Sammy Jo

Mid 30s. Broad Range nerd. Variousness range in fandom.

[sammy-jo1977]

Sammy Jo’s Master list

~fluffy     ^^Smutty (soon to come)   ^~^ suggestive fluff

Daredevil

~The Night Before-- Matt Murdock x Reader

~The Party-- Matt Murdock x Reader

^~^Bad Day--Matt Murdock x Reader

^~^Winning the Heart of the Devil~~ Matt Murdock x Alex OC    ^~^ Part 2    ^~^ Part 3

Avengers

~A Night In-- Clint Barton x Reader

[heavenlybodies333]

Professional Conduct My Ass -S.R

Spencer Reid x coworker!reader

You should’ve stopped at the second orgasm.

Maybe the third.

But Spencer had been looking at you like that—rumpled curls, shirt half-buttoned, a smug little smirk on his stupidly handsome face—and you had gone full slut. Now it was 7:12 AM, and you were in your bathroom mirror trying to make concealer do what no government-issued forensic cover-up ever could.

Your throat looked ravaged.

You tilted your head and winced. A neat ring of bruises, Spencer’s fingers like little trophies circling your neck in deep plum and ink-blue. And then the hickeys—dear God, the hickeys. He looked like a vampire victim.

You turned back to the bedroom, horrified. “We cannot go to the office like this.”

He was shirtless, bent over tying his shoes, and it was just—unfair. All lean lines and lanky muscle and a constellation of bruises blooming like wildflowers across his neck and shoulders.

You whistled. “I really went to town on you.”

“You bit me,” he said, straightening and pointing to a crescent mark just below his collarbone. “You left dental evidence.”

You shrugged. “It was a compliment. In the moment.”

He stared at you. “We have to go to work. With Hotch. And Morgan. And JJ. And Garcia. And we have a case briefing,” he said, rubbing his face like it physically pained him to remember.

You were too busy dabbing concealer onto your neck like a madwoman to look back at him. “You’re literally the smartest person in the Bureau and you let this happen.”

“Excuse me?” he shot back, slipping on his button-up with a hiss. “You bit me like I was a chew toy!”

“Only because you said—” You stopped yourself. “Never mind.”

He raised a brow. “‘Only because I said…?’ What?”

You muttered something about having a latex allergy and being turned on by fucking raw and kept blending.

You arrived at Quantico seven minutes late, coffee in hand, silently daring the elevator to move faster as you and Spencer stood like statues inside.

You sit down two chairs away from Spencer. Not next to him. Never next to him. You learned that lesson last week when you accidentally let your knees touch under the table and Morgan nearly imploded from curiosity.

He’s wearing a scarf.

Spencer Reid is wearing a scarf. In July.

JJ arches a brow. Morgan outright snorts. “Pretty boy, what’s with the neckwear? You join a jazz band?”

You immediately shove a too-hot sip of coffee in your mouth to avoid making a noise. Spencer blinks at Morgan like a man choosing violence.

“Had a sore throat this morning,” he says too quickly. “Didn’t want it to get worse.”

Garcia, bless her meddling heart, swivels around in her chair. “Oh no! Are you sick? Do you need tea? I have lemon ginger in my desk—”

“No! No. I’m fine.” Spencer coughs, like he’s trying to make the lie more convincing. “Just… precautionary.”

Emily’s eyes flick from him to you, to the scarf, to your turtleneck, then down to your wrists, where you accidentally forgot to cover one of his bruises with foundation. A ring-shaped imprint from his hand still lingers faintly. Her brow arches. Her mouth twitches.

You pretend not to notice. You focus on the whiteboard.

Hotch walks in, files in hand.

“Morning,” he says. “Briefing’s starting now. Let’s keep it efficient.”

9:12am Post-Brief Coffee

You’re waiting for coffee when Emily walks in, holding a mug and a smug look.

“Nice neck,” she says casually.

You freeze. “Excuse me?”

“You and Reid are really subtle, you know that?”

You nearly spill your drink. “We’re not—”

She holds up her hand. “Relax. I don’t care. Just… maybe cool it with the murdery makeout sessions before team meetings.”

Your face burns. “Noted.”

“And FYI,” she adds, stepping past you, “you’ve got a bite mark on your shoulder. Left side. Might wanna rethink the tank top.” You glance down and swear under your breath.

Walking back to your desk, coffee in hand before you collapse into your chair. Spencer sent you a text from across the bullpen:

SPENCER: We are so bad at being secretive.

YOU: I told you not to leave a fingerprint on my neck.

SPENCER: You told me to choke you.

YOU: I was drunk on your nerd dick. That doesn’t count.

SPENCER: Fair. Still. We need a new plan.

YOU: New plan: no more fucking before briefings.

SPENCER: Counter-offer: we fuck gently next time.

You met his eyes across the room.

That smug little smile was back. You bit your lip.

God help you.

You were going to do it all over again.

a/n: hehehe

[sammy-jo1977]

Omg this is gold!!! I freaking love it!! Gah!! And honestly...same 😏😈

[happybird16]

Washing away the blood with a warm, wet washcloth, you move with delicate care, your fingers gliding over his bruised skin, wiping away the dried crimson that clings to his knuckles. The room is quiet except for the soft swish of the cloth in your hand and the faint, unsteady rhythm of his breathing. Once the blood is gone, you place the cloth aside and lean forward, pressing tender kisses to his split knuckles, lingering with each touch as if your lips could erase the pain.

Your touch is met with a sharp inhale. You feel him tremble beneath your lips, his knees shaking as he sits before you on the cool porcelain toilet seat. The air is thick with the weight of the moment, a mixture of vulnerability and something deeper. He doesn’t speak, but his body tells you everything—how fragile he feels having shown you this side of himself. This violent, powerful monster. He must think you’re terrified. And yet, you’re still here, pressing soft kisses to the dark purple bruises blossoming across his knuckles, silently refusing to let him pull away from you.

