#side work...𖦹

[blueberrybeomgyurecs]

genderbent!gongfourz, suggestive, dry humping, wc -400, not proofread

Sunday nights always end like this. Someway somehow, Taeseo ends up with a lap full of shaggy, blonde hair and pretty, pink lips. Hana’s the prettiest when her cheeks are flushed. Taeseo thinks she’s going to puke.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” Her eyes flick from Taeseo’s own to her lips, and she hates the way it makes her panties wetten. She does. Her lips are dry from her habit of licking them, but Hana likes it, says the slightly rough texture adds to Taeseo’s grunge, emo look.

Hana smells like chocolate and honeysuckle, and trails her hands into Taeseo’s hair. She tends to deepen their kisses on her own, indifferent to the older girl’s preferences. I know you like it, being treated roughly, she said once, and she was half-right. Taeseo doesn’t mind being pulled apart if someone’s there to repatch the seams. Hana usually stays, presses kisses across her arms that are too soft for what they are. It’s okay. Hana’s affectionate, and Taeseo isn’t thinking too deeply about it.

She counts down the minutes until the younger gets impatient, when her hips start grinding down against Taeseo’s own. The movement causes sparks of pleasure to shoot through her core that still manage to surprise her. Hana slips her tongue into her mouth when she gasps, ever the opportunity chaser.

Taeseo’s not a dry humper, but Hana loves it. If she manages to shut off the thoughts that are working overtime to convince her she’s doing something wrong, she can enjoy it, can try to see what about it gets Hana so hot she’s dripping by the time Taeseo gets her panties off. She doesn’t manage, usually, but it’s been a good day, and for the first time in a few weeks, Taeseo thinks she might deserve to have such a perfect girl all over her.

She sucks in a breath, body going rigid, and Taeseo pulls away from her. She comes back to reality enough to realize her nails are digging into the younger girl’s skin. 

“Sorry, Hanie. Shit.” She pulls her hands away and fists them into the couch. Hana offers her a lopsided smile with glazed over eyes. Her fingers are cold when she taps Taeseo’s fists. Tiny needles of pain prick in her skin as she unfurls them and releases the couch fabric. Hana places them back on her hips.

[muraenide]

So I applied to be a part-time lecturer at my uni a few weeks ago bc they were trying to recruit me 2 years ago and I needed the money. They haven't replied to me in 2-3 weeks and I assumed they either hit their quota with part-timers or just weren't interested. But I just only got to know from my friend (who works as a lecturer in the same uni), that my email had been forwarded to the Dean (whom we're both acquaintance with). I've reorganized my budget to live with the income I already have since I thought they weren't considering me but now the prospect of possibly actually getting the side gig is making me feel lazy to work an extra 4 hours a week O(-(

[churipu]

YOU SLEEPING ON A COUCH AFTER AN ARGUMENT 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

featuring. gojo satoru, geto suguru, toji fushiguro x reader

note. i hv so many ideas right now apart from what i'm actually supposed to be focusing on, so...pls excuse me.

GOJO SATORU. arguments with gojo are a pain in the ass, he's petty and everything will be a mess. he's so stubborn that it actually baffles you sometimes — and he calls you rock head?

being a sorcerer is never an easy job. gojo wakes up every day, not knowing whether he'd die in a mission or get to live another day. so when you brought up your concerns about it to him, the male didn't take it lightly. things have been tight for him, and you're walking on eggshells for the past few days.

the slightest thing angered him, like how his sleeve got stuck on the door handle, or the way he curses out loudly when he stubs his toe on the coffee table. it puts him in a shitty mood, so when that happens, and you try to talk to him about his job.

gojo gets very pissy about it.

frankly, you understood where his anger comes from. and it was part of your fault to bother him the moment he came back from work exhausted, it was bound to happen so you weren't really blaming him at all from the projecting of his anger to you the night before — he didn't say hurtful things, gojo knew better than that. all he did was tell you to leave him alone and get out of his sight for the night.

and you did. sleeping alone on the couch, all sprawled out, an arm dangling on the edge; while a string of drool dribbled down the corner of your lips.

you seemed to not mind having to sleep on the couch (under your own want). but your boyfriend did, the moment he knew your bed time strikes — he came out of the room and eyed your sleeping form. guilt washing over him when all you did was care about his being and how dangerous the jujutsu world is.

gojo approaches you and gently carried you in his arms, an arm right under your bottom and his other arm around your waist. hoisting you up like a baby as your cheek leaned onto his shoulder, letting the drool blotch his shirt. he doesn't care at all.

the male tucks you in the bed, pulling the covers over you before slipping next to you, chest pressed to your back and an arm resting on your hip. gojo will never let you sleep a whole night on the couch, he will bring you to sleep with him and apologize the very next day for being such an ass.

he also, tried to make it up to you by cooking a classic english breakfast. which ended up in chaos — and you both decided to order take out instead.

GETO SUGURU. geto is usually calm and collected; he doesn't really get angry at anything. even if he does, he mostly keeps it to himself unless it really bothers him. but since humans have certain capacities to their own emotion — geto is not spared from being angry, no matter how calm he is.

after the death of amanai, you could feel him change. your geto. it was traumatizing for him, and you understood. always being there for him, never leaving him alone. the dark circles under his eyes were apparent, and it looked like he hasn't had a good night sleep for what seemed like . . . weeks, or months, if that's even possible.

geto appreciated your company, really. but sometimes, he also wanted to be left alone to dwell on his feelings. he didn't want to end up saying hurtful things to you because he was so angry at himself. but he did, and god was it horrible.

he was already feeling like shit before the argument— which if you see, wasn't really an argument at all. it was one-sided, geto was telling you off and you didn't say anything back. because you knew he didn't mean it. he almost desperately begged for you to leave him alone because your presence was "annoying" him and he couldn't stand it.

although geto said it in a heap of moment. he didn't mean it, and before he could say anything else, you tell him that you were going to be sleeping on the couch, so if he needed anything he was free to come to you.

geto didn't stop you. he was busy hating on himself for telling you that — and believe me when i say that he, right there, almost cried out of frustration.

he tossed and turned on his bed. where you were usually on too, beside him, holding his hand whilst he sleep. your hushed voice lulling him into a peaceful slumber; but you weren't there today, all because he told you to leave him alone. geto sat up, his eyelids heavy, but no matter how long he shut is, they always open back up.

with slow and heavy steps, he approaches you on the couch. and geto had always knew that you were a light sleeper, so his footsteps awoken you. seeing your eyes flutter open, geto slid on the couch, laying himself on top of you — head on your chest, arms clutching onto your shirt like he's desperate for your presence, and his legs intertwining with yours.

getos' hushed apologies were heard as he leaned into your warmth, and you told him that you were never angry. brushing his hair, massaging his scalp using your fingertips before lulling him to sleep, and geto did. almost immediately. and so did you.

he could never sleep without you. whether it being on the bed, the couch, or anywhere else — as long has you were with him, he will find the ability to drift off.

TOJI FUSHIGURO. is an ass. let's face it — he wouldn't give a fuck if you decided to sleep on the couch after an argument, at least for the first couple of hours. toji is a blunt man, and he's a sole believer that nobody could bear sleeping on the couch when there's a bed in the house.

but you were there to prove him wrong.

after an argument going south, he finds you grabbing your pillow and then seeking shelter on the couch. and he clicked his tongue in annoyance, knowing you'd come crawling back on the mattress after a few hours — because who'd choose the couch over the bed?

you. apparently.

he slept without a single care, thinking of words to say when you finally decided to come back on the bed. but when he woke up at three am, his arm searching to find your body, but realizing all he was catching was air — he finally realized that you weren't coming back onto the bed.

and it annoyed him. he was angry that you weren't there. and at three am? he was already wide awake, walking out of the room angrily. but his gaze softened when he saw you asleep, the constant flashing light from the television panning on your body; toji walks over, snatches the remote and turns the device off.

letting out a soft sigh, toji squats down, flicking your forehead. and the action was enough to make you grimace lightly in your sleep — although not enough to wake you up completely. the male chuckled and prepped an arm under the hollow under your knees, and an arm across your shoulder.

with ease he brought you into your shared room and he laid you down on the bed, covering your body with the blanket before he slips into his own portion of the bed. scooting closer to you as you instinctively nuzzled into his chest, seeking for comfort.

toji wouldn't admit that he was the one who brought you into the bed and would end up saying how you came crawling back at three am. you always find out the truth though, and toji tells you to forget about whatever he did because he won't be doing it again (he will).

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[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! 

[requiemforthepoets]

baby peanut! 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x wife!reader

SUMMARY: keeping your pregnancy from lando was proven to be very hard when all you want is tell him the amazing news that you both are expecting again. but since his birthday was coming up, you waited for his special day to tell him.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: reader is french-russian, multicultural household, established relationships, pregnancy, typos, and gramatical errors

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: HAPPY LANDO DAY!!!!! was debating on posting a new fic for him, but decided to just make it a part of the norris family series, though this can be read as a stand alone. hope you’ll enjoy this one!

