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sugar-petals · 3 years

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can you give us more thoughts about domestic yoongles? the taemin's one (wich I love) just made me miss the cat boy so much ;o;

i have a phd in househusband yoongi so let me fire out some ideas for ya.

myg at home headcanon

🐱 word count. 1.9k | fluff, slice of life, slight nsfw mentions, x reader, bullet points

The doorbell sound is a recording of Yoongi imitating a doorbell. He’s such a meme. Ceci n'est pas une pipe.

Seemingly, he teaches himself a new recipe every week. To perfection. Yoongi is very particular about sticking to the recipe and wielding his kitchen tools in the right way. He collects knives, olive oil, and still hates cutting onions.

He separates sleep time, work time, and couple time as the holy trinity. For each, he switches his mood.

Blushes easily no matter for how long you’ve been together.

Establishes his own radio show where he DJs at one point.

Yoongi keeps an extreme track on the garbage schedule. He knows exactly what is due when. Separating the trash is a must. That includes sorting out fake friends trying to get between your relationship. Your social circle as a couple is extremely deliberate.

Yoongi deems himself a terrible host for guests. Unless Hoseok is there to drag him out, it's true he rather stays in the kitchen or at the barbecue preparing the menu courses rather than making small talk. He leaves the hospitality bits to you, however you want to go about it.

What he lacks in conversing with guests, he makes up in bed, God is absolutely fair.

He sings and hums pretty often and has his own vernacular of extraterrestrial uwu noises. It's an alphabet that you have to yet decipher but it's incredibly cute.

Self-made paintings everywhere around his house.

Yoongi hasn't gone clubbing since grammar school. The most he does is going to a restaurant at lunch with very close friends. And always in a work context. His private life is so secluded from everything else and paparazzi just don't spot him anywhere, Dispatch thinks he must live abroad.

Very well, he does consider his big ole house a separate country. It's a living organism with a studio, gym, trophy room, small-size basketball court, and vastly equipped kitchen. A home theater as well, he likes American movies (like Inception) and Korean action genres, and you can stream whatever you fancy in there whenever you like.

Yes, he has underwear with cute little bears on.

There's even a little pond in the backyard. Yoongi, Pisces he is, likes fishes after all. Sometimes he sits at the edge of the 'Little Ole Min Lake (LOML)' and stares into the water for literal hours with his chin parked on his palm.

His fridge is so high-tech and futuristic, even Yoongi is rendered clueless by its AI sometimes. The washing machine, too.

Yoongi watches RuPaul’s drag race. What did you expect? He finds it so humorous.

Owns lord knows how many comic collections.

Favorite holiday destination: New York.

Christmas is basically 50% you unveiling new music equipment to him in the garage and Yoongi almost fainting at the sexiness of it. The other 50% is spent holding hands and orgasm after orgasm until the new year since you loose track of time.

Goes on long rants why he’d marry you again every weekend.

Making you presents is his specialty. Always accompanied with a hand-written note. He writes a lot of things by hand for you in general. Texting, basically never. Always on paper.

No sex without a blanket and socks on. Yoongi gets cold very very easily and just doesn’t like showing skin. You buy him a heated blanket for his birthday, he even uses it in his studio chair.

Chronically addicted to making out.

Matching black outfits and glasses.

Laughs at even your worst jokes or phrases you didn’t expect you even uttered.

Yoongi owns the phoniest, most secretive-looking black car ever and nobody knows about it. Even he forgets he owns it, in fact he genuinely acts like it just doesn’t exist. Hilarious. And that guy has a level 1 Korean driver's license. Which allows him to drive trailers and busses and fucking trucks, and construction machines, let that sink in.

It's really a genius curse. Yoongi being put to the test will always deliver but he won't choose to execute his full skillset if he doesn't have to. Well, pragmatic. He's not as phony as he thinks he is, which is even more hilarious.

He uses that behemoth of a car so scarcely because he'd rather have things delivered to his doorstep and he's stingy with gas. Also, he doesn't like traffic and driving because of the traumatic shoulder accident and his tendency to space out. Translation: You drive that thing... that monster... it really is an impressive, fast, and scary machine.

If someone devious ever even remotely manages to invade his privacy and get past the doubly-installed security system, he has enough money to deal with it no matter what.

If it concerns your privacy, he's a red belt. And owns Jin's number if a taekwondo master is required. Jimin's if it needs someone with kendo skills.

If Yoongi needs someone to go on a complete rampage, Jungkook lives just down the block. He can sprint to Yoongi's bunker I mean mansion within 45 seconds. 30 if it's very urgent. 20 if the reward is an instant ramen splurge with Yoongi's black card.

He has a sexy, glamorous sword collection hanging on the living room wall anyways, so. Who the hell is dumb enough to mess with him and his expensive lawyer in the first place.

But just in case, who knows... Yoongi settles matters shruggingly, anonymously, and with cash and he's too exhausted for violence, but don't underestimate his deter-min-ation and network for emergencies. Also, he is Agust D after all.

He will bonk a naughty burglar or kidnapper across the head with a wooden cooking spoon or take him down by throwing a basketball if the situation requires it. Damn, his reflexes are so fast, a feral cat in motion. So, lean back and sip on your drink of choice. Things are cared for.

If Yoongi is the one being kidnapped or a highly skilled stalker invades the property at night when he's fast asleep (nothing can wake this man during certain hours, strong REM right here): Don't forget that honeyboy is a Dodgers fan. There are signed baseball bats everywhere in this damn house.

In that sense, your parents visiting you here for the first time thought you were an undercover thug couple. Not to worry mom and dad, you both just like sports very much okay.

Yoongi walks around in all black clothes and the rooms are all seemingly dark. Even if you live together, you don't know his skin care routine. It's clear to you he's some sort of vampire.

Since Yoongi always forgets to remove his makeup, you made it a habit to wipe it down when he's about to pass out. He won't lie, he enjoys that kind of affection.

Holly is your resident child. You're essentially a family.

He insists to tackle this by himself, Yoongi sees his therapist monthly. Not shifting responsibility is something he's stubborn about and he pours his emotions into writing. You will do conversation about deeper stuff, but he says it's mostly up to him and his own mind. He dislikes burdening you or opening up too much and it's something to respect rather than force him about. If he wants to share a thought, he will. It doesn’t mean he can’t trust you or sucks at communicating (we know that he’s direct). Yoongi simply can’t put that much pain in such few words nor should you alleviate it for him.

Calls from the manager faze Yoongi as much as Jimin is bothered by gravity. If he’s busy kissing your body slow mo, who the hell dares to disturb his worship.

This man had so many let-downs and interpersonal catastrophes in his life, he's super discerning with people. Because he rolls that way, during their first meeting Yoongi uses his psychology certificate on your friends. You see him squint at them, he listens very closely. After they pass the vibe check aka meow radar, he befriends them, too.

Yoongi doodles Grammy trophies everywhere to manifest them.

Yoongi shaves his legs.

All the sex toys he’s ever bought are black. Gotta vibe in style.

He spends ridiculous amounts of time in the studio but he's yours for the remainder of the night, breakfast, and he makes a lavish lunch and dinner.

Um, consider his head parked between your legs. The Hongkong line was not a joke.

Doesn’t mind you squishing his cheeks whenever and for how long you like.

Every other weekend he gets flowers, vouchers, and gifts — not because of fans, they don’t know where his house is, but because he donates so much.

Namjoon often drops by and cleanses the area with his crystals.

Yoongi is a photography major so you can ask him to take professional, ceiling-high black and white shots of you.

Feeding each other food lovingly. Man, this guy got lips.

He set up a library just for you, in the exact historical aesthetic you like the most. Send him the link to any book you want, it's basically in the online shopping cart already. As I said, he wants to make you presents like every week.

Sometimes he sits on the other end studying English videos and vocab while you read. And yes, he's already 95% fluent but pretends being merely intermediate. He knows technical terms even native speakers have never heard of.

He collects pajamas and earrings.

Swears on the phone.

Namjoon being the horniest member is a cover-up story. Yoongi masturbates almost unreasonable amounts of times, by himself and in your arms when going to bed. Not gonna lie, it’s a sight to see his hands at work. He’s almost equally obsessed with fingering you once you ask him.

Yoongi was the one asking you to move in and almost had a nervous meltdown before meeting up with you to tell you just that.

He’s the little spoon and of course a sleeping burrito to hold tight.

Finds you equally attractive in any state or styling. Yoongi practices what he preaches, he always reacts the same and says the same.

Jams out to outrageous beats Namjoon sends him by dancing in the studio. You walk in on him every time. Was embarrassed at first, now you dance along.

Has bought you a life-sized Yoongi pillow and customized you a giant Shooky to hug when he’s not at home over night.

Owned a wine cellar until he quit drinking. Turned it into a piano room instead.

Only you know Yoongi has a serpent and dagger tattoo.

Scrubs the bathroom religiously.

The house smells like restaurant food and his extravagant perfumes half of the time.

Sometimes he has to remind himself he’s married to you and not his coffee machine. He shall be forgiven. You can’t complain that he doesn’t love you enough, nor is he ever not adorable when drinking his latte.

Never wears short sleeves. It can be scorching and he’ll wear a jacket.

Tell him and the cap stays on during sex.

He grows his hair out and puts it in a low bun. The bangs remain.

Yoongi has installed the most fire-proof building in the entire city it seems. That he wanted to be a firefighter when he was young definitely shows. Figures the house has to be protected from heat: His blasting studio music and Yoongi himself are just way too sizzling.

Still melts into a puddle when you kiss his nose.

Couple sunrise watching.

#yoongi #yoongi hc #yoongi x reader #bts #bts x reader #bts hc #yoongi scenario

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1kook · 3 years

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card swiped (4)

→ jeon jungkook x (f) reader

→ “I’ve known Jungkook was a virgin since he first tried to tell me he wasn’t,” you tell him, arms crossed over your chest. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows.” GENRE romance (romcom?), eventual smut, teensy angst WARNING mentions of a hand job, talk of virginity OTHER college crushes, volleyball player!jk, student council president!oc, idiots to lovers, besties to lovers, childhood friends au RATING m (18+) bc brief sex ment WC 1.6k

NOTES (!) sorry for taking so long to update </3 school be kicking my ass. anyway here they are! an idiot couple. lmk what u think!!

[ masterlist ]

In the past, whenever something had bothered you, the first person you ran to was Jungkook. Low grades, fights with your parents, boy drama— as your best friend and number one confidant, Jungkook was always your first choice. He was always willing to lend you a shoulder to cry on, even if that meant staining his white t-shirts with streaks of your mascara. He was always ready to go beat up a mean boy who had hurt your feelings during lunch, even if he’d miss his favorite special. And he was always down for some good old fashion i hate my parents ranting, even if he adored your parents. He was a great listener, an even better best friend, and had rightfully won you over from a very young age.

That being said, how were you supposed to talk to Jungkook about something that bothered you when that something was him?

You could easily tell any of your numerous girl friends, those of which would probably understand your predicament better than Jungkook or any man ever could. But after years of vehemently denying any notion of a romantic relationship between the two of you, you get the feeling your call for help will be met with more unimpressed glares than actual assistance. Besides, as much as you bring up Jungkook, none of them really know Jungkook to truly offer you any worthwhile advice.

Your next option: Kim Taehyung. Now, Kim Taehyung held a similar background as Jungkook (translation: he also went to the same high school as you). He knows both you and Jungkook—frankly, more than you’d like him to—so he would be able to dissect the issue easily and offer trustworthy advice. The problem with Kim Taehyung, however, is that aside from knowing you at your embarrassingly dorky teenage prime, he doesn’t know how to keep a secret. Anything he knows, Jungkook knows. So if you were to, hypothetically, ask Taehyung for advice on Jungkook, well. Chances are, you’d probably get a rather confused text from Jungkook two minutes later.

Which leaves you with one option— Park Jimin. There’s a reason Park Jimin isn’t your first option, and that reason presents itself now as you glare at him from across the empty room. For as long as you’ve been in university, Jimin has always lingered around the student council meetings, giving everyone he sees the prettiest, meanest stink-eye. You suspect it’s because he waits around for Min Yoongi, your Vice President (which isn’t an issue; Jungkook also frequents student council meetings while waiting for you), and doesn’t really care for anyone else. Your problem with Jimin doesn’t lie there but rather with the fact he’s adamant on taking up space and not lending so much as a finger to help.

Today he is sitting with his feet on the table, dirty volleyball bag tossed on the floor. He’s watched you for the last fifteen minutes wrestle with the broken copy machine and hasn’t said a word since. He pretends he doesn’t see you struggling, because if he does, he’d be obligated to help you.

To summarize, Park Jimin may be the fastest libero your university’s volleyball team has seen in years, but he’s a good-for-nothing bum everywhere else.

And despite all that, he’s your best choice. There’s no one quite as blunt and honest as Park Jimin. There’s no one in this world who truly doesn’t care enough about anyone’s problems to gossip about them as Park Jimin. You plop down beside him, rumpled papers in hand. Without warning, you jump straight into it. “Jungkook is going to take my virginity,” you announce, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. If any of your fellow student council members heard you, you’re certain you’d shrivel up and die.

Jimin hums. “That’s nice.” His eyes don’t leave his phone, thumb hovering over his screen. It’s a testament to how much he truly does not care. His extended silence plants a seed of doubt in you— was this the right person to tell? you begin to worry. But after a beat, Jimin’s thumb taps against his screen and he says, “Jungkook is a virgin.”

You clench your jaw. “I know.”

The thing about Jimin is, with the right wording, you can get him interested in something. Not interested enough to genuinely care, but interested enough to at least listen and offer his own piece of straightforward advice. His thumb comes to a standstill over his phone, eyes momentarily going blank. It’s a minute gesture, one that’s taken you four years of paying attention to catch. Just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone. “Really,” Jimin sighs, back to, you now realize, playing CandyCrush on his phone. “You’re gonna let a virgin take your virginity.”

Not a question, but you nod anyway. “Yup.”

There’s sweat building on the back of your neck, nerves at an all time high, but you’re trying to play it off. Just a little bit more and you know you’ll have caught him. Beside you, Jimin’s jaw twitches.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity of trying to act calm, Jimin clicks his phone off and turns to you. He’s as intimidating as ever, ash blonde hair pushed back today to reveal his forehead and dark eyes. “You’ve known Jungkook was a virgin this whole time?” he asks, has this calculating look in his eyes that makes you feel like you’re being questioned by an officer of the law and not the shortest person on the volleyball team.

With a practiced air of nonchalance, you shrug. “I have,” you confess, and it’s the truth.

While you may have been initially fooled that night two years ago, you weren’t that oblivious. Oh, you knew clear as day that Jeon Jungkook was still a virgin, just as well as you knew that he religiously washed his sheets every weekend or that he had a specific color coded system for his underwear drawer. Jungkook was a fool to try and lie to you, not only because you had found out, but because you had found out that very next morning.

It had been subtle. The night at the party, you had watched on with a throbbing heartache as some pretty girl led Jungkook up a set of stairs, had barely fought off a wave of emotion when he returned twenty minutes later, his hair a rumpled mess. “Did you… ?” you had mumbled, pressed closely against him by the back door. Your eyes had been glassy, from your emotions and from the drunken stupor you had gotten yourself into while he was away, wondering what he was doing. A sense of jealousy you would never admit to had curled around your heart. His hand had landed on your hip then. He smelled like flowers and vanilla, a smell unlike his own. Your heart clenched, hand mindlessly reaching up to cup his jaw, so drunk and heartbroken, you couldn’t stop yourself from trailing your fingers along his pretty cheekbones.

Jungkook had graced you with a simple nod, and then, “do you wanna leave now?”

You’d left, stumbling down Greek road on your way back to his dorm. Jungkook had held your hand the whole way, tucked you into his twin bed, and then promptly knocked out on the floor between his and Taehyung’s beds. The latter was nowhere to be found, wouldn’t appear until the next morning when he’d accidentally step on Jungkook’s ankle and wake both of you up.

Jungkook had yelped, and your eyes had fluttered open. You remember debating rolling over, checking on him like you wanted to, but Taehyung was already there doing just that. So you had laid still instead, listened as the two boys clattered around the room. They chatted mindlessly, about the party and tomorrow’s practice. Taehyung had been bragging about some girl he’d slept with last night. “What about you?” he had asked, and your breath caught in your throat. “Did you and…”—a pause, the distinct ruffle of fabric—“finally?”

“What— no,” Jungkook had said, and you felt the bed dip as he sat down on the edge beside you.

Taehyung pushed on with a snort. “Well, did you get lucky at all?”

Jungkook groaned, placed one warm hand on your back soothingly. You tried your best to level out your breathing, relaxed your facial expression as you clung to the sound of his voice. “Just a handjob. Some girl I didn’t even know. Does that count?” You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, felt it beneath your fingertips when you fisted the sheets.

And that curt admission sat in the back of your mind everyday for two years.

You turn to Jimin. “I’ve known Jungkook was a virgin since he first tried to tell me he wasn’t,” you tell him, arms crossed over your chest. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows.”

Jimin lets out a low whistle. “You’re smarter than I thought,” he grins, this conniving little smile that is a genuine cause for concern. “So you’re letting him think you don’t know?” You nod. Jimin’s smile grows. “My, my. If I had known you were this evil, maybe we would’ve hung out more.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not evil,” you insist, flicking him on the nose. Jimin huffs indignantly. “I think what he’s doing is sweet…” you confess, feel your entire body heat up as you recall that wide-eyed look Jungkook had given you just yesterday afternoon, your kiss print fresh on his cheek. “And, well,” you look down at your shoes. “I used to dream about him being my first.”

Jimin groans. “You two make me sick.”

#networkbangtan #kwritersworldnet #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts fic #bts smut #bts #jeon jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jjk #mine

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vanillann · 3 years

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the third rule debacle (emily prentiss x fem!reader)

a/n: this request spark something in me. also my wlw are always so soft omg it’s so cute

word count: 1.9k

warning: swearing and sexual innuendos

emily prentiss masterlist

Emily Prentiss had three rules that she followed in her life, she normally didn’t like these types of rules but these three were important.

Rule one was never to let her mother know too much. She learned that the hard way after she told her mother about this boy she liked or thought she liked, and she invited his entire family to dinner to talk about it.

Rule two was never let Penelope say she’d be DD for a night out. She never actually stayed sober, she loved pretty drinks with umbrellas in them, and Emily didn’t mind being sober most nights.

Rule three was don’t ever date a coworker, which is something Emily was known for at FBI Headquarters. She just thought it made things messy and complex for no good reasons, close friends were great but anything more was a bad idea.

Until they got a new teammate from the CIA, who asked to work closely with fewer international crimes, who sat across from Emily with a sticky sweet smile that made Emily have a sweet tooth.

She hated rule three so much it was giving her stomach aches because she sat there like a goddess and Emily wondered why she even made this rule anyways. She was starting to look dumb every time she’d wink from the other side of the bullpen at her or when she told Morgan he “wasn’t her type” then turned to look at her.

“Come on Em, you’d look so hot together!” Pen moved her glass on the table, her word somewhat slurred and Emily was confused about how she was already wasted.

“I think I’m on Pen's side this time,” JJ tilted her head to Pen but never lost eye contact with Em. JJ was getting annoyed at the pinning, so annoyed she started ranting to Henry about it.

