#drabble /

[angstandhappiness]

HEH

Add realism to your fantasy stories by having characters from different backgrounds struggle to pronounce each others' names.

"My name is [low guttural sound] but I don't want to hear you butcher it. So you may call me She Who Arises With The Cold Mountain Sun."

"...Is that what your name really means? All that in just one word?"

"Yes. If you stress the wrong syllable it comes out as 'She Who Coldly Wakes Up The Mountain Sun', or 'The Cold Woman Who Wakes The Mountain Sun', and you will not call me that."

"Oh, huh. Could we just call you Mountain Sun, for short?"

"Hmh. It's boastful, almost bordering on blasphemy, but it is flattering. I accept it."

[mischief-and-the-big-bad-wolf]

Stiles snuck a look at Derek from the corner of his eye, sitting in the booth beside him, before inching his hand towards Derek's plate. He quickly snuck a few curly fries, having finished his in five minutes of being served. His eyes caught Lydia's who was sitting across from him and he blushed when she raised an eyebrown at him, sticking his tongue out at her before chomping down on the fries. Seeing Derek still distracted talking to Boyd, he snuck a few more handfuls from his plate.

Without stopping his conversation with Boyd, Derek slid the rest of his fries off his plate and onto Stiles'. Stiles looked at him in surprise, his scent sweetening with love and happiness, making Derek turn to him.

Derek pressed a kiss to Stiles' temple and asked, "Want some more, baby?" He didn't wait for Stiles' reply, instead calling over the waitress and placing an additional order for the curly fries.

Stiles flushed red and kissed Derek's shoulder, leaning his head there after. Derek shifted his arm to curl around Stiles' waist and pulled him in closer. Stiles picked up a fry and held it to Derek's mouth, giggling when Derek playfully snapped his teeth around his fingers.

"You two are disgusting," Scott complained, wrinkling his nose.

"I think it's sweet," Erica simpered.

"Thank you, Erica," Stiles pointedly said towards Scott. "We're no less disgusting than you and Allison."

Scott opened his mouth but before he could say anything, Derek said, "Enough."

"Yeah, Scott, enough," Stiles added, throwing a teasing look at Scott.

"Love," Derek sighed, an exasperated fond look on his face.

"What? He started it!" Stiles exclaimed, pointing at Scott.

Derek rolled his eyes and mumbled, "I'm surrounded by a bunch of children."

"Children, huh? I'll show you children," Stiles murmured, scooping a dollop of ketchup onto his pointer finger and smearing it on Derek's cheek.

Derek leaned away from him and hissed, "Seriously? We're in public, baby."

Stiles just raised his brows at him in response, in a 'what are you going to do about it' way. Derek smirked and locked his arms Stiles, who shrieked and wiggled trying to get away. Derek leaned in and smushed his cheek against Stiles', spreading the ketchup on both of them.

"How do you like that?" Derek teased, pulling back but still keeping Stiles in his arms.

Stiles' answer got cut off by the arrival of the waitress who asked them to be a bit quieter as the other patrons were being disturbed.

Derek's ears turned red in a blush and Stiles' cooed at him, licking the ketchup from his cheek before pressing a few kisses there.

"I don't know why I still hang out with you guys," Lydia snarked, looking at them with a disgusted expression.

"Cause you love us, Lyds," Stiles crooned as Derek wiped the ketchup off Stiles' face with a tissue paper.

[randomfandomworks]

You pushed the eyeshadow palette to the side as Rumi laid below you, watching you decide on what to do next. You’d been bugging her for a while now about designing her show makeup and it was on this dull day in the middle of their break that she had finally agreed.

It wasn’t professional, or high effort, it was simply an idol and her partner sprawled out in bed. The weight of your chest laid on hers, your elbows propping you up just enough to look down at her as you created your masterpiece. You placed some blush to her cheeks, a light dust of color to finish off what you’d been working so hard on.

You set the blush aside, readjusting your weight to look down at Rumi once more, your eyes wandering over her features to take in what you had created. Halfway through your observations you stopped, your gaze lingering on her patterns. Slowly you brought your hand up, brushing your fingers over the patterns that spread across her forehead. Your eyes traced the movement memorizing the shape as your fingers ran along her skin.

“I’m glad you don’t cover them up.” You spoke softly, your fingers moving further up to tuck back some of her loose hairs.

She looked at you silently for a moment, watching you focus, holding onto the gentleness within your stare. “Yeah?” She responded, her voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, bringing your hand down to cup her cheek, “Yeah.” You finalized meeting her gaze.

A warmth settled in her chest, something about you, your acceptance of what she’d tried to hide for so long, made her fall even harder for you.

And maybe, she thought after a moment, you’d have to do her makeup more often.

[0crispinn]

it’s all over my hands..and the screen..and the floor..and my face....who made that mess..

[shedreamerwings]

this puts the OG Swan Lake in a whole new context... [excuse me]

Her nails bent and snapped, scraping against the rocks as she clawed and crawled up the mountain. He was right behind her, she could feel his hot, acrid breath on her ankles. The screams of her sisters filled the night air.

Odette grabbed a rock that jutted right up into the air, sinking her bleeding fingers into the cracks of the mountainside and hauling herself over the edge. Tears left streaks in the dirt on her cheeks and dripped off her chin. Her vision blurred. She pushed harder with her toes and gripped the rock with both hands, heaving herself over the edge. Her soles slipped on the slick rock, and she stumbled.

"You don't have to do this," Rothbart shouted, using the blood-marked handholds. "You don't have to do this. Think of all you have to live for!"

Odette whirled to face him, gasping and wiping her face with her sleeves. "Like what?" She walked backwards.

Rothbart slowly stretched upright, now on the same shelf she was. "Like me--"

"Like you?" She mocked, laughing mirthlessly. "You're not worth living for."

He lunged for her, but she was a feather faster. Tripping over her feet, she half-spun, half-fell, and jumped out, putting as much distance between her and the rock as possible. She didn't jump far enough and slid down the rock to another ledge thirty feet below.

Without looking for Rothbart, she jumped out and this time, she fell. An imperfect swan dive towards the lake below.

For the third time in her life, Odette chose herself. The water's surface split open with hardly a splash.

She had jumped too late. The sun was already rising.

As someone who's been a lover of traditional folk music from the British Isles for several decades, one thing I've learned is that "True Love" didn't always mean what you think it means. In the older songs, "true love" is not some mystical quality, some type of connection that is magically better than other Loves. No. A love that is "true" merely means that your Love is "true TO YOU." "True" as in faithful and loyal and trustworthy. A lover who will stand by you and with you no matter what comes. True the way a good sword is True. True the way a good knight is loyal. The contrast is "False Love," which is a lover who betrays you, who cannot be trusted.

"True Love" isn't something you find, it's a vow and a choice that you make, every day, to BE TRUE.

[kumasakka]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❝ 𝐅𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐑 ! ❞

　despite having an official girlfriend, known to the whole world, he doesn’t catch a break from his beloved fans. or quick reminder that he married his fan number one + social’s !

ft. itoshi sae , iglesias bunny , kaiser michael.

content. 1.8k wc, slightly suggestive, dirty thoughts, freaky / off-handed comments, crack, unserious, spoiler - free, up to 0.5k words each drabble, isagi makes insensitive jokes, inspired by freaky tiktok comments.

author’s note. I had so much fun writing this because this is lowkey how I act whenever I see them but not that freaky. be so for real, that’s how you would act when they were your boyfriend hehe. part two?

ITOSHI SAE.

　SPEAKING frankly, it's not like you are weird or anything. Not as weird as some of his fans — but you're definitely weird. Again, in a positive way though. You're weird in a positive way.

