#maybe just organize the bookshelf

[mcnuggyy]

vent oopsie <3

been crazy depressed lately and haven’t been able to do much asides from sit on the living room couch, clean some dishes, and wallow as I draw a single line on a commission before taking a 2 hour nap every day… I feel so overwhelmed and under motivated and I don’t know what to do or how to help myself… I can’t clean or cook or draw or read or walk or play games… I just sit and sleep and sit ugh

i don’t know how to get back into my old routine or start fresh or give that first push towards at least cleaning one corner of the living room. Erghhh

I feel like a failure and I have so many things I want to do but all I can think about is how helpless and broke I feel lmao

also hate my art lots and lots teehee <3

[they-didnt-last]

anyone interested in talking about the iconic 2000's middle-grade-bordering-on-ya book series gallagher girls??

[theamazingannie]

Fun thing about cleaning my room is I’ll find something I was using like a week ago buried deep under my bed in a pile of old receipts and candy wrappers and then also find something I haven’t seen in MONTHS like right there sitting exposed on the floor

[yohankang]

i counted all my mangas and besties i have a problem

[illdothehotvoice]

You ever do the thing you've been putting off and then youre mad at yourself for putting it off cause it took like 2 hours at most???

[kiirschtein-archive]

⋆ 「 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐢’𝐬 (𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞) 𝐦𝐨𝐦. 」 ⋆

feat. — toji fushiguro x f!reader, kid!megumi

word count. — 1.4k

content. — sfw, non-sorcerer au, established relationship (marriage), mostly just fluffy domestic stuff, reader is addressed as ‘mom/mama/mommy,’ toji’s kind of a bad parent but he’s working on it, brief mention of toji smoking (cigarettes), overprotective!toji, very minor suggestive themes (from toji 🙄 he’s a walking cw/tw)

notes. — idk. this has been incessantly on my brain pretty much from the moment i  woke up today, even to the point where i was writing half of this at  the laundromat lmao. mother’s day yesterday had me feeling some type of way, so here have some fun headcanons from a strange eldest daughter!!!! (i might end up doing a set of these for gojo x reader too 🤔)

⋆ 「 — he’s not your biological son, but you’ve been around since you started seeing toji when megumi was still a baby. but now, a few years later, you might as well be his real mother. you certainly act like it and feel like it, so toji gladly initiates the conversation about official adoption. it just makes sense. you eventually explain the situation to megumi as best as you can simply so that he doesn't grow up thinking he was lied to or anything of the sort, but as far as he's concerned, you're his mom whether it's by blood or not.

⋆ 「 — and oh, megumi’s a mama’s boy. i imagine he’s just a little bit of a healthier kid vs. canon given the better family situation, but he’s still always a bit of a grumpy baby, appreciating his autonomy and trying to be as self-sufficient and mature as he can be. but he’ll most certainly run to you when he needs help, is truly hurt, or just needing a bit of comfort. you’ve always treated him so softly and kindly with understanding, so he honestly feels more comfortable coming to you most of the time instead of his dad.

⋆ 「 — he likes the way you organize the bookshelf in his room or fold and sort his clothes in special little ways. he gets upset any time toji tries to put a book back in the wrong place or can’t figure out where his damn socks are. gumi will scowl and say, “that’s not where it goes.” or go deadpan and be like, “mom always keeps the socks in the bottom drawer.” disappointed that his father can’t even remember. toji just grumbles and says, “your mama’s gonna ruin you.”

⋆ 「 — has called you 'mom' basically since he was old enough, but don't let him fool you. megumi will drop the big boy act and come out with 'mama' or 'mommy' when something's wrong or he's really excited. he'll come to you with quiet tears and sniffles, a little ashamed that he's crying, but present to you a scraped elbow, "mama... it hurts." you clean up the scrape and explain to him the little medical details in a somewhat understandable way to help him focus on something besides the pain, and you tell him that it'll be okay, and that it's alright to cry. or on the flip-side, you and toji take him to the zoo, little gumi on his dad's shoulders, and he gasps and points excitedly, "look, mommy! look at the big elephant!" and it feels incredible to see him be so spirited.

⋆ 「 — along the lines of the art from this post and the thought i had about it earlier, just imagine that you're at some event (maybe like a birthday party or something), and toji's been hauling megumi around. they're both so over it at this point and are like 'please get me out of this' so as soon as toji walks past the obnoxious inflatable bouncy house, he smirks and just YEETS that kid inside without a second thought. after regaining his breath, megumi just looks at his father with the most EVIL little scowl as other kids bounce around him with smiles. by the look on that child's face you could've swore that his father had just done him the ultimate betrayal.

so gumi slides out and hurriedly makes his way over to where you're sitting off to the side, quietly climbing into your lap for a little bit of solace. he wiggles in close to your chest and you tuck him under your chin with a ‘come here, sweetpea,’ rocking slowly and humming something soft because he always seems to like it when you do.

toji comes over and you look at him through narrowed eyes. "kids are supposed to like shit like that," he says.

"you know he likes when things are more quiet," you respond, and toji rolls his eyes at how you seemingly spoil your son.

"just thought it might be good for him to try and get along with the other brats." toji tries to cover up the fact that he tossed his kid for the sheer personal enjoyment of it.

you huff in disbelief. "oh, like you get along so well with everyone?"

he scoffs and moves in behind you, leaning down to place a kiss on your neck. "i get along with you," he says almost suggestively.

you just keep stroking megumi's hair and give the top of his head a gentle kiss. "yeah, well not today," you say, shooting a smug, resolute smile towards your husband, ultimately taking his son's side.

⋆ 「 — outside of his alone time, megumi would honestly much rather be with you instead of other children. toji thinks it's probably unhealthy and you're inclined to agree, but you also don't want to force megumi into situations that will just make him miserable. so, when appropriate, you don't mind at all pacing around with him in your arms or have him walk next to you (maybe holding your hand if he’s not in a ‘big boy’ mood), teaching him about the things you see in the woods, the park, or even the museum. when toji's not away working, he'll join too because it admittedly makes his heart feel soft to watch you two together. it always has, because you've been doing this with megumi since he was a baby. it never gets old. if it wasn't already so difficult trying to figure out how to do things right by his son, he'd want you to give him even more babies.

⋆ 「 — megumi likes doing things with his dad sometimes too, though. toji tries his best to do it right and watch both his mouth and his temper. you like seeing them getting along, even if it's just quietly watching tv or a movie (probably a cartoon where toji gets kind of into and will ask the occasional question like "why does that one stupid chick keep doing that?" and megumi just shrugs like, "i dunno. she is pretty dumb.") or playing ball outside because gumi's starting to show some athleticism. but you have to remind toji that he can't always be so rough or competitive with games because megumi is literally a child.

