hey can you do amanda (smosh) x reader headcanons!! (including some nsfw ones pleaseee)
thank you so much and obviously no pressure!!
amanda lehan-canto dating headcannons
pairing: amada lehan-canto x f! reader
a/n: OFC I CAN!! i love mandy she’s so beautiful :,)
warnings: slight smut!!
sfw
- she loves to tease you about the height difference
- like she puts her arm on your head type teasing LMAO
- her laughs are infectious
- heart of GOLD
- because prefers living in the moment over being online, she’s always present when you’re together, and she gives you her undivided attention all the time!!
- you loooove going on hikes
- big fan of reading, so you’ll lie on her lap whilst she reads just silently
- super attentive to anything you need
- she’s very mommy but she’s also mom like she fusses over you and reminds you about stuff bc she cares so much UGH I LOVE HER!!
nsfw
- dominant.
- loves holding your thighs when she eats you out
- lets you use toys, but prefers when she can make you cum herself
- she prefers ass over tits
- kneads at your ass as any point she can
- she loves when you squirm so she’ll make you cum like three of four times before you can sleep
- she can lift you up so she likes to pin you against the apartment walls
- loves teasing you!!!
- talks you through
- likes using blindfolds so you can’t tell what she’s gonna do to you
- aftercare is INCREDIBLY important to her
- my girl is meticulous in making sure you feel loved and cared for after sex
- she teases you in public with touches and she whisperd promises of what’s to come once you’re alone to you
- always up for trying new things like it’s new positions, toys, or techniques
Late night carpooling turns into something neither of you can joke your way out of. Between shared glances, tangled hands, and a couch that feels too small, the tension finally gives in.
Read on AO3
𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒔 𝑪𝒖𝒕
The parking lot was half-empty, the kind of quiet that comes after everyone’s finally gone home and the day stops buzzing in your ears. Angela drove like she talked. quick, loose, a running commentary stitched together from observations and jokes that landed without trying too hard.
“You carried that bit today,” she said, eyes on the road. “I’m not saying you saved the video, so if it tanks, I’m blaming you personally.”
“Wow. Supportive.”
“I support you by keeping expectations realistic.”
She flashed a sideways grin, then reached to turn the music down when a song she didn’t like came on. The inside of the car felt warm, familiar. A space you’d slipped into enough times that it didn’t feel like borrowed air anymore.
“You hungry?” she asked. “I’m debating a drive-thru but also debating self-respect.”
“Those are mutually exclusive?”
“Completely.”
You laughed. Her smile lingered a second longer than the joke needed. Then she glanced away, drumming her fingers lightly against the wheel, energy shifting.
It wasn’t loud tonight. Not chaotic. Just tuned in.
“You were good today,” she said, softer now. “Like, not even joking. I kept looking over to see what you’d do next.”
“Same to you, I’m always doing that with you.”
She gave a tiny shrug. “That’s why I love the improv, we get to play off each other, not to the camera. You’re intentional. It’s cool to watch.”
The compliment landed heavier than her usual teasing. The car slowed at a red light, and she finally looked over properly. Not quick. Not passing. But clear.
Her hand bumped your knee when she shifted. Neither of you moved away.
The light turned green. Someone honked. She jolted forward with a quiet “my bad,” but her smile stuck, small and private.
When she pulled up outside your place, the engine idled, headlights washing the curb in pale gold. You reached for the door, then paused when she didn’t say the usual “text me when you’re inside.”
Instead, she leaned back in her seat, studying you like she was deciding whether to make a joke or something more real.
“Can I try something?” she asked.
You nodded.
Her hand slid off the steering wheel and hovered over the centre console for a second before settling, palm up. Casual, but not really.
You placed your hand in hers.
She exhaled through her nose, a tiny laugh escaping. “Okay. Cool. Just checking.”
“Checking what?”
“If I made that up in my head or not.”
Her thumb brushed across your knuckles, slow, absent, like she wasn’t thinking about it even though she definitely was. The joking energy faded, replaced by something steadier.
“You make it kind of hard to be normal around you,” she said.
“You’re never normal.”
“Exactly. This is me trying.”
You shifted closer, drawn in by the warmth of her hand, the way her voice dropped when she wasn’t performing for anyone else.
Her eyes flicked to your mouth, then back up. A beat passed. Then another.
“You good?” she murmured.
Instead of answering, you leaned in.
The kiss started tentative, like both of you were half-expecting to laugh and break the tension. But when you didn’t pull away, when her hand tightened around yours and her other came up to your jaw, it deepened, slow and grounding.
She smiled into it for a second, because of course she did, then settled, focus sharpening.
