#and there's something about them seeing the tenderness and affection

[capquinn]

Hey I love your Dad!Quinn writings so much! They’re so cute and fluffy! Maybe you can do one about mom’s bump popping up one morning and Quinn is like mesmerized, realizes that a baby is coming and his life is going to change. But he’s so happy. Only if you want to write this. Have fun in NYC!

The hoodie slipped from his hands, forgotten, as Quinn froze in the doorway, caught in the quiet spell of the moment. His breath stilled, his gaze fixed on you — on the reflection of you in the mirror, framed by the soft morning light that filtered through the curtains. You were standing there, one hand resting on the curve of your belly, your fingers brushing over it in a way that was both casual and deliberate.

But it wasn’t the same curve he’d kissed goodnight the evening before. This was new, different.

His eyes traced the line of your profile, lingering on the now unmistakable swell of your stomach. It wasn’t just a gentle hint anymore, not the subtle softness he’d grown accustomed to seeing. It was undeniable, defined. A bump.

His bump. His baby.

Quinn’s arms hung at his sides, his hoodie now pooled in the chair behind him as his brain worked to catch up with his eyes. For a long beat, he just stared, unmoving, as the weight of it hit him all at once. His chest tightened, his heart thrumming in a rhythm he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t panic, not fear, but bigger — something that was overwhelming in its tenderness. Awe, maybe. Or reverence. A sense of this is real that felt too massive for his chest to hold.

He tilted his head slightly, as if looking from a different angle might somehow soften the impact, but it didn’t. If anything, it deepened it.

His gaze dropped to your hand, the way your palm smoothed over the firm swell like it was second nature now. He hadn’t realised how much he’d been holding his breath until he let it out, slow and shaky, his hands flexing at his sides. There was no mistaking it anymore — this was real. Tangible. The tiny life that had been nothing but whispers and plans and grainy black-and-white ultrasound images was suddenly here, making its presence known.

You glanced up in the mirror, your eyes catching his reflection, and Quinn’s heart twisted. You looked at him like you always did — a soft affection that grounded him — but now there was something else. Something unspoken, something shared. Something that said, can you believe this?

He stepped closer without even realising, the movement automatic, like gravity was pulling him to you. His hand reached out instinctively, tentative at first, brushing against the curve of your belly before settling there fully. His palm was warm, steady, fingers spreading slightly as if to take it all in. The bump was firm, more defined than he’d expected, and the simple touch made everything feel sharper, clearer.

“This is new,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion, almost as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile intimacy of the moment.

“It wasn’t like this yesterday,” you replied softly, your voice carrying the same quiet awe that was written all over your face.

“No,” he agreed, his thumb sweeping in a slow arc along the edge of your belly. “It wasn’t.”

For the first time, it wasn’t just an abstract thought in the back of his mind. It wasn’t just appointments or plans or future names whispered in the dark. It was right here, under his hand. The tiny, growing life you’d made together, tucked safely between the two of you.

His gaze flicked back up to yours, his eyes soft and bright with something unspoken. Pride, maybe, and then his lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile.

“That’s… really our baby,” he said, the words tumbling out like a confession, as though saying them aloud might help him fully believe it.

“Really our baby,” you echoed, and the way you said it, so soft but so certain, nearly unraveled him.

Quinn’s thumb brushed over your skin again, slower this time, more deliberate, as if tethering himself in the moment. He didn’t let go, didn’t even think about moving. His fingers flexed gently against you, holding on as though the world might tip if he didn’t anchor himself to this — to you.

He exhaled quietly, his voice dropping even lower as his gaze flicked back to your bump.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” he murmurs. “To you. To seeing you like this.” His voice caught slightly, and his eyes softened even further as they roamed the swell of your stomach, his hands cradling it like it was the most precious thing in the world.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you — off the way your body had changed, the way it was carrying something that was a part of both of you. It hit him all at once, an overwhelming wave of awe that nearly stole his breath. The guys had joked about this, their faces lighting up in a way that always seemed a little exaggerated when they said there was nothing more attractive than seeing your partner pregnant with your child. He’d brushed it off at the time, but standing here now, he finally understood. You were stunning, and it wasn’t just how you looked — it was what it meant. What you were doing.

He kept those thoughts to himself, too raw and vulnerable to say aloud, but they lingered, stirring in the quiet space between you.

“You’re just so beautiful,” he said instead, the words escaping before he could stop them. He didn’t need to elaborate — everything he felt was in the way he looked at you, his eyes soft, his expression completely open.

The sincerity in his words made your throat tighten, a warmth rising in your chest that had nothing to do with hormones. He saw it immediately — the way your eyes glossed just slightly, your lips pressing together as if to hold back an overflow of emotion. You stared down at the curve of your belly, your hand resting over his, grounding yourself in the moment.

Quinn’s heart clenched at the sight. He hadn’t meant to make you cry, but the way your reaction softened your entire expression made his chest ache in the best way. His fingers flexed gently against your stomach again, his thumb brushing over your skin in a slow, steady rhythm, his way of silently telling you that he was right here.

Your lips parted slightly, like you wanted to say something but weren’t quite ready, and he stayed quiet, giving you the space to find the words.

“It doesn’t feel real, does it?” you whispered finally, your voice carrying a quiet awe that made his breath catch.

He paused for just a moment, watching the way your gaze lingered on your belly, before answering.

“It’s real,” he said, almost to himself, as if to convince the last part of him that still couldn’t quite believe it. His fingers pressed a little more firmly, cradling the swell of your stomach with the same care he might handle something sacred. “It’s us. Right here.”

He could see the ripple of emotion in your expression, the way your chest rose in a deep, steadying breath. The way your hand tightened over his for just a second, like you needed him to hold you in the moment.

When your eyes finally met his, the look you gave him stopped him in his tracks. It was full of wonder, gratitude, and a love so profound it stole the breath from his lungs. For a moment, he couldn’t find the words, couldn’t do anything but hope that you saw everything reflected back in his gaze: the wonder, the love, the quiet, unshakable resolve that whatever came next, he’d be there — every step, every breath. For you. For the tiny life between you. For all of it.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

requests are open - let’s daydream!

[dissapointu]

Silco with a reader who has a high a high sex drive

1. Silco’s Control and the Reader’s Desire

Silco is a man of control, and while he’s always aware of the dynamics around him, he’s especially attuned to you. His own need for power and dominance extends into their personal interactions. He would likely keep his emotions and desires in check, but the reader’s high s-drive would push his patience. Silco is not one to rush things, but he enjoys the challenge of maintaining control, especially in private moments where the chemistry between you both becomes more intense.

2. A Subtle Power Play

Though Silco appears stoic and cold to the world, when alone with you, he enjoys the subtle power play that comes with your high drive. His reactions might range from amusement to quiet possessiveness. He knows how to take his time with you, slowly building tension and testing how far he can push before your desires overwhelm the situation. He thrives on the control, but not in an overt, obvious way. It’s more about keeping you just on the edge of anticipation, knowing how to keep you wanting more.

3. Provocative Teasing

Silco’s teasing is deliberate and sharp. If he notices that you’re feeling particularly eager or frustrated, he might not immediately indulge you, but instead he would draw things out. A gentle brush of his hand, a look, a soft whisper of words just enough to spark something within you. He understands your high drive, and he’s more than willing to test your patience, letting the tension build slowly until you’re at the brink of madness.

4. Satisfaction in Your Submission

While Silco is driven by a need for dominance and control, he would find great satisfaction in knowing that you’re utterly captivated by him. When he finally gives in to your needs, it’s not just physical for him—it’s a psychological and emotional conquest. He relishes the moments where he has you completely in his grasp, knowing your desires are met, but also ensuring that he’s the one who sets the pace.

5. Intense Emotional Connection

For Silco, physical intimacy isn’t just about release—it’s an expression of trust and power. He would value the deep connection that comes with being physically close to you, appreciating how your high drive shows him a different side of you. It’s a form of vulnerability that he doesn’t often show to others, and in return, he might even surprise you with moments of tenderness when he sees that you’re fully trusting him. Your desires allow him to be more than just a ruthless leader, revealing a more intimate and protective side.

6. Morning After

After a night of intense passion, Silco would likely become reflective and somewhat distant. His love for control means that while he’s fully capable of indulging in his desires, he still views them through the lens of power dynamics. He may not be overly affectionate the morning after, but you’ll notice subtle signs that he is invested: a hand on your back, a quiet but meaningful look, or a low murmur that shows he’s pleased by how things went. He’s not one to speak openly about feelings, but his actions would reveal that he takes satisfaction in knowing your needs were fully met.

7. Long-Term Relationship Dynamic

Over time, the power dynamic between you two would likely become more complex, especially as Silco learns to balance his need for dominance with the deeper emotional connection he develops with you. He would remain the one in control, but as your relationship deepens, he might find himself occasionally giving you more than he intends—pleasure, affection, and intimacy beyond what he expected for someone as calculating as him. You might not ever change the way he operates, but you certainly add an extra layer of complexity to his life, a challenge he both resents and craves.

[emmcfrxst]

I can also imagine mom!reader ‘subtly’ pushing Laura and Logan closer 🤭 Like those are her two favorite people and she knows that they love each other (in their own traumatized way) but she wants nothing more than to see them heal themselves through their relationship because nobody understands them better than each other—even if they argue and bicker all the time. So she’ll set up situations where they’re sort of forced to bond and spend time with each other and they’re just like 👫🏻

i’m gonna have to say i strongly disagree with that actually! having been with logan for a long time, she definitely understands how his mind works— he’s deeply traumatized; he’s volatile and unpredictable when it comes to letting new people in, heavily guarded from nearly two centuries of seeing the worst in humanity, and although laura isn’t a direct threat to him, it’s still incredibly hard for him to let anyone in because he’s just so fucking scared of losing more people. the walls he’s built around his heart are sky high, and he doesn’t react well to being forced into situations he’s uncomfortable with— it’s a matter of trust, and i strongly believe that if mom!reader were to try and force him to do something he’s not quite ready for yet, it would backfire pretty badly. he’s long since lost that bite with her, softened by years of tenderness and love, but he would definitely retract back into himself and push her away if she were to force things. i also believe that she wouldn’t even think of it anyway, because she would never want to break that precious trust, and she understands how logan’s trauma has affected pretty much every single thing about his way of thinking. she would never put him in an uncomfortable position without giving him an out, so i really don’t think she would plot/scheme to push logan and laura into situations that could affect not only their relationship, but hers too. i think that she would suggest for logan to take laura out one-on-one, either to the grocery store or on little adventures, but i believe she would make sure that he knows he doesn’t have to do it if he’s not ready— i.e “logan, could you get the groceries and bring laura?” and if she sees him hesitate, she would probably add “or i can do it if you do [whatever it is reader was doing]”, i do think you’re right about laura being the person who could understand logan the most and vice versa, but i think mom!reader shouldn’t be discredited either because she’s been with logan for several years at this point, so she knows him better than he knows himself and therefore wouldn’t do something that could make him regress. hope that makes sense <3

[thelonelyshore-if]

sfw for ravi to keep me from going insane pls

Nonnie I'm soooo sorry this is so late I've been going through it. But here's Ravi's alphabet, I hope it brings you some joy <3

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Ravi keeps his distance. It isn't that he doesn't want to be affectionate, but…he hesitates. Especially with physical affection. He isn’t sure it’s a good idea to get to that close to someone, in a very literal sense. When he is affectionate, though, he likes holding hands and slow dancing together when there isn’t any music. He’s a big fan of just holding hands while you’re having a conversation. Having that little tether of connection is big for him.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Infuriating. He'd be infuriating…though he's a fiercely loyal friend. He tends to act on his whims and he can be smug and superior, even with his friends. But he'd love to talk magic and do puzzles together. Much like Croft, if you want to befriend him chances are you're going to have to be the one pursuing it on the front end…unless you somehow attract his attention. Such as, if you wash up on shore in the middle of the night. 

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Ravi loves to cuddle and avoids doing it whenever possible. Too intimate, too close.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Ravi's house is pristine. He's an okay cook but not actually all that skilled. He wants to settle down in theory (especially with the right person), but probably not in practice. 

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He'd just ghost you! You'd never see him again. And if he ran into you in public he'd do his best to avoid you. Full on pretending you don't exist. Unfortunately Ravi isn’t very good with Big Feelings or with confrontations.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

The idea of marrying the person he loves is enough to make Ravi shut down completely. He'd love to do it. He never could do it. There's no chance.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Physically he's very very gentle, barely risking touching you at all. He's also…decently emotionally gentle, but he's complicated. As seen in game he can be kind of a dick. But he can be so soft and tender when he wants to be.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Ravi loves hugs, and doesn’t mind them from friends. Hugs from crushes or a partner are even better, but he'll be much more stressed about them. His hugs are brief, though there's always the lingering impression he wants them to last longer. 

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It would take him a while (like. years) if left to his own devices, but I could see a near-death situation making him say it much sooner. 

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Eh Ravi doesn't really get jealous. He finds it funny when other people try to flirt with his partner or whatever. He trusts the person he's with, and jealousy just isn't really his thing. 

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Scared. Passionate. Hesitant at first, more uncontrollable the deeper it gets. He likes being kissed on the face and the hands especially, he likes kissing his partner on the hands, too.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Ravi doesn't really get kids, but he likes them. He usually just treats them how he'd treat adults…which sometimes can get him in hot water when he lets a kid or teen do something irresponsible that they Are Not Old Enough To Do. He just assumes kids know their parents’ rules and will follow them lol. 

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Very much so like the first morning with him in the game!! Except you’d presumably wake up in bed together. But he’d wake up, press a gentle kiss on your forehead. Go start breakfast (unless he’s too sleepy for it), prepare you your favorite drink (even if it’s water), and then he’d wait for you to get up. His brain is shut down early-morning so he’d sit in silence and read the paper unless you prompted conversation, but he doesn’t mind a comfortable silence.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Just as low-key as the mornings, tbh. Share dinner together, and then he’d try to prompt some sort of shared activity. Doing a puzzle together, going for a hike or a drive, even just watching a movie. Eventually he’d shower–probably on his own, it would take a lot to get him comfortable showering with you–and then time for bed! He doesn’t sleep much, but he’d love to just lay with his eyes closed, holding you.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Ravi’s very open, so long as you aren’t expecting the truth c:

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Not very, but it’s definitely possible to push his buttons. He prides himself on his control, but is kind of addicted to anything that makes him lose said control. Ravi is very, very level-headed. It takes a special sort to get him angry.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Ravi remembers everything. He really isn’t the type to forget even the smallest detail. It’s almost a little unsettling how much he manages to remember.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Ravi’s first date is a hike in the woods c:

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He’s incredibly protective! Especially when it comes to the fog. That being said, he presents said protectiveness in a very particular way. He believes it’s more meaningful to teach someone to protect themself than rush in to be their knight in shining armor. Minor spoiler, but Ravi will be one of the biggest proponents of MC learning to control their magic. And he’d be flattered if MC was very protective of him, but also amused. In theory, he’s one of the safest people in Easthaven–he can take care of himself.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Ehhhhh it fully depends on the day lol. It’s something he’d like to do, but honestly he doesn’t always think about that sort of thing. Ravi’s a romantic guy, but it’s definitely in his own way, and these kind of details can fall to the wayside.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He’s a liar. He’s incredibly set in his ways. He’s arrogant, and likes feeling superior. Also he’s not above putting his cold hands under your shirt in an attempt to warm them up.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

In an attractiveness sense, Ravi’s concerned on an average level. He wants to look good, sure–doesn’t everyone? But more importantly, he’s very self-conscious about his scars. He doesn’t let anyone see them, other than the ones on his hands and face, and even those make him feel anxious. Though I suppose it does have less to do with being judged and more to do with what those scars mean to him…

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Yes. If given the chance, MC will become his entire world.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Ravi is scared of dogs. He doesn’t like coffee but loves the smell–he prefers tea. His favorite season is winter, even though he hates driving on ice. He has at least one puzzle that he’s used puzzle glue on and every so often considers framing and hanging on his wall. He hasn’t yet because it feels kind of tacky. When he was a teenager he used to sneak out and fall asleep in the graveyard.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He really will struggle with a MC who is hell-bent on getting out of town. He can work with a skeptic, as much as they drive him insane. He finds it kind of funny and kind of hot, in an odd way. Ravi finds stubbornness sexy lol. But if the person he’s fallen in love with wants to leave him? It terrifies him in a way he can’t explain. How can he in good faith help them do it? And wouldn’t it be equally bad to try and stop them?

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He frequently falls asleep with his glasses on.

[angeart]

hhau rescue rambles - part III

>> part I here // part II here // hhau masterpost here <<

3,3k words. cw for this one - violence, injuries, maybe mild gore?

-- The hunters come, drawn by the loud noises of panic Grian was making, unerringly making their way towards them. They yell and holler at each other and cheer, feeling triumph from cornering their prey. It’s going to be them who get the wanted poster reward money. Them who will get their hands on those rare, special, bright feathers. 

They do not hesitate to approach and attack.

Scar is tightly holding onto Grian, unwilling to let go. He’s going to protect him with everything he has, and if right now that’s just his body? If it means being a shield? He’ll do it.

He’s in his vex form, which allows the wounds to heal, but they still hurt. It still feels desperate. It still feels like there’s a limit, and the enemies are approaching, cautious around the clearly feral vex. 

Scar’s going to have to let go of Grian if they have any chance to fight them off here.

He pleads and begs, asking for Grian’s attention and trust, hoping for some coherency. Hoping, to all hells and back, that Grian can do this last thing. That he won’t run, that he won’t give up, that he won’t give himself over in some misguided attempt to protect Scar. (There’s no protecting Scar here. He’s on that wanted poster as well, after all. He’s already caught in this skirmish.)

There’s only one thing for them to do.

Fight.

So he looks at Grian, trying to anchor his panicked gaze, and begs him to fight with him. 

Please, fight with me. Please, Grian. It can be the last time.

And Grian nods. He rubs the tears out of his eyes. There’s nothing else to do here. He’s going to stand by Scar’s side and do his part in their survival, like always. Even if it might be the last time. (Grian definitely thinks the last time means something else here, but he’s willing to take as many hunters down with them as possible.) (He also thinks this just proves his point that he’s a beacon and he’ll draw danger to Scar, constantly, always, until they die.)

