#and fallen asleep to the soundtrack

[endmylifelad]

Me: do you use prime?

Friend: no, why?

Me: oh there’s just a new show that just came out and I was going to recommend it, but never mind

Friend: what is it?

Me: it’s called Hazbin Hotel-

Friend: DAMNIT. YOU ARE THR 5TH PERSON TO TELL ME THIS!

Me, cackling and turns the tv volume up: I’M WATCHING IT RN BITCH!

[fairyouth]

[headkiss]

Oooo what abt a cozy holiday fic w steve & shy reader snuggling under blankets w hot cocoa🥹

hiii thank u for this request!! here’s some sweet steve fluff with r after a tough day at work <3 | 0.6k

Steve Harrington has become your comfort person, which, if someone had told you that in high school, you would’ve never believed.

Now, however, he’s different, letting his goodness shine through. You’re not sure how you got lucky enough to land him, but after a run-in at the grocery store, a first date (and many more), you get to call him your boyfriend.

Dating has never been the easiest for you, with your shyness that hasn’t faded much over the years, but Steve was patient, following your lead while also encouraging you to open up.

So, months of dating, and you’re only ever happy to see him, the nerves dissipated with the first ‘I love you,’ that he spoke.

“Stevie?” You call, stepping into the Harrington home, your spare key in hand.

“In here, honey!” He calls, his voice filtering out of the living room.

Even just the sound of it has you relaxing a little, setting your things down and walking over to him.

In the living room, you find that the couch has been covered with cozy blankets and pillows, a Christmas movie paused at the opening credits on the TV, and two steaming mugs of hot chocolate sit on the coffee table.

“Hi,” he says, taking the few steps over to you as you look around. “I thought we could do a holiday movie night. What do you think?”

Your heart squeezes, and after the day you’ve had, your eyes well up a little, too. You surge forward and wrap your arms around his middle, cheek pressed to his shirt. “Thank you.”

Steve hugs you back easily, a reflex at this point, an arm around your shoulders, stroking your back gently, a hand pressed to your head to keep you close. He thinks about when you used to be too afraid to initiate anything, and feels immensely thankful that you’d trusted him enough to get to where you are now.

“I was hoping you’d like it, but I didn’t think it’d be this much,” he says, chin resting on the top of your head. “You alright, honey?”

You sniffle once, nodding against him. “Bad work day. The holidays are so busy, and I was out front all day. Just tired.”

You’ve always preferred to be in the back, doing stock or cleaning things up, because it’s so much easier. No awkward conversation you’ll stress over later, no second-guessing every word you say to strangers.

Steve knows that, so he dips to press a kiss to your hair. “I’m sorry, honey. I know it can be overwhelming. Let me help you feel better, yeah?”

“Thank you, Stevie.”

You let him lead you to the couch, where he sits right next to you, an arm swung over your shoulders. Before you know it, he’s got you bundled up in blankets and tugged close to his side.

He presses play on the remote, letting the Christmas movie and its festive soundtrack start to play. “Comfy?” He checks.

“Mhm. The comfiest.”

“Perfect,” he kisses your head again. “You just tell me when you want some hot chocolate, I’ll pass it to you.”

“I can get it myself, you know.”

“Yeah, but I like taking care of you.”

You shake your head with a small smile, the stress of your work day melting away, the awkward encounters long forgotten.

Eventually, about halfway through the movie, Steve realizes that you’d fallen asleep, cheek on his shoulder, hand holding onto his arm. He focuses on your steady breathing, on your face completely soft and relaxed, and he can’t help but smile.

Steve thinks that this Christmas and every other one to come, the only gift he’ll ever need is you.

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Daddy’s New Hair Style.

my masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here!

authors note - i actually really like harrys buzz cut era, it makes him look more macho in my opinion 🤷‍♀️

word count - 1.7k

in which, your fiancé returns home one afternoon, shocking both you and your son milo when he appears to be sporting a new hair cut, neither of you seemed to be prepared for.

In the cozy embrace of your London home, you find yourself nestled on the sofa, a soft blanket enveloping you and your precious two-year-old son, Milo.

The room is dimly lit, creating a tranquil ambiance as you cradle him in your arms.

Milo, having fallen asleep while breastfeeding, (his afternoon snack.) radiates an innocent calmness, his tiny breaths rhythmic and soothing.

The gentle hum of a TV show provides a subtle soundtrack to this tender moment. The muted glow from the screen casts a warm illumination on the living room, creating a serene atmosphere.

The characters on the show move through their scripted lives, but your attention is divided between the unfolding drama and the cherubic face of your slumbering child.

A cup of tea, steam curling upwards, rests precariously on the arm of the couch, a momentary escape forgotten in the bliss of maternal connection.

The aroma wafts through the air, adding another layer of comfort to the scene. The liquid within holds the promise of warmth and solace, a silent companion in the quietude of this shared repose.

His tousled hair (much like his fathers.) and cherubic features evoke a sense of wonder and fragility, a reminder of the preciousness of these fleeting moments.

The air is filled with a hushed lullaby, a fusion of Milo's delicate breaths, the ambient sounds of the TV, and the distant chirping of birds outside the window.

The subtle creak of the front door signals your fiancés arrival, and although your back is turned, you instantly recognize the familiar sound.

The atmosphere in the room shifts with anticipation as his footsteps echo through the entrance hall, a symphony of his return. The television's hushed murmur fades into the background, overshadowed by the promise of his presence.

"M’home!" Harry's voice, warm and resonant, fills the air with an infectious energy. Even before laying eyes on him, you can sense the genuine joy in his greeting, a sentiment that bridges the physical gap between you.

As he steps further into the living room, the scent of the outside world clings to him – a mixture of the crisp outdoors and the subtle musk of his cologne. It's a scent that has become synonymous with comfort and familiarity, a sensory reminder of the life you share.

The sound of his keys finding their place on the table, a routine symphony that accompanies his homecoming, adds to the rhythmic cadence of the moment. The soft thud of his jacket being hung up, a tactile cue that he is settling in, marks the transition from the outside world to the intimate haven you've created together.

The shuffle of his footsteps pauses briefly, creating a suspended moment where time seems to hold its breath. In the pregnant silence, you can almost hear the smile in his voice as he calls out again,

"Where's m’favorite people?" The endearment, spoken with a familiarity that comes from shared history, melts away any residual tension in the room.

As you turn to face Harry, a reflexive smile plays on your lips, ready to greet him after the day apart.

However, your expression freezes, and your eyes widen in surprise as they fall upon his head. The shock sets in when you realise that the familiar cascade of curls that once adorned his head has been replaced by a sleek buzz cut.

Your mouth hangs open in astonishment, a reaction born from the unexpected transformation.

Your gaze remains fixed on his shorn head, and a kaleidoscope of emotions dances in your eyes – surprise, confusion, and a touch of nostalgia for the familiar texture of his hair.

Harry, oblivious to your internal turmoil, wears a grin that carries a hint of mischief. His eyes twinkle with the satisfaction of a well-kept secret, and he revels in the delayed reaction playing out on your face.

The silence between you becomes palpable, echoing with the unspoken question of whether you'll recover from the unexpected twist.

Harry settles onto the sofa beside you, a tender smile gracing his face as he observes his slumbering son cradled in your arms. The rhythmic motion of his hand, gently rubbing up and down the little one's back, is a silent lullaby that adds to the serenity of the moment.

The room is hushed, filled only with the soft sounds of your child's breathing and the muffled ambiance from the TV in the background.

As you glance at Harry, your eyes inadvertently catch a glimpse of his newly shorn hair. The sight triggers a wave of emotions within you, and the words that could express your thoughts seem to elude you. Uncertain of how to navigate this uncharted territory, a lump forms in your throat, and an overwhelming surge of emotion finds release through tears.

"M’love, s’wrong?" he inquires gently, his voice a soothing balm.

You glance up at him, your shoulders shrugging in a gesture of uncertainty.

"I just... I miss your curls," you admit, your voice catching slightly as you try to articulate the complex mix of emotions swirling within.

A sympathetic understanding softens Harry's eyes as he takes in your words.

"M’didn't think it would hit y’this hard. S’just hair," he says with a wistful smile, attempting to downplay the significance of the change.

You nod, a half-hearted smile forming on your lips.

"I know, it's just... it's going to take some getting used to," you confess, the vulnerability of the moment hanging in the air.

Without another word, Harry wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a comforting embrace. His touch is a silent reassurance that transcends words.

"Change can be a bit overwhelming, huh?" he muses, his lips brushing against the top of your head in a gentle kiss.

You nod again, finding solace in the warmth of his embrace.

"Yeah, it's just that your curls were... a part of you. It's like I need to recalibrate my mental image," you explain, your words a hesitant attempt to convey the intricacies of your feelings.

Harry chuckles softly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

"Fair enough. M’guess I should ‘ave warned y’about t’big reveal," he admits, a playful glint in his eyes.

A light chuckle escapes your lips, and you nuzzle into his shoulder.

"Maybe just a heads-up next time," you suggest, the tension dissipating as humour finds its way into the conversation.

He nods, his hand now gently playing with your hair.

"Got it. And hey, it's still me, curls or no curls," he reassures, his voice a comforting anchor in the midst of change.

Milo, roused by the comforting familiarity of his father's voice, stirs on your lap. His sleepy eyes flutter open, and with a drowsy curiosity, he turns his gaze towards the source of that familiar sound.

Upon seeing Harry, a small, delighted smile graces Milo's face. The connection between father and son transcends words, and with newfound energy, the two-year-old wriggles on your lap. With determination that only a toddler possesses, he begins to crawl off your lap towards his father.

"Ey’ there, little champ," Harry greets, his voice a melodic blend of warmth and affection. He extends his arms, ready to receive Milo into his embrace. The room is now filled with the joyous energy of a family reuniting.

As Milo reaches Harry's waiting arms, the father-son reunion is marked by laughter and the soft patter of little feet against the living room floor.

Harry scoops Milo up, lifting him into the air with playful ease. The room is filled with the infectious laughter of a child delighted by the simple joy of being in his father's arms.

With a gleeful determination, he lifts his small hands, fingers outstretched, ready to engage in his usual ritual of playing with the curls at the back of his father's neck.

However, as his tiny fingers reach the intended destination, there's an unexpected void. Confusion clouds Milo's face, and a puzzled expression replaces the usual delight.

