#just a lot of fluff

[whiskeyghoul]

7 || She blinded me with science || [Spencer Reid x Goth!Reader]

First part, Previous part, Next part

A/N: Okay this is mostly just fluff to lead up to more things. Anyways, reader getting out of the lab dungeon! Yay! Also Spencer is definitely the type of person to get overwhelmed by feelings and get too into his head with everything. So here is a chapter of just the inner musing of the ‘oh my god I am going too fast.’ and ‘I really want to do more with them. What if I scare them off.’ type of things. Because he already realized his feelings but he is too blinded by them to see yours. Not proof read once again oops.

WC: 3 K

Tags: Fluff, just pure fluff, idiots in love, mentions of things from the past, reminiscing.

Warnings: None.

Spencer POV

Spencer had decided that he’d finish the week by staying home. So when he arrived at Quantico on Monday morning, two coffees in hand, he felt refreshed in a weird way. Where at the start of the week before he had felt terrible, tired, aching. Now he had a slight lightness in his step. The satchel hanging off of his shoulder was heavy, filled with his paperwork that he had done at home. He had spent that Friday actually working on it, feeling better than he had before that.

When you had come over that last Thursday, he had listened to your apology. Realizing how much of an impact on your life your ex had. He just hoped that it was over now. Because when he thought about you, being hurt, stalked. It made something inside him so angry. That when you had sat across from him at his dining table he just wanted you to stay close to him forever. So that he could be the one to keep an eye on you. It felt possessive. Which he hadn’t felt before. Not about a person at least.

About his favorite book, yes. Or his personal mug. About the chess set he had gotten from his mother years ago. Yet you were the first person to stir up similar feelings inside of him. He had almost even invited you to stay over that night. Which was moving way too fast considering you had just hurt his feelings immensely about a week before. Yet seeing you, in that big ragged hoodie, completely disheveled, vulnerable. He needed you close. He also wanted to kick Tommy in the teeth if he ever ran into him. For hurting you. For being a dick. He’d never felt like intentionally hurting someone like that. But you did something to him.

Spencer walked to the frosted glass door, knocking quickly before stepping in. He watched as you sat up at your desk, eyes meeting him, your concentrated frown turned to a smile. The way the crease in your brown relaxed at the sight of him made his heart still for a moment. He hadn’t thought that the sight of him was enough to make you smile. Wanting to immerse himself in that feeling. If only for a moment. “Morning Spencer.” Your voice was chipper that morning. He noted you looked put together, happy, carefree. Though that is what getting rid of a stalker usually does. He walked over, knowing he couldn’t stay long but wanting to spend as much time with you as he could.

“Good morning.” He returned with a smile, handing over the coffee that had kept his hand warm on his walk up. You gladly took it, taking an immediate sip. “You are a godsend.” You spoke with a smile after placing the cup down. “Because of the coffee or is there another reason for this compliment?” He asked, an amused smile playing on his lips as he took off the purple scarf he had worn on his way over. Draping it over the back of one of the desk chairs. “Both. I couldn’t get coffee this morning, I was in a rush since I got new evidence in.” You said, and got up from your chair, ready to show him whatever you got in. “Look, this is so interesting, they found a butt load of money on the victim. It was found at the crime scene, there was powder that could either be used for tracing or could be some drugs. Maybe it’s cocaine, maybe it is a poison absorbed through the skin.” You continued, holding up the evidence bag with a few hundred dollar notes.

“What’s the other reason?” Spencer asked. You blinked, just a little confused. “For the powder?” You questioned in return. “For the compliment.” Spencer answered and you blinked again. Doe eyed and a little embarrassed. Clearly you had changed the subject because you didn’t want to tell him the true reason. “Ehm… well, you- you look really good.” Your face had gotten tinged red as you stammered over your words. Spencer smiled. Without even thinking he leaned slightly down. Planting a tender kiss on your cheek. He couldn’t not, seeing your pinkened cheeks, the urge to kiss you was almost unbearable. But he could hold back enough to just press his lips on the apple of your cheek. Your skin was soft and warm against them. The smell of your perfume once again wafting up into his nose. It was a quick second of a move but he would keep that moment in his memories forever. 

When he pulled away you looked still as flustered as before. “What was that for?” your voice was sweet, not even a hint of apprehension in them. You feigned confusion, he could see it in the way your eyes looked at him with a slight twinkle. Only one brow quirking up and a lopsided smile that you tried to hold back. “You look really good too.” Spencer answered, his cheeks feeling just the slightest hint of warmth. He watched you, the way your bottom lip got caught between your teeth as you struggled to keep from smiling too much. He wanted to keep that look all to himself. His hands aching again to pull you closer to him, to let himself melt into that cherry scent. To never stop kissing those sweet lips. He could stay in the lab forever with you if you would let him. Or if his boss would. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket before the sound went off. The ding of a text message that was probably sent by one of his colleagues wondering why he was later than usual.

“I think you need to get to work too.” You spoke with a hint of disappointment. A sigh crossed your slightly parted lips. “I can come back for lunch.” Spencer spoke quickly, so ready to return to you even when he hasn’t left yet. “You always have lunch here, I am sure you must be sick of the lab.” You quickly protested. How could he be sick of the place where he gets to spend time with you. It was a preposterous thought. Nothing like that would have ever crossed his mind

“What if I come to you for lunch? Would that be okay?” you asked. “Are you sure? I mean… I would love that! If you want to of course. But isn’t this your space? I get it if you don’t want to go somewhere else to have lunch. Though if you do want to. I can show you my desk. Penelope would also be happy to see you, I’m sure.” Spencer rambled, until he realized he was rambling. The last word trailing off. He knew what you were doing, you were trying to make him comfortable. Even though he wasn’t uncomfortable in the lab. Yes, it was a bit of a walk, but he never complained because it meant you two would have lunch together. But he did realize he always came to you. And maybe, you had felt bad for making him come down every time. Though, you never asked him to besides the first time. After that it was all on his own accord. “I think I should broaden my horizons outside of the lab.” You joked, the giggle following your words sounding like a melody to him. “Right. Then, I would love to.” He smiled, his face feeling suddenly hot with embarrassment. His phone went off again. 

Spencer watched as you placed your hands on his shoulders. The feeling sent tingles down his spine. “I will see you at lunch then. Thank you for the coffee, pretty boy.” You quickly moved up onto your toes and placed a peck on his cheek. Mirroring what he had done to you. So casual. A peculiar kind that bordered on domestic. He locked that thought away for now. Not wanting to open that can of worms when he had just known you for a month, maybe less. It had only been 2 weeks since your first true kiss, in the museum. God he was moving quick, he might even scare himself with the rate at which these feelings grew inside of him. He realized he loved you, but saying that now would be too soon. You spun him around , his out of control thoughts quieting down, before giving a light push towards the door of the lab. Just as the notification sound went off for a third time.

When Spencer made his way to the bullpen of the BAU and took a seat at his desk he heard Derek whistle. “Got a little honey I see. And so early in the morning, how does he do it ladies and gents?” The man sidled up to his desk as Spencer bent down to put his bag on the ground. He looked back up to Derek with a little confusion, until he realized. His eyes went just a little wide. He had been so dazed by the fact you kissed him so quickly, and then shoved him to get to work, he forgot to check his face for what most likely would be a deep red mark on his left cheek. “You got a little something right there.” Derek pointed to his own cheek with a grin.

