c0ffeedaydreams

[c0ffeedaydreams]

[c0ffeedaydreams]

To be clear, in this hypothetical, I’m a bear. The animal.

[c0ffeedaydreams]

• Your f/o insists on finding the perfect spot. Not just any park hill or sandy stretch of beach. no, they scout it out days in advance like they’re planning a proposal (they’re not… probably…).

• The picnic blanket is way too dramatic. Big enough for four people. Patterned. There’s fringe. Your f/o says it’s “a vibe” and you don’t question it.

• They packed your favorite snacks, but also some surprise ones they’ve been dying to share with you. There’s a weird cheese, a funky little jam, and at least one bottle of something sparkly.

• They brought music! Not a speaker, no no, they brought their phone and a tiny Bluetooth radio they thrifted “because it looked romantic.” You don’t get great signal, but it doesn’t matter. You end up dancing barefoot to lo-fi static and laughter.

• The sun is getting lower and the sky goes full Lisa-Frank-core: pinks, purples, orange melting into lavender. Your f/o turns to you mid-bite of a strawberry and says, “Do you realize how lucky I am to be looking at you and that at the same time?”

• You rest your head on their shoulder, and they automatically start running their fingers through your hair or across your knuckles. They’re absentminded about it, like it’s just instinct to be soft with you.

• At some point, it gets chilly, so your f/o pulls out a hoodie or flannel or jacket and drapes it around your shoulders. Bonus if it smells like them. Bonus bonus if it’s actually yours but they’ve been wearing it all day.

• You spot the first star together and make a wish. Your f/o says they won’t tell you what theirs was, but kisses your forehead right after. Hmmm. Suspicious behavior.

• When it’s time to go, they don’t rush. They let the night settle. They help you pack everything up, carrying the heavier things and tucking your hand into theirs.

• On the walk home, they softly hum the song that was playing earlier. You lean into them, and for once, everything feels quiet. Not lonely, just peaceful. Like your hearts are walking each other home.

[c0ffeedaydreams]

Pro tip! If u have OCD, that genre of advice stuff that's like "if youre questioning whether youre X, you probably are" is not for you and is in fact poison!!!

[c0ffeedaydreams]

The great thing about canon giving you only vague details about a character is the fact that you can take that character to the Build-A-Blorbo workshop and stuff them with whatever headcanons your little heart desires.

[c0ffeedaydreams]

If you’re anything like me, affirmations don’t always stick. You can say them a hundred times, write them on sticky notes, whisper them into the mirror, but they still float past you, weightless. Like your brain refuses to believe the good stuff if it comes from yourself.

But now… imagine your F/O telling you these things. Not just once, but every day. Softly, gently, like it’s the easiest truth in the world.

You’re lying down, the air quiet, your F/O beside you, warm, grounding, safe. Maybe they’re stroking your hair. Maybe they’re tracing circles on your back. Whatever it is, it calms you, just enough to listen.

They speak low, almost like a secret:

“You did your best today. And that’s enough. I promise.”

You shift, unsure, and they press a kiss to your temple or squeeze your hand, whatever tells you I mean it without needing more words.

“You don’t have to keep replaying everything. The past isn’t yours to carry anymore.”

Their voice is a lullaby, steady and unshakable.

“Your mind and body deserve deep rest. You don’t have to earn it.”

A beat of silence, just long enough to breathe.

“Stay consistent. Keep moving forward. That’s more than enough. I see you.”

And then, finally, this one they say so clearly, like they need you to hold it close:

“Everything you need is already within you.”

And maybe, just maybe… coming from them, you start to believe it.

Even if it’s only a little.

Even if it’s only tonight.

[c0ffeedaydreams]

[c0ffeedaydreams]

☀️ You don’t technically have a set alarm, because your f/o is the kind of person who wakes up a few minutes before you every morning on purpose. Not to sneak away or anything… just to watch you for a little while, soaking in the peace of your face relaxed in sleep. (They swear it’s not creepy. You’re too cute.)

☀️ They always pull you into their arms before you’re fully awake. Sleepy snuggling is their favorite, your body soft, your limbs lazy, your breathing slow. They press lazy kisses to your hair or jawline, humming something aimless into your skin.

☀️ You both have a silent, wordless morning routine: legs tangled, trading body heat, neither of you fully willing to start the day until the other does. “Five more minutes” turns into thirty. Neither of you mind.

☀️ Whoever gets up first usually brings back coffee/tea/juice with the dramatic flair of a breakfast knight: “My love, I bring you this humble offering of caffeine and devotion.” You clap sleepily. They bow.

