#sometimes you need domestic fluff to soothe the burn

[imfinereallyy]

you can pry happy endings from my cold-dead hands. It can be the most heart stopping, gut wrenching fic that has every existed and I will read every drop of it if I get my happy ending. I have had enough painful endings in real life, give me happy in my fantasy world. It can be at the last second, it can be a single sentence, even a single word. Give me all the angst and hurt in the world for 500,000 words, but please give me the comfort I need in the ending. please and thank you.

#do I love angst? yes. but also need to be happy in my delulu world for five seconds #sometimes you need domestic fluff to soothe the burn #fan fiction #ao3 #hurt/comfort #steddie #stranger things #lumax #byler #ronance #steve harrington #Eddie Munson #archive of our own #wattpad #robin buckley #steve x eddie #happy endings

[ilovepedro]

Woven in the Stars | din djarin x f!reader

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

Chapter 2 - Cosmically Sewn

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~4k

Chapter summary: Din returns to town with Grogu, meeting with you to get custom clothes. Getting acquainted with the pair, you strike up an offer that could bring you and Din even closer. Will Din accept?

Chapter warnings: slow burn, mutual pining, dad!Din, flirting, one (1) use of the word “daddy” in a nonsexual way, reader refers to Din as ‘Mando’ (for now 🤭), POV switching, inaccurate star wars info, liberties taken with the Creed, reader is female, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N, none really mostly just pining and fluff

A/N: hi everybody!!! tank you for sticking with me, life has been so hectic lately to say the least 🙃 but these two are finally acquainted with one another! the smut will happen eventually so bear with me y’all! i will throw y’all a bone occasionally, but the freak narsty smut happens all at the end. gotta let these two babies pine and let that slow burn burnnnn! can y’all sense i’m a sucker for the buildup? hehehe anyway i hope y’all enjoy! 🩵 not beta'd, all mistakes are my own.

Divider by @saradika

the first emboldened word = Din’s POV

the first italicized word = Your POV

Stirring in the plush, handsewn sheets, Din’s eyes flutter open, adjusting to the beaming sunlight. Groaning, he huffs as he rubs the shadow of stubble growing on his face, as he recalls what he did last night before falling asleep. Dread washes over him as he thinks of how he has to face you at the market later.

With a deep sigh, he rises from the bed and tidily makes his bed before padding into Grogu’s room. Thankfully, he’s still sleeping, still cuddled up with the stuffed bantha you gave to him.

You are everywhere he looks. How have you infiltrated his mind so quickly?

Din heads down the hall and into the refresher, opting to take a long shower while Grogu still sleeps. The scalding water soothes the dull aches that still linger in his body from years of battling. He scrubs hard, attempting to wash away what he did last night, the guilt and shame.

He shuts the water off and dries off before trudging back down the hall and into his room. As he slips on his flight suit, soft coos make his ears perk up. He smooths out the wrinkles in his shirt as he goes to peer into Grogu’s room. The child now wide awake and still gripping onto the bantha. He squeals at the sight of his father, hands up and stretched forward. 

Din cradles him in one arm as he walks out into the kitchen, starting their daily routine. One that consists of breakfast for Grogu, and sometimes Din. If he’s not eating breakfast with his son, he’s usually doing some work - whether that be house work or having comm link meetings with Teva or Karga.

Today, it’s just breakfast for the two of them. Grogu brushes the stubble on his father’s face while he prepares their meal. In the past, he’d tell Grogu to stop touching his helmet. Things have changed.

Din no longer wears his helmet around Grogu so long as they’re alone in their home. He’s part of his clan now, having adopted him. Seeing that Bo-Katan and a few others who’ve walked both worlds, and being exposed to different Mandalorians who practice the culture differently, he’s decided to take some liberties with the Creed. He wants his son to see him, all of him after losing him once. Also, Grogu is still far too young to partake in the Creed, so he should be allowed to see his father.

He prepares breakfast for the both of them, sitting Grogu down in his chair as he serves them both. His son squeals as his father serves him and sits beside him. Mirroring each other, the clan eats in silence. Grogu busies himself with his meal, completely oblivious to his spiraling father.

How is he supposed to face you again today? Why did he do that last night? Maker, he needs to regain his sense of self control. He knew domestic life was going to be an adjustment, but he didn’t think he’d let himself slip up so easily, so quickly. For stars sake, he’s already thinking about sharing a life with someone, with you. He has other things to take care of before he can even give that a second thought. Like settling in, helping Grogu adjust to this new life, prioritizing his contract work with Teva, and the occasional tasks from Karga. He hopes he can act normally today. You caught him off guard yesterday, but hopefully he can prepare himself to see your beautiful face.

A whine pulls him from his thoughts. Grogu has crawled into his lap, pouting up at him with those big brown eyes, meaning he’s still hungry. Din hands him his spoon, and turns him around to face the table. Grogu squeals with delight as he rapidly devours the rest of his father’s food. 

With a tiny burp, Grogu plops down into Din’s lap and sinks into the warmth of his chest. Din rises to his feet and pads into his son’s room, cleaning him up and changing him into a spare tunic. He settles Grogu in his pram, nuzzling the new stuffed bantha that he’s quickly attached to next to him, and walks across the hall to put on his armor.

As he reaches for his helmet, he calls out for Grogu before placing it on his head. “Come on, Grogu, let’s go.” A hissing sound erupts as he slips his helmet on, and he rushes back into the living room, slinging the sack over his shoulder while Grogu plays in the pram with his bantha. Another reminder of you, he exhales a deep modulated sigh as he braces himself for a day at the plaza. Embarrassment coursing through him as he and Grogu head out the door and off on their journey for today.

Maker give him strength.

The town bustles as the sweltering sun beams down onto the plaza. Setting up the last display at your textile stall, you wipe the bead of sweat that’s formed at your brow. Mando is supposed to return with Grogu today, making you feel particularly giddy about seeing the mandalorian again. You’ve heard tales about mandalorians your whole life, and have even seen some in passing having lived on Nevarro for a few years now. However, something about him was so enthralling.

You couldn’t place it. Perhaps it was the way he was so caring and gentle with his son, or perhaps it was his demeanor which was surprisingly a lot more open than you had expected. Most encounters with mandalorians are short, as they are not people of many words - but not with him. Something about the man in beskar has captivated you, unable to shake him from your head since meeting him yesterday.

Subconsciously, you’ve never taken this much interest in a commission before. You’d even selected an array of fabrics for him to choose from for Grogu. You tell yourself it’s because of the unorthodox, sweet duo. The green baby having captured your heart the second you laid eyes on him, his curious eyes wandering and babbles that escaped him having tugged at your heart strings. You wondered how he ended up with his father, the resemblance between them obviously nonexistent, but you didn’t ask. It’s not your place to know, let alone judge, unless Mando feels comfortable telling you.

You should know better than anyone how complicated familial relationships can be. That family does not always correlate to blood relation, being adopted since birth after your biological parents had given you up to your mother and father. You believe that the stars lead you to people. They lead you to your family - your parents, your brother, your sisters. You are their daughter, their sister despite what biology may say.

Oh how you miss them all so much. What you’d give to see them again. You hope they’re alright, that the krayt dragon hasn’t reached them despite all the time that has passed.

Biting back tears, you shake your head and pack the selected textiles into a box and place them in your home-turned-shop. Working out of your home has its perks - never having to leave. It’s also got its downsides with the lack of space. It can get crammed sometimes, and it’s hard to not bring work home with you - literally and figuratively. Big commissions can be stressful, and dealing with a particularly aggravating vendor neighbor doesn’t help.

Recounting your last encounter with him, it was thankfully diffused quickly by your other neighbors. He’d yelled at some innocent kids who were eyeing the fruits he sells, calling them thieves and accusing everyone of being one after he’d had a few pieces of fruit stolen from his stand. You’d intervened first, scolded him for yelling at children and consoling them by offering them some candy from your stash. Thankfully the other neighbors despised him as well and jumped into your’s and the children’s defenses. He backed off and hasn’t said anything since. Hopefully it stays that way. 

Thank the Maker he doesn’t actually live next to you.

The sound of your name pulls you from your recollection and back into reality. You rush outside and your breath hitches in your throat. There he is, in all his shiny glory. If he’s this captivating with his helmet on, you can’t help but wonder what he looks like underneath it.

You wave at them, beaming as Grogu returns a wave with his tiny hand as he holds the stuffed bantha you gifted him just yesterday. Din desperately tries to keep his composure as he approaches you, trying not to think of what he’d done last night. His hands having grown clammy under his gloves, his helmet suddenly feeling hotter as the sight of you sends his head spinning.

You’re radiant, as if you belong in the stars in the evening skies - outshining every galaxy he’s ever seen. Your energy is infectious, making his heartbeat stutter. 

“Hi, baby! I see you brought your new toy with you! Do you like it?” You ask, voice full of glee. Grogu happily garbles an incomprehensible response, but you take it as a ‘yes’ and burst into a fit of giggles. Your laugh like music to his ears, he bites back a groan under his helmet. 

Is there any part of you that isn’t beautiful?

“Hi, Mando,” you giggle. It sucks the air out of his lungs hearing your breathy laugh and his name from your lips. Sweat forms on his brow and he wishes he could wipe it away. He fidgets with his holster, giving you a nod. “Hi, cyar’ika,” he nervously stammers, the affectionate name having escaped his mouth without thinking. Your brow quirks as your lips pull into a grin. “I’ve never heard that before. Is that your native tongue?” You inquire, fully intrigued by the name.

Fuck. He didn’t mean to let the name slip.

“It is. It’s Mando’a, the language of my people.” Your smile grows larger, making Din’s heart beat faster and body grow hotter. “It sounds lovely! What does that word mean? Should I be insulted?” You playfully tease him. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes bug out of his head as his cheeks grow red. “What? No, it was not an insult, I promise. It means, uh… it means ‘friend,’” he lies. You nod, narrowing your eyes at him as if you don’t believe him.

“Okay. If you say so, Mando,” you tell him, coyly winking at him. He clears his throat as awkward tension fills the silence between you two.

Grogu’s squealing breaks the tension, making you laugh. “You ready for some new clothes, baby?!” You ask him, scooping him up from his pram, eliciting a giggle from the baby. 

His heart feels like it’s going to burst through the beskar.

Tickling the child, he laughs excitedly as you set him on one of the tables at your stall. “Wait here,” you tell the clan as you disappear into your studio. You return with a box containing something. You place the box on the table, Grogu cooing in curiosity. Din tilts his head to the side. 

“What’s this?” He asks, making you beam. 

“I hope you don’t mind, but I selected some fabrics for you to choose from based on what he was wearing yesterday! But also, please feel free to browse around the other selections,” you explain with a sparkle in your eyes as you smile at him, laughing as Grogu grabs one of your fingers to balance himself as he wobbles to the box.

He’s undeserving of your kindness, unable to fathom what he’s done to be on the receiving end of it.

“You didn’t have to do that, cyar’ika,” he nearly whispers. Your face is beginning to ache with the amount you’ve been smiling since he arrived. “It was no problem, Mando. I hope you like some of the selections. You can tell me if you don’t, you can be honest with me. Trust me, I can take it,” you tell him with a coy smile and a wink, making him suck in a sharp breath.

Keep it together, Din.

“Th-they’re lovely, cyar’ika. Thank you very much, I’m perfectly happy with any of the fabrics you’ve chosen,” he tells you. “Are you sure? Because I-I can pick out some more,” you say timidly.

Is he making you flustered? No. There’s no way.

“No need. They’re perfect.” You give him a nod and tuck your bottom lip between your teeth. “How about we let Grogu choose his favorites from the pile?” He says, subconsciously inching closer to you. “O-Okay,” you stutter.

You bend down to meet Grogu’s height. “Grogu! Which one do you like, baby?” You gently ask him as you hold up two pieces of fabric for him to choose from. He points to one in your left hand with a grunt. You repeat the process two more times, the smile never leaving yours or Din’s faces.

He watches quietly as you swipe your measuring tape from your apron, wrapping it around Grogu who garbles in confusion as he wonders what’s going on. He looks up at you with his big brown eyes, tiny teeth peeking out from his mouth. You smile and scrunch your nose at him, speaking to him about different things like toys, candy, animals, anything a child would like. You intently listen to every garble that streams from Grogu as if you can understand him, showing him enthusiasm as he babbles. 

Din can feel his body heating up, his chest feeling fuzzy as he watches you interact with his son.

Grogu goes for something in one of your pockets - the pin cushion. You and Din panic, you get to him before he pricks himself on a needle. “No no, baby! Those are sharp, they can hurt you. Here, you can play with this instead,” you say, handing him a spare one sans pins. You remove the one from your apron and toss it onto a table behind you, probably to ensure he doesn’t reach it at all.

How are you so maternal? Is it instinctual or do you have children of your own?

“You’re really good with him,” he says, moreso to himself rather than you. “Hmm?” You say, lifting your head and eyes wide as you meet his gaze. His heart feels like it’s going to combust every time you look at him. 

“What?” He asks. A smile splays on your face, teeth poking through your lips. “What did you say? I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch what you said,” you explain.

“Y-you’re, uh, you’re really good with him. Most people can’t keep up with his hyperness, but you can.” He sees something flash across your eyes.

Bashfulness?

“Oh. Thank you, that’s very kind,” you say, voice hushed and shy. “Do, um, do you have any children of your own, if you don’t mind me asking?” He can’t help, but ask - curious as to how you’re so good with his son, curious if you’ve got a riduur at home.

“No! No children, just me at home. I did have a little sister and have just always had a soft spot for kids, but no… no children,” you tell him, a noticeable deflation in your voice as you bring up your sister.

Did. He catches that, unable to miss the use of past tense. Feeling like he’s already pried from you, he nods. “Well, you’re a natural. Plus, he likes you,” Din says, offering some sort of comfort and shifting the focus of the conversation.

Grogu chirps from below the both of you, making you smile. You boop his nose, making him laugh. “I like him too. We’re best friends now, aren’t we, baby?” You ask him, tickling his sides as Grogu’s laughter grows louder. “Better watch out, Mando. I think I’ve taken the throne as his favorite,” you say through your giggles. Din watches from behind his helmet as you cradle Grogu, his heart taking flight at the sight in front of him.