When you finally pulled back, the air between you felt charged.
Angela rested her forehead against yours, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “Yeah… okay. Wow.”
You huffed a soft laugh.
Her grin returned, softer now, less performative. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while. Just didn’t want to make things weird.”
“You didn’t.”
“Give me time,” she said lightly, then squeezed your hand. “I’m kidding. Mostly.”
She pulled back, searching your face, checking. When you didn’t move away, didn’t let go, something in her shoulders relaxed.
“So,” she said, tone easing back into that natural, smooth humour, “I could drive off and be normal about this… or I could invite you to hang a little longer and pretend this was always the plan.”
You smiled. “Which one are you hoping for?”
“Second one,” she admitted, no hesitation.
You hesitated with your hand on the door handle, then glanced back at her.
“…Do you want to come in?” you asked. “I have snacks and movies we can watch.”
Angela blinked, like she hadn’t expected the offer to land so fast. Then her mouth tipped into a grin. “Snacks and bad movies? That sounds perfect.”
You opened the door, and the cool night air rushed in as she cut the engine and followed you up the path.
Inside, your place felt softer than the world outside. Lamps instead of overhead lights, a blanket tossed over the couch, the faint smell of something sweet lingering from earlier. Angela paused just past the doorway, taking it in like she was scanning a set.
“Okay,” she said, toeing off her shoes. “This is so cute. It’s so you.”
“Thanks, Ange.”
“Some people live in chaos, and you weren’t even expecting me to be here.”
You laughed, heading toward the kitchen. “Popcorn or chips?”
“Both. I need options.”
She wandered after you, leaning against the counter while you grabbed snacks, close enough that you could feel her presence even when she wasn’t touching you. The space felt smaller with her in it. Warmer.
“You pick the movie,” she said. “But if it’s emotionally devastating, I’m leaving.”
“Noted.”
You settled on the couch, a careful distance between you at first. Movie playing, bowl of snacks balanced between you, the low hum of dialogue filling the quiet.
It didn’t take long before the distance started shrinking.
Angela shifted, tucking one leg under herself. Her knee brushed yours. Stayed there.
A few minutes later, she leaned back, arm stretching along the back of the couch, not quite around you, but close enough that if you leaned in a little, it would be.
You felt the tension build in small, quiet increments. Every shared glance when a joke landed. Every accidental touch when reaching for popcorn. The awareness of her beside you, warm, real, close.
“Are you actually watching this?” she murmured at one point.
“Barely.”
“Same.”
Silence again, thicker now. Charged.
You shifted, pulling the blanket over your lap. Then, after a second’s hesitation, you nudged it toward her, too. “Cold?”
She didn’t comment on the invitation, just slid closer, letting the blanket drape over both of you.
Your shoulders touched. Then stayed.
Angela’s voice dropped, softer than it had been all night. “You’re very easy to sit next to. Just so you know.”
Your heart thudded. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” A beat. “Dangerously easy.”
You turned slightly, close enough to see the way her expression had softened again, that smooth steadiness replacing her usual playful edge.
Her hand rested on the cushion between you, fingers tapping lightly, like she was deciding whether to close the distance.
“You can, you know,” you said quietly.
“Can what?”
You glanced at her arm along the back of the couch, then back to her face.
Understanding flickered instantly. A small smile tugged at her mouth, less teasing this time.
“Right,” she said. “Cool.”
Her arm slid around your shoulders, tentative for half a second before settling. You leaned into her automatically, head brushing her shoulder, her hand warm against your upper arm.
The movie kept playing, forgotten.
Angela exhaled slowly, like she’d been holding that breath all night.
Her arm settled more securely around your shoulders, hand warm against your upper arm, thumb moving in slow, absent strokes that felt anything but absent. The movie kept playing in front of you, voices and music blurring into background noise.
You leaned further into her without thinking, your head resting more fully against her shoulder, your body angling toward hers under the blanket.
She didn’t joke. Didn’t move away. Her fingers tightened slightly where they held you, like the closeness had clicked into place for her too.
“Yeah,” she murmured, almost to herself. “This is nice.”
Nice felt like an understatement. The air felt thicker, charged, every shift of fabric and breath suddenly noticeable.
Your hand rested on the couch beside you at first, close to her leg. You could feel the heat from her through the blanket, the subtle tension in her posture, like she was hyper-aware of every point where you touched.
You hesitated.
Then you let your hand slide a little further, fingertips brushing her thigh.
Angela went still.
Not pulling away. Not startled. Just aware. Her breath hitched, quiet but unmistakable, and the arm around your shoulders tightened instinctively, grounding.
