#they sleep together on their last night as roommates

[rwshfordgirl]

"SO, HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY TO US."

all the images were taken from pinterest.

where after a long time without seeing each other, he appears at her house by surprise.

pairing: kenan yildiz x reader!

a/n: i don't have a honest opinion about everything i wrote here 💔 but I hope you like it!

𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬

I just spent three hours of my life sitting in the uncomfortable chair in the college library, the only place where I can study in peace without being disturbed by my roommate.

Three hours disconnected from the world outside campus, without giving a sign of life to my family and boyfriend. I was five minutes from home when I picked up my cell phone to check messages, my parents sent photos of landscapes unknown to me and Kenan asked if I had arrived home yet. I sent hearts in response to my parents' photos and sent a photo of myself walking towards my house to Yildiz. This one, in turn, saw the message as soon as I sent  and sent a photo of himself in response. 

"Miss you so much, pretty boy." I sent an audio, holding back tears. I almost sat down on the sidewalk to make a video call with Yildiz and say that I would drop everything here just to go be with him. "I miss you too, aşk" I felt my heart melt after the audio he had just sent.

Three months without seeing Kenan. I feel my chest hurt all the time, I miss being at home with him, I miss his hugs, taking silly pictures with him, going out, watching him play in Turin, I miss everything that involves him. Seeing him every day on my cell phone screen is not enough, but I can't go to Italy right now and he can't come see me either.

I almost kicked a rock when I walked past a restaurant on the corner of my house and saw couples enjoying Valentine's Day. Oh shit, I wish Kenan was here right now.

I also wish I could describe everything I felt when I got close to my house and saw a figure sitting on the last step of the stairs, all dressed in black and with a hood over his head. I ran because I knew it was Kenan, I knew it was him, I think I would recognize him even if he had been completely disguised. He got up as soon as he heard my footsteps.

Yildiz wrapped his arms around me and spun me around. I felt my eyes fill with tears,,"Did you miss me?" he asked while still hugging me, his voice muffled by the urge of my hair. "You still ask? I was willing to get home and buy a ticket to Turin." Yildiz's hands left my back and stopped on on my cheeks. "Juventus gave us two days off, but I can only stay here until midday tomorrow." he explained.

Before responding to what he had just said, I made sure to place our lips together, a kiss of longing. Three months without it almost killed me. "Let's go in, I'll order something for us to eat! I just want to stay glued to you until it's time for you to leave."

I intertwined our hands and pulled him into the house, a note right at the entrance  indicated that my roommate would be spending the night out, I almost jumped for joy. instead I took my boyfriend to my room.

"I think we should go out instead of eating here, what do you think?" he sat in my desk chair "Seriously? you want to go out instead of staying here with me?" I pouted and he nodded with a playful smile on his face "I'll be with you either way." he pulled me close, his legs were behind me and his hands were on my back. "I missed you so much, love" he said before taking my hand and kissing it. "You missed me and yet you want to go out instead of sleeping with me?" I joked with him "but I missed you too, baby boy."

"I brought you something." He said, taking a small box out of his jacket's inside pocket. "Happy Valentine's Day, love." He handed me the object. Inside the box was a necklace with a black circular pendant. "Look inside it." He said, and so I did. "I can't believe it, Kenan! How beautiful." I felt my eyes watering when I looked inside the pendant and saw a thumbnail of a photo we took together on our first date, surrounded by the phrase "I love you" written in several languages.

I hugged Kenan awkwardly due to the position we were in. "Thank you so much, love! I really loved it." I kissed his cheek before sitting at his feet. Kenan ran his hand through my hair and bent down to kiss my forehead. "Promise not to be mad at me? Your gift isn't here because I ordered it online and asked for it to be delivered to your house." He chuckled before answering me "Of course I won't be upset about that, silly!" Another kiss on the forehead "Do you want to know what it is?" He denied "I want it to be a surprise." We smiled together "So, happy Valentine's Day to us."

Kenan's chin was gently resting on my head and I knew he was smiling even without seeing it. "So, shall we go out to eat something? I'm starving." I asked, "You know what, do you want to go?" I rolled my eyes playfully, "Let's go, I know you want to."  I stood up and gave him my hand, intending to help him get out of the chair. "I promise I'll lie down with you watching all the movies you want, as soon as we get back." He hugged me as soon as he got up. "I don't want to watch movies, I want to lie down just admiring you." he gave me a little kiss.

[saiyanprincessswanie]

Second Chances

Pairing: Andy Barber x Female Reader

Word Count: 1550

Summary: Feelings have been brewing for a while now. Do you risk your friendship to express your true feelings?

Warnings:  Little angst but mostly fluff. Trope: Best Friends to lovers, Idiots in love & roommates, Activities: Borrowing hoodies/clothes, Quotes: “You’re adorable when you giggle. You’re always so adorable.” & “You’re the most precious thing ever. I will protect you with everything I have.”

A/N: Thank you to @fictional-affairs for the amazing header. Thank you @firefly-graphics for the divider. Thank you to my beta reader @lfnr-blog-blog-blog

Reblogs & Comments are welcomed and encouraged. It lets me know you like my work. 😊💜

I do NOT consent to translating or reposting my work on any social media platform, app, or third-party site. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen. I will NEVER give written or verbal permission to repost or translate any of my fanfics as they’re MY intellectual property. 🚫🚫

The snow was coming down on this quiet afternoon. You were bundled up in Andy’s hoodie, a pair of leggings and warm fuzzy socks. A blanket was draped over your legs and the book you were reading was captivating. Andy was currently making chili to warm you both up on this cold day. 

When you first met Andy he was quiet and kept to himself. He had lost his wife and son in an accident. Between losing his family and job Andy was a lost soul wandering through the world.

Then life gave him an opportunity and he decided to work for a nonprofit organization that helps people who are falsely accused of murder. It just so happens you work for the same organization and team up on cases with him every now and then. What started as coworkers evolved into you becoming best friends for several years now.

Andy had moved in with you over two years ago and became your roommate to help you both save money. You would have thought being best friends with someone who is your coworker and roommate would have failed from the start. Being around someone that much could drive people crazy, but not you and Andy. It was the total opposite.

You both loved spending time together and hanging out. With Andy everything seemed right in the world and now your current problem was you developed feelings for him. How could you stupidly fall for your best friend? There was the fact he was handsome and he had the best personality. He was encouraging, loyal, kind, caring, respectful, and thoughtful. He had many other attributes about him you could list but you would be here forever listing them.

Andy was 6’1, with ocean-like eyes that you could swim in all day long. His body you have felt thanks to cuddling is muscular and firm. Though you have seen him shirtless many times and you thanked the lord for the view.

Then there was you, a woman who refuses to date thanks to a break up you had prior to meeting Andy. It was a bad breakup that found you questioning your self worth. But thanks to Andy you feel confident and comfortable in your own skin. No longer were you questioning yourself. Now you were a strong female who knew what you wanted. But could you tell him the truth about how you felt?

So here you both have been snowed in since yesterday. Thankfully you both have enough food to last this storm and stay safe indoors. You were several chapters into your book when you felt a pair of hands start to rub your neck. Strong hands were gently massaging you and your eyes closed from the feeling. You couldn’t help the groan that left your mouth when he moved into your shoulders.

”For someone who has been reading all morning your shoulders are tense. Is everything okay? ” Andy spoke gently as his hands continued to rub your shoulders. “Also is this my hoodie?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I didn’t sleep well last night. Tossed and turned most of the night. Nothing a nap after lunch won’t fix. The hoodie used to be yours but I commandeered it.” You tilted your head back and warmly smiled up at him. After a few more rubs of your neck, he patted you on the shoulder.

“Commandeered it my butt. You stole it months ago and I haven't seen it since. Let’s go eat some lunch. It will warm you up in no time.” He smiled at you as you stretched on the couch and got up.

Both of you walked into the spacious kitchen and grabbed a bowl. You put a couple of spoonfuls of chili in your bowl and made your way to the dining room table. As you sat down Andy had made his way to the table, sitting across from you.

As you made small talk with him your eyes wandered across his face from his eyes to his beard to his lips. You licked your lips absentmindedly and went back to eating. The thoughts of him being yours made your heart race. Would being honest ruin what you already have? You had the best roommate and best friend in the world. The thought of losing him made you tense again. Maybe you should keep your feelings to yourself.

You let out a sigh and that had Andy reaching his hand across the table and gently taking your hand. You looked up and your eyes locked onto his soft blue ones. He offered a friendly smile before he took your hand and pressed a kiss to it.

“Sweetheart, something is telling me that you want to talk about something but you’re nervous. You know you can talk to me about anything. I won’t judge you at all.” 

Feeling nervous you look away from him and pull your hand back. You weren’t sure how to start this conversation but you knew Andy was going to be persistent about this.

You stood from the table and grabbed your empty bowl. Putting it on the counter you wrapped your arms around yourself and tried to figure out how to just come out with it.

Andy followed you into the kitchen and set his bowl next to yours. He watched as you bit your lip and stared at him with sadness in your eyes.

“Sweetheart, come here.” He stretched his arms open and waited for you to come to him. Slowly you walked to him and wrapped your arms around him. 

Your head was against his chest as Andy held you close to him. You felt him kiss your forehead and breathe in your scent. 

“You know I will never judge you for what you have to share with me. You mean everything to me.” Andy reassured you and gave you a big hug. 

Pulling away from him reluctantly you grabbed his hand and walked over to the couch. As you sat down Andy slowly sat next to you. 

Andy wouldn’t be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. Something in your expression has changed this morning and he was worried about losing you. He couldn’t help himself with developing feelings for you. If you wanted him to move out he would be crushed because he was in love with you. 

You stared at him for a minute before you took a deep breath and spoke. “I have feelings for you Andy. I have for some time now. I’m in love with you and I can’t keep pretending that I’m not.”

Andy’s eyes go wide with shock. He couldn’t believe what he heard. After all this time of being coworkers, roommates, and best friends who knew you had the same feelings as him. Andy couldn’t help but smile and let out a chuckle. 

You looked at him confused. Why did he just chuckle? Did he think it was a joke to him?

Grabbing your hand Andy intertwined his fingers with yours. Lifting both hands to his face Andy kissed the back of your hand. 

