#gimme all the warm coats and cozy sweaters

[comatosebunny09]

deep-fried | u. tengen

summary: he’s spoken to you in passing. friendly greetings and excuse me’s when he bumped into you at the grocery store. he can’t deny entertaining the thought of how soft your hips must feel. how cute you must sound, tongue curling around his name. genre: modern au, romance cw: mentions of alcohol, language, black female reader, suggestive themes, stream of consciousness, incomplete

Darkness swaddles him as the wind howls beyond the confines of his truck.

It’s quiet inside, save for the lazy purr of his Ram and the melancholy music spilling from his speaker. His grip on the steering wheel is lax as he creeps through his drowsy neighborhood, headlights shining off windows shut tight. 

The clock on his display reads 10:37. Another night spent rotting away in his office. He rolls out the kinks in his neck. Exhaustion leaks down his shoulders, curling around his bones and puddling at his feet.

The day wasn’t kind to him. He spent it in and out of meetings. Deals fell through. Clients were no-shows. He had to lay off a few of his strongest employees at the urging of his superiors to compensate for the company's financial imbalance.

All he wants now is a stiff one and the chilly clutch of his bed. Just wants to throw this week in the backseat along with his briefcase. Maybe he’ll scrounge up some three-day-old stir fry from his fridge before he hits the sheets.

But then it’s there, burning in his peripheral when he rounds the corner: orange and blue flames dancing in the wintry gale. Golden swatches of light bounce off your features, highlighting the smile rounding your lips. 

“What the...fuck?” Tengen rasps. He rolls the window down halfway and turns his music to a dull murmur. Slows to a stop, brakes squealing. He props his arm on the steering wheel. Your chuckle follows. Warm milk and honey to his ears. He finds your smile infectious, his own canting his lips.

“Howdy, neighbor!” Your voice is husky. Flirtatious even. You sit on your cozy outdoor sectional with a bottle gleaming in your fingers, raised to him in greeting. The breeze carries the oaky scent from your fire pit, reminding him of log cabins and days spent amid the snow.

“What’s this all about?” he asks, chin nestled in his palm. Surprised by how easy it is to skip formalities with you like he’s talking to an old friend. He’s not enamored. There’s no way. 

He’s spoken to you in passing. Friendly greetings and excuse me’s when he bumped into you at the grocery store. Simple conversations after running into each other at the gym. He can’t deny entertaining the thought of how soft your body must feel, though. How cute you must sound, tongue curling around his name in that Southern twang.

You stand, thighs thick even beneath the slouched fleece of your sweats. Throw your arms up, your sweater flashing a slither of smooth, dusky skin. His mouth waters. It takes all of him not to bite his lip.

“Shoooot! I made it through another week!” Your grin is lopsided as you rock to the mellow tunes flowing from your speaker. He falls deeper into your web, chuckling. He’s envious of your carefree nature. Wishes he could bottle it up for use on a rainy day. “Care to join me?”

The offer is tempting. Sure, Tengen planned to drink himself into a stupor. But your body language beckons him, and your finger curls in a come hither gesture while you dance like a tipsy fool. 

Fuck it. He could use a little respite.

His reply comes as easy as breathing in and out. “Gimme a sec to get out of this monkey suit, and I’ll see how I feel afterward.”

You giggle. Do an accomplished jig around the fire. Tengen can’t help but laugh as he slides off. You’re adorable in your own right. 

Excitement wriggles into his fingers as he slides into his driveway. Soon after, he slips into his house, toeing his loafers off by the door. Shimmies out of his coat, making a beeline for the shower, blood pulsing in his ears.

He carries the aroma of rosewood and smoke with him when he sidles up to your patio 30 minutes later. 

Tries to play it cool, hands shoved in his pockets, though his chest is afire. Pretty thing like you hankering for his company. He should be so lucky.

“Drink?” you offer, your tone heavy with inebriation.

Corona. He’s not the biggest fan. Prefers the sting of something sour, but he accepts it on his way down onto the cushion beside you, anyway. Tengen sits back in an easy slouch, draping his arm across the headrest. His rings clack against the glass as he brings the bottle to his lips, condensation dripping onto his turtleneck.

For a while, nothing but the sounds associated with nighttime fill the space between you. The fire pops and fizzes. Crickets chitter in the distance. Trees shiver in the breeze. A dog or two barks somewhere far off. Tengen falls prey to the inner workings of his mind before rustling fabric brings him back to the present.

“What's wrong, suga?”

His gaze drifts to you, angled towards him. Your vibe is maternal despite the distilled wheat wafting off your breath. Must be that Southern hospitality everyone talks about. He sighs with a drop of his shoulders, taking another swig. “Just another day at the office.”

“Wanna talk about it?” You lean closer. Fill his nose with the fragrance of cracked vanilla beans, heat rolling off you in waves. He finds himself disarmed around you. Nerves flare when your tiny fingers brand his quad, scorching him to the bone.

“Not really,” Tengen husks, lost in the idle stir of your eyes. He feels like he could tell you everything. But for now, he’s content with soaking up your presence. Hasn’t had a lady friend for some time now, having fully embraced bachelorhood.

“That’s alright.” Give his thigh a squeeze, irises twinkling with something indiscernible. The shadows cast by the fire shroud your intentions. “Just know that whatever storm you’re weatherin’ is temporary. ‘sides, it’s the weekend! It’s time to turn up!”