They slip into something learned, feral and fierce. A flash of steel and claws, blue magic and violet feathers. The panic and exhaustion take second place, pushed away entirely by a haze of a fight, blood gathering on their hands as they cover each other’s back.

It’s violent. It’s vicious.

This is how the hermit rescue party finds them. 

They’ve never seen Grian and Scar like this. They’ve never seen a scene quite like this one. But the fight is far from over, and more hunters are coming, and— The hermits don’t really get time to process what they’re seeing—what any of it means, a reflection of a year of horrors—they simply rush in to help.

Scar is relieved to see them. They can now see that Grian is alive! (And they can help keep it that way!) And Grian can see that there really is hope!

Except Grian isn’t really processing that this is their friends. His mind is completely haywire, adrenaline loud in his ears. This makes no sense to him, and he doesn’t have the space to stop and pause and take it in. It’s staticky and numb and far away, nonsensical to his frightened heart. The coherency evades him. 

There’s nothing here for Grian but blood and death and Scar Scar Scar Scar.

He barely dodges an arrow aimed at him and pounces at a hunter who was approaching Scar from the side. There’s no hesitation in his motions. No pause or remorse about fighting to death on a permadeath server. About killing, ruthlessly and brutally. It’s long since past the time when thoughts like that felt like they hold any weight.

The hermits quickly assess that this isn’t going to go well. The fight won’t easily be turned in their favour if they’re overwhelmed by numbers. They need to go. Now.

They don’t get to tell their plan to Scar and Grian. There’s no time. There’s no real way to explain anything in this chaos of a fight. They simply act.

It’s Cub who manages to get close enough to vex-mode Scar, snapping a bracelet on his wrist.

Scar barely registers that there’s something against his skin before he feels a sharp yank as he’s teleported away, without warning or consent. 

Disorientedly, he finds himself on a ship, the surroundings quiet where before everything was loud. Cub is there with him, and so is Doc and Ren and Impulse. Xisuma hurries into the room, eyes wide, asking if Scar’s okay.

Scar isn’t okay, because he is here and Grian isn’t.

Scar isn’t okay, because Grian was ready to give up and sacrifice himself before Scar found him, and now he's alone again.

Scar isn’t okay, because Grian is terrified and Scar isn’t there to help. He isn’t there to keep him grounded. He isn’t there to keep him alive through this. He—

 It doesn’t matter that Cub promises they’re coming. So very sure the others will join them very soon. Any second, really! Aaaaany second.

Scar’s going ballistic on the ship. Gone full vex brain, and they can’t snap him out of it. Doc tries to restrain him with his bionic arm, since it can resist Scar’s claws. (Scar does not like seeing a creeper right now, either. He’s not thinking straight.) Scar’s hair is still white, eyes shining blue, vex magic rampant in his veins as feral panic floods him, leaving him thrashing and yelling at them, demanding to see Grian. (They took him away, he can’t be taken away, no nononono—)

Cub keeps repeating they’re coming. They’re coming.

Scar keeps trying to fight back, get free, get them to listen to him. Insisting, urgent and panicky: Send me back send me back send me back.

A minute passes, then another.

The others aren’t showing up.

Scar’s agitation only grows. He told them. He told them that Grian needs him! They aren’t listening to him. Nobody is listening.

Impulse tells him to trust them.

Scar shouts back that he doesn’t trust anybody.

It’s bewildering and startling and wild. On top of that, Cub is freaking out, because Scar’s still in his vex form, and Cub knows all too well that it’s actively dangerous to Scar to keep holding onto that much vex magic at once for too long. That Scar needs to stop.

Scar won’t stop. Not until Grian is safe.

--

Grian isn’t safe.

The fight is messy and the hermits showed up in the middle of it and Grian isn’t processing any of it. He just knows someone’s trying to grab him, and then Scar is gone, and Grian’s left in an even worse state, everything a cacophony of danger and panic. 

Amidst the chaos of the fight, he does what he knows best: he avoids being touched. He avoids capture, which is what his brain perceives as the hermit rescue party trying to do. They need to get close to him, within touching distance, and put the bracelet on him, and— He isn’t letting them. He isn’t letting anyone near him. (Anyone but Scar.) (But Scar isn’t here anymore.)

Alarms blare through Grian’s head at the loss of Scar—his only source of safety irreparably gone in a way he can’t comprehend—hurtling him deeper into confusion and despair. Everything’s a blur of blood and adrenaline, and he’s terrified.

But Scar asked him to fight, one last time. So Grian does.

--

Scar, too, fights. 

He fights to get free, to get sent back to Grian, somehow, he doesn’t care how just send him back. He’s distressed in a way they’ve never seen, and the more time passes without the rest of the rescue party coming back, the more grim it all becomes. 

Doc is still on Scar-restraining duty. Impulse and Ren are trying to help but are lowkey pressing themselves against the walls, trying to avoid the lash out. Cub’s still trying to get to Scar, urging him to calm down before the vex magic burns him out completely (and literally). Xisuma is anxiously counting every second that the rest of the rescue crew isn’t coming, trying to process the severity of the implications without having all the informations to do so. 

And then, finally, Pearl comes through.

Only Pearl. 

She’s dazed. She’s bleeding.

Scar doesn’t care. He tries to tackle her and demand answers, Doc’s hold slipping, managing to reel him back just in time. 

Everyone’s now on high alert. They don’t know what’s going on down there and they also need to take care of Pearl’s injuries. 

Turns out, Gem triggered Pearl’s teleport to get her out of there when she got severely injured. It’s now only Grian and Gem against a whole bunch of hunters in a world that doesn’t play nice. 

Scar swivels, yanking himself free of Doc’s hold. He grabs Xisuma. “Send me back.”

Pearl’s pleading the same now. She was so close to Grian! She doesn’t know what’s going to happen now that she isn’t there. Now that she doesn’t have a chance to reach him anymore. There was so much blood everywhere. Her injuries throb in a way she’s never felt, dread thick on her tongue like blood. 

She can’t bear the possibility of this going wrong. 

Nobody can.

Impulse snaps to action (as the Unhurt Sane Person™). “Alright, that’s it. I’m going in.”

X, worried for Gem and Grian, lets him.

Which makes Scar more feral, because he also wants to go, and now he knows Xisuma is capable of sending him back. He starts straight up threatening them all, tries to snatch at the controls himself, tries to grab Xisuma by the throat, all the bad things. He yells at them that Grian’s going to die. Can’t they understand??? His words are jumbled and desperate and hard to comprehend, but he needs them to understand. He needs to go back.

His claws are still smeared by blood of the hunters. He’s still in vex form, hair white and eyes blue, fangs sharp. Breath hitching, tears dripping down his chin, heart beating wildly in his chest. He needs to go they need to let him they have to. Grian’s going to die.

Cub decides he has to make compromises. He says they have to send Scar back in. (Scar isn’t going to let go of his vex form here like this.) He makes the call to trust Scar despite all the damage he’s causing here. He approaches him, even though Scar is scary and has been lashing out, grabs his hand and presses a bracelet into it.

He tells Scar, “Save him.”

--

The second Scar spawns back down, he is welcomed by Grian’s visceral scream of pain.

His first instant thought is a harrowing not again, vividly remembering how he found Grian that very first time in this world. How close to death that ended up. How awful it was. 

He wanted to never hear that kind of sound again. And yet he keeps hearing them. Screams of pain he’ll never be able to forget.

The scene that greets him is dismal. 

Grian’s on the ground, his wing tangled into a trap that keeps dragging and ripping at it. There’s a lot of hunters trying to approach the trap—they want to kill Grian so he’d stop thrashing and tearing his wing apart, because they don’t want their precious money-making wings destroyed. Gem and Impulse are slightly off to the side, getting overwhelmed as they’re desperately trying to keep the hunters on them and away from Grian.  

It’s a blur. Scar rushes through the hunters, drawing blood as he goes, mindless and with only a singular goal in mind: get to Grian. He doesn’t care if he’s getting stabbed or sliced in the process. (It’ll heal. It’ll heal. Grian might not.) A growl rips from him, low and deep and feral. A handful of hunters startles away from Grian, stumbling out of the mad vex’s path, but it doesn’t save them from their fate.

Scar’s claws are drenched in scarlet, leaving behind an absolute carnage by the time he collapses to his knees by Grian’s side, unable to relax until he can gather Grian in his bloodied arms. 

Impulse and Gem keep fending off hunters, but they also watch this scene unfold in stolen, fragmented little moments, keeping an eye on the two of them. And it’s destabilising to witness, for very different reasons than everything else that’s happened so far.

Because it’s only when Scar has a hold on Grian does some of the white bleed out of his hair, his hands softening from claws into blunt nails and harmless fingertips. 

Because where there were only growls and snarls and seemingly no control, there’s suddenly gentleness and soft murmured words.

Because Scar kisses Grian’s hair as he soothes him, and Grian finally grows quieter and calmer, even though he’s still shivering and sobbing and clearly in immense pain.

Because Grian lets Scar put that bracelet on him so easily, so willingly, clutching onto him, Scar’s name on a desperate, hoarse, endless loop on Grian’s lips. 

It all suddenly makes a lot more sense. (They messed up taking Scar away.)

--

They all get teleported out of there, this time Grian included. 

It isn’t pretty. The trap that tears at his wing and leaves him hopelessly ground-bound is so firmly attached to him that it gets teleported with him, its sharp edges buried deep into the flesh of Grian’s wing.

He keeps freaking out whenever someone tries to approach, making it impossible for them to help.

It’d be best if Peal could come and take a look. She’s a moth hybrid, not an avian, but she still knows more about wings than any of them. (She should know a lot about Grian’s wings, their relationship once almost sibling-like, but she looks at the tangled, bloodied mess that Grian is, flinching away from her, and she is terrified, finding no traces of that bond in Grian’s frightened gaze.)

 Scar keeps holding onto Grian, blindly eager to keep everyone away as well, attuned to Grian’s panic. But his worry wins over, his adrenaline-muddied mind unable to figure out the trap without assistance.

So he eventually allows Pearl to approach.

Grian has different ideas. He’s having none of this. He doesn’t want anyone near his wings.

Determined and not seeing much of a choice here, Pearl crouches as close as Grian allows. Scar’s blocking Grian’s view, trying to redirect his attention and keep him calm through the waves of frantic, leftover but still very real panic. (He’s using his wings to block the view.) (Cub cringes at the state of them. They all do, actually, momentarily stunned but determining that this isn’t the time to ask.) 

Pearl is just close enough to inspect the tangle, and just far enough for it all to be out of reach.

It’s hard to see, through the blood and the feathers and various other bits that she really doesn’t want to think too much about.

Trying to take control over her trembling voice, she does her best to navigate Scar through it. It would’ve been so much simpler if she could do it herself—it’d probably avoid some mistakes and more damage, and it’d be faster. (Verbal navigation with frenzy-muddled thinking is difficult.)

But Grian can’t can’t can’t

Scar’s hands tremble almost the entire time. He’s still on an adrenaline rush. He’s exhausted from his magic usage—even having his wings out is a struggle.

At one point, Pearl tries to lay a soothing hand on Scar and he jumps.

And it just really settles then—that, wow, they’re both really messed up, aren’t they?

--

Scar ends up being the one to bargain with hermits. Bargaining is a strong word, it’s more of a list of demands, really. Safety lines, kind of. Grian’s still not processing quite right that this is happening—it’s a numb, almost dissociative feeling; he knows these are his friends, but he doesn’t understand how this is real, and his feelings are nonsensical and haywire. He feels very far from normal. (He doesn’t remember what normal is.) He doesn’t want anyone near.

They’re given lots of potions in lieu of a more proper medical examination, and a private shared room. Scar’s always the one to answer the door, on guard, tense even as he slips on an easygoing smile most of the times. 

They’re given new comms, which they tuck away and promptly forget about, completely unused to such a thing. 

Once things settle a bit, all the startling differences come into focus. Cub points out that Scar’s got new scars, and everyone notices his stark white streak in his hair. (Not to mention his tattered wings.) On top of that, Grian is scarred now too. And they hold themselves differently, twitching and flinching, curled up and quiet. Guarded and unapproachable. 

Everything feels horribly precarious. The hermit crew skirts the topic of what that world was like, what happened to them, never quite managing to ask in any meaningful way, even as the questions burn on their tongue. 

They’re not going to get any answers. Not now. Not for a long time.

Nothing but hints and flashes of fear in eyes and marks written deeply into skin, to stay forever, carry across respawns (which will now be a real possibility again, but it’s a concept Scar and Grian don’t know how to grasp anymore.)

The rescue crew sends a message home, to warn the others. Telling them to be careful and maybe not approach too fast. It’s vague, devoid of details. They themselves don’t really understand the triggers, after all, feeling confused. The journey home isn’t long enough for any of it to properly settle, a mere two days worth of travel until they’re within reach of Hermitcraft.

So of course the messages don’t make much sense to anyone waiting home on Hermitcraft. Everyone’s simply hyped and excited that this’s been a success, that Scar and Grian are going home!

They organise a welcome party.

It doesn’t go well.

Grian and Scar spawn in, not expecting to be instantly surrounded by people friends. It’s chaotic and loud, everyone cheerful and celebratory, ready to throw themselves at the two of them—

Except Grian’s backing away now, lowkey having a panic attack, and Scar’s protectively standing in front of him, shielding him, used to block the view of Grian’s wings on sheer instinct. Everything’s too much all at once, an onslaught of noises and people crossing lines before either of them are ready for it, and—

Well, Grian runs.

Scar, who has a slightly more solid understanding of how they’re meant to be safe now, falters. (His emotions aren’t settled at all, but he can somewhat rationalise it to himself.) (Grian can’t grasp it just yet at all.) He mumbles an anxious and slightly startled “Sorry— This— No.” Before he bolts after Grian.

The rescue crew sighs, telling the others they shouldn’t have done this. The welcome party was a bad idea. But nobody really understands. They can see now that, clearly, it was a bad idea, but they’re left reeling, trying to catch up to it. (Scar’s white streak. Grian’s scars. The panic in their eyes. Scar’s protectiveness. Grian’s fear.)

They’ve been looking forward to this reunion. They’ve spent weeks, months, feeling despair and hopelessness, an empty space left on the server where two beloved, pesky members of their family should be. And now they’re left standing here, in the wake of what should’ve been a happy occasion, all kinds of confused and concerned and confused.

Everything is far from ideal. 

They’re going to take a breath, have an (unproductive) meeting about this, and do their best to figure out what to do about this situation.

Grian and Scar, in the meanwhile, are going to dig a hidden bunker. (The others had a house prepared for them, near the shopping district, lively and easy to visit.) (They didn’t even get to tell them.) 

Well.

This is going to take some time.

But they’re home now. They’re home, and one day, that revelation is going to properly sink in.

Until then, they have each other. (And everyone else, waiting and ready for them. <3)

[inkskinned]

the thing is that they're so fascinated by sex, they love sex, they can't imagine a world without sex - they need sex to sell things, they need sex to be part of their personality, they need sex to prove their power - but they hate sex. they are disgusted by it.

sex is the only thing that holds their attention, and it is also the thing that can never be discussed directly.

you can't tell a child the normal names for parts of their body, that's sexual in nature, because the body isn't a body, it's a vessel of sex. it doesn't matter that it's been proven in studies (over and over) that kids need to know the names of their genitals; that they internalize sexual shame at a very young age and know it's 'dirty' to have a body; that it overwhelmingly protects children for them to have the correct words to communicate with. what matters is that they're sexual organs. what matters is that it freaks them out to think about kids having body parts - which only exist in the context of sex.

it's gross to talk about a period or how to check for cancer in a testicle or breast. that is nasty, illicit. there will be no pain meds for harsh medical procedures, just because they feature a cervix.

but they will put out an ad of you scantily-clad. you will sell their cars for them, because you have abs, a body. you will drip sex. you will ooze it, like a goo. like you were put on this planet to secrete wealth into their open palms.

they will hit you with that same palm. it will be disgusting that you like leather or leashes, but they will put their movie characters in leather and latex. it will be wrong of you to want sexual freedom, but they will mark their success in the number of people they bed.

they will crow that it's inappropriate for children so there will be no lessons on how to properly apply a condom, even to teens. it's teaching them the wrong things. no lessons on the diversity of sexual organ growth, none on how to obtain consent properly, none on how to recognize when you feel unsafe in your body. if you are a teenager, you have probably already been sexualized at some point in your life. you will have seen someone also-your-age who is splashed across a tv screen or a magazine or married to someone three times your age. you will watch people pull their hair into pigtails so they look like you. so that they can be sexy because of youth. one of the most common pornography searches involves newly-18 young women. girls. the words "barely legal," a hiss of glass sand over your skin.

barely legal. there are bills in place that will not allow people to feel safe in their own bodies. there are people working so hard to punish any person for having sex in a way that isn't god-fearing and submissive. heteronormative. the sex has to be at their feet, on your knees, your eyes wet. when was the first time you saw another person crying in pornography and thought - okay but for real. she looks super unhappy. later, when you are unhappy, you will close your eyes and ignore the feeling and act the role you have been taught to keep playing. they will punish the sex workers, remove the places they can practice their trade safely. they will then make casual jokes about how they sexually harass their nanny.

and they love sex but they hate that you're having sex. you need to have their ornamental, perfunctory, dispassionate sex. so you can't kiss your girlfriend in the bible belt because it is gross to have sex with someone of the same gender. so you can't get your tubes tied in new england because you might change your mind. so you can't admit you were sexually assaulted because real men don't get hurt, you should be grateful. you cannot handle your own body, you cannot handle the risks involved, let other people decide that for you. you aren't ready yet.

but they need you to have sex because you need to have kids. at 15, you are old enough to parent. you are not old enough to hear the word fuck too many times on television.

they are horrified by sex and they never stop talking about it, thinking about it, making everything unnecessarily preverted. the saying - a thief thinks everyone steals. they stand up at their podiums and they look out at the crowd and they sign a bill into place that makes sexwork even more unsafe and they stand up and smile and sign a bill that makes gender-affirming care illegal and they get up and they shrug their shoulders and write don't say gay and they get up, and they make the world about sex, but this horrible, plastic vision of it that they have. this wretched, emotionless thing that holds so much weight it's staggering. they put their whole spine behind it and they push and they say it's normal!

this horrible world they live in. disgusted and also obsessed.

