domesticity kink

Sunday Afternoon (NC-17)

(Note: This Destiel story was loosely inspired by this piece of fan art but I don’t know who did it. You can catch up on my other one shots on my master post.)

“Dean, how do you have such bony elbows? You’re putting my wing to sleep.” The angel squirmed beneath the hunter. “Roll over this way.”

Huffing impatiently, Dean leaned up on Castiel’s chest and jammed himself into the crook between the back of the couch and the angel’s body. “These giant things? You kidding? I swear to God, I’m gonna build a bigger couch. It shouldn’t be this much of a pain in the ass to watch a damn movie.”

“There’s no need for blasphemy,” Castiel chided with gentle tapping of Dean’s cheek.

“Fold your wing back that way,” urged Dean.

Low chuckling parted Castiel’s lips in a faint smile. “Yes, that’s about as comfortable as folding your arm backwards around your back. I’m not as flexible as you imagine me to be.”

“I dunno about that.” A sly, wriggling little smile shone down on him. “You did that thing over the table in the shooting gallery the other day, remember, and I–”

“–Yes, yes, I see your point but you’re still putting my wing to sleep.” The heel of Castiel’s hand pushed into Dean’s chest and shoved him upward. “Trade places with me.”

Dean raised up on his knees, perched at the end of the ratty old couch while Castiel shifted and made room for him. Since Sam started seeing a girl in Missouri, his long weekends away from the bunker left Dean and Castiel to their own devices more and more. One day, the angel found the hunter rearranging a small room off the library with a couch he picked up for twenty dollars at a garage sale and a little entertainment center at the other end of the room. He’d only eyed Castiel in passing and said he was nesting, to which Castiel didn’t question. Instead, he brought home a few things in the following weeks as well. An end table with a squeaky drawer. A painting of a ship at sea with an elaborate frame (Castiel had developed a fondness for the sea).

The pair of them settled together again on that old couch–this time Dean beneath Castiel. Black wings stretched over the back of the couch in one direction and fed underneath the coffee table with the uneven legs in the other direction. Their great size covered most of Dean’s body like a blanket and it never seemed to bother him that the wings were, in fact, a glaring reminder that they were from different worlds. Yet their bond ran so deep that his human vision forced its way through the veil and he became the only person on Earth who could perceive their existence.

“Better?” Dean said, crossing his leg over the back of Castiel’s calf.

“Yes,” he replied. His weight shifted until his hip fell in the tight space between Dean’s pelvis and the couch cushion. With his leg tugged up just slightly, he slung his arm around Dean’s chest and quite nearly resembled an angel-octopus hybrid latched onto the hunter’s body. He deeply exhaled, saying, “I’m quite content now.”

“Great, except I can’t reach the remote.” It sat on the coffee table just out of reach.

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(gif not mine)

“For the last time: The answer is no,” The muffled voice of your husband spoke as he walked through the front door of the house, hearing your teen daughter’s footsteps behind him.

“I don’t get why it’s such a big deal!” Mary protested, following after her father as he entered the living room, where you were sitting on the couch. “It’s my hair, not yours!”

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Misfit

A/n: The ridiculously long ongoing chaptered fic where Dan can see ghosts and doesn’t know how to emotion, essentially. If you want something to read for the next ten years, I’ve got you covered.

Summary: It’s been this way for as long as he can remember, the constant runaround process of trying to feel normal. His life is built around it, trying to trick both himself and everyone he interacts with into seeing him as your average person.
The isolation as he desperately tries to keep others from finding out, the bitterness that wells up inside of him each and every time he’s reminded that he’ll never be like everyone else, the fear that nothing will ever change. He’s fated to be this way forever; a misfit from society.

Wordcount: 500k+

Warnings: social anxiety, mild panic attacks, eventual smut, demons, possession, and all of the physical abuse/injuries that go along with said demonic threats

Tags: enemies to lovers, roommates, pining, supernatural, happyending, kickthestickz

anonymous asked:

calum being sick and having to stay home from work so ur little girl insists on taking care of him despite cal telling her shes gonna get sick and she has her assistant teddybear w her and makes a bit of a mess in the kitchen pouring him juice but overall she does a good job checking up on him and she sits w him on his bed and gives him her teddybear to snuggle w while they nap and u come home and see ur two lil snuggle bugs sleeping and wOw im crying !!!!

