#tellie my dear

[milkyplier]

THE TAGS CONCERN ME PLINK

Oopsie 🤪

[nxcroflesh]

do you know how long it took me to find sams episode of totally frank only for me to discover that they had. bestraightened his hair. utterly flattened the boy. disappointment

[telemna-hyelle]

Rings of Power is slowly growing on me. Mostly like a tumor, gradually killing me

BUT as the show progresses, there have been a handful of things that might have actually been good if this were an original fantasy show and not a very shitty adaptation of lord of the rings. If I close my eyes and pretend that these characters have different names and this is a completely different world, i can almost pretend that this is just a mostly mediocre fantasy show

I know people can and do that, and if you do enjoy it, then that's great!

For me, I lived and breathed LOTR lore for close to ten years straight, and it's still constantly living in the back of my head. I can't separate it from Tolkien, it hurts too much.

But, same as with the Hobbit movies, if you're having fun, then have fun! That's great!

[anadorablekiwi]

sudden hug attack!!!!!!

Oh noes, a sudden hug attack!!!! Kiwi down!

[princeguri66]

Back on my affectionate reader bullshit because I just want to smother those assholes with love.

TF 141 x Male! Reader

Kissing the homies goodnight.

18+ Minors DNI!

Cw: whole lotta fluff, it only gets suggestive at the end and that's it

It started with a joke. Gaz drunkenly saying "Hey, if I win will you give me a goodnight kiss?" Before you start a game of cards, you all laughed it off then. Until it starts getting later in the evening and when you excuse yourself to go to bed Soap calls out to you with a chuckle, "Ey, don't forget about Gaz's kiss" you trudge your way back to them eyes drooping. They all expect you to kick Soap or something akin to that, but you surprise them by leaning down and placing a kiss on Gaz's eyebrow before tiredly muttering a "goodnight" and walking away.

And if that didn't give them any ideas..

For the next week it was usually Soap and Gaz pestering you about your kisses being rewards.

"If I shoot all the targets will you give me a kiss?"

"If I beat him in this fight will you give me a kiss?"

It gives them such a boost of energy.

You don't expect anyone else other than them to ask you for one until you're watching a game on the telly with Ghost. "If my team wins, I want a reward like them" He says to you, referencing Soap and Gaz and you nod albeit a bit shocked.

And by a stroke of luck his team wins, you reward him with a kiss to his temple.

And when it comes to Price.. 

It occurred after a tough but successful mission, and it was all thanks to you. What you had to handle was rough but you still came back with minimal injuries.

After a quick check up and shower you head to the common room on base to lounge with your team, but when you just stepped in the area Price got himself up from the couch claiming he needs to get back to work. 

As he passed you he said a quick "Good job out there lad." And held you by your shoulder to pull you close and kiss you right on your cheek before walking away leaving you stunned.

The team saw it all of course, sitting still a bit stunned as well, seemed like your habit of kissing your homies rubbed off on the captain.

You were too focused on the lingering feeling of Price's beard scratching your face that you didn't hear Soap saying how that it's so unfair, how he also had a successful mission but didn't get a kiss from their dear captain, only realizing you've been standing there like an idiot this whole time when Soap ran past you trying to catch up with the captain to claim his well deserved prize.

And it just evolves from there, everyone gives each other kisses. 

It started off as conglatutory kisses like before, then it'll go to "kiss it better" kisses

(Like if Ghost trained so hard he gets bloody knuckles Price will kiss them better, or if Soap suffered an injury Gaz would be there to kiss his bandages, or if Gaz just had a rough day and is incredibly stressed you'd kiss his temple)

Then eventually everytime any of you are about to leave for a mission you all give a kiss to whoever's going for good luck, and when they come back it's those pushing mouth aggressively to cheek kisses happy that they came back alive and well.

And it goes to the point where any chance you get you'll exchange small kisses. Passing each other in the hall way? A kiss to the cheek. Finding each other in the kitchen late at night to grab a drink? A kiss on the forehead. One of you had a brutal nightmare? Boom, get kissed on your damn head, hell why not cuddle while you're at it? (You did cuddle while you're at it)

It doesn't take long for the kisses to trail closer to the lips, for the kisses to trail to your neck and collarbones as well. It doesn't take long for it to evolve from small pecks to heated make out sessions, desperate to feel each other's mouths even deeper. It doesn't take long for the five of you to end up swapping spit late at night, sloppily making out with whoever's mouth is open and wanting, stripping each other's clothes even with your mouth occupied.

After that it's no question to kiss the homies goodnight, hell it usually ends with more than a kiss.

[lxvvie]

Soap who's down badt for you.

Soap's an absolute horndog for you, and as someone whose primary love language is physical touch, he'll take every opportunity to express himself.

We've established that Soap doesn't leave much to the imagination around the house. If he doesn't have to, he won't cover up. Much. Especially in bed. Johnny's the one who'll greet you when you're up and around in the morning by hugging you from behind so you can feel how hard he is, as in he's pressing his cock against your ass and you hear a playful and husky, "Mornin', bonnie."

You can ask Soap what he's thinking about, and you'll get that rouge-ish grin, and "Bending you over, bonnie. What else?'

