, you lean into his side and whisper, “thank you for finding me.”

nanami, who never believed in fate or chance or algorithms, just kisses your cheek and replies, “thank you for being found.”

[sevikasblackgf]

your husband, price, lets you play with any of his men granted that you give him a show while you’re at it. and if not a show, then he stalks the halls of their base to see the mess that you made.

he pulls simon to the side and asks his lieutenant to show him the hickeys the you left on his neck—john laughs when he sees them, rumbles, “sh’ mauled yer ass, ghost.” before simon can say anything, john ducks away, humming delightedly to himself at the pretty flush that danced from simon’s cheeks down to his bruised neck.

he cups kyle’s jaw and strokes his lips with his thumb, and with his brows furrowed in faux worry, he croons, “look’t how bruised yer lips are, hun. sh’ got y’ good, didn’t sh’?” john pretends that he didn’t hear kyle’s sharp inhale, and he leans close to brush his nose on his sergeant’s head, breathing him in, before leaving like he didn’t lay waste on kyle’s heart.

he grabs the back of johnny’s neck and clicks his tongue at johnny’s hissed sputtering. john isn’t angry, he really isn’t, but he felt the indents of johnny’s teeth on the inside of your thighs, and john would just like to remind him—“i said t’ play nice, didn’t i, pup? t’ behave?” it’s no brainer that john’s tugging johnny to his office for a punishment.

(he places the recorder on your hands.

“what’s this?”

he shrugs before pulling you close. he nuzzles his scruff on your shoulder, holding you even tighter as you try to wriggle away from him, squealing how ticklish he’s being

he kisses the exposed patch of your skin peeking through your shirt. “nothin’ much, love. jus’ for our movie night.”)

[sevikasblackgf]

“The Catch”

Simon “Ghost” Riley x You

TROPE: grumpy x teasing

​​​​​​​​⟢・・・・・​​・・・・・・・​​⟢

SUM: It turns out that even the deadliest men can stumble... when they accidentally cop a feel.

​​​​​​​​⟢・・・・・​​・・・・・・・​​⟢

It starts innocently. You're climbing down from the truck bed after a long, tiring day. Grumbling about your knees and cursing the military for not installing ladders.

Simon's waiting at the back, arms crossed, half-smirking.

“Quit complainin’. I’ve jumped out of helicopters higher than that,” he says.

You glance over your shoulder, feigning a glare.

“Wanna swap knees with me?”

He steps closer with a sigh, gloved hands raised as if he’s about to help someone twice your age cross a street.

“C’mere. I’ll catch you.”

You hesitate — not because you don’t trust him, but because he’s never offered before. Never asked to be close. Never asked for you to fall toward him.

So you do.

Facing away from him and hop down, just a little faster than planned.

And his hands catch you.

But they're not on your waist.

It’s… lower.

His palms clap firmly around the curve of your ass, all instinct and zero hesitation.

Your boots hit the ground within a second, but he still doesn't let go.

You turn your head to look at him.

He is frozen.

Not blinking. Not breathing.

The tips of his ears go unmistakably pink behind the mask.

“That where you meant to catch me?” you ask, one brow raised.

His voice, when it comes, is a gravelly mutter — defensive, raspy, like his entire brain has just short-circuited.

“Was tryna’ stabilize you.”

“Uh-huh.”

He drops his hands like they’ve burned him. And taking a full step back like you’re radioactive.

“Y’gonna sue me?”

You laugh. Loud. Honest. And when you walk past, you make sure to sway just enough for his eye to twitch.

Later, when sitting by the fire, nursing a flask, you murmur just loud enough for him to hear:

“Next time, Ghost, you can ask first.”

And the man — the battle-hardened, skull-faced soldier — has to look away, hiding the smile behind his hand.

​​​​​​​​⟢・・・・・​​・・・・・・・​​⟢

[sevikasblackgf]

i fucking knew it.

aaron hotchner x f!reader

summary: you and aaron have secretly been dating for a while—and the team is starting to suspect it.

t/w: 18+. MDNI. light smut (plz don’t come for me, it was my first time writing something like it), a mention of an age-gap, some cursing, mentions of criminals. i don’t think there is too much gender identifying language, but i did imagine a female while writing.

a/n: i had no idea where this one was gonna go. i hope you enjoy!!

aaron hotchner catches your gaze over the manila folder he’s holding. to the average person, they wouldn’t think twice about this action.

but, you know better.

his eyes hold yours for a few seconds longer, before he resumes reading the details of the case.

the lowlights of the jet’s interior mask the flush that’s appeared on your cheeks. hotch feigns a stretch, his shoe tapping yours slightly as he crosses his leg.

“sorry,” he mumbles, not taking his eyes off the folder.

you wave him off, knowing your voice would betray you.

i saw that, your phone buzzes with a text from jj.

it was an accident, you reply.

yeah right, emily shares.

what! what’s happening? gosh, i hate that i’m stuck in the lair, penelope adds.

hotch smirks at his folder, affirming he knows exactly why your phone is blowing up.

the two of you have managed to keep your relationship under wraps for the past couple of months, but the girls have started to suspect something. rossi too, but you can’t be certain.

aaron caught your eye as soon as you started at the bau. you’d learn that you’d caught his almost instantly. but he was your boss, and there was the age difference.

several late nights of him helping you with your reports and chinese takeout, you fell for one another.

oh, nothing. just hotch thinking he’s being subtle, jj tells penelope.

