#but an alarming number of you think it will

[historicalclaptrap]

Yep, Ive worked healthcare (as a care assistant and then a nurse) for years, and in my line of work the VAST majority WOULD absolutely work you to dangerous limits or in unsafe situations when they can get away with it. (Trigger warning for violence and systemic medical neglect)

Ive had bosses bully me into tears to come into work without vital kit (my glasses- im dangerously short sighted) after it was broken after being assaulted by a patient the previous day. I've had colleagues who were worked so hard that they made critical errors and lost the tips of their fingers in the hoist- and then were bullied into coming back before they were ready. Ive even had bosses who worked their staff into the ground whilst failing to do the most basic of risk assessments - leaving staff having to manually lift patients into bed, rather than hoist them, or on one notable occassion accepting a guy who was a massive violence and aggression risk into a care home where none of the staff had V+A training or personal alarms (bless him, he was the sweetest man, but he was an ex firefighter with dementia and would fight the staff if he thought there was a fire elsewhere in the neighboughood). They knew he wasnt appropriate- he was serriously assaulting staff nightly for over a month- but did nothing untill he blinded a nurse working that night.

The sad reality is that the same entitled attitude you find in abusive partners and parents is found ALL OVER THE PLACE in bosses. The number who think you 'owe' them for giving you a job, who think your 'choice' to work there removes your right to complain. I remember finally getting a good boss after years of working for bad ones, and it was literally like id left an abusive relationship. I was on tenterhooks all the time, overly appologetic at sometimes, and massively brittal at others. There is genuinely so much abusive behaviour in the work place that we seem to just be expected to put up with

(And in contrast- a good boss in my line of work can save lives! Ask me and maybe ill tell u about some)

I love care work, genuinly adore it- my patients are the best part of my day, but FUCK bad bosses man.

Also, join a union. And look out for your colleagues on a day to day basis- sometimes youre all each other has got xx

"It doesn't help your credibility to exaggerate, most employers wouldn't literally work you to death" like, I used to work in distribution. If booking a truck driver for back to back shifts until they fall asleep at the wheel, crash, and die counts as being worked to death, I have personally met employers who've worked employees to death and gotten away with a slap on the wrist. It may not be universal, but it's a hell of a lot more common than a lot of us would prefer to think.

[comatosebunny09]

Dragging yourself back to the mansion after a grueling deal—an ambush. Twin assassins sent to take you out. Word travels fast in the underworld that you’re Sylus’ point man (woman?) and that you’ve been bumping off opposing faction heads in his stead.

They did a number on you. You’re a little worse for wear. A little rough around the edges. Nothing some antiseptic and a glass of something acrid can’t fix. The retina and fingerprint scanners grant you entry. It’s achingly bright inside. Serene, with classical music reverberating off the walls and the scent of polished floors assaulting your senses.

You’re clutching your side. Slightly limping. Squinting. Breathing through parted lips. You’re tired. You ache, but you’ve gotta brief bossman on how the “negotiation” went. You killed everyone there. One less group of baddies stalking around, challenging Onychinus’ name.

You near his study. Press your hand against the heavy oakwood door, preparing to shove inside. Two voices emerge from behind the wood’s barrier, one high and light, the other deep and abrasive. There’s humor there. Laughter. Fondness muffled by the door. You don’t have to do much guesswork—one voice belongs to Ms. Hunter, whilst the other is Sylus.

You lower your head, studying the floor with a half-hearted scowl. You don’t want to interrupt. Not when they sound all cozy inside. Something in your stomach pulls, chest tightening. You’ll update him later when he’s not preoccupied. In the meantime, you tow yourself back from whence you came. You can barely keep your eyes open, breaths labored.

One of the assassins nicked you good with a knife. It stings, your blood pasting your blouse to your split skin. You collapse onto a leather sofa in a dark room, your only light source pouring in from the hallway. You just want to rest up a bit. Maybe a little catnap to get your head back on straight before treating your injuries.

Darkness sweeps in like a vignette around the outskirts of your vision. You stare blankly at the marbled hallway floors before exhaustion takes over, robbing you of consciousness.

You awaken bleary-eyed sometime later. Colors and shapes bleed in, making way for coherency. You sit up on something silk-soft and pillowy. You’re no longer in the room you blacked out in. In fact, you’re in a bed, onyx sheets puddling around your waist.

Your head’s throbbing. Side’s smarting. You remember you were a little banged up when you returned home. You lift your shirt in alarm to observe your injury, but it’s been painstakingly dressed with gauze. You touch your temple—there’s a dressing there, too, covering the cut you acquired from head-butting some ornery henchman.

Further ingesting your surroundings, it’s with a frozen heart you realize you’re not in any of the guest rooms around the mansion. You’re in Sylus’ room. You’re in his bed, surrounded by his things. Did he find you when you’d slipped beneath the heavy veil of unconsciousness? Personally clean you up and dress your wounds? Change you?

You shake your head against the rush of questions, brain pounding in protest. You don’t want to think right now. He confuses you to no end. He’s kept you at what feels like arm’s length since the hunter emerged in his life. Still, there are days when he’s a reflection of his old self, fretting over your wellbeing, blurring the line between boss and subordinate.

Whatever.

You fall back into the sheets, taking in their comforting scent. You should leave, but you haven’t the strength to. He can bitch at you later. You turn away from the door and fall back asleep, unaware of it cautiously opening, a set of scarlet eyes warily observing you from behind the partition.

[imsofreakingtired]

Hi! I love your writing <3

I wanted to ask,can you please write something about really drunk Sevika being vulnerable with reader and reader comforting her?

Maybe drunk Sev talking about how tired she is or her expressing some insecurity?

anon i love this ask so much, here u go<3

tired (angst, hurt/comfort)

