#dreamy sigh .

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

katsuki who loves nose kisses btw. who's been innocently doing them with you ever since he was small and who still does them now. it's basically a reflex. whenever you're worried for him, or he has to go off somewhere, he presses his forehead to yours. who looks you straight in the eyes with an unspoken promise to be safe. he nods, smushing his nose to yours and nuzzling it softly, almost shyly. and then he's gone again, cheek, ears and nose completely pink.

[spader7]

i couldn't stand a chance

[plumadot]

Your art is like honey and marshmallows. It makes me feel so giddy! I love it! If you don’t mind can you do desert duo?

can we still be friends?

[kaijugroupy]

ok but hear me out. how fun and crazy would it actually be if we talked about asexuality as a spectrum more?

consider this? aces who like sex but don't like being touched themselves? aces liking and getting off on pain stimulation but not pleasure stimulation? Aces who don't like getting off but like sex? Aces who use a one to ten scale to gauge sexual ability but never fully make it to ten. Aces who are happy at a level seven, or four, or two. Aces who like some aspects of sex but not all. Aces who get bored in the middle of sex and stop. Aces who are super into over the clothes stimulation. Aces with boundaries.

[capquinn]

Twenty-five | Q. Hughes

summary: celebrating the birthday boy pairing: reader x quinn hughes content: fluff word count: 1.5k ↪masterlist

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It’s Quinn’s birthday, a milestone that feels both big and small at once. He’s twenty-five today, and while that number doesn’t carry the weight of a major life milestone, it still feels significant — halfway to thirty, a solid mark of adulthood. You’d planned a quiet evening to celebrate, something intimate and close to home. Quinn is quietly disappointed that his brothers couldn’t make it this year, both tied up with their own schedules, but having his parents here makes up for it. It’s just the four of you, gathered together in the cozy warmth of the apartment, and while it’s not the whole family, it still feels special — exactly the kind of celebration he needs.

You had spent the day preparing a homemade dinner, and you’d practically banished him from the kitchen, determined to make it a surprise. The kitchen had been your domain as you chopped vegetables, seasoned meat, and stirred sauces, with Quinn sneaking in every so often, leaning against the counter, stealing bites of food before you could swat his hand away. You had shooed him back into the living room more than once, reminding him that it was his birthday and he was supposed to relax. Not that he listened.

Now, as you all sit together around the small dining table in his apartment, the glow from a few candles casts a soft light across the room. There’s a warmth in the air, a kind of contentment that comes from being surrounded by people who know him well, who love him unconditionally.

Jim is laughing at something you said, Ellen chuckling beside him as she rests her hand on his. Quinn leans back in his chair, watching the interaction with a soft smile, a touch of shyness in his eyes as his parents begin sharing stories from his childhood. Tales that paint him in a more vulnerable light — like how he insisted on sleeping with a nightlight until he was almost ten. He’s trying to play it cool, but you can tell he’s both endeared and slightly embarrassed, glancing at you now and then to gauge your reaction.

“Remember when you were five?” Ellen asks, a playful glint in her eye as she focuses on Quinn. “You insisted on a hockey-themed birthday cake, but you hated the taste of the frosting.”

“Oh, come on, mom,” he groans, ducking his head with a laugh. 

You grin, leaning forward to catch his eye. “Wait, so you asked for a cake you didn’t even want to eat?”

“He just wanted to see the players on the cake,” Jim interjects, shaking his head. “But the second he had a taste, he decided the whole thing wasn’t for him. I think we ended up eating half of it ourselves.”

Ellen winks at you, then nods subtly toward the kitchen, signalling it’s time for the final surprise. You give her a quick smile, and together, you rise from the table, Quinn’s curious gaze following you as you disappear into the kitchen. 

The cake is waiting, just as you’d left it: chocolate with a glossy layer of frosting spread just a bit unevenly across the top. Strands of icing form the words "Happy Quarter of a Century, Quinn” in a looping script that you painstakingly wrote out, and the letters tilt a little at the end. The centrepiece is a dorky “25” candle, its red and white wax standing proudly amidst a scattering of chocolate shavings and sprinkles that you and Ellen had added for good measure. The whole thing looks as much a labour of love, with little imperfections here and there, but it’s endearing, perfectly imperfect — and so very him. 