[redstrewn]

Part of me is team "leander is like that to everyone" bc he also plans to recruit MC into his Bloodhounds in the future ("not yet"). Despite knowing the Bloodhounds for years he isn't close to them. Makes me think he ups the charm and seduction to anyone who may be of use to him to get them to pledge their allegiance.

[maelancoli]

Writing Intimacy

i often see writers sharing a sentiment of struggling with writing kiss scenes which honestly bleeds into other portrayals of physical intimacy. i see it a lot in modernized styles of writing popularized by the recent trend in publishing to encourage short, choppy sentences and few adverbs, even less descriptive language. this makes intimacy come across awkward, like someone writing a script or clumsy recounting of events rather than a beautiful paragraph of human connection.

or just plane horniness. but hey, horny doesn't have to be mutually exclusive with poetic or sensual.

shallow example: they kissed desperately, tongues swirling and she moaned. it made her feel warm inside.

in depth example: she reached for the other woman slowly and with a small measure of uncertainty. the moment her fingers brushed the sharp, soft jaw of her companion, eliza's hesitance slid away. the first kiss was gentle when she finally closed the distance between them. she pressed her lips lightly to gabriella's in silent exploration. a tender question. gabriella answered by meeting her kiss with a firmer one of her own. eliza felt the woman's fingers curling into her umber hair, fingernails scraping along her scalp. everything inside eliza relaxed and the nervousness uncoiled from her gut. a warm buzz of energy sunk through her flesh down to the very core of her soul. this was right. this was always where she needed to be.

the first complaint i see regards discomfort in writing a kiss, feeling like one is intruding on the characters. the only way to get around this is to practice. anything that makes you uncomfortable in writing is something you should explore. writing is at its best when we are pushing the envelope of our own comfort zones. if it feels cringy, if it feels too intimate, too weird, too intrusive, good. do it anyway! try different styles, practice it, think about which parts of it make you balk the most and then explore that, dissect it and dive into getting comfortable with the portrayal of human connection.

of course the biggest part comes to not knowing what to say other than "they kissed" or, of course, the tried and true "their lips crashed and their tongues battled for dominance" 😐. so this is my best advice: think beyond the mouth. okay, we know their mouths are mashing. but what are their hands doing? are they touching one another's hair? are they scratching or gripping desperately at one another? are they gliding their hands along each other's body or are they wrapping their arms tightly to hold each other close? do they sigh? do they groan? do they relax? do they tense? are they comfortable with each other or giddy and uncertain? is it a relief, or is it bringing more questions? is it building tension or finally breaking it?

get descriptive with the emotions. how is it making the main character/pov holder feel? how are they carrying those emotions in their body? how do they feel the desire in their body? desire is not just felt below the belt. it's in the gut, it's in the chest, it's in the flushing of cheeks, the chills beneath the skin, the goosebumps over the surface of the flesh. everyone has different pleasure zones. a kiss might not always lead desire for overtly sexual touches. a kiss might lead to the desire for an embrace. a kiss might lead to the impulse to bite or lick at other areas. a kiss could awaken desire to be caressed or caress the neck, the shoulder, the back, the arms etc. describe that desire, show those impulses of pleasure and affection.

of course there is the tactile. what does the love interest taste like? what do they smell like? how do they kiss? rough and greedy? slow and sensual? explorative and hesitant? expertly or clumsily? how does it feel to be kissed by them? how does it feel to kiss them?

i.e. examine who these individuals are, what their motives and feelings are within that moment, who they are together, what it looks like when these two individuals come together. a kiss is not about the mouth. it's about opening the door to vulnerability and desire in one's entire body and soul.

[luveline]

𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

You begin to have intimate dreams about your roommate, Spencer. [9k]

c: pining roommates, dreams, tipsy non-confessions, spencer being a sweetheart. fem!reader. this fic was requested! 

｡𖦹°‧⭑.

i. a dreamt bruise 

“What are you doing?” 

Your chest lists slightly forward as a body warms your back. Arms wrap around you, solid but gentle, arms you’ve been held by a thousand times. 

You cover them with one of your own. “What does it look like I’m doing?” you feel yourself ask. 

The room is golden, gaussian, better now he’s behind you.

“I don’t know, dove. That’s why I asked.” His voice is soft in your ear. His hair presses to the side of your face as he hugs you —you’ve never felt love like this. It’s palpable. It’s in his hands. 

Nobody’s called you dove before, but he is, he has. It might feel strange if it weren’t for how softly he said it, affection in the very marrow of the word, warmth of it kissing your cheek as he holds you. He says ‘dove’, and it feels like he loves you. Feels like you’ve done something beautiful to earn it, but that’s the beauty of it: you didn’t do anything. 

The room turns narrow, sunlight on the dining room table of your apartment. A table usually crowded thickly with books, or your work. A space has been cleared away and filled with pieces of a jigsaw. 

“I thought you were going to do this with me,” you say, dragging a piece across the table with your fingertip. 

“Maybe later.” 

“You can’t stand there all night.” 

Are you sure? you think he says, but things are hazy, and he’s turning you toward him suddenly, you’re standing, the puzzle forgotten. “How’s your bruise?” 

“What?” you ask, almost sleeping as a big, kind hand drags up the front of your shirt, holding it to the underside of your breast. 

“Does it still hurt?” 

His thumb brushes over your contusion, skin on your side, your back. It’s tender. Any breath is lost, any sense of breathing at all. You’re not a girl so much as something being touched with care, warm joy and love and a contrasting ache wedged under your heart as he draws a circles into your skin. 

He hums sympathetically, the weight of him ebbing as he leans away, letting your shirt fall back into place. 

The dream stretches on for a lifetime, the two of you standing in your living room, dining table behind you, couch and TV opposite. Your life in one room, his life, his books, his furniture, but your home. You know it all well, just, in the light, you can’t see the stitching. 

He takes your face into his hand. Nobody’s ever touched you like, turned your face up like they were moving through honey, staring at you with eyes that shade of brown. Brown, brown… so big. So melting. 

Spencer holds your face gently. 

His nose touches yours. He tips his forehead into yours, his breath skimming lips he’d just warmed as he says, “Don’t worry, alright? You’ll be okay. Just take it easy,” he says, the last of his pleading lost to your mouth. 

You wake up with a caught breath. 

Your eyes are glued together, eyelashes threaded, gummy. You turn into the pillow beside you, slightly deflated and cold where you’d turned away in the night. 

The room is dark when you manage to pry your eyes open. You close them just as quickly, begging your body to sleep, to plunge back into the dream. Just five more minutes of golden colour, hugging your pillow, love in somebody’s hand, in Spencer’s hand… five more minutes…

Your eyes open again. 

Spencer’s hand on your cheek, guiding you carefully upwards for a kiss. 

You raise your hand, feeling along the swell of your bottom lip with your thumb and index finger. They tremble with the weakness of having just woken up. With having something torn away from you. 

What was that? you think, the hook of sleep lodged in your throat as you struggle to sit up. Your face tips forwards heavily, but your back doesn’t hurt like it tends to in the early mornings before work. There’s no ache there —your body slept well. You use your hands as anchors and drag yourself foot first from the bed. Your sheets fall to the floor with a quiet shush. 

It felt so real that for a moment you’re wondering where Spencer went. 

He was touching you, he was caressing your waist. You rush to the door of your room, every night left ajar, pushing it open and beelining for the bathroom. You flick on the light and stop in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, wondering if you’re foolish enough to do this, before peeling your shirt from your stomach to analyse your bruise. 

It’s not there. 

You turn and contort yourself to catch the light. Maybe it was further back? But no… there’s no bruise, nothing for Spencer to check. Your torso is a stretch of unharmed skin to run your hand down without pain. 

Your head whirs. 

From somewhere in the apartment, Spencer puts down a mug. You flush with heat at the realisation that he’s home, and panic flares when his footsteps move in your direction. Your bedrooms are on opposite sides of the apartment, and there are two bathrooms —the bath and toilet near your room, and the en-suite to his room— meaning Spencer’s coming to see you specifically. 

“Hey, Y/N?” he says. 

It’s been a few days since he was home, and you aren’t just roommates, Spencer’s your friend. He sounds happy that you’re awake, pausing at your bedroom door. 

“I’m in the bathroom!” you say, your dry throat turning your voice to fractures. 

“I just wanted you to know I’m home. Are you working?” 

“It’s Saturday.”

He laughs. “Oh. I know, I forgot. Well, can I make you breakfast? I was gonna have oats and sliced bananas and stuff.” 

“Okay.” You clear your throat. “I’ll be right there.” 

“Sorry,” he says, like he’s just remembered where you are. “This is harassment. I’ll be in the kitchen.” 

You wash your face and brush your teeth. You head back into your room to change from your pyjamas into loungewear that’s just as soft. The flavour of your dream follows you around, you’d like to call it sweetness, saccharinity, but it doesn’t fit the bill. The feeling you’d woken with wasn’t a sugar high but contentedness, like a warm evening meal. You’d felt utterly sated, your arms reaching out for a body that wasn’t there. 

A heaviness takes your heart. Suffocating longing, you carry it to the kitchen with you to find Spencer’s already made you a cup of your tea. He’s warming oatmeal on the stove, blueberries and bananas on the countertop. You sit at the island. You should hug him. If you hadn’t dreamt of his hands on your waist what felt like mere moments ago, you would’ve. 

“Did you go shopping?” 

“I did, I went to Leaven last night. You were already sleeping at ten.” He peeks at you from over his shoulder. “Long day yesterday?” 

“I get too tired by Friday,” you say, averting your gaze to stare down into your mug, steam twirling up to kiss your chin. 

“No, I get it. Me too. Are you feeling any better today?” 

You were sick when he left. “I’m fine.” 

“Okay, good. I’m gonna put the blueberries in with the oatmeal, is that okay?” 

“Sure.” 

“Okay.” Spencer’s gaze lingers on you. He turns back to the counter. 

He cuts two bananas. You realise he has strawberries, too, watching as he cuts them, wetness leaking from their punnets where he must’ve rinsed them in the sink. He slices out the stems and cuts the strawberries in clean halves like hearts. 

“I missed you,” he says. 

You can’t read his tone, but you aren’t cruel, even feeling shy as you are. “I missed you too. How was the case? Everyone made it home in one piece, right?” 

“Everyone’s fine. Emily got into a car accident and it was pretty bad, but she’s okay now. Recovering from her concussion at home with Sergei.” 

That’s good. You’ve met Spencer’s boss, Agent Hotchner (very scary), and Emily, JJ, and Penelope (who aren’t scary at all). You’re glad to hear they’re all okay, because they’re good people, and they risk a lot to keep others safe. You forget sometimes how much Spencer puts on the line whenever he leaves. 

You poke at him for details of the case, though legally there are things he has to keep from you, and you don’t mind either way. Nothing personal can crop up while talking of murder, and for now you’d like the conversation to stay far away from you and your bed and your sudden dream. 

You assume you’re safe, but then Spencer mentions the bruise one of the sergeants got from their weapon’s kickback and you’re flushing nervously all over again. 

Spencer grabs two bowls from the cabinet, dark brown ceramics he got from Koreatown, the perfect size for each helping of oatmeal. The purple from the insides of the blueberries bleed into the oats as he pours.

He lays each bowl with a curve of banana slices, strawberries, and covers half with a drizzle of dark fudge sauce. “Salt?” he asks. 

“Yes, please.” 

Spencer grabs two spoons from the cutlery drawer. He grins when he finally turns, bowls held aloft, making his way to the stool beside you. He puts his own down first, then the cutlery, standing ever so slightly behind you as he lays your breakfast down in front of you. “What have you been doing while I was away?” he asks softly. 

You can’t look at him. Can’t think. 

What are you doing? 

What does it look like I’m doing? 

I don’t know, dove. That’s why I asked. 

You lean away from his presence, desperate to have him follow, and ashamed. Spencer’s a friend, a good one, he’s kind and loving and handsome beyond description, but you’ve never thought of him like that. Each time your mind slips wondering what he might be like in love, you’ve let the thought go. But now... 

You shrug, grabbing your spoon. “Not much, Spencer. This looks amazing, it’s really pretty. Thank you for cooking.” 

“No problem. Are you sure you’re feeling better? You don’t look so good.” 

You take a quick bite of oatmeal, the spoon scalding your tongue, “Ah,” you say, breathing harshly around it, “I’m fine. Woke up a little wrong, that’s all.” 

Spencer sits in the seat next to you with a soft smile. “Good. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” 

Oh, no, you think, reading way too much into how he says it. No, no, no.

—

ii facts 

We should explore the city, Spencer declares after breakfast, before we forget what it’s like to be outside!

You were outside yesterday before you got home, and everything sucked as much as it usually did —it’s the weekend, and the point of it is to stay home resting and or lazing, but you wouldn’t usually say no to Spencer so you can’t now. He can’t ever know about your dream, so he can’t know how you’re feeling, so you have to be the friends you’ve always been. 

Spencer analyses people for a reason, but you have practice. You’ve successfully hidden what it was that morning that made you feel cagey and tender. He knows something is wrong regardless. He attempts to fix it the best way he knows how: Spencer talks. 

“Cheese production globally outshadows coffee, tea, tobacco, and chocolate, over twenty two million metric tons of it every year, with almost half of that made in Europe alone, which is only a half million metric ton more than what’s being eaten. The average American eats forty two pounds of cheese a year, but I don’t really like cheese that much? So I’m bringing the average down. Besides, every time I eat cheese I get strange dreams.  There’s actually a chemical in cheese called tyramine which is linked to nightmares. Hey, you okay?” 

“Cheese gives you weird dreams?” 

“Why, have you been eating a lot of it lately?” 

“No,” you say resolutely. “I hate cheese. I’ve never eaten cheese before.” 

“That’s a lie.” 

“Let’s get donuts.”

Spencer is easily swayed. You glance around the square for the McDonald’s and follow that to the street with the bakery, landmark to landmark, until the smell of sugar and oil is strong enough to follow. “Do you wanna know something about donuts?” he asks, crushing in behind you as you pass through the heavy wooden door of the bakery and join the line. 

“Sure.” 

“They were first called oily cakes.” 

“I knew that,” you say, “you’ve told me that, Spencer. That’s the first fact anybody thinks of.” 

“Okay, don’t be rude,” he says, giving you a playful poke in the ribs, right into the bruise that isn’t a bruise. 

You look over your shoulder at him, catching his eye. You share a long look that’s daunted on your part and confused on his, brown eyelashes tangling in the corners the longer he looks at you. “What?” he asks, squinting. 

”Nothing.” 

“Okay,” he says, his voice lowering, quiet to match the hush of the bakery and its humming fridges, “don’t tell me. I’ll work it out eventually.” 

“Dude!” 

“What?” he asks with a laugh. 

“Boundaries!” you laugh back. “Stop trying to figure me out.” 

“But there’s something to figure out?” 

He’s evil when he smiles like that. His pride is adorable, giving his sweet face an even fresher look. You’d pinch his cheeks if they weren’t already pinking in the October cold. His scarf hasn’t saved him, his coat buttoned tightly no match for the winds. Not to say it’s a bad day. The weather is fine if you keep your fingers in your pockets and your nose in the depths of your coat. 

“What do we want?” you ask rather than answer. 

They have white icing, chocolate with sprinkles, jelly middles, smiley faces. They have donut holes by the bag. “Hazelnut spread,” you say, pointing at the side of the case. “That looks good.” 

He enters in conspiratorial whispers with you. “Apple cider doughnuts with cinnamon sugar,” he says, pointing at the row below. “What about a double chocolate chunk cookie? They look good. Hey, there’s cake in the fridge.” 

You let him lean into your side. His hair kisses your cheek.  

“Pick whatever you want, okay?” he asks, offering a smaller smile than before. “I’m buying.”

“You can’t, Spencer Reid, I want so many things.” 

“It’s fine, I missed you, I dragged you out when you wanted to stay in bed.” He stares at you. “Let me,” he mouths. 

You ignore the hot twist of your stomach and nod. Okay. 

Spencer buys the baked goods you’d admitted to wanting and the three others you’d eyed, as well as a cookie and two fat slices of red velvet cake. He asks you to carry the box while he pays. The woman behind the counter gives you a knowing look and a flick of her head, as if to say, Lucky you. You can’t quite smile back, distracted by the insinuation. You haven’t thought of it before, but you and Spencer, naturally, look like a couple. You could easily be one. And the idea that she thinks so fills you with a shocking amount of smugness. 

You and Spencer head home before dinner. On the walk back, he pulls the cookie apart and offers you half. 

—

What if, when you fall asleep tonight, you dream of Spencer again? 

You lay on your back with your hand on your chest, drawing circles. The cold of the evening is explained by the rain lashing your window, distant winds coming forceful now. A thunderstorm. You tap the middle of your chest in an attempt to be idle, rather than restless. 

It isn’t a dream you’d like to have again, you decide. Spencer had been soft. You’d been familiar with each other. 

What would it really feel like to have him touch you like that? Is Spencer confident, when he’s comfortable? Is he imposing? 

My stomach, you think slowly, is never going to stop spinning. 

“Y/N?” Spencer asks. 

You can hear him all the way from the kitchen. 

“Yeah?” you ask, raising your voice so it carries. 

“Can I come and sit with you?”

It’s an odd request. You know Spencer’s like you, no social butterfly, quiet and content to spend time by oneself because being with others hasn’t always been an option. He isn’t timid, however, and his asking shouldn’t shock you, but it does. “Sure,” you say, shifting onto one side of the bed. 

Spencer arrives at the ajar door and lets himself in. He carries two bottles of water and a heat pack, which he likes to use when the weather allows it. A creature comfort, you assume. Something soothing and constant, like the sound of a fan at night, or rain on a window. 

“I can’t sleep,” he says, “which doesn’t make much sense.” Spencer sits on the empty side of the bed, his lips pulled into a grimace. “I like the rain.” 

