#and often in the middle of it she butts in with “okay enough debate.” while we are. just talking.

[autism-corner]

its easy to blame mental problems on yourself but the good thing is! it only takes one sentence for my mom to blow up and show me where i got it all =w=b

[gveret-fic]

I know Kara's usually compared to a puppy or a golden retriever but I always think of her as a particularly kind and gregarious big cat (like a v tame lion or tiger) and now I can't let go of the hc that Kryptonians purr

The first time Kara spends the night is a bit of an accident. She's waiting on the couch while Lena fixes them a drink, and Lena returns to find her head draped over the backrest, mouth gaping open and glasses askew, completely conked out. 

Between the options of getting her to her apartment with a forklift and waking her up, Lena decides to let it lie. In the case of a midnight emergency, she has a secret backup super suit in the office anyway. 

She gently picks the glasses off Kara's face and grabs a pillow from the bedroom. She tucks it beneath Kara's head, and Kara turns her face into it and gives it a good sniff. With dawning horror, Lena realizes she forgot to change the pillowcase. 

Trying to wrest a very soft and teareable item from a slumbering Kryptoinian’s grip is a lost cause, and Lena can do nothing but watch, mortified, as Kara makes a face in her sleep and drags the possibly very stinky pillow from underneath her head to hold it in her arms, and lets out a relieved little sigh. 

Lena is ready to turn away and nurse her embarrassment in private when she hears a strange noise, a sort of soft, interrupted breathing. Does Kara snore? Oh, Lena is going to use this. 

She turns halfway in Kara's direction, closing her eyes and concentrating on the sound. It's quiet and regular with a distinct rise and fall, a low frequency warbling, and it has a strangely soothing quality to it; the more Lena listens, the more she wants to hear, almost like a---

---a purr. Kara, on her couch, clutching Lena's used pillow to her chest, purring. 

Lena flees to her office, filled with a sudden inexplicable energy, face flaming with something that feels, unfortunately, like more than embarrassment.

. 

. 

The second time Kara spends the night is a bit more intentional. 

"Never ever ever?" Kara asks in horror. 

"Well, unless you count boarding school."  

"Obviously I don’t! Mandatory sleep arrangements are not a sleepover, Lena!" 

And so Kara shows up Friday evening at Lena's apartment, equipped with snacks, board games, and two sleeping bags. 

They camp out on the living room floor after many harrowing but obligatory sleepover activities as per Kara’s direction. Kara snuggles into her sleeping bag until only her head is visible, and barely that in its entirety. She smiles at Lena. Over the hum of the fridge and the occasional traffic outside, Lena can hear her start to purr.

Lena wants to ask, wants to reach, wants to touch, but Kara closes her eyes and is out like a light, rolling onto her side, her back to Lena, even as the purring continues.

Lena wonders what it would be like to feel it, to simply reach out and press her hand to Kara’s back, let those powerful vibrations travel up her arm, sense the corporeal manifestation of Kara’s contentment and comfort and ease.

Fuck. How invasive would that be? Lena’s in her own little sleeping bag, Kara in hers, a clear delineation between them. Kara had rolled onto her side, showing Lena her back. She trusts Lena enough to fall asleep in her presence, to---to purr about it.

Lena turns over, curling her hand to her chest, and allows that addictive, peaceful sound to lull her to sleep.

.

.

The seventh time Kara spends the night, Lena just invites her to bed. 

"Come on," she says. "My couch is sick of you. Give the poor thing some space." 

Kara doesn’t always seem entirely at ease in her body, but she sprawls all over Lena’s mattress, linking her arms behind her head, filling Lena’s space with her presence as naturally as if this bed has always been hers. Lena watches her from the corner of her eye as she wriggles a little in the sheets, hugging her pillow in one arm, luxuriating in the simple comfort. She’s magnetic.

Lena debates her options before picking her satin pyjama set and climbing in beside her.

Kara immediately flops onto her side, head propped on her arm, grinning. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Lena has left barely an inch between her body and the edge of the bed. She touches it, a reassurance, a promise. “Oh?” she asks. “Come here often, then?”

Kara leans closer. “I wish,” she says, voice low.

Lena stares at her for a fraction too long, laughs awkwardly to compensate, turns away to turn off the light. “Goodnight, you flirt.”

Kara reaches out and squeezes Lena’s hand in the dark. “Goodnight, Lena.”

.

They fall asleep on opposite sides of the bed. Lena knows this for certain; she checked. She can remember touching the edge of the bed just before falling asleep. But she wakes up---she wakes up with her arm wound around Kara’s belly, Kara’s butt tucked into her groin, Kara’s body vibrating palpably against her own.

Sleep foggy and enamored, Lena reaches an unthinking hand to press directly over Kara’s purring chest.

“Hey,” a muggy voice greets her. Kara turns over onto her back, shoots her a blurry smile.

“Shit.” Lena tries to snatch away her hand only for Kara to grab her arm, keeping her hand against Kara’s chest. The vibrations intensify. “Sorry,” Lena mutters, eyes fixed on her own hand.

Kara grips tighter. “You like it?” she asks, her voice sleep-rough.

Lena swallows. Nods. Denial would be absurd at this point.

“It’s for you,” Kara rasps.

Lena feels her heart in her throat. Her eyes find Kara’s.

“I like your bed,” Kara says, words plain and eyes intense. “I like you.”

Kara’s purring swells and dips with her breath, loud in Lena’s ears, tangible against her skin. Lena puts her weight on the palm braced on Kara’s chest; Kara strains upward in an impressive show of core strength. They meet somewhere in the middle.

Kara kisses sweet and simple, a little sluggish with sleep, still gripping Lena’s forearm. The purring deepens, a low, insistent hum between them; a reassurance, a confession, a gift. Lena turns her head away, overwhelmed. Takes the hand off too.

“What?” Kara sits up further, hand sliding up to grip Lena’s wrist, thumb against her palm. The purring quiets. “What’s wrong?”

I just feel really loved right now, is a thought Lena could never verbally express in a million years.

“Gosh, Lena, are you crying?” Kara digs her thumb into the heel of Lena’s palm. “I’m that bad, huh?”

“The worst,” Lena agrees. Sniffs.

Kara smiles. “Okay. Let me try again? I’m a very good student.” 

Lena wipes a knuckle under her eye. “A real teacher’s cat,” she says.

Kara doesn’t dignify that with a laugh, but she does dignify it with another kiss. Lena slumps forward into her until Kara's back flops back on the bed and her arms come around Lena, physically cocooned within every tactile expression of Kara’s affection.  

Lena has no particular physiological mechanism to showcase her appreciation, so she pours it into the kiss instead.

[criminalminds4days]

Family Matters | Chapter 8: First Time

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

Word Count: 2.8k

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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

*************************************************

(This gif is not mine)

Chapter 8: First Time

It is time to reveal the first meeting between the shy doctor and his new, very clumsy girlfriend.

Why is this the time, you may ask?

Well, because,  what better way to intrigue the reader than by leaving the couple in newfound happiness without delivering the details of the said night. As well as provide a title that could reference the event and/or have it mean something completely different.

Not to worry, the awaited next morning shall be given in the next chapter.

Without any more delay, please enjoy the individual perspective of the first time they saw each other.

She took a deep breath as the elevator doors opened for the first time, leading her to what was bound to be her new workplace. She smiled politely at all the people she encountered in her short walk and as soon as she reached the glass doors she froze.

How had she made it this far? What if she wasn't good enough? What if the whole room hated her and she was just a horrible profiler and got fired on day two?

No, she was good enough otherwise she wouldn't be here. That was easier said than believed. She gathered the courage she needed and pushed the door, only to be greeted with it being stuck. She continued putting force, hoping it would decide to open before someone noticed her struggling, but it was too late for that.

"It's a pull, not a push." A deep voice said, behind her. She turned to see a dark-skinned tall man with no hair and very full eyebrows. He was wearing a black T-shirt that made his obvious muscles stand out. He wore black pants and dress shoes and a gun was holstered to his side. He was cute! Not that she had the time for dating, she didn't want a repeat of last year.

Instead of commenting on his appearance or flirting, she decided to pull the door, and would you know? It was suddenly unstuck. "I knew it wasn't stuck, I was just making sure it was strong enough."

The man chuckled, followed by a "sure," that wasn't even trying to sound convincing.

She made her way inside the bullpen, looking for her new boss, Aaron Hotchner's office. As she approached said room, a group of desks with only one person sitting caught her eye. She debated whether to approach but she could feel the man from earlier staring at her and decided not to. As soon as she met with agent Hotch, as he asked her to refer to him as, they were called for a case and she was in the meeting room for the first time, sitting as far away from everyone as possible.

"Everyone, before we start I want to introduce you to our new Agent," Hotch said, as he referred to the woman. She stood and waved. "This is our team, Derek Morgan," he said pointing at the man from earlier, he winked at her knowingly and she simply smiled, already wishing to leave. "This is Jennifer Jareau, Emily Prentiss, David Rossi-"

"DAVID ROSSI?!" Her voice echoed through the room and she instantly felt embarrassment settle in. "I am so sorry, I'm such a fan. You must get that a lot, sorry."

She looked at the members she had been introduced to, Jennifer Jareau was wearing a striped dress shirt and dress pants, her blonde hair was left down and her blue eyes looked amused. Emily Prentiss wore her black hair in a low ponytail, a pink shirt, and black pants, she also seemed to be having a good time at her expense.

The man whose books she had in paperback, hardcover and audible, simply chuckled as if his only feeling was amusement. His hair was short and he had a lock beard look going on, a black suit with a matching red tie a clearly expensive watch on his wrist, he basically smelled like money.

"As I was saying," continued Hotch, adjusting the blue tie of his seemingly very expensive suit, a white dress shirt underneath. "This is Penelope Garcia, our Tech analyst, and Dr. Spencer Reid." She looked at the last two members and for the first time, she saw people like her. Although all the members introduced prior seemed like good people, they also seemed so professional, like they knew what they were doing and when to get their hands dirty. The remaining two, seemed younger, like how they presented themselves to the world was the same whether they were on the job as it was in their spare time.

Penelope had a beautiful rainbow dress, her blonde hair with a lot of volume and pins stuck all over, although she didn't like cats, she adored the woman's cat-themed glasses, and deep down she was a sucker for glitter. Spencer, the other doctor in the room, was wearing a white shirt underneath the comfiest looking red sweater she had ever seen. It was weird seeing someone wearing a sweater in the middle of the summer, but hey, who was she to judge? His hair was lazily pushed back and his curls were so pretty! How do you get curls that pretty?! Not to mention he was good looking, a defined jawline, and those brown eyes could melt her any time he wanted.

There she was, thinking things she shouldn't of yet another coworker. "It is a pleasure to meet you all." She took her seat again and Penelope began presenting the case.

As they were brainstorming, she had finally felt confident enough to suggest something, only to find herself interrupted by Spencer Reid. "Nu-uh bruh, I know you didn't just interrupt me mid-sentence." She spoke, clearly not having it. "I did not work my butt off to make it to the FBI just so that a man who wears sweaters in the middle of July cuts me off on my first day!" All eyes turned to her, perplexed. "I don't know how they do it here in the East Coast but back in the west we let a person finish their sentence." Laughs emerged in the room, and Spencer's eyebrows furrowed, slightly annoyed and very confused.

