#and my hair looks manageable on hair washing day

[hazelira]

bath bubbles

The front door clicked shut, and the familiar sound of Sunghoon’s voice filled the quiet apartment.

"I'm home," he called softly, careful not to startle the little bundle of joy that had recently taken over your world.

"In here," you replied from the kitchen, where you had already started filling the sink with warm water for your baby boy’s bath.

Sunghoon stepped into the room, his eyes immediately softening at the sight of you cradling your five-month-old son, babbling contentedly in your arms. His tiny fists waved excitedly as soon as he saw his dad.

"Hey, little guy," Sunghoon murmured, stepping closer to gently kiss your forehead before rubbing a finger over the baby's chubby cheek. "Did you miss me?"

Your son released a delighted coo in response, his big eyes shining at Sunghoon.

"You ready to help with bath time?" you asked with a small smile, overseeing your husband roll up his sleeves.

"Of course," he grinned. "It's my favourite part of the day."

Together, you settled your little one into his baby bath support seat in the sink. He kicked his legs excitedly, his tiny toes wiggling as he felt the warm water surrounding him. Sunghoon supported his neck and head with one steady hand while his other gently held his son's tiny body.

You dipped your hand into the water and carefully wiped his plump little face, your fingertips trailing softly over his round cheeks. The cool sensation of the water against his warm skin made him shiver slightly, his face scrunching up in the cutest way.

Sunghoon chuckled. "Aww, buddy. That was a big shiver."

You giggled, pressing a soft kiss to your son’s forehead before reaching for the baby shampoo. You poured a tiny amount into your palm and worked a gentle lather before massaging it into his soft baby hair. He blinked at you, watching with wide-eyed fascination as you worked the bubbles through his fine strands.

"He’s so intrigued by everything," Sunghoon mused, a soft smile gracing his lips.

"He likes watching the bubbles," you whispered, amused. Sure enough, your little one cooed at the sight of the foamy lather as you moved on to washing his tiny body. His hands reached out, attempting to grasp the soapy water, but all he managed to do was create more bubbles.

As you rinse the soap away with lukewarm water, your baby lets out a confused little whimper, his lips parting as if he is about to protest.

"Oh, you liked those bubbles, huh?" Sunghoon chuckled, rocking him gently.

"It's okay, baby," you cooed softly, kissing his damp head. "We'll have more bubbles tomorrow."

Once bath time was over, you reached for the fluffy baby towel resting on the counter. Sunghoon carefully lifted your little one from the bath, wrapping him snugly in the soft fabric before carrying him to the nursery.

He laid your baby on the changing table, his movements practiced and careful. You handed him a fresh diaper and onesie while he worked on drying those tiny limbs with utmost gentleness.

"You're so good at this," you murmured, watching as he applied a small amount of baby lotion, rubbing it into those soft baby rolls with delicate hands.

Sunghoon glanced at you with a smile. "Well, I have a great wife."

You blushed slightly as you reached for the baby brush, combing through his damp hair in soft, soothing strokes. Your baby yawned, his tiny mouth forming a perfect little ‘o’ as his eyes drooped sleepily.

Sunghoon scooped him up into his arms, pressing a kiss to his baby-soft forehead. "All fresh and clean," he whispered.

Your little one let out a content sigh, snuggling into Sunghoon’s chest as sleep quickly overtook him.

You exchanged a look with Sunghoon, your heart swelling at the sight. Moments like these—simple, quiet, and full of love—were what you cherished most.

"I love you," you whispered, gently kissing Sunghoon’s cheek.

"I love you more," he replied softly, rocking your son as he drifted off completely.

And in that warm, peaceful moment, you knew there was nowhere else you'd rather be.

Sunghoon swayed gently, his arms cradling your now-sleeping baby boy, whose tiny fingers had found their way to gripping the fabric of his dad’s shirt. You smiled at the sight—Sunghoon looked so at peace, his expression soft and full of love as he stared down at your son.

“Do you want me to put him down?” you whispered, brushing a few strands of damp hair from your baby’s forehead.

Sunghoon hesitated, his hold instinctively tightening for a moment. “Mmm… maybe just a little longer,” he murmured, his voice barely above a breath.

You let out a soft giggle. “You say that every time.”

“I know,” he admitted, flashing you a sheepish smile. “But he’s so small, and warm, and…” He trailed off, looking down at your baby’s peaceful expression. “I still can’t believe he’s ours.”

Your heart swelled at his words. Stepping closer, you rested your head against Sunghoon’s shoulder, wrapping your arms around his waist. He leaned into your touch, kissing the top of your head.

“You’re such a good dad,” you whispered against his shoulder.

Sunghoon let out a soft chuckle. “You think so?”

“I know so,” you reassured him, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “The way you hold him, the way you talk to him, the way you look at him… He already knows how loved he is.”

Sunghoon exhaled softly, his eyes shining with emotion. “I just want to be the best for him. For both of you.”

“You already are.” You cupped his cheek, rubbing your thumb against his smooth skin before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. He sighed into the kiss, his free hand gently resting against your back as he deepened it slightly, savouring the moment's warmth.

A tiny whimper broke the quiet, and you both froze.

Sunghoon quickly pulled back, eyes wide as he glanced down at your son, who had stirred slightly but was still sound asleep. You both chuckled, relieved that your moment of affection hadn’t woken him.

“Guess we should put him down now,” Sunghoon whispered.

You nodded, stepping back as Sunghoon carefully lowered your baby into his crib. He adjusted the blanket over his slight frame, brushing his knuckles softly against his chubby cheek.

“Sleep well, little guy,” he murmured.

You both lingered momentarily, watching your son breathe softly, his lips slightly parted in sleep. Then, hand in hand, you quietly left the nursery, closing the door just enough to let a sliver of warm light peek through.

As soon as you reached your shared bedroom, Sunghoon turned to you with a grin, stretching his arms above his head. “I think I deserve a reward for being such a great dad,” he teased.

“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow, amused. “And what kind of reward are you thinking?”

Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. “A cuddle session,” he said, his voice dipping playfully. “Just you and me.”

You giggled, melting into his embrace. “You are just as needy as the baby, huh?”

Sunghoon hummed, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Maybe,” he admitted, guiding you towards the bed. “But I don’t hear you complaining.”

You sighed, settling into his warmth as you lay down, his arms securing you against him. “Never,” you whispered.

And as Sunghoon pressed one last lingering kiss to your forehead, you let yourself relax, safe in the warmth of his love—just like your baby was in his crib.

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[honeysorwell]

all of it (all of you) 

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x fem!Reader

Prompt by anon + Idea for reader's nationality by anon

Synopsis: After more than 10 years with the same hairdresser, Melissa Schemmenti must change salons.

Tag list: (Since this is my first time writing for this character, I thought it best not to tag anyone. So if you want to be tagged just let me know.)

Warning: MELISSA AND Y/N ARE MAaaaD *in Ava's voice*

Words: 4k

Synopsis of the story + Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Enjoy!

Link on AO3

Chapter 1 - Changes

Barbara Howard's friendship had a transformative impact on Melissa Schemmenti's personal life from the beginning.

The religious woman's friendship at the beginning of the redhead's career made the Italian woman rethink many things about herself. Regardless of their moral differences, how their individual relationships with religion are almost opposite, or even their small disagreements, one thing right at the beginning turned Melissa's world upside down.

The once chaotic and disorganized woman discovered the calming practicality of being hostage to well-established standards with a Christmas gift from her black coworker in her second year working at Abbott Elementary.

A schedule with a small calendar.

The year she received that gift, the redhead was furious with what was left written between the lines.

Disorganization.

After all, Melissa had absolutely everything under control.

She always had.

In her own way.

And Melissa also thought it was stupid to waste precious time that could be spent working by just planning to work, but after a terribly inconsistent semester (with more art, music and physical education teachers being fired than she can count on one hand), the redhead decided to give it a try.

So, 22 years ago Melissa started to use a schedule and a calendar every year faithfully and never looked back.

As she got older, the certainty of her upcoming appointments and how easy was to change what was needed on that sheet of paper to make better use of her time kept Melissa calm even during all the chaos that continued to live in her head and in her classroom every day. But everything changed when the spaces on pages that were reserved especially for her monthly visits to her family's hairdresser were now blank.

Rationally, the redhead knew that the hairdresser who had taken care of her grandmother's hair for the last twenty years of her life, two of her aunts out of town, washed and cared for her mother's hair every week, and three of her sisters periodically couldn't last long. But Melissa couldn't help but feel fooled and betrayed when Andrea Rossi announced her retirement.

