#or i’m procrastinating pick one

[lyriumsings]

you ever seen someone criticize something that DESERVES to be criticized like absolutely tear that bitch apart but then they like do it wrong? like no that’s inaccurate actually DJSJSJ

[oobbbear]

Whenever I set a very high expectation for a project I will guarantee intimidate myself out of it

But if I set the bar in hell I can finish it very quickly and turns out great 90% of the time

[a-very-fond-farewell]

actually, ykw? my dream is to be able to drive to ikea (I don’t have a license, I don’t ever want to be behind a wheel, and the closest ikea is a nightmare to reach), get in, purchase myself a Blåhaj plush, wrap it in paper af it were a bouquet of freshly picked flowers, get out, drive back home and walk around town with it as if I just popped to the market downstreet for that sole purpose. yeah. that will cure me.

[atlabeth]

pretty boy

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: spencer walks in one day with a new look. you handle it pretty well.

a/n: im in the opposite of a writing slump right now (will prob fall into a writing slump right after i say this) probably because im procrastinating on essays for school and i can only write when im meant to be doing work. but tiny little fluffy spencer one shots are very good for the soul right now. i think it's my way of healing from my hotch fic

wc: 1.8k

warning(s): one slightly sexual joke from emily. all fluff

You usually don’t get to the office this early, but you don’t exactly have a choice. The BAU’s last couple cases have all run one after another, barely leaving you any time in the office, and now you’re paying for it. 

You’ve got a mountain of paperwork to get through and not nearly enough time to do it all—if you’re lucky, you’ll be writing reports for a few days straight. If you’re not, you’ll be putting in some overtime.  

“This is the most focused I’ve ever seen you this early,” Derek comments. 

You shake your head with a sigh. “These reports are government mandated torture.” 

He chuckles, and he nods at Emily as she walks over to her desk. “Are you this busy?” 

She shakes her head. “I’ve still got a report to get through, but nothing that bad.” 

“I get it,” you say wryly. “You’re all more organized than me. Just don’t come to me asking to go out tonight—you know I can’t say no.” 

“But don’t shots taste better when you’re supposed to be doing work?” Derek asks, and you roll your eyes with a laugh. 

“Not when I’ve got this much work I’m supposed to be doing.” 

You hear the elevator ding and glance up—Spencer’s walking through and fixing his tie. You look back down at your report as you greet him. 

“Hey, Spence,” you call. “Why’re you late?” 

“I’m not late,” he says, and you can see him checking his watch out of your peripherals. “I’m two minutes and thirty-three seconds early.” 

“Really?” you muse. “I guess I’m just so used to you being here before me.” 

“You can’t judge my timeliness on yours when you’ve been here for an hour already,” Spencer says. 

You frown, tapping your pen against the paper. “How do you know?” 

“You’re settled in already. Your coat’s on your chair, your stack of unfinished files is smaller than it was last time we were in the office, your coffee isn’t steaming, and your mug has a chipped handle—when they were put away last night, that one was set in the front, so you’d have to be here early to get it.” 

“Touche,” you murmur. You’re not sure why you ever ask your team of profilers how they know something. 

“You also look like you don’t want to be here,” he comments. “That’s pretty typical of agents who have to be here before their regular hours.” 

You chuckle and tilt your head in admission. You don’t really want to be here, especially running on so few hours of sleep. 

“Why aren’t you as early as usual?” Emily asks. 

“My neighbor knocked on my door this morning to ask me for something,” Spencer says. “It threw off my whole routine. I picked the wrong tie, I couldn’t pack my bag properly, and I had to toast my bagel for two minutes instead of three and a half to make it out in time.” 

“How terrible,” Derek says with mock austerity. 

“It is terrible!” he exclaims. “It’s scientifically proven that a morning routine makes you happier, more energized, and ready to seize the day—carpe diem.” Spencer sets his bag on the floor next to his desk and looks at everyone else with a smile. “Did you know that phrase was actually coined by the Roman poet Horace in his Odes? It comes from the first book out of four in the eleventh poem—the full phrase in Latin is carpe diem, quam mini—”

“How was your bagel?” Emily asks to interrupt him, and he pauses. 

“It was good,” he says. “Could’ve been toastier.” 

You look up, a teasing remark on the edge of your tongue, but the words die in your throat when you actually see him. 

Spencer’s started combing a hand through his hair to fix it—must have been another part of his affected morning routine—his lips set in a pout as he tries to see his reflection in his dark monitor. He always looks good, even without trying, but now—

“You’re wearing glasses,” you say dumbly. 

“My contacts dried out,” he grumbles, still focused on his hair. “We got home so late last night I forgot to put them in their solution, and I had no time to fix them because my neighbor messed up my whole morning.” 

You nod, still unable to tear your eyes away from him. “Are you gonna keep wearing them?” 

“I don’t know. Contacts are better for cases because I’m not worried about them falling off or fogging up, but I usually sleep on the jet on the way back, and sleeping with contacts in isn’t good.” He smiles a bit as he fully turns to you, seemingly satisfied with his hair. “It reduces the amount of oxygen that gets to your cornea, which damages the cornea’s surface and makes it harder to regenerate new cells. Sleeping with contacts actually makes you six to eight times more likely to get an eye infection.”

You nod again, your brain still not quite working at full power. You always love listening to Spencer’s fact dumps—it gives you a lot of material to impress your non-BAU friends with on the side, and you’re eternally thankful for that—but right now, you seriously cannot focus. 

You’d never really thought about him in glasses, but that’s probably a good thing if this is how it makes you feel. 

You were valedictorian as an undergrad, and you received stellar feedback from your professors during your masters program. You’re an excellent profiler, a valued member of the BAU, and you’re a goddamn FBI agent. 

And yet you can’t find a single thought in your head because your coworker showed up to work wearing glasses. 

He’s still rambling about other common causes of eye infection and how nobody seems to take them as seriously as they should, when Derek, not even trying to hide his grin at your turmoil, speaks up.  

“Reid. Wanna cool it a bit?” 

Spencer’s eyes dart over to him for a moment before he stops. “Uh— sorry.” He frowns as he looks back at you. “Why do you ask? Do you not like them?” 

“No,” you blurt out, and you shake your head a multitude of times. “No. They look great. You look great. They’re—” You dig your nails hard into your palm as you try your hardest to smile like normal, and this time you nod. “They’re good, Spence.” 

“Thanks.” Spencer does that little smile-nod combo of his, and he pushes his glasses back into place with his thumb by the bottom of the frames. “That’s nice to know I’ve got another option.” 

You thank whatever god may be out there that Hotch and Penelope are busy in their offices and JJ is busy with some other case, because you think you would die if anyone else saw you like this. 

“Hey, Reid,” Emily says, also not doing a very good job of hiding her amusement. You hate your team sometimes. “They’re almost out of sugar in the breakroom. If you want coffee the way you like it this morning, you should probably get in there.” 

“What?” Spencer shoots up, his brows already furrowing into a frown. “That— that’s ridiculous. I can’t mess up my morning any more.” 

“You’d better get in there, then,” she remarks. 

“We’re an entire office of agents running on coffee,” Spencer complains as he starts walking. “How are we almost out of sugar?” 

“Because half of ‘em drink it black,” Derek says, and Spencer shakes his head with a sigh as he leaves. 

“That’s ridiculous.” 

You bury your head in your hands the moment he’s gone and Derek laughs. “I wish I could’ve gotten that on video.” 

“Don’t talk to me,” you groan. “It is not fair of him to walk in like that.” 

“And that is why I call him pretty boy.”

“He needs them to see,” Emily says with amusement as she leans against the side of your desk. “You just can’t control yourself.” 

“I need to transfer offices,” you say, shaking your head. “I can’t do this.” 

“You should ask him out!” Derek encourages. “He’d probably say yes.” 

“Absolutely not,” you insist. “I doubt he likes me like that. A— and even if he does, that’s the last thing either of us need right now.” 

“I don’t know,” Emily muses. “It looks like you clearly need something.” 

You let out a frustrated noise as you screw your eyes shut. “I’m doomed.” 

You hear Spencer say your name, and when you look over at him, one hand still pressed against your head, you see he’s got two cups of coffee in his hands. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you say weakly. “I’m great. Why?” 

“I got you one too,” he says, holding one of the mugs out to you. “The one you have is probably cold by now, and it looks like you need an extra kick to get through all those reports.” 

“Thanks, Spence. That’s sweet.” He nods as you take the proffered mug, and you swear your cheeks are as warm as the coffee. He is really testing your strength today. 

“You— you have a lot,” he says, and you huff a dry laugh and nod. “I’m not trying to be sarcastic. I could take half of them if you want?” 

Your grip tightens on the mug and you can feel Derek’s eyes on you. “I couldn’t make you do that, Spence.” 

“You’re not!” Spencer exclaims. “I can get through mine really quickly—we worked together for almost the whole last case so I can do all of that anyways.” 

“...You’re sure it wouldn’t be an imposition?” 

“I’m sure,” he nods. “Besides, I offered. I wouldn’t if I didn’t want to.” 

And god damn him, because he nudges his glasses back into place again, pushes a strand of loose hair back into place. You’re dying over here. 

You set the mug of coffee on your desk and pick up the top half of your pile. “All yours, Spence.” 

He takes the bottom half and smiles at you, and you smile back before he walks back to his desk. You are dying over here. 

“Let me know how I can pay you back,” you say, and he shakes his head. 

“You don’t need to pay me back.” 

“Really?” 

Spencer nods. “I mean, Morgan invited us all out on the jet last night, and I don’t think I can do it alone. If you can get out of the office in time, I don’t have to. I think that's enough of a payback.” 

“Yeah,” you say. “I’ll be there.” 

He smiles again and nods, then he picks up a pen and focuses in. You turn back to your desk, your face burning. 

“What was that about him not liking you like that?” Derek says. 

“Quiet!” you whisper-yell, swatting him with the pile of files in your hand. “He might hear you!” 

“He’s not hearing anything while he’s focused on that,” he says. “That just means you can ogle him more.” 

You groan again, letting your forehead fall into your palm. “I’m pathetic.” 

“I think you’re right.” Emily chuckles as she stands up. “You are doomed.” 

[moonstruckme]

hello maeee!! i hope youre well!!

ive been STRUGGLING with higher level classes recently and its absolutely killing me 😭

could you maybe write something about reader who struggles academically (whether it be on certain subjects, procrastination, overworking , etc. is completely up to you!) with poly!marauders/one of the marauders??

sorry if youve already written something like this, this request is a bit self indulgent 😭

-💡

Hi angel, I'm really sorry you've been going through it! Thank you for requesting though, all the best requests are a bit self indulgent ;)

cw: academic stress

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 678 words

James is a patient teacher, and in an effort to repay his kindness you’re really trying to keep your tears from falling. 

You keep your eyes steadfastly on your potions textbook as you flip through it. You’re blinking rapidly, looking for the chapter that contains yet another bit of information you’ve failed to retain, when Remus’ warm hand closes over your shoulder. 

“Careful,” he warns, bringing a steaming mug of coffee around you to set it on one of your closed books. 

“Thank you.” Your relief is immense. You’re the sort of tired that makes your eyes hurt and your brain feel dead, thoroughly worn out by hours of studying. You pick it up and take a sip. Look at your boyfriend in betrayal. “Decaf?” 

Remus gives you a look. “It’s evening, dove. You won’t be able to sleep.” 

“I’ve got some sleeping draught for later.” 

“Ah, substance abuse.” Sirius tosses you a grin from where he’s lounging on his bed, his own homework long since finished. “Must be very dark times.” 

Your face feels suddenly very hot. You turn it down towards your book again, but the quiet splat of a tear dripping off your nose and onto the pages gives you away. 

“Hey, hey.” Sirius sounds immediately panicked. “I’m joking, abuse whatever substances you like.” 

“Angel, what’s wrong?” James’ voice is surprised, but his hand finds your back anyway, rubbing between your shoulders firm and sure. “It’s okay. We’re nearly done.” 

You suck in a breath, hoping to collect yourself but horrified when it only triggers another hiccup of sobs. You put your hands at your hairline, hiding yourself. 

“I’m going to have to sucker punch Slughorn,” Sirius says, sounding mildly horrified at this realization. 

“Dove.” Remus steps in front of you, lifting your chin. “What’s going on? Are you tired, is that it?” 

You nod pathetically, tears carving hot paths down both cheeks. “I just feel s—so stupid,” you whimper. 

Remus’ brows hook in the middle, but it’s James who says, “Hey, why?” 

He thumbs away the wetness from the cheek closest to him, encouraging you to look at him with his hand on your face. His eyes are big and warm behind his glasses. 

“Because you’re having trouble with your homework? That happens to everyone sometimes.” 

You shake your head. “It used to be sometimes. I don’t know what it is, this year—” you stifle another sob “—I feel like I can’t understand anything anymore.” 

Remus sighs. “I think you’re just overworking yourself, sweetheart.” 

You almost want to laugh. “You think this is the result of working too much?” 

“I think that schoolwork is all you’ve been doing lately,” he says patiently. “I understand that you might be having a difficult time with the upper levels this year, but you’re not going to absorb anything new if you don’t take some breaks.” 

“True,” Sirius pitches in. “That invigoration draught you keep under your bed is making you twitchy, babe. You can hardly expect to pay proper attention in class when you’re nearly bouncing out of your seat.” 

Remus’ eyes narrow. “What?” 

“Bollocks.” Sirius makes a face. Sorry, he mouths to you. 

“Let’s go to dinner,” James saves you, closing your textbook and vanishing your coffee with a flick of his wand. “It’ll be good for you to think about other things for a bit, and we’ll finish up when we get back.” 

The prospect of a break relaxes you enough for your tears to abate. James swipes the remainders from your cheeks and pushes at the corner of your lips until you smile halfheartedly. 

Remus hums his approval. “You need to eat something proper,” he says, pinching you sternly under the chin, “and stop trying to usurp your circadian rhythm with potions.” 

“Substance abuse,” Sirius quips, hopping down from his bed to lead the way to the great hall, “best kept for the weekends, as I always say.” 

“Do you always say that?” James wonders aloud. “Seems rather impromptu.” 

“Well, that’s the mark of a good line, Jamesie. It always sounds off the cuff.”

[bigfatbimbo]

Silly request but imagine helping Bill "groom" his triangle self. Gently wipe him with a cloth. Carefully dip it in the little space between the bricks, can't leave that zone unclean! Alternatively, a classic soapy bubble bath. Silly straws included, what the hell, he's probably drinking the bath water and listing the chemical ingredients back at you while you gently rub him clean. Fun times

The Bug Collector

1.1k words,, Bill Cipher x reader

a/n — Procrastination killed my soul during this, I think it turned out okay, though! Sorry for typos, your girl is tired.

warnings — SFW, post!weirdmaggedon, as ‘fluffy’ as you can get with Bill cipher, he is his own warning, kinda toxic relationships, fluff and bill being pathetic

summary — Reader assists a recently fallen Bill Cipher in self care, despite his general all-mighty asshole-ness.

The exoskeleton of a bug was practical, a water-tight barrier most commonly known for muscle attachments, and its use to shelter and protect the insects gushy insides from its harsh environment. 

The exoskeleton of a triangle was for mostly for aesthetics, as the underneath was far more horrifying than anything in the harsh environment around it. Or so the triangle claims.

You dipped a soapy sponge into the bucket in front of you, as bill propped his feet up on the bathtub. 

“You conquer worlds and destroy planets, but yeah, why not draw the line at cleaning yourself.”

“Please, what better way to make use out of my new human pet— partner, than this?” He corrected loudly and purposefully. Then looking to the side, he mumbled, “And besides, kid, you have no idea how hard it is to clean between the bricks. Euck— So many blind spots.”

The first part was a throwaway reminder that he had far more power than you in this dynamic, something you’d picked up on Bill casually doing in his time with you. 

Being roommates with a butt-hurt demon, given the ending of weirdmaggedon, allowed you the privilege of being more cautious than previous humans were with Bill. For example, you’ve taken to keeping track of his repeated habits and patterns. 

On of which, just so happened to be reminding you how small you were compared to him. 

You jabbed the sponge in-between on of the bricks, “Ow!” He narrowed his eye at you, “Watch it, pal. I’m starting to think you’ve never cleaned a triangle before.”

“I’d hate to give that impression.” You softened your hold on him, “Delicate work, I always say.”

And it was delicate work. After his defeat, he’d been roughed up a surprising bit, powers even weakened. 

Weakened.

“Not too delicate,” he shot you glance. Guess he’d heard that thought process. 

Although, most days he’d seemed to be in a thought process of his own. Weird.

You cleared your throat, “How often does this even need to be done?”

He blinked, “Well, let’s see. Once every—“ he waved his hand around “—few hundred years. Very high maintenance, do not recommend it.”

High maintenance, yeah. At this point, Bill had taken to talking about some other topic, you hadn’t been really listening, something about intergalactic food joints.

Every once and a while he’d bring up something that happened with one of his ‘henchmaniacs’ before getting slightly irritated at the lack of presence in his life now, and changing the subject. 

Bill was interesting to study, you couldn’t lie. His eyelashes curled away from each other, like the mangled legs of a recently dead spider. His hands were very present when he talked, like most people of business. His body flicked side to side slightly at certain moments. 

You became more gentle naturally, taking care of every crevice, and for some reason Bill becomes gradually quieter.

“Something wrong?” You asked, not stopping.

Bill blinked, “Eh, been a minute since i’ve had a human servant. Maybe, I was thinking of other things you can help with!”

You sigh, “Yeah, because i’m your servant. As if.” In your mind, your thinking do the fact he was your roommate, in your house, eating your food. 

“Hey, don’t get all butt-hurt. You’re all ants to me, buddy, nothing to be ashamed of!” His eye flicked back and forth between you and the room.

Then you stop scrubbing, “Bill, I might as well be your landlord.” You know he can read your thoughts, so you make a point to justify yourself. Already weakened from his failed apocalypse, anything other than vague respect for you would land him homeless. Most likely, his response to this would be killing you, but there’s only so much he can do afterwards. 

He’d have a place to stay, but with no electricity or heating, and in his damaged physical form he actively does need those things. And trying to get a new human would be a hassle, and unlike you, no guarantee they’d let him stay there without calling the authorities.

“Yeesh,” Bill remarks, “Buzzkill… You are still a bug compared to me, though—“

You drop the sponge in the bucket, “I think you’re done.”

He looks taken aback when you pull away, “What? Come on, over the bug comment? Jeez, buddy—“

“No I mean you’re actually done,” you gesture to his body, now shining and slick with soap suds. “I got everything, there’s nothing else to do.”

You go to turn around before you feel a small hand grabbing for the back of your shirt. 

“Wait, wait!” He breathes, eye farting from side to side, “… You have to dry me off first.”

He looked slightly panicked, like if you stopped taking care of him now, you’d leave and never come back. Your thought process earlier couldn’t have helped. 

The way he scurried and gasped for you was reminiscent of panicked earwig and a rock is lifted up. The comparison should have grossed you out, but it kinda just made you feel a little bad.

If he was paying attention to your thoughts, he didn’t show it. This would have usually given you the impression he’d wanted you to be thinking the way you were, but he seemed a little wrapped up in his own head. 

“Come on, kid. Don’t tell me you’re gonna kick me out because I asked you to dry me off. One last thing and then you don’t even have to talk to me the rest of the night! Sounds like a good deal, right?” 

His slightly desperate looking sales pitch was met with a sigh, you picked up a dry towel and began to pat the soap suds off of him. His body slowly breathed in, making it look like he was sighing, but no noise came out.

You wondered then if he was actually touch-starved, but cut your thoughts there because this time he had nothing better to do then pay attention to what you were thinking. 

“Ouch, i’m not that desperate, pal.” But he was.

His exoskeleton was dry, but you didn’t stop patting him down. His eyelid shut slowly, and the spider-legs on them curled into each other once more. 

The exoskeleton of a bug was practical, but one of a triangle seemed to simply be for aesthetics. 

However, on some rare occasions, it possesses the same desire for love as human bodies. Only, when very desperate, of course. 

[aestherin]

KEEP MY HEART

goal 32: you but in meow

NOTE: i finally finished despite procrastinating hehe this was sitting in my drafts for more than a week help me 😭

You probably should have told Scaramouche that you have already arrived at the home address he sent.

If you did so, maybe you wouldn’t be outright welcomed by his mother instantly opening the door after a few knocks.

You’ve already seen her before during some of their games, albeit from a far distance. She looked pretty from afar, yes. But she was heavenly up close. With her long deep violet locks weaved into a simple braid, her perfect skin that gives no evidence of her being a mother of a boy already in college, and her electrifying eyes… you’re starting to realize where Scaramouche got the godly genes from.

“Good afternoon, uh— madam?” You greeted awkwardly. “I’m here to visit Scara, no, Kunikuzushi. He’s a… friend!”

At your introduction, the older woman let you inside their home and motioned you to sit on the sofa. She swiftly made her way back and forth the kitchen and provided you with a tray containing some drinks and some snacks.

You told her that she didn’t have to, but she only smiled in response. As she sat down in front of you, you started to drink from the glass, only so that you can find something to distract yourself from the awkwardness.

“So that’s why your built looked familiar. You’re probably the same woman I saw in the pictures with my son. You’re his girlfriend, right?”

You coughed.

Before you can even reply, Scaramouche’s mother motioned upstairs. “Nevermind that, I don’t want to keep you for long. My son’s room is upstairs, first door from the left.”

“Also,” she lightly muttered as you were getting ready to go upstairs. “Please do treat my son well. I’ve put him through a lot, you see.”

An apologetic smile was plastered on his mother’s face. Was this what Scaramouche meant when he was messaging you? Was his mother somehow enlightened and came to a realization about their issues? You wanted to know, but you didn’t want to pry.

Besides, the main reason why you came here was so that you could uplift Scaramouche’s mood.

“I will.”

Meanwhile, Scaramouche was cooped up in his room, restless. He’d admit it to no one, but anxiety was slowly creeping in his heart at your lack of replies to his message. Why did you suddenly stop replying? Were you getting to him safely? Did you somehow get lost and went to some place with no reception?

‘Damn it, I should’ve just picked her up,’ he thought.

‘Should I call her?’

‘But what if —‘

Three knocks brought his thoughts to a halt. “Kuni? It’s me, [Name].”

Of course it’s you. You're the only one allowed to call him that anyway.

Heavy and hurried footsteps stemmed from the other side of the door once you made your presence known.

“[Name],” he breathed immediately upon swinging his door.

You were welcomed by his disheveled yet still attractive appearance as well as the sight of his room — simple yet stylish with tints of mainly white, black, and blue. The room looked so cold, yet the comforts of his white bed helped it seem warmer. Apart from that however, a warm and furry feeling on your legs also welcomed you.

“Meow.”

You broke eye contact with Scaramouche and instead took a peek at what the little ball of black fur was doing below. His cat (as you assumed) was now cuddling you, purring restlessly against your feet.

“That’s weird.”

“Huh?”

“He usually doesn’t like strangers,” Scaramouche said.

He then eyed you as you crouched down to pick up his cat. “Well you see Kuni, they said cats tend to mirror the personalities of their owner.”

“Who the fuck even said that?” He raised his brow. “And even if that’s true, so what?”

“Well you like me, so of course Scarameow likes me.”

Scaramouche huffed. “Scarameow?”

“You didn’t give him a name, right? I feel bad not calling him anything, so I just thought of that on the spot.” You grinned. “Besides, it seems like he likes it.”

You cut yourself off by lightly poking the black cat’s nose. “Don’t you, Scarameow?”