“I don’t date coworkers,” Emily played with the glass of water in front of her, playing with the droplets as they fell down to distract her from her own problem. Could it be easily solved? Yes. Would it be? Probably not.

“But what if she is your exception,” JJ spoke sincerely, so sincerely it scared Emily shitless.

Pen slammed her fist into the table, her mouth wide open as she sang “you are my only exception” and Emily recognized the song quickly. It was Hayley Williams for crying out loud.

“Who’s an exception?” Em looked over her shoulder at an overly confident Morgan and normally she would have loved to see him but it made her feel worse. Morgan was supposed to pick up (Y/N) which meant she was now here and Emily would be left pining for her all night.

“(Y/N),” JJ spoke softly, looking around Morgan to try and find the girl in question.

“She’s getting a drink over there.”

Emily looked to where Morgan’s finger pointed, smiling lightly when she spotted the girl leaned against the bar with a little smile on her face. Even under the rough bar lights over her head, she looked like something you’d rip from the magazine just to tap it to your wall.

She looked like everything Emily wanted in someone, minus working together.

“Just drop the silly rule,” Morgan dramatically rolled his eyes, watching Emily come back down to Earth.

“It’s not a silly rule, it’s serious!” Emily looked between her friends, hoping at least one would back her up but she was left empty-handed. She knew they were right, it wasn’t that serious but it felt serious. What if it ended in flames?

She already came to the team late, would they kick her off over this? Yeah, okay, maybe she was overthinking it but to Emily, this was the biggest reason she didn’t date coworkers.

“Ladies!”

(Y/N) came around the corner like a fast-moving bullet, her arms wrapping around JJ’s shoulder in a hurry. Her excitement bounced off her to Emily quickly, like it always did.

“(Y/N)! We were just talking about you!” Pen reached for the former CIA agent, her hand flying over her mouth as sound as she realized what she said.

“Glad to know I’m a topic of conversation,” she smiled slightly at Pen, squeezing her hand before she spun and spotted Emily watching her. A smile was quick grace on both of their lips, which just made the rest of the team's points made.

“How could we not talk about you,” Emily did her best for the comment not to come off too flirty but by JJ’s smirk she failed miserably.

“Well I hope it’s dirty like my martini,” the girl winked, smiling when the taller dude from the bar brought the drink over with a smile to the girl's energy. Emily shook her head and smiled to herself.

How couldn’t you adore that?

“So, is Spencer coming or-” she trailed off, looking to her other teammates to find her answers about the sweeter boy.

“He’s flying out to see his mom tonight,” Morgan nodded, his smile flatter slightly but he bounced back quickly.

“Man, I was hoping he’d be here so I could see him dance!”

The conversation was easy there like it always had been. (Y/N) was a great fit for the team, had everyone wrapped under her finger in seconds without trying. Emily knew she had imprinted the team forever, she had imprinted her forever.

“(Y/N), look at this baby panda!” Garcia reached across JJ, her pink blinged phone glittered under the lights of the bar. Without much thought, Pen pushed her phone father until her knuckles pushed the martini from the hardwood table into (Y/N) lap.

Her face was one of shock, looking down at her lap as the liquor pooled in her lap. Then a little smile painted across her cheeks and suddenly she was laughing, like throw your head back and make the room stop laughing.

“Better not let my PO find me,” she joked, smiling when JJ took the few napkins from the table and tried to clean up the little mess that was made. Pen continued to apologize, her eyes welling up with tears before (Y/N) reached for her hand.

“Pen, it was just an old Green Day shirt. Don’t worry sweets, as long as it wasn’t the Chemical Romance we’re clear,” she smiled at Pen, which made the blonde release drunk giggles.

“I’m gonna go clean up,” she waved off the table, taking a few of the napkins JJ had with her as she pushed back everyone until she found where she was looked for. Emily watched her back until she could no more, her eyes suddenly trained on the door.

“Go talk to her, I’m begging you,” JJ reached across the table, her hands clapped together with pleading eyes.

“Rules were made to be broken Em,” Morgan shrugged, his body already moving so Emily could slide out the small wooden booth.

“Says the FBI agent,” Emily smirked and Morgan slid out the booth anyways. She knew they were right, it was clear as day she needed to confess something. She knew (Y/N) felt somewhat the same, she at least hoped.

Her boots were moving over the sticky floor of the bar before she registered that she left the table. Her mind followed the same route (Y/N) did seconds ago. An older man reached out to catch her attention but she walked right around him. No soul could get in the way of her right now, because she finally was ready to break rule three.

Fuck rule three, rule three was made for the scared girl who didn’t know what she felt like, but she was going to find out.

Her hand lightly pushed open the door to the bathroom, smiling when she spotted her standing in front of the mirror with the paper towels in her hand. She looked up from her shirt, smiling at Emily in the mirror than looking back at the mess.

“Gotta piss?”

“Oh god no,” Emily let out a little laugh, she didn’t say anything funny but she knew she couldn’t stay serious if this was going to go her way.

“Good, I wasn’t giving my bathroom,” she smiled under her breath, something Emily never found that attractive before she did it.

Emily finally walked into the bathroom, letting the door lightly shut behind her. She realized how harsh the red tank top as a leather jacket was against the white tiled of the bathroom, but standing next to the girl, woman, in the Green Day tee with a stain down the front and the most acidic washed jeans she’d seen, she felt right where she belonged.

“Can we talk?”

“Of course Em,” she spoke without looking up, her hand moving to the tap to turn on the water.

“Are you free Sunday?”

Her hand stopped on the cold water knob, her eyes slowly moving from the tee to her own eyes. She couldn’t believe she had said it that smoothly too. She didn’t stutter or try to fight it. She didn’t wanna fight now she felt anymore.

“Why?”

“I was thinking dinner,” Emily leaned on the wall beside the sink, her finger coming up to her mouth as she bit her fingernails, cursing Spencer for bringing it up as her nervous habit, now she can’t stop.

“Like date dinner?”

“Hopefully.”

Emily gave her best smile, hoping that would make her more inclined to say yes, although she was hoping she liked her more to just say it to start with.

“I thought you didn’t date coworkers,” (Y/N) turned so her side was leaning against the sink, her body now facing Emily’s right on. That just made her more intimidated.

Emily didn’t really know what to say at first. Does she give her the long version about how she thinks they’d be good? Does she just tell her things have changed? As her brain wrapped around something to say, her brain went back to Pen singing the Paramore song and she couldn’t stop the smile that split her face in two.

“You’re my exception,” Emily spoke the words casually, shrugging as if she didn’t think over her words over words forever.

But it was worth it as (Y/N) smiled, pushing off the sink and reaching out from Emily. Her hand curled at the back of her neck, her face pulling closer to her own as their lips collided. Emily could feel her lip gloss running off her own lips onto her own, and nothing made her smile more than knowing she had proof now.

She was kissing her and her lips were as soft as frosting and Emily was so thankful for her sweet tooth. She was her sugar high she’d never come down from. As their kiss became the ghost of one, the world filled back in. She remembered she was in a dingy bar bathroom while her liquor ran into her shirt more and more.

“I’m actually completely free this Sunday,” (Y/N) licked her lips, smiling to herself as she looked up at Emily with the most innocent look in her eye.

“Never pictured you tasting like strawberries.”

Emily smirked, leaning in for another because she needed a taste of what breaking rules felt like.

“You thought about how I’d taste.”

“Oh all the time,” she rolled her eyes and smirked but leaned in herself because while she was her sugar, Emily Prentiss was her spice and she wasn’t going to stop reminding them both.

Emily smiled a little harder as she exited the bathroom because she both ruled three for the girl she’d break the law for.

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@underscorecourt @meowimari @mggsprettygirl

#emily prentiss is hot #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss imagines #bau x reader #criminal minds x reader

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vvideonasties · 3 years

Text

clear-cut

"Good morning," Jon says.

"Um," Martin replies.

Jon then realises that him holding a pair of scissors so close to his eyes not long after ranting about gouging them out would be rather concerning at first glance.

word count: 2k

pairing: jonmartin

warnings: discussion of canon related trauma, thoughts about body autonomy

While rifling through the kitchen drawers, Jon is unsurprised by the plethora of blades Daisy owns. There’s every kind of knife you could fathom and, thankfully, a few pairs of scissors. Grabbing what appears to be the sharpest pair (though they all look pretty damn sharp), he heads to the bathroom. He clutches the white of the porcelain sink and stares into the mirror impassively.

He used to actually quite like his long hair. He’d play with it while he was working, twirling the thick locks around his fingers and untangling knots absentmindedly. When he’d get frustrated he’d pull it out of its tie and tug at it. It was a strange way to ground himself.

Now, though. It’s been used too much for other people’s gain, has been in too many people’s hands for it to truly belong to him. The gravity it provided began to dissipate when Daisy attacked him - she’d grabbed a chunk of it and used it to yank back his head to expose the vulnerable expanse of his neck. As he’d stood there under the mercy of her blade, shaking and pleading, the stinging in his scalp lingered the entire time. It only got worse from there - the awful attempt at tenderness displayed by the Stranger as Nikola brushed aside a few strands to gain access to more flesh, to paste moisturiser onto it with her stiff fingers. The dirt he couldn’t quite scrub out of it after he left the Buried, even when he sat in the tub for hours on end. Even when the water began to run clear, he could still feel the clumps weighing him down, making his head loll to the side with it.

After all that, it wasn’t much to him. He’d wash it, dry it, tie it up. Try not to think of it.

Jon stares down at the gleaming scissors in the sink determinedly. Cutting it off won’t solve much, if anything at all, but it would make him feel a little more comfortable. It’s one of the only things he can control about himself at the moment. If he doesn’t like the way it looks, then fine. It’ll grow back.

His hand flexes and clenches into a fist. Tighten, relax, tighten, relax.

He reaches for the scissors and holds a piece of hair in front of his face, the blades open, hungry, ready to receive.

Then there comes a short, polite cough. He turns to see Martin standing just outside the bathroom, eyes a little wider than normal.

"Good morning," Jon says.

"Um," Martin replies.

Jon then realises that him holding a pair of scissors so close to his eyes not long after ranting about gouging them out would be rather concerning at first glance.

“I’m cutting my hair,” he clarifies, and Martin seems to relax at that.

“Okay.” A pause. “Why?”

He puts down the scissors and shrugs, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“Just felt like it,” he says, which is kind of true. “Not particularly attached to it anymore.”

Martin hums, taking him at his word. He walks over on socked feet, close enough that Jon can feel the heat radiating from him. There’s a brief moment where his hands pass over the scissors.

“I could help?”

Jon turns to face him completely, brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, it’s just that I have experience? Kind of? I cut my own, and I used to cut my mum’s as well...” Martin’s mouth twists downwards at that, and Jon just frowns harder. “I won’t give you my mum’s style, I promise!” He jokes weakly. It falls flat, and the whole atmosphere feels stilted.

“Okay. Why not.”

“...Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt your whole-”

“It’s fine. I could use some help reaching the back anyway.” As much as he just wants to lop all of it off, he doesn’t want it to look messy.

Martin seems to brighten, probably at the relief of having something to focus on, and he walks off to grab a chair from the small dining table as Jon hovers awkwardly. He positions it in the living room, close to the small TV they’ve been using sporadically. They’ve been steadily working their way through the small cabinet full of DVDs underneath it. However, Jon isn’t exactly sure how long they’re going to be staying, so they might have to...ration them. The week they’ve been here hasn’t exactly been the most vibrant when it comes to entertainment. Maybe one day they’ll relent and open up the dusty box of Monopoly. That could very well be a major test of their relationship, though.

At least, Jon thinks this is a relationship. They haven’t talked about it all that much. All that mattered in the beginning was escaping the Lonely, leaving London, then getting settled here. They’re fumbling around blindly in the dark, and all Jon knows is he wants to hold onto Martin as tightly as possible.

That little train of thought is interrupted by the small clink of Martin taking the scissors off of the sink and grabbing a towel from the rack. He gestures to the chair, inviting Jon to sit, and when he does so he feels the towel being gently wrapped around his shoulders.

There’s the brief sensation of Jon’s hair being pulled at, only slightly, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Okay?” Martin whispers. He understands without knowing, somehow, and Jon is glad that he can’t see the way his face is taut with apprehension, tinged with pain.

“Okay,” he whispers back, trying to emulate Martin’s tone.

“Can I use your tie?” His voice is still soft, and Jon should feel patronised, but he mostly feels soothed. “Just so it’s easier to cut through.”

Jon wordlessly removes the tie from his wrist and hands it over. He tries to hide the little shiver that passes over him when their fingers brush. Martin begins to hum a tune as he gathers the hair up into one handful (not like they did, he would never, it’s Martin, always so good to him), then creates a loose ponytail that falls to his shoulders.

“Fine so far?” Jon nods tentatively. “Alright then.”

There’s the distinct sound of the blades opening, and in one fluid motion Jon feels the weight he’d been carrying leave him.

“There.” Martin comes into view, holding the thick, dark ponytail aloft, smiling crookedly.

“Oh,” he croaks. “That’s...a lot.” His hand comes up to brush his the side of his head, then travels down and grasps at thin air where hair was a second ago. The cut seems to stop at his jaw, the small strands remaining ghosting over his skin.

“It is. Can I keep going?”

Jon, hand still close to his head, makes a noise of assent. Martin takes a second to throw away what’s been cut then returns. He sinks his hands into Jon's scalp, massaging the tension out of it, and Jon makes an unbidden noise of satisfaction that causes his motions to still.

"God, sorry, did I hurt-"

"No! No, it's okay. It felt nice." It felt really nice.

Martin clicks his tongue and continues for a while longer, fingers digging into Jon’s scalp over and over in a wonderful, rhythmic motion until Jon is practically boneless and falling asleep in the chair. He wonders if there’s a not-weird way to ask for this again outside of a hair cutting context.

“So how short are we going here? You kind of have a bob right now,” Martin laughs.

Jon hadn’t really thought about that. He just wanted it off, away, binned and out of his face. He shrugs. “I don’t know, short? Whatever you think will suit me.”

“Any hairstyle would suit you,” Martin points out, like it’s nothing. Jon smiles. “But I’ll do my best.”

A few moments of Martin muttering to himself and circling around the chair is followed by the coolness of the dual blades against the curve of Jon’s ear, the shhk of them pressing together giving him goosebumps. He clearly has done this many times before, given the confident way he navigates the scissors. Jon certainly couldn’t have done this alone, at least not without making a fool out of himself. Martin brushes some hair away from the nape of his neck. His hands are very warm.

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with short hair.”

Jon turns to him, puzzled. “Really?”

The thing with Jon is, when he cares about someone a lot, he tends to insert them in all of his memories, assuming that they’ve always been around (he also has the memory of a goldfish, but he’s sure that’s a whole other thing). Martin has become such an integral part of his life, standing neatly by his side like it’s nothing. Like he was meant to be there and always has.

“It has been quite a few years now, I suppose. Last I remember it was this short I was still in research.” When he goes to touch his head again he notes that he can feel for his ears without having to move a mountain of hair aside.

“Better late than never, I guess! I’m gonna move to the front now.”

Martin has to position himself at an awkward angle to use the scissors properly, his back practically curved into a C shape. His gaze is focused and intense, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Hair falls on Jon’s face as he snips, making him wrinkle his nose and grimace.

“Sorry. You can wash it off soon.”

Jon nods minutely. Then he sneezes. Martin just smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, then continues.

He remembers why he rarely went to get a professional haircut now. That strange intimacy that comes with someone being so close to you - a stranger - it always disturbed him. The idle chatter that made him grit his teeth, how they’d act like they knew him. Then he didn’t have the time or energy to cut it himself after...everything.

Now he’s looking at Martin, though. It’s odd, yes. Intimate? Definitely. He doesn’t know whether to close his eyes or keep them open. But he’s always found it very hard to turn his gaze away from Martin regardless.

His eyes are a lovely shade of deep blue, and he has far too many scars alongside the smattering of freckles on his face. He looks tired. Very much so. There’s crows feet at the corners of his eyes and lines on his forehead. He notes absently that he actually has a thick beard, too. Of course he noticed it beforehand - he’s felt it scratching the back of his neck when he wakes in the morning with Martin’s arms around him - but it’s worth pointing out. It makes him look much older, especially since the grey in it seems to be overtaking the red.

Martin stands up straight and runs his hands through Jon’s hair a few times before standing back, head tilted to the side.

“I think we’re done. It’s not amazing, but.”

Jon is already shrugging off the towel and heading to the bathroom mirror, feeling weirdly nervous.

He certainly looks different. Unfortunately, though he searched high and low for them, Daisy doesn’t own any clippers. Martin did the best he could with what he had - he’s kept it a bit longer towards the front, some strands grazing his forehead, but the rest is cropped closely to his scalp. Jon tentatively touches it and leans forward. He tries to grasp a chunk of it, see if it’s long enough to pull. He fails.

“It’s perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Jon says firmly. “It’s just what I needed.” He walks back over to Martin and wraps his arms around him instinctively, sighing with contentment when he responds in kind.

“Thank you,” he mumbles into Martin’s t-shirt.

“Of course.” Martin is stroking the back of his neck gently. “You look very handsome.”

Jon’s face burns at the compliment, and he chooses to hide it further rather than reply. They stand there for a while, hair scattered around the floor like autumn leaves, and it feels like a new beginning.

#lil writes #jonmartin #ive been thinking a lot about hair and people's relationship to their hair recently. like. why it means so much to some of us #and it morphed into this #hair is one of the few things we can control since its physical and mostly our own #idk i just feel like its a good way for jon to reclaim some part of himself. it certainly feels that way for me so maybe i am Projecting #anyways! take it!#i was actually gonna write a sequel about martin and his hair but focusing on the hc i have that he grows a beard in s4 so he doesnt have-#to see his own face as much. but lets see how this one is received first!#tumblr is such a bad place to post fic because feedback is so sparse. god.#ILL SHUT UP NOW BYE #oh wait i need to tag #the magnus archives

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nightswithkookmin · 3 years

Text

JM: Toxic Masculinity

Here you go @sizzlingpatrolfox

This is him addressing his earlier phase of hyper masculinity and the changes we saw in his appearance as he was transitioning from the super cut muscled look he had earlier.

I think he was answering a question on how he had changed then as compared to his early years in BTS.

Toxic masculinity is when men feel they have to adhere to certain social and traditional constructs of masculinity. When they feel they have to look a certain way, speak a certain way or even act a certain way to be a man.

When people say men should look a certain way, act a certain way but when you don't look or act in those limited and restricted ways they see you as not a real man.

People say men shouldn't cry or show emotions, they tease a man who cries often, or dresses in a certain way, or can't lift weights or do all these other things that is deemed typical of men- these things perpetuate toxic constructs of masculinity.

Men shouldn't wear skirts or certain outfits and jewelry. Men shouldn't show emotional vulnerability. Men should instead be tough, hold their liquor, be buff, have muscles and hang from cliffs, bring women to their knees and make them tame and subordinate etc. All these are very limited notions of masculinity and very harmful to men's mental health as well as women.

At the heart of toxic masculinity is that hatred of femininity or misogyny. They just hate anything faminine because to them femininity is synonymous with weakness and being less. And although a man may not show that hatred outwardly towards women, they may internalize it and as such tend to hate the femininity in themselves due to their environment and how people around them treat those perceived to have feminine traits- be it men or women or other.