His fingers flitter through the air, searching for the familiar texture that has always greeted him during these tender moments.

When realisation strikes, a small whine escapes Milo's lips, a sound that echoes both disappointment and surprise. The absence of the once-present curls disrupts his routine, and with a spontaneous burst of emotion, he throws his head back, as if in protest against this unforeseen change.

Harry, caught off guard by Milo's reaction, looks down at his son with a mix of amusement and understanding.

He chuckles softly, his hands adjusting to accommodate Milo's newfound exploration.

"No more curls, buddy. Daddy's got a new look," he explains, trying to soothe Milo's evident dismay.

Yet, Milo remains unconvinced, his little face contorted in a blend of confusion and protest. His fingers continue to explore the unfamiliar terrain, perhaps hoping that the missing curls will magically reappear. The room is filled with the comical symphony of a toddler expressing discontent with the capricious nature of change.

His little face scrunches up in contemplation, and then, with the sincerity only a child can muster, he begins to babble excitedly about his own hair.

"Daddy, hair go bye-bye!" Milo exclaims, his words a delightful blend of toddler language and exuberance.

His tiny fingers point to his head, emphasising the absence of what was once there.

Harry, caught off guard by Milo's animated commentary on his own hair, joins in the toddler's excitement.

"S’right, buddy! Daddy got a new haircut. No more curls," he explains, his laughter mirroring the infectious joy radiating from Milo.

As Milo continues his animated monologue, his eyes shift towards you, seeking acknowledgment and perhaps wanting to share his newfound discovery.

With an enthusiastic gesture, he points at his head again and then looks at you as if to say, "See, Mommy?"

You respond with a warm smile, playing along with the adorable sincerity of the moment.

"Daddy looks great, doesn't he?" you chime in, your words laced with affection.

Just as you said those words, a thought immediately popped into your head and you snapped your gaze so it was locked onto your lovers.

“H?”

He hummed from where he was playing with his sons dummy, playfully taking it in and out of his little ones mouth making him laugh hysterically.

When he looked at you for a brief second, you eyebrows were raised.

“Your curls better be back before the wedding.”

[denaliwrites]

Let Me Come Home

Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader

Summary: Things took a turn during your travels with the Doctor.

Soundtrack: Home by Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros

Requests: Open!

Warnings: S A D D O C T O R A L E R T !

Tag List: @nyxiethesimp

You waited for him every day.

He said "I'll be right back." You remembered it, clear as day. Played the moment he stepped into the TARDIS over and over in your mind.

And you waited.

There was only one place on the space station that the TARDIS could manifest into, really, and it was, as far as you were concerned, out of bounds. But there was a little communal area nearby; it was the first place you and the Doctor had wandered into from that little closet, which meant that, should the TARDIS appear, you'd hear it -- and you'd see the Doctor only moments later.

So you spent as much time there as you could.

Being on the space station for so long, you had no choice but to take up duties or else be sent off somewhere else, so you couldn't spend your every waking moment there. But your every break, your every moment not spent working, was spent in that little room.

You even spent some nights there, falling asleep to the metallic hum of the station under your feet.

No one bothered you.

The Doctor had saved them from certain death. They understood the gravity of him, the love and dedication one developed for a person like that. And you'd been with him for some time. They'd only spent the one day with him. They couldn't imagine how you felt. How much you hurt as you waited, day after day, your loyalty and certainty never once wavering. Even in the face of ever decreasing odds.

And yet.

You jolted awake one night (well, "night" was relative) to the unmistakable sound of the TARDIS.

He'd finally come back for you.

You'd fallen asleep in that little break room again, something you did with increasing frequency, but you didn't mind. A few restless nights were worth it when you knew you'd be back in the TARDIS eventually.

You were standing, waiting, when he stepped through the door. When he looked around, trying to get his bearings and finding you instead.

Your name had barely left his lips when you launched yourself at him, pulling him into a hug so tight that his breathing was momentarily cut off. There was no hesitation, his arms were instantly around you, holding you nearly as tight.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured into your ear, over and over again, and you could tell that he meant it down to the deepest pits of his two hearts. That leaving you behind weighed heavy on him. Haunted him.

"Why?" you asked simply, voice impossibly soft.

He pulled out of the hug, though his hands stayed firmly on your shoulders, like you might vanish the moment he broke contact with you.

"Someone put a time lock on the moment I left. I don't know how and I don't know why... but I've spent the last few hours trying different moments to get back. This was the first one that worked."

A few hours.

He'd only been gone a few hours.

In his time.

"Doctor, I've been here a year."

The way your voice broke on that last word broke him. You could see it in his eyes.

"I know," he said, voice full of endless sorrow. "I know. I'm so sorry. I tried so hard to get back to you sooner."

"I know." And you did. You knew the Doctor would never abandon you, never intentionally leave you.

"They've treated you well?" he asked suddenly, as his eyes took you in, looked you over. Examined you.

"The best," you answered with a tearful, relieved laugh. "They put me to work after you didn't show up for a week, but they've made sure I'm fed and clothed and everything. They even assigned me a new birthday and threw me a party."

He laughed at that, though the smile on his face seemed... sad.

"What's wrong?" you asked, tensing up.

"It's just..."

"What is it, Doctor?"

"You seem happy." And his words were so final, like there was no other conclusion, and nowhere left to go from that statement. "You took really well to the future," he commented after barely a moment, leaving you no room to think, to interject. "You've made friends. A life..."

Oh.

You saw the problem even before he said it.

"You'll want to stay, then?" The inflection made it sound like a question, but you knew it was an assumption.

"Don't you fucking dare leave me here again, Doctor."

"Sorry, what?" His face was stunned, and you were reminded for the first time in over a year that sometimes he could be a complete dumbass. "But... you're happy here... content here..."

"Please," you begged, voice thick with emotion. "Please, let me come home."

"And where's home?" he asked, and you knew that he thought you meant Earth, your time. Perhaps even specifically the house you'd lived in, with your family.

"You're home," you said instead.

It took a moment for him to realize what you'd said, and you watched as first the realization hit, and then as his face morphed from something so full of sorrow to so full of joy and hope.

"You were always my home. Always will be," you assured him, and he pulled you into another tight embrace.

When the crew awoke the next "morning," all your belongings were gone. The only thing left that showed you'd ever been there at all was a note you left wishing them goodbye, and a note from the Doctor expressing immeasurable gratitude to them for taking care of you.

[luvsturniolo]

— ★ !! movie night

pairing : chris sturniolo x fem!reader

synopsis : what i think it would be like to watch a movie with chris

a/n : u guys are dating in this !!

wc : 0.5k

"what movie do you wanna watch?" you ask chris, who is sprawled out across his bed, taking up all the space.

he texted you earlier today, begging you to have a sleepover. you told him no at first because you didn't feel like leaving your house. but he kept asking and asking, so you finally agreed to him. and here you are now, scrolling through netflix to find a good film.

"uhhh," he trails off, rolling over so he's now laying on his stomach. he throws his head back to lay it in your lap. you looks down at him, raising an eyebrow at his childish behavior. "i wanna watch something funny, but like with a plot. y'know?"

"so basically any adam sandler movie." you point out.

"yes!" chris says, excitedly.

your guys' relationship is completely built off of your very different ways of communication. when chris gets excited, his thoughts jumble together and his words come out in a messily put together paragraph.

"it's as if there's no punctuation at all and fifty percent of what you're saying is misspelled." matt told him once, comparing chris's grammar to an essay written by a toddler who can't even speak yet.

chris oftentimes gets stressed out when he can't put his thoughts into words. so you always tell him to just throw shit out there and you'll figure out what he's trying to say. and you always do – which is one of his favorite things about you.

"what about murder mystery?" you suggest, pulling the movie up on the tv screen for him to read the synopsis. "i've already seen it like a hundred times, but i'll gladly watch it again if you want."

"i've never seen it." chris says.

"what!?" you shout. "it's a classic! how have you not seen it!?"

chris laughs at your shocked expression. "let's watch it now, then. you'll be able to see my reaction."

you happily agree to his terms as you press play on the movie. as the opening scene takes place, you get comfortable by getting under the blankets and laying on your side to watch the film.

chris leans back beside you, making himself the little spoon.

as the movie plays, chris is so dramatic to the point that he sounds like the soundtrack that's play during the disney shows. he laughs at the funny scenes and gasps at the shocking ones, making 'oohs' and 'ahhs' like a movie critic.

however, when the huge plot twist is revealed and you expect chris to gasp, he's silent. you lean forward to look at him only to see that he's fallen asleep.

"chris," you say his name gently.

"i'm awake." he tells you despite his eyes being shut and his voice coming out raspy.

"sure you are." you respond with a laugh.

"i swear i am." chris mumbles out a lie, shifting a little bit so he can cuddle up into your arms better. his face is laying against your arm as you can feel your limb beginning to fall asleep. you ignore the fuzzy feeling in your arm and hold him against you.

you smile with a sigh, turning off the tv and holding him in your arms as you fall asleep as well.

tags : @kasqnxx @lvrsparadise

[rfxiii]

Holidays in the hospital with trevor! maybe reader is injured interfering with trevs line of work and he sees red.

(hey! so sorry for the long wait! I hope this turned out alright and is what you wanted! and tysm for the request!)

Holidays In The Hospital

TW: violence, reader is physically assaulted but there’s not a ton of detail

Word count: 1228

The unmistakable growl of Trevor Philips' truck roars down the deserted streets of Sandy Shores. In the rearview mirror, his reflection is a study in controlled fury. His scarred, rough hands grip the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white and teeth clenched in determination. His eyes are fixed on a single point in the distance, burning with a fierce intensity that screams of vengeance.

Behind him, the hospital fades into the distance. It was Christmas Eve, but there was no joy in his heart. Instead, there was only rage and a deep, primal need to protect the person who had come to mean everything to him. He had vowed to protect you from the moment he’d realized how deeply he loved you. And tonight, he’d failed you both.

The truck screeches to a halt in front of the aged farmhouse on the outskirts of town. Trevor leaps out of the vehicle, his muscles tensing and ready for a violent rampage. His gaze darts around the shadowy exterior of the O’Neil farmhouse, taking in the dim lighting of the inside from the dusty window he’s peering through. He knew they were here somewhere, and he wasn’t leaving until every cousin fucker on this farm was nothing but a puddle of blood.