The man just sighed at the approving purr of his own pet. He was left speechless by how easily his cat warmed up to you. It really weirded him out, considering that it was the very same cat that always just hisses at other people aside from his owner.

“But why that… horrendous name?”

You looked back at him only to flash a disapproving frown. “Horrendous? Isn’t it cute?”

“No.”

“What?” You gasped. “Can’t you see he’s literally a cat version of you?”

“It’s like he’s you… but in meow…”

He speedily brought his palm up to his lips in an attempt to conceal something. It was a poor attempt, however, as the muffled noises he tried so hard to stop forced their way out.

And for the first time in so long, he finally laughed.

KEEP MY HEART — scara x reader smau

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NOTE: my reference for thinking of scara's bedroom haha >> [click here]

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[soleilapproves]

Nanami is in love with his best friend who saves him from a creepy woman. Honestly, I’m not sure what the plot is. I just wrote this because I was procrastinating my chem assignment.

Notes: reader referred to as wife

main masterlist

Nanami Kento didn’t know when he fell in love with you. Maybe it was when you giggled and pulled him out of the house to jump around in the rain with you. Or was it when you fell asleep on his shoulder after a long workday?

He didn’t know that you found so much solace in him. 

His breathing was shallow as he watched you prance around your shared kitchen, singing a generic pop song about… love, was it? Or heartache. He didn’t know or care; all he knew was that you were wearing his shirt like it belonged to you- like he didn’t spend his hard-earned money to buy something for work, and you just plucked it out of the laundry room like it had your name on it.

He half expected you to be all bashful once you turned around and saw him, but no, you just pointed the whisk you used to mix your pancake batter at him and began lip-syncing the song's lyrics to him. He scoffed as he walked around the kitchen island and held on to your waist. Your singing slowed down as his grip tightened on you.

“What? You were hogging up the space in front of the coffee machine. Don’t stop on my account,” Nanami nonchalantly said as he dragged you away from the coffee station. Bewildered, you went back to singing again, facing away from him as you looked for cinnamon in the spice cabinet. 

Nanami bit the inside of his cheek as he noticed your ears looked redder than usual.

It all felt oddly domestic. Your work shoes were strewn by the door, he was comfortable with his hair being disheveled, your unapologetically tone-deaf singing, and of course, the fact that you were making breakfast for him unprompted. 

‘I could live like this forever,’ the blond thought. Of course, minus the whole best-friends-who-live-together-and-aren’t-in-a-romantic-relationship situation.

But was confessing to you a good idea? What if you both broke up and never wanted to see each other again? What would happen to your living arrangement then? He can’t handle not seeing you for a day. It would be horrible for his sanity. 

But then again, you both have been friends for so long that it only felt natural to be with each other all the time.

He ignored his heart, screaming at him to confess to you. The man was clearly too far gone; if he spent another day in your presence, he would surely go mad. In love and in vain.

He ignored his thoughts when he saw you accidentally pick up his cup and place your lips exactly where his were a few seconds ago. You scrunched your nose, and it took everything in him not to kiss it. “Dear God, this is bitter. I’m sorry, Ken, but I will never enjoy your tastes in food.” 

Ken

He could hear you say that all day, all night, and in his dreams. Fuck, weren’t you a magnetic being?

He ignored his heart while brushing his teeth later that night. He put his hand on his chest and rubbed it when he saw your toothpaste next to his. Yours was pink, and his was blue. A silly little cliche among most couples. He looked at the shower shelf in the bathroom- you used the same body wash as him because you said men’s shower gels smelled better. He simply complied and brought you a few bottles because it gave him the illusion that you had slept in his bed. 

The two of you were polar opposites. He preferred a quiet night in, while you’d take advantage of your weekends and go out with friends. You hated cooking while he cooked elaborate recipes for fun. You were very outdoorsy while he preferred to use his treadmill.

There were so many differences, but you both complemented one another so well. So much that it confused mutual friends. People often asked why you both weren't a couple instead of if you were one.

He would also ignore his heart when it thrilled him to see men walk away from you as soon as he was in your space, hands naturally sitting on your waist while you whined about being single. ‘I’m right here!’ he wanted to scream. ‘Look at me!’

But his heart reached its wits end when you pretended to be his wife to protect him from an uncomfortably touchy woman.

Nanami is a simple man; he gets excited when he hears about food. Especially when it has to do with trying new dishes. So it was only natural that he dragged you to a global food festival in the city. It was pleasantly warm in the outdoor space for a cold winter night, thanks to all the cooking going on in the stands. You were a little overstimulated by all the smells, but the excitement on Nanami’s face was well worth the temporary discomfort. By now, you both had traveled to France, Turkey, and India via flavors alone.

The bar at the food stand you both were eating was getting increasingly crowded by the second, so it was only natural that there would be some unintentional physical contact with strangers. Nanami wrapped his arm around you to prevent the old man beside you from rubbing all his nauseating cologne over you. You ignored the way your body fit right next to his. And dare you say- like a puzzle piece with the silhouette of your breasts pressing up right beneath his pecs. 

You both decided to share a bowl of spicy noodle soup, but you couldn’t handle the prickly taste of peppers on your tongue. “I’m gonna grab something sweet. You want anything?” 

Nanami missed your warmth as you climbed out of the booth’s eating bench. “I’m alright, I’ll wait for you.” 

You also needed a few minutes away from him so your body could catch a break. The rush of adrenaline you’d get when he’d touch you was unlike any other.

He didn’t touch his noodle soup in your absence. It felt tasteless to him without you pressed up next to him. 

He continued his wallowing while staring at the bowl of soup until he felt someone slide in next to him. Excited, he turned around only to be met with a stranger. “Oh my, I really want to try the spicy noodle soup, but I’m scared it’ll be too painful.” 

“I’m sure the owner can give you a sample, and this seat is taken, so I’m gonna have to ask you to move to another place.” 

The insistent woman placed her manicured hand on his bicep, and Nananmi’s posture stiffened. “Oh, come on, I’ll just take a sip from you- I mean, your bowl, and I’ll be out of your hair.” 

This was turning into sexual harassment, and he was about to pull out his sanitizer spray to put her in her place until he heard a familiar voice. “Hey, lady! Leave him alone.” He let out a breath of relief when you arrived, ice cream in hand. 

“I can do whatever I want; it’s a free country,” she sulked.

“So can he, and he asked you to leave him alone,” you argued back. 

“Who even are you?”

“His wife.” Nanami’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. By now, the people at the booth had turned towards the three of you to observe the spectacle. Before the creep could counter your answer or ask you for proof, the booth’s owner spoke up. “Hey, you buyin’ or not? I have customers waitin’ who actually wanna eat!” 

The lady quickly tucked her tail between her legs and briskly walked out of the area. Never to be seen again. “Fucking hell, some people really need to learn about consent. You okay?” Nanami wanted to reply to you, but no words came out of his mouth. 

You had basically declared to the world that you were his wife. Well, not the world, but all eight people in the booth (excluding you two) believed that you were his wife! It probably meant nothing to them, but to him it was like you had hung the stars in the sky. 

“Ken?” 

Ugh, you said it again. 

“Yeah, I’m alright.” His eyes simply couldn’t look away from your spice-swollen lips. If you’re his pretend wife, then it’s okay for him to kiss you, right? 

He mentally slapped himself at that thought. If he was going to kiss you then it was going to be the real deal.

—

Honestly, I like it when reader protects the character. Like yes, come here, my 6’4 baby girl, I’ll beat that person up for you.

[miniwheat77]

Smash. (dbf!Captain Price x Virgin!Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, heeeeeefty age gap (reader is 21, Price is 47), teasing, daddy kink, rough sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex, mutual pining, this is filthy age gap Smut and you’ve been warned. (Sorry if I missed any.)

Summary: Captain Price is your dads best friend and you’ve been crushing on him since you were a little girl.

I know this isn’t a request but I’m procrastinating :)

“Oh come on sweet pea, you haven’t been home for a family barbecue in three years now!” Your dad begs you on the phone. You’ve been off at college for three whole years. You haven’t made too much time to come visit, but there’s a reason for that.

Your step mom.

She’s awful. Uses your dad for his money, cheats on him constantly. At this point, you think she’s just a cover for something. You sigh, taking a deep breath. “Alright. Fine. But you better keep your hound on a leash.” You groan. “Hey. Be nice Y/N.” He rolls his eyes on the other end of the phone. “She doesn’t show her teeth, I don’t bite.” You smile cheekily. He can’t see it, but he can hear it. “Oh lord. What I would do without you.” He laughs. “Live a happy, stress free life.” You giggle. He laughs on the other end. “I’ll see you on Saturday sweet pea. Don’t forget, we had a pool put in since you last came, don’t forget your bathing suit!” He smiles. “Alright dad, I’ll be there. Love you, bye.” You laugh as you hang up the phone.

“That girl, gonna be the death of me.” Your dad smiles as he hangs up the phone. He’s sitting at a table with his best friend of twenty plus years, Captain John Price. “Is that Y/N?” He smiles. “Yeah. I’ve been trying to get her to come home for the barbecue this weekend. Finally got her to agree.” He laughs. John nods his head, taking a drink of his beer. “Haven’t seen that girl in ages.” He smiles. “You’ll see her this Saturday. She’s been nothing but a pain in my ass for these last few years. Since she was 17, I think.” He laughs. “How so? I don’t have any kids so I don’t really know how they work.” John laughs. “Oh boy. She’s just a young woman. Moody, bossy. The girl has been boy crazy since she was 15.” He laughs. Placing a hand over his face. “Absolutely hates her step mom. Every time they’re both in the same room together I just want to strangle them both.” He rolls his eyes, tipping his beer up. “Although these last couple years she’s been super wild. Going out drinking, getting herself into trouble. I’ve seen more than 2 boys on her stupid Instagram she doesn’t know that I know about.” He sighs. John nods. “You think you were maybe too strict with her?” He asks. “Probably. But you live and you learn I guess.” He laughs. John finishes lthe rest of his beer.

You turn the wheel toward the parking lot of your apartment complex. It’s only about 30 minutes away from where your dad is, but you’ve been busy with school. Your car comes to a halt as you climb out, gathering all of your items and heading upstairs to your room. You pick up your phone, dialing your best friends number. “Hey.” You smile. “Hey Y/N, what’s up?” She asks. “You know how I’ve told you about the family barbecue’s I’ve had in the past?” You say. “Oh. You mean the one day a year you spend ogling at your dads best friend that I’ve heard alllll about?” She chuckles, making you blush. “Yeah, my dad convinced me to go and they installed a pool last year. So.. we need to go bathing suit shopping.” You mumble. “Is this finally the year?” She smirks. “Hopefully. You should come with me, get a good look at him.” You smile. “Alright. I’m down. I’ll come get you in 20 for the mall.” You smile. “Okay.” After saying your goodbye’s, you hang up.

When she arrives, you gather up everything you need, walking down the old metal stairs to your apartment. Feeling them buckle underneath you slightly, yeah the apartment you lived in wasn’t too up to date. But it was nice.

Your dad was really strict, and this time you’d spent away at college had been the most fun you’ve ever had. He wasn’t monitoring your every move, couldn’t tell you what to do 24/7, and you could come and go anytime you wanted. No curfew. Maybe it had to do with your dad being a retired military man. But he was strict and sometimes he could get a little mean. Everyone knew it, and nobody was surprised when you left. You open the door to her car, sitting down and closing the door after you pull your leg in. You put your seatbelt on and start talking about anything random as she pulls out of your apartment complex to head toward the mall. The drive is pretty short, it passes by incredibly quick because of the small talk you’re making. She pulls into the parking lot and the both of you make your way inside to your favorite stores.

When you finish shopping, you make your way into the food court, choosing what you want to eat. Eventually, the both of you are just sitting down at a small table. Listening to everyone else talking around you.

“So what’s so special about this guy anyways Hm? How old is he?” You blush at her question. “Oh god. How old is he?!” She laughs. “47.” You mumble. “Jesus! He’s older than your dad!” She laughs. “Yeah I know. And.. I don’t know. Ever since I was old enough to understand what a crush was, it was always him.” You shrug. She smiles. “Even still?” She asks. “Yeah. I’ve had one boyfriend that lasted like 2 months. That’s it.” You smirk. Taking a bite of your food. She smiles. “Because you’ve been so in love with this guy? Shit. You were legal 3 years ago, why didn’t you try sooner?” She asks. “When I was 18 I got into a big fight with my dad and I haven’t been home since.” You laugh. She nods her head. “Gotcha.”

“Also not to mention he’s a Captain in the Military.” You laugh. Her eyes widen. “Damn. I don’t know him but I’m in love with him too.” She laughs. “You will be.” You roll your eyes with a laugh.

—

The day of the Barbecue approached fast, and your best friend canceled on you because she was sick. You were driving alone, nervous. Anxious to see John again. Your stomach was curled up, waves of nervousness shooting through you. You hadn’t gotten over these feelings that you’d had for him for a long time, you thought you would. But now? You were convinced they’d never go away. At this point you knew it was more than just a dumb crush, but admitting that meant defeat and you wouldn’t yet. You wouldn’t cave just yet. As a little girl you dreamt of him day and night. Never boys your age, not even in high school when you hit puberty and had a crush on everyone. Nobody stuck. Nobody but John. Your dads best friend who was completely out of your reach.

You pulled into the driveway and noticed cars already in the driveway, pulling up as close to the car in front of you as possible. You hop out, deep breath leaving your lips as you start for the backyard where you could hear everyone. You open the gate, the loud creak that it makes gives away your arrival and all eyes are on you. There’s nothing but silence for a minute until your dad hollers that you’re here. He rushes over and gives you a hug and a lot of the already tipsy women start commenting on how much you’ve grown up, how you’re a woman now and not just a kid. When you’re done being bombarded by everyone, you spot John sitting in a lawn chair, beer in his hand. “Come on sweetheart. I’ll show you what we got to drink.” Your dad smiles. You dig through the cooler and end up grabbing a beer. You’d need the liquid courage to get you through this entire day. You followed your dad over to where he’s sitting and smile at John. “Hey Kiddo.” John smiles. “Hey John. How are you?” You smile. “I’m good. You?”

“Good. Just going to school.” You blush. He’s so perfect. So fucking attractive. You just want to jump him right in front of everyone here. You talk a little more with him before your dad calls him away from you to talk about something else with the grill.

You get caught up in conversation with a few other women there, avoiding your step-mom like she’s the plague.

—

A sigh leaves your lips. You’re sitting at a table inside, drinking a beer. You’ve had a little too much to drink, feeling a little tipsy. Everyone is already passed out or gone home. Tonight did not go the way you wanted it to go. You wanted to talk to John more. Wanted so badly to get to know him more. You’ve pretty much given up on it. Sure he’s probably already gone home for the night. You hear the sliding glass door open and your step-mom walks in. “Y/N. Will you please go keep John company? Your dad is drunk and I need to take him to bed.” You nod your head. Those are the first words she’s spoken to you all day. You stand up, going out to the back yard. There’s an older woman, her husband, and John left. “Hey sweetheart.” She smiles. “Hey.” You smile. You sit on the edge of the pool with your feet in the water. John is in the pool and she’s laying on the concrete. “Howcome you’re here all alone sweets?” He asks. “Oh.. I don’t know. I invited a friend to come but she wasn’t feeling too good.” You explain. She nods. “You don’t gotta boyfriend?” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Oh god no.” You laugh. She looks at you. “Why’s that?”

“I’m surrounded by college guys, not exactly a fan.” You smile. John is listening, intrigued. “Your dad keeps talking about the boys on your secret Instagram.” She smiles. “Secret?” You smile. “I don’t have a secret Instagram.” You laugh. “Oh, he talks about it.” She smiles. You look confused. “Weird. The only guys I have on there are friends.” You laugh. “Just friends?” You nod your head. “Yeah. I need to take down those pictures down actually.” You laugh. “Why’s that?” She smiles. “They always pretend to be my friends and than they get weird. Catch feelings or something.” You laugh. “It’s cause you’re a real pretty girl. They probably just want a piece.” She smiles. “It’s always after they find out I’m a Virgin.” You mumble. John almost chokes on his bourbon that he has, eyes widening. His body is rigid. She laughs. “Wow. That’s actually kind’ve impressive.” She smiles.

After talking a little more, she drags her husband home. Leaving you and John alone. Something that makes your stomach flutter. “The advice she was giving you. Don’t take it.” He mumbles. “Hm?” You look up at him. “She.. is a little..” he waves his finger by his ear. You giggle. He notices the way you react to him. “You’re a real pretty girl you know? Don’t rush into anything. Find a guy who will treat you right.” He nods. You nod your head. You pull your shirt off, sliding into the water. You give him a good view of your bathing suit. “Can I ask you for some advice?” You bite your bottom lip. He nods his head. “Yeah, Cmere.” He nods his head. You swim closer to him, leaning up against the wall where he’s sitting. “What’s up?” He asks. You sigh. “Do you think I’m immature?” You ask. He narrows his eyes. “No. I don’t think so at all. I think you’re actually pretty mature for your age.” He smiles. You nod your head. “Why?” He asks. “Well.. I like this guy but.. he’s quite a bit older than me.” You blush. “How much older?” He asks.

“I don’t know if I should say..” you blush. “No older than your dad I hope.” He chuckles. You look down, crimson creeping up your cheeks. His eyes widen and he coughs on his liquor. “Jesus- how much older?” He asks, wiping his face. “Few years..” you mumble. “Older than me?” He asks. “Around the same age I think.” You breathe. “Just… don’t tell my dad on me, please?” You bite your lip nervously. He laughs, looking down. “What the hell do you want with a guy my age anyways? Do I know him?” He asks. You blush, looking down. “Yeah. Pretty well actually. I’ve liked him for a while.” You breathe. He laughs. “Jesus Christ.” He breathes. He runs a hand over his facial hair, seeing the way that the water drips off of him has you clenching your thighs together. “You have any advice?” You say nervously. He looks down. “Don’t go for it.” He laughs. “Hm?” You say. “Men my age will only take advantage of you.” You’ve moved closer and closer to him. “Would you take advantage of me?” You swallow hard, looking up at him. The way you look up at him is far from innocent. “I-“ he freezes. “John?” You whisper. “Yeah?”

You swallow hard. “Would you?” You breathe. He looks down. You’ve crept even closer to him, and when you’re right in front of him, he’s losing his mind. You breathe. His eyes widen and he’s silent for a minute. He sets his glass down, reaching his hands out and grasping your hips. He pins you to the concrete wall of the pool, hand resting on your throat. “You’re a good girl. Such a good girl, you don’t need to be with a guy my age.” He breathes. You whimper, tilting your head back. The way that you react to him shows him more than he needs. He moves his hips closer to yours and you clutch his sides for dear life, whimpering out when he ruts his hips into yours. He spins you around, until you’re leant over the pool wall. Crying out when he tugs on your hair. “Who is it darlin?” He breathes. “Because the way you’re reacting to me…” he trails offs. You’re panting out, he’d thrown you for a curveball. Sending you straight into a daze. “Use your words love.” He growls. The feel of his hips pressing into you, his hands on you. “It’s you- since I was a kid-“ you pant. Your eyes are watering, wanting so badly for his hands to be on you. Just as his fingertips graze over your bathing suit between your legs, breath hitching in your throat, he pulls away. “Look at me.” He helps spin you around. “As bad as I want to… Your dad is my best friend.” He breathes. You nod your head, as bad as it hurts you, you understand. You’re still breathing hard, as he creates a few more inches of distance, reaching out to run his finger along your bottom lip, loving the way you react to him, parting your lips even more. Closing your eyes and tilting your head back just slightly. It’s a small gesture but it doesn’t go unnoticed by him. You swipe your tongue over his thumb. The taste of his skin is amazing, even when it’s mixed with chlorine.

He bites his lip, pulling his hand away. “Such a good girl f’me.” He breathes. It’s quiet, you almost miss it. When he says it, your body lights on fire. Having him touch you, his hands on you. It’s almost too much for you to handle. When you finally pull yourself out of the trance like state he’d put you in, he’s moved a couple feet away from you. Which is perfect timing. Your step mom makes her way out of the back door, sending John a smile. “Y/N, I think it’s time for you to go.” You narrow your eyes at her. “What?” You ask. “It’s nearing nine, you need to head on home.” She crosses her arms. “Uh.. I think she’s been drinking.” John looks at you. “That’s not my problem, she’s not welcome to stay here. Our guest bedroom is my office now anyways.” You roll your eyes and John can see the attitude on your face as you look up at her. “Have a good night John.” She smiles at him. “Remember, the couch is always open.” John expects you to be a little more upset than you are. But you aren’t. You step out of the pool mumbling out a “fucking bitch.” Under your breath. John smiles at your aggression. “I can give you a ride home?” John asks. “I’m sure I’ll be fine John, besides, I think you’ve had more to drink than me.” You laugh, wrapping a towel around you. He smiles, climbing out of the pool. His body is soaked, drips of water sliding down his chest. You want to drool at the sight of him. sliding a t-shirt on. His cargo shorts were soaked but he didn’t care. “Honey, I’ve got twenty plus years of drinking on you.” He laughs. “Takes a lot to get me drunk.” You smile. John is about to offer again, the door opens. This time it’s your dad. “Hey. I didn’t know you guys were still here.” He smiles. “Yeah. I would’ve stayed longer but Y/N caught the wrath of your wife.” John raises his eyebrows at him. “What do you mean?”

“Told Y/N she wasn’t welcome to stay.”

Your dad looks down at his feet. Glancing back at the door. “She’s just.. in her own space. You know? You understand, right Y/N?” He says. Your lips part slightly. “Cmon Y/N. You can stay at my house.” John nods his head. You send your dad a death glare, following after John. “Oh and uh.. it’s not really my place, but letting your daughter who’s been drinking drive home on her own and choosing a woman over your own kid.. dick move.” John shakes his head at him, sliding his hand over your lower back and walking through the wooden gate with you.

He walks you out to a large truck in the driveway, it’s brand new, shiny black with leather seats. He opens the door for you, helping you up inside. He rests his hand on your thigh until you’re settled, closing the door once you’re inside. He makes his way around the front, opening up his side and climbing in. He starts it, backing up out of the driveway. The way his hands grip around the steering wheel, veins popping out on his hands. He’s sexy, it’s hard to ignore. You bite your lip, clenching your eyes shut. You squeeze your thighs together, trying to ignore the throbbing between them. John feels bad. He’s upset by the fact that your own dad treats you that way, and allows his wife to treat you like that. What bothers him the most? Is how unbothered you are by it. How you seem so used to it, you don’t even care anymore. “You don’t deserve that, you know?” He mumbles. He reaches his hand across the center console, resting his hand on your bare thigh. His hand is warm against your cold skin, and for once in your life, you could give that stupid bitch a hug for doing what she did. She got you alone with John Price. The guy you’ve been crushing on since you were a kid. “I know, but it’s normal to me. You see why I haven’t showed up for any gatherings?” You smile. He nods his head. “Yeah, definitely. I had a lot of respect for your dad until tonight, can’t believe that.” He rolls his eyes. “Like your little attitude you threw, bet you’ve got more fire in you than that.” A giggle leaves your lips, and he smiles at it. “Oh yeah. She’s brought out the absolute worst in me.” You smile. He gives your thigh a reassuring squeeze, not missing the way that you slide down into the seat unintentionally. Your body was begging for his touch, wanting his his hand to creep up just a little bit higher.

