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calypso-rt · 3 months ago

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Rafe x Baker!Reader

-> headcanons + blurbs

ꕥ Rafe knew he was done for the moment he tasted Baker!Reader's desserts because if something this sweet could come from her hands, he could only imagine how life-changing it would be to have her heart.

You shouldn’t be here. The thought ran circles in your head as you adjusted the lace on your apron for the tenth time. The waiters sweeping past with trays of champagne looked polished and effortless. Meanwhile, you were you: a Pogue in a borrowed dress under a flour-dusted apron, standing behind a dessert table that probably cost more than your entire bakery. Meanwhile, Rafe noticed you the moment he walked in, your brows knit together in concentration as you adjusted a plate by a fraction of an inch. He lingered, watching as you smoothed your apron, took a deep breath, and finally looked up, only to find him staring. Your eyes widened slightly, and Rafe fought back a small smile. “Hi,” he said, stepping forward before he could think better of it. “Hi,” you echoed, hesitating. You glanced at the empty flute in his hand. “Oh—um, the bar is over there.” Rafe smirked. “Yeah, I know. But I think I’d rather be over here.” Your lips parted slightly, and he felt something warm spread through him at your flustered expression. “I—I’m just the baker,” you said softly, as if that explained why someone like him shouldn’t be talking to someone like you. Rafe tilted his head, intrigued. “So you made all this?” He gestured to the perfectly arranged pastries, the mini cakes adorned with edible gold leaf. You nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “First big event I��ve catered,” you admitted shyly. “I have a little bakery in The Cut, but—” “The Cut?” he repeated, brows lifting slightly. A Pogue. You braced yourself for whatever comment might come next, but Rafe only hummed, reaching past you to pluck a macaron from the tray. You opened your mouth to protest, those were supposed to be served later, but Rafe had already taken a bite. His eyes fluttered shut for half a second, and when they reopened, there was something almost boyish in his expression. “Holy shit,” he muttered, looking down at the macaron like it held the secrets of the universe. A startled laugh escaped your lips. “Good?” Rafe looked at you, serious. “I’d actually fight someone for another one of these.” You shook your head, amused. “Well, you don’t have to. You can just… take one.” Rafe smirked. “Nah, I like the idea of fighting for you.” Your breath hitched slightly, and he didn’t miss the way you quickly looked away, as if you could hide the sudden warmth in your cheeks. Rafe just grabbed another macaron, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m definitely coming to your bakery tomorrow.”

ꕥ Rafe Becomes Baker!Reader's #1 Customer (and Admirer)

The next morning, he actually showed up at your bakery. You were still wiping down the counters, your apron tied neatly over your dress, when the bell above the door chimed. “You’re here early," you blinked in surprise, fingers tightening around your rag. Rafe Cameron, in all his Kook glory, stood in your little bakery like he belonged there. His hair was still damp from a shower, pushed back like he hadn’t quite cared enough to style it, and his shirt was only half-buttoned over his undershirt, like he’d thrown it on in a rush. He looked out of place. And yet, somehow, he also looked… comfortable. “Yeah, I—uh—just need a coffee,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. Then, after a beat, he added, ��And like, one of everything.” You stared at him. “One of everything?” Rafe nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Just, y’know… for variety.” Variety. You pressed your lips together, fighting the urge to smile. “Alright, well, it’s gonna take a minute.” “That’s fine.” He rocked back on his heels. “I got time.” And he did have time, apparently. Because after that morning, Rafe Cameron started showing up at your bakery every day. At first, it was just for coffee and a pastry. Then it turned into two pastries. Then three. Then “I’ll just take a whole box.” And then, one morning, you caught him watching as you kneaded dough behind the counter. He was leaning on the display case, elbow propped up, watching you with the kind of lazy, amused smirk that made your stomach do something ridiculous. “What?” you asked, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. Rafe tilted his head. “Nothing.” You narrowed your eyes. “You’re staring.” He grinned. “Yeah, well. It’s interesting.” “Me baking is interesting?” “Kinda,” he said, like it was obvious. “I mean, you get all serious. It’s cute.” You fumbled the dough.

ꕥ Baker!Reader Was a Pogue. Rafe Was a Kook. It Was Complicated.

Rafe leaned against the bakery counter, watching you roll out dough with the kind of focus that made his chest feel tight. Your apron was dusted with flour, a smudge of it on your cheek, and your hands moved with effortless precision. He hated it. Not you... never you. But the fact that you worked so damn hard for so little. That no matter how many hours you poured into this place, it was barely enough to keep the lights on. That your oven broke last week and you had to shut down for two days because you couldn’t afford a repairman right away. He hated that. “You know you’re too good for this side of the island, right?” You glanced up, breath hitching slightly, before rolling your eyes. “I like this side of the island, Rafe.” He drummed his fingers against the counter. “I could buy you a place in Figure Eight.” “No.” “Okay.” He shrugged. “But if you ever change your mind…” You shot him a look, exasperated but amused. “I won’t.” Rafe didn’t push. He never did... not about this, at least. But he’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother him. Because every morning, he saw how early you got up. He saw the way you rubbed your sore wrists after hours of kneading dough, the way your eyes dimmed a little when you counted the register and barely made enough to cover next week’s supply order. You were so good at what you did. And yet, the world still made you struggle for it. It pissed him off. And Rafe Cameron hated feeling powerless. So, he did what he could. He came in every day. Bought more than he could eat. Slipped a few extra bills under the register when you weren’t looking. Sent other Kooks your way, dropping your bakery’s name at country club brunches like it was the hottest new trend. And when you got suspicious, when you narrowed your eyes at him after his third suspiciously large order in a week, he just smirked and said, “What? I like good food.” And that you believed. Because he did. But more than that, he liked you.

ꕥ Rafe Started Helping Baker!Reader Out… In His Own Rafe Way.

You sighed as you stared at the absurd stack of cash in the tip jar. Again. “Rafe.” Rafe, who was currently leaning against the counter, sipping his coffee like he hadn’t just dropped an entire hundred-dollar bill for a pastry that cost three bucks, looked up innocently. “What?” You crossed your arms. “This is ridiculous.” “It’s my money,” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “I do what I want with it.” You narrowed your eyes. “And what you want to do is leave a hundred-dollar tip for a muffin?” “Damn good muffin,” he replied, taking another bite. “Honestly, you should be charging more.” You huffed, shoving the money toward him. “I can’t take this.” Rafe just smirked, tilting his coffee cup toward you in a mock toast. “Good thing I already walked away.” He strolls off smugly, towering over the other customers. You wanted to be mad, but how could you be when you knew exactly what he was doing? And that wasn’t even the worst of it. Because then, suddenly, Kooks started coming in. Rich girls in designer dresses asking about your custom cakes, trust fund guys showing up with their dads’ AmEx cards to place catering orders. At first, you thought maybe people had just noticed your bakery. But then... “Yeah, I don’t care if you don't want cupcakes at your yacht party, you’re ordering from her.” You whipped your head around to see Rafe standing outside the bakery, phone to his ear, already negotiating your next big order. “Rafe,” you hissed, striding up and yanking the phone out of his hand. “I won't charge Kook prices—” “Then I’ll pay the difference,” he said easily. You stared at him, mouth opening and closing. “That’s not how business works.” Rafe shrugged. “It is now.” And what were you supposed to say to that? Because somehow, this was just so him. Helping in the only way he knew how. With money. With influence. With that damn smirk that made you want to yell at him and kiss him at the same time. You shook your head, shoving his phone back at him. “You’re impossible.” He grinned. “Yeah, but I’m your favorite customer.”

ꕥ Rafe Bragged About Baker!Reader to Everyone. Constantly.

“She’s the best baker on the island. No—actually? Best in the whole damn country,” Rafe declared, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. Topper rolled his eyes. “Bro, it’s a bakery, not a Michelin-star restaurant.” Rafe scoffed. “Shut up, you wouldn’t know good food if it smacked you in the face. Her croissants? Life-changing. Her cakes? Masterpieces. Like, people should be paying thousands for them.” Kelce raised a brow. “You mean, you pay thousands for them.” Rafe shrugged, unbothered. “Worth every penny.” His friends had never seen him like this: practically glowing whenever he talked about you. It was kind of ridiculous. And it only got worse when you started dating. “Yo, you gotta try this,” Rafe would say, shoving a pastry into someone’s hands before they could protest. “My girl made it. From scratch.” At parties, he’d corner people and pull up pictures on his phone, of cakes, cookies, pastries, like a proud dad showing off his kid’s school projects. One time, you even caught him filming an Instagram story of your bakery’s display case, narrating like a food critic. “Look at that. Perfection. That’s my girl.” And the way he beamed when he called you that? His girl? It made your stomach flip every time. One night, you were curled up on his couch, your head resting on his chest as he scrolled through his phone. “You know,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “one day, you’re gonna have your own fancy bakery in Figure Eight. And I’ll be the first one in line every morning.” You snorted. “I like my little bakery in The Cut, Rafe.” He smirked, tightening his arm around you. “Yeah, yeah. But when you expand, just remember who believed in you first.” You rolled your eyes but smiled. Because as much as Rafe loved to brag about you, the truth was, he just really loved you.

A/N: i love them.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fanfiction

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misayani · 6 months ago

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fluff with se-mi? :3

CHERRY-SH MY LOVE ! — SE-MI (PLAYER 380)

◜ pairing ... se-mi / player 380 x fem reader

◜eversince you started working at Ice Creampies, the famous ice cream parlor downtown, you've seen the same woman everyday. you started to get concerned about her health, won't eating ice cream everyday give you diabetes?

𔗨 author's note — this is my best attempt in writing something sweet, enjoy ! <3 [lowercase intended]

— fluff

the first time you saw her was on the second day of your work, july 4th. your lips form into a polite smile as you greeted the woman. you observed her, seeing her wonderful taste in fashion. she wore a black leather jacket with a black tee underneath and some slightly large pants. you also noticed the amount of rings she had on each hand, the black choker around her neck, and of course, the piercings on her pretty face.

she looks similar to that one anime chick. you thought. nana something- osaku? osaki? osaka?

"hi. i would like to get cherry ice cream on a medium sized co—" she cut herself off as she finally locked eyes with you. she probably didn't even hear you greet her earlier since she was too busy patting her pockets.

"hi."

you blinked at her, "hi." you smiled before she opens her mouth and then closes it again. you saw her glance at your name tag then letting out a small cough.

"new here?"

you pause before answering, "yeah." you thought that maybe she was a regular customer, considering how she caught on to the fact you were a new worker.

"right. um, cherry ice cream on a medium sized cone please." she nods to you as she hands the exact amount for the ice cream before you could even serve it to her— okay maybe i'm right, regular customer. you took the payment from her before you excused yourself to serve her the ice cream.

who in their right minds would be willing to swallow cherry ice cream. eugh.

you scrunch your face up as you scoop out the cold cream, not being a big fan of cherries. holding the finished scooped ice cream, you walk back to the counter and see the rather attractive woman waiting patiently— elbows rested slightly on the counter with the both of her palms supporting her face.

she notices you come back and you handed her ice cream with a side note of 'enjoy. have a nice day.' she simply nods to acknowldge you before glancing at you one last time, and then walking out the ice cream parlor.

second time she walked in was july 5th. this time, actually greeting you back with a small smile. she ordered the same thing, cherry ice cream, and handed you the payment. minutes later, you came back with her ice cream, keeping it away from you as possible. you couldn't stand the smell of cherry.

your heart flutters as the woman chuckles— "hell, why do you look so disgusted with it"

you pressed your lips together as you handed her the ice cream, "just not a big fan of cherries."

"why not?"

"they make me dizzy. i mean- the smell at least."

"cherries make you dizzy?" she raises her eyebrows at you while she licks her ice cream. you check her out, today she's wearing a simple long sleeved white polo, with the sleeves cuffed up to her elbows and two buttons undone and some casual denim pants.

"done checking me out?" you snap your gaze back to hers. her lips formed into a smug smile as she licks her lips.

"wasn't checking you out." you retort. she just chuckles as if she doesn't believe you and started to head to the exit.

she pauses, before turning to the counter, "i didn't mind. thank you for this." she says as she waves the slightly melting ice cream in her hand and then she walks out the parlor, leaving you behind the counter face palming out of embarrassment.

following days passed with her walking in the store and buying the same thing everytime, not noticing the glances and the flirty smiles she was giving you. sometimes she'd tell you some flirty remarks and then always quick to leave the store after.

"you have a boyfriend?" it was your 6th time serving her ice cream. your face heats up at the sudden question as she stares at you waiting for an answer.

soon enough, you'd come up with something a bit bolder than usual.

"why? wanted to ask me out?" the words slipped from your mouth confidently. her eyes twinkle in amusement as she grins,

"maybe."

butterflies swarm in your stomach as you feel blood rush to your cheeks. your lips part, hesitating for a moment, before telling her: "i'm not interested in men. so, no."

she bites her lower lip, a grin threatening to form on her face. you notice her cheeks turn into a light shade of pink before she grabs something from her back pocket then handing it to you. she bites down on her melting ice cream in anticipation, observing your face for any reactions.

it's a folded paper. confused, you accepted it and unfolded the small piece of paper. a smile spreads across your face as you see what's inside: her number and a 'call me sometime;)' written messily under.

you look up to her, who was staring at you with hopeful eyes. you shoot her a warm smile, nodding before tucking away the note in your jean's pocket.

"i will." the both of you were staring at each other before her lips finally form into a smile and you couldn't help but giggle like a high-schooler who just got asked out.

"okay, sometime." she nods while smiling, "sometime." you agree as she makes her way to the exit. "oh your ice cream is melting!" you exclaim, seeing the cherry liquid drip down her fingers. she looks at her hand, surprising herself as if she didn't even noticed— "oh shit, yeah. it's fine, i'll handle it."

she glances at you one last time before saying, "thank you for this." and then walks out the store leaving you with a more-than-happy feeling inside you.

a few days passed and every single one of them was her visiting the store. she finally told you her name, se-mi—which was funny, her number came first before she even introduced herself to you. but nonetheless, you both started texting each other days ago, either continuing the unfinished conversation from the store earlier or just her being talkative and you rolling your eyes at her antics and smiling dumbly at your phone screen.

july 19th, 18:00. it was the end of your shift, finally, you thought. you greet your co workers goodbye as you walk out the store with an excited expression.

se-mi had asked to take you out on a date once your shift ended. here you are: wearing a casual dress that ended just above your knees, which you wore throughout your shift, walking down the steps before you were met with se-mi patiently waiting and leaning back on her motorcycle.

good god, how can this woman be more attractive?

she notices you walking closer towards her as her lips immediately form into a smile.

"hi." she softly greets

you smile, "hi." you shyly say as you finally reach her. she carefully hands you a helmet as you laugh, taking it from her. she shots you a confused look, "how many girls you asked out before have worn this helmet?" you say while chuckling.

she looks at you as if she was offended before she rolls her eyes playfully, "i just bought that yesterday. and no else will use it but you and only you." she remarks.

you smile, "i'm kidding babe, where are we off to anyways?" you say, wearing the helmet which by the way, smelled amazing.

she suddenly coughs, you notice the tips of her ears turning pink. she distracts herself, grabbing something from the tote bag she brought. "it- it won't be a secret anymore if i tell you." she cleared her throat before handing a blanket to you.