The redhead hadn't been Andrea's client for her entire life, after all, the older hairdresser's regular clients had always been her priority. However, Melissa began to be part of the select group of Schemmenti women helped by Andrea when her former hairdresser (the one who had a Greek accent and many opinions that she hated but didn't discuss because he was her brother-in-law's friend), decided to call her Melinda, even after having her as a client for over three years.

Melinda.

Even though it was seventeen years ago, Barb still remembers the angry redheaded hurricane that entered the teachers’ lounge that week and still manages to make jokes about it whenever she gets the chance.

Monthly visits to the older woman had started with a simple hair color, but unlike her old hairdresser, Andrea had become much more than that for Melissa.

It was a ritual, a moment of care that for a long time brought her joy and confidence. It was talking animatedly with an Italian woman who showed her affection and care, something neither of them would admit out loud but was lacking in the Schemmenti family when it came to recognizing Melissa’s efforts and personal victories.

And now it was over.

“Ragazza (girl), don’t be like that… I’m old now, my hands hurt more than I can handle after a busy weekend,” Andrea tried to justify, stroking Melissa’s head with a tender smile as she finished coloring her hair that day, but which did not hide the weight of the decision.

“And what am I going to do now? Let the gray hair give me another 30 years in less than 6 months?”

“Don’t be silly! I’ve already transferred all my clients to hairdressers that I trust. You included! So stop it now!”

“I don’t want someone new.” Turning uncertainty into resistance is like armor for the redhead, even though she knows she has no choice, her brain still tries to break the meaning of Andrea’s retirement, “It’s going to mess up my entire schedule, Andrea! Two rooms and now with you gone? I almost went crazy with the first semester of the year alone, now I know I’ll as soon as classes start after winter break!”

“I know that, Melissa. That’s why I talked to the hairdressers I know, and the best choice for you is Y/N, my last trainee. She’s great, hard-working, very talented and was willing to easily change her own clients’ schedule to see you at the same time I see you every month, she also works just five minutes away from here. You’ll like her.”

“But I don’t know her.” Even though she didn’t admit it, the idea of ​​a stranger touching her hair disturbed Melissa deeply, and the murmur that left her mouth made a point of emphasizing this.

The change came too quickly, and with it, a wave of anxiety took over Melissa's heart. This feeling was temporarily drowned out by her more than exhausting end-of-year routine. She was the hostess of the Schemmenti family's Thanksgiving dinner, and this, along with the end of the year, drained her ability to think about her other problems. But when the following month arrived, and along with the return to school after winter break, her colorless hair also started to show again, so Melissa swallowed her pride and went to the salon that Andrea had recommended to her.

Riverfront Roots.

The name was silly, a clear reference to the Delaware River that Melissa preferred not to think about too much as she looked at the large letters printed on the facade of the place. As soon as she entered the new salon, the smell of hair products and the sound of blow dryers buzzing caught her attention. The place was modern and well-decorated, but Melissa couldn't feel completely at ease. The smell was different, the decor was different, the voices were different, and the redhead hated each of these things.

She wasn't so reluctant to little changes in her daily life, but that week was so exhausting. The two classes together made a point of actively getting on her nerves, Gary also changed some of the lemonade brands in the vending machine and none of the new ones lived up to the taste of the old ones. The man made a point of telling the redhead that it wasn't done on purpose, thanks to the end of their relationship, and she genuinely believed him, but even so, such a change in such a tiring week only made the teacher's discomfort that Saturday morning turn into a gratuitous and deep antipathy towards the new place.

The woman of Italian descent approached the counter, where a receptionist graced her with a friendly smile.

"Hello, how can I help you today?", was the question that greeted Melissa, with a kindness that, in the redhead's mind, was completely unnecessary.

The teacher hesitated for a moment before answering sharply, ignoring the hello offered to her.

"Schemmenti. Melissa Schemmenti, please. I have a coloring booked here. A recommendation from Andrea Rossi." While the receptionist checked her information, Melissa looked around, trying to get used to the new habitat, but she barely had time to do so because, in less than thirty seconds, the receptionist escorted Melissa to a chair in front of one of the largest mirrors in the salon.

The chair that was chosen for the redhead was a little isolated from the other people present, who were laughing and talking without worrying about the noise, but if the redhead was being honest with herself, she actually preferred it that way.

“Hello, Melissa. My name is Y/N and it’s wonderful to meet you. I hope you fell welcome and comfortable here with me. Andrea has told me wonderful things about you and I have her notes in my hand to make sure you leave here satisfied.”, a younger woman with a thick accent appeared out of nowhere, vomiting the words at Melissa with a smile and a sweet voice that were already starting to give the redhead a headache.

The speech seemed rehearsed, still genuine, but her voice seemed too practiced to instill comfort in the redhead. And if that wasn't enough, the younger woman was enthusiastically waving a note in her hand like a triumph, making Melissa even more insecure about Y/N's talent than she already was.

The teacher knows she's not an idiot but… This hairdresser wasn't even thirty years old. This Y/N was clearly in her early twenties, with rich hair and a quick smile that probably lit up the room more than those stupid ringlights that surrounded the chairs in that place.

Not to mention that she was beautiful. Very beautiful.

A part of Melissa, hyper-aware of her own age, felt the bitter taste of envy take over her tongue as she looked at the younger woman's reflection in the mirror in front of her, but another part, even more recklessly, awakened a dormant desire in her mind.

However, even with that spark hidden behind Melissa's eyes, their initial interaction couldn't have been worse.

Y/N seemed excited, first asking Melissa for permission to touch her hair – something the redhead almost said no to, just to see if that smile would die on her lips – but quickly the hairdresser started discussing ideas for Melissa's hair, something that forced the redhead's voice to sound cutting:

"I just dyed my hair red for years.", Melissa made sure her voice sounded as sharp as she intended, "Get those ideas out of your head and just do what Andrea use to do."

The lack of niceness caused Y/N to feel strange, but the hairdresser tried to remain calm despite the discomfort.

New clients were always a little insecure, so the Brazilian woman would just prove to the one in front of her that she had talent.

Y/N always had magical hands. When she was still a girl, on the hot afternoons in her hometown, she would have fun braiding the hair of her school friends. Long locks of hair shiny thanks to the summer sun and strands yellowed by the chemicals of several women in the city often passed through Y/N's hands as if she were an artist molding a sculpture.

Her friends loved the hairstyles she did. At first, they were not at all sophisticated due to her young age, but they were done with so much love and dedication that they always seemed to transform any hair into something unique. For Y/N, it was more than just fun.

It was a passion.

When she reached her teen years, that passion became something more serious. Y/N was not satisfied with just doing the hair of her friends and family. The Brazilian woman wanted to learn, she wanted to master the art of transforming people's hair into something even more special.

That's why when she graduated from high school, Y/N started studying, and within a few months, she was already working professionally at a salon in her city. It didn't take long for her to be recognized for the quality of her work. Her skill with scissors and dye made her quickly stand out among other professionals. She knew what she was doing, she knew how to transform people into more beautiful versions of themselves, she knew what her clients wanted and, most importantly, she knew how to make them feel good.

Little by little, Y/N began to stand out even more and her life began to change.

She knew that her talent could not be limited, and so, when some close friends who had already moved to the United States began to encourage her to try her luck in Philadelphia, Y/N was scared at first. But if the chance to start over in another country meant more opportunities, she couldn't let this pass, even if the exciting idea had the power to scare her. But even though she was frightened, she was soon embarking on a new chapter in her life in a plane.

It was hard to save money for the travel, it was hard to get all the necessary documents to enter the USA legally, it was hard to leave loyal clients behind, and it was even harder to leave her country and its traditions. But the youthfulness of her soul and the hope of a new life embraced her heart and the hairdresser decided to give herself this chance.

Wen she arrived in Philadelphia, Y/N felt, at the same time, small and full of possibilities. The city was big, the competition was powerful, and she was seen as just another foolish immigrant.

But she was determined.

The Brazilian woman knew that her skill could be the key to a promising future. She just didn’t expect that her future would be shaped by Andrea Rossi, an older and more experienced Italian hairdresser who worked at a well-known salon nearby.

The story happened by chance. One of Andrea’s regular clients mentioned that her son had gotten a haircut from a really new Brazilian hairdresser.

“It was something very different… Like those stupid things we see on TikTok, but it was exactly what James wanted, and we had never found anyone willing to do it. What this young woman did perfectly and without thinking twice, and my son loved it!”, the woman commented in admiration before giving the older woman an idea, “You should meet her!”