Can someone even consider this as a positive?

Your own boyfriend is cringed out by you sometimes, giving you weird stares as if you're his fangirl. Only that you are his fangirl and he knows it. He knows you'd watch every match of his until your dying breath.

"Hehe..." you sighed out dreamily, leaning against your palm.

Watchful eyes following Sae's every movement while he was trying to eat in peace. You two were at home, you cooked something delicious and now you kept him company while he was eating.

"Something wrong?" he wiped his mouth with a tissue.

His pretty teal eyes blinking ever so slowly, his long lashes adorning his face and highlighting the colour of his eyes. You could die in peace and you meant every word when you said that.

"Nothing..." you lied smoothly, letting out a giggle.

A giggle that reminds him of his fangirls and also fanboys.

God, you couldn't hell yourself though. He was so fucking hot, face so handsome and body built like the greek statues, his »I don't give a fuck«-personality fits him so well and his nonchalant attitude.

Suddenly you dropped a—

"You're so hot." you stared at his features, lips curling into a smirk.

"Oh. Thanks." he returns back to eating, not minding your comment.

And then — you stood up from your chair, only to move closer so you can sit closer to your boyfriend.

"I'm so lucky." you started off slowly, leaving him wonder for a second. "I see what Shidou sees."

"Shidou?" he deadpanned at the mention of Shidou Ryusei.

"Ugh, stop talking about him." you frowned, waving your hand dismissively.

"Didn't you start with him?" he glanced at you from the corner of his eyes.

"Oh wow..." you gasped, "do that again."

"Do what?" he glanced at you again from the corner of his eyes.

"THAT!" you couldn't contain your giggles anymore as you pushed his plate away from him, latching yourself onto him. "UGH YOU'RE SO FINE, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!"

"Ah..." he trailed off, patting your back as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"I wanna smash my lips against yours." you whispered, voice muffled because of his clothes. "And this definitely isn't the only thing I'm smashing today."

"[name]..." he deadpanned again, your fan behaviour insufferable yet cute in its own way.

"Yes, my darling husband? My sexy, handsome, beautiful and attractive Sae?" you giggled dreamily against his shirt, feeling his arms around your figure.

"Let me finish my food." he paused, "please?"

"Of course!" you distanced yourself again before taking the spoon into your hand. "Say ahh."

Spoiler alert: he didn't open his mouth.

"Mmh?" you hummed in confusion, then blew lightly against the hot meal, "the plane is coming! Say ahh!"

"Ahh..." he parted his lips reluctantly.

"Good boy!" you teased him.

"Never ever say that again."

　┌──────────────────┐

❤️ 112.8k. 💬 3.221 ⌲ 9.2k.

itoshisaesonlygf gender is NOT the same as sex. gender is what you identify as, while sex is what i'll be having with @official.itoshisae tonight. stay informed.

official.itoshisae respectfully back off.

　⤷ itoshisaesonlygf guys he’s only shy !!

　⤷ ryuassei.only I knew you wouldn’t cheat

　　　me pookie wookie dookie cutie patootie ❤️

　　⤷ itoshisaesonlygf keys and livestream it

ryuassei.only imagine faking a relationship 🤣

　⤷ itoshisaesonlygf blocked banned reported

　⤷ rinnie_poo gtfo weirdo

　⤷ userrando1112 what rin and [name] said !!

ryuassei.only IM FUCKING JEALOUS LOCK UR DOORS YOU WITCH IM BURNING DOWN YOUR HOUSE

　⤷ itoshisaesonlygf what a weirdo

　　⤷ itoshisaesonlygf get em banned

　　⤷ userrando3424 already did o7

rinnie_poo hoping that guy is stepping on lego stones, his socks get wet, spoon falling into the bowl and stubs his toe against something.

　⤷ itoshisaesonlygf I love you rin

　　⤷ rinnie_poo call me if he’s being an asshole.

　⤷ hide.its.slursagi what a lovely greeting lol

　　⤷ rinnie_poo shut the fuck up

　　⤷ ryuassei.only “SYBAU 💔🥀” ahh

　　⤷ rinnie_poo you’re getting crushed anyway

　　⤷ itoshisaesonlygf SHOW THEM !!!!

　　⤷ ryuassei.only ho is u a traitor? 🥀🥀

itoshisaesonlygf omfg he looks so good I wanna give him the sloppiest, wettest, best kiss ever

　⤷ itoshisae.official I’m right here.

userrando0010 we know it’s you shidou 💔

　⤷ ryuassei.only ugh fine I got caught

　　⤷ userrando0010 HE REPLIED WHAT.

　　⤷ userrando1392 FUCK ME PLZ

IGLESIAS BUNNY.

　YOUR gaze stayed glued to your phone as you sat on the couch, finger scrolling through the newest edits of your boyfriend. A grin crossing your lips as you watched the edit.

"Tsk..." you let out a gleeful giggle, seeing your boyfriend on the edit.

Wasn't he the finest man ever walking on earth?

"His girlfriend is so lucky..." you muttered, commenting under the post and then replied, "thank you..!"

Content with liking the edit, saving the post and favouriting it, you scrolled to the next edit — just to comment something else. "Not going to lie, he ain't safe from me..." you mumbled.

"Who isn't safe from you?"

"AHH!" you flinched in shock, immediately locking your phone as a reflex while your heart pounded quickly against your chest. "Ohmyfuckinggod Bunny!"

"That's me." he looked down at you, his hands placed against the edge of the couch while looming over you from behind.

"Hi." you smiled at him innocently, head lifting up to face him.

Yet your eyes wandered from his pretty face to his toned body. "Oh wow." you couldn't help but let out, taking in the sight behind you even if it meant that you'd snap your head any moment.

"Careful before you hurt yourself." and with that, he placed his hand under your head to push it lightly — so you'd face ahead again.

"Whatever you want." you replied and turned fully now to admire him even more.

Thinking back to that one comment, your mind immediately was filled with silly thoughts. "Oh... But I seriously think I can handle all that." you started giggling as you averted your eyes, biting your index finger.

"Whatever you're saying." your boyfriend smiled at you, making himself place on the edge of his couch. "What were you watching?"

"Edits that should get banned because the stuff is too much to handle, apparently." you answered immediately, not hesitating to face again. "Ugh..."

"Mmh?" he hummed, tilting his head slightly to the side.

One of the most attractive things he could do to be honest. With that lethal facecard? And that body?

"I'm so so so lucky." you whispered under your breath, cheeks heating up at the sight.

"Are you? Or am I?" he chuckled at your comment, batting his lashes.

"...I have nothing appropriate to say." your face was expressionless yet your inner voice screamed it all.

He erupted into a laughter his time, letting you watch how his adam apple moved along in an attractive way. You couldn't describe it properly in words — but he was all you needed in life.

"Ugh kiss me already." you throw yourself at him, clothed body bumping against his naked upper body.

"Whatever you want, love." his hand found itself behind to the back of your head again, pulling you into a quick kiss — it left you stunned honestly.

As soon as he distanced himself, you blinked slowly while your brain tried to processed what just happened.

"You..."

"Yeah?" he chuckled, your reaction too amusing for him.

"You deserve your ass ate for this."

"Please no."

　┌──────────────────┐

❤️ 192.5k. 💬 6.019 ⌲ 16.6k.

