#love that crooked mouth thing he does when he smiles

[gloomyfilm]

Milo Ventimiglia, Seoul (2015) ❤️‍🔥

[bagofshinyrocks]

Government name vs Military callsign

Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?

Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: none

John Price

Government name.

Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.

“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”

Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.

“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”

“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”

He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.

“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”

When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.

Simon Riley

Military callsign.

When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.

“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”

“Fuck you callin’ me that for?” 

Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.

“We playin’ games now?” You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.

“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”

Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips. 

A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.

Kyle Garrick

Government name.

He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.

“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”

Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.

If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?

“Kyle Ga-”

“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”

You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”

“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”

He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room. 

“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.

John MacTavish

Military callsign.

He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.

Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.

“SOAP!”

Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.

“JOHNNY!”

“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.

“C’mere, c’mere.”

He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”

You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”

He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”

“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”

“You called me Soap.”

“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”

Posted: 2023 Dec 10

[augustinewrites]

dress + nanami

“i bought you something.”

you frown slightly, eyeing the sleek box that nanami places on the bed.

“but i didn’t get you anything…”

he simply smiles, gently taking your hand and smoothing his thumb over the gold band adorning your ring finger. “allowing me to marry you this afternoon was the greatest gift you could ever give me.”

memories of your little ceremony still linger in the forefront of your mind. you’d married him atop a small rooftop garden filled with this season’s blooms, surrounded by your closest friends and family. you’d never been an extremely sentimental person, but the way he’d gazed at you and whispered vows meant for your ears and yours alone…you’d hold that close to your heart forever.

“no take backs, by the way,” you say when you feel tears prick at the back of your eyes once more. “you’re stuck with me, even though i snore.” 

“your snores are adorable. like a bunny holding a chainsaw.”

“hey!” you laugh, letting him wrap his arms around you from behind, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. 

“just let your husband spoil you, hm?”

nanami loves to spoil you. he’s always had such lovely taste, picking soft, pretty things that catch his eye in shop windows— a pair of leather gloves, a stylish sweater, a diamond bracelet. each gift is thoughtful, always complimenting you perfectly,

you lift the lid of the box, peeling back layers of tissue paper to reveal a delicate, silky white dress.

“kento…” you breathe, feeling his lips curl into a smile against your skin. gingerly, you lift the feather-light dress by dainty straps, taking in the cowl neck and tasteful high slit. 

simple, yet elegant, like him. 

“for you to wear to the reception,” he murmurs, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder. “do you like it?”

“i love it,” you tell him truthfully, turning to look at him. “help me put it on?” 

your husband couldn’t look more pleased, especially when deft fingers undo the back of your bespoke wedding gown and he sees what you’d snuck on underneath.

but nanami is nothing if not efficient, clearing his throat before helping you step out of your current dress and into your new one, the material gliding against your skin like butter.

“you’re a vision,” he whispers, brushing another kiss to the back of your neck. with heat in your cheeks, you turn in his embrace, bringing your lips up to his. 

the rest of the world begins to melt away, as it often does when you’re with him. but it’s different now. it’s different because in the eyes of the law, you’ve chosen him and he’s chosen you. 

so you share eager kisses in the warm lamplight of the hotel room, his hands gentle as they slide over the smooth material of your dress. 

and eventually, up the slit resting atop your thigh. his warm hands rest on your bare skin, setting off sparks of pleasure up your spine.

“we shouldn’t,” you breathe as he plants open mouthed kisses on the hollow of your throat. “we need to check on our guests— you know satoru gets weepy when he’s had more than one drink.” 

nanami pulls back to look at you, pupils blown with desire as he takes in your smeared lipstick and wide-eyed stare.

he responds by pulling you close with his grip on your hips, a groan slipping past your lips as he does so. 

“they can wait,” he tells you, walking you backwards until your knees buckle against the edge of the bed. “i’ve waited long enough to be alone with my wife.”

he’s waited for this moment even when he hadn’t realized he’d wanted this, wanted you. he’s wanted it since the days you’d shared at jujutsu tech, when he’d been a besotted schoolboy, pining after his classmate. 

nanami’s always been a patient man—

he yanks the skirt of your new dress up around your hips and kisses a trail down your chest.

— except when he’s not.

[lovebugism]

hi bug! can I please request the dialogue prompt “Hold up, she said what?” with steve and shy!reader? maybe she is robin’s friend and robin tells steve something reader said (maybe that she thinks steve is cute or nice or something of the sort), and it leads to a cute conversation between the two?

ty for requesting angel!! — steve finds out the cute girl at the record store likes him and decides to bring her ice cream as a proclamation of love (shy!fem!reader, friends to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, 2.3k)

blurbcember ⋆⁺₊⋆ ❄ ⁺₊⋆ ❄

“Wait, wait, wait,” Steve interjects suddenly, a metal scoop in his hand and a wild look in his eye. “She said what?”

Robin fumbles with the metal tub of Peppermint-Chip ice cream she’s refilling. It clangs when she drops it into place with haphazard care. The shop goes unusually silent without her rambling to fill the dead air. Holly, Jolly Christmas crackles quietly from the broken speakers overhead.

The girl blinks at him with a wide ocean gaze. Her rogue-tinted mouth falls softly agape. She knows she’s said the wrong thing, but she can’t remember what.

“...Huh?”

“What’d you just say?”

Her doe eyes flit to the left for a moment. It takes her a second or more to recall the words she’d only just said. She does this thing sometimes where she rambles on and on about nothing, and Steve was the first person in the whole world to let her. So it’s way too easy for her to tell him a billion things at once and forget about all of them a second later.

“That the music store just got new cassettes in?” Robin answers, her gritty voice a few octaves higher than usual.

Steve nods slow and with a crooked grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth. He rests his elbow on the glass case above the ice cream and eggs her on. “After that?”

“…That you and the pretty new girl that works there have the same taste in music?”

“Before that.”

“That she said she wanted to show you the new tapes,” she says, wincing with the realization that she had, in fact, said the wrong thing. A secret she swore not to tell has just spilled from her lips without her even knowing it.

“And?” Steve lilts with a wider, rosier smile.

“Because she likes you…” Robin confesses (or rather, re-confesses) with her teeth gritted.

Even though Steve had heard her perfectly the first time, hearing it the second makes his heart skip a beat. The pulsing organ lurches into his throat. He almost forgets how to breathe.

“She likes me?” he repeats, mostly whispering, with an incredulous gape of shock. His bushy brows raise until his forehead wrinkles. His eyes go wide until the honey of them starts to glimmer.

Despite her best friend’s lovesick disposition, Robin’s freckled face hardens. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” she rumbles like a storm cloud, knocking her shoulder against his when she walks by him.

“Why?” Steve retorts like a child, following behind her just the same. 

He nearly bumps into her when she stops short at the deep freezer. She returns the cloth mits she carried the ice cream in with after spending her whole break organizing the case by color. Steve could never even be bothered to put the damn things back where they belonged in the first place.

“Because I swore to her I wouldn’t,” Robin agonizes, then whips around to face him again. Her features are twisted like a hurt puppy as she pleads. “Don’t tell her I said anything either, okay? She’ll hate me.”

Steve wasn’t planning on it. Not because he thought it might make you hate her, though. He’s not entirely sure you’re capable of that. 

He’s only known you for a few months — ever since the leaves started changing color and people traded their ice cream cones for cool music at the new record store. He spent half that time admiring you across the landing, but you’ve never been anything but gentle with him. You were soft, with a soul of sunshine. 

