#I can’t…. the way he closes his eyes and just look so… soft | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

siriuslylantsov · 2 days ago

Text

afterglow

pairing: joel miller x reader

description: in which, you spend an evening with joel on valentines day.

tags: MDNI! smut and fluff, established relationship, jackson!joel, fem!reader, sickeningly cute, so so much kissing, soft!joel (but hes also kinda dirty, i can't help myself), age gap (it was thought about when writing but it's not explicitly stated so imagine whatever), oral (f receiving, munch joel!! everyone cheered), fingering, unprotected piv (he pulls out), soft!dom joel kinda, aftercare, r and j's relationship is new but its implied that she already has a close relationship with ellie.

a/n: happy valentines day cuties!!! my gift to you. this started off super cute and soft and then two thirds of it became smut, idk where that came from. anywho, happy reading!!

wc: 3k

“hi darlin’,” joel says as you open the door.

the early evening sun casts a soft orange glow over the side of face, complementing his complexion perfectly. a shy, crooked smile tugs at his lips, the dimple on his right cheek deepening. one arm is folded behind him, holding something from your view and the other is planted against the frame of your door.

“hi baby,” you reply, giggling as you step forward to kiss him.

he accepts your lips eagerly, using the hidden arm to curl around your waist. you hear the faint crinkle of paper against your back. you hum sweetly into the kiss, pulling away to see what he’s got for you. a small bouquet appears between your bodies–a humble bunch of white and purple flowers that could handle growing in the cold weather, along with some that you suspect the gardeners had a role in providing.

“maria went on patrol with me today and helped me pick some o’ these out,” he explains, watching you toy with a lilac petal of a flower he can't be damned to remember the name of. “d’ya like em?”

your fingers rake softly through his beard, coaxing his gaze upward until his eyes meet yours. tears gather at your waterline, and joel should probably be alarmed—but he’s grown used to it, having been there for so many of your firsts. apparently, getting flowers was one of them too.

“i’ve never got flowers before,” you admit in a hushed whisper, sickening adoration pooling into your body, making you feel warm all over despite the cold air that sneaks its way into your house.

joel takes note of the wind picking up and guides you inside, a solid hand at the small of your back. he takes your dazed figure all the way to the kitchen, grinning amusedly at how you continue to admire the bouquet. he looks through your cabinets for something tall enough, settling when he finds a mason jar that would be perfect.

“i really like these, joel.” you smile up at him when he's in front of you again. he's holding his hand out expectantly and the jar filled with water in the opposite one. you give him the flowers with a reluctant pout, following him to the counter where he begins to set them up.

“‘m glad,” he expresses warmly, untying the ribbon that held the stems together. “damn shame i couldn't get you roses, the garden ran out pretty quick.”

you can’t help the fond smile that spreads across your face as you watch him try to organise the flowers nicely, carefully moving them around so he doesn't accidentally pull off a petal. when he's happy with his arrangement he turns back to you, neatly folding up the brown paper that wrapped the bouquet and placing it in your palm. “ellie made me promise to tell you that she helped with that so keep it in mind, i guess,” he says, nodding to the doodles of leaves that were peppered along the edges.

“noted,” you laugh, picturing her fiery, insisting nature with ease. you gotta fuckin’, i don’t know, make it pretty for her, joel. just ugh- give it to me.

suddenly, you remember the muffins that were kept warm in the oven. you scurry over there wordlessly, causing joel to twitch confusedly. you take the tray out with quick fingers, holding a muffin out for joel.

“it's a new recipe, cinnamon and pear,” you explain excitedly as he walks over to you. when he looks down at it, he sees you’ve managed to orchestrate two small slices of fruit to sit in a heart shape and it's awfully cute.

your eyes are trained intently on him as he takes a bite. it's instantly the best thing he's ever tasted but he chews thoughtfully for a few more seconds so it doesn't look like he's making his mind up on a whim. admittedly, he is but it's also just that good. the texture of the warm cooked pear complimenting the firm but soft spiced crumb of the muffin. he hums in approval when he swallows, shaking his head in disbelief.

“sweetheart, this is really fuckin’ good,” he murmurs, his voice rough in appreciation as he dusts off muffin remnants that have stuck to his bottom lip.

you beam, extremely pleased. you wait as he finishes eating. not that long, apparently, as two big bites later, it’s gone. he reaches up with his free hand and tucks a strand of loose hair behind your ear, twirling it before letting it fall.

“so about today,” he starts and you hum attentively. “thought we’d take a walk around that part of town that you like and then go feed the horses. maybe go back to mine if there's time.”

the walk is perfect. you swing your joined hands between your bodies, smiling to yourself while joel complains about his brother. the air is solemn, the overwhelming scent and sound of love seeping out of every house you walk by. you never thought life could be this good again or that you’d feel this good again. you owe it all to the mumblin’ grumblin’ man beside you, the one softly caressing your thumb with his own, bringing it up to his mouth so he can kiss the back of your hand.

when you reach the stables, joel pulls out the carrots he had tucked away in his large jacket pocket. (you’d made a detour at the greenhouse before coming here.) you divide the carrots into equal pieces for the animals, setting aside an extra chunk for a horse you remember ellie being particularly fond of–shimmer, if you recall correctly.

joel takes in the sight, endearing eyes unable to part from you. your hand reaching out calmly, vegetable centred in your palm, you bring it to the horse's mouths, giggling when their tongues peek out and tickle you. he crowds in behind you, his arms wrapping around your middle. you squirm a little when he tilts to press a kiss to your neck, claiming his lips are cold.

“well, let me warm ‘em up, sweetheart.”

you make it to joel's front door well after sundown, stars shining like diamonds spilled across the night sky. you make a mental note to go stargazing with him and ellie, if she wants, when the weather gets warmer. for now, you just want to be inside.

“she’s with her friend dina tonight,” joel answers your unasked, looming question. you bite back the smile that the words ‘friend’ and ‘dina’ prompt, knowing a lot more than joel about his kids’ relationship status. she's just waiting for the right time.

you turn around to him, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “so what you’re saying,” you muse lightly. “is that we have the place to ourselves.”

“mhm,” he smirks.

you twist the door open, often left unlocked, and let yourself through. “well then. come on in, mr. miller.”

he trails behind you up the steps, fingers lacing with yours. you walk into his room with a quiet sigh, taking off your shoes and watching as he follows suit. you love his room, a cultivation of who he is within four walls. you switch on the lamp on his bedside table, refraining from turning the main light so a faint glow encompasses the room, just enough to see the softness in his beautiful brown eyes.

“kiss me?”

he clicks his teeth before lowering his lips to yours, “don’t have to ask.”

his moustache tickles your upper lip and the coarse hair of his beard grazes your chin lightly, but it's not irritating. you welcome the sensation, it being a feature of his that you adore so dearly. proving this, your nails scratch the patch of grey at his jaw.

his tongue slips out, tracing the seam of your lips. a low sound escapes you when you grant him entrance, licking into your mouth languidly. there's no rush, there never is. it's a luxury that three months ago you would’ve laughed at, disbelief evident.

his hands find your waist, pulling your hips flush together. he slips off your jacket and greedily tugs at the hem of your shirt. you appease by lifting your arms. he reaches behind you when he gets your shirt off, deftly unclasping your bra. he does this all while kissing you, but when he finally gets your top half bare, he pulls away. to look.

“beautiful,” he exhales a quick, amazed breath that whooshes past his lips. he admires you unabashedly, trailing his hands up your sides and down your front. he nudges you gently, guiding you onto the bed, his frame looming over yours as you sit down.

you look up at him with dopey, half-lidded eyes, sneaking eager hands under his flannel and undershirt. your fingers trace over his skin, pressing into the soft warmth of his stomach, his body heat sinking into your palms. “back at ya, cowboy."

he takes this as a sign to peel off his layers, pulling them off with ease and adding them to the pile of discarded clothes. you spend a moment gaping at his torso before he lowers himself on top of you, dragging his lips up your neck as he does so. you whine when he begins sucking at your pulse point, teeth scraping your skin every so often. his kisses go lower and lower as he toys with the button of your jeans.

he kisses at your belly, lips catching on the exposed skin of your hips, then upper thighs as he slowly pulls your jeans and underwear down, purposefully avoiding where you need him most. he strips off his pants and boxers and nudges for you to scoot up the bed. you sink into the pile of pillows, joel not far behind as he sits bracketed by your thighs. he runs his hands up and down them, calloused fingertips caressing your skin, squeezing in intervals and leaning down to kiss them, kiss your knees and your calves.

“joel, please,” you whisper, growing a little antsy, his hands all over your body aren't helping.

“impatient,” he tuts, but there's no real reprimand in his voice. “jus’ let me take my time with you.”

“will you at least come up here and kiss me while you're at it?”

he smiles, “what’d i tell ya?”

“don't have to-” your poor impression of his southern drawl gets cut off by his lips on yours. you sigh dreamily into the kiss; you'll never get used to that feeling. his hand cradles your jaw, tilting it to deepen this kiss. you pull his bottom lip between your teeth, sucking it into your mouth.

a needy sound rumbles in the back of his throat, and with a reluctant pull, he breaks away, shifting back to the space between your legs. he's lying on his stomach, cheek pressed against your inner thigh as he waits for your approval. when you nod, he dives in, no time to waste.

he licks a fat stripe between your folds, causing you to cry out. he hooks an arm over your hips to cease your writhing. you could say joel miller eats you out like a man starved, but right now, it's more like a savoured meal, slow and leisurely in its pace. he takes his time, measured strokes of tongue that are assuredly making you feel all the right kinds of ways. you thread your fingers through his hair, so soft, tugging lightly and he hums.

you dare to spare a glance down. it's deadly–him with his mouth attached to you like a vice and eyes staring up at you, decidedly looking like he belongs there. you want to look away but the sight is so enticing.

“baby, more,” you ask breathlessly. “please.”

“yeah?” he sounds equally out of breath, tracing a middle and ring finger around your entrance. “this what you want?”

you nod pathetically with a meek “yes.”

he pushes in slowly, met with no resistance. he finds that spot fast, pressing his curled fingers up. his fingers are longer and thicker than yours, reaching places you’d never been able to. he persistently rubs up, pulling out a little only to go back fast, just the way you like. all the while, he does this thing with his tongue–god, that tongue–where he flicks it from side to side over your clit, flattening it when needed, and it is earth-shattering.

that well-known feeling starts to build and you repeatedly tug at joel's hair, mewling softly, trying to signal him. he’d already figured you were close, but still, he nods. he lifts his head to see you, his thumb replacing his tongue.

“c’mon, sweetheart. give it to me,” he urges you on, kissing your hip bone with slick wet lips and his fingers working fervently like it's the most important thing in the world. joel would argue that right now, it is. “know you want to.”

“joel, yes, oh fuck-” you keen, shuddering violently as you finish. he keeps going, working you through it, lapping up the mess when his fingers slip out. he can't get enough of you. you weakly push at his head, “baby, enough. s’too much.”

suddenly, he's on top of you again, rubbing a clean hand over your hair. “okay, okay,” he coos, his voice low and lulling. he presses gentle pecks to your neck, making his way back up to your lips. you kiss him again, more sluggish than previously, whimpering when you taste yourself on him. fuck, you need him.

you carefully drift a hand between your bodies, curling your fingers around his length. he hisses, inhaling a sharp breath. “shit, are you sure-”

you press him against you, guiding his tip to your slit. “fuck me, joel,” you whisper, using your other hand to hold his face.

that's all he needs to hear before he starts sinking into you, simultaneously groaning as he does. he curses low, though it sounds and looks more like a whine when you see the way his face has twisted up in pleasure when his hips are flush with yours. you feel addictively full, so you hug your arms around his shoulders to prolong the moment. he buries his head in your neck, breathing shallowly as you flutter around him.

“gotta move angel, i gotta-” he gets cut off when you squeeze, nodding against his shoulder.

he thrusts greedily, pulling out almost fully until he somehow goes in deeper. it’s not fast but it’s not slow either, just enough that it leaves you reeling when he draws his hips back. the stretch of him is something you feel you won't get used to, it only just borders on pain that makes it feel deliriously good. all you can offer him are broken gasps as you find purchase on his back with your nails, digging into the flesh.

“fuck you feel good, so so good,” he croons, his voice is soft, breathy, as he presses a lingering kiss to your neck, the words barely a whisper between your bodies. “can't believe you’re mine, this perfect fuckin’ body, perfect fuckin' girl.”

maybe it's the wrecked rasp to his voice or the way the base of his dick rubs against you just right but the high builds fast, record time even. you squeeze around him frantically, mouthing sloppily at his shoulder.

“yeah?” he pants, lifting his head so he can look at you again, you’ve got the sense that he likes to watch. you like him watching you. “gonna give me another one? gonna cum for me?”

“mhm,” you hum, teetering on a sob as he starts fucking you harder, a determined look in his eyes. your face falls sideways into the arm that joel had pressed beside your head “oh god, ohgod-”

“there you go. good girl,” he gushes warmly as you finish. he speeds up urgently, letting your climax be the catalyst of his own, chasing something just out of reach. you pull his face to yours with desperate hands, clinging to him, needing to kiss him. his lips brush over yours messily, not quite kissing you and it drives you crazy. he cums with one more strong thrust, groaning loudly into your open mouth as he pulls out and spills over your stomach.

he slumps on you, heavy, as he comes to, smearing stickiness all over but you find that you don’t care much. you cradle the back of his head with gentle hands, murmuring sweet things. you can feel his soft exhales on your collarbone, sighing as you weave your fingers between his strands. his heart races against your own, almost in sync.

the two of you stay like that for a moment longer as everything slows down. nothing else matters apart from the silvery glow of moonlight filtering through his sheer curtains, spilling in revered ribbons across the floor, or the soft, grounding weight of his body on top of yours. his fingers trace the skin within reach, absentminded circles over your hip bones, lines beneath the curve of your breast.

eventually, he rolls off you, getting the sense that some of your limbs might be going numb. in the midst of your post-orgasmic haze, you don’t realise that he leaves, returning with a damp towel to clean you up. he wipes you up swiftly, murmuring a hushed sorry when you squirm away and joins you under the covers.

he pulls you into his side, letting you tuck yourself under his arm. he presses a kiss to your temple. everything is so serene you want to cry. your body has other plans for you when the dregs of sleep start to claw at your worn-down edges. joel feels the slow flutter of your eyelashes on his chest and he begins to rub a gentle hand over your back, attempting to coax you further. sleep offers its solace, and joel’s steady presence pulls you under, silently promising to keep you warm.

before you drift off though, you hear him–unbearably soft, whispering against your forehead.