content warning(s): alcohol abuse, heavy(ish?) angst

“you haven’t felt right for days is it the fact you never say what comes in your mind that day? maybe it’s time to shut away ‘cause i’ve never really felt okay.” 

~~~

You can’t find Sevika anywhere—she’s not at the Last Drop, she’s not at the harbor, and no one in the Shimmer warehouse has seen her all day. You finally find her up in Silco’s empty office, sitting on the couch, nursing a bottle of hard liquor and staring blankly at the wall in front of her. Her prosthetic arm is detached, propped up against the low table. You remember that Silco’s away on a trip uptown for the night, something about him needing to buy things for Jinx’s room. The room is so silent you can hear everything in the streets outside—the fights, the drunk laughter, the rumble of wheels. Somewhere deep beneath the building you hear the distant boom of an explosion—Jinx must be working on her experiments. 

“Sevika?” you say in a low voice. She gives a start, stares at you like she’s never seen you before. 

“Hey,” she says. Her gaze is slightly unfocused, and in the dim light of the lamp the rings beneath her grey eyes look deeper and heavier than you remembered. 

“You okay?” 

You approach her slowly. You’ve never seen her like this before—sitting in this slouched position, hand limp, absent-minded. You feel a sudden concern. Is she sick? But that was like wondering if the sun shined at night. Sevika didn’t get sick. 

“I’m fine,” Sevika says gruffly. 

You feel her forehead anyway. Half-heartedly, she bats your hand away. You’re closer to her now and can smell the alcohol on her breath.

“Hey,” Sevika says again. “Why do you stick around?”  

“What?” 

She raises the bottle to her mouth, but seems to decide even that motion requires too much energy. She lets the bottle roll onto the floor. It was empty anyway. 

“I’d leave me, y’know, if I could,” Sevika mutters. “So why don’t you.” 

Then you understand. The slurring of words. The heavy tone. She’s drunk. This is somehow even more alarming than if she were sick. Sevika doesn’t get drunk. She has a powerful alcohol tolerance and disciplines herself with a limit to how much she can drink each day. She can’t afford to get carried away, doesn’t have the time to let herself fully escape from the world. There’s just too much to do. Silencing Silco’s opponents. Overseeing shipments. Bribing Piltie suppliers. Making deals with the magistrates of Zaunite districts. And, lately, cleaning up Jinx’s messes. 

At any rate, though, she’s drunk now—no doubt about it. You’re almost fascinated. Working at the Last Drop, you’ve seen any number of drunks: some sobbed loudly about past wrongs, some picked violent fights, some jumped up on tables and sang. But Sevika is collected even in intoxication. Her voice is subdued, and she looks more tired than anything. 

“I stick around because I care about you,” you say matter-of-factly, sitting down beside Sevika. 

“I’m no good,” she says. “I’ve been thinking about it. I’m no good. You deserve better.” 

“Don’t say that, Sevi. It isn’t true.”

There’s something desperate in the way she’s looking at you—a raw plea in her eyes. You cup her face in your hand, raising her chin to look her in the eye. “Hey,” you say softly. “It’s okay. Talk to me.” 

She looks away. “I feel like I’m holding up a crumbling brick wall. I’m walking through these streets and I see these kids, you know, playing in the gutter and looking up at me with their hungry eyes, and my chest gets so tight I think I might die.” She shakes her head, draws in a shuddering breath. “It’s never enough. No matter what I do, what choices I make. It’s never enough. I’m never enough.” 

“You’re doing all you can.”

“I’ve done horrible things. I close my eyes and I see these…these faces, these twisted angry faces, cursing me for what I’ve done to them.”

“You didn’t have a choice.” 

“I had the choices. I made all the wrong decisions.” Her voice breaks and she stops abruptly, biting her lip. “I just…I just don’t know myself anymore.” 

“I know you,” you tell her. “And I know you’re doing your best. I know you’re more than enough.” 

She looks at you tiredly. You wrap your arms around her, rubbing her broad shoulders.

“It's okay, Sevi. I’m here.” 

With a deep sigh she rests her head in your lap, and you stroke her hair until she falls asleep. You don’t leave her side even after you hear her slowed breathing. You stay there, running your fingers through her hair, threading out the heavy thoughts, warding away the nightmares. She won’t remember this in the morning. She would deny she ever gave a thought to any of what she told you, let alone spoke them aloud. So you store her secrets in your heart for her. If you could take away her burdens by doubling your own, you would. 

In her sleep, Sevika clings tightly to you.

[myrrusstuff]

“Long night” | Gf!Jinx doing streaming marathons.

A/N: This is just meant to be a rough draft, putting some thoughts into words. I’m aware it’s not my best work, I just really wanted to give it a shot. Reader wears glasses btw! | thank you a ton for giving me an excuse to write more of this. I love streamer!jinx. I hope this is alright!

WC: 400(?), CC: 2,155 | CW: Gunshot mentions. Jinx is a Fortnite lover. | Pairing: Streamer!Jinx x F!Reader.

You toss and turn, stirring slightly in your sleep. Your eyes flutter open slightly, your gaze meeting the numbers on the alarm clock. 4:00am. “What the fuck am I doing up at 4am?” You think to yourself. You roll onto your side to see if Jinx is asleep still, but to your surprise, you find the spot next to you empty and cold, like she hadn’t been there for hours. Where is she?

That’s when you hear it, the slight sound of gunshots. You let out a soft sigh, prying the covers off of you as you stumble to your feet. You know exactly where Jinx is, exactly what she’s doing.

As you wrap your favourite robe around you, you slide your glasses on. You make your way through the hallway, and unsurprisingly, the door at the end has a bright light peeking through. You can hear the gunshots get louder, mixed with playful rambling. “Ha! Take that! Chat, did you see that?! Headshot!”. A soft smile forms on your face at the familiar voice. You make your way up to the door, before creaking it open slightly. Surely enough, Jinx was sat playing Fortnite attentively, her webcam clearly on.

She doesn’t seem to be paying attention to chat, so you decide to use this to your advantage. You slide into the room, creeping closer. At this point you can see the chat yourself. They’re all saying hello to you, pointing you out. However, Jinx seems completely oblivious to your presence. You place your palms over her headphones, your fingers lightly tugging at them and prying them off her head. It’s at this moment she snaps back to reality and her surroundings, she tilts her head back, looking up into your eyes, “hey tuts!”, before turning back to chat. “why didn’t-ya warn me she was here?”. You laugh softly before responding on behalf of her chat, “they did, I saw them. You just weren’t paying attention, little miss blue.” She scowls as you playfully poke her nose, but you can see the undeniable smirk forming on the edge of her lips. “Yeah yeah, just get in here.” she murmurs, hauling you onto her lap before focusing on her game once more.

“Fuck! That cunt was afk killing me! Chat, I’m so gonna get her back!”

God, she’s such a doofus. Atleast she’s your doofus... this is going to be a long night.

Extra;; This is a re upload from my old blog @myrruwrites! :3

[liyawritesss]

ꜱʜᴇᴀ ʙᴜᴛᴛᴇʀ ʙᴀʙʏ

-> synopsis: tim drake wants nothing more than his little shea butter and vanilla scented baby when he comes home from patrol.

         -> pairing: tim drake x blk!gn!reader

-> from: dc’s batman universe

         -> contains: descriptions of canon typical violence, a few curse words, little to no use of [y/n], black!reader but can be read by anyone, primarily in tim’s perspective, second person terminology (you, your, yours)

-> a/n: had a convo with the lovely @timbits-drake and we came to the conclusion that timothy drake is a guy who loves warm vanilla scents, and so it gave me the incentive to run with it LMAO. love you boo, i just had to give tim a vanilla baddie to snuggle with 

         -> join my taglist!

-> tags: @timbits-drake @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @marsfunzon22 @briology @asensitivecookie @moon-bo-young @flo-milli-shit-hoe @babyboiboyega @romiantic

When the amber rays of the rising sun begin to trickle in through the windows of his apartment, Tim knows he’s been up too long. He can ignore the stinging in his eyes and the ache in his knees from his sitting position in front of his monitor screen. Even the several alarms that he has on his phone that, somehow, he manages to disarm before they even sound. He’s lost count of how many times his hands have been through his hair, the mop of dark locks sticking out in various directions across his head. The blaring bluelight from the screen highlighting the exhausted features on his face was slowly being drowned out with the morning sun rising over the horizon, thawing the cold of crime that glazed over Gotham in the night and bathing the city in its redemptive glow, welcoming the city and its residents into a new day.

For the umpteenth time, his elbows meet the cool surface of his desk, and his hands cup his face for a moment in respite, the darkness providing a soothing ache to his strained eyes, before the digits rake through his tousled hair once more. A sigh leaves his throat, deep and tired. The only other testament to his evasion of sleep being the number of Juneberry Red Bull cans that sit on his desk. Another restless night, leading to yet another dead end. 

While momentarily deterred from his screen, Tim faintly hears the distinct sound of music playing; a low hum that’s warm and resonating. Then, the sweet scent that he’s come to be so familiar and fond with follows after. It is in this split second when his mind is at rest that he thinks ‘at least there’s one good thing about staying up ‘til this early’.

