#a solution which is: maybe you should tape up your fingers first idiot

[vvelegrin]

okay. gonna go settle down and break in my new craft area that i put together this week. i will work on some writing. and maybe start a new whittling project.

[imagineyourself]

Teacher’s Pet- A Spencer Reid Imagine

Spencer Reid x fem! psych major! reader 

A/n: Hi guys, I’ve watched 9 seasons of criminal minds in 2 weeks, so expect a lot of criminal minds stuff coming! Also, kind of want to write a part 2 to this so lmk if you would like that! 

Gif is not mine creds to @toyboxboy​

Warnings: violence, swearing, mentions of blood and knives

Word count: 2.6k

“The unsub is likely in a position of power, well respected, maybe even admired. He works with young people, probably a teacher or professor. We need to find him, and fast before he kills another young girl.” Rossi spoke to the room of officers. The room disperses to begin searching for the killer, 4 girls are already dead. 

“Rossi, I think I found the connection between the girls.” Dr. Spencer Reid turning away from the board with the bodies taped to it and a file in his hand. “They all shared a professor.”

“They all went to different schools, different majors.” Morgan interjects.

“He is a professor at multiple universities, and they’ve all taken a psych class at some point, mostly introductory level. He must have connected with them during that time.” Reid continues.

“Who is it, dammit, Reid?” Hotch said.

“A Professor Deslaurier, professor of psychology, which explains why he was hard to find. He’s one of us. But better than that, I think I know who his next target is.” 

*campus cafe around the same time* 

“I’m not saying that I’m ready to start dating again, but I would love to see what that barista’s got going on.” My best friend said grabbing her coffee from the counter, winking at the barista drying mugs. 

“Oh my god, keep it in your pants, you and Garrett just broke up. Like 2 days ago. You were devastated, remember?” I remind her, gently shoving her with my elbow as we sat at a table by the window.

“His name was Garrett so clearly he isn’t that hard to get over. But anyway what’s up with you relationship wise, any new people?” She presses her lips to her coffee cup, as I pull out my laptop from my bag.

“You and I both know nothing is happening in that department. School and work is taking up all my time, and I can’t help but ruin dates with my charming personality.” I pull up my latest essay for my criminal psychology class, only 5 words on the page: my name, the date, and the class.

“Stop going all psych major on people when you’re on a first date or you’ll be alone forever.” She rolls her eyes at me as she glances out the window. Her eyes squinting in concentration, so I follow her gaze seeing a group of people in FBI uniforms talking to campus security. 

“What the hell?” I say watching one of them glance around and look at the campus cafe and nod his head in its direction. The agent made his way over to the shop and steps in looking around, scanning like he was looking for someone. Then his eyes land on me. 

He rushes over to the table, but his face and voice remain calm despite the urgency in his walk. “Are you Y/F/N Y/L/N?” 

“Yes, I am. What’s going on?” I look between the man and Y/B/F/N.

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, and I’m going to need you to come with me.” He flashes his badge as fear washes over my face. “You’re not in trouble, don’t worry.” He smiles as I pack up my stuff, my essay still not begun. 

I say goodbye to my friend, and leave with the mysterious Doctor. “So what’s going on and why do you need me? Or better yet where are we going?”

“Good question, do you have an apartment or dorm of some sort where we can go for a while?”

“Yea I have an off campus apartment just up the road. We can spend some time there, but why? Am I like in danger or something?” 

“We have reason to believe you’re the killers next target.” He keeps me close as I guide him to my apartment. These are not the circumstances with which I would prefer to have this beautiful doctor be coming with me to my apartment, but it just be like that sometimes. 

“Who would want to kill me? Why?” I ask as I approach my apartment door, unlocking it to allow us inside. “And what am I supposed to do to stop it?” 

“That’s why I’m here, to protect you in case he comes to harm you, and it’s Professor Deslaurier who is attacking his brightest female students.” 

“Hank wouldn’t do that. He was so kind,” I pause thinking about everything I’ve learned in my classes, “and I’m an idiot. He was manipulating me so I would trust him. He knew I was vulnerable and exploited that, and he’s a textbook narcissist.” 

“Psych major?” Spencer asks as I sit on my couch with my head in my hands, wrapping my head around the fact that my favourite professor wants to kill me. 

“Yeah, so I should have seen the signs. But I guess being a target is what happens when you’re stupid enough to trust the first teacher who approaches you.” I start crying, this sucks. The doctor, Spencer I think he said his name is, hands me a tissue. I take it graciously, a small smile creeps onto my lips at the gesture.

