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syoddeye · 2 days ago

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sliding scale

You're in need of a handyman. He has needs of his own. cw: discussion of kids/pregnancy, john price inserting himself into your life, heavily implied breeding kink, unsettling and smutless (my brand)

You win the jackpot. Okay. Not the jackpot, but you're hit by a respectable windfall. It's like a cheesy movie you'd watch around the holidays: A distant relative dies, you receive a very serious letter, and suddenly, your account isn't as sad as it once was.

So, you do the impossible. The unthinkable. You buy a house.

An old, well-loved house from an elderly couple.

The day you close, they tell you about raising their kids in the house and mention the names etched on the door frame. When you arrive home that evening, the empty house feels grand and hollow, but there they are, just where they said. Names climbing upward in uneven increments, faded with time, but legible. You trace your finger along the marks, imagining small hands and the measuring tape, the years slipping by. It makes you smile, despite yourself.

You've never wanted kids, not really, but the thought of this, people leaving bits of themselves behind—it makes you mushy. You figure, once the dust settles, you'll let rooms to friends, maybe friends of friends. Start a fun little commune of sorts, a collective of people coming and going.

The first night, you drink nonalcoholic wine straight from the bottle and lie on your mattress on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. There's no furniture yet, just your overnight bag and the smell of fresh paint from a patch you tested on the living room wall. You fall asleep smiling. The house needs a lot of work, but you're not worried. Some TLC and elbow grease can go a long way.

Over the next few weeks, you move in and start working. Anything is possible with the power of YouTube tutorials and the local tool library.

You start in the primary bedroom and bathroom, learning to tile, install flooring, and connect plumbing for the perfect vanity and sink you found at a thrift store. It feels good to learn how things fit together and see the fruits of your labor. At night, you sleep in one of the old kid's rooms. The wallpaper is covered in rockets and planets. A couple of glow-in-the-dark stars cling to the ceiling.

The bathroom comes together wonderfully, and you feel invincible.

But then you get to the kitchen.

After an outlet zaps you, you decide you may be in over your head. That there really is a limit to what one person can do on their own. You start looking up local contractors, but everything is out of your budget. You've been doing all the work yourself for a reason. Then, after digging for ages, you find a promising lead: John Price - Handyman - Sliding Scale.

On the phone, John seems normal. Charming. Funny. He tells you he's impressed you bought a house on your own. (You've heard that a lot lately, and while it feels patronizing, you let it go. You did jump up a band upon inheriting your chunk of Great Uncle Leroy's money.) He agrees to come by and see what he can do.

You have to admit he makes a good impression when he shows up. He's punctual, polite, and looks the part. Broad chest, thick arms, big hands resting on his hips as he surveys the kitchen. After only a few minutes, he says he'll take the job. No hesitation.

You explain your tight budget and that you'll work alongside him when you're not at your day job. You show him the money you've set aside, expecting him to back out, but he just shakes his head and nudges the folder back across the table.

"Said I'd do it. Don't you fret, darl."

You vet him afterward, just to be sure. His references check out. The reviews are solid. He appears to know a little about everything. You text him to confirm, formally offering the job, and he accepts.

On the first day, you let him in and immediately have to avert your eyes. You didn't realize a toolbelt could look like that on someone. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his forearms, and the way he moves—confident, purposeful—makes you grateful you're heading out to work. You tell him when you'll be back and leave quickly, gripping the steering wheel tighter than usual thinking about the hunk of man in your house.

When you return, the kitchen looks different, unfinished, but vastly improved. John's already fixed things you didn't think could be fixed. Over lunch, he even scoped out other problems around the house: a crack in the basement wall, a loose board on the stairs, and spots where the flooring must be replaced. He gushes about the house, praising its character, the way it's held up over time.

John's face grows serious, and stares down his nose when he finally asks, "You're not gonna ask me to paint over the wood or rip out the built-in hutch, are ya?"

His relief over your answer is palpable: No. That's why you bought the house in the first place. You describe what you love about it: the glass doorknobs, the dining room archway, and transom windows above the doors. He nods. He knows exactly what you mean.

Before he leaves for the day, he stops at the doorframe and points to the tallest name etched into the wood. You explain it belonged to the previous owners, a family with seven kids.

"Seven," he repeats, eyebrows raised.

"Right? Can you believe that? Seven!" You laugh. Frankly, anything more than two sounds insane.

But John doesn't laugh. He stares at the names for a moment, his jaw tight. "Yeah. Difficult to imagine."

After he leaves, you scold yourself. You don't really know John. You've known him for all of a day. What if he came from a big family? Or what if he doesn't speak to his family anymore, if things are complicated with his parents? You feel awful, and the guilt channels itself into stress-baking.

The next morning, when he shows up, there's a platter of breakfast pasties waiting on the counter. He hesitates, looks almost bashful, until you insist. He takes a bite, then another, and looks at you with genuine astonishment. He says if you leave food like this every morning, he'll knock his rate down even further.

It makes sense, financially speaking, so you agree. You start making breakfast for two, and in return, he keeps the repairs affordable. The ritual becomes routine: John shows up every weekday morning, you eat together, he gets to work, and you leave. You look forward to seeing him. Hearing his voice rumble out good mornings and goodnights.

For two weeks, you come home to find steady progress on the kitchen. You help him out for an hour or two in the evenings, and by the time it's nearly finished, you've started discussing other parts of the house.

You mention the two smallest children's rooms aren't really usable for tenants. You show him your plans to knock down the wall between them and create a library or office space.

But this time, John doesn't agree.

"First I'm hearing of this," He leans back in his chair at your table. His arms cross over his chest, legs spreading wide. Even sitting, you see what he's doing. Trying to take a posture that carries authority, to cow you. "Tenants? What about a family?"

You try to steer the conversation back to your plans, to the picture you've sketched. "I'm not planning on having one. So, like I was saying—"

"Why buy a house this big, then? Why spend all this time fixin' it up if you're not planning to honor its legacy?"

The tone of his voice shifts completely, with no trace of the easy, flirty banter that's been your norm for weeks. His words drip with disdain. His brow knits together. Nostrils flaring. He looks genuinely upset. Mystified that you're not going to fill the house with your…your brood.

It's as if your refusal to have children is an affront to him personally.

It sends a chill down your spine. Instantly, your image of him—this dependable, good-humored man—cracks apart. You glance past him, searching for the right words, and focus on the kitchen instead. The cabinets, the fixtures, the paint. All of it bears his mark now, and it leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

The realization settles like a stone in your stomach. You can't keep working with him. Not if your plans for the house, your house, are going to be a problem.

You tell him as much, as gently as possible.

His anger bleeds out of him quickly, melting into embarrassment and shame. His shoulders drop, and he folds into himself in a way that seems almost impossible for someone his size. "Don't know what came over me, darl."

He packs up his tools while apologizing again, both for his outburst and for the unfinished work, and gives you the spare key you lent to him for emergencies. Before he leaves, he asks you not to write a review, not even a positive one, and you agree. Things had been good until now. You don't want to ruin him over this. People have bad days.

With the kitchen functional and nothing too big left on your plate, you cut your losses and decide to finish the work alone.

Progress is slow on your own, of course. One pair of hands, only so many hours after work to chip away at the list after work. Still, time moves faster than you expect. You push through exhaustion, head often swimming, and work late into the evenings. One night, you finish patching the floor and tackle the basement's cracked wall. Only when you get down there, it's already done. Smoothed over perfectly.

You tell yourself John must've fixed it before everything went south. But then you notice other things. Several odd jobs from your list are already complete.

Squeaky door hinges turn silent. The dings and nail holes in the walls, spackled over. The second toilet that kept running starts working correctly. It's partly a relief, like the house is taking care of itself, but also deeply unsettling. You don't remember doing it, you've never sleepwalked or slept-repair in your life, even in your overtired state, and you're still too sore over your falling out to text John and ask if he did it all.

Instead, you decide to take a break. A few days off work, a proper rest. Let the house settle, let yourself breathe. Nothing happens. No floating tools. No ghosts. It's like the house is waiting for you to look away.

Paranoia sets in. You order cameras—indoor and outdoor, enough to cover every angle.

The day they arrive, you barely make it through the door before tearing open the box. But something stops you. Your eyes catch on a strange wooden box sitting on the dining table. It's a shadowbox.

Inside the box is the slat from the front doorframe, the one with the heights and names of the seven kids who grew up here. It's been cut out, perfectly, and framed like an artifact.

Your stomach drops. You scramble to the doorframe and run your hands over it, frantic. The patchwork is seamless, so clean it's like the names never existed.

Then you notice the boots. Tucked in and lined up next to your own pairs. The extra jacket hanging on the hooks.

A shadow falls over you.

You freeze, heart in your throat, and slowly turn with eyes the size of dinner plates. Towering above you, sleeves rolled to his elbows, fists planted on his hips, is John. Grinning.

"Work alright today?" He bends down and pulls you to your feet by your wrist, wrapping you up in an embrace and welcoming you home. He sways slightly with you, like you're dancing, his chest rising and falling against yours. He looks at you with a clear fondness and affection, but there's something off, like a splintering foundation. Stable until you look too close.

You try to push yourself away, palms flat against his chest, but he doesn't let go. "What are—What are you doing here? What are—Why did you do that?" You glance again toward where the measurements used to be.

He chuckles, soft and unbothered, a wistfulness threaded in his words. "Well, we're gonna need the room for our little ones, yeah? Oh, we'll have seven or more, dependin' on what takes. Sliding scale and all that."

At your stunned, horrified silence, he slots a hand into the back pocket of your jeans. He gives your cheek a little squeeze and starts steering you toward the kitchen. The one he built for you.

"C'mon. Lemme tell you all about my plans for us."

#price x reader #john price x reader

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misty-surveys · 2 days ago

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if you have a lighter, what color is it? we have a green one with fern on it but we don't use it, in hs Nat is using one with art reminding us of Alfons Mucha, others choose whatever

pepsi box blue or cheetos bag orange? pepsi box blue

do you like pasta? we do

how often are you on tumblr? everyday! usually in the morning and evenings sometimes

are you only doing this because you’re bored? yes and no

what blogs do you mostly interact with? our favorite ones obviously, we follow over 200 blogs

have you had water today? yes, of course

which do you prefer, cotton candy or funnel cake? funnel cake I guess

bass or drums? drums

favorite tv commercial? host has few of 'em she might list someday maybe

can we be friends? don't know you :x

do you admire the clouds and color of the sky? at times

what’s the weirdest thing that’s happened to you? so many weird shit!

a netflix series that’s your favorite? can't choose

an earliest obsession you remember? host had an obsession on collecting monkey photos from newspapers/magazines and just articles about animals, she was constantly browsing her small encyclopedia on animals and it's still right next to me on the desk, one of few reasons we became animals ourselves...

do you play video games? not really

zombies or vampires? none anymore

your first celebrity crush? unsure who was real celeb crush for our host tbh

do you have a collection of cool rocks? yes, host does

five words that describe you? system, us, we, headmates, alters; for host - collector, sidekick, childish, small, clown

what have you learned about yourself? we know ourselves/each other better everyday!

can you tie a cherry stem with your tongue? nope

do you believe in aliens? dunno, don't care much

books or films? movies 100%, host read a lot during her childhood, when it comes to Brie he is reading way more in head space and isn't a big fan of movies but still watches them from time to time

an unusual song that’s your favorite? probably plenty of unusual songs for us ;)

the last thing you ate? host ate cookies with family

have you gotten bit by a dog? yes, host was bitten by a dog before and we were bitten by dogs in the inner world too

do you write better with a pen or a pencil? pen

a song that gets stuck in your head? none currently

when you hear “ peace ” what do you think of? hand sign

a school subject you're good with? depends

how many alarms do you have set? none, mom wakes us up

do you shop at thrift stores? host loves it!

what’s the meaning behind your url? it's our collective name

is there wise words you live by? nah, not really

you gotta have a favorite beatles song, what is it? Lio loves them but dunno which one is his favorite

earphones or a speaker? speaker more

what do you remember from your childhood? host remembers quite a lot actually

do you collect anything? she does - lots of stuff, we don't irl but some collect things in hs

favorite tea? black, sometimes with lemon but cold one

a christmas song you secretly like? why secretly? XD

book stores or record stores? book stores but Jacob would go to the record store

how weird were these questions? not weird at all

what scents do you like? we dislike most of scents, we're too sensitive

by Benji

weird asks because i’m bored

if you have a lighter, what color is it?

pepsi box blue or cheetos bag orange?

do you like pasta?

how often are you on tumblr?

are you only doing this because you’re bored?

what blogs do you mostly interact with?

can you swim?

have you had water today?

which do you prefer, cotton candy or funnel cake?

have you ever [insert question]?

bass or drums?

favorite tv commercial?

can we be friends?

do you admire the clouds and color of the sky?

what’s the weirdest thing that’s happened to you?

a netflix series that’s your favorite?

an earliest obsession you remember?

do you play video games?

zombies or vampires?

have you listened to [insert musician/band]?

your first celebrity crush?

do you have a collection of cool rocks?

five words that describe you?

what have you learned about yourself?

can you tie a cherry stem with your tongue?

do you believe in aliens?

books or films?

an unusual song that’s your favorite?

the last thing you ate?

do you have a favorite [insert question]?

have you gotten bit by a dog?

do you write better with a pen or a pencil?

a song that gets stuck in your head?

when you hear “ peace ” what do you think of?

a school subject your good with?

how many alarms do you have set?

do you shop at thrift stores?

what’s the meaning behind your url?

is there wise words you live by?

what’s your favorite [insert question]?

you gotta have a favorite beatles song, what is it?

earphones or a speaker?

what do you remember from your childhood?

do you collect anything?

favorite tea?

a christmas song you secretly like?

book stores or record stores?

how weird were these questions?

what scents do you like?

is there [insert question]?

send me some!

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munsonsmixtapes · 3 days ago

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hello! if you have the time could you please write soft Eddie guiding a shy reader when they make out for the first time?

There's a knock on Eddie's door and he hurries to answer it, hoping it's who he thinks it is. He isn't expecting anyone else, but it's not uncommon for people to show up looking to buy from him, but he really hopes it's you. He's been looking forward to tonight for over a week since you suggested it. He opens the door and there you are, beautiful as ever.

He steps aside and you plant a soft kiss on his cheek as you enter the trailer. You hold out a DVD and a few of Eddie's favorite snacks and he can't help but smile at how sweet you are. You've only been on a few dates and hopes he wouldn't scare you off if he proposed. Because if he's being honest, he can't see himself with anyone else.

No one he's dated has ever been so sweet to him. All they seemed to be interested in was using him for his body and rarely anything else. He wasn't really known as Eddie "the freak" Munson (well, maybe in other ways) anymore, but it still seemed like people didn't want anything else from him besides drugs or sex.

But you? All you seem to want from him is his company, genuinely interested in all of his fun facts that he has about random subjects and you even laugh at his jokes. And they aren't pity laughs either. You're a breath of fresh air and he hopes you'll stick around forever.

"You didn't have to do all this," he tells you with a smile as he takes the stuff from you. You're staring down at the floor and he can tell you're getting shy on him again. He doesn't mind, though. He thinks it's cute.

"Of course I did," you insist. "I wanted to treat you for once," you then smile and Eddie never gets tired of seeing it.

"Well I'm not going to say no to that," he responds then takes you by the hand, threading his fingers through yours. "Now c'mon."

You follow him over to the couch and the two of you sit together, but you make sure to leave a little space to be polite. You want to be cuddled up into his side, though. You want rest your head on his chest as his hand lazily runs up and down your back.

A lot of the people you've out with all seemed to be after one thing so it warms your heart that Eddie is willing to go at your pace. He always waits for you to initiate things like hugs or kisses and waits until you pull away, never asking for more. He's nothing but a gentleman and you really like spending time with him.

Eddie spreads out all of the movies you brought, his eyebrows quirking at the variety. You seem to have an eclectic taste and he admires that. He plucks the horror movie from the selection and heads over to the VCR. As soon as his back is turned, you begin to panic. You had only brought the movie to give you excuse to get close to him because of the scary scenes, but now you're beginning to regret your decision.

