#and a cat accidentally got put in the washing machine

[acewithobsessions]

Ughhhh how is it I write the darkest stories but get triggered by a kids movie

[twobitsbf4life]

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to pick up random stray cats and take them home (the cats have like 5 million diseases)

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to draw on his arm when he’s bored

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to be chewing gum 24/7 and have his breath STILL smell like shit

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to fw the sound of washing machines

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to sleep with 5000 stuffies that will all fall off his bed at night

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to say “scrumdidillyumtios”

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to respond with “oh yeah me and ____ are best palls!” when you talk about someone random from like five towns over

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to give EXTREM bear hugs

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to let his sister try on his clothes since she looks up to him

(Modern) Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to wear crocs RELIGIOUS

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to put way more hot sauce on his food then he can handle

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to have a car that’s looks like it went through more trauma then a war soldier and say “nahhh she still drive fineee”

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to literally knock someone’s teeth out but also cry when he steps on a cats/dogs tail

(Modern) Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to fw caseoh

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to hug his pillow/stuffies as he falls asleep

(Modern) Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to fw chicken-butt, ligma, your mom, and brainrot humor

(Modern) Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to use “🤣😂“ unironically

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to start noticing stuff like sunsets more after Johnny and Dally’s death

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to have tried cat/dog food before because he was curious

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to always tear the paper off of water bottles bc it’s satisfying

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to love long car rides but hate traffic

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to hate seeing Darry’s wasted potential

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to have his drinking get EXCESSIVELY worse after Johnny and Dally’s death

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to accidentally push people away because of how “annoying” he can be

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to know he’s the talentless one of the group

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to crave intimacy but fear he’ll be left

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to believe in aliens

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to LOVE apple juice/chocolate milk

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to say “listen here, buckaroo” unironically

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to feel a pang of guilt every time he beats someone up, even if it was a socs

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to get all flustered if you draw anything on him

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to be extra paranoid after he got beat up by the socs

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to make silly faces to you when the teacher is talking about serious

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to feel no purpose for a while after Johnny and Dally’s death

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to have believed dragons were real until 2nd grade

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to always subconsciously fulfill an older brotherly role to everyone in the gang

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to be liked by everyone but also be no ones favorite

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to know how he’s never going to go anywhere in life and how eventually all his friends will grow up and he won’t…

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to be embarrassed to show others his house

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to want to clean his house but lose motivation like five minutes in

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to wonder what was wrong with himself

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to give out the BEST music recommendations

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to be the life, no TORNADO of the party

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to sing in the shower

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to be the worst singer but also always sing during karaoke

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to have made even socs laugh even if they would normally make fun of him

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to trace random shapes on you if he has a crush on you

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to always slide around his socks

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to take to animals in a baby voice

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to be 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to accidentally say “forty-ten” while counting to 100

(Modern) Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to love 2000s white girl music

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to always play with his hoodie strings

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to LOVE comic books

Two-bit Matthews (and Ponyboy Curtis) are the type of guys to always be doodling randomly on paper in class

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to have late summer nights be his favorite kind of weather

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to laugh EXTREMELY loud but also snore EXTREMELY loud

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to climb fences with his friends frequently cuz he bored

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to always prioritize his friends happiness

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to always be the one who lights up a room

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to have the CUTEST smile

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to be surprising good at comforting people

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to drink and drive (not cool)

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to drink to numb his pain

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to tease his friends as a way of showing his affection

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to struggle with hygiene (me too bro me too 😞)

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to (post book ending) fight or be defensive to anyone who threatens because of his past traumas which getting beat up

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to love when his friends go on long rants about their interests

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to try to always be supportive of his friends

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to have ran up the stairs on all four until he was like 14

(Modern) Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to HATE the new Disney remakes

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to always bother his friends while their at work

(Modern) Two-bit Matthews (and really all of the gang) are the type of guys to pirate movies

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to LOVEEEE giving you surprised hugs from the back

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to sleep in jeans 🤢🤢🤢🤢

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to have a “secret” candy drawer

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to break somebody’s jaw if they go too far with a joke but also scream like a baby whenever he sees a spider

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to get his jaw broken because he always go to far with jokes

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to love flower fields

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to hate being alone

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to randomly start singing when a situation gets to quite

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to always be finger drumming

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to sing LOUDLY when drunk

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to die laughing for no reason when people are trying to be serious

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to not know the difference between there/their/theyre/ and to/too/two for an embarrassingly long time

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to be a chronic outfit repeater

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to have to room go quite just when he’s about to say an inappropriate joke

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to have shoplifted all his favorite shirts

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to shoplift gifts for his friends

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to bite his cheek when he’s blushing

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to bite his fingernails

(Modern) Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to answer to spam callers just for sharts and giggles

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to pick at all his scabs

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to literally put like a gallon of grease in his hair

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to have the CUTEST nervous laughter

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to kiss your scars but also say something stupid like “well your the cutest zebra I’ve ever met”

(Modern) Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to eat pop rocks by the dozen

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to be a surprisingly good ice skater

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to feel survivors guilt as the years go on and more of his greaser friends die

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to stretch like a cat when he wakes up on the morning

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to loveeeee giving you nose kisses

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to nuzzle into the crook of your neck

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to absolutely adore everything about you if he has a crush on you

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to always make fun of you if he likes you

Two-bit Matthews is the type of guy to try his best to be romantic to you and by you flowers on valentines day

[deadghosy]

☞What if you accidentally hurt yourself☜

(Tw:blood, cuts, things said about  violence or fighting)

*Could be seen in a romantic way or platonic way*

Robin Arellano

If he saw you hurt, he would probably think some kid is after you.

You calm him down after he starts going feral about who hurt you.

You told him that you was running and tripped on a stupid rock. Making you have a small scar on your cheek, face, and forehead.

Robin starts lecturing you about how you should watch you are going

“Watch where you walk dipshit. You almost had me worried someone was after your ass hermosa/hermoso.”

Cleans up your small wounds and gives you a few snacks knowing you might be hungry after running for a bit.

Finney Blake

Mans would probably over react if you had a small cut on your finger.

“Oh god! What happened?! Did a cat scratch you or something? Is gonna get infected! Why are you looking at me like I’m crazy!!?”

You told him to calm down, and wash off the blood.

Apparently you did get scratched by a mean little pussy cat.

Finn holds your left/right arm trying to see if the cat did bad damage to you

He helps you bandage the scratches, mans even kiss the bandage to make them feel better for you like he use to do to Gwen when she was little

Vance Hopper

All Vance did was walk in the grab n go to play his pinball game when he saw you putting ice on your lip

Immediately he walked towards you huffing and puffing

Eyes red (I mean-)

Ahem his eyes wide in anger and confusion and mostly concerning

“HEY! Dipshit, who did that to you?!” “I swear when I get my hands on them ima kill them with my bear hands!” “I will fight who ever touched you! You hear me!”

He just kept yelling as you looked at him confused but scared kinda.

Doesn’t even let you talk as he keeps going on about killing the person who put there hands on you.

Finally, you shut him up and tell him you accidentally hit your lip against your door.

After you explained yourself, Vance is red from embarrassment as that he completely yelled to god knows who for you getting a busted lip from some wack ass door.

“Whatever..” he puffs and pouts a little as he faces away from you. “Aw is little Vancey blushing-“ “SHUT THE HELL UP!”

Bruce Yamada

You probably were not looking at how fast the ball was going

Bruce was showing you his favorite baseball hits on how to win a strike when the ball accidentally flew and hit you in the head

Bruce was apologizing 2 times to you (more like 100 actually) but he was glad you were okay at most

He ran around and found a vending machine and got a cold coke for you to put that on your eye.

You kept telling him that it’s okay after he apologized the tenth trillion time

He then swore that he would make sure to not swing hard around you.

*Hermosa/Hermoso=Beautiful/Handsome

┆Hey! Ghosy here. I hope you like these imagines, anyways have a good day/night and drink a lot of water!! PEACE Ghosy out!

[incorrectbatfam]

please may I ask if you have any Duke Damian and Tim bonding headcanons? thanks for your time :)

These three are the most sibling-like you’re gonna get

I’m talking clothes-stealing, tattletale, fight-over-the-remote, “only I can mess with them”, honest to god siblings

In terms of size, there is some overlap between Tim and Duke’s clothes, so when there’s nothing clean, they’ll throw on the other person’s shirt and go about their day

Duke’s a little more sarcastic with the “Nice shirt, where’d you get it?” while Tim straight-up shouts, “YOU STOLE THAT FROM MY CLOSET”

Damian steals from both and puts the clothes on Titus

Tim and Duke pretend to be mad, but with all the chaos of the Bat-house, it’s nice to see their little brother acting his age

They make animal TikToks 

While Bruce is on a video call with the Justice League, Damian’s perched on top of the lockers with stolen snacks like a gargoyle while Tim and Duke try to get him down with a broom in the background

One time Tim and Duke tried to sneak out to an R-rated movie by telling Bruce they were seeing something G-rated. Bruce replied, “In that case, you can take Damian with you” and that’s how they wound up watching Peppa Pig instead of Deadpool

Duke teaches Tim and Damian how to play Dungeons and Dragons

Tim spends the entire time reading the rules instead of playing. Damian makes a chaotic character and does whatever he wants regardless of what the DM (Duke) says

They decorate the top of the Christmas tree using a human pyramid

Duke’s handwriting is so good that he can mimic Alfred’s penmanship. Tim’s handwriting sucks and he has a custom-made stamp with his signature. They sign Damian’s permission slips when he doesn’t feel like asking an adult

Compared to the other kids, Damian and Duke get more flack from the media. Tim quickly shuts it down with sharp words and the threat of a lawsuit

Damian still has a couple baby teeth left and the other two make fun of him all the time (but Tim leaves a $100 bill under the pillow when they fall out)

When Tim got the flu, Duke and Damian had a contest to see who could stack the most Kleenex boxes on Tim while he slept

They take turns doing target practice using Jason’s gun and an effigy of the Joker

If Damian pisses Duke off, Duke will order takeout from Damian’s favorite vegetarian place and eat it all in front of him

They T-pose in front of each other’s bedroom doors

Duke once put Damian in a gift box and gave it to Tim

The press dubbed Steph and Cass “Best Dressed” of all the Wayne kids when they accidentally wore the same shirt to the mall, so Duke, Tim, and Damian coordinated matching outfits to one-up them—adding on to the cuteness factor, they gave the cat a matching collar too

One time, before leaving the house, Alfred told Damian to take care of the garbage, Tim to run the washing machine, and Duke to make lunch if anyone gets hungry. Three hours later, Alfred comes back to a basement full of soap bubbles, a flaming trash can in every room, and a big honkin’ pile of spaghetti

[baroquebucky]

fundraisers

bucky finds love where he least expects it

word count: 1.9k

masterlist

a/n: hi bffs i am back w my usual fluff ,, i hope u all enjoy !! let me know what u all think ! a fundraiser? more like raising buckys heart rate ! (I’m funny please laugh)

“it’ll be fun! It’s for a fundraiser and my friend is counting on us” Sam spoke, “and plus when was the last time you went to an arcade?” He questioned and bucky rolled his eyes.

“I’m 106 i don’t go to arcades” bucky grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and looking to the side. Sam rolled his eyes, walking over and sitting down next to his friend.

“Cmon buck y/n will kill me if you don’t show up, she already promised who know how many people that we’d show up” sam frowned and bucky looked at him angrily.

“fine whatever” bucky agreed reluctantly, “but I’m leaving after the first hour” he added quickly and sam smiled at him, knowing he would end up staying the whole time.

“you’ll get along just fine” Sam smiled, “the easiest thing you can do in life is fall in love with y/n y/l/n” bucky rolled his eyes. Fat chance.

“When is it anyway” bucky asked, sam gave him a toothy grin before replying, “tonight at 6! See you there at 5!” He spoke quickly, rushing out of the super soldier’s apartment before he could suffer the consequences.

Bucky groaned, his hands flying to his face before he checked the time, he had three hours before he had to head out.

You were giddy, it was your first fundraiser for your new nonprofit, posters spread around the arcade in hopes of reaching your goal. You expected a larger crowd tonight, the buzz of Captain America and The Winter Soldier making a guest appearance made your heart race.

You smiled as you saw bucky walk in at 5:30, you checked yourself out in the mirror next to you before walking towards him with a smile.

“Mr. Barnes! hi I’m y/n” you grinned, holding out your hand. He shook it lightly before giving you a tight smile, looking around for Sam.

“uh, wheres sam? He said he would be here by now” he asked you let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head.

“he’ll probably get here at like 5:30, he’s always late” you smiled and bucky laughed a little, the sound making your smile widen.

“I’ll let you go change into your suit, the restrooms are right over there” you smiled and bucky nodded, heading towards the restrooms, bag in hand with his suit.

Before you knew it people were filing in, Sam running out just in the nick of time to stand next to bucky.

As everyone met and took pictures with the two avengers you made small talk with some business people, giving out information about your fundraiser and graciously accepting donations left and right. You skipped over to the giant whiteboard near the prizes, smiling widely throughout the night as you colored in the box closer to the goal. Bucky smiled at how excited you were, he admired how passionate you seemed about your project.

The night progressed and you finished making rounds with most of the visitors, many people taking interest in how to help and spreading the word online. You finally let yourself relax, heading over to Sam and bucky who had already changed back to regular clothes and were sitting by the restaurant area.

“how’d it go?” You smiled at sam, ordering a water quickly.

“it was good, lots of people” he spoke, “my cheeks hurt from smiling, can’t imagine how hard it was for this guy” he teased bucky, nudging him with his elbow. Bucky frowned at sam, sitting up a bit straighter.

“i smile all the time” bucky spoke gruffly, “I’m a happy guys I’ll have you know” he turned his attention to you, smiling for a second.

“i never said you weren’t happy” sam shot back and you smiled as the two friends bickered.

“You implied it!” Bucky frowned and you laughed.

“okay notes break it up” you sighed, smiling as you finished your bottle of water. “any one wanna get their ass handed to them in air hockey?”

Sams eyes widened and he shook his head quickly, you groaned. Bucky looked at him confused, squinting his eyes a little.

“no way” sam replied and you pouted.

“why not?” You frowned, bucky was quiet as he observed the two of you.

“you’re a whole different person when you play!” Sam continued to shake his head, eating some of the fries bucky ordered, earning him a small angry ‘hey’ from the metal armed man.

“oh they can’t be that bad surely” bucky smiled at you, the frown on your face quickly replaced with a grin as you grabbed his metal hand and dragged him towards the air hockey table.

“oh god” sam mumbled, getting up from his seat and following the two of you through the crowd.

“you know how to play?” you asked bucky and he nodded. You handed him a paddle, and grabbed the puck, slipping in some coins and smiling brightly.

“for the record i am on Buckys team, simply out of spite” Sam spoke loudly, still eating Buckys fries.

“you’re eating all my fries!” Bucky grumbled and Sam rolled his eyes, shoving another handful of fries into his mouth.

“ready?” You asked and bucky nodded, you hit the puck gently, easing into the game. Bucky stuck it quickly, a smirk on his face as it smoothly went in. Your mouth dropped open as he scored.

“from what Sam said i thought you were better than that doll” bucky smirked, you felt butterflies in your stomach but you shoved them down, determined to beat him.

“was gonna go easy on you considering you might break your back trying to get the puck” you shot back, sams mouth wide open at your comment. Bucky smirked, you were witty and cute?

You took the puck and placed it down, hitting it quickly and bouncing it off the walls of the table, bucky strikes it quickly, you managed to hit it back before he scored and landed it cleanly in the goal. You smiled in satisfaction.

1-1

“glad to know you can score” bucky teased, hitting the puck, both of you focused on the game as you spoke.

“glad to know you won’t get a heart attack trying to keep up, old man” Sam watched from the side, eating the fries and enjoying the entertainment.

“i keep up quite well sweetheart” bucky replied, hitting the puck sharply and scoring, your eyes met and he smirked. You narrowed your eyes at him, grabbing the puck and hitting it quickly, he bounced it off the wall and you struck back without hesitation, the two of you going back and forth before you stuck the puck softly, catching him off guard before hitting it again and scoring.

“we’ll see about that james” your tone was sharp, bucky was taken back at the venom in your voice, looking at Sam with wide eyes.

“i warned you” the man chuckled, eating the last couple fries.

Bucky turned back to the game, both of you fiercely trying to score on the other.

“cmon thought you were a super soldier? cant use that extra strength to beat me?” You teased as you scored, bucky rolling his eyes at your tone.

“want me to put it to good use?” Buckys voice got deeper and you gulped a little, your Kees growing weak. He smirked and placed the puck on the table, your eyes unfocused as you thought of the tone of his voice. He scored easily, winning at you. “cats got your tongue?”

Your competitive nature got the best of you, anger rising in your chest as you saw the score, 9-8. You need two points to win, no way he was gonna beat you.

You set the puck down on the table, hitting it as soon as bucky tried to score again, not giving him time to move, a smile on your face as you heard it slide into the goal.

9-9

Bucky was silent as he set the puck down again, hitting it quickly, you were quick to react, bouncing it off the wall and into his own paddle. As bucky tried to move back to block the puck, he accidentally hit the puck with his paddle, causing it to slide into the goal and score on himself.

“i thought you could keep up?” You whined, pouting a bit before smirking at him proudly. Bucky bit his lip as the machine announced your win. You smiled at him as he set the paddle on the table, winking at him before turning around and telling Sam you were gonna go to the restroom.

Bucky was left in awe as you walked away, his mouth slightly agape. Sam smirked at the man, patting his shoulder as they walked to their table again.

