#whimsy and fluff

[neoheros]

sakusa knows he’s a bad date.

he’s quiet, timid, doesn’t speak much, and asks all the wrong questions at the wrong time.

he’s not very good at eye contact and a lot of the things he wants to say he feels he can’t say at all either.

(partially due to the feeling that everything he says when he talks to you ends up embarrassing him, and partially due to the fact that talking to you for long periods of time make him tongue tied).

(not that he’d ever admit that).

despite all that though, he does know the basics when it comes to going on dates:

he buys you flowers (and forgets it by his doorway), he opens the car door for you (and apologizes when it almost hits you as he opens it), and he makes dinner reservations at the restaurant you mentioned to him in passing three days ago (he did a good job with this one).

so yes, him being a bad date is not unbeknownst to him. quite the opposite in fact, it’s not only something he knows about himself, but it’s also something that he thinks about all the time.

or at least, all the time ever since he’s met you.

that’s how the two of you end up here — the evening of your first (and probably last) date, sitting on a porch step of an empty building, a bloodied handkerchief filled with crushed up snow pressed against sakusa’s left cheek, and a few missing buttons from your favorite winter coat.

sakusa always knew he was a bad date, but he never thought he would be this bad.

the plan had been simple: get you flowers, open the door for you, drive you to the restaurant you liked. sakusa had this game-plan of his memorized ever since you said yes to him four — now five — days ago.

he wrote it on a piece of paper, step by step, and kept it in his wallet sleeve in case he forgets, he repeated it to himself three times in the mirror this afternoon before he left the house to pick you up, and he said it to himself one last time in the car before texting you that he’d arrived.

he memorized it.

and still, he messed it up.

the streets are empty and the evening is quiet.

“sorry ��� for this.”

his words feel like they’ve been the first to be spoken all night.

on the snowy concrete just below your feet, there’s a few drops of blood making its presence known loudly against the whiteness of the snow, the drops scatter sporadically, and near it, there’s a button or two from your coat.

you sit next to sakusa on the cold steps, it’s a quiet night, and it’s not snowing anymore, but the soft bed of the cold flurry it left behind made for a beautiful evening.

you let your head fall slightly on his shoulder, “for what?”

you can feel him stiffen immediately under your touch, and he coughs, shy, and looks to the side.

it makes you smile a little bit — his efforts of hiding his expressions — it’s not like you can see him anyway with that big makeshift ice-pack covering his face.

“sorry for the bad date.” he clears his throat, more clearly now, a little louder too, but his tone almost sounds disappointed. “… and sorry for ruining your coat.”

you lift your head up from his shoulder, frowning, and you turn to face him, “it’s not a bad date.”

he doesn’t say anything to that. instead, he keeps his head turned slightly away from you, but his shoulders fall a bit when you move away from him.

“if anything, i should be the one apologizing.” you mutter lowly, “i’m the reason you got hurt.”

sakusa huffs slightly. a second pausing in the air as he refuses to return the look you give him, and finally, he puts down the “ice pack” from his cheek, and looks at you.

his cheek is scratched lightly, nothing too deep, just a red mark that’ll probably resolve itself in a few days, but his lower lip though — the culprit of the blood stained snow — is undeniably busted, still bleeding slightly, and making him wince at the sudden loss of pressure.

“don’t say stupid things.” he tells you, and if it makes him sound cold, he swears he’s not trying to be.

he just doesn’t know what else there is to say.

the truth is — it is a bad date.

he forgot your flowers, almost hit you with the car door, and now, the two of you are missing your dinner reservation because he got himself injured twenty minutes into the night.

it’s not fair, he thinks. half the things he wants to say to you, he can’t. half the things he wants to do, he messes up.

you make him fumble on his words, tongue tied, speechless, literally. you make him write things down on notes so he won’t forget them or practice on bathroom mirrors or worry in his car outside your doorstep.

he is the most capable man in his team, he is the sharpest, the most composed, his teammates and coach all count and look up to him.

but for some reason, one night with you, and it all washes away.

he doesn’t know what to say to you, he forgets things, and he falls face first flat on the hard concrete ground twenty minutes into your first date.

don’t say stupid things.

“you really won’t let me take you to the hospital?” you put your hand on his knee, turning even more to your side so you can face him better.

you have half a mind to put your other hand on his injured cheek but you don’t want to hurt him more than how he already does.

“it’s not as bad as it looks.” and as he says that, he winces, the gust of wind suddenly hitting his busted lip a testament to his bad luck tonight.

sakusa wants to kick himself, if there ever would be an appropriate time to act cooler than how he actually was, it would definitely not be now.

you don’t look so convinced, but sakusa wouldn’t know, he’s still only limiting himself to looking at you briefly before shifting his glance to something behind you or beside you or above you.

“hm. and it doesn’t hurt?” you cross your arms.

he shakes his head, “no. it doesn’t.” (it does.)

you raise a brow, “and you wouldn’t happen to be lying to me right now so i don’t take you to the emergency room?”

he shakes his head again, “i’m not.” (he is.)

you give him a look.

listen — sakusa already knows that he’s a bad date, but come on! he has been planning on asking you to dinner with him since the first week he’s known you, he’s been worrying about this evening since the second you agreed to it, and he’s been kicking himself in the head ever since the night began.

he’d rather bleed out on this disgustingly dirty porch step than admit that he’s a date so bad he can turn an evening meant for dinner into a night at the emergency room.

he doesn’t want you to think that he can be so bad like that. (is it too soon to ask you out for dinner again?)

you still look frustrated at his answers. but at least, he’s looking at you now.

you let out a big sigh, shoulders falling, and suddenly, you clap your hands together loudly as you straighten up.

“then i have an idea.” you say, and sakusa furrows his brows at the sudden change in the atmosphere.

you give him a prompting grin. “heads or tails.”

and it catches him so off guard, he says aloud, “what?”

you dig for a coin in your coat, “i’ll flip a coin and if it lands on heads, we go to the emergency room, no arguments, no fusses, no nothing.”

he frowns at that.

“but.” you tell him, and your grin gets wider as you show him the dime laid out on your palm, “if it’s tails, we go to my apartment, and i’ll try to fix you up there.”

his frown falls almost immediately into something else.

one night out with you and he’s already bleeding heavily and injured, and now you wanna take him back to your apartment?

were you trying to kill him?

“heads or tails, omi.”

he blinks at your words. and once again, he finds himself saying aloud, “what?”

you shoot him a funny look, your eyebrows slightly raising as your lips curve upward into a crooked smile.

you say, teasing, “if you don’t know; heads is the part of the coin with the head of the person showing on it and tails is the–”

sakusa grumbles loudly, cutting you off mid-sentence, making sure you see him roll his eyes at you, and he nudges you slightly with his foot.

he mutters, albeit under his breath, and he tries to hide it, but you can always tell when he’s smiling, “i know what a goddamned head is.”

you shrug, your grin wider now when you see his mood lighten up a bit.

“do you know what a goddamned tail is?”

sakusa huffs out an amused sigh. the smile on his face a lot more prominent now, and you only wonder slightly if it hurts him when he does it.

his shoulders fall as he’s defeated, “just take me to the emergency room.”

you let out a short laugh and the night doesn’t seem so quiet anymore.

you fall back against his shoulder, ��ah, omi, are you just saving the opportunity to be invited into my apartment for our next date?”

there’s a choking sound to be heard in the air.

his face almost feels like it’ll erupt into flames by how casually you just said that, a hot pink hue creeping up from his neck to nose all the way to the tips of his ears. he blames it on the cold, and immediately, he presses the “icepack” back against his cheek.

sakusa stands up suddenly from the porch step, “let’s go now.”

and just like he said, he strides away, faster than what would usually be safe on snow-covered pavement.

“omi, not so fast!” you yell after him, rising from your own seat and following his pace, “you might fall again and hurt the other side of your face and atsumu will think i beat you up on our first date.”

he walks faster.

“i can go to the hospital myself, please don’t follow me.”

“that’s ridiculous! let me take care of you!”

he trips on his feet slightly as you say that and his heart feels like it would’ve fell from his mouth had he not caught himself before falling again.

you really were trying to kill him, weren’t you?

maybe this date doesn’t feel so bad after all.

and, is it too soon if he asks you to come have dinner with him again?