With a growl of frustration, he pulls out his worn, well used gun and begins methodically shooting out the windows, one room at a time. The crack of gunfire and the recoil of the weapon become a rhythm in his blood, a soundtrack to the vengeance that raged within him. With each room he blasts into, his certainty grew that he was close to drawing out those cowardly O’Neil hicks.

They’d caught you alone at the lab earlier today- it had been a rare moment when both Trevor and Chef had been away. Nobody had been there to protect you. A couple of the dumber, more ballsy O’Neil boys had come to the lab with the intention of trashing the place, maybe trying to start a fight. But when they’d found you there alone instead of Trevor or Chef, they’d decided on something better to piss Trevor off. You’d fought back as well as you could against the duo of inbred meth heads, but they were stronger and came better prepared with their guns. They’d left you bruised and bloody at the doorstep of Trevor’s trailer. Thankfully, you’d been able to call him for help once they’d left, crying softly into the phone speaker as you’d begged him to come home. When he’d found you, he’d honestly been terrified of what they’d done to you. But after tearfully assuring him that they’d only roughed you, he’d sped you off to the hospital for stitches and to treat any broken bones. And then he’d waited patiently at your side until you’d fallen asleep, before slipping from the hospital and finally letting his boiling rage seap forth.

The shattering windows and his vicious screaming finally draw out a handful of O’Neil brothers. And when they storm from the house with guns raised, Trevor doesn’t hesitate. With a savage snarl, he charges forward, mowing down men out of his grasp, and even swinging his gun like a club at the ones who get close enough. The first man crumples to the ground under the force of the blow, blood gushing from his crushed face. The second tries to run, but Trevor is too fast. He grabs him by the collar and slams his head into the wooden porch, over and over again, until there’s nothing left but a puddle of brain matter and gore. He’s killed the two he came for, and more, but Trevor’s rampages have never been easily soothed. He doesn’t stop until the men currently occupying the house are no more. There may be problems later when the rest of the brothers discover the slaughter, but truthfully, their retaliation is the last thing on his mind.

As he stands over the bloodied, lifeless bodies, panting heavily, Trevor feels a strange mixture of satisfaction and emptiness wash over him. He had avenged your hurt, but at what cost? He never should have had to come here. He should have been there to protect you- just like he’d always promised he would.

With a growl, he stomps away from the gruesome scene and makes his way back to the hospital. All he can think of is holding you again, of making all your hurt go away. But there’s a pain, a deep nagging in his heart that fears things would never be the same. He fears that you’ll never truly feel secure with him again. But he was willing to face that future, as long as you stayed by his side.

He ignores the stares from the medical staff as he stalks back into hospital- wiping blood off his knuckles before he slips quietly into your room again. He’d hoped you’d still be asleep, that you could wake up from your rest blissfully unaware that he’d left you, and of what he’d done when he’d been gone. But as he shuts the door behind him, he finds you propped up with a reserved, but knowing smile on your split, bruised lips.

“Are you ok?..” you practically whisper, still exhausted but happy to see him in one piece.

“Yeah.. Yeah, I am now, sugar. But don’t worry bout me. You should be sleepin’..” Trevor mutters, head hung low like a beaten puppy as he takes a seat at your side.

He nearly jumps when your bandaged fingers brush his scruffy cheek. And when you gently tilt his chin up and force him to look at you, he nearly cries. Your face is bruised, and you have stitches in your cheek, but you’re still smiling at him like he hung the stars for you. Even after he failed you. “Don’t do that..” you sigh softly, thumb tracing against his jaw, “Don’t blame yourself for this. It’s not your fault.”

“Not my fault?” he croaks out, a bitter laugh leaving his lips to mask the tears threatening to spill, “They’d never have come after you if it weren’t for me. And- And I promised- I fuckin’ promised I’d take care of you! So why the fuck wasn’t I there?! I should have-“

“Trevor.” you sigh softly, cutting him off and gently shaking your head, “You can’t always be with me. That’d be crazy- you following me around 24/7 to make sure I’m safe.. It’s not your fault. And-.. And I’m not oblivious. I know you went there tonight. I know you took care of it. If anything, you’re my hero, Trev. I love you.”

It’s like those three little words are enough to soothe any of his upset. It’s confirmation of your affection, and solidifies that all of his fears were baseless. You don’t blame him, you still trust him, and you’ll always love him. No matter what.

With a shaky sigh, Trevor leans into your touch- pressing in until his forehead rests gently against yours, “I love you too, sugar. And I promise, anyone who ever thinks of laying another finger on you is gonna have worse than hell to pay.” he growls, with a conviction that has you shivering slightly at his devotion.

Being with Trevor may be a dangerous life, but it’s the only life you’d ever want to live.

[pedropascallme]

Acolyte

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!Reader

Summary: “The quiet of the cockpit did nothing to satiate your curiosity, and you desperately tried to think of something to say, even if to nobody but yourself.”

Warnings: Ever so slight implications of what could possibly verge on smut but only if you squint. Otherwise none!

AN: Lord forgive me but from dusk til dawn I will make up the inner layout of the Crest to my liking. This is part three of Stupid For You, part one here and part two here!! 

Soundtrack: Acolyte by Slaughter Beach, Dog

As soon as your excitement in anticipation of being in hyperspace—being in hyperspace with Din—for weeks at a time had died down, you remembered that, more often than not, you found yourself loathing the speed run through the stars. 

You weren’t ungrateful for the peace that you found in hyperspace, but there was nothing to do on this ship. There were only so many ways to keep the child’s focus, only so many stars you could count, only so many sighs you could muster. It got boring. You had been flying for three days, give or take, and you had already run out of things to do. You had even taken it upon yourself to clean the ship, not that it took up much time; Din was severely lacking in creature comforts and the few wires and cabinets that the kid could get to were easily safety-proofed. 

There you sat: Tapping your fingers on the nav computer and looking through the transparisteel. Din sat in the Captain’s chair (a term he loathed, but you loved to use as a form of light mockery) and though you weren’t entirely sure he was conscious or even breathing half the time, the occasional movements his hand made towards some button or other proved he was alive, at least. 

You hadn’t spoken in hours. What was there to talk about? The kid made most of the conversation on the Crest, and with him asleep and no bounty for at least twelve parsecs, there wasn’t much you could make conversation about. With anybody else, maybe you’d be able to muster up a chat about something—anything—but with Din? Forget it. After your little show of confidence the other day, you had slumped back into your daydreams. And despite his show of concern that same day, he hadn’t seemed to notice any issues. 

You tried to remain outgoing and continue the ribbing (if you could call it that) you had begun, but it was…it was weirdly difficult. Din was so fucking hard to read: he had no face, his guard was always up, and if he did have any reaction to what you were doing, he was wizard at hiding it. 

“Where are we going?” You blurted out, almost without thinking, fed up with the quiet. 

“Fondor.” Din’s responses were always so blunt. Never any idle chat before the real answer. You made a face when he named the ecumenopolis, prompting a sympathetic “I know.”

You resumed your silence, continuing your tapping. Getting three words from him and an answer to your question would hold you over for another few hours.

“Stop tapping.” Din reached over, grabbing your hand and forcing you to cease the repetitive motion you had fallen into. He placed it in your lap before withdrawing, going back to the statuesque pose he had held in his chair.

“Sorry.” You squeezed your hand into a fist, unclenching it to rub a finger from your opposite hand over the palm he had touched. 

“Are you nervous?” He asked.

“No.” You were getting good at lying to him. More silence followed, and you continued to rub your palm lightly. You liked the feel of his gloves; the leather had softened from use and the suede on the tips of his fingers was fraying. Din’s hands were the only part of him you had seen in full, and the tan, calloused skin that he often wrapped after a hunt were at the center of your thoughts; fantasies got the best of you on sleepless nights, and your mind wandered to his hands, thinking about how they would’ve felt on you a few weeks prior had you been without the armor, him without his gloves. 

The quiet of the cockpit did nothing to satiate your curiosity, and you desperately tried to think of something to say, even if to nobody but yourself.

“You don’t take off your gloves all that often.” Your words betrayed you slightly, and you hoped Din couldn’t hear your thoughts. 

“I don’t see the need to.”

“Don’t you get uncomfortable?” You were shocked to garner a response from him that was more than two words.

“No. Gotten used to it.” He shifted himself towards you slightly. “Why the sudden curiosity, cyar’ika?”

“No reason, mesh’la.” Your butchered pronunciation did nothing to ease his own sheepishness. You made it hard for him to keep his composure before you started using the pet name he had gifted you, but now? Maker…

“Uhuh.” Was all he provided.

“What about your armor?” You pressed on.

“You’ve seen me without my armor. And my gloves.”

“Never without your helmet.” You winced at your words, not wanting him to think you were being judgmental. He didn’t owe you an answer, and you respected that he held fast to his beliefs the way he did. 

“Never without my helmet.” He repeated. You shrunk into yourself a little. You had no way of knowing whether he was offended or not as his voice kept its monotony. 

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know.”

“Have you ever taken it off?” You couldn’t help but keep going. The questions you had been trying to swallow since you met him now bulldozed their way past your lips.

“Of course I have.”

“Since I joined you?”

“No.”

“Even in the shower?”

“I take it off then.”

“So you have taken it off since I joined you.”

“Yes. But only in private moments, mesh’la.” He was teasing you, waiting for you to pick up on it. You thought for a moment that maybe you had heard something in his voice; had he put emphasis on “private”? Or on the nickname? You tried to chalk it up to his true tone being lost in the modulator, nevertheless you stilled a bit at his phrasing. “Private moments.” Showering. He was talking about showering, and that’s all.

After you had subtly regained your composure, you decided it was time to up the ante with your line of questioning.

“Din.” He moved his head and you were able to look into the black of his visor. “What do you look like?” He didn’t respond. “Not that you need to answer, I don’t—I don’t know how that works, really.”

“What if I told you I looked just like the kid?” 

“You have ten fingers.”

“So?” You could hear him smiling. 

Fuck, you wanted to see him smile. You wanted to see him smile at you. To witness for yourself the way his lips curled up, to find out if he was the type to give a toothy grin or a tight lipped smirk.

“So, I know you can’t be one of…him. And your skin is tan on your hands.”

“Who says my hands are the same color as my face?”

“You can also speak. And when you’re out of your armor I can see some of your neck.”