“you like them dont you” Sam smiled and bucky looked at him like he was crazy.

“wha- me? No! i just met them!” Bucky protested and Sam rolled his eyes.

“as if you guys weren’t flirting that whole game?” Sam laughed and bucky shook his head.

“isn’t that how they talk to you when you guys play?” Sam widened his eyes and shook his head.

“oh god no i wish, last time they called me a bird brain!” Sam frowned and bucky laughed, “and then they said, ‘had known you were gonna play like this, i would’ve stayed home, it’s the same as playing with a fish’”

Bucky couldn’t stop the fit of laughter as Sam frowned at all the things you told him during the game, smiling slightly as he remembered the way you apologized after, hugging him and kissing his cheek and offering to buy him all the food he wanted.

“what’s so funny?” You asked, a smile on your face as you slid into the seat next to sam.

“just telling bucky all the things you say when we play” sam spoke and your face turned red.

“I’m really sorry, i hope i didn’t hurt your feelings or anything” you smiled softly and bucky shook his head.

“oh no I’m fine i get it” he smiled at you and you nodded, stomach in knots as you thought back to his words. Your throat went dry and you looked at him, quickly glancing to your hands. It didn’t go unnoticed by bucky though.

“actually, that super strength comment kinda hurt” he frowned slightly, trying his best to look genuinely hurt. You looked at him with wide eyes, frowning at his words.

“really? I’m sorry i didn’t mean it i swear, I’ll do anything to make it up to you” you spoke quickly, guilt washing over you.

“going on a date would make me feel so much better” bucky smiled and your mouth dropped, a smile on your face as you realized he was just messing with you.

You crossed your arms over chest as Sam smirked at bucky, proudly looking at him.

“if you wanted to ask me out you could’ve just said so sergeant” you smiled and bucky shrugged his shoulders.

“where’s the fun in that doll face” the two of you kept eye contact or a while, you wanted to just lean over the table and kiss him, bucky wanted nothing more than to crash his lips onto yours. Sam wanted more fries.

“is that a yes then?” Bucky asked and you were quiet for a moment before speaking up.

“maybe it is” you quipped, “depends” you smiled, making Sam shake his head as he realized where this was gonna go.

“depends on what?” Bucky questioned, cocking his head to the side as the smile on your face grew.

“how good are you at basketball?” You questioned, already getting up to head to the game, hand slipping into Bucky’s and pulling him behind you.

You were gonna be the death of him, but he didn’t mind it one bit.

[dilly-oh]

Laundry Day

    It had been building for weeks now. Piling up, bit by bit. Iruka ignored it for as long as he could, shoving it to the back of his mind and going about his daily business, teaching at the Academy and pulling shifts at the Mission Desk like nothing was wrong. But eventually, even he could deny it no longer. When he checked his closet and found that all he had to wear was a single ketchup-or-maybe-blood-stained crop-top, tight yoga shorts, and flip-flops, he knew it was finally time to stop putting it off. There was no other choice left. 

    He had to do laundry.

    “Oh my God, who did you kill?” Anko asked as he dragged the bulging laundry bag down the hallway of his apartment complex.

    “You, if you don't back off,” Iruka snapped at her. “There's just enough room in here for a body.”

    “I sincerely doubt that,” Anko said, cocking an eyebrow at the huge bag. “Seriously, what gives? That thing must be, like, a hundred pounds. Is this some kind of new training craze?”

    “It's laundry day,” Iruka stated. Anko blinked. “I haven't done laundry in two months,” he went on impatiently. “It's kind of hard to find the time between my job teaching, my job at the Mission Desk, and my other job keeping Naruto and Sasuke from killing or kissing each other in public, and since they all count as full-time jobs with none of the benefits, I literally have nothing else to wear.” 

    “Ah. That would explain the booty shorts.”

    “They're called yoga shorts, and they're comfortable.”

    “I don't care what they're called, your ass looks amazing in them.”

    “Stop ogling me!” Iruka barked, his cheeks flaming. Anko's eyes didn't move. “Am I gonna have to go have another talk with HR?” Anko paled.

    “Oh, God, please don't. Last time I had to watch a three-hour film on sexual harassment in the workplace. I had to take notes. There was a quiz after.” 

    “Then stop. STARING.” Iruka gave Anko one last glare, then continued on his way, dragging his laundry bag after him with all the dignity he could muster. Which wasn't alot, considering the bag was heavy as fuck and he'd kinda been neglecting his standard workout routine. Because, you know, three jobs or whatever. 

    There were quite a few laundromats scattered about Konoha, all stocked with specialized, heavy-duty cleaning supplies for shinobi needs (to aid in the removal of blood, guts, and other icky bits picked up from slaughtering enemies and whatnot). The one Iruka usually frequented was located about ten blocks away, which normally wasn't too bad, especially if Iruka went by rooftop. However, that was quite impossible at the moment, considering his giant bag of dirty clothes was hefty and ungainly enough that it would probably squirt right out of his arms and kill an unfortunate pedestrian below. Also, it was the middle of summer and the sun had decided to be an asshole that day, blazing down like some kind of fire Jutsu and scalding every living thing in sight. To make matters worse, the laundry bag seemed to grow heavier with every step until it was like dragging Hokage mountain down the street. So by the time Iruka finally managed to heave the bag halfway across Konoha and up a flight of stairs into the laundromat itself, he was a hot, sweaty mess, his ponytail half-undone and hanging in his face, damp clothing sticking to his skin. 

    Which was exactly why Hatake motherfucking Kakashi was in there, of fucking course. There was no way Iruka's silly little crush wouldn't be in the one place he'd hoped he wouldn't be. 

    Iruka wanted to crawl into the nearest drier and turn it on.

    Maybe he won't see me, he thought as he quietly slipped inside.

    “Hey, Iruka!” Kotetsu shouted from across the entire laundromat. “Nice shorts!” 

    Everyone immediately turned to look.

    Well I know who I'm going to kill now, Iruka thought to himself miserably as he was ogled by every shinobi in the room. He made a mental checklist and vowed to prank each one in retaliation. His body was a temple.

    “You know you could have just stuffed that in a scroll,” Genma said after peeling his gaze off Iruka's thighs, twitching his senbon at the bulging bag. 

    “I'll stuff you in a fucking scroll,” Iruka hissed at him, wiping a sweaty strand of hair out of his face.

    “Ooh, baby, talk dirty to me,” Genma cooed.

    “You're disgusting,” Iruka said flatly. He glanced around, looking for a table with any inch of free space, perfectly willing to fight someone for it. There, in the back, he spotted one last table...right next to Kakashi. Because, you know, this day couldn't get any worse. Iruka debated waiting an extra ten minutes or so to see if the laundromat emptied out a bit, saw Genma wiggle his eyebrows suggestively at him, and decided anything was better than this. Steeling himself with a deep breath, he dragged his bag over to the open table beside Kakashi and started dumping clothes out.

    Kakashi, thankfully, didn't respond to his sudden arrival except for a polite grunt and nod in greeting. Iruka nodded back, then focused for the next several minutes on organizing his dirty clothes, intent on ending this humiliation as quickly as possible. As he worked, he couldn't help but sneak glances at Kakashi while he sorted his lights and darks. The man was busy folding his own laundry, bent over the table, his movements precise and methodical, done with the utmost care. Iruka almost suspected he was using the Sharingan to achieve such perfect folds. He glanced down at the clothes themselves, expecting combat fatigues or maybe a pair of well-worn sweats. 

    Instead, he was surprised to discover Kakashi was folding almost two dozen miniature flak jackets with some kind of funny emblem on the back. 

    “Did...did you accidentally shrink that in the drier or something?” Iruka blurted out before he could stop himself. Kakashi looked over at him, blinking lazily, then chuckled, a husky sound that made Iruka's knees weak. 

    “Of course not,” he said, his voice warm with amusement. “This is my ninken's laundry.” 

    Iruka had to hold in a snort. The famed Copy-Nin of Konoha, scourge of all enemies, feared by missing-nin, doing his ninken's laundry? It was ridiculous! It was absurd! It was...

    Adorable, quite frankly. Iruka's heart melted a little at the sight of him carefully piling up their little vests, careful not to crease them.

    “It's a pain,” Kakashi went on. “They're so picky. I have to use unscented detergent and dryer sheets or they complain.”

    “Too bad they don't sell a fresh cat-shit scent,” Iruka chuckled awkwardly before biting his lip. 

    Kakashi, however, took no offense, throwing his head back and laughing aloud.

    “Ha! They'd like that! Maybe they have a three-day-old steak one, too.” He grinned at Iruka through his mask, one visible eye twinkling. Iruka flushed, and he quickly turned back to his laundry, realized he was holding a pair of underwear, and flung it away, his face flushing darker as he busied himself with sorting again. “You've got quite a load,” Kakashi went on after a moment, nodding at the mountainous pile in front of him.

    “Yeah, I've been putting it off for a while,” Iruka grumbled distractedly, searching for a stray sock's missing partner with no luck. “This is literally the last thing I have to wear, so I either do laundry today or go into work tomorrow naked.”

    “I knew I should have finished that mission report,” Kakashi said under his breath.

    “Very funny,” Iruka scoffed in annoyance, shoving his first few loads into the nearby washing machines.

    “Oh, I'm dead serious.”

    The annoyance turned to anger, and Iruka looked over at the other man to give him a piece of his mind, only to find him staring right back, his warm grin having grown into something much more inviting, bordering on flirtatious. Iruka's sharp comment died in his throat and he cleared it roughly, feeling hot all over. Awkwardly, he reached for change in his pockets, then froze. He looked down and swore. He didn't even fucking have pockets. Stupid booty- YOGA shorts. He'd forgotten the quarters, and he didn't dare leave his clothes unattended for fear someone like Genma would be a creep and steal a pair of underwear or something. Also, Izumo and Kotetsu had a habit of borrowing things and never returning them, and he could see them eyeing several of his favorite shirts from across the laundromat. He'd just have to pack everything up and return home. What a waste, the whole trip had been for nothing-

    The clink of coins snapped him out of his mental cursing, and he looked up in shock to see Kakashi paying for his loads. 

    “Oh no,” he sputtered, “please, Kakashi, you don't have to-”

    “It's fine. You can pay next time,” Kakashi said with a wave. 

    “But I...well...oh, alright, fine.” Iruka sighed, giving in. “Thank you.”

    “So it's a date then,” Kakashi said. “Which cycle do you prefer?” 

    “Cotton cycle, cold water, extra rinse, please,” Iruka said automatically, then blinked. “Wait, I'm sorry, did you say-” 

    “See you next week,” Kakashi was already halfway to the door, his ninken's clothes tucked under his arms and a pile of quarters left on Iruka's table for the rest of his loads. Iruka gaped after him in shock. 

    Had that...really just happened? Had he really exchanged pleasantries with one of the most infamous shinobi of Konoha while folding laundry? Or had it all been merely a dream, a figment of his imagination-

    “You washing those shorts, too?” Genma asked hopefully, leering like a hungry wolf.

    Nope, he was definitely awake. Iruka threw some Tide-pods at Genma to chase him away before turning back to his loads, shaking his head in wonder.

    He'd definitely be doing his laundry more often from now on.

(Written for @kakairu-fest KakaIru Month 2021, Day Ten Prompt: Laundry)

[dweetwise]

survivors as roommates hcs

just some silly little headcanons i wrote between fics <3

Dwight is a huge pushover. Late on rent? Dwight has you covered. Ate his food? “Haha, it’s fine, you were probably more hungry anyway and it’s not like I need to eat today—”. He’s a little messy but mostly keeps to himself, unless you befriend him, in which case he’s clingy af. Constantly asks to hang out and isn’t the best at understanding social cues.

Meg is a whirlwind, leaving stuff in her wake wherever she goes. She leaves for morning runs at like 4 am and showers weird hours of the day. She’s also really assertive, going “You don’t mind if I borrow this, do you? Ok cool!” and sprinting off before you can even reply.

Claudette keeps to herself. Hope you don’t mind the 6281 plants that start in her bedroom and slowly spread to cover every available surface of the apartment. Sometimes she leaves weird science projects in the fridge that you do not want to accidentally drink unless you want to be poisoned by some obscure plant.

Jake just wants to be alone. He’s a hermit, never having people over and shutting himself into his room if you do. He can go days without showering, so hope you don’t mind his stink or the constant weed smell.

Nea will throw impromptu parties and leaves her shit laying around. Empty spray paint cans are now a permanent part of your décor, since no matter how many you throw out, more always appear. She has a habit of adopting stray cats and you’re not even sure how many are in the apartment at this point.

Laurie is the most perfect roommate anyone could ask for. She usually just keeps to herself and reads books or something, but will almost always join you in watching a movie or cooking or whatever, if you ask. She’s also very neat and will clean up after you, even if she scolds you for it. Sometimes she’s a little too responsible and doesn’t know how to let loose, so you won’t be throwing any wild parties with her around.

Ace on the other hand, is… well. A wild card. He doesn’t have a sleep schedule, stumbling home at varying hours in the middle of the night from god-knows-where. Will bring home random hook-ups. Will beg you to lend rent money when he’s gambled away his share. Will make you cover for him when the police comes knocking. 0/10 worst roommate wouldn’t recommend, the only thing he’s good for is a laugh and knowing the best parties.

Bill smokes inside. He also snores. Loudly. Usually falls asleep with the tv blaring, so hope you have earplugs. There’s also the war flashbacks, which… yeah you should probably not ask him about that.

Feng will play games all night, screaming at her teammates over Discord. Again, earplugs are a must, or alternatively you can join her in game and be screamed at. She lives on energy drinks and you’re not 100% sure she even sleeps.

David is kind of unpredictable. He’s punched at least two dents in the wall after losing at Mario Kart. Has a boxing bag in his room that he loudly beats up. If you have friends over, he’s going to do shirtless push-ups right in front of them. He sleeps naked and sometimes forgets to put on clothes so you’ll be getting an eyeful whether you like it or not.

Quentin is a great roommate… except when he’s asleep, because he sleepwalks and has night terrors. When he’s awake he’s super chill, picking up after himself and letting you do your thing, occasionally asking to hang out but not minding if you say no.

Tapp will complain about the slightest bit of noise, and you’d better not be doing any drugs or underage drinking. Is the most punctual with paying rent and utility bills, and you can bet he’s always in bed by 9 pm.

Kate is tidy, but her music doesn’t have an off button. Sometimes her inspiration hits in the middle of the night, and while she tries to be quiet, she gets carried away and always ends up singing at full volume. Will also insist on throwing huge bbq parties no matter the season.

Adam is a very nice roommate. His biggest sin is being a little forgetful and sometimes leaving wet laundry in the machine until it starts to smell. He works long hours and isn’t home a lot, but still somehow manages to do his share of the housework.

Jeff tries his best not to make a mess with his art but the paint splatters are inevitable. He comes with a dog and the entire apartment is now filled with both the puppy’s and Jeff’s long hairs. Surprisingly, the death metal isn’t an issue in the slightest because he always listens to music with headphones.

Jane listens to podcasts on speaker. Is a little bit of a mom, often cooking extras so you can have some later, and even occasionally washing your laundry. Her guilty pleasure is watching corny telenovelas and you can bet your ass she’s yelling at the tv in her native tongue.

Ash is just loud. He talks to himself, laughs at shitty sitcoms and brings home random hookups to have obnoxiously loud sex. Sometimes leaves his prosthetic in odd places especially when he’s been drinking. You’ve found it in the freezer at least twice.

Nancy is mostly really neat and organized. Sometimes, she leaves research papers strewn around and you do not want to touch them or, heaven forbid, throw them away lest you want to face her wrath.

Steve is messy and a little spoiled. His room is pure chaos, and occasionally sweaty socks and basketball shorts make their way to the shared living space. The apartment always smells faintly of hairspray.

Yui constantly has her gang over, and they’re nice enough but it gets a little annoying. Constant motor oil smell from when she’s been tinkering with a bike part. Once, she even brought the entire bike indoors and you got into a fight when she tried to get rid of the couch to make room for it.

Zarina has photography and film equipment laying around the entire apartment, especially when she’s working on a project. She’s a great cook and the kitchen smells like exotic spice 24/7, so depending on your tastes that’s either the best or worst thing ever.

Cheryl means well but is a disaster. If she tries to cook, the kitchen looks like a hurricane and smells burnt, and you’ve found the laundry machine overflowing with foam more times than you can remember. You might need to parent her until she learns the ropes.

Felix is neat but doesn’t know how to relax. He’ll often pull all-nighters and passive-aggressively complain if you disturb him. Miniature buildings will appear on every available surface, especially when nearing a deadline.

[fairyoftbz]

𝒜𝒸𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉 | K. Younghoon

ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ : ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵇˡᵒᵒᵈ / ᵐᵉⁿˢᵗʳᵘᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ / ˢᵗʳᵉˢˢ / ⁿᵒᵗ⁻ˢᵒ⁻ⁿⁱᶜᵉ ᵉˣ⁻ᵇᶠ ᴬ/ᴺ: ᴵ’ᵐ ˢᵘᶠᶠᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᵐʸ ᵘᵗᵉʳᵘˢ ⁱˢ ᵖⁱˢˢᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᴵ’ᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ʰᵃᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᵇᵃᵇʸ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵐᵒⁿᵗʰ, ˢᵒ ⁱᵗ’ˢ ʲᵘˢᵗ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᵐᵉ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵃʳᵐ 💕🥺 ⁽ᵇᵗʷ ᴵ’ᵐ ᵗᵉˢᵗⁱⁿᵍ ⁿᵉʷ ˡᵃʸᵒᵘᵗˢ ˢᵒ ᵈᵒⁿ’ᵗ ᵐⁱⁿᵈ ⁱᶠ ⁱᵗ’ˢ ʷᵉⁱʳᵈ/ᵘᵍˡʸ.⁾

╰☆☆☆☆╮

The soft purrs of a cat against your chest gently woke you up, still feeling a bit sleepy and tired after the chill, gaming night you spent last night at your boyfriend’s house. Keeping your eyes closed to hopefully fall back asleep within the following seconds, you caressed Cookie’s fur slowly, the creature cuddling up further to your chest while purring like a machine.

