#I love writing domestic fluff

[suguruverse]

your personal space has never really truly been yours since you’ve started dating him. his muscled arm around your waist when you wake up in the morning, has become as familiar as the sunrise itself. it used to be cute, his warmth a cozy start to the day. but now, it's suffocating, like he can't bear to let you go, even in his sleep.

you shift carefully under his weight, not wanting to disturb his sleep. his breath keeping its steady rhythm against your neck, and you wonder if he dreams of you as you lean in to kiss his forehead gently. he smiles in his sleep, a small, contented expression that almost makes you want to slip right back into his arms.

the sheets rustle softly as you slip out from his grip. you slowly tiptoe across your shared bedroom, craving the simple pleasure of being able to enjoy making coffee alone. the smell of freshly ground beans fills the kitchen, and you lean against the counter, enjoying the quiet morning.

but as your coffee brews, a twinge of guilt creeps in and you can almost imagine when he'll wake up and wonder where you've gone. despite enjoying the well needed alone time, you knew the longing to be close to him will pull you back into his embrace sooner than you'd planned. almost as if in complete sync with your thoughts, you hear a mumble approaching the kitchen, and then his voice, thick with sleep, calling out softly,

"angel cmon back to bed with me, you know i don’t like sleeping without you"

ੈ✩‧₊˚ gojo, nanami, bakugou, iwaizumi hajime (27) althetic trainer, oikawa, kuroo, geto, choso, yuji, midoriya

[satoruxx]

random but toji definitely torments you with his stubble. it’s not often that he lets it grow, usually pretty quick to shave it down, but whenever he gets a little lazy with it he becomes downright evil.

mostly because he enjoys the way you squeal when the rough texture brushes over your skin. it starts off as an accident, just an honest reaction when you come home one night and he presses a chaste kiss to your throat. he definitely does not expect the way you jump and swat at him, complaining about how his beard is too scratchy and that it tickles.

you can’t blame him for using it to his advantage.

so now whenever he notices that his stubble has gotten a little rough you bet he’s gonna be chasing you around, lips tugging into his trademark smirk as he hears your peals of laughter. it’s a like a game—see how quick he can get his hands on you.

and when he inevitably does you’re already begging over your laughs, going “oh god toji please don’t—!”

but he’s already grabbing your wrist and rubbing it across his chin, hearing the amused whines and complaints as you finally accept defeat. he only chuckles when you call him names and say he’s the worst and such, eagerly diving for your cheek and your neck to be as obnoxious as possible.

and on the other hand, you have your own fun—whenever he shaves you’re always bouncing around him and reaching for his cheeks, eager to feel the silky smooth skin under your palms. and he can only sigh indulgently, making a show out of rolling his eyes dramatically but still taking your palms and pressing them to his jaw.

you laugh and gush over how soft it is and he just shakes his head, lips pulling into a wry smirk as he bends down to let you do whatever you’d like.

“see you’re so soft, toji!” you giggle, smushing his cheeks between your palms and he just scoffs—amused.

“yeah yeah, whatever,” he grunts, making a move to playfully bite at your fingers. “i’ll get y’next time.”

“dare you to try,” you stick your tongue out at him, digging your fingers into his cheeks so that his lips are pouting. you can see the challenge settle into his eyes.

of course, he gets you back later, stubble scraping over your skin as soon as he’s able to.

and funnily enough, he gets so used to it that he starts doing it to the other sweet baby that enters his life.

“oh great,” you laugh, gently smacking his bicep as he presses closer to your body. “at least leave him out of this.”

“impossible,” toji grins, letting his chin brush over chubby fingers. “he needs to learn early.”

little baby megumi squeals from where he’s perched on toji’s chest, arms flapping at the ticklish sensation. you chuckle, reaching out to drag a finger over his chubby cheeks, to which he just babbles.

“learn that you’re a demon?” you ask sarcastically, and toji flashes you a canine smirk. he turns his head to drag his chin over your shoulder, smiling broader at your squeal.

“sure, let’s go with that.”

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

katsuki’s extra clingy when he’s sleepy. you know he’s sleepy because he hasn’t left you alone since he came back from his sparring session with kirishima.

it’s almost funny how The katsuki bakugou who’s so scary, who’s all sharp glares and huffs and pinched eyebrows, is hanging off your shoulders like a big fat baby.

“katsuki.” you start, softly rubbing one of his arms tightly wrapped around your shoulder. he grunts. “you can go to bed if you’re tired, handsome. i’ll come up later.” you look back at him as much as you can since he’s barely letting you breathe with how tightly he’s holding you. he huffs, droopy red eyes glaring down at the sandwich you were making for yourself like it was at fault for keeping you out of bed with him.

“ m’not tired.” he slurs, his hold tightens on you and he shoves his head into your shoulder. his hair tickles and you shuffle to the side a little. he follows.

you giggle to yourself. usually, katsuki would have some qualms about being so touchy where someone could walk in at anytime. it’s not like he was ashamed of being with you (not even close) but he has a reputation to uphold, y’know?

as if on cue, he yawns into your shoulder. you let out a light laugh and he nips at your shoulder in retaliation. “ i thought you said you weren’t tired ? what happened to that ?” you question teasingly, a sly little smile forming on your face. he mumbles something into your shoulder you can’t make out. “ i can’t hear you, love.” he groans, lifting his head up slightly but his eyes are still closed. “ s’cus yer takin’ forever. by the time you’re done i’ll be fuckin’ dead, dumbass.” he says before dropping his head back down on your shoulder like a load of bricks and you snort.

“ i’m done. i just want to go eat this sitting down but i can’t because someone won’t let me move.” you shoulder him lightly, he doesn’t budge, but grunts nonetheless.

“ jus’ eat it here.”

“ i’m not eating my sandwich standing up, katsuki.”

“ why the fuck not ?”

“ because !” you laugh “ i wanna enjoy my food !”

“ can enjoy it just fine with me here. why’re ya trying to get away from me ? s’your food less enjoyable when i’m around or somethin’ ?”

you roll your eyes but the smile on your face grows wider. “you’re such a baby.” you let out a light squeal when he pokes your side and lightly smack his arm, he huffs out a little laugh into your shoulder.

“katsuki !”

“fuck you, m’not a baby.”

“ could’ve fooled m—ow ! oh my god !” you yelp as he bites you and the fucker laughs. you huff, grabbing his arms to try to free yourself of the clutches of this absolute demon. he stops laughing then, grunting and groaning at you like you were the one inconveniencing him, while still keeping his head secure in your shoulder. the nerve of this guy.

“ katsuki.” you groan and he growls at you again, like a wild animal, like he’s daring you to try to escape him again. you sigh “ okay, okay, fine. you win, okay?” you say, admitting defeat while you can lest you have a sleepy, pissed off bakugou hanging off you.

“m’not a baby.”

“you’re not a baby.” you confirm. he squeezes you a little tighter and you sigh again. “can i at least go sit down ? i’ll even hold your hand on the way there, is that good ?” you say sarcastically. you snort when he lets out a grumble and pokes at your side and you can feel the unmistakable frown he has on his face.

“ told you m’not a baby.” he complains but he (begrudgingly) lets you go to let you move around. you turn around and he follows immediately. you have to hold back a laugh at the thought of a big buff bad boy like katsuki following you around like a lost puppy. you hold back your laughter but you’ve still got a dorky smile on your face when you sit down. katsuki’s not too far behind you, he never is. he pushes his chair way closer than it needs to be next to you and your knee is pressed against his when he sits down.

“what’re you grinning about, huh ?” you turn to look at him, dorky smile still very much on your face as you gaze at him. he’s still got that horrible frown on his face but his eyebrows aren’t scrunched up anymore, one of his perfect eyebrows is lifted up questioningly and he’s sitting so close to you you’re sure you can count the exact number of lashes he has.

