#absolutely fluffy little dudes

[gummy-sharks666]

If Shadow Prove was a type of cat he’d be a ragdoll I am not elaborating

[sugurizz]

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐬, 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐬, 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐬 ✧ Feat. JJK MEN

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ── Jjk Men in their -real- Daddy era. (Am I secretly having a baby fever LMAOO)

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 ── fluffy stuff, pure wholesomeness and affectionate dads.

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

It's safe to say that sometimes you're raising two babies - only one of them is a big buff pouty one.

Daddy Toji sneaks to the kitchen in the middle of the night, leaving you both sleeping in your shared bedroom and then slowly closes the door. He promised himself he'd only take one *unnoticeable* spoon of your newborn's baby formula but ends up stuffing his face with the forbidden powder in the heat of the moment. He tries his best to hide his tracks by shoving the tin somewhere far in the cupboard.

He *oddly* always makes sure to be the one preparing his baby's bottle the next day - 'Oh darling, don'tcha move a muscle...I'll be right back with our baby's breakfast!'

You smile and raise a brow, already suspecting something. Daddy Toji is not much of a morning person. much less when it comes to baby chores...

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

Gojo is always there whenever you change your baby's diaper. He keeps laughing and giggling like a 6 year old, curiously learning from his baby momma how to take care of his little child. His sky blue eyes are staring at your skilled hands, handling your precious little one with infinte care. He keeps smiling in awe, chuckling every time your baby farts and making the funniest faces just to make them giggle.

He takes a million pictures of his baby every day; we're talking his whole camera roll is just his baby's face, cutesy hands, tiny feet, smiling, eating, sleeping on daddy's chest, drooling on his shoulder...the list never ends.

His baby looks so smol when he holds it in his huge hands. He has to bend all the way down just so he could pick them up cause obviously my dude is the tallest man ever.

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢

He'd take full care of your newborn just to see you rest and relax. He told you to teach him everything he needs to know so that he'd be perfectly fit for his new -and best ever- occupation; your baby father. He's got however only one pet peeve; getting his little one to burp after feeding them.

The reason? He was doing it once, holding the baby while gently patting its back...until he suddenly felt a warm liquid slithering down his shirt - the expensive one you dearly gifted him on your wedding anniversary- and to his surprise it was none other than his little one's vomit dripping down his shoulder...

Now he makes sure you hold a napkin behind him whenever he does it.

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨

He's by far the chillest Daddy EVER. Carries his little one whenever he goes. Gets super jealous when your baby starts calling for you, or wants you to hold them instead of him. He's determined to make them say 'daddy' first, but deep down knows it'd melt his heart when he sees the little version of him utter mommy's name for the first time.

Staying awake at night putting his baby to sleep just so you can get your full nightly rest is something he'd never miss out on. He hates seeing you tired or sleepy and puts both of your needs before anything else.

Daddy Geto is always calm and smiley, no matter how much mess his baby makes or how long it'd take for him to clean it up - sometimes makes you seriously wonder how he manages to be so damn chill all the time.

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚

For a husband twice your size with four arms and eyes he sure should take most care of your little offspring - He does tbf - His baby is always laying somewhere on his body or at least near him; sleeping against his chest, nibbling on his thumb, drooling on the side of his shoulder or sitting on his huge lap.

He's got a 6th sense whenever it comes to his baby being hungry, thirsty, sleepy or needing anything at all. Instantly knows the reason why his little one is crying and most of the time is very quick to make them happy again.

Absolutely hates poopie smell and calls them a brat whenever he senses their diaper getting heavier. 'Aggh you little runt!' You can't help laughing at him getting overwhelmed with such a tiny thing and start teasing him over it.

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐘𝐮𝐮𝐭𝐚

There's nothing that Yuuta loves more than children. He has always wanted to have kids and couldn't wait to create his very first and own one with you. He's in LOVE with seeing you taking care of them; almost admiring every move and every word you say. He smiles like an idiot whenever he sees you holding your baby, breastfeeding them, playing with them or even laying next to them.

His favorite game is to hide somewhere in the house and let his little one look for him. He does it so suddenly and quickly, leaving them puzzled with big round eyes - comes out of his hideaway when they start sobbing and laughs at their little red nose and pouty cheeks.

'Aww why is my little cupcake cryiiing?...Daddy's right here!'

[pottersfia]

For your Theo fluff - He hates touch, like absolutely does not get touched by anyone ever. His friends know it. Everyone knows - but then you come along and it’s all you do. Hugs, hand holding, legs in lap, all the touchy things. And you have no idea that Theo was ever NOT a touchy person because he never said anything. And then Pansy or Draco tell you how he used to hate being touched, and you’re like ???? Because he never said anything. And then you stop. Like no more hugs, no fiddling with his hands during class, nothing. And then he’s like ???? And then you tell him why and he’s like … I only wanna be touched by you. And it’s just so fluffy and a little hint of sunshine!reader.

You are the best Theo fluff writer😭🔥❤️

theodore nott x sunshine!reader

a/n: sorry i’ve been so busy i’m catching up on requests now!!

theodore very instinctively backed away from blaise's incoming hands. the boy was simply joking around with his friend, but as he lifted his hands to pat his back, super bro-dude of him, Theodore backed away.

"sorry mate." blaise noticed his flinch and laughed. theodore shook his head and gave a small smile to his friend.

"you act like everyone but you has the black plague or something, theo." pansy laughed at the interaction.

"what?" theodore asked.

"you back away from touch so quick." the girl replied.

"yeah, you never let anyone touch you." Draco added.

"i don't think i've ever seen you hug som-"

"theo!" blaise was interrupted by you walking towards the group of slytherins with an unmissable smile on your face. theodore's face visibly lit up as he stood up to greet you. you instantly walked up to him and reached out for a hug which he gladly reciprocated. blaise, draco, and pansy looked at eachother in shock. they knew theodore liked you but for him to display pda so naturally was strange. the two of you had only been dating for a week and before that you seemed to be close already, but the group still never saw this side of the relationship.

"hello to you too, y/n." blaise said, holding back a laugh with a smile. you turned to the group and smiled at them.

"hi guys." despite the two breaking your hug, your arm did not leave his body. "can i sit?" she asked.

"of course, i don't think theo will let you leave anyway." pansy replied making everyone not so discreetly laugh. theodore scowled at them and led you to sit down next to him. you smiled as he placed his arm around you and chatted about your day to him.

the scene was incredible to theodore's slytherin friends. you couldn't keep your hands off him as you sat together and he did not mind at all. you held on to his hands, placed a hand on his thigh, even touched his hair as you spoke to him. all he did was stare and listen to you as you talked, occasionally giving commentary and melting in your touch.

"i'll go get it for you." theodore said as he stood up, responding to something you mentioned you forgot in his room.

"where are you off to?" draco asked.

"getting something for y/n, i'll be back." he replied as he headed to his dorm.

"that boy must really like you." pansy turned to you as soon as he was out of sight. you smiles.

"well i hope so."

“it’s so funny, we were just talking about how much he hates being touched before you came over.” blaise said. you furrowed your eyebrows at his comment.

“he does?” you questioned. they all nodded. you never would have thought that about theodore. you were naturally very touchy with people you cared about and didn’t think theodore had a problem with it because he never said anything. as you thought about it, you did realize that he rarely was as physically affectionate with you in the same way so maybe he didn’t like it?

as the week went on, this thought never left your head. you suddenly became self aware of all your actions around theodore. your hugs were shorter instead of unnecessarily being prolonged, you held his hand instead of clinging onto his arm, and you rarely played with his hair.

theodore did not understand what was going on. he knew something was different as soon as he noticed you hesitating to hug him. he was never one to initiate physical affection so he wasn’t sure how to go about this. his break point was one afternoon in the empty school courtyard when the two of you sat in the grass talking and enjoying each other’s company. you were next to him but did not even attempt to touch him the entire time.

theodore looked down at the hand you were leaning on that was in between the two of you. you were ranting about your divination exam but all he could think of was how much he missed your touch. he looked back up at you and nodded to your words. he moved his hand without looking to touch yours, intending to hold on to it, but you immediately moved it away.

“why are you doing that?” he interrupted you. you stared at him in silence.

“doing what?” you asked.

“you’re not touching me. are you upset with me or something?” he asked. you looked at him in disbelief.

“no. i’m not i just,” you looked down not really knowing what to say.

“just what?” he asked again.

“i thought you didn’t like being touched.” you said. he tilted his head at your words. “it’s your friends, they told me you don’t like being touched by people soon figured i would hold back on it because i don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“ragazza dolce (sweet girl),” he placed a hand on your cheek making you look at him. “i only like being touched by you. i miss it so much.” he says.

“really?” you asked. he nodded. you smiled and kissed him, placing your hand on his arm.

“now please give me a hug. yours are the best.” he smiled at you.

“if you insist.” you gave him a hug as he requested, smiling and closing your eyes as you lingered in the feeling.

[stupidlittlespirit]

Rating: NSFW (kissing) Type: Long form, Stanford Pines x Reader Tags: Enemies to lovers, Academic rivals to lovers, arguing that turns into making out, bullying, no pronouns used, minor injuries, making up, injury care, art student!Reader Word count: 19,567 (yikes!) My other works: here on tumblr and here on Ao3!

You're forced to work with Ford, your sworn rival, for a college project. Things quickly get out of control.

@sleeplessdreamer14 asked for this so I hope it's okay dude!

Right in the centre of the list, glaring up at you in black and white, reads the worst thing you could possibly imagine: your name and directly across from it, Stanford fucking Pines’, joined together by a backslash and grouped snugly under the heading ‘MID TERM, PARTNERSHIP PROJECT.’

Your heart feels like it might be ejected through your mouth. You re-read the list, and then re-re-read it again, but the text doesn’t miraculously change. It still states the unholy student matrimony between you and the biggest asshole in Backupsmore.

Oh no no no no no.

There is never, and will never, be anything wrong with a little bit of friendly competition.

Competition drives innovation, innovation drives achievement and achievement drives happiness. A harmless rivalry can benefit just about anybody, provided it stays as just that: harmless.

Whatever you have going on with Stanford Pines, however, is decidedly not that.

Naturally it's all his fault, of course.

You've shared a space with the man for only a couple of months now, since the beginning of the second college semester of Backupsmore, and you're absolutely positive that you've never met such a stuck up asshole in all your life.

Pines had joined your Fine Art class late. Significantly so, in fact. The course had already been halfway through its first year when he had darkened the doorstep of Studio 1B with his stupid tweed jackets and his fluffy hair, and even at the time you can recall how taken aback you'd been when Professor Stonepoor had announced his joining.

Stonepoor, a surly old chap with bright silver hair and a penchant for chain smoking indoors (one which you’re not sure you can begrudge him, honestly, because if you had to work in a place like Backupsmore, you’re sure cigarettes would be the mildest form of distraction at your disposal), had announced Pines’ unorthodox arrival to the studio one wet September afternoon.

Before any of you had had the chance to take your usual seats for the afternoon, Professor Stonepoor had clapped his hands together from behind his cheap desk and caught everyone’s attention the moment you had all filed inside. Standing at his side, Stanford had shifted uncomfortably from one loafered foot to the other under the abrupt attention of the room.

“Kids,” Stonepoor had said, in his bored, trademark voice akin to gravel being dragged across concrete. “This is Stanford Pines. I trust you’re familiar, yes?”

And of course, the entire class had nodded their affirmation, yourself included.

Barely six months into the year and Pines had already left quite the impression upon his fellow student body, a far less complimentary achievement than it might sound. Stanford had garnered a reputation of sorts, almost from his first day of term, and unlike most other rumours that run alongside young men of fraternity age, Stanford had become known for being the exact opposite of the trope: Extremely intelligent and extraordinarily lame.

Stanford Pines was, as the kids say these days, a Square. As strait-laced as they came: He never attended parties, not even when he managed to garner pity invites from some of the nicer students on campus.

He didn't take drugs, he didn’t skip classes, and he didn't drink. All Pines ever did was flex his abnormally large brain on every other student at the school. Everyone on campus knew Stanford Pines was a genius, but no one knew it more than Pines himself. Belligerently and exceptionally intelligent, and utterly obnoxious about it, Stanford never cared to let others forget it.

Professor Stonepoor had nodded at the collective hum of acknowledgement from the other students and gestured vaguely to Stanford. “Well, fortunately for you lucky people, Mr Pines will be joining the class for the remainder of the term.”

With little care for the rudeness of the action, you’d scoffed aloud and questioned exactly why a student with no artistic inclination would join a fucking fine art class halfway through term. Everybody knew Pines was a die-hard scientist wannabe, what on earth would he be doing here?

You can still recall how Stanford had frowned down his aquiline nose at your comment, despite the disinterested air he’d displayed suggesting he felt similarly.

You’d scowled right back and held defiant eye contact with him for as long as he dared.

Mr Stonepoor had rolled his eyes and replied, very simply: “Ford has…. Run out of classes to take.”

“What?” You’d laughed, disbelieving and mildly confused.

“He’s completed significantly more of his major ahead of schedule and the dean thought it might be good for him to, and I quote, ‘soak up as much education as possible’ during his time with us.”

Which was, of course, utter bullshit. The dean had probably panicked about not receiving a full year’s worth of tuition and tried to drag out his stay in this desperately underfunded shit hole for as long as possible.

You hadn’t offered more than a sceptical arch of your brow and Mr Stonepoor had met you with a disinterested shrug before simply ushering Pines towards the free desks.

At first, you'd tried to play nice despite your initial annoyance at being disturbed. Perhaps Pines would be willing to take a back seat in a class that wasn't his forte? You'd approached him as he'd stood awkwardly by an empty desk on the far left of the room, a hand outstretched in a stiff welcome and your name on the tip of your tongue.

Stanford had regarded your hand like it was covered in bees, his big, brown eyes flicking from your fingertips to your eyes, before turning away to rifle through his briefcase (and honestly, who carried a briefcase in college?) as though you'd never even said a word. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

In spite of his lack of manners, you can recall how surprised you’d been at the sound of his voice. You’d never crossed paths with him before and certainly never held a conversation with him, and it had come as a mild shock that such a voice belonged to somebody so….

Well, somebody so like him.

You’d expected a nasally tone, something more fitting of such a nerdy exterior, but instead Stanford sounded…. Strong. So completely at odds with his unimpressive stature and awkward aura, that for half a second you had been too surprised to respond.

And then his snarky address had caught up with you and you’d found your tongue well enough.

Teeth gritted, you'd applied your best faux smile and steamrolled over his rudeness. “You know, you'll need to catch up on last semester's work. I'm the highest ranking student in this class, I'd be happy to show you some of my-!”

“No need,” Pines had dismissed you without looking up. “I completed it last night. Professor Stonepoor has my folder.”

You'd laughed, until it had become clear that he wasn't actually attempting a bad joke. “You…. Are you telling me you completed an entire semester's worth of work over the summer?”

It had been Stanford's turn to laugh then and finally he'd faced you. “Oh, no,” He’d scoffed. “I did it in two weeks.”

“Sorry, you what?”

“No need to apologise,” Stanford had said before giving you the kind of smirk that screamed just how much he knew his words were intended to provoke.

Your teeth had been ground further down.

“The dean asked me to join the class a few days after we returned for term and well, as much as I consider it a waste of my time, he said it might benefit me, so I figured why not.” Stanford had shrugged.

“‘A waste of your time’?” You'd frowned.

“Of course,” Stanford scoffed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, who pays thousands of dollars to study something as menial as art? College should be used for education, not for daydreaming and doodling.”

It had taken every ounce of decorum you owned not to punch his lights out, and from there, things had only gotten worse.

The next time you'd attended class, motivated to simply ignore Pines (and maybe to show off your extensive knowledge of your chosen subject to him to ensure he knew who he was sharing the floor with), you'd made a beeline for your usual desk only to find the object of your ire already sitting in it.

The seat by the East window of the studio was yours. Nobody else’s. You’d had a claim over it for the better part of the school year and nobody in class had attempted to challenge it. Not until Pines’ arrival, anyway.

At your insistence that he find somewhere else, Stanford has brushed you off yet again: “Your name isn’t on it. Can’t you take the one in front?”

Somewhere behind you, a classmate had hissed through clenched teeth and another had choked on a poorly stifled laugh; your exchange with one another was apparently entertaining enough to warrant a minor audience.

“No,” you’d snipped. “The light here is best, that’s why I sit in this one.”

Pines had hummed thoughtfully before finally meeting your eyes. “Well, now I’m definitely not giving it up.”

And so, he had commandeered your own seat from you in front of the entire fucking class.

But he hadn’t stopped there, oh no.

Your top student status had been more or less demolished in the space of a week.

You’ve always prided yourself on your work, on being number one amongst your classmates. You work hard and it has always paid off, as evidenced by your grades and your standing. Except, Stanford had practically appeared out of thin air and blown you out of the water immediately.

He raised his hand faster, he was quicker with his answers, more precise with his art history timelines and to make matters even more utterly miserable: he’d turned out to be an exceptionally talented artist.

His work was near-photorealistic in its detail, his anatomy was excellent and he’d picked up his colour theory in less than two classes on the subject. A significant improvement on the time it had taken you.

Stanford Pines absolutely dominated the classroom. Your classroom.

Your passion, your talent, your achievement. All of it had been bulldozed by the guy.

Of course, never having been one for going down without a fight, you had bitten back hard: pulling all nighters and skipping parties to ensure you’d still topped the charts in your scores. You’d even beaten him a couple of times, and the tangible frustration you’d felt from him had been enough to encourage you to keep at it.

That’s how the entire thing had started: You and Stanford Pines vying for top dog status of Studio 1B, horns locked and grievances held, no matter the day, no matter the project, no matter the reason. You absolutely had to beat him.

Today has been no different.

Class is coming to a close for the evening and you've spent most of it battling with Stanford, as per usual, over answers. The two of you have been going back and forth together for the better part of forty minutes before Mr Stonepoor manages to cut in whilst Stanford is taking a breath.

“While I appreciate your passion for Winckelmann, Mr Pines,” Stonepoor says, with little enthusiasm to match his words. “We really ought to be finishing up. I need to discuss the upcoming projects with all of you.”

Stanford's mouth shuts with an audible click! and you shoot him a smug look, pleased to have gotten the final word in class.

Stanford rolls his eyes.

“As you all know, in the next week you’ll be beginning work on your mid-term projects. Alongside your mini-exhibition, you’ll be expected to complete a short presentation on your chosen topic and explain the sense of meaning behind your themes.” Professor Stonepoor continues, oblivious to your exchange. “Except, this time things will be a little different.”

Stonepoor’s words are enough to get you to halt in your gloating and pay abrupt attention again.

“This won’t be a solo project, as the others have been. This time, you’ll be partnered up and expected to work together with a classmate to show how well you can collaborate with your peers.” Professor Stonepoor takes a seat in his creaky chair and procures a lighter from the top pocket of his suit jacket. He’s clearly preparing to deal with the stress that will inevitably come his way.

You raise your hand. “Will we get to pick our partners, Professor?” You ask, cautiously hopeful. You’ve only a few friends in Backupsmore: Jennifer, who you sit beside currently, and Melissa, who attends opposing classes to you but who technically counts as a peer. If you’re going to have to work with anybody, it’ll be them.

Stonepoor lights his cigarette and fixes you with a look that makes something cold settle in your stomach. “No,” he says simply, and the amusement in his voice fills you with uncomfortable concern.

Before anybody can question him, the shrill sound of the bell rings out and the rest of the students dutifully begin to pack their things away. As much as you’d like to question Stonepoor further, for now you’ll have to hope he does himself a favour and sticks you with somebody you’ll get along with.

It’s not like he’d partner you up with Pines of all people anyway. It’s unlikely he’ll want to cause himself more stress, right?

Right?

You’re lounging on the Quad later that evening, killing time with a couple of classmates and sheltering from the bright sun under the shade of an ancient oak tree, when the topic comes up again.

Thumbing through the battered copy of Pride and Prejudice on your lap, you listen to your friends complain back and forth about the strife in their lives until their annoyances invoke you directly.

“I can’t take another day of you two arguing like that, y’know,” says Jennifer, your fellow artist in 1B.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you mutter, picking at the corner of the novel and only barely paying attention.

“You and Stanford Pines,” she clarifies, and you can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “You’re driving everybody nuts.”

“It’s his fault,” You shrug one shoulder. “If he wasn’t such an asshole about, like, everything, I wouldn’t-”

“Be such an asshole back?” Jennifer finishes. “God, why don’t you two just fuck it out already?”

Her comment is enough to get you to snap your head up, attention on your novel shattered instantly. “What’s that supposed to mean?!” You exclaim, almost choking on your tongue.

“Oh, come on,” Melissa snorts. “There’s enough tension between you two to kill the Professor ten times over.”

“And the rest of us,” Jennifer adds, high fiving the other girl. “Poor Stonepoor always looks on the verge of a breakdown when you guys start fighting.”

Melissa laughs. “Yeah, and besides, everybody’s noticed it. You’d win me ten bucks if you jumped his bones.”

“What do you- Are you taking bets on my non-existent sexual chemistry?!” You ask, appalled. “You’re not even in the same class as us, you’ve got no idea about my…. Thing, with Pines.”

