#it took me five fucking tries to make the pattern right

[jenanigans1207]

I made these tie squares for my Castiel blanket today and they’re the cutest freaking thing ever!!!! Look at them, they’re just little tie guys!!!! I love them so much!!!!!!!!!

[elusivedew]

💌 | Cubitum eamus ?

✧ synopsis ⤐ it takes you 2 years from the minute you meet spencer to confess how much you like him, and it all happens on a random wednesday night.

✧ contains ⤐ friends to lovers but they both know what's up, s3 spencer who's been through a handful of shit, brief mention of alcohol consumption on two occasions!!suggestive themes but no straight up smut, spencer reid experiences happiness for once, reader is his only hope in life, reader wants him real bad and he knows. My spencer reid debut yay! Title translates to "will you go to bed with me?" w.c ~ 9.2k

Working at the BAU is not an easy job. In fact, Spencer thinks, working at any unit in the FBI is the closest thing you'll ever get to hell on earth. This feeling of agitation and exhaustion seems to aggravate every time he's working on a particularly draining case. Not only does the content of the cases get into his head often, and sometimes into his dreams, but he's also been directly harmed by the criminals they’re chasing. How can you remain completely objective about something when you become a victim too?

Over the few years he's worked in the BAU, he's received more harm than he ever expected. Drug addiction was not something he had in his five-year plan when he first joined the FBI. It's not something anyone who works in law enforcement expects, really. 

Needless to say, he's tired. The kind of fatigue that makes you bedridden for days. 

He also happens to be alone on a Tuesday night in the middle of June. 

The latest case he worked on took a little over two weeks to wrap up, an unsub that likes to take his time and has such a disorganized MO that it was almost impossible to see the patterns. All the physical and mental work completely knocked everyone off their feet, except for him. His colleagues all went home and passed out of exhaustion, and he’s still up. 

Spencer can't sleep. He's too busy thinking. 

It's something he does a lot, for his job, for himself, for the duration of his whole life. The gears have been turning in his head since his very first word, the minute ‘mama’ was out of his baby mouth, he’d been tasked with the weight of the whole fucking universe. The price of knowing so much from a young age has cost him a lot. And tonight, it specifically costs him his peace, his right to pass out after a long day of work. 

And he'd love, more than anything, to have an off button somewhere inside. But because that hasn't been invented yet, and his nervous system feels like it's on fire, he's still up by the time it's 10 pm. It’s not late, objectively, but he’s been home for more than three hours now. He tried a lot of sleep remedies— herbal tea, audiobooks, aroma therapy, hell, even exercising to tire himself out, but all of them failed. And now he's just left with sore muscles and an even more tired brain. 

By the time it's 11 pm, he's lying on his couch, feeling like death. His head is pounding with the feeling of an oncoming migraine, and he knows that he’s in for a particularly long night.

That's when his phone rings, and because he’s so alert and so sensitive to stimuli at the moment, he almost kicks it off the coffee table. But he doesn’t do that, because he’s still a little sane despite everything.

Instead, he reaches over and checks the contact name, and his whole face lights up. He feels absolutely ridiculous for not making this call first, because his nervous system is now very much alive— and not in a way that makes him feel like an overheating microwave, no, this is a good thing. And good things don’t happen to him often. He runs his hand through his hair, a nervous habit, and picks up the call. 

Suddenly being awake doesn't feel so bad. 

“Agent Reid.”

Your voice comes through the phone like a cool breeze of air during the grueling heat of June. He finds himself relaxing a little, releasing tension he didn't know he had in his muscles when he was so distracted just a few minutes before.

“I'm begging you to stop calling me that.” 

“Aww, why not? I like feeling like your boss,” you're smiling on the other end, he can hear it, “what's his name again? Aaron?” 

He rubs his temple with a smile he can't fight off, “That's agent Hotchner to you.” 

You laugh and he feels proud of himself for eliciting such a pleasant sound out of you. He's immediately thinking of other ways to get that sound out again. If Morgan could see him now, he'd never let him hear the end of it. 

The good thing about you and Spencer is that no one knows. Not his colleagues, not your friends, not your families. That's the good thing, you get to keep this precious thing between the two of you. The bad thing is that you're not really together. You're not even romantically involved, you've never uttered the four-letter L-word around each other (like or love, both), and you don't even really flirt with each other. 

To put it into simple words, you and Spencer are just friends. 

But friends who relieve each other's stress nonetheless, and god knows Spencer needs that right now. 

“You're back from your recent trip, right?” You ask, audibly crunching on something. It sounds like you're also lying on your couch, he wonders if you were going through something similar when you decided to pick up the phone and call.

“Yeah, thank god.” 

“I take it that it wasn't a very good one then? I mean, none of them are good but, I'm guessing some are worse than others.” 

Spencer sighs, “You guess correctly.” 

“How are you feeling?” Your voice is softer when you ask, concerned, and even though he doesn't like to make you worry, your well-intended question is a very welcome sentiment. He’s almost relieved knowing that there's someone who'll always ask, someone who'll always notice. 

“Not very good. Tired.” It's a short answer, but he knows you understand. You've understood him for a very long time now, nearly two years of knowing each other. 

“It sounds like you had a very long day.” A very long month. “Why didn't you try to catch some Zs?” 

The way you phrase it makes him snort, and he knows you're proud of yourself for that one. “I can't, me and the Zs never had a very good relationship. Trust me, if I could turn my brain off, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” 

You hum, “Do you wanna talk about it? I could give you some very valuable, life-changing insight, maybe you'll be able to go to sleep after.” 

He smiles, “I've actually had enough of this case, I'd like to talk about something else.” 

“Oh, I can definitely do that. Tell me, what did you have for breakfast?” 

Breakfast is a terrible topic, meals in general, because you know that he misses a lot of his meals when he's on the job. You always lecture him for it, berating him for being so skinny at his big age, but it's always underlined by concern. He knows you worry about him, he wouldn't blame you. 

“Not much…” He trails off, knowing you'll catch on. 

“Oh honey, I know your eating and sleeping habits are fucked, but can't you at least lie to me?” 

The way you call him honey should not be making his stomach turn like that. 

“I could never lie to you.” 

“You literally just did.” 

You both laugh and he's so, so glad you called. If he didn't think you were asleep he'd have called you first. 

“Okay well, I didn't ask that question to find out something I already know. I asked because remember that café we were constantly visiting before you went on this trip? They finally brought the chocolate chip cookies back.” 

The chocolate chip cookies case (the quadruple c) is a very vital issue in your relationship with Spencer. Because for weeks, the both of you have been visiting that place close to your apartment, hoping to get some chocolate chip cookies, only to be met by raisins. It was a very devastating experience for both of you, having to settle for something else on the menu every time. But now it’s okay! The chocolate chip cookies are back. 

Spencer is so glad he's done with his silly criminal case so he can focus on the real problems at hand.

“And I was thinking, if you're not too tired tomorrow, should we have breakfast together?” 

It's sweet, it's earnest, it's you.

It's such a characteristic gesture, asking him to have breakfast with you after particularly draining cases, checking on him as soon as you can tell he's home, and sounding so sweet and concerned over the phone when you know he's feeling down. It’s the small, thoughtful actions coming from you that have helped him keep it together so far. 

And the feelings that thought brings out in him lead him to realize, in those few seconds, that he liked you much more than he planned on. Not that he ever planned to like you in the first place, but he thought it was a small crush that would eventually go away, it’s happened before with the pretty women he befriends, and he didn’t think this time would be different. 

But it was, and now he’s totally screwed because he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to say no to you. 

“Absolutely, I can't wait to have those chocolate cookies again.” 

You're ecstatic over his response, your tone picking up about 3 octaves when you jump to discussing the other plans you have this week. Your favorite artist is releasing an album soon, your favorite game is finally available at the video game store, the finale of that show you've been talking to him about is airing in two days, and it seems like your life is full of positive sequences.

The juxtaposition between what he sees at work and the enthusiasm you bring into his life almost gives him a headache, but it could very well be sleep deprivation. He wonders if all the misfortunes that have happened to him are the evil equivalents of the things you brought into his life. 

But if all the bad things that have happened to him and around him got compensated by you, he doesn't find it such a bad tradeoff. Because meeting you on a random Monday night and somehow catching your attention enough for you to leave him your number— even when he was so frazzled by the need for coffee so he could grind out some paperwork before his deadline— it feels like he used up all his luck on that fateful encounter.

And having someone he could always meet up with, outside of work, has been very grounding. 

You talk his ears off for the rest of the night, rambling about one thing or the other until his eyelids get heavy again, and he feels tired enough to sleep. You tell him that's been your plan all along and wish him a good night. 

Later, when he’s under the covers of his bed, drifting off to sleep, for a few minutes his brain isn't aggravating him with the thoughts that have been haunting him all day. For a few minutes, all he can think about is you.

He is so fucked.

Emily Prentiss is a very smart agent. 

She’s been told that ever since she was a little girl, and though it was often complimentary, people sucking up to her mom and whatnot, it was never a complete lie. She grew up thirsty for knowledge, mastering everything she could get her hands on, and even as an adult with a grown up job, she continues to excel at what she does

But then, if she's so smart, why the hell can she not figure out why Spencer Reid is so giddy while doing his paperwork? 

It may have to do with the fact that it's Spencer, and that kid has always been a little perplexing to her. He's bright and brilliant, but she could never truly understand how his mind works. But, at the same time, there's such a thing as habits, and Spencer is not typically so smiley while doing paperwork. No one is smiley while doing paperwork in this line of work, because it makes you relive the nightmares. For goodness’s sake, this is the behavioral analysis unit, and Spencer is behaving weirdly. 

It seems like she isn’t the only agent at the office who noticed the peculiarity. Agent Morgan stands behind her, his third cup of coffee in his hand, squinting at the young doctor. They observe him like a wild animal in his natural habitat; had they not been so tired from all the work, they would’ve been picking on him by now.

When Emily feels her presence behind him, she turns around, and they exchange a mutual look of understanding. They've never seen Reid act like that in the time that they’ve worked together, and they know one thing that they've never seen him experience during that time either. 

They realize it at the same time, and Morgan nearly drops his coffee. 

Spencer Reid is in love.

There have been many misfortunes in the 25 years that you've been on this earth, and you're convinced that a lot of them have been aimed at you. You're the only person who has ever suffered that much during your whole life, it's a known fact. It's a fact that you like to remind Spencer of, to make him feel better about his work, and when he laughs at it, you remind him that people called Jesus a liar too.

You've been through a lot of suffering, but the task of getting dressed before Spencer knocks on your door in approximately ten minutes may just be the worst thing that's ever happened to you.

He thinks that just because he has a day off, he could pressure you into a sudden— very much unplanned— date? He thinks that shooting you a text to get dressed so you can go to the record store and then have dinner only twenty minutes before you're supposed to do the aforementioned activities is allowed? He's absolutely right, and you hate him for it. 

Not that it's really a date, you know you and Spencer have never crossed that line, but it feels like it. Especially if he's making you feel like a teenage girl high on hormones having her very first crush. Her very first date. The particular action you're thinking about has to be kept to yourself, just so you don't jinx it. 

You really shouldn't be thinking about that when you still haven't figured out which outfit to wear. More thinking about clothes, less thinking about boys. Specifically one boy. 

It takes all your willpower and energy to finish getting ready in those ten minutes. You settle for your most comfortable pair of jeans and a white button-down with a vest over it, and for good measure, you throw your coat on— the long beige-brown trench coat that makes you feel like you're Sherlock Holmes about to solve a crime. You realize that it's very fitting for an outing with a profiler, he's kind of like Sherlock Holmes if you think about it. 

It's fall now, and it's much more chilly. You hope your precious profiler brought his own coat because, as much as you care for him, you won't be lending him yours.

When he rings your doorbell, you're finishing up and tossing the rest of the necessities into your bag. You make him wait for a minute, to avoid seeming eager, and then make your way to the door.

The minute you lay your eyes on him, you feel sick to your stomach.

Spencer Reid is beautiful, this is a fact that you've known ever since you met. He pulls off the dorky yet hot look so well, with that stupid smile of his when he talks like a smartass. And you're reminded of this every time you see him, the fact that he's so adorable that it physically hurts to keep your hands off him all the time. Tonight is no different, he's dressed in a dark button-down with a brown vest over it, covered by a beige coat that contrasts the dark colors beautifully. It takes you a couple seconds to realize you're wearing similar outfits, almost like a matching couple.

“Copycat.” You accuse, fighting off a smile with warm cheeks. He grins in retaliation, “Hello to you too.”

God, he’s beautiful. In the dim light of your apartment's entrance, you catch the gleam of his eyes. They're warm, earthy, and familiar, you don't think you'd ever stop staring at his eyes if you had the chance to do it without looking crazy. His eyelashes are unfairly long, and his light brown hair forms waves around his face like a frame around an artwork. He always tucks a few stray strands behind his ear, and you always mess it up for him– which is something you do for two reasons, you like annoying him, and you desperately want to touch his hair. It’s just simply unfair for him to be born that beautiful. 

He seems to notice you staring because his cheeks are a little pink, and he has a little bashful smile on his face. “Ready to go?” He scans your form like the little detective he is, “Looks like you could get ready in 20 minutes after all.” 

Now you remember why you were so annoyed at him, good looks be damned. 

“Oh shut up, never do that again.” 

“Or what? You'll cuss me over text messages again? How will I ever live with that.” 

His shy smile is replaced with a smug grin, and you hate to admit it, but it's one of your favorite looks on him. Because Spencer isn't always able to genuinely smile like that, he's usually stressed about one thing or the other; and knowing him, he's always reliving some terrible event that happened in the past two years, and sometimes even further back in time. So while his amusement comes at your expense, you'd rather see him smiling like this all the time. 

“God, you're so mean to me.” 

Even though you mean to sound stern, you can't hide your smile. 

You pick up your keys from the hanger by the door and toss them into your handbag, he follows your movements with his eyes, “that's not true. I'm always so nice to you, sometimes a little too nice.” 

You lock your door behind you and give him a fake offended look, “You could never be too nice to me. Let's go, agent Reid. We've got a long night ahead of us.” 

Then you're strutting ahead of him, motioning for him to follow you like a helpless little intern. Even though he rolls his eyes and laughs in disbelief, he ends up following you anyway.

‘Albert’s records’ has been your favorite record store since you moved into your apartment in Quantico— and not only because you’ve met Albert, the sweetest little old man to ever exist, but also because Spencer always looks mystified inside the store. It’s like something about vintage things just makes him tick. 

You're checking out vinyls that are selling for discounted prices, old pieces of famous artists and commonly known albums, while he's looking at the posters on the walls, admiring the artistic work of the rustic-looking store. He’s always trailing behind you, and you don't mind because it makes you feel safe and cared for. You didn't know being trailed by an FBI agent could feel so comforting. 