“I don’t doubt that, cyar’ika.”

“So… can I ask what brings you into town, besides clothes for Grogu?” You ask, marking measurements on the selected fabric.

“Uh, yes, uh, we’re actually also here to gather some things for a fence I’m building. I’ve got a pond in front of our house and Grogu keeps torturing the frogs. I also don’t want him falling in, so I’m buying the last of the supplies to block it off.”

Your heart softens at the mandalorian’s concern. Going above and beyond for his son.

“Those poor frogs,” you giggle at the thought of Grogu messing with them. “Yeah, if he keeps eating them, he’s going to turn into one,” he huffs. Grogu snaps his head up, garbling what seems like a question.

“Have you started building the fence yet?” You through a fit of laughter.

“I have not, I’ve been occupied with some last minute tasks High Magistrate Karga asked me to complete. But I plan to start soon, possibly within the next week.”

You hum as silence settles amongst you three. A thought pops into your head, recounting the time you spent helping your father around the moisture farm back home on Tatooine as a young girl. Building and repairing fences and traps with your brother around the farm, your father adamant on ridding your home of womp rats.

Without even thinking about your next words, they eagerly roll off your tongue. Not sure why you’d go so far to extend a helping hand, but not questioning yourself either.

“Would you like some help?” Mando tilts his head to the side. “W-with the fence! That is,” you say, trailing off at the end. “Oh, that’s quite alright, cyar’ika. It’s a lot of work, and I couldn’t ask another task of you.”

“It’d be no problem! I’m more than happy to help, if you’ll let me.”

You’ve never been so eager to do farm work in your life. Surely, your father would laugh at your enthusiasm.

“Cyar’ika, you’re very kind, but I’d be indebted to you should you help me. In fact, I already am with the garments you’re crafting for Grogu.” You playfully roll your eyes

“Again with the formalities. You aren’t indebted to me, Mando! This is my job. Helping would be considered a favor, helping out a friend.”

“Friend.” Mando states. 

“Yeah. Isn’t that what you call me? ‘Cya-cy-cyar’,” you stumble through the pronunciation. Mando barks out a hearty laugh, sending a flurry of butterflies swarming in your belly.

“Yes, we are friends, cyar’ika. You can just call me ‘Mando’ or ‘friend.’ We’ll work on your pronunciation later, don’t want you hurting yourself now,” he teases. Your scrunch your face up, mouth gaped open. “Wow! How rude of you, Mando! Give a lady some grace, why don’t you?!” You squeak, unable to contain the surprise in your voice as a huge smile breaks out onto your face, taken aback by his sudden playfulness.

“I’m sorry, cyar’ika. How can I re-earn your good graces?” A smile evident in his voice.

Your face feels like it’s going to fall off if you keep smiling.

“For starters, you can tell me what that word really means. I’m only fluent in Basic and Jawaese,” you say with a wink, trying to make him feel equally as flustered.

“Jawaese? Are you not native to Nevarro?”

You shake your head as you measure Grogu once more, jotting down his measurements, playfully booping his nose to keep him entertained. “I am not. Tatooine was my home, it’s where I was born and where I grew up.”

He nods, carefully catching a wobbling Grogu. “So what brought you here?” You smirk. “I could ask you the same, Mando… if that is your real name,” you tease. The mandalorian chuckles under his helmet.

Oh what you’d give to see his smile.

“Maybe I’ll tell you… should you ever choose to tell me your given name,” you tease.

“Fair enough. I’ll tell you everything one day, cyar’ika.”

One day. Is he possibly considering telling you his name?

“One day,” you repeat. Your gaze never leaves his, staring into the blacked-out T in his helmet, hoping he can see the desire in your eyes. The silence is broken with the clearing of Mando’s throat. 

“I plan on starting next week. Does that work for you, cyar’ika?” 

You nod a little too eagerly, automatically agreeing despite not having checked your deadline schedules for other commissions. “It does! I’ll even bring over Grogu’s new tunics next week, they’ll be ready by then,” you excitedly say, folding the paper containing Grogu’s measurements and tucking it into your apron. Tucking your pencil behind your ear, you fold the fabrics up and carefully place them back in the box.

Grogu picks one up and hands it to you, melting your heart. You graciously pout, cooing at him. “Thank you, baby!” You squeal, gently caressing his cheek. He nuzzles into your touch.

He’s got you wrapped around his little green finger.

A pang of disappointment hits your heart, your time with the clan coming to a close.

You sigh as you tuck the box of fabric under one of the tables behind you. Silence hangs in the air, fiddling with your apron as you’re unable to say goodbye.

“Well… I guess we’ll be seeing you next week, cyar’ika?” Mando says, making you perk up at the sound of his voice. “Yes, yes you will, Mando.” You can’t help but smile at the thought of spending time with the duo.

“Good. I can’t wait, mesh’la,” he says quietly. Your brows reach your hairline at the new nickname. “Okay, now what does that one mean, Mando? You better not be insulting me!” You exclaim, poking fun at him, but genuinely curious as to what he’s saying.

“I would never, cyar’ika! Like I said, I’ll tell you one day,” he assures you. You sarcastically hum, reaching for something else in your pocket and hand Grogu yet another piece of candy.

“Here you go, little man. Thank you for being so good today, baby!” You tell him, helping him unwrap the lollipop as he squeals with excitement. He incoherently babbles as you discard the wrapper.

“None for daddy though, he’s being a meanie,” you pretend to whisper to Grogu. Your head snaps up at the sound of a groan.

“You alright, Mando?” You ask, brows pinched together. “Y-yeah, cyar’ika. I’m fine. J-just s-sometimes… this… helmet gives me, uh, a headache. I’m fine though,” he stammers. Your worry not quite dissolving. 

“I’m sorry, Mando. Would you like some medicine? I think I might have some inside,” you worriedly ramble. He waves you off. “It’s alright, cyar’ika. I promise. Th-thank you for all your help today, truly,” he nervously says. Taking his word, you nod.

“Well, I’m here if you ever need anything. And of course, it was my pleasure,” you say as you extend your hand to him, smiling as you do so. He quickly glances down to your hand, his large gloved hand fully encasing yours, his thick fingers brushing against yours in the process. He gently shakes your hand, giving it a soft squeeze in between, flashing him a gentle smile.

Is he smiling under there? You hope so.

“See you next week, cyar’ika,” he says, his hand still in yours. “I’ll see you both next week, Mando,” you say breathlessly. He sets your hand down, but doesn’t let go. You can sense his hesitation, but what could he be hesitating about?

“Have a lovely day… mesh’la,” he rasps with a tender, but swift swirl of his thumb on your hand. Sparks of electricity bolt throughout your body, your hand feeling as if it’s ablaze. He quickly drops your hand, gathering Grogu in his arms and settling him in his pram.

“Thank you. You too, Mando,” you nearly whisper, still relishing in the lingering feeling of his hand in yours. “Bye, cyar’ika,” he says with a wave, Grogu mirroring his father’s actions. “Bye, Mando. Bye, Grogu!” You say, returning the wave to the father-son duo. They part from your stall.

There’s a few customers browsing around your stall, but you hardly notice them as your mind swirls from what just happened between you and Mando.

What was that?

A customer comes up to you to ask a question. You shake the thoughts from your head and go about the work day. Anticipation blooms within you as the day drags on.

Next week can’t come fast enough.

we've finally been introduced to our reader (or as Din likes to call you, 'Cyari'ka' hehehe) and now the plot has been set up for some major pining! we've even caught a glimpse of backstory for reader!

i truly hope your suspension of disbelief allows you to picture yourself when reading this, because i like to picture myself while writing! Din wants reader aka you! 🫶🏼

anyway, thank you so much for reading! i'd love to know your thoughts in the comments, my asks, or dms 🩷

tag list: @javierpena-inatacvest @gracieheartspedro @undrthelights @tinygarbage @bastardmandennis @party-hearses @nostalxgic @mandoisapunk @pedrostories @anoverwhelmingdin @diguise7 @survivingandenduring @missladym1981 @stilllivindue2spite @dindjarinsmut @coquettegingette @firstofficerwiggles @christinamadsen @leithatnight

if your name is crossed out, it means i couldn't tag you ):

#fic: woven in the stars #din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin fluff #din djarin series #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #mando monday

[ellabsprincess]

I’d love to see your take on domestic!abby… all the little ways she uses her strength around the house, how she shows you little bits of affection like wrapping an arm around your waist while you’re cooking, kissing you on the forehead when she brings you a drink whilst you’re working… just soft, fluffy, buff wife…..

<3-🐚

this is literally so cute!! i know this isn't much but here's some domestic abby headcanons!!

domestic!abby headcanons (abbyxreader)

warnings: lowercase intended, literally none this is pure fluff

tags: @m-3-ijiworld @seraqhites @uraesthete @hehatesmati @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @elliespookie @dropsofs4turn @millersaurora @jjmaybankslittleslut

wanna join my tag list? click here

she uses her strength to her advantage around the house. she works hard for her muscles and her physique, so she puts it to work when you need anything done around the house. she's always lifting heavy items for you, moving the furniture when you ask her to, just being your perfect muscle wife.

she loves having an arm around you. you're cooking a nice dinner? you can count on her making her way to stand behind you and look over your shoulder, her arms snaking around your waist to keep you company.

sometimes you have to shove her away because you don't want to burn her or hurt her accidentally with whatever task you're doing, and she leaves sulking, her bottom lip jutting out and pouting dramatically.

let's say you work from home, or you're just taking a project home, she is taking care of you every chance she gets. she won't bother you too much, she knows how much you care about your job and your projects, but she'll still finds subtle ways to show her affection. forehead kisses when bringing you a snack or drink, or just quick shoulder massages when you take a break, she just wants to touch her pretty wife.

speaking of massages, she LOVES to use her strong arms to rub away all your aches and pains. she'll have you lay on the couch, or on your shared bed. she'll put on some soothing, quiet music on in the background, the air being filled with the smell of a nice candle as she rubs her rough hands up and down you body, making all of your pain disappear.

abby loves to pick you up! it doesn't matter your size, the woman can hold you, and she will make sure you know it. too lazy to walk to the bedroom? she will scoop you up in her arms and carry you there herself. in public and your feet are hurting from your shoes? she will carry you bridal style to the car. she doesn't care if people stare, she just wants to make her pretty girl feel better.

she takes such good care of any pets you have. they are literally her children, and she will get up at the crack of dawn to go on walks with your dogs, or pet your cats because they decided to jump on the bed before you were ready to wake up.

she definitely has a thing for you being her housewife, and loves to see you doing menial tasks like cooking and cleaning up the house, but she will always contribute to her fair share of the chores. you're too tired to cook? she's leaping to her feet to make your favorite dinner. didn't have time to clean? it's okay, she'll let you take a well needed nap while she tidies up the house.

she also just loves calling you her wife. she makes a point to mention it in literally every conversation, rarely calling by your name, preferring to call you her wife because she's still in disbelief that she gets to wake up next to you every morning.

CUDDLES!! cuddling with abby is literally heaven. her strong arms surround your body, and the soft beat of her heart is the most soothing sound as you fall asleep on her chest. she definitely rubs up and down your back and kisses your forehead as she feels you drifting off, so happy you trust her enough to relax into her arms and sleep so soundly.

hope you guys enjoyed!! if you want more headcanons for abby or other dynamics let me know because this was fun!!

kisses mwah mwah

#abby anderson #abby anderson x fem reader #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson headcanons #🐚 anon

[levmada]

Heyy CONGRATS ON 1K💞😘

Can I request Levi in a domestic setting with "I just wanted to make sure you're ok" pls and ty!

absolutely yes<33 i think this one has been my fav so far??? 2nd fav?? i hope u like it!!

content/warnings: Levi being worried, light descriptions of anxiety, domestic fluff

wc: .7k

In the center of your neat living room, Levi stands with his hands on his hips, scrutinizing his surroundings. The bookshelves? Dusted, then polished—and after that, he even sorted the books by genre like you like. He cleaned out the pantry and sorted by food group (you and your instant noodles...). The bathroom? Scrubbed within an inch of its life, even the crevices between the tub and floor. One could lick the floor and probably increase their lifespan.

Which is what bothers him right now. There is absolutely nothing left for him to do. Maybe he could use some lotion for his burning hands, rubbed a little raw from bleach, but this is what bothers him.

Sometimes, work begs for your attention, and as such, you have to give it—especially with it being so close to the end of a quarter, which by your stress eating (he needs to buy you more instant noodles), he knew was the case even if you hadn’t told him.

But you were late. Extremely late. Worryingly late.

It’s the middle of summer; the sun doesn’t set until the time Levi usually prefers to go to bed. Yet you’re still not home, and streetlamps glow brightly outside your home. Above, stars twinkle in the dark sky.

He yanks down his head scarf, pulls out his phone, and once again considers texting you. He hadn’t since you were supposed to clock out, and he tries not to bother you in general (unless there's an emergency). Work is work: he never wants to distract you with less important things.

Even as newlyweds, when you clung to each other the most, he avoided imposing on parts of your life where he didn’t explicitly belong. You like to chide him and say he has a complex. He says you worry too much.

But now it’s his turn to worry.

He frowns down at the screen. It’s nearing midnight, or so reads the numbers on the top left corner. Even if you were working overtime, you should’ve been home two hours ago at the latest. The same is true if you decided to stop and grab some dinner for you both.

What if you got in an accident? Don’t police, or hospitals, call if that happens?—Or, what if your phone just broke? Surely one of your coworkers would have let you borrow theirs, or even a work phone so he wouldn’t be agonizing over this in the first place.

What if you literally can’t contact him?

He blinks. What if—

Levi switches apps at the speed of lightning and taps your contact. The name ‘love of my life’ stares back at him, which you changed in his phone on your wedding night two years ago.

He doesn’t wait, and slaps the phone to his ear.

It rings.

Levi isn’t particularly breathing, and without thinking he starts to pace in circles. He has his tendencies. Around various rooms is one thing, back and forth across a single room another—but in circles?

He’s upset, to say the least.

Then a click sounds, followed by your drowsy tone babbling urgently into his ear. “Levi! Baby, fuck, I'm so sorry, w-what time is it?"

His brow furrows. All worry drains away to hear you’re okay, and is replaced by hurt, and a little anger. What where have you been?