"wrap that around your waist."

aw. she cared enough to bring a cover for your dress.

she hops on her motorcycle before slightly tilting it sidewards so you'd get on easier. she waits as you finish wrapping the blanket around your waist before you hopped on.

"hold on tight, i'm gonna go fast." she warns before the two of you ride off to the night, the wind rushing past and the city lights blurring into streaks of color.

that night, she took you stargazing. the comfortable blanket on the grass, the both of you seated, and two tubs of ice cream for the both of you— cherry flavored for her, and strawberry for you. still, you didn't let her pass, you told se-mi about how you absolutely despised cherries as her laugh surrounds the both of you and into the peaceful surrounding.

@misayani

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game season 2 #se-mi x reader #୭ ୨♡୧ ৎ misa writes ...

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ssa-dado · 26 days ago

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PR (Penne Rigate)

Aaron Hotchner x fleabag!reader Genre: Some weird hurt-to-comfort??? (Fluffy at times.) Bro (GN). idk. Summary: Sometimes you spiral so hard you start hallucinating David Rossi - Dave, sorry - groping your boyfriend’s tit the first time you meet his coworkers. Silver lining? Aaron’s forearms are flour-dusted and flexing over pasta dough. Warnings: age gap dynamics, jealousy (#Hossi), suggested sexting, anxiety & hypervigilance, reader masking pain with horniness (and nazi-feminism) so hard she hallucinates a Rossi-Hotch situationship, twice-reminded dead dad, and Aaron not exactly winning Boyfriend of the Year. Reader is not a reliable narrator!!! Word Count: 5.9k Dado's Corner: It was supposed to be the usual fluffy-horny combo… but it spiraled into something... experimental. These issues don’t exactly get resolved, they just get loosely patched up, temporarily. You’re allowed to feel confused. The confusion is part of the aesthetic (or so I keep telling myself)

masterlist

There’s this unspoken rule that you’re supposed to nod along and agree if a customer tips you enough. Now, you’re not entirely sure how to behave when said customer regularly gives you way more than just the tip.

(Oh, for fuck’s sake. That was horrible. You’re officially absorbing his complete inability to make a joke that’s even remotely funny. It’s contagious. Like a virus. Or lov-)

“Why don’t you come meet the team?” Aaron blurts out - mid-coffee handoff, no warning - as if that’s a casual thing people say lightheartedly.

You blink. And then you blink again.

Because he’s looking up at you, bastard, and he knows exactly what he’s doing. Tilting his chin just so, raising his eyebrows the tiniest bit so the light catches on his stupidly delicate bottom lashes like a goddamn siren song for your libido.

He’s weaponizing his face.

A full-blown visual seduction attempt under the guise of ordinary eye contact, and you’re meant to say no? You’re meant to resist that? Put that face away, Aaron.

“...What?”

“Dave’s hosting a dinner tonight.” Ah. Dave.

You shouldn’t be jealous of a man at least ten years older than him who is possibly the only person Aaron could realistically call a friend. But you are. (Aaron being on nickname terms with someone? When he still calls you by your full name half the time? No. Illegal. Shut it down.)

But you know better by now.

You’ve learned to stop wasting time on the obvious - like surface-level red flags disguised as male ””friendship”” - and start paying attention to the quiet little tells.

Because when Aaron wants something but can’t bring himself to ask - when the feelings start piling up under that buttoned-down emotional straightjacket - he gets… clingy.

Case in point: he takes the hand you’ve got resting on your hip and brings it to his lips. Slowly. Still looking up. Still keeping eye contact. (Thankfully, the Disney Princess didn’t flutter his lashes… small mercies.)

He kisses your knuckles and doesn’t let go - just laces his fingers through yours, thumb stroking the side of your index finger with that soft, absentminded tenderness that would be sweet if it weren’t for the fact that those same fingers were knuckle-deep inside you less than an hour ago.

It’s definitely a trap.

“We’re supposed to have a date tonight,” you remind him. Wine, dine, and get fucked on a mattress that isn’t his orthopedic concrete slab disguised as a bed.

Your roommate’s finally out, the stars are aligned, the gods are merciful, and this man wants to-

“We could have a date at Dave’s place,” he says, like that is romantic. Like Rossi’s Tuscan fuck-palace of mahogany and trauma is somehow a better plan.

He tries to sell it with another knuckle kiss. (Sneaky bastard.)

“Aaron. Honey. We’re not fucking in the car agai-”

“Shhh... honey, we’re in-”

“Last time your hips made that weird noise…” (Like something popped. You thought he dislocated something. You were halfway to calling 911 before he groaned again. Horrifying.)

“-public.” An overly erotic sigh follows to strengthen his case “And you’re working,”

Oh. Right. Thank you so much for the reminder, Aaron. If it weren’t for his sanctimonious little warning, you might’ve forgotten you’re currently in a slutty apron and have a cheesecake in the oven that needs pulling out in - what, 16?

No, 15… 14 minutes. Great.

So considerate of him to be scandalized by the idea of being overheard in public, when he’s blissfully unaware (you don’t have the heart to tell him. He’s delicate.) that your friends already know his inseam. And his full birth chart. And the precise length and circumference of his-

Oh… speaking of which-

“If you’re so scandalized people might hear,” you murmur, saccharine-sweet, leaning in just enough to melt a few IQ points off him (man’s too smart sometimes), “you could always come to the back with me. I could show you the pastry lab... there’s a fresh batch of cookies that desperately need your very professional, very, very, very thorough feedback.”

(Hands-on feedback. Mouth-on too.)

He chuckles, “You’re not fooling me twice.” Fair. It's already a small miracle he believed the croissants were real the first time and not just- well. A metaphor. “I’m serious. Come with me tonight.” (You plan to. Multiple times. Preferably on a mattress, not the gearshift of his billshit car.) “I know it’s scary,” he adds, all earnest and soft. “But I’ll be there. And you’re a much more likeable person than I am anyway.”

He’s still stroking your thumb.

It’s unsettling.

He’s just so sweet. So natural with it. Like he doesn’t even realize he’s touching you like that. Like a lover. Like someone who’s held you through things and made you breakfast and maybe even deserves to be held back.

It makes you want to stroke something else in return.

Just to be even. (Obviously.)

“I think they’d like me more if I were the reason you actually gave them a weekend off, you know?” Honestly, it’d be a win for everyone. You’d get your sleepy, clingy morning sex. The team would get to touch grass.

It’s not even the first time you’ve tried to convince him to sleep in. You’ve tried multiple angles. Some of them very persuasive.

And yet… no.

Fuck him and his iron will.

“I’ll think about it…” He brings his coffee to his lips to hide the smirk, but it’s no use. He’s giddy. Blows gently across the surface, all while holding eye contact. (Unnecessary.) “What do I get in return?” he asks, all faux-coy, like he isn’t already picturing it.

Oh. That’s how we’re playing.

You don’t even hesitate. “A sloppy wet blowie card redeemable anytime you wa-”

He chokes. Immediately. Coughs. Splutters. Spills half the coffee across the table, his lap, the floor you just cleaned. A full dramatic scene. Everyone turns to stare.

So much for being subtle.

You would laugh at him but instead, you’re crouched over a fresh coffee spill with a mop in hand for the second time today, while your deeply apologetic, painfully handsome boyfriend (being 46 and still calling him “boyfriend” feels like a crime punishable by jail time) paces in the background as if he’s just committed a felony.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t expecting - sorry - are you okay? I mean, I know you’re okay, but – sorry - are you sure you’re okay?

“It’s okay.”

“-I didn’t mean to-”

“I know.””

If he weren’t hot and genuinely pathetic about it, it’d be annoying. Like that cursed 30-minute Christmas playlist they loop during December shifts, the one that somehow drops to 0.5x speed the second you're six hours deep, dead-eyed, and one sleigh bell away from crying into the espresso machine.

“I’ll clean it-” he begs.

“You won’t.”

He reaches for a stack of tissues, trying to be helpful - which only pisses you off more, because he can’t not be helpful.

It’s pathological. It’s baked into his DNA. Helpfulness as a compulsion. He’s incapable of simply letting a mess exist without trying to fix it, even if he is the one who caused it.

You need to shut him up or you won’t survive the rest of this shift. “What do I have to wear tonight?”

He perks up instantly. “So you are coming to Dave’s?” Eyes wide. Hopeful. An overgrown bipedal golden retriever who just heard the leash jingle and realized it’s walk o’clock.

You barely get the “yes” out before he’s already yanking out his teeny-tiny iPhone and furiously typing with his index finger something that probably reads:

“hi dave <3 my unconventionally young girlfriend just agreed to come tonight <3 she is the first person I’ve dated or touched since my ex-wife (mother of my child, deceased, rip forever) <333333 she still has a roommate and sometimes thinks she’s a rebound or a novelty item so she overcompensates by being hypersexual (50% is just genuine devotion tho don’t worry) <3 can’t wait for you to meet her!!! she doesn’t speak in full legalese like I do but she’s trying her best <333”

No… actually, more like:

“Good morning, Dave. Confirming that both my girlfriend and I will be attending dinner tonight at [insert overly precise timestamp] p.m. I’m looking forward to everyone meeting her. Let me know if there’s anything you need me to bring. Best, A.H.”

…Which, yes, is overly composed, pompously formal, and emotionally sterile. And yet he’d reread it three times. Hesitate over the word “girlfriend,” maybe delete it, maybe add “my” in front of it. Add a period. Delete the period. Add it again.

Because what he’d really be saying is:

“I’m bringing someone who matters more than I know how to put into words. Please don’t scare her. Please don’t embarrass me. Please, for the love of God, don’t make her feel like this was a mistake.”

You watch, dissecting every micro-expression, every digital breath, awaiting the subtle ping-

And then he finally looks up from his phone and says:

“The weather app says it’s going to be a bit windy… but we’re staying inside, so we’ll be fine. Just make sure you bring a jacket for outside.”

Oh. Okay. So he wasn’t texting DaVe. He was just… checking the weather. Never mind.

“You’re, like, actually 1000% sure I don’t need to wear anything fancy? Like… dress code-wise? You pinky swear?”

“Wear what you’re comfortable in. You’ll look beautiful no matter what.” (Ugh. Gentleman nonsense. Regency-era I-shall-fetch-your-glove-m’lady bullshit.) “There’s a cooking competition at Dave’s, by the way, so… wear something you can move in...”

(And when, exactly, was he planning to share this extremely vital piece of information? Was he just going to let you show up blind - no context, no warning - and then judge your outfit?!?!)

“…Preferably not too many buttons.”

“What?”

“There’s usually wine. And I doubt I’ll have the patience to unbutton all that if I’m tipsy.”

(Did he just-)

(Is that dirty talk? In public?!)

Small step for Aaron Hotchner. Giant leap for mankind.

“OOOOH, I like you,” you laugh, swatting his arm. Filthy, filthy man. You’re keeping him. (You were keeping him anyway. This just signed the lease and laminated the contract.)

“Well,” he deadpans, “that’s a relief.”

His humor. He seriously needs to stop or you’re going to uno reverse him straight into cardiac arrest just so he knows what it feels like to be the one left gasping.

And he is – somehow - worse than expected when you open the door at Mr. “Pick you up at 7:20” but actually shows up at 7:00 o’clock sharp.

Big, dumb googly eyes. “You’re… you’re perfect.” (Perfect??? Okay, bro. Be serious.) He says it a little breathlessly, too.

Which - alright. This is coming from a man who’s seen you in pajamas and week-old (okay, not week-old) mascara smudged down to your collarbones and still had the audacity to call you beautiful.

But this time? This time he stutters. Just a little. Which means - yes. You’ve done one hell of a job.

Although… he’s… he’s…

“You’re not so bad yourself, Hotchner…” you’re trying - really trying - not to engage with the obscene display that is his forearm vein, pulsing under the rolled cuff of a shirt that’s…

Well, textured.

You don’t know what fabric it is, but it looks expensive (though, to be fair, you've yet to catch him wearing anything that isn’t). It’s not his usual no-nonsense blend - it’s something... different.

Almost illicitly nice.

By his standards, borderline scandalous. Sensual. Not quite silk, but it’s definitely texting silk at 2 a.m. Smooth, a little structured, a little (very) transparent.

His version of lingerie, probably. And it’s working.

Especially because he’s holding a slim paper bag - wine, presumably - gripping it just tight enough to make the tendons in his hand flex, veins popping like they’re sending you a personal invitation you absolutely cannot leave on read.

Not when they’re practically pulsing your name in Morse code - perfectly normal heart rate for a man his age, maybe a little faster than usual but nothing to worry about.

(You want to eat him.)

(And you want to eat him even more because he’s still blushing at your compliment.)

(Still ducking his head toward the damn doormat - the same one he always stares at every time you say something nice on the threshold like it's suddenly going to save him.)

(Still pretending he isn’t doing any of this on purpose.)

(He is. He’s a slut. And you’ve broken the encryption.)

You’re dangerously close to asking him to cancel dinner altogether so you can crawl into his lap and trace those veins and flushed cheeks with your mouth.

But - no. You’ve come this far. You’re wearing your good shoes.

“Is that for me?” you ask, nodding toward the incriminating wine bag he’s holding.

You already know the answer. You’ve seen the label peeking out - the same wine he asked you about months ago when he still needed excuses to talk to you. The one you recommended. The one you both got tipsy on that night you-

God. So romantic. Remembering something so small just so the two of you could reminisce together…

“That’s for Dave,” he says. (Awesome. Love that. Feeling super special right now.) “But this-” he leans in, suddenly, and you can already tell he’s doing mental calculus on what to do with his free hand.

Aaron’s a face-grabber kind of kisser. You know this. You love that he’s a face-grabber kind of kisser.

There’s nothing (and this is unfortunately not hyperbole) you crave more than having your face completely eclipsed by those huge hands.

To feel his hot palms cradle your jaw, his thumbs press into your cheekbones while the scent of that wrist cologne (that he definitely sprays on purpose) clogs your lungs and your will to stand upright.

But not this time.

His hand falters mid-air. Hesitates. Probably because his internal probability matrix is running a risk assessment on smudging your makeup.

He can’t tell if you’re actually wearing any - unsure whether the godlike glow you’re currently emitting is foundation, highlighter, or just you being hot and terrifying by nature - so he aborts the face mission.

Redirects, sliding around your waist instead. And when he pulls you in, at least you can get drunk on the sprays of his cologne clinging to his clavicles.

“This,” he says, right before his lips find yours, “is for you.”

The old this-then-kiss technique. Vintage (prehistoric.) Sooooo corny. But somehow it’s adorable when he does it - because he says it with that barely-there smug little smile, like he thinks he just pulled off the smoothest move in cinematic history.

He thinks he’s being so cool.

Bless his delusion.

You need to bless something in this man or you’ll feel guilty for cursing the fact that if Aaron hadn’t been raised with the emotional bandwidth of a teaspoon - thanks to Mommy Dearest and a father who’s, oh right, dead (you keep forgetting; trauma’s the subscription box that just keeps on delivering)-

Then this “meet the parents” moment would’ve involved a couple of awkward silences, maybe a tense pause after his mom casually mentions that your uterus technically belongs to the U.S. government.

Instead, you’re standing in what can only be described as a psychological war room disguised as a kitchen.

The kind of kitchen that’s the exact size of your entire apartment, if your apartment had mood lighting, marble counters, and a temperature-controlled wine fridge that probably costs more than your entire year of rent.

And in it:

A battalion (six) of government-employed behavioral analysts, each gripping the correct wine glass for the correct varietal.