Your eyes catch on a certain record, and you turn around, “Hey, Spencer.” 

He stops eyeing the posters on the wall and turns to you, hair falling over his shoulders adorably. 

“What do you think of this?” 

You're holding a classic black Billy Joel vinyl in your hand, careful not to hold it too tightly. It's his 1977 release of The Stranger, an album you're not too familiar with. You've only listened to Vienna and a few other songs. Spencer eyes the cover carefully like it triggers a memory deep inside his brain. You're expecting him to go on a tangent about Billy Joel and 70s music, but you're instead met by a very sentimental response. 

“My mom loved that one.” 

He's quiet, using that careful but lost tone of voice, and you worry that you accidentally triggered something unpleasant. You knew Spencer had a complicated relationship with his parents, namely his mother. On the rare occasion where he had a few too many drinks, he spilled a lot more than he intended to. Drunk Spencer was always so painfully honest and you admired how easily his filter would come off a few drinks in, but you never wanted him to feel embarrassed by it. On those particularly emotional nights— after he calls you to pick him up because he's too drunk to drive— you would listen to him ramble the whole drive to your apartment, force him to stay over so you can take care of his pounding headache in the morning, and hold him until he passes out on your couch like a partying college student. 

Something he’s never been before.

Those incidents have led you to know more about Spencer than he ever thought he could share, and one of those sensitive topics just happens to be his mom. It's not an uncomfortable topic, you've talked about it before when he's not too drunk to realize what's going on. Even though it was hard for him at first, talking about it became easier the more he shared, you understood more and more things without him telling you. 

And because you’ve talked about it, you're not scared of his response when you ask with a lighthearted smile, “is that a bad thing?” 

That seems to bring him back to earth, and he gives you a reassuring smile, “No, not at all, just brought me back to some memories I'd honestly forgotten about.” 

You hold the record to your chest, almost certain that you're going to buy it now, “Well would you like to make some new memories in relation to this record?” 

Would you like to come to my apartment and listen to it with me?

“Yeah, I'd love to.” He smiles in a way that makes you feel a little lightheaded, knowing he's comfortable sharing this much of himself with you. It's so intimate, knowing that in this public store, you're still sharing private moments that no one else knows about.

You’re about to go back to checking out vinyls, trying to conceal the giddy feeling bubbling in your chest, when a high-pitched voice intrudes on the moment you were having with Spencer. 

“Oh my god.” 

You both turn to look at the source of the voice and when you look to Spencer to see what this is about, he looks like he recognizes the source. He looks terrified. Your gaze falls on two blonde girls, one gaping at the sight of you, and the other being the source of the dramatic reaction that broke through the silence a few minutes ago.

Her blonde hair is styled in waves and she's wearing such a colorful, creative ensemble that you're mesmerized by the intricate details of her outfit. The hair clips, the makeup, the platforms that she's wearing, you wanted to talk to this girl so bad. 

And it seems like you're in luck today, because she's immediately rushing to your side with wide mesmerized eyes.

“Wonderboy, you've been hiding her from us for how long exactly?” 

You're guessing “wonderboy” is Spencer since she seems to be his friend and your chest feels warm knowing his friends nickname him such cute things. Spencer deserves to be known for all his good traits after all, and he sure as hell is your boy of wonder. 

“Garcia, please, I'm begging you to act normal about this right now.” He mutters, trying his best to keep this conversation quiet.

She shakes her head, “This is the most normal I can act about you hiding a girl from us.” Then she turns to you again, extending her arm for you to shake. You eagerly extend yours back. “Penelope Garcia, tech analyst at the FBI, and genius boy's co-worker. Oh and, your source for any dirt you want on genius Reid over here.” 

That explains how someone like her is in Spencer's social circle, but it doesn't explain how someone so bubbly could work at such a gloomy unit. Working for the government when she should be at the club? It's a crime to you. 

“They're keeping a gem like you in a dark, creepy room to dig up information for them?” 

You honestly didn't know you could commit such flattery and Spencer is looking at you in disbelief, but she giggles at your poorly concealed flirting and you feel proud of yourself. 

“Oh, wonder boy, how did you ever snag a wonderful girl like her.” 

Spencer is blushing so hard at this point you could probably fry an egg on his face. You're introducing yourself to Penelope, filling her in on your occupation, when the other blonde introduces herself as Jennifer Jareau, JJ for short, and she's even more excited to meet you. 

She's also heavily pregnant, and you hope that she's currently on maternity leave. 

“We were looking for more records that this little guy here could listen to, it's incredibly engaging to include him in our vinyl pick-out process.” JJ rubs her stomach as she explains and you're so fascinated by the idea of childbearing and birth for a few seconds that you almost forget that it's terrifying. 

“What about you guys?” Penelope jumps in, eager to put Spencer on the spot again. 

“Oh we, uh,” Spencer's eyes shift between you and the two girls, like he's surrounded and begging you for help, “we're just checking out the vinyls on sale.” 

“Yeah, I was honestly waiting for these discounts because I'm not selling a kidney for some records, you know?” You step in, hoping to take some heat off Spencer, because the poor boy looks like he’s about to combust.

You're also well aware that the two girls in front of you think you and Spencer are dating, but they haven't said it out loud and Spencer hasn't attempted to correct their assumptions, so why would you be the one to ruin their fun? You'll let them think you're on a date. 

“Oh that's so true,” Penelope nods in understanding, “it's like I just want to listen to music, you know?” 

You nod in understanding, you do know. 

And you also know that you're absolutely going to adore Penelope Garcia and JJ and everyone that you meet who’s involved in Spencer's life. Even though this meetup is so completely unplanned and coincidental, it makes you excited knowing you can prod Spencer about more details now, talking about work in a way that doesn't concern the cases. You’d kill for some office gossip that doesn’t involve yourself.

“Oh, Morgan is going to lose it when he hears about this,” JJ says, almost talking to herself. 

Penelope jumps to add more wood to the forest fire, “Oh my God, remember what he said to Emily? He was right.” That catches Spencer's attention, “what did he say to Emily?” 

“He said that you're all giggly at work because you're in love.” Penelope answers without missing a beat, and she says it so casually, as if she didn't basically strip Spencer naked right in front of you. 

You’re subtly stealing glances at him from the corner of your eye, suppressing a smile at the way he blushes deeply and looks at the ground as if he wants it to swallow him whole right now. Something tells you you're absolutely going to love Penelope and he's going to pay the price for that relationship. 

“Spencer is giggling at work?” You ask, like she just told you he joined a cult.

Penelope nods eagerly, “Oh yeah, I've never seen someone look so cheerful while doing paperwork, every time I'm out of my office for a coffee refill he's just there giggling to himself like he's hearing voices. Except the voices turned out to just be a pretty girl, which I have to say,” she puts her hand over her heart dramatically, “I’m so glad it did.” 

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, the shame overwhelming him, “I'm begging you to stop talking.” 

Penelope and JJ are giggling, enjoying torturing him like this for your pleasure, and you’re close to joining them, but you choose to stay loyal to Spencer— if only to make sure he doesn’t get a migraine from all this embarrassment. But you're also just giddy, knowing Spencer cannot conceal his infatuation with you to save his life. Despite all the hints here and there that he definitely likes you, and all the discreet touching and staring at your lips when you talk —something you know he can't tell you noticed— the way he doesn't deny any of what's being said tells you that you're, at the very least, a person of interest. 

A person of Spencer's interest. Your smile is getting harder and harder to hide.

“Okay, okay, lovebirds, we'll leave you alone now. But trust me, you haven't heard the end of this, once Derek finds out, oh Spencer Reid, you might never want to step foot in that building ever again.” You nod eagerly, excited to hear more about how they’ll taunt him later on. They give you their rushed goodbyes as Penelope guides JJ outside the store, you can hear her quietly complain about leaving empty-handed when she came all the way, but your mind is someplace else, neurons buzzing with ideas of how to torment Spencer now that you’re alone again.

You turn to look at him, no longer holding back your smile, “so…” 

He immediately puts a finger to your lips, “Don't start.” 

You reach for his hand to move it away, giggling like a schoolgirl, “you're fawning over me at work? Oh my God, Spence, I didn't know you were that far gone, baby.” You hold onto his hand, as a way to restrain him, but also because you just want to hold his hand. 

“I was not fawning, they made it all sound so much worse than it actually was.” You raise your eyebrows at him and he continues, looking more flustered. “I was smiling, can I not smile to myself anymore?” 

You absentmindedly lace your fingers with his, bringing your joint hands to your chest like something precious, “You're smiling like a lovesick fool about me at work, Spencer, you're so fucked.” 

Your amusement is so palpable, and your cheeks hurt from smiling, but there’s also something else there.

Something you haven’t fully experienced before, not its rawness and neediness. Something that you can tell will grow in your chest until it fully conquers your whole body and claims your mind. You don't know what you'll call it yet, but it's something a lot like love. 

“Alright alright, I get it. It's National Embarrassing Spencer day, let's buy this record and get out of here. We have a dinner to get to.” 

The weight of his hand in yours almost made you forget you were still holding the record, handling it so carelessly just to bring him closer. You realize you're drunk on affection, and eager to have more of his attention for the rest of the night. When he doesn't make a move to remove his hand from your hold, only dragging you behind him to check out, you feel like there will be a lot of new developments tonight.

The rest of the night goes as well as you would imagine.

Despite your incessant teasing, you have plenty of conversations that aren't centered around embarrassing Spencer and enjoying it. You sip wine together while he tells you about the letters he's been sending his mom; apparently, he's started telling her about you. While you're surprised he's only just doing it now, he confesses that he wanted to wait until he was sure you'd stay before he made such a decision. Unfortunately, with his line of work, he's right to be worried about things like that, but you stayed anyway, and now his mom knows about you. 

And you have her favorite record in a plastic bag that you carry on the way home. 

When his car pulls up to your building, you're hesitant to get out. You don't feel like the night is over yet. It was lovely and unforgettable, meeting his friends, learning about his mom, and having a very nice dinner together, but you feel like there's still one more topic that needs to be discussed. 

When you don't make a move to get out of the car yet, he calls out your name in concern. You turn to look at him and your gaze is so intense he's almost intimidated.

“Is everything okay?” 

You nod absentmindedly, too lost in trying to figure out what's missing from such a wonderful night. 

“Well, we're here. This is your apartment, you know?” You can tell that's not the sentence he aimed for, but you're aware that Spencer stumbles over his words when he's nervous. You don't fault him for it. 

You give him a genuine smile, “Yeah, I know.” 

Then you're moving to unlock the car door, the newly bought record in your hand, and you get one leg out of the car before you realize exactly what this night is missing. 

“Spencer?” You turn to him, he's already looking at you. 

“Yes?” 

Slowly, carefully, you ask, “would you like to come upstairs?” 

Your apartment is somewhere that he's only seen while extremely drunk, hammered out of his mind. You realize that this is the first time you invite him up when he's actually well enough to walk on his own, and you also realize that it means something to you. You hope it also means something to him. 

“Uh, yeah, sure? If you want me to walk you to your door, I'll definitely do that.” He's picking at the leather covering the wheel, cheeks slightly flushed like they’d been earlier. Multiple times during the night, you note how he’s always glowing red around you like a pulsating organ. Is it the slight chill of the weather or the heat behind your eyes? You hope it’s the latter. 

“I think you know what you want.” 

You weren't sure if he knew, but knowing Spencer, a line like that will trigger him into thinking about it so hard that he'll actually figure it out. You watch the gears turn in his head but he still looks confused, you hope that by the time you get to your door, he'll realize what you're talking about. 

“I'm not sure, but I'll figure it out.” You give him one last smile before you exit the car. 

True to his word, Spencer walks you up to your door after parking his car somewhere close. When you reach the apartment, as you dig for your keys in your purse, he stands next to you, looking a little lost because he clearly didn’t expect this. He fiddles with the ends of his vest while observing you. 

You unlock your door and get inside, leaving it open so he can follow you. You drop your purse on your dining table and lay the record down next to it, watching from the corner of your eye as he steps into your apartment cautiously, like he's stepping over booby traps. 

The door locks and you can't escape the conversation any longer. You also can't bear seeing him so lost, because god blessed him with eyes that make him look like a sad baby deer all the time. And every time he uses them on you, you immediately cave, because letting him suffer feels like letting a baby animal die.

“Spence.” You call, sultry and slow.

If you catch the way he slightly jumps at your voice, you don’t react.

“Yes?” He’s quiet, worried.

You lean back against your table, a relaxed smile on your face, “you know why I brought you here, right?”  

He swallows, tucking his hair behind his ear. “A woman inviting her date up to her apartment could lead to a variety of things, but most commonly it leads to either sexual intercourse or murder.” His cheeks heat up at the words ‘sexual intercourse’ and you want to eat him alive. “And I'm kind of hoping you didn't invite me up here to kill me.” 

You raise an eyebrow, the desire to tease him so strong and unforgiving, “So you hope I'll have sex with you then?” 

That really gets him. His whole face goes red— blood rushing down his neck and up to his ears. He opens his mouth to say something, but he can't. Instead, he just opens and closes it a couple of times, unable to articulate anything. If you were in a different situation, you'd have called him a fish, but you also realize something very critical: he doesn’t deny your previous statement.

“Spencer,” you call his whole name this time, voice low and heavy with something that alarms him further. “Can you come here, please?” 

He hesitantly leaves his spot, taking slow, careful steps to your side. He stands at a considerable distance, making sure he gives you your personal space. If he’d done this at any other time, you’d have been fawning over how considerate he is, but right now you want him as close as possible, personal space be damned. 

Feeling particularly brash, you reach out and pull him closer by a fistful of his shirt. He’s startled, but he lets you move him closer as if he were a rag doll, now you're barely a few inches away from him. Your hand moves to his neck, feeling the warmth that spread there a few minutes ago, the warmth that you caused. If it feels like it's getting warmer under your touch, you don't comment on it. 

It's the first time you've touched him this much, this intimately, and it feels like you've been missing out for the past two years. 

He watches you carefully, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to figure out what you're aiming for. This is probably how he acts at work, you think, staring at something until he’s able to break it open and decipher its message, will he decipher your message too?

You look up at him through long lashes, peering into his eyes, hoping to communicate something with your eyes before you can put it into words. You feel a certain need in your stomach, tying knots and constricting your airways— it's what you guess people would call butterflies. Right now, you'd call it absolutely torture. 

“Spencer.”

It's the third time you've called his name so far, and this time your noses are touching and you practically breathe his name onto his lips. This encourages him to put an arm around your waist and raise the other to cup your face affectionately. You lean into his touch, welcoming the reciprocation.

“I'm here,” his voice is low, more certain now, almost like he figured you out, “you can tell me.” 