The soft morning light was just beginning to filter through the white curtains when you stirred awake, glancing over to see Lando fast asleep beside you. His peaceful face looked even more boyish, framed by the tousled strands of hair he hadn’t bothered to tame before collapsing into bed after last night’s stream. It had been hours before he joined you in bed, he and Max laughing and gaming into the early morning, and you knew he deserved this rest.

Just as you began to carefully sit up, you heard a soft rustling sound from the bedroom doorway. Peeking over, you spotted a small figure, a very familiar figure—a little silhouette with tousled hair, just like Lando’s, and sparkling eyes, trying best to tiptoe into the room. It was Thylane, with her tiny hands clutching her favorite blankie. You could see that she was struggling to hold back a giggle as she glanced over at her sleeping father.

Smiling, you brought a finger to your lips, silently shushing her. Thylane’s eyes widened, and she stopped mid-step, freezing in the doorway. You motioned gently for her to come closer to you, and she padded over quietly, looking up at you expectantly.

“Is Papa awake yet?” She whispered, voice barely more than a breath.

The eagerness in her tone made your heart swell, and you could not help but lean down, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

“No, mon amour,” you whispered back, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Papa had a very late night with Uncle Max. He needs his sleep, let’s let him rest a little longer, hm?”

Thylane nodded, her expression brightening at the thought of what you had in mind. “But it’s Papa’s birthday! I want to say happy birthday to him!”

“I know, my love. But how about we go to the kitchen, just you and me, and make a special birthday breakfast for Papa? Then we can surprise him together when he wakes up, and…” you paused, heart fluttering as you thought about the special surprise you had planned, one that you had kept to yourself until today. “And there’s something very exciting we’ll be giving him. Something you’re going to help me with, too.”

Her eyes lit up, and she bounced on her toes, already whispering with excitement. “What is it, Mama?”

“You’ll see, mon petit trésor,” you murmured with a soft smile. “It’s a surprise just as much for you as it is for your Papa. Now, come on.”

You grabbed your silk robe by the vanity chair and put it on. Taking Thylane’s little hand in yours, you casted a quick glance back at Lando. You leaned over, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, lingering just a moment. The warmth of his skin was comforting, and for a heartbeat, you just admired the peaceful look on his face, hoping he would carry that warmth with him when he awoke to find you both by his side. Then you carefully lifted Thylane into your arms to keep her quiet and avoid the soft creaks of the floorboards as you slipped out of the room together.

You and Thylane moved quietly into the kitchen, both of you filled with anticipation. The kitchen was softly lit by the morning sun, casting a warm glow over the countertops as you gathered everything you needed for Lando’s birthday breakfast, with Thylane already clutching the whisk with her small hands, her tongue poking out in concentration as she tried her best to mix the batter for the pancakes.

“Like this, Mama?” She asked, glancing up at you, her face bright with determination.

“Oui, parfait, mon ange,” you replied, ruffling her hair lightly. “Now, tu peux ajouter les blueberries. Add the blueberries, like this.” You handed her a small bowl of plump blueberries, showing her how to fold them gently into the batter.

She followed your instructions very carefully, not wanting to ruin Lando’s surprise, her little fingers pushing each blueberry into the mix with care, her eyes darting to you every so often to check if she was doing it right.

“Is Papa going to love it?” She whispered.

You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Of course Papa’s going to love it because you made it for him,” you assured her, watching her face break into a wide grin. “Now, pass me the flour, please—la farine. Careful, don’t spill.”

With both hands, Thylane picked up the small bag of flour and brought it over, the look of focus never leaving her face. She had switched to a more serious demeanor, taking her role as your little sous-chef very seriously.

“Here, Mama!” She said proudly, handing it to you as if it were the most delicate thing in the world.

“Merci, mon trésor,” you replied, taking the flour and measuring out the right amount for the batter. “Okay, now you can stir again, doucement, like this.” You demonstrated, letting her hands follow yours as you guided her through the gentle motions.

When the pancakes were stacked high on a plate, topped with fresh berries and a drizzle of maple syrup, you and Thylane both stood back, admiring your creation.

“Look at what we made together,” you said softly, squeezing Thylane’s shoulder. “Papa will be very happy.”

Thylane clapped her hands excitedly, bouncing on her toes. “Can we give it to him now?”

“Not yet,” you shook your head, a smile forming on your lips. “There’s one more surprise we need to get ready.”

Walking over to the drawer, you retrieved the small acrylic box, some soft cloth, and your carefully wrapped pregnancy test. Thylane’s brows furrowed as she watched you, her head tilting with curiosity.

“What’s that, Mama?” She asked, peering closely at the box as you placed the soft cloth inside.

“This, my love, is a very special surprise for Papa,” you knelt down so that you were eye-level with her, placing the test in the box atop the folded cloth. “Do you remember how you told me you wanted to have a little brother or sister?”

Thylane’s eyes sparkled, and she nodded eagerly. “Yes! Yes! Does this mean…”

“Yes, Tilly. This means you’re going to be a big sister.” You smiled warmly at her.

Her face lit up, her mouth forming a perfect little “O” of excitement. “Really, Mama? I get a baby brother or sister?”

“Yes, mon trésor,” you nodded, laughing softly at her reaction. “We don’t know yet if it’s a brother or sister, but the baby is here, right inside Mama’s tummy, just a little peanut for now.”

Thylane’s eyes went wide with wonder, and she pressed her small hands to your stomach as if she was trying to feel the baby herself.

“A baby peanut!” She giggled, delight shining in her face. “Can we call the baby that for now?”

“Of course,” you chuckled, brushing her hair back. “Until we know more, we can call your little sibling, baby peanut.” She grinned, clearly enamored with the idea, and watched carefully as you tied the ribbon around the box with care.

“Can I help with the ribbon?” She asked, her hand already reaching out eagerly.

“Of course, here.” You said, guiding her hand as she carefully looped the ribbon around, tightening it with a gentle tug and finishing it off in a neat bow.

“Where should we put it, Mama?” She asked, glancing around the room.

You took a quick look at the cozy space, then pointed to a spot on the kitchen counter, just out of Lando’s immediate line of sight.

“Right here,” you decided, setting the box down gently. “That way, Papa won’t see it right away.”

Thylane nodded, grinning widely. “I can’t wait to see Papa’s reaction!”

With breakfast prepared and the surprise box tucked safely out of sight, you and Thylane made your way back to the bedroom, eager to wake up the birthday boy. By now, the sun had fully risen, casting a warm glow across the room as you nudged the door open to your and Lando’s bedroom. You expected to see Lando still sleeping peacefully, but instead, he was already awake, propped up on pillows with his phone in his hand, scrolling with a sleepy smile on his face.

Before you could say anything, Thylane let out a squeal of excitement and sprinted towards the bed, practically launching herself onto him. Lando barely had time to react before she pounced, wrapping her arms around his neck and showering Lando’s face with small kisses.

“Happy birthday, Papa! Happy birthday! Happy birthday!” She chanted, each word punctuated with a giggling kiss to Lando’s cheeks, forehead, and nose. Lando can’t help but laugh, his eyes crinkling with joy as he pulled her close, enveloping her in a warm hug.

“Thank you, Tilly!” He replied, chuckling as he looked up at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such a special wake-up call on my birthday before.”

She nodded enthusiastically, her face flushed with pride. “I made you a biiiiig birthday card last night! It’s pink, and has lots of hearts and sparkles on it, and I even drew a race car!”

“Woah, a race car? Just for me? Now that is one special card,” he said, brushing a few stray curls behind her ear as he smiled up at her. “I can’t wait to see it. I bet it’s the best card in the whole world.”

Giggling, Thylane seated herself on top of his stomach, her little hands resting on his chest as she looked down at Lando with pure adoration. You leaned against the doorway, laughing at the sweet sight in front of you before walking over to the bed and settling down beside Lando.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, but laced with affection. “I’m so happy that I get to spend my birthday with my favorite girls.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips softly against his. “Good morning, birthday boy,” you whispered, smiling against his lips before pulling back just slightly. “Happy birthday, my love.”

Lando grinned, puckering his lips again, silently asking for another kiss. Laughing, you leaned down, giving him another soft kiss, feeling his hand come up to gently cup your cheek. In that moment, it was just the three of you, wrapped in warmth and love, as if nothing else in the world existed. As you pulled back, Thylane let out a little giggle, pointing at the two of you with a mischievous grin.

“Ew, Mama and Papa!” She teased, though her face betrayed nothing but happiness.

Lando laughed, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Hey, I deserve a birthday kiss, don’t I?”

“Papa! Mama and I made you a special breakfast!” She announced, clapping her hands. “We worked really, really hard. I even put the blueberries in all by myself!”

“No way! You mean to tell me you were my chef this morning, too?” Lando ticked her side, making her dissolve into giggles.

Thylane laughed, wiggling under his tickling fingers. “Yes, I’m your chef today! Mama showed me how to make everything.”