~

“three rooms?” hotch asks the tired man behind the desk.

“take it or leave it, man. it’s 2 am,” the clerk says on a yawn.

“i call reid and rossi!” derek sticks his hand in the air. emily reaches out to jj’s arm and pulls her into her side.

rossi shakes his head and exchanges a look with aaron. “which one of you boys are sleeping on the floor?”

hotch looks at you apologetically, but you see the underlying want behind those brown eyes.

“i guess that leaves us,” hotch murmurs to his bag, trying to remain unbothered. he grabs your duffle and starts toward the elevator.

your phone buzzes in your back pocket.

one bedroom trope! emily sends to the group.

epee! penelope replies.

he grabbed her bag, pen! jj shares.

aaron has never once carried anyone’s bag to a hotel room. his gaze catches yours over his shoulder telling you he realizes the implications. his stoic expression returns as you all enter the elevator.

~

the girls, reid, morgan, and rossi get off at the third floor, leaving you and aaron in the elevator alone. not before jj shoots you a wink. hotch visibly relaxes, and gives you one of those smiles he reserves only for you and jack.

"we're on another floor? that's really going to set the girls off," you comment. aaron shrugs like the duffle bag gave it all away and yall should just fuck the secrecy. he takes a step closer to you. back-to-back cases have kept the two of you from any quality time that wasn't outside of a police precinct and the tension radiates off him.

aaron leads you down the hall once the elevator doors open on the fourth floor. his giant hand engulfs yours, and you can't wait to get into the room.

"this is us," he gestures toward the door. dropping your hand, he pulls the keycard from his pocket. swiping y'all in, he pulls you into the room.

as soon as the door closes behind you, you're being pushed against it.

"god, I've been dying to get my hands on your for days," hotch groans against your mouth. you answer him with a small moan you tried to keep in.

you push his suit jacket off his shoulders, then grip his tie. using his tie, you pull him completely flush against you. his tall body is all over you. there is no spot where his body isn't touching yours.

“tell the criminals to take a break,” you breathe. “you almost blew it at the precinct in the last case.”

aaron moves his kisses along the side of your neck. “that officer was getting a little too friendly with you.”

“but a couple hair flips had him on our side, yeah?” you’re breathless with the work aaron is making of your neck. at the mention of your harmless flirting, his arms tighten possessively around you. his mouth moves lower along your collarbone, sucking lightly. he’s learned where most of your shirt collars lie so he can hide the marks he leaves on you.

aaron pulls you from the door, kissing you like you’re his lifeline. he walks you back until the back of your knees hit the bed. “no more work talk, baby,” he says against your mouth. heat pulls in your lower belly at the pet name and a sigh escapes.

the first time aaron called you anything but your last name, you could have climbed him right then. he still uses your last name, or just agent, in the field, but it’s softer than it used to be.

as aaron pushes you back on the bed, you make quick work removing his tie and dress shirt. the white shirt he wears underneath pulls across his chest. your arms move over his biceps reveling in just how nice they are.

“you like what you see?” aaron smirks, his hand slipping under your top.

you answer him with a hand on his chin, guiding him to your lips. “always,” you breathe.

he smiles against your lips. “why don’t we get you a little more comfortable,” he says, pulling your top off and throwing it to the other side of the room. you’re pretty sure it lands on the lamp. this earns a laugh. aaron checks over his shoulder and chuckles along with you.

“i told you, i need to get my hands on you.” he reaches behind you, unclasping your bra. which follows the same trajectory as your shirt.

“hmm, this isn’t quite fair,” you murmur. you push aaron back until you’re sitting up in his lap. your thighs settle on either side of his, and his hands fall to them, giving them a light squeeze.

“tell me.”

“you still have your shirt on,” you tell him, running your hands along his chest. aaron reaches back with one hand and pulls the undershirt from his body. it’s so insanely sexy, your mouth drops open. how is this guy real?

aaron chuckles again. “you never cease to amaze me.”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, you’re practically an adonis.”

he rolls his eyes and pulls you flush against him. “you’re talkative tonight.” he presses a kiss under your ear. you crane your neck to give him more access.

“i always talk a lot when i’m nervous,” you admit. truthfully, there is nothing to be nervous about. you and aaron have slept together plenty of times since you’ve gotten together. this is, however, the first time while you’re on a case.

aaron pulls back and studies your face. “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, baby.” his brown eyes search yours. the want in his is palpable. you’re certain the same is reflected in yours. your hands knot in his hair and you guide his mouth to yours.

“no, i want to. i need to,” you say, rolling your hips into his, his erection has your cheeks flushing. “i just still can’t believe it’s happening. you and me,” you admit.

aaron kisses you. it’s full of wanting and urgency, as if he’s afraid you’re going to disappear right beneath his fingertips.

“you and me were destined the moment i laid eyes on you,” he says, laying you back and settling between your legs.

~

the next morning, there is just enough time to grab some continental breakfast before meeting the local pd. normally, you don’t like to waste time on something as menial as breakfast, especially with a serial killer on the loose, but you and aaron had a lot of time to make up for and you’d built up quite the appetite.

you left aaron with a chaste kiss on his cheek in the room, before joining everyone in the lobby sans duffle.

“well, you’re glowing,” jj comments as you join her and emily at the table. derek turns from where he’s sitting with rossi and reid. “what’s that?”

emily points to you with her fork. “look at her. a literal ray of sunshine.”