As you approach the dining table, Ellen flicks off the lights, and together you break into song. Quinn glances up, caught mid-laugh at something his dad said, but his words fall away as he takes in the sight of the cake. His face lights up with surprise and a touch of embarrassment, and he ducks his head with a grin, trying to play it cool even as his cheeks flush in the warm candlelight. 

As you set the cake down in front of him, Quinn’s eyes flicker to the stringy icing and he chuckles, reaching out to wrap an arm around your waist, tugging you into his lap. You let out a surprised laugh, instinctively wrapping an arm around his shoulders as you settle in.

“Quarter of a century, huh?” he murmurs, leaning in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Makes me sound older than I am.”

You playfully roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “Please, you’re barely mid-twenties. No sympathy from me.”

He grins, his hand resting comfortably on your waist as you both lean into each other. Then, you join in with Ellen and Jim’s singing, your voices mingle in a warm, off-key harmony.

For a second, Quinn is not quite sure what to do with himself. He's used to being in the spotlight, but this feels different — more intense, almost overwhelming. It’s not the roaring crowd at the rink or the flashing cameras; it’s the quiet attention of just a few people, the ones he loves most, their eyes on him with warmth and pride. He shifts a little in his seat, a shy smile playing on his lips as he leans his forehead against your shoulder, hiding his blushing cheeks out of view.

“Oh, come on, birthday boy, don’t hide,” you tease. You rest your hand on the back of his neck, fingers brushing through the soft hair there, silently telling him that he’s not alone in this. He laughs, his breath warm against your skin, and you can feel the rumble of it in his chest. 

He shifts, glancing up at you with a sheepish grin, his cheeks pink in the candlelight, but the look in his eyes is full of affection. “You didn’t have to go all out,” he murmurs, though the smile he’s trying to suppress gives him away. His hand is firm at your waist, holding you close, and you can feel the steadiness of his heartbeat as you both sway a little to the rhythm of the song.

“Yes, I did,” you reply softly, your eyes meeting his, and the warmth in your voice makes his smile grow wider. It’s sweet and quiet between you, the room filled with the gentle hum of the birthday song, but all you can focus on is the way he’s looking at you.

Ellen’s voice is quiet as she finishes the final note. She claps, and then softly says, “make a wish, sweetheart.”

She steps back, giving you both a knowing smile as she takes her seat beside Jim, the two of them watching with that quiet joy only parents seem to have.

“Alright, alright,” he says, straightening up, and you can feel his fingers tighten on your hip as he closes his eyes, pretending to be lost in thought. You can’t help but laugh, and he nudges you with his shoulder, both of you sharing a private smile as he finally leans forward to blow out the candle.

The flame flickers once, then vanishes, leaving only the faint tendrils of smoke curling up from the “25” candle. 

Quinn turns his face to yours, and in the dim light, you can see the soft flush of pink deepening on his cheeks, the happiness in his eyes as he pulls you in a little closer. You’re both still giggling, the joy of the moment filling the space between you.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his lips pressing gently against your cheek, lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. It’s a gentle touch, barely there, but the warmth of it spreads through you, making your heart swell. You can feel the soft flutter of his breath against your skin, and for a second, everything else fades away.

You loop your arms around his neck, pulling him in a little closer, your cheek resting against the side of his head. It's fleeting but the moment stretches on between you, lingering in the soft space between breaths. His arms around you, your fingers twisting through the ends of his hair — it feels as if you have all the time in the world, wrapped up in each other, letting the rest of the world spin on without you.

From across the table, Jim clears his throat with a teasing grin. “Alright, lovebirds, are we ever getting to that cake, or is it just for show?”

Jim's words break the spell, his teasing grin making you laugh as you glance up. Ellen gives him a nudge, but she’s smiling too, clearly enjoying the moment just as much.

Quinn gives a little chuckle, shaking his head as he glances at his parents with that familiar mix of affection and playful exasperation.