"I beg your pardon?" The man questioned.

"As you should. My pardon is granted." She turned back and finished her thoughts.

At that moment, unknowingly, she had just put into motion the seed for what would become her and Spencer Reid's relationship. And all the events that followed, her almost-death at the hands of a cult leader, her cool head when proving Morgan's innocence, and the countless times she made sure every single member of her team remained safe while providing them with immense ammunition to laugh when feeling down left an impression. Neither knew it but they were on each other's mind more than they realized. But that's not what you want to hear right now, is it?

After getting on the jet, the seat next to who she believed to be Emily Prentiss was the only one available. She took the seat and the woman gave her a kind smile.

"It wasn't that bad." She assured her.

"I may have just made a really bad first impression."

"You didn't, if anything we like you more than before." She followed this by a wink as the team reviewed the case and they took off.

"So, detective Owen is leading this investigation, you guys remember him, correct?" JJ spoke first.

"From the stalker case," Hotch noted.

"Yes." The blonde agreed, "Spence, you remember that case, right?"

"Yes Jennifer, I do." She took a chance by glancing up to find him very flustered at the mention.

"Do you ever talk to, what's her name again... Lila, right? Do you keep in contact with her?" She questioned, an amused smile forming on her face.

"I honestly think we should focus on this particular case." He answered, avoiding the question.

She turned to Emily who shrugged, just as confused as she was. Rossi seemed as lost as the two women, but Morgan and JJ seemed to be having a good time.

After landing and meeting with the local PD, they had begun their investigation, trying to understand this unsub. It had been about twenty-four hours since she had food and her growling stomach wasn't helping anyone.

"How about we go to get some food newbie?" Emily suggested, "I could use some right now."

"Sure."

As they made their way to the first food cart they saw, Emily cursed under her breath. "Fuck, I forgot my purse."

"It's okay, my treat. After all, thanks to you I'm getting food."

"I will pay you back."

"No need." With this said, the two ordered a hot dog and a soda. She should have known better than to do so, as soon after her first bite, the meal decided to find a second home in her shirt. "Oh, come on!"

"That's not good." Emily agreed, "let me run to the hotel, it's two blocks from here, and I'll get you a new shirt."

"You don't need to do that."

"I will be fast, don't worry."

Too late she realized that Emily's purse, which she assumed had her hotel key, was in the office. Nonetheless, the woman returned with a sweater to help her cover the stain. The irony wasn't lost on her, she judged Spencer's sweater-wearing and now she had to do the same.

This was definitely going to be a great day.

*************************************************

Spencer Reid was never one to be noisy, nor the first one to notice people. This often came out as rude and most people believed he thought he was better than them, which was not the case. The truth is that overcoming his addiction had left him drained, the parting of Elle Greenaway, the only woman he could safely admit he loved, and the departure of yet another father figure, Jason Gideon, had made him developed a closed-off personality that prevented him from ever creating attachments to new individuals. Emily Prentiss and David Rossi being the only exceptions.

This is important to know because as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen walked into the bullpen, he tried his hardest to avoid looking up. Granted, it was more for appearance sake than anything, because there was no way he hadn't noticed her. How could he not? She wore a white shirt that was loose enough to give her a sense of floating through the room. He had seen her struggle to open the door, and the interaction she had with Derek Morgan and knew if he made a move the Doctor would have no chance. Not that he wanted one, he didn't even know her name.

He saw her walk towards Aaron Hotchner's office and any possibility that might have crossed his mind had been completely shattered. She would be his teammate, and fraternization was not allowed within the same unit. Again, that was just stating the facts, because he wouldn't even consider entering a romantic relationship. It was true that he had kissed more girls in the last two years than he had done in the last twenty-six years of his life, but that didn't mean he was a player, or that he would try to get in the new agents' pants.

After discussing these same things with himself he was called into the bullpen and knew they would be introduced to the new girl. He fixed his sweater and rubbed his hands clearing the sweat that had accumulated.

"You okay, Spence?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You seem a little nervous."

"I haven't had enough coffee, is all."

"Well, how could you? Your drinks are basically liquid sugar."

"It's not that bad JJ." They both reached the room in which they held their round table and sat next to each other.

Slowly, the room filled with the rest of the team and lastly by their Unit Chief and the new member. She was introduced to all of them and he couldn't help but notice how her hands seemed so shaky and her cheeks were flushed. He took his view from her and attempted to concentrate on the case. When he finally found himself in the zone was when his biggest mistake occurred.

"If you look at the scar marks though it seems-" Before he could continue, the girl he had just interrupted had cut him off.

She made sure to set him straight and he looked up just in time to hear her mention his summer-sweater wearing and feel completely embarrassed.

"I beg your pardon?" He said a little annoyed. Sure, it wasn't correct to interrupt her, but bringing his sweater tendencies was not polite. She took his words as an actual apology whether he intended it that way or not (which he didn't) and continued.

The memory would forever be engraved in his brain, he knew that were the little things that made having an eidetic memory, not such a great perk. So, as they sat in the jet he avoided all eye contact.

How could never look her in the eye without remembering their first real interaction, and he was sure she would not want to actually have a conversation with a guy that had come off as dismissive on her first day.

He would have overthought the whole situation if it hadn't been for JJ reminding him of his first 'fling' as the team often referred to it. Lila had been an actress they had protected from a stalker, and Reid couldn't help but fall for her charms. They hadn't talked in a while, mostly because he knew dating someone you barely knew was hard enough, but doing it when the two of you lived on the other side of the country was even worse.

He made sure to try and forget the mentioned girl and the incident with the new agent as he fixed his bed space. Sleeping in hotel rooms made him very uncomfortable, knowing all the germs that could possibly inhabit every single inch, but he loved his job, so with a few accommodations, he got through it.

"More sweaters pretty boy?" Morgan said, taking one out of his go-bag. "How did it go, ah yes: I did not work my butt off to make it to the FBI just so that a man who wears sweaters in the middle of July cuts me off on my first day!"

"Please stop, it's bad enough I will forever have that memory seared in my brain. She probably thinks I'm a douchebag."

"She probably does." His roommate teased. "But don't worry, she'll come around, now, let's go. We have work to do."

Morgan threw the sweater onto his bed and the two made their way to the local police station. They spent about five hours trying to come up with a preliminary profile, hoping this would give them the insight they needed to determine the importance of victimology, and possible help with a geographical profile by letting them know if there had been missing person's reports or bodies of people that fit that general victimology. After that time Emily and the new girl decided to go get food. He was hungry too but decided against going with them because he didn't think he would be well received.

After about half an hour, the pair returned and the girl was wearing a sweater that very clearly resembled the one Morgan had left on his bed earlier that day. He didn't think much of it until they returned to their hotel room and said clothing item was nowhere to be found.

"How on earth does a sweater just disappear? We had a do not disturb sign up, there is no way housekeeping would come in." Morgan said as they both looked for it.

At this point, Spencer knew why he wouldn't find his sweater, but decided to remain silent. How could he ask her politely to return it? And more importantly, why was she wearing it? How did she get a hold of it?

He never really got an answer to these questions, as they were not really friends, and he didn't feel comfortable asking about it. She had worn it a couple of times, including during their kidnapping, it seemed rather odd to bring it up then. "Hey, I know we might die, but I just have to know: How did you get my sweater?" was probably not going to cut it. So he let her keep it, and eventually, while the memory was still engraved in his brain, it became less relevant. That was, until the next morning of their shared night, when he saw said sweater very visibly hanging on her closet door and decided to try it on and see if it still fit.

[v-velvetykisscs]

Safety Net

Note: here’s the update after two months. I’m so sorry, I’ve been going through personal stuff and school has been stressing me out like crazy. Hope you like this !!

Chapter 2:

My heartbeat is ringing in my ears. I watch the figures in the passenger seat attentively, whilst inhaling deeply and exhaling once again. 10 minutes have passed inside of this car, and not a single word has been spoken by Historia or either of the people in the driver and passenger seat. My palms are moist and a warm rush passes through my body. I dig my nails into the soft, damp skin of my palms. My eyes divert to the window of the car, following the fleeting street lights with my eyes before screwing my eyes shut. I'm going to be sick. This dread has formed a coiled-up knot in my stomach, I fear it'll travel up my throat and out.

"What is this?" I state firmly.

Historia turns her head away from her black ballet flats to look at me, rigid strands of her golden hair falling onto her face. Her eyes widen and her eyebrows furrow. She purses her lips as she looks away from me.

I stare furiously into the rear-view mirror.

"Who are you guys?"

The man in the driver's seat, pushes his glasses down onto the bridge of his nose and makes eye contact with me. His dark, thick eyebrows are relaxed and his chocolatey eyes pour indirectly into mine.

"So she didn't tell you."

I've seen those eyes somewhere.

"No, why would I be asking?"

As if on cue, he stops at the red light, turning around slowly.

"She's a feisty one, Krista."

He sports a light brown messy hair-do and leather jacket as a replacement for the white shirt, brown waistcoat and black bow tie.

"What the fuck?! I recognise you, you're the bartender I spoke to back there."

"I'm Jean, Sugar Cube." he smirks, quirking an eyebrow.

I spare him a glance before waiting for the other to speak.

"And I'm Armin." A shorter, skinnier man speaks quietly before turning to give me a small smile. He has short, straw-blonde hair and dusty blue eyes.

"Nice to meet you, although this doesn't answer my question."

The red-light fades to green and Jean turns around and pushes the pedal, resuming his driving.

I focus on Historia again, waiting for her to give me a response.

"I swear I was going to tell you-"

"And I was there to make sure that she would, but when I realised you ran into trouble, I got my baby ready for a swift escape." Jean intervenes.

"Who do you work for?"

"I work at Yeager Corporations, Jean and Armin are my colleagues."

"And where are they taking us?"

"The HQ. It's the safest place at the moment." Armin butts in promptly.

"You obviously don't know the first thing about me but I would definitely feel much safer within the walls of my house."

"I'm sure anyone would, but right now we need to make it to HQ, where the boss will know what to do."

...

I eye the pair as they slam the front doors of the vehicle and walk to either side of the car to prompt the doors open for us.

I huff, snatching my messenger bag up from the floor, reaching for the door handle. I hold onto it. Jean notices and frowns a little. He speaks loud enough for me to hear him through the glass with a muffle. "Allow me." he insists. I let go of the door handle and wait for him. He moves to the side and I step out of the car. "Thank you" I fix the neat rows of cars parked opposite us instead of making eye contact.

Historia falls behind and walks besides me.

"Why didn't you tell me anything?"

"Because there's more to it."

"God you sound so morbid. Look, I've covered your ass more times than I seem to recall, so nothing you do shocks me. I know you better than anyone else."

"But this is different."

I pause.

"Different how?"

"We're nearly there, ladies."

"Alright Jean."

She wobbles forward as she tries to walk faster than before to avoid resuming our conversation. I glance at her injured foot; her ankle is bruised and battered with purple and blue. It looks as if it's swelling. I move up next to her and hold her arm, putting it gently around my shoulder to support her. I look away from her. There's an elevator. The boys pause and we walk a few more steps. Armin's finger skims over the numbers. He pushes the button. After a while, the metallic doors slide open smoothly.

