#do I know how to write fluff?

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ jus’ eat it here.”

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

“ why the fuck not ?”

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

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

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

“katsuki !”

“fuck you, m’not a baby.”

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

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

“m’not a baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he squeezes back.

[arieswritez]

vincible

vincible | mark grayson x gn!reader (fluff)

alright since you all asked so kindly here's the fluff from my last hc 🫶🏾 :

cw: slightly suggestive but nothing nsfw. that's all :D

"why's it looking at me like that?"

the two of you are in bed and with his weight pinning you down, you find it hard to concentrate on what he means.

your head's all fuzzy with the way he's been drowning you in kisses. he kisses you like it might be his last chance to do so: sweet, languid until they melt into something more feral. the way his costume hugs his body doesn't exactly help your concentration, either.

your body's warm as it soaks up his body heat - he's like a fucking furnace - and it yearns. . no. . demands for his attention. you ignore him, making a soft, impatient sound that sounds more like a whine as you try to guide his lips back onto yours.

however, he keeps his head turned to your right, staring at a spot on your bed and says, "what're you lookin' at, huh?"

you pull back, confused, then follow his line of vision.

finally, you see what he sees: a stuffed animal perched against your pillow.

you watch as mark squints at the toy, then, tilts his head and scoffs in indignation as if it's just hurled an insult his way.

"what'd you say?" mark sits up and away from you, puffing out his chest.

the plushie stares at mark with big, black, empty eyes.

you stare up at mark, confused, as he carries on his one sided beef with your plushie.

"they cuddle you while im not here?"

mark crawls over to your plushie and grabs it by its soft neck, his fingers wrapping around the entirety. he pulls it close, putting his nose right up against the toy's. "you wanna say that again, tough guy? don't you know who i am?"

"mark, what're you doing -" you giggle, leaning back on your elbows to watch the ridiculous display before he shushes you.

"hey, you stay out of this. i'll deal with you later." he snaps before turning his attention back to the toy. "oh, you don't care? well, let's see if you care about this -"

mark suddenly shoves the toy into his face.

he flops down atop your bed, wildly flailing with one hand while the other mushes the plushie against his face. he's comically good at it, too, looking like he's being mauled by some feral cat.

he's only emboldened by your uncontrollable laughter: grunting with effort as he rolls over the stuffy and delivers a few blows. even making his own sound effects before he rolls onto his back, your toy gaining the upper hand once again.

this time, he sits the toy atop his face and flails like he's being suffocated. eventually, his body falls limp. the hand that isn't holding the toy upright falling limply at the side of your bed.

your plushie's fought dirty and won.

"i dunno, mark," you manage to say between hiccuping laughs, "you seem pretty vincible to me."

"very funny." comes his muffled voice from beneath the toy. he sits up, stuffy still in hand as he fixes you with an accusatory glare. "laugh. yeah, laugh, while your boyfriend's being mercilessly beaten."

he crawls closer and he thrusts the toy in your direction, waving it side to side by the back of the neck, holding it at arm's length like he's afraid it'll attack him. "i guess you want him now, don't you?"

you raise a brow. "don't misgender my plushies, grayson."

mark retracts the plushie and flips it upside down, looking at its bottom. "oh, right."

you let out a chortle of laughter and he's on you in seconds: pinning you down and smushing the plushie against your face, making kissy sounds while you breathlessly beg him to stop.

[hungharrington]

i’m almost 22 and have never even kissed a boy (which i’m chronically insecure about). it’s made me feel very nervous regarding intimacy or “doing it wrong”. i feel like steve would be great coach and reassure the reader it’s okay and that they’re doing great. nothing to embarrassed about. (my soul needs this so bad)

hi honey !! i think you r so right & steve would be the perfect guy to give all the assurances <3 i hope u know that kisses don’t matter too much til they’re with someone you’re rlly sweet on so i wouldn’t sweat it angel x this one is sfw! wowzer!

You’re on your couch and in Steve’s lap and worried about just about everything. 

Steve’s being sweet about it, his hands resting gently on either side of your waist, his thumbs swiping up and down to comfort you. He’s watching you closely, unaware he’s just taken your first, second, and third ever kisses. How could he know? you think, on the side of insecurity— it seems everybody else your age has already kissed someone. 

“You okay?” He asks, hazel eyes tracing over the soft features of your face. He loves your nose and the shape of your bottom lip— strange things to like perhaps, but Steve doesn’t care. 

You nod but don’t say anything. The motion is a bit jerky. Your hands are planted on his shoulders, holding them probably a bit too tight. Exhaling a breath, you nod again and pretend the fondness in his gaze isn’t making you shy.

“Yeah,” you finally speak, voice smaller than you intend. “Just- just wanna like—“ you swallow, eyes darting to the ceiling for a moment, if only to avoid his intense eyes. “I wanna get this right.” 

A car engine drones by outside in the dusky evening. Steve gives a little chuckle and his hands on your waist tug forward, pulling your attention down and your body an inch closer to his. It’s warm— every part of him is glowing warm. 

“I don’t think there’s any way you can get this wrong,” He admits, awfully sincere about it. 

It’s the truth. Steve likes you a lot. You could probably bite his lip too hard and make it bleed and he’d still find it pleasant. You have that effect on him. 

You don’t know that though. So, every stress seems very, very real. Are you kissing firm enough? Too firm? God, are your lips too dry? 

Your tongue flicks out to wet them, your hands giving his shoulders a nervous, minuscule squeeze. In your chest, your heart is torn between rabbiting in its anxiety or shrivelling in insecurity. 

“I mean,” you laugh a little, if only to cover your embarrassment. You duck your head to avoid his face, murmuring, “If there is, I’m sure I’ll find it. I haven’t, uh, exactly done this… too much.”

“That’s fine,” Steve says instantly. His warm, large hands give a tender squish on your waist, before sliding up and around to curl snugly around your body. He sits up a little straighter, his nose nudging against yours. 

“No, Steve,” you say, cheeks a touch heated. You count his eyelashes so you can avoid his eyes, you voice dropping volume towards the end of your sentence. “I mean, like… like ever.” 

Surprise flashes in his eyes for only a moment. His gaze darts down to your lips quickly but then he’s smiling, nudging closer, and stealing a quick kiss off your lips. Now he’s taken your fourth kiss too. 

You flush, something warm pinging its way up your spine. 

“That’s okay,” He murmurs, sounding like he really means it. 