He chortles at how quickly the mood shifts. At your goofy little dance, taking another sip of his beer. His hand engulfs yours atop his thigh, entranced by the smoothness of it. He could get used to this. Get used to you.

The air feels lighter now. It’s easy to slide into meaningful conversation, throwing back a few more beers as the night eases into the wee hours of the morning.

At some point, he finds himself nestled in the plushness of your sofa inside.

The lights are turned off, the only illumination coming from the silvery moon peeking through your blinds. Sultry jazz tinges the air, chorusing with soft giggles and husky praise. A sheen of desire hangs overhead, intermingled with the smell of firewood clinging to your clothes.   

Your thighs are tender in his hands. Doughy like he knew they would be, framing his hips. Your fingers make an unhurried excursion to the hair at his nape as your lips brand his carotid. His responding chuckle is breathless, disbelieving. Vibrates your chest, your breasts warm against the hard press of his torso.

He's grinning like a fool, lids heavy. Can't help mulling over what brought you to this point as his hands engulf the dips of your hips. Sucks his lip between his teeth, his voice a low gravel as you bear down on the apex of his thighs.

#tengen uzui x reader #tengen uzui x you #tengen x you #uzui x you #uzui tengen x reader #uzui x black reader #tengen x black reader #kny x you #kny reader insert #kny x reader #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer x reader

[calqlate]

scarves

tsukishima kei x female!reader

view m.list!

[f/n] loved wearing tsukishima's clothes. any article of clothing, really. from sweaters to shirts, she'd wear them all. any fabric owned by her tall beanpole of a boyfriend was deemed as clothes for her 'second wardrobe'.

however, her favourite article of his was his scarf.

it was long. ridiculously long for her. it was cream white and smelled like strawberry shortcake and vanilla, an oddly delicious scent that always made her smile. when she wore it, it could go around her neck four to five times.

this cold morning, while on the walk to school, she decided to ask him for it. no matter what, she knew he would always bring his scarf out. tsukishima would never leave his warm cozy house and battle the frosty chilly air without a scarf.

"kei," she said, tugging on his coat, "can i wear your scarf?"

of course. his scarf. what else would she ask for on a winter morning?

"i didn't bring it," he replied simply, eyes on the road.

her face scrunched up, her eyebrows were bunched together, and her lips curved into a frown.

"you liar! you always bring it along whether you wear it or not!" she huffed, "gimme the scarf, you big meanie!"

"stop acting like a child, [f/n]," the blonde muttered as he pulled his coat further up so it partially covered his mouth.

she let go of his arm and stomped ahead, "tsukishima kei, you'll regret this!"

holy shit, she found it. she really found it; the strawberry shortcake and vanilla-scented, long cream white scarf. it was in his bag the whole time.

he was still outside, buying something with yamaguchi. quickly, [f/n] tugged it out of his bag and wrapped it around her neck. four... five times. she grinned and inhaled the scent of it.

"oi, did you just open my bag and take my scarf without permission?"

there, at the doorway, stood tsukishima and yamaguchi. tsukishima's face showed no emotion, and yamaguchi looked rather confused.

"heh, sorry," she said as she held the scarf, which was still wrapped around her neck. but truly, she was not sorry at all.

however, she was a tad bit too engrossed in smelling the sweet scent on tsukishima's scarf to notice the small smile that was beginning to spread across his face.

#qq writes 🖊️ #writing #writeblr #tsukishima #haikyuu #oneshot #fluff #tsukishima oneshots #tsukishima fluff #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu fluff

[sunnybimbo]

teddy!!! christmas!!!! have happy christmas!!! @to-a-merrier-world

<3 kolivan’s first earth-christmas, sorta?

on AO3

Beams of Earth-brand sunlight warm Kolivan’s fur as he rolls over in bed, breaking him out of his remaining wisps of sleep. He’d be upset, because it had been one of those warm dreams that kept him steady during the day, but waking up with a warmer body was enough to make him happy.

Even happier when he sniffs at the top of Hunk’s head, taking in his earthy scent, and Hunk grumbles something sleepy back at him. He cuddles closer, despite the disruption to his sleep patterns, and Kolivan is happy to let him make a home against the fur on his chest.

Hunk inhales deep as Kolivan’s hand travels along his skin, exhaling only when he stops at the small of his back to pull them flush together. His eyes don’t open, but he’s so obviously awake by the way his arms tighten around Kolivan’s middle and by the way he curls both his legs around one of Kolivan’s, like a koala to a tree.

“Good morning, my love.” He hums, the pads of his thumbs wiping sleep from Hunk’s eyes. Hunk turns to putty in his hands, glowing bright as a newborn star.

“Morning, fuzzypants.” Hunk mumbles, eyes cracking open to fix him with a grin. “Had a good night?”

“Always, with you.”

Hunk squirms away, hiding the way his face blooms red. Kolivan was always interested in how humans could minutely change colors like that, but it was always something special when he was able to make Hunk turn into such a beautiful mess.

Hunk stands, unwrapping himself from the bedsheets. His hair ends up mussed, pointing straight to the sky as he refluffs his pillow and tries to hastily tuck the sheets into something neat while Kolivan was still in bed.

Kolivan sweeps his hands across Hunk’s hardwork, effectively turning it off kilter. Just to tease. Hunk pokes him straight on the nose, then dips over to kiss where he touches, and Kolivan is able to capture him by the waist and tug him back into bed.