Footsteps are heard soon after he registers that he is not the only one awake now, and he slowly begins to anticipate the best part of his restless all-nighters.

“Another late night?”

The closer the footsteps sound, the stronger the soothing scent becomes. It tickles his nose when you breach the threshold of the study room, and starts to creep over his senses when you place a comforting hand on his back. Feeling your thumb sooth the tension between his shoulder blades, Tim sits up slowly, leaning into your touch without thinking. It is like clockwork, this little routine of yours. One that, while he feels a little guilty of every now and then - he hates worrying you, and tries everything he can to avoid doing so, even though he knows it is wishful thinking - he is so very thankful that you engage in it with him.

Your hand trails the expanse of his back, creeping up the nape of his neck, gently coaxing for him to meet your gaze. His neck cranes slightly upwards, and he feels your fingers curling with the arch of it as he does so. Pretty blue eyes, dark and weary, meet yours, and for the first time since he’s gotten home that night, he breathes.

“Yeah…” Tim hums in response, leaning further into the warmth that’s radiating from your body. A wandering hand traces the curve of your leg, flattening against the fat of your thigh, cupping the supple flesh as if to pull you closer. 

“No luck with recon either, huh?” You prod a little, leaning a little more towards him and letting his head meet your clothed tummy, allowing for Tim to take a sharp inhale of your scent, and suddenly, he’s almost too painfully aware of just how exhausted he is.

“No…” He murmurs against your clothed skin, the sweet, warm fragrance invading his senses all at once, making it hard for him to fight the drowsiness that begins to settle in his eyelids.

Tim has half a nerve to groan when he feels the low rumble of a hum resonate though your body, because he knows what you’re about to say next, and by god, he does not want to hear it, but he doesn’t have it in him to fight your light scolding.

“Y’know what you’d have better luck in?”

“Don’t-”

“-some sleep; now come on,” and then you’re tugging at him, pulling at the baggy forest green pullover he’d lazily tossed on after getting home last night, and he starts groaning up a storm. A few pops echo throughout the room from his joints finally getting movement after hours of being stagnant, “at least get in the bed, please?”

His stance is wobbly, but he stands, but unwilling to be parted from the fragrance he’d come to love about you, he leans a little further onto you, craning his neck to nudge against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, and breathes in. Warm vanilla and brown sugar waft through his nose, sifts through his bloodstream, and his tense shoulders relax a little, as if satiated for the time being. It is only while he’s momentarily distracted by the compelling notes of your daily fragrance and lotion layering, you are able to guide him from the study and into the bedroom. There, too, it smells of you, and it’s warmer here than in the study, which his body takes as more than a welcoming.

With a gentle hand, you guide him into the bed, and he almost sinks into the plush pillows, cozy comforter, and foam mattress. Without thinking, Tim buries his head deep into the pillows. God, did you spray the bed with your fragrance, too? He thinks, though he doesn’t ask. He’s already half-way asleep when hits the bed.

The faint sound of your laughter - soft, light, sweet, just like your scent - makes its way to his ears, and Tim can’t even stifle the rush of heat that begins to creep up his neck. 

Gosh, the things you do to him.

The last thing Tim remembers, before the gentle grasp of sleep welcomes him into its hold, is the feeling of your hand coming through his hair and your lips pressed against his temple, and your voice sending him off to sleep for a couple of hours.

Before he completely succumbs, though, he manages to whisper a small, airy, dainty little I love you; and while he does not care for the late nights that trickle into the morning hours, he cherishes that sliver of time the most, as it is when he gets to be lulled off to sleep with the warmth of your love and the alluring scent of brown sugar and warm vanilla.

[saturnzlv]

AH OK IM ECSTATIC. so like here’s what i’m thinking. friends with benefits denki. he calls or texts you or whatever asking to come over and you guys hang out… usually he’s gone by the morning with just a text that he had to head out because of work or smth. but this time you wake up in the morning to this man laying full body ON TOP OF YOU. take that thought and do with it what you will 😮‍💨💕

hello hello, i hope my vision fits with yours on this!! and i hope i portrayed denki good lol. please enjoy, anon! <3

take a chance on me

— parings: kaminari denki x reader

— notes: mature language & suggestive content

it’s like clockwork—you can probably call it a routine at this point—when denki shot you a text with the simple message of ‘come over?’

at first you two caught up on your days, then he asked for you to stay for dinner and a movie night. like always, he inched his way closer to you as you sat on the couch together with the movie playing. and as expected, his hand slid along the back of the couch, and he leaned into your personal space before asking in a lower tone for you two to move to his bedroom.

“i can be out of your hair by sunrise,” he told you, and you knew he would be. he always was. he always left you in a mass of cold, messy sheets with a text telling you to lock up before you leave.

sunlight peaks through the sheer curtains of denki’s bedroom. you’re not entirely conscious as you struggle to bring a hand to your eyes, and for a good second, in your tired mind, you wonder if you’re having sleep paralysis.

blinking your eyes open and squinting from the sun rays hitting your face, you crane your neck to be met with a tuff of golden hair. his face is buried against your collarbone with his chest diagonally across yours, a leg slot between your own. his hand almost falls over the edge of the bed from his sprawled out position atop of you.

it’s like a weighted blanket has been draped over you. you find it comforting, but also surprising. you didn’t expect for him to sleep in.

“denki,” you murmur, shifting slighting to lift your hand. you bend your arm at the elbow and tap your fingers against his shoulder blade. he doesn’t respond, so you lightly nudge him. “denki.”

an annoyed groan elicits from him, but he doesn’t make any effort to move or speak. you tilt your head to try and glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table, and you pat denki’s hair down to see the digital numbers more clearly, but his hand comes up to try and cover your vision.

you huff, turning your head away from his hand. lifting your hand from his hair, you pull his hand away from your face. “you dickhead,” you mumble, and you’re pretty certain you hear a small laugh come from denki. “get off of me.”

denki laces his fingers with yours before letting your now intertwined hands rest on the mattress. you involuntarily tighten your grip on his hand. “why?” he asks, voice muffled against the skin of your collarbone.

“don’t you have work?”

he lets out a short hum, shaking his head ‘no’. ”i’m off today,” he says, lifting his head up just a little to peer at you. “you wanna get rid of me so soon?”

there’s a playful pout on his lips—you’re not sure if you wanna kiss him stupid or push his head away. with a light, amused scoff, you settle for rolling your eyes and tilting your head to look away from him.

denki’s lips curl into a little bit of a frown as he leans back. “wait, you wanna get rid of me?” he lets go of your hand in favor of propping himself up on his left forearm, his body weight still a little atop of you.

you shake your head a little before looking back at denki. “i never said that.”

“you implied it,” he retorts, to which you furrow your brows.

“me rolling my eyes implied that i wanted you gone?”

denki gave you a look that practically read, ‘uh, duh?’ you lift your hand to his head, fingers lightly brushing back the unruly blonde strands from his forehead.

“you’re real stupid when you first wake up,” you say, yet your tone of words is more tender than its meaning.

he’s also real expressive, you notice, when he first wakes up. there’s a small furrow in his brows, and the sunlight basks him in a warm embrace. there’s a light dusting of freckles along his nose and high points of his cheeks, as well as a few lighter lightning shaped scars on his fair skin.

“and you’re real mean.” denki pouts, pulling his best beaten-up, puppy dog look.

your hand shifts from his hair to his brows, and you lightly run the pads of your fingers along his brow bone. “i’m calling you stupid but said with affection.”

your palm cups his jaw, and it’s almost automatic how he relaxes his face into your touch. he has a bit of a softer, surprised look in his eyes. his right hand lightly skims the expanse of your side, and it threatens a shiver to run up your spine.

“affection?” he repeats.

shit. “what?” you say with a slight (almost nervous) chuckle. “friends can’t be affectionate now?”

for a moment, he stares at you as if he doesn’t believe your words. it makes you nervous—he makes you nervous—and you can only let out an awkward chuckle before murmuring, “what?”

“so are we still friends?” he asks.

you can’t help but feel a little confused. your brows furrow as you continue to stare up at denki, and your hand comes to rest near his nape. with a tentative touch, your fingers thread through the messy strands.

“why wouldn’t we be?” you ask.

he lifts his hand from your side and awkwardly gestures between you two. “‘cause of this?” he then gestures to the few articles of clothing on the floor, then aimlessly around his room. “all this?”

you blink. what are you even supposed to say? your lips part to speak, but you can’t find the right words.

