#were the lights ever on? or was that your own dream? you thought that was something you couldnt do.

[starless-nightz]

Remember me

note -> ACT 3 SPOILERS!!! I am NOT okay!

parts -> part one | [part two]

pairing -> Jinx X fem! reader, platonic! Isha X fem! reader

summary -> You will always remember them.

warnings -> mentions of death.

content includes -> angst, death, suicidal thoughts, Vi and Ekko appear.

Life with Jinx and Isha felt perfect in a way you never thought possible.

The three of you spent most of your days hidden away in your workshop or Jinxs lair because of her wanted status. But you never minded it. If anything, you cherished the quiet moments the three of you shared.

Your days together were filled with laughter and creativity—tinkering with inventions, sketching out wild ideas, and playing games that felt like they belonged in a world far kinder than Zaun.

On rare occasions, you’d venture out into the Undercity together, blending into its chaos and finding moments of joy in its grim corners.

And at night, when everything settled, you’d find yourself lying between them. Isha’s small frame curled up beside Jinx, and Jinx’s breath soft, her head laying on your shoulder.

You’d look at them, the two people who had somehow become your entire world, and feel a warmth in your chest.

In those moments, you let yourself believe it could last. That the three of you could stay like this forever—safe, whole, and happy.

But Zaun isn't a place for dreams.

And you were wrong.

You were so, so wrong.

————

It all happened so fast.

In one moment you were fighting alongside Jinx and in the next Isha was running towards Vander, Jinxs gun held tightly in her small hands.

You knew what she was going to do as she put two more hextech gemstones in the gun, and Jinx knew it very well too.

You two tried to get to her, calling out her name, trying to stop her from doing it, but you two were stopped by Vi, pulling you both back as you two despreatly called for the little girl.

The only thing you could do in that moment was watch as Isha shot a finger gun at you two before firing the real gun upwards, closing her eyes, feeling at peace knowing she was protecting you two.

And your world slowly started shattering into tiny pieces.

————

You knew you couldn't do anything.

You know you couldn't save her.

Jinx has already accepted her fate a long time ago, she wasn't scared of death and she made peace with it.

"Always with you sis." Jinx said as Vi tried to pull her up. Jinx quickly removed the hextech gemstone from Vis gauntlets, making them power off and letting Jinx go.

Jinx looked at you with a small smile on her face as she started fallling. You screamed her name as you watched her fall before an explosion went off.

And in that moment your whole world shattered into tiny pieces.

————

"Is there anything so undoing as a family?" you whispered, your words barely audible over the soft hum of Piltover below.

Your knees were brought up close to your chest, arms wrapped tight around them as your fingers absently traced the jagged edges of the bomb's shattered metal head of the bomb that had taken her life.

Vi and Ekko sat beside you in silence, their gazes fixed on the distant glow of the city. Neither of them said a word, and you couldn't bring yourself to fill the void.

They didn't know you well, not really; just a shared face in their grief, a faint reflection of their own shattered hearts. But in this moment, words didn't matter.

Each one of you had lost the most significant person in your life that day. A single point of light went out in a way that no amount of tears, anger, or revenge would ever balance.

Jinx was gone.

And nothing would ever bring her back.

————

You knew your couldn't bring Jinx and Isha back, you know that the hole in your heart will never disappear.

You stood in Jinxs destroyed lair, holding onto one of her explosions as you looked down into the abyss.

You didn't want to live anymore, there was no reason for you to be alive. The only two people that made your life worth living for were gone, and you couldn't bring them back.

You wanted to end your life.

But before you could leap from the ledge a voice stopped you, making your ears perk up.

"Whatcha doing, toots?"

[dnvrsmedia]

Worth the Fight

Sevika x reader

a/n: no descriptive terms used for reader!

warnings: slight arcane act 2 spoilers READ AT YOUR OWN DIGRESSION, hurt/comfort, domestic!sev, isha & jinx mention!

word count: 2581

Adrenaline thumps with a high pressure through Sevika’s veins. She can feel her heart pumping so hard she wonders how it doesn’t burst through her chest. This is not what she expected when Jinx agreed to breaking into Stillwater. The place isn’t necessarily the most welcoming (even though she is very familiar with the prison) yet, a ten-foot-something killing beast was not on her bingo card. At this point she wonders why she has any expectations when Jinx is involved.

These past few weeks, Sevika has wondered if this is what will finally kill her. If all she ever has been good for has been a soldier. First under Vander, then under Silco, and now? She tries to keep hope, but all she can feel is despair. The dark and looming feeling felt thick in her throat like the gray. Decaying her insides until she asphyxiates on its rot. That is until she comes home to you. All of her doubt leaves her body once she steps foot into your shared space. The smell of your body wash mixed with the candles you always have lit immediately relaxes her. Her shoulders no longer feel like it's holding the weight of Zaun once she’s home. Meeting you has single handedly given her a new wind beneath her wings.

Throughout her time fighting for independence, she quickly realized just how insignificant her life is, or at least that’s what she’s been told. She is always putting her life on the line for the greater good. She stopped fighting so that she could live the life she thinks everyone else deserves. Hell, she doesn’t believe she deserves half of what she is fighting for. Sevika knows she has done some unsavory things in her past. Things she won’t ever forgive herself for doing. Gods, Janna knows she’s been nothing close to a saint. There are things she’s done that haunt her in her dreams, and she thought she has come to terms with this fact. The fact that not all is good in love and war. Not all of the horrors she's experienced and been on the other side of producing were necessary.

She never saw a life for herself post Zaun independence. Ever since she joined the fight, she's only seen herself dying alone in one of three places: in a fight, in the brothel, and at the end of a bottle. So she drank and smoked and gambled and fought her life away, because it's the least she could do. She fights so that the next generation doesn't need to skirmish with each other in the lanes. She fights so that not another kid gets orphaned by the mines or the chembarrons, or shit, even shimmer, but fighting for her own life never even crossed her mind. Who could blame her if that is all she’s known? Her deadbeat father didn’t teach her the value of her worth, that's for sure. So, why would she bat an eye at her reckless lifestyle? Unexpectedly, that all changed. She didn’t see herself as valuable until you came into her life. You and your unabashed love for her. You and the light you bring to every room you step in. You and your confidence in Sevika to come back home to you. If Sevika is one thing she is loyal, and fiercely loyal she is to you. So when her priorities lied loyal to you, she was forced to come to terms she never even dreamed of having. The sole idea of growing old and having a love like in the fairytales made her feel like a young girl again. Yet, this led to turmoil within her head. She now has to break down all of the things she’s barred herself from receiving, all of the chances at a semi-normal life. She now has to realize just how much she does want to live, and that is where her true fears lie.

Sevika didn’t start consciously fighting until you opened her eyes to what love is. She couldn;t deal with the heartbreak she brought you when she came home two weeks late after the blast. She will never forget the sobs of relief you made when she hobbled into your shared space, the horror in your eyes when you noticed her arm missing. No matter how frustrated and full of emotions you were, you never yelled. This is when Sevika knew you were it for her. Many times in her younger years did she disregard the advancements of genuine connections from others. She would meet someone, enjoy their company for a few weeks and then essentially ghost them. Only to return weeks if not months later looking for some fun. This never bode well with her flings; leaving constant screaming matches in her wake left her ears ringing with a headache. So when she essentially did the same to you (under different circumstances) Seviks assumed the same would be with you. Yet, to her surprise you stayed. She never understood how a gentle love found her. She spends her restless nights looking at the silhouette of your face, wondering how and why you chose her. Her whole life has been filled with loss and pain, gentleness is not something she has ever experienced.

“Sevika, take her and go!” Jinx cries as she tosses Isha’s small and frail body into Sevika’s muscular one.

Her eyebrows knit together as her body moves before her brain thinks. She must’ve frozen at the sight of the large beast slaughtering several Enforcers. With no second thought, her body is sprinting as fast as she can. The young girl in her arm (that she has started to grow fond of) lets out a series of cries as she tries to wiggle out of her protective grasp. Her cries drive Sevika to find a way out of the prison. The whimpers of the mute girl bore into her brain as memories of her as a young child resurface. The tears dripping onto her bicep keep her moving.

Sevika is unable to produce words to the young girl. She curses as she knows that the words and emotions were more of your thing. Sevika wants to comfort her and tell her that Jinx will be okay, but even she doesn’t know that for sure.

So, she tries to think of things you would do to keep Isha happy. How your gentle presence allowed for the orphan girl to have a liking to you. She tries to caress her head the way you’ve done when putting her to sleep, but the lack of another arm leaves it more difficult. The best thing she can do is ensure the girl's safety. Sevika shakes her head and digs deep in her bones for extra fuel. Her body aches and has been aching extra hard these past days, but giving up is not an option. So, she thinks of anything but the carnage she just bore witness to and the heaviness of her legs slapping against the harsh concrete. Images of rare late mornings with you start playing in her mind. The sleepy cuddles with you raking your fingers through her hair and caressing her cheek play like a bitter sweet movie. The face you made when she came home with Jinx and Isha follows next. The softness that overcame your features when Isha peaked from behind Jinx’s leg left a feeling in Sevika’s chest that she never felt before. Warmth radiated through her heart like turning on a heater on the first day of winter.These thoughts carried her from topside to your shared home in Zaun.

The heavy footfalls outside of your humble apartment left your blood fall chill. Flashbacks to when Sevika came back from nearly dying left your heart beat pumping triple time. The door flings open to see a disheveled Sevika carrying an almost identical disheveled Isha. Your heart sinks as you piece what most likely had happened.

“Baby?” Your voice cracks as you walk closer to assess damages.

Sevika tries to hold on for you and for Isha, but knows if she speaks, tears will come. So she resorts to grunting. She hands Isha over to you and walks to the bathroom. You gape at her for a moment before springing to action. It isn’t until you feed, bathe, and clothe the young girl until you see Sevika step out of the room. You take that as a sign that she is ready to speak and you carry the young girl to the couch. Isha is knocked out at this point, you assume the combination of her crying and all that just went on really worn her out. You give the girl one last rub on the back and leave her with a kiss to the forehead.

You pass the kitchen to see the plate that you had left for Sevika to have been gone and in the sink ready to be cleaned. A small smile adorns your face as you are grateful for the fact that she was able to eat. You grab two glasses and fill them with water for you to bring to your shared bedroom.

You gently knock on the door before opening to see Sevika staring out the window. You make your way over to her side of the bed and rest the glasses of water on the nightstand. She doesn't even notice your presence until a small ‘clink’ of the glasses takes her out of her trance.

“Baby, what happened?” You take a seat right next to your lover, raking your fingertips up and down her spine. You can feel just how tense her whole body is as she sits rigid like a statue.

A shaky sigh is let out from Sevika as her eye contact remains looking at the darkness outside. The two of you just sit in silence for a bit until Sevika is able to start from the beginning. She lets you know just how terrified she actually felt at that time, she lets you know just how weak she felt without her arm, and she lets you know how you and Isha were the only things keeping her going. She lets you know how you were her north star and how without you, she would have just given up.

“I don’t even know what I am doing anymore, babe.” A stray tear finds its way down her cheek.

“All I ever do is fight and I just don’t know how much more I have in me. I'm tired…I am so tired.” More tears silently flow against your lover's cheek, breaking your heart at the sight. You caress her cheek, wiping away the tears she was too lazy to do herself.

Tiny cracks in your heart open like bullet wounds at her admission of her thoughts. You’ve known this to be true for a long time, yet being the protector that she is, Sevika never opened up to you about it. It is now time for you to put your strong face on and pick her up when she’s low, just like how she’s done for everyone else her entire life. You turn her face to look at yours, your tender hand contrasting her firm jaw. Sevika is reluctant to show you her brokenness, but she is just too tired to care at this point. Her eyes look past yours, darting around the room to find anywhere but your eyes.

“Look at me, honey.” You caress her cheek in hopes to coax her out of her mental prison. Your patience knows no bounds and that makes Sevika feel things she can’t even start to comprehend alone.

Her eyes trail to your own, swimming with emotion. She sees her future in your eyes and it scares her. You give her an encouraging smile and she feels her walls cracking.

“I- You’ve made me realize the things that I wish I could have and it scares me. I had nothing to lose for so long, and now I have so much on the line.” Her eyebrows furrow.

“Seeing the way you’ve completely changed my life confuses me. I know I don’t deserve a life that you are making me dream of.” Your eyes go wide at her confession to you.

“I never gave myself the opportunity to even imagine a world where I’m not alone, you know? But that day I came home to you after the explosion…It confused me. You have been the only constant in my life and I guess it just really hit today.” She nuzzles her face into your palm as you kiss the top of her head.

“Baby, you it hurts me to know that you can’t see just how much you deserve.” You lean in so that both of your foreheads are touching. Your eyes never leave her puppy dog grays.

“Because you know I am with you until the end. You are it for me Sev, you hear me? Whatever it takes.” You can barely get out the last of your words before Sevika is kissing you with all of the energy she has left. She may not be the best with her words, but she needs you to understand just exactly how you make her feel.

The kiss deepens as tears shed freely between the pair of you. Your bodies pressing close to one another, trying to engulf each other to become one. It gets to a point where Sevika has to pull away to catch her breath, but she doesn’t let you go too far. She stares at you in silence, taking in every aspect of your being.

“I’m terrified because you make me want those things. Having Isha here and seeing how you take care of her…” Sevika turns her head in slight embarrassment.

A huge smile adorns your face as you try and not scare her from opening up.

“Do you mean?” You whisper, afraid that if you spoke any louder you’d jinx (no pun intended) yourself.

Sevika’s face is hot with awkwardness at her vulnerability. She hasn’t spoken these words aloud to anyone, especially yourself.

“I want to keep waking up to you and Isha making breakfast. I want to keep teaching her how to tinker and fix things. I want to come home from work to see you both dancing in the living room. I want to grow old with you, baby. Seeing just how quick all of that could have went away, Gods that fucked me up.” She uses her hand to tug her hair away from her eyes.

“You were the only thing on my mind. I had to keep going for you and Isha.”

And now it is your turn to start crying. Your tears freely fall for the love of your life. The privilege you have had to see Sevika grow into the woman who is sitting in front of you.

“I want all of that with you, are you kidding me? You’re the woman of my dreams babe. Whether you like it or not you’re stuck with me.” You laugh teary eyed and smile at the smirk your lover returns.

The two of you share quite giggles as you both crawl into bed. The day is finally settling and Sevika is definitely feeling its effects. You hold her in your arms and try to burn this into your memory forever.

“So…you wanna be Mama Sev, huh?” You tease and laugh at her body going rigid.

Taglist:

@ab2ysw1fe

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@queenabrahel 

@caicreations

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@arevik2345

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@sevikellsss

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[ellecdc]

hey elleeeee

could i pretty please do 🐻 the sharing a bed prompt, “cuddling in their sleep” + “waking up with their faces centimetres apart”. with remus but theyre not together just pinNING for eachother and this happens.

consider it done

Remus Lupin x roommate!reader who cuddle for warmth and that's totally it [641 words]

CW: fem!reader, Remus sort of pining, but maybe it's not one sided!?!?, fluff, sort of a continuation from this post

Remus thinks he should perhaps feel a little guilty having taken advantage of the current situation; his original offer certainly hadn’t been a selfless one. 

Was the flat sodding freezing? Yes, it was. Would he have been up worrying all night that you’d died of hypothermia in your own bed? Absolutely. Was it indeed warmer having consolidated every blanket and pillow the two of you owned into one bed and sharing body heat to stay more comfortable? Damn right it was. 

But, it was because of all these aforementioned reasons that Remus felt it was perhaps a touch unethical to be enjoying his current situation as much as he did. 

The two of you were gripping each other’s hands and arms as if you were both afraid the other would simply float away had you not been holding on for dear life. The soft, cloud filtered light bathing your face in its glow; your head resting on one of his pillows he hoped to god smelled like you, now, that was but a few measly centimetres away from his own face. 

He found himself nearly holding his breath as though he was afraid to disturb the peace of this moment, one that he'd been fighting against yet secretly yearning for since he realised how much he enjoyed your presence; perhaps a bit too much to be simply considered roommates, or even just friends. 

He catalogued the way your eyelashes fanned from beneath your closed eyes and kissed the tops of your cheeks, fluttering ever so slightly when something would happen in your dream. He revelled in the way that you seemed to be smiling, even in your sleep; your lips relaxed and pursed ever so slightly as you breathed through your nose. 

Your nose - it was stupid and foolish and silly, but fuck - he loved your nose.

And this might well and truly be the one and only time he got to enjoy you like this, so sue him for what he did next.

