#I don't really think this is fluff

[keischreiber]

Me just thinking of the before and after of how Reiner and Kristina interact with one another as they got to know each other better…

∘ Before: First few weeks of being… friends? Acquaintances? They didn't know. ∘

Kristina is working late because she has documents that needed to be reviewed for tomorrow's war council meeting with the brass. Reiner who also stayed behind because he had his own share of work to finish notices that the lights were on inside the room which Commander Magath shares with his officers. So, he knocks before carefully pushing the door that was already ajar to begin with, open. Reiner: Is anyone still— Kristina whose ears twitches at the sound of the familiar voice looks up from her pile of documents with a dirty look. Kristina: What do you want? Reiner: O-oh, I, uh— Kristina: Spit it out Eldian, otherwise, get out. Reiner: I— sorry to bother you. He leaves. Somehow, he felt a little disappointed, because they thought they had put a dent in their relationship as strangers. But that didn't seem to be the case. The next morning, Reiner finds a sorry note written in code, tucked away inside a map that was to be used for that day's meeting. The map was with him because he'll be discussing routes and logistics later. The sender? Kristina. It explained that there were listening devices inside the room, which was why she acted the way that she did. Somehow, Reiner found himself stunned. He simply shook his head, a defeated smile barely tugging at the corner of his lips. Reiner thought to himself: She really didn't need to apologize and explain herself.

∘ After: Almost a year and a half of being friends ∘

Kristina usually finds herself staying late at the Warrior's HQ. With the Warrior Candidates training being sped up because of the current war that Marley had with the Mid-East Alliance… there's always a lot of data about the children that need to be filtered, reviewed, and evaluated. At this point, Reiner would know that it was her who had stayed behind if the door was kept ajar. Regardless, he can't just take his chances, so he still knocks before entering. Reiner: This is the third night you're working late, Instructor Qual. The instructor doesn't even look from her pile, a look of disinterest was hanging over her features though. Kristina: Data doesn't collect itself. Why are you even here, Braun? Your War Chief already left hours ago, the other warriors, an hour ago, and the warrior candidates even earlier. Go home. Reiner: You're right, it doesn't. That's why the Commander handed this. Happened to be on the field when he did. Looks like he needs you to look at this too. He hands her an envelope with the words CONFIDENTIAL stamped on in. Kristina: If that's all, you can leave. Reiner: Here. She still doesn't look up, but sees him sliding a ration packet, and a small thermos. Raising a brow, she finally lifts her head from her papers only to look at the Vice Chief. Kristina: What's this? Reiner: Used to eat this a whole lot during missions back when we infiltrated Paradis. Downed it with some tea, when we could. She looks at it again. Kristina: I didn't ask for a sob story. Reiner: I know. Just thought you might need it. Kristina: Who'd want to eat or drink something that came from you monsters… Shaking his head, it was then that Reiner made gentle taps on the desk, too soft for any hearing device to pick up. It caught Kristina's attention for a moment, only to realize that he had already turned and began walking away. He raised a hand as if to say goodbye and then 'click', the door was closed, and the instructor was now alone inside the quiet office. Kristina: I feel like a jerk… he even shared something about his past… When she remembers how he really tapped, "I understand" on her desk, she sighed. For now, she placed her pen down and reached for the thermos. Pouring its contents in cup, she found the warmth comforting on such a cold night. She sighed and took a drink. She could only really think to herself at that point. Kristina: Where the hell did he learn to make such a good cup of tea? It was warm. The tea, and most likely, her face.

tagging: @mobolanz Not entirely a story but, it is an example of how they interact. @sandosa Hi, this is erudianokabe. I remember you asked to be tagged too if I ever made content for Reiner and Kristina. xD

[umblrspectrum]

happy solvermas

[koipudding]

jing yuan, who loves when you’re wearing his clothes, and you return them to him. it’s so domestic and simple but he craves it. (gn reader, not a serious drabble.) reader is characterized as smaller than jy, interpret as you wish.

wc: 470

The clothes smell like you, of course. The laundry detergent you bought, your shampoo and the little scent beads you like to put in the washing machine. He doesn’t mind the musk that lingers on his old shirts after you clean the whole house, no of course not. Jing Yuan adores smelling your musk, lotion and conditioner melding together and melting into his shirt.