“It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have known he was a crazy serial killer. You were just being a good student, but you said that he approached you?” He sits next to me on the couch letting me lean on him slightly.

“Yeah, he came up to me after a lecture, raving about one of my essays and how my perspective was fascinating and came from a personal place. He basically decoded me from an essay. Where is he now?” I pull myself together enough to sit up, seeing the tear stains on his sweater. “ I’m sorry about your sweater.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he smiles and looks down at the stains I left. “We are trying to locate him now and put him away so he can’t hurt you or anyone else.” 

“So what am I supposed to do until he’s caught?”

“Do you have anything here to work on? Homework or test to prepare for? I’m a great study buddy if you need help.”  He smiles as if he’s not here to protect me from my crazy killer professor.

“Actually I do have a criminal psychology essay due in like 10 hours.” 

“10 hours?! Why have you been putting it off? Unless the topic is something uncomfortable to think about?” 

“You said your name was Spencer, right? Is it okay if I call you that?” He nods, still waiting for me to answer the question. “Well, Spencer, the essay is about what would make us snap, or our stressor as you guys call it, and kill people. Like searching through our traumas to see what would be the last straw. It’s not exactly a pleasant thought.” 

Spencer looks into my eyes, deep like he’s reaching for my soul. He’s trying to profile me, but making it look a lot harder than it is. “You’ve been through a lot before: tough childhood, bad relationships, things like that,” I nod my head averting my eyes “But none of those things means you’re going to become a killer. Stressors only work if you let them, and I’ve had years of profiling experience and from the short time I’ve known you I can safely say you are incapable of killing someone.” 

“How are you so sure? You barely know me?” I look up from my hands and gaze into his eyes, they are the warmest honey brown color. 

“You and I both know you can learn a lot about someone without having to know them for a significant amount of time. I am highly skilled in the area of subtle detections and putting together clues to build personalities from fragments.”

“Yeah, I’m aware. I can’t hide anything from you because you already know it, so you are already well aware that I am incredibly attracted to you. I may not be an FBI profiler, but I can tell you like me too.” I put my hands over his, seeing his cheeks flare pink at the gesture. I lean closer to him, feeling his breath on my face.

Until he suddenly pulls back, but it was forceful. He didn’t want to, but he had to. I was about to apologize for how inappropriate it was, he’s just doing his job, but he starts before I can talk.

“Your essay is due in 10 hours, more accurately 9 hours 47 minutes and 22 seconds, and you haven’t started. Work on your essay, it’ll distract you from the current situation.” He stands and paces the room as if trying to come up with the best solution to a problem. I just couldn’t tell if the problem was me or the case. 

I was going to argue with him, but I sighed knowing he’s right. I need to write my essay so I don’t fail my class. The screen burns my eyes as I stare at the practically blank screen. The sound of my fingers running across the keyboard fills my small apartment as I figure out my story. I stop for a moment after several minutes of furious typing and look up.

“What are some typical stressors of serial killers?” I ask Spencer giving him the opportunity to use his genius brain to help me. 

After 4 tortuous hours of writing and editing done by Dr. Reid, I hit submit on my essay. I high five the young doctor in celebration, but he catches my  hand and intertwines his fingers with mine instead. The air catches in my throat, I’m speechless. Now it’s my turn to blush at a small gesture. He holds me for a moment, gazes locked on each other. I lean up to meet his lips, but a knock at my door disturbs the quiet of the room. Reid puts a finger to his lips signalling for silence. 

“Y/N open up. I know you’re home.” A voice calls from the hall.

“Hank.” I whisper, frightfully looking at Spencer pleading for some direction in the situation. How am I supposed to know what to do when my crazy professor shows up at my apartment to kill me? He nods his head toward the door as he creeps in its direction silently, gun in hand. He looks hot when he’s in agent mode. Wait, not the biggest issue right now, focus Y/N. I stand behind the door, looking over at him and he nods. I open the door slightly. “Hey Professor Deslaurier, what’s up?” He looks distressed and frazzled, but I would too if the fucking FBI was trying to find me for being a serial killer. 

“I’ve been looking for you.” 

“Uhhhh, I’ve been working on a paper. Do you need something?” I stand close to the door, practically hugging it as if my life depended on it. Reid’s presence behind the door went undetected by my professor since he stepped closer to the door. 

“The paper must be amazing, you were always an amazing writer. May I come in?” He wasn’t really asking, his foot in the doorframe. 

“I would rather not, I’m very busy. Deadlines and all.” I push the door closed, but before I could he shoves his way in. I walk backwards into the open space, consciously making an effort not to let Deslaurier know Reid is there by looking at him, which became incredibly difficult as he came closer to me pushing my back into a wall. 

