or: i don’t care what you do, as long as you pronounce it properly.
gn!reader, nothing too objectionable, domestic fluff with a little bit of flirting for good measure. written for the magnificent @/bluewhispers for @angelicaether's skyside 2025 holiday exchange – i do hope i’ve done your darlings justice! happy holidays, lovely blue, and happy (belated) new year! <3 inspired by i’m beginning to see the light, specifically the 1945 version by the ink spots and ella fitzgerald. and you can go and figure out what’s going on with don’t look back in anger on your own time, if you really feel like it. or don’t, i’m not your gingerbreadmother. damien biting the bowl off the spoon in just over 1800 words.
The sound of his electric toothbrush has stopped, and there’s a familiar shadow standing in the kitchen doorway.
“You do realise you’re a fucking idiot, yes?”
In your arms, the stack of cake tins seems to have a mind of its own, teetering back and forth with every tiny shift of your weight. The cupboard above the fridge seems to get fuller and fuller every time you open it, so you’re resigned to staring at it, unblinking, to stop it from spawning any more rolls of baking paper or tartlet tins before you can put these away.
Down on the counter, you can hear the kettle beginning to boil. It’s difficult to see his expression from up here, twisted away from the door to reach the cupboard above the fridge, but you’re sure that it’s something gentle and encouraging. He’s very supportive. And he likes things to be tidy, so he’s almost certainly looking pleased. Approving, perhaps. Or benign, at the very least.
Resolutely, you nod, secure in your deduction. “Yes.”
“Okay. Just checking.”
The buzzing of Damien’s electric toothbrush starts up again, and a warm hand settles itself against your thigh, steadying your weight and sitting just low enough to not be entirely indecent. You did say he was very supportive, after all.
Metal clatters against metal. It’s not elegant, but with a little bit of engineering—
“Fuck!”
—okay, with a little bit of engineering and a lot of swearing, you manage to cram all of the baking equipment back into the cupboard, minus a single roll of silver foil that’s just going to have to live on top of the fridge for now. There’s a loaf tin that’s probably going to fall out as soon as anyone opens the door, and a little box of fairy cake cases that definitely weren’t that shape before, but that’s a problem for future-you.
The way down is relatively easy, all things considered. The hand on your leg drifts up to your waist, and it feels like you float down the ladder rather than step, a warm thrum of helpful psychokinesis playing across your skin like sunbeams.
“You see?” In an instant, you’re nestled against his side, a self-satisfied grin spread wide across your face. “Expertly tidied.”
Damien’s eyes flick up to the cupboard door, which is still suspiciously not-quite closed, then back down to your face.
“...mghrn.”
He turns to the side and spits a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink. Clearly, he agrees.
The kitchen is a little bit cold, but he’s as warm as ever, and the faded cotton of his T-shirt is excellently soft beneath your cheek. Behind you, the switch on the kettle flicks up as the water reaches boiling.
“Are you making tea?”
“Maybe.”
The words are nothing more than a jumble of syllables, smeared across his shoulder as you bury your face in his neck. “Can’t move.”
He huffs lightly, the low vibration of his laugh rippling through the side of your head. “Pardon?”
“Can’t move.” It’s not fair, it’s just not fair, why can’t he understand? He’s so lovely and it drives you mad. “Y’re too warm.”
“Am I? Aw, baby, I’m sorry.”
By degrees, he manages to slowly turn the two of you around so that he can reach the kettle with his free arm, the one still holding the toothbrush now looped around your middle. “You must be hating it, then.”
Pouring water, steam hissing. He snatches in a breath as your palms dart underneath the hem of his shirt, pressing flat to his back and feeling him tense up at the temperature difference. “Not li— Jesus! – not like you spent most of this morning enjoying it, or anything.”
Solemnly, you shake your head, although it probably just looks like you’re trying to give yourself a friction burn with his collar. “I would never.”
“So I’m told.” You can almost hear his eyes rolling. “I believe you, thousands wouldn’t.”
Reluctantly, he lets you go so he can pick up his tea, retreating towards the microwave. Damien tends to move a little further away from you whenever he’s drinking tea – he drinks it obscenely hot, and ever since Lasko almost gave himself a second-degree burn trying to hand it to him, he’s made a habit of keeping it well away from anyone else. It’s very sweet of him, and perfectly understandable, although it would be nice if he didn’t have to.
Above your head, there’s an ominous thud from above the fridge.
“One of these days, I’ll melt that fucking ladder,” he muses as he watches you glare at the cupboard, sipping his tea and steadfastly ignoring your indignant protestations. “Don’t think I won’t! You know I will!”
“Wh— it’s not even that tall!” you splutter. He talks about it like you’re climbing Everest, not a tiny little stepladder with three steps to its name. “It’s useful!”