Stepping out of the lift, Armin strides forward, his shoes clunking somewhat gracefully onto the white marble tiles. Jean follows quickly behind, not wanting to be the one left behind to tail the group. He puffs his chest out, straightening his posture to make himself seem taller and more intimidating. He turns and gives me a side smirk, but I scoff and roll my eyes, not allowing myself to associate with that heathen. Historia places a hand on your shoulder almost comfortingly, ushering you to follow behind Armin and that cocky bastard Jean. I exhale defeatedly, having no choice but to follow along and play their stupid little game. Historia whimpers, her ankle still being in moderate pain and currently untreated. This left her hopeless at the back, hopping along and trying to keep up with everyone else's paces. I check back on Historia every so often to make sure she's okay, and the lift door shuts, leaving only the cityscape lights to illuminate the room. I think to myself for a moment, how blindingly bright it must be here on a sunny day, the room being mostly white, and white being a reflective colour. Is that why mafia bosses wear sunglasses? I guess we'll never know. Focusing myself again, I turn back around to face the backs of Armin and Jean, whispering to one another, Armin occasionally glancing back at me.

"So.. where are we going?" I ask, feeling quite awkward being sandwiched between these weirdos. There was no response from either of them. Only the low chatter and the monotonous sound of a few keyboards typing away filled the silence. In fact, they both stopped whispering and continued to walk. I narrow my eyes, balling my hands into a fist and beginning to pierce my skin with my nails.

"Hello? I know the two of you aren't fucking deaf." This was a bold move from me, adrenaline rushing through my body as my anger levels continued to rise, them both still ignoring me. These fuckers. I look back at Historia hopelessly, asking for assistance with my eyes. She just stares back blankly at me, trying to keep her own balance whilst walking, leaving me to debate whether I should just throw a tantrum in the middle of the workroom, there and then, oblivious to the consequences.

"What the FUCK is this." I raise my voice this time, close to a yell. They both stop and look at each other, then turning back around to me. The sound of Historia's shoes stopped behind me. I gulped, looking up at the two of them. "Our workroom." Armin would finally reply, scarily calm.

Jean intervenes "It's our condo. We make business here, We drink and eat and socialise. No need to get so worked up, you little lemon. We're nearly there."

I let a short, humourless laugh escape, pulling my lips into a horrid smile. Jean smiles, unbothered by my sour attitude. "Bye Hitch!" Jean exclaims, waving at someone; a woman, in chunky, leather Dr. Martens black boots, red fishnet tights, a red lingerie silk dress with a khaki green jacket. She's carrying a black duffel back over her shoulder. She waves back at him with her free hand, smirking. "You have a goodnight" he says to himself. We make a right turn, down a corridor, past white office doors with plastic plaques. We walk past a red haired man, sliding a piece of paper with printed lettering through one of the transparent plates. "Still on prep duty I see, Floch." Jean blurts as he passes the man.

"Shut up Horseface." he retorts bitterly, sparing a quick glance at me before returning to his job. A few steps away sits a nameless mahogany door. Armin takes a nimble step forward, knocking on the door softly. When no one responds, Jean twists the door handle, leaving the door ajar. He slips through and we follow. The room is illuminated by a dim light dangling from the ceiling, above a round, oak table. The table is littered with playing cards, 3 cans of coke and 3 open packets of potato chips on the surface, crumbs splayed all over. The space smells of cheap lavender diffuser. Two people are sitting at the table, simultaneously turning their heads around to look at the commotion. One of them- a woman- with long brown hair, tied back in a dishevelled ponytail and beige skin, has potato chips crumbs on her face. Her chocolate eyes widen at the sight of us. The other, a man- has a buzz cut with prominent, light green eyes that mirror the woman's expression.

"Oh- Jean! We didn't expect you to pay us a visit. Otherwise I might've thought about saving you some of these." The woman admits, her tone guilty as she looks down at the empty, open crisps packets.

"Oh spare me the apology Sasha, these things have a lot of calories in them anyway. I was hoping you'd know where I can find Jaeger."

"Jaeger? He should be in his office, working late." The man adds.

"Thanks Connie."

Connie nods, craning his neck and swinging his chair back, his hands holding the table as he gazes at me curiously.

"Who's this?"

"Y/n, Y/n L/n." I respond before Jean can

Sasha laughs loudly, seeming to have heard that.

We've now walked back to the main lobby and steered towards a set of a coiling staircase. I pause at the bottom of the stairs, grabbing Historia's arm gently. " I'm not letting you go further in the state you're in." I eye Armin, his eyes already fixated on me. "Will you please take care of her?"

Armin nods sharply, walking towards Historia.

"Y/N, I'm okay-" She begins, but I turn around beginning to walk up the steps. "Lead the way" I ordered Jean. At the top, Jean saunters over to a pair of opaque double doors. Next to those are 3 velvet cushion chairs. I stare at him as he brings his fist up on the door, to knock gently.

I gulp.

"Come in." a voice from within says clearly, with a neutral tone.

[possibilistfanfiction]

we were wild & fluorescent (come home to my heart)

[they jus keep fallin in love (lexa’s pov)]

//

the second date you go on you take her to a very highly rated retrospective. it’s your favorite museum, and you pay for the tickets and you walk through, tell her little facts you know and she grins and takes your hand once you pass a series of paintings about vaginas that make you blush, despite every single effort not to. 

clarke makes you stop in the middle of four huge paintings, one for each season, and her grip on your hand tightens. she’s an artist, you know, or she told you this reluctantly, lightly.

she doesn’t say anything, just takes a step closer to the painting you think is about winter. it’s warm outside, sweltering and muggy in the city, your skin sticky even just from the walk from your apartment to the bodega on the corner, but she sucks in a breath and you take in her bright, sunny hair, the blue dress she’s wearing, the color of her eyes and the horizon line on a clear day. she doesn’t look like winter, not at all, and the painting is dripping with deep purples, a mourning, a loss. there are words scribbled to one side, about sleep and a poet and a dream about a monster. or maybe you’re reading it wrong, because there are stubborn spots of yellow on the canvas as well, and it’s pale but alive, like the palm of your hand, clammy and nervous and joyful; sometimes they sting.

clarke clears her throat and turns to you and wipes her eyes quickly with a little laugh.

‘it’s one of my favorites,’ she says, and you almost don’t know what to do, or say, and you maybe forget to breathe because she’s so honest, and you’ve never been brave like that.

you kiss her, right in the middle of the four seasons, just once, softly but you hope she knows that you mean it. you kiss her and she kisses you back and you feel your heart taking root in your body.

she sighs and kisses your cheek and starts off toward the next set of paintings. you spare one glance back, and read, just barely, warm in ray of winter sun.

//

she stays over at your apartment after you get very, very drunk drinking tequila and eating tacos at the bar nearby, and when you got home she pressed you up against your door and you shoved your leg between hers with a gratifying, and loud, moan, until anya cleared her throat from the couch, nursing a bottle of merlot and a bowl of popcorn.

you’d rolled your eyes and clarke had blushed and you’d tugged her to your room, laid you down on your bed and you’d kissed her until you started to feel dizzy, which was embarrassing but you’d pushed her back, gently and regrettably. she kissed your forehead and pulls your shirt back down, snuggles in beside you with her head on your chest, little puffs of heady, tequila-warm breath against your neck.

when you wake up you’re hungover, groaning, and she’s not next to you but the bed is warm and her shoes are still flung in the corner so you’re not worried.

you walk out into the kitchen and she’s swallowing some medicine, which you think is advil, so you walk up behind her and put your arms around her waist, sleepy and soft.

she startles, a little, and you don’t know if you’ve done something wrong, because all you’d wanted was advil of your own, honestly, but you back up immediately and she turns to you and looks a little helpless and a lot stubborn and you realize, then, the force of her. people don’t stay, people have never stayed, and you lived out of a garbage bag for your childhood; you never had enough food and one time when you were thirteen you had asked the foster father you were staying with if you could get a new notebook and he was drunk and shoved you so hard into your bed that the frame broke against your shoulder.

clarke looks at you and her expression makes you think something terrible is going to happen, that she’s going to leave and it’s only been a little while but you think it would hurt you, and deeply.

‘i take anti-depressants,’ she says, and the relief you feel almost brings tears to your eyes before you remember that this is something she very reluctantly shared with you.

you take her hand and squeeze and kiss the crook of her neck before you pull her into a hug.

‘okay,’ you say.

she sighs, just once, and nods against your shoulder. 

//

you know you love her when you’re on the Q train, going from some dumb, packed market in midtown she’d wanted to go to back to her apartment by prospect park, and she had gasped and turned around when you were going over the bridge.

she’d told you all about the light, the resolution, the city skyline, as the train had kept going and she’d tried to take pictures of it all, this perfect moment, on her phone.

she’d smiled at you, and you’d felt dazed, and she’d taken your hand.

‘i’m glad i saw that with you,’ she says, as you’re climbing up the steps at her stop.

you nod, lace your fingers even tighter; you can’t imagine letting her go. it’s getting colder and she hunches up on the walk home and you don’t know how to say it; you’ve never been good at saying things, but you shrug out of your jacket and put it on her shoulders.

‘lexa,’ she says, ‘no, that’s okay.’

you shrug. 

she sighs and puts it on fully, kisses your cheek and takes your hand again.

//

you’re at your friends’ housewarming party, wine and cheese themed, and clarke is away for the weekend with her friends, celebrating the end of exams. you get very, very drunk on rosé like you’re a sophomore in undergrad again, because you feel achy and school is about to start and you’re young, really, and your students expect you to have so many things figured out, and you don’t.

you sit on the counter and eat a startling amount of smoked havarti and laugh, though, as your friends try to sing hamilton, and someone offers you more wine so you take that too.

clarke texts you that she’s arrived safely at her parents’ cottage and sends a picture of octavia already holding up a fish and raven scowling behind, and you laugh. you almost type i love you but you’re far too drunk and so you hit backspace for probably a minute and then send hearts instead.

you’re about to put your phone away when it lights up again.

costia: how are you?

your breath catches a little, like it always does, because you had been in love with costia for years, and she’s beautiful and her smile can light up rooms. you’re older and you’re not the same people you were back then, back when you climbed out of your dorm window and and climbed into hers because you’d lost your student ID at a party and you just needed to be near her, because your shoulder hurt and you couldn’t stop having nightmares.

you climb the stairs to your friends’ roof, and the air is cool and fresh, fluttering after a summer downpour. you call her instead of texting, because the screen is blurry and you miss her voice, and she seems surprised when she answers but happy anyway.

‘i met someone,’ you find yourself saying.

‘that’s good, lex,’ costia says, and your fingers ache. ‘are you drunk?’

‘very,’ you tell her, and she laughs. ‘she wants me to meet her parents at her graduation.’

‘you’re scared.’

you debate hanging up. 

‘lexa.’

‘yeah, whatever.’ you take another gulp of wine.

you know costia smiles when she says, ‘they’re going to love you.’

you clench your jaw and apologize when you hang up because it starts to rain again.

//

she traces your tattoos one night in bed, as she often does, propped on one elbow and curious.

she doesn’t ask about them, and you don’t offer, but she murmurs something about how beautiful they are and that’s enough.

you kiss her with tears in your eyes, because some cover scars and some are a kind of scar themselves. you taste salt.

//

you try to teach her to skateboard, one fall day, and she laughs so hard so many times she can’t even make it twenty feet without the board shooting out from underneath her.

‘clarke,’ you say, ‘you need to focus.’