“Just because you can’t get it doesn’t mean you have to make fun of me.” Spencer sassed, grabbing a tissue and wetting it with water from his bottle, wiping at his cheek to remove your lipstick stain. Even though it hurt him slightly to remove the lasting mark you left on him. “Oh I am not making fun of anyone. I am proud. You return back after a week of absence due to a broken heart with what is clearly a sign that she’s still into you.” Derek explained, hands up in a defensive pose. Though he still had that grin. “Or you moved on to someone new really quickly.”

Spencer looked at the stain on the tissue, it was still vaguely kiss shaped. “We made up.” He said softly, a little embarrassed again. He knew Derek truly didn’t mean any harm with his words, they were teasing, like the older brother he never had but wished he did. “Good for you.” Derek said as he patted his shoulder before returning to his own desk. Spencer sat down, stuffing the tissue in his pocket before he went to work on filing the paperwork.

Spencer kept looking at the clock, hoping, praying they wouldn’t get a case until after lunch. Maybe that was a selfish thought, wanting the murders and the kidnappings to wait for his own gain. He knew that if they were needed they would fly out within 30 minutes. But lunch with you was important. So every few minutes he looked at the clock. Every time the elevator made a noise his eyes would flick over. The clock crept nearer to 12 pm, then when it hit 12:15 on the dot the elevator doors opened. And there you were, white coat foregone, two small bags in your hands that he supposed contained your lunch. You looked around the room a little nervous.

Spencer got up from his seat, waving you over with a smile. You lit up once you saw him, walking over quickly, boots thudding heavy against the linoleum of the bullpen. “Hey.” Spencer said with a smile, feeling a little too excited. “Hey.” you said in turn with a big smile. “I eh… got lunch for the both of us. If that’s not overstepping.” You said, holding out one of the paper bags. “I texted Penelope, she said you liked BLT so I truly hope you do.” you spoke quickly and Spencer grabbed the bag with a smile. The fact that you went out of your way to get him something he liked, to text Penelope, it made his heart swell. “I do. Thank you.” He said and motioned for you to take his seat.

As he did Spencer looked around the room for a second, a slightly surprised look from Emily, a confused one from JJ, and Derek just smiled before giving him a thumbs up. A sudden reminder that he never told Emily or JJ, and he was lucky David and Aaron sat in their own offices. He could not handle getting dating advice from David right now. You sat down in his seat as Spencer pulled a free chair over, sitting next to you. Closing a few books to make space to put the food down. “Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess.” He apologized but you simply smiled. “It’s okay. I like it, it’s your apartment but in desk form.” You commented, looking over the things on his desk.

He felt a little embarrassed by the few knick-knacks that were on there. The post it notes stuck to any service as reminders of things to do. He watched as you picked up the picture frame, a photo of his mom and him in there. “That’s my mom, Diana…” he said, as he watched your intent look. “She looks nice. You have similar bone structure.” You commented. Spencer let out a soft chuckle, “No one has ever commented on our bone structure before.” He said it softly. His mom was still a little sore of a subject, he knew the situation wasn’t likely to change, his mom would just get worse. But he wasn’t ready to tell you about that part just yet. Maybe soon. He did need to tell his mom about you. He’d probably have to tell her multiple times, he just hoped she would be happy for him. “But you do!” You quickly retaliated, turning the picture to him, “all these angles, the big eyes.” you tried to reason and Spencer only chuckled more. “Didn’t you come to have lunch?” He asked as he started to unwrap the sandwich that you got for him.

“And maybe to snoop a little.” You confessed as you quickly took a bite of your own sandwich. Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, just a little surprised and amused. “Shouldn’t snooping happen without the other person’s knowledge?” He asked, taking his own first bite of the sandwich. Somehow, it tasted better when you were around. You shrugged dismissively, though a small smirk played along those blood red lips. He thought about it, about kissing you right there in the bullpen. Looking pretty in his chair, at his desk. Though he’d probably never hear the end of it from the entire team. He didn’t really care. There was that possessiveness again. Wanting to show you and him were a thing… though you never really said you were a thing. “It feels wrong to snoop on you.” You admitted, sheepish grin and a slight nudge of your shoulder against his. This is what happiness felt like. The sadness of the last week is quickly forgotten, just by having you pay attention to him again. He was weak for you.

“I appreciate the informed snooping.” He laughed softly. “I’ll make sure to only snoop when you know.” Your reply made him smile more. The both of you finished your lunch, eating and talking, until Aaron walked in. “Round table room, 10 minutes.” He stated it coolly, only inferring to Spencer that this could be a serious case. Spencer looked at you, a little apologetic. He didn’t want to leave. Wanted to finish lunch in all peace with you. “I’m sorry.” He apologized as he started to pack up the half eaten sandwich back into the paper it came in. At Least he’d be able to finish it later. “It’s okay. It is your job.” You answered, standing up before a look of realization came over you. It confused him for a moment as you looked at him with your lips parted. “What?” he asked, brows scrunching slightly. “You left your scarf in the lab. I wanted to bring it. I’m sorry, I can go get it.” You rambled. “That’s okay, no need. I can pick it up when we get back.” He assured. It was sweet how you thought about it. Wanting to return his scarf when he had to leave. Maybe to make sure he wouldn’t be cold.

“Alright… You’d have to come back soon, be safe.” Those words made his heart skip a beat. It was sweet. How you cared, made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. “I will.” He said with a nod. He wanted to bend his head down again, to kiss you and not care about his friends in the room. Instead of giving in to the urge of wanting to kiss you, he pulled you into a hug. Wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder. He felt your arms wrap around him. Warmth taking over him. He pressed his nose into the crook of your neck, taking in a deep breath. Emitting your scent to memory. The feeling of you in his arms tucked away for when he needed to remember it. He almost didn’t want to let go. You were the one to pull away first. Spencer reluctantly let his arms drop back to his sides. “I’ll see you soon.” you said it softly and with a smile. He nodded his head, “I’ll text you every day.” he answered before gathering his things and heading to the round table room. A quick glance back to see you still standing at his desk, a small wave goodbye before he left to go do his job.

He just hoped it wouldn’t be a long one.

Tag list:

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[technically-human]

St. Hilarion's ghost story

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

COME REST YOUR BONES NEXT TO ME ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most. 

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes. 

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks. 

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth. 

it’s beautiful. 

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded. 

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere. 

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again. 

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, surely, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s really lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling. 

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.” 

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face. 

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips. 

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs. 

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!” 

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there. 

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot. 

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.” 

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word. 

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology. 

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown. 

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again. 

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it. 

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.” 

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?” 

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.” 

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.” 

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow. 

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice. 

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter. 

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself. 

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest. 

he hopes it never goes away.

[tekstelart]

I had a caption for this but I lost it oops

[nonranghaes]

it's silly, but...

"sorry, we aren't eating spicy food right now." soonyoung says it over the phone to mingyu who, from what you heard because the call is on speaker, is trying to pawn off leftovers to soonyoung. not you, because your wisdom teeth just came out, and it'll aggravate it now. you look up from your phone, your heart warm at the notion.

we. we aren't doing this. we are in this together. you think you might cry. soonyoung's already explaining it to him: you can't have it, so he won't eat it, either: not directly in front of you while you're missing it this much already. you think this means he might indulge himself if he goes out without you, but you don't mind that. hell, you really hope he does if that's what he wants.

mingyu laughs after a moment, after soonyoung has apologized a few too many times. "no, it's fine," he says. "i'll ask vernon. are they craving anything that i can make?"

soonyoung looks at you when he thinks you're not looking or listening. "um... i think anything soft is good. they're miserable right now. i think i'll have to let anything hot cool down first, but... i think they'd appreciate it."

mingyu lets out a hum of affirmation. "i'll pull something together and drop by."

you fight back a smile as you listen to soonyoung thank him more than a few times before saying he'll talk to him again later. he comes over, bottle of pills in hand, and sets them down on the coffee table so that he can move your legs and sit underneath them. he drops them back into your lap, still holding on.

