#it means he expects you to do the dishes and the cleaning and laundry otherwise youre worthless as a partner

[hazbin-college]

The V’s

“Vox! Val!” The shout rang down the hallway from the living room, tone scolding and aggravated “get your asses out here now!”

It didn’t take long for the two other residents to come out of their own respective rooms. Vox in his causal oversized clothes, curly hair a mess atop his head.

While Valentino was already dressed in pajamas, silky shorts that barely covered what they needed and a half hanging off similar materiel shirt. His longer pink hair tied back loosely with a scrunchy

“What?? I was studying” Vox scowled, his arms crossing while he looked down towards his much shorter roommate. Who was holding a pair of pants. Hey, that kind of looked like his pants-

He wasn’t able to finish that thought before the pants were chucked at his face, causing him to stumble back

“For god’s sake you own a laundry basket!” Velvette snapped, her nose scrunching “want to know where I found that? Not the laundry! Or even in your room! If you two can’t keep your fuckin pants on while you’re sucking face on the couch at least bring a fucking hamper out here! I don’t want your crusty over used, under washed, jizz covered pants on the fucking floor!” Her voice only rose in volume the longer she ranted, taking a much needed gulp of air after she stopped, but otherwise looking completely composed.

“Ooooh, you’re in trouble~” Val purred towards Vox, wiggling his fingers at him. But the vocalization merely got hazel eyes snapped towards him. And he immediately shut his mouth

“And. You.” Vel growled, pointing an accusatory finger at the much too tall man “just because you leave less piss stained clothes behind doesn’t mean you’re off the hook!” She narrowed her eyes. Before pointing towards the kitchen “you need to wash your fucking dishes! Just because I’m the only one who knows how to be reasonably clean in this house does not mean I’m your fucking housewife. Every time I see a fucking three day old plate in that sink you dumped in from your room, I will break one of your precious decorative weapons and put the broken fucking plastic in your lube” she sneered. A low satisfaction warming her chest at the way Val’s eyes widened. Her threats were never empty. She would do it.

“Now that we have that out of the way” she says, taking a calming breath “next time you both decided to have a bang sesh. Either do it when I’m out. Or do it quietly. I don’t need to hear Val moaning for his daddy at three AM when I’m studying for an exam. Next time I hear it, I’m recording and posting it” she gave a patronizing grin after she finished speaking, crossing her arms over her chest “any questions?”

“Uh, yeah. How come you get to make all the rules. You aren’t the landlord” Vox scoffed, waving Velvette off “I pay my portion of rent I should be able to leave my pants where I fucking want”

Velvette’s eye twitched. She could not stand living with these two idiots. She clasped her hands together in front of her “okay! Guess I’ll start rubbing my bare ass all over your bed and leaving my dirty fucking tampons on the floor. How does that sound smartass?”

“Gross! What the fuck Vel!” Valentino piped up this time, scrunching his nose

“Yeah, that’s not the same. Keep your gross girl shit to yourself” Vox huffed, rolling his eyes

“I swear to god I’m going to shit in your fucking coffee” Vel could feel her very limited patience growing thinner, her glare narrowing towards Vox “I’m going to say this in a very simple way” she started, folding her hands together and taking a step closer to Vox “next time I find any of your clothes out of your room. I’m burning them. And then bringing the ashes back here and rubbing it in your fuckin eyes” she took another breath, pinching the bridge if her nose “god why did I agree to room with two fucking dudes you both are so disgusting” she muttered to herself.

She spun around on her heel before either could say anything, throwing a hand up “I’m going out! Your boy toy Angel posted on his insta about a party tonight. I expect the place to be fucking clean when I’m back, later fuckers!” She threw up a middle finger for good measure, slamming the door closed behind her

The two boys were left standing in the living room, glancing at each other before towards whatever mess might be around the living space

“…. We should probably do what she says” Vox piped up

“Yeah I really don’t want my next hookup to be ruined by plastic in the lube” Val shivered at the idea, moving to start picking up the mess he had definitely left in the kitchen earlier that day.

#froot’s hazbin college #hazbin hotel au #Vox Valentino and Velvette #the v’s #college au #Vox and Val are two idiots but we love them #Vel has to put up with so much #havent posted in a hot minute cause I got busy with cosplay #try to do more cause I love them

[crabknee]

I'm going to bed now and I'm assuming you'll see this in the morning

The curtains opened and blinding light poured into the otherwise peacefully dark room.

"Rise and shine!" Frederick called out.

"Shut uppppppp! It's too early for this  bullshit!" Maribelle growled back, stuffing her head under the pillow.

"No cursing, Maribelle, that's unfit for a steward and noblewoman. And stewards wake up when the sun rises, even if that means getting up at four."

"I hate you."

Though she was mad, she rose. Frederick let her be while she switched into her daily wear. She considered going back to bed, but he would only come back if it took her more than two minutes to get dressed. Honestly, two minutes! She didn't even have time to put on any makeup or do her hair, what did he expect of her!?

She settled for a low ponytail and joined him in the hallway.

"Fastest way to wake up is with a cold glass of water," he smiled, handing her a cup.

She drank it all, quickly feeling much more alive than only seconds prior.

"There's lots to do today, we have to clean up from the feast yesterday!" he smiled.

"Didn't the stewards all do that last night?" she groaned.

"Not all of it. They're human too- never forget that, stewards need breaks."

"And I don't?"

"Well, neither of us work as much as actual stewards."

She ceased her grumbling once they reached the kitchen and they began doing the dishes. As much as she detested Frederick, (or at least his work ethic) they had developed a sort of rhythm when they worked. They needed hardly exchange a word, already knowing what to do. She scrubbed at a seemingly endless pile of dishes while he dried and put away.

After dishes was sweeping, mopping, polishing and finally, laundry. Maribelle sat on her knees, scrubbing endlessly at the stained tablecloths. This was one task she didn't need to work together with Frederick to do. They each sat with their own pile of clothes, some meters apart without exchanging a word.

Still, Maribelle caught herself stealing glances at him. He was perfectly calm, expression unchanging as he cleaned. He was far better at it than she could ever even hope to be, though she didn't feel envy. It was all admira-

"Ouch!" she said, finally looking down at her bucket.

In the excitement of the previous night's feast, someone broke a glass. Apparently, not all the shards had been thrown away, for Maribelle had cut her hand on one of them.

"Let me see," Frederick said, still perfectly calm.

He held her hand and carefully examined the wound before taking out the pieces of glass and wrapping it in a bandage.

They had worked enough, he decided, and it was difficult to continue with such a big cut. The rest of the laundry would be left to the stewards. With heavy steps and droopy eyes, they took to a drawing room where they always reviewed their progress.

"It is nine! We worked-" Maribelle yawned, "Pardon. We worked for five hours without a break!"

"That, we did," Frederick replied.

Maribelle narrowed her eyes, trying to find the smallest hint of exhaustion on his face, anything to indicate he was tired as well. He seemed fine, as though he could run a marathon or work another five hours.

But he yawned.

"We can review our work later," he said, "And I think I'm gonna have to reconsider waking up at four everyday."

Before Maribelle could even say she agreed, Frederick had fallen back on the couch and was beginning to nod off. She didn't complain and only leaned on him, resting her head on his shoulder as she fell asleep.

yes very good I enjoy

#asks #pie #inbox fic

[butwhyduh]

The Farm

Damian Wayne x Jon Kent

Summary: just 2 boys in love but won’t admit it. I have the attention span of a butterfly so this is as close as I get to a slow burn lmao. I just think they are adorable and I headcanon Damian as demisexual. I did actually age them above 18 but this is sfw. Only a little kissing. There’s a bigot but he gets punched.

“I heard about the farm,” Damian said as they sat on a rooftop in New York. “Sorry.” They were drinking milkshakes after saving the city. Well Jon was as Damian had a vegan smoothie instead.

“Yeah, they foreclosed,” Jon said, his bright blue eyes uncharacteristically stony. “Thanks. Just wasn’t expecting it is all.”

“You know I could help you.. financially. If you need,” Damian offered carefully. Jon shifted in his seat and took a drink of his shake.

“It’s not your job. I’ll figure out how to keep it. Don’t worry,” Jon said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Congrats on vet school. Not that it’s a surprise. You were top of your class.”

“Oh thanks. But seriously, I have no problem writing a check right now, Jon,” Damian emphasized. Jon stared at him silently. It was so tempting to let Damian solve his problems but that wasn’t the Kent way.

“I don’t know,” Jon said shifting uncomfortably. Damian noted that it wasn’t a no.

“I will be going to school in Metropolis in the fall. The farm in Smallville is a lot closer to the university than my place in Gotham,” Damian said hoping to come off as casual. Apparently not as Jon almost fell off the roof in shock.

“Live- with me,” he asked, his eyebrows rose quickly.

“Oh, I suppose. Yes, that is what I would be proposing,” Damian answered. Jon looked at him with wide eyes before clearing his throat and softening the look on his face to more neutral. Damian definitely wasn’t meaning ‘moving in’ moving in. He was just being practical. He wasn’t in love with Jon the same way Jon was head over heels for Damian since he was like 13.

“It would be practical for us both,” he said and Jon relaxed. Yep, normal Damian not thinking of the social meaning of his words.

“I don’t have a butler,” Jon warned. “And I sometimes forget to do laundry or dishes.”

“Then I will make a chore chart,” Damian answered and Jon’s heart soared a little at the domestics of it all. Jon nodded with a grin.

“So when do I get my roommate?” Jon asked lightly. Or what he hoped was lightly. His farm was saved and Damian was moving in. He was surprised he wasn’t levitating yet.

“I need to sell my apartment first. And pack,” Damian contemplated. “Also I need to buy the farm. I’ll need 4 days.”

“4?!? I mean- that’s fine,” Jon answered. He began immediately imagining all the work he needed to do before Damian could move in. “You work fast.”

“Yes, money talks,” Damian answered as if it was normal for a 20 year old to say. Jon nodded and resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

True to his words, a moving truck showed up 4 days later. Jon had cleaned and organized everything, even scrubbing the walls and sweeping the barn. The workers quickly set up everything in the spare room just as Damian arrived.

Damian arriving was a sight Jon would never forget. Damian wore a black turtleneck with the sleeves rolled up and a tan pair of dress pants over shiny black leather shoes as he carried in a large paper bag of produce. Damian had grown so much from the tiny 13 year old Jon had first known. He was now a full inch taller than Jon and probably 10 lbs heavier. It was funny since Jon was the one currently running around as Superman.

Damian sat his bag on the kitchen counter and wiped sweat from his brow. Jon was much more casually dressed in old blue jeans and a white t shirt with a rolled up and open red plaid button down over it. An old blue baseball cap was thrown over backwards on his head and little curls stuck out.

“You brought food. You know this is a farm, right?” Jon said with a smile. “We’re kinda known for having food.”

“I brought food to cook tonight,” Damian said trying to be casual. He had actually taken far too long deciding on the perfect food for him and Jon to eat their first night as roommates.

“Are you cooking for me?” Jon said with a pleased smile. The moving company was leaving and it was just the two of them.

“Yes, I thought it would be a good start,” Damian said formally. “No need to be so happy. It’s just dinner.”

“Of course,” Jon said trying to straighten his face. But how could he when Damian was living with him and cooking for him? Impossible task.

Damian busied himself in the small kitchen, looking in every drawer and cabinet. He noted that in the dying evening light, it perfectly captured the sunset. That was something that people paid huge amounts to even glimpse from their place in Gotham and Jon got a 360 view everyday.

“Well I have to feed the animals but I’ll be back soon. Do you need anything before I go?” Jon said in the doorway to the kitchen. He had thrown on a pair of rubber boots.

“Tt, you dare care for animals without me?” Damian said with a frown.

“Well I just thought- I mean you can- but you’re cooking,” Jon sputtered and Damian smiled.

“I’m playing with you. I’ll see them tomorrow. Otherwise the meal will be ruined,” Damian said. Jon laughed and shook his head as he left.

Damian looked at the photos that lined the hallway, smiling as he saw pictures of Jon as a child. Jon holding a fish he caught. Jon swinging a baseball bat. Jon holding up one end of a tractor. Right above it was a young Clark Kent doing the same. Damian shook his head with a little smile. He would never admit it but he was head over heels for Jon. Had been for a few years now.

“That’s the first time I lifted a tractor,” Jon said beside him. “Dad was so proud.”

“I imagine,” Damian answered. Clark was such a sore subject for Jon. His father had only been presumed dead the year before. Jon took it hard. He didn’t speak but watched Jon from the corner of his eyes.

“He never wanted to force me to be Superboy. I practically begged him. He was scared it was too dangerous,” Jon said with a sad smile. They both walked in the kitchen and Damian finished the food. Damian brought it to the table just as Jon shyly brought out a bottle of wine.

“Mr Kent, where did you get that?” Damian said with a little smile.

“Actually there’s an entire wine cellar full of the good stuff. Your father is quite fond of giving wine as a gift and Dad never liked to drink. So he stored it here,” Jon said pulling out a wine opener. “I thought we could drink it for him.”

“That’s very illegal,” Damian said expertly opening the bottle. “We’re both technically underage.”

“Anything is legal with enough money,” Jon said with a little grin and Damian laughed.

I’m an awful influence,” Damian replied. They spend the rest of the night eating and drinking wine before both crashing in their separate rooms in the early morning.

Jon crawled out of bed only a few hours later to feed the animals and get started on his day. He thanked his Kryptonian DNA for the lack of hang over he worried Damian would have. He crept quietly past his roommate’s door on his way out.

Jon returned a few hours later, still rather early, and was surprised by the smell of coffee. Damian was cooking breakfast for him. For them, Jon reminded himself. Damian was just his roommate. Damian nodded and poured Jon a cup of coffee.

“I thought you would still be asleep,” Jon admitted.

“I don’t require much sleep. Plus I want a tour of the property,” he said. Practical Damian as always, Jon thought.

“Sure, I’ll take you around. The farm and then town,” Jon added taking a huge plate of scrambled tofu and fried tomatoes. Damian had anticipated that.

“That’s a good plan. I don’t want to stand out in town. Should I wear a plaid shirt,” Damian asked.

“Uh, yeah. If you want. T shirts and jeans are fine too,” Jon said.

“May i borough these clothing from you? Mine are not appropriate for a farm,” Damian said casually and Jon willed himself to not have any emotion that Damian was going to wear his clothing.

Damian was extremely handsome in Jon’s plaid shirt and a pair of jeans. His bright green eyes and tan skin popped in the shirt and he had brushed his black hair neatly back as it had gotten long enough to fall in his eyes. Jon couldn’t help but stare at his Damian in his clothing. Logic be damned.

“What?” Damian asked looking at himself. “Does it look bad? I don’t want to appear foolish,” he said about to pull off the plaid shirt.

“No! No you look good. Nice,” Jon said and Damian’s lip twitched towards a smile.

“Thank you. Would you like to show me town first? Before we get muddy,” Damian said.

“Sure, that sounds good. I need to pick up feed anyways,” Jon said. They loaded into Jon’s old pickup. Krypto hopped into Damian’s lap as if he always had done it and they set off to town a few miles away.

“Here’s the library and the best Waffle House in Kansas. Second only to Ma Kent’s,” Jon said as they drove around. He showed Damian all the important sights in town. Damian had a hard time believing that everything was so compact and so small. Even the diner that Jon said they would eat lunch because they had the best pie short of Ma Kent.

They both, and Krypto, got out at the feed store and they treated Jon like old friends. He grabbed a basket and pushed it to the back as he chatted about all the interesting animals people owned to Damian. The Ferguson’s owned a pair of alpacas and old Skipper Smith had a parrot and monkey as pets.

Jon didn’t pay any attention as he easily lifted 4 50 lb bags of feed and casually put 200 lbs of feed in the basket. Damian looked around to see no one near. Jon did it again.

“Should get us through the week,” he said with a grin.

“You do know that most people don’t pick up 4 at once?” Damian told him quietly as they moved to the register. Jon stopped before nodded and laughing.

“You know I’ve never thought about it. Let’s get going before the diner gets a lunch rush,” he said. Jon tried to act more normal putting up the feed bags but tossing them one handed like bags of bread into the bed of a pick up truck was far from normal. Damian couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

The diner had about 12 booths and a row across the counter like old times. It probably was an older restaurant with the light blue tile and actual jukebox. Damian didn’t know what rush hour could possibly look like with all 7 people he’d seen since entering town but Jon seemed pleased to be earlier than them.

An older lady laid down a menu between them both and offered them coffee with a big grin. Jon ordered a chicken fried steak and Damian ended up getting the waffles. It was the only thing probably vegetarian on the menu.

“Oh shoot, I forgot you don’t eat meat. Sorry. Should I change my order,” Jon said raising his hand.

“No,” Damian said grasping Jon’s hand and pulling it down to the table. Jon’s heart just about beat out of his chest. “It’s fine. You don’t have to change what you eat for me.”

“Okay,” Jon said and the waitress came back to the table with drinks and eyed Damian’s hand on Jon’s.

“This your new partner, Kent,” she asked and Jon noted the judge tone to her voice as she sat down their glasses. Homophobia was still alive in the country. Damian didn’t notice.

“Yes, I just moved in last night,” Damian answered and Jon was frozen in time. Damian doesn’t understand what he means, Jon thought. He can’t.

“Oh, is that right? Took off to the city and brought back a city slicker. Well, each to their own,” she said with a passive aggressive smile. Jon sighed as she walked away. He didn’t know how to explain that to Damian. Was Damian even gay? Too late now. The whole town thought he was.

After eating their meal, Jon asked the waitress for pie to go. The diner had filled up and far too many people were glancing at the pair. Damian assumed it was because he was new in town or possibly they recognized him as a Wayne. Jon knew it was that he had brought home a man. Damian also didn’t quite pass as white with his tan skin and Arabic features so probably a dash of racism too.

Jon drive down to the park at the edge of town and parked by the pond. He put on a nice face but worried that Damian wouldn’t have as easy time in Smallville as Jon hoped.

“Something on your mind, Kent,” Damian said, sitting on the back hatch of the truck watching, the ducks swim.

“Nothing. Maybe I’m a little tired. Should have gone to bed earlier last night,” he said with a laugh. Damian looked at him out the corner of his eye but said nothing and continued eating his pie.

“This pie is made with quality,” Damian said and Jon smiled.

“Better than Alfred’s?”

“Different. Alfred makes amazing meat pies but he never quite understood American pies,” Damian answered. Jon nodded.

“I have to work the rest of the week,” he warned Damian.

“I have plenty of paperwork to keep me busy,” Damian answered. Jon knew he never had to worry about Damian that way. He always kept busy. This was probably his longest break.

The next 3 weeks consisted of getting up early to care for the animals before Jon left to work at the local paper. Damian would jog 3 miles down the dirt road that the Kent farm sat at the end of. By the end of the first week, a few of the neighbors would even wave at him. Jon counted himself as having the will of a Green Lantern to leave before Damian returned every morning. Damian was a sight to behold in his post workout glow pre-shower. He would come home and most of the time Damian was cooking dinner for him. Jon was really falling for the domestics of it all.

“Don’t get used to it, Kent,” Damian warned after Jon complimented an amazing dish Damian made. “Once school starts I can not act as a housewife to you.”

“You aren’t- Dami, you’re far from a housewife,” Jon sputtered. “I know that Flamebird has been seen in metropolis a few times this week alone.”

“Well, I needed to keep busy,” Damian said with a shrug. “Eat your eggplant.”

“I’ve probably eaten more vegetables this week than I have since I would summer with Ma,” Jon said. “But this is pretty good.”

“You’re welcome,” Damian said with a pleased smile. After dinner they sat on the swing on the porch and swung as they watched the sunset like an old married couple. Damian looked at Jon more often than he needed to as they talked about nothing. Jon was so pretty in the golden light. His bright blue eye and freckles looked adorable to Damian.

“And then in August we harvest-“ Jon had been saying before Damian cupped his face and pushed his lips against Jon’s. It was rough and their teeth clanged together and Jon pulled back with an “ow.”

“Shit,” Damian said, moving to get up. “I shouldn’t have- forget I-“

“Wait,” Jon said and Damian froze. He looked so uncertain and Jon had never seen that before. “Can we- can we try again?”