“nothin’.” you sing, taking a bite of your sandwich. he huffs but doesn’t pry further. instead, he leans closer to you. you make eye contact and he looks at you expectantly. you know what he wants after a second, but you’re not gonna give it to him so easily. “ did you need something?” you ask innocently. his eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he’s glaring at you, he’s figured you out. he huffs for the umpteenth time today and he squints at you harder when you giggle lightly.

“ gimme some.” he says gruffly, already opening his mouth slightly like he knows you’ll share with him. and he’s right, because you do. you bring your sandwich closer to his face and he takes a bite, humming contentedly before leaning back into a more comfortable position, never too far though.

“you always take huge bites out of my food, my sandwich’s basically gone.” you tease, playfully pouting dejectedly at your sandwich, holding back a snort when he scoffs at you, offended.

“ fuck off.” he spits, but there’s no animosity in his words. he resorts to pinching your thigh to make up for it,“ didn’t even eat much, you big baby.” he says. usually he’d have something smarter to say but he’s tired now, and you originally intended to take full advantage of the situation, but you’re feeling nice today. he’s tired and you’ve made him wait long enough, in his eyes at least.

you roll your eyes, deciding to ignore his comment and take another bite of your sandwich. you eat in silence and he doesn’t say anything else after that. when you finish he practically jumps up from his seat despite his lack of energy, looking at you expectantly as if to say ‘let’s go already.” you giggle.

“ i hear you, handsome.” you coo, going over to place your plate in the sink, you could wash your plate later when he falls asleep, probably (if he somehow decides to let you go).

you feel like being a little mean to him as you stay where you’re standing by the sink and sigh. katsuki, who had already turned around to go upstairs, turns to you, eyebrow raised in question.

you hum, placing a finger on your chin “ i dunno, i still don’t feel full, maybe i should make another-"

you’re dragged by your arm towards him before you can even fully comprehend what’s happening or even finish your sentence. you let out a big belly laugh when he grumbles. he suddenly has you lifted over his shoulder and you yelp, wondering where the hell this herculean strength came from despite him being so tired.

“ m’tired of your shit, quit fuckin’ around so i can go to bed.” he slaps the back of your thigh lightly and you gasp, but you’re still giggling a little. “you know, you could’ve just went ahead with out me, i would’ve come eventually.” he scoffs like you had just told him something utterly foolish, like the concept of sleeping without you was unfathomable to him, you smile harder at the thought.

“ don’t be stupid,” he mumbles “as if i could do that.” he adds the last part quietly but you catch it either way, there’s blood rushing to your cheeks and you don’t know if it’s because you’re slightly embarrassed by his honesty or if its because he’s been holding you upside down this whole time.

when you get to the elevator, he places you back down. grabs you by the shoulders and squeezes like he’s trying to weld you to the floor and make sure you won’t move. “ we’re going to bed, now.” his tone is decided, clear. you’re not fighting him on this and you honestly don’t want to.

instead you smile, grabbing his hand and squeeze “okay, let’s.” you beam.

he squeezes back.

[pupkashi]

Ok so can i request something?

Im currently on my period and i feel my insides tearing apart. Im having rough months cause my roomate who was also my best friend got in a fight with me and blamed me for everything (that wasn't even my fault) and my final term exams are here as well :((( imagine all the pressure

Can i get something soft with toru?my period is killing me and I would KILL to have this man with me rn

a/n: me when a bad bitch tells me to write comforting fluff 🫡 in all seriousness i hope this helps you even a smidge my beloved !!! i know how terrible and hurtful fights with friends can be from personal experience and i hope things get resolved for you soon <3 i love u so so so much you sweet summer child I’m so proud of you & best of luck on exams !

masterlist

sundays are your favorite days, you’ve decided.

sunday means you’ll have a warm, lanky, white haired sorcerer asleep next to you when you wake up. his arms tightly wrapped around your torso with his over grown hair tickling the back of your neck.

it’s sunday morning, and satoru is wrapped around you like a koala bear. there’s soft snores coming from the tired sorcerer, making you wonder what time he got home last night. the clock on the nightstand reads 7:42 am, making you smile. you don’t move or try to turn to face your lover, opting instead for reveling in his warm embrace, letting your eyes close softly and listening to his steady breathing.

satoru is awake by the time you wake up again, he’s drawing light circles on your bare arms. you turn around slowly, finding him laying on his side propped up on one elbow with his head in his hand. part of his hair is spiked up every which way, the other completely flat and there’s stray strands of hair all over his forehead.

“morning sweetheart” he whispers, smiling softly as he wipes away an eyelash from your cheek. the pad of his thumb brushes against your cheek, his hands are a bit calloused and rough, but you don’t care. you let your eyes close at the feeling, smiling before fluttering them open again.

“g’morning toru” you whisper back, smiling as he leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead. “d’you get back late last night?” he nods.

“first years had more trouble than i thought they would” he adds on, “you didn’t wait up did you?” there’s a pout on his lips when he sees you nodding.

“not too long though don’t worry” you assure him, flopping onto your back and staring at the ceiling, “knew youd be upset if you found me awake when you got home.” satoru smiles, you had him all figured out and he loved it.

“can’t have my baby losing sleep over me, now can i?” his voice is still raspy and deeper than usual, it makes your stomach flip and your heart stutter.

satoru moves around until he’s got his head resting on your chest, closing his eyes when your fingers find purchase in his hair. you both stay quiet for a bit, your fingers running through his hair and satoru letting his body fully relax under your touch.

“missed you” he mumbles, not opening his eyes. “wish everyday could be like this” the sigh that leaves his lips makes you frown a bit.

“don’t worry angel boy, one day it will be” you assure him, continuing to play with his hair, smiling when you form it into a giant spike before combing it down again. “for now, you wanna make breakfast?”

the sorcerer hums in agreement, standing up and stretching before the two of you head to the restroom, grabbing your respective toothbrushes.

“any plans today?” satoru asks, words jumbled and muffled thanks to the toothbrush in his mouth, but you understand him perfectly. you shake your head ‘no’ the two of you spitting and rinsing your mouths before heading to the kitchen.

there was only one way satoru would eat his veggies, and it’s if you made them in his eggs. while you chopped up some bell peppers, mushrooms and rinsed spinach, satoru put coffee to brew. small talk filling the space of the kitchen as you two slowly woke up.

it’s not long before satoru was wrapping his arms around your waist, letting his head rest on your shoulder as he watched you cook the eggs. he’s placing soft kisses on your neck, smiling when he hears your giggles.

“your hair tickles” you laugh, making no attempt at pushing him off you.

“should i get a trim?” he asks you, laughing when you immediately respond with a quick ‘no!’

before long satoru has two coffees on the dining table, accompanied by two plates of food that you set down moments later. it’s peaceful as the two of you talk, hearing the world outside wake up, cars going up and down the street every five, ten minutes and birds singing sweetly by the bird feeder you’d set up with satoru not long ago.

“think a dove is setting up a nest in the garden” you smile, watching as your lover immediately looks up from his food excitedly.

“really? i told you we should’ve gotten the bird houses!” his eyes are gleaming as he stares out the window, smiling at the sight of two doves at the bird feeder. me and you, he thinks, staying quiet so he could continue to listen to you tell him of the new season premiere tonight.

the day passes slowly, with you two lounging on the couch watching an episode of whatever show you two had started during the week before getting ready for the grocery store.

satoru takes grocery shopping you very seriously, writing down every item you say on a paper list as you check the pantry and fridge. soon enough the two of you are on your way to the store, satoru grabbing a shopping cart and following you as you pick out everything.

he does make himself useful by getting whatever you tell him to, smiling widely when you approve of his fruit picks and sets them in the cart gently. he does all of the heavy lifting, carrying all your groceries in the house in one trip, not even breaking a sweat as he softly sets them down.

the two of you work harmoniously putting everything away, never once bumping into each other and easily understanding what the other wants without having to say a word.