“happy valentine's day, angel girl.”

reblogs and replies are appreciated :) | m.list

#joel miller #the last of us #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller one shot

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capquinn · 3 days ago

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quinn would be soo caring and patient during your pregnancy like never getting upset when mood swings occur because he knows how much of an experience pregnancy can be

i fear i'm genuinely in love with my quinn, guys. like it’s bad 😭😭 no man is ever gonna compare to this

You feel it bubbling up before it even happens — the frustration, the inexplicable annoyance, the sudden, irrational urge to cry for absolutely no reason at all. You can’t even pinpoint what’s set you off.

Maybe it’s the sound of the spoon clinking against the bowl as Quinn rinses it in the sink. Maybe it’s the way he’s standing there, completely unbothered while you’re simmering, his broad back turned as he hums under his breath, so at ease when you feel anything but. Maybe it’s just him, existing, breathing, not reading your mind.

And when he glances over, all soft eyes and casual concern, and asks, “you okay, sweetheart?” — you snap.

"Do I look okay?” you bite, crossing your arms, tension coiled tight in your shoulders.

Quinn blinks. Doesn’t flinch, doesn’t huff or roll his eyes, just pauses — tea towel in hand, brow furrowing like he’s flipping through a mental checklist of things he might’ve done wrong. He’s scanning your face, looking for an answer, and it makes you even more annoyed because there is none.

You exhale sharply, pressing your fingers into your temples.

“I don’t know why I said that,” you mumble, already feeling the heat crawl up your throat. “I just —”

The frustration builds, your breath catching, and Quinn is already moving.

"Hey," he murmurs, closing the space between you, voice gentle but steady. He doesn’t touch you yet, just keeps his voice low and sure, like he’s smoothing over the edges. "What’s going on?"

You shake your head, throat tight. “I don’t know.”

And that should be frustrating, should be confusing, but Quinn just nods.

"Alright," he says simply. "You want to sit down? Maybe drink some water?"

You glare at him. “I don’t need water, Quinn.”

“Okay,” he agrees easily, tipping his head, completely unfazed. “You want me to sit with you? Rub your feet?”

You let out a watery laugh, because of course that’s his response. Not irritated, not defensive — just quiet patience, just Quinn. He’s so steady, so calm, and it makes the knot in your chest snap. Your eyes burn, and before you can stop yourself, a tear betrays you, slipping down your cheek.

“Oh, baby,” Quinn murmurs, warm and soft, already cupping your jaw, swiping his thumb across your cheek. “Talk to me.”

You sniff, gripping the front of his hoodie. “I was mean to you just now.”

His lips twitch like he wants to laugh but knows better. “No, you weren’t.”

You were, but okay.

You let out a long sigh, pressing your forehead against his chest. “I just feel off. And I don’t know why. And it’s so stupid.”

Quinn exhales against your hair, his hands smoothing slow circles across your back.

“It’s not stupid,” he says, voice firm, certain. “You’re growing a whole human. Our human. You get to feel however you need to feel.”

And God, that just makes you cry harder. A fresh wave hits before you can even try to stop it, a tiny, broken noise slipping out as your shoulders shake. It’s ridiculous, you know it is, but the way he says it — "our human" — it’s too much. Too soft, too full of love, too Quinn.

He chuckles softly, not unkind, just fond, tipping your chin up so he can brush his sleeve across your damp cheeks. His thumb lingers, smoothing over your skin, and he smiles, dimples and all, like he’s got all the time in the world for this, for you.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple, letting it linger, smiling against your skin. “Saw that coming.”

“You’re laughing at me,” you grumble, lips wobbly.

“I’m not,” he says, even as his smile grows. “I just —” He shakes his head, presses a kiss to your forehead. “I just love you, that’s all.”

You sigh again, letting yourself sink into him, pressing your face into his chest. “Even when I’m mean to you?”

His arms tighten, hands spreading wide against your back.

“Even then.” A pause. “…But you’re never mean to me.”

You lift your head, narrowing your eyes.

“Quinn.”

His mouth twitches. “What?”

“You liar.”

His grin grows, shameless and affectionate, and he steals another kiss against your temple before murmuring, “c’mon, baby, let's sit down. Let me take care of you.”

#quinn is out here setting the bar in the stratosphere and for what??? like #pregnant!reader would be crying bc the smoothie is too smooth and he’d just be like 'that’s okay baby we can make it chunkier 😌'#capquinn's writing #capquinn’s requests #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes #nhl blurb #side note: love writing dialogue heavy things. i need to do it more. but i also love being a flowery vocab writer <3

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sophsbookstore · 3 days ago

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Future Canuck

Quinn Hughes x Pregnant!reader ｡･:*˚:✧｡

Word count: 2041

pt. 1 pt. 2

A/N: YOU ASKED AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE

The nursery was quiet, too quiet. You stood in the middle of the room, hands resting on your growing belly, eyes tracing the empty walls. The soft, pale blue paint had been the first thing you’d picked out, and the crib, changing table, and rocking chair had been set up just the way you’d imagined. But now that the space was all prepared, it felt like it was missing something. It wasn’t that it wasn’t perfect—it was—but it was just… bare.

The room seemed to echo with the anticipation of what was to come. Any minute now, your little boy would be here, filling the space with the sound of his tiny coos and cries. You could almost picture it—the soft glow of a nightlight by the crib, his little onesies hanging neatly in the closet, a stuffed animal or two scattered around. It was all so close, and yet, there was a part of you that felt like there was still so much to do.

You sighed softly, your fingers brushing over the crib’s smooth surface. The thought of Quinn coming in here, taking in the sight of everything ready, filled you with warmth. You could already picture the smile on his face, the way his eyes would light up at the sight of his son’s future home.

The sound of footsteps approaching pulled you from your thoughts. You turned just in time to see Quinn’s tall figure filling the doorway. His hair was slightly tousled, the same handsome grin tugging at his lips as always. But today, there was something softer about him, something more tender. The way his gaze softened when it landed on you, the way he looked at your belly with such an intense, quiet adoration.

"Hey," Quinn said, his voice low, warm. He crossed the room in a few strides, his hands gently cupping your face before dropping down to rest on your hips. He stood there for a moment, just looking at you, a glimmer of emotion in his eyes that made your heart flutter. “I still can’t believe we’re having a boy.”

You smiled up at him, your hands moving to rest on his chest. "I know. It's crazy, isn't it?" The excitement and nerves mixed together inside you. "I keep thinking about how it's all going to change once he’s here."

Quinn’s hands slid from your hips to your stomach, his palm resting gently on the curve of your belly, feeling the warmth of your skin. "I just…" His voice trailed off as he gazed at you, his lips curling into a grin. "I’m so happy, Y/N. I’m really, really happy."

You could feel the emotion building in his words, the raw sincerity in his tone. It made your chest tighten, and you instinctively leaned into him, closing your eyes for a moment. He had always been the rock you needed, but now, in these final weeks of pregnancy, his love felt even more grounding.

Quinn dropped a soft kiss to your forehead before stepping back, his fingers lingering on your belly as he did. "So, what do you think?" He asked, his eyes scanning the room. "It looks perfect in here, but I feel like we’re missing a few things, don't you?"

You nodded, looking around at the still-empty shelves. "Yeah… I feel like it’s just… missing something." You gestured vaguely at the space, unsure how to put it into words. "It’s almost like we need more color, some toys, blankets… something to make it feel more like him."

Quinn’s grin widened, and he cocked his head thoughtfully. “Well, then, how about we go get some things for him? You, me, and our baby boy?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of Quinn picking out things for your son. The idea of him choosing little clothes, tiny shoes, the perfect decoration for the walls—it made you melt inside. You nodded eagerly, your smile matching his. "That sounds perfect."

Quinn’s hands reached for yours, pulling you close as he planted a quick, playful kiss on your lips. "Alright, let's go spoil our son rotten, then."

The two of you walked out of the nursery, Quinn’s hand never leaving yours. The anticipation of shopping together filled you with excitement, but there was also a quiet thrill in knowing that the next step in this journey was about to begin. Choosing clothes for him, picking out the best little trinkets for the nursery—it all felt like a dream.

—

The store was buzzing with families, carts filled with everything from diapers to baby blankets. You and Quinn strolled through the aisles, side by side, as he pushed the cart, clearly excited about the baby items you were picking out. It felt like every step was a new adventure for the two of you, every decision bringing you closer to your baby boy.

"Look at this," Quinn said with a grin, pointing to a set of soft, pastel green and blue crib sheets. "These are perfect. His room is going to look so good with these."

You nodded, smiling at the vibrant colors that reminded you so much of Quinn’s team—the Canucks. The blue and green shades brought a sense of warmth and energy to the space. It felt like the perfect choice for your little boy, a room full of love and color.

"I love them," you said, picking up the sheets and adding them to the cart.

The cart was quickly filling up, a testament to Quinn’s excitement. You moved on to the next aisle, your eyes lighting up when you spotted a display of plush whales. "Oh my god, Quinn, look!" you said, practically bouncing on your feet. "How adorable are these?"

Quinn chuckled, seeing your reaction. "Whales, huh? Fin would be proud."

You reached for a soft, killer whale plushie, holding it close as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Quinn grinned and grabbed another, adding it to the cart. "Looks like we’re starting a whale collection for him," he said teasingly.

As you walked down the aisles, your cart was becoming a colorful mix of baby essentials—blue and green towels, soft blankets, and even a few wall decals in the shape of little whales. There were so many things to choose from, and Quinn’s enthusiasm made it all feel so special.

You couldn’t help but laugh when Quinn picked up a set of Canucks-themed onesies. "Alright, buddy, it’s time to start your Canucks fandom early," he joked, holding up a tiny onesie with the team’s logo on it. "You’re going to be the youngest fan at Rogers Arena."

"I’m sure he’s going to love it," you teased back, eyeing the display of tiny jerseys. "But maybe I’ll also get him something that doesn’t scream ‘hockey’ for now."

Quinn chuckled and put the onesie in the cart anyway, clearly proud of his little fan. "You’re right, we should diversify his wardrobe."

You both continued to fill the cart with cute outfits—onesies with little animal prints, soft hats with animal ears, and even a couple of sleep sacks in vibrant colors. The excitement in Quinn’s voice was contagious, and you couldn’t help but be caught up in the joy of it all. Your heart swelled as you thought about your baby wearing all these tiny clothes.

Finally, you made your way to the clothing section. The rows of onesies, tiny socks, and little shoes were overwhelming in the best way possible. You stood there for a moment, gazing at all the options, trying to decide what to grab next.

But as you picked up a soft, striped onesie, something hit you. You had always imagined this moment—shopping for your son, picking out his clothes—but now that you were standing here, it was all starting to feel very real. Your chest tightened as you looked at all the little clothes, your mind racing with the thought of how close you were to becoming a mother.

You felt the first hint of tears pricking at your eyes.

"Y/N?" Quinn’s voice was soft, and you turned to find him standing beside you, his eyes full of concern. He could tell right away that something was affecting you.

"I'm just… I don’t know," you whispered, blinking rapidly as you tried to push the emotions away. "It’s just… so overwhelming. I’m so excited, but seeing all these tiny clothes just makes it feel so real."

Quinn’s expression softened, and he stepped closer, his hand gently resting on your shoulder. "Hey, it’s okay. I get it," he said softly. "This is a huge moment for both of us. And I’m so glad we’re doing this together."

You took a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself, but the tears were starting to fall despite your best efforts. Quinn didn’t hesitate. He pulled you into his arms, holding you close. His warmth wrapped around you like a protective shield.

"You don’t have to worry about anything," he murmured, his voice gentle but firm. "Whatever you want, just put it in the cart. We’re getting everything our little guy could possibly need. We’re in this together, and we’re going to make sure he has the best start possible."

You sniffled, feeling the weight of his words sink in. He was right. It didn’t matter how much you bought, or how full the cart became—what mattered was that your son was going to have everything he needed and more. And more importantly, he was going to have both of you, his parents, who loved him more than anything in the world.

You pulled away slightly, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. "Thank you," you whispered. "I just… it’s a lot, you know?"

Quinn nodded, his thumb brushing away the last of your tears. "I get it, Y/N. I really do. But don’t worry about space, or anything else. If you want it, we’re getting it."

With that, you let out a soft laugh and wiped your eyes, feeling lighter already. "Okay," you said, taking a deep breath. "Let’s do this. Let’s make sure our baby boy has everything he needs."

Quinn smiled, his heart swelling with love for you. "I’m all in," he said, placing his hand on your lower back and guiding you toward the rows of clothes. "Let’s pick out some more stuff for our little guy."

You and Quinn spent the next hour carefully selecting more outfits, making sure the cart was packed with the softest, most adorable clothes. Every time you found something that made you smile, you’d add it to the cart, and Quinn would throw in a little joke or compliment, keeping the mood light and fun.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of shopping, you reached the checkout. Your cart was overflowing with baby gear—clothes, blankets, toys, and decorations for the nursery. The total was a bit higher than you had expected, but it didn’t matter. Every single item in that cart was something your baby boy would love.

Quinn insisted on paying, of course. He swiped his card with a grin, not even hesitating. "I’ve got it, Y/N. Don’t worry about a thing."

You smiled, watching as he loaded the items into the car. The weight of the bags didn’t seem to faze him, even though there were a lot. He handled each one with care, making sure everything was packed securely.

Once everything was in the car, Quinn walked back around and opened the door for you. He didn’t even let you lift a finger. "You just relax, okay?" he said with a gentle smile. "I’ve got this. The last thing I want is for you to strain yourself."

You chuckled softly, feeling the warmth of his care surrounding you. "I’ll let you spoil me this time."

Quinn’s smile softened, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. "You deserve it. I can’t wait for our little guy to be here, Y/N."

Your heart swelled with love as you looked at him, knowing that, no matter what, you and Quinn were ready for the adventure of parenthood. Together.

#quinn hughes fluff #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x pregnant!reader #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine

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hivemuthur · 2 days ago

Note

could we get some pervert!Viktor who stays up late at night touching himself to the thought of you? 🙏🙏🙏

YES, because this kept me up until now! The concept is there, changed a bit :') Never wrote something so fast, I swear to the old gods and new :v

What Brings You In?

solo viktor (gn!reader mentioned) explicit! I don't know what to say, it's just smut :v

word count: 1,6K

@rennethen beta read 🖤

—

Simple images come first. You, your dishevelled self as you let him in, unannounced, and offer him a little kindness in sharing your food you were just making, unbothered, as you seat him at the table in your kitchen with a gentle press on his shoulders and go back to your dismembering of mushrooms that you haven’t thought to wash before he came in, because you were about to eat alone, but he of course, doesn’t know that. And you don’t tell him, deciding it won’t kill him, most likely, or at least you hope so. With the corner of his eye, he watches you sink your thumbs in the legs, sliding in with your fingernails to split the umbrellas in half and toss them onto the hot sprinkling oil. Pouring more on top, adding three pinches of salt uncaringly, some grains falling on the table as he watches them bounce off.