Andrea was curious and, figuring she had nothing to lose, asked for more information about the Brazilian woman. The client was enthusiastic and told the Italian one everything she knew and, even though she was skeptical, Andrea let her curiosity get the best of her and decided to see it for herself.

The next day, she went to the salon where Y/N was working and, observing closely, immediately noticed the young woman’s skill. The Brazilian woman had the touch of someone who knew what she was doing, an eye for beauty trends, and the needs of her clients, but she also had more than that.

Y/N had a natural connection with people, a charisma that, combined with her smile and strong accent, made any client feel at ease, and Andrea saw that.

So the Italian woman wasted no time. She called Y/N for a chat at the end of her shift and, soon, took her on as her last pupil before announcing her retirement.

Normally, hearing Andrea Rissi's name made Y/N happy. All the advice, recommendations, affection, and wisdom shared by the older woman were a pleasant memory for the Brazilian woman.

But there, while she tried in vain to be nice to what was Andrea's transfer, having her work compared to the older woman's began to annoy her.

First, the owner of those pretty green eyes began to verbalize her dissatisfaction with the work tools Y/N used, telling her how much she preferred Andrea's work tools, which were always on display for her clients to see. Then the redhead started rolling her eyes at Y/N's coworkers, who, since they had no clients, were chatting spiritedly while planning to get their nails done at the end of the day, muttering how much she would appreciate some peace and quiet.

But the first sign Y/N gave that she was definitely not the type of person who would just ignore or shrink from Melissa's bad mood was when the redhead made a point of directly comparing her work to Andrea's before Y/N even started dyeing her hair.

"Andrea, don't part my hair like that. You'll leave my hair full of spots!"

Trying to preserve the good mood she had woken up in that morning, the hairdresser chose to be sneaky and ironic. Y/N looked around theatrically and curiously, as if she was searching for something important, and Melissa, unable to contain her fear and confusion, made her voice present.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just looking for Andrea Rossi since you want to talk about her so badly.”

Receiving only silence as an answer, and thinking that the unhappy attitude of that client was over, the hairdresser continues her journey. Y/N measures the dye with all the care in the world, making sure to double-check on the scale in front of her that the weight is correct when compared to what Andrea gave her over the phone before applying the dye accurately, fearing giving Melissa another reason to complain. The Brazilian woman divides Melissa’s hair locks with the focus of a professional with much more experience, doing everything she can to not lose a single gray hair, and when she goes to wash it, she does so with a gentleness that surprises Melissa.

But the teacher doesn’t want to admit it, so she continues to stare sullenly at the mirror, even while Y/N gently untangles her wet hair.

When the redhead’s hair is nice and completely ready to be dried, Y/N looks at her hair curiously before turning once more to Melissa’s reflection in the mirror.

“I usually do this before dyeing, but what do you think about maybe cutting a few inches? The ends are starting to lose their shape.”

“I don’t want to cut anything.”, the words are said low enough for no one but the hairdresser to hear but Y/N, but with a hint of anger that surprised the young woman, “And stop talking, your voice is too annoying for the kind of mediocre work you deliver, kid.”

It was insensitive. Even to Melissa.

The redhead knows that Andrea would never send her to a bad hairdresser. She knows she is being harsh and critical to someone who gave her no reason to do so, but before she realizes it the words have already escaped her mouth.

But the teacher simply has no idea what was coming.

The hairdresser’s eyes widened, large pupils full of rage meeting the teacher’s gaze through the mirror, shocked by the words said by Melissa. And, before Melissa's mind can even work on instigating any remorseful reflexes, Y/N grabs a large chunk of hair from the redhead's bangs and takes a pair of scissors out of her pocket with her free hand, quickly placing them right on Melissa's forehead, exactly where her hair grows, like a more than concrete threat.

“Listen to me Philadelphia's beauty, I don't know what kind of hairdresser you expected when Andrea transferred you to me but as long as you sit in my chair you will respect my work and listen to my fucking suggestions.”, it is said as a whisper, but the hairdresser's anger and her thick accent along with the slight pull she gives the redhead's hair make the whole interaction sound indescribably scary, even to Melissa, “I've been nothing but polite and respectful to you, but I'm starting to regret accepting someone so unfortunate in my char that they think they can criticize my work without even knowing me.”

There, locking eyes with Y/N ​​in the salon mirror, Melissa understood how much she had crossed the line.

Melissa took a deep breath, filled with adrenaline at the thought of losing the top part of her hair, before nodding her head, causing Y/N to put down the scissors and let go of her bangs as she returned to work normally.

And then silence.

Dead silence.

The silence between the two women was so thick that it seemed to fill every corner of the room, making the sound of the dryer and the conversations around them sound muffled and filling the air with a corrosive feeling.

The scene from minutes ago was still boiling in Melissa's mind, repeating itself like a scratched record. Now, as if Melissa had finally come to her senses, the redhead wanted to disappear. She wanted to jump out of the chair and run away from the mirror which reflected her own guilt and shame. But she couldn't. Her anxiety combined with the idea of ​​leaving now, before the end of her service (something that could be even more disrespectful than her words), did a magnificent job holding her body in place, like an invisible chain that kept her feet on the floor and her mouth gagged.

With her fingers drumming on her apron-covered leg as the Brazilian woman prepared to style her hair, the teacher wanted to believe that it hadn't been so bad, that maybe Y/N had already forgotten what was said. But she knew that wasn't true. The weight of the moment still hung between them, thick and uncomfortable.

Y/N doesn't cut her hair or even mention the idea once again. The hairdresser just dries her red hair perfectly, but now with a serious gaze and a hurt look on her face. The Brazilian woman vehemently ignores Melissa's green eyes throughout the entire process, and the teacher stupidly decides too late that she prefers the incessant smile that remained on the hairdresser's lips minutes ago.

Melissa thought about apologizing, but the idea of ​​speaking made her breathing quick and shallow, along with the fear of seeming too desperate.

It was then that her eyes fell on the small ceramic jar in the corner of the counter next to her chair. It was decorated with hand-painted flowers and had, in crooked but legible letters, the words: "Tips for Y/N" next to a QR code. Even with the virtual possibility of compensation, the jar was open and with a significant amount of dollars, coins, and two lollipops, which Melissa just knew had been left there by a child.

And so, an idea formed, hesitant but clear in the teacher's mind.

A good tip seemed perfect, silent, indirect, but still meaningful. As the minutes passed, anxiety whispered again in Melissa's mind, wondering if Y/N would believe that she was doing this because of the guilt she felt at that very moment and not because of the regret that was now eating her mind. But the alternative of doing nothing was simply unbearable for Melissa.

The redhead knew she couldn't leave without at least trying, even if in her own way, to make amends.

When Y/N finished applying a light-smelling oil to the teacher's hair and walked away, silently letting her know that her work was done, Melissa tried to meet the hairdresser's eyes and give her a small smile, which she knew would be nervous, but which could give her an idea of ​​what was going on in Y/N's head.

But Y/N didn't look at Melissa.

When Melissa got up from the salon chair, her racing heart didn't stop her from taking two generous bills from her wallet — much more than she would usually give for just an appointment to dye her hair— and walking over to the pot. Her fingers were shaking slightly, but before anything could be done, she was interrupted:

“I don’t want your tip.” Before the two hundred dollars could enter the ceramic pot with the Brazilian’s name written on it, Y/N placed her own hand over the top to the object, successfully blocking Melissa from doing what she intended.

“Okay. Now you’re being ridiculous!”

With those words, the hairdresser's eyes finally focus on the green ones again, still filled with an anger that Melissa rarely sees in people who have a disagreement with her (too used to the regretful and submissive ones) and the redhead was shocked by this when Y/N actively chooses to ignore her accusation by saying:

"I'm willing to give you the exact coloring mixture that Andrea developed for your hair so you can find a hairdresser who is like the silent imitation of Andrea that you are looking for.", and before the redhead even has a chance to answer her with an apology that would apparently be necessary, the hairdresser quickly collects everything that was used in the teacher's service and directs Melissa a few more words before walking away without looking back, "Call the salon when you want the measurements and the receptionist will share them with you with pleasure. Have a good rest of your day."

[nameless-jamie]

And they were Roommates...

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, suggestive scenes

9 pm. The knocking at Y/N's door was loud. Too loud. And too persistent for it to be anyone but Jamie Tartt.