“she looks normal to me,” reid comments. “if not a little worn down. are you feeling okay, y/l/n?” your eyes fall closed, trying to keep your emotions regulated.

“that, reid, is post-coital bliss,” derek says.

“yall have no idea what you’re talking about,” you tell them, praying your cheeks haven’t turned pink, because they’re exactly right.

rossi jumps in to save you. “come on boys and girls. let’s not make claims of our unit chief breaking fraternization rules on a case unless we’re sure,” he chides. he gives you a knowing look. aaron has definitely let rossi know what’s been going on. hell, if you didn’t know any better, rossi was probably the one who pushed aaron to finally make a move. you shoot him a grateful look.

“who’s breaking fraternization rules?” a deep voice sounds from behind you. just the sound of his voice has you wanting to drag him back up to the room. “baby, you’ve got to have more than that,” aaron comments on your lone piece of toast.

your face jerks towards him at baby. aaron curses lightly under his breath. a rare slip up from mr. professional himself. he stands there with both your duffels in his hands, his shoulder slumped in defeat.

derek smacks the table, cause the front desk workers to look over. “i fucking knew it!!”

your head falls into your hands. aaron’s laugh reverberates through the lobby. his real, earnest laugh. “well, i did good for a while there, huh, babe?” he says to you. leaning back in your chair, you tilt your head back to see him. the grin on his face could cause world peace. it’s not everyday the team gets to see aaron’s real emotions.

“you did,” you agree. he leans down and places a quick kiss on your lips before walking over to the desk to turn the room keys in.

as you reface the girls, their eyes are sparkling.

“i fucking knew it,” emily echos derek under her breath.

masterlist.

[sevikasblackgf]

TIED TOGETHER ── A.H

Your only plan for sports day is to stay caffeinated and cheer quietly. Until your kid ropes you into the parents' three-legged race

cw: Aaron Hotchner x Single parent!reader. Pure fluff and fun!!! No use of Y/N :)) a/n: first Hotch fic ahhh!! hopefully i did him justice!!!!!! wc: 1.1k

My requests are also OPEN, so please feel free to visit my blog for guidlines (I will probably accept anything teehee!!)

You aren’t exactly dressed for a three-legged race.

In fact, when you packed your bag this morning, your only intention was to spectate – find a quiet spot near the shade, sip your coffeefrom a travel mug, and pretend not to feel wildly out of place among the hyper-enthusiastic PTA parents who seem to treat sports day like an Olympic qualifier.

But now, here you are, standing at the edge of a makeshift racetrack on the schools sun-bleached field, clutching a bright orange band in one hand and the remnants of your dignity in the other.

Across from you, a man – tall and serious and very much not dressed for track sports – is awkwardly removing his suit jacket. He folds it over one arm, his shirt a crisp white and rolled up at the cuffs. His tie has been loosened with reluctant precision.

And apparently, he’s your partner.

You glance down at the orange band, then at the child grinning up at you with a juice-stained chin. He seems proud that he’d managed to volunteer you for the three-legged race without your knowledge.

‘Really?’ you murmur, but Eli is already back to cheering. He calls out your name, claps his hands happily together, like you’re going to win something other than last place.

You refuse to disappoint him, though. Not on his first sports day at this school. You step forward, reluctant, just as the man does, your paths converging at the starting line. He holds up a matching orange band in his hand.

‘I think our kids made us teammates,’ you offer with what you hope passes as a friendly smile. There’s definitely hesitance behind it. Apprehension.

He seems to notice the nerves etched onto your face. The corners of his mouth twitch faintly.

‘Looks like it,’ he replies. ‘Aaron Hotchner,’ he adds, offering a handshake.

You tell him your name as you take his hand, noting the firmness of his grip – steady, confident, but not performative. Just… solid. Like everything else about him.

‘Nice to meet you,’ you say. ‘Sort of. You might wildly embarrass me, for all I know.’

A flicker of amusement crosses his face.

‘Or, I’ll probably embarrass you,’ you continue. ‘I trip over laundry baskets for sport.’

He hums something that might be a laugh. ‘Which kid’s yours?’

You gesture towards Eli, who is waving from beneath a crooked baseball cap and bouncing in place like he’s drank three too many Capri Suns. ‘Green hat, there – Elias. But he prefers Eli. Yours?’

‘Jack,’ he says, with a fondness that softens the sharp lies of his face. You glance over and see Jack, standing with his hands on his hips and taking his job as a sideline coach very seriously.

‘Happy for me to tie it?’ Aaron asks, gesturing to the orange bands.

You nod, extending your leg, and he kneels to fasten the fabric around your ankles in what you can only describe as an army-grade knot. He does it so efficiently that you half-suspect he learned it from a training manual. You roll your ankle lightly, testing it.

‘Not too tight?’ he asks, standing again.

You shake your head.

‘Ready?’ he adds.

‘As ready as I’ll ever be to publicly humiliate myself,’ you say, then lower your voice conspirationally. ‘Promise not to judge me if I eat dirt.’

He looks at the grass, then back at you. A hint of a smirk forms on his lips. ‘Only if you don’t judge me when I inevitably sprain something.’

You both step up to the line, ankle to ankle, your arms brushing slightly as you steady yourselves. It's an oddly intimate kind of proximity. Not quite strangers. Not quite comfortable either.