STOP IT 

Baby Girl Hood would insist that Calum would get into bed and she’d tuck him in “just like you do, daddy!” and his chest would rumble with his chuckle because Baby Girl Hood couldn’t quite see top of the bed so she’d scramble up and have to crawl over the top of the bed to tuck her fuzzy blanket under his chin because “it can make you feel betta too!”. She’d bolt from the room to get him juice but she can’t reach the cabinets with the cups so Calum’s gotta follow after her, watching from the door to the kitchen as she pushes her tiny step stool against the counter and climbs onto the counter and Calum moves forward so he stands behind her just in case she looses her balance, tucking his hands under her arms to gently lift her off the counter and place her back onto the ground. Baby Girl Hood would just look up at her daddy and grin her little gap-toothed smile with her eyes crinkled at the corner and thick, black hair wild and curly around her face. She’s pull the fridge open with all her weight and stumble back when it did open and she’d purse her lips, realizing that there’s juice boxes sitting on the bottom shelf where she can reach and she’d abandoned the cup she climbed to get and pick up two juice boxes and tuck them into one arm with them held to her chest because she’s not that big yet and she’s still gotta turn and grab her daddy’s hand to lead him back upstairs because “it nap time, daddy! momma says ya gotta sleep too!” and Calum just lets her, tiny hand wrapped around his. He helps her back onto the big bed and follows her, letting her open the box of juice and laughing to himself when she pouts because the straw bent and she missed the tiny hole where it’s supposed to go on the first try and Calum would wrap his fingers gently around her’s and help her open it and would wrinkle his nose at her and smile when she held it up to her daddy’s mouth for him to drink and Baby Girl Hood would giggle and when Calum’s done he’s lay down with her on his chest and her tiny breathes would even out and Calum’s all content with her against him and falls asleep right after and only wakes up when you come home about two hours later to find them. 

anonymous asked:

okay so we all know just how much bucky would dirty talk when it comes to steve, like even when they weren't fucking he would still be dirty. but what kind of pet names and praises would he mostly use for steve?

Pet names used by Bucky Barnes:

  • Stevie, of course (lbr it’s a pet name when Bucky says it)
  • Sweetheart
  • Baby doll (sometimes just “doll,” sometimes just “baby”)
  • Dollface
  • Kitten
  • Sweet thing
  • Sugar

And Bucky’s praise is always geared towards making Steve feel capable and desirable. 

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concept: harry and louis waking up softly in each other’s warmth, slipping on their matching monogrammed dressing gowns and slippers, making breakfast together, music playing in the next room, sitting down to eat, ankles locked beneath the table as they sip on tea and coffee, talking about how they slept, about their plans for the day, doing a sunday crossword from a 2012 edition of the new york times they’re not even sure how they have, sharing soft smiles.  

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A Year In the Life (A Murder Husbands Calendar)

So I’m gonna be busy tomorrow (and the day after that… and the day after that.. because, hey! Christmas! \( o ∀ o)/), so in the mean time, here’s a little something for all of you. I present, my unreasonably domestic Hannigram calendar: A Year In the Life.

Y’all can take a look at the calendar over at redbubble, and don’t worry, I plan on posting each piece for every month individually before Christmas so please expect that as well.

And to those who might ask if this has anything to do with that old anon ask I got about using this style, don’t worry, it doesn’t. This little project began a long time ago so no worries. :)

I hope you all have the happiest of holidays. ( o u o)/

to me, sam and gabriel are slow.
they spend ~months~ courting each other in the most elaborate ways possible; flowers and chocolates and candlelit dinners where their hands almost brush next to the salt shaker
and on the one hand, they both kind of know it’s going to happen, but on the other hand in a way they’re enjoying the buildup
because gabriel doesn’t take it slow with anyone, not ever. he’s barely ever spent this much time with one person before, let alone if they’re not even sleeping together yet
but sam’s different
sam’s worth it
and honestly, gabriel has been waiting for sam for millennia, so what’s a few more weeks?

in contrast, dean and castiel are fast
they’re post case, ‘both of us just almost died’, still high on adrenaline, grabbing each other and kissing each other like their life (still) depends on it and fast rough sex that’s half desperate and half relief that they finally made it
they don’t exactly think about it
they barely get to appreciate their first time because it still hasn’t sunk in that this is actually happening
and it’s not until later that dean reluctantly suggests that maybe they should talk about it
but once they do, they’re moved in together by the end of the day
because really, what’s the point in waiting when they both know it’s inevitable?

dean and cas go from 'not a couple’ to 'couple’ suddenly, but in all the ways that count, they’ve always been a couple, so it works.
sam and gabriel take the long way round, slowly strolling from 'not a couple’ to 'couple’, possibly because they have further to go

but in the end, it doesn’t matter how they get there. because all four of them are happy, safe and content, maybe for the first time in their lives

and that’s everything