#ideally would find him in a grocery store and do it there because then i could really catch him by surprise

[grahamcore]

if i lived in the hannibal nbc universe i would find hannibal and meet him and before he even got a word in i would just start barking loud as fuck in his face idgaf if he kills me where i stand i just think his reaction would be so priceless

[just-jordie-things]

the subject of every photo - fushiguro megumi

word count: 5,555 (i'm so proud of that) warnings: swearin' summary: a photoshoot at the pumpkin patch isn't his ideal day, but at least megumi gets to spend time with you. and maybe he'll take a few pictures anyway. (a/n): really delayed pumpkin themed fic with the softest boy but i needed to write this ok a greater power called upon me to do it

___

“It’ll be fun!” Nobara had claimed, although her tone was more threatening than bubbly.  “It’s just a little photoshoot at a pumpkin patch, why so gloomy about it?” 

And it wasn’t that Megumi was gloomy about it, because he wasn’t.  It would be immature to pout about a simple hangout among friends.  The thing was… he just didn’t care for the whole pumpkin patch thing that really seemed to take off on instagram and tiktok these last few years.

He hadn’t carved a pumpkin since he was just a tot, and even then he’d only done it to satisfy Gojo’s bonkers need to participate in every holiday tradition.  He never particularly liked scooping the guts and seeds out, and as a kid wasn’t decent enough with a blade to carve a face that actually looked interesting.  Not to mention, it was always chilly in late October, making it insufferable to wander around outside solely to pick out a big orange vegetable.  

Really, if he wanted a pumpkin that bad, he would’ve picked out a discount one from the grocery store.  But really, he didn’t want a pumpkin.

Nonetheless, Nobara had bought four disposable cameras— which he didn’t know were even still a thing— told everyone to wear their cutest, coziest outfit, and pretty much demanded they all go spend the afternoon at one of the more popular farms in town.  As with most plans, Megumi begrudgingly agreed.

Even under three layers— his coat, his sweater, and the long sleeved tee he wore underneath them both— the crisp air still pricked at his skin and left goosebumps in it’s wake.  It was hard to enjoy being out here when he was fighting the urge to shiver.

“It’s pretty cold for this, huh?” 

Megumi wipes away the resting bitch face he’d been making, opting instead for as much neutrality as he could muster.  He turns to (y/n), only to find her peering up at him from behind her little plastic camera.  His brows wrinkle.

“Don’t take a picture of me at that angle” 

He puts his hand over the lens and pushes it away before she could even think about snapping the photo, and she chuckles a bit at his boyish antics.  He almost cracks a smile when she’s peeking up at him with her cheeks tinged pink from the cold.  He squashes it before his lip could curl too far.

“Well what side do you prefer then?” She teases, shifting around to stand before him and raising her shitty little camera again.  “Full portrait? Or perhaps a side profile?”

Megumi rolls his eyes, but when he starts to walk away, she’s quick to follow.  He doesn’t dislike her company.

Nobara is off farther in the field, ordering Yuuji to pick up as many pumpkins as he can for the perfect picture.  It was only a matter of time before she came over and started barking at the two of them to make the perfect poses as well.

“So why do you hate pumpkin patches?” (y/n) breaks their silence, but when he turns to her again, she’s fixing her camera on a sparrow pecking away at a less than ripe pumpkin.

“I don’t hate pumpkin patches,” He replies, but even he has to admit the dryness in his voice makes it seem a bit unbelievable.  “It’s just…” He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, but he’s quick to straighten his gaze when he finds her full attention on him now.  “Cold” He finishes, lamely, but it’s not untrue.

He fiddles with the plastic camera in his hands.

“Yeah,” (y/n) agrees from beside him.  “Would’ve been nice to do this a few weeks ago, when it was still sunny” 

Megumi nods back at her, unsure of what else to say.

He hoped that they weren’t doomed to only speak about the weather today.  However that meant he’d probably have to put the effort in to change the subject.  His palms began to sweat.

It was their day off, so he didn’t want to strike up a conversation about work, and preferably he’d like to avoid the subject of sorcery altogether.  So that narrowed down the options by a lot.

He knew that like him, she liked to read.  But she was more into the fantasy stuff, and the only book off the top of his head he could make conversation about was The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe and he was fairly certain that wasn’t currently on her shelf.

Was it always this hard or was he just overthinking it? 

“Wait, stay right there!” 

Before he can suck it up and ask how her most recent assignment went, (y/n’s) throwing her arms up at him to make him freeze in place.  Megumi startles at the sudden movement and holler, but he listens and stays put while she backs up a few steps.

“The sun is peeking out,” She explains, before steadying her camera in front of her face.  “The lighting is great” She says with a grin, and then without warning, she snaps the photo.

Megumi wants to complain, he didn’t even have time to smile or pose or anything.  When that picture got printed, he’d just be a guy standing there, probably with a resting bitch face.  Nobara wouldn’t be happy.

But (y/n’s) still grinning as she lowers the camera.

“Too bad we gotta wait so long to see ‘em,” She says as she heads back towards him.  “It’d be nice to—” 

“Stop moving” 

He’s more blunt than she is, already lifting his camera and peeking through the small lens.  (y/n) gets the hint and retraces her steps to fit properly in the frame.

“Better?” She asks, tossing her hair over her shoulder dramatically before posing with a bright smile.

Megumi snaps the photo without warning, although he’s sure that this one will turn out much better than the one she’d taken of him.  For one, she’s smiling, but he’s also certain that she’s much more photogenic than he is.

She’s at his side again as they wander around the patch, fiddling to fit the camera into the pocket of her coat.  It takes him a few minutes to find his courage again, but eventually Megumi clears his throat and tries to spark conversation.

“Gojo used to take a million pictures of me and Tsumiki” 

That seems to be exactly the right thing to say, because (y/n’s) entire demeanor lights up as she looks up at him with wide eyes.

“Really?” She laughs softly at the mental picture.  “Did he keep, like, photo albums and stuff?” 

“Oh yeah,” Megumi snorted, recalling the rows of photo books on the living room bookshelf when he was young.  “Dozens, at least.  It was like he couldn’t commit a thing to memory, always had to document everything” 

When he was young, it was obnoxious to always have a camera shoved in his face.  Now though, he wonders if the crazy bastard still had those albums.

“That’s sweet,” (y/n) muses, wandering off a bit to check out a display of gourds, all varying in shapes and colors.  “I bet there’s tons of embarrassing ones of you, too” She teases. 

Megumi doesn’t give her an answer, instead silently watching as she picks up a large green vegetable with a curly top.  She holds the long end in her hand, before turning to face Megumi with the plump end out, holding it like it was a very deformed gun.

He rolls his eyes at the joke, but just as she looks away, he snaps a photo.

(y/n) seems to not even notice, setting the gourd back on the display and turning back to Megumi to continue their conversation.

“Was he a scrapbook mom?”

He chuckles, and he wants to deny it, but he can’t.  Even if he tried he thinks she’d see through it with how he smiles with all of his teeth.  She’s laughing before he even explains.

“He made one scrapbook, ever,” He tells her.  “And you have to swear to never tell them this,” He adds quickly.  (y/n) doesn’t have to ask to know who he means, and she simply drags her thumb and forefinger over her lips as if to zip them up.  “It took him weeks.  I think the kitchen table was covered in all of his crafts for a solid month” 

“You’re kidding!” She laughs louder, loving the image of her mentor hunched over a table while he glued down photos and ribbon to pretty sheets of paper.

“I wish I was.  I think it’s why he only ever made one,” Megumi shrugged.  “But it’s… a lot.  Every sheet was three dimensional.  The spine of the scrapbook was stretched so wide the thing couldn’t even sit flat” 

He knows that all of the pictures in that book would be embarrassing now.  Gojo liked to document every first— first day of school, first science project, first A+, along with more ridiculous milestones, like when Megumi chopped all of his hair off in the fifth grade and looked ridiculous.  If he remembered correctly, Gojo glued that hair in the book too, as if it were his baby hairs.  That scrapbook really should be burned, but a part of him wishes he could show her now, just to prove how messy it really is.

“I’d do anything to get my hands on it,” (y/n) sighed, almost as if she could read his mind.  “My parents did some stuff like that, but they certainly weren’t obsessive” 

“Obsession is all he knows” Megumi mumbles, and he doesn’t mean to be funny, but she laughs, and it makes his chest feel warm.

“I still think it’s sweet,” She assures him, and then she stops in their slow and aimless walk, kneeling down to tie the shoelaces on her boot.  Megumi waits beside her.  He cared much more for her company than he did seeing the pumpkin patch.  “He probably just wanted to save lots of memories of you guys when you were little.  All parents say it goes by fast” 

She goes to tie the other boot, and Megumi can only stand there in soft surprise.  Sure, deep down he always considered Gojo his parent, because he simply just was.  But no one else referred to their relationship that way, the others always called him teacher or mentor.  But (y/n) must’ve understood that it was more than that.

He’s pulling his camera out again and stealing another quick picture while she was still focused on her shoes.

When she stands, he’s got the camera tucked back into his pocket and an innocent look on his face.

“Want to take a picture over there?” She asks, pointing to the tower of hay bales set up mostly for photos.  Originally it was for children to climb and play on, but it’s purpose was far more often served as a posing station.

Megumi simply nods, and follows her as she races over the tower.  It shouldn’t have surprised him when she started climbing the thing right away.  Surely Nobara had been over here earlier, striking a pose with one hand on her hip and the other on the stack of hay, but not (y/n), who was almost to the top.

“You’re not gonna fall, right?” Megumi asks unsurely as she’s grabbing at the highest bale.

“I’m a trained athlete!” She shrieks back, clearly offended.

“I’m more worried about you destroying the play area” Megumi retorted, his lip curling upwards against his will.  He can’t help but take a picture before she’s settled.  Her hair’s a mess and her limbs are everywhere as she tries to steady herself on the wobbling tower, but it’s a perfect picture nonetheless.

“This is great!” She shouts back at him, before stretching her hands above her head.  “Take my photo like this!” 

It’s silly, it’s childish, but Megumi’s laughing to himself as he snaps a couple.

Somehow she manages to climb down without toppling the entire thing, and they quickly make their way across the pumpkin patch before an employee could scold them for being grown adults playing on the children’s setup.

Megumi finds it easier to talk with her the longer they walk around, aimlessly eyeing pumpkins without committing to picking any out, taking photos here and there, but mostly they just wander around and talk.  Yuji and Nobara seem so wrapped up in the full on photoshoot they were having with each other that it could seem like they’d completely forgotten the other pair, but Megumi didn’t mind one bit.

Hang outs never turned out like this.  Nobara tended to cling to (y/n) like a lifeline.  She was always dragging her off to the next boutique on the strip or game in the arcade or exhibit at the museum— wherever they went, it seemed as soon as Megumi would get a minute of alone time with her, Nobara would steal her away.  It was deflating, but he couldn’t be mad, they were best friends after all.

Today was like a gloomy day miracle.  He almost felt spoiled having the last half hour with her all to himself.  All of her laughter and smiles were only for him.  It warmed up his chilled hands until soon, even the breeze wouldn’t make him shiver.

(y/n) didn’t appear to have the same effect, shaking like a leaf every time the wind picked up.  She always shrank into the collar of her coat and shoved her hands into her pockets, and after a few times, Megumi couldn’t stand to see her freezing.

“Let’s go inside for a bit,” He nodded his head towards the small shop.  (y/n) pouted back at him, before glancing around the pumpkin patch, clearly looking for their friends.  “They won’t be upset that we went inside because we’re cold,” Megumi chuckles to himself, before gently pushing his hand against the small of her back so that he’d follow her.  “I’ll text Itadori” He adds for good measure.

After a moment of hesitation she agreed and walked along with him, but just slow enough that he left his hand on her lower back.  Just because it was nice to be so close to him.

Stepping into the shop was an instant rush of fresh warm air, and she finally felt like she could stretch her fingers.  There was a small bakery inside with only a couple of tables, but without anyone else inside it was perfectly quaint to warm up in.

“I’m going to order a hot chocolate, do you want anything?”

The offer was sweet, but she’s already making her way to the counter, set on a mission as soon as the alluring smell of apples and cinnamon wafted past her nose.

“I could go for a coffee” Megumi hummed as he followed.

He’s ordering for the both of them as soon as a clerk arrives behind the counter, two drinks along with the enormous bear claw in the glass case that (y/n) hadn’t torn her eyes away from since stepping up to the counter.  She tries to fight him when he pulls out his wallet but he’s faster at tapping his card to the reader than she is at hitting him.

Even once they sit down with their drinks and the pastry that takes up most of the table space between them, she argues with him about the payment, and all he can do is shake his head— and maybe smile to himself just a little bit.  After realizing arguing is futile, she decides that as long as he eats some of the bear claw, she can forgive him.

And they continue to chat, about dumb things, about nothing, about everything.  Megumi learns all about the book series that she is reading, along with her plans for getting promoted faster, and that her dream pet is a sugar glider.

“That’s ridiculous,” He mumbles through a mouthful of almond paste and cinnamon.  “When would you ever have the time to take care of something like that?”

“That’s why it’s a dream pet, dummy,” (y/n) rolls her eyes at him.  “Doesn’t have to be realistic.  Don’t you have a dream pet?” 

“I kinda already have a lot of pets” 

“Oh, right,” She laughs to herself, and he thinks he can see a hint of a blush dusting over her cheeks.  Was she embarrassed? He wasn’t sure exactly.  But it was really cute.  “Well if there’s ever a sugar glider shikigami, please summon it for me” She tells him in all seriousness, and Megumi bites his tongue as he agrees to the condition immediately.

He pulls out his camera for the tenth time that day and rests his elbows on the table as he brings it to his face.  (y/n’s) eyes widen before she’s covering half her face with one hand.

“Are you taking a picture of me right now?” She hisses anxiously, before shaking her head at him.

“Duh” He mutters out as he tilts forward and back, trying to find just the right angle of lighting.

“I’m eating—” 

“So? Not like you have food on your face.  Hush.  Go back to eating or something” 

“I am not letting you take a picture of me while I eat” 

“Alright then just sit there then” 

She’s grabbing her paper cup of hot cocoa to use as a shield, but it’s too late.  Megumi clicks the button and she can hear the soft whirring coming from inside the camera.

The lens cuts to black and Megumi pulls the camera away, eyeing the little roll of numbers next to the lens.

“I’m out already,” He says, tossing it onto the table.  “Guess I win” 

(y/n) laughs to herself.

“I didn’t know this was a competition,” She takes a sip of her warm beverage before setting it back down.  “But I can’t believe you finished before me”

“How many do you have left?” 

Curiously, (y/n) pulls the camera out of her pocket and eyes the tape with the amount of film left.  She frowns as she looks back up at him.

“Just one,” She answers, and her frown tilts into a small, soft smile before she asks, “Do you want to take one together?” 

___

Greedily, Nobara snatches the stack of freshly printed photos out of Megumi’s hands.  (y/n) and Yuji are too busy sharing theirs with each other, and Nobara had been dying to know what photos Megumi and (y/n) had taken on their last outing.  By the time the group had met up and gone home, their cameras were already full, and she knew she hadn’t been the subject of a single one of them.

“I swear Fushiguro if these are all dumb pictures of pumpkins, I’ll—” 

But her threat falls short after sliding through the first three pictures.

The first was (y/n) on the path, just standing and smiling.  It wasn’t special, there wasn’t even a pumpkin in the background, but it was cute.

The second was a picture of her crouched down and tying her shoe.  Her face wasn’t even in the picture, her hair was hanging in front of it, but if you squinted you could barely make out the tip of her nose.

Then the third was another candid, where she was pretending to hold a gourd like a gun.

“What the—?” 

Nobara flips through to the next one in the stack, and yet again there’s a candid of her climbing up the side of a hay bale tower.  At least that one captured her smile.  She shouldn’t have been surprised to see the fifth one in the stack was also of (y/n), this time sitting on top of the haystack victoriously

“You’ve got to be kidding me, dude” 

“Okay give them back—!” Megumi tries to grab the stack of pictures from Nobara before she could keep being nosey, but she deflects fast, swiveling to turn away from him and keep skipping through the photos.

He shouldn’t have let her get her hands on them to begin with, but it was too late now.  If he caused too big of a scene, Yuji and (y/n) would notice.  He didn’t exactly want all of his pictures on display.

So Nobara kept flipping.

One was of her lifting up the tiniest of pumpkins— definitely the runt of the whole patch.  It fit in the palm of her hand but she seemed delighted by it.