You place a hand on his forearm for balance. Pull it away quickly, like it startled you.

Because it kind of did.

He’s warm. Solid. And there’s a brief pause where you both seem to realize that this is, technically, your first physical contact with someone in longer than you’d care to admit.

You try to ignore the way your heart thumps too loudly for something as innocent as a children’s race.

‘Bound feet first?’ you ask.

He nods.

The PE teacher’s whistle cuts through the air, and suddenly you’re off – or trying to be.

It seems to work at first. A unified step. Then another.

Step, step – lurch.

Your third stride turns into a half-hop, your shoulder knocking hard into his arm. And suddenly you’re both careening sideways in a mess of limbs. He reaches instinctively for your waist, steadying you just long enough to shift his grip to your upper arm instead. His other arm flings out to balance you both, legs braced, anchoring you before you can go down in a heap.

‘Graceful,’ you mutter, cheeks flushed. ‘Sorry.’

‘Terrifyingly uncoordinated,’ he replies. There’s something amused in his voice. Something relaxed.

You’re both laughing by the time you find your footing again. With now-linked arms – because clearly the orange band isn’t enough to keep you from collapsing – you begin moving in an awkward by workable rhythm.

‘One, two. One two,’ Aaron counts under his breath, steady and even. His voice is low, grounding. You match his cadance, letting him lead slightly and to your surpise, it starts to click.

Jack and Eli have found each other and are screaming encouragement from the sidelines. Jack comes in with something like: ‘Use your core!’ which feels absurd coming from a seven year old. Eli takes the more primitive approach and yells ‘FASTER, FASTER!’ over and over.

You laugh until your stomach hurts, and so does Aaron, though his is a more quiet kind of laugh. Soft and surprised, like he forgot what it felt like to do so.

By the time you cross the finish line (second to last) you feel winded, but weirdly victorious. Your kids cheer like you’ve won a medal, and that alone is enough to make you laugh again.

Your arm falls away from Aaron’s as he unties the band from your ankles, just as Ei barrels into you with a breathless, sticky hug.

‘You didn’t come last!’ he celebrates.

‘High praise. Thanks,’ you tease, brushing some hair from your face and adjusting Eli’s cap. You look over at Aaron, who’s crouched to wipe mud from Jack’s cheek with that same softness on his face. It suits him.

‘Not bad for a first team effort,’ you say, smiling as your gazes meet.

He straightens, pushing up a sleeve that had fallen down his arm. ‘We survived,’ he agrees. A pause. Like he’s weighing something. ‘Jack thinks we’ve earned juice boxes for our performance.’

You raise a brow, mock-serious.

‘Well, if the children demand it…’

He smiles. A real one, not just polite. ‘I could get us some. If you’re not in a hurry.’

You glance toward Eli, now sitting beside Jack, already chattering about soccer and plotting their next activity like they’ve been friends forever.

You look back at Aaron, who’s waiting patiently, maybe a little unsure.

‘Yeah. I’ve got time.’

[sevikasblackgf]

Hmmm thinking abt food aggressive simon and reader who likes to feed him.

He always grew up food insecure, not for lack of resources but because his old man deliberately withheld food. He learned to eat fast, became protective and aggressive over whatever food he was alotted before it could be taken away. Simon tries to hide it, and usually I works bc he is careful to eat alone.

But suddenly he has you, and you like to feed him constantly. You used to just share lunch spaces together bc u were insecure about eating around alot of people, but started to take note over how he would hunch over his plate, an arm slung in front as a barrier. Ur no stranger to eating habits caused by trauma, but you want him to feel comfortable.

So the next time you and simon eat together, you pack an extra bento box. Its rice, ham, and various veggies, same as yours. You silently slide it over when hes done eating his own meal, carefully casual about the whole thing.

It becomes a thing for u two. You begin to put some real effort into meal prep, researching how to properly balance macros and nutrients and everything else instead of just tossing together what u like. You also start carrying around granola bars and fruit strips, tossing them to the lieutenant whenever you happen to pass in the halls.

You wouldnt say he starts to fill out, but he definitely starts looking better, a bit plusher, more hydrated. His skin doesnt cling to his muscles anymore. Its nice. Feeding him, caring for him. It makes you feel warm that the guy you've grown so close to is doing better because of you.

He still clings a bit too tight to his plate, still hunches a bit, but hes slowed down to at least savor the food. Its fine, you still dont like eating in groups, but now you both can eat together.

Uhh...idk man I just wanna give him all the love he never had

[sevikasblackgf]

rich girl ― Rafe Cameron

pairing: rafe cameron x kook!reader

warnings: reader is rich and bitchy, rafe is an undercover thirstbucket.

You'd been in the outer banks for all of five seconds and you were already bored. Your father's reasoning for dragging you and your mother along to meet his new business partner was completely lost on you but there you were.

The minute you met Ward Cameron you knew he was nothing but a suck up. Doting over your father as if he were his biggest fan, a groupie. "Your Forbes Magazine interview was one of the most excellent pieces I've read in years." "Your eye for architectural design is truly admirable." You knew his type. You hated his type.

And his son? Even worse.

Stereotypical country club trust fund loser with a god-awful superiority complex. It showed in the way he smirked as he introduced himself, offering to buy you a drink as his weirdo friends watched from the other side of the room. It made it all the more satisfying when you declined. You'd never seen someone's face fall so quickly.