⋆ 「 — toji can also be way too overprotective of you two at times. you'll be out and about and he'll just be wearing such an intimidating expression as he walks behind you both, on the lookout for anyone who might want to cause trouble or take the wrong sort of glance at his wife. he'll even snap at people for walking too close or like cutting in line or something petty, and you have to tell him stop acting like an attack dog and looking like the grim reaper because dear god you're literally just having lunch at the park. even at his age, megumi's just eating his ice cream and looking at his dad with his little baby deadpan expression and thinking "this man really needs to take a chill pill." other times he can be more relaxed, however, obviously confident in his ability to protect you. it depends on his mood. but that still doesn’t stop him from being embarrassing and going off on people in public if something happens.

⋆ 「 — you also know all of gumi’s favorite meals and snacks. it’s yet another one of those things where, if his dad does it wrong, megumi expresses a disappointment beyond his years. toji will be making and packing his son’s school lunch just as instructed by the notes you gave him, but it’s by no means as neat and meticulous as when you do it. toji’s got a cigarette hanging out of his mouth with furrowed, concentrating brows, his free hand shakily reaching for a cup of fresh coffee, and megumi’s standing there with his little backpack, criticizing his father the entire time. “mom doesn’t do it like that,” he says.

“well mom ain’t here right now. and it doesn’t matter how the sandwich is cut, is still tastes the damn same.”

gumi doesn’t even physically react, still wearing the same neutral expression, just waiting for his dad to hurry up. “mom says you shouldn’t smoke. and she also says not to use bad words.”

toji scoffs and then smirks. “well mommy uses all sorts of bad words you don’t even know about when her and daddy have play time.”

megumi’s already almost late for school and can barely feel his feet from how tight his dad tied his shoelaces. he also asks you later about “play time,” and you want to absolutely murder your husband over it.

[bookshelf-dust]

promise to take care of my heart

carmy berzatto x fem!reader

gif by @emziess

word count: 1,830

warnings: nothing? a little swearing, but this is pure fluff and that’s all

synopsis: carmy wants to cuddle with you for the first time.

a/n: hi! new character, i know. but i’ve become rather attached to carm in the past few months and i had a cute idea for him and here we are. he’s bringing me so much comfort right now and now i’m gonna share that with you <333

————

“Why don’t you pick out a movie or somethin,’ bub?” 

“If I could find your damn remote, Carm, I would.”

He lets out a breath of a laugh, eyes on his hands where they sit deep in the dishwater below. Good luck, he thinks. 

You scan the coffee table, the rug below the shabby couch. It’s not like there’s any use checking the tv stand because it’s still a fucking table tray. You know he doesn’t even own the full set of four table trays? He’s just got the one? That knowledge keeps you up at night. Just like how he doesn’t have a ceiling fan pull and has to get tweezers to change the speed.

You find the remote nestled in a stack of freshly organized books. You helped Carmen assemble a very simple bookshelf so that his stash of cookbooks wouldn’t have to live on the floor anymore. 

Just getting to help him turn his apartment into something other than a place to sleep brought you a contagious giddiness. Carmen’s chest aches with how much he’s laughed since he met you. 

Look at all my muscles, Carm. I’m practically ready for my dick now, don’t you think? 

Where’d you even get these? He’d looked down at the little allen wrench in your hand and said I don’t know, they were just here one day. 

Now you have a bookshelf, Bear. What a grown up. 

Carmen wouldn’t let you help him with the dishes after he cooked you dinner. He’d just kissed your shoulder and said, “Let me take care of it, alright?” with that little raise of his brows and quirk of his lips telling you not to argue because you’d never win. 

And when Carmen tells you to let him take care of something, well…you listen. 

You haven’t been dating very long, but it’s been enough that you’ve both developed this rhythm, this way of moving around and with each other and you just…work. 

He doesn’t understand how you can dial his shyness, his hesitance, so quickly, how you can make him feel like a human again so easily. But you do. 

You settle against the back of the couch, flipping through the tv guide (because Carm has never subscribed to any streaming services) until you find something worth listening to. It’s already a few minutes in, but you’ve seen the movie enough times that it doesn’t really matter. 

The overhead light in the kitchen switches off and Carmen pads out to the living room, socked feet dragging on the hardwoods. Your biggest pet peeve is people who don’t pick up their feet, but somehow it’s more tolerable when it’s him. 

He sits down on the edge of the couch. Just sits. On the edge. That means he wants to say something. You give him the time to psych himself up. 

Carmy chews on his thumb nail and rubs his nose before he turns to you, placing his hand on the couch. His blue eyes burn into yours, and the intensity of his gaze, trained on you, makes you feel like the most important person in the world. 

“H-hey, um…can we—could we snuggle, maybe?” He flushes at the fact that he just used the world snuggle. Richie would have his ass so quick if he’d heard him say that. 

Your grin is brilliant. You’ve never cuddled properly with Carmen before. Maybe a head on a shoulder or a leg tossed across another, but never a real cuddle session. “Fuck yeah, we can, Carm.” You giggle and the sound softens that bubble of fear in his chest. 

He bites the inside of his cheek, letting out the barest laugh. 

“How did you want t-to lay, Bear?” You blink at him. “Were you just gonna—” 

He starts to nod. “I was just gonna lay on your chest, honestly.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, that works.”

“Y-yeah.”

You snort. “Lemme’ stretch out for you and then you can be a teddy bear.” 

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” Carmen shakes his head at you. He lets you pull that shit because he likes it. Secretly.

When you have a pillow under your neck and are laid out on your back, Carm slips beside you against the back of the couch and clumsily settles on top of you. He doesn’t want to crush you or anything, so he settles between your legs, only allowing the weight of his torso to envelop you. 

One arm wraps around your back, the other cradling your hip, his curls brushing your chin. He turns his head to face the tv and lets out a satisfied sigh. 

On instinct your hand threads through his tangled hair, scratching at his scalp gently and sorting through any piece that feels knotted. 

“What is this?” Carmy asks, nodding in the direction of the screen. 

“The Wedding Planner. It has Jlo and Matthew McConaughey in it.” 

“Chick flick?”

You hum in agreeance. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t hate it. Jlo’s character is like you but if the restaurant was a wedding planning business and you were, you know, a chick.”

He laughs lightly against your stomach and you can feel the puff of air over your shirt. 

The weight of Carmen’s body on top of yours is easily the most calming feeling you’ve ever experienced. You can’t get enough of him. 

“This okay?” you ask, scratching his scalp a little more for emphasis. This is a new way of showing affection. Uncharted territory. 