So some men with thin soft voices would often think of themselves as not man enough and would often drop their voices octaves lower around others to project their masculinity. You see this a lot among gay and queer relationships- especially among gay men who see themselves as effeminate.

Here is an example from a gay man who dated one such effeminate gay man.

From a personal experience, I have had Male straight friends complain they feel gay just because their voices haven't dropped even though they are well into mid twenties and one person has really large breasts they are insecure about because they feel it makes them look like girls- and I always ask them, what's wrong with looking like a girl?

May be this is your gender. You don't have to look like others's definition of Male or female or androgynous or whatever label is out there.

And in the entertainment industry there is an inclination to erase and give androgynous people digital gender corrective surgeries- photoshop, make up and what have you so they can make their models conform to these limited views of gender. It's similar to how some magazines white wash BTS to make them look more white than Asian.

And then we scratch our heads when BTS themselves whitewash their own photos with filters and shit. There is nothing wrong with looking Asian or having a tan.

Jimin debuting as a hiphop artist- please tell me how you see he had internalized this whole shit. He was a contemporary dancer thrust in a hiphop world that marginalizes softness and flexibility and androgynousity. Surely you must know even if he didn't say so himself that that could have had an impact on him.

The misogyny and toxic masculinity in hiphop is no joke. Like you just have to be honest about the things you see with your eyes. Some things may not sound logical or rational or anything but it's your truth.

I don't care if I sound irrational sometimes or say things that have some of y'all clutching your pearls. I just speak my truth.

Hiphop is rife with misogyny and toxic masculinity. Please pay attention to the things gay men in that industry say. Jimin was trying to project a certain image of his masculinity. He was trying so hard to look a certain way in those periods and everyone with eyes could see that.

And ironically, this is the same rhetoric people spewed whenever anyone brought up the topic until Jimin addressed it himself- probably as a result of the conversations being had in regards to the change in his looks.

Y'all go listen to the diss tracks other hiphop idols made about BTS. The gay slurs just because they rapped and had dark eyeliners. It's a tough industry and I think, I think their transition into Idolhood helped water things down.

Jimin trying project his masculinity to appear as a "strong man" will never not make me uncomfortable after this video. Call it PTSD from the tears I shed and still shed each time I watch these moments of him addressing his past hyper masculine self.

Yall saying I shouldn't worry... I hear you. I'm gonna worry anyway especially each time these companies they work with pull some stupid shit like this and I'm gonna run in here and rant if I want to🤺

Let me worry in peace👁👄👁

Signed,

GOLDY

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dragonsareourfuture · 3 years

Text

Death Note/GN!Reader — Pick Up Lines

A quick little scenario in which your Death Note sweetheart uses a terrible pick up line on you! I feel as though these all kinda suck since I write this a while ago but it’s fine. It’s fine.

Mello

Staying up late every night and watching security footage was not fairing well for Mello. Dark circles started to form underneath his eyes, and you pointed out that he was turning into L, all he needed was black hair and a haircut. He simply responded “The day I cut my hair short is the day the world ends.”

Usually when Mello got tired he would turn into a grumpy, adorable gremlin but, mixed with the excessive amount of chocolate he consumed due to boredom, he had turned loopy. Matt had relied on his headphones to keep him sane, whereas you were left with no escape from the babbling blond.

Mello rambled on and on about how he was going to beat Near with every fiber of his being, slowly getting sidetracked into a conversation about sheep.

“They’re so fucking fluffy. Standing around, eating grass, taunting me.” The blond mumbled, his head resting on your lap as you stroked his hair, listening with genuine interest.

“Mhmm, how do they taunt you?” you inquired, wanting to know more before your boyfriend fell asleep and you never got to find out why he felt so threatened by white, fluffy animals.

“They just...do .”

“Well, I’ll always keep you safe from the mean, mean sheep.”

Mello shifted so that he was gazing up at you. He lifted his hand to your face and gently smacked your cheek with his palm, rubbing his tired eyes with the other hand.

“Aw, babe you’re so sweet when you talk like that... You make me melt like chocolate in the summer~ ”

“I do what?”

Before Mello could answer, unconsciousness grasped him and pulled him down into the dimension of sleep. You sighed, disappointed that you wouldn’t get to hear more, yet also relieved that Mello could finally get the sleep that he needed.

“G’night, Mels,” You whispered, brushing his bangs to the side and kissing his forehead, “You make me melt, too.”

Matt

Matt’s been acting strangely clingy all day. As soon as you noticed this fact, you immediately figured that it was an anniversary or either one of your birthdays and it had slipped your mind. However, upon further inspection of your phone calendar, today appeared to be nothing special.

You were seated on the couch, watching a bit of television while Matt washed the dishes. You had insisted that you could handle that task yourself, but the goggle-wearing sweetheart had insisted that you relax.

Suddenly you heard the sink turn off and footsteps lead up to the couch. You turned around to see the redhead wrapping his arms around your shoulders from behind.

“Hey, I lost my phone number...can I have yours? ” He asked with a sly smile.

“Matt, you have my number. Is that a pickup line? You know we’re already dating, right? Is my number not working?” You interrogated, grabbing his phone from the coffee table and calling your cell from it to ensure that your phone number still worked.

“No- it’s... you’re supposed to go along with it!”

“Well, come up with a better one next time, dumb ass,” You tossed Matt’s phone back at him, the device landing in his lap. He pouted and shoved it into his jacket pocket, getting up to return to the kitchen.

“You’re no fun.”

The room grew dim and increasingly empty as the hours ran further into the day, eventually turning to night. Despite the signs that you should be on your way home, you stayed with the only detective who thought it appropriate to work into the ungodly hours of the night.

You glanced over at L, back turned to you with his nose practically pressed against the computer screen. You rolled your eyes and switched on the main light of the room, saying, “You’re gonna ruin your eyes reading in the dark like that.”

L did not respond but, at the looks of it, kept on reading the minuscule words on his screen with intent.

“Do you need anything? Water? Maybe some cake?” You asked, giggling at the end of your words for no other reason than the tiredness getting to your brain.

“No, thank you. I already have you, and you’re sweeter than cake, anyway,” L droned matter of factly, not even tearing his eyes away from the luminescent screen.

“Awww! Oh my god, L!” You squealed, running up to L and enveloping him in a bone-crushing hug.

“Ah...(name), I c-can’t breathe...”

Near

You could practically hear the blood flow to your brain as you spun around in a desk chair at painful hours of the night. The screens that filled the SPK headquarters shone in your eyes, keeping you awake along with the unhealthy amounts of caffeine you had consumed.

Your white haired boyfriend sat crouched on the floor by your feet. The clicking of building blocks rang throughout the otherwise empty room as he stacked them on top of one another, paying no mind to anything else.

You sighed, placing your chin on the palm of your hand and deflating on the spot. No amount of caffeine could keep you here as late as Near always stayed, no matter how much you wanted it to. You hated that he was here alone all the time and, even though he always tried to convince you that he didn’t care, you knew it took a toll on his mental state.

You shifted in your chair, about to heave your body up when Near’s monotonous voice kept you still.

“(Name).”

You waited for him to continue, and spoke up when he stayed silent, “What’s up, babe?”

“Do you like LEGO ?” Near inquired. His eyes finally met yours as he twirled a LEGO piece in between his fingers.

“Uh, I guess—“

“Because I want to build a world with you... ”

You froze, wondering if the caffeine was getting to your head or if Near had actually used a pickup line on you — and a goddamn adorable one at that.

A weak smile tugged at your lips. You slid off the office chair and dropped to your knees on the cold tile beside Near, throwing your arms around the boy without another word.

Though he stiffened at first, Near melted under your embrace. He buried his face into your shoulder and wrapped his noodle arms around your torso. You stayed like this for either a minute, or an hour. It was so quiet that you could hear your hearts beating in sync. Everything was so perfect, so loving, so-

“ARE YOU GUYS STILL HERE!?”

Your heart nearly burst from your chest at the sound of a door banging against metal and the rough tone of Rester calling out to you.

Near grumbled and shoved his face into your neck, trying and failing to escape the booming echo of footsteps that approached your little heap on the floor.

“Yeah,” your voice came out ragged and small, but enough for Rester to hear and follow, “right here.”

“You both look exhausted! Come on, let’s get you to sleep.”

When Near barely moved a muscle, you took it upon yourself to pick up his limp body from the floor bridal style and carry him to bed. Though you almost dropped the poor boy more than once, you’d say you did a fairly good job. And, once you were both snuggled up in bed, you got a good nights rest of a solid three hours of sleep. It was the most Near’s gotten in weeks, so you were not complaining.

Light

Though you were already in a relationship with Light, the cheesy lines and swooning from him never ceased. You wouldn’t have to fend him off with a stick but he loved to be all over you even when he already won you over, and you loved that about him.

This was mainly exhibited when you two were alone together, him finding public displays of affection to be childish and overall unnecessary as everyone you hung around with at school respected your relationship quite nicely.

The two of you were strolling on the sidewalk after a headache inducing day of school. His arm was resting lazily over your neck as you walked while all attention was focused on you and you alone. You ranted about the difficulties of the day and, although they were mostly all minor inconveniences, they really got under your skin once all added up.

When you had finished, you huffed and rubbed at your temple.

Breaking the silence that followed, Light blurted, “How would you like to be the goddess of the new world? You wouldn’t have to deal with that crap anymore.”

You laughed, reaching up to lace your fingers with the hand that dangled by your shoulder. “Dude, I barely know what taxes are. I don’t think I can handle being a goddess.”

“Aw, that’s a shame,” Light pouted jokingly.

The two of you came to a stop in front of his house, him pulling you flush against him and just staring wistfully (up/down) at you. “Do you want to come in? I’m sure Sayu will be delighted to see you.”

“Oh, I’d love to but I don’t want to intrude—“

“Nonsense. Come on.”

And so, Light guided you into his home, his mother and Sayu cheerfully greeting you at the door and whisking you away into a night of wonderful conversation and a lovely dinner.

Matsuda

You took advantage of the daylight, working nonstop so that you wouldn’t have to stay after hours to get your unfinished work done.

Through your tireless efforts, you failed to notice a pair of familiar eyes glancing back at you every so often. You only noticed a change in your boyfriend’s behavior when he came rolling up to your desk in his wheely chair, resting his chin on his elbows and looking at you expectantly.

“Hey, what’s up, Teddy Bear?” You greeted, barely tearing your eyes from the papers splayed out all across your desk.

Matsuda grinned from ear to ear every time he heard that nickname. It made him feel wanted and loved whenever he was around you. Sometimes, this caused the filter between his brain and his mouth to thin, allowing whatever he’s thinking in that moment to slip out.

“Do you have a map? Because I’m getting lost in your eyes... ” he said dreamily.

Your head shot up in an instant, puzzled by the seemingly random affection, only to see Matsuda covering his lips as a dark blush began to rise on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “Th-that’s not...I-“

“Honey...” you shook your head and sighed, placing your pen down flat on the desk, “That is the literal worst line ever but it sounds wonderful coming from you.”

“O-oh. Thanks?” He chuckled nervously, massaging the back of his neck as his skin became slick with sweat.

You leaned over the desk and pecked his lips before collecting your paperwork in a neat stack, placing it all carefully in your shoulder bag, careful not to bend any corners. “Why don’t I finish my work in that nice little coffee shop across the street. Join me?”

“Y-yes! I’d love to. It’s getting a little stuffy in here, anyway.”

Misa

“Ughhhhh I’m so tired! What a day!” Misa exclaimed, stretching out her arms above her head as she walked over to her folding chair. The white, feathery wings fastened to her back smacked people and equipment as she passed them, but you saw her as nothing but elegant.

Your girlfriend plopped her butt down into the fragile chair, giving Matsuda a scare when it nearly toppled over. With beads of sweat trickling down his forehead, he handed the girl her coffee.

“Aw, thanks, Matsu! And you too, (Name)! I wouldn’t be able to do any of my scenes without you guys cheering me on!”

You chuckled, cheeks turning a dusted shade of pink at Misa’s praise. “Dont give us all the credit, babe. You’re the one giving your all up there.”

Misa twisted in her chair to grab at your hand and intertwine her fingers with yours. “You’re too sweet, honey! Y’know, if it were up to me, you’d be the one wearing these wings!”

“Oh, I don’t know, I couldn’t take your place!” You said, gesturing to the fountain where Misa’s scene had just been filmed.

The blonde giggled and brought your fingers to her lips, giving them a couple kisses before shaking her head. “I meant I’d have you in these wings because you’re an absolute Angel , silly!”

Before you could even begin to respond, Matsuda beat you to it. “Aww my gosh, you guys! Could I be the best man at your wedding?”

“Hmm...” you pretended to ponder while tapping your chin with your index finger. “How do you feel about being the flower boy?”

“Done!”

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amazingphilza · 3 years

Text

snapchat :: c!tommy x reader

fluff / angst , platonic , gender neutral ! first request whoop whoop :D [check pinned for more info on requests]

synopsis: ‘what’s so bad about adding every person on snapchat?’ tommy thought. unknowingly, with all the other people he begins talking to during exile, one ends up being you; tubbo’s younger sibling. that is until you both visit tommy in logstedshire.

cw: i purposely misspell a few words for the texting part, i hope it’s still readable for y’all! and i haven’t actually used snapchat in years so let’s pretend i know what i’m doing :)

tommy smiled at his brand new phone

first thing he does? install snapchat and reddit

if he couldn’t talk to his best friends face to face anymore, at least he had people online to talk to, right?

tommy hoped from all his possessions dream would destroy, he could at least keep a phone

without much thought, tommy opened snapchat and began adding every account and messaging them the same obnoxious message

BE MY FRIEND . MESSAGE BACK NOW.

most people chose ignore tommy, not having a clue why he was messaging them

but as for you, when you had the notification that someone added you on snapchat and started aggressively messaging you, it made you curious

you read their user

“wife haver”?? huh???

instead of immediately blocking the person, you replied back

what?

not even less than a second later you get a reply back

OH MY GOD FINALLY SOMEONE

IM DYING

without context, you were more than confused

genuinely dying is very alarming but you shouldn’t text a random stranger your last words

huh?

THE GREEN BASTARD TOOK EVERYTHING AWAY FROM ME

YOURE ALL I HAVE LEFT

plwase helo

Help

where did tou go

Ohm hgod

hHello?

NOOOO NOT YOU TOO

PLEASR

you laughed at the person’s desperation and ignored the messages

if the stranger wasn’t going introduce themselves, you wouldn’t either

however, after a while you realized you had over 100 snapchat notifications within an hour of trying to ignore the person

however it was just jumbled up words and useless spam, nothing important

as if the stranger would said anything important to your concern anyway

do you ever shut up??

fuck you

a normal person wouldve taken offense by these messages but you found them quite amusing

it wasn’t like you had anything else better to do

and this acceptance was the start of your odd friendship with the stranger

you were still on edge because you had no idea who they were and their intentions but the anonymity was mutual nonetheless

if the desperate spamming “wife haver” isn’t going to formally tell you who they actually were, you weren’t going to risk exposing yourself first

but in the past few weeks, you and the person had normal conversations apart from the first day they messaged you

well as normal as you could’ve expected from someone named “wife haver”

they were the first to send an actual snap as well

that was when you found out the “wife haver” was an obnoxious boy that looked around your age, maybe a slightly older

he had sent you a photo of him holding a thumbs up and trying to smile when he was clearly upset

just got all my stuff exploded again, feeling good

you noticed his messy blonde hair and tattered clothes

what the hell happened to this guy?

part of you was confused, and the other was concerned

u good bro??

well

i don’t have anymore tools and materials if that’s anything

so no

this is shit

lmao it was probably deserved

FUCK YOU!!!!!

im kidding that’s sad

but like do u actually need stuff?

you contemplated sending your next message and thought of the consequences

but in the end, you were probably better off than him so if he did try to do something suspicious, you could easily just leave with your trident or defend yourself

i can bring some things over if you’d like

please oh my god it’s so boring here

where the hell do you even live???

it finally hit that you would be visiting this mysterious person

you never really had much to do during the day and he had nothing against your enchanted netherite armor when compared to his worn-out clothes

you were surprised that he was quick to be comfortable with you visiting him so continued to message the boy

if you live nearby i can just stop over and bring some spare diamond tools and armor if you’d like or smth

DIAMOND !,?’/:@!?:/-',(

ya sure lol

WTF

GOOD SHIT LAD! THANKS

WHEN DO U WANT TO VISIT???

his shock and excitement made you smile

maybe this wasn’t a bad idea

before replying, you quickly ran to your storage room you gather your spare items

instead of normally texting, you decided to take a picture of all the enchanted tools and armor and send back a snap

i’m down for tomorrow, turn on your snapmaps so i can come by ;D

he quickly replied back with handfuls of ‘holy shits’ and ‘YEAHS’

you couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear which caught the attention of your older brother who had just walked in to get blocks from the wall of chests

“ew why are you smiling at your phone like that?”

“oh shut up, tubbo”

“it’s weird”

you roll your eyes at him in a playful matter

“whatever! i’m gonna be out tomorrow to visit a friend, okay?”

“you have friends? wow, sounds like a first”

“you’re such a dick!!” you yell at him whilst trying to hold in your laughter

“oh yeah? go on, tell me about this friend of yours then. meeting strangers online, hm?”

“if you’re so concerned, you can come with if you’re not busy with whatever a president does. i promise they’re not some weirdo like you”

tubbo’s tone was sarcastic but he agreed then left you to your own thoughts

you were excited for tomorrow that you were restless in your bed when nighttime had came

somehow you managed to fall asleep from tiredness in the middle of the night

soon enough it was morning

before doing anything, you checked your phone and went through all your notifications

you then checked snapchat, browsing snapmaps and realized how far you had to travel

despite the long travel, you brought yourself up from your bed and gathered all the items you were going to bring

you stuffed a full set of enchanted diamond armor, tools, and over a stack of golden carrots all in your inventory

after finishing all your preparations, you searched for your older brother

with just a loud yell of his name he appeared almost instantly

“you ready to go, tubbo?”

“yep! you know where you’re going right?”

you scoffed at the question

“of course!”

and with that, the two of you traveled on foot until you reached the ocean

you had brought 2 boats with you knowing that you couldn’t imagine being in the same boat as your brother; it would’ve ended up in endless bickering

after a while of being at sea, tubbo started to become impatient

“what the hell! how far does this person live, y/n??”

“i dunno!”

you knew the general direction you were supposed to be going to after studying your snapmaps all morning but you couldn’t check how much farther it would take to get there; there was obviously no signal in the middle of the ocean

it felt like forever before you saw land in the horizon

suddenly you regained all the energy you have lost from rowing

“there!! that place with the white tent, i can barely see it”

“finally”

with the burst of energy, you got to land in no time

the moment you got off your boat, the blonde spotted the two of you and ran in your direction

once appearing nearly feet apart, he stared at your brother who also had the shocked expression

“TOMMY?”

“TUBBO?”

your brother had more of a confused expression whilst the other boy seemed a bit mad

maybe he was always mad considering the endless conversations you had with him ranting about some ‘green bastard’

but tubbo quickly got defensive, stepping in front of you

you didn’t understand how they knew each other beforehand, but at the same time you never caught up with tubbo’s friends either

you needed answers

“what’s going on?”