“Midnight,” he replies blandly. “...I just wanted to make sure you’re okay, but clearly that isn’t necessary.”

The hardwood floor under his houseshoes is clean enough to make squeaking noises. The sounds feel like insults to him now.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize again, voice full of remorse.

You’re busying around with your things in the background, he can hear. Your car keys have a bell attached that belonged to your old cat.

“I stayed late to get everything turned in on time, and I must’ve dozed off. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

His lips part, close. He swallows. “Come home. Now.”

“I’m packing my things right now,” you soothe, sounding just as frantic as Levi secretly feels. “I’m really sorry. You know I love you, right? I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Promise. Interesting.

“Yeah. Okay,” he replies, content. For now. “Hurry up.”

“On my way, baby.”

Enter the event here!

taglist: @ackermandick | @midtwenties-angst | @sckerman | @halloweenmedic | @katty | @jayteacups | @notgoodforlife | @peace-for-levi | @chaotic-nick | @b-o-n-e-daddy | @levisbrat25 | + link to sign up

#levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman x you #levi x you #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi ackermann x reader #levi ackerman x reader #captain levi x you #captain levi fanfiction #captain levi x reader #aot levi #levi heichou #1k.event

[iliterallydecepticanteven]

7, 8, 17, 36 for the fic ask game.

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

I like to pat myself on the back for the worldbuilding in Of Gutters and Galaxies but I love worldbuilding more than anything so I love to sprinkle it into every little thing I write just cause. And 84-C4T-R4V4G3 is just nothing but worldbuilding and playing around with TFA universe and a backstory for TFA Ravage.

8. What song would make a great fic (to either write or read)?

So many. Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish inspired i've never fallen from quite this high because it kinda reminded me of TFA Megop from Megatron's POV and I do think that when the party's over by Billie would be amazing for an angsty unrequited love fic but I have no clue which pairing. Halcyon On and On by Orbital is always nice to have playing in the background because it's so calm and soothing. Home by Resonance is another good background song but also I think would be good for like a nice post-war domestic fluff-type fic.

17. What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

I'm probably never gonna write this but: Human AU, Optimus works as a firefighter after being kicked out the Elite Guard Academy (which would be the equivalent of like the FBI or specialized police force) after his friend Elita got seriously wounded and ended up in a coma following he, her, and Sentinel trying to take on a case themselves. Sentinel of course is still in the Elite Guard and is a jerk to Optimus. Bumblebee, Bulkhead, Ratchet, and Prowl are all there because Optimus does volunteer work and works with them. Megatron is head of a major corporation that develops weapons and robotics, but interestingly he does not accept police or military contracts and yet somehow makes a ton of money. Ultra Magnus, head of the Elite Guard, is suspicious of Megatron's company and sends Optimus in as an undercover agent with the promise that if his mission goes right, he can rejoin the Guard. Megatron is told Optimus is just there to visit his labs and offices for a week to negotiate a possible contract with the Elite Guard and to aid in an ongoing investigation of various weapon thefts around the city but Optimus is actually there retrieving intel to see if he's doing anything illegal (spoiler alert he is). Other Decepticons all work for the company in various capacity, be it research and development or accounting or weapons testing. Cue the whole "oh no he's hot" and a little slow burn and inevitable heartbreak.

36. Do you visualize what you read/write?

YES I have to or I will legit get lost while writing. I have to visualize the character's movements in my head, as well as their expressions, and check height charts to double check if someone needs to be looking up, down, or straight ahead when talking to another character. I'll also sometimes draw layouts of rooms or places to help guide myself as well.

#thanks for the ask! #that human au will probably never happen #but oh boy is it fun to think about

[oh-katsuki]

tw: this is just fluff, that’s all

thinking about your pro hero husband, Bakugou coming home to you. it’s been a long day and his shoulder sag when he walks in, still dressed in his hero getup, too tired to change out of it at the agency. he just looks worn, scraped up and dirty, like he’s seen the worse half of the job today. 

you meet katsuki in the entryway of your shared home, taking in his appearance before he’s walking towards you with heavy steps and pulling you into a hug. he cradles your head against the crook of his neck, buries his face in your shoulder and take a deep breath in. 

you know better than to ask about these days, about whether his day was good or bad. from the way he rests his weight on you, you already know what type of day it was. so you smooth your hand over the back of his hair and mumble a question into his shoulder. 

“you wanna take a shower?” it’s not a suggestive question, but a genuine one to which katsuki grunts affirmation into your shoulder. 

so you both make your way to the bathroom where you pull his suit from him after shedding your own clothes, letting your hands run gently over the bruised muscles of his abdomen. the water is hot, just how he likes it, steam fogging up the bathroom long before either of you step into it. 

you bathe him, mostly in silence. it’s a small ritual. nothing special really, lathering your fingers through his hair, washing the grime and dirt of the day away with delicate hands. but it helps him. bakugou carries weight on his shoulders, responsibility, death, grief, he carries all of it. this is something small you both do when he’s had a difficult day, when he needs to be vulnerable in order to feel better. so he gives himself over to you. he lets you run your hands through his soaped up hair, over the ridges of his body, soothing bruises with a gentle touch. 

katsuki does the same for you, cleaning your body with calloused hands, pushing his fingers into your hair and massaging your scalp in gentle circular motions. he doesn’t run his finger through your hair because he may not be able to, but he tries to take your stress just as you did his. he cares for you and you care for him in this intimate ritual you both share. domestic and tranquil, silent and healing, you shower. 

there’s nothing sexual about it. no heated touches or chaste kisses, save for the small ones he’ll place on your shoulders and you his. it’s all romantic care, free of sexual desire because sometimes, you need to do this for each other. 

and after, once you’re both clean, you’ll crawl in bed against each other. katsuki is a silent person when things bother him. when they truly weigh on his shoulders, he prefers to keep quiet. but here, in the peace of your home together with your bodies flush against each other, bathed by the other’s hands, he unloads his burdens. in a small voice, low and rumbling from his chest, he tells you what’s wrong without you having to ask. 

katsuki sees you as someone safe to come home to, someone he can trust with his whole being, so he tells you his troubles and knows that you’re listening, breathing quietly beside him. it’ll be a moment before you roll over to kiss him, to hold him fully. he needs time to process, to sit with the weight before he’s ready to face anyone else in his vulnerable state and you feel lucky to get to be his safe person. so when you do roll over, kissing his lips gently before burying your face in his chest and looping your arms around his muscular back, warmth blooms across your chest. 

it blooms in his too, slow and burning deep because emotional closeness like this, for katsuki, really is a one person in a lifetime deal. 

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #ahhh im soft #very soft #oh so soft #this is very much a self insert #but i am starry eyed thinking about him #[ 📕 – writing ]

[hooterhorror]

Could i please have some Daniel Robitaille/Candyman fluff? Just like,,,,,, soft domestics hcs of life (?????) while dating him. Thank you!

HI SAPH !! YES OFC!

Domestic Candyman HCs

additional note: I love him sm ty Saph this was fun!

warnings: cursing, not proofread

He loves waking up beside you. He can't say it's his favorite thing out of everything... but it's up there. for sure. He loves to spoon you, though he isn't sure how you can be comfortable with his ribcage yo against your back all night... Damn shawty you live like this?

SWEET PET NAMES 100%. calls you his sweetheart and darling A LOT. also "my love" gets sprinkled in. He loves to make you flustered and likes the reactions he gets ;) especially when he kisses your knuckles and winks at you.

Cooks for you. I said it. HE'D COOK FOR YOU. Or often times he'll order food that he knows you love. It's common when you're upset, it's how he shows he cares and that he's there if you don't need words, you just need a simple gesture. He's fine with just sitting with you in silence as you wallow in your feelings.

Obviously it was odd living with an actual urban legend at first, but you both grew accustomed to it. Sometimes you forget he and you haven't always known each other, loving him just came so.... naturally. Telling him what was a bit embarrassing and anxiety inducing, I imagine. But he'd smile, take your hands in his, and press a kiss to your knuckles.

"You don't have to worry about rejection, my love. I've been waiting to hear you say that."

God DAMN YOUR HEART MELTS AS HE KISSES YOUR FOREHEAD AND CARESSES YOUR CHEEK- AND I DO NOT BLAME YOU.

He's so very careful with you- that doesn't change as you start dating (or "courting" as he's been calling it... old ass) he's always so worried about hurting you, though the fear itself is shoved away and he tells you "You just mean so much to me, sweetheart." and you do!

Tell him to relax, though. You may end up feeling stifled, and he doesn't want that. Just know though, that you'll always have him protecting you silently from the dangers that lurk around every corner.

He loves to play with your hair. Don't have any? Don't want him to play with it? He'll gently trace your spine. He loves to embrace you and just gently trace the curve of it.. It's kinda soothing even when your face is burning red from it.

And oh my god, if you take his jacket? His heart explodes. With love!

"Aw, my darling... It's far too big on you."

HES RIGHT BUT HE DOESNT HAVE TO SAY IT.

He'll call you adorable and cute and hold you as he kisses your face.

If you surprise him by cooking for him, his eyes immediately fill with love. Unfortunately he doesn't really eat,,, or need to,,, but the effort means so so so much to him!

Use one of his old shirts as pajamas. He can't love you anymore than he already does but he'd swear that's what makes his love levels for you up a little...

Tries to keep bugs to a minimum even if you tell him you don't mind them.

You swear this man treats you like the finest China with how he embraces and kisses you. It's instinctual to be careful, but he doesn't baby you or anything like he used to. But you can't stop this gentle treatment. Why would you? it's so nice!

I can see him using a fair share of each love language. Though gift giving and physical affection is definitely the top two, followed by words of affirmation. He'll get you little things that shows you he cares. A coat similar to his or a perfume or body wash he knows you've wanted but haven't got around to getting for yourself yet- y'know! little things... oh yeah also silk sheets for y'all's bed. More so a gift for you since he may be out late and unable to enjoy it as much.

He wishes he could take you on a normal date, honestly. He wants to take you to a nice dinner and smile at you over the candlelight and study how the light dances across your face...

Surprise him with a candlelit dinner at home and I think he'd need a second- he's so shocked and I'm pretty sure he's want to marry you on the spot ;)

#🫐saph. #slashers #fluff #slasher #slasher x reader #slasher x you #candyman #daniel robitaille #daniel robitaille x reader #candyman x you #candyman x reader #daniel robitaille x you #slasher fluff #slasher imagines #req #my writing #candyman 2021

[wri0thesley]

Hello Nat! It's me! The same anon who sent the Househusband Risotto asks a few weeks ago. Could I request a fic of Risotto with no.21(a Househusband au) and some pregnancy fluff? Congrats on 5k (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

brand new - risotto x reader

you have something to tell your husband. 

warnings: soft fluff, sfw. afab reader, no pronouns. pregnancy, talk of children, brief allusions to risotto’s past life. 

You’re surprised by just how easily Risotto falls into a domestic life.

You’d thought that his past would haunt him more; the fallen comrades, the Mafia business, the blood on his hands – but he’s surprisingly pragmatic about it, when you hesitantly bring it up.

“It happened,” he says. “I miss them. But I’ve been given a chance that they didn’t get, and I intend to take it.”

It’s more than your stoic, quiet husband usually says at once, and you feel it pierce your heart like an arrow. Your hand brushes over his broad shoulder in as much comfort as you can give him, and Risotto looks at you with the lightest smile on his lips that makes you feel like the luckiest person in the whole universe.

Risotto becomes the house-husband as if he’s been waiting to be able to do it for his whole life.

Oh, he makes some mistakes – some little things, like washing a pair of your red underwear in with some shirts that you wear for work. Planting the wrong kind of seedlings at the wrong time of year – trying to fix the plumbing himself instead of calling a plumber.

You two muddle along, but as a whole Risotto seems to be thriving, and that makes your heart leap in your chest like a prima ballerina.

Your heart thumps double when you come home after a long day of work and he already has dinner simmering on the stove, an apron wrapped around his broad frame – it’s emblazoned with the legend; “Hot Stuff Coming Through (and I don’t mean the food)”. You breathe in the scent of his cooking; something deep and rich.

You come up behind him and wrap your arms about him, resting your cheek on the centre of his back.

His muscle has gone a little soft now that he’s not working out so often or in as many life-or-death situations, but he’s still broad and amazing and perfect for holding onto.

“Smells great,” you say, sighing, kicking off your heels in kitchen to be put away later. Risotto’s eyes stray to them all higgledy-piggledy on the floor, and he frowns;

“Nonna’s recipe,” he says. “Aren’t you going to put those in the shoe rack?”

“I’ve only just gotten home,” you pout at him, but your pout quickly breaks into a smile as you see the exhaustedly fond expression on his face.

Now that he’s not an assassin – now that he doesn’t need to hide everything he’s feeling under the guise of being cool and cold and collected – Risotto’s face seems to move more. He finds it easier to express his emotions. It’s still little things; twitches and furrows, instead of his entire face transforming – but it’s more than before.

He’s comfortable. He’s happy.

You, and him, and the little world that you’ve build all around you two.

You bend over to pick up your heels, opening your mouth to say something over-dramatic about his newfound house pride – but you’re stopped by an ache that shoots down to the centre of your back, a noise of pain escaping you before Risotto can turn lightning quick and wrap a strong arm around you.

“Are you alright?” He’s asking, brow creasing slightly in concern. Panic flares in your stomach – you don’t want to tell him like this.

“Y-yeah,” you laugh it off, straightening up with your shoes in your hand, the other going to massage your back where you can reach. “Guess I was just sat in the wrong position at work for too long, huh?”

Risotto looks sceptical, but he can’t leave his boiling pots for too long. With a searching look at you, he returns to the stove, murmuring low;

“I’ll give you a massage later.”

You smile at his back as you walk towards the shoe rack in the hallway. You know that saying that will have made him blush; despite how long the two of you have been married now, he’s still nervous about things like that. His hands still shake a little when he goes to hold you. He still licks his lips before he kisses you, murmuring in a deep voice;

“Is it really alright?”

You always wind your arms around his neck and pull him in as your way of reassuring him that it’s perfectly fine. It’s hard, you think, for him to accept that he deserves all of this – but you’re eternally glad that the two of you get to share it together.