Perhaps that isn’t the most ideal choice of words, but still.

As though she can read your mind, Melissa shoots Jennifer an amused look.

You scoff, shaking your head vehemently. “You’re wrong. I can’t stand him and he definitely can’t stand me. I’d rather puke in my hands and clap than touch that guy.”

There’s absolutely no way you’d consider anything of the sort with Stanford Pines. Sure, objectively he isn’t too bad to look at: He’s tall and broad shouldered, with a stocky form in spite of his lack of sporting ability, and he’s got a nice enough face, but he’s nothing special. Puppy dog eyes and strong features are ten a penny, aren’t they?

“Anyway, I think he’s kind of cute,” Melissa says, bumping shoulders with you. “Y’know, in a loser type of way.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why you’re dating Jamie,” you grumble under your breath. The less said about her blockheaded jock boyfriend, the better…. “You like losers a little too much.”

Melissa opens her mouth to defend her pet idiot, but she’s cut off by someone shouting your name.

You glance up just as someone skids to a halt in front of your group, their trainers sliding on the poorly maintained lawn. You can vaguely recognise him as a kid from the studio…. Danny? You think. Darryl? “Oh, hey, uh….”

“Damian,” says Damian, looking a little annoyed. “We’re in Studio 1B together. Have been for a while now.”

“Right….” You give him an apologetic smile. “What’s up?”

Damian pauses, like he hadn’t expected to actually have to voice his reason for catching your attention. He looks uncomfortable and it sets your teeth on edge.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, shifting to stand up. “Has something hap-”

“Have you, uh….” He clears throat stiffly. “Have you seen the partner listing for the mid-term project yet?”

You frown. “No, I didn’t even know it was up.”

Damian flinches again and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. It went up like twenty minutes ago….You might wanna take a look. Figured you’d want to know..”

You’re not sure you’ve ever moved so fast in your life. Without more than a thanks to Damian, you toss your paperback into your bag and leap to your feet, barely hearing the annoyed shout of your friends as you scramble past them to head straight for the arts building. You take the stairs two at a time, weaving between crowds of other students, your heart beating so hard you think it might burst right through your shirt.

Why would Damian bother to alert you? You’re fairly certain you’ve only ever exchanged niceties with the guy over the paintbrush station, he’d have no reason to bother you about something like this unprovoked. Not unless….

“You’re driving everybody nuts….”

As you round the landing of the stairs, you spot the old stained door that leads to Studio 1B, along with the bulletin board that’s positioned right at its side. There's a small gathering of students around it, all talking amongst themselves, and you slip right through them to get up close to the A4 pieces of paper that's tacked to the cork surface.

Your eyes scan it, desperately searching for confirmation that you're overreacting and that Damian is probably just being helpful, right? Not forewarning of an incoming storm like you fear he might be, until….

Oh.

Oh, no.

Right in the centre of the list, glaring up at you in black and white, reads the worst thing you could possibly imagine: your name, and directly across from it, Stanford fucking Pines’. Joined together by a backslash and grouped snugly under the heading ‘MID TERM, PARTNERSHIP PROJECT.’

Your heart feels like it might be ejected through your mouth. You re-read the list, and then re-re-read it again, but the text doesn’t miraculously change. It still states the unholy student matrimony between you and the biggest asshole in Backupsmore.

Oh no no no no no.

You can feel the eyes of other students of 1B burning into your back. Clearly your predicament is common knowledge already. You feel a warmth burn on the base of your neck and very carefully, you avoid meeting their gaze.

Perhaps there's still time to talk your professor out of it. It's not even 5PM yet, he'll still be knocking about in the classroom for a while and if you’re quick, it might be your best and only opportunity to talk him into reconsidering. Surely he'll be easily convinced to change his mind? It's not a secret that he's more than a little fed up with your bickering; you're certain that the only reason he allows you and Stanford to go back and forth so often is because it means he can put less effort into teaching the rest of the class. He practically owes you both one!

Ditching the throng of students, you press your ear to the door of the studio. It sounds like somebody is already talking to Stonepoor , but whoever it is will have to wait. Right now, you're on a mission to ensure your sanity stays intact.

You hammer a quick series of knocks on the door before wrenching it open and ducking inside without even bothering to wait for a welcome, your protests already loaded in your mouth: “Professor Stonepoor , there's some kind of mistake on the-!”

Your words die a quick death on your tongue when you realise who it is that's currently talking to him.

Stanford Pines looks over at you from where he's standing, arms crossed and brows furrowed, in front of your teacher's desk, evidently as equally as annoyed as you are. He's wearing a blue button down shirt and brown corduroy pants, and his hair looks messier than usual, like he's been running his hands through it in distress.

You know how he feels.

Stonepoor leans sideways slightly in his chair, another cigarette in his mouth (he really must be stressed), and peers around Stanford's broad form at you. He doesn't seem very pleased to have you here.

“A mistake?” Asks Stonepoor, tiredly.

“Yes,” you say assuredly, ignoring the way Stanford watches you approach. “On the partner list. You put me and…. Him,” you struggle to keep the disdain from your voice and Stanford scoffs. “Together.”

Stonepoor laughs and for once he sounds genuinely amused. “No mistake there. You'll both be working together on this project.”

Instead of vomiting your heart, it drops out through your ass and a cold dread settles in its place. “What?!”

“Precisely my sentiment,” says Stanford, nodding. “Why on Earth are we being paired up? I could do far better work alone, I don't need someone dragging me along-”

“‘Dragging you along’?!” You snap, scowling over at him. “I'm perfectly competent, thank you. I don't even see why we'd need to work together out of everyone else in the class! If Stanford wants to work alone, why can't he-”

“Because this is a paired assignment,” says Professor Stonepoor slowly, like he's talking to an idiot. “And you two are top of the class. I'd like to see what you can come up with when you put your heads together willingly, instead of butting them back and forth.”

Stanford huffs, petulant. “But I-”

“But nothing, Mr Pines,” Stonepoor sighs, exhaling a long cloud of smoke and sitting back in his chair. “You're an excellent student, Stanford, truly-”

Stanford puffs out his chest at the acknowledgement and you have to force yourself not to pull a face to illustrate your disgust.

“-But you're still a student,” Stonepoor goes on. “And I'm your professor. It's my call, and I say you two need to learn how to work cooperatively for once. You won't get anywhere if all you do is piss each other off, so the decision stands. Work together.”

You want to argue more and you can tell that Stanford does too, but Stonepoor isn't having it. It quickly becomes clear that you'd each have better luck arguing with the stack of still-drying canvases in the corner rack of the room.

The moment you open your mouth, he holds a hand up to silence you. “If you can't get along and you can't produce something worth my time, I'll give you both the lowest grade and you can fight it out over who gets to hang that on their wall. Do I make myself clear?”

And just like that, your fate is sealed.

You're going to have to work with the one person you like least, whether it destroys your sanity or not.

Stanford sighs, long suffering and put upon, and once you've accepted your situation, he follows you from the classroom and out into the hallway. Thankfully it appears most of the people who had been lingering around initially have moved on, leaving the corridor uncomfortably quiet and the perfect place to lay down some organisation.

Taking a deep breath, you turn to Stanford.

“So, here's the deal-”

“Why don't we just-”

You both speak at the same time, words rushing out in a hurry to beat one another to the point, and Stanford sighs.

“Look, I'm as apprehensive about this whole thing as you are, believe me,” he says. “I'd be perfectly happy to work alone but it seems as though we're just going to have to get along for this whether we want to or not.”

As much as it pains you to admit it, he's right. Stonepoor has made that perfectly clear. You’re not going to let this fucker leave a blemish on your record and you’re sure he feels similarly.

“Fine,” you murmur, leaning against the classroom door. The stress of all this has already exhausted you and you haven't even had one on one time with him yet. God, this is going to suck. “Let's just…. Agree a truce for now, right? We get through the next few weeks, get our heads down and then we can go right back to how things are supposed to be. Deal?”

Stanford nods. “Deal.”

You mirror him and yank your bag up your shoulder. “Starting tomorrow, meet me in the library. The art history section. We can work out what we want to do and build from there. Sound good?”

It doesn’t look like it sounds good to him, but to his credit, Stanford nods stiffly. “Be there at six.”

“Done.”

..

As expected, Stanford is utterly unbearable to work with. If, that is, what you’re doing can even be compared to working together.

From the moment your ass touches the seat opposite him at the library table, he rubs you the wrong way. For one thing, he doesn’t even greet you. He doesn’t even so much as look up at your arrival, for god’s sake. Instead, he keeps his big nose buried in a dusty book he’s reading and says: “You’re late.”

You cast a glance at the wall clock to see that you are, technically, about four minutes behind when you said you'd be here for. That doesn’t mean you’re going to take the heat for it though.

“Barely,” you mutter, dumping your bag onto the table and making his thermos wobble.

That’s enough to get him to look up.

Stanford frowns and catches it before it can fully tip over, avoiding a spill. “If we set a meeting time, I’d appreciate it if you kept to it,” he says snippily.

You nod, but you’re not really taking his chastisement on board. You’re too busy checking out the array of books he has splayed open in front of him like a weathered old cheeseboard for his perusal. You’re expecting them to be books on the Renaissance or maybe some old masters biographies (he seems like the type to enjoy the classics), but when you peer closer you’re surprised to see that they’re predominantly all physics books. Even the yellow legal pad at his elbow is full of mathematical equations.

“Not interrupting something, am I?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at his work.

Stanford clears his throat and snaps his book shut before you can gawp much more. “Of course you are,” he murmurs, beginning to clear them away. “Art is hardly my most prominent area of work, you know. Some of us are studying for more than one thing, hence the importance of time management.”

“And just how many things are you studying for, Stanford?” You say, amused by how easily you can get under his skin. “I hope they won’t get in the way of this project.”

Stanford furrows his impressive brows at you. “Just because I don’t care about art, that doesn’t mean I’d let my work slip,” he says as he piles the textbooks up. “And I’m taking five degrees, thank you.”

“Five?!” You say, a little bit louder than is appropriate for the setting.

Stanford shushes you, as do a few more students at other tables, and you offer them an apologetic wave before repeating yourself at a more suitable stage whisper: “Five degrees? How the fuck are you managing that?”

Stanford scoffs, sitting forward in his chair to rest his elbows on the table. “With a great deal of talent and commitment, of course,” he says, as though it’s obvious.

Holy shit, you think. That’s insane. As much as you want to fire off a snappy comment about big headedness, you have to admit that perhaps some of it is warranted if the man can manage five fucking degrees in one go.

“I intend to take more but I’m focusing on those for now. I plan to make it to PhD as quickly as possible so I need to concentrate and manage my efforts accordingly. I’d hate to throw off my groove by picking up random, useless classes that I’ll never use again.” He pauses to bark a laugh. “Not that this isn’t exactly that, mind you…. No offence.”

You roll your eyes. “Every offence taken. Art might not be as academically lauded as science or maths, but it’s just as important.”

Ford snorts as he shoves his books into his briefcase, mildly amused by your comment.

“I’m serious, Stanford,” you say, defensive. “How do you think you get those illustrations in your anatomy textbooks, for example?”

“Those are different,” Stanford says, waving you off. “They serve a purpose.”

Jesus.... This guy’s grandiosity knows no bounds. “All art serves a purpose for somebody. Just because it doesn’t serve your every purpose, doesn’t make it useless,” you scoff. “Art informs science just as much as science does art.”

Stanford opens his mouth to answer back but he seems to fall short of actually finding the words to fire off at you. Behind his eyes, you can practically see the gears whirring and ticking as he weighs up your statement in his mind, and after a moment, he exhales the air he’d saved to fight back with through his nose, sharp and short. The tips of his ears are a little pink and he looks decidedly annoyed.

It strikes you suddenly that you might have just accidentally bested your sworn rival over a ridiculously simple concept. Your skin prickles with righteous pride and you fix him with an assured smirk, absurdly pleased to have beaten him so casually.

Rather than apologise, Stanford simply ignores your statement and flips through his yellow legal pad, settling on a clean page and placing it between you both. “If you're done debating me,” he says, clearing his throat. “I suppose we ought to figure out our roles, yes?”

“I’m not debating you, Stanford,” you say, rolling your eyes with a smile. Sure, technically you won your point, but you’re not actually trying to beat him in this discussion any more than you are just bringing the truth to his attention. He really can be a misanthrope sometimes. “We’re socialising. Normal people do it all the time, so I’ve heard.”

He looks a little taken aback at that, and you can't help but think the owlish way he blinks at you suits him quite nicely in comparison to usual scrutinising stare. “Oh,” he says. “Right.” He nods quickly and averts his gaze downward to the pad.

It's painfully clear he isn't used to being spoken to on such a level. You almost feel a little bad for him. It must be hard to make friends when you're all work and no play, and especially when someone has the aura of a person who'd rather be laying on train tracks than holding menial conversation….

Mentally, you yank on the reins of that line of thought: you are absolutely not going to feel bad for someone that's always such a jerk to you, and to everybody else. No way.

Stanford taps the pad of paper between you both. “I can do most of the work. You’ll just follow along and I’ll write in some speaking parts for you, so that way you’ll still be included in the grade,” he says, rolling his shoulders and slipping back into the usual aura of asshole-ness.

There goes that empathy.

“What?” You stare at him like he’s gone mad, the smile sliding off your face. “Absolutely not. This is as much my project as it is yours! We can go fifty-fifty, that way it’s totally fair.”

“No disrespect,” says Stanford, and you can tell he’s about to say something that intends fully to illustrate how much he doesn’t mean that caveat. “But your history and research is lacking, and you tend to focus more on the intricacies of the piece than on the entirety of the project. I’d be happy to shoulder most of the work. That way we’ll have fewer weak points.”

You grip the edge of the table, hard. Weak points? Who does this guy think he is?!

“I want to earn my grade, Stanford,” you say, quite admirably keeping the anger from your tone. “Maybe you’re used to working with people who are happy to sit in for the ride and get top marks for doing fuck all, but I’m not that kind of person. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t treat me as such.”

He regards you for a moment, seemingly nonplussed by your adamant refusal to accept the easiest option, and for a moment you think you’re going to have to fight it out with him.

You’d rather not get banned from the only library Backupsmore owns for beating him to death with his own physics books, but you’re not going to just let him take control like he so clearly wants to.

However, much to your surprise, once he’s finished turning over your words in that big brain of his again, he nods. “Fine. If you think you can do it, have at it.”

You’re astounded he’s given in so easily until he adds:

“But if you start to drag me down then I won’t hesitate to scrap whatever you’ve come up with and do it all again from scratch myself.”

There it is.

As an afterthought, he tacks on: “And if we're going to be partners, you might as well call me Ford. I prefer it.”

A nickname? That's awfully familiar of him…. But you suppose if he prefers it then you'll bite.

“Fine,” you say. “Then let’s do this, Ford.”

And if you’re not mistaken, he might even smile a little at that.

This is going to be a weird couple of weeks….

Nothing much changes in the classroom.

The two of you still go back and forth like your lives depend on it, much to the visible chagrin of your professor and peers.

At first, your pairing with Ford had been the talk of the studio. The other students had made offhand comments about it all behind your back, but none had brought it up to your face.

Melissa and Jennifer had been as amused as they were apprehensive about it all, both of them begging you to at least try and get along for everybody’s sake, but of course all you’d manage to do for the first week or two was complain and lament to them about the entire situation.

“He’s a total nightmare! A complete control freak and a perfectionist. I can’t survive another day with him, I swear,” you froth to the girls over lunch one afternoon, after yet another frustrating session spent with Ford.

The entirety of the study time had been spent arguing back and forth about painting techniques, and you had had to leave before you’d throttled him with a cleaning rag.

Every complaint fell on deaf ears, of course. Both Jennifer and Melissa only ever exchanged mutual looks of exasperation with one another any time you moaned about him and neither seemed to offer much more than a conciliatory ‘that sucks’ with each grievance you bring them.

Eventually, you and Ford had come to the agreement of using ‘uniqueness’ as the basis of your project.

The idea had been brought up at the start of the third meeting, once everything had been arranged for responsibilities and chores, when Ford had dropped into conversation that he held a penchant for the strange and unusual.

Although your initial reaction had been to disagree simply on principle, the idea had been interesting enough that you’d caved without much argument.

When you questioned why his interest lay in things like cryptids and paraphenomena when he clearly lauded himself as a serious scientist, he’d given you a strange look that you had struggled to decipher.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he’d asked toward the end of your second week together, watching as you’d painted fine details onto the fur of thylacine one rainy Tuesday evening.

You’d shrugged. “Because you’re a nerd?”

That was the most obvious answer, wasn’t it? Excluded by his peers and his own intelligence, he probably felt a kind of kinship with things that others didn’t accept. Perfectly understandable, you supposed.

Whilst you’re no genius, you’ve never been immune to exclusion. You can recognise traits in monsters that you might share with them, in the ways that nobody ever believes in them.

His interest made sense and for some reason, it had even made you feel a little more…. Connected to him. And while you’d rather die than admit that aloud to anyone, a secret awareness of empathy for the guy wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“No,” Ford had replied, coming to stand behind you. “It’s because I…”

You’d lifted your head from your work, glancing over your shoulder and craning your neck to stare up at him expectantly.

Ford had paused as he’d met your eyes, unsure of an answer for only the second time in your presence, before he’d cleared his throat and looked away again. “It hardly matters. I suppose you’re right.”

He had stood so close behind you after that, silently observing; the scent of his cologne, all spice and musk, filling your nose and making your mouth water.

You had struggled to concentrate then, but you’re sure it had been for no specific reason, of course. Just a simple case of being uncomfortable with having someone in your personal space. That was all. Nothing more.

Still, Ford pushed harder for results than any other project partner you can recall having. Possibly even harder than any teacher you'd ever had, too.

Despite giving you the grace to put your own touch on the project, it had become clear very quickly that Ford was decidedly not very good at collaborations.

He worked at a break-neck speed and with laser precision in everything he did, whether he was passionate about the subject or not, and if you couldn’t keep up? Well, that was a personal failing on your part, obviously.

His intensity had built up very quickly and it hadn't taken long to feel less like you were partnering equally on a job and more like you were being dragged along in the dirt by an unruly workhorse.

Long hours in the studio weren’t unheard of for you, but pouring over your canvases until the wee hours of the early morning every night? Less so. Arguments over techniques and methods weren't uncommon, and unrequested criticism from Ford quickly became the norm.

Lack of sleep and total dedication to the project combined with all your other classes had begun to take a toll on you. For Ford, it seemed he barely needed sleep or lunch breaks, but for your much more average ability, you couldn't quite say the same.

Even your arguments in class had become less and less heated as you'd lost the free energy to fight it out with him.

The first time you'd almost dozed off during a study session in the library for background research, Ford had clicked his fingers in front of your closed eyes with the loudest snap known to man, jerking you awake and almost causing you to fall out of your seat.

“If you can't keep up, just say so,” Ford had quipped, going back to his elegant cursive-filled page of notes. “I told you I'd be happy to take over.”

Of course, you'd told him to fuck off. No way would you be seen dead giving him what he wanted. No matter how exhausted you got, regardless of the pressure on yourself, you absolutely would not give in…..

Which is why today, you find yourself slumped before your half finished canvas, vision blurring at the edges from lack of rest and head throbbing painfully.

There's only one week left of prep time for the project and you're not even sure you'll live to see the fruits of your labour at this point. Your back aches from sitting at awkward angles and leaning over your work for one too many hours a day, your hand is painfully stiff from gripping pencils and paintbrushes 24/7, and alongside the pressures of this project, you've still got to contend with your other classes too.

Fine Arts degrees aren't all about painting nice pictures and using free time to kick back and slack off, despite what some people may think. Your grades are important to you and you're pushing yourself in every other class you have too: history, sculpting, printmaking and more. You're spread as thin as you can be and it's taking its toll.

At this rate, you'll fail in several of those. Even a few of your teacher's have pulled you aside to ask about the abrupt decline in your attendance (late nights lead to oversleeping, who knew?) and you're not sure you can bear another ‘are you taking this seriously?’ scolding from them again.

You've arrived early today. Typically you meet in the spare studio with Ford at six o'clock sharp, but today you'd decided to try and come in sooner in order to get a head start.

You've fallen behind with some of the work; the oil piece currently propped up in front of you is still only in its early stages and it'll take you a while to get it finished to the standard you hold yourself to, plus you still need to draft your speeches for each painting and write your cue cards out too.

If you can push yourself to complete the best part of this painting today, though, then it will be one less thing to worry about. Not to mention that you haven't even started on your presentation rehearsal yet.

Miserably, you dump your paintbrush in the glass of murky water on the trolley beside it and sit back with a groan, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. You're so fucking stressed you want to cry.

Your eyes burn when you lower your hands and distantly, you realise that you already are crying. Wetness trails down your cheeks and you can feel the tips of your ears burn with embarrassment. Crying over a fucking presentation. Pathetic.

You cast a glance over to the corner of the room where Ford has left out one of his own pieces of work to dry, and it only makes you feel worse. He's so precise with his brush strokes and colours, and so effortless with what he does.

It's enough to encourage more tears; his skill is admirable, even if you'll only ever concede that through brutally gritted teeth, and knowing that he's so talented even in a subject he doesn't care about only makes you feel worse.