Then, he watches you, as he tries to squeeze any of the words he’s prepared to come out and you show him another kindness by not pressing, just humming and stomping around quietly on your naked feet. And he has nothing for or against feet but were your feet about to stomp his face flat into the floor, or, in a better life, into the soft foam of the mattress, he would let you and he would lick your soles with gratitude while pulling his needy hands to feel the shape of your ankles.

When suddenly a clattering sound startles his poor soul as you drop your spoon, it falls between the table legs, and you mutter a soft curse. And then, without warning, you drop on your all fours, so he can see the soles of your feet that he thinks nothing of, and your curling toes and he dares not to look further, it’s only his eyes that betray him.

They wander up in a quick glance as his putrid brain has to decide fast whether to have the most likely shape of your ass or the crease of your calves etched into it, when he’s betrayed again and what his mind chooses is the arch of your back as you reach between the legs. And now the vision of you spread on all fours entered from behind is all that fits in his head the same way he hopes that he would fit inside you—hardly.

In this feverish dream, Viktor whines loudly enough to be heard—had anyone been in the vicinity of his bedroom—yet not loudly enough to wake himself. His hand travels palm flat, as the fantasy version of you kneels with your ass up and your chest down and the fantasy version of him has two healthy legs that allow him to kneel as well, right behind you so his cock can slide between your thighs until skin touches skin. The fantasy version of his hand pushes on the small of your back to deepen the arch, pressing your torso further down until you mutter a soft curse at the sole shape he bends you into, the same soft curse you’ve muttered in your kitchen above the sprinkling oil. Ideally his name follows.

His hips jut into the foam and cock rubs against his stomach and the cloth of his pants and he moans again, for you, but no one can hear it. Again, he is in your kitchen, when you set the simple meal before him and pass him the fork, and he does his worst not to touch your fingers as he accepts it. Fingertips linger and you smile softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear and tell him to eat first, with something that sounds dangerously close to care. As your lips move, he memorizes their shape and wonders if the shape of his lips would fit between them, if the shape of his cock could be pressed there and would you drool has he given it to you.

It's your lips now that plague him, with you back on your knees, your tongue stuck out and it’s so very red and pretty Viktor can’t make himself decide whether he is the one that wants to suck on it, or he wants it to partake in sucking him. Nothing that is happening between his legs at the moment is close to what he imagines your mouth would feel like, the dull press of dry skin of his belly pulling his foreskin down and the faint weep of precum at his slit incomparable to what softness you have to offer.

His unconscious mind conducts his hips to snap, making him believe that it’s your lips that he is fucking into, while it’s just the press of the mattress and the waistband of his pants teasing the sweet spot right below where his length ends. His hands fist the bedsheet which in the dream version of this encounter becomes your hair that he tugs on to make your jaw open wider and release gush of wet drool to well onto the ridges of his cock.

With his face pressed against the pillow and hips rutting forth, Viktor dreams of pushing himself past your throat making you release a sweet sound of gagging. He even dares to go thus far to pinch your nose and stare into your teary doe eyes when he leans in to whisper so good, holding your jaw open wide for him. Had you any more space left to move your lips you would curve them into a grateful smile and your eyes would squint with bliss.

Sweat pearls his forehead, it gets wiped on the pillowcase when he writhes in his bedsheets, the images of you filling his sleeping mind, unbidden. Next thing that presents itself to him are your thighs that shake as you scrape the frying pan with your back to him and he can shamelessly watch the jiggle of your ass and the muscles flexing in your legs. And he doesn’t really care if your thighs quiver as you move around or if they quiver as you sink onto him, his hips pressing sharp dents into the tender flesh. He’s granted the vision of his cock disappearing within you, the imaginary sound of skin slapping against skin as your rise and fall and your lips part to gasp for air that he pounds out of you.

As you lift your hips the strings of gooey slick cling to your legs, and slap into a puddle on his navel once you fall with a sharp snap. The tightness of his clothes is nothing compared to what he imagines the inside of you would be, but his body follows the false thread and finally his throat gives in, betrays his restless slumber, when the sound of his whimper strangled against the pillow makes his eyes fall open.

He gasps, unaware of his surroundings, embarrassed of himself and for himself as he lifts his chest to gape between his hips and the bed, where a wet stain blooms and mocks him. He rolls onto his back, cock poking out of his pants and this time it’s Viktor who mutters a curse, though it lands far from your soft ones. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, wipes the halo of sweat from his forehead with a sleeve and sighs, long and heavy.

The unbearable tightness of his own skin clinging to him drives him nearly mad, so he sheds the damp clothing and throws himself back onto his soaked sheet with a resigned exhale. Whenever he closes his eyes, he sees you, smiling, gentle, kind and oblivious to the words that never came to him. So to end this painful torment, ease the need that invaded him uninvited, his hand travels down below his navel to stroke his aching cock absently.

Once you are back behind his eyelids, this time it’s his conscious mind that shows him what his heart fears, and you are back there, bent over, your hands fisting the very same sheet he just drenched and he is right behind you, fucking into you with his knuckles whitening around your hips and his other hand reaching between your thighs. The better version of himself bends over your back to lick the sweat from between your shoulder blades and the better version of his hand tugs at the hair on the base of your skull drawing out hopeless moans from your pretty throat.

And even though his real, calloused hand is nowhere near as soft and wet as you would be, he strokes himself hard and dry, free palm caressing his chest, imagining it’s your fingers that trace loving circles on his skin. He whispers your name over and over again and in the moment when his balls pull up and his stomach coils unbearably, he imagines kissing your sweet lips and saying all the words he can’t bring himself to say around you. And he imagines you kissing him back and accepting the words.

He cums all over his belly and around his fingers clasped on his cock with a hot groan and a tension in his neck in a few scorching spurts. His hips jolt up, tensing up his spine, toes curl and legs stretch far beyond the mattress. Laying there spent and bathed in his seed, he spreads it on his chest, imagining it’s you’re your tongue licking him clean and brings it up to his mouth, imagining it’s your mouth that carries it into his in a loving, debauched kiss. Dirty and tired, Viktor blinks and thinks, time after time and once he’s empty it’s only the image of you in your kitchen, laughing warmly at his jokes, and pressing your hand to his in silence, when you finally ask, “So what brings you in?”

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #viktor x gn!reader #requests

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cheshire-chronicles · 1 day ago

Text

caleb, unfailingly, weathers the worst of you. the days when the clouds are heavier, the rain colder. the days when you’re a live wire, bristling with engagements that don’t go well and people that don’t act right and events that fall apart.

you lash out at him. you don’t mean to; it isn’t targeted at him in any way. it’s only because you come home, uncomfortable in your own skin, frothing and foaming, and he’s the one hovering a bit too close, a bit too overbearing.

“just leave me alone, gege,” you snarl, recoiling from him in a way that drives in your temper.

caleb has weathered this more than once. when you were both children at the old orphanage; teenagers finding their places in society; young adults experiencing new pressures.

he doesn’t take it personal — gives you the space you wanted, within the glass boundaries he allows. slices apples into a bowl in the meantime; fills a cup with hot milk and honey.

and when you eventually find yourself back at his side, all quivering lower lip and watery eyes and woeful apology on your face, he can’t help but smile.

too sweet, he thinks, you’ll give him a heartache.

“thought you wanted gege to leave you alone?” he says, just a trace of mocking in his tone.

he isn’t upset, far from it. in the past, he’d never jab at your words or pride. but now, well, haven’t you learned by now there’s no point in such a fuss? he isn’t upset with your emotional outbursts, no, but if you confided in him from the start, let him take care of you as he should, such a problem could’ve been avoided from the beginning.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. you remind him of wet flowers crumpled from a storm. “I didn’t mean to be rude to you.”

he hums. “no? didn’t even say hi after coming home. I missed you all day, only to be treated so harshly.”

your lip wobbles and you tug at his sleeve. look up at him with soft, glassy eyes. “hi.”

he nearly laughs. instead, he pulls you into his hold where you instinctively fit against him. you nose at his throat, burrow against his chest. he cups the back of your head, twirling a curl around his finger tightly, though his tone remains sweet as he coos, “still a crybaby, hmm?”

“I’m not.”

“no?” he smiles fondly, thumb catching a tear before it can fall. “you’re a big girl, then?”

“yes. still need gege, though.”

and that warms him better than any hot drink. he lightly tugs on the curl he’s wrapped around his finger, gazing at your face with an affection that borders lovesick. “yeah? well, gege is always here for you. even when you’re being difficult.”

you press closer at the reassurances, breathing in his cologne. the underlying flavours of familiarity and fixture, scents from childhood skies and adolescent fields. it doesn’t resolve everything alone, but it makes bearing them better, either way, you think.

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marauroon · 2 days ago

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I heard asks are open?! Can you please, pretty please, with a cherry on top, write something where the reader has chronic pain and is going through a really bad crash+flare up? And maybe this happens right after the full moon, so Remus is also really under the weather. So, James and Sirius are taking care of them? The bit with it being the full moon is 100% optional. I'm just dying from a flare-up and for someone to dote on me and take care of me right now, haha.

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬. (𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐲.𝐦)

james and sirius never hesitate to amp up the tlc when you and remus are having a tough time.

poly!marauders x gn!reader | 1.2k | h/c | masterlist.

You're already awake when you hear the front door open.

Well, “awake” might be too generous a word. You've been drifting in and out for what feels like hours, wrapped in a fog of pain and exhaustion.

The air in the bedroom is heavy with it, pressing against your ribs like a weighted blanket. Your body feels like lead, every nerve raw, every muscle clenched and aching. It’s been a long night.

A really long night.

The kind where sleep is just another thing your body refuses to cooperate with, where no position is comfortable, where you count the hours in the slow, creeping throb of your pulse in your joints.

You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of soft voices and the rustling of coats, hoping—just for a second—that they'll let you be. Not because you don’t want them. You do. But you also don’t want to be a burden, don’t want to be another weight on their shoulders, not when you know they already have their hands full.

But James and Sirius have never been particularly good at leaving you alone when you're hurting.

The bedroom door creaks open. You don’t have to look to know it's them. You can smell the fresh air on their clothes, the damp scent of early morning rain. James, predictably, has already kicked off his shoes—he hates wearing them inside. Sirius, less predictably, is quiet. Normally, he'd beeline for the bed, flopping on top of you like an overgrown puppy. Today, though, he's careful.

“Hey, sweetheart,” James murmurs, voice low and warm as he comes around to your side of the bed. His hand is gentle as he brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

You make a noise that isn't really an answer. It’s as much as you can manage.

James hums, fingers brushing lightly over your skin. “That bad, huh?”

You don't respond, but you don’t need to. You know the answer is written all over your face.

On the other side of the bed, you hear Sirius sigh, the mattress dipping as he perches on the edge. His fingers graze your arm, and you shiver at the touch. Not because it's unpleasant—Sirius is always warm—but because even the lightest pressure sends sharp, aching pain rippling through your body.

He must feel the way you tense, because he pulls back immediately. “Sorry, love,” he says, softer than usual. There's a strain in his voice, something tight and frustrated. Not at you—never at you—but at the situation, at the way he can’t fix this for you.

You force your eyes open, just a crack. “‘S okay,” you rasp, voice hoarse from disuse. “Just... hurts,”

James makes a quiet, sympathetic noise, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. His lips are warm, and for just a moment, you let yourself lean into it, into him.

“Have you eaten?” he asks.

You shake your head. The thought of food makes your stomach turn.

“Drink anything?” Sirius presses, frowning.

Another shake of the head.

“Alright,” James says, rolling up the sleeves of his jumper. “We can work with that,”

You blink at him, sluggish. “M’not hungry,”

James just grins, undeterred. “You say that now, but give me ten minutes. You know I can work miracles,”

You do know. And if you had the energy, you’d roll your eyes at him. Instead, you just let your gaze drift closed again.

James presses another kiss to your temple before he slips away, heading for the kitchen. You listen to his footsteps retreating down the hall, the clatter of cupboards opening. Sirius stays.

He's still quiet. Too quiet.

It takes effort, but you turn your head just enough to look at him. He's paler than usual, dark circles bruising the delicate skin beneath his eyes. His hair is a mess—well, more of a mess than usual—and there’s a cut just above his eyebrow that looks fresh.

“Were you out all night?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Sirius huffs out a breath that might be a laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Yeah,” he admits. "Moony had it rough,”

Right. The full moon.

You turn your head a little more, your sluggish brain finally catching up. “Remus? Is he okay?”

“He’s alright, gorgeous,” Sirius says. “Miserable, but alright. We’ve set him up on the sofa,”

That explains the exhaustion clinging to him, the way he’s more subdued than usual.

You reach for him without thinking, a slow, clumsy movement. Your fingers barely graze his wrist before he catches your hand, wrapping his fingers around yours. His grip is warm and solid, grounding.

“I hope he’s okay,” you mumble.

Sirius lets out a soft sigh. “He’ll be fine, James ‘nd I will take care of him, don’t worry,”

But he doesn’t argue when you tug weakly at his arm, urging him to lie down. He just kicks off his jeans and crawls into bed beside you, careful as he curls around your body, keeping his touch light.

The warmth of him is immediate, seeping into your bones, easing some of the tension in your muscles. You breathe him in, the familiar scent of leather and smoke and something distinctly Sirius. He exhales slowly against your shoulder, and you can feel some of the tension in his own body unwind.

James returns not long after, balancing a tray with one hand, a glass of water in the other, Remus following behind him with heavy, uncoordinated movements.

“Breakfast in bed for my loves,” he announces, far too cheerful for the hour. “Because I am, in fact, the best boyfriend in the world,”

Sirius snorts against your shoulder before vacating his place at your side to help Remus into the bed instead. “Bit early to be handing out awards, don’t you think?”

James ignores him, setting the tray down on the nightstand. You blink at the contents—toast, tea, something that smells vaguely like soup. Simple, easy. Your stomach churns at the thought, but you know James. He won’t push, but he won’t let you get away with nothing, either.

“Just a little,” he coaxes, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Two bites, at least. Humour me, okay?”

You sigh. “Fine,”

It’s slow going, but James is patient, coaxing the two of you into a few bites, a few sips of tea. Sirius is quick to doze beside you, his breath even and steady against your skin, a comfortable heat from his and Remus’ bodies radiating against your skin.

And for the first time all night, the pain doesn’t feel quite so overwhelming.

#marauders #marauders fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #james potter #remus lupin #sirius black x reader #sirius black #poly!marauders x reader

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reidmarieprentiss · 1 day ago

Text

Quickie?

Summary: Reader wants to sneak in a quickie before the BAU takes off again.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x FBI fem!reader

Category: fluff, suggestive (16+)

Warnings/Includes: suggestive content, secret relationship, reader works at FBI but not BAU

Word count: 1.7k

a/n: this is much more positive than the last post :)

main masterlist

You and Spencer have been secretly seeing each other for a few months now. Since you work in a different department, you don’t get to see him as often as you’d like, and you never have the chance to join him on cases.