You go out to buy new scent beads every other month, a tiny little jar of them. Jing Yuan swears to anyone who listens that you’re doing this on purpose. Mixing your shampoo and lotion to match with the scent beads, changing the fabric softener to mess with his head (and laundry). He laments this to Fu Xuan, Qingzu, and Yanqing, who all beg you to stick to one routine before the General loses his sanity (of course, everyone groans and ignores him. they’ve had enough of his marital escapades, and they just tell him to marry you again if he’s this smitten. Thus, after a decade of marriage, Jing Yuan has rewritten his vows.) He likes these little variances in his routine, the little harmless surprise that keeps him on his toes.

(He swears it's just because you picked it out. You know it's because it reminds him that there's finally a home for him to return to.)

"I'm back, do you know what the others said during the meeting, they were planning on handing off more paperwork, but I insisted mimi and you would--" He stops in his tracks. This must be unfair. Divine Punishment? Did he anger Lan? his ancestors?

Jing Yuan sees you wearing nothing but some socks, his shorts and t-shirt (both of which hang off of your smaller frame). He runs over, pace quickening.

You yelp quietly, backing away before he pounces onto you, bearing all of his weight onto you. He can't help it, you're so cute wearing his outfit, doing laundry and making dinner.

“You smell so good.” he buries his face into your neck, inhaling the sun on your skin, lotion he bought for you, and the conditioner you've taken from his stash.

“And you smell icky.” You push him off gently, but his arms only tighten. He just got back from work, and he reeks of sweat. But you can’t ignore how your heart races whenever he gets up to these antics, and you can’t help but indulge in his whims. 

This is a regular habit. He barely removes his armor before running to you, and clings to you like a sullen child, asking about dinner and how his darling and mimi have been. You can only sigh and pat his head while he recharges in your lap (or, in Yanqing’s words: naps.) 

"thank you, for everything," He whispers into your ear, "You're doing great, sweetheart."

a/n: I was talking to a coworker abt how the only thing that brings me joy now is a 2d man (jy) and buying new scent beads/laundry scent boosters or sample perfume. then I had this idea. also that ending bit :,) sending good vibes to all with my first fic of the new yr!

[galactaknightyaoi]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GALACTA KNIGHT!!!! And congratulations to Meta Knight for experiencing the Cain Instinct for the first time.

Galacta Knight, as you might've been able to tell already, is one of my favorite characters, and KSSU is one of my favorite games (the original SS was my introduction to Kirby!) so I wanted to go all out. Happy day, old man. I pray for at least 20 more years.

Oh, and don't worry! He's not upset about the cake smash, he thinks it's funny. And he got back at him.

As for the in-universe explanation for there being 16 candles in his cake?

... 500+ didn't fit in safely.

The birthday boy and his family were just a bit too flammable.

[ghost-proofbaby]

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

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

I lalalove youuuuu. xo Rhi

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

the smell of you

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

wc: 2.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

“Eddie?”

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

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

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

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

Something unspoken. Something homely. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good.” 

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

“Eddie!”

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“I’m your idiot.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“The kind that gets off on annoying me.” 

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

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

You never grow tired of it. You never will. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Again, I like when you’re smelly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you.

I adore you. 

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

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

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

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

“Oh, definitely. We’ll order two.”

[fogdraws]

Meanwhile at 221b Baker Street,,,

[touchyluffy]

part one

In the days it takes you to heal from your injuries, Luffy comes to your bedroom to sleep next to you every night. He does try, the night after the first, to sleep in his own bedroom but he can't. Usually sleep comes easy to him, especially after a long day of adventure but not now. He closes his eyes, trying to think of your wounds healing, your soft breathing, your warm hand holding his, but he can't fall asleep. He huffs in irritation and rises from his bed, sulking across the ship to knock on your bedroom door and opening it slowly. You put down your book, you were also struggling to sleep, and open the covers for him. You smile at each other as he excitedly hops into your bed.