“It is?” 

“It’s great. You’re great.” He kisses you again—your fifth— so sweet it tastes like sugar on your lips, his arms around you pulling you in closer. You drown in it, enamoured by how it feels to have his lips against yours. God, he makes you dizzy. 

Steve breaks the kiss but stays close, his arms pulling you closer still so you’re straddling him properly. He’s warm, so warm— and so freakin’ nice to you. 

“You don’t find it weird?” You can’t help but whisper. Your eyes crush closed, unable to face him. 

“Weird?” Steve echoes. “Are you kidding me? It’ll take more than that to freak me out.” 

One of his hands shifts up, moving up off your waist to cradle your jaw gently in his large palm. He peppers a string of kisses along your cheek and jaw, beginning to suck a sweet spot beneath your ear. Your hips shift before you realising, subtly grinding down into his. Flames begin to burn in your stomach. 

“It’s—I mean it’s kind of, like, a little embarrassing, don’t you think?” You continue, voice a little breathier than before. You’re not sure what you’re trying to convince of him of— you certainly don’t want him to stop. 

Steve’s lips brush over the barely forming bruise on your skin and your breath hitches. 

“Are you feeling embarrassed?” 

One slow kiss against your neck, his plush lips accompanied by the heat of his tongue. You squirm in his lap but don’t answer, fearful of being too truthful. You are and you aren’t. He isn’t making you embarrassed but you are, just a little. 

Your silence makes Steve pause, digging his face out of your neck to meet your eyes. “Hey. You shouldn’t be embarrassed- if you are for some other reason, we can— we can like stop—“ 

“No.” You cut in, God, now you’re seriously giving him the wrong idea. “No, oh my god, I sound so stupid- it’s not you— Steve—“ 

He cuts you off with another kiss, your sixth, and steals your runaway thoughts. It blissfully chases away your nerves for just a moment. 

“Great.” He smiles against your mouth, giving another squeeze of your waist. “Cos you don’t need to be.” He kisses your mouth again, seven. “All you need to be is enjoying yourself, okay? 

You like the sound of that— adore the way he’s so seamlessly finds the thing that sets your nerves alight and soothes it so easily. You whisper back, “Okay,” and gift him your eighth kiss, sweet and fierce. 

[vitally-undead]

Fucking Everything!

your garbage can writer has brought you another plate.

Summary: Homelander's angry, but you're there and calm him down.

i suck at summaries and writing, and this was self indulgent trash. enjoy

Homelander stormed into his penthouse his eyes glowing that bright crimson shade as he paced. You sat on his couch looking at your phone when you look up. "John? What's wrong?" You question standing up and walking towards him. He throws his hands in the air. "Fucking everything! Ashely's up my ass because i dropped four points. Four Points! All because of some stupid fucking mistake." He ranted his eyes glowing brighter as he breathed heavily. You walked towards him before stopping in front of him putting your hands on his arms.

He stopped trying to pace glaring down at you his lips pulled into a sneer. You met his gaze unflinchingly as you reached up to gently cup his cheek in your palm. "Hey, you'll get those points back up again. You always do." You reassure him smiling softly as the red glow slowly fades from his eyes as he leans against your hand. His now blue eyes look into your searching for any hint of a lie as he listens to your heartbeat. Satisfied with how steady your heart is and how he cant find a trace of a lie in your gaze he relaxes into you. wrapping his arms around your waist as he sighs.

"Yeah, you're right." He mutters his eyes fluttering shut as you stroke his cheekbone with your thumb. "Come on, let's go sit on your weird ass couch and watch mind numbing tv." You playfully tease him as you link your fingers with his leading him to the couch. "It's not a weird couch." He protests smiling slightly as he follows along behind you. You simply laugh as you both sit down. You at the edge of the couch your arm resting on the armrest and Homelander laying down with his head in your lap, a smile on both of your faces.

[akuma-coffee]

Allow me to ask soft sukuna?? Just a short drabble with some body appreciation for chubby girls please🥺

order for anon! sukuna x (chubby) reader request menu

cw: reader is a little insecure but all comfort here!

“sukuna.” his name leaves your lips before you think twice, and he peers up from beside you. you’re laying on his right, twiddling your fingers with your bottom lip between your teeth. it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you’re nervous, though you can’t quite find the confidence to ask him what you’re thinking.

“what?” he sounds a little short but you know that’s just sukuna, unrelenting in his cold tone and pointedness.

“it’s nothing.” you shift, uncomfortably wriggling on your back as you try and find yourself comfortable, but you can’t. you roll onto your side to face away from him, heart twisting. sukuna isn’t the most affectionate of men, not that you’d expect him to be.

“tell me.” his words are always straight to the point, he spares no time for niceties.

“it’s just…” you trail off as you mentally cringe, swallowing. “it’s nothing, really. just go to sleep, okay?”

sukuna sighs, and in the silence following, you feel a little breathless. have you pissed him off with your mood? but just as you close your eyes, mustering up some form of confidence to apologise, he rolls onto his side too, an arm lazily slinging around your front. his hand moves upward, scaling the skin under your shirt, gliding over the roundness of your belly and setting over the little curve on your abdomen.

“you’re shaped like a queen.” his words catch you a little off guard and your eyes open, head turning slightly as you watch him through your peripheral. he squeezes the skin a little, as if to be endearing.

“that’s what’s bothering you, is it not?”

you stop watching him, turning your head to face the other way again.

“was just wondering if it bothered you.” the admission is said quietly. he lets out a breath before selling his chin in the nook between your shoulder and neck.

“stop thinking of yourself so lowly. you’re divine.”

there’s a prickling heat at your cheeks when he speaks, a small smile breaking over warm skin.

[ghost-proofbaby]

It's summer for you, winter for me. Warm me up with strawberry fluff! As always, my muse, your muse, the one and only, Eddie.

Midsummer's night, because I don't have a lot to inspire you with. I'm thinking something cute but weird? Maybe some human body softness where Eddie is a bit of a freak and we love him for it. And we're told our bodies are lovely, even when they're doing weird shit.

I lalalove youuuuu. xo Rhi

RHI!!!! <3 i adore you. thank you for this prompt - i had far too many ideas for it, but ended up on settling for this one, which coincidentally feels like the most subtle of them all? either way, it definitely turned out being the softest. give me an eddie munson who just wants to sniff me like a dog. this definitely got a bit long but i hope you enjoy, my dear <3

the smell of you

warnings: weirdos in love? idk. i have a skewed sense of what is actually weird i think. mentions of death and coffins jokingly. eddie 'manhandles' reader sort of. not edited.

wc: 2.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

“Eddie?”