“y/n! you were messaging tommy this whole time? why didn’t you tell me?”

tubbo was clearly frustrated and a feeling of guilt washed over you

it didn’t click that you never exchanged names and admitting it did not seem believable

tubbo was in complete shock, trying to process everything that was happening

“WHAT?! AND HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN TALKING?”

you mumbled out your words

“a few weeks, i can’t remember”

“uh, yeah sorry” tommy had confirmed your statements. “i didn’t even know you had a sibling, tubbo! i actually didn’t know their name until now as well..”

“HUH??”

“but if i knew i was messaging a tub-ling, i wouldn’t have in the first place!”

“what the fuck tommy!!!”

“no, but how do you even know each other?” you had interrupt the two

tubbo had chosen his words carefully

“we’re... friends”

tommy had seemed upset at this

“tubbo....”

“no, don’t talk to me, tommy. you were exiled for a reason. y/n? give him the stuff you wanted to him and let’s go, this was a waste of time”

you were saddened but obliged, you didn’t want to anger your brother even more

“fuck you, tubbo! can’t believe this was how you visit me for the first time, i don’t even want your pity shit”

before you could react, tubbo led you to the back of his boat

he got in the front and quickly rowed away from the land you barely stayed on, leaving your boat behind on the shores

you looked back at tommy who already had left back to his tent

the boat ride was silent and full of sorrow until you arrived back at l’manburg

once you got home you immediately opened snapchat to message tommy

hey tommy i’m really sorry about today. i had no idea,,,

you thought he would’ve ignored your message but instead replied right after

but your heart sank at reading the message

it’s fine

i think it’s best we stop talking y/n

you didn’t want to lose a friend so quickly but after all the tension from today, you didn’t know how to come back from it

so instead of arguing you agreed, even if it wasn’t honest

yeah, me too

and that was the last message you sent to tommy

even though the whole situation was confusing from the start, it didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy the random conversations you had

the bizarre encounter was unforgettable

it made you even sadder when you realized the first time you two used each other’s names through text would also be the last

a/n: ngl, i didn’t think i would finish this on a kinda angsty ending but here we are! and grrr it’s 4am and i just wanted to finish this,, let’s hope there aren’t that many grammar mistakes LMAO anyway i hope y’all enjoyed <3

#tommyinnit x reader #tommyinnit x y/n #tommyinnit x you #tommyinnit imagine #tommyinnit fanfic #mcyt x you #mcyt x y/n #mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfic #mcyt imagine

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call-me-sammy · 3 years

Text

About Walnuts... or something

Matt Murdock crackfic

Word count: 1444

This was great. Perfect. Awesome. Just what he needed right now.

With a sigh, Matt shed off his jacket, dropping it to the ground next to him. The crack of his neck echoed through the alleyway he’d been forced to back into, as he briefly warmed himself up for the upcoming fight.

Fucking kingpin and his stupid goons. They’ve always had a shit sense for timing. Fuck them and their habit of ruining his good mood.

He raised his fists. The scarf he was always carrying with himself since the last time he had to act quickly without his suit (he’d learned from his mistakes, mind you) was now dangling around his head, covering his eyes and nose. Time to beat up some bad guys.

Five minutes later, with a nosebleed and a few bruises that would surely be a dark shade of purple by the time he got home, he kicked the last goon hard in the side. Not because it was necessary (he was already very much unconscious), but because, frankly, the guy was a dick.

He looked down on himself. Or rather, he dropped his chin to his chest and concentrated on taking in all his surroundings.

Now, the stench of blood all around him became obvious. Fuck, he hated the smell of it. It wasn’t his own blood for once, thankfully, but it was still on his hands. And his face. And clothes. On his shirt. On his white, button up shirt.

Awesome, another one of his good shirts ruined. It just had to be one of the button ups he always wore to work, didn’t it? Those goons had no respect for fashion (or sense for it either, considering what they were wearing). Did they have any idea how expensive good clothes could be??

He let out a huff as he kicked him again, this time in the face (just for good measure), before turning away and making his way back towards his apartment, casually picking up his jacket on the way and slinging it over his shoulder.

He’d have to go buy some new shirts.

“Hey, sorry, excuse me, could you help me find some, uh... walnuts...?”

He spoke the last word hesitantly, suddenly not entirely sure if he remembered correctly. He’d heard someone, somewhere, mention them being a good, ecofriendly substitute for detergent. For some reason, he had remembered that conversation today of all days, shortly after his afternoon fight, and he’d thought hey, why not try if it actually works? Doing good for nature and all, you know.

Now, he wasn’t entirely sure about it anymore though. Walnuts. It had been walnuts, right?

“I just need help finding them because I, uh-“

He waved towards his eyes, trying to explain to the Aldi employee why he needed her help.

“Well. I’m blind.”

Yes, she knows Matthew. You’re wearing toned glasses and you have a white cane with you. It’s pretty obvious.

The employee just shrugged. “I kinda figured. So, walnuts, yeah?”

“Yes. Walnuts. I need them for, uh. For washing.” He added dumbly, regretting it immediately. Now she was gonna think him a weirdo, great job Matthew. Who even used walnuts for washing, anyways?

“....and to eat them. Of course. Cause walnuts, uh, they make smart... from what I’ve heard. Uhm...”

He trailed off, as soon as his brain, helpful as ever, informed him he was only making it worse. Yeah, he could really use some “smart” now. Damn it, Matthew, get your shit together.

The girl didn’t even bat an eye, she just shook her head slightly and gently took him by the elbow, guiding him down an aisle.

“This way.”

“Oh, and I also need some new shirts? I got bloo- ...blond. Uh. Blond hairdye, on my shirt, because I was... dying my hair—“

He could’ve slapped himself. You have dark hair, Matthew.

She just rolled her eyes (not that he would’ve known) and got him to the clothing aisle next. Customers.

Five minutes later he stood outside of the Aldi again, clutching a bag of walnuts and a maxi pack of plain, white shirts. He also bought a glass of stracciatella yoghurt, cause he was hungry, and impulse buying’s a thing. Sue him, it just smelled good.

Now he didn’t even really need to wash his old shirt anymore since he had new ones, but he was still gonna do it. He was curious now, if it was really gonna work.

Back at home he dumped all of the new shirts plus the old, stained one straight into his washing machine, then put a few of the walnuts in a sock and after a second of hesitation, just threw it in there too. He started the machine, turned away and then just forgot about it for the next couple hours.

---

“Damn, I’m gonna be late again, damn it damn— Foggy, hey!”

He almost crashed into his friend, while hurrying down the corridor as fast as he could while still trying to look like a normal blind guy.

“Christ, Matt, you gotta slow down or you’re gonna break your neck running into someone, man. Where were you? You’re almost late again, and— oh Jesus, what are you wearing?”

Even without seeing it, Matt could feel Foggy's horrified stare on him. Or, rather, on his shirt.

“What's wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“Fuck, Matt, is that blood?”

Foggy's voice was a harsh whisper. He pulled Matt into an empty room, pulling the door close behind them.

Matt sighed. With his luck, out of all the shirts he just had to pick the old one, didn’t he?

“No, it’s-“

“Matt. Stop bullshitting. Man, what did you think wearing an obviously bloodstained shirt to work? Are you insane?”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Yes, it is! Can’t you, like... smell it or some shit?”

Matt was growing increasingly annoyed. He crossed his arms over his chest. As if this was his fault. Stupid walnuts.

“No I can, normally, but I washed it. It just smells like soap now. No blood.”

“So what, you just threw a bloody shirt into the washing machine without doing anything else with it before?”

“Yeah, why, what should I have done with it? Isn't just washing enough?”

Foggy shook his head, incredulous.

“Geez, how are you so clueless about all of this? Wasn’t your dad a boxer? You need to wash the blood out first, with cold water, and then treat it with lemon juice or vinegar or something before actually washing it. It won't wash out completely if you don't, man. I feel like you should know that by now.”

“...wait, how do you know all of this?”

Foggy shrugged.

“Had to listen to one of Karen's rants about it.”

“And why would Karen know that much about washing out blood? I thought I was the one beating up people here.”

Foggy gave him a disappointed look, the words “you gotta be kidding me” basically radiating off of him.

“...she’s a girl, Matthew.”

“Yes, I know that, thank you, but why— ...oh. Right.”

“Jesus, Matt, I thought lawyers were supposed to be smart. But you’re just one hell of a dumbass, seriously..”

He shook his head and pulled Matt's jacket closer together over his chest to cover more of the stains.

“...c‘mon, let's just go to my place real quick. It’s closer, but we’ll still be late though. Well, better be late than have our new clients see you wearing that. Would give one hell of a first impression, that's for sure.”

Matt only hummed in response and was about to walk out again, when Foggy held him back.

“What did you wash it with, anyways? Smells a bit funny.”

Matt had noticed too, of course, but it just smelled a bit different from his usual detergent. There was nothing wrong with it. Not really.

“Oh, uh, with Walnuts.”

There was a short pause.

“....with walnuts? Why would you- what? ...Why?”

“I think I heard someone talk about it once? How it’s more ecofriendly and better for nature and all. Just thought I’d give it a try.”

He shrugged, and then grew more and more concerned and confused when Foggy didn’t respond. Then, after a good five second pause, he burst out laughing so hard that Matt actually flinched.

“Soapnuts, Matt, they’re called soapnuts! Not fucking walnuts, soapsnuts!”

Foggy was laughing so hard he was close to tears, wheezing breaths in and out.

Matt on the other hand was blushing hard in embarrassment. Oh god.

“Oh. I thought they said- I didn’t know-“

Foggy just hugged him briefly, a single tear running down his cheek.

“Fuck, Karen is gonna love this!”

---

About a week later, Matt received a package. No sender, just his adress and the word “walnuts” written on it in black ink.

When he opened it, he found a wooden corset inside. Made out of walnuts. (He looked damn good in it.)

@tallbisexualwantstobeloved @whumpdoyoumean @do-androids-dream-ao3acc

Note: alright folks, what you here see is a weird crack fic me and three other people wrote, just for fun. The idea came from a dumb joke and a, admittedly, pretty weird but hilarious conversation, and somehow we decided to make a challenge out of it? So all of us wrote a fic for it. You can find them here, here, and here. I really recommend reading them cause frankly they’re pretty hilarious XD

Thanks for reading!

#Matt Murdock #writing #daredevil #crackfic #crack fic #foggy nelson #blood #fanfic #fanfiction #thesoapnutmattcrackfic

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dancing-the-hellfire-rumba · 3 years

Text

I See You Clearly Now

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 0, babeyy. Complicated human relationships, maybe.

Word Count: 5.5k, once again, what the absolute fuck, who am I

Summary: An impromptu all nighter and a very domestic day with Sam who is- he’s a crush, right? Right?

A/N: This was basically me working through my emotions for a person in my life. I don’t-

Also, this was half because of an anonymous request I got the other day that wrote “please some sam winchester x reader but maybe an au with no creepy scary things” Here you go, hon. I’d argue complicated feelings are scarier than monsters, but whatever lights your candle :)

It’s four in the morning and she doesn’t particularly know when the decision was made to ignore the black night sky or the time, or how both Madison and her mutually agreed to it, but sleep is not close in the horizon. College life is exhausting, but this week was uneventful and slow, unmoving to the point of boredom. The beers in her fridge were staring angrily back at her, and her contacts seemed to anticipate her texts. Madison was the first choice, she hadn’t seen her in a while.

And where I go / Singing song of your affection / With rhymes to your perfection / Of you

I see you clearly now / I hold you dearly now / The sun is in my eyes (x)

Meeting arranged, hugs in hello and rosy cheeks, because her apartment is always warm, beers cracked open and drunk, and now Madison is on one of her white, comfortable lounge chairs, angrily ranting about Steve Rogers and Marvel. It’s that hour of the early morning when everything feels a bit gooey and intangible, stretched and fabricated, and there’s nowhere she’d rather be, content in defending a character she loves, warm, belly full of light alcohol and midnight-made crepes. Her cat moves loosely in the room, pointedly ignoring both humans, and Y/n’s cozy and happy to see the wild motions of her friend’s hands as she yells- the mild worry in the back of her head that she’ll find a note with a noise complaint taped on her door the next morning.

For all she cares, nothing could make this any better.

The night continues, laughter over Youtube videos and reality competition failures, repeated funny clips and belly-holding, more hurting of the cheeks from the laughter, more snacks, and she’s forgotten what that feels like in her never ending, break-neck-paced everyday life.

Time passes full of smiles and even more green cans of beer. Pyjamas are worn, sleeping bags are stretched on the floor over the fluffy grey rug, her cat seemingly having found a new enemy in the whipping of the sheets in the air. They laugh at her playing with them, until she settles on her little spot over her soft blanket. The girls stretch in their makeshift beds and they talk, texts are shot to other friends, also awake, selfies full of grins and-

“Sam says hello,” is all Madison has to say for Y/n to suddenly feel his absence in the room.

Sam. Of course.

“Gimme your phone.” Tipsy voice message with off-key singing sent. More happy smiles. A reply, a voice message of his own- “I’m glad you two are having fun. Where are you guys?”.

Y/n’s place, the reply is sent.

“Should I tell him to come by?” And Y/n has to hold her heart in steel hands to force it not to jump out of her chest and straight into her throat. Somehow, Sam always shows up when Madison calls, she thinks, a bitter taste in her mouth. Jealousy. Bottom lip bitten.

“Of course, if he wants to.” She hates to admit she’s excited to see him. Hates it, because she hasn’t talked to him in five months- not properly anyways- and the idea that Madison somehow is always in contact with him makes the familiar knife twist. The two had dated, sure, they’re friends now, a chemistry shared between them that’s inexplicable. It makes her wonder how two people can be so familiar with each other, how they can always be so fucking happy, bouncing off of each other, the sparks fly, people wonder why they broke up (Madison fell in love with someone else. Y/n doesn’t know how Sam reacted.)

Madison and her are friends, sure, but it seems everyone from that side of her friendships is close, but not enough to touch, so Madison never talked about it to her. Sam didn’t either. In fact Sam never even mentioned they’re dating. Sam never ever talks about his relationships. Not to her. He once told her, in that one phone call that lasted four hours until 6 in the morning, the one she can’t seem to forget, that he thinks his love life is nobody’s business. He’s vulnerable with it. Doesn’t share it ever with pretty much anyone (he’d share it with Madison, she thinks bitterly.) Sam, additionally, rarely answers her texts.

They’re in this weird limbo situation. She’d confessed her affection about a year ago, New Year’s eve and festive spirits, influenced by champagne and encouraging friends, and she’d received an “I wondered about us too, but I’m honestly in a weird place, unsure. I really enjoy your company, though, I think you’re really cool and I am very happy with how we are now. Friends.” No dice. She took it in stride. She’s fine with it. No really, she is. Over it.

Then Madison hooked up with him. That one hurt.

They’d talked about it- with Madison that is- because they’re friends, Madison had also been jealous -before Y/n’s confession, when Sam seemed sorta into her and things were going well- and had urged her to go for it. Y/n had shared the sentiment (“If you two end up doing anything, I’m fine with it, it’s really none of my business. You’ve been his friend for longer than I have.”) and she had really meant it. But then Sam didn’t want her, and he ran off in the sunset with Madison for a grand total of three months, and rotten feelings were there in every other step Y/n took.

Now though, she’s fine. Sam has a different pace than her, she knows it now, has come to terms with it. He’s such a gentle, loving creature, so caring and passionate and smart and kind, with those wonderful eyes and his soft hair and the scent that makes her weak in the knees. She’ll have him in her life if that means a single four hour phone call every six months and loose texts here and there- sent by her of course, because he rarely ever texts first for some infuriating reason, and she panics he’s gonna forget her. Other than that, she’s come to terms with the fact that they’ll always be distant friends, that she’ll admire him from afar and he’ll maybe think about her once a month.

He always seems so happy to see her, though. He’s so fucking difficult to decipher.

“He’s on his way.” Brought back to the present by Madison’s statement, Y/n sulks back in her seat, a small, excited smile crossing her features. She’s happy to see him. She missed him.

He’s making his way through the other side of town, though. He’ll be here in two hours just to see them, and her heart flutters.

Till then, Madison lays in her sleeping bag turns out the lights, Y/n’s cat stretches sleepily, and Y/n doesn’t fall asleep, anxious she won’t hear him ring her bell, won’t hear her phone or Madison’s at his call. She’s only slightly desperate.

Time has slipped to six in the morning. Y/n’s eyes are wide open, her head woozy from the fatigue and the alcohol, but, when the rug vibrates with the ring of Madison’s phone, she jumps. She jumps, and so does her heart, skips a beat, because he’s here and she hasn’t seen him since the summer and she just wants to hug him hello.

“Pst! Madison.” With a slap of her hand over her phone, Madison, in a lump on the floor, pulls the phone and balances it on the cut of her cheekbone, speaker over her ear, while her hand slumps back under the sleeping bag. Nelly- Y/n’s cat- blinks lazily, spooked by the sound of the phone call, but ultimately, not giving it much attention.

“Hm? Yeah. Mkay,” sleepy, mumbled words muttered into the phone. At least someone caught some shut-eye between them. “Bring some beers.” A small chuckle, a shake of her shoulders. “Oh yah.” Another laugh. “Hmph, buzzkill.”

Y/n is turning on a small light, just until the sun rises properly up the sky, because everything is currently a little dark still.

“Atta boy. We’re waiting for you.” Another short laugh. Madison hangs up turns on her back, and her phone falls off her face as she stretches, smiles, arms slumping over her chest. She doesn’t offer much information about the phone call. Not ten minutes later, the doorbell rings.

Y/n stumbles, sheets tangling on her legs, nearly tripping, to buzz him in.

He walks up the stairs, and she sees his head rise over the edge of the top step, a crooked smile on his pretty lips and she smiles back brightly. Arms raised over his head, he shows a plastic bag, clinking glass inside, and he whoops slightly. Y/n grins, throwing a victorious fist in the air.

“The feast continues!” And Sam laughs, toothy and bright as the sun. Y/n attacks him with a hug.

Warm arms stretch around her, hold her close, warm and tight, and he still smells heavenly, like he showered before he left his house. He smells like freshly cleaned clothes and vanilla scented body wash, like the seat of his car, deodorant and a deep, musky smell she can’t quite place.

My God, she’s missed him.

Madison is still on the floor of Y/n’s bedroom, mumbling her hello and burrowing a little in her sheets. Sam kneels down and hugs her, and she hugs back. “Nice to see you, dick”

“Runt,” he replies with a nod, as if he tips off his hat to her. Carefully, Sam also kneels next to Nelly, scritches under her little chin and whispers his soft greeting, to which the cat responds with a low purr and the bending of her head to give him a little more room. Sam smiles, and Y/n can feel her eyes being shaped into comically large hearts.

“M’God,” Madison groans. “I wanna stay awake but ugh.” Y/n smiles gently.

“Go back to bed. I have an appointment with my therapist in four hours though.” Madison nods numbly.

“Wake me up in three and a half, I’ll leave.” Y/n and Sam share a look and the former shrugs.

“Okay.”

Madison shifts, puts her headphones on and shuts her heavy eyelids, pretty much instantly falling asleep. Y/n is running on battery saver mode, enhanced by the incredible amount of adrenaline Sam’s presence seems to bring.

She nods for him to follow her and grabs her laptop, dumping herself on her living room couch, Sam closing the bedroom door behind himself and following her lead. He deposits most of the beers in the fridge and keeps two, which he opens. Y/n watches his ease in her kitchen, even though he’s never been here before and her heart wiggles in content.

