Y/N Imagines

Aaliyah (Come Over)

The rain hadn't let up. It painted shadows across my bedroom window while the clock on the nightstand flashed 12:42 AM. I was in bed, barely drifting, mind half caught in sleep and half caught in thoughts I couldn't shake.

And then the phone lit up on the pillow beside me.
Aaliyah

I stared at the screen for a second, surprised — but not really. She had this way of showing up right when I needed her... or maybe when she needed me.

I answered, voice low and scratchy. "Liyah?"

"Hey," she said, soft and a little breathless. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"You did," I said, sitting up anyway. "But it's okay. What's up?"

She exhaled like she'd been holding something in since the plane touched down. "I just landed. Literally just grabbed my bags. I know it's late and I should probably be heading home but... I couldn't stop thinking about you."

Her voice was like velvet through the receiver, and even though it was late, something in me came alive the second I heard her say that.

"I wanna come by," she said, hesitant like she wasn't sure if she was asking too much. "Is that alright?"

I didn't hesitate. "Come over."

There was a smile in her voice now. "You sure? You sounded all cozy and knocked out when you picked up."

"I was. But now I'm up."

She laughed gently. "Mhm. You better get up out that bed then."

"I'm up waiting on you."

"I just wanna see you. I don't wanna talk about anything heavy. I just wanna..." she trailed off, then added, more quietly, "...lay with you. Hold you for a bit. That okay?"

I felt my heart ache at how small she sounded — not weak, just... honest. Real. The version of Aaliyah that didn't have to be poised or perfect.

"Yeah," I said. "That's more than okay."

"I'm heading to the car now," she murmured. "I'll be there in twenty."

When she hung up, I tossed the blankets off and got up, flipping on a soft light in the living room. I lit a candle — the one she liked, with that warm vanilla-amber scent — and cracked the window just enough to hear the rain.

I made it to the door just as she was stepping out of her car, hoodie pulled up, long hair spilling out underneath. Even in the rain, she moved like she was gliding. Effortless. Untouchable. But her eyes — those always gave her away. And tonight, they were heavy. Tired. Sad.

"Hey," she breathed.

"Hey," I said back, a little too low, a little too slow. Like the way I was looking at her made it hard to speak.

She stepped inside, dragging the scent of rain, flight, and perfume with her. That warm, soft musk that always lingered long after she left. Her hoodie slipped down as she walked past me, giving me a better view of her neck, the delicate gold chain resting on her collarbone, the curve of her jaw I'd kissed more than once.

She dropped her bag by the door, then turned to face me.

"I meant what I said," she murmured. "I just wanted to lay with you."

"I know," I replied, though my eyes lingered on the way her hoodie clung to her hips. "But you know how you are when you get close."

A smirk tugged at her lips — that little half-smile that always came before she made you forget your name.

"And how is that?" she asked, stepping in just close enough that I could feel the warmth off her skin.

I didn't answer.

Instead, I reached for the hem of her hoodie, my fingers brushing the soft cotton. "You stay too long. You look at me like this. You start touching me like you forgot where the line is."

She tilted her head. "Maybe I did."

She took another step. Now we were chest to chest, breath to breath. Her hands slid up under my T-shirt, fingertips tracing skin so lightly I almost shivered. Her nails grazed my waist, my ribs. Slow. Teasing.

"Tell me to stop," she whispered.

I didn't.
I couldn't.

I just looked at her — at those eyes, half-lidded and hungry, at the way her lips parted like she was about to ask for something she already knew I'd give her. My hands found her hips, pulling her in like gravity made the decision for me.

"I don't want to stop you," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Aaliyah leaned in, her mouth brushing mine without fully kissing me. Her breath was warm. Her lips soft. Every second she didn't kiss me felt like torture — deliberate, delicious torture.

"Then don't play with me," she said, her voice dipped in silk and smoke. "I'm not here to front."

And finally — finally — she kissed me.

It wasn't rushed. It was slow, sensual, all lips and breath and heat. Her tongue traced the seam of my mouth, asking, and I opened for her like she owned me. Because in this moment, she did.

The kiss deepened, hips pressing into mine, her hands sliding up my back and into my hair. She pulled me into her like she needed the contact to stay grounded. I backed us toward the couch, our bodies moving in sync, familiar and electric.

She straddled me, hoodie riding up her thighs, skin warm against mine. She looked down at me, her expression unreadable — intense, soft, like she was trying to memorize how I felt underneath her.

"I'm not staying long," she whispered, voice shaky.

"You say that every time," I said, hands gliding up her legs, resting on her waist. "But you never leave when you say you will."

She leaned in close, her forehead against mine.

"Then don't let me go," she said.

I kissed her again — deeper, slower — and that was the only answer she needed.