The entire apartment is quiet – too quiet – as you drop your keys into the old crystal bowl on the counter. The clink resonates through the air, louder than the soft murmur of the stereo static you can hear from down the hall. 

“You dead?” you call out again, slipping off your running shoes and tossing down your headphones onto the counter as well now, “Do I need to call the coroner?” 

Your tone is lilted, teasing with airiness as you continue to wander deeper into the apartment and head straight for the room you know Eddie has to be in. Like the waves pulled by the moon, there’s an incessant string tied around one end of your soul that connects you to his, and you follow it all the way down the hallway. The bedroom door is wide open, and you can hear his mumbled yell of a response without clarity before you even cross the threshold. 

You wouldn’t have even needed him to verbally respond to find him in this tiny apartment. You two could get separated on the streets of a bustling city, of a buzzing New York sidewalk, and you still wouldn’t properly lose him. It’s more than just soul ties and his gravity that keeps you pulled to him. 

Something unspoken. Something homely. 

“Sorry, what was that?” you hum as you spy him face-down in the bed, pillow muting him by the mouthful, “Say it one more time, and this time not into the pillow.” 

When he finally properly turns over, he’s a vision. Sleep lines folded into his skin and a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth, eyes squinting in irritation not at you but the sunlight flooding in through the bedroom window. Messy hair, messy shirt, messy everything. A kind of mess you just want to collapse into currently, curling up in all that he is from the day’s exhaustion. 

He’d mentioned wanting to take a nap before you’d left for the gym. Something about the summer heat draining him, trailing off as he’d rambled about how he’d probably thrive as a vampire. 

“I said,” he huffs, sitting up, the frizz of his hair becoming a makeshift halo, “If you call the coroner, request the comfiest coffin possible.”

“Why do you need a comfy coffin if you’re already dead?” 

“You dare deny me of being buried in tempurpedic memory foam? In my hour of need?” 

You roll your eyes as you huff out a little laugh, forcing yourself to turn away from him long enough to strip out of your socks. But just as you reach down for the pieces of clothing, you catch sight of the source of that stereo static flooding the room. 

Your shared record player, spinning a blood red pressing of one of your more recent vinyl purchases. The album has been played through, but the player no longer had an automatic stop mechanism, probably from years of use. 

The center of the record is probably scratched, and Eddie knows it, from how sheepish he looks when you glance over your shoulder at him. 

“Speaking of death,” you walk over quickly, purposefully, before carefully lifting the needle and cutting the static finally, “Care to explain why you’re burning scratches into my Momento Mori vinyl?” 

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes, nearly flinging himself off the bed as he scooches quickly to the end, clearly fully awake now, “I put it on and thought I’d just lay down for a quick second, but then the bed was so comfy, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick nap, and then…” he trails off, looking up at you through his lashes with big eyes already pleading for forgiveness, “I’ll buy you a new one. Swear it.” 

It’s impossible to be mad at him when he’s looking like this, inhumanely soft and easily forgiven, “You’re lucky you’re cute, or you really would be dead.” 

He doesn’t respond with words, but instead the outstretch of his hands, fingers flexing as he beckons to you. The needle rests on its perch, the vinyl left behind to gather dust for a few extra moments, as you go straight to him. 

When his palms slip beneath your old t-shirt and meet your skin, they’re pleasantly warm. 

“You were right,” you admit as his knees spread, delegating even more room for you to stand in front of him as your hand wanders to cradle the side of his face, fingers tangling in sweaty curls from his rest. Your thumb mimics his on your own skin instinctively, tracing a large arch right up over his cheekbone, “It’s hot as balls outside.” 

“Told you so,” he murmurs, smiling softly in satisfaction as he leans lazily into your touch. 

“You did,” you agree quietly, half-entranced by his relaxed face, no sight of pride in the room currently. 

He resembles a cat as he continues to preen under your gentle hand, and you almost expect him to start purring right before you find the strength to pull away, removing his hands from where they'd wandered to your lower back. 

One swipe of his finger along your sweaty spine, and you’d remembered what your original intentions had been immediately upon getting home. 

“Wai- Where are you going?” he’s seemingly brought back down to Earth the moment he loses the pattern your thumb had been tracing, the press of your fingertips into his scalp. When he reaches back out to latch onto you again, you take a step back, “Get back here-”

“I need to shower,” you laugh, shaking your head and smacking his hands away as he continues to barter, “I’m all sweaty and smelly, let me go clean up and then we can nap togeth-” 

“You can shower after we nap,” he nearly whines, finally catching your shirt between his fingers and tugging, uncaring for if he stretches the fabric. A small price to pay to have you close to him, “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you’re just as exhausted as I am.” 

You swear you meant to take another step backwards, but somehow, you end up back between his knees, “Did you not hear me, Munson? I stink.”

“Good.” 

He doesn’t give you any time to react – in an instant, he’s throwing his face forward, burying it against your stomach as you let out a gasp and immediately try to pry him away with far too gentle of hands in his hair. 

“Eddie!”

If it were anyone else, you’d probably be mortified. But Eddie just takes a dramatic deep breath in, nose buried just shy of your belly button, and when his shoulders start to shake with muted laughter, you can’t stop the smile from breaking. Your fingers are still twisted in his hair, still pulling back in an attempt to get him away from you, but he’s resilient. 

And all your faux resistance is weak in comparison. Soon enough, you’re back to melting into him. 

Only once you’re relaxed once more, no sign of trying to pull away again any time soon as his hands once more evade the space beneath your shirt to wander up and down your sticky skin without a care in the world, does he lift his face away from you long enough to breathe and speak, “I’ll have you know – I love your stink.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“I’m your idiot.” 

The game of banter is cut short when he goes back to pressing his nose into your clothes that surely can’t smell good. No amount of deodorant or perfume could erase that underlying stench of sweat. Hell, the shirt is still a bit moist from it all: from the walk to the gym, from your workout itself, from the walk home. It’d been through the ringer, and you’re back to tugging him away from you. 

“I refuse to believe you like how gross I smell right now,” you reinforce, eyes darting towards the bathroom connected to your master bedroom, “I promise I’ll be quick with the shower.” 