You kept your hand there, palm resting lightly now, testing, giving her space to stop you if she wanted.
She didn’t.
Instead, her fingers flexed against your arm, and she shifted just slightly toward you, a small movement that pressed your bodies closer under the blanket.
The reaction shot straight through you.
Her voice, when it came, was softer than you’d ever heard it. “You’re really not helping me stay normal tonight.”
You swallowed. “You don’t have to.”
A beat. Then another.
Your thumb traced a slow, tentative line along her thigh, feeling the way her muscles tensed under your touch. She sucked in a breath, the sound low, almost surprised, and her head tipped forward until her temple rested lightly against yours.
The playful edge was gone now. Not replaced by awkwardness, but by something warmer. Focused.
Her hand slid from your arm to your side, fingers curling lightly at your waist, like she needed somewhere to hold on.
“Okay,” she murmured, voice rougher now. “Yeah. That’s– doing something.”
You turned your head toward her, close enough that your noses nearly brushed.
“Good or bad?”
Her lips curved, small and breathless. “Very good. Bad if you wanted me to concentrate on literally anything else.”
The tension between you sharpened, no longer quiet background static. It hummed. Every point of contact felt amplified. Your hand still resting on her thigh, her fingers at your waist, your bodies angled into each other beneath the blanket.
You leaned in first.
The kiss landed deeper, less tentative than the one in the car, her mouth warm and immediate against yours. She responded instantly, hand tightening at your side as she pulled you closer, like the last bit of restraint had finally slipped.
A soft sound left her when your thumb pressed a little more firmly into her thigh, and she shifted beneath your touch, knee nudging between yours, closing the space.
The movie played on, completely forgotten.
Angela pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against yours again, both of you a little unsteady now.
Angela’s need to breathe quickly faded before she kissed you again.
Her hand slid from your waist to your back, pulling you closer as your fingers tightened against her thigh. The kiss deepened, slower but more certain, the kind that made the rest of the room fall away.
You shifted instinctively toward her, and she responded just as fast, turning slightly so she could face you fully. The blanket tangled around your legs, the bowl of snacks long forgotten somewhere near the armrest.
Her knee nudged between yours. Her hand moved up your side, warm and steady, like she was mapping the space, grounding herself in the reality of you.
You let yourself lean back a little, breath catching when she followed without hesitation.
Angela paused just long enough to search your face, eyes flicking between yours, checking. Then she moved again, one hand braced beside you on the couch as she gently guided you down onto the cushions.
It wasn’t rushed. Not overpowering. Just a smooth shift, natural, like gravity had decided this was where you both were meant to land.
Now you were lying back against the couch, Angela half over you, one leg hooked beside yours, her weight careful, supported by one arm while the other stayed at your waist.
Her hair fell forward, brushing your cheek. She smiled, a little breathless, a little stunned by herself.
“Hi,” she murmured, like she’d just realised the position you were in.
You laughed softly, hands finding her sides. “Hi.”
Then she kissed you again.
The angle changed everything. Closer. Deeper. Her body warm against yours, the press of her thigh, the subtle shift of her breathing every time you touched her.
Your hands slid up her back, and she shivered slightly at the contact, a quiet reaction she didn’t try to hide. Her fingers tightened at your waist in response, pulling you up into her just a little.
The tension between you wasn’t sharp anymore. It was heavy, warm, and building rapidly.
Angela broke the kiss just long enough to breathe, forehead resting against yours, noses brushing.
“You’re… really distracting,” she murmured.
“You’re the one on top of me.”
“Yeah,” she said, a soft grin in her voice. “I noticed.”
She didn’t move away.
Instead, she dipped back down, kissing you slower this time, savouring it, her hand sliding from your waist to your hip, thumb brushing lightly there. Every small movement sent a ripple through both of you, your reactions syncing without effort.
You felt her shift slightly above you, settling more comfortably, and the closeness made your pulse jump. She exhaled softly against your mouth, the sound warm, unguarded.
For a second, neither of you kissed. You just stayed there, breathing the same air, bodies lined up, the tension thick and unmistakable.
Angela’s gaze softened, something earnest threading through it.
“Still good?” she asked quietly.
You nodded, fingers curling gently at her side.
“Very.”
Her smile returned, smaller now, but deeper. Then she leaned in again, kissing you like she meant it.
Your hands tightened at her sides, and you pulled her closer, closing the last bit of space between you. Angela reacted instantly, a soft sound catching in her throat as her body settled fully against yours, warmth pressing through every point of contact.
The shift changed the rhythm between you. Slower breathing turned uneven. Every small movement felt amplified, charged.
A quiet exhale left her, warm against your mouth.