you’re laying in his bed, wearing his shirt, and had planned to steal his coffee maker and a mug before you left, but now you’re trapped. you’re trapped by him sleeping in with you, you’re trapped by him caging you to the mattress, and you’re immensely trapped by his stupid question.

“do you not want this anymore?” you ask hesitantly.

denki glances from your heavy gaze to your lips. his hand settles at the curve of your hip. he swallows dryly before sighing softly and making eye contact with you.

“can’t i want more?”

you’ll admit to yourself that his words stun you. you didn’t expect that response, but you should’ve known feelings would eventually come to play after fucking around with your close friend for months now.

“you like me?” you ask, words spoken softly.

his lips curl into a nervous grin, and his fingertips lightly press into the skin at your hip. “whoops?”

the short conversation leaves you two in a brief silence, simply staring at each other and trying to gather what you both want from this agreement. denki wants more than just a quick fuck, and you’re not entirely sure what you want.

you like denki (you’re sure of it), but you don’t know if you love him. does he love you? would he still love you even after knowing every little thing about you, more than what he already knows? if he learns the ins and outs of how you work, would he still want you?

“so…” denki draws out the word. his thumb brushes against your hipbone. “can i maybe take you out?”

there was an urge to allow denki to dote on you, and you were seconds away from succumbing. besides, how bad could a few dates, and maybe more, be? he could be a good boyfriend. you’re finding yourself liking that word in reference to denki, anyways. it sounds nice, and having denki be more than just a quick fuck sounds even better.

so you nod softly and let yourself take a chance on him. why not?

[nikoniclove]

A short blurb for @nerdy-mama who wanted Emily and glasses

First Sighting

You’ve been sleeping with them a bit. You’re still technically keeping track of how many nights it’s been, so it’s still new. You’re not better about waking up at their apartment per se, but you know you can make coffee and read on the couch with Sergio until they wake up.

This time you’re just waiting for Emily since JJ is away on a case with Rossi. Sergio has found a way to drape over your shoulder and the back of the couch, occasionally digging his toe beans into your neck or pawing at your braid. You don’t mind, as long as his claws stay tucked. His quiet purrs, soft fur, and his unique blend of mischief and cuddly is perfect, and you’ve loved the cat from the start. You boop his nose, tipping your head slightly when you scratch under his chin.

You hear her muffled footsteps, the change in sound between the carpet of the bedroom and the hardwood of the hallway, and look in the direction she’ll appear.

You’ve seen her waking up a number of times, but this morning you’re flustered. Glasses. She has glasses. Your heart skips a few beats. Emily yawns, rubbing her face tiredly and then stretching languidly; the silk of her robe shifts against her thighs. Her hair is still sleep-mused, and the glasses… fuck… the glasses. “Morning, love,” she rasps, her voice rough with sleep. Your mouth gapes open a bit. “Are you being a pain in the ass, Serg?”

Emily glances over at you expectantly. Right. English. Words. Speak, brain. Speak, you chide yourself. “Glasses,” you manage, which… sure, fine. It’s technically a word, but you were hoping your brain could come up with a proper greeting and not a jarbled one-word phrase like an utter idiot. “You wear glasses.” More words, not any better.

“I’m sure you’ve seen them before, or honestly, I’m just really bad about giving my eyes a break when I switch out my contact lenses.” She leans against the back of the arm chair, taking in your very obvious flustered appearance. “What?”

“Umm… they’re… uh… you look…” Her pearly white teeth pierce her bottom lip in the most flirtatious smile, and your heart flutters around, further exacerbating your flustered state of being. Emily waits you out, smug and intrigued. You swallow the lump in your throat. “You’re pretty.”

She walks toward you slowly, her tongue peeking out to lick her lips. “Yeah? You like the glasses, hmm?” You nod immediately, not trusting your voice at all the closer you get. “You want to show me how much you like the glasses?”

The halves of her robe float apart, and despite the swaths of pale skin, lean muscles, and heavy breasts now on display, you keep getting drawn in by the glasses. Maybe it’s the shiny black of the glasses matching the silky black of the robe. Maybe it’s the way it draws your attention to her beautifully brown eyes with her lusciously long lashes. Maybe you’re just head over heels in love with this woman and refusing to admit it. Possibly all three, but my god, you can’t even think.

“You are so fucking cute,” Emily hums, sitting next to you on the couch. The back of her fingers stroke your cheek, and your eyes finally flit to her lips and the coy smile encouraging you to act.

Back in the bedroom the alarms wail their alerts that it’s time to get up and get ready for work. “Mmm, guess we’ll have to rain check. Coming over tonight?”

“Yes,” you agree quickly.

It’s going to be a long day, and you’re going to have exactly one thing on your mind.

Emily Prentiss in her half-open silk robe, sleep-mused and perfect, with her glasses perched delicately on her nose.

[angellic4l]

boys, bets, and sobriquets - d.m

content: tw! reader has something similar to an anxiety attack but it isn’t specified as that! flirty!derek, bau!reader, hurt comfort (?), angst, fluff, there’s a ‘bet’ made, reader has a shitty date, swearing/cussing, they argue ofc, one bed trope.

wc: 5.2k

a/n: my first ever request!! i’m so honoured and just happy that someone trusted me with their vision, i hope this is what you wanted angel!

Faint sounds of the regular office shenanigans danced around the bullpen; soft clicks of computer keyboards, Reid flipping the pages of some obscure novel at a subhuman speed, Andersen brewing a pot of coffee, and the scrawl of your pen on a case file all coming together to sing the corporate symphony.

One noise was missing though, the sound of Derek’s chair moving side to side as he talks to everyone and anyone possible rather than actually doing his work. His voice rings out from by the glass doors and your head rises from the manilla folder to see what’s going on. His eyes meet yours, an arrogant, self-satisfied smirk on his face, one that tells you he actually got the new receptionist’s number.

Morgan takes his seat across from yours, looking at you expectantly, awaiting your questioning of his absence or why he’s so happy. Instead, you shake your head at him but the smile on your face betrays your mock disapproval. With a soft sigh, your hand loosens its grip around the pen, letting it drop to the oak desk beneath you.

“Alright, I’ll bite. You got the receptionist’s number, I’m guessing?”

“Number? No, no, baby girl, I got a date and her number. You underestimate my charm.”

“Right, I forgot that you were such a CasaNova.”

“I prefer the term irresistible, sugar.”

“This actually works for you? The whole cocky womaniser thing?”

“I’m not cocky. It’s called confidence. And a little sweet talking.”

“Oh, I’m sure they all love your ‘confidence’. I refuse to believe any respectable woman would fall for that,” you tease, tone making it clear you’re joking.

“Oh, like you wouldn’t fall for all of this,” he retorts, hand gesturing from his face down to his torso.

“In all seriousness, I really wouldn’t. You’re not my type, D.”

“Not your type? Sugar, don’t play with me right now.”

“I’m not! I just wouldn’t fall for it, it’s not my thing.”

“Let’s make a bet, then. I flirt with you-“

“Absolutely not,” you scoff.

“Let me finish! I flirt with you, you flirt with me, and we’ll see who falls first.”

You ponder his words for a while, going through it in your head. Morgan’s physically attractive, sure, but almost everybody thinks that. With your time at the BAU, you figure if you were going to fall for him, it would’ve happened already. Fuck it, why not?

“You’re on, Morgan. Be warned, you’re gonna fall in love with me.”

That little bet was made 3 months ago. You remember it like it was yesterday because it was the day you subjected yourself to the worst fate possible. Falling fast and hard for Derek Morgan.

Now, every time he flirts with you and you flirt back, it just stings. It’s like a cruel snippet of what could be if he liked you back, if you swallowed your pride and let him win, if you would just tell him. Instead, you reciprocate the flirting, keep your pride intact by never admitting anything, and keep your feelings for him a secret.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

A ringing noise rouses you from sleep, the soft vibration of your phone reverberating throughout the oak nightstand to the left of you. It’s not the sound of your alarm, and based on how the only light your eyes had to adjust to came from your phone, you suspect it’s a phone call instead. Another case, presumably.

Tired limbs scramble to find the phone, your hands fumbling until they feel it beneath them, and you pick up without even looking at the contact name. Sleep has yet to leave your body, still lingering like a phantom, so your voice is groggy when you speak.

“Hello?”

“Hi, angel. You know I hate to do this, but Hotch needs everybody in the office in 30. Urgent case,” a soft, saccharine voice rings out, one you recognise as Penelope’s.

“M’kay. Be there soon, Penny. Love you.”

“I love you too, dear,” she says before the line goes dead, leaving you in silence once more.

As you pull the phone away from your ear, your eyes catch the time displayed on the phone: 2:36 AM. A groan escapes your lips when you realise it had only been 5 hours since you left the BAU, 3 of which you’d been asleep for. Being called in after just coming back from a case was annoying, but this soon was just infuriating.