Everything was cosy and sweet until you feel a growing pain in your lower abdomen, followed by a rush of warmth going straight to your underwear. You tensed up and opened your eyes widely, turning your head to the side before discovering in horror that you started your period a few seconds ago.

In your boyfriend’s bed. On his brand-new white sheets.

Immediately jumping out of the bed to minimise the damage, accidentally scaring the car away, you grabbed a few many tissues from the box on the bedside table and stuffed them in your panties, just for the time to pace to the bathroom. Since you had already ruined the sheets, you hoped you weren’t going to stain the carpeting. You fumbled in the bathroom cabinet and got out a small transparent box, hidden behind some men lotion and took out your hygienic products before sitting on the toilet. In a rush, you take out in the piece of furniture under the washbasin one of your boyfriend’s clean underwear, exchanging it with yours doing your business. The fabric hugging your waist was a bit loose, but it was essential until you cleaned your mess. 

The feeling of panic invaded your body when the blood was not coming off the fabric of your panties, scared that Younghoon might be mad because of what you did. Throwing the damp piece of underwear in the clothes hamper, you rushed to the bed and your eyes widened. The stains you left looked a lot more prominent on white sheets than on any other colour, the bed looked like you had just brutally stabbed someone while sleeping. 

It’s with tears in your eyes – probably sudden stress and your hormones acting up – that you started cleaning the mess, the ruffle on the bed and your sniffles waking Younghoon up.

The man on his side of the bed slowly emerged from his deep slumber due to the thuds of footsteps on the carpeted floor pacing around the bedroom. He rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms above his head, a weird, metallic smell forcing him to open his eyes.  Your boyfriend immediately sat up in bed, flattening his crazy bed hair before gasping at the red stains your side of the bed. You clutched a wet piece of cloth in your hand, eyes filled with terror and tears as you stared up at him. 

“Baby what happened ?” he said while getting up, worried and drowsiness laced in his voice.  “I-I…I st-stained the sheets, I’m so sorry,” your voice came out shakily as you kept on rubbing the piece of fabric on the stains, guilt and shame rushed through your veins so intensely that you couldn’t look at Younghoon in the eyes. “Y/N! Y/N. Breathe darling, it’s okay,” he said as he grabbed your hand to stop you, gently replacing a piece of hair behind your ear.  “I’m so sorry, it was an accident, I swear-“ you said as you caught your breath back, your heartbeat settling down as you noticed the reassuring, soft smile on your boyfriend’s face. 

“I know, I know, love, you don’t have to apologise. Go take a shower to wash up instead, I’ll take care of the rest.” Your boyfriend calmly said, hand caressing the back of your head. “A-Are you sure, though? I should really clean the mess I made and-” “Yes love, I am.” He kissed your cheek and gently walked you to the bathroom, getting out two clean towels before grabbing the clothes hamper. He reassured you one last time before you started taking off your clothes and hop in the shower cubicle. “Take the time you need and... easy, okay?” You hummed in response and he left to give you some privacy.

Younghoon took the sheets off the bed, alongside with your pyjamas and underwear, starting the washing machine before walking back to the bedroom. There, he opened a chest of drawers and took out one of your favourite t-shirts of his with an old, too tightly fitted pair of boxers of him and some sweatpants. While throwing those in the dryer to get them warm once you’ll be out of the shower, he chuckled when he remembered your worried, ashamed face as he took out fresh sheets. He found you cute to get worried about this kind of stuff. He wasn’t mad at all, he simply didn’t expect to get woken up this abruptly. Kisses and hugs would have made a better morning. 

But it was okay, these were the contingencies of life. Though this little accident didn’t upset him, a question ticked over in his mind: what could have possibly happened in the past to make you so frightened of committing such a small mistake as staining the sheets?

A few minutes later, when he was done fighting with the sheets to force them in place, you came out of the bathroom wrapped in the blue towel he gave you, carefully walking towards him. He paced to the laundry room and gave the clothes to you, helping you put on the t-shirt and taking care of your hair while you dealt with the bottom part. 

“It’s okay, Y/N. Are you hurting somewhere?” he asked as he gently rubbed the towel in your hair, watching you nod.  “My stomach aches and I’m slightly dizzy, but I’m fine,” you mumbled, and he sat you down, placing the towels on the edge of the bed before heading to the kitchen to prepare a hot water bottle. Lying down to ease your pain, a meow filled the silence of the bedroom as your head landed on the puffy pillow, his cat jumping on the bed and sauntered towards your figure. Giving you headbutts until you smiled and petted it, Cookie turned around, his tail caressing your face as it lied perpendicularly on your stomach. The warmth of its fur and the vibrations of the purring slightly eased not only the pain but also your heart. 

After a few minutes of mindlessly caressing the cat and thinking, you might have exaggerated your reaction when you woke up, but you didn’t know how your partner would react. Moreover, you were surprised and quite shocked at the amount of blood that had gone through your underwear and pyjamas, so it was just your honest reaction.

Your lover arrived from the kitchen, a cup of tea and a plate filled with sliced fruits displayed on a tray, the hot water bottle tucked under his arm. 

“I’m sorry for earlier, I made a fuss over nothing,” you confessed, and your boyfriend smiled as he placed the tray on the bedside table, handing you the hot water bottle. He scratched his cat behind the ears when he saw the animal on your stomach, giving you a sweet kiss on the forehead.  “It’s completely fine Y/N. See, we got rid of all the shreds of evidence!” he winked, and you giggled but stopped almost immediately, hand clutching your stomach. 

“Careful, love,” Younghoon chuckled and sat more comfortably on the bed, hand going to your cheek.  “Don’t make me laugh, then,” you whispered and smiled to each other, his cat acting all jealous and bothered by the attention he wasn't getting. His laugh slowly died down, his mouth resting in a smile as his eyes never left your face. While one of your hands rested on your belly, the other went to caress the cat, who immediately started purring again. Your eyes met your boyfriend’s, who never stopped looking at you. He looked pensive as if he wanted to sound your thoughts out. “What?” you smiled at Younghoon and he cleared his throat, sitting closer to you, carefully linking your hand in his.

“Why… why were you so close to having a mental breakdown when all of this happened?” His free hand gestured the sheets and your lower abdomen, his unsure voice giving you the impression that he was walking on eggshells. “I just… I-I didn’t know how you would react because I’ve had quite a bad experience with my ex-boyfriend in the past. And since then, I’m just scared of getting my period with my partner,” you summed up as you stared into his eyes, watching him take a deeper breath and nod. Everything was clearer now. This idea of insecurity had popped into his head, but he wanted to hear it from you, and not from his imagination. “I see… But. You know that I would and will never yell or get mad at you for this type of stuff, okay? I know periods can be pretty irregular and hard to predict, so if it happens, it happens, okay? I'm not your ex-boyfriends, whatsoever,” you nodded at his words and answered his smile before grabbing his arm to gently tug him closer to you. “Thank you, Hoonie,” you mumbled against his chest and he softly rubbed your upper-back, kissing the crown of your head. “It’s completely normal, darling, you don’t have to thank me for this. Now eat because I feel like someone is getting interested in your breakfast,” you giggled as you pulled away, watching Cookie stretching its neck out to nibble on a slice of pineapple. 

You kissed your boyfriend on the lips before taking the pineapple bite and fed it to the creature, your boyfriend placing the plate on the bedside table to prevent any other theft. Smiling as Cookie licked on your fingers, you stared up at your lover before snuggling against him, an arm around your shoulder while his back rested against the bed frame. Younghoon pressed a strawberry against your lips to force you to open your mouth, his actions making you giggle. You hastened to eat the fruit and munch on it because his cat walked to your mouth to get a bite of the fruit. The man next to you sighed and grabbed his cat before placed it on the floor, getting progressively jealous as you paid more attention to Cookie than him.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous of your cat,” you giggled as his serious face confirmed your doubts, only to have him pressing another fruit against your mouth. “I just don’t like sharing what’s mine,” he stated and jolted away when you tickled him in the ribs. “Stop being so childish,” you said and grabbed the slice of apple that he was handing you between your teeth, purposefully missing his fingers by a few centimetres.  “Shut up and eat,” he tried to hide his smile while you laughed, hoisting yourself on your hands to kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear that he’s only yours. Despite having your stomach aching and cramping, you were grateful to have those kinds of times with Younghoon. It enlightened the mood and you felt warm and secure, thanks to all the love and attention you brought to each other.

[tenkoscumslut]

Dabi x reader (part 2 angst)

(Yall r just to adorable.  I love you all, just sdjf lkasjdf lkj sdklfj sld jfkl sdjf lksdjf l)

Btw Y/N is a bad bitch

Months had passed by without contact with your ex lover, you were still trying to move on and get on with your life.  The crisp night air was cool, lowering the temperature in your room.  A small smile was on your face, you had actually found interest in a pro-hero, a pretty popular pro hero.  She was nice, kind, and honestly just so mesmerizing.  Whenever that tiny dot box popped up your stomach swarmed with butterflies.

Seeing her face made your heart leap out of your chest, her lips were so soft, you always wondered what they would feel like pressed against your lips.  Your smile grew at the thought of her, what would her ears feel like under your touch, what does her morning voice sound like, does she like to cuddle?.  A text popped up on your phone, Mirko.

A bright feeling coursed through you and your eyes widened in excitement.  You quickly read the message.

Adorable little bunny:

 “Hey Y/N, mind if I come over??” 

You:

“OFc!!”

Adorable little bunny:

“Yuss! I’ll be at your door in 10″

You grinned, carrying your phone softly as you read over your short conversation.  You couldn’t get your mind off of her, she reminded you of a crisp winter morning, she made you feel happy again after him.  Your thoughts diverted to Dabi, his yells, the fear you felt whenever he showed up bruised and bloodied, or that blue fire was directed at you.

Ultimately you knew he was a bad person, someone who couldn’t be fixed, someone who didn’t deserve your love, you deserved someone good, someone who made you feel happy and loved, and never made you fear them.  Another text popped up, it was from an unknown number.

You weren’t one to really pick up the phone from strangers or reply to unknown text messages, but something about this was intriguing.  You opened up the text message, it was just a simple hi.  You ignored it and got to cleaning your apartment since it wasn’t to clean, and you wanting your place to look presentable.

You really just put some clean dishes away, put things back in their place, washed the counters and since you basically live off of Ramen and Boba tea there weren’t to many dishes to clean, so you threw them in the dishwasher and struggled to start it.  Once you got it going you moved to the laundry since your hamper was full.  Putting it in the washing machine wasn’t even a struggle since you’ve been doing that for 2 years with twice the load.

The soft humming of the washer in the background, the dishwasher going, and the small clock ticking away as the seconds went by was comforting, the soft purring of your cat which was asleep on your bed was nice.  You were giddy with delight, knowing Mirko would be here any second.

You sat at the counter, almost squealing with delight when your doorbell rang, you rushed to the door, stoping mid tracks.  Something was off, you were scared to near the door, the comforting place where you would return home everyday.  You didn’t understand what was wrong until the tiny intercom in the kitchen crackled slightly.  Mirkos voice came through the speaker, “Heyo, i’m here, whats the code?”. 

Now you knew the person at the door was not Mirko, and who would be knocking at your door at 3 in the fucking morning.  You slowly moved over to the door, carefully not to make any noise that might signal someone was home.  You leaned up to the door, looking through the peephole (poOPhOle).  There was a hooded man or woman standing there, obviously taller than the peephole, there was something about the man or woman that reminded you of someone you did not want to remember.

“Can I help you?”, you asked the person, they didn’t really reply, instead your phone dinged again.  

Unknown:

Open the door

You narrowed your eyes, an uneasy feeling growing in your stomach, “Please go or I will call the cops”, you said, quickly opening up your conversation with Mirko.  

My adorable little bunny:

Heyo i'm here....???

You:

Someones at the door, the code is ***** (i couldn't come up with a bunch of number :/), please come quick

*read*

The person started to knock on the door repeatedly, “Your not coming in, I already warned you, now leave!”, you shouted.  The person continued knocking to the point they were basically was pounding on the door, tears were forming at the corner of your eyes.  The cat you had adopted had woken up, and was now meowing and yowling in fear.

The pounding was becoming more and more louder, you jumped away from the door, covering your ears to at least try and drown out the sound.  The pounding stopped a few seconds later followed by shouts, “GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE”, you recognized the voice as Rumis.  

When you heard her voice you quickly scampered to open the door, the manw as far gone by now.  Her tail was twitching furiously, her ears were flat against her hair, she stared in the direction to where the man ran to, she turned around, “Are you ok?”, she asked.  You nodded your head and brought her into a hug, you squeezed her tightly, just happy you were in her presence.

She smiled, her ears rose back up into a more friendly way, and her arms wrapped around you, your face was buried between her shoulder and jaw, she had to tilt her head upward slightly to accommodate you but she was still happy.  “Thank you”, you mumbled softly, “Don’t mention it”, she threw back lazily.

After a few seconds you felt awkward holding her so close to you, you could feel her chest pressed against your own, and her arms wrapped around your lower back.  Your face heated up, butterflies once again swarming in your stomach.  You quickly pulled away with a blushing face and a sheepish smile, she grinned, walking past you and into your apartment, sitting down on the couch.

“Nice place”, she commented”, this was her first time at your house, and she loved it, there were large windows for light to stream in through, your cat, Bunny, was sniffing the tips of her ears.  It tickled slightly, but not enough to make her laugh.

You moved into the kitchen, “C-can I uhh get you a-any thing to eat, o-or maybe d-drink?”, you asked, “A coffee would be nice”, she said.  You quickly scampered to make the drink, right now you were the definition of a hot mess, the blush on your face didn’t leave.

You were brewing the coffee now, the hot steam wafted onto your face, only making you feel hotter.  You felt a light tap on your shoulder, you spun around, seeing Rumi looming over you, a smirk on her face, her ears were slightly tinted a bit pink.  You whimpered slightly, “Whats wrong little carrot?”, she purred, pressing closer against you.

You opened your mouth to answer but all that came out was a tiny squeak, she hummed softly, her hands snacking around your waist and gripping you in place.  She leaned forward and whispered a soft, “Do you have a little crush?~”.(Oh my god I just found out she’s 5′2, pretend she's taller than you, like she can be whatever height you chose, but if you want it to work with the story then make her just a few inches taller than u).

“I-I uhh mmhh”, you stuttered over your words, a heat pooled in the bottom of your stomach, your thighs clenched together to try and create at least some friction to no avail.  “why don’t we go to the bedroom Baby Carrot?”, she mumbled in your ear again, and began to softly nibble at the shelf of your ear.  You nodded your head, letting her take you to the bedroom.

***

Mx. Y/N decided Mirko is fucking hot and a great partner.  JUst wait for the next part, she gonna d e s t r o y dabi in the next one....

But I still continue to simp hard for Mirko-

(I was writing this on my phone and Dabi kept correcting to Dab e and I kept loosing it.  Also if popped is accidentally spelled poop im so sorry. And omfg I accidentally wrote peephole as poophole and I fucking died )

[yellowocaballero]

He’s Just Not That Into You: Web!Jon and Martin ficlet

Another ficlet written in the same universe as The Convention on Chronographer Lane/The Monster at the End of This Book. As before, you don’t need to have read that to read this. These ficlets are being written as character studies so I get a good handle on the uniqueness of the characters in this AU before I actually write something longer. Which is why they’re...like this. 

Very slight content warning for internalized fatphobia and Jon being interpreted as being a creep again. Reverse content warning for Martin’s tasty pasta. 

EDIT 2/4/2021: With the release of Sucker’s Bet, which this story was a kind of pilot study for, this story is no longer canon. However, you can still consider it a 15 page summary of that entire story. I’m sad I couldn’t keep the ‘join my spider cult’ thing but we all make sacrifices. 

Martin was in the middle of making a delicious pot of pasta when Jonathan Sims crawled in through his kitchen window.

Martin stared at Jonathan Sims, too out of it to even be surprised. Jon halted halfway through his entrance, sitting on the windowsill with one leg swung over it to rest on his floor, one leg on the fire escape above. Martin was on the sixth floor of his flat complex.

“Hullo,” Jon said, as if he was not in his window, “have you reconsidered my offer of -”

Martin threw his spoon at Jon, hitting him squarely on the forehead. Jon cursed, shocked into leaning backwards, and he accidentally topped off the window and onto the fire escape. He landed on the metal grid with a loud crash and a rattle, and the muffled sounds of his cursing echoed through the flat.

After a second to grab a new spoon and turn down the heat on the pot, Martin walked over to the window and wiggled it down again. He looked Jon dead in the eyes as he locked it, before going back to his pasta.

It was good. He should add some pesto and herbs next time.

Martin was in the middle of making a delicious pot of pasta when Jonathan Sims crawled in through his kitchen window. 