‘i am the most uncoordinated person i know,’ she tells you. ‘it’s not going to work, babe.’

you sigh and dramatically and in slow motion show her how easy it is, and her eyes glaze over a little bit.

‘were you looking at my butt?’ you ask, incredulous.

she grins. 

//

you’re knee deep in grading midterm essays on the crucible when clarke bursts into your apartment, still in her scrubs, a fleece jacket from the hospital on over them, and when she takes it off and flings it to the floor, you see she’s covered in blood.

you’re stuck, you don’t know what to do, because you know about the boy she loved who died, and she knows about your parents, and you know how you get into fights and she chain smokes—but you don’t think any of this is her blood; she is hurting and you don’t know how to take it away.

you walk over to her and gently take her hand, ask her what’s wrong. she shakes her head and you sit her down on your couch, go into the bathroom and start running a bath. when you walk out she hasn’t moved, so you go and pour some bourbon into a mug and walk back to her, put it in her hand. when she smells it she nods minutely and it would be cute if she wasn’t so sad, and you take her hand and lead her to the bathroom, check the water before looking into her eyes and when she nods you lift her top off.

she’s not injured, anywhere, no cuts or bruises, and it has always astounded you, how few scars she has. she lets you take off her pants, her plain underwear, her bra, and she gets into the tub without a word. there’s blood on her neck and her arms and you sit on the edge of the tub and wet a washcloth, lather soap, your most relaxing, that you still buy at the market because it’s where you met her, it’s where you started to fall in love.

when you gently, as gently as you possibly can, start to wipe off her collarbones she starts to cry, quiet, heaving sobs.

a child died, in her hands, his blood everywhere. she tells you this, and you feel the ache acutely, because you love your students and because your girlfriend is hurting and because you were a hurt child, once.

her sobs eventually turn into sniffles and eventually she sighs, meeting your eyes finally, and hers are clearer, more resolved.

you tug on her earlobe with a crooked smile and she rolls her eyes and she dries off and puts on some of your pajamas while you heat up pizza for her, make her a salad even though she hates them.

she dutifully eats it, though, while you read her the worst lines from the essays you’re grading, and she laughs. she makes you hot toddies and you eventually put your papers aside, and she takes off your glasses and kisses you.

it’s a thank you, and it’s a lot of love, and you think of stones pressing someone to death, and you think of how to take them away.

//

you’re busy yelling at your long jumpers about their form during warmups when you see a flash of blonde hair and when you look over, clarke is sitting in the stands next to some of your coworkers—and friends—she’d met at a few happy hours.

it’s a shitty JV track meet and it’s probably going to rain, but she gives you a dorky thumbs up and your students are far too old to be making kissing noises but they do it anyway.

you make them run an extra lap and clarke laughs and she kisses you in the parking lot later, against the hood of her car like you’re teenagers, tugs on your track jacket and traces her tongue against your teeth, not stopping even when it finally rains.

//

you groan and swat at the offending hand, trying to take away the duvet you’d dragged to the couch after you’d woken up with a terrible fever and thrown up twice, texting your principal that there was no way you could go today.

‘clarke,’ you whine, and you curse the sunny, huge windows and the bright  walls in the apartment you’d moved into together because when you crack an eye open the light stings and gives you an immediate headache. ‘let me suffer in peace.’

it’s dramatic and someone laughs, but it’s not clarke, and you sigh when you pull the duvet down a little from your face and see abby.

‘oh,’ you say, and reach around for your glasses that you’d flung somewhere on your coffee table.

abby hands them to you with a little smile and puts the back of her hand against your forehead, and she’s so gentle and motherly you immediately feel like you’re going to cry.

‘clarke sent me,’ she says. ‘she got held up in surgery but she said you had a fever.’

abby hands you two pills and tells you that they’re fever reducers and will help you sleep, and she’ll stick around until clarke gets home, just in case you need anything. you take them and she hands you toast and gingerale that you slowly work your way through, drowsy by the end, and she settles on the far end of the couch and flicks on the tv. you fall asleep but wake up sometime later for a moment, and you can’t wait to tell clarke her mom watched hours of mtv.

//

you pick a fight, because you’re exhausted from AP exam prep and clarke has been working insane hours and you’re frustrated. you miss her and you’re too stubborn to tell her that and she’s too stubborn to figure it out, so she yells at you about not taking the recycling out and you tell at her about leaving a candle burning in the bathroom yesterday and she huffs into your bedroom and when you try to follow, still seething about the potential fire hazard, she slams the door.

you put on shoes and slam the front door on your way out, and you only realize until you’re down the block, picking up wine from the store around the corner.

you sulk back home, take the long way but you’re in shorts and it’s getting cold with the wind at night so you don’t stay out, and you roll your eyes at yourself and hit your buzzer.

‘hello?’ clarke’s voice is tinny and irritated but you’re beyond relieved she answered after a few rings.

‘hey,’ you say.

she hangs up and you roll your eyes and hit the buzzer for a full two minutes and forty-eight seconds before she finally answers.

‘what, lexa?’

‘i forgot my keys.’

she doesn’t buzz you up.

‘and it’s cold.’

still, nothing.

‘i bought chardonnay.’

there’s a pause but then, ‘the new organic one?’

‘yeah.’

she sighs, long and hard, and you want to continue to be angry and annoyed but you’re so fond of her and it makes you smile. she buzzes you up and opens the door and you hand her the bottle.

she rolls her eyes and puts it on the front table and kisses you hard. you work her shirt off and she reaches inside the elastic of your shorts and fucks you on the couch, fully clothed and residually mad, but afterward you take off your clothes and cuddle on the couch and drink the chardonnay she likes but you think is too oaky—but she’s happy, so you have it too.

‘i missed you,’ you say, and she kisses your shoulder.

‘missed you too.’

//

you’re at the park and there’s a pet adoption fair and she glares at you from behind her sunglasses but you just shrug innocently.

you walk away from it with a tiny, stalky grey pitbull with bright blue eyes, and clarke makes a big fuss about making sure he doesn’t eat her shoes or pee on her rugs, but you walk home to him curled up on her lap while she dozes on the couch, clearly exhausted after a night shift, and you kiss the crown of her head and he licks her cheek and she smiles.

//

on your birthday, which you genuinely cannot stand, she doesn’t say a word but tugs you into a clumsy, soft hug and rocks back and forth in your kitchen, until you’re swaying together, dancing to a song floating from the old record player jake had given you for christmas.

our love is a star, it plays, and you want to fold your body into hers, learn all of the crevices you can’t quite touch, know her until you don’t remember anything else.

//

it’s cold outside, again, freezing and white and gloomy, for four days before it the storm finally breaks. it’s early, early morning, when clarke trudges in with a big, heavy sigh, and it’s a weekend so there’s no need for you to be up but you love her, so you get out of bed and sit in the bathroom yawning while she takes a hot shower and mumbles about her day, the surgery she performed, how good she’s getting at her sutures.

you feed her pieces of fruit because she acts too tired to eat them on her own, which makes you laugh, and her hair is still damp but you let her lay down in your lap while you sit on the couch, run your fingers through the tangled waves.

it’s dawn, in your apartment, and it’s freezing outside, you know, but clarke breathes deeply against your leg, tender and safe, and you understand, now, maybe: the winter, the sun, the warmth.

[youaretoosmart]

Can yu write a strangers au where one of them sleep on each other's shoulders and they're too polite to do something about it so they just roll with it

birthday prompts 3/7

I… forgot the strangers AU part omg I’m so dumb. I went with post 3x06 instead!! Sorry!!

The bus bumps gently along the road, one turn at a time, in a way that is vaguely nauseating. Stiles can finally understand Jared a little better: the endless repetitive circles down the mountain are enough to make him want to puke, just for something to do.

Or maybe it’s not the bus—maybe it’s the fact that their lives are, once again, interwoven with the supernatural; dangerous, deadly supernatural. Because, yeah, Stiles may be a pessimist but he’s also often right, and someone is going to die if they don’t find a way out of this situation, this tug of war between two unstoppable powers. A few months ago, he would have wondered why that was always the case: can’t they be an active cause in whatever’s going down in Beacon Hills, for once, instead of the helpless rag doll tugged this way and that by the two enemies? The rag doll is always the one who pays the most in the end, in Stiles’ opinion: it’s simply physics.

Okay, so it’s definitely not the bus.

He tries looking out of the window, but the endless desert landscape doesn’t help: all he sees is that they’re heading back towards Beacon Hills, towards fighting and death and sacrifices. Towards war, if Lydia is right—and of course she’s right.

He tries to glance subtly above his shoulders, to check up on Scott, as he’s done about, oh, thirty thousands time since the previous evening, which, really, was just more proof that he may be a pessimist but at least he has reasons to be. For once, he hates being right.

Scott still smells of gasoline, even after changing his clothes and quickly washing up in the bathroom while Stiles gathered their bags. He used to like the smell: it reminded him of his crappy Jeep and the long afternoons spent fixing it up with his father, before they gave it up as a bad job and just brought it to the shop. Now he feels like he might suffocate if he doesn’t stop breathing it.

It’s worse for Scott himself, but he’s characteristically stoic in the seat behind Stiles. Although—it’s been a while since Stiles felt him move and accidentally knee the back of his seat.

He tries to turn around subtly when a hand on his arm stops him.

“They’re sleeping,” Lydia whispers, handing him a small compact. With the mirror open like that, it’s easy to spy on the seats behind them and to see Allison and Scott, soundly asleep. Their bodies are angled differently, away from each other, but even an outside eye can see the secret yearning in their poses, silently reaching for each other.

It’s infuriating.

“I swear to God,” Stiles mutters under his breath, barely aware that he’s spoken.

“I know.” Lydia rolls her eyes and smiles when he looks at her in surprise. “I want to shake them or lock them in a closet until they work things out.”

“That’s why Seven Minutes in Heaven was invented, I think.”

“Oh definitely—resolve sexual tension, not create it where it didn’t exist before.”

“Don’t forget the crushing humiliation two-thirds of the assembly will feel.”

“How could I?”

Stiles lets out a small laugh, almost a breath.

“I hate this game.” Then he remembers: “Uh, sorry.”

“Mmmm.” Lydia inspects her hair, brushing it between her fingers. It’s a mess, so unlike usual, but Stiles hasn’t been able to get the image out of his head all morning. “That’s how Jackson and I got together.”

“Yeah I know—That’s why—Forget it.”

“I hate this stupid game too.”

Stiles wants to smile, but the victory doesn’t feel as sweet when the casualties are Lydia Martin and her happiness.

Silence falls on them for a while.

“How long to Beacon Hills? I left my book in Allison’s car, I can’t believe it.”

“About six hours,” Stiles says, faux enthusiastic. “You’re going to have a very deep appreciation for bus seats and imitation leather.”

“I’m sweating through my dress,” Lydia deadpans. “And I already spent one night too many on them. That seems unlikely.”

“Good thing you’re not any teams.”

Lydia pretends to count on her fingers.

“I hate sports. The debate team is a bunch of entitled pricks who think their masculinity has to be sacrificed when they’re proven wrong and value their dicks too much for that.”

Stiles waits a beat.

“I thought you were gonna keep going,” he says. “Your tone was very confusing.”

“No, that’s it.”

“Colleges will fight to have you anyway,” he says.