You truly thought he'd take the hint and leave you alone. Maybe go report back to the goon squad with a lie in order to avoid embarrassment and a bigger hit to his ego. Wishful thinking.

"So," the southern drawl was like nails on a chalkboard. "How are you liking it here so far?"

Pulling your lips away from your martini glass, face stuck in the same blank expression it's been in since your arrival. "It's boring and the entire town smells like salty swamp water."

Rafe frowns.

"I....I guess I can see why you'd think that."

You hum, continuing to observe the party-goers around you. For it to be an event for the creme-de la-creme of Kildare, the attendees don't seem to look the part. It's not as surprising as it is disappointing.

"Your, uh, your dad tells me you're gonna be spending your summer in town. Maybe I can show you around, take you to all our hot spots."

The warning your mother always gives you about rolling your eyes so hard they'll get stuck falls on deaf ears as you do exactly that.

"Those hotspots being this country club and the gator ridden marshes you guys love to get wasted at? No thanks."

His frown gets deeper as he pauses, staring you down with narrowed eyes. "You know, I see what you're doing."

"Excuse me?"

It almost gives you whiplash with a headache to match as that insufferable smirk comes back.

"This whole uninterested shtick you got goin' on." He huffs. "It's a total facade you rich city girls like to pull to play hard to get. You almost had me fooled."

With a sigh you sit your glass down on the bar and turn to face him. "First of all, there is no facade. And second, I am not trying to fool you. I don't even like you. Just because your small town country club groupies find you and that crumb of coke under your nose attractive, doesn't mean I do."

"Aw keep goin' baby, you're only getting me more and more hard."

You scoff. "And now I'll add pervert to your long list of flaws."

"Flaws?"

"Yes," you nod with a mocking look of concern. "You have about a million, your dad actually warned us about them."

The mentioning of his father causes him to completely falter. "Wait, seriously?"

No.

"Yes and if I were you, I'd focus more on the fact that if you don't help him close this deal with my father tonight, he'll be tossing your ass for what he says will be the fiftieth time."

Just as he opens his mouth to probably curse you out in the worse way possible, Ward's voice finds its way over to the two of you.

"Rafe," he and his wife Rose stand side by side with your parents, champagne glasses in hand. "Why don't you come here for a sec, Mr. l/n has a couple of questions for ya."

Suddenly you're the one who's smirking. "You'd better go, daddy's boy. Let's see if you still have a home to go to by the end of the night."

[sevikasblackgf]

i gotta hurry and resubscribe to disney plus 🙏🏾

Today's the day y'all!!!!

[sevikasblackgf]

Soap and reader who are extremely casual abt sex. Like, in the sense that you two are so horny that its second nature to slip a hand down his pants, or for him to drop to his knees.

You could be watching a movie together, hands in eachothers pants, and its not even a big deal. Hell, you hardly even thought abt it by now, its just so constant and warm and nice, yknow?

Which makes it all the worse when his mates come to visit and you literally look them in the eyes and say hi before plopping down next to soap and reaching into his joggers. He just groans appreciatively and keeps talking, so you dont even think about it until the indignant splutter gaz makes.

"Mate what the fuck?!" You furrow your brows, before realization and mortification wash over you in equal parts.

"Shit! Sorry- sorry, uhm-" you flee the room, not even sure how to recover from that while soaps voice follows u out, asking for u to at least finish him off lol.

[sevikasblackgf]

141 x scary!reader. And when I say scary, I mean even ur teammates are wary around u.

You've got that horrible street dog look, glowering eyes, scars, a permanent scowl on ur face. Which, isn't much different from ghost, right? Except you are unpredictable and give absolutely zero fucks. You have absolutely put a soldier in the hospital on multiple occasions when they got too pushy for ur liking.

Unfortunately for gaz, he really likes scary. You bodied someone during sparring and gaz had to physically repress the shiver that ran up his spine. It becomes so much worse when the team decide to hunt eachother in the dark as "training" (dont ask idc). Gaz...may have been taunting u a bit by saying you couldn't catch him, he knows you love challenges.

The entire time hes running through the trees, all he can think about is that dangerous steel cold look you gave him. He's already half-hard just thinking abt it.

When you do catch him? Shove him against a tree and press a blade to this throat? He whimpers, unable to stop himself. Pause. Tilt your head, then chuckle. "Oh. Youre actually pathetic huh?" You grin, shifting so ur thigh slots between his. "Go on then."

And he gets off like that, grinding against you and whining. He doesnt dare move more than the few inches you've alotted, wont touch because he knows you will happily cut him if he does. That just makes it all the better.

Anyways now gaz has an extra hard time watching u spar when he knows how that body feels pressed against his lol.

[sevikasblackgf]

Insubordination -A.H

Aaron Hotchner x coworker!reader

The second you step through the door, you feel every head in the room turn.

Late. Unapologetically. And very obviously not wearing a bra under your white button-up.

Your nipples are stiff from the chilled air, outlined like punctuation marks under the thin cotton. Subtle was never your strong suit. Neither was following orders. Which, unfortunately, happens to be Aaron Hotchner’s kink and his trigger.

Your heels click through the silence as you make your way to the only open seat—directly across from him. You don’t apologize. You just drop into the chair, toss your hair over your shoulder, and casually fold your arms under your chest.

Which, of course, only pushes them up more.

“Glad you could join us,” he mutters, without lifting his gaze. “Though I’d suggest reviewing Bureau expectations regarding punctuality.”