He didn’t know it was possible to be made of sunlight until he met you.

“Well, did you tell her I liked her back?” he presses, hoping Robin might’ve done some of the hard work for him.

Her face screws up like she’s tasted something sour. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I promised you I wouldn’t.”

Steve shoots her a deadpanned look.

Robin caves. 

“It’s not like I meant to tell you she liked you just now, okay? It just came out!” she explains, gesturing wildly with her hands. “Maybe next time I stick my foot in my mouth around the new girl, I’ll tell her that you’re obsessed with her, and the two of you can finally start dating instead of making sex eyes at each other all the time.”

He wouldn’t put that past her. Robin the Mastermind, Robin the Blabbermouth, Robin the Matchmaker. But his fluttering heart is pumping with too much adrenaline now. He feels like he could move mountains with the knowledge of your affections — knowing that all his own big, fuzzy, suffocating feelings have been reciprocated all this time.

If he doesn’t talk to you now, he’s scared he’ll never work up this kind of courage again.

“No. Screw that,” he concludes with a shake of his head. He’s in King Steve mode now — feeling half as suave as he used to back when the whole town was falling at his feet — chest puffed and ego reeling. “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

Robin watches, dumbfounded, as he dumps a scoop of their best-selling ice cream into a paper bowl. Another tub she’ll have to refill. Steve ducks under the counter door and heads for the exit. “Wait— what am I supposed to do?” the girl shouts across the empty store.

Now out in the bustling Starcourt mall and taking short strides towards the music store, Steve spins on his heel to face her. He shrugs and readjusts the sailor’s cap on his head. “Wait for me to get back.”

—————

You’ve been banished to the back of the store.

Not exactly. But that’s what it feels like.

You got a bit too overwhelmed working the front counter, and since Eddie’s crazy soft on you, he let you put up all the Christmas decorations he’d been putting off instead. It’s a win-win situation, really. 

You’re stringing up sparkling tinsel over the rows of records when a deep blue sailor’s uniform catches your eye. Looking over your shoulder, you find Steve in all his glorysauntering towards you. He’s wearing shorts even though it’s basically winter now in Indiana. He’s beaming at you like sunshine anyway.

Beneath the amber glow of the dimly lit store, he looks borderline angelic. Almost unfairly ethereal.

“What’s that?” you wonder with a smile you don’t even know is there, nodding to the Scoops Ahoy brandedcup in his hand. 

You can almost smell the syrup-cinnamon concoction of the ice cream he holds in his palm. Or maybe that’s just Steve, and the sugary sweetness is radiating from his pores after working in a confectionary shop during the holidays.

He looks at you even sweeter.

“New flavor,” he answers vaguely, smirking as he leans against the metal shelves. He stumbles slightly when it rocks beneath his weight. “Oops. Sorry. It’s, uh— It’s pancake chunks with maple syrup swirl. I call it Wake and Bake.” 

A giggle tumbles from your lips when he hands it to you. “Eddie’s gonna love that,” you murmur.

“Well, it’s actually called Breakfast in Bed, but— I don’t know— I thought my idea was better.”

“Way better,” you concur with a nod and a pretty smile.

Steve watches with attentive honey eyes as you spoon a bite into your mouth. He feels a bit like it’ll be his fault if you hate it. His irrational need to impress you always makes him feel hopelessly inadequate. 

“Woah,” you hum without your mouth still a little full. The cream melts softly on your tongue, tasting of a sweet and early morning. “This is really good.”

His brows raise, and his eyes widen. “Yeah?” he wonders. Your words wash over him like a compliment for a reason he can’t name. It feels good to make you feel good.

“Mhmm. I might have to come by after work and buy the rest of it, actually,” you joke with a curt shrug. It’s a feeble confession — your way of telling him that you want to see him more because you could never say the real thing out loud.

Your heart sinks when Steve shakes his head. Then swells when he smiles.

“No way,” he scoffs, lips curling into a lopsided grin. “I’m not gonna let you pay for it— that’s crazy.”

“You can’t keep giving me free ice cream, Steve—”

“What my manager doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he lilts lowly and with a cool shrug that makes you melt. He goes very distinctly soft when he looks at you, all scruffy-faced and sweet-eyed. 

It’s suffocatingly beautiful. You crack under the pressure of it. 

“Well, uh— Thanks for the— ice cream,” you stammer and motion the bowl back to him. Thanks for stopping by and keeping me company, but you’re too pretty and I’m not sure how much longer I can take it, you don’t say.

“You don’t want the rest?” he asks with pinched brows.

“I just… should probably get back to work, you know?”

“Eddie doesn’t let you take breaks?”

“No, he does,” you answer quickly, shifting your weight on your feet. It becomes virtually impossible to meet his gaze. “Just not with…”

Steve’s brows raise when you trail off. “Not with me?” he finishes with a laugh.

“Well, not with the… pretty-boy-ice-cream-slinger in the sailor’s uniform,” you correct, then quickly follow. “His words. Not mine.”

In all honesty, Steve couldn’t care less about what Eddie Munson has to say about him. If Hawkins’s local freak is the only thing standing between him and the pretty girl at the music store, he’s down to break a couple of dumb rules.

He takes a small step towards you. His pink smirk widens. You swear your heart stops when he looks at you with it. “You don’t think I’m pretty?” he teases with a twinkle in his squinted eye.

Suddenly, there’s a frog in your throat and you’re fourteen all over again. You’re flustered and drowning and totally unsure of yourself. “I didn’t say that,” you mutter, gaze flittering and smile wavering.

Steve goes to rest his elbow on the shelf again, then remembers its unsteadiness and decides against it. His arm rests awkwardly in the air for half a moment before he crosses both of them over his chest. 

“Well, I mean, you didn’t not say it, so…”

You squint up at him, busying your clammy hands with the melting ice cream in your palm. You know what he’s fishing for. Your pride urges you to stay silent even though your heart sings the sweetest songs for him. 

“You know you’re pretty, Steve,” you murmur matter of factly.

“But do you think I’m pretty?”

Your thundering heart lurches into your throat when Steve takes another small step closer. He smells like wintertime — like Christmas and nostalgia and boy. You don’t trust your voice to answer him verbally, so you nod, slow and sheepish.

“Good,” he hums with a beam he couldn’t hide if he tried. “‘Cause I think you’re pretty, too.”

Your chest gets all sparkly at his admission — the affirmation that all your girlish feelings are being reciprocated by a boy you never dreamed you could have. You don’t feel hardly deserving of the fondness dripping from his features, but you pray he never stops looking at you with it.

You grow warm with the irrational hope that he might kiss you. You think he might actually kiss you until your boss’s voice pierces the golden bubble of puppy love the both of you are basking in.

“How’s the decorating going?” Eddie announces himself, appearing suddenly between the two aisles.

Robin idles at his side. She’s in the feminine version of Steve’s sailor outfit — with silver chains around her neck and bandaids on her knees. Effortlessly endearing and totally unaware of it all.

You push Steve away from you without thinking, all but shoving the softening ice cream into his chest. Some of it smears white against the scarlet tie around his chest. “Sorry!” you exclaim in your moment of fleeting panic, then turn to Eddie with the same apologetic wince. “Sorry…” you repeat quieter.

“Robin?” Steve gapes at the sight of his best friend — apparently the second thing standing in his way, right beside the freak. “What the hell are you doing here— did you tattle on me? What are you, four?”

“I got lonely,” the brunette answers plainly. “And I knew you were around here somewhere, so I asked Eddie where you were—” She waves a pale hand your way, fingers painted with chipping maroon polish.  “—And now I’m here.”

