#(and maybe hopefully stream occasionally)

[kirby-the-gorb]

[luveline]

How did reader react when Spencer was exposed to anthrax? (I normally request stripper or bombshell reader but I want to leave up to you which reader - shy, confident, bombshell, stripper, not mentioned here)

Thank you 🖤

“This is unacceptable.” 

Spencer looks at you through plastic. He opens his hands, his hair already soaking wet, huge streams of water running down him as a woman in a hazmat suit sprays him down. He ends up giving you a glare. A bold choice.

“Spencer Reid.” 

“What do you want from me?” 

“For you to make less ridiculous decisions.” 

“I didn’t exactly choose to get dosed with anthrax.” 

You think it’s pointless to deny all accountability in this situation. When Derek rehashed the story to you down the phone, you’d assumed he was making a sick joke, but no, your Spencer is alright with endangering his life. 

“Spencer, you aren’t a child. You know what you were doing.” 

“If you’re here to shout at me, can you not?” 

“Can you take your clothes off?” the woman in the hazmat suit asks. 

Spencer cringes but begins undressing. 

“Spencer, somebody needs to. All Hotch will do is give you a disappointed shake of the head, he won’t even write you up.” 

“Maybe he realises it was accidental!” Spencer says hopefully, shivering as his shirt hits the floor. He grabs his boxers and holds them in place as he kicks off his pants, water spraying everywhere now, pattering against the plastic sides of the haz-gazebo as it bounces off his naked skin. 

“Doubtful.” You raise your eyebrows. “Shouldn’t he take his boxers off, too?” 

The woman in the hazmat suit sighs. “I’m afraid so.” 

Spencer sputters as she sprays his waist with the hose. “I’m so cold.” 

Sympathy grows. You wrap your arms around yourself and feel at the cashmere sweater that stretches over your elbows, thinner softness, warm in the sunshine. You have a hundred things to be stressed about and Spencer’s at the top of the list when he shouldn’t be on it to begin with. “Can’t you use warm water?” you ask, more gentle than you had been. 

“Sorry,” the woman says. “I’ll be quick.” 

“And then he’ll, what? Get to ride in the ambulance?” you ask. 

“That’s the plan. Dr. Reid, can you turn around?” 

Spencer gets washed from head to toe with ice cold water. His shivers turn full body, his lips pressed firmly together when they finally let him out. He’s quickly wrapped in a towel, then a foil blanket, and packed into the back of an ambulance with three EMT’s and an insistent you. 

He’s going to be assessed en route. 

You sidle past an EMT to sit by his head, out of the way, but close enough to brush his wet hair from his forehead. “You okay?” you ask. 

“You’re being nicer to me.” 

“Spencer, I’m aware that nobody really deserves to be poisoned.” 

“But I took an unnecessary risk.” He sighs deeply, then coughs, to your internal horror. “I’m sorry.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m being mean.” You cover his forehead with your hand in hopes of warming him. 

Spencer relaxes now he knows you aren’t mad, his shivers occasionally resurfacing, his worry plain as day across his features. Brown eyes squinted like he’s pained, his mouth twisted. 

“You’ll be okay, I promise,” you say, rubbing a quarter circle at his temple with your thumb.

“I’m just so cold.” 

His weak laugh is lost on you. You can’t cover him up anymore than he is while the EMT’s work to check his vitals and take his blood for testing. You lean down, the bumpy road nearly forcing you to kiss his cheek. “You’re doing well,” you say, “we’ll be there soon. You won’t be cold all day.” 

You blow warm air at his cheeks. They turn pink, but you let him blame the hosing. 

[2-shots2-thehead]

- I don’t see what anyone can see in anyone else.. But you -

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Summary : Dating Spencer headcanons bc I luv him n wanted to write smth smosh related >-<

Pairing : Spencer Agnew (Smosh) x GN!Reader (Use of Y/n)

Warnings : suggestive joke, other than that pretty much just fluff

A/N : the spencer brainrot is real oml 🙏🙏 im so fruity

- oh my god

- it took this man SO LONG. to ask you out

- like im talking working together for YEARS

- but once he finally did, it came off as like the most casual thing ever

- even if he was psyching himself up for this for MONTHS

- “hey, y/n, maybe after we’re done filming y’wanna grab lunch? like..as a date.?”

- he only started showing his nerves once you actually said yes

- he looked visibly surprised and then just nodded shyly without another word and walked off

- ever since that little interaction, you guys were together

- constantly.

- never seen without the other.

- “where’s y/n?” “well, i just saw spencer in the games studio so probably there”

- pretty much every single social media post since when you started dating has been about you

- CATS.

- you guys have at LEAST one cat

- you cannot convince me otherwise

- but hopefully more because you can never have too many, right ?

- always just bringing you random shit to work

- we’ve all seen the smosh mouth TNTL where spencer just keeps pulling random drinks out from under the table ?

- there’s just always little treats like that at your desk where you occasionally edit

- more often than not they’re drinks he grabs from the gas station, along with a kickstart for himself, of course

- just how you two are always inseparable, it increases by about 10 billion percent at parties

- i mean, let’s be real, there’s never a day where he’s at a party and wouldn’t rather be home playing a video game with your cats

- if he doesn’t know anyone else at the party, your hand is in his the entire time and he’s talking your ear off

- speaking of which, hand holding.

- so. much. handholding.

- like he wouldn’t be big on pda, but it’s just the little things like that

- him carrying you for many a TNTL bit

- or just putting your head on his shoulder while he’s streaming (we all know what i’m talking about)

- aside from the little surprise drinks, there are more often than not little sticky note messages on your desk

- especially at times where you’re editing and he’s filming and that means you’re apart for however maybe hours

- on days like that, he’s making it everyone’s problem

- “yeah, so then we-“ “y’know, this would be fun with y/n”

- yet another person who uses horrible pickup lines as a joke

- sometimes the sticky notes are the most poetic, sweet, romantic thing you’ve ever read

- ..and sometimes it’s “are you a beaver ? because DAM”

- “are you my laptop ? because you’re really hot and i’m a little bit concerned”

- “my favorite pokémon’s beedrill because i’m gonna bee-drillin’ y-“

- you guys build lego sets together all the time

- sometimes they’re little roses

- sometimes it’s the millennium falcon

- but his personal favorite is the hedgehog picnic date ⬇️⬇️⬇️

- they are now sat atop a very high, fancy shelf in your shared apartment

- you guys watch movies n shows together all the time

- you have a specific show though that you always and only watch together

- “you didn’t watch it without me, right” “don’t worry, I turned it off when you fell asleep”

- you guys play video games together all the time

- maybe you’re not as good as him, but he’s always open to teaching

- you guys practice instruments together if you play

- if not, he just plays guitar for you

- never too loud, but you can hear it of course

- he picks special songs he thinks you’ll like and learns them

[lazy-ahh]

HI !!!! >:3

Before I proceed with my request, I just wanted to say how much I LOOOOOOOVE your work. It's actually chefs kiss. I CONSTANTLY GIGGLE WHILE READING SHDBJANDKENDJDBD

ANYWHOOOO, I wanted to ask if you could make one where Mark is accompanying the reader in the library since the reader has to do some research for homework, Mark would normally be bored out of his mind but since he's with the reader he's more than happy to be here.

I guess this could work with an established relationship, but its up to you

HOPEFULLY THIS MAKES ANY SENSE LMFAOOO, ANYWAY I LOVE UUUUU !!! >:3

OVERDUE FEELINGS

pairing mark grayson x gender neutral reader

in which you’re just trying to finish your damn homework, but mark keeps being distractingly… mark. (leaning into your space. bumping knees under the library table. accidentally reciting love poems like they’re about you.) it’s fine. you’re fine. (you’re not fine.)

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

the library is quiet, the way you like it—just the soft rustle of pages turning and the occasional creak of a chair. sunlight streams through the tall windows, painting golden stripes across the wooden tables. you’re hunched over a thick textbook, scribbling notes with a furrowed brow, when a familiar voice whispers right next to your ear.

"you’ve been staring at that page for, like, ten minutes. either you’re really into 18th-century poetry, or you’re zoning out hard."

you jump, nearly knocking over your highlighter, and turn to see mark grayson leaning over your shoulder, grinning. his dark hair is slightly messy, like he’s just flown in (which, knowing him, he probably has), and his golden viltrumite emblem glints under the library lights.

"mark!" you hiss, swatting his arm lightly, your voice barely above a whisper. the sound still feels too loud in the hushed library, and you glance around nervously, half-expecting a librarian to materialize and scold you. "you can’t just sneak up on people in a library. there are rules."

he flinches a little at the swat—not that it actually hurt him, viltrumite durability and all—but he looks genuinely apologetic as he sinks into the chair beside you. "s-sorry," he mumbles, rubbing his arm like you actually managed to sting him. his cheeks are faintly pink as he leans in closer, voice dropping to a sheepish whisper. "i just... saw you over here and, uh. wanted to say hi?" he fidgets, fingers tapping against the table. "you looked kinda stressed. i thought maybe... i could help? or just. be here. if that’s okay."

there’s something unbearably sweet about the way he’s looking at you—like he’s both desperate to stay and terrified you'll tell him to leave. his knee bumps against yours under the table, and he jerks back like he’s been shocked, muttering a quick "sorry, sorry—" before awkwardly folding his hands in his lap like he doesn’t trust himself not to fidget.

you should probably scold him for distracting you, but the way his fingers nervously drum against his own wrist is weirdly endearing. and the way his eyes keep flicking between you and your textbook, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s actually helping or just getting in the way—it makes your chest feel warm.

for a while, you both settle into a comfortable silence. the library hums softly around you—pages turning, distant typing, the occasional cough. mark rests his chin in his palm, watching as you highlight passages with careful precision. he doesn't seem bored at all, just... content. like there's nowhere else he'd rather be than this quiet corner with you, surrounded by old books and golden afternoon light.

eventually, he scoots his chair closer, the legs scraping softly against the library floor. the movement is tentative at first—just an inch, then another—until his shoulder presses firmly against yours, warm and solid through the fabric of both your sweaters. you can feel the faint rise and fall of his breathing, steady and calming despite the way your own pulse suddenly kicks up at the contact.

he leans in, his temple nearly brushing yours as he follows the lines of text. you catch the faint scent of his shampoo, something clean and subtly sweet, mixed with the crisp paper-smell of old books. it's distracting in the best way, making it hard to concentrate on the words in front of you when all your senses seem hyper-aware of him.

as you turn the page, his focus never wavers. you can practically feel him absorbing each poem alongside you, his quiet intensity making the mundane act of studying feel strangely intimate. then—his finger darts out, sudden but gentle, tapping a verse near the bottom of the page. the tip of his finger hovers there, just barely touching the paper, as if afraid to smudge the ink of something so precious.

"i like that one," he murmurs, voice hushed but earnest.

you follow his gaze to the lines: "i would recognize you in total darkness, not by touch or sound, but by the quiet way my soul settles when you're near. heaven, if held in hands, would wear your face. what is happiness, if not your name written in gold ink upon my ribs?" your breath catches sharply between your ribs, the air suddenly too thick, too warm. it's the kind of verse that curls around your heart and squeezes—painfully tender in its honesty, the sort of devotion that makes your fingertips tingle with the urge to reach out.

your pulse flutters like moth wings against your throat, so loud you’re half-convinced mark can hear it. the words on the page blur for a second as you imagine the poet speaking them—not to some abstract beloved, but to someone real, someone who stole their breath the way mark steals yours. and then, stupidly, impossibly, the voice in your head shifts. it’s not the poet’s anymore. it’s his—rough at the edges but unbearably tender, like he’s reciting the verse just for you, like he means it.

your breath hitches when you notice his thumb brushing the edge of the page, right beneath the most devastating line. the calloused pad of his finger traces the paper so lightly, like he’s afraid to smudge the ink but can’t help touching it anyway. something hot and hopeful coils behind your ribs, tight enough to ache. around you, the library dissolves—the rustle of pages, the distant tap of keyboards, even the sunlight pooling on the table fades into static. all that’s left is the way mark’s holding his breath, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks as he stares at the words. like if he moves too fast, this moment might collapse. like he wants to live in it forever.

when you glance up, mark's already looking at you with this soft, wondering expression—like he's seeing something precious. your heart skips traitorously as you wonder, just for a second, if he was thinking of you when he pointed it out.

"you’re staring," you point out, fighting a smile.

mark’s entire face goes pink. he opens his mouth, hesitates, then snaps it shut again like he’s mentally scrambling for words. "i—uh. no i’m not," he mumbles, but the way his fingers twist in the fabric of his sweater gives him away. he’s never been a good liar.

when he finally risks a glance back at you, his voice drops to a whisper, half-embarrassed, half-hopeful. "...okay, maybe a little. but only cause you're—y'know. you." your stomach does a traitorous flip as he gestures vaguely in your direction, his fingers sketching clumsy shapes in the air like he's trying to capture everything about you in one motion. you watch his gaze flicker—from the furrow between your brows that always appears when you concentrate, to the way you're currently worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. you freeze mid-bite, suddenly hyper-aware of the habit.