He accidentally tickles up the sides of Hunk’s belly, but the silly, high-pitched noise that comes forth is what makes him keep it up until Hunk is out of breath and squeezing him tight to get him to stop.

“You’re so dangerous.” Hunk breathes, carefully arching away from Kolivan’s hands. “A menace.”

“Mm.” Kolivan agrees, eyes dropping shut as Hunk begins to rake his fingers through the thick fur at the back of his neck. It always reduces him to mush, and Hunk knows it, but he’s not using it for nefarious purposes this time. Like taking incriminating pictures of him (though, after it all, Kolivan really did enjoy seeing how happy Hunk made him just from that).

When Hunk pulls away, Kolivan is boneless against the bed again.

Hunk has half a mind to hop on top of him and sink right back into dreamland, but his phone pings with a notification and distracts him. He reaches over to put it on silent, content to spend the day doing nothing with Kolivan, but the date catches him by surprise and he nearly whacks himself in the eye with the thing.

“Christmas!” Kolivan startles as Hunk rolls onto the bed to shove the phone in his face, before he dashes right back off and rushes to the bathroom. “Wake up!”

Which, fair. Kolivan nearly forgot how seriously humans took their holidays, but at the same time, Kolivan was interested to see just how festive Hunk could get. It wasn’t often Kolivan got time off of a war to smooch his beloved and spend time on solid ground, so any moment with him was sure to be good.

He doesn’t say as much, but when Hunk comes out of the bathroom with his toothbrush stuffed between his teeth and a hairbrush for Kolivan, he’s sure he looks smitten anyway.

xoxo

Hunk stuffs him in a sweater. It’s fit perfectly to his dimensions, and quite comfortable, but some of the knitting catches on his fur if he moves too fast. Kolivan scratches his chest, careful not to shred the fluffy bubbles that were the 3D snowmen, and follows Hunk to the kitchen.

The sweater itself is also rather warm, which Kolivan enjoyed immensely. It was like one of Hunk’s hugs, all over his chest. Minus the pinching.

“What’s on the agenda today?” Hunk murmurs to himself, worrying all the way from the microwave to the stove. Whenever he stops, he lifts one foot to keep it from freezing to the cold floor (which Hunk swears is a problem), so Kolivan heads to the living room to snag his slippers from under the couch.

When he comes back, Hunk has started to boil milk on the stove and has taken down a bundle of items from the cupboard.

Kolivan drops to his knees to lift Hunk’s feet, stuffing them in the cozy footwear. When he finishes and looks up, Hunk is fixing him with the most lovestruck gaze that Kolivan finds himself pausing, just to bask in it.

“Thank you.” He shuffles forward, careful not to step on him, and leans down to press a kiss between Kolivan’s ears. Kolivan was tall enough when sitting that he hardly needs to dip far, and he was wide enough that when Hunk slips between his legs, Kolivan still has a wider span than him.

“Of course, a’sayar.” If his affectionate rumble sounds like a cat's purr, Hunk doesn’t let himself mention it.

When the milk starts to bubble and fill the room with a scent that Kolivan would count as strange if not for how delicious he knows warm milk can be, he leaves his betrothed to sit at the table.

Which gives him a perfect view of the window. Outside, the world is bathed in white. Soft, pillowy dunes of snowflakes that weigh heavy on tree branches and dance across roofs.

Kolivan breathes in deep, eyes widening. He’d seen snow, of course, but never to an extent such as that, and never so breathlessly beautiful.

He’s so enamored by it that he doesn’t notice when Hunk sets a mug of hot cocoa in front of him, nor does he notice Hunk getting up from the table to find their coats.

Only when he’s being stuffed in something fur-lined and boots as pressed against his feet does the spell break, and by then Hunk has him halfway out the door.

The view is even more stunning up close. The snowfall isn’t heavy just yet, but there are still a couple droplets of snow that delicately drop against his palm when he outstretches it. They feel like nothing, even when they melt against his skin, but Kolivan is gentle with them anyway.

Hunk digs his fingers in the cold and comes back with a bundle of it stuck between his fingers. He shapes it into a messy, lumpy ball, and proceeds to throw it directly towards Kolivan’s face.

It drops significantly and only gets him in the chest, but he reels back anyway.

“Snowball fight!” Hunk shouts, running away before Kolivan can retaliate. Kolivan has to question the necessity of having fights with snow, but the cold seeping through his jacket is enough for his curiosity to be sated as he starts to shape his own weapon.

They proceed to de-snow and then re-snow the entire front yard. Kolivan chases him from end to end, giving as good as he gets, and it only ends when Hunk trips face-first into a bank and Kolivan has to dig him out because he’s laughing too hard.

Hunk is better at snowball fighting than him, perhaps from having more practice prior to this, or maybe because of Kolivan’s claws, but they both end up doused in white in equal parts. If Kolivan had focused more on tossing handfuls of snow at Hunk instead of carefully shaping each one into a perfect sphere, he most definitely would have won.

Hunk kisses him on the cheek, but doesn’t admit defeat.

“You like snow?” Hunk asks, flopping onto the ground. He makes half a snow-angel, only the bottom half, and Kolivan sits down to watch the patterns his clothes make against the ground.

“It’s… fun.” Kolivan admits. He lifts his hand again, but the snow has all but stopped in the short battle they’d had. “I like it, yes.”

Hunk sits up, fluffing the snow from his hair with a quick shake of his head. The red on his cheeks is offsetting his lips starting to turn blue, so Kolivan stands to usher him back inside.