Eddie grins wide and tilts his wild head to his shoulder. “Yeah. Can’t believe you’re trying to taint my one good employee, Steven.”

“I’m not tainting anybody, Munson,” he bites back like a bickering brother, then screws up his face and turns to Robin. “Wait. If you’re here, who’s manning the counter?”

Her freckled face falls like a child caught in a fib. Her deep blue eyes widen when she blinks at him. In a mousier voice, she confesses, “Dustin came by… And I told him he could eat all the ice cream he wanted as long as he made sure no one stole anything.”

The four of you fall silent. The soft rock of Christmas Wrapping plays weakly from the radio at the front of the store. Eddie breaks first. ‘Cause he can’t ever be serious about anything. 

The boyish sound of his laughter sends a giggle sputtering from your lips. The pretty noise makes Steve smile despite his baffled disbelief.

He turns to you with a dumbfounded grin. “You’re still stopping by after work, right?”

“Yeah,” you answer softly, nodding as your smiling face grows hot.

Eddie scoffs when Steve walks by him. “If you still have a job by then.”

[lxvvie]

It's the little things, Part I:

It's the way Price blushes as you cover his face in kisses. He's seen and done it all, stared down the barrel of a gun more times than he can count, but nothing will ever quite throw the Cap'n off his game more than the way you show and tell him that you love him and that he's damn good at what he does.

It's the way Gaz exhales and feels all the stress leave his body. His head rests comfortably on your lap and your fingers ghost over the wrinkles on his forehead. He was only away for only a week and a half but it felt like an eternity. Gaz leaves the work behind in your embrace, closes his eyes, and it's the best damn nap he's had in a while.

It's the way Soap whines and leans into your touch as your nails work shampoo and miracles on his scalp. Oh. That's new. You do it again. Same response. You tease him about it later much to his chagrin but it's just one of many things that endear him to you. And amuses Simon if your text messages are any indication.

It's the way Ghost is trying not to laugh when you blow raspberries on his stomach. Apparently, you made it your life's mission to get a reaction out of him every time you did it, and when you finally succeeded—he said it was a cough but that's bullshit—your eyes lit up and it was the cutest fucking thing to him. Victory looks good on you, sweetheart.

It's the way Alex relaxes and his eyes flutter close when you kiss the side of his mouth. It's the way he softly murmurs, "Boss...", you murmur, "Babe..." in response, he groans in faux exasperation, and you thank whoever heard your prayers that he's safe in your arms again.

It's the way Alejandro lets his guard down and silently brings you into a hug. His face is buried in the crook of your neck and your arms squeeze him back as tightly as you can. It's one of those moments where you can feel the weight he carries in the tension in his body but it's also a reminder that just as he watches over his men, you'll always watch over him.

It's the way Rudy leaves you speechless as he tilts his head ever so slightly as he listens to you talk, and when you realize what's happening, he laughs heartily and it's your turn to be flustered. What would you do without him?

It's the way Farah leans her head on your shoulder, respite from the burden of leadership. It's the way you lean your head against hers and she feels safe all over again.

It's the way Keegan looks at you, intentional in everything he wants to convey without uttering a word. Still waters run deep, and you'd be a fool to ever doubt the things he feels for you.

It's the way Roach smiles, wide, goofy, and boyish, things he can be when he's with you. It's the crinkle around his eyes reassuring you, and it's as if your worries and fears have dissipated into nothingness.

[luveline]

how about some domestic stuff of post-prison reid and stripper!reader??? that one fic broke my heart in the best way

Prison changes a lot of things about Spencer, so when you get back to his place after a quick run to the grocery store and find him packing away some of his things into boxes, you're not alarmed. “Spring cleaning?” you ask, stepping around him carefully where he's kneeling by the TV stand. 

“Making room,” he says. 

He must have bought something. You put your tote bag in the crook of your arm and bend a touch to kiss his cheek, his hair brushing your face. “You have so many things, Spence, you need a storage locker. You need two.” 

He feels blindly up your arm. 

You put the groceries away, wash your hands, and cut some veggies. You season them and put them in the oven to roast, calling Spencer to see what he wants with it. “You could have the leftover chicken, or I can make, like… anything you want, actually. Pork chops, or maybe forget that and we'll have pasta, I can frankenstein the– Hey, Spence? You listening?” 

You're not mad. He's always been prone to deep thought, but usually he isn't looking straight at you while you talk. “Spencer?” 

“You'll move in with me, right? If I ask?” 

You wring your hands. “You've asked me a hundred times.” 

“But this time, you'll say yes.” He's staring at you. He already knows. 

“You can at least pretend to ask me.” 

Spencer closes the box in front of him. “Please, move in with me. I can't spend that long away from you ever again.” 

“You see me almost every day when you're not working.” 

He shrugs, smiles. “It's not enough.” 

You sit on the couch. He leans over his box to hold your leg. Spencer's asked you a bunch of times, first because he worried about your safety, then because he felt it was a good option as his friend, and then again because he loved you. And you always said no because you didn't want to depend on him, and because some nagging voice in the back of your mind kept telling you he'd realise he didn't want you as soon as you got close enough. But it's been a long time since you thought that way, and his stint in prison emphasised how badly you need each other. 

“So, it'll be equal?” you ask in answer. 

“I'm not saying that. The rent is ridiculous, and you didn't sign up for that, and I have no idea where we'll put all your clothes. But it'll be half yours, absolutely.” He looks especially happy though apprehensive; he hasn't realised you don't need convincing this time.

“I want to bring my pink lamp for the bedroom.”

Spencer's smile changes his entire face. Puppy dog eyes turn thinner, his lips part, his perfect teeth like pearls. “I want you to bring the pink lamp. Bring everything. No one will ever understand our decor.” 

You sink down on the floor in front of him and nudge aside his box for a hug. He gives it to you, and, in a slightly uncharacteristic move for him, he cuts the embrace short to kiss you soundly, his hand on your cheek. He kisses you again and again until you're laughing into his mouth. 

“Does this mean you'll let me propose?” he asks softly. 

Your breath catches. He doesn't sound particularly put together himself, bringing his second hand to your face, holding your forehead to this. 

“I don't think it's something I have much choice in,” you say eventually, your smile audible and immovable. 

You get to say yes or no, but his wanting to ask is all on him. He's flustered you unexpectedly, and the quiet laugh coming from what feels to be the deepest recess of his chest tips you over. You dip down into his neck slowly, hiding away in the curve of his shoulder as his arms come heavy behind you. 

“All I could think was how much stuff I didn't get to say to you, or do with you,” he says. “If they couldn't clear my name, I kept thinking about how much time I wouldn't get back.” 

You breathe out in a rush against his neck. “But you're out.” 

“Yeah. I am.” He strokes your back. “Lucky me.” 

[volensnolenss]

Just want you. Only you

𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: Gojo’s declaration of your need and love;

𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽: sfw! fluff, drunk and lovesick Gojo, he calls you ‘sweet’, ‘cute thing’, and etc;

𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮: yeah, I’m slowly returning to the previous graphic of posts

“Why did you break the vase with flowers?

“Such beautiful flowers should be held by a beautiful girl like you.”

“You can't drink, Satoru, do you know?” You held Gojo's forearm while his legs dragged him to the car with difficulty.

“And what? What's the difference? You are near – this fact pleases me, my little cute thing.”

“Oh, Satoru, hush.”

A crooked drunken smile turned to you, to which you grinned and shook your head. It was interesting for you: does he become serious only when it comes to students and the higher-ups ? Or are there other cases?