“You don’t have to pity me,” Damian said curtly, getting up. “Forget I did that. I apologize,” he said going inside.

Jon sat for a minute in shock. He had been in love with Damian forever and Damian finally kissed him and he couldn’t even enjoy it. Jon went inside and stood in front of Damian’s door. His hand tentatively considered knocking but Jon couldn’t do it. Just as he turned to walk away, Damian opened his door.

“I have to go to Gotham,” he said suddenly.

“What? If it’s me, you don’t have to leave,” Jon said quickly.

“No. My brothers need me,” Damian said and Jon noticed he had his suit on under his clothing.

“Do I need to come?”

“No. It’s okay. I’ll be back later this week hopefully,” Damian said dashing outside. The screen door swung and slapped the doorframe loudly. Jon ran on the porch.

“Week?” He called as Damian’s car pulled out the drive.

Jon fretted and obsessively watched the news everyday. Krypto was getting anxious without his 3 mile jog every morning. Late on the fourth day after Damian left, Jon heard the front door open. He raced to the door. Damian looked weary and had a slight limp.

“Hi,” Jon said looking Damian over and Damian offered a tired smile. Nothing broken. “Do you need help?”

“No. I need to sleep and I will be fine,” Damian said stubbornly. Jon rolled his eyes and helped him to his bed.

“Do you need anything?”

“No thank you. I will probably sleep late tomorrow,” Damian warned.

“Sure. Of course,” Jon said slowly closing the door as Damian fell asleep. Jon barely slept that night and got up early and called out of work for the day. Damian got up uncharacteristically late around 10 am.

“How are you?” Jon asked, offering him coffee. Damian took the drink before sitting next to Jon. He had a black eye and that limp was still around. The sun shone in bright in the kitchen and Damian was once again reminded the vast difference between smallville and Gotham.

“I’m fine. Thanks,” he said quietly. Jon didn’t want to pounce Damian the first second he got home but it was very hard to not want to talk about the kiss.

“You got mail,” Jon said, handing Damian a big Manila envelope that had come in the day before. Damian wordlessly opened it as he sipped coffee.

“Oh it’s yours,” he handed it over to Jon. Jon opened it with a confused look.

It was a deed. The Kent farm deed. The Kent farm deed in Jon’s name. He looked up at Damian who had a tired half smile.

“It’s in my name. You put it in my name,” he said. “W-why?”

“It’s the Kent farm. There’s too many things with the Wayne name on it,” he shrugged. “Plus I’m far from a farmer. It should be yours.”

“God Damian,” Jon said with tears in his eyes. He pulled Damian into a hug who squawked a protest that Jon ignored. “Thank you. I can’t- thank you,” he said wetly. Damian ignored how Jon was quietly crying on him. His grandma and dad passing had affected him hard and Damian knew he was crying over more than a house and land.

“You’re welcome,” Damian finally whispered and Jon cried even harder. Damian softly pat his back awkwardly. Jon leaned back but didn’t let Damian go. He gazed at Damian with the softest look.

“God Damian,” Jon repeated. “Do you even know how much I love you?”

Damian froze and just blinked at Jon who had pulled back but not out of the hug. “What?” He simply said and Jon’s face started to contort in pain. “Hold on,” Damian said and Jon warily looked at him. Damian knew he had to lean in or Jon would take it back and Damian would be too scared to do anything until Jon did this again. And he wasn’t sure how long Jon would wait.

Damian gently cupped Jon’s face in his hands and Jon breathed in quickly. Damian was clearly nervous. Damian noted how his face was soft and his skin warm. This time he gently bent over and softly pressed his lips against Jon’s. Jon quickly reacted by leaning in toward Damian. Jon could feel the rough pads of Damian’s fingers and taste the coffee Damian had been drinking. After a short while, Damian pulled back but not away.

“I truly care for you too,” he said softly and Jon grinned. “I’ve cared for you for a long time.”

“Same,” Jon said before leaning in to kiss Damian again. Damian kissed for another few seconds before pulling back again. This time Jon tried to follow his lips before stopping. Jon’s breath was erratic and fast. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“No. It’s okay. I’ve just never- I’ve never“ Damian started a bit lost for words. Jon understood what he meant.

“You’ve never been with a man,” Jon said gently.

“I’ve never taken the time for relationships with anyone. I’ve always been too busy,” Damian admitted. He played with the edge of a napkin nervously. He would never openly admit to being worried that his lack of experience was a flaw.

“We can go slow. Whatever you want,” Jon said and he finally looked at Damian the way he had never let himself before: like he was in love with him. Damian nodded.

“I’ve just never found anyone that interesting. I mean, beside you. After a while. I wanted to throw you off a bridge at first,” Damian said and Jon smiled.

“I know. You told me,” Jon said. “We should go out to eat. There’s a place downtown that has vegan options.”

“I didn��t even know there was a downtown here,” Damian admitted and Jon laughed.

“It’s a small town. Not a hut in the woods.”

The place wasn’t ‘rush hour’ packed but had plenty of tables with patrons. Damian and Jon sat at a booth and Damian almost couldn’t handle the lovey way Jon was looking at him. Jon was staring at Damian like he was the moon, even though Damian stood out like a sore thumb in the rural town in his turtleneck and dress slacks. But that was his comfort clothing and he had given up on fitting in long ago.

“I’m going to the restroom. Order for me?” Damian asked and Jon nodded. As Damian walked towards the back of the restaurant, a man in a brown jacket and rubber boots purposefully shoved Damian with his shoulder as he walked by. Damian turned to glare at him.

“Sorry, didn’t see any fruitcakes around here,” the guy said and Damian bristled. Before he could make a scene, Jon moved over to them.

“Hi Tyler. Do we have a problem here?” Jon said uncharacteristically cold. That guy didn’t realize that he picked the worst pair to insult. Tyler looked between Damian and Jon before deciding the fight wasn’t worth it.

“Nothing worth it,” Tyler said turning around. “Bad enough to bring a fruitcake to town, it had to a brown one too,” he muttered and Damian stiffened. He knew that he got looks when he went into town. He was probably the only person that spoke more than English or Spanish in town and certainly the only one to speak Arabic.

But before Damian could do anything else but feel disgust, Jon had punched the guy in the face. Well it was more of a flick with his fist but the guy went down like a rock. Damian hid his smile as him and Jon were hurried out of the restaurant with their food to go by a worried waitress who apologized to the pair.

As they walked back to the pickup truck, Damian reached out and grabbed Jon’s hand who lit up almost instantly. Damian ignored the butterflies in his stomach as he walked. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Jon either.

“You know, it’s not everyday that a guy gets Superman to defend his honor,” Damian said quietly but playfully and Jon laughed.

“Can’t handle bigots. I’ll let you punch the next one,” Jon said with a shrug.

“I would have punched that one,” Damian answered. He turned and pulled Jon to face him before taking his free hand that wasn’t carrying a bag. Damian gently cupped Jon’s face to place a kiss on Jon’s lips before going back to walking. Jon had a stupid smile all the way back home.

#Damian Wayne x Jon kent #Damian Wayne #damijon #mlm dc fanfic #Jon kent #robin x Superboy #Damian is flamebird and Jon is Superman #Jon kent x Damian Wayne #fns pride edition

[little-butterfly-writes]

Hello, can you fulfill my request by writing something fluffy and hilarious yet?? What if when MC decline her date with Victor in weekend because she decided to spend her weekend day by cleaning her mess apartment until she meet an unexpected event happen... I hope this is not hard for you and many thanks if you fulfilled it :)

Messy Date

Hey! I hope this is what you wanted. Victor might be a bit OOC, but I'm unsure. If this isn't what you wanted, let me know so I can fix it.

Word Count - 1,000

Warnings - None

Friday evening in Victor's office.I hold my breath as Victor reads my report. I shift in my seat as Victor looks at me. 

"A lot of minor mistakes, but it's decent otherwise. Amend them and bring it to me on Monday." Victor says, handing me my file. I sigh, relaxing into the sofa. "Dummy, it isn't that bad being here, is it?" He runs his fingers through my head.

I nod, leaning into his hand. "My boss is so mean to me… He makes me do my reports over and over, it's a relief that he finally accepts my report." I say, wrapping my arms around his waist, resting my chin on his stomach and looking at him.

Victor scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Well, if you think that, maybe I should be stricter." He looks down at me. I let out a whine.

"No, I want my boss to be softer like my boyfriend." I pout. Victor sits next to me, wrapping an arm around my waist. "I'm being strict so you'll do your best." Victor nuzzles our noses together. "But as your boyfriend and boss, I'll reward you with something. How about tomorrow night?" He looks at me with soft eyes.

Thinking back to my apartment, all the clothes and papers astrew. I get flustered at the thought. "Uhm….not this weekend. I have some plans with the girls! Can we reschedule?" I chuckle nervously. Victor furrows his brows and gives me a look of confusion. 

"Alright. Let me know when you're free." Victor says while walking me to his office door. I stand on my toes and peck his lips. "I love you, Victor." I peck his nose this time. "I love you too, dummy." He pats my back.

I head back to my apartment at the end of the day, seeing the mess. I groan, dragging my hand across my face.

Saturday, I sleep in to catch up on rest I've lost over the week. When I wake up, I sigh, looking at all the piles of laundry. It's going to be a long day. I shake my head, deciding to fix my report first.

It takes until late evening to fix. Turns out, there were so many mistakes I couldn't leave my desk.

I sigh, rubbing my temples and closing my laptop. It takes me a few minutes to realize someone is knocking on my door.

I get up to answer the door, confused. I haven't ordered food and I'm not expecting any visitors.

I open the door, gasping when I see Victor standing tall. He has bags in his hand, looking like groceries. 

"Victor, what are you doing here!?" I whisper-yell. He comes inside, closing the door behind him. "I thought you were out with friends?" He says with a suspicious tone.

"They, uh...canceled. I stayed home working." I squirm. He huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll give you five seconds to tell me the truth." He crosses his arms. My eyes widened.

"I didn't want you to see my apartment...it's a huge mess right now." I pout, looking down. A minute of silence passes by before I hear a loud chuckle. I look up at him, watching him shake with laughter. Victor wraps his free arm around my waist.

"I don't care if it's messy. I just want to spend time with you." Victor rubs my back. I rest my head on his chest.  "How about you pick up a bit while I make some dinner?" He kisses my forehead.

I nod, watching Victor walk off to the kitchen. I start by gathering all of my laundry and separating whites from colors. I put the first load in the washing machine.

"Dinner will be ready in ten minutes." Victor calls out. I nod to myself, sweeping the dust from the floor. 

I dump the dust and crumbs into the trash can, washing my hands after before eating. Victor sets the table, setting the plates down. I sit down, looking at him.

"Why did you stop by anyway?" I ask. He coughs softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I saw your light on while driving from the store. I was getting stuff for our dinner." He mumbles. I giggle at his flustered response. 

We eat dinner, talking about random things from vacations to dessert. I help him wash dishes, giggling and flicking bubbles at him.

We spend the rest of our time together on the couch. I'm curled up at his side while we watch some reality television show. "Are your clothes in the washer done?" He says while patting my head. I shake my head 'no'. 

"It'll be done soon, but I'll toss it in the dryer before bed. I don't want to start it while I'm asleep." I rub my eyes drowsily.

"Why don't you get some sleep? I'll get going after tucking you in." Victor nudges me to go get ready for bed. I give in, going to brush my teeth and put some pajamas on.

I lay in bed, watching Victor move my hamper into my closet. He comes up to me, pulling the blanket up to my chest. "Sleep well, dummy." He says sweetly with a kiss on my forehead.

I grab his sleeve a second before he's too far away. "Victor, wait." I mumble. Victor turns back to me. 

"I have some of your clothes you left here before…. You can stay the night and take them home tomorrow." I trail off, giving him puppy eyes. 

He shakes his head, shaking a bit as he laughs. "Fine, I'll stay tonight. Just for my clothes." Victor trades in slacks and a button up for pajamas I bought him just in case. 

I scooch over, giving Victor room to lay next to me. I nuzzle into his chest, breathing in his scent.

"Good night. Sweet dreams." Victor softly murmurs in my ear. 

"Goodnight Victor. I love you." I smile, busy my face into his neck.

#mlqc #mr love queens choice #mlqc victor #mlqc victor li #mlqc fluff #victor mlqc

[lillotte17]

Bird Nest

Continuation of my post-canon drabble things!! Who is ready for some Emotional Whiplash?!

~

Domesticity is not something that Zhou Zishu has much experience with.

Even before becoming the Four Seasons’ Manor Lord and the Leader of the Window of Heaven, his family had always kept servants. He has never been like Jing BeiYuan, who seems to like nothing more than luxuriating amidst finery, but he has never had to concern himself with the everyday tasks of cooking and cleaning and doing laundry, either. He knows how to look after himself well enough, when he has to, but his standards of ‘well enough’ are not especially high. He was always content to make do with the things on hand, and wait for his fortunes to shift towards something better. Or to simply drown himself in wine until the state of his surroundings and his body no longer mattered.

It has never bothered him before, but in these last few days spent in the cold dusty ruin of the World’s Armory with Lao Wen, he is beginning to notice the gaping holes of his inadequacies.

He does not know how to take care of someone.

He knows how to protect someone, how to fight off enemies and hide from pursuit and outmaneuver any opposition. He knows how to treat a simple wound or a fever when someone is suffering. He knows how to care about someone, but after words of affirmation and patience and physical intimacy, he is at something of a loss.

When they had been staying at the Four Seasons Manor with Chengling, he could wave off the fact that he was not doing most of the mundane work of keeping them all fed and healthy because he had a disciple to train and poison burning through his veins, and later, an injured shoulder to contend with. He had focused more on their defenses, and taking stock of their food and medical stores. Making sure that the secrets of the Manor had remained hidden and safe, so that Chengling could inherit them once he was ready.

But now the Manor is gone, and there is only the mountain and the armory and Lao Wen, and Zhou Zishu…is not entirely sure what to do with himself.

The first three or four days had been lost to fear and grief, clinging to Wen Kexing’s limp body and pouring as much of his internal force into him as he could before slumping over in exhaustion. Once he had come back to him from the brink of death, the two days following had been surrendered to hands and mouths and ravenous devotions. They had spent most of their time in various stages of undress, lounging about on the random assortments of tattered mats and blankets they had made into their bed, neither one willing to venture far from the other’s line of sight.

The fifth or sixth day finally had Lao Wen declaring that he felt grimy past the point of endurance, and sent him puttering about the maze of bookshelves and farming equipment in search of the tools to shape the armory into a livable space. Rong Xuan and his friends had come here to train, so there were still some useful things here and there. A few chipped bowls and a dusty teapot. A moldering wash basin that is not yet beyond salvation and a small stew pot with a rusting handle. He had swept and bustled and rearranged things in nearly a frenzy, and Zhou Zishu had not done much more than keep him company and carry and few things when he was bidden.

It had taken the better part of the day, but now they have a dining area, a cozy nook in a well-lit corner for reading and writing, and even a few battered screens set up for privacy while bathing or changing clothes, if they feel so inclined. It nearly feels like a home, even if everything they have is in some state of disrepair. They heat enough water to wash themselves, tend to their outer robes as best they can, and sit down to their first meal of ice and snow in nothing but blankets. It is not especially filling, but then again, their bodies do not seem to feel hunger as they did before, either.

Wen Kexing seems buoyant with his successes, his damp snowy hair glistening in the soft light of their little table lamp.

“How long do you suppose it will take the others to come dig us out?” he asks.

“It is hard to say just how bad the avalanche was from in here,” Zishu hums thoughtfully, “Even if they find the markers you left and follow you here, I am afraid it will take a few weeks at the very least. Transporting large amounts of men and equipment through the mountains is slow going even in good weather.”

He smirks at him.

“Why? Are you sick of me already?”

“Impossible,” Wen Kexing laughs with a dismissive wave of his hand, grinning from ear to ear. “It was more of a practical concern. If we are trapped in here for months, we might survive it well enough, but there is no telling what state we will be in without access to any sort of grooming tools. The old monster did not exactly tell me what to expect if the technique succeeded. Will our hair keep growing? What about our fingernails? Are we going to look like horrible mountain beasts by the time they finally come for us? Your poor dumb disciple will start crying in fear again.”

“Chengling will cry when he sees us no matter what we look like,” Zhou Zishu sighs, exasperated yet fond. “But I would assume that since our bodies are no longer using food to fuel themselves in the typical sense, that our metabolisms have slowed, or possibly even stopped. Even if our hair and nails keep growing, it will likely be some time before we become terrifying.”

“Hm,” Lao Wen nods in acceptance, “What will we do about keeping clean, though? Luckily, we do not have to concern ourselves too much with dirty dishes, but what about our clothes? What about ourselves? Water can only do so much on its own.”

“I did not expect you to be this squeamish about a little dirt,” Zishu chuckles.

“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing says flatly, “It is hardly going to be ‘a little dirt’ after several weeks. You should know by now that to touch and be touched by you is one of my life’s dearest delights, but if you truly intend to forego soap and cleanliness for an entire month or more, I am not sharing a bed with you. For sleeping, or anything else.”

Zhou Zishu arches a brow at him in disbelief.

“Would you care to know how long it had been since I had a bath when we first met?”

“Just because I could tell you were beautiful beneath all of that filth does not mean I was willing to bed you before you got a chance to wash yourself,” Lao Wen huffs, “I do have standards.”

Zishu makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, but his expression is still doubtful.

“Ah well,” Wen Kexing sighs, deciding to sidestep the obvious but unspoken opinion about what his standards are, or lack thereof, “There must be something in here we can use. Maybe there are stores of rice in with the grain and farming supplies. I doubt it would be safe to eat, but if we cook it, the water leftover might still be good for washing… And Rong Xuan was married. Perhaps his wife left something behind.”

“Perhaps you mother did.”

Lao Wen tenses in reflexive discomfort, as he still does at any mention of his past, but then the moment passes and he smiles.

“I doubt my parents would have come here very often,” he tells him softly. “They supported the idea of the armory, but neither of them were that invested in becoming martial masters themselves. They wanted to heal people. But…it would be nice, if we found something of them here. If they left something behind that we could use to make a life together.”

“You are good at this,” Zhou Zishu compliments him sincerely, gesturing to the living space they have already arranged, “I never would have thought this place could feel even half this hospitable. You did a good job with our manor too, before it was destroyed. Chengling barely knows how to boil water, so I know you must have helped him with more than you claimed. The Valley Master is truly a man of many hidden talents.”

“I was only the leader of the ghosts for eight years,” Wen Kexing reminds him, bitterness seeping into his smile, “Even if the old chief favored me for my ruthlessness, I was still more of a servant or a slave than a ward. If I am good at building a life from ruins now, it is because I was never given an option to do otherwise.”

“Lao Wen, I-”

He holds up a hand to halt his apology.

“You do not have to be sorry,” he says, “Not for what happened, and not for making me talk about it either. We have eternity to share together, so I imagine all of our old wounds will eventually be dragged out into the sunlight at some point. It is not the easiest thing to discuss, but…I want to tell you. I want to tell you everything.”

Zhou Zishu puts his hand over his on the tabletop, squeezing his fingers in reassurance.

“There is no rush,” he reminds him, “As you said; we have time. I will be here, and I will listen when you are ready.”

He chuckles softly.

“Of course, those things are easier to talk about while enjoying a jar of wine together, like we used to,” Zishu sighs wistfully, “Of all the things we are going to give up for this life, that might be the most difficult for me to part with.”

“But Ah Xu, we brought the sweetest wine with us!” Wen Kexing grins, leaning towards him over the table.

“…You mean in your flask?” Zhou Zishu blinks at him frowningly, “We cannot drink it anymore, even if you brought some.”

“I have been drinking this wine every day,” Lao Wen insists, eyes curving upwards as his smile deepens, mischievous and extremely self-satisfied. “This is a taste I would not sacrifice for anything.”

Zishu’s brows furrow in consternation, sensing a ruse, but not certain what the endgame could be yet.

“…Do you not want to know where the wine is?” Wen Kexing asks sweetly.