Eddie turns back to you and you try to hide your fear, debating on telling him that you'd rather watch something else, but you can't yourself to form the words. So you just sit in silence as Eddie moves back over to the couch, sitting even closer to you now and your fear takes over as you throw yourself into his arms.

Eddie lets out a laugh at your eagerness but he wraps his arms around you anyway, pulling you even closer to him as he turns his head towards the screen. You instantly feel better knowing that he'll keep you safe but can't help but think about what Steve told you when he rented the movie out to you.

He told you that it was the scariest movie he'd ever seen and that he couldn't sleep for days afterwards. And you rented it anyway even though he had suggested many more options that weren't nearly as scary and would still help you get into Eddie's arms despite how silly he thought the idea was.

The movie hasn't even started and you're already burying your head into his chest, gripping his shirt in your fists as tight as possible. His hand moves up to stroke the back of your head as he murmurs something to you that you can't quite hear.

"Hey, hey," he says as grabs hold of your face, forcing you to look him in the eye. His are nothing but soft as they look at you, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," you shake your head, suddenly feeling silly for how scared you just were. "It's nothing."

"We don't have to watch the movie," he tells you. "If you were scared, why didn't you say something?" It's a fair question, but you stay silent, not wanting to tell him the truth.

"I-" you start to say but cut yourself off, not wanting to admit the truth nor finding the right words to use.

"You what, honey?" He asks, his hands moving up and down your back exactly the way you wanted him to. Sometimes you're convinced he's a mind reader.

"I just wanted an excuse to cuddle you," you tell him, your voice so soft he almost didn't hear you. And at that, Eddie lets out a laugh before pulling you to his chest, giving you a tight squeeze. You have to remind yourself that he's not laughing at you, but because of you.

"You could have just cuddled me," he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world and it is. Well, it should be, but you've always found it hard to voice what you want no matter how badly you want it.

"How about we call off the movie for now?" He asks and turns off the TV then pulls you closer to him, his hands still moving up and down your back. You look up at him as he licks his lips, now unable to think about anything but how inviting they look.

The two of you have kissed multiple times, but it's never gone any farther than little pecks here and there because you've been too afraid to do any more than that. But now you feel the need to go all the way, wondering what he tastes like, if his hair is as soft as it looks.

But you've never made out with anyone and that scares you. Even though you know for sure that Eddie would talk you through it, the whole thing still makes you feel nervous. But apparently not nervous to forget it completely because before you can stop yourself, you're looking up at Eddie, gulping before getting his attention.

"Eddie?" You ask and his head turns to you, those honey eyes boring into yours. You melt under his gaze but trying to muster up the confidence again.

"Hm?" He asks, that stupid smirk making its way upon his face, the same one that's always there when he looks at you.

"Can-" you cut yourself off for the second time tonight but Eddie just sits there, patient as ever as he waits for you to speak. He knows how hard it can get sometimes for you to speak your mind so he doesn't mind waiting for you to finish your thoughts. "Can I have a kiss?"

"Of course you can," he responds, taking your face in his hands and pecking your lips once, twice, three times before pulling away only for you to grumble in response.

"No," you shake your head. "I want a real kiss."

"Oh," he replies, wondering what made you decide on that, but wanting to oblige. He's willing to give you whatever you ask.

His hands move down to neck, his thumbs rubbing back and forth across your jaw as he leans in again, his lips slowly capturing yours as they move together slowly. He's nothing but gentle as he kisses you, showing you how it's done.

Your hands press against his chest and all you can think about how you can't believe you've gone so long without his lips attached to yours. They're nothing but soft and gentle and now you're sure that you can do this for hours.

Eddie breaks away before you're ready and you're breathing hard as you try to catch your breath. He stares down, a chuckle falling from his lips as he presses his forehead to yours.

"You're supposed breathe, baby," he tells you softly and you feel your cheeks heat.

"Can we try that again?" You ask as you pick up one of his curls, twirling it around your pointer finger, staring down at it as you speak again. "Do you think we could...make out? I promise to breathe this time."

"Oh, honey," he sighs before pressing a kiss to you lips. "I'd love to make out with you." Another and another until he's capturing your lips again, taking the lead again. You have no idea what you're doing but Eddie is being nothing but a sweetheart as he guides you through it.

He pulls away again and you whine this time at the absence of his lips, chasing him and getting in another quick kiss before you sit back, waiting for him.

"Do you want to sit in my lap?" He suggests. "I think that'll be more comfortable for you."

Eddie sits with his back against the couch and you do as he suggests and straddle his waist which feels foreign to you but he's right. It's much more comfortable. Your arms wrap around his neck as his rest on the small of your back, a good spot between your waist and upper back because this is just kissing and he doesn't want to give you the impression that he's going to go any farther.

"You kiss me now," he says and your heart races in your chest as you think about fucking it all up.

"Are you sure?" You ask, bringing your bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling on it as you contemplate.

"Positive," he nods. "You've got this. Do whatever you want, baby. This is all about you."

"Okay," you nod, leaning forward and slotting your lips just like he did, Eddie immediately responding to you but he's moving at your pace instead of leading like he previously had.

You remember to breath through your nose as your fingers thread into his hair on each side of his head. His hair is normally off limits because people get too rough with it, but with you, he doesn't care. In fact, he loves when you play with his hair, a little bit of love sprinkles into every touch of it.

"You're doing so good, honey," he murmurs against your lips. "Do you want to try sticking your tongue in my mouth?"

"Please," you whine with a yank of his hair and if you can feel his cock hardening underneath you, you don't say anything. And thank god for that.

"Do you want me to show you first?"

"Yes," you breath against his lips and he's getting even more hard, knowing that he's going to have to get himself off later because there's no way he's going to expect you to go all the way right now.

Eddie captures your lips again as his hands rest against your waist, landing on the strip of skin where your shirt has ridden up. His lips are moving against you to warm you up and then he gingerly flicks his tongue against your bottom lip.

"Open up," he commands against your lips and you do as he says, opening up for him as he slides his tongue into your mouth. He swirls his tongue around yours and you mimic his actions, tugging on his hair as a moan falls from your lips at the feeling of his tongue moving with yours.

Your eyes widen and you can't help but pull away as you suddenly feel embarrassed at the sound you've just made. Eddie, though? Eddie's convinced that's the hottest thing he's ever heard and he really wants you to make it again.

"You don't have to be embarrassed," he says quickly, trying his best to assure you. "It was really hot, actually."

"It was?"

"Definitely," he nods. "Would it help if you made me moan too?" All you can do is nod and before he can say anything else, your lips are on his, only a few seconds passing before your tongue is flicking against his bottom lip. He opens up immediately and you mimic what he just showed you, your tongue swirling around his as you pulling on his hair even harder, a loud moan falling from his lips.

You haven't thought about it until now since you were so caught up in his kisses, but you're soaking wet between your legs and if you had more confidence, you'd ask Eddie to take care of you, but you don't so you don't. You don't think you're ready for that right now anyway.

You try to focus on the taste of him to get your mind off of it. He tastes like cigarettes that you know he smoked before you came over and you don't know why but you can't get enough of it. It's intoxicating.

You stay like that for a while until your lips are kiss bitten and your legs are asleep from you straddling him for too long. You both decide to call it a night and Eddie walks you to your car like the gentleman he is, kissing you one more time before you drive away. He then goes back inside and heads to his room where he collapses onto his bed, deciding that he's probably (definitely) in love with you.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #soft!eddie #soft!eddie x shy!reader #shy!reader #eddie munson x shy!reader

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jjkamochoso · 3 days ago

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JJK Men When They Get Jealous

Angst, fluff

Request from Wattpad

JJK Men x gn!reader

Warnings: slight cussing

A/N: some scenarios you're already dating, others you aren't!

Yuji:

“2 for Human Earthworm please!”

Yuji’s voice rang out as he bought tickets for your movie date. Your eyes gazed at his friendly face, standing close enough to his side to smell his cologne but not too close to impede his ability to pull out his wallet. Were you excited to see this movie for the umpteenth time? Not really, but it was a special anniversary release and Yuji was so pumped to watch it on the big screen again and you weren't going to ruin his fun. Besides, you couldn't say no to his adorable pouty face.

"Yuji! They have the special popcorn buckets here!" you exclaimed, catching a glimpse of the snack bar's offerings from your spot at the ticket counter. His eyes widened in shock.

"No way! They aren't sold out yet?" he asked incredulously. You moved from your place next to him and began speed walking over to the snack bar; there was no way he could miss out on this rare opportunity. Thankfully you had gotten in line when you did because there were hoards of people now queuing behind you, all eager to get their hands on the limited merchandise. When it was finally your turn, you were greeted by the worker, a boy who looked to be your age.

"Hello! What can I get for you today?"

"One earthworm bucket, please," you requested. He nodded, digging behind the counter. After what seemed like much too long, the employee finally procured what you were after.

"You're in luck! This is the last one," he said, handing it to you and giving you a smile. "Do you think I could be lucky enough to go on a date with you sometime?"

Surprised at his boldness, you let out a chuckle. "I don't think my boyfriend would like that very much."

"Your... oh."

You felt an arm land on your shoulders and knew it was Yuji.

"Awesome! You got the bucket!" he exclaimed to you, a huge grin on his face. "You're the best partner ever!" He then turned to the worker who busied himself with getting your popcorn. "I think I'm the lucky one here."

You internally laughed at Yuji's jealousy shining through. It was rare for him to feel that way, but when he did, he immediately made it clear to everyone that you two were happily exclusive.

When you eventually got to your seats in the theater, Yuji's arm never leaving you, you leaned over and gave his cheek a kiss. "You're cute when you're jealous."

"Me? Jealous? I wasn't..." He stopped when he noticed you eyeing him. "You're right. I'm sorry, that was dumb of me."

"No it wasn't. But there's no need to worry, you're the only guy I would ever willingly sit through the same movie a million and one times for."

Now it was Yuji's turn to give your cheek a kiss. "Like I said before, I'm the lucky one to be able to call you mine."

Megumi:

Your headphones were blaring your favorite song, drowning out the noise of the world around you. You were waiting for your boyfriend, Megumi, to meet you so you could explore Tokyo together. Swaying your head to the beat of the music, you didn’t register anyone standing near you until you felt someone tap your shoulder.

“It’s about time you got here,” you joked, taking your headphones off and turning to greet a familiar face. You weren’t expecting to see a stranger behind you and you slightly jumped from the shock.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the boy apologized, smiling gently. “I just wanted to ask you for some directions.”

“Oh, of course. I’m happy to help,” you responded.

“Great! I’m trying to get to this shrine.” The boy pulled out his phone and handed it to you, the screen displaying where he was trying to go. “Are you familiar with it?”

“Actually, yes. So what you want to do is go down this street…”

You told him the directions and typed it in his phone for him just in case he didn’t catch everything you said.

“I hope that helped,” you said, giving him his phone back. He glanced down and you could tell he gave the directions a once over.

“Everything alright?” you asked, seeing as he was hesitant to leave your side.

“I was hoping you had written your phone number in the notes too,” he told you. “I think you’re really cute.”

“Oh! I’m flattered, really, but I actually have a boyfriend.”

The boy was about to respond but all of a sudden his entire vibe changed; he was calm just a few moments earlier which was now replaced with nervousness.

“Right, right! Yeah, that makes sense. Um, thanks for the directions. I’m just gonna…”

The boy practically ran off, leaving you extremely confused. It wasn’t until you felt a menacing aura surround you that you realized the reason for the boy’s abrupt departure.

“That dumbass can’t find a shrine that’s not even a mile away and he wastes his time flirting?” grumbled Megumi, obviously irritated at your previous interaction.

“Jealous Fushiguro has made an appearance,” you teased, earning a glare from your dark haired boyfriend.

“I’m not jealous of a guy like that,” he argued, his defensive body language telling a whole other story from his words. You just shook your head and gave Megumi a quick kiss on his cheek.

“You’re the only one I could ever want. I promise.”

Megumi’s cheeks blossomed pink as he turned his focus away from you, looking into the distance.

“I know,” he mumbled, taking your hand in his. Now he was determined to make this the best date you’d ever been on—so much so that you wouldn’t remember giving that guy directions in the first place.

Yuta:

You and your friend Yuta decided to go ice skating together, wanting to have some stereotypical winter fun at the local rink. You two were deep in conversation until someone else’s voice and a tug at your scarf pulled you back into paying attention to your surroundings.

“I like your scarf,” a boy around your age said, smiling widely at you. “It’s almost as cute as you are.”

“Thank you,” you replied, a bit flustered, “that’s very kind of you.”

He chuckled and skated away, leaving you and Yuta alone again.

“Sorry about that, Yuta, what were you saying?”

He dove right back into where he left off, but his vibe was slightly off; he seemed upset for some reason. You didn’t mention it, figuring he might just be cold or something.

The boy who flirted with you kept skating by the entire session, shooting you winks or smiling at you. You didn’t notice Yuta glaring daggers at him from beside you.

Your time on the ice was about to expire so you and Yuta made one last circle, laughing at a joke you had made. You didn’t notice a dip in the ice and you stumbled backward. You hit the ground with a thud, slightly dazed from your fall.

“Are you alright?” Yuta asked, concern evident in his voice as he turned around to help you up. Unfortunately for him, the other boy was skating right behind you and was about to offer you his hand.

“Do you need-”

“Y/n! Let me help you up,” Yuta said, out of breath from skating as fast as he possibly could over to your position, grabbing onto your arm and hoisting you off the ice before the boy could even finish his sentence. He kept a protective grip on your body, scowling at the boy, until you were out of your skates and back into your normal shoes. Afterwards, you and Yuta walked to a local cafe for a much needed warm drink.

“Did you know that guy from somewhere? You didn’t seem to like him,” you observed.

“I don’t. He just… seemed like a jerk, that’s all,” he responded quickly, his voice higher than usual.

“Were you jealous?” you asked suddenly. Yuta’s face was now bright red and you didn’t think it was because of the cold.

“Me? I, uh… maybe?” he answered, unsure of the right thing to say. You looked at him expectantly, wanting him to elaborate.

“Well, you see, I…” Yuta sighed, defeated. “I really like you and I hated watching him flirt with you so brazenly. I know it was wrong of me to be so rude but I couldn’t stand the thought of you with him. I’m sorry.”

He kicked at a few rocks at his feet, not wanting to make eye contact with you.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Yuta,” you answered softly, catching his attention, “I really like you too.”

His eyes went wide. “You do?”

You nodded in affirmation as he let out a breath of relief, his shy smile shining brighter than the reflection of the sun on ice.

Inumaki:

It was a warm spring day and you were in the school’s garden, basking in the sun. You opened an eye to see who it was disturbing your peace with their footsteps, but it was Inumaki; you smiled kindly at him and made room for him on the bench. You two loved to sit together, often in silence, and observe the beauty of nature.

“Kelp,” he greeted softly, a small wave sent your way as he sat next to you.

“It’s always nice to see you, Toge,” you said back, closing your eyes once more as you breathed in the scent of flowers.

Like usual, his presence was a comfort to you and you felt like you could fall asleep at any moment, wanting nothing more than to rest your head on his shoulder in a display of your affection for him. Before you could let that happen, though, you heard another pair of footsteps approach and you quickly brought yourself out of your daydream.

“Hey Inumaki! Y/n!” Yuta called out, joining you in the garden.

“Yuta! Hello!” you greeted back while Inumaki waved at him.

“I can’t stay too long because I have to study but I brought something for you, y/n,” he said, smiling sweetly as he procured a tiny bag from his pocket, handing it to you. “They’re seeds. The owner of a shop I was at today was giving them out and supposedly the flowers are your favorite color so I figured you could plant them somewhere here in the garden.”

“Yuta! Oh my gosh, thank you!” you replied, giving him a hug in your excitement.

“It’s really nothing,” he said, a tiny blush appearing on his cheeks. “Well, I have to go, but I hope to see you both soon!”

You both bid him goodbye as you pocketed the seeds, eager to get the okay from the school to plant the flowers. You weren’t sure what had gotten into him but Inumkai seemed to have some sort of inner turmoil brewing after the short meeting; you could sense the hurt emanating from him.

“What’s wrong?” you wondered, curious as to what brought those feelings on all of a sudden.