He needs this, needs you—the only steady presence in a storm of rage and regret. His hands, though strong, are trembling in your grasp, and you tighten your hold just a little, grounding him as his breath hitches. You know he’s afraid of what you’ll see in him now, but in this moment, all you want to do is reassure him that he’s more than just his anger —his past— that the tenderness in your touch is not pity, but love, unwavering even in the face of his most raw and broken self.

[rivangel]

“I just want… I…”

Levi breathes out slowly as he strokes your hair, briefly deepening his ministrations as you think on your wording. You bury your face deeper in his chest. You feel the warmth of him through his sweatshirt, and hear the lulling beat of his heart.

Suddenly you don’t want to say anything. You wish you’d never spoken actually. It would be great not to ruin things, for once.

But you’re fully aware you’re being dramatic, and fully aware of what Levi’d think of that kind of talk from you.

You’re infused with guilt for thinking. As if you honestly wouldn’t believe Levi if he (for some strange reason) said you could fly.

“Stop that,” he murmurs, warmth permeating all his voice, as if he heard everything. His other arm comes up and wraps snugly around your back. He doesn’t usher you to share anything.

For some—strange—reason, you don’t feel like you have to apologize.

[bellaxgiornata]

Catcalling the Devil

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings/tags: drunk Reader, humor, terrible flirtatious comments, and lots of appreciation for the Ass of Hell's Kitchen

Summary: A night out takes an amusing turn when you accidentally and drunkenly catcall the Devil of Hell's Kitchen.

a/n: This little one shot is brought to you thanks to the Murdock Tuna Team who not only inspired the idea, but helped create some of the flirtatious banter. I just couldn't resist the idea of catcalling the Devil in the black suit, okay? Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Pushing open the door of Alchemy, you stepped outside and onto the sidewalk. The sweltering heat of Hell’s Kitchen greeted you, the humidity mixing with the sticky sweat already coating your skin and adding another uncomfortable layer of dampness. But it still felt far more refreshing outside in the humid evening air than it did inside the busy bar with countless other sweaty bodies packed together. The usual buzz of the city at night was even welcoming in comparison to the loud music that had been steadily aggravating the pounding in your head for the past twenty minutes. 

Walking unsteadily in your heels, you turned to the right and made your way over towards the corner of the building and away from Alchemy's main doors and thumping music. One of your hands reached up as you stumble-walked, grabbing at the neck of your dress and peeling it off of your wet skin to allow some air to flow inside and cool your heated body. You’d spent a good portion of your evening drunkenly dancing with your friends as you celebrated Elise’s birthday tonight, which was why you'd decided to wait for your Uber outside of the bar–so you could catch your breath before heading home. 

As you neared the alley, your ankle unexpectedly twisted when your heel caught in a crack along the sidewalk. A surprised gasp slipped past your lips as you began falling forward face-first towards the pavement. Your hand released the neck of your dress and instinctively flew out to your side, your palm landing against the brick of the building just in time to awkwardly catch yourself. Struggling to steady your inebriated self, you stayed bent in half as the pavement swirled beneath your black heels. 

Once the spinning had finally stopped, you threw your other hand out and began to desperately claw your way back upright with both hands along the brick. Limping forward, you leant up against the side of the bar and tried to ease the pressure off your now sore ankle. With a low groan you attempted to find a comfortable position against the brick, supporting your weight more fully along the wall and resigning yourself to waiting right here for your Uber. Internally you cursed yourself for wearing such tall heels and drinking as much as you had tonight–hopefully you hadn’t actually injured your ankle. You’d probably be regretting your decisions in the morning, especially since you still had to go into work. 

Reaching up, you ran the back of your hand across your forehead in an attempt to remove some of the sweat that had accumulated there. But just as you’d begun to lower your hand back to your side, movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention. Your head turned in the direction of it, your vision spinning momentarily before everything came back into focus. Though the second your brain managed to make sense of the black blur on the rooftop, your mouth fell open. Because there on the roof just above you was the infamous Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

“There’s no way I’m this drunk,” you muttered to yourself. 

You watched as the dark figure crouched down low on the corner of the building, his body hunched like a gargoyle overlooking the street below. He was only a few floors above you and seemingly searching for something with the way his head was scanning the street below as it moved back and forth in sharp movements. With his back turned towards you while he was lowered in a crouch, you had been left with a perfect view of his backside under the city lights. Whether it was due to how absolutely glorious the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen’s ass looked in his black pants while you were almost directly beneath him, or due to the handful of shots and cocktails you’d recently drank down, you’d suddenly loosed a long, low whistle out into the night.

Immediately the Devil’s head snapped over his shoulder the second you’d whistled. Eyes growing wide in shock, your body straightened against the wall behind you instantly. You hadn’t even realized you’d just catcalled the Devil until you’d actually done it. And now he was crouched atop the roof and staring right down at you.

For a long time you stood there locking eyes with the masked man–or so you assumed, considering you couldn’t see his eyes beneath the black on his face. Neither of you moved,  neither of you spoke, yet a tension had quickly formed in the air. 

Until a peel of laughter bubbled right up out of your mouth.

The Devil’s head tilted sharply to the side as the sound echoed through the alley beside you. You threw a hand up to cover your mouth, trying to stifle the noise, but somehow that only made you laugh harder. Because no one would believe you about this later. But your laughter fell short when the Devil rose to his full height on the rooftop, spinning around to face you with a fluid grace that had made your head spin in return. Biting down on your lip, you fought back another round of laughter as tears began to form in your eyes. You’d only managed to reduce your amusement at the situation to barely restrained giggles before he spoke.

“Something wrong?” the deep voice called out.