He hardly had to move at all, really, he simply pushed his chin forward so that his nose bumped into yours. He was checking, you see, because he knew his nose was cold from the cool air surrounding your nest of pillows and blankets and body heat, but he needed to see if yours was too. He couldn’t in good conscience sit here and admire your nose if you were about to lose it to frostbite, now could he? 

Remus found himself smiling at the fact that your nose, for whatever reason, was slightly warmer than his. Good, he thought, I’d like her to keep her nose. 

“You’re supposed t’be sleeping.” You blurt rather suddenly for Remus’ tastes, still never opening your eyes as Remus rears his head back, though you strengthen your hold on his hands and arms so that he can’t actually move away from you.

“How long have you been awake?” He accuses you instead of admitting he was being a creepy fuck and watching you sleep.

You don’t answer him, though. Instead, you let out a languid stretch before releasing your hold of his hands in favour of wrapping your arms around his torso and slotting yourself against him; legs tangled with his and your nose - colder than the skin of his collarbone - pushing into his neck as you tucked yourself under his chin. 

“Go t’sleep, Rem.” You order him, tightening your hold around his chest as he allows his arms to cautiously encircle you in his own embrace; one hand splayed between your shoulder blades, and the other cupping the back of your head lovingly. 

He didn’t follow your order, unfortunately. But he did spend the rest of the morning wondering, hoping, nearly begging the universe that perhaps this might not be the last time he gets to enjoy you like this.

[etheraltides]

BITTER SWEET ᥫ᭡࿔

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x kook!thornton!Reader

Summarize: Rafe Cameron, a rising name in the business world, desperately needs a date for the wedding of the year. With a major investment deal on the line and his image at stake, he finds himself reluctantly turning to the last person he ever expected for help: Topper’s little sister, a girl he’s bickered with since he could remember.

Warning(s): substance use, cursing.

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love and support with this story. I’m pretty sure there’ll be around 4 more chapters before it’s over <3! You can find the previous chapters in my masterlist

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ Chapter four: Midnight talks ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

A heavy warmth rested against your side, pulling you from sleep. At first, the sensation was comforting — the faint weight of an arm draped over your waist, a steady rhythm of breath near your ear. But then reality trickled in, and your eyes flew open.

Rafe Cameron.

Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs as you registered the scene. His arm encircled you like a lifeline, his fingers brushing the silk of your nightdress. His chest rose and fell behind you, his face inches from yours, serene and completely oblivious.

For a moment, you froze, unable to move or think. The remnants of your dream clung to you like a fog—those piercing blue eyes, the rasp of his voice against your neck, his hands, the way his body felt against yours... God, no. You squeezed your eyes shut. Why him?

When you dared to glance over your shoulder, you were struck silent by the sight of him. The hard edges of his usual arrogance had melted in sleep, leaving behind something softer. His lashes rested against his cheeks, and the faintest crease tugged at his brow as if even his dreams carried weight. His mouth, often curled in a smirk, was relaxed and slightly parted, his boyish features hauntingly beautiful in the morning light.

Your stomach twisted, and not from disdain.

No. Stop. This is Rafe Cameron. He's arrogant, insufferable, and—

The soft brush of his thumb against your waist derailed your thoughts. Your breath hitched, your pulse quickening in a way that had nothing to do with annoyance.

You stared at him for a moment longer, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. Then you felt the heat rise to your cheeks. What the hell are you doing? Snap out of it.

Carefully, you shifted out from under his arm, your movements painstakingly slow to avoid waking him. He murmured something unintelligible in his sleep, but you slipped free and bolted for the bathroom like a criminal fleeing the scene.

The cold spray of the shower did little to quiet your thoughts.

Your hands pressed flat against the tiled wall as water streamed down your back, each droplet sharp against your overheated skin. It was just a dream. It doesn’t mean anything. It was the weed. Yeah. Not your own mind, the weed.

But the image of Rafe’s face, soft and peaceful, lingered behind your closed eyes. You remembered the weight of his arm, the heat of his body against yours. It had felt... safe.

Safe? With him?

You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head as the water cascaded over you. You hate him. Don’t you?

The truth bubbled up unbidden, a quiet voice in the back of your mind whispering things you didn’t want to acknowledge.

When you emerged from the bathroom, Rafe was already awake. He was sitting up in bed, scrolling lazily through his phone, his hair a mess and his t-shirt rumpled. His eyes flicked to you, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Morning, trouble.” His voice was still heavy with sleep, rough and low in a way that sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine.

You rolled your eyes, brushing past him to grab your bag. “Don’t start.”

An hour later, you found yourself seated beside Rafe in the convertible he’d rented, the wind whipping through your hair as the two of you drove to a nearby coastal town. The excuse had been simple—he needed to meet someone to “talk business,” and you weren’t about to let him go unsupervised.

But somewhere along the way, the lines of pretense blurred.

The wedding guests weren’t here, and for the first time, it felt like you weren’t playing a role. He held your hand as you strolled through a bustling street market, his thumb occasionally brushing yours. You told yourself it was part of the act, but the lingering touches and the way his gaze softened when he looked at you felt too real.

“Tell me something,” he said suddenly as you both stopped to admire a quaint storefront.

You tilted your head, curious. “What?”

“What would you do if you didn’t have to be... this?” He gestured vaguely, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. “The perfect daughter. The one who always follows the plan.”

The question caught you off guard. “I don’t know,” you admitted, hesitating. “I’ve never really thought about it. My mom... she makes all the plans. I just... follow them.”

His brows furrowed, and for a moment, the usual cockiness in his expression was replaced with something else. Empathy?

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You don’t have to live her life, you know. You can live yours.”

The weight of his words lingered between you, and when he reached for your hand again, you didn’t pull away.

The streets of the coastal town were alive with energy. Cobblestones stretched underfoot, flanked by colorful market stalls and bustling cafes. A faint saltiness clung to the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked pastries and the hum of conversation.

Rafe led you through the market, his hand brushing against yours more times than necessary. Eventually, he took your hand outright, his grip warm and firm. You told yourself it was for appearances, but when he smiled down at you – his eyes crinkling at the corners – it felt like more.

“Look at this.” He stopped at a stall selling delicate silver jewelry, picking up a bracelet adorned with tiny shells. He held it up to your wrist, his fingers brushing your skin as he fastened it.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as your heart stumbled in your chest.

“Buying it for you,” he said simply, the words spoken with a softness that left you momentarily speechless.

The day passed in a blur of easy conversation and unspoken understanding. You wandered through art galleries, shared gelato from a single cup, and lingered by the harbor as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

At some point, you forgot that you weren’t a real couple.

His laugh came more freely, and so did yours. His touches lingered a moment longer than necessary—a hand on your lower back, a brush of his fingers against your cheek.

As you sat on a bench overlooking the ocean, the question came.

The silence between you was broken by a distant church bell ringing out across the harbor. You both froze.

“Oh, shit!” you muttered, your eyes widening. “The wedding.”

His hand dropped from yours as he shot up from the bench. “What time is it?” he asked, fumbling for his phone.

You glanced at yours, panic rising as you saw the time. “Alright, don’t panic but… We’ve a little more than an hour before it starts.”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “How did we let this happen?”

“Because you distracted me,” you teased, already pulling him toward the street.

“Me?” he countered, laughing. “You were the one who wanted gelato.”

Your laughter blended into his as you both broke into a jog, the serenity of the day replaced by the frantic energy of rushing to make it on time.

“I’ll drive!” You shouted as you grabbed the keys from his hand before he could even notice.

“What? No.” Rafe tried to argue but it was already too late, you were already sat with a cynical smile on your lips. He took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose before he nodded, raising his hands in surrender. “Just don’t run over anyone, alright?”

“No promises, Cameron.”

When you stepped out of the bathroom, dressed and ready, his breath caught in his chest.

You were stunning. His chest tightened as if the air had been knocked out of him.

Holy shit.

Your eyes flicked to his, your lips curling into a faint smile, oblivious to the way you had unraveled him. Rafe swallowed hard, his jaw clenching to keep himself from staring too long. You were his fake date for tonight, his best friend’s younger sister, but in that moment, he couldn’t think straight.

He couldn’t look away, and when you finally met his gaze, the intensity in his expression made your cheeks heat.

“What?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious under his scrutiny.

How the hell am I supposed to focus on anything else tonight? He ran a hand through his buzz cut as he forced himself to look away, checking the hour in his phone.

He forced a casual smirk, masking the chaos in his chest. “Nothing.” His voice came out lower than he intended, almost unsteady. “Took you long enough.”

You rolled your eyes at him and turned in a slow circle, the hem of your dress whispering against the floor as you moved. “Wasn’t all that zeroes in your card worth it?” she teased, her voice light, playful, yet confident.

Rafe let out a sharp breath of laughter, shaking his head. You have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?

The reception was in full swing when the bride’s cheerful voice rang through the venue, calling for the people to gather for the bouquet toss. Laughter and playful shouts filled the air as the women reluctantly shuffled into position, a mix of excitement and teasing camaraderie setting the tone.

You lingered at the edge of the crowd, hesitant, clutching your glass of champagne. Your gaze instinctively flicked to Rafe, who stood near the bar, hands casually tucked into his pockets. He looked effortlessly sharp in his tailored suit, his tie slightly loosened, giving him an air of relaxed confidence. The corners of his mouth tugged upward in the faintest hint of a smirk when your eyes met his, as though he knew exactly what you were thinking.

You tilted your head, silently asking for his opinion, unsure if you should join the group or stay put. His response was maddeningly casual – a slow, deliberate nod paired with a soft, playful expression that seemed to say, Why not? Go on.

Before you could overthink, Mrs. Rossi appeared at your side, her warm hand on your arm. “Go, darling! What are you waiting for?” she urged, her eyes sparkling with encouragement. Her insistence left no room for argument, and you soon found yourself swept into the crowd, standing among the other women with your heart racing for reasons you didn’t quite understand.

The bride counted down, laughter bubbling through the group. You weren’t even trying to catch it, honestly — you’d positioned yourself slightly off-center, hoping to avoid the chaos of the toss. But then, as if the universe had a sense of humor, the bouquet arced through the air, its trajectory unmistakable. Time seemed to slow as the flowers came straight toward you. Reflexively, your hands shot up, and before you could even process what had happened, the bouquet was in your grasp.

Gasps and cheers erupted around you as the realization hit. You’d caught it. You.

A flush crept up your cheeks as you stared down at the vibrant arrangement in your hands, disbelief mingling with a strange fluttering in your chest. You barely registered the playful teasing from the other women, their laughter ringing in your ears like background noise. Instead, your gaze instinctively sought him – Rafe – as if sharing this ridiculous moment with him would somehow make it feel less surreal.

He was already watching you, his expression unreadable, his jaw set in that way that made it impossible to know what he was thinking. But his eyes… there was something in his eyes. Amusement, maybe, but also something deeper, something that made your stomach flip. You couldn’t look away, and for a fleeting second, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

A hand clapped Rafe on the shoulder, breaking the moment. Mr. Rossi stood beside him, his jovial tone carrying over the noise of the crowd. “You know, Rafe,” he said thoughtfully, his gaze flicking between the two of you, “it’s not just the way you look at her. It’s the way you look when you’re with her. Like you’ve finally found something worth holding onto.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, the words settling into him like a slow burn. He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze still locked on you as you turned back to the group, smiling awkwardly under the attention. But the weight of Rossi’s comment hung heavy in the air, sinking into his chest like an undeniable truth he wasn’t ready to face.

The music shifted, soft and slow, the kind that seemed to pull couples toward the dance floor. The warm glow of fairy lights overhead cast a dreamy haze over the reception, and the low hum of conversation faded as pairs gravitated toward the center.

You had been lingering at the edge of the crowd, half-watching, half-lost in your thoughts, when Rafe appeared in front of you. His hand extended toward you, his lips curving into a crooked smile that somehow managed to be both confident and disarming.

“Shall we?” he asked, his voice low and inviting, yet tinged with a playful challenge, as if daring you to say no.

You hesitated, your eyes darting between his hand and his face. There was an expectant look in his eyes – not demanding, not pushy, but enough to make refusal feel impossible. Against your better judgment, you placed your hand in his, his touch warm and steady against your palm.

The moment his other hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer, the world seemed to blur. The noise of the reception melted into the background, leaving only the music and the subtle pressure of his touch. His hand was firm yet gentle, his fingers splayed against the fabric of your dress, grounding you in a way that made your pulse quicken.

You tried to focus on the steps, on not stepping on his toes, but it was impossible to ignore the way his breath brushed against your hair, warm and steady. When you finally dared to look up, your gaze collided with his. He was already watching you, his eyes soft and searching, like he was trying to figure out something he didn’t quite understand.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the strains of the music. You weren’t sure where the words came from – maybe from the vulnerability of the moment, maybe from the way his gaze made you feel so unsteady, so seen.

“Like what?” he asked, his lips quirking into a teasing smile. But his eyes – they were anything but teasing. There was something unreadable in them, something that made your heart race even faster.

“Like… that.” you managed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Flustered, you dropped your gaze and rested your head on his shoulder, hoping to hide your face from his relentless attention. His scent surrounded you, clean and faintly woodsy, and you found yourself drawing in a shaky breath.

His laugh was quiet, rumbling through his chest and reverberating against you. “Whatever you say, trouble.” he murmured, his voice tinged with amusement and something else, something deeper.

And just like that, you were lost – lost in the music, in his touch, in the way the moment felt impossibly… right.

The waves crashed against the shore far below, their rhythmic sound filling the stillness of the night. The balcony was bathed in moonlight, the faint breeze carrying the salty tang of the ocean. You leaned back against the cool glass railing, your silk pajama set whispering against your skin with every movement.

Rafe sat beside you, legs stretched out in front of him, his back resting against the wall. He wore a simple t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, but somehow he made it look effortlessly good. A faint trail of smoke curled up from the blunt in his hand, glowing faintly in the dark.

You reached for it, your fingers brushing his as he passed it to you.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, his voice low and lazy, softened by the late hour and the haze between you.

“I’m just... thinking,” you replied, exhaling a cloud of smoke and watching it dissolve into the night. The waves below seemed to match the slow rhythm of your heartbeat, lulling you into a calm you hadn’t felt in ages.

“Dangerous,” he teased, his lips curving into a small smirk as he tilted his head to look at you. His gaze lingered a second too long, tracing the line of your neck, the delicate fabric of your pajama top that clung to your skin.

You didn’t miss the way his smirk faltered, his jaw tightening slightly as he forced himself to look away.

“What?” you asked, arching a brow, but there was a playful lilt to your tone.

“Nothing.” His voice was gruffer now, and he ran a hand through his hair as if to distract himself.

A comfortable silence settled between you, punctuated only by the sound of the waves and the occasional flick of the lighter as one of you reignited the blunt. It was the kind of quiet that only came late at night, when the world felt smaller and safer, and conversations flowed in ways they wouldn’t in the daylight.

“Do you ever think about how weird it is that the moon controls the tides?” you mused, passing the blunt back to him.

Rafe chuckled, his shoulders shaking slightly. “You’re high.”

“Yeah, well, so are you,” you shot back, a grin tugging at your lips.

“Fair enough.” He took a drag, leaning his head back against the wall as he exhaled slowly. “But yeah, I guess it is kind of weird. Like, how does something so far away have that much power?”

You turned to look at him, your expression softening as you watched the way his features caught the moonlight. “Maybe everything has more power than we think,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

He glanced at you then, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

For a while, neither of you spoke, content to sit in the quiet. Then, out of nowhere, you broke the silence.

“Art.”

Rafe blinked, turning his head to look at you. “What?”

“That’s what I’d do,” you said, your voice quieter now. “If I could live my own life. If I didn’t have to follow anyone else’s plans.”

He straightened slightly, his attention fully on you now. “You’d do art?”

You nodded, your gaze fixed on the waves below. “I’d study art. Paint, photograph... create things that mean something. I’d open my own gallery someday, fill it with my work.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, and you risked a glance at him. The look on his face made your breath catch.

There was something new in his expression, something that hadn’t been there before. His usual cocky smirk was gone, replaced by a mix of surprise, admiration, and... something deeper. Desire, maybe.

“What?” you asked, your voice softer now, almost hesitant.

He muttered something under his breath, too low for you to catch.

You frowned slightly, leaning closer. “What did you say?”

Instead of answering, he reached for the blunt in your hand, but his fingers didn’t close around it. Instead, they brushed against yours, lingering just a moment too long.