“Baby,” he fights back, wrapping his arms around you securely, no intention of losing this battle, “You remember that time we went to the fair, and you were complaining about how you were sweating, so I tried to lick your face?” 

Your nose scrunches quickly at the memory, “I do, unfortunately.”

“You really think I’d be willing to lick the sweat off your body but be afraid of you smelling a little bad while we cuddle?” his shoulders drop as he looks up at you, head tilted, almost as if amused with the conversation, “What kind of man do you take me for?” 

“The kind that gets off on annoying me.” 

His jaw drops, putting on a fake look of offense before he dramatically throws himself back onto the bed, laying flat as he makes a fist to mimic stabbing his chest, “You wound me.”

You’ve heard those words a thousand times in a hundred different ridiculous voices. You’ve seen this scene enough to have it mesmerized at this point, down to the over-exaggerated pout of his lips and the lingering of the fist against his sternum. 

You never grow tired of it. You never will. 

“Need me to kiss it better?” you joke as you prop a knee up on the bed, following the same script as always. 

And he hits his queue perfectly when he lifts his head eagerly at the expected response, wiggling his brows a bit. “Absolutely. Doctor’s orders, in fact.” 

“Great,” you see an opportunity, and take it, “I’ll get right to it, after my showe-” 

You don’t even get the final syllable of the word off your tongue before he’s clenching his thighs around your own, knees pressing hard before he wraps his legs the rest of the way around your waist to pull you in. A squeak of surprise leaves your lips as you begin to fall forward, but Eddie is quick to break the fall with ease. Catching you with his eager hands, maneuvering for you to half drop to the mattress while some of you still lands atop of him. 

He has you right where he wants you, turning his head to be face to face with you, noses nearly brushing, “Unfortunately, the doc said you have to kiss it better now, or else you’ll be comfy coffin shopping.” 

“A fatal wound?” you gasp, nearly mocking him. It doesn’t offend him – if anything, his boyish grin only grows wider, “First, I’m smelly-”

“Again, I like when you’re smelly.”

“-And then I inflict a fatal wound upon my lover? Oh, how dare I.”

Slowly, all your insecurity of how you currently smell is simply fading. The entire ordeal has become an art of childlike, whimsical jokes – and Eddie is an artist. A professional at the dance, locked and loaded with his incomparable skill set equipped for disarming you this way. The ability to make someone feel loved, imperfections and weirdness aside. 

He likes you, even when you claim you don’t smell your best. And you like him, even when his hair is tangled beyond recognition and one of his socks is half-hanging off his foot from a nap.

You like him when he’s embarrassing you in public, tongue chasing after you with the threat of licking your sweat away, and he likes you when all you can do in response is a weak palm to his chest (that isn’t even making an effort to push him away) as you giggle relentlessly. 

You like each other on the good days, the bad days, the weird days. 

Disarmed entirely, you don’t even notice when his face conveniently slots itself far too close to your armpit as you two scooch further up into the bed. You’re more occupied with the way your legs tangle up, toeing each other’s socks off properly as he slings a heavy arm across your torso. 

“We’re gonna have to wash the sheets,” you mumble, exhaustion catching up as the two of you finally settle. 

He hums absentmindedly, nuzzling into your skin a bit further as he makes himself comfortable. “And wash away your sweet, sweet stink? I don’t think so, sweetheart.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, unbothered as your fingers start to trail up and down his back over the t-shirt, smoothing out wrinkles along the way, “I’m serious. We need to change them soon anyways, I think I got crumbs in the bed the other night with those crackers.” 

“Bury me in the crumbs of all your midnight snacks,” he almost slurs, clearly drifting back off. 

You snort in response, relaxing and letting your own eyes shut. Matching all your deep breaths with his own, a million different last words crossing your mind to whisper to the boy you’re sure is once again asleep. 

I love you.

I adore you. 

I would like to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me. 

And maybe some of those unspoken thoughts slip out without you realizing, because he squeezes you just a little bit tighter, presses his face just a little bit deeper into your skin as his scruff tickles you. 

The only actual thought you can know for certain that you say, though, is, “Do you think they actually make coffins with memory foam inside?” 

To your surprise, even despite the almost-snores that had been escaping him, he answers in a heartbeat. 

“Oh, definitely. We’ll order two.”

[yuwuta]

yuuta exhibits such previously abandoned, recently adopted dog behavior. incredibly anxious all the time, even though nobody’s out to get him or leave him behind. waits for you to return home or from school or from work excitedly, just to see you when you walk through the door. follows you around senselessly, hovering in your space just for the sake of companionship. initiates affection in prodding ways—starts off next to you, then a hand on your thigh, then deems it safe to lay all the way down, then slowly pushes his head into your lap. gets up whenever you need to get up, and resumes his position as soon as you’re ready. brings you gifts as a sign that he’s thinking of you, and maybe because he likes the affection it brings out in you, maybe because he likes the gentle affirming touches of a hand in his hair or a pinch to his cheek. rests his head on your stomach or his chin on your shoulder when he’s sleepy, stays there, immobile, and will not move unless absolutely necessary. sometimes he gets surprised when he hears you calling for him, there’s a moment of disbelief as he thinks “me? really? you need me?” but it’s very quickly overshadowed by this compulsive need to show up, to please, to do anything for you, which is why he always answers when you call. he doesn’t realize that he has puppygod eyes, especially when he’s excited or confused, but he does and it’s incredible endearing. very reluctant to share your space or attention after a while, considers that to be sacred and he won’t risk being let go or lost again, so as a safety precaution, he keeps himself right by you, waits for you always. 

[crossthread]

No jokes here. The Navy’s best pilot and the Navy’s best admiral. Between them, eight air-to-air combat kills and five stars. These were men who commanded respect with or without your approval. This was the picture of ruthless competence.

Debriefing (& Other Stories) • part 2 of Easier Done Than Said by @compacflt

[mosaickiwi]

Someone In Between; Something Intertwined

Your babyboi Rendacted (from @14dayswithyou) struggles to be himself in your new-ish relationship. Gender neutral reader c:

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

You haphazardly pushed a cart full of returned books across the library. It'd been such a long day. Elanor had called in sick, so on top of desk duty, both the morning and afternoon story times fell on you. The kids were well behaved—as well behaved as elementary schoolers could be, anyway—but by the time it finished you were at your limit. The only solace was that today was Friday, so you had the whole weekend to spend at your boyfriend's apartment. A smile bloomed on your face and you couldn't help but push the cart a little faster as you thought about them, surely waiting outside already. 