[puckinghischier]

Quinn 1000% percent is the type of boyfriend who quietly takes care of you. He may not be flashy with his gestures but they’re always endearing.

i will live and die by the fact that man is the most intense but gentle lover there ever is.

it’s like, day by day his love is quiet and reserved, but looking back over the course of your relationship, you realize just how intense his love really is. because of course he’s vocal about the fact he loves you, never leaving it unsaid anytime you two part, even if just for a few minutes.

but really, it’s all the things he does you don’t even know about. it’s the days you come home and forget there was a pile of laundry you told yourself you needed to do, because it’s done already.

it’s the moments when you talk about needing to go to the store to replace your favorite coffee creamer, but groggily opening the fridge the next morning to a fresh bottle, not even registering the added weight in your hands.

it’s never running out of your favorite skincare products, somehow always having an endless supply. always having your favorite snack on hand. always having a full tank of gas. always having a soft blanket on your side of the couch.

day to day, these things don’t even cross your mind. your routine is so…routine, that you never wonder why all of these thing are. they just are.

until you see quinn come home after practice with a few bags in hand, one branded exactly the same as your favorite nighttime serum. or a grocery bag with a familiar looking carton poking through the frosted plastic.

you don’t question it until you walk out of the bathroom after a shower to him sitting a full cup of water on your night stand, that way you can crawl right into bed. not until you step into the living room to see him folding your favorite blanket, freshly washed, and tossing it over the back of the couch where you always sit.

your suspicion isn’t there until you get back from a walk to see your car gone, but quinn’s still in its parking spot.

you never wonder why your favorite flowers on the kitchen table never wilt until you see the branded brown paper from the local florist in the trash can.

the point is, you never think about it because you don’t have to. quinn does everything he can to show he cares about you, he loves you, he sees you. and he does it quietly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

so yeah, day to day he might be quiet, focused on hockey and his team, watching footage of old games and opposing teams while you’re reading next to him on the couch, but he’s never quiet with his love for you. not really.

when you look back on all he does for you, with no complaint or mention of it at all, it’s almost suffocating. it’s suffocating in the best way, to know how intensely he pays attention to you and how effortlessly he shows you, without you even knowing.

[marauder-misprint]

hello hello tis me again, the regulus fanatic. im not aware if you saw my message yet but i ADORED your regulus fic and so i’ve prepared another if you’d like

get this, regulus x (once again, im obsessed) whimsy slytherin reader where she’s touchy and affectionate towards everyone especially close friends and one day regulus finally works up the nerve to ask her iut and shes just like ‘sure😃’ thinkings its just a normal day and reggies just acting weird

cut to like a week later when regulus leans in for a kiss and readers all like ‘WHOA😲’ cue awkward conversation about how they’ve been dating fir a week then readers rushes to tell everyone because she’s been pining for him for YEARS

sorry if thats a lot and have a wonderful wonderful morning evening and night!

Hello again! I had so much fun writing this! ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎Still getting used to whimsy!reader so I hope it's okay that reader is highkey a yapper. They are both pining in this and just, augh! Fluff.

My turn to yap: I had a similar situation to this when I was younger. Fully convinced I was dating this guy for a few weeks before finding out that he had a girlfriend and he thought we were just "hanging out" despite going to very date-like places.

This story is nothing like my experience - Thank you for this very cute request ❤︎

Mr. 'Allergic to touching'

Regulus Black x Whimsical!reader

4k words

cw: fluff, pining,

Personal space isn’t a concept you’re familiar with. Well, it is but you like being in everyone’s, especially those you are close friends with. You’ll lean over the backs of chairs and couches as your friends sit in them, often reading or occasionally doing homework. You are always holding hands with your friends as you walk to class together. When you are relaxing somewhere, you are either draped over someone’s lap or pulling them into yours. That is just the edge of it too. You greet everyone with a hug, even if you are meeting them for the first time. It is just how you are. And you are blissfully unaware of how it bugs some people. 

Regulus, however, isn’t one of those people. Everyone expects him to be with his cold demeanor, how he snaps at first years for being too loud, and the fact that he doesn’t tolerate that amount of touching from anyone else. There is something about your touch that makes Regulus feel warm and content. That’s why he doesn’t mind it, but he won’t tell anyone that. Barty and Evan would call him ‘soft’ if they heard that. It would be even worse if they knew how Regulus fully feels about you; they know that he’s friends with you and tolerates your touches, but that’s all they know. 

Still, the idea of having your gentle touches and words of affection to himself makes Regulus smile. It’s a vice, he tells himself. He’s supposed to keep a plain expression, to be indifferent toward frivolities of his peers and their petty drama. You have a knack for breaking his resolve, especially when it’s lap you’ve laid down in or his chair you’re leaning over to see what page he’s on in his book. 

“Oi, Regulus, you coming?” Barty calls from across the common room. 

“Yes,” he replies dryly from where he is sitting near the fireplace.

Your friends are going to the library in an attempt to study and actually get something done. A group of third years playing exploding snap in the common room wasn’t allowing any of them to focus. Dorcas had been the one to angrily slam her hands into her book and swear at the younger students, and then you suggested the library. At least Dorcas would be able to study there. Regulus assumes that he’ll end up sitting across from you, or next to you, and he won’t be able to focus. 

Regulus follows behind the group. You’re in the middle holding hands with Pandora. You have a floral print tote bag slung over your shoulder that likely has Pandora’s things in it as well. Maybe he’d be the one holding your hand and carrying the bag one day… And now he’s smiling. 

“Excited to write that essay for Slughorn or something?” Barty asks, falling into step with Regulus. 

The smile disappears as quickly as it appeared. “Because essence of dittany uses is such an interesting topic,” he says sarcastically. 

“You’re the one who was smiling, mate. Something made you crack.” 

“Remembered something funny. Merlin forbid…” Regulus gives Barty a sideways glance, hoping that his answer would satiate him. 

Barty just flexes his eyebrows and adjusts his stride to match Evan’s. Regulus doesn’t mind that the rest of the walk is silent for him. The rest of his friends, including you, take part in livelier conversations, but Regulus is content just listening in. 

Just as he predicted, you sit down next to Regulus in the library. You place a hand on his arm.

“Could you help me with this Charms assignment? Unless you’re doing Potions with Junior?” you ask. 

He had already finished that assignment, but it is you asking. How could he say no to you?

“It’d be my pleasure. Have you started it?” 

You shake your head.

“Alright. That’s no problem. Let’s get the books you need.”

He stands up and you follow him into the shelves. You hum to yourself as he selects a few books. You like how easily he finds everything in the library and that he just knows which books you’ll need for the assignment. He doesn’t hold them out for you to carry. You see it as a polite gesture. Regulus is just nice like that. 

Back at the table, Dorcas is working earnestly on her homework. Evan, Barty and Pandora are having a hushed discussion that gets even quieter as you and Regulus retake your seats. Regulus starts flipping through the books to find the pages you’d need to reference. You watch him for a minute before realizing that you should be taking the assignment out. 

Once you look ready, Regulus moves one of the books right in front of you and explains which part of the assignment the passage relates to. Instinctively, you scoot your chair impossibly closer to his. Regulus tenses slightly; being so close to you will certainly make focusing on your assignment. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. You don’t notice. You’re too focused on trying to understand the point of a knitting charm. 

“But I can knit. I enjoy knitting. Why would I bother learning a charm to do it for me?” you ask in a defeated voice. 

“Well, what if I needed something knitted? I don’t know how to knit,” Regulus says in a fairly quiet voice, being that you are in the library. 

You tilt your head slightly and rest your chin on your hand. “I could knit it for you. I’m quite good. Remember that shirt I knitted for Cas’ girlfriend?” 

You casually leave out that you charged Dorcas for the shirt. You wouldn’t charge Regulus. If he needed something, you’d be more than willing to make it for him. 

“Then it’s for all the poor sods who don’t know the same wonderful people I do,” he says before realizing that he’s just called you wonderful. Outloud. To your face. 

His face burns in embarrassment.

“Oh, you’re so sweet!” you coo, hugging Regulus and being completely oblivious to the red shade of his face. Then you school your own emotions and turn back to your assignment. “Right, poor sods who are lonely and friendless.” 

Regulus puts all of his attention on the assignment. He needs to ignore the way his body still feels your warmth minutes after you let him go. 

“Right, ‘m bored. Kitchens?” Barty announces after some time. 

Pandora and Evan agree immediately and stand up. Dorcas waves them off, still working on her homework. The three don’t even wait for you or Regulus to respond. You both had your heads down, exchanging whispers about your assignment. Regulus is trying not to think about how close you are, and you’re grateful that Regulus is being so patient with you. 

After a while, Dorcas excuses herself and says she’ll see you back in the common room. It’s just you and Regulus now. You’ve almost finished your assignment. You’re tired of it, if you’re being honest. You would have given up a while ago if it was anyone else helping you, but it’s Regulus so you’re trying your best to stay focused. 

“And you’re done!” Regulus says with a small smile. “You did it.”

“Thanks to you,” you tell him. “I would’ve turned in a half-finished assignment.”

“Do you do that often?” 

You shrug. “When the assignment is stupid and pointless.”

Regulus chuckles softly as he stands up to put the books back. He wasn’t expecting you to follow him into the shelves but you did. You don’t say anything, rather humming to yourself again and watching Regulus. You like the way he carries himself and he’s just pretty in general so who wouldn’t want to watch him? Once your things are packed up from the table, you walk back to the common. In your usual fashion, you’re holding onto Regulus’ arm, which means you’ve unintentionally disabled his ability to think clearly.

“Sorry you didn’t get to work on your Potions essay,” you say.

“Don’t be. I wouldn’t have made much progress on it anyway.”

“You know, I find dittany to be quite pretty. Wish it grew naturally around here. My mum grows them at home, a large section of our garden actually. It’d actually be helpful if our dorms weren’t in the dungeons. Then I could grow it in our dorms. I’m sure Pandora agrees with me,” you ramble and you keep going. 