The next few were just of her walking around, nothing too exciting in the frame.  Just the occasional pumpkin in the background.

There was a decent one taken from inside the shop.  (y/n) was still in the frame but her back was turned as she eyed the glass case of sweets.  Nobara could almost let Megumi off the hook for that one.  Almost.

And then the last photo was of her laughing, the blurry image of a paper cup waving in the space beside her face.  Her eyes are on the camera, so she must’ve known he was taking that picture, but judging by the surprise in her expression, it was easy to conclude she was trying to hide behind that cup.

Once she’d ogled every picture, Nobara finally turned back to Megumi.  Her brows twitched and furrowed, lips parted in shock, not a single word spoken as she handed the stack back to him.  It’s practically shoved towards him, but he doesn’t complain, just snatches them back as fast as he can.

He wants to find a way to quickly and discreetly ask her to keep this to herself, but before he can find the words, she’s gawking at him again.

“Every single one?” Nobara asks in a mutter.

“We hung out the whole time, okay? It's not like—” Megumi tries to defend himself, but it’s no use.  Nobara’s already speaking over him again.

“It’s almost pathetic, dude.  Just ask her out like a normal person” 

His brows almost raise to his hairline in shock.  Here he thought she was about to call him out for being a creep or something.  But no, her disgust only lied in his pathetic pining and lack of action.  Maybe he should have assumed that already.

He doesn’t get the chance to say anything before Nobara’s marching over to Yuji and demanding to see his photos as well.  Megumi’s left reeling from the whole interaction, the humiliation still lingering in his gut.

The feeling remains as (y/n) makes her way to him, her own fresh stack of photos in her hands.  There’s a nervous sort of smile on her face as she glances back at Yuji and Nobara, double checking that they were out of earshot.

“They took that pretty seriously, huh?” Her voice was still low, careful not to draw the attention of their rambunctious friends.  “Yuji takes great photos, don’t get me wrong.  But I think she should pay him for his time” 

There’s some relief in his chest when he cracks a smile, a small laugh coming out.  He could only imagine the quality of Nobara and Yuji’s photos, certainly prepped for instagram.

“I bet she still puts filters over all of them” He mutters back, and (y/n) stifles a giggle behind her hand, but nods her head in agreement.

“Can we leave now or what?” Nobara calls out, already dragging Yuji by the arm to leave the store.  “I want to get boba before home” 

“Boba sounds good,” (y/n) agrees softly.  “Let’s go” 

As the red head continued to drag her friend despite him arguing that he was an adult who could walk by himself, she turned and aggressively whispered something to him.  After her obvious threatening, she glances back at (y/n) and Megumi, which Yuji promptly follows her pointed glance.  Suddenly after that he was upright and speed walking along with her.

(y/n) and Megumi share a baffled look as their friends so blatantly ditch them, but they don’t exactly pick up the pace to follow.

“So, did you get good photos?” Megumi asks, tucking his own away in his pocket.  Foolishly, he hoped if they were out of sight she wouldn’t ask him about them.

“Oh,” (y/n) chuckles nervously, holding her stack of pictures in both hands.  She tilts them towards herself so he can’t see, and Megumi raises a brow at the secrecy.  “It’s kind of embarrassing, actually” She says sheepishly.

Her cheeks flood with color, and Megumi can’t help the curious grin that begins to stretch across his face.

“Embarrassing?” He repeats, sounding horrifically hopeful.  (y/n) sighs, and sticks her arm out, handing him the stack.  He’s quick to take them and start flipping through, eyeing her anxious demeanor in his peripheral vision.

“Yuji’s probably going to tell you anyway.  But… they’re sort of all..” 

His steps slow further after quickly sliding through the bunch of pictures.

The first was at the entrance of the pumpkin patch, with the cute sign with the family name painted on it, and just under it was him.  He wasn’t paying attention, and quite frankly he looked rather bored standing there.  She must’ve taken it while he was still pouting about having to go.

The next photo was of the sparrow poking at the rotted pumpkin, and he had to admit the way she captured it actually was sort of cute.

The third was the photo Megumi dreaded seeing.  He recognized it as soon as he saw himself standing on the thin path of dirt.  He grimaced as he looked closer to see just how bad it was.  But to his surprise, he wasn’t scowling like he thought he’d been.  He was actually smiling.  

Which was odd… he certainly didn’t remember smiling for that picture.  He clearly remembered being upset because he hadn’t tried to look nice for her picture at all.

He glances at (y/n) to gauge her reaction so far, but she was holding her expression at a neutral state, waiting for him to react first.

So Megumi goes back to the photos, and flips to the next one.  Which was… also him.  It wasn’t anything special, just him standing there, but he was smiling a little bit in that one, too.

When the following is also a candid of him with that dumb little smile, he glances over at (y/n) again, raising a brow at her in silent question.

She’s a tough one to crack, but the corner of her lips gives her away as she tries to bite back a smile.  His own smile is unable to be hidden as he flips through a few more photos.

And to his shock and delight, they’re all him.  Him while he was picking up that big pumpkin she dared him to, him while he was drinking his coffee and not paying attention, him just standing and doing nothing in particular, but for whatever reason, she’d used up all her film on capturing it.  

His favorite is the one of the both of them.  She’d given him the camera so he could stretch his arm out and snap the photo selfie style.  They’re sitting at the small table, two paper cups and the enormous bear claw between them, but pushed aside as (y/n) leans across the tabletop in order to better center herself.  She’s grinning from ear to ear, her chin set in one hand while the other holds up a peace sign.  Megumi’s smile isn’t as wide but nevertheless it’s genuine, and anyone looking at the picture would know.  It’s a great picture of the two of them, and he thinks it’s probably the first, too. 

Megumi hadn’t realized he’d gone through the whole stack till he flips to the next one and is met with the first photo, but once he does, (y/n’s) quick to reach out and take them back.  She doesn’t snatch them as aggressively as Nobara had, she handles them gently, careful not to leave an ugly smudge or crease.

Megumi watches with eager intrigue as she tucks the edges together neatly, making the stack smooth in her hands.

“Sorry if that’s creepy— is that creepy?” She turns to him suddenly, full of worry that she’d crossed a line, but Megumi just chuckles, and shakes his head at her.

“Not creepy” He muses, his soft smile remaining as he dips his hand into his pocket, retrieving his own small collection of photos.

He stares at them for an indecisive minute, clenching and unclenching his jaw, working up the courage to make the smallest of gestures.  When he does hold them out to her, he still doesn’t say a thing.  His throat is too dry and hot to even try.  He thinks it would be worse if his voice cracked right now.

(y/n) smiles as she tucks her pictures away in her purse with great care so that she could better look through the pictures he’d taken.  His face flushes with color when she finally takes them from him.  Even the small brush of the tips of her fingers against his has Megumi’s breath catching in his throat.

And he holds his breath as she eagerly slides through the stack of photos.  His throat is far too constricted now to show any sign of life.  He very well could pass out at any moment.  He just hopes she’d leave him there in a heap on the ground.

The relief of the exhale doesn’t come until she begins to giggle.  It’s soft at first, almost under her breath as she continues admiring his photos, but then it erupts into something brilliant and bubbly, as if it was coming out of her uncontrollably.  As lovely as the reaction was, it didn’t do much to ease Megumi’s nerves.  They began to sink their teeth into his heart and gut, and he knew that any minute now, his knees would give out.

When her laughter calms down and she finally looks up at him, the surprise is evident on his features when he sees her colored cheeks and nervous smile.  She hands the stack back to him, and Megumi’s quick to tuck them into his pocket, where maybe he they’d disappear forever, or at least just from the front of their minds.

“That’s pretty cute, huh?” She asks, an aftershock of quiet laughter shaking her shoulders and crinkling the corners of her eyes.  This time, Megumi can’t help the way he laughs with her, but he does duck his head bashfully.

(y/n) thinks it’s all the more cuter, how he resorts to his nervous habit of rubbing the back of his neck and looking anywhere but directly at her.  She wonders if he even knows he’s doing it.  With a surge of confidence, she rocks on her feet.

“Wanna ditch our friends and get lunch or something?” 

He shrugs and nods, thinking anything would be better sustenance than the too-sugary drinks that Nobara had an addiction to.  But the implication of the question dawns on him too late, and suddenly his eyes are widening as he realizes what she really meant.

“You mean— like, a date?” 

It’s so damn cute the way his brows furrow and then raise ever so slightly, waiting without a single ounce of patience for her clarification.  (y/n’s) giggling again as she nods her head, putting him out of his misery.

“Yeah, like a date,” She repeats teasingly.

Megumi nods his head again, this time faster, as if there was a time limit to her offer and he was worried he’d already wasted too much of it.  Her smile brightens and there’s a small but noticeable skip in her step as they head off in a new direction together.

“Now maybe it won’t be so creepy when our friends see those pictures” She says, and Megumi can’t decipher if she’s messing with him or not.  The look he gives her barely hides his panic.

“They’re gonna see them?”

“What do you think they’re talking about right now?” (y/n) retorts, knowing for a fact that Yuji and Nobara were gossiping away about the pair’s photos that consisted only of each other.  

The thought makes Megumi’s face feel hot, and there’s no discretion in the way he tugs at his collar.  The idea makes him nervous, his stomach flipping excessively.  That said, he knew with the amount of gossip those two chatterboxes would generate, there was plenty of time to add a date to today’s agenda.

“They probably won’t even notice we’re gone”

(y/n) nods in agreement.

“They’ll be grateful to have the time for girl talk,” She teases.

With purpose, she steps closer to him so she could link her arm around his, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow and shyly smiling up at him.  Megumi returns the smile, his arm hooking a little further to keep her tucked next to him as close as he wanted.  It was another chilly day outside, but he could almost forget about it with the way her closeness sparked warmth in his chest that flooded throughout his whole body.  He hoped he’d get to do this for the rest of their day—

“So… where do we want to go?”

—and more days to come. ___

xoxo ~ jordie

[celestialprincesse]

I’m not sure if you’ll write for Nikto or maybe even angst? Need to feel something, ignore if you’re not comfortable!

I was thinking neighbor!Nikto x civilian hyper fem!reader she just wants to get close to this masked, mean older man but he doesn’t want to hurt this sweet lil thing that’s always so loving towards him and the thought is scaring them away because of the way he looks TERRIFIES the poor man :(

Always down for when you write König. Love your lil wrinkly brain and all its ideas and words. Mwuah! Smooch!

how have I never written him before omg? I need to write more Nik & König💖 I cannot write angst for shit but pls enjoy n e ways 💕

You're on his doorstep again. Another plate too. Nikto knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he should try and ignore you - maybe pretend that no one's home, not that he'd really be able to get that by you when his car is parked in the driveway and the lights are on. With a sigh, the front door is opened, and you're faced with the unmoving presence of your new neighbour, a balaclava covering most of his face, a black hoodie pulled on over top just for good measure.

"You are here again." He observes flatly, unable to contain the way his eyes widen as you bounce from foot to foot in your frilly little skirt. "I bought sharlotka!" You chirp, having practised the Russian pronunciation as you baked the cake, and on the short walk over to his home. Nikto observes the cake with a scrutinising eye before hesitantly inviting you into his home. Shame burns his features when he can't help but to stare at your ass as you make your way inside. "Yes. I can see that."

You refuse to let his indifferent tone deter you as you place the plate down on his table, before just sort of lingering awkwardly in his kitchen, holding the plate of cake out to him like an offering. "I will bring you back the plate tomorrow." Is his obvious dismissal, which has you scurrying back to his front door, waving a clearly disappointed goodbye.

You're not so easy to get rid of.

The next time you see him is in the grocery store, an ideal location for your flawless plan to unfold. Kind of flawless. Not really very well thought out but you're desperate to win his attention. If that means baking so many Russian desserts that they're up to your ears, or conveniently cornering him in the store, that's what you'll do. "I'm so sorry!" The sound of your squeak rings in Nikto's ears as he turns around with lightning speed to steady your shoulders. You like the way his hands envelop your entire pink-clad biceps as he frowns down at you. "Hello, again." The way your ears perk up at his thickly accented voice doesn't go missed by Nikto, and he allows himself to wish, just for a moment, that he could have you as his. He wonders what it would be like to shop for groceries with you, to go home and stock the fridge. He wonders whether you'd let him bend you over the kitchen countertop or fuck you in nothing but the frilly pink apron he's seen you wear through your kitchen window. You're far too precious for that. Far too pretty for a man like him. So why do you keep coming back, stupid girl.

"I made stroganoff." You chirp, shooting him your best puppy eyes, trying to find a chip in the armour that must be there somewhere. He is, after all, just a man. "That is nice." He grunts, handing you back your basket, taking a step back. Maybe if he stays away from you physically, his mind will follow suit. "I was wondering if you'd like to come over for dinner. With me."

God, he'd love to come for dinner with you. He'd like to help set the table, and eat a hearty meal prepared by someone who cares for him enough to learn to cook the meals he ate as a child. He'd love to spend the evening with you, bring you a nice bottle of wine and wrap his arms around your waist as you tidy up, press kisses down the back of your neck and smell your sweet perfume up close.

"I am busy tonight."

[gilverrwrites]

Their Perfect Date HCs [Angel edition]

Rating: General

Human Edition | Monster Edition

Please remember: There is strength in softness.

Cas

Absolutely brings you flowers. 

Hear me out: fruit picking!

Something like strawberries

Spend the day outdoors in the sunny weather, chatting, walking, picking and comparing fruits. 

Maybe a picnic at the end where you can refuel, and Cas can bask in the sun. Enjoy people/nature watching together. 

Then you take him home and make your harvest into something; a pie, wine, jelly/jam.

Put him in a frilly apron and boop flour on his nose, he’s in love. 

Cas won’t partake in the consumption, but he’ll enjoy watching you, and earnestly listen to your review.

Gabriel 

Brings you chocolates/candy.

(Obviously, he has ideas, plans, and wants of his own, to a dangerous extent but) Gabe at his core just wants to impress you, don’t give him choices because he’s very much a ‘whatever you want’ kinda guy in those scenarios. His ideal date is whatever your ideal date is. 

What do you want for dinner? ‘Whatever you fancy sugar’, your wish: my command.’  Do you prefer the red outfit, or the black? ‘I think you look smokin’ in both, pick whatever you feel good in.’ Do you want pasta or pizza? ‘I want a pizza you. Do you want pasta or pizza?’

Plus, he loves simultaneously using indecisiveness to wind you up and to force you to make decisions for yourself, to voice your own wants and needs.  

Ultimately though, I think his ideal date would be something surprisingly simple. 

Like a coffee date.

Or hot/boozy hot/chocolates and pancakes at a dessert restaurant. 

Tell him about your proudest moments, your favourite everything, your biggest adventures, your fondest dreams, so he can soak you in. 

He’ll tell you about his own escapades, drops some big names, about his early days on earth, and so on. 

Somewhere you can spend hours chitchatting, sharing stories, and getting to know each other, while getting high on sugar and playing footsie under the table. 

Jack

Isn’t sure which is most appropriate or which you would like most, so he brings you all the gifts! Chocolate, flowers, soft toys, you name it! 

But then he gets nervous and thinks it’s too much, so he only gives you the flowers.

Until you’re halfway through your date, when things are just easy and relaxed. He confesses and gives you the other stuff at the end of your date. 

As for the date itself it would be something classic but fun; bowling, mini golf, roller skating. 

If it’s score-based, he won’t be competitive, but also will not let you win. 

If the venue does food, and you’re struggling to pick he’ll order your second choice so the two of you can split and share.

Will find any excuse to try and hold your hand throughout. 

Lucifer 

Does not bring a gift. Come on, he’s all the gift you need. 

Lucifer is not easy to take on a date. (He’s not easy in any regard really.) Especially when you take into account his distaste for all things human.

If he’s earnestly asked you on a date/agreed to a date, then the only salvageable factor is you. No pressure.   

And it's not like he can just fly you away to another galaxy or something, cause you know, human bodies don’t tend to do well in the vacuum of space. 

Plus, he’s so contraire you could spend hours listing ideas and he would bat down every single one. (Secretly loving every moment because he gets to spend time with you, making you laugh as he comes up with more and more ridiculous reasons to reject your ideas). 

Really though, just take him with you on your daily routine, or even like, your ideal day. Let him bitch about all the humans in the grocery store, let him try your favourite foods, him laugh at the kid who dropped their ice cream, and let him watch you geek out at the book/video/hobby store without embarrassment. Just let him experience your true self, while letting him be his true self. 

No policing him, just pure unadulterated freedom with the person he loves.    