By the time you were at the BAU, it was safe for anybody to say, profiler or not, that your mood was absolutely sour. Since Penelope had called you back in, your day had only gotten worse. While in a rush to get ready, hands flying everywhere to rag clothes on, you’d managed to lose an earring. On the way into work, someone had cut you off at an intersection, causing you to slam on your brakes, ultimately sending your coffee all over the passenger seat.

Operating on 3 hours of sleep was easy enough, standard for most FBI agents, especially for you. That wasn’t the issue here, no, it was the fact that you’d been called in after just returning from a week’s long case, the act somehow triggering an infuriating chain of events for you, leaving you earringless, coffeeless, and bitter.

Once everyone else had arrived, it was clear they could sense the sourness radiating from you, only sharing small greetings instead of sparking up a conversation. Hotch announced the briefing would be done on the plane to save time, prompting everyone to grab their go-bags and start to move.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

After shoving your go-bag into the overhead space, more aggressively than needs be, you take a seat around one of the tables and watch as the others follow suit. Everyone seems almost hesitant to sit next to you, hovering before sitting somewhere else, disrupting the order of everyone’s usual seats. It’s sort of understandable, it’s obvious that you’re in a mood of some sorts and they’re probably just trying to give you breathing room, but it’s only annoyed you a little more.

Morgan ends up taking the seat next to you of his own free will, considering there were still 3 empty seats he could’ve sat in. Usually, you’d be happy to have Morgan sit next to you, but most of your conversations involve playful flirting, something you’re not in the mood for right now.

What doesn’t help is your growing feelings for him; on a normal day, playful flirting is hard because you know it doesn’t mean anything, but today isn’t a normal day. Today, you’re pissed off and tired, and the thought of entertaining something that’s only going to make you feel worse is utterly dreadful.

Maybe he’ll spare you, you think, he knows that you’re not in the mood for it, so he might just leave it alone and not say anything. Hotch’s voice steals your attention from the thought, pulling your focus to the case at hand instead.

The briefing moves fast, ideas being bounced around like a ping pong ball being bounced off the pegs in an arcade game, everybody collaborating with different theories, or building on someone else’s. Garcia searches what she can based on the few things you can all profile for certain, but it’s clear that this case won’t be an easy one.

The killer is experienced, that much is obvious, but that means he’s killed before. Where, none of you are sure because VI-CAP doesn’t have a match for the M.O you’ve all decided on. It’s not looking good for the BAU, the case is probably going to span over a week and the thought makes you even more annoyed.

Garcia’s face vanishes from the plasma screen across from you as the team starts to spread out throughout he jet, following the end of the briefing. Majority of the time, you’d sit yourself at the back of the jet and listen to music until you fell asleep, or talk to somebody, but you’re too tired to move from this chair.

Apparently, Morgan shares the same sentiment, unmoving from the spot next to you. Any and all hope of him leaving you alone starts to dissipate, knowing that Derek’s chatty, especially with you, has you dreadfully anticipating his conversation. With your luck, or lack thereof today, it comes.

“Hey, pretty girl. How’s my favourite bombshell?”

“Okay. ‘M just tired.”

“You know I can tell when you’re lying, right, sunshine?”

“Morga-“

“-‘Cause, you haven’t given me any of those sweet names, you’re not even looking at me, and your body language is telling me you’re pissed. What’s wrong, sugar?”

Morgan’s analysis fills you with fear - sure, he’s a profiler and even if he wasn’t, it’s obvious you’re in a shitty mood, but it’s not that - you make sure to hide any tells of the anxiety you’re experiencing. If Morgan can rattle all of that off with so much as one look at you, he’s been profiling you for a while. That means he knows. He knows that you like him. And he still flirts with you anyway?

Even if you didn’t think it possible, you’re even more pissed off with that fact, hell, you’re angry. Who on Earth flirts with someone they know has feelings for them? It’s cruel, hurtful, and disrespectful, none of which you thought Derek was, but clearly you’ve wildly misjudged him.

“What happened to ‘we don’t profile each other’? God, you’re such a dick, Morgan.”

“Hey, what? Mama, what is going on with you?” He asks, clear exasperation and confusion written on his face. You bite down a scoff because of course, he’s playing dumb to it.

“The fact that you’re asking is evidence enough. So obsessed with your own pride that you can’t even see what you’re doing to the people around you? Really? God, Morgan, it’s like you don’t even have eyes,” you snap, tone sharp and cutting.

“Mama, I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Back up for a second, obsessed with my own pride? Is this you talking or are you in one of those ‘man-hater’ moods again?”

Morgan’s use of the words ‘man hater mood’ take you back to an incident last month. You bristle at the fact he’s bringing that up, even more so that he doesn’t believe you’re actually mad at him.

It was a Saturday night and you had a date planned, one that, due to the demands of the job, had been rescheduled three times. This time was lucky, though, because you had no case, no paperwork, and no reports due. The guy was lovely, so understanding every time you’d had to reschedule, and he was handsome, too.

Once you’d left work, giddy and smiling to yourself on the drive home, the only thing going through your head was how excited you were for the date. A week before that, you and the girls had gone shopping together, scouring D.C’s small boutiques and high end stores. While with Emily in one of the boutiques, the cutest outfit had caught your eye, it was perfect; your favourite colour, exactly your style, and looked incredibly flattering when you’d tried it on. The girls convinced you to wear it on your date, commenting on how gobsmacked the guy’d be, so you bought it.

After restyling your hair and slipping into the beautiful outfit, you were putting your shoes on at the front door. Midway through slipping your shoes on, your phone buzzed on the side table in the hallway, with bated breath, you crossed your fingers and wished it wasn’t a case. What was on the screen was infinitely worse, though.

date

hey, i don’t think this’ll work. you’re too unreliable for me. kinda crazy you cancelled 3 times for ‘work’ and can now suddenly meet up because we changed it to a restaurant.

To say you were in a foul mood the next day would be the understatement of the century. To cancel because of his reason was insane for many reasons, but the two that pissed you off the most stuck. One - that the date had changed on his accord. The weather wasn’t the greatest, so instead of the picnic in the park that was planned, he’d asked if you wanted to go to a restaurant instead. Two - that he cancelled right before the date, as if he’d just suddenly had a change of heart when he’d clearly summed you up as a gold digger long before.

As you’d walked into the BAU and sat at your desk across from Derek’s, he didn’t notice your mood straight away because he hadn’t looked up yet. So, he operated as usual:

“Good morning, angel. How’s the prettiest lady in the whole FBI?”

“Ugh, don’t even. I’m really not in the mood today, D.”

With that he looked up and his brows immediately furrowed in concern at the annoyed expression on your face, dark circles under your eyes, and the way the light in your eyes had dimmed.

“What’s up? Someone I have to beat up?”

“I hate men. Fucking hate them. They’re all so grimey and disgusting and fucking horrible.”

“Don’t generalise us, sweetheart. What have I ever done to you?”

Instead of giving him a verbal response, you just shot him a glare before turning on your computer and carrying on with your day.

Contrary to your own belief, you could get even angrier than you were, even more annoyed than you thought possible for the already shitty day you’ve been having, and Morgan’s the main reason for this revelation at the moment.

He’s still looking at you, awaiting your answer to his question with an unreadable expression on his face. Finally, you turn your head to look at him, tongue poking the inside of your mouth in some futile attempt to control it. It doesn’t work.

“Wow. You genuinely don���t believe that I could be mad at you, that it’s some other guy’s fault, huh? I’m not in a ‘man hater’ mood, I’m just mad at you! You don’t see what you’re doing Morgan, you’re oblivious to it, and it’s pissing me off.”

“Baby gi-“

“-Just leave me alone, Morga-“

“- Fine.”

A scoff leaves your lips, bitter on your tongue as it escapes because you know you shouldn’t have said it. You know you shouldn’t have opened your mouth, told him how you feel in such a snappy way. You’re in a bad mood, having let the small things get to you, and you like Derek so much that his pet names and his flirting spark fire where they should leave warmth.

As if on cue, he rises from the seat next to you and walks down the aisle in a huff, sits down in an empty seat, and shoves his headphones in. Great. On top of your so-far shitty day, you’ve managed to push away the one person who makes everything instantly better. Probably squashed the tiny chance of him ever liking you back, too.

A sharp pang in your chest leaves you feeling sick, the hurt manifesting itself as something physical deep inside, and you wish you weren’t so difficult. Instead of talking, just simply saying today was going horribly and it had affected your mood, you’d let your astringent tongue take over.