You shook your head quickly, the Devil briefly blurring into three Devils above you. Throwing your hand up into the air, you sent him a single thumb’s up. “No!” you answered, stifling another giggle. “Everything’s fine, Devil. Just–just appreciating the view.”

His head cocked to the side even further, the sight reminding you of a dog. Another giggle slipped out of you before you could stop it. Though you once more bit down on your lip when the vigilante began to expertly climb his way down the side of the building. Openly admiring his body as you readjusted your position against the wall–which was currently still single-handedly keeping you upright at the moment–you watched as he easily made his way from the roof to the alley. If it hadn’t been for the curious, pleased smile that was clearly spread across his lips when he came to stand just a few feet away, you might’ve felt nervous that he’d suddenly taken as much of an interest in you as you had in him. 

“Appreciating the view?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Your ass.”

The Devil’s lips twitched at your bold honesty and you bit back another giggle. This whole situation was so unbelievable it was actually absurdly hilarious.

“So you’re saying that you interrupted me solely just to whistle at my ass?” the Devil inquired. “Did I hear that right?”

Pushing away from the wall, you stumbled forward a step, squaring your shoulders and looking him straight in the eyes–or where you thought they were. “Yeah. Couldn’t exactly resist,” you answered, your words slurring a bit as you spoke. “You’re carryin’ an entire bakery’s worth of devil’s food cake back there.”

You wildly waved a hand towards the Devil’s lower half, sloppily gesturing towards his ass. His head once more tilted curiously to the side, the grin on his lips growing even wider in clear amusement. 

“Devil’s food cake?” he questioned.

“Y’know,” you said, waggling your eyebrows suggestively at him. “‘Cause of all that–that cake you got back there. Wouldn’t mind a piece, personally.”

A huff of laughter slipped past the Devil’s lips and you brightened at the sound as it registered in your intoxicated ears. His positive reaction was only going to encourage you now.

“Are you… flirting with me?” he asked incredulously. “Because you do realize who I am, right?”

“Wouldn’t be the worst guy I’ve hit on tonight,” you replied with a shrug.

The Devil laughed, shaking his head as his attention dropped down towards his boots. A grin lingered along his lips, something almost bashful. But your focus openly shifted back down to the profile of his ass, your eyes appreciating the way the dark fabric stretched over him. 

“Y’know it’s my friend’s birthday tonight,” you told him, swaying unsteadily on the sidewalk. “Didn’t realize you were the one bringin’ the cake.”

A snort of laughter met your comment, your smile growing wide as you watched the Devil’s head rise back up. He was smirking now, something mischievous in the way his mouth had twisted beneath the hard line of his mask. 

Grinning back at him, your right hand cupped around your mouth as you leaned forward towards him. “But maybe you can let me blow out the candle,” you drunkenly half-whispered.

He shook his head at you, but the mischievous twist of his lips remained beneath the black fabric of his mask. “You're a bold drunk, aren't you?” he asked.

“Maybe,” you mumbled back, your eyes fixing along his lips. Without even thinking, you blurted next, “Wouldn’t mind climbing you like a building.”

Another surprised snort of amusement fell out of him as he shook his head at you once more. “You’re full of so many terrible lines,” he teased back with a chuckle. “You do realize that, right?”

“Oh I’ve got plenty more,” you assured him with a nod, exaggeratingly waving a dismissive hand in the air between you both. “Don’t you worry. Could totally do this all night.”

“Oh really?” he asked. “Is that right? Because I certainly can make time for this.”

Your hand stopped flapping in the air between you both, a single finger raising up. “Okay, wait,” you amended. “I have an Uber coming. So maybe not all night, but probably a few more minutes.”

“Mmm,” he hummed out, his smile briefly slipping. “Shame because this is turning out to be the most fun I’ve had so far in the mask.”

“Wanna make it more fun?” you asked, grinning suggestively at him.

The Devil’s bottom lip rolled between his teeth as he tried to bite back his growing smile. Something warm heated you, starting at the base of your skull and trickling down to your toes. Your eyes focused back on his mouth as your tongue slid out, licking your lips. You'd only been jokingly flirting, but now…

“Hate to be the voice of reason here,” the Devil began, “but I don't sleep with intoxicated women that I meet in alleys. I much prefer sober consent.”

“What a pity,” you mumbled, face contorting into a pout. “Never would've thought the Devil was a gentleman .”

“I'm full of surprises,” he teased.

You hummed thoughtfully in response, taking a step into the alley towards him and stumbling a little in your heels. Ignoring the growing throbbing of your ankle, you focused on the thrill of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen actually letting you flirt with him. You wanted to enjoy every minute of it, even if you probably wouldn't remember this moment too clearly in the morning.

“Anyone tell you you’ve got a pretty mouth?” you asked him. 

The Devil shook his head, his smile returning. “No. Can't say the criminals I meet are too fond of passing out compliments when I'm hitting them,” he replied.

“Well you do ,” you assured him. “You really, really do .” Eyes narrowing at the plush lips of his still quirked into a smile, you studied the shape of them amongst the faint bit of dark stubble. “Reminds me of my boss. Now that's a mouth I'd love to do things with,” you drunkenly confessed. “But see,” you continued, pointing a firm finger at the Devil’s chest, “ he’s an asshole. Not fun like you.” 

The Devil’s head tilted to the side again, his grin growing into a smirk. “Oh he is, is he?” he asked.

“Yes,” you answered. “Great ass, huge asshole. I’m–I’m sure there’s a stick shoved in there somewhere.”

The Devil barked out a laugh into the night as you reached into your purse and pulled out your phone. Squinting as the bright light assaulted your eyes, you saw that your Uber was mere minutes away. You loosed a disappointed sigh.

“Your ride almost here?” the Devil asked.

“Unfortunately,” you answered, returning your phone to your purse. “Unless you wanna be my ride tonight?”