[name]thehunter “dinner’s ready, @bunnythebunny!” I say as I sat on the table ❤️❤️

userrando2737 GUYS SHE WATCHED MY EDIT, SHE WATCHED MY EDIT AND COMMENTED!!\*£|~${! PLZ NOTICE ME PLEASEEEEEEEEE

　⤷ [name]thehunter please continue the great work love 🫶

　　⤷ userrando2737 SHE REPLIED SHE REPLIED I’M DYING BYEEEE

　⤷ userrando4444 this is SENDING me 🙏

userrando0174 oh who is u?

　⤷ [name]thehunter im ya grandma

　　⤷ userrando1773 LMFAOO WHAT’S THIS

bunnythebunny oh thank you for dinner, it was great ☺️ is there more?

　⤷ [name]thehunter you know where I am.

　　⤷ userrando2938 OH WOW.

　⤷ userrando4992 can I eat u?

　　⤷ userrando9913 gtfo u gooner, he’s mine

userrando7369 ready… set… GOON ���❕

　⤷ userrando2884 touch grass lil buddy 🙏

　　⤷ userrando7369 how abt I touch u? 😈

　　⤷ userrando2884 not here 😳

　⤷ userrando8926 the 69 says it all

official.itoshisae whatever is cursing my eyes.

　⤷ bunnythebunny oh nice to see you! ☺️☺️

　　⤷ official.itoshisae lukewarm eyesore

　⤷ [name]thehunter dw I love you kiss 💋

　　⤷ bunnythebunny does this count as cheating?

　　⤷ official.itoshisae yes now break up.

KAISER MICHAEL.

　HE was asleep. In a deep slumber probably while his front was fully turned to you, letting your eyes wander all over his glorious face — almost shining in your eyes.

Maybe even blinding you with his beauty?

Your lips curled into a grin, taking in his facial features. Of course he was pretty. It's your boyfriend, after all. The bastard of every soccer match whenever you watch him play.

And here he is, sleeping soundly — not knowing the danger's of the world aka you. But what can you do? The dragon (you) has to protect the princess (michael) from the village (fans).

But he himself was in danger. If you ever would take a look at him, you'd fall for his charms — just like you did. "Hehe..." you giggled in delight, pulling the blanket closer to you.

Was inner you fangirling? No, no. You are just happen to be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of his sleeping beauty.

"You're so fine. Looking at you makes me feel like a victorian man, seeing a woman's ankle for the first time." you whispered, your hand inches away to caress his cheek.

And suddenly — he opened his eyes while raising a brow, catching your wrist at the right time

"What nonsense..." he muttered under his breath, voice sounding fully awake.

"You were awake the whole time!?" you gasped in shock before he pulled you closer. "Ack!—"

"Did you seriously just say something about victorian man seeing a woman's ankle?" he questioned, mischief not found in his voice — instead it was curiosity.

"Yeah, I did." you answered before realising, "ah. You don't understand."

"So what if?" he rolled his eyes, already annoyed by your teasing grin.

You swiftly freed yourself and found yourself on top of him. Well only your upper half was above him while your knees were still propped beside his hip.

"Basically it was scandalous for a woman to show off her ankles in the victorian era. High-class women were limited to show off most body parts and showing ankles were challenging the norms. I guess, victorian men liked that." you taught him.

"Ah..." he nodded and his one arm sliding around your lower back.

"Pfft— You're so cute." you giggled.

"Didn't you saw I looked fine? Like a... fine shyt?"

You bursted into laughter as he said that.

"You're superrrr cute!" you laughed.

"Oh?" he mused under his breath, raising his hand to tap against your quivering arms. "But you are the cute one."

"No." you lowered yourself, planting several kisses on his cheek. "You're so fine, babygirl."

"Babygirl? Are we calling each other cringe pet names now?" he raised a brow, finding joy in your affection. "Perle? Or should I say, Bubu Bärchen?"

"Eugh, never say that again!" you shook your head frantically, a shiver running down your spine.

"Mausebär."

"Schnuckiputz."

"Schnecke."

"Okay you won, stop those outrageous pet names."

　┌──────────────────┐

❤️ 110.2k. 💬 4.217 ⌲ 12.3k.

callmeempress I feel pregnant whenever I see @michahhel.kaiser

nessfetchthis what a wonderful sight to wake up to!

　⤷ callmeempress certainly ❤️

　⤷ userrando4674 fetch this bone 🦴 !!

　　⤷ callmeempress that’s it you’re getting blocked bye me AND michael

　　⤷ userrando4674 WHAT NO IM SORRY PLZ I WILL FETCH IT MYSELF

hide.its.slursagi get HIM pregnant

　⤷ callmeempress actually, you’re so right… might do that as well thanks 🌹❤️🔋

　　⤷ michahhel.kaiser [name] syfm

　　⤷ callmeempress make me 💞💞💞

　　⤷ userrando1883 can I join???

　　⤷ michahhel.kaiser no gtfo.

　　⤷ userrando1883 YES GAWDDDD HE REPLIED UGH WHATEVER YOU SAY EMPEROR

michahhel.kaiser next time post smth better than this. this absolutely looks heinous.

　⤷ hide.its.slursagi the earth was flat until ur dad got buried.

　　⤷ michahhel.kaiser @callmeempress why didn’t u block him yet?

　　⤷ callmeempress this was a good one tho

　⤷ nessfetchthis oh you never look heinous!!

　　⤷ callmeempress alexis, love, cutie, sweetheart sometimes I’d love to sugarcoat it but you would probably eat that too if it’s for michael… this picture does look heinous

　　⤷ userrando9999 WHAT’S WITH THOSE CREATIVE INSULTS???

　　⤷ userrando7819 CLOCKED HER OWN SON????

userrando2231 I also wanna wake up to this sight hellooooo?

　⤷ hide.its.slursagi blind motherfckers

　　⤷ michahhel.kaiser thy actions are the most strange. thou show few signs of intact sanity.

　　⤷ hide.its.slursagi loving parents ❤️

　　⤷ michahhel.kaiser count your days.

　　⤷ hide.its.slursagi count your scars.

　⤷ userrando6699 NOT ISAGI CLOCKING THEM ALL IN THE COMMENTS INCLUDING YOU KING?

userrando1083 seeing this made me accidentally hit my chin KAISER YOU LOOK SO HAWD PLZ ONE CHANCE ❕❕

　⤷ hide.its.isagi which chin?

　　⤷ callmeempress I’m considering to block you seriously…

　　⤷ hide.its.slursagi I was just joking! 😅

　　⤷ userrando1049 he said as he grinned like evil larry.

　　⤷ userrando9966 he said as he knew that he hurt the world’s feeling 🥀🥀

© kumasakka — do not plagiarize , copy , modify , translate our work !

[multi-fandom-imagine]

➤𝐖𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 || 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐝 ||

A/n: Had to write dad!Spencer ( cause I'm rewatching Criminal Minds )

The BAU bullpen was unusually quiet for a Wednesday morning—that is, until Spencer Reid strolled in carrying a diaper bag over one shoulder and his nine-month-old daughter perched on his hip.

Her fine curls bounced with each step, her big brown eyes wide with wonder as she looked around the open space. Her pink socks kept slipping off her chubby feet, and Spencer kept one hand firmly under her bottom, the other occasionally adjusting the strap of the bag threatening to fall off his shoulder.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he cooed softly, settling her on a blanket on the floor beside his desk. “Today’s the day. We’re going to say your first word, okay? And it’s going to be data or daddy or mama because I don't want to sleep on the couch.”

You let out a snort placing a kiss to Spencers temple before running through your daughter's curls. "Mama would never do that."

She responded with a delighted giggle grasping your fingers before reaching for one of the colorful stacking cups he brought with them. Spencer sat cross-legged in front of her, voice soft and encouraging as he repeated slowly, “Da-da. Daaaaa-da.”