Similarly, you can ask Johnny what he's doing or about to do and he'll go, "About to touch myself to you. ❤️"

Soap is banned from helping you do your self-care and/or maintenance routine because it almost ALWAYS turns into sex.

Same for bathing because you're trying to get clean, Johnny—"I'm helping you get clean, though."— Because fingering you and sucking your nipples is definitely doing the job, huh?

Johnny has also called you on multiple occasions, but instead of getting a response, you hear the telltale slick of him stroking himself. Cheers, bonnie!

Johnny has no issue beating the shit out of an asshole if need be, which means you've seen your fair share of split lips, bruised cheeks, and black eyes. You know how he says you can remedy that, bonnie? "You coming on my face." Oh, dear god—

Let's talk about the times Soap's the one being fucked and how fucking LOUD he is. DELIBERATELY SO. The entire neighborhood could hear him. Goddamnit. Shut the fuck up, Johnny! "Nah," is what he'll say because why shouldn't everyone hear how good you fuck him, how much he loves you, and how much you make him cum? And in the end, you're looking flustered while Soap's sated, smug, and probably (read: more than likely) down for more. Hope they're ready to hear him again.

Johnny who wants your attention on him and loves to give you a show. And a show is what he gives you. Better than whatever the fuck's on the telly at the moment. To be fair, you weren't paying attention, but you were very focused on the horny bastard right next to you, giving you a repeat performance from his phone call earlier than week.

And after he came, you've swiped some of his cum on your finger and fed it to him, baby blues staring you down and all, Soap takes your hand and leads you to the bathroom to help him... clean up. "Like actually clean up, Johnny?" " 'Course, bonnie." Spoiler alert: you didn't clean up. Goddamnit, MacTavish. But would you want him any other way?

[castillon02]

“Make them clean their own guns,” Nguyen said, leaning her considerable bulk over Q’s desk. She was just starting her shift. “Or at least wear gloves.” 

Q kept plunging a bore brush soaked with cleaning fluid into the barrel of 007’s Walther PPK. His eyes burned with fatigue. “I’ll take it under advisement.” 

When he finished, he left with gun oil on his fingers, fingers that had traced over the gun’s every crevice, every curve and angle, every metal and electric anatomical fold. 

—

“Why not tell us to clean our own guns?” 006 asked. 

“I'm a control freak,” Q said. “Which is also why I know that yours is in the middle of the Atlantic and not in need of cleaning at all.” 

This was a lie. 006 had reported the gun lost at sea but had actually smuggled it back into his own flat, where it was currently residing in what Q suspected was his bedroom and knew for certain was the room that also had a backup earwig that Q had personally assembled, a Ka-Bar that Q had archaically sharpened on a whetstone, and one of the decoy keychains and keys (Alaska) that Q kept on his desk so that agents had something harmless to swipe. Probably there were other things that 006 also had in his nest, but they would be things that Q hadn’t touched and could only theorize about. 

Q was bad at lying. 

006 visibly recognized this, realized that Q was lying in his favor, and couldn’t stop his eyes from widening. “Right,” he said. 

Q smiled. Fixed him with a specific knowing look. You don’t ask, I don’t ask. “If it hadn’t sunk into the fathoms below, I would recommend a new hammer spring. Sometimes these things get a bit fussy when you use a gun as a bludgeon. That’s part of why I do in-person maintenance.” 

Part of the reason; not the whole reason. 

006 muttered a Russian curse. “Thank you, Q.” 

“Happy to help.” 

---

001 brought his guns back clean, but with a new part in them each time; a replacement firing pin, hammer, ejector rod, bullets. 

Q always asked about the replacement. He did it before disassembling the gun, like a magic trick.

001 always grinned like a mischievous schoolboy. “I’ll get you next time,” he would say, wagging a finger at him. Perhaps you’re more fallible than you believe. 

“It’s good that you’re optimistic,” Q would reply loftily. No mistakes. I see your gun. I see your tricks. I see you. 

—

004 never cleaned her gun and always brought it back. Hers was a semi-automatic of Theseus, parts replaced naturally when there was wear and tear. 

“Same as always?” she asked when she picked up her kit. 

“Same as always,” Q confirmed. 

—

When Q was a child, he asked, “Mum, why do you always shout about your car keys in the morning? And why does Peter never know where his pencils are?” 

She frowned into the mirror and finished applying her lipstick. “Sometimes people lose things, dear.” 

“How?” Q asked, boggled. 

She looked at him with squinched eyes; that meant she was thinking hard. “Well,” she said slowly, “we forget where we put them, or someone puts them somewhere we don’t expect.” 

Q squinched his own eyes too. What could she be thinking so hard about?  

Mum smiled. “Tell you what, we’ll see if I can give you a demonstration after school, all right?”  

Mum didn’t turn on the telly right away after dinner like she usually did. Instead, she sat down next to him on the sofa. “Sweetheart, you know how you asked about when I lose my keys? Does that ever happen to you?” She was trying to be casual about it, but if it were really unimportant then she would have asked during a commercial. 

“One time I pretended it did,” he told her, “because I was curious to see what it was like. So one day while you were doing the shopping I put one of my books on top of the telly and stomped around in the other room going ‘Where the hell is my story book?’ in a loud voice like you do with your keys. It was a little fun, but not much.” 

