#The Fluffiest Fluff

[d-llahanspade]

Woof

[stvrniclo]

✩‧₊ chris sturniolo drabble

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

as music played in your air pods, you painted your nails a subtle shade of light pink. you were sitting amidst piles and piles of mess in chris' room; clothes, soda cans, wrappers, what not. but honestly, you were tired after a long day of working at the café and were busying yourself up with something that would drive your headache away, and you just could not be bothered with another session of cleaning.

chris, meanwhile, was at his desk, playing games with nick, matt and some of their friends. in his left hand was a can of his favourite soda, and his eyes were widened as he concentratedly gazed at his screen. you looked up at him every three minutes or so, smiling to yourself about just how adorable he looked, doing his own thing. like, you couldn't help but giggle at the way his hair always found a way into his eyes and he brushed it away annoyedly. or how he widened his eyes when he was really concentrating.

you'd finished painting your nails and you were in love with the way they looked. you excitedly hopped off chris' sofa, putting on your slippers as you rushed to chris. "chrissy! look at how cute my nails look!" you giggled. he looked up at your hands for a second, nodded, then looked away, but looked back up at you as he saw the cutest smile playing on your lips and just how happy you looked. "c'mere," chris said, beckoning you into his lap. he placed his soda softly on the desk, pushing it away to the side.

"okay," you said, gently climbing into his lap. you wrapped your hands around his neck, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck, warming up to the soft material of his grey hoodie. "your hoodie's so soft," you say indignantly. "can i borrow it later?"

chris let out a little laugh. "of course you can, baby." he pressed a few kisses to your forehead. "you don't need to ask."

"okay, so i can steal your clothes any time i want?" you asked, looking up at him.

"yeah." chris reassured you. "whenever you want."

"you're so cute, y'know.." you said, planting your hands into his soft hair as you ruffled it up.

"yeah?" chris replied. "of course i am. i'm christopher owen sturniolo, the cutest man to ever walk this earth."

"i know that," a soft giggle slipped past your lips. "your hair's so fluffy, i wanna mess it up all the time, and your eyes are so pretty. i want them to be looking at me all the time."

"but i do look at you all the time. you're all i ever look at," chris said indignantly.

"i know, baby," you sighed. "you make me so happy."

"yeah, well, i love you," chris said, planting soft kisses across your neck and your collar.

"mm.. i love you too," you managed.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒

thank u for readingg !! mwahh <3

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ #ㅤㅤ𝒅ivid𝖾r by @florietasㅤㅤ☆

[centaurisolarflare]

A soft little König blurb after all that filth:

I have this specific image in my head of being at the airfield or base or wherever right when he gets back from a mission, so he’s still decked out in all his gear. Once the two of you are away from prying eyes, he leans down as you pull his sniper hood up and hold it back over his helmet so you can kiss him. It’s a hungry kiss – full of “I’m so glad you’re safe; thank you for coming back to me” and “I thought about you every night; we’ll always find our way back to each other”. 

It’s urgent yet loving and you’re pressed as close together as you can be – some of his gear digging into you – both his hands holding your face, but then he can feel you start grinning against his lips. It morphs into you smiling so much it isn’t even a proper kiss anymore, until you’re outright giggling into his mouth. He pulls back, quirking his brow at you in question, but you’ve dropped your head to his chest. He holds you steady as you shake with laughter, smile now pressed against his tactical vest. When you pull yourself together enough to speak you do so with a little tug at his hood, telling him how it’s like you were pulling up a bride’s veil. 

He’s frozen, starring down at you with so much adoration it hurts, and he grips your biceps when he asks you, softly, if you’d wear a veil at your wedding. He doesn’t specifically say if you were marrying him, but the hope is plainly evident in his eyes. The hope boils over and scalds the inside of his chest, trickling down his ribcage, when you giggle again and say how it’d only be fair that he has to push past some fabric to get to your lips after you’ve done it to him so many times. 

He surges down to kiss you again and the only thing he can focus on for the rest of that week is wondering exactly how lovely you’d look standing with him as you exchange rings.

[uwingdispatch]

From the Very First Night

From the Very First Night

Notes: Ezra Bridger/Reader, established relationship, gender neutral reader, post-rebellion/post-war, hurt/comfort, chronically ill/disabled reader

CW: light discussion of past traumas/implied PTSD

Ao3 Link

★★★★★★★★

The day you met Ezra Bridger you laughed when he told you his name. 

“Forgive me,” you told him, “but you’re not the first man on Lothal to try and pick me up while claiming to be the guy in the mural on the wall outside.”

“Well that’s new,” he said. “I tell you my full government name and you think it’s a ruse. Maybe I should have used one of my old aliases.”  

You’d been finishing up some work in what had come to be your favorite caf bar in town, a few blocks from your home on Lothal. And you were thinking about leaving when a man approached with a look in his eyes that, on another day, might have prompted you to pick up your comms and fake an emergency call from a friend.

But now he was reaching for his wallet, pulling out an ID. “You can check my chain code if you want. I didn’t realize I had so many doppelgängers.”  

You quirked an eyebrow. None of the other “Ezras” you’d met had offered ID but, as soon as you saw it, you felt heat rush to your cheeks. “Okay,” you said. “This is embarrassing. ”

He smiled warmly as he put his wallet away. “To be fair, most of the stuff in town depicts me as a kid, and I didn’t have this handsome beard back then. But I can appreciate a skeptic.”

You put away your datapad, your instincts still split between staying where you were and running out the side door. Surprising yourself, you say, “But I’m not hearing you say that you're not trying to pick me up.”

“Well…maybe. That depends, I guess, on whether you mind if I join you.”

You nodded, and he sat opposite you, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling when he smiled. Up close, you could almost see the teenage boy from the mural. But his hair was longer, dark curls falling soft around his face, and he had a short beard that he did wear quite well.

You wondered if his nerves had caught up with him as he ran a hand through his hair, the late afternoon light coming in through the window catching a streak of silver at his temple.

“Sometimes it feels like I know everyone in this city. Or at least that everyone in this city feels like they know me.” he said. “But you’re new, aren’t you?”

“What gave me away?” you asked.

“Well, I could never forget such a lovely face.” 

“Are you serious right now?”

“I really am.”

There was something sincere about him, despite the flirtations. Something about the way he moved was honest. Welcoming. A server brought him a cup of caf and Ezra exchanged a few words with him in Rodian. 

“So how long have you been in town?” He asked.

“About eight months,” you said. “I just hit this point where I felt like a fresh start might be nice. I don’t usually abandon ship when things get rough, but I thought maybe this one time…I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

He winked. “I used a Jedi mind trick.” 

“Right,” you said, fairly certain he was kidding.

He shrugged. “And somehow you landed on Lothal.”

“I narrowed it down to the places where I’d be able to have my astromech serviced.”

“Must be a special astromech.”

“She’s a therapy droid.”

“Ah,” he said. “There are several mechanics in Capital City who work with that program.”

You were a bit taken aback at how unfazed he was at the mention of your therapy droid—issued by the New Republic. Similar programs had been available to injured veterans before, but the civilian program was newer. And he not only knew about the program, but didn’t seem bothered by the fact that you had a condition that required this kind of aid.

“We had a lot of options,” you said. “But Ceetoo and I decided Lothal seemed nice. So…I’m here.” 

“Glad you are,” he said, both hands cupping his caf mug.

“You just met me and the first thing I did was call you a liar.”

“That’s what I like about you.”

A day would come when you’d realize what he meant then. That when you saw him you weren’t thinking about all the war stories, about the way Lothal had memorialized him when they’d thought he was dead. That he had a chance, at least for a moment, to show someone who he was without the burden of their assumptions and expectations. 

You would also come to realize that from the first time Ezra smiled at you, there was no coming back. He had you, melting like chocolate in the palm of his hand. Because he saw you too, like no one else ever had before.