“Well, now I definitely have to see what my two favorite girls cooked up,” he said, sitting up slowly.

Lando reached over, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pulled you close, then lifted Thylane into his other arm. She squealed with delight, wrapping her arms around his neck and snuggling her head against Lando’s shoulder. As the three of you made your way to the kitchen, Lando kept his arm secure around your waist, pulling you close as Thylane chattered excitedly about breakfast.

“Mama taught me how to fold in the blueberries so they wouldn’t smush!” She said proudly. “And we made a big stack of pancakes with syrup and blueberries and…oh! And I even helped tie a bow for your present!”

Lando gave you a curious look over Thylane’s shoulder. “A present, huh?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with a grin. “I’m starting to think you two were up to a lot more than just breakfast this morning.”

“Hm, maybe we were,” you replied, smiling playfully as you reached up to brush a strand of his hair back. “But you’ll have to be patient to find out.”

He chuckled, squeezing your waist. “Well, I don’t know how much patience I have today. I mean, it is my birthday.”

Laughing, you reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Good things come to those who wait, birthday boy.”

The three of you entered the kitchen, where the table was set with the special breakfast you and Thylane had made. Lando’s eyes sparkled as he took it all in, and Thylane beamed with pride, practically bouncing in his arms.

“Happy birthday, Papa!” She exclaimed one last time, her voice full of love and excitement, her little arms squeezing him tightly.

With Lando’s arm around you, and Thylane hugging him with all her might, it was clear to you that this birthday morning could not have started off any sweeter.

Breakfast was a cozy, peaceful affair, the three of you wrapped in the simplicity of the morning. You and Lando chatted about plans for his birthday dinner later, throwing around ideas and laughing at each other’s jokes, while Thylane happily watched her favorite show on her iPad, humming along with the familiar theme song of Little Einsteins. It was a gentle scene, just the three of you? Sharing a quiet, joyful space as the morning sun spilled across the table.

Lando seemed perfectly content, caught up in the warmth of the moment. He had almost forgotten about the small gift waiting for him, tucked away in the kitchen—until you stood up, brushing a gentle hand across his shoulder.

“Wait here for a sec,” you said softly, a hint of excitement in your voice. “Tilly, come help me with something for Papa.”

Thylane’s face lit up as she hopped down from her chair, glancing at you with a secretive smile. She knew exactly what was coming next. Taking her hand, you led her back into the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder to see Lando watching you both with a look of fond curiosity. He seemed completely oblivious to what was coming.

You reached into the cozy corner of the counter, pulling out the small, acrylic box you had hidden away with so much care. Inside, carefully wrapped in a soft cloth, was the positive pregnancy test. You knelt down, handing the box to Thylane, who held it carefully with wide, shining eyes.

“Okay, mon ange,” you whispered, giving her a gentle smile. “Give this to Papa, and make sure he opens it.”

She nodded, taking the box in her hands as if it were a treasure. Together, you walked back to the dining area, where Lando was watching you both with growing curiosity.

“What’s this?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with a playful grin.

Thylane held out the box, her excitement barely contained. Lando took the acrylic box, glancing from her to you, a mixture of awe and confusion on his face.

You smiled, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, leaning close. “Go on,” you said, voice soft with anticipation. “Open it.”

“Open it, Papa! Open it!” She echoed, bouncing slightly on her toes, her face brimming with excitement.

Lando carefully untied the delicate ribbon that Thylane had helped you with that morning, his fingers moving slowly as if savoring the moment. The box felt light in his hands, and his expression shifted from curiosity to wonder as he lifted the lid, pulling away the cloth inside. The instant he saw the test, his eyes widened, and Lando looked up at you with a mixture of disbelief and joy.

“Is this…” he stammered, his voice barely more than a whisper, as though he was afraid he might shatter the moment. “Is this real? Is this for real?”

You nodded, unable to contain your own smile as you squeezed his shoulder. “Yes, love. It is real.” You watched his face light up as the reality of it washed over him.

“Happy birthday, my love.” You added softly, feeling your own heart swell with happiness.

Lando did not hesitate. He stood up, pulling you into a tight embrace, arms wrapping around you as he lifted you off of your feet, twirling you in a gentle circle. His laugh was warm and filled with immense happiness so pure that it brought tears to your eyes.

“After all this time,” he murmured, voice thick with emotions as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “We’re really going to have another baby?” You nodded, laughing through your tears.

“I found out a few weeks ago, when you were in Mexico. I wanted to wait until today to tell you.” You placed a hand on his cheeks, gazing up at him with all the love you had been holding back for weeks. “It took everything in me not to tell you the moment I found out.”

He kissed you softly, his forehead pressing against yours as he whispered. “Thank you for waiting, love. This…this is literally the best birthday gift I’ve ever had.”

“Papa, did you see? It’s real!” She said, beaming and clapping her hand, while bouncing in happiness. “I’m going to have a baby brother or sister! I told Mama I want to call them baby peanut!”

“Baby peanut, huh?” Lando chuckled, bending down to lift Thylane into his arms, bringing her close to the two of you. Kissing her forehead, and looking at you with a grin. “I think that’s a perfect name, for now.”

“Papa, can we tell everyone? All our friends?” Thylane’s face lit up at the thought, and she looked back and forth between you and Lando.

“Soon, Tilly. But for now, let’s keep it our little secret, okay? Just between us.” He leaned down, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “That way, we can keep baby peanut all to ourselves a little longer.”

“Our little secret!” She nodded seriously, her eyes wide as she held her finger to her lips. “I’m really good at secrets, Papa. I won’t tell anyone!”

You all just stood there, basking in the warmth and happiness of the quiet moment, Lando had never felt a new kind of peace settle over him. This was everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever dreamed of. A family, life filled with love and laughter, and now, another little one on the way.

Lando let Thylane down, letting her run towards the living room to play with her toys. He reached out, threading his fingers through yours and giving your hand a gentle squeeze, and kissing it softly.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice breaking a little bit. “For this, for everything. You’ve given me the greatest gift of all.”

You squeezed his hand back, your own eyes shining with emotion. “I love you,” you murmured. “Happiest birthday, my love.”

As Lando held you closely, he realized that this was a happiness beyond anything he could have ever imagined.

[viaxslz]

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩ NOT SAYING I LOVE YOU BACK

享受 ! .°. ݁₊ 𐙚 gn!reader, cw: pet names, not proofread :P, Maknae line ver.

BANG CHAN

“Bye Chan!” You spoke making your way over to Chan who slouched on the couch as he lazily scrolled through his phone with a bored expression. You leaned down placing a soft kiss on his cheek. He hummed turning his head to face you. “Ok bye bye! Love you” he smiles at you. You smiled back turning around to leave but stopped to Chan pulling you back. “Say it?” “Say what?” You asked tilting your head to the side with a puzzled expression. “I love you too” he responded with a slight glare waiting patiently for you. “Ohhh” you giggled as soon as you realized. “I love you too”

LEE KNOW

Lee know pulled over at the front of your house. He was dropping you home after a wonderful date. As you bid goodbye to him, he opened his mouth to speak. “Ok..i love you” he said staring lovingly at you. You nodded turning your body to leave the car only to realized it was locked. You glanced back at Lee know who stared blankly at you. “I love you darling”. “I know” you responded like It was very obvious. You turned to open the door but he pulled your hands back preventing you from getting out. “Babe I said I love you…..didn’t you hear?” He spoke getting slightly pouting as he gripped onto your hands tightly. “Same” you answered trying to stifle your laughter. He scoffed and started the engine driving away from your house grumbling under his breath. “You’re not going home until you say it back”.

SEO CHANGBIN

Today was one of those days Changbin decided to be nice and drive you to work. Before you go down he gives you an I love you filled with happiness and love. You stayed silent and turned around to opened the car door and leave but it was locked. You turned around to give him a “what the heck face”. “I said I love you..?” He repeated in case you didn’t hear it. You nodded turning around to leave again, you were going to take whatever it takes to avoid repeating it. He grabs your arm and looks at you with a forced smile, trying to mask his annoyance. The silence was enough to make him grab your face and pull it closer to his. “I.LOVE.YOU.TOO! Come on repeat after me or else I’m gonna cry” he whines. You giggled at his adorable behavior and finally decided to stop teasing him. “Alright alright I love you too” you said placing a soft kiss on his cheeks.