Zipping your purse back up, you heard the Devil let out another laugh. Your smile grew along with your surprise at this whole interaction. You hadn’t anticipated just how fun the masked vigilante actually was considering how he spent his evenings. It was a shame you’d never meet him again.

“Have you fallen tonight?” the Devil asked, still grinning at you.

You held up a hand, preventing him from continuing his thought. “If you're about to ask if I fell from heaven,” you slurred, “then I'm disappointed in your lines, Devil man.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head and laughing softly. “I’m just concerned you might have a concussion because of your continued flirting with a known vigilante. You should probably get your head checked out.”

“ You can check me out,” you teased coyly, sending him an exaggerated wink.

The Devil’s mouth opened, about to reply, but then his face darted over your shoulder, the corner of his lip twitching. You frowned when he took a step back, aware the gesture meant this entire interaction was quickly coming to an end. You didn’t want it to.

“Think your ride’s about here, actually,” the Devil said, further backing up into the alley. “Seems this is where I say goodnight.”

“Oh c’mon, don’t go yet!” you begged his retreating form. “I didn’t get any devil’s food cake!” you called after him. “How ‘bout a piece to-go? Sharing is caring!”

But somehow the Devil had quickly disappeared into the darkened alley, the only proof of his presence the echo of his laughter bouncing off the brick walls. The sound sent a pleasant chill up your body, a smile still lingering along your lips as you teetered on the spot staring after him.

The pounding in your head hit you almost immediately after the sound of your alarm hit your ears. Groaning miserably as your entire body protested waking, your hand blindly flew out from beneath the sheets and felt around for your phone. Opening your eyes, you immediately hissed in pain as the bright light in your bedroom burned them. You blinked rapidly, trying to push past the growing throbbing in your head in order to shut off your irritating alarm. 

Silence finally settling once more in your room, you tossed your phone back down onto your nightstand and rolled onto your side before immediately halting. A wave of nausea hit you instantly and you squeezed your eyes closed, hoping to fight the feeling back. You needed to get up and get ready for work. You had twenty minutes to wash up, brush your teeth, and throw on clothes before you had to be out the door or you'd be late, and you could only imagine how irate your one boss would be if you were. You didn’t have time to get sick.

After a few moments, you were grateful when the nausea subsided. Cautiously you tested things, slowly opening your eyes again before tentatively pushing yourself upright in bed. The pounding in your head continued to rage on, another pathetic groan slipping past your lips. Drinking like you'd done on a weeknight last night had been a horrible idea. Vaguely you recalled the evening in flashes–doing rounds of shots, dancing with your friends, flirting with some guy. Most of the night remained a blur, though.

Feeling half-alive, you climbed out of bed and focused on getting ready for work. You'd briefly washed off in the shower, scrubbing yourself just clean enough to remove the scent of alcohol that felt like it was seeping out from your pores. Then you brushed your teeth vigorously before swirling some mouthwash around in your mouth, the taste of which had you fighting bile once more back down. Then you threw on whatever clean blouse and slacks your hands touched first, shuffling through your apartment towards your shoes as you pulled your pants on.

It had ultimately taken you more than twenty minutes to get ready for work and to get out the door since you'd had to stop and brace yourself against a wall or piece of furniture multiple times–either due to the pain in your head or the roiling in your gut. Then you'd been in a hurry making your way out of your building and towards the office, the morning sun and the usual city traffic only further aggravating your headache. By the time you'd finally gotten to work, you were more than ten minutes late and out of breath. 

“I am–” you pushed open the door to the office, panting hard as you spotted one of your bosses leaning against your desk, “–so sorry. Was trying to get here on time but I went out last night. This morning was a struggle.”

“Well you're here now, at least,” Foggy said, glancing up from a paper in his hands at you. His brows creased together as he eyed you, his nose visibly scrunching in distaste. “Though you smell like you slept in a bathtub of liquor and you look like you woke up to fight a pissed off honey badger.”

You laughed lightly, the noise further irritating your head as you hurried over towards your desk before making your way around it. “Yeah. I'm aware,” you replied. “I'm sorry. My friend had a birthday last night and I went out to celebrate. I definitely drank too much and I completely regret it. I promise I learned my lesson.”

“Certainly not the best decision,” Foggy agreed. “But I'm glad to hear that. Maybe next time–”

“You're late.”

Your head darted over your shoulder at the sound of your other boss. Grimacing at the stern look on Matt’s face, your shoulders slumped as you set your bag down onto the top of your desk.  

“I know, I'm sorry, Mr. Murdock,” you apologized. “It was a one time thing, it won't happen again, I promise.”

“Good, it better not,” he said, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe to his office. The corner of his lip twitched upwards for a second before he raised his coffee cup to his mouth, hiding the smile threatening to spread onto his lips. “Fog's right though, you smell like you bathed in the alcohol instead of drinking it. Can you even remember your night out?”

Chewing your lip awkwardly, your brows furrowed as you tried to recall last night. Though the sight of Matt standing there casually leaning against the doorframe drinking his coffee, the buttons of his sage green dress shirt struggling as he did, was making it hard for you to focus.

“Uh, bits and pieces of it?” you answered. 

“Mmm,” he hummed out, lowering his coffee cup. “Well, hopefully your evening was worth showing up late for. I certainly enjoyed my night, though. Woke up in a good mood this morning, actually.”

Your eyes narrowed at the smile on his face, something tickling at the back of your mind at the sight of it. But Matt smiling instead of scolding you when you messed up was an unusual occurrence, one that had you hesitantly and distractedly lowering down into your desk chair. 

“Which is why I brought doughnuts for everyone this morning,” Matt continued, gesturing a hand towards your desk. “I hope you still have an appetite after all the alcohol.”

“They're so good,” Foggy told you. “They’re from that new bakery a block over.”