“I promise I’m not laughing at you. It’s just that I have feelings for you too. I didn’t know how to approach you about it cause I didn’t want to ruin what we already had between us. You mean everything to me and make me feel like myself again. Since losing my wife and son years ago I didn’t think I deserved happiness again. But you made me believe in second chances.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you shook your head. “Andy, I promise this is for real. I was so afraid of losing you that I kept it to myself this whole time thinking you only saw me as a friend. But knowing you feel the same makes me so happy.”

Andy pulls you into his lap and starts kissing you from your forehead to your cheeks. His beard tickles you and you let out some giggles from the affection he is showing you.

“You’re adorable when you giggle. You’re always so adorable. Everything you do drives me wild.” Andy says affectionately as he kisses you all over your face making you giggle more.

He stops his silly kisses and lightly cups your face then leans in for a kiss on your lips. The kiss is soft and slow. Both of you are testing the waters and grabbing at each other to pull the other closer. This is what you have been waiting for and a soft moan pulls from your lips as you separate.

Andy smiles warmly at you and caresses your cheek. “I want you to know you can always count on me to treat you like the queen you are. You’re the most precious thing ever. I will protect you with everything I have. You will never have to worry about being alone cause I will always be here for you.”

You pull him close again and kiss him on the lips. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Let’s not find out,” Andy whispers to you as he holds you tight. 

You thank the universe for allowing you two to finally express your feelings. You feel that this is going to be the beginning of forever with him.

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[melancholy-of-nadia]

heart on the window #4 (m) | ksj

title: heart on the window (m) pairing: ksj x reader(f) rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; roommates au / streamer/cam boy au / office worker au, childhood rivals to awkward roommates to lovers? au summary: Taking up Seokjin's challenge to star in his cam show, you go shopping with him to prepare for that night. However, a run in with your ex boyfriend has you questioning your life decisions and revealing your past even more. Though Seokjin knows how to make you feel better, and thus, the blending of boundaries between you too gets even more convoluted. note: i wanted to wait to release this chapter a bit closer to Valentine's Day hehe so here it is! I'm working on Chapter 5 which I'll release sometime late this month or early next month and then I'll put this series on a bit of a break just to let the finale simmer. warnings: mild language, camboy! seokjin mode, protected s*x, blindfolds, Ghostface mask, ASMR sounds, grinding, n*pple play, breast play, f*ngering, multiple org*sm, cowgirl, pet names, kinda falling into a bit of a headspace from the org*sms, calling jin "daddy", big d*ck, d*ggystyle, body worship, voyeurism, dirty talk, implied adult content streaming (camming), pet names, brat! reader, brat tamer! seokjin, aftercare drop date: February 10th, 2024, 6:00pm pst word count: 7.8k crossposted on ao3 here <- chapter 3 | chapter 5 -> - -

The knock on your door is sharp but not obnoxiously loud. You groggily lift your head from the pillow, the warmth of your blankets beckoning you to stay put. Still, the persistent rhythm of Jin’s knocking refuses to be ignored.

“Y/N, wake up!” Jin’s voice carries through the door, bright and insistent.

You groan, tossing your blankets off and dragging yourself to the door. When you open it, Jin stands there, fully dressed and annoyingly cheery for such an early hour on a Saturday.

“What do you want?” you mumble, rubbing your eyes.

“Get dressed,” he says, grinning. “We’re going somewhere.”

You squint at him, trying to process his words through the haze of sleep. “Where are we going?”

He leans casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking far too smug. “We’re getting you lingerie, maybe some toys and sunglasses.”

His words hit you like a splash of cold water, jolting you awake.

“Excuse me?!”

“Lingerie,” he repeats, his grin widening. “You know, for the cam stuff. And sunglasses—because no one’s seeing your face, right?”

Your mouth opens, then closes as you try to form a response. Heat rushes to your cheeks as you stare at him, wide-eyed. “And the toys?” you finally manage to ask, your voice a mix of shock and embarrassment.

Jin shrugs nonchalantly. “Optional. But hey, might as well explore your options, right?”

You groan, already regretting your decision from last night. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, you agreed to this,” he teases, pushing off the doorframe. “If you’re still down for this, then get ready. I’ll be downstairs waiting.”

As he turns to leave, you shut the door with a huff and lean back against it. What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

Still, there’s a strange excitement bubbling under your nerves. You pull yourself together, grabbing clothes and getting ready. If you’re doing this, you might as well dive in headfirst.

By the time you head downstairs, Jin is waiting for you, scrolling through his phone. When he sees you, he flashes you a grin.

“Ready to shop?” he asks, his tone annoyingly cheerful.

“Do I have a choice?” you mutter, earning a laugh from him as you both head out the door.

“You do, but I doubt your pride would let you not move forward with this.”

And damn it, he’s right.

The drive to wherever Jin is taking you isn’t particularly long, but it feels eternal. The radio is turned low, playing a mix of pop and indie songs, none of which Jin seems to fully know. He hums along anyway, confidently belting out half-formed lyrics, occasionally sneaking a glance at you with that same playful smirk you’ve grown to hate—and secretly enjoy.

When the car finally pulls into the parking lot of one of the city’s larger malls, your stomach drops. Jin parks near a side entrance, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the neon sign of Spencer’s.

Oh.

“This is where we’re going?” you ask, staring at the window display. Lace, satin, and an unholy number of novelty items are all proudly showcased under harsh fluorescent lighting.

“Of course,” Jin says, cutting the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt. “Gotta start somewhere.”

He thought you'd be more comfortable here than the places he usually goes.

You groan, slouching deeper into your seat. “Why? It’s not like it’s gonna stay on for long, right?”

Jin rolls his eyes, opening his door with an exaggerated sigh. “Wow, such romantic enthusiasm. I’m telling you, the right outfit sets the mood and the audience loves it. Trust me, I’ve done my research.”

“On what? The art of taking it off?” you shoot back, unbuckling your seatbelt.

He grins as if you’d just handed him the best setup of his life. “Exactly, and it’s an art worth perfecting.”

You step out of the car reluctantly, trailing behind him as he leads the way into the mall. The early shoppers barely glance at the two of you, but you still feel like a giant spotlight is shining down on you.

When you reach the store, Jin holds the door open like he is leading you into a fine dining establishment. “After you, my princess.”

“Ugh, don’t start with that again,” you mutter, stepping past him.

Inside, the store was exactly what you expect—half risqué and half ridiculous. Racks of lingerie are set up alongside gag gifts and posters of bands you haven’t thought about since high school. Jin, however, looks like a kid in a candy store.

“So, what’s the plan?” you ask, crossing your arms and watching him scan the store like he is devising a strategy.

He turns to you, eyes sparkling with mischief. “The plan is simple. Find something you like—or that I like—and we’ll see how it looks on you. Easy.”

Your jaw drops. “You want me to try stuff on?”

“Obviously.” Jin grabs a hanger with a delicate black lace set and holds it up for you to see. “We’re not just guessing here. This is serious business.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, but you can’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips.

Jin just winks, already moving toward the next rack. “And yet, here you are, playing along. Now, do you prefer lace or satin?”

“I’m not trying anything on,” you declare, staring determinedly at the nearest rack. “I’ll pick one, and we can go.” Your eyes land on a pale pink lingerie set—delicate lace bralette with thin straps, paired with matching high-waisted panties edged with tiny satin bows. It’s soft and feminine, a stark contrast to anything you’d ever imagined yourself buying.

“How about this?” you ask, holding it up for Jin’s approval.

He steps closer, tilting his head to examine it like it’s a fine piece of art. “Hmm…” he muses, rubbing his chin dramatically. “Fine. Add these cat ears and tail, and we’re good.” He plucks a fuzzy black headband with cat ears and a ridiculous clip-on tail from the adjacent display rack, holding them out like he’s solved a puzzle.

You blink at him. “I—I’m not even going to ask.”

“Should we get one of these too?” Jin points toward another section, his grin growing mischievous. It takes you a moment to realize what he’s indicating: a realistic penis-like dildo on one shelf and a sleek, purple wand vibrator on another.

“Just pick one, and we can go!” you snap, your cheeks blazing.

Without hesitation, Jin grabs the vibrator, waving it triumphantly. “I’ll keep the other one in mind the next time we come by.”

You groan, muttering under your breath about his audacity as you head to the checkout counter. Jin pays without batting an eye, his casual demeanor doing nothing to ease the heat of your embarrassment.

On the way out of the mall, you both stop at a premium matcha stand. Jin orders two servings of soft-serve matcha ice cream, and you find a quiet spot near the fountain to sit and eat. The first bite of creamy, earthy sweetness is enough to calm your nerves slightly. Jin sits beside you with his steady and reassuring presence, though you can’t help but feel a flicker of unease lingering beneath the surface.

Jin keeps the conversation light. He teases you about your flustered reactions in the store, his laughter warm and infectious. You talk about food, what you’re craving for dinner, the list goes on. His easygoing nature is a balm to your frayed nerves, and you find yourself smiling despite the lingering unease in your chest. He’s always been like this, so good at making things feel fine, even when they’re not. And for a brief moment, you let yourself relax, even laugh. The sound surprises you—it’s been so long since you’ve laughed like this, freely and without reservation.

Things, for once, feel normal in your life. 

Or at least, they almost do. There’s a part of you that’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to disrupt this fragile peace. Just like the breakup and the layoff. You try to push the thought away, focusing instead on the way Jin’s eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way his voice carries a playful lilt as he recounts a silly story. This is nice, you tell yourself. This is enough.

But it’s only when you finally feel a sense of some normalcy that you end up with a reminder of the past. 

When your eyes catch something. 

Something not unusual, but actually, someone familiar.

Him.

Out of all the malls in this damn city filled with millions of people, fate still tortures you by sending you that man to disturb your peace.

Out of all the malls in this damn city filled with millions of people, fate still tortures you by sending you that man to disturb your peace. The one who cheated on you—the man you’d given your heart to, only for him to shatter it like it meant nothing. You remember the day you found out: having just come over to Yunjin’s place for a small get-together. The way your friends hesitated to tell you, but did so anyway. How your stomach twisted as you scrolled through the incriminating messages and photos on his phone. The way your world seemed to tilt on its axis, everything you thought you knew crumbling around you. It’s a memory you’ve tried to bury, but seeing him now makes it all rush back like a tidal wave.

He’s with his friends you remember—Wooyoung, San, Seonghwa, and Hongjoong. They’re laughing, walking out of a nearby streetwear clothing store, and for a second, you think you might be safe. The fountain is kind of in the way from his perspective.