The air between you shifted, the playful haze of the night dissolving into something charged. His eyes searched yours, his hand still grazing yours, and before you could fully process what was happening, he moved.

In one fluid motion, he pulled you onto his lap, his hands settling firmly on your waist as he looked up at you.

“Rafe—”

Whatever you were going to say was swallowed by his lips on yours.

The kiss was intense, a culmination of everything the two of you had held back over the years. His fingers tightened on your waist, pulling you closer, and your hands instinctively found their way to his shoulders, steadying yourself as the world tilted.

He kissed you like he’d been waiting for this moment forever, like he couldn’t get enough. And for the first time, you didn’t fight it.

Your fingers slid into his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you deepened the kiss, pouring all the unspoken words and buried feelings into the moment. His hands slid up your back, his touch firm and possessive, and you felt yourself melting against him.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, the weight of what had just happened settling between you.

Rafe’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes half-lidded as he gazed at you.

“You should do it,” he murmured, his voice rough.

“Do what?” you whispered, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

“Everything you just said. Art, the gallery... all of it. Screw what anyone else wants.”

Your heart swelled at the conviction in his voice, but before you could respond, he kissed you again, silencing any lingering doubts.

The waves crashed below, steady and unrelenting, but up here, the world felt still, quiet. Your forehead rested against Rafe’s, your breaths mingling in the cool night air. His hands hadn’t moved from your waist, his grip grounding you, steadying you even as your heart raced.

His words stayed with you, lingering in the space between you, but it wasn’t just what he said — it was how he looked at you. Like you were someone worth believing in.

Your fingers, still tangled in his hair, tightened slightly as you searched his eyes. “You make it sound so simple,” you whispered.

His lips curved into the faintest smile, one that didn’t hold its usual arrogance. “Maybe it is,” he said softly. “You just need someone to remind you.”

The intensity in his gaze was almost too much, and you broke eye contact, letting your forehead drop to his shoulder. But even as you did, you felt the tension humming between you, thick and electric. His hands shifted slightly, sliding higher on your waist, the warmth of his touch bleeding through the silk of your pajamas.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, your name falling from his lips like a plea.

You lifted your head to look at him, and the moment your eyes met, everything else fell away. His gaze dropped to your lips, and your breath hitched as his thumb brushed against your side, a touch so light it could have been accidental—except you both knew it wasn’t.

“Rafe...” you started, but his name came out softer than you intended, a whisper that held too much.

It undid him.

Before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours, not with the urgency of before but with a deliberate, consuming hunger. His kiss deepened slowly, his hands tightening their hold on you as if he couldn’t bear to let you go.

The cool night air was a stark contrast to the heat building between you. His hands slid from your waist to your thighs, gripping them as he pulled you closer on his lap, and you gasped into his mouth as you felt him underneath you.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead still pressed to yours as his breath came in short, ragged bursts.

“Are you sure?” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the crash of the waves.

You searched his face, your heart pounding so loudly you could barely think. But there was no hesitation when you nodded, your fingers sliding down to rest against his chest.

“Yes,” you whispered.

And then his lips were on yours again, and this time, there was no holding back.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

TAGLIST: @megiiite @melsunshine @maybankslover @wearemadeofstardust0 @lilithblackkk @slutforoldermen @louxmcl @peter-parkers-gf @yootvi @v4mp1rr3

[kinzhae]

"Revenge."

Gojo X Fem!Reader, bullying, being not accepted in society, mentions of dying, reader is dead, angst.

Part 2

You entered Jujutsu High with nothing but hope, youthful optimism, and a burning desire to become stronger. From a young age, you knew that the world of curses was dangerous, but you also knew that you had the potential to make a difference. You had always been different—powerful in ways most couldn't understand.

But as the days turned into weeks, then months, the cracks began to show. The walls that had been built around you were becoming harder to climb, and soon, they felt insurmountable. Jujutsu High wasn't the sanctuary you'd dreamed of. Instead, it felt like a cage.

It started with the whispers—quiet at first, but they grew louder over time. You weren’t part of the group, you weren’t fitting in. Some of the students treated you as if you were invisible, while others mocked you. No one cared about your struggles. No one cared about your power.

And Gojo Satoru, your childhood friend, the one person you thought would always be there for you, had begun to distance himself. It wasn’t a dramatic change at first. He was still the same arrogant, smiling, unbeatable force he had always been. But his smiles grew rarer when he looked at you, and the warmth in his eyes began to fade.

You had always admired his strength, his carefreeness. But now, when you reached out to him, there was only a coldness. He was a legend in the making, the strongest sorcerer of his generation, and you? You were nothing more than an annoyance in the eyes of your peers.

“Gojo,” you called out to him one afternoon during a training session, your voice tinged with frustration. “Why are you avoiding me?”

Gojo barely glanced your way, focusing instead on his own training, his ever-present smirk not faltering. “I’m not avoiding you. Just… don’t need to be weighed down by your problems right now,” he said lightly, his eyes never meeting yours.

His words stung, but you swallowed the hurt. You were strong. You didn’t need anyone’s pity.

The final blow came one fateful day when the principal, his voice as stern as ever, called you into his office. The harsh words hit you like a physical blow.

“You’re a liability to the school. You don’t fit in here. You’re wasting your time and our resources. Leave before I expel you.”

You stood there in stunned silence. You had already spent countless nights training, struggling to prove yourself. And yet, here you were. Cast aside, rejected. Your place at Jujutsu High was no longer there. You left, your dreams shattered, your heart broken.

Months had passed since you left Jujutsu High, your once bright dreams now a distant memory. Shibuya had become your new home—a sprawling city of noise and chaos. It was a place where you could get lost in the crowd, unnoticed by all. But even amidst the bustle, you couldn’t shake the memories that lingered. The days of your failures, the mockery, the cruel words that haunted your mind every night.

“You’re just not cut out for this.”

“Why don’t you just quit? You’re a burden.”

“Maybe Jujutsu High isn’t for you after all…”

The voices of your classmates, the whispers that had been too quiet to confront before, were now an incessant hum in your mind. They taunted you, mocking every decision you made. The laughter, the looks of disdain, it all came flooding back, relentless, suffocating. You had hoped the world outside would be different, but the ache remained, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t outrun your past.

As you walked the crowded streets of Shibuya one evening, the neon lights flickering overhead, your heart weighed heavily. You were exhausted—not just physically, but emotionally. The power inside you was growing, a dark energy you couldn’t control. You had tried to ignore it, but it was no use. The pain of rejection was too deep, too raw, and now it was becoming something else—something darker.

And then, it appeared.

A special grade curse, a twisted amalgamation of everything dark and vile in the world. It was a creature formed from pure malice, a manifestation of all your pain and hatred. You didn't even have time to react before it pounced on you, its claws like daggers, piercing your heart with a sickening crunch.

The last thought that crossed your mind before everything went black was, "I’m finally free..."

You awoke, but not as you had once been. The world around you felt alien—distant. Your body no longer belonged to you. It was cold, empty. You could feel the darkness inside, a consuming rage that clawed at your mind. The curse that had taken your life had corrupted you, but it had also given you a purpose.

A voice called to you from the depths of your anger, your anguish—a voice that was both foreign and familiar. "Get revenge."

It echoed in your skull, louder than anything else, drowning out your former self. You wanted to resist, but you couldn't. The urge to destroy, to make those who had wronged you suffer, consumed you. The anger you had buried deep inside for so long had now turned into something deadly, something that could not be quenched.

You began to wander the streets, your cursed energy seeping into the surroundings, infecting everything in its path. And as you walked, you couldn’t shake the memories of Jujutsu High. Of the whispers. Of the betrayal.

“She’s just a weakling. She’ll never be one of us.”

“Did you hear? She’s being a burden to the school. They should just expel her.”

“I heard they’re going to kick her out... can you imagine? What a joke.”

These voices—your classmates, your so-called friends—had condemned you in ways more hurtful than any physical blow. They hadn’t just rejected you; they had belittled you, made you feel small, worthless. And in that moment, as you felt the curse’s power grow stronger within you, you realized one thing: you could never go back. There was no redemption for someone like you, not after everything you’d endured.

A sinister laugh bubbled up from deep inside your throat, your curse’s voice blending with your own. "Revenge…" you whispered. "I will make them all pay."

And as the energy around you swirled, you knew who your first target would be.

@tartartagliaboo

[tomsparkyr]

𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐀 [𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐓]

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

summary: when coach tells people the room requirements and the 'no sexual perversions perpetrated' rule by the so-called 'little deviants', it only makes the couple want to break that rule even more.

stiles stilinski x fem!reader (no smut sorry babies)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You were nestled into your boyfriend's neck, the soft flannel material brushing against your cheek and the scent you knew all too well, all of the senses could have made your eyes flutter back closed. You felt a small nudge on your shoulder, groaning and shrugging off the contact, you decided to ignore Stiles’ silent request for you to lift your head up.

It wasn’t until you felt his warm touch brush the hair that had fallen in front of your face away and the palm of his hand stroke your cheekbone, you pulled away from his contact and looked up at him.

His brown eyes looked into your own and he smiled softly at you. He couldn’t help but think you were the most beautiful person he’s ever laid his eyes on. He couldn’t believe he was going out with someone like you. You were beautiful in and out, hence his gut-wrenching crush he’s had on you since the 3rd grade. After long years of pining and certain dreams, he couldn’t thank the supernatural world for existing more as he finally got a chance with you; and boy, did he take it.

At the beginning of your relationship, Scott thought Stiles was joking when he said he kissed you, and you actually kissed him back. He just laughed, patted him on the shoulder and moved on with the subject.

“No, Scott! I’m not kidding.” Stiles said, almost offended. But then he sobered his thoughts and kind of understood Scott because it had taken him 3 hours after your kiss to finally process that he had grown the balls to do that, and apparently you liked it too.

Scott paused momentarily, “Neither am I Stiles, we need to focus on--” Stiles sighed dramatically and flailed his arms around in desperation. Scott paused mid-sentence, tilted his head and waited for his best friend to continue.

“Scott, I kissed her. Like, I actually kissed her!” Stiles smiled widely. Scott remained unconvinced, blinking slowly and scrunched his brows. “You know, when you put your lips on someone else's--”

“Yes, Stiles! I know what kissing is!” The werewolf exasperated, he shook his head. “I just don’t believe it was with her. Y/N? Head cheerleader, popular, smart, way out of your league Y/N?”

“You better believe it, Scotty.” Stiles patted his hand rhythmically on Scott’s back as he began to walk away, intending to walk to his beautiful girlfriend's house. 

Scott grabbed onto Stiles’ flannel and yanked him back for more details, “You mean ‘I’ve had a crush on her since 3rd grade, I wish she would look my way and we would get married and have kids’ Y/N?” Scott grew a proud smile the more he said, knowing how down bad his best friend was for this girl.

Stiles nodded frantically and adjusted his flannel, “And she actually kissed you back?” Scott questioned. “Scott, I think 3rd grade me died a little bit when she held my hand, let alone kiss me back.” Stiles jokes.

The two boys looked at each other before high fiving and doing their ‘bro-hug’. Scott congratulated the boy, not hiding his pure excitement for his friend; borderline jumping for joy. The boys gushed over the new relationship for a few more minutes before Stiles snapped out of it and ran out the room, shouting behind him saying he had to get back to his girlfriend who was waiting for him. Scott doing a subtle fist pump as Stiles turned his back.

“Wake up, baby,” He whispered, not wanting to disturb you too much as you wiped the grogginess and sleep off your face. You looked at your surroundings, “We here?”

Stiles looked out the window of the bus, eye twitching at the surroundings. “Not quite…” 

The motel looked uncomfortable, old and just overall, definitely violating hundreds of safety codes. The poor attempt at the neon lights brightened up the place in the darkness outside, but did little to make the atmosphere any more homely. But he knew it would be fine for one night, as long as you were by his side the entire night.

Everyone began piling out of the bus, a couple of your friends passing you and giving you two a wink as they noticed the state you and your boyfriend were in; cuddled up close, hands intertwined and Stiles admiring you as if you had hung the stars in the sky. Even in this messed up supernatural world, Stiles found beauty in the horror; and that was you.

Stiles helped you off the bus, his hands never leaving you. He slung an arm around your waist as you stepped onto the concrete and became aware of your surroundings. 

It was clear you had the same initial thoughts as Stiles as he read your body language. He rubbed his thumb on the skin between your top and the jeans that hugged your figure, leaning in and kissing the top of your forehead.

As you walked towards your friends and addressed Lydia’s discomfort at the Motel, Stiles had sneaked behind you and hugged you from behind. He rested his head on top of yours and you leaned back into his chest; his arms were locked around your front and you rested your hands on top of his, sighing into the contact.

It felt like you were in a dream, you never wanted to leave this comfortability with Stiles, he was the best boyfriend you could ever ask for.

The Coach’s whistle broke you out of your bliss, snapping your attention to him as he turned away from the Motel and faced the angsty teenagers. 

“Listen up. The meet’s been pushed till tomorrow.” You groaned quietly and nestled backwards into Stiles’ chest, he smiled at you. “This is the closest Motel with the most vacancies and least amount of good judgement when it comes to accepting a bunch of degenerates such as yourselves.”

You would protest Coach’s point, but he was completely correct, actually. Who the hell would want 20 odd, hormonal teenagers who definitely have questionable things packed in their bags to stay in your Motel?

“Now, you’ll be pairing up. Choose wisely.”

You and Stiles look at each other, untangling yourself from his hold and intertwining your hands. You pulled him over to the Coach, not seeing Scott raise his brows at Stiles’ smirking face at the idea of spending a night with you in your own room, no parental interruptions, no supernatural; just a boyfriend and girlfriend in each other's company.

Coach noticed the two of you approaching like a couple on their honeymoon and felt the need to clarify something.

“And I’ll have no sexual perversions perpetrated by you little deviants, got that? Keep your dirty little hands to your dirty little selves!” He shouted, looking directly at you. “Especially you, Stilinski and Y/L/N!”

You two dropped your hands expectantly, reluctantly taking a key for different rooms. The boy sighed at you and leaned in to kiss you before you departed over to Lydia and Alisson.

The sound of the Coach’s whistle made you two jump apart before your lips touched. “What did I just say!” Stiles went to protest, “I don’t wanna hear it! Get out of here!” 

Stiles groaned and turned away to room with Scott, you loitered back for a moment, just in time to hear the Coach say, “How he managed to get you to go out with him… I’ll never know.” You chuckled to yourself and roomed with your friends.

It had been an hour since you got to your room and settled in, kicking back and chatting to the girls for a while until they decided to shower and get themselves ready for bed. You had begun to set up until you got a message from Stiles.

Stiles: come to my room please i miss you

You smiled at his message, missing him too. And typed out a response.

You: i can’t the girls will see i’ve gone somewhere :((((

Stiles: you’ll be back before they’ve noticed you’re gone i promise

Stiles: baby?

Stiles was typing out more questions, and thinking of other ways to convince you to come over as Scott had left the room to explore the Motel more.

He was confused by your silence until he heard a knock at the door. He stood up, expecting it to be Scott but was braced by your beautiful face as he swung the door open.

He smiled, looking you up and down before tugging you into the room. He kicked the door behind him as he twisted your bodies so your back was facing the room. 

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and you messed with the hair at the nape of his neck, drinking in his appearance and licking your lips. “I missed you, baby.” He groaned in the sexiest voice you think you’ve ever heard in your entire life. “I missed you, too.” You chuckled before connecting your lips.

He leaned into your body as his lips pressed into yours, subtly sneaking his tongue into your mouth. His hands snuck around to your back and held your body against his own, feeling every crevice and worshipping them. His hands explored your back, itching closer as he murmured for you to jump into him.

You obliged and wrapped your legs around his waist, he caught you by planting his hands on your ass. He smiled into his kiss and found himself growing more desperate for you as each second passed.

Your hands tangled in his hair and tugged at it as he walked the pair of you to the rickety bed situated in the middle of the room. He gently placed you on the bed and leaned on top of you, finding himself comfortable in between your legs.

The kiss grew more erratic as it went on, hotter and hands wandering. Stiles slipped his hands underneath your top and began to lift it over your head. 

You stopped him suddenly and he pulled back, his face coated in your lipgloss and his hair a mess; God, he looked good. 

“What? Did I do something wrong?” He panicked. You smiled and placed your hands on his face. “No, baby. Just don’t want Scott to walk in on us.” You confessed.

Stiles shook his head, “He won’t be back for ages…” He whispered and leaned back in to kiss your neck, sucking at your sweet spots that made your back arch. You sighed as his tongue worked wonders.