“And?” 

“And it’s the same color as your hands.”

“Clever girl.”

“What do you look like.” You enjoyed the back and forth you were having, and you marked it down in your head as some of the first genuine banter you’d ever had with him. Still, you were eager to get as straight an answer from him as you could.

“Don’t know if I could tell you.” He sighed. “Don’t know if I’d be able to pick  myself out in a lineup.” 

“That would make you a terrible bounty hunter.” 

“Watch it, cyare.” You knew it was probably a teasing response to your teasing prompt, but you couldn’t help but flinch a little. He put a hand on your knee in what you supposed was meant as an apology, but that only made you flinch again. You looked at the hand on your lap as he rested it on you for another 30 seconds before he finally withdrew it. He knew he was testing the waters, adding more physicality and communication to your previously professional relationship in order to gauge whether or not he was reading you correctly. You thought you’d finally gone insane during your journey and now couldn’t separate reality from reverie. The damage was done, though: You had yet another moment to replay in your mind until you croaked. There was a sudden tension, and you couldn’t tell whether it was emanating more so from him or from you.

“What do you want to hear?” He was quiet, head dropping to your level.

“How old are you?”

“Older than you.”

“Din...”

“Fourty-something.”

“What color is your hair?”

“Brown.”

“And your eyes?”

“Brown.”

“Do you have facial hair?”

“Sometimes.”

“What’s your nose look like?”

“It’s, uh…big. Curved.”

“Does it bump against your helmet?”

“It’s padded.”

“The helmet or your nose?” You laughed, trying to ignore the hushed intensity of the conversation.

“Funny.” 

“What about…” Your voice wavered. “What about your lips?”

“Pinkish.” 

“I mean the shape.”

“Lip-shaped.” He chuckled, his body moving in sync with the sound. “Been told I have good teeth, too, if you wanted to write that down?” 

You laughed with him. “Who told you that?” 

“My mother.”

“How could she see your teeth through her helmet?”

“She wasn’t a Mandalorian.” He was still again, voice retaking its usual edge.

“Oh…so your dad?”

“No. I was a foundling.” You shifted in your seat, letting each other stew in the silence. The tension had seemingly come to a head. 

“I’m sorry for asking so many questions.” You whispered, unsure if he’d even register it.

“I don’t mind.” 

“I know, but—"

“I don’t mind,” he was firm, but there was a trace of understanding, “you were curious.”

“Yeah…”

“And if we’re living together…you deserve to know about me.” He leaned back in his seat. “You’ve told me about yourself. And I know what you look like. Fair’s fair.” He crossed his arms, head tilting towards you.

“Fair’s fair…” You agreed. You relaxed slightly in your seat, eyes darting between him and your hands, folded on your lap. “I don’t…I want you to know that I don’t mind if you ever can’t respond—or, or just don’t want to answer my questions. This is The Way. And stuff.”

You couldn’t tell, but he softened under his armor. It was a rarity that anybody showed him respect out of the goodness of their heart rather than fear. He knew that to most he was a hopeless acolyte; a minion to a long dead religion, following an ideology that many felt didn’t seem worth the pressure, not to mention the risk. But you saw him as something else. He was someone to you—a leader, a friend, maybe even something a bit...less defined—not just a religious fanatic, pimping himself out as a vigilante to the galaxy. He was certain that if it weren’t for the armor you’d be able to see his heart beating out of his chest.

“This is The Way.” He mumbled. He rested his hand on your leg, settling it above your knee this time. “Thank you.”

You hoped he couldn’t feel the increase in your heart rate, hoped he wasn’t just taunting you. You looked at him. He looked straight ahead. You didn’t want to speak or move, suddenly terrified that you’d blink and wake up. You squeezed your eyes shut and slowly peeled them open. 

Din’s hand was still there.

You pushed your body to comply with your racing thoughts, moving your arm up from your lap and reaching for his hand. You made gentle contact, flattening your palm on the back of his glove and trying to keep yourself from saying anything that could ruin the moment that had prompted his sudden display of affection. Was it affection? Please, please let it be affection.

As if on cue, you heard a crash and a shrill voice below the cockpit almost as soon as your hand had connected with Din’s. You looked at Din, who still looked through the transparisteel.

“Go on, mesh’la,” he offered, “he’ll want you.”

You hesitated, wondering if you’d ever have a moment like this with Din again, and whether or not it was worth it to leave him now in order to stop Grogu from destroying the ship. You couldn’t tell if he sensed your hesitance or if he was wondering the same thing as he slowly rubbed his thumb over your thigh. 

You forced yourself up, and he let his hand linger until your legs had fully straightened. You turned towards the ladder, feeling the heat radiate off your leg where he had touched you. Looking down, you saw that he hadn’t moved, although he now rested his arm upon his own leg. You smiled. It hadn’t been on purpose; it was a natural response to the moment. To Din.

You exited the cockpit in search of the child.

We could fly to Ireland You know I'm good for the ticket Try to smirk, but you're smiling Know I'll stick with it

[circuslemon]

FIC COLLAB WITH @jalapenobee

I really enjoyed this sm. I normally don't write fanfiction because I'm too scared of getting the characters inaccurate - so doing this collab made me really happy.

Bee did the initial writing, and I did the first pass of editing while Bee did the second and final pass of editing !

This was initially a request I made of Bee, but I loved the unedited version sm I wanted to edit it 💔

It's also super short and bite sized!

“And you! Ra…Ranpo-kun! I will defeat you! Someday! HAHAHA—whOAA!” Upon hearing that declaration of war, Poe wrapped his arms around his long-time rival (the great detective Ranpo Edogawa!!! See that? Poe gets to date the world’s greatest detective while the rest of you are off with criminals. Suckers), falling backward and dragging the shorter man with him. Said detective yelped in surprise, reaching his arm out in a pathetic attempt to grasp hold of thin air for leverage. If Poe finds that endearing and sorta cute, it was nobody's business to know. Landing on the couch with a muffled POOMF, Poe lets out one last laugh.

“That’s what you get for being out in the rain. And then stealing my dryer and ‘pretending’ to be me.” Poe slightly lifts the collar of his coat off the nape of Ranpo’s neck, gesturing to the fact he had caught his partner wearing it. Ranpo huffed, squinting his eyes and letting a pout form on his face as he dramatically tossed his head back—an action that made him feel a lot like Dazai.

“I didn’t actually steal your dryer Poe-kun! My cloak was wet and I had to put it in there.” Ranpo tangled his finger in a curl of Poe’s dark hair, complaining. “You’re just being mean.” Even so, Ranpo lifted his legs, shifting into a more comfortable position and resting his head against Poe’s chest. Poe’s hand drifts to the side of Ranpo’s head, his fingers running between his hair as he strokes the back of Ranpo’s ear, Ranpo’s hand clutching onto Poe’s shirt. Some sort of drama was quietly playing on the TV—though neither Poe or Ranpo seemed to care all too much about what was happening on the screen. Outside, the heavy rain that had previously drenched the detective hadn’t let up any, providing a calming soundtrack to the scene of the two cuddling.

Detective Ranpo found this to be the perfect opportunity to trap his ‘rival’ to the couch as a cat would its servant. He pulls the author’s coat tighter around himself, burying his face into Poe’s collarbone (Poe protests, but it’s clear that he doesn’t mean anything with it and quickly resigns to his fate). Neither of the two said anything, sitting in comforting silence for at least a little while, Ranpo’s breath shimmying through Poe’s shirt, leaving a warm sensation against his skin. Soon, Ranpo’s grip on his lover loosened, his body relaxing against him. He shifted in his sleep as if he was a pea plant slowly curling around a pole. Poe turned his attention down to the younger man against his chest, to find that he had fallen asleep, his mouth very slightly agape.

There were two different manuscripts sitting atop the table to his right that Poe had wanted to finish by morning. The sun had already begun setting, making it far too late to continue his work if he did not want to disturb Ranpo. Poe vaguely remembered he had coffee in its pot he had wanted to enjoy before it got cold, and hears the dryer finish tossing Ranpo’s cloak around like a chew toy.

…Maybe all that didn’t matter at that moment.

Poe didn’t seem to worry all too much, his eyes slowly fluttering shut as his fingers mindlessly drift over Ranpo’s black hair. Poe’s rival detective begins stirring very lightly, his arm shifting itself to wrap around Poe’s body.

“Mhngg…you’re so sweet…Poe-kun…“ Ranpo mumbles, still asleep. Dimly, Poe registers his own arm shifting to lay across the middle of Ranpo’s back as he himself begins drifting off.

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

I need to know out of all the tr characters who would hate and like horror movies the most? (Benkei is heavily in the hate side, thanks to the character book lol) it would just be funny if you imagine all of them cuddled up to watch horror movies together, some were pretending to have a straight face (but wants to sh1t themselves so bad), some are covering with blankets crying, some were puking (because of the gore), and then there’s the one who’s laughing because someone got killed lmao

Lmao that is a funny image to think of! Ok so

Mikey- Isn't bothered by it, he's actually more focused on either the movie snacks he convinced Draken to bring or he's fallen asleep.

Draken- Gets emotionally invested in it, isn't bothered but enjoys cheering for the good guys.

Takemichi- Crying, trembling, holding Hina's hand for emotional support.

Hina- She's a bit flinchy with all the jumpscares but isn't keen on the gore but can watch. Is more focused on comforting Takemichi anyway.

Emma- Grossed out by the gore, will watch the other parts but turns her head away from the gore.

Naoto- Loves it! He's totally engrossed in the film, he seems fascinated in it.

Baji- Completely at ease with horror, probably laughs at certain points.

Chifuyu- Doesn't mind human killers so much but gets easily scared of supernatural stuff.

Mitsuya- Enjoys a horror a decent amount, isn't scared.

Hakkai- Gets a tiny bit scared but is good at hiding it (just look at how tight he clenches his fists while watching).

Pah- DOES THE DOG DIE!???? THE DOG BETTER NOT DIE!

Peh- People think he's scared while watching them because of his eyes but he's actually fine with watching them.

Smiley- 100% laughs at the scary bits

Angry- Remains unbothered by it, he's used to most horror from Smiley so it can't phase him.

Mucho- Also unbothered, it's just a movie what's the big deal?

Sanzu- Takes notes.

Kisaki- Doesn't care much, he probably does flich a few times throughout though (and gets teased by Hanma because of it).