She sighed, tossing her phone onto the coffee table as she made her way to the door. She was so close to ignoring it but knowing Jamie, he’d either stand out there all night or start texting her ridiculous things like I’ve been kidnapped or What if I perish in the hallway?

With an exhausted huff, Y/N pulled the door open. Personal assistant is a 24/7 job after all.

There he stood, his signature pout firmly in place, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and his hoodie damp like he’d just run through a car wash. His normally perfect hair was sticking up in odd places, and the scent of chlorine and something vaguely metallic clung to him.

She blinked. “Jesus. What happened to you?”

Jamie exhaled, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Fucking pipes burst, didn’t they? Whole place’s flooded.”

She turned to watch as he plopped his duffel bag on her floor and immediately started toeing off his sneakers right in the middle of the hallway like he lived here.

“Okay… but why are you here?”

Jamie gave her a look. “Where else am I supposed to go?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Y/N crossed her arms. “Maybe a hotel? You can literally afford to stay at The Savoy.”

Jamie scoffed. “Yeah, but that ain’t as fun as annoyin’ ya in your own home.”

She stared at him, unimpressed.

“‘Sides,” he added, flashing a more genuine smile, “you’re my PA, love. Pretty sure takin’ care of me is in your contract somewhere.”

She opened her mouth, ready to argue—but technically, he wasn’t wrong. Managing Jamie Tartt’s life was literally her job. His schedule, his bookings, his diet, and sometimes even making sure he remembered to do laundry like a normal human being.

She groaned. “Fine. One night. But if you so much as breathe weird, you’re out.”

Jamie smirked. “Knew ya couldn’t resist me.”

Day One: And the chaos begins...

Her mistake was thinking Jamie would behave.

Within an hour, her flat had transformed into a disaster zone.

His boots? Dumped haphazardly by the door. His duffel bag? Exploded across the living room. And somehow—somehow—he had already managed to use every single clean glass in her kitchen.

“Jamie,” she groaned, stepping over a random sock, “I didn’t realize letting you stay here meant signing up for a full-time babysitting gig.”

Jamie, currently sprawled across her couch under her blanket, flashed her a lazy grin. “This is what ya signed up for when ya decided to work for me, love.”

“I work for you, not live with you.”

“Semantics.” He waved a hand. Then, after a beat, he smirked. “Kinda nice, though, yeah? Like a married couple an’ that.”

She shot him a glare.

He only cackled.

Day Two: The Naked Incident™

She woke up way too early the next morning.

It took her a moment to remember why her flat felt off—why there was an extra presence in her space, why she could hear the faint sounds of movement from the kitchen.

Jamie. Right.

With a groggy sigh, she stumbled out of bed and padded toward the kitchen. Her brain was not functioning yet. She just needed coffee. Nothing else mattered.

Except—

She stopped. Dead.

Jamie was standing by the counter, casually buttering a piece of toast. Shirt on top. Nothing else.

Her soul left her body.

“JAMIE.”

He looked up, completely unfazed. “Mornin’, love.”

She slapped a hand over her face. “What. The fuck.”

Jamie blinked. “What?”

She gestured wildly at all of him. “Why are you NAKED in my kitchen?!”

He snorted. “Not naked. Got me top on.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“‘Course it does,” he argued, taking a massively casual bite of toast. “Top half’s covered. Bottom half’s—y’know—free. I get hot at night an— ”

She made a strangled noise. “Jamie. Put. Some. Pants. On.”

He smirked. “Why? You peekin’?”

She almost threw a dish towel at him.

Instead, she turned on her heel and marched out of the kitchen. “This is exactly why you should be at a hotel.”

Jamie called after her, still grinning. “Oi, if we were married, ya wouldn’t be so uptight about seein’ your husband in his natural state.”

She grabbed the nearest pillow and launched it at his head.

Idiot.... His ass is fuckin' phenomenal, though.

Day Three: The Honeymoon

She had no idea how this happened.

One moment, they were watching a movie. The next, Jamie was close. Way too close.

He was draped across the couch, arm along the back, body turned toward her in a way that made the air feel different. His knee bumped against hers, and his stupid cologne was messing with her ability to think straight. They were freaking cuddling on the couch aka Jamie's current bed.

Then, he turned his head toward her, voice softer than usual. “This is nice.”

She swallowed, face beet-red. “Yeah. Kinda cozy.”

Jamie’s gaze flickered down to her lips, and suddenly, the air shifted.

Thick. Heavy. Loaded with something unspoken.

His eyes searched hers. Daring. Waiting.

And then—he smirked.

“Kinda romantic, yeah?” he teased. “Like it's our honeymoon. just without the sex. I mean doesn't have to be—”

The moment shattered.

She groaned, shoving him away. “Oh my God, GO TO BED.”

Jamie cackled. “Sweet dreams, missus Tartt.”

She threw a pillow at him. Again.

Day Four: Maybe, just maybe…it ain't so bad.

By the time Day Four rolled around, she had officially lost control of her own flat.

Jamie had taken over every inch of her space—his socks scattered around the floor, his duffel bag still wide open, and somehow, his ridiculous number of protein bars had migrated into her kitchen cabinets like they belonged there.

She could handle all of that. She could even handle the way he walked around half-naked and left his stupid expensive (sexy) cologne smell lingering on her couch.

But what she couldn’t handle was the way he was making it too easy.

Too easy to get used to. Too easy to imagine him sticking around.

And that thought? That was dangerous.

Because Jamie Tartt wasn’t hers.

She was his assistant. This was temporary.

Right?

So why did it feel like something was shifting?

Jamie was still a slob. A slob that cared... He can't seem to pick up his socks but does the dishes every night. He's so bad at cooking, but he makes her the best damn coffee every morning.

That night, everything came to a head.

It started with an argument.

A stupid one.

She’d been exhausted, running on fumes after a long day of sorting out his schedule, making calls, and handling things she probably should’ve let him deal with himself.

So when she got back to the flat and saw Jamie sprawled on the couch, feet kicked up like he didn’t have a single care in the world, something inside her snapped.

“Do you ever clean up after yourself?” she blurted, tossing her bag onto the table.

Jamie blinked up at her. “What?”

She gestured wildly. “This! All of this! Your boots, your socks, your ridiculous protein bars in my cabinets—Jamie, you’ve turned my flat into your personal playground.”

Jamie sat up, frowning now. “Alright, what’s this really about?”

“What do you mean?”

He tilted his head. “You ain’t mad about the boots. You’re mad about somethin’ else.”

Her jaw tightened. “I’m mad that you act like this is normal. Like we—like you’re supposed to be here.”

Jamie stared at her for a long moment.

Then, his voice softened. “And what if I enjoy being here with you?”

Her stomach flipped.

She shook her head. “Jamie—”

“I really like bein’ here,” he admitted, standing now, his expression serious in a way that made her breath hitch. “I like wakin’ up in the morning and seein’ you walk out all grumpy ‘cause you ain’t had coffee yet. I like makin’ you laugh when you’re tryin’ real hard to be pissed off at me.”

She swallowed. “That’s—”

He stepped closer. “And I like sittin’ on that couch with you, watchin’ shite movies, even when you’re yellin’ at me for leavin’ crumbs everywhere.”

Her heart was pounding.

Jamie reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Gentle. Careful.

“I don't know, feels right, doesn’t it?” he murmured. “Like I belong here. With you. Near you.”

Her breath caught.

She could feel it—the moment balancing on a knife’s edge.

The air was thick with something dangerous. Something inevitable.

She could step back. Laugh it off. Pretend like this wasn’t happening.

Or—

Jamie’s fingers traced down her jaw, his eyes locked on hers.

“Tell me I’m wrong Y/N and I'll be out that door, no more socks in the floor, no more coffee in the mornin',” he whispered.

She didn’t.

She couldn’t.

Instead, she did the only thing she could—

She closed the gap and kissed him.

[rea-grimm]

Siren Law

You went home, and it was slowly approaching evening. The sky hadn't darkened yet, but you could slowly watch the beautiful sunset. 

You decided to take a shortcut across the beach when there was hardly anyone there and you had it to yourself. You took off the shoes you were holding and walked through the sand. 

You walked and after a while, you heard singing. It was a beautiful voice that sounded familiar to you and that seemed slightly drunk. Someone was obviously stepping on his tongue, but he didn't mind. 

Curiosity got the better of you and you went to take a closer look at who was singing. You came to a small cove that was bordered on the sides by rocks. 

When you reached the spot, you found a young man with raven hair sitting in the sand, leaning against the rocks, holding a nearly empty bottle of alcohol in his hand, singing. It was a song you thought you'd heard before. It was beautiful, and you thought it was supposed to be a duet. That something was missing. 