Maybe he won’t see you, you hope, your heart pounding in your chest. Maybe you can just disappear into the background, unnoticed.

But as fate loves toying with you, the fountain cascades suddenly stop for a brief second and then his head turns, and his gaze locks onto yours.

Your stomach immediately plummets.

Panic sets in, sharp and suffocating. You quickly look away, pretending to focus on your ice cream, but your hand trembles slightly, the spoon digging into the soft-serve without lifting it. Your mind races with a whirlwind of emotions—anger, hurt, embarrassment—threatening to overwhelm you. Don’t look at him. Don’t let him see how much this still affects you. But it’s too late. You can feel his eyes on you, and the weight of his gaze is suffocating.

“Hey, you okay?” Jin’s voice pulls you back, his tone laced with concern. You glance up to find him watching you carefully, his teasing smile replaced by a furrowed brow. His eyes are searching, trying to piece together what’s wrong, and for a moment, you consider telling him everything. But the words stick in your throat, and instead, you nod quickly, forcing a smile.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” you manage to say, though your voice wavers. You swallow hard, trying to steady yourself, but it’s no use. Jin’s too perceptive, too attuned to your emotions, and he’s not buying it.

His eyes narrow slightly, following your gaze toward the group of guys, and the ex-boyfriend that follows a bit further behind them. His eyes narrow slightly, following your gaze toward the group of guys, and you can see the moment it clicks for him. His expression hardens, his jaw tightening as he notices how tense you’ve become. “Who’s that?” he asks, his tone lower, more serious.

“No one,” you lie, but it’s unconvincing even to your own ears. 

He’s already connected the dots, and it makes your chest tighten.

“Doesn’t look like no one.” Jin leans back in his seat, his casual demeanor masking the sharpness in his gaze. 

He seems to already connected the dots on who that is.

“Want me to do something about it?”

Huh? 

You glance at him, startled. “What? No!”

Is he insinuating he’ll go confront them? Fight them? Absolutely not.

The worst thing that could happen is causing a scene.

He shrugs, taking another bite of his ice cream. “Just saying. I can be pretty convincing when I want to be.”

Wait, is he implying he wants to pretend to be your fake new boyfriend in front of your ex? The idea is so absurd, so Jin, that despite everything, a small, bitter laugh escapes you.

“What!” you exclaim, shaking your head. “You’re seriously unbelievable, Seokjin.”

“Yeah, but you’re stuck sitting here with me right now. He’ll believe it if he sees you’ve moved on,” he says lightly, but the look in his eyes tells you he’s serious about one thing—he’s not about to let anyone ruin your day.

And he somehow already seemed to catch on that it’s your ex, which fuels his eagerness to help you even more.

"Let’s just go home," you mutter, your voice tight as you stand, grabbing Jin’s hand before he can say another word. Without waiting for a response, you tug him along, weaving through the bustling mall.

Jin doesn’t protest. His long strides easily match your pace, though you can feel the curious weight of his gaze on you as you march ahead. The warmth of his hand in yours feels grounding, even as your heart races from the encounter you’re desperately trying to shake off.

Once outside, the cool air hits your face, but it does little to quell the heat in your chest. You loosen your grip slightly but don’t let go entirely until you enter the car.

Jin finally breaks the silence as you both slide into your seats. “So…care to tell me what that was about?” His tone is light but probing, a stark contrast to the tension swirling around you.

You fiddle with your seatbelt, avoiding his eyes. “It’s really nothing to care about. I just didn’t feel like being there anymore.”

Jin obviously doesn’t buy it, and you know it. He’s stuck wondering what the hell was all that inside the mall.

He leans back in his seat, studying you with an expression that’s a mix of patience and persistence. “You know, for someone who doesn’t care, you sure dragged me out of there like the mall was on fire.”

“It’s complicated, okay?”

He raises a brow, clearly waiting for you to elaborate further.

You finally glance at him, your voice softer now. “That guy, the one I was looking at…he’s my ex. The one who cheated on me.”

Jin’s expression darkens immediately. His jaw tightens, and his easy going demeanor vanishes in an instant. “I figured, but that’s the asshole?”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah.”

For a moment, Jin doesn’t say anything, but the way his hands grip the edge of his seat tells you he’s trying to keep himself in check. “You should’ve really said something earlier,” he mutters, his voice low. “I would’ve—”

“Would’ve what?” you cut him off, forcing a small smile. “Made a scene in the middle of the mall?”

“If it meant putting him in his place, yeah,” Jin says firmly. “I hate people who cheat on their significant others. No one gets to hurt you like that and walk around like nothing happened.”

His words catch you off guard, and for a second, you just stare at him. The fire in his eyes, the way his fists are clenched like he’s ready to fight—it's so uncharacteristic of him, but it’s also oddly comforting.

You let out a shaky laugh, leaning your head back against the headrest. “You’re really something, Jin. I am not going to send you out to battle him. I don’t even think you have it in you to actually throw hands.”

“Hey! I actually do. Plus we’re friends, so I’d fight for you whether or not I was an experienced black belt!” he retorts, his usual teasing tone creeping back in.

The tension in the car eases slightly, and Jin starts the engine. As Jin pulls out of the parking lot, he glances at you again.

“For what it’s worth, he doesn’t deserve a second of your thoughts.”

You nod, biting your lip. Deep down, you know he’s right. But that doesn’t make it any easier to let go of the past—or the way your heart still aches when you see that man.

“Thanks, Jin,” you say quietly, and for once, he doesn’t reply with a joke. Instead, he just reaches over and squeezes your hand, his silent support speaking louder than words. “Let’s just forget this shit even happened.”

In the late evening, you stand in front of your bedroom mirror, adjusting the pink lingerie you picked out earlier. The delicate lace clings to your curves, and the satin ribbon at the bust feels both alluring and slightly foreign against your skin. You tug at the hem, trying to feel less exposed, but there’s no denying you look good.

The memory of seeing your ex at the mall lingers, an unwelcome weight in the back of your mind. But you shake your head, willing yourself to push it aside. This is about moving on, you remind yourself. Tonight is an opportunity to let go of that baggage—to embrace something different, something new.

Just as you’re finishing, Jin knocks on your door.

“You ready?” His voice carries through, casual and tinged with amusement.

Opening the door slightly, you peek out, feeling a bit self-conscious. “Yeah, but I just realized I forgot to buy sunglasses...”

He grins, leaning casually against the doorframe. “No worries. I’ve got a solution.”

You raise a brow, suspicious. “What kind of solution?”

Jin steps back, revealing a folded black blindfold in his hand. “You’ll wear this,” he explains with a mischievous smirk, holding it up like he’s offering a priceless artifact.

You blink. “And what about you?”

He reaches behind his back, pulling out a white Ghostface mask with exaggerated, hollowed-out eyes. “This bad boy right here.”

The sight of it makes you laugh despite yourself. “Are you serious?”

“As serious as a heart attack,” he says, slipping the mask over his head to demonstrate. His voice comes out slightly muffled, but the effect is as ridiculous as you’d expect. “See? Anonymity secured.”

You cover your mouth, trying to stifle your laughter. “Okay, okay, fine. Let’s do this.”

“Good. Now put this on,” Jin says, handing you the blindfold.

You take it, feeling a strange mix of nerves and excitement bubble in your chest. “You know, this is probably the weirdest thing I’ve ever agreed to.”

Jin tilts his head, the mask amplifying the humor in his movements. “And yet here you are, willingly about to do it with a guy wearing a Ghostface mask. Makes you wonder, huh?”

Rolling your eyes, you tie the blindfold securely around your head, the world plunging into darkness. “Just don’t let me trip and fall on the way to your room, okay?”

“Alright, Princess,” Jin says, his tone teasing but soft. “I’ve got you.”

The stream begins, the faint hum of Jin’s microphone blending with the soft, ambient music he always uses to set the mood. The chat is already alive, comments flooding the screen with excitement and curiosity about the unexpected collaboration. Jin adjusts the camera slightly, making sure the angle is just right, then sits back on the plush chair.

“Alright, everyone,” his voice is smooth and playful, the confident persona of BigTunaMan in full swing. “Tonight’s stream is... a little different.”

The chat erupts in a frenzy: “Collab?!”“Who’s the guest?!”“OMG, BigTuna never does collabs!”

Jin chuckles, leaning forward to read some of the comments. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I don’t usually do this, but let’s call it an experiment. Be nice, alright? I’d like to introduce you all to Princess Peach—well, just Princess for short.”

You fidget nervously, sitting just out of frame, your blindfold securely in place. Hearing his voice take on that teasing tone meant for his audience is surreal. The anonymity offered by the blindfold feels like a small comfort, but you’re acutely aware of the way the lace lingerie hugs your body. “Say hi, Princess,” Jin says, his voice laced with a hint of amusement.

You manage a small wave in the general direction of the camera. “H-Hi...”

The chat explodes: “OMG she’s shy!”“Princess Peach for real!”“Is she wearing pink?!”

“She’s still warming up to this whole thing,” Jin says, his tone affectionate, like he’s easing a shy partner into a dance. “So be patient with her.”

He taps your hand lightly, signaling for you to move. “Now, Princess, come here,” he says, patting his lap. “You’re gonna sit right here, facing the camera.”

You hesitate for a moment, your breath catching. But then you remember why you’re doing this—to move on, to try something bold and different, to make some money out of this.

And also, because this is a challenge started by Seokjin. 

You can’t lose.

You carefully maneuver onto his lap with his help. Your body tenses as you adjust yourself, facing the camera as he instructed.

“That’s it,” Jin murmurs, his hands lightly settling on your hips to steady you. The warmth of his touch sends a jolt through you, but you stay composed. “Comfortable?”

“Y-Yeah,” you whisper, though your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

He leans closer, his masked face just beside your ear, and the audience catches the subtle intimacy of the moment. “Relax,” he says softly, but with a playful edge meant for his viewers. “You’re doing great, Princess.”

The chat goes wild: “This is SO hot.”“She’s adorable omg.”“BigTuna spoiling us fr.”

Jin tilts his head slightly, addressing the camera with his usual charisma. “Alright, everyone, let’s get started.” His hands stay on your hips, his touch firm but not overbearing. He pauses to let the tension build, letting the audience bask in the new dynamic unfolding before them.