“Okay,” she murmured, voice rougher now, a little unsteady. “This is not how I thought the night would go...”
But she didn’t pull away.
If anything, she stayed right there, pressed close, her hand gripping lightly at your side as though grounding herself. The tension between you swelled, thick and electric, every breath shared, every shift sending heat up your spine.
You tilted your head, kissing along her jaw, slower now, feeling the way she reacted, the way her breathing hitched, the way her fingers flexed where they held you.
Her response wasn’t loud, but it was unmistakable. Soft sounds, half-breaths, the kind she didn’t seem to realise she was making.
She shifted again, settling more comfortably over you, and the closeness drew another quiet reaction from both of you. The room felt smaller, the air warmer, the movie long forgotten behind you.
Angela pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes darker now, focused, but still so unmistakably her.
“You’re dangerous,” she said softly, a faint smile threading through the tension. “I’m trying to keep it together, and you’re making that extremely difficult.”
Your thumb brushed along her side, gentle, reassuring.
“I don’t want you to try keeping it together,” you said.
“Mmm,” she breathed against your lips, her hips making a deliberate circle that pressed her core directly against yours. “Oh, you want to get closer, huh?”
“Try me,” you whispered, a thrill shooting through you.
“Okay.” Her voice was a low hum. She leaned into the kiss, her body swaying above you, the friction building with every subtle movement. A soft moan escaped her, swallowed by your mouth. Her hand slid from your side, tracing a path down your hip, then resting pointedly on the button of your jeans.
You didn’t hesitate. Your own hand found the zipper of her jeans, the unzipping breaking the quiet. She gasped, a sharp intake of breath. “Impatient, huh?”
“You started it,” you returned, your fingers slipping under the waistband, past the soft cotton of her underwear. Her entire body went rigid for a second, then melted into you.
“Oh, god,” she breathed, her hips rocking again, pressing her clit directly against your exploring fingers. “Fuck. Yes. Right there.”
You stroked her gently, testing the waters, and she bucked into your touch, a low, guttural moan vibrating through her chest. “You like that, baby?” you murmured against her neck.
“Mmm. So much. Oh, fuck.” Her breath hitched, ragged and fast. “You’re gonna make me cum already–”
“Is that a problem?”
“No–but I just–.” Suddenly, she stopped, pulling back just enough to break contact, her eyes wide, glistening with an almost frantic energy. “Wait. Hold on.”
You looked up, confused, your hand still buried in her warmth.
“Wait,” she said, her voice rough, a wicked glint in her eyes. “Not yet. Not like this.” She shifted, her weight easing off you as she sat up, quickly undoing your belt. “I wanna make you lose your mind first.”
Before you could fully process her words, she was pulling down your jeans, then your underwear, in a swift motion. The cool air hit your skin, then the warmth of her hand, guiding your legs apart. You gasped, utterly captivated as she knelt before you on the couch, her gaze focused on your wetness.
“You’re so wet already,” she hummed, her breath warm against your inner thigh. Her eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, flickered up to meet yours. “You’re so, so beautiful.”
You gasped, a sudden flush spreading through you, your hips instinctively arching. “Angela…”
“Don’t think, just feel me.” Her fingers, cool and light, traced the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, sending shivers up your spine. “You’re trembling already. I haven’t even started yet.” She leaned in, her warm breath ghosting over your most sensitive skin.
Her tongue flicked out, a soft, teasing lick against your delicate folds, not quite on your clit, but close enough to send a jolt through your entire body. You whimpered, your fingers clenching the couch cushion. “Oh, god.”
“Mmm,” she murmured, her voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. “You’re so sweet.” She began a slow, deliberate circling, her tongue a velvet ribbon tracing around your aching clit, the gentle pressure building, a delicious torment.
You couldn’t help but writhe, your hips lifting, desperate for direct contact. “Angela, please…”
She chuckled, a soft sound. “Please what, baby? Tell me what you want. Tell me what I should do.” Her breath was hot against you, a rhythmic huff as she worked.
Your fingers tangled in her short hair, trying to pull her in as close as possible, “Please–I need you, please–”
Then, finally, she centred, her tongue pressing down, firm and steady, against your clit. A gasp tore from your throat, your back arching off the couch. “Ah! Oh, fuck–”
“Mmm,” she murmured, her breath hot, her tongue a relentless, perfect rhythm. “You’re soaking for me, aren’t you? Just dripping.” She worked you with exquisite precision, every movement designed to push you further to the edge, then pull you back, only to push you over again.
You could feel the blood rushing, a frantic thrumming between your legs, your entire body clenching in anticipation. Your toes curled, your muscles tensed, a low moan escaping your lips with every stroke. “Oh, yes, Angela, I can’t– I can’t take this.”