John pulls into his driveway, quickly climbing out and making his way around the truck to your side. “Sorry, haven’t got the running boards for it yet. They’re on back order.” He explains. “That’s okay, I can jump.” You giggle. John helps you down from the seat, fingertips lingering a little longer than they should on your hips. John feels his phone vibrate in his hand, ignoring it as he leads you up to the front door. When you step inside, you smile. He’s got a very nice house. “Wow. It’s really pretty in here.” You smile. “Pretty?” He laughs. “Yeah, pretty. I like it.” He passes you a hoodie he’d been wearing earlier that morning. Assuming you had no other clothes to sleep in. You thank him, and he shows you to the bathroom so that you can change. He changes too, finishing before you. He sits down on his couch, finally taking a moment to look at his phone. It’s a message from your dad.

I don’t appreciate what you said about what happened today. Involving yourself in our business. What happens between my family is to stay within my family.

John thinks for a while about a reply. But eventually decides to just leave it alone and ignore him. He’s pissed off. You don’t deserve it. This was an entire new side of your dad that he’d never seen before. A side John didn’t like at all, it really made him want to re-evaluate his entire friendship. He no longer had the same respect for the man he did originally. The best thing about him was his daughter. You. John thinks for a minute. Running his fingers over his facial hair. You come back from the bathroom, wearing only his sweatshirt. As you pass by him, he stops you, grasping onto your knee and pulling you in front of him. “John…” you mumble. “What are you doing?” You mumble. “Just.. admiring you sweetheart.” He looks up at you, pulling you into him. Looking at you. You look down at him, biting your lip nervously. He grasps your thighs, tugging you further. You straddle his hips and his fingers slide up your bare thighs. Sliding slightly under the sweatshirt. He expects to feel panties, or your bathing suit, but his eyes widen when he feels nothing. He brings his hand between your legs. “I thought..” you pant, clutching onto his shoulder. “I thought you said you-“ he cuts you off when his fingertips touch your opening for the first time, the first time you’d ever been touched by a man. A gasp leaves your lips and you’re soaking wet. Coating his fingers when he’s barely even touched you. You like him more than he thought. “Yeah, maybe what your dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” He smirks. “You’re so wet for me sweetheart.” He rubs gentle circles over your clit, making you moan out, rocking your hips into his touch.

“John?” You mewl. He looks at you, a smile on his face. “Yeah?”

“Will you have sex with me?” You whimper. He swallows hard. “But you’re a virgin sweet girl.” You nod your head. “I know- but I’ve saved it for you.” You breathe out. “I only want you John. I want you to take it.” You rock your hips into his hand more, body shaking at the intensity of him touching you. Your skin is hot against him. “Are you sure?” He asks. You nod your head eagerly. He bites his lip. He wraps his hands around your waist, lifting you up. He walks down the hallway to his bedroom, pushing the door open with his foot and laying you down on his bed. “I don’t have condoms or anything.” He breathes. “It’s okay.” You breathe. “I want to feel all of you.” You breathe. Your desperation is turning him on. Nobody has ever shown him anything like this. John hasn’t been with a woman since he was in his mid twenties, and he gave up on relationships and women. Trashed the idea completely. But you.. you came into the picture. Pretty black bathing suit. Smooth skin, innocent eyes that helped conceal such a dirty little secret. So young and pretty, and you wanted him. You were desperate for him. Begging him to take your virginity even. John’s breathing is a little sporadic, he’s nervous too. It’s been so long. He doesn’t even really remember sex. You make him feel young again, and he’s a little worried he might ruin this.

He keeps touching you. Kissing and biting at your skin, running his fingers over your opening and eventually sliding them into your slick hole. Sliding them in and out of you, scissoring them until you’re squirming, begging him for more. The way you say his name. Caught somewhere between a moan and a mewl, it kicks his body into overdrive. His cock is rock hard, throbbing against his leg. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Nothing ever really got to John anymore. Not until now. “Do you think you’re ready for me, princess?” He smiles down at you. You’re completely naked now, tits on full display for him to tease. He’s been toying with them for a while, sucking and swirling his tongue around them. You’re soaked, body begging for him. You nod your head eagerly. He pumps his cock, using your wetness to help lubricate himself. He lines himself up with your entrance and you keep your legs spread for him. He watches you for any discomfort or any signs that you’re going to stop him, but you don’t. You hold your legs open, biting your lip. Excited that he’s going to take your virginity. Your pussy is wet enough, he doesn’t have to stretch you too much. You feel slight pinching as he inches deeper and deeper into you, but a moan leaves your lips when he bottoms out. Your hands jumping to clutch at his bed sheets. “Are you okay?” You nod your head. “Yes- yes!” You whimper. “I feel so full.” You whimper. Your eyes are watering slightly and it hurts more than you want to admit, he can tell. But you’re so excited to be having sex with him, those fantasies you’ve been having for so many years finally coming true, and they’re so much better than you ever thought they’d be. He rocks his hips back and fourth, hearing you cry out as he does. He smirks. Hoping you don’t notice how much he’s enjoying seeing you such a mess.

You’re crying after a few thrusts, tears streaming down your face at the overstimulation you feel. It only took you a few minutes to cum for the first time, his thumb moving back and fourth against your clit until you started crying, and he finally let go. Him giving your body what you had so desperately wanted, for so long. Your body gave into him right away, tightening around him and soaking his cock. He bites his lip, thrusting into you still. “So pretty..” he smirks. “That’s it.. cry for me sweet girl.” He bites his lip, thrusting a bit harder than he had before. Another sob leaves your lips, your body shaking. “I’m gonna cum again!” You cry. He leans down into you. “Look at me sweetheart.” He breathes. You look up at him. “Watch me when you cum.” You lazily nod your head, eyes watery. Your tears are shiny in the moonlight dipping through the curtains and his lower stomach is clenching up tight. Knot wound up in his stomach. A cry leaves your lips, your fingers gripping onto the sheets tightly as you cum again, this time, he groans out. Hips stuttering to a stop as he finishes inside of you. The feeling of you clenching down around him is too much. And he rests his head on your chest. You run your hands through his hair, something you had dreamt about doing for so long. He’s panting, coming down from his high. “Fuck.. did so good for me sweetheart.” He breathes. He collapses on top of you with a groan. Once he relaxes, he slides out of you with a gasp. He lays next to you, holding onto your hand. You’re panting hard. He stares up at the ceiling, in shock. He just took your virginity, his best friends daughter.

He took it, your virginity.

He blushes hard as he stares up, still in shock. No woman has shown John any attention in years, how lucky is he that a woman as pretty as you likes him? Let him touch you even. He sits up, getting up to clean himself up. He takes a deep breath, drinking the sight of you in. You look so pretty in his bed. When he finishes cleaning up, he cleans you up the best he can. He slides his hoodie onto you, trying not to wake you up. He lays down, pulling a blanket over the both of you, pulling you into him. Your hair smells amazing and he breathes out, feeling an ache in his chest. Just as he’s about to fall asleep, he wonders. What happens if he falls in love with you?

The next morning, you wake up to his side of the bed being empty. You sit up, groaning as the muscles in your legs and lower stomach burn. He really did a number on you last night. You rub your eyes tiredly, taking a deep breath. Your cheeks are burning, the thoughts from last night running through your head. You’re going to have to face him again, see him. The man who took your virginity. The man who you’ve had feelings for forever, that you could no longer hide. Just as you’re about to stand up, John walks in. He’s holding a glass of water. “Here.” He smiles, passing it to you. He holds his other hand out, he’s holding something. You open your hand and he places medicine in it. “I know you’re probably sore, baby.” He runs his hand up your thigh. You take the medicine, drinking some of the water. When you’re finished, he takes it from your hand and sets it down. “There’s coffee in the kitchen too. I made it.” You smile. You go to stand up, but your knees buckle underneath you. He catches you before you topple to the ground, a gasp leaving your lips. You can feel his warmth from the night before spilling out of you.

“What? Are you okay?” He asks. “I.. yeah. Just..” you look down. He swallows hard when he sees it. “I tried to clean you up the best I could…” he mumbles. “Fuck that’s so hot baby.. I need to walk away.” He laughs. You look up at him, seeing he’s turned his head. “You don’t have to..” you mumble. He looks at you, eyebrows raised. “You.. want me to fuck you again?” He blushes, trying to hide it. You cover your face with the sleeve of his hoodie, blushing. He smiles, reaching forward and pulling it away from you face. “All you had to do was ask baby.” He smiles, reaching for the buckle on his belt. He’s already dressed. You’re blushing hard, avoiding eye contact. He chuckles at you. “Blush for me princess, makes you so cute.” He leans down, his nose nudging against yours. He grasps your thighs and slides you to the edge of the bed, pushing his jeans down his legs enough to where he can get closer to you. When he slides in, you gasp. It feels much more intense than the night before. He tilts his head back, swallowing hard. His adams apple bobs and you blush even harder, moaning as he rocks his hips into yours. You’re still covering your face with the sleeve and he grasps both of your hands, leaning over you to pin them above your head. “Don’t hide that pretty face from me..” he moans. “You’re so fucking pretty baby, such a pretty girl.” He gasps. Hips rocking into yours. He’s trying not to be too rough, he knows you’re sore. Your hair sprawled out on his bed, it’s something he wants to see forever. He knows you’re young and as selfish as it’d be of him. He needs to make you his. No matter what it takes.

—

The cup of coffee in your hand is heavenly, he was a master at making coffee. The seat in his truck is warming up, and you’re comfortable as he drives to your dads house. When he pulls up, you look confused. “Where is my car?” You ask. John shrugs. “Don’t know. That’s weird.” Your growl. Opening the door to his truck. “That fucking bitch.” You mumble. John grasps hold of the column shifter, throws his truck in park and gets out, following after you to the front door. He holds back a smirk when he sees you walking with a slight limp, legs still shaky. So bold yet so weak for him. You knock on the door and tilt one of your hips out, resting your hand on it. He likes it. Angry mom behavior.

Your dad and Step-mom answer the door, giving you a surprised look. “Hey Y/N.” Your dad smiles. “Where is my car?” You ask. He looks at your step-mom. “I thought you said she came and got it earlier?” He asks. She pouts. “I’m sorry, it was in my way so I had it towed.” He laughs. “Oh that’s okay sweetheart. I’m sure she’ll understand.” You’re fuming and John can see it. “No, it’s not fucking okay. Are you kidding me?” You’re seething. “Watch your mouth young lady.” Your dad warns. “Or else what? Huh? What the fuck do you have in mind exactly? Kick me out? Say I’m not welcome? Pick your stupid whore of a wife over me? Oh wait.” You roll your eyes. “You’re paying for these goddamn fees.” You point a finger at her. “Hey, Y/N. It’s okay. I can give you a ride home for now.” John reaches out to grasp your arm. “John..” you groan. “It’s not your responsibility.” You mumble. “It’s my fault for trusting my car over night with a lying, cheating, skank, whore roaming around.” You growl, taking a step toward her. John steps forward, pulling you back. “Come on, I’ll take you home Y/N.” John tries to tug you away but you don’t budge. “She’s a big girl John. Let her fight her own battles.” Your dad looks at him. John crosses his arms, looking unimpressed. “Yeah, I wouldn’t let her fight this one. She looks like she’s about to tear your wife’s face off.” John looks at him. “This is none of your business.”

“Y/N is my business now.”

Your dad looks at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks. John can see the little devil in your eyes. “You let your daughter go home with a man twice her age, what do you think that means, hm?” You smirk. His eyes move back and fourth between you and John. He shakes his head. “John wouldn’t do that. He respects me too much.”

“No, I don’t respect you at all after last night and today. You treat your own daughter like shit.”

Your dad looks at him. “Yeah but that doesn’t mean that you’d..” the smirk on your lips. The hint of mischief in John’s eyes. “You slept with my daughter?” Your dad is fuming. John swipes his hand off on his jeans. “Yeah. I fucked her. Took her virginity actually. Made her cum all over my cock. And you know what my favorite thing is actually?” He pauses. “When I fuck her again, tonight. I’m gonna make her call me daddy too.” Your dad is still fuming. “You mother-“ your step mom stops him. “It’s okay, just forget about her.” She mumbles. “Cmon John.” You grasp his arm, finally pulling him away. You both get into his truck.

John drives for a minute, pulling off of the road onto a back road, where nobody can see anything. You’re silent for the whole ride, and after he parks, you finally take a deep breath. “Holy fuck I can’t believe that.” You say, eyes wide. “Yeah I know.. I took it too far I shouldn’t have said that.” He sighs. “Are you serious?” You look at him. A laugh leaving your lips. “We finally put them in their place.” You laugh. “What you said? Was so fucking hot.” You say, still in shock. John laughs. You look at him, moving over the center console to straddle his hips, smashing your lips to his. He grasps your hips. You rock your hips into his, desperate for his cock again. He shoves his foot into the metal pedal, his seat sliding all of the way back with a cranking noise. He’s kissing you back with just as much force as you’re kissing him with, his hand grasping on your shirt and squeezing you into him as tight as he can. You have your hands wrapped around his neck, and he pushes your shorts down your legs, the ones you had on the day before. He unzips his jeans, pulling his cock through the hole. You hover over him, sinking down onto him with a moan. His mouth muffles it. When you pull away, rocking your hips into him, he relaxes. Letting the pleasure take over. “Oh fuck yeah baby-“ he gasps. You’re bouncing your hips into him faster, leaning in to kiss him as hard as you did before. He’s moaning into your lips, thinking about how dirty this is. However he got himself in this situation, he’s happy. You make him feel young again, so fucking crazy. You pull away, resting your forehead against his. Panting hard as you keep a steady pace. You moan out. Tilting your head back. “Fuck-“ he reaches down, rubbing his thumb over your clit. “Say it.” He mumbles. “Hm?” You ask. “Say it.” He pants. His hand connects with your bare ass in a harsh slap. “Say what I want you to say baby..” he smirks. You blush hard, “Daddy…” you pant. He bites his lip. Tilting his head into the seat behind him. “Fuuuck.. that’s so fucking hot princess.” He groans. You lean into him again. And he looks at you. “Fuck.. I love you.” He breathes. Chest heaving. His eyes widen after he says it, he doesn’t mean to. You kiss him again, steadily rocking your hips into him.

He’s right at his peak, and he knows you are too. “I love you too.” You say it when you pull away and the sparks that shoot through him, it’s too much. He’s right there, so close. He starts to lift his hips up into you, groaning out. “Oh fuck- Daddy!” You cry out. “Yes baby, I know you’re so close. Cum for me.” He breathes. “Cum on my dick again baby-“ he’s breathing so hard, it feels so good. He feels like he’s about to pass out. “Daddy- yes! So close. So so close.” He tears a cry from your throat as you reach your high, eyes shutting tightly and he moans out, jumping back as your pussy milks his cock of everything he has to give you. Flinching as you rock your hips into him once for good measure. You rest your head on his chest, and he runs a soothing hand over your back. The both of you still breathing so hard.

He wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you close to him. “Hey, look at me.” He mumbles. You lift your head, eyes drowsy. “Do you mean it?” He asks. “What?” You ask. “Do you love me?”

You blush, looking down. “John.. I’ve been in love with you. For years.” You mumble. “You’re sure it’s no crush?” He asks. “No, it’s no crush. I’m in love with you, John. Have been.” You mumble. He pushes your hair behind your ear. “I love you too. And I can take care of you baby. You can come live with me, I’ll make sure you have everything you need.” He breathes. You smile. “John, I can’t leach off of you like that. It’s no fair.” He rolls his eyes, lifting his hips to adjust himself, earning a gasp from you. “Leach? No. I want to take care of you baby. You’re a princess, you deserve nice things. You deserve to be treated with respect. Let me take care of you. Help you get through school.” He smiles. You blush, kissing him again. “I’ll help you get your car back, we can start moving your things this weekend. I want you. Forever. And I’ll never ever let anyone come between you and I. Not ever. I’ll never treat you the way everyone else does.” He holds your head against his. “Promise?” You raise your pinky up and he takes it with a smile. “I promise. Now Cmon.” You smile. “Okay, Daddy.” You smirk. He swats your ass playfully making you jump into him. “Ah!” You giggle, sliding off of him. He groans out as you do. You slide your shorts back on, climbing off of him and back into his passenger seat.

How you went from a shitty family barbecue to this? You’ll never understand.

[tragedy-of-commons]

HOMECOMING.

── dan heng x gn!reader

summary: Your boyfriend invites you to spend Christmas break with him and his eccentric (but lovable all the same) family. You oblige.

contains: modern and university au, established relationship, comedy and tooth-rotting fluff, christmas shopping, the astral express fam all make appearances (pre-2.7), setting is very american-inspired (sorry), cringefail exuberant reader, one hurt/comfort scene

word count: 11.4k oops

taglist: @singularity-sam, @mitsvriii, @tetrachrxmacy, @bladism, @mikashisus

notes: for @azuresaqua, written for the @/stellaronhvnters secret santa 🎄 this took all month, but i hope you like it crys!! also this totally looks fine on dark mode. if you think otherwise then ummm SHHH. dividers by @/cafekitsune!

Your phone blares with its usual grating ringtone, startling you out of your reverie.

Scrambling to pick the device up, you’re pleasantly surprised. So much so that you drop the sweatshirt in your free hand mid-fold. The caller ID reads Dan Heng, lighting up your homescreen with his contact icon.

A warmth buzzes in your chest as you look it over, a giggle erupting from your throat. The selfie is of you and him, with Dan Heng looking particularly spacey in the midst of the bustling street.

You’re now considerably less bored. You’ve been looking for an excuse to procrastinate doing your laundry all day, and it just so happens to entail talking with your lovely partner. Not waiting any longer, you clear your throat, tap the green accept button, and press the speaker to your ear.

“Hi, darling!” you chirp, shifting to sit more comfortably, “I miss you. How’re you holding up? Still in the library studying the day away?”

The other line crackles with life. “Hello. I feel the same,” Dan Heng informs you matter-of-factly, his cadence clear as a river. “And no, I’m not there anymore. It was… too crowded for my liking.”

That’s no surprise. Finals are upon the whole campus in a few days, and it shows. There is a distinct, depressing atmospheric pressure that weighs upon your fellow students. 

The scourge of exams, the final boss of the semester, the enemy of mental fortitude and peace. Though Dan Heng loves your university’s expansive library, you can imagine he’d be less enthralled when a hundred tired young adults are populating it to cram.

“Yeah, I can imagine,” you wince. “Well, look on the bright side. We’re almost done, yeah? Soon enough, the library will be solely your domain once again, and you can be a doll and skim the archives in my stead.”

His voice takes on a sarcastic lilt, affection hidden underneath the words like a hard-won reward. You think it’s an indulgence for him. “If my memory serves correctly, I had to smooth things over with the librarian on your behalf. I don’t think it’s a wise idea for you to loiter there any longer, as energetic as you are.”

How cheeky! Honestly, you’re not even that loud. Sometimes you laugh a little too hard at benign things (like the way some book titles sound out of context), or react too vibrantly at the wrong times (like exclaiming profanities after tripping over your own feet), but those aren’t crimes.

Even now, ruminating over this reasoning, you still don't understand how you got banned from the library. Unreal.

“Hey, come on now! I don’t even loiter… I just want to spend time with you, even if studying isn’t something I burden myself with. That guy has it out for me,” you insist, growing smile threatening to split your face in two. “Anyway, I’m not saying this to be rude, but…”

“But?” Dan Heng asks cautiously.

“You normally don’t call first. Is everything okay?”

You mean it when you ask. Though you love your boyfriend, he isn’t the best at initiating longform communication. Sometimes you’ll get a text with a link to a video he found interesting, or he’ll update you with life (mostly just classes and endless papers), and then you’ll respond by quadruple-texting and then maybe calling him. For hours. And then asking to come over to his dorm. And then falling asleep with him. All at your request, which he doesn’t seem to mind.

That being said, it’s atypical that he takes up the mantle, which makes you worry. And if you worry, Dan Heng feels guilty. Trying not to be patronizing, you patiently wait for him to speak on his own terms, humming to yourself idly. You could, y’know, do your laundry, but you’re not gonna do that. Free will is so cool and awesome.

“Yes, everything’s fine,” he assures, words measured. “I just have something I’d like to run by you, but I didn’t want to interrupt if you were busy.”

“I’m never busy! Spill!” Extremely curious, you pluck your phone from your ear and put Dan Heng on speaker. While you’re at it, you also stand up and pace the short length from your bed to the door of your suite, clothes abandoned on the floor. 

“It’s about this winter break. We haven’t conferred on plans yet, but I was planning to ask you if you’d meet my… my family. Of course, it all depends on your availability - don’t feel too rushed to answer, I’d just like to know in advance so I can get things in order on my end.”

Woah, what just happened? You stop walking to think, gears spinning and grinding and pushing all sorts of implications. His family. 

Dan Heng has one, yes, he divulges details every once in a while and elaborates on his mishmash of a homelife when you ask, but you’ve never heard him refer to these mystical figures as family. They’ve always been referred to as my friend, followed by their name. You know them well, committing each to memory despite not having met them yet: March, Caelus, Welt, and Himeko. 

Of course, you pester your boyfriend about them. Nothing too invasive, just remembering the important details. Asking for updates about March’s creative ventures or inquiring if Himeko’s coffee has gotten any more palatable, to name a few. 

In turn, Dan Heng would make a comment about how they also pester him about you. It’s like a big game of telephone - this indirect communication is what you’re used to. It’s kind of surreal to think about actually meeting them after all this time.

Then the joy comes. He wants to share this part of his life with you. Is this the natural next step in your relationship, like all seasoned married couples fondly reflect back on? Dan Heng wants to spend three and half weeks with you, uninterrupted, at home. His home.

Tears prick at your eyes, but you blink them away, grinning like an absolute fool. Does he really think you’ll say no? You’d already do anything to make him happy. Despite being several buildings and crosswalks away from him right now, your hearts feel impossibly close together.

(It’s not like you have anything else planned.)

That thought is pushed away as quickly as it comes. No time for you to be bitter when it’s the season of giving and all things cheerful! This opportunity is nothing short of a blessing… you’re saved from being cramped up inside the inevitably deserted hall for the entirety of break. You’re saved from having to admit to Dan Heng that I have nowhere to go and nothing to do like everyone else. 

Shock, joy, relief. 

“Oh my god,” you laugh, breathy. With a repressed-young-man-trained-ear, you catch a soft sigh of relief dissipating on the other line. “Yes, of course I want to meet them! Dude, this is so exciting! What if I died? What if I blew up the entirety of campus in my merriment? What then?”

He is far too used to your theatrics to react too strongly to them at this point. “...I wouldn’t put it past you. But I’m glad you said yes. There’s just the issue of details to work out.”

Dan Heng proposes different times on different days to leave. Well, he probably went more in depth than that - he likes to schedule and plan for the future, even if he doesn’t always stick to those self-imposed regulations in the end - probably droning on about the cost of gas or something. But you’re way too shell-shocked to respond coherently, muffling squeals and noncommittal hums that give away exactly how much you’re not paying attention.

Digesting about half of the information, you bring up what you have left to do before winter break after he does the same: registration for next semester’s classes, turning in textbooks for certain courses (thank the stars renting is affordable here), and the remaining days riddled with finals. 

Despite how daunting these tasks are for others, you find yourself enjoying the denouement. Guessing on scantrons has gotten you pretty far, and the other obligations can be swiftly eliminated through sheer will and lots of Christmas music. Your Spotify listening history must look like some kind of tinsel-festooned warzone.

This will be your first ever Christmas with Dan Heng. He’s never been extremely festive by any means, but you cajoled him into a matching Halloween costume a month ago, and he is fond of horror movies despite how silly they can be, offering little bits of trivia or his critiques on the film’s score. 

You think this holiday, spent at his home, in his hometown - will be the source of many happy memories. It’ll also, hopefully, be another endless source of teasing. 