Ren, your tall, clingy, dark-haired-at-the-roots boyfriend. It'd been 5 months since you officially started dating, and 4 months since he'd been convinced to let go of the Haruko persona. It was agonizingly slow progress, you still didn't know him well—he came off a bit neutral sometimes, unsure how to act around you before reverting to Haruko or a blank slate to mirror you. But you were happy that small parts of the real him managed to peek through over the months, no matter how much time it took. And it was taking a long time.

As you opened the overflow room, you checked the clock on the wall. It was barely 4 minutes until the end of your shift. The cart bumped over the threshold when you pushed it in and locked the door. Once that was taken care of, you did a quick look over the computer and study areas, picking up scrap papers and trash to put in the bin before heading to the break room, then your desk to grab all your things. 

You took a peek in Conan's office to bid him goodbye. "I'll see you next week! Enjoy your weekend," you said with a cheery voice and walked towards the entrance.

"You too!" he called after you. 

The doors flew open and you practically skipped with relief out into the cool autumn air. You spotted Ren leaning against the brick of the building, dressed in their now-usual style of black on black on more black. His hair was partially tied up in a ponytail, most of it still a pastel pink that fell over his shoulders. From the low collar on his shirt, you could see he'd covered his tattoos with makeup, but a few of his piercings were in. He was trying, and that meant so much to you. His ocean blue eyes were focused on the phone in his hand, so he didn't notice you at first.

"Ren!" You sang out their name and bounced over to them. 

He looked up in surprise before quickly smiling. "I was just texting you," he said and put his phone in his pocket. "Hey, Angel."

"Hiiii," you said as you grabbed his hand, taking gleeful notice of the light blush forming on his cheeks as your fingers laced together. At first you used to think it was only his Haruko persona when he blushed at any contact—but it turned out they really liked holding hands. It was the first thing you learned to keep in mind about the real him. So you made sure to do it as often as possible. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"It's only 5:01."

"And I'm sure you got here much earlier," you teased him, earning his embarrassed agreement when he flushed a deeper pink.

"Just 20 minutes," Ren mumbled and changed the subject. "Did y'want to stop anywhere? We don't have to go straight to my apartment."

"Nope! Work's got me feeling lazy. I'm all yours for the rest of the night." With that, you stood on your toes to kiss his cheek. 

He kissed you back on the lips, his snake bites catching the light as he smiled. He didn't even try to hide how happy he was. "Good."

~

An hour later, you were sitting on his couch eating pizza, a horror movie on low in the background while you chatted. You'd gotten half the pizza with your favorite toppings and—with a lot of stubborn encouragement on your part—Ren had gotten what were supposed to be his favorites. There was some overlap with a few of them, but he swore up and down they were things he liked. 

"L-Lots of people like pepperoni," he insisted. "You can't be suspicious of that one. It's basic."

"You got more than pepperoni to be suspicious about. But, true. I'll allow it," you conceded and munched away at the last of your pizza slice.

"Besides, I'm not that picky about food."

You swallowed, thinking about the age old debate about pizza toppings. "Pineapple on pizza?" Right on cue, the next victim in the movie shrieked in bloody terror.

"I'd eat it," he said after a moment of thought.

"Oh. Anchovies?" The screams continued.

He was a little more confident on this one. "Yup." 

"What about the really weird toppings?" you asked. You inwardly grimaced as you vaguely remembered a weird picture Moth had sent.. "Like… corn and chocolate?" 

Ren made a face between confused and disgusted. "Together? On pizza? People eat that?"

"Maybe. Probably," you said and shrugged. You grabbed a napkin from the coffee table and wiped your hands, then stood to throw away your paper plate. "People eat plenty of weirder things."

He paused the movie and quickly followed you into the kitchen with his own plate; he'd finished eating a little bit before you. As he trailed you to the trash can, then the sink, he spoke honestly, "It sounds really… out there. I don't think I'd eat it."

"Hmm," you said as you pumped the soap dispenser. You weren't sure if his answer would change if you said you'd eat it—not that you would, ew—but it was nice for him to voice his own opinions without trying to hear yours first.

You felt him trap you against the counter and rest his chin on your head. His arms came around you, but he only began washing his own hands as you were doing. It was an oddly comforting position.

An easy silence fell over the two of you, only broken by the rush of water from the tap. Eventually, the water stopped and he grabbed a paper towel, quickly drying his hands. You expected him to move, but instead he grabbed another towel and started drying your hands for you. He seemed content, even humming quietly to himself. So you simply watched. His rough fingers were steady as he delicately went over every inch of your hands until they were completely dry. He wasn't even half as thorough with himself; it was cute.

"You're really touchy," you innocently blurted out.

Ren suddenly let go, as if he'd been burned. "S-Sorry, Angel. I should've asked—" He quickly backed off, putting distance between you two and fiddling with his sleeves.

You realized your mistake and turned around, shaking your head in apology. Without the persona as a barrier, he was more on edge about your reactions sometimes. "I didn't mean it in a bad way. Here—hand, please," you demanded and held out your own to him. He cautiously took it and you smiled, closing the space to pull him into a hug. "See? No harm done. Touchy is good. Wonderful, even."

Despite the blush on his face, he seemed relieved. "Really?"

"Almost as wonderful as corn and chocolate pizza," you teased.

He laughed for a moment before squeezing you against his chest. "There's no way you'd actually eat that," he mumbled above you and got even quieter. "I'm so sorry, Angel. 'M afraid you'll push me away one day."

His arms felt so nice wrapped around you, but his words broke your heart. "I'd never do that. I care about you, Ren. Okay?" you whispered into his shirt. Your fingers curled tightly into the fabric and you pressed on. "Not Haruko, not anyone else." His real name slipped out in a quiet whisper. "You."

A rather stressful sigh left him and he started rambling, "I'm trying my best. And I get what you mean, but it's hard t’believe you'd want me as I am. I'm less than perfect for you. Why would you want that?"

"I don't need or want 'perfect' like I'm a test you studied for," you huffed in frustration and looked up at them, shocked to find hurt and loneliness in their gaze. "I'm not mad at you!" you immediately sought to reassure him. "But I want to accept you like you've accepted me, warts and all. I'm not perfect either."

