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Popcorn Date

Title: Popcorn Date

Paring: Jensen x Reader

Word Count: 1,689

Warning: Cavity level fluff that turns smutty

A/N: I’ve been having this dream for months, thought I should share. The humming I talk about you can see in this video, just go to 17:05 and watch them talk about it, it’s pretty great. He does the humming thing again later on and Jensen can’t stop laughing. Anywho, enjoy dorky cute smutty Jensen!!

“Dude, just go ask her!” Jared nudged Jensen so hard he stumbled a little, falling into the side of Baby.

“Shut up! Come on man!” Jensen looked over his shoulder only to whip back around. “Shit, dude she’s coming over!” Jared started laughing before falling into a coughing fit as he tried to hold it together.

“Uh, hey guys. Jared you dying or something?”

Jared just shook his head, trying to keep a straight face. Jensen’s eyes went wide as he slowly shook his head, silently wondering what the hell had gotten into Jared.

“You guys sure you’re good?” you looked between the two boys.

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The hardest thing about being a Baby is that we still think of Zelo as that cute little bean with the ramen hair, who refers to himself as a kitten, with that cute high voice, who blinks and laughs in the cutest way known to humanity. And now he’s out humping the floor, going shirtless, rapping about “whipping it out”, going to clubs at 2 in the morning and posting it one his insta and it’s like, child why must you do this? And now it’s a mix between; “Wow, look at him being all grown up and finding himself! I’m so proud of him!” and “WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO DO THIS? IT IS PAST YOUR BEDTIME, AND THE ONLY THING YOU’RE WHIPPING OUT IS A FORK TO EAT YOUR VEGETABLES BECAUSE YOU’RE NOW GROUNDED MISTER!!”

The One Where Sherlock and Molly Are 'Just Friends'
  • *Molly's flat; lying in bed*
  • Sherlock: *smoking* We can be friends who sleep together.
  • Molly: *fiddling with the sheet* Yeah, this could be just...something we do. Like tennis.
  • Sherlock: *nods* Sounds smart and healthy to me *glances at her* Whilst we're on the subject, do you currently have any other tennis partners?
  • Molly: *shrugs* Just Mary *pauses* That’s actually tennis, though. But she is setting me up with a mate of hers next week.
  • Sherlock: *disappointed* Oh.
  • Molly: *swallows* Did you want me to cancel it?
  • Sherlock: No! *sits up; avoiding looking at her* No! Because, if you did, you’d be cancelling for me, and we’re just friends.
  • Molly: *smiles weakly* Exactly. I- my thoughts exactly.
  • ...
  • Sherlock: *ruffles his hair* I’m not fine, Molly. I’m not. How can I be fine? Picturing you with someone else, doing what we've been doing *sighs* Would it be so terrible if we were...friends who don't date other people?
  • Molly: *hopeful* You mean like exclusive friends?
  • Sherlock: *shrugs* Why not? Let's face it, this has been the best month. Even if we were friends who lived together *playing with his cigarette* Or, friends who stood up in front of their other friends and vowed to be friends forever.
  • Molly: *grinning* You've thought about that sort of thing?
  • Sherlock: More than is healthy, yes.
  • Molly: *sits up and strokes his arms* One day, we might even hear the pitter patter of tiny, little friends.
  • Sherlock: I'd like that.
  • Molly: *kisses his cheek* Me too.
  • Sherlock: *flicks the cigarette; smirks* Quick game of tennis before work?
  • Molly: *giggles* Yeah, why not? *kisses him*
you have your mother’s name

when you’ve been rewatching fmab, you’re almost to the end again, you thought of hamilton’s dear theodosia and now you’re left w 534 words of your first fma fic in over a year: me

Tears pool in Hohenheim’s eyes. He blows noisily into a tissue.

“Shh, honey, you’ll wake him up,” Trisha murmurs, cradling her newborn son in her exhausted arms, “and after we just got him to stop crying too.”

“I’m sorry, Trisha. I’m just—” Hohenheim blows into another tissue, quieter this time. A small pile of them is beginning to build up beside the box. He takes another to vainly dab at the fountains his eyes have become. “Our son. He’s beautiful.”

Trisha smiles, closing her eyes. “I’m surprised you can say that about a newborn child.”

Frankly, Hohenheim’s son is not handsome. His lopsided head, blond hairs plastered to the surface, rests in the crook of Trisha’s arm, misshapen from the trauma of being born, and the small rise and fall of his chest belies the piercing screams that came out of his tiny lungs only ten minutes before. His son is ugly, and his son is beautiful.

“It’s birth. Birth is incredible—it’s wonderful. A new soul welcomed into the world. And the birth of our own son…” Hohenheim snuffles. “Our son.”

Trisha snorts good-humoredly, eyes still closed. “You try pushing a four-kilogram baby out of your pelvis sometime and call it ‘wonderful.’”

Hohenheim smiles. “Women who go through the whole ordeal are the most wonderful part of it.”

“Oh my god, Van.”