"is it bothering you?" he gestures toward his jaw. "i can get you something to eat so you can take your medicine..."

"i love you."

he blinks a few times. "... huh?"

"you don't have to cut out the stuff you enjoy for me." you reach out, pinching his cheek a little. "i don't mind. i'm an adult."

he pouts a little. "i'm not cutting them out completely," he says, one hand squeezing your ankle a little. "just when i'm with you. it'd be mean to sit in front of you and eat anything i know you want." he's sheepish now, eyes drifting away from you. "i like sharing with you. so... whenever we eat together," he meets your gaze again, "i'll eat only things i know you hate. okay?"

despite the tiny way your jaw aches now, you lean in, pressing a quick peck against the corner of his lips. it's clumsy, but still just as sweet, and it sends him into giggles nonetheless as he leans in to pepper your face with kisses as gently as he can.

"we're in this together," he says when he pulls back. he extends his pinky, beaming at you more when it makes you smile. "okay? we're a team."

you just giggle through the pain and lock your pinky around his own, taking the chance to steal one more kiss from him.

[deusfoundry]

zayne domestic fluff brainrot again except this time, it's you who comes home to him, and he finally gets to pamper and serve you the way you always do for him.

you're greeted by a warm waft of air the moment you open the door. the entire apartment is filled with the smell of your favorite dishes and you know instantly that, for the first time in weeks, zayne is home before you.

you hastily take off your coat and shoes, rushing past your cat sprawled in the middle of the hallway and to the kitchen where you find zayne. he's got an apron loosely tied around his waist. it takes you a second to realize that it's your gift from last week, the one that came in bright baby blue with ruffled, lace edges and an embroidered snowman dead center.

"it reminded me of you!" is what you had said when you handed it to him over dinner.

and he had thanked you with a feathery kiss on your knuckles, "i suppose i look a bit like this snowman, no?”

it still warms your heart, oddly enough, despite the fact that zayne has never been one to turn down any of your gifts, no matter how trivial or silly they were. he still has the keychain you gave him secured on the handle of his bag. the ceramic white kitten you got from your trip out of town five years ago sits comfortably on the desk at his office. one cutout panel from a photo strip of you and your cat is tucked inside an antique heart-shaped locket you found in some thrift store downtown. and there's not a moment where that locket isn't on him, one way or another, hung around his neck or buried in the safety of his pockets during surgery.

he adores you, and by extension every little trinket or piece of clothing you decide to give him.

the moment zayne turns down the heat on the stove is when you decide to make your presence known. you take light, careful steps as you walk towards him.

you wrap your arms around his waist, hands settling over his stomach.

and either he knows you've been lingering near the kitchen for a while or you weren't as sneaky as you thought, because he's not startled with your sudden arrival. he merely hums, as if to acknowledge your presence, before immediately melting against your touch. he takes one of your hands in his, the one that's not holding on to the ladle, and brings it closer to his lips.

"welcome home." he presses a kiss over your palm, absentmindedly tracing the lines with his finger. "dinner's almost ready. you should go and wash up.”

"this is a lot, zayne. thank you." you nuzzle a cheek against his back, trying to bring yourself impossibly closer to him as if you aren't already soul to soul at this very moment. "can't i at least set the table? wanna help you.”

"don't worry about it, my love." zayne turns down the stove completely. he faces you for the first time this evening, and you try not to be taken aback at how he looks at you. a bright gaze that makes him look like he’s in a trance as he’s staring at you. his eyes track the few strands of hair that manage to escape from behind your ear. he’s quick to move them out of the way. from there, his hand naturally gravitates towards your cheek where his thumb drags across smooth skin. he digs into the flesh with little pressure. "let me take care of you tonight.”

"if you insist.”

you can't help but laugh at how he sends you off. he’s ushering you to go to your shared bedroom, to get out of the clothes you’ve spent your entire day in and freshen up, but his hand stays firmly clasped around yours. it takes a few weak tugs and a lot of coaxing, of dragging out his name and using every possible pet name that comes to your mind for him to finally let you go.

when you return to your dining area after a quick shower, half of the lights are turned off. there's a set of three candles in the middle of the table lined with the placemats you only ever bring out when your parents are visiting.

zayne notices your arrival as he’s in the middle of placing two bowls of soup near your plates. he pulls out your chair, revealing the small bouquet of red chrysanthemums resting on it.

“for you.”

you’re briefly surprised as you take the flowers in your hands. he moves closer until his palm finds the small of your back.

"if i didn't know any better, i'd say you're planning on popping the question tonight.” you tease.

zayne tries to hide the pink dusting his cheeks by looking the other way. “can’t a man spoil his beloved?”

“oh, of course he can.” you reach for his face, taking his jaw by your hand. gently and with little resistance, you turn his face towards yours. “and his beloved couldn’t be more grateful. really, zayne, you didn’t have to do all of this.”

“i got off work early. when you told me you were working overtime, i thought it was the least i can do.”

“then let’s not keep the food waiting.” you smile.

you and zayne eat in an almost complete absence of silence as you urge him to talk about his day. and you find that it was pretty uneventful for the most part, except for the little girl he met in the hospital’s cafeteria.

“her name's mika.” he says between sips of red wine. “she’s six and she owns a cat who's three years older than her.”

you hum, motioning for him to continue.

“i met her little brother too. his name's louis, but he doesn't like being called that because it sounds too much like the name of the girl he apparently hates in school.”

“wow,” you breathe, “look at you, doctor zayne. akso hospital’s world-renowned chief cardiac surgeon and speaker to all toddlers.”

he lets out a low laugh, “i gave them some of the macarons you baked.”

“that’s adorable! did they like it?”

"when they asked who made them, i said they were baked by someone i hold near to my heart." zayne nods as he wipes the edge of lips with a napkin. "they said i should make sure to give that person lots of love."

"oh?" you lean forward, reaching across the table and past the plates of food to find his hand. "i think they might be right, doctor zayne."

zayne chuckles, choosing to indulge you. “i think so too.”

“meet me in the bedroom after i clean up?” he stands up, moving to stack the empty plates on top of each other. but you decide to beat him to it, swiftly taking the plates in your hand and out of his reach.

"leave this to me, love."

zayne frowns. there’s a slight crease on his forehead as he tries—but ultimately fails to protest. “but-”

“no buts. you’ve done enough for me tonight.”

but if there’s one thing about zayne that drives you mad, it’s that he knows when to use your weaknesses against you. he knows which parts of your bare skin to touch, what to say, how to say it. he knows that his hand sitting dangerously low on your back makes it hard for you to think of anything else. he knows that him leaning down to speak directly to your ear, hot breath fanning across cold skin, is enough to cloud your judgement.

“how about we do it together, then?”

bastard.

“fine…” you relent, knees feeling a little weak.

you two work in the kitchen like a perfectly well-oiled machine for the next half hour. he transfers all the leftovers into containers you plan on reheating over the week while you begin to scrub the plates clean.

"perhaps i did make too much…" he remarks at one point. it pulls a laugh out of you, and you bring your soap-covered hand to poke him in the cheek.