***

It’s late afternoon when C2-B35 comes in from the garage bleeping about the line at the pharmacy. She’d gone with Ezra to pick up your medication after getting your doctor to call in something new for your joint pain. Ezra could have gone by himself but, because of an incident early in your dating history when there’d been a mix-up, Ceetoo almost always insists on going with him—and he learned a long time ago not to fight a stubborn astromech.

Ezra finds you on the sofa where you’ve been trying to relax, the pain in your back making it hard to even lie still. He knows better by now than to tell you that you’ve been working too hard, that you should take more breaks. He knows to help you up, taking you gently into his arms and kissing your hair. By the time he hands you the tablets, you’re already feeling a bit of relief.

You take the medicine and let out a heavy sigh, resting your head on Ezra’s chest before whispering a thank you. 

“I wish I could heal,” he says.

“We still don’t know if that kind of healing would help me,” you say. “Genetic condition.”

It’s a dance you dance every time you have a flare like this, bad enough that Ceetoo insists on contacting your doctor. 

“I met a kid once who could do it. His dad said he could nullify the effects of a neurotoxin. Close a wound like it had never been there at all.”

“What did the kid say about it?”

“The kid doesn’t talk much. Still working through some things, I think.”

He gets quiet, and from the look in his eyes you know that he’s gone somewhere in his mind lost you can’t follow. It’s been 25 years since he last saw his adoptive father, the man who’d trained him in the Force, and there are some wounds that time never quite heals. Ezra is still working through some things, too.

“Hey,” you say. “Come back to me.”

He smiles, his eyes bright as he gently squeezes your arm. “I’m right here, sunshine.” 

The medication starts to hit, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You reach for his face, the sharp line of his bearded jaw, the parallel scars on his left cheek. “Just as you are, you’re enough, Ezra. I don’t need a Jedi. I just need you.”

C2-B35 beeps irritably before retiring to her room, reminding you that you haven’t eaten since breakfast. 

“Thank you, Ceetoo,” you call, with a promise that you’ll have a proper dinner.

“Is it helping?” Ezra asks. “The medicine?”

“It is,” you say. “Finally.”

“Have you really not eaten all day?”

Your face tells him everything. 

“Right,” he says. “Dinner. I could make some quick dumplings? I think I froze some last time to fry later…I’d just have to make the sauce, really.”

He’s up and in the kitchen, pulling jars of spices out of the pantry, and you know he can already taste this comfort dish, and so can you.

So much of his life had been unstable after Ezra’s parents disappeared. He was on his own at such a young age, and then after a few short years in the Rebellion he ended up in exile on Peridea. Now, everything he had felt like a luxury to him: a permanent home, a pair of naughty indoor loth-cats, soft clothes he wore without consideration for armor. He’d told you about learning to cook when he came back to Lothal and, now that he has access to just about any ingredient for any dinner in the galaxy, he has every intention of not only enjoying the luxury of any hot meal he can dream up, but to make sure you enjoy food as well. When Ezra offers to cook, you never say no.

“Ezra?”

“What do you need, love?”

“I need you to kiss me.”

And he does, pulling you up from the sofa, taking your face in his hands as he presses his lips to yours, his neatly trimmed beard soft against your skin. You’re lacing your fingers through his dark curls when he pulls away to look right into your eyes.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you whisper.

And he replies, “I can’t imagine being anywhere else.” 

***

It was night before you left the caf bar and, at this realization, Ezra insisted on walking you home. “Unless you don’t feel comfortable with that,” he’d said. “I would understand. It’s just dark out and…”

And something about being with Ezra just made you feel safe. Even on that first night. You’d never let a strange man walk you home before—it was on its face a bad idea. But you’d stayed out much later than you normally would, and the idea of being alone felt far more unsafe than being with this charming man.

“I don’t normally do things like this,” you told him, the words coming out way too fast, just a block from your building.

“I figured,” he said. “For what it’s worth…I haven’t done anything like this in quite a while.

This did surprise you. “Walked someone home?”

There was a playful tone to his voice when he replied, “Approached a beautiful stranger in a caf bar.” 

“You sure are bold for someone who doesn’t regularly…do whatever this is.”

“I just…” he started and paused, taking a breath. “This is going to sound like a line, but I just felt so drawn to you.”

“In the Force?”

“Maybe.”

“It does sound like a line,” you said. “But somehow I believe you. Jedi mind trick?”

“I’d never actually—”

“I know.”

You were both standing outside your door, a cool evening breeze in the air. You took all of him in—his firm chest beneath the deep v of his tunic, his dark hair catching on the wind, those blue eyes that seemed to see right past all of your walls. You’d met this man just a few hours ago but, beyond all reason, you so wanted to—

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, the words falling from his lips as if he hadn’t considered the consequences.

You nodded and he took a step closer, cupping your face in his hands, his nose brushing yours as he leaned in to press the most delicate kiss to your lips. And you felt his smile just as you felt that joy in yourself—a spark of something unlike anything you’d felt before. Maybe it was the Force, but every inch of your being wanted to be close to this man as you reached for his face, drawing him nearer, slipping a hand into his hair as the kiss deepened.

“I should go,” Ezra said, breathless into your ear.

“Why?” you asked.

“I have an appointment.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Then stay.”

Nervously you fumbled with your keys, dropping them not once but twice as you tried to open your door, Ezra eventually placing them steadily into your hand, and just the touch of his fingertips against your palm sent a pleasant shiver through you. Quickly you shooed an alarmed Ceetoo away as you entered. Unlike you, her memories included files from the war, and she recognized Ezra as soon as she saw him. Beeped out something along the lines of this one’s mostly trustworthy and I’m going to charge.

“Mostly?” Ezra said, almost in a whisper. “I wonder what she’s heard.”

You bite back a laugh. “I just need you to know I don’t normally do this either.”

“Okay.”

“I could make some tea.”

“Sure.”

But his arms were around you again and you both stumbled toward the sofa, falling into the cushions wrapped in each other like teenagers, wholly unworried about anything else in the galaxy.

That tea didn’t get made for hours. And it was nearly dawn when you retired to your bedroom and Ezra fell asleep on your sofa, your loth-cat sitting at his feet. When you woke, he was gone, a note left on your kitchen counter: Had to work this morning, but I hope you’ll call me. You traced your finger over the comms code left in scratchy handwriting below, wondering for a split second if this could be real. But if you closed your eyes you could still feel the sensation of his fingertips ghosting over your cheek when you’d handed him a blanket the night before. His voice when he’d whispered in your ear, “Sleep well, sunshine.” 

★★★★★★★★

Thank you so much for reading! They really gave us Hot!Ezra in the Ahsoka series and I'm just here to be a gremlin about it. I hope this fic made you feel seen and loved.

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[wolfawaycamp]

I am humbly requesting LauraMax fluff, maybe including an ever growing number of pets because they keep bringing home strays? Y'all know where to find me if you have any questions 😂

🐰 Someday, Max told himself, he’d learn to say no.

To say no to a pair of sad puppy dog eyes, whether they were Laura’s or those of an actual, literal puppy dog. And Laura didn’t do sad eyes often, that was the thing that really got him about it. It was always a sneak attack when Max’s headstrong, self-assured girlfriend pulled out the big, sad baby blues, batted her eyelashes at him, and actually said, “please?” It was unfair, really, because it worked every single time. It was just giving Max the illusion of choice when he inevitably gave in and let Laura have whatever it was that she wanted.

That was how, across multiple separate occasions, they’d ended up with their current menagerie. Max had known that cohabiting with a veterinary student would expose him to a number of critters, but he hadn’t expected it to turn out quite like this. Certainly, Max hadn’t expected to turn into some kind of creature himself the summer before Laura embarked on her graduate school studies, but with what they now jokingly called ‘Wolf Boy Summer’ squared away (they had to laugh, you see, to keep from crying), the creatures had at least been smaller and more manageable.