Stiles noticed you weren’t fully convinced and jumped off the bed, leaving you stranded. You were confused momentarily until he snatched something out of the bedside drawer, and opened the room door, hooking it on the handle and turning back to you.

“Just to be sure.” He winked and situated himself back between your legs and lifted your shirt over your head this time.

The room became hotter with each second, steam practically coating the walls; as the room door held up a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign with pride.

Your stay with Stiles was much more prolonged than you had intended, your clothes now back on your body a little misshapen but the thought that was there. 

You skipped back to your Motel room and quietly pushed open the door at this late hour, knowing Lydia and Alisson were probably curled up in bed at this time. 

Kicking off your shoes, you snuck into the room and breathed a sigh of relief that the girls hadn’t had their suspicions about your disappearance, obviously feeling content enough to go to sleep with no nerves.

You turned on the bedside lamp to see where you were going and jumped at the sight of Lydia and Alisson wide awake and leaning on the headboard of their shared bed, staring right at you with raised eyebrows and a subtle smirk.

Alisson tilted her head, “So, where were you?” She questioned.

You stuttered for a moment, trying to come up with a convincing lie. “I was just… at the vending machine. Stupid things sucked up my money.” You fake chuckled.

Lydia hummed, “Yeah, it took you 3 hours…” You could practically feel a bead of sweat dripping down your forehead, “Yeah, I had a lot of trouble with it… Anyway, I’m heading to bed-”

“I didn’t know vending machines give you hickeys.” Alisson said, making you freeze and pale.

You opened your mouth but no words came out, “And it has nothing to do with the fact that Scott tried to get back to his room but the sound of moaning probably stopped him from going into the hot box.” Lydia smirked.

You quite literally had no words, “Shit.” You murmured.

Alisson giggled at you, "You realise Coach is gonna kill you two, especially Stiles." You groaned loudly.

The two girls chuckled at you and invited you into their huddle, only insisting you showered first. You laughed along with them and jumped into them, “At least someone had fun on this God awful trip.” Lydia smiled at you before you whacked her with the pillow you were previously leaning on.

[ughdontbeboring]

Sweet boy

Feyd Rautha x WoC Reader (can be read by anyone)

Yours and Feyds son has a moment and you can’t help your reaction.

warnings none but fluff honestly lol

note: so this was NOT what I was supposed to be working on but I came across it in my notes and just couldn’t stop my fingers 😅 but this is inspired by one of my favorite Feyd arts of him as a child. I’m so upset I can’t find it or the artist. It’s like different drawings of him or his face as a child and he gives the meanest side eye lol so if yall know what im talking about please send it my way so i can tag the artist so others can see it.

If yall like it, love it or fucks with it please share and comment! I love talking to y’all about our mans.

I give no permission for my work to be used anywhere.

it’s fluff and short babe but it’s Feyd so you know 😭 @peggyao3 also again not what I’m supposed to be working on 🥲🥲🥲

x

x

⚔️

The day had been long and tedious but you would not trade it for anything when it dwindles down to become this kind of evening. One which you were lucky to say you had often when your husband wasn’t away for diplomatic purposes. Even then you usually all stayed together more often than not. 

The large tinted floor to ceiling windows on the right side of the dinning room allowing for a view of the planets setting white sun to shine its last bit of light on your blessed life. The tint allowed the room to stay bathed in all its natural colors. Your skins hue still vibrant against the elegant black dress that you had chosen for the day. 

You couldn’t wait to get back to your shared bedchambers and slip into nothing but your silk bed sheets and your husbands arms.

Your eyes drift back to the table you’re seated at with the two loves of your life. Years ago no one could have convinced you THIS would be your life and you’d be the HAPPIEST you’d ever been or could be. None of the of wise women of your home planet could have foretold this. Not even your own visions nor dreams could have conjured enough to convince you this was the life you wouldn’t only lead but love with every once of your being. 

But when you take in your husbands jewel blue eyes that are already watching and only soft for you, you smile happily before your eyes slowly land on the beautiful boy sitting before you and to Feyd’s right from the head of the table.  

And just as your heart swells with more love than either you and Feyd ever thought possible, a loud laugh erupts from deep within your chest. 

You slap a jeweled hand over your mouth to try and contain your laughing from the startled identical faces before you. 

You’re in a fit of giggles as you feel both your husband and son’s look of confusion and it only makes you laugh harder.

You miss your husband’s face of pure awe at the sight before him even if he is confused he can’t help but be in awe of the women he somehow convinced to love him as deeply as you do, full of joy.

You wipe at the tears that have started to spill as you catch Feyd soft questioning eyes.

“I-I’m sorry but he looked just like you with his little evil side eye” you reveal in between laughs. 

Feyd looks on proudly at your son who’s looking between the both of you with his face scrunched up not fully understanding or liking the attention and laughs at his expense. 

Your son had just gave the most evil side eye to the servant who put the extra vegetables on his plate at your request. And all you could see was Feyd. They looked almost identical already and in that moment it was your husband who was a 5 year old boy not wanting to eat the food before him. 

And for all the reasons in the world it made your heart happy. 

“Looking just like your father” you say again as you control your laughing. You can feel the pride rolling of off both of them. “A grumpy baby”. 

“What?!” Your husband yells in disbelief, the fork and meat hanging mid air the same time your son yells his own defense.

“Mother I AM NOT A BABY!” His little voice rages before you with no true anger. 

“Don’t raise your voice at your mother” Feyd scolds quickly.

Your all smiles though. This was all you ever needed. 

“Yes you are, you are my baby always” You tell him as you take in his little face, the beautiful child you both created. The best of both of you. 

He huffs and crosses his little arms across his chest. The angry face he’s trying to pull off is completely identical to his father’s. You could draw it in your sleep the amount of times you’ve seen it over the years.

“Come here” you call to him softly as you push your chair back slightly. 

“No” he says trying to stand his ground that he is not a baby.

“Do not tell your mother no” Feyd scolds again watching the two of you go back and forth with eyes full of love.  if your husband continues on this path and your sure he will, none of your children will ever tell you no or misbehave with you. Feyd has spoiled you almost rotten, your son has received the same attention from his father. The amount of times he’s done wrong and Feyd has come to his defense, you too but you always stress the he can’t be quick to anger.

He had nothing of yours physically expect for you spiced blue eyes, which you weren’t sure how long they last so blue without a constant exposure to spiced air. You were born to parents who were born to parents and so on and so on for as long as you could say who had been born to and live with spice exposure. It was literally apart of your blood. So it made you happy that was the one thing that couldn’t escape your son who spent most of his time on Giedi Prime. So it made you sad to think about the fact that he could loose it one day but you tried to make frequent enough trips to your home planet to help him keep his Fremen feature and traits. 

Feyd allowed him to be born on Arrakis much to a lot of displeasure from some of Giedi Prime. You just couldn’t see giving birth here and raising a child here almost full time, you needed your people, your culture to be apart of his life. Plus you both knew it was the only way for your son to be accepted, he needed to embrace both half’s of who he was if he was going to make a great change one day. Greater change than even you and Feyds union.

It was worth noting all of the people who were displeased with your birthing choice weren’t around anymore to speak on it. 

His personality? It was 60/40 usually, him always leaning towards his father’s ways of behavior especially right now. Right now he was 100% his father’s child. 

“Come here my sweet boy” you call again. 

“Mother I am not a sweet boy! I’m brave and scary” He says as he makes his way around the back of Feyd towards you, very slowly. The posture straight in his small body. 

You pull him in quickly once he is in arms reach. Your hands hold his little precious face gently as you plant kisses all over. You can feel his posture slowly start to loosen.

“Yes you are, you may not be sweet to others that is yet to be seen but you will always be sweet to your mother no?” You ask softly as you stare into his deep eyes that mirror yours. 

You hear a small but confident “Yes, always Mother” as all the fight leaves him and he snuggles into your body embracing you back fully. His little arms reaching around your neck and squeezing tightly. Your eyes tear a little and you know it’s just your hormones. You have a couple weeks before your due it’s still been an emotional roller coaster everyday. 

You’re so wrapped up in your little boy in your arms you don’t notice your husband. Feyd is over the moon seeing his child get the love he never received. Seeing his wife who he adores more than anything loving their child, his child, a child that looks and acts just like him regardless of what he may have done wrong that day. Her love for him was unconditional. 

He loves to see her showering him with love and care even on his bad days when he’s throwing a tantrum. 

This was everything Feyd never knew he wanted and needed. 

He’d burn everything down to protect this, their little growing family. 

⚔️

[acourtofquestions]

Rowaelin Chapter 41 Kingdom of Ash:

She'd rebuild it—what she had been.

Perhaps one last time, perhaps only for a little while, but she'd do it. If only for Terrasen.

Rowan swooped from the mast, shifting as he reached her side at the rail. He surveyed the night-black sea beyond them. "You should rest." She slid him a glance. "I'm not tired." Not a lie, not in some regards. "Want to spar?" He frowned. "Training can start tomorrow."

"Or tonight." She held his piercing stare, matched his dominance with her own.

"It can wait a few hours, Aelin."

"Every day counts." Against Erawan, even a day of training would count.

Rowan's jaw tightened. "True," he said at last. "But it can still wait. There are ... there are things we need to discuss." The silent words rose in his animal-bright eyes. About you and me.

Her mouth went dry. But Aelin nodded In silence, they strode into their spacious quarters, its only decoration the wall of windows that overlooked the churning sea behind them. A far cry from a queen's chamber, or any she might have purchased as Adarlan's assassin.

At least the bed built into the wall looked clean enough, the sheets crisp and stainless. But Aelin headed for the oak desk anchored to the floor, and leaned against it while Rowan shut the door.

In the dim lantern light, they stared at each other.

She'd endured Maeve and Cairn; she'd endured Endovier and countless other horrors and losses. She could have this conversation with him. The first step toward rebuilding herself.

Aelin knew Rowan could hear her thundering heart as the space between them went taut. She swallowed once. "Elide and Lorcan told you... told you everything that was said on that beach."

A curt nod, wariness flooding his eyes. "Everything that Maeve said." Another nod.

She braced herself. "That I'm-we're mates."

Understanding and something like relief replaced that wariness. "Yes."

"I'm your mate," she said, needing to voice it. "And you are mine."

Rowan crossed the room, but halted a few feet from the desk on which she leaned. "What of it, Aelin?" His question was low, rough.

"Don't you..." She scrubbed at her face. "You know what she did to you, to ..." She couldn't say her name. Lyria. "Because of it."

"I do know."

"And?"

"And what do you wish me to say?"

She pushed off the desk. "I wish you to tell me how you feel about it. If…"

"If what?"

"If you wish it wasn't so."

His brows narrowed. "Why would I ever wish that?"

She shook her head, unable to answer, and stared over her shoulder toward the sea.

It seemed like he would close the distance between them, but he remained where he was.

"Aelin." His voice turned hoarse. "Aelin."

She looked at him then, at the pain in his words.

"Do you know what I wish?" He exposed his palms, one tattooed, the other unmarked. "I wish that you had told me. When you realized it. I wish you had told me then."

She swallowed against the ache in her throat. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"Why would it ever hurt me to know the truth that was already in my heart? The truth I hoped for?"

"I didn't understand it. I didn't understand how it was possible. I thought maybe ... maybe you might be able to have two mates within a lifetime, but even then, I just ….." She blew out a breath. "I didn't want you to be distressed." His eyes softened. "Do I regret that Lyria was dragged into this, that the cost of Maeve's game was her life, and the life of the child we might have had? Yes. I regret that, and I wish it had never happened." He would bear the tattoo to remember it for the rest of his days. "But none of that was your fault. I will always carry some of the burden of it, always know I chose to leave her for war and glory, and that I played right into Maeve's hands."

"Maeve wanted to ensnare you to get to me, though."

"Then it is her choice, not yours."

Aelin ran a hand over the worn wood of the desk. "In those illusions she spun for me, she showed me variations on one more than all the others." The words were strained, but she forced them out. Forced herself to look at him. "She spun me one dreamscape that felt so real I could smell the wind off the Staghorns."

"What did she show you?" A breathless question.

Aelin had to swallow before she could answer. "She showed me what might have been—if there had been no Erawan, if Elena had dealt with him properly and banished him. If there had been no Lyria, none of that pain or despair you endured. She showed me Terrasen as it would have been today, with my father as king, and my childhood happy, and..." Her lips wobbled. "When I turned twenty, you came with a delegation of Fae to Terrasen, to make amends for the rift between my mother and Maeve. And you and I took one look at each other in my father's throne room, and we knew."

She didn't fight the stinging in her eyes. "I wanted to believe that was the true world. That this was the nightmare from which I'd awaken. I wanted to believe that there was a place where you and I had never known this suffering and loss, where we'd take one look at each other and know we were mates. Maeve told me she could make it so. If I gave her the keys, she'd make it all possible." She wiped at her cheek, at the tear that escaped down it. "She spun me realities where you were dead, where you'd been killed by Erawan and only in handing over the keys to her would I be able to avenge you. But those realities made me ... I stopped being useful to her when she told me you were gone. She couldn't get me to talk, to think. Yet in the ones where you and I met, where things were as they should have been ... that was when I came the closest."

His swallow was audible. "What stopped you?"

She wiped at her face again. "The male I fell in love with was you. It was you, who knew pain as I did, and who walked with me through it, back to the light. Maeve didn't understand that. That even if she could create that perfect world, it wouldn't be you with me. And I'd never trade that, trade this. Not for anything." He extended his hand. An offer and invitation.

Aelin laid hers atop his, and his callused fingers squeezed gently. "I wanted it to be you," he breathed, closing his eyes. "For months and months, even in Wendlyn, I wondered why you weren't my mate instead. It tore me up, wondering it, but I still did." He opened his eyes, and they burned like green fire. "All this time, I wanted it to be you."

She lowered her gaze, but he hooked a thumb and forefinger around her chin and lifted her face.

"I know you are tired, Fireheart. I know that the burden on your shoulders is more than anyone should endure." He took their joined hands and laid them on his heart. "But we'll face this together. Erawan, the Lock, all of it.

"We'll face it together. And when we are done, when you Settle, we will have a thousand years together. Longer."

A small sound came out of her. "Elena said the Lock requires—"

"We'll face it together," he swore again.

"And if the cost of it truly is you, then we'll pay it together. As one soul in two bodies.

Her heart strained to the point of cleaving. "Terrasen needs a king."

"I have no intention of ruling Terrasen without you. Aedion can have the job."

She scanned his face. He meant every word He brushed the hair from her face, his other hand still clasping hers to his chest, where his heart pounded a steady, unfaltering rhythm.

"Even if I had my choice of any dream-realities, any perfect illusions, I would still choose you, too."

She felt the truth of his words echo into the unbreakable thing that bound their very souls, and tilted her face up toward his. But he made no move beyond it.

She frowned. "Why aren't you kissing me?"

"I thought you might want to be asked first."

"That never stopped you before."

"This first time, I wanted to make sure you were ... ready." After Cairn and Maeve. After months of having no choices whatsoever.

She smiled despite that truth. "I'm ready to be kissed again, Prince."

He let out a dark chuckle and muttered, "Thank the gods," before he lowered his mouth to hers.

"You're my mate." Her words were a breathless rush. "And I am yours."

The world might have been burning around them for all she cared, all he cared, too.

"Together, Aelin," he promised, and she heard the rest of the words in every place their bodies joined. Together they would face this, together they would find a way.

Together we'll find a way, their mingling breaths, the crashing sea, seemed to echo.

Together.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hmmmm having angsty Lights Out thoughts

[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! 

[ffsg0jo]

same universe as this post. you don't have to read it beforehand, but it helps 🤭

even when yuuji's much older and has his own room, he's still woken up by sukuna's old man noises™ in the bathroom at 7am.

the poor, almost adult just wants to sleep in for a little longer and rest his weary bones, but sukuna's snorting and coughing and hacking his life out in the bathroom down the hall.

yuuji doesn't know how you do it, to be honest. between the snoring and old man-isms, the way he seems to have a permanent frown on his face. you've been by his uncle's side for as long as he can remember, acting as a mother figure to yuuji. always patient and caring, standing your ground against sukuna who can be bull-headed sometimes (a lot of times), and ultimately doing everything you can for the little family they've created.

he truthfully doesn't remember life without you, and quite frankly, he doesn't want to remember. ever since he was a toddler, you were his sun, yuuji your sunflower, absorbing your warmth and love.

you stayed by their side throughout everything; the ups, the downs, the twisty turvies. never once have you tried to replace his biological mum or even referred to yourself as his mother. but yuuji sees the way your eyes shine with pride and joy when looking at him.

he can see it in your face now as he walks into the kitchen, yawning. you notice him immediately while plating up everyone’s breakfast and attempting to escape sukuna's embrace, who's clinging onto your back like the leech he is.