“This is ridiculous,” you groan aloud, voice thick with distress.

Why hadn't you just taken Ford up on his offer? Stupid fucking pride, always getting in the way of an easy ride and making things harder than it needs to be….

You sniffle and heave a great, shuddery sigh. Could be worse, you think miserably. Ford could be here to see me be all pathetic and snotty.

And because the universe is a cruel and unforgiving mistress with a sick sense of humour, the door to the studio opens at that exact moment and the man himself barrels in with an arm full of textbooks. “I hope you're here early because you plan to make back the time on those diagra-!”

Ford stops mid sentence, eyes going wide at the sight of you. The door bounces off the wall behind him and slams shut as he stares in your direction, taking in your downtrodden appearance.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

You feel your entire face go red, and roughly, you wipe at your eyes. You attempt to duck back behind the safety of your canvas and hide your tear stained face from the exact person you'd hoped to avoid, but Ford has already seen the state of you. There's not much you can do to hide it.

You clear your throat, head ducked to conceal your face. “I'll get them done,” you say, only slightly croaky. “Relax.”

Ford stands rooted to the spot, his textbooks hugged to his broad chest. He's silent for a minute, only staring right at you with wide eyes, and then he mirrors your awkward throat-clearing. “Are you…. Okay?” He asks, stiffly. “Did something happen?”

“No. I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine,” Ford says, finally wandering over. “And people don't tend to cry when they're just ‘fine’.... Something must have-”

“I'm stressed, Ford,” you cut in, a little sharper than is necessary. You're not really in the mood to explain everything to him like he's your therapist, but maybe he'll back off a bit if you give him something to sate his (evidently unstoppable) curiosity. “I have other classes as well as the one we share, you realise? Other projects. It's- It can be a lot. I'm tired and I'm stressed.”

Ford frowns, his confusion palpable. “Stressed?” He repeats, putting down his armful of textbooks on a nearby desk. “About art?” He sounds so baffled, like it's impossible to imagine someone might struggle with such a ‘lesser’ pursuit than his own.

It’s enough to get your back up so high that you instantly forget to measure your response before you open your mouth. Maybe it's the tiredness, or the mounting pressure, or maybe just a combination of all of it, but you just can't take his obnoxious way of addressing you anymore.

“Ford, give it a fucking rest would you?” You snap, standing up from your chair in anger and finally meeting his gaze. He already knows you're upset, there's little point in hiding it anymore.

“See, this is exactly why I didn't want to tell you! You just don't get it! You're so fucking intense about all of this,” You gesture vaguely towards your canvas and the rest of the room, confident that he'll pick up what you mean. The entire fucking project. “I'm not used to it! I've never worked with somebody so- so like you, before.”

Ford flinches and somewhere within you, you feel a little guilty at your choice of phrasing. It's probably not the first time he's had someone say such a thing, judging by his reaction.

Undeterred, you push on, unable to stop the exhausted word vomit: “Staying up every night, pushing me on everything I do, it's relentless! You're relentless! I'm not like that, Ford, I can't just burn my candle at both ends when there's nothing left to burn.”

Ford seems surprised by your outburst. It's hardly the first time you've yelled at him, but it is the first time he looks out of his depth about it. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Instead of answering, he runs a hand through his messy chestnut hair, forcing the strands to stick up, and blinks back at you, deer-like.

Under any other circumstances, you'd find it funny how blatantly nervous he is at your display of emotion. Ford is the sort of person who runs solely on logic, on equations and science, and definitive answers.

He's never once given you the impression that his IQ extends to EQ and seeing him try to figure out how he ought to approach such a difficult problem would be comical if you weren't so upset right now.

After a moment of silence, filled only with you sniffling, Ford finally finds his voice again. “I told you, I can handle the workload alone if you can't-”

“Oh, sure!” You scoff, before he can finish his stupid sentence. “You'd love that, wouldn't you? Then you can totally win this stupid thing by yourself and leave me in the mud.”

You shake your head and turn away, wiping your face with the sleeve of your sweater. “I knew I shouldn't have said anything, you're just gonna use this against me now, aren't you?” You mutter.

Ford, unexpectedly, looks a bit hurt by your unfounded accusation, and guilt nibbles at your gut again the moment you've said it, even if it is a genuine concern of yours.

“I would never do that,” he says defensively. “We're partners, aren't we? It wouldn’t be…. Fair for me to use your emotional state against you like that.”

He sounds so genuinely certain in his words that you find yourself unable to answer him. You'd expected him to laugh and snatch the project out from underneath you instantly, with little care for your wellbeing.

Not necessarily out of spite, but out of indifference. The way he rejects your assertion so defensively is enough to make your eyes water all over again.

“I'm not a robot, despite what some people may think. I know how it feels to work under pressure,” Ford says, and you suppose he must, what with the extortionate number of degrees he’s currently juggling. “Maybe not from art,” he admits. “But I’m not immune.”

“I told you, I can take on what you struggle with,” Ford continues on, and at your attempt to interrupt, he steamrolls on. “And before you say anything, no, I don't mean that because I think you're not good enough. I just mean that I can help.”

You raise your brows, surprised, and turn to face him. “I thought you thought my work was shit,” you say, picking up on his comment instantly.

Ford frowns. He takes a deep breath and comes to your side, a bit hesitant to get closer than within arm's length of where you stand at your station.

“I don't think that at all,” he says, like it should be obvious to you. “Why would you-”

“Ford, all you do is criticise the stuff I create,” you say, exasperated. “You spent forty minutes telling me my shading was bad on that fucking sketch last week alone.”

Forty minutes is conservative. The drawing hadn’t even been part of the mid-term line up. It had been a warm up piece before you’d started on your actual project work, and yet he’d still gone off about how your light source had been inconsistent, that the still-life had lacked depth et cetera et cetera.

You’d seethed in the corner and attempted to burn holes through the back of his head with your venomous gaze for the rest of the evening, but he hadn’t noticed a thing. He rarely does.

To his credit, Ford looks embarrassed now that you’ve brought it up. He adjusts his glasses nervously. “That's not- I don't do that because I think you're bad,” he assures you. “I do it because I can see where you'd be even greater. I just… Thought it might help.”

You stare at him. Out of all the reasons for him to be so pushy, he thought he was helping? “We hate each other, Ford, why would you even want to help me get better?”

“‘Hate each other’?” Ford says, only growing more confused. “I don't hate you. On the contrary, I thought we were having fun…. Are you…. Not having fun?”

You stare at him as though he's just sprouted a third eye. “But, in class- all we do is fight and argue, and-”

“That's just good debate, isn't it?” Ford says with an awkward laugh. “Did you- Don't tell me you thought I hated you?”

Well, now you feel like a total fucking idiot. “I mean, can you blame me?” You say defensively. “You’re hard to get a read on. I’m not exactly a telepath.”

Ford gives you a shy, lopsided grin and rubs the back of his neck, bashful. “Right, right. Sorry,” he says, the first apology you’ve ever heard from his mouth. “I suppose I assumed you could handle the way I am sometimes, what with the way you work in class,” he admits.

“Fiddleford, my roommate,” he explains, “He says I can be… What was the word he used?.... ‘Difficult’,” Here, Ford puts dramatic air quotes around his roommate's statement and it’s enough to make you smile a bit, watery and weak.

“How very diplomatic of him,” you hiccup a laugh and Ford smiles again, the skin at the corners of his eyes wrinkling. There's a compliment hidden in his words when you turn them over in your mind: I thought you could handle the way I am.

“He’s much better at being tactful than I am,” Ford admits, looking a bit sad about the fact. “I’m afraid I’m not the best at all this social stuff. If I gave you the wrong idea about it all then….. That wasn't my intention.”

He's looking at you strangely, his eyes searching yours in the silence. He almost looks guilty. It's as though something has flicked a switch inside of him and for a moment, the impossibly high walls with which he surrounds himself have lowered fractionally. Only a little, but enough for you to catch a glimpse of something…. Softer.

Up this close, you can read the minute changes of his expression far easier than when he's across the classroom or buried behind a book. You’re not sure you’ve ever been so near to him before, not face to face like this, anyway, and you can see all the shades of brown in his eyes.

He’s got wonderfully long lashes, thick and curved in a way that would make even a beauty queen weep with envy, and a smattering of very light freckles across his strong nose. The bridge of it is curved and convex, a Roman-esque quality that only adds to the subtly strong features of his face and balances out the harsher lines of his face.

You worry your lower lip between your teeth, brain caught in a loop of cataloguing his features. He really isn’t all that bad looking up close….

Ford’s gaze drops to your mouth. The movement barely lasts point-five of a second, hardly long enough to even really take note of before he aborts it in motion, the two of you sharing a slightly awkward laugh. A redness tints the tops of his cheeks.

The familiar scent of his subtle aftershave wafts towards you again, and you’re reminded of when he’d stood behind you during that studio session a week or so ago.

You swallow thickly and look away to quell the funny feeling that makes your stomach flutter nervously. You’ll blame your vulnerable state for that.

Desperate to find something to distract yourself with, you look down to where he's nervously toying with the brown leather band of his wristwatch. The sleeves of his chequered shirt are rolled up today, exposing his forearms and showing off the threads of veins that stand out under the skin, and you follow them down to his hands in the hopes of finding a way to avoid examining from whatever dangerous territory your thoughts are trying to wander into.

And boy, do you find one.

Momentarily, you wonder if the tears in your eyes are blurring your vision too much to see straight. You've no idea how you’ve never noticed it before. You’ve seen him painting, seen him gesticulating wildly when he’s gotten passionate about something you’ve challenged him with, and yet somehow, the realisation has completely slipped past you.

When you react, you don’t think about what you’re doing. You're too caught up in your desperation and your shock to really consider that the move might be unwelcome or rude: You just do it.

“Oh, my god,” you murmur, reaching out for him. “You do have six fingers.”

Rumours about Ford’s hands have always floated around school, but you’ve never given them much credence. You’re not one to care about physical features like that; life isn’t a freak show and you’re not part of a baying townsfolk who want to point and laugh at someone else, so you’ve always glossed over them. But when the realisation takes you by surprise so suddenly, you act without considering the consequences.

Like your touch has scolded him, Ford yanks his hands back and steps back, away from you. He looks panicked, as though you’ve just announced his worst fears aloud, and you watch in real time as those castle walls come crashing down all over again.

The redness on his face burns brighter than ever before, a deep rouge that soaks across his cheeks and ears like watercolours on paper, and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him look so humiliated. His eye contact drops and his expression shifts from panic to anger.

“Look, hate me if you must but I’d rather you not make a big deal about that,” he says stiffly.

“What? What are you talking about?” You frown, shaking your head. His demeanour has changed so suddenly that it makes your head spin more than the smell of white spirit does after cleaning your oil palettes. “I wouldn't-”

Ford bumps into your abandoned chair in his haste to retreat, sending it skittering backward until it rocks onto its side with a clatter. He hurriedly snatches up the textbooks he'd left on a nearby desk earlier and shoves his glasses up his nose again, righting them from where they've slipped down in his hurry.

“If you need time to catch up on your end of the project, then just- Just say the word and I'll finish it alone,” he snaps.

And then he's scrambling from the room, shoulders up around his ears and posture slumped as he wrenches the door open and exits as quickly as he'd entered, leaving you to stare after him in utter disbelief.

What the fuck?

..

Ford doesn't show up to the next study session. He leaves a note on your desk that reads ‘caught up in physics, will see you next time’, which really makes no sense because he'd have to come all the way across campus from the science labs to deliver it. If he was that busy, surely he'd have just left you to it?

Alas, he doesn't make an appearance at the session and he doesn't approach you afterwards to check on your progress, either.

You can see that he's finished his paintings, however. They sit at the back of the spare studio, right near where you work after hours, and you've been admiring them all week.

He has a nice little collection of pieces now, including a moody looking wendigo oil painting and a very pretty study in watercolour of a type of flower that you're not botanically inclined enough to know the name of, but you've a sneaking suspicion it's the gross one that smells like corpses.

You're even mildly disappointed that you haven't had the chance to ask him about it and then watch him passionately lecture you on its ins and outs and whatever else he might find fascinating about unusual flora.

It’s not like you miss him, though. Obviously not. If he was here, he’d just be insufferable about it all, of course, and throw off your creative vibe with all his science talk. At the start of the project, after you’d seen all the physics books he carried on his person so often, you’d made the mistake of politely asking about his lab work and then been subjected to a full hour of listening to him harp on about topics that might as well have been in a foreign language to you.

But then the way he’d just sort of….Lit up about it all had been strangely breathtaking. He had practically burst into fucking flames of passion about molecules and dimensions and all sorts of things the moment you’d shown even the most tepid bit of interest that you hadn’t had the heart to stop him.

He’d looked so alive, so much more animated than you’d ever seen him, and something about it had been horribly endearing.

Still, you totally don’t miss that. Not his wild gesticulating, not the way he would run his hands through his hair in concentration and leave it all fluffy and stupid right after. The way he would chew his lip as he watched you paint.

Definitely not. Too annoying and far too distracting, for reasons you’d rather not study too closely.

In class, Ford barely looks at you. He doesn’t say hello, he doesn't bring up the project, he doesn’t even acknowledge your presence when you attempt to talk to him on the way out of class, either.

It feels awful.

You try to tempt him into debate a few times but shockingly, he doesn't rise to it. Instead, he looks everywhere but at you, jaw tight and head bowed, and he even pretends not to notice when you purposely get a history fact wrong in the hopes he might feel compelled to correct you. That’s the moment you realise that something is seriously wrong.

You hate to admit it, but the lack of challenge and his avoidance is making you so fucking miserable that even the other students have begun to pick up on it.

You’ve been moping about so much recently that Melissa and Jennifer have dragged you along to a party under the guise of getting you so insanely drunk that you might either admit what’s pissing you off or forget about it altogether.

As far as you’re aware, none of them know the real reason for your melancholy and they’re putting it down to academic stress. They’re not entirely wrong in that vein anyway, and you suppose it might be good to focus on something else (and chug free booze), so you agree.

Which is why you find yourself standing about on the quad this evening, dressed up as nicely as you can be bothered to be, and milling around while you wait for the others to get their act together and head over to the East Wing dormitories where the party is taking place.

The group is made up of yourself, Jennifer, Melissa, and Melissa's boyfriend Jamie, plus one of his idiot friends that you're too annoyed by to ask their name.

The others are already drunk enough that it's been a challenge in and of itself to herd them downstairs and out into the open night air, and getting them to actually follow you across campus is proving equally as hard.

You're only slightly buzzed; barely a couple of clear-liquor drinks in so far and not at all as wasted as you'd like to be if this is going to set the tone for the evening.

Frustrated, you roll your eyes at where Jamie and his buddies are attempting to show the other girls how many people they can lift with just one arm, and step away. “Are we planning on actually making it to this dumb party, or do I have to watch you guys try and put your backs out all night?” You ask, not even attempting to hide the annoyance in your voice.

Melissa laughs and shakes her head. “Oh come on, you're no fun!” She says, coming to your side to hang off your arm. “Live a little!”

The bag on your shoulder, the one you carry with you everywhere, slips down a little at her insistent touch and you huff, pulling away to correct it. It's less filled than it usually is tonight, only holding your purse, your keys, and the small, reliable, battered sketchbook that you always keep close just in case inspiration hits.

“I'm living vicariously through you,” you tell her dryly. “But right now I'm cold and I want a fucking drink, so can we please just get a move on already?” The night air is cool enough to prickle gooseflesh on your bare arms and you rub at them insistently.

“Take my jacket, babe,” says the other jock, lumbering over in the hopes of winning favour.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” you refuse, wrinkling your nose a little. You really don’t want to give him the wrong idea and let him think he’s got an in with you. You know how these types are, after all.

“God, lighten up already!” Jamie scoffs, swaggering along with one arm thrown around Melissa. “You're being such a bitch tonight.”

You open your mouth to inform him that you're most assuredly not being a bitch but that you'd be very happy to show him what you're like when you are, when Jennifer cuts you off.

“Working with Stanford Pines for whoever-the-fuck knows how long will do that to a person,” she snorts. “That's enough to turn anyone into a dick.”

Jamie and his buddy gawp at you. “No kiddin’?” The jock says, a broad, blonde spectacle with unsettling blue eyes. “You’re in with that fuckin’ loser? Bummer, dude.”

“Oh yeah,” Melissa giggles. “All we hear these days is how much he sucks. Says he's a real asshole….”

“What's he doing in an art class?” He asks. You think his name might be Riley. “Isn't he like, a total math geek or whatever?”

Before you can interrupt, Jamie laughs, obnoxious and scathing. “Oh yeah, totally. I bet he only gets hard for science, right?” He says, grinning nastily toward you. “Or have you been- What's that guy called…. Purlow? Pavlov? That's it, Pavlov!” He snaps his fingers together, clearly pleased at the chance to flex some of his psychology minor in front of the girls. “You been Pavlov-in’ him to get hard another way?”

“Ew!” The girls collapse into giggles.

You grit your teeth. “Wow, Jamie, it's so cool that you know such a big word!” You grind out, jaw flexing. “I didn't know they taught Psych 101 in Kindergarten.”

“Hey, fuck you-”

“And,” you keep going, temper rising not least because of the topic. “For your information, we've just been doing a project together. It wasn't exactly by choice and anyway, he won't even talk to me anymore so problem solved, I guess.”

“Wait, is that why you two stopped fighting in class all the time?” Asks Jen, suddenly intrigued. “Did something happen?” Her intonation is suggestive and you know she's probably coming up with wild theories in her mind already.

Melissa squeals. “Oh my god, did you finally fuck him?!”

“No!” You say immediately, shaking your head. “Nothing like that!”

The boys guffaw and shove each other around, jeering and laughing. “That's fuckin’ gross,” says Riley, “Who would wanna screw him?”

“Hey, I heard he’s got six fingers,” sniggers Jennifer. “I bet that makes a difference, huh?”

“God, shut up,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “I told you, it’s not-”

“What a fucking freak,” laughs Jamie.

“He’s a loser, babe,” scoffs Riley, attempting to put an arm around your shoulders again. “You need a real man, not a fuckin’ dork like that. I bet he-!”

“Look, he’s not that bad!” You interrupt, raising your voice a bit and shucking the boy’s arm off of you. “He’s not- He isn’t a total asshole all the time, okay? And he’s not a freak, that’s not cool. Don’t talk about him like that.”

Truthfully, you say it accidentally. You don’t mean to defend him and especially not to this particular group of people, but they’re being so mean spirited and these jocks are such dickheads that you feel dirty even allowing them to say as much as they have.

All’s fair in love and war between you and Ford; going back and forth with one another is purely business. It never reduces to calling the other person names or taking low blows like this, and it feels weird to let other people outright bully him. Especially over his hands.

You think that might be the cause of his whole meltdown earlier this week, and even the thought of him overhearing such cruelty makes you feel sicker than any amount of alcohol could.

The others stare at you like you’ve announced you intend to swan dive from the campus clocktower and momentarily, all of them are silent. That is, until Jamie opens his big mouth again: “What are you, like, in love with him or something?”

You feel your face suddenly begin to get very warm. “What?” You laugh, trying to sound dismissive. “No! God, no! Of course I’m not! I just-”

“Holy shit,” Jennifer says, a slow grin spreading on her face as she puts the puzzle pieces together. “You’re totally into him, aren’t you? That’s why you’ve been so lame recently! You’re all sad that he won’t talk to you!”

“No!” You refute, holding your hands up defensively. “No! It’s nothing like that!”

Your bag slips down your shoulder again and Jennifer grabs it without warning, dragging it off of your person and procuring your sketching journal.

“You’re such a liar,” she says, laughing, “Look, here,” She opens the journal to the page that your pencil is lodged into and flaunts it to the others. “I saw you drawing these last free sesh’ when he wasn’t in class! Makes total sense now….”

You instantly know exactly what she’s showing them: In free sessions, you’re given time to practise areas you might need to improve upon, and Ford had mentioned your anatomy a while ago. You’d taken it on board, however testily, and found yourself sketching away that afternoon.

Only, what you’d been drawing had been Ford’s anatomy. Nothing lewd, obviously, but something still intimate: his hands.

Ever since noticing them, you’ve been intrigued. Call it fate from the theme of your project, but something about them has drawn you in and you’ve struggled to forget them. They’re fascinating and beautiful and very weirdly him, and maybe yes okay you've been having some complicated feelings about him recently but does everybody need to know?!

Jamie laughs at you, snatching the book from Jen and inspecting the sketches up close. “Holy shit,” he says. “You’re made for each other, pair of freaks!”

“Fuck off, Jamie!” you snap, face burning. You try to snatch the book back and he holds it aloft, out of your reach. “Give it back!”

“No way!” He jeers, and then he glances off above your head and his ugly grin grows even wider. “Hey, check it out…. There’s your boyfriend now! Why don’t we ask Fordsy what he thinks of these?”

Much to your utter horror and absolute distress, when you turn to see where Jamie is pointing, you spot Ford striding across campus. He’s wearing an argyle sweater and brown slacks (and bless him, he really does look like a nerd), and he seems to be heading towards his own dorm.