You smile sweetly. “I’ll study extra hard.”

Someone behind you coughs to cover a laugh. His eyes flicker up—just for a second—and land squarely on your smirk. His jaw tenses.

You are so going to pay for this later.

9:47 AM – Meeting Adjourned

Hotch closes the folder with a decisive snap.

“That’s all,” he says curtly, standing. “The unsub profile will be distributed by noon. And in the future—” his eyes scan the room, lingering only briefly on you “—let’s remember how important discipline and professionalism are in this line of work.”

There it is. That sharp, clipped delivery. The verbal equivalent of a warning shot. You stay seated, watching as agents file out, mumbling their goodbyes and tapping their watches. Hotch busies himself at the head of the table, back turned, stacking files like he hasn’t just been half-hard for the past forty minutes.

You rise slowly, heels clicking softly as you cross the room behind him.

Then—pinch.

Right on the sensitive spot at his side, just above the waistband of his slacks.

He jumps. Actually jumps.

Spins on instinct, dropping the file in his hand as he glares down at you. “Jesus Christ,” he hisses under his breath. “What the hell was that?”

You tilt your head, all innocence and venom. “Sorry. Just checking if that stick was still up your ass.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re pushing it.”

You step closer, eyes raking over his flushed neck and clenched jaw. You bat your lashes. “You’re tense.”

“You were late.”

“And you were staring.”

“I was not—” His eyes drag over you again. He clears his throat. “You’re being inappropriate.”

You smirk. “I thought you liked inappropriate.”

His jaw clenches. You lean closer, voice barely above a whisper. “You gonna punish me for it, Hotch?”

“You think you can do whatever the hell you want because we’re sleeping together?”

You lean against the door, crossing your arms. “No. I think I can do what I want because I’m good at my job and you can’t discipline me without giving away your favorite extracurricular activity.”

He takes a step forward, his voice stern with anger. “My office. Now.”

11:24 AM – Hotch’s Office

You’re sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk, spinning slightly. Legs crossed, skirt inching up just enough to press a point. When he walks in, he shuts the blinds without a word.

That��s how you know you’ve won.

“I don’t even know where to start with you,” he says, walking to the desk.

You raise a brow. “Good thing you called this meeting then.”

Hotch steps behind you, suddenly closer than you expect. His hand clamps down on your jaw, fingers pressing just enough to tilt your head back.

“You think this is a game?”

“Pretty sure it’s just foreplay.”

His hand releases you, but the tension remains. He steps around the desk, loosening his tie, eyes locked on yours like a warning.

“You think this is funny?” he asks, arms folded.

“Little bit.” You cock your head. “You should’ve seen your face. The moment you realized what I wasn’t wearing?”

He exhales hard through his nose. “You show up late, half-dressed, and think it’s a joke?”

“I think you liked it,” you counter, stepping closer. “Your voice cracked twice. You barely looked at me the whole meeting.”

“I was leading a federal briefing.”

“And now you’re not.” Your hand reaches up, fingers lightly grazing the buttons of your shirt. “So what now, Agent?”

His eyes drop.

Hooked.

You pop a button. Slowly. “If I recall correctly, insubordination’s grounds for a very thorough… reprimand.”

His mouth is a hard line. His eyes are anything but.

You pop another button.

You barely have time to react before you're pressed back against the edge of his desk, the polished wood cold against your thighs, your shirt half-open, chest heaving under his stare. His hands cage you in—one planted on the desk beside your hip, the other gripping the back of your neck with barely restrained control.

“I don’t know if you’re brave,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous, “or just really fucking stupid.”

You smile. “They’re not mutually exclusive.”

His hand tightens slightly, just enough to make you swallow your next quip.

“You want a punishment?” he asks, eyes flicking down to your exposed chest, the peaks of your nipples taut and aching under the air-conditioning. “You think I won’t give you one right here?”

You shrug, lips curling. “Think? I’m counting on it.”

He curses under his breath—and then he grabs you.

Turns you around in a swift, commanding motion, bending you over the desk with practiced ease. Your palms flatten against the surface as you feel him press behind you, his hips flush to your ass, his breath hot against your ear.

“You don’t follow rules,” he growls. “You don’t show up on time. You don’t wear a bra to my meeting.”

You wiggle your hips slightly, grinning. “And now I’m bent over your desk.”

His hand comes down hard—smack—against your ass. You gasp, biting your lip.

“Keep talking,” he warns, “and I’ll make sure you can’t sit through tomorrow’s briefing.”

You hum, pressing back into him. “Is that a promise, sir?”

Another sharp smack. Then his hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back enough to hear your breath hitch.

He drags your skirt up and groans when he realizes you’re not wearing anything underneath.

“You planned this,” he mutters, kneeling behind you. “You wanted to piss me off.”

And then his tongue is on you—no warning, no hesitation. He licks a stripe up your slit and moans when you twitch under him, grabbing onto the desk like you might lose your footing.

“Fuck—Hotch—”

He wraps an arm around your thigh to keep you in place, tongue flicking, sucking, tasting every reaction. He’s rougher than usual. Sloppier. Like the lines between punishment and praise have blurred.

You’re whining now—hips grinding back against his face, thighs trembling. “Aaron—!”

He pulls away only long enough to unbuckle his belt and flip you onto your back across the desk, pants barely down before he’s inside you—hard, thick, stretching you in the best way. The desk creaks violently under the weight of his thrusts.