Foggy slid the white box you hadn’t noticed on your desk over towards you. You watched as he flipped the lid open, the strong and sweet aroma of sugar and chocolate hitting your nose. Your stomach rumbled hungrily as you eyed the delicious chocolate pastries.

“Since when do you bring in doughnuts?” you asked, glancing back over at Matt.

He pushed off the doorframe, shrugging his shoulder. “I don't know,” he said, a strange smile drawing itself wide across his lips. “For some reason I woke up with a craving for devil's food cake and I just thought I’d share.”

With a deep chuckle Matt turned around, making his way back into his office. Head tilting curiously to the side, your eyes lingered along his backside as that strange feeling of something trying to reach the forefront of your mind returned.

Matt Murdock One Shot/Shorts Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwlff @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @ladywholikesreading @sleepysleepymom @tartbeanpuzzles @harleycao @sunflower-tia @gamingfeline @juskonutoh @kezibear @ninacotte @withyoutilltheendoftheline @justanerd1 @scriptedmoon @ardent-crow @lucienofthelakes @sarahskywalker-amidala @flowher @loves0phelia @a-half-empty-g1rl

[sammy-jo1977]

OMG This is soo great!

[moo-blogging]

Nothing in my head but there are signs that Levi is in love with you.

Levi was not an easy person to read. The cadets always found him quiet and stoic and strict. There was always a distance between the cadets and the Captain anyway.

But the Captain was a human as well. He had a beating human heart beneath the uniform jacket, and it started beating differently the moment he realised his heart chose you.

Levi was sure his nervousness was obvious on his face when you were giving a presentation on the lastest findings on titans, but all the other cadets could see was a grimace and thought he was hating the meeting.

And it often crossed his mind if you liked tea too. He had never seen you drinking tea (or at least he couldn't recall seeing you drink tea). At the end of one of the smaller meetings where you were attending too, Levi made tea for everyone just so he couldn't study your reaction to his tea. When you grinned and took another sip, his eyes lit up with satisfaction.

And when you were tasked with running errands in nearby towns, Levi would volunteer to join you too as an escort or to "collect information in the towns" quoted Levi. But truth was, he wanted to spend time with you. With you being in Nanaba's team, Levi had close to no reason to talk to you. He had to create the opportunities.

With Levi by your side, you managed to complete your errands smoothly. The folks were extra happy to see the famous Captain in their stores and giving discounts and allowed you to negotiate prices easily. Levi would help carrying the things you bought. Initially, you declined his help, but he insisted and took the bags from you.

As a token of appreciation, you treated Levi to a cup of tea. He ordered a cup of plain black tea while you ordered one with milk. As you took a small sip on your tea, Levi spoke about how he had never had tea with milk before. You lifted your eyebrow with surprised, and offered Levi to try your tea. He hesitated for a moment before he gently accepted the cup and took a sip. The tea was warm and welcoming, sweet with the aroma of milk and honey with the refreshing tinge of black tea at the end.

You were studying his face as he placed the cup onto the saucer. "Well?" You asked. He nodded, "not bad". But all he could think of was you shared a cup, and now tea with milk would always remind him of you. This moment where you sat together crammed on a small table, drinking overpriced tea from delicate ceramic tea cups with saucers, and you beaming like the sun, would forever be that moment where he knew he would love you for the rest of his life.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Can I get a Lily for Matt and Frank, how would they react to finding reader crying?

Matt

He’d probably (absolutely) sprint home if he heard you crying

Chuck his cane and everything

Darting up to the apartment, arms outstretched, asking you what was wrong as you burrowed into him

Cradling the back of your head, he’d carry you to the couch and set you in his lap, shushing you softly until you were a bit calmer

He’d be pretty insistent that you tell him what happened, wanting to talk things through with you before coming to a conclusion

Frank 

Frank on the other hand becomes sort of “act first think later” when you’re hurt or upset

Panic sets in whenever he finds you crying. He hides it well but every alarm in his body is screaming for him to FUCKING FIX IT. he hates seeing you cry. 

If he could sell his soul to keep you happy, he would. 

Like Matt, he’d use physical contact to ground you, help calm you down, as well as remind himself that you’re still alive—even if you aren’t happy. 

He’d pretty much demand to know what happened. And as soon as you were tucked into bed that night, he’d search far and wide for whoever wronged you, ready to ensure they didn’t do that ever again

[darlingshane]

Jon Bernthal can't play Frank Castle without Deborah Ann Woll.

[nereidprinc3ss]

be my angel

in which BAU fem!reader was injured on the job, but is refusing painkillers at the hospital. spencer thinks he knows why.

fluff (+a little angst) warnings/tags: established relationship, hospital stuff, reader got beat up by an unsub, discussions of spencer's past addiction, mentions of period cramps, reader ends up being administered some sort of painkiller a/n: another draft i found in my literal hundreds of pages of abandoned wips and fixed up cause it's cute, I hope you like!!!

Spencer is tearing through the hospital. They all keep saying you’re going to be okay, but what does that even mean? Why is nobody telling him anything? He’s not even sure he heard what the orderly at the front desk said, but his feet are carrying him with a strident purpose through the winding white halls, so he has to assume he at least subconsciously knows where he’s going. 

Finally he spots Penelope, a beacon in her candy-colored clothing, speaking to a doctor in hushed tones. Penelope sees him approaching and turns away from the doctor, looking harried and exhausted. 

“Is she okay? What happened?” Spencer demands, before either of the others can say a word. 

“She’s okay,” the doctor assures. “She was beat up pretty bad—concussion, broken ribs, some bruising that looks worse than it is. There was a clean shot through her arm, but—” 

His blood runs cold. Nobody told him you were shot. Why had nobody told him you were shot? 

“I need to see her.” 

The doctor frowns, glancing between the two agents. 