He hasn’t spotted your group yet and silently, you pray that Jamie is just trying to rile you up.

Except, Jamie gives less of a fuck about your prayers than the universe itself does. He raises one shovel sized hand and yells out to him: “Yo, Stanford! Hold up a minute there, buddy!”

Ford freezes on the spot and turns your way, eyes wide like a rabbit in headlights. He looks confused.

“Jamie, don’t you dare!” You hiss, attempting to kick at the bigger man’s shins as he strides past you. It does nothing to stop him and instead, you turn to Jennifer. “Do something!” You say, and you hate how much it sounds like begging.

“Take a chill pill already,” Jennifer laughs. “He’s just kidding around.”

It takes great self control not to tear your own (or her) hair out as the rest of the group trot after Jamie.

Petrified, you jog along to catch up with them and by the time you reach them again, they’re already collaring Stanford.

Jamie slings a heavy handed arm around Ford’s shoulders, knocking his glasses askew, and he jerks him about a bit. “How’s it hangin’, buddy?” He asks, grinning. “Up to no good?”

“What?” Ford says, both annoyed at being stopped by such a group and awkward about how to deal with the interaction.

Jamie rolls his eyes and shakes his head, dramatically playing it up for the sake of the others. “What are you up to tonight, man?”

“Oh,” Ford shrugs. “I just finished at the library, I was going home. That’s all.”

Jamie laughs and the others join in. “On a Friday night, dude?”

“Is…. Is there a more suitable night to do it on?” Ford asks, sounding genuinely curious, and oh god your heart breaks for him.

The boys share a look of incredulity and laugh amongst themselves as you elbow your way through them. They part after a second, with some sharp elbow pokes to persuade them to move, and you stop in front of Ford and Jamie, hoping you don't look as distressed as you feel.

Ford's expression hardens the moment he notices you. It's obvious he's about as pleased to see you as he is to see the others and although, admittedly, that stings more than it has any right to, you half hope it might work in your favour to get him to leave.

“Hi, Ford,” you say, hoping you sound both casual and suggestive enough to let him know he should run for the hills. “Why don’t you get outta here and we’ll just-”

“Woah, woah,” says Jamie, cutting in before you can finish your sentence. “Not so fast, man. I have a question!”

Ford's frown deepens and he looks over at Jamie. Although the jock is tall, Ford matches his height well enough that, other than his lack of muscle, means that he doesn’t seem to be quite as intimidated as somebody of a smaller stature might be. That being said, he still looks decidedly uncomfortable with the whole affair.

“Uh, sure…?” Ford says, shrugging one shoulder. “What can I do for you?”

Jamie stifles a laugh and looks to the others, who similarly struggle to keep their laughter contained.

You know where he’s taking this topic. He’s still holding your sketchbook, waving it around to punctuate his words. “Jamie, leave it alone, stop being-”

“Come on, don't be such a square!” Melissa laughs, and Jamie is quick to agree.

“Is it true you've got extra fingers, Fordsy?” Asks Jamie, through the most horrible shit-eating grin you've ever seen. “According to certain sources,” He winks dramatically at you, implicating you in his plan. “You're rockin’ six on each hand, right? That’s far out, man. ”

Ford pales and simultaneously turns a deep shade of crimson, and his gaze snaps immediately to you. “What?” He says, his usually deep voice suddenly weak.

“You heard me, check it out,” Jamie flips open your sketchbook and you know he's showing Ford the pages of your sketching study.

Ford's brows knit upwards as he realises what he's looking at, distress and anger clear on his handsome face, and your blood turns to ice.

He looks devastated, eyes scanning back and forth over your work like he can't believe what he's seeing. Rather than seize the book for a closer look, you watch as he slips his hands into the pockets of his pants, hiding them from the view of everyone else, and your heart squeezes unpleasantly in your chest.

The subtle way that he does it makes you realise this is probably not the first time he's pulled such a move.

“You…. You drew these? Of me?” He asks in a small voice, glancing up at you. There's such a dejected sadness in his eyes that you almost want to be sick.

“No!” You say immediately. “I mean- Yes, I did, but not- I didn't draw them like tha-!”

“Some people must dig freaks, man, you're all over this shit!” Jamie chokes out through his laughter and the others follow suit.

“Shut up!” You snap at him before turning your attention back to Ford. “You don't understand! Yes, I drew them, but not because-!”

“I understand perfectly,” says Ford stiffly, and something steely and cold flashes in his gaze. He presses his mouth into a thin line and you can tell he's not just upset, but furious.

“Yeah,” Riley grins, stepping forward for his turn in the ring. “If you weren't doing it because you thought they were fuckin’ weird then why were you drawing them?”

“I….” Your voice dries up. What are you supposed to say? Because I think they're really stellar and unique, and I think you are too? Jamie and the others will eat you alive. The words just won't come and all you can do is stare back at Ford, equally as red faced and humiliated.

Jamie is still harping on about the sketches, pointing things out to Ford who isn't looking at anything he's being shown. He's just…. Staring right back at you with a mixture of genuine sadness and utter betrayal on his face.

You have to look away after a moment. It's too much to bear and you feel so awful that meeting his eye feels shameful. Although you know you haven't done anything with the intention of hurting him, you know how it must look.

When you tune back in, Jamie is still going: “-should be grateful you got to work with her, buddy. What other chance would a guy like you have to be friends with-”

You're not sure what makes you react, whether it's the combination of guilt and embarrassment, or whether it's simply because you've had enough of all this, but almost automatically, you step forward and shove Jamie away from Ford.

“Jamie, shut the fuck up,” you snap, pushing him as hard as you can manage in his stupidly broad chest. “Don't talk to him like that, asshole, it's not fucking cool. You're a piece of shit, man.”

Thankfully, the push is just about strong enough to get Jamie to stagger back a couple of paces and relinquish his grip from around Ford's shoulders. He stumbles and his laughter dies, along with the others.

“Hey!” He growls, stepping toward you and puffing out his chest. “What did you just say to me?”

This is exactly the reason you hate his type. They're loud and braggadocious and cruel, and they absolutely cannot take the heat themselves.

You square your shoulders back. You're nowhere near his size and if he decides to hit you then it'll be a permanent lights out for sure, but you're hoping he might at least realise his girlfriend would be upset if he knocked out her classmate. Desperately hoping, in fact….

“I said, stop. You're acting like a loser, leave him alone,” you say, admirably firm in spite of your nerves.

Jamie stomps over to you, teeth bared in a grotesque grimace. “You fuckin’ bitch, who are you callin’ a loser?!” He stretches out one hand as if to grab you and you brace yourself for the final nail in your coffin, when Ford abruptly steps between you both.

“That's enough,” he says firmly, sounding more fierce than you've ever heard him. “If you want to act like a child and bully me, do it. I don't care.” Ford glances back at you. “But don't drag other people into it just because you're a fucking drunken manchild who can't take it.”

For half a second, everything goes deathly silent. No one says a single word. All you do is gape at Ford in utter disbelief at his cutting words, as do the others. Even Jamie looks completely blindsided by it.

Clearly not finished, Ford keeps going, and this time it seems he’s talking more to you than to everyone else. “I don't need anyone to stick up for me, I'm not a child anymore. I’m perfectly capable of arguing against idiots like y-!”

Unfortunately for Ford, no matter how much you deserve his ire, with his attention on you instead of the threat, he completely misses Jamie reeling one of his big fists back and you watch in horror as he swings it in Ford’s direction.

You barely get the chance to let out an aborted shout of warning before Jamie’s knuckles collide solidly with Ford’s nose and send him stumbling back past you. They make a sickening crack! as the hit lands perfectly across his face, and Ford is sent sprawling on his ass in a lightning quick second.

Jamie moves as though he intends to follow Ford to the floor and keep hitting, but one of the other boys thankfully catches his fist and prevents him from going through with it. The group shout amongst themselves about it, evidently surprised by the sudden turn.

Instantly, you drop to your knees in the damp grass beside Ford and hover anxiously around him. Blood gushes out of his nose as soon as he hits the floor, cascading down over his lips and smattering onto the wool of his sweater, and his glasses are thrown from his face with the force. He groans in pain, his once hidden hands flying up to cradle his injury and to stem the bleeding. It does little to help.

“Oh, my god!” Your hands hover around his face helplessly, unsure where to touch him. “Fuck, Ford, are you-!”

“He’s fine,” says Jamie, waving away the concerns of the others. “Forget about him, we’re leaving.” He leans down to grab you by the arm but you smack him away angrily.

“Fuck off!” You shout, voice wavering. “You hit him!”

“So? He shouldn’t have mouthed off like that,” Jamie says, like it’s obvious. “Whatever, you wanna stay with him? Fine. Be two fuckin’ freaks together for all I care.”

He gestures for the others to follow him as he begins to walk towards the party dorm, carelessly tossing your sketchbook into the dirt beside Ford. You look up to the others for help, yet they only spare you a half-hearted sympathetic look before following the ringleader.

You want to yell after them, to tell them how pathetic they are laughing along, but for now you’ll have to save your anger. Instead, you root around in your bag for some spare tissues and quickly hold them up to Ford’s bloody face. “Shit,” you breathe, noticing just how much blood there is. “I’m taking you to the medical office, Ford.”

You grab his glasses and attempt to help him to his feet, however he shrugs you away. “Get lost,” he says thickly through the wall of blood on his mouth, snatching his glasses from your hands and shoving them into his pocket.

“What?” you say, confused as though you’re the one who’s just had your shit rocked. “Ford, you're hurt, let me help you!”

“I don't need your help!” he snaps, struggling to his feet.

You’re taken aback by his reaction, however he’s a little shaky, clearly discombobulated by the hit and the entire event, and even though he doesn't seem open to your touch, you catch him by the elbows to steady him.

He wipes his lips with the sleeve of his already-ruined sweater, dark blood swiping across the wool. It’s a fruitless effort; the gore is simply further smeared around his face. It does little to reduce the mess and everything to spread it, and Ford turns his head away from you to spit out the blood that's gathering in his mouth.

As soon it's clear that he can stand unassisted, Ford shakes off your tentative touch as though you're some kind of leper. He meets your eyes and the look he fixes you with is so searing that it's enough to turn your insides to liquid ice. He shoulders you aside and takes off across the lawn, ignoring a few curious onlookers and striding towards his dorm.

Momentarily, you’re too stunned to follow him. He’s never looked at you like that before and frankly, it fucking hurts. After all this time, after all of your disagreements and squabbles, Ford has never been quite so…. Disgusted with you.

As much as you might like to crawl under a rock in your ashamed state, you just can’t leave things like this. Besides, he might be seriously hurt beyond what you can see; that punch was solid and Ford isn’t much of a fighter, not to your knowledge anyway. If he dropped dead of a brain bleed or something equally as awful and dramatic, you’d never forgive yourself.

Frankly, you’re not sure you ever will anyway.

You shove your sketchbook back into your bag and take off after him, jogging across the damp grass to try and catch up with his purposeful movements.

“Ford!” You call out to his retreating back. “Wait up!”

He does no such thing. His stride doesn’t even falter at your request.

You push onwards, trying to tamp down the frustration you feel and speeding up just enough to reach his side as he swings open the door to his building, leaving a smear of blood across the handle. “Stanford!”

“Stop following me!” Ford snaps over his shoulder. He lets it fall heavily back onto you without even glancing in your direction.

You ignore him, chasing after his back. The building is surprisingly quiet for a Friday evening; there are usually at least a few students milling about in the halls, whether they’re looking to party or just avoid studying for a few hours, most of the time there’s someone about.

Not tonight though, it seems. Perhaps they’re all off to the party you’re supposed to be attending…..

As you follow Ford down the North hallway, past the walls of pigeon hole letterboxes and glass cases of alumni photos, you try again to stop him. “Ford, come on, you’re bleeding everywhere. Just stop a second, please,” you cajole. “What if you have a concussion?”

Ford still doesn’t answer. He keeps power walking down the corridor, taking a sharp right and barrelling into what seems to be a common area.

There are couches and chairs pushed towards the corners of the room, arranged around mismatched tables and strewn with remnants of earlier life: styrofoam coffee cups and screwed up pieces of paper, and even a couple of crumpled beer cans.

As he passes through, Ford shows no signs of slowing and your frustration rises. “Look, you can be mad at me all you want but please just let me take you to the nurse’s office!”

“I’m fine,” Ford says, voice strained in a way that betrays how much he definitely is not fine. It’s a sick parody of your last conversation in the studio.

He starts to speed up again, nearly jogging now in his determination to escape you as he approaches the farthest side of the room, and despite the way your breath is already burning in your lungs, you force yourself to match his stride.

The shaky way he dismisses your worry only upsets you more and in your unfit desperation, before he can reach for the exit, you jerk out a hand and grab the sleeve of his sweater, snatching him back by the fabric at his elbow. “No, you’re-!”

“Let go of me!” Ford rounds on you, shoulders squared and chin jutted upward like he expects you to be the next person to fight him. He halts so suddenly that you almost crash into him, stepping into your space and causing you to stumble back a few paces.

He’s tall enough to be intimidating when he draws himself up fully like this but you refuse to let him make you back off.

“No!” you shout back, keeping a firm hold of his sweater as best you can. “Let me help you, Ford, I can explain-!”

“Did you all have a good laugh?!” Ford asks bitterly, cutting you off. He seizes your wrist, his grip tight over where you’re clutching onto him. “About my hands? About me?! When you showed them those sketches, did it feel good to win their stupid approval?”

He squeezes your wrist tightly and you grit your teeth, acquiescing your hold on him and releasing his sweater. The blood on his fingers smears across your skin, cool and coagulated, and he uses a strength you didn’t know he possessed to hold you still.

“It's not like that!” You say, breath hitching. “I didn't draw those for anybody but myself.”

“Bullshit!” Ford snarls, jerking your wrist back and forth. “I know you're lying!”

“It's the truth!” You snap, hackles rising at his roughness and his accusations.

Tonight has been full of mistakes on your part, sure, but if Ford won't even let you explain then how are you supposed to even try and fix all this?! “Jamie and the others grabbed my sketchbook off of me, Ford. I didn't give it to them! That stuff was private!”

“Then why would you even have things like that in there?!” Ford yells back, scowling.

“Because I- It wasn’t supposed to be-” You stumble over your words as you shout back at him, anger and humiliation lodging them in your throat, and Ford seizes the opportunity to scold you further.

“Exactly! Stop lying to me!”

“I’m not lying to you, Ford!” You wrench your hand from his grip, fed up with his claims. For all your guilt, you’re not going to let him just shout and scream at you in a public hallway until he deigns you with the opportunity to explain yourself. “I wouldn’t do something like that, no matter how little you think of me!” You say, jabbing him in the chest with your finger a few times.

You rock up on your toes to try and draw your faces level as you bark back and forth at each other. “They were the ones who brought it up, not me! I was telling them to stop!”

Ford’s jaw flexes with each jab of your finger, lip twitching with anger. “Yeah, right.” He laughs, scathing. “You think I missed how you reacted in the studio earlier this week? I mean, was that even the first time you realised or was it just the first time you saw me up so close that you couldn’t help yourself? I know you think I'm a freak, just like everyone else does! That's why you drew those- those fucking caricatures of my hands and you laughed it up with your stupid little friends about me!”

“No, I-!” idiot

Ford jabs a finger into your chest, right above your heart, mirroring your pose to him and pressing down hard as he shouts in your face, like a haughty parent telling off their unruly child. “You know, I hate to admit this, really I do, but I'm actually disappointed in you! I had hoped it wasn’t like that between us! I enjoyed that you disliked me because I’m smarter than you, because I’m a better artist than you are, and not because of my hands. Everybody else goes straight for the obvious bait because they can never compare to the rest of me, but I suppose you must be just like your asshat, jock buddies afterall!”

“I am not-!” You attempt to shout over him, to interrupt his tirade, but Ford keeps going, poking you hard again.

“And do you want to know the worst part about all of this?” He demands, looking borderline insane with wide eyes and blood all over his face. “The worst part is that your sketches were fucking terrible! Your anatomy is just as shitty as it was the day we met!”

Like a dam, your limited composure breaks. The insult is small in comparison to all his other harsh words, some of which you can even admit you might deserve, but his obnoxiousness has grown steadily like a snowball careening down a slippery slope and gathering mass, and that’s the final nail in the coffin for you.

“You know what, Ford? Fuck you!” You shout, driving your own finger back into his broad chest as hard as you can and poking him with every word. Your breath comes in short, sharp pants as you lay into him, your noses almost touching as neither of you back down to the other.

“Fuck you! You fucking idiot! You don’t know anything about how I feel. Do I think you're an asshole with a god complex? Absolutely! Do other people say all kinds of shit about your hands? Of course they do! But I never cared enough to actually check how many fingers you have! The other day in the studio, that was the first time I ever even noticed it! ! I never thought that you were a freak, Stanford, not even once!”

Something strange falters in Ford's expression but you barrel onward, refusing to give him the chance to come back at you.

“Our entire project is about uniqueness, you stupid fucking idiot!” You continue, desperately fighting the thick lump that rises in your throat and the burning that prickles the corners of your eyes. You're so exhausted and worked up, so humiliated and angry, and this is the fallout of everything at once. There's no stopping it now.

“I mean, for god's sake, we talked about how much we both like unusual things! That's why we picked that fucking topic, Ford! I like odd shit! I wasn't drawing your hands so that I could show my so-called friends and laugh about it with them, you moron! I was drawing your hands because I can't stop fucking thinking about them or how pretty they are, or how fucking pretty you are and if you just listened to me for once in your stupid-!”

You don't even get to finish your sentence before Ford's mouth is on yours, hot and determined, in the fiercest kiss you think you’ve ever experienced.

You're not sure who moves first.

With barely a whisper between the two of you it's hard to tell, but in a flash the distance is closed and your hands are twisted in the front of his dirty sweater, leveraging him down as he backs you up into the closest wall.

Ford makes a guttural sound, the kind that rumbles in your chest, and one of his hands gropes blindly at your waist as he returns the kiss whilst the other plants itself beside your head on the wall.

He’s clumsy and unskilled, and you’re pretty certain you can feel wet blood smearing across your own face as he presses into you, yet he’s so enthusiastic that you can’t bring yourself to care much about any of that right now. It just feels so fucking good.

He tastes like coffee and copper, and his musky aftershave overwhelms your senses again, enveloping you as he presses even closer along your front. Ford's broad form is warm against your exposed skin where his weight pins you up against the wall. He's clearly been tipped off of balance by the motion and without his quick thinking of walking you back to the surface, you're sure you'd have bowled over by now.

Your hands slip up from the front of his sweater to tangle in his thick, curly hair, fingers catching in amongst the strands to pull him in until he's melting against you, pliant under your touch. It's evident that he doesn't have much practice at this and that, combined with the fervour of the motion, makes the kiss sloppy.

As foggy as your brain is right now, you manage to conjure just one silly thought as you coax his tongue with your own: Finally. Something I am better than him at.

Ford gives another groan at the sensation and almost instinctively, he slides a leg between yours. It's not clear if he knows how arousing it is or whether he's simply trying to balance himself better, but it does wonders for you all the same.

Warmth burns in the pit of your stomach, a molten hot interest that takes you by such surprise it practically has stars blooming behind your closed eyelids.

It feels like this is the catalyst: the final moment that’s been building and building between you both ever since Ford arrived in Studio 1B. Rivalries and arguments that on the surface, had appeared to everyone but the two of you as a sign of more than just academic passion and the desperate need to be right. Everything has led to this and god, does it feel spectacular.

The tangy flavour of blood begins to overwhelm Ford's spit and just as you tilt your head to up the ante, sighing happily against his mouth, your nose catches his in the motion and Ford rips himself away with a yelp of pain.

“Fuck!” He cries, letting go of your waist and pushing off the wall to cradle his nose.

You start, completely having forgotten about his injury, and rush to his aide. “Shit! I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think-”

More blood trickles out from his nostrils, though thankfully not quite as much as on the initial hit, and winces. “Probably not the wisest of ideas in this state,” Ford mutters thickly, but he's giving you a lopsided smile that's big enough that you can tell he doesn't seem to mind too much. You can even see the blood that's settled in the gaps of his teeth.

A similar expression crosses your own face: a shy, stupid grin tugging at your mouth as you both share the same pleasantly surprised, if disbelieving, look. A few moments of silence follow the halting of the kiss and your situational awareness creeps back in.

The abrupt reminder of his injuries and the fact that you're likely equally now covered in blood, coupled with the fact that you're both still in a public space is enough to kick the sensible part of your brain into action.

You clear your throat and push up off the wall, straightening your clothing where Ford has left it rumpled with his wandering hands. “We should probably get you cleaned up before we….” You trail off, unsure of exactly where you mean for your train of thought to go.

Ford nods, understanding. “Right. Of course.”

“I’ll walk you to your room,” you say, gesturing for him to show you the way. “If you won’t go to the nurse then at least let me fix you up a bit.”

Ford nods again, cheeks flushed, and takes you through the double doors you’d stood by barely five minutes ago, leading you deeper into the building. He’s only living on the second floor with his roommate and thankfully, it doesn’t take too long for you to reach his dorm.