“Hm?” He looks up at you briefly, blue eyes fluttering closed. “Oh yeah, feels nice. I like it.”

You grin and continue to play with his hair. He’s right. It does feel nice. It is. 

The next few minutes go by without any conversation, just silence. But it’s so comfortable. Carmen’s tired gaze is on the tv. You can feel him breathing, feel the way he scratches over your back absently. You don’t know if he’s aware he does it, but he nuzzles his nose against the soft of your stomach every now and then like it’s keeping him safe. 

“You know I thought about being a wedding planner?”

Carmy pushes up onto his elbows, looking at you with the smallest smirk playing on his lips. “Really?”

You playfully bat at his shoulder and he moves to lay back down, but not before pressing a kiss to your sternum over your shirt. “Mhm. Still think about it sometimes.” You pause, but Carm doesn’t say anything yet because he knows you aren’t finished with that thought. 

“I guess I just thought it’d be nice to help put things like that together? The organization would make me feel…complete, I guess. And you know I don’t like to help people in such an extroverted way? I like to be behind the scenes.” You laugh, a little self-deprecatingly. “Does that make sense?”

Carmen squeezes your side. “‘Course it does. And then you could come home and tell me stories about all the family drama you eavesdrop on.”

You giggle, and Carmy loves that he can feel it where he lays on your chest. He can feel your joy, and that’s fucking cool. “That I could.”

He rubs your back in small, gentle circles. “And you know, I happen to have some friends who make pretty good food and would be happy to help if you ever needed.”

“Oh, do you? Well, that’s very helpful, Mr. Berzatto. You’ll have to give me their number.”

Carmy laughs into your chest. A pure, genuine laugh. It’s such a beautiful sound, and you truly think you’d have it tattooed all over your body if that was even remotely possible. His glee makes you laugh, and then you’re both snickering like you’re teenagers doing something that’ll get you in big trouble. 

You reach for his hand, the one that’s resting on your hip now, and he lets you lift it towards your face. He bites his cheek, fighting the smile that rises when you press your warm and chapstick covered lips to his knuckles. 

“You have such pretty hands, Carmy.”

He pinches your back. “I still don’t get why you’re so fascinated by them.”

“Because they’re pretty. And, look—” You hold yours up to his. “—they’re so much bigger than mine. And I like your tattoos, obviously. I like that I know how talented you are with your hands and how capable. I’m very lucky to hold such capable hands, Bear.”

“Capable, huh?” He gives you a look, one that makes you want to both tackle him and smack him on the arm. Instead you roll your eyes and he raises up to kiss you. 

“Capable of being the world’s biggest pain in the ass.”

Carmy laughs. It’s that little chuckle, light and airy and like he can’t believe what he’s hearing but he wants to hear more anyway. He flops back down on your chest, making you let out a rather loud oomph. 

You take Carmen’s hand in yours again, rubbing over the dry patches on his knuckles, the scabs on the insides of his fingers, the scar on his palm. His whole life is written in these hands. 

You start massaging the pads of his fingers without even thinking about it. No one’s ever been that gentle with him—definitely not with his hands—and a little part of him melts at the feeling. 

You kiss the tattoo on the back of his hand and just look at his skin. You’re determined to memorize each line and freckle and fucked up cuticle he’s got. 

“At least your nails don’t look like Richie’s, Carm.”

His chest moves with the giggle that travels throughout his body. 

“Trust me, they didn’t look like that when he was still with Tiff.”

You grin, your eyes falling back on the television. Maybe Carm would be open to setting it on the bookshelf? That table tray has put in a lot of work. It deserves a break. 

Carmen can see why you’re so fond of this movie. It’s one of those that doesn’t require much thought, that has humor and feels more human than most. He knows he shouldn’t think it, but you having said what you said before makes him wonder if you’ll plan your own wedding…with him. 

Shut the fuck up, he tells himself. But maybe we’ll get there. 

You catch him smiling when they fuck up the statue in the garden and pretend not to notice. You both keep quiet now, but Carm reaches up and puts your hand back on his head.

Your fingers thread through his curls again, scratching at his scalp gently. Your other hand does the same thing to his back. You know it’s going to lull him to sleep. 

When you say it, he’s already dozed off. But you are so happy that you get to make him feel safe. That he’s comfortable enough to sleep on you like this. Lucky is an understatement. 

“Thank you for letting me in, Bear. I don’t think my life has ever been this beautiful.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[thexie-and-stars]

doing the note goal thingie because adhd parylysis

10 notes: i read on the plane home.

30 notes: i organize my pencil case and bag

50 notes: i look online and find a bed i would like

100 notes: i will organise my bed

300 notes: i will clean my whole room

500 notes: i will write three chapters of my fic to make up for the ones i missed

700 notes! I will alphabetise and organise my bookshelf and make my room nicer to me.

800 notes: I will start actually taking care of myself

2000 notes: I will try to convince my dad to let me have puberty blockers

5000 notes! I'll start a painting, and get myself out of artist block

7000 notes: i will get rid of every single sharpener i own, cut my hair into the shape i want, put more effort into maths and generally just try to feel better!

i will add more probably maybe

[vanteguccir]

Thinking about boyfriend Matt that has a girlfriend that lives by herself and everytime she gests new forniture, she calls him like "Baby, can you come put this together for me? Thank you". I also think she would try to help and Matt would be tottally against it (not sure about this last part tho). Please write this.

── ୨୧ !　BLURB

matt sturniolo x reader

where Y/N loves to buy new furniture for her home, and Matt is the one she always goes to to ask to put it together <3

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N had a knack for making her little apartment feel like home. Every few weeks, she'd spot something online; a new bookshelf, a cozy chair, or a quirky table, and decide that it was exactly what her space needed. But there was one catch: she wasn’t exactly a pro at assembling furniture. That’s where Matt came in.

The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the curtains of Y/N’s living room as she admired the large box that had just been delivered. It was a new coffee table, one she’d been eyeing for weeks. Knowing full well that she wasn’t going to tackle it on her own, she reached for her phone.

"Hey, baby." Y/N's voice was warm and playful as Matt answered on the first ring.

"Hey, dove. What’s up?" Matt replied, his tone softening at the sound of her voice.

Y/N glanced at the box.

"I got a little something for the living room. Think you could come over and help me put it together?"

Matt chuckled, already grabbing his car keys.

"Let me guess, another piece of furniture?"

"You know me too well." She grinned. "But yes, please? I promise to make us dinner afterward."

"On my way." Matt said without hesitation, already heading out the door. The thought of seeing her, even if it was to assemble something as simple as a coffee table, was more than enough to make his day.