“Are you going to take a taxi yourself or?...” You startled when you felt his head on your shoulder – in such a short period he managed to fall asleep.

Anxiety began to gnaw inside you. You can't leave him alone in any case, so you sat down next to him.

You stared out the window, watching him through the reflection and listening to his snuffling, in which a few slurred words slipped through.

All evening, he kept his eyes on you and tried in every way to conduct a dialogue as long as possible, but you were constantly distracted. Gojo casually tucked your curls behind your ear or straightened your dress to at least touch you a little.

The silence was broken only by Shoko's call, forcing Satoru to shake his head gloomily and he immediately put his head on your lap, feeling comfortable on them.

“Well, how's your frie-end?” She stretched out the last word with a chuckle. There was a noise in the horn – the event was clearly not going to end.

“He's sleeping.”

“Wait, are you at his house?”

“No, we're in the taxi. I'll drop him off and join you right away.” Your hand involuntarily started stroking his head. Your fingers gently passed over the back of his head, lightly scratching him, creating mental figures.

“Don't be late, I'll be waiting-.” When you arrived, you hung up the phone without listening to the end of her words, and after paying quickly, you woke Satoru up and dragged him out. He reluctantly got up and, staggering, held on to your shoulders, trying to keep his balance.

“Who will get you?” You were puffing, feeling the weight on you.

“What did you say?” He nuzzled your temple, lightly touching his lips.

“It doesn't matter.” You shook your head, trying to push him away from you, but Satoru just buried his forehead in the top of your head, which made you sigh heavily.

Slowly and surely you walked snuggled up to each other. A lonely moon illuminated your way, giving a mother-of-pearl light to the city.

“It's beautiful today, isn't it?” His lips touched you lightly again, but this time on your cheeks, making you blush.

You didn't want to admit it, but there was something attractive about his behavior and actions towards you.

“You can make it more interesting.” Without giving any sign of your confusion, you laughed it off and called the elevator.

“Actually-”

“No comments.” You pressed your index finger to his mouth, directing your stern and serious gaze.

Baby. The big baby is exactly the words that describe him at the moment.

The wait dragged on for a long time and you broke the silence.

“Satoru, could you somehow teleport yourself to your apartment?”

“No problem, but...”

“What does "but" mean–” You stumbled when he came up to you, collided face to face, Gojo grabbed you and a moment later you fell with him on his bed. You didn't say a word, but just watched in silence as he loomed over you.

“Explain. Right now.” In an even tone, you addressed him, clutching the sheet, trying to curb anger mixed with anxiety and misunderstanding.

Satoru lowered his head and, taking off his glasses, spoke softly.

“I want you.”

“What…?” His fingers began to play with your hair while you stared into his blue eyes in surprise, looking for at least some answer in them.

“I want you all. I want to wake up in the morning and see your tangled messy hair scattered all over the pillow. I want you to be in my arms every night and wake up in my hug. I want to see your smile every day. I just want you.”

You stared at him in silence, your eyelashes twitching with every sharp movement of your eyes. Gojo took your hand and pressed it to his cheek.

“Sweet, I want this. Your softness, warmth, safety.”

There were always gaps between you and him, which Satoru sought to fill with attention and something more than interest in you. His intuition told him that despite your minimal reaction, you still have the same feelings for him that he has for you.

He felt the implication in your words, like a sign that showed him that everything was going right.

“Then hug me.”

His arms immediately wrapped around your waist, afraid that you would run away from him. The comfort of his hands made you immediately feel safe.

No kisses, no other unnecessary touches – just an atmosphere of feelings that filled the room, where everything was clear to both of you without words.

A native feeling grew inside you when you put your cheek to his shoulder.

“But they tell the truth that alcohol makes you tell the truth.” You giggled, looking at his flushed face.

“But only you see me like this. Weak and in love.”

[daycourtofficial]

Love Potion No. 9

Summary: Azriel returns from a mission and can’t seem to keep his hands off of you.

Author’s note: happy halloween! I thought a fun love potion theme would be so cute and fun!

(Part 2)

Can you come into Azriel’s room?

Rhysand’s request permeates your thoughts. You rise from your spot on the couch, placing a marker in the book you’re halfway through. You pad down the hallway, passing Mor, who gives you a soft smile.

You reach Azriel’s door, knocking softly before letting yourself in. You walk over to Azriel, who’s sitting on his bed with Cassian and Rhys standing facing him.

Rhys made these visits mandatory after Azriel went on three back to back missions and no one realized he hadn’t slept for 6 days until he winnowed in the dining room instead of his room, crashing on the table. Since that happened, Rhys has been making you, their healer, check on everyone post mission.

“Hi Az,” you say, stepping up to him.

“Sweetheart! Hi!” He says, putting his arms around you, enveloping you immediately.

You give Cassian a confused look. The two of you were exceptionally flirty and spent all of your time together, but Azriel was only this touchy when on the rare occasion he allowed himself to get drunk. He especially was never this touchy in front of his brothers.

You wrap your arms around him as he tucks his head into the crook of your shoulder. “Can I check you out, look you over?”

“Baby, you can do much more than that.”

Your cheeks heat immediately, but you don’t address it. You assess him for injuries, which you found none. As you’re assessing, he keeps his hands in a loose circle around your waist, trying to touch as much of you as he can while you’re working.

“Okay, Azriel, I didn’t find any injuries, are you in any pain?”

“I was, actually, in a lot of pain earlier.”

You stop, holding hand as you ask, “what happened?”

He looks down at his feet, thinking about whatever had caused his pain, as he says, “we were apart for several days.”

You roll your eyes, unsure of what has brought this on from him.

“Can you follow my fingers with your eyes?”

You hold up your pointer finger from each hand, holding them in front of his face, as you begin moving your left hand in the left direction. He does as you ask, following your hand, but as you start moving your fingers, you feel his hands slither down to cup your ass.

You hear Cassian try not to laugh.

“Did you ingest anything that you didn’t pack while you were gone?”

He sighs dreamily, “the only thing I want to put my mouth on is you.”

Your jaw drops, but Azriel doesn’t notice. He just starts playing with the ends of your hair, muttering about pretty your hair is when it’s loose.

“Did you have any problems winnowing?” You ask, trying desperately to keep this professional and to get through this check up. You half forgot that Cassian and Rhys are still here, if it weren’t for the occasional giggles from them.

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’. He rests his hands on your waist, not looking away from your face. “Just thought of home, and you showed up. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.” He states, winking very over dramatically at you.

You see his canteen, and ask, “may I?”

“Everything I have is yours, sweets.”

Cassian’s snort escapes without his permission.

You grab his canteen of water, screwing off the cap and sniffing it.

“Can I see you two out in the hallway?” At the mention of leaving him, Azriel pouts, his hands tightening around your waist. He starts to speak, but you cut him off, “I promise I’ll be right back.”

That response somewhat appeases him, and after Azriel untangles himself from you, not without a ton of huffs from him, the three of you step out into the hallway. You extend Azriel’s canteen with the lid screwed off out to them. “Smell this, what do you smell?”

Cassian takes a whiff, as does Rhysand.

“It smells like the air in the clouds, like,” Rhys takes another sniff, “like the soap Feyre loves. And clean sheets.”

Cassian smells it, “it smells like strawberries and sex.”

You chuckle before starting, “this is a love potion. Someone has drugged our shadowsinger.”