HWANG HYUNJIN

You were lazily scrolling through Tik tok until you came across a trend where you don’t say “I love you back” to your boyfriend. You decided to do it tomorrow before he goes to work. “I’ll get going now. I love you princess!” He beamed happily. “Ok, thank you. Bye bye” you responded trying to sound dry. Hyunjin paused in his tracks turning to face you. "Huh? I said i love you, baby.…..Did i do something wrong?" His expressions changed as a pout started to form on his lips. He slowly walked towards you. “Did I do anything wrong? I’m sorry….please forgive me” he pleaded reaching out to your hands and lightly squeezing it. “I love you Princess” he repeated in a softer tone. “Thank you!” You nonchalantly responded. “Darling don’t you love me anymore? I promise I'll buy you a sweet treat and a bouquet of flowers. I'll buy you lots of plushies. Take you out on lots of dates. Just Say you love me back, pretty please..." His voice was pleading, and he pouted while looking at you with puppy eyes. “Hyunjin you are going to be late for work” you pointed at the ticking clock. “I don’t care. I’m not leaving until you say you love me back. Please say you love me back. Hyunjin continues to pout while still staring at you with puppy eyes. You sighed in defeat not being able to handle his cuteness. “FINE! I love you too!” You responded making him crack open his lips to a bright smile. His previous sulky and needy emotions replaced with a happier one.

PERM TAGLIST 📌🔖 ──── @the-sea-called-history02 @oc3anfloor

[prettybouquets]

𝓛ove 𝓛anguage 𝓗cs °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝓟.1

this part includes; jinx, vi, caitlyn and ekko

part two is here -> 𝓟.2

𝓙inx;

𖦹 Acts of Service: Jinx shows her love by doing chaotic, unexpected things to bring excitement into your life—like painting an explosive mural just for you or "fixing" something you didn’t know was broken. 𖦹 Quality Time: Spending time with her often involves spontaneous, adrenaline-filled adventures. She loves when you keep up with her energy and join in her antics, even if it means a little destruction along the way. 𖦹 Physical Touch: She’s surprisingly touchy when she feels safe—constant hugs, holding your hand, or clinging to you in her moments of insecurity. 𖦹 Receiving Gifts: Jinx gives peculiar, handmade gifts—like quirky gadgets or painted bullets—because they’re one-of-a-kind, just like her feelings for you.

Makes silly doodles of the two of you on everything, from napkins to walls.

Leaves “surprises” (often chaotic, like confetti bombs) to make you laugh.

Randomly grabs your hand and pulls you into her next wild idea without warning.

Calls you strange nicknames like “Boom-babe” or “Kaboom-kitten.” (lmao)

Always brings you random trinkets she finds and swears they’re important.

𝓥i;

𖦹 Physical Touch: Vi is very hands-on—playful touches, ruffling your hair, or pulling you in for strong, protective hugs. She feels most connected when she can physically reassure you. 𖦹 Quality Time: She values downtime spent just hanging out, whether it’s sparring at training, watching the Zaun from a rooftop, or even sharing a meal. It’s about the connection, not the setting. 𖦹 Words of Affirmation: Vi doesn’t mince words, so when she says something heartfelt, you know she means it. She loves hyping you up and reminding you how capable and amazing you are. 𖦹 Acts of Service: She’ll always have your back, no matter the odds. Her love shows in the way she steps in to protect you or take care of things before you even ask.

Ruffles your hair and says, “You’re cute, but don’t let it get to your head.”

Challenges you to arm wrestle, then pretends you almost beat her.

Shows up with your favorite snack because “You looked like you needed it.”

Takes you on rooftop adventures just to share the view.

Always walks on the dangerous side of the street to “protect” you.

𝓒aitlyn;

𖦹 Acts of Service: Caitlyn expresses love by doing thoughtful things—organizing your day, solving problems, or even bringing you tea when she knows you’re stressed. 𖦹 Words of Affirmation: She’s a master of subtle compliments and heartfelt reassurances. Her words are carefully chosen, making every “I’m so proud of you” or “You’re incredible” feel deeply personal. 𖦹 Quality Time: She enjoys slow, meaningful moments—like walking through the city, solving puzzles together, or discussing the future over a quiet dinner. 𖦹 Receiving Gifts: Caitlyn’s gifts are elegant and practical, often tailored to your tastes—perhaps a new gadget, a beautifully bound book, or a luxurious keepsake.

Surprises you with thoughtful gifts, like a book you mentioned once, as well as being signed by the author themselves.

Tucks a flower behind your ear when no one’s looking.

Always remembers small details, like your favorite tea or dessert.

Gives you her coat when you’re cold, no questions asked.

Writes you little notes like, “Good luck today—you’ll do great!”

𝓔kko;

𖦹 Quality Time: Ekko cherishes time spent together, especially when you’re both immersed in something creative or fun, like tinkering with gadgets or exploring the Lanes. 𖦹 Acts of Service: He’s all about fixing things—literally and metaphorically. If you’re having a rough day, he’ll work tirelessly to make it better, even if it’s just cheering you up. 𖦹 Words of Affirmation: Ekko knows the power of words. He’s quick to encourage you, share his admiration, and remind you of your worth, often with a touch of humor. 𖦹 Physical Touch: He’s affectionate in subtle ways, like bumping shoulders, leaning against you, or resting a hand on your back when you’re together.

Sketches you into his graffiti as a hidden detail.

Asks you to races and teases you by starting early and says, “It's not my fault I have a better reaction time than you!” and letting you win (sometimes).

Fixes things you didn’t know were broken and doesn’t take credit.

Shares his secret hideouts with you, calling them “our spots.”

Randomly shows up and says, “I thought you could use some company.”

© prettybouquets 2024. all rights reserved. please do not copy, modify, or repost any work as your own.

[zumicho]

stamped

© zumicho all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, steal, plagiarize, or translate my works on any platform.

SYNOPSIS : your brother’s best friend is a travelling volleyball sensation. he sends him letters from every country he visits, & you could care less. till.. he starts addressing them to you.

PAIRING ; oikawa tooru x reader SMAU 📼

TAGS / CWS : none of the art is mine unless stated, language, sexual & kys jokes, suggestive, borderline angsty, childhood enemies to lovers *wink wink*

completed 𖦹°⋆ TAGLIST closed

♥︎ .ᐟ.ᐟ FILM BRO POSERS + IWA ; SIDE HOES

────────────────────────

mailbox boy — where it all started

01 . 02 . 03 . 04 . ✎ 05 . 06 . 07 . 08 .

signed sealed delivered — the end of it all

the letters : bonus

────────────────────────

author’s note: it’s over! sad to say this is probably the most poorly executed work on my account — but I’m keeping it up for the sake of those who hold it dear to their heart <3 thank you for reading

@wyrcan @guitarstringed-scars @mimi3lover @itsdragonius @vivian-555 @blueberrygeniejam @cryptictheseus @azharyy @yuminako @iluvmang @aliensstolemyheart @ilyless @tojirin @mylahrins @gra-eae @reads-stuff-quietly @neeksnicoboytoy @elliott0o0 @nnnyxie @chizunata @girlkissersco @kiyoomis-side @scxrcherr @causenessus @eggyrocks @phoenix-eclipses @walllflowerrrsss @gsyche @acowboykisser @swag-only @serossidechick @le000xxgrd @eclecticeggknightpsychic @garfieldissocool @dazqa @venusianeros @youmake1mistake @thechaosoflonging @r0seandth0rns @empress-pug-pug @iad0ru @hyenagoated @chemiru

[illumose]

boyfriend! dean winchester • headcanon

⋆⭒˚.⋆ PAIRINGS: female reader x bf! dean winchester

⋆⭒˚.⋆ CONTENT: fluff, allusions to sex

masterlist

author’s note : requests are open

｡𖦹°‧ dean’s pretty bad at being the boyfriend type, at first. he’s not the lovey-dovey type, his life as a hunter takes up most of his time and he has a tendency to flirt with every woman he crosses paths with.

｡𖦹°‧ your relationship started out as casual sex. throughout the months, he grows accustomed to your presence, to the point that he no longer seeks out other women. he continues to flirt but never with the intent to take them home, or rather, to a shitty motel.

｡𖦹°‧ of course, he doesn’t tell you that things have changed on his side. you still believe that he sees you as a friend. all of that until he sees you with another man. and damn, his eyes turn dark green and he feels sick to his stomach. who is he, what is he to you?

｡𖦹°‧ the next day, he avoids you like the plague. he doesn’t want to be told you’re seeing someone and getting serious. he spends the whole day simmering with anger on the couch, a beer in hand. he ignores your texts and calls.

｡𖦹°‧ you’re confused as to why he’s blowing you off. your date ended terribly. it was meant to take your mind off dean, but this failed spectacularly when you realized the man had no snark or sarcasm in him. he was boring you to death so you sneaked out through the bathroom window.

｡𖦹°‧ tired of being left on seen, you show up on his doorstep. and before he can fully open the door, you do something out of character and pretty insane. you kiss him, and what a surprise, dean’s lips move against yours and his arms go around your waist.

｡𖦹°‧ he never officially asked you to be his girlfriend, and neither did you. he may not he the most romantic man out there, but he does his best to be what you need. sometimes he brings over takeout when you get too burnt out by your work to cook. he repairs your car whenever you encounter even the smallest problem. he draws you a bath when you’re on your period and your uterus commits literal murder.

｡𖦹°‧ his favorite nicknames are ‘princess’ and ‘love’.

｡𖦹°‧ when you two are alone, he’s clingy. you cannot even get out of bed to pee, he’s trailing behind you, lips turned into a pout, and arms extended to trap you between his arms.