Hanma- Another laugher, takes great delight in trying to scare the other people watching too. Will suddenly grab them as the movie reaches it's climax to try and make them yell.

Kazutora- Largely unaffected by it, some of the louder jumpscares make him a little on edge though.

Inui- Sits there silently throughout with a small smile on his face

Koko- Is completely grossed out by the blood, doesn't get why Inui loves this stuff so much.

Taiju- Fine with it, is perfectly happy watching horror.

Yuzuha- Also completely fine with horror, she knows it's all just special effects.

Izana- Is so unbothered that he finds it boring sometimes, prefers to watch Kakucho's or whoever he's watching with reactions instead.

Kakucho- Loves horror but is effected by it, like the jumpscares do get him but that's part of the fun of watching to him.

Rindou- Also loves horror, he especially loves the sounds of the terrified screams and the fight scenes.

Ran- Moderate horror enjoyer, it's not his favourite thing ever, mainly because he doesn't get scared by it but will watch it.

Shion- Talks about how he'd survive the killer the whole time and how the character's are making mistakes. At least he's generally enjoying it though?

Mochi- Also enjoys the fight scenes the most.

Shinichiro- Not as bad as Takemichi but definitely gets scared easily by the film. Tries to hide it more though (esp if he's on a date).

Takeomi- Fairly into horror, probably showed Senju and Sanzu the films a bit too young.

Benkei- Canonically hates horror, despises the guys whenever they suggest watching a horror film together.

Wakasa- Loves horror, especially after he finds out how much Benkei hates it. It becomes his new favourite thing to tease Benkei over.

Senju- Also loves horror, was probably watching things since she was young. Very expressive when she watches, laughs if something manages to scare her.

South- Likes horror, isn't scared by it so he focuses more on the story and the soundtrack.

[perpetuelledaydreaming]

Ivy| chapter seven

summary: Rooster gets kick on the ribs, Jake gets worried and you're a mess.

listen to: Ghosting- Ariana Grande | idfc- blackbear | Why did it have to be me - Mammia Soundtrack (playlist here)

warning: none for this chapter.

word count: 2.4 k

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fii!!

It was one of those mornings, those mornings where you know you didn’t have a good night's sleep, those mornings where your neck is stiff and there’s a slight sense of nausea. You opened your eyes. You'd fallen asleep on the couch, you realized. 

You frowned. It’s a peaceful morning and yet something feels strange. You whined softly as you tried to stretch out, trying to move your neck for it to recover from the strange position you slept in, it is only until then that you feel him. You look down to be met by Rooster’s amber hair, he’s leaning into you, holding your legs against his chest, tightly. 

You sighed as you recalled the events that unfolded the night before. 

The first time you’d kissed Rooster, your whole body seemed like it was buzzing, your heart thudding in such a way that it sounded like a hummingbird. The feeling repeated over and over again during your honeymoon phase, it dulled down as the months passed and then it died completely when you could feel the resentment each time he touched you in the last month of your relationship.

Now, as he gripped the back of your thighs, lifting you from the ground so easily like he did before as he kissed you hard and you kissed him back, it was thudding again hard in your chest. Not from the novelty of it all, no. It felt like before, as if everything was falling into place, it felt good and at the same time, it also felt so wrong. 

And yet you don’t stop. 

It’s strange. It’s strange because you feel like you’re looking for something as your tongues fight for dominance of the kiss like you’re both fighting for each other as if kissing the other harder could turn back time and erase everything that had happened. 

Rooster leans both of you down on the couch, too afraid of taking too much time climbing to your room. He can feel like he has you as he did before. His hands sink into your ass as he grinds his pelvis into you, even though the flight suit you can feel him. A strangled moan left your mouth as you feel him, Rooster grunts in response as he repeats the movement before his mouth trailed open mouth kisses along your jawlike, nibbling at the spot beneath your ear, making your whole body quiver. 

He quickly takes one of his hands and unzips your flight suit, enough for you to remove the sleeves as he reaches for his back, curling his fist onto his shirt to discard it. 

“I’ve missed you, baby,” he whispered as he leaned back to remove his shirt and then you snap awake. 

“Rooster,” you murmured as you tried to wiggle out of his hold on your legs. “Rooster, wake up,” you grumble again. He’s a heavy sleeper, you’ve known this since you were kids and yet it somehow surprises you. You rolled your eyes, and with a sigh, you move your legs to the best of your abilities so you kick him in the ribs. 

Rooster jolts, wincing harshly and immediately withdrawing, finally freeing you from his hold as you move away from him. He complained as he held his ribs, you watched him with a frown as you pull your knees to your chest and your mind tries to remember what was the last thing you’d told him before you fell asleep. 

You were sure that you were making really good points on why you shouldn’t be back together, Rooster refuting each and every one of them as he pulled your legs over his lap while listening to you. It was strange, how the screaming matches would so easily unfold when the cracks in your relationship were getting harder to ignore. Yesterday you talked like you’d done your entire life, it’d been a while. 

“What?” he grumbled as he sat down on the couch, eyes still not completely open as your gaze remained on him. 

You were trying to decide how you felt about the kiss if you’d enjoyed it or resented it. If you missed Rooster or if you wanted to slap him because he’d done it again, he’d kissed you. And yet you couldn’t blame him, you’d reciprocated even when you knew you shouldn’t. 

Because the only thing in your mind was the pressure of Jake’s lips and the scent of wood and lemon that lingered on his skin, that had lingered on yours even. You couldn’t compare it though. You weren’t even sure what your relationship with Jake was, even if you weren’t on talking terms at the moment. 

“You need to get out of here,” you finally stated. It’s colder than you meant it to be, but you decided it’s for the best. 

He opened his eyes, pushing himself closer to you while scrunching his brows. “Why, what?” he asked, still in a sleepy haze to understand the reason you are kicking him out. 

“This isn’t,” you tried at first, unsure of what to say next. “This was a mistake, we shouldn’t have,” you finally decide. 

Rooster’s frown deepened. “Kissed?” Rooster scoffed. “It’s just a kiss,”

“It was a mistake,” you cut him off, glaring at him. 

Rooster sighed, and he pressed his tongue against his cheek. He wanted to give you space, he had given you the space that you’d asked for. He felt confused, you’d kissed him back the night before, and during the day you’d told him that you’d missed him, that you couldn’t live without him. Not exactly those words, but whatever. It still meant something. 

He doesn’t want to bring up the inconsistencies in your actions, or thoughts. He simply nodded as he glanced at the floor searching for his boots. You stay on the couch, watching him get ready to leave. You decide it’s for the best not to move until he’s gone, you know what you need to do now, you just need him to go peacefully. 

Bradley decided that he doesn’t. “Sure didn’t feel like it,” he muttered under his breath, referring to what you’d said before. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, that’s how your fights usually began. “I’m serious, Bradley,” you state coldly from your place on the couch. 

“What’s the big deal?” 

“I don’t want this,” you snapped back. It’s harsher than you wish, you could see his expression faltering to hurt for a moment, then back to anger. 

“Sure didn’t seem like it yesterday,” Rooster bites back at you. Your frown only turned deeper, you could feel the tone of his voice mocking you. He realized it, pinching the bridge of his nose before he lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry,”

“Good,” you replied. “Now go,”

You’re doing it again, he realized. You’re escaping and running away from him. 

“You can’t do this, Brat,” he groaned as he sat on the couch next to you. You watch him carefully. “I have change for you,”

“I don’t need you to change for me, Rooster,” you reply with a frown. “You need to change for yourself and yes, you’re my friend and yes, there might be some residual feelings from our past relationship but I can’t do this, Rooster,”

He sighed, scrunching his brows sternly. Acting like he’s not hurt from hearing the fact that you believed that last night was just residual feelings for him, he doesn’t buy it. Someone with residual feelings from a past relationship wouldn’t have kissed him like that. He stands up and zips his flight suit while you watch him from the couch. 

“I don’t agree with you,” Rooster answered. “But I understand that you might be afraid of realizing that it’s a matter of time before we’re back together, we belong together,” he states before opening the door and leaving. 

You wondered if he was right. You wondered if he knew you better than you knew yourself. It hurts to think about that. You’d been asking yourself that same thing for so long, ever since Ice passed away you didn’t quite understand, things didn’t quite fit. You’d been all your life acting a certain way for your father, the values that he’d asked, the way that he thought. When he died, you felt like you didn’t have a north. 

At least, until you began to see Jake. 

Jake.

Before you knew it, your body was moving from the couch into the kitchen where you’d left your phone. It was still too early but you still called him. Tears were streaming down your face as you waited for him to pick up. He did, on the second ring. 

By the time you finished the call, you were a mess and Jake was driving to your place as fast as he could. 

Jake didn’t knock on the door as he reached your place, after the first few weeks he started seeing you, and you told him where you left the keys. He pushes the door open as fast as he can, and you quickly take a double look as you sit up straight from the couch, wincing at your quick movement. 

“Didn’t mean to scare you, sweetheart” Jake said softly as he closed the door. Your heart beats a little bit faster as you heard the nickname but it also makes you want to cry harder. “Are you okay?”

You shake your head. Yeah, he can see it. You look so broken, the puffy face and your red eyes from crying as you hold your knees to your chest, your entire demeanor felt crushed. It’s strange, seeing you like this. Ice’s daughter, someone even colder than him sometimes never lets her guard down, not even in the presence of your closest friends, and yet he does get to see you like this. 

“What happened, baby?” he cooed as he walked to the sofa and sat next to you, quickly pulling you over his lap as he held you. It’s strange, having been apart for two weeks and yet being able to remember exactly how you hold each other. 

You want to vomit as you recalled that was what Bradley had called you the night before. You’re filled with guilt and regret, it only manifests through in those stupid tears that fall from your cheeks uncontrollably. You shouldn’t be crying, you should apologize but the words don’t spill out. 

You’re so scared that you might break Jake. 

“I fucked up so badly,” you finally confessed. Jake's brows scrunched as he listened to you, his whole body tensed up slightly, as he sees from a mile away what happened. 

He does, he saw you getting on Rooster’s truck yesterday. He doesn’t want it to be true as he watched you carefully. 

“I’m so sorry, Jake,”

He prepared himself to hear it, to hear that you’re probably back with him, to hear that you slept with him. That you’re ready to break it off. He braces for it, he braces for the unspoken words of you aren’t good enough. 