You nearly melt in his hands now that he's using that self-assured voice. You love it when he's shy, but god do you adore it when he talks like he knows exactly what to do with you. The things you'd let him do to you would probably get you placed on a watch list, but you don't mind as long as he's the one watching. 

“You know what I want to say, don't you?” 

He blinks, the gold flakes in his eyes so striking when you're this close, “maybe I do, but I'd like to hear you say it.” 

He's in no place to be making such demands. He should be melting in your hands, not the other way around. You shouldn't be getting this weak at the knees just because he's using that stupid husky tone, sounding like he knows all your secrets. But, fuck, he absolutely knows all your secrets. He could probably read you like an open book— which you actually wouldn't mind at all because you've seen the way his hands stroke the pages when he's reading, and you'd love for those fingers to be all over you like they're all over those stupid books.

Your eyes glaze over with desire and you're getting impatient, while he watches you like he's studying your next move. Goddamn profilers and their dirty work. He should be getting dirty with you.

You mutter a quiet fuck and step back to separate your bodies; even though there's no place to go because the table is right there, you're at least not directly face to face anymore. His warm breath on your lips was driving you insane, and you brought him up here to talk, you needed to have this conversation. For your sanity. 

He gives you space, because he's always been so caring and so perceptive about what you need, and the gesture makes you want to bounce on him. You have to remind yourself that if you keep thinking with your lower regions, this will be a counterproductive night.

You realize you can't do this while standing up, so you hoist yourself up on the table, and wiggle around till you get comfortable. Your trench coat isn't bending to your will and it takes you some more shuffling to beat it down. You really should've taken it off when you stepped in through the door. 

The sound of Spencer's chuckle makes you realize that he's still here and he's very much observing your embarrassing fight with a trench coat. Your cheeks feel warm, but this is not the most shameful thing you've done tonight, and you're probably aiming to beat that record anyway. 

“Don't laugh at me,” you mutter, embarrassed but smiling. 

“Okay,” he laughs, “I won't.” 

“God, you're such a liar. Is everybody at the FBI full of lies?” 

He shrugs, “Depends on who you ask.” 

You laugh and you're so in awe at how all the stress leaves your body so easily when he's talking to you, it makes you wonder why the hell you can't just say it. One sentence, something he already knows, something anyone would probably know by observing you for five minutes, it should be easy. But as obvious as it is, you're also well aware that once you say it, it becomes real. And you can't escape It. You can't pretend like it's something casual between you if you get your heart broken, or if he feels like you're moving too fast. The minute those words are out of your mouth, you'll have to confront the reality of your situation. 

And you're scared. 

You're scared that once you say those words and it becomes a real living thing, you could actually lose Spencer. You could get into an argument later and it ruins everything between you, or he could fall out of love, or you could fall out of love. There are so many bad endings to a relationship and the possibilities make you hesitate. 

Spencer must've noticed that you're taking a while to speak, that you're too busy stressing out about it, because he comes close again (leaving enough space for the holy spirit this time) to gently hold your hand. It works like he intends it to. The skin-to-skin contact is grounding and you relax a little, wishing you could just melt into him and never have to go through any uncomfortable conversations.

But when you look up at him, and you're met with the familiar trustworthy eyes of the guy who has been your god-given solace for months now, you wonder how the hell you could ever rethink taking a chance on him. 

Even if the risk is terrifying and you're scared of ruining things, you know Spencer would be worth the try. Plus, fantasizing about a reality where it works out and you get married in a few years is actually much more fun than thinking about impending doom. 

You don't want the world to end before you tell Spencer the raw truth of your feelings, and not through subtle gestures or sneaky glances, you want him to hear the whole thing. 

You squeeze his hand for one final reassurance. He smiles and squeezes your hand back. 

“Spencer, I've got something very important to tell you.” 

Slow and stead. 

“I'm listening.” 

You lick your lips. 

“Okay well, remember how I told you a few months ago that there were currently no guys who were interested in me?” 

He nods.

“Well, I lied.” 

He raises his eyebrows, amused at the route you're taking, “oh yeah?” 

You nod, swallowing heavily, “Yeah, yes. There was this… guy at my job, he doesn't work there anymore because he got transferred because of ‘new chances’ or whatever, but he was working with me this time last year, you know? Anyways, he'd get really close to me whenever we were handling the same task, not in a sexual harassment way but in an ‘I have a crush on you’ way. And I realized that he was interested in me because he kept dropping hints and I'm, surprisingly, not that oblivious. I can tell when a guy likes me. He actually asked me out once to this new donut place near the office, but I declined because he has really bad table manners to be honest and, god I'm glad he's not working with us anymore because he'd hog all the coffee and we could barely find anything to drink by the end of the day— but that's not the only reason I rejected him, I actually rejected him because… because I couldn't imagine going out with anyone else who wasn't you, and I guess what I'm trying to say is- that's when I realized that I like you, Spencer. And I've liked you for almost a year now.” 

You're out of breath by the time it's all out, but incredibly relieved. You look up at Spencer and he has this amused twinkle in his eyes and a very dumb smug smirk on his face. Once you're fully and completely done with your little speech, the first thing he does is laugh.

You're so offended you immediately take your hand away from his and slap his chest, “Don't fucking laugh, I just confessed my feelings for you.” You hit him some more, but he won't stop laughing, “Spencer, this is so fucking rude, oh my god, just reject me like a lady if you're going to mock me like this.” 

He catches your hand before you land another weak punch on his arm, and you have very little time to react before he reaches forward, cupping your face with his other hand and joining your lips for a long-awaited kiss. 

You've fantasized about the way he kisses for a very long time. After you’d heard about his little make-out session with that actress in the pool, it took everything in your body to resist asking him to take you next. You've thought about kissing him nearly every night when you were falling asleep, he was even haunting some of your dreams like a fiend, kissing you like his life depended on it, only for you to wake up to the cruel, harsh reality of never having kissed Spencer Reid.

But that reality is different now. 

He uses both his hands to cup your face and angles your head just right to get as much contact as possible. He tastes like the wine you've been drinking all night and smells like cedar wood and sage. God, even when kissing you he has to smell like a perfect little herbal garden? You'd get mad at him if his lips moving against yours weren't melting away every ounce of sophistication you have in your body. 

You use the chance to be greedy and reach your hand into his hair, making sure to mess it up so that there’s proof that you were here, in his arms, kissing him. 

He's sweet with his kiss, despite knowing you both waited for it for so long, he doesn't push you to go further even though you'd love for him to. You'd let him take you on this table right now.

But the absolute worst thing about Spencer is that he's so respectful that he pulls away after a few seconds to watch for your reaction. He's flushed with desire and his eyes have gone dark in a way that you've only seen when he was really angry. You can tell that he's restraining himself to not make you uncomfortable. His eyes scan your face eagerly, his hands resting on either side of your face.

“God, you're so… ridiculous.” 

The comment is so unexpected that you laugh, and the sexual tension seems to ease into just… sexual existence. “Hey, what's that for? You're going to kiss a girl and then immediately insult her?” 

His smile mirrors yours, “my apologies, your highness. I have just never heard such a ridiculous confession in my life before.” 

You frown, lips curling into a pout, “not true, that actress in the pool had a ridiculous confession too.” She didn't, but you never fully got over her kissing Spencer before you could. 

“Oh yes, I'm sorry, I forget about any other woman when I'm with you.” Then he plants a quick kiss on your lips with a poorly concealed smile, and you can just tell that he's going to be doing that a lot to get away with whatever bullshit he's spewing. 

“You’re unbelievable, Spencer Reid.” 

Then you’re kissing him again, craving more of what he gave you during the first kiss. The desperation for contact has you pulling him closer by his collar, leaning into the kiss like you were starving before him. When he finally slips his tongue into your mouth, you moan so pathetically it makes his grip around you tighten, body drawing impossibly closer to yours.

You're kissing for such an extended period of time that you're dizzy from the lack of air when he pulls away, and you're greeted by that lovely shade of crimson on his face. You desperately want to find out just how red he can get and in what other places.

You're admiring his face, lost in the haze of the kiss, and chewing absentmindedly on your lips when you suddenly remember something very important. You draw back a little to shoot him a very serious look. 

“Hey, you never said you liked me back.” 

He laughs in disbelief, “do I have to?” 

You nod like a petulant child, seriously alarmed.

He playfully rolls his eyes, “alright, I like you too,” he kisses you, “I like you a lot actually.” 

You're satisfied with that answer, melting into his touch again, like a helpless pet. You admire the post-makeout look that adorns his face and makes him more beautiful than you could ever imagine, and he gazes at you with stars in his eyes. For a while, it feels like the universe belongs to the two of you and no one else. 

Until you remember how late it is and the fact that Spencer actually works tomorrow, then you're not that happy anymore. 

“What's wrong?” He asks, nose rubbing against yours as if you could ever focus on anything when he's that close. 

“You have work tomorrow, and it's very late…” 

He draws back from you, as if broken out of the trance by your words, “Oh no, you're right.” He's starting to move away when something inside you kicks in and suddenly your legs are flying to lock around his waist to secure him in place. He raises his eyebrows at you, amused and surprised.

“You can't do this.” 

You nod your head menacingly, “oh yes I can.” You know he could easily break out of your hold if he really wanted to, but the fact that he's entertaining your antics tells you that he's not very eager to leave either. 

“Angel, I have to go to work in the morning. Like an adult with responsibilities, you know?” 

If you were in your right mind, you'd be offended at that comment, but he's just kissed you senselessly and then called you ‘angel’ for the very first time. No one could blame you for not being very wise. 

“You can still go to work in the morning, you just... don't have to leave right now.” 

“You want me to stay? Here?” You nod. “My love, you don't even have a change of clothing that can fit me.” 

“Then sleep naked. I won't complain.” 

He laughs, “What about a toothbrush? You don't have an extra one for me.” 

“I change my toothbrush once every three months and I always buy extra, so I do actually have a completely sealed, never used before brush that you can use. It will be yours from now on.” 

He shakes his head in disbelief but you can tell he's starting to budge, your technique is working. 

Plus there's the unsaid promise that, if he stays, there will be a lot more kissing going on. 

“And you want me to go to work tomorrow in this same outfit?” 

“Mhm, we'll hang it and it will be just fine.” 

“I don't have my badge with me, I can't go to work without my badge.” 

You scoff. “Then wake up early and drive by your place, stop creating irrelevant problems, Spencer.” 

He’s in disbelief at your brazenness but seems to cave in anyway. “Fine, yeah, I'll stay.” 

You smile, very proud of yourself, “yes you will.” 

At this point, you're aware that your leg is still around his waist, and you're holding him in place like you took him hostage, but you honestly don't feel like letting him go just yet. Months of pining for him like a lovesick fool, you think you deserve to relish in the power you exert over him. He seems to notice the hunger for power in your eyes because he's coming closer again, placing his hands on either side of your thighs. 

“You have other plans for me tonight, don't you?” He's using that husky tone again and looking at you with glazed-over hazel eyes. Like a predator hunting its prey. 

You place your arms around his neck, back where they belong, “and if I do? Will you punish me, officer?” 

His warm breath fans over your lips and you're shaking to your core with anticipation, “I don't know, maybe I will.” 

Then he puts an end to all your antagonizing conversations that are distracting you from more important matters by bringing you in for another eager kiss. You take all of him in, the stubborn grip he has on your face, the teeth clashing when he shifts your positions, the low moan he releases when you pull on his hair — you take everything he gives you with eagerness and hunger. You could swallow him up whole right now if you could. 

When he pulls away to take a breath and you're confronted by his disheveled face once more, you realize that there are a lot of things you're going to do to him tonight. You realize that it’s going to be a good while before either of you goes to sleep.

[fandomzwriterk]

Can you do a sfw (or NSFW if you want) if Smoke and reader having an argument and Smoke tries to make things right with the reader?

A/N: oh absolutely I will! Also mentions of JohnShi and RaiLao!! (We stan MK1 ships here)

Warnings: pretty much chill except a few harsh words

A Little Smokey

Tomas, you, Hanzo, Kuai Liang, and Harumi were spending the hot summer afternoon on the training floor of the building, as it was the only room with no walls and a roof over with shade. Kuai wasn’t having it, being that he was burning both on the outside and on the inside. Tomas was dying from the heat as well, both him and Hanzo on the other side of the room to stay away from Kuai’s heat. This was bad even for you, and having Bi Han around would make it easier but sadly no, he’d gone rouge and left you all behind to work with Shang Tsung. The heat was bad today, the five of you practically out of commission for today. Even Liu Kang wasn’t having fun either, he and Geras were burning up too.

“What I would give to find a giant pool of water right now.” You spoke out loud

“Yeah I’d feel so much better and not like I’m burning inside.” Kuai added

“Hold on I have an idea!” You hear Raiden say from a distance away

“What is it?” Tomas asked

“Let’s go ask Johnny if we can use his pool! He’s always saying we can use it since he’s almost always never around.”

“Fuck it I’m in.” You answered sitting up speed walking to Raiden and Kung Lao

“Me too.” Kaui added as he got up and sprinted over with Harumi behind him

“Alright fuck it we need an off day.” Tomas replied

And sooooo…

It took a little time to get to Johnny’s place, with the group also trying to see if Kenshi wanted to go as well. Unfortunately they couldn’t find him, so they resorted to going anyways.

“Ah yes finally free cooling!” You cheered as you, Kung Lao, Raiden, and Tomas went running through the door and into Johnny’s open door

“Oh hey guys I heard you-“

You four didn’t get far, crashing into someone a little ways into the house and falling to the floor. You fell on Tomas while Raiden and Kung Lao rolled to the side but right on top of each other. To your surprise, it was Kenshi, swearing a pair of white swim trunks patterned with pineapples, no shirt while having dark sunglasses covering his eyes.

“Kenshi” You shouted

You shot up from Tomas’ grip, going to hug Kenshi since it’s been awhile since you two interacted at all.

“Hello Y/n it’s good to see you too. I see you brought the whole team.”

He gently elbowed your side, noticing he was looking in the direction of who was at the door.

“So let me guess… it’s Raiden, Kung Lao, Y/n, Tomas, Kuai, Harumi, and Lord Liu Kang.”

“Good guess my friend you know us all too well.” Kuai responded back to Kenshi

It took a few minutes for everyone to get their clothes off, most of the boys just walking around shirtless with some sort of shorts on. You could see Harumi gawking at her husband Kuai, and you felt the same about another brother of the Shirai Ryu.

“Hey Y/n come on! You’re so slow!” Kung Lao shouted

“Cannonball!” Both you and Raiden shouted as you both ran to the edge of the pool before jumping in

“Incoming!” Johnny shouted as him, Kenshi, and Hanzo jumped right on top of you both

Almost everyone was in, except Harumi, Kuai, and Tomas. You couldn’t see what they were doing very well or hear what they were saying but it seemed like Tomas was nervous and asking a question. What you didn’t know at all was that Tomas was asking questions, about you.