Hunk pulls him back down. “C’mere.” He shuffles behind him and, when Kolivan has settled, presses his palms against the backs of Kolivan’s. He helps him shape another snowball, larger this time, and slowly starts to roll it around the yard until it gains more mass.

They stop when it’s large enough to take two hands to lift completely, and Hunk lets him go to start another. Kolivan, unsure of what to do with his new toy, brushes a few excess lumps away.

When Hunk comes back with a smaller ball, Kolivan makes way for him to plop it onto the other. “What is this activity?”

Hunk slaps his palms together to dust them off and shoulders off his jacket to lay it onto the creation. “We’re making a snowman! A mini-one, atleast. Gimme your hat?”

Kolivan obediently slides his knitted-cap off and follows Hunk’s example by carefully pressing it atop the snowman’s crown. It’s faceless, so Hunk hurries to press holes for eyes, and an outline for a mouth.

“Now we find sticks and rocks to make a face.” He instructs, dusting around himself in a circle to find leaves. “And we decorate it however we want.”

“How do you want?” Kolivan slides closer, a palm against Hunk’s waist. He watches as Hunk sprinkles a couple of dead leaves around the rim of the hat, to simulate tufts of hair. It’s an ugly thing, but Kolivan rather enjoyed the little detail.

“However we want, silly.” Hunk corrects, tugging Kolivan up by the elbows. He wouldn’t get anywhere if Kolivan wasn’t eager to follow, but he appreciates the help. “You find something for the face, and I’ll do the rest of the body.”

Which is how they end up with an abomination on their front lawn. It’s an adorable thing, in Kolivan’s opinion, but an abomination nonetheless. The head ended up falling off when Kolivan stuck rocks in a line for a mouth, and ended up losing half of its mass. The hat hid most of it, but it still looked vaguely disturbing.

The bottom half was a bit better, but the sticks were stubby little things that had to be poked in at a strange angle in order to stay in place. It had legs in the form of two more lumps of snow, but it was kind of like something pooped on the lawn and they were trying to cover it up, with how dirty the snow ended up being.

When they step back to look at the thing, Hunk immediately falls into a fit of laughter. He pats their snowman on the head, which only results in it falling off again, and even Kolivan breaks apart at that.

They escape into the house, promising to fix it later, when more snow comes to cover their shame. Kolivan does remember to take a picture of it on Hunk’s phone, though.

“I swear, those usually work out better.” Hunk laughs, still dusted in snow. He’s shivering just a bit, so Keith sheds his sweater and quickly fits him with it. It sags off of his shoulder, it’s such a large fit, but Kolivan is pleased with how easily Hunk lets him take care of him. He even sinks into the residual body heat clinging to the fibers, and lets Kolivan carry him to the couch. “We just had soggy snow.”

“Mm. I’m sure.” Kolivan presses his lips against Hunk’s neck, mostly to feel his temperature, but ends up staying there longer than strictly necessary.

“I’m guessing you never really had snow, right? Did the Blades ever have any holiday like this?”

Hunk’s fingers come to the scruff of Kolivan’s neck again, carefully parting the fur and carding through. They end up sprawling on the couch, Kolivan’s endless heat sapping away the chill that clings to Hunk’s limbs.

“We… do not have anything similar to this, no. And most are generally too busy to take time to play, even if we are off for leisure.”

Hunk’s hands tease their way up to Kolivan’s skull, fingering the thick braid. He doesn’t take it apart, but loosens it considerable to bury his fingers at the roots, scratching just exactly how Kolivan likes.

When the following, pleased shiver finishes coursing through him, Kolivan nuzzles even further into Hunk’s hold and squeezes him tight. “We do, however, have a holiday. It’s not communally celebrated, but those nearby gather together.”

His eyes slit open at a passing memory, of him as a junior Blade. It was the first time he’d been at a celebration. It was tame, sure, but it was his family in what constituted as their home at the time, and there was plenty of laughter and joy from those just happy to be alive together.

Hunk has gone quiet, contemplative and solemn. A complete opposite to their earlier revelry, but Kolivan appreciates the respect Hunk always shows to his past. “Do you do anything special?”

“We sing, generally. And sleep, if we must.” It was the safest time to, surrounded by those pledged to fight and protect with their lives.

Hunk brightens at that, but hurries to tamper it down. “Will you sing for me?”

Kolivan’s smile is hidden against Hunk’s skin, tucked away like snowflake in the wake of thousands. He nods, shifting back to let Hunk sit in his lap instead of Kolivan near-crushing him as they had been sitting.

Hunk settles, back to Kolivan’s front, and Kolivan takes a moment to press his nose against the soft of Hunk’s hair and breathe in deep. It always comforted him, having the sun that was Hunk so nearby.

And he sings. The words feel hesitant on his tongue— it’s been so long. Long even before Voltron arrived, but they’re easy to pluck from his heartstrings and share with his beloved, his a’sayar.

For Hunk, it’s the most incredible thing he’s heard. He understands not a word of it, but does one really need to in order to parse the feeling behind it? He floats along the river of sound, wades through the pool of it as it overwhelms him enough to bring a tear to his eye.

When Kolivan finishes, Hunk sits in stunned silence. It wasn’t a long song in the slightest, nothing more than a brief hymn of brotherhood and love that lasted about a minute or so, but it was enough.

Hunk sniffles, and Kolivan is quick to gather him up and kiss the sad away. “My apologies, Hunk. I didn’t mean to upset.”