“If I ask, will it end this silly game any faster?”

“Hm, perhaps. That is entirely up to you.”

“…Where is it?” Zhou Zishu huffs out with a grumble, looking terribly put-upon.

“Here!” Lao Wen exclaims happily, placing one long finger directly against Zishu’s lips.

Zhou Zishu catches his hand on instinct, fighting a losing battle with the urge to roll his eyes.

“You are utterly preposterous.” He informs him evenly.

“I am also hopelessly charming and completely inescapable,” Wen Kexing agrees without the slightest hint of shame. He moves his finger to lightly trace one corner of Zhou Zishu’s mouth. “You, on the other hand, are both delicious and intoxicating. If were not trapped inside, I would whisk you out beneath the moonlight and drink you in until both of us were dizzy with sensation.”

“Do these types of brazen declarations actually work on people?” Zishu wonders.

“They worked on you,” Wen Kexing points out with a shrug, still smiling like a fool.

Zhou Zishu lets out long-suffering sigh, seemingly defeated, but he meets Lao Wen’s gaze without hesitation. A few heartbeats pass, and he turns his head slightly, just enough to brush the barest whisper of a kiss across the tip of the finger still hovering near his cheek. He smiles at the surprised silence that follows, pulling the hand in his grip closer to him, deciding to press a kiss into its palm as well.

Wen Kexing’s eyes on him are molten.

Zhou Zishu laughs.

“Well, I think we both know what works on you.”

“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing exhales his name with a stuttering breath, a thread of supplication weaving through his voice.

Zishu’s expression softens exponentially.

“Alright.”

~

Zhou Zishu wakes up the next morning with a mild soreness that is becoming typical. His freshly rinsed clothes from the day before are folded neatly near the bed, along with their battered little washbasin and a damp handkerchief so he can wipe himself down before dressing. Wen Kexing is sitting at the narrow table in their reading nook, the sun sifting in through the high windows painting him with sweeps of warm golden light. His hair is still unbound, softening the angles of his face as he pours over the open book in front of him. A comb is loosely clasped within his left hand, seemingly forgotten.

Zishu takes the time to admire the scene in silence. He thinks again about what it means to take care of someone. To make a life from the ground up with nothing but your bare hands and your sincerity. To build a home within the walls of someone else’s heart.

He is still not certain he knows how to go about it, but no one said that the first step had to be the largest one.

It takes him a few minutes to quietly sweep away the traces of sweat and other things from the night before and pull his robe on. He is certain that Wen Kexing must have noticed, but he seems to be engrossed with his reading. Without waiting for acknowledgment or invitation, he pads across the room to pluck the wooden comb from Lao Wen’s elegant fingers.

“You won’t be able to read properly with your hair falling in your eyes like that.” He says it more brusquely than he meant to. His mouth twitches downward briefly in discontentment. That was not how he wanted to begin this.

For his own part, Wen Kexing simply turns his head slightly to blink up at him, a mix of warmth and mild surprise on his face.

“Are you offering to help me look pretty, Ah Xu?”

“You hardly need my help with that.”

Lao Wen shifts in his seat a little, as though he is so pleased with the compliment that he cannot quite hold it in.

“By all means,” he tells him, trying and failing to hold back a wide curling smile, “If you want to touch me anywhere, I would be that last person to stop you.”

Zhou Zihsu laughs.

“This I already know,” he says, leaning over to poke at one of the round mouth-shaped bruises along the side of Lao Wen’s throat.

Wen Kexing hisses and pulls a face as Zishu moves to sit behind him.

“And here I thought you were going to be tender with me,” he quips lightly.

Zhou Zishu stills for a moment, a portion of Lao Wen’s silvery hair already gathered in his left hand. He fiddles with the comb and stares and the shoulders of the man in front of him. His expression slides back towards uncertainty.

“I am.” He says finally. Wen Kexing reaches back and pats his knee. He can tell that he is smiling by the tilt of his head, and somehow it seems to ease the tension back out of his shoulders.

Without another word between them, he beings carefully running the comb through Lao Wen’s hair. He does his best to be gentle, but there are a few places with some especially stubborn tangles. Wen Kexing makes a low pained sound as he tries to pull the teeth of the comb through them, and Zhou Zishu pauses once again.

“Have you ever combed someone else’s hair before?” Wen Kexing wonders.

“…No,” Zhou Zishu confesses.

“Not even your shidi’s?” Wen Kexing presses, sounding surprised, “Didn’t you raise him once our master passed? Qin Jiuxiao was still too young to look after himself at the time, was he not?”

“We had servants at the Four Seasons Manor,” Zishu reminds him, “I was the new leader of a struggling sect. I was not going to spend time doing something that could easily be allocated to a maid. I helped him with his studies and I trained him in martial arts. He came to me with his troubles, but the more mundane chores of childrearing were handled by other people. I had too many other things to look after to go out of my way to make sure he was groomed every morning.”

“It was not a condemnation,” Wen Kexing says softly.

“I know.” He sighs.

“Do you wish you could have done more for him, now?”

“I…don’t know,” Zhou Zishu admits, “I don’t know if there was any more I could have done for him even if I wanted to. I was only sixteen when I became responsible for him. I barely knew how to run our sect, let alone how to be someone’s father figure. As his older brother, it was my job to keep him out of trouble, so that is what I tried to do. He had a good heart. A pure heart -like Chengling- and he was just as silly. I tried to make sure he never got his hands dirty the way I had to. We used to dream of the day the Window of Heaven would no longer be needed, and we would wander the jianghu together. Maybe, if that had happened, we might have had the chance for more moments like this.”

His hand trembles slightly and he tugs the comb harder than intended.

“Ai,” Wen Kexing winces, “Start closer to the bottom. It will be easier to get rid of the knots higher up once the ends are free of tangles.”

“Mn,” he acknowledges. “Sorry.”

He glances down at the comb in his hand. A crisp bouquet of carved wooden flowers in a dark cherry lacquer. Almost violet. He runs his thumb over it thoughtfully.

“Did you find this in the armory?” he asks, “It’s a woman’s comb, isn’t it?”

“Ah, no, I brought it with me,” Lao Wen says. His tone is casual, but almost abnormally so. Zishu squints down at the comb again to see if there is anything peculiar about it. But it just looks like a comb.

“Did it belong to your mother?” Zhou Zishu hazards a guess. “I thought the only thing you managed to take with you when the ghosts came was the hairpin.”

“…It belongs to Ah Xiang.”

Oh.

“When she was little, I would help her get dressed and do her hair up in the ugliest little buns you ever saw,” Wen Kexing continues in something of a daze, “I am sure I pulled her hair so many times, but she never complained. She was too scared I would throw her out. When she got a bit older, she would scold me when her braids were sloppy, but she wouldn’t let any of the girls from the department of the unfaithful do them, either. She only wanted me, and to this day I don’t know why.”

By this time Zhou Zishu has managed to tie back a portion of Lao Wen’s hair so it is no longer falling in his eyes. He thinks about attempting the usual little twist he wears it in, but it is already a bit crooked as it is and he suspects that would be beyond his abilities. He smooths the hair back from his forehead one last time, gently pulling a few strands loose at the sides to frame his face the way he likes it.

“She loved you.” He tells him quietly.

“I loved her, too.”

“I know.” He squeezes his shoulder.

“I found the comb in with my things when I woke up after…after…” Wen Kexing’s breathing becomes erratic, and Zhou Zishu wraps him up in his arms, pulling him back against his chest. Kexing refuses to meet his eyes, but he eventually seems to calm himself, reaching up and holding onto Zishu’s wrists for dear life. “I don’t know if there was some sort of mix up in the rush to leave Ghost Valley, or if Ah Xiang left it for me on purpose. Maybe she thought it would give her an excuse to come back, if she wanted. Maybe she just wanted me to remember all those early mornings when I used to do her hair for her. Or maybe… Maybe she thought I would forget her if she didn’t leave something behind.”

“She knew that she was going to miss you,” Zhou Zishu says, pressing a kiss into the crown of his head, “She wanted to make sure that you would miss her, too.”

A child takes after their parent, after all.

“I…was not as nice to her as I could have been,” Wen Kexing says thickly, “At first, it was because it was too dangerous. If the other ghosts knew she was precious to me, they would go after her as soon as it looked like I might be any sort of threat to them. I had to keep her at a distance to keep her safe. But later… Later on, I think I just forgot how to be kind to someone. And so, I was always making her worried that I would throw her away…”

“She knew,” Zhou Zishu soothes, “She knew your intentions. Who else could know you better?”

“You know me better,” Lao Wen sighs. “She was a bit too silly to understand me completely. Her heart was better than mine. She deserved better than me.”

“You raised her well.”

“Not well enough.”

They sit together in silence for a while, each lost in the memories of the children they could not save. There is grief, but there is understanding, too. The wordless empathy of touch. Zhou Zishu holds Wen Kexing in his arms and sees the ways their hurts fit together in perfect likeness. How just to know someone who knows him, someone with whom he freely shares his words and his space and his time without resentment or restraint, has allowed them both to become more of the people they had always wanted to be. And that…is a kind of caring, too.

Perhaps the most important kind.

The rest will come later.

“Lao Wen, I am afraid if you don’t get up, your hair will need combing again,” Zhou Zishu says after a long time has passed. He makes no move to relinquish his embrace, however.

“I’m not getting up,” Wen Kexing says stubbornly, “You can just comb my hair again for me later.”

“Oh?” Zhou Zishu laughs softly, “I thought I wasn’t very good at it.”

“You are not,” Lao Wen tells him bluntly, “But I’m spoiled now. You have to brush my hair for me every day.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

Zhou Zishu smiles, and holds him that much tighter.

“Alright.”

#word of honor #wenzhou #zhou zishu #wen kexing #fic #word of honor spoilers #NO PROOFREADING WE DIE LIKE MEN #this is a mess i don't know what happened lmao

[regrettablewritings]

Preference: What Does Amortentia Smell Like to Them?

Amortentia, for those unaware or having forgotten, is the name given to what we would call a love potion, as depicted in the Harry Potter universe. While the  nature of love potions is dubious at best, the one thing I think amortentia’s got going for it is that its aroma differs depending on the person, so no two people will always smell the exact same thing. Generally speaking, a proper amortentia will smell like whatever the individual is drawn to or likes. As a result, this can mean that it smells like anything, from reminders of home to the smells of their favorite foods, to the smells that bring them comfort, to reminders of the people they love and were loved by. Things that would soothe somebody enough to be tempted enough to sip it. I thought it would be interesting to explore what smells make them happiest/feel the most love and loved. So without further ado . . . 

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dinah Lance, Benoit Blanc, Geralt, M’Baku

Bruce Wayne

Prime rib. Aged scotch. Expensive perfumes spritzed on the necks of statuesque stunners . . . These are the smells Bruce came into contact with the most, and they were symbolic of the luxury that his lifestyle was open to.

And they were also far from what Bruce would likely smell if he were to ever come across amortentia.

Surprisingly, Bruce enjoys much simpler smells. Smells with specific memories and feelings attached to them. For example, his mother’s perfume: Bruce doesn’t remember the brand, and it honestly probably wasn’t anything too expensive (his mother, for the most part, preferred to air on the side of modesty, all things considered), but the scent nevertheless is one that comforts him even to this very day, many years later. It reminds him of his youth, of his mother pressing her hand to his forehead whenever he ran a fever, of the hugs she would give him before and after school. It is a comforting smell, and one that reminds him of the safety there can be in being loved.

The smell of buttery popcorn is a another favorite, albeit bittersweet. Of course, it has connections to that tragic night when everything changed. But there’s just something about it . . . Just being with his parents. Seeing a movie together, that one last moment . . . It took Bruce years before he could properly cherish the stimuli found on that night without a feeling sinking into the pit of his stomach, or without a hint of static screeching in his mind for a second. But the day did come. And perhaps in a route of recovery, he finds himself enjoying the popcorn smell and the lighter memories he’s become determined to assign to it.

The most recent smell to join his favorites, however, is that of fresh laundry. Not linen washed and dried in premier detergents or fabric softeners, mind you: Just whatever brand you’d been using that one day he came home. Whatever they were, they were what the house smelled like. It was what he smelled when you walked up to him, balancing a basket of freshly-dried linen on your lip. It was what filled his nostrils when you exchanged a “welcome home” kiss.

It was the smell his body tucked away to mark the moment: It was the point he truly realized that you were It for him.

Dinah Lance

The problem with Dinah is that she’s a bit of a tough cookie to crack: She doesn’t easily let people in, much less show any signs of vulnerability, and she constantly exudes the idea that she’s indifferent to the people around. Well, she tries to, at least. But in spite of it being a non-sentient potion, the amortentia knows better: The moment Dinah smells the stuff, she’s hit with a whirlwind of soft spots. All of which concern you, from one very specific moment.

Dinah’s dating life has never exactly been on point, but she was willing to see what happened with you when you came around. She really wasn’t rushing to put a title on whatever it was the two of you had, be it drinking buddies, party buddies, or, God forbid, Girlfriends with a capital “g”.  That is, until one particular night out: You suspected that maybe a run with the Birds hadn’t gone as planned, because you were currently watching your . . . drinking-party-boo-thang-buddy . . . pounding shots like they had money at the bottom of each glass. But you weren’t about to push for details. She vaguely remembered appreciating that at the time, but didn’t remember much else when she woke up with a pounding headache the next day.

Beneath all the grossness of her current existence, she appreciated how everything otherwise seemed to be blessedly merciful: The curtains were closed, muting any damnable light; the sheets weren’t stifling enough to cause the vodka sweats; the t-shirt she now wore smelled like your soap --

She didn’t remember you taking her back to your place, or you taking the time to not only changer her out of her tightly-fitted clothing and into the much more breathable sleeping shirt. And when she stumbled into the kitchen to find you quietly setting up the table with some takeout you’d just picked up, she realized she didn’t remember you joining her in bed or even the feeling of you waking up, either.

But when she tried to bring it up, you insisted it wasn’t a big deal. Instead, you shooed her away to the bathroom to take a much-appreciated shower. And the moment she stepped into the bathroom, she smelled it: Your hair products. They weren’t even anything special, just the usual kind you could grab at one of the many rinky-dink, common beauty shops that lined this area of Gotham. Hell, Dinah had some of them herself. But the smells were just so strong that her memory couldn’t help but file them away. They weren’t even nauseating to her vulnerable state, just . . . strong. Enough to latch on in his mind, right alongside the pho that greeted her when she had finally finished cleaning up. 

Soupy dishes were the best for combating hangovers, you reasoned. So while it might’ve been an unconventional brunch dish, it was one you made sure accounted for your drinking buddy/party buddy/maybe-girlfriend’s current state. And while it wasn’t in Dinah’s more immediate nature to feel all “mushy” and “gushy” about it, it wasn’t something that slipped her attention, no matter how garbled it might have been in the moment.

Fast-forwarding to now, there’s no question about it: You are one another’s Girlfriends with a capital “g”. And if Dinah were to catch a whiff of amortentia, all she would be able to think about would be those smells that remind her of you.

Benoit Blanc

It’s no secret that Benoit loves himself a good cigar. Specifically, one of the lancero variety if it happens to be on hand. Smoking is a bit of a guilty pleasure of his but clearly not too guilty, considering he’s still prone to doing so while on the job. He just flat out enjoys the rich, almost spicy flavor, almost masochistically tickling his lungs with every puff. But he supposes that that’s just how addiction works, so it would make sense that that’s one of the things he would gather from an amortentia brew.

Less than expected (at least, to those that aren’t him), however, is the scent of mothballs. Or perhaps it’s best referred to as an odor, because while it isn’t the worst smell, it’s not exactly one that many would call pleasant, either. But to Benoit, it reminds him of playing in his Nana’s attic, making blanket forts from her quilts and the trunks and her old hope chest. Admittedly, it isn’t a romantic or even particularly enticing smell but for Benoit, it’s just right: It fills him with the melancholic sweetness of nostalgia, reminding him of a time where he felt so safe and blissfully ignorant to what a strange world he lived in.

An ignorance that was sullied as he grew older and began to follow somewhat in his father’s footsteps, becoming ruthlessly torn apart once he officially entered the world of investigating. However, this wasn’t to say that he had been left bitter and vulnerable. In fact, in his older years, Benoit can’t help but know that there’s plenty of things left in life to see the beauty in, and to find pure happiness and optimism with.

Take, for example, Chinese food.

Plenty people might find themselves identifying the bouquet of food in amoirtentia: The MSG-rich noodles and dumplings, the mouth-watering scent of rice fried just long enough to obtain a hint of crunch to it . . . It would make perfect sense for someone -- anyone, really -- to list them as one of the things in the amortentia. And these reasons are all well and good, but they aren’t the reasons Benoit would identify it.

As it so happens, Chinese food was what he smelled one day as he entered the precinct, looking for files related to a specific case. It was because you were the one eating it. And whether he committed the details of that meeting to memory because it was in his nature as a detective, or because his soul somehow knew it was important that he remember, every image and reminder that his senses could gather were grabbed with desperation and held close.

And ever since then, every time the man has smelled Chinese food, it’s been accompanied by a sense of warmth; a feeling of relief and happiness that washed over him like a hug sourcing from his heart and soul.

But also hunger because come on, it’s impossible to not feel your stomach growl and mouth water when you smell that stuff.

Geralt

To be perfectly frank, Geralt and pleasant smells do not commonly go hand in hand. It’s honestly hard to when you spend so much of your time on the road, away from a bath, and fighting monsters with none-too-pleasant-smelling innards. On top of this, that his sense of smell is only enhanced by his mutation can make enjoying certain aromas difficult at best and borderline incapacitating at worst. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate good smells when he encounters them. He just may not actively voice his approval of them.

Hell, he might not even admit to himself what he enjoys.

He’s most ready to allow himself to enjoy petrichor, as most anyone would be able to find that enjoyable. There’s very little intimate reason behind liking it; but his constant ventures in the wild have allowed him a stronger familiarity than most with it. It’s particularly gratifying when he and Roach have some semblance of a shelter to lay beneath, able to watch the fat drops replenish the dry earth . . . It’s a calming scent for him, one that he won’t necessarily fight himself for liking.

The complete opposite of the second smell that shocks his senses: That of a home-cooked meal. Now, this may cause some confusion to many, given that home-cooked meals are generally considered downright pleasant things. And considering that the Witcher doesn’t come across many during his travels, one would assume he’d relish in such a scent bearing meaning for him. But for Geralt, they’re reminders. Ones he doesn’t want to have, but has nonetheless. Which is a pity, given that what he assumes is the source isn’t entirely the truth.

For Geralt, smelling a home-cooked meal surely is linked with his memories of his mother. But for his subconscious, it’s got more to do with what such banquets mean: Stability. Safety. Structure. Things Geralt’s nomadic lifestyle is lacking. You can’t quite have a feast of roasted pheasant and quail eggs and roasted vegetables from the garden or fruit tarts when you travel so constantly: You need a foundation. Someone to help prepare such a meal with. Someone to share with.

And the thought frustrated Geralt. That is, until he smelled the third and final scent.

Having an awareness of botany and plantlife as a whole comes with the education of being a Witcher. So of course, Geralt knew what the properties of certain flowers were, what they were used for, and so on. He never thought of them beyond practical means such as for healing for for herbs or teas. And he never thought much of lavender until he smelled it on you. You giggled sheepishly as you explained that you couldn’t help yourself: This was the first inn you had stopped at in ages, you had wanted to treat yourself to some scented oils.

“Lavender for relaxation,” you explained. “I want to take full advantage of sleeping in a bed for once and just fall straight to sleep the moment my head hits that pillow.”

Geralt nodded, not knowing what more to offer. But he also sniffed. Not with bemusement, but with . . . need. He liked the smell. He liked the smell on you. It was calming. You were calming. It wasn’t an epiphany or anything; it was just a moment his brain decided to capture by way of scent. And now it was in there, inside him, reminding him of a moment of relaxation.

It is the most calming scent that the amortentia can offer for him personally, and he would never out loud admit to it being his absolute favorite.