He sits next to her on the couch, keeping a barely there distance between them, as she pushes the screen open. Despite all the feelings that have manifested in her chest over the relatively short time she’s known him, Sam and her really hit it off since day one. She met him during a surprise party thrown for Madison. Sam brought the cake, Y/n the candles and the lighter, and other friends brought alcohol, plastic plates that were never opened and cutlery.

The whole group had waited under Madison’s building, singing a very cheerful happy birthday, loudly enough for their voices to grow hoarse, and for Madison’s eyes to roll back into her skull with a sheepish smile. They had walked to a park, sat down and feasted on the cake straight from the pastry box, yet Sam was talking with Y/n on the swings a little ways to the right, away from the cheerful company, talking about fond childhood memories, about his brother, about their favourite movies. Y/n felt it, felt her heart drooping low, the familiar feeling of wanting to impress someone, to be liked by them. Even then, under whatever stars could be seen in their city, she knew he was gonna be trouble.

Beer bottle passed, and she clinks hers on his cheekily, receiving a tip of his head and a half-smile in response. Decided sips. Bottles held against bent knees as they both fold them like pretzels. Small talk about college, about recent misadventures and drunken phone calls, and soon she gets the urge to fill their time with something.

“Movie?” she asks, and Sam just seems on board.

“What do you have?”

And he ducks close to her and checks out the titles. “Do you wanna watch Hamilton? I’ve heard it’s really good.”

“YES, Sam,” enthusiastic and loud. Sam grins. They settle back on the couch.

Fifteen minutes into the play, Y/n doesn’t even hesitate, doesn’t ask and doesn’t preface by saying anything. With all the naturalism that their relationship has, all the affection she knows Sam has to give, she scooches closer to him and leans her head on his shoulder, hugs his arm to her chest, and he leans into her comfortably. “This okay?” The answer she looks for comes in the form of him leaning his head down on top of hers gently.

They watch two thirds of the play before they both get increasingly tired, since it’s a three hour performance. Their brains are kinda mushed, especially because of the lack of sleep, but they happily gush about how well made it is and Sam spews facts left and right about the price of the tickets, the actors and how the British royal family has gone to see it in-person.

“God, I wish I had the money to go up to NYC and watch it myself. I’ve never been to Broadway.” She sighs under his arm, which is now placed around her shoulders. Sam nods in agreement.

“Yeah, that must be so amazing to see in person.”

Bedroom door creaking open, Sam and Y/n separate from each other slowly as they watch Madison trudge to the living room like a phantom, a hand on her lower back.

“My God, Y/n, your floor is not hospitable at all.”

“Awh, I’m sorry.” Sam laughs next to her. “I don’t know why you didn’t move to the bed, though.” Madison glares, facepalms with a wince -the movement seems to rattle the spot that’s sore somehow- and shakes her head. “I didn’t- it- it didn’t cross my mind.”

Deep chuckles in amusement all around. Madison picks her stuff up. Y/n makes all of them some coffee, which they all quietly sip in the diminishing silence of the city waking up just outside their window.

The time for Y/n’s appointment approaches rapidly, and Madison waves goodbye, kisses both people on their cheeks and drives herself home. Y/n isn’t sure if Sam will stick around, so she checks the time awkwardly. She’d feel terrible to let him make his way back to other side of town just for these wimpy three hours wasted on tiredly catching up and watching a movie.

“Listen,” she says, and Sam’s attention is drawn from his coffee cup. “I’m gonna go to my bedroom, have my appointment, because we do it over Zoom anyway. You hang around, chill, and I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Alright,” Sam agrees gently. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

A painful, soul-straining hour later, wiping dry tear stains off her cheeks, Y/n makes her way to the living room, half forgetting Sam is even there. And boy if he’s there.

He’s stretched on her couch, legs barely fitting as he leans on the arm rest, ankles crossed, and a book he’s picked up from her bookshelf in his hands, while Nelly sleeps peacefully in his lap, finding comfort in his warmth. He hasn’t made an intense amount of progress, probably 50 or 60 pages in, but he seems invested, and for the seconds it takes him to notice her, Y/n admires him a little. Under the morning light through her thin, sheer curtains, rays are angled perfectly to make his cheekbones all the sharper, he, comfortable enough to relax in her worn-in couch. He looks so at home, and after such an emotionally draining hour, it’s so good to see someone who’s gentle, someone so familiar, waiting for her in her personal space, with her cat, as if he belongs there. It makes her heart do all sorts of stunts.

It seems he notices her from the corner of his eye though, and he puts the book down.

“Hey,” he tells her softly. “Are you good?”

“Uh,” she thinks for a second, pinches the bridge of her nose. “Yeah. I’m okay.” An offered smile, small and soft.

“Alright,” as if saying I’m choosing to believe you. “Have you read this yet?” He holds up a bright orange book, a small thing titled the Alchemist by Paolo Coelho. An offered change of subject. She smiles.

“Yeah, I have.” He folds his legs with a soft apology to Nelly who jumps off disgruntled, and Y/n takes it as a sign to sit on the couch next to him. His feet rest against her thighs, knees bent still.

“It’s so…” He sighs, struggles to find the words. “I mean, it’s not something I’d usually go for. It kind of feels childish and simple, but it’s so beautiful.” He seems slightly confused, surprised to find something he thought may be silly to be actually really good.

“I know right? It feels really simplistic, but some of the stuff it says is so eye-opening.”

“Listen to this,” he says and sits a little straighter, fixing the pillow on his back a little. “We are travelers on a cosmic journey, stardust, swirling and dancing in the eddies and whirlpools of infinity. Life is eternal. We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other, to meet, to love, to share. This is a precious moment. It is a little parenthesis in eternity.”

It’s like he chose the quote specifically for her, for this particular moment. A look is thrown his way, and he smiles crookedly. “I, uhm…” he rubs the back of his neck. “I just heard you crying, is all.” A nervous shrug. Y/n feels exhausted, drained, but in that little smile, that warmth, she feels like tearing up all over again at how fucking sweet he is. She pushes at his legs and reaches out to him for a hug, which he welcomes. She sighs.

“Thank you, Sam.”

****

Eventually, they get up. They move to the kitchen and make grilled cheese sandwiches and tea, and Sam leans against her counter as he watches her take out plates from her cupboards, Nelly prancing around with distant meows for attention. Y/n picks large mugs, puts honey in hers and serves their half breakfast on the kitchen island. They eat under light conversation about dogs in social media and pets, and Sam sorta looks like he’s always been there, like this is the life they’ve always lived.

Hot mugs cupped in thick sleeve-covered hands. Bodies curling up on different ends of a couch. Comfortable conversation continues. Topic shifted to something more serious, and Sam tells her things, talks about how he’s grown mentally, how he understands himself a little better and how he wants to try therapy. She’s happy to see him like this, being -if only slightly- more open about himself, about how he is, not closing himself up, not fooling himself into believing he can shoulder the world alone. Y/n gives him her therapist’s phone number, tells him she’s proud of him and shares her own stories. She ruffles his hair and smiles affectionately, and Sam thanks her. Their mugs empty. Her heart grows fuller.

While moving back to the bedroom, Sam kneels next to Nelly. He offers her his hand, lets her sniff it, scritches the top of her soft little forehead, and Nelly pulls away, sniffing, wagging her tail in short annoyance. “Is that not okay? Alright, I’m sorry, honey,” he whispers to her gently, watches her lick his fingers for a second before settling back in her cat bed and watching him wearily. Sam gets the message and he pulls away, and Y/n’s never, ever seen anyone interact with her cat this way. Respectful and kind (and if that ain’t Sam, alright) and her heart lurches a bit. Of course Sam, practically the perfect guy, would test her cat’s boundaries as if she’s a human, and then never push them again. She sighs.

They end up on her bed. Sat next to each other. Laptop in front of her, heavy conversation discarded, set down for now, and she searches for her favourite stand-up comedians to show him, because she knows his sense of humour and he’s gonna love them, she’s sure. Yet, as she’s scrolling, Sam does the unspeakable, and slides behind her, one leg either side of her, arms going around her.

“ ‘M sorry, I needed a hug,” he tells her, and she curls her own arms over his, leaning back against him.

“Anytime,” she promises and means every syllable. “You can stay like that if you want,” she tells him as well, and feels his chin on her shoulder as he nods, a huffed out breath softly knocking on the bare skin of her neck. She sighs into him. Gets comfortable, pulls the laptop on her lap -can you see well?- and lets herself be entertained, relishing Sam’s laughter against her back. She smiles, because this finally feels good. She doesn’t yearn, doesn’t look for anything more. She’s ultimately incredibly happy with where they are, with all of this warm affection. There’s no butterflies, just comfort, just love and care and tired laughter that fills her mouth with honey. The sun is in her eyes.

Not ten minutes later he shifts, stretches his legs and pulls her more comfortably against him. With gentle fingers, he pushes two strands of hair behind her ear, to the side, touch so soft she barely feels it, repositions his chin on her shoulder and breathes out calmly and Y/n shivers. He holds her securely and she, well, she dares dream, dares feel what this would be like in a different context, and while there’s a little yearning this time, to remember what it’s like to want someone and to be wanted, to know what it’s like to be Sam’s, what it’s like to be held with utter security, knowledge that you’ll never be let go of, it’s not overpowering. She feels its presence, but it feels more like an old friend than a menace. She’s content. Finally. The opposing feelings seem to tame each other.

Something close to an hour passes. They make food, some creamy pasta just to hold them over until dinner. He stirs the pot while she shows him a funny video on her phone. They eat in comfortable silence, and Y/n feels the urge to tangle her legs with his under the table, but she doesn’t, terrified she’ll push him away, ruin this bubble of comfort and naturalism by taking things a step too far. What is too far, she wonders. She’ll let him take the lead, if that means he’ll continue being this physically close to her.

Sam washes the dishes. Y/n pecks his cheek in thanks. His smile is radiant.

They stretch next to each other on her bed, scroll through their texts, send silly pictures to mutual friends. The mistake she makes is when she grabs his phone and takes a really, and she means really, ugly picture. A zillion chins, pinched eyebrows, curved lips and tongue out, hands his phone back and contemplates the consequences.

“Gimme that back, you shouldn’t have that,” decided and regretful. Sam and his noodle, twelve feet long limbs hold the phone as far from her as possible and Y/n growls and laughs, stretches, tries to grab it off him. “Sam!”

“You really think I’m gonna pass this up?” he scoffs with a grin, and she yells his name, accusatory and playful.

“Give it BACK, my face is in there! Privacy infringement!” She yells. “You should know, you’re a lawyer!”

“But you willingly saved the picture in a phone that’s not yours!” Arms stretched high, laughter booming and loud, and she scrambles.

“Your word against mine!”

“You can be seen holding the phone yourself!” She growls again, tries to pull his arm down, tickles his side and he jerks and laughs. Y/n tries to throw a leg over his to hold him down, but Sam’s too quick, too strong. They fumble, thrash, tangled limbs, throat aching full of laughter, struggling and yelling useless threats.

Sam throws the phone on the rug and huffs, visibly almost done with her, like she’s an annoying but entertaining bug. He grips her hands, her left and right in his respectively, throws his leg over her waist, twists and straddles her, hands now over her head.

Heavy breaths. They pant, stare at each other, Sam shakes his head like a dog to get his hair out of his face.

“You can’t win,” he tells her with a confident smile. She narrows her eyes.

“Have you learned nothing from this friendship?” She blows a hair away from her face and looks at him smiling. “I don’t give up that easy,” coy smile, a promise, wink sent his way, and suddenly she’s thrusting up her pelvis, trying desperately to scooch up the bed with the rest of her body, but the grip on her wrists tightens, Sam barely budging. She struggles, drags her body up, fueled by pure determination and spite, wiggles fiercely and just barely manages to get on her belly, which seems like a mistake in hindsight.

Because now her hands are crossed, he’s basically got her on a choke hold with her own forearms, and she’s eagerly trying to get her knees under her, while Sam laughs loudly at grumbled comments like “What the fuck kinda core strength do you have, fucking behemoth.” The sheets get wrinkled and pulled off the edges of her mattress, her pillows get pushed to the side, to the floor, the struggle continues and her stomach and throat hurt from all the laughter, but she really can’t seem to get the upper hand, which would be obvious if someone so much as threw a look at both of them. Sam’s six feet and two full of young, sinewy muscle, a boy- a man, really- with biceps that may not be particularly thick, but the iron grip on her wrists says something else. His hands are the size of her face. Strength is not the way she should be going about this.

She twists again, barely able to get back on her back, and she pants. The asshole looks barely winded and her eyes narrow, him raising an eyebrow challengingly. What to do, what to do?

Y/n relaxes, but Sam doesn’t. She takes a breath, grins briefly up at his momentarily confused face, then yanks her hands up the bed, making him jerk down so he can keep her under his grip and-

And she kisses him.

Nothing long or particularly sexy, just a rough push of her mouth on his, and an ‘umph’ escapes him in surprise.

Sam startles, his grip loosens, and her hands are pulled free of his hold, kicking away from him and managing a small distance apart from his warm body, knees pulled up to her chest and panting fast and loud.

Okay, it seemed smart in that moment. It really did. But for a grand total of five eternally long seconds later, her heart shrinks, diminishes to ash and dust and regret. Sam’s kaleidoscopic eyes are wide, pupils blown, and he, too, is panting.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, is all she can think, so much for not pushing his boundaries, not rushing his pace. How will you ever look in his eyes again?

“Too much?” And he blinks at her, clearly still processing. “I’m sorry, Sam, I- I didn’t mean-”

But then a hand cups her jaw, warm and big and gentle, pulls her face close to his, and his lips are there, pressed on hers. Y/n’s motionless for just a second- she’s dreamt of this for so long, over a year and a half, and it’s happening in the cheesiest way possible- and Sam is on his knees, weight rested on his other hand, reaching for her, he’s kissing her, and move, dammit, do something! A hand grips his wrist, and she pushes herself closer to him, a huff pushed out of Sam’s nose, and her stomach flips in so many stunning, wonderful ways.

Her legs fall to the side, she meets him half-way and kisses him and Sam follows just as fiercely, falls back on his haunches. His hands push under her shoulders, lift her up onto his lap, grab the back of her knees and pull them around his hips and Y/n goes willingly. She holds the sides of his face carefully and parts her lips, and Sam licks into them with caution, curls his strong arms around her waist and sighs into her mouth.

Y/n pulls away. So much for boundaries.

She blinks down at him. Sam’s eyes stay closed for a second longer, peering up at her then. He waits for her to say something. Fingers push his hair back gently, she nudges her nose with his and smiles.

“I win.” Earning a long, dramatic eye roll.

“I had you in a choke hold with your own arms, Y/n.” and her name rolls off his tongue so sweetly. She clicks her tongue.

“Yet here we are,” she whispers, looks down at him and he shakes his head with a sigh. His eyes fall on her lips once more and he gently chews the inside of his cheek. One large paw cups the side of her head and he kisses her slowly once more before pulling away, thumbing at her cheek.

They smile.

****

The sun has descended beneath the horizon, so early it’s kind of comical, but it doesn’t feel like it’s 6 pm anyway, because neither of them has slept at all. Time has lost meaning and form the past two days, everything feels surreal and fake because of the lack of sleep, and now here they are, under warm fairy lights, laying in her bed. There’s been kisses here and there, gently roaming hands, not moving further than that, and again, Y/n doesn’t need anything more. She’s content where she is, surprised she even made it this far. The affection they’ve shared is scarcely fierce and feral, simply quiet, tender, innate. Nothing particularly passionate or aggressive, just warmth and comfort, shielded vulnerability hidden behind brief liplocks. Y/n’s more than okay with it.

She’s laying on his chest, arm around his waist and ear over his heart and they doze together under dim lighting, limbs heavy, hearts feathery light. Sam’s arm falls around her back, pulls her close. She nuzzles his chest.

It’s just so easy to be with him. Around him.

Y/n wonders where they stand after this. If he’ll text her more. If it’ll go back to the occasional long phone call, the random outings because Madison texts him while she’s with Y/n. Will they ever be like this again? How much does she care?

Because, although somewhat pivotal for her view on affection, and tenderness and friendship, ambit stretched now, definitions altered in her mind, she feels that no real barrier has broken, shifted even. They’re still friends. They’re not partners, he’s not her boyfriend and it’s honestly fine. No, really, it is. She’s genuinely okay.

Would she like to see what it’s like to date him? Of course she would. Of course she wants to know what it feels like to know he wants her and only her, wants to know she can hold his hand, can kiss him no matter where they are or with whom, without crossing invisible boundaries tentatively like she did today. Planning dates and late night movie nights and early morning beers with shared drunken kisses.

She just wishes she knew what it’s like to have free access to this sort of affection with someone, and maybe that’s the thing. Sam feels like a good someone to have that with, but at the same time, maybe it’s what he told her on New Year’s and the way he likes to be, maybe it’s the understanding that they’re really not particularly meant to be together, cosmically in love, soulmates, whatever-the-hell, but there’s no dipping of the stomach, no heart rate accelerating, no feeling of being high or drunk. Maybe Y/n just wants someone, anyone to be with, to know she can fall for, and while Sam is warm and funny and familiar and oh so wonderful, while he looks like a great candidate to be in a relationship with, while her heart flips at the possibility of having any semblance of romance in her life, of him in her house, her couch, with her books and his warm hugs, maybe he’d been right. Maybe he knew something too painful to tell her back then, when she confessed her attraction, back when things were raw and bruised and painful to the touch. Sam and her, well… they seem good in theory. They are fun, and safe, they care for one another. They share alcohol bottles easily, common interests, kindness and heeps of love to give. They make sense in a way. But- it’s just not clicking, is it?

This is just… this. Affection for the sake of affection, not romance. And that’s okay to have, more than okay, even. It’s great. It’s comforting. It’s safe, and it’s simple. They can kiss. They can hug. They can cuddle together, and brush each other’s hair away from their faces. Y/n can admire his eyes while he cleans the dishes they ate lunch in. And it can all amount to nothing, without it feeling like band-aids being ripped off bleeding wounds without a warning.

In the words of her mother, why are human relationships so god damn complicated? Why does this one have to be too?

Y/n is content to be in his arms, to philosophically discuss, and open up and talk freely. She’s content with them giggling and wrestling and kissing in between, and they can share their music and their book quotes and their love for one another. It’s just surface level affection. If not surface level, then friendship level. Why is that not enough? Maybe not all relationships have to be tipped in the romantic pink light, and maybe, just maybe that’s okay.

She gazes up at him, rests her chin on his chest, and Sam blinks his lazy, drowsy eyelids open to look down at her sweetly, offers a small and a caress of his hand on her back. And for once, Y/n is completely satisfied with just this, and nothing more.

*****

A/N 2: I reread this and it felt like I reached a conclusion to something gigantic and cosmic, but this seems so simple. I should know all this by now. *huff*

please tell me what you thought of this!