Michael 

Brings you chocolates, but not like fancy ones. Adam advised that gifts were customary in human dating culture, but didn’t specify which kind, so he got you a selection of candy bars, the same kind that Adam seems to enjoy. 

Something outdoorsy and active but with a view; Hiking, rock climbing, or even just a long walk on the beach. 

Something where you can find a nice place to settle and watch the clouds and/or stars together. 

If stargazing, he will teach you about the different constellations, their creation, and their stories. 

Will be absolutely enamoured if you already know some of it and are able to have a back-and-forth conversation. 

Adam also tried to teach him some other dating tricks, like fake stretching to put his arm around you, but that seems redundant. If he wants to put his arm around you, he will simply do so. 

Short circuits a little when you lean in closer and rest your head on his chest/shoulder. 

[cherryredstars]

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader

Warnings: Fluff, References to Trauma/PTSD

Summary: Simon in a relationship!

A/N: Love this man, and I’m not sorry.

Word Count: 1.7K (Edited)

Ideally, Simon wouldn’t want to date someone with a military career like him. All he really wants is to have someone to come back home to, and that’s hard when the both of you might be deployed at different times. Plus, he doesn’t want anyone else to see the things he’s seen. He can barely take care of himself with all the PTSD he keeps with him, he doesn’t know how he would be able to care for someone else who’s struggling like him.

At the same time, he’s paranoid of strangers. You never know what they might be hiding, if they’re undercover spies of some sort or hitmen trying to kill the man that’s already dead. He knows everyone has secret intentions, everyone always wants something. Even if it isn’t malicious in nature. 

I don’t think Simon would date an overly nice neighbor who wants to take care of him when he returns from missions. He’d be too suspicious of them and think they’re trying to poison him with the food they bring him. I think his partner would end up being someone he meets purely by accident or someone he sees constantly. Like a barista at the local coffee shop or a cashier at the grocery store he used to work at. If it’s by accident, it must be the most bizarre scenario ever, or else he’ll think it was set up. Like maybe you storm up to him, accusing him of something and he has no idea what you’re talking about, only to find out you're chewing out the wrong person. 

Simon would take it slow, not promising you anything. But, he’d still ask you if you would like to hangout after he gets back from duty. When you agree, he thinks about it all the way to base, then pushes it out of his mind once he puts on his skull mask. There isn't any time for distractions if he wants to make sure that hangout happens. You guys would go on multiple dates before he asks you to go out with him. He finds the tiniest bit of tension falls off his shoulders when you say yes. 

In the beginning of your relationship, Simon never had his back turned towards you. When you guys are together, he’s always facing you or trailing behind you. He never stood besides you and when you guys slept in the same bed, his chest was facing you with a slight space between the two of you. He never really let you touch his back or hug him for more than a second. This was because it, literally and figuratively, prevented you from stabbing him in the back. He went through a lot of shit before he met you, still has to deal with it when he gets deployed for duty, so it’s natural for him to be distrusting and cautious. Even towards someone he agreed to attach himself to.

The day you walked into a room and he didn’t instantly turn around confused you. You thought that maybe he didn’t hear you, so you kindly announce your presence. When you tell him that you’re there, he still doesn’t turn around and continues what he’s doing. All he responds with is, “I know.” You had blinked in confusion before the widest smile appeared on your face. You said nothing else and continued doing what you needed to in the kitchen, both of your backs turned to each other. That same night, Simon turned on his side in his sleep, his chest facing away from you for the first time. 

Simon’s love language is physical touch, and he thinks it’s the cruelest joke ever because that’s the thing that scares him the most now. He’s scared to touch you. He’s scared his rough hands will tear up your skin like sandpaper. Scared that he’ll hold on to you too strongly and you will bruise and shatter under his touch. He’s scared that when he removes his hands from you, a bloody hand print will stain your skin, just like the blood of the thousands of people he’s killed stains his. He has to build up to it. Has to flex his hands to stop himself from constantly grabbing on to you. He keeps a small bottle of hand sanitizer in his pocket, and he uses it whenever he has that urge to touch you, like maybe it’ll protect you from him if he gives in. When he comes home from a mission, he washes his hands raw before he gets into bed and holds you. 

When he finally touches you, it’s small touches. The brushing of knuckles as he passes you, a small grip on the back hem of your shirt to tell you to stop walking, linking your pinkies together on a busy street, him brushing a bit of hair out of your face when you talk to him. Fleeting things that never last long but causes his heart to soar hours afterwards and for you to smile the rest of the day. As the relationship progresses, they last longer and get more bolder. But they still have the same effect on the both of you. 

His favorite receiving love language from his partners are acts of service. Likes when he goes to the cupboard, knowing he’s on his last tea bag, only to find a brand new box of tea next to the old one. Loves when he comes home from a mission to find his mug already on the counter and the kettle is on. Likes walking into the bedroom to find a set of clothing laid out on the bed for him. He appreciates that you already have dinner in the fridge for him to heat up, that you already took out the trash and washed the dishes so he doesn’t feel compelled to do them in his exhausted state. 

His heart warms when he sees his spaces. Or the spaces that are meant to be filled with his things. Like they’ve been waiting for him, like you’ve been waiting for him. He likes walking through the door and seeing the empty space on the floor next to your sneakers, meant to hold Simon’s heavy duty boots. When he walks into the kitchen, he stares at his place at the table that is already set for him with a small smile. Likes the empty hangers in the closet where he’s supposed to hang his clothes back up once they’re washed. Finds warmth in the dusty spots on the bathroom shelves where his hygiene products were placed before he left. Likes walking towards the shared bed after his shower, finding you fast asleep and his side of the bed empty. He likes filling those spots with his things, it’s like time didn’t continue when he left. Like nothing has changed and he was only gone for a few hours instead of months. He loves when you wrap your arms around him, pushing yourself into his side in your sleep. Your arms are his favorite Simon space. 

Despite the fact you do almost all the house chores, only because he's not home to do them himself, he refuses to let you touch his gear bag and clean the stuff in it. He’s scared all the bad things Ghost’s mask was present for would crawl out and hurt you. He tells you it’s fine, that he’ll wash the blood and dirt stained uniform, that he’ll put away everything in the bag. When he’s finished, he shoves the military bag to the back of his side of the closet, vanishing the skull mask from the light. It doesn’t belong there anyways. 

Simon is hesitant to let the rest of the team meet you. The team and you are two different parts of his life, each of you get a side of him the other doesn’t. He’s scared of what will happen when they clash. When Ghost invades Simon’s life off of the field. You reassure him the whole time the both of you get ready to go to a bar the team wanted to have celebratory drinks at. Simon is still nervous, but he can’t help the small smile that grows around the rim of his glass as he watches his family interact as one. He smiles even more when none of the boys hesitate to protect you from handsy customers who want to try their shot with you. That’s good, he thinks. It’s good that you’ll have people to take care of you if he never makes it back home to you. 

Of course, Simon gives you his dog tag. But, the dog tag Simon gives you is different. It’s slightly rusted, older. One that holds a past he has yet to share with you completely. This tag exists before Ghost and Task Force 141. It’s a tag from when Simon was in the SAS, before he was hurt and betrayed by the world as badly. When you ask him why he gave you this tag instead of his more updated tags, his answer echoes in your head: “Because that Simon is the one I am when I’m with you. That’s the Simon I want you to remember me as.” You never took off his dog tag afterwards. 

When Simon stands at the front door in the early hours of the morning, dressed in tactical gear with his military bag at his side, you both stand and stare at each other. He lets you put on his skull mask, the only time he’ll ever let you touch it. In those quiet moments where you both wait for one of the team to pick him up, you ask him in a whisper to come home because you’ll be waiting for him. He doesn’t promise anything, only says that’s his plan.

You never need to ask him why he lets you put on the mask for him. The both of you already know the reason. You already know it’s Ghost’s gift to you. It’s Ghost giving you Simon to take care of. You know it's because Simon is the safest when he’s with you. You know because, every night before he has to leave again, Simon vows to go wherever you are when he thinks you’re asleep. When Ghost walks out the door and closes it behind him, you know it’s Ghost that will be returning home, not Simon. And that’s because Simon never left, he’s right there with you. Everywhere you go.

Simon content pre-write 2.

[luveline]

If you’re taking requests, I’d love to see something with domestic!Hotch, pure fluff and love.

hi thank you for your request!! hope this is OK!! fem!reader

"Alright," you say, hands in front of you, poised, "okay, I can do it."

"You can't. You won't be able to, and I'll have to take you to the ER with a broken neck," Aaron says, though he doesn't seem alarmed at all, sitting on the leather armchair of your apartment with a mug of hot chocolate in hand. 

"I can do it! Don't be defeatist. You always tell me that I can do anything." 

"You can do anything," he agrees, "and that includes breaking your neck." 

"It's just a handstand. I know you're jealous because you can't do one, but there's no need to put me down. I expected more from you Hotchner, I really did."

He hums as if to say, Well, what can you do? and takes a sip of his drink. You're thrilled he's home, jubilant that he's relaxed, and yeah, you're so happy you've decided to show off a little. You got to talking about being younger and getting old, how the lost mobility starts and never ends. You're not as old as Aaron is but you're not so young, either. 

"I can't actually remember the last time I did a handstand," you admit. 

"I'm sure it's like riding a bike." 

"Very funny. Okay, I'm really going to do it, handsome." You start to move forward toward the wall, but stop at a sputter, turning your head over your shoulder to ask, "Would you take care of me, if I hurt myself?" 

"I'd be very annoyed." 

"But you'd look after me? Shower me and stuff?" 

Aaron puts down his mug, smiling at you lovingly. "What sort of question is that? Of course I would. Now do your handstand, honey." 

"Are you kidding?" you ask. 

He looks nice in his pyjamas, new and ironed and the best you could find for him at the grocery store, knowing he'd be coming over and knowing he wouldn't bring anything comfortable with him to change into. You couldn't abide by another night of leaning on him in his slacks and button up shirt while you're in an old college t-shirt and sweatpants. It feels so disproportionate. Better now to get to sit with him in vaguely matching pyjamas, his trousers blue with white stripes, yours white with blue flowers. Better still to perform gymnastics in them and discuss how he'd nurse you back to health in the case of a concussion. 

"What's the worst that could happen?" he asks. 

"I break my neck?" you ask, incredulous.

He raises his eyebrows.

You wave your hand at him and he laughs, pleased to have set a successful trap. You're too nervous to run into the handstand, but walking feels like less than ideal momentum. 

"Don't look," you say eventually. 

"I'd like to look." 

"Don't look, Aaron. I can feel you looking." 

"I actually think you might be able to do it," he says. He sounds carefree, for once. He never sounds this relaxed over the phone, and it takes him a few hours to wind down after work every night, but on the weekends when it's you and him alone, Aaron laughs. He makes stupid jokes, he kisses behind your ears, he lets himself indulge in snacks and TV. And he encourages your bad decisions. "Take it slow, you don't have to impress anyone. Besides me." 

"You think you're very funny," you murmur. 

You finally give in. You bend at the waist and shift your weight onto your hands, and you collapse into a sideways ball before you have the chance to impress. "Woah!" you shout, your arm slapping into your face and your knee burning from carpet friction. 

Aaron starts laughing like crazy, like —you've never heard him make that sound before. You're startled enough by his boyish giggling to forget your embarrassing defeat for a moment, until he slides his hands under your arms to pull you into a sitting position, crooning, "Oh, my girl, that was really pathetic. I can't believe you knew how to do a handstand in the first place if that's what you're working with now." 

"Aaron, what the fuck." Your unhappiness wanes as he kisses you, the curve of his smile cutting your frown. "Pathetic was a bit strong," you mumble into his lips, hand in his t-shirt and pulling him down for another kiss. 

"How have you managed to get me on the floor again?" he asks on his knees, hand to your face, thumb glancing off of the highest point of your cheek affectionately. 

"Don't know. Reckon I can do a rolypoly?" 

"Not if it's anything like your handstand." 

Aaron rubs your arms and stands up, tugging at your hands to encourage you to do the same. You do, but as you stand, you notice something. 

"You won't believe this, handsome," you say, bending down. 

He grabs your waist. "You're not trying again." 

"I'm not!" You stand, holding out the palm of your hand. "Look, it's our missing puzzle piece." 

Aaron frowns at your jigsaw piece, a cream colour that blended in with the floor. "That's not good."

"Why not?" you ask. You and Aaron spent hours sitting around the coffee table doing that jigsaw together, and you'd both been genuinely disappointed to find it incomplete. 

He closes his hand over yours and pulls you in for a soft kiss. "I wrote them a very angry email," he confesses. "It was… unlike me." 

"You didn't." 

"I did," he says, nodding into another kiss, your twin laughter smothered by the other's gentle touch, "I really, really did." 

"You'll have to say sorry." 

"Return the new puzzle, too." 

"Or… we could never tell anyone." 

Aaron laughs warmly and wraps his arms around your shoulders, a big hand cradling the back of your head. "Good idea." 

[laughableillusions]

Random Jareth HCs

I talk so much abt him and I have some silly ideas :3c

If he stays in owl form too long he has some trouble changing back. He gets kind of stuck a bit between. He chitters like a barn owl in “human” form, can screech like one if mad. There’s feathers in his hair, and sometimes he still has bird-feet. The worst case was when his arms were still big useless wings. It goes away after a while but he’s impatient as hell and will sulk about it and punish anyone who dares laugh at him for his chicken feet.

Jareth actually runs cold. He can change his body temperature if needed, but it’s very surface level. Usually he’s around room temperature (like a corpse). Cuddling or any close physical contact will warm his body up.

His hands are strangely rough under his gloves, they’re rough and hard like stone. He almost never removes his gloves because his touch alone can cause serious magic shit to happen if he isn’t careful. The glamour he uses to keep his more human form doesn’t really extend to his hands for whatever reason (his truest form is made of stone), so he wears gloves to sort of hide it.

Music lover, I mean duh. He sings and dances ofc, but he actually knows very little about modern music. His knowledge of humanity is still stuck in the 18th century. While he would like the idea of things like CD players and MP3 players etc etc, he will always prefer live performances, be it himself or watching someone else. He would probably go to a lot of concerts just to see what the music vibe is these days.

Doesn’t do well in human crowds. A masquerade ball in his castle is one thing, it’s his realm, it’s other fae. But you put him in a shopping mall or grocery store??? He is not having a good time. Mostly because he sees most humans as beneath him (except for the few he decides are special little princesses/princes lol). Modern humans apparently have a stench to him, and he finds it disgusting when “in concentration.”

He can make any small child stop crying however. If Toby proved anything it showed how good with kids Jareth is. He can entertain any small child with ease. Though it starts to freak the parents out when he starts talking about how much he wants to steal them away from their mothers. The man loves kids, and hopes one day he can actually keep a human baby to raise as his own.

Unbearably physically clingy. Like…unbearably. He’d be attached to his lover like a parasite whenever they try to go anywhere without him. If he can’t touch you, he’s standing behind you with his hands behind his back to keep himself from touching you. Like Jesus Christ man back up you’re not gonna go anywhere‼️‼️

Has a jealousy problem as well. With his stuff and his lovers. You do not touch his stuff without asking him, or until he lends it to you. With romantic jealousy, it’s about the same. Nobody touches what he deems his. He has enough dignity not to cause a public scene, but will glare at anyone who dares flirt with his lover- or if he thinks your not paying attention to him enough, he will give you the cold shoulder until you shove him aside and ask him what the fuck is going on.

Enjoys playing mind games. Though he’s too much of a romantic to do things that would really hurt you, at least intentionally. But his fae nature gives him a bastard side that sometimes can’t help it. But really, he would hate to actually fight with you. The last thing he wants is for you to be genuinely upset, and so will bend over backwards to keep you happy.

Speaking of that, Jareth is 100% a doormat to the ones he loves. He’s been alone for centuries (if not more). And any hope of validation he will chase like a kicked puppy. But everything he does, he expects something in return. (ex: I am exhausted by your expectations of me, isn’t that generous?) Fae are deal makers after all, and so he will create a beautiful ideallic place for you to live…but in return he expects your devotion and loyalty. It seems like a small price, until it isn’t. Sometimes, in exchange for a favor he does for you, he will ask for something in return (be it a task, or an a object).

As hedonistic and mischievous as he is, Jareth is quite emotionally intelligent. His age gives him wisdom, and sometimes it’s like he knows exactly just what to say. Humans have such predictable emotions after all, and he can use his knowledge of them as a form of manipulation if he wants/needs to. But to someone he loves, he would bring perfect comfort to. He will try and make you laugh, then ask if you want him to stay with you or leave you be, anything you ask if it would make you less upset and more comfortable he will do (doormat). If you want him to read you a bedtime story? Do a handstand? He’d fucking do it.