“I kissed Bradley yesterday,” you sighed, so quietly that Jake can hardly hear you. “It didn’t mean anything, it didn’t last, please,” you plead, at first unsure of what you pleading for. “Just, please don’t hate me,”

You’re ready for Jake to brush you off of him, to tell you that he doesn’t want you anymore, that you should forget about him. 

“Hate you?” Jake asked, his brows furrowed. You don’t understand at first, you’re actually hearing how he could not hate you after what you’d done. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” you confessed in a hurry. Jake’s stunned for a moment as he listened to you, his sea-foam eyes scanning over your features.  

Jake doesn’t move for a moment. He simply holds your gaze while your heart aches, waiting for him to scream at you and go. He doesn’t. Instead, he places his hand on your neck, cupping it as he brushes his thumb over your cheekbone softly as he brings you to him. You flinch for a moment, Jake waits, examining your features. You’re confused, his heart aches as he thought what you were thinking but then he feels you relaxing against him. 

He pressed his lips against yours sweetly. Your whole body knows what to do better than your brain, you quickly move on Jake’s lap as he pulled you closer, your legs on each side of his waist as he wrapped his arms around you, kissing you harder. All the tension in your body fades and you feel like you can breathe properly again. 

It’s strange. Everything is so much deeper than usual but so slow. Like you’re trying to buy time to keep kissing like you’re right now. It feels like something just ended but something else just began. There isn’t that urgent rush, there isn’t any horny haze surrounding you, instead, it’s so peaceful, and gentle. He’s forgiving you for what you did, you can feel it, you can feel how he forgives you with his touch, the way he kisses your lips, the way he holds you by the neck so softly. 

You break apart from Jake, your nose against his, forehead against his as you breathe softly, eyes closed as if you’re afraid that opening them meant that this was a dream. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered. “I don’t want to lie to you,”

“I know,” Jake replied nudging your nose with a kiss and pressing a quick peck on your lips. “I’m going to tell you something and I don’t want you to get scared,” he murmured softly as his sea-foam eyes meet yours. “I think I have feelings for you,”

Your eyes widened slightly at the confession. You’d thought about it because you’d realized that something was starting to shift in your relationship with Jake. There’s a warm, full feeling in your heart when you’re around him, there’s no denying it, and yet you feel a bit scared. 

“I don’t expect anything from you,” Jake explained as he realized that he had left you speechless. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything right now but I honestly don’t care if anything happened with Rooster if you can assure me that it won’t-”

“I don’t,” you sighed. “I don’t-”

“You don’t have to know right now what you want,” Jake replied. “I really just don’t want to lose you either,”

You nod softly against his forehead, quickly brushing some hair from his forehead and kissing him again. Jake only pulls you closer as he holds you, only then he realized how truly in love with you he is. 

He was so fucked. 

**

Taglist: @laracrofted @double-j @inky-sun @alanadetigy @teenwolf01 @beebslebobs @materialgirl01 @daisyhollyxox @piceous21 @elicheel @supernaturaldawning @midnightdevotion @hangrymama @ashann7 @maverick-wingman @snap-crackle-and-pop @ebonyhogan24 @teddyluvs2sing @happypopcornprincess @untoldshortsofthefandoms @xxshea-barnesxx @sweetheart-im-the-boss @je-suis-prest-rachel @teenwolf01 @bregarc @imagineteller1 @abaker74 @lilylilyyyyyy @nemtodd-barnes1923 @loveless-simp @fucktthisworld @deliciouslydisturbed365 @laluneveillesesureux @emma8895eb @tandefeaffe @potato-girl99981 @jstarr86 @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @mirrorball-6

[merrywaanderer]

a rainy night on whickber street

aziraphale + crowley

synopsis: a soft little drabble, inspired by neil's admission that aziraphale doesn't know that crowley now lives in his car

warnings: n/a

word count: 2k

a/n: i've written a happy little fic to heal your hearts (and mine...), so hopefully, this has its intended effect. set during s2, but entirely spoiler free, as far as i can tell :')

⭒

It was raining on Whickber Street. 

Aziraphale was a self-proclaimed enjoyer of rain, finding that some things were simply sweeter against the backdrop of a grey sky, with a soft musical pitter patter for soundtrack — lamps with their warm yellow glow, hot chocolate and reading, listening to Shostakovich records. That sort of thing.

Maybe kisses, too, if Crowley was to be believed. Aziraphale still believed most in dancing at balls. 

Night had fallen earlier as the summer days had dawdled away, and in the dim light of the bookshop, Aziraphale yawned, the gentle notes of ‘The Swan’ from Saint-Saën’s Carnival of the Animals drifting from the gramophone, lulling him to sleep at too early an hour. 

Only a moment later, he yawned again. 

Maybe not so early, then, Aziraphale mused silently, and glanced up at the clock which sat upon his desk. 

His eyes widened behind his spectacles. 

So that was the time! High time to be going to bed, one should think. 

With a soft sigh, he rose from his chair and folded up his glasses, closing the book he had been examining, and settling the spectacles neatly atop the cover, ready for the new day. 

Humming to himself, he tidied the few things he always did before going to bed, switching off a few lamps here and there, all but enough to light his way upstairs, and then went about drawing the blinds for the night. 

He was just closing the last of them, when a strange sight beyond the rain-speckled window caused him to look twice. 

It was Crowley’s Bentley — well now, who else’s would it be? — parked at the kerb, as it often was in the day. But clearly, it was not day, and Crowley’s Bentley should have been parked by his flat. So where was Crowley, if the Bentley was here? It was hardly like him to let his beloved Bentley out of his sight. 

Aziraphale frowned. He resolved to investigate. 

He strode across the bookshop floor, and carefully — hesitantly, in case this was some fiendish trap of Hell’s making — twisted the doorknob and pushed. 

It was raining less now, only sprinkling, but the door creaked as though it were as hesitant as the angel himself to leave the warmth and light of the bookshop. But Aziraphale stepped out onto the pavement, peering into the night toward the Bentley.

He was still holding onto the door when a dash of colour caught his gaze. Red, like a flame behind the light from the bookshop, glinting off the windows of the car.

He frowned again, and let go of the door. He walked slowly toward the Bentley, now surer of himself, though still puzzled by the sight before him. 

But when he reached the car, he was certain of what he saw, albeit not why it was that he was seeing it.

Because there was Crowley, slumped in the passenger’s seat of the Bentley, head tipped forward so that his chin nearly touched his chest, dark glasses nowhere to be seen. 

His mouth hung open just a little, lower lip sticking out in a fashion which might have been pouty, had Crowley not been asleep, all the usual tension gone from between his eyes.

Something clenched in Aziraphale’s chest.

With a little shiver, Azirphale pushed aside whatever had just come over him, and knocked on the window, first quietly, then more insistently, when the latter proved ineffective. 

“Crowley,” he said. “Crowley!”

At last, Crowley started, head hitting the ceiling of the car as Aziraphale winced, before those pretty yellow eyes flicked at last to his angel.

The rigidity which had abruptly pinched Crowley’s shoulders left just as quickly when the demon’s gaze settled on Aziraphale, and he began to roll down the window. 

Aziraphale, knees bent, leant his arms on the windowsill, so as to match Crowley’s present height. 

“Angel,” said Crowley softly, before Aziraphale could speak. “What… mmm. What are you doing here?”

Aziraphale frowned for the third time in a very short span of minutes. “I could ask you the same thing, my dear boy.”

“‘S no crime to sit in one’s car, ‘sit?” Crowley mumbled groggily. 

“But it’s nighttime,” Aziraphale intoned. “You should be at home. Asleep.”

“I am at home,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale felt a warm laugh bubble up to his lips. “No, you’re not, silly. You’re in your car.”

Crowley didn’t laugh. He sighed. “Car’s where I live, now.”

The angel blinked, bemused. “What do you mean? What about your flat?”

Crowley shrugged. “‘S not mine anymore. Shax’s. Part of Hell’s consequences after our little escaping act.”

A sudden hurt gripped Aziraphale again, and his expression softened further, if that was even possible. “Oh, Crowley. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Crowley didn’t look at him, only uttering a quiet, unintelligible noise which was in no way a word. But his meaning was conveyed all the same — he did not know what to say at this moment, nor, possibly, did he ever. 

“You’re always here,” Aziraphale murmured. “Why not just stay?”

In the silence, Aziraphale heard only his own breath, and the short stutter of Crowley’s, coming in waves. Crowley still would not look at him. 

“I, uh — didn’tknowthatyou’dwantmetostay.”

The confusion resettled on Aziraphale’s brow. “Come again?”

Crowley coughed. “I…” Again. “I didn’t know that you’d, um. Want me to stay.”

The last of his words had once more come out a tangled mess, but Aziraphale caught them all the same.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale reached a hand through the car window, and in the dim lighting of the street, his palm met Crowley’s solid chest sooner than he had anticipated. 

Crowley breathed in sharply, and Aziraphale nearly drew back at his misstep, but whether it was the lateness of the night or his desire to convey to Crowley what he meant, something stayed his hand, and he did not move. But it was at that precise moment that Crowley finally met his gaze, and Aziraphale felt his own breath hitch at their closeness, though a car door separated them still. 

The warmth which had been in his laughter now spread through his chest, and all throughout him, though the warmest part of him was his hand, where it lay on Crowley’s chest. 

“I always want you to stay,” he said softly. 

Crowley’s mouth dropped open again, and unwittingly, Aziraphale’s eyes strayed there.

Crowley, however, did notice. 

“Well. I, um,” Crowley felt the need to clear his throat again, “I’d like to.”

With a small smile, Aziraphale nodded once, decisively. He rose from where he had crouched, and opened Crowley’s door. “Then it is done.”

He stepped back as Crowley left the car to join him on the pavement, then shut the car door once more. 

He began to walk back to the bookshop’s entrance, aware of Crowley following along behind him, when a telltale scuff of shoes indicated that Crowley had stopped. Aziraphale turned. 

“Come along, Crowley. It’s raining, after all.”

Crowley pointed over his shoulder, “It’s just, uh, I forgot my glasses.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “You don’t need them here, darling.”

Crowley’s lips pursed, then fell slack once more. He nodded. 

They made it to the door, and Aziraphale held it open for his oldest friend, slipping inside and locking the thing securely once the two were safely indoors. 