｡𖦹°‧ he’s also a big tease. even when sam’s here, he doesn’t refrain from grabbing your ass. he has probably forever scarred sam with his sexual innuendos at diner time.

｡𖦹°‧ he’s so caring. maybe it comes from his years raising sam, or his need to protect and save. but he’s always making sure that you’re safe. he brings salt over your house and gets you a knife, just in case a demon decides to attack. he teaches you how to shoot.

｡𖦹°‧ you take random car trips just to spend time together. he could drive for hours if it meant having you by his side. he loves listening to your little rants about politics or the drama between two divorced actors from Hollywood.

｡𖦹°‧ one thing he knows for sure: he wants you to be in his life forever. he cannot imagine growing old without your little comments about his possible receding hair.

[yuvany]

# ENHYPEN BEING TIRED

OT7 enhypen x female reader 𖦹 GENRE / WARNING(S) :: fluff + slight angst + kisses + est relationship + not proofread&& ;; CHECK BOX !!

( reblogs + feedback always appreciated !! )

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

He came home from a long day at work, his eyes showing nothing but tiredness. You stayed up late to welcome him back home after a long time, and Heeseung had requested that you should go to bed before him, but you insisted. "Hee, baby! Welcome home!" You run into his arms and feel his arms lazily wrap around you as he hums gruffly. "Honey, why aren't you asleep?" He asked, his fingers combing through your hair. "I was waiting for you, of course," you replied. "Well, then it's time to sleep. Good night, baby." Heeseung pulled your hair away from your face and kissed your forehead before walking over to his desk. "Aren’t you also going to sleep?" You asked, tugging on his sleeve. "I need to do some work first." "Can't that be done tomorrow? You're very tired." You suggested, and Heeseung let out a yawn. "Please?" You said, and after enough persuading, he gave in.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

was sitting by the desk in your room to keep you company as you lay in bed to fall asleep, but you were unable to do so due to the bright lamp that Jay used to do his work. "When I asked you to be with me when I sleep, this is not what I meant, honey." you say tiredly, turning around in bed to lay on your side as you observe your boyfriend type on his computer. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I just need to finish this before I can sleep." Jay explains, and you groan at how insisting he is and how extremely exhaused he was, which you had previously commented on, but he refused to take your advise. "How much is left?" You ask, and Jay replied, "Not much, baby." He quickly types, and you get out of bed, and pulls him away from the seat. "Then that can be done tomorrow." You seat him on the bed, and crawl in beside him, hugging his waist so he doesn't go back. You know you've won when you hear him sigh.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗬𝗨𝗡

was hunched over piles of papers and pens scattered across the table. The clock was showing that it was nearly midnight, surely far too late to be studying. You walk into the dining room to see Jake scrolling on his computer with flows of texts covering the screen and a calculator by his side. "Are you still studying, my love?" You asked, sitting beside him, watching as his fingers scribble somethingin his notebook. "Of course, gotta work hard so you can be proud of me, angel." He says. "I'm already proud of you, and I want you to get some rest." You say, and Jake nods his head. "Just a minute." Both of you knew that wasn't true, but you gave him a chance and rose from your seat to get some water. "I don't think this is the best way to study." You explain and place the glass of water in front of him. "But I'm not tired." Jake argues, so your hands glide across his back and eventually massage his back, which he almost falls asleep when he relaxed "See?"

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙆 𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙃𝙊𝙊𝙉

Was still up after returning from a very long trip back home. Sunghoon was packing up his stuff, as well as cleaning the house that hasn't been taken care for almost over a week. You stepped out of the shower, feeling refreshed and ready to go to bed, but you see your boyfriend prance around the house with a mop. The feeling of curiousity piques your mind, and you trail behind him, watching him mop the house for a while. "Are you not tired?" You utter to him, and he stops what he's doing, turing around to face you. "A little." You scan his face and see how droopy his eyelids are, like he is dowsed in sleepiness. You take the mop away from him, "Why don't we clean together tomorrow, babe." You say, but Sunghoon is silent. "I promise that'll be the first thing we do when we wake up." You engulf him in a hug, rubbing your palms along his back till he gives in. "M'kay..." he whispers.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢

Was in bed, but he couldn't fall asleep. Every second felt miserable to him, he was tired, but his mind refused to let him sleep. Sunoo looked to the side and saw you lying beside him, which offered him some comfort, but not enough. He tried again, he closed his eyes, taking in and letting out deep breaths, but to no avail. He gave up and thought that maybe he could just lay there all night under the warm blankets in a dark room with nothing else to do. Sunoo let out a yawn and shifted in bed, accidentally kicking your leg. "Baby, are you still awake?" You stirred out of sleep and propped yourself on your elbow. "Not really." You realised he was lying and inched yourself closer to him, wrapping your arms around his torso. "Thanks, sweetheart." He muttered, his heart and mind finally feeling content.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

"You should sleep, Jungwon." You've called for him a couple of times now, being way to exhaused yourself. Jungwon continues to write in his notebook before he says, "I just need to recap this last chapter." You're dumbfounded when he says 'chapter' and climb out of bed. "Is the test tomorrow?" "No, on Thursday." So in three days. You place a warm hand on his shoulder, and Jungwon looks up, distracted from his studies. He wraps his arm around your waist and seats you on his lap before picking up his pen again. "My Love, please rest a bit." You plead with him, and he stops writing. "Just this last part, honey." He replies, and you slide out of his arms and return to bed, turning your back towards him. A while later, you feel someone else get under the covers by the way the bed dips beside you, so you turn around and see Jungwon. With a smile, you kiss his cheek and cuddle close.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

was still practicing his dance, and you began to worry for him. It was already past midnight, yet he practiced with immense amount of energy in his moves. As you make your way inside of the practice room, you hear the music being played from the loud speakers, and see Riki glancing your way with a confused look on his face. "Babe, what are you doing here?" He asks, and stops dancing, making his towards you. "Just visiting you." You say and Riki wraps an arm around your shoulders. "It's late, you should be sleeping." You think it's hypocritical to say that, but you shrug and kiss him on the cheek. "You should also be asleep then." You make your way to a wall and sits down, making yourself comfortable. He follows you and sits down too. "If I sleep, will you also?" Riki asks, and you nod. "Then, let's go." He says and turns off the music.

[ellieslittleslutt]

Brewed ❀

MEN AND MINORS DNI!!

pairings: barista!ellie x journalist!reader

the barista you visit every morning finally makes her move.

cw: none really reader is called pretty girl once and smoking? also swearing

a/n: AHHH I LOVE THIS. definitely writing a part two

wc- 1k

not proof read pt2!!

●∘◦❀◦∘●∘◦❀◦∘●∘◦❀◦∘●∘◦❀◦∘●∘◦❀◦

“have a nice day” she smiled at you. the kind of smile that just makes you melt. you smile back at her trying to ignore how your cheeks heat up “you too” you said turning around each step you melt further into the floor.

it was always her. that one independent cafe that charges $8 for a coffee, you thought it was worth it just to see her smile and say that line she was scripted into saying. every morning on your way to work you would stop by to order the same thing each morning, a hot latte to go with a small sandwich. on your days off you’d take the time to sit down and get some work done with your order.

this morning was no different. while you walked to work sipping on your coffee and taking a bite of your sandwich you noticed the cup had a message on it ‘you’re beautiful enjoy your coffee!!’. you couldn’t help but take a photo of it sending it to your friend lidia.

lils- get her number!

you- idek know her name how tf am i supposed to do that?

lils- she wears a name tag no? just go off that

you- pretty sure it’s fake

lils- how do you know?

you- just doesn’t fit her… whatever i’ll talk more when i get to work

when you got to work you sat down at your desk looking at the stories you have to research made but your boss. “seriously?” you mumbled to yourself as you looked at the long list when suddenly lidia pokes her head in “so cute barista?” she teased sitting next to you.

you sigh “yeah anyway think her name tag is fake it just doesn’t match her” you tell her sipping your coffee while starting your typing “well what does she look like?” she asks leaning against your desk. you think back to each time you saw her and every little detail of her “shoulder length auburn hair, always has it in a half up bun but sometimes a low bun which makes her look so pretty, pale green eyes and freckles”. lidia just chuckles “jesus you’re down bad huh?”

“shut up” you mumble your cheeks red as you hit the side of her arm and she laughs putting her hands up “what stating the facts we get paid for it” she smiles at you and back at the note on you’re cup “so think she likes you?”

“i don’t know maybe she just said that for tips? i used to do that” you shrug and you continue working on your computer “well you could just ask for her numberrr” she says again raising an eyebrow at you, rolling your eyes you go back to typing “like i said im not doing that… ill get her name first or whatever”

⋆｡˚𖦹

thay weekend you went on with your routine, heading to the cafe with your laptop and note pad to try and get some articles done so your boss gets off your ass. you sat down with your usual smiling at the barista when she walked by you.

you smile back at her then look at your coffee seeing another message written in it ‘you look like and angel’. your heart almost explode and you swear you almost passed out. you look back at her and she was leaning against the counter watching you with that smirk. god she was so hot. she gave you a wink before standing up going back to work.