“It’s true.”

“I won’t deny it,” Trisha agrees, absently swaying the infant in her arms back and forth. “What do you think we should name him?”

Hohenheim wipes the last of his tears away. “I don’t know, dear. I’ve never been good with names.”

Trisha hums, peering at her son thoughtfully. “We could name him after my grandfather: Edward. I think he has the nose.”

“Edward.” Hohenheim smiles. It’s certainly short. “I like it.”

“Good, then it’s settled. Although ‘Edward Hohenheim’ might be a bit of a mouthful.”

“Give him your name.”

Trisha pauses and frowns. “We already talked about this, dear. It’s enough that I never changed my name. We’re giving him your last name.”

“No. I’ve changed my mind. Elric is a good name—it’s your name. And my name is… too dangerous.”

“It is not. I’m sure there are other Hohenheims in Amestris.”

Hohenheim shakes his head. He’s adamant now. “I need to protect him, Trisha. I don’t want Edward to bear the legacy of my name—I don’t want him to ever discover you two. I want to keep you two safe.”

His eyes fall on his son, sleeping peacefully in Trisha’s arms. A familiar, desolate pang stirs his heart, but acutely more painful than before.

One day Edward will die, just like Trisha. And Hohenheim would rather die himself than see it happen because of him.

“Please,” he murmurs.

He sees the fresh argument Trisha’s readying fall from her lips without being voiced. She gazes at him with something like sorrow in her eyes, but finally she nods. “All right, Van. If you insist.”

Hohenheim sits cross-legged in front of an open, dusty box in the backroom of Pinako’s house. He holds a birth certificate in hand, mind in another dark room nearby where a sleeping boy lies, and silently traces the lettering with a finger.

Edward Elric.

Yankity Spankity

Ok. So. I literally have no excuse for this other than the original post made me laugh so hard and my dear friend @thehexperiment is an enabler and wonderful beta. This is like, the shhitpost-iest thing I’ve ever written, and lordy, was it fun but difficult. It was inspired by a zodiac post about which line from 50 Shades you are, and I thought one sounded very nalu-esq, and then another, and another, and it turned into a challenge, I guess? So all of the following phrases can be found in this… whatever it is lol. 

Post link:

Lucy gets handcuffed to a street meter and let’s be real, it’s only an average day when you’re dating Natsu Dragneel in NYC. Did she mention he was a cop?

Pairing: Nalu, Fairy Tail

Words: 4148

Rating: T

Part: One Shot

Natsu was so dead.

Like, ‘Lucy would have to call Juvia and Levy to help her bury the remains of his stupidly perfect body’ dead.

“Natsu Dragneel!” Lucy screamed, metallic clacks urging on her rage as the handcuff banged around the metal of the street meter. “You get your stupid ass back here or so help me God!” She continued to screech at his retreating back. She watched as he ran faster, and blew her an apologetic kiss as he rounded a corner.

Lucy released a loud noise of anger directed at the sky. A small child looked at her with worried eyes before their mother tugged them along sharply, tapping away on her phone urgently with one hand. Lucy’s love-hate relationship with New York was leaning more into the hate aspect right now.

“Bye.” She muttered to herself, mocking Natsu’s departing squeak. “What the hell do I say to my boss. ‘Hi, sorry my piece is late, my boyfriend gently handcuffed me to a street meter and then said ‘bye’.’” Lucy hissed to herself, tugging futilely on the metal encircling her one wrist. “He’s so not getting laid for a fucking week.”

Lucy toed her bag closer, the large tote tipping on it’s side and spilling her phone onto the sidewalk, along with a tube of lip gloss, several pens, and a dog eared paperback. She bent down with a sigh, trying to kick her contents back into the canvas bag after she had retrieved her phone. She glared dangerously as she noticed a young man with blonde hair eyeing her purse, nodding to herself as she watched him shrug deeper into his grey hoodie and scurry away.

“Levy, I need you to come to the corner of twelfth and twentieth. And bring Gajeel’s spare handcuff key.” Lucy sighed heavier as she heard her friend’s baffled voice turn amused.

“Why? What did Natsu do now?”


“Your boyfriend’s an idiot.” Levy chirped, background noise alerting Lucy to Levy leaving her apartment.

“You don’t know the half of it Lev,” Lucy whined, frowning as she shuffled her bag securely between her ankles, and safely protected from more threatening and broke twenty somethings. “When I woke up from a nap two days ago Natsu had managed to somehow get an orange in my mouth. A whole orange! I still don’t know how.” Lucy groaned under her breath and let her head fall forward to rest on the top of the parking meter she was now leaning on.

“… Was it a small orange?”

“Levy Ashley Mae McGarden you swore to me you would never bring that up!” Lucy banged her forehead on the unyielding metal. Her handcuffed clanked in sympathy.

“I don’t know what you mean, Lucy.” Levy hummed innocently.

“I was drunk off of that contraband vodka Cana brought us.” Lucy defended weakly. “I don’t even remember it.”

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