There still aren’t many students hanging around up here and the ones that are are far too preoccupied with their own business to even spare a glance at you both. You suppose that without engaging in a screaming match, you can pass by covered in whatever substance you like without drawing attention.

“F is out visiting his parents this weekend,” Ford explains as he unlocks the door to his room and lets you inside. “It’ll just be us.”

“‘F’?” You ask, stepping into the darkness.

“Fiddleford, my diplomatic roommate,” Ford says, and even in the dark you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Ah, I remember,” you grin.

Ford fumbles around until he finds his desk lamp, flicking it on and filling the room with a soft, warm glow. It makes the mess on his face look an otherworldly black. He busies himself with rummaging around in the bottom drawer of what you presume to be his personal desk that sits at the side of his bed, and you take the opportunity to absorb his living space.

All the dorms in Backupsmore are built the same: cheaply and efficiently with the bare minimum added, and Ford’s is no different. The far wall is exposed brick, with a broad window in its centre, while the other walls are covered in drab, ochre wallpaper.

Above Ford’s half-made bed is the navy BMU flag along with a few posters that are, frankly, quite adorable. There’s one of Tesla posed before his famous coils and another of Sagan, with what you can only describe as an alarmingly seductive look on his face. Admittedly, Sagan is quite the looker, as is Tesla when you really consider it, so you can hardly blame Ford for his choices.

Nestled around the posters are books. Lots of books. All packed in tightly on cheap shelves and those that won’t fit with their partners are stacked up around the room in untidy piles. You can count at least six different stacks by his bed alone, most of which seem to vary from physics to astronomy to advanced mathematics.

Ford must catch you taking it all in because he clears his throat awkwardly and you break away from your staring to look at him directly. “Sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I don’t really get any company in here besides Fidds, so it’s a little messy.”

You laugh quietly. If only he could see the state of your room…. “Don’t worry about it,” you assure him. “Nobody comes to college to be tidy.”

Careful not to disturb their precarious resting places, you pick your way around the book piles and take a seat on the edge of his bed.

Ford joins you after he adjusts the desk lamp to shine directly over you, carrying a small white plastic box and setting it between you both. He retrieves his glasses from his pocket and puts them beside the box so he can sit comfortably.

You realise it’s a proper medical kit. “Do you just happen to carry around a first aid box with you all the time?”

Ford huffs a laugh as he clicks it open and roots through it to find what he needs. “When you get bullied enough as a kid, you start to learn that carrying around things like first aid come in pretty handy sooner or later.”

He says it so casually that your heart squeezes in your chest. “Ford….” You say, soft and slightly pained. “That’s awful, you know that, right?”

Ford shrugs one shoulder, procuring some sterile wipes and plasters from the kit. “You get used to it.”

You want to tell him that that's ludicrous, that he shouldn't have to do any such thing, but you know how cruel people can be. It's not like he can do much to stop them anyway; Ford fights back intellectually, not physically, and talking back to someone in the way he has done tonight has only worked out poorly for him. Rather than reply, you put your hand on his knee and he pauses in his motion of opening the wipes.

“If anyone gives you trouble again, tell me,” you say with a smile. “I'll put white spirit in their coffee.”

“Thanks,” Ford laughs and you can see the upset tension leave his shoulders a bit. “I’d rather not kill anyone over it, but that’s very kind of you…. In a weird, unethical sort of way.”

He goes to use the wipes on his face but you stop him, taking the packet from his hands and plucking a couple out. Ford lets you do it without any quarrel, watching you closely.

The blood isn't too thick when you begin to wipe it away, although it has begun to oxidise into a more congealed state, and carefully you start to swipe it away underneath his nose.

For a few minutes, Ford observes you in silence before finally speaking up again: "Did you really draw my hands because you like them?" He asks, voice quiet.

You don't meet his eyes as you take hold of his chin, gently tilting his head towards the light a little more. "Yes," is all you reply, praying he doesn't pick up on your embarrassment.

The area you're working on is close enough to his mouth that you catch him bite down on a smile, and you try to fight your own grin by doubling your focus on your work. Neither of you press the matter.

You clean up over his philtrum and his lips, covering your thumb with the wipe and swiping it across his closed mouth slowly. You swear you do it only to ensure that you’re being gentle, but you can hear Ford’s breath catch in his throat with the movement and you’re not immune to the intimacy of the act.

Despite not looking directly at him, you can feel his gaze boring into you. You imagine this must be how his science experiments feel, pinned down under his watchful eye and dissected by observation. Admittedly, it’s not the worst feeling in the world….

Once the blood is gone from his face, you turn your attention to the rest of his injury. The hit must have been solid; a strong blow square on the nose. There’s a fairly clean cut across the bridge, probably from both the force and the metal of his glasses biting into the thin skin there. The edges are raw and reddened, and already you can see a purplish bruise beginning to spread from the cut outwards towards his left eye.

“I don’t think it’s broken, thank god,” you murmur, dabbing the cut gently. “But you’re gonna have one hell of a bruise for a while.”

Ford winces slightly. “That’ll be humiliating to explain.”

“People will think Jamie is the embarrassment, Ford, trust me,” you assure him. “All you did was stand up for yourself…. And for me. Thank you for that, by the way. You really didn’t need to-”

“He was going to hit you.” Ford interrupts. “I didn’t want that, no matter how upset I was.”

“Maybe, but it’s not like I didn’t deserve it.”

Ford catches you by the wrist where you’re finishing with his nose, lowering your hand, and you meet his gaze. He's looking at you like you've said the stupidest thing imaginable. “No, you didn't,” he says, so firmly that you find yourself unable to argue.

“I still should have done something sooner, Ford. This whole thing is my fault,” you say, shaking your head. “I swear that I didn't draw those sketches of you because I wanted to show the others, and definitely not because I think you're weird. I'm sorry that I didn't just admit everything before things got so out of control, but I meant what I said earlier.”

“I think it's fairly clear that we both misunderstood each other, wouldn't you agree?” Ford says with a tiny smile. “I overreacted in the studio without thinking and I didn't want to bring it up in case you really did think I was a freak. I'm not sure I could've taken it, to be honest.”

“Is that why you've been avoiding me all this time? Skipping sessions and stuff?” You frown.

Ford's cheeks stain red, visible even in the low light, and he looks away with a nod, abashed.

“Why not just talk to me, you idiot?” You say, not unkindly.

It's evident that he's embarrassed to go further into detail, but he's piqued your interest now. It's too late to play coy and he probably knows it.

“I….” Ford huffs, still not meeting your eye. “Fidds is my only friend here and, well…. Even when you and I argued in class you were never cruel about it. You held your own and I respected that. I still do. That's why I assumed we were having fun,” he says, recalling your discussion in the studio last week.

“And then we started working together. I suppose I expected it to be terrible but you talked to me like I was just another normal person. You asked me about myself. No one ever does that….” Ford says, looking so wistful that your heart threatens to break further. “Usually it’s about my hands or my brain, or ‘Ford, can you do my essay for me?’, ‘Ford, can I copy your test?’, and it was just so different that I suppose I hoped we might eventually become friends. When you saw my hands and reacted out of nowhere, I worried that you'd wind up being just like the others, so I avoided asking so I didn't have to have my fears confirmed.”

You struggle to form the words that you desperately want to say. Not out of humiliation or fear this time, but because the lump in your throat is so big that nothing seems to be able to get past it beyond a weak sounding: “Ford….”

“That was wrong of me, I know,” he continues. “Old habits die hard and all that…. Plus, I can't say my intentions were wholly pure, but that is mostly your fault.”

That's enough to startle a laugh from you. “Oh?”

Ford smiles to himself and takes a deep breath, like he's finally admitting to a deep secret. “You're very attractive, I couldn't really help it…. Why do you think I kept standing so close to you in the studio?”

You can feel your cheeks burn and you smile, stupid and shy. Slipping free of his grip, you take his hand in your own and lace your fingers together. The fit is unusual with his extra appendage but you find that it's quite nice to have your palm so entirely encompassed.

Ford is surprised by the action, staring down at where you're holding him.

“Look at me, Stanford,” you command, and he does exactly as you ask without hesitation.

You use your free hand to grab his glasses from the bed and, mindful to avoid irritating the cut, you slide them onto his face gently so that he can see you properly.

“You almost drove me mad with that, you know?” You smile and Ford does too, hope dawning on his handsome features. “I admit that I thought you were a total asshole at first. You made me look like an idiot as soon as you started in class and I hated it. You didn't even want to be there but you were better than everyone else, and I took it personally. I mean, you were also kind of a jerk about art and that did get under my skin….”

Ford winces, looking suitably guilty, but you smile.

“The more we spent time together, though, the more I realised that you’re not so bad…. Still a bit of an ass but it’s not like I’m always an innocent party either,” You grin. “And for what it’s worth, in the studio that day? I only noticed your hands while I was looking for something to distract myself with because you were so close to me. I was worried I’d make an idiot of myself and do something stupid that I couldn’t take back.”

“Oh….” Ford’s brows raise. “And…. Do you want to take back the- Our- I mean, what happened earlier?”

It’s sweet that he can’t quite say it. “You mean when you kissed me?”

“Technically, you kissed me,” he argues back without hesitation.

“I don’t think that’s how it went down,” you smirk. “Fairly certain you were the one who started it.”

“I'm afraid I only work with cold, hard facts.” Ford grins. “You'll have to prove it.”

“Make me.”

Ford takes a sharp breath in, gaze dropping to your mouth. “You have no idea how much I want to, but…. You're still covered in my blood.”

Oh, right. You’d forgotten about that.

“Shit,” you mutter, grabbing one of the wipes and blindly smearing it over your mouth. You must look crazy.

Ford laughs under his breath and takes it from you, making quick work of the spots you've missed. After a moment, he speaks again: “That was my first kiss, you know,” he admits.

You're too polite to voice your lack of shock, but you had suspected it might be. Ford is hardly the type to get about in such a way if his behaviour at Backupsmore is anything to go by.

Even in the flurry of action it had been easy to pinpoint a certain lack of grace. Not that it's an issue for you, of course, it certainly feels nice to possess a skill that he doesn’t for once. “And how was it?” You ask, tactfully avoiding any insecurity he might have over it.

“Besides hurting my nose?” Ford says, tossing the wipe onto the soiled pile. “Better than correctly calculating a hypothesis before anyone else has even started the experiment.”

You stare at him blankly.

“Thrilling,” Ford clarifies with a grin, and then he's kissing you again. It's gentle and nervous, yet hungry enough that you can feel how desperate he is to return right back to that earlier moment.

You make a soft, happy sound, your eyes falling closed and hands reaching up to cup his face. Again, Ford takes a hold of your waist and leans into you, exhaling heavily through his sore nose. You'll have to remind him to take some painkillers before he loses himself completely for the evening….

The rest of the night passes just like that: Exchanging slow, delicate kisses with barely restrained heat and talking about life. Ford (just about) apologises for his anatomy comments ("They're better than the other ones, at least....") and you take it in gracious stride; a lot of things have been said (or not said, as the case may be) tonight that neither of you mean.

It won't do to hold them against one another now and anyway, you can pick a better time to help him work on his constructive criticism delivery than right this minute.

Things don't progress further than that, though. You're too concerned that his brain might still be rattled from the punch and even he confesses he's a little nervous about bleeding all over you again.

You stick to chatting, punctuated by measured makeouts and hesitant touches, and somehow it’s impossibly more arousing than jumping into bed with him immediately.

Hours go by before you can bring yourself to leave, and when you do Ford is polite enough not to beg you to stay even though it's blatant that he wants to. You’re both completely rumpled, hot from toe to tip and wound tighter than a drum, but Ford doesn't pressure or guilt you to come back in the way others have before.

He offers to walk you home again, but the temptation to bring him inside your own dorm would be too much; you decline and assure him that for both of your sakes it’ll be better that he stays here, and Ford, being the smart cookie that he is, understands immediately.

“Would you like to come over after our next study session? We could practise our presentation, hang out for a bit,” He suggests when you're standing on the threshold of his door, ready to leave. “Maybe listen to some records….?”

You hope that's code for ‘fuck each other's brains out’.

“That sounds groovy,” you say, smirking. “Are you bringing the vinyl's or should I?”

Ford flushes pink from his throat to the roots of his hair at the heavy innuendo in your question, but he keeps it together admirably, leaning on the doorframe as casually as he can. “Well, you’ll be my guest,” he says, trying not to grin. “It would be awfully rude of me to make you bring them yourself, would it not?”

Oh, that is so definitely code for ‘fuck each other’s brains out’.... This is going to be fun.

The two of you share a long, charged look, all barely restrained smiles and electric hope, before the slamming of a door down the hallway is enough to spur you back onto your original course of action.

“I’ll see you in class, Ford,” you say, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Sweet dreams,” he murmurs, and then he’s closing the door and leaving you out in the hallway alone.

That night, your dreams really are the sweetest they’ve ever been.

In the end, your mid-term presentation with Ford is a resounding success. Professor Stonepoor seems pleasantly surprised by your cooperation, though he gloats a little about it being his plan all along, and all your hard work pays off when he awards you both top marks. He does also pull you aside to ensure that you aren’t the one responsible for giving Ford his black eye, but Ford is quick to assure him that it’s quite the opposite.

Everything else between you both stays a secret, at least for now. Not because you’re ashamed or because Ford is unsure, but because it’s just too much fun to play along with the rivalry narrative. The back-and-forths stay the same in class, though now they serve closer to full on foreplay than academic fighting, and despite the fact that you’re sure a few people might have caught the little glances you throw at each other, nobody pulls you up on it. If they’re still placing bets on your chemistry, you’ll be damned if you give them the satisfaction of knowing for sure.

When Stonepoor catches the two of you making out in the spare studio after hours one evening, however, said plan falls apart. He declares, very jovially, that at least two other faculty members are going to owe him twenty bucks before he shuts the door on you, and as much as you want to complain about his lack of professionalism, the moment you meet Ford’s eyes neither of you can keep it together for long enough to form the words.

All’s well that ends well, you suppose.

A/N: and yes, Stonepoor's name is a play on Rockwell, a famous artist from the 70's (man standing up meme!). I thought it was funny and I'm not sorry.

[urmom3001]

Forbidden Fruit

Summary: Luke has taken a liking to a certain Dionysus girl that he just can't have, but maybe he can change that.

Warnings!: Super fluffy Over protective father, Fem!Dionysus! Reader, happy ending! Pushing loser!Luke agenda...

A/n: I'm trying something new, this is written from my laptop rather than my phone. I think I type faster on here for sure. I really hope that there is no like, difference in the formats and what not. Anyways carry on, hope you enjoy this one :3. - Leafy p.s part 2 is out now!😋😋

Luke watched as you sat at the Dionysus table with your twin brothers and Mr. D. You were so beautiful, the way your hair fell back as you were laughing at something one of your older brothers said.

"Dude, if you want her so bad, then just. I don't know? Talk to her maybe? You look like a creep just staring at her all of the time." Chris said as he flung a piece of broccoli towards Luke.

"Dude! You know I can't that's Mr. D's only daughter, plus she's got two big line backer brothers that'll probably beat me to pulp if I ever did try anything." Luke sighed, looking back at his plate pushing his food around hopelessly.

"Or...maybe, you can just ask Mr. D if you could have her hand?" Chris had suggested. "Besides, the worse he can say is no...and maybe give you bathroom cleaning duty." Chris said.

"Yeah right. He'd probably give me worse." Luke joked. Chris laughed. As he looked back up to look at you again, just to admire you, you were already staring at him. You guys had made eye contact for about .2 seconds before you had already turned back down to your food.

Maybe he had a chance....

"No. Absolutely not." Mr. D said to a very sad Luke now.

"But come on Mr. D, what harm is one date, I'll treat her really well." Luke pleaded with the god, after all, gods love the sound of begging.

"How about-" Mr. D was cut off by a voice Luke knew all to well,

"Hey daddy? Oh." Y/n had stopped at the entry way of Mr. D's office. "Hey Luke," She said timidly, with a slight blush tinting her cheeks.

"Hi Y/n." Luke said with a shy smile.

"No! No! Absolutely not. Luke, I do not give you permission to date or take out, or do anything at all with my daughter.

"But sir-" Luke was cut off, Y/n really had a tendency to cutting people off, it wasn't like it was on purpose.

"But daddy! Why not! Luke's a sweet guy, I've been waiting for him to ask me out for months!" Y/n whined to her dad. She was the baby of her family, and it showed, but what she said about Luke asking her out caught Luke off guard. Had she known about him liking her all of this time? The answer was yes, although Luke was very charming, he wasn't very slick about his feelings of Y/n.

"Sweetheart, please, no boy will ever be good enough for my daughter, and he sure isn't going to be good enough for you but I love the enthusiasm." Mr. D sarcastically remarked.

"Daddy pleaseeee, just give him a chance? For me? I really like him." Y/n pouted and gave her father the best puppy eyes she could. Luke didn't dare to say a word. This was a family discussion. The two stared at each other, almost like a staring contest. Luke could see it in Mr. D's eyes, he was cracking to his daughters pleas. Mr. D let out a sigh.

"Fine!" Mr. D exclaimed. "You two can...date." He said enunciating the word "date" with malicious diction. Y/n exclaimed clapping her hands

"Thank you daddy!" She said as she hugged him and gave him a big smooch on the cheek.

"Thank you sir I-" Luke was cut off again. What is up with these two and cutting people off?

"Yeah Yeah whatever. But I swear to my chair on Olympus, if i hear a little sliver of news that you hurt my babygirl, I can't do anything to you, but her older brothers can." Mr. D reminded Luke.

"Yes sir I," He looked at Y/n who was now beside him and interlocked his hand with hers. She smiled at him. "I won't ever hurt her" Luke stated with confidence.

"Okay, you have my blessing..to take out my daughter." Mr. D reluctantly agreed. The two teenagers with both smiling madly now. "Now get out of here before I change my mind!" He yelled.

"Wait Daddy before I go" Y/n looked her dad in her eyes. "Can you summon me a diet coke? That's what I came here for" She said giggling. Mr. D sighed as a diet coke can popped up in his hands. He handed it to her and gave her a kiss on the forehead. After all, he could never say no to his baby girl.

As the couple walked out of The Big House hand in hand, Y/n came to a stop once they got far enough from the listening ears or her father. "So, what's this talk about this date you want to take me on?" Y/n asks Luke. "Well, I didn't really think I would actually get to his point..." Luke admits.

"Well then, pick me up from my Cabin at 7:00 and have something planned. I'll be waiting." Y/n said as she let go of his hand, and tip toed to kiss his cheek, specifically on his scar. "I'll see you then" She giggled after she saw Luke's state.

He was completely red in the face, and shocked. Y/n just shook her had side to side as she walked away. Luke watched her walk away with a hand on the place where she had so gently kissed him. Boy he really hated to see her leave, but he loved to watch her go. This woman is really going to be the death of me...He thought as he watched her figure get smaller, and smaller. Well, he better get to planning.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 106

Dan absolutely despised his parole at first, but honestly this is a blast. Sure, he’s stuck in the form of a cat, a kitten even, but he’d found an absolutely wonderful companion. Partner. Ally? Baby Chaos Lord? He’d work on it. 

Klarion is just happy to have found such a great familiar, he even named them Teekl II, which is a great name thank you very much hero-babies! So now he has two Teekl familiars, and Teekl II always gets so gleeful whenever they successfully pull a prank! He even has his own fire magic which is so fun! 

Danny is not happy to get thrown into another world, stuck as a kitten. He’s also not pleased to have found a sick baby liminal, but fine. If this is what he’s supposed to deal with then he’ll deal with it! Even if he has to be a familiar for a teeny tiny bit of time. It’s fine, and the dude has a pocket he can peek out of on his coat. 

Jason has no idea where this kitten came from but the Pit is being surprisingly chill about it. Something about a baby? Whatever, he’s made the furball a little matching outfit and they like to sit in his pockets and peer out. No idea how Cat Hood is making the shadows all spooky now or why the eyes went from blue to green, but whatever. 

Ellie is utterly delighted in this situation. She was just wandering, but now she’s a lil fluffy kitten, and ended up landing on this kid’s head. This magic kid’s head! He even has a talking tiger friend too! So cool! She’s definitely sticking with him! This will be so fun!

Billy was worried about making sure the kitten got food, she’s so tiny! Mr Tawny is a big help though, and apparently she’s his familiar now that he’s given her a mortal name? He doesn’t fully understand but apparently she’s connected to his magic now, if the shouts from the gods are anything to go by. Look, an electric cat is cool. Pakhet is amazing, and Fawcet thinks it’s adorable that Marvel has a kitten clinging to his shoulder

[eggcats]

I'm only thinking this bc I just literally did this for my cats, but radioapple fic where Alastor is NOT a morning person.

Like even remotely. At all. (He stays up late for his radio broadcasts - you think he's out of bed before 10am unless he HAS to be? No.)

However. He's also the one who makes everyone their breakfast because he's the only competent chef at the hotel. (There's a reason before he showed up all Angel Dust ate was popsicles, Charlie is sweet but her attempts to cook could be considered lethal.)

So he drags his ass downstairs at like 6am to make everyone breakfast (and then utilizes his fire/shadows to keep the food warm for everyone to eat whenever they get up.) And then once he's done he goes back to bed for a few hours before eating his OWN breakfast. (A nice, tasteful raw venison, instead.)