Images flit through your mind, the most notable of which being your stoic boyfriend in a truly hideous red and green sweater. You snicker to yourself until your amusement is disturbed by Dan Heng promptly clearing his throat. 

He says your name in that soft way that makes you weak in the knees. You’re under his spell just as much as he is under yours. You should take to reminding him of that more often. “Just to be clear, is this alright with you?”

It’s so much more than alright, you think. Winter, for all of its bitter cold and unforgiving responsibilities, still teems with life as the leaves die. For every day you’ve spent alone during the last two Christmases, you’ll be repaid with one in kind spent with Dan Heng and the people he trusts most.

You’re blessed with the sweet thought that you’re now a part of those treasured, trustworthy few as well. 

You know you’ve been treasured for a long time, but feeling it actualized, solidified in action, is as homey and warm as a burning hearth.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I am, darling. I’m so excited that I think I’m shaking!”

You tighten your grip on your phone, almost leaving indents in the shitty case, attempting to still your vibrating fingers. His response is a mumble along the lines of you should probably eat something, and I’m glad. Dan Heng can be a little awkward, especially over the phone, but that just speaks of his sincerity. He’s glad you’re coming. 

You scuttle over to the window beside your bed, yanking the blinds askew to peek outside. A glimpse of the first frost coating the student parking lot promises something more. Something magical and childlike.

Joy. You have a feeling you’re going to be extremely insufferable to any and all scrooges (people rightfully sick of dealing with your chipper attitude) in the coming days. Oh well, they can suck it up because it’s the most wonderful time of the year, and you’re in love with the most amazing person in the world. 

You tell him not to worry, which he sighs at, and then the brunt of the conversation is over. The following silence is calm but electric, dragging on for just the right amount of time. A well-deserved respite, you think. 

“I love you,” you confess.

“...I love you too. Touch base soon.”

With that, the call ends abruptly. Your cheeks feel hot and you’re reinvigorated, daydreaming of Dan Heng’s expressions obscured by distance - you want nothing more than to see him, but you know your partner well enough to realize when he needs a break; to realize when he needs his alone time. You would never begrudge him for it.

That was a fucking whirlwind.

You shove your phone in your pocket after nudging the blinds back in place. There’s so much to do, and you’re definitely gonna need another run-down of the schedule (preferably in person), but for now, you’ll let yourself be over the moon and overrun with task paralysis. 

Triumphantly, you turn to flip off your abandoned pile of laundry. Free will is so cool and awesome.

“We are so back!”

You’re so impatient that you’ve started counting the hours.

The final stretch is a lot more boring than you thought it was going to be. Picking a time to check out of your dorm, fixing up any scuffs on the walls from your shitty posters before room inspection, actually passing your classes. The normal stuff. 

Both you and Dan Heng decided that you would leave at around three in the morning on the first day of break. It sounded bewildering at first, and you had levelled him with a look that made him hurriedly elaborate.

“In order to get there at a reasonable time, it’s the best way to go,” he’d said over coffee. “The drive isn’t more than a few hours, but if we leave right after routine inspection, we’d be arriving in the middle of the night.”

Though the mental image of showing up on a quaint little home’s doorstep in your pajamas and waking up the whole neighborhood with your knocking is funny, it’s not funny enough to quell your nerves. 

You’ve noticed, usually in the midst of trying to be productive, that the excitement is weighing heavily on your heart. Your hands are perpetually shaky, you’re sweating disgusting buckets, and you’re sure you look as if you’ve lost your marbles to any soul brave enough to strike up conversation.

That last part came to your attention when Bronya, your desk neighbor in your Interpersonal Communications class, dared ask you if she could borrow a pencil. She barely got the question out before she asked if you were alright. And if Bronya asks you if you’re alright, it means that you must look terrible. 

Sure enough, you are getting less and less sleep, and you’ve been prone to twitching. In retrospect, you probably had that wild look in your eye that screamed I am at rock bottom and it’s in the public’s best interest that I’m contained.

But you’re not at rock bottom! You’re just nervous, and it’s weird when you’re nervous, because such an occurrence is as rare as a blue moon. You’re going to be meeting Dan Heng’s family in a matter of days, and you’re expected to behave as a normal, functioning member of society. Unbelievable. Even the love of your life has noticed the difference in your behavior - he seems disturbed but respectful. 

You recall him asking if you were ill, which you had vehemently denied. Then he kissed you under the thin covers of his bed, and everything was fine for a moment.

But you think you’re feeling better on this day in particular. To distract yourself from the anxiety, you’ve sunk deeper into the holiday cheer. With Dan Heng at your side, you’ve blown off classes for the day to go gift shopping. The outlet mall near your university is always bustling, but during this time of year, you’d think there’s an overpopulation crisis wreaking havoc on your city.

Escalators are crammed with excited children dragging their parents along, there are decorations painstakingly put up in every nook and cranny, and you have a mission to see through.

“Thanks for ditching to help me out,” you preface. “It’d be way too difficult to shop for your family on my own. Just the idea of stress-buying things they may not even like… ugh. Also, wow! I realized you haven’t told me jack shit about them! I’m actually clueless.”

Dan Heng is not amused, but he doesn’t outright refute your assertion. “I suppose you have a point. And I didn’t ditch class,” he emphasizes, ears red. “Psychology got canceled.”

Here, among the sea of people, Dan Heng looks his least confident. While you, the person known for befriending every stray cat you meet, look your best.

The juxtaposition makes you feel fuzzy, and you know in your heart that he would've helped you anyway, even if he had class. He can be so obvious but so subtle at the same time. You tug on the sleeve of his sweatshirt once, purely affectionate. 

“Right. Uh, where do we start? Who’s the easiest to shop for?” you wonder aloud, crossing the stretches of marble and doing your best to peer down the massive store-lined strip. “We could start with March. She’s into crafty stuff, right?”

Your boyfriend tames a cowlick in his dark hair. “Yes. You seem to have a plan figured out already, but she uses up heaps of film while taking photos. An arts and crafts store would likely have the 600 type for her Polaroid. That’s what I had in mind in terms of a gift she’d appreciate.”

“We seem to be on the same page, but that just sounds so… impersonal! Bit of a safe choice, don’t you think? Let’s play it by ear and see what they have. I’m sure she’d also appreciate something handmade. I think I have enough time to DIY a gift; they probably have kits for all sorts of stuff.”

Dan Heng is starting off in the direction of the correct storefront. The display window is easily spotted, plastered with all kinds of paper mache ornaments. “You don’t need to fret. Knowing her, she’ll love anything that comes from you.”

You blink, grinning. “Really? Didn’t know I was so popular.”

“You have no idea,” sighs Dan Heng.

Warmly titled Make n’ Create, the door chimes, signifying your entry. Immediately, you’re assaulted by the smell of candles - a few hundred thousand, you hazard. 

Scents of vanilla and evergreen paired with cinnamon burn your nostrils as you survey the aisles of winding shelves overflowing with endless possibilities. Almost forgetting to return the greeting of the woman behind the counter, you snap out of your stupor and drag your boyfriend along.

Everything looks enticing… your savings account is telling you to be responsible, but your heart is telling you to snatch up and squirrel away any item of interest just in case. You wander the marble floor under the bright fluorescents, humming under your breath. “Hey, we can probably save some time and split up. Could you go look for the film? We’ll definitely get that along with whatever catches my eye.”

Relieved to have something to do, Dan Heng nods and disembarks from your side, perilously weaving between other shoppers buzzing with excitement. He mentioned that he deliberately put off Christmas shopping since you insisted on doing it together, the thought alone satisfying. 

The prospect of scrawling both of your names on the same box, passed off into eager hands. The words will read From: Dan Heng and his partner.

Rounding a corner, the pottery and ceramics section calls to you like a siren. There are stocks upon stocks of white, unpainted Christmas trees and wreaths, advertised as blank canvases to decorate as your own - paint included. Those are cute, but something relevant year-round would probably be received better. 

Impressions, impressions. Your gaze drops lower, dutifully searching…

Aha!

Ceramic jewelry dishes. Same gimmick as the trees and wreaths, but not necessarily seasonal. There are a few different types among the kits - heart-shaped, some with hinges that open and close, even some with music box elements with heftier price tags. 

Your intuition slaps you across the face multiple times. March will love one of these, you just know it! Cautious, you spare a shifty glance from left to right before squealing to yourself. The package in your hand is crisp and promising as you check over the price and instructions.

Dan Heng returns to witness your perfect find. You know this because you recognize the soft padding of his footsteps anywhere (which is not creepy). You turn to see him and the fond look in his eye - and the aforementioned packages of film he’s clutching. 

“Hey, you,” you chuckle. “You found it, great! Anyway, look what I stumbled upon. Do you think she’ll--” “Yes,” he breathes, suddenly decisive. “She will. Especially the heart one.”

Quickly heeding the ever-rare suggestion from Dan Heng, you discard the now inferior package and seize the heart-shaped one. “I trust your judgment. She has good taste, honestly. Thanks for your help, love, I appreciate it. I know for a fact she likes pink, and though my hands are a little clumsy… I’ll make a masterpiece outta this, trust me.”

He exhales through his nose. That’s a laugh if you’ve ever heard one. “You sound so resolute…”

“Duty-bound, if you will,” you grin. “We can move on to the next place if you’d like. Didn’t expect to be done here so fast.”

“...wait.”

You tilt your head, following his line of sight back to the shelves. He seems transfixed on something else there, and a few seconds go by in silence as you’re left to figure out what it is on your lonesome. 

Dan Heng has gotten better at speaking his mind - he was never bad at it, but sometimes words get tangled up in his reticent hesitation. You understand this well. So, you try to determine what’s caught his eye. The understanding you come to is a nice one. The lowest rung of the shelf, almost overshadowed, are more ceramics - no surprise there. But it feels like fate the way that they’re displayed; two sturdy coffee cups with intricate handles, then a miniature raccoon forever inlaid with a devilish expression, practically commanding a paintbrush to make its mischievous grin come to life with color. 

Himeko, Welt, Caelus.

You laugh, loud and bright, grabbing your boyfriend’s hand with a conspiratorial grin. “Four birds with one stone, huh? We’re gonna need a cart!”

Dan Heng is blushing. It’s subtle, not at all burning or obvious to any nosy bystanders, but it’s enough to make your heart sing with delight. You take it he’s glad that you picked up on his thoughts so wordlessly. 

He excuses himself after muttering something about going to get the cart while you smile like an idiot. A lovestruck idiot. A lovestruck idiot with a soon-to-be overdrawn bank account.

…well, not exactly. After you gather everything and go to check out, he insists on paying for all of it. You make sure to argue with him in front of the very amused cashier, reaching a compromise in no time at all thanks to your amazing negotiation skills. He’ll pay for this load (whatever), and you’ll pay for any remaining splurges today. It’s only natural you need to stop by a few more places, considering March has two gifts while the others only have one. 

By the time Dan Heng’s social battery is drained and yours is frayed, you have everything. An apparel outlet that you would’ve never stepped foot in normally now has your patronage; a golden brooch in the shape of a rose (that’s surprisingly affordable) for Himeko, a classy but patterned tie for Welt, and a trendy jacket for Caelus.

You think you’re the most jealous of that last one - it has many pockets and takes up enough space to suffocate a small orphan.

Hauling the bags into the icy parking lot, you suddenly stop in your tracks, feeling the generous weight of your spending in the process. “Hold on.”

Your tired but loving partner heeds your command. “What? Is something the matter?”

“We forgot to shop for each other,” you point out, sheepish and breathy. Seems you’ve both been so caught up in the tradewinds that you forgot. “Should we go back inside?”

“No,” he blurts, “I’ve already acquired your gift.”

Gobsmacked, you almost drop your share of the bags. He’s been holding out on you?! The surprise quickly fades into mushy limerence before it dulls. “Huh? When did you do that? Oh shit, I haven’t gotten you anything yet… dude, I’m sorry, I’ll head back inside, all secret mission-esque and find you something while you wait in the car--” 

Dan Heng shakes his head. “You… you don’t have to.”

The hell? Does he even know how Christmas works? “Of course I do, come on,” you push forward. Knowing you’ve already forgotten where you’ve parked, he strides out in front of you and leads the way, preparing to argue his case. “We’ll put these in the back, and I’ll find you an amazing gift, you’ll see.”

You both reach his little beat-up sedan (which you’ve aptly named Granny), while he fumbles for his keys. He sighs, rolling the frigid joints in his shoulders as he opens the driver’s seat to unlock the trunk. Setting the bags down on the gross pavement is unfortunately inevitable. You throw the thing open, already loading. 

Dan Heng’s rebuttal is almost startling.

“I don’t need an ‘amazing gift’. I have you.”

You freeze. Where did he pull that from? Are you hallucinating again? Is this like the time you stayed up for two days straight to half-ass a dozen unfinished assignments? Or maybe it’s selective hearing… such a line is probably from an old romcom that you’re mentally regurgitating and then projecting onto him.

But you don’t tease or ask him to repeat it. Instead, you choose to fully believe and embrace that compliment, warming your heart and your cheeks. His expression is obscured from your position, but he probably looks the same.

“I’m… really glad you think so, Dan Heng,” you almost whisper.

Before he can say anything else that’ll ruin the moment, you decide that’s your job! and slam the trunk closed, deafeningly loud. 

“But that’s unacceptable! I’ll find you something perfect in the coming days no matter what!”

You hear him sigh before you hear his approaching footsteps. “Try not to stress too hard about it. Also, open that back up, there are more bags.”

“Oops,” you giggle. “Why not ask me nicely, like in that Romeo way you did five seconds ago?”

Your other half rightfully elects to ignore you.

As you finish wrapping up with him at your side, the subsequent ride back to campus is in comfortable silence. The buzz of what’s to come lingers on your mind as you stare out of the passenger window at the familiar scenery. You’ll find time to squeeze in finding a gift for Dan Heng, you’ll make sure of it. 

But for now, what to pack for the impending trip…?

You wake to the sound of your blaring alarm. Scrambling for your phone to make the thing shut up, you’re blinded by the time. It’s 2:30 in the morning, you’re disoriented, and you desperately want to go back to sleep. But when you really come to a minute later after hitting snooze, it all sinks in. 

Your room inspection is over with, your finals have been taken (you didn’t fail any of them, yay), and you have to leave campus with Dan Heng in about thirty minutes. Surreal that you’re awake at this hour, you go about getting ready - this includes texting the man of the hour to make sure he didn’t oversleep.

To your satisfaction, he responds swiftly. To your horror, he mentions that he’s ready and waiting. Unfair, in your opinion - why is he always punctual, and why are you always late?

You look in the mirror at your haphazard reflection. Not too shabby; just a leisure t-shirt and some sweatpants, pulled together by the thickest jacket you have since it’s grown even colder out. Your bags are already packed and practically bursting at the seams, loaded with your essentials, and of course the presents for Dan Heng’s family. 

You spent all of your free time crammed between everything else painting the ceramics while he wrapped and made everything else look pretty.

(You almost got crudely mixed pink paint on your dorm wall - well, you did just a little bit. Luckily it came off without the need to go sprinting to the nearest hardware store in pursuit of a cover-up job. That would have been bad. Very bad. Also, you left the primary suite door open to ventilate, and at least three students walking down the hallway witnessed your perfectionism-driven breakdown. Also, your suitemate hates you now.)

All of that’s over, though. Making sure you have everything once, then twice, then three whole times - you decide it’s finally time to go. You lug everything out of your dorm, down the hallway, into the elevator, and wait as it descends.

You check your phone, updating your boyfriend as the cabin grinds to a halt on the ground floor. Outside is nothing short of beautiful, if not hypothermic.

Snow falls in tiny flurries that make the dark cement purgatory look like a dream. The floodlights leave some corners of the parking lot shadowed, but illuminate Dan Heng just right. You spot him and his old ass car smack dab in the middle of all the empty spaces, just about everyone having vacated already.

“Hi, darling,” your breath syncs with the air as a wispy cloud. You kiss his cheek. “You ready?”

“I have been for the better part of an hour,” he informs you, perhaps a little grumpy from waking up so early - or it could just be that wry sarcasm rearing its head.

You find that Dan Heng is neither an early bird nor a night owl, oscillating between the two like nobody’s business. He’s up when he needs to be, including now, softened under the touch of your lips. 

And so, without much fanfare, the road trip commences. It’s notably different than the other times he’s chauffeured you around - so silent and grave. It kind of puts a damper on the Christmas spirit you’ve so painstakingly adopted, but you think twice about cranking the radio. He is the one driving, after all.  

You offered to switch with him halfway, and to his credit, he thought about it. But then Dan Heng politely shook his head and muttered something about bad weather and hydroplaning. Whatever a hydroplane is, you aren’t sure what it has to do with you being untrustworthy behind the wheel. 

The pleasant blast of the heater, the occasional robotic warbling from the GPS app, and the noise of the light drizzle outside are your more talkative companions. You’re getting antsy; you feel it in the bouncing of your leg and how you mindlessly chew on the dead skin of your bottom lip. 

Should you try to ignore it? Put on your headphones and tune out? The thought is appealing. 

Instead, you pipe up a few minutes before you’re due to turn on the interstate.

“Wanna get coffee?” you singsong. “I mean, you especially are going to need the caffeine to keep awake. Sleep deprivation is, like, the number three reason people get into car crashes.”

Dan Heng huffs in amusement. You’re glad that got some kind of reaction out of him, glad that the stoney silence has been broken. But if you’re being completely honest with yourself (which you really hate doing), this detour suggestion is just an excuse to delay the inevitable. For all of your joy, lingering anxiety chips away at your trademark smirk. 

You decide to bribe him just a little. “I’m buying.”

He turns into the nearest place without any further prodding. The coffee, which you have successfully paid for by the way, is nice. The searing light of the menu options, clambering over Dan Heng to place your orders as loud as you can because you know it’s hard for them to hear anything - fleeting memories of taking orders at your high school part-time job and all that. 

As you take the cup holder tray from your partner, ferried through the drive thru window, he speaks up, much to your chagrin.

“You’re nervous,” he says, leaving no room for doubt. You continue to situate the drinks and glance into the side view mirror, taking a sudden rapt interest in the line forming behind you.

You decide to lie. Maybe he’ll be merciful and let you work this one out on your own. “Me? Nervous? Whatever gives you that impression? Perhaps you needed the coffee more than I thought… poor Dan Heng, so tired that he’s hallucinating…” you whistle.

Gaslighting, unfortunately, doesn’t work. Persuasion check must’ve rolled off. Dan Heng says your name, soft but stilted in a way that makes your heart ache. He rolls out of the drive thru after checking the rearview mirror, his knuckles white around the steering wheel. They gain their color back after he realizes you’re staring at them.

“I’m nervous too. Extremely.” You’re back on the highway, and you fiddle with the GPS to get yourself back en route, taking in his words as they come. Dan Heng is being candid with you; encouraging. “Going back home is always an… ordeal.”

You deflate a bit, conflict warring on your face. Considering how flustered he gets when you dote on him, albeit within his limits, you can’t imagine how exhausting being fussed at from all angles would be. Not like he’s a kid, but that he’s returning home after another semester of being independent.

“Yeah, um, I can imagine. I don’t know much about that stuff, but it’ll probably be amplified with me coming with you. We’ll get through it together and have a great time.”

You say it to convince yourself more than him, but it works. Perhaps that was his plan all along?

“Yes,” agrees Dan Heng. “We will.”

The interstate stretch, predictably, is the most sizable chunk of the trip. Temptation whispers in your ears tantalizingly, the idea of a nap or two at the forefront of your sleep-addled mind. The soft pitter-patter of the rain against the windshield battling with the snow makes it even harder to resist.

So, you doze soundly in your reclined seat, nice and warm. You think you feel a hand, cold and calloused, brushing against your cheek, but fighting it would require waking up to demand he focus on the road! It retracts, and you’re out for a good long while.

You know that for a fact, because when you wake up, dawn is encroaching. The stars are still visible against the bleeding horizon. You feel much better, even if Dan Heng suppresses a smile at your expense - you seriously must look wrecked from a few simple hours of rest. Geez.

You yawn, waking up to chat. Your boyfriend looks unruffled, cool eyes scanning road signs for a place to apparently fuel up.

He tells you that there’s only about an hour or so left, the ETA checking out. Nerves flood your system, but after a deep breath and stepping out to stretch your legs, you feel better.

“Who knew you were so good at pep talks,” you tease, if not to hide the fact you’re completely enamored with him. You fill up the tank after he cuts the engine, purposefully yelling so he can hear your words through the rolled up windows. “My man, the motivator!”

You hear his ensuing groan, claiming mental victory as the pump dings. Easy. 

Staring at the signs of his hometown, a foreign sense of wonder engulfs you as you split from the interstate. Has that diner been there since Dan Heng was a kid? Did he even spend all of his childhood in one place? Should you ask, or is that too invasive? 

The trees lining the grassy outcrops are tiny and thin, likely just having been planted by the city. How much has changed since you’ve started monopolizing his time?

Your questions spill out, and he does his best to answer them - but he also seems nostalgic, wistful and pained. Your earlier revelation rings true; you don’t know much about Dan Heng’s past.

That’s slowly changing as he tells you some stories, though his words are messy and create a muddled image in your head. You don’t push too far, chattering his ear off in response to keep things lighthearted. 

(Maybe you’ll be more open about yourself too. Maybe.)

Then you careen into a residential area. It’s more suburban than you expected for a city-town hybrid of this size, streets of apartment units and then gated communities of houses. You whistle because you’re almost there, you can feel it!

“Which one is it, huh?” you pester, practically pressing your face against the glass. “Come on, pick up the pace a little!”

“I am not keen on getting a ticket this far in. A few more turns.”

True to his word, a row of townhouses come into view. They’re not massive, but the few you see are brimming with character. Full, decadent awnings and aged brick matched with just the right colors to make your brain happy. They look lived in, filled with memories that you’re eager to digest and, hopefully, be a part of.

Dan Heng pulls into the driveway of the oldest-looking one and parks. The GPS drones on, informing you of your arrival. Your anxiety has almost entirely abated at this point, thank the heavens and stars, and it’s near time to face the music with open arms.

“What a nice place! I guess we should greet them, and then start unloading?”

He nods. It’s still cold out, but less so than at school. Stepping out onto the pavement gives you a little thrill, and you trail behind Dan Heng, stuffing your hands into your jacket pockets as you stare at the front door.

It has a little brass knocker in lieu of a doorbell, and you reach out to grasp it on instinct. Your hand brushes his that had reached out at the same time.

You wiggle your eyebrows at him. 

He sighs and finally knocks after you reel your grubby hand back. It all comes down to this - kind of anticlimactic from someone else’s perspective, but paramount from yours. Who will answer the door?

The answer is immediate: Welt. The thing creaks open, revealing a tall, older man with graying brown hair and glasses. He’s utilizing a cane and looks exactly like you imagined, distinguished and fitting right into the scene with his creme turtleneck and kind eyes. He regards you both, first Dan Heng, then you. 

“You’re here early. Welcome back - and I see you’ve brought them, as promised,” Welt’s voice is warm, and you get the feeling the small smile he’s wearing is quite rare. “Come in, we’ve been waiting on you two. It’s an honor to meet Dan Heng’s esteemed partner.”

You’re utterly awestruck, responses forming on your tongue only to dissolve into garbled nothings. As you robotically follow inside, you watch as Dan Heng falls into an awkward-looking side hug with Welt - quickly averting your eyes so they can have a moment. Then, you can’t contain it anymore, speaking to your heart’s content.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too. I’ve heard a lot - well, not a lot, but enough,” you ramble unapologetically, taking in the decor of the foyer, “and I’m really excited to be here, you have no idea. Are those Ray Bans? You have a lovely home!”