“It’s not fun to lose things. Do you know,” she asked, “where your story book is now?” 

“Yes, of course,” he said. His story book was immense and well-thumbed, so heavy that it made him grunt whenever he had to lift it, but he had already read through all of it at least four times. It had hard edges and corners that were beginning to bend; chocolate fingerprints littered the pages at the beginning because his hands had still been sticky from birthday cake when he first opened it—he can put his fingers on them now and see how much he’s grown. There’s a stain of pomegranate juice at the beginning of the Persephone story from the pomegranate that his mother had bought before they read it together; a special treat, expensive, but “you have to know what a pomegranate is before you read it,” she’d said, “otherwise you’ll wonder why they’re eating the seeds.”    

“And where is it?” his mum asked. She had to know that Q knew, because why wouldn’t he know? 

He answered anyway. She ‘humored’ Q a lot, she sometimes told him, so he could humor her this time. “In the vegetable drawer,” he said. “You came home for lunch and moved it there. But that’s a silly place for things that aren’t vegetables, isn’t it?” 

His mum closed her eyes and sighed, long and deep the way she did every so often when Q asked too many questions that she couldn’t answer. “You’re right,” she said after a moment. “I’m lucky to have a son who knows that. But most people can’t keep track of their things as well as you can, so let’s not talk about it too much and make them envious, all right?” 

That was something he knew how to do. He had already had a few talks about not stirring the other kids up with how smart he was. Plus he could tell from the tightness in her voice, like when she talked to her boss’s boss or Q’s headmaster, that she was nervous. “Sure, Mum,” he said. “I won’t.”   

So he never mentioned it again. 

He also never lost his keys, or his rucksack, or his socks, or anything else he touched and touched often. He might as well try to lose his own foot.     

—

“You know, we can clean our own guns,” 002 said, dropping her pistol onto Q’s desk. “In fact, you’ll find I did.” 

Q smiled. “That will make it much quicker when I do it, then.” 

002 pursed her lips and blew a pink bubble with her gum, which Q Branch had also issued her. “And where do you want this?” She took the sticky wad out of her mouth and held it out to him. “Gonna chew it for me?” 

Q held out a petri dish. “We have better chemical analyzers than my tongue, I’m happy to say. We do want to see about the wear and tear on the product.” He met her eyes. “Reliability is important in our field.”  

002’s performatively petulant glare softened. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and next time you’ll make it into plastique instead of a tracker.” One corner of her mouth quirked up.

The sticks of gum were actually one of Q’s least favorite gadgets; like most gum, it was sensitive to heat, so he couldn’t hold it for long without destroying its structural integrity. Couldn’t sense what he usually sensed. But if it put a smile on 002’s face as well as being useful to her, he’d keep issuing it.   

—

“A gun and a radio,” Q said. He waved his hand at the corner of his desk where he’d perched the usual equipment case. “Earwig will be distributed at your landing site. Unless things go terribly wrong, the local team should be able to support you for this one.” 

Bond took the case. “Anything else?”     

Q looked up; he’d been double-checking Bond’s mission brief and wondering how much structural damage the Managua team could make excuses for. “Cufflinks.” He pulled a small box out of his desk drawer and opened it. Inside lay a pair of cufflinks, copies of ones that Bond already owned and wore frequently. “They have little folding knives in them.” He demonstrated how the outside half could be pulled apart to reach the blade in the middle. 

The corners of Bond’s eyes were all happy wrinkles. “Am I expected to need tiny knives?” 

“No,” Q admitted. “But you brought the Walther back last time and I thought you could use some positive reinforcement. May I?” He removed the old cufflinks and put the new ones on, his fingertips brushing against the warm skin of 007’s wrists as he did. “Good luck in the field, 007,” he said after he closed the last French cuff. “As always, try to bring the equipment back in one piece.”   

“As always,” Bond echoed, his eyes meeting Q’s before he left. 

The cufflinks weren’t just positive reinforcement, of course. They were a connection; this meant that it was even odds that Bond would destroy them. (Paradoxically, Bond had the best equipment survival rate when that equipment self-destructed; he wore the latest exploding watch for three months and four missions before he had to use it.) 

Q didn’t touch the other 00s, who stayed near their equipment, more or less, and who deserved their privacy, deserved not to have their footsteps tracked through the crevices of Q’s brain. In fact, he didn't touch anyone. Not if he could help it.

With Bond, Q made excuses for the tiniest bit of extra assurance, the mental tip-toe of 00 feet sneaking across the globe. 

—

“Make Hutchinson do it,” Nguyen said, back again. “He loves guns; he’d be thrilled to do maintenance on company time.” 

Q met her eyes. “I take personal responsibility for the equipment of our most senior agents. They deserve that level of consistency.” He changed out the cleaning swatch he was using. 

“How consistent will you be if you burn out because you never leave this place? Guns, radios, earpieces--you can delegate. Our work is important, but...” 

“I’m almost done,” Q said, implacable. 

Nguyen sighed. “Sleep well, Quartermaster.” She showed herself out.             