But he absolutely doesn't bother getting even remotely dressed or even brushing his hair. Just big poofy and sleep mussed hair, rumpled pajamas, and he's yawning every few minutes. This man is half awake and is working on instinct at this point.

Lucifer had absolutely no idea about this until one day his insomnia gets the better of him, and he's also awake at 6am, and he hears someone in the kitchen, so he decides to explore.

And he doesn't even know how to react to soft fluffy Alastor calmly making everyone breakfast, seeing his cute little deer tail just casually out, his hair not even brushed, and wearing significantly less layers than normal.

(and if you really want to give him a heart attack, make Alastor not sleep in long full pajamas but instead just shorts and a slightly oversized t-shirt that hangs off one shoulder - make Lucifer come to terms with his long ass deer legs, his cute little hoofies, AND his collarbones. All at 6am.)

But to top it all off, Alastor is just too tired and half-asleep to even react to Lucifer showing up. All Alastor does is ask if he wants anything different for breakfast, coffee, or something. And Lucifer is too confused to do anything other than agree, and he's not sure how to handle the dude who, the day before, was at his throat calmly handing him a plate of breakfast and a coffee. What.

And then Alastor, in between yawns, is like I'm going back to bed. And just leaves.

"You're not eating any of this????!" - "Hah! No."

Lucifer is suspicious, so he discreetly follows Alastor back to his room, only to see him faceplant into his bed and fall back asleep. (That's kind of cute. Wait, what? No, it's not!)

(When he re-emerges at 11am, he's just as much of an asshole to Lucifer as he was the day before. 6am Alastor and 11am Alastor are two different people.)

Lucifer may decide to become a morning person just to keep seeing this version of Alastor. Who knows.

[katethetank]

Ok I’ve never written anything before, and I’m obsessed with Steddie content. So without further adieu, here’s a modern day Steddie story where Eddie comes to terms with the hard truth that his husband’s snuggles might be more popular than his world famous band. This kind of got away from me and ended up way longer than I thought it would. Oops.

Content warnings: idk, TikTok I guess?! It’s fluffy and sweet, illusions to smut at the end

Eddie Munson was a notoriously private person. Corroded Coffin was the biggest metal/alt band in the world, and despite the fame, he managed to keep his personal life just that - personal.

There of course had been rumors over the last few years of who he was married to. Among the chunky metal rings that always adorned his fingers, fans couldn’t help but notice the simple silver band on his left ring finger. Paparazzi would occasionally catch him out in public with various women, leading his fans to speculate wildly who his mystery wife was.

But as soon as the rumors got started, they were quickly shut down. He was photographed once stumbling out of a club in New York with SNL star Robin Buckley on his arm. Social media went absolutely rabid and Robin made sure to clear things up the following Saturday on Weekend Update, announcing that she was in fact, a raging lesbian.

Not too long after that, Eddie was photographed clinking wine glasses with accomplished journalist Nancy Wheeler at a romantic rooftop restaurant in LA. When rumors started swirling around them of a secret affair, Nancy’s husband (and Rolling Stone photographer) Jonathan Byers put a stop to it by posting a picture of all three of them on his socials explaining that they were long time friends and out celebrating Nancy’s nomination for a Pulitzer.

Again the rumor mill started churning when Eddie was spotted giving a piggyback ride to pro skateboarder Max Mayfield after one of her competitions. Accusations of him “robbing the cradle” had her immediately posting a video on TikTok telling everyone off, fake gagging, and saying that Eddie was like her big brother. She then pulled Eddie into the frame asking, “Would you losers seriously believe I’d be into this ugly mug?” before promptly shoving his face away. Eddie was only a little offended.

Max’s video kind of blew up though, with everyone demanding more of Eddie’s presence on the app. Reluctantly he started his own account, his first video of him backstage at his sold out Madison Square Garden show, simply flashing the devil horns, sticking out his tongue, and greeting, “Hey assholes!”

It effectively broke the internet.

He was verified within a matter of hours, and had millions of followers within the first day.

Now all he had to do was figure out what the hell he was going to post. He didn’t want to share too much of his private life, but scrolling through the comments, he could see how much his fans truly loved seeing just that brief candid moment from him. So he started sharing bits and pieces behind the scenes at his shows, shots of the guys hanging out on the tour bus, and one lazy morning, a glimpse of his sleep-rumpled self in bed and his birds nest of bed head.

The comments on that last one exploded.

Everyone wanted to know who he was sharing that bed with, asking for a peek at his wife, if she was also famous. Who was he married to for god’s sake?!

He refused to take the bait.

One afternoon he set up his living room for a TikTok live, planning on just strumming his guitar, answering questions about the new album that was coming out, maybe taking some requests for songs to play. While he was glancing at the comments and plucking away at his acoustic, he didn’t hear the front door open, or the footsteps coming towards the room. He startled when he heard, “Babe, I’m home! I got you some more Honeycombs!”

Eddie froze. And the comments went absolutely fucking wild.

“Wait, was that a dude?!”

“Did some guy just call him babe???”

“SPOUSE REVEAL?!?!”

“OMG IS HE GAY???? I LOVE THIS FOR US!!”

“Oh I am so invested in this! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈”

“Honeycombs?! Really?!”

Eddie scrambled to set his guitar down, quickly thanked everyone for tuning in, and cut off the live stream.

Steve stepped into the room with a questioning look on his face. “Babe?… what’s wrong?”

Eddie glanced at him sheepishly mumbling, “We may have just spilled the beans on a live stream.”

“You were doing a live stream? What happened? And wait, what beans?”

Sighing heavily and running a hand through his hair, Eddie stood up and walked over to Steve, wrapping his arms around his waist. “I was doing a TikTok live, playing some songs and talking about the new record. I didn’t hear you come in, and when you shouted that you were home, it was apparently loud enough for everyone to hear. So I shut it down fast before the comments got even more out of control. I didn’t know what to say!”

Steve leaned in and gave Eddie a peck on the nose, hugged him tight, and asked, “Well… how bad were the comments? Do you think people are gonna freak out?”

“Freak out? In a good way, maybe. They all seemed pretty surprised to hear a guy’s voice and were asking for a spouse reveal.”

Steve furrowed his brows and thought about it for a few moments. “What if we did?”

“Did what?”

“A spouse reveal. I gotta admit, it’s been pretty annoying having everyone assume you’re sleeping with our friends! I don’t really like the idea of being in the public eye, but what if we just did a quick video or something to put the rumors to bed for good?”

Admittedly it was a pretty good idea. Eddie liked being able to share parts of his life with his fans, and Steve was the biggest part of his life. It would be nice to show him off for a moment and finally tell the world who put that ring on his finger.

“Yeah. Yeah, ok! Let’s do it!”

Eddie grabbed his phone, opened TikTok, and got comfy on the couch. Steve sat down next to him, cuddled into his side. He started the video with the camera just on himself, took a deep breath, and hit record.

“Hey guys! Sorry to dip out of my live stream so suddenly. I was a little thrown off with that interruption, but thought it would be best to come on here and clear the air. Yes, I’m married. Yes, my spouse is a man. Yes, my favorite cereal is Honeycombs, don’t come at me for that! And this is Steve.”

He tilted his phone so both his and Steve’s faces were in the frame. Steve smiled brightly and did a little finger wave. “Hey everybody!”

Eddie giggled and turned to kiss Steve on the cheek. Even after years of being together, Eddie’s affections still made him blush. Steve turned at looked at Eddie with stars in his eyes and whispered, “I love you babe.”

“I love you too sweetheart.”

They shared a brief kiss before Eddie ended the video and immediately posted it.

He effectively broke the internet again.

Millions of likes and comments flooded in, a huge wave of love and support from his fans. And of course, more questions.

“Shut up, they are so fucking cute I’m gonna puke”

“I’m so sad that the married rumors are true, but omg his husband is crazy hot! Good for him!”

“His name is Steve?! Why is that so adorable?!”

“Find yourself a man who looks at you like Steve looks at Eddie!”

“Who is this Steve?! TELL! ME! EVERYTHING!”

“We demand more Steve!”

“Ok I need more details immediately”

The demand for more Steve content did not stop. Eddie still wanted to keep his private life as private as possible, but Steve had no problem with popping up in a few videos here and there. Rolling his eyes in the background at Eddie’s antics, hands on his hips while scolding the band for being late to an interview, painting Eddie’s nails backstage before a show. Just little glimpses of Steve being Steve. His fans ate that shit up.

One night Eddie was left to his own devices while Steve was out having a “girls night” with Robin, Nancy, Max, and El. Why he wasn’t invited too he will never know. Not that he was jealous or anything. Totally not jealous. He decided to set up another TikTok live while he screwed around on his guitar. About an hour in, the front door flew open and in stumbled a very flushed, very giggly, very drunk Steve.

“BABE! I SAW ARIANA GRANDE TONIGHT!”

Eddie started laughing as Steve made his way into the living room, glancing at how the comments went absolutely apeshit again.

“Stevie, sweetheart, sit down before you hurt yourself.”

Steve took the guitar out of Eddie’s hands and plopped down in his lap. “Babe, seriously! I saw Ariana Grande! Me and the girls went to some club and Nancy got us into the VIP section, and there she was! Just! Sitting there looking all cool and famous! Babe, it was awesome!”

Chuckling, Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve, kissed him on his temple, and pointed at his phone set up on a tripod. “Stevie, you interrupted my live stream again. Say hi to everyone!”

Steve turned his head towards the phone, eyebrows raising up, and smiled dopily. “Oh! Hi guys! Did you hear?? I saw Ariana Grande!” He then quickly snapped his drunken gaze back towards Eddie. “OH MY GOD! Babe! Do you think she’s on here?! Can you message her?!” He turned back to the phone shouting, “Ariana! I’m Steve! We should hang out! Eddie, tell her we should hang out!”

Eddie started cackling and patted Steve’s head like a puppy. “Ok big boy, you’ve clearly had enough. Sorry guys, I’m gonna have to cut the stream short and put this one to bed. And uh, yeah. Ariana Grande, if you’re into hanging out with preppy former jocks who like to snuggle while they’re wasted, let me know I guess. Goodnight!”

Eddie looked down at Steve, who had tucked himself into Eddie’s chest while he was talking, and gave a little kiss on his head before ending the live stream.

“Hmmm… sleepy.”

“I know you’re sleepy sweetheart, let’s get you into jammies and tuck you in.”

The next morning Eddie awoke to a hungover Steve groaning into his neck, and a message on TikTok from none other than Ariana Grande.

“What the fuck?!”

“Hng… too loud.”

“Sweetheart. Stevie. Wake up!”

“No.” Steve pulled the covers over his face.

“Honey, seriously, you need to wake up. You’ve gotta see this.”

“Eds, I don’t wanna see shit, I wanna sleep.”

“Stevie, do you remember coming home last night and telling everyone on TikTok that you want to hang out with Ariana Grande?”

Steve flipped the covers back off and gave him an incredulous look. “I did not.”

“Yeah princess, you did. You stumbled in talking about how you saw her at a club and wanted to hang out with her. And guess the fuck what.”

“…….what?”

Eddie turned his phone for Steve to see the message.

“What the?… ‘Hey Eddie! I caught your livestream last night and my answer is yes! Steve seems like an absolute doll, I’d love to hang out with him’”

Steve looked at him with wide eyes and just stared for few beats.

“SHE WANTS TO HANG OUT WITH ME?!”

His volume made both men wince, Steve immediately grabbing his throbbing head and groaning.

“Yes, sweetheart, apparently babbling drunk gay men are her thing. So, when should I tell her you’re free?”

The following Wednesday, Steve was a nervous wreck. He had cleaned the house from top to bottom, prepped a gorgeous charcuterie board, had wine chilling in the fridge, and checked his hair about 30 times.

“Stevie, darling, sweetheart. You’ve got to calm down.”

“Calm down? CALM DOWN?! Eddie, Ariana fucking Grande is coming to our house! How is this even happening? What if we don’t have anything in common? What if she thinks I’m an awkward idiot? I don’t wanna screw this up!”

Eddie wrapped Steve up in his arms and gave him a tight squeeze. “You won’t screw anything up. Everyone loves you Stevie. Just be you, and she’ll love you too. And if you’re freaking out, I’m a phone call away, alright? I should only be at the studio for a few hours and then I’ll be home before you know it. You two will have a great time! Ok?!”

Steve let out a long suffering sigh. “Ok.”

The doorbell rang and Eddie took his hand, walking with Steve to go greet their guest of honor. As soon as the door opened, Ariana Grande herself was standing there with a huge smile on her face. “Steve! Oh my god, it’s so nice to meet you!” She immediately gave Steve a hug and barley even acknowledged Eddie standing there.

“Ok. Well. I guess I’m not needed here. Have fun you two! Don’t do anything I would do!” Steve laughed and gave him a quick peck before leading his guest into the house.

After a few hours of polishing some tracks on the new album, Eddie headed back home. He hadn’t heard from Steve the whole time he was out, and hoped that everything went smoothly with his new friend. Or whatever the hell this was.

Opening his front door, he was greeted with the sounds of giggles, clinking glass, and… are they watching Twilight?!

He pulled out his phone and started recording as he walked into the living room. “Here I am, coming home after hours of slaving away on our new album to find THIS.” He flipped the camera around to a view of Steve and apparently his new best friend, snuggled under a blanket, wine glasses in hand, a few empty bottles on the table, surrounded by a mess of crumbs, giggling at blue-tinted vampires playing baseball.

He flipped the camera back to himself, sulking “I think I’ve been replaced.”

Internet: broken.

“Did they just become best friends?!”

“Awwwww I want Steve Snuggles!”

“Living for this!!!!”

“#stevesnuggles”

“Wait, did he make her a charcuterie board??”

In the weeks that followed, #stevesnuggles took over social media. Everyone and their mother was gushing about Eddie’s adorable husband, wanting to see more of him, and his snuggles. Eddie couldn’t blame them, really. The man is adorable. But he still wanted to keep sort of a lid on their private life, so he limited most of his posts to just Corroded Coffin content. Anticipation for the new album was amping up, a tour was being planned, and the buzz was buzzing.

Unfortunately with all of the work leading up to the release, Eddie wasn’t getting enough of his daily allotment of Steve Time. He was looking forward to the weekend when his schedule was clear so he could finally have some quality time with his husband and soak up all of those famous snuggles.

Life had other plans, though. Friday afternoon he got a text from Steve saying that it was his turn to host girls night. Again, why was Eddie not invited to these things?? Not that he was jealous. Of course not. That would be crazy. He resigned himself to the fact that tonight, he’d have to share his husband.

When he stepped into their home, he immediately recognized the honking laughter of a tipsy Robin, Nancy’s adorable giggle, but there were several other voices he couldn’t decipher. Thinking ahead, he once again pulled out his phone and started recording.

“HONEY, I’M HO- the fuck?!”

It took him a moment to register what he was seeing. He flipped the camera around to focus on the absurd cuddle puddle on the floor. In a pile of what must have been every blanket and pillow in the house, was the obvious collection of Steve, Nancy, Robin, and apparently now Ariana. But then…

“Sweetheart, why are Rhianna and Taylor Swift on our living room floor?”

Steve just looked up at him pie-eyed and sweetly stated, “Girls night!” to which the bizzare collection of women shouted, “Hi Eddie!”

How many times can you break the internet before it stays broken?

“WHAT. THE FUCK.”

“Ummmmm best girls night ever?”

“How do I get an invite??”

“So Steve is just a magnet for powerful women then. Got it.”

“#STEVESNUGGLES OMG!!!”

Steve snuggles indeed. Eddie was so used to being in the limelight, it was a strange adjustment to have his once under the radar husband be in such high demand. Every time he posted a TikTok of the band, the comments were flooded with requests for more Steve. He did sometimes cave and give the people what they wanted. Quick videos of Steve cooking them dinner while dancing to his god forsaken pop music, sneak peeks of some of their new songs with Steve singing along, and ok, one thirst trap of him working out in their home gym. Eddie was a just a man after all, and his husband was hot.

The album was finally released and sales were through the roof. Corroded Coffin had never sold so many copies before and someone from the label insisted that their TikTok presence had everything to do with it. Was it actually them, or the love for Steve? Who’s to say. Either way, their concerts across the country were sold out in a matter of minutes and the band couldn’t wait to kick off their next tour.

The first show was in LA and Eddie had planned to do a quick TikTok before they took the stage. He started in the hallway backstage, welcoming everyone to the start of the tour, and made his way into the green room. “Alright everyone, let’s check in quick with the band and make sure these dickheads are ready to go! BOYS! ARE WE - Steve?! What the hell?”

He flipped the camera around to the view of Steve happily scrolling on his phone on one of the couches. With Dua Lipa cuddled up on one side of him and Lady goddamn Gaga on the other. What the fuck is his life?

“Babe! Hi! The girls were in town and came by to check out the show!”

“I’m sorry… THE GIRLS?! How do you even know them?!”

Steve raised an eyebrow at him like he was an idiot and said, “Lipa was on SNL and she had Robin get us connected. And Jon did a photo shoot with Stef and…basically the same thing.”

Stef?! Who the fuck is Stef? Wait right… Lada Gaga is a stage name.

Eddie flipped the camera back on himself and just. Stared. “I…I don’t know what the fuck is happening.”

Queue the comments.

“Ok is he like best friends with EVERY icon?!”

“Steve IS the icon! 💅”

“What’s a girl gotta do to get some #stevesnuggles in here?!”

“Omfg Eddie’s never gonna get his own #stevesnuggles now is he?”

“SHARE THE WEALTH”

“I can’t believe this app is free”

From there on the tour went off without a hitch and fans in every city were rabid for the new album. And of course Steve. Goddamnit. He’d occasionally see people in the crowd with “#stevesnuggles” t-shirts, or hear chants of “We want Steve!” Yeah, Eddie gets it. He wants Steve too. For himself.

Eddie took to posting a lot of videos from backstage with the band, sound checks, screwing around with the crew. And of course to appease the masses, some of Steve in his element. Putting on Gareth’s eyeliner, helping Jeff pick out his stage clothes, and rubbing Eddie’s shoulders after a grueling show. Just Steve mother henning everyone.

When they made it to New York, they had an appearance on SNL a few days before their concert. They got to catch up with Robin, meet the cast, and get a feel for what went into producing the show. Eddie hadn’t heard who the host was, not that it probably mattered much since they’d only see them at the end-of-show sign off.

He was in the middle of doing a livestream behind the scenes, walking the legendary halls of Studio 8H when he popped into his dressing room to show off the digs. “And here we have my office for the night…. Uh. Stevie? What? The fuck?” He turned the camera around to see Steve snuggled up with… goddamn Beyoncé.

“Hey babe! Did you meet Bee yet? She’s hosting tonight!”

No the fuck he didn’t meet “Bee!” And sorry, his husband is already on a nickname basis with this Queen?! Who the hell did he marry??

Goodbye internet.

“HOLY. SHIT.”

“Seriously, gay men have all the luck.”

“Two absolute queens, omg”

“BEYONCÉ GETS #STEVESNUGGLES OMG!!!”

“Eddie, your husband belongs to Bee now, my condolences”

“Don’t tell Jay Z”

The show went well even though Eddie was visibly shook by his husband’s new friend. Seriously, what is his life?! How much further was this going to go? He was relieved when the tour finally ended and they could go back to their bubble of domestic bliss. That is, until the next girls night probably!

Once they were back home and settled into their routine, he realized he needed to make some more content now that things have calmed down. Privacy was always important to him, but after a night of taking his husband apart over and over, he smirked and had an idea.

Quietly grabbing his phone off the nightstand, he started recording. Steve with his chaotic sex hair, neck covered in hickies, and curled up sound asleep on Eddie’s chest. A chest that was decorated in tattoos and nipple piercings, as well as fresh scratch marks. Eddie smirked at the camera, winked and whispered “hashtag Steve snuggles.”

RIP internet.

[notexactlyei]

cloud strife dating hcs — ★

contains both sfw and nsfw!!

mdni with nsfw parts.

contains: intentional lowercase, awkward cloud, cute cloud, dom cloud, fluff, smut, gn/fem bodied reader, gn pronouns!

sfw

- at first I feel like cloud would be a bit awkward

- he would definitely be a bit mad at himself because he's supposed to be this tough dude..

- but then you come in and BAM you're just so??? cute??? and he doesn't know how to react to cuteness so he just stands there like 🧍‍♀️ while cussing himself out in his head and being like "not cute shut up annoying annoying"

- and then you'd be all nice to him, just a genuinely kind person and he wouldn't be able to hate you

- he would just suppress his feelings like he always does but you would make it very difficult to him

- if you two were really close then he would maybe flirt a little bit considering the tifa drink scene but just a BIT

- he definitely wouldn't confess first, mans would be too scared and confused. he would think you hate him. So you would have to take the first move.

- when you do confess though, he would just.. be there.

- just stand there. shut down. aaaand... wait, is that a blush you see?!

- you would have to snap your fingers at him to actually get him to react

- "oh- uh, yeah.. I guess.. I like you too."

- he would be very doubtful and afraid that maybe you didn't actually like him, def would overthink the whole situation a lot.

- when you start dating.. he is still a bit awkward. needs some time to warm up.