He’s more handsome when he’s smiling, but there’s a charm to him as he passes you a bottle of water and crosses his legs. The plaid slacks he’s wearing are rough with age, dark blues that seem black in the low lighting. 

“Maybe it’s because of work,” you say. 

“Maybe, but I’m pretty used to getting woken up.” 

“Right. It’s not easy, though, the stuff you do. It would keep me up at night if I did your job.” 

“I think sometimes doing my job is the only reason I can sleep.” 

“It's hard. Sounds hard, Spence.” You relax into your pillow, turning to see him. Spencer’s eyes run along your hip for a millisecond, just long enough to remind you that he’s a boy, that he could see you in a different light. 

“It’s okay,” he says. 

“Was it hard, this time?” you ask. 

“No,” he whispers. “I don’t know, it was bad when Emily got hurt, but she’s so stubborn. If Morgan didn’t strap her down she would’ve kept going like nothing happened.” 

You and Spencer have lived together for so long that you remember a time before he even knew Emily. You answered his ad in the paper —you hadn’t realised people still put ads in the paper— looking for a roommate. His apartment was already furnished and he didn’t want to change much, but the second bedroom was spacious and the bathroom could be monopolised. As a girl, you’d been a little dubious reading about a single male looking for any gender, but his self-description was inviting. Twenty-two, just finished a doctorate, working for the FBI and expected to be away from the state at least once a month. 

You’d met Spencer and felt even less intimidated. He was awkward and dorky but friendly, too, with his glasses he apparently didn’t want to wear, but would eventually give in (before choosing contacts), and his big red sweater fit for a grandpa. “I can make more room for you but I can’t get rid of the books,” he said, “so I don’t expect you to pay a neat half.” 

How could you pass it up? 

“I can’t believe I’ve never met them,” you say. 

“Do you want to?” 

He sounds so surprised. “They’re your friends. I’m your… friend.” 

“You’re my best friend. I’ll arrange something, or try to. It’s hard to get us all in one room when that room isn’t the conference room,” he says. 

“You look nice in a t-shirt,” you say, not thinking as the words come out. 

Spencer leans in to whisper, “Thanks. You like this one?” 

His t-shirt says, I may be NErDy, but only periodically. The NErDy is made up of elements from the periodic table. It’s a bad pun. 

“I love it.” 

He reaches for you. Tentative, he squeezes your elbow. “Is there something wrong? All day it’s like… I don’t know, did something happen when I was gone?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

“But…” 

“Please,” you say, as he catches the last bit of light from the hallway, every eyelash illuminated for the counting. “I don’t wanna talk about it, Spencer. But thank you.” 

He, in a move that’s almost uncharacteristic, pushes your arm into the mattress and leans over you. “I wanna be the first one to know when you do wanna talk,” he says firmly, holding your gaze. 

How’s your bruise? 

You nod mechanically. Spencer recedes. “Okay, good,” he says, grinning. 

“Good,” you echo, thinking of Spencer in the dream, his hand on your hip and climbing up your sore ribs. “Let’s watch TV.” 

—

iii. scared of snow 

“You’re being weird.” 

“I’m not,” you refute. 

“You are.” 

Spencer frowns at you, a show full downturn of the lips. A dusting of snow lands in his hair and you both look up to catch it, a drift of it from the marquee as you pass. You don’t remember when it started snowing, but it feels like it’s been coming down for days. It’s in his eyelashes. Your sleeves are wet with it. 

“The snow’s making you strange.”

You hold out your hand with fingers parted, feeling his laugh travelling down his arm and into yours as he takes it, intertwining your fingers tightly. He doesn’t feel cold. 

“It’s making you strange,” you mumble. 

You and Spencer walk down a cobbled road. Snow crunches under your shoes, turned to slush in the high traffic spots by vendors booths left curiously empty of shopkeepers, though their festive wares still line the insides, carved cuckoo birds and metal ornaments, glass balls made to be personalised for mantles. You can smell orange oil and chocolate fudge, crepe carts and churros and cinnamon, and then suddenly any hint of your olfactory sense is gone. 

“It’s so quiet.” 

“It’s the snow,” he says, pulling your arm against his chest as you walk and walk, your footsteps the only sound. “It acts as a sound absorber when it’s fluffy like this. The sound waves get caught.” 

Caught. You think, or say, not sure if it makes it out of your mouth. 

“Like you,” he says, stopping in the middle of the road. 

“What?” you ask. 

Snow lands in his eyelashes. “You’re caught,” he says. 

You wake up thinking his hand is on your cheek. Like a nightmare, you start, still picturing his lips moving around the words. Caught, you think again, heart a hummingbird in your chest. Your mouth is dry. The heat is up —Spencer must be home again. 

You suck in a deep breath and sit up, curling over yourself protectively. 

You dream about Spencer more often than ever, and half the time they’re normal dreams, which is to say, they follow no rhyme or reason, with no discernible plot. Spencer loses all his teeth, or he takes you to the movies to see one of his long Swedish films, or he’s an afterthought, a bystander. The main plot of your dream doesn’t involve him at all. 

But the other half of the time is ruining your life. You dream of Spencer holding your hand like you had been, or touching your shoulder. Never again do you dream of that tender bruise, but Spencer lifts your shirt in other scenarios. He pulls your pyjamas off, his hand inching between your legs but never touching, or he helps you out of your bra. And every time you think, why is this happening to me? Perhaps a sex dream could be explained away by want and Spencer’s proximity, but all these constant intimacies weigh heavy in your head. 

You head to the shower and picture Spencer helping you out of your bra, and all of you goes hot, so you turn the water to lukewarm and stand until you’re cold to the point of misery. You clamber out and shiver into a towel, then your robe. 

Spencer’s humming in the kitchen. 

You honestly wish that the dreams made you like him less, that the sound of him might send you running back into your room, but you poke your head out of the bathroom and wait until he enters the living room. He sees you waiting, his face splitting into a smile. “Hey, good morning, did you sleep better?” 

You can’t explain the discombobulation of your dreams. Spencer had become convinced you have insomnia. You may have let him assume. 

“Slept fine,” you croak. 

“Okay, well get dressed and I’ll make you some coffee.” 

“‘Kay.” Your stomach pangs with nerves seeing him, reminded of tonight’s big event. “Are we still, uh, on, for tonight?” 

“Nervous?” he asks. 

You feel like you're about to be a fish in a pool of sharks. “Of course not.” 

 “Yeah, still on, even JJ.” 

Awesome. Spencer turns around to make you your cup of coffee and you go to your room, dressing quickly, two pairs of socks. You tone your face and moisturise, fanning yourself slowly. You don’t hurry to the living room, but you aren’t slow, and it’s not Spencer, you tell yourself. Not Spencer. You’re just craving the warmth of a cup of coffee. 

You spend the morning together on the couch. Spencer reads and occasionally chats to you about whatever tome it is that specific half an hour. You make sandwiches at lunch time, he showers in the early evening. You get dressed and primped while he’s gone, and at 6PM, Spencer knocks your bedroom door to ask if you’re ready to go. 

“Could I fake an illness?” you joke nervously. 

Spencer’s hand falls on your handle. The door is ajar as usual, but he doesn’t tread any further inside. 

“Come in,” you say. 

Spencer takes a single step inside before stopping. He looks you up and down without the hunger you crave from him, a more clement, familiar appreciation to him as he says, “You look pretty.” He traces your arm, leaving the skin tingly in his wake. “Really pretty.” 

“Thank you. I didn’t want to overdress.” 

“It’s perfect, don’t worry. And no, you couldn’t fake an illness. They all know when I’m lying, especially Hotch. And Emily, actually.” 

You squeeze your hands together tightly at your stomach. “I don’t know why I’m sooo nervous.” You lick your lips. “I feel like I can’t stop fidgeting.” 

“They’re used to it, I promise. They know that they’re gonna make you nervous, but they’ve sworn to be on their best behaviour, and besides, you’re not the only plus one. JJ’s bringing Will, and Morgan’s bringing his sister, I’ve only met her once. The focus won’t be all on you.” He lowers his voice. “After two drinks they forget they’re supposed to be scary.” 

“What if I say something extremely stupid to your boss and get you in trouble?” 

“What are you going to get me in trouble for?” 

“I don’t know. What if I accidentally tell him that that sick day you took a few weeks ago was to help me make brownies?”

“Everyone lies about sick days.” He deliberates. “Maybe not Hotch. But I’m pretty sure he knew I was lying, and it’s explainable. I felt… irate.” 

You raise your eyebrows. “What?” 

“Staying home with you made me feel better. Which made me a better worker the next day, it’s fine.” His phone rings from somewhere in the apartment. “That’ll be JJ. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Yeah?” He grins. “Okay. You’re wearing a coat, right? It’s cold. The forecast says snow. It’s thirty degrees out.” 

You layer a coat onto your jacket and a scarf to make him happy. You and Spencer get a taxi, black leather gritless under your hands, though you squeeze the seat like it’s gonna stop the car the whole time. Spencer doesn’t talk much, but he looks at you unapologetically, and he smiles, and the quiet is as severe as it was in your dream that morning. If this were a dream he’d be leaning over to cradle your ear. He’d ask in whispers if you were alright, and he’d let his hand rest kindly on your knee. 

“What?” you whisper. 

His lips part like he might answer. The car comes to a crunching stop outside the bar, and whatever it was he was going to say is kept for later. “I’ll tell you after,” he says. 

He pays for the taxi before you can work it out and you say thank you to the driver. The sidewalk is clean, broad, and glowing with the last bit of light. The sun sets behind you. The bar beckons in front. 

Your fear is daunting. 

You have years of practice fooling Spencer. You know that he knows your tells, so you’ve changed them, and Spencer cares about you enough to ignore obvious truths if he thinks you might not want to share. His colleagues, FBI agents trained to detect deception, are going to take one good look at you and know you’re lying about… this. 

You’re plagued by dreams of Spencer, but nothing can touch the real thing. 

You feel the space between you like it’s aflame. Spencer checks you’re with him and opens the door. 

The bar is busy even for a Saturday. You aren’t expecting the volume, the boisterousness of the patrons already slumped together over tables and waiting at the bar to get their drinks. It’s smaller than you’d pictured too, but its size is made up for with a patio at the back, smokers haunting the door, wary of the cold. 

You know what his friends look like already, yet seeing them in person is odd. Hotch is taller than you’d thought, Emily more startlingly pretty. JJ’s frowning, and her partner Will looks like he’s about to fall asleep despite a lazy grin. 

Hotch notices you first. He taps Emily on the elbow, who pauses in a thought to follow his gaze. Her face breaks into a smile, and if you weren’t in love with Spencer Reid, you might take a tumble for his pale coworker. 

“Hello,” Spencer says, ushering you to the table with an arm behind your back. 

“Hi,” you say. 

“He-llo,” Emily says, leaning into the table, a strand of her hair dangerously close to a short glass of juice. “I can’t believe we’re finally seeing you in person. I’m Emily.” 

“Y/N,” you say. 

“Aaron,” Hotch adds. (Aaron! He’s far more intimidating casually than as a boss, it seems.)

“Derek was just here,” JJ says in way of greeting, while Will drawls from over her shoulder, “I’m Will, it’s nice to meet you.” 

Spencer pulls out a chair for you and promptly sits in the one beside Emily. “Sorry we’re late. I forgot my wallet and we had to go back up to the apartment and the cab I called got so angry about it that he left.” 

You slide between the table and your chair, looking to Spencer for guidance, but he’s distracted taking his coat off and you have to look at Aaron instead. 

His smile is immediately knowing. Read for filth in seconds. “We don't bite.”

“Not so early in the evening,” Emily says. 

You take a shuddering breath, thankful they can’t hear it over the sounds of the bar. 

—

“I’m caught!” you exclaim. 

Spencer hugs you under the arms. “I know,” he says gently. 

“Caught!” 

He holds back a laugh as your arms react, practically flung behind his head in a hug that threatens to cut off the oxygen supply to his brain. “I think you’ve caught me, instead,” he says. 

You laugh in his ear. There’s gin on your breath and the sweeter smell of orange juice. It’s not bad, but weird to know it’s from your mouth. Or not weird. It gives Spencer a feeling like seeing the soft curve of your hip when you’re lying on your side. Like watching you bite your bottom lip when you’re distracted by the TV and worrying to yourself, which you do more often than not lately. They’re private things that Spencer shouldn’t know about. 

“I’m not trying to,” you say, and Spencer can smell the shot of vodka you did too, which is less pleasant. “Not trying to catch you. Not… I’m sorry.” 

“What for?” 

“It’s hard to explain.” 

Over your shoulder, Spencer spots Hotch’s entertained gaze. All the team has done since you sat down together was pick on Spencer and his obviousness. Boyfriend? they’d asked you. Looking? Sights set on someone? All while JJ nudged him under the table. 

Things are falling apart now. JJ’d departed to hold Emily’s hair back, and Will with her. Hotch caught the eye of a woman across the way, and they sit chatting amicably at the bar with more peanuts than drinks. Derek, when he did appear, stayed for an hour with Desiree, recounting to you his most embarrassing stories of which Spencer had taken care to shield you from, and laughed at his subsequent blush. 

He never wanted you to know about his run in with anthrax, and he especially didn’t want you to know he’d been stripped nude afterwards and hosed off like a muddy dog. 

You’d turned to him with wide, worried eyes. “You were poisoned?” you’d asked. 

It’s stuff like that that makes this difficult. 

“I don’t know if you know this,” he says now, rubbing your back, “but I’m good with difficult concepts.”

“I did not mean to be like this.” 

“You didn’t eat much.” Spencer helps you stand on your own two feet. “They kitchen’s still open. I can get you food, how about a burger? Or we can go find you something.“

“What kind of burger?” you ask, poorly concealing your excitement. 

Spencer gets you back to the table. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Wait, don’t go.” 

“I’m gonna get food. Do you want fries?” 

“Spencer, what if I throw up?” 

Spencer shrugs. “I can rub your back?” 

“I don’t want to throw up.” 

“Then drink that,” he says, sliding his glass of coke toward you. “Alcohol irritates the lining of your stomach and increases the production of stomach acid. If you drink,” —he flinches as you knock the cup back— “slowly you can dilute your stomach contents without upsetting it. Slowly,” he says, squeezing your hand, “I’ll order food.”

“No, wait.” You drop the glass and grab him. “Please don’t go. I don’t want to throw up by myself.” 

“You won’t throw up.”

“Please,” you say, holding his wrist in both hands, your eyes shiny. “Spencer, don’t go.” 

“I won’t.” He doesn’t know how true it is and then suddenly he’s sat down. He won’t go. He wouldn’t leave your side ever again if that’s what you asked of him. 

He puts your chairs together, entertaining your tipsy thoughts with light conversation and the occasional slight of hand. You have an aura about you, like Spencer’s doing more than close-up magic, hanging on his every word. Your nervousness had you gasping like a fish, not so subtly downing one drink, then another, but now that you’re feeling the effects of them (and a few extras), the tightness you’d held in your fingers is gone. You’re leaning against the back of the chair with all the ease of you on the couch at home, but the easy fondness you’d usually wear while he speaks is replaced by a bright and shining awe. A sweetness like he’s remarkable. The soft line of your lips and your widened eyes. 

You’re not the sort of drunk that leaves you listless and ready for bed. This is giggly and fun, and so long as you don’t push it you’ll be alright. It wasn’t enough alcohol to leave you inebriated all night, anyhow. In a few hours the giddiness will wear away, leaving you with a headache and a deep longing for your missed dinner. 

“I’m glad you didn’t let me fake food poisoning,” you say. 

“Is that what you were thinking? That’s a terrible excuse. You need something with sudden onset symptoms, like an asthma attack, or pneumonia. An acute illness.” 

You take his hand. “I love that you know that stuff.”

Feeling as in love with you as ever, and sorry for you drunken state —he could’ve stopped you, he just didn’t think— he folds your hands together, both of his, rubbing the hills of your knuckles with his thumb. Your hands look right together. 

That’s what Spencer likes to think, anyway. 

You slow like you’re tired, hand lax in his grips. Your mouth opens but nothing follows, no sigh or gripe or conversation. 

“You okay?” he asks softly. 

“I think I’m having one of those dreams again.” 

“You’re awake,” he says. 

“I don’t know about that. They’re all like this.” 

He hums, smoothing his thumb down the back of your hand. “If this were a dream, you wouldn't have control over what you’re doing. Why don’t you do something you wouldn’t do in a dream?” 

“Like what?” you ask. 

“There’s a ton of stuff you can’t do in dreams. People find they have a poor memory, but I can’t ask you to recall anything. You might not remember regardless. How about temperature?” he suggests. “Most people can’t feel warm or cold in their dreams. Do you want to feel something cold?”

You watch him for a few seconds, your eyebrows pulled together unhappily. “Your hands are warm,” you say. 

“Right.” He suspects they’ll feel warmer in just a few seconds when the hot flush in his face manages to work its way down. “I’m warm. So are you.” 

“Sometimes I feel like you’re warm in the dream, though. You make me feel warm.” 

“It’s remembered, maybe.” 

You don’t look any happier. “Sometimes I wish I could stop having them, but…” You duck your head. “Sorry, Spencer.” 

“What are you sorry for?” 

Your head ducks lower. With a start to his chest, your shoulders shake, like you're inhaling the first half of a sob. 

“Hey, hey,” he says, reaching for your cheek, ducking his own head to see you, “what’s wrong? It’s okay, you don’t have anything to be sorry for!” he whispers emphatically. “You have nothing to be sorry for, why would you think that?” 

“I keep having these dreams, all the time, and– and I– I’ll mess everything up. Everything we have, I’m going to–” You hiccup, eyes turned glassy, imploring him to forgive you for something you haven’t done. “I don’t feel good.” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he says, his hand sliding back to your ear, down to your neck, “you’re just drunk. You’re confused.” 

“But the dreams–”

“What dreams?” he asks gently. 

You blow out a daunted breath. “Where you love me.” 

“I do love you.” 

“But more than this. You love me more than this,” you say, shaking your head. “I really don’t feel okay… Do you think we could go home?” 

You’re so sorry and frowny that Spencer would attempt, in all his unfitness, to climb Mount Everest for you should you ask. “Yeah, we can go home,” he says, rubbing your arm up and down and up again, a line of affection from shoulder to wrist. “I’ll take you home. It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t have to be upset, I shouldn’t have asked.” 