“Just go to her and say ‘I like you’ to Y/n. That’s all you gotta do!”

“But-“

“Your brother is right Tomas you just have to say those three words to her and she’ll fall on her knees for you.”

“And what makes you so sure she will?”

“Just trust us.”

And so Tomas bid Kuai and his wife a quick farewell before slowly walking to the edge of the pool, quickly spotting you in the middle with Raiden, Kung Lao, Johnny, and Kenshi around you like they were fawning over you. It made him frustrated, after all he did like you but it was a pain to deal with four different guys at your feet as well.

“Y/n!” He shouted

You quickly looked behind you, spotting the handsome assassin looking right at you from outside the pool. You quickly swam over and pulled yourself out of the pool, standing in front of the grey haired man you admired.

“Can we talk over there?” He asked pointing to an open area behind him a few feet away

“Sure!”

You followed him to the spot, your eyes drifting to his ripped chest and bulky arms. He was attractive, and your eyes couldn’t stop staring at all of him. However, his attitude quickly turned when you didn’t expect it too.

“What are you doing with those four?” He grumbled

“They’re my friends Tomas I like talking to them and joking around with them.”

“Well I don’t.”

Where was this coming from? You’ve never known Tomas Vrbada to have clashing personalities with anyone else in the Shirai Ryu… well except Johnny. Yes he was Tomas’ favorite actor and Johnny’s even asked Tomas to star in things with him, but there are times where Johnny oversteps like he did before with Kitana and her sister Mileena some odd months ago.

“So?”

“So? I know for a fact Johnny and Kung Lao will try for any girl within ten feet of them, while Kenshi and Raiden will get to you slowly, hoping you slip one day.”

“And we’re just friends! What wrong with that?”

Now you were confused and annoyed, you’ve always been friendly with the champions of Earthrealm long before you realized you’d have feelings for Tomas. Were those feelings a lie now? This wasn’t normal of Tomas, to be angry and annoyed with someone.

“What’s wrong with it? Y/n the four of them like you why else would they always be around you?!”

“For your information Tomas they don’t. I know that for a fact, and there’s no reason to speculate it. Why are you mad about it? You know I don’t like them either! I like you!”

Before Tomas could even react, you started to turn and walk away.

“Wait Y/n!”

Tomas shot an arm out, holding onto your wrist as you both stared at each other.

“You like me?” Tomas asked

Oops. You didn’t mean to say that out loud.

“Yeah?”

“I-I thought that-“

“Tomas how blind are you?”

“What?”

He let you go, and you smacked yourself in the face with your hand. Oh so Tomas wasn’t as observant to other relationships as well as he said he was.

“Tomas… oh my god.”

“What? What’d I do?!”

“You are so clueless.”

“To what? What’d I miss? Clearly they like being near you cause you’re a girl!”

How were you gonna say this since Tomas’ perception of a “relationship” was a boy and girl… but that was not the case with the four guys you were both talking about.

“Tomas… Kenshi is in a relationship with Johnny and Raiden is with Kung Lao.”

The weight of his own stupid assumptions hit Tomas in the face. Well, there went his bragging rights of saying he knows everyone and everything about everyone there.

“Okay… I see… my bad.” He answered covering his face with his hands

Poor Tomas had just been hit with the classic “the four guys are gay and the girl is actually not any of their crushes”.

“I am so dumb aren’t I?”

“Yes you are Tommy.”

“H-Hey! Don’t call me that in front of others!”

You just laughed, even though you felt a little hurt at Tomas’ blind views of how you felt about him and your friends.

“How can I ever repay you back?” Tomas asked moving his hands away from his face

“You don’t have to Tomas. Just know it’s always you.”

He smiled, feeling heat in his cheeks as you went and grabbed both of his hands in yours.

“I feel bad and I want to fix what I said.”

“You don’t have to. We both messed up in this situation, I should’ve told you a while ago when the boys came out of the closet.”

Tomas held back a laugh. You felt better knowing you made Tomas smile and laugh, forgetting about your small disagreement from earlier. You didn’t regret telling Tomas your feelings, not one bit.

“Ready to cool off?”

Tomas held your hand in his, taking a step past you to bring you both back to the others. You heard someone go “called it” and someone else add “Johnny” in the crowd of your friends. Kuai Liang and Harumi were smiling at you, Kuai holding in what seemed like a perfect joke.

“About time brother.”

“I hope it went well?”

“It went just perfectly.” You joked

And so Tomas and yourself walked over to the edge of the pool, right before Tomas grabbed your waist and jumped in with you. You could feel his grip on you even under the water, you knew he wasn’t ever going to let you go. You both came up for air, Tomas shaking his head to get the water out of his short grey hair, while you pulled back your hair. He treaded water next to you, smiling as his grip got a little lighter. His smile was wide, quickly looking to the four boys mentioned earlier and sighing.

“I like you.”

“I like you too.”

The end…

[venusloveslobotomies]

HELLO !! it's me again~ (⌒▽⌒)☆

eeeh, sooo...maybe you could write some reverse comfort for kyle, butters and kenny?? i literally have no ideas for plot and all this stuff but i really ENJOY reverse comfort stuff. i mean it makes me happy when i make feel better other people, that's it! (＠＾◡＾) so i would be so happy if you could write something like this !!

so yeah it could be some kind of one shots or something??! just a lot of comfort, a lot of fluff ☆ ～('▽^人)

(oh gosh i LOVE kaomoji so much. no one can blame me for using it wahaha!)

hi my love! i tried my best! i hope you like it <33

Comforting Kyle, Kenny and Butters.

Kyle

"Hi Mrs Broflovski, is Kyle home?" "Oh hi, Y/N! Yes, he's home but he's not feeling well. He's in his room." Sheila opened the door wider for you as you walked in. "Thank you, I won't be too long." You gave her a smile and made your way to Kyle's room.

He hadn't been at class that day, which was rare for Kyle. Something had to be up. You knew that him and Stan weren't on great terms after asking Stan if he'd seen Kyle and he'd seemed almost offended that you'd asked him about Kyle.

Knocking on his door softly, you entered to see Kyle, red-eyed, sitting on his bed, staring at his phone. He quickly looked up and made eye contact with you. It took less than five seconds before his eyes filled with tears again and he turned away. "Kyle, what happened? Are you sick?" No response. You sat down next to him and waited for a moment. You knew he'd start talking once he had a moment to compose himself.

"Stans an asshole." He wiped his eyes quickly, "I keep trying to help but he'd rather wallow in self-pity and drink than actually listen to his best friend." His voice broke slightly when he referred to Stan as his 'best friend'. You softly placed your hand on his. "He'll come around. He always does. You know he's weird about stuff with Wendy." You could only guess that was why Stan was in a bad spot. They were so on-and-off you could barely keep up with when they were together and when they weren't. "But why am I always there for him and he always chooses the alcohol?" He leaned his head closer to your shoulder.

Your relationship with Kyle was somewhat undefined. In moments like these, you felt too close to just be friends but most of the time, he just treated you like any of the guys. In some selfish part of your mind, you always hoped that these moments would finally shatter that glass wall between the friendship and something more.

"And when I'm upset, everyone just expects me to deal with it alone." "Well, you're not alone right now. I'm here, I'll always be here." He looked at you with glossy eyes. You could see how exhausted he was, "You know that you can talk to me, and you know that Stan will work himself out. He's complicated. This is just how he is with the Wendy stuff. He'll probably grow out of it. Boys are dumb, y'know." He laughed a bit at the last part. He continued to watch you carefully before seemingly making a choice. He abruptly threw his arms around you and just started sobbing. You were a bit shocked, he'd never full-on hugged you before, let alone really, properly cried in front of you. You hugged him back, tightly and resolved to stay that way until he was ok.

Almost ten minutes later, his sobs had subsided into soft whimpers. Your fingers traced light patterns into his shoulders and back as you sat silently with him. "Thank you, Y/N. What the fuck would I do without you?" "Probably still be lame." You joked. He sat back slowly. Something in his eyes had changed. He suddenly didn't seem so tired. Arms still around each other, you could feel his breath on your cheeks, gently fanning you. You couldn't help but lean closer. Closer, until your lips were barely brushing. You were paralyzed, waiting for his decision. It took him just a moment to close the gap. When the two of you connected, it felt magical. How long had you been waiting for this? You could taste the tears on his lips but you didn't care. When you finally pulled apart, his cheeks were almost as red as his hair. "Feel better?" You smirked a bit and he pushed you away in a joking way. Despite the joke, you could see that the life in his eyes had returned and he was smiling.

Butters

"Screw you, Eric! And screw the rest of you, too. You all sit there and let him be as mean as he wants!" You looked up from the table you were sat at with Red and Bebe. Butters was standing up and yelling at his friend group. His face was red and he was just barely holding back tears. You watched him storm off. "I'll be right back." You stood and rushed off after him, ignoring the questions from your friends.

You burst through the doors of the canteen, frantically looking around for Butters. You caught his gaze as he was slumped against the wall, tears now falling freely. "What happened?" You quickly moved to him and grabbed his hands. "Nothing, Eric is just a terrible person." "No news there then. Why do you even hang out with him? He's awful to you!" He seemed a bit taken aback but that quickly changed. "He's my friend! I don't have your luxury of choosing whoever I want to hang out with! I'm not good at making friends... I never have been." "Leo, I'm your partner? Why don't you hang out with me and my friends?" You pleaded with him, reaching to wipe his tears with your sweater sleeves. "People will think I'm weird if I'm hanging around a bunch of girls all the time." You snorted a bit. "First of all, that's not the worst thing for people to think. Secondly, it doesn't matter what they think. The only opinions that matter are from people who actually care. Like me... shouldn't my opinion matter?" "Of course, Y/N. Your opinion matters to me more than anyone else." He seemed to have resigned himself to understanding you. You knew he would go back to hanging around Eric but for the moment, you could enjoy having your boyfriend to yourself.

You pulled him off to walk around the block and cool him off. When you finally returned to your original spot, you kissed him softly and ran your fingers through his hair. He smiled, still embarrassed at the affection being so public, but he didn't care. You were a true angel and if he was seen with you, nobody could say anything that would hurt him.

Kenny

Hearing yelling and glass crashing wasn't the most abnormal thing in South Park. However, hearing Kenny's voice was a bit of a shock. You checked the time. 11:37pm. What the hell is Kenny doing out on the street, yelling? Looking out your window, you could see him stumbling, with a broken bottle of whiskey in his hand. You were so confused, but you rushed downstairs anyways and out into the street. "What the fuck are you doing? Come inside!" You grabbed his arm with one hand and twisted the bottle out of his hand with the other, tossing it into the grass as you pulled him back towards your house. Once inside with the lights on, you could tell he'd been crying earlier but now he was angry. "What is going on with you? This area is too sketchy for you to be wandering around... drunk." He gripped your hand as you let go of his arm. "Y/N I'm gonna kill my parents." "Uhm, no. But also, why?" You guided him to sit on the couch. He fell clumsily into the cushions, pulling you with him. "My dad hit Karen again. So, I hit him. And then he started throwing shit at me. And my mom was just screaming at all of us. I hate them so much. My dad pushed me outside and locked me out." Struggling to find a comfortable position to sit without completely untangling yourself from Kenny appeared to be impossible, so you sucked it up and stayed with your legs draped over him and your back arched forward to keep holding his hand. "Okay, I kind of get it, but in terms of murdering someone, we're gonna have to sleep on it." He was still breathing heavily, eyes lit up with rage you'd never seen from your normally laid-back friend. You squeezed his hand, desperately trying to pull him back to reality. He squeezed back and his eyes softened slightly, meeting yours. Suddenly his hands were on your face and his lips on yours. You could feel him almost squishing your cheeks together in his drunken state. You kissed back, trying to be gentle. It didn't take too long for him to pull away, now looking somewhat scared. "Oh god, Y/N. I'm so sorry. I'm just... I'm tired but you're so perfect and I can't even think properly. I've wanted to do that for so long but not like this. You should've had a choice-" "Ken, it's ok. I liked it. I'm just sorry you're upset while this finally happened." You pulled his hood fully off his head and stroked his hair, smiling reassuringly. His eyes spilled tears and he hugged you so hard, your breath seemed to be pushed out of your lungs. "Hey... Ken? I... I can't breathe." He loosened his grip just enough to allow you to breathe again. You moved to sit fully on his lap and hold his head while he silently released all his emotions into your shirt. "I fucking love you. How are you so perfect?" You laughed a bit and felt him finally relax into your arms.

It didn't take too long for you two to pass out on the couch, still tangled together in a comforting embrace.

I hope u enjoyed! ive never really written comfort before so i did my best! idk whether yall like the longer oneshots that i accidentally write, so if shorter is better, please tell me!

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hi!! I absolutely love your writing!

So... today happens to be my birthday. Could I pretty please get something fluffy as a present?

Five days.

The villain had stayed five days at the hero’s apartment, recovering slowly with the help of their nemesis. It turned out that the hero wasn’t a terrible roommate, they were the exact opposite: doing the dishes seemed more like a hobby than a chore, cleaning the room and decorating the whole place neatly was one of their favourite activities.

Nearly motionless, the villain had watched them rearrange a bouquet of flowers, humming to themselves a content tune that would haunt the villain’s thoughts for the rest of the day. The hero was diligent and careful, making sure the colours in their home could coexist in harmony with every new element they found.

The villain tried to stay as quiet as possible most of the time, hoping the hero would forget about them eventually. Hoping they could turn invisible and be less of a burden. With all the mess they were causing, they didn’t fit into this picturesque world the hero tried to create.

But the hero didn’t forget. Due to their injuries, the villain slept a lot, being out by eight, getting pleasant twelve hours of rest. They were stationed on the comically huge couch, even though the hero had offered them their bed. However, healthy sleeping patterns were unknown to the hero who suffered from a little less than four hours a night. It explained the many naps the hero took on the couch, right next to the villain.

But no matter how many hours the hero slept, they always made sure to eat together with the villain. Every meal, regardless of their grogginess, they sat down next to their enemy and talked about their newest idea to help the city.

“Dunno why I’m telling you,” they said one day while having lunch, spaghetti filling their mouth, “but I really like this new project. Growing more plants in the city?! Love it.”

“Until there’s a villain who can control plants.” The hero’s tired eyes widened as they practically inhaled their lunch. Focus settled on the villain who was trying to eat as gracefully as possible. Once again, they were like a mirror that showed the exact opposite.

“Nonsense. No one can control plants,” they said, bolting the rest of their noodles and meatballs.

��Have seen one,” the villain answered calmly. Damn, the food wasn’t even bad.

“You’re kidding.”