Little reminders of your shared home and life are scattered all about your home. A picture of you and Risotto at your wedding, framed and hung in the hallway; his suit is a little too tight, because he left it too long and it couldn’t be tailored properly to address the fact that he’s built like a superhero.

A bookshelf that has your romantic novels next to his own gothic horrors; a skull candle that burns red from its eyes as it melts perched on top. Also perched on top is a trinket dish that he made and painted for you at a pottery class he attended to try and get him out of the house whilst you were at work – you use it to dump your keys in.

It’s supposed to be a heart shape, but it’s more of a very uneven kidney.

The carpet you two had chosen together; you’d wanted something cheaper, but Risotto had insisted you could afford this one – he’d been right, and it’s soft beneath your stockinged feet.

You love him so much.

Your hand cups your stomach protectively now that you’re out of Risotto’s sight. You think of the tiny life inside of you; half Risotto, half you, already loved more than they’ll ever know even without Risotto knowing that it’s there. You can’t wait to tell him.

His hands are gentle on your shoulders, big and warm and softer than they once were. They’re still a little calloused from the garden work he enjoys doing, but he no longer handles weapons and you buy him sandalwood-scented hand cream instead.

They feel so good as they slide down your shoulder blades, brushing the notches of your spine, soothing circles pressed into your skin with his thumb. You sigh, relaxing into him. The feel of the palm flat against the small of your back – where the ache is the most pronounced – makes you relax even further into him, toes curling, a sigh escaping your mouth of relief.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” He asks you, his voice measured. Your eyes flicker open from where they’ve closed in comfort.

“W-what’s wrong?” You ask him, nervously, and Risotto makes an ‘mm’ noise in the back of his throat. His hands do not stop the massage as he goes.

“You’ve been out of it for days,” he tells you.

(He’s right. You’ve been out of it since Monday, and it’s now Thursday; Monday is the day you’d woken up with your stomach heaving, remembered how long it had been since your last period, and bought a pregnancy test on your way to work. You’ve done three more since then, and all of them have showed the exact same result.)

“Have I?”

His hands move to your shoulders, gently twisting you around.

“You have,” he says, his red-and-dark eyes fixed firmly on you. “If there’s something wrong, I’d like to fix it.”

“It’s nothing you’ve done!” You say, all in a rush, but Risotto has successfully caught you nonetheless; his eyes narrow.

“So it is something?”

Heat rushes to your face. You forget, sometimes, because he cooks dinner and does the gardening and goes to his pottery class, that he was a battle-hardened mafia assassin who has done more interrogations than you will probably ever know (you never bring up his former employ unless he brings it up first). He’s an expert at gently needling the truth out of people.

“It’s not something that’s wrong,” you say, weakly, but his eyes are still pinning you in place.

“Tell me,” is all he says.

You think, in the back of your head, you’d had some kind of grand plans to reveal your secret – maybe involving balloons, and a cake, and a little party hat perched on top of Risotto’s silvery pale hair. You think you wanted to make a big deal out of it; one more reminder that the world he left behind is well and truly in his past now. But now you’re on the bed with him and he’s looking at you so tenderly in a soft grey shirt for sleeping and a pair of loose boxer shorts, all ruffled and sleepy and domestic . . . Now feels like a good time too.

“I’m pregnant,” you tell him.

You swear that you could hear a pin drop.

He blinks at you, as if he can’t properly process the statement.

“You’re—”

“We’re having a baby.”

“Oh my God.” His voice is very small. He reaches out, hesitantly, eyes wide – big hand hovering over your stomach. “Can I . . .?”

“Yes,” you say, breathless as his hand rests on it. It’s not curving, yet; the fancy test you’d bought today and done in the bathroom at work had said it thought you were well past three weeks, but that’s still early days. Your eyes stare down at Risotto’s scarred, huge fingers – so careful with you, despite what he’s had to do to survive.

“I can’t believe it,” he tells you, and your throat feels tight.

“Me neither,” you admit. “But . . . I’m happy.”

He meets your eyes. There are tears brimming in his – you have never seen Risotto Nero cry. You’ve seen him sad, of course (a sad downturn to his mouth when a dog dies in a movie, or when the rosebush he’d been carefully cultivating had failed to achieve a single bloom) – but there’s an actual tear rolling down his cheek, sparkling in the bedroom light.

“Me too,” he says, and it seems entirely natural. Entirely true. Your heart aches with how much you love him.

You two don’t say anything for a few minutes, content to just look at each other, the warm knowledge of what you’re sharing making the air seem hazy and unreal.

You think about the pitter patter of little feet. The spare room you can turn into a nursery. Going to pre-natal classes with Risotto, choosing baby clothes, seeing him out and about pushing a fancy perambulator (you’ve always wanted one of those tacky, over the top ones that look like a Victorian nanny’s contraption, and you know that Risotto will agree to it--).

You think about him in the delivery room, your nails making crescent moon cuts in his palm. You think about his encouraging tone; you think about the hand-grown flowers he’ll no doubt bring you.

You imagine him cradling a little bundle of joy; tiny in his huge arms. His lips leaving gentle kisses on tiny foreheads. Him reading to your baby, him tending to scrapes, him and you and your child and the life that neither of you ever thought you’d get to live together.

His face is shining, fully transformed. He sees you looking at him with droplets shimmering in your tear ducts and he wipes them away with one big, warm thumb.

“I know,” he says. “It’s not just for me. It’s for all of them, too.”

“Yes,” you say to him. Your voice breaks, pitches, as you manage to get out: “I’m so happy we get to spend the rest of our lives together.”

He looks at you, so tender you feel like you’ll come apart under his gaze.

This moment is going to shimmer in your memory forever, you think. You’re glad that this was how the reveal went. This is much more like the two of you than any fancy reveal or ribbon or cake (you might still get a cake, anyway – Risotto has a sweet tooth).

“I love you,” he says, like warmth that wraps about your heart. And then; “What about naming it Formaggio?”

There’s a beat. You stare at him.

Both of your mouths stretch into a smile, a soft huff of laughter escaping his lips that makes you feel like you’re listening to a symphony.

“Maybe we should workshop names a bit more,” you tell him.

He agrees.

#risotto x reader #risotto nero x reader #risotto fluff #jjba fluff #sfw #writing #jjba x reader #risotto nero #jojo postin #afab reader #neutral pronouns #5555 event fic

[luxaofhesperides]

traditions.

domestic fluff drabble for joongdok. also on ao3 as part of my drabbles collection.

. .

.

After living together for so long, it’s inevitable that little habits would turn into traditions for them, repeated every day without much thought but plenty of affection.

Kim Dokja is a blanket hog. He pulls them tighter around himself in sleep until they’re yanked away from Yoo Joonghyuk. He used to just pull the blanket back, putting them into a late night tug-of-war until he rolled over and pulled the covers over both of them. Now, Yoo Joonghyuk keeps multiple blankets on the bed, mostly on Kim Dokja’s side so his companion can buddle up when he gets a little cold. 

He’ll still hold Kim Dokja, even in the dead of winter when he’s wrapped in three blankets so tightly he needs help getting out of bed in the mornings. It’s such a small thing, but the sight of Kim Dokja buried beneath his blankets makes something in his chest go soft and tender, warming him from the inside out. 

Their pile of blankets grows each year.

Yoo Joonghyuk is an early riser while Kim Dokja very much is not. He likes to stay up late reading, the lamp on the bedside table kept on and dimmed so he doesn’t read in the dark. Yoo Joonghyuk went looking specifically for an adjustable light lamp for Kim Dokja when they first moved in together. Kim Dokja is still ridiculously touched by it. 

When Yoo Joonghyuk leaves the bed, the sudden loss of warmth always wakes Kim Dokja up. He’ll blink his bleary eyes and reach for Yoo Joonghyuk, who is always ready to reach back. He’ll mumble something close to “Come back to bed,” and Yoo Joonghyuk will smile, that soft one he doesn’t show anyone else, and kiss Kim Dokja’s palm.

“I’m going to make breakfast. Go back to sleep.”

And Kim Dokja will close his eyes again and nuzzle his pillow, but ultimately will not be able to sleep. He’ll doze for another hour or so, then he’ll get up because being in bed without Yoo Joonghyuk is a feeling he doesn’t want to get used to.

After a long day, when Kim Dokja returns home an hour later than he usually does, he kicks off his shoes at the door with a sigh of relief. He won’t call out for Yoo Joonghyuk as he usually does. Instead, he’ll go to where Yoo Joonghyuk is in the living room, doing a quick gaming stream to pass the time, and drop his head onto Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulder. 

This is when Yoo Joonghyuk types out a goodbye message and ends the stream. Then he maneuvers Kim Dokja around him to pull him into his lap and brush a soothing hand through his hair. 

“Need me to go after anyone for you?” he asks, because it always makes Kim Dokja laugh.

Sure enough, he huffs out a laugh, gently knocking his head against Yoo Joonghyuk’s. “No, no, it’s fine. Just stupid people not doing their jobs right.”

“I could burn down your workplace.”

“Then who would be paying rent, huh?” Kim Dokja playfully tugs Yoo Joonghyuk’s ear, his stress disappearing quickly under Yoo Joonghyuk’s attention.

“I could make plenty of money from streaming. Actually, let’s do that. Quit your job and I’ll provide for us both.”

“And what would I do at home all day?”

Yoo Joonghyuk turns his head to press his lips against the corner of Kim Dokja’s lips. He doesn’t move away when he says, “Spend more time with me,” as though he’s pressing the words into Kim Dokja’s skin.

And Kim Dokja will smile and completely relax in his arms. He wants to quit his job and spend all day with Yoo Joonghyuk, but unfortunately, capitalism. So he sticks to being viscous with his vacation days and the occasional overtime he can hold over his coworkers’ heads so he can go home early.

They wash the dishes together. Kim Dokja insists on doing it by himself because Yoo Joonghyuk does all the cooking, but Yoo Joonghyuk insists on joining him because he doesn’t trust Kim Dokja to wash anything without breaking something. They have this little back-and-forth every day, because they are both creatures of habit before they are anything else.

And Kim Dokja will blow soap bubbles at Yoo Joonghyuk, who just ignores them until Kim Dokja pouts and stops, having given up on getting Yoo Joonghyuk to react, and then he uses a wet, soapy hand to pinch Kim Dokja’s butt. 

The startled shriek it gets him makes him bite back laughter every time.

They have a movie night once a week. Nothing else can ever be scheduled that day. Most people don’t even bother trying to make plans with them for the weekend, because it’ll always be shot down in favor of movie night. 

Kim Dokja chooses action movies or psychological thrillers. Yoo Joonghyuk prefers comedy and slice-of-life films, often paired with romance. He gets teased about it until he pulls a move the love interest does to the protagonist in the film and flusters Kim Dokja so much he can’t speak. 

And then movie night is forgotten in favor of more distracting activities that keep them busy long after the rest of the city quiet down for the night.

They’re not big on PDA. They’ll hold hands and keep close to each other, but other than that, they keep their affection away from the public. 

But sometimes Yoo Joonghyuk gets overwhelmed by how much he feels for Kim Dokja, and he’ll reach out and tap his finger three times against Kim Dokja’s wrist; I love you, in his quiet language of touch. 

Kim Dokja always taps back, even when he’s not paying attention, even when he’s asleep. 

They don’t say goodbye either; it’s always See you at home or Buy more milk before you come back. Sometimes they don’t say anything at all, just press their palms together discreetly before going on with their day. 

A lingering touch, a quiet laugh; habits made tradition, formed from the impossible love they created between themselves in a world that was so quick to tear them apart time and time again. 

How did I get to keep him, Yoo Joonghyuk wonders sometimes, holding Kim Dokja close. It’s always a prayer, a disbelief that someone so good would force his way into his life and stay. Someone who made a home with him, pulled him into the world of domestic bliss, and gave him everything he’s ever wanted without ever asking for something in return.

He’ll give Kim Dokja the world, if he ever asked for it. For now, he’ll settle for a ring on his finger. 

#orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #orv fic #joongdok #kim dokja #yoo joonghyuk #my writing #drabble #i want them to be soft and domestic thats it

[forever-rogue]

Hello! If possible could I request from Prompt List 3 under fluff and romance? There wasn't a number, but it was, “You’re basically a marshmallow. Perfect for cuddling.” with any of the Marcuses! :')

I had to go with one Marcus Moreno because I am soft for him 🥺💕

Marcus Moreno x Fem!Reader ; warnings: none

Pedro Characters Masterlist 

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Are you cold?" the tone of amusement in his voice was evident as you turned and narrowed your eyes at your boyfriend. You huffed lightly before sticking your tongue out at him, causing him to break into a wicked grin and giggle wildly. You froze as you stared at him, mesmerized by his breathtaking smile and the way his eyes crinkled in the corner as he laughed, along with the dimples that made their appearance. Marcus Moreno was a handsome man, and how you got lucky enough to call him your own, you’d never know. 

“It’s freezing,” you insisted as you held out your arms and gestured to the glittering snow piled high all around you, “of course I’m cold! I wasn’t prepared for...this.”

“Honey,” he calmed himself from his laughter as he made his way over to you, finding it a small struggle from all the snow that littered the ground, “when I said we were going away for the weekend to the mountains in the middle of winter...what did you expect?”

“I dunno,” you pouted at him, crossing your arms over your chest as he held his own arms open to wrap you up, “not quite this much cold. I’m wearing like twenty layers and I’m still freezing, I have no clue how people manage to survive this. I thought it would be a nice quiet anniversary thing...ie.”

“Okay, now you’re just being dramatic,” he raised an eyebrow in amusement as he stepped closer and wrapped you up in his arms before you sighed contentedly, “sometimes I wonder if Missy learns from you or you learn from her?”

But there was a wicked little grin on his face and you almost instantly knew what he was up to. You pulled out of his arms and tried to create a space between the two of you, already holding up your hands in defense. Oh no - no, no, no. You knew him well enough to know exactly where this was going. 

"Marcus Moreno!" you hastily backed up and tried to behind a tree as Marcus reached down and scooped up a handful of snow, and quickly formed an almost perfect snowball, "if you know what's good for you, you won't do it!"