"cute." you mutter under your breath.

as the moon draws closer to its peak, you find yourself tucked in zayne’s arms, hiding under the sheets. the silk adds a layer of privacy, an added solace to the already peaceful four walls of your bedroom. and as you drift further into the land of your dreams, you think there's nothing else that could possibly be better than spending the rest of your life with zayne.

and maybe he has been sitting on the question for a while now. maybe he does have a tiny box tucked at the very back of his drawer, just waiting for the right moment to be worn on your ring finger.

[shouyuus]

okay so what about vi as a parent…

send me vi thirsts and i'll give u my hand in marriage

OKAYYYYYYYY LOOK. we are tryna hURT today huh. no alright tho like it would depend on the kid. i deeply believe that vi as a girl!mom vs a boy!mom would be SO dif. (girl!mom vi under the cut)

bc like consider. boy!mom vi - always down to toss a ball around, always down to play wrestle and get down and dirty, gets too carried away playing all the time, youve DEF come home to the house just like an absolute WRECK of feathers and cut up paper and like the bedsheets stripped and flung over the dining chairs, ur son standing on top of the dining table as vi pretends to be "breaching the fortress" and they both freeze when you clear ur throat like "uhm... what's this now?"

vi looks at you with those big athena eyes of hers like "oH! welcome back baby! uh this is --" and ur son leaps down and throws himself at ur waist like, "momma said that if we take the bedsheets we can make a castle and a mote!" and vi glares but withers a little when you hitch an eyebrow in her direction "she DID, did she?"

"she also said that REAL knights definitely use rolling pins as -"

"OKAY kiddo -- ahaha, what did i say about spilling national secrets hm?"

ur son just looks confused for a second, swinging off your arm, "but -- but you said mummy's the princess and all this is for her!"

vi sputters for a solid three seconds before sighing and you laugh, picking up your son and pressing a kiss to his cheek, "aww, so this is all for me?" he giggles, nodding, throwing his arms around your neck.

vi chuckles, looking sheepish and rubbing the back of her neck.

"yep!" your son pulls back with a bright grin, "momma said that because we both love you most, we have to protect you with all our mights!"

you laugh, softening as you put your son down. "she said that, did she?" he nods fervently even as vi groans, running a hand over her face, her cheeks a deep maroon.

"well, since you both love me so much -- you wouldn't mind helping clean up the castle before the evening feast, would you?"

"feast?" they both look up, eyes bright.

you hold up the large bag of takeout and they both whoop, vi tugging you in for a long kiss, laughing when she pulls away.

"y'know. you really are... everything."

---

BUT NOW CONSIDER. girl!mom vi. who would be sweetest, most protective, bc you've seen her as a big sister to basically all the kids in zaun, and her own daughter???? she'd do anything for her. to the point where you sometimes have to remind her not to be too much, to let your daughter stumble sometimes, to make mistakes bc that's how you learn.

"but -- god. i'm just so terrified --"

"yeah, welcome to being a parent," you say, nosing into her cheek one night as you watch your daughter sleep, curled up on the bed between the pair of you, snoring slightly as she sleeps.

vi reaches down to run a hand through her hair, curling a strand around a finger, her eyes so soft it almost breaks your heart.

"yeah i know but..." vi's voice is tender, " thought having a little sister was bad..."

you laugh softly, pressing a kiss to vi's cheek.

"let's not jinx this."

vi's lips twitch, but her gaze stays warm. she pulls you into her side.

"you're gonna have to tie me up in the basement once she starts dating."

you snort, "tie you up? please. i'll have to call in favors with both jayce and mel -- maybe they've got something stocked up that'll keep you restrained but i know ropes aren't gonna do jack shit."

vi chuckles before her expression changes.

"promise me... things will be okay."

"hey -- look at me." you cup her cheek; she turns, her eyes a thunder-struck sea, the edge of the world on a rainy day.

"it'll be okay," you say, pressing your foreheads.

"thanks, cupcake. i love you."

you smile, tugging vi in for a kiss.

"yeah. i know. i love you too."

[fatuismooches]

Dottore and his segments get a taste of their own medicine after giving you a job of your own. (In other words, you ignore their need for attention in favor of your work, they get pouty, just like you did.)

As of late, a peculiar sight had made its way into the lab. Actually, peculiar wasn't even strong enough of a word for the agents to use. They had nearly tripped over their feet once they saw the new area of their working quarters in the lab.

In addition to their Lord Harbinger's desk (that was shared amongst the segments depending on the day), there was now another desk on the opposite side of the room, and the cute decorations on it were quite noticeable. Photo frames and stationery. A comfortable and plush chair with a blanket that dropped over it.

... A plushie version of the Harbinger that laid on Dottore's desk, commissioned by you to motivate him.

(A side thought - the number of desks the Doctor had was something to wonder about. One in the lab, one in the office, one in the bedroom - no wonder things were always scattered around the place. But that was something for another day...)

And most importantly, you, Dottore's spouse, standing next to their Lord, rocking back on your heels nervously as he introduced you as their new co-worker.

—

It all began when you approached your husband with a very simple request.

"Dottie, I want a job!" You said with enthusiasm, smile as wide and proud as ever. The scientist paused his work and turned to look at you with a blank expression.

"... A job, you say?" You only puffed your chest out more at his confirmation.

"Yes, a job. I mean, being your lover is already a lot of work for my poor back, but I want to actually work with you! With your research and stuff, like the old days!" Your excitement was completely serious and were it not for your health, it would have been infectious for the scholar. Rarely did he ever meet anyone who was truly interested in his work. But of course, certain restrictions have held you back for a long time now.

"We've already been over this. My work is too dangerous for you," the Doctor sighed as he turned back around to continue whatever he was doing.

"I know, I know, but I meant other kinds of stuff. I've been thinking like... a desk job! It doesn't have to be anything dangerous! I could... sort papers for you? Oh, and you have one of those fancy stamps, right? I could stamp them too! I could rewrite your notes... ah, and the best part - I could help you write reports too! You always liked my essays, didn't you?" You were doing your best to provide Dottore with a convincing case, snuggling up against his firm back. Only another sigh escaped your husband, not really that convinced.

"Come on..." you inhaled his familiar scent, tinged with that laboratory smell that never seemed to go away, but somehow brought comfort to you. "I've been so bored lately... and lonely," you muttered the last part pointedly. "I just want some work to take my mind off things!"

Indeed, there was always limited entertainment and pastimes to occupy yourself with. It was especially boring on days you couldn't get out of bed, or when no segment could afford you attention...

"And you know what, I could give those agents of yours some writing tips, too!"

Yes, there had been many times his employees were not up to his standards, despite how many of them fawned over him (for some odd reason)...

"And I'll be helping you too! It's good for everyone."

Of course, you always felt rather good about yourself if you managed to help him, being the Second Harbinger and all...

"I suppose I shall give it some thought-" Before the man could finish his sentence you started squeezing him tightly while hopping in delight.

"Oh, thank you! So, when do I start? Do I get one of your huge desks too?"

"I didn't say yes yet, darling."

"Shh... we both know what you mean!"

—

And that was how you now clocked in at "work" every day with the agents (later than normal, but you had special privileges.) It was daunting at first for the poor souls, even the ones who secretly admired you from afar (being in the fan club and all.) Even though initially you were merely sorting papers, you were the most important person in that room.

However, soon enough, going to work in this dreary lab became a lot more cheery thanks to your sweet demeanor. Somehow, the atmosphere had become a lot less tense since the last time the segments visited.