"it's just. nice. watching you do… stuff. like homework. which sounds way creepier out loud, wow—"

you feel your face burn as his words sink in. part of you wants to tease him, another part wants to hide behind your textbook forever, but the warmth blooming behind your ribs wins out. you press your palms flat against the cool table, trying to ground yourself as he drags a hand down his face in mortification.

"ignore me. i'm gonna go melt into the floor now."

a surprised laugh bubbles up before you can stop it—too loud for the quiet library—and you slap a hand over your mouth. the librarian's sharp glare makes you shrink in your seat, but you can't bring yourself to care. you knock your shoe gently against his under the table, biting back a grin when he peeks at you through his fingers.

"too late," you whisper, voice trembling with barely-contained amusement. your chest feels strangely light, like you've swallowed sunlight. "i already saw you being all... weirdly sincere. no take-backs."

mark groans, slumping forward until his forehead hits the edge of your textbook. "this is worse than that time my dad caught me practicing compliments in the mirror," he mutters into the pages.

"wait, you—" you bite your cheek to stop another laugh. "you practiced? for... this?"

his head snaps up, eyes wide. "no! i mean—not just for—okay maybe a little, but—" he makes a strangled noise. "can we pretend i never showed up today? i’ll fly out the window right now. no witnesses."

you catch his sleeve before he can actually bolt. "don’t you dare," you say, softer than you meant to. "i... like your weird sincerity. even if it’s a little embarrassing. you're surprisingly adorable, markus."

mark freezes. his ears are practically glowing. "...yeah?"

"yeah." you let go of his sleeve, fingertips lingering just a second too long against the worn fabric before pulling away. the space between your hand and his on the table suddenly feels charged—just two inches of scratched library wood separating you from the warmth of his skin. you swallow hard. "but if you tell anyone i said that, i'm denying it." your voice wavers slightly, betraying you. not that it matters—william's already made powerpoint presentations about your "heart eyes™" every time mark enters a room, and even your cat seems to give you knowing looks when he visits your house. the only one oblivious is mark himself, currently blinking at you like you've just manifested a life-sized statue of seance dog for him.

his grin cracks wide open—all lopsided sweetness and crinkled eyes, sunlight catching the gold flecks in them. your stomach swoops like you've missed a step going downstairs. "secret's safe with me," he whispers, leaning in so close you catch the faint coffee-and-cinnamon scent of his breath. his pinky finger brushes yours on the table, feather-light. "but only if you let me buy you coffee after this." he clears his throat, suddenly fascinated by a chip in the table's varnish. "as, uh. bribery. for my... continued silence."

"that’s the worst bribery attempt i’ve ever heard."

"is it working?"

you pretend to consider it, tapping your chin with exaggerated thoughtfulness even as your pulse thrums wildly in your wrists. "...maybe." the word comes out suspiciously breathless.

mark's quiet victory fist-pump is absolutely dorky, complete with an under-the-table knee bounce that makes his chair squeak. you press your lips together so hard they tingle, but the grin still escapes—first as a tremor at the corners of your mouth, then as a full-blown smile that makes your cheeks ache. the homework in front of you might as well be written in alien hieroglyphs now; all your brain can process is the way mark's trying (and failing) to smother his own smile against his knuckles, his eyes crinkled with quiet triumph. you're so hopelessly gone for him it should be embarrassing, but right now, with golden library light catching in his lashes, you can't bring yourself to care.

AWWWWW thank you so much for all the love and support man 🥹 not gonna lie, i'm starting to experience that stage where writers start to feel self-doubt about their writing and stuff, but hearing you say all this is definitely very helpful and sweet, so thank you so much mysterious anon! i hope you enjoyed this one-shot <33 1.8k words full of awkward flirty dialogue between mark and reader and i was like sweating and wiping my forehead every 5 minutes as i struggled to think like, 'oh would a person actually say this?' 'does this seem awkward enough but would also work if a dorky cute loser (mark) said this to me?'

[coquettetoji]

{ 🪩 } EREN JEAGER MOODBOARD

★ general eren hcs ★

— hot type of nerdy * defo majors in computer science

— my boy by billie eilish coded

— has hot hands ( the veiny kind with long fingers but his hands defo aren’t abnormally huge 💀 ¡ALSO WEARS RINGS! )

— probably smells like weed, mint gum, and expensive cologne. i’m thinking creed aventus with a woody type of scent

— has a silver chain, not gold obvi 👎 defo does the tiktok arm leaning against door frame chain dangling pose

— solid 6’2 maybe 6’3 depending on shoes and lean muscular

— emotion damaging fuck boy (takes ‘hurt people hurt people’ on a whole nother level but he’s hot so who cares?)

— drives a blacked out camaro with tinted windows bc uh

— doesn’t vape, but will always occasionally smoke weed

— gym bro with a sleeper build * bench is probably 265-270 and rubs it in armin’s face atleast once a week

— has 1 playlist because he listens to spotifys default made daily mixes 💀 ( daily mix 4 is always his go to )

— his actual playlist consists of the most overplayed main stream indie songs but then has rnb songs with 3k listens per month mainly from eren that lowk hit?

— mama’s boy and likes cats > dogs

— doberman boy

— has his snapchat in his insta bio with the ghost emoji next to it

— can play guitar and surprisingly well, favorite song to play is sparks by coldplay

— wears prescription clear frame glasses with the blue light lenses on them at night but wears contacts during the day

— all his $$$ comes from stocks, doesn’t have a job but is so smart when it comes to shit like that **defo has one of those metal credit cards that clink against tables 😏

— has dimples on his lower back and deep smile lines with that joker type of smile lol hot

— 3.8 gpa, math and science smart but not reading/english smart

— has a black phone with a clear case, black background, and his most used app is tiktok and messages

— wears street wear, wife beaters, baggy jeans, graphic tees, expensive sneakers, and cargos

— brown / green eyes, show more when they’re in the sun

— has a single diamond piercing on his right ear bc he’s slutty like that

{💌} new message from mica

hopefully this wasn’t a horrible first post bc i’m new to this whole thing, i’ll figure things out after a couple youtube tutorials >:)

i will gladly go emo for eren omfg he’s such a *moan*

SETTING THIS WHOLE BLOG UP SOON I PROMISE 😛

[stonedficz]

✰ star shaped ✰

ch. 1 ❛ talk about being roux ❜

schlatt x streamer!reader

ch. 2 / ch. 3 / ch. 4

A/n: this is it. title is a pun. ENJOYYYYY‼️‼️‼️‼️

Most of my publishes will include music. Music is a HUGE part of writing for me, as it helps me set the tone for my work. If able, please listen as you read!

you were a whore for him. parasocially, of course.

Spending the past 4 years of your life obsessing over someone online was the most entertainment you could find besides trying to pass your college classes.

You had been a fan for years - literally, since 2020. You weren't there for the start of Schlatt's career, but by God, you wish you could've been. He gave you some inspiration to livestream/vlog stream just for fun. You had seen almost every video as soon as it released, every live, everything. Now, you just wanted to be like the big angry guy you watched videos of on your laptop, but better.

Maybe it was your college aspirations, the lack of support from your family, or something else - no matter what it was, you were here. 5 followers on twitch in.

Despite the lack of viewers, you continued streaming happily. You were meal prepping for the next week of work and school to try and save money. It just so happened to be a good content idea as well.

"So, if you look here," you patiently looked and pointed down at your frying pan, showing the camera and 3 viewers your pov. "- the roux is starting to burn. I'm gonna have to take it off the heat and try to add some more milk to fix the flavor. I don't have any more garlic powder so I can't remake it unfortunately." you frowned as you set the pan on a different eye, gently adding more milk. Your eyes flickered down to the chat on your phone.

"whats a roux"

A heavy sigh left your mouth, you had been at this for 2 hours. Streaming, that is. Now you didn't have the patience to answer questions. Then you saw a notification.

BigGuy is live now! Streaming: fixing my minecraft house

"Alright my friends, I think it's time for me to go." you smiled at the camera and waved. "The roux needs my whole attention, so I'll see you 3 later!" God, you were a terrible liar. You hit end stream pretty abruptly, immediately clicking on the notification.

"Hey guys, thanks for joining in," Schlatt breathed as he sat in his chair, turning side to side. He just looked at his screen blankly for a few minutes, occasionally making comments. TTS hadn't started yet but you were anxious to get your message in first. Anything to get his attention.

"Remember, TTS starts at 25 you broke bitches. I don't wanna hear about it being too expensive. Postcards are 50! Let's see what's in the mailbo-" He was cut off by the normal loud TTS voice.

"hi handsome! good to see you on again! I finished up my stream right when you started. have a good time <3 - cookkizkill" you typed in at light speed. Somehow, someway, the past 5 streams you had made it in as the first TTS donation. Pure luck.

"Oh God, not you again you little fuck. How do you manage to get the FIRST TTS in every damn time??? Competitive ass bitch. But thank you anyways.” he yelled and laughed, opening up his mailbox in the game. It didn't matter that he made fun of you - that was his persona, it didn't mean much. All you cared about was being seen. God, you were obsessed.

It went further than this. You GENUINELY were interested in Schlatt - you didn't even know his name. You were the obsessive, love-at-first-sight type. You still thought about a sweet boy from a coffee shop when you were in your junior year. Once you liked something, you had to have it. Unfortunately, millions of other people felt the same. Yuck. So.. now it was this. You sent donos, dm’ed him, everything you could to kindly, gently, and hopefully get him to put you on his channel. That was the boost you needed. Socially, and egotistically.

The dream: meet schlatt. Didn’t matter if it was in New York, at a meet n greet he would never do, or for media.

You knew you wouldn’t make it big enough to quit your job - you didn’t want to, you just wanted to be able to show the internet your life. You wanted others to find community.

—

You continued to watch the stream, he was playing Minecraft, drinking, the usual. Messages were flooding in. Soon enough though, it was 10 pm, and he was about done.

-POV: Schlatt. 7:03 pm-

“Ahh fuck,” he sighed, sipping on a glass of whiskey. “What’s up fuckers? Welcome to the stream, welcome,” he nodded and chuckled as he watched the people and chats flood in. “Remember, TTS starts at 25 you broke bitches. I don't wanna hear about it being too expensive. Postcards are 50! Let's see what's in the mailbo-“ he was cut off by the first TTS donation. It was the same person from the past few streams. Somehow, they managed ro get first dono more than twice in a row. “Lucky fuck.” He muttered under his breath.

“hi handsome! good to see you on again! I finished up my stream right when you started. have a good time <3 - cookkizkill"

"Oh God, not you again you little fuck. How do you manage to get the FIRST TTS in every damn time??? Competitive ass bitch. But thank you anyways.” He yelled and chuckled - rubbing the thin beard on his chin and his mutton chops for comedic effect. He knew a lot of people wanted him, lusted over him, loved him - but he couldn’t help but smile when people gave him a normal compliment. It felt good to be talked to like normal. Normal normal normal. He knew he wasn’t that, but it didn’t matter, being a star always had it’s perks.

“Alright, guys, lets get in. Fuck all of you shaming my house. FUCK YOU.” He yelled, furrowing his brows in faux anger.

—

3 hours had passed. Schlatt ended up building a new house, opening letters, and getting spammed with donations. God, that felt good. ‘Money, money, money, bitch.’ He thought to himself.

“Alright guys,” he let his tongue swirl in his jaw. “I’m fucking plastered. I’m done for tonight. Hope you enjoyed!” His cheeky smile flooded thousands of screens as he ended the live.

“Motherfucker.. jambo, i’m so fucking tired.” He complained, letting Jambo jump into his lap. His hands grazed over his fur as he headbutted schlatt. He yawned, sipping the last of his glass of whiskey. Jambo jumped down, awaiting their bedtime routine. “Moowwww!” Schlatt looked down at him.

“Alright, alright. I’m not feeding you again though.” Schlatt shut out all the lights in his office, slowly making his way into his bedroom, then his bathroom. He got onto insta when he was done getting ready for bed.

“Shiit, that’s a nice ass car.” He muttered to himself, scrolling. His thumbs grazed the screen hesitantly.

“I wonder..”

Every now and then, he would look at his message requests to see the ridiculous things people sent him. Family photos, death threats, achievements, etc. Every week though, there was the same username. “cookkizkill” managed to catch his eye. She never harassed him. Belittled him. Judged. Spammed. Begged. Nothing. She was overly normal in how she messaged him - and by God, she did it everywhere. Though, no matter what she sent, she said thank you, and wished him the best. Odd. Peculiar. Weird.

“Hmph.” His brows furrowed. He was intrigued. He looked at her messages frequently, never replying. If he replied to one, everyone would expect him to.

He opened the chat request.

cookkizkill

hi handsome! i finally hit 5 twitch followers. yesterday i hit 200 subs on yt. thank you for being a great influence!! i know i wont be huge, but I’m thankful i get a chance to share my life with people. thank you for your stream today! i hope to be on one with you sometime <3

5 minutes ago

[accept request?]