Q dried, oiled, and reassembled the gun. He would make sure to catch up with Doctor Who and a few blockbusters so he could convince Nguyen that he sometimes made an effort to think about things that weren’t work or work-related. They could collaborate on blueprints for a sonic screwdriver. It would be fine. 

He would even give the same advice if he were in her position. She couldn’t know that Hutchinson doing as simple a thing as cleaning a Double-Oh’s gun until it shone would be detrimental to the delicate safety net that Q had been building since he had arrived at Six.  

Q touched everything his agents went out with, enough that he could still sense 007's old Walther in Macau, 001's discarded ejector rod in Tunis, 004's stack of worn-out gun parts secreted in a tea tin hidden behind a book on his shelf because he liked the thrum of them all together like that, and there was always the risk, at work, that they'd be disposed of.

He never lost things that were truly his. Guns, radios, earwigs, cufflinks.

He hadn’t lost an agent yet either.

[its-a-me-mango]

WE NEED MORE TELLY. WE NEED THEM DAM IT OR ILL DIE/jk

and amazing work! Luv your art style and your creativity!!!

Oh dear, we can't have people dying around here! Don't worry I'm sending someone over right now to help out, they'll get there as soon as possible.

Thank you so much for enjoying my work it means a lot to meEEEE WAAAAAA ;W;

[deviantly-inspired]

For the Sunday poll I ran, where the winning poll was "Dream thinks they're dating".

Rating: Gen (though Dream is implied to be feeling some spicy feelings).

+

There’s something wrong with Dream.

Hob isn’t sure what it is, but it’s enough to drive a man spare with worry. Dream is acting like a man possessed. Like someone starved. And Hob knows what it is to starve.

At first, he thought it simply Dream seeking to soothe Hob’s own nerves. Dream had only told Hob of why he missed their usual meeting nearly two years after his return. Hob’s not proud of the way he acted that day, but nor could he say he truly regrets it: his tears had been born of love, and Hob has never been able to regret love. He doesn’t quite remember what he’d said, but Hob does remember coming back to himself clinging to Dream like one might a miracle, the pair of them shuddering like leaves in autumn, soothing and being soothed by the other.

Hob’s own anxieties, normally well controlled, spiraled out. Panic attacks he hadn’t had since he’d come home from the front lines wracking his every waking hour. Dream had gone gentle with Hob then, reaching out to help ground him. Hob had extracted a promise from him after one of these attacks, snot on his face and his entire being thrumming with the knowledge that he could have lost the one he'd held so dear for centuries and had never known.

“Care for my old heart won’t you? I’m afraid it can’t quite take the beatings it used to. Please, Dream.”

“I promise,” Dream had said. Open and earnest, like he would upend the universe to keep his word. Hob had feared he'd bind his friend unduly with such an oath; that such a thing was no better than what had been done to him. But Dream had oathed so quickly and sure, eyes deep like the skies above, his voice shaking with some unnamed emotion as he'd held Hob closed and steadied the trembles with a surety that reassured Hob. He'd held Hob until he could stand steady on his own, and then, with more softness than even Hob had known his dear friend capable of treating him with, he'd guided Hob to sit and let Dream take care of him as Hob had never let him before.

And Dream had kept his promise, though Hob wouldn't have blamed him for letting his soothing words remain only that. Visiting more often, sharing more of himself. And Hob shared too, of course. Trading gossip and unhealed hurts like any other pair of friends. The panic attacks slowed, and then stopped, until one day Hob stopped feeling fear when Dream walked away, only anticipation for when he would return. Because Dream always does return. They’re so far removed from where they started that some days Hob can’t convince himself that it’s real. And then Dream will visit and smile and touch and it is real, now.

But it’s the touching that’s part of Hob’s worries now. Among other things. The small, casual touches that had begun have grown an almost desperate, possessive feel to them.

Dream will hold Hob’s hand, tight, like he can’t believe he’s allowed. He’ll crowd into Hob’s space and lean his weight, letting Hob take as much as his human muscle will allow. Like Hob is all that keeps him standing. Just last week on Hob’s old, ratty couch Dream had crawled onto Hob’s lap and burrowed his face to the crook of Hob’s neck like there was sanctuary to be found there. His whole form shook then, like he was trying so hard not to move, though Dream’s words were steady and low as he murmured commentary on the telly to Hob. Not that Hob remembers what was said, what with the way Dream’s lips brushed against his neck with each word. Hob’s never claimed a sainthood, and while he felt horrid for it, the weight and feel of Dream in his arms, even seeking comfort, was enough to have him reciting his chemistry tables.

His words lately have been worrying Hob too. It seems like he’s possessed by a need for Hob to understand how Dream values him. And while it’s nice (which is the strongest word Hob will allow himself to use, lest he damn himself) it worries Hob. Why does Dream need Hob to understand so thoroughly that Dream cares for him?

“Your gift with people is one I admire.”

“Your hands are not something one should scorn. They are the result of centuries of living. You need not an elegant form for them to be good.”

“You’ve come to mean more to me than I thought possible for myself to feel again. I would not lose you.”