Regulus can’t help his smile as he listens to you. He fully meant what he told Barty earlier; he didn’t find dittany, nor its essence, all that interesting. Your appreciation for the plant? He’d be willing to write down every word that was coming out of your mouth. Before you start to descend down the final staircase before the common room, Regulus puts a hand on yours where it's holding onto his arm. His gut is telling him it’s now or never. 

“Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?” he asks, his voice steady but stomach flipping with nerves. 

“Of course! If the weather’s anything like last weekend, it’s going to be beautiful out. Although, I wouldn’t mind if it was a tad less windy.”

“It was windy last weekend, wasn’t it?”

“It was.” 

You give his arm a little squeeze before you head down the stairs and into the common room. Once in the common room though, you spot Pandora and Dorcas and rush over to them. Regulus doesn’t mind your sudden departure. The warmth of you on his arm not only lingers, but the fact that you agreed to go on a date with him? He could catch a snitch without his broom. His smile doesn’t falter as he strolls through the common room and disappears into his dorm. 

“Oi, you’re smiling again,” Barty says when Regulus sits down at his desk with the intent to work on that stupid Potions essay. 

“Smiling illegal now?” he deadpans. 

“No… but it’s weird when you do it. You’re not a smiler.” 

Regulus doesn’t answer, but he knows what Barty means. He can’t help it though. You agreed to go on a date with him.

---

You meet Regulus at breakfast on Saturday, dressed nicely and casually at the same time. Regulus outdressed you easily, but that was to be expected. Even his most casual outfits tended to be more formal and expensive. He is a Black, afterall. 

Regulus did eventually tell Barty about the date. After some teasing in their dorm, Regulus managed to convince him to not make a big deal about it. If it didn’t go well, Regulus didn’t want everyone knowing about it. He fully hopes it’ll go well, but given the chance it doesn’t, he wants to be able to move past it without any issues. 

You grab Regulus’ hand when you leave for Hogsmeade. Holding his hand rather than his arm makes Regulus’ heart pound in his chest – oh, the effects you have on him. 

“Do you need to go into Spintwitches? Didn’t you say you were running low on broom polish?” you ask.

Regulus stares at you for a moment before nodding. He barely remembers having said that sometime this week, before he even asked you out. He appreciates that you actually pay attention to what he says more than he can express.

“Okay, so we’ll go there and then, if you don’t mind, can we walk around Tomes and Scrolls? I’ve been talking to the owner about expanding his stock on Divination products and I want to see if he’s got anything in yet.”

“Erm, yeah. Anywhere you want to go, darling.” 

Even though you’re on a date and holding hands, Regulus’ face still heats up when he realizes he let a pet name slip. He silently thanks the fates that Barty and Evan didn’t “just happen” to tag along today; if they had heard him call you that, Regulus would never hear the end of it. While you notice him looking away from you, to hide the blush, you don’t think much of it. It’s just an odd quirk that he’s been doing around you more and more. 

Regulus tries to not take too much time in Spintwitches. He only ever uses one brand of polish, but since he’s buying it, he has to mentally debate if he needs more rags or a sharpener for his tail-twig clippers. He decides against both. The whole time in the store, you held onto his hand until he needed it to get out his money to pay. 

You swing his arm a little bit as you head to Tomes and Scrolls. As soon as you step into the shop, you pull Regulus toward a “New!” stand. Regulus feels apprehensive as he eyes the stand. It has more mainstream Divination books, but also ones that are more focused on crystal energies and aura readings. Regulus has to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from scoffing at a “Nargle Repellant Kit.” He is fairly certain that nargles don’t exist. You scan the whole stand, even dropping Regulus’ hand for the second time so you could crouch to see the lower items.

“This is brilliant!” you exclaim, pulling out a book with depictions of constellations and crystals on its cover. “Dora will be thrilled when I show her this!”

You almost make a comment about how you’re surprised that she didn’t come today. It’s rarely ever just you and Regulus. You like that it is, but the point still stands. It’s not common. 

You grab two more books and head to the register. When the owner tells you the cost, you go to grab your money, but before you can even open your coin purse, Regulus has placed the correct amount on the counter. 

“Oh, I could’ve gotten that,” you say, a bit shocked.

“It’s my treat.”

“Then thank you, kind sir.”

Regulus gives you a soft smile and takes the bagged books from the owner. It wasn’t your tote of school supplies, but it was close enough – Regulus would carry it until you returned to the common room. 

“Anywhere else you want to go or should we go for butterbeers?” Regulus asks. 

“Hmmm…” you hum, taking Regulus’ hand again and giving it a squeeze. “Butterbeers. And then Honeydukes before we go back to the castle. I will eat all my Bertie Beans in the Three Broomsticks if we stop at Honeydukes first.”

Regulus chuckles. “That I know. Nothing like butterbeer to wash down the delightful flavor of earwax.”

You giggle and squeeze his hand again. The Three Broomsticks is busy, which isn’t surprising in any way. You find a booth for the two of you and a small wave of guilt falls over you. It feels wrong to take up an entire booth with just two of you. You make a mental note to invite any of your friends over if you see them. 

“Tell me, how did you get Mr. Brown to order these books?” Regulus asks, patting the Tomes and Scrolls bag next to him.

“It was so difficult. But really, I think Dora and I just wore him down. You know, asking and asking for these type of books and telling him it’s vital to our education. Little bit of forgery…”

“Forgery?” Regulus repeats.

“Well, he wanted a note from Professor Dawntry saying that they were necessary, or beneficial at least. And do you think she’d write that? No. So… we took it upon ourselves to write it. It’s all thanks to Junior for forging her signature. I think that really sold it to Mr. Brown.”

Regulus smirks. “And what if he ever talks to Dawntry in person? Asks her about the books that she’s endorsed?” 

“I already purchased the books, silly,” you say with an affectionate eye roll. “You purchased the books technically. But what’s he going to do? Force me to return them?”

“I suppose business is business.”

“Exactly! And it’s not like I’m requesting books on the Dark Arts.”

Then you start to explain the more intricate details about this particular branch of Divination that you’re looking into and how the Hogwarts library only has so many books on it. You’ve even read the books on it that are in the Restricted Section with real notes from Professor Dawntry. 

“That’s where we got the signature for Junior to copy,” you say.

Regulus nods and you continue. He’s more than fascinated while listening to you ramble. He hopes his staring is more ‘attentive listener’ than ‘creepy stalker’ or ‘you have something on your face.’ 

You’re pleased that Regulus doesn’t look bored with you right now. You’ve talked about this subject in the past to a variety of people and most of them give you skeptical looks and try to change the subject. And then there are the few who look more bored than the average student in Professor Binns’ class. Regulus is just attentive and it fuels the butterflies in your stomach. 

After a few butterbeers, Regulus hands Madam Rosmerta a few galleons before you head over to Honeydukes.

“I can pay you back for that,” you say, once again reaching for your coin purse before Regulus puts his hand on your arm.

“Don’t. Told you, it’s my treat.”

“What? The whole day? Reg, you already got my books!”

“I invited you, darling. Today’s on me.” 

A faint blush dusts your cheeks. “Damn, you should invite me to Hogsmeade more often.”

That’s the plan, Regulus thinks. He feels it would’ve been too forward, too flirty to say out loud, but it is the plan. If today continues to go well, he plans on being your Hogsmeade date quite often and being your date to the Yule Ball and asking you to wear his extra jersey to quidditch games and being your study buddy and… He is getting ahead of himself. He needs to finish the first date strong before he can plan out the rest of your relationship. 

You don’t take long in Honeydukes. Both of you know exactly which sweets you want and where they are. Having stopped there every visit since you started going to Hogsmeade in third year, it’s a well rehearsed visit. Once more, Regulus pays for your things. You don’t protest at all this time, knowing that he’ll insist that it’s his treat. It’s a tad bizarre the longer you think about it; you don’t recall him paying for anyone else that often. Usually when the whole group goes to the Three Broomsticks, everyone throws a galleon or a few sickles on the table before you leave, based on how much each drinks or if someone ordered food. Your solution? Just don’t think about it. He’s being nice and you don’t complain when someone is being extra nice to you. Definitely not when it’s Regulus. 

On the way back to the castle, you tell Regulus about the games you used to play with cousins using Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. Some of the games you’ve played at Hogwarts through the years, but your cousins have their own rules and methods of telling the flavors apart. Regulus tells you about the Chocolate Eternals that Sirius would sneak him when they were younger.

“He’d have to remind me not to chew them every time. Mum’s only given me enough to get two so we each get one. They don’t melt. Make it last.” 

You give him a slightly pitiful look. “I guess sweets weren’t too common growing up?” 

“No. Mother believes they are for special occasions and even then, they are limited… Come to think of it, I’m not sure Mother actually gave Sirius the money for the chocolates. He probably nicked it from her purse.” 

Regulus chuckles at the idea and you’re glad the conversation returns to its previous light-hearted nature. Regulus is able to keep his unspoken promise to carry your things all the way back to the common room. 

“Thanks for everything, Reg,” you say, giving Regulus a hug before taking your things back to your dorm. 

