mcyt/dsmp x gn reader (discontinued)

21. Family

a mix of fictional and real

sbi family, whoo!

-

You reached your hand up to bite your nails, feeling Wilbur drag your wrist down.

"You'll be fine. Everyone one'll love you!" He thought for a moment, turning the steering wheel slightly. "Except maybe Tommy. Or Techno. But Phil's fine. Kinda."

"Uh-huh." You wiped your sweaty palms on your turtleneck, jacket rustling quietly. "Please don't go to the restroom or something and leave me at the table with your family."

"You're gonna be fine. And thanks for the idea." He let go of your wrist, pulling into the driveway and pressing the brakes gently with his foot. He shifted the stick shift to park, and pulled his keys from the car, shoving them in his pocket. You groaned, covering your face with both your hands briefly before stepping out of the car. 

"Please be joking." He didn't reply to you, only throwing you a smile before he dragged you to the front door, pressing the doorbell repeatedly. You paled.

"Stop ringing the ringer so much!" An older voice yelled. You could hear the smile gracing Phil's face. "Tommy, get the door!" 

"Make Techno do it, I have to finish my poo!"

"Techno, get the door!" 

A grunt was heard before the door opened. A man with circular reading glasses appeared, slightly shorter than Wilbur. He was stockier, not as lanky, and his pink hair reached the small of his back in a braid. He still intimidated you, and you swallowed dryly, forcing the lump in your throat down. He squinted at you, pulling Wilbur by the collar of the white shirt under his sweater in the house. You gulped, bowing slightly and offering a nervous smile.

"I'm-"

"I know your name." He offered a stiff hand out as if he wanted you not to touch it. You shook it hesitantly. He pulled away, shifting so you could get in the house. You gave Wilbur a look as he stepped farther into the house, banging on a door that blended into the wall. 

"TOMMY GET OUT THE LOO AND MEET MY PARTNER YOU TURDSACK!"

"SHUT UP I'M WASHING MY HANDS AS FAST AS I CAN!"

You took the chance to look around the house. There was a small nook, in various shades of warming brown and beige and cream, even down to the books. The lamp lit up a leather armchair, well-loved. A hardback caught your eye. A small strip of white ribbon stuck out the bottom, and the red cover read "The Art Of War." Techno noticed you looking at the book, and he moved to shove it under the wood table housing a toppling stack of books, an empty mug with a coffee ring, and a scattering of pens.

To the right of you, there was a formal dining table. It wasn't set, just stacks of old parchment and paper, neat envelopes sealed with shades of red wax. Fountain pens and a singular inkwell sat on top of a letter with a stamp on it, an address you didn't recognize on it. You decided to face Tommy, who was coming out of the bathroom, with a scowl on his face.

He was the same height, if not shorter, than Techno. He wore a teal sweatshirt, one Wilbur showed you polaroids of Tommy finally "getting a sense of fashion" in. His blonde curly hair was getting ruffled aggressively by Wilbur, who you moved to stop.

"Wilbur..." You sweat slightly, grabbing his wrist. He moved his hand to your head, pulling you towards him and kissing you on the cheek. You flushed, watching Tommy fake gag, and Techno blankly pats his back as he bent over, pretending to puke over the carpet. 

"Wilbur! Come here!" Phil finally stepped in. His hair in a ponytail reached just between his shoulder blades, covered by his green and white striped bucket hat. He was shorter than all his sons, pulling Wilbur down with surprising strength, into a hug.

When he let go, he turned to you, motioning for you to come to him. You gulped, stepping forward. He squinted at you for a second, before dragging you away. 

"Dinner's almost done, the chickens almost out of the oven. Tommy set the table, Techno, get the oven mitts, and get that chicken. Wilbur, go tame your hair!"

He looked at you, noticing your nervous expression. He smiled gently, no ounce of malevolent intentions behind his face.

"Tell me, how do you put up with my son?"

Hoo boy, this was going to be one long evening.

-

Grammarly doesn't like my writing [cry] /lh

I put my heart and soul into this because I've been slacking off lately

Hope this isn't too late for any of you

-pigeon