“Am not.” The villain stared at the hero and their poor overworked soul. For days, they’d been rambling about projects and work and on top of that they managed to do the chores and nurse the villain. No wonder they were sleeping every second they allowed themselves to.

“I’ve seen one,” the villain said hastily, getting their thoughts back on track. “South America, somewhere. She’s very old though, so don’t expect her to take over the world.”

The hero’s plate was empty already.

“I didn’t know I could be jealous of some old lady. You travel lots?”

“When I’m not getting shot at, sure.” Something in the hero’s gaze softened, blurring the line between relaxed and hurt. Their eyes dropped to the ground, their shoulders tensed. Fuck. “I like getting shot when it’s you, though.”

What. Oh god, the villain wished they could sink into the ground. I like getting shot when it’s you, what a stupid thing to say. They felt the horrible blush creep up their neck, so they grabbed their tea and gulped it down.

Christ, why were conversations so hard to have?

The hero giggled nervously.

“Well, uh…”

“You need more sleep.” The villain’s face was burning, so they tried to deflect. “You always look tired and sleep throughout the day. What do you do at night?”

Getting the hero’s attention was easy, getting them to talk about important stuff wasn’t. Their nice projects were fun to listen to but when it came to the hero’s desires, to their morals and their longings, the villain didn’t get anything.

“It’s a long story, really,” the hero said. “Did you put that blanket on me yesterday?”

“Yeah, you almost rolled off the couch, too. Gave me nearly a heart attack,” the villain mumbled and it was true. It had made their heart skip for more than one beat. “You don’t have to leave that much space between us.”

“You sure?”

“I’d rather cuddle with you than have you fall off the couch.”

Now it was the hero’s turn to blush.

[catchyhuh]

Sometimes what people wear as pajamas is a weird indicator of personality so... What’s your opinion on their pajamas?

it took less than a second for me to go “how do pjs indicate personaliOhhh wait yeah that does make sense” as I realized I was folding up multiple adult size cartoon character onesies for my own pajama drawer. let’s get into it BUT UH DISCLAIMER i mostly talk about patterns in canon i’ve noticed with just… tiny personal thoughts in here. less headcanons more breakdown. NOW let’s get into it

lupin:

two modes-- soft, fuzzy button up set, or just his underwear. somewhat depending on weather, DEFINITELY depending on mood. i mean you don't wanna get COLD and he got those nice purple heart pajamas with an actual, legal purchase, so it'd be stupid to waste them ALL the time!

there could be a joke here about how he’d probably just sleep naked if the gang weren’t constantly groaning in annoyance, throwing pillows at him begging him to put on some damn pants, but the reality is… he can’t really sleep like that. it’s uncomfy :( he tried :) but it’s uncomfy :(

jigen:

you aren't ready for this. or you are. you likely are, given i had to choose between like 3 different pictures i have of him in fits like this

and i’m dead serious. big ass ankle length nightgown with matching cap. no, really. these are his actual pajamas. they’re comfy to him. i can’t fathom why, maybe the fabric is just equal parts breathable and warm, maybe he did this once for the bit and realized it was the best sleep he ever had, WHATEVER, these are his pajamas, and no amount of teasing by now will stop him from changing into these before going to bed

i have to respect them for committing to this bit, because you think, oh, he’s the coolest. he wouldn’t have lame pajamas. no he does. very lame. hilariously so. arose such a clatter type shit. nighty night scrooge

fujiko:

now, she would LIKE to say big, fluffy, fancy nightgown… but the texture feels bad scrubbing against your skin all night, so she usually just opts for a simpler nightgown. or, like lupin, just her underwear. obvious fanservice aside she’s clearly comfy bundled up like that so you show em how its done fujiko

no matter how cold it gets, she can never really sleep in pajama pants. shorts, maybe, but anything that reaches past her knees feels restrictive, hence why she normally just goes for the nightgown. she doesn’t even kick in her sleep idk why it’s such a big deal!

goemon:

i had to look through a bunch of stuff because i was like. wtf. what DOES he wear to bed. he can’t just be wearing his usual clothes all day and night, it would be uncomfortable. so i’ve come to the conclusion that these virtually identical clothes here are just made of a softer material, designated as goemon’s jammies

or he just. sleeps in his underwear. it really is comfsorry the mental image of the camera panning across three beds where they’re sleeping in their underwear vs jigen still rocking the victorian fit is killing me a bit

zenigata:

have you noticed he sleeps with his hat on more than jigen does. isn’t that fucked. jigen has a special sleeping hat but the alleged NON-hat-obsessed guy is the one sleeping in it. due to his… hectic routine, he never really has a default type of pjs. either he just sleeps in what he was already wearing (c’mon, man) or he’s packed like, some pajama pants, or (take another shot because this series loves this gag) just hits the hay in the heart print boxers. jigen really is a scientific outlier.

USUALLY if he’s bothering to actually change, it’s just the undershirt he’s already got on and some comfy pants, the kind you can get at like walmart for five bucks, so if he’s forgotten to bring them it’s no biggie. damn anon was right this IS a personality indicator!

BONUS YATA!:

as we have oft discussed, yata is a man we have all met at one point in our lives. so, yata has the basic boring man pajamas. t-shirt that’s too big for him but he forgot to return it, and seasonal pajama pants. the pants always seem to mismatch the season, he wore the snowflake ones during summer, and now he’s wearing the halloween ones in winter?

the shirt itself is also mundanely mysterious. nobody can really place the logo on it, and he doesn’t really remember where he got it from either. it doesn’t bother him too much until it’s pointed out to him

[heeseung-min]

[10:03]

"We got another case."

You looked to the older man bringing a file that contains some pictures and reports taken from the crime scene.

"Another one? Urgh, we don't even get to finish the latest two cases."

Jisung, the new kid groaning and knocked his head on the desk. Five months ago when he got transfered here, you can see his bright spirit but now it started to fade. You understood him. Three murder cases in a week. Your team has tried really hard finding solution but failed.

You took the case and analysed every pictures taken by the forensic team. It was an old man. Probably in his late 50s. His skull was broken and you can tell the damage was really bad when the brain looked like minced meat and few cuts on his body. The victim also lost their eyes. Looks like the eyes got pulled out by some force. Jisung beside you gagged after saw the pictures. You patted his back and told him to drink some water and eat.

"Whoever did this, they are literally a psycho. They also took off the victim's clothes and hang it like a flag. Crazy bastard."

Your leader complained. He looked like he wanted to give up on the case. The murder cases keep increasing and the killer is still in the town. Not only that, the residents also critized polices, accusing them for not doing the job properly.

"You should get rest too, Y/n. You and Jisung didn't get enough rest nowadays. That poor boy probably went to sleep already."

"I will, Mr. Kim. Please take a rest too. Your wife must be worried."

You bid him and Jisung goodbye. Everyone is stress from the work. You bought some pastries and coffee before come back to home.

"You are back, honey? Take a shower and have breakfast with me?"

It's your husband, Jay. He took a glance at you then focusing back on his cooking. You are very grateful having him. He really loves you. The way he takes care of you is different with other people in the world. You did as what he said. Take your time in the bathroom for 20 minutes and went to the dining table with him sitting across from you.

"Is the work difficult?" He concernedly asked when he saw how tired you look. You nodded your head slowly and started to eat the meal.

"Mrs.Min told me her husband hasn't come back home for a week. But then, the new case that came in today is about her husband. The team found the body in the woods."

You looked at him warily. Waiting for his reaction. He did nothing except chewing on his food. When he finally swallowed it, he turned to you.

"The eyes are gone right? And the brain was smashed."

"I...I didn't say about his condition."

He laughed. Your instict is right.

"Oops! You caught me."

He continued back eating his food like nothing happen. Your hands shaking a bit because of nervous.

"You did it again...."

"I had too, darling."

"What is the reason for this time?"

You had thought he finally stopped doing it. But when you see the cuts on the victim's body. You quickly remember the same pattern Jay did to someone else. Yes, your husband is the killer for the new case you got this morning.

"Oh, darling. It's too much. He is too much. The way his eyes lingering on you too long, the way he sometimes make his finger accidentally touches yours when you give something for his family, the way he sometimes tried to touch your body. I could list more but that just few of it. I really wish I can do more to his body. I made him watch his own dick got stepped by me. Sick old fuck."

It's scary. Jay is scary.

But, do you hate it?

No. Never. You love him despite all the bad things he had done.

"Thank you."

"I did everything for you, my love. I hate when people overstep their boundaries."

"I know. Thank you for protecting me."

And that's why the case will turn to a cold one. It will remain unsolve forever.

---

---

Ayo, that looks creepy and scary💀🤚Im sorry if that makes you uncomfortable...i didnt expected i wrote that. But, hopefully you guys enjoy it.

Taglist: @stacey-stonem @duolingofanaccount

[iantimony]

duesday

listening: idk, stuff on my phone on shuffle. some more coral bones youthemism i guess. friends at the table sangfielle, episode 3; i might not actually relisten to the rest of the arcs i already did and just skim the transcripts.

no children (ska remix) by sad snack: im back in my ska era. really funny song to have an upbeat ska tone.

the mountain goats deserters fan album: have not listened to the whole album yet but god, what a cool and unique thing that i don't think could really exist for most other bands. Five Fucking Hours

reading: Polynesian Tattooing Tools, linked from Fairhaven comic

why gen z is obsessed with point-and-shoot digital cameras: it's funny because a few months ago i was considering getting a cheap point-and-shoot to fuck around with. looks like i am not the only one who was thinkin about it.

i'm working my way through le guin's 'the left hand of darkness'! i bounced off it the first time i tried reading it a few years ago but last year i read a le guin short story anthology that had some stories set on karhide and i think that gave me a good enough primer on the world/her writing style to get it to stick this time. i'm enjoying it! it's a good book!

watching: mina le - booktok & the hotgirlification of reading: some good background video for crochet etc. bernadette banner - hand sewing regency stays should be quick...right?: oughhhhh so pretty. bernadette banner - this regency court gown is probably my favorite project ever: i won't lie i got a little misty-eyed at the artisans getting to sign their names on the robe.

rewatched the gay and wondrous life of caleb gallo. i forgot how good it is, it really holds up and is still funny

also, continued doctor who watch/rewatch. i'm ngl i think the way rory and amy were shoved off screen was...really stupid. "he can't go back to that specific year in ny :(" ok, before amy gets zapped back you just go "yo go to new jersey in a few days" and go pick them up. really silly imo

playing: fallow. did buy miserichord, omori, and slay the princess in the steam summer sale. i have signalis, voyager 19, and a short hike in my cart as we speak. more games that i haven't played to feed the steam library let's goooo

making: crocheted some granny squares.

pattern for the yellow one is this lantana square...if anyone has any interesting looking granny square patterns that would be good in one solid color send em my way!

thinking of getting this pattern too.

i realized this past week that my urge to Make has been very stale and derivative the past few years, if that makes sense. like i don't feel Creative, i see something and mimic it - i do paintings based on photos i took, i follow knitting patterns, i come across something ceramic and decide to make one of my own, i find reference images to copy. but no actual, like, Inventing on my own end. i think that's why i haven't done a lot of fanart or fanfiction as well, just no ideas. i know that's just part of the cycle of creativity and i'm just in a "hunter-gatherer" period of amassing skills and references but idk. i'm tired of it. i want to create more meaningful things but i have no actual ideas, the well feels dry, and i'm not sure how to fix that.

eating: fallow

misc: stares at my mom and brother doing politics doomerism re: supereme court ruling in the family group chat. looks away. chants 'nothing ever happens' to myself like a mantra.

[jojotier]

Okay. How do you tell your friend-maybe-kinda-enemy-spy that her kid's got superpowers?

John's still kind of at a loss for words, sitting in the middle of Dave's living room and not using any of them because Dave's off making like... he said tea, but John kinda doesn't know if it's actually tea, cause the last time he just boiled gatorade so...

"Hey," Dirk pipes up across from John, and it kind of startles him, because usually Dirk doesn't really say a lot. He just kinda seems to chill, and give off Children of the Corn vibes occasionally. But still, it's nice to hear-

"Children of the Corn?" Dirk asks, raising an eyebrow.

John stops before he can even get out his response to the first thing because wait... how... what

"You're wondering how I'm doing that, right?" Dirk asks.

John starts, "What-"

"- the fuck?" Dirk finishes in his little baby voice.

"You can't just say that-"

"You just thought it?"

John stops. Blinks. God, okay, he... he really doesn't know what to think here, because

"It's kinda weird, right?" Dirk comments, juggling Lil Cal on his hip. When he walks over, he walks over like a little old man, weary of the world at the ripe old age of whenever the kids start teething. "Rox isn't the only one."

John, kind of at a loss for what else to say, says, "I mean yeah, I'm getting the picture."

Dirk's a little late if he wants to scare him, he thinks. Jane did that enough for any of the subsequent kids when she took John's burnt hand and

pivoting his thoughts quickly, John started trying very hard not to think about pink elephants. Because there were some things kids really did not need to see.

"I'm not trying to scare you," Dirk said, putting both of his hands on John's and patting it, "I'm saying that no one will ever believe you."

He stares as Dirk pulls away and shuffles back into the overstuffed armchair off in the corner, kicking his feet on his way up. John wonders if maybe he should get up to help Dirk up, but he feels stuck to the stupid shitty floral patterning on this yard sale futon.

Dirk doesn't respond to any more thoughts. He just sort of fiddles with Cal's creepy plush hands and gallops a Rainbow Dash happy meals toy along the arm of the chair, and whenever he glances up at John, he gets this tiny little smile on his face before going back to pretending that he doesn't see John five seconds away from a meltdown, because what the fuck is he supposed to do with THIS information, exactly??

He still doesn't look up when Dave comes into the room. It's a fisher price tea set in Dave's hands. John stares blankly at the face plastered to the side of the plastic kettle and wonders how it is that the more he learns about literally anyone he knows, the more he's realizing none of them are like. Normal.

"Dave," John weakly tries to say, "I think Dirk can... read... minds."

"Yeah man- kid's introspective as hell," Dave says, puffing out his chest. "Makes me think if he can hear my thoughts sometimes, like, he's that good at guessin' what's runnin' round the custard bowl I got spinnin' on this fine neck a' mine. Rose might say she don't hear shit but her fancy degrees ain't got nothin' on Dirk's intuition."

Dirk pipes up to say, "John's gonna say that no, really, I can read minds."

John's eyes bulge open wide as he gestures, a bead of sweat rolling down the back of his neck. "Literally!! He literally just read my mind!!! What-"

"Hell yeah my guy," Dave nods approvingly, "Told ya."

"John's being serious," Dirk says.

Dave pours John a cup of suspiciously sugary-smelling tea, "Yeah, I getcha. It'd be kinda rad if he could, honestly. Helps with all the propaganda."