Regulus smiles to himself as he heads back to his. He feels proud of himself. He had a great first date with you and you seemed to enjoy yourself. 

---

Regulus starts placing himself next to you as much as he can. Or, at least, that’s what it feels like. You’re not complaining by any means. It’s nice and you like it. It’s just different. But you do notice that he’s becoming more relaxed around you, more himself. There have even been a few times where it’s just the two of you and you fall into easy conversation. 

After dinner on Friday evening, you sit next to Regulus on the plush couch in the common room. He’s got out the Transfiguration textbook, clearly doing the assigned reading. You have no intention of doing so. Regulus becomes less stiff as you sit down. It’s a miniscule change but you notice it. You scooch closer to Regulus and he moves his arm around you, holding you closer into his side. 

Pandora and Barty, having witnessed this, exchange curious glances. Regulus had told Barty that the date went well and he just assumed you were on the same page, that you are now dating. You had told Pandora about Regulus buying and how sweet he was the entire time, followed with a desperate ‘Do you think he might like me?’ Both Pandora and Barty had never seen Regulus put his arm around someone like that and he definitely never pulled someone in closer to him. His apparent tolerance of touches applying to only you was one thing; this was a whole new level. 

“You smell good,” you mutter into his chest. 

“Hm, thank you,” Regulus says quietly. 

Then he musters all his courage and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Your eyes go wide and you sit up, staring at him. Pandora and Barty have similar looks of surprise on their faces. Their quiet and previously boring evening in the common room just got interesting. 

“You… just… You kissed…” you stutter out.

You’re unable to actually finish your thought. You aren’t completely oblivious. You know that Regulus doesn’t give affection. 

“Erm, is that okay?” he asks, suddenly looking bashful and unsure of himself. 

“You don’t… You don’t… do that?” you say, sounding very, very unsure of what just happened. 

He wets his lips nervously. “I thought it’d be okay, with you, you know, since we’re dating?” 

You sit up even straighter. 

“We are?” you gasp. 

Regulus’ face burns bright red and out of the corner of your eye, you can see Barty trying not to fall out of his chair with suppressed laughter. 

“Since when?” you add. 

“Last week? I asked you on a date and it went well? At least, I thought it went well… I had a good time. Did you not?” 

You gasp louder and throw yourself at Regulus, burying him in a hug. 

“Merlin, I didn’t realize! No, it did go well!” You pull back from him with the widest grin he has ever seen. “You like me?” 

Regulus adjusts himself next to you, turning slightly to be more facing you. So apparently you weren’t on the same page about everything, but you seemed open to it.

“He doesn’t go around kissing everyone, sweetheart,” Barty chimes in, earning himself a glare from Regulus.

“Is that why you paid for everything? Because it was a date?” you ask Regulus.

He nods and you pull him into another hug. 

“So we’re dating,” you say.

“If that’s okay with you?” Regulus says, still sounding unsure of himself.

You pull back again and this time it’s you nodding. Then you get off the couch and practically jump onto Pandora’s lap.

“Did you hear, Dora? I’m dating Regulus!” you say happily. “Oh, I need to find Dorcas! She needs to know!”

And you are bounding away in search of your friend. You don’t hesitate to tell everyone that you pass that you’re dating Regulus Black, yes, the Regulus Black. You can’t help it – you’re just so excited that this yearslong crush has manifested into something real.

“About time too,” Pandora says once you’ve disappeared up the stairs toward the girls’ dormitories. “She’s been smitten with you for years.”

“I’d say you’re perfect for each other. Mr. ‘Allergic to touching’ and Ms. ‘Always touching,’” Barty adds. 

Regulus throws a pillow at Barty, which sends him into a cackling fit. Barty knows that Regulus must really like you to let him get away with that comment. After all, Regulus could’ve thrown his Transfiguration book at him. 

Tags: @navs-bhat

[chamiryokuroi]

The Queer book club I joined at work has been reading nothing but sad tearjerker, though beautiful, book after book so I decided to, as a joke mind you, suggest Winter’s Orbit…

they chose it…

we are reading Queer arranged marriage in space with a dash of murder mystery and treason…

right after reading On earth we are briefly gorgeous…

[saidinpassing]

pocketful of sunshine, s. reid

`✦ ִֶˑ ִֶ𓂃⊹જ⁀➴

in which, spencer valiantly defends your honor. as best as he can, at least. it's cute, i promise.

`✦ ִֶˑ ִֶ𓂃⊹જ⁀➴

trope: whimsy!reader x spencer, coworkers/friends

warnings: no smut, fluff, comfort, honorable mention of spencer's hands, defensive spencer, asshole cop wc: 2.34k

summary: The BAU cases are always dark, but you're like a little pocket of wonder in the chaos — always carrying odd little trinkets for good luck, quoting poetry at random, and doodling stars in the margins of case files. Spencer tries to act unaffected, but he starts picking up the habits too: absentmindedly quoting literature back, carrying a lucky coin you gave him, and smiling when he sees your sketches. Of course, being a glowing pillar of light in most rooms has its downs.

`✦ ִֶˑ ִֶ𓂃⊹જ⁀➴

You like the concept of tarot cards. It gives you a good sense of control, of stability in a job that tends to try and make things tumble out of their place, a way to have hopes for destiny. If you believe in that sort of sentiment. It stops the books from flying off the shelf. The awakening engine of the jet snaps you out of your thoughts as you raise your attention from the tarot cards sitting untouched in your palm. It's only a bit jarring, as always; planes startle you a bit. Emily sits across from you, book in hand, although you can tell she's not reading it. She's already falling asleep, the absent hum in the background serving as white noise for her napping. You flip through the tarot cards, brow furrowed in concentration as you turn three of the top ones over. The Lovers, the Fool, and The Hermit. The Fool's upside down. Hopefully that's not a bad thing. You slip the cards back into their respective places in the deck and pop up to get a coffee, careful not to bump Emily as you shuffle down the aisle. It's getting humid outside--condensation creeping up on the windows and clinging for dear life--you don't doubt it'll start raining soon.You're just about to pour your steaming hot black coffee when Spencer materializes behind you, and you almost spill all of it on yourself. "Crap! Spencer, what're you doing?"

He smiles apologetically, sheepishly. "Sorry, I--um, I was just wondering if we had any sugar." He holds up his own coffee mug, a black one with a cat on the front.

You sigh, handing him the mini sugar packet. "Don't apologise, some people just tread lightly. Scarily so, apparently." You smile back reassuringly. He nods, not moving away as you stir your coffee. You can feel his eyes on the back of your head. "So..." Oh, no, I've said the dreaded conversation opener. Don't panic, your charm will save you. If I even have any. He watches you intently, taking a sip from his coffee. He looks just about as if he'll hang onto your every word. It's making you nervous, and maybe it's making your face hot too, but you hope the lights are dim enough for it to be unnoticeable.

"What're the details of the case?" You finish up the coffee combo, turning so you're leaned against the back of the wooden counter.

He jumps into action, the awkwardness easing up as he shares details. "Looks like a 30-year old female victim, 27 year old male, about 23 stab wounds to the chest, arms and abdomen."

"Wow. That sounds...angry. Rage induced, I mean." You correct yourself, wincing mentally at the wording. You're smart, really smart, you just tend to forget technological terms in front of him.

"It looks like it." He hums as you both head back to the seats, sinking down across from one another in the leather. "The MO wasn't vehemently consistent, except for one thing." He pauses for dramatic effect. You nod, prompting him to go on as you cup your coffee mug in your hands.

"Crows."

You blink, tilting your head inquisitively. "...crows?" He nods rapidly. "Yeah, crows, carved in by the stabbing. As far as I've deduced, it matches up with an old poem about the meanings of amounts of crows. One for sorrow, one for birth, and so on.""Huh." Shuffling the tarot cards, you cross your legs. "So our unsub's intelligent. Maybe he thinks of himself like a poet?"

Spencer's shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. "It's too early to tell. It's a message, that's for sure." That sentence catches you a little off guard. Usually Spencer's determined to figure things out, determined to do everything he can to work out a puzzle as baffling as this one. But for some reason, he's quieter. More sullen, in a way.

You're not one for frowning, but one crosses your features anyways. "You okay?" He looks as if he's been caught, raising his brows and making a soft, dismissive noise. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just haven't slept too much."

Of course he'd say that. You're still worried, but nonetheless exhausted from the day. It's always a good idea to catch a nap on the jet.

"You should just sleep through the flight. We both should, catch some Z's."

That wording just about makes you pinch yourself in frustration. You keep saying stupid things around him, and you're still not sure why to this day. All you know is that it annoys you severely. As you both drift off into a half-awake half-asleep state, you're too delirious to note the almost frivolous, unnoticeable detail of Spencer holding your lucky coin between his fingers as you fall asleep.

`✦ ִֶˑ ִֶ𓂃⊹જ⁀➴ When the jet hits Georgia, it apparently wants to hit you too. You're woken from the peaceful slumber by the turbulence, disoriented and bleary as you peek out the window. God, it's sunny. Too sunny for sensitive morning eyes. Nonetheless, a sense of your usual hope fills you as you peek out the window, think of a short sacrament to the sun and let her continue her slow burning of the Earth.