"Come on, honey," his voice was colored with amusement as he tried to run over to you but you weaved your way through some trees. You were both laughing as you tried to escape to safety and he started throwing some soft snowballs at you, "we're just having fun!"

"No!" you dodged another snowball, hastily leaning down and scooping up your own handful. You didn't even try to form it in anything before lobbing it over your shoulder at him.

"Nice try," he somehow had managed to evade you and make his way in front of you. You squealed in surprise as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against his chest, "gotcha!"

"Cheater!" you giggled as you tried to pull out of his grasp, but he was feeling particularly devilish and started to tickle your sides, "no fair, no fair! You're playing dirty!

"I'm just having some fun!" he insisted as slowed down his assault before making sure you didn't fall into the cold snow from your breathless laughter. He brought you to feet and held you tightly against his chest. He gave you a gentle little grin before pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

“Very funny,” you playfully groaned as he rubbed your back in soothing circles. His touch was like fire, sending sparks up and down your spine. Despite how long the two of you had been together, nearing almost two years now, he still managed to make you feel like you were falling in love all over again. And in a way, you supposed you were; you were always continually falling for Marcus and the million ways he always seemed to dazzle you. There were soft flakes coming down and a few landed in his dark hair; you couldn’t stop yourself as you reached over and tenderly swept them away. Marcus couldn’t help himself as he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your lips, “can we please go inside and get warm? I think there’s hot cocoa calling my name.”

“I suppose that’s fair enough,” he agreed, reaching down and grabbing your hand, trying his best to hold yours despite the thick mittens you both were sporting. You watched him struggle for a moment before he finally managed a gentle hold, “there.”

“Hey,” you said as he looked at you curiously with that boyish charm all over his face, “I love you. Like really, really love you.”

“That’s good,” a light tinge of pink rose up in his cheeks, this one decidedly not due to the chill of cool breeze, “because I really, really love you.”

“Enough to get me inside and warm?”

“Always.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

As soon as you stepped out of the shower, already feeling infinitely warmer and refreshed, you pulled on the softest and coziest pajamas you had packed. You’d brought a few...sexier pieces, but decided that those could wait for later. You doubted Marcus would mind, if anything they’d be a good surprise for later. RIght now all that was on your mind was getting warm and comfy. 

Eyeing the huge, fluffy white duvet on the large bed, you quickly gathered it up in your arms before padding down the hall and into the open spacious living room. The little cabin he had rented for your surprise trip was lovely and quaint, almost picturesque enough to be out of a movie. Ever the amazing man he was, Marcus has started a fire that was merrily crackling away and had set the television on Netflix.

“Honey?” he called to you from the kitchen, where you could already hear him chopping and cutting away at something. You threw the large blanket onto the couch before flopping down on it.

“It’s me,” you confirmed as you keened your ear and found that he was listening to some soft music in the background, humming along to it lightly. It was all these little things, so simple, so domestic, but so endearing that still managed to take your breath away and remind you of how much he meant to you, “love, do you need a hand? I thought we were just going to make hot cocoa.”

“Just making a little snack,” he called back, “just get settled and find something to watch!”

“Are you-”

“I’ll be there in five minutes,” you could practically hear him smiling as you burrowed your way under the big blanket, cocooning up in it so only your face was sticking out. Grabbing the remote, you started scrolling through Netflix as you listened to him messing about in the kitchen. 

Eventually you settled on a new show you’d both mentioned watching, getting it all set up as you waited for him. True to his word, it was only a few minutes before he came into view, a large tray filled with snacks and two steaming mugs of hot chocolate in his hands. 

“Marcus,” you shook your head in amusement as you slowly sat up, “you said a snack...this is….”

“This is the snack,” he moved his head in the direction of the tray before setting it down on the coffee table. He took a step back and pointed at himself, “and this is the whole damn meal.”

You burst into a fit of laughter as grinned sheepishly at you. You were beside yourself as he just looked so proud of his little joke, “Marcus Moreno - where on earth did you hear that? Who taught you that!?”

“I think I heard Missy say something like that once,” he admitted as he came over and you made room for him on the spacious couch, “or maybe it was on some show...isn’t that something the kids say?”

“I’m sure there’s some kids that do,” you reached over and gently touched his face, brushing your fingers over his cheek before kissing him softly, “but you’re right. You are the whole damn meal.” 

“And you - you’re basically a marshmallow. Perfect for cuddling,” he gently poked the big, puffy blanket. You lifted an arm and offered him some blanket so he could properly cuddle you and get warm as well. Instead of accepting your offer, he did one better and pulled into his lap and wrapped his arms around your waist as you made sure the blanket was covering both of you, “hi.”

“Hi,” you whispered before nuzzling your nose against his and gently kissing him. Even these types of kisses, so tender and slow, were wonderful. Every touch, every taste, everything was so sacred and intimate. You almost sighed contentedly into his touch as you wrapped your arms around his neck and laid against him, feeling his heartbeat against your chest, “you made a charcuterie board. How very fancy Mr. Moreno, are you trying to woo me?”

“Always,” he insisted as he traced featherlight, aimless shapes along your back, “I figured we could be fancy adults for once.”

“It’s greatly complimented by the hot cocoa,” you teased as you placed a few kisses along his jaw. You swore you could feel his heart flutter wildly at your words and kisses, which both was and wasn’t odd for him. You knew he was big into touch and gentle words, and he always relished in your praise. But today, in this moment something felt...different. Not bad...but different, “Marcus? Is everything alright, love?”

“I…” he paused for a moment and you pulled back, looking at him nervously. His soft brown eyes were filled with a mixture of emotions, but the corners of his lips tugged into a soft smile.  He brought his hands to the side of your face, cradling it gently as you just watched him with a reverent expression. It was the soft look on your face that caused him to finally break, “marry me?”

“I…” you looked at him with wide eyes as butterflies erupted in your stomach. Surely...surely he couldn’t have said that...right? His own expression was almost as nervous as you felt and maybe...he had said those two little words. You tilted your head to the side as you felt your eyes start to sting with the familiar burn of tears, “I...what?”

“I-I-I know it’s not...I had this planned out better,” he stammered nervously, “I had a whole...well, I guess not. But I just...I’ve been wanting to ask for so long and the timing just never seemed to work out, and I don’t want to wait any more.”

“Marcus…” he held up a finger quickly as he shifted slightly and reached into his pocket and slowly fished out a small ring box. You couldn’t help but laugh lightly as you realized that he must have been carrying it around all day, if not longer. He laughed nervously before opening the box and showing you the gorgeous ring that was nestled among the velvet inside, “oh Marcus.” 

“I’ve had this for so long now, and I just think it’s time,” he admitted softly, “I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you...you are everything. I never thought...I never thought I would love someone again, that life would ever get better than what it was, but then I met you. You came into my life, Missy’s life, and made everything so much better. There is no one I would rather by my side than you. I guess I should rephrase this better, but will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you whispered softly, overwhelmed by his soft declaration and the way he looked at you like you had hung all the stars in the night sky, “of course, I’ll marry you, Marcus. Nothing in the world would make me happier than being your wife. You and Missy are the best things that ever happened to me.”

He beamed at you before wiping away the few tears that had run down your cheeks before pulling the ring out of the box and slipping it onto your finger. It fit perfectly, like it had always been meant to be there, neither too large or small, but just...perfect. You couldn’t stop yourself from kissing him, melting into his touch, “I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask for so long.”

“How long?” you asked curiously, running your fingers through his dark locks, “how long have you had the ring, silly?”

“A while,” he admitted as you raised your eyebrows in amusement, “I bought after we’d been dating for a few months.”

“Marcus,” you threw your back with laughter, filling the room with his favorite sound in the world, “love, we’ve been together for two years now.”

“I know,” he admitted with a small grin, “I just...I never knew when to ask. I always knew it was you, so the timing didn’t really matter, but I wanted to do it right. And yet...I still didn’t really do it right.”

“You did,” you promised softly, “it would always be perfect because it’s you, and anything with you is just...right. I love you, Marcus. This was perfect, trust me.”

“I love you,” he whispered before pressing a kiss to your forehead, “now, let’s eat and drink the cocoas before it gets cold. We can celebrate more later, and tell everyone then.”

“Let’s wait until we get home,” you suggested, “I want to tell Missy first, in person, and your mom. Then we can tell everyone else. I want to make sure Missy knows first though.”

“She’ll love that,” he agreed, his expression soft beyond words, “she’s been pushing me to ask anyway...she’ll have her little I told you so moment.”

“As she should,” you grinned before moving off of his lap and grabbing your cocoas, “come on then, Mr. Moreno, let’s get warm and relax - I think I heard something about cuddles.”

“Anything for you, Mrs. Moreno.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #wcbh #forever-rogue's follower celebration

[my-emotional-self]

Toxic Love Chapter 2

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: Finding out your soulmates were Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes was one thing.  But when someone from your past comes back to haunt you, you have to figure out if a relationship with two super soldiers is something you really want to pursue or if you’d rather go back to your comfortable single life.

Series Warnings:  18+, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, past mentions of rape, self-harm, attempted rape, domestic violence, stalking, death threats, possible Dark!Steve?, Steve will be an asshole a LOT in this series but I don’t know how dark it will get, explicit sexual content, mental health issues, kind of A/B/O dynamics but not really (no they are not actual wolves, more like the hierarchy)

A/N: There will be no taglist for this story!  I apologize in advance!

So it was true.  Confirmed.  Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were your soulmates.  Not that it bothered you much, it just wasn’t something you were planning on happening.  Things didn’t end too good with your last, well, and only, boyfriend.  Not ending good meaning he was in prison, at the moment. You weren’t sure when he was going to be getting out.  

Looking down at your arm, you lightly traced your finger over Steve and Bucky’s mark.  Here is the thing about your soulmate marks. Everyone has soulmate marks, at least two; yours and your soulmates.  But sometimes there are more and everyone has an ‘order’ for their marks. Think of it as a hierarchy.  The mark in top is in charge, kind of like the ‘alpha’ of the relationship while the mark at the bottom is at the bottom of the hierarchy.  It would make sense that Steve’s mark was on the top.  Hell, he was Captain America after all.  It just was the way it was and nobody complained about it.

There was also another unique trait to finding your soulmates, at least what you’ve read about. Once you find your soulmate, or in your case, soulmates, slowly you can begin to feel each other, kind of like a sixth sense or intuition.  You’d never known anyone who could actually be able to do this and you didn’t know if there had to be somewhat of a strong bond between soulmates, but you always thought that was pretty cool.  Like if something ever bad happened to you, maybe you soulmates could sense your fear. But then again, maybe that was just a fairytale.  

Lost again in your own mind, like you always were when Steve’s rough voice brought you back to the present. “Let’s sit down and talk,” he bellowed.

On shaky feet you followed him towards the couches and sat down.  Steve stood on the other side of the coffee table, his thick arms crossed in front of his chest.  Your eyes roamed over his form, mouth going dry at the sight of him.  The scowl on his face nearly made you coil back, as if his look burned you.  You were unsure why he looked so pissed, so angry and you didn’t know if you wanted to figure it out or not.  The biggest thought weighing on your mind was if you wanted to go through with a relationship at all right now, even if they were your soulmates.  

The couch dipped next to you and you couldn’t help but return Bucky’s smile.  Something about his smile made him look innocent, angelic, but you knew he was far from that.  Oh yes, you heard all about the Winter Soldier and everything those Hydra bastards did to him.  But you also knew that he was better now, he was an Avenger, fighting for the right side.

“So,” you began to say, the silence and tension thick in the air as you stared down at the ground.  

“What’s your name?” Steve barked out, causing you to jump slightly.  

A rough yet gently hand was placed at your back and you quickly realized it was Bucky’s.  “Jesus Stevie, can you be any more of an asshole right now?” came Bucky’s reply as his hand soothed up and down your back.  

He was right, Steve was being an asshole, but it was nothing, absolutely nothing compared to your ex-boyfriend.  This was a cake walk compared to him.  “Y/N, my name is Y/N,” you replied as confidentially as you could, trying to show Steve that you weren’t afraid of him or scared of his intimidating tactics.  

“Well Y/N, I’m Steve and that’s Bucky but I’m guessing you already knew that,” he replied, letting out a huff of annoyance as he looked at his watch.  “Look, I don’t have a lot of time for this right now so let’s just get to the basics,” he began.  “This is mine and Bucky’s living quarters.  There is another bedroom down the hallway if you want to move in. There is a communal kitchen and living room a few floors down that we all share, including the other soulmates. Most of the time we all eat together when possible and do movie nights at least once a week in the communal area. If you want to move in, you will also have a hobby room on the communal floor just like everybody else.  So what do you say?”

Well, it wasn’t the best speech you’ve ever heard from someone trying to get you to move in with them. Hell, your ex-boyfriend wooed you with flowers and romance for months before you finally gave in.  But this wasn’t your ex-boyfriend.  This was your soulmate, both of them, but you were still unsure.  Your own apartment was calling your name, wanting you to come back to the safety and comfort that was your home.  Did you really want to just up and move in with your soulmates?  Most people did once they met their soulmates, but you were still teetering on the fence.  This was the Avengers Tower after all and what place could possibly be more safe than that?

“Umm, can I…can I think about it?” you questioned, eyes slowly glancing up to meet Steve’s.

His large hands were on his narrow hips, his mouth in a tight line.  “Fine.  Do what you need to do.  I have to get back to work.”  And with that being said, he marched over to the elevator and slammed the button.  

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding when Steve disappeared into the elevator, leaving you alone with Bucky.  

“Come on doll, I’ll bring you home,” he spoke with a soft voice.  

Looking to him, you smiled. “Thanks Bucky, but you don’t have to. I only live about a mile away.”