"Of course he c-" John stops up short. Wait. "Wait, what?"

"What?" Dave asks.

"You said something? About propaganda?"

Dirk, looking at something near Dave's shoe, chimes in, "Prospit propaganda." and Dave shoots him a look, shaking his head very rapidly but also in a very minute way somehow.

"What about Prospitian...?" John starts to ask, following Dirk's line of sight. Right next to Dave's shoe is one of the many stacks of random miscellaneous papers scattered around the apartment, which didn't really catch John's eye at first because like, well, artists were pretty eccentric, right? And Dave was like a step beyond eccentric. John would even call Dave some kind of fucking weirdo.

But then he tilts his head and squints a little, and he thinks he can make out some words- words like... mology of brain fog resulting from additives, weaponizing the 'ingredients you can pronounce' health craze against Bet

Dave rapidly starts kicking the papers under the couch, firing off at the mouth in the most uncool tirade known to man.

"Whoah, propaganda? Did I say that?" Dave is saying, "Sounds way too fancy for my blood yo, and I know what you're thinkin'- my blood? Less than fancy? You'd sooner believe my blood was poorer than its weight in gold, and I'd be like well schucks, ya got me wasting precious hemoglobin signalin' to the audience that our happy doki doki shoujo romance is about to come into full bloom, 'cept those aftereffects roses are also too fancy for my blood so you're gonna haveta just work with me while I try to rig up the stage lighting and whatever scraps I can fish out the dumpster outside the local Red Cross to-"

As Dave continues to narrate full essays worth of weird possible-excuses, Dirk just looks over at John and says, "Bro thinks too loud." And John now knows.

As Dave somehow gets into the details of how Soviet LOTAK's demise precedented the need for more cartoon penises gratified on bilboards, John takes a sip from his obnoxious kiddie tea cup.

It's hot gatorade.

[ghcstvalleychief]

No but the Lutawolf thing pissed me offfff! I was disgusted about the Emmett Till thing because any of us with a brain saw how that comparison was awful (and even though they tried to double down and swear it was a comparison instead of just apologizing and growing from this experience) but in that post they said a lot stuff that sounded very much like victim blaming and ableism as well. The whole post was rife with it but these parts stood out:

“Now, if you accuse someone. You have to have proof. And I don't mean bruises on wrists. I give those to my submissive when I do bondage.

For instance, if it was me. I could tag several people on here who know me in real life that can verify everything I've told you guys. I could point you to court casings. There were video taps, DNA, and much more. So much that they pled guilty. Never mind that they only got five months.

So not only do we not have proof from Poi. Other than pictures that were found to be stolen. She took someone else's pictures to use as her own. Do you see what I went through. I have videos and pictures. If it had been me that she stole from, I'd make her the abuse victim she wants to be so badly. “

As someone who’s also a survivor but was very young and couldn’t provide proof for many reasons, I was met with this same attitude from people for years because I spoke out. I hate survivors with superiority complex because the rest of us that don’t fit their perfect definition end up feeling belittled and invalidated. Like this isn’t even about the Poi/Build thing it’s about making other survivors who’s story probably looked similar on the outside, feel like crap all over again. Although, I find it funny that someone who says they don’t care about one party or the other, they definitely did a good job of painting Poi as the “psycho” and Build as the poor innocent baby. That’s why comparing him and his situation to Emmett felt even worse than if they’d just left it at that. Emmett was an innocent child and Build is a grown ass man with a documented history of similar behavior. The whole post was just disgusting all around.

I was contemplating abandoning the KP fandom after you said you probably would but, after this, I think I’m out for good. So many people who I used to admire here have recently shown themselves to just have the worst opinions. Anyway, sorry I just wanted to rant. There’s a lot of drama going on so please just ignore this if you want to.

Fuck Lutawolf. You know, I said I was gonna stay off of here, but I caught wind of all this bullshit and I had to see for myself what the fuck was going on.

I had that person blocked for quite some time but I unblocked them because I want them to see everything I'm saying regarding this issue.

At the end of the day, you can defend your shitty fave without comparing that piece of shit to an innocent child who was tortured and murdered as a result of false accusations. This is NOT the same. Build is NOT Emmett Till nor are their situations the same. Build is a garbage individual who has had a pattern of being awful and everything is finally catching up to him. Build is a racist, homophobic, misogynistic piece of shit (as per his own words when he wrote that sad sob letter last year after we found out how he truly thinks). He is not being unfairly targeted due to racism or outright hatred. Actions have consequences. You can't walk through this world thinking you can say and do whatever you want without there being consequences.

That's not how this works. Fuck Build, fuck his fans/supporters/staunch defenders, and fuck anyone else who thinks they can use murdered Black children to absolve Build of any perceived guilt. You can make a point without using Black trauma to justify and manipulate people into feeling sympathy for a guilty piece of trash. The Black trauma was used to really hit everyone right in the feels so they can care enough to ignore that he has a history of being awful. His fans have covered it up and have been trying to get other people to stop talking about it for MONTHS. Since that's not working this time, I guess they have to pull out the big guns. They're spreading misinformation and trying to quiet his accuser while also trying to force the rest of his cast mates to come out and defend him when there's nothing to defend. Brands are publicly renouncing him and cutting ties with him for a reason. He's bad for business and rightfully so.

Your fave has always been a bad person and it's finally caught up to him and now everyone knows. Stan who you want. Support who you want. If you want to support a guilty man, just say that. We won't respect you but at least be honest with yourself and everyone else.

[maocin]

My Aim Is True, 1977, Elvis Costello

If you subscribe to the notion that there is such a thing as power pop, you would likely consider Elvis Costello among its practitioners. He's never been a household name in music in the same way that other, more established power pop bands are (Cheap Trick, maybe), nor has he influenced generations of musicians like Alex Chilton did with Big Star. He certainly wasn't the face of punk in Britain. There are some hits -- maybe you've heard "Pump It Up", or "Oliver's Army"? But we're not interested in hits around here. My Aim Is True, his debut album, offers easy listening, digestible power pop, while still maintaining the snark and consciousness that makes punk meaningful. It's a front to back delight, and the radio hits don't give you even half of the full experience. I want to talk about why this is one of my favorite albums of all time.

Opening Quartet

"Welcome To The Working Week" absolutely fucks. Who among us hasn't felt like a "juggler running out of hands?" This song is less than two minutes long, and in that time span -- less time than I've spent writing about it, by half -- we get a complete, mournful picture of a dead-end job with all the infectious speed of the rat race. This song walked so "Life in the Fast Lane" could run, except this one also ran, and did so five years earlier, and accomplished just as much in a fifth of the runtime.

It also blends perfectly into the next track, "Miracle Man," which is less incisive but equally enjoyable. Melodic bass and simple drums complement clean lead and distorted rhythm guitars. Focusing too closely reveals how simple everything is at its core, but overall, the song comes together perfectly and achieves much more than the sum of its parts. "Miracle Man" slows down slightly from the hectic opener, leading perfectly into the even slower "No Dancing," which even has a breakdown in the middle. These first four tracks aren't much to sneeze at, but they're maintainers of the vibe, and that's an accomplishment in and of itself. The vibe is immaculate.

Finally, we get to "Blame It On Cain". This is the clearest example of Elvis Costello's favorite lyrical trick -- writing a song that sounds complex, and just about is, but doesn't actually carry any meaning on its own. Just the shell of an interesting thought for you to fill in. It's much like (and here I brace for the gunshots) T.S. Eliot's poetry, "famously" parodied in Henry Reed's "Chard Whitlow," which you should go read right away. Pay attention, because he's gonna use this trick over and over again. Now that you see it you can't unsee it. Miracle Man and No Dancing change their tones. What does "everybody has to feel his pain" mean? You tell me. Frankly, I don't care. Four songs have gone by, and not a single syllable has been out of melodic place.

2. Wait, Not A Single Syllable Has Been Out Of Melodic Place

Have you ever tried to write music with english words? To get them aligned in the right time and key and rhythm and melody? It's next to impossible. Now take a look at the beginning of Blame It On Cain:

Once upon a time I had a little money/Government burglars took it long/Before I could mail it to you still/You are the only one Now I can't let it slip away.

How the fuck did he do that. Government is a pickup, which you think can't possible be rhythmically valid, but then the pattern is legitimized by its repetition with "before I could" and "you are the". He shifted his line endings! What the fuck! And by the way, the three syllable pickup persists through the WHOLE SONG. Blame it on Cain, then don't is on a square beat, then blame it on me. Oh oh it's no-body's fault? What? How!?

This is what I find special about Elvis Costello. He writes arguably the best lyrics in the history of the practice. Not because they're deep or interesting or good or anything like that, although we'll see some serious contenders later in the album. Simply because they always fit the music to a degree that most other artists can't begin to approach. Furthermore, he does it in one of the most rigid and difficult genres there is. You don't get room for time signature tomfoolery, messy line endings, raw vocal delivery, etc. Not in power pop. Everything has to work together tightly. If you're into theory (and I am, but I won't bore you here) you'll find Elvis Costello also has a penchant for interesting chord progressions and nontrivial song structure. Half the time you're listening to his music, though, you don't even realize. Each song is a verifiable monument to pop perfection, but still rough around the edges enough to retain the 70's Britain punk crowd. I'm sorry, but I love this album. Anyway, carrying on through the tracklist.

3. Alison And The Love Songs

Let's talk about the hit. I like it, I really do. It's slower, it's ballad-y, his voice is less than impressive (unless you're into that sort of thing, which, hey, you're in good company because I happen to have a soft spot for this guy's goofy vocals), it's a simple song, sure. But besides matters of taste, find something wrong with it. Maybe you think "can't stand to see you this way" should be delivered on the square instead of the upbeat? You've gotta reach pretty far. These kinds of songs are what should have by all rights made Elvis Costello famous: perfectly engineered, neither condescending nor overly vague, a depth of feeling matched with wonderful musical backing from the tightest band in Europe.

But it's also this kind of song that belies the real serious good meat on the album. I promise, we will get to the stuff that gave him the punk creds that validate my treatment of Welcome To The Working Week. While we're here, though, take a moment to appreciate the mixing of the vocal harmonies on the chorus. Sing the album title along with him. Bang the steering wheel in time with "stop you from talking." It's just a really, really good song. I won't say it rocks, because it doesn't, but I maintain that it's an absolute delight to listen to.

Now going on to "Sneaky Feelings," we get another gem of a guitar riff with a beautiful vocal melody, tight rhythms, and simple structural language. It's clean. It's radio presentable. Unfortunately it ends in a vamp (that piano!) and is about homewrecking. Surely relatable to many, this is nonetheless a slight putoff -- to understatate -- which prevents its being a radio hit.

But hang on, all of that was true of Alison! These two tracks are situated next to each other on the album and I don't think that's unintentional. Why is Alison an obviously acceptable radio hit, and Sneaky Feelings an obviously (at least a little bit) offputting deep track? Well, one ends with "My aim is true," and one ends with "I've still got a long way to go." Maybe the average person really does appreciate good intentions, even when the situations can only ever be identical. We get two takes on the same song, a little meta-snark from the king of being musically semiprofound.

And speaking of semiprofundity. With "(The Angles Wanna Wear My) Red Shoes" Costello delivers again a metaphor that you cannot by any means put a serious definition to. I choose to read it as a third take on the same song as Alison and Sneaky Feelings. We can learn something about writing, here. People prefer characters to concepts, and although they prefer metaphors to direct statements, invoking pathos trumps both. Sneaky Feelings is pretty upfront (theme in the title) while Red Shoes never neatly delivers its point. Indeed I'm not quite convinced it has a point at all, but I'm going an assumption in order to make a point about the precision involved in power pop. When you have all this rigidity, you need every possible choice to convey meaning. No track placement is thoughtless.

4. The rabbit hole

See how we're getting sucked down? At the beginning of this album, you might think No Dancing just carries the vibe and theme from Miracle Man so we can get to Blame It On Cain. But now you might want to pause, go back, listen to them again, see what else you can tease out now that you're aware of the depth that goes into every tiny decision on this kind of record.

Unfortunately we lack the technology to do this, rendering such a review impossible. Let's get to the damn punk already.

5. Less Than Zero

This song flopped in America. But if you're aware of World War II era British right-wing politics, you will understand a little more of what's going on. Oswald is of course Oswald Mosley, a shit-stain fascist who manages to give even the average British person a favorable comparison. That man was a despicable blight on society in inter-war Britain, and when he came back to spread more shit in the 70s, Elvis Costello wrote "Less Than Zero" as a reaction. This song is nothing less than the worst slander he could possibly come up with, plus a chorus. There's nothing inherently punk about hating fascists (everyone should hate fascists, and yet not everyone is punk) but Less Than Zero certainly does its duty in a punk way. These are the aforementioned chops and creds. Less Than Zero was his first ever single! It didn't chart, but this was how Elvis Costello chose to introduce himself to the world: as a sneering nerd in glasses ready to snort cocaine and dunk on fascists. Phenomenal work. If we could all be so lucky.

6. Does He Get The Benefit Of The Doubt?

After Less Than Zero, do you believe he's a punk firebrand? Will you find social commentary in his possibly false profundity? Let's take the next track as an example. Obviously the "Mystery Dance" is not hard to identify, but what does the song actually mean? Is he chronicling young people who grew up repressed? Is he lambasting British censorship for disallowing education in that area? Poking fun at the suggested abstinence-only practices of most churches in England? How far are you willing to read into it, how much will you pull from what he might have been talking about to combine with the scant few things that he actually is? Is "Pay It Back" about healthcare? Predatory payday loan practices? Student debt? The general idea of living by relying on promise? Trauma? Is it even from the perspective of a single person, or is the evaporating social safety net of Britain itself singing? However much rope you give him, these songs have an interpretation available.

I wish Pay It Back was the hit off this album! I wish it was Less Than Zero, or even Red Shoes. There are so many phenomenal and possibly even meaningful songs on this album. But no matter what means what, one thing is constant: the music is good. It's easy listening, it's tight, it's well-written and well-executed. That's the only kind of thinking that lets you gloss over "I'm Not Angry" without feeling somewhat sad, like you lost a half decent USB cable or maybe dropped a potato chip somewhere you know you won't be able to eat it from once you pick it up. On a great run of maybe-profound songs, we have to come to an end with this one, which is definitely and totally just about a girlfriend.

There's nothing wrong about it -- indeed, it's got some redeeming compositional qualities. Meta-snark again, albeit basic: he says he's not angry, but the song sounds angry. Don't ever let anybody say he's not clever.

Look, it's not a perfect album. The songs are really good (many are arguably perfect, depending on what you believe they were intended to accomplish) and the pacing is great, and the tracklist is intentional, but this all depends on the dance of how much do I believe Elvis Costello. Do I think he's a literary genius, or just a musical one?