[cheolsfae]

𓆦 Skz as your best friend

Requested: nope

Genre: fluff

Warning(s): none

Reblogs are appreciated

Bang Chan

The dude would constantly harass you.

Like a sibling type of friendship.

Sometimes, you would start it by messing up his just finished styled hair

The type to rough house with you, the fake punching, the silly wrestling, the whole nine! 

Just a big pain in the ass to you but you wouldn’t trade him for the world 

He’s there whenever you need him though! Yeah he likes to goof but you need support and he’s got your back 110%! 

Even when you don’t make the right decisions lmao

Minho

The type to be disappointed in you (like a dad) when you get back with that one toxic ex.

"If they make you cry again, I'm not helping you pick up the pieces again."

And then proceeds to help pick up the pieces again. . .

He's the "I told you so" type about it too!

He helps clean your messy room when you aren't feeling well mentally, physically, or both. 💕

Changbin

Wrestling boy # 2

But like more in a cute type of way because he is him duhh lmaoo

Becomes a big baby when you hang out with another one of your friends more than him. 

You went out shopping with Seungmin for a few hours? He’s pouting and claiming you like Seungmin more than him. 

Obviously not true, Changbin is your best friend! No one can take his place!

Hyunjin

Messages you every unnecessary thing that pops up in his head.

"You have no choice. You're going to reuse my socks so you can suffer athletes foot with me."

The energy is very much reciprocated on your end. "Ew gross, I don't want athletes foot from you."

It's a kind of codependent relationship, very rarely does anyone find you guys separated!

"Where's y/n?" "My partner in crime? The love of my life? The peanut butter to my jelly? Their in the bathroom."

Jisung

Gopher! That's the best way to describe it.

This man disappears from you anywhere from a week to almost a month and then he pops back up like nothing happened

And when he comes back, he's right there telling you all the crazy stories he's been through in such a short period of time.

One time, the two of you had gotten together just to catch up.

He told you that he'd gotten lost in Canada and somehow wound up in Mexico.

Just a little messy stories

Always comes back with the best stories!

Felix

The type to give you things that remind him of you.

He bought you a little gnome because it was a part of some inside joke you guys had from years ago

Constant sleepovers because it's also a small codependent relationship

Neither of you can cook very well, baking? yeah. But cooking? Absolutely not.

So much so that the oldest members banned from doing it because of the amount of times you guys set off the fire alarm.

Seungmin

Also the type to roast your ass.

But not just about you going back to your ex.

The dude would make fun of that one time you mispronounced a word 5 years ago and still laughs his ass off about it

Remember the time you fell in the parking lot of the grocery store? He definitely does!

"You should have seen the way you landed!"

"That was 10 years ago! Let it go!"

Jeongin

The chillest type relationship

Y'all could just be rotting in bed together and you're having the time of your life together

But you guys communicate through looks whenever something funny or otherwise happens.

No words, just looks

Ideal type of friendship though

[judasgot-it]

I was originally going to upload this as part of an ask I got but I feel like I got carried away, so I decided to upload this separately. I'll upload it eventually, it's literally been 6 months I'm so sorry bro.

1.5 k words

Scenario: Grocery shopping date with Tecchou

Admittedly Tecchou was sometimes a bit boring. At least that's what he was told. He was just a man who enjoyed those simple things in life.

Like watching ants on the ground. For 8 hours. Call it weird and boring, although that's just how Tecchou preferred to spend some of his work hours.

He was getting paid for it.

Or his lunch. Usually, it was just something plain, like mashed potatoes and vanilla yogurt. Maybe some mayonnaise if he felt fancy.

If it's left up to him, it's whatever he can he really finds himself thinking up of on the spot.

His dates with you usually went the same way. If he could, he would sleep in every day and get takeout - maybe do laundry and watch an old movie the two of you never had the chance to see because of his job.

Like right now? It was just grocery shopping. Maybe it was boring. Run of the mill, even.

But it was miles better than dying on the battlefield. Walking boring plain tiles were better than stepping over dead bodies. So, today was a complete win for him.

It was all pushing the grocery cart and debating the price of bagels today - the perfect ideal in his world. Seeing you check off your list with a smile, then walking back across the store because you forgot something was the best thing he could imagine doing on his day off.

There wasn't any rush. With you - he could pretend that the price of bagels was the most important thing in his life. He could pretend that he actually cared about picking up dish soap or not.

You were safe. The two of you were walking side by side, with no danger anywhere in sight.

He really felt no need to run anywhere.

This was a perfect date. An ideal one, if there were anything like that out there.

Of course, life sometimes doesn't go his way, and he's forced to deal with something out of one of the circles of hell.

The fucking return counter.

He had no problem public speaking. It was a big part of his job after all - but by god did he hate it when it came to the mundane.

Why does he have to download the store app? Why do only some of his coupons work and others don't? Why is there no tag on the item he specifically came to the store to buy, the only brand of peanut butter he could seem to find in this part of Yokohama?

Tecchou isn't one to complain, he understands the meanings of law and order very well - he is an officer, after all. But sometimes, every once and a while, he will find himself stuck in the position of what an ordinary man's hell is like.

Peanut butter and discount items. The ordinary.

Today that hell is spent with you at the return counter, waiting for them to find the correct price of his goddamn peanut butter because no one is paying an extra 3 dollars for that.

Luckily, you were there with him, so today's hell was quite bearable.

"When we get back home, what movie do you want to watch?"

Tecchou turned to you, broken out of his thoughts.

You were rummaging through the bags on his arms, looking for the snacks the two of you had bought. Not fair, since Tecchou still had to wait for his peanut butter thanks to the hell that was this store.

How could it even be called a convenience store? What was this lady doing? She had spent forever looking for the price.

"I don't know. Wasn't there a movie you wanted to watch?"

There was a scoff as you looked up at him.

"That's not fair, I picked last time."

You were cute as you pouted out your lip, acting as if he were an insolent child.

"I don't really care what we watch. Spending time with you is what's important."

If Tecchou could, he would rather stare at you all day. Even if you'd rather hide behind your hair or stare at down at your hands. Was there something catching your eye?

"Right. Well uh..."

You looked away completely, staring off somewhere towards the floor. He tried to follow your eyes, seeing what you were looking at.

Maybe it was a cool bug he hadn't noticed.

"Sir, I fixed the price."

Finally.

He looked to the counter to get his peanut butter. Although, as he tried to grab it, the girl held it back. Her nails grazed his skin, the texture making him want to vomit.

What?

"I'm gonna need something from you before I give this to you, actually."

Tecchou looked back at you, and then back at the lady at the counter.

"I already paid?"

"Oh, I know."

He stared at her.

"And?"

She giggled, looking him up and down. Whatever she was on, it had to be illegal because this was just stupid.

"I want your number, hottie." She winked, her fingers grazing the top of the peanut butter cap. Somewhere in the back of the store, Tecchou heard the normal sounds of groceries being bagged and checked out - a sound he was jealous of for once in his life.

This question felt like a riddle of some sort. 

"How did you know I was in the military?" 

He hadn't worn anything showing he was in the hunting dogs whatsoever, which made him rather concerned - why would a civilian ask for his service number? He didn't even have his sword visible on his person, so how would someone like a store clerk know to ask that question?

All he recieved back was a blank stare. 

"Um. I think we should go now. Thanks for fixing my boyfriends peanut butter."

You saved the conversation, grabbing the peanut butter gruffly and shoving it in the bag. Tecchou couldn't see your face still, but as you grabbed his hand, he felt how iron tight your grip was - your skin changing shades as you tightened your hold on him.

With unhurried steps, followed your quicker ones out the doors - the sound barely registering as you nearly rushed away from the building in a sprint, as if seeing a ghost. 

Your back stayed against him, brushing against his shoulder every once and a while as he struggled to keep pace with you and your uneven movements.

"Babe."

He gently shook the arm you had held, trying to get your attention. It forced you to stop, but you were still avoidant, staring anywhere but at him - your eyes hidden by the shadows of the now blue hour of the winter. 

Tecchou pulled you hand closer, seeing how the air that blew out of your mouth condensed into a thick fog, your hand quickly losing its squishy warmth and turning as cold as the air surrounding the two of you.

"What's wrong?"

You shook your head, a whine whistling through your throat. Tecchou watched as you laid your entire body against his, feeling your body weight smack against his. He didn't complain, simply wrapping his free arm against your shoulders, pulling you closer.

"Tecchou, did you realize she was flirting with you?"

"Who?"

That broke some invisible dam inside of you, as you broke down, laughing so loud it almost sounded like a sob. You were holding onto him for support, your knees nearly buckling underneath you.

Tecchou tried his best to wait it out, holding onto you as you caused a small wet stain on his coat. He was almost concerned, seeing you breakdown over nothing so quickly. Before he could even open his mouth to ask if you were ok, you cut him off, more serious than ever.

"You didn't know that store clerk was flirting with you, right?"

Straight into the eyes you looked at him, gripping on the coat around his waist and feeling for his sword there. Almost like a threat.

Smiling, he shook his head, carefully taking your hands away from his sword. He didn't want any chances.

"No. I was more concerned about how she knew I'm a hunting dogs member. Do you think she might be a threat, possibly? Normal civilians shouldn't be able to notice those things."

Tecchou rested his head against yours, rubbing his hands up against your shoulders as he stayed deep in thought. Your hands climbed around to fall against the small of his back, Tecchou feeling as your smaller hands pressed his coat against his skin.

It made him feel warm. Even as he felt you continue to giggle, your warm breaths fanning against his throat as he tried to decode who that clerk was - your body pressed against his, your days groceries knocking between your thighs.

It made him feel a sort of domestic warmth, creeping a smile against his face.

[paddedlittleparadise]

Hi, I’m asking different related blogs if they have any advice for this because I’m not sure what to do when the time comes and I’d like some help if thats okay?

So I recently talked to my boyfriend, who is a little, about the idea of him possibly trying diapers because I think he would look and feel adorable. We had a long discussion about it because I knew it was a hard limit for him at first but he told me he doesn’t actually know why it’s a hard limit, rather more so being a stigma he’s created in his head about trying them. I told them he wouldn’t have to use them or anything, I’d reassure him all he needed and I’d take good care of him.

Now he’s telling me he wants to try it because he knows I’d make him feel safe. However he said he’s been thinking about it a lot and he’s afraid that he’ll try it and not like it and disappoint me (there’s no way he ever could, I love him too much)

Basically what I’m trying to ask is how could I make the experience, when it happens, the most comfortable and safest? How can I make him enjoy it/let himself be looked after? How can I ease him into this? He’s also autistic so gets overwhelmed easily. I just love him so much and I want him to be comfortable and make this enjoyable for him. Also what are like… the best ones? Idk. Like what would be the comfiest for him I guess. He’s very skinny if that helps

Hey there, Anon – thanks for the thoughtful question, and so sorry it's been so long since you asked this! I wanted to give you a proper response, and life was so crazy that I'm only just now getting to it.

First off, I'm no authority on this stuff. I'm just one kinky person on the internet, so please don't take my opinions as gospel. But right at the outset, I'd say that it sounds like you're starting in a very good place. You both are communicating, and you're both aware of hard and soft limits. You're also both open to negotiating, which is a great sign of a healthy relationship – so long as you can also maintain healthy boundaries for yourselves.

It's really so sweet what you've shared about your boyfriend, and it's super relatable! Few of us want to disappoint our loved ones, and certainly when we're trying new and intimate things, it can be SO easy to feel pressure to like stuff just because we know our partner wants us to like it. I therefore think what you both will need is a bit more courage and self-assertion. Ideally, he will find the courage and the confidence to say when he dislikes something after trying it for you, since he knows that that you'll still love him regardless.

This idea is obviously something you've communicated to him verbally, but perhaps you can find other ways to show it as well by example? Maybe try watching a show he really likes – or a food, or music, or a hobby – and don't be afraid to tell him if and when you don't like it? And encourage him to do the same with you? If you can establish a relationship in which you both feel it's okay to be different in your likes and dislikes, that can make open differences in intimate affairs that much easier to communicate.

You know, for example: "Hey, I know you really like tomato soup, and that's cool! It's just really not for me. How about we have it only once a week instead of twice?" "You know, I'm so glad you love that new Taylor album! It doesn't do much for me, but I do love seeing you happy. So don't worry – I'm totally fine with listening to it on repeat now and then."

Anyway, about making a first diaper experience comfortable and enjoyable! A few thoughts:

Let him try training pants instead of full-on diapers. Goodnites come in XL sizes these days (140+ pounds); they are super cheap and easy to find at many grocery/drug stores or Amazon. In case you aren't aware, these are pull-on, thin, disposable underwear made for bedwetting teens. Because they're essentially thicker, disposable underwear and they come with an assortment of cute/cool designs printed on them, they will likely be a great way to ease into diaper play. If he's unable to fit into them, maybe check Amazon for sample packs of 2 AB/DL diapers and see if there are some with designs he might like. Pretty much any AB/DL diaper will be soft and comfy. :-)

Don't make a big deal of it. When adults are wearing something babyish, we're often embarrassed by the experience. Sometimes what we want is to be able to duck into our room – maybe at our loved one's suggestion/command – and put the thing on ourselves. Wear pants over it, maybe. And then be completely, utterly normal about it. Let life go on. Have supper. Cuddle on the couch. Watch a show. Do whatever you normally would when he's in little space. Maybe let a hand stray down there and give a little pat, complimenting him on obeying you. Tell him how cute HE is (not the diaper; it's him you love. You want to show that you're not making him into your fetish dispensing machine.). And check in casually to ask how he's doing, or if he wants to take it off. Basically, the less of a deal you make of a potentially embarrassing ordeal, the easier and less overwhelming it will likely be for him.

After a try, don't rush. Give it some time – sleep on it. Check in a day or two later, maybe. See how he feels about it. If it works for you, try again – or maybe consider putting the ball in his court and let him tell you when he'd like to try again.

Communicate your own gratitude and concern. It sounds as though your boyfriend has a strong desire to please, so giving him a sense of how much fulfillment and joy he is bringing you can be essential. Sure, it will function as positive reinforcement and make it more likely that he might want to wear again. But more importantly, it will bring him relief and joy to know that he did well, that you still love him, and that even if/when he isn't wearing something special, you love him all the same.

Again, I'm very sorry for the delayed response. I hope these few thoughts will be helpful – and best of luck to you both!

-PLP

[theloveandthedead]

Miss Sunshine

A belated Valentines gift for @smoke-and-silver

I may have gotten off topic since this is more about Bernadette's past but I still hope you like!

And forgive me if I got anything wrong about the lore! I'm still new to this fandom

Enjoy! <3

“Don’t do that,” Bernadette’s mother chided, grabbing her six year old daughter’s hand to correct the crayon’s placement. “You have to color inside the lines, sweetheart, otherwise the drawing will be ruined. 

Although bewildered, young Bernadette nodded and proceeded to follow her mother’s directions, vigilant to not let a single stray line escape its border.

As she grew up, Bernadette realized how her surroundings were like that coloring book: everything in its place and any deviation from the norm would be met with firm correction. 

It was expected that she would grow up to be a good, decent woman who would marry a good, decent man, and they would live in a respectable neighborhood where they would have children who would grow into good, decent individuals.

Rinse. Recycle. Repeat. 

The picturesque suburbia was the epitome of orderly and mundane. 

The same rows of little white houses.

The same style of neatly ironed shirts, always neatly tucked into ironed pants and skirts. 

The same type of casseroles always passed around, sprinkled with neighbor gossip about the ‘hoodlums’ and ‘immoral’ outsiders of their utopia. 

And no one seemed to find fault with it.

But Berndette, as she grew into her neatly destined place in suburbia, still felt that crayon in her hand. 

Was coloring out of the lines so horrible? 

Did everything really have to be “good” and “decent”? (By her late teens, Bernadette had developed an aversion to those words.)

So, inching her crayon out, she etched little flecks of color outside the border visible to no one but her. 

The ladies at church wore white socks–Berandette sewed ladybugs on hers. 

The children would play catch in the schoolyard–Bernadette would catch frogs in the creek. 

Everyone listened to country and sermons–Bernadette had a hidden shoebox with blues cassettes. 

The diner served their eggs bare–Bernadette would sprinkle some chili powder when no one was watching. 

They were little things, but they gave Bernadette a thrill she never knew before. 

Were these the ‘immoral’ activities her parents and neighbors sneered at?

But why? 