M’Baku

The thing was, given his intentionally secluded lifestyle, M’Baku’s aroma library was rather limited when compared to his peers in the Golden City, especially with regards to those who traveled out of the country. But that suited the Jabari leader just fine: He had his sovereign, his people, and a recognized alliance with the other Wakandan tribes after centuries upon centuries of isolation – what more could he possibly want? Truthfully, very little, which was why what he might smell from an amortentia would probably be rather limited.

Really, the top three smells he could make out could be divided into sections of his life: A smell for his origins and youth; a smell representative of his progress as a leader, opening up to new experiences; and a smell that signifies how far he’s come as a whole, both as a person and as a Jabari.

Living in the snowcapped mountains of Jabariland meant that the man had always been around fire: It lit pathways on torches; it lit up and warmed rooms of dwelling spaces; it cooked food. While it had become common in the more modernist world to associate fire with destruction, the Jabari never forgot the truth: Fire was also life. It was also the source of that peculiarly sweet smokey smell that M’Baku would be able to single out in a batch of amortentia. It is a reminder of his traditionalist roots, harkening him back to the life-giving light that guided his people through all their lives, even as the rest of the country marched onward without them. And even when he gains a position in the Tribal Council, thus demanding him to familiarize himself with some aspects of the country’s use of vibranium in day-to-day life, it’s remembering scents like that familiar smell of fire that brings the Jabari leader a sense of calm even in times where he finds himself frustrated.

However, it’s also through gaining this position that his worldview and experiences grow. And for better or for worse, he has you to blame.

Even as the both of you became more and more involved, convincing somebody as stubborn as M’Baku to accompany you anywhere in the Golden City was a bit like pulling teeth: Usually, the warrior would try to spend as little time as necessary in the capital, much preferring to immediately begin taking the journey back to the mountains as soon as whatever affairs he’d left them for had ended. But time’s way of weathering things down worked on plenty things, including M’Baku’s obstinance: Eventually, he did take up your pleas offer to accompany you to an actual restaurant, rather than a food stall in the market place. You chatted up the vegan and vegetarian selection, hoping that taking note of his diet might soften the blow to his pride he was already taking. It didn’t. In fact, to your surprise, it wasn’t until the food came that there was any positive shift in your beloved’s mood.

Being the sort of man that he was, M’Baku was generally rather staunchly against eating anything that wasn’t sourced from Wakanda. And given that Brussels was not, in fact, a city in Wakanda, you were fully prepared to either consume or put aside the small side of roasted Brussels sprouts that accompanied your entree. What you weren’t prepared for, however, was the curious look on M’Baku’s face as he eyed the small bowl full of vegetables. He seemed to be perfectly content eating his roasted fish dish just moments before, but apparently something about the smell of your side dish was . . . curious to him.

You thought it was startling, to say the least. You thought perhaps Bast or even Hanuman were at play when the man actually asked to perhaps try the tiniest smidge of sprout. And you just about nearly died when your boyfriend wound up inhaling the bowl in the end. Meanwhile, M’Baku was just as shocked: the M’Baku from four years ago would never have dared to try anything grown outside of Wakanda’s borders. But perhaps that was just a testament to the sort of person he was now.

For one thing, he didn’t know you four years ago, let alone have you as a partner. But now he did. And that honestly changed everything, all things considered. Because if he never met you, then he wouldn’t have known what the third smell in the amortentia was. Really, even while knowing you, he still wouldn’t be able to identify the exact nature of it: Your body oils were a concoction in and of themselves.

They didn’t smell exactly like anything specific, yet they constantly smelled too close and familiar to scents M’Baku thought he knew from his exposure to perfume stalls in the market place: There were hints of tea tree oils; eucalyptus; lavender; some almond? A hint of sage, perhaps? A spice he couldn’t name . . . Though not quite any of those. Yet, whenever he inquired you on what you used, what gave your rich skin its melanin glow, all you would respond with would be a teasing smile. As though you were pleased the scent caught his attention and interest (which, to be honest, was indeed something you enjoyed).

If M’Baku was “lucky”, you would respond with, “It’s made with a special Jabari bait; looks like it’s working”, and he would scoff, dissatisfied from your lack of answer, but not so much that he would become disenchanted with whatever scent you chose to go by that day. Because whatever it was, whether you’d ever tell him its ingredients or not, M’Baku had already made up his mind about what the scent was: It was just (Y/N) to him. And even though he’d gone so much of his life pretty certain that he already had everything he needed, having (Y/N) made him stand corrected.

So it made sense that a potion meant to entice and draw a person in would smell like his favorite person.

#bruce wayne x reader #dinah lance x reader #bop!dina lance x reader #benoit blanc x reader #geralt x reader #m'baku x reader #batman x reader #black canary x reader #the witcher imagines #dceu imagines #knives out imagines #black panther imagines #dceu imagine #regrettablewritings #batman imagines #birds of prey imagines #batman imagine #birds of prey imagine #black canary imagine #black canary imagines #the witcher imagine #black panther imagine #preference #preferences

[plaidbooks]

SFW Alphabet - Sonny Carisi

Karen asked when I was doing the SFW with Sonny, and I’m stuck on a fic, so I guess the answer is now. I haven’t decided if I’m doing the other two or not yet, I guess it depends if people want it?

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @stardust-fray @permanentlydizzy @infiniteoddball @ben-c-group-therapy @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @reading--mermaid @averyhotchner​ @mrsrafaelbarba​ @detective-giggles​

(gif by @minidodds)

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Sonny is super affectionate—he needs to be touching you at all times. In public, it’s an arm around your shoulders or waist, a hand on your lower back or arm, his hand clutching yours. In private, he has you pulled against him, his fingertips trailing over you absentmindedly. He also loves cooking for you—it’s his love language. He knows your favorite dishes by heart and will make them on days you feel like crap, without you asking.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

You and Sonny bonded over drinks in a bar. The hockey game was on, and you were both rooting for Islanders, creating an instant bond between you two. Sonny is the best of best friends; he’s there for advice, to listen, to take your mind off things for a while. Even if he’s stuck at work (unless he’s actively in the field being shot at, or in front of a jury), he’ll text you, or take a break to listen to you vent if you need it. Also, growing up with all girls means he understands the intricacies of the things you may need, especially during that time of the month.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Sonny is the best at cuddling! Those limbs were made to wrap around you, holding you close to him. He’s fond of cuddling on the couch while watching bad reality TV or sports. If it’s too hot or you’re both expecting to get up (for food or drinks), then he’ll pull you close to his side, sitting with you comfortably. If it’s a lazy night in, then he’ll lay with you on the couch, tugging you against his long body, kissing you/your skin every now and again.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Yes. Sonny wants a family—as soon as he finds the one, he’s full in; marriage, children, a house. He also loves cooking, but hates cleaning. He’ll clean his knives and the expensive pans he owns, but the rest can wait until morning. As for other cleaning, he likes vacuuming because he can dance like a goofball while doing it, but he hates doing laundry—folding clothes hurts his back.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

In person. Sonny’s not one to do it over phone/text. It hurts him as much as you, but he’ll sit with you and explain why it’s happening, every single detail. He’ll offer to still be friends (as long as it’s an amicable breakup), and he’s still a comfort to talk to after a breakup, even if it’s awkward at first.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Sonny has a set of questions that he goes through within the beginning stages of a relationship. Man’s looking for a wife and he doesn’t want to waste his time; if you don’t fall into his category of wife material, he’ll move on. But, if you pass all the tests, then he’s quick to move in/have you move in with him. He’s busy and at work often, so it takes him a little, but he’s proposing within a year of living together. Marriage takes a little longer, but Ma Carisi is texting him every day asking when it is.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Sonny is the sweetest bean. He’s gentle, but knows how to be a little tougher if that’s what the situation calls for (thank you detective work). Every now and again, very rarely, he’ll say something really stupid, and you’ll give him a glare before he’s apologizing emphatically.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Sonny is a hugger! He’ll hug you every time he meets up with you, even if you’ve only been out of the room for a couple minutes. He’s also fond of hugging you from behind, his lanky body folding against your back. He envelops you with those long limbs, pulling you close and rocking with you slightly.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

If you pass all his tests, then Sonny says it pretty quickly. Once he says it that first time, though, he’ll never stop saying it; whispering “I love you,” into the night, saying a quick “love ya!” before rushing out the door to work, “god, I love you,” he chuckles, shaking his head as you surprise him at work with food.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Sonny’s not the jealous type; he trusts you completely. Though, because of his time as detective, he does have a general distrust of guys, especially at bars. So, while he’s not jealous, he is protective. If he sees someone staring at you, he’ll put his arm around you, pulling you closer to him while glaring at the offender.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Most of the time, Sonny’s kisses are sloppy—he’s normally grinning or laughing, especially when he gets to kiss you! It makes him so giddy and excited. But for kisses where he’s serious/turned on already, then it’s more passionate, desperate, his tongue moving with yours. He likes to kiss you all over your face—any part of it. You make the cutest little giggle when he does. And he likes when you kiss his neck or chest—your lips are so soft against him and it makes his heart flutter.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Uncle Sonny is the coolest uncle in existence! He watches the shows/movies/games with the kids and knows all their meme references. He’ll play Mario Kart (surprisingly well), talk about Pokemon, set up obstacle courses and forts to have nerf gun wars with them. He never runs out of energy until the kids are in bed (and then he crashes hard) and he gets to let his inner child out.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

On days that Sonny works, he’s up early to shower. Sometimes he makes it there right after waking up, sometimes you have lazy morning sex first. He owns an automatic coffee maker that was essential, and he has pre-made breakfast that he’ll pop in the microwave. Though, sometimes he doesn’t have time to eat. If you’re awake, too, he’ll spend the morning talking to you before dashing out the door. If you’re not up, he’s near-silent in the apartment, making sure not to wake you.

On days where Sonny’s off, he makes sure to stay in bed, cuddling with you. Sometimes, you’ll spend all day in bed, only getting up to use the bathroom or for food/drinks. Other times, he’ll drag himself sleepily out of bed, then make a huge breakfast, spending the morning talking and catching up with you.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Late nights in the office, he’ll come home and curl against you on the couch. If neither of you have eaten yet, then give him an hour to decompress and he’ll make dinner…or you can convince him to order takeout. Otherwise, it’s leftovers that you’ll reheat for him, catching up on the day.

Days off, Sonny spends rememorizing you—not just your body, but your mind, too, and why he fell in love with you. He’ll stay up all night chatting with you, if that’s what you want. Otherwise, he’ll take you to bed, spending half the night caressing you with his hands and mouth.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

His personal life—his family and early years—he’ll talk about freely. It’s only when you get to his life as a cop/detective, and then lawyer, that he’s hesitant. Sonny doesn’t want to scare you with the gruesome details of past cases, whether they were resolved or not—they still keep him up at night; he doesn’t need to do that to you, too. And he never really does talk about details of cases; he’ll give you the broad strokes, but that’s about it. He also won’t tell you about the traumatic things (the car crash, the gun in his face) unless you were there for them, and even then, he’ll try and brush it off as nothing.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

For the most part, Sonny has infinite patience. But there’s a couple things that set him off, or if you happen to catch him on a bad day, his patience will be thin. He’s quicker to anger since becoming an ADA, but that’s only because he’s still a fish fighting against the stream. And even then, it’s only while in the thick of it—most days are fine. But a few cases have got him so worked up, he’ll be in a bad mood when he comes home. It’s nothing that cuddling and soft words can’t fix, though.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Sonny’s mind works in weird ways—he’s forgotten your birthstone (though he knows your birthday!), but he’ll remember the coffee you ordered on your first date. He knows a good deal about you, and he remembers the important things (allergies, birthdays, anniversaries), but he’ll forget things like when he went to the store and you asked him to grab a gallon of milk. It’s a hit or miss on what he remembers.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

The first time you both kissed. Sonny was nervous; he wanted to wait until the third date, like a good little Catholic boy, but you were putting the moves on him and he couldn’t stop himself. He made sure to ask you first, and you gave your consent. The moment his lips touched yours, his life changed forever—he knew in that moment that he loved you, with all his heart. As much of a cliché as it is, when you kissed, there were fireworks, and he was so excited, he forgot to continue kissing you. You leaned back, eyebrow raised, but he hadn’t moved, his eyes closed, a dreamy smile on his face. When he came to and realized what had happened, he apologized, and you chuckled before kissing him again.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Sometimes, Sonny goes all out for dates. Other times, he takes you for a simple walk through the park, fingers interlaced. Anniversaries, however, he goes above and beyond, making sure to take your breath away every time. He likes giving you gifts, and they are thoughtful. He can somehow always sense when you’ve had a bad day, and a coffee and cannoli will appear on your desk, with a heart on a sticky note. Dinner is what he puts a lot of effort into, even if he brushes it off, and he makes an effort to talk to you at least once a day, catching up on your day.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Sonny makes a mess of the bathroom counter—half empty cologne bottles, gel tubs, combs and brushes everywhere. He takes up more space than you, trying to make sure he’s presentable in court. You’ve tried to clean up/rearrange, but he’ll destroy it by the next morning. He also has a bad habit of stacking dishes in the sink (except his expensive ones), claiming to wash them tomorrow, but tomorrow never seems to come.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

On work days, Sonny is very concerned about looking good for the courts. He’s slowly collecting dress shirts and ties, making sure he has plenty of gel for his hair, and having a different cologne for every day of the week.

On days he’s off, Sonny cannot force himself to care about his looks. He’ll still gel his hair out of habit—and to keep the strands out of his eyes—but even that’s only if he’s going out. If he’s staying inside, then he won’t even do that.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

As soon as you’re living together, you’re a part of him. Sonny needs someone to hold and love, and vice versa; he needs some cuddles and a listening ear every now and again. After moving in, it’s very unlikely he’d break up with you—you complete him.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Sonny’s ticklish on his hips/stomach. One day, he came home from work upset, trying to bury himself in work on the coffee table. It was a Friday, and the trial wasn’t until Monday, so you told him to relax. But he couldn’t just relax, he had arguments to prepare. So, you forced him to his feet, telling him that he had to have one dance with you, and then he could stress about work. He was still grumbling as you swayed together in the living room, even though he was fighting a smile. So, you tickled him until he was breathless from laughter, tears in his eyes. He relaxed after that, talking to you about his shitty day. And after unloading all of that, his mind was clearer, and he was able to make his arguments in the trial easier.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Sonny doesn’t like drunks—he’ll have a crazy night with you every now and again, or have a beer with dinner, but he’s not interested in taking care of you multiple times a week; if he needs to be an adult, so do you. He also doesn’t like partners who are clingy—physically clingy is fine (man must be touching you, remember), but emotionally? Nah, especially because he’ll have some early mornings and late nights at work and won’t be home for most of the day. If you can’t handle that, then it’s not going to work out.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Sonny has mild insomnia. He takes medication for it, but when the cases are bad, he’ll have trouble sleeping, even after a night of making love to you (though that can help). Sometimes, he’ll lay awake until the wee hours of the morning, listening to your soft breathing, finally drifting off only to be awoken a few hours later by his alarm.

#sonny carisi x reader #law and order svu #sfw alphabet #my writing

[btsslowburnfic]

The Arrangement Chapter 9

Series Summary: Desperately in need of money, you answered the questionable ad. AKA-Arranged marriage AU featuring Y/N and Yoongi.

Chapter Summary: Getting your bearings at BigHit

Previous chapter here ---------------------------

It’s fine it’s fine, Yoongi kept repeating to himself this morning after you had left to go to the security office. I’m not even home that often, it’s not her fault. He slipped on a t-shirt and jeans and went downstairs. He put his dishes away and looked in the foyer. Two suitcases and a backpack were sitting there. He couldn’t believe this was all you had. That’s it. He sighed and picked up the bags, wheeling them over to the guest bedroom. He looked around the room and frowned. He would need to order a few more blankets. He took out his phone and ordered some quickly. He walked into the guest bathroom. No towels. He placed an order for those as well. Even if you ended up living somewhere else, it was good to have extra towels and blankets, he reasoned with himself. 

He checked his calendar and yours. You should still be in the security office with Namjoon. He had already texted Hobi earlier.

Y:WTF dude, I thought you were my friend

JHOOOOOOPE: I brought a nice looking girl to your house, how is that not nice **angel**

Y: You can’t just drop someone off into someone else’s house without asking!

JHOOOOOOPE: It’s not my fault no one told you. I was told to deliver your new assistant to your apartment because you needed her to be available to whims at all times. I do what I’m told like every other person who works here. **shrug** it could be worse. I could use an assistant. Send her my way if it doesn’t work **Grin**

Y: >=(

Yoongi walked off the Elevator and saw Namjoon’s smug face there "What the hell is wrong with you?" Yoongi growled, walking up to him. He was surprised he didn’t see you anywhere.

"Not now Yoongi, I have a meeting in 15 minutes." Namjoon sighed. That fucking prick.

"You just dropped a girl into my house without telling me and think I'm not going to have something to say about it?" 

"You knew she was starting today. You agreed that the two of you were going through with all of this. What did you think that meant? Huh?" Namjoon said, almost bored.

"Why don't I get a say in any of this?" Yoongi raised his voice, exasperated. 

"You did. You picked her." Namjoon said calmly as he pushed the up button on the elevator. 

"This is such bullshit!" he yelled. You walked around the corner, surprising him. 

The elevator for Namjoon arrived and he got on it, not bothering to look back. 

You walked closer to Yoongi. "Hey. I'm sorry this was a surprise for you. It was to me too. I thought I would be in a dorm with a bunch of other girls." You gave him a sympathetic look. 

He took off his hat and ran his hands through his hair. "I'm sorry it's not you. It's just...ughhh…" He put the hat back on.

"Really. It's fine. It seems like Namjoon isn't interested in our opinions though, huh? I'm a good roommate. I'm quiet and I clean up after myself. And I can cook." 

Yoongi wasn’t angry at you, so his feelings had morphed into pouting at this point. "It's fine I put your bags in the guest bedroom." He pushed a button on the elevator. He sighed 

"Thanks Yoongi." you said, standing next to him. 

“And I can cook too. So don’t think that’s part of your job or anything.”

“Now what kind of wife would I be if I didn’t cook for you,” You teased as the doors opened up. You were surprised to see him blushing. He hit the button for the 12th floor, feeling like a total idiot.

You looked so cute and professional. He tried to not think about the fact you had seen him in his underwear that morning. He looked down, mumbling something, hoping you wouldn’t notice how embarrassed he was. He was eager to just get to his studio. He understood abstractly that the two of you would be spending time together but now that it was actually happening, he felt awkward and shy. And vaguely annoyed by everyone else. He got off the elevator with you following. “What are you doing exactly?” He turned and asked.

“I’m your assistant. I’m supposed to help you. Do I have a desk or anything? There wasn’t really an orientation. There isn’t anything on the calendar for the rest of the day.”

“Oh. Ok. Umm take the rest of the day off…? Go unpack?” He shrugged.

You scowled. “That doesn’t seem particularly helpful especially since you want me to move out.”

Yoongi sighed and continued to move down the hallway, “You don’t need to do that. There,” he pointed. “That’s Jiwoo. She’s the office manager for this floor. Ask her if she knows anything. I need to get to my studio.”

You had so many more questions but you didn’t want to bother Yoongi.“Ok. See you later.” You turned and walked over to the woman he had indicated to.

Yoongi continued on to his studio. He had no idea if you had a desk or not. He hadn’t really put thought into it. He cursed himself for not thinking to ask Namjoon about any of this. He detested appearing as though he didn’t know something, which unfortunately meant he hadn’t asked questions when he should have. Oh well. He hoped Jiwoo could straighten it out. Otherwise he would later today. He typed in his pass code and walked into his studio. Fortunately he felt inspired this morning and went straight for his notebook.  

“Hello. Excuse me?” You said as you walked up to the desk of the woman who had been identified to you as the office manager. She appeared to be older than you; her hair cut into a bob, she also had super cute glasses. She looked up. 

“Yes, can I help you with something?” 

“I’m Mr. Min’s new assistant, [Y/N]. Today is my first day and nobody really seems sure what to do with me.”

She laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me at all. They all do a great job with the big picture around here. But the details? That’s my specialty.” She stood up. “Follow me. Your desk is over here, near the lounge area. It’s a little noisy, but it’s across from the coffee maker. Which is important because Min Yoongi loves coffee.”

“Yes, thank you. That is like one of the only things I do know.” You smiled, grateful for any help.

“You don’t have a company laptop yet. I would expect it by Monday. You can do most things via the App though. If something does come up, let me know and we can work something out. Now, if you walk around the corner here,” she led the way. “We have some empty studios. If you ever need to rent space for any reason, they are available under the App. Mr. Min has his own studio so you shouldn’t need to book any spots unless you are helping with a collaborator. Speaking of, here is his studio. Good luck with that.” She pointed down to the doormat which had a cat flipping you both off. You laughed. You looked at the plate by the door. “Min Suga. Genius Lab.”

“Humble. Nice.” You pointed at the placard.

“He is really good though.” She said thoughtfully. She began to move down the rest of the hallway, pointing out the restrooms and arriving back at her desk.  “Also, don’t wait up on him. He’s in there most of the time. Follow your calendar. If you try to follow his, you’ll never sleep or you’ll end up with a sleeping disorder. Seriously. He sleeps in there sometimes.” She sat back down at her desk.

Your eyes bugged out a little bit at this. Damn that was some dedication. You hoped he at least had a futon in there then. Jeeze. “Alright. Thanks so much. I appreciate it.”

You almost wished you would have kept your desk plant now, looking at the empty space. You had a few office items in the bags in Yoongi’s house but nothing really worth going back for. A message popped up on your phone. **ORDER READY MIN YOONGI #2983627** You clicked on it. Apparently there was an order at the store ready for Yoongi. Because there was a store in the company building. Huh. Ok. I guess this is part of my job now. You looked up where the store was and headed down to the 2nd floor. It appeared to be a multipurpose grocery and home-goods store with also a few clothing items.  Looking around you found the *Pick up online order* section and walked over. You queued up and recognized the perfectly coiffed blonde hair of Namjoon’s assistant. 

You gave him a light tap on the shoulder. “Hey!”

Jimin turned around, surprised to see the girl from the interview last week standing behind him. “Hey you.” He smiled, “so you got the job?”

You nodded. “Yep. Sorry again about last week. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He laughed, his eyes turning into adorable crescent-moons  “I’m sorry I literally yelled “shit” at you. So I think we’re even.” He stuck out a hand, “Park Jimin. Nice to officially meet you.” You shook it. “I see you have figured out some stuff. You’ll be on the 14th floor with Yoongi right?”

“Yep. I just got my desk. That’s it. The rest of the day doesn’t have anything and he hasn't given me anything to do yet.”

Jimin turned to move forward in line, with you following suit. He turned back, “Well Yoongi hasn’t had an assistant before but if he’s anything like Namjoon he’ll figure out a million things for you to do soon. Once they get used to it they forget how to even use food delivery apps or how to do their own laundry.” He shook his head. “To clarify: I don’t do his laundry. I coordinate the dry cleaning.”

“And here I was imagining you washing Namjoon’s undies.” You teased, causing him to laugh some more.

“Noooo stop. I don’t want that mental image.” Jimin licked his lips. “If you’re not doing anything later you should join me and Tae for drinks. Not at Club Tokki.” You raised your eyebrows. “Sorry, I peeked at your resume. Think about it and let me know.” He cut the conversation short as it was his turn in line. He concluded his business at the counter quickly. He turned around, carrying a few paper bags. “I’ll see you around.”

You waved, “Alright, I’ll text you about later.” It felt so nice to be included on your first day. He seemed fun. You stepped up and held the QR code up for them to scan. You were handed two paper bags and a larger plastic one. You took them and stepped aside, reading the stapled receipt paper. **PINK TOWELS X 4** on one of the bags. **QUEEN SIZE BLANKET WHITE X 2** on the larger one. He bought me blankets and towels!?!?! You took the bags back to the apartment. Yoongi had taken your bags and put them nicely in the corner of your room. You were pretty sure this stuff was for the guest bedroom and bathroom but you didn’t want to seem presumptuous.

YN: Hey! I picked up your order from the store. Where should I put the towels and blankets?

You waited a few minutes, unpacking one of your bags.

Y: Those are for you. The washing machine is upstairs in the hallway. 

YN: Thank you so much. Pink is my favorite color!

Y: :]

You went and started a load of towels and continued to unpack. Holy shit. This was weird.  You went back upstairs with the blankets. The upstairs loft area had a more lived in feel to it, with blankets strewn over a black couch, a large tv, and a video game system. There was also a keyboard in the corner. There was a short hallway containing a closet and the washer and dryer. You assumed the door at the end of the hallway led to his room. You were a very private person yourself, so you weren’t about to intrude on that. You honestly felt weird being in the loft area, it felt as though the lower level was for show and this was where Yoongi actually lived. 

You moved some more laundry around and decided to head back to the office. You still weren’t sure about joining Jimin for drinks tonight. You decided you would wait and see what the laundry status was. You set a timer on your phone and went back to the office. You stopped by the lounge area and made a coffee for yourself while preparing a coffee for Yoongi. Another ping on your phone.

***EVENT ADDED SATURDAY 6 PM***

Retirement Party for Lee Soobin Akioko Flame Restaurant

The espresso stopped dripping. You added the water and then poured it over ice. You walked over to the studio and gave the door a knock. No answer. 

 You huffed in slight irritation while trying to get your phone out one-handed. 

YN: It’s me. I have coffee.

Y: Leave it by the door.

YN: :( But someone could kick it over

Yoongi took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

Y: Give me a minute.

He got to what he deemed was a good stopping point and walked over to the door, opening it the slightest bit.

“Here you go.” You handed him the iced coffee. 

He took it, eyeing you suspiciously.  “What?” You said, exasperated. You had lovingly hand-crafted this brew.

“You like shitty coffee so I’m worried.” He took a sip. His eyebrows went up. “This is not shitty. This is good. Where did you get it from?” He noticeably relaxed, the doorway opening slightly more. 

“I made it using the espresso maker in the break room.” You said. “I worked in a coffee shop before I was old enough to work in bars. Shitty coffee has to do more with sleep deprivation than actual preferences.”

“True true.” He said, his lips pouting as he took another sip. The sound of a phone ringing in the studio cut through the air. He scowled, making no attempt to answer it.

“Is that your work phone?” You asked.

“Yes. I imagine it’s Jimin or one of BPD’s assistants.”

“So...shouldn’t you answer it?” You asked.

Yoongi shrugged and walked into his office, not bothering to shut the door. You took this as a slight invitation and followed him in. You took a brief look around before the phone rang again and you identified it’s location. You walked over and picked it up. “Genius Lab. This is [Y/N] speaking.” 

Yoongi turned around to ask what the fuck you were doing but then you had sounded so professional, he just plopped down in his work chair instead, a dumbfounded look on his face.

“I’m not sure. I’ll find out and get back with you. What’s the number?” You took out your phone and typed the information in. “Ok yes. Thank you.” You hung up the phone. 

“What are you doing exactly?” He asked. You weren’t sure if he was angry, amused, or confused. He was difficult to read sometimes.

You smirked. “Being your assistant. Would you like me to have this phone forward to mine so it doesn’t ring in here?” 

Yoongi’s eyes grew slightly wider, “You can do that?”

“Yep. There’s an app for it.” You responded, happy some of your previous office experience actually translated to this position.

“Yes. Please God yes.” He said quickly. 

You laughed, setting up the forwarding application. You picked up the phone to see what the number of the studio was. “Alright. I can at least triage some of the calls for you.” You said, satisfied with yourself. “Also. Ew.” You eyed a few take-out containers and coffee cups. “I’m coming back for...this.” You gestured to the room and excused yourself to get a trash bag. 

Yoongi sat there slightly dazed. He rarely let anyone into his studio and yet you had just come in, fixed his phone anxiety issue, and also scolded him. He scrolled through his phone, seeing the event on Saturday. It was annoying but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad with you and J-Hope there. Maybe. Even if it all was a stupid pretend performance.

You retrieved a trash bag from the break room and came back. You started cleaning without saying anything. It was becoming obvious that Jiwoo had spoken the truth, Yoongi really did spend most of his time in here. You made your way around the surfaces, throwing trash away. To your shock, Yoongi just sat there, drinking his coffee and scrolling through his phone.

“Thanks again for the towels and blankets. It was very thoughtful of you.”

“No problem.”

“Are we going to the party on Saturday?”

Yoongi looked up at you, “Sure.”

And just like that, you had committed to your first event at BigHit. “Alright, I’ll let Jin know.”

Yoongi shifted in his seat slightly, “is that who called?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Has he hit on you yet?”He asked casually, belying the fact that he was actually very interested in how you would react to the infamous flirt. 

You giggled. You were almost all the way done tidying up. “Of course. Have you seen his face? He had to let me know how in demand it is at all times.” You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, him and Namjoon stopped by the bar last week. Idiots.”

“Agreed.” Yoongi felt his body become more at ease with your answer. He didn’t know why he cared.

You looked around the spartan room. “Alright. I’m all done. Do you need anything else?”

Yoongi put his phone down. “Just to get back to my writing.”

You were so very curious but you didn’t want to intrude. “Sure thing. See you later.” You picked up your trash bag and left the room, shutting the door behind you. You were honestly surprised at how easy your day had been so far.  You sat the trash bag down by your cubicle, unsure of where to deposit it.  A text to Jiwoo about the dumpster and an RSVP to Jin about the party on Saturday and your day was almost done. You dropped the garbage off on your way to the apartment to switch out laundry. You were getting tired.

YN: Hey! I’m going to take a rain check for tonight. I am so tired and I still need to unpack ;-; I do want to though, so don’t think I’m blowing you off. Lunch tomorrow? 

JM: Shit I totally forgot you would need to unpack and everything. Sorry. No worries. Also, check your schedule, we have a huge design meeting around lunch time so they will most likely have it catered. I’ll buy you a drink on Saturday if you actually get Yoongi to attend.

You raised your eyebrows. It was on the schedule clear as day, on you and Yoongi’s calendar. Why wouldn’t he attend?

YN: Of course he’ll be there. Why wouldn’t he be?

JM: HAHAHAHA good luck. See you tomorrow!

It was already after five so you didn’t bother going back down to the office. You finished the laundry and finished your unpacking. And then you stood in the apartment just staring. The sun had gone down and the windows had a lovely view of the city. You could see part of the river and one of the many lit up bridges. You turned on the kitchen light. Shit. You had no idea what the food situation looked like here. Your stomach growled. You took some rice out of the cooker, leaving enough for Yoongi and sat at the countertop. 

You opened up your personal email. You had paid the dorm deposit for your brother, using your “disappear in the middle of the night and change your name again” emergency fund to pay for it. It had scared the shit out of you to pull all your money from savings and you still were secretly afraid that the job was lying about how much money it would pay you. Before you knew it, it was 9. 

YN: Hey, I ate some of the rice but I don’t want to just go through your kitchen. Do you want me to order or make anything?

No response. Ok. He was probably busy. You rifled through the cabinets. If his office was any indicator there should be at least a few ramyeon packs you could eat and replace. Bingo. You made a spicy prawn one and texted one more time.

YN: I owe you a spicy prawn ramyeon pack. Thanks again for everything. See you tomorrow.

You set the coffee maker for the next day and brush your teeth. You nestled into your new bed complete with one of your new fluffy blankets. You couldn't remember the last time you had your own bedroom. It was before your sister was born. The two of you had always shared a room. And then 7 years ago you started sharing a room with her and your niece. You took a deep breath, feeling as though you were letting 7 years of bullshit go all at once. If only it were all so simple. NEXT CHAPTER @lidda  @anpanman-sonyeondan  @firefairy1  @cuteipat  @sugaslittlekookies  @janeelizabeth1216 @deeepvibes @gxldenhunny

#bts fic #BTS suga #bts scenarios #bts suga x you #suga x you #suga x reader #suga x y/n #yoongi scenarios #bts yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts yoongi x reader #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts writing

[brideofcthulhu10]

How would the Lost boys react to having a motherly type of s/o?

OH MY GOD I DIDN'T KNOW TUMBLR POSTED THIS UNFINISHED! UGH STUPID APP! Okay, redo!

Cuuute. The boys could certainly use a motherly touch around, even Max had said that when he wanted to turn Lucy. For this I am gonna be writing a female s/o, if you ever want otherwise always be sure to specify ahead of time otherwise DM me and I’ll be sure to correct it. I love the idea one behind the scenes with the boys, after the late night partying and wild blood orgies. I mean, let's be realistic here- those guys probably smell like cigarettes and ass. That cave is no doubt absolutely filthy as hell, and I don’t think they’ve cleaned up a day of their afterlife. 

Lost Boys with a Motherly Fem!S/O

David

Now David isn’t exactly the type to be told what to do in almost any scenario. Well, almost. But even then he still prefers the majority of the control. It’s going to be a challenge to get anything done with him. Any sort of lectures or advice tend to fall on deaf ears simply because he and the boys have taken care of themselves for so long. Your best method of choice? STEALTH

I’m serious, you gotta be sneaky with this boy. He’ll wake up to you cleaning the hotel because you had assumed it was still daylight, or sweeping around when they go on hunts. Don’t fuck with the cobwebs, its an aesthetically pleasing decoration! Frankly, he’s just a brat who doesn’t like change. It’s gotten to the point however, where he can’t exactly stop you so he just decides to be a butt about it. Take-out trash litter the hotel lobby, he’ll even leave out half-full open containers and try to get some real maggots up in there. Not if you have anything to say about it! Sometimes he wonders how you can keep it as clean as you do.

You have no idea how absolutely rank a pack of teenage vampires can be. Especially with unwashed clothes. Seriously, David and Paul’s boots could make rats gag, the stank of unwashed vamp toes is gnarly. That can be a bit of a fight. Well someone has to get all those bloodstains out! What do you think they just vanished the next day? None of the boys want clean clothes, especially David. According to them you can't be badass vampires and have fresh pants. He’ll even hide his jacket from you on laundry day. How is he supposed to instill fear in the hearts of mortals when his jacket smells like FUCKING LAVENDER?

God help you if you try to make him bathe. The only way he’d concede is if you really went all out. Play to his ego, its the best way to get him to cooperate. After all, what man doesn’t want to be a king for a day. Especially one such as David. Once you finally, FINALLY get him in, then it's a fight to get him out. He’ll let off soft grunts when you massage shampoo through his scalp, leaning his head back with low, grumbling moans. Sometimes he’ll have you join him, even if you aren’t undressed. Yeah, he doesn’t care if you have your clothes on, time to get in. It's hotter when he sees your shirt tightly clinging to your bodice, although he'll huff that you had a bra underneath. If you try to peel off the soggy articles he won't let you. After all, if you got to strip him down, he gets to do the same to you. He'll take his time, and keep in mind the water isn't about to be clean for much longer.

Despite his protests, and he’d never admit it to the rest of the pack, but he really does love having someone caring for him. Being spoiled by his lover has some advantages, especially after a stressful day. Just laying back, having you rub his shoulders for a good minute, maybe suggesting he come over to your apartment and let you cook him a real meal for once. Sure you’ll be telling him how he needs to be more careful when he goes on hunts, but he can handle that much. You’re his precious doll, if it means a few lectures from you then he’ll put up with it. 

Dwayne

Dwayne is kind of the silent brother bear of the group so it’s a relief when he has someone who wants to take care of him. It makes him chuckle when you fret over him. Honey, he can fly, he’s not going to fall off the roof. Even if he did, it wouldn’t kill him! He’s lost count how many times you subtly, or not so subtly, toss around the subject of a helmet when he rides around. You’ll even try using persuasive ideas such as having it custom painted, maybe adding some spikes- anything just wear a stupid helmet! Again, he reminds you the threat of cracking his head open wasn’t exactly that daunting

When you’re on a cleaning spree he tends to stay out of your way. Granted he tried to help once, but you immediately shooed him out. You got it, just go sit down and quit futzing with stuff. On laundry day he’s a bit stubborn, but as long as you don’t wash his leather jacket, he’ll be fine. Seriously, do not touch his jacket. He cannot stress enough how bad it is to try and use water and soap to clean a leather jacket. NO. No touchy! So he’ll just sit in his underwear (personally I think it’d be boxer briefs) on the couch clinging to his jacket while you go off to the laundromat a few blocks over. Eventually you bought him lounge pajama pants for when you do laundry trips. At first he didn’t want to but… well they have a badass puma on them. It’d be rude to not wear it if you went through all that trouble to get that for him.

Unlike the other three, Dwayne doesn’t need much bribery to get in the tub. DO you have ANY IDEA the last time he had a god damn shower? He misses it, he doesn’t exactly like smelling like parfum de cul (kudos to any of you who know what that means ;) ). Oh just watch him sink into the tub as you massage his luxurious mess of dark hair, you swear sometimes he audibly purrs when you do. Its one of the few times Dwayne will let himself be completely vulnerable. He won’t necessarily force you to join him, but he would certainly love it you have your cute butt nestled between his legs where he could lather you up. But, I mean, that’s entirely up to you to refuse your ripped, completely naked boyfriend eyeing you up.

When he gets injured or sick, which you never expected that he could, you immediately go into hyperdrive. While he’d rather be out riding with the guys, he can’t help but love being pampered by his princess who always treats him like a king. You’ll shove him into Star’s old bed and demand he stay put, wiping his forehead down with a cold cloth. One would assume that someone with no body heat left would get a fever. Actually, it makes it worse. He won’t DIE from any illness, but it sure does suck when he gets them. Usually a few feedings will heal him up within a day, so you’ve started smuggling bags from blood drives and keeping them in a little cooler for him. Granted you only get him A or B blood, but he still appreciates all the effort you go to just for him. 

Paul

Paul loves it up until you make him do things he doesn’t want to. Typical guy. He DIED in a freaking bath tub, why the hell would you want to put him back in one?! It would take either a serious amount of strength or bribing to get him into one.

“It doesn't even have holy water Paul, just normal, plain, stupid water! You smell like a rat’s ass, will you please just get in?”

“I’d rather smell like ass!”

Yes, he may even try to bolt out of the room buck naked. Fuck you, try to catch him now! Did you hide his clothes?!

Your best bet is to play to his most vulnerable side: horny. Sure he refuses to get in the bath on his own, but add you naked covered in bubbles and it just became the best place to be. The blonde won’t even sulk when you’re sudsing up his hair because you’re too distracted to notice he’s about to cop a feel. He’ll just laugh like an idiot when you get mad, after all you put him in here in the first place. There will probably be tub sex, because dammit he deserves something for being such a good boy. Surprisingly he actually loves it when you use the hair dryer on him. It feels amazing, he doesn’t exactly get warm anymore so the sensation of heat rushing through freshly cleaned hair is just incredible

Paul is not a fan of laundry day, just like David. Again, you gotta chase him down. He’ll tease you the whole time though. 

“Babe if you wanted to just rip my clothes off me all you had to do was ask.”

You only leave him in his underwear because he doesn’t have anything else to change into. You never realized how much of a pain in the ass white pants were until you met him. Why the hell did he even have white pants in the first place? They show every damn stain! Paul will probably come with you to the laundromat. Its three in the morning, who cares if someone sees him in his boxers? Big deal! He’d even offer to go nude. You managed to find a pair of pajama pants and a band t-shirt he could wear on laundry day because this ass refuses to buy any other clothes. 

Paul thinks it’s absolutely adorable the way you dote on him. It’s a pain in the butt, but nothing is better than the tiny notes you leave for him when you go out. Or when you surprise the coven with a bunch of tupperware dishes full of real home cooked meals. Yeah being ragged on half the day is never fun but he knows that the only reason you do that is you care so much for him. You almost died when you thought he’d been killed, it was fair you got a bit over protective after. Besides, you were still his ride or die baby who did anything for him. Hell, last Valentine’s day you even went all around Santa Carla until you found someone who made him a mother fuckin Gene Simmons teddy bear, with the tongue out and everything. Paul loves you, nags and all

Marko

Probably one of the only boys to be a bit more cooperative when it comes to mothering him. After all, he’s the one being spoiled. It’s precious when you fret over him on a hunt out, warning him to avoid any hunters, fly safe, please don’t jump off any bridges. He’ll just hug you tight and assure you he’s gonna be fine. Yeah you’ll go one about how he should have a helmet when riding or raising concern when he tries something of questionable origin from the boardwalk vendors. But most of the time he just kind of tunes you out and smiles until you’re done.