His hands begin to move tentatively, his palms brushing against the thin lace covering your chest. His touch is measured, deliberate, as if testing both your comfort and his own. You can feel the hesitation in his movements, though there’s a hint of determination beneath it. Your breath catches as his fingers trace along the edge of the fabric, the warmth of his hands seeping into your skin. You shift slightly in his lap, feeling vulnerable in the moment by the fact that you’re in front of a camera. 

Though you can’t see the audience through the blindfold.

A split second makes you question what are you even doing as this all feels so jarring. 

Maybe it’s the nerves and exhilaration talking since you’ve never done anything like this before. 

The faint hum of the stream setup, the occasional sound of Jin chuckling at comments while touching you all over—it all feels surreal. 

Yet, there’s a strange thrill in feeling the pleasure and knowing you’re putting on a show, even if your face is hidden.

“You’re doing great,” Jin murmurs, his voice low and velvety, just loud enough for the microphone to pick up. His hands grow bolder, cupping your breasts fully now, his thumbs brushing over the peaks through the fabric.

A soft sound escapes your lips before you can stop it, and your cheeks burn beneath the blindfold. You try to stifle the noise, but Jin’s hands don’t falter. If anything, he seems encouraged.

“Princess,” he says softly, a teasing edge to his tone. “I’m reading the chat, and I think the audience likes you already.”

The chat explodes with responses: “Ahhh she’s perfect omg.”“Her sounds are so hot....”“I want them both”“BigTuna really hit the jackpot!”

You swallow hard, your mind racing. 

They’re watching. They’re really watching. 

The thought should terrify you, but instead, it sends a wave of heat through your body. You try to focus on Jin’s hands, on the way he touches you. It’s oddly... comforting, like he’s touching something delicate with so much care.

“Relax,” Jin whispers, leaning closer so his breath brushes your ear. “You’re doing better than I thought you would.”

“Better than you thought?” you mumble, your voice shaking with a mix of nervousness and teasing defiance.

Jin chuckles, his hands continuing their slow, deliberate movements. “Yeah, you’re playing the role perfectly. Such a good princess.”

The praise sends another jolt through you, and you can’t help but arch slightly into his touch, the tension in your body loosening bit by bit.

Maybe you can do this.

Oh?

You surprise yourself with the realization. 

Maybe this isn’t as terrifying as you thought.

Your sounds become less restrained, the initial shyness giving way to something more natural. You can feel Jin relaxing too, his hands moving with more confidence now, as though he’s settling into a rhythm.

“See?” Jin says softly, his lips close to your ear. “You’re feeling more comfortable now, aren’t you.”

The words make your heart race, but they also spark something else: a sense of pride. You tilt your head slightly, letting out a breathy laugh. “You’re embarrassing me,”

“Really, now?”

Jin’s hands glide down your sides, his touch firm yet gentle as he finds their place on your hips. You feel his grip tighten slightly, steadying you as he guides your legs apart. The cool air kisses your exposed skin, amplifying the sensation and making you hyper-aware of every single movement.

“A-Ah!”

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, meant more for you than the stream. The chat goes wild, flooding the screen with reactions.

Jin shifts his position slightly, leaning in closer, and his hand drifts between your thighs. His fingertips brush lightly over the delicate fabric of your lace panties, and the teasing touch alone sends a shiver up your spine. Then, he presses against your clit through the fabric, rubbing slow, deliberate circles.

Your body reacts instinctively, a mix of retreating from the sudden surge of pleasure and seeking it out again. Your hips jerk slightly, causing you to grind against his hand and inadvertently press back against him. The dual sensations overwhelm you, pulling a soft whimper from your lips.

“It’s okay,” Jin whispers, his voice soothing yet commanding. “Just let me take care of you.”

He hooks a finger around the side of your panties, sliding the lace to the side and exposing your slick heat to him and the virtual audience watching you two. For a moment, he hesitates, his hand hovering as if savoring the anticipation. Then, with agonizing slowness, he slides two fingers into your warmth.

“O-Oh.. fuck…”

The stretch is perfect, his fingers curling slightly to find that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. Your head falls back against his shoulder as your breath catches, a low moan escaping your lips.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he mutters, just loud enough for the mic to pick up. 

The chat explodes again: “OMG, BigTuna has skills.”“I want to be the Princess pls”“Fuck, this is getting to me!!”

His fingers move expertly, curling and scissoring as he works you open, his thumb pressing against your clit in tandem with his movements. The combination is overwhelming, the pleasure building in waves that make it impossible to think straight.

Your hips move of their own accord, grinding against his hand as your body chases the release it so desperately needs. Jin leans closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You’re so perfect like this,” he breathes. “So responsive... I could do this to you all night.”

Your hands grip his thighs for support, your nails digging into him as you try to ground yourself. The sounds of your moans, the wet noises of his fingers moving inside you, and Jin’s whispered praises fill the room, creating a symphony of raw intimacy.

The blindfold amplifies every sensation, the lack of sight sharpening the sensitivity of your other senses. Jin’s fingers, already skilled, now feel like they’re working magic, their unique shape brushing and curling against spots inside you that send electric currents coursing through your entire body. The added vulnerability, the warmth of his chest against your back, and his deliberate, practiced movements have you teetering on the edge of control.

You feel yourself spiraling closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling in his grasp. Jin’s voice cuts through the haze, low and commanding. “That’s it, Princess. Let go for me. Let them see how good you are.” When Jin's low, commanding voice cuts through the fog, telling you to let go, it feels like a trigger being pulled. Your body reacts instinctively, trembling as waves of ecstasy wash over you. 

“Aah!”

You come undone, the climax hitting so hard and fast that it leaves you breathless. A gush escapes, but thankfully it doesn't spray, leaving just a warm mess against Jin’s hand and thighs.

“Holy shit,” Jin murmurs, his tone laced with awe and something darker. Though you can’t see his face, his voice alone tells you everything—the surprise, the admiration, the growing hunger as he processes what just happened. His fingers slowly withdraw, leaving you quivering, and now, feeling like jelly against his body.

“Can you move?” he asks softly, though there’s an urgency in his voice.

You can only manage a shaky breath, your legs trembling too much to respond coherently. Jin takes control, his hands firm yet gentle as he carefully lifts you. Your knees barely hold steady as he positions you so that you’re standing, hovering over him now.

“Stay still for me,” he instructs, his tone both soft and commanding. You feel the heat of his hands sliding to your waist, grounding you even as your body feels unsteady from the aftershocks.

From beneath you, you hear the rustle of fabric as Jin pushes his sweatpants down. The sound of his waistband snapping free is accompanied by the subtle shuffle of movement. Then, you hear him exhale sharply as he frees himself, his arousal now fully evident.

You can’t see it, but the moment he positions himself beneath you, the anticipation skyrockets. The blindfold robs you of sight but heightens the sound of every shift, every breath, and every movement, leaving you entirely attuned to him.

Jin grabs the condom from the table, his movements methodical as he tears the wrapper and rolls it on with practiced ease. The slight sound of latex stretching sends a shiver through you, anticipation building with every second.

“I’m going to enter you gently,” he says, his voice low and steady, though you can hear a thread of tension beneath it. “And I’ll help you bounce once you’re ready. Just listen to me, okay?”

His words alone send a pulse of excitement through you, your walls clenching in response. You nod, your voice caught somewhere in your throat as your breathing quickens.

With one hand bracing your hip and the other holding himself at your entrance, Jin begins to guide you down slowly. The stretch is immediate, and you gasp as the thick head of his cock presses inside, sending a mix of pleasure and pain rippling through you.

“A-ah, daddy,” you whimper, gripping his shoulders for support.

Wait, daddy?! Where did this come from?! Why is your brain saying this!

Despite the second of internal panic, however, Jin likes this. It’s riling him up.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, pausing to let you adjust before easing in deeper. Inch by inch, he fills you, his size forcing you to take your time. The sensation is overwhelming, your walls fluttering and gripping him tightly as he pushes further.

“You’re taking me so well,” Jin says, his voice filled with awe. He groans softly, his fingers gripping your waist tighter. “Damn, you’re so tight. I bet everyone watching wishes they were you right now.”

His words send a jolt through you, and your cheeks burn with both embarrassment and arousal. Somewhere in the haze of sensation, you hear Jin addressing his audience.

“Don’t be shy,” he says, his tone teasing. “My loves watching, have some fun while you watch us. You know you want to.”

Before you can process his words, Jin begins to move, rocking his hips gently upward as he helps you settle onto him fully. The stretch burns for a moment, but the heat of his cock filling you so completely makes it impossible to focus on anything else.

“H-Hah… oh my god,” you moan, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

“That’s it, let me hear you,” Jin whispers, his hands guiding your hips to rise and fall slowly.

“Mmn… Daddy, you’re so—ah—big. It’s too much,” you cry out, your voice breaking into soft whimpers as he starts thrusting deeper.

He starts slow, his hips rolling upward with a deliberate rhythm, but the drag of his cock along your walls sends shockwaves through you. Each thrust feels like it’s reaching a spot inside you that you didn’t know existed.

Spots that were never touched by Mingi.

“F-Fuck, daddy! Oh, oh god—ahh!” you gasp, your nails digging into his skin.

“You feel so good,” he groans, his pace quickening slightly. “So warm and tight. Perfect.”

The way his hands guide your hips while his cock stretches and fills you is almost too much. Your body moves instinctively, grinding down against him as his thrusts grow more powerful, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you.

“Ah! Daddy—please—ohh!” you cry, your voice trembling as he hits deeper with each thrust.

“That’s it,” he growls, his voice dark with arousal. “Keep making those sounds for me. Let them all know how good I’m making you feel.”

His hips snap up harder, the force of each thrust making your body jolt against him. The wet sounds of your connection fill the room, and your moans grow louder, more desperate, as he drives you closer to the edge.

Jin’s thrusts grow increasingly intense, your chest bouncing with each movement. The sensation is overwhelming, but it heightens when his hands leave your hips and slide upward. His fingers hook under the fabric of your bra, tugging it down to expose your chest fully.

A sharp intake of breath escapes you as his warm hands cup your breasts, his fingers kneading the soft flesh. His thumbs flick over your sensitive nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through your already overwhelmed body.

“Look at you,” Jin murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “You’re perfect.”

His pace doesn’t falter as he fondles your chest, rolling and pinching your nipples between his fingers. The dual sensation of his cock pounding into you and his hands on your chest drives you closer to the edge.