“It’s a death trap!”
“You’re a death trap!”
Sluuurp. “Well, you’re very welcome to come and climb on me, instead.”
God, you could just strangle him, sometimes. Instead, you settle for flinging a tea towel at his stupid, smirking face – he catches it, because of course he does, the bastard – and resolving to definitely not take him up on that offer, no matter how tempting it sounds. Or how tempting he looks. Or how temptingly he’s looking at you, dark eyes trailing slowly down your body, quick fingers tapping wickedly against the side of his drink, leaning back against the counter like it would be nothing at all for you to slide into his grasp, your hands in his hair, his lip between your teeth, heavy breaths that only get hotter, sweet and slick and— and— and—
“Don’t let me distract you, or anything.”
Damien yawns, catlike, and with absolutely no sense of human decency whatsoever, stretches juuust enough for you to catch a glimpse of the strip of skin between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his sweats, stretched infuriatingly low across his hips. It’s just a flash, but you couldn’t hope to miss it – the violet trail of hickeys scattered across his stomach like flowers, blossoming innocently beneath his skin.
“I hate you,” you say weakly.
“Okay.”
The time on the microwave is 10:03. He sets his tea down on the side, and pushes it away.
“Like, I hate you hate you.”
“Mm. I guessed.”
It’s raining outside, condensation on the kitchen window. Someone’s phone, probably yours, buzzes quietly from the living room. A shiver goes up your spine.
“No, like actually.”
“...yeah. That’s… that’s what I said.”
The kettle is hot, the water ready. If you wait, it’ll go cold, and you’ll have to boil it again.
“Fuck this,” you spit, and he tastes like jasmine and that dreadful blue toothpaste he always buys. Everything’s so warm as he gathers you up against his chest, helplessly melting into his hands and his laugh and his kiss.
Damien, Damien, the loveliest boy in the whole wide world. Utterly charming as his eyes flutter closed, palms skating enthusiastically across your back, your waist, your hips, as if he couldn’t possibly settle for just one. Entirely too precious, his wry smile that makes your heart race, soft words dripping off a sharp tongue.
“You’re so, so stupid,” you sigh dreamily, unable to help the way your fingers slide eagerly across his chest, over his neck, up into his hair. “The stupidest there ever was.”
“Mm, I know,” he murmurs, and the words are impossibly soft and gooey as he presses them against your lips. Spit snapping, the crackle of lightning between his mouth and yours.
It’s just getting good, when—
Slip inside the eye of your mind, don’t you know you might find…
—when your phone starts ringing, the custom ringtone changed to whatever flavour-of-the-week song Gavin’s been obsessed with lately, and both of you groan in unison as you’re reminded of the actual reason you’re down here at all.
“What time did Gav want us for?” Damien asks, although his fingers don’t stop tracing little circles across your back.
Begrudgingly, your eyes dart over to the microwave clock. Whenever Gavin said, there’s no way you’ll make it in time. “He’s gonna kill us.”
“Not if we use protection— ow!”
Despite his theatrics, Damien takes your half-hearted slap with remarkable grace, quickly trapping your hand against his side with his own and guiding it down to his waist. “Look, if you want to go without this time, it’s up to you…”
“You— you—” Your spluttering peters out beneath his laughter, half-moon eyes and that great big smile that always makes you want to kiss him silly. He’s got to stop this, he’s got to, your poor little heart can’t take it. “I changed my mind. Gavin won’t get the chance, I’m killing you instead.”
“Do you have to?” Mwah, mwah, mwah, tiny little kisses down your jaw. “I’m told I give very good bribes. Glowing reviews.”
“Unless you’re planning on bribing him too, I think you’re out of luck.”
Damien pauses briefly to grimace against your neck. “Not while we’re out, Jesus. One of the waitresses there is in Lasko’s class this year, I saw her leaving the lecture hall two weeks ago when I went in to give that shirt back to him.”
You snort. “Still can’t believe you walked off in his shirt.”
“I was distracted!”
…Actually, that’s fair. Hux is very distracting, even when he’s not getting out of the pool.
“Besides,” Damien continues, “if you’re so opposed to my shirts, I can think of a solution…”
The air is cool, but his hands always chase the chill away. You’re starting to get the feeling that his persuasion is working, and if the way his lips trail across your collarbone is any indication, you think he knows it, too.
“We’re going to be— fuck, we’re going to be so late,” you manage to choke out, and you know he knows he’s got you. The world spins as Damien pivots you around until your back is against the counter instead of his, and his grin twists into that hateful, haunting smirk, just on the right side of cruel.
“And?”
The edge of the countertop digs into your back. “He’s going to skin us alive.”