And - one guy. (JJ’s… husband? No ring. Fiancé? No. Boyfriend? Oh, fuck this. Babydaddy. That’s what he is. The babydaddy of their son.) What is he, a detective? Fed-lite? Badge-adjacent? Whatever.

Basically, you’re surrounded by cops.

You've betrayed every principle you hold dear because some old man with courtroom diction and bottom lashes that could sweep the floor said your name once like it hurt him to feel something.

And now he’s gone.

Aaron steps away just to hang your jacket like the soft-handed gentleman he occasionally remembers to be - and Dave, yes that Dave, the one currently looming behind a granite island the size of a mid-range yacht, immediately peels off to follow.

They start murmuring to each other in that cryptic, chesty man-code hum and somehow, despite the noise, your hyper-attuned ears still manage to isolate it:

Aaron’s laugh.

Light. Private. The one he saves for people who’ve known him long enough to earn it.

Physics insists there’s more space without Aaron taking up your peripheral vision and stealing half your air. Your lungs disagree.

You’re standing alone, still mentally half-hovering in the doorway like someone’s plus-one who wasn’t technically invited, every sense on high alert, spine locked, tracking everything at once just to stay one step ahead of the judgment you’re absolutely sure is coming.

The sound of his footsteps on the flooring slowly getting closer. The rhythm of his voice.

Who’s looking at you, how long, what it means.

Whether someone’s already profiling you. (They definitely are.)

You don’t feel unwelcome, exactly. You just feel… scanned.

And then comes Emily Prentiss.

(You recognize her from the Facebook deep-dive you did two hours before Aaron picked you up. 41. Speaks a gazillion of languages. Has a cat named Sergio. [Regrettably did not bring Sergio to dinner.])

Emily: the agent who - until very recently - everyone thought was dead.

Everyone except Aaron and JJ.

(Mother to one boy named Henry - you think he’s a few years younger than Jack? - and chronic reblogger of that one women’s soccer team whose name always escapes you but she clearly has beef with their coach.)

Anyway. Back to Emily.

Messy story.

Something-something faked death, interagency yada-yada, undercover stuff and maybe betrayal?

Aaron never told you the full thing. (Probably because he knows damn well you’d immediately stop siding with him the second you found out how shockingly bad he is at communicating literally anything important.)

Emily looks at you. “You’re-”

His what?

His young?

Too young?

His young little sister? (Half-sister, technically. His dad’s dead. Right. That’s the second time you’ve forgotten. In a row. What kind of girlfriend does that-)

His daughter?

His granddaughter?

“-real.”

Oh. “Yes. Yes, I’m real… I guess so???”

So he’s considered a loser at work too. Interesting. That’s definitely not what he told you.

“Mama, if y��all girls weren’t so hungover you would’ve seen her at the triathlon too…”

That’s Derek. (Age: not specified, hometown: Chicago, emotional support dog Clooney: deceased, tragically. Retired service dog. Heart of gold. 10/10)

He pats Emily on the shoulder mid-sentence, barely getting the words “Hi, I’m-” out before he’s completely steamrolled by JJ and your soon-to-be favorite oversharer: Penelope Garcia.

(Penelope - recently single [sad for her, unfortunately sad for you], extremely online, chronically committed to rhinestone accessories - has posted enough Facebook statuses in the past three weeks to warrant a digital intervention.)

(If you weren’t technically tied to her unit chief, you’d absolutely hit on her. But let’s be real. She’s way out of your league. Like... celestial tier.)

(Not that Aaron isn’t too… but he’s - he’s a loser. That’s what he is. A hot, competent loser. Your loser.)

(Your hormone cycle would like to formally request that you marry him. But that’s just hormones. Obviously. You don’t really think that. Marriage is a scam.)

Behind them stand two more additions to your ever-expanding social anxiety spiral: Will - Will! You finally remember his name! (The detective. The stay-at-home wife. The babydaddy!)

And Dr. Spencer Reid.

(No Facebook. No digital footprint. You only know him through Aaron’s scattered mentions, mostly about how he keeps forgetting his hotel room keycards. Multiple times. Like, compulsively. He’s probably only a few years older than you. Which – honestly - is the closest thing to comfort you’ve gotten all night.)

From a distance, they don’t seem too terrifying.

Not at first glance.

Not until Dave steps back into the room.

And not to be territorial, but-

You clock the way his arm is slung a little too familiarly around your sad-looking man’s shoulders.

“This man wouldn’t have asked you out if it weren’t for me,” Dave declares.

First words out of his mouth and he’s already claiming credit like he coached the whole thing.

Aaron grimaces. “Dave-”

Doesn’t matter. He’s unstoppable.

Dave gives Aaron’s shoulder a condescending little pat - dominance disguised as affection - and flashes the room (…a smile. He flashes the room – a smile.)

“Now that we’re all finally here…”

He side-eyes Aaron. Passive-aggressive. You clock it immediately.

Aaron, bless his rigid, rule-following, bureaucratic soul, steps in. “You said 8 p.m. We’re not late.”

And that’s when Dave really sinks his claws in. His hand tightens on Aaron’s shoulder - subtle, practiced, like a predator with a working knowledge of social cues - and he laughs.

But it’s not a casual laugh. It’s a loaded laugh. A you’ll never have power here laugh.

“Exactly. It’s 7:30, Aaron. Last time you showed up half an hour early, I had to change the time so you wouldn’t walk in on me in my robe.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. Aaron’s blushing. And you really hope it’s not for the reason your brain keeps whispering.

(That reason being: They’ve seen each other in robes before. Multiple times. Maybe fewer robes. Maybe no robes. Maybe-)

(You’re not saying there’s something going on. You’re just saying there’s energy. A lot of history. A suspicious amount of comfort. A shoulder grip with a little too much thumb.)

“Anyway, now that that’s all clear,” Dave chirps, but somehow his hand is… lower? Is that-? No. That’s not- It is. No, no no-

Dave’s palm is now resting on Aaron’s tit pec. Is he cupping it? Is this real?

“Alright! You’re all coupled up, right?” Dave claps, winks, and moves along like he didn’t just get to second base with your boyfriend in front of you.

Aaron smiles at you. Smiles. Unbothered. Unbothered and getting fondled by his best friend.

“You’ve got one hour! Chop chop- I’m starving!” Dave calls out, punctuating it with not one, but two enthusiastic pats.

On Aaron’s…

Right boob.

You see red.

And as Dave finally releases his hostage - who strolls back to you all smiley and suspiciously unfazed about being publicly groped-

Dave, yet again (because of course it’s Dave, the world absolutely curves around that manipulative little Italian man’s will), tosses over his shoulder with far too much satisfaction for a straight guy with three ex-wives:

“Damn, Aaron! That triathlon training’s really paying off, huh? Look at that chest!”

“Agh- Dave,” Aaron groans half-mortified, but then, he looks down at himself and chuckles.

Oh no. Oh no no no.

You’re no profiler, but if Dave is making detailed commentary on your man’s chest gains with the kind the kind of confidence that implies historical data-

Then it’s because he has historical data.

That man has groped your boyfriend’s tits before.

More than once.

Enough to compare progress.

And suddenly, you're not so sure you're the only one in this relationship who’s been getting a handful.

Speaking of handfuls-

A warm, very specific hand lands on your shoulder.

“Hey”

Aaron. Of course.

You should’ve known just from the size of it. Or the temperature. There’s something unsettlingly distinct about the way he touches you - like no other object, fabric, or living creature has ever graced your shoulder with that much… heat.

Except maybe his mouth. When it stops there. Briefly. On its way down to your-

“Something’s wrong,” Mr. Profiler’s far too perceptive as he hands you an apron so you won’t get your outfit (the one he called ‘perfect’) dirty.

He steps behind you just as you’ve already tied it, clearly having intended to do it himself in that gentlemanly, let-me-wrap-my-arms-around-you-for-no-reason kind of way.

What a fool.

You don’t need help tying a fucking apron. You don’t need his affirmation coded into every little gesture.

What is that, anyway? Chivalry? Control? Is he worried you’ll somehow mess it up without him? Or is it just that he can’t handle you doing things alone – competently - without needing his federal male approval stamped on it?

You’re here to cook. To participate. To prove-what? That you belong? That you're not a tourist in his life?

You shake it off.

“Are you sure it’s enough eggs for the amount of pasta we have to make?” you frown at the sad, lonely little pile sitting by your –right, Dave’s - cutting board.

“Honey, you asked me to take eight-”

“Yeah. One per person...”

Ah.

You didn’t count yourself.

You stare at the eggs.

Count them again, maybe they’ll rearrange and make more sense this time. But no - there are eight.

For everyone else. Everyone but you.

Aaron steps to your side, looks down too, and you’re still doing mental math, because now you don’t even remember how much fucking flour you dumped in that bowl. Did you even measure it? Did you eyeball it??

There’s no scale in sight. Shit.

If the pasta doesn’t turn out perfect, it’ll just confirm what everyone’s already half-smiling to themselves about: Ah. Of course.

The decorative girlfriend. The midlife-crisis sparkle to distract from how lonely he’s been. A little proof of life.

No respectable job. No remarkable backstory. Just here to stand beside him and prove he can still fuck someone half his age without taking the blue pi-

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

His hand lands on your lower back, rubbing slow circles. Not lazy. Just… frustratingly kind.

The kind of touch that isn’t trying to lead anywhere. Doesn’t want anything.

(…Would he want something more if you were Dave?)

Just exists there, warm and grounding. (You immediately regret not wearing something backless. Why would you not want to feel that hand directly on your skin? Fool.)

It’s infuriating. And really, really nice. Which is more annoying.

He steps into your line of sight, casually body-blocking the rest of the room (which may or may not currently feature a half-floured Spencer Reid flailing near the sink yelling, “Emily. Emily, please stop. She’s going to think we’re – Emily - no, seriously - what is she going to think about us - Emily, that we’re unprofessional? - Emily. No. No, Derek. Not you too.”)

But you wouldn’t know.

Because you can’t see a damn thing past the entire 6’2” anxious boyfriend now standing directly in front of you.

All you get is the gentle forehead creases of a man who probably cares more about your emotional stability than his own cholesterol, and those Barbie-pink lips tugged into that soft, earnest little frown.

He’s trying to emotionally disarm you in full HD. (Also? Slightly misogynistic. Forcing eye contact like that. Yeah… that’s what it is. Sure.)

“Hey, hey,” he chases your eyes. “It’s fine. I’m stealing one egg from Morgan, and we’ll add the flour slowly, adjust the texture as we go. How does that sound?”

It sounds like something he’d say. Like he thinks everyone functions like he does - just bury the panic under logistics, swallow the feeling whole and chew on the task instead.

A plan. A loose, improv-based, easy-to-fuck-up plan. And you can’t afford to fuck up. Also-

“You? Stealing?”

“Yes.” He admits it too... God you’re such a bad influence on him. “I’ve got a lot of tricks up my sleeve you’re still not aware of.” Sure thing, flirt. (Say that again with your little smug voice and see if you don’t get jumped behind the wine fridge.)

He kisses the side of your head - quick, perfunctory. Blink and you’d miss it.

If you were Dave, he’d take his time. He’d cup your jaw, linger, maybe drop a “I’ll have to slip away for a moment to steal that egg, darling” in that perfect baritone.

But sure. A kiss is a kiss.

He seals the success of his noble egg-heist with another swift press to the same spot, then pushes his sleeves up higher - back to business, like nothing happened.

(You’re not looking. You’re absolutely not watching. You are, in fact, turning away to start on some kind of sauce. Your years in the service industry kick in and your body moves on muscle memory- meanwhile, your eyes... oh shit-)

He covertly pulls out a perfectly folded neon pink sticky note and - just as discreetly - his glasses from the pocket of his pants. (God forbid someone catches him using them.)

To his visible surprise, there’s a massive ink smear across the middle (he’s a leftie - everything he writes eventually morphs into smudged abstract expressionism), so he lifts the note off the table – squints at it – holds it even closer to his face – pauses – and then lets out a victorious:

“Aha.”

That soft exhale of understanding that tells you the giant black blob in the center used to mean something like: “Arrange flour into a cone, add beaten eggs and a pinch of salt in the center, and mix.”

(Groundbreaking stuff. Genius-level culinary insight. Next he’ll discover fire.)

And so he does. (Not the fire. Sadly, that was discovered already. But the mixing. He starts the mixing.)

Flour catches on his forearms, clings to the hair dusted across them. His sleeves are rolled to the brink - one more fold and they’d legally be classified as short sleeves.

And those forearms.

Obscene, if you really look. (You’re really looking.)

You can practically hear the veins dilating under the strain of physical effort.

Jaw clenched. Brows drawn in tight, serious lines. All that elite, laser-sharp hyperfocus, typically reserved for, like, hostage negotiations, now directed at a stubborn, crumbling ball of dough.

He probably sticks his tongue out. Just a little. A sliver. For half a second. You imagine it. You know it happens.

At first, the dough resists. Frays. Crumbles. But he’s relentless.

He plants one forearm down to pin it - veins, tendons, shirt pulling tight around his biceps, fabric threatening to give out under the stress - while the other hand folds, presses, rolls into it.

Over and over, and over again.

You want to be that ball of dough.

You want to be folded. Pressed. Pinned. Kneaded into - God, you hate to say it - absolute fucking submission by those hands.

Those hands that are currently manhandling gluten but could so, so easily be doing the same to your thighs. (Your ass. [Your throat.])

You hope you’re not drooling in front of his coworkers. You casually touch your jaw to check if it’s hanging open.

It is.

You shut it. Immediately.

Even though all your jaw wants to do right now is go wide. Wide enough to take that meaty, vein-lined, dexterous-

“Good arm work, Aaron,” Dave comments. From right next to you.

Oh shit.

You flinch like you’ve been caught mid-crime (which, honestly, you have. Horniness in the first degree.)

“You okay there, cara?” he taunts, as you seriously consider pretending you don’t speak English. “Relax,” he chuckles. “It’s cute. I’ve seen that face before... on him.”

Then he winks and tilts his head toward his boyfriend. Your boyfriend.

“Aaron?”

“Oh yes. Aaron,” he says, far too smug for someone who probably still uses a landline. “Back when you texted him back, one of those early times - you were still…” he waves a hand vaguely, probably hoping to reach for a descriptor that won’t get him slapped. “I don’t know. Whatever it was you were doing.”

(Scared shitless you might accidentally become a six-year-old’s stepmom overnight. That’s what you were doing.)

“Anyway,” he continues, “it was right before your first date.”

“What?”

“Yeah. We were driving back from some crap consult in Delaware. Just the two of us. You texted. I swear to God, I thought he was gonna drive us straight into a cornfield.”

Dave even pauses to reenact it - mouth half-open, eyes wide, looking as if he’s just seen Jelena walk into his kitchen uninvited.

(Which is impressive, considering the man almost definitely doesn’t know what a Jelena is. That’s how shocked he looks.)

“He didn’t think you’d reply,” Dave says, shaking his head with a look that’s almost pitying. “Said it out loud. ‘She’s probably just being polite.’” He drops his voice into a pitch-perfect imitation of Aaron’s broody monotone. It’s eerily accurate. Almost disrespectfully good.

“And he was gripping the wheel, doing that thing - you know, the thumb thing he does when he’s overthinking? Like he’s trying to knead the anxiety out through his own damn cuticles?”