And so it becomes routine for you two. Even as your injuries heal completely, as the sunsets and the crew walks off to their separate bedrooms, Luffy follows you into yours and you let him. It becomes normal to roll over in the middle of the night and snuggle into his warm body, to wake up in the morning with his arm wrapped around you, to feel him pull you closer in his sleep, to giggle at his sleep-talking, to hear your name in his mumblings. You offer to let him keep his toothbrush and some clothes in your room, he accepts.

Sleeping together becomes so routine that you have trouble sleeping without him. There were times when you two would be separated by a foe that Luffy challenged and each night you would stay awake staring at his side of the bed, worry clouding your mind and making it impossible to sleep and eventually when Luffy defeated the foe, he would be covered in bandages and it was your turn to listen to his soft, even breathing as he slept. There were times when you be working late into the night and he would come find you, curling up on the floor next to you to sleep in your presence until you eventually finish and drag him back to your bed so you can both sleep comfortably. There were times when you would get angry at him for putting the crew in danger with his recklessness and you'd slammed your bedroom door in his face and toss and turn, your anger at him turning into desperation for him to just come to bed already, eventually you get up to find him and as you open your bedroom door, Luffy's sleeping frame falls on your legs. He'd been sleeping against your door. Smiling you pull his rubbery body into bed and cuddle up next to him, his heartbeat your lullaby. He smiles in his sleep and his arms come up around you. Whenever he's missing his hat or sandals, you find them by your bed.

This new routine of you and your captain sleeping together left your other crewmates with their mouths on the floor several times. They still hadn't gotten used to you two waving goodnight and walking into the same bedroom. When they would ask, you tried to explain but there really wasn't anything to explain. You and their captain couldn't sleep unless you slept together. That's all, why do they always stare at you in such surprise when you say that? Their shocked faces didn't discourage you both into cuddling up to each other at night, finding relaxation, warmth, safety, and comfort in each others arms. What was once your space becomes "our bedroom", "our closet", "our bathroom".

[i-like-to-look-at-your-back]

Busy morning

Inspired by Mornings, With You (and coffee, too) by @lurethegalaxy

[funishment-time]

despite The Horrors, so many things in UDG really are just a hilarious concept because like. in DR3 we see the Remnants all going out into the world to Fuck Shit Up. and then Nagito is quite literally just babysitting an army of 10 year olds that really needed a time out

[etchif]

'They would not fucking say that' but it's 'they would not be this accepting of their own queerness, at least not just yet'

[yuseirra]

a family bigger than 4! part 6.

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / side story 1 / part 5

On weddings. I feel like I can come up with something every day...

[hyunniesgirl]

This picture just made me think about bf!lee know waiting for you after your classes ended, because this person in your university keeps hitting on you even though you already told them you have a boyfriend.

Minho will walk to you as soon as he sees you and throw his arms possessively over your shoulders when he gets closer, smiling to your friends and making sure everyone around knows you're taken and that he's not letting anyone take you from him.

[canisalbus]

I bit of Machete art for you. He’s such an amazing character, and you’re so inspirational

.

[skeltnwrites]

my brain really tries to turn steve into a dad in every universe. i was just thinking about vampire!steve and his little half-vampire babies. maybe they inherit a garlic allergy from him and maybe even if they aren't technically nocturnal like him, they'd be bouncing off the walls at night anyway. his kids would die laughing when he has to wait to be invited inside aunt robbies house while they just walk right in. and he'd be able to hear when they're getting into trouble before you because of his extra good hearing. and just imagine if they inherited little baby fangs they'd be menaces at preschool!

[sysig]

Growing closer than expected (Patreon)

[zirconpetals]

Langworth is such a funny ship because despite the way they look those are a couple of nerds whose top date idea would be debating each other for fun (and they'll have a great time too)