Why would these little pleasures be sinful?

Bernadette tried to share her joy with her husband–a man who fit the suburbia ideal to a T–but was met with apathy and as time went on, judgment. 

He judged her for a lot of things–her interests, her ‘babbling’, how much she ate, even the way she folded towels.

But he always framed it as ‘just being logical’ and that as his wife, she should just listen to him.

Just like all the men did to their wives.

Just like her father did to her mother. 

And they listened because that is what a good, decent wife did.

But Bernadette felt bitter and unsatisfied. 

All her youth, she had gotten her fix with faint flicks of color.

Must she, in her adulthood, continue to be content with just a toe hovering above the edge?

Couldn’t she finally break through the borders and color wherever the hell she may please?

And, as her lifelong partner, couldn’t her husband join her?

Would it kill him to step out of his box for once?!

If anything,he and everyone else were the strange ones! 

But Bernadette swallowed her rage and slowly she withdrew her crayon and retreated back within the lines. 

Then, during a trip to the grocery store, Bernadette noticed a flier buried underneath the MLM pamphlets. 

A flier for a concert, to be exact. 

“Ghost,” Bernadette read aloud, in utter awe at the masked figures and gothic artwork staring back at her. 

Almost in a trance, Bernadette rushed out to her car–abandoning her grocery cart–and hastily dialed the ticket office number as her heart pounded in her ears. 

Once again she stood at the border, but this time, she had buckets of paint and a pair of scissors strapped to her back. 

Bernadette was on the verge of something, and she knew this concert held the missing piece. 

There was no rhyme or reason to her feeling, but Bernadette knew if she didn’t go to this concert, she would be stuck inside the lines forever. 

On the night of the concert, Bernadette told her husband she was off to visit her mother–the lie tasting like honey on her tongue–and he simply nodded while never looking up from his newspaper. 

No “Drive safe, my love”, no kiss goodbye.

Like everyone else, their ‘romance’ was confined to chaste kisses and obligated intimacy that only ended when her husband was satisfied.

Teetering on the edge, Bernadette couldn’t help giggling as she ‘accidentally’ slammed the door behind her, and she practically flew to her car. 

And as her car escaped the gates of suburbia, Bernadette felt like she could breathe for the first time. 

The parking lot was already packed by the time she pulled in, but luckily she was able to find a spot without too much effort. 

As she followed the crowd through the gates to the concert area, Bernadette marveled at those surrounding her. 

Concert goers both young and old with their unique fashions and tastes.

Yet, they all shared one common trait–genuine happiness. 

They laughed boisterously and showered their companions with affection without the restraints of ‘good and decent’.

Wild and free were the words that came to her mind.

Such foreign words to a dissatisfied member of suburbia.

But how wonderful they were. 

Wild and free, yes what a lovely pairing.

Soon a hush fell over the audience as the faint strum of a guitar could be heard before the stage lit up and the band began to play.

All her life, Bernadette had attended that suburbia chapel with its beige walls and hard wooden pews that caused her younger self to shift uncomfortably, only to be stopped by her mother’s firm grip. She was expected to look straight ahead and listen to the pastor’s monotone voice, so she stared at the lone statue of Mary near the altar. 

She was the Blessed Mother, the woman chosen to carry the Son of God.

So why was her face somber and her colors dull?

The statues of Jesus, the apostles, and even the angels were vibrant and resplendent, yet Mary–the most important woman in the Bible–faded into the background.

Yet this spectacle before her with the cathedral stage set and the band wearing demon masks as they played that ‘unholy music’, Bernadette knew this was true religion. 

As the music washed over her, she ceased to ponder and think and instead just soaked in each ‘sermon’ with clasped hands. 

Bernadette knew none of the words, yet she somehow found herself singing along with the crowd like the psalms of her childhood. 

The hours flew by and as the mass drew to a close, Bernadette felt suburbia’s claws curling around her heels, and her nails dug into her palms as she clasped her hand tighter.

‘Please don’t let this end. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay!’

Then, as the final song of the night began, Bernadette felt this warmth caressing her cheek and she turned her head to find the lead guitarist staring in her direction.

No.

Not in her direction.

But at her.

And he was beautiful.

A light blush dusted her cheeks as she took in the way his shirt hugged his thin waist–was that toe curling sight humanly possible for a man?--and how he strummed his guitar like a devotee giving tribute to the divine. 

But when her eyes met his, that blush became a cherry red because he fell to his knees right on stage, much to the delight of the audience. 

One could chalk it up to being part of the show, guitarists often fell to their knees when getting into the music.

But this…..this felt like he was kneeling to her.

Like he was worshiping her. 

Call out in the middle of the night

For when else would I hear you?

Fall out in the cold starlight

I can save you if you do

Everything faded away and all that remained was Bernadette and the guitarist. 

You will never walk alone

You can always reach me 

You will never ever walk alone

To others–the lyrics.

To Bernadette–a promise, a vow. 

Call me Little Sunshine

Call me, call me Mephistopheles

Call me when you feel all alone 

Just call me Little Sunshine

“Tell me your name.” Bernadette whispered aloud, one hand reaching out towards him. “I have to know your name.”

(“It is believed that knowing a demon’s name is a powerful weapon against evil,” The monotone pastor preached to the congregation. “By knowing a demon’s name, you have power over them.”)

The guitarist did not answer her, his gaze never wavering as the song reached its conclusion.

“Tell me your name!” Bernadette shouted over the cheers.

And, as the final notes echoed across the concert hall, the guitarist flung something in her direction and Bernadette hopped up to catch it with a gasp.

Upon opening her palms, she found his guitar pick and she gazed up to find him standing tall, his hand still outstretched to her. 

Then, she heard it.

Like a lover’s kiss against her ear.

“Ifrit.” Bernadette uttered and immediately the guitarist–Ifrit–placed a hand over his heart and bowed his head.

And Bernadette’s heart fluttered as the crowd erupted into glorious applause. 

------------------------------------

The entire drive home Bernadette was in a daze, one hand on the wheel and the other pressed to her chest with the pick warm against her palm. 

When she pulled into the driveway, she sat there for a moment with a blank expression before eventually making her way inside. 

The house was pitch dark–of course her husband didn’t wait up for her–so she flicked on the kitchen light and found dirty dishes left beside the sink for her to clean.

Her husband had steak, the bone licked clean on the plate beside the cutlery. 

Bernadette paused for a moment, simply staring at the plate, before picking up the steak knife and making her way to the bedroom.

Her husband laid flat on his back, his jaw slack and his arm tossed onto her side. 

Bernadette took a moment to just watch him, the way his chest rose and the light snores escaping his throat before raising the steak knife.

And bringing it down.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Beautiful, vibrant colors surrounded her.

With a jubilant cry, Bernadette flinged the paint across every surface until all was a kaleidoscope of color around her.

The border had been cut through.

She was free.

“I’m hungry.” Bernadette hummed, her hands soaked in blood as she dropped the knife and waltzed back towards the kitchen, the pick pulsating against her palm. “I think I’ll make myself some soup.”

[yuriwritestwst]

5 times Riddle has a bit of trouble adjusting to cohabitation + 1 time he falls right into place.

Notes: Riddle Rosehearts x GN!reader, friends to roommates to lovers, i wrote this for myself but y’all can read it too, there’s no plot lol

CW: Food, Riddle has a little bit of imposter syndrome, Riddle’s mom neglecting him

1.

Riddle moves in with you after completing his undergraduate degree, not because he’s had the biggest crush on you since what seems like forever (since his freshman year of college), but because he’s now a med student and under crippling debt with no way to afford an apartment himself.

Sure, he could have probably found another med student on his school’s Facebook page to room with, but he’s never been great at sharing personal spaces with complete strangers. He’s just a little bit shy, somewhat awkward, and knows that someone who doesn’t know him will think he’s some sort of control freak even if he’s been trying to get better over the years.

In theory, you’re Riddle’s ideal roommate. He’s known you for long enough and spent enough late nights with you in the library stressing over his GPA to know that it takes a lot for you to get tired of him, so when you offered to split rent, he’s more than eager to agree. He only thinks of the pros early on before the move: the place is equal distance away from your job and his school, it has two separate bedrooms, and there’s a grocery store nearby for reasonable cost. He doesn’t consider the cons, or rather, he can’t imagine there being any cons with you in the first place.

When the move-in process and organizing is complete, however, Riddle is equal parts nervous (because he realizes late that he’s now living with you for an indefinite amount of time) and surprised (because he realizes he’ll be seeing you a lot more than before and is way happier about this than anticipated).

Granted, he doesn’t really know what to do now. He’s always valued his personal time, but he also doesn’t know how much personal time you need and whether or not relationships change when you move in with a friend. Would him striking up a conversation with you scrolling silently on your phone on the couch annoy you? Or is it something you’re waiting for while trying to be considerate for him? Are you worried that he’ll be the one who snaps at you, because then perhaps it’s then his fault for not making the message clear that he would never do something like that.

Riddle’s confused so he shuffles awkwardly toward his room and settles on his chair. He makes a mental list of possible conversation starters but figures that he’s better off staying quiet and playing it safe. He doesn’t want to create problems only after just moving in.

“Riddle?” he hears you call from the living room and almost jumps out of his seat.

“Y-yes?!” It comes out close to a shriek, and he wants desperately for both himself and his heart to shut up. “Do you need something?”

“No,” you say, trying to peak through his door. “Just wondering if you want to chill on the couch. There’s enough space for the both of us, you know?”

Riddle spirals into a new set of concerns, because he’s not sure if you’re just inviting him to be polite or if he’s already being rude for leaving you alone. He can’t believe living with another person is so difficult, but when you call for him again, he decides walk back out, arms stuck to his side and smile rigid. He’s stiff, and he knows you notice this, but he can’t help it. Even the way he settles himself onto the couch is mechanic, leaving a significant gap between the two of you that doesn’t feel quite right to him. It’s just a few centimeters that he wants to close. He stays still as stone.

“You know,” you say absentmindedly. He needs to find a better, quieter way to express surprise. “This is kind of like when we used to study. Not that it was that long ago, but I thought I’d miss us just sitting around doing our own stuff. Good thing we moved in together, huh?”

Riddle feels ridiculously stupid for being so worried, because you’re absolutely right. Why on earth was he so nervous about sitting on the couch with you when he already had spent four years across from you at a library table without a single worry about whether or not he was acting as appropriate company. And during the time, he didn’t worry, because he figured if you bothered to go back to that spot every day without fail, then that was enough. He supposes that if the only thing that’s changed is the setting, then perhaps it still is enough.

“You don’t need to think too much about it,” you murmur quietly, almost as if you were reading his mind. Of course. You always knew what to say to him. “Just do whatever feels comfortable to you.”

Currently, what feels right to him is sitting just a smidge closer to you, so he scoots over until shoulders brush against each other like they always had on the bus back to the campus dorms. It’s a little strange to Riddle, because he finds that everything and nothing has changed at the same time. Yes, he’s still nervous, but it’s the giddy kind of nervousness where happiness and maybe excitement start bubbling through. For a brief second, he thinks that everything will be okay.

He will, though, have to work on the surge of disappointment that hits him when you leave the couch first even though it’s a perfectly normal thing to do. It’s a process of telling himself that it’s not because he’s boring but that it’s just how people live their own lives during cohabitation. It’s a process like most things, but he can’t help but worry why it’s giving him such a difficult time.

2.

And as if he’s not already having to go through mental Olympics to figure out the fine line between comfortable silence and friendly conversation, he comes back on his first day of med school on the same day you finish orientation at your new job. It’s not a big deal except for the fact that he finds himself reaching the entrance with you at the same time.

“Hello,” he says awkwardly, gripping his bag so tightly that his knuckles turn white. He watches as you fumble around with the keys, unlocking the door. The door to the apartment where you both live in, he reminds himself.

“Hey, Riddle,” you respond, not nearly as concerned as he is. “Doctor school doing you good?”

“Thankfully.” He walks in behind you, standing straight as pole while you take off your shoes. For some reason, he doesn’t move to do the same until you walk further in. “Unfortunately, it won’t stay this way. How was work?”

“Boring,” and just as you predict, Riddle rolls his eyes, because as he always says, boring is better than things spiraling into chaos. In fact, boring might be the best thing you could ask for on your first day. “Was the school nice?”

Riddle answers your question with ease, talking about how much quieter the library is compared to your undergrad days, how good the quality of the lecture hall is, and how neat the well-trimmed bushes outlining the main entrance walkway are. It’s only when he reaches the part about how much he appreciates the shine of clean linoleum floors that he wonders if he’s boring you.

It’s like cold water to his face when he realizes that the two of you now walked very different paths. For starters, you’re now fully employed and working a steady 9-5 job, but he’s still in school, same as always. He doesn’t have the excuse of being classmates with you anymore to talk about everything and anything related to his academics. From complaining about difficult professors to proofreading each other’s papers, he doesn’t have any pretext to talk to you about his life, and by extension, you don’t have any reason to listen to him. A pit forms in his stomach when he confronts the fact that he’s always unchanging, always the same, no matter how hard he tries.

(This is especially scary to him, because the more he watches you grow, the more he worries that you’ll leave him behind).

“Looking pretty troubled there,” you comment after Riddle abruptly stops in the middle of his rant. “Were the bushes that life-changing?”

He clears his throat. “No. I was just…worried that you find it dull. You don’t go to school anymore, after all.”

“Oh, but you know I love a good gossip session about the worst people aspiring to be doctors,” you reply with a mischievous grin. And he does know this, because it was the venting sessions with you that got him through the worst parts of his undergraduate years. “Plus, you know you can talk to me about anything right? That’s why I asked.”

“I’m sure you weren’t curious about how the floors of the auditorium looked,” Riddle says dryly with disbelief.

“Not true,” you protest, frowning. “I’m glad you don’t have to walk on cobblestone anymore, because I don’t think you’d last that long in heels without me being there to catch you anymore.”

“My heels got stuck one time.”

“And I caught you before you faceplanted onto the floor that one time,” you add. “That’s why you have to tell me everything, even if I’m not trying to be some fancy doctor like you are. I’m sure I’ll find a way to use it against you.”

“You will absolutely not.” He huffs and crosses his arms. “And I find this exchange rather unfair seeing as you haven’t told me anything about your job yet beside the fact that it’s boring.”

“Didn’t think you’d be interested.” You only notice how ironic it sounds when it leaves your mouth, much to Riddle’s amusement and slight upward quirk of his lips. “Fine. I guess you’re just dying to hear about how close my desk is to the nearest vending machine.”

Riddle, you discover, is indeed thoroughly invested, because even after you’re done describing your office layout, the people you came across during orientation, and what your project manager is like, he asks even more about your commute there and what your work will be like even though he doesn’t understand anything about computers. He thinks this is a one-time thing, of course, because once he actually starts school work, there’s no way you’ll care about what his textbook says or how his professors are, but the following day, when he comes home to you, you ask him about his day again. And again. And it’s strange to Riddle, because even without pretext, he finds how easily he can talk to you about anything even if you seem worlds apart from him.

“Look at this leaf!” you text him one day on your walk to the train stop. “It’s so ugly.”

“Good morning to you too,” he texts back as he walks to his next class. He hesitates on sending his next message, because he hates nothing more than double texting. “I’m on my way to my biochemistry of medicine class. Take care on your way to work.”

Admittedly, you have no idea what the biochemistry of medicine is or what it consists of, and Riddle knows that, but he holds onto the sliver of hope that you’ll ask him about it when he comes home later.

(You do ask him about it later and tease him when he starts nerding out. He doesn’t mind).

3.

Neither of your schedules really match on weekdays with you being gone at work for the day and Riddle at school; he’s sometimes gone first thing in the morning and sometimes back when you’re almost ready to go to bed depending on the day. Even on weekends when you have the luxury of a break, Riddle’s off on his 12-hour shift in the ER from 7 AM to 7 PM. Much to Riddle’s dismay, he thinks he might see you even less than he did before moving in with you.

One thing, however, is guaranteed—or at least becomes guaranteed—when he comes back home Saturday night at 8:30 PM, and you’re sitting at the dining table.

(It’s not actually a dining table but a round desk made for children that you managed to fish from IKEA, because the entire apartment layout is Not Very Big).

He glances, basically stares, first at the warm smile you greet him with and then at the two plates of food with plastic wrap covering them. He raises an eyebrow in question, especially when he notices that the plates are still warm.

“I thought you said you were going out with your friends today,” he comments, not really registering what was going on. He always made sure to memorize your schedule and is worried that he’s slipped up for the first time. “Why are you here?”