(You do know. You’ve probably picked up the same nervous tic by now, just from proximity.)

Thinking about it makes you want to glance at Aaron.

He’s still laser-focused on his dough. (One of his ears is a little fucked up, sure - but not that fucked up. He hears everything.)

(And yet, he’s not looking up.)

“He wanted to text back, but he didn’t want to seem too eager. So I said, ‘Go on. Dictate it. I’ll type it. He made me edit it three times before I could send it. Then made me sign it with his initials, like it was a legal briefing or some classified FBI memo or whatever the hell that was about.”

“I didn’t want it to sound informal,” Aaron mutters, somewhere in the vicinity of his kneading.

“Oh no,” Dave says, grinning, “you wanted it to sound cool. Like you weren’t already smitten. Like every word out of your mouth didn’t already sound like please love me back.”

You are trying so hard not to laugh you might rupture something.

“He even took the wrong exit – twice - while I was typing ‘Sounds great, what day works for you?’”

“Dave,” Aaron groans. “I told you the GPS was-”

“OH NONONONO. Don’t do that. You called me for weeks just to talk about her. You’d send me screenshots and ask if your texts sounded ‘approachable.’ She deserves to know how miserable-”

“Dave.”

You’re frozen. Wide-eyed. In awe. Possibly hallucinating. Then, just to twist the knife, Dave leans in and says: “You know what else?”

There’s a “Dave, no-” from Aaron that gets totally ignored.

“We were forty minutes late. I told the team the GPS glitched. But the truth is… your boyfriend was too busy falling in love in the driver’s seat.”

You glance at Aaron. He doesn’t look up. But his ears are red.

“Just thought you should know,” Dave adds, giving your shoulder a paternal (unsexual) little pat. “Next time you’re eyeing his forearms like they’re your last meal - remember he used to make the exact same face every time you texted back. Poor guy looked like his heart was about to crawl out of his tie.”

He pauses. Smirks. “And he still does it, by the way. Not sure what you’re texting him these days but-”

“Dave,” you and Aaron snap at the same time.

(Oh wow. You’re officially on nickname basis with your man’s man-besties now. Adorable.)

Too synchronized. Too defensive.

Which is juuust a bit telling.

Dave raises his eyebrows. Doesn’t press. Doesn’t have to.

Because now you’re the one stuck picturing Aaron blushing at his phone - except it’s not over some sweet little “can’t wait to see you” message.

It’s over the stuff you’ve been sending him lately.

And it’s definitely not lunch plans.

Aaron still signs them with his initials, though.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @goorgeousz ; @hayleym1234 ; @ignoreeeeeee ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kiwriteswords ; @kyrathekiller ; @littlemisskavities ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mmmunson ; @mxblobby ; @nikt-wazny-y ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softtdaisy ; @softestqueeen ; @thatkidofwarandpeace ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24 ; @who-needs-to-sleep

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #hotch #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #man this one's a bit weird #fleabag!reader #take a shot every time the name “Dave” shows up in this post #(actually... don’t.)

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keeryhours · 8 months ago

Text

zombie movies & first kisses - steve harrington

Steve Harrington x female Henderson! reader

Masterlist

Steve Harrington Masterlist

Summary:

Dustin thinks Steve and his sister would make a great couple. They’re both obsessed with each other, they just don’t know it. They just need a little push.

Just first date fluff :)

Warnings:

None, just Steve fluff, kissing, zombie movie references

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N:

Excited to get my first Steve story posted! Joe Keery holds my heart in every role. I hope you enjoy this little fluffy story! Requests are open.

—

“She does not like me.” Steve sighed, scooping the mint chocolate chip ice cream and placing it on the waffle cone. He handed the ice cream to the waiting customer with a forced smile.

“She totally does,” Dustin said with full confidence as he leaned against the counter, watching Steve work. “She has Mrs. Harrington doodled all over her notebooks. I’ve seen them in her room.”

Steve laughed. “For some reason I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I lie about that?” Dustin asked, throwing his hands in the air. “You think I haven’t snooped in her room to find all the embarrassing stuff she writes about?”

“It’s not that I doubt your level of nosiness,” Steve said, moving on to helping the next customer. “I just think you’re lying because you want me to embarrass myself by asking your sister out.”

“Oh my god,” Dustin groaned, getting frustrated with his older friend. “I am not trying to embarrass you. She likes you. You’re practically obsessed with her. You’re both obsessed with each other, really. But neither of you will make a move!”

Steve considered his words as he took another order. “You’re not messing with me? You actually think she’s into me?”

“Dude, I know she’s into you. Just ask her. She might pass out on the spot, but she’ll say yes when she wakes up.”

Steve laughed. “Okay, okay. Maybe when I’m not in this stupid uniform, though.”

Dustin asked Steve for a ride home after he and Robin got off work. Steve agreed, but took the time to change out of his Scoops Ahoy uniform and into a pair of jeans and a shirt with the first button undone before he left.

Steve’s mind was racing as he drove towards the Henderson house, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel nervously. Dustin didn’t miss it, watching his friend with a smile on his face.

When they pulled up outside of the house, Steve was relieved to see Dustin’s mom wasn’t home. She could be a little overbearing.

Steve walked with Dustin up to the front door of the house, following him inside as he let himself in.

You were lounging in the living room, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a rainbow t shirt that clung to your body in just the right way. Steve gulped when he saw you, his heart rate picking up.

“Hey, sis,” Dustin greeted you, a big dumb grin on his face.

You looked up from the TV, a shy smile spreading across your lips as soon as you saw Steve. You worried all of a sudden that you should have picked a cuter outfit, should have done your makeup.

“Hey,” you greeted your brother. “Hi, Steve.”

Steve smiled at you, and you felt your heart flutter in your chest at the sight of it. He was just so cute, you could hardly handle being around him.

“I’m going to get started on my homework,” Dustin announced before scurrying out of the room before either of you had the chance to say anything. You briefly thought about how it was summer and he didn’t have any homework, but Dustin was always up to something weird so you just brushed it off.

Steve stood there awkwardly for a few minutes before he slowly walked closer. “Uh, how have you been?” he finally asked.

“Good,” you answered. “I’ve been working at the movie theater for the summer.”

“Oh, cool!” Steve said, and he seemed genuinely interested. “Do you, uh…like it?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” you said. It was pretty cool as far as jobs go, you got to see free movies whenever you wanted and your coworkers were fun. “How’s Scoops Ahoy?”

Steve felt embarrassed at the mere thought of you seeing him in his uniform. “Oh, it’s fine. Free ice cream, you know.”

“That does sound nice,” you said, smiling at him. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, smiling down at his feet. “Hey, uh, actually,” he began, his eyes moving back up to meet yours, “I wanted to ask you something?”

“What’s up?” you asked, looking at him curiously.

Steve looked nervous, which wasn’t something you had seen very much from him. “Um, I was just wondering, you know…if you’d want to go out with me this weekend?”

Your eyes went wide at his question. “Like- like a date?”

Steve smiled at that - you weren’t outright rejecting him, and you’re just so cute. “Yeah. I was thinking like a date.”

You blushed then, looking down for a minute before you met his gaze again. “Sure. Yeah, I’d love to.”

Steve’s smile grew. “Yeah? How about Friday night? At 7?”

“Sounds good,” you answered, butterflies in your stomach already.

“Well, I’ll see you then,” Steve said, the grin staying on his lips as he turned and walked back towards the front door. “Later!” he called as if both to you and Dustin, before he was out the door.

You waited a full minute after he left before you grabbed a pillow from the couch and pressed your face into it, screaming and kicking your feet.

Dustin came running into the living room.

“Did he do it???”

—

When Friday rolled around, you spent the entire day freaking out about the date. You started getting ready early in the day, starting with a shower, where you took the time to thoroughly shave, not missing a single spot. You dried your hair afterwards and spent ages styling it until it laid just right. You went with a more natural makeup look, which took a lot more time than it looks like. You finally dressed in a short brown skirt and white top.

Dustin was excited for your date with Steve, but even he was at his limit by the time you got ready. He was sick of you staring at yourself in the mirror and asking his opinion on a million different outfit combinations.

When the doorbell rang, you were still looking in the mirror, making last minute touches to your appearance. Dustin answered the door, a huge grin on his face.

Steve stood there, looking nervous and handsome. He wore a button down shirt and jeans, his hair styled perfectly. He held a bouquet of roses in his hand. Dustin just looked at him with that dopey smile on his face.

“Hey,” Steve greeted. “Is your sister ready?”

“Yeah,” Dustin answered, moving out of the way to let Steve inside. “She’s been done for at least an hour already but she won’t stop looking at herself in the mirror.”

Dustin yelled for you as he followed Steve into the living room. Your heart beat hard in your chest as you took one last look in the mirror before leaving your room.

Steve’s breath hitched in his throat when he saw you - you always had that kind of effect on him, but you looked especially beautiful tonight.

Steve told you so as you approached, and you smiled and blushed as you took the bouquet from his hand. Your fingers brushed against his as you took it, and it sent jolts of electricity through your whole body.

You brought the flowers to your nose, smelling them - they smelled lovely, fresh - before you said, “I should go get these in some water,” and scurried off to the kitchen.

Steve could hear the sound of water running moments later, and Dustin would not stop smiling at him like a crazy person. You were back before they knew it, smoothing down a piece of your hair as you walked.

“Ready to go?” Steve asked, holding out his arm for you.

You smiled as you linked your arm with his, and then the two of you were headed towards the door.

“You kids have fun! Don’t do anything too crazy!” Dustin called after you.

You rolled your eyes but laughed as you left the house. Steve smiled and shook his head, leading you towards his car parked against the road.

He opened the passenger door for you, and you smiled at him as you climbed in. You buckled your seatbelt as he walked around the front of the car, and you couldn’t help but admire just how handsome he was as he walked in front of you.

He climbed into the driver’s seat next to you, giving you a quick smile before he got himself buckled and started the car. He turned some music on, quiet enough that you could talk over it.

“So, where are we going?” you asked him as he pulled onto the road and began driving.

“I was thinking we could grab something to eat and see a movie? That is if you’re not tired of movies, working at the theater and all,” he said, suddenly second guessing his choice of a date.

“I don’t think I could ever get tired of movies,” you said, reassuring him. “I actually haven’t even seen one in a while.”

Steve smiled, your words making him feel better. “Well, good. I thought we’d see the movie first so we could talk about it over dinner.”

You smiled at the thought he’d put into this, the butterflies in your stomach going crazy. You resisted the urge to reach out and touch his hair.

The drive to the theater wasn’t long, its proximity to the house was a factor in you applying there in the first place since you didn’t have a car yet. Steve pulled into a parking spot, killing the engine and turning to you.

“We have options,” he said, before he began listing all the different movies playing.

“Day of the Dead!” you exclaimed when that option came out of his mouth. You didn’t need to hear any more. “I’ve been dying to see that one.”

Steve smiled. “Yeah? You’re into horror movies?”

“They’re my favorite,” you said, which made his smile grow wider.

“That’s cool,” he said genuinely, and then he was climbing out of the car, quickly jogging to your side to open your door before you could do it yourself. You couldn’t help but giggle at his effort. He was being so cute, a total gentleman.

“Plus I can hold you if you get scared,” he said, grin still on his lips as you took his hand and climbed out of the car. “Or you can hold me if I get scared.”

You laughed, which only made him smile bigger.

The two of you walked towards the ticket counter, and Steve bought and paid for your tickets. Your friend and coworker, Alice, was working the ticket counter, and she gave you a sly grin as she handed the tickets over.

“Have fun, you two,” she said, with an obvious double meaning to her words. You blushed, knowing there would be questions at work. Steve didn’t miss the teasing, either.

He encouraged you to pick whatever you wanted from concessions. You got a large popcorn to share, you each got a soda, and you both picked out your favorite candies. You weren’t sure if he was going to be paying, so you brought money with you, but Steve didn’t even hesitate to pay for everything himself.

Steve had the huge tub of popcorn and a million snacks balanced in his arms as you carried the two drinks to the theater. You were relieved that it wasn’t crowded, and you found two seats together towards the back that gave you privacy and had a great view of the screen.

You got settled next to each other, drinks in the cup holders and snacks distributed between you, and you realized just how close he was. His knee brushed against yours, the rough feeling of his jeans against your bare skin sending chills through your body.

The movie began, and you shared the popcorn, your hands brushing together whenever you’d reach for some at the same time. It would send a jolt through your body, and the way his eyes would dart to yours made your heart speed up.

You were loving the movie, it was just as good as you had hoped. About halfway through, Steve shifts closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. It’s the oldest trick in the book, but it makes you smile, and you shift further into his embrace, which makes him squeeze your shoulder.

You have an even better time watching the movie snuggled up against Steve’s side. You take in just how good he smells, something you had never thought about before, but of course he was perfect in every way.

By the end of the movie, your nerves had gone, comforted by the feeling of being pressed up against Steve. It felt right, like it was where you had always belonged.

“What did you think?” Steve asked as the credits rolled and the lights came back on in the theater. He gathered up the trash from your snacks.

“I loved it,” you answered honestly, standing as he did. “The special effects were so cool.”

“Definitely,” Steve agreed with you. “That part where they pulled that guy apart was crazy.”

The two of you left the theater, dropping your trash in the can on the way out. As you walked together out of the building, Steve reached down and grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers. It surprised you, but you certainly didn’t mind, holding his hand back and smiling to yourself.

Steve opened the door for you again before he climbed in on his side. You had been chatting about the movie since it ended, both of you having enjoyed it a lot.

Steve began driving again. “What are you in the mood to eat? I had somewhere in mind, but if you want something specific, we could go anywhere…”

“I’m sure whatever you picked out is perfect,” you gripped his hand over the center console, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

He smiled back at you. He loved the way you always put him at ease, even when he was so nervous about impressing you.

Steve pulled into the parking lot of a steakhouse. Not too fancy, but not super casual either. Despite the theater snacks, you felt your stomach grumbling at the idea of getting something good to eat.

“They have all kinds of stuff here, if you’re not into steak,” Steve said quickly as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

“I’m a big fan of steak,” you laughed. You were already thinking about what you’d order.

You waited for Steve to come around this time because you knew he’d want to open your door for you. He helped you out again, and the two of you walked hand in hand into the restaurant.

The hostess greeted you both with a big smile. “Just 2?” she asked, which Steve confirmed. She led you to a booth, giving you both a menu.

“This place is nice,” you complimented as you opened up your menu, examining the many options.

“Yeah, I’ve been here with my parents a few times, it’s good,” he said, looking over his own menu before he looked at you again, smiling. “Never brought a girl here, though.”

Knowing you were the first girl he’d brought on a date here made you feel something. You didn’t consider yourself to be a jealous person, but you had been jealous when Steve dated Nancy. You didn’t love the idea of Steve with other girls, so the knowledge that this was new territory for him too made you smile.

Your waiter came by and took your drink orders. You looked over the menu for a while longer before you were satisfied you knew what you wanted.

You were in a deep discussion about the movie when the waiter came back to take your orders. You ordered a steak, of course, with fries. Steve ordered the same thing, shooting you a smirk.

“You look beautiful tonight, by the way,” Steve complimented when your plates were placed in front of you. “I think I already said that tonight, but I couldn’t tell you enough times.”

You blushed as you looked down at your food. “Thank you,” you said. “You look really handsome. I mean, you always do.”

Steve smiled bigger at that, beginning to cut up his steak. “I always do, huh?”