⋆｡˚𖦹

over the course of the next two weeks ellie would leave little messages on your coffee cup or the paper bag of your sandwich. each time you took a picture getting all giggly and happy. you found yourself looking forward to it each morning.

one weekend you got up getting ready in your go to cold weather outfit. you had gotten your bag and keys going to the cafe with a smile. when you got there you saw ellie taking an order from some guy. you sat down opening your laptop and hopped to get a few articles written. with all the holidays this time around your boss had you working harder with more stories to write.

you stayed a few hours the barista serving you and you got your little message. this time while she was taking all the dishes she left a napkin with a proud smile. ‘my shift ends in a few minutes meet me outside ;)’ classic.

you quickly got all your things putting the napkin in your bag. you went outside to the front to see her sitting at a table on her phone smoking a cigarette. she looked up at you and smiled sitting up “hey” she said with a smile. her voice oh my lord you were dying.

“hi” you said nervously and sat down. you honestly had no clue what to do. your flirting game was abysmal. she offered you a cigarette and you took it taking a puff off it.

you both got to talking for a bit. she told you her name was ellie. it suit her really well. with her style and her eyes everything suit her. she told you that the cafe was only a small part time kid she took every morning and she really worked at the clinic in the afternoons. that explained why she was never there for lunch.

you told her you were a journalist and she tilted her head “no way who’s your boss?” she asked with a chuckle “maria miller you know her?” “yeah she’s my aunt” you chuckled looking at her “small world huh?” “more like town everyone knows each other here” she shrugged.”

when it got to around 1 pm ellie looked back at you “ah shit gotta head to the clinic.” she mumbled grabbing her bag “yeah it’s getting cold staying out here” you replied standing up too.

“i’ll give you my number pretty girl?” she asked with a smirk holding her phone. pretty girl? it niagara falls down there. you flushed bright red and smiled handing her your phone and she put in her number “well i would love to do this again? how about i take you out on a proper date? dinner maybe? can you do tomorrow 7pm?” all you could do was giggle and nod “yeah yeah i can make that” you reply still nervous.

“i’ll see you around” ellie says putting a hand on your arm before walking away.

●∘◦❀◦∘●∘◦❀◦∘●∘◦❀◦∘●∘◦❀◦∘●∘◦❀◦

taglist: @autisticintr0vert @eveshyper @soodle-noup @puppywilliams

[luvyeni]

❛ON CAMERA❜ ( h. hyunjin )

p. camboy!hyunjin x fem!reader w. 1.4k

warnings? masturbation, unprotected sex, filming, dirty talk

— 𖦹 ( hyunjin catching you watching you his stream and invites you to joing ) !

authors note. this was supposed to be shorter but i got carried away.

when you moved into your apartment your roommate made it clear what he did for a living— he was a camboy. You didn’t care though; rent was cheap, he bought most of the food and cooked, and he was nice — but curiosity eventually got to you and you looked up his name.

the first time you got off to his stream; you could barely look him in the eyes. Eventually you got over the embarrassment, using his stream as your main source of entertainment to make yourself cum on your fingers; he was completely unaware to your slightly perverted ways— well at least that’s what you thought.

much like many nights before, you found yourself spread out in your bed, laptop next to you; headphones in and your hands in you short, slowly rubbing your clit as hyunjin stroked himself, reading off certain comments.

“fu-fuck you want me to go faster?” *strokes faster* “if I go any faster im gonna cum all over myself.” *faster* “fuck i wish it was you i was cumming all over.”

that last sentence made you moan, quickly biting your lip so he would hear; moving your fingers faster as you worked towards your orgasm along with him — completely unaware that hyunjin knew what you were doing and he had known, and he was smirking.

He found out after using your computer, stumbling across a tab you kept up, clicking it and to his surprise— it was his account that popped. he thought it was cute, watching you struggle to look at him the next morning after a stream, stuttering over your words when he handed you a plate of food.

he's always wanted to fuck you— the moment you moved in; you were just so precious, you were a little shy and timid, slowly warming up to him, he was obsessed but he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but listening to your moans from the other side of the wall, it seemed like you wanted it to.

“fu-fuck.” he whimpered, squeezing himself, the comments telling him to slow down; edging himself. “wo-would you guys be upset if i bought a guest.” he groaned, reading the comments.

fuck please it would be so hot.

i wish it was me.

im jealous

he smiled, knowing that last comment came from you. “good, i already know she’ll say yes.” he groaned. “she such a precious she’ll look so good on camera.” he stroked his cock faster, his cock twitching in his hand, he was about to cum. “and i know she’ll be a good girl for me on camera, cause she’s such a good girl for me in real life -shit- listens to everything i say.” he groaned. “oh fuck im about to cum.” the thought of him fucking you sending him over the edge. “fuck im cumming” his load shooting from his tip, landing all over his stomach

shit he’s so fucking hot

he came so much this time, must be thinking of that mystery girl …

when can we see her?

“you can meet her tonight, if she’s finished making herself cum on her tiny fingers while watching me, and just come into my room.”

your heart stopped— he was talking about you? he knew you were watching him? he wanted to fuck you— on camera nonetheless. “oh fuck!” you squealed, feeling yourself cum without warning. he smirked, his cock twitching as he heard you cum. “you guys can’t hear her right now, but she sounds so cute when she cums.”

fuck please go get her.

god i want to hear her now

fuck i wish it was me.

“you see that baby?” it felt like he was staring at you through the screen. “people are waiting for you, you don’t want to keep them waiting, do you?” you shut your laptop, slowly getting up; your clothes disheveled, opening your door, making your way down the hall to his room.

he heard your little knock on his door, his already hard. “there she is, told you she was a good girl.” he said. “come in baby.” you opened the door, standing in the walk way nervous. “don’t be nervous pretty girl.” he beckoned you in. “everyone is waiting for you.” he said.

you finally got the courage to walk to him, standing right in front of him. “good girl, let me ask you this.” he said toying with your waistband. “do you want to be filmed, because i’ll turn this camera off and fuck you privately, I don’t want you doing anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

That alone made you whine. “it-its okay.” he smiled. “then come sit and say hi.” he patted his lap, you slowly sat down, sitting on his cock, he groaned. “fuck princess, want to rip these clothes off.” He kissed your neck. “say hi to everyone.” You moaned as he bit down on your neck, working on your shorts. “h-hi.”

she’s so cute.

fuck I wanna watch her cum.

god he’s so lucky.

“i am aren’t i?” he pulled your shorts down throwing them on his bed. “get to see this cutie everyday.” he spread your legs, cursing in your ear. “such a pretty pussy.” he propped your legs on his, making you lean back. “look how pretty her pussy is.” you felt a wave of pleasure on your mound as he cupped your cunt, you moaned out. “hy-hyune.”

he sunk his fingers into your pussy, his fingers covered in your juices from your previous endeavors. “so wet for me baby, isn’t she so wet.” You heard all the donations coming in. “cant wait to have you on my cock.” You tightened around his fingers. “hyune im gonna cum.”

“should i let our good girl cum?” he said. “or should i edge her for being a bad girl and getting off to me like a little pervert.” You whined, wiggling in his lap. he slapped your thigh; making you stay still. “be good.”

make her cum please

edge her.

make her cum on your cock please.

“that’s a good idea.” He pulled his fingers out. “please.” You whimpered. “don’t worry princess you’ll get to cum on something better.” hyunjin wasn’t even worried about the camera. “sit up for me baby.”

He grabbed his cock, stroking it. “sh-shit, sit on my cock baby.” You moan, slowly sinking down. “hyune.” You moaned out. “fu-fuck princess keep going, you’ve taken most of my cock already.” He grunted as you sat down fully on him. “there we go, took me all the way.”

He held your hips, bouncing you on his cock. “fuck yeah princess, your pussy is so good.” He groaned. “I bet everyone is so jealous right now, that I get to fuck this pretty cunt -fuck- fill you up with my cock.” His hand came up to your tank top, pulling it down, squeezing your tits. “fuck hyunjin!” you screamed. “louder, let the viewers know how good im fucking you.”

“s-so good.” You moaned. “so deep.” His hand came to your clit, rubbing figure eights on your clit. “yeah, gonna cum for me.” You nodded. “gonna cum.”

fuck let her cum

shit she sounds so good.

i wanna watch both of you cum.

“fuck im gonna cum too.” He grunted. “when we’re done with this -fuck- im gonna turn this camera off and fuck you until you’re running from cock princess.” he moaned. “cum for princess.”

He spread your legs open, your thighs shaking, the knot in your stomach snapping, you gasped for air as you felt your juices pour out of you. “fuck hyunjin.”

she squirted fuck

so messy.

“fuck you made such a mess.” He moaned, his cock twitching inside of you, keeping you still as he fucked up into you, chasing his high. “gonna cum, where do I want it?” he tapped your clit. “you want it inside?”