His daughter squealed in amusement, kicked her feet, then shoved the cup directly into her mouth.

Spencer sighed, amused but determined. “You’re going to be a prodigy and start talking early, I can feel it. You’ve already got 21 teethers. You’re statistically advanced.”

Just then, his phone buzzed. He stood reluctantly. “Stay right there. I’m just going to grab your bottle from the fridge.”

No sooner had Spencer disappeared into the small kitchenette than Derek Morgan sauntered into the bullpen, grinning from ear to ear.

“Well, well, well,” he chuckled, kneeling in front of the baby with exaggerated charm. “A little Reid in the wild. You’ve got those chubby cheeks and big eyes—ain’t no way you’re not already trouble.”

She blinked up at him, lips shiny with drool, then reached out toward him.

Derek leaned in, tapping her nose lightly with one finger. “You know what name you should say first, princess? Derek. Come on now, say it with me. De-rek. De-rek.”

She stared intently.

He smiled wider. “Come on, you got this, baby girl. Derek.”

The moment Spencer’s footsteps echoed from the hallway, Derek jumped to his feet and power-walked away, casually whistling and definitely not looking guilty, your lips twitching into a smile as you pulled out your phone to film what is about to happen.

Spencer stepped back into the room just in time to see his daughter light up—hands flailing, legs kicking against the soft blanket—as she opened her mouth and let out a triumphant:

“Deh-wek!!”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Spencer froze. “…What?”

His daughter clapped her hands together and squealed again: “Deh-wek!”

He stared at her in betrayed disbelief. “No. No, no, no. You did not just say Derek.”

She giggled in delight, proud of herself.

Spencer scooped her up, aghast. “I have read to you every night since birth. I say ‘Dada’ fifteen times a day. And your first word is Derek?!”

From across the office, Derek’s triumphant laugh echoed. “Genius daughter, genius taste!”

Spencer shot out of the bullpen, baby safely in your arms with a flustered rage on his face. “Morgan! You sabotaged me!”

The baby squealed with glee in yours arms, grabbing a fistful of the soft fabric as Spencer stormed after his best friend.

You nearly fell out of your chair laughing, clutching your daughter close as you watched Spencer chase Morgan down as your daughter kept babbling, “Deh-wek! Deh-wek!” In your arms.

“Guess we know who the favorite is,” Garcia chimed from beside you, sipping her coffee with a smirk.

You grinned and shook your head, already saving the video on your phone “I’m definitely saving this for her baby book.”

Spencer dashed past in hot pursuit of Derek, his voice echoing through the bullpen:

“You planted that word in her head! That was premeditated speech sabotage, Morgan!”

Derek’s laughter could be heard bouncing off the walls as he jogged backward down the hall. “Don’t hate the player, Pretty Boy! Hate the game!”

Your daughter squealed in your arms, kicking her legs and proudly chanting, “Deh-wek! Deh-wek!”

You grinned, resting her against your hip as you gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You’re a little traitor, you know that?”

She clapped, drool dripping down her chin. “Deh-wek!”

You started to turn back toward Spencer’s desk when the elevator dinged and opened smoothly.

Out stepped Aaron Hotchner, immaculately dressed in his usual dark suit, briefing folder in one hand, phone in the other. He barely got two steps into the chaos before his eyes took in the scene:

—Derek sprinting past him, laughing like a man who had just won a lifelong bet.

—Spencer right on his heels, baby wipes falling out of his back pocket as he shouted, “SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO SAY DADA!”

—You holding the baby like a football as she cheered them both on with delighted cries of “DEH-WEK!”

Aaron stopped.

Paused.

Blinked.

You met his eyes with a calm smile. “Morning, Hotch.”

Your daughter waved at him. “Deh-wek!”

Aaron exhaled, turned slowly on his heel, and without a word, stepped back into the elevator.

As the doors began to close, you could swear you heard him mutter a resigned, “Nope.”

You adjusted your daughter on your hip, chuckling. “Welcome to Take Your Kid to Work Day, sweetheart.”

[kentothirdleg]

jjk men react to you asking them to kill a bug!

ft geto, todo, choso, n nanami౨ৎ

Geto Suguru

‎ . ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁

“You’re a special grade sorcerer,” you whisper from behind him, voice shaking. “You can handle curses... Can you please handle this bug before I pass out?”

Geto sets his book down slowly. “What kind of bug?”

“The kind that flies. The kind that looks like it has a passport and a grudge.”

He sighs, stands, and walks to the kitchen with the calm serenity of a monk. You follow at a very safe distance. The second he sees it—

“Oh. That’s disgusting.”

“RIGHT?”

He picks up a glass like he’s about to catch a butterfly and slowly, gently traps the bug. Slips a paper underneath and carries it toward the window with surgical grace.

“You’re releasing it?!” you gasp.

He smiles. “All life is precious.”

“It flew at me with violence, sugu..”

“I believe in rehabilitation.”

You fold your arms. “You wanna rehabilitate that bug, but had a whole cult last year?”

"Alright [꣑ৎ] that's enough.."

Aoi Todo

‎ . ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁

"Aoi.”

“Yes, my best friend and queen?”

“There’s a flying bug in the bathroom.”

He squared his jaw. “Say no more.”

He sprinted to the bathroom like a man possessed. You heard a battle cry. A slam. The unmistakable crunch of justice.

When he emerged, shirtless and slightly sweaty, he held the remains in a tissue like a fallen enemy.

“It has been done.”

You nodded. “You are dramatic and I love it.”

He placed a hand over his chest. “A real man protects the woman who appreciates Jennifer Lawrence and fears flying bugs.”

You stared. “I’ve never said I liked Jennifer Lawrence.”

He gasped. “Who are you?”

Choso

‎ . ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁

You screamed. He screamed.

You ran out of the room. He followed you, panicked, grabbing your arms. “What happened? Are you hurt?!”

“No! No—Choso, please, calm down. There’s a bug. Big. Flying. I need backup.”

He blinked. “...That’s it?”

“Yes! That’s all!”

He gave you a proud, protective nod and marched into the room with a broom like it was a sword. Five minutes of yelling, crashing, and one broken lamp later, he returned.

Breathing hard.

Broom bent.

Bug: obliterated.

You looked around the wreckage.

“Thank you baby” you said sincerely.

He smiled softly, bloody nose slightly crooked from hitting the wall mid-fight. “I’d do it again.”

Nanami Kento

‎ . ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁

You screamed and ran.

Nanami looked up from the kitchen, where he was slicing fruit like it was meditation. You burst in, wide-eyed and clutching the doorframe.

“Nanami. There is a FAT bug in our bedroom. Wings. No remorse. I need you to kill it NOW.”

He blinked once.

Then again.

Then set the knife down gently, exhaled through his nose like he just got assigned unpaid overtime, and muttered, “I work twelve-hour days, and this is how I spend my evening off.”

You followed him back down the hall at a distance, peeking from behind him like a child watching a horror movie through their fingers.

“There,” you pointed. “Right there. Look at it. It’s thick. It’s got muscle. I swear that's the thickest bug i've ever seen.”

Nanami pushed his glasses up and stared at the insect with a disgust usually reserved for curses or unpaid taxes.

“That is not a bug. That is a pestilence.”

You: “Right?!”

Without another word, he took off his house slipper with the quiet precision of a seasoned assassin. He measured the distance. He waited for it to stop moving.

And then— SMACK.

Nanami turned to you, completely unbothered, slipped his slipper back on, and said, “Handled. Is there anything else terrorizing the peace in this apartment, or may I go back to slicing mangoes?”

You blinked. “...You’re the sexiest man alive.”