Your blush grew deeper. You didn’t mean to make it sound like you had been obsessed with him, even though you have.

“You always look beautiful,” he added softly.

That made your heart flutter in your chest. He had noticed you. You always thought he didn’t know you existed.

You ate together, talking about the movie, other movies you liked, how your summers had been going, all kinds of things. Steve made you laugh a lot. He was so naturally funny, and he’d really become more of himself since school ended. He didn’t care so much about being popular and impressing his friends and looking cool. He just cared about being authentic.

When dinner was over, Steve got the check before you even had a chance to see how much it was. You offered to pay half, but he shut you down quickly.

Back in the car, he drove with one hand, intertwining his free hand with yours over the center console. You sang along to music together on the way home, and you thought this may have been the best night of your life so far.

Steve pulled up outside your house, turning the car off.

“I really had an amazing time,” he said, turning to look at you. “You’re so great to spend time with.”

You smiled at him, your cheeks heating. “I had an amazing time too, Steve.”

Steve grinned at you. He placed a hand gently on your cheek, his thumb caressing the soft skin there.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen…” he mumbled, almost as if only to himself.

You didn’t know what to say to that. You didn’t think he could have possibly meant it, but his face and eyes show only sincerity. It makes your heart thump harder in your chest as you look into his eyes.

He leaned in, slowly, giving you ample time to push him away. You don’t, of course. You never realized how kissable his lips were until you were this close.

His lips pressed against yours, and they felt so soft. You practically melted into his kiss, your lips moving against his as you kissed him back eagerly. He led the kiss, being more experienced than you were, you gladly let him.

You could have kissed him all night, you think, but your mom was home now and she’d be coming out to check on you if you lingered in the car for too long.

Steve finally pulled away, looking at you with adoration in his eyes. His thumb traced over your lips, wet from his kisses.

“I want to see you again,” he said, his eyes finally moving from your lips back up to your eyes. “Soon.”

“I’d like that,” you said. You were surprised how weak your voice sounded, you cleared your throat.

“Are you free tomorrow?” he asked.

“Tomorrow?” you raised your eyebrows. “Uh…yeah. I’m off work tomorrow, too.”

Steve smiled. “Good. Me too. I’ll come pick you up at around 12, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” you smiled.

Steve opened your door for you one last time before he walked you to your front door. He leaned in and placed one more quick kiss to your lips. “See you tomorrow,” he said.

“See you tomorrow,” you echoed back to him, and then you let yourself into the house, giving him a little wave as he turned to walk back to his car.

You sighed as you entered the house, feeling like you’d been holding your breath all evening. You couldn’t wipe the dreamy grin off your face.

The living room lamp turning on and Dustin speaking nearly made you jump out of your skin.

“Tell me everything.”

#steve harrington #steve #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #joe keery #keeryhours writes #steve harrington x you #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve stranger things #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things imagine

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gimmethatagustd · 10 days ago

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marry me (again & again) | pjm

How many times does your best friend need to propose to you before you actually believe him when he says he’s in love with you?

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Genre/Trope: Friends to lovers, fluff, humor

Word Count: 2,244

Content Warning: They’re liars and scammers!! (just like me)

A/N: When I first posted this, it had been my first attempt at being "cute and funny" lmfaooo

Soundtrack: WayV (TEN & YANGYANG) - Low Low

Jimin stood in your bedroom, admiring himself in the mirror. He looked good, too good. He’d styled his hair to look windswept over his forehead, a few blonde strands dropping down, giving him a little Johnny Depp Cry-Baby action. In his hand was a lint roller he used to tidy up the black suit jacket he had tossed over a crisp white button-up. His eyes strayed from his reflection to watch yours as you stepped out of the bathroom. The two of you locked eyes in the mirror, and he shot you a large grin.

“You look nice.”

“You better think so, or you’re going to dinner by yourself.” You gave him an exaggerated twirl in the rose gold minidress you wore and flicked Jimin on the back of the head as you walked past him to pick out a pair of heels from your closet.

“Hey, watch it! This is precious merchandise.”

“Oh really? And who exactly is buying?” You gave your friend a challenging look, waving your hands around to emphasize the fact that the two of you were alone in your apartment.

“Actually, I was just over at Mia’s apartment last night-”

“Ew, stop. I don’t want to hear about that.” You gagged, clutching your stomach, and Jimin rolled his eyes. “Let’s just go.” The two of you had perfected the art of getting free food at expensive restaurants. The plan was quite simple, and it was a wonder why people didn’t do it more often. All you had to do was fake a proposal.

“Did you remember to bring the ring?” You followed Jimin into the restaurant. It was small, but if the chandelier told you anything, it was that the customers here had deep pockets.

“Obviously. I’m a professional at this point.”

The ring was a modest diamond you’d received as a gift from your mother, but it was nice enough to look like a simple engagement ring. Jimin kept it hidden in his suit jacket in a red velvet box until about halfway through dinner. Then he would announce to the entire restaurant that he was proposing. Cue the cheers, clapping, crying. Cue the waitress offering dinner or dessert for free.

The hardest part was making sure you didn’t hit too many restaurants in the same proximity back to back.

Today was Valentine’s Day, which added to the overall dramatics of your ruse, and neither of you had dates anyway. Apparently Mia wasn’t at Valentine’s Day level yet. Not that Jimin was the type to seriously date.

“Since it’s Valentine’s Day you need to put more effort into your ‘yes’,” Jimin leaned close when he spoke. “Last time your performance was lackluster and I felt embarrassed.”

“Lackluster?” you scoffed, elbows resting in front of your steak on the table. “I’m so offended right now. Plus why are you even embarrassed? It’s not real.”

“But they don’t know that!” he subtly gestured to the rest of the restaurant’s customers.

“Fine, babe. I’ll give you the biggest heart eyes I can.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m gonna do it now.”

Jimin stood up and smoothed out his dress shirt. His suit jacket was slung across the back of his chair and he had his sleeves rolled up his forearms. You hated the way your heart fluttered when he turned on his acting face because, damn, he was good. The way he stared down at you with such adoration in his eyes could have fooled even his own mother. Every time you had to remind yourself that this was for fun.

“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner.”

The room fell silent and you thanked God Jimin was great at public speaking. You were sure you’d have passed out if someone told you you’d have to get the attention of an entire room of strangers.

“Babe, what are you doing?” You gave him your best giggle and tugged lightly at his shirt.

“On Valentine’s Day three years ago I met the love of my life,” Jimin began, and you almost believed him, the way his eyes turned into happy half-moons as he smiled down at you. Except the two of you had grown up together, so you couldn’t even remember the first day you met. “Baby, I know you hate being put on the spot like this, but keeping quiet about my feelings for you is impossible.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. You did hate being put on the spot. You didn’t have to fake the shyness you felt at that moment.

“From the moment I met you, I knew the universe had done something special to bring us together.” Now he was just laying it on thick. “No matter what we’ve been through, you’ve been my solace, what grounds me. Others might have doubted our love, but I’d bet on it every day of my life.”

His speech was going on a lot longer than usual, though he had said Valentine’s Day meant needing a more believable performance. You watched him with doe eyes and your hands clasped against your chest in what you hoped was a blissful look of anticipation.

“You shy away from my affection sometimes, thinking it’s impossible for someone to care for you as deeply as I do…”

Ouch. Was he really using your abandonment issues as inspiration for this speech? And to think you called him your best friend.

“But baby, you deserve more love than even I can give you. More love than anyone in the world could provide. So knowing that, I can only humbly ask if you would allow me to spend the rest of my life trying to give you as much love as I possibly can.”

This was the part that always got the butterflies in a tornado bumbling around your stomach. Jimin bent down on one knee and presented your mother’s ring. You heard a few gasps throughout the room.

“Will you marry me?” He spoke so gently it would be impossible for anyone else but maybe the table next to you to hear him, but the whole restaurant could certainly see him. You blinked, realizing you’d been staring into Jimin’s eyes a bit too long, almost forgetting that you had a job to do.

“Oh my God, I’m going to start crying,” you cradled Jimin’s face in your palm and used your other hand to wipe away an imaginary tear at the corner of your eye. “Of course I will, baby.”

Jimin’s grin spread from ear to ear as he slipped the ring onto your finger and helped you stand up so he could embrace you in a hug. The majority of the customers began to clap, and you even heard a woman sound like she might have started crying.

“Kiss her!”

A man’s voice boomed over the commotion. His demands seemed to resonate with many others, and before you could figure out how to react there were multiple people chanting, “Kiss her! Kiss her!”

As many times as the two of you had done this little performance, nothing like this had ever happened. You turned to Jimin with wide eyes that your audience assumed was the shyness Jimin mentioned in his speech, rather than your sudden panic. Contrary to what you’d expected, Jimin’s smile was still plastered on his face, perhaps even wider than it had been before the chanting. You could only imagine the teasing he’d unleash on you the moment the two of you left.

“I dunno, babe. Should we put on a show?” Jimin hooked his arm around your waist and pulled you against his chest.

“Wha-”

Jimin didn’t give you the opportunity to finish. Instead, he crashed his lips into yours. If the two of you were going to kiss to appease this unusually obnoxious crowd, you’d assumed a little peck would suffice! You couldn’t have imagined that Jimin would be moving his lips against yours with such vigor that your teeth clicked together. You and Jimin were friends… Never in your life had you ever kissed each other. Hell, you didn’t think you’d ever even held hands before; physical intimacy wasn’t something the two of you shared. Sure, he was gorgeous and smart and athletic and highly entertaining. But he was Jimin. And you were you.

You could feel the tops of your ears getting hot like they always did when you became deeply embarrassed, and Jimin nearly put you into an early grave when you felt his tongue prod the inside of your mouth. His hand slid into your hair to grasp the back of your head and you heard someone whistle.

Perhaps it was the whistle that reminded him that you were standing in the middle of a restaurant with complete strangers around you, but Jimin finally pulled away, the two of you breathing hard. He let you go as applause rippled through the restaurant, and you wondered what alternate universe you’d fallen into.

The owner of the restaurant personally notified you that she was giving you the dinner free of charge as a gift, and Jimin played off the rest of the night just as well as he always did. You had to finish out the night like the proposal had been real, so you wouldn’t seem suspicious. It wasn’t until you slid into the passenger seat of his car at the end of dinner that the air became heavy.

“Jimin,” you began, hands clasped in your lap as you tried to think through how you were going to address the fact that Jimin had somehow made you feel like you were in high school experiencing your first kiss all over again. You felt like your brain was short circuiting.

Jimin turned in his seat to look at you and his gaze seared into yours.

Caught off guard, you began to mentally backtrack what you planned to say. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He leaned over the middle console without a word and brought his mouth to yours again. Your lips fumbled to keep up with his, overwhelmed by the suddenness of his actions. Jimin placed his hand on your thigh to steady himself as he pushed further against you, and you could feel your blood roaring in your ears.

“Jiminah!” you gasped when he broke away again. “What are you doing!”

“What I’ve wanted to do for years.” There was that grin again. “Whoever that guy was just gave me the encouragement I needed to finally go for it.”

You were still dizzy from his kiss and Jimin could see the confusion painted on your face.

“Y/N, I’m in love with you,” he beamed, grabbing your hands in his. “Not for expensive food or to make fun of the capitalist scam that love has become in our society. I’m genuinely in love with you.”

Your mouth fell open and you stared into his bright eyes despite the darkness of the night around you. Every single fake proposal, every declaration of love, every look of pure admiration… It had all been true?

“Don’t joke around with me, Park Jimin. It’s not funny. It’s actually really mean.” You yanked your hands from his and stared out the window into the dark parking lot.

“It’s not a joke, Y/N! I’m serious.” Jimin pressed his fingers against your chin to turn your face back to his. “Cross my heart and hope to look like Edward Scissorhands.”

“Not Edward Scissorhands!” You clasped your hand over your mouth, feeling the tension start to melt from you the more Jimin confessed.

“Exactly. I would rather wake up ugly than lie about my feelings for you, Y/N. I’m tired of confessing over so many dinners and you thinking it’s all fake.”

Considering how seriously Jimin took his status of being the sexy one in your friend group, you knew it was a big deal if he was giving all that up for you. To an outsider, it all probably sounded very stupid, but you were actually starting to feel your eyes burn from the tears that began to slip down your cheeks.

“Jiminah,” you sobbed, grabbing his arm and holding it against you in an odd hug because cars really weren’t the place to be giving people proper hugs. “I would love you even if you looked like Edward Scissorhands.”

Jimin’s lips puckered into a little chuckle. You were so adorable to him, he could barely contain himself. “So you love me?” He almost felt giddy, despite you pouring emotions all over the place.

“Yes, stupid,” you sniffled.

Anyone else might have thought you were being rude, but Jimin was absolutely soaring in the high of those two words. He pried your fingers from his arm and swung his car door open. Stepping out, he spread his arms out to the sky and leaned his head back as far as he could without falling over.

“Y/N L/N LOVES ME!” he hollered into the night sky. A couple walking across the parking lot jumped at his exclamation.

“Jimin! Shh, get back in here! You’re embarrassing me.” You tried to pull him back inside the car, but he was too far for you to reach.

“Leave me alone, this is my moment.”

Rolling your eyes, you watched him holler again and you couldn’t help but smile. He’d said he wanted to spend his life giving you as much love as he could, and you believed him. You really did.

@rkiveslibrary @mar-lo-pap @iadelicacy @likecrazy22

#bts fanfic #bts x reader #jimin x reader #jimin fanfic #bts fluff #jimin fluff #gimmethatagustd #marry me (again & again)

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cuntressgoingdigital · 8 months ago

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free palestine! click this link for more info + dono links

rich! abby who spoils you like her little princess. she has so much money and no one else to spend it on. so why not spend it on her beautiful girlfriend whom she loves more than anything in the world?

you mention breaking the strap on your favorite pair of shoes? new designer pair on your doorstep the very next day. she catches you online shopping? fill up your cart and use her card. after a few years of dating you’re running out of closet space so she buys a whole new condo with a walk in closet just for you.

you’re at a restaurant or bar, she doesn’t even let you look at the bill. and trust this girl is taking you to the most luxurious spots in town!

need your hair and nails done? she’s venmoing you for the cost plus an extra hundred with a transaction note that says:

get yourself something to eat on me <3

she asks you to pick one place, anywhere in the world, that you want to vacation to. the moment you answer she’s already buying tickets and organizing an itinerary.

it was the second night you were there, sitting in the bathroom putting the finishing touches on your hair and makeup when you notice abby was pacing around, clearly anxious.

“you okay, baby?”

she comes around behind you and wraps her arms around your waist. for a moment she just stares at your reflection in the mirror, completely in awe.

“you’re so beautiful.” she softly kisses your cheek.

you couldn’t help but smile at the gesture. “so you’ve said at least a hundred times tonight.”

she was already dressed in her grey button up vest combo and slacks she had forgotten to get tailored before you two left. she felt stiff and stuffy in the outfit, but you had requested a fancy dinner and she intended to deliver.

“fuck, okay i can’t take it anymore” she releases you from her grasp. “hold on, i got you a gift. stay here and close your eyes.” she practically runs off into the other room and you hear her shuffling through her bags.

you raise an eyebrow, unsure of exactly where this was going, but oblige, nonetheless. “abby, can’t it wait until after dinner?”