The child inside of you wants to curl up in the fetal position, cry a million rivers over a boy, feel sorry for itself while simultaneously picking at every insecurity she harbours. Instead, you opt for sleeping, a temporary escapism from the shitty position you’ve put yourself in, leaning your head back and closing your eyes.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

After landing in Montana, you’re woken up by Emily’s gentle hand on your shoulder, shaking you ever so slightly. The rest of the team was already making their way off of the jet, go-bags in hand, walking off in a line due to the small aisle. Once your limbs were a bit more awake, you stood up and followed suit.

The team went from the jet to the SUV’s, making their way to the Livingston police department. Your car was semi-silent, the only noises to be heard are the small murmurs of Reid and JJ in the back of the SUV and silent melodies from the radio.

You’re in the passenger seat next to Hotch, while Morgan sits to the left of JJ and Spencer. Usually, he’d be involved in their conversation, cracking jokes and laughing his ass off with them. Instead, he’s silent. The absence of his voice rings loudly in your ears, guilt taking root in the ashes of the previous anger that once burned. It’s your fault he’s not being himself, you just had to open your mouth when you were in a mood, didn’t you?

Eyes watch him discreetly through the rearview mirror, his arms crossed over his chest, half sunken into the leather seat, brooding. Derek’s demeanour and body language is far from how he usually is, distant and angry instead of present and bubbly. He looks so different when he’s like this; distant and angry, far from his bubbly self.

For the rest of the day, it stays the same, Derek seemingly not himself, the same surly expression on him all day. Every time you look at him, it hurts - knowing that it’s because you couldn’t control yourself, you let your emotions take over rational thought - and the pangs of guilt become excruciating by the hour.

By the time Hotch decides to call it a night and have everyone head back to the hotel, your heart physically hurts with all of the guilt that’s pressing on it and the longing tugging at it. All you’ve wanted for the past 3 months is for the flirting between you and Morgan to be real, to have him feel the same way about you as you do him. At some point, the flirting started to weigh you down, leave you with an empty feeling in the deep pits of your stomach, and a yearning so strong that it seemed pathetic.

Realistically, the silly ‘bet’ was only ever going to go one of two ways. The pair of you would have distanced, one of you would’ve pushed the other away so that you didn’t have to experience a taste of what could be before it was ripped away from you. Alternatively, all restraint one of you had would’ve snapped, the fight to not let the other win, the pride you both held so dearly would’ve lost i’s fuel, resulting in a confession from either side. In some weird, twisted way, it’d managed to be both of them on your end.

Without realising, a sigh escapes your lips as you walk in a huddle with the team into the hotel’s lobby, pulling you out of your own thoughts. Head snapping up from the red carpet beneath your feet, your eyes lock with JJ’s, who’s giving you a questioning look. You find yourself responding with a shake of the head to tell her it’s nothing, then averting her gaze before she can tell that something’s up.

The group of weary, exhausted agents make their way to the front desk, all of you moving in a similar fashion to that of a pack of zombies.

The view would be funny if all of you weren’t aching for some much needed rest. Majority of you collapse into some couches while Hotch and Rossi go to get the keys from the front desk.

Both men return to the waiting area in the lobby after about 5 minutes, 4 sets of keys in hand. When you finally look up at them, your face contorts in confusion as to why there’s only 4 sets of keys when there’s 7 of you. As your lips part in anticipation to start asking questions, your brain answers them for you, recalling the information that was relayed to you all on the way to the airstrip, seemingly forgotten in the haze of your guilty, self-deprecating thoughts.

Shit.

Considering the case was so last minute, there were only 4 rooms available at the nearest hotel, so Hotch let everyone know they’d be sharing. To avoid any arguments and prolonged delay to sleep, everyone had agreed to pair with the same person as the last time you’d all had to share rooms. Hotch and Rossi, Emily and JJ, Spencer got his own room because of his aversion to germs, and you and Morgan.

You and Morgan. In a room together.

Clearly, the universe wasn’t done with sending you a chain of awful events today, because this had to take the fucking cake. Being in a room with Morgan has never been a bad thing, but you’ve also never argued with him and basically confessed that you like him. The words never explicitly left your mouth, but surely he’d figured it out a while ago based on your body language, right?

Hotch distributes the keys to someone from every pair, snapping you out of your thoughts once more as he holds a pair out to you. Tiredly, you take it before standing up and grabbing your bag with your other hand. Today has been long, excruciatingly so, you can just go to the room and fall asleep in your own bed. You think, an attempt to ease the unease that’s residing within you.

A gloomy Derek trails behind you, almost reluctantly if your profiling skills were still intact while being this tired, the sight sends another agonising sting of guilt through your heart. As shitty of him as it was to have profiled how you felt and still carry on flirting, he isn’t the only one who has blame in the situation - you agreed to the bet, you could’ve called the whole thing off, confessed your feelings and let him win, but you didn’t - you had your share in the whole thing, too.

The door lock clicks when you turn the key, opening the door to your new home for god knows how long, but you drop said keys on the floor when you get into the room. Similarly, Morgan comes to a stop behind you when he takes in the sight before you both, silence enveloping the room as you both remain still.

In the middle of the room, in between two windows, stood a double bed with an oak headboard. Not two single beds, or two twin beds, hell not even a bunk-bed like the one you’d both had to share in some dingy motel, no, it was a double.

Sharing a room with Morgan was okay before, you’d done it plenty of times in smaller towns or when the coordinator messed up the booking, but the pair of you had never shared a bed. It was even worse now because you weren’t on speaking terms, now that you’d basically confessed your feelings for him, now that you’d figured he profiled it a while ago.

When you realise you’ve been standing eerily still for a while, you can’t move to break it. Fear consumes your limbs, blocking any and all signals from your brain to the central nervous system, keeping you in place. The only thing you can think about is Morgan’s reaction to this; what does he think about it? Is he mad? Is he gonna walk out? How does he feel about what happened on the jet?

Suddenly, you realise you haven’t even thought about his reaction to anything you’d said, only going as far as to read his body language and determine he wasn’t acting like himself. You hadn’t thought about whether it’d be the end of your friendship, that he’d stop talking to you every day, and everything the two of you were would just fade into the background.

Unbeknownst to you, your hands had started shaking, induced by the onslaught of thoughts swirling in your head, trembling by your sides as if in a deadly chill. Morgan, however, notices the tremors of your hands almost immediately and steps in front of you before dropping his bag and taking your hands into his.

“Hey, hey, angel girl, I need you to breathe with me, okay?” His voice is soft and soothing before he mirrors a deep breath, exaggerating the sound and movement of his chest to draw your attention.

In response, you nod your head before taking a shaky breath in unison with Derek’s strong ones. Something wet rolls down your face, a tear escaping your lash line that you hadn’t even felt forming. Your hands stay in Morgan’s as you take deep breaths together, the raggedness of yours drifting away with each new intake of oxygen.

Once Morgan has deemed your breathing to be stable enough, he drops one of your hands before lifting his, now free, hand to your face, thumbs scooping away your tears.

“You’re okay now, sweetheart. You’re okay,” he almost whispers, voice so soft and sweet it might make you start crying all over again as the previous guilt kicks in once more.

A sniffle comes from you while he walks you to the bed, hands still intertwined, which he uses to gently pull you into a sitting position next to him. His thumb caresses your knuckles, running over them in a soothing motion, soft skin on top of yours grounding you.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on with you now, sweetheart?”

“Are you gonna stop pretending that you don’t already know?” You quip, turning your head to the side to look at him.

“Y/N, I am telling you, I really don’t know. It’s been racking my brain all damn day. If I’ve done something wrong, you can tell me and I’ll fix it.”

Another quip is on the tip of your tongue, but as you look into his brown eyes, really look at them, you realise he’s being genuine. He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. Oh god, you owe him the biggest apology.

“You really don’t know?”

“Not a damn clue.”

“God, I feel stupid. This is so dumb.”

“Hey,” he lifts your chin with his fingers, “nothing you say could ever be dumb to me, pretty girl.”

“I’ve had such a shitty day. Like a really, really shitty one where everything goes wrong and I just let it all get to me. And then you profiled me on the jet and I thought you knew, but you don’t know, and I’ve been so, so horri-“

“-Wait, hold on, stop. Know what, angel?”

“..that you won. I lost,” you bite your lip in anticipation, waiting to see the recognition in his face, but it doesn’t come.