They’d moved to San Francisco with only a tiny cage with two tiny mice inside, for their tiny apartment. The mice, which Laura had liberated from a science lab she’d worked a few shifts at in undergrad, were champion puzzle-solvers and cheese-finders named Trillian and Cashew. Max didn’t even get consulted about these guys, given that Laura had lived in her own dorm at the time she’d acquired them, but she did let him name one, which is how Trillian ended up named after a character in The Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Laura named Cashew Cashew because that was the flavor of nut milk she was testing that week. (Max thought Cashew was lucky the two mice hadn’t shown up during pea protein milk week.) Laura was “pretty sure” they were both female, until Cashew ended up pregnant and blessed them with baby mice Frankie, Benjy, Ford, Hazel(nut), Almond, Pecan, and Peanut. Max told her this bode poorly for her career in animal care, but Laura took it in stride, saying she’d have to spend more time studying sex differences in mice in the future. They got two larger enclosures and separated everyone out by sex, properly this time, and now Max has to turn the sound up on their white noise machine when he and Laura snuggle up in bed, or else he hears the Galaxy-Nut siblings running in their wheels all night long.

Then, Laura fell in love with a stray cat with a severely matted coat that had been hanging around their doorstep for days, and Max found his loyalty to his mouse family strained. Should they really bring a predator into their happy little home? But Laura was absolutely certain she could make it work, even in the limited space their apartment provided, and the cat really was pitiful-looking. So Max capitulated and the Kearney-Brinly household expanded to include ten mice and one cat.

The pathetic ginger cat, Westley, luckily, turned out to be utterly uninterested in the mice. He got his name because he showed up for the final time on movie night and meowed pitifully through the first half of The Princess Bride (both Laura and Max’s favorite) until they brought him inside. Laura took him the next day to check for a microchip and, finding none, she had the matted orange furball completely shaved. In the middle of winter. And sure, it was a relatively mild San Francisco winter, but Max still thought Wes looked cold.

“I’ve already ordered him a sweater,” Laura said, “but I know you’ve been working on your knitting, maybe you can make him another?”

Max had scoffed at first. Then he’d taken a second look at his pitifully nude cat and stayed up late researching cat sweater patterns. Now Wes has an entire wardrobe of knitwear and Max, Laura, and Wes have matching Christmas sweaters for their Christmas card photos. Max drew Emma for the Hacketteer gift exchange, but he traded with Abi for Dylan and now he’s working on another set for Dylan, Ryan, and Schrödinger. (He knows Ryan will be especially delighted.)

Then it was Max’s turn. He found a large bedraggled dog of indeterminate breed tied to a stop sign in an abandoned parking lot and the dog let him know immediately that Max was his chosen father, riding home with his head in Max’s lap the entire way. Westley liked Laura best anyway, why shouldn’t Max have his own cuddle buddy (you know, other than Laura)? Laura agreed it was only fair, and now Inigo stretches out between them on movie night and he has to get his fill of both scritches and popcorn before he’ll allow them to cuddle with one another.

“Hon,” Max told Laura, who was sitting at her desk with Westley perched on her shoulder like a pirate’s parrot, “you know I love all our kids, but we really cannot have any more animals in this apartment. We might actually get evicted.”

“Couldn’t agree with you more, honey,” Laura replied, and Max had thought that would be the end of their animal acquisition. He could admit that was pretty naive of him.

The next day, Laura had a list of rental houses for them to visit a little further from the city. Sure, she’d have a longer commute to her classes, and Max would to his job, but wouldn’t it be worth it for the ‘kids’ to have more space? Max couldn’t exactly argue with that, so they moved into a two-bed, two-bath with a small fenced yard.

And that was where Max was, cutting up a salad for dinner, when there was a knock at the door. Max answered to find Laura on their doorstep holding the saddest-looking beagle Max had ever seen, her own face mimicking its hangdog expression perfectly. They were both whimpering. “She was released from the surgical program at school and needed a home, I said we’d take her on a trial basis but baaaabe, just look at this faaaace.”

He sighed, but couldn’t help smiling a little, both at the wriggling dog and at his girlfriend. Her big pretend sad eyes, her genuinely huge heart.

Someday Max would learn to say no. But today was not that day.

[rainystressed247]

Me to myself: I should transfer some AUs

Also me: the babies >.<

[sidraofthewildflowers]

Renaissance meets Bear

Alicent Brown: Alicent’s favorite place (other than the kitchen where she can usually be found baking up all kinds of new creations) is the oddball shop she works at just around the corner from their home, where she works alongside the shops aged and equally eccentric owner, Mr. Gruber.

Life recently took an exciting turn when, on the way home, Alicent and her family spotted a little brown bear at the train station. It didn’t take much convincing to take him back home. Paddington was his name. He loves to eat her various kitchen creations, and has made a wonderful addition to the family.

Criston Brown: Criston never expected to have his life spun around when a little bear entered his family’s home. Though, with his wife Alicent, he should have learned that anything was possible. Life as a banker should have been a simple one, but with four children, a bear, and his colorful wife, life was never simple.

He has always tried to be the parent that kept the havoc of the house in order, but his family was far too exciting for such a thing. And that’s something he’s just fine with.

Aegon Brown: Aegon loved nothing more than building rockets. Well, that and his family. He wants to go to space and see what the world looks like from way up above. Ignoring his father’s loving advice of “thinking safe”, Aegon likes to set his handmade rockets off outside, which then usually means that he will loose rocket making privileges for a little.

It’s an often sight to find Aegon and Paddington tinkering away at a rocket in the middle of the kitchen while Alicent bakes and the rest of the kids take part in their own hobbies.

Helaena Brown: Helaena likes to call herself an explorer. Well, if going out to explore the city makes someone an explorer, than she is one. She likes to bring home pastries from the cafe she works at. She always makes sure to bring marmalade muffins for Paddington to eat. He adores them.

Paddington likes to join her on adventures and the two like to take breaks by eating at little hole-in-the-wall restaurants where they serve the best English food.

Aemond Brown: Aemond loves to take pictures of just about anything. At the moment, he’s been making his family dress in odd costumes for a theme he likes to call “Renaissance meets Bear”. Alicent loves it, and Paddington does too because he gets to eat the little marmalade sandwiches she makes while they work.

The movie theater that he works at allows him to watch all of the films he loves. On special days, when Aegon and Paddington beg, he’ll play a movie of his family’s choice.

Daeron Brown: Daeron, the youngest of the rowdy bunch, loves history and everything to do with it. He can usually be spotted hand in hand with Paddington as they walk around the large museums of London. His room is full of books that are stacked on top of one another. Don’t tell his dad that another stack fell down and broke his lamp.

He enjoys spending his time in the kitchen where most of his family is, and telling his family a new history fact that he and Paddington recently learned.

.

.

Requested by and with help from @fatherforgivethem ✨🐻🐻🐻✨✨ tyyyy!!!

[questioningwriter]

(Y'all remember when I said I'd have second parts out to stories... yeah, then this happened.)

(I typed this in a hurry to get something out, so it's relatively unedited. I skimmed it once, so I may have missed something.)

Boredom

TW: suggestive @ the end

"I'm booooooored." Villain flopped over the side of the sofa in the shared apartment. "Come sit with me?"

From the desk, Hero snorted. "You're such a crybaby." They teased their partner. "Come on, can you wait? I'm working."

Villain pouted. "No." They walked over to see what their partner was working on. "What'chya doin'?"

"You're not the only villain out there, you know." Hero said. "I have to find counter strategies for every possible plan that Supervillain or the others could come up with. Superhero wants them by the end of the day."

Villain sighed. "Fine, I'll go." They walked away, leaving hero to their work.

~

A few hours later, Hero gets a call from the Hero Agency. More specifically, Superhero.

"Come and get your partner." Superhero snapped before Hero could say anything. "They're glaring a hole through me because I gave you work on your day off."

Well, shit. "I'm on my way." Hero grabbed their go-bag, and threw their uniform on over their clothes. "Sorry about this."