“Cheesy,” was all he said, turning away from you.

“Aww, is someone jealous?” you asked with a chuckle.

“Bonito flakes,” Toge quickly grumbled, not meeting your gaze.

“You’re a horrible liar, you know,” you teased, pushing against his shoulder. “You shouldn’t be. Yuta’s not the one I have feelings for. You are, remember? Or do I have to confess all over again?”

You leaned over and tugged his collar down the slightest bit, planting a kiss on his cheek. Inumkai’s gaze landed on you once more as he gripped one of your hands tightly and typed on his phone with his other hand, saying:

I’m sorry, that was super lame of me. Yuta’s cool and that was nice of him to bring those for you. But TRUST it will be ME helping you plant those flowers.

And I’ll pick one to bring to you every morning when they’ve bloomed🙂‍↕️😌

“You really are my dream man,” you said, resting your head in his lap as you finally fell asleep in the comfort of the sun and Toge.

Noritoshi:

It was lunchtime at the Kyoto school and you found yourself in the shared kitchen with your classmate Noritoshi.

“Whatcha making?” you wondered, peering over his shoulder.

“Ramen,” came his answer, short and to the point as always. You watched him closely, taking in his every move.

“Do you not know how to cook and that’s why you’re staring me down?” he asked with a slightly annoyed expression.

“I do know how to cook, thank you very much. You’re just interesting to observe.”

Before he could ask what you meant by that, Todo came waltzing in.

“Todo! Just the person I wanted to see,” you greeted. “Do you want to make lunch with me?”

He heartily agreed and you two got to work, pulling out various pots and pans as Noritoshi finished making his own dish and sat down to eat. You and Todo were having the time of your lives, joking around and laughing while creating your meal. Noritoshi, on the other hand, was trying his best not to frown any more than he did on a usual day.

Or puke.

Noritoshi watched the way you lit up with Todo, having the time of your life doing something so mundane, and he desperately wished he wasn’t unnecessarily cold to you minutes earlier.

When your lunch was finally cooked, Todo took his food outside while you stayed in with Noritoshi, taking up the spot next to him. Normally he made some sort of remark about how loud or dirty you were in the kitchen, but today he was quiet.

“You seem bothered by something. Did I upset you?” you asked. His hair made a swishing noise as he turned to you.

“Why would you have upset me?”

“I don’t know. I always seem to, anyway,” you said with a tiny chuckle, taking a bite of your food.

“Not today, you didn’t. I’m dealing with something personal.”

“You can tell me if you want. I’m a person, you know.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes at your playful demeanor. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because it’s about you, okay?”

His eyes grew wide when he realized he admitted that out loud. You chewed quietly, hoping he would continue.

“The way you and Todo effortlessly get along, I don’t understand it. I’m envious of your relationship with him. Sometimes I wish…” He stopped for a second. “All of the time I wish that was you and me. I want to be the one that makes your eyes light up like that.”

“Noritoshi, I never knew you felt that way,” you responded after a few seconds of silence.

“Yeah, that was sort of my goal,” he replied, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck.

“I’ve actually had a crush on you for a long time,” you said bashfully, surprising him further. “Would you maybe wanna go out sometime? Like, on a date?”

“If you still have feelings for me after my lame confession,” a small smile appearing on his lips, “then I’d be even more of a fool to turn you down.”

Todo:

Standing in line to meet your favorite idol, you and Aoi were brimming with excited energy. You loved that you could bond with your boyfriend over your mutual love for Takada, including doing all of the super fan activities like waiting in line for hours on end. You turned around to look at the buildings behind you, wanting a view different from the one you’d been staring at since early that morning.

“Woah, seeing your face for the first time was like a breath of the finest spring air. You’re stunning,” said the man directly behind you in line. You couldn’t believe he was hitting on you with your six-foot-something, muscly beast of a boyfriend standing next to you, but you took the comment in stride—it didn’t hurt to be complimented by others every once in awhile! Todo never cared either, nor were you bothered by the looks of admiration he received from men and women alike while you two strolled any given street.

“You’re very kind, thank you,” you responded. He asked what your favorite song of Takada’s was, and from there you two engaged in small talk. He was super nice and very interesting, telling you facts about the various buildings in the downtown area you were at, along with lesser known Takada trivia.

“Next time Takada is in town,” he started, “we should go to the event together. If I could get your number-”

All of a sudden, Aoi turned around and cracked his knuckles, an intimidating look present on his face.

“You better back off or I’ll make sure all your teeth are missing in your meet and greet photo with Takada-chan,” he told the man, who let out a scared squeal, gulping and nodding. Aoi put a protective arm around your shoulder as he spun you forward once more.

“I never thought I’d see the day of you being jealous,” you teased, leaning your head against him.

“Me neither, but I guess that’s the only con of having such an attractive partner,” he replied, a determined expression on his face. “No one can get between my love for you and Takada-chan.”

Ino:

You were standing in line at a cafe with Ino, eager to get your hands on a warm drink to ease the bite of the winter chill. Snuggling up to the man next to you, you leaned your head against his shoulder while waiting in the impossibly long line. Ino gave your forehead a chaste kiss but pulled away in an instant.

“Babe! Your skin is freezing!” he all but yelled.

“You’re being dramatic,” you said with an eye roll. Without a second thought, he reached for your hands and, upon feeling the cold skin there as well, let go immediately.

“Your hands are freezing, too! Lemme buy you some gloves.”

“Ino, that’s really not necessary, I’m fine-”

“Be right back! Order for me, would ya?” he called out, leaving you shaking your head in amusement. That man would steal the sun for you if he thought you needed the extra light to read.

As you predicted, the line was at a standstill for quite awhile. You twiddled your thumbs as you waited for either Ino to come back and entertain you or for you to finally occupy your cold mouth with a hot drink. After many minutes of boredom, the line started moving and it was your turn to order. You told the employee the two drinks you wanted and paid, thanking him.

“What’s the name for the drinks?” he asked, eyeing you in a manner you found a bit suspicious.

“Y/n.”

“I’ll let you know when those are ready, y/n,” he answered, putting an uncomfortable emphasis on your name.

“…Yeah. Thanks,” you said apprehensively.

As you waited for the drinks to be made, you anxiously glanced around but there was no sign of Ino. Maybe gloves weren’t easy to find around this neighborhood?

After what felt like another eternity, your name was called and you approached the drink counter. The employee handed you the drinks and you tried to ignore the glaringly obvious phone number.

“Call me sometime, yeah?” he suggested, a smirk resting on his lips.

You glanced at the cup with his phone number scrawled on it, raising your eyebrows. “Thanks so much for that. Since this is his drink, I’ll let my boyfriend know you’re interested in him.”

“Oh-that’s not-I didn’t-” the employee floundered with embarrassment as you left with a laugh, taking your drinks to Ino who must have made his way back into the cafe sometime during the whole ordeal.

“Here’s a pair of gloves,” Ino greeted you, his smile not at all reaching his eyes like it normally does. You thanked him profusely as you set his drink in front of him and put on the gloves, relishing in the warmth they brought you.

“What’s wrong? You seem sad. Did something happen while you were out?” you questioned, worried for him.

“No, no. It’s nothing. I’m being dumb.”

You furrowed your brows and took a sip of your drink. “No way it’s nothing. I can tell something’s bothering you. I wanna help.”

“Well, I…” Ino stopped and took in a deep breath. “You were laughing with that employee and I see that he gave you his phone number and now I’m feeling a type of way about it.”

Ino looked away, almost ashamed as he sipped from his drink as well. You quickly reached for his unoccupied hand.

“Oh, Ino, you have it all wrong. I was laughing at him for putting his number on your drink. I certainly wasn’t interested in him and you have nothing to be jealous over.” You gave his hand a squeeze as his big eyes looked into yours. “You’re the only man I could ever want. You’re the one who treats me like royalty. Who else would brave the cold like you did to buy me a pair of gloves when I have too many pairs that I left at home?”

“Probably not that guy,” Ino mumbled, his cheeks pink.

“Definitely not that guy,” you said with a smile, bringing his hand to your lips and giving it a kiss. “Now, enjoy your drink. I had to brave his idiocracy to get it to you.”

Gojo:

You didn’t know what kind of gods were listening to you or what kind of magic you possessed, but somehow you managed to have both Gojo and Nanami over at your place for dinner one night. You were close friends with both and loved to hang out with them any time you could.

You and Nanami were currently chopping up vegetables while Gojo watched from afar, playing games on his phone. You and Nanami worked quietly and efficiently while Gojo huffed.

“Am I going to be banished over here forever?” he wondered.

“Yes,” you and Nanami answered in tandem, moving around each other perfectly as you dumped the vegetables into a pan and he put the scraps in the compost bin.

“It’s not fair. I’m an adult too, you know,” he complained. Nanami gave you a look before raising an eyebrow at Gojo.

“Are we sure about that?” he said, earning another grumble from Gojo.

“Satoru, you can help me cook the meat if you’d like,” you offered, not wanting to ostracize the poor man. It’s not his fault he’s horrible at cooking! Maybe if you supervised, he’d learn something today.

He learned that fire alarms are loud and you should never pour water on a grease fire.

“That could’ve gone… worse,” you reasoned, looking at the charred pile of what once was food in your pan.

Nanami pulled his apron off and his phone out. “I’m getting us takeout. I’ll be back in a half hour or so.” He pointed at Gojo as he stood in the doorway. “You better not burn this place down.”

When the door clicked closed, Gojo let out a long sigh as he put his head in his hands.

“I can’t believe I messed that up. You guys make cooking look so easy, especially when you’re in the kitchen together.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Satoru,” you told him, trying to salvage your pan, “we’ve cooked together a lot over the years. It doesn’t happen overnight.”

“The way you two moved together in sync. When I saw that I just wished it was…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, opting to rest his head against the table he was sitting at. You felt a tug at your heartstrings seeing him so dejected.

“Wished it was what?” you questioned, walking over to him and resting your hand on his back.

“Us,” he said plainly, lifting his head and blindfold up, his blue eyes sparkling. “I wish it was you and I like that. A team. Watching you and Nanami made me realize how much I want to spend my time with you, y/n. Be with you.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “Are you serious?”

“For one of the first times in my life, yes,” he replied, his lips upturned in a smile.

You moved your hand from his back to his hair, ruffling it. “I’d like to be with you too, Satoru. We can figure out the logistics of what that means for us after our first task as a couple, which is to clean the pan you obliterated.”

“Can’t I just buy you a new one?” he groaned, standing up to help you.

“Nope.”

“I really do hate cooking.”

Geto:

With dropping temperatures came the chance for you to show off your warmest jackets as you strolled around the cold city streets. Today, you were wearing one of your favorites, made out of cozy, teddy bear-like fabric. You and Suguru had been walking along the streets together but he had stepped inside a shop to buy you both a hot drink. You opted to stand outside in the brisk air, enjoying the winter season to its fullest.

“Excuse me,” a man said, coming up to you, “I hate to bother you but I wanted to tell you I liked your jacket.”

“Oh! Thank you,” you replied, caught off guard by his compliment. He asked you a question and you two fell into conversation, the man helping you pass the time before your boyfriend was by your side once more.

“This might sound strange, but can I touch your jacket? It looks really soft,” he wondered, looking bashful.

“Go ahead,” you nodded, totally unbothered. He cautiously brought his fingertips to your arm and felt the fabric. Unfortunately for him, it was really bad timing.

“Step aside or I’ll rip your dirty fingers off your shameful hands one by one and force feed them to you,” Suguru chimed in, appearing before the man with a disconcertingly calm smile. The stranger scurried off, a look of horror stuck to his facial features, but he luckily survived this encounter with your boyfriend so you figured he’d be fine.

“Are you alright, my dear?” asked Suguru, handing you the two drinks while he straightened your jacket.

“I am, thank you. You’re scary when you’re jealous,” you observed, your stomach fluttering with butterflies over his display of protectiveness.

“Oh? That’s good to know,” he hummed airily, taking his drink in one hand and your hand in his other one. “That filth was lucky to escape with his life today. I was hesitant to do anything that might have spilled our drinks.”

“Thank you for this, by the way,” you said, gesturing to the cup.

“Anything for my one and only. Now, where did you buy that jacket? I’m going to get you a new one that’s unsoiled.”

Nanami:

“Y/nnnnn! I’m boredddd. You and Nanami should come shopping with me!”

Gojo was practically whining at you through the cellphone speaker. You rolled your eyes as you looked over at Kento, your boyfriend shoving his nose deeper into the morning newspaper he was reading.

“I don’t think Kento’s in the mood to go out right now, Satoru.”

“Well, how about you? C’mon, please?”

“Hold on. I’ll check with Kento.”

“Aww, do you need his permission-”

You ignored the teasing from the white haired man as Kento gave you a nod.

“That’s fine by me if you’d like to go. I have work to finish anyway.”

“Thank you,” you mouthed to him before answering Gojo. “Meet me at the train station in 10?”

“I’ll get there in 8,” he replied, ending the call. You gave Kento a kiss and left your shared apartment.

Late that evening you returned home, your arms full of bags.

“I take it you had a good time?” questioned Kento, his arms folded and eyebrows slightly raised. “You were gone quite some time.”

“Oh my gosh we had such a great time! Satoru took me everywhere. We started…”

As you recounted your day excitedly, Nanami’s heart felt heavier and heavier. Noticing his quietness, you stopped in your tracks.

“Kento? Are you alright?”

He sighed. “It’s nothing, really. It’s… juvenile.”

Your eyes softened as you took a seat next to him. “You know you can tell me anything.”

Another sigh. “You had a lovely outing with Gojo but I can’t remember the last time we had that much fun together. I’m… jealous of the way he has you smiling so much.”

“Kento, honey,” you soothed, putting your hand on his, “there’s no need to be jealous. Yes, my time with Satoru was exhilarating, but it was extremely exhausting. I much prefer the fun you and I have together; the kind that’s comfortable and familiar. You make me smile first thing in the morning all the way to the time I sleep and even in my dreams. You’re my favorite person to be with in this whole world and I’m sorry if my actions led you to assume otherwise.”

“You’re right. I was being silly. I’m sorry, too,” he said, the tips of his ears turning red from embarrassment.

“Hey, I got you a little something when I was out,” you told him, reaching into one of your bags. You pulled out a box and gave him a gentle kiss.

“I love you so much,” he murmured against your lips, pulling you in close.

Choso:

After looking through the peephole, you answered your door with a warm smile.

“Please, come in!”

Your landlord had come to collect your rent. He was a good natured guy with a kind wife and new baby; his apartment complex was nice as well, as was the reasonable price he charged per month so you had no complaints. You always liked to make small talk with him while you procured the envelope of cash you had lying around since he made for good company. You two spoke for a little while before you opened the door and said goodbye, knowing your boyfriend Choso should be coming up your steps at any moment.

All Choso saw as he walked up your stairs was a handsome young man leaving your apartment, making you laugh on his way out.

He didn’t like it.

At all.

“Who might you be?” he questioned the man, his voice carrying an underlying tinge of displeasure.

Your landlord put his hand out for Choso to shake. “I’m-”

“I’m Choso, y/n’s boyfriend,” he said with a glare, putting an emphasis on the last word. “We’ve been together for a while. A long while. Just so you know.”

“Choso,” you interjected before things could get any more awkward, “this is my landlord.”

Like a light was switched on in his brain, Choso’s eyes widened and he grasped your landlord’s hand that was still stretched out.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” he told him sheepishly, obviously embarrassed.

“You as well, Choso. If you’ll both excuse me, I have to get home to my wife and child. Have a great rest of your morning.”

As your landlord left down the steps, Choso was already inside, slumped on the couch.

“I’m such an idiot,” he groaned. You let out a tiny giggle.

“You went in pretty strong there, but I can’t say I blame you. It must’ve looked weird seeing a guy come out of my apartment so early in the morning. I would’ve been jealous too if I were in your shoes.”

“I wasn’t jealous!” he replied.

You raised your eyebrows. “Really? The way you emphasized boyfriend? Saying we’ve been together a long while? I would’ve thought you were going to fight him if I didn’t intervene.”

“I would’ve,” Choso spoke without hesitation.