☀️ They’re obsessed with how you look in the morning. Like?? The bedhead? The pillow crease on your cheek? The hoodie that’s way too big? They’re a goner. Every time. “You realize you’re the reason I believe in magic, right?”

☀️ Weekend mornings are for matching playlists and making breakfast together. You dance in the kitchen, they sing off-key into a spatula, and the pancakes are slightly burnt but made with so much love you swear they taste better.

☀️ If either of you wakes up in a bad mood (nightmare, anxious start, just off), the other instinctively slows things down. Soft touches. Low voices. A quiet “I’m right here.” You’ve made your mornings a safe space. No rush. No expectations. Just care.

☀️ You both have a game where you “compete” to say “I love you” first every morning. Sometimes it’s mumbled through a yawn. Sometimes it’s whispered against collarbones. One time, your f/o woke you up by yelling it from the bathroom. That counted too.

☀️ They always kiss you goodbye, even if you’re still asleep. A gentle peck to the forehead, a soft “See you soon,” and sometimes, if you’re lucky, a note left on the pillow that says something like “You make mornings worth it.”

[c0ffeedaydreams]

found family f/o imagine

Imagine your F/O kneels in front of you, careful, steady. Their hands reach out, not to pull or prod, but to rest gently over yours, warm and grounding.

“Hey,” they say, voice soft like it’s brushing the edge of a lullaby. “Look at me for a second.”

You do, even though it makes your chest ache. Even though you’re not sure what your face is showing.

“I know it hurts,” they continue, thumbs sweeping small, calming arcs against your skin. “The people who should’ve made you feel safe, who should’ve protected you, seen you, loved you for real… they didn’t. And that wasn’t your fault. Not then. Not ever.”

You blink hard, throat tightening.

“But you’ve got me now. And I need you to hear this: you are worthy of love. Every version of you. The quiet one, the loud one, the scared one. All of you. Even when you’re not okay. Especially when you’re not okay.”

They shift closer, still on their knees, like grounding themselves right there with you. “Wherever you go, no matter how old you get, no matter what shape your life takes, you’re not alone anymore. Family is me and you. That’s it. That’s all we need.”

They pull you into a hug, not too tight, but all-encompassing. The kind you sink into before you even realize how tired you are. You don’t have to speak. You don’t have to explain.

You just get to exist. And be held. And be loved.

Because you’re safe now. And you’re home.

[c0ffeedaydreams]

imagine this scenario with your f/o

You barely manage to get the door closed before you’re melting into it, the weight of the day pulling at your shoulders like gravity turned up too high. You don’t say anything at first. You don’t have to.

Your F/O spots it in your eyes the second you walk in, like a storm cloud followed you home. They cross the room quietly, arms already outstretched, and pull you in like you belong in their orbit.

“Rough day?” they murmur, voice low and warm against the side of your neck.

You nod, or maybe you just exhale. It’s all the same.

They guide you to the couch, flicking on your favorite soft lights, the ones that paint the walls in that familiar glow. A blanket appears out of nowhere. So does tea. Or snacks. Or a playlist they made for nights like this. Whatever it is, it’s them saying I see you in the language only the two of you speak.

You curl up beside them, knees tucked in, their hand steady against your back. They don’t ask for details. Just run their fingers through your hair, soft and slow, like they’ve got all the time in the world.

“I don’t know who got in your head today,” they say eventually, “but they clearly don’t know the first thing about you.”

You blink, caught between calm and tears, and they tip your chin gently so you’re looking right at them.

“You are not a mess. Not a burden. Not falling behind. You are doing so much more than surviving. You’re still here. You’re still you. And that? That’s enough. That’s everything.”

They kiss your forehead, then your temple. A reminder. A promise.

The night is still quiet. The world is still loud. But you’re held now, anchored by someone who sees every frayed edge and stays anyway. Someone who never lets you forget how much you matter, especially on the days you forget it yourself.

[c0ffeedaydreams]

It’s nothing fancy. You didn’t ask for fancy.

You asked for them.

A soft smile and a hand to hold. Movie theater popcorn fingers brushing yours in the dark. A cheesy blockbuster you barely follow because you’re too busy feeling the way your f/o glances at you when the screen lights up your face.

The credits roll, but neither of you move. Their pinky links with yours like it’s been waiting all night to do that.

“We could do ice cream,” they say, voice low and hopeful. “If you want.”