“You were always so intelligent and strong headed, but now, you’re just weak and pathetic. Aww look at the panic in your eyes. You can’t think your way out of this one.” He pulls a knife from his pocket and presses the flat side to my neck and I whimper. I squirmed in his grasp and in a moment of panic, I look at Reid. Deslaurier’s gaze follows mine and meets the agent standing in my apartment, gun cocked. Suddenly the cold, hard wall I was pressed against became warm and soft as my killer holds me against him like a shield, a knife to my throat. “Who is this son of a bitch?”

“I’m Dr. Reid with the FBI. Release her, put down the knife.” Spencer points his gun at the floor, knowing he would be unable to get a shot that wouldn’t hit me. 

“Oooh, a doctor she chooses smart guys to whore herself out to.” I squirm in his grasp. My neck burns as the sharp edge of the weapon presses into me. 

“I’m just here to protect her from you. You aren’t as clever as you think you are, you know? We caught you. You can’t hurt anybody anymore. Drop the knife and let her go. Now. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will. Let her go.”

“Spencer, please.” I whisper, tears streaming down my face. I’m probably going to die, I’ve accepted that. I just don’t want Spencer to see me go, I can tell this is killing him. Agent or no agent, this is an awful situation to be put in. 

“Does she mean something to you, Doctor? I wouldn’t get attached if I were you, she’ll just throw you away like she did to me. Best and brightest in my class, but just another stupid girl outside of it.” If looks could kill, Deslaurier would be dead under Reid’s gaze. His eyes soften when he looks at me, giving me hope. With a sudden rush of adrenaline, I swing my leg back into my capture’s knee, dislocating it in the process. The knife sliced through part of my neck, just barely missing vital veins. Spencer takes his shot as the professor falls to the ground, catching me in his strong arms as I fall forward. 

“Hey, hey, hey look at me. You’re going to be okay. Everything is going to be fine. We’re going to take you to the hospital and get you stitched up. Okay? Just keep looking at me.” He holds me as we sit on the floor. 

“Spencer…” I whisper and everything goes dark.

Beeping and whispers fill the room as I open my eyes. I’m sitting in a hospital bed, what happened? Why does my head hurt so much? 

“Hey take it easy. You’re in the hospital, you lost a lot of blood.” Spencer says, standing next to my bed taking my hand.

“What happened after I blacked out? How did we get here?” The beeping becomes incessant as my heart races.

“Relax, it’s okay,” He squeezes my hand and the beeping softens, “My team went to your apartment and took care of Deslaurier, I shot him in the shoulder after you kicked him, which good job by the way, even if it caused you to get hurt. You ended up getting a nasty cut on your neck, but it missed any critical veins.”

“Thanks.” I smile looking at our hands.

“You know you scared me half to death when you lost consciousness.”

“Well, sorry, I’ll try not to almost get murdered by a serial killer next time.” I smirk sarcastically as he laughs stroking my cheek. 

“Yeah, thanks.” 

“You know, we were in the middle of something before being rudely interrupted.” I look up at the gorgeous doctor who happened to save my life. 

“Oh yeah, where were we again?” He smirks, lowering himself closer to my level in the bed.

“Right about here.” I pull him close, kissing his pillow soft lips.

[lady-divine-writes]

Confirmation

When a strange mark shows up on Aziraphale's palm, the angel takes it as a great gift from an even greater source. But Crowley may not see it the same way ...

When Aziraphale first sees it, he thinks it’s a smudge.

He’s been filing taxes, filling out paperwork, and inventorying books all day. Those are all tasks he can miracle, of course, but he doesn’t need to draw attention to himself over frivolous things. Besides, there’s something relaxing, and oddly satisfying, about tackling the minutiae of daily life by hand the way mortals do – no magic involved.

It catches his eye once, maybe twice, but he thinks nothing of it, wiping his hands with a handkerchief and going back about his business, periodically glancing at the clock to read the time.

Nearly five in the afternoon.

His demon should be by soon.

Giddy as a newlywed, he scampers to get ready for Crowley’s arrival.

He shelves the rest of the books, tidies up the papers, and with a flourish of his hand, freshens himself up. He steals a second to examines his hands, checking to see how much damage stacking his latest acquisitions have done to his nails, when it finally hits him that the mark on his hand – dark black with a strange gold shimmer, dead center of his right palm – isn’t just a smudge.

It’s a name.

Anthony J Crowley.

And Aziraphale hasn’t a clue how it got there.