“Yes, you can,” she countered, her voice firm, a hint of dominance beneath the sensuality. “You can take all of it.” She picked up the pace, her tongue a blurring sensation, the pressure building, building, a tight knot forming deep inside you.
“I’m so close. Oh, God, Angela, I’m gonna–” You arched into her, your hips lifting, desperate to meet her mouth, your vision blurring. A choked cry escaped your lips as the wave hit, washing over you in a rush of pure pleasure. “Oh, fuck–” You bucked against her, your body shuddering, your hands still tangled in her hair, holding her in place as wave after wave crashed through you.
She didn’t stop until your body had finished its tremors, until you were breathless. She finally pulled back, her lips glistening, a smear of your essence on her chin. She looked up at you, a satisfied smile on her lips.
“Mmm. You’re so good,” she purred, her voice husky, a soft laugh bubbling up from deep in her chest. “Absolutely delicious. So, so good.” She leaned forward, pressing a soft, wet kiss to your inner thigh, her gaze never leaving yours. “Worth every single drop.”
She pushed herself up from her knees, her eyes never breaking contact with yours as she climbed back up to you, straddling your hips. Her weight settled on you, warm and familiar.
She leaned down, her hair falling around your face like a soft curtain, and kissed you. Not the hungry, desperate kisses from before, but a soft brush of her lips against yours.
Your hands, still tingling from your climax, instinctively found their way to her hips, then slid down, tracing the curve of her ass, until your fingers brushed against the denim of her jeans, still unzipped.
You hesitated for a moment, then, with a mischievous glint in your eye, you dipped your fingers into the opening until your fingertips brushed against the slick warmth of her wetness.
Angela’s breath hitched, a sharp, sudden intake of air. Her soft kisses stopped, replaced by a low, guttural moan that vibrated against your mouth. She pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes wide and dark
“You wanna play, huh?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
You just nodded, your fingers finding her soft, swollen folds, gently teasing, circling the sensitive bud. “Ride me, Ange,” you murmured, your voice rough with need. “Ride my fingers. Show me how much you want it.”
A shudder ran through her entire body. “Oh, wow,” she breathed, her hips already beginning to twitch, an involuntary response to your touch. Her hands braced on your chest, her knuckles white. “You really know how to get to me, don’t you?”
“Show me,” you urged, your fingers pressing a little firmer, a gentle but insistent rhythm starting to build.
She closed her eyes, a low groan escaping her lips. “Okay. Okay, you asked for it.” Slowly at first, she began to move, a soft, deliberate grind, her clit pressing directly against your fingers.
Her movements grew bolder, a slow, sensual rock against your hand, her hips rotating, seeking out the perfect pressure, the exact spot that sent shivers through her. “That’s it,” she whimpered, her head tilting back, exposing the elegant line of her throat. “Yes– right there. Harder”
You obliged, curling your fingers slightly, letting her feel the full pressure of your touch. She gasped, a sharp, needy sound as her hips began to pick up speed, a frantic, almost desperate rhythm. “You’re so good at this,” she panted, her breath coming in ragged bursts. “I’m gonna lose it, I swear.”
Her body was starting to tremble, a layer of sweat breaking out on her forehead. The soft moans turned into louder, more guttural sounds as she slammed her hips down, grinding against your fingers with an almost violent intensity. “Fuck–yes–, I need this. I need you.”
Her eyes were still closed, her lips parted in a silent scream. She was no longer moving with any semblance of control but driven by instinct. She continued to thump against your fingers, her entire body shaking with the effort.
“God, yes–harder!” she cried out, her voice cracking, her hips a blur of motion. She arched her back, her muscles coiling and releasing, her clit swollen and throbbing under your touch. “I’m so close– Oh, fuck, I’m gonna… I’m gonna–”
Her breath hitched, continuing to buck, her body convulsing above you, a series of sharp, violent thrusts that had her crying out. Her hips pressed down, grinding against your fingers with an almost painful intensity, as she rode the wave, her climax shattering around her, leaving her panting.
She collapsed against you, her head falling onto your shoulder, her body still trembling, damp with sweat. “Oh, my god,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “You… How do you do that so well?”
Angela stayed draped over you, both of you breathing hard, her heartbeat still racing where her chest pressed against yours. The room felt hushed, the kind of quiet that comes after a storm finally rolls past.
You smoothed a hand up her back, slow and grounding, letting your touch say what words couldn’t quite reach yet.
“I’ve got you,” you murmured.