His whole body shook with a quiet laugh.  “I don’t think so.  No soulmate of mine is going to be walking the streets of New York at dark.”

~~~

The walk home was nice. Bucky was a gentleman as you asked him questions about his life growing up and being with Steve.  As it turns out, Steve and Bucky weren’t lovers, just best friends, more like brothers.  You felt embarrassed after you found that out, assuming they were together, but he reassured you it was fine and that it happens all the time.  You always assumed if there was more than one soulmate, everyone was together intimately, but now you knew that wasn’t the case.  Those with multiple soulmates didn’t mean everyone was intimate.  They could be a brother figure, a mother or father figure, or just best friends.  But you had a feeling that wasn’t going to be the case with you if you decided to give this relationship a try.  No, you could feel deep inside that things would be intimate with both men.  

“I don’t think Steve likes me very much,” you blurted out like word vomit.  

Bucky sighed next to you as the two of you stopped in front of your door.  “I know Steve wasn’t on his best behavior tonight and I apologize for that.  He’s been stressed because he keeps getting new leads about someone but it keeps falling through.  Steve can be an asshole, but he isn’t normally like that.  It was just bad timing is all.  Please be open minded about this and give it a few days.  Why don’t you come back to the tower on Friday night and we can discuss what you decide?”

Friday night was two days away.  Two days to think about everything.  “I think I can manage that,” you agreed with a small grin.  

Bucky smiled back, giving you a nod and wishing you a good night.  

In the safety of your apartment, the first thing you did was grab a glass of water and dig your medications out of your purse.  Placing the pills in your mouth, you swallowed a gulp of water and sighed in relief.

The next thing you did was take off your clothes and get into your comfies; a pair of shorts and a loose t-shirt, your favorite combination.  

Lastly, you dropped onto your bed and stared at the ceiling, contemplating what you were going to do. Yes, Steve was being a douche bag tonight, but you could handle that.  Words and attitude were easy to deal with as your ex-boyfriend was that way. But that wasn’t all.  He had turned into a violent monster and you were lucky to get out when you did; you knew for a fact you wouldn’t be alive today if you were still with him.  

So yes, you caught Steve at a bad time and he was a douchebag, but you would give him the benefit of the doubt.  Not the greatest first impression but you could get over it.  

At the same time, is a relationship, not just with one person but two, something you were really ready for?  You rather enjoyed your single life.  Going to bed when you wanted and staying up as late as you could.  There were usually rules that were enforced when it came to soulmates, especially if you were at the bottom.  Usually the ‘alpha’ of the relationship had rules they wanted their soulmate to oblige and you didn’t know how stern those rules could be.  But you hoped you could also compromise those rules if needed.  

Just then, a sheet of paper slid under your door and you rolled your eyes.  You knew what it was before you even got out of bed to grab it.

Taking the paper in your hands, you went back to your bed and opened the note.  

Payback is a bitch.  Just like you.  Ready or not, here I come babe.

-J

Rolling your eyes, you dug beneath your bed and pulled out a small box.  Inside the box sat 15 other notes just like the one you received.  It was from your ex.  John was still in prison, this much you knew, so it was a friend of his dropping it off.  But you knew you were safe, for the time being, as long as John was in prison.  He was too proud to let anyone else do the damage he had done to you.  Oh yes, he liked to do it himself and you knew he wouldn’t let anyone else hurt you, except for him.  

You had gone to the police about the notes, but because there was no actual evidence and he was still in prison, nothing could be done about it.  

As you looked over the multiple notes with the same kind of threats on each, you thought maybe perhaps it would be a good idea to move into the Avengers Tower.  At least you would stop getting these threats….right?

#steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers smut #bucky barnes smut #steve rogers x you #bucky barnes x you #dark!steve rogers #dark! steve rogers

[professortennant]

Please write some more ted/rebecca domestic fluff. 😍😍😍

i hope you like ted/rebecca/henry moments

i.

It's Henry's first time visiting when she and Ted are something and it feels like a test of some sort, though Ted would never say that nor put that pressure on her. She loves children, has held Nora in her arms and rubbed the tip of her infant nose with the pad of her finger and promised to protect her, to love her always.

It's the broken promises that haunt her.

She doesn't want to let Henry down, doesn't want to let Ted down.

So she runs to the toy shop at the top of the high street, buys out their selection of dinosaur figurines, a handful of wind-up robots and little techno figures that light up, and a build-your-own robot kit intended to be more educational, she thinks, than functional.

The toys are set up in neat, enticing little lines along her desk and she wonders if it's too late to run up to the store and pick up coloring pencils and art paper, too.

(The previous night Ted had been ecstatic, bouncing around the house and humming softly to himself, stocking their refrigerator with peanut butter and jelly and their cupboards with fruity-flavored cereal. But Rebecca had a brick settling in her stomach, stony-faced and twiddling her thumbs at the table.

Ted squeezed her shoulders, dropped a a quick kiss to the top of her head and nuzzled at her hair a little. "Relax, sweetheart," he drawled, leaning over her shoulder and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. "He's going to love you as much as I do."

But not even Ted's belief in her could soothe her anxiety.)

And now, there was the frantic pitter-patter of feet just outside her office, Ted's deep voice of, "Henry, wait--", and then there he was: Henry Lasso, nine-years old and bouncing and brimming with enthusiasm.

"Hi, Rebecca!"

Heart thumping in her chest, thoughts of broken promises and a determination to not repeat the past, she stepped forward and knelt precariously in her heels to meet the little boy's eyes. "Hello, Henry."

Ted followed in behind his son and stood in the doorway, eyes soft and bright, watching the interaction. Rebecca felt his gaze like a weighted blanket upon her.

Henry appeared to wilt a little, his confidence dipping as he looked behind him at his father who gave him an encouraging smile. Ted then turned that encouraging smile to Rebecca who felt a surge of strength.

She gestured behind her to the line of toys. "Your dad told me you're into robots? I--"

But she couldn't get the rest of her words out, Henry's eyes lighting up and his little body darting by her to fall to his knees in front of the table, hands reaching eagerly for the T-Rex and light-up robots.

Ted reached down to help her up, steadying her on her feet. She gave him a wry grin. "All that worry for nothing. I just needed to ply him with toys."

He leaned forward, brushed a kiss to her cheek, forehead resting against her temple for a moment. "You didn't need to do anything, hon. Just be yourself."

Still, Rebecca watched the young boy play with the figurines, listened to him make beeping noises and dinosaur roars, and wondered if it was that simple--just be herself when herself hadn't been good enough.

And then--

"Rebecca?" Henry's shy little voice carried across her office and she looked up to meet the little boy's eyes. He held out the build-your-own robot kit to her and bit his lip, looking uncertain. Ted's hand drifted down to her hip, squeezing softly before drifting to her backside, tapping it lightly in encouragement.

She stepped forward, heart in her throat. "Yes?"

Henry held out the kit to her shyly, eyes flicking to his father for a moment, before lifting the kit higher towards her. "Do you wanna build a robot with me?"

Suddenly, her throat felt thick with unshed tears, her chest tight at the sudden whopping feeling of this little person's trust and acceptable. She nodded, cleared her throat, and took the kit from him.

"I would love to, Henry."

ii.

Henry is ten and comes off the plane and into the arrivals area of the airport dead on his feet, eyes bleary and forehead burning up, skin clammy and looking dreadful.

"Dad," he whimpers, falling into Ted's arms and curling up against his chest as best as his ten-year old body can manage. Ted wraps his arms around his son protectively, cradling the body against him, hiking him up higher on his hip and silently asking Rebecca to grab Henry's bags.

She does so immediately, drags the rolling suitcase behind her and falls in step beside them and keeps her hand on the little boy's back, rubbing soothing circles there.

But one look at Ted's worried, panicked expression, the white-knuckled grip on his son, has her hand drifting from Henry to Ted, her hand resting on the small of his back, hooking over his hip and squeezing gently.

"We'll take care of him," she tells him, voice low to mask her own concern. Ted flicks his eyes to hers before cuddling his son closer and picking up the pace.

At home, Ted helps Henry strip out of his clothes, soaked with sweat from his fever and reeking with the sink of ten hours' worth of airplane, and into the tub. Rebecca busies herself with turning down the little twin bed in the spare office they'd turned into Henry's bedroom, brews a strong cup of mint tea and leaves it on the bedside table, along with a cold compress and a thermometer.

Freshly showered and swimming in an oversized AFC Richmond jersey, Henry snuggles down into his bed with a sleepy sigh and a string of coughs.

Ted sits next to him on the edge of the bed, smooths his hair back, rubs his forehead across his son's forehead. Rebecca is touched by the sight of them; doesn't know how she forgets Ted is a father sometimes when caring is ingrained in every bone of his body.

"Okay, bud, we're gonna let you rest up, alright? And when you wake up, you're gonna feel better and we're gonna get dinner."

"'Kay," Henry sighs out, eyes already fluttering closed, cheeks flushed red from fever and travel and a warm bath. Her hands clench at her side and she fights the urge to mimic Ted's movements, to brush her thumb along his cheek and tell him it will be okay. But she's still not sure where, exactly, she fits in.

"You need anything?" Ted asks, voice low and soft and soothing.

"Will you read 'til I sleep? Just for a bit."

"Yeah, bud, of course. Which--"

"Uncle Roy's book," comes the eager response, Henry sounding a little perkier.

Rebecca hides a smile, squeezes Ted's shoulder to keep him in place, and crosses the room to Henry's small but ever-growing bookcase and plucks A Wrinkle in Time off the shelf, returning to the Lasso boys and giving it to Ted.

But then--

"No," Henry says, voice strong and stern. "Can Rebecca do it?" Then, shyly, "She does the voices better."

Ted leans forward to kiss his son's forehead before standing up and handing the book right back to his girlfriend, kissing her softly. "You've been chosen," he teases.

But the words hit her in the chest and settle there, heavy and solid, like a medal around her neck. She takes Ted's place on the edge of Henry's bed, smooths the blanket, and opens the book and begins reading.

Somewhere after she introduces Mrs. Who, Mrs. Whatsit, and Mrs. Which, she feels Henry's hand settle along side hers and his breathing evens out, eyes closed and form asleep.

Gently tucking the bookmark into place, she leans forward and kisses his forehead, still warm with fever, and murmurs, "Sleep well, darling."

Out in the living room, Ted slides his arm along the back of the couch, opening a place for her by his side which she takes gratefully, curling against him and tucking her feet beneath her. His lips find her hairline, his hands find her shoulders, and she lets herself sink into him, exhausted from worry.

"Thank you," she whispers into the silence, her hand sliding across his belly, scratching slightly.

"For what?"

The words are hard to get out but she needs him to know she loves him and his little boy and the opportunity that being with him presents. She clears her throat, turns her head into his shoulder and kisses his shirt-covered chest. "For letting me be a mum," she confesses. "Just for a little while."

Ted exhales harshly before moving quickly, hand lifting her face to his and his mouth finding hers, kissing her deeply, lingering at her lips to kiss her again and again, holding her close.

When he breaks away, he leans his forehead against hers, nuzzles their noses together. "There ain't no one--no one--else I'd rather co-parent with."

Their hands entwine, their fingers tangle, and they settle into the couch and wait for their boy--their boy--to need them, both of them.

iii.

All she can hear from the bathroom is Ted's soothing tone, his 'coach' voice as she's come to think of it--a little performative, a little deeper, a little sterner--and Henry's giggles along with the sound of splashing water. She pushes the bathroom door open and watches her boys--because she knows this now, they are hers--lean over the bathroom sink, safety razors in hand, Ted's voice walking his son through the motions of how to shave. Henry is twelve now and has just enough peach fuzz on his lip and sideburns that Ted had agreed to teach him how to shave.

But she doesn't want to miss out on the fun, doesn't want to miss this moment.

Henry laughs when Rebecca comes in and starts putting shaving cream on her own face, hands rubbing together and lathering the foam over her cheeks and across her lip. “Don’t leave me out, boys.”

“Rebecca, you look like Santa,” Henry laughs, his own face covered in patchy shaving foam.

“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment then. Ho ho ho.” She uses her pointer finger as a faux-razor and wipes the cream from her face in long, clean drags, before leaning in to kiss Ted. It's these casual demonstrations of affection that she cherishes the most, the gestures she thought she'd never get.

“Oh, one sec—“ Ted cups her cheek and wipes a bit of cream off her chin before leaning in to kiss her properly, kiss lingering. “Be done in a bit,” he murmurs against her mouth, kissing her softly again.

Henry pretends to gag into the sink and Rebecca rolls her eyes, drops a kiss to the top of the boy’s head, ruffles his hair affectionately and just barely resists rubbing shaving cream into his hair. “Dinner’s in five,” she calls out over her shoulder, leaving her boys behind in the bathroom.

She turns, watches them a moment longer—her family.

iv.

She never forgets for a moment that Henry is part-Ted. She sees it as he grows older, that boundless energy never quite settling, endless curiosity as he insists on all three of them exploring every nook and cranny of London, wants to know each bit of history that has tread over the cobblestones or sweated into the brickwork.

(She'd spun a bit of a tale, told Henry that London was built on magic, enchantments woven into each alleyway. He'd given her an awestruck look and when Rebecca looked up to give Ted a wink, she'd found his face just as awed, just as enraptured in her tale. Like father, like son.)

They go to museums where he and Ted both press their faces eagerly to display cases and drag her into display halls and beg her to give the suits of armor a voice. It only takes one look at their identical Lasso puppy dog eyes to get her to crack, snap to attention beside a gleaming suit of armor, and put on a rough Cockney accent, saluting her boys, "At your service, sirs!"

It sends them both into a fit of giggles and Henry leans against her side and looks up at her. "You're silly, Rebecca."

She taps his nose and ruffles his hair. "And don't you forget it."

She catches Ted's eyes over the boy's head and the sight of his expression--warm, hungry, and so nakedly, openly affectionate--punches her in the chest, sends her staggering back. She tries to steady herself on Henry's shoulder but he's already gone, the attention span of his father, and bouncing to the next exhibit.

"Don't get too far away from us," she calls after him, sighing when he throws her a thumbs up and scampers away into a pirate and nautical themed room.

And then Ted is there, his arms around her and pulling her in against him, mouth finding hers, kissing her desperately, fiercely. It's more public affection than she's used to from him--usually keeping it to holding hands or an arm slung over her shoulders--and it catches her off guard as she remembers that expression she'd seen earlier.