He adjusted his tie even though he wasn’t wearing one.

“I’m aware.”

[hvnty]

𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐀𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫

𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐱 𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Clark sat at his desk in the Daily Planet, deep in conversation on the phone, discussing a story for the Daily Planet. His brow furrowed in concentration, his glasses sliding down his nose as he adjusted them with a quick push. Meanwhile, you were hidden beneath the desk, the cool surface of the wood pressing against your back. “Yeah, I understand the urgency, but we need to make sure we have all the facts before we publish,” he said, his voice steady and authoritative. The thrill of being so close to him, yet so hidden, sent shivers down your spine. You could hear his voice, smooth as he spoke to a colleague about the latest scoop.

“Yeah, I think we should follow up on that lead,” Clark said, his voice steady, but you could sense a change in his demeanor as you continued your teasing. You took him in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip, and he stifled a groan, his grip tightening on the desk. “Uh-huh, that sounds good,” he managed to say, his voice slightly strained. You could see him adjusting his glasses again, trying to maintain his composure. You began to move your head, taking him deeper, and he bit his lip, trying to focus on the conversation. “I’ll get back to you on that,” he said quickly, clearly distracted now. “I just… need to check something.” “What are you doing down there?” he breathed, his voice low and filled with surprise and desire. 

“Just a few more minutes,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to tease him, your breath warm against his skin. Clark’s eyes narrowed playfully, frustration and desire swirling within him. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he chuckled, shaking his head as he tried to refocus on the conversation. Clark’s breath quickened, and he could feel the tension building within him. “I— I really should—” he stammered, but the words fell away as he surrendered to the moment, the call forgotten as he leaned back in his chair, allowing himself to enjoy the pleasure you were giving him.

𝐌𝐫.𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 © 2025 — reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[cod-dump]

I have a running gag in my head that Price keeps extra gear on him because he knows around the holidays, his boys would tackle the shit out of him.

Does the gear help?

Nope.

He wears that padded gear used to help train dogs. Head to toe, impossible to ignore. Price didn't have to explain, like they were waiting for it to be mentioned. They tackle him. Price has gotten run over enough times now to prepare. The holidays seem to get them extra hyper and he knows it's only a matter of time until Ghost bulldozes over him.

They have a sense of when not to even think about it. They're not animals. Besides, they know Nik cam get away with things they can only dream of.

[musingsofheaven]

OFF THE RECORD.

crown prince!art donaldson x reporter!reader

⠀⠀⠀ heavy kissing. suggestive. intimacy. tension. ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ secret romance. not graphic, but loaded. ♡

One of the perks of being in this line of work is the connections you can build and the events you can go to. It's one of your favorites, actually. You just have to have the confidence to take on many tasks until this kind of assignment lands in your lap. And here you are… only just slipped your press badge into your evening purse- a slim, elegant little purse that barely held your phone and lipstick- when the message lit up your screen with three new messages. Come up. Suite 1806. Now. That was it. No explanation. Just three firm messages. Just that familiar, quiet command, the kind he always sent when he wanted something and expected a yes as an answer. And you knew exactly what it meant. He’d seen your name on the press list. Of course, he had.

He knew you’d be here tonight in your professional best, dressed like every other media rep at the gala. Giving your big smiles to people you'll have to interview, holding a microphone, voice clear and polite, asking the right questions to the right people. He knew you’d be close- close enough to hear him speak, close enough to catch his eye- and that you’d pretend, at least for the cameras, not to remember how he sounds when he’s panting into your mouth. Not to remember how his fingers curl when he’s about to come.

For a moment, you’d considered ignoring it because you know he's being needy again. Just need to see you the moment he hears you'll be there. You don't know if he's upset, but you’d worked hard to look like this. Your hair was freshly set. Your lipstick was flawless. Not too grand or too much effort with it but it's good on your skin. (It’s Art’s favorite color on you) It has a flattering shade you knew would stay in place through speeches and handshakes. You are okay. Good to go. Your interview questions were memorized, printed neatly, and somewhere. You were prepared. Controlled. Ready. You hadn’t planned to see him, let alone touch him- not tonight. Not in some kind of big event the Royal Family is holding. And certainly not in a suite no one was supposed to know you’d entered.

But the moment you read those three short lines, you knew. It wasn’t about sex. Not really. It wasn’t about anger, either. It was about that quiet, raw thing that got under his skin whenever you were forced to treat him like he was just a prince. That's it. A royal. Just another man smiling in a tailored suit. So you went. You know how he gets when he gets ignored, you know he'll be all pouty and annoy the hell out of you when he doesn't get what he wants: to see you.

But now you’re here- shoulders tense, throat dry- and he’s standing by the window like he’s being painted for history. His shirt is pristine like always. Buttoned and closed. Pressed so clean it looks starched. His hair is smoothed back, glossy and brown, it looks so perfect and it doesn’t even have strand out of place. Regal. Remote. Looks too good and he's so unreal. Like the day hasn’t touched him yet. Like he’s still the crown prince, not your crown prince- not yet.

He doesn’t move when the door opens. Not at first. He just let the step echo first. Just a subtle turn of his head, like the sound alone told him it was you- that familiar click of the handle. Your soft footsteps that he knows that are not heavy when you step it on the ground. Your scent of something expensive and warm that he’s already memorized for many times he holds you so close and he’s obsessed with. (He couldn't get enough of them especially when you are curled up against him) His eyes find yours, steady and sharp, and for a moment he just watches you. Stare at you. Then, quietly, without ceremony, he speaks. “You should’ve told me.”

Your stomach pulls tight and churns at the sound of his voice, that quiet and steadiness that masks something sharper beneath it. Low and deep. He's not mad but not in a good mood either. Still, you lift your chin with careful control. The habit you learn when you are in this kind of industry. Not to get intimidated. You are refusing to show the way his presence affects you. “Told you what?” you ask, your voice even, though your throat feels dry, but you are not being defensive about anything. You just don’t like that that was really his first words to you when you came inside. It made you raise your eyebrow while you waited for his response, staring at him and confused about what he was talking about.

He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t blink. “That you’d be covering the event,” he says, the words level but too pointed to be casual. You don't know where you will go with this conversation though. “That you’d be there with the others.” His gaze stays fixed on you, he couldn't even get that mad when you look that good. But his gaze is unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders betrays him- just slightly, just enough. He looks like he’s holding something back. Like he’s trying very hard not to let it show how much it stung to see your name on the list like it meant nothing. (Even though he knows there are big possibilities for it to happen because he knows what kind of work you have.) Like it didn’t belong to someone who knows what it sounds like when he whispers your name into your mouth. Maybe he's like this because you didn't give him a heads up… that he really has to know this from a piece of paper handed to him.

You step fully inside now, letting the door close behind you with a soft click. There’s a weight beneath his words, buried under the mask. He looks the part- composed, princely, in a shirt that’s buttoned up but there’s something in his voice that frays at the edges. Something personal. Something like disappointment. You can't figure out what it is though. You move a little closer, your voice quiet. “It’s not a secret. I’m on the press list.”

“It’s not your job that bothers me,” he says, the words coming fast. He can’t control them because he’s been holding them in. Like they’ve been sitting just behind his teeth since the moment he saw you. Or maybe the moment he saw the list. Like it's been bothering him since he saw it. “It’s the way you said it- like it's… You don't really tell me you'll be there.” His voice stays low, measured, but there’s a quiet ache underneath it, something raw and personal that turns the air heavier between you. He knows that you know that he doesn't like being surprised with information because it's throwing him off guard.