Forevers:

@deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @deanssweetheart23 @nostalgic-uncertainty @mogaruke @superseejay721517 @lady-hawkguy @thosefeelsarereal @superwholockmarauder @justiceiswater @petra-arkanian-1497 @heyitscam99 @danijimenezv @aj-reuth @unicornblood4ever @mystriee @sadist-fangirl23 @asguardiansoftheavengers @superrandomnatural @altosaxplayer098 @winter-moons @hunterswearingplaid @novaddictx @choosemyname @live-like-a-girl @thisismysecrethappyplace @bowtomytenderaddiction @elara98azalea @lemondropirwin @emmagolden4118 @glitchcypher @calaofnoldor @paradoxical-sleep @narynechan @canwenotdothis @suicidepanda07 @blueaura

Sam Stuff:

@kymberlytorres @theboykingsamwinchester @depressed-moose-78 @andi-mendes-barnes @captainmarvelcorps @nerd-in-a-galaxy-far-away @nellachain @percywinchester27

#sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x fem!reader #sam x fem!reader #sam x female!reader #sam winchester x female!reader #spn fanfiction #supernatural #sam fluff #spn fluff #spn sam #sam winchester #winchester fluff #sam winchester comfort #domesticity and things #basically my whole psyche in a tumblr post?#geez #i've ascended from tartarus to drop this and will be returning shortly #hope you enjoy it!

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hwajin · 3 years

Text

Morning Grumpiness

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2K

Note: I got really carried away with this one lol. send hyunjin lots of love, and enjoy christmas time☃️

You were forced awake by the demanding sound of your alarm, ringing through the silence of the calm morning to make sure you and Hyunjin didn't sleep in. The alarm was unnecessary for you since you woke up at 10am naturally anyways, but for Hyunjin this hour was pure torture, way too early. He had to go to work today, otherwise you would have watched him sleep until noon, not feeling the urge to wake the sleeping beauty next to you. But on days like this, especially when Hyunjin didn't get much sleep the night before, the mornings were torture for you as well. Not because of the early hours, but because waking your boyfriend was a nearly impossible task.

You didn't quite understand how it was possible for this boy to keep sleeping tightly, as if nothing in the world bothered him, when simultaneously the alarm was basically screaming at him, the loud, annoying noises cutting sharply into your ears. Hyunjin’s ears didn't seem to notice anything though, his eyes still closed tightly, his chest heaving peacefully while he looked as careless as ever. You took just one second to admire the boy laying beside you, propping yourself on one elbow to get a better look at him. His blonde hair was covering his eyes slightly, so you brushed it aside, his face in its whole exposed now. His ethereal beauty was still able to catch you off guard after so many years. Even though his hair was a mess, his pink, plump lips and reddened cheeks puffy due to the sleep and his big eyes sleepy even while close he managed to look like a creation of God himself, unreal, angel - like. Hyunjin suddenly shifted a little, his long, elegant fingers coming up to his face, as if he could sense you staring at him, attempting to hide himself from you. You chuckled at his expression now, one hand over his eyes, mouth parted and little snores escaping from it.

You decided that you took in enough of him, realizing you needed to wake him up eventually. You let out a big sigh, not in the slightest looking forward to what was coming, while you placed your small hand on Hyunjin’s steady shoulder, shaking him slightly.

Of course, no reaction.

You tried again, this time harder while also calling out his name.

Still, no reaction, as if you weren't even there.

So you had to go in once again, taking both of Hyunjin shoulders into your hands now, shaking him strongly while repeating his name over and over again, demand lingering in your tone.

His eyes suddenly flew open, shocked and scared, not understanding what was happening to him. He immediately sat up which was not a welcomed move to his body since he automatically fell back into the mattress, eyes closed again. You let out a frustrated grunt, shaking him, almost violently so.

"Hyunjin, wake up, my god. You'll be late."

How could he not comprehend what was going on around him, he was awake just a second ago?

Hyunjin’s eyes suddenly opened again, looking at you intensely, but without any emotion. He was clearly confused and didn't know a bit of his surroundings. You would have laughed at his face if the clock didn't announce that if Hyunjin didn't get up now he'd definitely be late for work. You took his puffy cheeks into your hands, startled for only a second at the feeling of his fluffy face. You almost lost control and kissed him, which would have been a bad mistake in this situation. In such early hours your kisses were like a lullaby for Hyunjin, causing him to fall asleep as quickly as ever.

So you pulled yourself together, looking him straight in the eye and talking in a serious tone.

"Hyunjin! Wake up! You're gonna be late!"

Hyunjin’s eyes found yours, this time filled with clear annoyance. Oh god, here you go.

"Yah, Y/N, I told you not to wake me up like this. Why- let go of me, I'm awake. J- just wake me up like a normal human being, you're always so violent in the morning..."

Hyunjin babbled on while sitting up slowly, rubbing his eyes and running his hands through his messed up hair in the process. You didn't even fully understood his words since his morning speaking abilities were only limited, making you chuckle every time you heard him talking absolute nonsense. His tired, low morning voice went on ranting as he gave his whole body a good morning stretch, arching his back and bringing his long, slick arms behind his head, closing his eyes shut heavily. You sat behind him as you watched his actions, the way he sat on the corner of the bed, looking so impossibly cuddly even while talking grumpily about how he doesn't like anything or anyone in the morning. Hyunjin let out a deep grunt after the stretching, finally standing up and moving his body towards the bathroom, not paying any attention to you. You shook your head slightly at his cuteness.

In the beginning of your relationship you got quite offended anytime Hyunjin started accusing you of not waking him the way he wanted to be waken up. You often fought back the moment those words came out of his mouth, meaning that your mornings always started off with you fighting. At some point you realized that it was useless arguing with him over such thing. You understood that Hyunjin did never mean those words personally, he simply wasn't a morning person. So you let it be with time, letting him be grumpy and annoyed by you. You started to even like this about him, finding it adorable how he babbled on the whole time while finding his way to the bathroom with little, slow steps. The way he looked in the morning, bare faced, hair falling naturally and features puffed made you love him even more. The way his bare feet sounded against the linoleum floor, leaving taps behind, made your heart flutter for some reason. It were little things, but you loved them the most about Hyunjin.

After 30 minutes you finally heard the bathroom door open, soon revealing a freshly washed Hyunjin in his pyjamas in your bedroom again. His personality seemed like switched out as he suddenly came closer to you quickly and captured your lips in a short but sweet kiss, before pulling away to look at you.

"I was grumpy, right? I don't remember much, I just know I was grumpy. I'm sorry.", Hyunjin said softly, kissing your lips once again. You laughed at his words while he went over to your shared closet, opening it with a concentrated look on his face.

"How can you not remember, you were awake!", you told him, not believing his words.

"I was physically awake, but not mentally. You know that!", Hyunjin talked back jokingly as he looked for some clothes in the closet. His long arms reached for a white shirt and grey sweatpants, placing them on a stool that was standing next to him. He quickly pulled the shirt he slept in over his head, revealing his build back to you. God, it was definitely obvious that Hyunjin took swimming seriously in previous years. He unintentionally flexed his muscles as he reached for the new white shirt, making your mouth water at the sight of him. You have always had a weakness for his back muscles, and he took this as his advantage multiple times. You didn't know if it was his goal to tease you now or if he really was just dressing up for work, either way you enjoyed the show. He pulled down his pants after the shirt was covering his upper body, leaving him in only his boxers. You couldn't help but stare at his legs as well, steady and strong, while he put on the sweatpants he prepared prior. When he turned around he noticed you staring at him, causing him to shoot you a smirk.

"What are you staring at?", he said teasingly, grabbing a pair of socks and coming closer to you. You blushed at his question, startled and confused as to what to say to this.

This little tease, so he was doing it on purpose. You can't seem to figure out why he enjoyed riling you up for nothing, but you guessed he just liked playing around and leaving you speechless. Maybe it gave his ego some kind of a boost or something.

Since you didn't answer and just looked at Hyunjin stepping closer to you, reddening even more, your boyfriend let out a chuckle, sitting down at the sight of the bed to put on his socks.

"You're always so shy around me, I wonder why.", he said, faked curiosity dripping as he spoke. He was still looking at you, smirking.

You quickly shook your head, tuning into reality again.

"Yahh, stop teasing me Hyunjin.", you said annoyed as you gave his shoulder a light slap. He threw his head back in laughter, adoring your reaction to his flirty behavior. Hyunjin leaned in to peck your lips, way too sensually for your taste if it led to nothing anyways, before placing his forehead against yours.

"This is not teasing, baby, this is flirting. I can show you what teasing is after work though, so look forward to tonight, hmm?", Hyunjin said, voice and eyes dark all of a sudden, boring holes into your soul. His change in behavior caught you off guard harshly, almost scared you, but you knew that he could fake this stuff very well. You disconnected your head from his quickly, frowning your brows at him. You couldn't help the blush which crept up at his words though, making you - in fact - excited for tonight.

You acted cold though, giving his shoulder a playful slap once again.

"What are you talking about, stop it. Come on, get away from me, go to work.", you said, acting like you wanted to shove him away from the bed. His laugh sounded through your bedroom a second time. Hyunjin pecked your lips once more before standing up and grabbing his backpack.

"Alright, I really gotta go now.", Hyunjin said while leaving the room. You stood up quickly, your bare feet causing the same tapping sound you heard from Hyunjin before. You ran up to your boyfriend, cold air hitting your bare legs as the only thing you slept in was Hyunjin’s shirt. You stood there, watching your boyfriend put on his shoes before he looked at you, freezing in his motion. God, you looked so tiny in his big shirt, your bare legs not helping the situation at all. If Hyunjin could he definitely would toss all his stuff aside, would hug you tightly while carrying you back to bed and cuddling for the rest of the day, getting lost in each other while sharing lazy kisses. He just stood there, staring at you, letting his imagination take over all his other thoughts. It wasn't until you stepped from one foot to the other nervously, looking up at the boy, confusion and amusement mixed in your eyes. When he heard you calling his name questioning it was like he woke up from some kind of trance. He flashed you a smile, hugging you one last time. He felt you hugging him back tightly, and once again he almost lost control as he felt every single inch of your body pressed against his. He truly didn't want to leave the paradise called you.

But he nevertheless pulled away, walking towards the door.

"See you later, baby... as I said, look forward for tonight.", Hyunjin said teasingly one last time, causing you to scream out his name partly embarrassed, partly amused before he quickly closed the door shut behind him. He was mentally preparing for a long day of work before being able to return home, to return to you.

#stray kids #skz #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #skz hyunjin #stray kids hyunjin #cute #hyunjin soft hours #imagine #skz imagine #skz imagines #skz fluff #skz fanfic #skz fic #hyunjin fluff #hwang hyunjin fanfic #STAYlovesHyunjin #WeLoveHyunjin

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slytherflynn · 3 years

Text

Old and New | Pt I

Blaise Zabini x muggle!reader

word count: 1971

summary: y/n is new to France on a study abroad trip. Blaise is visiting France post-Hogwarts. rags to riches story of an unfortunate muggle falling for a complicated, ridiculously wealthy person who just so happens to also be a powerful Wizard.

a/n: this started with an idea, became a moodboard, then became an entire fleshed out fic! I thought it would be short but my brain had other ideas. enjoy! note: I did write this from my personal perspective in life. as a result it is not very inclusive. I plan to change that with my next fics, I’ve just been having a really hard time lately and have been writing a lot of comfort fics and/or self-inserts to escape from irl bc irl is rly shitty for me rn

It’s a brand-new start, in a brand-new apartment, in a brand-new city, in a brand-new country... an ocean away from home. I can bring Tacoma to France, right? At least, that’s what I’m trying to tell myself. Study abroad is fucking... scary. I kinda regret it. It’s a good opportunity and for someone who doesn’t travel, it should be a fun experience. But I’m currently having an anxiety attack over taking out the garbage, so I’m not sure my positive self-talk is working.

I look out the window of my top floor apartment, wait until someone finally finishes walking down the stairs, and run out my door - I nearly trip about five times going down the spiral of death, my arms feel like jelly thanks to perpetually pushing my garbage deeper in to avoid this trip, and I swing with all my might to hurl my garbage bag into the trash compacting dumpster - only it hits the bottom lip and falls to the ground, splitting open.

“Great!” I say, sarcastically, “First they send my luggage to the wrong location, then they try to say my passport isn’t valid because my apartment was a temporary address, then I’m greeted with a fridge full of rotting food and no power, then I’m bitten up by fleas and now - I just- fuck. Why can’t I just- do anything- right-“ I cut myself off when I hear a screen door slide and blink a couple times to erase the threat of tears that had been creeping up on me while I ranted.

When I look up, I see a tall, dark-skinned guy about my age - handsome. He’s wearing a suit, and expensive jewelry. Combine that with the fact he’s living in the apartment building next to me, which is worth more than my life just for one month of rent, and I put together that he’s probably rich beyond belief. I quickly look away, not wanting to stare. I silently pick up my garbage, piece by piece. As I work, I feel eyes drilling holes in the back of my head. I ignore it. It continues, and I still ignore it as I finally shove my ripped garbage bag in the compactor and slam the door shut. I hear a slight jump up above, and chuckle to myself.

I zoom back up the stairs and almost make it to the top, but I trip 5 stairs away from my door - and fall, hard. Body laid out flat hard. Cheek scraped and stinging from the metal grating on the stairs, hard. Lost the goddamned slide that caught on the stair, and can see it gradually falling, bouncing and rolling down the stairs, hard. I lift my head and see blood on the stair. I feel it running down my face. All I can think is that this really fucking hurts. The tears come, a combination of pain and frustration, and I pick myself up and stumble my way into my apartment, completely forgetting about the attractive rich boy who just watched me be a danger and inconvenience to myself.

I rush to the kitchen and grab a roll of paper towels, and run to the bathroom, I see the markings in the mirror and can tell it will leave a sizeable scar. Do I need stitches? I don’t know. Anyway, I start dabbing at everything and blood is still oozing out of every nook and cranny, to my displeasure. I’m about to start bandaging my face when I hear a knock on my door. “Fucking Christ!” I mutter to myself as I slap a wad of paper towels on my face and sulkily go to fling open my door.

I’m not sure who I’m expecting, but to see the same rich guy on my doorstep, slide in hand, probably wasn’t it. “Hey, um, I saw what happened, and I thought you might want your shoe back.” His accent sounds very British - I was expecting it to sound more like a snooty Frenchman’s.

“Oh. Um. Thanks.” I say flatly.

As my muscles twitch to begin closing the door, he says, “Would you like some help cleaning that up? I have certifications to give medical aid... and stitches. My name’s Blaise, by the way.”

Doctor, maybe? Probably. “Sure,” I say, opening the door wider and standing back so the blood doesn’t drip on his suit. “I’m y/n.”

A few minutes later we’re in my bathroom, me sitting on the toilet, him sitting on the bathtub as he helps me fix my face. “So, Mademoiselle y/n,” He asks, “Do you find yourself in these predicaments very often?”

“Which one? Poverty, flea bitten, or bloody?” I say.

“I suppose whichever you’d like to think I was referring to.”

“Well, in *that* case - I’m usually caught unawares in all kinds of predicaments - though I’d say self-injury due to clumsiness is an uncommon one. And do you usually find yourself in predicaments requiring you to treat someone’s wounds?”

“I used to, though now it’s only on the occasion.”

“Sounds like an improvement,” I note. “I won’t guarantee it, but I think I’ll get the hang of walking up the stairs soon enough, so you don’t have to worry about me.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily mind it if I did worry about you once or twice more. Why were you running? It seemed like you wanted to get away from something. Does your garbage compactor smell that disturbing?”

“It doesn’t smell great,” I admit, “But truth be told, I’m not a fan of human interaction. It’s scary. Especially when everything is new to me.”

“How long have you been In France?”

“A few days, just enough to get myself physically settled.”

“I see. And you are from America?”

“Mhm. Let me guess, my accent gave it away.”

“And the slang, I’ve yet to hear someone from France use certain terms that you seem to favor.”

“Oh, most of my slang is specific to my city, not just my country.”

“Your city?”

“Yea, Tacoma. It’s near Seattle, if you know where that is. Tacoma’s better, though.”

“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been there. My mother is a fashion designer, but she only travels where there’s inspiration or a business deal.” So that’s how he gets the expensive clothes. The rest of the money too, probably.

“Must be nice, having a handmade closet.” I muse. “Not that I care for having any more clothes than I brought. They’re pretty reliable, if I do say so myself.”

He laughs. “Yes, well, if the blood stains don’t come out of your jumpsuit you might need a new one. They shouldn’t be too difficult to remove, though.”

“Yea, I’ll just dump a bucket of Oxi-Clean on it and call it a day. That is, if any stores nearby have it.” I frown, realizing I have no clue if France carries any of the products I usually get. This is gonna suck. Hopefully the internet has some answers so I don’t have to ask anyone for help.

“Why don’t I take your jumpsuit back with me? Save you the trip. Believe it or not, I used to have chronic nosebleeds, so I know a thing or two about stain removal.” Blaise offers.

I smile, only just. “Well, if you insist. But I love this jumpsuit practically more than myself, so I expect it back right away!”

He returns the smile. “A fan of fashion? You ought to meet my mother.”

I chuckle. “I’m sure your mom would despise me - I only own seven jumpsuits and some athleisure for going on runs.” I pause, then tack on: “Oh, and some fuzzy pajamas for when I’m sick.”

Blaise cocks a brow at me. “And when you’re not sick?”

“Don’t worry about it.” I grin mischievously.

A wave of recognition graces his eyes, and he very quickly looks away, I assume for being flustered.

“You Americans, always so scandalous.” He tsks in mock scorn.

“That’s what we’re known for, is it not?” I say cheekily, “Beer, boobs and gun barrels. And all the other problems that come with that, but that’s a can of worms I am not looking to open today.”

He ties off his handiwork, and says, “It looks like my job is finished, other than stealing your jumpsuit off your back to fix it. I can wait in the other room, if you’d like?”

“Um, yea, that works. Lemme just, grab my next jumpsuit. Gonna have to do laundry early, I suppose-“

“I can wash your jumpsuit for you. I’m pretty good at reading labels, if I do say so myself.” He jokes.

“Oh?” I say, “Then you must be a real genius! Who taught you, Einstein?”

“No, but it was another white-haired, eccentric man, so you’re not that far off.”

“When all teachers are like that it’s kind of impossible not to hit relatively close to the mark.” I remark, then change clothes as quickly as I can, tossing the dirty outfit into a trusty plastic bag and tying it shut.

When I walk out to the living room, Blaise is toying with one of my sculptures. He’s definitely been meandering and lurking around. “Enjoying yourself?” I ask, at which he jumps. “You’re rather skittish, Blaise.”

“And you’re rather quiet on your feet, y/n.” He observes. “But yes, I quite like your eclectic style. If only you had an apartment that let your customization shine. Something more minimalist.”

“Yes, well, it’s something I’ll forever dream of and likely never accomplish. I don’t suspect I’m going to be someone leaving the income level I was born into.” I say, just a little bit cynical.

“And why is that?” He asks.

“Because most people don’t, and the ones who do are the ones who make money. My career isn’t going to make me money.” I reply.

“So why did you pick it?”

I sigh. “Because somebody has to care about the people like me. The politicians don’t, the middle class don’t, and the rich are hell bent on keeping us there so they can have factory workers and have people going straight to prison after they graduate because we’re all desperate and miserable.”

He frowns. “That’s terrible.”

“It’s reality. And I don’t want to be like the people who get rich and stop caring because all they see is the wage difference and pretend it’s justified so they don’t have to feel complicit in the system.” I look him in the eye, my face grim. “Not all luck is by chance. Most of it is by design.”