"No, I'm sorry." Superhero said as Hero got on his motorcycle drove out for the Agency. "I never should have given you work on your day off. I'll never do it again."

Hero sighed. "Villains holding a knife to your throat, aren't they?"

"Is it that obvious?" Superhero tried to joke as Hero pulled up to the tall building the agency was in.

"I know Villain." Hero answered. "So yeah, it is."

Hero made their way to Superhero's office, thinking every curse word in the book. When they got there, they saw Superhero sitting in their chair, with Villain standing behind them in their villain getup, pressing a knife to their throat.

"Hey, baby!" Villain said cheerily, as if they were just happy to see them come home.

Hero sighed. "Sweetheart, baby, love of my life, I love you with every fibre of my being. Please let my boss go."

Villain pouted, but removed the knife from Superhero's neck. "Come on, baby." They muttered. "You have to see where I'm coming from here. You were ignoring me."

"As if I'm not allowed to work from home." Hero grumbled, but they were smiling.

"Nope!" Villain danced over to their partner, throwing their arms around them and mashing their bodies together. "When you're at home, you're mine!"

Hero winked. "Than why don't we go home and you can make me yours all over again?"

Villain smirked. "Yes, lets."

[strawberrywinter4]

Fandom: Sherlock (TV)

Rated: Teen and Up

Relationship: Sherlock/John

Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Greg Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Philip Anderson, Original Female Character

Notable Tags: Jealous Sherlock Holmes, Fluff and Humor, Insecure Sherlock Holmes, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Christmas Fluff, Cuddles

Summary:

Sherlock Holmes has never had such a relationship in which his significant other treats him like John does. John treats him like he's the most precious thing in the world. Sherlock can't lose that, he can't lose him.

When a new recruit of Scotland Yard seems to take a liking to John, Sherlock does everything in his power to keep John from leaving him when his insecurities get the best of him.

Chapter one up on Ao3

[wtfuckevenknows]

“It’s okay.  I couldn’t sleep anyway.” for tarlos <333

Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii :)

I am soooooooo fucking sorry this took so long 😅 and it honestly isn't my best work but I'm just so fucking happy I finished it after not writing a single word for two months.

Hope you like it anyways 🙃

16 “It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Carlos steps into the dark loft, only the street lights casting a sliver of light, and slowly and as quietly as he can slides the door closed behind him before locking it. 

The clock reads nearly 2am and Carlos is sure TK is fast asleep, even though they both have the day off tomorrow. He was supposed to be home hours ago but his shift ran long and he has missed date night.

TK tried to sound upbeat when Carlos called earlier to let him know, but Carlos wasn’t fooled. TK only tried to make Carlos feel less guilty about having to cancel their date – as he always does when Carlos has to work overtime – but Carlos knows TK was disappointed and he felt guilty anyway.

Keep reading on ao3

[roosterbox]

October Almost-Drabbles 10/4: Pumpkin

Pairing: Steddie

Word Count: 621

Additional tags: FLUFF, pumpkin carving, transfemme!Steve

Side note: was initially going to be t4t, but I didn’t end up getting around to Eddie’s characterization. I think it’s already too long as it is, lol. I don’t mind it if you think of him that way though.

Side note #2: new headcanon unlocked - Eddie is awesome at pumpkin carving artwork.

———

“Is it ready yet?”

Stevie was almost bouncing in her chair. Her own pumpkin was finished - triangle cut out eyes and a big toothy smile - so now all that was left was Eddie’s. But the big jerk wouldn’t let her see. ‘Not until it’s done,’ he’d said.

Stevie Harrington wasn’t known for her patience.

“Almost,” Eddie said, not looking at her. He was surprisingly focused. For him, at least. His hair was tied back, though some thin wisps managed to settle against his forehead, and his tongue was pressed anxiously to the corner of his mouth. He wore a similar look when he was working hard on his campaigns. It seemed like an awful lot of concentration and trouble for a pumpkin carving, Stevie thought. But that only made her want to see even more.

“How much longer?”

Eddie sighed, more out of fondness than exasperation. “In a minute, baby.” He looked up and winked at her. “Can’t rush art.”

Right. Pumpkin art. She rolled her eyes a little. Never saw much need for any fanciness. Everybody loves the simple designs, right? Besides, there’s only so much a person can do with a pumpkin.

After a few moments, with one final flourish of the carving knife, Eddie turned to her, smiling.

“All done! Wanna see my masterpiece?”

She rolled her eyes again, but she was smiling too. “Damn right I do. Make some room.”

He scooted his chair out from the table a bit so she could plop down on his lap. Eddie coughed out a mild ‘gentle on the goods there, darlin’’ before wrapping his arms around her. She made herself quite comfortable before actually looking at the…

…pumpkin?

“Oh shit,” she breathed.

It was the moon. A carving of a full moon. With craters and everything, though they probably weren’t scientifically accurate if she’d had to guess. But damn, it looked good. The way he’d carved into the flesh of the pumpkin, not all the way through but thin enough for the light to pass through, was incredible. There were cut-outs along the side, a few in the moon shape itself. It took her a minute to realize they were bats. Just like one ones on Eddie’s arm.

“Like it? I was gonna try to do a howling werewolf or something. Felt too cliché.”

“It’s amazing, Eds.” She kissed his cheek, leaving a tiny smudge of her dark red lipstick. Neither moved to wipe it away. “Have you always carved pumpkins like this?”

He shrugged, and held her closer. “Not really. Got tired of the typical shit a few years ago, figured I could stand to get more creative.” At her withering look, he sputtered, “N-not that yours is uncreative or anything! I mean, that design is a classic for a reason, and-“

She silenced him with a kiss. Slow and deep, leaving his lips stained red. But before she could grab a tissue or a towel, he licked them clean. This earned him another fond eyeroll.

“How’s my lipstick taste?”

Another lick. He grinned. “Perfect. Just like my Stevie.”

“Dork,” she said, and settled further in his lap.

“You love me though.” He nuzzled at her neck, kissing a bit at the freckles and beauty marks there.

“Yeah, I do. God help me, but I do.”

Another time, he might have feigned offense. Maybe even whined about his cruel, cruel girlfriend, how could she say such mean things to him? But tonight? Tonight he just sighed, and squeezed her tight.

“Wanna help me set ‘em up outside?”

“In a minute,” her voice was muffled from where her face was pressed in his hair. “I’m comfy here.”

He chuckled, careful not to jostle her too much. “Dork.”

[spurious]

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From 20 more Questions:

Rodney's looking down at John's dick like it's a tricky engineering problem, and it bowls John over with a wave of amused fondness that makes him want to laugh, or cry, or maybe both.

[aiyaiy]

CINNAMON SUGAR — CARMEN BERZATTO

summary Carmen comes home to you late at night. Luckily, you manage to stay awake.

length 2k

contents absolutely zero plot, literally just a sweet n cute n sappy moment existing in a vacuum, holy shit so much fluff i might die (got the idea for this while listening to margaret & let the light in by lana del rey n it's realllll obvious), too many kisses to count, this is what he'd be like after intensive therapy i reckon, not proofread so be nice

Carmen opens the door to the bedroom carefully, minding the creaky hinge in the middle of the night. Moonlight peeks through the window, caught at the right time when the city doesn’t block its path into the apartment, giving just enough glow to the room to see you fast asleep in bed. It’s late, he realizes, even later than usual. He needs to work on that.

He makes his way to the bed, stopping at your side to kneel beside you and simply adore you: the curve of your nose, the plush of your lips in that pout you wear only when you’re asleep, the eyelashes laid against your cheeks.

You stir when he presses his lips to your temple, a soft groan pulled from your lips. “…Bear?”

“Yeah, ‘s me, baby.” Even at a whisper, he thinks he’s too loud, and with his rough and tired hand he brushes over the top of your head just light enough to keep you sleepy.

A drowsy hand reaches out from under the covers to smooth over the contours of his face, tracing along shadows made hazy by a few hours’ rest. “You coming to bed soon?”