At first he thinks it must be a trick by the demon himself – some new dramatic way of announcing his arrival, which should be (Aziraphale checks the clock again) within the next twenty minutes. Aziraphale puts his left hand over it, assessing it for traces of demonic power, but there isn’t any - no Evil energy within it whatsoever.

What Aziraphale feels in the letters imprinted on his skin is love.

Only love.

And suddenly, Aziraphale realizes he knows this.

Isaiah 49:15 – 16 I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me.

Love has been used to write Crowley’s name upon his hand.

Not his angel name. Not his demon name.

But the name Crowley chose.

Aziraphale’s heart swells. He takes it as a sign. No matter what has happened before or since, what Aziraphale and Crowley have together is not a mistake. It’s not sacrilege.

It’s not wrong.

And though he doesn’t claim to know God’s plan, maybe, just maybe, their union such as it is, has been acknowledged by God.

The sense of relief that fills Aziraphale creates a blinding light around him of pure joy.

His first instinct is to ambush Crowley the second he walks in and show him, but this name on his hand has more implications than just the love he and Crowley share. It means that God has not forgotten him, and that might not be of any comfort to Crowley.

Crowley doesn’t want to be a demon. There are aspects of it that appeal to him, namely in the power and immortality departments. But he doesn’t want to be an angel, either. If he could find a middle ground where both sides left him alone indefinitely, he’d choose that.

But this - this could mean something huge in the future that he may not appreciate. If nothing else, it takes his entire past, the honor he once held and the pain of being cast out, and shoves it in his face. Being around Aziraphale probably already reminds him of everything he’s lost.

This might end up like lemon juice in an open wound, one that refuses to heal.

Crowley doesn’t need God’s acceptance. He’s said as much a hundred times. But not until now did it dawn on Aziraphale that he may not want it, even if it’s offered to him freely.

Aziraphale doesn’t want to lose Crowley because of this. He can’t lose him now. Not after 6000 years!

He has two choices – none of them ideal: lose Crowley or dishonor God.

He chooses the latter. It’s not like he hasn’t done it before (according to Gabriel). Why should today be any different?

So Aziraphale hides the name.

He starts with simple logic and scrubs his hands with the strongest soap he has, but that doesn’t help at all. It actually makes things worse. With his hands so clean they’re nearly white, the black mark on his palm becomes a beacon, so crystal clear he can read it in the reflection of his shop window from ten feet away!

He lengthens his shirt sleeves so that the cuffs fall over his hands, but no matter how many times he miracles them, they seem to ride up just enough to uncover his palms.  

He starts wearing gloves - leather ones he’s owned since the early 19th century. They’re conspicuous as heck, and earn him some weird looks from customers and Crowley alike, but they do they trick … for about a week. By the following Friday, the palm has worn through, but only on the one hand.

The hand with the name written on it.

The name prevails, and he begins to realize, it wants to be seen.

So he resigns himself to telling Crowley, explain how this happened and what it could mean. He wants to have it planned out, do it right, reassure him in every way possible.

But for the name on his palm, he’s taking too long.

It wants to be known, and it goes about it violently.

And with Crowley’s help.

But to be fair to the powers above, Aziraphale asks for it.

“Crowley, dear, can you help me open these boxes?” Aziraphale groans when his gloved fingers fumble the box cutter for the fifth time. “I can’t seem to … urgh … get a proper grip on this blasted thing!”

“Why don’t you miracle them open?” Crowley asks, busy reorganizing Aziraphale’s books to his own liking. “Or take off those stupid gloves you’ve been wearing non-stop? You know, for someone who pampers their hands as much as you do, those musty old things can’t be good for your skin.”

“I have … ngh … my reasons.” Aziraphale sighs. “Please? Then after this, we can take a break. Go to lunch. My treat.”

“Fine. But I’m picking the restaurant,” Crowley says, popping the box cutter off the ground with the toe of his shoe and catching it without even looking. “Someplace with a no glove policy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Aziraphale bends at the waist to hold the bulging, uneven box steady for Crowley to make a clean cut without slicing through the contents inside. “I don’t think such a place exists.”

“I could always miracle them off you,” Crowley says sternly. “I don’t like that you’re keeping things from me.”

“I’m not keeping anything from you,” Aziraphale lies … badly. And he knows it. “Besides, you wouldn’t do that because you’re not that cruel.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Crowley mumbles, sticking the tip of the box cutter into the five inches of sloppily applied tape. “On the count of three, all right?”

“All right.”

“One … two …”

But Crowley doesn’t make it to three. The blade flies through the tape, slicing through as if of its own free will, straight to the other side … and through the palm of Aziraphale’s gloved hand.