The moment you see the news that the BAU is heading out on another case, your heart sinks just a little. You understand that Spencer’s job is demanding—he’s always chasing criminals across the country, putting his mind to work in ways that save lives. But it doesn’t make it any easier when he’s gone for days at a time, leaving you to miss him in silence.

With a quiet sigh, you pull out your phone and type out a message:

Meet me upstairs before you go?

You don’t have to say where. You both know. The fifth-floor office—empty, forgotten, your little sanctuary within the walls of the FBI. It had started as a joke, just a place to escape prying eyes when work got overwhelming, but over time, it had turned into something more. A safe space for the two of you.

The reply comes almost instantly.

Give me five minutes.

You don’t hesitate, pushing away from your desk and making your way to the stairs instead of the elevator. The anticipation sits heavy in your chest, a mixture of excitement and something almost desperate.

By the time you push open the office door, Spencer is already there, leaning against the desk, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder. His eyes soften the moment they meet yours.

“You’re fast,” you say, closing the door behind you.

“I wasn’t going to waste any time,” he murmurs, already reaching for you. His hands find your wrists, pulling you closer as he stays seated on the desk. His touch is warm and grounding, even through the layers of clothing.

Your fingers drift up to the collar of his cardigan, playing with the fabric as you let yourself relax in his presence. “I hate that you have to go.”

“I know.” He sighs, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I hate it too. But I’ll call you as soon as I land.”

You nod, though it doesn’t really make it easier. “I just wish we had more time.”

His hand moves to your waist and tightens ever so slightly. “Me too.” There’s a pause, a hesitation in his expression, before he adds, “I think about you all the time when I’m gone.”

Your heart stutters at his confession, a warmth spreading through your chest. “Yeah?”

Spencer huffs out a soft, shy laugh. “Yeah.”

You can’t help but smile, reaching up to brush a lock of hair away from his face. “Then you better come back to me in one piece.”

You lean in, pressing a sweet kiss to Spencer’s lips—soft, slow, something that feels like a promise. When you pull away, he stays close, murmuring against your mouth, “Always.”

Something about Spencer’s breath ghosting across your lips sends a shiver down your spine. The soft pink hue creeping down his neck is so endearing that it stokes a fire deep in your stomach, pooling heat beneath your skin. You lean in for another kiss, slow and deliberate, savoring the way he melts beneath your touch. One hand threads gently through his hair, fingers curling lightly at the roots, while the other traces delicate patterns against his chest, nails just barely scratching over the fabric between you.

Spencer gets lost for a moment, his mind short-circuiting as he tries to process the reality of you—of your lips on his, of your hands in his hair, of the way you look at him like he’s something to be devoured. It still feels surreal, like a dream he’s half-convinced he’ll wake up from because someone as beautiful as you want him like this doesn’t seem possible.

But then reality crashes back in—the fluorescent hum of the office lights, the distant chatter from the floors below, the ever-present risk of someone walking in. His fingers tighten briefly against your waist before he forces himself to gently push against your shoulders.

“Wait…wait,” he murmurs, his voice breathless and uneven as he tries to collect himself. “We can’t do this here.”

Your lips are already trailing along his neck, warm and teasing, and the way you hum against his skin makes his resolve waver.

“Do what?” you tease, your voice laced with mischief as you press another slow, deliberate kiss just beneath his jaw.

Spencer exhales sharply, his head tipping back slightly before he forces himself to lean away, his cheeks flushed as he fumbles for words. “Um… this.”

Your fingers curl at the nape of his neck, holding him close, your voice dipping into something dangerously sweet.

“What are we doing, baby?” you whisper, letting the words linger between you, daring him to say it.

Spencer’s breath stutters as he struggles to find the right words, his hands hovering uselessly over your hips as if he can't decide whether to pull you closer or push you away. His face is already flushed, the color creeping down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

“I—I’m… Y/N, I’m going to… uh, get—” He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries and fails to look anywhere but at you. Finally, he forces the word out in a near whisper as if saying it any louder might make it worse. “Hard.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across your lips as you tilt your head slightly, fingers still tracing lazy patterns along his chest. His honesty is endearing, his nervousness downright intoxicating, and the way his voice wavers only makes the fire in your stomach burn hotter.

“Oh,” you murmur, feigning innocence as your hand moves just the slightest bit lower. “Is that a problem?”

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut for a brief moment, exhaling sharply through his nose like he's gathering every ounce of self-control he has left.

“Yes,” he says, though it sounds more like a plea than a protest. “We’re at work.”

“And?” you press, leaning in just enough to let your lips ghost over his jaw.

He shudders, his grip on your waist tightening. “And… I can’t walk out of here like that.”

“Who says you’ll have to leave here hard?” you murmur, your voice dripping with mischief, your fingers still dancing lightly over his chest.

Spencer’s breath hitches, his body stiff as your words' weight settles over him. His pupils dilate, and for a brief second, you see the internal war flashing across his face—temptation battling with logic, desire against reason.

“Y/N…” His voice is barely above a whisper, shaky and uneven, like he’s already losing control. His fingers dig into your waist as if anchoring himself, but it’s no use—you can feel him unraveling beneath your touch.

Still, he shakes his head, his resolve clinging to the last fragile thread of professionalism he has left. “No, we can’t—not here.”

But his voice lacks conviction, and the way he’s looking at you, lips parted, breath shallow, tells you he wants nothing more than to give in.

You pout, tilting your head as your fingers trace slow, lazy circles against his chest. “Not here?” you echo, feigning disappointment. “That’s a shame… I was really looking forward to helping you with your little problem.”

Spencer exhales sharply through his nose, gripping your hips a little tighter like he's trying to physically keep himself in check. “It’s not—” He swallows, glancing toward the closed door like he’s calculating the risk. “It’s not a little problem.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across your lips as you press closer, feeling the way his breath stutters at the contact. “Oh?” you tease, letting your hand trail just a little lower—not too much, just enough to make him squirm. “Is it a big problem, then?”

Spencer groans, tilting his head back in exasperation. “Y/N…” he warns, though his grip on you doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens.

You press a quick, teasing kiss to the underside of his jaw, feeling the way his pulse hammers beneath your lips. “I just think it’s kind of unfair,” you say innocently. “You’re about to leave for who knows how long, and I won’t even get to see you. The least I could do is make sure you’re… comfortable before you go.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as if trying to gather every ounce of restraint he has left. “You are not making this easy.”

You hum, dragging your nails lightly over the fabric of his shirt. “You told me you didn’t want it to be hard.”

His breath catches, and he glares at you, but there’s no real heat behind it—just frustration laced with something darker, something wanting. “You cannot say things like that.”

“Why not?” You bat your eyelashes at him. “You’re the one who admitted to getting hard at work.”

Spencer groans, dropping his forehead against your shoulder like he’s conceding defeat. “You’re evil.”

You giggle, threading your fingers through his hair and scratching lightly at his scalp. “But you like it.”

He huffs out a breath against your neck, warm and shaky. “Unfortunately.”

You grin, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of his face before pulling back just enough to look at him properly. “Relax, baby,” you whisper, smoothing your hands over his chest. “I wouldn’t actually do anything here.” You lean in, your lips brushing against his in the softest tease of a kiss. “I just like making you squirm.”

Spencer exhales a laugh, shaking his head, but you can see how his eyes have darkened and how his fingers are still gripping your waist. “Yeah,” he mutters, his voice lower than before. “I noticed.”

You smirk, pressing one last playful kiss to his lips before pulling away completely, smoothing out your shirt like nothing had happened. “Well,” you say cheerfully, stepping back toward the door. “Have fun on your case.”

Spencer stares at you like he’s still recovering as if he’s not entirely sure if he should be frustrated or turned on. Probably both.

“You’re evil,” he repeats, though the way he’s looking at you says he wouldn’t have it any other way.

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tag list <333 @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance @pleasantwitchgarden @alexxavicry @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @criminal-spence @navs-bhat @taygrls @person-005 @asobeeee

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chenlezip · 1 day ago

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bf!mark thoughts…

warning: smut under the cut.

annas note: i want mark so badly why can’t he be mine :(

FLUFF :

whenever you visit mark during practice, he always comes over to you during his breaks and presses soft kisses against your lips, sighing and leaning his head into the crook of your neck, “doing so well baby, ‘m proud.” you praise him and he feels himself melt into you even more.

never lets you carry anything yourself. you’ve tried begging him countless of times so you can help because.. there’s no way he can manage the shopping himself- no, he cuts you off instantly and shakes his head, “i can manage.”

no matter how busy mark gets, he’ll always find the time to open up his packed schedule for you. whether that be just calling you late at night despite the time differences between you two while he’s on tour, pushing schedule back just two hours so he can spend more time in bed with you snuggled into his arms..

writes endless songs about you, performing them with his guitar and smiling brightly as he sees your reactions. if you start crying during one of them, he quickly drops everything and shushes you, “hey- hey, babe, what’s wrong? i didn’t mean to make you cry, i didn’t know my song was that sad.”

SMUT :

whenever mark is too tired from work, you’re quickly on your knees. “can make you feel better markie, release some of your stress from today, hm?” and god, he can’t say no when you’re looking up at him with those perfect doe eyes of yours that have a hint of desire in them. he hummed in response, leaning back against the headboard, “go on pretty..”

he always teases you for being sensitive just like you do with him. whenever you’ve got a hand on his thigh so close to his dick, he has to move your hand further down and groans, “not so close.. please..” but you never listen until marks keeping your hand there, rubbing his crotch against your hand, “k-keep it there..”

loves keeping close to you and teasing you with soft touches here and there, reminding you that you’re his in the simplest of ways. maybe if he’s too busy in the studio, you sat on his lap, his hands wander while he’s sorting out which notes to play on his guitar. “markie..” you feel him moving his hand below the waistband of your panties. he just hummed in response, tilting his head at you. “what’s wrong, babe?”

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marsdql · 2 days ago

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hold me close L.HS

불안한 ╱ 𝘴oft ! 𝘥om ! 𝘩eeseung х 𝘧em ! 𝘳eader ──── 0.1𝘬 ㆍ slight smut(implied), teeth rotting fluff ㆍ your first time with hee who knows nothing but to comfort you ㆍ @teddybeartaetae

The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of the sheets beneath

you. Heeseung’s hands were warm, gentle as they slid along your skin, exploring but never pushing, always giving you the space to breathe, to adjust.

You could feel the butterflies in your stomach fluttering nervously, the self-doubt creeping back in. Your body felt sensitive, unfamiliar to the sensations. The warmth of Heeseung’s hands, his fingers brushing so carefully over your skin, only made you more aware of your vulnerability.

“I’m here,” Heeseung whispered, his voice soothing, soft, like a caress. His face hovered above yours, his eyes watching you with so much love and care. “You’re safe, baby. If it hurts, we can stop. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

You tried to relax, tried to focus on his voice, the way his hands moved so tenderly, as if you were fragile, as if you were the most precious thing he had ever held. But the tightness in your chest didn’t loosen, and the butterflies in your stomach refused to quiet.

“I… I’m nervous,” you admitted, your voice shaky. You could feel the heat of your embarrassment rising in your cheeks. You were being so vulnerable, and you hated that feeling, the feeling of being inexperienced, of not knowing how to navigate this moment.

Heeseung smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His thumb gently traced the outline of your jaw, his touch reassuring. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said, his voice full of tenderness. “There’s no rush. We’ll go at your pace. I’m right here. You don’t have to do anything. Just let me love you, okay?”

You nodded, your breath hitching slightly. The way Heeseung spoke to you, so softly, so patiently, it was like he could read your mind, knew exactly what you needed to hear to calm your racing thoughts.

He leaned down, placing a kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, his lips lingering just a little longer each time. His hands moved to your waist, gentle, guiding, but never forcing. “You’re so beautiful,” Heeseung whispered against your skin, his voice thick with admiration. “I can’t tell you enough how amazing you are. You don’t need to be anything but yourself.”

Despite your nerves, despite the rush of emotions flooding through you, Heeseung’s words felt like a balm on your soul. He wasn’t looking for anything from you but honesty, trust, and love. The thought made your chest ache, a mixture of sweetness and vulnerability flooding your heart.

He kissed you again, this time more deeply, his lips soft and insistent, but never demanding. His hands slid under your shirt, gently pulling it off, exposing the soft skin of your torso. You flinched, but Heeseung was quick to reassure you.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured softly, his fingers tracing the soft lines of your skin. “You’re so gorgeous. Just breathe with me. I’m here, baby.”

You closed your eyes, your heartbeat loud in your ears. Despite the feelings of insecurity, of being new and unsure, Heeseung’s presence was a gentle anchor. You let yourself melt into him, allowing his calm to wash over you, even as the tightness in your chest remained.

He moved slowly, easing you through each step. His hands gently caressed your back, his lips whispering sweet nothings, comforting you in a way you never imagined possible.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice low and careful, like he was worried about every little reaction you might have.

You nodded, feeling a slight ache, but it wasn’t just physical. Your body, too, was flooded with emotions—nervousness, desire, and a small hint of pain from the unfamiliarity of it all. You tried to hold back the tears that stung at the corners of your eyes, but Heeseung was quick to notice.

He leaned down, pressing his lips softly to your temple, then your cheek. “Shh, baby, don’t cry,” he soothed, his voice thick with tenderness. “You’re doing so well. It’s okay to feel sensitive, okay? I’m here to take care of you. You’re so strong. I know it’s a lot, but you’re doing great.”

His hands were gentle as they continued to caress you, exploring, moving slowly, never pushing. Heeseung’s voice was soft, a constant reassurance, as if reminding you that you didn’t have to be perfect, you didn’t have to do anything but trust him.

“I’m right here,” he repeated, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re not alone in this. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll take it slow, okay? Just breathe with me.”

The pain was still there, a subtle throb that made you wince, but it was beginning to fade into the background of everything else—his soft touches, his reassuring words, the way he held you so close, so tenderly. His patience felt like a warm embrace, wrapping around you, calming your nerves, letting you feel safe even in your vulnerability.

“It’s better now,” you whispered, your voice trembling but full of gratitude. “You make me feel safe, Heeseung.”

He smiled at you, his eyes filled with warmth and pride. “That’s all I want, baby. I’ll take care of you. Always.”

And with that, he kissed you again, deep and tender, his hands exploring you with the utmost care, always giving you the time you needed, always reassuring you with his softness.

You couldn’t stop the tears from falling this time, but they weren’t tears of pain. They were tears of release, of finally being able to let go and trust him, trust that you were safe with him. Heeseung was patient, so incredibly patient with you, and in his arms, you felt something you never thought you could feel—truly seen, truly cherished.