About twenty minutes later, Matt arrived at Y/N’s apartment, greeted by her bright smile and the unmistakable excitement in her eyes. She stood in the doorway, barefoot and wearing one of his oversized hoodies; something that made Matt’s heart do a little flip every time he saw her in it.

"Thanks for coming." Y/N said, stepping aside to let him in. She watched as Matt eyed the box in the middle of the living room.

"Another project, huh?" He teased, approaching the box.

"Yeah, but I promise this is the last one for a while." Y/N laughed, knowing full well she’d probably find something new soon enough. She kneeled beside him, ready to help.

Matt quickly shook his head, gently nudging her hand away from the box.

"Uh-uh, you just sit back and relax, okay? I’ve got this."

"But I want to help!" Y/N protested, though there was no real determination in her voice. She knew he loved doing things like this for her on his own.

"No way." Matt insisted, his tone gentle but firm. He gave her a playful look, then tapped her nose lightly. "I can handle it. Just sit on the couch and look pretty while keeping me company. That’s all I need from you."

Y/N sighed, feigning disappointment, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. She settled onto the couch, tucking her legs beneath her as she watched him. There was something incredibly comforting about the way Matt moved around her space, confidently taking charge of the task. His broad shoulders flexed beneath his shirt as he opened the box and started laying out the pieces.

"How do you even know what all these parts are?" Y/N asked, genuinely impressed as Matt made quick work of organizing the screws, panels, and tools.

Matt shrugged, flashing her a grin.

"Just good at following instructions, I guess. Plus, it’s kind of fun."

"Fun?" Y/N echoed with a laugh. "You’re putting together furniture, not playing a game."

"Maybe." He said, glancing over at her, his eyes full of warmth. "But it’s for you, so that makes it fun."

Her heart swelled at his words. Watching Matt carefully assemble the table, piece by piece, she couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. It wasn’t just about the furniture; it was about the way he cared for her, the way he was always there to help without a second thought. It was the little things, like how he’d insist on doing the heavy lifting, or how he’d make sure every screw was tightened perfectly so she wouldn’t have to worry about anything.

After a while, the coffee table began to take shape. Y/N couldn’t resist getting up and kneeling beside him again, pretending to inspect his work.

"Looks good." She remarked, trying to keep her tone serious.

"Of course it does." Matt said with a chuckle. "I’m a professional."

She leaned in closer, teasingly brushing her fingers against his biceps.

"Maybe I should double-check, you know, just in case."

Matt rolled his eyes, but his smile was wide.

"If you want, but I guarantee it’s perfect."

Y/N gave him a look of mock suspicion before placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

"I trust you."

Matt’s hands paused for a moment, his eyes flickering to her with a mix of affection and pride. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You better."

With the table finally assembled, Matt stood up, stretching his arms above his head, his pink shirt riding up slightly, displaying his tummy to Y/N’s eyes.

"Done." He announced, stepping back to admire his work.

Y/N clapped her hands together, genuinely impressed.

"It looks amazing, baby. Thank you."

"Anything for you." Matt replied, his voice sincere. He watched as Y/N excitedly placed a few decorative items on the table, her eyes lighting up at how perfectly it fit into her living room.

"Okay, now that you’ve put that together…" Y/N began, trailing off as she looked at him with a playful smirk.

Matt raised an eyebrow, sensing where this was going.

"Oh no, what else did you order?"

Y/N laughed, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her head against his chest.

"Nothing… yet."

Matt shook his head, smiling down at her.

"You’re lucky I love you."

"I know." Y/N murmured, looking up at him with pure adoration. "And I’m so lucky to have you."

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[ghostickle]

Is it excusable to wake up the only other person in the house because u r lonely

[innerfare]

You See His Cabin For The First Time  

Summary: You see their cabin (or in Sabo's case, his bedroom at the RA base) for the first time.

Characters: Luffy, Usopp, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, and Kid

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

——— 

Luffy: He's literally so proud of just his hammock. Insists it can hold the both of you and could probably hold the entire crew if you tried, asks if you want to try, asks you if you’re sure when you say no. Definitely has a couple of dirty dishes that he’s forgotten about, as well as a few wrappers on the floor. Has some fishing poles, a net, quite a few different games, and a bookshelf that’s full of both comic books and snacks so that he doesn’t have to go all the way to the kitchen if he gets hungry in the middle of the night. 

Zoro: Your first thought is, why does it smell so freaking good in here? You expected dirty laundry strewn around and the stench of sweat and maybe a hint of metal from those blades he was always sharpening. And sure, there is a hint of metal in the air, probably more from the many weights against the wall than his swords, but it also smells fresh, like laundry detergent. He has his own wanted posters on his wall- not just the current one, but the old ones, too, all of them lined up in order so you can see his increasing bounty. He also has a collection of unique booze bottles from all over the world, his equivalent of keeping a map with pins in the locations he’s visited. Oh, and there’s an anatomy coloring book and some markers that belong to Chopper that Zoro keeps in his room because sometimes when Chopper is having a bad day, he wants to chill with his dad big bro. 

Sanji: Sparkling clean, and yet, he’ll apologize anyway because the pillows aren’t fluffy enough, the rug isn’t completely straight, etcetera. His closet is very well organized, all of his clothes ironed and properly taken care of (Sanji’s the rare type to actually read labels and do his laundry accordingly). His most prized possession is a book on the All Blue, which he’s poured over countless times, using color coded tabs to flag various pages and writing detailed notes in the margins. He also came across one of Zeff’s old wanted posters in Loguetown, and he keeps it framed next to his own, the closest thing he has to a family photo.

Usopp: You’re surprised to find he has quite a bit of clutter in his small space. He has a collection of different style slingshots and a surplus of supplies to fix them should they ever break, as well as literal boxes full of special stars and ammunition. He has an entire set up rigged on his desk to create more, and some plants in his windowsill to grow ingredients. In addition, his bookshelves are heavy with various collections of fables and tales; he’s working on his own and hopes to publish it one day, but he doesn’t talk about it because he’s worried nobody will take him seriously, and you only learn about it when you see the notebook he left on his bed. He also has a couple of fun hats, crazy sunglasses, and feather boas that he definitely pulls out when the Straw Hats get a little too drunk. Oh, and there’s a picture of his parents on his nightstand. 