“dammit woman, just let me hold you,” he growls, tightening him arms around you and kissing up and down your neck.

“sukuna,” you gasp, “not in front of yuuji!”

the giant of a man slowly lifts his face up from your neck and turns to side-eye yuuji. he lets go of you and sighs, grabbing the plates you’ve prepared, setting them on the table.  

“mornin’ brat, sleep well?” he asks yuuji.

“not with all your snoring, he didn’t.” yuuji laughs at your response.

“i don’t snore woman.”

you and yuuji share a look, completely in disbelief at the man’s denial. he’s woken himself up with how loud he is, many, many times. neither of you can believe he has the audacity to stand there and lie with a straight face.

you both scoff and yuuji sits down at the table, in no mood to deal with his uncle’s nonsense this early in the morning. you move towards yuuji planting a soft kiss on his cheek and ruffling his hair.

“sorry he woke you up yuuji,” you say warmly, kissing him once more.

“if anything i should be apologising to you, you’re the one that has to put up with him for the rest of your life,” the boy responds, looking up at you solemnly, genuinely sorry for you.

“i can hear ya both,” sukuna rumbles, mouth full of egg. “anyways, finish eating and make sure you’re ready by 10”

yuuji turns to you in confusion, and sees your face light up, practically buzzing with excitement.  

“where we going?” yuuji asks

you wrap your arms around him tighter and press his cheek onto yours. he basks in your affection and leans impossibly closer towards you.

“it’s a surprise,” you giggle.

yuuji’s face twists in confusion as he stares at the shiny, brand-new motorbike in front of him. it was beautiful, and he’s always dreamed of having that exact model, but he was confused at to why they were there at the dealership. is this some cruel joke? he looks at you though, and shakes the thought out of his head. you would never do that to him.

“you like it, yuuji,” you ask, a broad smile on your face, eyes shining with glee.

 “s’ beautiful,” he nods in response.

his uncle pats his back and lifts his hand up, his own tattooed hand pressing something sharp and chunky into his palm. yuuji looks down and sees… keys?

“she’s all yours,” sukuna smirks, revelling in the disbelief on yuuji’s face. he seems to be frozen for a good 20 seconds, just processing what he’s heard. you and your husband share a smile. it suddenly hits yuuji that the motobike is all his, and his face splits into the widest grin.

“i love you both so much” he whispers, tearing up and throwing himself into sukuna’s arms and an arm around your neck.

the man steadies himself as you both tumble into him, heart suddenly panging at how big his nephew has gotten. it seemed like only yesterday when he was barely up to his shins, and now he was eye level?

sukuna hides his teary smile in yuuji’s hair, tightening one arm around you and softly rubbing his nephews back with his hand.

“yeah yeah, love ya too brat.”

© ffsg0jo 2024 — do not plagiarise, repost, modify, or translate any of my work, in any way shape or form; i will piss in your cereal if you do. all work belongs to me and me only.

[wonryllis]

WHEN THEY GET CAUGHT KISSING YOU.

﹙ ⌕ ﹚ 𝓅𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗌 ㅤ𝑜𝑓. enhypen kissing their situationship and boom! caught. contains fem!r, kissing & kissing, embarrassed & bold enha, suggestive pg 16. wc 3090 ㅠㅠ, 420 something each. check out the d𝒾rectory? stat agora hills inspo.

𝖪𝖨𝖲𝖲𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖧𝖮𝖯𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤𝖸 𝖢𝖠𝖴𝖦𝖧𝖳 𝖴𝖲──────𝑎𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

𝖫𝖤𝖤 𝖧𝖤𝖤𝖲𝖤𝖴𝖭𝖦

“they won't find us i promise,” heeseung tries to reassure you, taking a step forward and closing the already negligible space between the two of you. the light from the vents at the top shinning right into his eyes and onto your lips. janitor's closet― your gaze boring into his brown orbs; his falling onto your gloss glimmering against the dark― a kiss that steals your breath.

his arms pull you close by the curve of your waist, gripping the flesh as the kiss grows intense, heavy breaths and sloppy tongues.

“why are we even hiding?” you pant out between the kisses, holding him close and as hooked onto the whole idea of a secret thing. this was lee heeseung. no, this is him. secret flings and hookups, no strings attached & no efforts to make it work. at least that's what you knew of him.

he pulls away from the kiss for a moment, looking straight into your eyes,“i thought you liked it? the whole ‘keeping it a secret’, the thrill of trying not to get caught?” but here he is, doing things you supposedly like, putting in effort.

“isn't this how you are?” casual, clandestine and off the record defined him in your world. “no god, not with you,” his voice is rasp with defence, words tumbling out in a brisk edge. he is not what you think he is. and to him you are so much more than you ever could imagine to be. his lips brush against yours,”i could never be that with you. i want you so much, you have no idea.” and he goes in for another kiss, this time more intimate and deep.

“i swear i saw him go in here!” sunoo's voice echoes outside in the corridor, “what would he even be doing in there?” and before you both can even register the situation, too lost in the kiss, jay hurtles the door open.

you immediately push heeseung away, his steps languid as he staggers back slightly. annoyed and frustrated at his friends for ruining the moment.

jay stands still by the door, holding it open while sunoo comes over to see what's going on. catching sight of the disheveled appearances and gasping breaths, smudged gloss and flushed faces― and a very bummed out heeseung running his fingers through his hair, throwing glare after glare.

“y'all were..” the two intruders trail off in shock. which only intensifies after heeseung slams the door shut in their faces,”busy.” and gets busy with you again.

𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖪 𝖩𝖮𝖭𝖦𝖲𝖤𝖮𝖭𝖦

“are you sure the windows are tinted?” your question throws jay off for a second, of course it's valid to be worried about that. but you are literally in an empty parking lot, only about to kiss, not commit a crime or violate the laws of human decency. it'll just be a kiss, right?

“i’m sure, now come here,” his fingers wrap around your wrist, urging you to get onto his lap in the driver's seat. sighing in contentment once he feels you settle down comfortably. hands immediately reaching up to your waist in a delicate embrace. “don’t worry so much,” his voice is soft and calm, a high contrast to his heart skipping lanes in his chest.

“just think about me, focus on me,” words barely above a whisper before he kisses you.

his lips are chapped yet when they move against your own, they feel soft; a hint of champagne and waft of honey, floral notes and fruity taste of his drink from earlier at the after party. your hands slide around the back of his neck, tugging at the strands of his hair. faint sighs and low gasps fill the air, the tight space feeling sultry, growing fervid by the second.

it's dream-like, way too good and like floating in the clouds but the loud ringing of jay's phone snaps you both out of it.

riki is calling, the screen shows. he should probably pick it up. he should. yet you both collectively decide he can wait. everyone and everything besides the kiss can wait.

and that turns out to be a mistake. for not even five seconds into the second kiss, there's a thud against the window, riki’s face planted on the glass as he tries to look in,”he's in here jake!” he shouts in a quick look over behind him.

it startles you both, flinching out of the kiss. “jay you sai―” at your instant panic, jay is quick to shush you back into another kiss,”i know, i know. it really is tinted don't worry. they're just bluffing,” he reassures you, his mouth closing in on your top lip in a gentle suck.

“they're literally eating each other's face off! i told y'all they're probably together!” riki’s voice echoes into the parking lot, followed by jake's loud ass laugh. making both you and jay choke mid-kiss as you hop back into your seat and jay rushes out the car to keep their mouths shut.

“haven't y'all heard of privacy!” he scolds, his face hot red with embarrassment, words rolling off in a splutter.

𝖲𝖨𝖬 𝖩𝖠𝖤𝖸𝖴𝖭

“jake anyone could walk in!” you slap his chest in a protest, leaning away as he tries to pull you into a kiss again and again. ‘just a kiss’ he insists, but with you straddling his lap, his thighs spread apart and your legs on either side of him― it's impossible. this is jake sim we are talking about; and this guy, from what you have come to know, will turn anything into a makeout session.

“it's my room, they won't just barge in. trust me,” he tucks away the strands of hair falling into your face, his eyes and his voice dripping with desperation; hands moving to trail all over you in attempts to persuade you.

and it works, it takes you just one moment of recollection: the last time you made out with him, same place, same way. and you give in. how could you even resist a guy like this? if you could have, you wouldn't have been in a freaking situationship with him out of all things in the world of romance.

your lips clash against each other, like you haven't kissed in ages. mouths literally devouring and sucking the life out of the heart and the breath out of the lungs. no words exchanged, only muffled sounds and soft gasps.

“fuck your lips are so soft,” jake mumbles between the kiss,”so kissable” unable to hold his thoughts to himself. so drunk, so gone; he doesn't notice heeseung walking in on you both.

not for a few seconds at least, only bothering to cast him a glance over your shoulder before closing his eyes again. leaving heeseung with his jaw slacked, dumbfounded and stunned all at the same time. he takes it as a cue to leave and let the others know not to disturb you both. the last thing he catches glimpse of being your wide eyes realizing he had come in.

“you said no one would walk in!” you immediately complain at the sound of the door creaking close behind heeseung.

“well,” jake sits slack against the headboard, not concerned in the slightest. the amount of care jake could give in a situation like this might as well be equivalent to a speck of dust in the oh mighty universe. but he loved the way your face flushed warm at having been caught.

“it's not like we were trying to hide this. i’m pretty sure everyone already knows how things are between us,” he shrugs, holding you close; eyes locked with yours in a sultry yet genuine gaze,“and how much more things could be.”

𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖪 𝖲𝖴𝖭𝖦𝖧𝖮𝖮𝖭

“never took you for this type,” sunghoon grins against your lips, breath hitting your cheeks warm and uneven. enjoying the way you seem to whine about not letting you kiss him; park sunghoon is a lot of things, but tease? tease is one that gives him life. it's not him, if he doesn't tease the fuck out of you before draining your life force with a kiss that's borderline psychotic.

and right now, with you perched atop the bathroom counter of jungwon's unit with the others right in the other room― sunghoon is exactly in the mood to get the situation heated. or to be more precise, to get caught.

“you were the one who kept teasing me in front of the others! i thought you wanted to― well, isn't this what you wanted too?” you grab his collar to keep him from leaning away, grazing your lips over his to tempt him. he isn't your man yet, but you absolutely know how to have him give in.

“i do, i want it.” his hands roam across the expanse of your back, dropping down to your thighs and tugging you forward. head tilting and leaning in to capture you in a kiss. park sunghoon is a tease, definitely; but he's also whipped.

so much so, he can't resist you even with all his self control working paid overtime.

it doesn't take long for the others to notice your absence, jungwon in particular running around to find you two for dinner. looking everywhere until he hears the shuffling inside the bathroom. he knocks once. twice. and when there's no response he turns the knob finding the door unlocked (that was sunghoon!!!).

“oh my god,” jungwon's exasperates, mood turning sour with embarrassment. your eyes shoot open at his voice, instantly trying to push sunghoon away but damn this guy keeps coming back each time and pulling you into the kiss again.

his ears burning red and the veins in his neck popping out yet he still wouldn't stop. he just can't, he physical can't.

“right in my bathroom? really? and you still going?” the screws in jungwon's brain rust out at he watches the scene unfold. “so sorry, jungwon,” you manage to mumble out, hitting against sunghoon’s chest in a warning.

it only makes him trail the kisses down your jaw and along the curve of your neck, burying his face into the crook in an attempt to keep smooching you in any way he can.

“he's really sorry i swear!” you yell out between the kisses, right before jungwon closes the door.

𝖪𝖨𝖬 𝖲𝖤𝖮𝖭𝖶𝖮𝖮

“sunoo,” you mumble in a soft whine, eyes trained on him while he works out. jealous of the dumbbells in his hand, seemingly stealing his attention off of you. his hum of response is affectionate, staring back at you in a ‘what is it?’ look.

“sunoo,” you whine again, louder this time. unable to just watch him when all you wanted was to kiss the life out of his lips. he stops mid-set, placing the weights back in their spot and walks over to where you sit at his desk. just sit and look pretty for me; god you'd do that so well.

he leans over you, hands resting on either side of the chair,”what is it that you want baby?” oh how much you loved this side of him. the side of him that made you believe this was more than it was.

your arms reach out to hook around his neck, pulling yourself up and pushing him against the edge of the desk in a desperate effort to kiss. lips pressing into his in a brief peck at first,”wanna kiss you.”

“jungwon and jake are right outside,” he warns, though not attempting to stop you at all. not even thinking of it. sitting against the edge, letting you pepper as many kisses as you want. “don't you want to kiss me?” you mutter out between the little smooches, twisting sunoo's heart with the tone of disappointment lacing your words and the loss of your touch following it.

“of course i want to baby. i always do,” his voice is low and full of yearning, the burning itch, the craze to be close again. as close as possible. his lips hovering over yours as he pulls you back against him, straight into a kiss. eyes half closed staring down at each other's mouth, parted and quite literally nibbling and sucking, far from gentle or friendly― at all in that sense.

the scent of your shampoo and the taste of your familiar lipbalm is dizzying, and sunoo wonders how he ever managed to just be a friend at one point―

“can't believe i thought you were just friends,” jake barges in, in a hurry, stopping in his tracks at the sight of you both. making sunoo pull away immediately, breathless and sweaty as he responds as casually as he can,”did you need something?” as if he wasn't just about to shove his tongue down your throat.

“um.. yeah―” you yank sunoo back, planting sloppy kisses on his lips and jake’s words die down in a feeble whisper,”i forgot..”

“baby― i mean y/n, wait―” if sunoo wasn't embarrassed enough earlier, he definitely was beyond humanely possible right now, trying to keep you off of him while jake watched and ultimately left with a shake of his head.

𝖸𝖠𝖭𝖦 𝖩𝖴𝖭𝖦𝖶𝖮𝖭

the silence in the air feels thick, stuffed full of tension. and it seems to get hotter by each passing second. your argument with jungwon hanging aloof within a myriad of questions unanswered; what are we? are we even supposed to argue like this? are we supposed to feel like this? jealous, possessive and clinging on to the ache that came along with this undefined relationship.

“i know i said i didn't want anything serious,” jungwon's voice pierces through the soft running of the tapwater behind you, shaky and choked with desire.

“but i get this rush, whenever i’m with you. it's― it's like this high i keep chasing,” he breaths out, taking slow steps towards you. cornering your figure against the kitchen counter, his head hanging low over your shoulder.

lust: one of the seven deadly sins. desire: fickle, and love: hoax and ever changing. he knew it all, so he had always made sure to just have his share of fun and leave it all behind but it was strange how badly you made him want so much more. things he never thought he would ever want. in a way that he was aware would probably destroy him.

“and i know it's not healthy, i know. but i just can't stop―” he lifts his head in the slightest, tilting it towards your lips, grazing and brushing against your own as if he wanted to stretch the moment out,”really can't stop myself,” a longing whisper trickling out his pandora’s box. a yearn for you, so deep he utterly and irrevocably can not defy.

the kiss that follows, starts off soft and gentle like a declaration of love. slowly weaving into one of hunger and craving, impulsive with the need to covet everything down to your core. to start where you end and end where you start. yang jungwon felt absolute badshit crazy.

this wasn't what he had in mind when he proposed the idea to sleep around a few times.

his lips move atop yours in a frenzy, hands grabbing anywhere and everywhere to keep you close. tongue brushing against your parted lips in a tease,”tell me you want me like that too,” he begs into your mouth.

“the water's runn―” clank. before you can answer him, breathless and glazed with need alike, sunoo’s loud ass voice breaks through the moment, followed by his plate of chocolate mousse crashing into the marble tiles.

“i did not see anything! i absolutely did not see y'all about to get it on right in the middle of the kitchen!” sunoo disappears out immediately. leaving you and jungwon panting and flushed with embarassment. your fogged up brains clearing up after the sudden interruption.

“i― your lips are swollen― um, do you want some mousse?” jungwon stammers, retreating away from you.

𝖭𝖨𝖲𝖧𝖨𝖬𝖴𝖱𝖠 𝖱𝖨𝖪𝖨

“you're crazy,” you whisper out, glancing around at the empty hallway. feeling the heat emanating off of riki's body as he stands dangerously close to you.