It’s just a throwaway compliment: truth presented in a nice way to give to Lydia when she feels down, a skill Stiles has practiced and perfectioned since middle school. He doesn’t mean anything to come of it other than a small smile on Lydia’s face, the way she stands straighter for a second and lifts her head just so, accepting the praise without saying it. Lydia, Stiles noticed in his never-ending quest to understand her, has two ways of dealing with applause: blunt acceptance of the obvious, a flip of her hair and contempt for the worthless praise; or, when it matters, silent thankfulness that cuts Stiles deeper than blades.

Stiles has long been the butt of the former; he’s recently started to get glimpses of the latter, and he thinks he can never stop wanting more.

Lydia bites her lips instead, and looks down.

“I’ve already received word from Stanford,” she says.

“Lydia, that’s amaz—” Stiles begins automatically. “Wait, what?”

“I followed a two-week course over the summer, yes?” Stiles nods. He remembers the long interruption into what had become their routine, meeting and discussing things they didn’t—still don’t—grasp fully, looking for answers that weren’t there. “I’ll have enough credits to graduate at the end of the year,” she says. “They said they were interested in having me after that.”

Stiles remembers to close his mouth after a while.

“That’s incredible,” he says. “Are you—are you going to take it?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I haven’t said anything. It’s still early, and who knows how I’ll feel at the end of the year?”

“You might get better offers then,” Stiles says. “Not that I’m telling you not to do it! But, uh, that’s not an easy decision.”

Lydia hums. “I want out of this town,” she says.

“I know.”

“That’s the way to do it.”

Stiles does know; he knows it desperately, distantly: he can run to the other side of the country, but as long as his father and the McCalls live here, he won’t be getting out, not really. Lydia, however—if anyone can leave this town behind and spread her wings over the world, it’s her.

Selfishly, he wishes she won’t take the offer. Is it wrong to deprive the world of Lydia Martin to keep her closer to him, where he matters?

“What did your mother say?” he asks instead.

“Nothing. She doesn’t know.” Surprise is fleeting, then Lydia leans closer to him and says: “No one knows and I intend to keep it that way.”

“Are you going to kill me now that you’ve told me?” Stiles jokes weakly, to hide the overwhelming feeling of being Lydia’s confidant.

“There’s enough people dead in this town as it is,” Lydia mutters. She digs her palms in her eyes and rubs, leaving intact the dark circles under her eyes. “Just—please don’t tell anyone.”

“I can keep a secret,” Stiles offers.

“I know.”

She smiles then, and Stiles likes her so helplessly that he returns the gesture, absurd as it is.

“You should sleep,” he says when she doesn’t manage to hide a yawn. “We’ve efficiently ruined the weekend.”

Lydia nods and doesn’t say anything for a long time. Stiles turns back the window, watching her fall asleep through the washed-out reflection on the glass. It feels like spying, or maybe protection. He can’t discern the two, but he knows that after yesterday, the least he can do is watch his friends when they sleep. He’s done it last night too, when they were all spread out on the crackly seats and he couldn’t calm his heart or his nerves. He thinks he might never fully stop doing it.

He doesn’t realize he’s spaced out until he feels a weight on his shoulder. He almost jumps out of his skin when hair tickles his neck; for once, though, his body doesn’t betray him, and he can blink at the curve of Lydia’s cheek with outward calm. She’s slumped all over him, her head fitting right on top of his shoulder, her hair fanning out on his chest. The little breaths she lets out are hot against his neck.

Stiles actually has to bite his fist not to shout or move. He feels a grin stretching around it, but he hides it with his hand, throwing as many glances at Lydia’s sleeping form as at the scenery unfolding by his window.

It’s not perfect: Lydia slumps a bit more on his arm after almost thirty minutes—that’s when his limbs go numb, and his brain kicks in overdrive. Not moving is torture, his arm is cramping, and he’s so thirsty that his head is pounding; unfortunately, the bottle is in his bag at his feet, and he can’t bend down enough to retrieve it.

In the end, he dozes out against the window, the rattling from the road turning his brain to mush. The next pit stop awakens Lydia, and Stiles can feel her sitting up quickly when she realizes how she’s fallen asleep. He wants to turn and tell her he doesn’t mind, that she’s welcome to sleep on his shoulder anytime—really—, wants to ask her if she slept well and enough, wants to turn around and crow with Scott about this one step forward in their friendship.

He pretends to wake up when Scott calls his name, instead, and ignore the knowing look he sends his way.

Now is not the time, he tells himself sternly as he stretches out his legs with relief. Lydia is right: there are too many deaths in Beacon Hills; next to a vengeful Darach and a pack of ruthless alphas, what does Lydia’s head on Stiles’ shoulder mean? It won’t happen again, anyway, and Stiles should just cherish it; so he does, and he pretends he’s not disappointed when Scott drags him to sit next to him when they board again.

Four hours later, they’re back in the familiar parking lot of Beacon Hills high school.

[redrobinho0d]

Write more Jason Todd and write me them dang Roy Harper ones plz and thx ❤️

Headcanons about being friends with Jason Todd and Roy Harper (Arsenal)~

You grew up in Gotham, of course you’d heard all about Batman and his band of sidekicks, Nightwing and Red Hood and Red Robin and Robin. But you’d never really paid it much mind because you had your own life to live and you were pretty sure you didn’t know any of them. But there’d been a series of bank heists in Gotham, and you ended up one of many hostages during the last one

You were sitting with the other hostages when some moron in red and black busts in, guns blazing

Yeah he took down the bad guys, but he also got shot for his efforts

You were the first to get up and try to put pressure on his wounds, yelling for help

He shrugged you off, and before you could talk sense into him he was out and the cops came rushing in, asking you questions, and it’s only then that you realize that that had been the infamous Red Hood

Days later, you were walking home when he approached you again

“Why did you do that?” “You’d been shot saving all of us, I wanted to help” “I didn’t need your help-” “Everyone needs help sometimes”

You’re annoyed, but you tell him “Thanks anyways, Red Hood”

He just stares at you for a long time before pulling off the Hood, looking at you with a smirk

“Call me Jason” “…..Y/N”

Eventually spending time with Jason leads to hanging out with him and his best friend, Roy.

“This is my other best friend Y/N, she’s cool I swear”

You both stare at each other. Eventually Roy just shrugs

“If Jason likes you that’s good enough for me”

It takes a while to warm up to each other, he’s slow to trust after all and honestly you think he’s a bit of an asshole

But eventually, after learning to tolerate each other so you could both spend time with your mutual friend Jason, you start to grow on each other

And instead of “just an asshole” he’s now your asshole

And somehow you’ve become joined at the hip with these lunatics

Gear up buttercup, because while you can learn to deal with one or the other of these two, when they’re together they just egg each other on and go to insane levels because they have no chill. E v e r y t h i n g becomes a competition or a bet of some kind between these two, and you will be dragged into every single disagreement and made to pick a side.

“Y/N, help us settle a debate, who’s prettier, me or Roy?” “You’re both really attractive-” “NO THAT’S A COPOUT ANSWER, WHO’S BETTER-LOOKING?!”

“Y/N you love me more than Jason don’t you?” “You’re both my best friends-” “Yeah but who’s your favorite?”

“Hey which of us is a better shot? Me, right?”

“Hey, $100 says I can jump off this roof and stick the landing” “Jason no-” “Oh you’re on, when you break your legs you owe me $100″ “RoY NO-”

Whoever’s side you end up taking, they’re always over the top

“Fine, Y/N, I see how it is” “Jason please-” “I’ll never forget this betrayal”

These boys are trashy attention whores. Both of them will flirt with you constantly, but you give as good as you get and take great pride in the instances you’ve been able to render them red-faced and flustered when you flirted back. But the instant you actually try to date someone, out come the guns and arrows and there goes any chance you had with the guy who [mistakenly] thought he was good enough for you. They just want your attention all the time.

They eventually invite you to join them when they cuddle on the couch, and you get squished between them and they bicker the whole time but you’ve never felt so safe and cozy

They show up at your window in the middle of the night after a particularly rough patrol

Jason wants a hug and somewhere quiet to be where you won’t ask if he’s okay or what happened

Roy wants to get takeout and watch crap t.v. and bicker about trivial things that don’t really matter

Both of them are quiet, and feel kind of bad about waking you up, so they start to bring apology presents: your favorite food, a new stuffed animal, your favorite movie that they rented

You don’t really mind because they’re your best friends, of course you’ll be here for them when they need you

You accept the gifts anyways, though, because you’re not one to look a gift horse in the mouth

They come up with all kinds of nicknames and pet names for you, some teasing, some condescending, but some just genuinely affectionate names and for every insult they have for you, you have at least 3 for them so you’d call it even

These boys are absolute garbage about self-care, so sometimes you have to take over for them.

Roy forgets to eat, or drink, or shave for days at a time

Jason forgets to shower or brush his hair, and drinks to chase away nightmares and leaves the bottles scattered all over, along with cigarette butts

They both hate doing laundry, so they stay in their pajamas as long as they can get away with

Until you barge in and start lecturing them, shoving Jason into the bathroom and snapping at him to shower

Cooking a meal for Roy and giving him a glass of water and telling him to sip it slowly

They’ll grumble and bitch at you the whole time, but secretly appreciate the effort

And on the days you don’t answer your phone because you’re tired and don’t feel good, they pick the lock on your door and surround you with blankets and watch movies

And they don’t say a word about how bad it may be, or ask questions you don’t want to answer

Just offer comfort and solidarity, and help you get back on your feet and feeling like yourself

You’ll never have to worry about money again. Through less-than-legal means both of these kids have a looooooot of money, and what’s theirs is yours. You tell them you don’t want free handouts or to take advantage of them, you’re not some charity and they shouldn’t take care of you because they feel bad for you. But they just look at you like the biggest idiot on the planet, and tell you “Well dumbass, how about we do it anyways because that’s what friends do?”

Always a safe place to stay the night in one of their many safehouses

Sometimes they try to bribe you to take their side in a squabble

“Man that was crazy, you okay Y/N? How about I pay for an Uber to take you home”

More often than not they treat you to dinner, or ice cream, because they just like spoiling you

And of course, being their best friend you find your way into your fair share of trouble.

The first time you get kidnapped, you just shake your head and pity the poor sap who thought you’d be a good bargaining chip

“Sources tell me you’re valuable to Red Hood and Arsenal. You just sit pretty until they follow my demands and no one has to get hurt-” “If you really think that’s how this will go down, then you’re even dumber than that gaudy costume makes you look”

Before they can hit you, the glass overhead shatters and they come in guns blazing

Before he can even process what’s happening, the poor guy is so full of arrows he looks like a porcupine and riddled with bullet holes. Really, he never had a chance

They both fuss over you as they cut you free, and you just wave away their mother-henning and tell them to take you home

They do, but after that they decide to teach you to protect yourself

Jason gives you a gun, and teaches you how to shoot

Roy teaches you how to fight, and you get thrown to the ground endless times and feel like a constant walking bruise

“You can do better than that, Y/N” they snort at you

Roy suddenly finds himself eating dirt

Jason feels a bullet whistle past his ear

But that’s what they get for egging you on

The next time they get a call that you’ve been kidnapped, they just laugh and tell you to save some fun for them

Because of who they are and what they do, they sometimes disappear for days and weeks at a time with no real warning.