“Ahh—daddy! I—I can’t… I’m—!” you cry out, your head tilting back as the coil inside you snaps.

Your orgasm hits like a tidal wave, your walls clenching tightly around him as your cries fill the room. Jin groans loudly, feeling your release ripple through you, his movements stuttering momentarily to let you ride out the intense pleasure.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growls, his voice low and rough. “You’re incredible.”

You collapse slightly against him, panting as you try to catch your breath. Jin doesn’t move for a moment, letting you recover. Then, with a satisfied grin, he gently pulls out and moves the camera, angling it toward his bed.

“Let’s change things up,” he says softly, lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

He carries you to the bed, placing you down with care before his tone shifts, commanding and firm.

“Get on all fours,” he instructs.

Your heart pounds as you comply, positioning yourself on your hands and knees with your face turned toward the camera. The vulnerability sends a thrill through you, but there’s little time to dwell on it.

Jin climbs onto the bed behind you, his presence dominating. Without warning, he slides himself back into your slick heat, making you gasp loudly.

“A-ah! Fuck me!” you cry out, the sudden intrusion catching you off guard.

His hands grip your hips firmly, holding you in place as he thrusts forward, deeper this time. One hand slides up your back, pressing down on the middle of your spine and forcing you to arch further. Your face is pressed into the mattress, your muffled moans filling the air.

“You didn’t expect this, did you?” Jin says, his tone dripping with smugness. “Didn’t think I could be rough?”

The pace he sets is relentless, each thrust harder and faster than the last. The angle leaves you utterly exposed and vulnerable, but the overwhelming pleasure overrides any hesitations.

“F-Fuck! Daddy—ahh! S-So deep—!” you manage to choke out, your voice muffled against the sheets.

“You look so good like this,” he groans, his hand coming down to slap your ass lightly before gripping it firmly. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

The intensity builds with each thrust, your body melting under his control, completely at his mercy.

Your thoughts are a whirlwind of overwhelming sensations and emotions, a chaotic mix of pleasure, disbelief, and curiosity. Every thrust Jin delivers sends shockwaves through your body, the rhythm pulling you deeper into a state of raw, unfiltered lust. You can feel every inch of him filling you, stretching you, hitting spots that make your mind blur and your body tremble.

Your blindfold is a frustrating barrier, heightening every sensation yet leaving you longing to see what’s happening around you. How hot must this look, you wonder, your body arched perfectly, Jin’s strong hands guiding you like he owns every part of you. You ache to see his face, the concentration and lust in his expression as he moves behind you.

The thought only makes the knot in your stomach tighten, and you moan loudly, muffled against the mattress. You feel yourself unraveling, completely lost in the moment, and you’re not sure whether you’ll ever fully come back from this.

Jin’s steady rhythm falters slightly, and you hear the faint click of his mouse, followed by the low rumble of his voice. “Let’s see what they’re saying…”

He doesn’t stop moving as he leans slightly, keeping his pace just firm enough to keep you gasping and writhing under him. “Oh,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then, louder, with a tinge of embarrassment, he reads, “‘Choke her <3.’”

The words send a jolt through your entire body, and you involuntarily tighten around him.

“Fuck,” Jin groans, his hand squeezing your hip. “Did that turn you on?”

You bite your lip, feeling a flush spread across your face, but you don’t deny it. Jin chuckles, low and dark, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Princess,” he says, his tone dripping with authority, “are you open to their suggestion?”

You nod instinctively, but his grip on your hip tightens. “Words, Princess.”

“Yes,” you gasp out, your voice shaky but desperate. “Yes, you can.”

The next moment, his hand leaves your hip and slides upward, grazing the curve of your back before settling gently around your throat. His fingers press lightly, testing your reaction, and when you whimper in approval, he tightens his grip just enough to make your head spin.

“That’s my good girl,” Jin murmurs, his thrusts resuming their relentless pace. “You like this, don’t you? You like doing what I say, being my perfect little plaything.”

You can’t even form words anymore, reduced to broken cries and breathless gasps as he drives you further into madness. The combination of his hand around your throat and his thick cock pounding into you sends your senses into overdrive, the blindfold making everything feel even more intense.

You’re completely undone, your body and mind lost to him, and the realization of how far you’ve fallen only makes the experience hotter.

“Fuck!”

Your entire body trembles as the overwhelming release takes hold of you, leaving you gasping and utterly spent. The wet sound of your release hitting the sheets makes Jin pause for a moment, his thrusts moving out of rhythm as he processes what just happened. His hands remain on your hips, steadying you, but you can feel the tension in his body as he takes it all in.

“Holy shit,” Jin murmurs, his voice low and almost awed. His eyes widen slightly as he glances down at the evidence of your pleasure soaking into his sheets. It’s this sight that get him to reach orgasm, coming inside you, or rather the condom that wraps around his cock.

He releases your throat gently and slides out of you, leaving you gasping for air as your body collapses fully onto the bed. Your muscles feel like jelly, your limbs heavy as if they don’t belong to you anymore. How long has this been going on? An hour? Longer? 

How long do these streams even last?

You’ve never been pushed this far before during sex. It’s intoxicating and terrifying at the same time.

The blindfold robs you of all sense of time, and the relentless pace of Jin’s movements has left your mind foggy. 

The thought flickers briefly before being lost in the haze of exhaustion.

“Well, well,” he says, his voice a mix of amusement and something darker, “I didn’t know you had this in you, Princess.”

Jin chuckles softly, his fingers trailing lightly down your back as he speaks. “Tired already, Princess?”

You manage to turn your head slightly, your face flushed as you retort, “Not tired, just... letting you catch up.”

He laughs, a low, teasing sound that makes your skin prickle. “Being such a brat won’t get you anywhere, you know.”

You feel the bed shift as he leans over you, his voice dropping to a silky whisper. “Or maybe you like being put in your place. Is that it? You want me to remind you who’s in charge here?”

You shiver at his words, the teasing edge in his tone sending another jolt through your exhausted body. Jin pauses, and you hear the faint hum of the monitor catching his attention.

“They’re loving you,” he says, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Look at this.”

You can’t see the comments, but you can hear the pride in his voice, the way he’s reveling in the reactions pouring in. It’s a strange feeling, knowing so many people are watching you like this, but instead of embarrassment, it fills you with a strange thrill.

Why must you be so competitive..

Because really.. what did you just yourself into?

Feeling the ecstasy and adrenaline rush from this, you’ve come to understand why Jin does this on the side and the desire to keep doing it.

A perfect way to escape.

After about 3 hours of fucking and some 15-20 minute breaks, Jin lets out a deep sigh, his body still pressed against yours as he comes down from his own high. The sounds of the stream linger in the background—soft chimes of tips rolling in, the occasional comment filtering through the speakers—but all of it fades into a dull hum as the reality of exhaustion settles over you.

After a moment, he shifts, propping himself up on one elbow as he glances at the monitor. A lazy smirk tugs at his lips as he takes in the flood of comments still rolling in. “You all enjoyed that, didn’t you?” His voice is thick with satisfaction, a trace of smug amusement lingering as he reads a few messages aloud.

He exhales sharply, then runs a hand through his sweat-dampened hair before reaching for the keyboard. “Well, that’s it for tonight, lovelies,” he purrs, his tone slipping back into that smooth, controlled confidence he carries so well on camera. “Make sure to show your appreciation, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll give you another show soon.” His fingers tap a few final commands, shutting off the chat before he leans back, stretching his sore muscles.

With a final smirk toward the now-dark screen, he powers down the stream and turns his attention back to you.

Slowly, Jin pulls off the condom and ties it off before tossing it into the trash. His touch is uncharacteristically gentle as he shifts your limp body onto your back, brushing damp strands of hair away from your face. “You with me, Princess?” His voice is softer now, lacking the teasing edge from earlier.

You hum in response, barely able to lift your heavy eyelids. Your body is completely spent, limbs sprawled across his luxurious sheets, your skin sticky with sweat and the remnants of your shared pleasure.

Jin chuckles, but there’s warmth in it now, not mockery. “Damn, I really wore you out, huh?” His fingers trace absent patterns along your arm, grounding you as you try to steady your breathing.

Without another word, he moves off the bed, and you hear the sound of a faucet running. A few moments later, he returns with a warm washcloth, the bed dipping as he kneels beside you. “Let me take care of you,” he murmurs, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.

You flinch slightly as the warm cloth makes contact with your overly sensitive skin, but Jin is patient, taking his time to clean between your thighs with slow, careful strokes. The tenderness in his actions is unexpected but not unwelcome, it soothes something raw inside you, something you didn’t realize needed tending to.

Once he’s done, he tosses the cloth into the hamper and grabs a nearby hoodie, slipping it over your head before helping you slide your arms through the sleeves. The fabric smells like him—clean, warm, safe.

Jin lies down beside you, pulling you against his chest as he reaches for his phone. With one final glance at the chat, he ends the stream, letting the screen go dark. The quiet that follows feels heavy but comforting, a stark contrast to the past three hours of intensity.

“You did good,” he murmurs, fingers stroking lazily through your hair. “More than good.”

You let out a breathy laugh, nuzzling into his chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His fingers continue their slow movements, absentminded but soothing. There’s a brief pause before he speaks again, his voice quieter this time. “Did you like it? Doing this?”

Your body is still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, exhaustion weighing down your limbs, but there’s no hesitation in your answer. “Mm, I loved it. Felt so good.” You stretch slightly against him, a lazy, satisfied smile on your lips before your curiosity gets the best of you. “How much money did we make?”

Jin chuckles, the vibration of his laughter rumbling against your back. “Always thinking ahead, huh?” He reaches for his phone, checking the final numbers before letting out a low whistle. “More than I expected. You really put on a show.”

His words send a thrill through you, though your exhaustion keeps you from reacting much beyond a smug little hum.

Jin shifts slightly, pulling the blanket up over you both. “Get some rest. I’ll order us breakfast when you wake up.”

The last thing you register before sleep claims you is the steady rhythm of Jin’s breathing and the unfamiliar but oddly comforting feeling of being held.