Ace: His cabin is pretty sparse because he tends to travel light. He has a collection of animal teeth secured from a menagerie of wild beasts he’s taken down over the years, and he’s very proud of those teeth. He'll tell you about each one if you ask, is practically bursting at the seems with stories. He has way more animal teeth than he does clothing or books. Also has a pretty sick tiger pelt for a rug (he had intended it as a blanket, but he runs so hot he can’t actually sleep with it). He has Luffy’s wanted poster on his wall, and beside it, a note reminding himself to send money back to Dadan on the first of every month. Buried in the chest at the foot of his bed, he has the original ASL flag. 

Sabo: His bedroom at the Revolutionary Army’s base is a total bachelor pad, and when you see it for the first time, it wasn’t planned, so he’s a little embarrassed by the state of it. He has some dirty dishes he forgot about, some dirty laundry on the floor, and a pile of books on his bed. He spends virtually no time there and probably wouldn’t even have furniture beyond a mattress on the floor if it wasn’t provided by the Revolutionary Army as part of his living quarters. That being said, he did pin Luffy’s and Ace’s wanted posters to his wall, and he has a couple of different lotions and skincare products on his bathroom counter. 

Law: You don’t know what you were expecting- would it be sterile like an operating room? You’re surprised to see comic books and a few action figures. He has some records, too- a bit of rock, some low-key emo music- and to your complete and utter surprise, a candy wrapper on his nightstand. And then there’s the coin collection on his desk, tiny pieces of metal he picked up on his many travels. You’re careful not to have a big reaction to his personality showing through for once. 

“I like your action figures.” 

“They’re kind of childish, but-” 

You cut him off before he can dismiss his own interests as dumb. “No, they’re not. They’re cool.” 

Kid: It’s as messy and ostentatious as you’d expect, but he sheepishly tries to fold the leopard-print blanket crumpled on the bed and put some laundry in the hamper, though you quickly deduce he has no clue which clothes belong in the hamper and which go in his closet. It’s shocking to see him care what someone thinks. He has a pile of lipstick and nail polish on his desk and an impressive collection of weapons he’s stolen from various pirates; he could probably open a museum with all the weapons he has. Also has lots of tools he forgot were in there. TBH, he’s probably as shocked as you are by the state of his cabin because he spends most of his alone time in his workshop, anyway. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[kinascum]

PICKUP - DAD!M. STURNIOLO

SUMMARY. when a stressed-out, sleep-deprived and chaotic SingleDad!Matt falls in love with his son’s kindergarten teacher.

CONTENT. no major warnings

WC. 1.3k

proofread by @baileysturns

You wait as the hours ticked by, the soft hum of the kindergarten classroom lulling you into a gentle rhythm. The children have long been picked up, their laughter echoing through the hallways replaced by the quiet buzz of teachers finishing up their duties. Then, you hear the distant sound of rubber soles slapping against the linoleum floor, approaching at a brisk pace. The door bursts open and in strides Mr Sturniolo, his eyes scanning the room frantically before they lock onto yours. His son, Tommy, who's a tiny bundle of energy, squirms in your arms as he calls out, "Daddy!"

Matt's cheeks are flushed with exertion, his tie askew, and his hair sticking up in every direction. You can see the lines of stress etched into his forehead, but when he sees you, his face relaxes into a relieved smile. "Thank you so much," he says, his voice a little too loud in the quiet room. "I had a meeting that ran over, and traffic was..." He trails off, shaking his head. You understand; the world of a single dad is often one of unpredictability and juggling responsibilities.

You hand over Tommy, who clings to your neck for a moment before launching himself into his dad's arms. "It's no problem," you reply with a smile. "We had a great time, didn't we?" The little boy nods enthusiastically, his eyes shining with excitement.

As they leave, you watch them go in a hurry, the chaos of the day seeming to dissipate around them. The hallways are empty, the lights flickering in the descending twilight. You pack up your things and head home, feeling a twinge of loneliness as the school falls silent around you. It's not every day you meet a parent who seems so genuinely thankful for your work.

-

The next morning, you're setting up the classroom when you see Matt standing in the doorway, Tomas tugging at his hand. He holds out a small box of chocolates to you, his eyes earnest. "I wanted to apologize again for yesterday," he says. "And thank you for keeping an eye on him. I know it's not part of your job, but..." His voice is gruff, and you can tell he's not used to being vulnerable. You take the chocolates, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. "It's okay," you reassure him. "It's what we're here for." He nods, his expression a mix of gratitude and something else. Something that makes your heart skip a beat.

As the days turn into weeks, you find yourself looking forward to the moments when you see Matt. His mornings are still hectic, but he always has a smile for you, and he makes a point to thank you every time he picks up his son. The two of you start to chat, sharing stories about the little one's antics and the challenges of single parenthood. You learn that he's a dedicated father, working long hours to provide for his child, and you can't help but admire his determination.

One afternoon, after the last child has been picked up, you're organizing the bookshelf when you hear a knock on the door. You turn to find Matt, Tommy nowhere in sight. "Could I speak with you for a moment?" he asks, his eyes searching yours. You nod, curious.

He steps into the room, closing the door behind him. "I know this is probably weird," he starts, "but I just wanted to say... I really appreciate what you do. For him, and for me." He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that somehow makes him even more endearing. "I don't know how I'd manage without people like you." He pauses, and you can see the weight of his words hanging in the air. "And I was wondering if maybe, when you're not busy, we could grab a coffee or something. Just to say thanks. Properly."

You're taken aback by the invitation, but the warmth in his eyes makes it difficult to refuse. "I'd like that," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "How about tomorrow after work?" He grins, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing. "It's a date," he says, and you can't help but blush at the term.

The next day seems to drag on forever, with every tick of the clock bringing you closer to the promised coffee. You're acutely aware of Matt's presence when he arrives to pick up his son, your heart racing every time you catch a glimpse of him. When the time finally comes, you grab your bag and walk with him to the small café across the street.

As you sit down, the café's warm lights reflecting off the polished wooden surfaces, you feel a mix of nerves and excitement. You've never done anything like this before, especially with a parent from your class. But something about Matt is different. He's not like the other dads who hover awkwardly or only engage in small talk. There's a depth to him, a raw honesty that draws you in.

The conversation starts off tentatively, with both of you sticking to safe topics like work and the school. But as the minutes stretch into an hour, you find yourselves delving deeper. He tells you about his life as a single dad, the struggles and the joys, and you open up about your passion for teaching and your hopes for the future. His laugh is contagious, and you find yourself smiling more than you have in a long time.

Then, in the middle of a story about his son's latest attempt at art, he looks at you with a glint in his eye and says, "So, tell me more about you, Y/N." You blush, surprised by his directness. It's clear he's trying to flirt, but you're his son's teacher, and there's a line you can't cross. You laugh it off, keeping the conversation light and professional.