Spencer wakes up across from you as well, his expression adorably confused as he blinks. You observe. Wonder how his under eyes always stay the same hue of dark grey, then you go back to pedantically staring out the window. Apparently you two (with the exception of Hotch--does he ever sleep?) are early birds. The team's still dozing. Your eyes wander back over to him eventually, spotting the coin in his hand. "Hey, you kept it." He tucks his hair back behind his ear then smiles, just a little. "Oh. Yeah, I did. I don't usually believe in luck, but it's kept me safe so far." The words make something grossly warm and sticky build up in your chest and you snort, putting on your best 'newsperson' voice. "Rare sighting. A man of science carries a lucky coin." Spencer laughs. God, that's a pleasant sound. It's about just as sweet as he takes his coffee. There's a comfortable silence for a little period of time, just the two of you sitting there. Unsure of what to do or say. As you sit there, you end up watching the movement of his fingers around the coin. Flip. Flip again. You've always been somewhat aware of his dexterity, but just silently watching him now brings heat to your face. Nimble fingers, neat fingernails and ridges between his knuckles that you just want to trace with your own touch. Of course, said silence is eventually broken by Garcia's chirping tone. "Good morning, good morning, my loves, I am souped up on five coffees and feeling amazing." There's a collective groan between JJ and Morgan. Derek rubs his forehead, sitting up from the visually uncomfortable-looking position he'd taken on the couch as they start to land. "Babygirl, there are better ways to wake us up than singing in our ears." "Derek Morgan, if we were alone right now, I can assure you I'd be waking you up differently." Garcia jokes in her usual sultry tone, their casual friendly flirting making both you and Spencer roll your eyes. It's another three minutes before the others come to, and another five before they've drunk enough coffee for them to be able to profile efficiently. The little TV lights up with Garcia's face again, and she smiles. "I return, bearing less of a zapped, coffee-fuelled mind. Let's get into it." After you all go over the details of the case, discussing patterns in the signature and the whole crow thing Spencer mentioned before, you get off the jet with your go-bags. "It's bright." Is the first thing you can muster, cupping your hand above your eyes to avoid the harsh glare of the sun.

"Really bright." Reid adds on, frowns on both your faces. You get a little pouch out of your bag, picking out the gem of the day. Alexandrite. Brings balance, and luck. Also, it's pretty. The greeny-purple hues glimmer a bit in the sunlight as you turn it over.

"Let's get moving." Hotch says firmly, the rest of the team tagging behind albeit in a fatigued manner. It's going to be a long drive. `✦ ִֶˑ ִֶ𓂃⊹જ⁀➴ The station is quiet, it's the first thing you notice. Except for the papers rustling about, the typing, and scattered talking, it's not as busy as you'd expect it to be in a place that's currently rampant with serial killings. Spencer looks mildly horrified at the state of some of the officer's desks. "Do they not sanitize? There are at least over 10 million bacteria on a standard office desk." "Spence, I don't even think they sanitize their hands." You comment, noting the intern in the corner eating his takeout and typing. The expression on the genius' face after seeing it is comical. You almost want to laugh, but you're reminded it genuinely disturbs him, so you're just left giving him a brief, reassuring shoulder pat.

Ah, yes, the shoulder pat. The one form of human bodily communication cue your hand just itches to choose in pretty much any conversation. It's a problem, frankly. He doesn't seem to mind too much, anyways. Your hand drops from the fabric of his cardigan as you enter the tiny briefing room they have set up. It's a little more accommodating; a nicer table. "Okay, what do we know?" Hotch crosses his arms, letting the team file things away in their heads. You squint and focus on every aspect of the photos propped up on the board, your mind sharpening. Crows. Your thoughts fall down that rabbit-hole again, the interest peaking a bit. On this particular body, there are six. Six for gold. You can't understand the sentiments of the act at the moment, or at least, not the connections that the unsub was thinking of when he carved specifically six. If that was the intention, that is. "The MO isn't consistent with that of an organized killer but he's still careful enough not to leave behind DNA or anything obvious. Just obvious things on the bodies." Spencer pipes up, explaining his crow theory to the group a little excitedly. It's cute to watch from a different perspective.

A burly man--who you assume is the higher-up here--approaches Hotch with a firm handshake and a nod. A very, very quick moment passes between the two. A silent sharing of thoughts, if you will, and you just notice it before it's gone as if it was never there at all. Then introductions, and when Hotchner gets to you, the old man looks a bit...baffled? Maybe the better term is nonplussed. Flummoxed. Either way, he's looking at you like you're a different species. Your way of dressing, the trinkets and odd bits n' bobs pinned to your pants. It's not like you're unused to this sort of reaction. He's just sort of...pushing it. Making a hyperbole out of something that's not even a sentence at all. Then again, he seems like the type of guy to get annoyed with someone for licking an envelope wrong, so you just give him a blank stare back. "You're a bit...unorthodox." The officer raises a brow. You squint, unsure of how to reply. You're usually loquacious, but when it comes to backhanded insults you sort of just...shut up. The team seems stumped as well, but not pleased either way. "She's a valuable asset to the team." Hotch says stoically, tone flat. You just stand there. You're sick of this. Not the comments, but the wasting time. What if someone else is being murdered right now? And this station is what, sitting around eating Thai food and waiting for a saint to show up and fix their problems? It doesn't work like that, not in your head. The officer seems to like talking. "Well, I know, she probably is, but does the FBI really let its agents dress like that?" He makes a gesture to you with his hand. You eventually take a brief look over at Spencer, and it puts you into a state of momentary shock when you see he's bristling, jaw wound tight and frown creasing his brow. "She's good at her job, how she dresses isn't relevant, I think you'll find." The usually socially aversive doctor doesn't hesitate to shut down the chief's observations, brushing past him so he can get to the pin board. "I think we should review the crime scene instead of talking about things that aren't important at all." You raise both eyebrows. Okay, this is weird. Spencer's still going over the board, but it's obvious enough that he's not pleased. His mind is racing about two million miles a second as he tries to take his mind off that idiot who thought it'd be okay to try put you down, even mildly. Eventually when things have calmed down a bit, you sidle up next to him, peeking up at the board and pointing out a few small things. He lets out a huff of air, relaxing a bit at your presence. More pointing, then two or three infodumps later, he turns to you. "Are you alright?" He peers into your eyes with his own brown ones. They're like actual melted chocolate, so inviting and addicting. Like little chestnut pools of dopamine. You snap out of it so you can answer his question. "Oh, right. I'm fine. Little peeved, but fine." His brow furrows further as he observes, analysing your micro-expressions to judge whether you're actually okay or not. "You're sure?" You nod gently, leaning against the round wooden table propped in the middle of the room. "I'm sure, I'm fine." His hand hesitantly, very, very, hesitantly touches yours, another smile on his face, this one more embarrassed and trying to gauge your reaction so he'd doesn't mess up. "I need just one more confirmation to be sure. Think of it like a three-step verification, in a way." You sigh, little, pleasant pins and needles flickering up your arm in the form of goosebumps when he touches you. "I'm fine. There's number three." You take his lucky coin out of his pocket and hold it in front of him, your fingers intertwining with his in your free hand. "And, this can count as a number four." You're not sure what you mean or whether it makes sense, but Spencer can take that up with the universe later. "Sounds good to me." `✦ ִֶˑ ִֶ𓂃⊹જ⁀➴ a/n: PLEASE DONT HARRASS ME I WROTE THIS AT 1AM ON MY PERIOD WITH NO RELIEF I KNOW IT MIGHT NOT BE GOOD

`✦ ִֶˑ ִֶ𓂃⊹જ⁀➴

[frostedsugarcookiehearts]

you can travel the world, (but nothing comes close to the golden coast!)

୨ৎ

being a man of your word was important, sure. okay, technically he did say that he'd never move to LA, but... times change, alright?

ted was overjoyed. it freaked schlatt out a bit. the fact that he was moving to this hundred-degree hellhole wasn't something to squeal and scream over―

wait, why was he moving here again? oh yeah, because of you.

every moment he spent with you felt like deja-vu and whiplash and a wicked high, and it was an indescribable feeling when you locked eyes with him. a few years back when schlatt was in LA for a chuckle episode, well― he'd had to drag him to a proper california party, right? to get the full experience, obviously.

schlatt didn't know what 'the full experience' was supposed to mean. he'd drink out of a sad red solo cup like he was sixteen and not twenty-five, roll his eyes at the thirsty party-goers and try not to grimace if someone recognized him. typical party behavior. and no, he wasn't a wallflower, thank you very much.

he found a seat on the couch that didn't have a... suspicious, to say the least, stain on it, and promptly flopped down onto his now designated seat for the rest of the long-ass night. but seconds into his peaceful lounging, he felt a weight flop down onto the couch next to him. schlatt looked to his right to see a burst of color― there was tinsel in your hair and colored extensions, your makeup made you pop, your clothes and your style― woah.

you were unapologetically yourself, for sure. but all of a sudden, those pretty lips started moving at record speed:

"if you were a marble, would you rather be stuck in the corner of a fishtank for the rest of your life or be in a never-ending rube goldberg machine? y'know that those are, right? the little loopdeedoops―"

he holds up a hand gently, nodding to himself. "yeah, toots, i get the picture. let a man think, will ya? yer askin' life-changing, thought-provoking questions here." he scoffs. "didn't think anyone in LA had half a thought at all with all that plastic surgery, let alone deep ones."

bursting into giggles, you put an arm on his bicep, all smiles. "you're funny. wanna get married?"

his face flushed, but he managed to play it off, scoffing. squinting, he leaned in a little closer, surveying my face and eyes. "are you drunk?"