“Shit shit shit!” Crowley drops the box cutter and reaches for Aziraphale’s wrist, but Aziraphale pulls it away.

“It’s okay,” he says, sucking in a breath. “It’s only a scratch.”

“Scratch my ass! I’m sorry for this, but …” Crowley snaps his fingers and the gloves disappear.

Aziraphale gasps. “Crowley!”

“Don’t Crowley me! You’ve been acting downright bizarre this past week, so excuse me for wanting to get to the bottom of what’s going on with you! I happen to care about you, you idiot!”

“I appreciate that,” Aziraphale says, dodging and weaving through the crowded space to avoid Crowley’s eyes. “I really do! But I have this handled. I promise!”

“It’s not about you having it handled, it’s about you keeping secrets! Secrets I suspect may be dangerous if you’re this eager not to tell me!”

Aziraphale searches his shop, trying to find a way to clean up the mess, seal the wound, and hide it from view in one fell swoop without Crowley seeing. When he comes up with a plan, it’s a second too late. Crowley predicted Aziraphale’s next move, guarding the door to the lavatory before Aziraphale even thinks to go there. Aziraphale spots a possible solution – another set of gloves lying on his desk. It’ll cost him a valuable second to yank them on, but after he does, he may be able to bless them so that Crowley can’t miracle them away, not using demonic magic.

It’s a little underhanded, but so was miracling away his gloves in the first place.

Desperate to be done with this, Aziraphale swipes his uninjured hand over the wound to clear away the blood, but when he reaches for the gloves, his hand turns and the name shines, even with his fingers curled over it. No miracle can cloak it, and he’s not fast enough to hide it. Crowley launches at him, reaching him in three strides of his long legs. He grabs Aziraphale’s wrist before Aziraphale can squirrel it out of sight, and just like that, the name gets its wish.

Crowley sees it.

Crowley knows.

“What … what is this?” he asks, raising the angel’s hand to his eyes and examining the mark from all angles. He runs his thumb over it, checking to see if it’s a human made tattoo or something more, thoroughly baffled by its presence.

“I … I didn’t do this,” Aziraphale says, not knowing before he does how insulting it will sound falling from his trembling lips. “I mean … it just showed up one day, and I …”

“This is what you’ve been hiding?” Crowley shakes his head, his voice sullen, laced with disappointment. “Why didn’t you show me this sooner?”

“I wanted to but I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to hurt you. Or make you angry. But it’s a good thing, Crowley! It’s a really good thing … I assume.”

Crowley raises a fiery brow at him. “You don’t know?”

“I know scripture. I can guess what it means, but I’m not entirely sure I’m right.”

“So, how do you know it’s good?”

“Because I feel it in my heart,” Aziraphale says, his words rising up to reach Crowley’s ears with his eyes following, watching his skeptical demon soften. “And my heart hasn’t led me astray yet. This mark – it’s full of love, nothing else. Just love.”

Crowley runs his fingers over it to see if it will shift, or perhaps burn him. “I don’t want to assume, either,” he says, covering the mark with his hand, holding it gently against his palm, trying to feel it against his skin, “but I think it means I can do this …” His free hand he puts to Aziraphale’s cheek, running his thumb along his cheekbone. Aziraphale watches Crowley move towards him with curiosity and awe, relishing the change in his expression, how his face seems to go from stark angles to subtle planes as he gets closer.

When their lips touch, that light of joy that’s been simmering beneath Aziraphale’s skin with the arrival of that name shines so brightly, Crowley has to shut his eyes. He breathes in deep, breathes Aziraphale in as he pulls him closer. Heat surrounds them, starting at the point where there palms touch, joining at the place where their lips meet, weaving in and out of them, then in to one another, like a fine golden thread sewing them together. It flows up every one of Aziraphale’s limbs and settles in his heart, filling him with a sensation of peace and happiness so sweet it’s almost too overwhelming to bear. He hears Crowley gasp, hears him hold his breath, then feels him jerk away, as if something just occurred to him that he needs to share before he forgets.

But when Aziraphale looks at him again, he’s stunned speechless, his usual mask of cynicism transformed to something a little more … dare he say … angelic.

“Are you okay?”

“I …” Crowley swallows “… yes?”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.” Crowley flexes the hand pressed against his angel’s palm. He turns it over, expectantly, splaying his fingers wide for Aziraphale to see. A mark blossoms there, too, the script flowing before their eyes as if written by an invisible pen, the ink white and silver instead of black and gold. And it reads:

Aziraphale

[florbexter]

Trending War

Title: Trending War  Chapter: oneshot Pairing: TinCan Summary: 

5 times Can tried to trend #TinCan and one time he didn’t have to

Prelude

Can stared at Tin’s head and wondered how he ever had found that stupid stupidhead attractive. He was ugly… maybe not in the common sense ugly, because he had this stupid face, which was stupidly handsome but he was ugly. Because…

“Why are you staring at me?” Tin asked but didn’t look up from his laptop.