That’s where it lands- not as anger, but as ache. You should have told him. Because he doesn't like not being prepared because it's there, that slow, silent bruise he wears whenever you both have to pretend. Whenever you stand too far away. Whenever you smile like you don’t know the heat of his mouth or the way he falls apart when you touch him. Whenever you adore him while he has to act he doesn't know you, that he doesn't want to kiss you all the damn time.

Because you know him. You know that it's not really about not telling him. It's about both of you pretending this is nothing when people are around you. “You think I’ll ignore you?” you ask, your voice pitched low, almost a dare. But you don’t say that to provoke him. It’s softer than you mean it to be gentler. It is threaded with a question you’re not really ready to ask, but you do. You always ask him things especially when he can’t voice them out properly. You know him. But you know he's bothered about it. Because you can see how he looks. Now? He's holding it for a long moment, his gaze catching and holding, eyes moving over you like it physically pains him. It does. You see it in the way his throat works when he swallows, in the flicker of hesitation across his mouth before he speaks.

“I think you’ll try,” he says, and it’s not cold. It’s worse- it’s knowing. Certain. Like an assurance to himself that you might do it. The kind of quiet certainty that comes from watching you too long, too closely, and recognizing the cracks before you ever felt them form. “Because you think it’s easier,” he adds, and his eyes drift down, slowly, like every inch of you costs him something. Like looking at you is both a weakness and a warning.

You step forward. Not a dramatic move, just a quiet shift in the space between you, enough for the air to change. He still doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t move- his hands at his sides, his spine straight, shoulders set like he’s bracing for impact. But he wants to reach for you. To touch you. To feel you. His shirt is soft, collar neat, still buttoned. There’s no visible sign of strain, but you know how tightly wound he is. You can feel it, coiled beneath the surface of him, humming just out of reach.

“My boss would lose her mind if I got a quote from you,” you say softly, watching the way his mouth tightens when you speak. But you just said it to lighten the mood. To subtly tell him that it's not possible to happen, that you'll ignore him. “Do you really think I’d miss the chance to put your name at the top of my piece? That I’d stand ten feet away from you and not still feel you looking at me?”

“You’d better not,” he whispers, and it lands like something closer to prayer than warning. There’s no threat in it. Just hunger. Just yearning. Just that desperate undercurrent that’s always been there - the one he hides behind silk ties and perfect posture. “Because if I watch you tonight and you look through me- like I’m nothing but a topic in some article- I won’t forgive it.”

Your hand rises, slow and sure, fingertips brushing the edge of his collar. He twitches and tightens at your action at the same time. You feel the warmth of him there, the slow thud of his pulse under your thumb as you slip it beneath the fabric. His skin is hot and soft. You toy gently with the first button, and his breath catches. Just the smallest hitch. But it’s enough. Enough to tell you he feels something beneath all the walls he built.

“So that’s what this is?” you ask, your voice low but steady, your lips pulling into a shape that almost looks like a smile - but isn’t. It’s too sharp, too sad, too knowing. “You made me come all the way up here just to remind me I belong to you?” Not an accusation but a confirmation about something you already have the answer to.

He exhales sharply, and for a second you think he won’t answer. His nostrils flare, jaw locked, like he’s fighting himself. But still, he doesn’t move. But not until your thumb caresses his skin. His hand reaches out, wraps around your wrist, slow but gentle- grounding you there, holding you in place like the idea of letting go is impossible.

“No,” he says at last, and the word falls softly between you, but its weight is heavy. His fingers tighten, not cruelly, but with something closer to desperation. Yearning. “I made you come here so I could see you before they got the chance to look at you,” he said but still holding back the words in his mind about him missing you.

His thumb drags along your inner wrist, just once, slow and careful, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your pulse. The thickness of your skin. The feeling of your hair. His eyes search yours - not asking for forgiveness, not even for understanding. Just looking. And then he kisses you.

Hard. Messy. Like he’s been starved for weeks and you’re the first taste he’s allowed himself. Like he's trying to prove something to himself more than to you. His hand slides behind your neck, the other curling around your waist. He squeezes it and feels the shape and the curve before he's dragging you in so fast your heels stutter on the marble. His mouth is hot and open and hurried like he’s punishing you for every minute you’ve spent apart.

You moan into it, fingers fisting in his perfect shirt. Making it wrinkly. Buttons snap loose. Your palms slide over the firm heat of his chest, feeling his soft chest and the hair on it. His curls falls loose, curling where your fingers rake through it, tumbling forward across his temple. You like the way it feels under your palms.

By the time he finally pulls back, he’s already a wreck- but not because he wanted to stop. It’s because he had to. For air. He’s breathing hard, dragging in air like it costs him, like it hurts to be apart from your mouth even for a second. His shirt is half off, wrinkled from your grip. Buttons gone. One cuff hanging loose, the other forgotten. His hair's ruined the neatness of it from earlier- wild from your fingers, damp at the temples. His lips are wet and red, swollen and shining. There’s saliva on his chin, and you know it’s yours.

And still, when he pulls away, he doesn’t really pull away. His mouth drags across your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your lips again. Just peppering you with soft kisses. He’s chasing the taste of you. He can’t help it. Been a long time since the last time he saw you personally. “You’ll stand there tonight,” he breathes against your skin, “with your camera and your script- like I’m nothing but a headline.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your hand fists the front of his shirt. Tighter like you're mad at the words he's saying. You drag him back in, crashing your mouth against his like you’re furious with him, like kissing him is an argument. Like you don't like everything he said the moment you came here. Like he's ruining the mood for you to be at the event. Your teeth catch. Your tongues slide. His groan rumbles straight through your chest as he slams you back against the wall, fingers digging into your waist.

“I won’t,” you gasp when you finally come up for air- barely. Maybe just to say them. Maybe because you don't want him to have the last word. Your mouth is red and spit-slick, aching from how hard he kissed you, but you liked it anyway. Your throat burns like his tongue scraped it raw. You can’t meet his eyes. “I couldn’t.”

But he doesn’t believe you. He never does when he feels like this. When he wants you so much it hurts. His hand curls tighter in your hair like a warning. Like a claim. Then he crashes into you. Not a kiss, but you are colliding with him. A consequence. His lips smash into yours, already parted, already demanding. His tongue shoves inside like he owns it, licking past your teeth without invitation, taking like he’s starving for it. His tongue is exploring inside, trying to scrape everything to taste every inch of what he hasn't tasted for weeks. You moan into his mouth- into him- and he swallows it down like breath. Like it's some source of oxygen for him.

His teeth catch your bottom lip- bite, then suck until you can taste the metallic taste. Until it blooms. You whimper, your hand clutching tighter on his hair and shirt. He groans back into you like it hurts to stop. His hand fists harder in your hair, yanks your head back, and he licks into your mouth deep, wet, unforgiving. “You will,” he growls, breath hot and wet against your lips. “You’ll smile like I’m not still thinking about the way you taste.”

Your knees buckle. It’s not a metaphor. You almost fall. But he’s ready for that, too- like he knew you would. He's already holding you tight. His thigh shoves between your legs, and you grind against the thick press of him without even meaning to. Your body just moves. Your panties are soaked it's embarrassing. Your thighs tremble. You gasp against his mouth and he smiles- that crooked, mean, and cruel smile like he’s proud of you for falling apart.

“I’ll ask you two questions,” you rasp- an assurance to him that it won't be a lot when you interview him later, voice wrecked and slurred with spit and heat. You grab his collar and yank- hard. He chokes on it, stumbles forward into you, and you feel his cock twitch against your hip.