Hunk laughs again, softer than before. “It was just… really beautiful, Kolivan. Thank you.”

It’s only because Hunk knows Kolivan so well that he realizes the compliment pleases Kolivan immensely, by the way his eye crinkles in the corner like paper turning into an origami swan. He presses a kiss against Kolivan’s eyelids, and nestles back against his grip.

“Maybe we could invite some other Galra down sometime. To let all of you celebrate.”

Kolivan hums again, a deep rumble. “Perhaps.”

It isn’t a no, and definitely is contemplative, so Hunk lets that idea stew. He sighs, breathing in deep as the mood settles right in his gut— and he catches a whiff of chocolate.

“Our drinks!” Hunk yelps, wrenching himself from Kolivan’s grasp. He scutters to the kitchen, but the drinks have already cooled past room temperature and straight to freezing. Thus was the nature of neglected hot cocoa, after all.

Kolivan meets him halfway between the couch and the kitchen, and takes a thankful sip of the drink anyway. He always did love chocolate, no matter the form.

“I’ll make us some more.” Hunk says, half under his breath. He takes a sip, and then moves to turn back on the stove, but Kolivan captures him by the hips and tugs him back towards the couch. It’s only because his legs have lifted almost completely off the ground that he doesn’t trip and spill his hot chocolate.

“There is no need. This is perfect.” Kolivan sets them right back down as they were, only this time he stretches his legs across the full length of the couch and urges Hunk to lay down atop him.

Hunk is sure he just wants to cuddle the rest of the day, but the taste of chocolate mixed with whipped cream does sit nicely on his tongue, enough to make him want to do nothing more than watch people have Christmas fun on the television.

“Lazy.” Hunk teases anyway.

Kolivan agrees with a silent nip against Hunk’s skin, setting his mug down to press both his hands firmly against the expanse of Hunk’s back, as if to tell him that he wasn’t going anywhere .

Hunk honestly wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.

#kolivunk #voltron #long post #kolivan #hunk #jam writes

[imaginedolanscribbles]

sleepy

Grayson x reader

warnings: none

words: 1.512

summary: what it says in the title

Your eyes, already tired from a long day of studying, feel heavier and heavier with each flash of orangey light from the passing by streetlights. Right in this moment you doubt your decision to not fall into bed and get into your car. When his text arrived, telling you they had landed and were on their way home, bypassing your (tempting, warm, cozy …) bed seemed only natural. Now you remember how long a twenty-minute-drive can be, especially when you’ve forgotten to exchange your slippers for shoes appropriate for late november. The heating in your car works slow as all hell, and so by the time building comes in sight, your breath is still fogging up where it leaves your mouth.

After you’ve parked your car you send a text to Grayson, to let him know to open the door for you. It’s 1:30 am and people would probably appreciate it not to be woken up by an obnoxiously loud doorbell.

You make your way to the door without waiting for a reply, and stuff your hands under your armpits to keep them warm. Gray used to poke fun at you for freezing so easily. He also started bringing an extra sweater whenever you went to the cinema together, since you got cold there no matter how many coats and sweaters you wore. It’s like your body just goes straight to shut down as soon as you sit down for longer than five minutes.

When you reach the door, you see movement behind the curtain next to it, and then the door opens to reveal Ethan. His curls are sticking out everywhich way, even though he attempted to tame them with a headband, and he’s wearing a crinkly shirt that smells of old sweat and cold airplaine-air. Ethan looks tired and about thirty years old but still manages a small smile.

“Heya”, he croaks, pulling open the door with one hand and pulling you in with the other. Your nose collides with his collarbone and you crinkle it, after he’s released you.

“Hi, Ethan”, you reply quietly, your smile probably just as tired as his, as you rub your nose. The gesture has gotten so familiar over the past months, since Ethan keeps hugging you like this in greeting every time you meet. You remember Gray doing that, too, but he’s stopped using that as a form of greeting. “Have a good trip?”

Ethan shrugs and shuts the door, not even attempting to stifle his yawn. “Was nice seeing the folks again, yeah.” He flashes you a surprisingly sharp smile over his shoulder as he leads the way through the dark living room. “One day we’ll drag you to meet them, don’t think we’ve forgotten.” You grimace at his back, remembering that conversation. Gray had wanted you to come with on their trip home to New Jersey, even pulled Ethan into their discussion after you had stated how it was too early and you felt uncomfortable. You had won that argument. At least for now.

“He’s asleep”, Ethan says pointing at Grayson’s cracked door with his chin. There’s light spilling out from the room and you frown. “I heard your text come in. Thought I’d let him sleep.”

“Thanks”, you nod.

“No problem. Couldn’t let you stand in the cold now, could I?”, he shrugs again. “Imma go to bed now, nighty-night”, Ethan turns and waves over his shoulder. “Don’t keep him up, little baby boy needs his sleep, yeah?”

“Fuck off”, you mumble hiding your grin in a pout, but you can still feel your face growing hot. You stare at the cracked door for another second before pulling yourself together and pushing it open slowly. It’s not like it has been ages since you last saw him. Two weeks ago you’d said goodbye at the airport and since then there’d been an endless stream of text messages and snaps. Still, somehow you feel unsure when you step into the fully-lit room.

Grayson is sprawled out on his bed, lying on his stomach with one leg on the ground as though to get up any second. One hand is tucked into the back of the waistband of his worn sweatpants, probably to take them off, while the other lies on his bedsidetable, next to his plugged-in phone. You suspect Ethan to be the one who plugged it in, judging by Gray’s state he fell asleep right in the middle of taking off his clothes. His favourite red sweater has ridden up to reveal the outline of his boxers and his feet are bare.