"no!" she shouts back.

you couldn’t fathom what that girl had stowed away for you. she had peeked over your shoulder while you were looking for a new necklace earlier that week, so you could only assume that’s what it was.

this was by far the most nervous abby had ever been in her life. every situation paled in comparison to this moment.

“okay, turn around and open.”

when your eyes flutter open, you see her awkwardly bent down on one knee. the sight wouldn’t have been so funny if it weren’t for the full suit with no shoes.

for the rest of the trip, everywhere you went she couldn’t stop saying “me and my fiancée”.

when you eventually have the wedding ceremony she’s sparing no expense for her baby. want a destination wedding? you got it. custom designer gown? of course. live band, open bar, and a guest list of however many people you can think of.

anything for her fiancée wife.

just wanted to write something silly and fluffy! reqs are open :)

#abby anderson x reader #nisa rambles #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x y/n

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tobiosbbyghorl · 3 months ago

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Hyper&Chill | psh

act 29: first year anniv!

Sunghoon had been persistent.

For weeks, he had been dropping hints, half-joking, half-serious, about you moving in with him. And for just as long, you had teased him with noncommittal answers, letting him squirm just a little.

But now, after all the playful back-and-forth, you had finally made your decision.

So, for your anniversary gift, you decided to give him what he wanted the most.

—

The day started like any other perfect date.

Sunghoon had insisted on planning it, saying it was his turn to spoil you. He picked you up in his car, looking ridiculously handsome in a black button-up with the sleeves rolled up, his wristwatch peeking from underneath.

“Happy anniversary, LoLove,” he greeted, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead before opening the passenger door for you.

Your heart fluttered. No matter how long you’d been together, he still managed to make you feel giddy.

The date itself was effortlessly romantic—a cozy brunch at your favorite café, a stroll through the park, and then a stop at an arcade where you challenged each other in every game possible.

(Sunghoon, of course, refused to lose and ended up winning you the biggest plushie.)

By the time evening came, he took you to a rooftop restaurant with fairy lights and a city view, holding your hand across the table as you both shared dessert.

And then came his surprise.

“I have something for you,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips.

You blinked. “You do?”

“Of course.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box.

Your eyes widened. “Lolove…”

“Relax, it’s not a ring. Yet.” He smirked as you choked on air, shaking your head at him.

When you opened it, you found a delicate necklace inside, a simple but elegant pendant with your initials intertwined with his.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed, touched by the sentiment.

Sunghoon leaned closer, his voice soft. “Now, you can have me close to your heart always.”

Your heart melted.

But little did he know, his surprise was coming next.

⸻

After dinner, you both returned to his place, where you finally gave him your gift.

You handed him a small box, watching as his brows furrowed in curiosity before he carefully unwrapped it.

Inside, he found a set of duplicate keys.

Attached to them were two custom keychains—one with his initials and yours intertwined, and the other with a tiny engraved date of your anniversary.

Beneath the keys were matching mugs, one labeled “Hoonie’s LoLove” and the other “Y/nie’s Lolove.”

For the first time in a while, Park Sunghoon was speechless.

His lips parted slightly, eyes flickering between you and the keys in his palm, as if trying to process what it meant.

“You…” His voice came out softer than usual. “You’re serious?”

You bit your lip, nodding. “Happy anniversary, Hoon.”

A second passed. Then two.

And then, in the next moment, you found yourself engulfed in his arms, lifted off the ground as he spun you around.

“LoLove, are you serious?!” He laughed, giddy, pulling back just enough to cup your face. “You’re moving in with me?”

You smiled. “I figured you’ve waited long enough.”

Sunghoon let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head before pressing his forehead against yours.

“You have no idea how happy this makes me,” he murmured.

And just like that, he kissed you—soft and slow, pouring every ounce of his excitement, his love, and his happiness into it.

Best. Anniversary. Ever.

taglist: @iboughtnjz @rikidaze @pocketzlocket @jaerisdiction @ijustwannareadstuff20 @doririsstuff z@whateveridontcarsheesh @rikifever @firstclassjaylee @jayhoonvroom @veilstqr

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rissierjrie

a/n: hi!! i miss them so i updated!! hope you liked it!

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yanyandam · 3 months ago

Note

can you do maybe bonten with taking care of drunk reader? like they wrre at a club or something and the reader got drunk.

HIIII thank you for requesting, this is pretty rushed but I hope it fits what you were imagining!

BONTEN TAKING CARE OF A DRUNK!READER

It’s a late, smoky night at one of the clubs the brothers own, neon lights flickering across velvet couches, bass thudding through the floor, perfume and alcohol clinging to the air. The VIP section is roped off and dimly lit, a place for them and no one else. You're slumped on a leather couch, flushed cheeks, head spinning, a half-finished cocktail still in hand. You’ve been downing drinks all night, your mind's been a storm for hours.

Mikey steps in, dead quiet. Black shirt half-buttoned, his eyes land on you slumped over. He sighs. Not irritated. Not surprised. Just… tired. He kneels down in front of you slowly, brushing some hair from your face. His voice is gravel: “What the fuck are you doing to yourself?” There’s no heat behind it. Just a strange, hollow concern. He knows what it’s like to want to disappear in a bottle. You murmur something incoherent and laugh. He watches you for a moment, then gently takes the drink from your hand and sets it aside. “Don’t be like me,” he mutters, barely audible, and sits beside you. He doesn’t touch you again, but he stays close. Protective in silence.

Sanzu laughs when he sees you. A cold, sharp laugh. “You serious right now?” He crouches beside you, eyes scanning your drunken, slumped frame. “You look pathetic. Damn near drooling.” But then he stops. His gaze lingers longer than usual. There's a flicker of discomfort in his eyes. "You can’t handle this world like that, sweetheart," he says, low. “You gonna end up face down somewhere if you’re not careful.” He holds your wrist subconsciously. "You're lucky it was me who found you.” He tosses his jacket over your shoulders. Rough, but real.

Kakucho enters quietly, hands in pockets, that blank face of his not giving much away. He sees you wobbling in your seat, giggling to yourself and trying to stand up. You almost trip over your own feet. He catches you smoothly before you fall. “Careful.” He sits you down again, kneels in front of you, eyes calm but distant. "You’ve had a rough week. But this isn’t the way. You know that." He takes a napkin, gently wipes some smudged makeup from under your eyes. He doesn't smile. But he stays by your side the whole night, quiet and steady.

Kokonoi’s pissed. But not at you, at whoever let you get like this. “Why the fuck didn’t anyone stop them?” he growls, glaring at the club staff. He storms over, takes one look at your glassy stare and flushed cheeks, and sighs through his teeth. Loosens his tie, sits beside you. “Hey. Look at me. You good?” You blink, tear up a little, and whisper some gibberish He chuckles: a low, surprising sound. He pulls your head onto his shoulder and mutters: “You don’t get to fall apart. Not alone.” He stays with you, making calls, clearing your schedule for the next day.

Mochi panics when he sees you. Full-on baby deer in headlights. “Ah—fuck! Are you okay? Did someone touch you? Say something weird??” You hiccup and look at him like he’s got three heads. He kneels in front of you, his hands fluttering uselessly in the air. "You drank that much? You gotta eat something, c’mon. You’ll puke all over my shoes." He drags you into a corner booth, orders food, water and frowns like a worried mom. "Next time, call me before it gets this bad!" He’s warm. A little frantic. But you feel safe in his hands.

He owns the place. Of course Ran saw you on the security cams. “Fucking hell…” he mutters, pushing through the crowd. He finds you slumped in VIP, eyes barely open, legs curled up on the couch. He clicks his tongue and waves off a server. “Water. Strong coffee. Towels.” He crouches beside you, brushing a thumb over your cheek. "You trying to ruin that pretty face? No way I’m letting some drunk mess up my best customer.” Smirking, but worried underneath. “Rest a bit, alright? I got you.”

Rindou arrives, annoyed. “Seriously?” But when he sees your head nodding, eyes hazy, shirt half slipping off your shoulder, his breath catches. He mutters, "You're an idiot. Dumb, pretty idiot." He grabs your waist, pulls you to your feet, and wraps an arm around you. “Don’t scare me like that again.” You blink up at him. “You were scared?” He rolls his eyes, face red. “Shut up and walk.” But he never lets go of you all night.

#tokyo revengers #rindou haitani #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev x you #haitani brothers #ran haitani #kakucho #hajime kokonoi #kokonoi hajime #tokyo revengers x reader #bonten gang #bonten kokonoi #tokyo revengers bonten #bonten tokyo revengers #bonten x reader #kanji mochizuki #manjiro sano #sanzu haruchiyo

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venuiscmind · 1 year ago

Text

Bartender!Ellie & Co-Worker!Ellie <3.

Just some headcannons for the 3-5 part series im cooking up since I finally have time to write!!! Please show some love for this as it will really motivate me to write more for this. Smut below!

read this.

w.c 1.1k

Bartender! Ellie who has you stunned the first day you see her in her all black, tight, fitted uniform. Sleeves rolled up to her veiny, tattooed forearms, dripping with the syrup from the cocktails she was shaking over her shoulders. Dark, black pants that fit her legs perfectly as she moves around the bar.

Bartender! Ellie who keeps her eyes fixed on you while you bend down to hear a customer's order in the busy and loud bar. You turn feeling eyes on you but only see Ellie turning back to pour a drink for a customer.

Bartender! Ellie who gradually opens the buttons of her black shirt during her shift when it gets too hot, showing off the pale but flushed and sweaty skin underneath, adorned with glinting silver chains.

Bartender! Ellie who flirts back with all the pretty girls who press themselves against the bar trying to give her their number. (She throws them out after every shift because they’re lacking something she can't place).

Bartender! Ellie who is immediately in the face of a man who has stepped a little too close to you and has gotten too loud and rude for her liking.

Bartender! Ellie who drives a pretty, sleek car to work and is constantly offering you rides to and from work because you shouldn't have to worry about driving yourself.

Bartender! Ellie who keeps you up till 5am after your shift texting you about anything and everything she could think of to keep you talking, all because she liked hearing you talk.

Bartender! Ellie who pull off her shirt over her head and immediately sinks against the heat of the shower but can't get you out of her head for some reason.

Bartender! Ellie who is constantly offering to make you drinks after your shift when the bar has been closed down, leaving only the two of you to lock up together.

Bartender! Ellie who has to keep her eyes focused on pouring your drink instead of looking at the curves of your form sitting up on the top of the dark marble counter. Her heart (and other places) flutter seeing you like this.

Bartender! Ellie who's tattoo flexes while she clenches her fists when you're not looking, trying to keep herself grounded while she watches your legs cross atop the bar, something she would never be able to catch if she hadn't secretely swapped shifts to be able to lock up with you.

Bartender! Ellie who takes off her apron and button up shirt to change into a loose dark hoodie that makes you swallow hard. She pulls up her hood letting loose tendrils of hair fall out of it before manspreading and turning her keys in the ignition.

Bartender! Ellie who keeps on the silver rings she wears during her shift to clench the steering wheel as she speeds into your neighbourhood blaring music with the windows open at 4am after work. (She later swears she wasn't even driving that fast).

Bartender! Ellie who has to take a breath when you invite her into your house which is impossibly tidy and she actually offers to take off her shoes because of this.

Bartender! Ellie who has to hold back her questions of whether she can marry you or not when you offer her glasses of water and bits of food you can scrounge up for her.

Bartender! Ellie who stares at you, feeling her pupils dilate and her breathing turn rough just looking at you standing in your kitchen.

Bartender! Ellie who stands up and hooks her arms around your middle and rests her head on your shoulder as you do the dishes at 5am.

Bartender! Ellie who begs you to "please tell me I'm not the only one who feels like this because I can't keep ignoring this because fu-".

Bartender! Ellie who is shocked when you turn around to put her face in your hands and smile at her, inches from her face, stroking lovingly. When she slowly moves forward you pull back an inch wanting to savour this look on her face, basking in the mutual desire that you both felt.

Bartender! Ellie who whispers " are you sure"? against your lips with her green eyes boring into your own. You nod, and murmur "Yes ellie, I've been sure for weeks" and press your soft lips into her soft and slightly chapped lips.

Bartender! Ellie who has to move her hands from your hips to the counter to steady herself once she allows herself to give into the sensation of kissing you. She can't think with her hand and mouth full of you, and only you.

Bartender! Ellie who pulls back and finds herself being pulled into your bedroom, your fingers interlaced with hers, never leaving her seperated from you again.

Bartender! Ellie who sits back on your bed, watching in awe of the woman before her, as you strip off your work shirt and pants, leaving you in your soft underwear in the light of dawn, peaking through your curtains.

Bartender! Ellie who grips your hips like her life depends on it when you climb into her lap and lies back against the sheets, face and skin turning pink as you press yourself against her toned body.

Bartender! Ellie who lets you strip her down in kind and lets you kiss down between her tits, pawing at them as you press your lips against the soaked spot on her black boxers. She has to remember to breathe when you pull them down leaving her in nothing.

Bartender! Ellie who feels exposed and vulnerable, shaking underneath you while you lick and slurp against her soaked pussy, tasting her like she was the sweetest thing in the world.

Bartender! Ellie who groans out "oh fuck me, right there"- and holds your head gently against her clit when you suck on that spot that has her arching off the bed, her eyes rolling back into her skull. She wraps her legs around your head and shoulders and begs, actually begs you not to stop because she is so fucking close to cumming all over your tongue.

Bartender! Ellie who forgets to breathe again when she feels your fingers press against her slicked and soaked entrance and push into her causing her to melt, shake and press against you to push them deeper inside of her.

Bartender! Ellie who cums when you suck just at the right time with your fingers pushing in and out of her, hitting that sweet spot in her over and over.

Bartender! Ellie who pulls you up by then chin to kiss you, and taste herself fom your mouth and brings your hand up to your lips to taste her again. She then kisses you deeper than you had ever been kissed, tongue invanding your senses until all you can think of is her and her only.

LOL i actually got so horny writing this but hope you enjoyed!!! more to come very soon i promise <;3. - Venuis!

Btw asks and submissions are open so give me some inspo plsplspls xxxx

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honeyinthesummer · 3 months ago

Text

VIDEO PHONE — rafe cameron.

warnings: nsfw, f!reader, reader is a sex worker, 1.2k words.

SUMMARY: Out of impulse and lust, you decided to film yourself on Rafe's phone.

What you're about to do is way above your pay grade.

Rafe is specific in what he wants. You've never tried it out with him; he hasn't asked you to, but you just feel like it. It's one of those early mornings when he allowed you to stay over at Tannyhill, your favorite client, probably in his father's home office drowning in paperwork.

You spot his phone getting charged by the corner, and you feel like Rafe won't be coming up soon, so you take that as a sign to do it. Standing up, you swiftly locked the door before prepping with a quick bath.

It wasn't clicking the record button the hardest thing to do; it was choosing the right angle that compliments you. Ultimately, you lean his phone against a pile of pillows by the foot of the bed, press record, and prop yourself against the headboard. Fingers fidgeting and taking off your purple lacy set that Rafe is obsessed with, your toes curling in anticipation, you start the show.

It took you longer than you expected, but you sensed he would appreciate the extra few minutes of the footage. Stuffing three fingers in your hole, you attempt to mimic the way Rafe fingers you, but it's just not enough, and now you have your other hand rubbing circles in your clit, the sensation leaving you panting and overwhelmed.