She let out a shaky laugh into your shoulder, half-buried against you. “Good. Because I think my soul left my body for a second.”
You huffed softly, fingers still tracing gentle patterns along her spine. Her body gradually softened, the tension melting out of her muscles as her breathing evened.
For a minute, neither of you moved. Just warmth. Skin, breath, the blanket tangled around your legs, the movie still flickering quietly in the background like it belonged somewhere else.
Then Angela shifted slightly, propping herself up just enough to look at you. Her hair was a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.
“Hey,” she said, voice rough but fond. “You still with me?”
“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “You?”
“Very much. Just… recalibrating.”
She leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips, nothing urgent this time. Just closeness.
Your hands slid to her waist, then lower, gentle, giving her space, checking in with every movement. When you began easing her jeans down the rest of the way, she lifted her hips automatically to help, no hesitation, no tension. The moment felt unhurried, practical in that quiet, intimate way that comes after everything else.
Once they were off, you tugged the blanket higher over both of you, tucking it around her hips, around your legs, sealing the warmth in.
Angela exhaled, sinking down beside you instead of over you this time, turning onto her side so she could face you properly. One arm slipped around your middle, pulling you in until you were chest to chest, knees brushing under the blanket.
“This is my favourite part,” she murmured.
You smiled, brushing a stray piece of hair from her forehead. “Cuddling?”
“Yeah. Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation.”
You laughed quietly. “Your secret’s safe.”
She hummed, satisfied, then tucked her head under your chin, fitting there like she’d done it a hundred times before. Her thumb traced slow, lazy circles against your side, grounding both of you.
The energy between you had shifted completely. No more urgency. Just warmth, softness, the quiet glow that lingers after everything settles.
After a moment, she spoke again, voice softer.
“You good?”
“Yeah. Really good.”
She nodded against you. “Same. Just wanted to check.”
You squeezed her gently, and she squeezed back, a silent exchange that said more than either of you could put into words.
The movie kept playing, unnoticed. Outside, the night pressed against the windows. Inside, you stayed tangled together under the blanket, her breathing steady against your chest, her hand still resting warm at your side, both of you drifting in that calm, glowing quiet that felt like the safest place in the world.
You're moving in with Angela, you should be excited right? Right? Wrong. You're crying in the fucking closet.
The cardboard box in your hands wasn't even that heavy, but somehow it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as you stood in the doorway of Angela's, your, bedroom closet.
Our bedroom. Our closet.
The thought should have filled you with warmth, with excitement, with all those butterflies that had been fluttering in your stomach for weeks leading up to this moment. Instead, it just made your chest tighten.
"Babe, I'm gonna grab the last few boxes from the car!" Angela's voice floated up from downstairs, bright and cheerful, full of that infectious energy that had made you fall in love with her in the first place.
"Okay!" you called back, hoping your voice sounded normal.
You stepped into the closet, a generous walk-in that Angela had already cleared half of for you. She'd been so thoughtful about it, moving all her things to one side, even buying matching hangers in your favorite color. There were little labels on the shelves: "Your sweaters," "Your shoes," "Your accessories." Each one written in her distinctive handwriting, some with little hearts doodled next to them.
It was perfect. She was perfect.
So why did you feel like you couldn't breathe?
You set the box down on the floor, staring at the empty space that was now yours to fill. Your clothes, in Angela's closet. Your life, intertwined with hers. This beautiful, vibrant, incredible woman who lit up every room she walked into, who made everyone laugh, who had somehow chosen you.
What if you couldn't be enough? What if you messed this up?
The thoughts came faster now, tumbling over each other like dominoes. What if your habits annoyed her? What if you weren't tidy enough, or you were too tidy? What if she realized she liked having her own space? What if—
Your hands were shaking.
You knelt down beside the box, intending to start unpacking, to do something productive, to push through this weird spiral you were falling into. But when you opened it and saw your clothes—the sweater Angela always said she loved on you, the t-shirt you'd worn on your first date, all these pieces of your life that were now becoming pieces of your shared life—something inside you just cracked open.
The first sob caught you by surprise. You pressed your hand over your mouth, trying to muffle it, trying to hold it together. But then came another, and another, and suddenly you were sitting on the closet floor surrounded by boxes, crying into your knees like the world was ending.
You didn't hear Angela come back upstairs. Didn't hear her calling your name, the concern growing in her voice when you didn't answer. You only realized she was there when you felt her presence in the doorway, when you heard her soft, worried, "Baby?"
You looked up, and the expression on her face, pure concern, no judgment, just love, somehow made you cry harder.
"Hey, hey, hey," Angela was on the floor beside you in an instant, her arms wrapping around you, pulling you against her chest. "What's wrong? Are you hurt? Did something happen?"