You can’t help the soft smile tugging at your lips as you take in the picture and before you know it, you have taken the few steps to his bed until you’re close enough to touch him. Gray’s mouth is open, his hair mussed and falling messily into his eyes, thick lashes fluttering. You reach out and push back his fringe, which makes him frown slightly and prompts him to close his mouth with a sigh.

There’s no point in waking him up now, you decide and toe off your shoes while pulling the beanie off your hair. You switch off the lights and change into a shirt of Gray’s, that you find in his closet and which you deem to smell okay. For a second you think about looking for your favourite shirt in his suitcase, until you remember he probably hasn’t washed those clothes since packing them two weeks ago.

Once it’s completely dark you manage to get back to the bed with the light of your phone and climb over Gray in order to get to your spot between him and the wall. The rustling and shuffeling is apparently enough to wake him up as you hear a small groan and then he’s moving beside you, turning around and reaching out to investigate who or what is trying to steal his body heat.

“‘eyou”, he mumbles into the dark, his voice rhaspy and deeper than usual. His breath hits your face and you crinkle your nose again. Yep, definitely neither showered nor brushed his teeth before you arrived. “Y'drove ‘ere?”

You almost chuckle at how groggy he sounds. “Yeah. Ethan let me in.”

Gray hums and you’re pretty sure, if you could see in the dark right now he’d have his eyes closed still. His hands are big and warm where they wrap around your waist and pull you in. “Mh. Welcome home.”

This time you can’t surpress the snort. “I don’t live here, you know.”

“Well. You should.” You roll your eyes in the dark and feel for his face so you can smack his nose with a kiss. He won’t be able to remember any of this conversation tomorrow. In your experience, Gray gets extremely sappy and clingy when he’s tired or sleepy, with the added advantage of not being able to recall any of it the next day.

He huffs and pulls you down, trying to kiss your mouth but only manages the side of your chin. “C’mere. Gimme a real hello.”

“No, stop”, you snort and turn your face away when he makes kissy noises and smushes his lips all over your cheek and ear. He is far stronger than you but you manage to squirm around until your back is pressed to his chest. Gray just keeps nibbling on your ear and pulls out your hairband with what appear to be his teeth, all the while hissing like a very large cat. “Stop, Grayson, noo.”

“Why”, he whines and nuzzles your nape, but lets up when you wriggle around to get under his blanket. He follows suit but pushes his sweatpants down before tangling his legs with yours, all warm muscle and wiry hair against your legs. When he also pulls off his sweater you reach back and steal it from him before he can throw it away.

“Because”, you say and put his sweater on. It’s warm from his body heat and smells just like Ethan did before - like cold airplane-air and old sweat. But it also smells faintly of Gray, so that’s okay. “Because you haven’t showered and you stink, to be quite honest, and you also have airplane-breath.”

There’s a pause behind you and then his arms are suddenly gone as he goes to get up. “Whoa, where’re you going?”, you ask, grab his hand, and hold him in place, half turning around and squinting to make out his face in the dark.

“Well, apparently I stink”, he retorts but doesn’t pull away so you know he isn’t really mad despite the snappy tone. “So I’ll go and clean up real quick.”

You turn back around and pull on his hand until he lies back down. “Nah”, you say and snuggle back until your backside is flush to his front and his breath hot in your hair. You pull his arm back around you and push your face into the pillow, mumbling into the dark: “’s not important. Just. Hold me and go back to sleep.”

Masterlist

#imagine #dolan twins imagine #grayson dolan imagine #sleepy grayson #grayson dolan x reader #coming home #reader is also sleepy #ethan is a good brother #no warnings #sleepy gray #sleepy #fanfiction #my fic #fluffy

[newtscamanderxyou]

Dogs Don’t Wear Clothes

@newtscamandersbeasts1 requested: Hello ! Are you still doing the drabble challenge ? If so, could I request 47 please ? Thank you !

A/N: wowza, am i a trashy updater. anyway, here’s this mess of words, but it’s about dogs so i guess it can’t be all bad, right? the dog is based a little off of my dog, but i only mention the color. also, dogs can wear clothes and they look adorable. my old dog used to wear sweaters. this is also a modern muggle au if you couldn’t tell.

Warnings: legit nothing. (modern muggle au, if you have a problem with those)

Word Count: 1,200 (it was originally 1,199 so i added in a word to make myself feel more accomplished)

You finished up the email you were writing to a colleague, praising yourself as you finally clicked send and closed your computer. Usually, you enjoyed your work but today had been full of stress, arguments, and probably a bit too much caffeine. Checking the time, you saw that it was already almost 8:00 pm.

Newt would have been home for a while now and you dared to hope that he had bought something for the two of you to have for dinner. You were much too tired and had too much on your mind to deal with cooking for you and your boyfriend.

You packed up your bag, slinging it across your shoulder and exiting your office. The larger room outside was full of empty desks except for one. A woman with short blonde hair sat hunched over a desk in the corner, writing furiously on a notepad.

“Queenie?” You wondered aloud. It was rare that your good friend, Queenie Goldstein, was still working when you left work. “Why are you still working?”

“Oh, hello dear!” Queenie smiled looking up at you. “Tina’s having to stay late so I thought I’d keep her company. Besides, it gives me a head start on tomorrow’s work.”