Reluctantly, you pull back, reaching for the knife, and as you do, Quinn’s hand slides up your back to lay at rest between your shoulders. You cut into the cake, the knife slicing through layers of rich chocolate, and as you pass the first piece to Jim, Quinn leans in close again, resting his chin on your shoulder with a contented sigh.

In that moment, surrounded by his parents’ laughter, with Quinn’s arm wrapped around you, it feels as if time itself has paused. You share a quick glance, and the unspoken connection between you is a quiet certainty. Of knowing that these are the moments you’ll cherish — today, tomorrow, and for every birthday still to come.

[thepie]

Slightly better Elliott for you guys <3 compared to that watercolour shit thing I drew earlier

[imsogayyippee]

ugh. hes so pretty

[mawvax]

I've been a bit distracted by Sukugo - small doodle

I love their matching crazy

[bunnyyyuu]

roommate!yuuji who basically refuses to sleep in his own bed... always forcing you to have "sleepovers" in the living room, sometimes even asking to sleep in your bed with you. almost every single night you wake up with him nuzzling against you, seeking your warmth, his hands "accidentally" grabbing at your ass...

[butmakeitgayblog]

Alycia talking about Lexa, the BYG movement, and fans

[taechnological]

he's so boyfriend

[punkshort]

[madamemiz]

hi hello would like sun fnaf to get grabby touchy w me pls and thank you

[peachdues]

when you have to be quiet but then you make him cum so hard he has to bite the pillow or his knuckles or you to keep from crying out >

[capquinn]

Hi!!! Can we daydream about Quinn with his gf/wife and little kids at family skate, and he is so sweet and has fun with the kids but then he also spends time just skating with his girl and just how adorable it would all be

The rink is buzzing with laughter and chatter, a lively hum that echoes across the ice as families skate together under the bright, friendly glow of the arena lights. It’s a Canucks family skate, and the atmosphere is nothing short of joyful chaos. Around you, players glide alongside their partners and children, laughter and the occasional squeal of excitement filling the air as little ones attempt their first steps on the ice, bundled up in tiny team jerseys, their skates barely steady on the surface.

You linger by the boards, your baby boy nestled in the crook of your arm, his gaze fixed intently on the skaters zooming past, his eyes wide with wonder. He’s completely captivated, his little neck craning as he tries to take in every bit of movement. Every now and then, he lets out an excited coo, his small hands flailing and reaching as if he wants to join in, enchanted by the way everyone glides over the ice.

Around the rink, you spot a few familiar faces — teammates sharing laughs with their families, some holding hands with their significant others, others carefully guiding their wobbly-legged kids in little skates, everyone wrapped up in the warmth of the moment. You can see Brock pulling his young niece around the ice, her giggles ringing out as he lifts her up to help her “fly.” Nearby, Elias is gliding hand in hand with his girlfriend, and every now and then, he spins her around, both of them laughing in easy, joyful abandon.

But your eyes keep drifting back to Quinn, who’s just a few feet away, moving slowly across the ice with your three-year-old daughter. She’s bundled in her Canucks beanie and a tiny jersey, her skates clumsy but determined as she tries to match her dad’s easy, practiced rhythm. Quinn holds both of her hands, his head bent as he whispers something encouraging to her, laughing softly as her little legs flail with each wobbly attempt to glide.

He glances over at you, a wide grin spreading across his face as he meets your eyes, sharing in the hilarity of your daughter’s determined yet wobbly attempts. You catch his look and laugh, sharing an amused shake of your head. He’s practically beaming, every inch the proud, doting dad, and he keeps pointing things out to her, like, “see, you’re skating just like daddy!”

Your daughter giggles, her gaze flickering over to you, and she waves a little hand, calling out, “mommy, look! I’m skating!”

You give her an encouraging wave back, smiling.

“You’re doing so good!” you call out, even as you stay firmly planted by the boards, not entirely confident in your skating skills while holding a baby.

“Come on, mommy!” She beckons, twisting her neck to look at you as her feet take her in the opposite direction. But Quinn’s grip on her is steady, and he’s there to keep her upright.

Quinn seems to sense your hesitation and guides your daughter to the boards for a quick break.

“You sure you don’t want to give it a try?” he teases, stopping just in front of you, an easy and familiar smile on his face.