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sxdisteez · 3 days ago

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☸ Dorm Series: Part-Five | 최산

| series masterlist | previous | next |

✦ summary: an innocent date night spent watching anime quickly turns into a steamy and passionate "session" between you and san. ✦ pairings: idol! boyfriend san x fem! reader ✦ genre: smut!, idol boyfriend au ✦ word count: 2.1k ✦ warnings: smut!, passionate san, fem reader initiates sex, lots of kissing, dry humping, breast play, nipple! play, biting, clothed orgasm, praise kink, pet/nick name (angel, sannie), rough! sex, sensual sex, thick dick! san, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, cum eating, multiple orgasms, lots of love!

this is a work of fiction and is not meant to be a realistic representation of any of the real people mentioned.

nsfw content below. 18+ - mdni

Today was date night for you and San. Instead of going out and finding a secluded place to spend time; a date you both didn’t even truly enjoy fully because it was filled with cautiously looking around at every sound and ultimately being hidden from everyone. You both decided it was best to create date night in a comfortable space, so here you were binge watching anime at San’s dorms, which was perfect since the members would be busy with their individual schedules. Both you and San were avid Hunter x Hunter fans so it was a no brainer that it would be up for selection.

“I know Hunter x Hunter is mainly about Gon but I can’t help but wish Killua or Kurapika had their own show and not just an arc. You get what I’m saying?” San questions tone laced in excitement watching the tv screen.

You hum in agreement, “I get you.”

Snuggling into Sans embrace more, you enjoy the way his body encompassed yours from behind. You dearly cherished moments like these because you both could comfortably be with each other with no restrictions. Dating an idol was not easy and many would not be able to give up on doing what most couples had the freedom to do. You wouldn’t trade San for anything though, he was sweet, goofy, thoughtful, mature, and overall the best boyfriend you’d ever had.

Turning around to face him, you peer up at him enjoying the look of amazement plastered across his face as he continues to watch the anime. You found it hilarious that from the outside people assumed your boyfriend was intimidating and mean but deep down he was the softest most gentlest man ever. Your heart swelled in admiration at the thought, your mind filled with only San at the moment.

Wrapping your arms around him loosely you begin laying light kisses on his chest, earning a slight squeeze from San. Making your way up to his neck you continue to kiss him gently until you’re face to face with him. He stared at you eyes dilated with love, a small smile forming on his lips.

“What are you up to sweetheart?” He asks, quirking his eyebrow up.

“Just appreciating you.” you say, staring back at him, eyes equally dilated.

You lean in, placing a small peck on his lips, then another, then another. Pulling back you smile at San, his lips slightly parted eyes closed anticipating more. You lean in deciding to be serious lips connecting with San’s in a sensual kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, lost in the way his soft lips moved perfectly in sync with yours. San lets out a small moan, his hands finding your hips, giving it a slight squeeze.

Never breaking the kiss, you move to straddle San’s lap wanting to feel even closer to him than before. You suck in a breath feeling his slightly erect member touch your heat.

“Someone’s excited.” You whisper against his lips. Breathing heavily, San can only release a low whine, his bottom lip sticking out in cute pout at the loss of your lips. You playfully lick against his jutted lips smiling at how he whines even more under you.

“I’m not in the mood for games.” He groans, grasping your face into his palm before pulling you down to connect your lips again.

His tongue swipes at your lips asking for access which you grant immediately, lost in the taste of him. San places his hands on your hips again, holding you down on his lap as he thrust up. You sigh into his mouth at the friction, the feelings of his clothed cock rubbing against your clad and already sensitive clit. Thrusting up more, San guided your hips back and forward your movement matching his perfect. You both moan into each other's mouths, the shared tension causing your arousal to heighten. Breaking the kiss you sit up, removing your shirt exposing your plump breast.

“Shit-“ San mumbles, eyes pitch black with lust.

He reaches up to palm both breasts as you continue grinding into him. He juggles them in both hands before giving them a slight squeeze. His fingers skate over your nipples, a strained whimper escaping past your lips. San leans up slightly before taking one of your nipples into his mouth, attending to the other with his hands. His mouth worked skillfully over your sensitive buds licking, sucking, and softly biting them knowing just how sensitive your nipples were. You messily grind into his lap at a faster pace, tension growing between your legs as your orgasm nears.

“Oh fuck.” You moan out loud already feeling lost in the pleasure you were receiving. “Are you gonna cum for me angel?” San looks up at you, eyes hooded as he takes in how gorgeous you looked desperately getting off on him. You let out a small groan, your head falling back as you feel the warmth expand in your belly. Shaking slightly your movements slow down as you ride out your orgasm.

“You look so pretty when you cum for me.” San groans flipping you over, his arms caging you underneath him. He grounds his cock into your obviously soaked panties, watching the way you squirm underneath him.

“I’m gonna make you feel even better angel.” He whispers, leaning down to give you a kiss on the forehead. San kneels between your legs, hooking his finger beneath the waistband of your underwear he slides them down, mouth watering at the slick that coated your folds. Laying down between your legs, San holds your legs wide, licking his lips at the sight of your juicy pussy. He gives one tiny kitten lick to your clit, holding you down firmly as you buck your hips at the contact feeling overstimulated from your first orgasm. He gives another kick to your hole collecting your juices and cum into his mouth. You both moan, you at the way his tongue skillfully moved and him at the taste of you. San takes your clit into his mouth sucking gently at the sensitive bud relishing in the little whines you release.

“Sannie.” You moan out, desperately wanting to grind your pussy against his tongue. He moans back at you, tongue circling around your clit as if he was searching for hidden treasure.

“You’re gonna make me cum again.” You cry out, your senses heightening again. San inserts a finger inside of you, curling his finger achingly slow before massaging your sweet spot. His mouth encloses on your clit, sucking greedily at your nub as he pumps into your heat. His fingers move skillfully and swiftly inside of you, the sounds of your slick filling your ears. The familiar tension reaches its peak crashing down on you like a truck. “I’m coming!” You moan, your body spasming as San continues, helping you ride out your orgasm.

“You taste so good. My perfect angel.” San coos removing his fingers from your cunt, inserting them into his mouth savoring the taste of your essence. You moan at the sight, loving the erotic nature of his actions. San slides his pants off, his thick cock slapping against his belly with a slight thud. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped passed your lips at the sight of his god-like body. Lean muscles, defined abs and the part you loved the most his perfectly muscular pecs flexing slightly as he stroked his cock.

“Like what you see?” He smirks watching the way you gawk at his appearance.

“Always.” You breathe out feeling no shame in how you stared at him. He was all yours after all.

Towering over you, San locks your lips into a deep kiss, his cock rubbing at your hole before sliding in slowly. Moaning into each other's mouth from the shared feeling of your cunt swallowing his cock. “Fuck-“ San mutters over your lips, finally bottoming out fully in you.

He enclose you in between his arms, holding himself up above you finally pulling out from your cunt achingly slow before thrusting in abruptly. Your mouth falls agape, your breath caught in your throat at the sudden action. San keeps his motion steady, each thrust taking your breath away on impact. You reach up tightly squeezing his arms in an attempt to brace yourself from the impact. San evens out his movement, pumping inside of your throbbing pussy with need. Your moans finally escape, pleasure consuming your body in its entirety.

“Yes, Sannie. Fuck me just like that baby.” You cry out, hands gripping even tighter around his arms. He grinds into your cunt, movements swift and fluid, his thick cock stroking your walls perfectly. You clasp your legs around San’s waist pulling him flush against your body wanting to feel his closeness.

“You feel so good.” You whine into his ear, clutching on to him as if he was your lifeline. San trails kisses on your neck, biting and sucking at the soft skin leaving behind his presence. San never failed to put some kind of marking on your body, wanting people to know you were taken. He groans feeling your pussy clench tightly around him straining his once fluid movements. Your nails rake down his smooth back, clawing at him in desperation. “Shit-” He hisses out, intoxicated with lust and love.

San finds your lips, hastily kissing you as he begins to pound into your aching cunt. You release a muffled moan at his ruthless actions, unable to ignore the sound of skin slapping permeating the room.

“Sannnnn!” A voice calls out, before bursting into the room. San still’s his movements looking up, his eyes meet Yeosang then Wooyoung’s staring back at him, puzzled looks plastered on their faces. He shields your body from their view with his own body making sure you are completely protected. You bite your lip stifling any noise, unable to silence your quick breaths.

“Oh you’re- ohhhhh.” Wooyoung says, eyes widening as realization strikes him on what’s happening. Yeosang looks back and forth between the two in confusion. His mouth falls open once he finally takes in the state of the room and San whose face was flushed and sweaty. They quickly make a beeline out of the door without another word leaving you and San in silence.

Your shallow breaths fill the room not knowing how to react in such a situation. San lifts off of you, his amused eyes finding yours as he releases a small chuckle. “That was close.” He sighs, shaking his head. You stare back at him stunned at what just happened, not knowing how to react. “We have to be quiet now.” You whisper more so for yourself because you knew quiet sex and San did not mix together ever.

“We’ll see how long that lasts.” San states smugly, resuming his movements. He ruts his cock into you, watching your face twist in pleasure again. A smile graces his face, basking in how beautiful you looked being fucked by him. He pulls back, leaving his tip in before slamming back into your pussy resuming his wild strokes. You cover your mouth releasing a deafening moan leaving both you and San wide eyed.

“Well that was short lived.” He laughed carelessly, continuing as if nothing happened.

You reach for a pillow, biting down harshly at the soft cushion in an attempt to muffle your screams. The assault on your pussy leaving you dazed, unable to control yourself and you liked it. San whimpers at the vice grip your pussy had around his member, feeling his orgasm creeping up. He hooks his hands under your knees, placing your legs on his shoulders. Reaching out he removes the pillow from your clenched teeth. Leaning forward he connects your lips in a sensual kiss, slowing down the pace of his thrusts. He relishes in the breathy moans you release into his mouth, swallowing every sound.

“Right there baby.” You whimper, the head of his cock brushing your sweet spot. He moans low locking eyes with you, love and passion swirling in his black orbs. You stroke his cheek gently enjoying the shared intimate moment.

“I’m close angel.” He whispers, movements slowly turning sloppy. “Cum inside of me.” You plead, grinding your hips up to match his thrusts, your own orgasm looming. “Fuck angel.“ San moans gazing lovingly at you, bringing his lips to yours again he slips his tongue past your lips. His hips erratic and messy he groans into your mouth, cock jerking wildly as his seed spurts deeply inside of you, the feeling coaxing your own orgasm to follow. San continues helping you ride out the last wave of your orgasm before pulling out.

“I love you.” San says forehead resting on yours. “I love you.” You reply, placing a small kiss to his lips.

—taglist: @spicxbnny @dawn-iscozy @levisforgottentea @nopension @ateezswonderland @jiminssluttyminx @sunnysidesins

be on the look out for part-six with mingi coming soon!

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed it like, reblog with tags, comment, and follow!

#ateez smut #ateez x reader #choi san smut #choi san #ateez san #atz dorm series #ateez series #©sxdisteez #ateez oneshot #choi san x reader #ateez oneshots #ateez scenarios #san ateez

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goaskangel · 6 hours ago

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nanami really loving you on valentine's day!

cw : aggresive, perv nanami, groping, dry humping, breeding(?), alcohol mention, yummy asfff

word count : 1.8k

you may have gone overboard with the cleaning. your apartment doesn’t look lived in, more like an IKEA showroom. it’s not like nanami’s an inspector, he’s your boyfriend. new though, you’re not very close and it’s only been a couple of months but he was manly enough to ask you to be his valentine, how could you resist!

he’s just so perfect, you daydream while flattening the creases of the couch’s pillow. golden and groomed blonde hair, ironed suits, old fashioned manners. how his voice goes softer when he’s speaking to you, his strong teeth and subtle smile only coming out for you. it feels like you’ve won a national prize every time you break his calm and collected attitude and manage to make his pale complex warm up. you dimmed the living room since you planned a casual movie-night with him, hopefully not too casual for him.

god knows he’ll show up in his signature suit and sit up-right while you play a stupid rom-com. that would be kind of nice. finally all alone, together, on a comfy couch. you could crawl onto his lap, tug on his tie, lick on his collared neck. kiss him like you mean it, no fear of the public.

you squint at your suddenly changed thoughts and get up with a sigh, knowing him, he might not make a move. but he’s only a man…?

you wait for the door’s bell. when it comes, you give yourself a few seconds and fix your hair before walking to the door. you can’t make it seem like you’d been waiting, that’d be ridiculous. suddenly your thoughts of changing your clothes because it’s a bit too chilly pass your mind when you see him. like lava streams in your blood, you warm up to a casual nanami. a pretty man dressed in a gray sweatshirt that painfully compliments his skin showed up timely to spend time with his girlfriend on valentine’s, you could faint!

“hello. picked up flowers on the way, these are for you.” he tilts the bouquet, your favorite, towards you gently, grinning warmly, making his eyes squint. you swear you could eat his face.

“thank you, thank you!” you’re handed the flowers as he steps closer to you, pressing a delicate kiss to your forehead as you take them, inhaling the floral aroma mixed with his peppery and woody cologne.

“i love them, but you didn’t have to, really.”

“it’s valentine’s day and the least i could do.” same soft smile on his lips.

you smile, too hard, at his gesture and move to the side to let him in. he kicks off his shoes as you quickly close, lock the front door and place the flowers on the kitchen counter.

“it’s not too hot in here, i hope.”

“it’s just fine,” he offhandedly observes the room, an appreciation for what you’ve done to the place. he tugs at his sleeves and rolls them up, revealing strong forearms. jesus christ. you snap out of your gaze and rush to sit at the couch, a thick blanket and a couple of fluffy pillows decorated the comfy space. rich chocolate and drinks already set at the coffee-table, and his favorite desserts from a bakery? you pat at the spot next to you and hold back a giggle when he sits next to you. his black pants spreading neatly over his thighs, your eyes carefully wandering to the seam of the zipper, your mouth pooling.

“here, get comfy.” you toss the large pull-over on the both of you, taking in the sight of hi, shuffling closer to you and warming up to the blanket around him.

“quite a fine home you’ve got, it’s extremely cozy.” he throws an arm over you.

“i try. it’s not usually this… tidy.”

“what? you’re trying to impress me?” he teases.

“it’s your first time over, i wanna make you feel good an’ comfy.”

“well, it’s working.” he smooths his hand over your hot cheek, the metal of his ringed index finger brushing over you.

you spend the remaining time opening chocolate and bakery boxes, feeding each other and occasionally kissing while a movie plays in the back. you hope for any move during the time he’s with you, any move at all. maybe a lingering kiss. it’s so distracting the way the shadows of the dark room and light source from the tv brighten his sharp features. you’re leaning into his warm chest as his fingers graze over your exposed thighs, sipping the wine you bought that he surprisingly, and thankfully, really enjoyed.

another part of the characters just talking and spilling lore, he sets the half-full glass down and focuses on you. eyes on the screen but his palm has splayed to soothe and grope over your thigh. he notices your obedience, spreading your legs just by the tiniest bit. his slips his hand into your inner thigh and that’s where you roll your body slowly.

his eyes are now on you, and your bodies mingled under the sheet as you watch the movie. mmm, thank god you wore thin shorts and a random t-shirt. you feel as his fingers graze over your thinly covered cunt, tips coming down to rub your clit. your gaze stays straight but you don’t focus, you’re unable too.