Martin stared at Jonathan Sims, too out of it to even be surprised. Jon halted halfway through his entrance, sitting on the windowsill with one leg swung over it to rest on his floor, one leg on the fire escape above. Martin was on the sixth floor of his flat complex. 

“Hullo,” Jon said, as if he was not in his window, “have you reconsidered my offer of -”

Martin threw his spoon at Jon, hitting him squarely on the forehead. Jon cursed, shocked into leaning backwards, and he accidentally topped off the window and onto the fire escape. He landed on the metal grid with a loud crash and a rattle, and the muffled sounds of his cursing echoed through the flat. 

After a second to grab a new spoon and turn down the heat on the pot, Martin walked over to the window and wiggled it down again. He looked Jon dead in the eyes as he locked it, before going back to his pasta. 

It was good. He should add some pesto and herbs next time. 

***

Martin had never really bothered to learn how to cook, but now that he was unemployed he had plenty of time. 

Now that he was unemployed, he had plenty of time for lots of things. He was finally taking up knitting again. Lots of seasons of Jane the Virgin to catch up on. His severance package from the Institute had been pretty good, not to mention the check Rosie had slipped him with a wink that she had worryingly called ‘Hazard Pay’, but this was London and even Martin could only make the money stretch so far. He spent eight hours of his day looking for jobs, touting his five year experience as a librarian and six month experience as an Archival assistant. But there was only so far you could go without a degree, and the market was shit, and really wouldn’t it just be so much easier to list a master’s in library science from some huge, anonymous university…

But Martin had the feeling that line of thought was what had put him on Jon’s radar in the first place. 

***

A week later Martin was halfway through a comforting Gilmore Girls rewatch when he heard a knock on his door. He had been fastidiously avoiding answering knocks on the door ever since Jon had pulled his first Jehovah’s Witness impression, but he had ordered a replacement washing machine part and it was arriving that day. He put his knitting down and got up, peering through the eyehole - hair not nearly long enough to be Jon, great - and opened the door. 

“Hullo,” the man said in a thick Cockney accent, not looking up from his clipboard, “I got a package here for Mr. Blackwood?”

“Yes, that’s me.” Martin held out his hands to take the little screen and sign for the package. After a second of clumsy fumbling, the man passed the package and the screen over, and Martin boredly scribbled his name. “Thanks, mate -”

But the man was gone, and Martin had realized belatedly that the man had slipped past Martin to enter his flat. He easily slid the cap off, letting his tightly curled hair cascade down to his shoulders, and propped his hands on his hips as he spun in a circle, admiring Martin’s extraordinarily boring and cramped flat. 

“Really love what you’ve done with the place!” Jonathan Sims said loudly. “Your sense of interior design is really impeccable, Martin, truly. A man’s home is his castle! Oh, is that vintage chintz? So cute.”

“Get out of my house.”

“Look at this ceramic kitten!” Jon was already in front of his mantle, carefully scrutinizing his little row of ceramic figures. They were fifty pence at the charity shops and Martin found them precious and charming, okay? “Your place has so much personality. My flat has personality too, but I’m afraid that personality just screams a propensity towards arson, so it’s much less impressive. How old is that couch, from the 70s? Very grandmother. Is it inherited?”

Yes. “No,” Martin said, resisting the urge to throttle the man as he dumped his washing machine part on the end table, “and please get out of my flat. I’ve said explicitly I don’t want you where I live -”

“Really, Martin, I’m hardly a vampire,” Jon said, having the gall to look offended as he cradled a little meowing ceramic kitten in his hand. “If I needed permission to enter dwellings I’d never go anywhere.” He paused a beat, something seeming to occur to him. “But I get a lot of permission from many different people of a variety of genders to enter their homes for sex, which I am very good at.” He paused again. “I really am very thirsty. I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a spot of tea…?”

Because Martin was British, he made the tea. But he resented every second of it. 

Jon hadn’t started stalking him immediately after he and his weirdo friends had murdered Martin’s boss, but it was pretty close. He had probably thought a week was enough time to emotionally recover from the ordeal of finding out that your boss’ boss was an immortal apocalypse cultist or whatever and that your boss was actually just a plant from a different and somehow creepier apocalypse cult inserted into your workplace to assassinate his boss. He had probably thought that a week was enough time to emotionally recover from the fact that Jonathan Sims - prickly, rude, pretentious Head Archivist with a heart of gold - was an elaborate fabrication, and that the man whom Martin had been falling for had never truly existed at all. 

A week had not been enough time. 

He didn’t even know Jon’s real name. 

“So what is your real name, anyway?” They were, unfortunately, sitting at Martin’s rinky-dink kitchen table, complete with little pock-marked burn scars in the wood and a wobbly leg. Martin had a magazine rolled up and jammed under the leg, which he was uncomfortably aware of as Jon lounged in his hard little wooden chair as if it was a thousand dollar gaming chair. The fake UPS uniform helped make him look like something other than a movie star, but it was hard to disguise the sharp and haughty features and the cold grey eyes. He had kept the ceramic cat, placing it in front of him with its little plainative face turned towards Martin. 

“What makes you think it’s not Jonathan Sims?” Jon asked archly, sipping at his PG Tips out of a chipped black mug. He made a faint face. “Sorry, is there cream for this? I hate black tea.”

“You always take your tea black,” Martin said automatically. Jon stared at him until he got it. “Of course. Right.” 

By the time he got back to the table with the sugar and cream Jon was going through his mail, with absolutely no shame whatsoever. “Bill, bill, overdue bill. You’re hurting for money, aren’t you? You know, I might know someone who’s hiring -”

“If you’re about to say a giant spider that’s going to lay eggs in my stomach and then burst out of my skin and transform me into a spider person, I have to pass.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Jon blatantly lied. “I just don’t think you’re hearing me out. Has anybody ever told you that you’re very unwilling to listen to new ideas?”

“When the new idea is joining a spider cult, then yes. Actually, no, because nobody’s ever asked me that before I met you.”

Jon didn’t seem to pick up on Martin’s extraordinarily pained expression, or maybe he just didn’t care. He leaned in instead, easily dropping a grotesque amount of sugar cubes into his tea. “Just consider it. Let the idea percolate in your mind. There’s a lot of benefits. No more worrying about money. No more putting in all that work to manipulate people. It’d be as easy as breathing for you. Anybody you want to like you likes you, and anybody you hate has their life ruined in days.” Something glinted with light in Jon’s grey eyes, like a spotlight shining off a raincloud. “Anybody you want to fall in love with you does so instantly. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“All for the low, low price of selling my soul to a giant spider god,” Martin said sarcastically. Jon nodded fastidiously, as if it really was a low price. “Seriously, Jon? I have no interest in any of this. I don’t even know why you’ve singled me out to stalk. I don’t - I don’t like manipulating people, it’s not some kind of hobby -”

“Liar. You love manipulating people.” Jon sipped his tea, as if bored. “Honestly, Martin, we’re all friends here. I won’t judge. You don’t need to virtue signal. We both love manipulating people, getting what we want, putting on personas. We like to control how people see us, no matter what that perception is. You believe that ends justify the means, I believe that good means result in good ends. We’ve very similar.” Something strange entered Jon’s expression, almost entirely hidden by the tea, and for the first time Martin wondered if this was an expression Jon hadn’t meant for him to see. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who is exactly like me. We should work together. You’re so well suited for the Mother. You’d be a treasured son. Valued, celebrated, loved. Everything you always wanted, you can have.”

Silence stretched between them. Martin let Jon think that he was thinking it over, staring into his own cup of Earl Grey and letting the slowly wafting steam fog up his glasses. Jon sipped his tea again, still posed casually yet attractively. In a brief yet stupid spurt of nostalgia Martin found himself missing the man he thought Jonathan Sims had been. 

Stupid. Loving Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist, had been as real as crushing on a love interest in a dating sim. Instead, Martin leaned in, and Jon leaned in to match him. Martin locked eyes with him, as sincerely as he possibly could. No lies, no artifice. “Stop projecting your insecurity about your own bad decisions on me,” Martin enunciated clearly, and Jon’s eyes widened in shock. “and get out of my house.”

He did, eventually. Maybe that was one of a million surprising things about Jonathan Sims, or whatever his real name was: Martin could always get him to do what he wanted eventually. 

***

Martin did not spend time thinking about Jonathan Sims, mostly because he had the feeling that this was what Jonathan Sims wanted. 

Instead, he frantically piled more and more projects and work into his free time. Ever since he was seventeen, Martin had always held down at least three jobs. His life was a never-ending rotation of a six am to three pm shift at Papa John’s, then a three pm to ten pm shift at Panera, and then stumbling home to stuff a ready meal in the microwave before doing it all over again only to work his third weekend job on the weekends. It had gotten to the point where he had paid the unemployed downstairs neighbor living on disability cheques to feed and occasionally take care of Mum because he hadn’t had time to do it himself. Martin could have have just dropped a job and scraped by on two so he could take care of Mum himself, but - well, it wasn’t hurting anybody. His neighbor had needed the cheques, right?

In comparison, the Institute had been an absolute dream. Work from nine to five, every day, then come home and crash. There had been benefits, insurance. It probably said something that even after discovering that both of his bosses had been cultists to Lovecraftian horrors who wanted to end the world or whatever, it was still the best job he ever had. He even missed it, sometimes - missed listening to Sasha and Tim joke around, missed the repetitive work, missed harmlessly and shallowly crushing on his persnickety boss who sometimes flashed a smile at him that made his heart melt. 

Fucker had known exactly what he was doing. 

That was what got Martin, even now. What had been the point? Jon had been there to infiltrate Elias’ plans for a Head Archivist, or so Sasha had confusingly explained after the fact. The skeptic, pissy act was to show himself off as an ideal candidate: willfully ignorant, psychologically vulnerable, and utterly isolated from everyone. What was the point of...of...seducing Martin?

The thought made Martin want to die. Imagine living a life where you woke up in the morning and thought to yourself, ‘Today I’m going to seduce the ugly, fat, high school dropout in my extensive long con to save/destroy the world’. It was like he was a movie star in a heist film or something, only cruel and pointless. 

Was it just to make fun of him? Martin had thought it was. But as he...interacted with Jon more and more, he got the sense that his fascination with Martin was genuine. He genuinely saw something of himself in Martin. 

Unless that was a lie too, and he just needed something from Martin. Unless Jon knew that Martin knew that he was conning him, and that there was another reason -

Martin had the terrible sense that Jon lived his life like this, always guessing and second guessing and triple guessing. It sounded...very tiring. 

He didn’t know how to explain any of this to Tim. They got together every so often for drinks - actually, Tim texted him asking to hang out, playing it all cool as if he went out and got drinks with tons of buddies all the time but was doing Martin a favor. Martin had the sense that he was hiding a deep and pervasive loneliness, but these days whenever Martin went down too deep a spiral of teasing out motivations he felt like Jon, so he quickly cut it out. 

“What’s there to get?” Tim said, throwing back his pint. “He’s an asshole who pretended to be our friend for months, and he turned out to be a total creep who leads a spider cult. You know, as happens sometimes!”

Sometimes Martin got the sense that Tim was a little bitter about what happened at the Archives. He didn’t really have a good thread on why yet, but he had the sense it was because Tim had ‘adopted’ Jon as his friend very intensely and that made him react badly to the perceived betrayal - no! No psychoanalyzing! Not today! 

“It do be like that sometimes,” Martin said wisely, peeling away the label at his shitty beer. The bar was crowded, noisy, and dim, and it was hard to hear Tim over the noise. “I don’t know, though. If that was all there was to it, he wouldn’t be showing up at my house all the time…”

“Wait, what?”

Martin explained in short order, trying not to feel embarrassed about it. Tim seemed to grow increasingly furious, and Martin found himself trailing off uncertainly near the end. 

“He’s doing the same thing to Sasha,” Tim said lowly. “Fucking freak.”

“Wait, what? He’s been bothering Sasha?” Jesus, that really was creepy. Come to think of it, Martin hadn’t seen Sasha around lately - she used to come get drinks with them right after they all got fired, but the last three invites she had begged off and said that she was ‘dealing with a lot right now’ and that she was ‘really swamped’. Martin was pretty sure that she was also unemployed, so he didn’t really know what she was swamped with, but it wasn’t any of his business. Maybe she was depressed. “Like, is he also trying to recruit her into the spider cult, or…?”

Weirdly, Martin felt a weird pang of disappointment at that. He had thought that what he and Jon had was special. 

Ha ha. As if. 

“I don’t know!” Tim cried, frustrated. He was gripping his pint glass tightly, as if he wished he was wrapping his fingers around Jon’s very slim and attractive neck instead. “First he keeps bothering Sasha, and now he keeps breaking into your house and flirting with you -”

“What!” Martin squeaked. “He’s not -”

“He’s a predator,” Tim said finally, as if he was a judge delivering a verdict. “Fucking freak. Martin, next time he drops by, I want you to call me immediately. I’ll kick his ass for you.”

“I’m a grown man, I can kick his ass by myself,” Martin said lamely, fully aware that he had never kicked an ass in his life and never would. 

“Don’t let that bully intimidate you,” Tim lectured, like the overbearing big brother Martin had always kind of secretly wanted. “He’s just a grifter, spider cult or not. Seriously, Martin, next time he bothers you call me. I have more than a few things I want to say to the bastard.”

It was heartwarming, almost. “You haven’t seen him since he killed Elias, right?”

Tim looked away, scowling. “Nope. Dunno why, if he’s hassling you two. I’m the only one with some serious questions I need to ask him, and he hasn’t even - whatever.” He looked back at Martin, forcing a great big smile. “Really, if he wants a hottie, why isn’t he knocking on my door, right? Like, come on, I’m single and ready to -”

“How’s the job hunt going, Tim!”

“I’m trying to get back into publishing, what do you think! Kill me!”

Martin liked Tim. If you had asked him four months ago if they were really friends, he would have smiled and deflected, because he was pretty sure that Tim was just that friendly to everybody. Martin always felt insecure with friendly and nice people, because he never knew if they were being friendly to him because they liked him and considered him a friend, or if they were just like that with everyone. 

But they still got drinks when they didn’t have to, and the expression of tight and barely controlled rage that flashed through his face when he thought that Sasha and Martin were in danger from Jon was real. Maybe they really were friends. 

Maybe there was something deeply buried and long since repressed in Tim that was destroying him slowly from the inside. Maybe Martin and Sasha had that too, that rot: the way Sasha would carelessly invade privacy to hack inside people’s private files without even thinking about it, the way that Martin would almost instinctively balance impression management with playing down to expectations with always dissecting people in a ruthless search for a weak point without even thinking about it. 

Maybe they were all bad people, every one of them. It felt sometimes as if Martin had a corrupt and diseased heart, that infected parts of his body with a sick necrosis. He hurt people when he didn’t want to; he said things he didn’t mean. There was something rotten and evil in Martin, and sometimes it felt as if he couldn’t help but pass it along from person to person.

Man hands on misery to man, Phillip Larkin said, it deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can, and don’t have any kids yourself. 

Well, Martin had the second part down. He was still working on the first. 

***

But Martin was right to worry, because when he woke up at seven the next morning to shamble into his living room, he flipped the light switch to see Jonathan Sims sitting on his grandma couch flipping through his meager collection of books. 

“You don’t read very much, do you?” Jon said.

“How did you get into my house.”

“Told the landlord I was the exterminator and needed to get in to spray for bugs.” Jon tossed the book on the battered coffee table - 1984 - and reclined on the sofa. “You really do have quite a bit of spiders, though. Want me to take care of that? Do you want more spiders? I can get you as many spiders as you like.”

The way he sat was purposeful, the way one of his black boots with a low heel was propped on the coffee table, the way his dark and closely cut trousers were slightly splayed, his tight black turtleneck highlighting his figure was slightly hidden by a fine white silk jacket. The small part of Martin’s mind that used to work at a dry-cleaners inanely wondered how difficult that jacket was to keep clean. Most of Martin’s mind was occupied realizing that Tim was right, and that Jon was flirting with him. 

“What do I have to say to get you to leave my house,” Martin said, instead of asking why, why, why, why. He knew why - spider cult purposes - but why -

“Lots of poetry collections, though,” Jon said, and Martin knew that he had caught him looking. He had a little half-smile: half encouraging, half shy. “You have great taste. I’m a Yeats fan too.”

Sure. “Name one Yeats poem.”

“The Stolen Child,” Jon said instantly.

Martin narrowed his eyes. “What do you like about it?”

Jon was silent. 

“Thought so.” Martin pointed at his door. “Out.”

There it was, a brief explosion, so quick that Martin might have thought he imagined it: grinding teeth, sloping eyebrows, a scowl. A flash of irritation: here one second, gone the next. “I like your poetry, though,” Jon attacked, a different angle. “Your imagery is very vivid.”

What the fuck. “You went through my diary?” Martin screeched. 

“Yes?” Jon looked slightly flummoxed. “I was doing research. People like it when you display interest in their hobbies.”

“I am making coffee,” Martin said, voice strangled, “and I am making breakfast. And if you refuse to leave, you are not saying a single word until I’ve had caffeine.”

And then Martin refused to acknowledge Jon any more. Martin quickly realized that Jon hated this very much, used to being the center of attention wherever he was, and it was an extremely effective method of making him throw himself into a kitchen chair and sulk as the coffee pot sputtered out a cup. Martin focused himself on heating up the pan and cracking a few eggs into a bowl, whisking it absentmindedly as he clenched his mobile. 