Your gaze lingers on the ice, shifting your weight, holding the baby close, and he senses your hesitation. You don’t trust yourself not to fall. When catch you catch his eye, he gives you a soft, reassuring smile before bending down to steady your daughter, guiding her to stand firmly between his legs for balance.

“Stay right here, Bug,” he murmurs, letting go of her little hands once she’s stable. “I’ll take him,” he says without hesitation, and with a smooth motion, extends his arms to take the baby from you, the warmth in his eyes instantly putting you at ease.

You carefully hand your son over, watching as Quinn settles him into the crook of his arm with practiced ease. Against his chest, the baby looks even tinier, his round cheeks pink from the chill and his little eyes wide as he gazes up at his dad. His tiny knitted beanie is slightly askew, and you reach over to adjust it, tucking it snugly over his ears.

“All set?” you ask, smiling down at your baby boy as he wriggles in Quinn’s hold, seemingly content in his father’s arms.

Quinn nods, his eyes soft as he glances down at your daughter, who’s still holding her ground between his legs, balancing on her skates with a proud little grin. “Time to show mom how it’s done,” he tells her.

You kneel down, grinning as you hold your hands out to your daughter. “You ready, Bug?”

She nods enthusiastically, her small, gloved hands slipping into yours, her excitement almost tangible as she steadies herself, her eyes sparkling at the thought of being on the ice with both her mom and dad. You take a deep breath, feeling a rush of warmth and love as the four of you set out, moving as a little cluster of family, Quinn leading with careful, steady strides while you and your daughter follow close behind, each wobbly step punctuated with laughter and encouragement.

As you make your way towards center ice, a couple of Quinn’s teammates glide over, laughter in their eyes as they take in the sight of your little family on the ice. JT is among them, his own kids in tow, and your daughter’s face lights up the moment she spots him.

“Uncle J!” she calls out, waving her little mittened hand enthusiastically. Her balance wobbles, and whilst you’re grasping both hands, Quinn instinctively reaches out to steady her with a gentle hand on her back, grinning at her excitement.

JT chuckles, leaning down to your daughter’s level as he glides to a stop beside you all. “Look at you out here,” he says, eyes twinkling as he gives her a high five. “Practicing for the big leagues already?”

She giggles, puffing out her chest with pride as she says, “daddy’s teaching me!”

JT chuckles. “Alright, show me what you’ve got.”

She giggles again, letting go of one of your hands and wobbling a little as she lifts one skate, trying her best to glide.

JT laughs, clapping his hands. “You’re a natural.”

But before he can say more, your daughter tugs on your hand, her face bright with determination, fuelled by the compliment.

“C’mon, mommy, let’s go,” she urges, eager to keep moving and practicing, already pulling you along with her, her little legs working hard to stay upright.

You exchange a quick, amused look with JT, who winks at you, before you let your eldest lead the way, her enthusiasm carrying you across the ice.

Quinn takes a quick moment to adjust your son in his arm, proudly showing him off to JT, who leans in with a warm smile, giving the baby an affectionate wave. “Look at this little guy,” he chuckles, clearly charmed.

“Daddy!” your daughter calls, her voice bright and insistent, as if to say, Hurry up!

“Enjoy it,” JT says simply, his voice warm with understanding as he glances at Quinn with a knowing smile.

Quinn nods, a quiet, grateful look crossing his face, before he catches up to you and your daughter.

The rink is a blur of people around you, but in this moment, it feels like it’s just the four of you, taking your time and enjoying the simple pleasure of being together. Your daughter’s giggles echo as she finds her rhythm, her little legs wobbling but steadier than when she first began, each stride more confident than the last. Her grip loosens on your hands until, with a small, determined breath, she lets go, pushing forward on her own, her arms outstretched as she glides a few cautious feet ahead of you.

With your daughter skating just ahead, you lean into Quinn, wrapping a hand around his bicep, feeling the warmth and strength of him beneath your fingers. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he shifts slightly, his arm coming around to rest against your back, steering you gently as the two of you fall into a comfortable, slow pace behind her, perfectly content to just be here, watching her take these little steps of independence.

