#even the coworker I do like is in thin fucking ice okay!!

[violetclarity]

in a ~fun~ turn of events I think this year I hate my job not because of the *gestures to conservative catholic institution* everything but because the ratio of direct coworkers whom I like vs. dislike has gone from 2:1 to 1:2 and I am LOSING IT

[totheblood]

protective!spencer reid headcanons

a/n: this is a remake of one of my headcanons i did for ellie but i completely rewrote it cause yea... AI AUDIOS throughout, also reblogs, asks, and replies are so appreciated and encouraged! thank u kisses

spencer is extremely protective of you, more than anyone else in his life... he just doesn't know how to show it

he knows that the job entails danger and as much as he doesn't like it, there isn't much he can do about it

but that doesn't stop him from trying

when you partner up on cases together he always makes sure he enters first, a hand outstretched to make sure you're always covered

"it's clear, you can come on in now," he would whisper, gun still drawn. 

"spence, you don't have to do that every time."

"i know," he'd say with a small smile, "but i want to."

he tries not to coddle you. he has seen you take down unsubs twice your size(which he would be lying if he said it didn't turn him on), but sometimes his protective instincts just take over.

he'd rather put himself at risk than see you hurt. even after you're cursing him out, hands in a balled up fist banging on his kelvar vest. 

"what the fuck was that?" you'd yell, face getting hot, "i had him, and you could've gotten yourself killed,"

with an ice pack pressed to his forehead where the unsub got a punch in he closed his eyes gently, "i know, i know... i didn't even think, i just saw his hands on you and i just... look, i'm sorry for scaring you but i'm never going to be sorry for protecting you."

but when you get injured on a case, he just loses it

"what were you thinking, running in like that with no back up?" he'd scold while gently dabbing at the wound on your arm. 

"spence, I'm fine, it's just a scratch."

"just... be more careful next time, okay?" he'd say softly, looking around to make sure no one was watching before pressing a gentle kiss to your forhead, “i… can’t lose you.”

or if you were partnered with someone else and you came back with even a semblance of a bruise, he'd have his eyebrows furrowed, lips twisted into a scowl as he approached you, hands gently holding your arms, his face softening when you wince at the contact

"what happened?" he'd say voice tight, looking up at morgan who was trailing in behind you, looking guilty as ever. 

as derek opened his mouth to speak, you spoke up, "it wasn't his fau-"

"i didn't see him coming," morgan shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, "i got him off of her the minute he was on her."

"he shouldn't have had a chance to be on her," spencer spat back angrily.

"spence, it all happened in a matter of seconds," you say, voice sickeningly sweet as you tried to sooth his nerves, "i didn't see him coming either,"

"i know," he sighed, closing his eyes as he took a shaky breath in, "i know, but all it takes is one second and you could be..."

"i know," you pull him into a hug, his tall frame leaning down to wrap you in his arms, "but i'm here and i'm okay."

his protectiveness extends beyond the field too. 

the team would be out for drinks at o'keeffe's, you with a saltrimmed glass as you sat next to him. as you licked the edges, and drank your margarita with a satisfied grin, he would smile to himself, his smile dropping the minute a tall gruff man approached the two of you 

spencer's fingers twitch as the man puts his hand on the small of your back, taking notice in how your body tenses immediately and you laugh nervously. 

when he was in front of the team he wasn't your boyfriend spencer, he was your coworker spencer and as much as you planned on keeping it that way, spencer's patience was wearing thin each second the man's hand was on you. 

he'd cringe as you lean away from the man, mumbling some excuse like "i have a boyfriend," which made spencer's lips quirk upwards, just for a moment before he realized the man was still leaning into you, whispering, "he doesn't have to know,"

it's then that he steps in, getting up from his seat and stepping in between you and the man, flashing his badge at him with a quirked eyebrow and tight voice as he said, "i believe my colleague has made it clear she's not interested."

after a long case, one he knows hits you harder than the other's he is insisting you go to his apartment with him, his hands linking in yours the minute he's in the car and rubbing soothing circles into your palm

his voice is soft as he speaks over the radio, "everything okay, baby?"

"yeah," you would mumble, but he knows you too well and he knows that's not true. but he also knows you well enough to not bring it up again, choosing to distract you with your favorite songs on the drive or a warm bath when you get home, pressing sweet kisses all over your face as he bathes you

when you're sick, he shows up with:

homemade soup (his mother's recipe), herbal teas, and your favorite books which he reads to you, despite your protests for him to stay away.

instead he'd be telling you to open up as he fed you chicken soup while speaking to you gently, "did you know that chicken soup can actually help reduce inflammation? the chicken and vegetables in chicken soup actually inhibit the migration of neutrophils which can help you breathe better."

in public, his eyes always find you. especially at work he is glancing over at you from his desk, pen in his hand tapping the desk as he looks over at you for the thirteenth time that hour. 

"she's fine, kid. she's not going to magically disappear from her desk," derek teases, as he leans on spencer's desk, looking over at where your eyes finally met his and gave him a soft smile. 

"i know. i just like seeing her smile," spencer replies, voice soft as he smiles back at you. 

[gravedigest]

More DS drabble.

“No offense, Vic, but why are you putting up with it?”

His coworker has a hip leaning against the counter, the lull after lunch rush giving them all a moment to breathe. Victor logs himself out of the register, digging his phone from his back pocket as he slips to the back of the kitchen.

His coworker follows.

“He helps with the chores.”

“He’s not helping with the chores now,” they quirk their head towards the dining room, where Deimos is curled up in a booth. The way he’s zoned out suggests he’s probably working on something, the bored tilt of his head says it’s probably actual work. “Isn’t he freeloading?”

“No. No, he helps.”

“Helps what?”

“Is that actually any of your business?”

“Oh. Ooooh, I see.” That singsong tone of voice.

“No.”

“Still, he’s kind of a wreck, Vic. You could do better.”

“Can you not?”

He’s not in the mood for this.

Everyone trying to pry, dig in at his life. He’s not going to talk about it.

“I’m taking my lunch.”

“Gonna bring food to your boyfr-“

“We’re just roommates. Go fill a bag of ice for me.”

Even with all the heckling, they still do that, at least. Deimos might not be particularly popular as a restaurant appliance, but there’s a general understanding amongst the workers.

They won’t just let him overheat.

So Victor collects his lunch from the back, orders up something for Deimos, and gets the bag of ice.

He’s still blanked out in his booth when Victor gets there, resting on the table, head pillowed in his crossed arms. It makes it easy to get the ice spread over the back of his neck, stirring him just enough that he starts blinking and backing out of his rig.

“Got busy in here for a minute,” Deimos notes, stretching his arms over the table, then grinning up at him. “Lagged out the wifi.”

“Did it mess up whatever you’re doing?”

“Nah, music kept buffering, though. What’d ya get me?”

“Nuggets.”

“You are too sweet to me.”

He can see how hard it is for Deimos to get himself sat up, keeping the weight of his arms on the table, careful not to drop the ice by staying hunched over. Victor pops the box open for him, gets the top ripped off the sauce, the little fine motor things that can be a struggle when he’s lagging out.

And he is lagging out, there’s a slowness to how his eyes are tracking things, a sheen of sweat in his hairline. Little things Victor’s gotten good at noticing.

“Job’s gonna pay okay,” Deimos says it with his teeth halfway through a nugget, only realizing it was too hot halfway through the bite. “‘Lectricity should be good for the month. Or could go for the water, iunno. Your choice.”

“You get the electric, I’ll get water,” He doesn’t know how Deimos can eat the same things for weeks solid like he does, but it simplifies a lot of things.

He’s easy to please.

And he helps.

It’s not that complicated. He’s the easiest job Victor’s ever had.

Except for the parts that are hard.

When Victor checks on him again, nearing the end of his shift, Deimos hasn’t moved.

From across the restaurant, it looked like he was just back to work, face tucked into his arms and his hand around a soda cup.

He should’ve known better, made him take a break from his rig or moved him to the office when the boss had left for the day. Moved him to the walk-in. Had him walk around the dining room for a minute.

He’s crashing.

It takes two more people to help drag Deimos to the walk in, Deimos’ eyes stuck open wide, his limbs locked up in their curled positions, Victor’s shivering in the freezer with him as someone is cussing out corporate for the fact that no one can find a goddamn pen.

Sunglasses.

His sunglasses.

It takes a minute to pull the rubber off of the arm, to expose the narrow metal, but yeah- Yeah. That’s thin enough.

He tilts Deimos’ head down, finding that little pinhole from the diagrams he’d memorized, feeding the tip of the arm into the hole until he can feel the click-

Deimos jerks, immediately slamming his palms into his own eyes and coiling up. “Fuck, ow, shit, fuck- ow-“

“Hey- You’re gonna pop your eyeball-“

His hands drag up his face and into his hair, pressing hard at his skull as he collects himself from the hard cancellation of whatever process he was stuck in. “Shit, shit. What- Where?”

“Freezer?”

“… Overheated?”

… Sometimes, he wishes he could explain some things to Deimos.

He’s a little too deep for that, though.

It’s nicer to him if he just doesn’t know, anyway.

“… Yeah. Shift’s over. Wanna call Sanford?”

“… Yeah.”

[mattydemise]

I tell people I’m not interested in a relationship, I tell them I can’t give them what they want, I’m upfront about my intentions, and it still isn’t enough. I’m a direct person and I don’t mince my words. If I want to fuck, and only fuck, I will straight up say that. “No, you can’t meet my family” “That’s okay, come to mine instead.” We go to her house. Nice place. Amazing refrigerator. We have a couple of drinks and she wants to suck my cock. I tell her I don’t feel like it. She says she does feel like it and undresses in front of me. She’s wearing black lace lingerie. How do I describe a woman like her? She’s thin and has a body that men for millennia dream about. I watch, almost in slow motion, as her breasts tumble from her bra. I'm really not in the mood. I didn’t want this but I knew it was going to happen. The way she looked at me over dinner was pure hunger. The carnal hunger that causes wolves to rip out each other’s throats as they compete for the only female in the pack. I’ve seen hunger like that all my life and it all amounts to the same thing. People want me to fit their mould but I don't. They want me to change for them but I can’t. Those that know want me to turn them into poetry or write about them but I won’t. All this desire, all this hunger, I’m just nocturnal food to them. They think because I slayed some sunshine state dragon I'm some kind of knight. Never once did the thought cross my mind and it never will. So I’m standing there in her kitchen looking at her tits, she’d just separated from her husband. Some bloke I’d never even heard of, if he even existed. I suspected from the moment we met she was playing some kinky game but she was beautiful and I was bored. No tears, just a cold drink in my hand, and her putting my other hand on her breast. I could feel the heat rising from her and the smell of the perfume of her skin. I thought of Angie by The Rolling Stones and how I wished I was anywhere else but there.  Alone and listening to The Stones some place quiet. I thought about dinner and how I wished I ordered a margarita instead. Something strong and ice cold. I thought about all the times I could’ve cheated in my life and didn’t. I remember bartending at the hotel and one night a pretty girl named Erin I knew from high school came in and hounded me all fucking night. She smelled like vodka, and I would bet money she was wearing an Ariana Grande perfume. I was behind the bar and she tapped on the window and hooked her finger, telling me to come outside, I did to tell her to fuck off, but she pinned me against the wall and kissed me. I didn’t kiss her back. She tried to playfully slap me but I stopped her. I wasn’t messing around. I remember thinking "I bet my boss is watching this on the camera.” I can remember how soft her lips were and the taste of the alcohol and lip gloss. I never told my girl because it would’ve wrecked her. A coworker was watching from the window and she said she wouldn’t say anything. I don’t like secrets. If I was asked about it I would’ve answered honestly. And that brings me back to the divorcee. Everything feels like cheating when you’re unavailable, because you’re cheating on yourself.

[superiorjello]

So I just watched the first two episodes of "Midnight Museum"

It's a Thai Drama, kinda spooky, the first couple episodes are up on YouTube on the GMMTV channel for free so if you're curious, that's where it is.

My first reaction to the content is that this is YURGEN LEIGHTNER'S ASSISTANT: THE SHOW for any of you TMA fans out there. This dude Katha has a museum full of haunted shit. Enter Dome: freshly laid-off barista given an edgy bleeding-cowboys-esque font business card by the mysterious Katha. Now he gets to go work with ghosts or some shit!

...

Heres just my straight up reactions. SPOILERS NOW

...

Okay, this "orders coffee but doesn't drink the coffee" motherfucker is pulling some edgelord shit.

Dude! Why you gotta beat up an old man like that? EDGELORD DOESNT EVEN HELP? AND YOU'LL STILL TAKE THE JOB OFFER EVEN THOUGH THIS DUDE WOULDN'T HELP AN OLD MAN BEING BEATEN?

Okay sure, but he will beat up some thugs for Dome.

Now let's just drag you into the weird ass museum and not explain anything myself, the butler can do it.

IS THIS OTHER EMPLOYEE CHICK REAL? She says she's not a ghost but like... there are other options that are still spooky.

So can Dome like... hear haunted shit real good? Is he being specifically targeted for some reason? ...And now he's haunted by some fetal position slenderman-looking motherfucker, okay AND NOW EVERYTHING IS RED

YOU KNOW, THIS IS WHY WE DONT STORE ALL THE HAUNTED THINGS IN ONE PLACE

Not sure what was up with all that typewriter and wedding stuff but okay. Where did this woman come from? Unsure. Nice to meet you June-

Aaaaaand now coffee shop thug is back for more! THIS IS WHY WE DONT STORE ALL THE HAUNTED THINGS IN ONE PLACE, YURGENsorry KATHA.

Episode 2 time

WHAT DO YOU MEAN ITS HIS FAULT YOU WERE THERE WHEN HE DROPPED THE CARD AND YOU NEVER EXPLAINED ITS IMPORTANCE OF CHECKED HE STILL HAD IT

These thieves are so dumb.

I still don't trust this girl is just another employee.

Have I mentioned that the thieves are SO SO dumb?

I also love how the effects are just good enough to be fun to watch, just bad enough to not be scary.

DOME FOUND SLEEP PARALYSIS SLENDERMAN

And he just GOES BACK TO "not a ghost" GIRL AND ASKS FOR MORE HELP AND DOESNT ASK ABOUT SLEEP PARALYSIS SLENDERMAN AT ALL???

Love the way snakebite thief's face splits open. And his snek tongue. It's just great. No notes.

Katha and butler are just standing around humming and hawing over the lost shit. What great security there was for all this super haunted shit you had.

How long of a drive IS IT? DOME starts biking in daylight and it's NIGHT by the time he gets there.

Dome, seeing blood spatter: time to follow it with a phone light and NO WEAPON

no, we'll use the PHONE AS A WEAPON AND NOW HAVE NO LIGHT EITHER

WHY are you helping your old barista coworker? He's a dick.

All the haunted thieves look perfect really, no notes. Spider dude has EYES ON HIS CHEEKS

WHATS UP WITH SLEEP PARALYSIS SLENDERMAN???

Okay, Katha took a poisoned bite to the shoulder and a dagger to the gut for Dome. He's gained some points. But he's on THIN fucking ice.