Your boyfriend, wetting his chapped lips, communicates silently with Welt. You think it’s something like a greeting, a familial synergy you can’t quite grasp yet. Maybe it’s a warning: I am dating an idiot chatterbox, please be nice to them. 

That seems unlikely; necessitates further observation. This is just like Animal Planet. 

“Thank you, I recognize your sincerity. It’s a rare trait, these days,” he mutters mostly to himself, probably reminiscing on some mysterious past. He goes on to curtly answer your more frivolous questions while leading the two of you deeper inside. Dan Heng squeezes your hand and you share your own telepathic glance with him. 

This is going well!

The interior of the living room is striking, bearing the marks of age and care. You recognize most of the furniture as antiques - leather couches and loveseats with beautiful upholstery, a sage grandfather clock standing tall near the stone fireplace, and overflowing bookshelves that’d satiate even the most voracious of readers.

Paintings adorn every wall, not a square inch left blank. The mantle boasts many trinkets and baubles of various cultures, some of which you recognize - and some of which you don’t. Those could definitely be a great conversation starter! 

So charming, so quaint, so rich in history! You’d wax poetic and stare at each nifty little thing until your eyes bled if you could.

“Darling, I didn’t know you were so well-off! Maybe I should start calling you Mr. Old Money.” “...please don’t.”

Welt hides a chuckle in his gloved hand before surveying the room. “It seems everyone is doing their own thing. I’ll go get Himeko, she must be in her study,” he throws a look over his shoulder, uttering your name with just the right amount of phlegm. “Welcome. Don’t be afraid to make yourself at home.”

And you’re left alone to breathe for a short minute. You run your thumb over Dan Heng’s knuckles reverently, pondering aloud. “He’s so cool! He’s an animator, right? I’ve heard you mention something like that before.”

He nods. “Indeed. He’s worked on various pitch bibles for all kinds of IPs, but he’s more content on assuming quieter roles in the industry, or so he’s told us. His passion is what carries him, not the spotlight.”

“...that’s a great way to live,” you marvel. The air feels vulnerable after that, the nature of something as intangible as family running through the undercurrents of the house. “Do you think he’s right for being so humble?”

“It is not my place to comment, but… I can say that I look up to him,” he admits, giving your hand a shy squeeze. “Himeko is similar. She’s--” “--enthralled to finally meet your acquaintance?” 

A new voice cuts in. Himeko is also a vision, donning a winter shawl that wraps around a sepia-colored dress with tights, topped off with a beret. She looks absolutely stunning, and you’re overwhelmed with the urge to compliment her profusely. She stands at a comparable height to Welt, expression softened with mirth.

“It’s long since overdue,” Himeko extends a handshake which you take. Your jaw must be scraping the floor, which Welt and Dan Heng see fit to ignore.

She whips a ruby curl out of her face to scrutinize you - shit, you probably should’ve worn something nicer. First impressions and all that!

She greets Dan Heng with a hardy embrace after letting your hand go. He stands rigid.

“I was beginning to think he was making you up,” she teases. “When you both settle in, we have a lot to catch up on. Can we help you with your bags?”

You grin at your boyfriend, nudging him with your elbow. “Whaddya say, huh?”

He nods, shoulders slumping as if he’s made it past some great obstacle. 

“Great,” Welt interjects, heading back towards the front door with Himeko in tow. Dan Heng turns to you, voice akin to a whisper.

“March and Caelus are probably in their bedrooms or,” he sighs, “conspiring elsewhere. If you’d like, you can go on and look around while we deal with the luggage. It’s a lot to get used to, and you’re better off getting your curiosity out of your system.”

You gasp, splaying a hand over your heart. “You say that like I’m some unruly child! I’m not going to break anything…”

Dan Heng gives you a look.

“...this time,” you begrudgingly add.

Before he can hurry after them though, you gingerly (roughly) grab him by the collar and give him a smooch. It’s over as quick as it began, and you barely get a glimpse of his scandalized visage before you set off to explore. 

The adjoining hallway leading you out of the living room is painted stark white, all kinds of framed photographs hanging on display. Most of them are noir shots of famous people; movie stars, historical figures and the like. You stop in your tracks to look each of them over.

Some aren’t so impersonal. For example, there’s one of Himeko standing in a train station, posing on the platform with a massive and austere steam locomotive behind her. There is also a gray-haired dude at her side, pointing at the train with an exaggerated expression of shock. Caelus. And the photo’s signature - March 7th. 

Right on time, before you can continue snooping, you hear the distinct noise of bickering further down the hallway. You grin, sensing drama like a blood-sniffing shark. 

The muffled racket becomes clearer as you approach what is probably a bedroom door, and you hesitate for only a second before not-rudely throwing it open. You can deal with the consequences later. After all, this sounds more like banter than a serious argument - you would know!

The first thing you see are two figures with their backs turned to you. Pink and gray hair hunched over a desk - Caelus sitting and clicking furiously with March pointing at the one of the three flashing monitors, posing a threat to this hell of a gamer setup.

“You actually suck at this! Log off already, Dan Heng and his guest are going to be here soon,” she chastises as Caelus huffs, him dying moments later (in Pac-Man of all things). “Seriously, this is as boring as watching paint dry. I don’t know how you have so many viewers…”

You blink, scrutinizing the monitors again. Yes, there’s Pac-Man, but there’s also a live chat that seems to be going crazy, dozens of messages burying even more dozens of messages. There’s a facecam too, framing all three of you - wait, three? 

Oops. You’re live on Twitch.

“March is just a grade-A hater,” Caelus declares to his audience, “always betting against me. I’ll have all of you know that I, Whisperer of Dumpsters, Toilet Destroyer--”

A groan. “Not this again.”

They seem oblivious to the fact that you’re here, and you clamp a hand over your mouth to suppress a laugh. Clippers must be going nuts right about now…

Dan Heng never mentioned that Caelus took this career path - but then again, you can imagine he was trying to avoid the headache of you pestering him with stream references. Either way, you’re here now, and you’ll be damned if you pass up an opportunity this golden.

“They’ve been keeping me in the basement for three years!” you yell, causing both of them to jump and turn in bewilderment, “They’re frauds, kidnappers, liars--”

“We’ve been what?!” March shrieks. She’s either 1.) quickly adjusting to your improv and playing along or 2.) now wholeheartedly convinced that you’ve been held captive here under the floorboards.

The chat lags from how fast messages are coming in, and Caelus cackles maniacally before mashing a shortcut on his keyboard to switch to a Be Right Back screen. What a performance, and you also burst out in laughter, not unlike his. 

“Well, you certainly uh… made an entrance,” March grimaces, looking only slightly mortified. That sourness fades into a friendly smile as she scratches the back of her head. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Oh my god, c’mere!”

Caelus stares at you with beady eyes as she bounds towards your form in the doorway, engulfing you in a giant hug. You feel like crying again. This was supposed to be unserious, but you can’t help but already feel at home. 

“It’s nice to meet you too. Your hair clips are so cute!” 

You exchange pleasantries for a moment before you hear creaking. Caelus has stood up now, an unreadable expression on his face as he approaches slowly - like molasses slowly. One menacing stomp in front of the other like he’s trying to intimidate a bear. You tilt your head curiously while March spins around to look at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Group hug. Bring it in,” he answers cryptically.

March wrinkles her nose. “Why do you sound like that? You’ll creep them out!”

Caelus turns to you, looking for confirmation. Immediately, you understand what you must do. This chemistry you share with this kindred spirit should be studied in a lab under a microscope.

“Collective embrace,” you parrot. “Bring it in.”

“...so you’re both weird, huh? Just great.”

You respond by smushing both of them in a crushing hug, a chorus of giggles echoing off the walls, all three of you being the perpetrators. 

This year’s holidays are off to a great start.

Things surprisingly don’t drag on. 

What that means is a little hard to quantify; nebulous like carbon monoxide. You can’t see it, you can’t taste it, but it certainly takes its toll. 

The first day comes to a close after a shared dinner, a feast, really - you’d never seen so much food in your life and you scarfed it down like a starving man in between conversation on every topic under the sun. You’ve fallen into the swing of things so naturally, and while that’s good, it’s a little too good.

You’ve never considered anxiety to be a formidable foe in your life. You carry conversation, pass the cornbread, spice up everyone’s lives (sometimes at the detriment of your reputation), and most importantly, you do it with a smile.

But after a night or two spent in Dan Heng’s almost spartan bedroom, tossing and turning, you’re starting to believe you’re in more trouble than you thought previously.

The nerves are easy to suppress when you’re bouncing energy off someone else, lost in the moment, because you do truly enjoy the socializing - but that feeling lingers.

And when you’re left with nothing to do, staring at the ceiling with a vengeance on the third night of your stay, all of the doubt catches up. It gains ground until your heart thunders in your chest.

You’ve learned that Himeko is buddy-buddy with the department of transportation, doubling as an engineer and cartographer. She’s even had a part in restoring defunct trains to their former glory, spearheading many vacations along the way. 

(You don’t deserve to be privy to such a meaningful story.) 

Caelus can’t ride a bike. Neither can you. Upon coming to this seismic revelation, he offered to take the plunge with you in an attempt to learn if you were interested. You agreed before he could even get the full sentence out. 

(You’re only good at goofing around.)

March insisted that you be a temporary proofreader for her own university essays, most of which being on topics you could never wrap your head around in a million years.

Shenanigans ensued until you ended up denouncing higher education as a whole, choosing to believe in her own freestyle structure rather than whatever hellish rubric was being peddled. 

(You’re too airheaded to help in a normal way.)

You’ve even grown closer with Welt. You two listened to the crackling of the old gramophone in his respective study, chiming in with your own thoughts on his archaic but classic music taste. There was a little bit of discussion on media preservation, your earnest passion pairing well with his own. 

(You’re coming off too strong.)

But you feel the worst about the man sleeping next to you. 

You’re supposed to be in your highest spirits, but Dan Heng has gotten good at spotting your tells. The tightness of your smile comes off as overjoyed to your new friends, but strained to him. The guilt of possibly ruining it all is unforgiving, tightened about your neck like an evil scarf.

He knows something’s up, and you know that he knows. It’s on you for not being forward about your struggles - hell, you’ve scolded him countless times about how he clams up about feelings and all that mess. You’re just a little bit of a hypocrite, then. What would you even say on the subject?

Sorry I’m such a buzzkill? Sorry I haven’t been more open with you? Sorry that I’m the actual wors--

You muffle a sob, burying your face in Dan Heng’s pillow. You just need to calm down, even if that means getting snot on his nice shams. You hiccup, and to your muted horror, the mattress creaks with movement.

Voice rough with sleep and alarm, Dan Heng calls out to you. You tense but otherwise refuse to lift your head up from your comfy sanctuary, chest rising and falling in snappy bursts.

You can’t face him like this, so tangled in everything you feel. You feel so unbelievably guilty, even if a more sensible part of you knows you’re just overthinking.

“Please look at me.”

If you’re making comparisons, Dan Heng must be the wind. Gentle and mild like a calming gale, never a torrent eager to knock you off your feet. No, he is sobering like a wayward breeze. His plea is so soft, and you only hate yourself a little bit for giving in and meeting his eyes.

His hair is sticking up in every direction just like yours. It’s not a foreign sight - you’ve slept in the same bed at least a hundred times, but the worried frown tugging at his lips is new. You sniffle and wipe your face, words a jumble of nonsense.

“Try to breathe. It’s going to be alright,” he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’ll wait.”

That last part might sound impatient in some other context, but right now, it’s resolute - it’s a promise. He’ll wait until you’re ready, however long that will take.

You crumble, shakily inhaling and exhaling until you sit up to mirror his stance. You fumble to embrace him, which he accepts readily - not unused to your spontaneous acts of affection. 

However, there’s a stutter in his movements. He’s not used to seeing you so put out, you hazard, unable to even produce coherent speech.

“I love you so much,” you gasp.

“...is that what this is about? Or is there more?”

Dan Heng strokes your hair through your tearful explanation. You know you don’t make a lot of sense right now, but it’s all you can manage. He still listens with scholarly attention to detail, not doting or prying. He’s here. He’s here for you, just like you are for him.

The dam has burst. “Have I ever told you about my family?”

“No,” he admits. “Do you want to?”

So you tell him enough. You only paint a vague picture; recounting endless disagreements and fighting, being kicked to the curb and ostracized, scrambling to pick up the pieces of your barely adult life before being thrusted into college all alone with no one to watch out for you. You’ve only dropped hints beforehand - after all, who wants to reopen old wounds? 

Silence can be just as powerful of a response as spoken words. Dan Heng understands, you know that already, but the way he holds you is compelling evidence alone.

Dan Heng’s family is wonderful; being part of it makes you feel a little sick inside, somehow made worse by his ministrations. “It may be unfair of me to say, but… I think I know how you feel. My life before I came to live and travel with everyone was lonely. Lonely and painful, and you don’t deserve to feel that way. Ever.”

When you don’t respond, he continues. 

“But I’m now content to call them my cherished companions. And you,” Dan Heng emphasizes, syllables unsure despite his best efforts, “are one of them as well. We haven’t pried too much into what is painful, but I’ve always felt like we’ve never needed to. That was my mistake.”

He makes a point of thumbing the residue of your episode away, an apology in and of itself. Of course he blames solely himself, you muse, biting back a playful reprimand that wouldn’t land well right now. Your breathing regains a semblance of normalcy as you muster up enough gusto to respond. 

“No, don’t be silly. I want to talk to you more about our lives before each other, I think. Together, y’know? I-Isn’t that just so romantic? Being emotionally constipated doesn’t do either of us any favors.” 

Your tone has lightened, enough for him to notice and furrow his brows in concern. Given, you rebound at the speed of light, never wishing to linger on the bad - partially because sadness is unpleasant and uncommon, but mostly because you feel like you’re unable to. That’s just how you are. However, the way he looks at you is encouragement enough to move forward.

You feel better, you do, but your eyes are still red and puffy. The night outside is still cold and unpredictable.

“Whatever you need,” Dan Heng nods. He can only be so sworn in his promises - so determined - before you crack a smile.

“Alright, easy on the white knight talk,” you chuckle. Realizing how close you actually are, there’s a pause. You can smell the mint of his shampoo, and your arms are tangled with his in some kind of human knot that’d have Houdini sweating. “It’s weird…”

He stares at you, unimpressed. “I thought you wanted me to talk to you in a ‘Romeo’ way.”

You only huff, unable to come up with a retort for once, which is fine. You wipe your face again and drag him down with you back onto the bed, which he allows, because Dan Heng is too good for you and also happens to be a complete pushover. At least you can use your frazzled, unstable emotional state to get what you want.

Case in point: you spoon him. The covers assume their original position after you wrangle them to behave, holding him close from behind. A little part of you does this so he can’t see if you start up the waterworks again, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“It’ll be alright,” Dan Heng reminds, surrendering to your whims as always.

The dust settles and you’re inclined to believe him. There is still much time left, with Christmas day being the focal point of your visit, and you’re starting to get sleepy again. That’s always a good sign; sleepy, relaxed, and with a head drained of pressing worries - at least for the present moment.

Your eyes close, bereft of tears as you murmur your agreement.

To your surprise and horror, this house didn’t have a Christmas tree. It’s not like it mattered that much, but it was still shocking nonetheless. With a building exploding with life, there wasn't an evergreen decked out in ornaments or a pine covered in lights to tie the room together.

Honestly, where were they going to put their presents? 

However, you forgave this transgression a day or two later under the condition that you would be allowed to pick one out. Everyone seemed to be fine with it, with you offering to cover the cost this close to the 25th - and your determined expression that would’ve been pointless to argue with. Santa Claus works hard but you work harder.

Caelus and March jumped to go with you, much to the others’ relief, and that was more than enough hands on deck for you to hop in Caelus’s car and drive to the nearest tree farm in the dead of winter, borrowing some mittens and a cute knitted hat from March so you wouldn’t become a human popsicle before your 30s.

Uh, you did get a bit lost. You had to interrogate the shit out of the GPS and one poor local to get there; the latter was not your fault by the way! Caelus just so happened to be carrying a bat and had a concerning look in his eye. That put you in good enough standing to make it there, even if the selection of trees were picked over, leaving only the runts on sale.

All three of you turned away with your hands empty, opting to make a last minute shopping trip to the mall to buy a fake one. You were against it, but your suggestion to buy three small trees and place them really close together was vetoed. “Majority rules” is totes unfair…

But the mall trip turned into a lot more when you actually got there. Both of them ganged up on you with a reminder that you haven’t gotten Dan Heng a gift yet! Honestly, you could say you regret confessing that to them earlier, but you totally needed to hear it.

Imagine you, waking up on Christmas morning with nothing to give the love of your life! Deplorable, unforgivable, and tragically heartbreaking. 

And you had a council there to help you; people that know Dan Heng just as well as you do. 

“He’s so hard to shop for,” March had groaned, flicking through racks of clothes with a dark aura surrounding her. “Trust me, I’ve tried in the past. He always says he’s fine with anything, giving me zero hints…”

“Maybe get him nothing,” Caelus suggested after, more occupied with trying to steal coins from the nearby wishing fountain. Like one does. “You could run him over and he’d thank you politely.”

Similar experiences there. He’s always been more attuned to your wants than his own, which you’ve been trying to get him to work on at his own pace. Unfortunately, the place was about to close for the night since you already spent the day gallivanting around.

The burly mall security guard looked dangerously close to kicking your trio out, with at least one of you kicking and screaming, so you had to leave empty handed again. 

The others assured you that you’d find a present in time. You decided to go with the flow and hope that the heavens above would drop one into your lap by the day of.

Spoiler alert: they didn’t! Because Christmas day is now here, and it all seems hopeless. Well, aside from the fact that you’re all settled around the coffee table and a big, burning fire is roaring in the fireplace. 

There’s still a smile on your face as Welt and Himeko tear open their presents with wise, softened gazes. You can’t let your own mistakes ruin the moment, after all.

“Truly, thank you both,” Himeko croons, looking over her respective mug and brooch with awe. “I was prepared to perhaps play up the excitement a bit, but… I’m very impressed. Dan Heng, you’ve picked well.”

He flushes. “They helped me,” he nods to you.

“No,” she laughs, “I meant you picked a good partner.”

Before you can stammer out a reply, Welt chimes in. He’s inspecting the quality of his tie with muted gratitude - his new mug seems to only serve as a reminder that he has to drink Himeko’s coffee out of it. Hey, at least your heart was in the right place!

“I have to agree. Both of you must have collaborated seamlessly to shop for our preferences.” 

Caelus, wearing his big ass jacket that you and Dan Heng bought him, sprawls out across one of the couches like a housecat. “This is a lot better than what you got me last year, Cold Dragon Young.”

Dan Heng bristles and you burst out laughing at the expression he’s making. “Cold Dragon what?”

“Ignore them,” he pleads, lips twitching upward just a smidge; a ghost of a smile. Dan Heng really does like the teasing more than he lets on. 

March was almost reduced to tears by the jewelry dish you painted for her - which is more of a jewelry box at this point - but she recovers from her reverie and endless thank yous to giggle at your partner’s expense, something that’s swiftly turning into a group effort. “One time, we all got roped into fistfighting these bad guys in a club, and after Dan Heng took care of them--”

“I was left with no other choice--”

“--then that became his ring name. Cold Dragon Young!” she finishes. 

Himeko and Welt exchange an exhausted look. You immediately decide that the moniker is going to become his contact name in your phone until the end of time. You also start wheezing (and also kind of blushing) at the idea of Dan Heng, the near-pacifist, duking it out with someone. “S-Sounds like you guys have been everywhere…”

“...we have,” your boyfriend clears his throat. You sense a topic change, or even a segue, drawing your attention. You sit up a little straighter and wipe the comically-induced hysteria from your eyes. 

He’s looking at you expectantly with some of the earlier heat coloring the tips of his ears. The room lulls into silence as he makes his way over to the tree to retrieve a box from underneath the branches, wrapped in pastel yellow with no bow.

Dan Heng hands it over, and when your skin brushes against his for a fleeting second, you feel the clamminess of his palms.

“Oh, me next?” you blink. Shaking the thing a bit too aggressively, listening for any indication of a bomb (just in case), you get a good feel of its weight. Light and mysterious. You’re too busy making mental guesses that you don’t notice Welt shepherding the others out of the room.

“Yes. I hope you like it,” he watches as you tear open the wrapping paper and the box itself. Dan Heng is so beautiful it’s almost criminal, unintentionally batting his lashes in a way that has you swallowing drool.

You scoff. “Of course I will!”

Inside the box rests… two tickets? Your mind jumps to movie tickets first and foremost, but that’s obviously not the case; the ones here are golden with faded ridges and accented with red, sparkling as you fawn over them. Then you read the printed text lining the bottom of the thin cardstock.

The Astral Express. They’re two boarding passes.

“No way,” It’s the name of the restored steam locomotive in the picture, the very same one that Himeko told you about working on during the height of her career. “Does this mean…?”

Dan Heng drinks in the surprised part of your lips, scratching at his neck. “You mentioned that you wanted to travel. I, and the rest of us, thought you’d like to accompany us on a trip. If you don’t want to, that’s perfectly fine,” he promises. “I can get refunded, and we’ll all stay. But it’s scheduled to start the day after tomorrow and last until the new year.”

You don’t want to cry again, even if they’re happy tears, so you launch yourself into his arms as a welcome distraction. You may be imagining it, but you think you feel him slump in relief. Again. How long will it take to get it through his thick skull that he could never disappoint you?

“Duh, of course I want to! Darling, what kind of jerk would I be if I said no and made everyone cancel their plans? Oh my god, oh my god--”

“You m-may want to breathe.”

His concern is so genuine - that’s not even meant to be teasing. You scream into his shoulder, already thinking of nights spent in velvet cabins and days spent watching the cross-country scenery go by on the silver rail. With good food. Lots of it. 

“I’m breathing,” you huff, in fact, short of breath. “Thank you, Dan Heng. I love it so much.”

You pull back, box and tickets still safe in your grasp despite your earlier flailing. The magical moment fizzles, your joy stunted as guilt emerges. “But I… I didn’t get you anything. I’m so sorry, we shopped all over, and everything’s been so hectic…”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I meant what I said.”

“Huh?”

“When we were shopping all that time ago,” he clarifies. “I don’t need anything but you. And with the others coming along,” Dan Heng gestures to the tickets, everyone else’s likely stowed away somewhere safe, “It’s the best gift I could ask for, more than I could ever want.”

You don’t rebut him this time.

The guilt has all but vanished, and you pull Dan Heng into a tender kiss. This has, no joke, probably been the best break of your life so far. Not to mention you have a whole new trip to look forward to, with a whole new family at your side.

Just as you think this perfect moment is unshakable, hoots and jeers break out from behind you. You whip around, dazed, and Caelus is cheering both of you on like his life depends on it.

“Wooooo! I told you they’d like it, dude! May your love burn bright for years to co--”

…then March clamps a hand over his mouth and hauls him away. 

Dan Heng is so embarrassed that he chokes on a laugh. You make sure to join him in kind, the present moment also holding the infinite possibilities of the future.

thank you for reading! it means the world to me 🎅🎁 on ao3

[temporarywelcome]

Please? - Peter Maximoff

Word Count: 3.5k

REQUESTED!

The Ask: I humbly ask for a Peter Maximoff smut, I'm thinking y/n either a: distracts him while he is playing his arcade games, b: using whipped cream to give him a lil sweet treat while fucking, or c: literally any smut of this man, I need him. Preferably him being a little cocky/silly, but when you actually do anything he is a whimpering mess praising you. - @envy-of-greed

I give you... Option A.