He’s not sure what he asked, really, but the answer upset you. His heart’s racing like he just sprinted the length of the bar and you’re close to tears, this strange weepy sullenness about you as you say, “It’s okay. Let’s just go.” 

—

It’s cold to be sitting out by yourself, though the snow stayed its hand another night while the temperature fell again. Your coat poses a weak defence against the chill, nipping at your nose, burning the insides of every breath, and your feet are stiff like ice in your shoes. Yet, the idea of returning to the apartment is a leaden stone in your stomach. 

Spencer could barely look at you that morning. You hadn’t given him much of a chance, slipping out of the apartment with little more than a call to say you’d be back later. Your groceries freeze in a paper bag by your feet. 

You’re not too embarrassed about getting tipsy. It was drinks with Spencer and his friends, not dinner. Emily had been twice as drunk, and Derek had encouraged you to drink with a round on him. You’re mortified, however, by what you’d said. Your memory is clear enough to know you’d told Spencer about your dreams. 

He’d been confused at the time, but he’s a smart boy. He’ll figure it out. 

“This headache,” you mumble, tipping your head into your hand morosely. You rub your brow, fingers against the ache, the cold getting worse. 

Why did it take a dream for you to realise you had feelings for Spencer? And why did you have to realise at all? If you’d never had that dream, never had that phantom bruise, his hands careful and caring and touching up to the band of your bra, you wouldn’t know now what it is to want him. The dream gave you a bruise, and Spencer presses against it real or otherwise every time he looks at you. You were wrong thinking that it never happened; it’s still there, a purple lash against your ribs. 

Every time he makes you breakfast, or he texts you from a different state, or he sits down on the couch just to talk to you. Every time he says something smart, or he tilts his head back as he laughs, or he draws a smiley face on the mirror by the door–

“About those dreams?” 

You rub your eyes hard. Of course he’d come to find you. “Please don’t.” 

“Please,” he says. You see him through your fingers. His thick scarf is unravelled at his neck, his hair ragged around his face like he’s been raking it repeatedly behind his ears. 

You straighten. 

“I don’t get it,” he says, “you’ve been dreaming about me? Why is that such a big deal?” 

“It’s embarrassing.” 

“I dream about you all the time,” he says. “We’re in each other's lives, we live together, it makes sense that your hippocampus would use me. You have a lot of memories with me.” Spencer crosses his arms in front of you. “It’s freezing.” 

“I’ll be home in a bit.”

“I’m not gonna go back without you,” he says, like that’s a given. 

You move across the bench to make room for him. Spencer sits. 

You settle. The occasional bus trundles past, a limited rota for an early Sunday morning. Spencer shoves his hands into his pockets. His lips are already turning blue. 

“I know you know what I mean,” you say. 

Spencer presses his knees together. “Even romantic dreams where I’m… where we’re together, it’s all easily explained away by brain science. You can’t control what you dream, and I’m not going to hold you to it.” 

Silence, silence. You tip your head back to see a horrible grey cloud closing in on you both, the sun a white and gauzy memory behind it. Spencer’s right about control, but he doesn’t get that you like them. It’s not fair to him that you’ve somehow rallied a second life when you’re sleeping, where he’s your mind’s puppet, hugging and holding you, pressing his cheek to the side of your face. Saying things you wish he’d tell you now. 

“Well, I like you.” 

“What?” you ask, coughing. 

“Not to make things awkward or anything, but I like you. Romantically.” Spencer’s voice takes a sharp veer into high-pitched freneticism. “Does that help at all?” 

“What?” 

“It’s far more embarrassing that I like you on purpose than your accidental dreams, right?” He thumbs at the inside of his wrist. “You don’t have to say anything, or think anything, and I’m not going to change, but I have feelings for you.”  

You feel like you’re standing at the top of a very tall building. “Oh?” 

“I kind of thought you knew.” 

“How could I know that?” you ask, cringing as a cold gust of air bites at your face. 

Spencer takes his scarf off and pushes it into your hands. “I don’t know. I guess we know less about each other than we thought.”

The way he says it. 

Spencer wraps his scarf around you when it’s clear you aren’t going to do it yourself, and he touches your cheek briefly, a brush of his fingers like he thinks he’s doing something he shouldn’t be allowed to. 

“I dream about you all the time,” he says quietly. 

A bus passes by and shines headlights at your feet. The wind blows, your ears roar, and just above you, in a cold front to mark the season, snow begins to fall. 

You look up simultaneously. A snowflake gets caught in Spencer’s eyelashes. 

Just one. 

“This is so weird,” you mumble. 

Spencer wipes at his eye. “Could you tell me why?” 

“I had a dream just like this.” 

He laughs warmly. “Of course you did. Forget all reason, then. You’re prophetic.” 

“I don’t think I could’ve predicted this.” 

“Why? It’s only snow. Virginia gets an inch of snow most Decembers.” 

You laugh. In a dream, this is where you and Spencer would kiss or hold hands, or rest your cheek on the other’s shoulder, but neither of you are brave enough. And, as the snow turns to a sleet below freezing, you can’t ignore the cold. 

—

iv. the end 

The longest anyone has ever slept in recorded human history is eleven days. Two hundred and sixty four hours, or nearly sixteen thousand minutes, just shy of one million seconds of sleep. 

The first pillow was invented in Mesopotamia more than nine thousand years ago, in a time where the amount of pillows a person had directly correlated their personal riches. The history of pillows is tumultuous and eclectic. Headrests made of wood, stone, or jade. Curved neck holders worn soft with use. 

And, of all Spencer’s gifted facts, you find yourself circling back to the same one as you wait for him to wake: most dreams are no longer than twenty minutes. However, it’s important to note that the longest dream ever officially observed was in 1994, when a man managed to be in REM for just over three hours. You’ve had dreams that felt like they lasted for hours, but likely took place for just twenty minutes. If you could dream for three hours a night, you could live an entire life of longing in a pocket of time. 

Thankfully, you have no need to hide from reality anymore. Spencer sleeps beside you and you don’t want to sleep, you just want him to wake up. 

“Good morning,” you whisper, drawing your fingertip across his cheek to encourage the hair that’s fallen there back in line. 

He doesn’t stir. It’s alright, you hadn’t meant to wake him. 

“I love you,” you whisper, shuffling across the sheets to feel the heat and weight of his body against your own. He doesn’t move for a while, snoring gently, his breath kissing the top of your head as you burrow into the slip of space under his chin. Then, as if he were awake, he wraps his arm around you and drags you in further. His face angles down and his nose finds your forehead, and a hum of what you’d personally say is content kisses your brow. 

You tuck your hand behind his back and rub a circle. 

Spencer didn’t last long after the initial realisation of requited feelings. In a day he’d asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend (vaguely apologetic, still worried about scaring you, though you’d already come clean about wanting him as you’d warmed your cold hands by the stove). A week later he kissed you on a date outside of the cosiest Indian restaurant in Washington, D.C, and things have been nothing but smooth sailing from there. 

Now, when he’s feeling romantic, he brings home butter chicken and turns your face up for kissing, fork in hand. Every night before bed, he tells you to have good dreams, a self-satisfaction in his eyes that you dearly love. 

You knew he was a dork and you liked him because of it, but the sheer increase in him is amazing. Yesterday he sent you Close to You by Carpenters over text claiming they wrote it about you. When he got home, he tried to make you dance with him in the living room. After two or three kisses, you’d let him pull you to your feet. 

Spencer has turned loving one another into an everyday spectacularity, and not some mystical dream you ached for. 

He squeezes the skin of your shoulder as he wakes. Heavy in the hands of sleep, Spencer rubs the tip of his nose to yours, nudging your face up, and waiting there with your lips a few millimetres apart as he finds his bearings. You don’t open your eyes. There’s no need. 

“Time?” he mumbles.

“I don’t,” —you clear your hoarse voice, his hand flattening protectively behind you— “know, um. Maybe seven. The sun was rising…” 

“You could have woken me up,” he says, and kisses you slowly. It’s almost gluttonous, how he does it. Not chaste at all. His hair falls into your face and tickles your cheeks, his nose smushes your own with his easy depth. 

You hold his face and kiss him twice, following a line under his chin, where you pause, smelling yesterday's cologne on his skin. “I was hoping I’d fall asleep again,” you confess. 

“Oh, no, don’t do that.” He scoops you against him and turns onto his back as you laugh. “Angel. Let’s stay up now. Let’s just… stay here.” 

If you stay here he’s going to waylay you with a smattering of his voracious kisses, and he’s going to turn you on your back and kiss your neck. He’ll touch that place on your ribs where you’d once dreamt a bruise. It’s a secret you couldn’t keep. He likes to kiss you there when he remembers, but most of the time his hands run along it without mention. A slow caressing. 

You push your face against his shoulder and sigh as his arms close in around you. With a little effort, you get your arms around him in turn, and you hug him for as long as you can stand the pins and needles in your fingers. 

“You smell so good,” you mumble.

He pats your back absentmindedly. 

Today, you’re going to make Spencer oatmeal with banana and chocolate. You’re going to shower, maybe together if the small space can handle it, laughing at the soap in his eyebrows and the way he squeals when you touch his hips. You’re going to drape yourself across his lap as he reads, and he’ll lean down to kiss the tip of your nose or some other strange part of you unused to affection. The top of your ear, the palm of your hand, maybe the crook of your elbow. He’ll ramble through dinner or creep up behind you to sniff your shoulder, and it’ll all be choices you’ve made. Nothing left to want or wanting, but being in love while wide awake. 

“Are you tired?” you ask him. 

He takes a deep breath of your hair. “No,” he says, drawing a light line up your side, “I’m okay. There are worse faces to wake up to.”

You try not to fluster noticeably. He’s always been a good roommate. You’re still getting used to the boyfriend part, the intimacy of being complimented, but Spencer seems to have slipped into the part easily.

“Sorry, that was mean. There’s nothing I’d rather wake up to.” 

“Thanks,” you mumble. 

You’re tired, suddenly. The minutes pass in heavy blinks —you don’t want to sleep now that he’s awake, but being here with him is warming you from the inside out.  You doze and wake and Spencer doesn’t say a word. His breaths come evenly against your cheek. 

Eventually, he clears his throat, asksing, “Did you dream at all?” His voice is hewn. He rubs your chest, right over your heart.

”I’m not so sure that this isn’t one,” you say, your heartbeat a crawl under his touch.

“That’s corny.” 

“Mm, the Spencer in my dreams is usually kinder.” 

“Does he ever get to hold you like this?” he asks, letting his hand fall from your chest to wrap it back around you again. 

You take a sleepy breath in. “No,” you say slowly, “he doesn’t.”

｡𖦹°‧⭑.

thank youuuu for reading!! please like comment or reblog if you enjoyed!! thank you❤️

this fic was requested! I usually link to the request I was sent at the top, but I lost the post for this one, but this is what the request said: 

“hi angel! i have a request for roommate!spencer where r has a very romantic dream about him and starts avoiding him because she's really embarrassed but spencer is so confused as to why his roommate suddenly can't even look him in the eye. maybe one of them realizes their feelings aren't entirely platonic in the end? love you!!!”

thank you original requester! 

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　5 TIMES CHRIS AND Y/N WERE CAUGHT KISSING

chris sturniolo x reader

SUMMARY: Where a fan creates a 5-minute video with all the times that Chris and Y/N were caught kissing.

WARNING: Making-out.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Chris and Y/N sat side by side on the plush couch in the living room. They were half-watching a movie that had been playing for the past hour, but neither of them was truly invested. Chris's arm was draped lazily around Y/N's shoulders, his thumb drawing idle circles on her upper arm. It was one of those rare, peaceful evenings where they could just relax and enjoy each other's company, without the usual hustle and bustle of filming or the pressure of content creation hanging over Chris head.

Y/N was scrolling through her TikTok, a small smile playing on her lips as she came across fan edits and posts dedicated to Chris and his brothers. Her fingers stopped suddenly, her eyes widening as she stopped on a video with the caption: "Top 5 Times Chris and Y/N Were Caught Kissing in the Background." She let out a small laugh, nudging Chris's shoulder to get his attention.

"Baby, look at this." She muttered, her voice filled with a mix of amusement and shyness. She turned the phone screen towards him, and his brows shot up in surprise as he read the title.

"Are you serious?" He asked, a grin spreading across his face as he leaned closer to get a better view. "I didn't even know we were caught that many times."

Y/N pressed play, and the screen lit up with the fan edit.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

1. Baking Blind, Deaf and Mute. (Two Times)

The first clip was from a Baking Blind, Deaf, and Mute challenge, recorded when the triplets had visited their parents in Boston for their birthday.

The video opened with Nick standing in the foreground with Matt by his side, leaning casually on the marble table, his hands gesturing animatedly as he explained how that video would be with the participation of Y/N. His voice was filled with that signature mix of enthusiasm and sarcasm as usual.

As Nick continued to lay out the idea, the camera caught slightly Chris and Y/N in the background, standing by the fridge. Chris was holding a spatula in the air like a sword while staring at Y/N, trying to look serious but failing miserably as a playful grin tugged at his lips.

Next to him, Y/N was meticulously reading the ingredients list, ignoring his playful manner successfully, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to memorize the steps, fully aware that she wouldn’t be able to see anything in a few minutes.

The atmosphere was light and filled with anticipation, the kind that comes with knowing things were about to descend into playful chaos. Matt and Nick were already debating loudly over what constituted a valid ingredient while picking the necessary ones from the cabinets, their voices a blend of mock seriousness and barely-contained laughter.

But then, probably with the hope of being hidden behind his brothers' back, Chris leaned closer to Y/N, his shoulder brushing against hers. The gesture was subtle, almost as if he were seeking her out in the midst of the noise, a quiet connection just for them. Y/N looked up from the list, her eyes meeting his, and a soft laugh escaped her, the sound so gentle that the camera barely picked it up.

Listening to his favorite sound, Chris, with his eyes sparkling with mischief, turned fully toward Y/N. He leaned in, whispering something in her ear that drew another quiet laugh from her - just like his goal -, her smile wide and genuine, the kind that made her eyes crinkle at the corners.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Chris dipped his head and pressed a quick, tender kiss to her lips. It was brief, a mere brush of lips, but the affection behind it was palpable. Y/N’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and she ducked her head, pretending to be engrossed in the ingredients list once more, though the small, secretive smile playing at her lips betrayed her.

Meanwhile, Matt started trying to talk to the camera, his voice raised to make sure the viewers could hear him over Nick's teasing.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

2. DTI

The second clip was from a particularly memorable livestream that Matt and Chris had done from Matt’s room. They had recently started playing a game called Dress to Impress, and after recording a small video for their YouTube channel where they played the game for the first time, it quickly became their newest obsession.

Y/N had been hanging out in the room during the stream, perched comfortably on Nick's chair off-camera. Although she wasn’t actively participating in the game, her presence was felt in subtle ways; every now and then, a hand would appear on the edge of the screen, holding out a bottle of water, an energy drink or a bowl of snacks for the boys. Each time, Chris would glance away from the screen just long enough to offer her a grateful smile or a quick thank you before returning to the chaos on Matt's monitor.

On this particular moment, the livestream had taken an amusing turn. Matt was deeply engrossed in a competition against another player who had, to his disbelief, apparently copied his entire outfit design. His face was a mix of shock and indignation, his voice rising with every word as he expressed his frustration.

Chris couldn’t help but laugh loudly. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he listened to his brother’s angry words, his eyes focused on the screen.

It was in this moment that Y/N leaned forward, her face suddenly appearing in the corner of the camera. She moved quietly, almost as if she was sneaking up on Chris, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She leaned in close to him, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered softly - something about 'knowing that Matt would win either way, since he - Chris - was the creative mind who helped creating the outfit'.

Chris’s reaction was immediate. The playful grin he had been wearing just moments before softened into something warmer, more affectionate. He turned his head slightly, meeting Y/N’s gaze with a look that was full of amusement. Without a second thought, he leaned in, catching her lips in a quick, sweet kiss. The kiss was fleeting, lasting only a second before Y/N pulled back, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush as she disappeared back into the background.

The moment was so brief that it could have easily gone unnoticed, especially with Matt’s voice still rising as he ranted about the blatant theft of his outfit. But their fans were nothing if not observant. The chat lit up almost instantly, viewers flooding the comments with a mixture of excitement and teasing.

Despite his attempts to play it cool, Chris couldn’t help the faint blush that crept up his cheeks. The tips of his ears turned pink as he tried to brush off the attention, focusing back on the game with a slightly embarrassed laugh.

"Alright, alright, focus on Matt, not me." He said, trying to redirect the conversation, though his smile never wavered.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

3. Fortnite Late Night

The third clip captured a moment during one of Matt and Chris's late-night gaming streams, "Fortnite Late Night." Each brother was in his own bedroom, Chris’s camera angled perfectly to frame his upper body, revealing a glimpse of his bed in the background, the soft light from his monitor casting a cool, blue glow over the room.

Meanwhile, Y/N had been upstairs, finishing up in the kitchen. The quiet house amplified the sound of her soft footsteps as she went to the stairs, heading towards the room she shared with Chris.

When Y/N reached the end of the steps and stepped into their bedroom, she found Chris completely engrossed in the game. His posture was tense, shoulders slightly hunched forward, eyes fixed on the screen with an intense concentration. The dim lighting highlighted his features - his lips were slightly parted, pink and plump, forming a small, unintentional pout, and his dark brown eyebrows were knitted together in focus.

He didn’t notice her at first, his mind fully absorbed in the game, but Y/N couldn’t help but smile at how adorable he looked in his concentrated state.

She was ready to crawl into bed, exhausted from the day, but there was one thing she had to do before she could even think about sleep. It was a nightly ritual at this point. No matter how tired she was, Y/N couldn’t fall asleep without saying goodnight to Chris.

Moving with sleepy steps, she walked over to where he sat. Chris didn’t need to look up to know she was there; he could sense her presence. As she leaned over the back of his chair, he could feel the soft brush of her hair against his neck, a comforting sensation that made him momentarily forget about the game.