“should we do takeout tonight?” he asks, looking down at you. the two of you freshly showered and now on the couch. your head in his lap as you both wait for the new episode of your show to premiere.

“yeah, what’d you have in mind?” you ask. 20 minutes later the two of you are eating dinner, drinking a bottle of wine satoru picked up on his way back home.

it seems unreal to satoru. being home. no matter how many weekends he spends with you, they all seem to be like a dream. he doesn’t care much for the show on tv, but he still sits with you and watches it for the full hour, listening intently to anything you had to say.

its dark out, and to both you and satoru’s dismay sunday has come and gone all too quickly. you’re both back in bed, in each others warm embrace. conversation topics come and go quickly, the two of you laughing loudly at any little thing.

“oh my god it’s already two in the morning” you gasp, looking at your lover with a shocked expression, “how do we always manage to talk all night?” satoru laughs as you try to pull the blanket over yourself, as if that would instantly make you fall asleep.

“time flies when you’re with the love of your life” he sing songs, joining you under the blanket and looking at you with fond eyes.

“that’s not how that goes” you tease, watching as he rolled his eyes, muttering a ‘come here’ before getting you back in his arms, peppering kisses over your face as you giggle.

“toru you have to be up early!” you scold, the smile on your face is a juxtaposition to your words. and you can’t help but smack him softly when he points it out.

“alright, alright” he sighs, turning off the dim lights and leaving a mixture of moonlight and streetlights illuminating the room. “let’s go to sleep then.”

it doesn’t take long to get cozy, the weeks exhaustion still prominent as you two begin to doze off quickly. satoru tries to keep talking, but his words don’t make much sense as they’re muffled against the top of your head.

“g’night toru, i love you” you whisper, holding him a bit tighter as he replies, already half asleep.

“g’night sweetheart, i love you.”

sunday ends the same way it began. with satoru wrapped around you like a koala, his streaky breathing lulling you to sleep. his body radiating warmth that makes you feel more sleepy. you can hear his soft snores after a couple minutes, it makes you smile.

you don’t dwell on the fact that come tomorrow morning, his side of the bed will be cold and you’ll have to go back to your routine. instead you sigh happily, letting yourself enjoy your lovers company on your favorite day of the week.

taglist (send an ask to be added): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi @kentocalls @sadmonke

[hatsukeii]

fragrance: by the fireplace, replica / timeskip!ushijima wakatoshi x reader

notes: pink pepper (top), chestnut accord (heart), vanilla (base)

description: embers of burning firewood, billowing smoke and flushing warmth

disclaimer(s): N/A

wc: 1.06k

warning(s): big fat super domestic makeout!!!!! slightly touchy so ig suggestive?? not sure but i think ushiwaka might be a little ooc at times oops... IDC this took THREE FUCKING REDOS im TIRED

Wakatoshi has always wanted a fireplace. The prospect of burning firewood crackling in a dimly lit room seeming like some infinitely gentle blanket is what he confesses to you in bed with his back pressed up against your chest, your hands squeezing and massaging at the knots in his shoulders.

"It would be nice, I like the smell of firewood." His head tilts back to meet your gaze, and you giggle, fingers pressing meitculously into the flesh of his back. The mattress dips when you squeeze a spot, just in the curve that connects his neck and his shoulders, as he finally loosens up with a content sigh, the tension in his body released in an instant.

"Fixed it?"

"Fixed it."

Wakatoshi smiles, leaning back into you until his entire body is sprawled on top of yours. He takes your hand, wrapped around his torso, and holds it tight against the little area of his chest that his heart occupies. His hair is a mess of olive green on your chest, disheveled as you run your other hand through it, pressing your fingers into his scalp and rubbing strands against each other between the pads of your fingertips. His heart beats steadily beneath your palm, and he sighs in satisfaction.

"What would you ever do without me?"

He breathes out a chuckle at your question, bringing your hand from his chest to his lips. His thumb plays with your knuckles, and your hand in his hair crawls down to his jaw, fingers tracing nothings into his cheek instead. You feel Wakatoshi's weight shift, rolling around to press his chest flush with your torso, his head resting in the dip of your ribcage. For somebody who wants a fireplace for the smell of firewood, he sure encapsulates it already, toasty spices and woody chestnuts filling your senses when he pulls himself up for a kiss.

Wakatoshi's father once told him what his name meant, to be young and to be sharp. Wakatoshi trains and plays with a wildfire in his eyes, smashes hits through opposing teams with blazing flames coursing through his body. Scalding passion, burning diligence, so hot that surrounding air burns away into suffocating smoke.

Yet his lips meet yours like the crackling of wood in a fireplace, nibbling at you softly like occasional sparks that fly out when things run a little too hot. The burning sting of his hands hitting leather volleyballs is nothing but a dull glow of warmth that emanates from his palms, spreading to your face from his fingers that push strands of hair from your forehead. His droning exhale sends tremors through your body, and when he parts his lips against yours, you can feel his fingers rolling and rubbing at the hem of his shirt that drapes over your frame.

Greedy, wanting more, like the radiating heat of fire that spreads across a cold room.

Your waist takes the shape of his palm when his hand slithers its way beneath your shirt, drawing circles into your skin. His knee presses into the mattress between your legs, holding himself up just enough to give your chest room to heave up and down in rhythmic rises and falls. His hand squeezes the flesh of your waist, the cold promise ring on his finger sending a jolt up your body. It pulls a sharp inhale from you, and rips a stutter from Wakatoshi's throat. The kind of stutter that begs for your lips to stay on his, and for your heart to push even harder against his own, until he's sure that they will never separate. A feverishly lovesick stutter, so much so that the heat of Wakatoshi's fire is spilling everywhere, with nothing to contain it.

When your hand joins his beneath your shirt, two rings come together with a metallic clink as your fingers meet Wakatoshi's, holding them tight between your knuckles. They follow his hand to the grooves of your ribcage, his thumb pushing gently into the underside of your chest. When he swallows the sigh of his name that escapes your lungs, Wakatoshi thinks that this must have been what he was made for. His fingers were made to swipe lines and etch shapes into your skin, his legs made to trap you in his embrace, his mouth made to press against yours for as long as you please.

He almost whines when your head pushes upwards, before detaching from him to breathe. Your other hand pulls his head towards you, his pulse pumping into your palm as you press your lips into his jaw, peppering kisses down to his neck. He hums at the sensation, lowering his body onto yours as he nuzzles his face into the pillow beside your head. Your fingers run through his hair, relishing in the softness of the strands that slip between your knuckles. His chest is flush against yours, head turning to press his nose against the side of your neck, where his mumbles send tingles down your spine as your hand shifts to hold his head close to you.

"Can't live without you. I love you."

In the darkness of your room, all that remain are Wakatoshi's soft exhales into your pulse as he drifts to sleep, one arm inside your shirt and the other laid above your head. You absentmindedly push a kiss into his head, and he shifts in his slumber, his lips curling into a serene smile. Beneath his eyelids, fleeting images of you pass by. The first time you cry out his first name instead of his last, the first time his lips learn of yours, the first time his blazing sharpness is mellowed out for something gentler. He watches you like some vintage film, shoved into the depths of his heart, not to be seen by any other eyes but his own.

"I love you too, Toshi. So much."

Wakatoshi is a wildfire, smoke and ash rising from his feet, sending people running from his blaze. You are the only person daring enough to be engulfed by his radiance, only to find that his inferno is mellow as a candle on a shelf, sweet as toasted vanilla pods, gentle as a paintbrush drawing outlines on a blank canvas. And although you're still open to getting the fireplace that Wakatoshi has always wanted, you think he's warm enough to beat out a fire any day.

author's note:

guys i really hope i did domestic ushiwaka justice because this took way too long to write up and i don't know why :( i legit had to rewrite like three whole times and i was about to smash my head into my laptop trying to keep going because im in a BLOCK it's super annoying BUT i needed ushiwaka brainrot and this was my take LOLOL

guys i love ushiwaka sm :(

anyways tags!!