Click.

—————

[blorger]

Eyes, the so-called window to the soul, an often invaluable key to a character's true nature, are perhaps one of the less examined descriptors in the hp books.

We no doubt all have a distinct eye moment we can remember from the books; perhaps it's Harry's green eyes -so much like his mother's-, maybe it's the whimsy of Dumbledore's twinkling gaze or perhaps what stuck in your mind is one of the more peculiar, out there descriptors like Luna's popping eyes.

I prsonally find the hows and whys of jkr's physical descriptors to be a fascinating insight into the characters she created so I went and lovingly prepared a brief guide; hopefully you enjoy this,

METHODOLOGY

I counted these instances by hand so please keep in mind that there may be some minor inaccuracies in my tallying (basically don't quote me, I may occasionally be slightly off).

Furtermore, there are some descriptors that I did not consider in my count; I didn't keep track of the number of times in which someone's eyes are implied to be tearing up in some way because most times the crying is alluded to indirectly (eg.people often "wipe their eyes" or "avert their eyes") and actual adjectives like "teary", "misty", "streaming" and "leaking/leaky" are actually used quite sparingly (I will however observe who the narrative choses to highlight thusly because it's interesting).

Similarly, I didn't keep track on the amount of time a character's eyes "widen" since it's one of jkr's favourite ways to convey fear and/or surprise and it's not actually a verb used in conjunction with any character specifically (basically everyone does it at one point or another).

Finally, I did not keep a tally of the amount of times Harry's (or anyone else's) eyes open or close since this happens often regardless of the nature of the scene it happens in and doesn't tell us anything about a character that the excerpt itself doesn't.

TOP OF THE TOP

I would first like to begin our journey through the hp books' ocular realm with a few superlatives; here are the characters whose eyes are mentioned most often:

Voldemort is our leader with 53 eye mentions. He is the character whose eye color (red/scarlet) is mentioned most often (39 times + 2 mentions of Tom Riddle's dark eyes), but other notable descriptors include his pitiless/blank stare (5 times) and his slit pupil shape (4 times).

Severus Snape follows closely with 52 mentions; the most used eye descriptor is black (26 mentions) in reference to his eye color with a special mention going out to his cold and glittering stare (8 mentions each).

Albus Dumbledore is our distant third, with 36 mentions. His eye color (alternatively described as light blue/clear blue/bright blue) is mentioned 19 times and his infamous twinkling gaze is mentioned 11 times.

EYE COLOR DISTRIBUTION

BLUE: this the most common eye color in the books, with 10,5 named characters described as having it (the .5 is Alastor Moody's prosthetic eye). The characters with explicitly stated blue eyes include Albus Dumbledore (19 mentions), Dudley Dursley (1), Firenze (3), Narcissa Malfoy (1) and Ron Weasley (1). Caracters with more detailed descriptions include Gilderoy Lockhart (2) who we are specifically told has bright blue eyes, Ludo Bagman (3) and his baby blues, Aberforth Dumbledore (2)'s piercing brilliant eyes, Fleur Delacour (2) and her deep blue eyes and Igor Karkaroff(1) with his icy stare.

GREEN: The characters with explicitly stated green eyes are of course Harry ( 8 mentions) and Lily Potter (4),but also Dobby (4). I have further included in the count Hagrid's brother's Grawp* (2), who is described as having "sludge colored" "greenish brown" eyes and professor Horace Slughorn (1), whose eyes are described as "pale" and "gooseberry"-like.

*= I acknowledge that Grawp could have just as easily gone in the "brown" eye category but for some reason his eyes's description gave me more of a green vibe; feel free to disregard my categorisation if you wish.

BROWN: curiously, this is color is not more popular. Both Ginny Weasley (1 mention) and Hermione Granger (2) have brown eyes, together with Marvolo Riddle (1) and bowtruckles (1). As far as more evocative color names go, Hedwig (5) is described as having amber eyes whereas Winky the house elf (6) has beetle-brown eyes. Our final brown eyed beauty is James Potter (1), who has hazel eyes.

BLACK: black eyes are quite common with animals and beings since Scabbers (1 mention), acromantulas (1), Fawkes (1) and Goblins -most notably Griphook- (4) all have them. Humans with black eyes include the aforementioned Snape (26) and Hagrid's father (1), with Hagrid himself having the dubious honor of being the only character with beetle-black eyes (9).

GREY:* Lucius Malfoy (5 mentions), Cedric Diggory (3), Draco Malfoy (2) and Kreacher (1) are the only characters expressly stated to have grey eyes. Garrick Ollivander (2), patronuses (1) and Luna Lovegood (1) have specifically silvery eyes.

*:There's another character who is implied to have grey eyes as well, as we'll later see when discussing pale eyes.

YELLOW: this is another color largely reserved for creatures as Mrs Norris (2 mentions), the basilisk (1), Crookshanks (8), Dragons (2) and merfolk (2) are all said to have yellow eyes. The only humans with yellow eyes are Cat Hermione - albeit temporarily- (1), Madam Hooch (1) and Rufus Scrimegour (3).

ORANGE: this color is reserved for hippogriffs (and Buckbeak) who are twice mentioned as having orange eyes.

RED: There is only one person in the books who has permanently red eyes and that, of course, is Voldemort (39 mentions, sometimes using the term scarlet). Many characters' eyes are temporarily red, be it from crying (Hagrid, Molly, Madam Maxime, Lavender, Neville) or cursed locket possession (Ron). The only animals/creatures with red eyes are Beauxbatons's winged horses.

WHITE: finally, we come to the rarest eye color in all of the books, which gets a .5 on account of the fact that only one person could conceivably have had milky eyes and that is Bathilda Bagshot. Considering the fact that white eyes in general and milky eyes specifically seem to be an exclusive purview of the dead (Aragog's corpse, the thestrals's blank white eyes) and that the only time we meet Bathilda she's currently a corpse being inhabited by a giant snake, I'd venture to say that no one who is alive (or not closely tied to death) actually possesses white eyes.

Of further interest to the eye color conversation, I would like to point out characters who are mentioned to have either pale or dark eyes:

the term DARK EYES doesn't seem to be tied to a single color specifically. the only dark-eyed beings/people whose eye color we know for sure are goblins and Severus Snape, who are both described as having black eyes. The rest of the characters who get this descriptor are Padma Patil (who, being an identical twin, most likely shares this characteristic with her sister Parvati), Romilda Vane, Morfin Gaunt, Tom Riddle, Kendra Dumbledore, Phineas Nigellus Black and Bellatrix lestrange.

The term PALE EYES, however, seems to refer almost exclusively to grey eyed people since Ollivander, Lucius and Draco Malfoy* and Kreacher are all described as having pale eyes. The only pale eyed person with non-grey eyes we find is Horace Slughorn (he has very pale green eyes) and we further have only one pale eyed character whose eye color we cannot be sure of and that is Petunia Dursley.

*: Draco is a rarity in that his eyes are said to be pale (7 times) and cold (2) more often than their actual color (once grey and once light grey)

PECULIARITIES IN EYE DESCRIPTIONS

There honestly doesn't seem to be neither rhyme nor reason behind wether someone's eyes are described or not. Important characters like Ron and Ginny's eyes are talked about extremely rarely whereas beings like like Grawp and Winky get incongruously detailed descriptions.

Of the main trio, Hermione's eyes get mentioned often when she's either crying or on the verge of tears but her actual eye color is mentioned only twice and her expression is almost never conveyed through her gaze. Hermione's eyes are glassy, puffy, tearing, bloodshot; they are sparkling or shining with tears more than they are flashing with righteousness or shadowed with tiredness.

Harry's eyes are more often mentioned in the context of him trying to push hair out of them than they are to showcase his expressions. Besides Harry's eye color and his penchant for glaring we learn precious little about his eyes. The only information of note I found comes from a description Harry provides of his mother's eyes* (to which his are often compared, even by himself). When observing Snape's worst memory Harry notes that his mother's eyes are almond-shaped, a rare descriptor only used in two instances: this one and when Harry meets and describes a Sphynx's appearance.

Ron's eyes are the least described of the trio. We sometimes hear of him rolling his eyes or widening them in fear and/or surprise but that is just about it.

Unlike Ron, House Elves's eyes get mentioned every time they appear in a scene, to the point that we know both the eye color and characteristics of all named elves: Kreacher's pale grey eyes are bloodshot and bulging, Dobby's green ones are round, huge, enormous, immense and they are desrcribed on more than one instance as orb-like and tennis ball-like. Even Winky's eyes are remarked upon with surprising frequency; they are glassy on account of her frequent crying and, like all elves's, they are also giant and enormous.

other characters who get more eye mentions than the number of their appearances demand are Gregory Goyle, who we know has dull and small deep-set eyes and Mrs Norris, whose unique lamp-like eyes are remarked upon multiple times.

Some characters have a characteristic eye look that is unique to them. Bellatrix, for example, is the only person with hooded and heavy-lidded eyes (even Andromeda, who is said to resemble her greatly, has wider, kinder eyes).

Characters who have spent time in Azkaban (though not Bellatrix) retain a visible tell of their experience through their gazes: both Sirius and post-jail Lucius** have shadowed eyes that are sunken, like those of the long-imprisoned Grindlewald.

*: curiously, the only other character whose eyes get compared to a member of their family's is Aberforth Dumbledore, whom the narrative takes pain to remind the reader has his brother's eyes.

**: the post-jail change in Lucius's eyes is stark in that, before his imprisonment, he had glittering eyes, cold and cool (a term uniquely reserved for him).

IT'S THE SIZE THAT COUNTS

Another eye characteristic that is often remarked upon is the size of one's eyes, with small eyes being more often than not the purview of villains and general undesirables.

People with small eyes, include Myrtle Warren, Gregory Goyle, Peter Pettigrew, both Dudley* and Vernon Dursley*, Grawp and Morfin Gaunt.

Beady eyes are found in animals like Fawkes and snakes, but also -curiously- in Professor McGonagall.

Little eyes are a Dursley exclusive* as the term is only used to refer to both Vernon and Dudley.

Characters with tiny eyes include Vernon Dursley and his sister, Aunt Marge, Scabbers the rat, Hepzibah Smith and Amycus Carrow.

*:As you might have noticed, small eyes seem to be a bit of a Dursley family special. The same goes for the term piggy eyes, which is only found in relation to them

Talk of BIG EYES is strangely not used in a flattering way that contrasts the aforementioned small eyes, with the notable exception of Romilda Vane's case. She is the only character whose big and large eyes are to be interpreted in a flattering manner; as for the rest:

LARGE eyes are found in Petunia Dursley, Hedwig, Alice Longbottom (in whose case said eyes are remarked to be overlarge) and Horace Slughorn

People with HUGE eyes include Dobby, Prof. Trelawney, Narcissa Malfoy and Kreacher.

IMMENSE eyes are the exclusive purview of Dobby, as are eyes likened to TENNIS BALLS, HEADLIGHTS and ORBS.

Characters with ENORMOUS/ENLARGED eyes include prof. Trelawney, Winky, Dobby and Luna Lovegood.

GIANT eyes are exclusive to Trelawney and Winky

BULGING eyes can be found in both mrs Norris and Argus Filch, but also in Norbert the dragon, Dobby, Kreacher, Oliver Wood, Crouch sr., Luna and Umbridge. Fittingly for a category that is most likely supposed to be transitory* both the newly poisoned Ron and the dying Bellatrix are also described through this term.

People with POPPING eyes include Argus Filch, Luna Lovegood, Crouch sr, Vernon Dursley, Ron and Dolores Umbridge.

PROMINENT eyes are found in Luna, Umbridge and Slughorn.

PROTUBERANT eyes are a Luna Lovegood staple but Garrick Ollivander is also mentioned to be having them.

BEACON-like is a term reserved exclusively for Sibyl Trelawney

LAMP-like is, likewise, a mrs. Norris exclusive

*: Another observation that must be made in regard to large eyes is that not all of the characters l listed above are described as having permanently big eyes. In many case, these terms are used as synonyms for wide-eyed (the term indicating surprise I chose not to include because of its indiscriminate nature). Regardless, with one look at this list one can easily identify repeat offenders (like elves, Luna and Trelawney) whose eyes are more likely to actually be big

To close out this section, I would like to point out some miscellaneous descriptors used to highlight a character's eye shape, something that actually happens quite rarely in the books. We are more often provided adjectives that give us an impression of a certain character's eyes but aren't necessarily descriptive then we do with tried and true physical descriptors.

Round eyes, for example, are often used to describe Ludo Bagman's child-like expression while pouchy is a term reserved for Dolores Umbridge's toad-like eyes. In order to highlight Blaise Zabini's "exotic beauty" (barf), he alone receives long eyes that slant (like goblins' eyes do, do with that what you will). Morfin and Merope Gaunt are the only characters with strabismus while the perennially shady Mundungus Fletcher has permanently droopy, saggy and baggy eyes.