“If he ever raises the rent,” you said, kissing his cheek, “I’ll gladly support that.”

Toji:

You were on your way to have lunch with your friend Toji when an attractive man your age waltzed up to you and struck up conversation as you walked to the cafe. Since you were single and he was cute enough, you let him entertain you on your journey. You could tell he was turning on the charm as much as he could, making you laugh at his silly quips. That lasted all the way until you bid him farewell when Toji came into view. Looking dejected at the goodbye, your admirer sauntered away.

“I didn’t get his number,” you thought to yourself, “what a shame. Oh well.”

You greeted Toji with a hug, his strong arms wrapping around you.

“I’m starving! Let’s order,” you told him, already browsing the menu the restaurant had posted outside.

“After you then,” Toji replied, opening the door for you.

You both ordered your food at the counter and sat at a table, talking about what you both had been up to in the time you hadn’t seen each other. You noticed Toji’s gaze wander away from you every so often, but you thought nothing of it—he had a very protective nature so he was probably keeping an eye on people he deemed suspicious. You got your answer of who he was watching at the end of your meal when your story about dinner with your friends was interrupted by Toji’s booming voice.

“What the fuck are you lookin’ at, huh?” Toji asked aggressively to someone over your shoulder. You looked over to find the man that was flirting with you had taken up a seat in the booth diagonal to you and Toji, and must have been staring at you throughout your lunch.

“Oh, now you wanna act coy? You were a big man the past half hour, eyeing them up,” he snarled, jabbing a thumb your way. “We got a problem or not?”

“No! No problem, sir!” The man all but ran out of the restaurant, not even sparing you a second glance. You rolled your eyes at his cowardice; he’d never find a partner if he couldn’t find his backbone. Toji leaned back into his seat, crossing his arms in annoyance.

“Now I can finish my meal in peace. It was difficult to eat in the presence of that lovesick loser.”

“Hey,” you scolded, “is it that sickening to know someone has a crush on me?”

“Yeah, actually, it is,” he responded, leaning in. “I don’t want to see another man looking at you like that.”

You furrowed your brow. “Another man-? Toji, are you jealous or something?”

“What? No, no way. That’s ridiculous,” he said defensively, but you noticed the way he started shoveling food into his mouth to avoid further conversation.

“So if I said that guy flirted with me the entire walk over here? That wouldn’t make you feel anything?”

“I’d feel annoyed that he bothered you,” he said between bites of his meal.

“And if I wasn’t annoyed? If I liked him coming onto me strongly like that, if he gave me his phone number?”

Toji’s fists clenched at that. “He better not have.”

“What would it matter to you?” you challenged, not backing down.

“Fine! Maybe I do like you. So what?” he barked. “It makes me angry that guys approach you. If that’s jealousy, then yeah, I’m jealous. Now, will you stop your interrogation like I’m some sorta kid in trouble?”

A grin showed up on your face with this newfound knowledge. “Last question, Mr. Fushiguro: what would you do if I said I liked you too?”

He finally looked up from his bowl of noodles. “I’d ask if you were being serious.”

“I am.”

Toji put his chopsticks down and smirked. “In that case, I’d kiss you like I’ve been wanting to for a long time now and then chase down the dude that thought he could get away with flirting with my partner like that.”

368 notes · View notes

clockwork-hearted · 1 day ago

Text

This was the first queer movie I watched in high school. I remember finally having good, strong WiFi and exploring YouTube one night. Was using my refurbished MacBook that I begged my dad to get me so I can have something to use for school.

I don’t remember how exactly I came across this movie (honestly was probably going through some YouTube rabbit hole of “movies where guys make out” or the classic “two men kissing” search), but it was the full length movie. And it was free.

I was so excited to watch it and see what kind of guy on guy action I would get to see. But being forced to stay in the closet growing up, I couldn’t just outright watch this movie while my parents were home.

So I bookmarked it. Made sure I even saved the link somewhere. And had to wait until my parents weren’t home.

Thankfully, I ended up realizing that I was a teen that was allowed to stay up late on the weekends. So I stayed up, waited until both my parents were in their rooms, fast asleep, and then I went into my room, closed the door (couldn’t lock it though. Locking bedroom doors was an offense that would cause a scene every time for absolutely no reason), plugged my headphones in, and snuggled up and watched it.

I remember sitting upright to start it then getting tired and deciding to lay down. Ended up laying the laptop on its side just so I could keep watching haha

And I remember going through the rollercoaster of emotions seeing these two characters having a connection but being so twisted up about it. Regardless of everything they went through, I still wanted that. I still wanted someone I could kiss passionately. Someone I could go to bed with and wake up next to in our own little world. Someone I could go to the beach with and spend all day with. Someone who wanted to push me for my abilities (don’t have any but it played into my fantasies lol) and strive to be the best I could be at them.

And then reaching the end of the movie and being so happy with it. I remember crying. Crying so much that I thought I wasn’t going to be able to stop. I remember shoving my face in my pillows to try and muffle my crying.

Oh, I learned to cry silently so very quick in my home. How I learned what it meant to be even more suppressed than I already was. How I had to learn to hold back all the choking sounds my throat would utter and just let the tears flow. Silently blowing my nose into tissues so I wouldn’t wake my parents and cause a scene.

“Why are you crying? What’s happening? What did you watch? What’s going on? Etc. etc. etc.” - yeah, like I was going to come clean about my emotions and be able to talk these things out. Pht. How I wished and how I dreamed that I could. Would’ve made growing up easier. But I didn’t have those kinds of parents.

So the first night I watched this movie, it meant a lot in such little time. Movies like this really saved me as a teen.

I started doing a deep dive into any and all other queer movies I could find online for free (but that’s a story for a different time).

Tbh, I had forgotten about this gem of a movie. Made me feel a little guilty for forgetting, mostly because it really helped me continue pretending, and knowing that one day I would find someone to experience beautiful moments with. It allowed me to realize that queer media (that wasn’t porn) was out there, that I didn’t have to feel alone, and that it was only a few key strokes and google searches away.

For anyone who read through this whole thing (I know I blabbed, but I really needed to get this off my chest and my mind), thank you.

And I also hope that even though the world can feel so against you, even in spaces that are supposed to be safe, that there are people out there that know and understand you and can relate to how you feel.

I know it’s always easier said than done, but hang in there. And if it all gets to be too suffocating, please remember there are resources out there to help. But please, please, please, don’t get snuffed out. Let yourself burn as bright as you can. Because at the end of the day, you will always find Shelter- whether it’s with family members, friends, teachers, chosen/adoptive families, online communities, etc. you will find it. And you will be safe. And you will be loved.

I wish you all the very best. May this movie and many others bring you as much joy as it did to me. <3

Shelter (2007) dir. Jonah Markowitz

#shelter 2007 #personal #high school nights #self discovery #how I would ache #how I would weep #I need to rewatch this soon

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mysunshinetemptress · 3 days ago

Text

Glitter In The Air

Grace Clinton x Y/n Albert

Warnings: Y/n snaps, feeling lost, internal homophobia, not my best but not my worst so…

You try, really you do but Grace either doesn’t notice you like want to be left alone or she simply doesn’t care.

“So what you doing this weekend.” Grace asks a hint of hope in her voice, you’ve shot her down every time she’s asked you to hang out.

You’ve been shutting her down for months, simply stating you have plans with someone else. You don’t you couldn’t you only talk to a handful of players and even it’s a push for you to do that.

But Grace has finally worn you down, you can’t take how her voice sounds so heartbroken and her shoulders sag in defeat her eyes loose their little spark and the way she says her Gs after always sound so sad.

“Nothing.” You say quietly kicking the ball back to her, Grace poses momentarily you’ve never not had plans, she’s never gotten this far.

“Would you maybe want to hang out this weekend, we-you could come over to mine and just chill or we can go shopping or get food or the cinema.” Grace rattles off different things you both can do before realising she needs a response from you.

“Eh yeah your house sounds nice just chill.” You say nervously looking anywhere but at the older girl. Grace nods clearing her throat trying to remain cool as she practically vibrates with excitement. “Yeah perfect cool, Saturday work for you.” You nod “perfect my place at 5 I’ll order food we can just chill and watch a movie.”

You feel sick for the rest of the week , you and Grace alone in her house just the two of you, you curse yourself for not being strong enough to say no, but Grace is so kind and soft you can see it as she runs around your teammates swinging out of them laugh, everyone laughing with her.

As long as you don’t touch her and get her sick it should be ok, you’ll be ok.

You stand on her doorstep hand hovering over the doorbell, you could turn around and leave you think, text her telling her your sick, text her and tell her you fell down the stairs and broke your leg, don’t text her fake your death and move countries, no you can’t she’s to good for that and that’s mean you’re just two friends hanging out nothing more nothing less no need to be so dramatic.

Grace still steps forward to give you a hug every now and then but you always counteract with stepping back. She tries again today as she opens the door but the minute you flinch she stops and offers a sad smile hiding it quickly rubbing her neck and welcoming you in.

The air is tense and you hate it, its your fault. You hate the way the thought follows you through to the living room.

The air is so tense and Grace hates it, its her fault, she didn't mean to make you uncomfortable again, god why does she always make you uncomfortable, you hate hugs she knows this but you're so soft and quite and its all she can think about.

You are all she can think about.

The living room was cozy, bathed in the warm glow of late afternoon sunlight filtering through the curtains. A plush, inviting couch sat facing a large TV, and scattered cushions added to the relaxed atmosphere. Grace had clearly made an effort; the coffee table was clear of clutter, and a faint scent of vanilla filled the air. You perched on the edge of the couch, stiff and awkward, while Grace busied herself in the kitchen.

“Pizza okay?” she called out, her voice slightly strained.

“Yeah, fine,” you mumbled, your eyes fixed on the wall of pictures, arms wrapped around people you recognise as your teamates, her family and some of her friends. You could feel Grace’s gaze on you, and it made your skin crawl. You wished you could just melt into the cushions and disappear.

Grace returned with two cans of soda and a nervous smile. She sat at the opposite end of the couch, leaving a generous gap between you. The distance didn’t ease your discomfort; it only amplified it. You could practically hear the unspoken question hanging in the air: Why are you so uncomfortable?

The pizza arrived, and you ate in near silence, punctuated only by the occasional clinking of cans and the low hum of the TV playing a movie neither of them were really watching. You picked at your food, your appetite completely gone. Every time Grace glanced at you, you looked away, your heart pounding in your chest.

After they finished eating, Grace gathered the empty boxes and cans. When she returned, she hesitated before speaking. “Is everything alright?” she asked softly, her eyes filled with concern.

You shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “Yeah, fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,” Grace persisted, her voice gentle. “You’ve been really quiet.”

You bit your lip, unsure of what to say. The truth was a tangled mess of anxieties you couldn’t articulate. You didn’t want to hurt Grace, but you also couldn’t pretend everything was okay.

“It’s just…” you began, then trailed off, searching for the right words. “I’m not really good at this kind of thing.”

“This kind of thing?” Grace echoed, tilting her head slightly.

“Hanging out,” you clarified, feeling your cheeks flush. “Just the two of us. I… I don’t do it much.”

A flicker of understanding crossed Grace’s face. “Oh,” she said quietly. “I didn’t realize.”

Silence descended again, but this time it felt different. The tension hadn’t completely dissipated, but it had shifted, becoming less sharp, more… understanding.

“It’s okay,” Grace said finally, a small smile gracing her lips. “We don’t have to do anything. We can just… be.”

You looked at her then, really looked at her. Her eyes were warm and inviting, and for the first time that evening, you felt a glimmer of ease. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Grace picked up the remote and scrolled through the movie options. “How about a comedy?” she suggested. “Something light?”

You nodded, a small smile mirroring hers. As the movie started, you shifted slightly on the couch, closing the gap between you and Grace just a little. It was a small gesture, but it felt significant. It was a tentative step towards a connection you had been too afraid to make.

As the movie played, Grace occasionally offered quiet comments or chuckled at a funny scene. You found yourself relaxing, drawn into the shared experience. You were still nervous, still self-conscious, but the suffocating anxiety had begun to recede.

Towards the end of the movie, you felt a gentle weight on your shoulder, and the world seemed to collapse in on itsself. You jump throwing yourself away from the girl causing Graces body to fall sideways her head hitting the couch.

"I need to go, I-I'm sorry i-I-I'm so sorry" you stutter not giving the midfielder a second to respond as you race out the door.

You sit in the car unable to move, of course you had to mess it up, you and your sickness. Grace she-she's to good.

The slam of the front door echoed in the quiet house, leaving Grace momentarily stunned. She blinked, her head throbbing where it had connected with the couch. Disorientation quickly gave way to confusion, then a sinking feeling of dread. She sat up slowly, rubbing the back of her head, her eyes fixed on the now-empty doorway.

The image of you recoiling, your face contorted in a mixture of fear and panic, played on repeat in her mind. The mumbled apologies, the frantic escape – it was all a blur, a whirlwind of sudden, inexplicable terror.

Grace’s heart ached. She had thought, just for a moment, that things were finally starting to ease. She had felt you relax, seen the flicker of a smile on your face. And then… this.

She stood up, her legs feeling unsteady. The remnants of your shared evening – the half-eaten pizza, the discarded soda cans, the paused movie on the TV screen – seemed to mock her, a stark reminder of what had just happened.

Back in the car, you gripped the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white. The image of Grace’s head snapping against the couch replayed in your mind, fueling the rising tide of panic within you. You had hurt her. You had scared her. You had ruined everything.

The word “sickness” echoed in your thoughts, a constant, nagging reminder of the invisible barrier that separated you from others. It wasn’t a physical illness, not in the traditional sense, but it was a sickness nonetheless, one that manifested in crippling anxiety and an inability to connect with people on a normal level.

You started the engine, your hands shaking so badly you almost stalled. As you drove home, tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. You felt a profound sense of shame and self-loathing. You were a mess, a broken thing, incapable of even the simplest social interaction.

Meanwhile, back at Grace's house, she was trying to piece together what had just happened. She replayed the evening in her mind, searching for any clue, any indication that you were about to react so drastically. She remembered the moment your eyes had widened, the way you had flinched away from her touch as if burned.

A chilling thought crept into her mind: Did I do something wrong?

She had been so careful, so mindful of your discomfort. She had avoided touching you, given you space, tried to create a relaxed and comfortable atmosphere. But clearly, it hadn’t been enough.

Grace felt a wave of self-doubt wash over her. Maybe she was just bad at this. Maybe she was too forward, too eager. Maybe she was just… too much.

She picked up her phone, her thumb hovering over your contact. She wanted to text you, to ask you what had happened, to offer her apologies if she had somehow overstepped a boundary. But she hesitated. What if she made things worse? What if she pushed you further away?

She sighed, placing her phone back on the coffee table. She felt lost and confused, adrift in a sea of unanswered questions.

The following days were strained. You avoided Grace at practice, keeping your distance, your eyes fixed on the ground whenever she was near. Grace, in turn, respected your space, but her eyes often followed you, filled with a mixture of concern and sadness.

The team noticed the shift in your dynamic. Whispers circulated, curious glances were exchanged. The easy camaraderie that usually characterized their practices felt muted, replaced by an unspoken tension.

One afternoon, after practice, Grace approached you as you were packing your bag. You tensed, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Can we talk?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitated, your eyes darting around the changing room, searching for an escape. But there was nowhere to run.

You nodded slowly, your throat tight with anxiety. Grace led you to a quiet corner of the gym, away from the prying eyes and ears of your teammates.

“What happened Saturday?” she asked, her voice gentle but firm. “You… you seemed really scared.”

You bit your lip, unable to meet her gaze. The words caught in your throat, refusing to come out.

Grace waited patiently, giving you the time you needed. Finally, you managed to stammer out a response.

“I… I’m sorry,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to… I just… I panicked.”

“Panicked?” Grace echoed, her brow furrowed. “Why?”

You took a deep breath, trying to find the words to explain the tangled mess of anxieties that plagued you, trying to come up with another lie.

"I-Why did you that-why did you put your head there." You felt your stomach twist with unease as you began to turn everything on her, make it her fault, push her away.

The question hung in the air, sharp and accusatory. Grace blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in your demeanor. The gentle concern in her eyes was replaced by a flicker of confusion, then hurt.