“c’mere,” nanami fixes your slouched posture so you sit with your back on his chest, your legs open and pliable for him to touch and grope at your body.

“kento.” you mumble, dazed, when his hand slides underneath your damp panties to tease at your folds.

“mhm, you’re so beautiful.” he sniffs at your hair as his other hand grips under your bra to hold and fondle your breast. the wine was really getting to you both. a sudden pulse at your lower back as he grinds gently into you, how tight had his pants gotten?

finally, finally, he got his hands on you. even under a blanket, you look down to watch the fabric move in waves as he rubbed your most sensitive parts, the alcohol heightening your senses. skilled hands pacing gentle but greedy circles on your buds as you gripped the remote. you appreciate his sexual activity, it’s just so much more aggressive than you thought he ever could be. his sweet words and gestures all hid his intrusive and perverse actions.

“god, i need to feel you.” he highlights his eagerness with an extra squeeze. you pathetically push the blanket off the couch and with trembling hands, you move yourself to face him. he lays himself down as you sit on his lap. you moan quietly when you feel him against your soiled shorts, bucking your hips down to get more of the twitching sensation below his belt. humping the fat chub under his pants, you craved it more than anything.

“uh-huh, that’s good. baby, you’re so good to me. that’s it.” his hands hold a bruising grip on your hips as you grind slowly but firmly on his hard cock.

“couldn’t stop thinking about this,” he groans when you rub your fat cunt directly on his tip, “this pretty body on mine, you’re so fucking hard to resist.” his cursing going right to your achy clit. you hop off and watch him violently take his belt off, switching your spots and filling the void between your legs with his hips. pulling his sweater off and tossing it as you do the same with your top. his pale skin so handsome and soft with his softer muscles and a layer of chub on his stomach from eating all his favorite breads. so sexy, you wrap your legs around his waist. you shake your head at the condom he pulls out from his pocket.

“needa feel you, your cock in me, please. don’t want anything between us, kento, please please. it’s valentine’s, let me do this for you.”

“perfect girl, you’re gonna kill me.” but he complies, gladly tossing the latex and pulling the confinements of his cock down. you whine at his contents. big and hard, the first time you’ve seen this part of him. you love it, he hasn’t even fucked you and you already love it, love him.

you nod aggressively when he lines his chubby, weeping tip against your soppy pussy. letting it catch a few times as he rocks back and forth, the moves of his sexy hips making you throb. he fulfills his own fantasies of his raw cock on his beautiful girl’s wet cunt whilst she begs for him to fill her up and make her his.

“you want it, sweetheart?”

“more than anything, yes yes yes.”

“no protection, nothing protecting you? you sure, love? it’s risky.”

“don’t care. i’ll have your babies if you want to – jus’ give it to me.”

“mmm, babies, huh… you sure that’s not the wine talking?” sick, even if it wasn’t the lust from being slightly tipsy, he wouldn’t, couldn’t, stop himself.

you could cry with all the teasing he’s doing but you lose your breath when he pushes himself into your perfect, tight cunt. all his. he takes your limp and delicate upper frame to his advantage and undoes your bra. nanami rolls himself deeper into you as he watches your pretty tits bounce with every move.

“so good, ken, thank you..!” as he presses himself into the depths of your cunt. you're unbelievably tight and so warm when he bottoms out as far as he can without really breaking you in.

he’s slow, eager and certainly not collected as he usually is but he takes his time to fuck you. you’re so drunk on lust and sex that you just agree to whatever he says. his pretty girl wants to be all his? have his kids? marry him and be taken care of and fucked so good daily? you nod and babble to all of it. as he speeds up, his sloppy kisses and skilled tongue on your nipples slow and he concentrates on making you both come. the movie ended a while ago and the rooms filled with groans and moans, sloppy and slippery squelches and slaps.

his kisses his thumb wet and massages little circles into your sensitive clit. you writhe at not only the delicious friction but how you tighten up again around his cock, stretching you out all over again.

“close, i’m close. keep fucking me, kento, yes, mhm. yesyesyes..” you jump at the overwhelming, intense orgasm and milk out every single ribbon of creamy cum into you. growling and furrowing his dark brows as he creams directly at your cervix. “good, good girl.” he snaps through his teeth as he finishes inside you. smoothing his hand over your pelvis and under your naval. gasping and panting as you both collect yourselves. he sinks down to rub his sweating face into your neck, kissing you gently again as you pull and stroke his blonde locks. ending such a day with all his love! <3

masterlist

#goaskangel #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji fushiguro #jjk smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami smut #jjk x you #valentines jjk #valentines nanami #nanami x you #nanami fluff #jjk nanami

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hy6erion · 2 days ago

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hii! can i request a enemies viktor x busty!reader with viktor who simply can’t stop thinking about her and her curves despite how much he ‘dislikes’ her? It’s okay if u ignore dw!!

𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 ??? - 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐲! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮...𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮

⇢ 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐢𝐝𝐤, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐦𝐠 𝐢'𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲

Viktor hates you. His rival. His most infuriating, insufferable, arrogant competitor.

The one person in Piltover who dares to challenge him intellectually, who dares to match him, outthink him, beat him in debates, make him second-guess his own ideas.

You're brilliant, cunning, ambitious-and Viktor loathes you for it.

But worse than that? You're fucking gorgeous.

It would be easier if you were plain.

If he didn't have to sit across from you during research symposiums, watching the way your tight blouse strains against your tits, the soft swell of them pushed up so fucking perfectly that it makes his fingers twitch.

If he didn't have to endure your sharp, smug little smirk whenever you outwit him, those plush lips that he wants to bruise with his teeth.

If you didn't cross your arms while arguing, pushing your tits up just enough to make it impossible for him to focus on anything you're saying.

Viktor hates you.

And yet, every fucking night, he's in his room, his cock in his hand, desperately trying to rid himself of the thoughts that consume him.

He tells himself he shouldn't.

That he should be above this-above stroking himself raw to the thought of his most hated rival, above gritting his teeth as he spills onto his own stomach, panting your name like a desperate man.

But the moment he closes his eyes, it's over.

Because he's not imagining some theoretical victory over you, some intellectual triumph.

No, he's picturing you on your knees, tits spilling out of your blouse, your smug little smirk finally wiped away as you look up at him, your lips wet, waiting for his cock.

He's imagining gripping those thick thighs, spreading you open, dragging his tongue over your dripping cunt just to hear you gasp his name.

He's thinking about bending you over his desk, pushing that tight little skirt up around your waist, fucking you so hard you forget every single theory you've ever argued against him.

Of holding you down, making you take it, ruining you with slow, brutal thrusts until your thighs shake and your breathy moans turn into desperate, needy whimpers.

Of stuffing you full, watching his cum drip from your wrecked little hole, knowing that no one else will ever get to have you like this.

It's sick. He's sick.

But it doesn't stop him from groaning your name, his hips jerking as he comes into his own hand, his body shuddering with the force of it.

And then?

Then he curses you, because even after spilling his seed to the thought of you, he still fucking wants more.

He hates seeing other men look at you.

At the academy, he sees the way men stare at you.

How they let their eyes linger too long on your tits, your hips, the softness of your thighs.

And it makes his blood fucking boil.

Because those idiots don't deserve to look at you.

They don't know how badly you need to be put in your place, how easily he could break you, how quickly he could wipe that arrogance from your face with his hands on your body.

He hates them for looking.

But he hates himself more for the way his cock twitches in his trousers every time you throw him a smug little glance, completely oblivious to the depraved fucking things he's thinking about you.

One day, he's going to snap.

One day, he's going to stop holding back.

One day, he's going to pin you against the nearest surface, drag you onto his lap, and fuck you until the only words coming out of your perfect little mouth are pleas for more.

He's going to tear that blouse open, finally touch those perfect, soft tits, squeeze them, bite them, watch them bounce as he fucks into you.

He's going to make you come so many times you forget how to argue, so many times you finally understand that you were never actually his rival—

You were just his.

And when he finally buries himself inside you, when he finally watches you tremble beneath him, wrecked and breathless and begging for more?

Maybe then, he'll finally be satisfied.

Maybe.

But for now?

For now, he'll just grit his teeth, curl his fingers into fists beneath the table, and pray to the gods that you never figure out just how fucking badly he wants to ruin you.

#✰⍣ 𝐡𝐲𝟔𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧 #x reader #arcane #arcane x reader #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #arcane viktor #arcane viktor x reader #arcane smut #arcane x reader smut #viktor x female reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor x reader smut #viktor x you #viktor #arcane viktor x reader smut

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aspenmissing · 1 day ago

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Hi, long time reader, first time requester. I absolutely love your work and I was wondering if you could do an arcane x reader (all the usual suspects and jayvik) for a reader who crochets? I know you’ve done one similar so ignore if it’s too similar. But I could imagine the reader being like “oh Silco likes fish” and then proceeds to crochet every fish he loves to the point that he could open an aquarium. And like she crochets jinx a replica of the bunny that vi showed her or something? 🧡

ꜱᴛɪᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx | ᴄᴀɪᴛʟʏɴ | ᴠɪ | ᴄᴀɪᴛᴠɪ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ!! || 7111 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴏɴᴇ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇʀꜱ! ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇᴀʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴡᴀʀᴍᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴜᴘ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ! ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ɪᴛ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ, ɪ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴅᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴛʜᴀɴ ɪ ɴᴏʀᴍᴀʟʟʏ ᴅᴏ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ!!! <3 <3

JAYCE

It was a quiet evening in the workshop of Jayce and Y/N's shared apartment. The soft hum of machinery filled the room, and the golden light from the setting sun filtered in through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the floor. Jayce was busy at his workbench, bent over a mechanical blueprint, his brow furrowed in concentration. But the calm was disrupted by a familiar sound—an occasional soft clink, the rhythmic pull of yarn, and the occasional sigh of satisfaction from Y/N.

Sitting on the couch nearby, Y/N was engrossed in her latest project, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. She had picked up the habit of crocheting a few months ago, inspired by the soft, repetitive motion it provided during her moments of relaxation. But there was another aspect to it—a playful one. She had started crocheting some of Jayce's tools, those pieces he left scattered around the workshop after a long day of tinkering. Wrenches, hammers, gears—nothing was safe from her crochet skills.

She picked up her current creation, a crochet version of Jayce’s trusty wrench, and twirled it between her fingers, admiring her work. It was remarkably accurate, the details as precise as her hands could make them. She couldn't wait to see Jayce’s reaction when he discovered her latest masterpiece.

As Jayce adjusted a mechanism on one of his projects, he reached for a wrench—a tool he had used countless times. His hand paused mid-air. Something was... off. He squinted down at the workbench, narrowing his eyes. The wrench was... soft? He lifted it slowly, inspecting it more closely. It was a crochet version of his tool, down to the smallest details, and all in a delicate blue yarn.

“Mi amor,” he called out, unable to hide the amused confusion in his voice. (My love)

She looked up from her crocheting, an innocent smile curling on her lips. “Yes, dear?”

Jayce held up the crocheted wrench, his brow raised in mock disbelief. “This isn’t my tool.”

Y/N's grin widened. “Oh, but it is. It’s just... softer.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, his heart lightening at the sight of her mischievous expression. “You’ve been crocheting my tools again, haven’t you?”

Her hands paused mid-stitch, and she tilted her head playfully. “Maybe.”

He walked over, holding the crocheted wrench between them. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or worried.”

“Both?” she teased. “I thought I’d make sure you have all your tools, just in case you need a backup for when you can’t find the real ones.”

Jayce leaned in, inspecting the crocheted version more closely. “I’m starting to think I’ll find crochet versions of all my tools from now on.” He gave her a pointed look. “How many of these have you made?”

“Enough to keep you on your toes,” Y/N teased, eyes sparkling with amusement. She loved seeing him so entertained by her little creations, the way his stern engineer’s face softened with each playful surprise.

“You know,” Jayce began, his tone mock-serious, “if I ever lose one of my tools, I’m blaming you.”

Y/N laughed softly, setting down her yarn and walking over to him. “You’d have to admit they’re very well-made.”

“I can’t deny that,” he said, giving the crocheted wrench a squeeze. “But I think I’ll stick to the real ones, if that’s alright.”

Y/N shrugged, her eyes twinkling. “Fair enough, but when you’re in a pinch, you know where to find a spare.”

He smirked and leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “I’ll be sure to ask for a crocheted hammer next time my machinery goes haywire.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at the intimate tone, and she wrapped her arms around him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Only if you promise not to get mad when the next tool is a crochet version of your screwdriver.”

Jayce chuckled, hugging her back. “Deal. As long as it’s soft enough to cushion me when I stub my toe on it.”

Y/N smiled against his chest, feeling the warmth of their quiet evening together. Despite the bustling world of Piltover and the constant work, these small moments with him felt like the most important thing.

And even if her crochet tools never quite replaced the real ones, she wouldn’t stop making them—because making Jayce smile was worth every stitch.

VIKTOR

Viktor sat in his lab, hunched over a workbench as his fingers gently maneuvered a series of delicate mechanical parts. His brow furrowed in concentration as the hum of machinery filled the space, but something else was tugging at the edge of his mind.

It was an unusually quiet evening. Normally, Y/N would be in the corner of the room, working on one of her many projects or crafting something with her hands. Recently, though, he’d noticed her spending more time with a set of yarn and hooks, her soft hums filling the air as she crocheted intricate patterns.

Tonight, however, her crocheting seemed different. He glanced over at her from time to time, watching as her hands moved rhythmically, the yarn twisting and turning into something beautiful. She had started out making small pieces, like scarves and blankets, but recently, her projects had grown more ambitious.

“Viktor, I’m almost done,” Y/N’s voice broke through his thoughts, and he looked up to see her standing with a mysterious smile, holding up a half-finished piece of crochet in her hands.

“What is it?” he asked, his curiosity piqued, though he could tell she was eager to keep it a secret.

"You'll see soon enough," she said, a twinkle in her eye. "Just trust me, it’s going to be a surprise."

Viktor raised an eyebrow but didn’t press her further, intrigued by her cryptic response. He returned to his workbench, though the quiet hum of the lab now felt different, filled with the anticipation of whatever Y/N was creating.

That night, after Viktor had fallen into a peaceful sleep, Y/N quietly slipped the finished crochet cover over his cane. She smiled softly as she adjusted it, making sure it fit perfectly before stepping back to admire the little surprise she had prepared for him. Satisfied, she tucked the rest of the yarn and her crochet tools away before slipping into bed beside him.