“Well, you’re more of a trooper than I am. I’ll just pop by T’s office and say good night before I head out. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow!” You blew a kiss at Queenie before continuing your exit from your work.

Out of you and your two best friends (the Goldstein sisters) Tina was ranked the highest in the office. With that importance came a lot of hard work and responsibility. You and Queenie had shared many meals together without the third member of your group. She was also privileged with the biggest and most luxurious office. It was set off from the rest of the staff but you were always welcome whenever you wanted to visit.

“Night, Tina,” you yawned as you slipped through the heavy metal doors and into the impressive office. Tina looked up from her computer where she had been intently reading and then glanced at the watch on her wrist.

“You’re here later than usual,” she noted, giving you a questioning look.

“It’s been a long day,” you sighed. “But it’s over. Thank god!”

“Not for me.” Tina had already turned her attention back to the screen. “I’ve still got another hour, at least.”

“Queenie’s out there waiting for you so you may want to let her know.”

“She’s sweet. I’ll try to convince her to go home but she can be stubborn when she wants to be.”

“She’s not the only one,” you looked pointedly at Tina. “Anyway, goodnight!”

“Goodnight!”

You pulled on your black pea coat, buttoning it all the up due to the cold December weather in New York. You hailed a taxi outside the building, and slid into the backseat. After giving the driver a destination, you pulled out your phone and sent a message to Newt.

Y/N: Sorry I’m so late! Work was kinda shitty today. I’m super tired. Are you home yet?

Newt: Yeah, been home for about an hour. I have a surprise for you when you get home ;)

Your stomach rumbled as you hoped for food. God, you were starving. Your office was only twenty minutes away from home, so the trip passed relatively quickly. You were sure the driver could hear your stomach growling from the backseat, but you were an expert at avoiding eye contact with people to avoid awkward situations.

You paid the taxi man, and hurried up your front steps to the house. It was small. Just a white, one-story on the corner of a quiet street. There was barely any privacy, which wasn’t really a problem with you and Newt, and made the whole experience more cozy. In your whole life, you had never felt more at home anywhere.

You turned your key in the lock, and kicked the door open. Your coat was added to the pile on the coat rack beside the door, and you pulled your boots off. You trailed barefoot down the hallway, headed towards the kitchen, expecting to find your boyfriend there with a warm filling meal.

Instead, you found a dark kitchen that was definitely absent of Newt.

“Newt?” You called in confusion. “Where are you?”

“I’m in here! Gimme a second!” Newt’s voice reached you from behind the closed door of your shared room.

“Why am I worried that this is dangerous?” You groaned.

“You’ll like it, I promise!” He replied. “Now, close your eyes and I’ll bring the surprise out.”

Still hoping it was chinese food, you closed your eyes and plopped exasperatedly on the barstool at the kitchen counter. You heard the creak of the door opening and then your boyfriend’s weighted footsteps as he crossed the room towards you.

“You can feed it to me, if you want?” You opened your mouth accordingly.

“It’s not food,” he laughed. “Well, I guess it could be… but, this one isn’t.”

“I swear to god, if I touch it and it moves, I’ll smack you!” You threatened, tensing up. Newt just chuckled.

“You can open your eyes now.”

Nervously, you forced your eyes open, already preparing to shriek at what lay in front on you. You stopped yourself just in time. Your boyfriend, Newt, was stood in front of you, holding a small blonde dog.

You spoke the first words that came to mind. “Well, she’s definitely not food.”

“No,” he laughed, “I’m afraid she’s not. Her name is Pickett, by the way.”

“Did you actually get us a dog?” You asked in shock.

“Yeah? I thought you’d be happy.” He looked worried.

“Can I hold her?” You asked reaching for the precious animal.

“One second.” He moved the animal out of petting range. “I have one more surprise with her.”

“You didn’t get another dog, did you?” You called after him as he walked back into your bedroom. “Because I love you for getting us Pickett, but two dogs might be a lot.”

“It’s not another dog!” He reassured. “Are you ready for this?”

“Let’s hope I am,” you sighed as Newt walked back into the room. He was still carrying Pickett, but she was now dressed in a light blue sweater dress.

“Dogs don’t wear clothes!” You laughed as you saw the unusual sight before your eyes.

“Sure they do!” Newt retorted. “The woman in the store said they wore clothes all the time.”

“And how many people do you see that put their dogs in clothes? Except for, like, the famous celebrity dogs who are basically Instagram models!”

“I think Pick looks cute!” Newt stuck out his chin in a pout.

“Not as cute as you though.” You giggled leaning in and kissing him. “Thank you for the puppy, and the… um, outfit. It was really sweet of you.”

“I know how much you’ve always wanted a dog.” He grinned happily.

“You’re right, I always have wanted one. But, like, I wouldn’t say no to food right now either. So, let’s find something to eat before I lose control and accidentally eat the dog!”  

#newt scamander #newt imagine #newt x reader #newt scamander imagine #newt scamander x reader #harry potter fanfiction #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beasts fanfic

[poppy-mockblog]

{poppy hamilton; the syrupy} + self para

Poppy stands out the back door of the cafe, her back against the brick wall. She has her hands tucked into the sleeves of her sweater, guarding against the brisk Chicago autumn. She lets out a warm breath. It isn’t quite cold enough yet to watch it curl out of her lips, but her eyes flick down, checking regardless. Her coworker, Adam, shifts beside her, so the sole of his shoe can be pressed against the bricks. He passes his joint to her, but she shakes her head. He shrugs, and releases the smoke from his lungs.