“I… I didn’t mean to scare you,” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. “I thought… we were having a nice time.”

“Well you thought wrong,” you snapped, your voice rising in volume. You couldn’t stop the words from spilling out, a torrent of pent-up anxiety and self-loathing disguised as anger. “You just… invaded my space. You didn’t even ask.”

“I…” Grace trailed off, her eyes welling up with tears. She felt a lump forming in her throat, making it difficult to speak. “I’m sorry,” she managed to whisper, her voice trembling. “I didn’t realize it would make you so upset.”

“Clearly,” you retorted, turning away from her. You couldn’t bear to see the pain in her eyes. It was a mirror reflecting your own brokenness, and you hated it.

Grace stood there for a moment, her heart aching. She wanted to reach out to you, to tell you that it was okay, that she understood. But the wall you had erected between you was too high, too impenetrable.

She turned and walked away, her shoulders slumped in defeat. The quiet corner of the gym suddenly felt colder, emptier.

You watched her go, a hollow feeling settling in your chest. You had pushed her away, just as you had pushed everyone else away. You were alone again, just as you always were.

But this time, it felt different. This time, there was a pang of regret, a flicker of doubt. Had you gone too far? Had you ruined any chance of a real connection with Grace?

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unluckilyimnot · 2 days ago

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Habits bllk boy

Characters: sae, rin, chigiri, reo, nagi, otoya, isagi, kaiser

Fluff / no tw / 900+

Note: I'd like to know what you like me doing the most, hc, os (long or short), one character or even multi fandom? I'm curious!

m.list | rules

Sae - doing his skin care with you

If you don't have a skin care routine, then now you do. He's really serious about this, and you probably get tired of getting side eyes all the time. It's nothing much yet it makes him feel good, sharing simple moments like those is precious to him with his busy life. That's how he prefers his night to start, whenever with music – yours or his – or without ; he's just next to you, watching you putting product after product on your skin and there's almost the shadow of a smile on his lips. Bonus points to the night where you two sit in front of a series or a movie with sheet masks on and snacks next to you.

Rin - listening to your music with you

He could easily put his headphones on while you put your music on while getting ready or doing your makeup – if you do wear some – but he actually likes knowing what you're listening to. It's kind of intimate to him, he likes to share his music with you as much as he likes knowing what you like. He even has a playlist composed only with music from yours and he wishes you never found out (you already did). Along with that, he's obviously the type to make you a playlist when he feels like it or when he misses you.

Isagi - checks on you

He's a little anxious about everything, nothing crazy but I feel like he's the tense one before traveling you see ? Well because of that, Isagi will always make sure you're at ease, feeling good, stay hydrated, and put sunscreen on. You almost fell ? He grabbed your arm and then never let your hand go. He's always asking you if you're good, probably over a hundred times a day. He just wants you to be safe. He's extra caring and comprehensive when you're tired or overstimulated and you end up annoying or cold. He doesn't mind much, he just wants to make it easier for you.

Otoya - have a hair tie just in case you need it

The second your hair is long enough to be tied, he has one around his wrist. He knows you have one too, but he also knows that you share yours a lot and don't always get it back so he's there for that. The second he notices that your hair is bothering you, he doesn't hesitate to put it behind your ear or tie it for you. He loves the texture of your hair between/against his fingers, and the scent when it just got washed. He generally really loves your hair, so he's always here to hand you a hair tie.

Kaiser - leans his hand next to yours

He's not gonna take your hand just like that, no matter how people think he will, I'm sure he won't because he prefers when you're the one who catches his hand. It makes him feel wanted, needed and Gods know it wasn't always the case with closed ones. Letting it lands oh so close to yours, just so your picky are touching in a feather like manners, yet he doesn't move any more closer to your hand, patiently waiting for you to break and hold his hand, winning a so prideful smirk as he look at you with a look you know too well.

Nagi - lean on you when he's tired

You can be laying in bed, up pouring yourself a drink ans looking for snacks – anywhere in the house, Nagi will find you and lean onto your shoulders as if he was the small one in the relationship. You might think he's cute, he is, but he always make sur to put half his weight on you, crashing you behind him so you HAVE to go to bed so you don't die because of it. He does it outside as well but it's less harming. He simply leans in his head on your shoulder, wraps his arms around your waist if you're up and whines because he's tired and wants to go home. People find it endearing a lot – let alone when you shuffle his perfect white hair with a soft smile, telling him you'll be leaving soon.

Reo - get you something to drink

You're busy, he knows that better than anyone else, and if you're not he'd rather have you resting so it's his duty to take care of you. It doesn't matter if he has to order it in a coffee shop or to make one himself for you while you're at his place or his staying at yours, he'll make you something hot to drink before you can even think about how you need it. He'll get a tea pot ready for you, already sweetened if that's how you take it – same for coffee. He'll be kind but demanding toward anyone making your drink, making sure it's done well but will always leave a huge tip because that's what you'll do.

Chigiri - wash your hair for you

Chigiri likes his privacy but less when it comes to you, so it doesn't happen all the time but you two regularly take shower/bath together. That's when he started to wash your hair for you. That way he can take care of it and treat it nicely because he knows you don't always have the energy to do so. You'll always have a nice scalp massage that makes you mmh in satisfaction and he's always gonna laugh at it a little. But he loves it a lot because he gets to see you relax under his fingers after a long day and that's enough for him.

Let me know if you liked it !

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anonyymouslyyours · 3 days ago

Note

Hello, could you please do a fic with a very subby and needy Spencer? Like he's desperate to please and will do just about anything to touch the reader. I think that'd be great lol

this is very early seasons spencer coded +18

spencer’s words are incoherent, a messy mumble of pleases and needs. your on the couch at you and spencer’s shared apartment, with the intention of watching a movie. however that only lasted so long.

spencer can’t really cope sitting next to you so close, and just watching a movie, when there are so many other things he could be doing. that’s how you get here.

your straddling spencer’s lap as he squirms beneath you. hes head leaned back against the pillow, adam’s apple bobbing furiously. he’s whimpering. whimpering. pleading for you to touch him, as his hands run over your body desperately.

but your in a mood to tease him today, to test how long he can last. so he’s laying with his hands behind his back. if he moves them to try and touch you, you stop touching him.

he’s already lost once, just when he was about to reach his peak with your pretty lips wrapped around his cock. he just had to reach out to grab at you, in his half delirious state. so you pulled away.

“please- please just let me.” he’s stuttering out. his cheeks are flushed a rosy pink, and his lips plush and cracked from his incessant biting down on them.

“what did i say spence?” you say, thumb running over the tip of his cock.

“i- i can’t touch.” he lets out shakily. his glasses are low on the bridge of his nos, and fogged up from the heat radiating off him.

“otherwise?”

“you’ll let go.”

“good boy.” you praise, and he practically keens, leaning into your touch.

it takes him a while before he’s spilling into your palm, back lifting off the couch as he rambles out how good you are to him. and can he please, please touch you now.

#oneshot #fluff #smut #female reader #masterlist #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader smut

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all-by-myself98 · 3 days ago

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OK I'm gonna rant for a second

When I was sick with covid last Feb, I watched the Malcolm X movie and I mentioned the Angela Bassett phenomenon in a Letterboxd review I was basically like.

This woman has such an interesting range of works. Not a predictable range like from comedies to actions to horrors. But like from what would be considered high brow vs low brow film and TV.

She's done like the serious Oscar tier kinda shit like the Tina Turner biopic, Boyz n the Hood, the Malcolm X movie as I mentioned, and a lot of other like. Really successful really like. The kinda shit that might be considered high brow or like. cinema shit, you know? Shit that wins awards and stays in people's minds because of how highly regarded it is

And then she's kinda gradually tapered off of that, which is fine! I think if I was an actress and I had a shit ton of success earlier in my career, I might also branch off and look at other projects. A lot of the stuff she's been in nowadays isn't really classified as high brow. It's mostly drama television or cartoons or, of course, action stuff. Like there was Meet the Robinsons, there was American Horror Story, there was fucking. ER! She was in ER for like two years(?) as a main role! And then of course that itty bitty foray in the failed Green Lantern movie, and then her actual success with the Black Panther movies.

Like... They're less dramatically intense, more just. Fun! She got her bag of money early on and now she's doing whatever the fuck she wants which is so valid of her, I would do the same thing if I ever went into that line of business. Earn your security, then have fun and do what you want!

And honestly this might not have even been her intent. There could have been other stuff going on. Her wiki link mentioned that after her Tina Turner biopic she wasn't getting any calls for roles for like a year and a half. So maybe people were just being idiots and skipping over her, maybe there was some dumb fucked up Hollywood politics involved, or maybe she's genuinely letting herself have fun with her roles now, OR maybe she noticed that there's just as much integrity and potential in a role like Athena Grant or Queen Ramonda or Marie Laveau than there is in her earlier character counterparts.

Again, this is also relying on this backwards and outdated idea of high brow vs low brow film and television. I don't subscribe to these ideas, and I think it's low-key kinda ridiculous and I think people should just have fun watching what they want without feeling like what they want to watch isn't good enough or doesn't command the same respect... But sadly other people do absolutely subscribe to these ideas and you can tell because it's difficult not to notice a difference in the tone or nuance of two different works, and why some works are not nominated for awards as much as others because some Hollywood awards panel either don't see it as serious or as respectable enough to be in with the so called "big leagues".

All visual work is valid and all visual work is capable of eliciting the emotions they need to elicit to keep their audiences hooked.

ANYWAYS that's the end of my little blab

I love Angela Bassett and whatever is the reason for her shift in her filmography, girl you are not gonna hear me complain one bit. As long as she's happy, I'm happy for her. I just find it fascinating to think about is all

And thus. The Angela Bassett phenomenon (copyright pending)

trying to understand a show you don’t watch only through gifs you see on your dash

#angela bassett #911 abc #911 show #athena grant

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atlabeth · 2 days ago

Text

(please) spare me indignity

pt 3

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: you and spencer spend more time together. it's bad, then it's good, then it's something else altogether.

a/n: continuing the gideon!reader series! a whole lot of this is arguing because they love each other fr. sorry this took so long, for some reason i had a really hard time finding my footing here but i hope you enjoy!! reader is a victim of the sassy man apocalypse bc this may be s1/2 spencer but he is not going to not be standing up for himself!! have this new banner that i made to try and help with my inspiration. title is from nothing new by rio romero

wc: 5k

warning(s): r and spence argue some more. angst, hurt w/o comfort, then hurt with comfort! idk theyre kinda sweet

You and Spencer spend the next six and a half hours watching movies.

You make it through Goodfellas and you only tell him to be quiet twelve times. You take a break to get water and make popcorn, which was so generously provided in your grocery supply, and while you’re doing it, Spencer insists on picking the next one. You end up watching Psycho, and you don’t think he lets a single scene go by without explaining the meaning behind it.

You choose Notting Hill after, and he knows just as much. He picks Halloween—it doesn’t really help your stalker anxieties, and Spencer apologizes profusely when you bring it up, but you still end up finishing it. Next you go for Pointe Grosse Blank, then Spencer picks Kolya, a Russian film that he specifically put into the box.

There are subtitles, but he spends half the time translating for you anyway—apparently there are nuances to the script that an English translation doesn’t get compared to the original Russian, and that would be a tragedy.

He’s in the middle of his third rant going on seven minutes when you finally break.

“Okay,” you say as you reach for the remote, “I can’t do this anymore.”

You do a double take when your hand meets another instead of hard plastic, and you see Spencer beat you to it. You pull your hand away as soon as possible, feeling your face heat from annoyance.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” he echoes. “The movie’s not over yet.”

“I can’t take any more of your rambling,” you say. “I’m cutting you off.”

He frowns. “We have to finish the movie first.”

“What are you, a broken record?”

“I couldn’t be a broken record because I said two different things,” he protests. “Besides, what else are you going to do?”

“Unpack my things? Read a book? Sit in silence staring at the wall in my room?” You shrug as you stand up and walk over to the kitchen. “I’ve got a lot of options.”

“Gideon told me not to let you out of my sight,” Spencer says, standing up as well.

“You can see me pretty well from there,” you say. “You don’t have to invade every bit of my privacy.”

“I— I kind of do,” he says. “The whole point of a safe house is to keep you safe. If you’re off doing your own thing, it’s not really safe.”

“It’s not like I’m leaving!” You throw up your hands in exasperation. “What, are you going to sleep with me too? Make sure I don’t go anywhere in the middle of the night?”

It’s almost funny how fast his face flushes bright red. You’ve got a feeling he doesn’t have a lot of experience with this sort of thing.

“That’s what I thought,” you say. “Keep watching your movie if you want. Just leave me alone.”

You feel his eyes on your back as you storm off to your room. The childish part of you wants to slam the door, but you decide to throw Spencer the smallest bone and leave it open.

It’s not his fault that you hate him, and that just makes you hate him even more. He gets to come out of this the bigger person, a saint for putting up with your various deficiencies while keeping you safe from a stalker. You’re just the difficult, ungrateful, estranged bastard daughter of the most deified man in the Behavioral Analysis Unit who can’t set her personal grudges aside for her own good.

You shove your duffel bag into the bed with a little too much force. You unzip it, deciding to try and occupy yourself with unpacking. You’re here for the indefinite future, so you might as well make yourself at home.

You can’t help the dry laugh that comes at the thought. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt at home anywhere.

This might be the worst thing about this whole situation. You’ve got a stalker out there, and it’s making you do all this bullshit introspection against your will. It’s got you thinking about your dad and your relationship with him, and thinking about Spencer Reid and how he’s replaced you in your father’s life without even really knowing about it because he didn’t know about you until he walked into your dad’s office a month ago.

Ten minutes pass in a blur before you’re knocked out of it by a rapping on your door. You turn to see Spencer standing in the doorway, expression unreadable.

“What?” you ask.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says. “I’m just checking in.”

“I’m still alive,” you say. “Nothing exciting happened in the five seconds I was gone.”

“It was ten minutes and thirty two seconds, actually,” he says. “But— but good.”

Again, more silence passes between you. You look up at him from your pile of clothes after thirty seconds.

“Are you just going to stand there?”

“I— I don’t know what else to do,” he stammers.

“Didn’t you say you did something like this before?” you ask. “Guarded some girl from her stalker?”

Spencer nods. “She was a lot easier to get along with.”

You roll your eyes. “Somebody out there wants to kill me to get back at my dad. Sorry that I’m not the pinnacle of happiness.” You make a point to avoid his gaze. “But what I’m trying to say is that you’ve done this all before. You should have some kind of idea of what to do besides bothering me.”

“How am I bothering you?” Spencer asks in exasperation. “I’ve said three sentences to you!”

“Everything you do bothers me, boy genius,” you say. “I thought you would have figured that out by now.”

“I—” He looks like he wants to say more, but instead he just clamps his mouth shut and shakes his head before he walks away.

You stare down at your pile of clothes, largely unfolded and scattered around the bed. The silence doesn’t give you the satisfaction you thought it would.

It only lasts for all of thirty seconds though, and you don’t have time to linger in the discomfort—you hear footsteps, heavier ones this time, and you look up to see Spencer round the corner once again.

“What is your problem with me?” he blurts out.

You frown. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Spencer nods. “You hate your dad, fine— but he’s not here for you to fight with, so you’re taking it out on me. It’s classic displacement, and you don’t get to take it out on me.”

“Why not?” you ask.

“Because it— it’s not fair!” he sputters. “I didn’t do anything to you— I didn’t even know you existed until a month ago!”

“Well, gosh, boy genius,” you say, “I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure it out yourself.”

“Stop calling me boy genius!” he exclaims. “We’re the same age!”

“Then stop acting like one,” you retort. “I know you’ve got a psychology degree, but you don’t need to use them on me whenever you can.”

He frowns, his mouth opening for a second before he closes it.

“Were you going to ask how I knew that before you realized the obvious answer?” you ask.

“No,” he says.

“Yes, you were.” You continue folding your clothes. “You went to Caltech, MIT, and Yale, even though it was your safety school. You’ve got three PhDs, two BAs, and you’re working on a philosophy degree, but you’re not done with it yet.” You shrug. “A little difficult to make it to classes with all the FBI stuff.”