The agents had little to no problem speaking to you like a normal person, after you had graciously given them tips on impressing the Harbinger.

"Psst..." you were hovering behind an unsuspecting agent, reading the report she had for Dottore, who jumped at your whisper. "You know, he might click his tongue if you give him that." Although her mask covered her face, you could see that half surprised at how you popped out of nowhere, and half agreeing with your words. Perhaps she felt comfortable enough to spill the situation to you.

"I-I am well aware of that," she deeply sighed, "but no matter what I write, my Lord always seems to be unsatisfied..." You patted her shoulder in sympathy. Having worked with Dottore since the Akademiya days, you knew very well of his distaste for certain things.

"Well, that's why I was hired, friend! To make his and your life easier! See, look here, that's a no-no, he wouldn't appreciate those details, mhm, but this needs to be elaborated on more, uh huh..." Of course, being the good spouse and employee you were, the report was converted into the best one that had ever landed on the Doctor's desk.

On your lunch break, they provided you with some juicy gossip about anything they could get their hands on (the fan club had long reaches, apparently.) Frequently you had to debunk things about Dottore... (the handbook was swiftly revised.)

Needless to say, things seemed to be going well. You looked happier. Motivated. Having new "friends" as your company (that still watched their mouth around you after a single glance from the segments.)

However... an issue arose after a while. One that seemed entirely stupid and impossible.

Now that you were so caught up in your work, when the segments finally had some spare time to come to you, they were... rejected. Yes, they had come to you, fully expecting your devoted attention and kisses that you always gave them without hesitation, but now turned away. (Even more embarrassing, sometimes in front of the agents who kept their eyes glued to their strange chemicals.)

—

It was Omega, of all segments, who was turned away first. The most confident and charming of the bunch left uncharacteristically silent. He had come up behind you and traced his hands against your neck, always being the one who had no shame in touching you. You only softly giggled at the sensation and caught his hand in yours.

"It seems you've been busy for a while, dear." In truth, it was mostly you seeking him out and not vice versa, but the segment hadn't seen you invading his office in a while. The space had gotten too quiet without you.

"Mhm! But I can't imagine how much work you do. My desk is nowhere as cluttered as yours," you smiled as you felt the segment kiss your lashes.

"What do you say to a break with me?" Omega offered, already knowing what your eager response would be.

"Nah, I can't right now."

...

Your words took a few seconds to process through his head.

"Pardon?"

"I have all this work, 'Mega, and other people need my help," you shrugged your shoulders as you swung your legs. "But don't worry. I'm sure we can spend some time later!" You kissed him on the cheek and pulled your chair in before continuing your work.

Omega, the greatest segment, was reduced to a blankly staring man who had been deprived of his lover's attention for the first time.

He was irritable for the rest of the day.

—

Beta was next, the poor thing.

You were always the one he blew off steam to, always willing to listen about his gripes and complaints, offering him consolation in the form of kisses and soft words.

However, you hadn't come to visit in so long, the segment was all pent up and now the agents were beginning to fall victim to him.

Fine then - he'd seek you out. Not because he needed you or missed you or anything of the sort. You were just... halting his progress with the lack of your presence. Yes, that was it.

And so the scientist, donning his grand pink bow tie, swung by your desk.

"So this is where you've been? How boring." Beta was not a segment that you'd want to do paperwork. He much preferred to be hands-on.

"Ah, Beta!" You brightened in delight at seeing one of your lovers. "I missed you!" At least you were always honest about your feelings.

... But to cut a long story short, Beta faced the same conundrum that Omega did.

Someone got turned into a floating Ruin Machine that day.

—

By now all the segments had experienced being turned away from work. Alpha's signature scowl had become permanent. Zandy was pouting the whole day as he missed his parent. Foxttore kept to himself with a pathetic sopping wet eye. His segments were fighting with each other inside his mind, a great nuisance.

All because you were too absorbed with your work to pay them any attention.

... The Doctor was now realizing that it sounded like a very familiar tune sung by you. So this was what you felt for days on end? Now, it was easier for him to understand why you were always upset if you were ignored too much.

Still, it was mortifyingly embarrassing that his segments were reduced to this pitiful state just because you rejected cuddles a few times. Regardless, it was up to him to solve the issue. After all... he missed you too. He wanted you to be around him more often again.

And so the Doctor made his way to his beloved.

There you were, all cozy on your seat as you sorted through some papers. Really, he had no clue you'd be this productive, to be honest. At least it was proof that your health hadn't gotten worse, considering how well you were handling this.

"Aren't you the one who kept saying to take breaks?" His voice made you jump a bit, having not heard him walk up.

"It's you, Dottie! I was wondering when you'd come around. And of course, I take breaks, Dottore. I have lunch with the other agents!" Ah, another party that's been hogging your attention.

"You know, this job has been pretty fun, Dottore! Everyone's real nice, we make jokes, I get to write about interesting things..." You continued to go on about the research and while usually he'd be intrigued by your findings, this time he had enough.

Dottore picked you up like a long cat as you squealed from the sudden grasping.

"What are you doing?!"

"You're coming with me," was his cut and dry response as he lifted you into his arms.

"B-But I have to work on the big report for Pantalone!" Dottore's eye twitched at the mention of the banker.

"Someone else can."

"But I-"

"I'm not listening to anything you say further," he plainly said as he walked with you cuddled into his chest as you gawked at him.

Could he be... jealous? A wee bit lonely? You kept your guesses to yourself as he eventually bought you back to his room and laid you on his bed, not even saying anything to you before sitting at his desk.

Did he simply miss your presence that much? You felt a bit bad neglecting your lovers that much. But to be fair, they kinda did the same... sometimes. You got up to console your silly husband, who was just a man in your hands.

"Hey... I missed you too, dear husband... but I had to make sure no one stole the title of best assistant from me!" Dottore only sighed at your foolishness.

Of course no one could ever replace you.

"I know you'd rather die than admit it... but don't worry. You're lucky I'm sensitive to your feelings," you teased as you kissed the top of his mask. "I'll pay more attention to you and the segments, before they cause another headache for you, love. You'll give me some vacation time off, right?"

You laughed at your own joke before Dottore pulled you into his lap, biting down hard on your neck.

—

"Beloved, would you care to join me in discussing your work?"

"You fool, they're obviously coming to my lab to activate a new Ruin Machine."

"But [Name] is supposed to play with me today!!"

"As if, they're far too busy to join you all with your silly games."

"You all will stress them out with this arguing. Now, why don't you join me for a cup of coffee instead?"

"Grr, gr gr, grr!"

It was good to be loved so deeply.

[yuviur]

Summer vacation, 4am.

Tons of easter eggs in this one! Click the image to find them (and for better quality ofc)

Close ups and process shots under the cut, description in alt text

[seiwas]

grow on me like a dog loved fondly: prologue | kamo choso

wc: 1.0k

summary: your regular to the flower shop is more than what he seems. 

contains: written with f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!, animal shelter employee choso x flower shop owner reader, implied that reader is shorter than choso, flowers, small talk.

a/n: the promised choso drabble! depending on how this is received, i intend for this to be the prologue to a longer choso fic i have in mind!

You have a regular on the weekends. 

Business in the flower shop tends to be slow during winter, with less occasions having the need for flowers and even less buds blooming during the season. 

But even with the expected decline in customers, Saturdays always guarantee one—

The bells attached to the store doors jingle, allowing in a gust of cool air that tickles your cheeks from where you’re crouched down. The peonies in your hands were delivered just yesterday, the ends of the stems needing a slight trim to keep them fresh for longer. 