-

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a/n: hehe oops, it's been taking me some time to upload because once again, i have start a new temp job. i hope you guys are liking this story so far and HAPPY EARLY VALENTINE'S DAY HEHE ❤️ ! we have 2 more chapters to go! the next chapter will be a bit smutty, but remember!! there is PLOT!!! and some angst involved but hey! we will get a good ending!! somehow... maybe... Aside from the next chapter, I will take a break from this series to 1) let it make it's rounds and find more audience interested (because engagement and interaction feels nice to read back as a writer!) 2) focus on another fic series because after all the crazy shit i added to chapter 5, i need my interest to recharge for the final chapter and plus i want to get other series moving and planned. i hope you all stick with me until the very end (which will be sometime later this year hehe). thank you all!

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist for future works! ➸ check out my masterlist for other fics I have made

[nyoomfruits]

Okay so I know how Landoscar are actually THE best ship to write as roommates to lovers but don’t you think a Lestappen angsty one would be simply lovely? All of the prompts you reposted last night could work, fr !

this is so funny you mention this because i HAD a super angsty lestappen roommates au in the works right before i got smacked in the face with my landoscar obsession which means it got abbandoned. it had charles and max literally going from enenemies to tentative aqaintances to friends to sleeping together to not speaking to each other for ten years before meeting again and going from hating each other to being friends to finally lovers lmao it was wild

[michameinmicha]

I moved almost all my stuff and so far it went really well!

We still need to put the closet back together and some shelves but all the furniture and boxes are here now (except bed and desk which i will buy new ones soon)

My friends are so wonderful and carried all my heavy boxes upstairs (theyre very strong wtf)

I havent arranged most of it yet, its all just randomly in my room, but that only makes sense after we put the closet together and see where it fits...

[indiegame]

damn living here really does suck

[leadon-illfollow]

I don't usually add onto a post, but some of my college experiences would probably make good au too

"I stayed up all night studying and barely got to sleep and you set the fire alarm off" au

"You invited me to come hangout and I was nervous so I had a couple of shots before coming over so now I'm drunk in your bed" au

"You didn't do that assignment until last minute now I'm mad bc you're the only one who passed" au

"You did the naked bike ride for earth day and now I know what you look like naked" au

"'I went to your room and you weren't there' 'did you look under the bed?' " au

my college experiences that would make great fic prompts:

“i thought you were my new roommate’s boyfriend so i casually invited you in but you’re actually the RA of the dorm and now you think i want to have sex with you” au

“i accidentally flooded the laundry room and you really needed to do laundry” au

“i took a bunch of free condoms from health services just because i could and they all fell out of my bag at once and now you’re staring at me weirdly” au

“we have to go camping together and share a sleeping bag even though we’re complete strangers” au

“the cereal dispenser in the dining hall broke while i was getting froot loops and now they’re all over the floor and you blame me ” au

“we argued so much during a class discussion that we both got kicked out and we’re still arguing outside of class” au

[vzyee]

sober night 2/3 sprayed imitation woman by amouage for the first time might write about it, eating godawful meal of mac+cheese noodles with tomato sauce (cheese was expired), watching eyes wide shut

[halfdeadwallfly]

reflecting............... i am rather unwell

[yoshistory]

also at my old job i used to get so exhausted i would just pass out when i came home. cant even THINK about the horrors when you work 12 hours a day 13 days straight 1 day off and then do it again. i sort of miss that

[augustinewrites]

yesterday afternoon - after an unsuccessful coffee shop date - you’d decided that dating sucked. it was much too awkward and formal and not at all like it was in the movies, putting too much pressure on the people involved.

last night - after watching shoko flirt her way into free drinks - you’d been tipsy enough to take her advice. 

casual sex! it doesn't have to be with a stranger, just pick someone you know. someone you’re sure you won't fall in love with.

this morning you’d woken up to find gojo laying in bed next to you.

you lay shoulder to shoulder with the one person you should not have picked, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the other person to speak. 

“did we really–” 

“three times,” satoru confirms happily, rolling onto his side to grin down at you. “i'm surprised we didn't do this sooner, really. our sexual tension has always been off the charts.”

when he leans in to kiss you, his lips meet your palm as your expression wrinkles. “don’t get familiar.”

“we’re naked together in bed– we slept together in more than the literal sense. can’t get more familiar than that.” 

“and this never happen again,” you promise, refusing to look at him. 

“why? because you’re afraid you’ll fall in love with me? it’s okay to admit it. i'm extremely lovable.” 

you’ve seen the way girls fawn over him. how they swoon over his pretty eyes and confident smile. he’s satoru gojo. a legend amongst jujutsu society. you’re no one in comparison, not a user of an otherworldly cursed technique, not from a major clan. 

people like him don’t fall for people like you. you’re afraid of rejection, afraid of being hurt. 

“we’re friends,” you tell him honestly. “i don’t want to risk ruining our friendship over something like this.” 

he tilts his head as your look at him. “shoko told you to try casual sex, didn't she? why not with me?”

“she told you?” you groan, dragging a hand down your face and making a mental note to never ask your roommate for advice for anything ever again. 

“hey, look at me,” he urges, grasping your hand. you do as he says, meeting his earnest gaze. “i can be casual and chill, it’s not like i have a huge crush on you or anything.” 

it’s so hard to say no to him. you really wish you could.  

“i’ll think about it,” you tell him, rolling your eyes when he fist pumps. “but you need to go home before shoko sees you.” 

but you’re dealing with satoru gojo, who almost never does what he’s told. “you’re not getting rid of me that easily. come here.”

he winds an arm around you, pulli my you in so you’re snug against his chest. explicit memories of last night flash through your mind, sending heat through your veins.

 “i can’t.” you tell him (though you’re mostly reminding yourself.) this is insane— satoru, what are you—”

you’re cut off when he shushes you, whispering let’s sleep in for a little while longer. 

he starts to drift off again as you struggle to escape his grasp, but your efforts are futile. even on the throes of sleep, satoru is stronger than you. 

so you give up, resigning yourself to a few more minutes of…cuddling. shoko isn’t a morning person anyways.

after a minute, you find it's not entirely awful. it’s a purely physical reaction. gojo is good looking, even with his hair mussed with sleep and his mouth hanging open. because you know that under the softness of his skin lays defined muscle, and spending the morning in his nicely toned arms isn’t the worst thing in the world. 

(it’s purely physical, is what your head tries to convince your heart, which is beating a little faster than usual.)

a very soft, content sigh slips past your lips. 

then, shoko knocks on your door. 

“hey! don’t tell me you’re too hungover for grocery shopping.” 

“shit!” you whisper harshly, shoving him away from you. “she cannot see you in here.” 

“afraid you’ll have to share?” he teases, narrowly avoiding being hit with a pillow. “okay, okay! where do you want me?”

“closet!” you instruct, scrambling my around the room to make sure none of his clothes are lying around. you thrust them into his hands, pushing him into your closet. 

he catches the door before you can close it, smiling down at you. “aren’t you glad we’re doing this?”

you shove him inside, slamming the door shut just ask shoko bursts into the room.

“hey,” you greet, trying your best to appear casual as you lean against the door. your heart beats in your throat, as she squints at you, then lets her gaze sweep across the room.

“did you bring someone home last night?”

“no.”

she looks at you. really looks at you, you think. 

“okay,” she finally says, though you can’t tell if she believes you. “i just– i thought i saw you leave with gojo. suguru said you two were flirting all night.”

“gojo and i?” you try to laugh, but it comes out a little strained. “never in a million years.”

shoko only shrugs, and you let yourself relax when she turns to leave…

…only for her to turn around once more, leaning the the doorframe. “well if you really don't like him, just let him down easy, alright? suguru told me he has a huge crush on you.” 

wait–

“gojo?”

you hear a sharp inhale through the door. 

“yeah,” she nods. “you really couldn't tell?”

gojo…has a crush on you. it takes a few seconds to truly sink in. “i had no idea.” 

“of course you didn't. he’s definitely got a really weird way of showing it.”

she turns to leave for real this time, but you wait a couple extra seconds before opening your closet, finding a wide eyed, blushing satoru staring at you. 

you can't help but laugh. at his expression, at shoko’s revelation, at this entire situation.

dating sucks, but maybe it won’t be that bad if it’s with him.

[scealaiscoite]

reasons for there to be only one bed ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍊 ꒱

¹⁾ they’re undercover as a married couple, and as such need to act like one

²⁾ there’s technically two beds available, but it’s freezing cold and everybody knows body heat works best

³⁾ it’s a camping trip, and one character’s forgotten their sleeping bag

⁴⁾ a character goes to their friend’s house after an emotional upheaval in search of comfort, and ends up staying the night - but refuses to kick the homeowner out of their own bed, resulting in the two of them sharing it

⁵⁾ in a roommate scenario, one character’s bedroom has been rendered unusable - and with the couch being unsustainable in the long run, they proffer sharing the one remaining bed as a solution

⁶⁾ there are two beds, but only one blanket

⁷⁾ a character’s taken ill, and the other party worries too much to leave them alone for even a minute

⁸⁾ in a fit of anger after a mission gone wrong, both characters sleep in the only available bed because no one was chivalrous to offer to take the floor

⁹⁾ a character’s had a nightmare, and needs company to feel safe enough to go back to sleep

¹⁰⁾ the weather takes a tumultuous turn, meaning a late night hangout has to turn into a sleepover when a character gets stranded there for the night

¹¹⁾ it’s a late night at work and when they both grow too tired to continue on, the only option is the lone office couch

¹²⁾ a threat’s been made against one/all character(s) involved, and so under the guise of safety in numbers it’s deemed safest if they stay together - everywhere

¹³⁾ one character joins the other for a late-night conversation, and ends up getting comfortable in their bed next to them - evidently too comfortable, as the char in bed falls asleep on the visitor and effectively traps them there

¹⁴⁾ there’s no bed in the shoddy refuge they’ve found after things went sideways, so when it comes time to sleep the only real choice is to stay close together

and, of course,

¹⁵⁾ it’s the last room available at the hotel after a long trip

[springtyme]

𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 ♡ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖! 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈

Simon catching baby fever, but you’re only roommates...

141 masterlist (there'll be a part two of this)

Before you, the only time Simon really left his flat when he was home on leave was to go to the gym or to go get groceries. 

He was content with this routine, he found comfort in the familiarity of it, and enjoyed the peace and quiet of his own space. Or at least that is what he told himself. This way of life had been sufficient for him for a long time, but as time went on he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. 