WHY CAN DOME SEND THINGS TO THE SHADOW REALM? Are those people gone forever now? Will their families never even get a body? Will they be left guessing about their loved ones disappearance?Love those dark eyes tho.

So Katha is immortal so long as he's in the museum, huh? What was all that shit about not sacrificing himself for other people from the butler? It seems like he's the prime target FOR it.

I still wanna know what's up with the ghost girl. And also sleep paralysis slenderman.

[lord-cerberus]

【 PARAGRAPH REPLY EXAMPLES — ☆ 】

Akilles’s back was straight, arms aligned with his desk and his hands intertwined. “You seem like quite the man, Kirov,” he said, tilting his head to the side. On his face was a sly smile, thin, cracked lips threatening to open the scabs on them and break open. “I'm sure you'd be quite the addition to our family. If you get in, that is.”

With that, Kirov was sent off to God knows where—Akilles certainly didn't give a fuck.

He stood up from his chair and stretched, his back cracking multiple times in unsavory places like his body was about to fall apart, like it was a doll with weak joints.

“I'm surprised you showed up here, my dearest Kirov.”

Internally, Akilles was tearing out his hair—he normally saved affectionate nicknames for when his “coworkers” had begun to trust them a little more, but considering how Kirov seemed to be a bit spaced out at all times, they probably wouldn't care. Akilles bowed at an unnatural angle, but it really only seemed like he was a talented and submissive gay magician. It was hot, he ended up taking his jacket off and rolling up his sleeves, showing his long arms and bony elbows. “Follow me, why don't you? I managed to get some treats for my coworkers, and starting today you'll be one of them—so why don't we head to the makeshift cafeteria first?” he asked, waving Kirov along as his fingers wiggled theatrically.

( ───────── )

Akilles was a bit taken aback by Kirov’s lack of professionalism, but considering his hobbies he probably shouldn't be one to judge. Hesitantly, he thanked Kirov as they complimented his thin stature—most people found the way he moved unnatural, intimidating, maybe even repulsive. Firmly he grabbed Kirov’s shoulder, pushing him along. “I said, we're going to the cafeteria.” He made a detour for the desk at the front lobby, where the seat was abandoned, stil slightly spinning as if the receptionist had just left. A sign saying the receptionist was taking a break was placed on the desk, but Akilles paid it no mind. He grabbed a few tissues and shoved them into Kirov’s hands. “Are you doing okay, Kirov? You seem sick. Even if today was your first day, even I would have preferred for you to call in sick and prevent getting all of us ill too,” he hummed, continuing to guide Kirov to the cafeteria.

They passed by a bathroom with multiple stalls, the door still open. As Kirov’s head turned to look at the mirrors inside of it, he could have sworn he saw the reflection of a stranger—but when he looked around, there was no one there, save for Akilles.

( ───────── )

"Were you digging through trash or something?" Amihan asks.

He walks from where they were hiding at the corner of the building, approaching the stranger calmly. They don't respond. Amihan grins and tilts his head slightly, bleached and dyed hair scratching their face. "Come on, it was a joke! Liven up a bit. Here," he says, handing the person a water bottle, "you look tired as hell. Don't forget to drink, especially in the summer!"

Amihan pouts slightly when the stranger doesn't respond, and he waves his hand with the waterbottle in front of their face. "Hello?? You there? Don't tell me I need to call 911, ambulances cost a fortune..."

( ───────── )

"Whoa whoa whoa, calm down buddy!" Amihan started to feel dizzy as he held out his hands in front of him defensively, his eyes flickering from the stranger's eyes to his hand in his pocket. "...And dont bring out that knife on me either! I was just gonna ask you some questions about the recent killings in this place, ya know?"

He readjusted his hold on his shitty camera, feeling his sweaty hand starting to slip off of it. "And anyway, I don't bring poisoned water around with me! That's *my* water bottle, you know! Come on, I'm hot 'n hungry, I'll get some ice cream to calm us both down! But have some water first, you look horrible. No offense." He pouted and put his free hand on his hip.

( ───────── )

“I mean…” Makisig tilts his hand back and forth, a grimace appearing on his face. Most of his teeth seemed decently sharp—even those that shouldn't be, and his canines were especially long, too. If he'd had a sense of smell, that would probably make his job ten times easier, but then again, did sinthe even *have* a scent?

“They… dooooo…? They're like, used for, ah—keeping the wheel attached to the, yanno, body of the barrow. I must admit, I'm not much of a mechanics expert so I can't confidently say what the plate would be used for, or it's real name, but I'm at least, like eighty-percent sure they exist. Hehe.”

Makisig watches as the cat… fox… boy… thing? shrinks down and hugs onto a box. He towers over them in this position, making him feel at least a little bit more confident about his position. Hey, maybe he can rat some information out of this guy (haha, rat. Get it? ‘Cause he's a cat. Probably) and scare them into keeping quiet! They don't seem too hard to convince, anyway.

He laughs as he stops speaking and the giggle dies down; he lets his face relax into something of a self-pitying expression and looks down at the ground, his ears drooping.

“Actually, I'm more of a new recruit. I just joined the, uh, backstage posse. The boss is kinda scary, and it makes it hard to focus on his instructions ‘cause I'm worried he's gonna bite my head off, haha! So… sorry if I scared ya there. Between work and rest and props, I've had barely any time to introduce myself to any other crew members,” he explains, hoping his woe-is-me act isn't completely see-through. He's never been good at pretending to be a real person.

Tentatively, he lets out a gloved hand. “What play are you a part of, hmm? My name is Makisig.”

( ───────── )

Makisig laughed haughtily, covering his fanged mouth with a gloved hand. "Well, it should be here, unless someone else has taken it. Which would be… a threat to our production." He gave another thin smile. It fell short almost immediately after he broke eye contact with the man in the dress and he wandered around the room, opening up another box full of props and wondering if plates really did exist on wheels. They should, right? They help keep… something from breaking, whatever it is, he assumes. So it wouldn't be a far shot to hope that something along those lines would be in here, now would it?

He continued looking for some sort of mechanical opponent to bullshit his way out of his situation, humming to himself in thought as he lifted things up and down. He'd appreciate avoiding tearing apart this backstage as much as necessary, especially since he doesn't know when the play after this ballet would actually be. As he continued blindly sifting through boxes, he thought about all possible ways to knock out or otherwise incapacitate the man who caught him red-handed. "Oh, and it's fine if you aren't able to help me that much. Even the slightest bit of additional effort makes a huge difference," he said with a light chuckle.

Where to find, where to find, oh where to find proof of this stupid drug. He racked his brain for information of the drugs and dealers he already had—what it looked like, smelled like, how it was made… That actor who overdosed on this would have surely left some piece of evidence here.

( ───────── )

[captains-simp]

Hi bestieeee, congratulations on 1K!!! I have a request for you!! Mommy!Nat or Dark!Nat blackmailing R into sex or else R would be fired?? Thank you

I wonder who this request is from?🤔

2.8k words

Warnings: dub-con (bordering on non-con), coercion, blackmail, unhealthy power dynamic, oral sex (giving), praise, strap on sex and cum filled strap on

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You knew Natasha was coming before you saw her; before you even heard the chilling sound of her heels against the polished floors of the 46th level. You knew because you saw it in your coworkers eyes. You saw the way they cowered behind their desks and averted their eyes or made a swift exit from the area entirely. You knew because that was just how it worked at Romanoff Industries.

You were lucky enough to have your own office. Well, that should have made you lucky in avoiding Natasha's piercing gaze but it did not. Most of the time she stalked down the area outside your office she came straight to you and even if it wasn't her destination she would be sure to look in as she went by.

That was one of your less fortunate days, she was coming to see you and it wasn't to deliver a compliment about your hard work. Your boss let herself into your office without knocking and strolled over to your desk, her hips swaying in the mesmerising way they always did in those incredibly tight skirts.

"What happened to that report that was meant to be sent to me hours ago?" She demanded as she stood in front of your desk.

"Apparently someone picked up on some faults of the latest design so we can't do anything right now." You tried to explain but Natasha never did like excuses. "I don't know when it will be fixed." You continued.

"And you didn't think to tell me this?" Natasha glared.

"I thought someone would have told you." You were right, a lot of someone's had told the redhead, but apparently she needed to hear it from you too. "It's not my job to." You couldn't help but add. You knew Natasha hated when people pointed out things she didn't want to hear, more so when they did so confidently. You were one of the few who managed it, maybe that was why Natasha seemed to have it out for you. It was just a compulsion to you, to one up your boss. Even if it rarely succeeded.

You had always had mixed feelings about Natasha. Sometimes you thought when she went home at night she venturer into some cave that led to the pits of hell where she returned to her rightful throne. Other times that tough and stubborn show she put on was nothing short of admirable. There was no doubt it was what got her her success and therefore gave you a job. It was just hard to deal with when it was aimed at you individually, or what you could argue felt like personally.

"Don't give me that." She snapped. You were aware of all the eyes of your coworkers looking in on the pair of you and hanging on every word that was exchanged.

"You know full fucking well if something you're doing is going to be delayed you tell me." She was leaning both hands on your desk and leaning over to get closer to you. With such a short distance between you you had no choice but to stare back into her forest green eyes, like hell you were going to look away and back down.

"You can write that fucking report anyway. I want it on my desk today." Today? There was no way you could get that done in office hours, you would have to be working long past when you were meant to usually go home. "And when the design has been fixed you can write another one on it." She was testing you, willing you to say something you would regret. You weren't going to fall into her trap.

"Okay." You said, holding her gaze.

She didn't say anything else. Natasha stood there for another few seconds to watch you, waiting for something, anything. Then she stood back up straight and headed towards the door that she slammed closed behind her and marched back to her own luxury office.

That could have been an email.

*

It was approaching midnight when you finished the report. You were about to email it to Natasha when you remembered she wanted it in paper form so you begrudgingly sent it off to the printer.

It was a waste of paper you thought as you trudged over to the elevator that quickly arrived as there was no one else in the building. You figured Natasha just wanted to be that extra bit difficult. Well, you knew that was what she was trying to do.

You had worked with Natasha for longer than most, you knew her. Or rather, you knew the front she painted. You knew what annoyed her, what she wanted, what she thought of certain people and you could predict how she would conduct business down to the exact price tag of a product. But you didn't know her personally, sometimes you wondered if there was anyone who did.

You knocked on your bosses door and waited until she called for you to come in. You planned to simply walk in, put the paper on her desk and walk out to go home but once you were several steps past the door Natasha called for you to close it.

She didn't look up at you as you trudged across the ridiculously big office and put the papers down. It was only when you turned around that she spoke again.

"Stay." Was all said. You bite back a comment about not being a dog.

You turned back around and expected some speech and your attitude earlier but continued making notes on a design plan like you weren't even in the room. A few minutes of you fidgeting on your feet and looking around the office for anything interesting, Natasha picked up your report and leaned back in her chair to read it. She showed no signs that you had done a good or bad job with the report.

Finally, she put the paper down on her desk and went back to the plans. "Close the door behind you." Was all she said. You clenched your jaw and rolled your eyes once turned around to finally leave and go home.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, y/n."

*

Turns out it wasn't as simple as writing two reports. Design after design failed. First there was a slight issue with the batteries, then the shape, then it somehow became a liability. You mentioned all these faults in your reports, as you legally had to, but it became tedious very quickly. You always hated paperwork. It was meant to be such a small part of your job. You could only hope the sudden increase was temporary, especially as it wasn't exactly one of your strengths.

You continued to work over time and met Natasha late at night, always having to wait until she finished reading till you could leave. You thought you had to be doing at least a good job with them for your boss to never say anything, because she was always ready to point out small errors. That was until one particular night.

"These reports are getting worse." Natasha scolded. The comment made your blood boil. They were certainly not getting worse, maybe the designs were but you knew it was no fault of yours.

"The designs don't work." You fired back and crossed your arms. You had been worked tirelessly on those reports and they only stated the facts.

"Do you even care about your job, y/n?" Natasha asked seriously, angering you more.

"I've sacrificed more than I ever thought I could for a job for this company."

"You're on thin fucking ice, l/n. With the way things are going I'd be in a right mind to fire you." ...what the fuck?!

"What?" It came out as more of a whisper. After everything that you had done for the company and the years you had spent there, Natasha wouldn't really fire you, would she?

"Unless you're willing to make up for it all." She said seriously with something unmistakably dark in her tone.

"I don't more extra hours than anyone here." You said, not knowing what else she could mean.

"Not more than me, something takes quite the toll. I can hardly fit the time in to distress anymore. That's where you come in." Natasha explained as she stood up from her chair and sauntered around to the other side of the desk, the sound of her heels clicking echoing around the room.

There was a long moment of silence when Natasha left barely any space between you. You searched her eyes for any hint of what she was referring to but inevitably found nothing. Until she suddenly pushed you down onto your knees in front of her.

"Show me what other skills you have and maybe I'll consider letting you stay." She smirked down at you and ran the back of her hand across your cheek before cupping your jaw. "Entirely your call."

"Natasha this is crazy." You tried to reason but it was hard to ignore the faint throbbing you felt from being on your knees for her. "I could tell someone." For the first time ever, you heard her laugh. She threw her head back in a mocking laugh that soon turned into taunting chuckles.

"Y/n, who would believe you over me? You can be my guest and try but you'll never have another job in this city again, maybe further if I feel like it." She shrugged. You gulped and felt your breathing shake. Fuck.

Natasha, apparently impatient, hiked up her skirt and leant back against her desk to look at you expectantly. Your mouth suddenly went dry when you caught sight of her bare pussy, having not had any underwear on. You wondered if she often sat around like that. If she sauntered around the building and into your office where you could easily let your fingers wander up her skirt. Did she always leave them off for you?

"If you want to keep your job I suggest you get to work." She spoke. You tentatively moved forward and gripped onto her thighs for support, still looking up at her for any signs of a tell.

She was positively soaked. You could see her clenching in anticipation, the sight and musky smell entirely inviting. So you licked a long strip of the redhead's folds and moaned at the sweet taste of her. Sweetness was hardly what you expected given the tough and cold exterior of your boss, you hadn't expected it to be so instantly addictive either.

You pushed your tongue further inside the redhead who gave a breathy moan in response. At that, your mind was made. You sucked harshly on Natasha's clit and felt it pulse rapidly between your lips before returning your tongue to where she needed it most.

"Look at how much you're enjoying this." Natasha smirked as she looked down at the beyond contented glint in your eyes. "So good at pleasing you like mommy."

You worked your tongue tirelessly inside her, spurred on by the blissful sounds that fell from the redhead's mouth with every flick and curl of your muscle. You were lost in the incomparable taste of her and hoped it would be something that lingered on your tongue for a while. You were in awe of the way her mouth hung open in a silent scream as her eyes clenched shut every time your tongue brushed against some beautiful nerve ending. The sounds she made when you did so rivalled the faux sweetness of a siren's song. You knew the dangers of being lulled too far but you wanted to explore it entirely, convinced there was some hidden beauty that no one else could see.