He should call Tim. He had never known Jon to get violent, but that didn’t mean anything. The guy was...he was…

He glanced back at Jon, who had his arms crossed and was frowning down at the stained wood of the kitchen table. He didn’t seem to know Martin was looking, and it occurred to Martin for the first time that this might be the authentic Jon: tired and frustrated and uncertain what he was doing wrong. 

The eggs sizzled on the frying pan, and Martin pushed them around with a spatula. “What do you like on your eggs?”

Jon looked up, surprised, before rearranging his expression into something cool and distant. “Surprise me.”

Martin served them cheesy with herbs, just for that. When Jon took a bite he looked surprised, as if he had been expecting something spiteful and received only something good in exchange. 

When he put a cup of Early Grey in front of him, with sugar congealing on the bottom and rosy brown from the cream, he looked surprised again too.

“You’re excellent at reading people,” Jon said, carefully directly after Martin had a sip of his coffee. “Mother would -”

“Do you want to make a bargain?” Martin asked. 

That caught Jon’s attention. He smiled winningly, leaning in, hair carefully arranged to fall over one shoulder in a painfully attractive way. “I could be convinced.”

“If you knock on my door at a reasonable hour, then I will let you in and we can talk or whatever. I’ll make us tea. I don’t care.”

Jon’s grin only widened, and when Martin felt a foot brush his leg he had to fight the urge to jump a foot in the air. “What’ll I do in exchange?”

“You let up on the sales pitch,” Martin said severely, and physically moved his chair further away from Jon. “And you stop lying to me. And for christ’s sake, stop pretending you’re into me.”

 Jon blinked, expression falling in shock. 

He scrambled to paste something back on, but it was as if he couldn’t decide. Martin saw him half-cycle through different expressions, different appearances: abashed, eager, flirtatious. It was as if he was frantically guessing which Jon would work best to convince Martin to do what he wanted, but he just couldn’t decide. 

Finally, he weakly asked, “What makes you think I’m not into you?”

Martin couldn’t help it: he scoffed bitterly. “Guess someone like you was never asked out as a joke in secondary. Nobody would honestly find me attractive. Everything you do is calculated, Jon, and I’m not vain enough to think the flirting is an exception. It’s obvious.”

“I’m not obvious,” Jon said, physically fighting to keep his expression from twisting into anger. It was...obvious. He eventually forced his expression into something wide-eyed and sincere, reaching out a hand to place on Martin’s arm. It was warm, but it settled oddly on Martin’s skin. Something about it didn’t feel like a human arm. “That’s just your low-self esteem talking, love. When I look at you, I see -”

“A sucker?”

Jon opened his mouth, then closed his. His hand was still on Martin’s arm. Martin didn’t know why he hadn’t shaken it off. “I see someone very kind,” Jon said, almost lamely. “I like that in a man.”

“Yeah, sure.” Martin shook his hand off - disgusted with Jon, disgusted with himself. Someone like Jon - attractive, confident, smooth - could never understand how it felt. He didn’t know why he expected him to. “I don’t know why you aren’t leaving me or Sasha alone, or why you’re trying to recruit us both into your spider cult -”

“I’m trying to recruit Sasha into my vigilante superhero team, actually.”

“Whatever. Point is, if I can’t get rid of you, I don’t want our conversations to be exhausting. These...games you’re always playing,” Martin waved his hand demonstratively as he chugged coffee with the other, “are tiring. Maybe - maybe you and I are similar, Jon. But the difference between us is that I find these games tiring. I don’t like doing it. I - what I want is a relationship where there’s no games. Where I can just be me and the other person can just be them. Don’t you want that too?”

Jon stared at him, eyes wide, almost shocked, almost hesitant, almost hopeful. 

Finally, he said, “I only trust three people.”

“I’m not asking you to trust me,” Martin, who trusted nobody, said exasperatedly. What did it say, that the leader of the spider cult trusted more people than Martin did? “I’m just asking you not to lie to me.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Jon said, before pausing a beat. “I’d trust you if you joined my spider cult.”

“You’re shit out of luck, then. And you’re not going to convince me.” Martin took another sip of his coffee, hiding his trembling hands. “Because you can’t lie to me, Jon. Face it: I’m almost as good as you are.” He smiled wryly. “As good as someone can get without supernatural powers, anyway.”

Jon stared at him, just stared, and Martin let the moment linger in silence as he cut into his eggs. Finally, he said, “You’ll tolerate my presence if I agree to drop the act.”

“Yep.”

“I’m not sure how to drop the act,” Jon admitted, somewhat embarrassed, as if he was admitting to not knowing how to tie his shoes.

Martin rolled his eyes. “Do your best. You must have been normal at one point.”

“When I was normal,” Jon said, “nobody tolerated me at all.”

The shocking honesty made Martin almost gag on his coffee. Jon’s eyes widened again, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just said, as if he had never meant to say it. As if nobody had ever heard it at all. 

“Now that we’re actually getting somewhere,” Martin said, tactfully not touching that barrel of worms - er, spiders - with a two meter pole. “Can you please tell me your real name? Unless it was, like, wiped from your mind by your spider mom? Is this like one of those cult things were they rename you for indoctrination purposes?” Something terrible occurred to him. “Is every guy in your cult named John and every woman named Annabelle? It was just a fake name you gave to Elias, right? Right?”

Jon - whoever he was - stared at Martin, completely and utterly dumbfounded. 

Then he laughed, long and hard, hoarse and wheezing and breathy, and Martin knew that this, at least, was real. 

***

Martin: I think I’ve taken care of the Jon thing

Martin: Probably

Martin: The guy’s kinda hopeless

Tim: ya sash said that hes cool

Tim: apparently shes a vigilante now? or smth? Idk

Martin: Yeah that seems about right

Martin: At least she’s living her best life?

Tim: ya good for her honestly

Tim: ….so does Spider-Man KNOW how to use all eight of those arms ifyaknowwhatimean

Martin: WE! ARE! JUST! FRIENDS!

***

“ - so then after my father passed tragically of brain cancer, I was raised by my emotionally distant and disaffected Gran. I think she’s the one who taught me that if I ever want anything in life, I have to secure it for myself. I’ve been very independent ever since I was a child, and although my social skills have always been naturally lacking I’ve worked to compensate for that by studying the art of social interaction. I guess you could call it somewhat of a special interest of mine, I like to sit in coffeeshops with my sister Annabelle and study passerby -”

“Uh huh.”

“Did you know forty percent of Britons own pets? I think it reveals interesting things about the human psychology. The domestication of dogs has always been fascinating, of course. Did you know that all dogs are descended directly from the grey wolf? There were other wolf species at the time, but they’ve long since gone extinct.”

“Wow.”

“I know! The evolution of what we today determine as dog breeds were only created in the Victorian era. I’m sure Jonah would have had some thoughts on that, if I hadn’t fed him to my mother. Actually, few people know this, but our modern conceptualization of the wolf pack hierarchy has been thoroughly debunked. Alphas and omegas only exist in captive populations. Tell that to the werewolves, huh! Actually, I organize the weekly Avatar poker games - you can come if you’re interested, great way to make some money - and I actually did tell that to the werewolves, and they were not very happy with me -”

“Jon? I can’t hear the movie.”

“Right, right.” Jon passed Martin the popcorn. “So what’s this one about?”

Martin scooped up a handful of the popcorn without shame, feeding it in a steady stream into his mouth. “About a guy who gets turned into a fly.”

“That’s fun,” Jon said warmly. “I turned a guy into a fly once. He got stuck in a spider-web immediately and everything, it was quite entertaining.” At Martin’s horrified look, he quickly followed it up with, “Gerry had found out that he was illegally evicting tenants who were undergoing cancer treatment, asking for rent before it was due and physically intimidating the tenants and everything. He also stole one thousand dollars worth of goods from Whole Foods and everything, which is quite funny if you think about it -”

“How does someone steal a thousand dollars with of stuff from Whole Foods? It’s a grocery store.”

“I know, right!” Jon threw up his hands, accidentally sending some pieces of popcorn flying. “The rich are the true parasites, Martin! I’m speaking as an insect person!”

“Word.” 

Martin ate more popcorn, and noticed Jon carefully brush his crossed legs against Martin’s knee. 

Well, he was trying. He’d stop pretending to like Martin eventually. 

They’d get there. ;

[dudeandduchess]

Cooking with Kyōjurō: Caramel Popcorn (Kyōjurō x F!S/O, Modern AU, SFW Scenario):

Summary: For once, Kyōjurō doesn’t fail at making something sweet— mostly because he didn’t want to disappoint his daughter. However, things didn’t turn out the way he expected; all because he managed to make the most perfect caramel popcorn ever. But then pandemonium happens all because of cat whiskers and permanent marker. Note: I don’t even know where I was going with this. 😂 But hope you bbys like this. Think of it as a premise to the food play smut we’ll have soon. 🍉🍉🍉 Word Count: 2,222

Warning: Mild Sexual Insinuation

***

“Papa, can I have some ice cream?”

Kyōjurō looked up from where he was setting up the popcorn machine on the kitchen counter, taping the last bit of cling film to the side of the hot air popper so that the popcorn wouldn’t spill every which way when he turned it on. “Did your mama make some ice cream?”

Ran nodded at that, not once looking up from where she was coloring a picture of a cartoon tanuki on her coloring book. She was so engrossed in getting the colors inside the lines that it took her a few seconds to answer her father. “Yes. She said that I should ask you to put it in the fancy ice cream machine.”

“Fancy ice cream machine?” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion at that, as he looked around the kitchen to find nothing remotely close to an ice cream machine on the counters.

He looked back at his daughter— whom looked even busier than she was a few seconds before— and looked down at his watch to check the time. And when he saw that it was close to four in the afternoon, he quickly got his phone from his back pocket and called his wife.

After all, it was time for family meal at the restaurant— so he was sure that she was going to answer; unless something urgent came up.

Not even three rings later, (Y/n) immediately picked up. “Hello?”

His wife’s voice sounded so soft and skeptic, as if she was expecting to hear some kind of horrible news from him— which he didn’t fault her for, since he hadn’t exactly been the most perfect of husbands.

The last time he called her during his day off, he had accidentally knocked over the entire bookshelf in his and (Y/n)’s home office. So, he guessed that she had the right to be nervous about his calls.

“Hey baby, how was pre-shift?” He asked, talking about the everyday meeting at three that touched upon the restaurant’s daily dynamics: namely sales, the menu, what parties are happening, and a few other things that had to do with running the business.

(Y/n) paused for a moment at his question, clearly gauging the level of panic in his tone— and answering calmly when she found no hint of fear or panic in his voice. “It was okay. We have a last-minute twenty-top tonight, but it’s nothing too bad. A hundred-thirty on the books for dinner service, and then four parties: a twenty-top at five, fifty-top canapé party at seven, another twenty-top at seven too, and then a thirty-top VIP party at eight.”

It seemed like a lot of people and things going on to the common person, but it was just another day in the life for Kyōjurō and his team. In fact, it was one of the lighter days of the week, which was why he decided to take the day off. Yesterday had been (Y/n)’s day off, since the babysitter called in at the last-minute to tell them that she was sick.

“But that’s not why you called, is it, Kyō?” The young woman asked with a tiny hint of teasing coloring her tone. She was still a bit tense, preparing herself to dash out of the restaurant and drive home at any second, but forced herself to calm down as she got some food from the family meal setup.

“How’d you know?”

“I’m not your wife for nothing, chef.” She answered with a snort, while sitting down next to one of the sous chefs and grinning at everyone at the table. “Why’d you call, though?”

Kyōjurō chuckled at that, mentally taking note to stop asking her how she always knew things before he said them; since there really was no way to explain how his wife knew him so well. “Ran was asking for ice cream and told me to put it in the fancy ice cream machine. Baby, we don’t have an ice cream machine.”

A peal of laughter bubbled free from (Y/n)’s lips at that, as she shook her head. “Oh, Ran-chan, so adorable. She was talking about the Pacojet. I left four quarts of vanilla ice cream in the freezer— the ones in the stainless-steel containers for the Pacojet. You just have to pop those onto the machine and give her two scoops.”

“Just two?” He asked, clearly affronted at the meagre amount that his wife wanted him to feed their little girl. “She deserves at least five.”

“Kyōjurō,” (Y/n) answered with a roll of her eyes. “You’re already making caramel popcorn for her. I don’t want Ran to get cavities because— knowing you— you also made her one of those sugar rush sandwiches of yours.”

She wasn’t wrong in that assumption, so all Kyōjurō could do was look down at his popcorn setup with a sheepishly pouty expression on his face.

“You’re making a pouty expression now, aren’t you? Because I’m right.”

“Well, you’re not wrong…”

“So, just two scoops of ice cream. Ran likes it when I rocher them; she thinks they look fancy.” (Y/n) giggled at that, remembering the time when she tried to teach her husband how to do a one-handed quenelle. It had been hellish on both of them, but had ended with her getting crème fraîche eaten out from between her legs.

The mere memory of it had her closing her legs together, as her toes curled within her Birkenstock clogs. Maybe it really was time for another baby, if that night was making her hotter than usual— after all, it was the night when Ran was made.

And it seemed that Kyōjurō was having the same thoughts too, since he had gone silent, before realizing that he hadn’t even said anything. Mentally, he made a note to discuss second baby plans with his wife. “A rocher, huh? That seems easy enough.”

It really wasn’t. He just didn’t want her to find out that he had gotten rusty over the years; as it had been five years since that night at his apartment.

“Riiiight,” (Y/n) answered with a quiet chuckle, not believing her husband’s too flippant answer one bit. “The kitchen better be spotless when I come back, Kyōjurō. And Ran should be spotless too.”

The young man scoffed at that, casting a furtive glance over at his daughter whom still had cat whiskers on her cheeks from when she’d asked him to draw on her face.

Unfortunately, he had used permanent marker to draw her cat features on; so, it really would be a pain to wash off before (Y/n) got home.

“Right, okay, baby. I love you, bye.” With that, he dropped the call and rubbed the back of his neck— trying to think of any possible solutions to get it off. “Ran, sugar plum, it’s time for a bath.”

“But papa, you said we were making caramel popcorn,” His daughter pouted up at him, seeming even more adorable when she made caramel sound like ‘cow-mall’ with her vocabulary.

“We are, but you have to wash off your whiskers first… before mama gets home.”

***

“No, no, papa. Mama doesn’t do it like this,” were the first words that (Y/n) heard when she entered she house. It was then followed by the silent crunches of something being chewed on, before muffled shuffling echoed within the otherwise silent home.

Kyōjurō was so confused, since he had made the caramel popcorn as how he knew his wife made it in the restaurant. It was perfect, if he could say so himself; more so because of the glucose syrup he’d added than anything else, but he had to give himself a pat on the back for not making a crystallized mess of sugar in the pot.

“But, Ran, this is caramel,” He protested softly, as he stirred the remainder of the caramel in his sauce pot. It was starting to get clumpy, so he turned to burner to the lowest heat setting, before turning back to his daughter.

Ran kept snacking on the warm popcorn that her father had set out to cool on the counter, licking her sticky fingers in the same manner that she’d seen Kyōjurō do one too many times. “Mama makes it different, papa.”

At that, (Y/n) stepped into the kitchen and had to muffle a scream when she saw the remains of marker on her daughter’s cheeks. Immediately, her gaze shot over to her husband, whom had blatantly looked away from her— and out the window— as he pretended to have seen something flit by in the night.

“What did you do?” She breathed out— struggling so hard to keep her voice even, as she cupped Ran’s cheeks in her hands and brushed her thumbs over the mildly faint whiskers on her cheeks.

“Papa made caramel popcorn!” The little girl declared happily, as if the pressing issue of her father having drawn on her face with permanent marker wasn’t a harebrained idea in the first place.

“I… can see that, sweetheart,” She answered as calmly as she could, and mouthed ‘we’ll talk about this later’ when she managed to catch her husband’s gaze.

Kyōjurō could only nod and sigh in defeat as he moved to stir his bubbling caramel. There went his chances of romancing his wife enough to get started on baby number two.

With a kiss to the top of Ran’s head, she walked over to her husband and had to stifle a smile when he turned to her— so he could press a kiss against her temple. When she looked down at the pot, however, she couldn’t help but let out a surprised ‘ooh’ when she saw the perfectly browned, and perfectly smooth caramel that Kyōjurō had made.

She looked at him then, quirking an eyebrow and saying, “This is perfect, baby. Did you really make this?”

The appalled expression that made its way onto the blond’s face was enough to make his distaste at her comment, but it immediately morphed into a pout when his wife wrapped an arm around his waist and laughed as she leaned her head against his shoulder.

“It really is perfect, baby.”

“Ran keeps saying that it’s not how you make it, but it’s how you make it at work,” Kyōjurō stirred the caramel once more, and let it drip down from the spoon in one smooth waterfall, which had (Y/n) suppressing a laugh at how he was mildly showing off to her.

However, she let him have his fun, since it was the first time that he’d managed to perfect something that even most pastry chefs had a hard time making. “Well, it is one of the best caramels I’ve ever seen…”

Kyōjurō noticeably puffed his chest up at that; making both (Y/n) and Ran share a look as well as slight grins.

“But I crystallize the caramel I make for Ran’s popcorn at home.”

“How do you even do that? I already put glucose syrup in it so it won’t do that.”

“Oh, you just have to pour more sugar in it now, and stir it really fast before it crystalizes into a huge clump.” With that, (Y/n) got some leftover sugar in a bowl and dumped it in the pot— motioning her husband to do as she’d told him, and watching the painfilled expression he sported, as his perfect caramel clumped together.