He nods. “I understand, in a way.”

“Everyone does.” I say. “But understanding in a way and caring enough to do something about it are two different things.” I look away from him when I see his posture change. “I’m not trying to be rude, but it’s impossible not to notice the wealth gap between us when you’re wearing designer clothes and living in what looks like a mansion and I’m living in a building made in like 1900 with no elevator. It’s just the way things are, though.”

“I know.” He says quietly, thoughtfully. “I’d better get going. Your clothes?” He reaches out tentatively for the bag I’m still holding.

“Oh. Right.” I say, handing it to him. Our fingers brush against each other slightly, and it sends chills down my spine. He heads to the door while I’m rooted to the spot, collecting myself.

“I look forward to seeing you again, y/n.” He nods, meeting my eyes with a rather changed expression.

“I’ll see you soon, then?” I ask, not quite sure which answer I’m expecting.

He smiles, only just. “As soon as I am able.” Seconds later, he’s out the door, and I’m alone in my dingy ass apartment. How in the fuck did any of that just happen?

#Blaise Zabini #muggle!reader #blaise x reader #slytherin #hogwarts #lady zabini #harry potter #hp #imagine #fanfic #slytherflynn #part 1

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criminalminds4days · 3 years

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Family Matters: Prologue

As promised, here is the prologue for the series.

Warnings: Swearing, sexual references, violence and murder reference, public embarrassment, and very bad jokes!

Word Count: 3.2k

Chapter Board | Next Chapter

Tag list: @mcntsee @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel @evelyncade @haylaansmi @paulaern @myfandomlife-blog

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(This gif is not mine)

Prologue: Get It Together!

She was gonna do it. Yes, of course, she was. She had finished college, gotten a doctorate, taken down an armed serial killer, been held hostage and now she worked for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, one of the most exclusive and hard to join teams in the FBI, so of course she could do this! Yet here she was, breathing heavily as she tried to press the button, it was now or never.

Maybe never?

No! She couldn't be afraid anymore, she had to do it. She was twenty-eight years old, she couldn't just... But what if her age was the reason this was pathetic? No! She had to do it, she had to do it. There was no turning back, if her family found out about this she would be humiliated (yet again). She couldn’t just say that at her age she had fallen so low. She had to cover it up, there was no other way. But what if they found out anyway? No, she couldn’t allow such a thing.

Breathe.

"Are you okay?" The voice of her coworker made her jump and almost drop her phone. She locked the screen and turned to look at him. He seemed confused at her reaction, but she simply fixed her hair as if it was any other Monday and what she was doing was perfectly normal.

"I'm fine."

"You don't seem fine." He pointed out. That was Spencer Reid, always kind, always honest. His brown hair was a curly mess and his brown eyes stared at her intently as he fixed his navy tie, he was wearing a white dress shirt and grey dress pants, definitely not the attire she imagined ever seeing from the sweater-loving resident genius at the BAU, however, she resisted the urge to comment, instead focusing on the issue at hand.

"Thank you, what all girl wants to hear." She debated whether it was worth telling him or not. While she and the other Doctor on the team weren’t necessarily good friends, being held hostage together and taking a beating to prevent him from being killed creates a certain bond between people, so she decided to attempt and share her situation. “I was trying to... Ugh, this is so embarrassing." She placed her head in her hands, lamenting every second of her miserable life.

"I don't know, maybe if you tell me it'll be less embarrassing?" He asked.

He was trying to be helpful; she knew he was, and she appreciated that more than anything, but it was hard to share how low she had fallen despite her age and position. She knew if someone would listen and not make fun of her it would be the man sitting at the desk across from hers, but she just couldn’t phantom saying it out loud. Then again, he was a genius, and he was not known for his successful love life, so maybe, just maybe he would understand the situation better?

"I accidentally told my annoying cousin that I was dating someone and now I have to bring my boyfriend to her stupid wedding."

"So? How is that embarrassing?"

"I don't have a boyfriend!"

"Why did you say you did? How do you accidentally tell someone you have a boyfriend when you don't?" She knew he wasn't making fun of her, that he was genuinely perplexed, but that knowledge didn't help subside her irritation.

"I only said it because she kept ranting about how I was gonna die alone and she was better than me..." She looked at him, his brow raised. "Okay, maybe she didn't say it exactly like that, but the intention was clear!" She cleared hair out of her face and continued, "Anyway, because I clearly do not have a significant other, I thought that if I hired someone to be my boyfriend during the wedding, it might be less painful?"

"You decided that the best way to solve your problem, of lying to your annoying cousin about your love life was hiring a fake boyfriend?" She looked at him, and a small smile played on his lips. "How does that make sense?"

"It doesn't! But I'm out of options here and I don't know what to do!" Her leg started bouncing as she bit her lip. "The wedding is this weekend, and I will die before I admit I lied to bitchy Anna!"

"That's a little extreme, don't you think?"

"Spencer Reid, you have no idea how far I'll go to shut bitchy Anna up!"

"Who's bitchy Anna?" Another voice said as Emily Prentiss, a tall woman with clear skin and dark short hair made her way to them. She was wearing a white dress shirt with a matching black blazer and dress pants, her small heels making a click-clack noise as she walked. If only she could have the confidence and stamina of Emily Prentiss, she would not be in this mess. Though she couldn’t daydream of being the woman in front of them too much after hearing Spencer’s words.

"Her cousin to whom she lied about dating someone. Consequently forcing her to now look for a fake boyfriend for hire." Spencer spoke as if nothing was weird about the whole situation.

"Why don't you just take Reid? It's not like he has plans, right?" She suggested as an amused smile played on her lips.

She didn't even have time to be mad at the man for spilling out her most embarrassing secret like it was nothing, because Emily's words made her perk up. She turned to him and he quickly shook his head.

"No, there is no way. I hate weddings, and parties in general."

"You owe me!" She argued.

"What? I don't owe you anything!" He defended himself.

"Of course you do, you told Emily something I confided in you!"

"You didn't tell me I wasn't allowed to say anything!"

"Spencer, please, I will do anything you want in order to make bitchy Anna eat her words." She placed her most convincing puppy face and looked at him. This face never failed, on anybody. She had mastered the art at age five and from then on the only thing it couldn’t get her was a normal family. Actually, scratch that, it never really worked after she became ten and Anna had also mastered it, but she was hoping this would be an exception.

"No."

Well, she had already embarrassed herself enough, so what was more begging in the great scheme of things?

"Come on, it's not like I'm asking you to marry me! I'm just asking you to pretend to be in love with me for one day."

"Be careful, that's how a lot of love stories begin," Prentiss said teasingly as she winked at the pair.

"Come on, I will give you money, I will drive you to work for a month. Whatever you want, it's yours." She said, "and Prentiss, this is the real world, not some cheesy love story. Spencer and I are much too mature for those silly things."

"No, I'm mature enough to know better. You just offered anything I want on a silver platter so I can pretend to be your boyfriend at your cousin's wedding. Let that sink in for a minute." He said as his smile grew wider, an idea clearly appearing in his mind. "Let me see, how about, a whole year of rides to work and coffee, for 24 hours of being the fake love of my life."

"Deal." She stretched her hand to shake on it and he looked at her, slightly offended. "Sorry, I forgot. I will make sure to wash my hands more times than necessary and wear gloves all week because you do have to hold my hand during the wedding, couples do that."

"Real couples do that, and it's not very hygienic."

"Well, for Saturday we will be a fake real couple, so let that sink in for a minute." She said as she triumphantly left the scene. She was making her way to the elevator, until she remembered she couldn’t really leave as she had arrived only thirty minutes ago, and her shift was not over until five. She fixed her hair and walked back to her desk as if she hadn’t just embarrassed herself in front of two of her coworkers and continued her paperwork. She heard a laugh from Emily’s desk and didn’t even bother to look up. She had figured out her plan and now she just hoped it would not explode in her face, so a few laughs from her coworker were worth the trouble.

Truth be told, there was a much bigger reason she needed to have someone at the wedding, but Spencer and Emily didn't need to know that. They didn’t need to know why she was willing to feed Spencer Reid’s addiction to coffee and his hate for driving for a whole year rather than tell her cousin she was still single.

Before she knew it, the weekend had arrived and she was in her car, a two-door gray Scion she had very proudly named Matthew when she bought him last June, and she made her way to Spencer's complex. She waited for him in her car after letting him know she was outside. She took the time to look at her now straight hair and her barely visible make-up. She knew blue was Anna’s favorite color, as it was also hers, so she made sure to wear a turquoise dress for her wedding, this was going to be a productive night, for sure.

"Hello, darling." He said as he buckled his seat belt. He was wearing a black suit with a tie that matched her dress, provided by her. His hair was lazily pushed back, giving his fluffy curls volume. She wondered what it would be like to touch it? Spencer would never allow it; he loved his hair way too much.

"We are gonna have the time of our lives, babe." She winked at him and began driving to the venue.

Of course, Anna would use the same venue she had been wishing for her wedding because it wouldn't be Anna if she couldn't have absolutely everything she ever wanted and more. The woman didn't know how long ago this passive-aggressive feud between the two had begun but she'd be damned if she let her cousin beat her at it. She pulled Spencer by the arm gently as she made her way to their table, which was front and center, granting her cousin the ability to see who she had brought along.

"If it isn't my favorite cousin!" She exclaimed. The girl fought the urge to roll her eyes. "And who might this be?"

"Anna, this is my boyfriend, Dr. Spencer Reid. Babe, this is my cousin, Anna."

"Anna, newly Hemingway." She emphasized her last name. As she reached to stretch his hand, but he simply waved. "Pleasure." She said as she retracted her hand and looked him up and down. It was only natural for her to do such a thing. "So cousin, have you heard that the family retreat has a date?" She exclaimed with excitement. "It's in about two weeks. You two obviously coming, right?"

"We actually have a retreat, with our team from the Behavioral Analysis Unit." She said, already looking for a way out, Spencer nodded in agreement.

“What a shame,” Her cousin said with faked empathy. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with what happened two years ago, does it?”

She was out of words, of course she would bring it up. Because of that incident she had convinced her mother to not force her to go last year and it was definitely the reason she was not going this year either, but the fact that Anna knew that got to her. She was ready to go home and cry of embarrassment once again. She had done it. Anna had won with one single question.

“Actually, I didn’t want to say anything hon, because it was a surprise,” Spencer spoke for the first time. “Aaron Hotchner, our boss, said that if I could memorize the whole itinerary, which I obviously can thanks to my eidetic memory and IQ of 187, that I could simply share the notes with you and we can take the weekend off since we are his favorites anyway. I was planning on a much more romantic evening than some family retreat but if your cousin is so determined to have us go, we shall be there.” He smiled at the bride, his amusement not so subtle at her reaction.

“You found a keeper,” Anna said, moving some blonde strands of hair from her face. “Anyway, I have to say hello to some guests, but I will see you two lovebirds later.” Her white dress got caught under her heel making her cousin almost fall, but this last one continued as if nothing happened.

"Thank you." She said as she squeezed his hand gently, realizing they were still linked. A whole thirty minutes, that had to be a record for him.

"Don’t thank me, now I understand why you call her bitchy Anna.” They both chuckled at the comment.

“I will call the day of the retreat and say you came down with the flu or something.” She assured him.

“No, I am definitely coming.”

"What? Why would you want to do that?"

"Because," He began, "in the time I've known you I've never seen you let anyone walk over you, or make you feel less. Remember when we met?" She chuckled at the thought. "I didn't appreciate the public embarrassment, but I gained a lot of respect for you. It was hard watching you let her talk to you like that and make you feel less. You are not less." He assured her as he looked at her, sympathy in his eyes. "You are an amazing agent and friend. I bet you're a great daughter and a reliable family member. You are much stronger than you give yourself credit for. If it wasn't for you, we would have never survived that day, I will never forget that. So, I will go with you, and I will be the best boyfriend your family has ever seen, and bitchy Anna can suck it."

She laughed at his comment and he joined. Boy, was she glad Spencer was here with her. Even if they had never been the closest of friends, she valued his opinion, and she was glad it was such a positive one. She wished this was the beginning of an actual friendship between the two.

"Honey!" Her mother's voice interrupted her thoughts, as she approached them

"Oh no." She mumbled, confusing Spencer. "Babe, get ready. You're about to meet my mom." She apologized with her eyes and turned to the bubbly woman that approached them. "Hello, mother." She said as the dark-haired woman with tan skin and stiletto heels that should be illegal reached her, giving her a tight hug. Her red dress matched the infernal shoes and a necklace of pearls adorned her neck.

"Who might this handsome fella be?"

"Mom, this is Spencer Reid, my boyfriend. Spencer, this is my mother." Before he could say anything she was already squishing his cheeks followed by the woman planting a kiss on each side of his face. "You are handsome, I bet my grandchildren will be gorgeous!"

"Mom!" She exclaimed embarrassed.

"What? Don't tell me you're not planning on marrying this hunk? He's a keeper, I can tell."

"You also said that about Tyler." She regretted the comment instantly, the reason being that she didn't need anybody else to know of that embarrassing story.

"Yeah well, aren't you glad you aren't with him anymore?" She said as if public humiliation was something to appreciate. "So how long have you two been seeing each other?"

"Two years."

"A year." She responded as she heard Spencer answer at the same time. "He means that he's liked me for two years, but we only went on our first date a year ago, a year after my breakup with Tyler."

"Yeah, that's right."

"Oh, well. I always thought you would be Mrs. Tyler Hemingway, but Mrs. Spencer Reid sounds so much better!"

"It's doctor." They both corrected.

"Even better!" After that, she walked off without saying another word.

"That's your fake mother-in-law dude... She's something else." She sighed with relief at her mother's easily distracted personality.

"Did she say, Hemingway? As in-"

"Yes, as in my cousin's new husband." She cut him off. "The same one that two years ago told me in front of most of my family that he was in love with my cousin and left me heartbroken and humiliated. That same Tyler Hemingway."

"I'm sorry."

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?" She heard his voice call her and she immediately tensed, Spencer noticed this and moved towards her.

"I am also sorry for what I am about to do, but it will make sense soon." He said as he let go of her hand and grabbed her cheeks, pulling her for a kiss as her ex-boyfriend now turned cousin-in-law watched, perplexed.

When someone describes a fake kiss, it is usually romantic. First comes the surprise, and then immediate compliance, but she was so confused Spencer had to basically squish her cheeks to make her close her eyes and for her to realize what he was doing. She followed suit and kissed him back, still unable to form a coherent thought. It was not like Spencer Reid was a bad kisser, if she had to rate it, it would have been the best kisser she had ever encountered, but the situation that had created such a kiss did not provide for her enjoyment. Not that she wanted to enjoy it, this was her coworker turned accomplice and hopefully actual friend, not someone she was necessarily attracted to, even though she could admit that he was a handsome man. That was not something weird, even Jennifer Jareau, JJ, their friend, and coworker had said it once or twice. You can admit someone is handsome or beautiful without being attracted, everybody knew that.

The cough coming from Tyler Hemingway made Spencer let go of her, as soon as he did he winked at her and moved a strand of hair behind her ear, subtly stabilizing her and covering her shocked face until it dissipated.

“I thought you weren’t one for PDA,” The groom asked. His black tuxedo and white dress shirt made him look handsome, his black hair was pulled back and his blue eyes observed them intently.

“PDA?”

“Public Demonstration of Affection.” She clarified. “Tyler, have you seen this man next to me? How could I not want to kiss him every minute of the day.”

“And this woman has me craving for her touch.”

“Lovely.” The man responded with anything but love for them. “I just wanted to say hi and apologize, I hope you did not mind the venue Anna chose.”

“Me? Why would I mind?” She laughed. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

She felt Spencer’s arms wrap around her waist from behind, even though she hadn't noticed he moved. His head rested on her shoulder, leaving small kisses on her cheeks. Who was this man and what did he do with Spencer Reid?

“I hope you do not take this the wrong way, but when she and I get married it would have to be a much larger venue, with a different layout. I mean, this venue is cute, but this beautiful woman could outshine it just in pajamas.” He smiled at the man and turned his attention to her. “I keep telling you love: stop thinking small, you are a queen among peasants and deserve nothing but the best. Anyone who can’t see the level of woman you are is simply an idiot.”

This was the moment she was ready to marry Spencer Reid and never let him go, just for the satisfaction of seeing Tyler’s face at his comment. She would forever be grateful to Emily Prentiss for suggesting she ask him.

#spencer x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #cm

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therealsehinton · 3 years

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Idk what the fuck yall bitches drank when you turned 18, but when I became an adult it didn't become my fucking life goal to go onto my tumblr blog, jesus christ, and criticize 16 year olds for being able to recognize romanticizing physically abusive relationships is wrong

Its literally no one else's fault that you're in your 20s and you still can't fucking figure out that fiction influences reality, like take another college course maybe, pay more taxes, and mayhaps touch some grass so you can learn how to get a damn clue? How despicable does your life have to be?

If writing self inserts with 17 year old fictional characters who harass women to get off isn't enough to distract you from your chronic bitch illness, maybe look into philanthropy? Look into activism, a place where you freakazoids can learn about racism+grooming(and hopefully then you'll finally figure out why 16 year olds shouldn't date people who they think are 13)--also hopefully, you'll realize that commie isn't a slur and that white italians and russians aren't oppressed lmao. Maybe spend your days being productive, but if you wanna keep acting like petty people literally no one likes anymore maybe go back to high school. You can keep venting about "teenagers" on this app when you write like literal 12 year olds.

Literally no one cares that you wanna write about Johnny and Ponyboy fucking so bad or that you wanna write about Tim and Dally fucking so bad, like only 3 people are gonna read it anyways

So terminallybitchy and your terminallybitchy associates why don't yall go terminallyfuckyourselves and grow up and leave children who have NOTHING to do with you alone. You are desperate for attention and that's why a bunch of you washed up adults with nothing to do waste your days on this hellsite ranting to each other about kids who don't even know who you are. It's embarrassing.

And I'd tag yall but most of you pussies have me blocked, not that it matters because you're so obsessed with this side of the fandom that you're gonna come to it anyways. So read this and go cry and lmaooo in your words "scrub floors and suck some random guys dick" whities. I couldn't care less about your white women tears thank you next. When the white genocide happens, I'm taking yall out idc what part of Europe you came from--get in line, crackas!

If you're gonna attack anyone let it be an adult, like me lmao, and not children who don't even care about you bye. Go worship teenage white boys who beat up girls for fun and cry. Cry. Cry. Cry.

#se hinton #the outsiders #i mean every word thanks ♡#this is probably my most problematic post but thats on tumblr just wait till you see my tiktok

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izupie · 3 years

Text

So recently I said that I would stop putting limits on myself as to what I’m writing - like, if I want to write it, and I have inspiration and motivation for it, I’ll Write It. (Despite hearing the moaning cries of my wip folder and beating it back with a broom)

So taking away my impulse control on writing stuff has resulted in me spending the last few hours writing whatever this is and I don’t even know where it’s going and yes I’m aware I have another werewolf Richie wip already and no I don’t know if I’m ever going to finish this, but please take it from my weary hands anyway

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

“So, hypothetically, say I had a… friend… who got bit by a dog-”

“-You got bit by a dog?”

“Wha- No, Eds, fuck- weren’t you listening? My friend got bit by a dog. Hypothetically.”