"Fuck, so good." Your grip on Natasha's thigh tightened when her hold on the back of your neck did. She started to buck her hips against your mouth and her breathing patterns became more irregular. Your boss seemed lost in the pleasure she was experiencing from you as her eyes shut firmly and her movements became more erratic. But even then she held onto her power over you.

"I want you to swallow every last fucking drop." She ordered and gasped when your nose bumped against her clit. You picked up the pace of your tongue, making sure to swipe it against all the spots you had learnt made her shudder.

Her nails were practically digging into your neck when she reached her high. Her breath got caught in her throat before she gave the most animalistic moan you had ever heard. She furiously bucked her hips against your face as she rode out her high and relished in every wave of pleasure.

She recovered impressively quickly and was still raring to go, apparently having more plans for the night. She smiled down at you with a glint of the devil in her eye as she stood back and turned around to retrieve something from her desk, telling you to sit on her chair.

You were anticipating Natasha to return the favour, especially given how much she clearly enjoyed what you had to offer. Instead, she slipped a harness through your legs and pulled it up to your waist where she fastened it to sit securely. It was only when she moved away that you saw the size of the red toy, standing proudly and daringly. You wouldn't be surprised if your boss couldn't make it fit, yet again about to see that you really didn't know her. She was unpredictable and nothing short of it.

Natasha straddled your legs until her knees hit the backrest of her chair and her cunt was lined up with the toy. You went to hold her waist to guide her but your boss grabbed your wrists harshly and pinned them to the chair either side of you with a warning look.

She lowered herself onto the toy and groaned when the head of the toy alone started to stretch her. She kept her strong grip on your wrists as she looked more of the strap and you could only watch on in awe as the fake cock disappeared inside her.

Natasha moaned loudly and paused half way to adjust herself and breathe heavily before slamming herself down on the rest of the toy. "God." She grunted. "Mommy feels so full."

"Let me help you mommy." You tried but she shook her head.

"You don't get to touch right now." Was all she said before she lifted herself partly off the toy and slammed back down drawing another beautiful moan.

Your boss continued this for a while until she found herself in a rhythm that pleasured her deeply. You could see her juices smeering the toy everytime she withdrew and the sight alone made you groan, you already wanted to taste her again.

She rode you with vigor as her pace increased as did her grip on you. Profanities spilled from her mouth like a song that you wanted to join in with but you were too fixated on the sight infront of you. Natasha's bra clearly wasn't all that supportive because her breasts bounced with each thrust downwards and you wished more than anything that you could reach out and take her top and bra off to cup them, even tweak her nipples between your fingers to see her squeal.

"Gonna cum- fuck! Mommy's gonna cum on your cock and you're going to fill me up more." She said between moans and gasps. You didn't really understand what she meant by fill her up more but you weren't going to object, not when you wanted to see her cum again so badly.

She suddenly let your right hand go and grabbed on to the back of the harness. You were confused until you felt something click and Natasha was moaning louder than she had all night. "Your cum feels so good in me." She all but screamed before jerking her hips wildly and cumming around the toy.

She fell forwards slightly and grinded against the toy to ride out her high desperately. You gripped her hips with your free hand and moaned when you saw some of the cum leaking out of Natasha's pussy.

With a groan, you pulled your other hand out of the redhead's grasp and lifted her up and down onto her desk where she looked up at you with blissful eyes. "Don't go thinking you have any control." Natasha sneered but gasped when you withdrew the strap and snapped your hips forwards again.

"We'll see."

[andypantsx3]

subtle | shouto todoroki/reader

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

status: complete

length: 2,171 words

summary: Someone leaves chocolates on your desk. You're determined to track down the sender, certain it's a mistake, and Shouto Todoroki makes himself as unhelpful as possible.

tags: romance, reader-insert, fluff, valentine’s day

warnings: aged up characters (no smut though!!)

There was a box on your desk.

There was a box on your desk, and the sight of it was enough to instantly set you on edge.

The box looked normal enough, if a little fancy, maybe. Its lacquered top glinted brightly under the fluorescent office lighting, its smooth, polished sides waterfalling into the soft matte of your desktop underneath. You weren’t close enough to read the inscription, but you could just make out some elegant, curling script inlaid into the top of the box, possibly the name of whichever company had produced it.

The box looked very normal, in fact. Only, you knew it wasn’t. Boxes didn’t just show up in the middle of the Todoroki Hero Agency, a campus swimming with pros and armed with layers of security so deep it took even you--Shouto Todoroki’s manager--fifteen full minutes to get through screening every morning. It was something very much like being a prison guard at Tartarus.

So either this box meant the agency was dealing with a security breach the likes of which had scarcely been seen before, or someone had mistaken your desk for somebody else’s.

Which, considering it was Valentine’s Day, made a lot more sense.

Buoyed by the realization it wasn't a security risk, you crept closer, peering at the box, and the script resolved itself into the name of the extremely fancy chocolatier in Hiroo district that you made a point of drooling over every time you had to make a house call on Shouto. Their prices were literally insane, so you had never let yourself wander inside, unwilling to shell out an entire week’s pay for a tiny set of chocolates. Even if they did look absolutely fucking unbelievable from the window.

Your mouth watered.

That confirmed it--this was a Valentine's gift, and it was definitely a mistake. For the briefest of seconds, you’d wondered if maybe you had gotten obligatory office friendship chocolates, but this was too much. Some poor, love-sodden flop had gone out, spent their week’s pay on someone they were clearly very serious about, and then proceeded to fuck the entire thing up by plonking their gift straight onto your desk instead of their intended’s.

You frowned, quickly checking the box over for some kind of clue as to who had left it. There was no note included, nothing even mildly helpful that would give you the slightest hint of the person who'd left it here. Which left you with the question of how to return the box to the sender without knowing who they were, or how to pass it on to whoever they’d really meant it for.

You drew your bottom lip between your teeth, staring hard at the surface of the box like you could crack its code if only you glared hard enough. The box stared back at you, unhelpfully silent.

You were still skewering the box with your gaze some minutes later, determined to unravel its secrets, when a deep voice murmured from your doorway.

“You look puzzled."

You startled, whipping around to find Shouto propping up the wall, looking as unfairly handsome as usual. He was watching you intently, those heterochromatic eyes fastened to your face in that careful way he had, the one that always made you feel too warm and slightly unfocused. As usual, it was all you could do to remind yourself that you were a professional and he was something solidly between a friend and a coworker, and no matter how cute and attentive he was, you shouldn't get any ideas.

This morning, he was dressed in his hero uniform, tall and broad-shouldered, his distinctive hair only a little ruffled from his early patrol. It wasn’t often someone tried something in the districts he watched over anymore, probably too nervous to find themselves on the wrong end of the number four hero’s temper. You knew from the reports you received to your phone that the only trouble he’d encountered this morning was a pack of amorous school girls purposely misusing their quirks to draw his attention.

Thirty minutes ago, in fact, you’d almost spit out your coffee laughing at a photo of him looking wildly uncomfortable as he attempted to ice down some girl’s lava quirk with his right hand while fighting off her unfathomably enormous bouquet with his left. It was only right that he should suffer once a year, when every other day he got to stalk about as handsome as you please, oblivious to the effects his appearance had on every breathing person within a five mile radius.

You gave him an absent nod, gaze drawn back to the box on your desk.

“Somebody accidentally left something in here,” you told him, gesturing to it. “I’m trying to figure out how to track down who it was, or who it was meant for.”

Shouto made a small noise in the back of his throat, almost like a cough, and it was enough to startle you into looking up at him again.

“What?” you asked, peering at him. Was he coming down with something? It wasn't often he got sick, but when he did, he usually attempted to hide it and needed to be steamrolled into taking time off. You looked him over, trying to assess whether or not you needed to start badgering him now.

Shouto gazed back at you evenly, his expression deceptively bland. “...You think it’s not for you.”

You felt yourself blink at him, surprised by the comment and struggling to discern his meaning. What did he mean, you think it’s not for you? “Of course it’s not for me, Shouto, it’s from Grégoire Chardin.”

You knew he’d know the place, considering he lived in the same fancy rich people neighborhood as the chocolatier, but Shouto looked unimpressed.

“Why should that mean it’s not for you?” he asked, his tone dry.

The remark caught you off guard, as his comments sometimes did, and you bit down something like a smile. Bless his sweet, oblivious, rich boy heart. Either he overestimated your appeal to his agency staff, or he really did not understand the concepts of cost and return on investment.

“It’s expensive, it’s not something you would give someone as obligatory chocolates,” you explained, watching as a white eyebrow went up. His expression sharpened into something you couldn’t read well.

“It could be a secret admirer,” he said.

You stared blankly back at him, absolutely floored by the idea.

He thought you had a secret admirer? The idea sent an excited thrill all the way down to your toes, but you quickly squashed the feeling. So far, you'd never been on the receiving end of any furtive but romantic gestures, and you really didn't get any interested vibes from anyone in the office, no lingering glances or excuses to spend more time with you. The person who paid you the most amount of attention was Shouto, which was to be expected, considering how closely you worked together. And obviously he wasn't interested, he was just happy to stand in your doorway spouting wild conspiracies about his agency staffers like they were completely reasonable things to say.

“I don’t have a secret admirer,” you told him.

Shouto’s mouth pressed into a thin line and he took an intent step forward into your office. “Is the point of a secret admirer not to be exactly that--secret? How can you be sure?”

You couldn’t help it--you gaped at him, your face going weirdly warm. Okay, was he--was he serious? You obviously weren’t the most unfortunate creature on earth, and you even had your good days, but nobody in their right mind was going to attempt anything with you when there were girls like Nejire Hado and Ibara Shiozaki roaming the hallways of his agency. Even several of the analysts and most of the support crew had you beat out in terms of appeal--literally bless this man for his obvious indifference to your appearance.

“I, uh--thanks for your confidence in me,” you said, fighting down a laugh. “But I assure you, it definitely wasn’t meant for me. I just have to figure out who left it and who they meant it for.”

Shouto shifted impatiently, like he was waiting for something.

“You’re so certain,” he said, sounding frustrated.

“Of course I am,” you waved at him vaguely. It was actually super cute that he thought you could net yourself a dude who was willing to shell out Grégoire Chardin dollars, but you were just wasting time now, lingering over the least important part of this entire affair. “Listen, Shouto. I know sometimes men talk in the locker rooms. If you--if you hear anything, will you let me know? I just want to return it, it looks way too good sitting here.”

It was actually taking all your willpower not to open it and avail yourself of Japan’s finest chocolate, considering you would never have another opportunity like this again. Maybe you should just pretend it was for you....Really, no one could fault you for opening something left in your own office. But...no. No, you knew better.

Shouto appeared indifferent to your internal struggle. He watched you for a long moment, his features impassive. “Under one condition,” he finally allowed.

You cocked an ear to show you were listening, rifling around with the paperwork on your desk to distract yourself from the chocolate. You were strong, a good person. You had willpower like steel. You did not need to eat it, no no no.

“If no one comes looking for it by the end of the day, you will open it,” he said, moving closer.

You glanced up at him, shocked. “Shouto, this is someone else’s gift,” you hissed. “I can’t just open it.”

He placed a large palm down on your desk, leaning over you slightly. “That is my bargain.”

“You want me to steal somebody’s shit in your own agency,” you accused him. You tried not to pay attention to how close he had gotten, how straight his nose was up close, the way his eyes seemed brighter and his mouth pulled into a pout almost too pretty for a man.

The rest of his expression slipped into something like annoyance, matching his pout. “If no one comes for it, then it must be evident that it was meant for you.”

You suppressed a derisive laugh. Now was not the time to get shirty with your own boss, especially when his delusions were kind of sweet. It was honestly just short of a miracle that a man who looked like Shouto did could possibly think anyone on earth would have a thing for you, regardless of his own tastes.

“What if they’re just too shy to ask for it back?” you asked, watching those heterochromatic eyes flick over you curiously.

“If it’s as expensive as you say, someone will come looking,” he said. Which was actually kind of annoyingly reasonable.

A smirk flitted across his maddeningly perfect face when you failed to come up with another argument. He had a point, and he knew it.

You let out a gusty sigh. “Fine, but only because I’m certain someone will come looking for it. Please be subtle when you’re gathering info, okay? I'm sure this is embarrassing for whoever made this mistake.”

Shouto looked almost offended. “I am perfectly capable of being subtle,” he intoned in his deep voice.

This time, you did laugh. He was quiet, maybe, very perceptive, and unobtrusive when he wanted to be, but no one had ever accused the man of possessing tact. “Yeah, okay. Just, try to channel more subtlety than you think you need, okay? No one else but the sender needs to know about the mix up.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Shouto was leaning over you more fully, eyes glittering strangely as his clean, fresh scent met your nose. You froze in your chair, brain going horrifyingly vacant as he leaned impossibly nearer. What the fuck was he doing?

“It will be like I’m not even asking,” Shouto promised, his voice light. “Not asking anyone at all.”

You tried to scrape your thoughts back into something resembling order, but the effort was all but futile. You needed to get him out of your space stat before you embarrassed yourself.

”Okay, then it’s a deal,” you said quickly. “Now go...flambé a villain or something.”

Shouto lingered for a long moment, his mouth curling a little at the corner, like he was being let in on a secret you couldn’t hear. His eyes brushed over you, almost like a physical touch. And then he was gone, pulling open the door to your office, looking annoyingly pleased with himself.

“You will see,” he said by way of farewell. “You will find out how subtle I can be.”

You stared at him in confusion, but he didn’t explain himself. He just smirked, and closed the door behind himself.

[andvys]

You will be my girl

Warnings: alcohol consumption, a bit of a steamy scene towards the end

Pairing: Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Reader

You just got done with your shift at the small cafe you were working at. You went into the break room, taking off your apron, laying it on the table, you heard Dina walking in behind you.

Dina was your best friend and your coworker, you’ve known each other since elementary school and you were attached to each other ever since. You even lived together. She was basically your sister at this point, with how you close you are.

“So.... you coming tonight right.?” She asked, looking at you with hope in her eyes.

She was referring to a bar, where a concert was supposed to be tonight. You knew she only wanted to go because of Jesse, he was a regular at your café. Always coming in to get coffee for him and his band. He was nice you liked him and Dina was crushing hard on him. You constantly tried to encourage her to ask him out on a date, knowing that Jesse would agree right away but she was stubborn about it, wanting him to make the first move and he did, inviting her to come see him and his band play at the towns bar tonight and to hang out later with him, playing it cool she agreed to it only to completely flip out once he left the café. You were excited for her, happy about seeing her finally liking someone this way.

“Of course, Dina. Can’t let you go there by yourself. We don’t want you to do something you’ll regret later on.” You winked at her.

Teasing her was your favorite thing to do.

“Ugh you’re the worst (y/n).” She rolled her eyes at you. “Make sure to look hot tonight, maybe you’ll find yourself a hot lady friend.” Now she was the one teasing you. “I’m not the one going on a “date” tonight.” You replied.

“Whatever.” She said before walking back out to the counter.

Putting your jacket on, you grabbed your stuff and went over to the counter asking Dina to make you a coffee before leaving. You would surely need it, knowing you’d be at the bar till late in the night. You talked to Dina for a while longer before leaving to go home, not noticing that a stranger was admiring you from afar.