“Nothing too serious.” You add, but he doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to. He just groans- and kisses you again. Hot. Violent. Sloppy. Tongue sneaking into yours. Licking deep. Sucking hard. His mouth seals over yours like it belongs there, like he’s trying to breathe you in and choke you on him at the same time. His hands are everywhere- your jaw, your throat, your ass. Gripping. Lifting. Pulling you closer, harder, deeper. He couldn't just get enough of it, of you.

Your teeth clash. Your lips slip. Neither of you stops. He kisses you like he wants to fuck your mouth open. Like he's trying to prove to you that he misses you. Like your mouth is a wound and he’s digging in tongue first, then teeth, then that awful, desperate moan like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. He bites the corner of your lip. Sucks your tongue into his mouth and holds it there, just around his mouth. He tastes like heat. Like sweat. Like he wants to live inside your breath.

Saliva smears your chin, your cheeks. His spit. Yours. Both. The line’s long gone now- blurred out by hunger and heat and the way you’re rutting on his thigh like it’s instinct. Like it’s more important than your job. “Smile like you don’t know how I sound when I’m needy,” he mutters against your open mouth.

And you shatter. You kiss him harder- kiss him meaner. Like it’s the only language you know. Like maybe, if you keep going, if you keep licking him, grinding against him, tasting him, you won’t have to answer. You won’t have to admit how much it’s ruining you. Your hands twist in his collar, his shirt, his skin. You don’t know what you’re holding onto anymore- just that if you let go, you’ll disappear.

“I’ll be professional,” you lie, soft and broken and right against his lips. It sounds like it hurts to say, but you still do. He stills. Then opens his eyes- and you wish he hadn’t. They’re haunted. Glazed. Starving. He looks at your mouth like he’ll never get enough of it. Like he wants to spit in it. Cry into it. Fuck you through it. Like he’ll never forgive it for making him feel this way. And when he finally speaks, it’s not a warning- it’s a promise.

“You’ll be mine,” he says. Ruined. “Even if I’m the only one who knows it.” And when you finally leave- lip gloss smudged, shirt clinging in all the wrong places- he’s both of you are standing close to the mirror, looking like he just got hit by a tornado. One with lip balm and soft hands.

He’s trying to fix himself. Tugging his shirt down. Flattening the wrinkles in it. To straighten it without an iron. Refastening buttons that don’t quite line up. His curls are all flat on one side and sticking up on the other. He looks… sweet. Ruffled. Soft.

You blink at him and fix your clothes with a crooked smile. “Wait,” you say, voice small and teasing, “are you like this when you miss me?”

He freezes, glancing at you in the mirror before scoffing like you haven’t caught him red-handed. “Like what?”

“Like…” You step in closer, eyes wide with pretend concern. “All messy and flustered and- ” your fingers flutter toward his hair, curling it around them, “- your curls doing that sad little please touch me thing.”

He narrows his eyes at you, but it only makes him look more adorable. You swear you saw him pout. “They don’t do that.”

“They do, actually,” you sigh like you are disappointed with what you heard, smoothing the worst of it down, fixing the strands you tugged on earlier when you were kissing him like it meant something. Your voice drops to a whisper as you tilt in close to his ear. “You missed me so bad, huh?”

He exhales sharply through his nose and doesn’t answer, but you can feel how warm his skin gets. So you poke his side, light and giggly, and say again, “Huh? Be honest.” You smile and play with him right now like you haven't had the most starving make out you have had in a long time.

He groans, turns to face you fully, and grabs your waist like he doesn’t even mean to, but it stays there. He squeezed it though before speaking, “You’re evil.”

“I’m right,” you proudly say, grinning up at him.

He kisses your forehead, quick and breathless, and mumbles into your skin before kissing your head, “Fine. Maybe a little.”

“A lot,” you correct sweetly, hugging him back. “You’re all needy and rumpled. It’s very endearing. I love it.”

He shakes his head like he disagrees, but he’s smiling- cheeks warm, curls still a mess. And when you finally do leave, slipping out with your lip gloss smudged and your heart doing something weird in your chest, he just… stays there. In front of the mirror. Still catching his breath. He stares at himself for a long moment. Tries to fix it.

Straightens his collar. Wipes the kiss from his mouth. Runs a palm through his hair- but it’s no use. His curls have that wild, post-you look to them now. Soft and ruffled and touched. The kind of mess that only means one thing.

He buttons one more button, just to say he did. But he doesn’t bother at all the way. Doesn’t want to. It still smells like you- his shirt, his skin, the air. Like heat and sweetness and something dangerous. So he leaves it. Half-undone. Like you left him.

And when he shows up at the event like that- lips clean but cheeks still flushed, curls all over the place, shirt buttoned like he couldn’t finish- everyone notices. They don’t say anything. Not outright. But they glance.

Someone claps him on the back and asks if he’s had a long day. Someone else raises a brow when he laughs too easily. One person says, “You look like you’ve been busy.” He did. But not with his responsibilities, just with your mouth this time.

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[rori-is-writing]

Conflict of Interest

A The Pitt Drabble Series.

Drabbles | Teen | Dr. Robby x Nurse!Reader | 669 words ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Summary: An unwanted visitor walks into your E.R. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Tags: Angst, Doctors Behaving Badly, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Nurse!Reader

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

[ A/N: Yes, this is longer than 500 words and I'm technically breaking my own rules about what a drabble is but this idea hit me like a freight train the other day and I couldn't not write it. So shhhhhhhhh. ]

You have always been a standout nurse. A tough nurse. You’ve been hit, pushed, spat on, and groped and all of it you’ve taken in stride and continued on like some stoic Buddhist warrior. 

But not today. 

Because today…he came in. 

The moment you walk into the room and see his face it’s like you’re an animatronic that had glitched mid-loop. Your skin feels hot. Your heart thunders in your ears. Your brain goes all staticky. 

“Oh would you look at that!” The older man says with a delighted smile. “I didn’t know you worked here sweetheart—“

But you don’t hear the rest because you’re already backpedaling out of the room and back into the hallway. 

You can feel your skin tingling like thousands of tiny spiders are skittering over it. You want to throw up. To cry. To run out of this hospital and never return. Instead, for possibly the first time in your entire career, you march up to Dana at the nurse’s station and say, “I need someone to switch patients with me.”

Dana frowns. 

“Excuse me?”

“I need a different patient. Any patient. I’ll even take Princess’s fecal impaction.”

“You will?!” Princess gasped hopefully. Nobody ever wanted the fecal impaction cases. 

“Why do you need a different patient? What’s wrong with him?”

You swallow. “He’s my uncle.”

If anything, Dana looks even more confused. “I know nobody is supposed to treat their family and friends but you know nobody here is going to rat you out to admin if you decide to do it anyway right?”  

But you’re already shaking your head. “That’s not why. I just…I can’t treat him. Please get someone else to do it.” And then, without another word you walk away, heading straight for the hallway that leads to the stairwell. 

You need some air. 

Now. 

Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Santos finds you. You stare up at her from your perch on the bottom steps, waiting for her to tell you to get back to work. That you’re pathetic for hiding back here instead of just doing your damn job and treating the harmless old man like you’re supposed to.

Instead, she surprises you. 

“He did something to you.”

You don’t say anything, but you don’t have to. It’s written all over your face. 

Her lips thin. 

“I thought so.”

You glance away, wringing your hands to keep them from shaking. 

“Want me to take him?”

You blink.

“…What?”

“As a patient. I’ll take him.”

Your eyes blink even faster. Did…did you hear her right? “But…why?”

“Because you need someone to be mean to him. And I’m amazing at mean.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry or throw your arms around her in an embrace. 

“Okay,” you croak instead. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” She said, strangely kind, before a glimmer appears in her eye. “So…how mean we talking?”