The evening stretches on, the café slowly filling with the scent of freshly ground coffee beans and the murmur of other patrons. You both find yourself getting lost in conversation, sharing stories about your pasts and your hopes for the future. His son is a common thread, weaving through every topic, a reminder of the bond you share beyond the classroom.

As you sip on your now-cold coffee, you feel a pang of something unfamiliar. It's easy to be drawn to Matt's charm and the way he talks about his son with such love, but you know that this isn't just a casual chat between friends. You're his son's teacher, and there are boundaries that need to be respected. But the way he looks at you, with genuine interest and a hint of admiration, makes it hard to remember why this isn't a good idea.

Finally, you decide to address the elephant in the room. "Matt," you say firmly, setting down your cup. "I really appreciate the gesture, and I've enjoyed our time together, but I think we should keep things professional. I care about your son, and I don't want anything to jeopardize that relationship." He nods, understanding in his eyes. "You're right," he says with a sigh. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

The walk back to the kindergarten is a little awkward, the air thick with unspoken feelings. When you reach the door, he takes a step closer, his hand brushing yours. "Thank you," he says, his voice low. "For everything. And I'm sorry if I overstepped."

You smile, feeling a rush of affection for this man who's doing his best in a tough situation. "It's okay," you reply. "We're good." With a final nod, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there with a jumble of emotions.

That night, as you lay in bed, you can't help but think about Matt. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about his son, the way his hand felt against yours. You know that you can't let this go further, but you also know that you're going to look forward to seeing him in the mornings, even if it's just for a brief exchange about homework and school events. And maybe, just maybe, that's enough for now.

tags! @christophersgf @rainuhh @mattandchrismakemewett @gxldenlush @immattsslut @slut4chriss @stasiesturn @jetaimevous @solarsturniolo @watercolorskyy @thedarkqueenofavalon @meowira @secretagentspy @shadowthesim @baileysturns

[raeathnos]

.

[a-lexia11]

Ungrateful

Leah Williamson x reader

Warning: angst,Leah’s ACL

Words count: around 5k

Every morning began before dawn. I would slip out of bed quietly, so as not to disturb Leah, who slept on the bed with her leg propped up on a mound of pillows.

Her ACL tear in April had left her unable to walk, and the crutches leaned against the wall seemed like a cruel reminder of her helplessness.

I started my day by preparing breakfast—Leah’s favorite scrambled eggs with crispy bacon and freshly squeezed orange juice. I wanted everything to be perfect, hoping that my efforts might bring her a little comfort during this difficult time.

Leah had always been strong and driven, but seeing her struggle with something as basic as moving around was heart-wrenching. Despite my exhaustion from training, I did everything with a smile, determined to make her recovery as comfortable as possible.

The routine was a blur of laundry, cleaning, and cooking. Leah’s clothes seemed to accumulate in heaps, and each evening, after an intense training session, I would come home to find more mess—dirty dishes piled in the sink, crumbs scattered on the coffee table, and wrappers strewn across the floor. I would clean up, even though I was physically and mentally drained.

——

One evening, after another grueling training session, I walked into the kitchen to find Leah sitting at the table, tapping away on her phone.

The kitchen was a disaster—crumbs from her snack littered the counter, and empty food containers were haphazardly thrown aside.

“Hey, what’s for dinner?” Leah’s voice cut through the silence.

“Chicken stir-fry,” I replied, trying to keep my tone upbeat despite my fatigue.

Leah barely glanced up. “Make sure it’s not too spicy. You know how I don’t handle spice well.”

I forced a smile and started cooking. As I chopped vegetables, I glanced around at the mess Leah had left behind.

The crutches were lying in the middle of the floor, making it difficult to navigate around the room. I took a deep breath and focused on making the meal as perfect as possible.

When I finally brought the food to the table, Leah was still engrossed in her phone. “Finally,you took your time, I’m starving,” she said, barely looking up.

I put the plates down with a clatter, trying to mask my frustration. “I’m doing my best, Leah. I’ve been working hard too.”

Leah’s eyes flicked up, and she gave me an annoyed look. “Well, maybe if you weren’t so busy complaining, you’d actually be able to get things done faster.”

Her words cut deep. I was trying my best to support her, and it felt like all my efforts were being ignored. “I’m not complaining,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. “I’m just saying it’s been hard for me too.”

Leah’s irritation flared. “If you can’t handle it, maybe you should just leave.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. I felt my tears welling up, but I refused to let them show. “Maybe I will,” I said, my voice trembling with hurt and anger.

Without waiting for a response, I walked out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

I took refuge in the bathroom, the cold tiles offering no comfort as I sank to the floor. I turned on the shower, letting the hot water cascade down.

The steam enveloped me, and I let the tears fall freely. The bathroom, normally a sanctuary, became a place of silent suffering. The sound of the running water masked my sobs, allowing me to cry without Leah hearing.

My heart ached with the weight of feeling unappreciated and used, and I felt utterly alone despite my attempts to be there for her.

——

A few days later, Leah’s attitude showed no sign of improvement. One afternoon, as I was organizing the laundry, Leah called from the living room. “Can you get me that book from the shelf? I’m too tired to reach it.”

I was in the middle of sorting through a mountain of her clothes, but I walked over to the bookshelf and retrieved the book. When I handed it to Leah, she barely acknowledged me. “Finally,” she muttered.

That evening, as I was cooking dinner, Leah’s frustration with her recovery seemed to be taking a toll on her mood. I found her snapping at me again. “Why does this food always seem so bland?” she complained, poking at her plate with a fork.

I tried to ignore the sting of her words. “I followed the recipe, and that’s what you like but maybe your taste buds are just off because of the medication you taking for the pain”

Leah rolled her eyes. “Or maybe you just don’t know how to cook properly.”

I could feel the frustration bubbling up inside me, but I kept my composure. “I’ll try to make something else.”

The next day, Leah’s demands escalated. I came home to find the apartment in disarray. The crutches were strewn across the hallway, and the living room was cluttered with Leah’s belongings. I set to work cleaning up, but Leah’s voice interrupted me.

“Can you fix the TV? The remote isn’t working, and I can’t watch anything.”

I sighed, setting aside the cleaning to troubleshoot the issue. It turned out to be a simple problem with the batteries, but Leah’s impatient tone made it feel like a monumental task. “It’s fixed now,” I said, handing her the remote with a forced smile.

“Finally,” Leah replied, barely looking up from the screen. “I was getting so bored.”

As days went by, the emotional toll of Leah’s ungratefulness became increasingly apparent.

One evening, after I had cooked dinner, Leah complained again. “I don’t understand why we’re always eating the same things. Can’t you make something different for once?”