“Gonna fuck that brat out of you,” he growls.

“Better fuck harder, then,” you moan back.

You moan, biting your forearm to keep quiet. It’s barely working. “You’re dripping,” he mutters, thrusting harder. “You’re fucking soaked and I haven’t even touched you properly.”

“You are,” you gasp, “so mad right now.”

“Oh, I am,” he hisses into your ear, one hand gripping your shoulder as he drives into you faster. “I’m furious. Furious that you make me this fucking stupid.”

You cry out when he grabs your hair, pulling you up against his chest.

“I should’ve let you sit there and squirm through that meeting,” he pants. “Should’ve let you suffer.”

His hand slides between your legs and rubs tight, brutal circles over your clit. You scream.

“That the mouth you bring to team meetings?” he pants.

You nod, wrecked. “Yes, sir.”

“Let’s see how smart it is when you’re full of me.”

Hotch grabs your wrists, pins them to the desk with one hand, and fucks into you so hard the entire surface creaks under your bodies.

“Fuck—Aaron—” You come again—so hard you black out for a second. His pace is brutal now. Deep, claiming strokes that steal your breath. Hotch doesn’t stop. He grits your name, thrusts twice more, and then he’s spilling inside you with a low, desperate groan.

For a long, quiet moment, the room is filled with nothing but your ragged breathing.

Then you say, “So… do I get a formal write-up, or…?”

Hotch pulls out slowly, dragging your panties back up with rough precision. “You get dinner.”

You glance back at him, smug. “So now I’m rewarded for bad behavior?”

He buttons your shirt for you without meeting your eyes. “You’re getting dinner so you don’t try this again in front of my entire team.”

You grin. “Guess I’ll have to find a new way to drive you insane, then.”

He pauses, leans in close.

“I’m counting on it.”

a/n: soft doms have a special place in my heart

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[sevikasblackgf]

about to start writing more bitchy and mean readers for the rafe fandom in response to the rise of so many sexist? tradwife? bimbo-fied and infantilized? readers? wtf is going on

[sevikasblackgf]

you always looked fine to me

gym bro!simon x insecure!chubby!reader

ask

wc: 3k

a/n: omg anon this one hit close to home 🥺 literally whenever i go to the gym this is literally me so it was lowkey easy to write 🫶

You’ve been going to the gym for months now. Same time every evening. Same locker in the corner. Same oversized shirts and sweatpants, no matter how hot it gets. Not because you’re lazy. Not because you’re sloppy. But because every time you tried to wear something tighter—something even remotely flattering—you caught a look. A side-eye. A smirk. A whisper.

“If I looked like that, I wouldn’t wear that.”

That one stayed with you for weeks.

You didn’t even finish the set that day. Just left early and sat in your car with your heart in your throat.

Since then, it’s been full coverage. No skin. No curves. Nothing to point at or judge. Just baggy clothes, headphones in, and eyes on the floor.

Still, the comments find you sometimes. Not always mean. Sometimes fake-nice. Sometimes stupid little jokes you pretend not to hear.

“You’re here every day—where’s the progress?”

“Damn, it’s 90 degrees and she’s still dressed like it’s January.”

“Probably just here to feel better about eating later.”

You never react. That’s the worst part. You just lower your head and keep going, even when your face burns and your throat tightens. Even when it takes everything in you not to disappear.

But someone always notices.

And his name is Simon Riley.

He’s hard to miss. Built like a wall. Hood always up. Giant hands gripping weights like they’re nothing. People move when he walks by. Girls preen when he’s near. He never reacts. Never flirts back. Just keeps his eyes on whatever he’s doing and nods at people when they say hi.

He’s never said more than a few words to you.

A quick, “You done with this?”

Once, a low “Need a spot?” when you nearly dropped a barbell.

And one quiet, raspy “You alright?” when you accidentally wiped your eyes too hard after a whisper that hit too close.

But lately… something’s changed.

You feel his gaze sometimes. Not in a creepy way. Not like the others. But like he’s checking—watching. You’ll finish a set and look up and he’s already looking away. You’ll walk past and he’ll move slightly, like he’s clearing the way just for you.

One time you caught him staring after a squat set—your sweats riding low on your waist, your baggy tee damp with sweat—and his jaw clenched like he was holding something back. You told yourself you imagined it.

Until the night he actually waited.

You’d finished your workout, earbuds in, head down, already planning what you’d eat in secret later, and then—

“Hey.”

You turned. He was leaning against the front desk, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes on you like he had every right.

“Me?”

He nodded once. “You free Friday?”

Your throat closed. “Uh. Why?”

His lip twitched—just a hint of a smirk. “Thought you might wanna get food.”

You blinked. Stared. Tried to decide if this was some kind of joke.

“You’re asking me out?”

He tilted his head. “Why not?”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. You nodded. “Okay. Sure. Yeah.”

He just nodded again, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Pick you up?”

You nodded again, stupid and flushed and already spiraling.

And now it’s Friday night. He’s on his way. You’ve changed clothes four times. Cried twice. You don’t own anything “hot girl cute.” You don’t even own jeans that make you feel good.

So when he knocks, you answer in your sweats and an oversized tee.

Still thinking maybe this was all a mistake.

And there he is.