And the gifts! Small cakes and indulgences that Hob is chagrined to know Dream’s spoiled him for. Coffees of the finest quality, made just how Hob likes it. Mementos from Dream’s travels to other realms that Dream tells the stories of, personal tales spun for an audience containing only Hob. A copy of one of the first books Hob had ever printed, the original locked behind glass in a museum but the gifted one just as real as the day Hob had printed it and realized he understood the words he was creating, could read them truly and not just need to trust it said what someone else told him it did.

It all feels so much like goodbye that old panic is making itself known. And here he is, baking decadent brownies in his kitchen at 3:15am because he knows Dream has a sweet tooth longer than Hob’s, worrying his poor heart to pieces at the idea of his dearest Dream leaving.

“Are you well, Hob?”

Hob turns with a smile, shoulders loosening. “Of course. What brings you here at this hour?”

Dream’s eyes scan the kitchen, lingering on pans of batter and mixing utensils.

“You were not asleep. And. You are baking brownies.”

“Worried about my brownies? Well, see if I share any this time then!”

“You bake brownies when you are upset.”

Hob sighs, shaking his head. Having it pointed out brings the anxiety back to the forefront. Hob wants desperately to ask Dream directly. To demand Dream stay and admit why he is acting as though he won’t be back every time he comes to visit. And Hob has had centuries to be brave in the face of fear. But this? This is different.

He glances up, gathering himself with a bolstering breath, only for Dream to be right in front of him. Dream raises a hand and cradles Hob’s face with it.

“What is troubling you, my heart? You know I will do all I can to aid you.”

Something in Hob’s brain flickers on. Some realization long coming.

“My heart?” Hob repeats back, slowly. Dream’s thumb drags soothing patterns on his cheek. Dream looks… bashful.

“You gave it to me to care for, did you not?” Dream says. “I vowed that I would. And I have. Haven’t I?”

Hob feels his eyes widen a comical amount.

“That was nearly ten years ago.”

Dream looks troubled. “If… you wish me gone then—“

“You don’t regret it?” Hob interrupts, the words nearly tumbling out in their haste to be heard.

The entirety of Dream softens. “Is that what has you troubled so? Of course not, my heart. Each moment with you is an honor.”

There’s a sound like ringing in Hob’s ears as almost a decade is cast in a new light. A flush rising up his ears and down his neck as the memory of the past few months in particular is re-examined.

“Will you kiss me?” Hob asks.

Dream’s eyes alight, though he tries to temper it. “We need not,” he says, even as he lists ever closer. “I know I’ve hurt you often in the past. If you aren’t—“

“The only thing I am right now is feeling foolish,” Hob interrupts. And then he’s closing the gap before Dream can ask him what he means, pressing his lips to the creature who’s held his heart for 600 years now, and has tended it so gently.

Hob can explain later, over brownies and decadent coffee. Dream will surely laugh. But for now, they’ve ten years of kisses to catch up on.

[agerebatman]

Happy Mothers Day, Alfred ♡

Ficlet • Regressor Bruce Wayne, Caregiver Alfred

"Alfred?" Bruce's voice was small and gentle, and Alfred knew exactly what that meant.

"Yes, dear boy?" Alfred responded with a pet name, knowing his son was regressed.

Bruce shuffled into the room shyly. He was always quite bashful when small. Bruce held a few pieces of paper in one hand and a small bin in the other.

"What do you have there?"

Bruce didn't respond, just looking down with a timid smile.

"Oh, is it a secret?"

He nodded.

"Well, you're welcome to stay here in my office while I work, if you'd like. I'll even put the telly on. "

Bruce took his usual spot on the floor behind the coffee table, laying out his supplies. Every time Alfred looked in his direction, Bruce would use his large frame to block his view. There was snipping and coloring and gluing, but Alfred couldn't parse what he was making. In good time, Bruce appeared behind him.

"Baba," he whispered, having slipped even smaller with his craft, "for you."

He placed a card in Alfred's hands. Paper flowers were glued to the front, and when he opened it, there was a picture in colored pencil. Alfred and Bruce's late mother, Martha. Written neatly across the top: Happy Mother's Day.

Alfred tried to quell the tears in his eyes. He wrapped Bruce in a hug.

"I love you very much, my darling."

"Love you too, baba."

[melodygatesauthor]

The Moon Boys and Periods

Moon Boys X f!Reader

For my dear friend @welcometostayingawake, and any other friends that may be dealing with this lovely problem that plagues us all ❤️

Summary: Headcanons of the first period the Moon Boys experience with their SO.

Tags/Warnings: SFW, period fluff, fluff, that’s pretty much it, just a comfort fic, I did NOT edit this

Word Count: 1.2k

Steven

You woke up with the pain in your abdomen that could only mean one thing, you started your period.

Steven would be all smiles when he opens his eyes, as he usually is when waking up next to you in the morning.

When he sees that something isn’t quite right with you, while you’re making small whimpers and hunched in pain, he immediately goes into stuttering Steven panic mode.

“Are you alright, love? What’s wrong?” He’d say with his eyebrows knitted together tightly.

You would start by telling him not to touch you, feeling not only over-stimulated but a little embarrassed that you started your period for the first time in front of him. You’d thought you had one more day.

“Oh…” Steven would say as he realized what was happening.

He’d never been with someone while they were on their period and didn’t know the proper protocol. Did he buy you chocolates? Flowers? Make you tea? Cuddle you all day with your favorite films on the telly?