My heart sank. I had tried to make meals that suited her taste and dietary needs, but it felt like nothing was ever good enough.It’s always the same… always complaining about food.

——

One night, Leah’s frustration with her recovery came to a head once again. We were sitting in the living room, and I was trying to relax after a long day. Leah, however, was in a foul mood. She snapped at me over something trivial—my supposed failure to fold her blankets properly.

“This is so sloppy,” she said, throwing the blanket aside. “Can’t you do anything right?”

That was the breaking point. I stood up, my hands trembling with anger. “You know what, Leah? I’m doing everything I can for you. I cook your meals, clean up after you, and try to make things as comfortable as possible. And all I get in return is criticism. I’m not your servant. I’m your girlfriend.”

Leah looked shocked. “You think I’m not grateful? I’m just tired of being stuck here. It’s frustrating!”

“Well, guess what? I’m tired too,” I shot back, tears of frustration blurring my vision. “I’m tired of feeling like my efforts don’t matter. I’m tired of being constantly berated. I’m doing everything I can, but it’s never enough for you!”

Leah’s face flushed with frustration. “It’s not about you not doing enough! It’s about me being stuck here and feeling helpless. I’m taking it out on you because I don’t know how to handle it!”

“Then maybe you should try expressing your feelings differently,” I snapped. “Instead of making me feel like I’m failing you, maybe you should appreciate what I’m doing. I’m doing my best!”

Leah stood up, her voice rising. “You don’t get it! You have no idea what it’s like to be so dependent on someone else, to feel like you’re losing your independence. I’m frustrated, and I’m taking it out on you because you’re the only one here!”

“And I’m supposed to just take it?” I shouted back. “I’m not a punching bag! I’m trying to help, and it’s hurting me to feel like I’m not appreciated!”

The argument left us both drained, standing in the middle of the living room, our faces flushed with anger and hurt. Leah’s eyes were filled with tears, and my heart was pounding with the weight of our confrontation.

I stormed out of the room, needing space to collect my thoughts. Leah slumped onto the couch, her face buried in her hands, and the silence that followed was heavy with unspoken pain.

——

In the following days, Leah seemed to realize the gravity of her actions. One evening, she made a concerted effort to mend things. She spent the entire day planning a surprise for me.

I came home to find the living room transformed into a romantic setting—candles flickering softly, a table set with care, and gentle music playing in the background. Leah, looking nervous but determined, had prepared dinner herself.

When I walked in, I was taken aback. Leah greeted me with a tentative smile. “Hey,” she said softly. “I wanted to apologize for everything. I know I’ve been ungrateful and difficult. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you’ve done for me, and I’m really sorry.”

I sat down at the table, touched by the effort she had put into this gesture. The meal wasn’t perfect—there were a few burned edges and unevenly cooked parts—but the sentiment was clear. Leah had tried, and that meant more to me than any grand gesture.

As we ate, the silence was thick with unspoken words. Finally, Leah broke it. “I’ve been reflecting on how I’ve treated you. I want to be better. I want to show you how much I appreciate you. You’ve been my rock through all of this, and I’ve taken that for granted”.”

My eyes filled with tears, not just from the pain but from the relief of hearing Leah’s sincere apology.

“Thank you, Leah. It’s been hard for me to feel like my efforts aren’t valued. I just want us to be able to support each other, not tear each other down.”

Leah reached across the table, her hand finding mine. “I promise to do better. I want to be the girlfriend you deserve, not someone who just takes from you.”

The sincerity in Leah’s eyes and her commitment to change melted some of the ice that had formed around my heart.

We spent the rest of the evening talking about our feelings, our hopes, and how we could improve our relationship. It was a difficult conversation, but it was necessary.

Leah made a conscious effort to be more considerate and appreciative in the days that followed. She started taking on small tasks within her limited mobility and expressed gratitude for everything I did.

Though there were still moments of tension and frustration, we were learning how to communicate better and support each other more effectively.

I knew that the road to healing wouldn’t be smooth, and there would be setbacks. But for the first time in a long while, I felt hopeful.

Leah’s effort to make amends showed that she was committed to changing our dynamic. And for me, that was the first step toward rebuilding the trust and love that had been strained.

FIN

[inkspiredwriting]

Moving Day Madness

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Five Hargreeves and his wife, Y/N, were finally moving into their own house—a cozy two-story home with a charming garden. It was a new chapter in their lives, and they couldn't wait to start it. Naturally, Five’s siblings insisted on helping with the move, promising it would be a smooth and efficient process.

It was anything but.

The day started off with a series of minor disasters. Diego, ever the overachiever, decided to start unloading the moving truck himself. In his enthusiasm, he misjudged the weight of a box labeled "Kitchen Fragile" and dropped it. The sound of shattering glass was the first omen of the chaos to come.

"Diego!" Five shouted, running over. "That was our wedding china!"

Diego winced. "Sorry, Five. I’ll replace it, I swear."

Meanwhile, Klaus had decided that the best way to help was to "organize" the boxes. This meant he moved them randomly from one spot to another, making it impossible to find anything. Luther, trying to keep the peace, ended up in a shouting match with Klaus about the proper way to stack boxes.

Ben and Viktor were handling the smaller items but got distracted by an impromptu jam session with an old guitar they found in one of the boxes. Their music was great, but it wasn’t helping the move go any faster.

Y/N, trying to stay calm, directed traffic as best as she could. "Luther, please don’t stack boxes higher than Diego’s head. Klaus, stop moving things around. Diego, maybe you can help with the furniture instead."

As the morning wore on, things didn’t improve. The couch got wedged in the front door, with Diego and Luther arguing about the best angle to maneuver it through. Klaus spilled a carton of milk all over the living room carpet while trying to make coffee, and Viktor accidentally knocked over a bookshelf, scattering books everywhere.

"Why is this so complicated?" Five muttered, rubbing his temples.

"Welcome to life with the Hargreeves," Y/N said with a laugh, handing him a cup of coffee. "Just breathe. We’ll get there."

By midday, they managed to get most of the furniture inside, albeit not in the right rooms. The dining table ended up in the living room, and the bedroom dresser was in the hallway. Despite the chaos, there were moments of laughter. Klaus told ridiculous stories that had everyone in stitches, and Ben and Viktor's music provided an unexpected soundtrack to the day.

As the sun began to set, the Hargreeves siblings took a break, collapsing onto various pieces of mismatched furniture in the living room.

"I think that’s everything," Luther said, wiping sweat from his brow.

"More or less," Five replied, looking around at the disarray. "Thanks for your help, everyone."

"Anytime, bro," Diego said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Now, who wants pizza?" Y/N asked, pulling out her phone.