"are you not?"

rolling his eyes, he grumbles, "i'm not getting married t'ya."

"i promise to put out on our honeymoon?" you bat your eyelashes animatedly, grinning.

"well that sweetens the deal, sweet'art, don't it?"

"suppose so." you lean back on the couch, propping your feet up on the coffee table and accidentally knocked over someones' line of coke with your shoe. "you're just a man. unless you aren't, and i'm sloshed as hell. i'd still hit if you were a chick, though."

"i'm just tickled pink." he deadpans.

too drunk to think straight, you bluntly ask, "man?"

"yes, i'm man. pretty obvious, at least to us who are sober."

you let out a surprised laugh, sloshing your drink around in the red solo cup. "bullshit you're sober. no one's ever sober in LA."

"nuh-uh. i am."

"nuh-uh, i am." you mock his voice, high-pitched and whiny. you point a finger at him accusatorially, your brow furrowing as a teasing smirk crossed your face. "you so got beat up as a kid. it's like, your villain origin story. or something."

"hey, the fuck? i did not, bitch." he barks.

"defensive. denial is the first stage of trauma, honey―"

"―oh, don't give me that honey bullshit, you're the whore that puts out on the honeymoon―" schlatt exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air.

you raise your voice, "―you know what, i don't even want to marry you anyway!"

"oh, boohoo. i'm losing such a catch, clearly!" he drawls sarcastically, huffing as he petulantly crosses his arms and rolls his eyes.

"yeah, ya are! i have bigger muscles than you do!"

he sputters, looking genuinely offended. "bull―shit!" he flexes, squeezing his bicep. "the ladies kill for these."

you roll your eyes, sarcastically letting out a little "yuh-huh." you guffaw at the last part, grinning to yourself as you spit back, "i think i speak on behalf of all ladies when i say, she's as dry as a desert down there."

"yuh-huh. fuck you, dumbass." he barks, holding his red solo cup so tight it starts to break under his grip.

"tallass."

he snickers. "drunkass."

"fatass."

schlatt's eyes widen and he pretends to be offended, but you can see a smirk grace the corner of his lip. "hey, ease up now, sugar! it's called a dad bod, and the ladies love it."

"if by 'ladies'" you put up air quotes, "you mean middle-aged white ladies named suannah with a criminal amount of letter repetition in her name―"

he takes one look at you and quips, "you're so drunk you can't even spell susannah."

"yes i can."

never one to back down from pissing anyone in a five-mile radius off, he prods, "do it then."

"S-U-Z," schlatt lets out a satisfied snort, "-A-N... U-H."

grinning from ear to ear and clearly smug as hell that you butchered it so bad, he teases, "dumbass."

"you wanna get out of here?"

he shoots you a serious look that reads 'don't play with me'. "you're drunk." he states.

"not that kinda guy?"

he shakes his head. "nah."

"damn, i found the only one." you pout, dramatically draping yourself on the couch.

schlatt mocks, "oh, woe is me―"

and it was like a flip switched from your snappy, biting personality to a cheery, happy, unicorns-and-rainbows version. "hey, wanna be best friends?" you grin.

he was a little taken aback by this new peppy version of your personality. but what harm was a yes, right? "yeah, sure, LA. don't get a big head 'bout it though, it's just 'cause i pity you."

"humor me and say it's cause i have big tits." you giggle, leaning in real close and looking up at him.

"didn't say that wasn't one of the reasons, now did i, toots?"

you burst into giggles, the only coherent thing he can manage to hear escape your lips is― "it's the best reason."

"for sure." schlatt smiles at you, for real this time. "i'll call us an uber."

୨ৎ

this edit inspired me. infact, it always inspires me. this edit i love. this edit i consume (yes i eat it). this edit me likey.

okay in all seriousness have a good night/day guys lol.

divider credits @omi-resources

[lovlidollie]

i love whimsy!reader soso much… i was wondering if rafe joins in on making tea blends or perfumes w her or jus hovers over her making sure she doesnt make a mess? also i would love to read whimsey!reader making him some sort of cologne unprompted nd his reaction cause we all know this boy is feining for some attention and praise….

hello lovely nonnie thank u so much for this !!! not proofread so pls ignore typos c:

i think in the beginning he’d try to, kind of like it being his way of wooing her or impressing her. whimsy would think it’s just sooo sweet that he’s willing to do something that she loves so much, and would just give him free rein to do whatever he wants. the issue arises when it becomes glaringly obvious that he’s actually shit at choosing notes and complementary scents. his candles end up smelling like bog water and the mini perfumes he make seem to evaporate before they’re even on skin.

i think there’d be a similar issue with tea, starting with the fact that this man simply does not drink tea in the first place. i feel like he’s more of a coffee guy as it is, so green/black tea just never sounded appetising. HOWEVER. i think he falls in love with whimsy’s chai. like it’s got that milky element that he likes, it’s got the caffiene, and it just tastes that fucking good. his favourite would be her version of kashmiri chai; the little boy in him feels emasculated over ever enjoying a pink drink, but his tastebuds win him over everytime he takes a sip.

now whenever she is actively making her lil potions, rafe hovers. he’s a hover-er. he watches everything like a hawk; making sure her hands don’t get too close to any open flames, moving any jars she’d precariously left near the corners of her table. he’d always be reminding her to wear her gloves and apron and has that ‘disappointed dad’ expression whenever she accidentally burns herself whilst making candles. with the perfumes, he can’t stand to be in the room for too long, all the fumes and smells giving him a headache. he’s always asking whimsy how she can even survive in there, then realises he needs to start taking her out for fresh air whenever she becomes too absorbed; he wonders if the gases have had some sort of effect on her.. bc it would for one explain her ‘weirdness’.

he’s very good at collecting all her dried flowers though ^_^ i think his favourite thing to do is bag all the rose petals and organise her drawer of tea blends. he’d surprise her with expensive tea plants that he’d especially gotten imported just for her </3

if she were to gift him with a cologne out of nowhere, he’d literally be speechless. so that’s why he wasn’t allowed in her studio (he was like a lost puppy just sitting outside her door begging to be let in). she’d be like “just wanted to give my sun a little stardust. i tried to make it smell like things that remind me of you.” it’s literally the most thoughtful gift anyone’s ever gotten him, and his heart stutters painfully when she reveals it’s called ‘ray.’ a perfume for him, under her nickname for him. (you just know she got it good that night….)

you can bet your ass he’s going around shoving it under everyone’s noses. “look what m’girl made me. yeah, she’s reaaal talented, she’s uh — she’s good at what she does. n-no. no, she doesn’t take requests, the fuck…”

[raviostinkzz]

-To be happy [ficlet - words: 506]

Characters: - RENGA - lee!Reki ler!Langa [Fandom: Sk8 The Infinity] warnings: just wholesome tickles, stupid head over heel gays

Summary: just Reki getting his shit wrecked and Langa losing his mind — my queers i love them

Notes: AGHHFJFJ THE OVA im thinking about them so much i need season two now i cant. i hope whoever reads enjoys, you better cos i’ve now officially written bl/j

-REBLOGS APPRECIATED!-

——————

“Lahahanga—!!”

“Your laugh is adorable, has anybody ever told you that?” He said softly and as casual as ever, admiring the tint of red that dusted Reki’s face as he scrunched his eyes shut.

“Ohoh my gahahad you’re seheriously kihILLING! me Lahangaaa!” The redhead whined, his voice breaking with squeaks through his giggles.

“It’s fun though, right?” another whine followed by grudgey giggles, “Riiighhttt?” Langa grinned, emphasising by digging into Reki’s stomach and wiggling into the wobbly muscle.

“AH!ahAHAaA LAHANGA!! IHIT’S FUHUN OKAY IT’S FUN STAHAP ahahehehah!”

The blue-haired boy laughed back, “You’re having fun?” he asked, a smile wide and beaming across his cheeks, the feeling he got in his chest seeing Reki laugh and smile in this way— nothing could explain how happy he was right now.

“YeHEhES! I AHaHAM!!” Reki swatted weakly at the other’s hands, blithe and infectious laughter spilling out of him constantly.

In love with the moment, Langa wanted more, more boisterous and excited and giddy laughter from his favourite boy in the world. Langa leaned further over Reki and giggled as he squirmed and snorted.

He slipped his hand under the skater’s shirt as he announced laughter-filtered half-assed protests and danced along his belly, fluttering his fingers across the soft and ticklish skin.

Reki screeched and folded instantly, wrapping his arms around Langa’s and thrashing every-which-way, blurting out words and fumbling as shrieks and cackles and snorts pulled him helplessly into incoherence.