“Almost,” he murmurs, smoothing a palm up your exposed arm to hold your hand steady. He pulls ever so slightly away from your palm, only to turn to land gentle kisses against its soft skin, worshiping the pieces of you that treat him with more care than he thinks he’s worthy of. “Needa take a shower first, alright? But I’ll be right back.” 

He could’ve done that much by now—could’ve cleaned himself, rid himself of a day's work before seeing you—but truthfully, waiting any longer would’ve driven him mad. He would’ve been itchy in the shower, skin aflame knowing he could’ve felt your touch by then, arms and hands jittering to have your curves beneath them. His lips trail down to your wrist before he turns over your hand to kiss the backs of your fingers.

“Okay,” you answer, muffled by the blankets and pillow and the squeak of the floorboard as Carmen stands back up.

He makes his trip quick and quiet. He brushes his teeth and swipes up a towel while the water heats up, leaving just enough time to hang it on the hook and strip before hopping in. There’s a beat where he closes his eyes and just breathes, clears his mind of the day’s stress, lets warm water saturate his hair and cascade down his back. He lathers his hair with shampoo—the one you bought for him once to free him from the chains of 3-in-1 and that he’s been purchasing ever since to keep you happy—before cleaning the rest of his body, all while thinking about how much better it’d feel, how much more relief he’d get if it were you beside him under the stream instead of just his thoughts. But with the shampoo and soap down the drain goes that idea, much like the fleeting thought of using conditioner. You’ve yet to get to him on that one, especially at a moment like this, when time is of the essence and you’re waiting on him. Maybe another night, when you take your own product and swirl it around his curls; if it gives him an excuse to stay with you just a few minutes more, he’ll do it.

He hops out of the water like it’s acid and wraps the towel around his waist after drying himself to avoid trouble in the morning (you hate when the floor gets wet, and even if it wastes time, he’ll be sure to prevent that). Out goes the light again as he walks into the hall, sneaking back into the bedroom to get dressed into briefs and nothing more—you’ll keep him warm enough under the blankets.

It’s only then—when he peels back those final layers—that he realizes he’s been smiling the whole time.

Once he’s settled into the grooves of the mattress, chest to your back, you’re turning around to curl into his torso, like a magnetic field brought you there. 

“Hey,” he coos, “Y’don’t have to move f’me, yeah? Just sleep, baby.” Moved by your eagerness, his arms curl around you, one along your waist as the other nicely fits comfortably into the space between your neck and shoulder. 

And yet you shift a little more to cast an arm against his chest, his heart beating beneath your palm, head on his shoulder with a leg hooked onto his hip, split halfway between mattress and his body. “ ‘S more comfy this way, Carm.” You sigh and breathe deep into his skin. “You smell good, too.”

He can’t even lie well enough to convince himself his heart doesn’t run a million miles faster when you cozy up to him like this, caught in a space part fatigue and part love, with your hums ringing in his ear. “ ‘S that shampoo you got me a while ago…Sometime this week—” he yawns, and if he weren’t dying to hear your voice a few more times, he’d be a little more thankful for sleep coming so easily— “Sometime this week we can go t’the store, you can pick out another body wash f’me to try, too.”

“Mm, I’d like that.” You smooth your hand from his chest to his neck and shoulder, massaging there gently where he gets sore as a barely-there kiss lands to the skin beneath you. “How was it today?” The restaurant. His headaches. Richie’s mood lately. The flow of the kitchen. The strain in his back.

“Was alright,” he answers, as honestly as he can, soothing himself by brushing a hand up along your spine. “Real busy, so I didn’t get to leave ‘till late, ‘m sorry.”

“ ‘S alright, I stayed in and just relaxed for the night.” You snuggle into him a little deeper, and he thinks he could melt. “I was gonna ask you to bring something home, but it’s a weekend, so I didn’t wanna bother you in a rush.”

“What’d you want?”

From your lips comes a light and airy giggle, milliseconds of the best sounds he’s ever heard. “I just wanted some fries, honestly…didn’t feel like going out.”

“Heh,” he laughs, smiling while his eyes stay glued to the ceiling—as if looking at you would make the moment disappear. “I would’ve picked ‘em up for you, ‘r at least had Fak get ‘em to you.”

You yawn in tandem with the tailend of his thought, so your answer’s a bit softer. “Uh-uh, I like them better when you make ‘em.”

“Yeah? ‘ve I been pampering you too much?” He teases you, adds on a kiss to the top of your head as he squeezes you a bit tighter, but it’s all a ruse to cover up how much faster his pulse is when you say those words, like all the work he’s put in—all the love he has for you—makes its way to the table for not just anyone, but for you, the one person he’s sure matters more than the rest. More than those fucking stars, more than Chef of the Year, more than any critic’s review, more than he can wrap his head around; he feels it in his chest and that’s enough.

“Of course you have,” you agree, peeking up at him and craning your neck to plant your lips to his jaw, savoring it long enough to leave a smirk against his skin. “You’re always so sweet to me, Bear—” one more quick peck just beneath his ear— “love when you cook for me.”

He thinks he could pass out like this, with the last thing he hears being those words, but his fatigue seems to serve as an anesthetic that lets him soak it in for a bit longer, running his free hand through damp curls while a heavy, giddy sigh leaving his lips that lets you know he hears you, that he loves telling you he loves you through his art, that he lives for the smile on your face when he stays home for a few hours longer to make you breakfast. Yet with all the time spent having his shell soften for you, he can’t always find the right words, so he settles for the next best thing: “Y’know, uh…Marcus’s been playing around with recipes…”

He feels you smile against his chest, knowing what’s to come. “Yeah?”

“Mhm, an’ I’d never let ‘im serve ‘em, ‘cause, y’know…” He loses himself for a moment in the lull of your fingertips tracing mindless shapes into his chest. “They don’t fit the menu…but uh, he made these…these rolls today…”

“Mhm? ‘M listening…”

Carmen knew that, of course, from the faint kisses you peppered between breaths. He lets the fan whir through the gaps in his thoughts. “I think you’d like ‘em, he had some classic cinnamon, ‘n…a blueberry lemon goin’…”

“That sounds really good,” you whisper, the syllables lengthened from a shared lack of sleep.

“I know,” he drawls, and he’s a little too proud of himself for once when he adds, “Which is why I said I’d let ‘im fix up the lemon recipe a few more times if he made a batch for you.”

“Did you really?” The dazed smile comes through in your voice, a bubbliness to it that tells him he made the right call. 

He figures that’s why he’s so drawn to you—all the right calls come easy to him, the effort feels natural and unpracticed, unlike the tar that builds in his throat when it comes to so many other people. With you, being good is anything but demanding. “ ‘F course, baby…” 

It turns him to a puddle, the sweetness that drips from your fingertips, so he cradles your wrist carefully in his hand and lifts it to his lips to show it the love it deserves before urging the hand to busy itself with the tufts of hair behind his hear, to which you happily oblige. You twirl a lock around your finger, performing a methodical spiral, and even though he knows by the time it dries it’ll stick out from the mess like a sore thumb, he’d stop breathing before pulling your hand away. It’s soothing, that pattern. It stokes the fire in his gut that makes him feel a little less lonely when you’re not around.

“I brought…” He yawns again, his eyelids growing heavy. “I brought you some of the cinnamon rolls…Sugar liked ‘em…they’re on the counter for you tomorrow mornin'…” He’s not sure whether it’s your doing or the hours of stress endured throughout the day, but he knows this is the most relaxed he’s ever been, laying with you and doing little else other than indulging in your tender touches and shy kisses.

“Thank you, my love,” slips away with breath, sotto voce, as Carmen leaves brief kisses to your hairline. 