“you're the crazy one,” his chuckle echoes off the walls sending you into a hoard of panic. your hands slapping against his chest to push him away as quick as you can.

hatred, rivalry, and contempt had shaped the idea of your relationship with him for years. so much hostility and so much of ignorance. riki and you were like yin and yang, total opposites and unable to see one ground. ever. but things changed over a shared summer internship and you were not yet ready to accept or admit it. not to yourself or others. god forbid the others found out you didn't puke at the sight of riki.

and being possibly caught kissing him? over your dead body.

“just close your eyes,” riki takes off his beanie and puts it on your head, briskly pulling it down: over your eyes. and before you can utter a word of objection, he is cupping your face and squishing your cheeks― lips meeting your puckered ones in a messy kiss.

you melt into it immediately, ears tuning out and body relaxing. albeit the beating of your hearts seemed to sync over, loud and hard. hands trembling in the slightest, breath speeding up and skin growing warm. it felt like a rippling wave of cold water on a hot shore, the worry of being caught suddenly striking as something insignificant.

“i thought y'all hated each other's guts?” sunghoon’s sudden intrusion whacks the gears in your system. the two of you pulling away like, like poles repeling each other.

“we do!” “we don't!” you and riki call out at the same time, confusing the heck out of sunghoon. “okay.. so y'all are in kissing stage right now, that's cute.” he laughs regardless of the variance between your answers. giving you both a suggestive look before he leaves.

you push up the beanie, peeking from underneath, “you jerk! you did this on purpose didn't you! you wanted to be caught! i can't believe i fell fo―” but riki is not bothering with this now, not when he got what he wanted; a free pass to kiss you from now cause everyone would know of it probably by the end of the day.

“just shut up and kiss me,” he pulls the beanie back over your eyes and lunges forward, diving right into another kiss without wasting any more time. oh you felt like he shot you dead. with the cupid's arrow of course.

taglist 。open! @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @brachives @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @eeunoia @nxzz-skz @shawnyle @potato0579 @enhastolemyheart @ro-diaries @aaa-sia @enhabooks @criminalyun @oddracha @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @jayjw16enxp

[sanemistar]

kissable lips — katsuki b.

contains ★ katsuki (post timeskip) x fem!reader (no pronouns used), fluff, suggestive (+17 only), making out, nothing too explicit but still, very slight swearing, rivals to lovers, 0.8k+ wc. ﾉ requested for my milestone event.

event m.list ★ mha m.list

tension filled the surrounding air, sounds of racing heartbeats and heavy breathings echoed through the empty room. you were pinned against the wall as katsuki hovered on top of you, sending shivers all over your back the moment it made contact with the cold surface.

his rough hands gripped your neck tightly, stopping you from writhing and squirming underneath him. keeping you in place as his lips continuously smashed against yours. teeth clashing every time you kissed as he hungrily devoured your lips, not stopping for even a moment to let you breathe. he was forcing you to catch up to his very fast pace, which was quite hard at first. but when you matched his pace, everything felt so heavenly.

you felt his hands move from your neck down to your waist, exploring every inch of your skin. you held onto him tightly for dear life. adrenaline rushed through your blood while your arms securely wrapped themselves around his neck as if it was the most natural thing to do, pulling him even closer as your fingertips ran through the locks of his spiky, blond hair. ruffling it until it became even more disheveled than it was.

if you were told earlier that you'd be here passionately making out with not only one of the best pro heroes, but also your very own rival. you'd simply call it a joke and laugh it off. you just couldn't imagine it happening, not even in your wildest dreams. you two hated each other’s guts, and your only goal was to surpass the other.

however, to your surprise, it happened. and you hated to admit it, but it was far better than you would've ever imagined. you couldn't pinpoint the reason why you were enjoying it, but one thing you knew for sure was that you wanted it, dare to say that you wanted even more. it awakened an unknown desire in you that you’d never known of before, or maybe it had been there all along and you hadn’t noticed until then.

at that moment, the only things that filled your head, occupying your mind completely were thoughts of katsuki and how he held you in his arms as he covered you in kisses, his enticing taste that had you craving for more. your train of thoughts was abruptly cut short when he finally pulled away after what had seemed like an eternity.

your half opened, hazy eyes were caught in his gaze, your lips were all red and swollen, head still dizzy and light. your chest rapidly moved up and down, still trying to catch your breath after having such an intense make-out session.

“katsuki..” his name rolled off your lips in a faint, breathless tone.

your body lost composure and you almost fell to the ground due to your knees getting weak and shaky from all that tension and intensity. you leaned on the wall for support, since you had very little to no strength left to stand on your own.

"shit,” his voice was all low and hoarse, his hot breath fanned against your flushed cheeks as your lips were still slightly parted.

“you moron, if you keep callin’ my name like this while makin’ that face, i might go insane.” he groaned, and your face reddened even more at his words as you wondered what kind of face you were making at that moment.

“why did you of all people have to have the most kissable lips?” katsuki mumbled, but it was loud enough for you to hear. a hint of crimson red was seen on his cheeks as his eyebrows furrowed slightly, it was such a rare sight to see. and you took the time to carve it clearly in the back of your mind.

“hmmm…” you hummed sweetly, your hand traced down to his chest as your fingers ran up and down his shirt, leaving delicate touches. you leaned over and whispered softly against his ears.

“my lips aren’t the only kissable parts i have.”

you knew you were being bold there, a little too bold even. but you wanted to tease him as you tried to push him to his limit, wanting to know what would happen if he were to go insane.

“imma ‘bout to shut you up ‘nd make you regret that fuckin’ cocky attitude of yours.” katsuki was determined to shut you up, and you best believe that he did.

𝜗𝜚 taglist: @sylusdoll @ayrastv @hanaeriin @spkyssn @stunies @17020 @kalsplace

[mononijikayu]

pillowtalk — fushiguro toji.

So one evening, when the house is peaceful and the two of you are sitting together, watching Megumi’s small chest rise and fall as he sleeps, Toji finally lets the words slip out. “Do you think… Megumi’s lonely?” His voice is soft, almost tentative. He’s not used to sounding uncertain, but this feels like new territory for him. “Like, maybe he’d do better with a sibling?” The question hangs in the air, unspoken emotions carried within it, waiting for your response.

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence!;

WARNING/S: fluff, romance, nsfw, r-18, smut, rough sex, breeding kink, overstimulation, body praise, kissing, p-i-v sex, fingering, pet names (baby, babe, wife, mama, etc), profanity, love, humor, light-hearted, married life, being in love, sexual intercourse, slice of life, domestic life, family, depictions of sexual acts, depiction of body praise, depiction of naked bodies, mention of sexual innuendo, mention of sexual intercourse, husband! toji, mamaguro! reader;

WORD COUNT: 7k words

NOTE: i think about how mamaguro was taken too soon from toji and megumi and how maybe they were thinking about wanting another kid and just how domestic their life was. i like to think about toji!househusband too fr. like if there was a character that could be the way of the househusband, it would be fushiguro toji, thank you. thank you for listening to my tedtalk!!! anyway, i love you all <3

masterlist

kinktober 2024 - kayu's version

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HIS LIFE NOW WAS A FAR CRY FROM HIS OLD LIFE. Toji Fushiguro never thought he'd find peace, much less happiness. His life had been a series of battles, betrayals, and constant survival. But then you came along, softening the sharp edges of his world, bringing warmth where there had only been cold.

He remembers the day he first saw you. It was as if the world had found itself in a tailspin and he was in it. His world changed when you came into his life. Everything felt like it was worth finding wonder in.

With how you looked at him with eyes full of understanding, tenderness. There was nothing of pity or grievance. There was always warmth. Warmth he didn't think he would ever deserve. Somehow, you'd seen something in him worth saving, something worth loving. 

You gave him a family, a real family—not just in the blood that runs through his veins but in the small, everyday moments that fill the spaces between. You gave him everything he could ever want. Everything that he thought could only be achieved in dreams.

Mornings over coffee, the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window, your laugh echoing softly through the room. The gentle way you cradle your son, Megumi, in your arms, whispering stories to him with a voice so full of love it makes Toji’s chest ache in the best possible way.

Every time he looks at Megumi, he feels a rush of gratitude so overwhelming it almost brings him to his knees. Your son has his eyes, that piercing gaze that cuts through the nonsense of the world, but he has your smile, that Toji was sure of. He was just as much happy about it too.

When he looked at Megumi, he could find that small, quiet curve that seems to promise the universe that all will be well. It was waiting for him on his son's beautiful face as much as it was on your own beautiful lips.

Fushiguro Toji never thought he’d care so much about something so trivial, but here he is, caring more than he ever imagined possible. His son's smile brought him as much joy to see as it does when you too smile at him.d

He watches Megumi toddling around the living room, his tiny hands grasping at the air as he learns to walk, determination etched on his face. Toji's heart swells with a fierce kind of pride.

In moments like these, he understands what people mean when they talk about the best things in life. It’s not the money, the power, or the next fight to win. It’s his son’s first steps, the weight of your hand in his, the soft, steady rhythm of your breathing beside him at night.

You've given him a home—not just a house with walls and a roof but a place where he feels like he belongs, where he isn't running from shadows or haunted by the ghosts of his past. A place where, for the first time in his life, he feels like he deserves to stay.

Toji never thought he’d be here, never thought he’d be the kind of man who could love so deeply, who could feel so much. But you changed that. You changed everything. And as he stands there, watching Megumi, he knows that this right here, right now is the happiest he’s ever been.

Toji’s gaze shifts from Megumi to you, who are quietly watching the two of them with a serene smile. Your presence brings a calm to the chaos that once defined his life. The way you hold Megumi’s tiny hand as he wobbles toward you, the soft encouragement in your voice, it all creates a sanctuary that Toji never thought he’d find.

In the evenings, when the world quiets down and the house is bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun, Toji often finds himself reflecting on how far he’s come. He thinks about the days when his future seemed so uncertain, when the idea of a family felt like an impossible dream. Now, every moment spent with you and Megumi feels like a precious gift, a beautiful reality he’d only dared to hope for.

As Megumi eventually collapses into a giggling heap on the floor, Toji chuckles softly. You come over and join them, your laughter mingling with his as you all enjoy the simple joy of being together.

Toji sits back and watches, his heart full. He thinks about the sacrifices he’s made and the battles he fought. Each scar, each hard-earned lesson, has led him to this moment—the sweetest victory of all.

In the quiet moments, when it’s just the three of you, Toji often finds himself lost in thought. He marvels at how you’ve created a life filled with warmth and love, and how Megumi is growing up surrounded by everything he never had.

He realizes that his past, with all its pain and darkness, was worth it for the chance to build this future with you. He feels a profound sense of gratitude, not just for what you’ve given him, but for the strength and resilience you’ve shown in building this family together.

When he tucks Megumi into bed at night, he’s reminded of the importance of the little rituals. The way Megumi’s eyes flutter closed as Toji reads him a bedtime story, the way he clings to the small toy you both picked out together, and the peaceful sigh he gives as he drifts off to sleep. Toji knows that these moments are fleeting, but they are precious.

As he stands by the doorway, watching over his sleeping son, Toji reaches out and takes your hand. You squeeze it gently, a silent promise of the love and support you’ve always given him. He turns to you, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings.

“I never thought I’d have a life like this.” he says softly, his voice filled with emotion. “You’ve given me everything I never knew I needed. I don’t know how to thank you, but I hope you know how much you mean to me.”

You smile, your eyes glistening with love and understanding. “You don’t have to thank me. This our family, our home, its all I ever wanted too. We’ve created something beautiful together, and that’s more than enough.”

Toji wraps his arm around you, pulling you close as he gazes once more at the peaceful scene before him. In that moment, he knows that he has everything he could ever ask for. The life he shares with you and Megumi is his greatest achievement, his greatest joy. And as he holds you close, he realizes that this is exactly where he’s meant to be—home.

The nights are often filled with a gentle stillness, punctuated only by the soft sounds of Megumi’s breathing as he sleeps. Toji finds these quiet moments to be some of the most precious. He cherishes the tranquility that envelops your family, feeling as though he’s finally found his place of peace after years of turmoil.

In the early mornings, when the first light of dawn filters through the curtains, Toji enjoys watching you and Megumi. He loves the way you wake up with a soft smile, the kind that says everything is right in the world.

As you prepare breakfast, Toji often stands by, watching with admiration. You move through the routine with an ease and grace that mesmerize him, the way you hum a soft tune or how you softly chat with Megumi, turning the mundane into something magical.

Mornings are Toji’s favorite time to bond with his son. He takes Megumi in his arms, holding him close as he prepares to start the day. They play together, their laughter filling the room with an infectious joy that makes Toji’s heart swell.

He sees so much of you in Megumi; Everything he loves about you blossomed in your beautiful son. Megumi had the same curious eyes, the same warm smile—and it makes him fall in love with both of you all over again.

On weekends, the family often goes on small adventures. Whether it’s a stroll through the park, a visit to a nearby museum, or a picnic by the river, Toji treasures these outings.

He loves seeing the world through Megumi’s eyes, watching as his son discovers new things and experiences the simple joys of life. He takes pride in being a part of these moments, knowing that he’s helping to create cherished memories for his family.

At night, after Megumi is asleep and the house quiets down, Toji and you find time to connect. These moments of solitude are a chance to share your thoughts and dreams, to reflect on the day and plan for the future.

The conversations are often deep and meaningful, touching on everything from hopes and fears to the little details of daily life. It’s in these conversations that Toji feels most connected to you, realizing how deeply you understand and support him.

Sometimes, Toji thinks back to the days when his life was filled with chaos and uncertainty. He can’t believe how far he’s come, how much he’s changed. And every time he looks at you or Megumi, he’s reminded of just how much he’s gained. The family he’s built with you is a testament to the love and resilience you both share.

As he drifts off to sleep beside you, Toji feels a profound sense of contentment. The days are filled with laughter and love, the nights with peace and connection. He knows that his past is behind him, that he’s finally found the life he was meant to have.

In the quiet darkness, Toji holds you close, grateful for the life you’ve created together. He’s found something he never thought possible—a home, a family, and a love that makes everyday worth living.

And as he whispers a quiet “thank you” into the night, he knows that the greatest gift he’s ever received is the love and happiness you and Megumi have brought into his life.

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HE REALLY THINKS THIS IS THE BEST LIFE ANYONE CAN ASK FOR. Fushiguro Toji enjoys the life you’ve built together. He really does. But lately, a thought has been lingering in his mind, one that keeps surfacing during the quiet moments.

He wonders if maybe life would be even better, fuller—if you and he were to give Megumi a sibling. It’s not that he doesn’t love the way things are now. Ever since Megumi was born, everything shifted naturally; your priorities changed, and together, you’ve navigated this new life of parenthood seamlessly. 

But still, Toji can’t help but worry. Megumi is growing up fast—already past his first birthday and nearing his second. He’s independent in his own quiet way, rarely showing interest in playing with other kids when given the chance. Toji wonders if maybe it’s because Megumi feels a little lonely, being an only child. 

Toji doesn’t voice these thoughts out loud often, but they weigh on his mind. You’ve both done well to balance your lives, your love, and your responsibilities. But he imagines another child, a little sibling for Megumi—someone to share those quiet afternoons and keep him company.

Maybe it’s time to think about it, he muses. After all, family has always been at the center of his thoughts, and adding to yours feels like the natural next step.

Your husband hasn’t brought it up yet, not directly. It’s hard for him to find the right moment, the right words. He’s not one for long conversations or deep discussions, but you know him well enough to notice when something is on his mind.

Lately, he’s been watching Megumi more closely, observing the way your son plays quietly by himself, content in his little world but lacking the spark of excitement that other kids seem to find when surrounded by their peers.

He’s seen it when you’re both at the park, Megumi clinging to your leg instead of running around with the other children. He doesn’t push it—Megumi is still young, and Toji knows better than anyone that everyone moves at their own pace.

But the nagging thought remains: maybe what Megumi needs isn’t just more playdates or time with other kids. Maybe he needs someone at home, a sibling to grow up with, to bond with. Someone who’ll always be there, someone who’ll understand him in a way only a sibling can.

In those quiet moments when the house is calm, and Megumi is tucked away in bed, Toji imagines what it might be like. The sounds of laughter from another room, two pairs of small feet running down the hallway.

The way you’d smile, holding another little one in your arms. The thought makes him feel warm, something he doesn’t experience often. It’s not just about Megumi anymore, he knows that too well. It’s also about the life you’re building, the family you’ve already started. And deep down, he knows he wants to keep growing it.

Still, he wonders how you’ll feel about it. You’ve both been so focused on Megumi, on making sure he’s happy and cared for. Will you think it’s too soon? Will you worry about the shift it would cause in your lives again, the added responsibility?