You shook your head against her, unable to form words, feeling ridiculous and overwhelmed and so, so scared.
"Talk to me," she murmured, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back, the other cradling your head. "I'm right here. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out together."
That word, together, made something inside you break open even more.
"I'm scared," you finally managed to choke out, your voice muffled against her shoulder. "I'm so scared, Angela."
"Scared of what, sweetheart?" Her voice was so gentle, so patient. She wasn't rushing you, wasn't making you feel bad for falling apart. She was just there, solid and warm and real.
"Of messing this up." The words came out in a rush now, like a dam breaking. "Of not being good enough, of you realizing you made a mistake, of—of my stuff being in the wrong place or me being too much or not enough or—" You were spiraling, you knew you were spiraling, but you couldn't stop. "You're so amazing, Angela. You're so good at everything, and everyone loves you, and you're so funny and talented and beautiful, and what if I can't—what if I'm not—"
"Stop," Angela said firmly, but not unkindly. She pulled back just enough to cup your face in her hands, her thumbs wiping away your tears. Her brown eyes were intense, focused entirely on you. "Stop, baby. Look at me."
You met her gaze, your breath still hitching with leftover sobs.
"First of all," she said, "you could never mess this up. Do you know why?"
You shook your head slightly, not trusting your voice.
"Because this isn't some performance you have to get right. This is just us, living our lives together. There's no script, no right or wrong way to do it. We're just going to figure it out as we go, and yeah, maybe sometimes you'll leave your socks on the floor and I'll leave my coffee cups everywhere, and we'll have to learn each other's rhythms. But that's not messing up. That's just... life. That's just love."
A fresh tear rolled down your cheek, but this one felt different. Softer, somehow.
"And second," Angela continued, her voice dropping to something even more tender, "you need to stop comparing yourself to some impossible standard. I didn't ask you to move in with me because I think you're perfect. I asked you because I love you exactly as you are. The you who gets anxious sometimes. The you who overthinks things. The you who cries in closets on moving day."
Despite everything, you let out a watery laugh at that.
"There she is," Angela smiled, that beautiful, radiant smile that made your heart skip. "There's my girl."
"I just don't want to disappoint you," you whispered.
"Baby." Angela leaned forward, pressing her forehead against yours. "You could never disappoint me. Do you know what I was thinking about when I was downstairs getting those boxes?"
You shook your head slightly, your noses brushing.
"I was thinking about how lucky I am. How I get to come home to you every single day now. How I get to wake up next to you every morning. How your toothbrush gets to live next to mine, and your books get to live on our shelves, and your terrible taste in reality TV gets to take over my watch lists."
"My taste in reality TV is excellent," you protested weakly, and Angela laughed, the sound vibrating through both of you.
"See? That's what I mean. I get to have these ridiculous arguments with you about The Bachelor. I get to learn which side of the closet you prefer, and how you organize your clothes, and all these little details about you that I'm going to love discovering. This isn't scary to me, sweetheart. This is everything I've wanted."
You pulled back slightly to look at her properly. "Really?"
"Really," she confirmed, then seemed to consider something. "Okay, you want to know something? I was nervous too."
"You were?"
"Of course I was! I was terrified you'd move in and realize I'm actually kind of a slob, or that I sing really badly in the shower, or that Spork's stuff takes up so much fucking room." She grinned. "But then I realized that you already know all that stuff about me, and you still said yes when I asked you to move in. Just like I know that you stress-clean when you're anxious, and you have to read before bed every night, and you cry at literally every Pixar movie—"
"They're emotional," you interjected.
"They are," Angela agreed, her eyes crinkling with affection. "And I love that about you. I love everything about you. Even the parts that you think are too much or not enough. Especially those parts, actually."
You felt your breathing finally starting to even out, the panic that had been clawing at your chest beginning to loosen its grip.
"I'm sorry," you said quietly. "I didn't mean to have a breakdown in the middle of moving day."
"Don't apologize." Angela's hands moved from your face to take your hands in hers. "This is a big step. It's okay to feel overwhelmed. It's okay to be scared. I just need you to promise me something."
"What?"
"When you start feeling like this, when your brain starts telling you that you're not enough or that you're going to mess everything up, I need you to come find me and tell me. Don't sit in here alone spiraling. Let me remind you of the truth."
"What truth?" you asked, even though part of you already knew.
Angela squeezed your hands, her expression so full of love it made your chest ache in an entirely different way. "That you're the most precious thing I have. That you're my favorite person in the entire world. That I chose you, and I keep choosing you, and I'm going to keep choosing you every single day. Not because you're perfect, but because you're you. And you, exactly as you are, are more than enough. You're everything."