“I’m sorry, are you her spouse?” 

“Yes. No, not yet, I just—I need to see her, please. Now.” 

“Sir, unless she—” 

“Just let him see her!” Penelope practically yells. “She wants him here, believe me.”  

The doctor clenches her jaw and scribbles something on her clipboard. 

“Okay. Maybe you can try to convince her to accept some painkillers.” 

Spencer’s frown deepens. 

“She’s refusing pain management?” 

“We gave her as much ibuprofen as we could, but she refused anything stronger than that. She has to be in a lot of pain right now, and there’s no background of addiction.” 

“I’ll talk to her,” Spencer says, already twisting the silver door handle. He has a sneaking suspicion as to why you denied pain treatment, and it makes him feel incredibly guilty. More than he already did, after this entire debacle. 

The sight of you, bloodied and bruised and obviously suffering has his heart splintering right down the middle. Whatever meager semblance of a smile he can scrounge up and offer is reflected back to him on you—which only makes him feel worse. As always, you’re putting on a brave face. 

“Hey,” Spencer says quietly as he closes the door behind him. 

“Hi,” you croak. “How do I look?” 

He approaches, sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing your hair away from your face. 

“How do you feel? The doctor told me you wouldn’t accept pain medication,” he murmurs. 

You sniff. 

“I feel okay. Did she tell you it’s not as bad as it looks?” 

But your voice is so small, so wavery and weak, that he knows you’re lying. 

“Sweetheart...” 

You’ve been holding it together since the unsub beat you nearly unconscious. You held it together as he ran away, even got a couple shots in before he turned around and returned fire. You held it together while you sat against the dirty truck, bleeding out, not sure if your team was coming, and you held it together in the ambulance, and for the past thirty minutes in this hospital bed. But all it takes is one gentle word from Spencer, with that concerned, solicitous look in his eye, and the floodgates are opening. Tears spring up in your eyes and begin silently falling down your dirtied cheeks. 

“It’s okay!” you attempt to reassure him, affecting cheeriness even through the tears. “It doesn’t hurt. I’m fine!” 

He says your name soft and low and he tries his best to keep his tone even though he is liable to burst into tears or start yelling at someone (not you) at any minute.  

“I know that’s not true. You have broken ribs and a gunshot wound. I know how badly it hurts to breathe and how it feels every time you move your arm. That is too much damage for over-the-counter anti-inflammatories. You need real analgesics.” 

“I don’t,” you whisper. Your teary eyes make his whole body ache. He squeezes your hand—the one that’s not connected to the wounded arm. 

“Because of me?” You stare at him blankly, as if you’re shocked he was able to put two and two together. “I promise you don’t need to worry about that.” 

You sniffle. 

“But what if—what if they give me the drugs and I get all weird and it’s, it’s like... triggering for you, or something?” 

“It’s been a really long time since I’ve worried about that. I’d rather see you a little tired and out of it than in extreme pain and trying to pretend you’re not. You getting the pain relief you need in a medical emergency is not going to make me relapse.” 

“But I really think I could go without,” you begin, voice already tightening around a cry. “I’ve—I’ve had period cramps that were worse than this.” 

Despite himself, he chuckles. Goes back to stroking your hair. 

The laughter fades quickly. All the pain you’re in is so evident in your eyes. The dissociative glassiness, the tension around them, the bloodshot quality—he's seen it many times before, and he hates it on you. 

“Will you please tell them you’re ready to take something? They won’t give you Dilaudid. It’s too strong. They’ll give you something that I’d have no interest in anyway.” 

“Not funny,” you whisper. 

He ignores this. 

“Will you let me call the doctor back in?” 

You take a deep, shuddering breath—or at least, you try to, before you’re loosing a sharp squeak that deteriorates into a little sob. The ribs. 

Spencer doesn’t bother asking again, just gets up and begins to walk away as efficiently as his legs will carry him. You need painkillers and he thinks it might be fastest to just fetch the doctor or a nurse from the hallway. 

“Wait,” you plead.  

He stops. Reminds himself that you need him right now—not his medical opinions. Spencer turns back around and approaches again, crouching by your bedside this time. 

“What, honey?” 

“I don’t...” 

You trail off, overcome by something like fear in the width and shine and nervous dart of your eyes. Spencer knows, everybody at the BAU knows, that showing fear to a serial killer will get you killed that much quicker. During your time alone with the unsub, which is a can of worms Spencer literally cannot psychologically open right now, you had to put on your bravest face. Even while you were being beaten within an inch of your life. Even when you thought you were going to die, alone, and that your team—that Spencer—wasn't coming back for you. Because that’s the kind of thing you have to do to cope when you’re at rock bottom. But you were terrified. Petrified. That doesn’t just go away—and Spencer knows it’ll be bumping against the surface until it finds a way out.  

He has to remember that just because you look unafraid and you act unafraid doesn’t mean you aren’t. 

“You were so brave,” he manages after he’s sure he can say it without incident, swiping moisture from your cheek. “You did everything exactly right.” 

“I know,” you whisper, chin trembling. Spencer knows you, and he knows this kind of trauma well enough to know that you’re thinking, I did everything exactly right, and it wasn’t enough. I did everything exactly right and this is what I have to show for it. 

“But nobody needs you to act like it wasn’t hard, okay? You don’t need to pretend like it doesn’t hurt. You were so, so brave, angel. You don’t have to be brave anymore.” 

Your eyes squeeze shut, sending a new wash of tears over your tacky cheeks. A few moments pass. You say nothing. He hopes you’re not going to hide away inside yourself like he did. 

“Will you please, please, let me get the doctor?” 

At least this time you don’t immediately say no. 

“Will you come right back?” 

“Of course.” 

Finally, you nod your hesitant assent, and Spencer presses a careful kiss to your forehead. 