And he thanks God for being able to do it even with such an intense fatigue washing over him—at least part of him does, the part that’s still awake—because the movement lets you tilt your head and graze your fingertips by his jaw, bringing his lips kindly to yours for the first and last time tonight. Somewhere in that beautiful tangle there’s a mutual agreement: an unspoken Goodnight, I love you, in the mix, a finality in his offering and your gracious thanks that doesn’t warrant anything more than your head tucked neatly into his neck, left to bask in the comfort of his arms wrapped around you.

Just like any other night with you, he can sleep peacefully with the unconscious push and pull of your bodies intertwined. He knows that by morning, you’ll still be in his arms, in the bed you share, waiting on your good morning kiss from under the covers.

And he’ll still be beneath your warmth, his mind fuzzy and full of tenderness, every part of him dying to marry you.

[uwingdispatch]

Wayward Evenings

Notes: Ezra Bridger/Reader, established relationship, gender neutral reader, post-rebellion/post-war, hurt/comfort, chronically ill/disabled reader

CW: alcohol consumption, the aftermath of alcohol consumption, implied sexual intimacy

Ao3 Link

★★★★★★★★

You hadn’t expected to spend your evening holding your husband’s hair back in the refresher. In fact, you’d had other plans. But when Hondo was in town…you’d learned to expect this kind of thing. Perhaps it was your mistake to try and do tonight any other way, but you’re still annoyed that Ezra is just so…Ezra when it comes to the former pirate. 

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” you tell him. Ezra is leaning against a cabinet on the floor doing his best to stay upright. Despite your irritation, you’re right there with him, smoothing his sweat-slicked hair away from his face. “Every time,” you say. “It’s like you’re incapable of making good decisions around that man.”

“I think you’re onto something there, sunshine,” he says. “But can we talk about it tomorrow? I feel like I’m going to die right now.”

You let out a deep sigh. “Sure,” you say. “If you promise to never drink pirate moonshine again.”

“It was made on Batuu, so technically it’s moons-shine.”

“You know what? I’m just going to leave.”  You have no intention of leaving.

“I’ll never touch that shit again,” he says. “For you, of course.” And then wretches again. 

An hour ago someone at the cantina had called you to come get your idiot husband. They normally would have called Sabine—she was more physically capable of dragging Ezra out of a bar and throwing him into a speeder—but she’s been off planet for the past few weeks and that left you and your droid to come coax Ezra out of the building and get him home. 

“I know you had plans,” he says. “I’m so sorry,”

“Too drunk to stand up,” you say, “before the sun’s even fully set!”

“I guess I was just feeling ambitious.”

“When they called me to come get you they were worried you were going to try and fight a Dowutin. Over an insult to Hondo’s ‘honor.’”

“I would never actually—” 

“If you weren’t who you are you might have gotten arrested.”

“I know.” 

“Ezra, I love you, but I really don’t love this.” 

Even still, you’re rubbing his back, holding him steady. There are people you meet at a certain age and somehow, whenever they’re around, you become that age again. You understand this. It just doesn’t make your current predicament any less frustrating..

C2-B35 rolls in grumbling and hands you fresh towels, which you pass off to Ezra, who seems to be regaining his balance as he stands, the nausea abating.

“I think the worst is over, Cee,” Ezra says.

Ceetoo, being a therapy droid ultimately concerned with your wellbeing, chirps and whirrs—a curse-ridden message for Ezra that you don’t bother acknowledging. Because despite her vitriol, the little astromech has been monitoring his vitals since the two of you picked him up earlier. 

“Get cleaned up,” you say. “Is there anything you need?”

“You’re too good to me,” he says. “But all I need is you.”

In the kitchen, inhaling a bowl of leftover pasta, you remind yourself that this is not a regular occurrence. You hear the shower running and feel a bit of relief knowing you’ve moved on to the part of the evening where Ezra can take care of himself. Which means the vomiting is over. And given how much of that had gone on earlier, you’re pretty sure he meant it when he said he’d swear off Hondo’s moonshine.

When he emerges he’s wearing just a pair of gray lounge pants and a soft red robe—yours—left open. 

Ceetoo is nearby watering her plants and in a series of beeps and whistles she asks if she needs to still be monitoring Ezra. 

“I’m good, Cee,” he says. “I just need to rest. And make up for…all of this.”

He slips his arms around your waist and nuzzles your neck before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. 

“Feeling better?” you ask.

“Eh…mostly.”

“Still a little drunk?”

“A little.”

You take his face in your hand, brushing your thumb over his cheek before tucking a few wayward curls, still wet from the shower, behind his ear. He leans in as if to kiss you and you stop him. “Not before you drink that water,” you say, pointing to a large glass on the kitchen counter. “All of it.”

“And then?”

You shrug.

“You know I’d do anything for you, sunshine,” he says, his voice low, his lips almost touching your ear.

You reply: “I know.”  

***

You’d been dating Ezra for six months when you first met Hondo. Ezra had described the old Weequay as “kind of like an uncle, but not the kind of uncle you call in an emergency…unless it’s like a real emergency, he’ll show up for that.”

And after a night out with Ezra’s “uncle” you wondered if you really knew who you were dating. It wasn’t that the liquor had changed his personality, or even that Hondo had. You just hadn’t seen this side of him before.

“I think I overdid it,” he said.

“You did.”

“I should have warned you.”

“Ezra,” you said. “I don’t know if there’s any way to warn someone that one of your dearest friends is the kind of person who thinks axe-throwing while drunk is a good idea.” 

You were walking a rather tipsy Ezra home after what you had thought would be a casual dinner with a quirky family friend. But that was not how time with Hondo would ever go. You’d threatened to leave over the whole axe-throwing throwing thing, but stayed a while when Ezra reluctantly backed down from the challenge.

“I forget that Ezra Bridger cannot hold his liquor,” Hondo had said. “I would do anything for this boy, but he would have made a terrible pirate.” 

Ezra looped his arm around your waist and sighed. “With Hondo,” Ezra said, “sometimes it feels like I can go back in time. Like…”

“Like all the time you lost while you were away didn’t happen?”

“You get it,” he said. “Of course you get it.”

“I don’t know if I get it, but I think I know what you’re saying.”

Ezra never got to go through a wild phase—not the way most people did as young adults. Hondo, however, seemed to make space for the chaotic teenager in anyone. Which maybe under other circumstances might have been fine, but Ezra’s limit was usually a pint or two of ale. Tonight there had been Correllian wine. And then shots of something that smelled like explosives.

Just outside of his house now, Ezra mumbled, “I would have been a great pirate.” 

You swiped his key card to open the front door and, as soon as he could get to it, he flopped into his bed. 

You sighed, watching Ezra struggle to take off his socks. “I’m sure you would have been legendary.”

“Legendary!” he repeated.

You got ready for bed, using the items of yours that had started to collect in the refresher. Some you’d left at Ezra’s place over the last few months. Others Ezra had bought for you, wanting you to feel welcome and at home with him. He called your name, and you went to the kitchen to get him a glass of water, knowing he’d be feeling this in the morning if he didn’t at least try to hydrate.

“Come here,” he said. “Let me hold you.”

When you joined him in bed, he pulled you toward him, undressed now, his skin warm against yours. “I don’t usually drink like this,” he said.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve seen you this intoxicated before.”

“That’s on purpose,” he said. “I can’t believe I let myself…you know what? It doesn’t matter. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Drink the water,” you told him.

“I will,” he said. “Hey. Hey…can you look at me?”

You tuck his hair behind his ear, let your fingers trail down his neck and along his jawline. “I’ve been looking at you this whole time.”

“I’m just so glad you came out with me tonight. I know Hondo is a lot, but he’s family.”

“He’s probably not too fond of me.”

“Are you kidding? He loved you.”

“Really?”

“How could he not, sunshine?” he said. And after a pause, “Do you know how important you are to me? How much I love you?”

It was the first time either of you had said these words to the other. And you hadn’t expected to hear them as a drunken confession. “Ezra, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“It’s okay. Just…tell me again when you’re sober.”

“I will.”