“But he was fine until he saw you - wouldn’t a love potion make him fall in love with who he saw first?” Cassian gasps, “I saw him first! It should be me,” almost offended Azriel wasn’t hanging off of him like he was you.

You laugh, “no, Cass. Love potions can have a certain person in mind, but you have to be an incredibly talented potionmaster to brew such a concoction.” You blush a little before continuing, “most love potions can only exacerbate feelings that are already there. Hence why I had you two smell it - it smells differently to you two. If it was brewed for a certain person, it would smell like them.”

Rhys looks at you, a mischievous grin showing on his lips, “you didn’t tell us what you smell.”

Your blush deepened even further, “it smells like books,” you sigh, looking at your feet, “and like Azriel’s cologne, which is why I couldn’t smell it on him and asked you two to smell it.”

Cassian wolf whistles and you hit his arm, “shut up.”

“Should we be worried? How long will the potion last?” Rhys asks, changing the topic for a moment.

“They usually only last for 12 hours. Supposedly it is all encompassing. I’ve never seen anyone take it before, so I’m not sure what to expect.”

The two brothers look at each other and grin. “Oh no, poor Az. Being looked after by our beautiful healer for twelve uninterrupted hours. However will he cope?” Rhys’s signature smirk stretching his face.

“Rhysand, if you’re insinuating I’d ever take advantage of a patient under the influence of a love potion, you’d be gravely mistaken.”

“Well, I didn’t see you exactly prying his hands off your ass, now did I?”

Cassian mutters under his breath, “I’m sure Azriel can find it in his heart to forgive you if you took advantage.”

You roll your eyes so hard you’re concerned they might actually get stuck. The two bats turn to leave, deciding they’ve teased you enough for now. Cassian turns around, making kissing noises at you as they disappear down the hall.

When Rhys and Cass are out of earshot, Cassian tells his high lord, “you owe me 50 gold marks.”

Rhys scoffs, “you owe me 100 gold marks for the love potion.”

Cassian rolls his eyes, “call it even?”

[fairyhaos]

◈ the worst day of the week // choi seungcheol

seungcheol x gn!reader, 1.2k+ words

tags: requested by anon, fluff, established relationship, slight hurt/comfort, soooo domestic oof

warnings: pet names (baby), reader eats cereal at 2am

summary: everyone has days where they don't want to go to work. for you, it happens every monday, but fortunately, you have a lovely boyfriend who will do anything to make you smile, even on your worst days.

“What are you doing?”

You flinch at the stern words that sound over your shoulder, and pause with your hand held midair. You can't turn around, frozen in place. 

“Um.” You swallow nervously. “Nothing?”

There's a tense silence, and you can hear your heartbeat thrumming in your ears as you breathe slowly, too afraid to make any more noise. The person is still standing behind you, a looming presence, and maybe, if you hold still for long enough, then they might end up going away—

Seungcheol sighs, and walks around the kitchen table until he's facing you. “Y/N. What are you doing?”

Your shoulders slump as your boyfriend's face comes into view, his hair all sleep-mussed and his eyes droopy with drowsiness. But his gaze is focused on you, the disapproving turn of his lips clear even in the faint light provided by the lamp in the corner of the kitchen. 

Weakly, you attempt a smile. “I'm having a bowl of cereal?”

Seungcheol blinks. A long, slow, unimpressed blink. “You're having a bowl of cereal at two in the morning?”

“Yeah. It's like… the new ‘it’ thing. Everyone's doing it.”

He raises an eyebrow. You slowly shove another spoonful of cereal into your mouth.

“No, they're not,” Seungcheol says, and with a sigh, tries to reach over and pull the bowl away from you. “Y/N, baby—”

“Hey, no, don't take my cereal away,” you protest, grappling for the cereal and tugging it towards you before he can take it away. Seungcheol frowns disapprovingly, and you wilt a little. “It'll go all soggy if I don't have it now. I need to eat it.”

“You need to sleep,” he returns firmly, and then sighs again. “Y/N, it's two in the morning, and you have work later. Why are you awake, and eating cereal? You don't even like this kind of cereal.”

He's right, and you don't, because it's the tasteless variety that grates irritatingly against your gums but you just needed something to do, because it's a Monday tomorrow and it's literally the worst day of the week and you don't want Monday to come. 

Well. Technically, it's already Monday. But thinking about it like that makes you feel even more terrible, the little worms digging even uglier holes into your stomach, and you grimace. 

So that's why you're awake now, shoving tasteless, soggy cereal into your mouth because you don't want to go to bed. 

Seungcheol regards you with sad eyes, like he knows exactly what you're thinking.

Knowing him, you think sulkily, he probably really does.

He doesn’t say anything, though, and just continues watching you with those sad eyes as you slowly eat your cereal. His gaze makes you feel strangely guilty, heart twisting weirdly in your chest as you eat, feeling like you’re doing something wrong.

By the time you finish, your boyfriend still hasn’t said a word, but he does pinch your cheek fondly and take the bowl from you once you set down your spoon.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, and he's looking at you with those big, earnest eyes, the sincerity and warmth making his gaze meltingly soft even in the darkness of the room. When you hesitate to answer, his eyes seem to melt even more. “Do you want a hug?”

And oh, there's something about the way he says it that makes you begin to tear up, feeling so overwhelmingly comforted by his voice. 

“Oh, baby…”

Before you know it, he's gotten up from the table, walked over to you, pulled your chair back and enveloped you in a hug. 

He's wearing one of his oversized hoodies, and the material is soft under your fingers as you cling to his shoulders, burying yourself into the crook of his neck as he holds you securely. He just smells so much like him, all gentle and kind and willing to be there for you and all your worries and fears about the dreaded day ahead of you make you dissolve, kitten-weak, into his arms. 

“Shh, don't worry baby,” Seungcheol murmurs, still bent over you, hands rubbing secure circles into your back as you cry. “Don't worry. It's okay, shhh, don't cry, I'm here. I'm here for you.”

It only makes you cry harder, hearing the care in his voice, but Seungcheol doesn't seem to mind. He stays over you, hugging you, until your tears begin to subside, and then he helps you out of the uncomfortable kitchen chair, one hand around your waist and the other keeping your fingers interlaced with his own as he guides you out and up the stairs, back to your room again. 

He's gentle, the entire way, whispering words of comfort and pressing reassuring kisses to your temple as he helps you up the stairs. 

“There we go, that's it, I love you,” he says softly, when you make it up the final step. He squeezes your hand, once. “I love you.”

He's babying you, even more than his normal boyfriend-level of Doting™, but you can't even bring yourself to feel embarrassed about it, more focused on how nice it feels to be held by him, to be treated so delicately. And even when your nose is still running and your eyes feel all horribly swollen, Seungcheol still calls you beautiful, still says he loves you. 

“Here we are,” he says, smiling, as he tucks you into bed before moving round to the other side to climb in himself. “Rest, baby. You need to sleep now.”

You mumble something, incoherent even to yourself. Seungcheol just chuckles softly, pressing another kiss to your temple. 

“Rest,” he repeats, the word warm against your cheek as he kisses you again. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” you say, a little drowsy. A beat. “Still don't wanna go to work t'morrow.”

Seungcheol chuckles again. “I know, baby. But I'll be here when you come back home, you know? You won't be at work forever. I promise.”

“Mhm. Feels like forever, though.”

“Maybe.” Seungcheol is silent for a moment, thoughtful. “How about this. After work tomorrow, we'll go out on a date.”

You look over at him. “A date? On a Monday?”

“Just a small one,” Seungcheol says, and you can see his mildly embarrassed smile, even in the dimness of the room. “It'll give you something to look forward to, no?”