A few minutes later, the doctor—who was shocked that Spencer was able to so quickly change your very made-up mind—is back, and so is Spencer. It only takes a moment for them to determine the best course of action for you and soon the fist around his heart is loosening its grip as he watches some of the agony melting from your eyes. 

“Better?” he murmurs as the nurse who’d administered the drugs leaves, fanning his thumb over the underside of your wrist. You nod, already appearing sleepy. 

“Can you lie down with me?” 

He smiles at the way your words slip against each other, simply relieved that you’re able to relax and no longer in extreme pain. 

“Hospital beds aren’t rated for two people.” 

“Spencer.” 

It’s enough for him to climb onto the bed—not that he was ever going to deny you what you wanted to begin with. The fit isn’t exactly perfect—he's a bit too long and combined the two of you are just slightly too wide—but with some finagling it’s comfortable enough. Spencer has slipped his arm underneath you and your head is on his shoulder and he’s so glad to have you in his arms and so grateful that you’re okay he does something almost like praying in his head as he kisses your hair. 

“Hey. Ask me about my bruises.” 

“Why? Do they still hurt?” 

“You should see the other guy.” 

It’s dumb and it doesn’t make sense because you didn’t bother waiting for him to actually set the joke up—but he smiles dryly nonetheless. 

“Can you please give me... I don’t know, 36 hours before you start making jokes about almost dying?” 

“Clock starts now.” 

“Thank you.” He feels your lips curve into a half-conscious smile against his neck. It’s a wonderful feeling. “How are your ribs? Breathing feels okay?” 

“Mhm. Love breathing.” 

“Mhm. And your arm?” 

“Like I got shot.” 

“Well, that’s pretty much unavoidable. But not as bad as before, right?” 

“Right. Spencer?” 

“What, my love?” 

A little pleased puff of air warms his shoulder. He carefully rubs your hip. 

“Will you tell me how brave I was again?” 

He takes a silent, very deep breath.  

“You were incredibly brave. And smart, too. I’m really proud of you for how you handled that situation. I’m so sorry you had to go through that, but I don’t think anyone could have handled it better. Especially when you chose to stay put by the truck, instead of chase him. I know that wasn’t what you wanted to do, but it was the right choice.” 

“I thought you guys maybe weren’t coming,” you murmur, no hint of sadness in your smushed, flat voice—like you’re barely awake. “I waited half an hour and I thought you weren’t gonna find me.” 

“Angel, I will always find you. We didn’t stop looking even once, as soon as we noticed you were gone. I’m just sorry I wasn’t with Emily and Rossi when they got to you.” 

“’Nelope told me... she told me you got really angry and scary.” 

He stares at the ceiling and considers this. 

“I could see... how what I was feeling would be interpreted that way. I was pretty angry. But not at Penelope or any of them. I was mostly just scared.” 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you whisper. “And I’m sorry if I made you mad.” 

“You did not. I wasn’t mad at you. And it’s not your fault that I got scared. You were just trying to do your job. None of this is your fault.” 

“She also said that you said fuck like... three times.” 

“Mm... doesn’t sound like me,” he evades. You giggle, and the sound is more a relief than any drug he could take.

“No, seriously, I’m so mad I missed it. I love hearing you swear. Tell me what you said—and you have to cause I’m all messed up so I get whatever I want.” 

He sighs in mock annoyance. 

“Well, she’s wrong. I only said fuck once. I used fucking as an intensifier twice.” 

You hum. 

“Sexy.” 

“Alright,” Spencer laughs, flushing as he moves his hand to your shoulder. “Go to sleep before I tell them to up your dosage, weirdo.” 

[sammy-jo1977]

This made me cry alittle. And giggle at the end. Love Spencer

[moo-blogging]

Nothing in my head, but Levi trying PDA for the first time.

It was snowing. The air was chilly, and the wind stung your face as you braced through the cold. Most of the cadets were back home to celebrate Christmas, but a few of you stayed back to stand by (and of course, without a home to go back to).

Nanaba, Miche, Levi and you were tasked to shop for some extra food for the Christmas and Levi's birthday celebration. Although you insisted that Levi should stay back but he came anyway. You were fresh in your relationship with Levi. Only Erwin and Miche were suspecting you were together, but Levi never said anything about it and you hesitated to tell.

After the cashier rang up everything, Nanaba was busy counting the charge, you stood by the side of the road, each hand carrying a bag of goods, staring at the bakery's display window. There was a diversity of cakes, breads, tarts and fruit danishes on showcase. The window is slightly fogged up with the warmth of the fresh baked goods, and the sweet aroma of freshly baked danishes seeped through the slit of the door.

There was not enough budget for a cake large enough for all the cadets that stayed back, so it was decided to settle for butter cookies instead. Miche was paying up for the cookies inside the bakery. You could see his silhouette inside by the cashier, making small talks about something.

Just then, you felt a palm slid into yours. You turned to find Levi standing next to you, staring at the bakery's window as well. Your palm in the thin glove could feel the warmth of Levi's skin. You looked down to make sure what you felt was real. And yes, he was holding your hand in public. Levi squeezed your palm and you looked up at him. He was watching you with his head tilted to the side. "Anything you want from here?" He nodded his head toward the bakery.

"N-no, we've got everything." You swallowed nervously. Levi's eyes bore into yours, "not from the list for the brats, anything you want from the bakery?" You felt your cheeks heat up and you averted your gaze from his face toward the bakery.

"I'm fine!" You blurted out too fast. From your side eye, you could see Levi nodded. Before you could react, Levi took the bag from your hand and turned around. Nanaba, who was standing behind you, was stunned by what she just saw. Levi took another bag from you and walked away. You quietly followed behind. Miche exited the bakery and raised his eyebrows at Nanaba.