He’s a sneaky boy, you oughta know that by now. You want him to take a bath? Only if you join him. You want to brush his hair out? Sure he’ll sit still… for ten kisses. Laundry day? Fine but he gets to come with. It’s hard not to laugh at him crouched up on the top of a dryer with his knees to his chest in only his underwear watching you throw in his pants and socks. He can’t help but grin when you throw him a side eye because of the stains all over his white shirt. Sheesh, him and Paul with the white clothes.  Again, please please PLEASE don’t wash his jacket. You will ruin it. He doesn’t care if you bombard it with air freshener until his sorry ass smells like Hawaiian Breeze, but do not ever wash it

It’s adorable the lengths you’ll go to for him. Last year when he told you they were just gonna have some hot wings and beers for Thanksgiving you flipped. Next thing they know you had them come over to your apartment as soon as the sun went down to a full spread. Paul actually ended up hugging you too. It looked like something out of a catalog. Two fatass turkeys filled to the brim with homemade stuffing, easily four pounds of mashed potatoes, gravy, bread rolls, the whole fucking thing! And veggies. Nasty. Sure the corn on the cob was bitchin, but asparagus? NO. Yeah you made Marko put some on his plate and half the time he just kept pushing his peas around until Paul flung one at him. Then it was a silent veggie war. After that they pretty much came over for any holiday. He’d be all over you just gushing over how happy he is that you went through so much hard work for him, for them. Even Max did fuckall besides what he had to, the guy wanted to toot his own horn about dad of the year but sucked ass at it. 

They start coming over so often that you bought black out curtains for every window in your house. Even during the day they could sleep in your guest room without fear of the sun. Well, the guys could. You had him tucked into your own room, still sleeping with his feet to the headboard for that upside down sense and his arms tightly pressed to his chest. He absolutely loves how much you care for him, especially after so many decades of being a filthy biker boy who feasted on the living. Even his vampirism didn’t send you away. You’d even keep a mini fridge in your room stocked with blood bags in case he craved a midday snack. Sometimes he’d awaken to you sleeping beside him and just savor those quiet moments with his baby. Maybe for Christmas this year he’d offer you the best gift he could think of. Who needs a wedding ring when you can offer an eternity with your angel instead? 

#lost boys 1987 #lost boys imagine #the lost boys #lost boys fanfiction #lost boys #fanfic #fanfiction writing #fanfiction #lost boys paul #80s movies #lost boys dwayne #lost boys david #lost boys fluff #vampire fluff #fluff imagine #fluff #cute #motherly #lost boys vampires #vampire boys #vampires #vampire #lost boys marko #answered #answered asks #answear #send asks #send me asks #character asks

[killemwithkawaii]

can i maybe get uhh sal comforting an s/o who’s stressed out with work? 🥺

I’m feeling this way too hard and had to write for it right away- I hope this ficlet helps relieve some of that work-related tension, my dear anon 🥺 

Sal comforting an s/o who’s stressed out with work-

>It had been quite the week for [y/n], to say the least 😤

>They entered their apartment dragging their feet, absolutely exhausted from yet another demanding shift. They kicked off their shoes and let out an exaggerated sigh as they locked the door behind them, finally home and able to relax, if only a little bit. Things at their workplace had been just... ridiculous. Things were being asked of them that were simply impossible- from customers, from their boss, from themselves... and they would have to be back in that hell-hole first-thing tomorrow to do it all over again (and the next day, and the next day, and the next day...)

>The stress of work and the desire to just do absolutely nothing otherwise had caused [y/n] to allow their living space to become a pig-sty, if they had to describe it frankly. Dishes were left in the sink to soak for days, there was clutter and unsorted mail piling up on every available space, laundry day was way over-due, and the bathroom was... unsuitable for guests. 🤢

>[Y/N] wanted nothing more than to face-plant into bed, once they had stripped off their work clothes and shoved some microwaved leftovers into their face. But they then realized that their lights were on when they had unlocked the door. They could have sworn they had turned them off when they'd left... but it had become a habit, and the memory was blurred with the every-day repetition. It wasn't until they heard faint noises coming from the other end of the apartment that they started to panic.

"Oh fuck...."

>Someone was definitely there. They could hear murmuring, cabinets being opened and shut, plastic and metallic objects being moved. Someone was going through their things.

"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck"

>In their tired and adrenaline-riddled state, [y/n] wielded the nearest improvised weapon they could find (a heavy cast-iron pan) and held it at-the-ready as they cautiously tip-toed down the short hallway. With all the bullshit they had gone through recently, there was no way they would let some two-bit thief take their stuff (or their life). 🍳

>[y/n] rounded the corner with the skillet raised and ready to strike, but froze when, instead of the anticipated criminal, they were face-to-face with their boyfriend, Sally. 

>Or rather, is was more face-to-behind? Sal was facing away from them, on his knees and leaned over the edge of the tub, scrubbing away at the basin and completely unaware that they were behind him, as he had the volume of his headphones up loud enough for [y/n] to hear the music playing through the speakers.  🎶

>He turned around to reach for the spray-bottle of bleach sitting beside him, but jumped when he saw [y/n] standing in the threshold to the bathroom 

"AH-! ...Oh man, [y/n], you scared me," he put one hand to his chest and lowered his headphones with the other, letting out the breath he had sucked in.

"I scared you?" they looked at him incredulously as they lowered the cooking implement they had been brandishing a moment before. "... and are you wearing an apron?"

>Taking in the whole picture, [y/n] gathered that Sal had come prepared, and had been in the apartment for quite some time- He was dressed in anticipation to get dirty and there were cleaning supplies scattered about, but other than that, the bathroom (as well as the kitchen, they realized) was immaculate. The counters were cleared, the mirror spotless, the floors were swept and the knickknacks dusted- hell, even the drawers had been reorganized and looked like [y/n] could finally find things instead of desperately digging around for what they needed to get ready right before a shift. He obviously had put in a lot of work while [y/n] had been gone. 🧹

"Well, I didn't want to stain my clothes, so..."

>The gravity of the situation began to dawn on them, and [y/n] suddenly felt a tear rush down their cheek. They quickly wiped it away, but as they did, one fell from the other eye, and they couldn't quite hide what was happening. They were overwhelmed- angry, grateful, embarrassed... touched?

"I thought I only gave you that spare key for emergencies..." [y/n] sniffed, trying and failing not to let their voice falter. Sal stared at them for a moment, then looked down at his hands as he fidgeted.

"I.. thought this kind of was an emergency-"

"You thought my apartment was so disgusting that it qualified as an emergency?"

"No! Well, kind of- no, no, it's not like that, I wanted it to be a surprise..." He was waving his hands frantically, trying to gather his thoughts, but eventually sighed and rose from the tile floor, his joints creaking ever so slightly as he straightened up and approached them.

"I just know things have been really tough for you at work lately," he took their hand and rubbed his thumb over their knuckles- up this close, Sal currently smelled like a combination of bleach and sweat, but for some reason, it wasn't as bad as it sounded. "I know you work really, really hard, [y/n]. You don't let yourself take a break, even when you honestly need one. It's easy to put off caring for yourself when people are expecting you to do so much. I wanted to help take some of that burden off your hands..." 👉👈

>[y/n] couldn't hope to hide their tears any longer, and so they didn't. Their shoulders heaved with a sob as Sal embraced them. "Ugh, I'm just so embarrassed...- I'm an adult! I should be able to take care of myself!.. I can't believe I let it get so bad..."

>Sal let out a curt laugh, "Oh, babe, trust me- I have seen SO MUCH WORSE. This place was the friggin' Taj Mahal compared to some of the bathrooms I've been in..." he shuddered at the recollection of his previous ghost-hunting adventures (which always seemed to take place in nasty bathrooms) before wrapping his arms tighter around [y/n]. 

"It was no trouble, [y/n], honestly. I just want you to be able to take it easy and relax for a change- you deserve it. And, if that means I have to spend some time on my hands and knees scrubbing grout, then I'm willing to accept that fate," he said, just a little dramatically.

>[y/n] chuckled and nuzzled into Sals neck, feeling like the luckiest person alive with the best partner ever. Who else but Sal Fisher would say something so damn sweet? They were so lucky to have him~

"...well, you know you don't have to be scrubbing grout in that position to help me relax, Sally..."  💕

"Aw, [y/n]... like i said, I don't mind if it's for you~ .... ...-wait, hey!!" 😳💘

#K.E.W.K. writes #sally face #sal fisher #sal fisher x y/n #sal fisher x s/i #sal fisher x reader #selfshipping #selfship #f/o #fictional other #sally face imagine #sally face fanfiction #sorry steve #i have daydreamed about this scenario way too many times lmao #work sucks i know

[be11atrixthestrange]

Step 9: Making Plans

From 12 Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Hermione Granger

Making Plans

A successful relationship means aligning your future. It's important to include one another in decisions, communicate your goals clearly, and remember your choices will affect your partner. Moving the relationship forward is a joint effort, and clear communication will make clear plans, and help manage the unexpected.

*****

If Ron could pinpoint one major difference between himself and Hermione, it would be this: Hermione was a planner, and Ron was not. During their school years, Ron frequently relied on Hermione's revising schedules before exams, or at least he tried to before inevitably entering examination rooms at least somewhat unprepared. During the horcrux hunt, he figured the best way to do something was just to do it, and he felt that Hermione's strategizing slowed them down quite a bit. They ended up going into the battle of Hogwarts without a plan, and everything (for the most part) worked out just fine— nothing that planning more would have fixed.

More recently, Hermione made an itinerary for a vacation to Italy. They managed to sync time off from their busy schedules, and Ron was ecstatic about some free time in a new country that he'd never been to before. Then he saw Hermione's hour by hour schedule for the week, and suddenly, their holiday felt like another busy week at work. She had spreadsheets— some barmy muggle organizing systems— to keep track of their shared finances and bills, and she planned each purchase before she made it. She meal-prepped, and bought groceries accordingly. She even had a system for apartment chores— the kitchen was always cleaned on Sundays and laundry was done on Saturdays, and if Ron shook it up it caused a domino effect that he couldn't even begin to predict.

He loosened her up quite a bit though. After seeing their Italy itinerary, he encouraged her to cross out half of it, and just wing it. She obliged, but not without scowling, and as a result, they discovered new corners of wizarding Italy that they would never have found in guidebooks, because Ron met the right person in a bar. When she got her end of year bonus at work, he encouraged her not to save all of it, just be a little bit irresponsible for once, and he came home to find that floor to ceiling bookshelves now lined the walls of their sunroom, filled to the brim with new, crisp, untapped stories. There were those nights when Ron convinced her to dress up and dine out with him even when she'd already made a plan for dinner. She might act inconvenienced at first, but there was always a gleam in her eye when she donned that fancy dress that never got worn, and they split not one, but two bottles of wine and ordered food they couldn't even pronounce. And of course, their home was usually spotless thanks to the chore schedule she'd made for them, but Ron liked it best when the laundry piled up a little, and dishes were left in the sink, and they distracted each other enough not to care.

Hermione begrudgingly agreed that she could let go and life happen every now and then, and Ron was quite good at adding a little bit of the unexpected into their relationship. And ultimately, Ron respected her commitment to planning, and admitted more of it would serve him well. That's why the next day would test both of them.

On their date tomorrow, Ron was going to ask her to marry him. He had it all planned out, down to every detail. The entire day was scheduled for them, just how she liked it. But the best part of the plan was that she was not expecting it at all.

They'd discussed it of course— he was quite confident she'd say yes. He wouldn't dare ask her otherwise.

Their discussions of marriage had evolved over the last few years. The first time he brought it up was after one year of living together. Ron figured that was enough time together, and engagement seemed like a logical next step for them.

He didn't propose to her, he simply asked her what she'd say if he did. It took him quite a bit of courage to ask her that, and unfortunately, her answer was not one Ron wanted, nor expected. Between "it's too soon" and "not enough time together" and "way too young" he regretted asking.

Granted, he didn't bring it up in an ideal manner. It was after a Friday night at the bar with Harry, Dean, Neville, and Seamus, and Ron hadn't exactly demonstrated the most mature version of himself. They were both drunk upon their return home, so his slurred inquiry fell upon the most stubborn, uninhibited, and emotional side of Hermione. Ron, who was slightly hurt by her response, reluctantly put the subject to rest.

He brought it up two years later at her cousin's wedding. Holly— Ellie's younger sister, who bore a striking resemblance to Hermione— wore a beautiful white dress that Ron couldn't help but picture on Hermione. He danced with her all evening, similar to the way they danced at his own brother's wedding years prior.

"Holly's dress is beautiful, isn't it?" she asked him.

Ron nodded against her head as they swayed on the dance floor. "It would look better on you." He braced himself for an unfavorable response. He was afraid she'd react the way she did that first time, but she needed to know it was on his mind. "I'd love to see you in a wedding dress someday, Hermione."

His heart was pounding, and his ears grew warmer, but he relaxed a little when she settled more heavily against him. "Someday, you will."

Not even a flock of canaries could have wiped the goofy grin from his face.

A year after that, Harry proposed to Ginny. Hermione was her maid of honor, and as expected, she jumped whole-heartedly into planning. The combination of Hermione's immaculate organization skills, Ginny's creativity, and Harry's money made their wedding one of the most fun and extravagant events Ron had ever been to.

Ron remembered waking up next to her the morning after. The periwinkle bridesmaid dress Ginny had chosen for her looked even better crumpled up on the floor beside their bed, and she'd never been more gorgeous with her matted hair and smeared makeup. They felt like hell— both had taken advantage of the open bar after fulfilling their wedding party duties, and neither could remember apparating back to their bedroom, but no one was splinched, and that's what mattered.

"Well, that was something," said Ron, recalling the blurry details of the night before. The live band, the five-course meal, the chocolate fountain, and Harry and Ginny's mystery cocktails made for the most memorable night that they couldn't recall.

"Is it bad that I'm glad it's over?" Hermione asked groggily.

Ron laughed. "No. It was a lot of work."

"Tell me about it," she said turning toward him. "When we get married, let's do something simple."

Ron was quite taken aback by how casually she mentioned this future wedding he'd heard nothing about. "When, or if?"

She smiled, as if clarifying was part of her plan. "When."

Ron beamed, and pulled her closer. "In that case, I'm going to propose to you, Hermione."

She beamed back. "Are you doing that now?"

"No," he said. "It's going to be a surprise."

"I hate surprises," she said cautiously. "So just so you're prepared, I'm going to say yes."

*****

The rest of the winter holiday break passed without many hiccups. Sure, there was a bicker every now and then, but it was nothing compared to their Hogsmeade fight, and always maintained a rather playful tone. They spent the majority of their daytime with Harry and Ginny, occasionally popping by the burrow for a meal. Molly mentioned they seemed just as comfortable with each other now than they did that summer, "as if no time had passed." Harry and Ginny's eye rolls and sarcastic comments just reassured Ron that no one had noticed the rift they had recently repaired.

Hermione seemed to be making a visible effort to show affection, and Ron appreciated her for it. Upon learning that he needed just a little more reassurance, she had buried any qualms she once had about holding his hand under the table at the burrow, or chastely kissing him in the garden when they weren't alone, or even leaning up against him on the living room sofa, and gently stroking his hair while his brothers smiled knowingly. She was even less inhibited in the bedroom. They spent their evenings thoroughly exploring each other's bodies, now that a new door had been opened. Sex quickly became Ron's new favorite activity, although he felt like a walking teenage stereotype admitting it. It wasn't just the physical pleasure— something about the new level of knowledge he now possessed about Hermione solidified his status as her partner. As if a new book in a series had just been released, he suddenly felt like his favorite fantasy world had expanded. He made it a goal to absorb this new knowledge as respectfully and with as much admiration as he possibly could, taking immense pleasure in the fact that he was even allowed to be there.

Ron had dreaded the second half of the holiday, because he had to go back to training, and she was leaving for Australia to visit her parents. Knowing Pigwidgeon would never be able to make that flight— not once, not twice, not nearly as many times as Ron would actually consider enough— he mentally prepared himself to go an entire week without hearing from Hermione. He also decided to call that progress— since two weeks ago, that would have felt like nothing.

They woke up together on the morning she had to leave. When she attempted to slide out of bed, he slipped his arm around her to prevent her.

"Don't leave," he mumbled into her hair.

"I have to," she said sadly. "I wish you could come with me."

"I can't." He tightened his arm around her and pressed his lips to her neck. "I wish I could write to you."

"Oh that reminds me," she said, wrestling out of Ron's grip. "I have another present for you." She leaned over the bed and pulled something shiny out of her bag.

"What's that?"

"Here," she said, placing one small gold coin in Ron's hand, and keeping another for herself.

"A galleon?"

"A fake one."

"Hold on, is this one of our DA galleons?"

"Yes! But I enchanted it further. Watch." She pulled out her wand and tapped the tip to the center of the coin, concentrating hard. The words "Hi Ron!" appeared. She showed him her coin, and the words had appeared on both.

Ron was dumbstruck. "We can communicate without owls?"

"Yes!" said Hermione.

"How did you think of this?"

"It's based on muggle technology, actually," she said. "My parents use pagers to communicate."

"I love muggles," said Ron, pulling her in for another hug. "And you."

"Love you too," she said, before pressing her lips to his. Her hands started to wander, and Ron forgot about the DA coins for the next few moments.

The new DA coins got quite a bit of use over the next week while Hermione was in Australia, and to Ron's excitement, when she went back to Hogwarts. It suddenly Ron felt like a wall had crumbled, and he had access to her daily life and thoughts. There was nothing better than feeling the gold coin in his pocket warm up, and seeing a short but telling message scrawled across the front. The short snippets of conversation helped him stay caught up on her thoughts.

...

Hermione: I just took a shot with my dad, what is happening?

Ron: Been there! Did he at least give you his expensive gin?

...

Ron: I'm pretty sure Harry is singing to himself in the shower. He's not bad, actually.

Hermione: You should join him!

Ron: …

...

Hermione: What are you up to?

Ron: Eating.

Hermione: Go figure

...

Ron lived for these kinds of conversations. "Don't accidentally spend it!" was what she had told him, as if anything would be remotely worth it.

Although the coins were great for constant access to communication, they were not ideal for detail. When Hermione went back to school, he continued his weekly letters, and was pleasantly surprised that she did too.

The letters picked up where the coins left off, and rather than catching each other up on their daily lives, they used them to make plans. With the letters, they could fully detail their Hogsmeade plans, provide more context for their texts, and even begin discussing their ideas for term-end. Ron used a letter to suggest that Hermione move into Grimmauld Place with him and Harry after graduation, and he was thrilled that he didn't have to wait anxiously for pig to bring back her response, which was a resounding yes.

They didn't include all plans in their letters, because Hermione still managed to surprise him for his birthday. He came home from work on March 1st to find her sitting at their kitchen table with a big smile on her face.

"How did you get here?"

"Floo!" she said as she launched into his arms. "I told McGonagall it was an emergency."

"And what was the emergency," Ron said, hugging her so tightly that he lifted her off his feet.

"Your birthday!"

"And she let you leave?" he asked incredulously. She nodded. "I thought you hated surprises," he continued.

"I do, but I know you like them."

"I love them," he told her. "But I have to work this weekend —"

"No, you don't!" she said. "Harry's covering for you."

Ron beamed. "Really? He's in on this?"

She nodded. "Least he can do, for all the years he spent, you know, getting in our way."

Harry was not there to interfere that night, and thankfully, she had even more surprises planned for him. Ron didn't wake up predicting sex that day, and he definitely hadn't expected her to be wearing lacy lingerie under her school robes. One of the best surprises was how confidently she led him to his room, and pushed him onto the bed, expertly undoing the buttons of his jeans while her mouth never left his. His attraction to her was only multiplied by how unafraid she was to tell him what she wanted, and less surprising, but still unexpected, was his discovery of how much he liked being told what to do. Auror training had given him plenty of practice in taking orders, but until that night, he'd never enjoyed being so obedient.