She settled in next to him, her heart light with the thought of how he would react in the morning. It was a small gesture, but she knew it would mean something to him. With that thought, she drifted into sleep, content beside the man she cared for

The soft light of morning filtered through the curtains, gently waking Viktor. He stretched slowly, feeling the familiar stiffness in his muscles, before reaching for his cane, as he always did to steady himself. But as his hand grasped it, something felt different. He paused, brow furrowing slightly in confusion.

The texture under his fingers wasn’t the usual cold, hard metal. Instead, it was soft, warm, and—he paused again, inspecting it. The delicate crochet cover fit perfectly, its intricate patterns wrapping around the handle in a way that felt almost… personal.

Viktor sat up fully, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He looked over to Y/N, still fast asleep beside him, a soft smile on her face. Her peaceful expression only deepened his gratitude for the thoughtful surprise she had left him.

Carefully, he tested the cane, pressing down on it as he would have done normally. The crochet softened the grip, adding a layer of comfort to the familiar support. It felt… better, actually. A little extra care that, while subtle, made a difference.

He couldn’t help but laugh softly under his breath, the sound barely a whisper in the quiet room. “You’re full of surprises,” he murmured to himself, shaking his head in amusement.

As he leaned back against the bed, still holding the cane in his hand, he couldn’t help but admire the way she had turned a simple gesture into something meaningful.

Viktor sat in the quiet morning, his fingers still gently wrapped around the cane with the soft crochet cover now in place. He marveled at the care Y/N had put into the small, unexpected gesture. His heart warmed as he tested the comfort of the grip, but he didn’t want to disturb her sleep just yet.

Instead, he shifted slightly and reached over to gently caress her cheek with his finger. The light touch was enough to stir her from her slumber. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, and she blinked groggily, the faintest smile curling on her lips as she realized what had woken her.

"Viktor?" she murmured softly, her voice still heavy with sleep.

He smiled warmly, not wanting to startle her but eager to share the surprise. "Good morning," he said gently. "You’ve given me quite the surprise this morning."

Her eyes found the cane in his hand, and she let out a small, contented sigh when she saw the crochet cover now in place. “You found it,” she said, her voice soft and affectionate.

“I did,” Viktor replied, his voice filled with warmth. “It’s perfect, lásko. You didn’t have to, but I’m… very grateful.” (Love)

Y/N propped herself up on her elbows, still sleepy but her eyes shining with happiness. “I’m glad you like it,” she said, a small blush coloring her cheeks. “I thought it might be a little more comfortable for you. It’s nothing, really.”

“It’s not nothing,” Viktor said, his voice sincere. “You’ve made it something special.”

Her heart swelled at his words, and she reached out instinctively, her hand brushing against his as she met his gaze. The quiet moment between them spoke volumes, the bond they shared deepening with every simple gesture, every unspoken word.

JAYVIK

It had been a long day at the Academy, and by the time Jayce and Viktor finally made it home, exhaustion clung to them like a second skin. The apartment was quiet—too quiet. Usually, Y/N would be waiting for them, either curled up with a book or busy with one of her countless crochet projects. But tonight, there was no sign of her.

“Maybe she went to bed early,” Viktor mused, rubbing his eyes as they made their way to the bedroom.

Jayce yawned. “She deserves the rest. She’s been working on something big, but she still won’t tell us what it is.”

As they entered the dimly lit bedroom, they saw the familiar silhouette of Y/N lying on the bed, facing away from them. The soft glow of the streetlights filtered through the curtains, casting a warm haze over her figure.

Jayce, too tired to question anything, just kicked off his boots and crawled into bed. With a content sigh, he settled behind Y/N, slinging a strong arm over her waist—only for his hand to sink unnaturally deep into her body.

His groggy mind struggled to process the sensation. He frowned and gave a little squeeze, only to feel soft, plush resistance instead of the warm, solid form he was used to.

“…Viktor,” Jayce said slowly, still half-asleep. “Is it normal for someone to feel like… like a pillow when you hug them?”

Viktor, who had been in the middle of sitting down, froze. He blinked at Jayce, then at the oddly still form on the bed. “…What?”

Jayce lifted his hand and let it plop down on Y/N’s back again—only for it to sink in once more. He stared at his hand, then at Viktor, baffled. “I think something’s wrong with Y/N.”

At that exact moment, the bathroom door swung open, and the real Y/N stepped out, towel drying her hair. She took one look at the scene before her—Jayce manhandling a stuffed replica of herself while Viktor stared in horror—and immediately burst into laughter.

“Oh my god,” she wheezed, clutching her stomach. “I can’t believe you just cuddled my crochet doll.”

Viktor blinked rapidly, realization dawning on him. “Wait… you made this?”

Jayce sat up quickly, still holding onto the plush, albeit more cautiously now. “You—you made a whole life-sized version of yourself?”

Y/N grinned proudly. “Took me months! You always asked what I was working on. Surprise!”

Jayce groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “I thought you melted or something.”

Viktor shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You are going to give us heart attacks one day, Y/N.”

She only giggled, sauntering over and flopping onto the bed beside them. “Oh, please. If anything, this just means you guys love me so much you didn’t even question it.”

Jayce groaned again, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just… warn us next time before you replace yourself with a stuffed version, okay?”

Y/N smirked. “No promises.”

Jayce sat up again, still holding the plush version of Y/N at arm’s length like it might suddenly come to life. “Okay, but why did you make this?”

Viktor, now warily prodding the doll’s leg with his cane, nodded. “Yes, I am also curious. Of all the things you could crochet… why yourself?”

Y/N flopped down onto the bed beside them, completely unbothered. “Oh, you know… for whenever I’m busy.”

Jayce squinted at her. “Busy with what?”

She smirked. “I dunno. Maybe I don’t feel like attending another ‘Jayce and Viktor argue over blueprints for three hours’ meeting, so I send my stand-in.”

Viktor scoffed. “You think we wouldn’t notice?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Would you?”

The room went silent. Jayce and Viktor exchanged a look.

“…Okay, that’s fair,” Jayce muttered, rubbing his face.

Viktor sighed and shook his head. “I hate that I cannot even argue with that.”

Y/N stretched, grinning. “See? Genius. Now, whenever I have things to do, you two can cuddle my crochet clone instead of complaining that I’m not around.”

Jayce gave the doll a suspicious glance. “You know, it is pretty soft…”

“Absolutely not,” Viktor deadpanned, snatching it away. “You are not replacing Y/N with a stuffed version just because it is ‘pretty soft.’”

Y/N giggled. “Come on, Viktor. Just give it a chance. I worked hard on her!”

Viktor shot her a flat look before shoving the crochet clone into Jayce’s arms. “Fine. You sleep with it.”

Jayce pouted, flopping onto his back with the plush doll. “It’s not the same.”

Y/N smirked, nestling herself between them. “Exactly. You dorks love me too much.”

Viktor rolled his eyes fondly while Jayce sighed dramatically, finally tossing the crochet doll onto the floor. “Fine, fine. Real Y/N is better.”

Y/N snuggled in closer, grinning. “Damn right I am.”

VANDER

Vander had seen a lot in his years—fights, betrayals, losses—but he never thought he'd see someone like you, sitting in the dim glow of the Last Drop with a ball of yarn in your lap, hands deftly moving a small hook through loops and chains like it was second nature.

He didn't quite understand the craft, not at first. "What’re you making this time, love?" he asked one evening, leaning over the counter to get a better look.

You glanced up at him with a soft smile, never pausing in your work. "Something for you. You'll see."

And he did. A few nights later, you handed him a thick, warm scarf—deep brown with a bit of blue threaded in. It wasn't the finest silk or the strongest wool, but it was made by your hands, and that made it better than anything he could buy.

Vander turned it over in his hands, feeling the care woven into each stitch. "You made this for me?"

You raised an eyebrow. "No, I made it for Benzo."

He barked out a laugh and tugged the scarf around his neck. "Feels like a hug," he murmured, pulling you in for a proper one. He held you there for a moment, his chin resting atop your head, the steady thump of his heartbeat against your ear grounding you in the warmth of his embrace.

But you didn’t stop with him. The kids got their own gifts, too.

Vi was the first to get hers—a pair of red fingerless gloves, reinforced with a thicker stitch so they'd last through all her roughhousing. She grinned and flexed her fingers, already throwing mock punches. "These are sick! Thanks, Y/N!" she said, practically bouncing on her feet. "Now I can really start training!"

"You better not use those to punch Mylo," you warned, though you knew it was inevitable.

Vi just smirked and ran off, likely to do just that.

Powder, wide-eyed and beaming, received a tiny crocheted rabbit, its mismatched ears flopping over like it had stories to tell. She cradled it like it was the most precious thing in the world, running her fingers over the stitches as if committing them to memory. "I love it!" she whispered, clutching it to her chest. "What's its name?"

"You tell me," you said, watching her think hard before nodding to herself.

"Jinx," she decided, holding the little rabbit up in the air like it was a trophy. "Jinx the bunny!"

Mylo tried to play it cool when you handed him a crocheted hat—green with a small, almost imperceptible 'M' stitched near the brim. "Eh, I guess it's kinda nice," he muttered, but he wore it every day after that. Not that he’d ever admit it, but you caught him adjusting it in the reflection of a grimy window more than once.

Claggor got a scarf like Vander’s, only his was warm gray and yellow. "It’s real cozy," he said, wrapping it around his neck and grinning. "Thanks, Y/N! Now I won’t freeze my ears off when we go out."

Vander watched it all—watched the way their eyes lit up, the way your hands moved so effortlessly, weaving love into every stitch. It wasn’t just fabric. It was a reminder, a small comfort in a place that didn’t often give them softness.

One night, as you sat curled up beside him, working on another project with his scarf still wrapped snugly around his neck, he exhaled deeply and pressed a kiss to your temple.

"You spoil us, you know that?" he murmured, watching your fingers move with practiced ease.

You hummed, leaning into him as your hook twisted through the yarn, forming something new. "Family deserves a little warmth."

Vander tightened his arms around you, his grip firm and steady. "That they do."

And in the cold, unforgiving streets of Zaun, that warmth was everything.

SILCO

Silco was not a man prone to sentimentality. Sentiment got you killed. Sentiment made you weak.

But there were exceptions. And lately, those exceptions took the form of tiny crochet fish multiplying in his office.

The first time he found one, he’d dismissed it as a curiosity. A small blue fish with black beady eyes, sitting neatly on his desk, its little fins slightly uneven. He picked it up between his fingers, the soft yarn foreign against the rough callouses of his hands. He turned it over, inspecting the delicate, precise stitches. The craftsmanship was simple but meticulous, each loop of yarn woven with care.

His gaze flickered to you, where you stood by the window of his office, absently rolling a ball of yarn between your fingers. The dim, golden glow of his desk lamp cast long shadows over your form, your expression unreadable.

“You left this,” he said, holding up the fish between two fingers.

You barely spared him a glance. “Maybe.”

Silco frowned at your evasive answer, but when you offered no explanation, he merely placed the fish aside, letting it rest next to his glass of whiskey. He didn’t think much of it. There were bigger things to worry about.

Yet, the next day, another one appeared.

A deep red fish, its tail slightly curved as if caught mid-swim, sat atop a stack of paperwork.

Then a golden one. A green one. A striped one. A tiny pufferfish with little bobbles for spikes.

Each morning, a new fish awaited him, its small, unassuming presence breaking the monotony of his work. They were left in odd places—perched on the armrest of his chair, nestled between stacks of ledgers, even once balanced atop the rim of his whiskey glass.

At first, he ignored them. He had more pressing matters to attend to—expanding Shimmer production, keeping the Enforcers at bay, maintaining control over Zaun. But as the collection grew, so did an unfamiliar warmth in his chest.

One evening, he finally caught you in the act.

You were seated in his chair, legs tucked beneath you, fingers deftly working a crochet hook as you looped the yarn with practiced ease. The rhythmic motion of your hands was oddly soothing, the soft shhh of the yarn unspooling filling the quiet space.

He lingered in the doorway, watching.

“You’re persistent,” he remarked, stepping further into the room.

You didn’t look up, didn’t even pause in your work. “And you like them.”

He scoffed, though the accusation wasn’t entirely false. His gaze flickered to the ever-growing pile in the corner of his office. He really could open an aquarium at this rate.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he mused, circling his desk.

You finally glanced up at him, arching a brow. “Do you think it’s funny?”

He considered this for a moment, then exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “No.”

There was something disarming about the little gifts, something that unsettled him in a way he couldn’t quite place.

You finished the last stitch, pulling the yarn taut before cutting it with a small pair of scissors. A pale lavender fish joined the others in your lap.

Silco reached out, his fingers brushing against yours as he took it from you. The yarn was soft, delicate, yet strong. Just like you.

He turned the fish over in his palm before glancing back at you. “Why?” His voice was quieter now, lacking its usual sharp edge.

You studied him for a moment before answering. “Because you deserve something that doesn’t ask for anything in return.”

Silco wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He was a man who had clawed his way to power, who had long since abandoned the idea of kindness without expectation. And yet, here you were, offering him something with no strings attached—something soft, something warm, something his.

Slowly, he tucked the fish into the inner pocket of his coat.

“…I suppose I could make space for a few more.”

Your lips curved into a knowing smile as you picked up your yarn once more. “Good. Because I wasn’t planning on stopping.”

JINX

The workshop was quiet, save for the rhythmic clicking of Y/N’s crochet hook and the occasional crackle of a distant lamp. Jinx sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the worktable as she tinkered with a small gadget in her hands. The soft glow of the nearby light bathed her in a warm hue, her blue hair casting long shadows over her face.

Y/N glanced down at her, noting the distant look in Jinx’s eyes. The girl had been quieter than usual, her usual boundless energy dimmed to something… softer.

"Something on your mind, trouble?" Y/N asked, her fingers still working the yarn into careful stitches.

Jinx shrugged, still turning the device in her hands. “Eh, just thinkin’ about stuff.”

Y/N hummed in acknowledgment, giving her the space to continue if she wanted to. She knew Jinx well enough to understand that sometimes, if you just let the silence sit long enough, she'd fill it on her own.

Sure enough, after a beat, Jinx let out a small chuckle. “Y’know… when I was a kid, I had this dumb little rabbit. Stuffed, all floppy, kinda ugly, but—” she grinned, “—he was mine. Had him for as long as I can remember.”

Y/N’s hands stilled for just a second before she resumed her work. “Sounds like he was special.”

Jinx nodded, her eyes flickering with something wistful. “Yeah. Called him ‘Bun-Bun.’ Real original, I know.” She smirked, but it was softer than usual. “Vi used to tease me about it, but I didn’t care. Bun-Bun was there when I had nightmares. When I was scared. When things got bad… I’d just squeeze him tight, and it was like nothing else mattered.”

Y/N felt a familiar ache settle in her chest. She had seen that look on Jinx before—the flicker of a past she clung to, moments she could never get back.

“What happened to him?” she asked gently.