“…and you’re happy when I tickle you?” He smiled softly. Reki was so obvious. He didn’t even need to ask this question, yet he still did. Oh, this idiot.

The boy scrambled, “-YEHEHAS—WAHAIT I MEHEAN-!!” an ear-splitting squeal, “EHEH-HAHAHA LAHANGAAA!!”

Oh my god. Langa’s heart skipped so many beats he felt like he was falling. Reki’s laugh. His face. How was he so…

The way his hair was somehow even more messed up than usual, covering the scrunched up bridge of his nose and laying around his face, brushing his cheeks as he moved. How he howled out every ounce of laughter still ringing in his heart, and how he held on to Langa for dear life despite him being the sole reason for this. Langa was overcome with love for this stupid skater boy, he couldn’t handle it. God, anything more could kill him.

He flushed a rose pink from his hands to his ears and fought everything not to crumble right there. This feeling. He could never describe it, he just never wanted it to end.

The snowboarder clutched a hand to his chest briefly and stared at the boy below him, bewildered and entranced. He slowed his tickles to a stop and rested his palm on Reki’s stomach, tracing gently.

“Reki… I…” He trailed, searching his mind for every word he could say, nothing leaving his mouth.

He lifted his head momentarily to answer him, still overcome with leftover giggles, “Ahahahah— y-yeheah?” He gazed at the blushing boy above, not realising how hard he was smiling.

He was so lucky to have him.

——————

[npookie0]

HEY!!! Omg the BEST scenario thought came to me while I was riding on the bus! Doing Ronin’s hair while he’s asleep!! Honestly any of the Li works for this tbh. BUT imagine plaiting, parting, designing, and adding accessories to their hair! It’s actually so perfect

Hobbyist Hairdresser

Woah, your boyfriend is asleep and you're bored and his hair is so fluffy and long enough to braid it... oh no where did those butterfly hairclips came from???

Words: 641

Cws: Spoilers for Killer Chat

You woke up, the sunlight creeping through the blinds and shining directly on your face. With a frown on your face you slowly sat up, Ronin still having his arms wrapped around you like you're his personal plushie.

"Hey Ro..." You were about to wake him up, but then you looked at the clock on the bedside table and realised that it's not even six in the morning yet.

Stupid spring.

You thought and sighed. You couldn't fall back asleep anymore and there wasn't much you could do with Ronin still asleep.

He probably came home late, I won't wake him up so early.

They should give you some sort of reward for being the best possible partner, many would wake up their partners if they were in your shoes. And maybe you should aspire to be like them, because after ten minutes of just sitting you got extremely bored.

You started to pat Ronin's head, brush your fingers through his hair and just playing with them. Your mind started to create images of Ronin with different haircuts. Those visions were truly interesting.

"Mm, why is his hair so fluffy?" You murmured and stopped playing with the plum strands between your fingers.

You looked around the room and then you saw them. Laying on the bed strand right next to you, your hairclips, hair ties , bows and a comb. A sinister idea popped into your mind and it was too late to get rid of it.

He may be asleep, but I still need to kill my boredom!

So like that you were not trying your best to not wake up sleeping Beaufort and braid his hair in the best possible twin braid known to mankind. Was it a hard challenge? Yes. He moves more than you when you were a child. You had to switch the sides you were braiding whenever he changed his side. And he did that a lot.

The braids weren't the prettiest or the most perfect things you've ever made, but other than Ronin moving in his sleep every five minutes, his hair isn't the longest either, braiding it is hell.

But you somehow made it work, parted his hair into two semi-even halves, then each part into three really small sections and began braiding them, middle through right, right through left and so on until you made something that looked like a braid. You put a red bow around the hair ties you used for the braids for the pretty aesthetic. Then, you slowly started putting the pastel butterfly hairclips into his hair. How did you even get them or when did you even took them to Ronin's house? No one knows, maybe it's just fate that put them in that exact place... Regardless!

Once you've put the last hairclip in his hair and was about to move your hand away, he grabbed you by your wrist. "What do you think you're doin', baby?" He asked. His voice hoarse.

Normally you would gasp or yelp in shock, but now? You could only giggle. Seeing the most wanted serial killer in all of Elysium with cute hairclips in his hair? It was way too funny.

"Nothing." You replied with a cute smile.

"Yeah, yeah. Nothing my ass. Guess I hafta see it for myself." He grunted and got up, letting go of your wrist.

Ronin walked up to the mirror in his room and busted out laughing when he saw your creation. "Oh my fuck. No way!" He held himself by his stomach and laughed. "Damn darlin', never knew you were such a great hairstylist." He shook his head in disbelief. "What's next? you'll dye my hair? Or maybe cut them?"

"Why not both?" You replied with a cheeky smirk.

"Oh you dare devil. Be careful or I'll take ya up on that offer, sweetheart."

A really short drabble but it's 11 pm and I wanted to write somethin' quickk

Teehee

Love you all

Nate <3

[kleptomaniakrow]

there's something that tickles me the cutest shade of pink whenever i think of these silly little guys (coughKönigcough) having interests or hobbies outside of just being the world's most terrifying forces of nature on the battlefield.

this is plaguing my thoughts! i am imparting it onto the general public! i cannot stop thinking about this man or other KorTac members, so im making it YOUR problem with my silly antics! to preface, i'm saying this as someone who streams, and there are a couple of military guys who stop by to say "hi" from time to time. pairing this experience tandem with watching simon riley's va wishing an indie streamer's birthday... it just got my toasted ass at 3:47 in the AM whimsically thinking.

what weird, obscure hyper-fixated interest these built, brick shithouses (/pos) would enjoy in their brief reprieve of the horrific effects of war?

who would even be most likely to enjoy such niche interests? would they try to share it amongst their brethren? who lives under a rock and knows little to nothing about such online entertainment? do they watch informative essay-long videos? obsess over vtubers/streamers/youtubers? what is it do they fixate over?

König is someone whom i personally and selfishly pen down as a silly little streamer enjoyed. specifically indie streamers so he isn't overwhelmed by the ridiculously large audience or crowd, as lines of text are a blur by sheer explosive speed alone in popular, mainstream chats... no bueno, really. at least for him and his shy nature.

men like Krueger and Nikto seem a bit of a harder sell (imo) because they just seem a bit more... how do i put this nicely—a bit too out there to project this stupidly silly ideation onto them even as fictional characters yk? even for me! but it is very amusing to think about the potential of König getting clocked off-handedly by someone when he wasn't looking, just watching something on his phone off-duty or in the commissary before lights out.

König is watching a particular streamer/content creator play a game he likes. if he happens to catch you playing a FPS for the first time, it'd be akin to watching a baby deer stumbling into the world; utterly precious and genuinely impressed as you progress and improve, even if his messages in live-chat are a bit.. dry.

König's probably the only one who willingly provides tips or directions (only) if asked, and is fairly genuine about it. bless him, honestly, especially when he takes the time to explain certain mechanics to you in a way you can understand and implement rather seamlessly (he's so proud btw).

König is also probably in the minority camp of cheering you on instead of roasting/bullying you like the rest of the chat does, urging you to do your best!

König is frankly a very merciful viewer/lurker. unbeknownst to you, that it's the one humanizing silver lining when things get hard. eventually, his visitations become frequent enough that said streamer will be elated seeing his name pop up over and over again. he may not be able to say much, or attend every stream, but it's a welcome distraction. there's no known word that can express beyond any word in his bilingual lexicon to describe such gratitude for even a moment of peace.

König and his visitations are very sparse due to his line of work taking precedence over rather fleeting comforts. which is unfortunate, but he usually comes back or shows quiet support, however he can, a token of his gratitude. little did you know that sometimes even the strongest of men need a little corner to forget the battering surroundings... and that was both a very saddening realization but a warm one. a simple person on the other side of the world. the one who has never, not once, endured hardship like him, yet somehow is the same individual carving out space where built stress can shed like muddied boots and a sodden coat. even if unintentionally. it was the little things, really.

is it silly? ooc? unrealistic? yes to all of the above, but i do not care enough to be bothered with it! this is a treat to myself i am sharing publicly because.. i can! i had a hard week or so, therefore i am considering this a shitily drabbled treat to myself! and hopefully with this fluffy, crack-leaning list of head canons, i can finally sleep!

[jeanzoriley-cod]

Jeanz continued picking up, realizing how bad of an incident she had a couple days ago. "Aye, tha' sounds good ta me." She agreed with a smile. "Dun want ta run in circles wit' ye when ye just got home." "Hmm, I guess yer righ' there handsome. Does tha' mean ye wanted ta do it tha whole time we were sittin' there?" She asked in a teasing tone.

Jeanz' phone starts ringing.

The caller ID actually says something this time.

C. Morgan.

Jeanz looked away from the computer she was setting up, it took the tech people a day to get her a new one and she would have a shite ton of paperwork to catch up on the computer. She grabbed her phone, glancing at the caller ID with a tired expression. Which changed when she saw the name. C. Morgan. Cedric? A small smile pulled at her scarred lips, putting the phone up to her ear after she hit answer. "Cedric?"