It was the best birthday that Ron could remember. They spent the entire weekend in bed, either making love, or not making love, and he was grateful for all of it. Only three more months until they could do this every night, which reminded Ron to continue the disjointed conversation they'd been having over enchanted galleons.

"So I know you were planning on moving in here," he started. "What if we got our own place?"

"What about Harry?"

"What about him?" asked Ron.

"Won't he be lonely without you?"

Ron snorted. "He'll have Ginny."

Hermione looked at him through narrowed eyes. "So he told you she's moving in?"

"I knew you knew!" he said playfully.

"You're ok with it?"

"No, but I don't want to live with it, I would feel better if we got our own place."

They agreed to wait until term ended to officially start apartment hunting, so that Hermione could fully focus on completing her NEWTS and job applications. When she went back to school, their communication faltered a little bit, but it didn't bother Ron as much as it did their first term, because he knew exactly why her letters were shorter, and he was thrilled she was making the effort.

Her letters were still detailed enough that he knew of each job application she submitted, and he could feel her excitement about one particular one— an entry-level position in the office of magical law. The open position specifically dealt with updating and passing laws regarding the rights of magical creatures and Ron felt that Hermione was completely mental to think she was anything but a shoe-in.

They planned to meet at the ministry for lunch before her interview, and Ron showed up expecting nothing short of panic from Hermione. He sat through lunch acting as an interviewer, and let her rehearse her answers and talking points for her entire meal. He probably asked her more questions about S.P.E.W that day than he ever did during their school years, and he was quite impressed to learn how much she knew about magical law, even though it was never a subject at Hogwarts. He might be biased, but if he were really interviewing her, he'd hire her on the spot.

"You're going to be amazing, you know that?"

"I'm going to fail."

"They'd be lucky to have you," he told her, leaning in for a kiss across the table. He truly felt that way, they'd have to be idiots not to hire her, but again, he might be biased.

She trembled the whole way into her interview. Before she entered the interview room, he stopped her, and pulled her into his arms. "Just take five deep breaths, Hermione." He held her there, syncing his breathing up with hers, just like he did when she had a nightmare. Eventually, he felt her shoulders relax, and her spine straighten. "You can do this. You're brilliant."

"Thank you." She smiled gratefully and kissed him goodbye, or at least what she thought was goodbye. What she didn't know was that Ron had taken the afternoon off, and would be taking her out for a— likely celebratory— drink when the interview was over.

He sat down on a hallway bench and waited.

Hermione was beaming when she left the room an hour later, followed by two older, official-looking ministry employees. Ron stood as they each shook Hermione's hand. He couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but they appeared to be making plans.

She bid them goodbye and turned to see Ron standing there. Ron smiled nervously— he knew she hated surprises. "You're still here?"

Ron nodded. "I figured you'd need a drink—"

He was interrupted by her flinging herself into his arms. "They hired me!"

Ron lifted her off her feet and kissed her, and in a way, it felt like their first kiss in the Room of Requirement. He didn't care that people he knew were passing them in the hallways, and some of them might be Hermione's future coworkers. He didn't care that snogging his girlfriend in a crowded ministry hallway contradicted the excuse he used to get out of work early— he wasn't coming down with anything contagious other than genuine elation.

They apparated back to Hogsmeade, and he took her out for a celebratory butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. It wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend, so the bar was relatively empty, save for a few professors, but Ron and Hermione didn't care. They made their way to their favorite booth in the back of the bar, and toasted to Hermione's new job, because their plans were falling into place beautifully, like dominoes that had been so precariously set over the past eight years they'd known each other.

They spent that evening making plans, and all of their plans came true. Hermione aced her N.E.W.T.S. She graduated with top marks, and celebrated at the burrow with his family. She moved into Grimmauld Place temporarily, and after just two short weeks of researching and touring apartments, they moved into their very own flat. It was in a muggle neighborhood, but had a second guest room and was right on a train line so her parents could visit, but the thing that made it perfect was that she lived there. In a way, that evening at the Three Broomsticks felt like the first day of the rest of their lives— their future finally felt clear, and they could plan for it. But when she unexpectedly ordered another round, not of butterbeer— of firewhiskey, and suggested they rent a room at the Hog's head to keep celebrating, he realized some of the best parts of his future with her would be entirely unplanned.

#ROMIONE #hpromione #ronweasley #Hermione Granger #ron x hermione #ron and hermione #hp fanfic #hp ficlet #romione fanfic

[littlespoonevan]

Love your fics! If you’re still taking prompts, what about one where Ian loses his ring and he frantically searches for it before Mickey finds out 🤓

thank you!! okay i’ve had a headache legit all night so this may not be up to my usual standard but hopefully it’s still a nice read!! :’)

(gentle reminder i’m not accepting prompts right now while i finish the ones in my inbox work on my longfic!

*

Contrary to popular belief, the only time Ian ever takes off his wedding and engagement rings iswhen he’s afraid they’ll get ruined. Like when he’s washing the dishes orcleaning the bathroom or whatever. His rings symbolise his commitment to Mickeyand nothing on the planet is more important to him than his commitment toMickey so he takes care of his rings. And sometimes that means taking them offto keep them safe.

Well, the goal isto keep them safe.

Ian had been on dish-washing duty tonight and it hadbeen a particularly messy affair with them cooking lasagne for seven peopleplus Franny and Freddie’s food. Looking at the cheesy, sauce-y mess that wasthe sink and surrounding area he’d slipped off his rings, carefully placed themon the windowsill behind the sink and gotten to work.

And really, it’s Mickey’s fault he hadn’t put themback on.

Ian had just been finishing up with the last platewhen he’d felt arms slide around his waist.

Glancing over his shoulder, Ian had grinned at thesight of Mickey’s wry smile and raised eyebrows. “You done yet, firecrotch?Your family are significantly more unbearable without you there to distract me.”

“Sure, that’s why you’re in here,” Ian had scoffed,looking pointedly at Mickey’s hands drifting lower towards his belt buckle.

Squeezing his hips, Mickey had forced him to turnaround and, well, Ian had gotten a little distracted with kissing his husbandthen, his hands otherwise occupied.

It’s only as they’re getting ready for bed later thatnight that he realises his hand is bare. Eyes widening in panic, he looks toMickey but Mickey’s not paying any attention to him, too busy picking up therandom pieces of clothing littering the floor to throw into their laundry pile.

“I’m just gonna get a glass of water,” Ian tells him,slipping out of the room as casually as he possibly can before he races downthe back staircase to the kitchen. He makes a beeline for the sink immediatelyand very nearly has a stroke when he realises the window sill is empty.

Fuckingfuck. Where the fuck are his rings?

Trying not to freak out, he searches all around thesink area, for once cursing the fact that he made sure the counter was spotlessearlier. It just makes it even more obvious that his rings aren’t there.

Okay, it’s fine. It’s fine. Someone probably just moved them.

Ian spots Carl still sprawled out in the living roomwatching TV so he corners him first.

“Hey, did you move my rings?”

Carl pauses the TV, looking up at him in confusion. “Shouldn’tyour rings be on your finger?”

Ian huffs, rolling his eyes. “I took them off when Iwas doing the dishes,” he explains impatiently. “Did you move ‘em?”

“Nah, sorry, man,” Carl says and he looks too sincereto be lying. “Ask Debbie. She was cleaning up around the kitchen before shewent to bed.”

Ian nods his thanks before hurrying back upstairs andknocking quietly on Debbie’s door. He waits for her call of, “Come in,” beforehe opens her door and steps inside. “Did you move my rings when you were in thekitchen?” he asks hopefully.

Debbie looks up from where she’s tucking a blanketaround Franny, a frown on her face. “Your wedding ring? No, sorry.”

Ian’s mouth twists into a tight line and he closeshis eyes. He’s so fucked. “Did you see ‘em at all?”

Debbie shrugs. “Not since they were on your finger.Maybe Liam knows.”

Ian sighs and trudges down the hall, silently gratefulMickey is in the bathroom as he makes his way to Liam’s room.

“Did you move my wedding rings?” Ian asks himsomewhat desperately.

Liam glances up from the books he’s reading and atleast has the decency to look concerned. “No, I haven’t seen them.”

And that’s it. Ian is officially about to have aheart attack. Shit, Mickey is gonna kill him.

“Mickey’s gonna kill you,” Liam says and Ian groans,collapsing against the wall.

“I know,” he says, forcing himself to take asteadying breath. Where the fuck could they have gone?

“Why don’t you call Lip?” Liam suggests. “Maybe he orTami saw them before they left?”

Ian nods miserably. “Thanks, buddy.”

After an unsuccessful phone call with Lip Ian findshimself back in the kitchen, scanning the counters again just in case. It’s ashe’s on his third sweep of the place that a horrific thought crosses his mind.He stares at the sink and feels dread rise up in his chest.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

There’s no way they fell down the sink.

They couldn’t have.

Jesus Christ, Mickey’s gonna ask for a divorce if they went down the sink.

Before he can think better of it, Ian grabs thetoolbox from the shelf above the washer and opens the cabinet doors under thesink. If he’s lucky, they’re just stuck in the u-bend. He’s in the middle ofattempting – pretty unsuccessfully – to unscrew the pipe when he hears, “Ian,what the fuck are you doing?”

Mickey’s voice takes him by surprise and in his hurryto sit up he ends up whacking his forehead off the pipe. “Fuck!” he exclaims,dropping back down and putting a hand to his head.

“Jesus Christ,” he hears Mickey mutter before stronghands are helping ease him out from under the sink.

Once he’s sitting up, Ian leans back against thecabinet door and screws his eyes shut.

“Why the fuck you tryna be a handyman at 11pm?”Mickey asks, squeezing his shoulders.

Ian opens his eyes, smiling weakly when he meetsMickey’s worried gaze. “Sink’s clogged.”

“And that can’t wait ‘til the morning because…?”

Fuck. Ian drops his gaze, knowing lying is just gonnamake this whole situation worse. “Okay,” he says, taking a steadying breath. “Pleasedon’t be mad and remember that I love you.”

“Two things every guy wants to hear,” Mickey snortsbut his thumb is still grazing over Ian’s collarbone reassuringly.

Closing his eyes and bracing himself for what’s sureto be a night spent on the couch, he says, “I think my rings went down thesink.”

He waits for the onslaught, for the tirade, but itdoesn’t come. After a few seconds too long of silence he looks at Mickey andsees a slight furrow between his brows but none of the fury he expected.

“Your rings are upstairs on the nightstand,” Mickeysays.

Ian blinks. “What? No they’re not.”

“Yeah, they are,” Mickey says slowly. “I saw ‘em onthe window sill earlier so I brought them upstairs to keep them safe.”

Ian stares at him, dumbfounded. “Are you serious?”

Mickey huffs a laugh and stands up, taking hold ofboth of Ian’s hands to haul him up. “Can you stand with that giant bump on yourhead, dumbass?”

“You seriously brought them upstairs?” Ian asks disbelievinglyas Mickey leads him back upstairs.

Mickey doesn’t say anything until they get to theirroom, coming to a stop by their bed and letting go of Ian’s hands to point atthe nightstand where, sure enough, both his rings sit neatly next to the lamp.

“I-“

“You’re an idiot,” Mickey says amusedly, shaking hishead as he picks up the rings. Turning to Ian, he takes hold of his left handand carefully slides the rings back onto his finger.

Ian swallows hard, folding his fingers through Mickey’sand leaning their foreheads together. “I really wasn’t bein’ careless, y’know?I was tryna be the opposite actually.”

Mickey breathes a laugh, free hand skimmingcomfortingly over Ian’s arm. “I know you only take your rings off so nothinghappens to them. Why didn’t you just ask me?”

Ian sighs, feeling his cheeks heat up inembarrassment. “I asked everyone else,” he admits but he knows that’s notreally an answer. “I don’t know, guess I figured you’d be pissed if you thoughtI lost my rings.”

Mickey leans back to meet his gaze and his expressionis mildly sheepish. “Look, I know I was a little uptight about the rings in thebeginning but Ian, you’re my husband. Have been for months. And I don’t need tosee a ring on your finger to know that.”

Ian gets that. He knows there had been a lot more uncertaintybetween them back then and it’s not really comparable to them now, six monthsmarried, building a life together and actually communicating likefully-functioning adults.

“It’s still important though,” Ian says, handtightening around Mickey’s. “I didn’t want you to think I lost it because I didn’tcare or I was being an idiot.”

Mickey nods, grips the back of his neck reassuringlyand lifts his mouth in a half-smirk. “You were kinda being an idiot though.”

“Yeah alright, asshole,” Ian huffs, rolling his eyesexasperatedly when Mickey laughs and wraps his arms more firmly around him.

“Can we go to fuckin’ bed now or you got any otherDIY projects you need to do?”

Winding his arms around Mickey’s waist, Ian nods,kissing him soundly on the mouth. “Let’s go to bed.”

He’ll figure out a way to surgically attach his ringsto his finger tomorrow.

*

#gallavich #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #shameless #my fics #Anon #asks

[kiefbowl]

DA if you make more than your boyfriend, does that mean you're subsidizing his existence so he can live beyond his means? I'm trapped in the usual patriarchal arrangement, where I make more than 25k less than my boyfriend and I do household chores while he pays the majority of the rent. If this isn't too invasive (and I totally apologize if I'm asking too much of your personal life), when the roles are reversed and the woman is the breadwinner, what are his responsibilities? How do you make everything fair?

He’s not living beyond his means, he got a new job before we moved in and we were suddenly making equal (before then I was still making more). Then a few months into living together, I got a new job and got a big bump. Our apartment is nicer than what we could afford separately, but we were both living on our own before. We consider what we owned separately before moving in as belonging to that person still, and a couple big purchases we’ve made we’ve split them. We each pay in full an equal amount of bills, so the amount is probably the same but we don’t penny pinch about that. We split rent evenly. We try to split groceries evenly but sometimes I forget to ask/he forgets to pay, since I do the shopping (I have a car so I’ve been doing the shopping during covid). If it really made that big of a dent in my account, I’d probably be a little more uptight than that, but because I’m making a nice amount of money it’s fine. Sometimes he realizes we haven’t split it in awhile and just pays me in full for the trip. When it comes to eating out/ordering in/buying stuff for house ad hoc., we just switch it up or buy what we need. We’re not really keeping that much track of it. It’s not worth it splitting hairs, but it’s probably even in number of times rather than total price. Everything about my car, I pay for. Obviously I drive him places sometimes, but I don’t care. It’s MY car, and he doesn’t drive it. I bought the car to be convenient for me and my friends. We do NOT have any joint accounts, and have never talked about it.

I gave him one rule when we moved in: I would NOT be doing his laundry ever. And I haven’t. And I never will. We’ve had a bit of spat when I pointed out I will remember to change and wash the sheets of our bed (he told me I could “remind him” - he did not win that fight let me tell you lol), but otherwise he has his towels, and I have mine. I also don’t manage anything about his life. He keeps his health appointments, his work appointments, his friend appointments. We just tell each other what’s going on in our lives.  He’s definitely better at some chores than me, and he does them. He has a bit of a ritual of getting the dishes in/out of the dishwasher before his shift. Dishwasher helps tremendously to split that chore of course. He will wash dishes too, and he usually takes out the trash since we live on the third floor and I don’t want to do it lol. I’m usually the one doing the bathroom cleaning stuff, I do get annoyed by it sometimes because I know it’s because he doesn’t really know what to do, but I also don’t want to teach him and I’ve always enjoyed cleaning the bathroom. We keep a fairly tidy place, but we’ll usually have big “spring cleaning” Saturdays together, and I don’t have to tell him much what to do. I would say, our chores are probably not even, I probably do more and do more better and see more than he does, but he definitely does chores. I think he knows well enough what my reaction would be if I felt I was doing more than my share (and I guess that’s the rub, even though I’m aware I “probably” do more, I can’t quantify it and I’m mostly okay that it’s “my share”). He didn’t know his ass from his head about cooking, but we’ve been doing blue apron together and I’ve been teaching him stuff, so that’s more like a couples “activity” we do together, and I’ve taught him how I like my eggs so he’ll make me eggs in the morning when we have them.  I guess all that is to explain that even as a breadwinner, I do not “punish” him for making less. I have an expectation that we are companions, and I think he for the most part rises to the occasion. I feel painfully aware when I feel he doesn’t in ways I probably wouldn’t have been able to articulate if I hadn’t really discovered feminism, but on the other hand that has also made it easier for me to talk to him about it. It also helps that we’re not enmeshed (see: I don’t keep his calendar). I also don’t want to imagine what would happen if we had a kid, he’s never really been around a baby before in his life.  Because he’s a man, I don’t have to make life fair for him, even though I make more. I worked hard to make sure I didn’t have to depend financially on a man. The move in was beneficial for both of us. I didn’t make the decision flippantly, I thought about it long and hard and really reflected on what things I know I could “expect” and what my tolerance for that was and how I personally would react. I wouldn’t do that for just any man. And he and I have our issues atm, but it’s mostly about sex and the future, and not about money. I’m keenly aware that money has helped me gain independence from all sorts of compromises, because I was pretty poor for a long time. 

I think if your boyfriend is pricing out your labor as rent relief, that tells you a lot about how much he values a clean home and how much he doesn’t want to do it. I think there are ways to live with a clear breadwinner where most things are still equal rather than fair, it just depends on who wants to be in the relationship more and on what terms. 

[natsukitakama]

Domestic headcanon with ManBun Eren (College AU)

Author note : That’s a very cute request especially with man bun Eren, at time like this we definitely need some fluff about him. I really enjoy writing in college AU I might write something about it too ♡ I hope I did justice to your request. If you want to be tag for any Snk’s content please let me know. 

Warning : Fluff / Slight NSFW (mention of people getting horny but nothing dirty) / Mention of alcohol (be careful) 

i do not own that glorious picture credit(s) to the owner(s) 

Masterlist 

After couple of month, Eren knew he wanted to live with you. So after some jobs and lot of research. You finally found what you were looking for. 

It was a cute flat not that long from your College but far enough. You guys have such a gorgeous place, see the cute flat picture on Pinterest ? You definitely take your inspiration on it. 

Eren isn’t into decorating but still has good taste, plus you seemed so exciting about it he couldn’t not follow you. He was like a lost puppy and all he did was following you into the whole shop not knowing what do do. At the end he helped you finding the right color for each room and decided what would be good for your living room (he wanted a corner sofa and won’t leave until he find it) 

After two months of work, you guys have your own house. You never be so excited before

You wanted to have a bath tube and he wanted an Italian shower (it was a way more convenient for him), but you quickly change your mind when he told you how you could shower together. 

Qu you guys have your « couple routine » quite quickly for example you always have to wake Eren up otherwise he’ll miss his class. Since you weren’t studying the same thing, you managed to always call five times Eren when you weren’t around so he will know he has to wake up. Basically when it came to wake someone up, you have to do this because he could be a bit lazy : he used to love to sleep and now that you shared your bed, having you as his side while cuddling, why should he wake up ? 

As a make up, he’ll always do the breakfast especially when you were on day-off (meaning you don’t have class or it was cancelled) and when he can’t thank you by making you break fast he will cook for the night so you don’t have to bother about it

He is pretty chill man to live with, the man is everything but not messy. He can’t work properly if his place is a mess. He doesn’t bother do some cleaning too, so when you are in class and he doesn’t if he noticed the place need to be clean he’ll do it. 

He is pretty good at cleaning the window so he’ll do it 

He can do everything dished, housework but not Laundry 

One day he tried to wash couple of his t-shirt and … well let’s say he has to buy some t-shirt cause he doesn’t have anymore. So in order to keep your clothe as long as possible you have to do the laundry. 

When it came to cook, you decided to make a schedule since you didn’t work the same day or the same hours : you established a shift who seemed to work. Both of you aren’t a great cooker but neither of you complained. 

You did a lot of things together especially during weekend, Netflix and chill are a must. One day Eren propose to shower together so you won’t waste too much water, but you know better, it was just a way for him to grab you, caress you easily. 