You got home, took a shower and started to get ready. You wanted to look good tonight, you rarely went out so you might as well put some effort into your outfit.

By the time you got to the bar it was pretty crowded already. Some loud rock music playing. Dina was holding your hand pulling you towards the bar to get some drinks.

She waved the bartender over. “Hi, can I please get two Long Island iced teas?” She yelled over the loud the music. The bartender nodding at her, starting to mix the drinks.

“You’re not planning on getting drunk tonight are you Dina?” You asked.

“Umm of course I’m planning on getting drunk, come on (y/n) it’s Friday night, loosen up a little we’re gonna have a good time!” She was so excited about this night, it was kinda cute.

“Alright, how am I gonna get your drunk ass home if I’m gonna be drunk myself?” You questioned.

“Who says we’re going home tonight?” She smirked at you.

You gasped, “Dina you dirty girl, planning on keeping Jesse some company tonight aren’t you?” Smirking at her.

“Yup and we are going to find you a hot girl to hook up with, trust me you need it when was the last time you had sex anyways?” She asked you.

This girl was really testing you tonight.

“Dina!! I’m perfectly fine alright? Plus if you go home with Jesse tonight, I’ll have the apartment to myself, not having to deal with your drunk ass seems pretty nice to me.”

“That’s exactly why you have to find yourself a girl tonight, apartment is free you can be as loud as you want to.” She winked at you.

“Oh my god, okay whatever.” You gave in knowing it was a lost cause discussing this with her, she would bug you as long as she had to till you’d agree with her.

Just when you got your drinks you saw Jesse coming up behind Dina, motioning for you to not tell her he’s behind her.

He put his hands in front of her eyes, “guess who?” He smiled standing close to her.

Dina started grinning, “ummm is it the weird guy from the café who keeps ordering the grossest drinks ever?” She started teasing him.

She was not wrong about it, Jesse did order the weirdest drinks ever.

“Hey they’re not gross”, Jesse protested.

Coming up from behind her he pulled her into a hug. He turned around also pulling you in for a quick hug, ruffling your hair.

“Hey (y/n), nice seeing you here. I hope you enjoy our music.” He smiled at you.

Smiling back at him, “Hi Jesse, I’m sure I will!”

Wanting to give them some privacy you decided to go sit at one of the free tables close to the stage. You watched the rest of the band setting up some stuff, preparing for the concert. You noticed a girl amongst the other people on the stage, strumming her guitar. She was hot, the way she had half of her hair in a bun, she was wearing a plaid shirt that had the sleeves cut off, showing off a tattoo on her arm. She was definitely your type. You couldn’t help but stare at her, looking her up and down you didn’t realize she catched you staring at her until you looked back at her face, noticing how her eyes were on you now. Your eyes widened, embarrassed about her catching you shamelessly checking her out. She smirked at you, challenging you to keep looking at her. You suddenly felt shy under her gaze not able to look at her anymore you tried distracting yourself with your phone, switching from one app to another. You didn’t even know why you had your phone in your hand, you couldn’t distract yourself not when you could still feel her eyes on you.

Was she actually still looking at you or was your mind playing tricks on you? Looking up to where she was, she was indeed still staring at you. Giving her a shy smile you didn’t notice Dina sitting down next to you. She watched you and the stranger sending literal heart eyes to each other, she started smirking remembering how you just told her minutes ago how you were perfectly fine on your own and now you and the stranger were practically undressing each other with your eyes.

“Hah, look at you eye fucking the singer, didn’t peg you for a groupie (y/n).” Dina laughed at you.

Shocked at Dina’s words you snapped out if it, “Dina!!”. You were embarrassed, not only did the hot girl catch you staring at her Dina did too, she was going to be so annoying about this now.

“I mean, she looks pretty into you too. Guess you won’t be going home alone after all.” She smiled, taking a sip of her drink. She noticed how shy you’ve gotten, deciding to spare you from her teasing right now she told you how they were going to start with the concert now, she took your hand pulling you away from the table and towards the stage, you suddenly got nervous. Noticing how close you’ve gotten to the stage, meaning you were closer to the girl too. Trying to avoid looking at the stage before they start playing you were making small talk with Dina over the loud chattering of all the people that gathered around the stage.

A few minutes later the band finally started playing. Jesse being the drummer, two other guys both with electric guitars, similar to the one the girl had, she was standing at the front fixing the mic before she started singing.

Her voice was just as beautiful as she was. The crowd going wild when the first song started playing. Dina grabbed your hands and started dancing to the music.

You haven’t felt this good in such a long time. The band was amazing and you had so much fun, forgetting everything for a moment. You asked yourself why you didn’t go to concerts more often.

The girl kept staring at you throughout the whole concert, occasionally looking away only to have her eyes back on you a moment later. Smirking and winking at you at certain parts of the lyrics she sang.

You were a mess under her gaze but something about her pulled you in, you were intrigued.

You noticed her flushed cheeks and her face covered in a thin layer of sweat from performing all night.

The concert was coming to an end, currently playing a much slower song, her voice getting a little raspy now. It was raw and beautiful and she looked even prettier now, her eyes currently closed she enjoyed the last song of the night.

When she was done, she said a quick thank you into the mic and the crowd started clapping and whistling for the last time that night. She looked at you one last time before disappearing behind the curtains.

Jesse waved Dina over, motioning her to follow him to the stage room. You started smirking at her.“Go get him tiger.” You laughed when you saw her starting to blush.

“You’re the worst (y/n).” She said. Playfully rolling her eyes at you.

You pushed her towards were Jesse was waiting for her, telling her you were going to get some drinks at the bar. She finally started walking towards him.

Watching how Jesse smiled at her and took her small hand in his much larger one was so cute, you were happy for your best friend. You had to admit Jesse and Dina would make a good pair.

You sat down, ordering yourself another drink. You looked around, noting how it was getting a little less crowded now, some 60s rock playing in the background.

The bartender putting down the drink in front of you, he gave you a small smile and went back to his other costumers.

You took a sip of your drink, feeling someone come up beside you, you realized it was the girl from the band, she ordered herself a whiskey. She turned to you finally seeing you up close, she looked you up and down and sat down on the bar stool next you you. She was bold, you liked that.

You turned to look at her and gave her small smile “hi” you shyly said.

“hey, I’m Ellie.” She confidently said, looking into your eyes.

“I’m (y/n).” God you were so nervous, you don’t remember ever being this nervous before talking to someone.

She smiled at you, “So... did you enjoy yourself tonight?” She asked. Taking a sip from her whiskey.

“Yes! All of the songs you performed tonight were amazing but the last one was definitely my favorite.” You were talking about ‘through the valley’ by Shawn James. You definitely preferred Ellie’s version of the song, loving her voice and the raw emotion she put into it.

“It’s my favorite too.” She added. Her voice was going to be the death of you, it was so raspy right now and she looked so hot. Your palms were getting sweaty, she was making you nervous.

Ellie wasn’t stupid, she saw the effect she had on you and she enjoyed it. She felt the same though, she was just better at controlling her emotions.

She was enamored with you the second she saw you at the café this morning, she knew you didn’t see her but she desperately wanted to ask you out but you left the café before she had the chance too, so seeing you at her concert tonight was a surprise, she was excited to see you here and she had to take a chance and talk to you. Ellie wanted you, bad.

You kept some small talk going but that quickly turned into some flirting from both sides, you noticed how hot it’s suddenly gotten. You needed to splash some water on your face, your cheeks felt like they were on fire. Your skin was so hot, it was just Ellie’s effect on you. This sensation was new to you, you haven’t felt this way before, not even with your ex girlfriend. You excused yourself to the bathroom, telling Ellie you’d be right back. She bit her lip, watching you leave.

You went into the bathroom, splashing some water on your face you looked into the mirror. Telling yourself to get a grip, she was just a girl. No she wasn’t just a girl, she made you nervous. You were totally at her mercy, you didn’t even know her, she was a stranger but she gave you a such comfortable feeling, letting you know you were safe with her. Hearing the door open behind you, you saw Ellie through the mirror. You turned around staring at her as she was slowly making her way towards you. You stared at her. You knew she wasn’t here to make conversation and you were totally fine with that. She was so close to you now, her nose almost touching yours. Feeling her breath on your skin. Your heart started racing. You were looking at her lips, boldly you decided to make the first move, you got closer and brushed your lips against hers, testing the waters. Looking into her eyes, giving her a teasing smile.

She smirked at you, grabbing your face she closed her eyes and smashed her lips against yours. You gasped in her mouth, closing your eyes as well you put your arms around her neck and started kissing her back. You tasted the whiskey she had earlier. Staying like that for a while, kissing each other, her hands left your face, she grabbed you by your waist pulling you even closer to her, her grip was tight. You liked the way she was holding you against her.

Pulling away from each other you were left breathless, Ellie started kissing your neck, teasing you, her hands going lower she grabbed your thighs putting you up on the sink. She got in between your legs, going in for another kiss. This one being more heated, she brushed her tongue on your bottom lip, asking for entrance, which you granted her. She softly put her hands around your throat, squeezing slightly causing you to let out a moan.

She smirked into the kiss. You put your legs around her waist grabbing her face you pulled her closer.

After what felt like forever of making out, she pulled away looking at your disheveled hair and your puffy lips from all the kissing, she gave you a sweet kiss.

Brushing some hair out of your face. “So do you want to...” not even letting her finish “yes” she started grinning at you “my place?” She asked you.

“We can had back to mine, my roommate isn’t home.” You smirked at her

She gave you a devilish smile, “good, we wouldn’t want to wake up your roommate, babe.” She whispered in your ear, giving you another kiss, she grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers she guided you out of the bar.

@twdimagining your wish is my command, here’s the first part to rockstar ellie!! Hope this is what you imagined it like to be!! Second part is going to be a steamy one 👀💕

[deniigi]

my supervisor fucked me over with all my other coworkers present. can I request a one shot from you to cheer me up featuring Sammy?

Did I give y’all the fic about the hotpot?

Well if I didn’t, I’m giving it to you now.

Title: hotpot

Summary: Ganke checks the comments for the Blindspot comic daily and there’s this one asshole anon who keeps talking shit about BT.

--

The Blindspot comic went live in the fall and Ganke couldn’t stop checking the hit count every five seconds. All night there had only been ten hits.

He told himself not to be disappointed. The only person who really mattered had read and loved the comic.

Miles said that BT had even forced everyone on the team to read an abridged version of Journey to the West, and had gone as far as to make a quiz to determine everyone’s character.

Miles refused to disclose who he’d gotten.

BT had clearly rigged the game to make himself Sun Wukong and Ganke was proud of him.

That kind of enthusiasm was exactly what he’d been hoping for, anything else now was just icing on the cake.

Even though it would be cool if it wasn’t just BT reading his own comics.

That would be pretty cool, right? Like. If people online all started reading BT’s comic. That would be sort of amazing.

Kind of excellent.

Definitely worthy of an A+ and double pats on the back.

Right?

The hit counter didn’t think so. But hey, five more people had opened the page since last night. That was something, wasn’t it?

 MM: dude why not just ask Sam to tweet out the link?

 How dare you, Miles Morales.

How dare you waltz into this place with logical thought.

GL: I can’t do that. That’s like. Idk. Inflating the views.

MM: okay yeah explain to me how appealing to the person in control of the largest part of his own fandom is inflating the views

GL: I see your logic and I’m banishing it

MM: I’m messaging him

GL: DON’T

MM: too late

MM: he says ‘gimme link’

GL: asdksjsjdks

--

 @blindspot: hi I know y’all can’t get enough of me to the point of asking shockingly invasive questions and for you I say good news! Some amazing folks have gone through the trouble of making a Blindspot comic. it’s good guys check it out [link]

--

 It helped.

A lot.

It helped a lot.

--

 People, on the whole, had great things to say. The panels were screenshotted and tagged and sent all over social media and even though Miles was pretending to be chill and aloof about the whole thing, Ganke could imagine him smiling big and bright and white at his phone non-stop.

Mom and Auntie saw a few of the bits on Twitter and tittered over them in the kitchen like pigeons.

The pride rose like a wave. Ganke kept waiting for the crash.

--

 It came two days later in the form of a comment that read ‘Christ, look at all this fuss. BT is fine. I hate his brother.’

It felt like someone punching the wind out of Ganke’s lungs.

He took comfort in the handful of people who leapt in to shout down the commenter. They emphasized that if the anonymous commenter didn’t like the story or the characters, then they didn’t have to read it and they, especially, didn’t have to say anything about it.

Ganke appreciated those guys. He got the feeling that a lot of the people on there knew that the whole thing had been done but a couple of kids.

Not that Anon cared.

Anon replied to all these comments ‘No, I’m gonna keep reading, thanks. Anyways, the brother is lame. The smart part is cool, but why’s it always gotta be a guy?’

The part that haunted Ganke even after he’d shut his laptop and had gone to stick his head out the window for some big breaths of cleansing air was that Anon was kind of right.

--

 GL: should we have made Guotin’s brother a sister?

MM: no

GL: why not?

MM: cause BT’s always wanted a brother

 Oh.

Okay. Then it was fine?

 MM: yeah man ignore them. it’s chill.

GL: k thanks my ego is huge and fragile

MM: trust me I know

 Asshole. Fine, moving right along.

--

 It didn’t stop. Anon commented on every page. Every. Single. Page.

Ganke didn’t know what to do or say. On the one hand, clearly this person was dedicated and deeply engaged with the comic, on the other hand, they needed a Rude Alert button. Ganke wondered if Ned could code one for them and them only.

The latest of their fury was directed at the big reveal in the second issue—BT’s face.

Having now met Sam, BT, Blindspot, Ganke’s whole image of him had changed.

He was not conventionally attractive as far as like, K-Pop idols and famous Chinese dudes went. His eyes were puffy and narrow and his face was round everywhere but the jaw. He leaned more towards ‘cute’ than ‘sexy,’ which Ganke sort of loved about him.

He was friendly. Stressed and grumpy and feisty as hell, yeah, but first and foremost friendly.

Miles claimed that he called it his ‘number one asset in employability.’ Which was wild because hello, Blindspot.

Obviously, BT couldn’t help his face. But Miles and Ganke could help Guotin’s.

Ganke had sent Miles about fifteen different images of Chinese celebrities and had told him to do his worst. They’d reviewed the final few drafts and had picked one that was most like a young Chen Kun. His face was more oval-shaped than BT’s. His chin and lips were slimmer but more defined. He was pretty, but not so pretty as to be called ‘feminine,’ which Ganke thought was a solid compromise between ‘handsome as sin’ and ‘looks like he’s got a quirky sense of humor.’

Anon hated him.

Anon thought that he looked like an idol, and they were not here for it.

They told ‘the artist’ to give him a mole or something, anything to make him look ‘less pristine. God, I can smell him from here and he smells like Dior and staph habitat.’

Ganke had to look up what a staph infection was. He regretted it. He asked Miles if they should censor Anon.

Miles said ‘mmmmm, idk it’s not like they aren’t saying anything that isn’t true.’

Ganke resented that. Clearly this was defamation of BT. This person hated him and was taking their feeling out on the comic.