@staraxiaa @chuuya-brainrot @hiraethwa @akaakeis @iiwaijime @fiannee @afyrian @catsoupki

ok love u guys see u next fic bye bye

[livingincolorsagain]

The last rays of sunlight peek through the curtains of Eddie’s bedroom window, spreading over the bed.

Buck is sitting against the headboard, a pillow stuffed behind him and a light blanket covering him.

Covering them, because Eddie is flush against his side, warm skin on warm skin, slick with cooling sweat. Buck has an arm around his narrow waist, fingers idly rubbing over the smooth skin, back and forth, up and down, until he reaches a spot that has Eddie giggling, a full body jerk.

Buck smiles, drags his fingers lightly over the same spot one more time, Eddie growls playfully, takes hold of his hand but doesn’t move it away as he says, “stop,” and only managing to sound breathless about it.

Buck's smile widens, and he turns his head to the side, looks down at Eddie’s upturned face, breath stuttering, because one of the sun’s stray rays is falling across Eddie’s face, making his eyes a molten golden brown that threatens to unravel Buck, bury him, keep him warm and loved.

He doesn’t know what his face is doing as he stares at Eddie, but whatever it is, it makes Eddie’s cheeks flush, and he ducks his head, half buries it in Buck’s chest, so Buck digs his fingers in again, enjoying the way Eddie’s whole body pulses with the feeling, more bright laughter falling from his lips right into Buck’s chest, and yet he still doesn’t pull away; he burrows closer, if anything.

The sun is disappearing over the horizon, the room steadily growing darker and darker, and Buck feels his chest expanding, something so tender and warm growing there, so he lifts Eddie’s face up, leans down until their noses are touching, and Eddie huffs a small laugh, shakes his head before slightly tilting his face up to press a kiss to Buck’s nose.

Buck melts, so much so he starts slipping down the headboard, until he’s awkwardly propped up against the pillow, his arm is still wrapped around Eddie’s waist, so he’s dragging both of them down the bed.

“We need to get up,” Eddie says, and makes no move to actually get out of bed.

“Yeah,” Buck says agreeably as he tries to sneakily slip all the way down, so that they’re both lying down on the bed.

Eddie tsks, shuffling around to get more comfortable. “We have to make dinner. And the laundry.”

Buck hums, tightening his arm around him, and closes his eyes.

The room is dim now, the house quiet, and Eddie is warm against his side, pressing kisses to Buck’s shoulder and chest before sighing and laying his head there.

Buck smiles.

ao3 link

for @abarbaricyalp’s prompt 16. touching noses from this list <3

[sacharinee]

thinking ab peter having a bad tiring day and reader giving him face massages and body massages after they take a bath ‼️

pairing: bf!peter parker x reader

w/c: 780

a/n: hi anon!! i loved writing for this request sm so thank u for sending it <3 i did, however, completely forget to write abt the part about them taking the bath together. im so sorry 😭 but i hope u still enjoy :(( about one spider-man kiss and a ton of domestic!peter

peter knows exactly what he needs right now after a long day. 

there’s only one thing in the world that could make up for having a shitty day and that’s you. 

but unfortunately for peter, when he patters into your shared apartment, you’re nowhere to be found.

“babe?” he calls out. 

he strips himself of his shoes and walks down the short hall to your bedroom, only to find the closet open and your work clothes missing. peter skrinks at your absence and pouts, “great.”

he ponders about taking a nap, but it’s a quarter to nine and he’d rather be awake when you arrive home. 

when his stomach growls, he realizes he’s gone almost an entire day without a proper meal, save for the granola bar you shoved in his hand before he kissed you goodbye. 

as he enters the kitchen, he finds a note left on the counter, scribbled in your handwriting,

“emergency shift at the hospital, back by 9 tonite. food in the fridge, love you!”

peter frowns at your note, sticks it onto the fridge, and pulls out the meal you prepared for him.

he heats up the food and chews the stale chicken slowly. he really misses you. even with your bland food and lack of seasoning, he still enjoys anything from you. you try your best for him. 

when he’s finished cleaning his dishes, peter debates on showering. he wants to wait for you, to take a nice hot shower with you, and clean each other’s stress away. but he’s really stinky from work, and he’d rather just go to bed with you. so he undresses and takes a long shower alone.

—

peter’s prayers are answered when he reenters the shared bedroom dressed in pajamas. 

“hi baby,” you chirp. you take off your glasses and set the book you were reading aside. 

peter’s heart swells at the sight. you’re laying on your side of the bed, hair in a bun, away from your face. you’re dressed in your boyfriend’s plaid boxers and a geeky t-shirt you stole from his dresser.

the tv is playing some rerun of your favorite tv show as he crawls himself across the bed and plops himself in between your open legs. 

peter nests his heavy head upon your pelvis and lets out a deep sigh. your palms run down his clad back, kneading the tense muscles.

“did you eat yet?” he tries to nod his head, “yea, chicken was good, super tasty, thanks, y/n/n” he replies.

he may or not be telling you the whole truth. you’re cooking wasn’t amazing, but he would never tell you that. 

peter flips himself over, staring at you adoringly upside down. your soft hands trace his buff arms, comfort spreading throughout his skin from your touch, “what happened today, petey?”

he exhales, furrowing his brows, and squeezes his eyes shut. he juts his bottom lip out while you weave your fingers and pull through his damps locks. 

“everything went wrong today. everything,” he takes a deep breath, “i was late for biochem, had a pop quiz for psych. not that it was hard but still. i forgot i had tutoring today too, so i'm out fifteen bucks. and we were understaffed for work, so that was a bust. so many mean customers in queens,” he takes a look at you, “we should move somewhere else.”

you snicker at his comment and slide your fingers over his funky left eyebrow, smoothing out the knit and massaging his temples, “yea, like where?” 

you love all versions of peter, but you think this is your favorite. relaxed at your touch, devoting himself wholeheartedly to you. he’s embraced and fully engulfed by you, like putty in your hands. 

“like,” your boyfriend seems distracted, voice deep, staring at you with nothing but affection, “sunnyside? maybe?” peter licks his lips and clears his throat, “just somewhere safer, nicer. for you.”

you’re beaming down at his face; your warm hands cup his cheeks while you land a long and overdue tender kiss upside down. you feel peter smile into the kiss, exhaling through his nose in contentment. 

you keep your hands on his face and gently caress the soft skin as you pull away.

“that sounds nice,” your heart squeezes at the thought as he continues, “we could settle down there, have a family, you know? white picket fence and all. ‘m picturing you in your hot scrubs, bringin’ home the bacon. and i’ll be at home, taking care of the kids.” 

you’re giggling at the scene as you chime in, “and we could have family dinners every saturday night, or- ooh! i could take yoga classes sunday mornings and-”

peter snickers at you, “what you need are some cooking classes.”

gasping, you flick his forehead, “you said you loved my cooking!”

[celestialwrites]

Can I ask for some lighthearted first kiss scenarios? ^-^

i loved writing this<3

@celestialwrites for more!

lighthearted first kiss scenarios ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

♡ they were both so nervous, both were gushing throughout the whole peck on the lips.

♡ a mutual friend had locked them both in the closet simply because they thought the pair looked cute.

♡ their first kiss was one of those airport kisses, where they sprint into each others arms.

♡ one of them being absolutely shocked about being kissed to the point where they just stood without moving for a few seconds before breaking into a huge grin.

♡ one breaking away and just saying “oh” before pulling them back into a kiss.

♡ one being ‘asleep’ while the other places a small peck on their lips.

♡ placing a kiss on their cheek and they say “you missed” before kissing them on the lips.