“I like you, Derek,” it comes out so quiet and meek, it’d be a miracle if he even heard it, but of course he does.

His reaction isn’t what you were expecting at all, not in the slightest. Instead of some cocky smirk, or an ‘I told you so’, he’s smiling. Genuinely smiling, pearly whites out and all, looking at you like you’re the only thing ever. He laughs and shakes his head before caressing your cheek.

“Both of us won, sweetheart. I like you, too,” he confesses, still gazing into your eyes as if they’re full of everything he’s ever wanted. Morgan tilts his head to the side before asking, “Garcia really didn’t tell you?”

“No,” you shake your head as if to confirm it, and then his words fully register, “Wait, she knew?!”

Before Morgan’s had the chance to say anything back, your hands darted into your pockets, searching for your phone until you’re pulling it out of your pocket. Just as you’re about to call her, Derek’s grabbing at your phone, causing you to wave your arm around to stop him from getting it.

“Hey, no, stop. Don’t you dare. Not yet,” he laughs as he continues his mission to steal your phone from you.

“No, ‘m gonna call her. Would you stop that? Derek!” You manage between giggles.

With both of you moving around so much, he leans too far, body going towards the bed, and wraps an arm around your waist to bring you down with him. Both of you are laughing while fighting over the phone, a fight that you’re still very much winning. That is, until he starts tickling your sides causing your laughter to grow louder and your grip on the phone to grow looser.

The phone falls onto the bed above your head, and he doesn’t even try to grab it, he just resumes his ministrations in your poor sides, tickling away. At some point, he’d end up hovering over you, so when he stops tickling you, you just stare up at him while catching your breath.

Morgan brings one of his hands up to your face, pushing a rebellious strand of hair behind your ear, before caressing your cheek once more. Both of your arms come up, hands locking behind his neck, and the both of you are leaning towards each other. Slowly, he leans down, lips ghosting over yours.

“My pretty girl. It’s about time, huh?”

Without giving you the chance to answer, he captures your lips with his, moving them softly over yours in a sweet, slow kiss. You kiss him back with the same saccharinity, savouring the feeling of his kiss, hands moving from his neck to his cheeks instead.

Due to your previous shortage of breath following his tickling ministrations, the kiss ends sooner than you wanted it to with Morgan pulling away so that he didn’t suffocate you. A petulant pout forms on your lips, to which he just shakes his head.

“Impatient are we, sugar?” He teases, grinning down at you, eyes full of adoration for you.

You hit his chest softly, pathetically really, considering you’re trained in hand to hand combat but the intention was never to hurt him. It serves as a warning, followed by a verbal one, of course.

“You’re supposed to be nice to me, not be mean to me.”

“Oh, I’m not being nice because I want you to breathe? That’s some pretty good logic there, sugar.”

“You know, you haven’t actually asked me to be your girlfriend yet. I could find someone who’s nice to me, instead.”

“Don’t you even think about it, silly girl.”

When he sees the determination on your face he drops his head down a little bit and sighs, shaking his head in disbelief before he lifts it again to look at you.

“Do I really have to ask? That’s so high school.”

A scoff leaves your lips before you deliver another soft hit to his chest, seemingly shocked at his words.

“Yes! If you don’t ask, it’s not real. Did you even watch rom-coms?”

“Alright, alright. Baby girl, will you be my girlfriend?”

“I’ll have to think about that,” Morgan’s hands move to start tickling you again, prompting you to backtrack quickly.

“Morgan, no! Stop! I was kidding! Of course, I’ll be your girlfriend, now stop!”

A shrill shriek can be heard from somewhere in the room and you both jump up, bodies going into fight or flight. Morgan’s just about to reach for his gun in the holster when-

“FINALLY! OH MY GOD!”

Penelope’s voice comes from somewhere on the bed, loud and excited, but not loud enough to say she’s in the room with you both. Evidently, you remember faster than Morgan does because you pick up your phone from the bed to see that you had, in fact, called Penelope and she’d been on the line for 5 minutes. With a resigned sigh despite your smile, you and Derek just share a look that says; ‘Tomorrow’s going to be fun.’

taglist: @i-padfootblack-things (requester, ily), @floraisunwell (proofreader, ily!!), @darkmatilda

[stickybowl]

fic idea: alex calls oscar to come over to his apartment and oscar accidentally knocks on carlos' door instead

Oscar is an idiot.

There is no better description of himself than that. A few hours before he has to fly to Australia, he rummages through his apartment looking for his padel racket like a starved animal. He swears he put it here or here. Maybe there. Okay, maybe he doesn't know where he's put it.

He sits down on his couch thinking about where he's left it. Kim has arranged a padel match with himself and Lando and his own trainer for when they get to Australia. He supposes he can ask Kim if he has an extra racket he can borrow. He can't ask Lando, he'll be made fun of and at the end he would still be a racket short.

He was just about to ring Kim up when his eye catches another contact name. Alex.

Alex!

He played with Alex a few days ago and funnily enough that was the last time he could remember seeing his racket. How could he be so forgetful?

He calls Alex immediately, wincing when he realizes it is quite late for it to be acceptable to call but his flight is in a few hours so he calls anyway.

A few rings before Alex picks up, "Hello?"

"Alex! I...Are you in Monaco, still?"

"Oscar? Yeah. Yeah, what's up?"

"Did you perhaps bring home my racket from the other day?"

"Hm. Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you. It's right here. Do you need it now?"

Oscar cheers quietly.

"Uh. Yeah, if it's alright? I need to fly in a couple of hours."

"Okay. I'll send you my address."

"Thanks, mate. Appreciate it."

Immediately after Alex sends him his address he gets going. It's not that far considering Monaco is pretty small anyway. He walks from his apartment to Alex's while mentally noting down his schedule for the next days.

When he gets there, the receptionist just greets him probably been alarmed of Oscar's arrival beforehand. Alex's apartment building is nice, not so dissimilar to Oscar's. He double checks the door number before he knocks on the door. A part of him feels a little guilty for bothering Alex for his racket but he knows Alex doesn't mind. He promises both himself and Alex that this will be the last time. Alex just laughs and teases him about his non-existent padel skills.

He waits for the door to open which is quite a long time. Still, he wills himself to be patient. After a few more seconds, when he was just about to knock again, the door swings open.

"Oscar?"

Oscar steps back in shock. He feels his cheeks burning up out of embarrassment and.. something else. His lips part in shock and, quite frankly a little too dramatically, gasps.

First of all. What the heck.

Second. This isn't Alex's apartment.

Third. What the heck.

Carlos runs his hair through his sweaty yet still perfect hair (damn him). Oscar gulps as he takes in the sight of Carlos before him. Shirtless. Nothing but boxers. Skin. Skin everywhere.

Carlos' torso gleams with sweat and his chest is rising and falling quite rapidly. His mouth is open in confusion, a mirror to Oscar's expression. He gulps one more time and forces words out of his mouth.

"Uh. Alex. I was going. I need. I need Alex."

Carlos' eyebrow twitches up, curious or doubtful, Oscar can't tell. Carlos purses his lips and points to the door across. Oscar nods in defeat. He hopes this doesn't reach Lando ever. He will never hear the end of it.

"Yeah. Thanks. Sorry. You can go back doing..."

"Carlos?"

Before Oscar completes what he was about to say, a voice comes from behind Carlos calling for him. A woman wrapped in a blanket comes out from a hallway. Fuck. Oscar may be an idiot but he's not that stupid. He might have just interrupted Carlos Sainz having sex.

"Oh. I'm." Oscar stutters, at loss for words.

"Goodnight, Oscar."

Oscar didn't get to reply before the door shuts down on him. He's left at his place staring at where Carlos used to be except now he's covered by a door.

What the fuck.

[ethercvl]

"he   could   be   just   telling   us   what   we   want   to   hear,   we'll   find   out   for   sure   when   things   change."   it's   hard   to   know   truly   what   the   dusk   court   wanted   of   the   other   courts.   at   least   it   was   smart   to   be   amiable   and   friendly   while   everyone   was   stuck   in   their   court.   the   dragons   might   be   a   powerful   beast   to   face,   but   the   seven   courts   against   the   dusk   court   would   be   a   strong   contender.   though   she   was   sure   that   the   high   lord   of   dusk   likely   didn't   want   to   start   a   war   with   them   all.   he   would   have   enacted   something   early   on   if   that   were   the   case.   "no   we   do   not   need   to   be   starting   an   alliance   with   other   courts   when   we   already   have   one.   that   would   not   be   a   wise   thing   to   do   unless   it   was   an   agreed   alliance   with   both   of   our   courts   that   are   already   aligned.   an   amiable   parting   would   be   ideal   when   the   time   comes   to   return   home."   it   was   too   early   to   be   jumping   into   anything   solid   with   the   dusk   court   anyways,   there   was   no   way   to   learn   their   true   intentions   while   they   were   being   forced   to   reside   in   the   same   place   as   them.   "i   would   not   be   surprised   if   they   were   weighing   their   options.   it   wouldn't   be   wise   to   jump   into   an   alliance   with   the   first   high   ruler   that   he   met.   i   don't   think   he   has   even   spoken   with   all   seven   at   this   point."   she   didn't   have   full   intel   on   whether   he   had   met   with   each   of   them   but   she'd   witnessed   him   introducing   himself   to   another   not   that   long   ago.   "i   would   never   keep   anything   from   you   or   ced,   anything   i   do   find   will   be   relayed."