That is when Simon found himself considering the idea of getting a flatmate. He thought about it for a while, weighing the pros and cons in his mind. On one hand, he enjoyed his independence and privacy. On the other hand, having someone else around the flat could be a good thing, and he does have an extra bedroom in the flat that’s just collecting dust. Maybe it would be a good idea… Maybe.

After much contemplation, Simon finally decided to take the plunge and start looking. He posted an ad online, and waited for responses to come in. To his surprise, he received a good handful, he had actually not anticipated that that many, if any, would be interested in sharing his space. It is a little overwhelming, and as he goes through the applications he starts to doubt whether he had made the right decision. 

What if he didn’t get along with any of them? What if they were messy or loud or just generally annoying? It was a dumb idea to begin with, he thought to himself, but then as he looked through the last application, something caught his eye.You. 

You seemed responsible, tidy, and overall like someone he could get along with. But there was something more about you that intrigued him. Maybe it was the way you wrote about your love for cooking and how you were looking for a quiet and peaceful place to call home. Or maybe it was the photo you attached to your application, a warm smile on your face that made Simon feel at ease. 

Maybe this could work out after all. 

And work out it did, maybe a little too well. It has now been a little over a year since you moved in, and despite Simon being gone on deployment more often than not the two of you have become very close. You cook meals together. You watch movies on lazy nights, where you will sometimes fall asleep on the couch, your lashes kissing your cheek as the soft glow of the tv illuminates your face, and Simon can’t help but feel a warmth in his heart as he tucks the fluffy blanket, that you had brought with you when you moved in, over your sleeping form.

After you moved in, his flat feels more like a home than it ever had before. It’s like you were always meant to be there, filling up the empty space in his life that he didn’t even realise was there. 

There is something so oddly domestic about all the small things you do together – sharing a cup of tea in the evenings as you talk about your day, or even playfully arguing over who gets to do the dishes that night, even though he secretly never actually minds doing them. 

Pushing the trolley down the aisles of the supermarket as the two of you do the big shop together on Sundays are one of his favourites, though. Because he knows what it looks like from the outside – just a couple doing their weekly grocery shopping. The only thing that would make the scene even more picturesque would be with a little baby in the trolley, a perfect blend of the two of you, giggling and reaching out to try and grab for the items on the shelves as you both laugh and try to keep them entertained.

These thoughts will sometimes sneak into Simon’s mind, and he will quickly shake them away, reminding himself that it is just his imagination running wild. He can’t think like that, it isn’t fair to you or to himself. But still, the idea lingers in the back of his mind, growing stronger with each passing day.

It has started to get harder and harder to ignore these thoughts, these feelings. He tries to push them away, to bury them deep down, but they keep resurfacing. He never really expected to feel this way about you, about anyone, really. But now that he has you in his life, so close yet so far from what he actually wants to be he can’t help but dream about a different life, to have a family, a future, a life outside of the military and his flat.

Suddenly, Simon starts to notice more and more babies around him. Whether it’s at the park when he is on his runs, in Tesco, or even on TV, they seem to be everywhere. And each time he sees a baby, his heart aches with longing. It doesn’t help that your neighbours just had a baby, and he has to watch you coo over the little boy every chance you get. It is like a knife twisting in his chest, knowing that he will never have that with you.

It has always been a secret desire of his, a wish he knew he would never be worthy of having fulfilled. And yet, it linger in the depths of his heart, elusive and shimmering like a mirage in the desert. The dream of someday having a family of his own, of doing things right, of breaking the cycle he had grown up in. After meeting you, his dreams became more vivid, more concrete. 

He has fallen in love with you, and that scares the living daylights out of him. He never thought he would be in this situation, especially after all the sick shit he has been through. But here you are, filling up the empty space in his heart, making him yearn for a life he never thought he could have.

But Simon is good at keeping his emotions in check, so he continues to play his part, to act like everything is okay, like he doesn’t feel this overwhelming love for you that threatens to consume him. 

But late at night, Simon lies awake in bed, when he is sure you’re sleeping and he is staring at the ceiling, his heart feels heavy with the weight of his unspoken feelings. 

And when he tries to decompress, by fisting his aching cock in his hand, guilty thoughts of you will flood his mind, making him ache with longing. 

He knows it’s wrong, he knows he shouldn’t be thinking of you in that way. But the images of you, of your smile, of your laughter, of your kindness, they linger in his mind, fueling his desires. The way you smile and laugh and light up his life in ways he never thought possible, it fuels a fire within him so all consuming, so intense, that he can’t help but give in to it, even if just in the confines of his own mind.

And as he strokes himself, he can’t help but imagine what it would be like to have you in his bed, to feel your touch, to hear your moans of pleasure. He imagines what it would be like to hold you close, to feel your warmth against his skin, to hear you whisper words of love and affection in his ear. To have you beg for him to fill your womb and mark himself as yours. He would love it – to pump you so full with his cum, for it to take root, to see your body change with his child, to create a life with you, to have a family of his own. 

He will have to bite down on his own hand to stifle his groans and to stop himself from moaning your name out loud. It’s a dangerous game he plays in the silence of the night, as he knows that these feelings, these desires, can never be acted upon. But still, he can’t help but indulge in these fantasies, in these dreams of a life that he may never have.

And as he lies in his bed after, spent and worn, a sense of guilt wash over him. He knows that it’s wrong to have these thoughts about you. But he can’t help it, he can’t control it, and as he lies in the darkness of his bedroom, he can’t help but feel the sting of longing in his chest, knowing that you lie in your own bed just down the hall, so close yet so far away.

[b3ach-bunn7]

READ YOUR MIND

You're roommate and her boyfriend are incredibly loud, so you decide to spend the night at your hot friend Jason's house.

fluff, college!au, confessions, one bed trope

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It takes about twenty minutes of internal conflict before you find yourself outside Jason’s dorm room. 

You feel stupid. It’s not like you haven’t been in Jason’s room before. You guys were friends. He’d slept on your couch after a movie night gone too long, you’d stayed up for hours writing essays together on his bedroom floor. This was nothing weird, nothing new. 

But for whatever reason, today it feels different. 

It might be the fact that you’re seeing him differently. You’re not sure when, but the line between friend and something else has started to blur. You don’t know how you didn’t notice the strong slope of his jaw, the fact that he was probably strong and muscular enough to throw you over his shoulder. How funny he was, how kind he was. The fact he studied English, how smart he was at it. It’s really no one's fault but his own. You’re surprised you’d lasted this long without crushing on him, anyway. And maybe the way his eyes lingered a little too long on your own. Innocent touches felt like something else, a hand holding your hips as he stepped behind you, a thigh against your own as you sat in impossibly tight lecture halls.

Whatever. There’s no point looking at it like that. You love your friendship with him too much to let a little crush ruin it. 

If you were in any other situation, you wouldn’t be here. But it’s late and you know of all your friends Jason’s the most likely to be awake. You don’t want to bother him but you can't spend another night third-wheeling with your roommate and her boyfriend. That, and the fact that it gets particularly loud whenever you come to sleep. 

After a deep breath to steel yourself, you knock on the door. It takes only a few seconds before it swings wide open. 

And God, you take back everything you just said. Because he's wearing a pair of grey sweats, and an old band shirt that is showing off his delicious arms, and you don’t know if you can blame the fact it’s nearly midnight on the thoughts running through your head. His movements are slow, sleepy, as he blinks at you confused.

He pushes his glasses up his head, tufts of brown hair falling over his face. “Oh. Hey. Is- Are you okay?”

“Oh god, did I wake you?”

“Nah, you’re good.” He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms.

It takes a second before the words come out of your mouth. “I- Lily. She has- She has her boyfriend round, and I don’t sleep very well when he’s there.” You laugh awkwardly, scratching your arm.

You hold up the books and paper you brought with you. “You mind if I crash here tonight? I bought stuff to keep me busy, so I’ll be out of your hair.”

Jason smiles easily, pushing the door open further. “Of course, yeah.” 

You step in, thanking him as he grabs the stuff out of your hand and puts them on his front table. His dorm is so boyish. Him and his roommate, an eccentric boy everybody called Gar, were not the best at interior design. Their couches are dark grey with red pillows, jarring against the white carpet you’d bought them as a housewarming gift. The kitchen was an amalgamation of whatever plates and mugs they’d found at thrift stores, their fridge filled with pictures from Gar’s old polaroid camera. It was cute and very them, and a warm place to sleep that wasn’t accompanied by the sound of your roommate and her boyfriend doing whatever the hell they got up to alone.

“Thanks again. I can’t stand another night with those two.”

Jason snorts a laugh, sitting down on the couch. “It can’t be that bad. They’re nice people.”

“Yeah, sure. But all they do is remind me of how painfully single I am.” You huff, sitting beside him.

He’s close enough that you can smell the expensive cologne he wears. He’s shown you it once, a fancy glass bottle. He’s spritzed it on your wrist and the smell lasted all day. He nods at your words, and you turn your head towards the TV to avoid his gaze.

“That guy you saw last week didn’t work out?” 

Your eyebrows furrow. Honestly, the date had been crap, and you’d forgotten about him the second you’d gone home. You’re surprised he remembers. You tell Jason about all of your romantic adventures, hoping it will have some effect on your feelings for him. It hasn't been very successful so far. And while Jason looks disinterested as he asks you, eyes focused on the movie on screen, his leg taps up and down, and he looks a little restless. You think about lying for a split second, but you can’t bring yourself to do it.

You scoff. “I haven’t spoken to him since. He was boring. And stupid.”

Jason laughs, his eyes crinkling. “That’s rude!”

“He couldn’t hold one conversation with me! Like, I asked him what his favourite book was and he said Diary of a Wimpy Kid. We are nineteen years old!” You whine, hands covering your face as Jason cackles next to you.

“So that’s all women want. A man who reads?” There's a teasing lilt to his voice and you roll your eyes.

“Well, duh. I am studying English after all. I’d like to be able to hold a conversation with him about what I do.”

“That’s a fair dealbreaker, I'll be honest.” Jason hums, resting his arm on the back of the couch, brushing your back slightly. “Is that all you’re looking for in a man?”

The TV blares quietly in the background. Some random show on the food network where the contestant currently on screen looks like they're about to drop the tiered cake in their hands. His question rings out in the room, and you know you only have a few seconds before your silence is considered awkward. But you can’t help but think his question is so suggestive. Does he want to know why out of innocent curiosity? Or does he want to know out of something else?