He pulled you close and you rested your head on his chest, breathing deeply. He smelled of sweat and alcohol, of course. But also of him. Of a man you’d very much fallen in love with. Sometimes you thought you’d fallen in love with him the day you’d met. But you’d held those words back, wondering sometimes whether Ezra Bridger was the type to settle down. 

But now, there was something about the way he stroked your hair as he started to doze off. And when he said “I’ll tell you I love you every day for as long as you’ll have me,” tipsy or not, you believed him.

***

You’re in the kitchen brewing a fresh pot of caf when you hear Ezra stumbling down the hallway, followed by the loth-cats that had been sleeping at his feet.

“You’re never up this early,” he says.

His hair is wild, and he’s wearing a robe—his this time—and not much else. You don’t need to tell him he’s a mess. He knows. And he knows how he got here.

“There’s no Jedi trick for hangovers,” you say. “Or at least that’s what you’ve lead me to believe.”

You put a plate of eggs and two headache tablets on the table and he sits, a look of defeat in his big blue eyes.

“I’d been hoping to make you breakfast today,” he says. “I really kriffed things up last night.”

Ceetoo comes in the front door carrying a shopping bag, looks straight at Ezra and starts grumbling in binary.  

“I know,” he says. “I’m profoundly aware of this. Can you please lower your volume?”

You bring two cups of caf to the table and sit beside Ezra. A man who’s stayed up with you through countless nights when your chronic pain was at its worst. Who makes a point of bringing you your favorite tea anytime you have a particularly bad migraine. A man who, when you’d first met, lived on the opposite side of town—but when he found out how difficult your anxiety could get, he started making that long drive to you any time you were struggling and he thought he could help.

He did kriff up last night. But you can’t find it in yourself to hold it against him. “It was a rough night,” you say. “But it’s behind us.” 

Sipping his caf he says, “Thank you, love.” 

“You would do the same for me.”

“I don’t mean the breakfast. I mean, I do. But you deserve better than a grown man who can’t get his shit together for one night so you can go out with your friends.”

There’s something sheepish about him as he takes your hand, and you see the “boy” Hondo always refers to when he talks about Ezra, despite his being in his forties. 

“You have your shit remarkably together ninety-nine percent of the time, Ezra,” you say. “I can make new plans. And you were sick enough yesterday that I think that might be punishment enough.”

Ceetoo grumbles as she brings you a plate of sliced fruit. She’d happily gone to the store for you but had been less than enthusiastic about it when you told her the fruit was for Ezra—she could hold a grudge as well as any organic. But you reminded her of how many times he’d been there for the two of you, and that if you could forgive him for one ruined night, she could, too. 

As she’s leaving the kitchen she beeps and whistles: try not to barf.

Ezra laughs. “I’m so glad she doesn’t actually hate me,” he says. “Though sometimes I wonder.”

You sit in silence for a while, listening to the wind blowing a tree branch into the window outside, the birds singing in the garden. And you remember planting that garden with Ezra when you first moved into this house, how you reminded him again that you probably wouldn’t be able to help much with maintaining the garden because of your chronic pain. And he’d taken your hands and told you that he didn’t expect anything of you other than that you being in his life. That just you being here, making a home together—that was enough. He’d wiped the tears from your cheeks when you began to cry, your heart so full it was spilling over.

“How are you feeling?” you ask.

“Better now that I’ve eaten, actually.”  

He gives your hand a squeeze before you get up to feed the two tooka cats who have gathered under the table, nipping at your feet. One you’d had when you met Ezra—the other was a three-legged stray Ezra had found living in an alley behind his work, far too friendly to be a street cat. You nearly trip over the little guy as you turn to put the kibble away, only to be steadied by Ezra—you hadn’t even realized he’d gotten up from the table.

“Hey,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

“I was fine,” you insist.

He smiles. “Sure.”

His grin is infectious, and soon you have your arms around his neck, unable to stifle the smile on your own face. He ghosts his fingers along your cheek, his thumb swiping over your bottom lip for a moment before leaning in to kiss you, slow and lingering.

“You can make me dinner tonight,” you tell him. 

“And in the meantime?”

You can’t imagine he’s recovered that quickly. But Ezra is always full of surprises. So when he leads you back to the bedroom you follow. He discards your clothing in the hall, piece by piece as you stumble over each other, a feeling of lightness filling you as he kisses your forehead, your nose, your neck before you tumble into bed. And when you find yourself beneath the sheets with Ezra, you’re thinking about how seamlessly he fit into your life, from the very beginning. And now, how perfectly your bodies fit together, his deft hands finding exactly where and how you love to be touched. 

He whispers in your ear: “Let me make this up to you.”  

And you melt into him, your fingers lacing into his hair as he kisses you deeper, a spark of electricity running through you as if it were the first time he’d ever kissed you. 

“You still owe me dinner,” you tell him.

“I’ll give you anything,” he says, pressing a kiss to your clavicle. “Anything you want,” he says, “it’s yours.”

And, if only because he’d never once given you a reason not to, you believe him. 

★★★★★★★★

Thank you so much for reading! Once again I am here to be a gremlin about Ezra Bridger somehow growing up to be Blorbo. I hope this fic made you feel seen and loved.

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[guiltyasreid]

high heels ll spencer reid x reader

warnings/tags: non, fluff, total fluff, fem reader, prince charming spencer reid word count: 1226 a/n: this is so not me I can run in heels so have fun with this one.

You were used to wearing boots, booted heels, platforms, and trainers. Never in your life had you thought you'd wear stiletto heels. It was fine, you could walk perfectly fine if you were on a flat surface, the pain wasn't even that bad.

Stairs?

No. Stairs were your biggest enemy in them. Up or down, you were like a new born deer.

"Are you sure you don't want to just wear another pair of shoes?" Spencer asked as he watched you wobble down the stairs of your apartment building.

You gave him a stink eye.

"Fine, but don't ask for my shoes later on." He gave you a look, and you smiled, taking his arm.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Doc." You giggled as you walked to the car.

Both of you were dressed formally, Spencer in his nicest black tux and you in a black satin dress that fell to your midcalf. The FBI had a dinner every couple of years just to celebrate. Spencer and you both knew it was just an excuse for an open bar. 

The drive there was easy enough. It was not far, the two steps into the hotel, you held Spencer's arm for dear life.

"Just up the stairs."

Your heart dropped at the sentence that came out of the receptionist's mouth. You looked towards the grand staircase that was heading up, in that moment, you were sure you'd end up falling down them. Spencer was clearly enjoying your sense of dread, its as if he was waiting to say 'I told you so.' 

"Come on." Spencer tugged you along, and you tried not to trip over your feet.

You started delicately taking steps up the stairs, again holding Spencer's arm. He looked amused at your struggles, but when they got to the 10th step, he sighed. It had taken you 3 minuets to climb them.

You let out a shout as he scooped you into his arms, carrying you up the stairs bridal style. Your arms automatically wrapped around his neck as you went red.

"I couldn't watch you struggle any longer, it was hurting me deeply." He spoke. You tried to hide your smile in his suit. "You definitely are liking this."

You smacked his chest with one of your hands. "Shut up."

You did enjoy every moment of it. He gave you another cheeky smile as you hit the top of the stairs. Delicately, setting you down. You brushed off your dress and gave him a bright smile.

"Thank you." You whispered, already feeling eyes on you both. You fiddled with his tie for a moment.

"Anything for you." He kissed the side of your head before allowing you to take his arm again.

The night went usually. Greeting people you knew, moments where you were on the small room for dancing. Spencer had wandered off somewhere with Derek while you stood with JJ and Will. "How are the shoes?" JJ asked, staring down at her feet. She was the one who'd gifted you them.

"They're nice, but I think most of the time I'm trying not to fall to my death." You let out a chuckle.

JJ gave you a sympathetic look. "You get used to it, I promise."

A tap on your shoulder made you turn around. Spencer stood with his arms behind his back and a cheeky smile on his face. You narrowed your eyes, wondering what he was up to.