"it   is   more   than   likely   that   if   we   have   not   seen   it   yet   he   will   not   act   that   way   with   us   here.   if   he   were   more   abrasive   and   callous   in   his   actions   we   would   have   seen   that   earlier   into   us   arriving   in   his   court."   nothing   that   the   spymaster   had   seen   of   the   dusk   high   lord   particularly   raised   alarms,   but   he   was   the   one   person   that   she   truly   wished   to   use   her   gift   on.   though   that   was   a   hard   one   to   come   by   for   sure.   "that   is   very   much   so   a   concern,   obviously   there   has   to   be   a   benefit   to   them   bonding   with   one.   why   would   they   want   to   if   it   was   not   something   that   they   gained   from   them?   i   cannot   even   begin   to   fathom   what   they   provide   their   rider."   the   bond   between   a   fae   and   a   dragon   was   something   that   she   was   quite   curious   about,   though   potentially   something   that   she   could   discover.   "i'll   give   it   to   them   for   the   best   defensive   beast.   i   do   imagine   that   at   least   the   bonded   turn   up   in   the   case   of   an   attack.   though   i   don't   know   how   much   of   any   attacks   they've   had   to   deal   with   being   secluded.   i   do   also   wonder   how   many   of   their   soldiers   are   bonded."   not   that   addie   wanted   to   remotely   think   about   going   up   against   them,   it   wouldn't   hurt   to   know   if   they   were   going   to   have   to   face   a   large   number   of   the   giant   reptiles.   "of   course,   perhaps   one   day   they   will   be   more   forthcoming.   until   then   i   will   do   my   best."   she'd   had   viego   keeping   an   eye   on   the   youngest   of   the   high   family,   and   she   would   work   on   the   high   lord   of   course.   "it   sounds   as   though   their   deity   was   actually   very   controlling   of   them,   it   makes   sense   that   they   are   at   a   loss   of   what   to   do."   she'd   heard   the   rumours   of   what   the   dusk   fae   were   told   about   the   rest   of   prythian.   "sounds   like   she   spun   her   own   narrative   and   ran   with   that   as   the   only   truth   for   them."   the   mother   was   not   involved   in   their   matters   remotely,   addie   wasn't   really   sure   if   that   would   even   be   something   that   she   would   have   wished   for.   "i   don't   think   i   would   like   to   call   this   a   vacation,   i   did   not   wish   to   come   here.   makes   it   hard   to   view   it   that   way.   i   have   not   been   down   to   the   cities   yet."

"cedrian  spoke  to  him,  says  the  high  lord  seems  amiable  enough,  and  doesn't  wish  for  anything  outwardly.  we  have  no  way  of  knowing  truly,  he  could  simply  be  telling  us  what  we  want  to  hear."  his  high  lord  was  a  skilled  judge  of  character,  and  though  his  ease  and  friendliness  might  fool  others  into  believing  he'd  be  none  the  wiser,  his  best  friend  strengths  lied  in  allowing  others  to  underestimate  him.  alistair,  at  first,  had  seen  how  cunningly  ced  navigate  the  political  mine  field,  he  encompasses  every  bit  of  his  father's,  and  late  high  lord  of  day's  strengths  to  every  letter.  day  court  would  cooperate  until  they  were  a  given  a  reason  otherwise.  "we  don't  want  to  jump  into  alliance  so  quickly,  we  already  have  one,  and  it's  not  wise  to  do  so  with  others  just  yet.  i  don't  think  ced  is  entertaining  an  alliance,  more  than  then  he  is  an  amiable  parting  when  it's  time."  day  court  had  been  fine  without  any  thus  far,  but  alistair  knew  day  would  be  tied  to  summer  for  the  foreseeable  future  but  he  couldn't  yet  tell  addie  the  real  reasons  yet.  that  was  his  high  lord's  place  to  announce  to  his  inner  circle.  "if  they're  wiser,  they  won't  announce  that  anytime  soon.  i  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  they  were  weighing  their  options."  he  smiles  at  her,  squeezing  her  shoulder,  "they're  never  a  burden,  i  do  enjoy  my  ability  with  the  light,  though  it's  near  impossible  here  with  these  dusky  skies  constantly.  i  do  feel  my  full  strength  restored  with  our  magic  returning."  whether  they  used  it  or  not,  their  magic  did  prove  strength  all  around.  "if  you  do  happen  to  poke  around  in  the  minds  these  faes,  let  me  know  if  you  find  something  concerning."

"even  if  he  wanted  to,  he  wouldn't,  not  when  he's  trying  to  cultivate  a  finer  image.  which  is  more  than  i  can  say  of  the  other  high  rulers,  while  they  were  mild  mannered,  we  know  what  sort  of  cruelty  they  are  capable  of."  under  their  cool  exterior  was  a  greater  twisted  mind,  but  at  least  it  was  a  familiarity,  and  with  this  new  one?  there  was  no  telling.  alistair  was  known  to  give  others  the  benefit  of  doubt,  and  until  high  lord  yijun  did  something  that  would  hurt  another,  he  would  keep  an  open  mind.  "our  concern  might  be  what  sort  of  powers  they  provide  to  the  faes,  when  it  comes  to  abilities."  were  they  at  advantage  with  this  beasts,  if  it  came  down  to  battle  would  these  creatures  become  involved?  "i  do  have  to  hand  it  to  them,  having  fire-breathing  lizards  might  be  the  ultimate  protectors  of  a  court."  he  was  interested,  nor  could  he  deny  the  added  advantage  they  had.  "do  your  best,  as  we  all  are.  in  due  time  they  might  be  forthcoming."  the  commander  nodded,  brows  furrowing  as  the  long  he  thought  of  the  deities,  the  more  confusion  it  created.  it  was  hard  to  tell  if  it  was  an  accident  that  their  exist  become  known,  or  was  there  a  greater  plot  involved  that  the  dusk  court  wasn't  aware  of  either.  "i  think  they  are  concerned  and  even  fearful,  because  for  once  they  have  no  guidance.  we've  been  used  to  this  because  our  mother  never  interferes,  but  it  seems  this  dark  mother  is  quite  involved  in  their  daily  lives  until  now.  i  don't  imagine  that's  easy  to  navigate  without  utter  silence."  taking  his  sister's  arm,  he  links  it  through  his  own,  "work  aside,  this  might  be  our  only  version  of  a  vacation  for  sometime,  let's  not  forget  to  have  a  little  fun.  have  you  gone  down  to  the  cities  yet?"

[elder-millennial-of-zion]

If Israel is destroyed, a whole lot of people will be very disappointed once they realize they still have student debt and no healthcare and the looming threat of climate change.

[st4rstudent]

I really like the fact that it seems that Brian has a fondness for the number 4

[coquelicoq]

took my sleep meds and slept over 12 hours this time. woke up at 1 in the fucking pm. the upside of this was it allowed me to call my dentist and argue convincingly that i was unwell and could i please reschedule (and then i will cancel that appointment more than 24 hours before, but i didn't say that to them lol). downside is what the fuck.

[hidey-writes]

Day After Day | 日复一日

25k | T | Weilan | Case Fic, Undercover Married, Grief

Shen Wei swallows. “And this is why you asked me to—” he makes a vague gesture that means go undercover as your husband “—pretend with you.” Zhao Yunlan comes to a stop, eyes on Shen Wei. “That’s why the cover is a married couple. The reason I’m asking you is because there are no other options for people to go undercover with.” Shen Wei scoffs to give himself an excuse to look away. “You certainly know how to flatter someone, Zhao Yunlan.” Or: Four Haixingren disappear for two months after a stay at a romantic mountain retreat. Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan book a weekend there to find out what happened.

it's finally here!!! my beloved fic for the 520 day guardian reverse exchange! this was written for trobadora, who gave me the most delicious set of ideas to fit into a story. it was so fun.

i have no idea how to describe this fic, frankly - this is, hands down, the most complex and most heartwrenching and most incredible thing i've ever written in my entire life.

here is a list of some things in it: a kiss, a mystery, a change of heart. old chinese people, dark energy world-building, lesbians, big-time character parallels, forgery of documents, rainstorms, rowboats, lollipop symbolism, [redacted], bedsharing, grading, the stupidest undercover name ever. zhao yunlan described with so many light metaphors. shen wei being the most shen wei i could make him.

read Day After Day | 日复一日 on ao3 here!

[great-tusk]

I was playing my copy of HeartGold a while ago, and I just love the dialogue that Daisy had when she gave me Blue’s phone number. Like she giggles and everything. And in my lore, that’s around the time that Blue and my S/I met again for the first time since they were young kids. Like I can imagine him after I battle him and he’s like OMFG HE’S SO CUTE WOW!!! on the inside while telling his sister about it and she can totally tell and silently decides to be the wingwoman of the century.

[satans-knitwear]

What happened with your room???

My brain was the problem, not my room, but im improving, and sabine can climb stairs now as well, so i can finally settle her in to our evil lair ✨