"Need you, Rafey..." you moaned just enough for the phone to capture, your legs closing in now and then due to the pleasure. It takes all of your might to keep your thighs apart. The windows of his room were slightly ajar, causing the curtains to flutter, and the sunshine gave the most natural lighting for your video. The sunrays hit your skin warmly, the light helping you appear blissful and extra erotic, the essence leaking out your cunt and dripping down your thighs being highlighted.

Screw Rafe for fucking you so good you can't bear to do it alone anymore.

Taking out your fingers, you sat on your heels, watching yourself on the phone as you lustfully lick your digits, releasing them with a wet pop. You crawled forward, taking a pillow from the pile behind the camera, your tits swaying at your every move. You returned to the center of the frame, folding the pillow, and let the stiffer part settle right below your cunt.

You whimper at the feeling, a wet patch forming in the spot you're sitting on, the black pillowcase now extra shiny. You take it off below you before facing the camera sideways and sitting on it again, letting Rafe see how your back arches.

It was pure filth. The way you were a moaning mess, your aggressive grinding on his pillow, and now you can feel it. You sat once again to face the camera, opening your legs as your fingers played with your pussy, letting the camera film the exact moment you felt your high, leaving your middle finger in to fuck yourself to prolong your orgasm, overstimulating yourself in the process. You moan and grunt Rafe's name, along with the strings of "please, sir" to rile him up.

Finished with your stunt, you charged his phone again, put his sheets in the laundry, and bathed. You noticed the hard cash he left by the bedside table for your service last night, grabbing it before heading out, afraid to face Rafe after what you did.

It wasn't like you needed to kiss him goodbye. After all, he's your client, not your boyfriend, even if the lines in between in the past few days have become blurry.

You told your regulars not to text you for a week as you will spend some time with your family outside the island, in your hometown. Your favorite and most demanding customer, of course, disagreed, and you swear he's masking his true feelings under the pretense that he doesn't want to be denied pleasure whenever he wants. That's why you did it, leaving him some souvenir for when he misses you, which you hoped he would.

But he didn't text you, though. Not a single letter, not even a call, makes you spiral whenever you're out of your family's view. He probably didn't check his gallery, just skimmed over your video, or maybe he has seen it and sent it to his kook friends, laughing and reeling at your desperation.

At some point, you decided not to return to the island. If you would, you would just ghost Rafe, not bothering to tell him you came back. But guess who's waiting by the docks, shades on and leaning against the hood of his black cruiser? Ignoring how your chest thumps in nervousness, you approach him, your grip on your bags tight.

You don't know how it led to this, but you're certainly not complaining. Because here is Rafe right now between your legs, one hand behind your thigh to fold it up your chest, the other lining his cock to your entrance. You whine at the feeling, begging him to just fuck you already.

"So fucking needy, dollface," he says breathlessly. "So. fucking. needy." Each word he stressed was equal to a single thrust into you. When he bottoms out, Rafe adjusts your position. He sits on his heels and wraps your legs around his waist, grabbing his phone to record where you guys connect, capturing how your precum eases him, sliding in and out.

And with one hand on your hips as leverage, Rafe pounds into you mercilessly, the noise of his cock abusing your cervix filling the room.

"This is what you're after that day, baby?" he grunts, bringing his phone closer to your cunt, watching on the screen how you take him so well, your pussy all wet and bruised. "Three fingers? You think three fingers is enough to make it feel like my cock?" You blissfully nodded, and he laughed at your reaction. You bring down your hand, one to toy with your clit, your digits applying more pressure, and the other hand pressing down on the bulge of your tummy every time Rafe thrusts in.

He doesn't let you come quickly, oh no. Rafe was pissed you did such a thing behind his back, knowing he wants to be there every time you pleasure yourself. Just as you were about to cum, he pulled out of you, making you sit up immediately at the sudden emptiness.

You felt something light hit your face, and now a pillow suddenly rests on your lap. You look at Rafe, confused, who is now standing at the foot of the bed, his cock upright and slapping against his abs, his precum tainting his skin. He ushers to the pillow on your, his hand busy pointing the phone at you with the flash on.

"Show me how you made yourself cum that day, doll. And I might just let you ride me next."

#drew starkey #outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey smut #Spotify

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gyllenhaalstuff · 4 months ago

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Free Sample

- Pilot Kelson ☆

Summary: You meet up with your dealer who offers you a free sample, however this sample does more than relax you.

Warnings: Weed, weed as an aphrodisiac, dry humping, piv sex, unprotected sex, cumplay.

Word count: 1382

Notes: This is a need.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Walking into Pilot’s house was like walking into a club. Dimly lit and filled with smoke, you came back out with 50% less brain cells than you had before you entered.

You sat on his worn-out couch as he yapped about the new strain he was pushing. “Smoked this last night, and I swear I saw God.” He had to hype it up; it was a business after all. “I’ll let you try it out before you pay. You’re a loyal customer after all,” he offered, holding up the small bag. “Why not?” you shrugged. You’d never pass on a free high.

Pilot sat down behind you before propping up the weed and papers on the living room table. His hands worked confidently; he had done this more times than he could count. Your eyes lingered on him as he licked the paper and sealed it before twisting the head.

He lit it up, took a drag, and passed it to you. “This won’t kill me, right?” you asked before accepting it. He shook his head and let out a breathy chuckle. “You’ll be fine.”

And he hadn’t been lying; this was good stuff. “Aren’t you wasting money by doing this?” You weren’t complaining; it was just a bit unusual for a dealer to give out free samples like this. “Doing this with you is not a waste,” he said as smoke pillowed out of his mouth. He smiled, and his heavy eyes thinned even further.

Your legs were turning into spaghetti, and a chill ran down your spine. “This is really good,” you pointed out. You had no idea how you were going to drive home in this state. “Turns you on too,” he joked, or so you thought. But it slowly started sinking in.

He put it out on the ashtray and let his head tilt back against the cushion. “I can’t drive like this,” you said, half laughing. “Guess you have to stay a bit then.” Pilot turned to the side to look at you. His eyes flickered up and down.

“You weren’t lying,” you said, looking back at him. “About what?” He grinned. “About it turning you on,” you admitted unashamedly, something you wouldn’t have done in a clear state. “That’s something I could help with,” he spat back; the hope building in his chest ran straight down to his cock.

“Yeah?” You looked at his lips, red and slightly agape. “Yeah,” he nodded before closing the space between you. It was sloppy from the start, but slow. It felt as if your mouths melted together into one as his tongue grazed yours. Your thighs clenched without you meaning to. Pilot’s hand went to and settled at your waist, covered by nothing as the hot California sun had forced you into a crop top earlier that day.

You moved to sit on his lap. It all felt automatic, like your brain had checked out for the time being and your body had its own conscience. His hands grabbed at your hips and pulled you down against the tent in his pants. Even though his muscles felt slack, the grip he had on you was strong.

His thumbs went inside your waistband. “I want them off,” he breathed out against your swollen lips. You undid the button of your shorts and pulled them off before leaning down to kiss him again. His cargo pants rubbed against your clit, still covered by your thin cotton underwear. Your breathing gained a voice, and you moaned into Pilot’s mouth. This seemed to spur him on further, and he bucked his hips up against you.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted you,” he mumbled and moved down to kiss your neck. He mouthed at your skin, and his saliva cooled you down as the air hit it, sending shivers through your body. His mouth reached your neckline, and he pulled your top off, exposing your tits. He gawked at them before placing his tongue on one of your nipples. The taste of your sweat drove him wild, and he felt as if he’d explode.

Your eyes fluttered as he bit down on your sensitive skin, and you involuntarily rolled your hips against him. “You’re gonna have to get undressed; I feel exposed here,” you half-joked.

He proved to be a man of action. He sat up straight and tore his t-shirt off and started unzipping his pants. “You’re very obedient,” you teased, making him blush. “As long as it gets me where I want,” he responded and pressed his clothed cock against your clit. He smiled boyishly as your eyes closed in pleasure.

You moved your underwear to the side. Shame had left you long ago, and all that remained was desperation. Your wetness left a damp spot on Pilot’s underwear as you rolled against him. You almost forgot he was there, as if you were humping a pillow or your hand.

Pilot broke your trance by pulling his underwear down enough to free his cock. It slapped against his pale stomach, dripping precum. Your hips lowered back down, and you covered his shaft with your juices. It slid between your folds, and with each roll, it threatened to slip inside you.

“Don’t be mean,” Pilot whined. “I gave you a free sample, didn’t I?” You smiled at his desperation. It was sweet. You lined him up before sinking down on him. Pilot dug his nails into your skin as he tried his best to gather himself. “Jesus,” he huffed when you had taken him all in. It bordered on being painful, but the overwhelming pleasure cancelled it out.

“All good?” he checked in. He was a nice guy for being a white trash California dealer. “Just big,” you chuckled, immediately cringing at your choice of words. Though, Pilot didn’t seem to mind. Instead he looked grossly proud.

You started slow, rising before slowly sinking down on him, upping your pace as you went. But your strength wasn’t reliable, and your body quickly turned into a useless lump of jello.

“Can I?” Pilot asked, wanting to take control. You nodded, ashamed of your incompetence. But you quickly forgot about it as he rolled you over on your back. He stood on one level and perched the other on the couch. He placed his hand on your lower belly and pushed himself back in. He shuddered at your grip around him before thrusting again.

The sight from your point of view couldn’t have been better. Pilot's silver chain dangled from his neck, and his baby hairs stuck against his forehead. His brows were knitted together as he concentrated on not instantly cumming. He wasn't going to be a one-minute man.

What were the effects from the joint blurred and Pilot couldn’t tell if he might have gotten high off you too. The room filled with moans and the sound of skin slapping against each other. Your legs wrapped around Pilot’s back in an attempt to make him hit deeper. Your mind was a cloudy mess, and if you were to take a look inside, it’d probably look the same as the room did.

Pilot pulled out before he came. He twisted his hand around the head of his cock a few times before cumming on your belly. He hunched forward as he did, and unintelligible curse words fell from his lips. He didn’t waste any time before running his fingers over his cum and placing his wet digits on your clit, rubbing circles against you.

You writhed and trembled beneath him, grateful he cared enough to make you cum too but much too out of it to tell him. Your hips moved against his diligent hand, and whimpers slipped out of you with each breath.

Your legs shook as you came, your whole body tensing before falling through the earth. Poor Pilot didn’t have a single thought in his head and licked a stripe up your cum-covered skin and kissed you deeply, pushing it into your mouth. You accepted and swallowed.

He got you a glass of water from the kitchen. “Will you buy any then?” he asked as he plopped down beside you. “I’d much rather come back for another sample,” you said with a smile and nudged his side, “deal?”

“Deal.”

#jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #jake gyllenhaal fanfiction #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal smut #fanfiction #smut #pilot kelson #pilot kelson smut #pilot kelson fanfiction #pilot kelson fanfic #pilot kelson x reader #highway #highway 2002

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writingoddess1125 · 10 months ago

Text

The Jessica Rabbit Effect (Shorts)

Buggy Headcanon+story. Buggy x Reader

Support me on Ko-Fi

Previous <<< >>> Masterlist

This is a series of random thoughts from the Jessica Rabbit Series

Buggy likes to be the little spoon at times, so if he's had a bad day will cuddle against his darling wife and let her take care of him.

You often have to do Buggy's hair. Since its a wild mess at the best of times when he returns from see its a bit of a ritual for him to shower, get into his favorite pants and sit between your thighs as you brush out his hair.

Has bitten your Thigh- earning a playful smack of the comb

Sometimes he will sing for you- He actually has a lovely singing voice but you'll be the only one to hear it.

Surprisngly decent at cooking- Hes no chef but sure as hell can make one hell of a breakfast sandwich.

YOU are the secret Perv of the relationship, Most would assume its Buggy but its actually You.

You had been stalking your prey for the last 5 minutes, Buggy was currently going through some crates he had kept in the closet- saying something about a old hat of sorts. It was the perfect angle however-

However he was unaware of his wife slowly stepping forwards him as he bent over once more to dig deeper in the box-

Closer...

Maybe right overrr..

Buggy Yelled suddenly as he felt fingers dig into the flesh of his ass as he turned and heard you cackle and quickly dash away as he gives chase.

He often returns from his sailing with gifts of whatever you like. Jewlery? More Sewing stuff? Books? Whatever you want he will snag for you.

You two secretly read raunchy novels together, Sometimes you will send him a book while he is away and he will read it at night before bed. Before sending one of his own-

Often resulting in the two of you speaking about the books in depth when together good or bad-

Buggy Takes care of you since you are more likely to burn out-

EXTRA! (Short Story)

You'd been hard at work, it seemed your business had been really taking off with now your two most demanding customers Sir Mihawk and Sir Crocodile. Who seemed to not only be picky about their fabrics but also seemed to damage their clothes constantly! You'd been busy to say the least.

Right now was no exception, You were standing in the Livingroom of yur home adding a few final buttons to a coat of Sir Crocodile, Letting your mind wonder as you worked tirelessly to have it completed before the morning-

As you worked you felt a hand touch your waist, giving a loud shrill yell as you spun around and swung-

"OW! What the hell!?" Your husbands voice sounded as you managed to whack his nose with a open palm. Buggy seemed to have just sailed in, still in his hat and coat and now rubbing his now sore nose with a frown-

"Im so sorry darling! I didnt realize it was you here let me get a pack for your nose-" You started, still coming down from the fright your husband had given you and went to flutter away to get a ice pack, However Buggy stopped you and pulled you close. Examming your face closely and frowning.

"Forget it- What are you doing up so late anyway? You should still be asleep.. You look tired-"

He grumbled, catching your look of confusion.

"Early? Its only- Um" You look to the large clock and blink in surprise at seeing the time. 1:37am!?

"O-Oh i guess I lost track of time an-"

"Did you eat dinner!?" Buggy cut you off again seeing your little work table and spotting only half finished tea and almost a finished pastry, most likely from the morning before- You bit your lip in embarrassment not even having the voice to say anything at being caught.

With a etched frown Buggy suddenly hoisted you up to his shoulder causing a loud yelp to leave you.

"Buggy!" You yell as you are carried like a sack to your shared master bedroom, red faced from the action.

"Buggy I still have to finish Crocodiles Coat an- EEP!"

A full palmed smack hit your behind from, Buggy- Cutting off your tirade as you felt your brain short circuit for a moment. Buggy walked into the master bathroom and set you on the counter, grumbling to himself as he started up a bath and went to your bedroom to start grabbing clothes.

"Buggy Boo-"

You started again but his hand floated to you and placed a finger to your lips.

"Id start undressing if I were you! Cause If I do it I may get handsy!"

Buggy called out from the bedroom as he grabbed more clothes. His free floating hand making a grabbing motion to your chest as if to give warning- You couldn't help but let a laugh out at this as you pushed his hand away playfully and slid off the countertop and getting undressed.

Setting your clothes in the hamper as Buggy came back in the bathroom with fresh PJs and already in his boxers only. He eyes looking over your figure in desire, Making you blush of course. Setting the clothes down Buggy removed his Boxers with dramatic flare of course and climbed in the water first, turning it off in the process as his other hand detached and guided you in with care. You leaning back against Buggy's chest and sighing in delight at the hot water. The stress already melting away as the two of you sat and soaked.

After a little while the two of you began to wash up, Buggy putting your hair up as the comforting silence and occasional splash of water from rinsing could be heard.

After the two of you smelled like sweet apple soap and the hot water had cooled to warm the both of you got out. Buggy taking the time to dry you off with a big fluffy towel while you braided his hair so it wouldn't tangle.