"Except that you are per—" he opened his mouth to protest, but the way your eyes narrowed had him choosing his final word carefully. "Are… person?" He pulled away to fiddle with the hem of his sleeve. "I just can’t trust you’d like me when I haven’t been myself that often. You don’t know me that well.” His bangs covered his eyes as he lowered his head and looked away.

“I like the parts I’ve seen,” you stubbornly declared and crossed your arms, rapidly firing off the list you kept in your head. “You sleep like a corpse, you’re a tease and a flirt—even worse in bed. You won’t give anyone the time of day but me, you like your coffee black but somehow have a ridiculous sweet tooth.”

“Angel.” They tried to get your attention, but you didn’t hear them. 

“Little things make you happy even though you’re a pessimist, a drama queen when you want to get your way, a smug, petty brat on top of that, a total fucking geek if I’m being honest—sometimes you get really excited and babble about tech I don’t understand—and the very first thing I learned—”

“Angel,” he interrupted a little louder with a touch on your shoulder and you snapped out of it. Gentle as could be, he pried your fingers away from your arm. You didn’t realize you were practically digging your nails into your skin from how riled up you were. “Okay,” he continued in a low voice, a tinge of awkwardness to it. “You know me, in some ways.”

You smiled up at him, just as self-conscious about your momentary rant. “You really, really like holding hands, too,” you quietly pointed out and wiggled your fingers in his grip. He hadn’t let go, not that you wanted him to.

“I didn’t think there was so much of me—the real me—that you cared enough to notice,” he said, idly tracing over your fingertips. The gentle touch comforted you.

“It’s all important to me. And it made me so excited when I could see those little parts of you," you admitted with a nervous laugh. “This is embarrassing, but I'd try to write down all the things I'd learn when I got home so I wouldn’t forget. But then I’d scribble and tear up the papers—I’d think to myself like ‘that’s creepy, stop it you weirdo.’ Isn’t it though? Taking notes on someone is a bit much.”

Ren seemed to piece something together in his mind before answering confidently, “Not at all, in fact it’s really cute. Who's studying for who, here?”

Heat flushed your cheeks and you blew out a silent breath from pursed lips. “I wasn’t studying. I was happy that you were being yourself! There are so many quirks or habits you don't realize that just make me fall more in… love… with you…?” You trailed off, eyes widening in tandem with theirs as you both processed what you'd just said.

The confused look on his face had you positive that his brain was malfunctioning. At least yours certainly was. “Ah—In love? Like you love me?” he asked in disbelief and repeated himself. "You love me?"

You nodded robotically, wanting to melt into the marble floor. You did love him. And all the little pieces that shined through the cracks in his act. You loved getting to know him, good and bad, bratty or sweet. Confessing to note taking already had you flustered, yet here you were, continuing to run your mouth and put it all out there. “Yeah... I love you,” you managed to say in spite of yourself.

He lifted you off the ground by your waist, drawing a weird squeaking noise you had surely never made before out of you. He didn't seem bothered as he sat you down on the counter and tenderly kissed your forehead. “I love you, Angel. More than anything,” he breathed out against your skin then pulled back. “I really love you.” His hand brushed stray hairs away from your face before he was cupping your cheek, staring at you for a long while with a shamelessly adoring smile. 

Sirens started blaring in your head the longer nothing happened, so you quietly asked, “Can you kiss me before more embarrassing stuff comes out my mouth?”

“Ahh, um, I’m kind of—overstimulated? Overwhelmed? I never thought I'd hear y'say you love me," he confessed with giddiness. "I can’t decide between teasing you or crying from happiness."

“If you tease me right now I’m going to be the one crying."

That got him to choose. Not a moment sooner, he finally kissed you. The sirens in your head quieted down, only to be replaced by butterflies in your stomach as your eyes closed. He was just as affectionate as he always was, but you could tell he had trouble holding his emotions back from the way his hand gripped your thigh. There was a trembling excitement to the gentle kisses he gave. Ren was clearly on cloud nine. His lips drew a feather light trail from the corner of your mouth up to your ear, barely tickling you as he lingered.

“Angel,” he whispered softly as his thumb traced circles on your leg.

You tilted your head to look at him, feeling pure bliss from his affection. “Hmm?”

“Don’t tear up your study notes next time. ‘Wanna read ‘em.”

“Noo!"

[dharmasharks]

Keep a candle burning

Pairing: Steve x Bucky | Fandom: MCU

Rating: Explicit/No archive warnings apply

Major tags: Modern AU, Exes to Lovers, Childhood Sweethearts, Idiots in Love, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Shrinkyclinks

Summary:

Bucky has been sitting cross legged on the floor with Steve Rogers for three hours. He feels giddy on two donuts too many, his ribs tight and hot from laughing. But mostly he feels smug as hell: he cannot wait to tell Clint how wrong he was when he said this was a terrible idea.

Well, what Clint had actually said was, “Are you out of your mind? Steve, as in Steve, is going to spend Hanukkah with you, in your studio apartment?”

—

In which Bucky can totally, definitely last eight nights without falling for his childhood best friend. Again.

Read on ao3 >

Written for @hanukkahbingo! Thank you times a million for all the hard work that goes into modding this event!

[st4rrmii]

Guys i know realistically Bumpy is either outliving Ben or they're growing old together unless some unnatural force decides otherwise but like how mad would y'all be at me if I wrote angst of Ben losing Bumpy

[the-magpie-archives]

Several times recently I've found myself making tea whilst listening to The Magnus Archives, and as a result I've developed a silly little headcanon...

I'm not sure if it's a nationwide thing, but certainly throughout my life I've experienced the weird stigma of having sugar in your tea. It's not direct or aggressive, but there always seems to be this vague notion that sweetening your tea makes you less strong, less manly. I rarely see men ask for sugar, and often observe an obvious proudness in teenage boys when they say "no sugar, thanks."

Picture Jonathan Sims, newly appointed archivist, worried he's not good enough, placed haphazardly in power of people who were very recently peers, and desperately trying to prove he's the right man for the job. Everything seems to be falling apart a bit, and he's not at all sure his assistants have any faith in him; he had to ask for a tape recorder because he couldn't get his laptop to work properly - that's embarrassing.

Now imagine Martin: office sweetheart, gets along with pretty much anyone, just moved to a new position working with two close friends, and the attractive guy from research is his boss (he's a bit rude and stuck up, but it's probably just the stress, right?). He's pretty comfortable! Aside from the occasional snide remark from Jon it is a good job, which is especially pleasing considering how he got to work at the institute in the first place.