You turn, standing up to face your visitor. A purple scarf is wrapped high around his neck, with white fleece running down the length of his arms—a sort of undershirt to the short-sleeved uniform worn atop it. The outfit is familiar enough, but what truly distinguishes him are the two spiky pigtails on the sides of his head. 

There are a few things you’ve managed to pick up from four-line exchanges with your regular (six if you’re lucky): 1) he works at the animal shelter a few streets away, 2) the flowers he buys are for the front desk, a weekly replacement he deems necessary to keep the place looking alive, and 3) who he is, his name—

—‘Choso’, if the tag on his uniform says anything. 

The tag that is now, also, just a hand’s reach away from you. 

You look up, pocketing your plant nippers. The peonies dangle between your fingers. 

“W-welcome!” you stutter, focusing on the thin metal chain running across his nose. 

It’s new, an addition that intrigues you more about the man in front of you. 

The look he gives you is lazy, gaze deadpan, almost empty. Anyone else might find it snobbish and off-putting, but you’ve gotten used to it—an almost magenta puffiness that surrounds his eyes, bags of fatigue that usually hang underneath. 

He continues to stare, unmoving. 

Considering all your previous interactions, you’ve realized, he isn’t scary or rude or anything of that sort—he’s just awkward. 

A bit quiet and unbothered, maybe, but still just awkward. You don’t think he’s ever started an interaction with you first. 

“Is there any flower in particular that you’re looking for?” you ask, motioning around your store. 

The selection is limited this season—a few camellias and clusters of Japanese primrose with an abundance of peonies and daffodils. 

His head turns as he glances around the store, pigtails bobbing slightly with each movement. When he faces you again, he shrugs, voice deep and firm as he asks, “Do you have any recommendations?” 

It’s an odd feeling, borderline awkward and nervous; you have no idea why your mind is blanking. 

“Um,” you clear your throat, tucking the peonies between your fingers into your apron pocket, “daffodils are bright and friendly, good for entryways and front desks, I think.” 

He eyes the daffodils to your right, buckets of stems holding yellow and white. The store stays quiet for what feels like a good minute before he nods, agreeing to your suggestion. 

“The usual?” two clusters, wrapped in newspaper. 

Your question echoes throughout the shop, lingering while you pick at which daffodils look best. 

“Yes, but two of them.” he answers in monotone, before adding on, a soft hesitancy, “Please.” 

You smile to yourself, picking more daffodils for another bunch. 

Both of you make your way to the cashier, another bout of silence surrounding you as you crumple newspaper and pull at tape. He always watches, you notice, his focus set on your practiced handling of stems and leaves. 

You look up momentarily, seeing that he keeps his head down, “The pigtails are cool.” 

He doesn’t say anything, and for a while you’re afraid you might have offended him, but he responds, voice low; it’s soft, gentle in a way you never expected it to be. 

“Thank you.” you catch him shifting his weight from your periphery, hands digging deeper into his pockets, “The dogs think they’re chew toys when I wear it this way.” 

You most certainly were not expecting that, either. 

This is the most initiative he’s taken to add onto the conversation.

You grin, chuckling under your breath, “That must be fun.” 

It’s faint, but you think you hear him laugh a little. 

When the flowers are completely wrapped, you set them aside, making your way behind the cash register. You punch in the cost, ready to bill him before he speaks again. 

“Actually, would you happen to do deliveries?” he seems shy asking it, barely looking you in the eye. 

“Yes!” You nod, grabbing a pen and paper to hand over to him, “Just write down your contact details, the address you want it delivered to, and when you’d like it to be delivered.” 

Another thing you’ve realized, is that despite appearances and what he seems to be, Choso handles objects gently; the pen and paper you’d just given him were taken lightly from your fingertips. Even the strokes of his penmanship are slow, the tip of the pen barely creating an indent on the small sheet. 

“Will you be having both of these delivered?” you ask, holding up the bundles of daffodils. 

“Just one.” he answers promptly, before adding on again, “Thank you.” 

And you know you shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t be so nosy, but—

“What’s the occasion?”—

Flowers are rarely in demand during the winter season. 

—“If you don’t mind me asking,” you follow-up quickly. 

The immediate quiet makes you think you might have gotten too comfortable again, made him feel weird about your questions—but he answers.

“My brothers,” he finishes the final curves of his writing, “they’re coming to visit.” 

The piece of paper is handed to you, and you hum, acknowledging his response. You go over his details, reciting it to him to double-check. But when you land on his address, your eyes go wide, a little ‘oh!’ slipping out. 

He furrows his brows, confused. 

You definitely, most certainly did not expect this. 

“Sorry,” you shake your head, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment, “Just—“ you chuckle, “I think we might be neighbors.” 

thank you notes: @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for sending me lil prompts that somehow birthed into this!! + @yemmuishomeforthementallyunwell for feeding the choso brainrot 🥹 + @mysugu @soumies for being my angels, lights of my life!! listening to me ramble abt this and helping me pick music, hash out plot, pick title, everything! ily

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[the-daringstars]

Some sketches from a comic I'm working on in my free time about

💖Them💖

Would you guys be interested in the comic one page at a time as they're finished or dropped all at once? 👀

[junkmailmusubi]

see i keep noticing this "rule" in a lot of fandom spaces that lighthearted fandoms tend to write edgy stuff abt the characters Going Through It and dark fandoms tend to write a lot of fluff. this makes the isat fandom a Very Funny exception to this rule because from what i've seen they all got to watch siffrin's deteriorating mental state in real time and said "hey what if it was Worse. what if we put him through More"

[dumplingsjinson]

List of “mix of random dialogue and non-dialogue, smut and non-smut” prompts

“I’m a mess because of you.” “You’re my mess.” “I’m… I’m your mess.” (FUCKING HELLO BITCH DO NOT- WLKFNFKLN I’ll get on my knees for you, my love—)

“That’s my baby girl/baby boy.” (Can he just— HEWOQKNFWKELNF) 

“You look so hot like that.”

“God, you turn me on so much.”

“Fuck, I’m gonna come—” Character B whimpers, hips bucking into Character A’s. “Mm, yeah? Then come for me,” Character A murmurs, stroking their fingers through Character B’s hair. (The noises he made as he came undone were SO FUCKING HOT BYE. those WHIMPERS?? FUCKING DELICIOUSSSSS LET ME HEAR MORE OF THEM, I BEG- ALSO WHO KNEW I HAD IT IN ME TO SAY THAT TO SOMEONE LMFAO, “then come for me” WQBHRELWJKNEWF BITCH. GET OUTTT-)

Those sweet little noises Character B tries so hard to suppress but is unable to as they come undone.

“I’m such a fucking wreck right now…”

“Imagine how good I’d feel inside of you.” (FUCKIFKSKSKKSKSKS WHEN HE SAID THAT AND I WAS LIKE LKENFKLEWNF-)

“I love you so much,” Character B murmurs, hugging Character A closer to them. (🥹🥹🥹 HE SAID IT HE SAID IT HE SAID ITTT 😭 He’s said it over text before but now it’s in person and I’m actually gonna WEEP EWKLNFWEEFN)

“I love you for you, and I’m going to continue to love you. I’ll always love and support you no matter what,” Character B reassures after Character A spills out their anxieties and worries to them about a situation they’ve been so, so scared to tell them about; scared of how Character B would react. (…I’m just going to say I love this man so much.) 