 MM: I mean yeah but it’s not like they’re talking about the comic, man. They’re talking about the style and like, thinking about it, a mole or smth to help you tell him apart from other folks would kind of be helpful. Like, especially if we ever put him in a crowd, you know?

 HHHHHH.

Fine.

Anon could stay. But they were on thin ice.

--

 It was hard not to be bitter about Anon’s comments, especially when they arrived daily, as though Anon knew exactly what they were doing and which page they’d left off at. They couldn’t possibly be reading the comic one page at a time, this was intentional.

Ganke’s jaw hurt from all the tooth grinding he’d endured as of late.

This latest one read ‘yo, has BT ever mentioned fighting with a sword? I don’t recall him mentioning. Someone should take that thing away from him before someone loses an eye—or maybe even two.’

That felt like a pointed jibe.

That turned the churning irritation in Ganke’s gut into something much, much colder.

Did Anon know about BT’s black and blue eyes? How could they know? Was it a coincidence? It seemed to be more than a coincidence.

The pile of critiques was growing bigger and bigger, and now that Ganke thought about it, they all seemed to take issue with things that didn’t match the real Blindspot’s personality.

It was as if they knew him.

 GL: miles did you read the new comment from AnonTheAsshole?

MM: lol yeah

GL: tell me if I’m talking out my ass or whatever but like

GL: you don’t think they could be Muse, could they?

 Silence.

 MM: oh no

 Yeah. Fuck.

 MM: chances are low.

GL: they know so much tho??

MM: might be stalker? Maybe someone who’s over-invested in BT’s social media pages?

GL: maybe.

MM: hold on let me ask Spidey to screen it

GL: does he know Muse?

MM: no, but he’s paranoid and he’ll get Wade to be paranoid with him, and then they can decide whether its worth giving to DD for verification. He knows Muse.

 Ganke’s head was spinning. His fingers shook with guilt and the thought of Muse’s pale body hunched over a secret, cracked cell phone in a high security prison who knew where.

In Ganke’s head, he smiled wider and wider, until the skin on his cheeks cracked. He dug out scraps of paper and redrew Blindspot—Sam—with gaping holes for eyes and a screaming mouth and he drew dismembered corpses in black lakes and he laughed.

He just kept laughing.

 MM: hey ganke

MM: it’s going to be okay. It’s just a comic. I’m sure AnonTheAsshole is a stalker. They’re not threatening anyone.

MM: Sam can deal with a stalker. And we can too, okay?

 There was a reason that Miles was a hero. Ganke wiped at his eyes and swallowed.

 GL: okay. Thanks for doing that.

MM: 👍🏾

--

 It took a few hours because Spidey and Deadpool had lives outside of being Spidey and Deadpool, but not so long that Ganke ran out of nails to chew.

Miles messaged him back and said that Spidey had read through everything and ‘escalated it.’ This meant that whatever he’d seen had caused him enough concern to take it to DP.

Miles said that he’d get back to Ganke with DP’s verdict as soon as he had it. In the meantime, he’d run the comments by the other Spideypeople and they thought that it most likely wasn’t malevolent but was maybe something to keep an eye on in the meantime. He tacked onto all, somewhat stiltedly, that he had a weird feeling all of the sudden. The pink Spidey’s tone had changed. She’d shut down and gone cagey, which allegedly wasn’t like her at all. Then she’d told the taller guy to DM her and they’d vanished from the chat. Miles wasn’t sure what was going on there or if maybe they knew something about stuff going on that he didn’t, but he wasn’t super comfortable with it.

 GL: crossing my fingers its nothing?

MM: same man, same.

--

 DP escalated it.

Ganke couldn’t stay still in his room. There was no comfortable place to sit or stand or lay. There was nothing to do that would make him stop thinking about everything.

 MM: It’s gonna be fine, man, DD always knows what to do.

 Miles kept saying that for every step of the way, and yet here they were. Double escalated. Ganke wasn’t so sure he even knew what was happening anymore.

That was scary. Miles was supposed to be part of the in-crowd.

 MM: Wade doesn’t think it’s anything that can’t be nipped in the bud.

 That was easy for a contract assassin to say, wasn’t it?

 MM: he says that you and I are fine. Doesn’t see any links there. Waiting on DD for confirmation of tone.

 Hurry up, Daredevil. Your apprentice’s life might be about to take a nosedive into a heap of trash.

--

 Two hours. One text.

 MM: >:/

 Ganke couldn’t contain the bubble of laughter.

 GL: good news?

MM: [image]

 He opened it.

 SC: HANNAH YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE. STOP BEING A BITCH ON MAIN

HC: You can’t tell me what to do

SC: I CAN

HC: Mom he’s being MEAN

SC: Mom she’s scaring children online

HC: I scare children everywhere I go why are these ones special???

SC: Because I said so

HC: that doesn’t fucking work Samuel you’re not her

SC: I am your older brother

SC: your ELDEST brother

HC: YOU AINT SHIT

SC: THEY DON’T COUNT

SC: HALFSIES COUNT

 What.

 MM: so.

MM: she’s not Muse.

MM: Red’s laughing his ass off at all of us for taking this to a level three

GL: wait I don’t understand

MM: Hannah is Sam’s little sister. She’s found a new hobby in our website.

 Blindspot’s little sister was reading the comic??? Holy shit.

 GL: she hates him?

MM: no I’ve been informed that they would literally commit murder for each other but this is how they express love.

 No way. Siblings were wild.

 GL: so we’re good?

MM: [image]

  SC: apologize 🔪

HC: eat my ass

SC: apologize or else

HC: or else what? You gonna come in here and sit on me? Huh? Huh????

SC: I know your email password. All 3 you cycle through. What was his name? Uuuuuuuuuh Jing?

HC: you fucking bastard

SC: Hi Jing, it’s me, Hannah. I’ve been in mad crush with you since sophomore year. Please notice me senpai 😖

HC: Die

SC: kill me

HC: I will.

 The giggles that came this time were a mix of relief and genuine intrigue. This lady read the comic every day. She took the time to scroll through pictures of her brother being an absolute lunatic and fighting with a huge monkey. Then she hopped into that comment box and took him—not Miles, not Ganke, specifically Blindspot--down a peg.

She must miss him a lot. Ganke wondered if this was her way of keeping him in her thoughts.

 MM: I don’t think we’re getting a sorry, man. DD says Sam’s been at this all morning and has been tricked into apologizing himself twice

GL: so you’re saying that she’s an evil genius

MM: idk but she’s def Sam’s main nemesis. I always thought that older siblings got like, rights or something over younger ones, but idk anymore. Angel says this is normal.

GL: do you think she misses him?

 Miles took a long time to respond.

 MM: yeah

 Yeah, Ganke thought so, too.

 GL: should we change Guo tin’s brother’s name to ‘hamish?’

MM: ASDLDSDSFKdsjf

MM: one moment.

MM: sam says yes. Hannah says that she thinks our comic is shit and we need to draw everything uglier

GL: she’s kind of funny

MM: 👀perhaps she would like to be a consultant?

GL: 👀👀👀👀

MM: brb asking

MM: sam says no. Hannah says she’s got better things to do than proofread comics on the internet. She’s also not sorry. She wants that to be clear. DD says that the conversation has moved from English to Chinese and to maybe duck and cover for now. He says all is good tho. Thanks for checking in.

MM: Muse doesn’t use punctuation and talks in riddles, so if we get any of that, we’re supposed to send it to DP right away.

 Oh, nice. That was a relief.

 MM: oh

MM: sam wants to put us in a chat. Can I give him your number?

 Uh, only if he wanted Ganke to hyperventilate.

 GL: sure

 --

  [GL has been added to a Secure Chat]

 It was a page of characters and emojis that were somehow more menacing than Ganke had ever seen them before. Miles popped a little waving hand into the fray, as though testing the waters, but the characters just carried on scrawling around it.

Ganke wasn’t quite sure what to do.

 GL: hi? Are y’all okay?

 There was finally a pause. Then a few shorter lines of characters. And then finally, Blindspot switched from Chinese to English.

 SC: yes we’re FINE. We’re GREAT. Aren’t we, sibling from hell?

HC: who’re you? Why are you in our family chat? This is a family only zone, can’t you read?

SC: God Hannah he’s Korean don’t be a dick

HC: I can’t not be I learned it from you

SC: fair but pretend in the face of company

HC: okay fine. Hello losers.

MM: adksadfadsdfldfsldf

MM: hi

GL: hi?

SC: go on

HC: UGH

HC: fine

HC: I didn’t mean to shit talk your creation. Only my brother.

SC: also a sin, we’ll get to that later

HC: no one cares about you Samuel, stop spreading lies

SC: you first. We both know this is no lie, my white dad cares about me a whole lot

HC: well we can’t all have white dads now can we

SC: don’t be jealous

MM: lol you really call Matt your white dad??

HC: who is this person and how do they know our mutual parent’s name?

SC: this is not a mutual parent situation how many times have we been through this. He’s mine. Get your own.

MM: hi! 👋🏾I’m Bitsy! Spidey no. 4

GL: I’m his friend. He draws the comic. I write it.

HC: oh. nerd children x2

HC: anyways yeah Matt is our dad

SC: ffs

MM: he’s sort of dadly ig.

HC: ?? oho

SC: mind your face. Think about your face. Think about how much you like your face.

HC: little spider, did you not hear?

SC: kay everyone out. We’re done here

MM: hear what?

HC: lol Sammy you didn’t tell them about how Matthew Mcconaughey adopted you in all ways but paperwork?

 Ganke held his phone away from his face as far as it would go.

 MM: …wait are you for real?

SC: no. okay out.

HC: awwww Sammy so shy now. What are you embarrassed about? It’s cute.

SC: Hannah literally shut up I’m not playing

HC: damn okay sorry

MM: can I be honest?

SC: no

MM: I’m going to be anyways: I think we all sorta knew.

SC: …

HC: right?

SC: what does that even mean?

MM: idk, it just felt right, you know? You two are always fussing at each other and red lost his shit that time you got shot. He doesn’t treat you the way he treats the rest of us and we’re his teammates. He doesn’t even treat spidey like he treats you. So like, yeah. It fits.

MM: I’m really happy for you guys.

MM: is there a reason it’s a secret?

 Ganke eased himself back down onto the mattress. This was real. This was like, actual, real information. Something that he and like, four other people in the world now knew.

He kind of wanted to forget it. It didn’t feel right to know.

 SC: I dunno.

HC: if sam has an honest emotion towards anything he has to calculate its weight so he can make space for it in his collection of satellites.

MM: wh

SC: you’re so not funny.

HC: it’s called emotional repression, darling. It’s all the rage in this family.  

MM: oh

MM: so that’s why you and Red get on so well

SC: HHHHHHH

HC: HA

SC: okay but listen his is different, I’ve only seen him cry at his wedding. I cry at least 4 times a week. Obviously under the bed, but that can’t be emotional repression. That’s expression. That’s clearly expression

HC: I can make the old man cry watch me

SC: please don’t I’ll die

MM: awwwww

SC: shut up it doesn’t even matter.

MM: AWWWWWW

SC: LEAVE ALREADY

MM: no I like it here. I want to hear you talk about how much you love your white dad

SC: I don’t. He loves me. I’m fine with this because it results in food, shelter, and continued employment.

HC: uh huh

SC: I’m using him

HC: yeah because you’re like the most manipulative person I know.

SC: thank you

HC: /sarcasm

SC: I know I ignored it.

MM: so wait why do you actually pretend like you hate him tho?

SC: wh

SC: what the fuck am I supposed to do? Just go on up for a cuddle? Have you met Matt? The second someone starts crying, he finds trash to take out to the bins. Hell no. Life is easier for everyone if I stab him with a stick and he kicks my ass in training. It’s fine.

HC: Sam is learning how to be a Manly Man. This is step one.

SC: I’m plenty manly

HC: you’re what mom imagined as manly

SC: which is perfect. That’s all I need.

HC: mama’s boy

SC: must suck to suck, no one’s kid.

 Wow. Ganke had never been more glad that he didn’t have a sister.

 GL: That’s kind of cool, though.

GL: that you and DD are close like that I mean.

GL: Its different from all the other mentor/mentee superheroes we see who like, sort of hate each other.

SC: wh

SC: OH. you mean Peter and Kate. Peter doesn’t actually hate Stark, fyi. And Kate calls Hawkeye the Old bi-weekly to make sure he’s still breathing. It’s actually pretty normal.

MM: he doesn’t mean like that Sam. I mean, like those guys don’t associate with their Olds now that they’re grown up and stuff, but you and DD stick together. It’s like you’re family.

MM: and that’s super cool. Idk if Spidey would ever consider me family. I don’t think he wants that for us.

SC: I?

SC: oh shit

HC: CLARITY ON THIS FINE DAY. What was your name again, tiny spider?

MM: miles

HC: PRAISE BE TO MILES

HC: AN EMOTION WAS HAD

SC: get fucked

HC: An epiphany was obtained!

SC: would you shut up

HC: Something has finally permeated that non-porous, two-inch thick skull of my esteemed eldest brother

SC: I’m your only brother

HC: you’re not

SC: they don’t fucking count

HC: now will you FINALLY invite our mutual dad to hotpot?

SC: Hannah he doesn’t want to come to hot pot we’ve talked about this. it’s too spicy for him.

HC: I’ll make it 1/3 less spicy

SC: that’s still too spicy

HC: I’ll make it 2/5 less spicy

SC: 3/5

HC: listen

HC: I have all this fucking equipment that SOMEONE left here callously

MM: what’s hotpot?

SC: 👀

HC: 👀

GL: 👀

SC: well fuck

HC: EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

GL: have we never taken you with us for hotpot???

MM: no?? is this the sticks?

HC: can be. Where do you live?

SC: Hannah no

HC: Hannah yes. We’ll make one here. You’ll make one there.

SC: do you know how much shit I’ll have to buy? Where are we gonna put it?

HC: this wouldn’t be a problem if you’d taken your goddamn inheritance with you to SF

SC: HHHHHH

MM: you guys are actually being serious?

HC: I am. I am here all on my lonesome. Abandoned by my only kin. I require enrichment.

SC: try doing your fucking homework

HC: did anyone hear something?

MM: lololololol I like you

HC: 😊

SC: wh

SC: oh no. No no no.

SC: you two don’t get to be friends

HC: come here bb pspspspspspsps

MM: I’m here

HC: got ‘im. Let’s have hotpot. Sammy send me resippy. We’ll do it together over video so I don’t fuck it up.

SC: I’ve got to go. This has been traumatizing.

HC: byeeeeeeeeeeee

HC: is he gone? Hell yeah, he’s gone.

HC: hey thanks for making that comic thing. It’s hella rad. He loves it. Mom used to call him Monkey when he was little.

GL: omg aw

HC: ikr? P cute. He misses her a lot so I think it brought back good memories. Anyways, I’m actually going to make hotpot. Come over and have some with me, it’s more fun with more people.

MM: you’re not joking

HC: nope, it’s been ages since your whole team has gotten together, right? Ask them to do it. I’m a shit cook, but Sam’ll show us how not to screw it up. And he’s playin’, he’s totally down to hang out with us. We never had more than three people. It’ll be new. Exciting. Enriching even.