“…Does he really talk about me that much?” Spencer’s voice is quieter than it was before.

“Oh, yeah,” you say. You set a finished pair of jeans to the side then look at him. “I graduated from college too. Granted, it was a couple years ago, not when I was 17, but I think it still warrants a little support.”

“You went to George Mason,” Spencer says.

Your movements stutter. You weren’t expecting him to actually know.

“Yeah,” you say. Your heart skips a beat. “How do you know?”

Has he talked about you to the team before? Sure, they didn’t know you existed before you showed up out of the blue, but maybe he showed them a picture after it happened. Your mom carries one of you in your cap and gown in her wallet—maybe he got a hold of one and Spencer caught a glimpse of that. Maybe you just missed it and he does have a picture of you on his desk. Maybe—

“You have a sweatshirt for it,” he says with a gesture. You look where his finger is pointing, and sure enough, your GMU sweatshirt is tangled up with a couple of other crewnecks.

“…Of course,” you say. You don’t know why you even dared to hope. “Because it’s more likely that you’d notice something like that than it is for my dad to talk about me.”

Spencer says your name, and you hate the sympathy in it.

“No.” You cut him off before he can get any further. “Don’t try to defend him. You know,” you huff a cold, humorless laugh, “he missed my graduation, too. Two separate dates for commencement and my actual school’s ceremony, one 45 minute car ride, and he couldn’t make it to either one.”

“You don’t know how busy we are,” Spencer tries again. “We work weekends and holidays and around the clock— sometimes we get called in at 3am to stay in some random town for weeks at a time, and there’s nothing we can do about it! I— I mean, we’ve had three days off in the past 47 days and—”

“That’s why I have a problem with you!” you cry out, throwing the shirt in your hand onto your bed as you turn to face him. “Because I’m twenty-four years old, and I’ve lived an hour away from my dad for the past six years, but his team that he spends all his time with didn’t even know I existed until I showed up at your office.” You take a step forward, anger resurging inside of you. “Because I threw away a chance at an Ivy to get to see him more, just to deal with the same bullshit as usual. Because I worry about him dying every single day he’s in the field, and he can’t even give me a phone call at the end of it all—” another step forward— “and even in the middle of this shitshow, you think you have a right to defend him— to- to tell me how to feel about him!”

You move even closer, close enough to see his wrinkled button-up is partially untucked, his lips are slightly parted, and his stupid doe eyes—that haven’t left yours—with his stupid dilated pupils, and you jab your finger in his chest.

“Because all I ever wanted is my father’s affection,” your voice breaks, and you hate the way it makes you feel, “and he’d rather build an entirely new life with an entirely new kid than give it to me.”

You push your way past him, making sure to shoulder-check him on your way out. You don’t look back as you forge your way to the bathroom (that you unfortunately have to share), even though his gaze burns into your back.

You close and lock the door. It’s childish, you know, but you need to be alone right now. You can’t stand to be around him.

Spencer just— he irritates you in a way that no one else ever has. He’s your age and more accomplished than you could ever dream to be, with almost six times the degrees and a much better job, and probably a family that loves him. Who wouldn’t love him with everything he’s done?

You, apparently.

You plant your hands on the countertop as you stare into the mirror. Your usual dark circles have become more pronounced over the past month, and you can’t help a wry laugh at the thought. All that trouble sleeping and it was for the wrong damn reason.

If you knew someone was watching you, you would have moved out of Virginia months ago. But maybe this bastard would have found you anyway. If Spencer’s profiling is right and he’s going after you because of your dad, you don’t think much could really dissuade him.

Tears pool at your waterline, and you wipe them away with a rough hand before they can manifest into something more. You slump back against the opposing wall as you continue to stare at yourself.

You’re pathetic and you can’t even find it in yourself to care.

You hear the sound of footsteps once more and you wrap your arms around your midsection. This chill won’t go away.

“…Are you still alive?” a hesitant voice calls.

You bite back a remark. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“No.” You don’t know what makes you answer honestly.

A beat of silence passes. You really do feel like a kid. You’re talking to him through the door because you just yelled at him and Spencer is still being the bigger person.

“Can I help at all?”

This answer comes a little quicker. “No.”

Again, more silence.

“Okay.” Spencer pauses, and the footsteps start again. His voice is a little closer the next time he speaks. “Just… let me know when you’re turning in. So I know you’re still alive.”

You huff. He can’t even stick to his guns and hate you like you hate him for ten minutes. “I don’t think I’ll be dying anytime soon.”

“You never know,” he says. “Spontaneous human combustion might not be proven beyond pseudoscientific concepts, but there’s a first time for everything.”

The laugh that comes out of you is unexpected, both in its lightness and occurrence at all. “Keep an ear out for the smoke alarm, then.”

“If you smell anything burning, stop, drop and roll,” he says. “Make sure you don’t run. All it’ll do is add to the oxygen and feed the fire.”

“Okay,” you say. “…I still don’t like you.”

You swear you can hear the smile in his words. “I know.”

You wake up when the smoke alarm goes off.

It’s a very rude awakening. It jolts you out of your very uneasy sleep to unfamiliar surroundings—in your disoriented state, you almost forget where you are.

Right. You’re in a safe house in the middle of nowhere because someone is stalking you. How could you possibly forget?

You stumble out of bed, rubbing your eyes to try and assuage some of your exhaustion as you leave your room.

“Is the place on fire?” you ask through a yawn.

“No!” Spencer exclaims, sounding more panicked than usual. That straightens your back and speeds your pace. “No, everything’s fine—”

You smell smoke, and as you come around the corner, you see him waving his hands overtop the toaster trying to dispel said smoke. You can’t help but laugh, and you actually smile when he gives you the most helpless look.

“I’m so good at so many other things.”

“What are you trying to do?” you ask wryly. “Burn this house down to try and get a better one?”

“This wouldn’t have started a fire,” Spencer says. “Toaster fires usually spread because they’re below wooden cupboards, which catch easily and spread everywhere else.” He gestures at the toaster, which he has plugged in to an outlet on the side of the island. “No cupboards, no house fire.”

“You started this because you were making toast?” you ask.

He flushes. “I’m used to the toaster I have at home. I have the settings worked out perfectly there. This one is all wrong.”

You sigh and shake your head. “Just… hit the reset button, and open the door. It’ll be fine.”

“I can’t open the door,” he says. “It goes against the safety thing.”

“Then open a window.”

“Making it easier to get in here in any way goes against the safety thing,” he says.

“So we have to just deal with the smoke?” you ask in exasperation.

Spencer hits the vent button on the microwave, and the fan whirs into action. “No?”

You shake your head in disbelief as he then reaches up to hit the button on the smoke alarm. His t-shirt lifts with the movement—your eyes drift to the bare strip of skin, and you immediately look away when you realize.

“Where’s the coffee in here?” you ask, clearing your throat as you start sifting through drawers. “I’ll be even worse to deal with if I don’t have caffeine.”

“I already brewed a fresh pot,” Spencer says, gesturing with his head. “Half and half is in the fridge, and sugar is in the cabinet.”

“Oh,” you say. You stop what you’re doing, your hands lingering above the drawer handle. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You see him shrug out of your peripherals. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Because I was a total asshole to you last night, you want to say. Because I’ve been awful to you since I met you and you refuse to fight back and give me a better reason to hate you.

“Because you didn’t need to,” you finally say. Good one.

“I did. So you’re going to have to deal with it.” Spencer takes the burnt toast out and throws them in the trash can, talking while he does it. “You know, it’s actually a rumor that burnt toast contains carcinogens and can increase the chance of cancer. Acrylamide forms when you burn food, but researchers haven’t found a link between starchy foods with high amounts of acrylamide and cancer.”

You hum in some form of acknowledgement as you take a mug out of the cabinet and fill it from the pot. You take a sip and grimace—it’s not the best, but it’s caffeinated. After three years of shitty gas station coffee throughout college, you can deal with it.

“How did you sleep?” Spencer asks.

“Fine,” you say.

He frowns. “Really?”

“Yes,” you say, a little rougher. “The dark circles come with the model.”

“There are a lot of causes other than sleep deprivation,” Spencer says. “Contact dermatitis, hyperpigmentation, dehydration, alcoholism, stress—”

“Got plenty of that,” you interrupt.

“Even genetics can play a part in it,” he says.

You huff. “I think this is one thing I can’t blame my dad for. I haven’t slept since the nineties.”

“Well, you should try,” Spencer says. “The blood vessels around your eyes don’t constrict like they should when you’re sleep deprived, which means your blood vessels dilate, which increases blood in the area, and that gives you dark circles.”

“Wow,” you say wryly. “I really look that bad with them?”

“I— that—” Spencer’s face flushes red as he stutters, and you hide the slightest smile with your mug— “that’s not what I mean! I’m just trying to give advice to help—”

“I know.” You set your mug back down, not able to fully bite back your amusement. “I was joking, Spencer.”

“Oh,” he says. “That’s… new.”

“Am I not allowed to joke?”

“It just doesn’t seem like you,” Spencer says. “Especially after last night.”

“I’m too tired to fight with you right now,” you sigh. “Enjoy your break.”

He clears his throat as he takes two fresh pieces of bread out, then looks at your mug. “You drink it black?”

“It’s not coffee if you don’t,” you say. “It— it’s a sugary mess.”

“It is not!” he exclaims. “It still has the same amount of caffeine, and it’s still coffee—”

“No it isn’t!” you laugh, and you nod at his mug. “How much sugar did you put in there?”

“A couple spoonfuls but—”

“Spoonfuls?”

“But it’s how I like it!” Spencer defends.

“Don’t you have some facts about how harmful excessive sugar consumption is?” you ask.

“Of course I do,” he says. “I also have some about the benefits of black coffee, but I’m not going to tell you now.”

“Wow,” you say. “I’m so hurt.”

He shakes his head as he slots two more pieces of bread into the toaster. “And to think, I was trying to make breakfast for you.”

Again, that gives you pause. Why does he keep trying to do nice things for you?”

“Don’t bother.” You pick up your mug and go into the living room. “I don’t really eat breakfast anyways.”

“That’s not healthy,” he calls after you.

“Most things I do aren’t,” you respond. “What’s on the agenda today?”

“Skipping breakfast puts you at a higher chance of heart disease,” he says.

“Then I guess we won’t have to worry about the spontaneous combustion, will we?” You look back at him. “What’s on the agenda?”

Spencer sighs. He’s given up momentarily, it seems. “Gideon’s going to call me in thirty-two minutes for an update. The whole team has been focusing solely on your case.”

You perk up. The coffee warms your hands through the mug but it doesn’t fully assuage the chill down your spine.

“Do they have any leads?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer says. “Gideon hasn’t called me yet.”

You roll your eyes. “Do you think they have any leads?”

“Maybe.” The toaster pops and he pulls the bread out, then starts buttering it—or trying to. His brow knots in annoyance at the stick of butter, still hard, and he pushes his glasses up with his free hand. You have to look away. “Like I said, Gideon helped start the BAU. He’s solved more cases than anyone else, and,” you feel his eyes on you, “it’s personal this time. He’s probably working around the clock.”

“Just have to hope they get somewhere,” you murmur. Your coffee tastes even more bitter than usual, but you drink it anyway.

“They will,” Spencer says. “I promise.”

“Y’know, people keep making promises they can’t keep,” you say. “I’m getting real tired of it.”

“Well, I’m not leaving your side until they do,” he says. “And I’m going to keep you safe. So consider that promise kept.”

“Great,” you say. “I’m stuck with you until I die or this is solved.”

“You’re not going to die.”

“You don’t have to take everything I say so seriously.”

“Then don’t say everything so seriously.”

You huff a laugh and shake your head. Spencer comes over with his plate of messily buttered toast—not very easy with fully solid sticks of butter—and sits down across from you. He holds the plate out.

“Want one?”

“I told you, I don’t eat breakfast.”

“You should.”

“Because one piece of toast will make so much of a difference,” you mock.

“It will,” he says. “Maybe it’ll even make you happier.”

You roll your eyes and drink more of your coffee. “Are you going to bother me all day like this?”

Spencer took a bite of toast then shrugged. “If you’re this blase about everything relating to your health, then yes.”

You groan as you stand up. “It’s too early to deal with you. See you in a few hours.”

“And good morning to you too,” Spencer says wryly. You make a parting gesture with your hand in response.

It’s been a day and a half, and not only have you argued with him twice, but he still refuses to give you anything to work with, still insists on trying to be there for you. It’s as infuriating as it is gratingly admirable. Anyone else probably would have tried to kill you by now.

Well, you’ve already got a stalker trying to do that.

You sigh and down half your coffee. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.

Spencer doesn’t know why you not liking him bothers him so much.

It’s illogical, but it makes sense for you. Your dad spends more time with him than he does with you, and you’re projecting your hatred for Gideon onto Spencer. Whatever.

But it’s not just whatever, and that irks him.

This is an assignment, simple as that. Gideon trusted him enough to put you under his protection, even if it’s for your mental health more so than your physical. It should be a point of pride, being chosen for something like this by someone like Gideon.

Spencer presses his fingers against his temple. You’re a lot, there’s no way around it. But you also claim to hate him, and he knows that’s not true.

Yes, you argue with him. Yes, you’re short with him. Yes, he lost his temper momentarily because not even Spencer is capable of endless grace.

But he also sees your moments of lightness throughout it all. Your brief smiles, the quips that lean towards jokes more than insults—and he notices your eyes, and the brightness that breaks through on occasion.

He always notices your eyes.

Spencer’s phone rings in his pocket, jolting him out of whatever reverie he found himself in. He pulls it out and flips it open, then presses it to his ear. “Gideon?”

“Reid,” he greets. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” he says. “You’re calling twenty-four minutes early.”

“We just finished a briefing,” Gideon says. “I wanted to get word to you as soon as possible.”

Spencer sits up. “What is it?”

“Morgan, Hotch, and Garcia have been working together to comb through my past cases and see what they’re up to now. They finally found a potential unsub,” he says. “Someone I put away a decade ago was released last year, and recent records indicate he’s back in the area.”

“Who is it?” he asks.

“Adam Hernandez. Also known as—”

“The Stafford Strangler,” Spencer finishes. “He killed three people in two weeks in the 90s—classic spree killer. You caught him with David Rossi’s help.”

“Released on good behavior, despite the victims’ families campaigning against it,” Gideon says. “You know it?”

“Obviously,” he says. “I’ve read all of your old case files.”

Gideon chuckles, and he can almost imagine him shaking his head. “Of course you have.”

“Do you think Hernandez is your guy?” Spencer asks.

“I’m not sure yet,” Gideon says. “We applied for a warrant—as soon as we get it, Morgan and Elle are heading his way to ask a few questions.”

“You think he’d do something like this?” Spencer shifts his position as he frowns. “Hernandez got fired, lost his house, then went off the deep end. He killed because he didn’t see any other solution. The guy going after your daughter is a lot more emotional about all this, and—” his throat feels dry all of a sudden— “and it’s like he’s got some kind of attraction to her.”

“You don’t need to remind me,” Gideon says roughly. “We’re going for leads where we can, and we’re still working every other angle. It doesn’t end with Hernandez.”

“...Good,” Spencer says. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help from here.”

“You’re already doing everything I need you to do.” Gideon pauses, and he hears the creak of the chair in his office as he adjusts how he’s sitting. “How is my daughter doing?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Her mood changes with the wind. One second she’s trying to start a fight with me, the next she’s trying to joke around with me. It— it’s a lot, I won’t lie.”

“But how is she handling all of this?” he asks. “Staying in the safe house, dealing with a stalker, feeling like a sitting duck.”

“Very cynically,” Spencer says. “She keeps talking about dying or getting killed.”

Gideon sighs. “That sounds like her.”

“She’s… she’s mad at you, mostly.” Spencer picks at a hangnail, ignoring the sharp, temporary pain. “Every time I bring you up, it lights a fuse. You’re the one thing she hates to talk about.”

There’s nothing but silence on the other end.

“Gideon?” he asks. “Did I lose—”

“I’m here,” he interrupts. “Just… thinking.”

“It’s not your fault,” Spencer says. “She’s—”

“It is my fault,” Gideon interrupts again. “Has she told you much about her younger life?”