Eventually the three of you work out a code, and based on what colors or numbers you text in the group chat they know exactly what you need and are ready to back you up

Likewise, if they’re in trouble they know what to tell you to get you to come help, or call in backup for them

You know where all the safehouses are so sometimes if there’s no word for a while, you just pick one and get it ready for them to come home to

And fall asleep on the couch waiting and hoping your best friends are still alive

When they stumble in, bloody and bruised and grinning, you spend a long time yelling at them and throwing things at them

Until you eventually calm down and they pull you into a group hug

And everything feels okay for a while, until the cycle repeats

You just hope they keep coming home to you because as much as they drive you insane, these assholes are a big part of your life and you need them

[sufferthesea]

Pink Peonies (Kakashi/Reader) Part 2/5

So there are some really awesome people who asked me to finish this story and it ended up being a lot longer than I intended, but a lot shorter than I expected! Hopefully I did it justice and you guys all like it! (It’s only in so many parts so it’s not one giant post, RIP.)  

Also @thefoxthief​ did some really awesome art of my story?! Which is totally mind-boggling to me. I’m still in awe! And thank you to everyone who left such kind comments, all the Kudos on ao3, and the anons who messaged me! I’m glad to get this finished for you guys! (Also, this is maybe my 2nd non-one shot story that I’ve ever completed? So there’s that.) Also tagging @thetoxicstrawberry bc Berry is awesome. 

Let me know if you wanna be tagged in the other parts! 

Read part one here: Tumblr // ao3 

Read part two on ao3

Words: 2.191

Rating: General 

Chapter Summary: Kakashi is a lot more observant than he seems; Sakura and Ino are a lot more determined than they seem; you're a lot more patient than you'd like to be - but, hey, somebody's bound to butt in when you're on a date with the Copy Ninja. Luckily, Kakashi has a plan.

You stood outside of the dango shop, arms crossed, watching the crowd of people pass by lazily in the summer heat. The sun was starting to set, painting the sky in an array of vibrant oranges and deep reds. The sweet smell of rice flour, red bean paste, and green tea surrounded you and your stomach growled loudly. You had half a mind to sneak inside and grab a skewer while you waited. You knew Kakashi had a reputation of being late, but you hadn’t thought he’d be this late, especially since he was the one who set the time! Five more minutes. You’d give him five more minutes …

Your stomach growled even louder this time, drawing the attention of a couple passing by in front of you, and your face burned hot with embarrassment. That was it. You made one last glance around the street before ducking into the shop and sitting at one of the tables. You were going to make yourself comfortable while you waited, since you’d been standing outside for about twenty minutes already. It was a little bit strange to be going on a date with the renowned Leaf Village ninja, but you couldn’t help but feel excited. You’d known the man for about a year and a half now and had apparently impressed him enough - or worn him down enough - that he invited you out for dinner, which surprised you quite a bit. You had only really seen him inside the Hokage office while dropping off reports, or occasionally passed by on the streets. You knew he was the teacher for a genin team, but you had never managed to meet any of his students. But somewhere between handing in reports, accidentally tripping over your own two feet and running headfirst into his back, and once being the judge for a competition between him and Gai, another teacher, he must’ve decided you were worth the time and effort to go on a date. Of course, he never said it was a date, but the fact that he asked you out for dinner to a new restaurant seemed pretty date-ish to you. However, you weren’t going to get your hopes up too much, just in case … Kakashi was hard to read and often his own strangely charming personality came across as flirtatious. But, there was one good thing that could come out of your non-date, whether Kakashi was late or not. You’d finally get to see it - one of the most well-kept secrets in all of Konoha: Hatake Kakashi’s face. Not that was an ulterior motive of yours; it was just a possible perk! “Don’t look now,” came Kakashi’s calm voice behind you, “but we’re being followed.”

Nearly jumping out of your skin, you turned to look over your shoulder. “Huh?” Kakashi sighed heavily. “I said don’t look.” He stood outside of the dango shop, leaning against the wall where you’d been waiting only moments before. “Who’s following us? How - How do they even know about us?” You didn’t mean for it to sound so relationship-y, but Kakashi didn’t seem to notice. “Just a few genin. I have an idea of who it is, and I think I know why they’re following me. You should use a transformation jutsu while you’re in there, and we’ll go separate ways.” “Huh? That doesn’t sound like dinner to me! It sounds like a whole lot of work. Are you just trying to lose me?” “No, of course not. But I didn’t think you’d want our first date to be marred by some curious 12 year-olds.” Your heart involuntarily skipped a beat and your face warmed. Did he just say ‘date’!? “Uh - oh, right, right. Sure thing.” You stood up, trying to think of who to to transform into. You had no idea what Kakashi was planning, but you figured any transformation should do. You settled on one of the civilians you had seen pass by the dango shop earlier while you waited; it was inconspicuous enough, and certainly not a face that would draw a lot of attention. Quickly forming the handsigns, you were engulfed in a cloud of smoke and emerged as a rather plain-looking civilian. Dressed in a pale green yukata and bamboo sandals with your hair hanging down around your ears to frame your face, you stepped outside of the dango shop and looked to Kakashi. “What’s your plan?” you asked, looking the opposite direction so it didn’t appear as if you two were associating. “I don’t know. I figured I’d run ‘em around town a little bit. See if I can wear them out before we go out to dinner.” “Ugh. If I knew this would involve work, I would’ve —” “Would’ve what? Canceled? That’s harsh.” You turned to protest but Kakashi’s one visible eye was closed and you could tell he was teasing you. Huffing, you crossed your arms and surveyed the street. “Actually, I was going to say that I would’ve eaten first. And I was about to when you showed up. Anyway … what do these genin look like?” “About yea tall,” Kakashi said, hovering his hand just above his waist. “It’s two girls - Yamanaka Ino and Haruno Sakura. The latter is my student. The former is her, er - well, her rival, I guess you’d say.” “What are they doing, both stalking us?” “I’m assuming trying to figure out who these are for.” You turned and finally noticed the bouquet of soft pink flowers Kakashi held in his arms. Your stomach flipped and you couldn’t help but smile wide. “Are - Are those for me?” “Huh? Oh - good idea. Here, you take half and I’ll take half.” “What?” Kakashi unwrapped the flowers, handed three of them to you and discarded the brown paper in a nearby bin. “Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do.”

Sakura and Ino hurried down the crowded street, frantically looking into the open doors of every building and scanning the crowds, trying to find Kakashi.

“Is he always this hard to find?” Ino asked as she stopped in the middle of the street, a few beads of sweat already forming along her temple. “At this rate, we’ll never figure out who those flowers are for! Ugh. Just great.” She turned on Sakura and jabbed her index finger at her. “He’s your teacher - so where would he go?” “Don’t you get it?” Sakura barked, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “I already told you that Sasuke, Naruto and I have tried to tail him before. It’s really hard! But we’ve just got to try harder. Can’t you use your mind transfer jutsu or something to find him?” “You obviously don’t understand how that jutsu works. Of course you don’t - you’re not skilled enough to use it! I have to have a clear target and they can’t be moving. So - no, I can’t use it.” “Well what good is it then?” “Hey, don’t insult my jutsu! What can you do? Last I checked, you were pretty awful at any ninjutsu and you’re too weak for taijutsu!” Sakura balled her hands into tight fists and her face turned bright red with rage. “You have no right to say that! I’ve come so far from where I used to be! And I’m getting stronger every day! I actually train, you know! And I have great teammates to train with! All you’ve got is a shirker and someone who spends his whole day eating!” “You can’t talk bad about my teammates like that! Only I can! Shikamaru and Choji are awesome - you only think you’re so good because you’ve got Sasuke on your team - which was only because they try to even out the skills on the team. You got paired with such a great guy because you have Naruto, the knuckleheaded ninja!” “If I can’t talk bad about your teammates then you can’t talk bad about mine!” “Hey - what are you two fighting about now?” Sakura and Ino whipped around to see Kiba strolling down the street, Akamaru plopped on top of his head. He picked up a piece of takoyaki from the paper bowl he held and raised it above his head. Akamaru grabbed it and eagerly chewed on it, spraying bits of dough and slobber across Kiba’s hoodie, and barked in appreciation. “Is it about Sasuke?” Kiba asked, his face contorting from concern to resignation. “Figures. You two only fight about Sasuke. What’s so great about him?” “Actually, we were —” Sakura stopped herself when she realized she couldn’t just go around telling everybody about her and Ino’s mission. She threw a glance to the blonde next to her, gave a subtle nod, and said, “We weren’t fighting. We were … debating! About where to eat. We heard there’s a new restaurant in town and we wanted to check it out.” “But we couldn’t remember where it was,” Ino added. Kiba turned slowly to stare at the large banners lining the street, decorated with vibrant kanji that said, GRAND OPENING! Botan Restaurant - THIS WAY! A fat arrow pointed in the way of the restaurant. “Can’t find it, huh?” he asked, shifting his gaze back to the girls. They both laughed nervously and threw their hands to their faces. “Oh - well, would you look at that?” Sakura said quickly, “It was right there in front of us! Jeez, no wonder Kakashi-sensei tells us we need to work on our observation skills! Aha ha ha ha!” “Yeah, if it was an enemy it would’ve struck us!” Ino forced a giggle, although she was mentally screaming. Now she looked like a fool with absolute zero ninja skills. “Thanks, Kiba!” “Uh huh … Come on, Akamaru. Let’s go get some dumplings before they close.” The young ninja started off down the street, easily merging with another group of villagers. “Great, now what do we do?” Ino huffed, turning to look at Sakura. “If we got the attention of Kiba, then we’ve probably scared off Kakashi-sensei, right? He’s probably not even on this street anymore.” “You’re right,” Sakura sighed, looking forlornly at the villagers. “We’ll never find him like this. Wait!” She grabbed Ino by the shoulders and shook her. “I know what we can do! We can get Akamaru to sniff out Kakashi-sensei! We’ll be sure to find him that way!” “Okay, but why would Kiba just let us use Akamaru? He’ll want to know what we’re doing.” “Just tell him we’re looking for something you lost - like a ring or something!” “Okay, but Akamaru will have to know he’s sniffing out your teacher!” Ino growled, prying Sakura’s hands off of her. “Either we let Kiba know or we don’t do it at all. He won’t part with Akamaru - and that dumb dog won’t listen to us.” “Okay … We’ll just make sure Kiba doesn’t tell anyone. Or!” Sakura’s eyes widened and a large grin spread across her ruddy face. “We’ll have Akamaru sniff out the peonies! He can do that, right?” “Why would I know?” Ino looked back through the crowds to see Akamaru bouncing above the sea of heads. “I guess that could work. But why would he want to track peonies —” “I don’t care! Make up something! Say somebody stole them without paying! Come on, we gotta catch ‘em before we lose them too!” Sakura grabbed Ino by the elbow and ran down the street after the boy and his dog.

You were pretty sure Kakashi had just ditched you. That, or this was an elaborate roleplay to see if you were worthy of the date in the first place. He’d just assigned you the task of getting rid of the genin that were following you. Or rather, following him. As far as you were concerned, the two girls didn’t know about you - and they certainly didn’t know you were on a date.