Jinx twirled the screwdriver between her fingers, her smile fading. “Lost him the night everything went to hell.” Her voice was quieter now. “After the explosion, after… Vi left.”

Y/N’s hands paused again, the weight of the words heavy in the air.

Jinx scoffed, shaking her head. “It’s dumb, right? Missin’ some old, raggedy rabbit when I got bigger things to worry about?” She forced a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“It’s not dumb,” Y/N said, her voice firm but warm. “It’s never dumb to miss something that made you feel safe.”

Jinx blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in Y/N’s voice. For a second, she just stared, as if trying to figure out whether Y/N was messing with her. But there was no teasing in her face—no judgment, no pity. Just understanding.

Her fingers twitched slightly, gripping the screwdriver in her hand a little tighter. Then, she let out a small, breathy chuckle, her lips quirking up at the edges.

“Hah… Look at you. Always know just what to say, huh?” She smirked, but there was something softer beneath it. Something vulnerable. “Guess that’s why I keep you around.”

Jinx flicked the screwdriver in her hand, spinning it between her fingers before pointing it playfully at Y/N. “Don’t go telling anyone I got a soft spot, though. Ruins my whole scary, unpredictable vibe.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “Your secret’s safe with me, trouble.”

Jinx clicked her tongue. “Damn right it is.”

But as she turned back to her gadget, she hesitated, eyes flickering back toward Y/N for just a second. The words felt heavy on her tongue, but eventually, she muttered, just loud enough to be heard—

“…Thanks.”

And though she didn’t look up, Y/N simply smiled, returning to her crochet without a word.

That night, long after Jinx had gone off to do whatever mischief she had planned, Y/N sat in her chair, staring at the soft skeins of yarn in front of her.

Blue. Pink. White.

She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing the way Jinx’s face had softened when she talked about her old friend. The way her fingers twitched slightly, as if they still remembered the feeling of worn fabric clutched in her hands.

With a small smile, Y/N picked up her hook and got to work.

The soft click of a door shutting signaled Jinx’s return to her room. She yawned, stretching her arms over her head as she kicked the door shut behind her, only to pause when her eyes landed on her desk.

A small, stuffed rabbit sat there.

Her brows furrowed, hands reaching out hesitantly as if the little thing might vanish if she touched it. It was crocheted, the stitches tight and well-crafted, made with soft blue and pink yarn. The ears flopped slightly, and its button eyes gleamed in the dim light.

It was just like the one she had as a kid. The one she lost a long time ago.

Jinx swallowed, fingers trailing over the soft yarn before she noticed the small note tucked beneath it. She plucked it up, scanning the familiar handwriting.

"I remember you telling me about your old friend. I thought you might like to have them back."

Her breath hitched. She turned the note over, half-expecting more words, but that was it. Simple. No big speech. Just a quiet reminder that someone cared.

Jinx clutched the rabbit to her chest, a rare warmth spreading through her. She flopped onto her bed, staring at the ceiling with a lopsided grin.

“You really are the best, mama…” she murmured, hugging the little rabbit a bit tighter.

And for the first time in a long while, she felt safe.

It was a quiet evening in Piltover. The soft golden glow of the setting sun filtered through the windows, casting long shadows across the room. The air was still, save for the rhythmic clinking of crochet hooks against yarn.

Y/N sat in the corner of the living room, her focus entirely on her hands as she worked on her latest project. The soft yarn slipped through her fingers with ease, creating delicate patterns as she twisted and looped it. It was a small scarf for one of the kids in Zaun—a tiny act of kindness she hoped would warm someone’s heart.

Across the room, Vi leaned against the doorframe, watching her. There was something mesmerizing about the way Y/N’s hands moved, like the quiet clicking of gears in a machine that had perfected its craft. Vi had never really paid much attention to crochet before, but watching Y/N do it made her curious, made her appreciate the beauty in the small, slow moments.

“You’re getting pretty good at that,” Vi commented, crossing her arms and smirking as she stepped into the room. “That’s... uh, not something I expected from you, Y/N.”

Y/N glanced up from her work, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Why? Because I’m not what you'd call ‘delicate’?” she teased, her voice light but warm. The rhythm of her hook didn’t falter as she worked.

Vi chuckled, shaking her head. “Nah, just didn't picture you as the knitting type. Thought you’d be more of a... I don’t know, warrior or something. But hey, this is kinda cute.”

Y/N laughed softly, her eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and fondness. “I’m a lot of things, Vi. Besides, you’d be surprised how calming it is. Crocheting is like... a quiet fight. Every loop and stitch builds something.”

Vi watched as Y/N pulled the yarn through one more time, the edge of the scarf beginning to take shape. The soft colors she used made it feel like a warm embrace. “I can see that. You’re always building something—whether it’s a scarf, or with all that knowledge you’ve got hidden up there,” Vi said, tapping her temple with a playful grin.

Y/N glanced at her with a gentle smirk, her eyes softening. “Just a habit, I guess. I like creating things. It helps me focus. And sometimes, I think... it’s nice to make something for someone else. Something that’ll keep them warm.”

Vi softened at her words, crossing the room to sit next to her. She watched for a few moments, entranced by the way Y/N worked. “You know, if you keep making stuff like that, I might just steal it.”

Y/N looked up, her brow raising slightly in challenge. “Oh? Steal it? What do you mean?”

Vi leaned in, her eyes glinting with playful mischief. “Well, maybe I need something to keep me warm on my next patrol through the streets. You wouldn’t mind, right?”

Y/N chuckled and shook her head, playfully nudging Vi’s shoulder. “You’re not getting this one. But I can make you something special. You know, for when you’re off being the big, tough enforcer.”

Vi grinned, clearly pleased by the offer. “Deal. But it better have some edge to it. I want to look intimidating.”

“Intimidating?” Y/N raised an eyebrow, looking up from her crochet. “A scarf that’s intimidating?”

“Hey, don’t underestimate me. I can pull it off.” Vi winked, nudging her again with a grin.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll see what I can do, then.”

The next few days passed in a blur, with Y/N balancing her work at the Academy and her quiet moments crocheting. Between the chaotic pace of life in Piltover and Zaun, she found solace in the rhythm of the yarn slipping through her fingers. As promised, she began work on the scarf for Vi. This time, the design was going to be different—something bold, something that would match Vi’s tough exterior.

Vi had mentioned wanting something intimidating, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile as she considered what that might look like. The colors were deep and strong, a mix of dark purples and silvers, with sharp geometric patterns woven in that could resemble the angles of sharp steel. It wasn’t a scarf meant for delicate moments—it was a scarf meant for power, for strength.

Vi’s eyes had lit up when Y/N mentioned she was working on it, though she hadn’t given away how eager she was to see the finished product. She couldn’t deny it: she was curious about how Y/N’s delicate craft would turn into something tough enough to match her persona.

Finally, after a couple of evenings spent by the window, Y/N finished the scarf. The design was intricate—just like Vi had asked—but it had the warmth that came from Y/N’s touch, from the care she’d poured into each loop and stitch.

As Y/N held the finished scarf up in front of her, she couldn’t help but be proud of the way it turned out. It looked like it had a bit of fire in it, like it could take on whatever came its way.

Vi was sitting on the couch, her legs stretched out, absently flipping through a magazine when Y/N walked over with the scarf draped in her hands. There was a small grin on Y/N’s face as she held it up.

“Ready for your custom, intimidating scarf, Vi?”

Vi’s head shot up from the magazine, her eyes wide in sudden excitement. “That is what I’m talking about!” She grinned and jumped to her feet, clearly pleased.

Y/N handed the scarf to her with a chuckle. “I made sure it has that edge you wanted. I think it suits you.”

Vi took it in her hands, running her fingers over the cool, smooth texture of the yarn. The deep colors and bold pattern were exactly what she had hoped for—something that felt strong but not overly flashy. It was simple, just like her, but it had a sharpness to it that said don’t mess with me.

Vi wrapped the scarf around her neck with a dramatic flourish, striking a pose in the mirror. She looked at herself, pleased with how it framed her. “This? This is perfect.”

Y/N watched with a soft, fond smile, leaning against the wall. “Glad you like it.”

Vi turned around, tossing Y/N a look of mock seriousness, though the warmth in her eyes betrayed her. “I look like I’m about to start kicking ass, don’t I?”

Y/N snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “You already do. Now you’ve just got the scarf to match the attitude.”

Vi grinned, then reached out to tug Y/N closer. “You know, it’s not just the scarf that’s badass. It’s you, too. Thanks, Y/N.” Her voice was softer now, genuine as she gave Y/N a gentle squeeze.

Y/N smiled, feeling a warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with the yarn she’d used to create the scarf. “You’re welcome, Vi. You deserve something that keeps you warm—physically and, well, emotionally.”

Vi’s grin softened, her usual tough exterior cracking for just a moment. “Yeah, well... you’ve got me there.” She let out a soft laugh and gave Y/N a playful shove. “But seriously, you’re one of the good ones. I’m glad we’ve got each other.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. For all the chaos and uncertainty in their lives, moments like these—moments of connection and understanding—made it all feel worth it. She gave Vi a quiet nod, her smile deepening.

"Yeah. Me too."

CAITLYN

It had been a long, exhausting day in Piltover. The sun had just begun to set, casting an orange glow across the city. Y/N sat at the small window in her apartment, legs tucked beneath her, a crochet hook in hand, weaving delicate threads into something meaningful. It wasn’t the first time she had spent an evening this way, her hands moving mechanically while her thoughts drifted.

The rhythmic click of the hook and yarn were soothing, and she lost track of time as she focused on her work. Her current project was small, intricate — a delicate flower pattern. It was for Caitlyn.

Caitlyn… The sharp, observant sheriff of Piltover. The woman Y/N had found herself drawn to in unexpected ways. Their interactions had always been tense with a mix of professional respect and an undercurrent of something else that neither of them fully acknowledged, until now.

Y/N's fingers danced over the yarn, the flower slowly taking shape. It was meant to be a small token, a sign of gratitude for Caitlyn’s unwavering support and kindness, especially during the moments Y/N struggled to process her past. Caitlyn had seen through her, past the hardened exterior, and had always been there when she needed her most.

As Y/N finished the final row, the door creaked open. She didn’t have to look to know who it was. Caitlyn's presence filled the room, like a quiet storm — strong, confident, but always gentle when it mattered most.

“Evening,” Caitlyn’s voice was soft, but there was a hint of curiosity in it.

Y/N smiled without turning around. “Evening, Caitlyn. How’s everything going?”

“Same as usual, a lot of paperwork and a few too many cases I’d rather not deal with,” Caitlyn replied, her tone light but clearly a bit weary. “What are you working on?”

Y/N finally turned, holding up the finished flower. It was small, but delicate, made with a soft lavender yarn. "I made this for you," she said simply, holding it out.

Caitlyn’s brows furrowed slightly, surprised. "For me?"

Y/N nodded, her eyes softening as she watched Caitlyn. "I figured you might appreciate it. It's a little piece of something for you to keep."

Caitlyn reached out, taking the flower in her hand, her fingers brushing lightly against Y/N's. She stared at the crocheted bloom, a soft smile forming on her lips. "It's beautiful. I… didn’t expect this." Her voice softened, genuine gratitude shining through her words.

Y/N lowered her gaze for a moment, feeling the intensity of Caitlyn's eyes on her. "You’ve done a lot for me. I wanted to show you that I appreciate it."

A long silence passed between them, filled with an unspoken understanding. Caitlyn reached out, gently taking Y/N’s hand in hers, a simple but meaningful gesture. Y/N squeezed her hand, feeling the warmth of Caitlyn’s touch.

The flower that Y/N had made now rested between them, a symbol of the quiet bond that had started to form between them — delicate, like the stitches of Y/N’s crochet, but strong enough to weather any storm.

“Thank you,” Caitlyn said quietly, her voice full of sincerity.

Y/N only smiled in return, a deep sense of contentment settling over her. "Anytime."

CAITVI

The apartment was peaceful for the moment, with only the rhythmic clicking of Y/N’s crochet hook filling the space as she worked on her latest project. She was seated on the couch, her fingers moving with precision through the yarn, adding tiny crochet bullets to her growing collection. Each little bullet was delicate, but they all came together perfectly. She worked steadily, glancing up every now and then to watch the playful chaos unfolding in front of her.

Vi, with that signature mischievous grin, was teasing Caitlyn as the two of them sparred with their crocheted weapons: Vi’s gauntlets and Caitlyn’s sniper rifle.

“Come on, Cait,” Vi taunted, pulling her crochet gauntlet back like a fist, “are you really gonna let me win this time?”

Caitlyn, ever the composed one, grinned, aiming the crocheted sniper at Vi with exaggerated seriousness. “You think you can take me down with that?”

Vi dodged dramatically, ducking as Caitlyn mimed firing. “Oh, it’s not about taking you down,” she quipped, “it’s about the fun of trying.”

Y/N chuckled softly to herself, her fingers working deftly to make another small bullet. The yarn was soft under her hands, but it held firm as she shaped it. She continued adding to the tiny collection as the two women bickered playfully in front of her. The crocheted gauntlet Vi wore was perfect, almost like the real thing, while Caitlyn’s sniper rifle was equally impressive, down to the last detail.

“Alright, alright,” Caitlyn chuckled, tossing the crochet sniper over her shoulder. “But I still think I’ve got the edge.”

Vi winked at Y/N, a mischievous glint in her eye. “What do you think, Y/N? Who’s winning?”

Y/N glanced up from her work, her smile lighting up her face as she watched them. “I think you both look ridiculous. But if I had to choose…” She paused, her gaze shifting to Vi. “Vi’s definitely got the upper hand. Caitlyn, you need more practice with your aim.”

Vi raised her gauntleted fists triumphantly, letting out a playful cheer. Caitlyn feigned a dramatic sigh. “I’ll get you next time. Just wait.”

Suddenly, Caitlyn turned back to Vi, aiming the crocheted sniper rifle at her with mock seriousness. She pretended to fire, and Vi exaggerated the fall, clutching her chest as if struck by a powerful blow.

“Nooo!” Vi gasped, dramatically collapsing onto the couch beside Y/N. She let out a playful moan, flopping against her with a wink. “My dying wish… is to kiss Y/N one last time.”

Y/N laughed softly, her heart swelling at the sight of Vi’s playful antics. She leaned down, brushing a stray strand of hair from Vi’s face, and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

“Is this how you die every time?” Y/N asked with a smile, her voice filled with affection.

Vi’s grin widened, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Only when I’m lucky.”

Caitlyn leaned against the back of the couch, watching the two of them with a fond smile. “Lucky, huh? I think we all are, really.”

Y/N smiled at the two of them, wrapping her arms around both of them as they all settled onto the couch together. She held the tiny crochet bullets in her hands, absently finishing up the last one. The light-hearted energy in the room filled her with warmth.

They had been through so much, but moments like this, full of laughter and love, reminded her of how truly fortunate they all were to have each other.

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