“She’s getting so big,” you murmur, a smile in your voice, though there’s a faint catch as you take in the sight of her moving so confidently ahead.

Quinn nods, his gaze fixed on her, his jaw tightening just slightly as his expression softens with quiet pride. “Yeah,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice carrying a quiet awe. “Look at her go.”

There’s a hint of wonder in his tone, as if he’s marveling at where the last three years have gone, his baby girl now a fierce, independent spirit with a strength all her own. He holds you a little closer, his hand warm and steady against your back, and for a moment, you both fall into silence, taking in the simple beauty of watching her grow.

But then, her skate catches a rough patch of ice, and her arms flail as she loses balance. For a split second, her expression shifts from confidence to a startled shock as she tips forward, her legs slipping out from under her.

The second Quinn sees her stumble, his whole body tenses. Without a word, he turns to you, carefully but swiftly handing over your son, his arms steady but urgent as he transfers the baby into your hold.

“You good?” he murmurs softly, his eyes meeting yours briefly, a flicker of worry crossing his face as he makes sure you’re steady.

Once satisfied, he’s back to her side in an instant, his strides quick and sure. He crouches down to her level, his hand already reaching out before she even has a chance to process what’s happened.

“Hey, Bug, you okay?” he asks, his voice warm and soothing, though you can catch the subtle glimmer of worry in his eyes as he scans her little face.

Your daughter blinks up at him, her eyes wide, looking more surprised than hurt. Quinn lets out a quiet breath, relief softening his expression, and he offers her a gentle smile, brushing a hand over her cheek.

“Just a little slip, huh?” he murmurs, his tone full of calm reassurance. “Daddy’s got you.”

She nods, a small, tentative smile forming as her fingers curl around his hand, finding comfort in his presence. Quinn helps her up, his hands gentle as he steadies her skates, keeping a close eye on her as she stands. He stays right by her side, his hand resting lightly on her back, offering that familiar, encouraging smile that seems to say, I’m right here.

As she takes a tentative step forward, he glances back at you, his expression softening as he catches your eye. You share a small, knowing smile, the both of you silently acknowledging the preciousness of this moment before Quinn shifts his full attention back to your daughter, ready to help her try again.

With a little encouragement from Quinn, your daughter finds her balance once more, her determination quickly returning as she gives skating another try. She beams up at him, her confidence growing with each little glide, and Quinn chuckles softly, staying close as she takes her next careful steps forward.

Just as you’re all settling back into the rhythm, one of the team photographers skates over with a warm smile, camera in hand. “Mind if I grab a quick family photo?” he asks, nodding towards your little family.

Quinn glances at his daughter, his eyes bright with that familiar, playful glint. “What do you think, Bug?” he says. “Wanna take a picture?”

She giggles, nodding eagerly, and Quinn leans down, scooping her up with ease.

With your daughter perched securely in Quinn’s arms, her little hands wrapped around his neck and her head leaning happily against his shoulder, you feel the warmth of his free arm slipping around your waist, drawing you in close. Your baby boy is snug in your arms, his tiny eyes wide with fascination as he stares up at his dad.

The team photographer raises his camera. “Alright, you all ready?“

Quinn chuckles, looking at you with a familiar smile before turning his gaze to your daughter, who beams up at him, her little face alight with pure happiness. ���Smile big, Bug,” he says, giving her a gentle squeeze, which makes her giggle, her tiny hand reaching to hold onto his cheek.

As the photographer counts down, Quinn’s grip around your waist tightens slightly, pulling you in until you’re all snug together, a little family unit beaming with laughter and joy. Your daughter giggles just as the camera clicks, and Quinn glances down at you, eyes shining with a quiet happiness.

The photographer snaps a few more shots, capturing every detail: Quinn’s protective hold on both you and your daughter, the little one nestled close against your shoulder, and the pure joy radiating from each of you. It’s a snapshot of a moment you know you’ll cherish forever — the four of you, sharing a perfect, happy moment on the ice, a memory of love and warmth that will stay with you always.

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requests are open - let’s daydream!

[callmearcturus]

fanfic author thinks about nothing but emotional devastation all day