Simon Riley. All 6’4 of gym-bro intimidation, in a plain black tee that fits him like a second skin, his arms crossed, hood down, eyes soft but unreadable. He glances down at you—at your flushed face, your bare collarbones, the baggy tee that probably looks ridiculous—and frowns just a little.

“You alright?” His voice is low, warm. The kind of voice that wraps around you without asking.

You nod. “Y-Yeah. I just—um. I couldn’t decide what to wear.”

His brow twitches. “So you picked nothing?”

You freeze.

“I mean—not nothing,” you say, tugging at your shirt, cheeks going hot. “I just… couldn’t find anything I felt good in.”

Simon tilts his head. His eyes sweep over you, quick but careful. “Can I come in?”

You hesitate. It’s messy. You’re a mess. But you step aside anyway.

He steps inside, boots heavy on the floor, and turns to look at you like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. “So that’s it?”

You blink. “What?”

“You’re just gonna tell me you couldn’t find anything,” he says, “and expect me to believe that’s why you were panicking behind the door?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. “I wasn’t panicking—”

“You were.” His voice is so calm it makes your chest ache. “I heard you trip.”

You let out a weak laugh and hug your arms over your middle. “It’s dumb. I just—”

“You don’t feel good in anything.”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

He looks at you. Not with pity. Not with confusion. Just with this weird, heavy softness in his eyes that makes it hard to breathe.

“You look good now,” he says simply.

You stare at him like he just said the sky’s purple.

He shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “I’ve seen you at the gym. You always look good.”

You laugh, but it comes out shaky. “Yeah, in my giant sweatpants and hoodie.”

“Exactly.”

Your throat tightens. “You’re joking.”

He shakes his head, steps a little closer. “Not even a bit. You think I’ve just been sitting there watching you squat for fun?”

You blink at him.

He smiles, faint and slow. “Okay, maybe a little for fun.”

“Simon—”

“I like how you look,” he says, and there’s no hesitation in it. “And I like how you carry yourself. Even when people stare. Even when you keep your head down and pretend you don’t hear ’em. I notice.”

You swallow. Hard.

He doesn’t say it like it’s romantic. He says it like it’s true. Like he’s been thinking it for a while. Like it’s obvious.

Then he glances at your couch. “We’re staying in.”

“What?” you blink.

“Not letting you spiral over clothes for the rest of the night.” He moves past you and plops onto your couch, legs spread, one arm thrown over the back like it’s his now. “C’mon. I’ll even let you put on one of those dumb romcoms you pretend not to like.”

You can’t help it—you laugh. “You haven’t even seen my Netflix.”

“I’ve seen your hoodie rotation,” he says, eyes twinkling. “Don’t need to.”

You roll your eyes but feel a flutter in your chest.

He pats the cushion next to him. “C’mere.”

You hesitate.

“You’re not hiding,” he says, quieter now. “Not from me.”

You sit beside him, cross-legged, still hugging your arms like a shield. He’s warm beside you. Way too big for your couch, thigh pressing lightly against yours. It feels dangerous. Familiar. Safe.

“You seriously don’t think I look—” you start, then stop.

He turns to you. “Bad? No. Not once. Not ever.”

You look down. “I always feel like I have to prove something. Like if I’m not shrinking, people think I’m lazy or gross or… I don’t know.”

Simon shifts closer. “Fuck ’em.”

“Easy for you to say. You look like you were built in a lab.”

“Still insecure,” he says. “Still hate my reflection sometimes. Still overthink every time I talk to someone like you.”

Your head snaps toward him. “Like me?”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “Yeah. You’re funny. And sweet. And every time I’ve seen you, you’re kind. Even when people are dicks.”

Your throat burns. “That’s not—”

He cuts you off gently. “I like you.”

You stare.

“You don’t have to say it back.” His voice is quiet now. “Just don’t sit there thinking you’re not worth being liked.”

You bite your lip. “I just never thought… someone like you would want to…”

“Someone like me?” he echoes, brow raised.

“You’re intimidating. Like. Hot intimidating.”

Simon snorts. “You ever seen yourself stretch after a lift?”

Your cheeks go nuclear. “Simon!”

“What?” he grins. “Not my fault you look good with your hair up and those little flushed cheeks—”

You throw a pillow at him. He catches it easily, then tosses it aside and grabs your hand before you can look away.

His hand is so much bigger than yours. Warm. A little rough.

“You don’t have to be anyone else tonight,” he says. “Not for me.”

Your chest is tight. But it’s not painful. It’s full. Like he just cracked something open inside you, and now all the air’s rushing in.

You lean into him, just slightly.

He wraps his arm around you and pulls you in fully.

Your head fits against his chest like it’s been there before. Like it’s home. His other hand rests lightly on your knee, not moving, just grounding you there.

“Simon?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t really want to watch a movie.”

“That’s alright,” he murmurs.

“I just want to sit here for a bit.”

“I’ve got nowhere else to be.”

And he means it. You can feel it in the way he holds you. The way he settles in, like this is all he wanted.

You exhale slowly, finally letting your body relax against him.

Maybe you’ll wear something cute next time.

Maybe you won’t.

But right now, you’re not thinking about how you look.

You’re just thinking about the weight of his arm, the way his fingers graze your wrist, and how good it feels to not hide—for once.

He notices.

He always has.

☆taglist☆

@poshestpigeon @avgdestitute @eremika104 @lostintransist @little-mini-me-world @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @h0lydrag0ns @trixilove257 @fertilise-me