“When I first met you, I didn’t know you were like this,” Character A murmurs, slowly grinding their hips down against Character B’s. Character B grins up at them, hands wrapped around their thighs, squeezing gently. “Yeah, and I didn’t know I was like this, either. And I thought you were shy when I first met you... Now look at you, huh?” 

Character A not knowing how sensitive their breasts are until Character B pays full attention to them with their mouth. (…I WILL NOT SAY ANYTHING ELSE BUT FUCK YES—) 

Character A tearing up as they try to be vulnerable with Character B, and Character B reassuring them by telling them they can take their time and it’s okay if they can’t say it right now; that they can say it when they’re ready. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so enamoured by someone,” Character A murmurs, caressing Character B’s face. (I’M A POETIC SIMP, WHAT CAN I SAY—) 

“Fuck, why are you— Mmh— why are you doing this to me?”

“We can take things as slow as you want. I want you to be comfortable, and as long as you’re happy, then I’m happy.”  (PLEASE WJDJJS IM CRYING AHH, how’d I get someone so sweet sjkdms)

“We can rent a hotel somewhere… You can be as loud as you want then, hm?” (HE’S JUST FUCKING OUT HERE, YOUR HONOUR!!) 

“Fuck me,” Character A whimpers as Character B’s hips picks up with speed. “I could if you wanted me to,” Character B grunts. (SIR- FUCK OFF ISTFGGG)

Character B placing their hand on Character A’s thigh while they’re sitting down.

Character B wrapping their arm around Character A’s shoulders and pulling them closer to them, letting Character A rest their head on their shoulder.

Character B leaning in for a kiss and Character A shyly leaning in to give them a quick peck on the lips. 

“Whatever I do, I’ll always be adorable to you, won’t I? Even if I do the most heinous shit known to mankind—” “Yes. Yes, you’ll always be adorable to me.” 

“You sure you don’t wanna close the blinds? People outside could see us…” “Trust me, they won’t.” (this FUCKING GUY, but I guess he wasn’t wrong after I took a closer look at the blinds—) 

“You’re enjoying yourself up there, aren’t you?” Character B teases, watching through hooded lids as Character A rides them while clothed. “Does it look like I am?” Character A questions, breathless. 

“You just… You make me happy.” (YOU DO TOO, MY LOVE <333) 

“You’ve always been so caring and supportive of me so I don’t know why I doubted you… I’m sorry.” 

Character A being ticklish on their neck whenever Character B plants soft feather like kisses there, so Character B plants even more soft kisses there, turning Character A into a giggling mess. 

Kisses on the eyelids. (The softest shit EVER)

“Didn’t realise your objective was to get into my pants all this time,” Character B teases, and Character A rolls their eyes, a breathless laugh leaving them. “You know that’s not true. I think you’re the one who has the objective of getting into my pants,” Character A throws back. Character B shakes their head with a chuckle. “That’s not true.”

“How are we gonna manage being away from each other for a whole month?” Character A murmurs softly. “Mmmh, we’ll somehow manage,” Character B reassures, stroking their fingers through Character A’s hair.

“How are you going to manage without this for a whole month?” Character B questions as Character A grinds down on them. “I don’t think I fucking will is the thing,” Character A admits, unabashedly.

Character B moving Character A’s hair out of their face to plant gentle kisses on their face.

Character B laying their head on Character A’s stomach and Character A fondly saying to them, “You’re such a baby,” while carding their fingers through their hair.

Character B snuggling up next to Character A, post-orgasm. (SIRRRR- PEHFLKEWNELKWNF) 

Character A moaning Character B’s name and Character B losing their self-restraint over it. (Maybe I did it on purpose to turn him on—)  

[inklore]

can we bring back fun fics? ya know when they weren’t taken too seriously, where we were simply writing them to feel that ooshy gooshy feeling and laugh and feel. nowadays i feel like all that matters is how intense the smut is, and trust i love smut. i am its number one fan. but i feel like its become a means to popularity, only writing it because it’s following a status quo of readers who only care about fics when it includes filth. like its not wrong to want the filth. we all love the filth. but please bring back the silly little plots. give me one bed, give me unrealistic fake dating, give me a wild crossover with fandoms that shouldn’t work together but do, give me something crazy like aliens invading or dinosaurs! like all of those things can lead to tooth rotting fluff or shaky knees smut. just bring back the feels! the silliness! the reasons why we all stay up until all hours of the night devouring these works of art!!

[nonranghaes]

heads up: reader not feelin great, physically. doesn't get really specific. food mentions.

"hey." felix crouches down beside the couch. his hands are a little cold against your skin as he cups your cheek, head tilting as he tries to get a better look at your face as you peer up at him. "soup's done."

"'m fine..." you turn your face back into your sleeve, squeezing your eyes shut. "don't need it..."

he lets out a sigh, leaning in to kiss the side of your head. "honey..." his voice is soft, but the word hits you just as hard. you've always been his baby, his babe, or just your name, since there's intimacy in that, too. honey is saved for when he's worried. "it'll make you feel better to eat something. can't take medicine on an empty stomach, right?"

you just let out a whimper of pain. moving feels like too much for right now, but you know it's because you haven't eaten yet today. feeling sick means that everything is a chore. the only reason you even got out of bed was to let felix in since his arms had been full with the groceries he bought, and you practically face-planted onto the couch after you shut the door.

"i'll feed you." he says softly, fingers brushing against the back of your neck. "does that help?"

it does, a little. you turn your face again so that you can see him. he's still wearing an apron, hair pulled back out of his face as he smiles at you. he's your sunshine, even now when he looks a little tired from worrying. you want to be mad at your roommate for calling him, but... minho had good intentions. you know he did. even when you whined at him for calling felix before heading out to work, he didn't bicker with you but told you to call him if you started feeling any worse since felix wouldn't be there until closer to lunchtime (and even then, he ended up making a run to the store after he checked on you, leaving you boyfriend-less for a little longer). you muster up a nod, and felix kisses your cheek this time.

"good. i'll bring it here, okay? all you have to do is sit up." he starts to walk away, missing the way you paw through the air to try and catch him by the hand. "i'm glad minho called," he calls back to you from the kitchen, "i know it's nothing serious, but... i'm just glad he's looking out for you, too."

the blanket falls onto the couch as you slowly push yourself up so that you're sitting again. your head aches, and for a moment you feel something weird with your sinuses, but it's not as bad once you see how happy felix is that you're up again--even if it's only to eat something. you feel loved as he sits down next to you, carefully sitting the tray on the coffee table as he prepares to feed you soup by the spoonful.

and you feel it again hours later when you rouse to the sound of the front door being opened. minho stops to see you, home from work, and quietly thanks felix for caring for you so much. how wonderful, you think to yourself as felix rests his hand on your cheek, it is to live in a world with so much love embracing you every day.

[ylangelegy]

⋆.˚ childhood best friend ♡︎ chan.

── .✦ the one where bang chan learns what 'home' means. #우리의_찬란한_청춘_방찬에게 #BrightestStarBangChan

✰ gn!reader, idol!chan, fluff!!!, angst 🙁, childhood best friends, long distance friendship, homesickness, hurt/comfort, ambiguous romance [pining/crushes], open ending. end notes included! ❤︎ all sfw. intentional lowercase. wc: 1,800+

🧸 childhood best friend chan who moves in next door, who came from seoul to sydney and was scared he wouldn't meet anyone his age.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who is the only one to attend your birthday party. he flashes you a grin and tries to cheer you up by saying, "that just means more cake for us!"