IT'S ALL IN THE EYES

Some terms, usually those referring to how the light catches a character's eyes, are surefire indicator of their nature (or, at the very least, the nature of their actions).

Glittering eyes, for example, often do so with malice or mischief; some notable adopters include Lucius and Draco Malfoy, Peeves, Severus Snape, Griphook and, in two occasions, some random Death Eaters (as seen through their masks). (It must be noted, for completeness sake, that Harry's eyes also glitter in one occasion, and not for evil reasons)

These same characters' eyes also also described through the synonyms gleam and glint, though these two terms are more widely adopted by non-evil characters.

Oliver Wood, Crookshanks, Fred Weasley and Minerva McGonagall's eyes also glint, but at the same time so do the Death Eaters', Draco's Snape's and Voldemort's.

Gleaming eyes, likewise, are not only used for characters like Aragog/acromantulas in general, dog Sirius as the Grim, thestrals, Snape, Voldemort and Bellatrix but also for Ron, Trelawney, Oliver Wood, Ernie Macmillan and Slughorn.

The complete opposite of glittering eyes is probably twinkling eyes, which are only found in "good" characters. Besides Dumbledore, the term is also used to refer to the expressions of Hagrid, Lupin, Tonks and Bill and Molly Weasley.

GENDERED EYE LANGUAGE

Eyes that are tearing or on the verge of tears are a near total female exclusive. In line with this meta by @wisteria-lodge ,The only male characters who occasionally get described using the same language do so for either femme-coding or comical reasons.

While terms like red rimmed and streaming eyes (aunt Muriel), burning eyes (McGonagall), leaky eyes (Myrtle and McGonagall) are female exclusives, only male characters have wet or watering eyes (both Scabbers and Peter, Kreacher and Slughorn).

Hagrid, our most prolific male crier, shares both teary and bright/overbright eyes with noted female criers Hermione and Molly Weasley (plus, unexpectedly, Petunia) and further displays misty eyes together with Luna (and again Petunia) and puffing/puffy eyes with Hermione.

As a curious aside, notably femme-coded character Draco Malfoy has both shining and sparkling eyes which, when referring to Hermione, are used to describe crying but for him indicate malice.

CONCLUSION

I'd like to close this out with a look at some terms I was surprised weren't as widely used as I would have thought:

Only one character has mean eyes and it's book 1's troll

the only instance in which the term long-lashed is found occurs when Snape's doe patronus is being described

Only one person has hungry eyes (even though quite a few characters have hungry expressions) and it's Voldemort

both alert and weary (two very useful descriptors for a war and conflict in general) are terms used uniquely to refer to Remus Lupin's eyes

Vernon Dursley is the only character with angry eyes

Rufus Scrimegour is the only character to have keen eyes

Similarly, only Phineas Nigellus possesses clever eyes

lastly, only Peeves's eyes dance around

Please enjoy the fruit of my (unasked for) labor friends,

xoxo

[prettymfwrites]

CaitVi Streamer Headcanons pt. 2

Streamer CaitVi x female reader

Uses they/them pronouns though

Summary: More moments of our favorite streamers and their muffin

(Sorry for any mistakes! )

What I pictured you to look like:

Feel free to imagine whatever though!

---

Award Ceremony Night

The award ceremony was a dazzling time. glittering chandeliers, the hum of chatter, and a red carpet teeming with streamers and influencers. I lingered near the bar, cradling a drink in my hand, feeling slightly out of place amid the extravagance. But then I saw them.

Caitlyn walked with effortless grace, her navy dress shimmering under the lights. Her confidence was magnetic, every tilt of her head and flick of her wrist commanding attention. Beside her, Vi exuded a rugged charm in a perfectly tailored suit, her short pink hair slicked back. She carried herself with a swagger that screamed, I know I look good.

They were breathtaking, and I couldn’t help but stare.

Caitlyn’s sharp blue eyes found mine first. A soft smile tugged at her lips, and she raised a brow as if to say, Caught you staring, darling. She winked, and my heart skipped a beat.

Moments later, Vi turned her head, following Caitlyn’s gaze. Her smirk widened as she locked eyes with me. She gave me a mock salute, her playful expression making me feel like I was the only person in the room.

They approached me like magnets, Caitlyn sliding her arm lightly around my waist while Vi draped an arm casually over my shoulder.

"You clean up well, love," Caitlyn murmured, her voice low and warm.

Vi grinned, leaning in closer. "Not bad, huh? Though I think you could’ve coordinated with us. Navy would’ve looked killer on you."

I laughed, realizing her gaze was stuck on my chest, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. "I didn’t realize there was a dress code. But by the way you're staring I can tell you don't mind."

Caitlyn leaned in slightly chuckling, her lips brushing against my temple. "Don’t listen to her. You look perfect."

Vi tilted her head, feigning hurt. "Hey, I just said they looked killer. Stop trying to one-up me, cupcake."

"Then stop making it so easy," Caitlyn quipped back with a smirk.

The night was filled with moments like these—stolen glances, light touches, and the unmistakable tension between the three of us. At one point, as they both received an award for "Best Co-Stream of the Year," they pulled me into their celebratory hug, Caitlyn pressing a kiss to my cheek while Vi’s lips brushed my temple.

"I don’t know if I should feel lucky or overwhelmed," I teased as we walked back to our table.

Caitlyn’s hand lingered on mine. "Hopefully both," she replied, her eyes sparkling.

---

Streamer Rivalry

Sitting in Caitlyn’s streaming room felt oddly intimidating. Her setup was pristine, every wire and light perfectly in place, a sharp contrast to the chaos that was Vi’s usual domain.

"Ready to destroy Vi?" Caitlyn asked, handing me a controller as her chat flooded with excitement.

"Ready to try," I replied nervously, adjusting my headset.

The game loaded, and almost immediately, Vi’s voice cut through the headphones.

"Hey, babe," she said, her tone dripping with mock confidence. "You sure you wanna team up with Cait? She’s all strategy, no bite."

I laughed, and Caitlyn shot me a playful glare. "Don’t listen to her. Stick with me, and I’ll have you wiping the floor with her in no time."

True to her word, Caitlyn’s instructions were impeccable. She leaned in close, her voice soft in my ear as she guided me through the game. Her hand occasionally brushed against mine, her proximity making it incredibly hard to concentrate.

"Focus, love," she murmured, her lips dangerously close to my cheek.

By some miracle or Caitlyn’s genius—we won. Vi groaned loudly in defeat, her voice crackling through the headset.

"Betrayed by my own favorite person? This is a dark day," Vi lamented dramatically.

"Maybe you should stop underestimating me," Caitlyn replied smoothly, her fingers grazing mine as she leaned back with a victorious smile.

"Rematch," Vi demanded.

"Only if you behave," Caitlyn shot back, her hand resting casually on my knee under the desk.

---

Jealousy Prank

The prank started innocently enough. Chat had been egging me on for weeks to mess with Caitlyn and Vi, and I couldn’t resist.

"So, y/n," Vi said during a group stream, her voice teasing. "What’s got you smiling like that? You’ve been suspiciously giggly today."

"Oh, nothing," I replied, glancing at chat for backup. "Just... someone I’ve been talking to. They’re really sweet."

Caitlyn’s brows lifted ever so slightly, though her calm expression didn’t falter. "Oh? Anyone we know?"

"Probably not," I said with a shrug, pretending to check my phone.

Vi narrowed her eyes at the screen. "What do you mean probably not? Who is this mystery person?!"

The chat exploded with laughter and emojis as I dodged their questions, making the two of them squirm.

The final straw came when I pretended to take a call mid-stream. "Hey," I said softly, turning slightly away from the camera. "Yeah, I miss you too. Maybe later?"

Caitlyn’s lips pressed into a thin line as she leaned back in her chair. Vi was less subtle, throwing her arms up. "Okay, what the hell is going on here?"

I burst out laughing, and chat lost it with me. "Relax, you two. It’s a prank. Chat’s been in on it the whole time."

Caitlyn exhaled, shaking her head with a smile. "You’re insufferable."

Vi pointed at the camera, glaring playfully. "Chat, you’re all grounded. And you’re not getting away with this."

---

A Quiet Moment

After the stream ended, Caitlyn lingered behind, her touch light on my shoulder as we tidied up.

"You’re really enjoying being the center of attention, aren’t you?" she teased, her voice low.

"Maybe a little," I admitted, grinning.

The door opened, and Vi walked in, leaning against the frame. "Am I interrupting something, or can I join?"

Caitlyn sighed but didn’t let go of me. "You never don’t interrupt."

Vi stepped closer, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me gently toward her. "Hey, I don’t hear y/n complaining."

I laughed nervously as Caitlyn’s hand slid down to my other hip, her eyes locking with Vi’s in a silent challenge.

"Should we give them something to complain about?" Caitlyn murmured, her lips brushing lightly against the corner of my mouth.

Before I could answer, Vi’s hand tilted my chin toward her, and her lips met mine in a kiss that was both playful and surprisingly soft. When she pulled back, Caitlyn claimed her turn, her kiss slower, more deliberate, leaving me breathless.

"You two are impossible," I whispered, my voice shaky.

Vi smirked, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. "You love it."

Caitlyn’s lips quirked into a smile as she leaned her forehead against mine. "Admit it, y/n. You wouldn’t have us any other way."

And they weren’t wrong.

---

Having insane writers block 😔

Send requests!

[loserlvrss]

CHAPTER2 ✶ Fuckass Streamer Award Goes To... ( 𝐃ong𝐇yuck )─────엔시티

( ɪˈpɪfəni ). ㅤ𓈒 ㅤ𓈒 life gives you a second chance with the man who understood, and never sought to change you 이동혁 &fem!rea. ⟡ series, angst, streamer!au, second chance love 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬───language, depression & anxiety disorder, crude humor ⸝⸝ chap. wc : 1646THOU 🗯LiBRARY

You smiled, replying, “thank you,” as you read over the (specific) comment that was complimenting the selfie you used for engagement purposes. “It was after Alexa’s brother's birthday party—my running to the convenience store drunk, fit.” You read over the comments a little bit more, some saying that you were too dressed up to just go to a 7-eleven. “I take my outfits very seriously guys.” 

You took a bite of the food at your side, scrolling through your music options. You didn’t plan on posting the stream to YouTube so, you weren’t really concerned with what was played. 

“Are we fucking with Niki, chat?” You switched back to your Discord, “Oh my God, Jisung’s obsessed with me!” 

You clicked, finally answering. A ping! filled your ears, making you jump. Then a familiar voice filled them instead, singing along to the song that you had just started playing: Lowkey. Your heart rate was through the roof, hand clutching your chest. “Oh my God! I almost stabbed myself!” The voice laughed through the attempt at hitting a higher note. “Remind me to turn that off later, okay?” 

"Hey! You ignored me, and then decided to flame me on the main."

“Well, don’t be so easy to flame then, emo boy. I didn’t need you to scare the fuck outta me—like Freddy did you.” You laughed loud, putting the fork down, turning Jisung’s voice up. He still hummed along while trying to hold the conversation. 

The chats messages were out of control, some thirsting over his deep voice, others reminiscing past streams you two did. Honestly, you’d met a lot of people through Heachan, Jisung one of them. They played first-person shooter games or League, and occasionally Haechan would teach you, putting his hand over yours and pressing the keys. It made your heart thump, a shooting pain in your chest. 

You were just glad no one needed to choose sides after the breakup.  

The song changed to: Sugarplum Elegy. Jisung took a second to actually acknowledge the chat’s messages (for him, obviously), greeting them. 

Then he went silent when he realized, knowing that he was probably testing the waters, you tried to play it off, leaning back in the chair so your chat could (hopefully) not see your eyes glossing it over. “H-hey, what if we played a game, Ji?”  

He cleared his throat, “Yes? Okay! Yeah,” He shouted, dragging out the end, “What should we play? Roblox? Minecraft? COD? Stardew?” 

You hummed, ooh-ing at his options until they peaked your interest, “Roblox! Roblox!” Your fingers started clicking against the keyboard, he was doing the same, pulling up the game. “Although, when we do an in-person stream, we need to play a scary game again–like when you and Donghyuck played Five Nights at Freddy’s. Maybe Poppy’s Playtime Chapter Three.” 

You must’ve not realized the words that came out of your mouth; too intrigued by the games you scrolled through. But, the chat started speeding by again, and the air felt stale, static heard over the other end of the call. 

“What? What happened?” You asked, still oblivious. Well, that was until it practically smacked you like a train. You had to pretend like you weren’t in the middle of its wreck. 

You heard Jisung audibly swallow, also pretending (for your sake) that he didn’t hear it either, “No, nothing! You just scrolled past a suss-ass game. Speaking of, what do you want to play?” 

“What about…I don’t know, one of the well known ones? Then chat can join too.” 

“Well, yes.” He should’ve just said duh! “But, which one? Natural Disaster Survival? Dress to Impress?” 