These thoughts swirl in his mind as he considers how to approach the subject. He doesn’t want to push, but the desire is there, quietly persistent, tugging at him with each passing day.

So one evening, when the house is peaceful and the two of you are sitting together, watching Megumi’s small chest rise and fall as he sleeps, Toji finally lets the words slip out.

“Do you think… Megumi’s lonely?” His voice is soft, almost tentative. He’s not used to sounding uncertain, but this feels like new territory for him. “Like, maybe he’d do better with a sibling?”

The question hangs in the air, unspoken emotions carried within it, waiting for your response.

You pause for a moment, taking in Toji’s words. It’s not a question you expected, but knowing him, you realize this has been on his mind for a while. His concern for Megumi is clear, and the idea of giving your son a sibling is something you’ve thought about before, though not as seriously. But now, hearing it from Toji, you realize it’s more than just a passing thought—it’s a real possibility. 

You glance over at Megumi, fast asleep in his crib, peaceful and unaware of the weight of this conversation. He’s always been a quiet, introspective child, and it’s true—he doesn’t seem to enjoy the company of other kids all that much.

Your little boy is happy to be around you both, that was true enough. He always loves spending time with you both. But with other kids? It's a tough crowd when it comes to your little boy. 

But you’ve always assumed he’d grow out of it, that he’d find his own way to connect. Still, there’s a small part of you that wonders if Toji is right. Maybe Megumi is lonely, and maybe the best thing for him would be to have a sibling to share his life with.

You shift closer to Toji, resting your head against his shoulder. “I don’t know, baby.” you admit softly. “Maybe. He does seem to keep to himself a lot… but he’s still so young. Do you really think a sibling would make a difference?”

Toji lets out a low sigh, his arm wrapping around you as he considers his words. “I think it could. I mean, I didn’t grow up with much family, and I turned out…” He trails off, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, let’s just say I don’t want that for Megumi. He deserves more.”

You smile at his attempt to lighten the mood, but the thought lingers in your mind. Toji’s childhood was different—lonely in a way that you know he doesn’t talk about often. Maybe that’s why this means so much to him. Maybe he wants Megumi to have something he never did.

“You think we’re ready for that?” you ask, glancing up at him. It’s a big decision, one that would change everything, again. But there’s something comforting about the idea, too. “I mean with how busy we are and Megumi…”

You’ve seen Toji with Megumi, the way he’s softened since becoming a father. And you love it. More than anything, it was what you think that fulfilled your life — making Toji a father and building a family. him.

But you haven’t thought about it just yet. But now that you’re thinking about it….the thought of adding another little one to your family, watching Toji bond with another child, feels right in a way that you hadn’t fully realized until now.

Toji meets your gaze, his expression more serious now. “I think we are. It’s not gonna be easy, but nothing ever is, right? We made it work with Megumi, and we’ll make it work again.”

His confidence reassures you, and the weight of the decision starts to feel less overwhelming. You’re not just thinking about yourselves anymore; you’re thinking about Megumi and the family you’re building together.

You lean into him, letting his warmth and the quiet of the evening wrap around you both. “Okay, okay….” you say softly, the decision settling into your chest. “Let’s think about it. For Megumi. For us.”

Toji presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice full of something deeper than just words. “For all of us.”

But thinking was one thing. Acting on it, especially when the two of you were so deeply drawn to each other—was something entirely different. Whenever the subject of expanding your family surfaced in conversation, it wasn’t long before the connection between you and Toji shifted into something more intense, more immediate.

There was an undeniable pull between you, something that seemed to ignite in the quiet moments when you were alone together, reminding you just how much you desired one another.

It would often happen in the evening, after a long day of work. The two of you would settle into the comfort of your apartment, exhaustion slipping away as you relaxed on the couch after dinner.

Toji would always keep you close, one arm draped over your shoulders, his hand absently tracing patterns on your skin. The world outside would fade as you settled into your quiet bubble, just the two of you in the stillness of the night.

And then, it would happen slowly at first, with a shared glance, a quiet breath, and the unspoken understanding that there was something deeper simmering beneath the surface.

Toji, always so sure in his movements, would gently guide you from the couch to the soft embrace of the bed, laying you down against the pillow with deliberate care, as if you were something precious. His hands would roam, teasing and familiar, as he removed your clothes piece by piece, his fingers gliding over your skin like he’d memorized every inch of you.

By the time his hand slid between your thighs, you were already lost to him, to the way he touched you with a practiced skill that sent shivers down your spine. His fingers worked their way inside you, slow and deliberate at first, drawing out every bit of pleasure as your body responded to him. 

The feeling was electric, the tension between you mounting with each passing second. Toji’s gaze was fixed on you, dark and focused, as if nothing else in the world mattered but the way you were falling apart beneath his touch.

You couldn’t think about anything else in those moments, not about the future or about giving Megumi a sibling. All you could focus on was the sensation of Toji’s fingers moving inside you, the heat of his body pressed against yours, and the sound of your breath hitching in your throat as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

Toji knew exactly what he was doing. He always did. The way he touched you, the way he whispered your name in that low, gravelly voice; it drove you wild, leaving you breathless and aching for more. You were wrapped up in him, in the way his fingers curled inside you, his thumb brushing over your most sensitive spot with a precision that made your head spin.

Your back arched, hips instinctively rolling against his hand as the pleasure built, your thoughts scattered in every direction except the present moment. Toji’s lips found your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered, “You’re all mine,” his voice thick with want.

And in that moment, you were. Completely, entirely his. The rest of the world faded away, and all that mattered was the feeling of being lost in him, your body responding to his touch as you let go of everything except the pure, unadulterated pleasure he gave you.

Toji’s fingers moved with a deliberate intensity, his pace quickening as he watched you unravel beneath him. His focus was sharp, every movement calculated to drive you closer to your limit.

You couldn’t hold back the sounds that escaped you—soft gasps, whispers of his name, every noise pulling him deeper into his need for you. His lips brushed against your skin, kissing along your neck, while his other hand gripped your waist, holding you in place as your body arched against him.

"That's it, baby." he murmured, voice rough and low. The heat between you was almost unbearable, the air thick with the tension that always seemed to surge whenever you were alone together. 

He was lost in you, in the way your body responded to his touch. His fingers curled inside you, hitting just the right spot that made your breath catch, your hips instinctively lifting toward him as the pressure built in your core.

You were so close, the pleasure winding tight within you, and Toji could sense it. His thumb circled your clit with just the right amount of pressure, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity through you. 

"You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?" he whispered, his lips grazing your ear, the command in his voice leaving no room for anything else. "Let go. I’ve got you."

And just like that, the tension inside you snapped. Your body tensed, then released in a flood of warmth and sensation, a wave of pleasure crashing over you as you cried out, hands clutching at the sheets beneath you.

Toji’s fingers didn’t stop, drawing every last bit of pleasure from you as he held you through it, his lips pressed against your skin, murmuring soft, unintelligible words of praise.

Your body trembled beneath him, the aftershocks of your orgasm still pulsing through you as you tried to catch your breath. Toji slowly withdrew his fingers, but his touch remained gentle, his hand trailing softly along your thigh as he looked down at you, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“You’re perfect like this, baby.” he said quietly, almost to himself. His hand moved to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his eyes softening as they met yours. “Always so damn perfect.”

Your body is still coming down from the high when you look at him, the warmth of his breath brushing against your skin as he hovers above you, his smirk deepening. There's a glint in his eyes, that unmistakable fire, as if the conversation you’d had earlier is still echoing in the back of his mind. 

You don’t even have to think too hard about it; it’s like an instinct when you tell him, voice breathless, “I want to give you a baby again.”

Toji’s grin widens, his brow arching slightly. “Oh, is that right?” he teases, his hand trailing lazily down your side, lingering on your hip. But then he leans in closer, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “What’s stopping you then, huh?”

You shake your head vigorously, letting out a soft hum of disagreement, not entirely trusting his intentions. Toji’s always been a dirty fucking liar when it comes to things like this, promising things he knows will make you weak, things you know he’ll never deliver on. 

Yet somehow, even knowing that, you still find it in yourself to love him. And maybe that's why, despite everything, you still let him have you like this, completely bare, letting him slide into you raw, no barriers between you.

He wastes no time, pushing your legs back, your knees nearly pressed up to your chest as he thrusts into you. The intensity is overwhelming, each deep stroke driving you further into the mattress, making your body shake under his relentless pace. 

Toji's grip is strong, controlling, one hand pinning your thigh back as the other rests on your waist, holding you in place like he owns you. And in these moments, it feels like he does.

He has a hold on you in ways you can’t quite explain, two different kinds of control—one physical, the other something deeper, emotional, binding you to him in a way that’s undeniable.

“You’re really getting into it huh, sweetheart?” His voice drips with mock sweetness, but there’s a dark edge to it, each word paired with a heavy, punishing thrust that knocks the breath out of you. “You want me to fill up that sweet little belly?”

His words are a tease, malicious in the way only Toji can be, his voice laced with cruel affection. His grin matches it, sharp and selfish, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, how every filthy promise pushes you closer to the brink. Your mind is spinning, caught between wanting to resist and wanting to give in completely.

Then, his pace slows slightly, his hand gripping your jaw as he forces you to look up at him, his gaze locking with yours. The teasing drops, replaced with something far more commanding. His eyes burn with an intensity that makes your stomach flip, and his voice, low and rough, sends shivers down your spine.

“Gimme fuckin’ words, baby.” he growls, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. “I need words.”

Your breath hitches, the weight of his command settling heavy in the pit of your stomach. You know what he’s asking for—he needs to hear it from you, needs the affirmation that you’re his, that you want this just as much as he does. His pace haughtily picks up again, a merciless rhythm, every thrust driving deeper as he waits for your response.

“I—” you try to catch your breath, your voice shaky as you struggle to form the words. But the sensation is too much, the way he’s filling you, stretching you, making it hard to think about anything but the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body. “I want you,” you finally manage, voice barely above a whisper.

Toji’s dark green eyes narrow slightly, unsatisfied with your answer. He grabs your chin harder, his pace growing even more ruthless. “That’s not enough, baby.” he growls, his voice a dangerous rasp. “Tell me. What do you want?”

Your mind is foggy, body trembling beneath him, and you can feel yourself on the edge again, teetering close to the point of no return. His dominance over you in this moment is absolute, and you can’t fight it, can’t resist the pull of his command. 

“I want you to fill me up, babe.” you finally gasp, your words spilling out in a rush, almost desperate. “I want your baby, Toji.”

His response is immediate, a low, satisfied groan rumbling from his chest as he picks up the pace, driving into you with a newfound intensity.

“That’s my good girl right there, hm?” he growls, his grip tightening as he slams into you with brutal force, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re gonna take all of me, aren’t you? Gonna let me give you exactly what you asked for.”

Your body answers for you, already falling apart beneath him as his words send you spiraling into another wave of pleasure. Every thrust pushes you deeper into the mattress, your legs shaking, your breath ragged as Toji takes what’s his, just like he always does.

And even through the haze of pleasure, you know there’s no escaping him. Toji has you—mind, body, and soul—and there’s nothing you wouldn’t give him, nothing you wouldn’t do for him.

Toji’s grip on you tightens as the intensity between you both heightens. His hips slam into yours with an unrelenting force, each thrust harder and deeper than the last, driving you closer to the edge with every movement.

Your husband was too good at playing this game of pleasure. You were hanging on for dear life, stuck in a pleasurable pandemonium. The rough rhythm of his body against yours, combined with the filthy words spilling from his mouth, sends shockwaves through your entire being.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby.” he growls, his voice dark with possession. “You’re gonna let me fill you up, huh? Make you mine all over again, just like you want.”

You can barely form coherent thoughts as your body responds to him, legs trembling with the sheer force of his thrusts. The sounds of your shared breathing, the slap of skin against skin, and the creak of the mattress fill the room, an unspoken rhythm between you two that’s as primal as it is intimate.

You’re completely at his mercy, pinned beneath him, helpless to do anything but feel. This man occupies everything in you as easily as you breathe. And you wanted him. You wanted more of him.

“Toji—” you gasp, his name leaving your lips like a prayer, your nails digging into his shoulders, holding on to him for dear life. Your whole world narrows down to this moment, the heat of his body on yours, the way he’s completely taken over your senses.

He releases one of your legs, shifting slightly to lean down, his lips brushing against your ear, hot and heavy with every breath. “You’re gonna take all of it, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his tone laced with both a command and a dark kind of affection. “Every last drop.”

His words send a jolt through you, pushing you closer to the edge you’ve been teetering on. The pressure builds inside you, winding tight in your belly, threatening to snap at any second. And Toji knows it. He can feel the way your body clenches around him, the way your breath hitches with every thrust.

“Say it again, baby.” he demands, his pace somehow growing even more brutal, hips pounding into you relentlessly. “Tell me what you want.”

Your heart races, and it takes everything in you to gasp out the words between broken breaths. “I want you to fill me up… I want your baby, Toji, please—” Your voice is desperate, the plea tumbling out before you can stop it.

The satisfaction in his eyes is unmistakable, his lips curving into a wicked grin as he growls in response. “Good girl.”

And with that, he pushes you over the edge. Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing beneath him as the pleasure crashes through you, wave after wave, your voice breaking as you cry out.

Toji doesn’t stop, his thrusts driving deeper, harder, drawing every last bit of pleasure from you until you’re left trembling, barely able to catch your breath.

He’s close too; you can feel it in the way his movements grow more erratic, his grip on your hips tightening as he chases his own release. He lets out a low, guttural moan, his pace faltering for a moment before he slams into you one final time, his hips flush against yours as he fills you completely, the warmth of him spilling deep inside you.

Toji’s body goes tense for a brief second, and then he collapses against you, his breath ragged and heavy as he rides out the last waves of his release. His hand moves to brush a strand of hair from your face, his eyes softened now, the intense fire in them dimmed into something more tender.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, still holding you close, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. “You’re perfect, perfectttt. Just like that, baby.” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, the raw edge gone. “Every damn time.”

You’re still catching your breath, your body exhausted but sated, the warmth of him pressed against you grounding you in the moment. There’s something comforting in the way he holds you after, a quiet reassurance that, despite his teasing and rough exterior, there’s a deep connection between you both that runs far beyond words.

Toji’s body stays pressed against yours, his breathing still heavy as he recovers from the intensity of what you just shared. The room feels warm, the quiet between you filled with the soft sounds of your breathing, the lingering sensation of him still deep inside you. For a moment, it’s peaceful, like you’re both floating in the afterglow.

But that peace doesn’t last long.

You feel him stir against you, his lips brushing over your skin, trailing soft kisses along your collarbone. His hand slides over your waist, fingers tracing lazy circles on your bare skin. There’s a shift in the air, a subtle change in his energy that you recognize immediately. He’s not done—not even close.

Your husband recovers so fast, you couldn't even help but wonder what sort of super human he is. When he gets excited, he won't stop until he makes that excitement have fulfilment. And Fushiguro Toji will take an take. His monster of pleasure demands to be full.

“Toji…” you whisper, your voice already betraying the anticipation that’s starting to build again. You feel his smirk against your skin, the low chuckle that vibrates through his chest as he kisses his way up to your neck, nipping softly at your pulse point.

“You didn’t think I was finished with you, did you? Need for my come to take, baby. Need to give you as much as possible.” he murmurs, voice dark with intent. His hand moves down, fingers grazing the inside of your thigh, teasing, as if testing your readiness for what’s to come. “Besides, baby, Iknow you can take more. You always do.”

Before you can even respond, Toji pulls out of you slowly, the absence of him leaving you aching, only to have him slide back in a moment later—deeper, harder, the sudden stretch drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. He groans softly, his hands gripping your hips as he starts moving, this time with a slower, more deliberate rhythm.

His hips roll against yours, each thrust precise, dragging out the sensation with agonizing slowness. You can feel him fully, every inch of him stretching you, filling you up completely as he starts to build up the intensity again. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him to take more of you.

“Toji—” you moan, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscles of his back as he presses you deeper into the mattress.

“Shh, baby. ” he whispers, leaning down so that his lips are inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m gonna take my time with you, like I always do. You'd let me, won't you, mama?”

And he does. He moves at his own pace, each thrust measured and controlled, as if he’s savoring every second of being inside you. His eyes lock onto yours, that commanding intensity from earlier returning as he watches every reaction you give him.

It’s almost too much, the way he’s making you feel so exposed, so vulnerable beneath him, but you can’t tear your gaze away. You’re completely at his mercy. Perhaps even more than before. It was just the way it was between the two of you. And you can't help but want it.