♡ one holding out kiss chocolates to them before kissing them.

♡ running towards their house in the rain, only to find them running out of their house towards them.

♡ a practice kiss as friends had a lot of sparks.

♡ sitting on a roof, sharing a drink, when one of them leans in.

♡ running onto the (field/court) after one of their games and kissing them.

requests: open

[kusanagihaku]

help me hold on to you.

⭢ alan x mc, 2.2k

It is a dance of wants and haves, of budgets and portion sizes, of learning to think for two. It feels like you could do this forever. How easy it is, to be with Alan. How easy he is to love.  or: supermarket date! supermarket date! soft and fluffy domestic alan!!! i love him!!!!! ( º ᴖ º ) // also on ao3

You frown. How is it that whoever runs the campus store can bring in three different types of almond milk, but only one brand of oat milk? 

You weigh both cartons in your hands. Maybe you should just get the almond milk. It isn’t even the good type of oat milk too–

“Y/N?” 

You glance up, only to be met with sea green eyes and arms full of flour and sugar bags. “Kaito!” 

Kaito beams back, golden hair washed a pale yellow under the harsh cold of the store lights. He looks slightly different dressed down, almost like he could be a college student elsewhere in a ratty old hoodie and sweatpants. “I’ve tried that brand of almond milk, it freakin’ sucks. Get the blue carton.” 

You can’t help but laugh. With the strange stocking style of the campus store, you can only ever trust comments of the other students and hope not to step on any culinary landmines. You reach to put both cartons you were holding back when Kaito clears his throat. 

“Why are you wearing a Vagastrom hoodie?” 

Ah. 

You flush, biting your lip. It was colder than you expected this morning when Alan left the bed for his morning run, uncurling himself from around you gently in an effort not to wake you up. But you awoke anyway, body leaning towards his residual warmth like it has every day you’ve woken up in his bed, eyes blurring open to Alan’s fond smile. 

I’ll be back soon, he promised, voice low. Go back to sleep. The sleep-rough of his voice left butterflies at the bottom of your stomach, a small dance of adoration and contentment that lasted long after he shut the door. 

But the cold was sharp, and as Alan’s warmth faded from the blankets you found yourself sitting up and leaning off the edge of his bed until your fingers snagged the yellow hoodie draped across the back of his chair. It smelled vaguely of engine grease, as does everything in Vagastrom, but as you pulled it over your head you were surrounded by sandalwood and summer, by sunlight and sea salt, by Alan. 

The brush of comfort was enough to turn your eyelids heavy and your dreams sweet, until you were awakened again by Alan’s touch on the crown of your head. 

“Y/N?” Kaito peers at you, and you jolt a little. 

“Um,” you say, intelligently. “Ah.” 

It’s not as if you were hiding the fact that you were dating Alan per se, but it… had never really come up in conversation? After all, it is a fairly recent development, and Alan isn’t the type to broadcast news about himself to others. The interactions you’ve had with most of the other ghouls involve mostly you running small errands for them anyway, and less so idle chit-chat. Other than the Vagastrom ghouls (Leo had scoffed the first time he walked in on Alan’s thumb brushing your cheekbone and walked back out, while Sho just smirked and hollered something in Leo’s direction about a bet), you don’t think any of the other students know anything about your relationship with the Vagastrom captain. 

But this is Kaito, one of the first people to befriend you in Darkwick, and now that you’re faced with the opportunity and his guileless eyes, you feel kind of ashamed you’ve never told him about it…

“Did you find it?” A gentle weight rests on the top of your head. A warmth blooms at the base of your throat, sweet and golden, and you briefly forget about Kaito as you lean backwards to smile up at Alan. 

“They don’t have the brand I usually get. Should we get almond instead?” 

Alan nods at you to place the carton in his basket. “Sure.” 

“Sho said he wanted us to pick up some bell peppers too–“ 

“Sorry, what the fuck?!” Kaito’s yelp is startling, and you reflexively jerk backwards into the solid harbour of Alan’s arm. “Since WHEN?!” 

You flush. A sheepish apology balances on the tip of your tongue, but Alan beats you to it. The gruff in his voice is evident as he says, “Your business, Frostheim?” 

Kaito’s eyes grow round. A million little emotions (mostly some frantic type of fear, but tinged with betrayal, you note somewhat despondently) flash across his face before your apology tumbles out. “Sorry, Kaito, I meant to tell you and Luca, but I’ve been so busy-“ 

“It’s okay,” Kaito squeaks, and before you can say anything else he disappears up the aisle, bags of flour dropping in his wake. 

Alan frowns. He pulls you slightly closer, fingers resting lightly on the waist of his hoodie, and there is something so unexpectedly tender in the action it makes your heart feel three times too big. Always soft, always warm. Always gentle, with you. 

You half-expect him to say something about Kaito, but he just sighs. 

“Bell peppers are up front,” he says, instead, and you laugh. 

You end up picking more bell peppers than Sho asked for, if only so you can add the extras to the dinners you cook for the week. Alan picks out spring onions and a new box of white miso; you trade it for a box of red (he has an unopened box of white miso hidden behind his giant tub of protein powder; you unearthed it while searching for his black pepper last week) and toss in an extra yellow onion. 

You spend the most time in the meat section, of course – Alan’s meals consist mainly of grilled meat on rice whenever you’re not around. You watch as he frowns his way through cuts of meat, bending over to trade pork shoulder for jowl, and you resist the urge to smooth out the crease between his brows as he looks between both price tags. 

It is a dance of wants and haves, of budgets and portion sizes, of learning to think for two. It feels like you could do this forever. 

How easy it is, to be with him. How easy he is to love. 

He doesn’t believe it, you know. Where you see caution and care in wrinkles of his palms he sees nothing but bloodstains and bruises, like there is nothing in him that deserves to be held. But oh, the way you’re trying to show him–

It is a whole downpour by the time Alan walks you back from Vagastrom. You are both soaked to the bone, your bangs sticking to your forehead and his yellow vest a dark ochre. 

You invite him in to dry off, of course. He can’t possibly make his way back to Vagastrom like this. 

(You also don’t think he can find his way back in the pouring rain, but you don’t say that part out loud.) 

“I’ve got towels upstairs,” you say, instead, and lead him up the stairs to your room. You pray hard that all your laundry is in its basket and you haven’t left anything stupid out. 

You haven’t, much to your relief, and you invite Alan inside after a cursory glance. You shrug off the wet sop of your jacket and dump it on your desk, heading straight to your closet to where you remember sticking the towels after your last laundry run. 

“You can leave your vest on the desk, I’ll hang it above the radiator to dry,” you tell him, and immediately regret it. Stupid. Stupid of you to think your heart can handle the visual of Alan removing any piece of clothing in your vicinity. 

You are weighing how stupid it would sound to retract your statement, when Alan clears his throat. “Your, um. Your toy is on the floor.” 

You twist around to see your white stuffed rabbit lying on the floor next to your bed. Huh. He must have fallen out when you clambered out of bed this morning, rushing to make your 9am class. 

“Oh, you can just set him back on the bed,” you say, before turning to rummage through your closet for towels. You easily locate your spare one with a triumphant ha!, and turn back to hand it to Alan so he can dry off. 

…only to see him kneeling next to your rabbit, fingers outstretched as if to pick him up, but hesitant all the same. You blink. 

Alan senses your stare, and looks up at you, almost embarrassed. “My hands are dirty.” 

You know what he’s talking about – you’ve spent countless hours staring at his fingers as they fill out your forms, watching his hands twist spanners around bolts, dreaming of what his hands would feel like on the bare of your skin. They’re mostly clean (or as clean as he can get with wiping them on spare rags and rinsing them in the sink), but there is always a line of engine grease lingering under his fingernails he can’t quite get out. 