- but as soon as he does, he is quite affectionate in a cloud-y way

- would scoff and roll his eyes a lot at you but that smile that he just can't get rid of when you "annoy" him tells you everything you need to know

- would love holding you and teasing you about things

- witty

- would absolutely adore it if you played with his hair

- he would just lay down on top of you, his head on your chest.. and as soon as you'd start playing with his hair, he'd make these cute little contented noises, almost catlike

- secretly plays mario kart

- no one can know this. idk why. it's cloud, okay? don't ask why playing mario kart is such a forbidden thing for him.

- one day u catch him and he just freezes.

- "hellooo earth to cloud????"

- *cloud.exe has stopped working*

- then u just take the controller in ur hands so that u could play too

- cue the most aggressive mario kart game ever

- he is SO good but at the same time he sucks ass idk how he does it. one time he's beating you by one lap next he's driving into every obstacle on the map

- ahem

- anyway

- back to fluffy cloud

- would watch you while you cook

- makes up excuses to do that

- "i need to make sure you don't burn the house down" BITCH YOU'RE THE ONE THAT TRIGGERED THE SMOKE DETECTOR LAST TIME

- again, he loves to hold you. he's usually the big spoon but sometimes he also wants to be the little spoon yk?

- poor baby's been through a lot and just needs some comfort :(

- shh there there, just pet his hair and hold him

- he might cry. it's very VERY rare but if you manage to make him feel extremely safe with you then he might cry

- give him love

- now

- NOW

- anyways

- now that I've made you all "awww that's so cute and sad"

- let's move on to smut

- nice topic contrast huh? ik ik

(ok minors now it's ur time to leave! byebyeeee <3)

NSFW

- ass guy!

- would walk behind you a lot just to get a nice view

- when you ask him about it he's like

- "i just need to make sure you're alright. what about it?"

- his fav position would probably be from the back

- would grab your throat (gently, not choking you.. unless you asked for it) or hips in that position

- considering the hand massage parlor scene, the noises he made.. I think a lot of them were suppressed too, so I think he would be pretty vocal if you dommed him

- but here's the thing

- he won't let you

- he is your dom

- first couple sessions he's really gentle

- but oh boy after that

- this boy is rough!!!

- would want you to sit on his lap a lot, which would usually lead to other things ;)

- "sit on my lap"

- "but-"

- "sit. now."

- yessir thank you sir

- would prefer receiving over giving, but he would still love giving.. he'd just love the sight of you choking and gagging on him so so beautiful <3

- when he'd give you oral he'd go ham

- he wouldn't really care if you tried to squirm away, he would just grab your hips to keep you in place

- "stay still"

- loves your cute little sounds

- when you're just bouncing on top of him but suddenly you stop cause you just can't take it anymore, he grabs your hips and just moves you up and down

- if you were being a sassy brat or made him jealous then oh god prepare yourself

- bro will NOT go easy on you

- will not use toys - he would show you how good he is without them

- loves when you wear his clothes

- can be sweet and passionate at times

- when he finally lets you dom him (which takes a lot of convincing)

- his whines and whimpers are just so heavenly. like OH MY GOD.

- secretly enjoys being overstimulated

a/n: I might update/edit this :)

[runa-falls]

*raise hand violently* PLEASE CAN I ASK ABOUT sub!miguel headcanons?!?!?!?!?!

What makes him whine, how pretty does his whimpers sound like?!?!?!

How gorgeous does he look when his eyes get all shiny and wet with tears because you won't let him come yet.

sub!miguel headcanons

basic summary: miguel is the whiniest, most pushy malewife and you are his protector, comforter, and safe space :3

a/n: OK BETTER LATE THAN NEVER RIGHT? (im so sorry lmfaooo) also does it count as headcanons if i have random scenes in between them?? wtvr *shoves fic in ur arms and sprints away*

content: suggestive + fluffy

masterlist

---

bed habits (I'M TALKING AB SLEEPING YOU DIRTY BASTARD!) -- miguel is a sleepy, cuddly boy

he never has trouble falling asleep when you're around (except for when he - adorably - forces himself to stay awake so he can spend time with you)

this man is 6'7" but he still tries to curl up on your lap when you're lounging on the couch just so you can play with his hair as he dozes off

miguel owns a king sized bed, big enough to fit five people comfortably, yet he's adamant to take up all your space

it gets hot (i mean, he's hot -- literally, like his internal temp is higher than the average human) but even when you try to shove him away, he only pulls you closer to him

if you do, somehow, get away from him, he wakes up immediately with a sleepy groan, blindly reaching across the mattress for you:

you try to dodge his hands, laying precariously at the edge of the bed, hoping he would give up and go back to sleep. unfortunately, it only makes him whine like a spoiled child, "baby, closer. need you...come here" god -- he has such a cute sleepy voice...

but you don't let it sway you. you're already laying on top of the comforter, desperately trying to cool off and get back to sleep.

"it's too hot, miguel"

"but...i can't sleep without you" you can hear the pout in his voice

"just hold a pillow and pretend its me"

he sighs -- actually sighs like the dramatic man he is, "but it's not the same!"

you don't respond, refusing to continue this 3 am argument that you'll never win, and pretend to fall back asleep. maybe he will practice self-soothing or something and sleep by himself? maybe he'll be an adult about this?

silence settles in the air for a few minutes and you're nearly lulled back to unconsciousness. and then you hear the sheets rustle as he sits up next to you, suddenly fully awake and stubbornly staring down at you.

"please?"

"mig, no amount of 'pleases' will convince me to sleep against your volcanic body"

"...how about just until I fall asleep?"

"but when I move away you'll wake up again."

you hear a quiet 'hmph' before you're promptly tugged back against his body. his face presses against your hair as he situates himself to engulf you in his warmth. "exactly, so don't leave me."

it's a common misconception that sub!mig likes to be the little spoon but actually he likes to cling onto you like you're a living teddy bear -- face nuzzled against your neck, legs intertwined with yours, and one large hand on your tit

you often wake up in a tangled mess, your neck stiff from the contorted positions he maneuvers your body into during the night

but you don't mind it anymore, especially on those rare morning swhen you wake up before him and you get to see those worry lines on his forehead soften as he sleeps soundly next to you

miguel is a soft and eager man:

it's his life mission to provide for you, to hear soft words of praise whisper from your lips

as soon as you're alone in a room, he drops the tough guy act and immediately searches for your warmth

miguel sticks to you like velcro when he isn't fighting crime in the city

and when he isn't with you, he's absolutely thinking about you

(of course he makes sure that you're thinking about him too with all the texts he sends you throughout the day -- adorned with cheesy emojis...)

this dude is so needy and desperate for your love, praise and approval that he's the one asking "would you still love me if i were a spider-mutant worm and i looked at you like this: 🐛 to say 'i love you'?"

would he call you 'mami'? debatable.

but he loves it when you call him honey, sweetheart, baby, bubby/bubs, hubby (he wants to marry you so bad), and puppy (WHEN HE'S KINKY BC HE'S A HORNY SOB)

you swear he whimpers a little when you tell him what a good man he is -- when you confess that he's your hero, even when he's not swinging around the city and lifting up buildings with his bare hands

his warm brown eyes search your face, a desperate quest for truth in every gentle word you speak. he's never been spoken to so softly in his life -- this tenderness, it's new...too good to be true

as time passes and your love deepens, he begins to realize that it's all true, that everthing about you is genuine, that he is loveable after all

miguel worships you:

he is definitely a worshipper when you let him be

on slower, more sensual nights, he makes sure to paint your body in kisses, from your ankles to your forehead it's almost tortuous

(maybe even bites if it's been a while since he's seen you)

he likes to kneel for you, make himself smaller so he can look up at you and appreciate everything you've provided for him

he's really whiny and pathetic though...

he wants to be told what to do, when to do it, and how. it helps him let go of this thoughts, anything that's weighing on him

it could be his heightened senses or just his desperation, but he needs to touch you all the time -- even just the light feeling of his hand against your thigh gives him a euphoric feeling.

so you deny him because you know how much he loves the delayed gratification and humiliation when you tease him for it.

"baby, you're acting so needy right now~" you decided to withdraw from the heated interaction to keep him at the edge. his eyes are dark, blazing with heat, as you speak to him with a syrupy sweet voice.

he pouts from the spot where he's kneeling for you, already achingly hard from the thorough petting session you just gave him.

"i'm not trying to be...just really need it." he's whining with a mixture of shame, frustration, and exasperation in his voice.

"It?" you tilt your head, a small smile gracing your lips.

"..." he doesn't elaborate. you can see a hint of pinkness creep up his neck as his eyes avoid yours.

he can get so shy sometimes. it's endearing. it makes you want to destroy him then put him back together again.

"honey, i can't give you what you need unless you tell me." you know what he wants, but you want to hear him say it.

"please"

[dinogoofy]

I KNOW YOU SAW THE NEW BANISHED TRAILER!!!

i’m on a reptile / syzoth craze and if your requests are still open, may i receive your best nsfw / sfw headcanons of our newly-designed babygurl?

thank you!!

GOD I FREAKIN LOVE THAT TRAILERRR

These might not be the most perfect headcanons but here ya go!!

Syzoth (Reptile) X reader Headcanons!

---

SFW

Dude is a cuddle monster. Oh, you're chilling on the couch? No you're not. He's using you as a heater. He'll stretch out on top of you and leave you trapped. Lord help you if the two of you are outside in the sun! Dudes gonna fall asleep for hours

He loves your hair. It's just fairly unknown territory for him, and it's so soft and warm and honestly fluffy compared to what he's used too?? He buries his face into your hair, strokes through it, plays with it, any chance he gets! (this one is partly inspired by a Tegu I met and got to hold! She was absolutely precious. Like holding a scaley puppy. She immensely got cozy with her face in my hair and it was adorable.)

He's a little insecure about both his homan and reptile forms, but just reassure him that you love him no matter what form he takes and you'll have a happy lizard.

Will eat weird things sometimes. I don't know why. He just has that vibe. Think of those giant isopods people eat.

NSFW

He's a switch. 100%. If you praise him and shower him with affection and kisses, he will absolutely melt, but if you're rather on the shy side or he's in the mood he will take over and be a little more dominant.

ADORES intimacy. He wants to be pressed against AND inside you at all times. Loves to give you lots of kisses while inside of you, and of course you indulge him. I mean, look at his face? Dude needs to be showered in kisses at all times.

Prefers to cum inside of you, again, it's mostly a warmth thing. You are just so squishy and warm and wet that he begs to come inside of you. And I mean BEGS.

Once the two of you are spent, he probably falls asleep first.

If caught in the act he might just *dissappear* on instinct. It's such a goofy scenario but he just *poofs* and your left in awkward eyecontact with whoever interrupted, probably still able to feel him inside of you as well.

..... would probably be dtf in his natural form.

[chilschuck]

Hii!!! I just discovered your blog and i have to say, dude i loooooove the way you write about Chilchuck!!! Absolutely lovely!

If your requests are open, id really like to know your thoughts on Chil intereacting/dating with a reader who's also a hafling? Maybe they're also the shortest of haflings even tho they are an adult? (T^T projecting hard coz I'm 21 and havent grown since 6th grade, literally 4'10 lmfao)

Feel free to ignore if you dont feel comfortable with this ask! Again, love all your works 😭💕

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ WAAAAAH ANON THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! (;;;w;;;) i was so happy to write this because my insert is also a half-foot, so this was fun to do!!! i made this super fluffy so i hope you enjoy it!! <333

— CHILCHUCK: x half-foot reader hcs.

꒰ warnings: ꒱ none, sfw + gn!reader! suuuuper fluffy!!

꒰ wc: ꒱ 562

✦ hope this is okay anon!!! this was so fun and now i’m in such a fluffy mood. (;;;w;;;) just wanna pull him close and give him so much love, waaaaah.

✦ Chilchuck would definitely use the height difference he has to his advantage. When you’ve been dating for a while, I like to think he’d pull you to his chest and rest his head on your shoulder, enjoying the proximity. Maybe he even rests his chin on top of your head when he’s feeling affectionate.

✦ Cuddling with this man as another half-foot is so nice. He’s going to be the big spoon most nights to feel protective, and in doing so he’s wrapping you up in that warm body of his. If you feel like spoiling him, snuggle your head into his chest as he holds you, wrapping your arms around him. He’d probably melt into the blankets.

✦ We know Chilchuck isn’t very affectionate in front of others, but I like to imagine him still pulling you close behind closed doors and burying his head into your neck after a long day. Maybe he comes home and wordlessly kisses your forehead, pulling you into him and sighing. (He’ll probably not talk about anything that happened at work, but at least he shows you he’s there!)

✦ As you’re another half-foot, dancing with him is a must! Especially after he’s had a few drinks in his system. We know from that one piece of official art that he can, in fact, dance a bit, so I can see him pulling you in as well. Any time you two can, dance with him and enjoy how big his smile is when you grab his hand that’s held out to you.

✦ I saw other people headcanon this, but imagine wearing his clothes and having them be a little baggy on you. You enjoy it a bit too much, going through his laundry and finding something of his to wear. Chilchuck will get a little red in the face at the sight of you in his shirts, but he’ll wave it off and mumble how nice you look.

✦ Leaning up to kiss his cheek and pulling him by his belt towards you will definitely get him a little flustered. We know how this man is with affection, but if it’s from you, it gets his heart beating a good bit. Decorate his face in kisses by pulling him down gently by his neckwarmer and watch as he lifts his hands up to shakily hold your waist. Sometimes he even pulls you to his lips to get what he really wants if you keep teasing him like this.

✦ Going back to cuddling, if you decide to share a bedroll with him, he’s the perfect sleeping partner. Seeing as he likes to sleep on his back, you can easily slot up against his side and rest your head against his chest. He’ll wrap an arm around you to subconsciously pull you closer in the middle of the night. (Be prepared to get super warm and toasty while sleeping now!)

✦ Chilchuck thinks your height difference is cute, but he’ll never admit it out loud. You can use it to your advantage too by walking past him and kissing his shoulder. Maybe even wrapping your arms around his waist and kissing the back of his neck. Chil will jump a bit at first, but lean into your touch, especially if you nuzzle into his shoulders. After all, you’re definitely a soft spot for him.

— dividers by @/cafekitsune!! <33

[henneseyhoe]

Velcro.

Jude Bellingham x BLACK!FEM!Reader

WARNINGS: SMAU, Rude(ish) comments, A bit smutty at the end but nun too serious, Jude being a velcro boyfriend, basketball player!Reader, Touch me not!Reader, Nonchalant(ish)!Reader, Clinginess, fluffy, reader is a bit of a tomboy (but it’s not really implied ig??), Readers sexual preference is questioned a few times lmao.

✮✮✮✮

Ahh, a tale as old as (you*) time if you ask me! It seemed that since you were little, no one could read the sign you mentally placed on your forehead that said DO NOT TOUCH. that included Jude.

100% use to be time limit on how long he can hug you when you two first started dating and he thought he was slick going over a few seconds just to see if you’d notice. 😭

He respects you not wanting to be touched so often but sometimes he genuinely does forget and slips up.

Sometimes you let him get away with it, other times you smack his hand away like you’d do a naughty child.

He’s so touchy that sometimes you don’t even notice until he moves.

“Jude…”

“Hm?” He hums, eyes on the computer screen resting on your stomach that was playing princess and the frog.

“Jude” You call even firmer than before.

“Yes, baby?”

“Your hand, dude…”

His eyes dart to the suspecting hand, his entire palm softly groping your boob under your shirt as if the hand was supposed to be there.

“Oh! Sorry-“

He waits till you’re asleep to cuddle you when you two are finally together again and on break; you wake up with a full grown man nearly on top of you.

You once told him to start asking for kisses instead of just kissing you and you ended up answering more than ten questions in just one evening.

He doesn’t even get jealous of you interacting with other men that may be interested in you because you kinda hate everybody??..💀

He’s also leaving multiple hickeys on your neck so they can see just in case but you had to immediately stop him from doing that before a coach or a teammate saw and bullies you for it.

Hiding the relationship from the public was difficult enough but he quite literally acted like you two were conjoined at the hip at times.

When you soft launched you two’s relationship your friends were in such shock that you even let a man get close enough to you to speak without him being pepper sprayed.

✮✮✮✮

ynusername

Liked by jkeey4 and 567,086 others

do not disturb.

ᴠɪᴇᴡ ᴀʟʟ 2,758 ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ

-

YBSF GIRL WHAAAAT???

❤︎ ʙʏ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ

YBSF2 YOU WIT YO WHOOO??

ynusername You know who i’m with! 😹

USER1 AHHHHHHHHH

❤︎ ʙʏ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ

USER2 WON A RING HER ROOKIE YEAR AND GOT A MAN??? IKTRRR

❤︎ ʙʏ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ

USER3 could have sworn she liked girls—

USER4 Y/N plays basketball so good she got ppl thinking she a lesbian wow

USER5 Lesbian allegations in her first year of playing in the WNBA omg we made it yall!!

USER6 Girl we know who that is

USER7 right, she covering his face like we blind???

ynusername Never tried to hide him lol

USER8 Oh so this is why we aren’t winning any games lol…

USER9 Lost to the fuckin SPARKS bro…

USER10 Is it really that deep?

USER9 YES BITCH!

USER11 I KNOW THAT AINT MY MANNNN

ynusername your whom?

USER12 GAG HER MOTHER LMAO

USER13 NOOOO GET OFF OF HERRR

USER14 IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE US NOT HIM

judebellingham ???????

judebellingham 🤍👩🏾‍🤝‍👨🏽

❤︎ ʙʏ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ

judebellingham I live to breathe the same air as you.

❤︎ ʙʏ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ

USER15 okay tone it down a little jude-

USER16 He’s so- 😭😭😭

USER17 I have a hunch that she’s gonna eat him and use his football talent to gain powers

ynusername My plans have been foiled

USER18 a sports crossover i never expected to see ngl????

USER19 right? 😭

USER20 It’s a pr stunt guys lol

✮✮✮✮

There’s a good bit of people that still don’t think you two are actually together, exhibit A:

He surprisingly ignores all of these comments cause he knows what’s real.(you show em jude!)

Everybody can just tell he bagged you by being absolutely delusional and they were correct.

All those story likes, comments and convincing you that he was cool finally paid off!

Also he was very much so one of those “omg you’re so smallll” type of flirts 💀 and it took you every bone in your body not to kick the back of his knees in.

Now you probably wouldn’t have won that fight but while he was down on the floor you’d have enough time to run for your life.

He’s definitely that boyfriend that walks with his hand in your back pocket.

Has told you multiple times before that not being with you feels like he’s having withdrawals. 😭

Poor baby HATES when you tour but he still roots for you, posting pictures of your team on his story and all. 😖

Sharing location? He has yours on every single device and watches it occasionally when you’re traveling lmfao.

✮

✮

You wouldn’t be surprised if he secretly has a burner account where he claps back at people who come for your game performance.

It wouldnt be the first time he’s said something to critics. 🧍🏽‍♀️

If he can’t make it to a game then best believe he’s watching it on his phone and jumping up every time you get a point of your own. 😭 (we love a supportive wag)

He definitely has one of your jerseys and you absolutely have his.

Because you didn’t like being touched so often, naturally your favorite sexual position was riding. (it was also a great leg workout) You loved that you could be in control of him and how he touched you. If he got too handsy, you weren’t a stranger to pinning his arms down to your mattress and he would practically be too weak to protest against it anyway.

When you did allow him to touch you how he wanted, his favorite position was sideways spooning. A position where he could hold you as much as he wanted, keep you still within his arms and still fuck your brains out while getting his fix of touching you without limit. He basically went feral anytime it happened, the first time he was surprised he could cum that much, all the evidence laid across the dimples of your back (i’m sorry i couldn’t help myself LMAO)

By the time you two were together for over a year, Jude could just feel you softening up for him a little more day by day and he just couldn’t wait till you were as touchy as he was

✮✮✮✮

💌~ I hope yall like this, i wrote it along with this lewis fic that’s kinda the same but also not? 💀 yall will see it soon lmfao

also, give Jude his WNBA gf(me) NOW!! we got league babies to make frl

[samandcolbyownme]

can i request a fluffy johnnie fic, just like how he would show his gf who is also a youtuber in videos! kinda like the jake fic 'as i suspected'!

thank you and i love your fics <33

Warnings: fluff, swearing, kissing

As I Suspected | Jake Webber

Enjoy!

══════════════════

You’re sat on Johnnie’s lap, facing him as his hands hold your hips and his lips are on your neck. You slide your hands up his check, resting them on the sides of his shoulders.

“Jake’s going to be here any minute.” You mumble, closing your eyes as you feel Johnnie’s hands slide up your shirt, “Mhm.” Johnnie looks up at you, his voice in a soft whisper, “You know he’s always late because he forgot something at home.”

You laugh slightly, nodding as you lean in to press your lips to his. Johnnie gives your hips a little squeeze and pulls your body closer to his. He groans lowly as you grind down onto him, lying back as he pulls you with him.

You kiss up his neck, across his jaw and up his cheeks until you finally reach his lips. He smiles and slides a hand up your back, “Are you going to behave in today’s video?”