“I know, baby. It only hurts at first, you’ll get used to it the more you do it.” (Y/n) laughed, wrapping an arm around her husband’s waist once more… before letting her hand drift down and squeeze his right butt cheek.

Wide-eyed and clearly surprised, the blond turned to look at his wife to see her reaching over to eat a piece of popcorn from the batch he’d made earlier.

And when she looked up at him, she subtly licked her lips and winked at him; which had him thinking that maybe, just maybe, his attempts for baby number two weren’t put on hold yet.

That was, until Ran spoke up, “Mama, my face feels itchy.”

Both of them looked at their daughter at that, and he frantically raced over to lift her up into his arms— while (Y/n) turned the stove off and grabbed her car key from her pocket. “Kyōjurō, what did you wash her face with?”

“I… uh… the facial wash you use everyday.”

“That has witch hazel in it!”

He had no idea what witch hazel was, and what it did, but that was the last thing on his mind as he boarded the car that (Y/n) had just unlocked. In no more than a minute, (Y/n) had already locked the door to the house and had gotten in the driver’s seat— peeling out of the driveway in a move that would have had her cast as a good stunt double for the Fast and Furious movie franchise.

“Ran’s allergic to witch hazel!”

[jamaiskookie]

mutuals (pjmxreader) [bonus:celibacy]

~mutuals~ [youtuber!reader x idol!jimin] social media AU

synopsis: park jimin is a (slightly problematic) idol singer, and he becomes completely smitten with a youtuber after stumbling upon her dance cover to his own song.

genre: fluff, a good dosing of cracK, literally two seconds of angst blink and u miss it

word count:  2.3k

[A/N]: thank you for all the love you’ve given mutuals! can’t believe it’s only been like one week since this blog has been up hehE enjoy this drabble of thirsty!jimin after he found your video. if you have no idea what i’m talking about gO READ THE FIRST CHAPTER

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           When JinHit first hit record sales with the success of Jimin’s mini album, and RAPLINE’s first title single a couple years ago, Jin finally gave in to Jimin’s begging and gave all the artists their own personalised studio in the JinHit building. It’s where all the greatest hits on the charts are written. It’s practically the modern eighth wonder of the world, considering the names and talent that have graced the walls. 

          Jimin, Yoongi, and Namjoon all have their separate studios to write, produce, and record in, and all three of the small rooms are located next to each other. Partially because of design and common sense, but also so all three friends can conveniently annoy each other when needed. Jin’s office isn’t too far away either, just across the floor. Usually, if they’re all working in the studio, they’ll walk over to Jin’s office during lunch hour and leech off his amazing personal pantry in his office. The office is much, much bigger than their studios, and Jimin never fails to remind Jin that. 

          All three artists have grown a little attached to their studios. It’s where they do what they all love most, after all. Yoongi barely lets anyone into his ‘Genius Lab’, and ever since a staff member accidentally messed with his coffee machine, he hasn’t let anyone step foot in. Nobody’s even allowed to come inside Namjoon’s studio during what he calls his ‘namjoon talent time’ which is basically just a period of time before comeback season where he locks himself in the studio, writing music 24/7. 

          He occasionally asks Jimin to listen to his unreleased files for suggestions, but other than that, noone except Yoongi goes inside his studio during ‘namjoon talent time’, and Namjoon only reluctantly lets him in as his bandmate. Not that Jimin minds, he hasn’t been let inside since he accidentally mistook Joon’s studio for his own and brought one of his one-night-stands over. Joonie was horrified, and made Jimin sanitise, wash and clean every part of the room, all while he cried about how his ‘baby was molested’. It was traumatising for both parties. 

          Out of the three, Jimin’s the least protective over his studio, even though he’s the one who put the most effort into it. He’s spent years perfecting it, making it the best place for inspiration and writing music. Everything in the studio has been personally chosen and thought out by him. The snacks and custom mini fridge, the wall of his entire discography, trophies, music awards, and his personal favourite, the official JIMIN logo sign above the couch. 

          It lights up in purple.

          Despite being a pretty stereotypical assholey partying douche idol, Jimin’s likes to think he’s actually quite talented. He’s been named ‘Most professional idol’ on every single online survey he can find (He’s also always voted for ‘Most handsome’, but that’s besides the point), and it’s true. Jimin never sells himself short. He is a professional musician, singer, and producer. He writes his own music, choreographs his own dancing, and uses his platform to spread positive, meaningful messages. There’s a reason he’s so internationally successful, and it’s because he’s talented. 

          Maybe right now isn’t a great example of his talent. Jimin was in his studio, holding his head in his hands. Sure, he’s a globally recognised and accomplished songwriter, but to be honest, he hadn’t written a single piece of original JIMIN music since he wrote ‘Filter’ with Namjoon months ago. He was in the biggest creative slump in his entire career. He had tried almost everything, co-writing, exercise, music samples, playing around on instruments. Hell he even tried music therapy. Whatever melody he tried to create, whatever lyrics he tried to write, it all came out sounding like garbage. 

          Yesterday was a little bit of a blow to Jimin’s ego. It was three in the morning, and he’d been in the studio for seven hours, with only one verse written. 

I love to let loose,

Have you ever tried eating moose?

It’s all so bananas,

Tony fucking Montana. 

          Yeah, it’s pretty embarrassing. It’s not even a verse, it looks more like a kindergartener’s attempt to write poetry. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t really feel like writing music or putting his thoughts in a song. Jimin is just plain out of ideas. He has nothing to write about. And if he doesn’t have good content to put out, he’d rather not put anything out at all. 

          But he still hates it. All his life, he’s coped by writing, singing and dancing. This writer’s block has been too frustrating. Too many sleepless nights and crumpled papers have been wasted over it, with no progress or music in result. Plus, Jin might be one of his closest friends, but Jin was also a boss, and he still needed more tracks for Jimin’s big comeback, happening end of the year. 

          He can’t help it. Jimin has nothing left to write about. He opened one eye when he heard the distant ding of his phone coming from somewhere in the studio. Grumbling incoherently, he opened the notification, to find… you. 

          Jimin’s mouth was hanging open the entire video. His eyes twitched the tiniest bit and he almost dropped the phone when you said his face was “decent”, but he had to watch it again, because the first time around, he didn’t hear a word that came out your damn mouth. He was otherwise… preoccupied. No matter how much he tried, he just couldn’t tear his damn eyes off the screen. Curse Min Yoongi for sending him this. 

          He even cringed when he had to bring his sleeve up to wipe the tiniest bit of drool off his face. Practically salivating. What the fuck? How old was he? He was Park Jimin, why was he popping a boner from watching some stranger on the internet dance to his songs? He’s been in the industry for way too long now, he was practically immune to scantily clad women prancing around him. So why he completed concentrated on your stupid little crop top? Not to mention, you were practically insulting him at this point. What was so special? 

          For one moment, Jimin forced his eyes off the screen, wondering if the sleep deprivation had really affected him that much, or if this was another side effect of the writer’s block he’s been having. It’s the partying ‘clean act’ ban Jin’s been forcing me to go on, he thought, even though Jimin wasn’t totally convinced of that. (Despite swearing not to, he looked straight back to down at his phone afterwards to reply the video.) 

          He was so fixated on the screen, he didn’t even notice when Yoongi flung the door open and walked inside. Jimin only lifted his head when he heard Yoongi’s obnoxiously loud groan. 

          “What- When did you get here?” Yoongi recently went back to a fan-favourite hair colour of his, and Jimin was still not used to seeing him with bright mint coloured hair. In his opinion, he looked like a highlighter, but Yoongi seemed to not mind it. 

          “I’ve been standing here for the past two minutes, drinking my coffee. The fuck you watching on your phone that’s got you drooling?” 

          “NOTHING.” Yoongi narrowed his eyes, and before Jimin could even move away, he managed to snatch the phone away from Jimin’s hands. 

          “What the fuck- how? You know, this is why your fanbase thinks you’re a cat.” Yoongi ignored his words with ease. “Oh my god,” He said. “Are you watching the video I sent you? I didn’t expect you to actually watch it.” 

          “I always watch my fan’s videos after a comeback!” Jimin insisted, clawing upwards to steal his own phone back, but Yoongi kept slapping his hands away. 

          “Yeah, but this isn’t a fan. This is just like, one of your fanboys and a girl roasting you.” Yoongi stared back at Jimin suspiciously when he tried to defend himself. “Why were you watching this girl dance like a starving man, Chim?” 

          “Just, because- what- I was nOT watching her like a starving man. Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of a pervert!” Jimin finally managed to grab ahold of his phone again, and he threw it behind him on the couch, away from Yoongi. 

          “Hyung,” He sighed. “I think maybe it’s Jin’s new ‘clean, good boy’ rule. Along with this stupid fucking slump I’ve been having these days, I just don’t feel great, okay? So don’t be so fussy with me. I can’t write, I can’t party… If I want to ogle over some random girl on the internet, I will.” Jimin cringed once the words came out of his mouth, but Yoongi slowly nodded, sitting down on the couch. 

          Min Yoongi may be a little too gay to understand Jimin’s womaniser ways, but the frustration behind not being able to write music, that, he understood. “You’re trying to justify being a perv by using your mental problems, but I’ll talk to you about that later on.”

          “Chim, we all have our slumps. It’s honestly a wonder that this is your first serious creative block. Me and Joon, and every single artist in the world, is bound to go through that at some point. It’s not the end. You’ll still be able to write good music soon, you’re a good writer.” Jimin refused to meet Yoongi’s eyes, even if what he was saying did make a little sense. He just chose to stay silent. 

          “You just have nothing left to write about. You can’t keep living like this though, Chimmy. It’s unhealthy.” 

          “What do you mean, unhealthy? I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” 

          Yoongi stared at him deadpan, gesturing to the entire state of his studio. “It’s a complete mess in here,” He said. “Plus, I don’t think you’ve left this studio for days. The others may not want to say it to your face, but we’re all a bit worried about you. Stop forcing yourself to ingest all these redbulls to try to keep writing.” 

          “When inspiration comes, it’ll come. You can’t force it, it doesn’t work that way. What you need, is a break. Go back home for once, maybe visit your mom. And for god’s sakes, take a shower please. Trust me, okay?”

          Yoongi doesn’t like admitting it, but he’s the most caring one out of their friend group. Anyone can tell from the look in his eyes right now, that he’s genuinely concerned about his friend. He’s also the one with most sense, but Jimin will never tell him that, because his advice, no matter how sensible, is useless. 

          All he’s known is singing, writing, and throwing himself in work. To just stop? Even if it’s to take a short break, it doesn’t feel right to Jimin. Instead of telling Yoongi his problems, he just poked his tongue in his cheek. If lightbulbs actually popped up above people’s heads when they had a good idea, a massive one would’ve appeared on top of Jimin’s. 

          “I’ve got it!” He said, excitedly. Yoongi sat up straight. “You’re going to take my advice for once?”

          “No, of course not, Hyung. Don’t be silly.” Yoongi slouched his back again, closing his eyes. 

          “I’ll just hit this girl up!” Yoongi’s eyes snapped open. 

          “What.” 

          “Yeah! Who knows, y’know? Maybe I’ve been keeping myself to Jin’s rules a little too well. It won’t hurt the company if I let myself go just once. Blow off some steam, come back fresh and recharged.” Jimin rubbed his hands together like a bad Disney villain. 

          “It’s too early for this.” Yoongi whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

          “It’s three in the afternoon.” Yoongi ignored him. 

          “You really aren’t going to take my advice, huh.” 

          “Nope!” Jimin said, popping the ‘p’ annoyingly. 

          “You promised Jin you’d go celibate.”

          “I said I’d clean up the partying act. I don’t recall taking a vow of celibacy.” Yoongi just sighed, and fell back down on the sofa, mindlessly sipping at his coffee. 

          Jimin hesitated. “You’re not going to… tell me not to? Or give me another one of your eco-feminist speeches again?” Yoongi shrugged. 

          “You’ve heard it too many times. Plus, I have a feeling this is going to be funny.” 

          “Funny? Hyung, what part of this could possible be funny to you?” There was a brief pause filled with awkward silence, before Yoongi blinked slowly. 

          “When she rejects you, of course.” Jimin threw his jacket, aimed straight for Yoongi’s head. His stupidly fast cat-like reflexes managed to dodge it, but Jimin scowled at him nonetheless. 

          “She’s not going to reject me.” Jimin walked over, picking up the very same jacket he threw at Yoongi, before plopping his sunglasses back on his face. “No woman has ever managed to reject me before, and I intend on adding her to that list.” He pursed his lips. 

          “Plus, she’s super hot. Great ass. Attractive people attract attractive people.” Jimin turned his phone back on once more to sneak one last peek at you in the thumbnail of the video, before stuffing his phone into his back pocket. “I just need to get it out of my system. This might be what I need to get me out of this creative rut!”

          He could’ve sworn Yoongi muttered something under his breath, something along the lines of ‘fucking asshole’, but he chose to ignore it. 

          “Alright, well, see you, Yoons!” Jimin practically skipped out of the studio, startling the producer’s assistant outside with his slightly disturbing enlarged grin. 

          “Don’t come crying to me when she refuses to get in your pants, you fucking diva!”

          Jimin continued walking towards the elevator, but he threw up his middle finger behind him. 

“DON’T RUIN MY EXIT, BITCH!” 

[taglist:] @notmontae97​​ @lucedelsole97​

[brvdleymilligan]

HLO slinks in thru a bead curtain.......... truly sry this took me so long to concoct bt i’m here now, hand on hip, smiling coyly at u all...... i’m nai n i’m rly excited to b here so i’ll just dive right in!! u can find bradley’s pinterest board here n her muse tag here. like this or hmu for plots!

[ cis female, she/her, margaret qualley , twenty-four ] i can’t be sure, but i think i just saw BRADLEY MILLIGAN drive onto the parkway. don’t they know we’re not supposed to be driving on that haunted road right now? maybe it has to do with the fact that they’re so +RESILIENT and -VOLATILE that makes them feel UNPHASED about everything going on. i guess we could also chalk it up to the fact that they’re always reminding me of LEMON IN A FRESH CUT, THE AMBER BLINK OF AN ANGRY ALLEY CAT, GRINNING WITH BLOOD ON YOUR TEETH. either way, i hope they get back safely. [ nai, she/her, 24, gmt ]

aesthetics: singeing a hole in your fishnets with the cherry of a menthol, spitting a pistachio behind the bar just to hear it ping off the nozzle top bottles, lemon in a fresh cut, a war torn poppy standing alone in an empty field, pressing thumbs to yellow bruises, stomping over flowerbeds when there’s a path right besides it, dangling over ledges just to feel your chest jolt, a snarling rottweiler that needs muzzling, limp feet poking out behind a door, ‘I PROMISE I DON’T BITE’ scrawled on a name tag, slapping a bald head in front of you at the cinema like it’s a bongo, not owning a single jacket that isn’t stolen, driving a stranger’s car down the wrong lane against the screaming traffic, hair more feral than a wolf cub and eyes smudgier than a coal mine.  

BACKGROUND:

ok SO. her father owns a strip club in crescent hill named no angels. it’s kind of.... a seedy establishment i won’t lie. hs a red glowing sign like it’s lighting up a window in amsterdam. cigarette butts floating in oil slick puddles outside. unsavoury characters crawling all over like rats in a sewer. despite this it’s a legitimate business on the surface of things n it does pretty well in trade. it’s like.... that place people warn u NOT to have ur bachelor party at unless u fancy urself the type tht willingly enters a lion’s den bt tht almost??? adds to the allure in a way??? ppl r like wow so sketchy it’s the thrill of a lifetime........ i mean run while u still can bt go off i guess

it isn’t Confirmed Public Knowledge bt it’s pretty heavily implied thru the rumour mill that bradley’s father is the head of a gang of rly............ Not Nice people. all the ppl that work for him u would hands down NOT want to run into in a dark alley. while things seem legitimate on the suface it’s pretty clear they’re into shady dealings n the townsfolk that suspect that would indeed b correct! the club’s a front for a drug business n they’re also washing n running counterfeit cash thru it. they probably also have their hands dipped into a few other local businesses to run their cash thru these too n keep it all seemingly by the books so nobody comes sniffing around. they even r friends with a member of local law enforcement that’s working w them for a cut so they honestly have all bases covered to keep things airtight n foolproof. perhaps a business in reed too which bradley oversees bt i haven’t given this Too Much thought as of yet??

so ya she’s grown up fairly local most of her life n would maybe be known around town as such.................. the milligans r certainly Interesting as far as families go so like. it honestly wldn’t surprise me if ppl nudge elbows when they see one of them coming n immediately walk in the opposite direction. just quite an intimidating presence...... they’re like caged animals where ur specifically instructed NOT to stick ur fingers between the bars bc they WILL bite

on a more personal note her dad is pretty much the worst human being alive n bradley hs like….. a lot of issues with herself as a result of years of toxicity n abuse

in terms of more family bkground info her mum’s name was alyssa n she vanished when bradley was 12. jst like…. into thin air. nothing. no note. zilch. gan! n when bradley asked her dad abt it his response was essentially “guess she didn’t love us enough to stay”. as bradley’s got older tho n become (without intention) more involved in the business side of things, it’s become pretty clear there was far more to the story.

(abuse tw) they had a horrible marriage n tony ws emotionally manipulative at the best of times, violent at worst, which didn’t help the fact tht alyssa ws struggling a lot w severe depression n rly just… not in the mindset to b dealing w anything else, even where motherhood ws concerned. bradley p much… would look after her a lot n they’d both b scared of her dad n it was just a whole unhealthy mess.