It certainly would. You can't help but smile, a blush creeping up on your cheeks because he just somehow makes you feel so loved even when he's smiling bashfully at 2am on the absolutely worst day of the entire week. 

“Yeah,” you say, and roll over to snuggle into him, rubbing at your swollen eyes until they feel a little better, relaxing into him with a contented sigh. “Thank you, Cheol.”

“Of course, baby,” Seungcheol says, and then presses another kiss to the top of your head, gathering you in his arms. 

You look up at him, and with your eyes, you trace the adoration on his face even in the darkness. You smile. 

“I love you.”

Seungcheol squeezes you against him, and kisses your forehead yet again, his lips as warm and soft as the gentlest of promises.

“I love you too.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @sakufilms @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @amxlia-stars @raevyng @isabellah29 @kikohao

[am-i-interrupting]

Reaction to You Doming

(Part one— the gals)

Alastor

An eyebrow raise and a widen of his smile.

Alastor doesn’t participate in sex where he’s touched or stimulated often but even so, the idea is something he finds amusing.

You really think you can take the Radio Demon? Hilarious.

He’ll indulge you.

You’ve got to fight for it though because he is going to struggle.

Pining him down, tying him up, even if he can easily get out of it if he so wishes, he’s surprised to find himself enjoying it.

Whips, chains, knives, biting, he finds himself enjoying the things he normally uses on you.

He will get bratty if you try to edge him though. That he’s not used to.

When he gets hard, he normally deals with it quickly after being touched.

He’s able to ignore any hard on he gets for a while if he doesn’t touch it or stimulated it but as soon as he does, he normally comes within five minutes.

You edging him and teasing him, barely dragging the tip of your fingers along his dick, giving his tip kitten licks, sucking his balls instead of his cock. It’s all torture. He loves it.

He’d be a fan of urethral sounding.

The feel of a stretch, a full was where it’s not supposed to be, stopping him from being able to come. Once again, he hates it but he loves it.

You’d surprise him when you’re able to tame him and he’d enjoy every second of it.

When he’s done though, he’s done and probably won’t let you do it for several weeks if not months.

Husk

Husk is not opposed. No, he’s not opposed at all.

He’s not exactly the most sexually active. He’s got a low to normal libido and it takes a bit of build up to get him in the right mood.

Slow, sloppy make out sessions, preening his wings, cuddling on the couch while playing with his tail.

The most sure fire way though would be a massage.

He has a lot of tension and getting it pushed and rubbed out of him is something that slowly builds up his arousal as he feels more and more safe.

He’s purring putty in your hands.

At that point, you can prop him up and get him off.

If you’re behind him, he’s hiding his head in the crook of your neck and you can feel his purrs against your skin.

If you’re in front of him, he’s cupping your face gently with his paws, tangling his claws in your hair, running a hand over your skin, just desperate to touch you.

Or you could tell him to suck and he will. It won’t be precise but it will be earnest and warm and you’ll be teased with the vibration of his vocal cords.

If you pet him or brush him, his purrs will get even louder.

He won’t ever get desperate or beg. He might do a bit of whining if you stall his release but he feels warm and safe with you.

He knows you’ll take care of him eventually. He’s not too worried about how long it’ll take.

He’ll look at you with eyes completely overtaken by his dilated pupils the entire time.

Lucifer

Lucifer is immediately on board. Sort of like a “I’m glad you asked before I had to.”

The only thing that stopped him from begging for you to dominate him was the pure embarrassment opening the conversation would give him.

He’s the sun of pride, not lust. He put his pride just a bit before it. Although, he was about to turn to Ozzie for advice on how to start the conversation without turning completely red in the face.

He is such a good boy for you.

He sinks into the sub-space so quickly.

He will do absolutely anything you ask.

He’s got a praise kink.

He loves and hates being tied up. He loves being a pretty play thing for you but hates that he can’t touch you.

Mouth open, ready for you to ride his tongue without even having to ask.

One of his favorite things is to suck on you, your clit/dick, your nipples, your fingers, your skin, whatever. He doesn’t care. He has an oral fixation.

Loves to be filled.

Fuck him into the mattress until he can’t speak, please.

Vox

He has an image to upkeep. It’s hard for him to let go of the idea that people are constantly watching him.

When he does though, he’s either a brat or the perfect little boy, no in between.

He likes to feel small.

If you’ll just squeeze his neck or put pressure on his dick, he’ll be in the sub-space so quickly.

He loves and adores you showing him you have power over him.

Edge him. Make him wear a cock cage. He’ll be so bratty but so whiny when he comes.

He likes being driven to tears.

Overwhelm him.

Embarrass him.

Praise him.

If you put him in any form of bondage, he’s trying to get out of it. He’s got to touch you. He needs to.

His favorite feeling is your mouth and fingers on his dick teasing him with ghost touches.

He will come untouched from words and anal stimulation alone.

If you tease him with the tip of your dick/strap on and then slowly inch inside him, he’s tearing up the sheets as he whines and writhes.

[mitsouya]

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃

including michael kaiser, rin itoshi, and reo mikage with fem!reader

he sits beside you on the couch, engrossed in the random shows on tv. you, on the other hand, are busy reserving a table for your date at the new restaurant downtown. the sheer delight in your voice makes him glad he succeeded in emptying his tightly packed schedule for you.

[saturday night at 7 is available. would that be okay?]

a bright smile adorns your face upon hearing the employee's query. securing a table feels fortunate; it's not always easy on weekends, after all.

"alright, let me ask my husband first," you say to the phone and raising your eyebrows in silent expectation, demanding for his response.

⌗MICHAEL — the second that word comes off your lips, best believe michael is already grinning like an idiot.

him, your husband? seriously?

he never thinks too deeply about marriage—though he does want to tie the knot with you when the time's right—but he loves how endearing it sounds when you call him that. there's a mischievous glint in his sapphire eyes before he moves closer to your body.

"her husband says yes."

being the menace he is, he announces directly to the speaker, loud and clear, earning soft giggles from you.

"do you hear me? her husband—"

you cut him off and quickly apologize to the poor employee, all while suppressing the laugh that threatened to spill out of your mouth. he will tease you about this for the rest of the evening, and you will spend hours caged between his tattooed arms, listening to him yapping about his dream wedding. not that you complained.

⌗RIN — convinces himself he maintained his facade well, but the subtle dusting of red on his cheeks betrays him. he's unable to focus on the tv screen because did you really refer to him like that without warning?

realizing you're still waiting for his answer, rin fakes a cough to even his tone and mutters, "fine," loud enough for the employee on the other side to hear.

immediately shoots you a questioning glare after you hang up. he tries to act unaffected (which he fails miserably) and asks, "what was that?"

"what was what?" you playfully hum.

"you did that on purpose."

"i don't know what you're talking about, baby."

the slight pout on his lips amuses you more than you want to admit. he hides his burning face in the crook of your neck, mumbling something you can't pinpoint.

when you chuckle at his sudden clinginess, he looks up to you with those big, sparkling round eyes that remind you of his younger self. he's going to wife you up someday.

⌗REO — you know damn well reo's sickeningly in love with you, and somehow you think it's okay to casually address him as ‘my husband’? are you trying to make him explode?

the tv show is long forgotten and he's all over you in an instant, giving you a bone-crushing hug along with a sweet, dopey smile that you adore so much. you can whine and say it's just a prank, but it's too late to take it back. he already envisions the whole wedding thing.