It’s okay, you thought to yourself as you walked down the street, three peonies in your trembling hands. I can call it that. HE called it that. A date. Except … we’re not on the date now. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’m going to lose these girls and then I’m going to get dinner with Kakashi! You and Kakashi had parted ways a few streets back, and you had yet to see these two supposed stalkers. Kakashi couldn’t even point them out to you. “Well, they’re not here,” he had mused, still lounging against the dango shop wall. “But they’re trying to find me. I could easily give them the slip, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, it’ll help them to develop some necessary shinobi skills. Plus, I can work up an appetite.” “I already have,” you had muttered, but didn’t receive a response. At least he had given you a brief description of both girls and you figured they’d be pretty easy to spot - especially since Kakashi said they often couldn’t go more than fifteen minutes without breaking out into an argument. It seemed like you’d be able to see (that was, hear) them coming from a mile away. “Now,” you said, taking one of the peonies and twirling it between your fingers. “I just gotta get rid of these. So much for flowers on our first date. Oh well.”

[miximax-hell]

Hey there! It sure has been a while, huh. ww; But, hey, I kept my promise!

So, how have you guys been? I’ve been rather busy. America is cool, but this university is quite demanding sometimes. I’m not complaining, considering I came here to work and all, but I wish I had some extra time. All I want to do after I’m done with my classes and homework is be lazy, to be perfectly honest.

What have you all been up to? Since I last showed my stupid head around here, I beat Undertale (just beaten—no true endings whatsoever), Layton and the Unwound Future (SO GOOD AND SO SAD) and Portal. I have also been rewatching Inazuma with my significant other, which is awesome! Oh, and I watched the newest Tri movie. It might not be perfect, but I get so easily pumped with that.

…And I have also been working on this nightmare.

Never in your wildest dreams would you assume that these four views took well over 20 hours of work (although I’d be willing to bet it took over 30). And that’s if we don’t take into account the amount of time I spent on OLDER VERSIONS OF THIS. I have been procrastinating on Fubuki’s miximax for years because I knew it would kill me. But, luckily, I’m not dead. I just wished I was a couple tens of times during the process. I hope @miyukiko​ won’t kill me either when she sees this, considering what I’ve done to her baby.

But it’s done! The result might not be the best and the rust might not help either, but this is it! Fubuki is finally done!! And, considering I have been working on this little shit for 2-3 years, I have my fair share of ideas about him. I’ll only cover one subject today, though.

Anyway, just in case anyone has never watched Digimon (which is a sin according to 8 different major religions), Fubuki is miximaxed with Gabumon, one of the main characters from Digimon Adventure, 02 and Tri! Not my personal favourite, but fairly awesome nonetheless.

As usual, more about FubuGabu under the cut.

It’s 2:30 am right now. You know, just for reference. If I eventually start not making sense whatsoever, please keep that in mind and spare me. I will gladly fix any nonsense as long as you haven’t stabbed my heart yet. ww I’ll hopefully be done quickly, though, so I might not have time to screw up too much.

Okay, let’s do this!

As I said, there’s a lot to say about FubuGabu. For once, I know what FubuGabu’s powers and hissatsus are. There’s a lot of little things to say about his design. I have details about his backstory and even about small, useless facts. I know about FubuGabu’s personality, Keshin and even Soul. But, today, let’s go for a much anticipated approach. …Not really.

Since I already mentioned it once, let’s talk about groups. If you don’t know what I mean with “groups,” feel free to check this out.

I will assume you all remember what I already mentioned about Fubuki and Someoka forming a duo within this project (and not just within this project, honestly—they make a pretty great team!). If you are late to the party or your memory is simply almost as bad as mine, though, feel free to check THIS LINK to see what the heck was going on there.

First of all, let’s look at what (else) ties them together. I will skip the points I already explained last time, though.

The first and most obvious new point that puts them together in a group is, of course, that they are both miximaxed with monsters! And not just any kind of monsters, but the best kinds of monsters. I can hear someone screaming “MONSTER RANCHER SH*TS ON POKÉMON EVERY DAY OF THE WEEK” from here, so let’s point out that we are talking about popularity here. Ww

Pokémon and Digimon have always been the big guys when it comes to monsters beating the crap out of each other, but they have always been big rivals. For decades, people have punched each other’s faces while debating which franchise is better. Someoka, too, once considered Fubuki his biggest rival and a big piece of shit. But Fubuki and Someoka grew to be great friends, and, now, much like them, Pokémon and Digimon have joined for a common cause too:

Kick ass. (not really)

Because of this, with a bunch of love in my heart for these two, I call this group the Monster Duo. Beast Duo sounds better to me, but the “mon” in Digimon and Pokémon is there for a reason, all right.

So, yes, fictional monsters link Someoka and Fubuki together. But that’s far from being all. Combining the two concepts I have already mentioned, note how both of them have miximaxed with ice beasts! This doesn’t just make them awfully strong, but it also boosts their compatibility a great deal!

This is especially obvious when this terrific duo performs its combination hissatsu, Wyvern Blizzard. Not only it gets a powered up, but Someoka goes all out and, instead of summoning his usual wyvern, Zekrom himself comes to the field and wreaks havoc. This imbues the ball not only with Fubuki’s ice, but also with Someoka’s electricity, creating a shot like none other before.

Fubuki does something very special too at the time of kicking the ball, actually, but that will have to wait until we talk about FubuGabu’s powers some other day.

Okay, we know that these two are ready to kill people. That’s awesome and all. But what about them? What’s their dynamic like?

We all know Fubuki and Someoka. They actually have a really courteous and kind relationship! They truly care about each other and their well-being. But, in this story of sorts, they have already known each other for a good while now. It’s been well over a year now. Before this whole and unknown mess happened, Someoka and Fubuki were each playing for the respective schools—in other words, away from each other.

Being able to play together again is a breath of fresh air for them both. They came to trust each other a great deal during their Aliea and FFI days, so their first goal is to recover the complicity they once had. They will soon find this to be much more challenging than they thought it would be, however.

There is a big difference between growing apart from someone and growing without someone. Someoka and Fubuki haven’t just been sitting on their butts. They have practised and learnt a lot on their own, at Raimon and at Hakuren.

Suddenly, their style doesn’t match anymore. It doesn’t click as immediately as it once did. Fubuki isn’t the same he was when he first met Someoka, and Someoka’s view of life is completely different too. Fubuki’s mind is at peace now that the spirit of Atsuya isn’t screwing up with him, and he isn’t the reckless and mindless beast he once was. Someoka has come to trust himself more than anyone else after not being selected for Inazuma Japan during the first selection. In a sense, their roles have reversed. This wasn’t an issue when they could still train together often, but time has opened a rift between them. A rift that seems too big to jump across.

This is not to say that they aren’t friends, though, and that’s what makes it tough. It’s not that they don’t feel like playing together anymore—it’s that they are starving for it, but they fail whenever they try to. It’s rather frustrating to be fond of someone and see that you simply can’t understand them anymore. Their old dynamic is lost, and trying to work around it is useless.

…Or is it?

This is where their miximaxes come into play. Kyurem’s incomplete on its own and seeks to join forces with someone compatible with it out of sheer instinct. Gabumon’s (or, rather, Garurumon’s) savage style resembles the fierce plays Atsuya’s spirit once brought to the field. This might be just what these two close friends needed in order to remember what used to make their teamwork great: fast, ferocious and dependent plays that wouldn’t work without a perfect bond.

It’s not enough to bring them back to the position they used to be in, but it’s just enough for a reminder. This change in their attitude—as I have mentioned before, people’s personality changes upon mixitransing—brings them to a middle point that they can work with. Their plays begin to connect. They can see why and how things work now and not before. It gives them a starting point—a way to learn how their friend has changed and how to cooperate with him. To put it simply, they are learning again that they are reliable partners.

There is probably a lot more to say about FubuGabu and SomeKyu, but the fact that SomeKyu is way newer than FubuGabu hasn’t allowed me to think of their relationship as much as I have thought about everything else. …And whom am I trying to kid? I have purposefully avoided thinking about FubuGabu for OBVIOUS REASONS. But, hey, I can work around things! If you feel like I missed any important points, please let me know and I’ll see what else there is to say!

In any case, I really love Monster Duo and pretty much everything about them. Their story isn’t as dramatic as it could be, but I feel like these two have already endured enough drama before. Let them focus on other things instead, even if it’s just for once. They deserve to be happy and have problems that are easy to work with! And, needless to say, they deserve soccer-related problems. That would actually be new. ww

Oh, and I want Monster Duo to have a brand new combo hissatsu, but I’m still thinking about it. It’s 4 am now, though, so I’m definitely not going to figure it out right now, I’m afraid. It’s sleepy time for me.

...Zzz.

(Oh, and my personal favourite is Tentomon.)

[mybookshavebooks]

P&C

OTP QUESTIONS

The Basics

How did they first meet?

They were working on Snowpiercer together. Peggy as a set designer, ad Chris as the actor, and Peggy accidentally flicked her pencil right into Chris’ eye.

How did they get together?

Chris finally got up the courage to ask her out, bailed on the date (long story) then had to ask her out AGAIN in order to convince her he was worth her time. 

Who kissed who first?

Chris kissed Peggy.

What's the relationship like? Smooth? Rocky?

Rocky. Really Rocky. The relationship could become a boxer, or a range on mountains.

What do they like the most about each other?

Chris likes that Peggy doesn’t take his bullshit. She tells him when he’s wrong, and has made him a better person because of it. He also loves her beautiful creative mind, and the way she puts her passion into everything she does. 

Peggy loves Chris’ easy going personality. She loves how he makes her laugh no matter how sad she is. She loves that he’s always up to dancer with her, or hold her when she feels down. He gets her. 

What do they like the least about each other?

How distant she can be at times. She can get into funks and not be able to get out of them, completely refuse his help, and then the way she wont open up at all about it afterwards. 

Sometimes it’s just how loud he is. When Peggy needs some peace and quiet, he’ll end up walking around the house, making every noise in the world.

What are the dates like?

The dates are pretty laid back. A trip to their favorite diner, reading to each other under a tree in the park, camping (Peggy says she loves it, but can’t stand it), laying in bed while Peggy pets Chris’ hair and tells him an elaborate story she made up on the spot. Sometimes they’ll go to high end restaurants and goof around.

What was their most memorable date?

Just them, Dodger and Isabelle on the beach playing around and having a good time. That was, until they went in the water, and Chris kept getting nipped by a crab, and then came out of the water sunburned to hell. 

He looked the same color as a ripe tomato, Peggy was laughing her ass off. “How could you forget to put on sunscreen?”

Domestic Questions

Who cleans the most? Contrary to that, who is the messiest?

Chris is definitely the cleanest. Out of the two of them. He’s gotten used to just picking up her trail of shoes through the house, but he still wonders how one person can use 8 pairs of shoes in a day.

Peggy isn’t messy, per se. She’ll clean and then it’ll somehow get messy again in less than 20 minutes. She has cleaning spurts where she’ll clean the entire house top to bottom, though, so I guess that makes up for it.

Who usually cooks?

Peggy usually cooks. Chris likes it that way. He can hardly cook three meals a day without running out of ideas, but he helps out. Tastes thing. (Way too often if you ask me), cuts up veggies, goes on grocery runs, washes the dishes...

Who has the best table manners?

Peggy does, but only because she’s super self-conscious when eating.

Who tends to worry the most?

Oh god. I think it’s a tie there. They both have anxiety, and worry about things and Peggy’s imagination tends to tell her every impossible way things could go wrong.