WARNINGS: SMUT! oral (m recieve), handjob, mommy kink, praise, reader is a tease, reader is MEAN, sub!peter, dom!reader, Peter becomes a MESS, reader calls him "pup" and "puppy" like once, aftercare, alluding to punishment

A/N: gonna work on a Spencer Reid fluff/comedic fic next

_____

Peter was annoying as hell.

She loved him to bits, she would do absolutely anything for him, but she was allowed to admit her boyfriend was a complete terror?

Y/N was peacefully sitting in her room when her telephone had rang. Placing down her magazine, she reached for it, bringing it to her ear, “Hello?”

“Babeeee,”

What a surprise this was. Peter Maximoff, who usually would just show up unannounced with his super speed, decided to give her a phone call?

“Peter? What’s the occasion?” she asked with a smile, leaning back against her pillows, twirling the telephone’s wire in her newly manicured fingers. 

“Eh, I just remember you saying you like phone calls, the bonding or whatever. So i wanted to give you one.”

That made her heart melt. This little terror was sometimes a complete angel as well. “Yeah…” Y/N replied, “I love phone calls. Your voice sounds so nice on the phone, by the way,”

She could already picture him blushing. “I-It does? I mean, of course, yeah it does! I’m Peter freaking Maximoff, babe. Everything about me is top-tier,”

“You could work on your baking skills,” she mused, remembering literally every single time she would attempt to bake something with him. Flour everywhere. Remnants of cake or brownie batter on his face because he just had to eat some (a lot). Firealarm going off. Burnt baked goods. Every. Single. Time.

“Bitch! Every baking failure is your fault for always distracting me!” he whined in protest.

“How the hell do I distract you? I’m baking too!” 

“ ‘Cause you’re pretty,” Peter replied cheekily, and she knew he would have wiggled his eyebrows if she could see him, “How am I supposed to focus?”

“Stop making excuses for your terrible baking skills. Even if I wasn’t there, you would be a mess,”

“For different reasons,” Peter scoffed, “I can’t bake by myself, I need your guidance,”

“But you can’t bake with me either because you allegedly get distracted. Sounds like you just can’t bake,”

“Fuck off,” he grumbled, making her laugh, “Let’s get to more important business: when can I pick you up?”

“I wasn’t aware of being picked up at all,”

“Yeah well I’m picking you up. I wanna spend some time with you!” she could hear his excited tone that was so uniquely Peter. Everything about him was unique. Everything about him was different and weird and strange and she loved every part of him. 

“Well…” Y/N sighed, “I was going to start on some homework…”

“Boooo! College student booooo!”

“Shit, excuse me for wanting an education. Better than planning on living in my mom’s basement for the rest of my life,” she teased.

“Ouch. Fine. Can’t you do your homework later?”

“I’ve been procrastinating on it,” Y/N set down her magazine, getting off of the bed and walking to her desk, stretching her body as far as she could with the limits of the phone cord. Fingertips brushing against her notebook, she was able to grab it, nestling back into her bed and opening it, “Shit, it’s a lot.”

“Who cares? Finish it tomorrow!”

“It’s due in the morning.”

She could already tell he was pouting, she knew him so well. “Can’t you do it at my place?”

“You mean your mom’s place?” Y/N decided to keep teasing him. Peter was pretty much a loser, not really having any plans in life other than to lounge in his mom’s basement playing video games and eating twinkies for eternity. He thought he was a loser, Y/N’s parents thought he was a loser (which is why they don’t like him much), even Y/N thought he was a loser when they had first met. 

Yet here she was, smiling like an idiot while babbling on the telephone with said loser. Said loser who always gives her (stolen) gifts. Said loser who comes over at random points in the day just to say he loves her (superspeed is pretty handy). Said loser who named his Dungeons and Dragons character after her (however, he was such a loser, he didn’t have many people to play it with). Said loser who would scoff and pout whenever she would tease him about being her future house husband (well, what else would he be, if he just plays video games and dotes on her all day?) Her favorite loser. 

“Yes,” Peter deadpanned, “My mom’s place. Now may I come over so I can escort you to my mom’s place?”

She pretended to think about it, hearing his soft breathing on the other line as he waited for her to answer, “Fine. No distractions though!” 

“Yes, ma’am,”

Y/N opened her mouth to say something else, jumping when she heard a harsh knock on her window. Whipping her head towards the source of the noise, she rolled her eyes with a laugh. Peter, waving at her with his usual happy dorky expression. Placing the phone back down onto its receiver, Y/N rushed towards the window, opening it. “Babe!”

“Missed me?” he asked with a smirk, zipping into her room and right past her, making her roll her eyes again. He picked up her notebook, examining the pages, “Ew ew ew. What the hell are you studying again?”

“Psychology,” Y/N sat on the bed, slipping her sneakers on and tying them. 

“Boring,” he sped off in a blur to her desk, grabbing a pencil, and rushing back to her notebook. 

She didn’t even notice, focused on her sneakers, but when she raised her head and saw him drawing on her notebook, her facial expression soured, “Pietro Maximoff!” she snatched the notebook back, flicking his forehead. 

“Hey!” he gasped dramatically, “Ain’t no way you used my real name.”

“You misbehave to the point I have to like a mom,” Y/n replied dryly, going off to her closet to grab her bag. Brows furrowing, she dug around a bit, “Shit… Dunno where my bag went-”

“Ahem,”

Y/N didn’t even have to turn to know what that meant. But she did, and, not to her surprise, Peter was holding her bag with a smirk on his face. 

“Asshole,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. She knew him well. If she attempted to grab the bag, he would just zoom off somewhere else to tease her. 

“Aren’t you going to get it?” he asked with faux innocence, holding it out to her. 

“Fuck that, I know what you’re planning,” Y/N shook her head, raising her brow at him expectantly, “Drop the bag,”

“Um, am I a dog?” He placed a hand to his chest, jaw dropping like the drama king he was. He should have been in theatre when he was in school. 

“Do I have to treat you like one?” Y/N threatened boldly, “Come on, pup, drop the bag,”

Peter’s eyes widened and he dropped the bag, “You did not just say that,” 

“Well, it worked,” Y/N smirked, grabbing her bag and planting a kiss on his cheek, “Good boy,” She began throwing her supplies for her homework into her bag, unaware of the growing dent in his pants. 

“Bitch,” he mumbled to himself, too quiet for her to hear. 

“Alright, I’m ready to go,” she announced, slinging her bag over her shoulder. He just stood there, eyes glazed over. “Earth to Peter?” she snapped her fingers in his face twice before he blinked, coming back down to society. 

“Okayletsgetoutofhere,” he word vomited, grabbing her waist (with one hand on her neck, of course! Gotta prevent that whiplash!), and within seconds, they were in his room (the basement). 

“Shit, am I ever gonna get used to that?” Y/N laughed, flopping onto his unmade bed in dizziness. Before she could react, Peter dived in on top of her, making her let out a pained, “Oof!” and a “Peter!”

A childish giggle left him, arms going around her waist as he nuzzled into her neck, “Hm?”

“Can’t breathe,”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“I apologize, my dainty little princess,” she deadpanned, arms going around him too. Yes, he was crushing her, but she honestly didn’t care, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. She then felt something on her thigh. Felt like something was poking-

Oh.

Oh.

She smirked, but didn’t say anything about what she just realized, casually stroking his hair, “My pretty puppy,”

He gasped, immediately dashing off. Poor thing was flustered, playing one of his (stolen) arcade games, back turned to her. 

“What’s wrong?” Y/N immediately got to teasing him, “I thought we were cuddling?”

“Wanna game,” he replied simply, and his ears went red. Cutie pie. 

“You wanna game? But I thought you wanted to spend time with me?” she laughed.

“You said you wanted to do your homework,” 

“True true…” she opened up her notebook, glancing at his squirming figure, “You dancin’, love?”

“No, I’m not dancing,” was all he said. There were plenty of times he didn’t catch onto her teasing, which was always adorable. This seemed to be one of them.

“Then why are you moving like that?” 

“Like what?” Now he was playing dumb. He groaned as he died in the game, restarting it.

She slid off of the bed, walking to him and wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she said, “You’re acting funny, darling,” she pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, feeling him tense under her touch.

“N-No, I’m not,”

“Oh, really?” One hand reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear before planting a kiss there, “You’ve been acting funny ever since I called you a good boy,” His breath hitched, making her smirk, “I didn’t know calling you that would have such an effect on you, baby. Maybe it’s because you’re so bratty, you don’t hear that often, huh?”

“Stoooop,” he whined, losing in his game again, “You made me lose,” Peter pouted. 

“Hm,” she let her hands drop lower, fiddling with the button of his pants absentmindedly, “You must be slacking, Peter! You should be able to game under any condition, right?”

“But-”

“Nuhuh,” she pressed a finger to his plush lips, “No ‘but’s from you. We gotta practice your concentration skills, my love. They’re lacking,” she unbuttoned his jeans, making him gasp. His hands were gripping the game’s controls tightly, however they were unmoving as she palmed him through his boxers. “Hey,” she roughly squeezed his length, making him squeak cutely. “Did I say you could stop? C’mon, time to practice.” 

“S-Sorry, Y/N,” he stuttered out, hitting restart again. She squeezed his cock through his boxers again, earning a whine from him. 

“Now what do you call me when I play with you?” Y/N asked tauntingly, running a single finger over his clothed length. Up and down. Up and down. Up and-

“Mommy,” he bit his bottom lip to keep himself from moaning. 

“That’s right, darling, I’m Mommy,” She stepped away, confusing him, until she got down on the floor, crawling right between him and the game. “Mommy’s going to take care of your pretty cock now, okay?” Her hands trailed towards the belt loops of his jeans as she spoke, “You are not allowed to stop playing your game. Each in-game death is two spanks. You’re not allowed to cum till you clear three levels, understood?”

Peter’s cheeks flared up and he nodded excitedly, “Yes, Mommy,” 

“Good boy,” she purred, pulling down his pants and letting them pool at his ankles. Fingers dipping into the waistband of his boxers, she cooed, already noticing a small wet patch, “So excited, huh?” she pulled down his boxers, letting them join his pants on the floor. Y/N stuck out her index finger, letting it run along his cock like before. Up and down. Up and down. Up and-

“-Mommy,” Peter whined, “Stop teasing me, please,”

“Oh? The bratty boy is using his manners?” she cooed, wrapping her fingers around his thick length and slooooowly stroking him, “Remember the rules and everything will feel amazing, yeah?”

He nodded, sucking in a breath, “Y-Yeah,” Peter tried to focus on his game, he really did, trying his best to get his character past the villainous NPCs. But as soon as Y/N began to stroke faster, he whimpered, his character being slain. 

“Oh?” Y/N smirked, pausing her movements and making him whine more, “Already lost? That’s two spanks, darling,”

“Sorry, Mommy…” He mumbled in embarrassment, restarting the game, “I won't do it again- fuck,” She started stroking him again, the delicious feeling going straight to his pretty little head. Any sort of sexual intimacy would immediately make his brain short-circuit, causing him to be complete putty in her hands.

“I know you won’t do it again, Peter, because you’re a good boy, right?” Y/N’s lips curled into a little smile, leaning forward to press a kiss to his tip, continuing to stroke him. “You’re my good boy?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, bottom lip between his teeth as he attempted his game again, his avatar jumping through obstacles and avoiding approaching enemies, “I’m y-your good boy- ughhh,” she wrapped her pretty lips around his tip, teasingly sucking on it. He bit his bottom lip again, hard enough to draw blood. 

Peter couldn’t help it, he took a glance down at Y/N, mouth going dry seeing her sucking on his tip, stroking him in a steady rhythm with her own eyes looking dead at his. His eyes widened seeing her take him deeper into her mouth, eyes not leaving his for even a second.

Game over.

He looked up at the screen of his game, realizing his character died again. Fuck. 

Y/N pulled her mouth off of his dick with a pop, making him whimper, “Two more spanks, darling. That’s four now.”

This was going to suck. This was going to suck in the best way possible. 

“Didn’t you say you were going to be a good boy?” Y/N asked, pouting exageratively, “I remember you saying you were going to be a good boy,”

“I am your good boy!” Peter huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Y/N laughed, pressing a kiss to his thigh, “You’re so cute, baby. Now, c’mon, start the game again. You’ll never get to cum at this rate.”

Poor thing panics, starting the game up again. He began spamming the buttons desperately, wanting to clear those three levels so Y/N would allow him to cum. Overstimulation was hot as hell, but edging was terrible (which is why that was her usual punishment for him).  

Her lips were on him again, sucking hard, and poor guy was seeing fucking stars trying to focus on this damn fucking game. He was a good gamer, these levels should be easy to clear, but when Mommy is sucking his cock how is he able to focus on such a thing? He would rather abandon the game and fuck her like a bitch in heat, which is certainly what he felt like at that moment. 

It was torture. Spamming buttons desperately, not beating the level, the threat of edging and spanking in the air. He was going crazy.

“Thats ten spanks now, baby,” Y/N said after another failed level, “I thought you were good at games,”

“I-I am!” He exclaimed, “It's hard to fucking focus when you're sucking the soul out of me!” A pout formed on his pretty lips, brows furrowed as he attempted to play the level again. 

“Watch your tone, Peter,” Y/N glared at him, making him feel emotional. Whenever he was in a vulnerable place like this, it's embarrassingly easy for him to burst into tears. Especially because during any form of intimacy he was baby or darling or something cute, never Peter. Why would she call him by his name? Was he being bad?

“Sorry, Mama,” he mumbled.

Y/N couldn't help but smile softly, being reminded once again how much she adored him. Her pretty boy. Her favorite loser. Being called her titles by him always made her weak at the knees. “I know, baby,” she was a soft domme at heart, she can't be mad at him. Ever. He was her baby and he deserved the whole world. “Let's try this again, okay?”

She waited for him to nod before taking him into her mouth again. His pretty tip was red and hot in her mouth, dribbling pre-cum on her tongue as she swirled the muscle along. 

He finally beat the first level, moving on to the next excitedly. He was getting somewhere now! Soon he'll be allowed to cum and maybe Y/N will let him inside…

Yes, he really wanted to be inside her. 

Y/N began taking him deeper into her mouth, and fuck he felt his tip nudge the back of her throat so perfectly he wanted to cum. So bad. But he won't because he's a good boy and he's not going to cum until he's allowed to. 

That was the plan, at least.

But his name was Quicksilver for a reason and he could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge. His left hand was gripping the joystick painfully hard, knuckles white as he moved it around in an attempt to get his character across the map to the next level. 

He finally made it to the third level, sighing in relief. He was getting somewhere. Almost to the end. She was bobbing her head up and down, one hand gently rubbing his tender balls, bringing him closer and closer to release. 

“AhI’msoclosethatfeelssogoodthankyouthankyouI’msoclose” he babbled out, speaking practically a mile a minute. A wide grin appeared on his face once he cleared the third level, “IdiditcanIcomenowpleasecanIcumnow-”

She pulled off of his dick again, making him groan in both desperation and annoyance, “You cleared the level? Good job, sweetie. I guess I can let you cum now…” They both stared at each other, Peter panting and his chest rising with each labored breath, Y/N batting her eyelashes at him meanly, continuing to tease him. He was ready to just start fucking her face and go wild, but he told himself he was going to behave.

So he’s going to behave. 

Ugh, but why does she have to make it so hard? 

“Can you keep going?” he finally asked.

“Should I, though?”

“You… You promised!” he gasped, eyes widening in panic.

“Hmmm, I don’t remember promising anything,” she replied, trailing her finger along his shaft like she always did when she wanted to fucking tease him. Up and down up and down up and down-

“Please?” Was she really going to make him beg? She knew he hated begging, which is probably why she enjoyed making him do that so much. 

All she did was hum, continuing with that aggravating motion of her finger, fucking asshole. 

“Please, Mommy?” he grumbled, hands balling into fists at his sides to keep him from going crazy. Think with your head and not your dick, Peter.

Y/N gave him another mean smirk, “That’s my boy…” she went straight back to sucking him off, and he was back to being a fucking mess. 

“ThatfeelssogoodyoualwaysdosogoodfuckI’mgoingtocumcanIcumpleasepleaseplease-”

She nodded, not stopping her sucking motion for even a second. However, his eyes were screwed shut so he didn’t even notice, continuing to beg to cum till she released his dick from her mouth and said, “You can cum, baby,” with a little laugh before going right back to work. 

And within two seconds of being back inside her mouth, he was cumming hard, hands going to her hair for something to keep him grounded. When she pulled away from his cock once again, she swallowed without a second thought, rubbing his thigh soothingly, “You still there, baby?”

“Mhm,” Peter was a known chatterbox, everybody knew this. But every time after cumming, his desire to speak would vanish, the need to just be held and taken care of overpowering all else. 

So Y/N stood up, taking his hand, “Let’s lay down, yeah?” She knew Peter could not last long, however, he could bounce back extremely fast. Just some cuddles will do, and he’ll be back to either a) yapping her ear off, or b) being hard as a rock. Or both. Who knows? 

She laid down on his (unmade) bed, pulling him down beside her, “You need anything, baby?” He simply shrugged, arms going around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder, “Water?” He shook his head. “Snack?” Fast nod. Of course. “Alright,” she went to sit up, but he immediately tightened his grip on her. “Didn’t you want a snack?” she laughed.

He thought for a moment before hesitantly releasing her from his hold, allowing her to get up and go to his practical tower of Hostess treats, grabbing a box of Twinkies. His favorite. Sitting back down, she opened up the box, unwrapping a cakey treat while he leaned against her again. 

“Here you go,” she said softly, letting Peter pluck the dessert from her hand and eat it. It was silent as he ate, her hand going to his hair to gently stroke the silver strands. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled after he finished, looking up at her with a cute smile, “You always know just what I need,” he nuzzled his nose into her neck, inhaling her scent. “Love you,”

“Love you too, baby,” she kissed his head, sighing peacefully, “So… about that punishment…”

[physalian]

You don’t have to pay for that fancy worldbuilding program

As mentioned in this post about writing with executive dysfunction, if one of your reasons to keep procrastinating on starting your book is not being able to afford something like World Anvil or Campfire, I’m here to tell you those programs are a luxury, not a necessity: Enter Google Suite (not sponsored but gosh I wish).

MS Office offers more processing power and more fine-tuning, but Office is expensive and only autosaves to OneDrive, and I have a perfectly healthy grudge against OneDrive for failing to sync and losing 19k words of a WIP that I never got back.

Google’s sync has never failed me, and the Google apps (at least for iPhone) aren’t nearly as buggy and clunky as Microsoft’s. So today I’m outlining the system I used for my upcoming fantasy novel with all the helpful pictures and diagrams. Maybe this won’t work for you, maybe you have something else, and that’s okay! I refuse to pay for what I can get legally for free and sometimes Google’s simplicity is to its benefit.

The biggest downside is that you have to manually input and update your data, but as someone who loves organizing and made all these willingly and for fun, I don’t mind.

So. Let’s start with Google Sheets.

The Character Cheat Sheet:

I organized it this way for several reasons:

I can easily see which characters belong to which factions and how many I have named and have to keep up with for each faction

All names are in alphabetical order so when I have to come up with a new name, I can look at my list and pick a letter or a string of sounds I haven’t used as often (and then ignore it and start 8 names with A).

The strikethrough feature lets me keep track of which characters I kill off (yes, I changed it, so this remains spoiler-free)

It’s an easy place to go instead of scrolling up and down an entire manuscript for names I’ve forgotten, with every named character, however minor their role, all in one spot

Also on this page are spare names I’ll see randomly in other media (commercials, movie end credits, etc) and can add easily from my phone before I forget

Also on this page are my summary, my elevator pitch, and important character beats I could otherwise easily mess up, it helps stay consistent

*I also have on here not pictured an age timeline for all my vampires so I keep track of who’s older than who and how well I’ve staggered their ages relative to important events, but it’s made in Photoshop and too much of a pain to censor and add here

On other tabs, I keep track of location names, deities, made-up vocabulary and definitions, and my chapter word count.

The Word Count Guide:

*3/30 Edit to update this chart to its full glory. Column 3 is a cumulative count. Most of what I write breaks 100k and it's fun watching the word count rise until it boils over.

This is the most frustrating to update manually, especially if you don’t have separate docs for each chapter, but it really helps me stay consistent with chapter lengths and the formula for calculating the average and rising totals is super basic.

Not that all your chapters have to be uniform, but if you care about that, this little chart is a fantastic visualizer.

If you have multiple narrators, and this book does, you can also keep track of how many POVs each narrator has, and how spread out they are. I didn’t do that for this book since it’s not an ensemble team and matters less, but I did for my sci-fi WIP, pictured below.

As I was writing that one, I had “scripted” the chapters before going back and writing out all the glorious narrative, and updated the symbols from “scripted” to “finished” accordingly.

I also have a pie chart that I had to make manually on a convoluted iPhone app to color coordinate specifically the way I wanted to easily tell who narrates the most out of the cast, and who needs more representation.

—

Google Docs

Can’t show you much here unfortunately but I’d like to take an aside to talk about my “scene bits” docs.

It’s what it says on the tin, an entire doc all labeled with different heading styles with blurbs for each scene I want to include at some point in the book so I can hop around easily. Whether they make it into the manuscript or not, all practice is good practice and I like to keep old ideas because they might be useful in unsuspecting ways later.

Separate from that, I keep most of my deleted scenes and scene chunks for, again, possible use later in a “deleted scenes” doc, all labeled accordingly.

When I designed my alien language for the sci-fi series, I created a Word doc dictionary and my own "translation" matrix, for easy look-up or word generation whenever I needed it (do y'all want a breakdown for creating foreign languages? It's so fun).

Normally, as with my sci-fi series, I have an entire doc filled with character sheets and important details, I just… didn’t do that for this book. But the point is—you can still make those for free on any word processing software, you don’t need fancy gadgets.

—

I hope this helps anyone struggling! It doesn’t have to be fancy. It doesn’t have to be expensive. Everything I made here, minus the aforementioned timeline and pie chart, was done with basic excel skills and the paint bucket tool. I imagine this can be applicable to games, comics, what have you, it knows no bounds!

Now you have one less excuse to sit down and start writing.

[ophelisstuff]

Paige bueckers × reader who loves books.

BOOKWORM | P.B X READER

authors note : i’ve been procrastinating on this big time srry if it’s not the best.

requested by : @paqerings

summery : Paige, someone who isn’t a fan of books finds herself tolerating all because of the person she’s fallen in love with.

word count : 808.

warnings : fluff that’s it

You and Paige had met at Uconn’s library on a rainy day. You being there to check out books for fun and Paige being there to find text books because she had no other choice.

A stack of books in your hand, you walked through the isles of bookshelves — looking for anything else that caught your eye. Unaware that the odd amount of books in your hand had caught Paige’s.

“Are you really going to read all those books?” The blonde questioned, disregarding the fact you were a complete stranger. Focused on finding out why there were so many books in your hand.

“Every last one” You replied, knowing that you wouldn’t be returning to the library until the pile of books in your hand were all completed.

“That’s impossible. no human is reading that many books.” Paige shrugged, finding it unbelievable that a person would optionally spend their time buried in a book.

The blonde just couldn’t understand it. What was it about books that grabbed everyones attention but hers?

Paige hated the idea of reading a book so much, she found herself on the brink of tears when having to study.

Even daring to pay classmates or bribe friends to complete reading assignments because she’d rather be out or playing basketball for fun.

“It’s definitely possible” You muttered, confusion building as you wondered why this familiar blonde was following you around all of a sudden.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know who she was. Everyone on campus knew of Paige Bueckers and admired her athletic talents.