“yes please.” You cried out. “fuck im cumming!” you felt his load shooting inside of your waiting womb. “shit.” His cock slipped out of you, giving the viewers a shot of his cum leaking out of you. “next time i want you to keep it inside for me.”

He grabbed your jaw, turning your head kissing you deeply. “you liked that?” he pulled away a fire still in his eyes. “y-yeah.” He smirked. “good , cause im not done.” he turned to the camera. “that’s it for you guys tonight.”

“but not for this pretty girl here, im gonna fuck her until her pretty little body gives out.”

©️LUVYENI

[muraenide]

Chiming in to ramble about ship bias

Canon-wise, Octatrio will always be my top ship bias for Jade, but on a broader introspection, my favourite ship with Jade will always be Jade and a Situationship regardless of the muse in question.

It's easier to picture shipping Jade with someone he worships, that he admires, or that he adores, but for both personal and impersonal reasons, he doesn't initiate the official relationship or even accept it if he is offered by the person in question. Instead, Jade prefers to live in a parallel reality to this person to whom he's devoted himself, by going to lengths to ensure that their lives will never interact or overlap each other yet always staying close by just an arm's reach away. Even if the person in question got into an official relationship with someone else, it doesn't dissuade Jade from moving on because part of him expects this possibility and it's all within his expectation that the way he lives his life isn't the way everyone else wants to live their lives.

[churipu]

"SHUT UP, MAMA." 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

ִ ࣪𖤐 featuring. gojo satoru, toji fushiguro, nanami kento

ִ ࣪𖤐 warnings. fem! reader, husband! au, i made names for your children but feel free to disregard it

note. i remembered this tiktok trend, just figured i should write about how the jjk men would react to their child doing this.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

gojo had a day off. it's rare for a jujutsu sorcerer like him — being the strongest, he's an asset to the jujutsu world. so him being in a day off is like a miracle to both you and your seven year old son, who might i say, is an exact carbon copy of your husband.

"honey, you need to put your toys away. it's almost dinner time," you said from the kitchen, gojo by your side, ready to help you with anything.

"let me take that," he sings out, grabbing two plates from your grasp — you chuckled, letting him take the white colored ceramic disk, "looks good, baby."

as you and gojo walked out of the kitchen, placing the plates on top of the dining table. gojo pulled out your seat for you. habits die hard, the male has always pulled your seat out for you since the very first date.

your son. marise gojo. a boisterous little boy, absolutely loves to play with his rocket toys, and somehow believes he's a little astronaut. there he sat in front of the TV, playing with his toys, an astronaut helmet covering his small head.

"buddy," gojo calls out to the boy, "it's dinner time, clean up your toys. mama made some good food."

when gojo's call didn't work, you tried doing it next, "marise, your food's going to get cold, honey."

the young boy didn't make any visible movements, but you heard him yell out with his high pitched voice, "shut up, mama!"

gojo looks at you briefly. i mean — as a father, he couldn't believe his own son said that. to his mother. gojo wasn't one to get mad, in fact, marise is a total daddy's boy. but he felt angry, frustrated, annoyed, all at once.

he wasted no time leaping up from his seat, approaching the young boy. his smile no longer visible; gojo was unhappy. the male used one of his hands to take off marise's astronaut helmet, tossing it aside before grabbing the young boy by his small waist.

marise didn't complain, and he still has no idea of what his father is about to do. so he just sat still in gojo's embrace — until gojo puts him down beside you, "say sorry."

marise's bright blue eyes stared up at gojo in confusion, "say sorry to mama, marise."

it wasn't "baby" or "buddy" like gojo used to address him by, and marise wasn't stupid. he knew he did something wrong, but he just didn't get what or why his father is telling him to apologize to you.

"sorry mama . . ." marise's soft voice resounds.

"do you know what you did wrong?" gojo questions sternly.

marise shook his head, his eyes watering at gojo's tone of voice, "no papa . . ."

gojo sighs, he squats down and gazes into his son's eyes, "you should never say 'shut up' to mama or papa, okay? not to anyone, 'ts not polite. don't ever do that again, now say sorry to mama for saying that."

marise nods his head and turns to look at you, his eyes watering — it's not everyday that you get to see papa gojo get angry, "'m sorry mama, i will never do that again," the young boy finally cried, letting his tears fall out of his doe eyes.

you can't help but to smile at the young boy, pulling him onto your lap to cradle him, "don't do that again, baby. 'ts not polite," your fingers grazed his chubby cheeks, wiping his tears away, "and if mama or papa tells you to stop playing and eat, what do you do?"

marise sniffled, "stop playing and eat."

"good boy," you kissed his little forehead, "go give papa a kiss."

and that marise did, gojo immediately picking the boy into his arms with a big smile, "give papa two kisses, buddy."

sure, gojo is a fun parent. but he knows how to teach his children boundaries — what to do and what not to do. he's scary when he's angry.

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

megumi is the child that made you and toji think you both should have another child — fukuo is the child that made you and toji stop wanting more children. not saying that fukuo is a bad kid, but the boy is relentless.

with a pretty large age difference between megumi and fukuo with six years, sometimes megumi had to teach fukuo some manners, telling the younger boy what's right and wrong. when fukuo misbehaves, it's megumi and you to the rescue — while toji would usually chuckle it off since, well, he's a little minus on the manners part as well. but you're working on that.

toji said so himself, he wouldn't mind fukuo misbehaving on some things. but the male did set some boundaries up for both of his boys and how they should act well towards you (and him).

today, megumi is twelve and fukuo is six. both of your boys look alike, "mama, 'm gonna be staying late at school because we have a play coming, 'm gonna help my classmate decorate the stage," megumi tells you as he puts on his shoes.

"alright, baby. have a good day at school, i love you," you pressed a kiss on megumi's head, waving him goodbye.

as megumi disappears behind the front door, you walk back inside the house, "toji, wake fukuo up, please. 'm getting his breakfast ready," toji who had his eyes on the television curtly nodded, sluggishly walking towards the boy's room.

"hey, champ." toji approaches the boy, who was sleeping soundly, "your mother's made some good food f' you. if you're not gonna eat it, i'll steal your portion."

fukuo squirmed a bit, but his eyes were still shut tightly, "fukuo," toji gently shook the boy, poking his cheek.

like anyone, fukuo didn't like his sleep disturbed, "papa, stop . . ." he mumbled out, shifting his small body so his little back was facing toji, "five more minutes."

toji sighs, "five more minutes."

he then went out of the room, "he asked for five more minutes," he informs you — sitting back down on the couch.

"five more minutes," was not an unfamiliar statement to you, especially coming from fukuo who had always managed to, of course, butcher the concept of time right after. it was either an hour, or more.

so you waited five minutes, and when the young boy didn't emerge from his bedroom, you found yourself walking towards it, "fukuo? baby, come on, mama made you breakfast . . ." you turn on the light, which made fukuo subconsciously twitch.

"fukuo, come on, papa will eat your breakfast . . ." you shook the boy gently.

"shut up, mama."

you blinked in surprise, but only managed out an exasperated sigh at the boy's sudden outburst, until all of a sudden toji appears beside you — his hand wet, and he slides his palm across the boy's face with a serious look on his face.

"wake up, fukuo. i won't tell you this again," toji mutters out, "three."

oh, god. the countdown was every kid's nightmare, "two," including fukuo's — shown by how the young boy immediately sat up on his bed, "apologize to your mother."

fukuo furrowed his brows, "why?"

"you don't tell her to shut up. apologize." you were just there silently, a little shocked at how toji had become so serious when he's usually so laid-back with the boys, "say sorry and eat your breakfast."

fukuo swallows his saliva nervously and scoots over to you, "'m sorry for telling you to shut up mama, i promise i won't do that again . . ." he whispers, throwing his short arms around your neck — burying his face into the crook of your neck.

you pulled him close, carrying the young boy in your arms, "'ts okay baby, no more telling people to shut up, okay? 's not nice, it'll hurt people's feelings."

"okay mama . . . 'm sorry for hurting your feelings," fukuo pulls back slightly, pressing a chaste kiss on your cheek before facing toji, "'m sorry for hurting mama's feelings, papa."

toji placed his palm over the boy's face, covering it entirely, a sheepish smirk plastered on his lips, "go brush y'r teeth and eat your breakfast, mama made some pancakes."

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

nanami is such a girl dad. ever since he found out that both of you were going to have a baby girl, he's delighted. just knowing that he'd have a mini version of the both of you made his stomach churn in happiness.

hoshi. nanami hoshi is her name. it was a very peaceful six years of raising her — but they said there will be a devil baby phase, and here she was. whining, throwing tantrums over things she didn't get. it was honestly tiring, but you knew this was a risk of raising a child.