"whatever my wifey wants," he speaks to the phone, all giddy and lovestruck. "rent the entire restaurant if you want, wifey. or buy it. or don't. actually, i'll just build you one."

before his rambling causes the employee even more confusion, you shut him up with a kiss and proceed to finish the reservation.

[actual-changeling]

i am having a time y'all, my brain is chewing on that one fucking sentence like a dog on a bone, so have some hurt/comfort with a nice dose of angst.

-

They aren't talking.

It isn't impossible, even with Aziraphale back in heaven and Crowley in his lonely flat in Mayfair—nothing is impossible, not when they're together—and yet that is the problem, isn't it?

They aren't together. They aren't talking. They could.

Crowley thought about it, although there is little else he thinks about these days. Maybe if he had said more, chosen better words, kissed him earlier, run after him, pulled him back—

Maybe then he'd still be here. Maybe then he wouldn't be alone.

It is the emptiness weighing him down, the silence ringing in his ears, and how does he admit to himself that he misses his voice? His soft words, the stretch of his smile, the speeches about Hamlet and book restoration, about newly discovered cafés and ancient dishes long gone.

Aziraphale had lulled him to sleep more times than Crowley could count, a warm blanket wrapping around his curled-up body on the sofa, sprawling and moving, then calmed by his voice.

They aren't talking, and Crowley can't sleep.

He hears him in his dreams whenever he does, but it isn't his voice. It is twisted, warped, wrong, tainted by the acrid burn of bleach on his tongue, the meaning lost in the hollows where emotions should sit.

Days blur into each other, viscous and opaque, molasses trickling through an hourglass.

Sometimes he is scared he will forget how he sounds.

Sometimes he begs and pleads with his own mind to erase every memory of it, every 'I forgive you', every 'we're not friends', every endearment, every single time he said his name.

They aren't talking, and maybe that's for the better.

He said too much again, didn't he? Always talking too much, spilling the wrong secrets held tight to his chest, asking questions no one wants to answer.

So, after weeks of uninterrupted quiet, he simply stops. Crowley's mouth stays shut, his words chewed up and swallowed, and—on unpleasant occasions—thrown up. There are a myriad of things he wants to say, but there is no one left who might be willing to listen, not anymore.

Maybe there had never been someone to begin with.

They aren't talking. The world is about to end.

Aziraphale reaches for his hand, and he lets him, his fingertips cold, his pulse too quick.

"Crowley," he breathes, tender, reverent, a name said simply so it has been spoken, so it is real.

Crowley does not want to talk—not now, not yet, not when he can practically taste blood and ash on his tongue. With a gentle tug, he frees his hand from his grasp and pulls him into a hug instead.

They aren't talking, so he buries his face in the crook of his neck and breathes, holding and being held, and the haunting silence dissipates. Words are superfluous when there is the sound of his heartbeat, his trembling breaths, their clothes rustling as the embrace grows tighter and tighter.

They aren't talking, but they don't need to, not when Aziraphale cups his face and presses their foreheads together, not when Crowley slides his palm around the back of his neck and nudges their lips together just so.

They are talking—every gasp a word, every touch a phrase, every tear an apology and a promise at once.

They are talking, they aren't talking, they still love—violently, desperately—and the world does not end.

[luvelve]

husband!mingyu who secretly knows that one of your weaknesses is seeing the band of his underwear whenever he stretches. something about seeing CALVIN KLEIN in all bold letters whenever the giant man stretches his limbs. hanging just below his torso, let it be red, black, grey, or just the classic white calvins, it’d be sure to make your stomach flutter.

how else could he have picked up on this not so little obsession of yours when every time his underwear peaks, your cheeks turn a bright pink hue and suddenly you forget what mingyu was talking about just then.

“though we could get 2 vacuums instead, one for upstairs and one for downstairs.” mingyu says after your mind has somehow turned 7 innocent seconds of him stretching into a short calvin klein montage with some flirty doja cat song playing in the background.

“that’d be smarter and easier for us, right?” he adds, fixing the folds of his shirt. you’re now completely unaware that your mouth is hanging slightly open and that your cheeks are now the same color as mingyu’s favorite pink hoodie.

“yeah, uh huh.” you nod your head absentmindedly, now finally shifting your gaze at your husband’s face. this doesn’t go unnoticed by him though.

“okay, so what did i just say, my love?” his tone playful, deciding whether or not he should tell you that he knows why you’re all flushed right now. he turns his body on the couch so he can fully face you.

he scans your face and he recognizes that look on your face. it’s the same flushed look you had when mingyu first kissed you outside your apartment. the same look when he showed up with flowers and your favorite chinese takeout on a random tuesday. the same look when he brought you to his parents’ house and accidentally said he wants to marry you.

after being married to each other for almost 3 years, mingyu finds it endearing that he’s still able to leave you all flustered. whether it be stopping in his tracks to tie your laces, to removing the strand of hair on your face, and even flashing the band of his underwear apparently.

“uh, we’re getting a new vacuum… and we can get those dyson? ones that you’ve been telling me about.” you shoot him a sheepish smile and it takes everything in him to not kiss you right now.

he pauses and flashes you his signature smile. his canines poking out at the side.

“what?” you say, giggling at the giant teddy bear that is smiling at you for a reason unknown to you.

“baby, i know.” he huffs, closing the tiny gap in between the two of you.

“know what?” you reply, raising an eyebrow at him.

being the gentle giant that your husband is, he wants to lay it to you gently so as not to totally embarrass you, but he’s afraid it’s gonna happen either way.

“my love, i know that whenever i stretch, like when i put my hands up like this and my tummy shows? and so does my underwear? baby, i catch you staring.” he trails off after demonstrating to you and he starts giggling and snakes his arms around your waist. your faces are now practically centimeters from each other. there’s only love and adoration in mingyu’s eyes.

“you-what do you? no, i don’t. babe, i don’t even know what you’re talking about.” you bite your lip in attempts to hide the giant smile that’s about to form on your face.

all mingyu can do is laugh and bury his face into the crook of your neck. meanwhile, your insides are burning from the embarrassment that your husband knows your little secret and your cheeks are turning bright red this time around.

“my love, its okay. so what if you find my underwear hot? i mean i find a lot of things about you hot. like when you pump gas into our car. hot. when your hair’s wet and you wrap it in a towel and you take it out from the towel? hot. oh, when you wear my shirts and hoodies. well that’s more of cute, but you get the point. babe, i could go on and on, you know.” he continues to rub circles onto your waist where his hands are resting.

you’re reminded of how loving and gentle your husband is because only he could rub away the embarrassment of finding his briefs hot.

“how long have you known?” you whisper, the bright red stain on your cheeks fading away. holding his chin between your thumb and index finger.

“i don’t know, i guess when we were having lunch this one time at that fancy place near us. that was the first time i caught you. so maybe a month ago?” his gaze is soft with a hint of playfulness.

“well, there goes my secret, i guess.” a pout forms on your face and all mingyu can do is lean in for a kiss. it’s not rushed, it’s the kind that says i love you. you can feel yourself melt into him as he takes one hand from your waist and places it onto your cheek. both of your arms wrap around his neck to pull him even closer than he was before.

“doesn’t mean i’m gonna stop doing it though.” you break away from the kiss momentarily to say to him. you shoot him a naughty look that he’s all too familiar with.