"Goodnight, honey." Y/N whispered softly, her voice low and gentle, meant only for his ears. But her words, though quiet, were picked up by his sensitive microphone, echoing faintly through the livestream, reaching the ears of the hundreds of fans watching.

Without hesitation, and without any regard for the live audience, Chris tilted his head back, silently asking for his goodnight kiss. It was an instinctual, almost automatic gesture. Y/N, smiling at his adorable demand, obliged him, leaning down to press her lips against his in a tender, familiar kiss.

The angle was a bit awkward, the kiss upside down, but it didn’t matter, it was soft and unhurried.

On the other end of the game, Matt was fully aware of what had just happened. The sudden silence from Chris’s side was enough of a giveaway, and when he glanced at the small preview screen showing Chris’s camera, he saw it all. Matt smirked but kept his eyes on the game, unfazed by the interruption - he had grown used to these moments.

"Dude." Matt finally spoke up after Y/N’s figure disappeared behind Chris’s back, his tone dripping with teasing exasperation. "Can’t you keep your PDA for when we’re not live?"

Chris didn’t even flinch. With a lazy grin spreading across his face, he shrugged, entirely unapologetic.

"Sorry, couldn’t help it." He replied, his voice light and carefree. The grin on his face said it all - he wasn’t sorry at all.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

4. hello world

It had been a late-night gaming session - again -, one of those times when Chris and Matt were fully immersed in it, talking to fans while navigating through Dress to Impress. The energy in Chris’s room was electric, with his monitors casting a blue glow that bathed everything in a dim light. His headset was on, and he was deeply focused, his eyes glued to the screen.

But the concentration was constantly broken by Chris’s rumbling stomach and the string of complaints that followed.

"Ugh, I’m so hungry." He groaned into the mic, making a face. "Seriously, I could eat a whole pizza right now."

Matt laughed on the other end of the line, his voice crackling through the headphones.

"Dude, we just had dinner like three hours ago."

"Yeah, and?" Chris shot back, pausing for a second to take a sip of his energy drink. "That was hours ago. I’m starving. Hey chat, send food!" He laughed at his own joke, glancing over at the live comments.

Little did Chris know, Y/N was watching the livestream from the living room. She’d been lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone, when she heard his complaints. A smile spread across her face as an idea formed in her mind. She knew Chris’s favorite takeout place just down the street and decided to surprise him.

She slipped on a pair of sneakers, grabbed her keys, and headed out. The whole trip took barely fifteen minutes. When she returned, the aroma of Chris’s favorite meal wafted through the bag she was carrying, and she made her way quietly up the stairs to their room.

Chris was still completely absorbed in his game, his back to the door. He didn’t notice when she slipped in, the door clicking softly behind her. Y/N could hear him talking to his brother, still complaining about his hunger, completely oblivious to her presence.

She smiled to herself, holding back a giggle as she crept closer. She set the bag down on his desk next to his keyboard, the movement catching his attention. Chris looked up, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw Y/N standing there, holding out the takeout bag with a grin.

"Hey." She whispered, leaning in close so the mic wouldn’t pick up her voice - unsuccessfully. "I heard you were hungry."

Chris’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. He pulled off his headset, letting it hang around his neck, and stretched out his arms to catch the bag from her.

"Oh my God, you’re the best." He said, his voice low and filled with genuine affection. He opened the bag, inhaling deeply, and let out a content sigh. "You got my favorite!"

Y/N nodded, her smile growing wider.

"I know you too well."

Without another word, Chris set the bag down and reached out, pulling Y/N into his arms, forcing her to bent her upper body. He didn’t care that the stream was still going or that his brother and the fans were waiting. In that moment, all he could think about was how thoughtful and sweet she was. He tilted his head up, capturing her lips in a deep, grateful kiss.

Y/N kissed him back, her hands resting on his thighs, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his sweatpants.

It wasn’t until they broke apart that Chris remembered they were still live. He glanced over at his screen, the chat scrolling so fast it was a blur, and he could see the comments exploding.

Chris laughed, picking up his headset and sliding it back on.

"Sorry, guys." He said into the mic, a huge grin on his face. "Got a little distracted there. Y/N just brought me food, so, uh, I’m gonna eat while we keep playing."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

5. We became dad's for 24 hours!!! (to eggs)

The last clip was one of a quiet, intimate moment captured during one of the boys' more absurd challenges: taking care of an egg as if it were their own child for 24 hours.

It was the middle of the early morning, the clock barely ticking past 3 AM, when the sound of three simultaneous alarms pierced the stillness of the house. The sharp, grating beeps echoed through the rooms, signaling that it was time for them to wake up and "feed" their eggs.

The absurdity of the situation was only amplified by the ungodly hour, the boys' groggy voices muttering incoherently as they stumbled around, trying to remember where they had left their fragile "children".

Y/N, who had been curled up in bed, still wrapped in the warmth of sleep, found herself jolted awake by the noise. Her eyelids were heavy, barely lifting as she pushed herself up from the bed.

Dressed in one of Chris's oversized T-shirt that hung loosely over her frame and a pair of soft pajama shorts, she looked the very picture of someone who had been dragged from sleep far too early. Her hair was tousled, a wild halo around her face, and her eyes were half-closed as she shuffled out of the room.

She used the commotion as an excuse to get a drink of water, her feet moving on autopilot as she padded quietly into the kitchen. The house was dimly lit, with only the soft glow of the moon filtering through the big window and the faint blue light of the fridge as she pulled it open.

The boys’ sleepy voices floated to her from the living room, muffled but distinct, each of them trying to outdo the other in their groggy banter about their "kids".

Chris was sprawled out on the couch in the living room, his body sinking into the cushions, looking cozy yet disheveled. His legs were stretched out, feet propped up on the coffee table, and his head was tilted back, his eyes blinking slowly as he tried to stay awake. He was mumbling something about the challenge, his words barely coherent.

Y/N, still in her sleepy haze, wandered toward them, her footsteps soft against the hardwood floor. The coolness of the water bottle in her hand provided a small comfort as she made her way toward Chris, passing by Matt’s legs, narrowly avoiding his outstretched foot, and maneuvered around the coffee table until she stood in front of her boyfriend.

Chris’s gaze followed her movements, his tired eyes lighting up slightly as he watched her approach. His arms opened wide, almost instinctively, inviting her into his embrace without needing to say a word. There was a small, sleepy smile on his lips, one that matched the one Y/N gave him as she stepped closer. The moment was quiet, almost dreamlike, the world around them fading into the background as she climbed over his legs and nestled into his lap.

She settled herself against him, her legs folded up on the couch as her body molded against his. The right side of her body pressed against his chest, and she could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath her. Her head found its place on his shoulder, her nose nuzzling gently against the exposed skin of his neck.

Chris’s arm wrapped around her, pulling her closer, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, causing Y/N to smile against his neck, feeling the warmth of his breath on her skin, and she tilted her head back just enough to look up at him.

Almost automatically, Chris leaned down again, their lips meeting in a soft, lazy kiss. It was gentle, a mere brush of lips, but it was enough to make Y/N’s heart flutter.

When they pulled back, Y/N let out a small sigh, her eyes fluttering closed as she nestled back into the curve of his neck. Chris held her close, his hand resting on her back, his thumb stroking gently up and down in a soothing rhythm, letting his brothers finish what they wanted to say before going to bed again.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The video ended, and Y/N hit pause before it replayed again by itself, looking up at Chris, who was leaning back with a satisfied smile.

"Wow." She started, dragging out the word. "Look at you, Mister Romantic."

Chris shrugged, unabashed.

"What can I say? When you've got a girlfriend as amazing as you, you just... can't help yourself."

Y/N, sitting up and adjusting her position, rolled her eyes but smiled, her cheeks tinged pink.

"You’re such a dork." She muttered, but there was affection in her voice.

"And you love it." Chris shot back, leaning down, pressing a kiss to her temple, and Y/N couldn't help but smile, leaning into his touch.

"I really do."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

extra - comments:

"this compilation was the perfect one to prove what the boys said about chris being the only one who would make-out with his girlfriend in front of everyone 😭"

"stop, the way chris looks at Y/N in every clip???? ugh, I NEED this 😩"

"forget the baking, chris and Y/N's little kiss right there? too cute omg"

"okay but that livestream moment when Y/N brings chris food 😭 she's so thoughtful and caring ;(("

"chris and Y/N in the background just being all lovey-dovey while matt and nick are doing their thing is EVERYTHING!!! they’re so in love it hurts 🥺"

"honestly, I’m all here for how they’re always caught kissing like they forget the cameras are on 😞"

"chris couldn't even focus on the game anymore after Y/N kissed him LMAOOO, he's down bad, guys"

"STOP IT RIGHT NOW!! Y/N laying on chris lap while they do their thing with their eggs omg 🤧🤧 they're so precious"

[moonstruckme]

Hey angel!! hope ur doing well!!

i was wondering if I could request roommate!marauders where they have crushes on reader buttt she already has a bf but he's just a total jerk.... and u sorta get the idea?? (if u haven't done one like this already)

much love!!! <3333

Thank you for requesting lovely <3

cw: douchebag boyfriend, marauders fancy reader but don't genuinely want her to cheat or end her relationship for them

(poly)roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

It’s heartbreaking how lovely you look first thing in the morning. Sweet, rumpled pajamas, plodding gait, sunlight stretching over features still soft with sleep. You raise your hand to cover a yawn as you enter the kitchen, eyelashes still drooping like they’ve weights sewn into them. 

“Morning,” you say on the tail end. 

“Morning.” James opens one arm to you. You step into the hug automatically, and he drops a kiss to your head, his own private indulgence. You’re eyeing the omelet he’s frying up with his other hand. “Want one?” 

“Mm, wish I could,” your voice is a somnolent mumble, “but Dale’s taking me to breakfast in a bit.” 

James tries not to react, but his hold on you stiffens some. From the living room, he hears Sirius scoff. “Oh.” 

“I’m sure your omelet would be better.” You pat his side, moving out from under his arm to go to the coffee pot. “We’re going to this cafe he likes, and they never have anything I want. Still, I can hardly show up full.” 

James feels himself frown. Typical of your boyfriend to take you somewhere you don’t even like. Perhaps he’s a tad biased, but James thinks you should eat one of his omelets and show up full just to teach him a lesson. 

He plates up the one he’s just finished. You tail him into the living room as he delivers it to Sirius, curling your feet up underneath you on the couch. Remus is sitting in the armchair reading the paper. He and James have already had their breakfasts, but you and Sirius are always the last up on weekends.

“Are you finished with the funnies?” you ask Remus. 

He looks up at you with a tenderness James doesn’t know how you can’t see. “Yeah,” he says, shaking out a page. “Here.” 

Sirius snickers at your choice of reading material as you reach across him for it. You nudge his thigh with your knee. “Bite me.” 

“Anywhere you’d like me to, babe.” He winks. 

You roll your eyes and fold the page to read, well used to Sirius’ flirting. Similarly to how he’d done with Remus, Sirius’ ill-advised tactic for winning you over involves alternating between taunting you relentlessly and acting like his affection for you is all one big joke. It only barely worked on Remus—James’ interference had been required there, and that was before he’d admitted to himself his own feelings for either of the two boys—so James doesn’t understand why Sirius would give it another go with you. 

“Oh.” Remus closes his paper, seeming to remember something. “I was wondering if you might have time to go with me to the farmer’s market this morning. We’re out of eggs, but I can’t haggle with the woman like you do.” 

You give him a sorry sort of smile. “I would, but Dale’s meant to pick me up at ten.”

“Oh, well.” Sirius rolls his eyes, chewing malignantly on a bite of omelet. “If Dale said he’ll be here at ten, then surely that’s what’s happening.” 

You bump his thigh again good naturedly. “Be nice.” 

James bites his tongue, and even Remus reopens his newspaper with a tad more vigor than necessary. Sirius is by far the most vocal with you about your boyfriend’s flaws, but your roommates all hate him. The guy’s a prick. James would never in a million years try to convince you to leave your partner for them—and despite Sirius’ joking, he knows neither of the other boys would want that either—but if you broke up with Dale, he would be very tempted to throw a party. 

James really doesn’t understand how someone like you could end up with someone so holistically unpleasant as your boyfriend. He’s rude, inconsiderate, he doesn’t express any gratitude for the sweet things you do for him, and he is never where he says he’s going to be when he says he’s going to be there. He shows so little regard for anyone but himself. If he told you he was going to pick you up at ten in the morning, he’s just as likely to arrive at three in the afternoon. Even for your half-hearted defense of him, it’s nearly ten and you’ve made no move to change out of your pajamas or get ready, because you know he won’t be here on time. It irks your roommates to no end to see you tolerate such poor treatment. 

“Maybe you can go with Remus to the farmer’s market,” you tell Sirius. “You seem like you could negotiate.” 

“Sirius doesn’t know how much eggs are supposed to cost,” Remus says idly. 

“Oi!” Sirius objects through a mouthful of omelet. “I do so.” 

James smiles at him. “Really. How much do you think eggs cost, love?” 

Sirius manages to take another bite while James is asking, so his mouth is conveniently too full to answer. 

“I can manage it on my own,” Remus says with indulgent fondness. “Dove, do me one favor, though?” 

You lift your coffee. “Sure.” 

“Don’t let him summon you outside with his horn again.” 

There’s a brief but thick silence while you finish swallowing your coffee and all three boys try not to look too obviously judgmental (Sirius trying the least, naturally). The purse of your lips reveals some embarrassment. 

Still, your voice comes out unconcerned. “It’s not a big deal to me. It’s not like we’re in school and I need him to come to the door and meet my parents. It’s a time saver.” 

“It’s rude,” says Remus gently. “You deserve someone who will come to the door for you.” 

James’ thoughts exactly. 

“Sure you don’t want some toast or something while you wait?” James asks, partly to dispel the tension and partly because he really does think you should eat something if Dale isn’t likely to be here until the afternoon. “You could call it an appetizer.” 

You stand with your emptied coffee mug, passing an affectionate hand over James’ hair as you move between his legs and the coffee table. “Thanks,” you say genuinely, “but I’m alright. I’m going to go get ready.” 

However eager James is to avoid the tension that comes from insulting (or, really, just speaking frankly about) your boyfriend, Sirius has no such concerns. “While we’re telling Dale things,” he says after you, “be sure to remind him that our flat has a three-strike roommate tears policy. Next time you come home crying, Jamie and I get to make a house call.” 

Your laughter echoes down the hallway. “Sure, I’ll let him know.” 

Sirius looks at James, perplexed. “Did I sound like I was joking? I was not using my joking voice.” 

James pats his leg consolingly.

[dissapointu]

Sevika with an S/O Headcanons (Appearance, Personality, and a Touch of Smut)

Appearance Headcanons

• Commanding Presence: Your appearance matches Sevika’s vibe—strong and striking, with a look that turns heads. Whether it’s the way you carry yourself or the sharp details in your style, you exude confidence.

• Edgy Style: You gravitate toward darker tones, leather, and utilitarian clothing that’s both practical and bold. You’re not afraid to accessorize with statement pieces like chunky jewelry or fingerless gloves that scream rebellion. Sevika finds your style magnetic and often comments on how you “wear power well.”

• Scars with Stories: If you have scars or visible signs of past struggles, Sevika is drawn to them. She respects the strength they represent and loves tracing her fingers over them during quiet moments.

• Eyes That See Through Her: Your gaze has a way of cutting straight through Sevika’s defenses. It’s part of what made her fall for you—someone who doesn’t flinch, even when facing her rough edges.

Personality Headcanons

• Resilient and Steadfast: You’re unshakable, with a grounded personality that balances Sevika’s occasional volatility. While others might fear her temper or her reputation, you meet her intensity head-on without hesitation.

• Loyal to a Fault: Just like Sevika, you’re fiercely loyal to those you care about. Whether it’s standing by her side in a fight or supporting her during her toughest moments, she knows she can count on you.

• Witty and Quick-Tongued: Your sharp sense of humor keeps Sevika on her toes. She secretly loves it when you roast her in front of others—though she’d never admit it outright.

• Compassionate, but Selective: While you’re tough on the outside, you have a softer side reserved for those who earn it. Sevika treasures being one of the few people who gets to see that side of you.

• Independent Yet Devoted: You’re not afraid to go your own way, and Sevika respects your independence. However, your bond with her is unshakable, and she knows you’ll always have her back.

Relationship Dynamics

• Mutual Respect: Both of you value strength and loyalty, creating a relationship built on unspoken understanding. You don’t need constant reassurances to know where you stand with each other.

• Protective Instincts: Sevika is fiercely protective, but she knows you can handle yourself. Still, she won’t hesitate to step in if she thinks someone’s pushing their luck.

• Late-Night Conversations: After a rough day, you’re the only one she’ll open up to. Sitting together with drinks in hand, you talk about everything from Silco’s plans to your shared dreams of carving out a life on your own terms.

• Silent Comforts: Sevika isn’t one for overly sappy words, but her actions speak volumes. Whether it’s draping her coat over your shoulders when it’s cold or pulling you into her lap after a long day, her affection is subtle but deeply meaningful.

• Playful Rivalry: You two love sparring—verbally or physically. Whether it’s teasing each other or testing your strength in a fight, the tension often leads to something much more heated.

Smutty Bits

• Dominance with a Soft Edge: Sevika takes control in the bedroom with a commanding presence, but there’s a tenderness in her touch that’s reserved just for you. She knows exactly when to push and when to hold back, making every moment unforgettable.

• Rough, but Attentive: She’s rough around the edges, and it shows in how she kisses you—intense, almost possessive. Her hands are firm as they roam your body, but she’s always hyper-aware of your reactions, adjusting to what drives you wild.

• Exploring Power Dynamics: There’s a playful push-and-pull between you. Sometimes, you challenge her dominance, and the resulting tension only adds to the passion. She secretly loves it when you fight back—just not enough to win.

• Smirking Satisfaction: Sevika takes pride in how easily she can unravel you. Whether it’s with her hands, her lips, or the teasing rumble of her voice, she’s endlessly smug about knowing exactly how to leave you breathless.

• Aftercare in Her Way: Once the heat dies down, Sevika’s softer side shines through. She’ll pull you close, her prosthetic arm wrapped protectively around you, while her other hand gently strokes your back. She might grumble about being “too soft,” but the warmth in her touch betrays her true feelings.