You can’t help but laugh, a strangled, pitiful sound if you ever heard one. “Mean enough that he never comes back here again?” 

This time, she smiles.

“You got it.” 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It’s only later—when you’re finally off the clock and indulging in a greasy, well-deserved dinner with Robby—that you hear what happened. 

“Do you know anything about the patient we had today who stormed out of the E.R.?” 

“Oh?” You say casually, knowing immediately who he’s talking about. You hadn’t been there to see it—having been assisting with a complicated trauma case at the time—but you’d heard plenty about it afterwards from your fellow gossipy nurses. 

“Yeah, apparently Santos decided to do a rectal exam. Even though, according to his symptoms, he had no need of one.” He eyed you carefully. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?”

“Did she?” You say innocently. “Well, she’s the doctor. She would know better than me.” 

He sighed. 

“Do I wanna know?” 

“Not today,” you tell him as you steal his french fry. “Let’s just…enjoy this. Okay?” 

His eyes soften. 

“Okay.” 

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Thanks for reading! 💙

[synthetickitsune]

S.Coups (SVT) | Necklace fluff | 0.8k | gn!reader

“Cheol, can you help me with the necklace?”

By the time you finish the question, he’s already standing behind you. He smiles at you in the mirror, his eyes like warm chocolate in the muted light, sparkling. His fingers brush yours when he takes the thin chain from you, already focused on the task. 

It’s cute. There’s a slight frown tugging his brows together and his lips press into a pout as he gently lays the necklace against your skin. He admires you for a moment, losing the concentration that seemed unbreakable. His hands holding the chain rest against your neck, his eyes taking in every inch of your reflection. It makes you shy. You know he’s not judging, but old habits die hard.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers after a minute, shaking his head a little. As if he tried to stop the love from spilling, yet failed miserably like he always does. His hands resume their work, reluctantly parting from your body.

“You look handsome yourself,” you manage to quickly say, hopefully before the words feel awkward to hear. Seungcheol meets your gaze in the mirror and gives you a smile. Maybe you worry for nothing - he’s always eager to hear a compliment.

You feel the metal, warmed by his fingers, settle on the back of your neck. Secured and adjusted to lay in the right spot. There’s the focus in his eyes again, something almost critical in the way he examines your clothes and jewelry like you are a piece of art that he’ll show off. 

His hands settle on the base of your neck, his fingers gently kneading at the muscles to remind you to relax. 

Seungcheol has a way with his touch. You chase it, you crave it. You can never get enough. It’s just you and him, of course there’s no reason to be nervous. And he’ll be right there the whole night. You know that’s what he wants to convey with his touch.

You shiver when his warm palms slide down to your shoulder and he leans closer, breathing in the scent of your perfume. It was a birthday gift - one that he admitted through gritted teeth was better than his. He loves this scent on you. It always drives him crazy and that’s why you wore it, although you’d never admit it was on purpose. His hands skim down your arms to grab your waist and pull you closer. His lips open and finally touch your skin.

“Cheollie,” you protest weakly, glad to be supported by his strength. 

He hums, yet his lips kiss the skin just behind your ear without a second of hesitation. He strategically avoids the most sensitive spots as he trails his lips down your neck, but it doesn’t change anything. They leave behind a path of sparks that makes you jittery and unable to stay still. His fingers cling to your body like you’re the only thing keeping him sane.

“Hold my hands,” he whispers in a way that’s the complete opposite of his kisses. He sounds almost like he’s pleading. Like he needs it.

You slip your fingers between his. It makes you feel strong. In control. And a little embarrassed. There’s no need for these feelings, no need to feel as if you have the most powerful man on Earth wrapped around your finger. Yet you do. The air that reaches your lungs feels overheated. No oxygen, only want. He groans, his forehead falling to rest on your shoulder. 

You should stop him. You should warn him, tell him to stop. But you don’t. You don’t even open your eyes to check if he did leave a hickey. You’re trembling in his hold as he attacks all your sweets spots with learned precision - knowledge gained by worshiping your body for hours and hours.

His hands slip to your hips. The way he squeezes your fingers like he’s begging you not to let go set your skin ablaze. But you need to go to the event. Yet how could you push him away when he’s kissing you like he’ll die if you don’t let him have you.

“We’ll be late,” you remind him weakly. Seungcheol always listens. He knows not being on time makes you anxious. He leaves one more kiss on your shoulder.

“I’m being very responsible,” he whispers, “By not messing up your dress and pulling it off you. We still have some time.”

You trust him, leaning further against his chest. He holds you firmly, squeezing your hips while he resumes his sweet torture. He slows down. The more deliberate he is, the more you believe he wants you to forget about time, where you’re supposed to be, the world itself. 

And it’s working.

[meaganvondoom]

Talk me down- sterek drabble

Stiles sucked in breath trying to regulate the intake of air as much as possible, but he knew that he had left it too long. The images flashing in his head of the murder scene he had walked in on- with blood and viscera painted on every available surface- hadn't effected him then, but once he was done with the initial walkthrough he had retreated back to his car for what he knew was coming.

Truthfully, this happened every time he examined a crime scene, regardless of the severity of the violence or the deeds that had been done there. He would catalogue everything initially, and then it's like it would all hit his brain at once, and he needed OUT. He would high tail it wherever he could get some privacy. Sometimes it was just a panic attack and sometimes it was worse. Sometimes it was him hunched over, emptying his stomach of whatever he had consumed that day until the purge quieted his mind into a place he could manage to be again.

So far, he had been through both of those rituals and neither had calmed the cacophony of violence in his brain and he knew it was time to resort to the third option. One that he probably should have resorted to before there was leftover Pizza Pocket all over his shoes, but hindsight always was 20/20. He fished into the pocket of his suit jacket, and grabbed his scratched up iPhone and punched in the passcode without looking. He opened the contacts and hit the first options in the favorite's list. The phone rang. The line picked up after only two rings. 'Stiles? What's wrong?'

"You answered. I thought you might be busy.' Stiles' voice was shaky and rough and he was sure the other man could tell something was wrong.

'I don't know how many times I have to tell you- i will ALWAYS answer for you. I promise. Do you want to talk? Or do you want me to read?' 'Can you just read for a bit? I have to go back out there, but I c- I can't yet. It's too much in my brain. Please, Derek?' His voice was soft and small like a child's whisper. But really, he felt a little bit like a child who needed grounding so maybe that wasn't that far off. There was no more discussion, only the sounds of shuffling while Derek went to the bookshelf and got the same book as always. Stiles heard the leather of his armchair groan as the werewolf sat down. He cleared his throat and began reading. 'Everyone my age remembers where they were and what they were doing when they heard about the contest...'

Derek's calming timbre and even speech was a balm to Stiles' insecurities and anxieties and he immediately felt everything melting away and bringing him back to earth. He always brought him back to earth.

---

[nyoomfruits]

fake fic title: kiss and tell (me a lie)

kiss and tell (me a lie) charles/oscar, 25k, explicit)

Oscar clearly has no idea who Charles is. And it's been so stupidly long since that's happened that Charles can't help it, can't help but want to cling on to the lie for a little longer. So when Oscar asks him what he does for a living, he says he's an architect. And later, when the kiss they share becomes a little more heated, he asks if they can go to Oscar's appartment instead of his. Just this once Charles can lose himself in the fantasy of being just a normal guy doing normal guy things with another extremely normal guy. Just. Normal. Just this once.

tagged; driver!charles/nondriver!oscar, charles lies about his identity and then has to deal with the quenchies when he accidentally goes and falls in love, idiots to lovers