You nod, “uh huh.” He laughs slightly, “Somehow, I don’t believe you.” You roll your eyes, smooshing your lips back onto his. You make out for another moment or two before Jake’s voice causes your body to fly off of Johnnie’s, “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

You look at Jake then Johnnie. All three of you continue to look around at each other until one of you finally breaks the silence.

“I. Fucking. Knew it.” Jake points, “You lying little sluts.” He walks in pointing between you and Johnnie, “I asked Johnnie about this, what? Last fucking month and you said no, you were just friends.” He laughs, “I was fucking right.”

“You can’t say anything, Jake.“ you look at him and he rolls his eyes, “Do I have to pinky swear?” You laugh, holding up your pink as you nod, “Yes, sir. You do.” He huffs, looking at you with a smirk as he wraps his pinky around yours.

“Great, now that that’s over. Do you want to explain now or after the video?” Jake looks between you and Johnnie and in unison, “After.”

You’ve made it half way through the stream, and so far, Jake hasn’t said a word about what he walked in on. You’re sitting in the back and Johnnie was up front with Jake.

Every now and then, Jake would glance between you and Johnnie, teasing you subtly and it drove you nuts.

“That was really sour, holy- oh fuck.” Johnnie groans, “I hate this.” Jake picks one up and plops the whole piece of candy in his mouth. Instantly groaning and looking for someplace to spit it out at.

Johnnie holds his hand out and you stare at Johnnie as you think about how you love how caring towards Jake he is - even if it’s allowing Jake to spit his slobbered up candy in his hand.

“Fuck that..” Jake gasps, “Where did you get these?” Johnnie shrugs, “I don’t know, some website.” Jake looks at Johnnie, “What the black market? Now our tongues are gonna fall off.” Jake sticks his tongue out, gripping the end of his tongue, “I need this.”

You roll your eyes and look down as Johnnie hands one back to you, “Do you want to try one?” You shake your head, “No.” Jake whips back, “Do it.” You shake your head, “No. I seen how you guys were, I’m not doing it.”

You laugh and Johnnie nods, “No I don’t blame her. If I could go back and not do this again.” He stops and laughs and Jake joins in laughing, “Nah, you’d still fucking do it, don’t lie.”

Johnnie laughs, “That’s why I stopped.” He pulls the pack up, “I think the worst thing is the shock it gives you in your jaw, like right when you taste it.”

“No dude.” Jake groans, “That shock is soo bad..” he laughs, clearly not thinking, “Almost as bad as the shock of them I walk in on y/n a-“ he stops and lifts his head, making an surprised face as he stares into the camera.

You and Johnnie’s eyes are locked on Jake and the chat is absolutely blowing up.

User 1: FINISH THE SENTENCE JAKE

User 2: when y/n and WHO WERE WHAT

User 3: NAH BABY KEEP IT GOIN

User 4: WHO AND WHO

User 5: JOHNNIE SAVE THE DAY BABY SPILL ITTTT

User 6: WHO BAGGED Y/N!?!?!?

“Yeah, Jake.” You clear your throat, tilting your head, “you wanna..mm.. you wanna finish that sentence?” You try your best not to laugh but you fail and Jake shakes his head laughing, “I said nothing.” He points to the camera, “You all are going insane.”

“The voices are getting to us all.” Johnnie chimes in quietly and you laugh, “For the record, there is nothing to tell, Jake just likes to start drama in my life when he’s bored.” You gently smack Jake on the forehead and he yells dramatically, “Ow! Fuck, oh my god!”

Johnnie reaches over and does what you did and Jake does it back to Johnnie but a little harder, causing a loud smack! to sound through the car. You gasp, immediately laughing, “Oh my god, okay. I think..” you continue to laugh, “I think we’re done with this stream for today.”

“Gotta go guys, my mom is making me get off my game to make me play outside.” Jake says looking know the camera with a sad look, “See ya in the next one.” He waves, along with you and Johnnie, and you all say a quick, “Bye!”

“It’s eating you alive, isn’t it?” Johnnie says as Jake ends the streak and Jake glares up at him, “How did you guys even..” he laughs, “No one suspected anything.”

You shrug, leaning forward, “I guess Johnnie and I are just that good.” You look over at him and he purses his lips. You lean in and press your lips to his and Jake fake gags, “Get a room, you two. Please. I already saw you do it once, I don’t need to see it again.”

You laugh, leaning back and Johnnie reaches his hand back to, lay it on your knee. You lay your hand on his, smiling as you trace his tattoos.

Jake lets out a gasp and fumbles his phone before clutching it to his chest, hand slapped on his mouth.

Johnnie looks over at Jake, “What did you do?” You lean up and Jake laughs into his hand loudly, “Uuuumm.” He drags out slowly, “I really thought I ended the stream it when we all say bye, but it must have not registered because we..” he scratches his head as he tries not to laugh, “we were still streaming.. this entire time..”

══════════════════

Hello, thank you for reading! Let me know how you liked it and as always, I love yas! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[everythingseasoning]

How the AOT men love you (SFW & slight NSFW).. PT 1

MINORS: Please DNI. Further reading means you consent to reading everything here, though it's pretty vanilla tbh.

EREN - A bit rough around the edges regarding emotional intimacy. Don't get me wrong, he definitely will straight up tell you "I love you so much, y/n," -- he's not afraid of saying what he feels. However, because he isn't as reflective and insightful and calm as Armin is (Eren's a little more simple-minded), he isn't a guy who does fluffy stuff all the time. He's more about action and adventure -- always pulling you into the next great thing.

*NEEDS* you to be safe, and happy. He will only feel satisfied if you're doing okay. Man cares about you, more than anything else.

Oh .. oh, Eren is definitely very blunt, and stubborn. He sees things in his own way, and it's hard to convince him to back down on anything he's got his mind set to. However, the flip side of this, is that he is fiercely caring, and righteous. Will protect you at all costs, even for little things: Some as*hole at the grocery store cut you off in line and you almost fell to the ground? Eren has a hand on your back and waist, steadying you, before he storms up to the man with the DARKEST look of determined hatred. This man has ZERO chill. (and we love him for it).

You are the most important thing in the world to him. He loves you so intensely and passionately that you won't have a chance to ever doubt it.

Fluff 1) You and Eren like to go on walks/runs together. Sometimes you two have races. Eren always wins (the little b*tch--) or ends up slinging you across his shoulder while running, the biggest smile on both of your faces as you two enjoy the rush of being with each other, and life. Life with Eren is just so right, exciting, and full of good times.

Fluff 2) Just how many beautiful waterfalls have you seen with Eren? You've even hiked a purple-flower covered mountain with him! And you've both tried many wild fruits, from the strange oblong shaped ones to pretty yellow star shaped ones-- Usually you were the one to notice the fruit while Eren glanced giddily all around the forest canopy and ground. It was tradition that whenever you two discovered another fruit plant/tree, Eren opens up the Wild Fruits and Plants You Can Eat book, gifted to you by Armin ("So that Eren doesn't accidentally eat something poisonous.") Sometimes Eren is not as bouncy with energy when you two explore the world, and instead he will hold your hand as you two stroll casually, cuddling up on each other's warmth.

NSFW 1) Eren isn't afraid to just.. straight up ask you.. when he wants it. He will look you up and down, eyes full of hunger. "I want you. How 'bout you?" Whewwww. 😮‍💨

LEVI - ohh boy i have so much to say about this little dude...

Would go absolutely crazy and turn into a battle demon, if he saw the love of his life in danger. ...

If Levi somehow found the right somebody, and actually spent enough time with them to be in a relationship, he would NEED his partner to be safe. He will not risk losing you-- he won't. Not after Isabel and Farlan..not again. So if you're ever in danger, you will see an overpowered beast emerge from that man's body and soul.

Levi isn't the best at emotional intimacy, is very stiff when it comes to words of affirmation. He hadn't ever really thought about love. He never even thought he'd have the option to be safe physically, let alone be safe emotionally. --But when he does meet that person, they light up his life in ways that just stun him. They feel like a summer's glow. He will look 10 years younger with you by his side, will feel unprecedented relief whenever he goes back to you. Will scare all the cadets because he will have this stupid smile on his face whenever he sees you.

--But Levi is not used to being loved deeply. He wouldn't know what to DO with your love, and he'd definitely have trouble opening up and being vulnerable. Nonetheless, I do think he'd try; he has initiative to do well to you, and to give you everything he can give to you (starts off with him being your literal guardian demon, progresses into him becoming soft to you). It'd take time and effort for him to learn how to love you properly.

Fluff 1) In the beginning stages of your relationship, Levi would enjoy cleaning with you. He would find himself giving you commands to do more chores (with him).. because he -- wants to -- be with you -- so often??? (won't ever never admit this).

NSFW 1) Levi is a v*rgin. Yes. Yes he (most likely) is. He never met the right person before you, so he never had a chance/time to indulge in s*x. The first time you and Levi have s*x, Levi will have his mouth CLAMPED shut-- trying not to make a noise, trying to control his expressions of pleasure. You'll have to teach him/encourage him to just let go lol.

NSFW 2) Levi wanted to have s*x with you for so damn long cause he's soooo attracted to you, but he will not initiate it LOLLLL. He just doesn't know HOW to ask for that. You had to feel up on him and really let him know you wanted it (breathy whispers and requests), before he FINALLY took the reigns and pinned you against the wall, kissing you hard before taking you to the bedroom~~!!

Also, he's a fast learner. (Imagine with that what you will 🥵).

Fluff 3) & After you two finish, he will clean you up immediately. But after that he won't let you go. Will hold you in a hug for an eternity. Is addicted to your warmth and the love/care you two give to each other.

ARMIN - OH MY GOD NO BECAUSE - i'm so in love with this man - oKAYYY: Armin is a very thoughtful, perceptive, and practical lover. You would feel *so safe* around him, at ease, and like you can be your full self. He's very accepting.

Armin is also going to *look out for you.* He is insanely analytically accurate. He has a clear, reassuring, and gentle energy about him. You know that with Armin, you'll be protected from any new obstacle or harm's way.

You and Armin would see the world for fun. Armin is somebody who feels fascinated with exploring the world, and with learning. He'd probably want a partner who is brave. He'd probably want somebody whose actions or way of doing life, amaze him. He would be so f*cking blushy around you, stuttering and all, whenever you smile so brightly at him -- you're like the sun to him.

Armin *would die for you.* He practically died already, for Eren & the mission. Armin wouldn't hesitate to give himself up, because that's how deep and true his love is for you. (And you genuinely get mad at him for this... but neither of you will budge-- you'd both die for each other).

Fluff 1) You and Armin like to read together :'). Armin will have red blush dusted across his cheeks, and his eyes will be shining as he talks excitedly, imagining all the things the book talks about. You adore it.

Fluff 2) You tell Armin you had a rough day, and he will set up a bath for you. While you bathe in the dark with candles, Armin will be in the kitchen with stew or soup simmering on the stove, before he quietly leaves the house: He will personally scour the bookstore in order to find a book that he thinks will make you smile-- or a book you two will both enjoy reading together/discussing together. Literally this man is like light okay. When you come out from the shower he will be there with a fresh, steaming bowl of stew and a dessert he picked up from the store. You two will eat together and then read a book, cozily cuddling on the couch.. before things get s*xy.

NSFW 1) This man is a *PLEASURER* -- Everything will be gentle, but imbued with such strong love for YOU. Will worship your body. Armin will feel like the luckiest man alive. He sees all your goodness, admires you, and is huge on praising you. Also he moans a lot, even if it's just a soft one that escapes him. Not sorry.

NSFW 2) For my switches/d0ms: You care deeply for Armin, and you also want to see his face when he's a writhing mess-- Sometimes you'll tie him up, and he will... oh he will be so helpless and flustered. You will be giving him all the sensation and he will *love it so much.*

REINER - Somebody come get yo man TT!! Reiner is a f*cking sweet, really good guy. Would protect you and your children (if you have them)-- with EVERYTHING he has -- from difficult, unfair situations (like what he was put through). But, Reiner also probably would want somebody who is strong, because strength means you can protect yourself, and change the world -- Strength is a necessary trait for survival, and he is attracted towards people who are able to stay efficient and alive.

Reiner wants a morally beautiful/morally pure hearted partner. Definitely wants a good person (I mean... Him and Historia in Season, what was is, 2? --speaks for itself). AND I MEANNN Reiner has such a soft heart-- he literally cracked psychologically because he couldn't handle the trauma of being a double agent in a cruel world-- so his pure heart seeks out another pure heart <3

Reiner would ADORE relaxation time with you! He wants the soft fluff, and the soulful moments, like laying together under the stars-- being safe, peaceful, *free.* Reiner has had the burden of war and the Armored Titan like a boulder on his shoulders for ... as long as he can remember. When you're both cozied up together, hands interlaced under the big night sky, Reiner's heart will have bursted and melted all throughout his body. He hasn't ever felt freedom before-- until you. (don't mind me f*cking sobbing right now. he deserves the world!!)

Fluff 1) You and Reiner sometimes do typical, fluffy couple stuff, like go to parks and have picnics, or going to the aquarium, or baking together. Reiner loves the domestic life with you, and you will always catch him gazing dreamily at you, as if he's not sure you're really his. Are you actually right there in front of him? How did he get this lucky? ..Man short circuits a lot around you.

Will definitely be so caught up in his smittenness for you that when you drop the bread dough on the ground and start getting upset/sad, he will just be staring at you like o// //o, not even realizing what happened.

NSFW: I honestly haven't thought about this but I will update this post when I do have some accurate guess on what Reiner in the bedroom is like-- (you can comment if you wanna be tagged for when I do finish this post/ make part two)

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Don't forget to leave a like, or to comment/follow if you want!! Comment to be tagged in part 2! (Jean, Eld, Marco, Bertholt, Connie, Porco, Zeke, etc etc) Feel free to comment! I'd LOVE to hear y'all's thoughts on this post <3! Hope ur all okay.

[cherubfae]

spidey snuggles || spider-man x reader

tags: sfw, gn!afab! spider-person reader, established relationships, injuries, comfort, slight angst, wholesome, fluff, spoilers for No Way Home and PS5 Spider-Man 2

Insomniac!Peter

He was still trying to find his normal after being merged with the symbiotic alien for so long. There were a lot of things that Pete regretted, things he had said and done. The uncontrollable and animosity he had shown both you and Miles. Peter had finally taken a small step back from being Spider-Man, as well as you, to allow his pupil his time to shine; to be New York's only superhero for a while.

Nightmares were an after effect of the symbiote. Most nights, Peter would be plagued with gruesome dreams. The images from his consciousness bleed into the real world only for a few seconds as he jolts awake. Remnants of his tortured imagination cling to his thoughts like the cold sweat on his skin. Instantly he's sliding his hand along the sheets beside him, relieved when he comes into contact with your warm body; turning to see you already awake. He'd woken you up again. Instantly you're collecting Peter into your arms, holding him as he begins to sob with deep, horrendous tremors. He does what he can to stay grounded. Focusing on your breathing, your heartbeat, the smell of your shampoo.

"Deep breaths, Pete. I'm here. I'm safe. You're safe. Everything is okay." Your voice is his anchor, keeping him from drifting off into the endless, unrelenting black sea. In his vulnerability, Peter doesn't want to stop holding you. Not just yet.

Insomniac!Harry

He's so so so tired constantly, especially with the treatments he's been undergoing. There's something so comforting to him, to be able to come home to you and melt into your waiting embrace. Absolutely adores the way his larger frame nuzzles into yours from where you lay on the sofa. The first few strokes of your hand on his cheek have Harry melting into a dopey-smiled, overexerted puddle.

"Hey honey," Harry grumbles tiredly into your chest. He felt like he hadn't slept in years, his body constantly feeling like it was being dragged across asphalt. Honestly, he was surprised he was even able to manage a greeting to you. Sliding his arms around you, he wiggles them from your waist to wrap cozily around your upper torso. "Missed you. Wanna nap...?" Already dozing off, Harry doesn't hear your response as sleep overtakes him. You smile softly, brushing his soft auburn hair and place a kiss to his head; resting your cheek atop his fluffy hair.

Insomniac!Miles

It had been a few weeks since college started, Miles is simultaneously super excited and super overwhelmed with trying to balance Spider-Man and his personal life. Gangs were on the uprising and with Peter taking a backseat, Miles has been working nonstop daily.

Unlocking your front door with the spare key you'd given him, Miles let's himself in. You lived closer to campus and it was easier for him to commute to morning classes by spending the night at your place and then spending the weekends back home at his Mom's.

"Hey honey." Miles smiles but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He's incredibly happy to see you, though his exhaustion is seeping through the cracks. The young man practically dragging himself to where you're relaxing in bed with a book. Ducking beneath the covers, Miles nuzzles his head against your tummy. "Just need to rest.. Nap with me?" He sleepily grins, the smile growing wider when you set your book aside. Sounds like an absolutely wonderful idea.

Tom!Peter

Sleep had been refusing to find him for the better part of a day and a half now. His hero work was getting a little sloppy and it was starting to really take its toll on him. Peter had been in and out of fights all day. First a robbery then an explosion and then some dude decked out in a mech suit. You had been there to help with the explosion before you had to whisk off to work. The abundance of crime New York had to offer seemed endless. On top of this, he was still dealing with the death of his aunt May, still grieving the loss of his only remaining family member. Even if time has passed him by and you remembered him. Grief comes in unsteady waves. He had given up so much, there was so much loss, and now he was trying to piece himself back together again. Peter would be ever thankful to have you by his side.

Today was another unsteady day for sure. Stumbling into your shared apartment window, he collapsed onto the bed with a heavy groan. His body hurts, his suit had taken considerable damage from flying debris during the explosion, and he was tired. Peter was certain he'd never been so tired in his life before; the type of exhaustion that seeps into your bones, your muscle tissue, and eats you alive until you're nothing but a worn down mess. He barely registers you entering the room, his senses dulled and weakened. You close the window and shut the blinds.

"I know you're tired, love. Go shower quickly and then we can get some sleep. I'll make you some food when we're up." You coo, stroking his scuffed cheek tenderly. Peter hails himself up like he's a pillowcase full of bricks. The shower feels nice but he's in a losing battle trying to keep his eyes open.

In fresh clothes, Peter falls into your welcoming embrace, snuggling into the fabric of your tee shirt. Your familiar scent caresses his senses. Instilling peace within him. He's out like a light, with his arms wrapped around you as tight as he can without harming you. Ever so scared you might slip away from him too.

Andrew!Peter

Tobey!Peter

"I'm so comfy. I never wanna move again." Peter giggles, nuzzling his cheek against your tummy. He sighs contentedly. Glancing up at you with those big beautiful brown eyes, a dopey grin melts onto his face. The one that you adore so much.

Running your fingers through his hair, Peter leans into your lovely touch. His fingers dance along your skin, mapping an imaginary path to your hand. Lacing your fingers together, Peter places numerous kisses to your knuckles humming a soft tune to himself. "You don't need to go anywhere, baby," you grin.

Wiggling down to him as best you can, you kiss his forehead. He giggles, melting against you, boneless, once more.

Thunder crashing across the sky pulls Peter out of his deep sleep. Blinking back sleep, he finds you curled up against him breathing even. Lightning flashes filling your shared bedroom with light. It illuminates your sleeping form, your tousled hair, and unbothered expression. He softly smiled, stroking your face with the back of his hand. Another ripple of thunder echoes throughout the apartment, rustling the old shingles and pipes.

Miguel O'Hara

Settling back down beside you, Peter collects you in his arms sighing deeply. You press closer to his chest, warm hands sliding around his waist to hold him to you. His mind is filled with the day's events. Erratic and chaotic. Nothing compared to the peace he felt in his soul when he laid beside you.

There was something so comforting about the lull of your heartbeat in his ears, the warmth of your body on his. Even in sleep you crave his closeness. If Peter can find comfort in anything, it's that.

He's grumpy and he's stressed most of the time. So he really appreciates when he's able to come home to you at a decent time. You two switch back and forth on who prepares dinner and tonight was your turn to cook, while Miguel took care of any dishes you made. Grilled steak, mashed potatoes, and roasted vegetables beckon him inside from the balcony. He was certain he had never smelled food so delicious before. Food always seemed to taste different to him when it was prepared by someone he loves versus how he makes it himself. Though, it's still pretty damned good then, too.

Grabbing a change of clothes, Miguel heads to the bathroom attached to your one-bedroom apartment. He closes the door and grimaces. His suit glitched just above his hip. Deactivates his suit, he's met with a minor gash inches from his hipbone. It definitely would need stitches. Washing his hands, he gathers some medical grade thread and a needle. Cleaning up what he could, Miguel sews up his wound expertly. He'd done this many times, though he knew you'd still worry. Especially since he had to practically force you to take today off. Admiring his handiwork, he hops into the shower before going out to meet you at the dinner table.

Dinner was wonderful. The few hours that followed involved being curled up together on the sofa watching a movie and then enjoying idle conversation when that finished. It seemed like it had been forever since you two were actually allowed to spend time as a couple. Protecting the universe from anomalies was often greedy of most of your free time.

|| please don't repost, reuse, or edit my works in any way! I do not give permission. Tumblr is the only site where I post. All characters belong to their rightful owner and the story belongs to me © CHERUBFAE 2024 ||