“...Some,” Spencer says.

“Like?”

Spencer doesn’t really know what to say. He doesn’t want to just tell Gideon that you’ve told him he’s been an awful dad. That it’s really all you’ve told him.

“You can say it, Reid,” Gideon says. “I won’t get mad.”

“...She says you’ve missed out on her whole life,” Spencer finally says, notably quieter. “Her high school graduation, her college graduation— most of the stuff that happened in college, actually.”

Gideon lets out a rough sigh. “I’ll always regret it.”

“So it’s true?” Spencer asks. He’s surprised at the sharpness of his voice.

“I don’t get to control when cases come in,” he says.

“We’re a whole team of qualified agents,” Spencer says. “We— we always have been. Especially when you and Rossi were together. It was like the golden age of profilers.”

“Spencer—”

“You made it to my graduation!” he interrupts. “You were there for my chemistry PhD, and you said you would be there when I get my philosophy degree, but you couldn’t make it for your only child’s high school and college graduations?”

“I already told you I regret it,” Gideon says. His voice is as calm as ever, and for some reason, that irks Spencer even more. “What more can I say? It’s in the past now. I can’t change what I did.”

Spencer stares at the wall. He doesn’t know why this is such a damning thing to him.

His own dad has missed all of his graduations. He’s missed almost every part of his life. But his dad walked out—he wanted nothing to do with Spencer or his mom.

Your dad is right here. Gideon is still around, working every day to save lives and change the world and take down monsters—but he’s still not there for you.

He’s so close and yet he always steps out of your reach.

“Spencer.” Gideon’s voice is tinny through the speaker, and he presses his phone back against his ear.

“Call me back the second you get another lead,” Spencer mutters.

He hangs up without another word.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #gideon!reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #x reader #sadie writes #and yes. reader heard spencer's whole side of the convo<3

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mysteryshoptls · 2 days ago

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SSR Lilia Vanrouge - Room Relaxation Voice Lines

It's a waste to sleep the night away! My special day starts now!

Summon: I got a birthday performance and a party to go to... Kheeheehee, tomorrow's sure going to be busy.

Groovification: I hate mornings... But there's so much fun things to do today. I can even appreciate the sun on a day like this!

Home: It's fever time!

Swap Looks: The morning sun's unforgiving today, as always...

Home Transition 1: This hairband is my absolute favorite, because it just increases my cuteness factor tenfold.

Home Transition 2: There's so much I want to do at night: play games, practice the bass, read, watch movies, and sometimes even study... Aaah, there's never enough time to do everything!

Home Transition 3: Birthdays are all about celebrating life and all the joys you receive from it. The date it's celebrated is not what's important.

Home Transition - Login: I get more into dressing up when it's for my birthday. It's no fun for anyone else if the birthday boy isn't looking his sharpest, after all!

Home Transition - Groovy: I got into a spirited conversation about the bass with Jade when he came over to give his thoughts on my birthday performance. I think he really knows his stuff!

Home Tap 1: Hoho! It's not often I spy Leona in the Mystery Shop all by his lonesome. Let's see, maybe I can wheedle a birthday gift out of him. Kheeheehee!

Home Tap 2: When I told him it was my birthday, Deuce practically shouted his birthday greetings to me. He did that even though I told him the same thing about three months back... Cute kid.

Home Tap 3: The eyeshadow Azul gave me looks to be a limited edition version of my favorite brand. Well, isn't he a sharp one.

Home Tap 4: I snagged these slippers from one of those online app crane games. You don't really see fluffy dragon feet like these just anywhere!

Home Tap 5: The string on my hoodie? ...Oh, you're right, the left side is a little too long. These things are a pain to fix once they completely slip out, y'know～!

Home Tap - Groovy: What's up, why're you grinning like that? ...I look cute in this getup? Heheh, well, that's because I'm a cutie, of course I look cute ♪

Duo: [LILIA]: Jade, this is how cute a real adult can be! [JADE]: You're almost too dazzling, Lilia-san.

Birthday Login Message: Thanks for coming to celebrate. I'm more than pleased to have you remember my birthday. The Pop Music Club is planning on having a birthday performance tonight. You'll be joining us too, right? I hear that Kalim is preparing an extra-large cake as a surprise. Cater was worried that it wouldn't be a surprise if he told me, but... Kheeheehee, I'm still happy about it. We'll sing and party, surrounded by all those close to me... It's this kind of birthday that makes me the luckiest guy in the world.

Requested by @kingren77.

#twisted wonderland #twst #lilia vanrouge #jade leech #twst lilia #twst jade #twst translation #twst birthday #mention: jade #mention: leona #mention: deuce #mention: azul

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makeitmakesomesense · 3 days ago

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The Early Morning

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Day 5: I've merged a lovely request from a lovely friend with the @taylorswiftmicrofic prompt for the 5th of January, which is 'blind'.

It is just past the middle of the night. You have officially entered the early morning. You find yourself awake. You went to sleep right after your last mission. This is your consequence.

You don’t try to fight it, instead you roll out of your bed and make your way to get something to drink. Ever since Vision and Wanda have become part of the Avengers, things have been a little different. You’ve all done your best to welcome them to the team, but they have kept to themselves far more than you expected. The changing dynamics have been something to adjust to.

You let yourself enjoy the easy peace of the quiet nighttime.

You walk to the kitchen and freeze for a second.

Wanda is sitting at the dining table. Her hair is wet. Her face is ashen and her hands are cupping a hot mug of tea. Her eyes flit wearily to you.

You hesitate, not sure how to approach. You’ve never spoken to her alone.

‘You okay?’

Wanda turns back to her tea, she doesn’t answer.

You watch the ends of her hair drip onto the tiled floor.

You refill the kettle and turn it on. You take a seat next to her.

Wanda’s wearing a grey sweater. It’s too big for her. The sleeves have ridden up and her forearms are exposed. Goosebumps coat her skin.

You try again. Something more direct.

‘Are you cold?’

Wanda’s eyes meet yours and you know that she is.

The kettle boils and you stand up, your hand touches her shoulder as you pass by. You feel her shudder.

You bring her a new mug. The steam curls promisingly above the liquid. Wanda leans over it. Her hands wrap around the ceramic, even though it must be burning hot. She shudders again and closes her eyes.

You sit next to her with your own mug and think.

Dim light seeps through the large windows and illuminates Wanda’s face. Her eyes have dark shadows under them. You can tell she must not be sleeping. You wonder where Vision is.

As if she can read your thoughts (and you can’t help wondering if she can). Wanda answers your silent question.

‘Viz doesn’t sleep. Not like people do. It’s more... robotic.’

You picture immediately a long cable connecting the android to a computer. You push down the ridiculous image that's probably not so far from the truth. You nod at Wanda silently encouraging her to continue.

‘At night, he goes offline. Really offline. Missiles could go off and he’d be blind to it.’

You try to understand the subtext of Wanda’s words. There’s a strange suspense to your next question, it is the possibility that she might say yes.

‘Do you worry about that? About missiles going off?’

Wanda smiles at you. Her head tilts. It could be playful if her eyes weren’t full of pain.

‘It’s all I worry about.’

You give a half smile back, you know it doesn’t reach your eyes.

‘I’ve done all my sleeping for tonight.’ You tell her carefully. ‘If you want someone there… someone awake. I was going to watch a movie anyway and I can put on headphones.’

Wanda takes her first sip of the slowly cooling tea.

‘Thank you.’ She says a moment later, her small smile now weighted with relief.

Wanda follows you back to your room that night. She waits for you to prop some pillows against the headboard and lie back on one side of the bed. She falls readily onto the other side of the mattress.

She’s not self conscious, not like you’d half expected.

She sinks into the bed like it’s been calling her for days. You listen to her breathing even out before you put on your headphones.

It becomes a routine of sorts. Your new sleep schedule is not nearly as difficult as you expect. You switch your mindless after-dinner screen time with an early nap.

Wanda knocks on your door in the early hours of each morning. You plug in some headphones and watch whatever film you can think of.

Wanda lies beside you. Now that the worst of the sleep deprivation has abated, she is slower to fall asleep. Sometimes you even talk for a few minutes, about the day before or the film you’re planning to watch.

It’s easy to talk to Wanda, much easier than you ever expected. You try to understand the distance she’s always kept from everyone on the team except Vision.

Each morning, you wait patiently for the inevitable long pause in coversation, for the moment that her eyelids slowly start to close.

There is something comforting about her steady breathing beside you.

It is too easy to be comfortable. Despite your best efforts, it only takes a week for you to become lulled to near sleep yourself.

You’re not quite asleep, you’re still following along with the dialogue from the movie. But your mind has drifted and your eyes have closed.

They fly open at the first feeling of movement beside you. You startle suddenly as you understand your inadvertent mistake. You move backwards unthinkingly and hit your head sharply on the edge of the headboard.

You hiss out and apologise automatically.

Wanda is still lying in the bed next to you, she has turned to face you. Her head is resting on the pillow. She looks exhausted with a different kind of fatigue. She sits up very carefully, as if her presence is inherently scary.

You don’t know how to explain. That your automatic panic came only from the disorientation of nearly falling asleep by mistake.

Wanda speaks before you can. Her mouth twists into the same bitter smile that you’ve seen once before. She is watching you rub the sore spot at the back of your head.

‘It’s your amygdala.’ She explains.

‘What?’ You ask unsurely.

‘That’s why you’re afraid.’

‘My amygdala.’ You repeat dumbly.

‘Yes. Vision explained it once. It’s what makes you afraid of me, even if you don’t want to be.’ Her words are rehearsed. They sound calm but you can hear something else simmering behind them. ‘Your amygdala knows the danger that comes with being near me.’

‘And what about Vision’s amygdala?’ You ask sharply, suddenly hating the implications of her words. ‘How does he manage?’

‘It’s synthetic.’

‘That’s lucky.’ You comment dryly.

She stares at you seriously. An overwhelming loneliness fills her eyes.

‘Yes.’ Wanda says quietly, looking down at the bedspread. ‘It is.’

You watch Wanda leave.

You spend the day caught between a wish to apologise and a lingering uncertainty that something else is wrong. Something more complicated than you’d realised.

You seek out Natasha in the end, trusting her advice and needing someone to speak to. You find her as she’s leaving a boardroom after a meeting. She invites you back into the room and you sit together. You start to tell her about Wanda. You try to state the facts. The sleep deprivation. Vision’s words. Her isolation from the team.

You hope you don’t sound biased, you hope your concern doesn’t seem excessive.

Natasha’s lips twist and you can tell she doesn’t like the details either. She tells you other things, small moments she’s noticed. Their separate meals from the rest of you. His frequent appearances in Wanda’s room without warning. How it's the one thing he can’t seem to learn not to do. A sudden lengthy monologue about the benefits of Stark’s technology, unaware of Wanda stiffened posture beside him.

You exchange a long look with Natasha, it holds something that you recognise in your bones.

You decide to worry together.

That night you find Wanda before the time she usually comes to your room. It is just past midnight and she is sitting at the dining table. Her dark hair is wet again.

She startles violently when you call her name. Her shoulders relax immediately as she turns to find you.

Wanda stands suddenly and moves to the kitchen counter. You watch her refill the kettle and turn it on. She takes out two mugs. She smiles at you again. There’s relief in it.

‘Good evening.’ She says at last. Her fingers tap out a steady rhythm against the marble countertop.

She notices you watching and her hand stills suddenly. She stares down at her fingers. Her mouth closes and her jaw ticks. She is lost in thought. You know she is remembering your last encounter.

This time, you speak first. You start slowly.

‘I’m not afraid of you.’ You tell her carefully.

Wanda doesn’t look up. You watch the familiar bitter smile that makes your gut twist unhappily.

‘Then you are not paying attention.’ She says simply.

‘I am.’ You counter stubbornly.

‘We can’t change who we are.’ Her voice is monotone and you can tell that she is quoting someone else. ‘We can’t relinquish the dangers that comes with our power.’

‘But we can always have family.’ Your argument is quiet. ‘We can still have love and care. We can forgive ourselves for who we are.’

Wanda goes very still. After a moment, she reaches for the kettle that has now boiled. You watch her pour the water into the two waiting mugs.

‘Vision -’ She begins at last, looking at you unsurely. ‘It’s hard’

‘What is?’

She hands you a mug of tea and you watch her grip her own drink like it’s a life support system.

‘He would never do the things I’ve done.’ Her voice cracks with barely repressed guilt. ‘It can be hard to not feel alone.’

You drink your tea and watch her for a moment. Wanda's breathing is shallow. Her pupils have dilated in the dim light. Her dark eyes are watching you, waiting.

‘I would’ve.’ You confess softly. ‘If I’d been you. I think I would have done the same things.’

A thousand emotions flit through Wanda's expression. It settles somewhere between fear and longing.

You move forward and place your mug on the countertop, carefully you take Wanda’s from her too. When her hands are free, you hold them gently in your own.

She grips them tightly. You can feel her shaking.

‘Do you want to get out of here?’ You offer softly. ‘Just for a few days. We can borrow a car. We can go right now.’

Wanda is so close to you now. You feel the hitch in her breath as you much as you hear it.

Wanda’s expression fills with the same look of longing and she glances outside at the full moon that is brightening the darkest part of the night.

‘Viz’ll wake up soon.’ She hesitates. ‘He hates it when I leave this place.’

You shake your head. You give her a small smile. ‘Natasha said they’re using his offline time tonight to update some of his old programming. Getting rid of some of the biases that Tony created back when it was only Jarvis.’

You pause. Wanda is looking at you like the world is something new again.

‘We have time.’ You tell her and it feels like a promise.

Her small smile is full of sudden happiness.

Wanda leans forward and her head rests against your shoulder. There is a weightlessness to her tired relief.

You are grateful that your amygdala is very real. That you can feel this entirely.

‘Okay’ She says finally against your shirt. ‘Do you mind if I sleep while you drive?’

You laugh and wrap your arms around her. The wet ends of her hair drip onto your arms.

You leave the Compound before the sun has risen.

Requests are still very welcome for future January fics. More info in the pinned post if you're interested in requesting. <3

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader

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jheselbraum · 1 day ago

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Birth of a Nation revitalized the KKK in America and is perhaps the only piece of "irredeemable media" I can think of that's actually like. You know, a story, and I don't know of anything else off the top of my head that had that kind of lasting, palpably harmful impact that isn't like, direct state mandated propaganda like Mein Kampf. In 1915 the KKK was effectively dead, they'd slowly dissolved around the 1870s (particularly after the introduction of the Ku Klux Klan Act of 1871) and Birth of a Nation led to the most notorious American terrorist group reforming. As far as I'm concerned, DW Griffith has actual blood on his hands, for murders committed at the very least through the 40s (they disbanded temporarily in 1944 after America's most effective violent crime task force, the IRS, got involved, though it could be argued he's only responsible for murders committed by the KKK through the 20s, as membership declined rapidly after that once people saw that being part of a terrorist organization wasn't like how it was in the movie).

And like, look I generally don't think the word "irredeemable" can really be applied to art in any form, but there is something viscerally reprehensible about Birth of a Nation that makes us not want to watch it. Like it (arguably) pioneered a lot of film techniques but that's more of the science side of film than the art side, I'm completely certain that people would have figured out that contrasting long shots with close-ups made movies more interesting if Birth of a Nation was left on the cutting room floor. (In fact, several of the techniques 'pioneered' by Birth of a Nation were actually from earlier films, it's just that DW Griffith was more popular and his films are the ones that were remembered). But like we don't screen this movie publicly, we don't like it, we don't like the what DW Griffith had to say. Birth of a Nation just... repels people away from it. Its in person screenings are relegated to a few film classes and maybe some klan meetings, though I'm certain there are some racists on 4chan who've downloaded a copy. If you ask normal people to pick one movie to stop existing, there's no way out of it you have to pick one, chances are they'll pick Birth of a Nation, assuming they've even heard of it (my first exposure to it was in high school, some people might not get to it until college, or even later, that's just kind of what happens with something like this. It's not like you can learn about something through cultural osmosis when the culture is trying like hell to osmosis that thing out of itself). It's an acceptable loss.