“I’m your roommate?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he retorts, and you laugh. “I meant why aren’t you out right now, and why haven’t you eaten?”

“Well, I got tired of being out for the entire day so I came back,” you explain very matter-of-factly, “and then I noticed that some of the things in the fridge were going to go bad, so I made dinner.”

“But why haven’t you eaten yet?” Riddle repeats, scrambling around the apartment to put his bags and jacket away. This is something new he’s learned how to do, talking to you without necessarily being in the same room. The first few times, he does it by accident and apologizes immediately, but with the understanding that he’s tired and busy, you reassure him that it’s no big deal at all and that the apartment is small enough for you to hear him loud and clear anyways.

“I was waiting for you,” you respond. He pauses. “Duh.”

Riddle doesn’t know what to say after except a soft, “Oh,” that escapes his lips and makes his way toward the table, carefully pulling the chair out so that it doesn’t scratch against the floorboards. He watches you, unsure, and copies you when you start removing the plastic wrap off your plate. You take a bite. He follows. You take a sip of your water. So does he.

Truth to be told, he can’t remember anybody waiting for him. Sure, he’s made plans to eat with people before, you included, which would mean that he and another party would meet at the same time and agree to eat at said time.

This is new unplanned and uncharted territory. He always figures that with a temper like his that flared up at any possibility of being late, anybody who knows him would hold him up to that same standard. He never expects anyone to weave him into their time, especially when he hasn’t always been the most flexible.

This combined with the fact that not even his own mother would wait for him makes this experience feel utterly foreign. He can only recall her always eating dinner at 6:00 PM. If he was stuck doing his workbooks because he couldn’t complete them quickly enough, then that was his fault. More than often than not, young Riddle would walk out of his room at 6:30 PM, peering into the empty dining hall and then climbing onto the seat only to be met with a cold, unwrapped bowl of bland soup. He’d sip on it as slowly as possible to delay being reprimanded.

“I’ll…wash up,” he says finally, eying at your nearly empty plate. “It’s the least I could do since you went through all this trouble.”

You shake your head. “I told you, Riddle. I just wanted to get rid of some ingredients before they went bad. Plus, we get to spend some time together. Two birds with one stone, really.”

It’s almost ironic how lonely he realizes he was when living with his mother even though he spent nearly every second of his adolescence under her watchful eye. Compared with how just ten minutes sitting across from you makes him feel, the contrast is almost laughable.

“Thank you.” He wonders if he’s able to convey exactly how grateful he is. Expressing himself was never his strong suit. “I mean it.”

“Yeah?” You place your utensils on your now empty plate and think for a bit. “We should do the dishes together. It’ll be done faster that way.”

Even though Riddle wants to tell you that it’s his duty to repay your kindness, he finds himself indulging in it today. In fact, like his childhood self, he finds himself eating slower than usual tonight to bask in your presence, waiting for him. He feels special, because even though you have all the rights in the world to just leave him there and continue your day off, you stay. It makes him feel like he’s worth something.

The following day after he gets off his shift, he texts you that he’s bringing home desserts from a bakery on his way back. You text him that you’ll be waiting for him, and he thinks that this is something he could get used to.

4.

It’s admittedly very strange to say, but Riddle develops a love for Post-It notes. They’re not for himself to keep track of tasks, as he already has his own trusty pocket book to jot down things he needs to keep in mind, but he finds them rather endearing when you start leaving them all over his door.

He swears he’s trying to see you as often as possible, but with final exams looming over him, he spends all of his free time in his room, studying for hours on end and with minimal breaks. He appreciates you for being so considerate and understanding of his circumstances, entering the apartment as quietly as possible and making little noise in the kitchen. He knows you like leaving the TV on from time to time just to have some white noise, but he hasn’t heard it for a while and figures he owes you a lot after he’s done with his work.

One morning about three days from his first final, he leaves his room for a bit to get water from the kitchen and finds a little neon orange note stuck to his door. Blinking his dry, tired eyes, he leans in to read it.

“This is the last stretch! Good luck with studying! There’re some leftovers from the take-out I brought home yesterday, so help yourself!”

And like everything you do, it makes his heart flutter. He wonders if this is something he should respond to formally, like a letter from an acquaintance, but he’s not even sure if he can consider this a letter. He walks back into his room briefly, rustling around his drawer for a small pack of sticky notes he received for free at school fair and scribbles his response.

“Good morning,

I hope this note finds you well and in good health. Thank you very much for the leftovers. Once I’m done with my exams, I’ll take the proper measures to make this up to you.

Best regards,

Riddle Rosehearts”

It’s still early in the morning, earlier than when you usually needed to wake up to barely make it to work on time, so he very gently places his note on your door and continues on with his day. Between quick sips of water or tea and sticking his head out an open window to take in fresh air, Riddle studies and studies until the sun is down. He decides finally that he needs to stretch his legs and opens the door of his room to pace around the shared area. Another sticky note.

“LOL.”

His eyebrows raise, scrutinizing the small piece of paper and flipping it over just to make sure he isn’t missing any other writing. What was so funny?

“Good evening,

I’m glad you’re finding something amusing. I would find a little context very helpful in this scenario. Feel free to let me know when you have the time.

Sleep well,

Riddle Rosehearts”

There’s a lot more he wants to write like how much he wants to eat with you again or asking you if your work is going well, but he realizes that he has neither the time nor the space to fit the essay he has drafted in his mind for you. He settles for this instead, sticks it onto you room door, and goes back to study when he finishes circling the kitchen ten times. He’s not having the most fantastic time right now, but he’s eager to find another note from you when you wake up tomorrow morning.

5.

Riddle takes a break day, not because he realizes that finals week had run him through the wringer, but because you all force him to take a day off from his shift at the ER by taking a day off yourself. He feels a little guilty for having you throw away your plans for the day, especially when he doesn’t have a single clue on what he wants to do. He’d prefer not to leave the apartment, being worn out from running on four hours of sleep each night for the past week. Frankly, it seems like a waste for you now to be watching him solve crossword puzzles in complete silence.

He’s not ashamed about his hobbies, but he does acknowledge that not many people particularly enjoy watching others write in boxes for hours on end without doing anything else. You tell him you’re just making sure that he’s resting properly, and he understands your concerns, but did you really need to be so close to him? He’s not a child that needs to be surveilled, and he certainly is having just some problems concentrating knowing that if he moves toward you any closer, he’ll feel your breath down his neck.

And then, you choose to rest your chin on his shoulder, still watching him as he ponders on five-lettered synonyms for ‘fictional book.’. He startles from the slight slouch he’s fallen into during his earlier concentration, but you don’t say a word. Riddle thinks you’re teasing him, but something about how your warmth radiates against him settles his rapidly beating heart. It’s entirely different from the brief shoulder-to-shoulder bumping or the electric that rushes through his body whenever his hand brushed against yours while handing you a box of tarts. All of those had been quick, fleeting moments he considered accidents. This was absolutely deliberate.

“Are you…tired?” he tries, wondering if this was perhaps your way of telling him to choose a different activity to do. “You can always go about your own day and do as you like-.”

“I’m just comfy like this,” you murmur, voice tinged with sleep. It tickles his ear, but he tries his best not to yelp. “Should I move?”

“N-no,” he stammers, shy. “If you’re sleepy you could…”

Riddle pauses. The sane, sensible answer he could provide is to tell you to go to bed and take a nap, to tell you not to worry about him because he knows how to take care of himself and is a proper adult. For some reason, though, the thought of losing your weight against him makes him feel a little empty. He can’t really comprehend it, but he knows that the moment he tells you move from him, he’ll be left feeling lonely, and he doesn’t want that.

“If you’re sleepy, I’ll just move,” he starts, changing positions so that he’s no longer facing the arm of the couch and instead properly resting against it, “and you can lean on my shoulder like this.”

You only hum in content, also readjusting yourself, and Riddle cycles through exactly three stages of emotions.

The first stage is obvious nervousness, but the good kind where his stomach does flip flops and everything feels fuzzy. You’re so close, and he can’t help it, becoming finely attuned to your breathing, the smell of your shampoo (which, much to his delight, is his shampoo, too), and the way your eyes struggle to stay open.

The second stage settles down the first. It’s the wave of relief that floods through him once he realizes you’re comfortable enough to fall asleep on him. He feels strong and reliable, but more importantly, he finds satisfaction that he’s able to help you rest. He tries his best not to wake you up, dutifully staying still as a log.

The third stage is more of a cumulative realization of all his concerns since he moved in with you. It’s his embarrassment at the fact that he’s still been so nervous around you, making a big deal out of his inadequacies even though he knows you consider him enough. He doesn’t know why it takes so long for him to realize that even through all his concerns, he falls easily into your affection every single time and that you have never once pushed him away.

Loving you and being loved by you has always been the easiest thing in this world, and he almost laughs at himself for taking this long to understand.

+1.

Riddle rearranges his work schedule during his break so that his weekends align with yours. He figures that there isn’t any point in being home on the days you’re at work, so for the rest of his summer, he has the best weeks of his life.

It’s 9 AM on a Sunday morning, and Riddle groggily wakes up in his room. Normally, he’s up at the crack of dawn, but he wakes up late today—or at least what he considers late—for two reasons. The first is that he stayed up late with you in your arms the night before while marathoning bad reality TV. Personally, it’s not quite his cup of tea, but he’s more or less watching you laugh the entire time rather than actually focusing on the show anyways. The second reason is that he knows that there’s no way you’re able to sleep past 9 AM today, because like clockwork, the garbage truck rolls by for the weekly trash disposal, waking up the entire apartment complex.

He listens from his room to the creaking of your bedroom door and the shuffling of your feet against the wooden floor before getting out of bed himself. Peering into the shared area, he sees your back turned away from him at the kitchen counter where you start to get breakfast ready. There’s never been a rule on who should cook breakfast or not, but Riddle’s a disaster of a cook and would much rather do the dishes in exchange for food that’s seasoned and unburnt.

“G’morning,” you murmur when you feel his arms wrap around your waist and his head against your back. “I hate that truck. They could’ve picked any other day when people aren’t sleeping in.”

“We could just nap together later,” Riddle proposes, slightly flustered, but with the both of you completely free all day, he can’t think of anything better to do. “That is, if you’re still tired, of course.”

“You’re becoming a lot bolder as of late.” Your chuckle resonates through him, and he remains silent for a moment. His eyes follow your hands as they insert bread into the toaster and reach for the cabinet above to grab strawberry jam. When the toast is ready, it’s his signal to start preparing the tea.

“Perhaps,” he muses, letting go of your waist after one small squeeze. Although, he’s not sure if he’s getting bolder or if he’s getting more comfortable. Or maybe it just feels right to be more honest with you now. “Sugar and milk?”

“Yes, please,” you respond, not really knowing why he asks when he knows how you like your tea by heart. You suppose he just always needs some type of affirmation, so with a grin, you smile and say, “Riddle? Love you.”

Without missing a beat, cheeks tinted with the slightest of pink, Riddle responds with a nod.

“Thank you. I adore you as well.”

[cloudyyoimiya]

HEAR ME OUT.. SCENARIO ABOUT DAZAI WITH A GN S/O LIKE AUBREY FROM OMORI??

oh my word i love this! i didn’t get too far into omori myself so i had my friend help me out on this! also i couldn’t get all of my thoughts out with just a scenario, so i hope you don’t mind a few headcanons! thank you for your request!

With a S/o Like Aubrey from Omori; Osamu Dazai

Format: Headcanons and Scenario

Possible Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, suicide mentions (Dazai), spoilers for Omori(?)

To start off, Dazai would absolutely love the energy you give off; especially if you’re more on the cheerful side! He loves how energetic you can get over something that peaks your interest!

Sometimes if you freak out over small things, he’ll find it funny. If you ever catch him laughing about this you’ll either calm down immediately or get a little angry. There’s no in between.

If you ever do get angry and lash out, Dazai would be there to try and calm you down. He’d put a hand on your shoulder, or if you’re comfortable with it, he’d hug you and attempt to tell you that everything is all right.

The same thing happens if something goes wrong and you try to distance yourself from your friends or him. He’d be there to comfort you in a heartbeat and he’d make sure that you don’t make any rash decisions. Dazai would also make sure that you aren’t too hard on yourself as well.

If you happen to be clumsy like Aubrey, Dazai will always be there to catch you when you fall. Though, he will find it amusing that you can trip over seemingly nothing. Sometimes he’d catch you and you’d see him smirking.

Sometimes if Dazai gets distracted from a case, you’d have to redirect him. It’s not a simple task, but it’s able to be done.

Here’s some food for thought; imagine if you were in the Port Mafia. You were an executive and you ran a small squad much like the Hooligans that Aubrey leads. Of course your small squad would be more… professional, but still. I’d like to think that this kind of thing drew Dazai in the first place.

Now, I won’t write the mafia scenario today, but maybe I will later if I’m asked to. <3

Scenario…

Today you and your boyfriend were out running errands for the agency. Originally Dazai was asked to do this alone, but knowing him he wouldn’t do it unless you came along. You were slightly mad at him because you already had a lot of work to do. You had to write a few reports, you had to print out some documents… All boring things.

Dazai hooked his arm around yours as he lead you towards the next shop you had to visit. You sighed at the contact. Despite how much you liked going outside to explore, running errands with Dazai was always a bore. He’d always get side tracked and you’d have to redirect him.

“Oh, we’re here,” you said as you two arrived at the store. “Do you wanna wait outside?”

“I could never leave you alone, my love!” Dazai exclaimed, acting as if he was offended by your question. “Plus, if I did you’d somehow run into trouble!”

Your eye slightly twitched at the thought. “Yeah, alright fine. C’mon.”

You practically dragged Dazai into the store. You then walked down the aisles, looking for a specific sweet that Ranpo wanted. Apparently this candy was getting rare since the company was going out of business.

You eventually grabbed everything that you needed to. Dazai had been talking your ear off about anything and everything, trying to make you engage in a conversation while you were concentrating. You did give him short and sweet answers, yes, but you also wanted to bash his head with the baseball bat that you always carried around with you.

“—And then Kunikida was all like, ‘Oh no Dazai! You can’t try to kill yourself on the job!’ with such a mad expression! He then hit me with his book of ideals on top of my beautiful head! I just can’t believe him!” Dazai ranted on. “I truly think that he hates me!”

You had arrived at the cash register, groceries in hand. “No, really? What makes you say that?”

You started to pay for the groceries, giving the cashier your credit card. The transaction went through and the two of you left the store quickly.

“Kunikida is always foiling my suicide attempts! It’s really starting to get on my nerves!”

You silently chuckled at his antics. “Maybe he just cares for you, Osamu.”

Dazai sighed. “If he cared he’d let me—“

You playfully smacked the back of his head.

“We need to head back soon.”

“Ow! That hurt!” Dazai whined.

The walk back contained Dazai blabbering on and on about rather mundane topics. You of course blabbered back once he reached a topic you liked. 

You walked up the stairs to the agency, almost tripping on a few of the steps. Dazai caught you one time at the top of the stairway. Embarrassed, you slightly yelled at him. He only smiled and led you back to your desk.

“You really need to work on your balance, you know. I won’t be able to catch you each time.”

“Oh would you shut up?!”

Requests are open!

[emmebearpaw]

Hello. I've worked in a grocery store for a while, I shop for people and take it out to their cars (this is my 3rd summer in a row...). I know lots of weird types of people at the grocery store. Please allow me to tell you what kind of person various characters are at the grocery store. Fandoms: Reverse 1999, Genshin Impact (R1999) Regulus is the Doordash driver who checks in to pick up groceries and then goes MIA. She shows up 5 minutes later to get them with a Dr. Papper and no cart and you just have to look her dead in the eyes with 2 dozen bags around you and say "You need a cart."

(GI) Furina is this one guy at my old store who was always the last one to show up on Saturdays. Tired. Easy. Does not feel like chatting right now. She's here to get Mac and Cheese and some Wine and then she is going to bed. (R1999) Kanjira, Erick, Balloon Party and Mondlicht are the group of unsupervised kids that are causing a Problem. (R1999) Oliver Fog and Eagle are the inexplicably unsupervised kids there at odd hours that ask you where a specific item is and are a joy to have. No problem. Inexplicably looking for a block of good cheese. (GI) Lyney, Lynette and Freminet are the kind of people shopping who employees don't even notice until they get to check out. They are sent to the store with a list. They plan out an ideal route like its a fucking heist. They are in and out of there in 20 minutes with the power of teamwork and planning.