You understand what he’s talking about too – he looked up at you one afternoon, seated on the worn leather sofa in the Vagastrom garage as he tinkered with the hood of a car. You were balancing a calculator on one knee and a form on the other, trying to figure out why the budget request for Leo’s next mission was so high and trying to look like you weren’t staring too much at the muscles in Alan’s forearms. 

Honour student, he sighed. He set down the wrench. Don’t get involved with me.

You looked up, slightly flustered and alarmed at having been caught, but a protest on the tip of your tongue all the same. He caught the look on your face and shook his head. You don’t want to get mixed up in my life.

You didn’t say anything back then, choosing instead to duck your head to hide the burn in your cheeks, but oh, how you wish you did. 

You want him to know how you’ve noticed that his hands and eyes linger longer on you than most, that he takes extra care to clean up whenever you’re around. You want him to know you’ve seen the sidelong glances he’s thrown at you, too, across the garage, and that you’ve seen the red on the tips of his ears after he leans in a bit too close for a bit too long, the peeks he takes whenever he thinks you’re busy fixing something on his phone. 

You want to show him how his fierce has always been used for protecting, how his heart has always been built to lead. How his hands have always been meant to build and fix and hold and never to hurt. 

You want to tell him that you don’t know what pushed him to make the choices he did all those years ago, but you know that he is more than the product of those choices, more than what those circumstances have made him become. That he’s more than the strength behind his knuckles and the decisions that he’s made, how he’s someone an entire house will rally behind and defend to the death. That he deserves to give himself a chance to go for what he wants, for once. 

You shake your head. You hope he understands, this time. “I don’t mind.” 

When he still doesn’t move, you move to kneel next to him, towel wrung between your hands. The wet green of his hair hangs over his eyes, but you can see him watching you all the same, almost as if you are the hunter and he is the prey. 

“I don’t mind,” you say, again. It comes out as a whisper this time, bullets careening into a moment glass-thin. 

His eyes dart up to meet yours, narrowing and wary, but your hands move before he can speak. The brush of your thumb over the rough of his cheek is feather-light, and you will him to understand what you mean when you lean forward to murmur, “That way, I can fall asleep thinking of you.” 

You feel Alan’s breath catch as you brush your lips against the edge of his mouth, and you can almost hear the cogs in his head turning, slowly, as you pull away. Please understand.

And when he turns to you, when he gives in to himself, finally, when he presses his lips against yours in a controlled kind of recklessness and the thirst of a man who hasn’t felt the cool of water for days and doesn’t quite believe that he can, it feels like he does. 

“Do I have breadcrumbs?” Alan turns to you. You blink, pulled back by the anchor of his voice.

“Mm,” you manage, “I don’t think so, but I do. We can swing by the cathedral to pick it up before heading back to yours?” 

Alan hums in agreement, and bends over to retrieve a tray of pork chops from the freezer display. You can’t help it – you lean over to press a small kiss to his cheek as he straightens, and laugh when he turns to you, confused and slightly startled, smile tugging on his lips and blush climbing up his ears. 

“Thanks,” you say. For everything. 

Alan looks at you, eyes moss-soft, haloed in the artificial bright of supermarket aisle, then places the tray into his basket. He shifts the basket to his other side so he can grab your hand in his free one. “Let’s go home.” 

Yes, you think, tangling your fingers into his. Let’s. 

[kawareo]

Omg wait. Durgetash + 48 (out of habit) for the kiss ask game please?

pre-canon Durgetash, mild nsfw for mild gore 543 words

Gods, his assassin is beautiful, quick as an arrow to tackle the man who had the misfortune of walking around the wrong corner at the wrong time, brutal maw finding his throat and tearing it out as if he were an animal, not a drow.

Stunning, simply stunning in just how efficient it is, the man goes down without as much as a scream, attracting no attention – and hells, if someone did find him before the mansion was burnt down, they would likely assume it was a rabid gnoll that got him. But that wasn’t very likely, with the entire place sleeping soundlessly.

“Thank you, dear,” Gortash smiles affectionately as he observes the assassin chew the flesh in his mouth, then swallow. They’ve barely started, and his beast is already covered in blood and gore – how fitting for him. “Now, the plan-“

“I take care of the family, you of the vault,” Durge nods, having gone through the plan half a dozen times a tenday ago, when the two Chosen designed it. “And if you trigger an alarm while I don’t, I will leave you for the Fist to find, lordling.”

“If someone screams, likewise.” As if something could go wrong with them in charge. “Here, the map. I marked their rooms from my spy’s report.”

Gortash watches as the Bhaalspawn wipes his bloody hands off into the dying man’s tunic, before he takes the meticulously drawn map, with all its little notes and additions that Gortash took time to write on last night.

“Thanks.” Durge pockets the map after giving it a quick look, then leans in. “I’ll see you in an hour, outside.” He kisses the Banite, a quick peck, a promise of what is to come later when they pop open a bottle of wine to celebrate. Durge is almost mindless in the action, a little ‘good luck’ that Enver knows his partner doesn’t dare to say out loud.

It’s over before it even started, and as if it hadn’t happened, Durge is on his way, pass the group of Banites Gortash has brought with him seeing as they were better at discrete missions than Bhaalists were. Speaking of them...

“And what are you staring at?” Gortash ask with a cocked brow behind his mask, the golden half-mask that is just a bit better than that of his followers.

The Banites avoid meeting his eyes with their own. Someone coughs. At least two of them are suddenly very intrigued by their own footwear, some others by the ceiling.

“Well?”

“You, uh.” One of them pipes up, still not looking right at him as he points as his own chin. “You have a little something there, Chosen.”

Gortash touches the same spot – really, that is a lot of blood. It dirtied his chin, lips, and if he can feel it correct, some of his nose, but that’s what he supposes he gets from letting a cannibal near him during snack time. Oh well.

“... Stop gawking and follow the plan.”

“Yes, Master,” they answer in unison, sounding relieved that the topic has closed, while Enver searches for a handkerchief in his pockets.

He can’t find it. He gets a sneaky suspicion that his favorite Bhaalist must have been practicing pick-pocketing recently.

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith knows, truthfully and entirely objectively, that his life has improved since he started dating Lance. Obviously. There is no disputing this fact if nature. His attitude has mellowed, his days are brighter, his nights are even better, his crops are watered his skin is clear et cetera et cetera. (Literally, on that last one, since Lance is sneaky with his product).

…However.

There are setbacks.

Like right now, where he’s been pushed so far to the edge of the bed that he’s actually holding his breath to avoid being squished against that wall like a new coat of paint. So.

He loves his boyfriend. Seriously. He’s slept more in the months they’ve been seeing each other than he has in his entire life combined, actually. It’s insane. There’s something about Lance pressed up against his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his ribs, nose barely peeking above his shoulder to let in some air (seriously how does he do that; Keith has watched him and he has, like, maybe one nostril available for oxygen intake. The rest of his face is smooshed against Keith’s upper arm and pec. And he’s got the blanket up to his ears, too. Does Lance not need to breathe for long periods of time? Like a dolphin? Keith will have to ask) that just makes sleeping actually relaxing, for once. Like maybe he doesn’t have to stay half awake, like maybe he can actually trust himself to be safe in his own bed. It’s an incredible feeling, to finally feel well-rested in the mornings.

He does. However. Feel the ittiest, tiniest bit like he’s sleeping with a corset on. And being hydraulic pressed into the corner of the room. If he has to pick something to be nitpicky about, he means.

“Lance, c’mon,” he mutters, exhaling finally. Lance, who is mostly asleep based on the growing puddle of drool Keith feels wetting his sleep shirt, takes the opportunity to squeeze tighter like a goddamn python. “Can you move over a little bit? I’m up against the wall, I got no room to breathe —”

The human corset suddenly lets up, and Keith can breathe again.

So he does.

Perhaps a touch dramatically, with the bug gasping inhale or whatever.