Who is more inclined to be jealous or possessive?

Chris. Peggy gets flirted with on a daily basis. It cant be worked around. When it happens, Chris often puts an arm around her and pulls her close. 

How do they resolve their arguments?

Either with space or angry sex. 

After a heated argument, Chris is usually the one to walk away first. They go to separate rooms, compose their selves, then try again later. 

OR they end up making out, and not accepting the other person being in control, and just continuing the argument, yelling their points, just with sex mixed in.

Who remembers dates, birthdays, and appointments?

Peggy remembers birthdays... Well... the important ones. 

Chris remembers appointments.

They both remember important dates. Like anniversaries.. (that includes the day they met. Not just when they started dating).

Who is the most physically affectionate?

Chris is super affectionate in private.

Peggy is a little ore risky in public. 

Who has the most nightmares and how do they deal with them?

Peggy does. She has a bad past, and has nightmares relating to those. Sometimes she’ll wake up, and Chris wont, and she’‘ be relieved. Other times Chris will have to wake her up because she’s screaming in her sleep. They end up staying up the rest of the night, and Peggy apologizes, and cries, but Chris always tells her it’s okay, and he holds her, and tries take her mind off of it. 

Who steals the blankets?

They both sleep naked, but Peggy hates to be cold, so she takes it all, or just the bed sheet.

Who gets cold the easiest?

Peggy. All the time. She steals Chris’ body heat like a cat burglar steals jewelry. 

Who pays for the food the most, when they go out?

Most of the time they split the check, but sometimes Chris is so insistent, Peggy just gives up.

Do they enjoy dancing?

Do they? If you put some music on, you know they’re going to be dancing! In a club, at a party, in their house, in the middle of the street maybe or maybe not holding up traffic...

Do they ever trade clothes?

Yes. Peggy orders sweatshirts big enough for Chris to wear because she likes swinging her arms around and Peggy wears Chris’ Henleys and sweatpants all the time. 

Do they ever go swimming together?

Chris loves the water and so does Peggy, plus their homes are often on, around the beach, or have a huge pool, so they go swimming often.

Do they ever cook together?

If you count Chris eating everything as cooking together then yeah. They do bake together!

Do they enjoy a good round of truth or dare?

They’re too old for that.... Just kidding. If you get enough of them and their friends drunk together, they will play whatever you want. Though some of the dares, no amount of alcohol could make you forget. Peggy will never look at Chris’ nipples the same every again. 

Do they enjoy pillow fights?

Do they??? Peggy and Anna have woken Chris up with a pillow to the face so many damn times.

Do they ever play sports together?

Football, Volleyball, Kickball. They get super competitive.

Do they give each other nicknames?

Chris calls Peggy: Baby, Babe, Angel, Young Whippersnapper, Baby Girl,  Sunflower, Sugar Moma, Snookums, Smoochie, Snuggle butt

Peggy calls Chris: Boo Bear, Happy Feet, Darling, Sweets, Suga Daddy, Daddy, Papi, SexyPants McFireStarter, Baby Boo

Have they ever gone skinny dipping?

Shhh...

What do they like when going out for food?

Chinese. 

What movies do they enjoy watching most?

Disney movies are their favorite, Pixar comes close second, and they like to watch RomComs too. 

What do they do when they're bored and together?

Have sex. 

Lay around and listen to records.

Build forts.

Have debates about superheros.

Have they dedicated songs to each other?

Que Lio- Hector Lavoe

Can’t Help Falling In Love With You- Elvis Presley

Location- Khalid

In My Dreams- James Morrison

How do they comfort each other when one of them is scared?

Holding hands, hugging, leaving if they need to, making sure one knows that the other is there for them.

Have any pets? (If not: would they get any?)

Dodger (Dog)

Isabelle (Cat)

Sammy (Dog)

What is their dream house?

In the forest but close to the city. Surrounded by trees and greenery. A big yard, and a big house cause they’ll have a big family, but they also want family to visit. Big dining room with windows that over look the sunset. Hardwood floors, two stories. The master will have a hug tubs and there will be a big kitchen, and living room. A patio with a grill... a little all over the place but yeah. 

What is their ideal vacation?

Cabin in the woods, isolated. 

How often are roadtrips?

Not that often, surprisingly. Only on special events or when they have too. But the trips are always filled with impromptu Karaoke and not enough snacks.

What are their careers?

Chris is an actor and director.

Peggy is an actor, a director, a writer, and a set designer.

What do they do after a hard day at work?

Sleep

Do they attend any clubs or formal parties together?

All the time, and every time Chris cant keep his eyes off of Peggy or even get through a conversation without saying “Look beautiful my wife is.” or if it’s before marriage he’ll say”damn. how did get so lucky”/ “i’m gonna marry her someday.

Who is the big spoon and why?

Chris. Peggy just wants his body heat and that’s the most efficient way. Plus if he holds her, she wont hog all the blankets and she ends up having good dreams. 

What are their morning rituals?

Chris gets up first, hours before Peggy. He takes Dodger out for a run, and comes back up only to see that she’s asleep still, then head down to do his work out. He comes back up, takes a shower and heads down to start breakfast at nine AM, and the smell of food wakes Peggy from her slumber, and she goes down stairs to make the tea and coffee cause it always tastes better when Peggy makes it.

Do they go to sleep at the same time as each other?

Nope. Peggy usually ends up staying up til the early hours of the morning, then sleeping til 10 while Chris usually falls asleep around 11:30 and wakes up at seven.

What's their favorite nonsexual activity together?

Dancing.

What do they do when the other is stressed?

Massages. Peggy usually sings with hers. Also hot bubble baths with smoothies.

How do they spend time if the other is gone?

Peggy is on her computer all day with her TV playing in the background. 

Chris is napping, trying to get work done, memorizing scripts, or playing with Isabel or Dodger.

Do they enjoy going camping together?

Peggy swears she doesn’t but she does.

Do they have a favorite video game they enjoy playing together?

Peggy and Chris get very competitive when they put in that Wii Sprts Resort disc.

Thoughts on PDA(Public Displays of Affection)?

Chris doesn’t like to do it much, but it’s not like it’s not there. Peggy respects his wishes and keeps it to a medium.

Thoughts on each other's friends?

Tara and Peggy get along great as well as Peggy and all of Chris’ other friends. They love her.

Bea and Chris get along perfectly, as well as Chris and Jules, Devon, ect. Roman and Chris can stop glaring long enough to share a joke sometimes.

Would they ever get married?

Yes. But Chris just has to wait for Peggy to be ready.

Thoughts on kids?

Yes. Yes. Yes! All the babies!!! 

Chris wants two or three. 

Peggy wants three or four.

Chris settles on three.

They end up having eight.

If the other had children before they met, what was their reaction towards the kids?

Peggy woulds accept it, maybe a little skeptical on why Chris and the mom separated. She’d want to know that it was nothing bad. But all in all she would be pretty chill about it. 

Chris would also be skeptical coming into. What if the kids don’t like him? He would also be pretty chill about it also.

How'd they meet each other's families?

Holiday over the course of a few days so it’s not all at once.

Thoughts on each other's family?

Peggy thinks Chris and his family totally make since. They’re all loud, and love to laugh, and play around. She loves it.

Chris thinks Peggy’s adopted family is amazing, and fit exactly with her. They love to dance, and cook and sing. He loves them.

On the other hand Chris thinks Peggy’s real family are complete dicks. In a nice sense... not really. 

Favorite family member of their lover? (Example: Lover 1 enjoys Lover 2's mother the most). Contrary to that, what does each other's family think about them? (I.E; What Lover 2's family thinks about Lover 1)

Peggy loves Chris’ parents. 

Chris loves Peggy’s Abuelita and Bea. 

Peggy’s family think Chris is a nice guy and a great fit for their Marjorita. They only hope he doesn't hurt her. 

Chris’ family adores Peggy. She fit in with the family so well already and they hope she stays and they get married. 

How are the holidays spent? Do they spend them at home? Do they visit each other's families?

They switch off Holidays. So each family gets a Christmas and a Thanksgiving every other year. Once they get married they start hosting more at their house, and flying family out to see them. 

How are birthdays spent?

Morning start with slow, passionate sex, then the rest of the day out together, then going home to get ready to go to the bar with their friends or host a party in the backyard, then back home for some much needed winding down, and marathons.

Have they ever kissed in the rain?

Maybe...  We’ll see.

Their favorite ways of being held?

Peggy loves laying on top of Chris, with his arms wrapped around her.

Chris loves resting his head on Peggy’s chest and feeling her heart beat, while she lazily wraps an arm around her. 

What happens when the other is getting flirted with?

Most of the time it’s fans so they’ll be chill, but if it’s not, and they start to see the other getting uncomfortable, they will step in. 

This marks the start of the NSFW and PDA section. You've been warned.

What is their favorite way to kiss? (If confused by this question, look up '43 different kisses')

Peggy likes to be kissed on her neck. It’s a pretty thrilling experience, especially with the beard. 

Chris likes it when Peggy comes up behind him, hugs him close, places a kiss on his back, then hugs him again. 

Who is has a tendency to be more dominant? Do they switch?

Peggy often let’s Chris take control, but don’t be fooled. Peggy is the one with all the power. Chris pampers her, and in turn she takes care for him. He fucks her just like she wants him to. Her quiet dominate personality is just the right balance of submissive, but still in control. Some would call her the perfect Domme

How is the mood set?

It’s just the two of them going for it, but usually it’s in a calm atmosphere. Just waking up, the calm of finally relaxing after a long day.

Thoughts on sex toys?

Have you seen the army tub labeled Peggy. Jesus. There’s not that many sex toys in a sex toy factory. 

What do they find most sexy about the other?

For Peggy, Chris’ beard. It turns her on. The scruff between her thighs or on her neck... god. 

For Chris its Peggy’s ass. It’s so plump and jiggles just the right way... damn. 

Most sensitive areas?

Peggy’s neck.

Chris’ ear.

Do they shower/bathe together? If so, how far does anything go?

They bathe together often. It’s mostly sitting around in the tub for a few hours. If they shower together it’s a whole different story. 

They’ll lather the soap on each others bodies, and Peggy will somehow end up on her knees, opting to clean Chris’ dick with her tongue instead of the loofah. Same goes for Chris, he’ll have her up against the shower tiles, legs over his shoulders, holding her up as she shakes. Things get heated from there. 

How do they like their sex? (Fast, slow, gentle, rough, etc)

They enjoy it any way it comes. Though, most of the time it’s on the vanilla, passionate sex, but just as often, it’s rough and heated. They both like different styles Chris being slow, Peggy being fast. They eventually find a medium, though. 

How rough can the sex get before it's taken too far?

Pretty rough, hair pulling, scratching biting, screaming. Thank god they sound proofed their bedroom, and red room. 

Oh yes. Some pretty medium BDSM nothing too bad. They have safe words and never have had the need to use them. They know each other’s limits.

Favorite sex positions?

The Rider

 Missionary

The Grip

The Clasp

The Cross

The Perch

The Snail

Doggy Style

From Behind

Splitting Bamboo

The Clip

The Kneel

The Lotus

If they would have a threesome, who would their third choice be?

I can tell you who’d they pick for a foursome... *cough* Tom and Jules *cough*

For a threesome it’s gonna be Elizabeth Olsen.