He padded over to the blind he had neglected to close, and swept it shut, faintly aware of Crowley standing awkwardly, unusually silent, in the middle of the room. 

Aziraphale returned to him. “There’s the sofa,” he said meaninglessly, because he had only just now thought of it. “But it always gets so cold down here at night. Why don’t you just come upstairs?”

Before Crowley could say that he didn’t really feel the cold, it occurred to him that here was a better option. 

“After all, why not,” he murmured, and Aziraphale offered him a nod of approval. 

He trailed after his angel switching off the last of the lamps, picking up a single candle, lit in its holder. Aziraphale took the first of the many steps up the spiral staircase, then turned and extended his hand to Crowley, that small, familiar smile lighting his face more than any candle could have dreamt to replicate. 

Crowley slipped his hand into Azriaphale’s, his long, cold fingers softening in the surrounding warmth of the angel’s hand. 

And thus they made their ascent of the stairs, Crowley fighting the appearance of his own tiny smile. But there was no reason to fight, and so he let it be, let it take him over. Who was he, after all, to deny himself so small a taste of paradise?

At the top of the stairs they soon came to the room in which Aziraphale sometimes slept. Crowley himself found his desire for sleep infrequent, preferring to roam about the silent Earth in the quiet night hours. But this night, for whatever reason, was set apart from the others, and had been from the start. 

Aziraphale’s hand fell from Crowley’s as he went to set the candle upon his bedside table. Crowley, suddenly drawn by an insatiable curiosity to the bookshelves that prevailed even in Aziraphale’s bedroom, strode toward the books, running his fingers along the spines. These books seemed unlike the ones Aziraphale kept downstairs at the heart of the shop. On the contrary, it seemed that these books were where Aziraphale kept his heart; the spines of these volumes were decorated in his neat, tightly-lettered script, proclaiming dates to those who cared to read them. Though, Crowley supposed (or maybe hoped), no one but him had been brought here to see them. 

He tipped one carefully down from the shelf, and it opened in his hands, the spine oddly worn as though the book had been opened — read, again and again — many times. 

He was surprised to find his name, amongst all the words, more often than anything else. 

“You keep diaries — ” he began, at the same moment as Aziraphale said, 

“Don’t —”

He turned, shutting the book abruptly, and found Aziraphale by the bed, now in a long, white cotton shirt which was more of a gown, looking more angelic than ever. He looked ever so much as he had done the day Crowley had met him, with all the stars of creation in those eyes of his.

“Oh,” was all Crowley managed. Aziraphale, for some reason, blushed. 

Yet he seemed to recover quickly enough. “Come to bed, Crowley.”

Crowley all but forgot the book he had been holding, and only just caught and replaced it on the shelf before it fell to the floor. 

He approached Aziraphale slowly, as one does a frightened animal, though there was nothing of that sort in Aziraphale’s soft face. The rain pattered softly against the windows.

Crowley took off his jacket, and hung it over the low bedpost. With a brief glance at Aziraphale across the bed, he sat, and removed his shoes, and the thin silver scarf which was always around his neck. He discarded his trousers in the same pile, and turned to find Aziraphale with his legs already tucked under the covers, cradling the candle with a patient expression. 

Crowley mirrored Aziraphale’s attitude, and Aziraphale, seeing this, blew out the candle, and set it aside. 

In the darkness, Crowley lay down, and by the rustling of the sheets, heard Aziraphale do the same. He turned in his direction. 

“So,” he said quietly, “what now?” 

He thought Aziraphale shuffled closer. 

“Same as always,” said the angel. “We stay together.”

Then, to Crowley’s surprise, Aziraphale nestled his cheek against Crowley’s chest, and wrapped his lovely arms around Crowley’s waist. 

Another soft Oh fell from Crowley’s mouth, and Aziraphale sighed against his chest. Crowley’s arms, of their own accord, as if they knew nothing more natural, came up to draw Aziraphale closer, and Aziraphale’s warmth bled into his skin, and became his own. He felt suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of great honour, because Aziraphale had chosen him, of all creatures, to hold in his arms.

“Good night, Crowley,” mumbled, already half asleep. 

“Good night, angel,” sighed — smitten, blissful, besotted. 

The rain continued to fall over Whickber Street, though angel and demon, wrapped up in one another, heeded it not.

⭒

good omens taglist: @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen

send me an ask to be added to my taglist! and please let me know what fandoms you’d like to be tagged for <3

[jalapenobee]

“And you! Ra…Ranpo-kun! I will defeat you! Someday! HAHAHA—whOAA!” Upon hearing that declaration of war, Poe wrapped his arms around his long-time rival (the great detective Ranpo Edogawa!!! See that? Poe gets to date the world’s greatest detective while the rest of you are off with criminals. Suckers), falling backward and dragging the shorter man with him. Said detective yelped in surprise, reaching his arm out in a pathetic attempt to grasp hold of thin air for leverage. If Poe finds that endearing and sorta cute, it was nobody's business to know. Landing on the couch with a muffled POOMF, Poe lets out one last laugh.

“That’s what you get for being out in the rain. And then stealing my dryer and ‘pretending’ to be me.” Poe slightly lifts the collar of his coat off the nape of Ranpo’s neck, gesturing to the fact he had caught his partner wearing it. Ranpo huffed, squinting his eyes and letting a pout form on his face as he dramatically tossed his head back—an action that made him feel a lot like Dazai.

“I didn’t actually steal your dryer Poe-kun! My cloak was wet and I had to put it in there.” Ranpo tangled his finger in a curl of Poe’s dark hair, complaining. “You’re just being mean.” Even so, Ranpo lifted his legs, shifting into a more comfortable position and resting his head against Poe’s chest. Poe’s hand drifts to the side of Ranpo’s head, his fingers running between his hair as he strokes the back of Ranpo’s ear, Ranpo’s hand clutching onto Poe’s shirt. Some sort of drama was quietly playing on the TV—though neither Poe or Ranpo seemed to care all too much about what was happening on the screen. Outside, the heavy rain that had previously drenched the detective hadn’t let up any, providing a calming soundtrack to the scene of the two cuddling.

Detective Ranpo found this to be the perfect opportunity to trap his ‘rival’ to the couch as a cat would its servant. He pulls the author’s coat tighter around himself, burying his face into Poe’s collarbone (Poe protests, but it’s clear that he doesn’t mean anything with it and quickly resigns to his fate). Neither of the two said anything, sitting in comforting silence for at least a little while, Ranpo’s breath shimmying through Poe’s shirt, leaving a warm sensation against his skin. Soon, Ranpo’s grip on his lover loosened, his body relaxing against him. He shifted in his sleep as if he was a pea plant slowly curling around a pole. Poe turned his attention down to the younger man against his chest, to find that he had fallen asleep, his mouth very slightly agape.

There were two different manuscripts sitting atop the table to his right that Poe had wanted to finish by morning. The sun had already begun setting, making it far too late to continue his work if he did not want to disturb Ranpo. Poe vaguely remembered he had coffee in its pot he had wanted to enjoy before it got cold, and hears the dryer finish tossing Ranpo’s cloak around like a chew toy.

…Maybe all that didn’t matter at that moment.

Poe didn’t seem to worry all too much, his eyes slowly fluttering shut as his fingers mindlessly drift over Ranpo’s black hair. Poe’s rival detective begins stirring very lightly, his arm shifting itself to wrap around Poe’s body.

“Mhngg…you’re so sweet…Poe-kun…“ Ranpo mumbles, still asleep. Dimly, Poe registers his own arm shifting to lay across the middle of Ranpo’s back as he himself begins drifting off.

-

collab between me and @circuslemon!!! enjoy :D

[gryfflepuffinthetardis]

Jetlagged — Campbell Bain x Reader

(Inspired by Andy and Apirl's situation after Andy comes back from London—when Chris Pratt left Parks and Rec to film Guardians of the Galaxy—and Andy is severely jetlagged.)

Summary: Campbell has been away for a DJ competition and when he gets back he's always falling asleep which cuts the couple's time together since they don't live together.

Warning: Joke about going off of meds for sake of sex drive; Mentions of Sexual Jokes, Implied Short Reader, Implied Non-Scottish Reader

(Post-Asylum; May be connected to "Sweet Jane" or read alone; If you decided to include this in Sweet Jane, this takes place between the ending of the series and the epilogue written by me.)

1995 (Eight months since the events of Takin' Over the Asylum)

"Baaaaabe." Campbell sang as a tired Y/N walked out of her room. "I am so tired, but I didn't want to sleep until you got up, babe!"

Y/N sleepily walked to him, cupping his cheeks and kissing him on the forehead before he raised himself to his knees, pulling her in and kissing her on the lips.

He had been traveling due to his job as a disk jockey for three weeks now and was quite jetlagged.

Last night, Y/N had fallen asleep on his shoulder in the middle of Nightmare on Elm Street, a ritual to watch a horror movie with a good soundtrack or score. A horror movie so Campbell can pretend to be the brave one and comfort Y/N, which was often not the case but he insisted that it was.

Campbell had looked down at her in disbelief, "Who falls asleep during Nightmare on Elm Street!?" He exclaimed as the first victim was killed... in their sleep!

Y/N had shifted and moaned softly into his neck. He had smiled down at her lovingly, stroking her hair briefly, wrapping his arms around her and he picked her up and carried her to bed.

He didn't want to wake her up so he stayed out in the living room, watching movies for the scores and soundtracks.

"Hey, how was your night-day?" She yawned, going to make some hot chocolate for them both and to bring Campbell his morning pills.

"Fine. Been rewatching my favorite scores of your creepy horror movies. Psycho's a good film but a bad representation of mental health."

"Yeah, I know, babe. So is Fatal Attraction, Psycho, The Shining—though granted it's the hotel's influence that causes it but the movie makes it seem like mental health rather the supernatural like in the book, Halloween, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, and so on."

"You're weird. I love you." He grinned.

"Oh shut up." She rolled her eyes.