MM: are you secretly a nice person, Hannah?

HC: the fuck do you mean ‘secret’??? I’m a delight.

MM: Okay I’ll ask the team and my mom

MM: ganke?

HC: 👀

 That—

Sounded kind of nice?

 GL: I’ll ask my mom.

HC: nice. You can tell them that it’s a friends dinner or whatever. Idc. I promise I’m not going to kidnap and murder you. I’ve got like, class and work and shit. I don’t have time for that.

MM: 👍🏾

GL: 👍🏼

HC: great here I’ll message you my number. This is legit our sibs chat so Sam’ll freak if you’re still here when he gets back.

MM: thank you! And sorry for thinking you were muse!!

GL: yeah that too

HC: lol np ttyl                                    

 That…had really just happened, hadn’t it?

Ganke needed to sit down even though he was already sitting down.

 GL: they’re so nice???

MM: ikr?

GL: are you actually going to ask your mom?

MM: Im gonna ask BT if its cool first. Then yeah. Why not? Our team really hasn’t gotten together in a minute. Everyone’s been super busy. It would be a nice change of pace, and if everyone brings smth then Hannah doesn’t have to pay for anything.

MM: ah, Sam says it’s okay. He says sorry his sister is weird and that he’ll make sure she doesn’t poison us.

GL: I kind of love her

MM: same

MM: okay will check in with the others. Talk to you later.

GL: yeah see you later

 Damn, at this rate, Ganke’s family was going to triple in size, and all thanks to a comic.

Before he left for downstairs, he made a note to make Guo tin’s brother snarkier.

[nhloveyou]

NHL Bench Theory

AKA: Bench Thoughts With The Bestie

Ok hockey tumblr, buckle up n' here we go.

Summary: I take some time to muse upon the strange height, width and structure of NHL benches, provide photographic evidence and describe ways this might affect players colloquially known as... "short kings."

Disclaimer: I don't know if anyone's made this post before. I am not an NHL player. I am not affiliated with the NHL. I don't own any of the pictures included in this post. This is all conjecture and assumptions. Read at own risk, take with grain of salt, etc.

I was talking to my dad last night about his brief stint playing men's corporate hockey (Yes, people have company leagues and teams with their coworkers, that is a thing apparently) and he mentioned for a work event one time they got to skate at the actual game playin' rink for the NHL team in my city.

Their team signed up, went to the rink, watched a National Hockey League game with thousands of others, waited for the maintenance staff to clear the ice, and then got to skate and scrimmage a bit.

What he said next surprised me quite a bit: He said every guy on his team got to the bench and sat down and their legs were dangling off of the edge. No, really! Everyone was laughing because they felt so short, except for a few of his taller coworkers who were fine.

My dad is average height for a North American adult man, about 5'10", and his buddies are about the same height. So this got me thinking. If my dad couldn't sit properly on this bench, and there are shorter mfs than him in the NHL, then how do they go through day to day life practicing and playing hockey??

A quick google search answered these questions. And then I fell down a rabbit-hole of bench lore.

There had already been a bit of buzz around benches on Hockey Twitter, etc, after this video of Nils Höglander getting his headshot. But anyone who's ever been to a public skating rink or community centre in Canada/North American in general (not sure about rinks in other places) was probably like, what the fuck is that bench. And for good reason! What the fuck IS that bench?

Well apparently (according to reddit at least) they're purpose-built for hockey and fine-tuned to the game's needs, so wobble back and forth a bit. They're a bit taller than normal as well, likely because the average NHL player is taller than the average user of a public or community rink (which are built to cater towards all ages). The fact that they're thin probably helps save space as the players have got a lot of padding on and need to squeeze past each other at times. It all makes sense. However:

This means that players often need to sit or lean more forward on the bench, as seen here by P.K. Subban in the penalty box (yo why does the green guy on the left kinda look like Tyson Barrie ...)

P.K. is about 6 feet tall but we can see his upper legs are still angled slightly down like how you would sit on a chair that's an inch or two too tall. How would this bench height affect a Short King, you ask? Well, someone of PK's height already has to adjust their posture slightly, so someone shorter than him would likely have to sit even further on the edge or with their legs less bent/upper legs angled further down. Idk how those people feel about it, but on a personal level this would hurt my ass.

Here's a shot of the Bruins leaning forward on the bench as well. (Is it just me, or do the boards look thinner lol?) This is where I realize that a lot of the in game shots of players leaning forward on the bench probably make sense, not just because they want to get closer to the action or cheer on their buddies, but... Thin Little Bench.

Here's the Habs on th'bench. Now, back to the beginning. My first thought when my dad mentioned his feet didn't touch the ground on the bench was: could someone swing their feet on that bench? And would that be cute or no.

Okay, I think it would be reasonably cute. But to the first question: Logically, no because it's really wobbly. But when it's weighed down by many other heavy, probably taller people (NHL players are about 200lbs and 6 feet on average) then someone of about 5 feet 10 inches like my dad could probably sit on the back edge and swing their skates a little without falling. Or maybe the bench would shift back and forth and make this past-time even more fun and daredevil-y. They probably don't get bored out there, but. Still.

Here's an article about NHL players under 5'10" for reference (aka, those who are shorter than the queen herself Jojo Siwa)

TL;DR, this whole time, it's likely that at least one hockey player has been sat like this during a game and none of us knew it.

Thank you for reading this obnoxiously long post about a piece of sports furniture.

(and yes, this likely is part of the reason why Nathan Mackinnon fell off the bench that one time)

[msmarvelouswinchester]

Irresistibly Yours

Chapter 1 - The Elevator

Summary - Y/N Y/L/N moves to NYC in hopes for a fresh start after a nasty breakup. There she meets her neighbor, the cynical lawyer, Dean Winchester. A love-hate relationship starts evolving between them ever since they met in the elevator one morning but a desperate situation and a string of lies forces the two friendly rivals to go on a date or rather a fake date. Will sparks fly between them when Dean gets to know Y/N real and up close? Will Y/N finally find her Prince Charming in the grumpy, workaholic, divorce lawyer?

Pairing - Lawyer!Dean Winchester x Y/N

Warning - None for this chapter

Word Count - 1981

Square Filled - Moodboard ( @girl-next-door-writes )

A/N - *Cracks knuckles* Ta-daaaa! The series is finally here it's already Sunday where I live and I was dying to share this! It's going to be a wild ride ahead. So buckle up your seatbelts and enjoy the ride!

This is also my submission to @flamencodiva's Writing Challenge and @deanwanddamons' 2K Blogiversary challenge (congratulations on your milestone, Sian). Prompts are in bold.

Beta'd by @miss-nerd95 (Thanks again, hon❤️)

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist Masterlist

Throwing her bag over the table, Y/N slumped down on the couch, letting out a sigh. The pressure from the higher-ups, consistent criticism of your work and impending deadlines were weighing heavily on her shoulders and she was in a desperate need of a break.

She looked over to the stack of papers on the table that now lay abandoned. The rejection from the publishing company was the fucking cherry on top. Y/N buried her face in her hands in frustration as she was almost on the verge of a mental breakdown, a few angry tears rolling down her cheeks. Letting her head fall back, she swiped away those angry tears, letting out a long sigh of defeat.

“Why can't I ever do anything right?” She mumbled, her breathing heavy as she bit down on her trembling lips.

In her late twenties, after a nasty break up, Y/N had a marvellous thought that she needed a fresh start. So she had left her corporate job back in Atlanta and moved to New York to pursue her dreams of becoming a writer. She had secured a good position in one of the leading magazine companies and started to write the novel that she had been planning since she was seventeen, but lately nothing seemed to work out the way she wanted. Sure, she was getting paid well but it wasn't enough compared to how much she had to deal with her shitty coworkers and bosses. She had now lost every motivation to continue her novel after the first draft got rejected by the publishing companies enough times to make her feel insecure about her writing.

“Why can't my life just be a goddamn Hallmark movie?” Y/N muttered under her breath as she picked up a cushion and covered your face, letting out a muffled scream.

Her wallowing time was interrupted by the blaring noise of her phone in the awfully quiet apartment, making her nearly jump out of her skin. Another frustrated groan left her lips as she saw the person calling her.

“I told you to stop calling me, for god's sake!” Y/N yelled into her phone.

“Come on, Y/N. One dinner.” The man on the other end pestered. “You know, at work people talk about how uptight you are. Let yourself go, once in a while.”

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn. Michael- I'm not interested. I told you a hundred times before and I'll say it again. Leave. Me. Alone!” She said. The line on the other side went quiet.

“Bitch.” She heard him say before the call disconnected.

“Fuck off!” She yelled again, knowing fully well he couldn't have heard her now. Y/N finally decided to put him in her blocklist because Michael didn't seem like he was gonna stop otherwise.

It wasn't that she had a stick up her ass for not wanting to go on a dinner date with her coworker. Honestly, she missed the whole first date experience, but Michael was definitely not the guy for her, or for any other girls out there in her opinion. He threw around sexist comments around the office like it was some cool shit and chivalry was definitely dead for him.

Y/N finally got up from her seat, shoulders still tense from the day's events. Opening the refrigerator, she stood there gawking at the leftovers in it.

“Cold pizza….spaghetti….chocolate brownies….” She looked at your dinner options, weighing each one's pros and cons before settling on - “Brownies it is.”

Taking out the chocolate confection , she returned to the couch. She put on Netflix as she browsed through it's movie section.

“Stupid Prince Charming-” she scoffed, biting into the delicious the chocolate chip brownie in hand. Grumbling at the unrealistic standards of Netflix rom coms, she still pressed the play on the film The Proposal.

Finishing her 'dinner', Y/N picked up the comforter, nestling deep into her couch as she watched the coldhearted Margaret fall head over heels for her assistant, the exhaustion kicked in.

“Fuck!”

And that's how the next morning started as Y/N woke up one hour later than usual. She had fallen into a deep sleep on her couch before Andrew even got to propose to Margaret, which was not exactly the wisest decision as the next morning, her neck and back screaming in pain.

The girl knew she was going to be late to work today by the time she had left the house. Hair up in a messy bun, a bag hanging from her shoulder, she tried to smoothen down the creases on her skirt before rushing towards the elevator in high heels.

“Hold the door!” She yelled at the man inside as soon as the door started to close. She sprinted towards the elevator as the man kept looking at her, an annoyed look evident on his face when he slammed the button, taking a step forward to keep the door from closing.

“Thank you!” Y/N huffed, as she got in the elevator. The man chose to remain silent and he pressed the ground button on the elevator. “I am so screwed today! I have never been this late to work!” She babbled on but the man still maintained the stoic look on his face. Y/N slightly turned to face the man of stone. He was probably in his thirties, his dirty blonde hair, sparkling green eyes and light stubble on his cheeks went very well with the crisp grey suit he was wearing. One hand in his pocket, he just stood there, jaw clenched together, eyes focused on the shut doors.

“You know, I should have set the alarm! Stupid-”

“Do you ever shut up?” The man finally spoke, a look of disinterest passing his face.

“Wow. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I guess.” Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Excuse me?” His voice was hard.

“I said, someone woke up-”

“I heard what you said. I am just not interested in listening to your morning fuck-up story.” He scoffed.

“Woah, okay.” She widened her eyes at his disrespectful comment, “I just-” The elevator reached the ground floor of their apartment building and the doors opened with a ‘ding’.

“I think you don't want to waste anymore time talking since you're already running late.” Y/N gasped slightly at the audacity of the man. “Have a good day, Miss L/N.” The man wished before moving out of the confined space as Y/N narrowed her eyes at him and wondered how he knew her name.

“Have a good day as well, Mr….” She trailed off as she got out of the vator as well.

“Dean Winchester.” He said as he walked away, never once looking back as Y/N stood there, bewildered at what just happened.

Hands balled up into fists in apprehension, Y/N inhaled audibly, as she stood on the other side of the door. She was late to the meeting by half an hour, twenty-four minutes to be precise and nothing annoyed her boss more than tardiness.

“Y/N, it's a pleasure that you finally graced this meeting with your presence on this fine morning.” Abaddon’s words laced with acute sarcasm made it quite clear that Y/N was doomed when she entered the room. The remaining four pairs of eyes in the room were zeroed in on her, as she abashedly took a seat at the far-end of the table. She couldn't risk her job because of her smartass mouth and she was already on thin ice, so she kept quiet and let Abaddon carry on with the meeting cause even Cruella De Vil would be hiding her face in shame if she ever met Abaddon. She was an Umbridge before her coffee and a Regina George after drinking her coffee. There was no way she was going to spare the poor girl today.

“As I was pointing out, our sales have gone down in recent months quite drastically. Readers are saying the contents are not relatable or entertaining enough….”

A yawn threatened to leave Y/N as she listened to Abaddon go on about the poor performance of the company, her mind preoccupied by a certain green-eyed man. She had never seen Dean in the building before this morning. He was annoyingly good looking and rude and Y/N couldn't seem to get rid of the image of him looking dapper in that grey suit. She was barely able to focus on what Abaddon was saying.

With Dean Winchester still running through her mind, Y/N trudged back to her small cubicle after the painfully hour long meeting.

Plopping down on the chair, covering her face with her hands, she exclaimed, “I need coffee!”

“Thank me later.” She turned her head to Meg as she pushed a hot cup of coffee towards her before going back to her own cubicle.

“Black, just like my heart.” She said before inhaling the strong smell of the drink. Taking a little sip, she let out a sigh of content. “Jesus, I needed this badly.”

“Yeah, you look like shit,” Meg chuckled, earning a glare from her friend. “Did you even take a look at the mirror today? Honestly, I am not even exaggerating, I-”

“Meg, I’ll forever be grateful to you for this cup of coffee, but please stop talking.” Y/N groaned loudly.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Michael walking towards her and put on headphones and turning the volume up, trying to look busy. “Heads up, incoming douchebag.” The brunette said. After the hubbub of the morning and the shitshow of a meeting, Michael was the last person Y/N wanted to see.

“Morning, Y/N.” The smug smile on his face made her cringe. This had been going on for a month now. She thought after last night, Michael would finally back down, but apparently she was very wrong. “My messages don't seem to get through anymore.”

“She blocked you. God, take a hint.” Meg muttered.

“She's right. It's ‘cause you can’t seem to take no for an answer.” Y/N huffed.

“One dinner. Just one.”

“No.”

“She said no. Isn't that enough?” Meg jumped to her friend’s rescue when she saw her fumbling and getting uncomfortable. Michael inched towards Y/N anyway, completely ignoring his colleague’s comment, a smirk evident on his face.

“Y/N, don't be so uptight. What harm does a single dinner gonna do?” He asked.

“It’ll be cheating. I have a boyfriend.” Y/N blurted out, making Meg’s eyes go wide, but it actually seemed to work as Michael moved away from her.

“A boyfriend?”

“Yeah. We have been going out for a while now.” The said man frowned as he thought the words over before leaving her space with a little nod of his head. Maybe it worked on him without any hassle, but she knew this lie would come back to bite her in the ass if the whole office got to know about it. Oh, and they would know since turning around, Y/N saw Ruby staring at her, a grin appearing on her face as she took in all the juicy gossip. The lie was now gonna spread like wildfire.