Can thought about throwing his phone at Tin’s face, but he really liked that phone.

But he also kinda hated that phone because it had shown him the TinPete hashtag and how it was trending, because Tin and his stupid face had learned on a bench outside of the IC building instead of inside like any normal person.

Can frowned at the picture his sister had attached to one of her tweets. Pete was looking over Tin’s shoulder to see the display of Tin’s laptop. It was an innocent picture. They didn’t even really touch. They were just close.

Can hated it.

‘They would make such cute boyfriends’ one of Lay’s friends had commented under her tweet and he wanted to shout at her that HE was the cute boyfriend… which he was not come to think of it.

They dated. And kissed. And Tin’s hand had been on places of Can’s body only his own hand ever had been. Which Can liked a lot. Tin had nice hands, they were big and warm and…

Stop thinking about his hands!, he scolded himself. He was mad! He was mad because some dumb girls thought Tin was the perfect match for Pete! Pete!

He should sent screenshots to Ae.

“You are still staring.”

“Am I not allowed to look at…” at my boyfriend he wanted to say… but they were not. Not officially.

How would one make the change from dating each other to being official boyfriends? Should he just ask? Or did they just transition naturally to a point where they start to call each other boyfriends? He could google it right?

“What happened?”

Can startled because Tin flopped down next to him on the couch without announcing himself. He hid his phone instinctively.

Tin looked at him and Can knew that he was going to snap that phone from his hands, so he twisted sideways to prevent Tin from doing so.

“Can,” Tin said while looming over him, “what is on your damn phone?”

“Nothing!”

“You stare at it, then you stare at me and those are not nice stares.”

“How would you know? Maybe I am being seductive?”

“I know your seductive face, it is very similar to your feed me face.”

“Hey!”

He had to twist away again because Tin was so damn tall and why had he never realized that his arms were also freakishly long? Can turned around to lay on his belly hiding his phone between his body and the couch.

He felt Tin’s sigh against his neck and tried to suppress a shiver.

“Can,” he said in an exasperated tone but Can shook his head.

“Not showing you.”

“Can,” he said again, but softer this time, just a whisper against his skin. Can turned around and stared at Tin who frowned in light of Can’s serious face.

“What happened?”, he asked, ready to conquer all of Can’s enemies. It was funny that he was always ready to fight those non-existing threats but wouldn’t let Can punch his brother.

“Be my boyfriend,” he said, because he wanted to. He wanted to be Tin’s boyfriend. He wanted to change his facebook status, and he wanted to comment on those stupid tweets that Tin already had an adorable boyfriend, thank you very much (and no offense Pete).

And he wanted to see that look on Tin’s face every time he said boyfriend.

Can took hold of Tin’s face to caress the skin around his mouth and eyes and marvel in the soft and astonished look in his eyes.

“Be my boyfriend,” he repeated himself and smiled at Tin’s huff because he used his hold on Tin’s face to make him nod.

“This is a binding nod,” he said.

“My boyfriend is very cute, but also an idiot,” Tin said and Can had to grin.

1)

“What about a sex tape?”

“I am sorry?”

Can looked up from his phone to Tin’s confused face.

“I am thinking aloud,” he explained.

“You mentioned the word sex-tape, what are you thinking about?”

“The hashtag TinPete is trending again because you walked Ai Pete to his car yesterday.”

“I didn’t walk him to his car, we both walked to our cars.”

“Why is there no TinCan hashtag?”

“The more important question is who are those people stalking me?”, Tin said. He was puzzled over the fact that he didn’t realize some girls made photos of him.

“They’re short and ready for anything,” Can murmured.

“We’re not doing a sex tape… wait… we could do a sex-tape but we’ll not show it to anyone.”

“Then what is the point?” “I’ll be able to watch it?” “You can watch my face anytime,” Can said and tried to remember what face he made during sex.

“If you think that is your sex-face… you’re sadly mistaken.” Can put his elbow to good use and enjoyed Tin’s painful grunt.

“Don’t move,” he demanded. He laid against Tin in his giant bed and had been waiting for him to end whatever he had been doing on his Pad when he saw the hashtag on Twitter. He didn’t tell Tin that he made a fake account just to follow his sister and her crazy friends.