(GI) Baizhu does carside pickup. Only buys organic foods. Qiqi doesn't get goldfish she gets Annie's crackers, that sort of thing. In a seeming contradiction there is a bottle of wine in the order too. (R1999) Ok listen to me. This isn't a customer story. This is my former STORE MANAGER. Constantine is my old store manager that everyone hates, but I have one particular story she is. We had radios in our department so we could communicate items that weren't on the shelf and to ask for assistance from other departments. No one else was supposed to use the radios, however management didn't want to spend money on the radios so they just let other departments steal from us, which usually meant we didn't have any. Our store manager in particular would get upset if we didn't use the radios. He also had a habit of stealing ours, so we didn't give him the code. I left my radio at my workstation to run an order outside as he walks in for the morning. I come back in barely 2 minutes later and the radio I left out is gone. Constantine is stealing my radio. (R1999) The Apeiron crew are this group of 4 or 5 Orthodox Jewish men who would all come in together (unusual, most grocery shoppers are alone or with their significant other + maybe their kids. Additionally we are not an area with a large jewish population) and I always had to inform them that. Yup that's our whole kosher section. No we don't have a kosher frozen section. I wish you luck on finding food for your diet, god speed, I can not find kosher food we don't stock. I do plan on writing something jsut for them because I think i need to, emotionally. 37 would throw a fit in the canned bean section.

(GI) Venti was this guy who was clearly reselling beer. Ordered 5 40 packs of bud light 3+ times a week. (GI) Yaoyao is every kid I've seen pushing around the tiny kid sized shopping cart they have at my new store. She's not accompanied like the real world kids are though. No she's just shopping by herself. Where are her parents. (GI) Neuvilette is the guy at my old store who would order like. 10 liters of sparkling water. All the same flavor. Made me climb the shelf most days to grab all of the bottles that fell over (the flavor he ordered was on the top shelf too) so I could try to scrounge together everything he ordered. Probably more later lmao

[chrisevansdaughter]

hey, if you’re still taking requests, could you possibly do something where chris and his daughter are in a very public place, and she’s getting very overwhelmed/anxious, but they can’t leave or find anywhere quieter so he has to find ways to calm her down? if not it’s completely fine :)

She’s always safe in my arms

————————————————————

This is a request so thank you for this it was joy to write I hope you like it

————————-

Summary: Y/n is out with her dad in LA and gets extremely overwhelmed due to anxiety and social anxiety but Chris bring the best dad knows even how to comfort even when they can’t do it in a quieter environment.

——————————

Warnings of anxiety, panic attacks, sensory overload of some sort, Chris bring the best!dad

——————-

Paring: Chris Evans x Teen Daughter! Reader

——————————

Social anxiety and just anxiety in general was something you’d known like the back of your hand for as long as you could remember, Chris did almost blame it on himself because he had it too but it was just how it was.

It’d had started as a normal day out running errands with your dad, since every chance you had it was time to spend with the person who is your literal rock

————-

Chris loved to spend time with you even if it was doing the most mundane things like grocery shopping and going to petco for dodger but it was the little things, as the day progressed he’d started to notice your mood shift and see you’d look more paranoid, uncomfortable and just generally on edge. Anxiety was something that wasn’t a ‘stupid thing to have’ in this family it was okay to say that you were uncomfortable and anxious or overwhelmed and Chris made it paramount that you had that safe gateway of communication with him and with your emotions.

——————

“Sweetheart, are you feeling anxious?” He asked knowing that yes and no questions right now matter if you didn’t want to verbally reply.

You looked over with glazed over eyes, tears lined eyes, he just knew that just by how you looked he got his answer to the question loud and clear.

In the current place you were in it wasn’t ideal to comfort you but he worked with it for the sake that leaving it any longer would do more bad than good.

Finding a quieter corner of the store all your dad did was pull you in to a bear hug knowing his scent and the security that his hugs gave helped.

“Y/n———sweetheart can —-hear me?” Snapping you out of your catatonic like state, you nodded your head against his chest to let him know you were there.

“Can you tell me 5 things you can see” he asked reassuring her knowing her therapy method worked

“Yo—ur che-st, the ca-rt,you, ice cream and you’re arms.” Y/n replied with shakiness eveident in her voice

“Okay sweetheart your doing so well, it’s okay, you’re safe-Chris praised you for getting though your panic attack continuing with the method that worked wonders.

—————

After about 5 minutes of doing that exercise and you listening to his heartbeat still in the secure place in you’re dads arms; you had felt miles better than you did when you walked into the store knowing how crowded it was because it was the weekend, that being said Chris made the decision to finish up and go home so you could relax in an environment you were completely calm in.

————————-

The day finished with classic dodger cuddles, Disney movies and massive cuddles from your rock.

“I love you dad so much” y/n said as she drifted off to sleep

“I love you so much sweetheart, I’m always here” he replied planting a kiss on your forehead

That was the last thing you heard before you fulled succumbed to dreamland other than dodger sneezing in disagreement that he didn’t get an ‘I love you’

“We love you too dodge” you said sleepily which made your dad chuckle in delight for how much love you had for him <3

—————

I hope you guys enjoy this, it was a joy to write and make this ask come to life ❤️ the fluff 🤗

[kazosa]

Wildwood Prequel: the Meeting

Summary: In the summer of 1995, you went to Texas and in a chance encounter, you met the boy who would become your lifelong friend and penpal.

Pairing: Female reader x Jensen Ackles

Word count: 6k

Warnings: none other than crippling embarrassment

A/N: please remember this is only fiction and not intended to be disrespectful to any real life people.

Banner credit: @coffee-obsessed-writer

Editor credit: @coffee-obsessed-writer

In the summer of 1995 you were 16 and going on a work vacation with your parents. It wasn’t your ideal choice, but you had two options. One was to stay with your grandmother who had never shown any interest in you because you were not your older brother. Also, the idea of having to sleep on your passed away grandfather’s old bed was absolutely not an option. The other option you had was squeezing into the extended cab truck “backseat” while your dad delivered a piece of bakery equipment to a grocery store in Dallas, Texas. It would take at least a full day to drive from your hometown to Texas, crammed in the extended cab, but you went anyway knowing that if you didn’t, you wouldn’t get a vacation that summer.

It ended up taking a day and a half to get there because your dad didn’t want to take the equipment on the interstate. By the time you reached Dallas it was so incredibly hot. It was hot in your hometown, but not like it was in Dallas. You felt bad for your dad being outside in the heat to help the store workers unload the machine. Sweat flowed freely… When the work was complete, you got lunch before heading out to find South Fork Ranch. The show Dallas had ended, but your mother loved the show and wanted to see the house that was used for the exterior shot of the ranch.

Your parents decided to stay in Texas a little while and had booked a suite at one of the fancier hotels nearby.

“Please tell me it has a pool,” you said.

“Of course it has a pool,” your mom answered.

“Heard that one before Debra,” you chided. 

“You won’t let that go, will you?”

“No ma’am!”

She already gave you the okay to look around and go swim before you left the room. You’d gotten explicit instructions not to leave the hotel, not that you would have any idea of where to go in a city you’d never been in. When you were changed, you wrapped your towel around your waist and loaded your fanny pack with sunscreen (Mom made you take it), walkman, sunglasses, $5, and of course, the room key.

You’d spotted the pool on the way in and were fumbling with the fanny pack for your sunglasses when it happened. You hadn’t even seen him before you walked right into a wall with legs. Your momentum sent you tumbling to the floor and your fanny pack contents, too.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered to yourself. You fell on your bad knee and yanked your towel loose. Even though you had on your swimsuit, you felt horribly exposed. Snatching your towel first, you flung it over your shoulders while crouched on all fours. Meanwhile a tall, pretty-boy stood staring at you in a daze. When you glared at him, it seemed to snap him back from wherever his mind had gone.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, helping you stand, “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

He went to grab your things that had gone flying across the floor. He hurried back to hand them to you.

“Fanny pack, huh?” he said with a grin.

“I’m not the purse type,” you didn’t even like the word purse. You were looking over your walkman to make sure it wasn’t broken. You saw something on the floor he’d missed and were going to grab it, but that was when you discovered your flip-flop was trashed.

“Shit.” You stumbled again and the guy grabbed your arm to steady you. When he saw what you were looking at, he stepped away to get it for you.

“You here on vacation?” he asked shyly.

You were pretty sure that was obvious but you’d noticed Texans couldn’t help but small talk.

“Yeah, I’m here with my parents. They’re finally letting me do stuff by myself,” you said. “Are you here with someone?”

“Ah yeah. My parents, too. I was supposed to be somewhere else but I missed the bus and they made me come with them.” He looked down at your broken flip-flop. “Are you going to be here a while? Maybe I can take you to get new ones, or we can go do something? My brother and sister are with my grandparents and I don’t want to be stuck with my parents all week…” he trailed off, realizing he was babbling.

“Are you from here? Do you drive?” you were curious. Hanging out with someone while on vacation would be more fun than being by yourself or doing tons of stuff with your parents.

“I’m from Texas, but I don’t live in the city. I’m about an hour away. I do drive. Might be able to take you somewhere for new flip-flops…”

“Um… I don’t know about that. I can’t leave the hotel but… we can definitely hang out. I’m heading to the pool now if you want to come.”

You were feeling nervous even talking to a boy, but you could tell he was a little nervous too, and that helped. It was weird for you to even be so bold. Normally new people were hard for you to get to know and open up to, but you figured, what the hell. You would go home in a few days and you might not ever see the pretty-boy again. It was a very freeing situation.

“Yeah, I just gotta go change. Don’t leave, okay?” he said with a smile.

You were going to the pool whether he came back or not.

“Hey, what’s your name?” he had already turned to leave but came back.

“(Y/N),” you answered. “What’s yours?”

“Jensen,” he said quickly and turned to leave.

“Jensen?”

“Yep. Back in a bit.” He left your view.

After swimming for a while, you got out of the water and bought yourself a soda and candy before going back to your lounge chair. In the Texas heat, you were already almost dry except for your hair. You put on some sunscreen and positioned your chair to be in the shade. The year before, you’d gone to Disneyworld for a band trip and had gone to Coco Beach and got a bad sunburn. That experience was still fresh in your mind and you didn’t want to repeat it. When you were doing your best to get your back you heard someone talking.

“Need help with that?” the voice said.

You almost didn’t turn because you expected to find some creep staring at you. Thankfully it was Jensen and… he looked really cute in his swim shorts and T-Shirt. Throwing away all inhibition, you said, “Do you mind?” and held out the sunscreen to him.

He put his things down on the lounge chair next to hers and took the bottle. Yes, he’d asked, but he’d thought she wouldn’t say yes to his offer. Having to put his money where his mouth is, he put lotion in his hand and began to apply it to her smooth skin.

“Make sure you get the middle, I couldn’t reach,” you told him.

He made a sound and you felt his hand spread the lotion where you told him. “What about you? You need help or are you going to wear the shirt?” You turned to look at him. He already looked like the heat was getting to him. “Some people swim in shirts…”

“Us Texas boys can take it,” he said. He was staring and forced himself to look away.

“You sure? It’s no big deal. Wouldn’t be good to get a sunburn, pretty boy,” you teased and took the lotion from him and applied a thin layer to your face.

“Nope. You ready?” he asked, pulling off his shirt and standing.

“Yeah,” you stood up. “What do you—”

Jensen grabbed you to him and jumped in the water with you, sunglasses and all. You weren’t even mad and your sunglasses stayed on.

“Refreshing!” he said with a grin after you both popped up out of the water.

You couldn’t help but laugh. You might have done the same thing to him, eventually.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you could barely believe your own ears. If you weren’t in Texas, and your own home so far away, there was no chance you would never have been so free. “So how old are you?” you asked with only your head out of the water.

“17 on March 1st,” he answered. “How old are you?”

“16 last month. Junior or Senior?”

“Senior.”

“Junior. College?”

He shook his head. “Probably not.”

“How come?”

Jensen shrugged. “It’s not for me. I could go. My parents want me to, but…”

“My parents want me to, also. I want to have a good job and make money, but college sounds scary to me. But my brother flaked out and if I go, I would be the first in my family.”

“What would you study?” he asked. You only shrugged. “I want to act.”

“Seriously?” He nodded. “What are you going for? TV? Movies?”

“If I graduate, my parents and I talked about it, I’ll give it a solid year of trying to get anything. Movies would be cool, but TV is steady and you can still do movies.”

“Huh. Cool. I hope it works out for you,” you told him.

He shrugged, “We’ll see. I hope I’m good enough.”

“You’ll get your foot in the door, if not for talent, you sure are pretty enough,” you laughed, but were serious, too.

“Stop it…”

“No. You are. Every pretty teen girl’s dream,” you laughed, still teasing. 

“Does that mean I’m your type?” Jensen asked.

You laughed. “God no. You’re too pretty and way out of my league. Guys like you are only ever friends with someone like me.” The idea of someone like Jensen being interested in you was utterly ridiculous.

“You might be surprised. Just, don’t shoot him down too hard, be open to it when he asks,” he said.

“Yeah, right. I’ll be single forever,” you lamented. “Do you know how many times I’ve been mistaken for a boy?!”

“It doesn’t matter, you’ll be someone’s Nova,” he smiled.

*GASP* “Jensen! You’re a nerd!”

“Shhhh, don’t tell anyone. You’ll blow my pretty-boy image.”

A volleyball landed with a splash nearby as if to save you both from more awkward conversation. Jensen grabbed the ball and looked towards where the net was set up and picked out the guy waving at him to throw it back. Jensen drew back his arm and you watched as the ball sailed across the pool and landed with a splash next to the man.

“Hey, y’all wanna play with us?” the man called. “We need two more.”

Jensen looked at you, now standing, asking with his eyes.

“Sure, what the hell,” you answered. “Been a while since I played last.”

He watched as she made her way over to the other players and wondered how anyone would ever mistake her for a boy.

You had no idea how much time had passed. You and Jensen played several games of volleyball with the other group and you noticed he was really good. You worked well together and could anticipate each other’s moves. Playing on land was hard enough, but was much harder in water. Jensen noticed you were getting tired and pulled you both out of the game and suggested you go back to the lounge chairs.

“Oh my God,” you took a few drinks of your now hot soda. “I haven’t done that in a long time.”

“You were pretty good,” he noted.

“I played in middle school, but not in water,” you were winded. “Do you play sports or are you just good at everything?”

Jensen just shrugged. He was looking in your fanny-pack and pulled out your walkman.

“Nice,” he said, “got a cassette in here?”

You nodded. “Led Zeppelin.”

“Good choice,” he approved. “Favorite song?”

“Kashmir,” you answered. Jensen nodded. “What’s yours?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to find out. Haven’t really given them a good listen…”

You smirked. “Country?”

“Yeah,” he drew out the word. “Kinda obvious, huh?”

“I can talk country, a little. Not my preference. My mom likes it, so by default, I know stuff.”

“I like a lot of different stuff, just haven’t sat down and really listened. Who’s your country groups?”

“The Judds, Reba, Garth, George.”

“Jones or Strait?”

“Strait.”

He made a fist pump.

“Anyone else?”

“Alan Jackson and Sawyer Brown.”

“Okay. You’re cool. I thought we’d have to boot you out of Texas if you didn’t like a little country.”

You pulled out the headphones and detached the broken one and handed it to him. “We can listen together.”

The two of you sat close together, listening to your tape and talking quietly through one side and most of the other side before a shadow fell over you. Someone had stopped and stood over you both. You flicked your eyes to the side and you would have known those Reeboks anywhere. Jensen had already put down your broken earphone and was tapping your knee.

You took a deep breath and hung your head with a sigh.

“I gotta go. That’s my dad,” you were gathering your things.

“(Y/N),” your dad’s voice, coming very abruptly, forced you to give him your attention. “You were supposed to be back by six.”

You had stuffed your things quickly into your fanny pack and faced your dad. “You guys didn’t tell me that and there’s no clocks out here to check the time. I’m ready.”

Jensen had popped up quickly to defend you. “I’m sorry, sir, it’s my fault. She was just keeping me company.”

Your dad trained his piercing blue eyes to Jensen, pointing a finger at him. “You’d better stay out of this, kid.”

“Dad, stop! We were just hanging out together,” you pleaded.

“Get moving, you need to get showered so we can go eat.” You could clearly hear his irritation but you weren’t 100% sure you were the problem.

You and your dad were a few steps away when you remembered you had a pen in your fanny pack.

“I just need one second,” you darted away from your dad before he could stop you and back to a bewildered Jensen. “I’m sorry about him,” you grabbed his arm and scribbled your name, room number and a star on his hand. “It was fun today, maybe we can hang out tomorrow.” You wrote as you talked. “If I live that long. See ya.”