“Well. Obviously not.” You finally say, bringing your knees up to your chest. “But English comprehension would be nice.”

Jason snorts a laugh. “That being said. He has to be funny. And tall, at least taller than me. And he needs to be smart. And fit. Like, physically.”

Jason watches you with a small smile on his face, nodding, like he knows you're just trying to describe him in a roundabout way. You laugh, a little nervous under his gaze. You reach across the couch and grab the remote.Your arm brushes against his leg and the contact is fleeting but it makes your skin burn.

“And all these guys at uni, and you haven’t found one who fits?” 

His voice is lower when he speaks again, and when you look at him he’s looking at you so intensely. And it’s then you notice that the two of you are sitting quite close on the couch, considering it's one big enough to fit about four people. 

“Well. Yes. I- Maybe.”

He just nods again. You take a quick breath in, quickly grabbing your book from the table. “Did you finish the essay for next week?” 

Jason groans, leaning his head back on the couch. “Fuck. No. I completely forgot.”

You wave your own essay in the air. “Well. I was gonna ask you to read over mine, but. Nevermind then.” You sigh dramatically.

“Shut up. Lemme read.” He takes it out of your hand, slipping his glasses back on his face. They’re thick rimmed lenses that make him look older than he is and you love them.

You watch him as he reads, fingers playing with his bottom lip as his eyes skim over your work. Some part of you feels the tiniest bit self-conscious, because he is a hundred times smarter than you, but you know he’d never make it feel that way. Jason suddenly looks up and his eyes meet yours. You smile, face heating, as he raises an eyebrow.

“Enjoying the view, sweetheart?”

“Shut up.”

You tap the edge of your paper. “Good?”

“Great. Can you write mine too?”

You snort. “You wish.” Jason pouts and drops your paper back on the table.

“It’s fine. I’ll do it tomorrow. Right now I’m hungry.”

You sit up immediately at that. “Yes. Let’s order food.”

Jason looks back at his kitchen. “I shouldn’t. I’ve eaten takeaway every night this week, I think. It’s also,” he quickly glances at his watch, “barely half twelve. What’s even open right now?”

You groan, shaking his shoulder. “Jason, don’t be responsible! I’m here, this is like a sleepover. We need to eat something junk-foody.”

Jason just frowns. You flick the centre of his glasses and he tuts. “Hey.”

“I’ll even pay! It’s on me.” You nod and pull out your phone. You’re opening UberEats before he can protest again.

“See. Burger King is open. We love Burger King!”

“We do?”

“Yes. What do you want?”

“A whopper.”

You spend the next ten minutes deciding and then the next thirty waiting anxiously for your food. The thing with Jason, and probably the reason you like him the most, is that you can talk to him about anything. Tonight, it’s his brother Dick’s birthday party. He leans in to show you the picture on his phone, and you try not to laugh at how unhappy he looks to be photographed.

When the doorbell rings Jason runs to grab the food, before bringing it back to the two of you. It takes another twenty minutes for the two of you to finish eating, old episodes of Friends humming in the background. Sleep circles your limbs and you yawn, sipping on blue slushy that had come with your order. It’s entirely too sweet and stains your tongue blue but you keep drinking it anyway.

“I don’t know. Bruce is always asking me to come over, but. Things are still weird.”

You nod. “Yeah, I get it. But it’s good you’re trying. I-“

You're cut off suddenly by Jason yelling and pointing at your arm. You screech, dropping your slush and shooting off the couch.

“What! Oh my god, what is it?” You yell, hands rubbing at your sleeves.

“You-“ Jason tries to speak but his words are cut off by a laugh. “It was just a little bug.” 

“Jason. That is not funny! You freaked me out, look!” You whine, pointing at the now spilt slushy all over your hoodie.

“Ah, shit. Sorry, sorry.” 

He gets up and grabs some tissues and you furiously dab at your hoodie. The couch is also now blue, and you frown. “There goes my bed, too. Guess I’m sleeping on your bedroom floor today.” 

Jason perks up where he’s blotting the couch. He frowns, thinking for a moment. “You’re not sleeping on the floor, what? Take my bed.”

Your hands drop to your sides. “Well what about you?” 

“I’ll take the floor. It’s my fault you split this, anyway.” 

“It’s your bed. I’m not gonna make you sleep on the floor.”

“Well, it’s my dorm so. I think I’ll have the final say, sweetheart.” He teases. 

You bite your bottom lip, thinking, and toss the used tissues on the table. “Why don’t we just sleep together?”

The tips of Jason’s ears turn a dark red and he looks a little shell-shocked at your words, before it’s replaced by a smirk. Your face flushes too, and you quickly shake your head.

“I- Not like that, I meant- Stop laughing.” You snap. But the sight of him laughing behind his hand makes you giggle a little too.

“I just mean, like. I don’t mind sleeping in the bed with you. I just- I don’t think there’s any point in one of us sleeping on the floor, if there’s a perfectly good bed that can fit us both, you know?”

You’re well aware that you’re rambling, and the way he tilts his head and smiles at you is not helping. He gives the couch one last wipe and stands.

“Alright. That’s cool with me if it’s cool with you.  I can also get you something else to wear.” He gestures at your now blue hoodie and you smile gratefully.

You’ve been in Jason’s room once or twice, to grab something or take a call. But this time it’s different, because you’re looking at his bed and you’re going to be in it in about five minutes. You ignore the band posters plastered on his walls, the messy stacks of books all over his floor. You sit gingerly on the edge of the mattress and wait. He comes in only a moment later. He starts rummaging through his drawers and you just watch. He glances at you over his shoulder and shakes his head, huffing a laugh.

“Stop staring. You’re making me nervous.” He whispers.

“Man up.”

He throws a hoodie at you and you catch it. “You know where the bathroom is.”

You walk into the toilet and quickly get changed. You leave your old hoodie in the hamper. Jason’s one is bigger and smells like him, and you don’t see yourself giving this back anytime soon. You give yourself a quick once over in the mirror, fixing your hair and wiping mascara from under your eyes, before you head back to Jason’s room.

When you come back, Jason’s already in bed, doing something on his phone. You linger in the doorway and he looks up.

“You want a formal invitation?”

You roll your eyes and shuffle your way over. You gingerly lift up the sheets and climb in. You are so painfully aware of how close he is, your shoulders brushing as he puts his phone to the side and lays down properly. The room is silent other than the two of you breathing. Just when you're about to speak, he beats you to it.

“Night.” He whispers.

“Goodnight.”

You’re not crazy, right? This is weird. Maybe if it was Victor’s room. A boy friend who was completely platonic, it wouldn't mean anything. But you’ve felt the tension between you and Jason, the subtle flirting, the lingering touches. You know that whatever is happening between you guys is not just friendship. And you have no idea if it's just you, because Jason is breathing so evenly you think he’s fallen asleep already. 

You shuffle a little in the sheets, uncomfortable. They smell like Jason and it’s not helping to calm your thoughts down. You turn around to lay on your side, and when you do, you’re met with a face right in front of you, looking back. 

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to adjust to the darkness and this close, you can make out the spattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose, the grey hairs he’s growing at 20 that he always complains about. His eyelashes are so long, and you smile sleepily.

“Hi.” 

He smiles too. “Hi.”

“I can’t sleep.” You mumble, eyes fluttering shut. “Those burgers woke me up.”

Silence. You don't get a reply. You open your eyes again and Jason is just staring.

“Is there another bug on my face?” You joke. But he doesn't laugh.

“No. You just look so pretty right now.”

Your mouth opens to speak, but no words come out. Jason looks like he’s telling you the time of day, so casual. He lifts up his hand slightly, and brushes a strand of your hair from out your face.

“I- Thank you.”

He doesn’t say anything again. You don’t know what to say. A silence settles over the room again. The two of you just look at each other. And just when you’re about to break it, he sits up so fast it makes you jump.

“Jason, what-”

“I can’t do this, I-”

You eyebrows furrow and you sit up, watching Jason flick on the lamp on his bedside table. The room is enveloped in a soft warm light, and his hair is tousled a little, his shirt wrinkled from how quickly he got up.

“What is going on right now?” “Did you know Gar isn’t home?” He says.

You say yes, because the fact you can’t hear him yelling at COD or something else, and the fcat he didn’t come say hi, is enough clue that he’s not home. 

“Right, so. When I made you spill your slushy, which was an accident by the way, I could’ve easily just let you stay in there. He wouldn’t care.”

“Okay.” You say slowly.

“And. I didn’t. Because I knew that you wouldn’t let me sleep on the floor and i wouldn’t either, and then we’d be in this position, and I’d finally get the chance to fucking tell you how i feel.”

“How- How you feel?”

“Yes. And then I pussied out and I just said goodnight, and. And then you looked at me, and, fuck. I can’t take it anymore.”

And then Jason turns to look at you, and he looks so desperate as he grabs your hands, his skin calloused as he tightens his grip. 

“I like you. A lot. And, you know, I’d like to think I'm pretty smart, but I know I am horrible when it comes to people, at feelings. So I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to say that.”

This is a dream. There’s no way this is real, that the Jason Todd, biceps and all, is confessing to you on his bed. You want to pinch yourself because the way his thumb is rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand is making your heart squeeze in your chest.

You watch those pretty brown eyes furrow slightly at your silence. 

“I- If you don’t feel the same way, I-”

You don’t think before you reach forward, palms grabbing his jaw and pulling him forward so you can press a kiss to his lips. And he barely waits a second before his eyes flutter closed, hands tangling in your hair to pull you impossibly closer. Your arms slide down to curve around his neck and you toy with the hair on the nape of his neck, and he groans. You finally let go and he leans his forehead on yours, kissing your nose, your cheek.

“I like you too, by the way. If the kiss wasn’t tell enough.”

He grins, boyish and handsome, and you want to kiss him again.

He sighs happily, hands slipping up the edge of his hoodie, eyes waiting for your nod of approval. When he gets it, he smiles again, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“God, thank fuck for Lily and her boyfriend

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

nia try not to write a college au mission impossible... I LOVEE JASON TODD! In my head any alternate universe hes not emo so i write him nice and cute.

thanks to all who voted in the poll! im gonna make my way through all the guys on that list so look out for it! next up will be shinsou because of a very nice commenter ;P i hope u all enjoy this, leave any fic ideas in my ask box!

[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! 

[lazyspeedy]

it’s funny bc he actually did take a polaroid of us lol