With Sevika, your relationship is a mix of raw passion, unwavering loyalty, and quiet understanding

[taisgf]

hc. how i imagine my fave arcane characters in relationships ´ཀ` (sevika, jinx, caitlyn, vi, viktor, jayce x f!reader)

A/N: f!reader, maybe ooc, some nsfw, alc mention. love sevika n cait so much theyre just uuuhhghshs not a single arcane girl that aint fine asf prove me wrong oh wait u can't... I CANT WAIT FOR S2!!!! not proofread because exam szn is kicking my booty

VI

𓇼 Common dates with Vi would no doubt include sparring sessions at the gym, meaning you'll spend hours holding punching bags for her while she trains- talking about whatever. Chances are these hours would morph into playful wrestling, with Vi on top of you attacking your face in small kisses. Things might get a bit steamy, though- don't expect to leave the gym without a few fresh hickeys on your neck..

𓇼 Vi wouldn't be shy about PDA all too much, enjoying subtle, casual and comforting touches. Small pecks to the cheek, a hand on the small of your back, linked fingers. Anything more than that? She'll be too flustered, no doubt about it. Imagine sitting yourself on her lap while she's talking to someone- and suddenly she's unable to focus, get her words out right.

𓇼 Acts of service is for sure one of her love languages. The princess treatment you'd receive from Vi would only be amplified by her eagerness to show off in front of you, too. You can't reach something? She's got it, no problem. Broke something? Vi knows a thing or two, she can fix it. You're hungry? She can whip something up. Anything for her girl.

𓇼 Physical touch is definitely a major comfort and one of Vi's love languages, too. Fight me on this, but she looves little spooning. That's not to say she doesn't big spoon, too- she'll insist on it. However, it's those nights with Vi in your arms you see just how soft and whipped she really is. She isn't as tough as she seems, especially not with her girlfriend. At her core, Vi's just scared of loosing people; so having you there to hold, to feel against her skin is a bigger comfort than you would know.

𓇼 During her time in prison (assuming you didn't just break her out, I know I would) she'd spend her days daydreaming about you to no end. Imagining dates, what she would say to you, waking up next to you again after so long. You're her motivation- no doubt about it.

𓇼 Expect playful, unserious nicknames from Vi- cupcake, sugar, cutie, anything like that. She'd use them mostly ironically, but it would be hard to miss the love in her eyes and the affection in her voice as she says them. Chances are she'd use some variation of your name, too. Vi would love any nickname from you- be it silly or not.

𓇼 She's for sure a restless sleeper- in the sense she's out like a log, but rolling around so much you'd think she was wide awake. You'd fall asleep tucked into her arms, and wake up with her head somehow level with your knees, her foot lodged against your chin- whilst somehow managing to steal all the pillows and duvet.

𓇼 Vi, however, would be super overprotective when she's in a relationship- and it would manifest itself in many ways, most of which could drive you apart. Her lone-wolfish attitude could cause some distance between you two at times, pushing you away when doing anything dangerous in fear of loosing you. She's tough; and might struggle to express vulnerability to you about certain things. This means that she would keep some aspects of her life secret, wanting to separate her relationship with you from any of her vigilante activities.

𓇼 After a while, and probably an instance of you following her around when she specifically told you to stay out of whatever it was, she'd be less underestimating of your ability to hold your own. Only then would she accept your help, and hopefully you'll accept her sincere apology in return.

𓇼 Sleeping with Vi would either be the most sensual, loving and tender experience ever- or the most filthy, disrespectful and lustful one. Either way though, Vi's a giver rather than receiver 99% of the time; and it always, always comes from a place of love. Vi just wants to take care of her girl, you know? She'd love to praise your body, running her coarse hands over your skin while she manhandles you. In Vi's eyes, there's nobody more beautiful than you- and she makes it very known. You'd be reminded in the way your legs don't feel right the following morning, the nips and hickeys on your skin.

CAIT (my gf...)

𓇼 There's nothing Caitlyn loves more than quiet nights in or soft mornings in bed with her love (I'll talk more about that later..). A quiet evening in with you after the day's wrapped up is her favorite part of the day- the only time she can really, truly, relax. Picture her coming back to your quaint Piltover home- throwing off her hat and making her way over to you and just collapsing in your arms, her blue hair sprawled against your shoulder.

𓇼 I don't say this just because of that one scene, but Caitlyn looves to shower together. It ties in to her stress, I think- having her girlfriend wash her back after a long day would calm her to no end. The feeling of your hands, the water, the sound of the drops hitting the ceramic shower floor- the towel against her hair as you dry her off, the fresh sheets hugging her bare form as you crawl into bed. That environment, those little things, are the things that makes Caitlyn love you all the more.

𓇼 Another thing I can see Caitlyn loving are those really deep conversations, the moments she gets a glimpse into your raw soul. Those intellectual, honest conversations are some of her favorite times with you; bonus points if you're half naked with a glass of wine, music playing and it happens to be her day off.

𓇼 Caitlyn would be the type of girl to get grouchy and flustered if she's jealous- using her wit to cover it. She'd be super obvious about it, too- obvious side eyes and breaking eye contact until you ask her what's up.

𓇼 Your dates would be slow, chilled out and relaxing; be it art galleries, restaurants, coffee shops or just cozy days in.

𓇼 I feel like Caitlyn wouldn't be too big on PDA, seeing as she has a reputation and image to uphold in public. Subtle and cute gestures like a linked pinkie or touching legs under a table would happen, sure, but anything more than that you're likely to be met with a chuckle and a soft 'not in public, come on'. She's love to show you off, though- not that she'd ever say so.

𓇼 Words of affirmation and quality time are totally her love languages. She's a busy girl- so the time she does get with you is sacred. In a relationship, I feel like Cait has a real no-bullshit attitude, so communication's a strong suit of hers- and thus words of affirmation. You'll never doubt how much you mean to her.

𓇼 Caitlyn! Writes! Love! Letters! Birthdays, anniversaries, or just any time she's reminded of how much she loves you, away or not, she writes letters. Her handwriting's super fancy, signed with a kiss imprinted into the paper by her lipstick or replaced by a drawing of a heart. Caitlyn would be better at conveying her feelings through pen to paper, so no doubt would she be writing you letter after letter addressed to her love.

𓇼 I get the idea that Cait would just stick to the classic pet names; love, sweetheart, dear, dove. She would love being called them by you- not that she'd ever admit it. She'd chuckle, brushing you off- secretly hoping you'd do it again.

𓇼 Cait loves coming home to find you asleep, waiting up for her. She'd be the type of girl to watch you sleep, letting her eyes rake over your figure as you lie asleep at her desk or curled on the small couch in her bedroom. Speaking of sleep- Cait's a light sleeper, waking at any noise or when she feels you move too far from her. I imagine her sleeping pin straight, for some reason- the duvet tucked tight under her chin, legs straight and arms by her side. She might not be much of a cuddler when she's asleep, but that doesn't mean she isn't during the day.

𓇼 As strong and confident you and Cait would be in your relationship, problems would definitely begin to manifest as the events of the show play out. Cait would get snappy, harsh when she's stressed, only amplified by her independence. She would do her best to keep you out of everything, and would gradually spend less time with you as everything happens. Cait would always make it up to you, though.

𓇼 Just a bonus, but Cait's definitely a morning sex girl. That sacred half hour before she has to get up, just you and her in bed? Best believe she's taking advantage. Cait's a huge service top, in my mind- loving to watch your face as she makes you write, be it by toys or her bare hands.

JINX

𓇼 If you're game enough to date Jinx I feel like she'd make for a really great partner (if you can look past the pranks and obvious lack of stability).

𓇼 Jinx would be fiercely loyal, passionate and affectionate and fiery; at times overdramatic, but it's part of her charm. She's a jealous person by nature which is where her loud, harsh side could come out- but I'm certain all fights would be resolved within the day. Jinx would never mean it- it's just the abandonment issues talking.

𓇼 She'd love to keep you on your toes with pranks, spontaneous gifts and dates- hardly anything's planned in your relationship, but again; it's all part of the charm. (This totally includes off-the-cuff quickies too. Just saying).

𓇼 Jinx loves those days you just hang around her workshop with her- listening to music, talking as she tinkers with some shit you picked up from the street for her. Just having you near is enough- as if she'd ever let you go anywhere, anyway. Whatever she's making is also probably a gift for you- a manifestation of one of her main love languages.

𓇼Late night walks around the Undercity where Jinx shows you some new alley or shop are more than common- most dates taking place outside the home, roaming around.

𓇼 Nobody does PDA like Jinx does PDA. She doesn't say hi- just runs up behind you, pulling you in her arms, running her lips over your neck. It's a comforting thing for her- a way to calm herself down. After a fight, any dangerous situation, it's the feel of your skin against Jinx's calloused hands that she seeks.

𓇼 Physical touch and gift giving are her main love languages, no doubt in my mind. Something's broken? It's fixed, personalized, upgraded. She saw a trinket that reminded her of you? It's yours. It's your birthday, an anniversary or anything of that nature? A handmade gift, just for you. I feel like Jinx would be the type to draw her partner, too; leaving you small sticky notes with stick figure doodles around.

𓇼 Jinx is a chronic starfish sleeper- sorry. She's either taking the whole duvet and mattress in bed, or clinging onto you so tightly that you can hardly move let alone breathe.

𓇼She's an insecure, anxious girl at her core; no doubt manifesting itself in the form of jealousy and possessiveness when she's in a relationship. Like a lot of the other girls, she'd do her best to keep you separate from all the conflict- in an attempt to keep you safe. Jinx can't loose you too. She'd be gone, vanished for long periods of time- something you'd have to get used to.

𓇼She's a fast paced, passionate girlfriend in bed. Rough kisses, your lip between her teeth. Jinx would love to leave marks- small bites, hickeys in obvious spots on your neck, wrists. She's rough, playful yet cautious as the last thing she'd want is to hurt you. Sex would be less of a once-or-twice, prolonged event- more like quick, spontaneous and passionate quickies scattered though out the day; really any time she can get you all alone, public or not.

SEVIKA

𓇼 Sevika is crazy protective— she’d tear through anyone or anything just to keep you safe. You’re her number one priority, and she’ll do whatever it takes to shield you from harm. You’ll often catch her ready to confront anyone who steps out of line, her fierce gaze making it clear she’s got your back no matter what; and reminding others that you're firmly off limits.

𓇼 When it’s time to relax, Sevika loves hitting up a bar for drinks. She’s all about that fun atmosphere, especially when she gets to tease you and push your buttons. Expect her to lean in close, whispering something dirty while you're talking to someone else- then act like nothing happened, ordering another round.

𓇼 And yeah, she gets super jealous—like, possessive jealous. If someone’s chatting you up, you’ll definitely feel her presence. She might just slide her hands under your shirt while you’re talking, a firm hand finding solace on your ass or lower back, making it crystal clear who you belong to. There’s no doubt about her loyalty; she wears her heart on her sleeve. Everyone in Zaun and Piltover alike who knows who Sevika is knows that you're her's.

𓇼 Sevika’s all about physical touch and quality time. Whether she’s got her arm around your waist or just pulling you in for a hug, those little moments mean everything to her- grounding her though out the day.

𓇼 If you find yourself with Sevika in her office during the day, especially if she has others over, best believe she'd pull you atop her lap and keep you there. She'd love to show you off.

𓇼 When it’s bedtime, you’ll find her holding you tight, making sure you’re right next to her. She’s a heavy sleeper, but if she notices you’re not there, she’ll wake up instantly, reaching out for you to pull you back in. It’s her way of keeping you close, even in her sleep.

𓇼 Sevika has a little stash of photos of you—some a bit scandalous, definitely. She'd keep them tucked away in her jacket pocket, her personal collection of your best moments. A polaroid (if they even exist in Zaun) of you, all pretty with no shirt or bra; looking up at her. That's her favorite, for sure. Or maybe the one of you in her shower, all soapy and giggling? She can't choose.

𓇼 But here’s the thing: her protectiveness can often times come off as controlling. She worries a lot, and while you know she loves you, there are times when it can feel suffocating. Still, deep down, it’s all about her trying to keep you safe from everything she's involved in.

𓇼 Card game queen. Loves to 'let you win' but most of the time it's just that you genuinely beat her, and Sevika just doesn't wanna admit it.

𓇼The strap is HUGE good lord. In bed you're nothing more than her pretty toy- putty in her hands, weak for her touch (wouldn't we all be?). She'd love to just sink into the couch, watching you squirm and moan, beg and whine for her while she gets you off, be it by some toy or her hand(s?).

toxic wlw with sevika.... huge age and size gap...... being her pretty little thing... nibbling at the bars of my enclosure and drooling everywhere i need her so bad vro

JAYCE

𓇼 Jayce is all about being creative partners, bouncing ideas off each other and collaborating. Whether you’re working on a project or just daydreaming about the future, he’s your biggest cheerleader, always hyping you up and encouraging you. He'd find inspiration in your passion- fueling his own motivation.

𓇼 When you’re together, it’s usually a mix of relaxation and productivity. (I think it's called 'body doubling'? ADHD king honestly)

𓇼 You might find yourselves working side by side in his lab crafting something new, or just enjoying the time together while he rants about the council or rattles off his new ideas; applications for hextech. He thrives in those collaborative moments, and the chemistry between you both makes everything feel effortless and romantic.

𓇼 Jayce can get pretty insecure when it comes to jealousy. Instead of getting mad, he tends to overthink things, imagining scenarios that might not even be real. You'd notice him being a bit quiet or withdrawn if he thinks someone’s getting too close- he wants to be the one who makes you happy, and him alone.

𓇼 Physical touch, like most others on my list, is a big deal for Jayce. He loves to pull you in for side hugs or wrap an arm around your shoulders while you’re talking or pass each other through out the day. He knows how packed and hectic your schedules are; so he treasures those small moments. Those little gestures are his way of showing you how much he appreciates you, in his own little way.

𓇼 And don’t be surprised if he surprises you with little gifts or gestures. He might bring home a trinket that he'd made or saw in a shop window he thought you’d like, showing that he’s always thinking of you, even when he’s busy with his work. It’s his way of reminding you how much you mean to him- in the midst of his gruelling work hours.

𓇼 But sometimes, his overthinking can lead to misunderstandings. He might pull away a bit when he’s feeling insecure, and you’ll need to reassure him that he’s the one you want- that his elaborate scenarios and stupid insecurities don't mean anything. A little gentle nudging and open conversations can help him see just how much you care, and your touch always grounds him well.

𓇼 I feel like Jayce is a total bottom- far more submissive than people give him credit for. Look at him. He's definitely been pegged at least once. At his core, though, I feel like he's a more vanilla guy. Slow, soft romantic nights and mornings with you are more his speed; spare the odd shitty day at work where he either needs you to take care of him, or to get your permission to ravish you until he forgets about whatever he was mad about.

VIKTOR

𓇼 Viktor’s love language is all about that parallel play. He might not be the most overtly affectionate, but you can feel the warmth when you’re both just doing your own thing in the same space. Whether he’s tinkering with a new invention or you’re reading nearby, the comfort of simply being together speaks volumes to him.

𓇼 Time with Viktor is rare, often snatched in small moments away from the hectic world outside. He prefers those soft, chilled vibes over fast-paced outings. You might find yourselves just hanging out in your cozy home or his workshop, surrounded by all his gadgets and loose leaf papers. Those quiet moments are where he truly shines, sharing snippets of his world with you- quiet, spare the odd "Y/N; could you look this over for me?".

𓇼 When he’s with you, Viktor can’t help but get a bit playful and competitive. He loves to tease, whether it’s subtly poking fun at your skills or playfully challenging you to solve some problem (IDK what nerds do bear with me gang..). He’s all about that friendly competition, and it’s adorable to see his competitive side come out, even if he’s not taking it too seriously- a contrast from how cold he can be when engrossed in his work. It's special in the sense it's just for your eyes, too.

𓇼 Viktor is surprisingly protective in his own way. He might not be the type to confront anyone directly, but he’ll always look out for you from the shadows, making sure you’re safe. You can sense his care in the little things—like how he’ll adjust your scarf on a chilly day or keep an eye on your health when you’re feeling under the weather.

𓇼 Physical touch is definitely a part of his affection, but it’s often subtle. A hand resting on your back while he explains something, a lean against you as he stands, or a gentle brush of his fingers as he reaches for a tool. Those little touches mean a lot, showing that he’s there for you without being overly demonstrative- he's not showy like that.

𓇼 Viktor's got a variety of cute quirks- all adorable in their own right. He'd have a habit of doodling sketches of you in the margins of his notes or jotting down ideas inspired by your conversations. It’s his way of holding onto those moments, turning your shared time into something tangible he can revisit later, draw innovation from.

𓇼 Although at times Viktor's intense focus on his work can lead to him getting a bit lost in his projects. It might feel like he’s prioritizing whatever new hex-tech development or theory over spending time with you. However, you know it’s just his passion and dedication to making the world better, and he always makes sure to carve out time for you when it counts- just something you'd grow used to, and even appreciate.

𓇼 In bed Viktor's tame- romantic and sensual. Like Jayce, he'd be soft and slow on account of his weakness, but in no way does that mean it wouldn't be good. He's definitely good with his hands, too.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Howdy again! I love your writing for the batfamily sm so here I am again!

The bat boys forgetting to kiss their s/o when they get home from patrol (it can be smthn else, just them getting home from somewhere) like this TikTok !!

If you see this I hope you have a lovely day! Thank you sm !!

Jason

You couldn’t help but pout when Jason passed you by with not even a little kiss to the cheek or your forehead.

Jason has never, ever missed an opportunity to kiss you when he came back from patrol as it would vary from what type of mood he’d come back in.

Soft, slow and passionate for the ones that went well.

Rough, hard and aggressive for the ones that didn’t go so well and had to involve getting his hands dirty.

So when he completely blanked you at the door, you were confused and slightly hurt at this as Jason was never one to forget to kiss, hug and or cuddle you, ever!