Meanwhile, from what I've read, I'd say the decision to use A Serbian Film alongside Birth of a Nation is actually a reasonable one, not because of the graphic nature of it's content, but rather its themes and message and how flat it can feel because of who's saying it (DISCLAIMER: I haven't watched it, I'm not going to watch it, take this with a grain of salt). It's about a man who's forced to commit horrific crimes to survive (economically, though he may be directly threatened with death I'm not sure, he's doing it as a job basically). If you'll recall, Serbia committed genocide during the Bosnian War in the 90s, the targets being primarily Bosniaks but also including anyone in Bosnia and Herzegovina that wasn't Serbian.

The director of the film, Srđan Spasojević, had this to say when asked if the acts depicted in the film were related in any way to crimes committed during the Yugoslav Wars:

A Serbian Film does not touch upon war themes, but in a metaphorical way deals with the consequences of post-war society and a man that is exploited to the extreme in the name of securing the survival of his family.

Additionally, he described the film as "a diary of our own molestation by the Serbian government ... It's about the monolithic power of leaders who hypnotize you to do things you don't want to do. You have to feel the violence to know what it's about."

A Serbian Film is an exploitation film that's apparently considered one of the most disturbing of all time, but the film is not a snuff film as many people have claimed. A snuff film is the filming of actual gruesome crimes like murder, torture, and rape, committed for the purpose of selling the resulting film and making money. It's not "a movie that depicts gruesome crimes like murder, torture, and rape through the use of special or practical effects."

Based on the quick read-through of the Wikipedia article I did, it seems like most of what the film is trying to say is through the lens of the aftermath of the Yugoslav Wars, or at least that's how the audience largely interpreted it. The script writer, Aleksandar Radivojević, said this about the process of securing funding for the film and the state of the Serbian film industry in general.

you had this EU arts council funded production using Serbia for EU's political agitprop agenda of 'promoting tolerance and reconciliation in the post-war Balkans' by boosting sappy local projects of no aesthetic value whose sole reason for receiving EU financing was their respective authors' willingness to amplify the EU-approved message, i.e. to express 'Serb contrition over what happened in the Yugoslav Wars' via essentially making victim porn, showing small miserable Serb people who are struggling mightily while nevertheless simultaneously 'doing their part in search of collective redemption' by being extremely remorseful

Now, I'm a white American who does not experience racism of any kind, let alone the violently dehumanizing prejudice necessary to convince a group of people to commit an ethnic cleansing, but if my people had been the victims of a genocide, and I heard someone from the group of people that committed that genocide complain about media depicting his people's remorse, and saw that that guy also wrote a movie where the plot is a man is forced to commit gruesome rapes, and again, my people were gruesomely raped as a part of that guy's country's plan to wipe my people from existence, I'd be fucking pissed. Like again, I haven't seen A Serbian Film, and Radivojević wasn't the only person in the writer's room, so maybe in practice it reads less as "our government was controlling us we did nothing wrong" and more "our government is controlling us and we're monsters for listening." And we can argue the merits of the latter another time, but at least the latter acknowledges that genocide doesn't happen in a vacuum because some schmucks at the top said so, that the people bear as much responsibility as their government.

Now, is A Serbian Film actually trying to say anything about the Yugoslav Wars at all? I don't know. I haven't seen it. Maybe it isn't about the Bosnian genocide at all. But then what is it saying about Serbia? Serbian actor Dragan Bjelogrlić said this about the film and its director, a year after its release:

I have a problem with A Serbian Film. Its director in particular. I've got a serious problem with this boy whose father got wealthy during the 1990s—nothing against making money, but I know how money was made [in Serbia] during the '90s—and then pays for his son's education abroad and eventually the kid comes back to Serbia to film his view of the country using his dad's money and even calls the whole thing A Serbian Film. To me that's a metaphor for something unacceptable. The second generation comes back to the country and using the money that had been robbed from the people of Serbia, smears the very same people by portraying them as the worst scum of the earth.

OP was right, it's fucking insane that this site only uses words like irredeemable media to talk about cartoons for children. Like, no, Steven Universe or The Owl House or My Hero Academia or whatever TV-Y7 cartoon you're hyper focused on that week isn't irredeemable media. Your bar for even discussing it as a possibility is "did this story's public existence revitalize a terrorist organization and lead to several murders," a qualification which A Serbian Film, despite its content, themes, and possible interpretations, does not meet. It's offensive, and disturbing, it possibly excuses genocide, but as far as I've read, no one has gotten physically hurt because it exists.

A Serbian Film is more violently graphic than Birth of a Nation. Birth of a Nation did more to physically harm real people than A Serbian Film ever could.

It's fucking wild that the above reaction to A Serbian Film mentions next to nothing about what it's trying to say, how well it works, who's saying it and in what context, but focuses purely on the graphic and violent scenes depicted in the film. It's probably why they slapped Salo on at the end even though a cursory glance through Wikipedia (I don't care enough to read thoroughly on the plot and themes you get the point graphic exploitation films aren't inherently evil for depicting murder or rape or whatever I don't want to read about more graphic shit it's not something I personally enjoy doing) reveals that that film is strictly antifascist, though several actors were actually injured during filming. Notably, the director of Salo, Pier Paolo Pasolini, was gruesomely abducted, tortured, and murdered in 1975 shortly before Salo's release at the Paris Film Festival. He was openly gay, and a Marxist, and while his death was initially contributed to one Giuseppe Pelosi (17 at the time of the murder) after he confessed, he later retracted his confession claiming that he made it under the threat of violence to his family (which unfortunately tracks, Americans may recall the more recent case of Amanda Knox, who was arrested in 2007 for the murder of her friend and forced by Italian police to confess to a crime she didn't commit and was later exonerated from). The case was reopened after Giuseppe's retraction in 2005 and other evidence that had come to light, and as of 2023 the Italian authorities are looking at the far right group Banda della Magliana as possible suspects. While I agree that "I hear it's kind of. nasty" is frankly an understatement when attempting to discuss the graphic content of Salo, and really fucking hilarious in the context of trying to argue that Salo shouldn't exist at all, I don't know that that's really a fair criticism to make, considering the other two examples are if not directly far right (using the term because of the changing political landscape between 1915 and 2010, like I can't really call Birth of a Nation fascist because it was made before fascism was a fully congealed political ideology, even if it upholds the ideology of fascism) then at least debatably so. As previously established, the actual content of the film, as in, the acts depicted, don't immediately make a work reprehensible. Remember, A Serbian Film is more graphic and disturbing to watch than Birth of a Nation, but Birth of a Nation is worse than A Serbian Film.

Tldr; op is right, and the person whose tags have been drowned is exactly the kind of person op was talking about

'Irredeemable media' is such a funny concept to me because it's never used for stuff like Birth of a Nation or A Serbian Film. It's always The Owl House or My Hero Academia because these people only watch things for children and can't stand any conflict more complex than Super Mario Brothers.

#i could go on about birth of a nation and its effect on american history #i dont think that if the film was never made then racism would be solved forever or anything #i dont even know for sure if the kkk would've never reformed if it hadnt been made #and even though i think we should treat it the way germany treats the swastika its still like #important to talk about it you know #its important that people know what it is and what it did #sometimes modern callbacks to that film fall a little flat #like the 2016 birth of a nation which was about nat turner #i remember the title causing some confusion cause like #a lot of the time people will get movie titles before they get a plot summary so #people thought they were remaking birth of a nation for a little bit #that part in hamilton where theyre like ''im taking my time watching the afterbirth of a nation'' works better #its a good callback that makes it clear that i think its burr or the ensemble or maybe both #that theyre not just talking about the constitution but theyre also talking about all the other shit #like the three fifths compromise and the slave trade act #iirc the off Broadway version talks about slavery like they're not afraid to bring it up but #in the actual finished musical this is one of the few instances where the cast isnt making direct eye contact with the audience #and saying ''slavery was bad'' and unlike some other parts in the show where #it kinda feels like theyre glossing over it #specifically with Jefferson as I dont believe claims that Hamilton owned slaves were substantiated until after the musical was written #like historians suspected he did but nothing concrete was found until 2020 #not to say that what was known about hamiltons involvement in the slave trade wasnt minimized #but the afterbirth of a nation line is very effective #slaps hood its good writing #cw rape mention

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fujoshirat · 2 days ago

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Shouto Todoroki proposes with a fucking house (Be careful what you wish for ♡)

It was a Thursday night, chilly November air nipping at your nose as you walked out of the theater with your love. Shouto wanted to watch the new All Might movie, and who were you to say no to a date with your lovely boyfriend?

He seemed to enjoy it, the way his eyes lit up every time he saw his idol appear on screen. A boyish, childlike wonder present every time his eyes sparkled, he was so cute!!—wait a minute, that’s not the point!

The main point comes after this scene: after getting hot chocolate from a food stand with Shouto, you both sat down on a nearby bench. Sipping the much-needed warm drink, you let out a soft sigh.

“Isn’t hot chocolate so delicious, Shou?” Your boyfriend nods, small smile on his face as he watches your cheery expression. The cold brought a faint pink hue to his cheeks, making them rosy. He seemed contempt in the quiet moment, something you were used to with him.

But then, his gaze turned contemplative. Scooting a bit closer to you, he asked, “Can I ask you something?”

You look up at him curiously. “Sure, what’s up?”

His kissable lips pressed together firmly, like he was hesitant to say what was on his mind.

“How… do you feel about marriage?” The question caught you off-guard, and you nearly choked on your hot chocolate. “M-marriage?!?”

He nods shyly, though his expression was serious. “Yes, what do you think about it? I’ve been thinking, and… it’s something I want with you in the future—if you want that, too.” Your heart had melted at his honesty. You and Shouto have been dating for a while now, and sure, you didn’t mind marrying him, but you didn’t expect him to bring it up so casually.

Heart pounding in your chest, you turn your eyes from your drink and face him. Your breath hitches when you see his earnest expression. “Well, I wouldn’t mind marrying you, Shouto. And if we were to get married someday, I don’t want anything super fancy! I’m not into those huge diamond rings and over-the-top proposals, which all seem like a huge waste of money and a silly way to “show” that you love someone.” Shouto’s heterochromatic eyes widen at your statement, processing your words. “You wouldn’t want a ring?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, no, I’d want a ring. Just nothing extravagant, you know? I’d rather have something permanent.” Your boyfriend tilts his head confusedly.

“Permanent? What’s more permanent that a ring?” ‘Good question,’ you thought. Before Shouto brought it up right now, you never really thought about the specifics of marriage. Thinking for a moment, you decide to tease the boy and grin mischievously.

“A house,” you say proudly, half joking-half serious. No way was anyone in their right mind going to propose to you with a house oh how wrong you were babe. “I mean, it’s not something that sits on your finger until you break it or you lose it or you get too fat from aging or childbirth. It’s a place where memories are made, and…” You gently cup his right cheek with your hand, soft smile on your face, “hopefully if we do get married, it will be good memories.”

Shouto stared at you for a few seconds, as if you had just revealed the meaning of life itself. The man had already told you about his rough childhood a few years back, and you had already met his family a while ago. You knew what he feared, and you knew how to comfort him and make everything okay. Nodding slowly, Shouto gently touched the hand that was caressing his cheek. “A house,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You didn’t think of it much then. After all, it was just a silly, offhand comment that would never actually happen…

...right?

You had laughed off your “wish” not even a few minutes after you said it, and continued chatting about the movie and basking in your boyfriend’s company.

But Shouto? Shouto took it to heart. And everyone knows that Pro Hero Shouto Todoroki never does a half-assed job.

That’s why, exactly one year later, on another chilly November night, he drove you into a quiet, fancy neighborhood that you definitely had no business being in.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. You both had just finished a pleasant, fancy dinner in the heart of the city and were driving back to your shared apartment. Perhaps Shouto was just taking a detour to tour the area. Perhaps Fuyumi-san was interested in moving out to a nice neighborhood with her boyfriend? As your mind drifted away in a daydreaming cloud, the black BMW M850i pulled up to the sidewalk and came to a stop. The warm hand caressing your thigh gently squeezed it, and Shouto put the car on park. “My love,” he spoke, voice smooth and low, “Would you like some fresh air?” You quirked a brow curiously but nodded and unbuckled. Your boyfriend came around and opened the door for you, holding your lower back gently as he guided you to the sidewalk.

Curiously, you looked around at the beautiful houses around you in wonder. They were a mix of traditional and modern. It almost reminded you of Shouto’s own household, though these ones were obviously new and had a better, modern architectural design to it.

Intertwining his fingers in his, he looks down at your figure and smiles softly. “This is a new neighborhood that I wanted to show you. It was recently completed in July.” His voice was calm, a soft smile on his face—with a hint of something that you couldn’t identify. Something… deeper.

You tilted your head and looked up at him curiously. “It’s beautiful, love, but, why are we here?”

And then,

Shouto got down on one knee—

a gasp,

and pulled out a small velvet box—

another gasp,

and opened it—

revealing a delicate diamond ring.

It was simple, elegant, and exactly what you had in mind one year ago.

But before you could say anything else, he pulled something else out of his pocket:

A small, silver key.

Your jaw drops, mouth hanging wide open, as small tears prick at your eyes. Shouto smiles softly at your expression, gaze never wavering. “I remembered what you said last year and-”

“Shouto. Himura. Todoroki. You didn’t!”

He chuckles, your knees feeling week as you stared at his amused yet sincere expression.

“I did.” Warm liquid falls down your cheek before you know it, yet all you can focus on is the man in front of you.

“I know that you said you wanted something permanent, and I want to give you something permanent too.” He glances at the house that you both were in front of, and then back at you. “It’ll be a place where we can build a life together, a place where you will always be safe, a home where you will always feel loved.” Your heart cracks even further at the sound of his voice, honest and genuine and vulnerable and raw.

“My love for you is permanent, Y/N, and if you’ll have me, I want to share this with you, forever.”

Tears streamed down your face as you struggled to find words. “Shouto, hic are you— sniffle this—this house—” “I wanted you to have both a ring and a house.” Your boyfriend says that with full conviction in his voice, honesty and sincerity evident.

“Will you, L/N, Y/N, marry me?”

You nod furiously and desperately wipe some of your tears,

“Yes! God, yes Shouto!” Your new fiancé wastes no time scrambling up to his feet and sliding the ring on your pretty ring finger. Gently, he pulls you into his arms and tenderly wipes some of your tears.

“You’re sniffle incredible,” you murmur in his chest. Shouto laughs, but he is cut off by the second half of your statement. “And incredibly terrible!” He blinks, confusedly. “What? Why?”

“Shouto!” You chastize him with a huff, using your sleeve to wipe away snot that’s probably gross (Shouto doesn’t think it’s that gross). “Why would you spend 60 million yen on me!?!” (approximately $400,000 in USD)

He blinks again, confused, as if you had said something silly. “I’m a pro hero,” he says cooly, shrugging as if that and the amount of money he spent was no big deal (it really isn’t a big deal to him). “I’ve been saving, and…” Gently, he holds the hand with the ring up to his lips and kisses your knuckles gently, making your knees buckle and your cheeks even rosier.

“You’re worth it, my love. This ring, the house, nothing can compare to how happy and loved you’ve made me.” Tears well up in your eyes once again, threatening to spill over as your heart clenches. “That’s so unfair,” you murmur, voice cracking. Shouto’s lips quirk up into a smug smile, almost like a smirk, showing his blatant amusement.

“What is, darling?”

“Being this perfect,” you mutter, tears streaming down your cheeks again. Shouto laughs and presses a tender kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry, but you deserve everything, Y/N. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure that you know it.” His eyes widen when you let out a whiny sob, burying your face into his warm chest. His left hand gently rubs circles on your back as he chuckles. A cool autumn breeze blows by, ruffling your hair. Shouto sees you visibly shiver and strokes your head.

“You must be cold, would you like to go inside?”

He watches your puffy yet beautiful eyes sparkle, and Shouto can’t tell if it is from your tears or happiness. Yet, he understands that the answer is both when you interlace your hand with his and use your free hand to unlock the door to the brand new 60 million yen home with a brand new diamond ring on your finger in the brand new luxury neighborhood with your brand new fiancé and soon to be husband. ♡

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