"hoshi, baby, please stand up." you cooed down at the girl who was lying down on the ground. in the middle of a mall, "mama and papa will buy that toy for you next time, i promise."

nanami was by your side, holding onto the baby stroller. his eyes were unreadable, you don't know what he had in mind, but the look he peered at your daughter was plainly and eerily terrifying.

yes, there are moments where he spoils hoshi with what she wants. toys, food, drinks, you name it. but there are times where he declines because he didn't want her to grow up too spoiled, "i wan' that toy, mama!"

you inhaled sharply, trying to slide your hand underneath her armpits to pick her up, but hoshi refused by kicking your hands away. her little kicks barely scratched you — but the people looking at your small family as they passed by definitely got a little kick to you.

"baby, people are looking at you . . ." you whispered.

"i don't care, shut up, mama!"

that was the last straw for nanami who had been silent. he grabbed your arm and tugged you up gently, nodding at you as if telling you to leave this one to him.

you backed away slightly, taking a hold of the stroller nanami had let go a few seconds prior as he squats down. forcefully but gently slipping his hands underneath hoshi's armpits, carrying her into his arms.

"mama said we will buy that toy for you next time, okay?" he sternly said, eyeing his little girl who was now silent as she gazed into his eyes, "and you never. never tell mama to shut up, do you understand?"

hoshi nods her head slowly, lips quivering at her father's sudden lecture, nanami's eyes visibly softened and he rocked her in his arms, "papa's not angry at you, hoshi. but papa wants you to know that telling mama to shut up is not polite, okay?"

again hoshi nods her head.

"go and say that you're sorry to mama," he pecked her chubby cheeks before letting her down onto the ground.

hoshi's little legs ran towards you, hugging your leg, "'m so sorry mama," she muffles into your leg, "i don't want the toy anymore, mama. 'm sorry for being a bad girl."

you squat down, nuzzling your nose to her, "you're not a bad girl, baby . . . mama and papa will buy you that next time, okay? we promise."

"okay, mama. i love you."

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[bomber-grl]

General Percy Jackson dating hc⋆°🌊

~ ⋆｡‧𖦹 Percy Jackson x Gn!Reader(no pronouns)

Percy is so sassy

I think we as a fandom have established that, however sometimes you underestimate how far he’ll go.

No matter how long you’ve been dating he’ll still be sassy 😔😭

Of course it’s downgraded though

He chose mercy today

Anyway

Although he can get sassy sometimes, there is without a doubt that he loves you.

If there are 100 people who love you Percy is one of them. 1 person who loves you? Percy is that person

Zero? Percy is dead

He absolutely adores you, even if he can be a big idiot sometimes.

Now, when the two of you got together it was pretty much the same as when you were friends

Just romantic

You’d get reminded of your relationship when he calls you his girlfriend/boyfriend/partner

Especially in front of others

Or when he starts holding your hand and kissing you

It’s definitely a change

But not necessarily a bad one

Hes the type of guy to make being your boyfriend his whole personality

(Not actually but let me explain)

He’ll def wear those shirt with “I love my [insert your preferred title]

And he won’t care who sees it 😭

He’s proud no matter what

And is an absolute menace if anyone says anything about it

Or to you, for that matter

He’s powerful and we all know that

You can obviously defend yourself however sometimes he just can’t hold back

If anything were to ever happen to you

Let’s just say the opposing side will be as if it never existed.

I don’t see Percy as the jealous type ngl

I’ve seen many others say he would be and I think he could be, but only sometimes

He knows you’re just as loyal to him as he is to you

However if he sees anyone flirt and you don’t notice or tell them to back off-

He will for you

He won’t hesitate to slide an arm around your waist and ask what the hell the other person is doing with a raised eyebrow

He sasses the other person so much he leaves no room for argument 😭

Percy trusts with everything he’s got

So if you were to ever betray him he’d be crushed

Especially if you really know him

Just don’t betray him 🤷‍♀️

Percy follows you around all the time when he’s got nothing to do

He’s strong and independent

…wheeennn he’s away from you

He’s always by your side

And he loves to spend time with you too

He can’t say goodbye without hugging or kissing you

That’s a definite quirk of his

He’s technically not supposed to exist but it makes you glad he’s the only demigod child of Poseidon

And the only other person who shares his cabin is Tyson, so that way you two can sleepover and cuddle.

Ofc you guys get to actually do that once Tyson stops talking to you guys 😭

Only when Tyson goes off do you guys have time to chill in his cabin and the sleepovers you have are almost endless

I say almost because you eventually got caught by the harpy’s and luckily Chiron came in time to prevent you guys being ripped to shreds :,)

Before all that happened tho, you and Percy would cuddle and you’d play with Percy’s hair

He LOVES having his hair played with and his scalp massaged

And he accidentally insinuates that he misses that the most out of you getting banned from his cabin

The audacity for him to miss your massages rather than your presence

He let you have his share of desert as an apology for as long as you want 😭😭

You felt guilty so eventually you stopped 😭

If you are a sword fighter like him, you both often spar together.

You hit two birds with one stone

You practice your skills, and get to hang out together

What could be better?

Even then, if you specialize with daggers or a spear then it still works out

Sorry if you’re an archer 😭

Before you’re even introduced to Sally she already loves you!

And vise versa

Percy talks so much about you guys to each other that you practically already met her

And she already knew about you before you guys even started dating 😭

Percy told her (albeit a bit reluctantly) that he had a crush and the rest was history

When you finally meet it’s an automatic click and the both of you hit it off

Honestly Percy’s happy to see two of the most important people in his life getting along.

So, we’re all aware of how much of a menace Percy is, right?

Well he absolutely teases the fuck out of you

If that’s how you’re comfortable with

It’s not bad but it’s definitely silly and makes you smile at his antics, especially when you’re pretending to be mad at him 😭

You’re so weak for him lol

As is he for you

Mans is a simp and a so called “free thinker”

That changes when you step into the room and start talking to him

So after you guys got banned from going into each others cabins for unplanned sleepovers you guys had to make the most of the time you had together during the day

Just imagine an innocent camper walking by and seeing “beat ares, stopped two wars” Percy

The thing is, Percy is absolutely putty in your hands and has his head resting on your lap with your hands in his hair

Some would usually tease but with his reputation nowadays, nobody dares

With the exception of close Ally’s and ofc, Clarisse

It’s little moments that get you guys closer than ever like when there’s campfires and you can just enjoy the moment

Or when you can go into the lake

Which is where you guys had your first kiss

And it was sweet and spontaneous

And then awkward afterwards because of the walk back to your cabins 😭

Even then Percy gave you a quick peck and ran off

Best believe he was kicking his feet once he got back to his cabin 😭

you awoke the next day with being the new hot gossip in camp so that was… interesting

Anyway

I’m aware that I’ve made Percy to be a bit a menace

Although he is exactly that on the regular-

He really does care about you

Sometimes whenever he looks at you he can’t help but think about how lucky he got

He’s glad to have met you and tries his best to let you know at every chance he gets

Even if the things he might say come off as cringe, he means it

Maybe to a less cringey extent tho lolol

Bro can’t help it, he’s a romantic at heart

But only ever for you

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

LOGAN HOWLETT day 11 (21, oct) — breast worship

18+ fem!reader, 418 words. mdni!!

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST ⋆ ˚｡𖦹.

You stand between Logan’s thighs, his seated position at the edge of the sofa making him far shorter than his usual height. You have your hands in his hair, running through the short lengths as he presses the side of his face into your sternum. Ear to your nightdress, listening to the steady, soothing beating of your heart.

His arms are wrapped comfortably around your thighs, hands cupping your ass — his hold like he was trying to keep you from leaving. His grasp on your ass runs up the small of your back, palms sliding up the smooth, shiny fabric of your dress until they’re either side of your tits. Thumbs brushing over your nipples through the material.

He pulls his head back slightly to look up at you, gaze flickering over your face in that attentive way he often does. And as he keeps his eyes locked on yours, he’s snaking his  fingers into the straps of your dress, the slight force of his grip pulling it from your shoulders.

Never once breaking contact from your eyes, he tugs the thin straps down your arms, letting the fabric that covers your chest fall with them. The soft, satin-like material bunches and pools around a slight dip of you, your tits now bare in front of his face.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout these all day,” he says, voice low and quiet.

He parts from your eyes to look over your breasts momentarily, his hands now moving to support them, holding under each. His thumbs glide over your nipples, repeating that same prior motion, only now it’s under the fabric. Just slow, little swirls as he flickers back up to your face — watching your eyes flutter closed and lips part, head tipping back shortly after.

Your fingers in his hair tighten, your grasp ever so slight when you feel his breath against your skin, his face getting closer to you. You straighten your neck from its fallen position to look down at him, meeting his keen eyes already focused on you so eagerly.

He adjusts his hold under one of your tits as he brings his mouth to it, lips skimming your nipple as he peppers faint, light kisses around it — working you up more and more. 

And only when enough teasing has sufficed, he’s pressing his lips to your skin, littering you with worship-like kisses and suckles. One hand pawing at your lonely tit, the other clasped around your waist for your support — your knees beginning their slight buckle.

⎯ ☆ ⎯