However, you couldn’t get over the way she just talked your ear off and walked alongside you.

Disregarding any thought of you being a stranger and talking as if you two were the closest of friends. “Have you ever read a book?”

You asked, stopping in front of the mystery section — eyes drifting from book spine to book spine for something eye catching.

“No- well yes - duh. Just not a chapter book of any sort. It’s never been my thing so i’ve never tried to”

The blonde admitted, standing beside you — watching as you became fixated on the book titles.

“Well, find the right book and when you do, get back to me” You encouraged, sending the girl a short lived smile.

Picking up a final book as you headed to the front desk in order to check out.

Leaving the blonde with curiosity and confusion as she watched you walk away. Realizing she hadn’t even gotten a chance to introduce herself — let alone ask your name.

However, the blonde decided to take your advice and find a book that suited her — determined to impress you in the future.

present day —

“Can you hurry up! I wanna know what happens to Lucy Gray!”

Paige shouted, growing impatience as she sat on the couch — holding a copy of her The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes in her hands.

Finding herself obsessed with the Hunger Games book series — the blonde had managed to ‘read’ all three books from the series. And having you read the forth to complete it.

In all honesty, Paige still hadn’t read a full book on her own. Often times listening to the audio version of it or having you read a chapter to her daily.

The confusion for your love of books remained the same, however she’d grown to admire how fixated you were on them.

Growing use to how you always carried a book on you, reading whenever you could wherever you could.

Often times venturing to Barnes and Noble’s when you go book shopping. Her interest drifting to the lego sets while you walk the endless shelves of books.

“Give me a second! I’m finding a blanket”

You yelled back, picking up the throw blanket off of your girlfriends bed. Placing your reading glasses on your face as you walked down the hallway and to the living room.

“Finally! took you long enough” She muttered with a smile.

Throwing the blanket on Paige, you smiled laid beside her. The blondes head instantly becoming situated and comfortable on your shoulder.

“Oh whatever, hand me the book”

You joked, taking the story book out of her hand. Unaware of how a complete stranger who hated books turned into your girlfriend who tolerated certain ones.

You found solace in books, and being able to read them to your girlfriend — cuddled up on the couch brought you even more peace.

You nor Paige would trade this experience for anything else in the world. Often times expressing how you were both grateful for that interaction at the school’s library.

“Chapter eleven. Lucy Gray’s words stung but, on reflection, were well deserved.”

You began, Paige becoming silent as she listened to your soothing voice. Eager to hear the story being told.

[pinecipitation]

Pine,,,, smiling friends headcanons, how do you think each of the boys would react to their crush saying they feel safe with them :> if not all of them, your boy Alan and Charlie and Pim (asking for us both im shaking)

SMILING FRIENDS X GN!READER HCS

FIRST OF ALL,,,, HAIIII TEDDYYYY :3 ❤️💛 HELLO WIFE HI LOML…

second of all YESSS SMILING FRIENDS CONTENT WE R SO BACKKK let me get to work ‼️

word count: around 1.2k

authors note: oh my god this was in the works for like a month, I be procrastinating really hard i’m sorry gang 😔🤞 also I’m so sorry alans is so short despite him being my favorite one I’m fighting for my life in here man

CHARLIE: (s1e6)

charlie… is almost relieved to hear it, honestly would immediately flip a switch and do the very most to KEEP you as safe as you can be- but hide it in a playful manner. would carry you for the rest of your life if you asked, just because you inflated his ego.

The two of you are almost halfway in the enchanted forest, you walking in front of Charlie as you hold a little makeshift map in front of the two of you. The whole time Charlie is pointing out little shortcuts, you erasing and drawing paths over and over on the paper until a particularly strong gust of wind blow it away from the two of you, his shocked mouth open and yours would’ve opened if the pencil wasn’t still in your mouth. You didn’t want to say it, but you felt a little aggravated at him for losing your focus like that.

You stop to let him speed up in front of you, the two of you continuing onwards in silence before he speaks.

“Listen… I-“

“It’s fine, you go and I follow. I trust you.”

The minute those words left your mouth, Charlie immediately stops and turns to look at you, the clinks and clanks of his armor making it almost comedic.

“What?”

“…I said you could lead the way?-“

“No,” he shakes his head, the helmet shifting with him, “After that.”

You look at him quizzically, your arms awkward by your side as you look to the side then to him again.

“I trust you?”

What you couldn’t see was Charlie internally squealing like a little girl, happy that someone like you can allow themselves to be so carefree around him. Except you weren’t just someone; he’s unknowingly had a thing for you long enough to where it’s embarrassing that he hasn’t made a move. But, somehow, you telling him that made him understand why he got so nervous around you. Why he always felt let down whenever you had a different mission that day and couldn’t hang with him and Pim. Why he always slightly pulled aside the seat next to him in the office just so you’d sit next to him instead of across.

He finally realized he liked you.

But of course, he’d never say that out loud.

What he did do, however, was immediately grin and flex, his armor audibly showing him move as if he were showing off in a gym mirror.

“Well of course you do, I’d be concerned if you didn’t think a hero like me could protect you. I mean, look at me,” he plays along, successfully earning a chuckle from you before you roll your eyes and shift the bag on your shoulder before you keep moving ahead.

“Alright, hero- hey-!” Your joking manner was cut short as Charlie picks you up, flinging you over his shoulder as his laugh rockets off the trees around the two of you.

Your giggles and pleas to be let down drowned out as he thought about that sentence once more, thinking about what to do to hopefully hearing it again another time.

PIM: (s1e4)

pim….. he’d be so happy, would internally have a little panicked spongebob brain moment but on the outside he’s a stuttering blushing mess. as if he isn’t pink enough.

“Don’t worry, i’ll use this rock to mark the trees- we can find our way back easy!”

Pims words seemed like an echo, his happy go easy personality twenty minutes ago almost feeling like a warning now that the two of you crossed that bridge. The two of you just barely escaped the rain, logs and sticks discarded as the rickety cabin door you called shelter slammed shut.

You were both dripping, Pims cowboy outfit making wet stretching noises every time he stretched his leg or raised his arm. Your outfit was also drenched, a small rip or two from the thorns you pulled away from on the run here.

You were still kneeled over catching your breath as the thunder pursued outside, Pim shakingly clearing his throat before looking up at you with disappointed eyes.

“Listen,… I’m really sorry, I didn’t think it would rain or anything but even then I shouldn’t have taken us across the bridge, and now it’s my fault we’re here-,” he begins, his wet hat now in his hands as he stares down at his cowboy spurs. He only really looked up once he hears you interrupted him with a laugh, a sound he immediately feels his cheeks redden to.

“Don’t worry, it’s just a little rain. We’ll be okay- plus, I feel safe with you. I know we’ll make it back fine.”

You were facing down trying to wring the water out of your hair and costume, thinking nothing of it, but to Pim?

To Pim, it meant everything.

He immediately stopped, his eyes widening as he stares at you with his mouth slightly ajar, the redness in his cheeks instantly spreading to his nose and ears. It took two or three tries for him to get his words out, the clothes on him somehow feeling tighter the more he tried to express himself.

“You… you trust me??” The way his meek voice instantly made you straighten up and look at him, the barely there water in his eye almost making you feel guilty for saying it.

Immediately you went to go hold him, your hands wrapping around his back as he listens to you giggle out a ‘Of course! Pim, are you okay?’ and he nods in return. His hands interlock together behind your back, his cheek on your shoulder as he thanks you.

ALAN: (s2e3)

alan… my wife.. would definitely think about asking if you’re SURE. in that case, he’s taken it upon himself to keep his eyes on you like a HAWK, unfortunately intimidating everyone around the two of you.

You seem to feel oddly safe perusing the streets of CrimeVille, thinking back on everyone’s warnings of how dangerous the place was. This is too easy, you think, feeling like everyone was just exaggerating the state of where you two were. What you didn’t realize, however, was Alan shooting everyone the stink eye of the century as he walks behind you.

It wasn’t too long ago when you two left the OfficeCrap, the following conversation unexpected as you both walked out.

“I can do it myself, I don’t want you going to that part of town…” Alan mumbles, the soft mechanic noise of the sliding door behind you helping end his sentence. You only shake your head, shushing him before pronouncing how you’ll be fine, and you trust him to protecting you if anything.

Unbeknownst to you, that’s the only thing Alan’s been thinking about since you left. Fortunately for Alan, being tall and having a somewhat stoic resting facial expression, he was very easy to intimidate anyone looking at you.

He almost walked like your shadow, hands in his pocket as he walks over you like a protective red totem, his blue tie occasionally brushing the top of your head as he looms over everything.

[fushiguruuzzzz]

࣪ ִֶָ☾. For Emma

𝄞 “Saw death on a sunny snow || for every life || forgo the parable || seek the light || my knees are cold || … || for Emma, forever ago” — Bon Iver

Playlist — Rainy Day Lovin’ | Moodboard

Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader

Words — 7.1k

Cw — reader highkey doesn’t fw Gojo at first, why do I always make the reader like this am I projecting (yes), death, angst, grief, brief descriptions of gore(?), use of y/n, I can’t write this stuff for shit I’m so sorry DONT BASE UR OPINION ON MY WRITING OFF OF THIS PLSPLSPLS, mentions/use of alcohol (reader picks up gojo from a party; he’s drunk), what is it with me and drunk stupid men omg, not proofread, lmk if I missed any!!

Working in a quiet little bookshop, your life consists of only crumpled pages of novels and the weight of your classes resting on your shoulders. When a certain white haired man one year your senior comes by, you’ve already decided you don’t like him. Unfortunately, you’ve always had a tendency to rebel against your own wants. You give yourself to what felt like your beginning and was eventually your end, Satoru Gojo. OR Satoru Gojo hates the rain, but he loved you more.

a/n — ughhhhhdhdhh I spent half of my time writing this procrastinating the ending I’m ngl. This was so difficult to write and then I had a random burst of energy and wrote like half of it in one night like hello???? But it’s probably still blegh idk. Um I’m sorry for this please don’t doxx me. No spoilers but aha…!!!!! I lwk teared up I fear. BLAME SIA FOR THIS NOT ME THIS WAS REVENGE

The very moment you set eyes on Satoru Gojo, you knew he was trouble.

It was a brisk autumn day, shades of brown and orange blanketing the streets and casting a warm, cozy mood over the city. Your little book store was in its element, acutely so. The vintage wood and gold accents strewn throughout the shop reflected the dim light seeping in through the windows, surrounding you in a soft glow.

You were immersed in the newest stock of books, placing each one on the shelf with delicate precision when you heard a bell chime. The dainty little bell at the entrance made only a small noise, but one you’d learned to recognize in your months working here. Stepping down from the stool you’d been balancing on, your foot had barely touched the ground when a whiny voice broke through the silence.

“Suguru,” he drawled, all too pitiful for the time and place. “Can’t you come back later? You keep dragging me into these boring places, I just wanna get mochi,” he groaned. That was when you rounded the corner, entering the line of sight of the two men who had just arrived. One of them was a tall, white haired individual whose face was pulled up in what seemed to be dramatic irritation; the other, ravenette man looking all too fed up at his side. You assumed that the former had been the one complaining, considering the stark contrast in how comfortable the other looked compared to him. Suguru, that was his name. At least, that was what the man-child had said (or rather: howled). Suguru was somewhat a regular here, though you hadn’t caught his name until then. You didn’t recognize his companion. Something about him felt familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on exactly what that was.

It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that your first impression wasn’t positive. Your thoughts of him changed, but not so much for the better, upon meeting his eye. Something in him seemed to shift then. His eyes lit up as they did a once over on you, posture straightening and a crooked grin tugging at his lips.

“Hush, Satoru. You dragged me into like, four different dessert stores today. You’ll survive five minutes of being surrounded by literature,” the other boy, Suguru, grumbled. Satoru Gojo?.. Oh, you got it now. They went to school with you, that’s why they seemed familiar before. You hadn’t recognized them at first glance because while you were only in your first year of university, they’d been in their second. But you knew that name, everyone did. He was rather known around campus, though not for bad reasons, not exactly ones you’d consider great either. You knew little of the blue eyed man, only a few (three, to be exact) traits burrowing into the depths of your mind. 1. Prodigy 2. Charming (disgusting so) 3. Cocky asshole.

So when he was silent for a beat too long, eyes only flickering back to his friend when he turned to him, you knew he was trouble.

That sly smile still residing on his lips, he nodded at Suguru. “Well…” he said. “I guess I’ll let it slide for now.”

Geto glanced at him, then to you, unimpressed. With a small nod, a polite greeting to you, he rolled his eyes. As he grabbed Gojo by the material of his expensive looking jacket, he grumbled.

“Just look at the damn books.”

Situating yourself behind the cash register, you let out a sigh. It was only you on the shift at the moment, your tiny little establishment usually lacking the amount of customers to require more. You tried to make yourself look less bored than you were, mindlessly tapping your fingers against the leather cover of a novel sitting near the cash register. Courtesy of your boss, going on your phone whilst customers were around was strictly forbidden. You were sure that the college kids were too exhausted to care, nor would they anyway, but rules were rules. You could keep yourself busy, the little voice in your head was enough.

You’d only barely begun to let your mind wander when the soft clunk of elbows meeting the structure you leaned on met your ears. You looked up to see Satoru Gojo staring down at you, winter blue eyes sparkling with a determined curiosity.

“Hey there,” he said, snowy hair shifting as he tilted his head. He was leaned forward lazily, as if preparing for a conversation that was yet to happen. You quirked a brow, feeling the effortless charisma roll off of him in waves. You didn’t allow yourself to be tricked, though, you refused to be like the rest of his little fans fawning and kissing his shoes. Five minutes in and you’d already decided you disliked him, and all he’d said was a greeting. You tried not to judge a book by its cover, but inside you was a need to stick out that overran the compassion.

Your reply was short, a simple “Hi,” all that you felt was necessary. It wasn’t like you really knew the guy at all, you owed him nothing but the service given to every customer that had ever stepped into your humble little shop.

His grin seemed to falter for a split second, b it was quickly plastered back onto that face of his. How long had he been smirking like that? It seemed more habit than amusement at this point.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

You let out a hum under your breath, shrugging. “I don’t think so. Do you?”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you were sure he could see right through you. Every bone in your body felt all too exposed to his prying eyes, every concealed bit of you shining through the cracks. But then he smiled, and everything else washed away. “You’re in uni, aren’t you?”

In return to your soft, approving nod, he clicked his tongue as if proud of himself. “Ah, that’s where. I knew I wouldn’t forget a face like yours.”

You were about to ask him to elaborate when a deeper, more annoyed voice cut through. “I leave you alone for five seconds and you’re already trying to charm the employee?” He rolled his eyes, looking between you and Satoru with a quirked brow. Gojo stood up a little straighter, a dorky, sideways grin adorning his face.

“Little ol’ me? Never.”

Amusement hinted at Geto’s face, but he was good at hiding it. He took up the empty space between Gojo and the counter, placing two books down before you. As you gently picked them up and scanned, the soft red glow accompanied by a soft beep echoing through the room, he watched.

“Nice to see you. How’ve you been?” you asked the black haired man standing across the counter, eyes kept on your nimble hands as they bagged up the paperbacks he’d been purchasing. He responded with a polite smile and a nod, radiating an air of nonchalance, far in contrast to the radiant man beside him.

“Likewise. I’ve been well, you?”

You opened your mouth to speak but were swiftly interrupted, Gojo’s mouth agape as he spoke. “Hold on hold on,” he said, picking his jaw off of the floor. Dramatic much? “You didn’t tell me you knew the cashier.”

“Maybe because you whine every time I even utter the word ‘book’,” Suguru rolled his eyes.

“I am the most intellectual person to ever roam the earth, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Watching them go back and forth, you had to suppress a laugh. They argued in a way that radiated ‘I’ve been dealing with him for years too many’, or something of the sort. You chose to ignore Satoru’s dramatic yearning for your attention, handing Suguru his books and bidding them farewell.

Freedom.

Or… for the next two days, at least.

The bell over the door chimed, quick and soft above the door. It only took a quick glance, a split second for you to recognize who exactly that was. His porcelain hair stuck out against the rustic wood bookshelves like a sore thumb, his bright eyes already shining the moment they met yours.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he grinned.

“…I work here?”

He rolled his eyes, brushing off your dismissal of his attempt at being sly. He took the few short strides from the door to the checkout, and the two of you found yourself exactly where you’d been a few days prior. Except this time there was no Suguru to interrupt (aka save you), and he was all the more annoying.

You let out a breath, already anticipating his behaviour. “I don’t take you for much of a reader.” He shrugged in response, a dorky, grossly pretty grin crossing his face.

“Paying that much attention to me?”

“Your whining is pretty hard to ignore.”

“Ouch,” he placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. His brows furrowed, a crease deepening between them. If you didn’t know exactly what type of man he was, you might’ve genuinely thought he looked like a kicked puppy. He strode over to you, his long legs stretching over the distance with ease. He was tall, very. Not that it mattered. You didn’t care. You didn’t even bother to notice his long limbs, the way his biceps flexed beneath his long sleeve as he reached down, grabbing a book sitting between you. It wasn’t like your eyes lingered for a moment too long, it wasn’t like you suddenly felt oddly uncomfortable being so close to him. The counter separated you, but it did little to keep the distance. The small width of it was to thank for that, you made a mental note to get a stool or something—anything that was a rightful excuse to scoot away.

He placed the novel down. “So, what’s your name?” he asked. He radiated confidence, like he didn’t mind pushing into your space. The only indication that he knew if your disinterest was the way his eyes flickered over your face, all too observant to miss the way it contorted.

“You gonna buy something?” you moved past his question, making a point to glance down at the disregarded item, now placed gently upon a stack of a few others.

He sniggered. “Yeah, but tell me your name.” He didn’t break eye contact with you as he slid it over the counter, the cover making a rough noise with the friction of the wood.

You gave no response, the only noise in the place being the scanning of his book (which you were sure he hadn’t even read the title of) and the dull sound of the constant chatter along the streets. It seeped in through the cracked windows, like a buzzing hive of bees.

“1700 yen,” you said. Your voice held a sort of boredom, but you didn’t care to actually be rude. You just weren’t going to be pinky pie from my little pony whenever you saw the man, and he surely couldn’t blame you for that.

That stupid damn grin never faltered under the weight of your gaze. He tapped his card against the machine like it was second nature, took the bag from you smoothly, hand brushing against yours. “I’ll be back,” he said. And he fully intended to keep that promise.

⋆

“No name, long time no see!”

You suppressed a groan, the all too energetic voice cutting through the quiet of the store like a knife. By the first word, you’d have known who it was. This guy never gave up, did he? And for the record, it had not been a long time since you last saw him. A day and a half, 34 hours to be exact. Though it wasn’t like you were counting or anything, in fact, you dreaded the moment he’d walk through those doors.

He made it his mission to visit you daily. Every day he’d buy a book you were certain would do nothing but collect dust on his shelf, seemingly never going over his budget. That only pissed you off further. How much money did he have to blow it all just to see you? You hated how endearing it was. You hated him.

“‘Afternoon, Gojo,” you sighed, emerging from the depths of the shelves and into the light. It was a sunny day, at least, compared to the rest of the dull winter grey that had found home in the heart of Tokyo.

“You know, I’m starting to get the impression that you don’t like me,” he said.

You attempted to look surprised, though the both of you knew very well that you weren’t. “Wow, what would ever make you think that?”

“You won’t even tell me your name? Am I really that bad?” he huffed, tossing his head back in an exaggerated show of frustration.

“You want the honest answer?”

“Hush.”

He straightened his neck, now craning it slightly down to gaze at you. He was a little ways away, but he might as well have been one with you with the way his eyes bored into you. It was intense in an anticipating way, if that made sense.

“Go out with me.”

You blinked, a little dumbfounded for a moment before gathering the bits and pieces of your brain that had just been scattered across the country. Be logical. Obviously he was kidding, obviously he didn’t mean it. I mean, he barely knew you. He didn’t even know your name, and it was your coldness to thank for that. Surely he wouldn’t want you, not genuinely at least. “You’re ridiculous,” you rolled your eyes.

“Aw, come on!” he whined, and you could’ve sworn you saw a hint of real disappointment behind those cerulean orbs of his.

You suppressed a grin. Maybe his pestering had some perks, maybe it was even entertaining. That wasn’t to say you appreciated the mockery of him “asking you out,” but you figured it was funny as long as you didn’t allow yourself to be deceived. “You making a purchase or not?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, lazily snatching a book from the rack nearest to him. He didn’t even look at the cover. “This one.”

It was pride and prejudice.

⋆

Your first time seeing Satoru outside of your workplace other than fleeting glances around campus, you were drinking coffee. You were sat on a barstool, chunky sweater loosely slung over your body as you tried to manage both typing an essay and sipping your drink. You were stuck on the first sentence, the text cursor staring impatiently up at you as you begged your mind to conjure something up.

‘If I could change one thing about my past, I would change…’

And that was it. That was all you could think of, the unfinished phrase being the farthest you could dive into the depths of your conscious. You didn’t know. It felt as though you had no answer, and yet a million all at once. You let out an annoyed groan, shoving your face into your hands. The frustration was a good enough distraction, considering you failed to notice the figure sliding into the seat next to you.

“Lookin’ a little stressed, mystery girl. You okay?” he teased, though there was more to it. An underlying softness, what you might even say is genuine concern.

You wanted to quip back, to keep up that consistently annoyed facade you’d managed to keep for the past few weeks. But everything was so overwhelming, you were running on a few hours of sleep, and you felt like your brain would implode if you tried to pack another thought in there. So instead of groaning or shooing him away, you peeked out over your hands and replied softly. “No.”

His playful grin twitched, threatening to disappear. The moment you opened your mouth and instead of an insult he was met with something near vulnerability. “…what’s up?”

“Stuff,” you replied curtly, before softening. “Right now I just… I don’t know what to do for this stupid assignment.”

“Hm,” he said, a crease forming between his brows. “What’s the question?”

You gently nudged your laptop, rotating it on the countertop so that he could real the half-sentence you’d left off at. He stared at it for a moment, eyes flickering back to you. “What, you don’t have anything you regret?”

Your voice was soft and smooth like butter, but it held a sort of shake, almost fearful. “Quite the opposite.”

A beat of silence passed, understanding swirling through the air as well as the bits and pieces of the layer that he felt he’d broken through. Whether you liked it or not, he knew you. Maybe not your name, but you. He’d promised himself that he would, and he was a man of his word when it mattered.

“How would you answer?” you asked, growing shifty from how exposed you felt.

He paused, contemplating whether to tell you the truth or not. He bit his cheek, eyes unfocused. “I think I would want to be born someone else.”

That shocked you more than anything else. He was Satoru Gojo, smart and charismatic and confident. He was the last person you’d expect to wish he were another. Everyone else wished they were him, so why did he long for the opposite? But every bit of wit was a layer encasing the deeper parts, the ones that hurt to look at. You knew that all too well.

Conversation flowed much better after that, and it was the first time you had allowed yourself to indulge in his presence as much as you wanted to. He was… nice. Nice to talk to, a nice person, generally. You got to see another side of him, not just the silly man who spent disgusting amounts of money to see you and kept begging you to go out with him—which you still thought was derisive. He was just Satoru, laughing and smiling and helping you figure things out in the midst of what seemed to be dark clouds surrounding you. He was the light.

You were just about to part ways, the sun setting over the horizon and casting a warm glow in its wake. You reached out, taking him by the elbow to get his attention. “Y/n,” you said. “My name is y/n.”