"What was that for?" she asks breathlessly, steadying herself against him with her hand on his chest, swaying back towards him on instinct wanting more.

"Because you're you," he says simply, tucks a curl of hair behind her ear. "Because you love my son. Because you love me."

Tears spring to her eyes and she reaches up to cup his cheeks in her hands, feels his stubble scrape along her fingertips. "You both are easy to love," she says, voice wavering. She grins and adds, "Annoyingly so, might I add. You melted me."

"Naw, you were already a squishy melty marshmallow," he teases, kissing her softly and slipping his hand into hers and following Henry into the next room.

"I was not," she protests half-heartedly. "They were calling me the ice queen in the bloody papers! I was, y'know, tough."

Ted kisses her temple. "Absolute marshmallow."

v.

Four years ago, her office was relatively barren--filled with stale, lifeless paintings worth too much money, overpriced decorative statues on her surfaces, and a clean, blank glass desk. Nothing too personal, nothing to show who she was.

Now, though. Now.

Now, there are collages of photographs hanging on the wall. Pictures of her at galas and events with Ted on her arm; front pages illustrating AFC Richmond's Cinderella story, Ted surrounded by the team drenched in water holding a shiny trophy aloft; articles featuring her new approach to handling of club ownership and empowering those around her.

Now, along the windowsill facing the pitch there are pictures of her and the team: Sam and Dani on either side of her in some club with shots of tequila in hand, another with Keeley on her back, heels in hand, Rebecca giving her a piggy-back ride, both of them grinning broadly into the camera.

Now, there's a Jurassic Park-themed blanket folded over the back of her office couch where a rapidly growing little boy collapses onto it after running around with the players at training as best as he can and a duffel bag with spare clothes for Ted in her closet next to her coats. Little places in her life carved out for them.

Now, on her desk, is a framed picture of her and Ted, their arms wrapped around each other, kissing softly at the Higgins' vow renewal ceremony, the frame hand-made by Ted out of painted popsicle sticks, little hearts and marshmallows and footballs painted into one corner and Always yours, Ted scribbled in the other corner.

Now, the only other picture on her desk is a hand-drawn picture from Henry of four figures--a mustachioed man, a petite woman with long hair, a young boy, and a tall, blonde woman, all holding hands. The labels are what's important: Dad, Me, Mom, and Mum.

And beneath it all, in blazing, declarative glory: My family.

#ted lasso fic #ted x rebecca #ITS JUST FOUND FAMILY BULLSHIT DONT LOOK AT ME #ted lasso

[lesbianlotties]

There's gotta be some butterflies somewhere - Sam/Deena - Fear Street (2021)

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fear Street Trilogy (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Fraser/Deena Johnson, Samantha "Sam" Fraser & Deena Johnson Characters: Deena Johnson, Samantha "Sam" Fraser (Fear Street) Additional Tags: Canon Related, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Canon Lesbian Character, Getting Together, First Love, Best Friends, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Fluff and Humor Words: 1645

There is a fine line between being two teenage best friends and being an old married couple... At least, that's the case with Sam and Deena.

or, Sam and Deena have been in a relationship forever and absolutely everyone knows... except for them.

It happens all the time.

Josh is the first one to notice, because Sam started sleeping over at their house a little too often, always staying in Deena’s room. In the mornings, Deena would stand by the open door, car keys in her hand and she would wear an expression of frustration and call out “Sam! Come on, we’re going to be late! Why do you take so long to get ready?”

Then Sam would walk out of the bathroom, all ready to go. She would place a kiss on Deena’s cheek, immediately soothing the other girl’s temper, and she’d reply, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I have to make breakfast by myself because otherwise you’d poison us.” Deena would try to protest, but her smile gave her away.

Josh would look away from the scene and quietly follow them to the car, saying nothing about it.

At school, it was more of the same.

Heather approached Deena before class started and invited her to a party. Deena replied, “I’m not sure, I think Sam has a thing on Friday. But I always tell her she needs to relax more, you know? We’ll try to make it.”

The other girl blinked slowly, considered inviting them to her aunt’s babyshower instead, something more their style, but decided to drop the subject.

It happened to Sam too, but she never thought twice about it. Other students would approach her in the hallways and tell her, “Hey, have you seen Deena?” “Hey, can you give this to Deena?” “Can you tell Deena band practice was canceled?” On one occasion even one of the teachers approached her to tell her, “You should get Deena to work a little harder on her assignments, I’m sure she would listen to you.” Never mind that she didn’t even share that many classes with Deena. People made assumptions, she just… didn’t know, apparently.

When they were going out with their friends it was more of the same story.

They were all in line to buy movie tickets, Deena started frantically checking her pockets. “Sam, have you seen my wallet?” She wondered distractedly.

In response, Sam silently opened her bag and pulled out Deena’s wallet for her, which she had previously agreed to carry in her bag. It was something that happened very often. Kate and Simon exchanged a knowing look every single time.

When Deena was driving, it was more obvious than ever.

“Did you get lost?” Sam asked her. “Did you get lost in your own hometown, Deena?”

“I swear they changed the signs!”

“It’s Shadyside Deena, our grandparents saw those old signs.”

“We’re not lost,” Deena insisted.

“Pull over,” Sam instructed her, “We have to ask for directions.”

“Are you crazy? I know where I’m going!”

Then they would turn the car around when they caught sight of the Sunnyvale sign, with Kate and Simon sitting in the back of the car laughing the entire time.

Even when nobody was watching, Sam and Deena’s dynamic was unchanged.

Before going out for a party, Sam arrived earlier to Deena’s house. “We’re going to miss that show I like on History Channel,” Sam complained.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Deena kissed her cheek and added, “But what do I wear?” Silently, Sam picked a good outfit for Deena, who watched her with an easy smile on her face. “Hey, don’t forget your dentist appointment on Monday,” Deena said while getting dressed.

“Right,” Sam sighed, “That cavity is going to kill me. Did you see it?”

“Of course. It’s gross,” Deena replied without hesitation or judgment. “Do you think it’s going to rain today?”

“It’s not supposed to,” Sam shrugged, “But… you never know, there might be nine clouds today.”

Sam’s words immediately caused Deena to burst out laughing, and she couldn’t help but join in. None of their friends understood their million little inside jokes, and sometimes not even they could remember the origins of the joke, but they still laughed until they cried.

There were so many little things too. Sam asking Kate to take her shopping because she was having dinner with Deena’s dad. Deena knowing the answer to what is Sam’s blood type. Sam having a key to the Johnson’s house and occasionally being there even before her friends arrived. Then there were silly, stupid things. Deena being upset an entire morning after Sam didn’t laugh at one of her jokes. Sam burning Deena’s breakfast a little when she was mad at her. Kate and Simon having to intervene because Sam and Deena hadn’t spoken in a day because they had a disagreement about adopting a dog or a cat. That’s without even mentioning what they did in their free time. Josh wasn’t unfamiliar to seeing Sam planting flowers on their garden while Deena mowed the lawn. And Kate Simon didn’t let them live down the day they skipped a party because they had to “run errands.” 

Eventually, one more Valentine’s day arrived, and everyone was forcibly reminded that they were all still hormonal teenagers in their last year of high school. During lunch, Sam and Deena arrived, sat down on the same spots as always, never interchanging their seats, but occasionally exchanging their food, and greeted their friends.

“So, what are we going to do for Valentine’s Day,” Sam asked her friends.

Simon genuinely laughed at the question. “Oh, you know I love you, ladies, but I’m out,” he replied.

“Boring,” Deena said. She threw a balled up napkin at him and turned toward Kate. “What about you? Or are you going to ditch us too?”

“Uh, no, thank you,” Kate grinned, “Not in the mood to third wheel this year.”

Sam and Deena frowned a little, but decided not to overthink it. “But we always do something together,” Sam complained. She pouted a litte, Deena looked at her adoringly, and the other two rolled their eyes. The usual.

“Yeah, but that was before the two of you started dating,” Simon pointed out. “How long has it been now?”

There was a long, tense silence. For the first time, Sam and Deena couldn’t look at each other. While Sam turned tomato red in the face, Deena gripped her fork with a little too much strength. “What?” she scoffed. “We’re not… I mean, we… we’re not dating,” she said, stuttering uncharacteristically the entire time.

“Come on,” Kate rolled her eyes. “It’s been years, hasn’t it? Don’t bother hiding it from us. I’m almost offended right now.”

Sam took a deep breath, and straightened a little, she was visibly freaking out a little. “Guys, it’s true we are not… uh, you know… we aren’t… not like that,” she whispered.

Simon laughed again. “Oh really? So you guys act like an old married couple just for fun?” Kate laughed along with him, and they barely noticed when Deena took Sam’s hand and practically dragged her out of the cafeteria, dropping her hand along the way because somehow it didn’t feel like the most natural thing in the world anymore.

Finally, the two girls made it to the girls bathroom and started pacing along the small space.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” Sam repeated again and again. “How? Why? Since when? Us?”

“Did you know about this?” Deena asked her. “Did they ever tell you something?”

“Yes, Deena, of course they did, I just wanted to embarrass you this entire time,” Sam replied and crossed her arms.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Deena rolled her eyes.

For a moment, they just stood still and quiet. But when they finally looked at each other, their laughter just exploded. The situation was entirely too funny not to laugh about it together. Instinctively, they drifted closer, Sam placed a hand on Deena’s shoulder and they shook with laughter for another minute until they calmed down.

“Oh my God, were we seriously arguing about this?” Deena asked. She noticed Sam’s eyes had watered with all their laughter, so she reached out to delicately wipe a small tear away. She kept her hand on Sam’s cheek.

“Apparently,” Sam sighed. Despite her initial panic, once she found herself alone with Deena again, she was at home.

In contrast, Deena was feeling her heart beating a little faster than usual. “Are we an old married couple?” She asked Sam with a playful smile.

Sam hesitated. Something in her eyes had changed, and Deena was acutely aware of it. “Well, we aren’t old and married,” Sam replied slowly.

“Are we a couple?” Deena asked her, she was noticeably breathless, but Sam heard her perfectly.

“I don’t know,” Sam replied honestly. She was leaning her head to the side a little, making the most of the contact they were sharing.

Deena nodded. Her thumb was instinctively caressing Sam’s cheek. She took a step closer to the other girl. “Is that something you would like?” Deena whispered.

“I mean,” Sam took a deep breath, “I like what we are right now…”

“But?”

This was the moment. Everything could change. For better or for worse. But they trusted each other and they knew each other well enough to hope for the best. So, Sam licked her lips, looked down, and reached out with her fingers for Deena’s belt loops. Then she tugged her a little closer and looked back up at Deena.

“Don’t you ever… think about… kissing me?”

Deen felt her heart skip a beat, and all the air leave her lungs. She moved even closer to Sam, their bodies colliding in a completely new way. She moved her other hand to gently hold Sam’s face between her hands. “All the time,” she finally replied in a whisper before leaning forward and finally kissing Sam.

Kate entered the bathroom twenty minutes later, and found Sam and Deena making out against one of the sinks. Nobody ever believed they hadn’t been dating already.

#this was a lot of fun tbh #fear street #sameena #sam x deena #deena x sam #sam fraser #deena johnson #fear street fanfiction #fs #my fic

[stiltonbasket]

may I request, for renouncement verse, something abt the inherent romance of ur partner letting u warm ur cold hands and feet on them. or just general Soft And Tender Domesticity tbh I'm weak. I hope ur doing ok w all of the bs going on!!!

my friend, i am absolutely going buckwild wwx style and im here to provide fluff so here goes!!!!

(brief author’s note: please reblog if you can, since that’s how we get prompts for future chapters!)

During the first week that he and Lan Zhan spend sleeping in the same bed, Wei Wuxian discovers that his husband’s feet turn icy cold the second he falls asleep. This, he realizes, is due to Lan Zhan’s cultivation; he’s used to the cooler Gusu climate, and he runs cooler than Wei Wuxian does in the summer, so it only makes sense that he turns into a human glacier the moment hai shi arrives.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t mind Lan Zhan’s cold feet touching his, and he knows that Lan Zhan doesn’t actually feel cold, but it still makes him uneasy to think of just letting him stay that way, especially since he knows exactly what to do about it.

A lifetime ago, when Wei Wuxian was still small enough to sleep in Jiang Cheng’s bed, their sister always put hot bricks at the ends of their mattresses in the winter to keep their feet warm, and rolled them up in a pair of thick towels so they wouldn’t burn their toes. The luxury of it made going to bed Wei Ying’s favorite time of day, even when he and Jiang Cheng were older and had to heat the bricks up themselves, and Wei Wuxian even put the practice to good use after he was cast into the Burial Mounds.

Wen Qing was fascinated when he showed her what he needed a new oven for, and promptly prescribed hot bricks at night to soothe Uncle Four’s cough, and her fondness for having her blankets warmed before dark was enough to convince Wei Wuxian that Lan Zhan might like it too, or at least not find it unpleasant.

Unless hot bricks are somehow against the Lan precept of asceticism, in which case all wagers are off. But Wei Wuxian himself is against at least half of the Lan sect laws and Lan Zhan still seems to like him well enough, so he goes ahead with his plan the very next day.

Yanli’s preferred method of heating the bricks--which Wei Wuxian follows without alteration, because his shijie’s talent with all things domestic was completely irreproachable--was to stack them up in a clean corner of the oven under her soup cauldron while she was making dinner, and then go about her work as usual until it was time to put the fire out. After that, she would wrap the bricks in small, thick towels and put them under the covers of her bed, and her brothers’, and sometimes her father’s when Jiang-shushu had one of his headaches; but never her mother’s, since Madam Yu grew up in the frigid mountains of Meishan and found Lotus Pier uncomfortably hot until the lake iced over.

After he puts the bricks in the oven, piling them up single stack just like Yanli always did it, Wei Wuxian makes a quick meal for three (bamboo shoots with mushrooms and rice paired with spicy tofu and danhua tang made in the broth from last night’s lotus soup) and sits down to eat with his husband and children, all of whom spot the bricks at once and glance at him in confusion.

“What are those for?” Sizhui asks, holding Xiao-Yu back by the skirt of his robe to stop him from trying to touch them. “Xian-ge?”

“I’m going to use them to keep the sheets warm,” Wei Wuxian tells him. “Your fuqin’s toes are going to drop off at this rate, and so are A-Yu’s.”

“Xiao-Yu lost his toes?” the baby demands, horrified. “Where?”