“And?”
“I’ll text him.”
He scoffs, not fooled even for a second. “No you won’t.”
Your hips rock against his, just once, and Damien’s head falls back as he moans, loud and shameless in the still air of your kitchen. God, he’s so beautiful, spit-slick and sugary, and ridiculously, painfully yours.
“No,” you say, breathless, and drag him back in. “I won’t.”
—
world’s biggest gulper: ON UR WAY MY ASS
world’s biggest gulper: ITS BEEN 90 MINUTES THIS IS NOT BRUNCH ANYMORE
world’s biggest gulper: istg u two r worse than vincent. FUCKING VINCENT SOLAIRE AND HES NOCTURNAL
world’s biggest gulper: ok i rebooked for dinner. if i see turtlenecks its on sight
—
main masterlist
this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute.
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ive been reading various different kinds of smut lately and sometimes you just Get Into One Thing and you're like,,, oh. oh... okay.
there's always been like, a distant appeal to some of the horny "kidnapped and tested by aliens" stuff that appealed to me but i didn't give it THAT much attention until i unfortunately came across medical kink and... welp. game over.
i think a good part of the sexiness is like... being exposed. the feeling of vulnerability and the LACK of intimacy that there normally is.
but with the lack of intimacy in this extremely intimate act, there's also this... clinical distance,,, almost professionalism, that makes it feel all naught and humiliating in just the right way to be turned on by it.
hhhhhHHHhh IT IS JUST SO MUCH MY THING. ABSOLUTELY MORE TO COME. IM SO HAPPY YOU ENJOYED IT SKDJFGHSKLFGDGF ILU GINGER HEHEHE THANK YOU FOR INDULGING IN THE KINK W ME <3
WAAAAAAHHHH PRO HERO BOYFRIENDS WHO DRESS UP WITH YOU TO HAND OUT SWEETS TO TRICK-OR-TREATERS 😭😭😭
(confession: this is mostly about pro-hero shinso hitoshi who you have to affectionately punch in the stomach to make him stop scaring the children and - for god's sake just give them the blessed dairy milk! yes, i know they look adorable in their costumes, no i'm not putting any more fake blood on you - help you decide which horror film to watch tonight)
JASDHFJASJD🥺
Shinso has two moods: the first, making sure that your house is most well decorated house on the street... the other, turning off every single light in the building the moment it hits 4pm on Halloween, all so that he can pretend no one is home and you can just watch movies together all night IN PEACE.
It's annoying because he put all this work into making your lawn look nice (see: terrifying, with tombstones and skeleton flamingoes and spiderwebs all over your door)... but then wants nothing to do with it all when kids actually start coming around. The only way you can even remotely try to convince him to pass out candy is by saying he can go out and scare them all... not realizing that what he's really gonna do is fucking TERRORIZE THEM.
All the moms who live next have told you that Shinso seems rather scary in general anyway, and there have been quite a few questions about why it seems as though a weird man in costume breaks into your house every morning at 4am... but you didn't realize that would make all his efforts... worse.
He does that terrible thing where is lays in the bushes and jumps up at kids with a squirt gun filled with red water, and when you tell him to stop, he just moves to the grass and starts grabbing at kids feet, instead.
After a while, kids practically won't even touch the stones leading up to your porch, and those that do run away screaming the moment they manage to snatch candy out of your hands...
And you can't even tell Shinso to stop because "isn't this what you wanted???"😔😔😔
I would say once you DO manage to choose a movie, he gets a little more lowkey because that's what he wanted to do from the start❤️
SWEET IAH!!! satan no. 1 defender mutual for SURE, and also lovely artist mutual as well - no matter what, iah pops up on the dash and i go :DDD
Ahsjsha I am here to defend Satan while also talking mad shit about how he is in canon nowadays, I will have my cake, eat it, throw it against the wall, then eat the remains as well >.<
Ahskshakaja lovely artist mutual tho >w< ;w; you guys are gonna inflate my art ego and we can’t have that lmao thank you so much tho aaaaaaaa
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thinking about it, i think i do? but like, unconventionally? obviously there’s the new year or birthdays where it’s common, but if i wish for something it’s when i go to bed at night (ok go off grandma) say for the next day to be better, for someone to have something better or differently... that really made my pea brain cogs turn fkdkfd
14. polka dots or stripes?
ohhhh boy haven’t heard those words in years - probably stripes!!! i think i’ve worn more of them in my time than polka dots hehe
LAVENDER LATTE IS A GODDAMN MASTERPIECE AND IT'S NOT EVEN OVER I- your writing is just immaculate and i love love love your blog so thank you so very much ✨💕💫💖
of course!!! thank you so much for reading and sending the love!!! 💗!!!!!