(death implied tw) anyway im rambling bt basically tony (bradley’s dad) gt wind of alyssa sleeping w men tht worked fr him n he just… got rid. bradley’s kind of worked out over the yrs tht her mum didn’t jst leave on her own accord n tht something must hav happened to her bt she’s too scared of her dad to ever directly accuse him

when her mum went all of her dad’s cruelty pretty mch got channelled straight onto her. it ws diluted between two before bt as u can probably imagine her upbringing was jst…. a steep downhill decline

(drugs implied tw) she learnt ways 2 deal w the incurring trauma bt they weren’t healthy ones at all! bsically jst. will do or take anything fr the distraction. chases a thrill like it’s the only way to remind her she’s alive. has absolutely no regard fr her own wellbeing n often gets other ppl in trouble too bc she’s so insatiably reckless

(hospitalisation tw) she hd….2 separate stints of psychiatric hospitalisation n she never tlks abt it. like ever. acknowledging she’s been vulnerable is her worst nightmare n bc of the way her dad raised her she always thinks any sign of struggling within herself is weakness. truly does…. not kno how to properly emotion

CUT TO!!!! the present. she’s currently living at the motel which is like. the least homely place she cld ever live rly but bradley loves making her life uncomfortable n doesn’t rly believe in growing sentimentally attached to anything if she cn help it <3 probably gets into arguments all the time w her neighbours it’s a whole thing.... atrocious at feeding herself has breakfasts frm the vending machine like her organs aren’t screaming fr vegetables.... plays music too loud n sometimes vanishes for days at a time without a word. she’s a lot.

i honestly feel like the murders haven’t rly phased bradley too hugely....... i won’t lie she probably genuinely is like. oh maybe it’s smthn to do w my dad. n just blinks the other way not rly that phased. on some subconscious level i think she rly just thinks........ death follows her wherever she goes n is like. this is just life for me! kind of depressing. holds her hand bt then screams n pulls away when she inevitably bites me.

PERSONALITY:

the kind of sour cherry only certain people have a taste for

once drank a bottle of whiskey, insisted she could still do a cartwheel and accidentally kicked an old man’s front tooth out in the process. proceeded 2 collapse into a flower bed and laugh so much abt it that she cried

barely takes anything seriously 50% of the time and is angry the other 50%

if she was a coffee she’d be black with five grains of sugar that you couldn’t taste until the last sip

(alcoholism tw) high functioning alcoholic. if u ever see her w a coffee cup u jst kno tht one sniff will confirm high alcohol percentage. honestly idk hw she does it her liver must b yellin

loyal to a point of fault. if she cares abt u (rare) and u murder a man in cold blood (not so rare in the broad scheme of bradley’s life) she’ll brawl anyone that says ur guilty

honestly wld probably fight a person over anything. sometimes she’ll jst be having a bad day n she’ll burst n take it out on whoever says the wrong thing. minefield!

has the worst luck in romance…. ever. ALL her past bfs hav been absolute beasts n as a result she has the ‘romance is dead n love is a lie’ mentality. definitely NOT a romantic. very cut n dry abt these things. sex is mostly just sex n she’d kind of scoff at anyone that wanted more from her

mostly wears stolen clothes from strangers and jackets that swamp her. huge chunky stomping boots with steel toe caps that would RLY bruise if they gave u a kick. hair is p much always a wild mess n she usually hs kind of smudgy/smoky makeup bcos apparently she’s allergic to combs and generally looking presentable… relatable content. the only time she rly looks put together is when she has to do something/go somewhere/see someone on behalf of her father....... he kind of uses her as a sort of. honey pot sometimes fr shit his gang get up to it’s like. not! a way u should ever utilise ur daughter but :/ i cannot stress enough how much i wna drop kick him in the neck

she’s v sarcastic. blunt. kind of has a habit of…. assessing a person n she’s quite perceptive bc she’s been trained to b by the way she always has to monitor her dad’s expression fr the slightest emotion change. she’s very confident n can p much mke a conversation out of whatever if she feels like it. independent too like she hs a bunch of (predominantly surface connection) friends bt she doesn’t care abt going out places alone n does this often. she’s probably kind of known around town bt itd b a 50/50 balance between bein known as intimidating n bein known as that one girl tht always gets into anarchy

likes: drunken snow angels that drag on so long they flirt with pneumonia, stealing cars, throwing watermelons off rooftops to watch them explode, shooting pedestrian’s with bb guns from hidden spots on rooftops. 

dislikes: telling the truth, tulips so yellow it’s like they’re gloating, playing music loud enough to fry your brain and serve it on a piece of toast, going home.

PLOTS:

someone tht works at the ‘no angels’ strip club?? either as a dancer or bartender or whtever. just a forewarning it’s probably gna b a pretty….. seedy and Not That Pleasant environment bc it’s like. a crime hotspot inevitably bc it’s a gang hangout so. ur chara wld truly be in fr a rollercoaster ride to say the least

(drugs tw) she deals coke fr her dad’s gang so perhaps ur muse buys off her

anyone….. she’s brawled in the past like. she’s literally a menace i cnt express this enough. wil jst randomly throw a drink in someone’s face fr no reason bc she’s bored. she’s probably pissed off 1000 diff ppl in 1000 diff ways. the possibilities r endless n i jst think tht’s a sexy prospect!

fwbs perhaps??? exes??? (probably ws a tumultuous relationship honestly bradley is. a handful...... it’s also rly not often she ties herself down tbh so this would maybe have to b discussed/be circumstantial/kind of rare)

mayb someone tht she met at an aa meeting when she hd to go fr a court mandated thing one time after bein arrested fr public indecency. i feel like there’s probably a rly expensive statue somewhere thts fancily sculpted n she like. did a flying kick n broke the dick of it off n gt arrested fr it

ppl she……. Goes Wild Goes Crazy w. truly jst the most self destructive person alive so anyone w a similar mindset wld b a hellish bt fun combination

on the contrary a gd influence cld b nice perhaps? like someone tht genuinely cares abt her n she jst doesn’t kno hw to compute it

maybe people who r her neighbours that live at the motel too??

OH it could b fun if ur muse runs or works at a local business maybe like. a bar? idk? n bradley n ur muse have developed a rapport bc she frequents the place n is................ a Character

um. honestly the world’s our oyster. hmu n we cn brainstorm if none of tht catches ur eye!

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Meant To Be: Part 2

Pairings: Machine Gun Kelly x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, drug use, descriptions of an overdose

Word Count: 2,384

A/N: Y’all can thank @wings-of-a-raven for this one….

Part 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well look what the cat dragged in.” Your step mother, Anne cooed in her deep Southern accent as you walked into your family run road side stand to see if your dad could use an extra hand behind the register. “Wait until your father hears the good news! And look at this handsome little bean!”

“Is he here?” You asked as you pushed your Chanel sunglasses on top of your head and dropped the strap of your diaper bag on the handle of the stroller. 

“He’s out back, sugar.” She said as she gestured behind herself, vaguely while making faces at Gage. “Hello! Hello!” Your poor son, who had never met his grandparents before, started to cry, which made the damaged half of you giggle the slightest bit since Anne was the reason your parents got divorced in the first place.

“Oh, let’s go find grandpa, bubba.” You cooed as you stepped to the side of the stroller so Gage could see you as you pushed the stroller toward the back. “Oh, my goodness I know! The mean scary lady got right in your face…”

“Oh!” Anne gasped at your back. “Well bless your heart!”

“My heart don’t need blessin’!” You called out over your shoulder with a smile. 

“The hell did you say to her this time?” Your dad, Ross called out from under his 1972 Ford pick up.

“I didn’t say anything.” You said with a shrug as you let Gage chew on your finger to calm himself down. “I need work.”

“What, did that bright California sun finally burn all your nonsense hopes and dreams away?”

“Nope, the piece of shit baby daddy did that in three minutes and twenty two seconds.” Ross sighed and dropped his wrench in the dirt he was laying on and slid out from under the car to look at you.

“I never liked that punk anyways.” He sighed as he looked you up and down. “You look good, kid.”

“Thanks, pop.” You sighed as you ran your fingers through your freshly dyed red hair and put your sunglasses back on. “Now if only the modeling agencies would overlook the c-section scar like they did the thick thighs… and you know, the whole heroin addiction shit.”

“Yea, fuck those dumb shits.” He grumbled as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Wouldn’t know a good thing if it punched ‘em in the dick.”

“You need a hand behind the register?” You asked as you took an offered smoke and stood up.

“I’m guessin’ this little slugger’s taggin’ along?” He asked as you turned your stroller around so Gage could still see you when you smoked.

“Someone’s gotta count the register.” Your dad nodded his head slowly as he looked at his grandson and took a long drag of his cigarette.

“Fuck kinda name is Gage, anyway?”

“One that I fucking picked, asshole.” You laughed as you looked over at him. “Jesus, old man.”

“Gage.” He repeated with a shake of his head. “Sounds like a damn car part.”

“You’re an idiot.” You laughed as he pat your cheek and crouched down to go back to work.

“You leave your step-mama alone if you’re sitting at that register all day!” He called out as he picked up his wrench. “And don’t you be eatin’ all the damn honey sticks like your sister, neither or I’m dockin’ your pay, too!”

“Never liked the honey sticks anyways!” You called back before taking one last drag of your cigarette and heading inside. “I’ll take it from here.” You said as sweetly as you could to Anne as you pushed the stroller up beside the hand made counter your older brother had made when you were just a kid.

“Unbelievable.” She sighed as she grabbed her water bottle and got up from her little chair to go and complain to your dad. With a victorious smile, you picked your son up out of his car seat and smiled broadly at him as you waited for the couple customers in the store to pick out what they wanted.

——

“So the misfit daughter came back home.” Your older brother, Junior, said as he came into the farm stand the next morning with a giant teasing smile on his face. “Shit, when did he get so big?”

“I ask myself that every morning.” You sighed as you turned down the music playing on your phone, stood up, and headed around the counter to say hi to your brother. “How’s the fields?”

“Field-y.” He chuckled as he gave you a dirt covered one armed hug. “Still taking your clothes off for money?”

“You’re a fucking idiot. No, don’t touch my baby!” You snapped as you whacked at your brother’s hands. “I’m mad at you!”

“Oh, boo hoo.” He teased as he leaned over the side of the pack and play and reached in to brush his knuckle across Gage’s cheek. “Seriously, though. He’s adorable.” You thanked him softly and pulled your chair over to sit for a little bit while you monitored the morning delivery of the fresh produce. “You want me to kill him?”

“You don’t have to kill him.” You sighed as you ran your fingers through your hair. “I just… shit, I don’t even know anymore.”

“What don’t we know?” Your sister, Tabby asked as she came in the front with eggs from her chickens.

“What I’m gunna do with myself anymore.” You breathed as you rested your elbow on the counter and propped your head up on your palm. “I just keep asking myself where the fuck I went wrong in my life?”

“When you became a stripper.” Tabby said as she put the eggs in the old Coke fridge.

“I was never…”

“When you started dating that dickhead.” Junior interrupted as he pointed at your baby sister.

“When you though doing coke at dad’s wedding was a good idea.”

“When you dropped out of high school.”

“That time you drank a whole bottle of tequila at my graduation.”

“When you moved to California in the middle of the night without a word.”

“That time…”

“OK, enough you two.” You barked as you whacked Junior’s arm because he was the closest. “I get it, alright? I’m the black sheep of the family.”

“You two leave your sister alone and get back to work.” Ross said as he carried in a large box of cucumbers. “Shit ain’t gunna carry itself in.” You let out an exhausted sigh and gave your father a grateful smile as he paused just long enough to pat the counter. “You too, (Y/N). Those jelly jars won’t make it out on the shelves by themselves.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“And you better turn that assholes music off!” He yelled as he headed back out to finish unloading the truck. You scowled at his back and grabbed your cell phone to turn off YouTube and the amateur videos you had been watching from MGK’s show in Salt Lake City the night before to get to work.

——

“Dre!” You shouted from your kitchen counter top, where you had been flirting with another model from the agency you worked for that had just done a Harley Davidson shoot with you earlier that day. “Baby!”

“Lookin’ dime!” Your friend shouted over the loud music as he came over to give you a hug hello. “Brought my boy I was tellin’ you about.” You sat up with a giant smile and looked at the tall, super skinny white boy that was standing in your crowded living room.

“Well fuck me runnin’ naked in a corn field.” You groaned with a giant smile on your face as you jumped down off the counter and pulled your very short black dress down over your thick thighs a little more. “(Y/N).”

“Call me Kels.” He said as he shook your head and looked you up and down. “Damn. Dre said you were fuckin’ fine but I’m pretty sure that don’t even fucking begin to cover it.”

“Oh, a charmer.” You teased as you laced your arm with his and turned toward your friend. “Can I keep him, pretty please? He seems like so much fun.”

“You’re in for a wild ride with that one.” Dre joked as he handed Kels a mixed drink from the alcohol you had lined up on your bar.

“Wait, you don’t want that shit!” You said quickly as you yanked the cup out of Kels hand before he could even take a sip. “Handsome guy like you deserves my personal fave. Help me.” With a glance back at Dre, he held on to your hips and gave you a small push so you could climb up on the counter. You teetered a bit in your heels as you grabbed a half empty bottle of Johnnie Walker blue label from on top of the cabinets, and turned back toward him. “I have to hide it from the Goddamn heathens.”

“You’re gunna break your fuckin’ neck, girl.” Kels laughed as he grabbed your hips again and pulled you off the counter. You squeaked when you accidentally landed on his toes and fell forward into his tattooed chest.

“Jesus, when the fuck did my Southern ass stop being able to hold my fucking liquor.” You giggled as you placed your hand on his chest to catch your balance. He shrugged as you looked up into the most blue eyes you had ever seen. “Damn. I really wanna keep you…”

“I think that can be arranged.” He said through a smirk as he gave your hip a small squeeze. A slight blush crept up your cheeks and you cleared your throat as you held up the liquor bottle.

“Drink to it?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

Colson laid in his bunk after yet another show, slowly flipping through photos from the cloud on his new phone from the first night you met. He remembered that night so well, the way your laugh made everything in his world feel right. The sweet noises he pulled out of you as he fucked you relentlessly in your bed while the party raged on the other side of the wall. And he especially remembered the small whine you made when he tried to leave.

“Stay with me.” You whispered as you reached up to try and rub your reddish pink lipstick off his throat. “Looks like you have to, because I marked you.”

He smiled at the memory as he got to the last photo from that small bunch; the one he had taken the next morning before you had to rush out the door for work, 20 minutes late because he couldn’t help himself but to take you once more. You were laying in bed in the shirt he had worn to the party, your hair was a mess, and you had a small smudge of mascara under your eyes that hadn’t come off the night before when you washed your face. To this day, he thought it was one of the most beautiful photos of you he had ever seen.

“Damn, baby.” He sighed as he brushed his thumb across the screen. “What the fuck happened to us, girl?” With a huff, he grabbed his cigarettes and got out of bed, even though it was nearly six in the morning and he had just finished a concert in Oklahoma. He plodded past the other bunks and flopped down on one of the couches as he looked at the same photo. He laid the phone down gently and reached for a joint, before grabbing a receipt off the table and a pen. He sat back in his spot and started jotting down ideas for a new song for you.

——

“It’s not fucking right.” Kels said for the hundredth time as he listened to the playback of your song. His band groaned as he stood back up and headed back toward the small studio in his tour bus. “Let’s do it again…”

“Kels.” JP sighed as he stuck his arm out in front of the door. “Man… you gotta stop.”

“Don’t gotta go shit.” 

“Bro!” The younger man shouted as he stood up and got into his ‘brother’s’ face. “The reason it doesn’t sound perfect is because (Y/N) isn’t the one hearing it. Shit is gunna sound rough as fuck to you until she hears it and we all fucking know it. You’ve been a royal dick for weeks…”

“Man, fuck off.”

“No, you fuck off!” JP roared as he shoved the singer back. “Go fucking find her already! Even if you don’t want her and you just want your fucking kid, go do something about it! Because you’re a fucking dick that none of us wanna be around right now!” Kels looked around at the rest of his crew, who were all either slowly nodding their head in agreement or looking away to avoid the wrath Kels had been dishing out the last few weeks, before he sighed loudly and took a step back to sit down on the closest chair. His eyes drifted outside to the scenery racing past and he caught a glimpse of a road sign that had a city he knew was near your hometown on it.

“Yo, pull over.” He said as he got up and headed toward the front of the bus. “Pull over!”

“We’re on the interstate…” The driver tried as he gestured to the road while Kels quickly pulled on his sneakers and grabbed his phone.

“Pull the fuck over!”

“Just take this exit.” Slim said, calmly as he pulled Kels back away from the door. “We’re going, OK?”

“What about Atlanta?!” His manager, Ashleigh, shouted as she finally looked up from the email she had been reading.

“Cancel it.” Kels said simply as he pushed down the seat above the stairs and sat down to wait impatiently. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and quickly googled the first and frankly, the only place he’d know where to find you. “Take 85 east. That way.” With a slightly hesitant nod of his head, the driver followed the artists direction as the guys and girls in the back of the bus simply sat down and shut up for the first time in a long time.

Part 3

[crystaljins]

Good riddance.

Characters: Jimin x Reader

Word count: 2k

Synopsis:   Is it too much to ask for a normal rooommate?

Jimin x reader. Roomates-to-lovers

Notes: The first of my requests to celebrate reaching 1000 followers! This is dedicated to my beloved queenie who always leaves the sweetest asks for me! She requested “Jimin +  moving in to an apartment/college!au style “ And this mess of a fic is what she got, unfortunately. I’m not too fond of it myself- I’m battling some mean writer’s block! But the concept is cute, at least.