"How was your three weeks without your Campbell?" He teased with an overconfident flirty grin on his face but his sleepiness was written all over his face. "Unbearable? Void of my amazing sense of humor? Unsatisfactory?" He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"Quiet. Calm." She retorted blankly, despite having been in a relationship with him for ten months, they hadn't had sex yet. Campbell often made flirtatious suggestions but he was mostly kidding, on their six month anniversary (April fourth), he could tell that something was up but she became quite quiet when she was broody, so he sat her down before they went out for their dinner and asked her what was wrong and she confessed she was worried that he wasn't satisfied in the relationship because he desperately wanted to lose his virginity and that he was turning twenty that month on the sixteenth and Y/n was still hesitant due to her ex's actions upon her and Campbell swore he wouldn't actively pressure her or cheat on her and he hadn't.

"So, boring." Campbell said, starting to drift off.

"No, Cam. You need to take your pills before you mess up your pill schedule." Y/N said, hurrying to him with his pills.

"But it's so much better if I don't." He smirked, turning so he flopped on the couch and pulled Y/N on top of him, resting his hands on her thighs, he sat up, "Without them, my drive's higher."

"Campbell." Y/N said in a scolding voice.

"Come on, baby." He murmured, kissing Y/N's neck. 

Y/N pushed Campbell on his back, still straddling him as she gave him a fierce and stern look, "Campbell David Bain! You need those pills to manage your disorder. I love you and your disorder, I love you with all your flaws and quirks, I love you will all your light and all your darkness, but these," She shook the pill bottle in his face, "keep you from having manic episodes! The radio can only do so much! This is medicine! And if I find out, you stop taking them for a higher libido, I will tie you to a chair, force them into your mouth and pour water on your face until you swallow it!"

Campbell swallowed, taking stuttering short breathes, "Y/N, I totally hear you but I'm not going to lie, what you're doing right now and what you're saying," He gestured to where she was straddling him, "is really turning me on."

"Do you understand me!?" She said, loudly.

"Yes! I do. I'm sorry. Babe, you either need to stop pinning me down like this or I'm going to explode. I'm a twenty-year-old virgin for God sake." He whined out.

She sighed and sat up and he followed. He cupped her face and kissed her gently on the lips. He held out his hand and she handed him the pills. He took the recommended dosage and stuck his tongue out at the taste. Y/n giggled and pecked his lips before going to get their hot chocolate now that the milk on the stove was hot.

She brought it back and handed him his in his Radio Scotland mug. He didn't drink it yet, he just watched her sit next to him.

Then he leaned over, putting his hand to the cheek away from him to turn her head towards him and kissed her quickly but passionately on the lips. "I love you too." He said, earnestly, "With all your darkness and your damage. For all your trauma. For all that happened to you and I'm sorry you had to do it alone. As for all that will happen to you, I will be there for you every step of the way. Forever."

She leaned back and blinked at him. "Forever?"

He smiled and nodded, "Forever or as long as you'll have me."

"You need to get on my schedule for that to happen." 

"Mmm-hmm." He groaned.

 "I wish I could spend it all with you to help you stay up..." She said, she trailed off as she realized what she was insinuating. "But you can't. You have to go to your flat eventually."

"What if I don't?" He said. "What if we spent the day, moving my stuff here. So I could live here with you... you know your cousin moved out a few months ago... still no pressure to have sex. Just cuddling and when or if you're ready, I'll be here, totally, utterly, in love with you."

"You really think you can stand being around me all day?"

"I'm pretty sure I should be the one answering that question. I'm the more... er, extroverted of us two."

"I could never tire of you."

"You'll be the first, then. I annoyed my parents so much they wanted me to move all the way to Perth." He joked.

"I annoyed my parents so much they sent me to an asylum no where near where they live all because I wouldn't talk." She countered.

"Mmm. Guess, we're both just annoying." He shrugged and kissed her.

"Not to me you're not." She said against his lips.

He pulled back, "I, uh, I have like twenty-five minutes before the medicine fully kicks in. Do you want to go to my place and start packing first or do you just want to snog on this couch?"

She kissed him, pushing him slightly so they both fell on the couch, kissing, passionately.

--

They called Francine, Rosalie, and Eddie and with their help they packed up Campbell's flat while Campbell kept getting distracted and goofing off with Y/n, kissing her, hugging her, and joking around with her, distracting her from packing.

"Campbell! If you don't start taking this seriously, you won't be able to move out today!" Eddie scolded him for the fifth time in an hour.

Campbell dropped his head against Y/n's shoulder as he had his arms wrapped around her waist, behind her and whined.

Ultimately, it was Rosalie who did most of packing and Eddie and Rosalie's husband, Jim carried in the boxes while Campbell carried the smaller boxes due to him being a, as Y/n called him, "matchstick man" because he was so skinny though he declared he was the strongest man of all time, teasingly before flopping back in a chair and pulling Y/n on his lap.

"You can't get rid of me now, babe." He teased as she moved her legs over his lap and the chair arm, their foreheads touching.

"Good." She said, she stroked his floppy bangs so she could look him in his brown eyes. "And you're stuck with me now."

"Good." He grinned.

When Francine, Rosalie, Jim, and Eddie found them, Y/n had fallen asleep with Campbell in a sleepy but still awake state. He muttered goodbyes to the others before picking Y/n up again and carrying her back into her room... their room. He laid her down and laid next to her, snuggling up to her again, making her stir slightly and he gave her a peck on the lips which she sleepily reciprocated and he kissed her forehead and then her nose before pulling her closer and falling asleep. 

[denaliwrites]

Make Me Glow

Peter Vincent x Fem!Reader

Summary: Peter always knows just what you need when your period is making you absolutely miserable.

Soundtrack: Heart Attack (Rock Version) by Demi Lovato

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Periods, Cramps. Use of Bitch as a Term of Endearment. Taking medication.

If there was one thing you were grateful for in Peter's penthouse, it was the giant luxury bath he'd insisted on having installed. You didn't typically use it, but sometimes it was just what you needed.

Especially on your period.

You moaned when you made contact with the water, sinking slowly into the delicious heat and watching the tendrils of steam dance as your descent into the water sent ripples across the surface.

You wanted to cry at the near-instant relief you felt as the warmth surrounded you, drastically easing your aches with each passing second. You wished you could stay in the bath forever.

For a few minutes, you simply lay in the water, letting your mind go blissfully blank once your pain was relieved enough that you could take your mind off it.

But that was boring, and you only had so much time before Peter got back, so you grabbed the remote from the shelf behind you and clicked on the TV mounted on the wall in front of you -- that one had been your idea -- and flipped the channels until you settled on an episode of I Love Lucy.

It wasn't your typical choice, but right now you just wanted to pretend real problems didn't exist.

You didn't realize you'd fallen asleep until you were jolted awake by an annoyed voice emanating from somewhere nearby.

"I swear," Peter was saying, and your drowsy eyes finally found him standing in front of the mirror, peeling his false goatee off. "Oh, now she's awake!" he growled, seeing your eyes on him through the mirror. "Missed my whole rant, lazy bitch."

When he saw the hurt look in your eyes, he visibly deflated. "Oh, darling," he sighed, leaving the mirror to kneel at your side. "What's wrong?"

"Period," you said simply with a despondent shrug.

"Oh, dear," he cooed, petting your hair for a moment. His hand dipped into the water, no doubt checking the temperature, before withdrawing it with a low whistle. "Darling, that water is freezing. Let's get you out of there."

You nodded, letting him help you up and out of the tub. He pulled the plug, turned off the TV, and grabbed the towel you'd put in the warmer before you'd gotten into the bath. It was wrapped snugly around your waist with a kiss to the top of your head.

"There you are," he said soothingly. "Let's get you out of here, yeah?" You nodded, and he shepherded you to the bedroom, where you were pushed gently onto the plush duvet.

He could tell that your pain was returning by a strained whimper that escaped your best attempts to withhold it, and by the way you clutched at your belly.

"Oh, darling," he sighed, kissing your head again. "I'll be back, you get settled in."

You nodded, and then he was off again. While he was away, you unwrapped the towel from around yourself and carefully slid under the covers of the bed. They were warm, but you missed the bath. You wished you could go back in.

You'd take another one tomorrow, you decided.

Peter sauntered back into the room holding a glass of water in one hand and a tub of your favorite ice cream in the other. "Water and pills first," he told you, handing off the glass and two Advil into your waiting hands.

Dutifully, you took a sip of the water and downed the pills, then downed the rest of the water in one go.

"Oh, good girl," he praised you, sounding genuinely impressed. He held the ice cream out to you, and you snatched it up eagerly, as well as the spoon he'd placed over the lid.

"Now, do you want to watch a bunch of idiot teens get killed in increasingly terrible ways?" he asked you, settling into the bed behind you. He was over the covers, you realized when you noticed that you couldn't immediately feel his body heat, and that his skin wasn't touching yours.

"That sounds good," you whimpered with a nod.

He put on Friday the 13th, and you happily dug into your ice cream while the two of you watched the movie.

[conditionaljewel]

Thinking about how when the Bells Hells have solved all their puzzles and finished their adventuring, Imogen and Laudna finally get to settle down in a cozy little cottage of their own in the Heartmoor Hamlet, laying in bed one evening as they always do before falling asleep. Not necessarily talking, or doing anything, just laying. Existing.

The late-night silence of their little home broken only by the ruffling of Pate in the corner getting comfortable, or the occasional bullfrog in the garden outside their window, a soft breeze blowing the sheer curtains open in the otherwise pure stillness of the night.

Laudna just laying there, watching Pate sleep on his little bed that she made for him, ever admiring her creation, not paying any mind to Imogen as she closes her eyes and begins to drift off. So when Laudna blows the candle out and turns over to kiss Imogen’s cheek “goodnight”, it startles Imogen out of the beginnings of her sleep.

After apologizing, Laudna feels really bad for having woken her, still never wanting to interrupt a dream of Imogen’s, but Imogen insists that it’s okay and moves to pull Laudna into her arm and closes her eyes again, dozing off faster this time. Laudna buries her head in the crook of Imogen’s shoulder as she holds her, draping one arm and one leg over Imogen’s body, settling into the most comfortable little-spoon position known to humankind. Laudna begins to fall asleep.

Imogen opens her eyes after a moment passes, just barely still awake and coherent but seeing Laudna asleep in her arms. She pulls her a little closer, a little more snug, and kisses the top of her head gingerly. “I love you,” Imogen whispers softly, barely audible over the soundtrack of nature in the window. You almost wonder if she had thought it instead.

“I love you too,” she hears back. She closes her eyes, she smiles, and after a few minutes, she has fallen asleep.

EDIT: read a slightly longer fuller version here!