You swore his grin couldn’t have gotten any wider. “Nice to meet you y/n, I’m Satoru Gojo.”

⋆

Gojo surrounded you nearly as much as the sky did from then on. It seemed that was the way things were for the next… what was it, month? 30 days, 30 visits from Gojo, save for the occasional day of absence. Unfortunately, you’d caught yourself warming up to him. You longed to deny it, to believe yourself when you did. You just couldn’t. He started popping up everywhere; along the streets as you walked from one class to another, “just passing by” your class (which you still wondered how he knew), he was everywhere. Usually you managed to duck out before he could embarrass you, taking full advantage of knowing your name and choosing to shout it at every possible opportunity.

This was one of those times.

“Y/n!” he shouted, momentarily turning away from his two best friends to get your attention.

You gave him a sidelong glance before looking away, avoiding him in a dramatic, almost cartoonish manner. Before you knew it, he was by your side. He had a way of making sure you couldn’t avoid him even if you wanted to.

“Am I gonna see you tonight?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Considering I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m going to say no.”

“Come on,” he drawled with a pout, tilting his head to the side. “Party. That big fancy house down the street. You should come.”

“Uh… no.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Just once? For me?”

You hesitated with your next attempt to shut him down, and that was when he knew he’d gotten you. He’d won, yet again. With a wolfish smirk as he retreated, he called back, “I’ll see you there!”

You grumbled under your breath about how you didn’t know why you agreed to these things, and how annoying he was. Deep down, you knew it was all lies. You were sure you’d go anywhere if he asked nicely enough, maybe even the ends of the universe. You just weren’t ready for that conversation, not yet. He was a shining star, proud and bright, and you were nothing but an emotionally stunted mortal basking in his beauty. Him and his disgustingly beautiful eyes, the way people did a double take every time he passed them. He was everything, and he’d only recently learned your name.

That very same night you found yourself feeling utterly ridiculous as you walked up to the front door, wondering whether you should knock or not. It took another group of people walking straight in to give you that answer, pushing through the door and immediately being hit in the face with the sweaty heat of the party. Why were you even doing this for him? Last month, if given the same pleads as you had earlier that day you would’ve shot him down without a second thought. Why did that change? Why had you fallen for his tricks, just as you promised yourself you wouldn’t?

“Y/nnnn,” slurred an all too familiar voice from behind you. You turned to see Satoru Gojo stumbling out from the kitchen, a red solo cup in hand. Some of it sloshed out as he approached you, the liquid falling on the floor and looking like something radioactive.

“Gojo,” you said, instinctively placing a hand under his arm as he almost fell over you. “I see you’ve gotten started.”

His lower lip was pushed out into a pout, his eyes heavy and lazy as they looked you over. “I don’t… usually drink,” he swallowed thickly, eyes landing on yours once again. “But you were taking too long… I had to pass the time,” he explained, the corner of his mouth quirked up. You rolled your eyes, letting go of him with an unimpressed glance. He wished you hadn’t, he liked the way your hand felt on him. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was the alcohol or just how much he yearned for your touch, but it was unlike anything he had ever felt before. You made him feel those things rather often, it seemed you were a capsule of new emotions. Ones he hadn’t opened up to prior, ones he wasn’t sure were meant for him. Honestly, he didn’t know what was meant for him, but as he looked at you in the dim yellow lights of the frat party he had a pretty good idea. It was muggy and gross and sweat was already starting to create a soft sheen over your hairline, but to him you’d never looked more beautiful. Because you were here for him, you’d come for him and that was enough.

You glanced around the party, the one you hadn’t wanted to attend in the first place (which definitely had not changed upon arrival), and then at your disgustingly drunk, lightweight loser of a man standing next to you. Your friend? Maybe.

“Did you come with friends?” you asked, but the answer was fairly obvious. Satoru Gojo was rarely found without the people he loved… but now he was with you. Was that a switch up on his end, or was it sticking to his pattern? You couldn’t tell, and that wasn’t something you wanted to work out.

“Mm…” he hummed, as if he’d forgotten. “Yeah, but I don’ wanna be with them… wanna see you…”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart sped up embarrassingly and the face only grew warmer. His friends were nowhere to be found, and you may have seemed like you lacked an ounce of compassion to anyone else, but you couldn’t leave him.

With a sigh and eyes that avoided his all too much, you took him by the hand and led him towards the door. He was all too pleased, barely even bothered asking where you were going. “Let’s get you out of here, yeah? You’ve done enough partying.”

He offered a protesting whine in return, but didn’t dare to pull his hand from yours or even let his steps falter. Well, not voluntarily. He wasn’t the most coordinated drunk.

“Mmh- yeah, there ya’ go.” You guided his arm around your shoulder, and though your hand had parted from his, he didn’t mind the replacement. The nights air was cool in comparison to the interior of the house, refreshing against your flushed skin. It was momentarily silent as you walked down the sidewalk, choosing to save the money you would’ve spent on an uber for the drive two blocks away.

“Y/n?”

You could fill up an entire pad of paper if you tallied every time he said your name. He couldn’t help himself, it tasted so sweet on his tongue.

You responded with a hum, not wasting too much air on what you assumed would be some form of delirious, intoxicated thoughts.

“Why don’t you like me?”

You stopped in your tracks, and you swore your head had never whipped around faster. “What?”

He let out a sigh as if it was a great inconvenience to explain. His arm was still wrapped around you loosely, though there wasn’t much purpose to it now that you’d stopped walking. He glanced at you, and you were met with a rare flicker of something akin to hurt in his eyes.

“I… why don’t you like me? I come ‘round your little shop ‘nd I buy books… I don’t read any of them… and… and I beg you to go out with me, to just look at me, and you don’t. Why?” His voice was surprisingly even for his state. “Somethin’ wrong with me?”

All you could do was stand there and blink for a moment. He’d meant it. All of it. No mockery, nothing. Honestly, in the moment, he couldn’t have phrased it any better? Made it sound like he really wanted you, without that teasing tone underlying his voice? “I… I didn’t think you were being serious, Gojo.”

At the formal name he glared, but he didn’t comment. “I don’t even go for other girls,” he mumbled. “Why would I ask you if I wasn’t?”

Even in his slurred, tipsy condition, he had a point. You had never seen him with a woman, save for Shoko and when the need came, like schoolwork or helping out or anything of the nature. The point was, he didn’t pursue others romantically. You knew this, he knew you knew this, so he didn’t understand why you felt as though he was deceiving you.

“You’re right.”

“So…?” he said, a little more cheeky now.

With a huff and a few begrudging steps forward, you responded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll go out with you.”

⋆

Your laughter rang out over the half empty streets, loud and unguarded. You’d spent the day visiting various places; the arcade, lunch, sipping hot chocolate as you walked through the park. More than you’d dreamed of, honestly, and to think you’d rejected him so many times. It felt as if your vision had been freed of the foggy lenses you’d been looking at him through before, seeing him for the kind (although a little cocky) man he was. The man he’d been trying to prove was there all this time.

“And then-“ you were cut off, the feeling of a small, wet droplet landing on your face pulling you from the conversation. You brought a finger up, wiping it and examining it for a second, long enough to come to the conclusion that it was raining. You looked upwards, as did he. The clouds were dark and gray, swirling with the threat of thunder and downpour. Your reactions were completely different, to say the least. While your eyes twinkled with awe and subtle anticipation, his nose crinkled in disdain. For once you were the bright eyed one, and he was just as gloomy as the sky above.

“It’s raining!”

“…it’s raining.”

You looked down from the somber atmosphere, met with the picture of his annoyance. “You don’t like the rain?”

He shook his head, meeting your eye. You almost gasped, but the singular nonchalant bone in your body made you refrain. “But it’s the best weather!”

“It’s dark and gloomy and wet,” he said, looking at you like you had spoken another language. He was utterly dumbfounded by your simple opinion.

More raindrops began to fall, decorating the concrete with dark, tiny spots. It was only then that you realized nearly everyone head cleared, leaving only the two of you and a few others as well as the passing vehicles. You smiled, wider than he’d ever seen you smile before. Your head was thrown back as you backed away from him, your arms outstretched at your side as you took in every bit of the rain. “Come on!” you said, a short laugh leaving your lips. Your eyes were closed now, but he was sure they’d be crinkling if they were open. “You can’t tell me this isn’t beautiful.”

“Hmm, yeah… I guess you’re right,” he agreed, but he wasn’t looking at the rain.

Satoru hated the rain, but he figured than the dampness of his bones and the way his vision blurred was all just fine as long as he could make out your foggy figure in the midst of it. Though his body hated the storms, his soul was unaffected, and all it did was long for you. So when your own spirit basked so happily in the wet weather, he couldn’t help but be content.

⋆

Satoru Gojo was a good boyfriend. Had you dared to tell yourself from a few months in the past, she would laugh in your face and send you away. But you were you now, and you knew all too well how good of a man yours was.

He opened doors for you, he cracked cheesy jokes when he knew you needed a laugh (they were so unfunny that you couldn’t even help it, he knew that), he gave you jackets when you were cold and he loved to guess your flavour of lipgloss before dropping you off at class every morning. He opened jars for you and braided your hair on tense, quiet nights when you didn’t have any words left to speak. He loved you more than someone who’s only known you for a handful months should, but you were not planning on complaining about that part. Some may say it was the honeymoon phase, some would argue it was love at first sight. You couldn’t be sure. All you knew was that you were happy, and that couldn’t be changed.

You felt a certain surge of bliss flow through you the moment you woke up, not because it was a particularly great day, but because of the first thing you were blessed with the sight of. Satoru was curled up in your bed, mouth agape as he slept on your chest. His white hair was fuzzy and strewn in gentle spikes surrounding his head, a hint of drool collecting at the corners of his lips. He looked so stupid, yet so absolutely peaceful that you were convinced he was beauty in its highest form. Screw whatever Greek mythology said, nothing blessed the eyes as greatly as the face of Satoru at ease.

A low grumble fell from his lips, though neither of you knew what words they were. His pale lashes blinked open, bleary eyes meeting yours. “Hey there,” he cheesed, mouth already forming into that cocky smirk. You hated it, hated the way you felt like every other one of his crazy fangirls every time he flashed it at you. Except it was just you, only for you.

“Morning, Satoru.”

He snuggled further into your chest, the fabric of your (his?) shirt crinkling beneath his nose as it nudged it. “Dream of me?”

You rolled your eyes, gently flicking him in the side of his head. His head shot up, looking cartoonishly offended. “That’s not nice!”

You grinned. “I’m not nice.”

He moved his face closer to yours, your features level as he looked into your eyes. “But you’re supposed to be nice to me,” he said, though no real emotion lied in the sentence. His were eyes flitting down to your lips, looking almost like some sort of deer in headlights. His head dipped down, just millimetres from you. He barely thought as he pressed his own to yours, lips meeting in a soft, sleepy way.

You parted for breath, a soft “satoruuuu,” tumbling from you before he was shutting you up with another kiss.

“Shh, I didn’t spend weeks begging for you to like me for you to not let me kiss you. Boyfriend privilege,” he tutted against your lips, and any protest you’d begun to shoot back was swallowed by him once again. You sassed, but he felt the way your hands tightened in his hair and your throat bobbed every time his teeth ran over your bottom lip. You loved him, and you hated it. It only made him like it all the much more.

⋆

The day was sunny, beating down on heaps of smiling faces as they took in all its warmth. The sky was clear and blue, you’d made a comment about how it looked similar to his eyes. He liked that, but he hoped you liked looking into his eyes better. The streets were busy, the sound of overlapping conversations and gas engines almost overwhelming. The only thing that grounded you was your hand wrapped around his bicep, his gentle guide through the crowd bringing you back to earth. You liked to act so big and tough, but there were moments like these where you were reminded that you were human too. Sometimes, you needed him. Needed your toru. You smiled bashfully when you came to the realization, to which he only smirked. It was as if he could read your mind, as if you were so in sync that he didn’t need to hear you voice it to know what you were thinking about.

But Satoru didn’t remember any of that. No, not clearly, at least. Looking back felt like trying to watch a video on a scratched disk, like there had been an old cameras lens’s blocking his vision.

All he remembered was screeching wheels and the sound of you being nudged just a little too close to the road, the way you tripped and fell seeming to be in slow motion. He remembered blood, too. A lot of it. It was yours. There were people screaming and the person behind the wheel crying, but by then it had all been tuned out by his ringing ears. He suddenly felt dizzy, all too dizzy. He’d zeroed in on your crumpled figure, hadn’t even noticed himself falling until his knees thudded against the rough road. His hands reached out to you, he was shaking. He nudged you once. A second time. No response.

“Y/n?” he asked weakly, as if a whisper only to you, avoiding the hundreds of eyes crowing around. He could hear distant police sirens, flashing lights bleeding in the corners of his vision. No. No. No no no no no. He could only think of one word then, the stubborn denial that this wasn’t happening. He was dreaming, he would wake up cuddled next to you and you’d wipe his tears, remind him that you weren’t going anywhere. But it wasn’t, the blood that stained his hands as he reached out to you was warm and wet and crimson, equally as real as the love you shared had been. The tears collecting in his eyes were real, too. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even think, he could barely cry.

He cradled you, and he felt no pulse as he placed his fingers on your neck. Your hair was stained ruby, leaving a trail of haunting colour in its wake as it dragged along his finger. You were being pulled from him, he tried to resist, but his arms felt weak and his mind numb. This couldn’t possibly be happening. You couldn’t go so soon, not when you had so many regrets, not when you’d finally gotten over it all and loved and lived with him. He needed more time, he needed to show you that everything was okay. But now he couldn’t, and he was left sitting on the side of the road as what used to be you was driven away. He lost you twice that day.

Once the road was empty and he was left with nothing but your looming absence, it started raining. Your favourite weather. Usually he’d be delighted, he’d bring you outside by the hand and watch as your heart was filled by every drop of water. Not this time. Now every bit of the liquid was wasted on a soul that could no longer be filled, what would only ever be a leaking shell of a man who loved foolishly. While the rain was what healed you, you were what healed him. Without you he was left a wounded man without aid, filled with cracks and chips that would reside with him forever. It was his fault. His fault for bringing you, his fault for loving you at all. After all, there was no curse more twisted than love.

Satoru Gojo hated the rain. Now and forever.

⋆

He wished you lived to see how much you mattered. He knew you tended to doubt it, didn’t value yourself nearly as much as you should have.

The bookstore you worked at closed not long after your passing. The only other worker there was a good friend of yours, she quit. She couldn’t handle your loss. Nobody could. Every time Gojo passed the empty building he was reminded of you, the old store just as lifeless as your body had been in that casket. You lingered everywhere, in every old book and cup of coffee and stupid philosophical question his professor would ask. You lingered in the sheets of his that you once slept in, your legs tangled with his as you laughed in the piercing bright of the morning. The clothes you’d scattered around his room untouched since the day you died, moving them felt like erasing you. Even washing his sheets was hard. He got a whiff of your perfume in one of his hoodies and he just broke, started ugly sobbing on the floor of his bedroom right then and there. Tears soaked the sweater, and he couldn’t help but notice that they looked like raindrops. Your favourite type of day was the one most similar to the picture of his despair, the way he curled into a ball and wailed to himself as he mourned your death. He figured that wasn’t too much of a surprise. You’d always appreciated the gloomier things, after all.

Sometimes he’d convince himself you were still there. He’d tell himself that you were right beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder and your voice ringing out in what was undoubtedly a sassy quip, but every time he turned to search for you he was met with nothing but a gaping emptiness, the hollow walls you haunted. You were no longer, you wouldn’t come back. You never would. He didn’t even get you tell you he loved you once more, kiss the soft, untouched expanse of your skin, remind you that you were delicate and precious and all his. Every day, the hatred inside of him grew and swallowed every bit of who he used to be. The man you loved was gone, his vessel unrecognizable. Satoru died that day too, but nobody mourned him because he wasn’t the one bleeding.

He sat on the roof of your bookshop, gazing out over the skyline. Buildings stuck up, jagged and irregular as they made tough lines over the horizon. You would’ve liked this view, but you simply hadn’t thought of coming up here before. Only he had, and by then it was far too late.

He looked down at his hand, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. It shouldn’t have been you. It should have been him. Maybe then he’d be reincarnated and born as someone else, hopefully reunited with you in the next lifetime. He had a feeling you would, your souls seemed to dance around each other in that sort of rhythm. But no, it had to be you. Did his suffering ever end? Tears fell and wet his skin, but suddenly, there were too many. Too many, too far.

He looked up, and he didn’t know if it was a cruel reminder or a gift sent by you, but it was raining.

He couldn’t bring himself to get up and go home that time. He embraced it, lying on the ground and imagining that if he closed his eyes tight enough, he’d open them and be able to see you again. When his eyelids parted, he was met with gloomy clouds and dim skies. In the midst of the darkness, he caught a glimpse of what he swore to be your silhouette. You were sly, even in the afterlife.

That day he didn’t lay in the rain; Satoru Gojo would never be caught dead doing that. He lied beneath you, raindrops that soaked into every part of him and sent chills up his spine. He knew you wanted him to. You didn’t come back as a sunset, you didn’t paint the skies with pink and orange. You were a chilly, rainy day that reminded him of your hands in his and your wide smile as you willingly gave yourself a cold, because with the sickness came a moment of joy. There was more truth to that than let on. Yes, now he grieved and lied in a puddle of tears and rainwater, but not long ago he’d been with you. He’d held you and felt the warmth of you on his fingertips, heard your voice ring through his ears, been granted the bliss that was your lips on his. He’d gotten the greatest joy of all, and he knew that if he died in this moment his only regret would be not embracing it more than he had, if that was even possible. He’d loved you, he’d felt your love. He’d been blessed with the softness of your gaze and the twinkle in your smile, seen the soft parts of you that would forever remain a secret between him and the rain. The knowledge of that, the feeling of bits of your soul returning with every rumbling thunder crash and strike of lightning was enough for him to know that you hadn’t died. You never would, because you loved, and nothing that loves ever truly dies. You would live on through him and everyone else you came by, his family for years to come would hear the story of a stubborn girl who healed someone she hated without even knowing it. Even after you were long gone, you healed him, one dollop of water at a time.

For years after that, though begrudgingly, Satoru was never inside during a storm. His opinion of rain hadn’t altered in the slightest, no. Satoru still hated the rain, but he loved you far more.

tags: @anotherwriternamedclara @adoresia @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniyaa @kashee-h @ruruisru @lizbix

note — why does he never catch a break omds… but on a real note I hate this real bad but wtvvvvvv I promised something and I’m a girl of my word. I don’t know how to write death I fear… and also the ending wasn’t even decided until very late into the story so it might’ve been a little sudden idkkkkkkuhhhhb

[midnightanxietytm]

He takes his whiskey neat

A/N: Look, I think i was possessed while writing this one /j. It was like 1 am and I was procrastination on college work, I dunno what happened but this is the ungodly spawn of my imagination mixed with sleep deprivation, caffeine and stress. Enjoy and don't question it too much

Contents: Ford Pines x reader, pinning (lots of pining), I pictured reader in their late 40s to early 50s so there is an age gap but nothing extreme. There's some plot in those holes. uhhh lots of tension and no payoff because im pretty sure I passed out before I got to that part.

Word count: 996

There’s this look on his eyes now that you can’t quite figure out.

Ever since Stanford Pines came back from the portal, ever since weirdmageddon and the end of that fateful summer, something about him fundamentally changed. There’s contempt, relief, sure, but there's more to it, something that he keeps deep in that rattling metal-protected brain of his.

And god forbid sometimes you just want to pick him apart entirely, figure out every detail, note it down, absorb it, maybe then his mere presence won’t entice you, mess you, so goddamn much.

It culminates, as all events are bound to do, right before that year’s summer vacation, you blame the heat. 

Soos and Melody took a vacation for themselves, entrusting the shack back to Stan’s less than trustworthy hands, just like old times. Ford slips back into the basement so easily you almost follow him; your mind briefly longing for that nostalgia of being freshly out of college, when you and Ford were easily impressed by the oddness of the world.

You were a prodigy; a good ten years younger than him yet still doing your masters while he did his doctorate, and in the same area with similar themes! Back then, you two were just bright-eyed yet very tired academics… Then Gravity Falls presented itself on a silver platter, and Bill followed through.

You were there, on the day of the portal, or at least, almost there, going back for the thousandth time, expecting no answer to your knocks at the door as usual, only to be met with the fallout of something far worse than refusal.

And then he was back, less jittery, less paranoid and less sleep deprived than he was before at least. But there was that thing in his eyes, that inherent distrust, detachment…? You struggled to find the words and if there’s one thing that you as a scientist can’t deal with is a question that goes unresearched.

So it began; your “research” depended on experiment and to experiment, you firstly decided to get close to your unwilling subject. And you go down the rabbit hole.

You find him in the basement, of course. He’s drawing on loose sheets of paper, some of the discarded pieces lay on the floor, and the cd player by his side is playing just loud enough to muffle your footsteps as you approach him by his right side. “Updating the journal?” You ask, nonchalantly, as if you hadn't obsessively turned each page of his journals before, as if your own handwriting wasn’t squeezed in the first ones before his old muse took all the space left.

Ford just hums, raising his chin slightly, but not his eyes, just to acknowledge the question. “Not really, just trying to get some proportion practice. Looking back, some of my work on the first journal was… Not the best.” 

A chuckle leaves your mouth; “If you say so…” You hum, picking up one of the filled out pages that were pushed aside in the table and pretending to look it over as he places his pen down and looks up at you.

“Any advice?” He asks, and once again you pretend to be paying attention to anything but him and his every movement.

“Not really… I think you’re good.” You place the paper back at the table, leaning against it. “Thought you’d be going through your abstract phase by now, honestly.” And you smirk down at him.

He leans back, crossing his arms; “I fear I’m too logical to have an abstract phase, even my craziest dreams have math and science behind them.” And you both laugh, and your curiosity itches more and more every millisecond.

The next words that leave your mouth were planned and inwardly rehearsed, but they come out natural as a summer breeze. “Every tortured artist has an abstract phase, get on with the times, sixer!” It comes out as a joke, it's a test. And suddenly you’re too nervous to stay there, staring at him and waiting for a rebuttal. You push yourself off the table and zipline to one of the bookshelves, reaching towards the back of it, you pull the ‘eureka whiskey’ and the two cups.

He just watches you for a second, then accepts the cup as you pour him one, then one for yourself. 

And it’s truly the eureka whiskey, because goddamn you just found something in those eyes. 

He takes a sip; “Yeah I guess those portal days would do for some good surrealist pieces at least.”

“I can’t even imagine.” You say.

He smirks, lips inches from his cup. “You can’t…” He takes a sip. “That’s the point of surrealist.” You want his brain under a microscope, you want his breath mixing with yours, you want to never see him again, you want to wake up near him every day.

The curse of science is that in the endeavor to figure out the world, the scientist often loses sight of themselves. 

The witty remarks, the planned lines, the psychological strategies, all fly out of you head and you lean back against his desk. He’s leaned further back now and his chair is turned diagonally towards you and he watches with a smile and those eyes. “What did you see?” It’s almost a whisper, because you think he might actually tell you, and that scares you more than anything.

“Too much…” He swallows, sighs, takes a swing of whiskey and rests the empty cup on the desk. “It was very chaotic, honestly that’s all I want to say…” You sigh, pushing yourself up to sit at his desk, and his head tilts as he watches you. 

“I’m glad you’re back.” You settle, even though it doesn’t even come near to all the things you want to express. He smiles, and his eyes travel down, landing on your hands, holding your barely touched whiskey glass. You follow his gaze, and chuckle. “I’m more of a whine person.”

“I know…”