As you listened to it, you remembered that you knew him. But now he looked very different. Plus, he had legs. You leaned in closer and noticed that his legs were washed with little ripples and the wet skin was a dark blue-to-black colour with white spots. That gave you a boost to your intuition. It really was him.

As you leaned closer to see better, you rolled over and fell into the sand. He stopped singing and blinked at you before a look of recognition appeared in his alcohol-clouded eyes. 

"You? What are you doing here?" He asked, and you could see him looking you over from head to toe, and you could see him trying to remember your name.

"I was on my way home when I heard you singing... well I went to see who it was..." you explained, scrambling to your feet to sit next to him. Law just chuckled at that before offering you the bottle. You accepted it and took a small sip before handing it back to him. 

You sat there side by side, reminiscing about your first meeting, which was many years ago when you thought you'd never see him again. 

A few years back.

You were interning with local zoologists who had their own aquarium and also a research lab where they were studying newly discovered species.

You came in handy as you weren't under as many rights as they were, so they assigned you to the job of looking after their new addition, which they acquired less than a week ago. 

It was a shock to you as you were expecting some fish, maybe a killer whale, penguin or polar bear, which they also had, but the reality was quite different. It was none of those. To your surprise, it was a young siren that appeared to be your age. 

The siren had a dark blue to black tail with white spots. Likewise, he had side fins on his sides, a dorsal fin, webbing between his fingers, claws, gills on the sides of his ribs and neck as sharp as shark teeth, and an ear fin. 

This siren was aggressive to everyone and refused to communicate with anyone. He had only been there a week, but you were already the third person to take care of him. The previous one is said to have bitten off several fingers.

You were the exception. You treated him kindly and very differently from the others. You gained his trust and he even gave you his name. Trafalgar Law. 

You were the only one he communicated with. On your days off, he was looked after by others he couldn't stand. He was so aggressive with them, that he earned a collar around his neck from the management that tracked his movements, monitored his vitals and gave him electric shocks when he got too aggressive. 

Eventually, you got night shifts where you mostly stayed in his enclosure. There, Law showed you surprising fragility, with his head resting in your lap, hugging you, and you stroking his hair and even singing lullabies to help him sleep.

For he was not made for life in captivity and his instincts prevented him from calming down enough to sleep. But that wasn't true for you. Moreover, as you cared for him at night, you found that the white spots on his body glowed with bioluminescent light in the dark. 

Presence

Law asked you out that night because he wanted to see you again. Plus, he didn't want to be drunk when he was with you. Since it wasn't often he got drunk like that. You agreed, and he asked you out for sushi the next day. 

You met at the appointed time outside the restaurant before heading inside together. It still didn't occur to you that he could blend in without any problems. However, during the evening, you noticed little details that set him apart. Among them were the pointy teeth and the scars on his neck.

Law ordered onigiri, while you were recommended fish he thought you might like. Then he stole pieces of sushi off your plate. 

While you were eating, you noticed little spots on his hands that looked like scales forming. You asked him about it and he immediately took out a little cream to put on his hands and the spots disappeared immediately. 

He explained to you that he could never change completely into a human as it was impossible to hide all of his siren features. This included gills that looked like scars this way, sharper teeth, pointed ears, and the main feature was the scales on his legs and arms. However, he had a solution for that in the form of a special cream that could mask them so well that no one would know the difference. 

Flashback

When you had a day off and couldn't be there for him, scientists made some interesting records. During your absence, he started singing sad duets where it seemed like he was calling you. 

It was clear there was one voice missing. You wouldn't have known about it if the scientists hadn't discussed it. They thought it was a great discovery and wanted to find out more. That's why they started giving you more time off. 

But while you were there, you started noticing the bruises on his body. Especially on his human skin, where they were more visible. They weren't visible on his tail because of his dark scales. 

You worried for his health, lest he end up on the autopsy table, and you began to form a plan to get him back to freedom. 

One night, when you were sure of your plan, you confided it to Law. But he didn't go along with it because he thought it was too risky. Not for him, but for you. He was worried about you getting in trouble because of him. But you assured him they couldn't do anything to you when you were just there on an internship from school. 

That calmed him down a bit and he finally agreed to it. You agreed on a given evening, when you had a designated security rotation, when the best opportunity to escape was. 

That night was special in that he kissed you goodbye that night. It was your first kiss, and you wished it had been longer. Even though you knew full well it was a game of timing. 

You said your goodbyes before making your way as quickly as possible to the control room, which to your surprise was rarely locked. Only when there was a checkpoint.

You slipped inside and opened the door to the tunnel that sent fresh water into the enclosure. That's how Law got safely back to the ocean.

That was the moment you thought you'd seen the last of him and you'd never see him again. You expected him to stay away from people, deep in the ocean, but he chose a completely different tactic and headed for land. 

He turned human and even managed to get a medical degree. But he was still missing something. Something, or rather someone, who could complete his duet. 

End of flashback

You were spending more and more time with Law, and you felt like you were falling for him more and more. When you first met him, you had a small crush on him, but now it's grown several times. 

Siren had invited you for a swim in the sea as you strolled along the beach, when he led you to a side cove he wanted to show you that was one of his favourite spots and one that hardly anyone knew about. 

Law stripped there and changed into his original form on the shore. His legs turned into a tail and you saw him again with his original features that you had seen years ago. 

"You know sirens are known for their singing?" He asked you, and you noticed that a slight rose adorned his cheeks. You nodded your head in agreement. 

"I'd like to sing you something," he said at last, and the pink in his cheeks turned to red. 

"Sure," you replied since you could see it was important to him. Law nodded his head before taking a breath and starting to sing. Even as it was once a duet. But now he didn't sound sad, but hopeful. 

You closed your eyes and listened. His song warmed your heart and before you could stop yourself, you joined in, even though you didn't know the words. 

When Law finished singing, a satisfied smile spread across his face, and he took you in his arms and pulled you closer to the water. 

"This is incredible. You know, every siren has a special song and only their mate knows the lyrics," he said, slowly pulling you down to a depth where you were at least waist-deep in the water. 

He laughed before falling on his back into the water, his face close to the surface as he watched you. He grinned at you and saw you lean slightly towards him. You kissed him as your lips met right at the water's edge. 

Law smiled contentedly before he snaked his arms around your waist and pulled you under. It took you by surprise, but to your astonishment, it wasn't a problem since you could breathe underwater.

"I knew you were my mate from the moment I met you in the lab," he said as he pulled away weakly before pulling you in for another kiss.

Law Masterlist

[atimeofyourlife]

Caring for you is my love language

@bucktommyfluffebruary day 1: nonsexual intimacy | rated: g | wc: 711 | ao3 Buck takes care of Tommy after Maddie and Chimney's wedding

Getting Tommy home and taken care of was the priority. They'd had about an hour to celebrate Maddie and Chimney before the nurses came around to kick everyone out, and Buck could feel just how exhausted Tommy was. The fact he even showed up after being on the line battling a fire like that, it meant a lot to him. Now he wanted to just look after Tommy.

Getting him down and into the jeep was easy, his turnouts double bagged in garbage bags Buck had charmed the nurses into giving them. Just so the smell wouldn't get everywhere before Tommy was able to get them back to Harbor for cleaning.

Tommy did try to put up something of a fight when he realized that Buck had brought him back to the loft, rather than making the drive across town to his place, but Buck quickly shut it down.

"You could just drop me home." Tommy said through a yawn as Buck pulled into his parking spot.

"I could have. But we're here now. You can get cleaned up and be asleep much sooner than if we had to drive across town." Buck replied.

"I-. I could wait. You don't need to take care of me."

"I don't need to. But I want to." Buck countered. "And at least if you stay with me, I don't have to worry about you braining yourself in the shower."

"Okay." Tommy agreed, allowing Buck to help him out of the jeep and into the building.

Buck managed to convince Tommy to eat a portion of the soup he kept frozen for when he felt under the weather, or when he'd had a long shift and didn't feel like cooking. It was quick to heat in the microwave, and Buck lightly warmed some bread to go along with it. It was wasn't the best meal he could make, but it was the quickest along with being filling.

Then it was into the shower. Buck shot upstairs to grab some changes of clothes, both shorts and sweatpants, unsure what Tommy would prefer to wear to bed. He hesitated over underwear, unsure what the rules were over sharing underwear when you were dating a man. He'd shared clothes with Eddie a number of times, but underwear was always off limits, they were close friends, but not that close. And he had experience with some of his girlfriends, especially Taylor, stealing his boxers for something comfortable to sleep in. He decided to grab some, leaving it up to Tommy if he wanted to wear them. He came back down to find Tommy dozing at the table.