The tears came again, but these were different. These were the kind that felt like release, like relief, like coming home.
"I love you so much," you managed to say, and Angela pulled you back into her arms.
"I love you too, baby. So much." She held you for a long moment, just letting you breathe, letting you settle. Then she pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "You know what I think we should do?"
"What?"
"I think we should leave these boxes for later. I think we should go downstairs, order from that Thai place you love, and just sit on the couch together. We can watch something mindless, and eat too much pad thai, and just... be. The boxes aren't going anywhere. We have all the time in the world to unpack."
You pulled back to look at her. "But we were supposed to get everything done today—"
"Says who?" Angela challenged gently. "There's no timeline here, sweetheart. No deadline. We can unpack tomorrow, or this weekend, or next week. What matters right now is that you're okay. That we're okay."
You nodded slowly, feeling the last of the tension start to drain from your shoulders. "Okay. Yeah. That sounds really nice, actually."
"Good." Angela stood up, then reached down to help you to your feet. But instead of leading you out of the closet, she turned you to face the empty space again, wrapping her arms around you from behind and resting her chin on your shoulder. "Look at that. That's your space. In our closet. In our home. Isn't that cool?"
And somehow, with Angela's arms around you and her voice in your ear, it didn't feel scary anymore. It felt like possibility. Like promise. Like home.
"Yeah," you said softly. "It's really cool."
"And you know what's going to make it even cooler?" Angela asked, her tone turning playful.
"What?"
"When you put all your stuff in there and I can steal your hoodies whenever I want. That's really what this is all about, you know. I'm just in it for the hoodie access."
You laughed, a real laugh this time, not a watery one, and elbowed her gently. "I knew you had ulterior motives."
"Guilty as charged." She spun you around to face her, her hands settling on your hips. "But seriously. We're good?"
You took a breath, really checking in with yourself. The anxiety was still there, humming quietly in the background, but it wasn't overwhelming anymore. It wasn't drowning you. And you knew that if it tried to again, Angela would be there to pull you back to the surface.
"We're good," you confirmed.
"Good." Angela leaned in and kissed you, soft and sweet and full of promise. When she pulled back, she was smiling. "Now come on. I'm starving, and I need to show you where I hid all the takeout menus. There's a whole drawer dedicated to them. It's very organized. I'm very proud of it."
"A whole drawer?"
"I told you, I have my priorities straight."
She took your hand and led you out of the closet, out of the bedroom, down the stairs. And with each step, you felt a little lighter, a little more certain. This was real. This was happening. You were moving in with Angela, the love of your life, and it might be messy sometimes, and you might have more moments of doubt, but you'd figure it out together.
In the kitchen, Angela pulled out her phone to order food, but before she could open the app, she set it down and turned to you again.
"Hey," she said, her voice soft.
"Hey," you echoed.
"I meant what I said up there. You're the most precious thing I have. Don't forget that, okay?"
You felt your eyes getting misty again, but you blinked the tears back. "I'll try not to."
"Good." She picked up her phone again, then paused. "Oh, and one more thing."
"What?"
"Welcome home, baby."
And just like that, standing in the kitchen of the apartment you now shared with the woman you loved, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and the promise of Thai food and lazy evenings on the couch, you realized something: you were home. Not because of the apartment, or the closet space, or any of the physical things.
You were home because Angela was there.
And that was more than enough.
"Thanks," you said, moving closer to wrap your arms around her waist. "I'm really happy to be here."
"Yeah?" Angela asked, pulling you close.
"Yeah."
She kissed the top of your head, then finally opened the food delivery app. "Okay, so I'm thinking spring rolls, pad thai, drunken noodles, and that mango sticky rice you're obsessed with. Sound good?"
"Sounds perfect."
And it was. All of it was perfect, not because it was flawless, but because it was real, and it was yours, and it was shared with someone who loved you enough to find you crying in a closet and remind you that you were exactly where you belonged.
Later, after the food arrived and you were curled up on the couch together, Angela's fingers running through your hair while some cooking show played on TV, you felt her press another kiss to your temple.
"Love you," she murmured.
"Love you too," you whispered back.
And you meant it. With everything you had, you meant it.
This was home. She was home. And you were finally, finally ready to believe that you deserved to be here.
i’m having a hard time breathing right now. my heart rate is extremely high. her shoulder, exposed back, the stance, i’m sorry i’m so in love with her.
sorry in advance but i’m currently thinking about how i read the words “pupils dilated” in fics all the time and could only fantasize about it until this was posted… i am feeling so normal about this.
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