“Wait! Natural Disaster Survival! I’m so good at this one!” He typed for a second, and then an invitation popped onto screen, you pressed it, the loading screen taking over momentarily. 

It should’ve been funny how you could relate almost anything back to Donghyuck. The first time you played this game—even the first time you played Roblox—was with him. 

You bit your lip trying to focus on the game instead of the looming thoughts of him in the back (and front) of your head. Mostly, because if you thought about him too long, you’d start to wonder if he ever did the same. But, you couldn’t even get close to watching a video he uploaded or stream of his to read between his lines. Still, you wondered, if you ever reached out, would he reply or would it radio silent? Would it give you the closure you think you crave? 

You shouldn’t hold your breath. 

For now, you were just two people who used to be more. And, you don’t know why that made you so sad. To think you used to share every dark and twisted secret—to hold the words so closely. To think you could’ve been so much more almost kills you. Sometimes you feel like you didn’t give it a shot, but in reality, that’s all you did. 

You guess that you both wanted something the other couldn’t give…or maybe it wasn’t like that at all. Maybe he gave you everything you could’ve ever wanted and that's why it was so goddamn hard to get over this speed bump. You know it would be easier to loathe him, to pretend like he did something terrible and unforgivable. Although, he wasn’t like that no matter how many times you imagined it. No matter what you told yourself, it was never convincing enough. Every scenario ended with you being the bad guy in your story. Every scenario led back to him, and as much as you wanted to hate it, that was what got you through the night.

It’s said that time heals all, but how much time exactly until it becomes something deeper than surface level? 

“I win!” Jisung shouted. 

You had, obviously, died earlier; the chat mocking your statement about being good at the game. But you just wanted to brag to Jisung—the man who was good at every computer game. It was annoying, actually. 

You started playing a different game, Jisung shouting, “Y/n! Y/n, I think they’re e-dating! That’s against the rules, let’s report them!” He laughed like he was scheming, “I did it! I reported them! Haha, losers!” 

“At least they have someone—you and I are shit outta luck, buddy.”

“Damn…” He sighed, “I’m looking—”

“You’re great and all, but I’d actually rather date anything else.” You interrupted. “I think Jaemin, Mr. Pussy Slayer himself would be better.” 

He scoffed, “Bold of you to assume I was talking to you! Bro’s before hoes, y/n.”  

Your jaw dropped, “Oh my God, and the fuckass streamer award goes to…” You yelled down the mic, “Just say i’m fucking ugly next time, damn.” 

Laughter erupted over the call, filling the tense air with something lighter. The chat spammed L’s, TMI’s or random romantic-confessions to each other. Then your MOD’s started spamming, no dating in the chat otherwise you get banned (jokingly) as retaliation. 

They calmed down and so did your shared laughter, Jisung admitting that he had to leave to film a video—which you complained about not being invited to. Then, you said your goodbyes, ending the call. 

“Guys, I should leave too.” You pouted your lip out, “I’ll be back soon, promise.” 

You turned off the stream and almost sighed in relief, though it felt all but relieving. Honestly, you felt nervous, guilty even. Your hands shook as you shut down everything, turning off the lights and leaving the room with a shut door. 

You couldn’t let the thought go. Does he feel the same way you do? Has he been kept up at night wondering if you loved someone else? Does he remember all the firsts and lasts you two had, like you can’t get out of your head? Do his thoughts echo your name, like his replays on yours? You felt like a scratched record, repeating what you already knew; what you feared most, how much you do regret it.  

You said you wouldn’t—that you couldn’t—you decided mutually that it was for the best that you went your separate ways, and to not dwell on the past. But, here you were, doing the opposite. Would he think it was as pathetic as you do? 

You hated how much he lingered on your nerves and flowed through your veins like a pretty poison. You hated how you had to meet someone so good you know you’ll never have better. And, you hated how much his thoughts and emotions were a mystery—a mystery you craved solving. You knew that if you died tonight, you’d regret not reaching out. Unfinished business or something. But, what if you didn’t die during the night and had to face the consequences of your actions? What if you had to face him again one day? Would you be able to? So many hypotheticals you weren’t sure you really wanted the answers to. 

The ghost of your failed-relationship will always haunt you, and it only gets worse in the dead of the night when you’re alone with your thoughts. The cold moon always mocked you, never answering your silent pleas for someone to fix what you couldn’t turn back time to—something you used to desperately cry out for. Now, you know no one is listening. And it should be humbling, yet you don’t care how many times you have to keep his sweatshirt over your body to get even a bit of sleep. 

At least you were sleeping now. 

But, you never thought you’d have to imagine ways to figure out how to make someone miss you. You never thought you’d want to make him suffer like you were. However, you never thought you’d feel lonely like you used to feel his heartbeat against yours. 

Nevertheless, it’s always the one who got away, wasn’t it?

© soph 2025. reblogs ────& feedback r appreciated ૮´ ꒳`ა thnx !

🐻📦ˊˎ- i had to put ji in this somehow y'all...sue me

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[alessiasfreckles]

i'll always look after you (part 2) (alessia russo x reader)

Your girlfriend is grumpy when she's sick. Part 1 here!

a/n: part 2 of the lessi sickfic! based on this request. i hope you like it! also big thank you to @wosoamazing for helping me out with the writer's block!!

-------

“I hate being sick,” your girlfriend grumbled, pouting. “It’s so boring.”

“I know, baby,” you said, giving her a quick kiss. “What did you get up to today?”

It was the third day of Alessia having to stay at home with an extremely stubborn cold. On the first day, she had almost enjoyed having a day off, using the day to sleep. On the second day, she started to get restless, annoyed by her own constant sniffling and coughing. Today, the third day, she was just downright grumpy. Your phone had been buzzing nonstop during training, making the other girls tease you about how bored Lessi clearly was. 

“Nothing!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms up dramatically. 

“Nothing?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve just been lying here all day, not moving, not texting me, nothing?”

Your girlfriend rolled her eyes, crossing her arms and pouting again. “Okay, fine. I watched some tv, rewatched some old matches, maybe went for a small run, scrolled through instagram-”

“Wait, baby, did you just say you went for a run?” you asked incredulously.

“Maybe…” 

You sighed, sitting down next to her on the sofa. “You know you’re meant to be resting.”

“I know, I just. I hate being sick,” she sniffed. “And I thought maybe a little run would be okay, just to get me moving, and into the fresh air, y’know?”

“I know, baby,” you said, pulling her in to lean against you. “How was it?”

“Awful!” she said, bottom lip quivering. “I got to the end of the road and then started coughing and couldn’t stop and had to come back home.”

Tears of frustration brimmed up in her eyes, threatening to spill over. 

“Only a few more days, and then hopefully you’ll feel well enough to come back to training.” you tried to console her, but she pulled away. 

“I do feel better, though! It’s just this stupid cough and this stupid runny nose and-” she said, tears starting to stream down her face, and she hiccuped as you pulled her into a tight hug. “I miss playing football and training with you and all the girls. I know it’s stupid, we spend so much time training and playing, but I still miss it.”

You nodded, your heart breaking for her. “It’s not stupid, baby, I promise. I know exactly what you mean.”

You sat quietly for a moment, the silence broken by occasional sniffs from Alessia. 

“I have an idea,” you said, and she looked up at you. “What if we do some stretching together? I know it’s not the same, but at least you’ll be moving your body.”

She thought about it and then nodded, a small smile on her face. “Does that mean you’ll wear those leggings that make your bum look great?”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “I can do, if you want.”

“Yes please,” she said with a grin, and then quickly pouted. “I’m sick, remember? It would help make me feel better.”

“I was going to wear them anyway, you don’t have to play the sick card,” you laughed, getting up to go and get changed. 

You kept the stretching session relatively easy, not wanting to push Lessi’s body further than necessary, especially when she really should have been resting. You could understand her restlessness though, you felt the same when you were sick. Afterwards, she leant over to give you a kiss, resting her forehead against yours. 

“Thank you, baby,” she said softly. “You always know how to make me feel better.”

“Anything for you, my love,” you replied, your heart full. 

The two of you spent the rest of the evening watching a film and cuddling, before heading to bed early, ignoring your girlfriend’s protests that she didn’t need any more rest. It paid off, however, when the next day she woke up and declared that she felt well enough to come back to training with you. 

Being worried for her health, you tried to convince her to spend one last day at home. She kept you distracted with kisses and wandering hands until you realised that you had to get ready and leave now, otherwise you were going to be late. You didn’t have enough time to debate with her whether she should stay home or not anymore, so you gave up, making sure that she was bundled up in multiple layers so that if she was going to insist on going to training, at least her cold wouldn’t get any worse.

When you arrived at training, your teammates teased you for not having your girlfriend under control. 

“Don’t blame her,” Lessi said with a grin and a wink. “I can be very convincing when I want to be.”

The team doctor was not impressed by her return, but begrudgingly agreed that she did seem healthy enough to participate in the morning gym session, and that they would see how she felt at lunch before deciding whether she was cleared for training on the pitch in the afternoon. You couldn’t help but smile at the look of relief on the blonde’s face as she entered the gym. 

You were at the far end of the large hall, in the weight area, when you heard some coughing from the treadmills at the other end of the gym. You waited a beat, seeing whether the coughing would let up, but when it got worse you dropped the weights you were holding and rushed over. 

Lessi was doubled over next to one of the treadmills, Kyra stood next to her with a hand on her back. You bent down beside her, rubbing her back gently, offering her a water bottle, but she was coughing too hard to take a sip. 

“Shit, Ky, can you get the doctor?” you asked anxiously as your girlfriend stopped coughing long enough to take a quick breath but immediately started again. The Australian nodded before running out of the gym, returning a minute later with the team doctor. Lessi was still coughing, but not quite as badly as she had been. 

“Right Alessia, I need you to try and take some deep breaths for me, okay?” the doctor said, placing a stethoscope against the blonde’s back. She nodded, trying to take a breath between coughs. “I’m just going to take a quick listen.”

You rubbed a thumb against the back of your girlfriend’s hand as the coughs subsided and she was able to breathe again, face pink from exertion. After a couple of breaths, the doctor removed the stethoscope and stepped back in front of her. 

“It doesn’t sound too bad, but I’d like you to stop training for today, and take tomorrow off as well. And I’ll talk to Jonas about the game on Sunday, but you definitely shouldn’t be starting. Have you been drinking enough? Not just water, you need hot drinks as well. Cough drops couldn’t hurt either,” she said, and you watched Lessi’s face fall. 

“Okay,” she said miserably. “But I can play on Sunday?”

“Come and see me on Sunday morning, and if you’re healthy, I’ll tell Jonas that my recommendation is that you can play as a sub, alright?”

The blonde nodded, chewing at her lip. After the doctor left, you pulled her into a tight hug. 

“Can we go somewhere else?” she asked. You nodded, leading her into an empty  equipment room nearby. Once the door was closed, she let her body sag and her face fall into her hands. “I just feel so stupid. I shouldn’t have pushed, I shouldn’t have tried to go for that run yesterday, I should have stayed home today, I just-”

“Oh, baby,” you said, quickly pulling her into another tight hug. You stayed like that for a minute until you felt her body soften against yours, her arms wrapped around you. “You’re not stupid. Anyone else probably would have done the same.”

Just then, a soft knock sounded at the door. It opened quietly to reveal Leah, poking her head through.

“Less, you okay?” she asked, a concerned look on her face.

Your girlfriend shrugged, then nodded. Leah raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Fine,” Lessi slumped down. “I’m still poorly, I guess.”

Leah sighed. “You have to take care of yourself,” she started. Her voice was stern, but kind, and when your girlfriend’s lower lip started to wobble and tears filled her eyes, the England captain pulled her into a tight hug. “I know you wanted to come back, but it’s important for you and for the team that you’re in full health. And it’ll be even longer until you’re back to full health if you push yourself too hard. Believe me, I know how hard it is. So, y/n is going to take you home, okay? We’re mostly done with training for today, so neither of you will miss too much.”

Lessi sniffed and nodded, wiping a tear away. “Okay, Lee. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Less,” Leah said, her eyes kind. She turned to you. “That okay with you, y/n?”

“Sure,” you nodded, taking your girlfriend’s hand. “Come on, trouble. Let’s get you home.”

[auryborealis]

Day 2 of OC x Canon Week '25! 💕 Prompts: Intertwined Fingers & "So, are we official then?"

Note: SFW but does make allusions to sex. Takes place the morning after this.

Yuna found it strange, to be so lost with words even after the night she spent with Sanji. The silence that settled over them as they walked back hand-in-hand would have filled her head with worries and second guesses if it weren't for the occasional exchanged glances, shy smiles, and the feeling of his thumb rubbing against hers, to which she responded with a slight squeeze. But as the sight of the Sunny came into view, it was then they both finally spoke up.

"So..."

They paused, facing each other with widened eyes before breaking into brief giggles.

"You first, my dear," Sanji prompted.

"Oh, okay. Well..." Looking down at their intertwined fingers, Yuna took a deep breath and asked, "Does... this mean we are official then?"