He hadn’t told Ley about them being boyfriends because he wanted Tin for himself for a little while. His ma already invited Tin for dinner three times a week and Ley would always hog Tin’s attention like he was her personal entertainer. He didn’t like it, but he also didn’t like her spreading the rumour that Tin and Pete were a pair. He loved his sister but maybe he should tell Ae about... wait... no, he would just drag Pete away and nobody would see them for a week.

“I have a solution,” Tin said out of the blue and raised his Pad to make a selfie of them. “How would… oh.”

It was a nice photo Can admitted. Tin was shirtless and the way his hand laid on Can’s waist was visible. Can wore Tin’s shirt so the hickey on his collarbone was there for the world to see. They looked good together, cosy and warm.

“Post this on your fake account.” “I will… hey! How do you know!”

Tin just kissed his pouting lips and tapped on the Pad to indicate Can should hurry up.

The caption under the picture was a heart emoji and Can was definitely satisfied the moment he typed TinCan behind the hashtag.

His satisfaction didn’t last long though. He woke up to notes on his picture complaining about how fake it looked. He should take photoshop lessons they wrote. His own sister posted a laughing emoji under the thread.

“I don’t understand a word you say,” Tin said and Can pulled the toothbrush out of his mouth. He had stomped into the bedroom after he saw the comments under their picture and had tried to explain to Tin why he was outraged. Tin understood him when he spoke with his mouth full but had trouble when his mouth was full of foam.

Can run back in the bathroom to rinse. “This is unacceptable,” he yelled over the running water.

“At least I have a new background photo,” Tin murmured while Can typed furiously on his phone.

2)

“New plan,” Can announced. He got into Tin’s car and shoved his phone in his face. Tin blinked and tried to see something on the display. “You’re no longer allowed to do any group projects together with Ai Pete.”

Tin had wanted to start the engine but changed his mind. Concentrating on driving and making sense of Can simultaneously was a bit tricky. He needed more time to master that kind of sorcery.  

“Why?” “Apparently, the way you show him something on your laptop is an indication ‘that you’re only soft for him and want to protect him as any good top would do’.”

Can looked at him as if Tin had any idea what he should say to that. “Didn’t you post the picture Ai Pete made of us at the football field?” Can crunched up his nose. “They commented that you were there because Ai Pete was there and that us standing next to each other means nothing because P’Type was also standing there.”

They should have waited until we were behind the bleachers, Tin thought. Why was it that those girls only appeared when he was with Pete? And why didn’t he notice them?

“I should ask Ai Pete to like #TinCan posts,” Can murmured, “and you’re not allowed to do future projects together.” “You think I’ve that kind of power?” “You don’t?”

Tin sighed.

“Put your hands on the steering wheel.” “Why?” “I’ll make a picture and write ‘personal driver’ under it.” “Maybe your personal driver thinks that instead of taking pictures for some idiotic girls on twitter you should say hello to your personal driver, because your personal driver is your boyfriend and you haven’t kissed him hello yet.” “You’re calling my sister idiotic?”

I’m going to drive the car against a tree, Tin thought and took the phone from Can’s fingers and swallowed his protest with a kiss. He threw the phone on the backseat and was only satisfied when Can buried his fingers in his hair and was about to climb on his lap.

3)

“Just so you know, your relationship with Ai Pete has to weather its first big argument.” “Good to know,” Tin murmured. He rolled his eyes, but his eyes were closed so the effect was lost on Can. “It’s about Ai Ae.” “Of course…” Tin turned around and squinted at Can. He sat against the headboard and frowned at the display of his phone. Tin wanted to stomp on that piece of technology. Was he rich enough to buy Twitter and delete it?

It was ridiculous that Can was so obsessed with the time Tin spend with Pete while they were at the university, when he literally was with Can for the rest of the time. It was the third night in a row that Can slept over at his place, he already had a toothbrush in the bathroom and a chair, where he laid his clothes on. “Why are Pete and I arguing?” He put one arm around Can’s lap and pressed his face against his side. Maybe, if he sneaked his hand under Can’s shirt he could distract him from the TinPete hashtag.