You tried to work-out together but it never works. Not that you didn’t want to work out but you just couldn’t stop staring at your boyfriend’s glorious body : everytime you saw him wearing nothing but a pant to work-out you just couldn’t stop staring at his abs, back and his incredible arms so yeah it’s always ending the same way : by you taking him into your bedroom. So for the sake of everyone especially your libido you work-out at different places.

Speaking of your Sex-life, if you thought your boyfriend has huge sex-drive when you were dating, it became worse now that you sharing a house. In fact, Eren couldn’t stop himself for lusting about you sharing a flat meaning he could see you more often especially after having a shower wearing nothing but a towel or when you were wearing that gorgeous pajamas. Can’t explain it you just have a huge effect on him. 

Remember when I said he doesn’t laundry ? Well he can’t fold his clothes either. He has no excuse cause Carla and you tried to teach him how to fold a piece of clothe properly but everythime he does it you found a ball of clothe in your closet. So after lecturing him about it you just not allowed him to fold anything or even touching the washing machine. 

Like i said before, he is pretty simple man but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t got demand : In fact there one thing you’ll have to submit, Pizza on Saturday. You don’t even know how it started but Eren get the habits of eating pizza on every Saturday since he was in college. When you used to date you couldn’t skip pizza’s day don’t expect to skip it now that you share a house. 

As mentioned from the beginning, Eren is not quite found of decoration his student room used to be pretty simple, he is not materialist yet he might appreciate having great poster or some goodies from a fandom he loves but that’s it. He let you decorate the whole house and only give his opinion when you ask for (he is the one who suggest to put a stone wall for the kitchen). Despite his lack of interest on design he has pretty good taste 

Speaking of your house, you don’t know if it’s a « couple thing » or just you being weird but you bought too many fluffy plaid. You could easily cover your two family and your friend you will still have enough plaid for you two. 

Since you are a thing you get used to study together and you keep this going, strangely none of you get horny when you study 

When it comes to friends that’s another story, you guys have your own friends and some friends you both share like Armin, Mikasa, Sasha. You usually tends to make party with them and everything is fine. It doesn’t matter if you are in your friends’ home or in yours none of you drink, you will share a beer if everyone have one tough. 

But about your personal friends that another story, of course not all of them were found of your relationship : Some will say you or Eren weren’t with them like you used to be, other will find everything to complain about your relationship or will just don’t love you. If you can have a talk with some of them, you can’t force your friends to love you or Eren. You’ll have to some compromise. However Eren will never do a party with them without you, he loves you and feels that everyone should accept that so he doesn’t see the point on doing party if you are not around (plus he is not a big fan of party so it gave him excuse). 

It doesn’t mean he won’t go out with them, like to chill or do some walking but they never have the chance to visit your home. Eren is afraid you might be uncomfortable seing them at your house, he couldn’t tolerate that so if has to see his friends he’ll do outside. Same for you, sometimes you took advantage of Eren is in school so you could enjoy your day with your friends cause you don’t want him to lose his chill or be uncomfortable. 

Even if you have a bed, both of you already fell asleep on your couch and when you woke up, Eren will smirk telling you this is why he wanted a corner sofa in the first place.  

Now let’s talk about financial, who paid what ? Is someone who paid everything ? 

It took you couple of months before decided to share a flat together, not that you weren’t in love with each other but because you knew it’s going to cost hella cash (more than a student room). So you guy work a lot, to make moneys so you could share the charges together. 

Of course none of you would mind pay all the charges for a month or two but you wanted each other to be responsible, free and independent from each other. It’s something really important especially for Eren : he is not confortable with the idea of having someone depend on him (except for children or dogs but that’s another subject).

You made a lot of economics so you could study your last year without thinking about how to pay the bills and then you two will find a job so money won’t be a problem. 

Basically your life together didn’t change much since you get the habit of sneaking in each other room to share. If you thought you were close to Eren you realized how wrong you were cause since you two got your own flat you were never that close to him. It’s like falling in love again. 

#eren jaeger #eren yaegar #Eren Jaeger x reader #Eren Yaeger x reader #Eren Jaeger headcanon #Eren Yaeger headcanon #Shingeki no kyojin #Shingeki no kyojin headcanon #Shingeki no kyojin x reader #Attack on titan #Attack on titan x reader #Attack on titan fandom #attack on titan headcanon #Snk x reader #Headcanon #Reader insert #AU #College AU #aot #snk

[aellynera]

Mr. & Mrs. Cooper (Part 2 - Bud Cooper x Reader)

MR. & MRS. COOPER (Part 2)

(part one here)

(guys seriously I have no idea how this went so rogue, but it is inspired by a certain movie that I just thought would fit into the “perfect suburban household” idea. And because I can’t control it, there will be a Part 3.)

Word Count: 1854

Summary: Dinner at the Cooper house is a little more interesting than either of you expected.

Warnings: Eh, little bit of language. Smooches.

Bud arrived home at exactly 6:00, right as you were putting the dish of vegetables on the table. He always got home exactly at 6. He was very punctual.

He entered the house and set his briefcase on the floor. Before he had gotten out of the car, he had taken a select few photos out and stuck them in his pocket.

“Sweetheart, I’m home,” he called into the kitchen.

You walked out with a pot roast in your hands and smiled brightly at your husband. After setting the dish on the table, you wiped your hands on your apron and walked over to him. “Welcome home, baby,” you cooed as you slid into his arms and wrapped your own around his neck. He might be a dirty liar, but he was still extremely attractive.

Bud pulled you into an embrace and lowered his lips onto yours. “Mmmm, I missed you,” he mumbled against your mouth. It was still true, even if he knew better than to trust you now.

You returned his kiss with equal passion. “I missed you too,” you replied. “Dinner is on the table.”

“Mm, pot roast, my favorite.” He surveyed the table as he released you from his embrace. Dinner looked amazing, as always. You looked amazing, as always. When did you find the time to make everything so perfect when you were…

Bud’s thoughts were cut off as you picked up the carving knife to start slicing the roast. He came up behind you wrapping his arms around you and placed a hand over yours so you now both held onto the knife.

You paused. Something about the way he was pressed up against you and how his hand caressed over yours - your left hand, of course, the one with your wedding band, the one that currently held a extremely large, extremely sharp knife - felt off. But maybe you were imagining it. It was completely normal for him to cozy up to you like he was. You realized what was it was. You felt something sharp, like the corner of a paper maybe, poke into the back of your thigh. 

Something was in Bud’s pocket.

“Everything all right, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice a light breath across your ear. You shivered but tried to hide it as best you could.

You smiled. “Everything is fine,” you replied. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Just making sure my best girl is happy and satisfied and content, is all,” he said as he gave you a quick peck on the cheek and went to sit down. Your shoulders relaxed just a bit as you finished serving the roast. You had to pretend as best you could that everything was normal. Your life was totally normal.

The rest of dinner was served and Bud poured you both a glass of wine. Silence fell over the table for a few long minutes as you both ate and drank. You kept a keen eye on him, watched as he took precise bites of roast and vegetables and almost delicate sips of the red wine. He looked tired, as he usually did after a day in the office, but otherwise normal. Handsome, gorgeous, sexy… If only he knew what you knew.

Bud watched you as he ate, and he knew you were watching him. He continued eating, keenly observing as he did so. He didn’t make any conversation. He’d felt the corner of something, a piece of paper maybe, poke him in the chest as he’d given you that honey-I’m-home kiss. 

There was something in your pocket.

So he watched you while trying to make it look like he wasn’t watching you. You ate in small bites, finished all the vegetables before you went on to the meat. You always ate the vegetables first. You looked a little tired, like you usually did after making dinner after a day of housework, but otherwise normal. Beautiful, radiant, sexy… If only you knew what he knew.

“Everything all right, love?” you asked as you sipped on your own wine.

Bud smiled. “Everything is great. As usual.” 

“Hard day at the office?” you continued.

Bud shook his head and shrugged a shoulder. “No, not really. Nothing other than the usual, investigations and clients and all that mundane insurance stuff. You’d be bored if I told you.”

“Mmmm.” You smirked. “You’re probably right.”

“What about you, darling? How did your day go?” Bud smiled at you over his wine glass.

You put down your fork and twisted your strand of pearls absently. “Same old, same old. Weeded the garden, did the laundry, got dinner together, cleaned your office…”

Bud stopped all movement for a split second. He chewed his bite of roast, swallowed, and put his fork down. His eyebrow arched and he leaned back in his chair. “Really.”

You noticed it wasn’t a question, but you smiled in return. “Mmmhmm. It was a disaster, Bud, it needed to be cleaned up. There’s so much paper in there, if I didn’t know you better I would think you’re hoarding.” Damn it, you’d almost said hiding. Had he noticed? Your finger idly stroked your dinner knife.

“Yeah, sorry about that, baby. I kept meaning to clean it up but you know how work has been going lately, I just haven’t gotten around to it, I’ll make it up to you.” You never cleaned his office, that was just about his only actual rule for the household. He didn’t care if you wanted to sit on the porch all day and gossip with the neighbor ladies or take up random hobbies or even if you had dinner on the table every night when he got His lip twitched. “Find anything important?”

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. Well, there it was. Bud wasn’t one of the top insurance investigators for nothing. Straight to the point, your husband tended to be. You kept your face as neutral as possible. “No,” you shrugged. Was he interrogating you? This was not the way you’d planned it; you were supposed to 

“Hmm,” Bud smiled and took another sip. “Oh, I almost forgot.” His grin grew into a smirk of his own. “A package got delivered to the office today.”

“Oh?” you asked. Sudden paranoia rose in your chest. Packages got delivered to offices all the time, why was this worth mentioning? It couldn’t be...oh. Shit.

“Apparently the address it was supposed to go to got washed off, like in the rain or something. So they delivered it to my office because somewhere on the envelope, it said Cooper and they figured that was a good place to drop it. Yeah, yeah, it was...very interesting.”

All the color drained from your face. Bud’s face was almost expressionless. Almost. You thought you detected just a tiny bit of...uncertainty? Confusion? Maybe...apprehension.

You and Bud stared at each other over the table. The tension that suddenly fell over the room was almost unbearable, like being wrapped in a wet blanket in a sauna. Neither of you moved and it felt like you were barely breathing. You could hear the clock on the wall, ticking. The faucet in the kitchen, dripping. Your blood in your ears, rushing. Your left eye, ever so slightly twitching. Just staring at each other for what felt like a thousand years but was only really about ten actual seconds.

Then the tension snapped like a dry twig in a forest fire and all the shit in the universe burst into your reality. 

You were on your feet before you realized it. You reached into your pocket at the same time Bud stood up and reached into his pocket and you both threw your hidden documents onto the table with a resounding thwack! and in the next second you were brandishing your dinner knife and Bud was pointing a fork at you.

“What the hell is this!” you both shouted at each other at exactly the same time.

Neither of you said anything and both of you pushed the evidence toward each other. Both sets of eyes narrowed. You gripped your knife a little tighter and Bud raised his fork.

“Explain, Bud Cooper,” you finally spat out. You slowly inched backwards into the kitchen.

Bud motioned towards you with the fork while his other hand loosened his tie. “You first, Mrs. Cooper.”

Your head cocked to the side as you raised an eyebrow. “Bud Cooper. My dear husband. That is a hit contract and my name is on it!”

“Mrs. Cooper. My beloved wife. Those are surveillance photos of me, taken from our front porch!” he shot back.

“You work for the mob!”

“Yeah, well, who do you work for? Rivals? FBI? No, wait, CIA!”

You backed up as far as you could, until you were up against the sink. Bud followed you, matched your pace, but kept the distance between you even. You both still held your cutlery at the ready.

“How did you not know I worked in intelligence?” You hardly believed he didn’t really know.

“How did you not assume there would be a hit on you?” He rolled his eyes. He actually rolled his eyes. You realized in an instant that neither of you were denying anything, and you both had really known about this a lot longer than either of you were willing to admit. But you were just supposed to do surveillance on him and he had your name on a contract for the local mob boss and you let out a strangled squeak and dropped your knife in shock. Then you grabbed for the next nearest object - the broom.

The bristles swung exceptionally close to his face and Bud, in turn, let out a strangled squawk of his own as you cleaved the broom wildly in front of you, arching the suburban artillery at him, each thrust growing more precise as your anger and frustration really bubbled to the surface. Bud dropped his fork and continued to make awkward, surprised noises as you chased him around the dining room table and towards the front door, broom undulating wildly between you.

“You were going to kill me?!” you shrieked. 

“You were going to turn me in?” he asked, wincing as the bristles brushed against the hand he held up to defend himself.

“Ohhhhhhh!! BUD COOPER!” you yelled and charged at him.

“Fuck!” he shouted as he turned and yanked the front door open.

Yanked it open just in time to almost be punched in the face by your next door neighbor, Mr. Stevens, who was just about to knock.

You and Bud froze, wide-eyed and red-face and heavy-breathed. You held the broom like a baseball bat. Mr. Stevens looked back and forth between the two of you. “Uh...is this a bad time?”

You and Bud exchanged a glance but didn’t speak. He stepped back and you dropped the broom. Both of you smoothed your hair and clothes subconsciously and then Bud spoke.

“No, no, it’s fine. Just...uh...a bit of a mess we need to clean up. Please, come in.”

Well….shit.

#oscar isaac #oscar isaac character #bud cooper #bud cooper x reader #bud cooper x you #suburbicon #fanfic #my brain is just spitting things out i can't help it

[rahleeyah]

what if jen and jean swapped places?

This is SUCH A FUN QUESTION OMG

Jen would be FURIOUS. If she's trying to play along, the restrictions suddenly placed on her by Jean's role in the house and position in society would, I think, be a grave insult to her. Jen is used to a certain degree of convenience in life, and a certain degree of responsibility and professional pride, and I think she would find this position sexist and insulting. What do you mean there's a separate room in the pub for women? What do you mean she has to cook and clean and organize the surgery for Lucien when he can't even bother to put his own laundry away? What do you mean she has to wash his dirty undies and they're not even married? What do you mean she can't take out a loan, or buy a car, or do what she sees as proper police work? She sees the way women are treated by their husbands, owned by their husbands, trapped by husbands and babies and the church and all of it, and she is seething.

I love the idea of Jen trying to explain the situation to Lucien, and him believing her completely. Like "yes, you most certainly are not Jean, I can see that now, but no one else will ever believe you so let's keep this between us bc otherwise they're gonna lock you in an asylum."

I love the idea of Lucien being fascinated by what she can tell him of the future, and I also love the idea of Lucien showing Jen that like, yes, the treatment of women in this time period is Not Great, but he respects Jean and cares for her and Jen doesn't have to pity her. Pity others, sure, but not Jean Beazley.

I love this: "you look just like her, you know," he says softly while they sit in his office sharing a drink one night. "Except for the...erm..." he gestures to her hair. Jen arrived in this place looking just like herself, ten years younger than Jean and blonde to boot, and Lucien has been trying to keep her home and out of sight as much as possible, just in case.

"You miss her, don't you?" Jen asks. She can see it in his eyes, the way he watches her, the sorrow that seems to linger on the edge of every word he says. He helps with the dishes, and with the dinner, sometimes, has been kind and done his best to assist her, to make her feel comfortable and work through this problem with her, but she knows when he sees her he doesn't see Jen. He sees her.

"Very much," he says, softly. "Not that I'm not delighted to have you here, Jennifer, it's just that Jean...well, Jean is...she's..."

Jen smiles, and lets him flounder. She knows what it is he can't say.

BUT THEN

Jean, thrust into the modern day. It is so loud and so bright and everything is moving so fast and there's a roughness to the people around her she doesn't quite know how to manage. They aren't...well...they certainly don't hesitate to say what they think, and Jean is learning, day by day, how to deal with them.

Picture that first morning. Jean wakes up in a bed that is definitely not hers to the sound of a small device on the side table making a truly terrible sound. It alarms her so much she just stuffs it under the pillow, and goes to explore the little house where she has found herself.

It is, she thinks, exactly the sort of little house she might like to have herself one day, two bedrooms, cozy, with a neat little garden, only the furnishings and decor and by god the clothes are all...it's like her world, but everything slanted a little bit to the left, almost the same but just strange enough to leave her uncomfortable and afraid.

The kettle in the kitchen is familiar, though, so she goes and makes herself a cup of tea. She has no sooner sat down at the table, wondering what on earth has happened to her and how she's going to get out of this one, when she hears someone pounding on the door. It's a man, and it sounds almost like he's calling her name. Almost, but not quite. Jen, he says, not Jean. But he's not going anywhere, so Jean wraps herself in the robe hanging on the back of the bedroom door and then goes to see who's come calling.

His suit is black, and nice, but nowhere near so fine as Lucien's. His face is handsome enough, his hair thick and soft. He's tall, too, though not so broad as Lucien. And when he sees her, he swears.

"Jesus," he says. If Jean knew him she'd chide him for his language but the man is a stranger to her, and she bites her tongue.

"Where is she?" He asks after a moment.

Jean deliberates with herself. She doesn't know this man, doesn't know if he means her harm, but she doesn't know where she is or how she got here, and his eyes are kind.

"You better come in," she says.

So Jean tells Nick her story, and Nick tells her about his Jennifer. Nick "runs interference" (that's what he calls it, anyway) between Jean and Jennifer's job. He takes her out, shows her the city, helps her buy groceries, keeps her company when he can, around the job.

"You miss her, don't you?" Jean asks him one night. They're eating Chinese food Nick picked up from a shop, and while Jean has come to find she quite enjoys it, she can't bring herself to eat out of the cartons and insists she plate up their meal properly. Nick doesn't protest.

"Yeah," he says. "I do."

Nothing more than that. He's a quiet man, Jean's found. Not brash and endlessly jabbering like Lucien, but kind, still, for all that.

Jean and Nick are the ones who figure it out, in the end. Jennifer Mapplethorpe, born in 1969, is the daughter of none other than Amy Parks, Jean's wayward niece. Since it was only 1960 when Jean left her life she has of course never met her great-niece. Jen never met her great aunt, having spent her childhood in Melbourne, believing she had no family beyond her parents.

"Maybe that's why," Nick says quietly as they look over the family tree they've drawn out together. "Maybe you're here so that we can fix it, so that whatever made Amy leave Ballarat doesn't happen. So she doesn't feel so alone."

"But if Amy never leaves Ballarat, you'd never have your Jennifer," Jean points out.

Nick smiles. "Oh, I don't know," he says. "Fate's thrown us together twice already. Third time lucky, and all that."

The next morning Jean wakes up in her own bed, and she thinks of Nick, and she smiles. His quiet, steady nature was a comfort to her in that wild world, and she has learned so much from him. The most important lesson being: don't waste time.

So she races downstairs in her pink nightgown. The light is on in Lucien's office and she doesn't hesitate to approach. At the sound of her footfall he calls out, "Jennifer?" And it is that, more than anything, that convinces Jean that this is real.

"Expecting someone else?" She asks softly as she steps through the door.

Lucien vaults to his feet, his eyes full of wonder.

"Jean?" He breathes.

"I'm here, Lucien," she says, and in the next instant he is racing out from behind his desk, crushing her against his chest.

"I missed you," he whispers, and when Jean lifts her chin, and sees the look of devotion in his eyes, she just smiles, and kisses him senseless. No time like the present, she thinks.

In Melbourne Jennifer wakes up in her own bed, and she's so happy she could cry. Lucien has his Jean back, and they'll be happy, she knows. Now Jen has her car and her mobile and her little house and the Chinese takeaway place she loves so much; now Jen is home, and home means work, and the boys, and Nick, Nick more than anything.

The thought no sooner occurs to her than she hears someone knocking on her front door. She knows, somehow, that it's Nick. Who else would it be?

She races out of her bedroom half dressed, flings the door open, and watches as his mouth drops open in shock.

"Jen," he says, and she has missed the sound of his voice saying her name so much that to hear it now shatters her restraint. With a little cry she breaks, and races into his arms; Nick lifts her bodily from the ground, her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, her face pressed in close to him.

"I missed you," she says. "I missed you."

Nick just kicks the door closed, and carries them both to her bedroom. They both call in sick that day.

#anonymous #tagging this #Jean and Jen #switching places #so i can find it later #for reference