‘Excuse me mr Todd.’ You called as Jason looked up from his book. ‘You forgot something very, very important.’ You add but Jason only smiled as he sets aside the book, pulling back the covers as he pats his lap twice. ‘I didn’t forget, I just wanted us to get comfortable before I kiss you senseless.’ He admits as he watched you with an adoring look as you got close enough for him to pull you to him by the waist, your hands braced on his shoulders as you giggled.

‘Are you sure you didn’t forgot or are you trying to make up for the fact that you forgot to kiss me senseless at the door?’ You asked sarcastically, already knowing the answer as you felt Jason cup your face between his large hands, his lips mere inches away from your own as his breath fanned your face.

‘Can’t it be a bit of both?’ He jokes, ‘now how long should a kiss you for?’ He wonders aloud and you couldn’t help but make a suggestion. ‘Ten seconds to smack up for the ten minutes you’ve been here and haven’t kissed me yet.’ You really wanted that kiss and you’ll get it however you could if Jason was the one offering it up to you.

Jason hummed as he rested his forehead against yours, murmuring. ‘I’ll double it for you being a sweetheart and waiting for me when you didn’t have to.’ Before giving you a soft, tender kiss as his lips weaved between your own passionately as though kissing you was something Jason took immense pride in.

Which he did, very much so as he brought his hands back down to your waist, keeping you close as you moved your hands to cup his jaw, feeling it move under your touch as you hummed against his lips for the next couple of seconds before feeling the need to breath.

‘Did you enjoy my make up kiss chipmunk.’ Jason asked with a smirk but you could tell he was being genuine in his question. You loved this man and his soft heart that you couldn’t help but smother his face in kisses for the sake of showing him that you love him just as much as he loved you, making him chuckle wholeheartedly as he somehow tugged you even closer to him just to feel you pressed against him, reminding him that you were here with him and not a figment of his imagination as he drowned himself in your affection.

‘It was more than perfect my sweet boy.’ You said as you kissed both of his warm cheeks and cuddled yourself into his chest, wanting nothing then to be as close as you physically could to him.

Bruce

Noticed that you were pouting more than usual and would occasionally huff disgruntled from time to time, but it was enough for him to want to speak up about it.

‘Is there a reason you’re huffing my dear.’ He’d ask as you were both getting ready for bed.

‘You didn’t kiss me when you came back from patrol.’ You pouted even further as you suddenly felt a little childish about your grievances with him. Bruce couldn’t help but smile as he brought his hands up to your face and began caressing your cheeks with his thumbs.

‘I didn’t?’ He asked but his eyes shone with a hint of mischief.

‘No you didn’t, you’ve left me with no kiss for the past thirty minutes.’ You replied as you melted further into his hands while trying to still be upset with him for not kissing you after a long night of patrol, sure it was a little selfish but it was your thing to convey that things were okay or going to be okay at least!

‘I apologise my dear,’ Bruce said as he tightened his grip on you, keeping you staring his chest as he kept an observant eye on you for your every reaction, ‘how could I ever make it up to you? Maybe this?’ He trails off a she lowers his head so it was in your neck as he trailed it with slow, gentle and lingering kisses that had you bringing a hand up to his hair, giving it a half hearted tug before caressing it as a apology of your own.

‘It’s a start.’ You hummed as you closed your eyes, ‘but I’d much rather have your lips on mine rather than on my neck.’ You added as you felt Bruce stop and lift his head from your neck, much to your dismay as you opened your eyes to see his face within inches away from yours.

‘I’d gladly kiss you anywhere your heart desires but if it’s your lips that you want me most, then who am I to refuse.’ Bruce purrs as he was about to close the distance between the two of you, only for the door to burst open as a little Dick and little Jason ran into yours and Bruce’s room.

‘What’s happened, are you both okay?’ You said as you pulled away from Bruce, looking between the two fidgeting boys.

‘Jason threw up.’ Dick said as he helped keep his brother upright.

‘Sorry.’ Jason said groggily, the poor boy looking deathly pale.

You and Bruce looked at each other knowingly, that kiss was going to have to wait as you both left to bed to tend to your precious boys.

Dick

You didn’t confront him about his blatant avoidance in kissing you when coming home from patrol until you were both tucked in bed, ready for sleep when you suddenly spoke in the silence.

‘How long have you been home for my sweet Dickie bird?’ You asked as you rested against his chest, tracing patterns into his skin.

‘Twenty minutes? Why?’ Dick asked, slightly confused why you were focusing on the duration of when he got home after patrol.

‘So for the past twenty minutes you didn’t realise that you didn’t kiss me like you usually do when coming home from patrol?’ You inquired as you saw Dick’s confused expression drop as the realisation settled in for him. ‘Starting to recall?’ You added sarcastically as you rested your chin on his chest, brows raised as you watched his expression become apologetic as he looked at you.

‘Aww has my cutie been waiting for me to realise my error and make up for my negligence of your needs and wants?’ Dick asked as he chuckled softly, finding it adorable that all you wanted before drifting off to sleep was a kiss from him, it warmed his heart to know that you thrived off of his affection like he did with yours. It was like a reminder that you loved each other and thought of one another constantly.

‘Yes, it was very rude of you to ignore me, even after I waited the entire night for you.’ You responded as though you were deeply disappointed, but you didn’t move away when Dick moved your head to kiss you on the lips, giving your bottom lip a playful bite as you groaned in response as you kept Dick against your lips by place your hand at the back of his head to get as many kisses as you could from your beautiful man.

‘Is my sweetheart satisfied now?’ Dick asks when he pulls away, ‘or did you want more kisses as compensation?’

You gave it some thought before looking at him, smiling slyly, ‘I think a few more kisses couldn’t hurt-‘ but it seemed as though dick was head of you as his lips were back on yours and your hand was back to tangle with his hair, keeping him close as Hayley feel asleep at the foot of your bed like the good pup she was.

Damian

Sees that your paying more attention to Titus then him, cuddling up to the Great Dane and talking to him as though he could respond and give you the much needed advice you needed.

‘What’re you doing treasure.’ He asked.

‘Did you hear that Titus? I sure didn’t.’ You said as you messed with Titus’s floppy ears as the dog remained calm and content with his current situation, that snd having your affection was a bonus for the doggo.

Damian groaned. ‘Is this because I didn’t kiss you once?’ You stopped playing with Titus’s ears but didn’t once look back to address him.

‘There’s a voice that I should be listening to but I don’t feel like doing so because apparently it’s childish and pathetic to want affection.’ You said aloud as you then got up from the floor and began to walk towards the bedroom with Titus on your heels along with your newest addition, Atticus, a golden retriever pup that Damian found out through Tim was about to be sent to a kill shelter.

‘I did not say that!’ Damian said as he followed after you, grabbing your arm in his grasp and pulling you so that you were face to face with him. ‘So stop being dramatic and let me make it up to you.’ He adds but you were stubborn to forgive him for his transgressions.

‘I don’t think I want that kiss now, you’ve wasted long enough to give it but haven’t so don’t bother-‘ before you could finished your sentence, Damian quickly kissed you on the lips before pulling away to shield his flustered expression behind his hand.

You blinked once, twice, three times before a massive smile graced across your face as you moved Damian’s hand to hold your own and intertwine your fingers as you dragged him to bed with you and the dogs.

‘You tricked me.’ Damian said as soon as he was in your shared bed, realising what had just happened within a short span of time, and the suspiciously quick change in emotions from you.

You merely shrug as you cuddle into his side. ‘Shouldn’t have forgotten to give me my kisses.’ You stated as though it was obvious and Damian couldn’t help but chuckle softly to himself at just how eager he was to make you happy, even giving you a kiss you claimed you were robbed of.

‘I shall keep that in mind for the future.’ Damian said as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head before falling asleep alongside you. He didn’t forget a single kiss in the future but he also did keep bringing in animals he found in dangerous situations.

[lyrefromthesea]

Could i request some hasira and where they like to kiss reader headcannons? Thank you!

Male hashira x Reader - This is where to kiss you

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Gyomei x reader

content warning: none

Tengen:

• i feel like he'd lay on you when he's feeling vulnerable. but he's quite heavy for someone like you, isn't he? his solution: resting his head on your lap instead.

• he doesn't want to talk when he's feeling vulnerable, bathing in your silence is enough for him, but he still needs to show you that he appreciates your presence.

• his movements are quiet, slow even. he presses a gentle kiss against your thigh, his hand rubbing over your leg to gift you some of his warmth.

Obanai:

• due to the insecurity about his face, he developed the habit to approach you from behind when he wasn't wearing it.

• it's easier for him to approach you like this, wrapping his arms around your torso and leaning his face against your shoulder.

• he tends to leave a light kiss or two on your back, right under shoulder.

• he'll eventually learn that you're not judging him for his scars, but the kisses will continue, because he likes the way your skin heats up when he shows you this special form of affection.

Rengoku:

• it's a standard for him to kiss you goodbye before he leaves for his mission. it's just that Senjuro is standing right next to you.

• it almost felt wrong to him to kiss you on the lips when his little brother is staring at the two of you with his innocent and bright eyes.

• he settles for a kiss on your cheek, gently cupping your face. a promise to come back. he would never leave the people he loved, not before he could see them one last time.

• you watch him walk off every time, your hand resting on Senjuro's shoulder as you pray for Kyojuro to come back safely.

Sanemi:

• he has a habit of burying his face in the crook of your neck. perhaps it's a moment of vulnerability, perhaps he's just tired or wants to hold you close. he just does it.

• when he finally gets out of his quiet trance, he'll whisper something against your skin, pressing an almost tender kiss against your neck or your shoulder.

• weirdly enough, he often gets shy after such a vulnerable moment between the two of you, a light flush dusting his cheeks in response.

Giyuu:

• he was nervous at first, often leaving kisses on your cheek or the top of your head, but he'll grow out of that habit eventually.

• when he finally realizes that it's okay to show his affection via kisses, he'll grow more confident in his actions.

• he likes leaving kisses on the corner of your lips. it's intimate enough to let you know that he appreciates you, but even more importantly, you'll always give him a real kiss on the lips in return.

Gyomei:

• it's obvious to anyone seeing the two of you. Gyomei was taller than you - by a lot. yet he still wants to show his affection to you.

• he'll settle for a kiss on the top of your head, leaning down to reach you.

• if he's feeling especially affectionate, he'll swoop you up and hold you close. your chest will be right in front of his face, resulting in a kiss on your collarbone or the top of your chest.

• he wouldn't mind stopping if you were uncomfortable with his actions. luckily, both of you seemed to like it.

[hurtblossom]

When we grow old ln4

Pairing : Lando Norris x Female!reader

Summary: Interviewer asks you how you see your relationship in the future, and your answer leaves everyone speech less.

Warning: Fluff, people being disgustingly in love, bad english.

This is based of an interview i watched on tiktok, and on Kylie's and Travis's video on GQ

masterlist

Lando and Y/N had been together for almost a year now. From the moment they met, it was as if the universe had aligned just for them. They spent nearly every moment they could together, whether at his apartment or hers. Y/N never missed a race, always there in the stands or watching anxiously from the paddock, her heart swelling with pride. She was his biggest supporter, not just on the track but in every aspect of his life.

For Y/N, Lando was everything she had ever dreamed of in a partner. She was convinced that he was her soulmate, the one she was meant to spend her life with. Nothing and no one could make her believe otherwise. Lando wasn’t shy about showing his love for her either. He spoke about her with a tenderness that made everyone around him smile. Whenever he had the chance to mention her, he did, his eyes lighting up with every word. He defended her fiercely whenever someone had something negative to say about her or their relationship. Y/N was deeply in love with him, and every day, she hoped that he felt the same way.

When Y/N received an invitation to join Lando for an interview, she was genuinely surprised. She wasn’t accustomed to the spotlight; her world had always been more private. Although she had social media, most of her followers were there because of Lando.

And so, she found herself seated in a chair across from him, a gentle hum of anticipation in the air. Someone adjusted the mic on her shirt, making sure her voice would be captured clearly. As she sat there, waiting for the cameras to start rolling, she stole a glance at Lando. He looked at her with that familiar warmth, the kind that made her feel like she was the only person in the room.

"Hey everyone, I’m Lando, and this is my girlfriend Y/N. We’re here with GQ, ready to answer some questions about our relationship," Lando began, his smile wide and genuine, the kind that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat.

“So, first question: how did we meet?” Y/N read aloud from a card she had been given before the interview. She looked at Lando, a playful glint in her eye. “Do you want to answer that?”

“Yeah.” Lando smiled softly at her, his gaze full of affection. “For those who don’t know, Y/N here is McLaren’s official Social Media Manager. She started working with the team about a year and a half ago, and yeah, I met her during her very first meeting with us, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.”

“That’s correct, Mister Norris,” Y/N said, her tone light but filled with pride. Lando raised his hand for a high five, and she gladly met it.

“Okay, my turn. What was our first date, and what was our last? And which one did you enjoy the most?” he asked, tossing the flashcard behind him with a playful grin.

“Our first date was when you took me out to an Italian restaurant. You dressed all fancy,” she laughed, her eyes sparkling at the memory. “And the last one was two days ago; we went to your yacht and just sat there, watching the sunset.” Her voice softened, a smile tugging at her lips. “I can’t pick which one I preferred; honestly, every moment with you feels like a blessing.”

Lando’s smile grew tender. “That’s really sweet, baby.”

“Okay, next question!” Y/N announced with a playful energy that made Lando chuckle. “What are three things you love and hate about each other?”

“Well, that one’s easy,” Lando replied instantly. “I love your smile, your eyes, and your laugh. They light up my world. As for the three things I hate… I’d have to say your impatience, how easily you get mad, and the fact that you hold grudges.”

“That was quick,” Y/N said, raising an amused eyebrow. “I guess it’s my turn. So, I love your determination—how you never give up on what you do, even when it seems impossible. I love that you have a big heart and wear it on your sleeve. And your eyes… you have the most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen, and I could get lost in them forever. Now, for the things I hate: you tend to take things too personally, you can be just a tad too flirty, and… your sense of humor.”

“My sense of humor? What’s wrong with it?” he asked, feigning shock.

“You’re just not that funny, baby,” Y/N teased, shrugging playfully, her eyes twinkling with affection.

Lando laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, I’ll work on my jokes.”

Y/N picked up the next flashcard. “Here’s a good one: What’s something surprising you’ve learned about me since we started dating?”

Lando paused for a moment, thinking. “Honestly, I think the most surprising thing I’ve learned is just how incredibly strong you are. I mean, I always knew you were tough, but seeing how you handle everything—whether it’s work stress, being in the public eye, or supporting me through all the ups and downs—has been amazing. You never let anything break you, and that’s something I admire so much.”

Y/N felt her heart swell with emotion. “Thank you, Lando. That means a lot coming from you.”

She cleared her throat, trying to keep her voice steady as she read the next question. “What’s your favorite memory of us together?”

“That’s a tough one,” Lando said, smiling as he reminisced. “But I think it would have to be that weekend we spent in the countryside, just the two of us. No cameras, no phones, no distractions—just us. We went hiking, had a picnic by the lake, and at night, we watched the stars. It was simple, but it was perfect. It was one of those moments where I just felt… complete.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes misty with tears. “I remember that weekend. It was beautiful.”

Lando reached out, taking her hand in his. “We should do that more often—just escape from everything and be together.”

“Definitely,” Y/N agreed, squeezing his hand. “Okay, here’s the next question: What’s something you wish we could do together in the future?”

Lando thought for a moment before answering. “I’d love for us to travel more, see the world together. There are so many places I want to explore with you, and I think it would be amazing to share those experiences. But more than that, I just want us to keep building a life together, no matter where we go.”

Y/N smiled softly. “That sounds perfect.”

“Alright, last question,” Lando said, his tone growing more serious. “And this one’s just for you, Y/N: how do you see this relationship evolving?”

Y/N took a deep breath, her heart beating a little faster as she thought about the future. “Oh, that’s a hard one. How do I see this relationship evolving? Well, first of all, I’d like for us to stay together, to grow old… without sounding like a complete psycho,” she began, her voice wavering slightly with emotion.

“You’re fine; go on,” he encouraged her, his eyes never leaving hers, filled with a deep, unwavering love.

“If one day we end up on different paths—and I really hope that never happens, because seriously, you’re everything to me—I know I won’t want anyone else,” she said, her voice soft but sincere. “But if life does pull us apart, I don’t want us to hate each other or lose all the good memories we made. I want you to remember me with a smile, and I’ll always wish you the best, because I’d never want anything bad for you. You’re my first real love, Lando, and what we have is something I know I’ll never feel with anyone else.”

She paused for a moment, her heart racing as she took a deep breath. “So, with that said,” she added with a little laugh, “let’s just agree to never break up, okay? Because honestly, that would be super awkward and totally heartbreaking for both of us.”

Her words hung in the air, filled with the raw, honest emotion of young love, and Lando couldn’t help but smile at her attempt to lighten the mood, even though he knew how deeply she meant every word.

He was quiet for a moment, letting her words sink in. He looked at Y/N, his eyes filled with love and something deeper—determination.

“GQ, I think we’re done here,” Lando finally said, his voice steady but with a clear edge of emotion. “Because what I have to say now, I want her to know it’s real.”

He turned to Y/N, taking her hands in his as if grounding himself in the moment. “You’ve always been the one for me, Y/N. From the very beginning, I knew there was something about you that I couldn’t let go of, and that hasn’t changed. Hearing you talk about different paths… it scares me, because I don’t want to imagine my life without you in it.”

He paused, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of her hand. “But I need you to know that I’m not going anywhere. I’m not just in love with you; I’m committed to us. I’m committed to making sure that we keep growing together, facing whatever life throws our way. I can’t promise that everything will be perfect, but I can promise that I’ll always fight for us.”

Lando’s voice softened, his gaze never leaving hers. “You’re my first love, Y/N, and I want you to be my last. I want to share every moment, every milestone, and every challenge with you. I want us to look back one day, gray and wrinkled, and say, ‘We did this together.’ Because you’re it for me. You always have been, and you always will be.”

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, letting the moment linger. When he pulled back, there was a quiet intensity in his eyes, a promise unspoken but deeply felt.

“So let’s stop worrying about different paths,” he whispered, “and focus on the one we’re on, together. Because I’m not letting go, not now, not ever.”

the end

plot twist : he cheated, so they broke up... men 🍵 (jk😞)