"Come on, shower time, then bed." Buck gently shook Tommy's shoulder.

Tommy just grumbled in response, burying his head deeper into his arms.

"Hey, your neck and back will hate you in the morning if I let you sleep like that" Buck helped Tommy up and across to the downstairs bathroom. He still couldn't understand why a lofted studio needed two bathrooms, but this was just one of many times he was thankful for it. And he was doubly thankful for the built in bench in the downstairs shower.

He helped Tommy out of his clothes, and pushed him to sit down on the bench, starting the shower on hot, then making quick work of his own clothes. He joined Tommy in the shower, washcloth in hand, and dropped to his knees.

"Baby, I'm too exhausted." Tommy mumbled, looking down at Buck with his eyes almost closed.

Buck huffed a laugh. "Just let me take care of you." He made quick work of washing Tommy, methodically moving up from his feet. By the time he reached Tommy's hair, the other main was slumped against the tile, snoring softly. Buck smiled at the sight, this feeling like one of the most intimate moments he'd ever had with any of his partners, he pressed a kiss to Tommy's forehead, before scrubbing himself down in almost record time.

He hated having to wake Tommy again, but knew from experience nothing good would come from falling asleep in the shower. He helped Tommy get dried and dressed, before taking him upstairs to bed. Settling down next to Tommy, he couldn't help hoping this could be forever.

[wlwsoccerfics]

My Restless Mind(LiaWältiXArsenalReader)

Warning: Life With ADHD(Personal experiences are all over this piece of Work),mental health, medication

Summary: ADHD often means your mind and Body are restless. Sometimes you ask yourself how you have gotten so lucky to have found the right Person for yourself that loves everything about you. Even when you sometimes can't love yourself.

It was 4am and you were awake again. Like every single morning. Didn't matter If you were still tired because your mind was racing already. So this was the end of your night. Thankfully your girlfriend Lia was still sleeping. Because you always would feel bad whenever you end up waking her this early in the day. But she always tells you that she wouldn't have moved in with you If she would mind getting woken up by you in the middle of the night.

You crawled out of bed to take a shower. First you always would take a cold shower. Before changing it up to hot water. Washing your hair and body. After that you stepped out of the shower and fried yourself off. Putting on a black sports bra, an Arsenal hoodie and some black shorts. You then went to brush your hair before walking into the kitchen. Originally you went in there to grab something to drink but then you noticed the Apples on your kitchen counter and suddenly remembered that you wanted to make an Apple Pie last night before you got distracted by the book you wanted to read. It was almost 5am now. You knew Lia wouldn't be awake for at least one more hour so you decided to bake that Apple Pie now.

You just got done with the Apple Pie and put it in the oven when someone walked up behind you.

"Schatzi?(Darling) Did you wake up in the middle of the night again?" She asked and hugged you from behind. You leaned into her. Closing your eyes for a moment.

"i did. no matter how much i try to get my mind to rest it won't work! I tried medication, therapy, breathing exercsies...nothing works for me and it is upsetting!"you admitted and sniffled softly. Lia turned you around gently. Kissing your forehead.

"we could talk to your doctor again. maybe sleeping pills are the answer? cause your adhd meds don't really help you to settle down right?" She stated. You looked at her. Biting down on your bottom lip.

"yeah maybe. i just hate taking meds in general cause they make me feel like i am an outside Person looking in!" You explained to her. Lia gently grabbed your face with her hands so you had to look at her.

"Schatzi, don't get mad when i ask this, but have you stopped taking your meds? cause you are a little more all over the place then usually." Lia was curious and a bit concerned If she was being honest. You stayed quiet for a moment. Which kind of said more than words could.

"i have. i somehow feel worse when i take them!" You explained to her and tears started streaming down your face. She pulled you close, kissing your head. You hide your face in her hair, your entire Body shaking from the sobs. Lia stroked your back gently.

"even if you can't love yourself right now and hate those parts about you that are different? I will be here to love all of you!" Lia whispered into your ear. Your sobs turned almost silent before fully stopping.

"how did i get so lucky to have you in my life and that you love me enough for the both of us!?!" You whisper out. Kissing her softly. She kissed you back gently.

You quickly realized that the Apple Pie was still in the oven and managed to get it Out in time. Not without burning your Hand though. Your girlfriend Sprung into action when you whimpered in pain. She made sure you held it under. some lukewarm water before putting some cream onto it and bandaged it up.

"does it feel better now Baby?" She asked you and kissed the side of your head gently. Wrapping her arms around you one the couch.

"yes it does." You mumbled out. "Thank you!" you added before your eyes closed and you fell asleep for a bit. Lia was quite thankful that you got a few minutes of Peace cause she always hated when you couldn't sleep. Knowing how hard it is for you when you wanted to sleep but couldn't cause your mind kept you awake.

She let you rest for two hours before waking you up because the two of you had to get ready for practice. It was always kind of funny to you how focused you were on the pitch. And how great your mind was working when it came to football. Your mind away from the pitch wasn't as collected cause you had so many things running through there. You could Focus on three Things at once If all of those things interested you. Like you could read a book, Talk with someone and watch a movie at the same time and you knew exactly what you read, saw and talked about. Not many people could do that! So that was Not too bad. Right?

Practice was great and you went to dinner with the Team afterwards. Enjoying the night with them and that night you actually managed to sleep better.

[servndipityz]

namgyu definitely uses those 3 in 1 face hair body gels. that guy CANT take care off his hair at all. also i think when hes working he’s ties his hair into a ponytail.

yeah i just wanted to yap about his hair can you blame me 😔😔

PH MY GAWWWDDD thank you so much anon for this because you’re so right!!!!!

i lowkey think a 3-in-1 is too fancy for him, actually. i fully believe he just washes his hair with regular shower gel—if he remembers to! it wouldn’t be the first time he’s forgotten and just… watered it down like a plant.

i also think his shower gel is some random one he stole from a hotel. yk, those little bottles they leave in the bathroom, so cheap that the hotel doesn’t even care if you take them.

the man could wash himself with hand sanitizer, HE DONT GIVE A FUCK!!!! but don’t get me wrong, i think he’s a pretty clean guy.

like, i feel like he’d get so bothered by body odor or just feeling dirty in general, even if his way of handling it is using a 10473829-in-1 gel and axe deodorant.

he’d invest in a good perfume, though. fully believes it’s the easiest way to smell good without putting in all that effort. definitely thinks he’s cracked the code.

he just doesn’t really care all that much about his hair, i fear. it’s just… there. i don’t think he gives it a second thought, but he does think he looks good with that hair length. doesn’t cut it himself, but some druggie friend who swears he “took lessons” (his ex was a hairdresser) does it for him, and all he asks for in return is a blunt or two.

now the ponytail……… the ponytail………. thank u so much anon for putting that image in my mind.

so. the man has absolute no idea of how to do a ponytail, and would rather die than ask.

probably thinks that if he doesn’t know how to “properly” do it, he can get away with wearing a ponytail bc it's in a nonchalant, manly way. definitely binge-watched a video tutorial on it while high but turned it off the second the woman in the video called him “sweetheart.”

anyway, one way or another, he manages. he mostly only puts it up for work—when he has to move boxes around or clean the venue before a big event. but he can’t tie it all the way, so the front pieces are always falling in front of his face.

the only time he actually makes the effort to tie it properly is when eating pussy.

probably uses a random rubber band he took from a wad of cash instead of an actual hair tie. always has it on his wrist. lost it during one of the games, which is why he’s constantly pushing his hair behind his ears.

ORRRR ALTERNATIVELY…… he lost it because he thought it was the funniest thing to keep throwing it at you—until one time, it flew too far while walking up the stairs. has also accidentally hit other players with it while trying to annoy you.

lastly, i think he once laughed at some dude for wearing a man bun, until his friend pointed out that, technically, while it’s not exactly a man bun, nam-gyu also wears a ponytail. didn’t speak to his friend for the rest of the day.