All of it, Steven is doing all of it.

“No Steven.” You’d start with. “I’m just going to go home and take some Tylenol. I don’t even have any hygiene products to take care of the problem.”

Steven’s absolutely not having it. His rare demanding side comes out, rendering you completely speechless.

“Now that’s quite enough of that, Darling. Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve got a heating pad, yeah? I’m going to put that on you and run you a hot bath. While you’re in the tub I’ll run to the store and get what you need and then we’ll get you fixed right up.”

You simply can’t protest with that can you? So you just nod with a soft, “ok” while he sets you up with a heating pad.

In short order, you’re being made to get in the tub, while Steven takes your clothes with the intention to get them washed.

When Steven returns, he has so much stuff. He has flowers that he ever so sweetly places in a vase next to the bedside to brighten your day, he has chocolates, he has crisps in case you want something salty, he has tea, and he even brought you a change of clothes from your apartment. He even got both pads and tampons because he wasn’t sure which you preferred.

“When you’re done in the tub, let me know and I’ll make you a hot cup of tea, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You’d say with the biggest smile.

Marc

Similarly to when you were with Steven, it starts with that sharp nagging in your stomach.

Marc immediately thinks it must be something very seriously wrong with you to be whimpering the way you are.

“Baby, baby are you ok? Do you need me to take you to the hospital?” He would ask first and foremost, a harsh panic in his tone.

“Um, no, I’m fine, I just. I just need to go home and get some Tylenol and stay there.” You’d say.

Unlike Steven, Marc takes your word for it and will assume that you know what you need better than he does. However, when you insist on taking public transit, rather than letting him drive you, his more protective side comes out.

“No, I’m driving you. Look at you, you can hardly stand.” He’d say.

He would be right, you were holding on to the wall in the apartment holding your abdomen tenderly.

“I don’t want to bleed in your car.” You would protest.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than a little blood to bother me baby, but if it would make you feel better we can put down a towel.”

Marc would then get you to your apartment and help you inside. When you say, “I’m fine, you can leave now.” He’d respond with, “not a chance, where do you keep your cups?”

You’d point him in the right direction to find the things required to fill you with water and Tylenol. While he was getting everything together, including setting up your pillows and blankets comfortably, you’re taking care of yourself in the bathroom.

Marc doesn’t leave all day, even when you tell him he doesn’t have to stay. He loves you, and wants to make sure you’re comfy and have what you need.

At the end of the day, you know he will go anywhere if you need him to, and would do so happily.

Jake

Pain once more, but this time you’re waking up next to Jake Lockley.

Jake hasn’t found something yet that his kisses couldn’t fix for you, and so he wastes no time pressing his lips to yours softly.

While you appreciate the gesture, and you do love kissing Jake, it doesn’t change the fact that you are uncomfortable, and he’s not helping.

“Tell me what you need cariño.” He would insist, wondering if he’s out of his league. This feels like a Steven problem, he would think, but Steven and Marc are out at the moment, leaving him to take care of you.

“I just need to get back to my apartment and get some Tylenol. I’m just going to stay there I think.” You’d say, groaning as you sit up.

Just like Marc, he’s insisting on driving you, and just like with Marc, he doesn’t give two shits about a little blood. He’s seen plenty of it to last a few lifetimes.

The difference is that Jake is getting you there in half the time, and he’s making sure no one bothers you on your way into the building.

“I’m all set Jake, really, you can go home now.” You would say once you were inside.

He would tip up your chin with his gloved finger and kiss you softly. “You’re not getting rid of me today hermosa. Go run yourself a nice hot bath. I’ll be back in a little while.”

While you were in the bath, Jake would go to the store and scour each aisle with a furrowed brow. The man that was normally so in control, felt powerless for the first time. He didn’t know what to do.

However, he would have no qualms about asking someone what women need on their period.

One of nearly everything. Jake is coming home with one of almost everything from the drugstore that the clerk suggested, or so it would seem. Tampons and pads in every size and type. Do you like chocolate? Doesn’t matter, you can start your own factory now. Did you want to open a pharmacy? Because you have enough ibuprofen to supply a small army. Any period you have from now until the end of your days is accounted for.

Jake would then cuddle you for hours while you fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart with your head on his warm chest.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! I finally have a question. I'm a tooth-rotting fluff reader and I read most of the ones you provided, save for the AUs which aren't my thing. Read nearly all of the South-Downs cottage ones as well.

That being said, do you guys have any more of those? Also, do you happen to have more "literal sleeping together" fics, since that's possibly one of my favorite tropes, thank youuu. I'm ace so preferably no smut.

Have an absolutely tickety-boo day!

Hi! Glad you've enjoyed our #fluff, #south downs cottage, and #literally sleeping together tags. Here are some non-au fics with a combination of those for you...

A Kiss in the Dark by Mizmak (G)

Crowley and Aziraphale had never shared a bed before, but that would change when Crowley stayed overnight at the bookshop to keep his friend company during a thunderstorm.