Getting dressed you walked into the bedroom and plopped onto the bed, starting to finally feel tired as Buggy laid next to you. His hands however leaving the room-

"Better?" Buggy asked as he looked at you, you leaning over and placing a soft kiss on his lips.

"Much, Thank you darling" You smile, just to glance over and see his hands returning with a series of items half hazard. A box of crackers, some cured meat, a few apples and some random half eaten cheese blocks. Paired with a knife of course you assume from his belt.

"Dinner of champions!" Buggy boasted, cracking open the wine bottle and handing it to you, rolling your eyes playfully as you took a sip.

The two of you seated on your marital bed, drinking straight from a wine bottle and eating the simple meal, chatting away about random topics.

"So you think the treasure is further south?" You ask, Buggy nodding as he took another bit of cheese and crackers in his mouth as he spoke with his mouth full cutting some meat for you and passing it over. "I 'Hink Cap Jo'n hit it und'er som' seri's of i'slands sout-" (I think Capt John hid it under some series of islands south).

"A Yellow VELVET Shirt!?" Buggy said dramatically making you laugh as you took some apple into your mouth and nodded. Buggy face scrunching up in disgust. "Come On, I'm a clown and I think that's tacky! Even for Crocodile!" You start to laugh as buggy passes the now half empty bottle to you.

Laughter and Chatter filled the bedroom till around 3am, when Buggy set the leftovers of the impromptu meal on the nightstand, the empty wine bottle on the floor and cuddled you close. Pressing you against his neck as you two felt exhaustion take you.

"Your not working for the next few days.. Gonna Burn Out-" Buggy mumbled as he felt your breath even out and cuddle closer to him. You nod "Fine.. But same goes to you" You yawn, Buggy patting your arm in agreement.

"Deal.. Now sleep" He grumbled closing his eyes.

"I love you Bugs"

"I love you More.."

#x reader #one piece #one peice x reader #one peice live action #buggy one piece #buggy the clown #buggy x reader #op buggy #captain buggy #reader insert #buggy the clown x reader #buggy thoughts #jessica rabbit effect

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scorpioriesling · 11 months ago

Note

Those prompts are so good omg… what if smut 38 and 15 with az !?

Midnights

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Azriel x reader

Warnings: smut, mdni, 18+, oral (fem recieving), mentions of weed and alcohol, pining if you squint

Summary: You absolutely cannot sleep, and of course you're out of all of your usual sleep-remedies. Who would be awake at this hour anyway to ask for help? You don't need to think long -- the answer comes through your phone at the moment you needed it.

SR’s Note: Thank you anon for the request and for your patience -- this uses prompts #15 and #38! Enjoy, xoxo

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Every night it was the same -- you'd always end up being scheduled late at the bar, which of course meant getting home at an ungodly hour, thus leaving you to finally lie down in bed in the very early hours of the morning.

You didn't complain; the cash folded neatly inside your bulging wallet kept you quiet about that, especially considering it was a Friday night and the customers at the bar were feeling rather generous tonight.

Although you made enough in tips on top of what you'd earned each hour, it almost made up for the job at hand. Sure, you'd spent your paid eight hours mixing and whisking away at drinks; but you'd also conversed, brought up the energy, and had to play off the frequent attention you'd recieved shift after shift.

There were only so many responses that you could come up with to "let me get your number, baby!" that were light-hearted and fun, but still dodgy enough that you didn't actually need to give it out. Can't hurt a male's ego too bad, if you piss someone off too much, it could cost you a job.

Overall, it was just exhausting.

Nonetheless -- you flipped back and forth between your sheets, desperately searching for sleep; a concept that seemed just out of reach as your eyes fluttered open for the hundredth time, no matter how many times you'd forced them shut.

Reaching toward your bedside table, you clicked the power button on your phone, the bright screen in your dark room causing you to squint at the intensity. 2:53 AM. Why couldn't you fall asleep?

Sighing, you place your phone in its original spot, flopping onto your back and running a hand over your face. You stare blankly at the ceiling, trying to decide what to do. You'd used the last of the sleepy tea that your best friend gave you -- Nesta swore by it -- and were out of weed, which always relaxed you enough that you may drift off easier.

Nesta was for sure asleep by now. She already chastized you for your plans to not attend training with her in the morning -- forgive you, that you'd choose to spend your Saturday morning sleeping in rather than watch her and her boyfriend pretend not to undress eachother with their eyes, thank you -- so, at this hour, she would be long asleep.

As you're racking your brain, your phone buzzes beside you. You reach for it once more, turning the brightness down to see the screen more clearly.

Wow. A message from the last person you'd expect tonight.

You up?

You read the text again, and again, looking up at the name and back at the gray text bubble to make sure you're seeing straight.

I am...

You stare at your phone screen blankly, waiting a few moments before three little dots pop up.

I can't sleep.

You probably should, you type back. Don't you have to be up early tomorrow?

Considering the sounds from down the hallway... I don't think anyone is going to be awake tomorrow morning for training.

You bite your bottom lip, chewing on the skin. So... Nesta definitely was awake. Awake, but... busy. You could just text her instead, ask her for some more of her tea. She would be able to get it to you, seeing as she isn't getting any shut-eye.

But, instead, you type back.

Want to come over?

✧･ﾟ: *

You're rushing around your bathroom, brushing your hair and spraying yourself with perfume when you hear a light tapping on your window. It's then that you look up, meeting your own eyes in the mirror, and scowl. He's just an acquaintence, you think to yourself. Why stress so much over how you look?

Maybe, because he is handsome.

Come on, you mentally slap yourself. You've met him only a few times anyway. He probably won't even care that much.

But you care. You really care-

It is 3 AM, he will understand.

You continue your mental battle in your head as you nervously pad over to your window, drawing the curtains and pushing the glass up. The moonlight bends around his hulking form -- and you can see his dark, touseled hair shining in the pale light. He tucks his wings behind him, leaning so suddenly close to climb through.

"Hey," he utters. You back up as he squeezes through, grunting when his feet finally hit the floor. You stare at him, looking up and down unabashedly. He has ditched his usual leathers for gray sweats, a cotton black tank, and tennis shoes.

Holy shit-

"Are you just gonna stare at me or..."

Your cheeks heat, and you quickly glance anywhere but him.

"No! Uh, no, I... welcome, uh..." you search for words, and he chuckles.

"You just get off work?" He asks, making way through your room for your living room. You trail behind him, your brow only furrowing slightly that you're following him through your apartment.

"Yes...?" You say. He plops down, making to untie his shoes and get comfy on the cushions. You simply watch in amusement, finding it rather hard to tear your eyes away from his massive biceps-

"Do you always stare or am I just now realizing it?" He teases again, kicking his final shoe off as he adjusts his hips on the couch. His arm lazily drapes over the back of it, and you scoff.

"No," you say defensively. "I am just amused that this is the first time you're in my apartment, and you are acting as if you've been here a hundred times before." You shrug, making way for the fridge.

"You got anything to drink?" He asks, changing the subject immediately. You reach inside, crouching to look between the shelves for anything other than the usual.

"Do you want alcohol? Or just a regular drink?" You ask. Azriel chuckles again, and you poke your head out for just a moment to see him smiling lightly at you and shaking his head.

"Ahh," he sighs. "You're a funny girl, Y/N." You raise an eyebrow.

"Just a normal drink, please. Don't want to be too fucked up if I'm going to try and fly out of here later." He reasons. Your heart sinks just a tiny bit at that, wishing he'd stay.

Don't be delusional.

"Water it is." You pull too bottles from the shelf, tossing one to him. He catches it, uncapping and taking a few long drinks before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. You try not to stare again as you make your way to the couch beside him.

"So..." You say awkwardly, reaching for the remote to click on the TV. "What made you uh," you smile nervously. "What made you text me of all people in the middle of the night?"

Azriel shrugs, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "I mean, I told you about your friend and Cass. I hate when they wait so late to start with... you know... whatever they do," he avoids the word.

"Fucking?" You raise an eyebrow, and his eyes meet yours.

"Uh... yeah. That." He coughs, and you smirk, clicking through the suggested shows on Hulu.

"Still doesn't explain why you came here though. Don't you have like, a million friends? Or, a girlfriend or something? I thought you and-"

"Nahh, nah." He interjects, shaking his head. "Just the Inner Circle. Well, them and now you, I guess, since Nesta started bringin' you around."

Your heart swells, the mini-crush on this handsome male from training only growing with every minute he spends on your couch.

"I knew it'd be quieter here, I guess." He says in finality.

You pause, crossing your legs and turning to face him.

"And, how would you know that?"

"Know... what?" He asks.

"Know it would be quiet here?"

He looks side to side, playing with the silver band on his finger. "I don't know, I mean, why wouldn't it be?"

You frown. "Did you just assume I didn't have some else I was spending my time with?" His head tilts to the side in consideration.

"You know what I mean. Fucking?" A light rosy blush fans across his cheekbones, and he shakes his head.

"No, I uh, I didn't think you had anyone here. I know you didn't, actually, um, Cassian told me-"

"Told you what." You demand, inching closer and closer. The smell of mist and cedar infiltrates your senses, and you have to remind yourself to remain steadfast.

"He... he told me you weren't seeing anybody. Haven't been, for a while, actually." You pause, staring into his hazel eyes that search yours.

"Wait, what?" You say. His hand on the back of the couch slides to meet your bare arm, and you almost shudder at the contact. "W-why would he tell you that?" You ask.

Azriel leans closer, his pupils dilating with every inch he draws nearer. He's so close that you can count every light freckle on his nose, see every fracture of color in his irises -- so close, just an inch or two more and his inviting lips would be on yours.

"Because I asked him. About you." His hand on your shoulder slowly trails up, brushing across your shoulder and snaking down toward your hip. You only now realize the position you're in -- you're practically atop him, he casually leans back against the L-shaped couch, and you've all but crawled between his legs and sat in his lap at this point.

"Why ask..." you trail off, and his other hand moves to brush a fallen strand of hair from your forehead. He smiles softly up at you, his thumb brushing against the swell of your cheek.

"I had to know if I actually had a chance," he whispers, his fingers lightly holding your jaw and pulling you down to him. "Before I did this."

His lips were definitely inviting. Warm, and soft as they slid across yours, fitting perfectly against the skin of your own. He held you firmly, pulling you closer so that you were in fact straddling him as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping across your bottom lip. You allowed him in, your own dancing with his in a tango of passion as his fingers gripped your hip tighter. His other hand roamed downward, first, lightly gripping the column of your throat. You softly moaned into his mouth, and he smiled into the kiss.

His fingers kept travelling, down, down, over the curve of your breast, where he squeezed lightly before finding purchase on your other hipbone. You fingers tangled in his hair, softly skating through the strands as you continued to relish in the taste of him.

"Sweet thing," he pulls back, only slightly breathless as his half-lidded eyes meet yours. You gulp a few lungfuls of air in, and match his gaze, which is focused on your pelvis, unsubconciously moving in small circles atop his lap. He looks up at you again, chuckling before connecting your lips once more.

"You can't," he breaks the kiss for a breath. "...keep doing that..." He goes back in for more, his hands snaking behind you to grip your ass. You squeak, and he grins slyly at you. "...I can't fuck you on the first night, Y/N," he says, his gaze finding yours again. Oh, how good your name sounds coming from his lips...

"You'll see me for more than just one night?" You ask, and his eyes soften as he pulls you in for another quick peck.

"I'd like to see you every night, if you'd allow me." You giggle, and he smiles warmly up at you before pressing a trail of sweet kisses from the corner of your mouth, down your jawline in a descent over the column of your neck. He lightly bites on the junction between your neck and shoulder, eliciting another soft whine from you.

"Azriel..."

You can feel the pressure between your legs only growing, the thin material of his sweatpants the only barrier between your cotton shorts and his hardening length. He pulls back, his hands lifting you off of him for a moment as he slides down to lay flat on the couch.

"Az... what-"

"Sit on my face, baby." He asks, his fingers tugging on your hips as he adjusts his wings underneath him. Your eyes widen, and he pulls on the waistband of your shorts. "Please... I want to take care of you."

You stand, shucking off your tiny shorts and watch as he marvels at the thong you had on underneath. You peel if from you, discarding them before returning to position yourself right over his awaiting mouth.

"Mmm," he hums, his lips kissing the inside of your thighs softly as you tremble over him. You can feel your arousal leaking from your core, surely trailing down your inner thighs at this point, and you place your hands on the back of the couch as his deliciously rough hands grip your ass again.

"So fucking perfect Y/N..." he mumbles, licking a slow stripe between your folds that has you gasping. "So fucking wet, just for me."

His lips press into you, his tongue working to stimulate every last nerve ending you have down there as you grip the back of the couch, whining and panting pathetically above him. His hands search across your ass, gripping your hips, and holding your thighs wide for him when you try to close them around his head.

"Fuck, Azriel... eating me so good..." you cry out as his lips find your clit, sucking on it harshly without warning. You feel the liquid fire in your lower belly being set ablaze, growing hotter and hotter with each expert flick of his tongue against your dripping heat-

"Mhmm, you like it when I eat you out?" He mumbles, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips. You throw your head back, moaning loudly as his tongue dodges in and out of your core.

"Fuck! Please... oh Gods.. yes Az-" you pant, your hands braced behind you on his thighs as your eyes look down to meet his. Your met with a sinister stare as his mouth detaches from you one last time.

"Come for me, sweet girl," he commands. You cry out desperately, his tongue so deep inside you that his nose nudges your clit with each minstration. A few more swipes of his lips against your pussy, and you're coming undone.

"Azriel!" You groan, your lower half slightly shaking as your orgasm shoots through you. His hands hold you in place over him, his tongue licking up every last drop of you that spills out before kissing your inner thighs one more time.

He delicately lifts you off of him, laying you down on the cushions as he stands up beside the couch, leaning down to kiss you deeply. You can taste yourself on him, and he allows you to by kissing you longer, and longer...

"Sweet girl," he pulls back, his hand cupping your cheek lightly. You gaze up at him, all the adoration in the world as his chin glistens in the moonlight with your essence. "Tell me where I can find you a towel?"

Your heart melts, and you silently point to the bathroom. He makes his way over, coming back a few moments later with a warm rag to help clean you up. You move to take it from him, but he only shakes his head at you.

"I said I would take care of you," he offers. You stare at him, bewildered where your night has gone and what all has come out of it. Once you're clean, he simply picks you up in his arms, carrying you gently to your bed before resting you upon it and tucking the covers around you comfortably.

"Az," you reach for him when he moves to leave your bedside, and he turns to face you once more.

"Yes?" He asks. You grab his hand, pulling him close to you.

"Please, stay?"

He sighs, running a hand through his hair again. "You know I want to-"

"So stay," you cut in.

"We haven't even had a first date yet," You can practically see the war in his eyes, but reluctantly, he folds his wings in close and walks around to the other side of the bed and pulls the blankets back.

"I don't want you to think this is just for the night," he continues, nuzzling in close and pulling you flush against his chest. "I want things to be more than... just, something for one night, Y/N."

"I do too Az, really," you kiss his cheek, and he grins.

"And, I promise, I won't think its just for one night. I'll trust you," you say, and his fingers roam over your bare bottom, resting comfortably there as his heavy-lidded stare meets yours once more before you drift off in his warm embrace.

"As long as you come back tomorrow."

✧･ﾟ: *

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