[zaynsclitoris]

good morning everypony

[fuumiku]

It was Maid Day today yesterday a week ago so I got struck by inspiration to draw the worsties, and it ran away from me into a whole AU where they’re coworkers at a maid cafe. She’s a med student & this is just a part time job, and this is his depression job while he gets his life back together. He needs something he can be workaholic about to forget what it’s like having a personal life and personal issues. He’s actually the accountant, but the new hire janitor (Izutsumi) doesn’t show up for half her shifts and is a sloppy worker, so he gets the extra work of doing her job on top of his because he’s undervalued and overworked. Of course, janitors also have an uniform to keep the aesthetic cohesion as they go about cleaning the place, of course.

Senshi’s the part time cook you only see slivers off, he’s kind and warm when you do see him and have a chat but most shifts he’s in and out the kitchen without a trace. Laios and Falin are regulars because Falin and Marcille are besties & in the same med school, Laios accompanies Falin as she visits her friend at work and gets hooked on the food. Chilchuck has to remind Marcille to work instead of chatting with Falin for an hour, and next thing he knows she’s distracting him from work too. That’s it that’s the AU. Inspired by this idol AU fanart a bit <3

This was not meant to be birthday gift but well…… Happy bday Chil!!!

Read from left to right

[cosmojjong]

seriously giving up on my hair it makes me want to cry

[orcelito]

Just days away from my HOPEFULLY last fall semester in college

Gonna make this year fucking count

[dandeliononthemoon]

my parents left for India just now so now I have the house for myself for 3 months

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Am I placebo effecting myself or is the caffeine actually working

[nereidprinc3ss]

diva

in which flirty!reader shows up to work in a bad mood and it’s spencer’s job to deal with her attitude. not that he minds. (bandages universe)

fluff warnings/tags: fem!reader, mentions of reader coming to work from a casual hookup, flirting, lots of teasing, the BAU being silly geese bc this is before all the trauma, insecurities about reader's job performance, spencer wants to be a cyborg, borderline cuddling hehehe a/n: nanana diva is a female version of a hustler (bandages!reader theme song) no but really i just missed them so much lowkey always accepting requests for these two!! I hope you guys likeeee bc i loveee them and also this was based on a request so i hope u see this LOL

As soon as Hotch calls wheels up in thirty you’re slumping forward, resting your head on folded arms. The to-go cup on the round table in front of you has long been emptied but you look at it longingly anyway. 

Morgan chuckles, slapping his folder down on the table next to you. “Aw, look at that. Bright eyed and bushy tailed.”

“It’s Sunday,” you groan. “It’s seven in the morning. Excuse me for not being ready to carpe the diem.”

“It’s just carpe diem,” Spencer interjects, standing and slipping his file into his bag. You sit up and give him the most indignant look you can manage, though it’s hard when you’re this tired and he’s that cute. Slacks. Sweater vest. Button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. An enviable waist. 

“Whose side are you on?”

He frowns, brushing a tuft of shining-clean brown hair out of his eyes. 

“If I was on anyone’s side other than my own it would cease to be their side. We’re all always on our own sides.”

“No, you’re on my side. Defend me.”

His brows only dart up and he looks back down to his bag. It’s a look you know well. Don’t get me involved. 

Morgan spins in his chair to face you, one elbow resting on the table. 

“I’m just saying, if this is your Sunday morning, I’d love to see your Saturday night, little miss forty five minutes late.”

“You heard Hotch say he called me half an hour earlier than everyone else. It was technically fifteen,” you frown. “And I… was at church.”

Rossi gestures at you with his coffee cup. “You step foot in a church, your shoes are going to start smoking.”

Your jaw drops. 

“Wow. I thought old people were supposed to be sweet. Come on, Spencer.”

Spencer knows better than to put up a fight as you get up and grab him by the hand not holding onto your cup and folder, dragging him to the bullpen to sit at your desk until the team is ready to go. 

He stands in front of you, hands in pockets, as you plop into your own chair. “I… can’t tell if you’re actually mad.”

“I am. At you. For not being on my side.”

Spencer sets his bag down and leans against the adjacent desk, arms folded. You stopped caring a long time ago if he’d notice you ogling the long, lithe lines of him. Maybe you never really cared, if you’re being honest with yourself. He’s a little harder to scandalize these days, anyway. But you’ll never stop trying. 

He bites his lip thoughtfully. 

“If you’re mad at me, why am I the one you dragged down here?”

“I’m not taking questions, Reid.”

He hisses. “Ouch. Reid.”

“Mhm. That’s how mad I am.”

“Okay, grouchy. Do you want a refill?”

You borderline pout, continuously perplexed by his kindness in the face of your insolence, but holding out your hollow cup for him anyway as you slouch lower in your seat. 

“Don’t call me grouchy.”

“Then don’t call me Reid,” he says, taking your cup as he passes, and you think you sense the faintest wash of amusement coloring his tone. 

The jet doesn’t do much to put pep in your step. 

“Aberdeen,” Morgan muses, letting his file closed on his lap. “Isn’t that where, uh, Kurt Cobain grew up?”

Spencer sits down in the chair next to you, setting the day’s third cup of coffee in front of you on the small table. “It is. It’s also where Washington’s first suspected serial killer William Gohl resided.”

“First of many,” Rossi amends. Reid nods. 

“In the US, Washington State comes in fifth place in terms of serial killers per capita. Some blame a widespread vitamin D deficiency. Just under eight hours of sunlight in the winter, the least in the contiguous United States.”

Emily gives an abhorrent rendition of a famous Nirvana riff, imitating a twangy electric guitar, before gesturing to your boss. “Hotch, you’re from Seattle. Did you ever get into Nirvana? The whole grunge scene?”

Hotch lowers his folder, giving her an unimpressed look. “Did you?”

While the exchange is amusing, the coffee is not perking you up and you’d like to be slightly less upright, if possible. You bump Spencer’s knee with your own, and he looks over at you obediently. 

“What’s up?”

“I wanna move to the couch.”

He nods and gets right back up. When you pass, and he doesn’t immediately follow, you turn around. Maybe the lack of sleep has rendered you unable to hide your look of contempt as he tries to sit back down. 

“What are you doing?”

Morgan snorts. “Uh oh. Lapdog almost forgot his training.”

“I am not a lapdog,” Spencer defends, giving Morgan a harsh look of his own, before following you, much to the amusement of the rest of the BAU. 

“Don’t listen to them,” you mutter as you step aside to let him pass. 

He settles into the corner of the couch. “I almost never do.” When you cozy up next to him, he seems surprised. “Um, hi?”

“I’m cold. You’re warm.”

“This is… unprofessional.”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Oh my god. They don’t care.”

That’s enough to shut him up. Eventually he relaxes, and though he doesn’t put his arm around you (they remain crossed in front of him) he doesn’t seem too distraught over the way you’re leaning against him, head on his shoulder. The sky is a soft grey where you can see it through the little rectangles lining the far wall, like a pale tea with plenty of milk. 

“What’s up with you, anyway?” He asks eventually, gingerly, and though he’s bold to ask it you know the last thing he means to do is offend. Luckily for him, he’s your soft spot. You let your eyes flutter shut against the boxes of diffuse light. 

“Tired.”

“I know that. You’ve had three cups of coffee and you’re still about to fall asleep.”

“Well… that’s all it was.”

“Mhm.”

“God, you’re—” you lift your head, about to give him a good old fashioned verbal lashing, but he’s so sweet looking, and he’s so kind to you even when he’s not, that you deflate—all your air coming out on a sigh as you settle back against him. “I… was… not home, when Hotch called me.”

“Yeah, you said you were at church?” He sounds utterly bewildered. Your heart melts, and you can’t hide the fondness seeping from every pore as you look up at him through your lashes. He really is so beautiful. 

“That was a joke, Spence. I was with a friend.”

His brows knit and a faint blush tinges his cheeks. 

“Oh. I knew that.”

And he really is getting better at detecting your brand of sarcasm. One day you doubt you’ll be able to pull any over on him, and he’ll stop being so adorable and bashful and embarrassed and sweet all the time. You don't relish the thought.

“What were you doing this morning?” You ask, in a bid to quell the very embarrassment you covet, because you’re not actually a demon, despite what Rossi had implied earlier. 

“Sleeping.”

You hum. Imagine taking his hand. Don’t really take it. 

“Me ’nd you should hang out outside of work more often.”

“Like… in the mornings?”

“Uh, probably not,” you laugh, your own face heating at the implication he’s only sort of and undoubtedly accidentally making. “I mean—we could. We could have breakfast sometimes.”

“I like breakfast,” he muses. “I know a couple of good spots. I can show you when we get back. There are these ube pancakes that are like bright purple on the inside. Have you had ube? I think you’d like them. The pancakes and the tuber. They’re the same color as your laptop case.”