“Spill.” Y/N turned to look at her friend who stood there, hands folded, eyes wide, brows raised in utter disbelief. She puckered her lips as she waited on Y/N to explain who just frowned in reply. “Well? What happened? I want all the details, Y/N!”

“Oh come on, L/N. Share the deets.” Ruby snickered. “Who's the man that actually managed to capture your heart?”

“Dean Winchester.” The name tumbled out of her lips so easily and that was how she knew she was screwed.

Chapter 2

Feedback is highly appreciated!

Let me know if you want to be tagged in this series!

[according-to-the-laura]

StackedNatural Day 84: 7x12

StackedNatural Masterpost: [x]

January 13, 2022

7x12: Time After Time

Written by: Robbie Thompson

Directed by: Phil Sgriccia

Original air date: January 13, 2012

Plot Synopsis:

After attacking Chronos, the time god, Dean is sent back to 1944.

Features:

Fuck Yes Time Travel, Dean has big bi energy staring at that soldier’s ass, Robbie Thompson is the only SPN writer to acknowledge the Obama presidency, Chronos the Titan, Eliot Ness is here, Jody is back, the future is full of black ooze (and accidental Empty foreshadowing).

My Thoughts:

I remembered liking this episode but I still liked it way more than I thought I was going to which is always a delightful surprise with Stacked, especially in a Cas-less period like this point of season 7. Also, @meg3point0 pulled some meta out of the literal air while we were watching this and I’m obsessed. These are the benefits of doing Stacked with a buddy rather than trying to do it by yourself. We don’t always watch together but I feel like I take way better notes when we do.

First thought was that the actor playing the initial witness was 100% convinced that this role was going to be his Big Break™, and also he has never smoked weed once in his life.

Meg thinks that Eliot Ness’ intro with the long tan coat being blocked by the light fixture was Casgirl-bait because conceivably Cas could have been around in 1944 and THAT would have been a delicious little fic of an episode. Also, I don’t know who Eliot Ness is outside of this episode of Supernatural so I only give a shit about him in that he activates Dean’s fangirl brain which is extremely endearing.

Also extremely endearing is Dean’s gay little dressing montage. Has the same vibes as Mint Condition. Let Dean care about what he looks like! Let him explore fashion! Continue to dress him in this exact outfit and take his jacket off so I can stare at the vest and gun holster and gay little side part!

This episode is directed pretty well but Phil Sgriccia is still on thin fucking ice from how bad he did with The Bad Place and the shaky-cam reality tv found footage travesty, so we’ll see how he does for the rest of Stacked.

Okay, let’s crack into Meg’s off the dome meta that I was frantically taking notes on while we watched: First, Dean is desperate for approval in this episode, and he doesn’t really get it. Honestly, Ness is kind of a dick. Second, this is the third time this season that he has opened up to a male friend/coworker and been vulnerable about how he’s feeling in the wake of Cas’ betrayal and subsequent death, and then immediately after is shut down and told that he needs to buck up and do the job. The first time was Bobby in 7x09 How to Win Friends and Influence Monsters; Dean says he can’t see why everything matters anymore and Bobby says, among other things, that Dean isn’t a person, he’s a hunter, and that he has to find a way to get his head back in the game. Two episodes later, 7x11 Adventures in Babysitting, he tells Frank Devereaux he’s upset because his friend got shot in the head and died (ONE EPISODE AGO) and Frank tells him to either do the job like a professional or leave behind everyone he’s ever known and quit. And then in this episode, Dean tells Ness that he’s not sure why he does anything anymore because everyone he loves keeps dying, and Ness says, and I quote, “Boo-hoo. Cry me a river, ya nancy”. I talk so much about how repressed Dean is but given someone with a little bit more distance than Sam (who he still sees partially as his child and not his brother), he will take almost any opportunity to talk about what’s eating him, and the world will keep shoving him back into his little box. If Bobby had asked the right question when he was a teenager he probably would have come out of the closet on the spot.

The most important part of the meta, though, is that in 5 episodes Dean is going to meet “Emmanuel”, and Cas will look at him without even knowing him and tell him that he isn’t a machine and he is allowed to feel things. THIS HAS ALWAYS BEEN A ROMANCE. FUCK.

Notable Lines:

“What, are you gonna look up more anime, or are you strictly into Dick now?”

“I used to do it 'cause that's what my family did. But they just seem to keep dying. To tell you the truth, I don't know why I'm doing much of anything anymore.”

“You want to know your future? I know your future. It's covered in thick black ooze. It’s everywhere.”

Laura’s (completely subjective) Episode Rating: 8.7

IMdB Rating: 8.9

In Conclusion: Woof, this one got away from me. Hope the three people who read these enjoy it!

<< Previous Day | Next Day >>

[a-singleboat]

Green-Eyed Valentine

Word Count: 1.7k

Request: Hey! I really liked what you did with my last request, so I was wondering if you could do one where Damien (or Shayne) get jealous because reader gets a valentine's day gift from someone else, please? - @lula132

A/N: We’re getting into all those Shayne requests!

Warning(s): Mentions of alcohol, mentions of cheating, swearing

Valentine’s Day. Objectively the worst holiday in your eyes. On top of still having to go to work, it’s only really socially acceptable to give another person a box of chocolates as a gift. Where was the variety? The flavor? 

Additionally, you and your long-term boyfriend, Shayne, had decided to forego gifts that year in favor of saving up for a house together. That meant birthdays, Christmas, and yes, Valentine’s Day gifts, were off the table because you both spend an outrageous amount of money on each other each year. So imagine your surprise upon seeing a gift neatly wrapped in the same red gift wrap the two of you had in your apartment sitting on your desk early Valentine’s Day morning. 

“I thought we agreed on no gifts, Shayne.” You picked up the wrapped item, turning it over in search of a tag. When you found there was none, it only made you more suspicious of your boyfriend. 

“That wasn’t me,” he said, eyebrows furrowed as he watched you fiddle with a loose piece of wrapping paper on the side. While he recognized the wrapping paper, he was one-hundred percent sure that he hadn’t bought you anything. You could check his bank statement if you didn’t believe him. 

“Yeah, I’m sure thousands of people have that exact same wrapping paper,” Courtney chimed in. You had no idea where she had come from but judging by the still-steaming coffee in her hands, you were willing to bet from the office kitchen. “I’m pretty sure Ian has that wrapping paper, too.” 

You blinked, unsure on how to process that information. “So you think Ian got me a Valentine’s Day gift?” 

“Why would Ian--?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Courtney cut Shayne off with a laugh, settling her coffee on your desk. She took the gift from your hands, smoothing back the bit of wrapping paper you had been playing with. “I’m just making a point. This could have been literally anyone in the office.”

You gave her a smirk. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Uh, a who-dunnit in which we figure out who put this present there?”

Shayne looked a little more than peeved at that. “And when you find out who left the gift there, you can tell them that you’re in a loving relationship and have been for the past eight years.” 

You pinched his cheeks, making kissy faces at your boyfriend. “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to tell them that my incredibly handsome, loving, and amazing boyfriend didn’t appreciate their gift, bubba.”

Shayne’s cheeks reddened at the nickname, eyes rolling as you leaned in to pepper his face in butterfly kisses. He could be as jealous or as grumpy as he wanted but as long as he knew you were his, all was well. You trusted him and you were sure as hell that he trusted you as well. 

“Go find out who sent you the gift.” He moved his face out of range of your constant kisses, taking one of your hands in his and pressing a soft kiss of his own to your knuckles to let you know he wasn’t mad. “And don’t call me bubba at work, that’s reserved for home and home only.” 

With a laugh, you agreed. The nickname ‘bubba’ would stay home from thereon out. You turned to Courtney, who had taken to shaking the box in an attempt to figure out what was inside. The item rattled slightly, most likely having been swaddled tightly by tissue paper within the cardboard casing. 

“It sounds like pottery,” Courtney deduced, giving it another firm shake. The rattling, similar to the sound of a metal spoon hitting the side of a ceramic bowl, made you wary of the way your friend was manhandling the gift. 

“Maybe someone left it here on accident and it’s not actually for me,” you suggested. “After all, there’s no note or anything. I think even if it was from a secret admirer--which it’s not--” you gave Shayne a pointed look-- “I still think there’d be a note of some kind.” 

“But we still can’t strike one out,” Courtney pointed out, setting the box down. The shiny red paper sparkled under the shitty office lights, the glitter already wearing off on, well, everything. “Okay, maybe if we start by eliminating people in the office we’ll find who the gift came from faster.”

“Good idea,” you said, pulling out a spare sheet of paper from your desk. Your fingers sought out a pen, yanking the cap off with your teeth. Quickly, you scribbled down the names of all the coworkers you can into regular contact with“So we already know it’s not from Shayne or you--that’s two people down already. And despite the fact that Ian also has this same wrapping paper, I really don’t think he would have left this for you.” 

“Okay that’s three people down,” you crossed the names out, marking a heart next to Shayne’s name. You flipped the paper over, showing him the little heart you’d drawn. He frowned but caught the kiss you blew his way anyhow. 

“Here’s an idea,” Shayne said, rolling his chair closer to you. Courtney took a noisy sip of her iced coffee, looking between the two of you like a tennis match. “Maybe, someone accidentally left it on your desk. Like any second now, someone’s gonna come by looking for that thing.”

You glanced at the neatly wrapped box, a little battered from Courtney’s thorough examination. It was possible that it wasn’t supposed to be meant for you. It was half-on-half-off your desk originally, the original cart it had shared had been pushed away by now, moved to the other side of the room. 

You pulled the box toward you, running your finger along the middle and feeling for the sticky residue that would be a tell-tale sign of the tape that had once been there. Once you found it, you tapped the pad of your finger a few times watching as the paper clung to your skin before separating. 

“The label’s fallen off,” you voiced your observation, looking around the floor for it. “If we find that, we’ll find who this was addressed to and who sent this in the first place.”

Courtney immediately set her drink down, getting on her hands and knees in search of the label. You set the box back down on your desk and got on your hands and knees as well, tying your hair out of your line of sight. You pushed Shayne away, laughing as he rolled back a bit further than you thought he would. 

“Do you see it?” you asked, using your phone’s flashlight to look in the dark shadows under your desk. You squinted as the flashlight caught on something shiny, frowning when you saw that it was only a scrap piece of laminate. You picked it up anyways, disposing of it correctly and sitting back on your heels. 

Courtney’s arm was halfway under your desk on the other end, reaching for something. You watched as she extracted a thin piece of cardstock. She waved the paper around, blowing off the bit of dust clinging to the corner. 

“To, Jessica… who’s Jessica?” 

You crowded over her shoulder to read the label. “I have no clue who Jessica is, but if we know the sender we can get it back to them.”

She unfolded the paper a bit more. “From… Ian? Is Ian dating?”

“This is way more exciting than me having a secret admirer, oh my God!” You took the label from Courtney, taping the label back down onto the box. “We should really get this back to Ian though.” 

Courtney took the box from you, subtly glancing over your shoulder at your still-pouting boyfriend. He was trying to be sneaky, looking over at the two of you when he thought you weren’t looking. You rolled your eyes, laughing as you realized what was happening. 

“He’ll get over it,” you said. “He’s just a little embarrassed. I’ll talk to him.”

Courtney nodded, wishing you luck. 

You turned on your heel, looking at your ridiculous boyfriend and giving him a smile. You chuckled, sitting in your seat and sliding over to him and forcing his seat to spin so that you could slot your knees between his. You took his hands in yours, pressing soft kisses to his knuckles. Instantly, he relaxed, unclenching his fists and lowering his shoulders. 

“You know that you have nothing to be afraid of, right? I love you and only you,” you reassured him. “Ten years and counting, remember?” 

You pressed another kiss to his knuckles. This was nothing new, the extremely light PDA at work. Everyone had gotten used to the two of you by now, not caring as long as you weren’t fucking on the desks. 

“Yeah,” he said, distracted. His thumb traced over where your ring finger met your palm. It wasn’t difficult for you to guess what he was thinking about. You waited for him to say the words, which you would inevitably reject. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to marry him because you did. It was just that growing up around parents that fought all the time made you wary of the idea of marriage. At the beginning, your parents had been the most in-love people you’d ever known but as the years drug on, you watched as their “love” disappeared into booze for your mom and other women for your dad. 

But sitting here in the office setting, as mundane and most likely cliches as it sounded, you wouldn’t hate the idea of marrying him. He reminded you of everything your parents weren’t and he managed to remind you every day that the two of you were not your parents and never would be, though the fear lingered. 

“You’ve got work to do, lover boy,” you teased, pressing one last kiss to his knuckles. “And I have a video of your dorky ass to edit.” 

Shayne sighed so lightly that if the printer had been running copies you would have missed it. But he let you get back to work, this wasn’t the time or place for that kind of conversation. 

“I love you,” you reminded him. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“I love you, too.”

TAGLISTS

Permanent

@beautiful-holland​ @toms-order​ @starlightfound​ @lemirabitur​ @grandmascottlang​ @positiveparker​ @bippity-boppity-boopa​ @caswinchester2000​

Smosh

@andreasworlsboring101 

[honestsycrets]

A Cat Called Creamsicle | [ Ivar x Reader ]

❛ pairing | ivar x reader [ modern ]

❛ type | drabble, creamsicle square for @mzliterarydreamer​

❛ summary | a cat and a box of ice cream. 

❛  tags | bad employees (this is a thing for me okay), mention of death, mention of ashes, wheelchair use, referenced homeaid, pets.

He looks at them every time he passes into the room, running his hand over his mother’s dark stained wood. His mother’s canopy bed is sadly cold although he can still smell her perfume, wafting thin and light, and god he misses being able to climb into her bed and listen to her string him a story of the old gods.

She’s gone now.

“Ivar?” His watch alerts him to the door jangling, swinging open downstairs with a harsh slam. He would have jumped if he hadn’t known it to be his home nurse. Mother’s inheritance assured he’d live plush and comfortably. With the stipulation that-- of course, a home aide came to check on him every day.

“I’m coming.”

Once he makes his way down the stairs, he realizes that there’s something different this time. You stand with a small kennel under your arm, clicking the small suitcase you’ve rolled in. “What is this?” he asks.

“Creamsicle!”

Cream...sicle. You set the kennel down and unlock it, reaching in to pull out, what is a small orange tabby cat. His chest plumes white, like some arrogant little fluff ball. Ivar draws back the wheels of his wheelchair to get a better look at what kind of flea-bitten mongrel you had brought over. The cat is just as bewildered, stiff like a board, and glancing around for a way out. He’d ask why the hell you brought it over if he didn’t already have a sneaking suspicion on what the hell was going on.

“It’s… a cat.”

“I’m glad you’ve noticed.”

“Why did you bring me a cat?” He presses as if he hadn’t known why. You’ve always been a vocal woman about the need for Ivar to have more playmates than just his mother. Now that she was gone, he didn’t know who to socialize with. You bend down, peeling him away from the floor to clasp on a collar. With a bowtie bell.