Two opposing forces, as we all well know! But what's better at building bridges than a nice cup of tea? Martin makes a lot of tea, but I like to think he memorises how everyone takes theirs. Regardless, he has to ask at least once.

And so, kind, sweet, gentle Martin, his offer of a cup of tea promptly accepted, would have the misfortune of saying, "do you take that with sugar?" to an embarrassed, flustered Jon, who's trying desperately not to confront any romantic feelings he might have hidden away. The ensuing scoff and slightly too enthusiastic 'No! Thank you.' would be enough to remember that preference for a while.

As times go on, hundreds of cups of tea later, things get less tense between the pair, and Martin never has to revisit the question; but late one night, shortly before Jon is to leave for Great Yarmouth and Martin is to risk it all to take down Elias, Jon places a hand gently on Martin's shoulder and asks "Could I have a cup of tea?". Of course Martin says yes, it's the least he could do, but as he turns to go and make it, Jon calls out again. "With sugar, please."

Just a tiny vulnerability, but enough. By that point most of Jon's facade has been torn roughly away many times, but letting go of small points of pride often means more than non-deliberate actions. Having enough bravery to admit to liking something soft and sweet is harder than you'd think.

Maybe during those six months after, Martin would watch the sugar dissolve into his own tea with a painful melancholy, the sweetness a bitter memory.

[ldhluvr]

☆ celestial — steve harrington x reader

info : bff2l!steve harrington x reader !!! steve is such a cutie poopie head !!!! i tried making this like Good or wtv but lowkey it just comes off as really cringy but just know that i put my whole heart and ass into this instead of sleeping before a flight that i have in like 5 hours 💖💖 also the pacing is ass but they're just reallyyyy into each other TRUST 🤞

You tap your thighs to the beat of the song Steve has put on in the car. It’s a familiar tune, but you don’t quite remember its name. Steve hums along softly, nodding his head to the song, and you steal a glance at him without turning your head. The harsh light of the nearby street lamp, its glow softened by the misty night, glides over his face, casting a warm, golden hue. It’s as if he’s a rogue star pulled down to Earth from the night sky, his features illuminated with a soft, ethereal light. 

You lower your gaze, your hands resting on your thighs, and sigh. You hear shuffling on Steve’s side of the car, and the song pauses. You look back up at him, and he seems almost concerned. 

“Everything okay?” His hand reaches up to rest on your shoulder. 

Your chest tightens, and your heart rate picks up at the contact. You take a deep breath and attempt to compose yourself before responding. “Yeah, all good. ‘M just thinking.”

He shifts in his seat to face you properly. You can tell his position is uncomfortable, but unintentionally smile at how caring he is. He retracts his hand, and the car suddenly feels ten degrees colder. “What’s up?”

You force out a laugh. “Oh, it’s nothing.” 

He cocks his head to the side slightly, and his hand moves to rest on your thigh. Your breath gets caught in your throat for a second at the unexpected contact. “Come on, [Y/N]. You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know,” you mutter, staring at his hand on your leg. “It’s just that… sometimes… this is all a little much for me.” Your voice is soft, almost a whisper. 

Your admission stuns Steve into silence for a couple of seconds. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, like… this whole ‘taking me on late-night drives’ thing. And taking me out to dinner as ‘friends.’ And buying me books. It’s too much,” you confess. 

You finally look back up at Steve, and he looks sadder than you’ve ever seen him. The light that once shone on him dims and almost shines blue. He bites his lower lip, seemingly contemplating something. His eyes aren’t on you anymore, and he retracts his hand again.

“Oh,” he says softly. “I thought… y’know what? Nevermind. Do you want me to drop you home?”

Your eyes widen. He’s completely misunderstood what you said.

You place your hand up as if to stop him from doing anything. “No, Steve, I want to stay. What I meant is, it’s too much knowing that we’re,” you pause, trying to muster up as much courage as you can, “just friends.”

Before you can stop yourself, you glance at Steve, who now has a practically earsplitting grin. His hands reach up to cup your cheeks, and he lightly tugs your face closer to his.

“Oh, sweetheart, if you wanted to be more than friends, you just had to say so,” he murmurs. Your stomach practically flips at his words and tone, and he pulls you an inch closer to him. Your noses are almost touching, and you watch his gaze flicker down to your lips. 

“Are you going to kiss me, Steve?” Your voice comes out breathy and unstable, and Steve takes your words as a sign of confirmation.

He leans in, sealing his lips with yours. He kisses you passionately with the amount of patience of a man starved. His lips are hot on yours—practically burning—and you feel like the luckiest person alive to be experiencing Steve Harrington in all his glory. 

One of his hands remains on your cheek while the other slides down to the back of your neck for more leverage. Your hands raise to his hair, and you card your fingers through it. He deepens the kiss, leaning slightly forward into you, and you feel like he’s almost stealing your breath. The car seems to disappear, as does the rest of the town. The two of you are in your own galaxy, lost in the moment.

Needing oxygen, you break apart, both of you practically gasping for air. As you calm down, you both lean in once more, this time letting your forehead rest against his. “That was…” you whisper, unable to complete your sentence. All coherent thoughts have since escaped you. 

“You are the best thing to ever happen to me,” Steve whispers back. His breath is warm against your face and contrasts the cool night air that still seeps in from the outside world. 

You redden and duck your head down so he can’t see your face. His fingers touch the bottom of your chin, and you lift your head so you’re level with him again. “Be my girlfriend?” His voice is small, unlike the usually confident Steve Harrington you know. 

Your lips curve into a small smile, and you lean in for another kiss, much more gentle and soft than the first. It only lasts a few seconds, but when you pull back, you whisper, “Yes,” and that’s all the two of you need for the rest of the night.

[jacks347]

I made this dumb thing like a year ago cause I think Hiccup's dad sounds like a drunk Albus and thus this shit was born so take it :3

~~

Faith had an inkling of what to expect when Albus had found the alcohol storage in the ship but had still hoped the warrior would keep some level of composure. I mean, all that heavy drinking meant he had to have some tolerance, right?

Oh, how wrong she was.