Before Sanji could reply, she continued, her words pouring out like a rapid stream. "It's - it's not that I regret what we did last night or anything. I'm only asking just to be very clear."

Her gaze steadily raised back to Sanji, who - to her relief - maintained his adoring smile. He held up their interlocked hands and pressed his lips against the back of hers.

"Mon coeur, everything I said to you yesterday was the truth. You are the most special person to me. No treasure in the world or even the All-Blue will compare to you. From this day forward, I will spend every moment of my life showing you absolutely clearly how much you mean to me... As long as you'd allow me to."

Of course, Yuna already detected that he was telling the truth. She could see the radiant, opalescent aura that enveloped his form, causing her heart to flutter now that she knew its meaning, an indication of true and sincere love.

Smiling, she nodded. "Yes, I would like that very much."

The cook beamed and instantly leaned in to plant his lips onto hers. They stayed that way for a while, leaning into their blissful kiss and unconcerned with the world around them or with any misfortunes that may come their way in the future. When they parted, their faces remained close, noses almost touching and Yuna's breath ghosting his lips.

"But... perhaps we can wait for the right time to tell everyone else? I'm not sure if I'm quite ready for them to make a big deal out of it yet."

Sanji agreed. He knew that at least half of the crew would bombard them with teases and the last thing he wanted was for Yuna to become uncomfortable in her own home.

"Of course, my love. We'll take it at your pace."

He leaned in for another kiss before Yuna interjected, "And um... I wouldn't mind if we - you know - get together sometime again. Like, in my room?"

Sanji's face rapidly reddened, mirroring Yuna's as she hastily added, "I - I don't mean right away! M - maybe not tonight, but just... sometime. Whenever you're in the mood."

Still blushing, Sanji chuckled. Quick pecks were planted on her lips and cheek, the softness making her slightly shudder as she thought back to how he kissed the scars on her body the night before. He pressed his forehead against hers, the calm returning from their closeness.

"I told you, I will follow your pace. You needn't ever feel the pressure or rush to please me."

And that was that.

When they returned to the Sunny, they were met with an excited Argo, who immediately ran up to them for some pets and (hopefully) some treats. His boisterous barks then summoned Nami and Robin onto the deck, who upon seeing the couple, each gave them certain looks; Nami placed her hands on her hips with a hard stare directed towards Sanji while Robin flashed Yuna a knowing smile.

"Sooo? How was your outing?" Robin asked.

Yuna felt her face heat up.

"W - WE HAD SEPARATE BEDS!!" she blurted out, louder than she intended.

Nami and Robin blinked at her in confusion while Sanji covered his face, but unable to hide the pink tinting his ears.

+ event hosted by @theocxcanonweek // divider created by cafekitsune

[sol-consort]

Omg, I don't know if you remember, but that shepard cam girl/streamer au you did, I absolutely loved it!! I loved Shepard being so nonchalant about being tits-out in front of the crew, also them passing around the video and being embarrassed about making eye contact with Shep. You killed me!! That was so good

Oh god, this one? I wrote it while half asleep, didn't expect anyone to read it. I just checked it over again–damn the amount of typos. I fixed as much as I could rn. Hopefully, it reads smoother.

But yes! I still adore the concept and would love to expand upon it.

The army life + staying on a ship in the middle of the galaxy and sharing space with your crew has got to result in a lot of accidental nudity and flashing situations. Someone new on warships–like Tali or Liara might find it surprising, feel a bit more shy, while someone like Shepard, who was the Normandy second in command during Captian Anderson days got used to it by now.

Or maybe it's a human army thing? Quarians can't strip for first aid because it will only worsen the situation, Krogans have their thick skin and shells, and Turian skin has metal outer plating.

Only humans are this squishy, easily injured, easy to tear into. Mix that with the fact that we have a pretty good immunity system that gives us high tolerance to different microbiomes and the most genetically diverse genes in the Mass Effect canon–Mordin mentions it in ME2—it's not hard to understand why a human soldier would nonchalantly strip on an alien planet, in the middle of the battlefield, just to ensure the wound is treated properly.

But it's still hot—Shepard's total disregard to having your tits out on full display, chest heaving with every breath. Your crew desperately trying to maintain eye contact and not get distracted by the way your bare tits bounce with every powerful command and order you bark at them.

Biotics grant people healing abilities, at least ingame. It's not strange for someone like Kaidan or Liara to act as an emergency medic while on the battlefield.

Kaidan attempts to stay professional, stuttering more than usual as the raspiness in his voice becomes more apparent courtesy of his dry throat.

The tips of his ears reddish, summoning all of his will to keep his finger study as he pressed against your wound with the disinfected pad. Having to lower himself into your naked form, his clothed chest almost fully pressing against your own. The hiss you let out as your nipples touch the cold metal surface of his armour—it almost makes his heart jump out from his ribcage–barely remaining collected by the end of it.

Sneaking one lustful glance at your still exposed chest on the shuffle ride back to the Normandy before forcing himself to look away, feeling ashamed of his actions, excusing himself to his own sleeping pod the second the crew is back on board.

-

Anyway, so streamer Shepard hmm.

Miranda would quickly catch wind of this open secret and become your number one patron under a fake pseudo name. She keeps toning in each stream, even if she's working, simply setting the tablet on the table while she files the papers away. Dropping big stacks occasionally whenever you do something she likes, using the carrot method to subtly get you to act more and more slutty, exactly how she likes it.

Samara convinced herself that as long as she only watches—no touching herself, no writing a comment, no sending any money–then it's basically okay and doesn't break her code. She does, however, pay attention to your frequent commenters, checking their profiles, tracking their other socials... just in case one of them crosses the line. It is her job to make this world a safer place for everyone, right?

Thane–oh god, poor Thane. His own Siha...? Humans sure are uh... more adventurous than he thought they were. Drells are moved by emotions and romantic feelings more than sexual ones. He has very little interest in pornagrophy in any form of media because he just can't get off to a stranger, someone he doesn't love. But once he discovers that it is you in those videos, his commander Shepard, his siha. A flood of emotions wash over him. It becomes a boderline addiction.

Thane especially knows about the common human porno trope of fucking a drell because of the skin acting as both a stim and an aphrodisiac. He wonders if you'd be open to...having him on the stream for that? Just to boost your views...no other reason :) Definitely not to sate some deep primal instinct within him, the need to state his claim by fucking you in front of all of your adoring fans, he is such a tender gentle soul, he would never have those possessive thoughts, right?....right?

The poor guy almost voices this suggestion out each time you come over for a little chat.

Jack would be your top commenter, not even under a fake profile or a different name. Straight up Jack with her own profile picture to boost. Spewing filth and ordering you around like her own personal whore. Of course you don't pay her any mind and only oblige her requests after you make her beg.

Garrus wants to join you so badly. Picture this, the first ever human/turian streamers ever since the war! It will be a hit with both planets. Your profile will skyrocket in popularity. Especially if this is in ME1 where the human-turian intergalactic relationship was still strained and tense. Meditate the tension between your civilisations by letting him stuff you full with his gaint blue glowing cock <3 huh huh!? A million credit worth idea right?

[bluecanvasshoe]

I'll Never Get Out of This World Alive

Chapter 5 of Everything Eats and is Eaten (Time is Fed)

Red Dead Redemption 2 x reader

Warnings: Animal death, blood, panic attacks, ptsd?, guns, alcohol relapse, trauma, passing out, drunk people, angst in general

Summary: You desperately keep your mind off of the gang, but bad things seem to follow you regardless. You lose a lot, but maybe you gain some, too.

Word count: 2.7k

Title from 'I'll Never Get Out Of This World Alive' by Hank Williams

Previous chapter | Next chapter

A/N: Hey everyone! So sorry this took a while. My lungs decided to stop working and one of my pets died, so I've been struggling to write. Hopefully we like this one!

----

Days had passed.

Your back is killing you, and the insides of your thighs are irritated from constant riding. 

The gang still plagued your thoughts, but it became too painful to think about. Anytime they’d weasel into your brain, your mind would shut everything out again.

The weather was a gamble each day; the damp forests of West Elizabeth were rainy and cold. The trees would act as a canopy from rainfall, but thick branches would become heavy with rain and dump whatever water they'd been holding onto you and your horse. Thanks to the late spring season, mosquitoes terrorized you constantly. Irritated red bumps came and went on any exposed skin.

Past the forests of West Elizabeth were the Heartlands, a dusty, dry environment. 

Valentine was a nice break from the riding, and you managed to get a hotel room, a bath, and a hot meal for a night before having to move on. You would’ve taken odd jobs to earn a bit more money, but a strange, frantic anxiety tugged at your heart; you couldn’t waste more time than you already had.

And now, here you are. Riding through the Heartlands to Lemoyne.

Your eyes hurt, and the sun has only just reached the middle of the sky. You almost feel nauseous, something in you begging to stop. But when you do, your heart starts beating that frantic rhythm, and you can’t seem to sit still.

Your horse is likely tired, but he’s been treated kindly; frequent stops for water and a near-constant stream of treats or food kept him in higher spirits than you.

When you were forced to spend a night resting, he’d keep you company by nudging your shoulder and huffing. You’d feed him an apple or an oatcake as a treat, satisfying the horse.

The days dragged on, and your mind grew incredibly weary.

Still, as you saw dry ranch country turn to rolling meadows, it was hard to deny how beautiful the scenery was.

An old, crinkled map was held in your hands. You had to keep an eye out for landmarks, anything to help you guide yourself to Saint Denis as fast as possible. 

Birds chirped too loud, and the occasional yowl of a fox was heard. Your horse’s hooves languidly hit the ground, steadily carrying you closer to Saint Denis. 

Your gear clinked and jostled with each step, the sound practically becoming background noise.

You tried to distract your exhausted mind with songs, but couldn’t remember much past the first few lyrics of most. Your head fell forward, and you blinked yourself awake. 

Your horse grunted, huffing with a flip of his mane. Your head lifted, the aching vertebrates of your neck supporting your overly heavy noggin.

Just a bit longer, you told yourself.

—

It was getting close to dusk, and the lights of a town entered your vision. It was Rhodes; you were undoubtedly close to Saint Denis.

With a click of your tongue and a gentle nudge of your spur, your horse quickened his pace.

You neared the small town, the sound of crickets mingling with faint chatter. Streetlights lined the main road, and cute buildings framed the paths. Reaching the red, dusty paths of Rhodes, you froze.

A white building stood not far away.

You walked past that one a few years ago.

You remember looking at that building.

You distinctly remember hearing a gunshot, and a whir of red cross your vision. Something hit the ground, a bag of bones and flesh.

Your body tensed, knuckles turning white and clenching your horse’s reins. Your already frazzled mind was startled when the sound of a boot hit the ground, and it instinctively urged your hand onto where the holster of a gun would be on your belt; if you’d bought a revolver, that is. 

Your head snapped to the side, surprising an approaching man. Frantic eyes darted around.

Your chest heaved, your vision caving in as white crept in around your eyes. Your hands trembled and your heart beat horribly fast. Everything suddenly felt too close, and you had trouble focusing your eyes.

The man in front of you waved his hand. “Howdy, miss, er, I’m not quite sure how to say this, but have we met before? You seem awfully familiar.”

“Met before…?” you muttered.

Shit. He remembers you from when the gang shot up the town in 1899.

He’s getting the law. They’re probably close, with their shotguns and horses and you’ll be put up in the gallows. You’ll die here or rot in prison. 

You idiot.

It’s your fault that you’ve been caught; maybe you shouldn’t have come here. 

This is a nightmare. This isn’t happening.

“Miss?” He said. You couldn’t make out his expression; everything was a blur.

A door opened not far away; bar music stopped. Glass broke. Men shouted at each other.

At you?

You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t talk; everything mixed together. White clouded your vision, your eyes hazy. Nothing is processed through your brain. Not the desperate command you gave your horse nor the worried call of the man behind you. Dust kicked up as your horse grunted; that didn’t register, either.

You blinked, and you were suddenly riding as fast as you could. Pitch dark surrounded you.

Distant shouts were heard in the background; from what, you couldn’t make out. Only one thing was on your mind; the law was coming.

You looked over your shoulder, and your horse hit a tree. You were sent tumbling, rolling on the ground amidst soil and brush. 

After a moment, your limbs began to work again. A horrible ache resonated through you, your stomach and lungs empty as you gasped for air.

“No, no, no,” you muttered, getting to your feet and running to your horse.

You could barely walk as your legs shook violently. You stumbled to the ground, crawling the rest of the way toward the horse lying on the soil. Trembling, unsteady hands roamed his neck and eventually his head, eyes zeroing in on the blood spilling.

Your ears hardly picked up how the pained cries of the animal died out.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” you chanted, your voice coming out as a choked plea. 

“What do I- what do I do? I can’t…” you heaved, hands clammy.

You leaned forward, resting your head against the horse’s shoulder. Your mind raced, and you could barely think. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Nausea crept up your throat, and you had to look away. Gathering your things as fast as possible, you stood and ran.