Hey Love (That’s the Name We’ve Long Held Back) by IneffableDoll (G)

Crowley wakes up with a white wing covering him and struggles to remember where he is. (He is in his home with his angel, safe and loved and cherished, and everything is okay.)

pausing the world to stay right where we are by snek_of_eden (T)

Aziraphale’s hands grasped at him gently, not in a commanding way, more like making sure he hadn’t stepped away. His pooling blue eyes gazed up at Crowley, and Crowley got the feeling he was just now realising how carefully they were doing this all, just how fondly he was being handled. Maybe he even guessed at the thoughts running through Crowley’s idiotically sappy mind right about now. In any case, he pulled at him slightly needily, almost vulnerable. He always looked this way, when he was at Crowley’s mercy, but there was no fear in his expression at all. “Are you…?” “‘M here, angel,” he said softly, stepping forward and taking Azirphale’s hand in his own. "It's okay." *** Crowley takes care of Aziraphale after Armageddon, exhausted, confused, but most of all, safe.

Acts Of Service by LondonSpirit (T)

The Second Coming is averted, Heaven and Hell is leaving them alone. Now Crowley and Aziraphale have to adjust to life on Earth without them meddling into their affairs! How's their life going to be when it's just them?

The Proposal by EdosianOrchids901 (T)

While struggling with anxiety, Crowley goes to Aziraphale with a proposal. Aziraphale thinks it’s a proposal of an entirely different kind. Can they work out the nature of their relationship, and will Crowley’s idea help with his anxiety?

A Night In by Mackem (T)

Crowley meets his gaze over the top of his glasses again. His grin is as sardonic as ever, but his eyes are creased fondly at the corners. “It starts tonight, angel. I could sort it all out for you, if you want?” “Would you?” Aziraphale smiles broadly. Warmth spreads from his stomach into his chest, bright and sparkling, as Crowley nods without hesitation. “That would be wonderful of you, my dear. You know what I’m like with new-fangled technology.” “New-fangled?” Crowley sighs, seemingly long-suffering, but amusement lurks behind it. “The telly is approaching being a century old at this point, you know. Look, leave it all to me, all right? I’ll pop round tonight.” “Oh, thank you, Crowley!” “No problem. Why don’t I bring some wine with me? We can have a night in.”

- Mod D

[hai7ani]

nsfw mdni

in my econs class w the lecturer talking about subsidies and im here thinking about reader having some rough n rlly good sex w rindou after work and your clothes aren't even all the way off.... the top 4 buttons of his dress shirt r unbuttoned, pants still on w his belt unbuckled but still hanging onto the hoops n ur bra is off but the back of ur dress is unzipped, the top pulled down to your stomach and the hem is bunched up around your hips

neither of u are talking to each other, save for the moans and gasps and whimpers sounding from you both bouncing off the walls of ur shared bedroom -- just busy fucking and making each other cum again n again and you're arching ur back really prettily when he's got both hands on your hips, gripping ur flesh tight and he's kneeling in between your wide open legs. he's admiring the way ur tits r bouncing so prettily and rindou is fucking u really fast.... no breaks in between n you've got tears in ur eyes from the few previous bliss he's given u n when u open ur eyes u see him throwing his head back from the way you're spasming around his dick n it all just feels too good he can't help but moan so loud when u reach a hand down to rub on ur clit and u cum instantly from it. he's smirking stupidly down at u when u roll ur eyes back n ur sticky hands r gripping onto his arm for dear life. rindou simply bucks up into ur pussy harder n u yelp a little from the overstimulation

"baby..." its broken with gasps and rindou starts slowing down when he sees that u can't even speak properly, let alone open ur eyes. "you good?" he asks, brows furrowed a little when u don't reply instantly. he always does this... checking up on u as if he hadn't just cummed in ur pussy (no protection :0 he likes it raw) so many times n u grimace a little because it's all sticky and wet down there but u still nod ur head a little after regaining ur senses. and u realise that he's stopped moving now. "more..." u sigh with clouded and lustful albeit tired eyes blinking up at him softly, then suddenly moving ur hips a little to the front for more friction n he bites back a moan from the feeling. he was so close to cumming but he'd restrained himself out of worry for u

and he simply reaches a hand out to wipe the sweat away from ur forehead, brushing a few of ur stray hairs to the side and he leans down to press a sweet kiss on your temple. "you're tired." he states softly but u shake ur head. "i'm not... i'm okay. u haven't cummed yet." u wrap ur arms around his neck and he places both hands under ur bum, shifting ur body so that you're laying more comfortably on the bed though you whine in his ear when he pulls out n pulls up his pants. "i'm fine, babe. you're tired." rindou repeats, and you listen to him when he brings one of your sore legs up to kiss on ur ankle before sliding a rough n calloused yet so loving n gentle hand down your leg to massage your thigh. there's so many red finger marks on your flesh from how hard he's been gripping on them earlier and your heart can't help but soften at the sight of rindou leaning down again to press little kisses on the redness that's starting to bruise. "sorry, couldn't help it." he apologises softly and you reply by clamping ur legs shut and successfully trapping his head between ur thighs. u laugh loudly when he groans because he'd accidentally bumped his nose on ur clit from ur antics and its a little sticky now from cum..... "u're nasty, babe." he wipes it away w a palm before pressing down on both ur thighs to swiftly dive into ur pussy. he didn't even give u warning or a sign -- nothing. and he's lapping up ur juices, cleaning u up while u tug on his hair as u gasp. he groans when u mewl his name, "rin." it's tiny, it's desperate, and you cum again when he sucks on ur clit just right.

so much for you being tired, you think. and you smile giddily when he cums in his pants from eating u out because that is your husband right there -- putting urself before him, telling you he's fine n he doesn't mind not cumming that much, but u know otherwise when u saw the way he'd looked at u earlier w faint puppy eyes and u knew instantly what he wanted -- to cum in ur pussy just one more time, which is why u insisted that u can go another round but he said no n look where he's at now.... blushing into the sheets bc there's a big wet patch visible even on his black slacks that he'll have to clean by himself later bc you are not going to help him.