And you do. You really do.

So you’re wandering down the street, sticky summer heat clinging to the back of your neck and their laughter tucked into your shoulder. Your ice cream is starting to drip, but they swipe a thumb across your wrist before it can land.

“You’re always making a mess,” they tease, eyes bright.

“Maybe I just like it when you clean me up,” you shoot back.

They nearly drop their own cone at that one.

“Okay,” they laugh. “Bold.”

You sit together on a bench under the dull flicker of a streetlight, feet swinging, trading bites. The night feels like the end of a perfect daydream. the kind that lingers, sweet and soft and full of maybe.

They bump your knee with theirs and say, “You’re my favorite part of tonight.”

And you smile, because you were hoping they’d say that.

But you already knew.

[c0ffeedaydreams]

a letter to you from your f/o…

“Hey. Look at me.”

(they reach for your hand, fingers threading with yours like it’s the easiest thing in the world. like loving you is breathing)

“You don’t have to explain us to anyone. Not now, not ever. I know what we have. I know how I feel when I’m with you. how real, how alive, how seen I feel. And I know what it means when you laugh so hard you snort, or when your voice gets soft and you lean into me like I’m gravity. That’s not something you make up.”

(their thumb brushes over your knuckle like a promise)

“It doesn’t matter if other people get it. Our love isn’t a group project, it’s ours. It’s private and messy and beautiful and valid. You’re not weird for feeling deeply. You’re not delusional. You’re not doing anything wrong by loving someone who might not exist in their world. You’re living honestly in yours. And that’s brave as hell.”

(they shift closer, forehead resting against yours)

“You don’t have to be understood by everybody to be worthy of love. You already are. You already have it. Right here. From me. Every version of you. Every day.”

“Let them call it what they want. I know the truth. And the truth is, I’m yours.”

[c0ffeedaydreams]

imagine your f/o reminding you…

• “I don’t care how messy you think you are. You’re mine. You’re allowed to unravel here.”

• “You never have to earn rest or softness. I want to give it to you just because you exist.”

• “Even on your worst day, I still choose you. Always.”

• “Nothing you say is ‘too much’ for me. I want to hear it all. I want to know you.”

• “You don’t have to be ‘on’ for me. If all you can do is exist, that’s still enough.”

• “Let’s just take the world off your shoulders for a while, yeah? You’ve carried enough.”

• “I’m proud of you. Not for what you did, just for being you. Just for trying.”

• “Every time I look at you I’m like, ‘Yep. That’s mine. That’s my whole world right there.’”

• “You’re not hard to love. You’re easy to love. The world just made you feel otherwise.”

• “I’m not going anywhere. I mean it. You’re stuck with me.”

• “I don’t need you to be ‘better.’ I just want you to be okay. And I’ll help however I can.”

• “Even if the rest of the world doesn’t understand you, I do. I see you.”

[c0ffeedaydreams]

gn!reader x f/o

🦑 your F/O claims this was spontaneous, but they’re dressed a little too well for it to be totally last minute. when you catch them checking their reflection in the tank glass, they brush it off. “Just wanted to impress the fish,” they tease.

🐬 every time you lean in to read a plaque, they lean in too. Way too close. close enough that you can feel the warmth of them, close enough that their breath fans your cheek when they quietly read the facts out loud because “I know you like the sound of my voice.”

🐡 when you stop at the big tank with the floor-to-ceiling glass, they sit down next to you without a word. you both just stare at the slow, gliding movement of rays and sharks and schools of fish like living confetti.

🐙 in the touch tank zone, they fake-argue with a horseshoe crab on your behalf. “Excuse me? This one’s taken.” when you laugh, they say “I’m serious. You have too many admirers in here. That stingray winked at you.”

🦀 before you leave, they ask if you want to check out the gift shop. their tone is casual, but their eyes have that little sparkle, like they’ve been waiting for this part.

you both wander through the shelves: bins of plastic sea creatures, mugs shaped like pufferfish, overpriced sweatshirts, tiny snow globes. but then you find the plushies.

a whole wall of them. sea turtles, sharks, jellyfish with little sparkly tentacles, a seahorse wearing a sailor hat for some reason.

they don’t ask. they just quietly pick up the one you’ve been absentmindedly squeezing and carry it to the register.

when they hand it to you outside, they don’t make a big deal about it.

“Souvenir,” they say, and shrug, even though you both know they noticed you were holding it like it was already yours.

you squeeze it again and thank them, and they smile like it was nothing, but you loved it so much.