It's hard to end the album. If you're thinking this constantly, arguing with yourself constantly about what you will and won't allow to be an intentional piece of artistry, you'll be so tired by the end. "Waiting For The End Of The World" is one of those profound songs, too. Try to solve the roman a clef with no brains left. See how that works out for you. "Watching the Detectives" is surely easy to figure out, too. Oh wait.

7. Why Do All This To Yourself?

Stop it!! Stop overanalyzing an old British guy! If you want to go hear a profound and meaningful album, shudder and headbang your way through Disapora Problems. Who cares about what British political figures might be the "bride", "groom", "congregation", and "beast"? Does it matter? Listen to the way the bass is mixed with the floor tom. Listen to the lead guitar wailing in the background, sliding around and twirling. Dance to that, or just tap your feet with the drums. Sing the easy lines and skip over the careful four syllable deliveries. This album is not supposed to be hard.

That's our departure from punk. That's what makes this power pop, and indeed this album is the very one that made me, personally, one of those musicians who believes in that vague vague vague genre's existence. There's nothing challenging about My Aim Is True. Nothing that warrants this many words about it. Maybe you came to that conclusion already or maybe you're just reading to hear my thoughts. In either case this is a chronology, not a final piece. I went from A to B and back to A on this album. I started thinking he just had a nice vibe going, and I could have fun listening through the album during my morning commute with "Welcome To The Working Week" to start off my day with an appropriate bang. Then I learned about Oswald Mosley and thought whoops, gotta take him seriously now and proceeded to come up with some seriously overreaching analyses that (thank goodness) have been left on the cutting room floor here. Now I've listened to this album maybe two dozen times. I love it, I think it's one of the finest offerings of any power pop artist, I think the band is perfect and the writing is stellar. I think it draws you in and tests you like very few projects to. I think it's a little much half the time and not enough the other half. It's never perfect. But it's deep, deep, deep, and you can take the rabbit hole all the way down if you want. Been there done that -- not worth it. Nothing of value is buried here.

That said, this is a phenomenal fucking album with one of the best and most consistent sounds in the genre. You WILL enjoy listening to it if you have any love in your heart for music of its ilk.

8. Postscript

Reasons you might not like this album:

You think his voice sounds weird.

You know who Big Star is and you hate them.

On a more serious note, if you expect explicitness in your authenticity, you might find this to be the work of a poser. Nothing could be further from the truth, but it's a feeling that you might have, which is perfectly capable of turning you off from the album.

This is at its core a decent album with outstanding music and sound. In the event that you don't like the music itself, just turn it off and call it a day. It's consistent across the whole album, and you will NOT find this record's salvation in its lyrics or any sort of political commentary. I recommend it because it's got the depth to stay interesting while also being a power pop musical tour de force. If you're not sure what I'm talking about just listen to Pay It Back first, and if that doesn't do it for you, don't sweat it.

However, if it does, drop a note. I'll make fun of you for reading this far.

[sexyvampkitty]

RP Mini-Solo 28: 'Love Notes To My Exes'

*To Hotness...you would disappear for months at a time, and actually thought that you had the right to be pissed at me for dumping you without your knowledge? Just how long was I supposed to wait for you to come back? I 'tried' to forgive you...but...screw it. I'm 'long' past that now...and I hope that someone stakes you...and that you end up burning in Hell along side my total bastard of an ex husband. Speaking of... To Smugness...What can I say about you? I will 'never' regret what I did to you. You proposed to me not long after we first met...married me after we'd only been together for two weeks...got some weird voodoo hex put on you while we were on our honeymoon in the Bahamas...and ended up getting me 'pregnant' with magical vampire babies. Then...not long after they were born...you just decided to leave one night without telling me. So much for the promise of the eternity ring that you gave me, huh? Screw you...and I hope that you're enjoying your time in Hell with my first ex boyfriend. To Ruthless and your psycho twin...one of you was my boyfriend...and the other was my 'fuck' friend with benefits...though I can't remember which one of you was which now...not that it really matters. I don't have enough words to describe what the two of you did to me. Between stabbing me with the Tunde dagger and leaving me to suffer...to killing me then shoving my body into a wood chipper of all things...then giving my 'flesh' to the Grill to make people burgers...leaving me helpless as I was forced to watch all of that from the 'Other Side'...the Sarc burgers part...not the dagger part...just to clarify. Then...one of you chained me up in the basement...just because I decided to get a little too 'frisky' with another Damon twin...which...okay...was 'kind of' my fault...still...you left me there to starve...before Christmas no less. Both of you collectively screwed me over...and I hope that you're both also rotting in Hell. Let's see...that covers four...now onto five... To ex number five...I'm sorry...I can't remember what you called yourself...anyway...you broke up with me...twice...so I really don't have much to say to you either. You left the first time...without a word...then...when you came back...you even tried to make it up to me by proposing to me...and it was lucky for me that I said that I'd 'think' about it...because...big surprise...you left again...in silence. I went to Hell and back for you...literally...so...yeah...screw you too...and...ummm...that's all. To my last ex...Abandon...what can I say to you that hasn't already been said? I'm still not sure what happened between us. I thought we were forever...and it sucks that you broke up with me, without telling me that anything was wrong leading up to that point. You just decided to leave me. That seems to be a pattern when it comes to everyone that I've dated so far. You gave me lots of nice gifts...took me out on nice dates...we were together for a few months...I thought that everything was fine...and then you turned around and broke up with me right after Christmas. Rude....and total Deja Vu...sort of. I hated you for a long time...but...honestly...I don't have the energy for that anymore...plus...my humanity switch is off right now...so...that point is moot. Anyways...I will say this...I hope that you and Rebekah are happy...that you'll 'always' be happy...and that the two of you will have lots and 'lots' of 'hot' vampire sex together. There...that's everyone...let's just hope that I never have to add potential boyfriend number seven to this list of love slash hate notes.* [End]

[lilambs]

hiiii could you write something with Eddie x shy! reader and prey/predator/chasing?

hi peach..i don’t know how i feel abt this. 😔 if this isn’t what you asked for/like you’re more than welcome to resubmit and i will try again.

c/w: domestication, cnc, smut (reader does consent to everything, it is just extreme foreplay.)

-

“come out come out wherever you are..” eddie sung, swinging the wooden bat he had in his hand with a flashlight in the other.

your breathing pattern started to turn from small gentle huffs to full on panting. you placed your hand over your mouth, tears filling your eyes as you looked around the dark setting.

you took a small step forward, paralyzing in fear at the sound of dead leaves crushing under your foot.

you were a goner.

“aww pretty girl is that you?” he cooed. “i won’t hurt you honey. although, you’ve got about five seconds to come out or i’ll knock your fucking teeth out.”

you started to cry, you balled a piece of your dress up before stuffing it inside your mouth to stifle your whimpers.

it didn’t take a genius to realize that eddie knew exactly where you were, that if he really wanted to he could snatch you and drag you home.

but he wanted to have a little fun.

you heard the sound of his leather boots dominating the floor underneath him as he got closer and closer to you.

so you made a run for it.

you refused to turn around and look back, afraid of what you might see if you did. you were full on sprinting, your lungs starting to burn as your breathing grew even more labored than before. adrenaline coursing through your veins.

eddie gave you about ten seconds of false hope before he stood behind a tree that was three feet ahead of you, placing his bat toward the ground.

low and behold, you tripped on it. you let out a cry as you felt his ring littered hand hold a tight grip on your ankle, preventing you from even attempting to crawl or get up again.

he placed his knee against your back, using his free hand to yank your hair back, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“there’s two ways this can go. one, you let me have my way with you free of restrictions or complaints. two, i break your fucking legs, making you helpless. allowing me to penetrate however i want and how long i want to.” eddie grunted, the aching in his pants begging to be taken care of.

he began to roughly tear your dress apart. immediately becoming face to face with your fear ridden cunt, it quivering and clenching from what was a mixture of pure fright and the cold midnight air brushing against it.

without a word you tried wiggling around, in hopes of releasing yourself from his grip.

he chuckled from amusment, “option two it is babydoll.”

“please please no..please.” you cried, panic raising in your tone. you started thrashing around.

eddie felt his cock twitch at the thought of you being at his mercy. he leaned over and grabbed his bat before standing up.

he raised his arms above his head before swinging down aiming straight for your legs.

the overbearing sound of your throat wrenching screams and your femur shattering against his bat could be hurt from a mile away. he raised his arms again and swung once more for good measure.

your face crumpled in pain as eddie was quite literally breaking your legs, being unable to cry any further you just winced and whimpered as the world around you became dim.

he immediately got on his knees again and got to work; he leaned down before placing his nose right on top of your cunt, the bridge of his nose prodding against your clit. he grinned at the feeling of your slick sticking itself to his skin.

“ohh, someone liked when i did that, huh? not as innocent as you let on sweetheart. you’re a fucking disgusting little girl aren’t you?”

your protests were cut short as he slapped your cunt before shoving his index finger inside, roughly pumping in and out of you.

you couldn’t move, so you were left with a excruciating burning pain in both your poor violated cunt and your legs. you had no choice but to take it.

“that’s enough prep for the night don’t you think? need my cock to fucking break you in half. tiny cunt doesn’t stand a chance huh baby?”

[modelbus]

hey!! can you maybe write a dream x fem!reader (romantic) where the reader is australian and flys out to see dream irl for the first time (they are a faceless streamer and he doesnt know what she looks like) and is suprised to see her bc he didnt know like george and sapnap set it up!!

and it ends in cuddles and dream making fun of her accent

I’ve never written an Australian reader, but I did some research into common words/speech patterns so hopefully I didn’t mess it up too badly

Pairing: CC!Dream x fem!reader (romantic)

Day Dream

As you exit the plane, you can't help but be startled at the Orlando airport's atmosphere. You've lived in Australia your whole life, but that didn't mean you hadn't traveled before. Just never to America.

Luckily there were signs pointing you as to where to go, so you follow those. Soon enough you've grabbed your suitcase off the baggage claim and are ready to try and find Sapnap and George. They said they were going to pick you up, but who really knows with them. Plus you were faceless, so all the responsibility fell upon you to find them.

“What the fuck is the point of having people pick you up if they can’t give you a clear direction?” You mumble to yourself, staring down at the group chat you have with them.

Wandering through the pick up area, you’re resigned to just walking until you find them. After about five minutes of lugging a heavy ass suitcase around, you finally spot a familiar face holding a whiteboard.

Sapnap hadn’t even bothered to erase George’s name from it, just crossing it out and writing yours under it like an idiot. Speaking of George, he was noticeably missing from the scene. Maybe he had stayed in the car, because he was definitely part of the reason why you took so long to find them.

“Sapnap!” You call out.

His head jerks your way, eyes going straight past you to scan the entire crowd before skeptically returning to you. As a reward for guessing you right, you give an awkward wave and speed-walk towards him.

“Hey! How are you?” You ask.

“Pretty fucking great! Hug me!” Is his enthusiastic response.

Obliging, you drop your hold on your suitcase and step in for a brief hug.

“George passed out in the backseat a minute ago.” Sapnap laughs, “so sorry about that. We have to put your suitcase in the trunk.”

“The trunk of your Tesla!”

“Eh.” He shrugs, trying to play it off as cool.

“You love your car.” You point out, following him to the back of it.

“It’s a cool car! Here, hand me it.”

After he situates it to his liking, he pauses. “Right side is passenger.”

“What?”

“American. We drive on the right side of the road. George tried to get in driver first, so I thought I’d warn you.”

With a grateful smile, you nod. “Thanks.”

“I call dibs on teaching you how to drive here though.”

“Wait, you’re what?”

Sapnap laughs, heading to get into his car. You quickly hurry to the right side door, opening it and sliding in before him.

“Sapnap, you’re what?!”

“Shh, the beauty queen is sleeping.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you look at George. Just as Sapnap had said, he was dead asleep leaning against the door.

“What the fuck did you guys do?”

“We tired Dream out so he wouldn’t notice us leaving.” He admits.

“Did it work?”

“No, but that’s because George tripped over Patches.”

What the fuck went on in that house?

As he starts driving in some random direction, you settle for looking out the window at Orlando. Before long your thoughts turn to Dream and the idea of actually being with the Dream Team for a few weeks.

Despite dating Dream for the past year, you had never met in person. Hell, he had never even seen your face! But that was why Sapnap and George helped set this up. You coming all the way here was a surprise for him. No more daydreaming about meeting him. Hopefully he wouldn’t be disappointed by you.

“Where are we?” George mumbles, sitting up and looking around.

“Good morning princess.” Sapnap teases, laughing.

“Get your beauty rest?” You join in.

He jolts, eyes going wide. “What?!”

“Hey.”

“She’s here! You’re here! And you sound- you sound Australian!”

“Woah, almost like I’m from Australia!”

“Shut up. Did I sleep through the airport?”

“Yeah, you did.” Sapnap shakes his head.

“I was tired! It’s not easy outlasting Dream!”

There’s a beat of silence before the entire car bursts into laughter at the unintentional sex joke. From that moment onwards any tensions from meeting for the first time vanish, turning back to your normal friendships. Or as normal as it gets with Sapnap and George.

“Holy shit.” You murmur when Sapnap turns into the house.

“Dream wasn’t kidding when he said he was a multi-millionaire.” Sapnap jokes.

“It’s huge, I’m still not used to it.” George adds.

“Alright.” Sapnap announces, turning the car off. “Are you ready for this?”

“I saw George’s vlog, you know. Don’t use your recycled pep talk on me.”

Although you probably could do with a pep talk, even recycled, you open your door and step out.

“At least I offer pep talks!” He yells through the closed door, before stepping out and repeating it.

“I can give pep talks!” George argues, following you two.

“Prove it then.”

“I will.”

“I’m fine without one.” You interject, looking behind you at George only to falter upon seeing his camera. “Are you recording?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sapnap immediately says, “don’t let the gate close on you, it closes fast. Ready?”

He pauses by the door, hand on the handle with a teasing grin.

“I sat outside for like three minutes.” George shrugs.

“Ready.” You lie, preferring to rip off the bandaid than slowly peel it off.

With that, Sapnap opens the door. It creaks just a little, the floors making noise when each of you enter.

“Dream!” Sapnap yells.

“Ow.” George groans, stepping away. “You didn’t have to be so loud right next to my ear.”

“Where have you guys been?!” Dream yells back, and you jump.

Holy shit. He was real. He was somewhere in this fucking house right now. And you were about to meet him. Dream had FaceTimed you second, right after George, but being in person was just different.

“Ohhh Clay!” Sapnap yells again, ignoring George’s protests.

“What did you fuck up?!”

“Your mom!”

“Stop yelling!” George yells.

“You’re scaring Patches guys.” Dream complains, rounding a corner with Patches on his heels. She quickly vanishes at the sight of you though. “And there she goes. What-“

The abrupt silence fills the air with tension, and you meet his eyes.