“Richie- I swear to- how fucking stupid do you think I am? When has that line ever worked for anyone ever?”

Richie peered into the tiny sink at the red still dripping down his fingers from the wound on his hand. There was a pile of bloodied tissues next to him and the wad he was currently pressing onto the bite really needed changing too. “Oh, shit,” Richie cursed loudly, as his cell phone nearly slid out of the gap that he’d wedged it in, between his shoulder and his ear.

“What?”

“I nearly lost my phone down the plane toilet.” He snorted a laugh. “Imagine someone’s walking around down there, minding their own business, and a phone drops out of the sky on them.”

“That’s not how plane toilets work!” Eddie’s voice was agitated and clipped, and Richie could listen to it all day. Even with the whole bleeding out into a tiny plastic sink thing.

“Aw, it’s not?”

“Of course not, dipshit, otherwise every time someone flushes it, it would just-” Eddie took a deep breath and Richie reached for a handful of new toilet paper to press onto his hand. “You’re distracting me. You need to apply pressure to the wound.”

“I am. I’m like, pressing a load of toilet paper on it. But it won’t stop bleeding.”

“It’s probably gonna get infected… shit, what if the dog had rabies, have you had a rabies shot in the last year?”

Richie opened his mouth.

“Of course you haven’t. Okay, just don’t think about rabies. Dog bites get infected easy because of all the bacteria in their mouths, so you need to wash it. That’ll encourage the bleeding, but you need to make sure the wound is clean. Then you’ve got to dry it and just keep the pressure on.”

It was soothing to hear Eddie’s voice in his ear, and despite the bite (that had started to feel like it was burning – that can’t be a good sign) Richie was always so happy to talk to him. He was hunched over a plane sink with his cell phone jammed onto his ear and piles of bloodied toilet paper around him, but he was smiling because he was talking to Eddie Kaspbrak and he was being a helpful but bossy little shit. God he’d got it bad. “Wash it, dry it, pressure,” Richie repeated, “aye, aye, cap’n doctor K.”

“As soon as I pick you up, we’re going straight to the hospital.”

Richie began following Eddie’s instructions as he ran his hand under the tap, wincing as the burning sensation increased and the red freely flowed down the drain.

“Wait a minute- if you’re already on the plane… how’d you get bitten by a dog?”

Richie grabbed a handful of clean, dry toilet paper and patted the wound gently, as he thought about how he was going to dance around a way of explaining what happened. “Uh…” Then he pressed down hard, applying as much pressure as he could, and hissed at the stab of pain.

“Hey, are you okay?” Eddie’s concern came loud and clear through the phone and it was so startling in its utter sincerity that it made Richie want to pour his goddamn heart out to him with an, ‘Well I got bit by a dog but that’s not the problem, I’m not okay because I’ve been so in love with you that it hurts since we were thirteen fucking years old.’

Instead Richie just nodded and realised that he wouldn’t be able to see that, so he said, “I just nodded.”

Eddie let out a huff and Richie smiled at the soft sound.

“God you’re so distracting-”

No, you’re so distracting.

“-but, really, how’d you get a dog bite on a plane, Rich? Did one bite you before you got on?”

And there was his out. He could agree to that, and it would be fine. Eddie would never know. (Though it would probably be a little hard to keep up the lie if he got any kind of magical related disease or curse or something, since he didn’t consider rabies to be a legitimate concern from a bite he received through some magical bullshit that he thought he had left behind a year ago.) But maybe he was tired of tying himself up in a web of lies all the time with Eddie, because he was always so careful to mask everything with a joke or a punchline. Didn’t he deserve as much honesty as he was willing to give sometimes – about this at least?

“Richie?”

And oh, there was the word that always brought him to his knees. The word he heard whispered on bloodied lips. Whimpered into a cave. Hands up to a blood-stained spike, piercing a chest – before waking up sobbing in his bed alone.

It was dead.

It was fucking dead. And Eddie was alive.

Richie took a deep breath, inflating his lungs as far as they could go, and let it all out at once. “I’ve been having dreams.”

“What?”

“The fucking- the Deadlights or whatever- when I was caught in them I… saw things.” Richie was gripping onto his wounded hand so hard his knuckles were white.

You died.

“And I’ve been having, I don’t know, some weird kind of messed up dreams on and off since then.”

For a moment Eddie didn’t reply and then it burst out of him in a pure unfiltered explosion of Kaspbrak rage through the phone, “You didn’t think to tell us this sooner? What if that means- like what if It isn’t really dead? ‘Messed up’ dreams? What kind of messed up? Richie, what the fuck- why didn’t you tell anyone? Why didn’t you tell me?”

(Richie could imagine the pacing and the hand movements that went with the ranting, but it didn’t make him feel any less guilty.)

“Well I mean, I’m coming to stay at your apartment for a couple of weeks, so like, at some point I’d have woken you up with the screaming or the sobbing, or the pathetic party of both at the same time, so it would probably have come up then…”

There was another long pause and Richie expected this to be because of Eddie rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“So anyway,” Richie continued, “I fell to sleep as soon as the plane took off.”

“Of course,” Eddie sighed.

Richie thought he sounded sad. But he supposed if he found out that Eddie was keeping a secret like that from him, he’d be pretty pissed off and upset about it too. (It’s not the only secret he’s keeping from Eddie, but it’s the only one he’s willing to ever let past his lips.)

“Well this dream started similarly to the others… but…” Richie hesitated, remembering what had set the dream off its usual course of watching Eddie die in that cave – he’d so very nearly told him that he loved him. It had been on the tip of his tongue, but he’d swallowed it down. Instead he’d told a weak joke and they’d both smiled, even though Eddie was bleeding out under his hands, and the whole dream had gone black. “There was a turtle,” he said eventually, remembering the darkness and the tiny point of light in it. “Which was weird.”

“You’re having magic dreams and the weird thing is that there was a turtle?”

“Well yeah, ‘cause there’s never been one there before. They tend to all go the same way.”

“So… the turtle bit you?”

“What, no. The turtle didn’t fucking bite me. Jesus. It turned into a dog, and the dog bit me.”

Richie could hear Eddie sit down.

“It was one of those tiny fluffy demon things. It told me I had to stop hiding who I am and…” Let myself be seen. “I don’t know, some other weird stuff, so I reached out to it and it fuckin’ bit me, man.”

“The… turtle… that turned into a… dog… and bit you… told you, that you had to stop hiding who you are?”

“Yep.” Richie snorted a laugh and lifted the toilet paper on his wound carefully, to peek underneath. The bleeding had stopped. He finally reached up to adjust his glasses and released his phone from the gap between his neck and shoulder to hold it up to his ear with his good hand. “But I’ve always been a Trashmouth, and I’ll always be a Trashmouth and I don’t think anyone can say that I don’t flaunt it on stage. I don’t hide anything.” Richie winced as soon as the words left his mouth, and he was glad that Eddie couldn’t see. He was in fact talking to the one person that he was hiding the most from. Maybe the turtle-dog had a point…

But their friendship meant everything to him, and to lose Eddie after just getting him back would destroy him.

In retrospect, it was probably a bad idea to stay at the recently-divorced questionably-straight single-friend’s apartment that he had a lifetime’s long crush on, but when Eddie invited him over for a couple of weeks for a vacation there wasn’t a force on earth (or otherwise) that could have made him refuse.

(He really needed help.)

(But not the magic supernatural bullshit kind.)

“Okay,” Eddie said with a note of finality and decision, “okay, I’ll get in touch with Mike and see what he knows. Mike’s good with this kind of stuff, right? Or maybe Bev? She got caught in the Deadlights like you. Wait, didn’t Stan say he saw some weird Deadlights shit too? Though I’m not sure Stan would let me get past ‘Richie got bit by a dream dog’ before he hung up on me.”

Richie laughed as he felt a wave of affection crash through his chest. Eddie was clearly out of his comfort zone with anything involving magic again, but he was being practical and logical and making plans. He had always been, and continued to be, the bravest man Richie had ever known.

“Tell him I got bit by a magic pigeon and he might stick around long enough to hear a bit more.” He stuffed the bloodied toilet paper into the toilet and wiped around the sink to get rid of any traces of red.

Eddie’s voice softened, “How’s your hand?”

Richie turned his wounded hand over and examined the puncture marks – now just angry red indents. But they still burned. “It’s not so bad now,” he said, “bleeding has stopped. Thanks, doc.”

“Well, we’re still taking you straight to the hospital. I’m going to get in my car now and I’ll meet you at the airport as soon as you land. Just… stay awake for the rest of the journey, okay?”

Richie wondered if Eddie was really smiling, or if he was just doing a good job of imagining it in his voice. He smiled back anyway and ran his good hand through his messy hair. “You got it. See you soon, Eds.”

“Don’t call me-”

Richie chuckled as he pressed the button to flush the toilet and hung up the call.

#I had sooooo much fun writing their dialogue #Reddie #reddie fanfiction #werewolf richie #IT chapter 2 #richie x eddie #my fanfiction #I hope it shows how much fun I had writing this because it was honestly such a good time #IT stuff #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #I'm definitely uploading this to AO3 at some point #when it's not 1am

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fluffykitty1999-blog · 3 years

Text

Dog of the Military- Chapter 26

Chapter 26- New Room

Hello! This is just another reminder- if you’re into my fanfictions and they bring you enjoyment, I’d super appreciate it if you could go over and leave an encouraging comment at my ko-fi here https://ko-fi.com/fluffykitty12, or even slip me $3 for snacks.

Thanks so much! :)

The hospital was full. Or at least, that was the excuse they gave them when they were unceremoniously dumped into a second bed that'd been placed in Mr. Water's room.

The quarters were a bit tight- Roy had to relocated his plastic chair to the foot of ed's bed rather than beside it, but after settling Ed into the new bedding, the remainder of the night passed quietly.

It was around seven that morning when a knock on the door frame caught his attention.

Roy couldn't help it- he broke into an exhausted smile at the sight of Hughes.

"Finally. None of my team had spoken to me since yesterday, I was beginning to worry."

"Yeah, well, there's a reason for that. They managed to apprehend the fake judge fleeing the scene, but Banks managed to get away. They've been doing paperwork and issuing orders for the capture of Banks since then. The higher ups are eager to put a lid on this while fiasco- they're embarrassed it's even happened. How's Ed doing?"

"Seems to be alright. Except a Drachman operative broke into his hospital room last night and tried to abduct him."

Hughes jolted, looking shocked. "You're kidding!"

Roy shook his head. "I'm not."

"Mr. Mustang!" their conversation was interrupted by nurse Aubrey jogging over, holding a clipboard and looking out of breath. "I have those blood test results you wanted."

Roy cocked an eyebrow. "And what do they say?"

"Well, Ed's blood type is A+, and several of the other blood smears were found to be B-. So Edward wasn't alone in his room last night. Someone else was there. I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

Roy shrugged.

Hughes decided to make himself known, peering at the paper on her clipboard and adjusting his glasses. "Say, can I get a copy of that, please? I'm Colonel Maes Hughes of investigations- I have no doubt the military is going to want me investigating just who would try and attack a hospitalized state alchemist. I also want the room Ed was attacked in sealed off- I'll process the crime scene later."

"Of course." Aubrey hurried off to do as she was told, and Roy and Hughes sat in silence for a moment.

"So." Hughes finally spoke up, face impassive. "It appears Edward might've been onto something with his whole 'Banks is a Drachman spy' theory."

"It certainly looks that way." Roy agreed. "Either that- or Banks wasn't involved, but now that he's backed into a corner, any Drachman operatives are capitalizing on the chance to scoop him up. But why bother trying to take Ed too?"

"Ed's knowledge of Alchemy is a good enough reason as any. He knows more than most alchemists in the country- he could easily train Alchemists for the Drachman army. They've wanted to learn alchemy for decades now. And Ed's young- he's got a lot of potential, he's still forming his opinions and growing up. They'd want to capitalize on that- mold him into a ruthless killer."

Isn't that what you want to do as well? that small voice in the back of his head hissed. The same one that tortured him about Ishval at night. But Roy brushed it aside- it was lying, he cared for Ed like his own son. He was only trying to do what was best for Ed. And for your reputation, you heartless bastard.

"I know you need to be here. I get it. But your office is sorely missing you in your absence. Hawkeye is doing her best- I have Brosch, Ross and Armstrong watching the hospital starting today. No one else will come near him."

"Right." Roy ran a hand through his hair, looking at Hughes. "Can you stay with him? For a little while? I need someone I can trust with him- someone who I know can protect him." Roy thought fo all the knives Hughes kept hidden on his person. He pitied any Drachman who tried to abduct Ed from his best friend.

"Yeah, I can stay." Hughes frowned. "Where are you gonna go, though? The office?"

"Probably. Was going to stop home and at least chance my clothes first. Have a quick shave, probably."

His uniform was wrinkled from sleeping in it and smeared with Ed's dried blood. His five o' clock shadow was also getting out of control.

Hughes nodded, smiling slightly. "Yeah. I haven't seen you this bad since our last bender. I can stay half the day with him."

"That's all I need. Thank you."

"No problem. Take care of what you need to at the office." Hughes took his place sitting in Roy's plastic chair at the foot of Ed's bed. Ed was still sleeping- Roy had wet a cloth and cleaned the blood from the boy's face hours ago, and he looked peaceful, despite his circumstances.

"Alphonse is with Gracia and Elicia for the time being- he's probably going to want to see Ed later today."

"I'll bring him back with me on my way back from the office." Roy promised absently.

"Alright, thank you." Hughes smiled, and Roy returned the look.

He almost felt bad that he was lying to the man's face. Almost.

LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK

"You look like hell." Madame Christmas didn't parse words, sliding him a glass of cold bourbon across the bar as a way of greeting. IT wasn't even 9am yet, but Roy took the drink happily.

"You made the papers again." his aunt put down a copy of the newest Gazette in front of him- FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST SHOT IN COURT MARTIAL DEBACLE. The front page featured him clinging to Ed, trying to stop the boy's bleeding. It wasn't exactly a flattering shot, and Roy wondered briefly how the press had managed to get that picture.

"Are you alright?" He looked up to meet his Aunt's dark brown eyes at the question- she was being sincere, and he nodded.

"I'm okay."

"And that boy of yours? The prodigy they shot?"

"He's gonna be okay too. Bullet hit him in the arm."

"And yet you're here instead of watching him. Which means you need something." his Aunt tapped her long fingernails on the bar, looking pensive.

"How much have you read about the courtmartial?"

"All of it. But it isn't much. The Furher withholds most of the details- all I know is that man was facing charges of misconduct that the Fullmetal Alchemist boy uncovered."

Roy fought the urge to wince. Yes, of course the military would've white washed everything and censored it. The general population didn't need to know the gruesome scope of Bank's misdeeds.

"That Colonel Banks is still on the lamb. He hasn't been here, if that's what you're searching for." Madame Christmas said, reaching down to start polishing some glasses.

"That's not what I'm here for."

"Then what? We both know you aren't here to visit Vanessa."

"Some fellows who ought not have visited Amestris have come here. Foreign- Drachman, I think. Tried to kidnap Ed last night- and I have a feeling that they're trying to get into contact with Banks and smuggle him from the country. An outfit like that wouldn't just send one man- they'd send several. A team, maybe. Men like that go looking for girls. Have you seen any?"

Madame Christmas had stopped polishing her glass abruptly and set it down, nodding once. "Yeah. Five who'd fit your description, recently. I don't ask too many questions. What would you like to do with them? They're quite rough customers- hardly pay for their drinks, rough with my girls. So what do you have in mind?"

"I want to speak to one. Doesn't matter which, any of them will do. As soon as you can."

"You'll be delivering the usual message to someone who's unkind to my girls?"

"And then some. For trying to take my Alchemist." Roy swirled his glass, taking another sip. He was almost done.

"How soon can you deliver by?"

His aunt scoffed. "Tonight. One of those dogs is always by, at least one, every night."

"I'll speak to you soon, then." He finished his drink, placing his money on the bar and standing.

"Thanks, Auntie."

"Not a problem, my boy."

LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK

Roy managed to stop at the office for two hours- Alphonse had decided to walk there from the Hughes' residence- so it turned out he hadn't completely lied to Hughes when he said he was going to the office.

Either way, he was back at the hospital at one with Alphonse and a fresh cup of coffee in tow.

"What do you mean I can't leave yet!? They just gave me this whole bag of blood I have more than enough now! I want to go!" Roy heard Ed before he saw him, and he gave a tired grin, sipping his coffee as he and Al strode into the room.

"The doctors want you here another day and that's what's going to happen." Hughes said, ever-patient.

Mr. Waters was sitting in his bed reading a book on barrel-making, seemingly hardly disturbed by the commotion.

When Alphonse walked into the room, however, he looked up, eyes brightening. "What craftsmanship! I'm a welder- let me have a look at you!"

If Alphonse could've blushed, he would've. but he walked over to the bed anyways, letting the construction worker rave about how well his joints fit together and the well-placed rivets of his design.

Ed cast a glance at his roommate, watching him talk to his brother, before he noticed Roy and perked up.

"Can we go home yet?"

"What's this I heard about the doctors wanting you to stay another day?" Roy cast a glance at Hughes, who crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. "Ed did well during his blood transfusion, but he's still dizzy and tired. They want to watch him for one more day."

"Then that's final. You're staying for another day." Roy took a sip of his coffee, symbiotically absorbing the caffeine through his tongue to fortify himself for the coming outburst.

"This is stupid! I should be out there catching the bastard who shot me, not sitting around in this stupid hospital!"

"You're pale as the sheets. I hardly think another day in the hospital could hurt." Roy remarked.

"Who're you calling so anemic he doesn't even have the iron to be called a fortified cereal?!" Ed kicked his feet beneath the sheets and ranted.

Well, that's a new one. Roy thought to himself.

"You said I could sleep on the couch again! Last night!" Ed had turned back to whining, and Roy was slightly surprised he even remembered the exchange they'd had in the emergency room.

"Yes. And you can. Once the doctors say you're well enough to come home, and not a minute sooner. Speaking of fun things people said- you said a lot of things, Ed. You threatened to bite an EMT, accused him of trying to steal you leg, and said something about riding in the wee-woo wagon."

"Wee-woo wagon?" Alphonse asked, tinny vice echoing the question.

"He was too drugged up to think of the word ambulance." Roy supplied.

Alphonse and Mr. Waters burst out laughing, Hughes was grinning, and Ed flushed bright red in embarrassment, a red hashtag throbbing on his temple.

"Don't sweat it, Ed. Investigations and everyone is working hard to catch Banks and everyone else involved in this. You just need to rest up." Hughes said, standing up from his place on the chair and stretching.

"And I'm sure Colonel Mustang here agrees."

Roy nodded, taking his seat back and pulling out a large stack of papers from his briefcase. "I do. In fact, Hawkeye wanted me to stay here and do my paperwork to make sure you don't decide to sneak out of the hospital."

Ed's pout made his facial structure sag so much he looked like a pug, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

"So unfair. Why do I have to get punished when I'm the one who's been shot..."

"Cheer up laddy." Mr. Waters piped up. "'Least you ain't had a brick dropped on yer head."

#fma #fma fanfiction #Fullmetal Alchemist #fullmetal alchimist brotherhood #Roy Mustang #edward elric #Parental Roy #parentalroy #whumph #whump #hurt/comfort #hurt #comfort #dogofthemilitary #injury

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