He held out his hand dramatically, bowing slightly. "May I have this dance, my lady?"

Your cheeks heated, and you grinned. "Why, of course." You mock curtsied at him as he pulled you onto the makeshift dance floor, where a few people were swaying together.

JJ and Will were joined by the rest of the team, and they all watched them dance together with soft expressions. You giggling at his dramatic flairs to the dance. Him making sure you were only focused on him, it wasn't hard, he was the only one for you. His hair was pushed back slightly, his face had its usual light stubble, he looked like rugged prince charming.  

"Another side to him comes out with her." Derek spoke, a chuckle coming out as he sipped his drink.

Your squeal was audible when he twirled you out quickly, pulling you back in and dipping you low. "You're going to make me fall." You shook your head amused. 

"I'd never let you fall." He smiled back, kissing the side of your mouth. "If I did, I'd always be there to catch you."

"You're so cheesy." You giggled in his arms.

"I'm lactose intolerance." He quipped back, you snorted and pressed your head to his shoulder.

Will smiled at the pair and their antics. "I'll be surprised if they're not married by the end of the year." He spoke out loud.

"It's November." JJ reminded.

Will shrugged. "Like they'd ever have a traditional wedding, they'd probably get married by an Elvis impersonator, with ring pops." JJ laughed leaning back into Will.

"You look wonderful." Spencer whispered as you swayed together.

"And you look magical." You whispered back, he hummed leaning his head on yours.

The night dwindled down, You and Spencer didn't let go of each others hands for the rest of the evening. You said your goodbyes to everyone, making sure to remind the rest of the team about your Christmas party.

As soon as you started making your way out. Spencer scooped you into his arms again, everyone's eyes turned to the pair of you as he rushed out with you in his arms.

Will nudged JJ to look at what Spencer was doing. JJ raised her eyebrows. "Okay, maybe you'll be right." She muttered.

"You like doing this more than me." You laughed as he made his way down the stairs. One arm under your knees, the other under your arms.

"I admit nothing." He replied, kissing your cheek. You hid your face in his neck as he continued.

As soon as they hit the last step. You were sure he'd let you down, instead he kept walking towards the door. "What are you doing?"

"Taking you home, my lady." He replied, giving you another cheeky smile. His eyes were bright staring at you with love in his eyes.

The doorman opened the door with a smile on his face. You wiggled to be let down and he let you down softly laughing at your scowl. You shivered at the cold. He took of his blazer, quickly wrapping you up.

"You don't have to do that." You replied, about to start taking the blazer off. Instead, he just scooped you up again, not caring about the looks he was getting. "Spencer!" You laughed smacking his chest.

"Just enjoy it, I am." He grinned down at you. You rolled your eyes leaning into his shoulder.

Will was right. Three weeks later. Spencer and you announced you two were married at your Christmas party.

Pictures of you with a Elvis impersonator, two red ring pop rings on your left hands. There was pictures of you kissing while dipped. Him holding you bridal style with a bright red lipstick stain on his cheek, and a bright smile on both of your faces. One where you were holding Spencer bridal style, your face red and Spencer trying to hide his face with one hand. Then another where you both had your foreheads together just cheesing at each other. 

[jjoongstar]

❝LOLA'S LIBRARY❞✰.｡.✵°✵,¸.•✵´

my personal list of all of my fav fics that i really love and would like to reread again for fun. i'll always continue to add more on this list. NONE OF THESE WOKRS ARE MINE!!!

smut🔥| fluff ☁️| angst 💧| most fav & highly rec❤️‍🔥

★¸.•☆•.¸★ ATEEZ ★⡀.•☆•.★

love you goodbye 🔥💧[psh] breakup sex, i legit cried

intertwined☁️[psh] mermaid y/n, siren seonghwa

sleep talker🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[psh] enemies to lovers, one bed trope, vacation au, love the tension & plot

royal library🔥☁️[psh] royalty au, plot twist, legit ult fav, mak lurve giler

(not so) sweet dream☁️[psh] very fluffy, snuggling hihihshs

Red Dress🔥☁️[psh] enemies to lovers, amazing plot

You Come First🔥☁️[psh] drug dealer, dom!hwa went too far, y/n used safe word

Make Me Water🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[psh] friends to lovers, lots of giggling

prefect and t(h)reats🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[psh] harry potter au, slytherin hwa x hufflepuff y/n

I Know It's Over☁️💧❤️‍🔥[psh] historical au, tragic ending, cliche storyline but i cried anyways

The General's Wife☁️❤️‍🔥[psh] possessive military general husband hwa

The Way To His Heart (series)☁️💧❤️‍🔥[psh] joseon era, general sh, arranged marriage, amazing plot, scrumptious storyline, sngt lurve gilerr frr

She's a regular here... (pt.1)🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[psh] drug dealer, legit fav, trilogy

Use me like a drug! (pt.2)🔥☁️[psh]

Baby we're high on you. (pt.3)🔥☁️[psh, khj]

opposite attracts🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[psh,khj] addams!matz, love the plot

One Day At A Time☁️💧[psh, jyh] royal au, most heartbreaking fic ever, i legit cried ffs, there's comfort at the end

mafia☁️[khj, jwy] mafia au, love the part where she slept on hj's bed

pretty🔥[khj] pure steamy smut, no plot

training wheels🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[khj] prof hj x student y/n, taught her how to suck his cock, ft. woo

Ugh, As If🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[khj] ult fav, y/n has insomnia & he helped her , sngt lurve yurr

Loyalties☁️[khj] criminal hj x detective y/n, love the chemistry, had me giggling, kinda reminds me of sanzu

Dreamy (series)🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[khj] dilf hj, bestie sh's daughter, legit ult fav ever, literally drooling, i love this sm istg, the best one ever, they finally fuck at pt. 6

5:04 am☁️[smg] he help lulled her to sleep

just between friends🔥❤️‍🔥[smg, jyh] pure filthy smut, love all the consents

principia (pt.1)🔥☁️[jyh] prof yuyu x student y/n, got my heartbeat racing

opticks (pt.2)🔥☁️[jyh]

Teacher's Pet🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[jyh] college au, prof yuyu x student y/n, heavy angst (my heart ached sm, i legit cried), "it reopened wounds it never healed", (will reread when i feel like hurting myself again)

outlaw🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[jyh] cowboy yuyu x bartender y/n, amazing plot

cry for me🔥[jyh] pure smut, crying kink, aftercare

whichever way🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[jwy, cs] threesome, has plot, amazing chemistry, kinky

Hardcore🔥☁️💧❤️‍🔥[cjh] teacher jh x student y/n, heartbreaking frr, "you like me...but you love her-", the other women

oh shit, are we in love?🔥☁️[cjh] romcom, college au, bestie to lovers, virgin jh

Ateez Reactions: When You Use Safeword🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[ot8] tbh, idk how to desc this cuz i like seeing them immediately changed from rough & full in lust to soft & concerned

boyfriend!ateez discovering you write smut☁️[ot8] fake text, they're just so funny i giggles too much & accidently banged my head on the wall

★¸.•☆•.¸★ SEVENTEEN ★⡀.•☆•.★

emails i can't send💧[ot13] istg its so devastatingly heartbreaking, highly rec to read during the bloody season

step by step☁️[jww] softie but they were talking bout sex tho

the wolf and the fox☁️[kmg] spy au, the tension btwn the two tho

★¸.•☆•.¸★ P1HARMONY ★⡀.•☆•.★

cinnamon banana pancakes☁️[keeho] soft, fluffy, making breakfast

★¸.•☆•.¸★ OTHERS ★⡀.•☆•.★

idk which category these should go, so i'll place them here:

the better man🔥☁️[san, mingyu] threesome, college au, they fight for y/n

seeing double🔥☁️❤️‍🔥[seonghwa, wonbin] college au, red flag fwb hwa, soft shy wonbin

dividers are by @roseraris