[benevolenterrancy]

Can I ask what was your first impression of TGCF and if it turned out wrong or right?

My first impression of TGCF was "this goof continuously ascends to -- and gets kicked out of -- heaven, this is going to be clown town isn't it?"

And honestly I stand by that one, I think I was completely correct**

(**barring the fact that this goof will then go on to experience ever conceivable horror known to man but honestly I mostly expected it after MDZS)

[overflowingteacupoflove]

"Am I weird?"

"Yeah. but so what everybody's weird." Whimsy!reader x fratboy!chris NNN Day 2!

You're a pretty confident girl. You're sure of yourself and dont care what others think because you know what you like and who you are, doesnt matter what any other insecure people think.

But you're only human and in this world other humans are mean to people they find threats, even if that threat is just a self-assured, confident, whimsy lady.

You have hobbies that other people would consider weird, but you never care. Why would you?

you're swinging from your silk rope, more of a curtain, twisted and tangled in it as you practice your aerobatics- Chris on his phone sitting silently in a corner.

This is the routine between you and your boyfriend. After both of your classes are done Chris drives you to the gymnastics and aerobatics place you practice at and then he sits in the corner until your done. Then you and him drive around the town-maybe smoke a joint on the occasion- although you don't do it much. You tell Chris that it "messes with my aura! makes it all dingy."

And normally its silent.

But today you had been talking to one of your friends about a new crystal shop that opened up and how you need to get some more crystals. Two sorority girls walked by you two and laughed about it saying something along the lines of "She's so weird. I don't know why Chris dates her." And although you pretended you didn't care it really hurt your feelings. So now your aura is really dingy- and not from weed.

"Hey, Chris?" You spin down from your silk ropes and land softly on your feet. Untangling yourself from the ropes and then walking over to sit down on the floor by Chris's chair.

"Yeah, little lady?" He asks and looks up for a second from his phone. "You ready to go home?" He checks the time and its maybe 30 minutes before the time you usually like to leave at. He's not surprised when you shake your head.

"Just had a question." You pick at your nails and dont meet Chris's eyes even though they hold a shit load of concern. You seem sad, or dingy as you like to say, and it's scaring him.

"M'all ears." And he really was. Turned off his phone, set it to the side, and everything.

"Do you think I'm weird?"

You're question caught him off guard, because what would make you think that? But in Chris fashion he answers "Hell yeah I do. But, so what? Everybody's weird." He shrugs. "In their own ways. You're just more out there with your weirdness. It's why I like you."

He flashes you you're favorite lopsided grin when you finally look up. You cant help but smile back and lean your head on the side of his thigh for a second. He rests his hand on top of your head, and you sigh softly. "Okay." You finally answer in a soft voice. "Yeah?" Chris tilts his head, hat tilting to the side, almost falling off.

"Yeah." You mumble and bounce back up to go hook your legs over the ring you practice on, Chris gets up too, to pull the rope that suspends the ring so you can practice.

--------------

a pr3ttyf4wn scroll !

[esperfruit]

The more things change, the more they stay the same

[frostedsugarcookiehearts]

but i miss... (screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain)

୨ৎ

"guess that lady had wisdom beyond her years, 'cause that bernie's place was pretty good." schlatt huffed begrudgingly as you two sat in the lobby of the diner, waiting for your guys's uber. it was raining hard outside (it hadn't rained in weeks, and schlatt was really starting to believe that the universe had a plot against him).

your face lit up. "right? what a good omen that we found her. maybe the universe is looking out for us."

he blinked at you. out of all the things that happened today, you saw those things as blessings? they seemed more like inconveniences to him, but he could say something for your ability to make everything more chipper. it's something, one of the things, he liked most about you.

"maybe it is," he hummed, glancing around. he points to a random gift shop. "wanna wait out the rain over there?"

"you're the boss," you quip, grinning from ear to ear as the two of you ran through the rain, giggling as you panted, making your way inside the giftshop. you two stalked the shelves of the giftshop, trying to see if there were any cool trinkets while you waited for your uber (who was taking so long at this point you assumed he was on foot.)

a grin crossed schlatt's face as his eyes fell upon a weird little figurine. "hey, look at this little guy." he flicked it, chuckling to himself. he glanced to his side to see if you were still there, but you'd disappeared! "hey, LA?" he called your nickname, getting increasingly worried as he checked every aisle.

eventually, he found you, cooing over a little stuffed bear. "it's simba!" you chirped, hugging the stuffed toy to your chest. "from, from—"

"—the lion king." schlatt finished, smiling. "i'm not that old, c'mon." his heart melted when he saw how... happy you were. about a few pieces of cotton sewed together. and he wanted to see you that happy, all the time.

so he bought you the thing. it was $15, which was a steal for a new york gift shop. but really? he would've paid thousands to see you as happy as you were then.

the whole walk home, you cooed at the thing, (you named it simba) giggling and tossing him up and down in the air as if he were your own child. schlatt got a kick out of it, chuckling as your head hit his shoulder, your mouth still yammering a mile a minute. to steady you, he tentatively wrapped an arm around your waist. he felt a tingle go up his spine.

as the rain started to come down again, schlatt shrugged his coat off and hung it over your shoulders. "gotta keep your hair all nice and shiny. big day tomorrow," he hummed, trying to keep it as casual as ever. "you scared?"

"no." you smiled, shook your head. "art isn't... scary. quite the opposite. it's more freeing, than anything. to express yourself. your whole self."

"that's the name of your exhibit, no? 'my whole self'." he echoes, a smile reserved. "you still haven't told me what it's about."

a knowing look on your face, all you said was simply— "you'll see," and oh boy, did he.

the next morning, he was at your exhibition. he'd brought ted along (because he was the one who introduced you two, and he loved a good art show.) there were parts about the exhibition that weren't surprising— that everyone was fawning over you, or people were offering you thousands of dollars for your paintings, no, that was standard. he expected it. what he didn't expect, though, was that there were paintings he... recognized. one was even of him. and he didn't want to be egotistical, but they seemed awfully romantic. even ted agreed. "she made you a collection," ted hummed thoughtfully, looking up at one of your paintings. "took your essence and painted 'em, really. she must like you a lot."

schlatt was fucking stunned. sure, he'd made a "paint me like your french girls" crack once or twice after you two had downed a whole bottle of wine that made then-sober schlatt bang his head into the wall, but he thought it was all in jest. or the lingering touches and stares— you just had a flirty personality, that was it.

but no. you were in love.

and so was he.

second day in a row in new york it was raining— a new record for the year. he got a glimpse of you leaving the shoot, and he fucking sprinted out of there, chasing after you.

"hey, you, wait up!" he panted. you were easy to spot, after all. you still had all that color in your hair from when he first met you (the rainbowdash jokes never got old to him, but then you called him a brony and he shut up.)

that smile again. "jay."

jay. you always called him schlatt. "that's me," he winced the second the lame joke left his lips, but what else was he to do? "i, uhm... loved the exhibit."

"thank you."

"right, so..." his breaths were uneven as the rain came down on both of you— only difference was you had an umbrella. "i wanted to say something."

intrigued, you let out a polite chuckle. "floor's all yours, big guy."

"you are fucking electrifying. you light up a room like... like a disco ball, alright? you make everything cool, and i'm so lucky you took an interest in a loser like me slumming it up in your party in los angeles. and i'd never want to say anything to drive you away, and the only reason i'm bringing it up is 'cause, well, i don't think i'm alone in feeling that, yeah?" in and out, his breaths were heavy from speaking so long without pausing.

breathless, all you could give was a weak nod. "yeah."

"right." he echoed, nodding. "i— i love you. so damn much, toots, drives me up the wall. and i know 'them's fighting words', as you'd say, but uhm... i would. fight, i mean. for you. if you want me to." schlatt groans, burying his face in his hands and dragging them down his face. "starting over. i just mean that... there is no one like you, in this world. seven billion people and there's only one i want, with bright colored hair and art that takes my breath away. that's you, by the way, if you weren't paying attention." you laugh. good, he thinks. i must be doing something right. "and i know that maybe you don't get my lifestyle, my job, youtube, whatever. but there's always people watching my every move, i know that. fangirls that would murder the president for me or something."

"but i don't want them. i don't care about them and their parasocial shit. i want you. forever, always, whatever fucking noun or adverb or adjective you want me to say. i want you. on a bad day, on a good day— hell, even if you paint a photo of me with a little dick and post it for the entire world to see. i don't care. just as long as you're happy. so, what i'm asking is... do you want to be happy, with me? be my girl, in fuckin' simpler terms, i guess."

and the best sound of all graced his ears. your laughter, same as when you two were on the train and when you two were walking home late last night with simba's stuffed arms in each of your hands.

smiling, you answered, "of course."

୨ৎ

enjoy part 2!! :) <3

divider creds @omi-resources

[shallowseeker]

PSA: My meta thoughts = / = my fic. Sometimes fic is just me goofing off, or horny drivel, or melt-in-your-mouth cotton candy. Don't expect that My Thoughts (TM) will align with it. I reserve the right to be lame and incomprehensible.