You giggle, too tired for anything more dignified and too charmed for anything less authentic. Spencer has a moment of apparent self-awareness and after a second chuckles along with you, and like 99% of your moments with him, it’s a nice one. 

It slowly fades, and you sigh. 

“We’d probably get called in right in the middle of breakfast.”

“It’s always a possibility,” Spencer agrees, and you feel him nod. He smells really nice—clean and sort of cedar-y. Warm. 

“You ever think about how we’re just… robot arms to do the bidding of the federal government? We’re not even people. We’re cyborgs.”

“I’d love to be a cyborg.”

“But then you wouldn’t be so warm and comfy.”

“If I were a cyborg I could install a heating element. I’d still be warm. I don’t know about comfy. Maybe if I kept the biomechatronics to one side of my torso.”

“You’d install a heating element just for me? So we could keep cuddling?”

He clears his throat. You smile to yourself. 

“Why are we cyborgs, exactly?”

“Because we don’t get personal lives. The job comes first. I could be doing anything. I could be in the middle of eating bright purple pancakes with my good friend and colleague Spencer Reid and it doesn’t matter. If we get called in we have to leave.”

“If we were in the middle of breakfast, we could just… take our food to go and finish it at our desks.”

“Well—I guess it would be different if it was us, but with my other friends… it’s kind of a bummer, sometimes.”

You’re thinking about the friend you left this morning. Nobody you’re particularly invested in, but you wonder if that friend is still asleep in bed—and you realize you don’t much care. You’re glad to be here, and not there. 

“I think if the job didn’t feel worth it to you, you would’ve left by now. But you haven’t. You can complain all you want, but you show up every day.”

You scoff. 

“Fifteen to 45 minutes late, depending on how you look at it.”

“That is… atypical. You’re usually on time.”

“Usually…” you repeat darkly. A moment passes. An uncomfortable insecurity begins to bloom and ache like a rotting tooth. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Do you think…” you falter, unused to this kind of vulnerability. A cloud swallows the jet and the cabin darkens into a place for secrets. “Do you think I’m worth the trouble?”

You know Spencer senses the unease like a sheepdog can sense a storm from the way he perks up next to you. He’s always been like that—incredibly attuned to the moods of others. You hope he doesn’t think profiling is just another of many learned skills. It’s a genuine talent, a sort of savantism in its own right. You can’t imagine him doing anything else as passionately as he does his job. Sometimes it almost makes you insecure. 

“What trouble?”

“Like… Hotch having to call me half an hour earlier than he calls the rest of the team. Or you, accepting my constant teasing. I know I’m—I can be kind of a diva. I don’t always really feel as professional as you guys. Or… qualified, maybe.”

You can imagine the way he’d narrow his eyes as he thinks this over, though you’d still like to see it for yourself—but you keep your head on his shoulder. In a way, he’s already getting a closer look at you than you usually grant to anyone. 

“I think… you’re good at your job. And you care more than you’d like to admit. That thing you do—where you sometimes show up a few minutes late, or you piss Rossi off on purpose, or you flirt with Hotch—I think… we all have things like that. We all self-sabotage, because it’s a really hard job, and I think we all wonder if we’re really qualified for it, or deserve to be in these positions, or if we even want the responsibility of trying to save people’s lives. But you’re a genuinely good person and a gifted profiler. And everyone else knows it, too.”

The deep thrum of the jet’s engine blurs the rest of the team’s incomprehensible chatting and the pounding of your heart into one big muddied streak of paint. Hopefully Spencer can’t feel the heat of your cheek through his shirtsleeve. 

“Oh,” you murmur. 

A moment passes. 

It’s a relief when Spencer’s anxiety comes bubbling up before your own can. “Sorry, was that too much?”

“No,” you hurry, “no, it was—no. That was really really nice of you to say. Thank you, Spencer.”

He relaxes. “Well… it’s all true.”

How could anyone ever deserve him? How does anyone get lucky enough to know a man like Spencer Reid?

When you burst through the other side of the cloud, the sun has come out. It burns away the milky early morning fog and makes your eyes ache just enough to finally wake you up. You blink and stretch against him like a cat. 

“Spence?”

“Hm?”

“I just want to clarify… I don’t flirt with Hotch. I flirt with you.”

[catchastarorten]

—Hair tie

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho x lover!fem!reader

Summary: why hunt down his own hair ties when he could just steal yours instead?

Content: fluff, kisses, no games au, Dae-ho being a hair tie thief, english isn't my first language, mistakes should be present, sorry!

Word count: ~ 0.9k

The drawer was almost empty again.

You frowned, pulling it open further, as if the motion would magically summon the missing hair ties back into existence. But no, there were just two lonesome bands left. Your favorite blue one—gone. The black one that never snagged—gone.

You always kept your hair ties in a little wooden drawer, nestled among your earrings. But now, as you reached for one to tie up your hair with before washing your face, you only found there were two left.

You were meticulous about these things, always buying extras and keeping them in neat little rows. And yet, they seemed to vanish.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. You figured you might’ve misplaced them or accidentally lost a few. But then, you saw him—Dae-ho, the sweet, clingy man you adored—sitting on the couch with one of your black hair ties securing his messy ponytail.

You stared for a moment, confused. “Is that… mine?”

Dae-ho looked up from his book, his lips parting slightly as he realized what you were pointing at. Then he grinned sheepishly. “Oh… yeah. I couldn’t find mine, and, well, yours was just there…”

“Dae-ho!” you laughed, more amused than annoyed. “You could’ve asked.”

“I was going to put them back,” he said, looking so guilty you almost felt bad for teasing him. Almost. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Of course I’d notice. My stash is gone because of you.”

He frowned softly, putting the book down and opening his arms, as if begging for a hug after being scolded by you.

His hand reached up to tug at the tie in his hair, looking up at you as you made your way over to him with a small sigh. “Do you want this one back?” he asked softly, worried you might actually be upset at him.

You shook your head as his arms wrapped around you, unable to resist when he started spreading little kisses on your forehead and temple. “No, you can keep it.” you hummed.

From that moment on, it became a habit—one you found a bit endearing, if you were being honest. Whenever Dae-ho needed a hair tie, he’d raid your wooden drawer without a second thought.

Sometimes he tried to be sneaky about it, but he wasn’t exactly subtle. You’d catch him rifling through your things, his broad shoulders hunched like a child caught stealing cookies.

Other times, he didn’t bother hiding it at all, simply plucking one from the drawer with a soft grin and a quick kiss on your lips—then a kiss on your face, as if that would make you forgive him. And it always did.

He didn’t mean to always steal your hair ties, not really. It was just... easier for him to snatch one from the drawer than to hunt down his own.

You didn’t really mind. Not on most days, anyway.

One evening though, you did need a hair tie—desperately.

You were halfway through making dinner when a gust of wind from the open window sent a strand of hair into your face. Cursing under your breath, you tucked it behind your ear, only for another strand to escape. The kitchen was too hot, the recipe was more effort than you’d anticipated, and your hair, usually manageable, felt like an uncooperative child refusing to behave.

“Dae-ho!” you called, wiping your hands on a dish towel.

He appeared in the doorway a moment later, his expression somewhere between apologetic and guilty, as if he already knew what you called out to him about. His hair was tied back, as usual, and you could see one of your missing hair ties keeping it in place.

“Yes... love?” he asked, his voice so soft and warm it nearly melted your resolve.

“I need a hair tie,” you said, folding your arms. “And it seems you’ve taken all of mine.”

He blinked, then glanced down at his wrist. You hadn’t noticed before, but he had a spare hair tie looped around it—your hair tie. Without hesitation, he pulled it off and handed it to you, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Here,” he said. “I always keep an extra for you. Just in case.”

For a moment, you were too stunned to speak. You stared at the hair tie in his hand, then back at his face. He looked so earnest, his eyes warm and full of love. It wasn’t just that he had thought to keep a spare for you—it was the fact that he had done it so naturally, so effortlessly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, even if he had taken it from you in the first place.

You took the band, your chest tightening with a wave of affection. He stepped closer to kiss the top of your head, his arms looping around your waist. “Don’t be mad. I love you.” he murmured softly, his nose buried in your hair as he nuzzled against you.

“I love you too, you thief,” you muttered, though there was no bite to your words. How could there be, when he was wrapped around you like that? Adorable and impossible to be mad at.

[seventh-district]

hhhhhhh it is 9pm i just woke up and for the life of me i can’t remember if my dentist appointment is tomorrow or the next day so now i have to get ready tonight Just In Case