“that’s my girl.” he replies, leaning in for another kiss.

so this was completely self indulgent, and the first thing i’ve written. this was supposed to be like a 200 word blurb MAX but i got carried away :<

anyways, please enjoy <3

[headkiss]

heyyy, how are you?? i love your work so much!!! i was wondering if you could write something about steve having a crush on r, but when they are together he gest shy and quiet and r misunderstands that and thinks he doesn't like her like everyone is telling her he is ???

im sorry if its confusing, english is not my first language,, anywayy feel free to change anything !!! ❤️

hi baby thank you so much!!! i’m so sorry this has been in my asks since september but i hope u enjoy all the same :,) i finally wrote something!!! yay!!! | 0.7k teeny tiny angst and fluff!!

You’re pretty sure Steve Harrington doesn’t like you. That’s what you tell Robin when you see her at the Family Video counter, alone for once. She bursts out laughing.

“I’m being serious!”

Before Robin responds, Steve walks out of the back room, grinning that grin you wish you didn’t love so much, his hair a little messy, like he didn’t have enough time to style it this morning the way he usually does.

He’s looking at Robin when he says: “what’s so funny?”

“I bet you’d love to know, dingus.” She nods at you and shrugs, “it’s girl stuff.”

It’s only then that he notices you’re there, his eyes flicking over your face quickly, his head ripping in a small nod. You might not have noticed it if you weren’t looking right at him already.

“Oh, right.” He smiles again, tight-lipped this time. “Hey.”

“Hi, Steve.”

“Hey,” he says again.

Yeah, you’re pretty sure Steve Harrington doesn’t like you, because this is what happens whenever you’re around. He goes quiet, awkward, where others have always found him outgoing and kind.

You suppose it only makes things worse when you want him to like you so bad. If only as a friend, even.

“Um, I was just grabbing…” You flounder before picking up a random movie by the front desk, “this.”

“Right,” he scratches the back of his neck as he says it.

Meanwhile Robin’s head is turning to look between the two of you like it’s a tennis match. You widen your eyes at her and she gets the signal, scanning your movie and letting you head out with it when she knows you’ll be returning it before even opening the case.

“You’re such an idiot,” she says to Steve as the door shuts behind you, the bell jingling with your departure.

“Robin-”

“No! You are, Steve. Listen, you know I love you, but she thinks you don’t like her. At all!”

Now, Steve knows that he acts like an absolute dork wherever you’re concerned, but he never wanted you to think that. Never. If anything, he likes you more than he’s ever liked anyone before, and it terrifies him.

Any ounce of the confidence that’s left over from his ‘King Steve’ era seems to evaporate, and the words just don’t come the way they should. But fuck, he didn’t want to hurt you. He’d never want to hurt you.

“Shit,” he runs a hand through his hair, uncaring about how it might look for once.

“Yeah, shit.” Robin nudges her shoulder against his, “she’s still in her car, by the way. Just saying.”

Steve nods, muttering some kind of encouragement for himself under his breath. He pushes his way out the door, picking up his pace to a jog when he hears you start your car.

The knock on your window startles you, surprises you when you look over to find Steve standing out there, the sun a halo around his figure, his Family Video vest just a little crooked.

You shut your car off and roll your window down, squinting up at him, “Steve? Everything okay?”

“I do like you.”

“What?”

His chest is rising and falling quickly, his eyes wide and something like worry looming in them. “I do like you.”

“Steve, did Robin put you up to this? ‘Cause you don’t have to-”

“She didn’t. I promise she didn’t,” he leans down a little, his hands resting on your door. “She told me you thought I didn’t like you and I couldn’t let you leave still thinking that. I like you. A lot.”

You blink up at him, mouth opening and closing, trying to figure out what to say. For so long, you’d been convinced that he wasn’t a fan of yours, and here he is, sincerity written all over his face.

“You never talk to me, I thought-”

“I know. I know and I’m sorry.” Steve hangs his head for a second, inhaling once before looking at you again. “The truth is I, uh, have a crush on you. Probably more than a crush, and I didn’t know what to do with it so I acted like a fucking idiot.”

“You have a crush on me?”

“Yeah, I do. Kind of a big one.”

You can’t fight the smile on your face at that. “I have a crush on you too, Steve.”

It’s the first time you make Steve Harrington blush, the first genuine smile of his that you earn. And it won’t be the last.

[okwonyo]

dearest fantasy.

ᙏ̤̫ ⠀엔하이픈 ♡ female reader & requested! fluff established relationship + cw. not-proofread skinship pet-names 0.8k ｜ ( bookshelf )

your smile | heeseung

to him, your smile is not only the most beautiful thing he has ever seen— a thing, that's beauty could wake him up from the dead and be the end of him at the same time.. it's also the main source of his comfort and reassurance when he needs any, the smile that he could recognize even if he was blind; makes his heart swell when it meets his gaze. it's the thing he loves the most about you, it can makes him flustered, happy and sad at the same time; and he swears he falls, if it's even possible, more in love with you each time you do so.

your voice | jongseong

has been completely and irrevocably enthralled by your honey coated tone ever since he heart it for the first time. the vibration of your voice calling his name, goes straight to his heart; “i love the sound of your voice” he tells you after the first date, suddenly, out of the blue— you found yourself incapable of letting out the thing he just complimented about you.. he smiles whenever you pick up the phone, asking him if everything is okay and why did you call him; when he, in fact, just called because he wanted to hear you voice.

your touch | jaeyun

there is something unexplainable about your skin on his, thumb softly rubbing his biceps as you reassure him about something he completely forgot about as soon as your warmth touched him. he doesn't know why, but he loves the way you touch him— so soft and tender, as if he was a light petal threatened by the wind in the crook of your palm. your hugs when he comes back from a long day, your hand meeting his when you cross the street so you won't loose him, your fingers playing with his hair in front of a movie as he lays his head on your laps; tend to make him dizzy and his heart scream love songs to yours.

your laugh | sunghoon

fell in love with you the second he heard your laugh, echoing in his ears, heart and soul; it's the soundtrack of most of his dreams and he doesn't think he would ever forget it.. because you laughed, he made a joke and you laughed; “i love you” he said, barely above a whisper, with his mouth slightly agape and dreamy eyes. he was as taken aback as you were, he thought he only said it in his own little mind, but he's relived, as if he finally revealed a secret he was keeping for too long. his love for your laughter is the reason he works on creating the most idiotic jokes ever, being perceived as an idiot doesn't matter if he can hear your laugh.

your heart | sunoo

the way you understand and listen to his worries, makes him and his heart melt. when he talks to you, he feels immediately reassured— the way your eyes trail over his face with a worried gaze, your hand softly touch his arm and your head nod along to each words he says.. oh, he loves you. your presence and the absolute love for others your heart radiates is something he could talk about for hours (which he does, despite the fact his friends doesn't seem to care that much).

your flushed face | jungwon

his heart exploded when he saw your rose tainted cheeks for the first time— and the fact he was the cause of them, didn't help at all. he has never thought he would love something that much, but how adorable you look with that expression on your face; is way too pretty to be forgotten and not worshipped to the ground.. “you know, pretty girl..” he starts, coming dangerously close to you as he talks, “i think, we should forget that movie.. and focus on each other's lips, yeah?” the sight of your flushed face makes him want to kiss you even more.

your eyes | riki

could stare at your eyes for hours and, maybe, has already done it. there is something about your gaze that is desperately and deeply alluring— as much at it is reassuring. one look from you makes his cheeks burn and his heart rate get beyond high. your eyes in his makes him forget the world around him and, as weird as it can seem, erase all his worries. no matter the situation is in, he catches himself staring at your eyes as you look at something or someone else, and despite how much he tries he can never draw his own gaze away from yours.

...

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