As they waited for the pizza to arrive, the siblings gradually began to help put things in their proper places. By the time dinner was over, the house was still a mess, but it felt more like home.

Later that night, after everyone had left, Five and Y/N stood in the living room, surveying the chaos.

"Well, it’s a start," Five said with a chuckle.

Y/N smiled, wrapping her arms around him. "We’ll get it sorted. And we’ll have fun doing it."

Five kissed her forehead. "I love you, Y/N. Even if our life is a bit… unconventional."

"I love you too, Five. And I love our life."

As they settled into their new home, surrounded by boxes and memories yet to be made, Five and Jen knew they could do anything —with a little help from their wonderfully chaotic family.

[literaila]

ughhh i just know peter would take you to that one spot on libraries where couples go makeout

asking

tasm!peter x reader

warnings: peters an idiot, mentions of mono

a/n: welcome to my frat boy peter era

*

“i’m not studying,” you tell him as he drags you through stacks of books, looking like he’s searching for something he lost.

“aw,” peter turns his head back so you can see him pout. “really? cause i wanted to go over this chemistry thing with you.”

“where are we going, peter? i’m serious.”

“don’t you trust me?” he squeezes your hand, and you make an effort not to smile.

maybe you should squeeze his hand back until you break his fingers.

“not even the slightest.”

“well, you agreed to go on a date with me,” his face embodies a righteous bastard, which he is. “so there’s that.”

“that was a brief lapse in judgement.”

“i think it’s going well, actually,” he whispers, slowing down so that he’s right beside you. so that he can bump into you as he walks, with his long legs and his stupid hand holding.

but there’s something about it that keeps you from teasing back. “were you worried?”

his temple meets yours, vibrating as he speaks. “not in the slightest.”

“really? cause i’ve been trying to irritate you all night.”

“is that why you ordered that weird appetizer thing? and then didn’t eat any of it?”

“it was a bouillabaiss, thank you.”

peter raises a brow at you, but says nothing. his air of judgement is palpable. you lean back, mock shocked at him.

“peter,” you scold, “don’t ever comment on a persons eating habits. it’s rude.”

“i wasn’t. i was telling you that i thoroughly enjoyed paying for it.”

you grin at him, and he rolls his eyes.

he’s still pulling you along with him, traveling through a labyrinth of shelves, and you don’t expect him to find whatever he’s looking for. in fact, you’re almost sure that you’ve been walking in circles this whole time.

but eventually, peter slows, and he lets go of your hand only to gesture at the piles of books you’ve rounded the corner to.

seriously, piles. none of them are organized, or even somewhat readable. the carpet in this five by five area is noticeably darker, and when you turn to look behind you—making sure that there is actually a way out—you can’t see anything beyond a shelf that looks like every other one in the library.

“is this supposed to be your kidnapping room?” you whisper to peter, loudly. “because i don’t see any shackles.”

“these,” peter gestures around to the beer bottles you’ve only just noticed on the ground, and the suspicious looking mound in the corner, “are the make-out stacks.”

you blink. “the make-out stacks?”

peter hums, bending down to flip through a book—which is in german, naturally—and then puts it back down.

“please tell me that’s the unofficial title,” you beg him, and then spin around, trying to walk out.

but peter grabs your hand again and pulls you close. “nope. didn’t you read any of the freshman tip articles when you first moved here?”

“no, peter, i’m not a loser.”

“well, i knew about this, and you didn’t so…”

you kick an old wrapper. “do you bring all your dates here?”

“only the pretty ones.”

you scoff, shaking your hand out of his and crossing your arms. “and just what did you want to do here?”

“i’m pretty sure it’s in the name,” peter takes a step closer, making you take a step back—which, ultimately lands you pressed up against a bookshelf probably rotting with mold.

“you’re crazy if you think i’m going to kiss you in here.”

“then i’m crazy,” peters smiling at you, but he doesn’t get any closer. “are you worried about someone seeing?”

“i’m severely worried about my intuition,” you retort, rubbing your finger on the spine of a book beside you, and then wiping the dust on peters face. “i’m pretty sure just breathing the air in here is going to give me mononucleosis.”

peter snorts. “that’s just a rumor.”

you laugh back at him—mockingly—and then push him away. “seriously, peter? are you trying to ruin this date?”

peters’s draw drops, and he stands defensively by the—most likely—christened wall. “this is very romantic.”

“this is basically human torture. standing in here is making me want to jump off the roof.”

“that’s just the sexual tension.”

“ha!” you say, and shake your head as you begin to walk out. “i don’t know if i’m irritated or amused,” you mutter, mostly to yourself, but peter is right there.

“c’mon,” he says, picking up the pace to match yours. he’s close again. “i’m trying to help you get to know me.”

“and an essential part of your personality is being a womanizer?”

“i’m an everyoneizer.”

you push his shoulder, trying not to laugh. “this is probably the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. and i’ve known you long enough to see you do a lot of stupid things.”

peter raises a brow at you. “like what?”

“how about the time you almost set yourself on fire trying to light that grill?”

“it’s not my fault they don’t come with instructions.”

you shake your head, but when peter tries to take your hand, you don’t push him away.

finally, you turn to actually look at him—and brown eyes and stupid blonde hair and stupid smirking peter—and sigh. “no, really. what was that?”

at that, peter looks down, kicking your toe with his shoe. you squint just enough to see his cheeks pink. “i didn’t think you’d appreciate the walking-you-to-your-door-so-i-can-kiss-you-move.”

“so you went with the make-out-spot move?”

“at least you’re apart of a community then,” peter defends, meeting your eyes again. he’s a bit embarrassed, and plenty adorable.

you giggle. “if you wanted to kiss me, you could’ve asked.”

“i did.”

“you tried to infect me with unknown bodily fluids,” you correct, “that’s not what i would call asking.”

“hey, i’ve been there plenty of times and i’ve never gotten—“

you push his face away, groaning. “are you actually trying to get me to leave you here?”

peter laughs, grabbing the hand still trying to attack him. “i’m sorry. can i kiss you?”

“not here, playboy. this is a professional environment.”

“there’s a guy over there watching bluey.”

“professional.”

peter sighs. “fine,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours. “can i kiss you sometime?”

“are you going to buy me dinner again?”

“are you going to order the most expensive thing on the menu?” he asks.

“probably.”

“then yes,” he nudges nose against yours and you really do want to kiss him.

like an insane symptom of stockholm syndrome or frat boy hypnosis.

but you manage not to, and only smile. “c”mon,” you say to him, pulling away, “let’s go find narnia.”

though not before you kiss his cheek, setting your promise to stone.

*