Warnings: None

“Thank goodness.” Taehyung says warmly through a mouthful of freshly baked cookie. Jimin reaches for a cookie too, savouring the soft, dough-y texture and the richness of the slightly-melted chocolate chips. He closes his eyes in contentment for a long moment. “I’m so glad your crazy roommate finally moved out.”

“She wasn’t crazy.” He says with a sigh. The apartment is clean and smells of freshly baked cookies. He can hear his new roommate humming cheerfully in the next room. After baking some cookies, he had decided he’d do some cleaning. Because cleaning is apparently a hobby for Jimin’s new, eerily perfect roommate. Life is good. No, it’s great. He can’t remember the last time he had a peaceful afternoon like this. “She did move out really quickly, though.”

And he’s glad of it. Good riddance. It’s about time fate cut him some slack! He’s had a string of increasingly bad roommates over the past year and his most recent one was the worst of them. It all started a year ago, when he discovered his roommate of three years had been sleeping with his girlfriend for almost the entire time they had lived together. Needless to say, he had required a new roommate as soon as possible. He lived in a nice apartment but it definitely required a two-person income to meet the rent demands and he wasn’t going to live with that lying jerk a moment longer. Only, finding a new roommate was easier said than done.

The first of his bad string of roommates had been Toby. Toby had been nice enough at first. He never left dirty dishes in the sink and he always checked first with Jimin before using the washing machine to make sure Jimin didn’t need to use it too. He had paid his rent on time too, which had been the priority. Post-graduate students don’t make a lot of money and Jimin didn’t have any income to spare if his roommate was late on paying rent.

The problem with Toby was Toby’s girlfriend. She was a nice girl in small doses. She smiled a lot and always made small talk with Jimin on the awkward occasions he was alone in the living room with her. But she and Toby fought a lot. Which isn’t a huge problem- every relationship has their communication bumps and hardships. But their fights weren’t normal fights. They would scream at each other at weird hours of the night and one time Toby’s girlfriend had gotten so mad she had taken a plate and thrown it against the wall. It had shattered to the point that super glue could do nothing for the plate. And it was a nice plate too! It was part of the set Jimin’s mother bought for him when he first moved to the city for his studies. Needless to say, Jimin had requested that Toby find another place to stay the next morning.

Of course, Toby was sorely missed in comparison to his next roommate, Bertha. The problem with Bertha was that she had a cat. As a disclaimer, Jimin loves cats. He thinks they are sweet and he’s always wanted a cat of his own. But Bertha’s cat was no ordinary cat. No, it was a demon, summoned from hell with a fetish for human toes and a propensity for leaving poo nuggets in inconvenient areas. Cats are supposed to naturally use litter trays! Why the demonspawn, or Mittens, as Bertha fondly called him, reviled the litter tray so deeply is a mystery for the ages. Needless to say, Jimin had tolerated that for as long as he could. But then Mittens had decided he would take a nice bite of Jimin’s big toe while he was napping on the couch one day and Jimin had ended up in hospital. Who knew cat bites were so dangerous? Bertha had offered to move out straight away and had also paid for Jimin’s hospital bills as long as he didn’t make her put her beloved demonspawn to sleep. She hasn’t contacted him since. 

He wishes he could say that Bertha was the worst of his roommates but she wasn’t. There was Michael, who had a creepy taxidermy obsession. And Angela, who only washed her hair during the full moon. He doesn’t even want to say what Seungmin was like. There had been no end in sight to his string of bad roommates.

Then you came along. You actually hadn’t undergone Jimin’s usual selection process, which was his first mistake. He had developed pretty strict selection criteria after suffering through so many bad roommates. But you had managed to bypass all of that thanks to your older brother Yoongi. Yoongi is a nice, calm guy. He has helped Jimin a lot in the past, especially during the cheating-girlfriend fiasco. So when Yoongi had mentioned that his younger sister was moving to the city after changing degrees, Jimin had been quick to offer up the extra room in his apartment. By that stage, he had seen the worst of the worst when it came to crazy roommates- there was no way someone related to Yoongi could be any worse than the nutcases he had dealt with this far.

He should have been more careful. You really gave all the other roommate’s a run for their money. You would offer to make him dinner and then set the stove top on fire. His favourite shirt had been ruined in the evacuation. You were hopeless at doing the dishes- he’s had to buy at least three new sets of dinner plates since you moved in. You had broken the vacuum cleaner, clogged the shower drain, smashed a window… You were supposed to ease his financial burdens, not create them! And you just kept inserting yourself into his life- inviting yourself to movie nights, charming his friends so they invited you along to parties he attended. At least he could just go for a walk or meet up with friends when his other roommates grew to be too much- there was no escaping you, however.

Which is why he’s glad you moved out so suddenly! As far as roommates go, you were terrible, with all the annoying and frustrating habits to boot and since he didn’t have the heart to kick you out, it’s better that you left on your own. And without any warning so he didn’t have to stress about you moving out or anything horrible like that. Just… bam. He woke up and you were on the doorstep, bidding him an awkward farewell. He’s glad things ended up like this. His new roommate can cook, never sets the apartment on fire and offered to drive Jimin to work since his car broke down.

“I’m highkey glad she’s gone. She kept ruining our movie nights.” Taehyung continues. “If she made me watch Monster’s Inc. one more time…” Taehyung trails off and shudders at the recollection of your weird obsession with the movie.  Taehyung whirls on Jimin. “But I did always wonder. Why did you give in to her?”

“What do you mean?” Jimin asks, reaching for another cookie. He’s going to start putting on weight with the way his new roommate feels a compulsion to feed him but honestly it would be worth it. Taehyung frowns and tilts his head at Jimin. It reminds Jimin of the way Taehyung’s dog looks when it comes across something new and puzzling.

“Well, you could have said no to her at any point.” Taehyung points out. “When she asked to tag along to our movie nights or when she insisted on cooking dinner or even when Yoongi first suggested she move in with you. The whole time, you could have refused. But you let her do it. You knew what the outcome would be and yet every time… you kept saying yes.”

Jimin goes silent at Taehyung’s surprisingly astute observation. The warm chocolate chip cookie, previously delightfully warm and delicious, now tastes like ash in his mouth.

“Would you like to know what really happened?” Taehyung asks, leaning forward with a sharpness to his eyes that wasn’t there before. Jimin shrinks slightly beneath the gaze of his oldest friend.

“N-nothing happened. We just decided to go our separate ways.” Jimin points out, internally cursing himself for his stutter. “It’s just cause she’s Yoongi’s sister. I felt obligated to be nice to her.”

“Cute.” Taehyung answers with a smile. “But also a blatant lie. Jimin, I know what you look like when you have a crush.”

Jimin’s not sure why he feels like his heart suddenly freezes in his chest. A… crush? On you?

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jimin answers with an uneasy laugh. “I don’t have a crush on her. Taehyung, she turned my uniform shirts pink a few weeks ago because she accidentally left her underwear in the wash.”

“Well, that’s a shame then.” Taehyung says with a dramatic sigh. “I guess her moving out because of her feelings for you was the right move then, huh?”

Jimin blinks a few times and it takes him a second to comprehend what Taehyung is saying.

“Feelings… for me? She moved out like that because… because she had feelings? For me?” Jimin questions and he wishes he didn’t sound so desperate and hopeful but he’s temporarily lost control over the emotions in his voice thanks to Taehyung’s shocking announcement. Taehyung grins widely.

“I thought you didn’t have a crush? Then you shouldn’t care about the real reason she moved out.” Taehyung says smugly and as much as Jimin loves Taehyung, he could honestly strangle him in that moment. 

“Taehyung.” Jimin calls warningly and Taehyung actually breaks out in laughter.

“The night before she moved out, she was actually planning to confess to you.” Taehyung explains. Jimin swallows past the dryness in his throat as remembers the night in question.

You had been acting strange all day, a bit antsy, and every time Jimin stepped into the kitchen to make sure you hadn’t set any accidental fires, you had shooed him out.

Of course, true to your nature, the familiar smell of smoke had filled the apartment while Jimin was distracted taking a phone call with his landlord. Jimin, fully prepared for your kitchen mishaps, had rushed in with the fire extinguisher at the ready. Of course, the food you had tried to make had been inedible before it caught fire, but it entered new levels of inedible when covered in flame retardant. You had stared at the food with a weird look in your eyes and Jimin had helpfully suggested you order takeout.

The night had gone smoothly from there and the two of you had watched a movie. You’d bid him goodnight with a smile on your face and the next morning you were packed and ready to move out. Just like that. No warning. You had been smiling and having fun with him with no indication of what you were planning and then suddenly his apartment was empty and dark. And he was forced to admit a horrible truth to himself:

You’re not the worst roommate he’s ever had. No, you’re probably the best one. Not because you’re perfect or because you have no bad habits. But because you’re you. Full of energy and sincerity and affection and the day you moved out you accidentally broke Jimin’s heart. As pathetic and stupid as it is, he had liked you. A lot. And it hurt when you suddenly moved out like that, despite his attempts to pretend otherwise.

“As silly as it is, I think she moved out because you inadvertently rejected her that night.” Taehyung admits, shaking his head. “That’s what Yoongi thinks, at least. It’s the most words I’ve ever heard from him and they were all to insult you.”

Jimin winces, but he has more pressing matter than Yoongi being mad: You have feelings for him. Feelings. For him.

“Did you really say that she’s the biggest pain you’ve ever come across? While she was making you a nice dinner to confess her feelings?” Taehyung asks curiously. Jimin winces when he recalls that yes. He had said something along those lines while in hysterics following yet another fire-related incident. He was going to lose his deposit on the apartment at this rate.

“I… might have… said something along those lines.” Jimin finally admits. His jaw drops as he puts two and two together. Taehyung smiles widely. “Is... is that why she moved out? Because of some stupid panicked words I said while our apartment was on fire?”

“What are you going to do about it if that’s the case?” Taehyung asks. But Jimin is already on his feet and grabbing his coat. He’s out the door before Taehyung even completes his question.

Jimin’s new roommate pokes his head out the door.

“Was Jimin going somewhere?” He asks, glancing around curiously. “Did he not like the cookies?”

Taehyung shrugs and turns to Seokjin.

“He’s just going to have an important talk. Now, about your roommate situation…” He trails away and stares at Seokjin curiously and then warmly at the cookies.

“I have a spare room if, for some mysterious reason, you find yourself homeless in the next few days. I have a feeling you’ll need it.”

[rimmers-swimming-certificate]

"Why are you helping me?" for the prompt.

This one got away from me length-wise again. I’m going to try to keep the next ones a bit short and sweet, but I’ll probably fail miserably.

(Dialogue prompts)

Kryten hummed to himself as he walked to the laundry room with a basket of dirty clothes tucked under one arm. The sound of the washing machine had moved on to the high-pitched whine that indicated the final spin cycle, and he estimated he had just under five minutes before he could take out the first load, pop it in the dryer, and get the next pile washing. Then, with Mr Lister’s dirty socks sloshing happily around the washing machine, he would be able to kick back and do something he really enjoyed: ironing.

At least, that was the plan. A plan that came to a grinding halt when he entered the laundry room to find somebody else already standing at the ironing board.

Kryten blinked, took a few nanoseconds to run a quick diagnostic on his visual acuity circuits, made sure that he hadn’t bypassed his sanity chip and started hallucinating, and finally, one at a time, removed his eyes and gave them a quick rub with a cloth before popping them back in.

He found, to his dismay, that the scene before him had not changed,

“Mr Lister?” he asked a little hesitantly, still not one hundred percent certain that he wasn’t suffering from some kind of malfunction.

Lister was unclothed from the waist up, meaning that either he had forgotten to get dressed, or there had been some kind of laundry disaster. He was standing behind the ironing board, iron in one hand, the other hand holding a shirt in place. He pushed the steam button on the iron and a cloud of water vapour hissed out into the garment below. Lister pressed the iron down hard and wobbled it from side to side as he erased a crease.

“Alright Kryten,” he said. “Don’t mind me, I’ll be out of your hair in a sec.”

As Kryten carefully placed the laundry basket on the floor next to the washing machine, Lister pushed the steam button again. Again. Twice in one minute. It was madness. “Sir,” he said. “Are you... helping me?”

Lister frowned, then shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. Kind of.”

“But… Why are you helping me? You detest ironing, sir. In fact, I distinctly remember you telling me that there was no point in it because the creases always fall out anyway once you’ve worn something for a few hours.”

Lister shrugged. “I stand by that,” he said. “But I needed a shirt. And I mean, yeah, normally I’d just put it on. But I wanted this shirt, and it was so creased up that I just knew if you saw me, you’d make me take it off so you could iron it.”

Kryten looked at the shirt on the board. “Ah yes,” he said. “That was from the challenge pile.”

“The what?” asked Lister.

“Well sir,” Kryten said. “I love ironing, as you know. But even I have to admit that sometimes it gets a bit samey. So I decided to liven things up a bit.”

Lister pushed the steam button again. “Liven things up?” he repeated.

“Yes. By challenging myself. Every time I do laundry, I pick two or three items to screw up into a ball,” he said. “I really twist them, fold them at awkward angles and generally do everything I can to make sure they’re covered with deep creases, then I leave them to dry like that. It’s not good laundry practice, I’m afraid, but it ensures that ironing the creases out is a real challenge.”

Lister shook his head. “I guess that explains it,” he said. “Well, I wanted to wear it, and I figured if I did, you’d demand I strip down in the middle of breakfast so you could iron it. So I decided to spare myself that and help you out at the same time by just doing it myself.”

He pressed the steam button again, and Kryten flinched. “I see. Well, I’m here now sir. So would you be so kind as to stop helping me?”

Lister frowned. He put the iron down on the heat resistant pad at the end of the ironing board. “Why?” He pushed the steam button again, this time not even aiming downward. The steam escaped uselessly into the room.

“Please, sir,” Kryten begged. “You’re overdoing it. I love the steam button as much as the next droid; the soothing hiss of the steam forced out of the iron at pressure, the gurgle of the water inside as it moves to fill the space left behind, and best of all, the way even the most stubborn of creases surrender in the face of it. It is absolutely the best part of ironing, but this is too much.”

“If you hadn’t deliberately creased up my favourite shirt so much that even I couldn’t wear it, I wouldn’t have to,” Lister said.

Kryten edged slowly closer, feeling very tense. Ironing was his job. What if Lister decided that he liked it too? They would end up fighting over who got to do it, and as Kryten was programmed to defer to the will of a human, he knew that he would be the loser of that particular battle. “How about I take over now?” he said. “You don’t really like ironing, do you sir? And it’s so dangerous. Imagine if you got burned, I’d never forgive myself. And honestly, if you carry on like that you’ll wear that steam button out. Four times for the same garment? Goodness me, don’t you know that the iron releases steam anyway? Pushing the button is reserved for crease emergencies only.”

“Crease emergencies?” Lister shook his head. “Oh you mean like when you accidentally iron a crease into your clothes and it won’t come out? Yeah, it’s okay, you can relax Kryten, it was a crease emergency.”

“You ironed a…” Horrified, Kryten stepped closer still, hoping to put himself between Lister and the iron. “Sir, please. Step away from the iron. I’ll finish it for you.”

Lister shrugged, and to Kryten’s extreme relief, moved away from the ironing board. Like a negotiator that had finally talked a gunman into handing over his weapon, Kryten grabbed hold of the iron’s handle the second that he could. He allowed himself a moment to relax and enjoy the victory before he looked down at the shirt to assess the damage.

“You know, this is a little bit insulting Kryten,” Lister told him. “I mean, I kinda resent that you think I can’t iron a shirt. I know I normally don’t, but I could if I wanted to. I’m not a total idiot.”

Kryten let go of the iron and ran his hands over the shirt, checking for creases. There were none. Surprised, he turned it around and checked the back, then the arms, then finally the collar.

“See?” said Lister with a grin.

Kryten stared down at the shirt in horror. This was a disaster. If Mr Lister could iron his own shirts, then he could potentially do it at any time! Kryten could arrive to do some ironing that he had been looking forward to, and find it already done! No no no, this wouldn’t do at all.

He couldn’t lie, not to Mr Lister. Not convincingly, anyway. Mr Lister had taught him the skill, and he could always see right through him when he tried to use it. There was only one other answer; deception.

“It’s… not bad sir,” he said, “But… Oh look, what’s that over there?” He pointed at the other side of the room, where there was absolutely nothing of interest.

When Lister glanced briefly away, Kryten picked up the iron and quickly but carefully ironed in a crease. By the time Lister looked back at him, the iron was in the same position it had been in before, as though nothing had happened. “What?” Lister asked

“Oh, nothing,” Kryten said, then made a show of looking down at the shirt. “Oh, would you look at that,” he said. “A crease. Never mind, sir, I’ll take care of that for you.”

Lister folded his arms and watched as Kryten ironed out the crease.

“There we go sir, now it’s perfect,” Kryten told him. He handed him the shirt. “So, I think that definitively proves that I am the superior ironer. Maybe you should just leave it to the expert next time, sir. Can you imagine if you had put on the shirt with that giant crease? What would Mr Cat have thought?”

Lister rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re right Kryten. No more ironing for me. It’s probably for the best.”

Lister put on the shirt and walked away while still buttoning it up. Kryten allowed himself to indulge in smug mode for a moment in celebration of his completely convincing deception, until the washing machine finished. He hurried over, eager to get the new load in so that he could enjoy the rest of the ironing.