“Hey.” You awkwardly say.

“YEAHH!” Sapnap cheers, breaking Dream out of his shock. “KISS!”

“Sapnap!” You and Dream exclaim in unison.

“I’m just saying what we’re all thinking here.”

“Yeah I- I’m coming in for a hug.” He says sheepishly, opening his arms and heading towards you.

Immediately, you wrap your arms around him in a tight hug.

“You’re so fucking pretty.” He whispers.

You laughs, leaning upwards to kiss him. It’s short and sweet, and technically your first kiss, but it’s perfect.

Even Sapnap and George cheering don’t ruin it.

“How are you here?!” He exclaims, pulling apart only to wrap an arm around your waist.

“Me.” George says.

“This was my idea first!” Sapnap protests.

“But I made it happen! I literally had to message her!”

“You fell asleep at the airport!”

“How about we give me the credit because I fucking flew here from Australia?” You ask.

“Your accent.” Dream points out.

“Wow, you’re all a bunch of geniuses.”

“I mean it’s stronger in person.” He huffs, rolling his eyes in what you think is an affectionate way.

“The Australian has an Australian accent! Oh no!”

“Accent.” He mocks, smiling at you.

“Common L for you.” Sapnap sighs.

“Can I do the house tour?” George asks suddenly, looking eager.

“You barely know the house.” Dream points out.

“I know it perfectly. This way is the bathroom.”

“Wrong way.”

“I knew that, obviously.”

Dream laughs but let’s George and Sapnap lead the way in the actual direction of the bathroom.

“I can’t believe you’re actually here.” He whispers to you, a dopey smile on his face.

“Me either.” You admit. “But I’m here to stay for a little.”

He steals another quick kiss from you before looking up at the backs of George and Sapnap. “Quick, let’s catch up before they realize we aren’t paying attention.”

-

“Repeat that.” All you had wanted was to watch a movie with your boyfriend in person for the first time, but apparently that was too much to ask for.

“I’m not going to repeat it!”

Dream laughs, a movement you can feel because of how you’re pressed to his chest. His arms hold you to him, not allowing you to escape. Being able to cuddle is new, but very welcome.

“Oh come on, it’s cute! Say oat milk.”

“This is bullying!”

“Say it!”

“This is so fucked, how could you do this to me?”

“After.”

You sigh and give in. “After.”

He laughs again, making you smile.

“Ever think that you’re the one with the weird accent?” You challenge.

“No.” With a sweet kiss to your temple, he speaks again. “Say the Cleo line?”

“Oh my God-“

[erodasfishtacos]

HSLOT PHILLY

Like, comment, share, and come talk if you enjoyed the fic.

I write for free - so if you would like to support my work, you can donate here.

-

Harry is predictable.

He falls into the same patterns during every tour since he was on the Up All Night with One Direction.

The excitement that comes with the first couple of shows begins to fade as he starts his world wide tour that doesn’t end for nearly eight months.

His constant adrenaline wears off and his exhaustion from not having toured in two years settles deep in his bones.

YN senses it from a mile away, has nearly eleven years experience dealing with her jet-lagged, exhausted, and stubborn husband.

It hits the day of the Philadelphia show, they got in late the night before, and YN always set her alarm for seven thirty in the morning to workout.

Ninety-five percent of the time, Harry got up with her and they either did a jog around the new city or they took advantage of the in-hotel gym.

Four percent of the time, he would whine and tug the comforter over his head, whimpering, “M’too tired, baby. Stay in bed w’me.”

And then the one percent, which was today.

The alarm emits a low, constant beep that rouses YN, in the time she takes to rub her eye and come back into reality - Harry hisses with a sharp edge, “Turn tha’ fuckin’ thing off.”

She bites her tongue at his tone, reaching to turn it off but she can already tell what day they’re going to have.

YN slips out from under the covers and automatically gets a comment from her husband, it another whiney demand, “Cover m’feet, y’too the blanket off them.”

“Yes, your majesty,” YN replies reproachfully, rearranging the blankets before quietly moving around the room to change.

“Stop makin’ so much noise.”

“Turn off tha’ light.”

“S’too early f’this, d’you not care that m’tired?”

She chooses to ignore the remarks, hoping that he can sleep off the attitude.

When YN is about to leave, he grumbles, “Y’need to kiss me goodbye.”

Harry purses his lips for a soft kiss, not moving a muscle, and after that - she leaves to head down to the gym.

YN is required a body guard, definitely when she isn’t with Harry or a group of people, and she decided not to follow those rules today.

She had her TPWK water bottle in hand, a cute workout set on ***, and her AirPods tucked in her ear with some Spice Girls playing.

It’s only about twenty minutes into her exercise, a light jog on the treadmill, that a young girl slips up beside the machine.

YN is kind, stopping the belt to smile for a selfie before the girl scampers off and she resumes her run - music blasting.

However, what YN didn’t know, is that fans had found out early in the morning which hotel they where at and a hoard was rushing towards the small gym.

It’s not even ten minutes later when a swarm of fans in rushing into the work area, lining up around her machine with their phones flashing and recording.

She tries to be nice, “Hey! Uh, I’m just trying to workout. I’m sorry, but no pictures please.”

Then there is loud protest and people shoving each other, begging and pleading for a selfie or for her to sign something - all because she was Harry’s wife.

There is literally no exit to escape to, so she relents and anxiously calls Frank - one of the body guards - to come retrieve her.

-

The whole way back up to her hotel room, Frank is lecturing her about safety and how she could have gotten hurt.

And when he scans the keycard for her hotel room, she feels her stomach drop because Harry is sat against the kitchen counter.

His brown locks are rumpled and going every which way, just in his briefs that are low on his narrow hips, and absolutely irate expression on his face.

“Are y’fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Harry snaps, brow furrowed and jaw clenched - his arms were crossed tightly against his chest.

“Good morning to you, sunshine,” YN mutters, shutting the door and kicking off her tennis shoes to the side.

“Don’t,” Harry replies sourly, “Please explain t’me why I get woken up by Frank to be told y’getting mobbed in the gym? And y’didn’t to call him.”

YN bristles at his tone, giving him a pointed look as she steps further into the room, “It’s not a big deal. I just wasn’t thinking.”

“Y’right about that, y’weren’t thinkin’. It is a big deal, y’could have gotten hurt - shouldn’t have t’babysit m’own wife,” Harry huffs, stomping back over to the bed and sliding back under the covers.

“You better watch your tone-“

They’re interrupted with a knock to their door, Harry throws the covers over his head and leaves YN to open the door.

It’s Jeff, who barges in with a coffee in one hand, “Come on, H. Did you forget? You have soundcheck early today and then you have to meet with FullStop to review the details of that new merchandise contract.”

“No, move it,” The popstar groans, muffled from the heavy blankets over him, and his manager and wife give each other a knowing look.

“We can’t. Get up, we need to leave in fifteen,” Jeff replies casually, unbothered as he sips from his to-go mug.

It has Harry dramatically ripping off the covers and getting out of bed, as he charges off towards the bathroom, he shouts backwards, “Wish someone would have fuckin’ told me! Like m’manager or m’wife!”

“Oh my god, here we go,” YN groans quietly to Jeff, snatching up the few things she needs for the venue as well as Harry’s and shoving them in his duffle.

He comes out a few moments later, dressed in running shorts and a vintage Queen shirt - going to tug on his Nikes without a word to either.

But in true Harry fashion, even when he’s mad, he’s still a gentleman. He slips the duffle off his wife’s shoulder so she doesn’t have to carry it.

“Thank you,” She murmurs but he avoids eye contact, being the first to open the hotel room and trudge towards the awaiting car.

It’s a quiet ride, Harry looks out the window with a deep frown and puffy eyes - eyes heavy from the lack of sleep.

Usually, he’d be curled into YN - snuggling as close as possible and asking for her to pet his hair to soothe him.

Not today. But he does have his hand on her thigh.

There’s already fans at the arena and Harry doesn’t acknowledge them - keeps his head down and walks quickly into the private entrance past the barricades.

When a irritated fan screams, “Asshole! We waited all night here for you!”

YN watches as Harry goes to turn, to say something but she pushes him forward through the door to prevent him from doing something he’d regret when wasn’t in a foul mood.

They manage through the long hallways, filled with bustling tour crew, and everybody there to make the show happen.

Sound check isn’t as fun as it usually is, the band stays low-key when Harry does exactly what he needs to do and nothing more.

And after the merch meeting, Harry has reached his limit apparently.

He was so tired, so fucking moody that he couldn’t deal with anymore human interaction.

YN has to step in when she gets a text from Harry Lambert.

Come get your husband. Sarah’s Kitchen.

She sighs, excusing herself from hanging out with Jeff and Glenne - she can hear him from the hallway and now she’s finally get irritated.

“I asked for that specific brand. It’s literally one of the only things I’ve asked for on this tour.”

YN takes a deep breathe before stepping in, there are crew trying not to stare as Harry complains to Sarah about something unimportant.

“Harry,” She says flatly, “Come on.”

He snatches his water bottle and follows his wife out without another word, trailing behind until they end up in his dressing room.

“You need to stop. You’re being a literal nightmare today,” YN tells him, watching him as he digs in the duffle.

“Where is m’charger? Did y’not pack it?” He ignores her words.

“I must have forgot. Harry, I know you’re tired but you can’t be treating everyone like-“

Harry pushes back the bag, seething for no reason, “I’ll treat people however the fuck I want!”

“You’re acting like a spoiled popstar right now,” YN replies, attempting to stay level-headed and calm with him.

“S’my show! M’tour!”

“Yes and everyone is here to support you and you’re treating them like shit. Including me, I’m your wife - the one person in the world that’s here for you no matter what and you’re being downright mean.”

“Y’so fuckin’ sensitive,” Harry mutters angrily, digging around to try to find a charger in a different bag.

And…that stung a bit.

When he doesn’t get a response, he looks up and notices how her demeanor had changed - it brings him back to reality for a little bit.

“I’m not going to stay here and be talked to like that because you don’t feel good. I’ll leave you alone because you are being insufferable.”

“Bab-“

YN is already out the door, storming back to Sarah’s kitchen to apologize for her husband’s diva behavior and everyone shrugs her off - knowing it’s not her fault.

She is sat down with the band and a few others when her husband saunters in, he doesn’t look at anyone else as he walks up to his wife.

“Baby, can I talk to you?” He mumbles, his warm hand coming to cup her shoulder.

“Harry,” YN says back, they’ve been together for so long that those words are all she needs to say for him to formulate a response.

“Come nap w’me please, need you. I’ll apologize t’you,” Harry says, his palm encompassing and big on her.

“Harry,” She repeats.

The crew looks on in amusement as Harry huffs, he lifts his head and speaks loudly to the room at once, “I apologize for my behavior. I have no excuse for getting upset like I have been today. I hope you guys can forgive me.”

Everyone assures him that they forgive him, most of them have dealt with actual spoiled celebrities and Harry was just having a bad day (which still really wasn’t that bad.)

“Okay, come on, bunny,” YN agrees, satisfied and can’t help but smile a bit when she stands up and Harry automatically intertwines their fingers to hold her hand.

The sofa in his dressing room folds out to be a bed and they still had hours before the show.

Once they’ve locked the doo and settled down on the mattress - they’re both laying on their sides, facing each other.

“M’sorry, darlin’,” Harry whispers, “I haven’t been very nice t’you today. I was just upset about the gym thing and just being so tired.”

YN hums, combing throwing his fluffy curls with her fingers as his hands explore over her hips and belly like always.

“You always get like this every once in a while on tour, like a little spoiled popstar,” YN says softly, no sharpness in her tone, “You also need to be nice to your wife.”

“M’always nice t’my wife,” He mumbles childishly, leaning forward to nip at her chin, “I am sorry, know tha’ when I act like that it embarrasses you.”

“You’re better than acting like that,” YN reminds him, allowing him to tug her into his warm, now bare chest, “I’m never gonna let you turn into some fame monster. You’re gonna stay the kind, funny, compassionate person I met when I was young.”

And when YN doesn’t get a reply, she glances to see Harry’s eyes shut, mouth slightly parted as he breathes rhythmically and his entire face relaxes as he sleeps.

“Still my boy,” YN murmurs lovingly, nuzzling before letting sleep overtake her.

-

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

Had this idea from a dream slowly teasing Jay with a cock ring

Yes 😈

Tag: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @letsgivethisonemoreshot , @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @damnnhausen , @starwithaheart , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @cuzimacomedian , @baysexuality , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @sldghmmr , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234

Sweat pooled on his forehead

His tongue licked his lips once every five minutes

His strong jaw changed from open and relaxed to clenched within seconds apart

A deep, concentrated frown appeared between his eyebrows as Jay tried his best to keep his focus away from the feeling around his shaft

He should keep his eyes closed to further block the view of you kneeling down at his feet, but the sight was too good to look away.

“That’s right, daddy. Look at me” You smirked before tracing with your tongue a vein on the side of his shaft that became incredibly thick due to the pressure of the ring at his base

The tip was slightly blushed with a pink, rosy color, and the extra sensitivity made even the slightest breeze capable of making him moan loudly.

Jay’s eyelids fell heavily and his mouth was hung open as you turned up the vibrations intensity on the app “Oh my fucking…shit, shit. I can’t fucking…Oh my fuck, goddamn!”

“You look so pretty like this, Jamie” You teased

“Stop calling me that” The reprimand came out more like a begging than a threat

“Oh that attitude will be a problem” You tsked your tongue before your thighs came to rest on each side of his face on the mattress. “You should know better than to have a smart mouth with me…Jamie”

“You know I fucking hate being called that” Jay growled before a small moan escaped his lips

Your clit bumped the tip of Jay’s nose and your slick entrance was mere inches away from his lips.

“That attitude” You warned

“What are you gonna do about that, honeybee?” Jay eyes held that familiar daring gleam inside of them

“Me? Oh, I don’t know” You took your phone in your hand and tapped on the screen twice with a knowing smirk on your face

Jay’s words died on his throat when the vibration pattern changed between slow and intense to rapid and frantic.

“Holy shit, this is gonna make me cum so much” He chuckled before moaning “Oh fuck, honeybee” When your hand cupped his balls.

“Jamie, Jamie, Jamie…when will you learn?” Your hands massaged his heavy testicles and your fingers soon found his overly sensitive tip.

Your thumb stroked the small hole that oozed with pre cum and that alone made Jay scream with pleasure.

“I’m the real boss around here” You chuckled when he only moaned back “Oh you fucking brat, you’ll pay for this…after I cum, you’ll see what I’m gonna do to you” He panted frantically

“Oh shut up” You laughed before sinking your core in his mouth “Why don’t you show me what that tongue can do besides talking trash?”