Albus was a stumbling mess, slurring his words and barely able to stand on his own two feet. After he'd nearly locked up the ship's systems three times due to his incessant button pushing on the control panel, Devlin had begged Faith to take Albus to his room so he wouldn't break anything. Seeing the forgemaster on the verge of tearing his hair out in stress of keeping his brother from destroying the very ship they stood on, she decided to heed his warnings and guided Albus to his room, saying she'd stay with him to make sure he didn't hurt himself.

"Woah, Faithful, watch where you're puttin' those hands or I might get the wrong idea." Albus laughed as Faithful gave him one last push through the door of his room. "Get your head out of the gutter, Albus. It was either I push you to make sure I could catch you if something happened or risk you toppling over and I can't have you breaking your nose on my conscience." Faith sighed, taking a minute to breathe after having to shove the small mountain that was a drunken Albus halfway across a ship.

Albus all but collapsed onto his bed, the bottle in his hand threatening to spill its contents as it sloshed around. Faith pulled up a chair next to his bed, plucking the bottle out of his hand. Albus half whined at the loss of his precious alcohol, his now empty hands searching the air around him. "Hey, don't you know it's not nice to take things that don't belong to you?" "Albus, you're already drunk. I may not be able to spare you the headache you'll have tomorrow but I can try to limit its strength." "Ah, you're such a prude. Don't you know how to have fun?" "Not your version, no."

"My version? Oh then please enlighten me dear priestess, what does your version of fun look like?" Faith sat back in her chair, thinking for a minute. There were very few happy memories she had from back home but there was one...

She smiled to herself, the sounds of music and cheering faintly ringing through her mind. "Well, there were a lot of celebrations that happened in the church. It was one of the few occasions that we got involved with the local culture. I always liked to dance." Albus stared at the Sister with a look of vague disbelief before he burst out laughing. "You. Dance. Excuse me if I find that a little hard to believe." Faith just rolled her eyes, her smile only growing. "Laugh all you want, it's true. I still remember a few of the songs. My favorite was one of the traditional songs for courting. It would bring out all the kids and young couples, it was so cute."

Faith couldn't quite describe the look on Albus's face when she said that. He squinted at her, it could be considered calculating, even analytical if it didn't look so out of place with his cheeks flushed such a rosy color and his entire body still swaying slightly. "What? What's with that look?" She raised an eyebrow at him, seriously wondering how many of his brain cells were on thinking duty after how many bottles he'd downed.

The question was answered by Albus suddenly sitting up and getting to his unsteady feet. Faith just watched him as he staggered to the middle of the room, turning in swaying circles and mumbling something under his breath when he suddenly stopped. "Albus? Are you okay?" Faith could only watch him, wondering where his head was at. The warrior took a breath before turning to her, holding out his hand. "I might not remember the whole song but I remember the ending. So, may I have this dance, Faithful?"

Albus wished he was sober enough to remember the exact deep rosy color Faithful flushed.

The priestess was a blushing mess, staring at Albus like he'd lost his mind. He extended his hand a little further, his signature cocky smile spreading across his face. "Well? May I?" Faith sputtered for a few seconds before sighing, taking his hand with an embarrassed smile. "I guess you may."

Albus pulled her close, twirling her around much to her surprise. She burst into giggles, leaning further into him. "Since when did you know how to dance?" "Oh, I don't. I've just watched a lot of festivals. Which is why I only know the ending to this song." Albus clarified, placing a little distance between the two and clearing his throat.

"But I would bring you rings of gold, I'd even sing you poetry, and I would keep you from all harm if you would stay beside me."

He started quiet, growing louder as he became more sure of the words. It'd been a long time since Albus had last seen a traditional festival, even longer since he'd heard this particular song. But to see Faith so happy remembering it...

His dance steps were unsteady, unsure and not helped by the alcohol running through him but Faith didn't mind, following along with a practiced sort of ease and a giddy smile before opening her mouth.

"I have no use for rings of gold, I care not for your poetry. I only want your hand to hold..."

"I only want you near me!"

She sang so sweetly, confident and excited. It made something warm in Albus's chest, a different kind of warmth than the alcohol he so treasured. This was so much deeper, in his very soul. And then she was taking his arm and- Oh gods the spinning he'd forgotten about this part.

"To love and kiss, to sweetly hold for the dancing and the dreaming. Through all life's sorrows and delights, I'll keep your laugh inside me. I'll swim and sail the savage seas, with never fear of drowning. I'd gladly ride the waves so white if you will marry me!"

As should've been expected, Albus tripped over his own feet, taking both of them to the floor. After a second to recover, Faith and Albus made eye contact. The silence stretched on for one second, two, three...

They both burst out laughing, leaning into each other and blinking tears from their eyes. "Oh, make it stop, my stomach hurts." She gasped between giggles. "No can do Faithful, you brought this upon yourself." Albus poked the Sister's side, making her bat his hand away as she calmed down. "Hey, no, keep your hands to yourself, mister." "You're the one who took me up on my offer to dance so you touched me first. I'm simply getting even." "You're drunk, you don't know what you're talking about." "Maybe I am but hey, at least one of us will remember this, right?"

Once again, Albus wished he was sober enough to remember the look on Faith's face as she blushed, that shy smile he was coming to adore pulling at her lips again. "Oh shut up. Now come on, we need to get you back to bed before Devlin comes down to find out what all the racket is." "And we just can't be having that, now can we? Don't want poor innocent Devlin to get the wrong idea." He teased, waggling his eyebrows and earning himself a smack to the back of the head.

Faith got herself to her feet, brushed herself off and pulled Albus up. The warrior stumbled back to bed, faceplanting into his pillow. She once again took a seat next to him, knowing she still needed to watch over him. Albus pulled his face out of his pillow to look at her. "Y'know, maybe one day we'll be able to see one of those festivals in person. And then we can do this properly." Faith couldn't help but smile, brushing the hair out of Albus's face. "One day, my warrior. One day." "One day..." He mumbled before falling asleep. Faith just sat there, pulling her hands to her chest. Maybe if she held onto this feeling long enough, she'd be able to keep it forever.

[thedeerman]

me getting ready to feed my readers the most tooth rotting fluff my demented mind is capable of producing (as an apology for breaking everyone’s hearts for ten whole chapters) ❤️

[hollowgl0w]

every time I'm writing my silly little fanfiction and think about how I can't wait to finish writing it and get it posted I have to remind myself that Scott Smajor is on ao3 and even if there is a very small chance he would even see one of my works he's still like. out there lurking and shit