He pulls his little shoes off and struggles with his soft white socks for a minute before sticking his tiny feet into the air. “Yuan-gege, count. Xiao-Yu has ten?”

Sizhui smothers a quiet laugh in his brother’s fluffy mop of hair. “They’re all there, A-Yu. Don’t worry.”

Xiao-Yu nods and stares suspiciously at Lan Zhan’s long feet under the table. “Papa, see toes?”

Lan Zhan actually smiles, at that, setting off an alarm bell in Wei Wuxian’s head as his beautiful face lights up like a moonflower shaded from daylight. “I have all my toes, Xiaohui,” he promises. “Now let me finish feeding you your dinner, so we can all go to bed.”

---

“The bricks were a great success,” Wei Wuxian announces the next morning. “Jingyi refused to get out of bed until chen hour because of how comfortable he was, A-Yuan actually slept in for twenty minutes past mao shi, and you definitely liked it, too.”

“Mm,” his husband acquiesces, wrapping his arms tighter around Wei Wuxian’s waist and giving him a kiss on his forehead. “I liked it very much. But you kept me warmer than the bricks did, xingan.”

Wei Wuxian feels his cheeks go scarlet. “Lan Zhan!”

#wangxian #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #renouncement verse #wangxian arranged marriage au #my fic

[ace-the-fox]

Can we get a sequel to the big news series about Robin and Virginia trying to plan they're wedding while being parents to a newborn?

I'm gonna have to write some kinda masterlist at this rate lmao. Anyways, here's your domestic fluff.

Big News II: Baby Steps (GB!Roman x Trans!GB!Virgil as Parents)

A piercing wail cut through Robin and Virginia's bedroom, causing an exhausted groan to come from both of them. They were glad to be a family of three, all of them in one piece, but God being a parent sucked sometimes. Especially at night.

Virginia sighed as she sat up. Robin attempted to protest. "No, darling, I can get her. Go back to sleep." Virginia waved her hand dismissively at her, to get her to settle back down herself. "Listen. You did all the work for the first nine months. It's my turn now," she argued. Robin sighed softly, though she wasn't really upset with her. She was even flattered that Virginia cared about her so much. She just hoped that Virginia didn't burn herself out trying to take care of both of them. As well as the coming wedding...in

Robin, who was slowly dozing back to sleep, awoke herself with the sudden reminder that she had a wedding to plan on top of everything. She'd gotten so caught up with taking care of Daisy she'd nearly forgotten. She had so many things still left to discuss and decide.

Virginia soon realised it was actually six in the morning anyways, and decided to just stay awake and get her and Daisy some breakfast, leaving Robin to sleep in peace. And of course, as with everything in Virginia's life as of late, Daisy came first. Though Virginia did not even complain to herself about it. She just grabbed a bottle of milk from the fridge and heated it up. She turned to her daughter who was still squawking for a feed. "It's coming, Princess. It's coming," she tried to reassure her, patting her on the back.

After what must have been hours to poor Daisy, and minutes to her mother (which it actually was), she settled down as the nipple of the bottle entered her mouth, filling it with sweet warm milk. Virginia sighed in contentment as her child was soothed. She could make herself some toast or something after Daisy was fed. She was never a huge eater in the mornings anyways.

She heard footsteps coming from the bedroom, towards the kitchen. "Good morning, my queen," Virginia teasingly greeted her fiancé. Robin playfully cocked a brow at her. "Queen?" Virginia nodded. "Yep, Daisy's the new princess, so you get to be the queen."

"Doesn't that make you a queen too, then? Or perhaps my knight in shining armour?" Virginia seemed to consider this for a moment. "Nope. I'd rather be a witch. They're much cooler than any silly knight." She nodded to the ring on Robin's finger. "I've kidnapped you, and now you're mine forever. No knight can save you now." Robin burst out laughing at that. "Don't worry. I submit willingly." And then they were both laughing, though it was definitely way too early in the morning for it. That's what sleep deprivation does to you.

Then Virginia frowned at her slightly. "But seriously babe, you should be resting. Me and Daisy are fine down here," she insisted, concern trickling into her voice. Her wife had been up late nights and barely getting to sit down due to their daughter, and she understood the need to care for her as her mother obviously, but after her near death scare Virginia really worried about her, like she did about nearly everything.

But Robin shook her head, seemingly in defiance at first. "I know, I just wasn't tired," she responded. "Besides, there are other reasons that aren't Daisy." Virginia leaned in forward slightly, to show that she was listening. "I wanted to talk to you about the wedding. We've gotten a little distracted, and for good reason. But we really should start planning soon."

Virginia smiled somewhat comfortingly at her. "Don't worry Ro, I hear you," she stated. "Luckily, Jan already helped me find a good venue that we should be able to get, through the whole family budget. Everyone's willing to pitch in, especially since they did so similarly to Jan and Becca's wedding. Here, take Daisy so I can show you!" Virginia passed on the newborn to her fiancé, who gratefully took her. She beamed down at her immediately, before looking back to Virginia who now had her phone in hand.

Virginia showed Robin the screen. It was this surprisingly elegant looking place. Almost seeming fit for royalty. Mainly white, with hints of red and gold. Virginia smirked as she saw Robin's eyes practically sparkle. "I knew you would like it. I wanted to bring it up earlier, but someone rudely interrupted us." Virginia looked down at Daisy, who opened her eyes to look at her with her crystal blue ones. "Yes, you," Virginia laughed.

Robin focused her gaze back on Daisy, as Virginia retrieved the phone. But her brain was still focused on the wedding. "We'll have to go dress shopping soon," she brought up.

"I want a black dress," Virginia said, instantly. Robin chuckled. "I thought so," was all she said. "And then stuff like the guest list... I wanted a no kids wedding, but now I realised that if we bring Daisy that'll sound a little, I don't know, hypocritical?"

"No, I don't think so," Virginia argued. Robin didn't seem convinced. "Really?" Virginia shrugged. "Think of it this way. One baby we very, very much know and love, versus a handful of toddlers we do not know and can just barely tolerate by the end of the night. How does that sound now?" Robin sighed in comfortable defeat. "That's a fair argument. Alright, so no kids but ours. That's the rule." Virginia nodded in almost instantaneous agreement.

Virginia sat back in her chair, huffing out a breath of air that moved her bangs. She stared lazily out the window. There were a few quiet moments before she spoke again. "You know what. I can't wait to get this over with, so we can officially be a family." Robin thought of it along with her in solace. "Yeah, me neither."

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #prinxiety #fanfic #oneshot #fic #baby #baby fic #pregnancy #wedding

[rostovs-lover]

settle

din djarin x reader | a bounty, smooching, way too much flowery language| gender neutral | fluff | wc.1594

this is all flowery writing and i still haven’t watched the second season, so. also, researching for this somehow led me to a 2017 1D gangbang fic on ao3 so that-

hey hey, if you want some requests, i’d love some first kiss fluff with Mando??? however you want to handle the mask thing go for it, i just need some tlc from Din 🥺 if you wanna of course

despite how connected you are to each other, you and Din have only limited yourselves to mere hand touches. but he’s in love and it needs to come out.

     The Razor Crest shifted in the air, shaking the bundle of flower against the windshield. They had been picked in a small village, temporary lodging for you and the Child while Din tracked a smuggler from several planets over. It was calm and lush and green and you had been thrilled to present your companion with the little purple bouquet. It wasn’t much, small, half wilted, and tied off with a thin piece of sewing string from your pack but he’d taken it gently in his hands and vowed to put it somewhere he’d always see it. To always have a reminder of you.

     When all was said and done, the bounty caught, and you’d found your way back into the ship something had seemed different, more domestic. Floating around in an endless expanse of darkness, just talking. It was so simple, so innocent. Din wasn’t accustomed to the gentleness of domesticity, with his legs stretched out onto the dash and your soft presence floating around the cabin. He sat, still and quietly, listening to your voice, absolutely entranced. He had lived years, decades, on his lonesome, lone bandit doing as he pleased with a lack of regard to anything else. He could go and do terribly risky things. He could almost get himself killed and then thrive off of the adrenaline of living and no one would say a thing. But then there was a child, something small and fragile. He had a life in his grasp, something that would only flourish if he fed and watered it and gave it the right amount of love and sunlight. One lapse of judgement and suddenly the entirety of the universe rested right against his cold leather gloves. Gloves that did unimaginable things, cruel and incredible things. They smelled of blaster residue and guilt, payment for taken lives. He was ruthless until he wasn’t. Until he found a baby, alone, and saw a mirror, saw himself. It had softened him, reduced him to positively nothing.

     The child was all he vowed to have, the only thing he would allow himself to love. And Din refused to believe he could open himself to anyone else, refused to let himself have anything else that could hinder him. But Maker, if the body really was made of stardust then a constellation had to give up two pieces of itself for the both of you to be here, together, perfectly aligned. He had surrendered himself entirely at your first words to him, fallen to his knees instead of replying and from that moment forwards Din Djarin, the feared bounty hunter in all his hard, hand-forged armour, had belonged to you. His soul melded into you.

     The term “soulmate” was to be used lightly, and as much as he’d thrown the possibility around it wasn’t plausible. Impossible even, that you could be soulmates. Twin flames were more akin to what he felt you were. After one night in a murky inn, it seemed the feeling was mutual. As you’d pressed your hand to his, bare, ungloved, the only part of him you’d allowed yourself to touch. But it had been everything to him. Din had yearned for contact, and when the warmth from your palm bled into his something burned all through him and it still hadn’t left. You hadn’t left, you had burrowed yourself into his heart.

     Din sat back in the pilot seat of the Razor Crest, feet propped against the dash. You were talking about a book you’d picked up in the village. It was on botany and certain botanical environments in different parts of the galaxy. You’d known most everything in the book already but it was still interesting and it contained a new tincture. It had also aided in putting the Child to sleep on several restless night. A habit he’d picked up since you’d been the one to put him to bed, only going down with a story, regardless of what it was you were reading. It was something so sweetly domestic, pure and untouched by anything happening through the galaxy.

     Din’s life, from an impressionable age, had controlled by a creed. He had grown up loved and cared for but not with parents, he hadn’t ever had a textbook definition family. And in his line of work he couldn’t afford to be familial, let alone paternal. The child was accidental, at best. A cruel twist of fate had put them in the same path, The Child who owed his life for merely existing and Din, who was so feared that sometimes, the terror seeped into his own conscious. But you. You made him want to give up all the violence. He was willing to set his blaster down and never pick it back up. He would shed his brutality, pull himself from a rouge nomadic life if only for a moment more of this life. To be in love, to have a child, to nurture a family for himself. He wanted, so desperately, to have and to hold. He had also never divulged any of this to you.

     “Its late-” You paused to look into the dark space outside of the ship, “In theory. We’ve been awake for a while is more accurate,”

     “You can go to bed, I’ll manage with the kid.”

     “We have Din, you’ve kidnapped someone since you slept last,”

     Din scoffed, “Kidnapped is a little bit heavy, also incredibly incorrect. I do not kidnap, I get paid for what I do.”

     “Kidnappers get paid, I think that's the point?” You pushed yourself out of the chair, “Are you coming?”

     Din looked back to the console, “Fine, let me just put in the coordinates then I’ll be down, okay?”

     You nodded, “Make sure not to get us lost.” You gathered your book and the blanket thrown over the headrest of The Child’s seat before opening the doors to the hallway.

     You were settled into bed, pajamas on, afghan wrapped around your shoulders, and book in your clutch, when Din came down the ladder. He shuffled through the room, setting things in their rightful place, blaster under the bed, gloves on the nigh table.

     “I’m turning the lights off, is that okay?”

     You nodded, “Yes, yeah I’m done with this chapter.” You dogeared the page as the room was cast into darkness. The thick quilt on the bed was pushed back and the mattress sunk under his weight. There was a quiet shuffle as he removed his gloves, his helmet, and the rest of his heavy armor.

     He was warm, it seemed to radiate from him. Even as he lay a lifetime away from you, only touching hands. It was pitch black and his fingers intertwined with yours.

     “Did you see much of the village when we stopped?” You asked quietly, playing with his fingers.

     “Enough.”

     “What does that mean? Enough,”

     “I saw enough of it, it was nice, lots of farmland. Did you like it?”

     You nodded, moving to run your fingers over the palm of his hand. Despite how rough his line of work was Din’s hands were soft, all the years spent under thick leather gloves, “It was stunning, the baby liked it too. He really likes playing with other kids, he’s good at making friends.”

     “Do you think he gets lonely?” You felt the tips of Din’s fingers shyly prod at the delicate skin on your wrist. The excitement that bubbled into your lungs seemed almost pathetic, like a schoolgirl holding hands with her crush for the very first time. But you’d never had his bare hands anywhere but your own and now he was moving up your arm.

     “No, he seems content here, with us.”

His fingers were at the crook of your elbow now, pressing into the soft flesh and he almost seemed to tug at you, tug you closer, and you gave. His voice had quieted to accommodate the closed distance, “Friends couldn’t… hurt? Other kids to be around for more than just a couple of days.”

     You let one of your fingertips start to dance up his bicep, “What exactly are you insinuating Mando?”

     “It would be nice to settle in,” He gingerly settled his hand against the curve of your neck.

     Your heart raced and you crooned into him, a soft shudder rolling through your shoulder, “Settle in?”

     He carefully pushed a piece of hair from your eyes, “To be somewhere, permanently maybe,”

     “Like to have a home, you mean?” You reached to hold the back of his hand against your cheek.

     “Yes… maybe. Not necessarily, I mean not if you didn’t want to. Not… you but just in general.” He paused, thumbing at your cheek, “Yes you, if you wanted.”

      “Din,” You murmured, reaching into the dark for him.

     He caught your wrist, “I’m here. Right here.” And it was very quiet, practically silent besides the soft whirring of the engine. The air changed as he leaned closer, hair brushing against your jaw, “Is this okay?”

     “Its perfect,” You whispered back up to him.

     Slowly, very slowly, he pressed his mouth to yours. The stubble dusted against his jaw scratched your cheek as he tilted his head. His breath, softly flitting against your skin was warm and the hands your face made you feel safe, grounded. He smelled like leather and sweat and the freshly laundered shirt he wore. Din was home. He was soothing and familiar and home. Absolutely perfect. Absolutely wonderful.

     Pulling back slowly you looked up to where you assumed he was, “Din, where exactly would we be settling in?”

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #the child #baby yoda #grogu #Mando #lennie writes