“Some saw them at the library and they seemed to be cozy.” “Good for them,” Tin murmured and inhaled Can’s scent. He loved how he smelled. Earthy, and warm. “They theorize that you will either have a word with Ae, which could lead to a fist-fight, or you will drag Ai Pete behind some cars to have your way with him. These girls are very bloodthirsty, most of them write squeal under the option of you fighting Ae…”

Can stopped, frowned and looked down. He had anticipated an irritated huff from Tin or a comment on how he could win against Ae (Can doubted that) but instead Can felt him breathe softly against his side and oh… look at that he slept without a shirt. Can had been in the middle of a heated argument with a girl who didn’t believe that Tin and Can even knew each other. But this was better. He slid down and arranged Tin so they were laying face to face. “Tin,” he whispered, “are you asleep?” “Mhm…” Can grinned. Tin had the habit to react when somebody spoke to him while he slept. It made for some funny conversations in the middle of the night. Can moved forward to rub his nose against Tin’s and waited for him to open his eyes. He liked Tin a lot like this. Sleepy and warm and ready to let Can move him how he wanted him. Can kissed him softly, little kisses against his mouth and cheek until he felt Tin’s smile.

4)

“About that sex-tape…” “No.” “You didn’t even listen!”

“Your sister would see it!” “I will forbade her to watch it, of course!”

“Can!” Tin pushed Can down and loomed over him. “I will not make a sex-tape because you’re angry at some little girls who don’t believe we’re in a relationship.”

Can was silent for a moment. “But they make little collages with Ai Pete and you… see.” Can had no idea about how long it took to make that kind of collage, but it looked like someone had sit hours in front of a computer.

“They don’t even consider that we could be boyfriends Tin! Why does none of them think we could be a possibility?” “Your sister wrote a six page essay why we’re only friends. Her strongest argument is that she knows us. You can’t be angry when you haven’t told her about us. She uses the knowledge she has. The truth you told her.” Can looked at him with big eyes, gnawing on his lower lip. “Please stop caring about what strange girls write about us. And if it bothers you so much, then tell Lemon about us.” Can stared up at him.

“I don’t want to share you yet,” he confessed, “you should be mine only, for a couple more months. I just…” He sighed and broke eye contact. Tin brushed some hair behind his ears and kissed him.

“Just what?” “They think it’s laughable that we could be a pair.” “They’re the only ones.”

5)

“This is unacceptable!”

“They blocked you, too?”

Tin looked up to where Can and Ley were sitting and shook his head. Both of them had the same expression on their face. Disbelief and outrage. He should have told Can to wait. No one was allowed to know about them, he should have said. But Can had confessed to his sister and now they had a shared agenda. “How can they trend a TinPete picture from weeks ago when I posted a TinCan from yesterday?”, Ley asked. Can looked like he was ready to stab his phone. “Crazy,” Tin murmured. He laid on the couch, Gucci to his feet and was a bit bored. “Tin, would you…” “No.” “But.” “No.”

The picture Ley had posted was the product of a photoshoot she had put them through. Tin had thought that if he looked at Can the adoration was plain to see, but Ley hadn’t been amused. Tin was afraid of her now. Also, his neck hurt. Gazing adoringly at his boyfriend while he had hovered above him and hadn’t been allowed to kiss him had resulted in a stiff neck for him. Before, he had been on the verge of saying yes to any kind of video which would have put an end to this TinPete nonsense but now he was cranky. That was why he took his phone from the couch table and made a photo of Can and Ley. They sat at the dining table and frowned at their phones. Being ignored at my boyfriends place - he wrote under the Instagram post and even though he didn’t want to he smiled when he put the TinCan hashtag behind the caption.

+1

“You’re a bad boyfriend,” Can murmured and looped his arms around Tin’s neck. He stood on his tiptoes and Tin liked that. He liked that a lot because it meant that Can’s whole body was pressed against his and he could feel his warmth and strength. His lips were red because he had kissed Tin in the middle of campus as if he would starve without him. They swayed and Tin couldn’t suppress his smile.

“You happy?”, he asked and didn’t wait for an answer because he had to kiss Can again.

“Who cares about stupid hashtags,” Can mumbled against his lips and Tin pinched him in one of his buttocks. He heard someone squeal in the background.

“Why didn’t you say you have an Instagram account?” Can asked and pouted. Tin had to kiss him again. “I thought you didn’t care?” “TinCan could have trended weeks ago.” “I thought you didn’t care?” Can bit his lower lip and Tin was on the verge of a deep moan. “You have 10 000 followers!” “I have? I don’t post much.” Another bite, soft this time and Can’s tongue rearranging all the thoughts in his head.

“You’re going to update your relationship status on facebook as soon as possible,” Can commanded and Tin just nodded.

Can buried his fingers in Tin’s hair because he needed to kiss his infatuating boyfriend more deeply and didn’t care about the whispers around them ore the phones recording them.

Thanks so much to the lovely anons for the prompts and @mahealinskis for the inspiration to make this into a oneshot. 

I hope you all enjoyed reading ^-^