(Look, he’s not perfect. He’s quite comfortable blaming Shiro’s influence, actually.)

“Thank you,” he huffs. He takes a few deep breaths, feeling the twinge in one of his ribs; tender from an injury he has yet to admit he has. (It’s fine. He checked. It’s barely even bruised mostly, he’s good. It’ll handle itself or become a Future Keith problem, so.) He curses under his breath as he stretches a bit, taking advantage of the space.

He frowns. “Wait, what?”

He sits up, confused as to why his spider monkey boyfriend is not in his immediate presence. It takes a second for his bleary eyes to adjust to the half-light of their bedroom, but eventually he manages and looks over and Lance is — Lance is on the goddamn floor. The blanket is with him. And four pillows.

“Lance.”

Keith bites his lip. This is either a bit or a very delicate situation, and if it’s the latter and he laughs then he’s very much in the doghouse, and for all his complaining he would much rather spend the night suffocating than alone. Much rather.

“Aw, Lance, come on.”

Unfortunately, his voice shakes, and he can’t quite tamp down his snorts and giggles, as much as he tries to muffle them.

Lance doesn’t speak, but Keith can almost physically taste his frown. His pout practically has its own atmosphere, it’s so potent.

“Hey.”

Keith gets to his knees, half-shuffling across the mattress. He leans over the edge, closer to Lance’s curled up form, and raises an eyebrow, amused. “Leandro. You are not being serious right now.”

The silence continues to grow. Keith can almost feel an actual chill, there’s so much iciness leaking from Lance right now.

(He also has the only blanket, but whatever. Tomato tomato.)

“Baby.”

“If you never want to sleep with me again that’s fine,” Lance says tersely. Keith rolls his eyes, head in his hands. “The floor is lovely. I’d rather be here than anywhere near your stinky mullet anyway.”

Keith sighs, long and heavy, steeling himself for the inevitable back pain he is going to have tomorrow morning. The things he does for love.

“You are the most dramatic man alive. Scoot over.”

Caught off guard, Lance uncurls, looking over at Keith in confusion.

Keith grins. “There are those pretty brown eyes.”

The pretty brown eyes in question are still squinted in suspicion, but Keith was expecting that. He moves as casually as he can manage, even trying his luck by humming something Lance was listening to earlier, picking up the edge of the blanket and sliding in behind his boyfriend, flat on the floor, arms winding around his waist and head bent at the junction of his shoulder. Lance is still tense, but allows Keith in his space, thankfully. Keith was half worried he’d stomp away to go sleep with Hunk.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to Lance’s neck and lingering there, making his boyfriend shiver as his lips tickle his skin. “Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Just feeling a little claustrophobic.”

Lance softens, but only barely. “You can tell me to back off, you know. I will.”

There’s still an undertone of hurt to his voice, a backing of insecurity. Keith tightens his grip, shaking his head.

“No. Don’t want that.”

Lance makes a frustrated noise. “Well, then what do you want, Mr. Mixed Signals?”

“You.” He traces an invisible line down the side of Lance’s neck with his mouth, kissing and biting slightly, relishing in every little twitch of Lance’s shoulders. “Duh.”

“No, not ‘duh’,” Lance argues, but his voice has gone weak. “You’re a pain in my ass. Do you want to be cuddled or not, Red?”

Bingo. Keith fights a smirk at the nickname, knowing he fails when Lance sighs, but the slide of his hands to rest on top of Keith’s bely his amusement, his fading irritation.

“Course I do,” Keith promises. His kisses the back of Lance’s neck again, but it’s softer this time; no underlying motives. An assurance, a promise. “I just. You know. Would also like twelve percent more space to inflate my lungs, if that’s okay.”

Lance snorts. Keith grins.

“You’re such a goober.”

“You’re the goober, actually. The pile of drool on my shoulder proves it.”

He feels more than sees Lance’s neck go red. Keith snickers. Lance hates when Keith brings up the drooling and for that he will literally never ever stop.

“I hope you wake up in agony.”

“Oh, I will, thanks to your hissy fit.”

Lance kicks his heel into Keith’s shin because he’s a shithead. Keith takes it without complaint because he’s the biggest whipped loser of all time and he’s well aware of it.

“We can go back to the bed, you know,” Lance offers eventually, although he makes no effort to move.

Keith yawns. “Nah.” He rests his head on the top of Lance’s spine, tangling their legs together. “I’m good where you are.”

———

based off this post

[flor4de4amor]

click for palestine | read before engaging w my work + acc

best part of abby's forehead kisses is when her nose smushes against your temple, and she starts laughing softly. which makes you start giggling, which turns into a laughing fit and her pressing more kisses into your face. her smile wet and soft on your skin.

[embrosegraves]

𝕄𝕒𝕞𝕒 𝕒𝕟𝕕 ℙ𝕒𝕡𝕒'𝕤 𝕊𝕠𝕟𝕘

(request) dad!Sebastion x mum!Reader(she/her pronouns) Kids: Ada (10), Baer (10), Carlin (7), Della (3) (Baer is pronounced like Bear)

Incredibly brief mention of murder (its from a murder mystery podcast)

A list of translations will be at the bottom :D

It was a pretty standard evening in the Vettel household. Sebastian was in the backyard tending to the plants and bees, Y/n was cutting vegetables to use for dinner in the kitchen and all four of their children were being entertained by some movies in the lounge room. It was peaceful. 

In the kitchen, Y/n had her phone connected to a speaker as it played the latest episode of a murder mystery podcast she had started listening to. Seb walked in to hear the hosts describing how the victim was killed in disturbingly vivid detail. He walked up to his wife and hugged her from behind.

“Should I be worried, Blume?” He asked, his voice muffled from his place by her neck. Y/n laughed and shook her head. 

“Of course not, Liebe. It was the first thing to play when I connected my phone to the speaker.” 

Putting the last of the cut up vegetables in the pot, Y/n turned around in her husband’s arms. Before she could say anything, the sound of three stampeding children rushed to them. 

“Mama! Papa! Come quick, it’s on the tv!” Baer, their eldest son, called to them. Their eldest daughter (and Baer’s older twin), Ada, rushed to grab her mother’s hand. 

“Schnell Mama, bevor es losgeht!" She exclaimed. 

Seb looked at Y/n in bewilderment. Their children had never acted like this before. They were supposed to be watching some DVDs that they had in the tv cabinet. 

“Lieblinge, what’s going on? What is the hurry?” Seb asked them. This time it was their youngest son, Carlin, (who happened to be holding his baby sister, Della) that answered him. 

“We were watching the gnome movie and they started to play the song that you always put on for Mama when you dance in the lounge!”

Y/n still sported a look of confusion, but she put the stove on simmer nonetheless. She took Della from her brother and rested the young girl on her hip before the children started to lead her and Seb to the lounge room. 

When they got there, Ada was quick to usher her parents to sit on the couch and tell her brother to rewind the movie until just before the song started. Baer wasted no time and before either Seb or Y/n knew, they were listening to a cover of Elton John’s “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” from the Gnomeo and Juliet movie. Seb’s face broke out into a smile as he recalled all of his precious memories associated with the song. Y/n laughed as she listened to the song and watched her children dance in front of the tv like she and Seb and done on many occasions. 

When the song finished, Y/n and Seb clapped and cheered for their children while they all clambered onto the couch to sit with their parents. Ada climbed onto Seb’s lap while Baer and Carlin sat right in between Seb and Y/n. Della had moved to sit on her mother’s lap facing her father. 

“That was lovely, my darlings! Bravo!” Y/n said once they had calmed slightly. 

“Can you tell us about when you first heard the song, Mama?” Baer asked with excitement. Seb laughed and ruffled his son’s hair. 

“Mama and I can tell you all about it after we eat dinner, okay? And then we can all dance for a bit before bed.”

The children cheered before rushing off to the bathroom to wash their hands before they ate. Y/n clasped her hand with Seb’s and gave him a soft look. 