You stumbled over tree roots and uneven terrain, branches and plants brushing at your ankles. You’d usually jump in surprise, but your heart is pumping too fast and too hard to make out any sensation other than the desperate flutter in your stomach.

Your legs gave out not five minutes later, leaving you defenseless, exhausted, and hurt on the forest floor.

You became lightheaded, unable to bring in enough air.

Your hands grasped at your throat, and it suddenly felt like your lungs were choking themselves.

You wheezed violently, but air refused to go further than your mouth despite the quick succession of your breaths.

A hand searched for something; you didn’t know what. 

Your body hit the ground.

—

When you awoke, your head felt as if it had split open. Like you had been pelted at the earth, a stone cracking your skull and crushing your bones.

You sit up with squinted eyes and quickly realize you’re in a forest; how did you get here?

Looking to the ground, you spot your bag and rifle. Thank god.

The sounds of nature surround you as if you hadn’t existed there at all; birds chirped and animals yowled, running across the forest floor. Sunlight filtered in through tall, leafy trees and hit the ground in dotted shadows. 

Stumbling to your feet, you gasp in surprise when a sharp pain shoots up the bone of your ankle, sending you down again. A memory comes back to you; white creeping around your vision and overwhelming dark, black night. You trip over a tree root but keep running anyway. There’s no pain.

You groan, your upper body hitting the ground again. 

Your horse. 

You run your dirtied hand down your face; it hardly matters, considering you likely have a week’s worth of sweat, dust, and who knows what else covering your body. It was your fault; of course it was. You did something stupid. You’re paying the price.

Getting up carefully to avoid irritating your ankle, you grab your bag and decide to find a road. It doesn’t take long to find a dirt path next to a rolling meadow with fresh horse tracks; hopefully, it was used often.

Your prayers are answered when a young man comes riding on a shoddy cart, a shire pulling the wagon. The wheels clatter as they roll, the links and parts of the horse’s tack clinking like bells or a ring of old keys.

“Sir!” you wave him down, balancing on one foot to the best of your ability.

He slows the large horse with a click of his tongue, appraising you with scrutiny. He scrunches his large nose, his mouth curving downwards. His cheeks are covered in sunburn-afflicted freckles, a tan covering the high planes of his face. A brown hat sat upon tawny hair. “You alright there?” He asks.

“Um, yeah,” you mumbled, looking back at the forest briefly. “Look, sir, my horse, uh… you see, he died a little further... in the forest, and I need to get to Saint Denis. Are you heading in that direction?” you sounded more desperate than you preferred, your voice more pleading than it was asking a polite question.

He looked at the back carrying splintered crates and labeled burlap sacks, sighing before shuffling to the side. “I’ll getcha there,” he nodded. 

You loaded the small bag and rifle you had onto the seat, stepping up and into the rickety driver’s bench. “Thank you, sir,” you smiled, though you’re sure it came off as more of a grimace.

You probably smell awful; you probably look awful, too. 

The closer you get to Saint Denis, the swampier the air is. Maybe the stench can cover you? Are you really that bad?

…Probably.

An awkward silence falls upon the two of you, occasionally jostling and bumping into each other within the tight confines of the bench. 

“So, uh… Why’re you headin’ to Saint Denis?” The man awkwardly piped up, not looking away from the beige, dusty road.

You blink for a moment, your brain processing at the speed of a snail. “I’ve got some family. A distant uncle,” You settled upon the idea of estranged relatives, hoping he’d buy it. He seemed to be convinced if the nod and an absence of suspicion was something to go off of.

“I see. Um, my pa’s got a sister who lives there. I’ve hardly met her, can’t say I’m looking for her.” He said, adjusting the hat on his head. Sunlight shined upon your backs, heating up the top of your scalp uncomfortably.

You sighed, brushing your hair back in hopes that it’d lay flat. “Why not?” 

“I ain’t ever met her.” He shrugged. “My name’s Martin.”

You nodded at his introduction, your hands settling upon your knees. You introduced yourself, clearing your throat. 

The conversation between the two young adults soon flowed into something comfortable, a nice distraction amidst a warzone of a mind.

Fields and meadows surround you and the boy, golden sunlight bringing out hidden hues of trees and flowers. It’s peaceful.

—

The smoke-filled streets of Saint Denis soon enveloped you. A faint haze of grey shrouded the city you came to hate, the smell of smoke and sewers filling your aching sinuses.

“I’ve never liked this place,” you said, shaking your head.

Martin tilted his head. “Really? I’m not against bein’ in the big city.” His voice carried an indifferent lilt as he shrugged.

“It’s not that I hate cities,” you corrected, looking at the working-class folks who wandered the streets. “I just hate the atmosphere of this city in particular.”

“Hate’s an incredibly strong word,” Martin pointed out, almost sounding cheeky. “Are you sure it ain’t a subtle dislike? You can’t hate it.”

“I do hate it.” You insisted, watching the people go about their lives.

Some swept streets, and others took a smoke break from their smoke-filled factory jobs. Haughty men on horses occasionally passed by, his lips turned in a grimace as he looked upon those he deemed less than himself; he who works four days a week and sips tea from delicate china. The muddy streets squelch and it’s a wonder how no one loses their footing. Big, proud signs and murals display the names of companies, their establishing dates set an unimpressive twenty years prior.

Martin stops, pulling to the side of a polluted street. “I ought to drop all this off. I’ll leave you here.”

Gathering your things hastily, you step down from the wagon and look back up at him with what you hoped was a grateful look. “Thank you, Martin. I uh, I really do appreciate your help.” 

“Don’t thank me, miss, it was nothin’. Good luck findin’ your uncle.” He replies humbly, clicking his tongue with a small flick of the reins. The large shire horse begins walking again, its steady gait carrying them away and down the corner of a street.

You look around where you were dropped off, vaguely remembering how to navigate the muddy labyrinth. The lonely grey of the sky presses upon the looming structures of connected buildings, the sad atmosphere of workers weighing on you almost immediately. With a sigh from your nose, you turn and set off to find the nearest bar.

Just this once, you tell yourself. Just one time, you’ll be fine.

—

You have hardly any money in your bag anymore.

The bartender scoffs, his lips curled in disgust as he ushers you from the warmly lit bar. You stumble onto the streets, swirling vision and muddled mind altering your surroundings. Sunlight invades your eyes.

You lean against a wall, ignoring the awful ache of your ankle as you try to collect your thoughts.

God dammit. Charles is waiting!

Your heart rapidly increases its beating, and you push yourself from your support.

You stumble down cracked and uneven sidewalks, vaguely remembering the area in which the fighting ring was reported.

Your confused, hazy mind gets you there, and totally not because you stopped multiple strangers on the road and asked for directions.

You find a white-bricked building, a path curving around it. Tripping through, you’re met with a rotting, wooden apartment and staircase, the ground packed with dirt and framed by flimsy fencing.

A muffled shouting comes from further down, and you get yourself there after ignoring the shouts of strangers around you.

Shouting? 

The law?

Nah. Probably not.

“Charles!” You call, your voice slurred.

A crowd fills your vision, men erupting into a cacophony of cheers for a person beyond your sight. Another, however, takes your attention.

Your befuddled mind couldn’t believe what it was seeing.

Charles was speaking to a man. He was a little ways away from the onlookers, their backs turned. 

“You’re a killer, Charles. Remember that.” a man with a moustache said, a hand on your old friend’s shoulder. Upon hearing footsteps, the stranger giving the pep talk narrowed his eyes that landed on you. “I’ll… be off now…?” He said, turning away and walking towards the loud group.

Charles sighs before noticing you. 

“Charles!” you cheered.

His eyes widened, and he said your name with an air of disbelief; said shock quickly morphing into exasperation and his own kind of worry when you threw yourself at him.

“Charles! I’ve been- Charles, I’ve been looking for you, Charles,” you smiled lopsidedly, looking up at the long-haired man. He furrowed his brows, unsure of what to do. 

Carefully pushing you off of him, he sighs.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, surely recognizing you. “Are you drunk?”

“No, no, I’m not,” you slur, shaking your head with a goofy expression.

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, grabbing one of your shoulders and guiding you away from the crowd. He stopped at some crates, putting on a blue shirt and a leather vest. Another man wearing a brimmed hat approached him. They exchanged words your brain couldn’t quite process before Charles turned back to you.

He led you outside the alleyway, stopping when you crouched down unexpectedly.

“What? Are you alright?” He asked, bending at the waist.

You don’t remember anything after that.

---

Taglist:

@gallantys, @justsomereaderwholikesanime, @shackspossum, @photo1030

[cozywithanna]

Savoring the small stuff

Dear cozy readers, It’s been a chaotic stretch: my birthday just passed, Mother’s Day is almost here, and I’m gearing up to travel across the world to visit family I haven’t seen in 10 years. It’s an exciting time, but my to-do and to-buy lists seem endless. Sometimes, I just want to lounge on the couch and exhale. During times like these, I think it’s even more important to savor the small stuff and find moments of calm in chaotic everyday living. 📖 Soft Reading: Njuta: The Swedish Art of Savoring the Moment I’ve always had a soft spot for Scandinavian culture and am always trying to incorporate their healthy and low-key social habits into my life, especially as someone who often opts for bed-rotting. This little book is a reminder that joy doesn’t have to come from big gestures or perfect days; it’s about noticing the small pleasures: eating and making simple foods like bread, embracing nature, incorporating movement and connection in little ways, etc. 🧩 Mindful Pastimes: Memory exercises Here’s a confession: My brain often spirals with health anxiety, particularly around longevity. It’s not the most fun headspace, but it’s comforting to realize that the small, playful habits we do everyday can support long-term well-being. One of my favorite memory games is this JetPunk quiz on naming as many of the world’s countries as you can (in your own time). It’s surprisingly meditative, and it scratches that nerdy little itch in my brain while helping with recall. 📱 Wholesome Scrolling: Sugar and Sloth on Instagram Follow Sugar and Sloth for the cutest, most affirming content you didn’t know you needed. Their posts are designed to help anxious overthinkers live happier lives, and they hit that perfect note of uplifting without being unrealistic and cringe. Think: adorable illustrations, gentle pep talks, and reminders that you’re already doing your best. 🎬 Calm Viewing: Romeo + Juliet (1996) I’ve been begging to see this movie pop up on streaming and it’s finally on Hulu! This adaptation is SO campy: Shakespearean language meets 90s aesthetics, Leonardo DiCaprio embodying broody emo boy feels, and Harold Perrineau’s iconic Mercutio portrayal. The first scene alone (a gunfight at a gas station) is pure, glorious absurdity. If you’re looking for a cozy movie night with a chaotic and beautiful film, this is it. 🍪 Simple Bites: Trader Joe’s Ube Tea Cookies I like to occasionally go to Trader Joe’s just to browse and discover new snacks; maybe that’s a Mindful Pastime to include in a future newsletter issue. I am a huge fan of all things ube-flavored, so these cookies were a must to try. The verdict? This is the perfect snack to pair with tea or coffee (perhaps over fika, as Swedish culture calls for). 🧴 Comfort Finds: Supergoop! Sunscreen Wearing sunscreen makes me feel oddly safe—like I’m doing a tiny protective ritual every time I leave my house. Supergoop! has been my go-to for a few years now; it’s light, blends in easily, and reminds me that caring for myself doesn’t have to be complicated. SPF = self-care. 💭 Warm Thoughts: "You rarely have time for everything you want in this life, so you need to make choices. And hopefully your choices can come from a deep sense of who you are."— Fred Rogers Take care, and may you find tiny pockets of joy on the busiest days 🌸

[autisticlancemcclain]

prev

———

“See! There it is again! It is going to attack us, we must act immediately!”

Keith wonders how badly it will make everything worse if he feigns a heart attack. He thinks he could be pretty convincing.

“Animals make noises,” Keith says tiredly. “The roars are not getting any closer. How did the previous attacks go? Was there some sort of roar-increase?”

The dignitary hesitates. “Well, no. The first time it happened the beast seemed startled, and then it was angry.”

“Shocking, that,” Lance says, and this time no one fights him.

The longer this debate has been going on, the clearer and clever it has become that Lance was correct.

Before they decided to go after the beast, the team decided it would be best to get as much information from the dignitary, security team, and royal family of the planet as possible. They expected it would take maybe half a varga to go over a couple reports, make a plan, and go after the beast – and hopefully manage to subdue it rather than kill it, to solve the problem on as many fronts and please as many people as possible.

Of course, because the universe finds their endless struggle amusing, it did not go that way. Instead, they’ve been here for the past four vargas at least, trying to get as much information as possible from the scattered reports and eye-witness accounts they could gather, all while half-watching Lance in tense silence (who, to be fair, has mostly stayed in one place and ignored everyone except for making the occasional bitchy comment).

They are getting nowhere.