God.

“Well, Mr. Lothbrok--”

“Lothbrok was my father,” he barks. He knows how you like to tease-- just because you weren’t familiar with his culture and were more acquainted with his fancy-ass company name. “Ivar Ragnarsson,” you correct. “You’re in desperate need of company.”

He’d argue if it weren’t so damn true.

“And a cat fixes that how?”

You sit on the ground beside his finicky fucking cat, rubbing your palm over his orange ringed tail as the cat hops over your scratchy baby blue scrubs. “It’s company for my off days.”

Ha, Ivar thinks. It’s a shit piece of company for an even shittier principle.

Most men his age were out, running, drinking-- and instead, he was here in his mother’s obsequiously big house, trying to make every room a little less lonely. It wasn’t working. Maybe you noticed that, too. The way he moved like some robotic wraith seeking to make himself feel better. Perhaps at the cost of his mental state which-- according to unhappy Mr. Clipboard on your suitcase said, he was miserable.

The cat seems intimidated by him. Anytime he wheels remotely the wrong way, the thing bolts like a rocket. “Get out of there,” you motion to his wheelchair. “No wonder he’s scared, you’re bulldozing him.”

With a long dragging sigh he pulls himself onto the cool tile floors. “There.” He raises his hands up, then down, slapping his thighs. “See, it still doesn’t fucking like me.”

You reach out, chasing his large hands out, and brush him as if you’re a grown woman teaching a small child to pet a cat. “You have to treat him nicely,” you whisper, and it sends chills all the way down, chasing his worries… away. Annoyingly far away.

It’s funny how touch can do that.

“Do you have to do that?”

You pull your hands away from his palm, clearing your throat a bit as you rustle in your things. Ironically, you pull out a box of those American treats you’re such a fan of. He spots the yellow box as the car finally seems to meld into his palm.

“You didn’t--” his smile begins to peak. You withdrawal a cool bar, popping it out of its bag with the smallest motion. “One for you,” you hand it over to him. “One for me.”

Somehow, he’s here on the floor eating orange creamsicles with his nurse and a newfound cat, not at all sure how he’s gotten there. “You’re in this deep?” he finds himself asking, unable to tear himself from the realization that you’re watching him suckle the cool treat. Unlike your other coworkers, it wasn’t as if you had anyone else to visit. Ivar was the only patient you had day in and out. He likes it that way-- the thought of you caring for someone else-- when this is so intimate? No.

“Looks like it.”

“Isn’t that against your job description?”

“Maybe if you wanted me.” There’s a silence in which Ivar debates that very fact. Then, as he comes to his conclusion that he can’t argue, you lean over to him. He feels the coolness wafting off your lips. “I put my two-week notice in.”

Ivar leans forward, smashing his cold lips against yours and nearly squishing poor creamsicle in the process. The cat leaps away. Ivar’s firm hand holds you in place against his mouth, and he never really needed to, because your hands have found the soft fabric of his shirt, kissing him with bruising, needy quality.

“Ivar--” you mutter. His tongue prods your lower lip before taking a hearty nip at it, and you squeak, dragging your face away. “--fuck!”

“Sorry,” he says as he pulls back. You shake your head, suckling the rivulets of cream running down your wrist. He watches in discomfort as you suckle it dry and finish your frozen treat off. “My ice cream was melting.”

“Can we go upstairs?” he asks, pink-cheeked. You stand upright, picking up the box full of creamsicle treats. If you went up there you already knew what would happen-- but Ivar’s excitement was too much to bear. You start toward the kitchen, flicking your head to motion him to get his ass up there. He fumbles into his wheelchair as you put the ice cream away, then start the journey up the stairs.

“You owe me dinner later, Mr. Ragnarsson.”

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[the-hopeless-haze]

Someone to Sit In Your Chair and Ruin Your Sleep (Being Alive Chapter 3)

(not my gif)

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But he doesn’t hate you enough to take you to a shitty, cheap restaurant, no, he takes you to one of his favorite Cuban joints a few blocks away. He doesn’t hate you enough to tell you to move out of the seat he wanted to sit in (he always sat facing away from the crowd, but you’d made a beeline for that seat when you first got there). He doesn’t even hate you enough to make you pay for dinner, or even split the bill with him, despite your protests and insistence that you were only joking before.

Dinner isn’t awkward, per se, and as far as first dates go this one is going alright, he thinks. First dates were usually easy, though, as they didn’t reek of forced commitment and the staleness of knowing a person too well. You flirt with him a lot, and maybe he shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was, considering what you had the boldness to say outside the precinct hours earlier. Still, what the hell did you see in him, a man much older than yourself? Maybe you had issues too.

He can’t deny it, though, you’re absolutely beautiful, especially now, your cheeks flushed from the wine and conversation, and a seemingly permanent smile on your lips as you talk. Vaguely, he wonders if he ever gave you signs that he was interested, because lord knows he tried not to. Something had to have given you the nerve to shoot your shot, though, especially after what you’d said to him. You probably knew you were gorgeous, knew if you turned up the charm you could at the very least get a free dinner out of him.

But is that all you wanted? What did you want from him? What the hell else could he even offer?

“You know, I really do want to apologize for what I said, again,” you say after your plates are cleared. “I really don’t know why I went there. I mean, that’s not like me. I do like you, you know? You can be a hardass sometimes, though.”

“So I’ve been told,” he says, and he can’t help but grin.

“Well. I’m sorry for taking it so personally. I know you’re just doing your job.”

“Mm. Well, I suppose I can forgive you again.”

“Wow, thanks, Rafael,” you tease, smiling that beauty pageant smile again as you hold up your wine glass. “To starting over?”

He’s tempted to roll his eyes but he plays along instead, lifting his own glass to clink against yours. “To starting over,” he repeats, even though, semantically, you had never started anything until now. If you were even starting something.

“Did you enjoy yourself, Detective?” he asks, his hand on your waist as he leads you out of the restaurant.

“I did. The food was delicious. You know, I have a name, right? Or are we still not on first-name basis yet?”

He gives in to temptation this time and rolls his eyes, stopping short outside the restaurant. “Do you want to come back to my place for a few drinks, Detective, or do you want me to take you home?”

You laugh, “I don’t put out on the first date, Counselor.”

“I wasn’t—“

“But if you’d really like to just have drinks, you don’t have to force my hand.”

“You really take me for that kind of man?” he asks. He hates you, he hates you so much, his blood is boiling again.

“Why don’t you relax? I know you didn’t mean it like that.” Your eyes meet his, and you smile, kissing his cheek. “I’d be absolutely enchanted if you would take me to your apartment for drinks, Señor Barba.”

He rolls his eyes again, his lips pursed into a thin line. He still hates you. Maybe more so now. He misses when you used to shut that snippy mouth of yours.

——-

He’s livid when you sit in his chair, the one he always sits in, the recliner closer to the TV. Why couldn’t you have taken the couch? That’s what it’s for, guests, although maybe it’s been so long since he’s had any that you can tell it doesn’t look as lived in as the rest of the place.

Not that he's really ever home. He either spends his nights in the office with a pounding headache, or he’ll have dinner with his mother and abuelita. On rare occasions, he’ll join the squad for drinks, but he always feels disconnected, like he doesn’t quite belong. Amanda and Nick were closer than friends but not quite lovers, Fin and Olivia had known each other for over a decade, and you and Carisi are already thick as thieves despite his recent arrival. Rafael was always the odd one out, the one to make a composite number prime. Whatever conversation he entered, he was always the third wheel.

But now, an even rarer occasion, it’s just you and him, and your heels are digging into the leather of his chair as you curl your legs under you.

He asks you to get out of the chair gruffly, and you laugh, saying, “You know, Counselor, I’m getting the feeling that you don’t like me.”

“Oh, now you’re catching on?” he quips. “What do you want to drink?”

“I’ll have what you’re having,” you say, getting up from his chair to move to the couch, your heels clicking on his hardwood.

“You drink scotch?”

“I will,” you say.

He mutters in Spanish to himself, setting up two glasses with ice and pouring the amber liquid over it.

You’re sitting on the sofa, staring at your phone when he walks in. “Do you want me to take your jacket?”

“Sure,” you say, standing up and loosening the sleeves. He takes it from you, bringing it into the kitchen, where he puts his own coat and suit jacket down.

“You're still the only person I've ever seen wear suspenders.” You tease, bringing your drink to your lips as he walks back into the room.

“Thought I was well-dressed.”

“Yeah. I don’t retract that statement.”

“You’re beautiful,” he tells you suddenly, making eye contact with you, feeling slightly uncomfortable at how the compliment rolls of his tongue, but it’s worth it because you blush a little. Maybe you actually didn’t know you were stunning. Rafael sits down next to you on the couch, close enough that his knee almost touches yours.

“You think so?” you ask, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I honestly didn’t think you noticed me.”

“It’s hard not to.”

“Mm. Charmer,” you say, your grin widening. You press your knee to his, lean over a little. “I think, counselor, that you should kiss me, then.”

“Is that what you think, (y/n)?” he asks quietly, trying out your first name for the first time.

“Mm. Unless you don’t want to?”

God, did he want to, but it would mean there was no going back. Although, maybe at this point, it wouldn’t matter. Your mutual attraction had been laid out on the table and you were no longer merely coworkers. And he can’t lie, he loves the anticipation, but he’s worried about what will happen after all that fades. When you inevitably ended this, how could you work together?

“What do you want from me?” he asks.

“I think I made myself clear. I want you to kiss me, Rafael,” you tease.

“That’s not what I meant, (y/n). You know what I’m asking you,” he says, cursing himself for stuttering over your name. He leans closer, too, leaving his drink on the end table, moving his hand tentatively to your knee.

“Why don’t you kiss me first?” Your voice lowers an octave, and he’s never seen a woman more sultry or more antagonizing. “Are you really going to make me beg?”

Fuck.

His hand comes to touch your cheek, and it burns the palm of his hand. He uses his thumb to brush your lips gently. “You can’t just give a straight answer, can you?”

“No,” you smile against his thumb.

“Except for that,” he says, and he’s smiling too, even though he can’t stand you, and he closes the distance between the two of you, kissing you gently.

He hates you more now, hates the way the scotch tastes on your lips, hates the feel of your mouth on his.

But he needs more.

You, being you, your hands come to grasp his suspenders and he’s leaning in closer, aiming to take all the breath you had in you.

“So what do you want?” He asks as he makes himself pull away, breathless.

“More of that. But... Let’s just see where it leads us, okay?”

“Not an answer.”

“I don’t know the answer yet. Do you?”

“Well...no,” he admits. He can’t commit to you and he was bound to tell you that if you asked to be his girlfriend. But you didn’t. Maybe you weren’t ready yet, either.

“It’s just, we work together. Better if we take things slow,” you say.

“Agreed.”

“So we’re on the same page? That’s a first,” you giggle, but he doesn’t get a chance to respond sarcastically because your mouth is on his again.

The drinks flow a little too quickly for his liking, but he’s opening up a little, loosening his tie and his lips. He tells you about his Mami and his abuelita, only good things, and he makes you laugh at stories he has from the theater company he was part of in undergrad.

Even with the alcohol in your system, you’re tighter than him. You don’t give away much of any information. You have a younger brother, he learns, and your parents are divorced. Vaguely he wonders if your father walked out - maybe that’s why you came onto him like that. Rafael prays that’s not the case, because he can’t even sort out his own daddy issues, never mind your own. He might be older, wiser, over the games men your age played, but he’s no father figure, that’s clear.

Thankfully, you mention that your father helped you set up your apartment when you moved to New York and Rafael relaxes. So it wasn’t your father who hurt you, but someone did.

Oh, look at him, trying to psychoanalyze a detective, no less one with a psychology degree. Stupid. Whatever damage you had was cloaked in coping mechanisms and flirting, because you knew how to hide it having studied it yourself. And maybe he shouldn’t be so focused on trying to figure you out. That’d be getting too close too damn fast. He didn’t owe you that.

You kiss a couple more times throughout the night, but it’s nothing too wild. You made clear that you weren’t putting out and he didn’t expect you to. Even still, he’s not ready for even that. Sex doesn’t have to be intimate, as he knows from past experience, but with you, it’d be crossing a bridge into uncharted territory. And Amanda was a goddamn hound. She’d smell it on both of you before he had a chance to talk to Olivia or McCoy about it.

It isn’t until midnight that he checks the time. “Mierda. I have to be back in the office for 8 tomorrow,” he says, shaking his head. He hates you.

You kiss his cheek. “I should’ve kept track of the time. I can get a cab home. You don’t have to bring me back.”

“What time do you have to be in?”

“9...”

“Go in early and take the OT. Stay here. I’m not going to have you try and hail down a cab this late...and this inebriated.”

“I can take the couch—“

“No. You already ruined my sleep. Come to bed,” he says, and you don't argue.

It's been so long since he's slept next to someone else, and he can't seem to make it there anyway. So he watches you through half-lidded green eyes, your chest rising and falling. Jesus, Olivia’s pissed-off face runs through his mind and he can only imagine the reaming out he’d get if she had any idea that you were in his bed right now. Sure, they were friends, but there is no way in hell she would approve of him dating one of her detectives, especially not you. Sometimes Rafael thinks Olivia sees too much of her younger self in you. Some of it was valid, sure, but she’d really taken you under her wing in a way she hadn’t with, say, Amanda. Perhaps some of it has to do with the fact that she was your boss from the start of your hire, but either way, she’s protective and almost maternal toward you. He’s seen her going to bat for you, intimidating a suspect who made a sexual comment about you in front of her. Christ, Rafael would not want to be on the receiving end of that vitriol, that piercing look in her normally soft brown eyes as she said something about wanting the suspect's balls in a blender.

So that keeps him up for a while, but he's not really dating you, is he? You're just keeping him company and keeping him up at night. Olivia didn't need to know a damn thing.

Of course, you're an early riser, and he has half a mind to wonder if you were trying to get out of the apartment before he woke up, but you're also very loud as you stumble around his room and wake him out of his fitful sleep. "Sorry, Rafael," you say, blushing. "I can't really sleep past 5:30."

"Whatever, I'm already awake," he grumbles, sitting up.

"Mm. No wonder why you need that much coffee," you tease cheerfully, leaning over to kiss him. "Grumpy, much? Guess you wake up on the wrong side of the bed every day."

"You are...beyond irritating, (y/n)," he murmurs. "You're lucky you're beautiful."

You laugh heartily at that, too grating and high-pitched for this early in the morning. "Mm. You're lucky you're attractive, too, Rafael. I don't think anyone could tolerate you otherwise."

So was this how it was going to be? Maybe this could be fun; until it wasn't. Rafael tries not to think about it ending, because hell, it'd barely started, but he's learned that the long-term doesn't work for him. And he had nothing to show for trying, either. You would flit into his life, stay your time, and then leave just as quickly as you came; like you were never there at all. That's all he ever was, a stepping stone to bigger and better things. Hell, Yelina almost married the Mayor of New York.

Fuck it. He wasn't jumping in headfirst, Lord knows he's far too hurt and afraid to do that. But he could see this through for a little while. It's not like he had any better propositions, right?

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