🧸 childhood best friend chan who introduces himself as christopher�� but you can call him chris, he says hastily. he knows his full name is too long. you assure him no, it's okay, you'll call him christopher. he rewards you with another one of his signature dimpled smiles. the first of many.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who spends most of his summers with you. his next door neighbor, his new best friend. he tries to teach you how to play soccer. you burn songs you think he'll like on to CDs. the two of you learn to bike down your street. see? you both still have the scars to prove it.

🧸 childhood best friend chan whose fondest memories with you are set in beaches. you're both still too young to surf, so you kill your time trying to outswim each other. it's a tender rotation of portraits— hands sticky with fruit-flavored ice cream, sand in your slippers, the smell of sunscreen.

🧸 childhood best friend chan slash guitar teacher. you spend one too many evenings out on his porch with his beat-up acoustic guitar. as his fingers gently guide yours over the strings, you consider romance. but for only a moment. because you'd rather have him like this than risk not having him at all.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who sticks to your side at school. everyone thinks you're dating; the two of you give up on correcting peers. chan doesn't quite understand why he's so happy to have people assume, and why he's even happier to have you acquiesce.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who tells you, first, about what he plans to do. "it's just an audition," he tells you, but you already know. you already know what he's destined for, who he's going to be, as early as then.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who practices his bruno mars audition song with you over and over and over again until you forget what the original version sounds like. nowadays, whenever you hear just the way you are, it's only ever in the voice of thirteen-year-old christopher.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who calls you up excitedly, who only says two words. "i'm in," he breathes, and there's so many things you can say in that moment. of course you are, and i never doubted you, and you're leaving me?, but instead you settle on, "i'm proud of you."

🧸 childhood best friend chan who doesn't cry at the family dinner. doesn't cry at the airport. he laughs when you tear up, teases that you're being silly. think of it as summer camp, he tells you, and when he hugs you goodbye, his hands shake just a teensy bit.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who cries on the plane— because at least, there, no one who loves him will see.

🧸 childhood best friend chan slash trainee who keeps in touch. he texts a lot in those first couple of years. you'd like this café. these cherry blossoms look really good. dance practice today was tiring. you learn to read between the lines; he is saying i miss you, but he cannot say the words themselves, because then it becomes real.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who never misses a birthday, whether its yours or someone in your family's. shipping fees are too stressful and so he perfects the art of long-distance gift-giving. here, an 8tracks playlist. here, a digital flipbook. here, a video of him singing your favorite song.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who gets busy, who gets frustrated, who watches dozens of trainees debut before him. you try your darnedest to sympathize but there is only so much that you can know about this industry, about his lifestyle.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who never blames you. how could he? he made his choice. but still. but still. there are days, weeks, months, where he forces himself to keep his distance. because this is a whole other kind of hurting— saying goodbye and knowing that the door is still left open a crack.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who watches your life in pictures, in the squares of instagram photos, the tagged posts on facebook. you graduate high school, and then uni. you work part-time jobs. you finally learn how to surf. and he is proud, and he is hurt, and he is yours, still, in ways that neither of you can comprehend.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who, after being distant for what feels like forever, extends an olive branch in the form of a follow request. finstas are only just becoming a thing in his part of the world. every trainee has one. the first person he thinks to follow is you.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who starts reacting to your stories, who replies every so often. your haircut looks nice and how's your mum? and wow, that part of town has changed a lot. it's all so stilted, all so polite, but he's trying, he's trying, he's trying. he needs you to see that.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who finally calls you one evening to tell you everything. you are horrified by what he's gone through, by all the times he's been passed over, but chan reassures you. even as you apologize, again and again, for not knowing.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who tells you, "i chose this. i want to keep choosing it. but—" a beat. then, softly, the words he's held himself back from saying. "i just miss you, that's all."

🧸 childhood best friend chan who slots right back in to your life. he's still plenty busy. at least now he knows that you're always just one message away, that you'll appreciate his updates of i met another aussie today or there's a new day6 song or i can finally stop dieting.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who excitedly tells you about 3racha. about his genius lyricist j.one and his killer rapper spearb. his own moniker is plain and simple, he says with a laugh. cb97. but it's him, it's his, it's a start.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who sends you the first demo of a song he's genuinely happy to have produced. my heart is in your hands, he jokes in the e-mail subject line. j.one is good. so is spearb. but chan, cb97, your christopher, who sings "i'd like to start off this speech with a 'thank you' to everyone that helped little chris to grow up"? he's everything.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who tells you in vague terms that he might not be reachable for some time. there's a lot of things he wants to tell you, wants to divulge. there are other people on the line, now, though, and so he holds back. you understand. you tell him you'll wait. he is so, so grateful.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who is introduced as the leader of JYPE's newest boy group. he is not christopher or chris. he is chan, now. bang chan. you watch the survival show with his family. you give them a handwritten letter for him, when they go to visit him in south korea. you see him become everything he said he would be.

🧸 childhood best friend chan whose hair is two-toned dirty blonde and aqua blue when he debuts with hellevator. you buy his photocard. you still have it up in your room; it makes him cringe, but he is secretly pleased that you cared enough to do such a small thing.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who bears the weight of impossible expectations. leader, producer, idol. son, brother. friend. he is so many things all at once. they say he is too much. they say he is not enough. he doesn't know who to listen to.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who blames himself for things that are beyond his control. for 2019. for 2020. for 2021. for— there isn't a year where chan isn't blaming himself for something, really.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who finds comfort in the smallest of things. a noisy dorm with seven other boys. the thrill of turning a note in to a living, breathing song. you. your little updates. you. your easy responses. you. your unwavering support. you, you, you.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who wonders often sometimes what it would have been like if he stayed.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who can see it so, so clearly. the college you would have both gone to. working at the record store; busking in the mall. summers of surf and sun. your fingers fitting in to the spaces between his.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who thinks he would have been happy with that life. happier than right now?... he's not sure. all he knows is that he would have been happy. the two of you could have been so happy.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who often sometimes feel like his youth was taken from him. his teenage years were spent as a trainee; his early twenties were spent fighting for every scrap. he doesn't regret the choices he made. he doesn't want to. he can't.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who doesn't tell you any of this. a part of him doesn't have to. you know just how much he gave up. you know just how much he gained. you know why there are certain encores that make him cry, why there are songs he can't bear to perform live. why it's always so hard for him to name 'home' nowadays—

🧸 childhood best friend chan who wants to believe that 'home' means sydney. who, to make things easier, says 'home' is seoul. who will sometimes say that 'home' is STAY, 'home' is stray kids. who knows, deep down, that home is a three-letter word of y-o-u.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who, when he makes his way back to sydney, is scared shitless. he's been gone for so long. it's an endless litany of 'what if's. what if berry doesn't recognize him anymore. what if all his favorite restaurants have shut down. what if you realize you don't like the person he's become. what if, what if.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who is only partially reassured when he realizes there's still a spot for him at the dinner table, when his old friends don't treat him any differently, when the path to the park still feels familiar.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who realizes that all of his worries are unfounded when you greet him with "long time no see, christopher." not chan. not chris. christopher.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who smiles the same way that he had when he first met you. all bright eyes and dimples.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who holds out his hand, waiting to see if you'll take it.

✰ i think a lot about a line in The Myth of Sisyphus, where it goes something along the lines of "one must imagine sisyphus happy." in some way, this is me #coping (lol). one must imagine bang chan happy. because maaan, does he deserve it. happy birthday, chris.