“Thank you, Seb.” she said. 

“What are you thanking me for, Liebe?” 

“For giving me the most wonderful family to cherish. And for being the best husband I could have ever dreamed for.” 

Seb moved to kiss the back of her hand, still entwined with his. “You have nothing to thank me for. You deserve all of this and more.” 

In their moment of love, the couple failed to notice their four children peeking around the doorway, watching. 

“I want to have a love like Mama and Papa.” Ada whispered to her brothers. 

“Right now?” Carlin asked, also whispering.

“Not right now. When I am older maybe.” 

“We will all have a love like theirs when we’re older. I’m sure of it.” Baer whispered with conviction. “For now, help me get Della in her high chair.”

Translations (provided by Google Translate): Blume = Flower Liebe = Love Lieblinge = Darlings Schnell Mama, bevor es losgeht! = Quick Mama, before it goes!

[sillystringsimpsons]

Pic unrelated. I just think they're cute here. Lol.

SOMETHING IS WRONG.

A short fanfic set in The Good Ones [AU], featuring Johnny and Frankie.

STORY BELOW CUT!

"Something is wrong."

As he speaks, his leg taps incessantly beneath the dining table: little creaks and the rhythmic scuff of his socks against the linoleum punctuating the syllables and iambs in his anxious words.

"Somethin's always wrong with yous," I mutter. My words are muffled as I lazily press a chunk of bread, drowned to limpness with pumpkin soup, into the pocket my right cheek. "What's the matter, coniglio? Jeez, is it the bread? Sorry, baby, I know you ain't a fan of them baked-in olives, but it's all the bodega had out when I got there-"

"Gio, damnit! I ain't a frigging toddler, I can stomach some damn olives!"

...Jesus.

I like his skittishness. I know it sounds a little patronising, but it's endearing to me; the constant fidgeting and wriggling is as much a part of him as the borrowed trace-scent of my cologne in the crook of his neck and the way he gets little crow's feet by his eyes when he smiles. But this, right now, is more than his day-to-day restlessness: he's cagey today: more so than normal. I can see it in the way his eyes dart frantically around the room, the way those dilated pupils can never quite seem to sit in one place, caught in that same little loop of endless motion as his squirming lower half.

"...Sorry."

As soon as he breaks the silence, I realise I've been absentmindedly holding my breath in - as if, if I had let it go, some inappropriate response to his seemingly unprovoked outburst would have slipped out with it. But he's taken the weight of the reply off my shoulders, leaving me with nothing to do but give a barely audible, shaky out-breath after I choke down the food still in my mouth with an unwittingly stilted swallow.

"I... I, uh, don't apologise, Frankie," is all I manage to offer, at first. "I shouldn't 'a cut you off like that. My foul, alright?"

"No, Johnny, it ain't your fault, babe, I just... I just-"

Ironically, he's never been very good at expressing himself: it's no real surprise that the words he wants to get lost at the tip of his tongue, leaving him with nothing but stutters and frustrated little grunts - and once he's run out of those, all he has left to give is a big, defeated groan as he buries his face into his hands.

"It's just... Things have been good."

That confession, meek and padded by the hum of his lips against his calloused palms, is the absolute last thing I expected to hear.

"Good?"

"Too good," he whines, still refusing to look me in the eyes. "Everything is too damn good, and I feel like somethin' awful is about to happen. I can't freaking relax, Gio, I feel like- Damnit, I don't know, it feels like my brain is full 'a fluid, and- And my head is going to explode- Or somethin'-!"

"What, like, a fever? Frankie, if you got a fever-"

"No, no, it's metaphor-ismical, or freakin'- Whatever you call it! I just... It feels like there are a million bees inside my skull, Johnny. Does that make sense?"

No, not really. The bees, at least: I can't particularly envision something like that, I've never been all that good at creative thinking - or whatever the ability to picture insects in your head is called.

But, what does make sense is the look in his eyes as he raises his gaze: only slightly, just enough to meet my own.

There's a frenetic, anxious energy there, one that I've seen time, and time again: in the eyes of the lanky, up-town sixteen-year-old who'd ride past my shop on his bike a suspicious amount of times every day, in the eyes of the point of contention sat across from me at one too many impromptu meetings of DiMaggio's inner circle, in the eyes of the disgraced caporegime reluctantly settling into his new place among the ranks of my crew...

In the eyes of the man sat opposite me.

I give my best attempt at a sympathetic smile.

"Yeah. It does."

[dont-call-my-name-alejandro]

Otp Prompt #20

A: “I’ll be back, B. I’m gonna go check out some clothes-”

B, pretending to have misheard them: “Check out hoes??”

“Clothes.”

“Lowe’s?”

“Clothes!”

“Toes?!”

“Ugh. Bye.”

[vwritesaus]

It is no secret to anyone who knows him that Alastair Carstairs is an exceptional cook. Armed with the knowledge passed down from his mother and Risa, he felt it was his duty to keep the Persian traditions alive in their family, and the only way he felt comfortable doing it was through cooking. It was his escape when the piano keys felt slimy and sticky under his fingertips, and when his thumb and index fingers slowly became more and more smudged with ink stains from the mundane newspapers. Cordelia was the taste tester every time, no matter how burnt or salty or under seasoned his food was. He could trust her to give him an honest critique—and she always did, without preamble.       ‘Dadash, did you empty the entire Dead Sea into this? My tongue is burning.’       ‘Oh, this is better than last time! Just needs more chilli, it’s a bit on the mild side.’       ‘Alastair, this is extremely chewy. It’s meant to be softer, no?’       Though he would roll his eyes and pretend to be offended by every one of his sister’s comments, Alastair was glad for it all. It was their little pocket of solidarity in an otherwise distant relationship. Alastair’s own doing, of course, but he felt it necessary at the time.       He was four years old when he first showed an interest, according to Sona. By eleven, Alastair was comfortable enough to cook a couple of simple dishes without any help. By fifteen, he was a self-proclaimed master. Yes, he made mistakes sometimes—as all good cooks do—but he knew his way around a kitchen, just as Cordelia knew her way around Cortana. Naturally it was something he kept to himself: if he had disclosed to any of the boys who bullied him at the Shadowhunter Academy that he, a male, loved and knew how to cook, and was taught how to by the women in his life, it would have given them yet another few reasons to belittle and assault him.       Being his father’s son and a boy with darker skin was already too many reasons. So Alastair kept his passion quiet, known only to his mother, his sister, and Risa. He’s sure Elias never knew, for if he had, Alastair is certain he would have put a stop to it somehow. All it took was one remark to have Alastair give up and push it down. His love for piano and singing, for instance.       But Alastair and Cordelia made it a regular occurrence to take over the kitchen and get under Risa’s feet, in her words. He cherishes those memories, where flour would coat the front of his waistcoat and parts of Cordelia’s hair, and the fragrant aroma of cinnamon, cardamom and clove would fill the entire room alongside their laughter. They were just some of the good things he held onto whilst at the Academy.       But the Academy days are no more, and Elias’s domineering presence has fizzled out through fire and ash. Alastair is free to do whatever he wants to do and be whoever he wants to be, and cooking is only a part of it.

continue reading on ao3

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well well, it has been a long time, hasn't it??

but here i am, back for good hopefully!! and with a wee fic i wrote for my bestest girl @drunkonimagination for her birthday back in july ✨ it's based on one of our first interactions together before we hit the dms and the hill i will die on that is alastair carstairs is great at cooking but a terrible baker. only just got around it posting it jkahdjasd. hope you all enjoy it, and i'll be back with some more fics soon!!

also pls ignore the title, it's the best thing i could come up with :')

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tagging people who might be interested: @edwinspaynes @purplebass @angeldaisies @faithfromanewperspective @tessherongraystairs @celias

let me know if you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list!!