Nanaba mouthed "I saw them hokding hands!" Miche eyes widened in surprise, shrugged and said "you owe my 5 bucks, Nanaba."

[sammy-jo1977]

This was too cute!

[wordynerdygurl]

That's the Brakes

Author's Note: Hello lovelies! This is a little drabble which was inspired by a piece of fan art- a piece of fan art that I foolishly did not like or reblog! The picture was of Steve and Eddie crowded together on a subway... and this little fic was born. If you know the piece I'm talking about, please tag me or, even better, if you're the artist, please let me know! I'd love to tag you and your incredible, inspiring art! Pairing: Steddie Setting: No Upside Down/ Everybody lives and our boys are in the Big City! Warnings: None- it's just a sweet little 600 words!

“And that’s another thing, Harrington-” the subway car lurched forward, Eddie, riding the wave like any expert public transportation surfer would, carried on without interruption, “-I couldn’t get a word in edgewise!  Guy was just blah, blah, blah all night.”

God, Steve was sick and tired of this shit.  Another day, another story about a failed first date and another chance for him to deny just how much it hurt to hear Eddie talking about a new person that had caught his eye when he- Steve Harrington- was right there!  Clinging to his sanity and the metal rod that connected to the train’s ceiling with a white-knuckled grip.    Still he managed to chuckle goodnaturedly over the squeal of braking train tires, “Usually that’s your job, huh?  Talking nonstop, I mean.” Beneath their feet the city rolled by as Eddie let go of the leatherette strap that now swung freely between them to croon mournfully, “Why must you cut me so deeply, sir?” And maybe he would have said more, teased and taunted and twisted Steve up until he couldn’t think in the humid subway car where it smelled like chemical covered urine and a thousand sweaty bodies and where the scratchy speakers announced locations that didn’t match any map he had ever seen.  Maybe Eddie would have waited for Steve to play along?  Giving him half a chance to make his own joke and then they would both be laughing before Eddie went off on a tangent about dice or mice or metal men and how they weren’t robots but they weren’t not robots either. Whatever, it didn’t matter, because just as Steve opened his mouth to respond the train slammed to a hard stop, rocking him backwards.  Thankfully, he was holding on tight.  But Eddie, well, Eddie pushed into him at roughly the velocity of a speeding transit authority subway car, his wiry frame colliding with a solid wall of Steve. Leather clad arms instinctively wrapped around his torso, a mop of wayward waves flew into his face and then there were eyes, round and deep and impossibly rich with fringey lashes that framed his bestest friend’s momentary panic, staring up and into his own.  Lips, pink and plush and so fucking pretty, parted around the eloquent exclamation of “Uh-” and Steve knew that Eddie saw it.  

Could pinpoint the exact moment when the lithe metalhead nerd read Steve’s thoughts.  The unguarded ones about hearts and love and forever.  Thoughts about kissing that so close to his own smart mouth until the pair of them were gasping for air. Steve knew Eddie saw it all written in plain English across his face and held his breath.  Keeping one hand on the support bar but daring to let the other curl along the line of Eddie’s black belt, his fingers splayed over a denim clad hip before pulling them closer together only to whisper, “I got ya, Ed.” “I guess so, huh, Stevie?”   There was no use trying to stop the smile that filled his face when Eddie steadied himself using Steve for support.  That wayward hand of his having wandered under a once black, now softly and subtly grayed t-shirt to stroke against the firm flesh of Eddie’s back without question or complaint.  Nose to nose now, the train grunted to a start, picking up speed between stations, but Eddie didn’t move away. 

Swaying together along the rail car’s route Steve held onto the grabber bar, Eddie held onto him and if they stepped onto the city’s grimly platform two stops later, fingers entwined, that was nobody’s business but their own.

Tag List: @sxlly-pxbble @kerri-leighjade @mediocreaf @weird-stranger13 @cupiden  @sereisstuff @elviqs @ethereal-daydreamerr @armyangxls @alana-stewart @darkhairedmenrule @b1tchbabytears @ravencrap-hufflefuck  @rosegoldarti @atlwhatevs @mermaidsandcats29  @aereth  @drfrank211 @ladysteddie @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @sweetsweetjellybean @sammy-jo19777 @hiscrimsonangel

[wordynerdygurl]

shameless self reblog!

[sammy-jo1977]

Reblogging because of Steddie cuteness overload !

[abiatackerman]

Y/N: I'm glad that you're a man. Not a woman.

Levi: Of course you are. If I were a girl who would have fucked you so nicely?

Y/N: (Ignoring his statement) Just imagine, Levi. You're dealing with your period every month! Bleeding for a whole week and making a mess in your bed.....

Levi: (Disgusted) Shut. The. Fuck. Up!

Wanna laugh more? Check out the masterlist of funny Minishots. Hopefully they'll make you laugh too.

[youbutstupid]

Just a reminder that Reid is not helpless in the face of authority. This is a man who told Strauss to her face that she was taking the easy way before saying ‘the problem is I have an eidetic memory, and that’s not what happened.’ This is the man who told an entire station of police officers that they could’ve prevented a death before sarcastically yelling at Hotch ‘oh you’re punishing me?.’ This man sat slouched in his seat whilst his team were all sat pin straight in front of a board of people who wanted them all fired and said ‘this is calm and it’s doctor.’ He looked Linda Barnes in the eyes whilst she was in the process of trying to destroy the team and said ‘if you’re going I’m not.’ This man does not care about authority.

[bellaxgiornata]

I don't go to therapy, apparently I just write new stories about Matt Murdock.

[andremichaux]

She's a whore, Shepherd. The term is "companion." I always get those mixed up.

Firefly | 1.01

[sebastiansource]

[theautomattic]

Matt Murdock in the black suit:

Me: FLATLINING 😵‍💫

Matt Murdock in the black suit unmasked:

Me: DEAD 😵