He watched her dash back to her scary as shit dad. He could tell that they were talking and he wondered if it was about him. When they disappeared from view, he looked down at his hand. ‘734 Nova *’ and smiled.

“There you are! Where have you been?” his mom asked when he got back to the room.

“The pool,” he answered and checked his face in the mirror. Pink, but not too bad, he thought.

“All day?”

“I met a girl,” he said.

“Of course you did,” his dad said, “they just find you.”

“Yeah, kinda. She ran into me, broke her sandal and her things went everywhere. We kinda hit it off.”

“What’s this?” his mom took his hand.

“Her room number,” he could feel the heat rising in his face and it wasn’t from the sunburn.

“Jensen! Did you even meet her parents?” his mom asked.

“Met her very intimidating dad.”

“Oh man…”

“I owe her some new flip flops at least. You guys going out?” Jensen asked.

“Yeah, to the place we like in the city. You can order room service but don’t go crazy.”

“I know the drill.”

You stood in the waiting area with your parents while they sat until your table was ready. Normally, you weren’t a dress up fancy kind of gal, but you didn’t care that night. You’d made a new friend and you really liked him. You were reliving every moment, gently swinging your hips to sway the skirt you only ever wore for special occasions. You were looking at the decorations on the wall when an attractive couple, about the same age as your parents, walked in and the man went to the hostess stand.

“Name please,” the hostess asked.

“Ackles for 7:30,” he responded.

“Ah yes, welcome Mr. Ackles. It will be ready soon. I’m sorry for the delay.”

“It’s okay, we’re a little early.”

A seed of panic sprang up. They couldn’t be Jensen’s parents, right? You looked at the woman and you knew she had to be Donna, his mom. But where was Jensen? Once again, you stepped out of our protective bubble of silence.

“Excuse me,” you ventured. “This is going to sound so strange, are you Jensen’s mom and dad?”

It was almost comical the way they looked at you and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was your clothes or hair that were making them look at you like that.

“Yes, we are.” They still seemed bewildered. Donna spoke up. “Oh my gosh, you must be (Y/N)?”

“Yes,” you answered. “I know I’m not what anyone expected this weekend.” You caught a glimpse of your parents staring at you in shock. “I just wanted to say hi and let you know Jensen saved me from a boring day alone.”

“Mind if we say hello to your parents, kiddo?” the man you knew must be Alan asked.

Oh my god no! What have I done!? Your brain screamed. Before you even realized what was happening, you found yourself introducing your parents to your new friend’s parents. The next thing you knew, you were all sitting at the same table and having the most awkward meal in the existence of humankind. It was awkward for you, anyway. The adults all seemed to be getting along fairly well like you and Jensen had. Then your dad… my lord… your dad…

“Jensen is the name of a repair shop where we’re from,” came spilling from your father’s mouth.

If there were one trait you inherited from him, it was the utter oblivion you experienced when saying anything so awkward or embarrassing. But a trait you got from your mother was to always immediately recognize when it happened. Your father was not so blessed. You and your mom were embarrassed enough for him.

“Honestly, we thought we were having a girl and didn’t have a boy name picked. So we made Jennifer to Jensen,” Donna explained with a giggle. She patted your knee under the table and gave you a quick smile.

The food was long gone and you were on your third soda and yawning at the table before the adults decided to call it a night.

“If you and Alan ever get up our way, you should visit,” your mom said to Donna.

“We’ll have to exchange info before you head back,” Donna responded. “I’m sure the kids will do it for us.” Donna turned her attention to you. “Do you and Jensen have plans tomorrow?”

Your eyes flashed to your dad then back to Donna. “Um… well, not exactly. I had to leave before we could talk about it. Is there anything at the hotel we could do?”

“You know, I don’t know, but I’m sure you two will find something. I‘ll have him call you,” she said.

The next morning, you found yourself outside the arcade with a sunburnt Jensen. He called your room that morning and asked you to meet up by the arcade. As soon as you saw him, you laughed.

“C’mon,” you pulled his arm, “I saw a little store by the pool. I’m sure they have something for that burn.”

You walked away from the tiny store with new sandals and a little bottle of aloe. You made him stop walking and took out the aloe holding it out to him.

“Here, put some on your face,” you told him. “Just humor me, Jay.” You tried out the nickname.

It was painful to look at him trying to get the “hot spots”. You could only imagine how it felt for him.

“Alright, stop,” you said. “Put a little in my hand.”

Grudgingly, he did as you asked. He was compliant as you gently put aloe on the bridge of his nose, forehead, cheeks and tops of his ears. You were focused on applying the aloe when you made eye contact. His green eyes held yours for a moment before you had to break away. The flood of emotions that filled you were exhilarating and scary, and overwhelming. The confusing rush was handily tucked away to be dealt with, maybe never. You might never see him again and didn’t want to develop a crush.

“You okay?” he asked.

You started walking towards the arcade again.

“We’re going home tomorrow,” you said.

“Already?”

You nodded. It was going way too fast. “I guess it’s true that time flies when you’re having fun.” You let a few moments pass and went back and forth on whether or not to even ask. Jensen grabbed a token cup and was feeding bills into the token machine. “You wanna be pen pals?”

Jensen laughed. “Pen pals? Really?”

“Yeah, I know it’s stupid. Forget I said it.” You took a few steps into the arcade.

“No wait, hold on,” he said, catching up to you. “I was just surprised. I was thinking of how we could stay in touch, but calling would cost a lot…”

“So? Yes?” you asked.

“Yeah. Let’s do it. Maybe we can meet up again sometime,” he said casually. “Got a pen and paper in that fanny pack?”

It was a relief to hear him say it. Maybe it was just your own nerdy self showing, but the idea of having a friend who lived far away and writing to them was exciting. And it was always a plus to get mail. You pulled out your little notepad and pen, quickly writing out your full name and address, then Jensen did his, and tore out the slip with your info and put it in his shorts pocket.

“Let’s go play some games,” he smiled, taking your hand and walking with you into the arcade.

You told yourself it was no big deal that he was holding your hand and everything was perfectly normal. You made yourself believe that friends do that and shoved down any thought that wanted you to believe otherwise. He wasn’t even your type. He was the popular kid, too good looking, too good at everything…

Jensen put the token bucket down on the divider between two skeeball machines.

“Good with this?” he asked. You nodded, still shoving down the definitely friendly hand holding feelings. “Ever play?”

“Yeah, once or twice,” you said, fully knowing you played it every time you found it at an arcade. “Are we going to put a bet on this?”

“I like how you think. Best two of three? I win, you throw away the fanny pack,” he said.

“How dare you,” you feigned outrage. “Well, if I win, you have to take pictures with me in the photo booth.”

Jensen held out his hand, “Deal.”

You took his hand and shook it.

“I’m gonna smoke you,” he said.

“Okay,” you said sarcastically. “Don’t let me win.”

“I don’t plan on it,” he grabbed two tokens and put them in the machine change slot. “That fanny pack has to go.”

“Oh, so it's on, huh?”

Jensen pushed the slide in, releasing the skeeballs. 

“Like Donkey Kong.”

You stood quietly reading the instructions on the photo booth while Jensen leaned against the booth wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You hustled me,” he grumbled.

You shrugged with a small smile. “Maybe a little,” you admitted. “Are you more mad that you have to do the photo booth with me, or that I don’t have to get rid of my fanny pack?”

“Oh, bit of both, I think. That fanny pack is ridiculous.”

“My fanny pack is awesome. You’re just jealous you don’t have one.”

“No, that’s not it,” he said. The truth was he didn’t hate it. He actually kind of liked the way it bounced off her butt when she walked. The last thing he needed, or wanted, was to fall for someone he might never see again… but he wanted to see her again… he hoped he would. “Let’s get this over with.” I don’t want it to end, he thought.

The booth was smaller than either of them thought. He got in first and there was no space on the seat for (Y/N) too.

“Uh-oh,” she said.

“What?” he asked. “C’mon,” he patted his thighs, “Let’s do this.”

“I’ll crush you.”

“Then I’ll die happy, get in here before I change my mind.”

She stood between his knees then gently sat on his leg, her arms around his shoulders. His arms wrapped around her to help hold her steady. 

“What now?” he was almost whispering.

“Oh,” she shifted her body into his to get the cash out of her back pocket. He had to think about anything else or he might have to explain himself to her. Anything else… Finally she got it and put the money in. “You ready?”

Snapping out of the heady aura of her just in time for the first flash of the camera. He could barely focus on what was happening. Thankfully he knew how to make his expressions change quickly to match hers. Before the last picture snapped, he caught her eyes and he knew he would never forget that look. She was happy and it was because of him. When she cupped his jaw, he thought she might kiss him, but only their foreheads touched for the last picture. She breathed out a heavy sigh through her nose before leaving him sitting there by himself for a moment, for which he was grateful.

When Jensen stepped out of the booth, the pictures finally dropped and you pulled them out to check them over. You only got a glimpse of them before he snatched them out of your fingers, tore the photo strip in half and handed the top half back to you.

“Hey, don’t I get to look, too?” you asked, trying to get the other half of the pictures back from Jensen.

“Ah, no, these are mine. I didn’t look at the other ones,” he said. “You want to go grab some food?”

You gave him a look. “Okay, weirdo. Yeah, I could eat.”

Forgetting about the pictures, he took your hand and walked with you to the small restaurant inside the hotel. Your parents still had you under strict rules not to leave the hotel grounds, even though they had become friends with Jensen’s parents. You had a nice lunch of club sandwiches, chips and sodas. He told you he found out that there was a mini-golf course somewhere on the property and he wanted to try it out.

“I love mini-golf,” you said.

He stopped walking to look at you. “Like, how much?”

“You wanna put a bet on it?” you teased.

He gave you a side-long glance, briefly considering the skeeball outcome. “No bet.”

You only laughed, you already felt like you won just spending time with him. Despite trying your hardest on the mini-golf course, you lost miserably and Jensen wasn’t even trying to be a good winner.

“Man, I should have put a bet on this,” he said when he calmed down a little.

“Yeah, you should have,” you agreed. “I said I loved mini-golf, not that I was good at it. You could have forced me to throw away my super sweet fanny pack.” You turned so he could see it resting on its namesake.

He tipped his head to the side to look at the “fanny” pack. It had very few redeeming qualities. However, it was only plain white and sat so perfectly in place.

“It’s not that bad,” he quickly said when he realized he was staring. 

“So, you just don’t like it because it sits on my butt?” you wiggled your hips making it shake. “Can’t get a good look?”

Jensen hoped his sunburn hid the blush he was feeling wash over his face. Slowly he started walking and (Y/N) walked with him.

“Do you always blurt out what you’re thinking?”

“Nope. Almost never. You’re just lucky and getting me in full force,” you said, but hoped you hadn’t crossed a line.

“Huh, not sure if lucky is the word.” His tone only half-hearted.

“(Y/N),” your dad barked, making both you and Jensen stop in your tracks. “Time to say goodbye to your friend. We’re going out to dinner.” His steely blue gaze locked on Jensen. If the situation were different, you might have laughed at how wide-eyed Jensen was. Your dad’s otherwise dark features highlighted his bright blue eyes and could be down right scary when he wanted to be. Apparently he wanted to scare the shit out of Jensen. “Your folks are looking for you.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Jensen sputtered.

“Dad, we didn’t do anything wrong,” you said quietly.

Jensen and his parents were in a different part of the hotel. You looked back to see him still standing there and gave him a wave. Turning back to catch up to your dad’s long strides, you swung the fanny pack to the front, just for Jensen.

Back in your room, your parents informed you that they were going out and that you needed to stay in your room and not leave. They hadn’t liked you spending the whole day with Jensen because you hadn’t checked in with them once, even though you’d never left hotel property.

“Seems a little unfair,” you could be a little more open with your mom. 

“Well, be that as it may, you’re staying here. You can order food to the room, but don’t over do it, and please stay here. Don’t let anyone in this room and no phone calls outside the hotel,” your mom gave you your instructions for the night with a knowing look.

You bit back a little smile. “You look nice and I like your perfume.”

“Thank you, honey,” she said. “We’re gonna go now.”

Your dad had stuck his head into your room.

“Did you give her the good word?” he asked.

Mom gave him an exasperated look. “Yes, I did, that’s why I’m in here.”

But he couldn’t just let it lie. “You stay in this room. No boys.”

“Alright, that’s enough. Let’s go,” your mom tried to usher him out.

Finally your dad took the hint and was satisfied that he got his two cents in, too, and they left you to your lonely devices. The clock read 6:30 and you wondered if Jensen was suffering the same fate. The room service menu had decent looking food and you didn’t know what to get. You flipped on the TV for some background noise. It was too quiet and it was kicking your anxiety into action. The channel card was under the remote and saw that HBO was provided by the hotel.

“Nice,” you muttered and punched in the channel number on the remote. When the channel changed, the credits for another movie started playing. “Chicken tenders and fries, please,” you repeated to yourself as you reached for the phone. Somehow, you managed to place your order without sounding too stupid and your food would be on the way shortly. You thought about calling Jensen’s room, when your phone rang, scaring the hell out of you. Immediately, you snatched up the receiver, almost dropping it at the same time.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Hey.”

Your stomach did a little flutter. “Hey.”

“Did you get in trouble?”

“Not exactly. I think my dad didn’t like me spending so much time with you and this is his punishment. I have to stay in my room and you can’t come over.”

“Kind of ironic. I think my mom and dad are going out with yours.”

“Maybe that’s our punishment,” you mused. “Are you stuck, too?”

“Yeah, but we have HBO. Wanna watch a movie?”

“What? Together? And hang out on the phone?”

“Yeah,” he answered simply.

“I’m already on HBO. I ordered food, too.”

“Sounds like we have a plan. What’s on next, did it say?”

“My Cousin Vinny.”

Jensen and you had already seen the movie so you didn’t miss much when you both talked through the whole movie and ate your dinners. Even when the movie was over you were still chatting.

“Jay, you’re gonna write to me, right?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he sounded tired. “Just write back.”

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise,” you smiled. You heard your parents come in on their side of the joint hotel door. “I think my parents just got back.”

“I better let you go then. Hey, will I see you tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, but I bet my dad will want to leave early.”

“Like how early?”

“Eight or nine. It’s a long drive back home. I’m… not good at goodbyes. I don’t want to cry in front of you.”

There was a long pause where neither of you spoke. You didn’t want to cry on the phone with him either. Jensen just tried to make sense of it all.

You broke the silence first. “I just want to thank you for being with me this weekend. It almost felt like I had a boyfriend and I had a really nice time hanging out with you. So, thanks and goodnight cuz I don’t want to say goodbye.”

“Goodnight, Nova.”

Even though you had no idea when you would be leaving, and you had told Jensen as much, you still looked around the lobby hoping you might see him just one more time. Your mom finished checking out at the front desk and stopped you from pacing to go outside to wait for the truck.

“You really like him, don’t you?” she said while you both waited for your dad to bring the truck around.

You nodded, but didn’t look at her.

“Maybe you could write to him. Did you get his address?”

You nodded.

“I like Alan and Donna. We talked about visiting again. Maybe they can visit some time and all of the kids can come up,” she posited.

You only nodded. Jensen would be a senior that year and he already said when he was done with school, he was going to California to try and to get into acting. If the Ackles’ family visited next summer, you knew Jensen wouldn’t be there and you wouldn’t ask him to give up his dream. It would be at least two years before you saw him again, if ever, you were sure of that. You would have to be out of high school, at the very least, before you could go anywhere.

Your dad seemed to be in a hurry to go and had thrown your things into the truck even though it was barely eight a.m. You climbed in and pulled the front seat into place, letting your mom know she could get in. You sat sideways on the tiny seat, with your pillow for back cushion, and your legs stretched out to the other side. Finding your fanny pack, you pulled out the little notepad that held Jensen’s address and checked to make sure it was still there. Satisfied it was safe, you put it back in the fanny pack and pulled out the photostrip from the day before.

He wasn’t someone you typically found attractive. Light hair. Very pretty. Very preppy and popular. So good at everything, except skeeball. Too perfect. You would miss him though. His face in one picture was too funny. He was making such a crazy face and you were laughing at him.

For all of the things that weren’t your type, there were other things about him that were very appealing to you. His humor. His kindness. His immediate acceptance of you. He never made you feel like you were less than him in any way. In fact, he made you feel great and like no one existed but you. Jensen could have looked at any of the other girls at the hotel, but he didn’t.

Maybe you wouldn’t see him again, or maybe you would, but you would at least have that weekend with him.