"it's all ur fault."

"okay baby."

"you're too pretty."

"okay baby..."

i want rindou SO.mbad u gyysbdont get it.

[telemna-hyelle]

tellie I stg if you accidentally make the baby ornament fanart famous I’m going to laugh so hard it would be so funny 😭

I dearly hope it will that would be hilarious

[moo-blogging]

Mentally not in a good place now, I just wanna spend my Sunday evening quietly with Levi. Watching whatever show on the telly. Cuddle up with each other. Sharing kisses from time to time. The dishes left on the coffee table, waiting to be washed after the show ends.

Levi's arm on my shoulders, casually rubbing on my back throughout the evening. "I'm not ready to go to work on Monday," I'd say. He'll kiss my temple, "well, you can always opt to stay at home."

"I just wanna spend more time with you, Levi," I hide my face in his chest.

"Me too, darling," Levi rests his chin on my head, "but you'll have to go to bed later and when you wake up in the morning, I wouldn't be there to send you off to work... I only exist in this house, in your imagination." He kisses the top of my head and exhales. "But I love, I love, I love you so much, Y/n. I love you so much I really really want to be here with you for the rest of your life."

A tear rolls down my cheek, "I love you too, Levi... I wish I was there with you.."

Levi rubs his cheek on my hair, "my dear, I wouldn't want you there with me. I can't put you through wars. But I'll be here with you, each night, making sure you're okay."

[bravoshadow]

The Plates

John Price x gn!reader

A/n: Here's some home life fluff! Written in first person. I hope you like, this is a first from me lol. I apologize for spelling/fluency it's slowly coming back to me. Requests are open! Not proof read.

Wc: 630

-

“OI! For fuck's sake!”

I hear him shout from the kitchen, I'm sitting at my desk in our shared home office. I scoff, rolling my eyes, and drop my pen on the desk before peeling myself from the leather chair and making my way down the hallway into the open space. 

I take my time entering the kitchen, knowing he's either stubbed his toe again or the clicker for the telly isn't working... I'm used to his quick temper and willingness to snap at anything. I cross my arms and lean my body against the frame of the kitchen door, my glasses hanging off my nose, glaring towards him from the opposite end of the counter. 

A simple “Yes, dear?” leaves my lips. Waiting for him to notice my presence and shift his body towards mine with his signature irritated scowl. I can still hear him rummaging in the overhead cabinet.

“Where in the bloody hell are the paper plates?” I walk straight up to him, bumping him out of the way with my hip as he continues to mix up the contents of the cabinet. “Let me help you.” I can't help but shake my head softly and chuckle quietly to myself. God he can be such a baby sometimes, but I don’t mind.

I rise up on my tiptoes to move the saucer plate that was obstructing the view of the paper plates. He shifts behind me and grabs my hips for support. I settle back down on my heels and turn around. “You just had to move the saucer John.” I'm trying hard not to giggle now, knowing how angry he can get over something so minor. 

“Oh… have they always been there?” He rubs the bridge of his nose with one hand and takes the plates from me with the other. “If it makes you feel better… no.” He knows I'm lying but I can't help but stand there grinning like a fool. A chuckle leaves his lips at my little fib, the tension easing in the air. “You’re a terrible liar darling…” He puts the plates down on the counter top behind me and his arms snake around my waist settling like an anchor. “But did it make you feel better?” I mimic his actions by snaking my arms around his waist and interlocking my fingers, looking up at him through my long lashes and my glasses hanging on my nose. “Hmm not quite…” His signature gravelly voice drops an octave lower. I stand up on my tippy toes again and go to give him a soft kiss on his cheek, he counters my action by shifting his face so I kiss him on the lips instead. A small chuckle erupts from both of us. “Better?” I smile cheekily as I rub my hand on his back. “Much.” His hand give my rear two soft swats, releasing me from his hold. 

-

I move by him, getting ready to turn around to go to the office, when I hear him shout again.

“Did you move the mugs?” He sighs in pure defeat.

“They are where they have always been darling…” I shoot him, ‘you're kidding me right?’ glare.

“And where would that be?” He adds quietly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

I sigh myself walking back over and showing him exactly where the mugs are. “You’ve been gone too long…” I chuckle in disbelief.

“No, you’ve just rearranged everything.” The sarcasm dripped off his statement.

“Wait until you find out what I did to the bathroom…” I clap back holding my head high as I walk back towards the hallway.

“W-wait WHAT?! I can hear him sprinting out of the kitchen to catch up to me,  eager to know how I rearranged the bathroom.