It turns out the royal family and many community leaders are not nearly as fond as the dignitary and the soldiers of killing the beast. No one can agree on anything, not a plan of attack, not a plan to avoid attack, nothing. Keith has been listening to the same circular arguments ever since he got here, and as the not-black-paladin, he’s expected to contribute, so he has to pay attention. And usually that’s tolerable – it’s not the first time he’s expected to participate in a meeting that has gone on forever and done nothing productive, nor will it be the last – because he’s got Lance next to him, with a running commentary and joke stream that makes the whole thing easier to bear, along with a steady hand on his arm when he gets mad and often even a solution to wrap the whole thing up.

But, obviously, Lance is furious with him and everyone, right now, and is sitting as far away from Keith as he can manage, doodling on his holopad.

It’s miserable.

“I simply feel like there are more options that we should consider,” someone says diplomatically. Since that is literally the ninth time that exact sentence in that exact tone has been said in this meeting, Keith does not get his hopes up. He’s honestly half prepared to die and be buried in this stupid meeting room.

As the room descends into arguing once again, with absolutely zero new conclusions or changes, Keith finally gives up on paying any further attention. There’s nothing he’s missing, there’s nothing he’s contributing, and, he will admit it, doing meetings without Lance on his team is genuinely more than he can handle. He has no idea when he reached this level of codependency – because he can distinctly recall a point in time where doing meetings with Lance so much as in the same room would have them at each other’s throats in seconds – but he is in no place to handle it now. He lets himself drift, staring out the window across the table from him and deliberately thinking of anything except the flash of hurt in Lance’s eyes before it settled into fury, last night during the call.

As he observes the pretty scenery in front of him, rolling hills of yellow grass and an off-blue sky, he notices something strange along the backdrop of a pretty countryside. Along the edge of the far-off forest, there is a dark spot, out of place from its surroundings. He squints his eyes, leaning forward to try and figure out what it is. His posture piques the curiosity of the others at the table, and soon everyone is looking at the spot, watching with growing concern as it seems to get bigger, significantly bigger, and starts even to take shape.

“It has come again,” the dignitary says, hushed. They have genuine fear reflected in their eyes, which softens Keith slightly towards them. Maybe they aren’t just being a stubborn dick.

It takes a second to process, but soon the room descends into chaos, because for all that they have been discussing for hours, no plans have been made. Time is up, though. The beast as come to them, and now they must plan on the fly.

“Ready the guards,” says the queen. “Be vigilant and prepared. I would have appreciated more time, but there is none. We must be prepared to protect ourselves and our people. Last time we managed to scare it off with –”

“Wait!” Pidge shouts, the only one still sitting and facing the window. There is command in her voice, the likes Keith rarely hears from her, and her fingers twitch like they do when she’s calculating something in her head, solving a problem none of them even considered. “Nobody move!”

All the gathered officials in the room stand in tense silence, half watching Pidge and half watching the rapidly approaching beast. As it gets closer, it becomes apparent that it’s not approaching on its own. The beast, which Keith can now see resembles a truly gigantic bear, has a carefully bandaged leg, more than is capable for an animal, and is guided forward but someone sitting on its back, tiny in comparison to its head but visibly determined from even this distance.

“I knew it!” Pidge crows, springing up from her seat and pointing at Lance with manic glee in her eyes. “I fucking knew it! Your posture is way too good!”

Lance stares at her for several moments, eyebrow raised, and then sighs. Keith watches with a dropped jaw as he grows several inches taller, as his hair gets redder and his face gets bushier, until Coran sits in the place where Lance just was.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Shiro mutters, dragging his hand down his face. “I’m going back to the astral plane.”

Coran shrugs. “Lance’s plan simply had more research and direction. Also, I’ve not been out on a mission in too long. I will admit that played a role in my decision.”

“Well, Jesus, Coran, do you think we maybe could have –”

“Hey, guys, not to interrupt, but the giant beast is getting closer, people are aiming fire at it, and my dumbass best friend is currently riding on its back, so,” Hunk says. “Can we maybe worry about that first?”

The seriousness of the situation hits them all pretty quickly, and they adjust their attitudes accordingly. Lance is approaching faster by the second, no longer a shadow in the distance but a distinct figure, waving his hands like a dumbass and either completely oblivious or completely apathetic to the myriad of weapons, poised to fire, pointed in his direction by a horde of soldiers. The team rush outside with the rest of the officials, calling out for people to hold their fire, although it doesn’t do much, and the great beast swerves several times to avoid getting blasted.

“Stop! Stop! Don’t shoot! That’s a paladin!”

“Fire away!” the dignitary shouts over them, fury lighting their features and stubborn set to their jaw. “The insolence of their paladin does not negate the risk the beast poses!”

The paladins and the dignitary, along with several others on their side, glare at each other. The team may not approve of Lance’s methods, and there will be some serious discussion later, but that doesn’t change the fact that their fucking friend is out there being shot at, and they’re not going to stand back and let it happen.

“I swear, if you hurt him –”

“If he wasn’t trying to be hurt he shouldn’t have –”

“Hold on!” Lance shouts, finally close enough to hear. “Everyone – cool it for a sec! Hold on!”

———

next

[misshoneyimhome]

Can you write for Trent Frederic? Maybe like telling him your pregnancy or first announcing you two are dating just pure fluff!

Oh babe! I am so so sorry this took forever 🤍✨

But I finally got around to it - Now, I couldn't quite decide on how to go about it... so I just kind off went with it and did both 🙈 Since it's my first time writing for Trent F. I had to do some research ofc; and I know it's a bit short, but hopefully you still enjoy it ❤️🤗

Tropes and warnings; just pure fluff, strangers to lovers, no warnings; pregnancy announcement

Word count: 1.7K

➼｡ﾟ

Next Chapter I Trent Frederic

The morning light streamed through the bathroom window, casting a soft glow over the room, and as you stood there and looked down at the plus sign indicating the result, a small curve slowly crept onto your lips. Your heart raced as you processed the reality of the situation. You knew it was soon in the process, and it had all happened a lot faster than you’d expected—yet, you knew this was a good thing for your next chapter. You felt a mix of exhilaration and nerves, knowing that your life was about to change in the most profound way.

So, over the next few hours, you couldn’t help but contemplate and think back on how everything had unfolded over the past couple of years. The house was quiet, the only sounds being the distant hum of city life and the occasional chirping of birds outside. You made yourself a cup of tea, sitting down at the kitchen table, your mind drifting to the pivotal moments that led you here.

How your life had turned upside down, just like that, in a way you’d never expected.

_

It all started with a friendly pickup hockey game organised by mutual friends back in 2018.

You had always grown up with hockey around you, your father playing all his life and then passing it on to your older brother. Weekends were spent at the local rink, the chill of the ice and the sharp sound of skates cutting through it became a comforting backdrop to your childhood. So, naturally you quickly learnt to lace up your skates and found your way onto the ice, much to the delight of your family.

Of course, your mother first thought you’d be on the ice as a beautiful princess of a figure skater. She had dreams of you twirling gracefully in sparkly dresses, capturing the hearts of audiences with your elegance. However, despite everyone trying to dress you up in tight suits and all that sparkling glitter, you instead always found your way to some sort of hockey gear and a stick to shoot a puck around with. The thrill of the game, the teamwork, and the adrenaline rush drew you in far more than the idea of being a figure skater.

In a way, you were a bit of a tomboy; always hanging out with a solid group of guys as well as other hockey-interested girls. You relished the camaraderie, the sense of belonging that came with being part of a team. And as far back as you could remember, you always preferred to hang out with your brother and his friends. In fact, this bond over hockey brought you closer to your brother, and eventually, to a wider circle of friends who shared the same passion.

Which eventually led you to the group of friends that set up the friendly hockey match during the winter of 2018.

And that’s when you met Trent.

Just another 20-year-old with a passion for hockey, hanging out with his group of friends, who hung out with another group of friends—and so on.

Long story short, you were all a bunch of hockey enthusiasts, joining together on a sunny winter Sunday in Boston, and as a newcomer to the city, Trent had joined his group of friends, which led to you all mingling coincidentally on an outdoor ice rink.

And apparently, your wide smile and vibrant enthusiasm caught Trent’s eyes immediately. So, for hours he thought about how to start up a conversation with you.

Trent wasn’t usually insecure about himself. He knew he was a young, charming lad, with a strong and impressive career. He knew he was a fighter, making his way to the best league in hockey—yet, seeing a girl like you had his stomach turn and he immediately rather wanted to get into a fist fight than trying to flirt with you.

Not that you were intimidating in any way. On the contrary. You were just so open, outgoing, and simply sparkling with joy. You had that captivating aura that just drew people in, and a part of him knew that if he didn’t at least try to talk to you—aware he might get rejected, he knew he’d regret it.

So, naturally, putting on his greatest smile and polishing his confidence, he skated up next to you when you were finally alone, having a sip of your water by the ice rink railing.

"Wow, you're not too bad for a non-pro," he teased, nudging you gently with his shoulder.

"Just trying to keep up with the big leagues, I guess," you shot back, feeling the warmth in your cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold. You were used to holding your own among your brother’s friends, but Trent’s playful banter and genuine smile disarmed you in a way you hadn’t expected.

And when the game then ended, the easy camaraderie lingered. As you both decided to stay back and help clean up, Trent found the courage within and suggested grabbing a hot chocolate to warm up. 

One cup then turned into several, and before long, the two of you were lost in conversation, sharing stories and dreams long into the night. It felt natural, easy, like slipping into a favourite jumper. You found yourself laughing more than you had in ages, the connection between you undeniable. Neither of you knew it then, but that night was the beginning of something special.

_

Months into your blossoming relationship, it was clear that what you had with Trent was something special. Yet, announcing it to the world felt daunting - at least to you. 

Though you were used to the hockey world, being with a professional athlete came with its own set of challenges, and you weren't sure you were ready for the spotlight. The media scrutiny, the fans, the pressure of public perception—all of it weighed on your mind.

However, one evening, after a particularly thrilling game, Trent then pulled you aside in the empty rink. His eyes sparkled with excitement, his energy infectious, and you could see the determination in his expression, the way he had set his mind on something important.

"I want to tell everyone about us," he said, his voice full of determination.

But you hesitated, your mind racing with doubts. "Trent, it's a big step. Are we ready for this?" 

The what-ifs and potential fallout played on a loop in your head, but Trent’s presence grounded you.

Trent just took your hands in his, his grip firm yet gentle. "I love you, Y/N. I've never been more sure of anything in my life. I want the world to know that you're mine, and I'm yours." His confidence was unwavering, and it gave you the strength to face your fears.

His words simply melted away all your fears. So, with a deep breath, you nodded. "Okay, let's do it."

And to your relief, the announcement was met with nothing but an outpouring of support from fans and teammates alike. The love and encouragement bolstered your confidence, and you felt more connected to Trent than ever before. The world now knew about your relationship, and it felt liberating. So, walking hand in hand, you faced the world together, ready for whatever came next.

_

Now, five years later, the playoffs were in full swing, and the Boston Bruins had just advanced to the second round. The excitement was palpable, but so was your anxiety. You had taken a pregnancy test that morning, and the positive result had left you reeling. The implications of this tiny plus sign were enormous, and you couldn’t shake the mix of joy and apprehension.

Though you knew it could happen anytime - aware of how biology works - it happened sooner than you expected. And with Trent's focus on the playoffs, you were unsure how to break the news without distracting him. So, you decided to wait until the right moment, hoping the Bruins would continue their winning streak.

But then when the team lost and their season ended, you suddenly saw an opportunity to lift Trent's spirits. The defeat was a heavy blow, and seeing your fiancé so despondent tugged at your heart. So, that night, as he sat quietly in your living room, his disappointment evident, you took a deep breath and approached him.

"Trent, there's something I need to tell you," you began, your voice trembling slightly. The weight of your news felt immense, though you had a feeling it was something that could bring light into this dark moment.

He simply looked up, concerned about replacing the sadness in his eyes. "What is it, honey?"

Without any words, you just handed him the positive pregnancy test, watching as his expression shifted from confusion to shock - and then finally to pure joy. You could see the moment the reality of it hit him, his eyes widening in surprise.

"We're going to have a baby," you said, tears of welling up in your eyes, as the words felt surreal, yet so right.

And Trent's face just lit up with the biggest smile you'd ever seen. He swiftly stood up, lifting you into his arms and spinning you around. "Oh fucking yes! This is the best news ever!" he exclaimed, his excitement infectious, the room seeming to brighten with his happiness and the earlier gloom dispelled.

He then gently sat you down, his hands carefully resting on your belly. "I can't believe it. We're going to be parents."

You nodded, the weight of the moment sinking in. "Yes, we are."

Trent then pulled you in for a deep kiss, his joy and love overwhelming, as he allowed you both to sink more into the tender moment, before slowly pulling apart. "This is the perfect way to start the off-season, baby," he said, his voice full of promise. "I can't wait to start this next chapter with you."

And as you stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, you knew that whatever the future held, you would face it together, united by love and the new life growing within you. The journey ahead was filled with unknowns, but with Trent by your side, you felt ready for anything.