His hand moves between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in slow, tight circles that send sparks shooting through your core. The combination of his deep, deliberate thrusts and the focused attention on your most sensitive spot is overwhelming, and you can already feel the pressure building again, faster this time.

“You’re such a good baby girl, my little wife, huh?” he groans, his voice gravelly with desire. “You love it, don’t you? Love the way I fuck you, mama.”

You nod, unable to form words, your body reacting to him instinctively. His thick thumb presses harder against your clit, and your hips buck up toward him, chasing the pleasure that’s building so quickly it’s almost dizzying.

“Use your words, my baby. I need your words to be clear, hm?” he orders, his voice sharp and commanding. “Tell me how much you love it.”

“I— I love it, babe. I….Oh–” you gasp, barely able to get the words out as the pleasure coils tight inside you. “I love how you fuck me, Toji.”

“That’s it, baby. Good girl, my pretty wife.” he groans, his pace picking up as he drives into you harder now, more relentlessly. “You’re gonna come for me again, aren’t you? Like the good little wife you are? Gonna make me a daddy again, huh?”

You can feel yourself getting closer, every nerve in your body on fire as he takes you right to the edge again. His hand doesn’t stop, rubbing firm circles against your clit, and the pressure inside you becomes unbearable.

“Toji, please—” you moan, your voice desperate.

“I know, baby, I know.” he whispers, his pace quickening, his thrusts becoming rougher, more erratic as he chases his own release. “Come for me. I want to feel you fall apart again.”

His words push you over the edge, and your orgasm crashes through you, harder than before. Your body clenches around him, back arching as your eyes squeeze shut, the pleasure almost too much to handle. Toji groans low in his throat as he feels you tighten around him, his hips slamming into yours as he rides out every wave of your release.

You’re barely coming down from your high when you feel him thrust into you one last time, his grip on your hips bruising as he finally lets go, his own release hitting him hard. He moans your name, the sound of it rough and primal, as he fills you completely, his body going rigid above you.

For a long moment, neither of you move, the room filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing, your bodies still tangled together. Toji’s weight is comforting against you, grounding you as you come back down from the intensity of everything that just happened.

Finally, he pulls out slowly, rolling onto his back beside you. His arm reaches out, pulling you close so that you’re curled against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder. There’s a soft, satisfied hum in his throat as he presses a kiss to your forehead, his fingers lazily stroking your arm.

“You’re something else, baby.” he murmurs, his voice full of lazy affection, though there’s still that edge of satisfaction in it, like he knows exactly how much control he has over you.

You don’t need to respond—he already knows how deeply he affects you, how much you need him just as much as he needs you. And as you lie there in the quiet, wrapped in each other’s warmth, you can’t help but think about how, despite all of Toji’s roughness and teasing, there’s no place you’d rather be than here, in his arms. And you wish, so desperately, that you could give him another child. 

══════════════════

epilogue

The next morning, you’re still tangled up in the sheets, but it’s not out of luxury. You try to move, but as soon as you shift an inch, your body protests with an aching reminder of exactly what Toji had done to you last night. Every muscle feels like it’s been through a battle, and you can't help but groan as you flop back onto the bed, surrendering to the pain.

From the doorway, you hear the sound of little footsteps padding across the floor. Megumi toddles in, clutching a stuffed animal under his arm, his wide eyes peeking over the edge of the bed. Behind him, Toji strides in, smirking like the smug devil he is.

“Morning, baby.” Toji says, far too chipper for someone who’d spent the entire night wrecking you. He’s holding a tray with what looks like breakfast—eggs, toast, and even a small bowl of fruit—but what stands out is the cup of coffee that you need more than air right now.

“Morning.” you croak, wincing as you try to sit up, only to immediately regret it. “I can’t feel my legs, babe. Pretty sure you broke me.”

Toji lets out a low chuckle, clearly proud of himself. “Yeah? Thought you liked it when I went all out.”

“Liking it and being able to walk after are two different things, you know.” you grumble, pulling the blanket up higher as Megumi stares at you with that same curious expression.

Toji sets the tray down on the bedside table, then leans down to kiss your forehead. “Guess I’ll have to carry you everywhere today, huh?” His voice is thick with amusement, and you shoot him a half-hearted glare, but honestly, you’re too tired to fight back.

“Please do, babe. I’m basically a noodle.”

Just then, Megumi climbs up onto the bed, his little hands gripping the edge as he pulls himself up with determination. He plops down beside you, his stuffed animal tucked under his chin. You smile, your heart warming despite the soreness, and Toji hands you the tray, still smirking like he’s king of the world.

“Breakfast in bed, as promised,” he says, crossing his arms like he’s just done you the biggest favor in the world. “Made it with Megumi. Though, uh, you might wanna avoid the toast. He helped with that.”

You glance down at the toast in question, one piece charred to a crisp, the other half-raw in the middle. “I see his culinary skills are coming along nicely.”

Toji laughs, sitting down at the edge of the bed. “Hey, he’s learning. Can’t all be naturals like me.”

You raise an eyebrow, but before you can shoot back a sarcastic remark, Megumi climbs into Toji’s lap, looking between the two of you with that innocent, wide-eyed look only toddlers can pull off. “Hm, hm. I love my good house husband, really.”

“As you should, baby.” He snickers back at you. “No one else will be like this for you but me.”

“I know, I know.” You say as you continue to eat.

He smiles and kisses your head. “Good.”

“Toji, babe….” you say, setting the tray aside and carefully reaching out to ruffle Megumi’s hair. “If I can’t walk today, you're on diaper duty.”

Toji looks genuinely horrified for a split second. "Now, wait a minute—"

"All your fault, Mr. 'let me give you a baby,’" you tease, biting into your eggs while giving him a pointed look. "So, now you get to deal with the consequences."

Megumi looks up at him, blinking with his bright big eyes, and Toji sighs dramatically. "Fine, fine." he says, giving you that classic Toji smirk. “But next time, you’re gettin’ the easy job.”

You roll your eyes, though there’s a playful smile on your face. “Next time, maybe go easy on me so I can still stand.”

Toji grins, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips, voice low and teasing. “No promises, baby.”

And with that, the morning unfolds with you lounging in bed, Fushiguro Megumi occasionally wandering over to offer you his stuffed animal, and Toji trying (and failing) to get through diaper duty without swearing under his breath. You can’t help but laugh at the sight of him, the big, tough man reduced to toddler chaos.

But despite everything;

the soreness, the teasing, the burnt toast—you wouldn’t have it any other way.

This is life.

[midnightorchids]

Jason couldn’t help but smile when you entered the shared bathroom. The atmosphere was tense as you angrily ran your hands through your hair and frantically paced around the small, compact room. Curses and insults left your mouth, and he stared at you in awe.

It wasn’t often that you had an attitude, Jason never realized how attractive it was before.

He was sitting on the counter near the sink, shirtless, in an almost relaxed manner. The scars on his skin were highlighted under the pale yellow light of the bathroom and you could tell he was trying to hide a smirk. The sheer audacity made you livid. This was the second time this week that he came home bloodied and bruised. Only God knew how many times this exact situation had occurred this month.

You weren’t sure what it was that he was doing or what sort of trouble he had gotten himself into, you were just glad he made it home to you every night. The thought of losing Jason kept you awake in the late hours of the evening, his scars often haunted your dreams, but the fear, however, didn’t stop you from getting angry.

Most days, you wanted to leave him in the bathroom, make him clean the bloodied mess himself, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t just leave him alone, you had to be there for him. Your mind and body didn’t always agree when Jason was involved, your body regularly acted on its own accord.

And like every other day, you found yourself grabbing the first aid kit from the medicine cabinet, preparing to cleanse his wounds. You eyed his naked chest before silently reaching over to dampen a cotton pad with alcohol. Your frustration still lingered, Jason could feel the heat radiating off of your body. He stared at you intently, his eyes raked up and down your annoyed figure. He cupped your free hand and gave it a quick squeeze before letting you get back to work.

When the cool liquid touched his torn lip, he let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes. He clutched your hand tighter and pretended to flinch when you went back for a second time. He was being dramatic. He wanted the sympathy and craved the attention, and noticing the lack of reaction made him a little upset.

His hands reached down to your waist, he pulled you in between his legs and gave your skin a soft squeeze. “I’m sorry sweetheart,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean to stress you out.”

You rolled your eyes and continued to clean his mouth. “You’re an idiot, Jay, what are we gonna do about that tooth now,” he grinned in response, showing off the broken tooth. The sight made you want to giggle. He looked stupid, but adorable.

Your body, once again, reacted without thinking and your hands moved to caress his bruised jaw. He needed to shave, his stubble scratched and tickled your skin. His larger hand cupped your own and he placed a quick kiss on the inside of your palm, genuinely flinching this time. It pulled at your heartstrings.

“I’m so sorry,” he said once more, sincerely. You stared into his tired eyes and smiled, silently praying that this was the last time you ever had to clean his wounded skin.

“I forgive you, Jay.”

[nereidprinc3ss]

baby names

in which spencer comforts you after you wake from a good dream about becoming a mother

fluff! warnings/tags: fem!reader, reader sort of wants to be a mom sort of doesn't, they discuss having a child in the future, talk of pregnancy stuff, I think that's it! a/n: another short sweet fluff piece that is by no means going to get me a pulitzer but is cute nonetheless!! love u!!! let me know if u enjoyed!!

Spencer wasn’t in the room when you fell asleep into an impromptu nap, induced by the pattering rain, the low light of your bedside lamp, the warmth of your favorite throw blanket—but he is when you wake up. Home from work, sprawled on the bed next to you, long legs crossed and as close as he thought he could get without disturbing your slumber. 

“You came home,” you whisper groggily, curling into his side and letting your sleepy eyes flutter shut again. 

He pulls you closer against him, rubbing your arm. “I always do.” A low, affectionate chuckle that buzzes from his chest and dizzies you. “You tired?”

You hum a distant affirmation. Visions of diaphanous pink, of sweet cooing, of a haloed Spencer doused in warm light and smiling down at a some blanket-bundled creature in his arms, still burn behind your eyelids, fading with every passing second. The gentle classical music you’d been playing earlier now blends with the sound of evening rain tapping ceaselessly against the window. Spencer is warm next to you, scent familiar and comforting and only contributing to your drowsiness—but a lingering sort of sadness still claws at your stomach. Emptiness. It bites like a shock of icy water. It’s just a small thing. You feel silly for being upset, but you are upset, and you want to tell him. 

“I had weird dreams.”

Spencer offers a hum of his own (perhaps a habit you’d picked up from him) and you open your eyes, watching him watch the rain. The stark angle of his jaw, the sweet slope of his nose. Any baby he had a hand in creating would be absolutely cherubic. “You know, Carl Jung said dreams are hidden door in the deepest and most intimate sanctum of the soul.”

You fiddle with the knit of his sweater, and he covers your hand with his own, looking back down at you, deep eyes full of easy contentment. Like as long as you’re together, he can’t imagine a thing to be worried about. 

“Wait—the dreams are the door? Where does the door go?”

His brows pinch slightly as he recalls what is no doubt an exact quotation. 

“Uh—he said they led to a primeval cosmic night, that is soul long before there was conscious ego, and will be soul far beyond what a conscious ego could ever reach.”

You frown, sleepy head aching as you twist your brain into knots trying to decode the ornate language. “Was he the weird incest-y one?”

Spencer chuckles again. “Nope. That was Freud. Jung was essentially saying that there is something primal and instinctual about our dreams. He said they were our way of accessing the unconscious, which can process things the conscious psyche can’t, and our consciousness was a ship on the great sea of unconsciousness.”

“You’re losing me, Dr. Reid.”

The corner of his mouth flickers up. 

“He just meant they offered us an unbiased look at our lives. Our desires, our needs, unburdened by conscious ego.”

Our desires. Our needs. 

You chew your lip. 

“What does dreaming about having a baby mean?”

You say it because Spencer is your closest friend as well as your partner and you trust him completely with every thought in your head—but the way his hand pauses on your arm makes you nervous. 

He takes a moment to dissect your answer, digging for a hidden meaning like a precious gem, and then, once he decides there are no landmines, proceeds cautiously. 

“Well… some people say that a baby in your dream is a representation of you. It could indicate a desire to nurture, or a need to be nurtured.” Again you make a noise of vague acknowledgement. His hand starts back up again on your arm, and he delves gently deeper. “Why? Did you dream about having a baby?”

For a moment, you can only nod. Suddenly you’re choked up, releasing an exhaled, “Yeah,” as tears cloud your vision. He gives you a moment, just holding you as you try to find the words to continue. “It felt really real. I mean—I think I knew it wasn’t, but I was so happy that I didn’t care. I—she—” You laugh tearfully. “I’m being ridiculous, I know, I just… I miss her. Is that crazy?”

“That’s not crazy,” he says quietly. A stretch of silence follows, and the brief deluge of tears fades to trickling stop. Spencer is probably used to you enough so that he’s not surprised when you huff dramatically, trying to dispel your melancholia with a hefty dose of drama. 

“I wanna have a baby!”

Your boyfriend releases a surprised laugh as you bury your head against his chest, but it only takes him half a second to root his hand in your hair and hold you there. 

“Because of your dream?”

“Yes!” You sniffle into his sweater. “She was so perfect, ’nd sweet. I wanna have a baby so much.”

“With who?”

You look up at him tearfully and visibly frustrated. His eyes betray only fondness. “You, Spencer! Who else?”

“No one! No one else.”

You collapse again, satisfied with his answer. 

“You were such a good dad. It was—oh my god, you were so happy. You were holding her, and smiling at her, and—can we please have a baby?”

“Oh, sweet girl,” he coos, half chuckle, voice tinged with pity. His hand sweeps over and over your hair in a soothing pattern. 

You pout, hiding even further away against him. “That’s not an answer.”

“We can’t have a baby right this second, if that’s what you’re asking me.”

“Why not?”

He hums, pretending to consider the question, hand still carding gently through your locks, detangling. 

“You’re not pregnant, for one thing.”

“I might be.”

“I doubt it.”

“I could be.”

He angles your head up, smiling. Those warm brown eyes of his are full to the brim with sparkly affection. “Do you have something to tell me?”

“No, I’m saying, we could have a baby.”

The curve of his mouth lessens though doesn’t entirely dissipate, and the subtle lines next to his eyes soften as he regards you. There are a thousand reasons you shouldn’t have a baby right now, but Spencer knows you know that, and it’s still not what you want to hear right this second. 

“We could.”

He’s not being serious, but your heart flutters anyway. 

“Really?”

“Sure. Sounds like you have it all figured out.”

“Spencer. I’m not joking. You’re not taking me seriously.”

Spencer pulls you closer, and though you’re mildly annoyed, you allow it with a huff. 

“I am taking you seriously. Like the plague.”

“I know you want kids.”

“I do.”

“We can have kids.”

“Angel. We have time. I believe that you want a baby, and I’m overjoyed that you want one with me. And you know we’d need more time to talk about it.”

Of course, you probably will change your mind tomorrow, and again the next day, and Spencer will love you then and every time you change your mind thereafter. 

“Do you love me?” You ask softly, bunching the fabric of his shirt in your hand and not looking at him. Just to make sure. His eyes are liquid adoration on you. 

“More than anything in the whole world.” And maybe, you think, you’re okay with keeping it that way. For just a bit longer, at least. Spencer squeezes your arm. “I do think you’ll get to meet her again one day. I’ll get to meet her.”

You smile to yourself, imagining your little dreamy baby girl back in your arms. “One day.”

He kisses the top of your head. 

“Did we name her in your dream?”

“Elizabeth. But only because in my dream your mom’s name was Elizabeth, for some reason? I don’t… I can’t explain that.”

“Hm... I love my mom, but I don't know if I'd want to name my baby Diana. Feels too prophetic.”

“Hold on, I have like, a hundred baby name ideas. Can you hand me my phone? I’m gonna tell you all of them. First and middle name combinations.”

Spencer reaches for your phone on the side table. “Boy and girl?”

You scoff, settling into the crook of his arm, head on his shoulder, so he can see your phone screen. 

“We’re not having a boy, Spencer.”

“Oh. My mistake.”

You smile and tangle your legs with his, searching through your notes app with your non-dominant hand for your list of ridiculous baby names. 

“I can’t believe you would even suggest that. You're obviously going to be a girl dad.”

“Am I?”

“Yes! Oh my god, I’m so glad I'm not pregnant because you’re clearly not ready. You have a lot to learn. Okay, how does Artemisia Valencia October Reid sound to you?”

You’re lucky he loves you so much.