“It’s your day to serve those gangbangers, I can’t stand ‘em.” Adam says, taking another hit off his joint before dropping it to the pavement and stomping it out.

Poppy shrugs and smiles softly, “I’ve never minded them. Couple of ‘em live right by me, go to my high school and everything.”

Adam purses his lips, not saying anything. He’s from a nicer part of the city, only coming to Poppy’s area for the easy job and the lax ID laws. Adam’s cigarette addiction and his teen drinking habit have him frequenting the bodegas in Poppy’s area of the city. Neither of them say anything for the last couple minutes of their break. Once their fifteen minutes are up, they both wordlessly step through the back door of the cafe, engulfed by the warm heat of the kitchen.

“Poppy, get your apron on, those hooligans are back. Take their order. Adam, take these fries to table three and…” Poppy tunes out the rest of the manager’s instructions, instead she focuses on repositioning her apron over her sweater and jeans. She repins her nametag, and takes a deep breath. She moves through the kitchen with practiced ease, avoiding injury and accidents. The dining area of the cafe is done primarily in warm reds and deep browns, the autumn colors sweeping right through the front door and settling over the room. The tables are mismatched, though most of them are either simple wood or the classic red diner table. There a few corner booths, made for the larger parties, though most of the tables are squares made for four people that they tend to squish together in order to accommodate large crowds. The heat is kept blasting by the elderly owner, so if a chair isn’t filled by a person it is occupied by coats. It’s the lunch rush, so Poppy dodges through the cozy cafe and right up to a packed corner booth, already fishing her notepad out of her apron pocket. She shoots the group a sunny smile, “what can I get for you all?” They rattle off their orders, and Poppy scribbles madly on the notepad. She smiles once again and starts to leave, but one of the men hooks his fingers around her wrist, keeping her there.

“How old are you…” he squints at her name tag, “...Daisy?”

Poppy shifts a little, but lets out a light sigh and a smile, masking the discomfort squeezing at her stomach, “I’m sixteen.”

The man, clearly a leader from the way the others at the table respectful ignore the exchange, lets out a soft hum, “You’re cute, and inconspicuous. If you’re ever in need of a new place of employment…” He trails off a bit as he writes a phone number on one of the paper napkins. He hands it to Poppy, “...gimme a call.” He gives her a toothy, almost feral grin. Poppy tucks the napkin into her back pocket, and turns on her heel to give the kitchen the orders.

-

Poppy sits on the front stoop of her house, eyes trained on the dying grass of the sparse front lawn. She wipes uselessly at the tears streaming down her bright red cheeks. There are bruises blooming darkly on her ribs and on her wrist, dealt by her father’s hand. Her fingers shake, not from the cold but she pulls her coat tighter around herself anyways. She wriggles her fingers into her jean pocket, reaching for her phone but her fingers grasp around a paper napkin instead. She pulls it out, and grabs again for her phone, recognizing the napkin immediately. She types the number into her phone and formats a simple text, asking about the “employment opportunity”. Poppy’s not stupid, she knows exactly what the opportunity is. It’s the same opportunity half of her high school is taking up. But she’s desperate, she checked her bank account and if she wants out of here she’s going to need more money, minimum wage part time just isn’t going to cut it. She gets a response a few moments later of just an address. It’s close enough to walk, so she does. She keeps her head down, trying not to draw attention to herself.

Eventually, she stops outside a chop shop. The storefront is beat up, and a little dirty, but all the letters in the neon sign work so she tries the door. It opens with a slight tug, and she steps across the threshold. The front office is small, and smells overwhelmingly of motor oil. The room is dark, except for a desk lamp, and at the desk sits the same man from the cafe. She clears her throat, he looks up.

He gives her a bright grin, one that eases a bit of the tension from Poppy’s shoulders. He gestures to a chair across from him, and Poppy sits. “Well, Daisy, right? I’m surprised you contacted me.”

“I-its Poppy, actually. The, uh, nametag has a fake name.”

He lets out a bark of laughter, “That’s clever, exactly what I’m looking for. Why did you reach out to me?”

Poppy squeezes her knee, grounding herself, “I want to go to college. It’s just- so expensive and minimum wage part time isn’t enough and I just don’t have the time to take on more hours because-” She cuts herself off mid rant, teeth clicking together as she snaps her mouth shut.

He hums, “Poppy…” he taps his chin thoughtfully, “Are you one of the Hamilton kids?”

Poppy visibly cringes, fingers subconsciously digging into the bruises on her wrist. He watches the movement, realization dawning on him.

“Oh shit you’re the Hamilton kid. The daughter.” The entire neighborhood knows what goes on in the Hamilton house, enough nosey foster kids spreading the gossip. But everyone stays out of each others business, so nothing has ever been done for Poppy.

Her silence speaks volumes, so the leader digs around in his drawer before passing Poppy a burner cell.

“Come around tomorrow, after your shift at the cafe. I’ll train you myself, then give you your first assignment.”

Poppy gasps out a thank you, standing quickly to shake his hand. He shakes her hand, “You’ll do well here, but keep your head down. I’ll help you out of the organization when the time comes, till then don’t get too deep. You’re gonna go far, kid.”

Poppy lets out a soft sob, gripping the phone like it’s a lifeline. He shoos her out, and she exits the office without another word.

#about