that i may fluff them


@severeprincesswitch Happy Rhackiversary!! :D It’s been 1 year today since I started shipping these two nerds. Was saving this for today :3 I hope you like it!! Sorry for taking so long!!

Relax (Wooseok)

Originally posted by pen1ag0n

length: 327 words

genre: fluff

99. “This bath is too damn hot.” - “This is why we can’t do cute things. You complain too much.” (x)

“Are you still just laying here?” Wooseok walked into the bedroom, seeing you sprawled like a starfish across the bed. “Yes” you groaned, dragging it out to relieve some of the tension in your body. “Do you want me to run a bath for you?” Wooseok chuckled as he sat beside you on the bed, leaning over to give you a peck on the forehead. “I don’t wanna get up” you muttered. “I’ll take it with youuuuu~” he sang, tempting you. “I guess” you agreed, your eyes shut as you let your muscles unwind in the sheets below you.

Wooseok went into the bathroom, filling the bath almost all the way with warm water, throwing one of your favorite fizzy bath bombs into the clear water. He watched as the bath bomb illuminated the bath with light pinks and purples. “Y/N!” he called to you as he undressed and entered the bath. As you entered, he was comfortably nestled on one side of the bath, waiting for you to join him. You lazily stripped off your work clothes as he watched you and stepped into the bath, the water slightly displacing around you.

“This bath is too damn hot” you grumbled as you attempted to submerge your body in the water. “This is why we can’t do cute things. You complain too much” he pouted, playfully splashing water at you as he laughed. You gasped in shock as the water hit your face. You cupped your hand and splashed some water and retaliating back at him. After a few minutes and giggles later, you finally relaxed your body and allowed the warm water and scent from the bath bomb relieve the tension in your body. “Ahhhhhhh” you sighed in contentment.

“Relaxed?” Wooseok peeked over at you. “Mmhmmmmm” you hummed with your eyes shut. “I’m glad” he slowly moved forward, kissing your forehead. “Thank you for this” you grinned to yourself. “Anything for you, love” he cooed.

anonymous asked:

Bart/ken and prompt 7? (Love your writing btw!)

(omg thank you so much! and thank you for such a cute prompt uwu)

Thing is, Ken had been travelling with Bart for a while. He figured he knew her pretty well by now, and he’d known from the day he met her (or, y’know, the day she chased him with a machete and kidnapped him) that she was a bit… well, weird.

It wasn’t a bad thing! Well, not all the time. It was cool, some people were just weird and Bart was one of them. She moved weird, she talked weird, and she had a weird way of looking at the world. Or at first glance she did. But he was starting to think her straightforward (and violent) approach to life and her place in it actually made more sense than most people’s.

But she had a lot of weird habits, and one of those habits was staring at things. And people, people and things, she stared at all of them. He guessed the thing about being absolutely assured of your place in the world made you a lot less embarrassed about stuff like that.

So he was kinda used to her staring at him by now. She did it a lot. She was the kind of person who would stare at something until she figured it out, and since human interaction wasn’t her strong suit she had a lot of figuring out to do.

But there was something a little different about her staring today. She didn’t look mad, or sceptical or even that confused. She just looked kinda thoughtful. Like something new had occurred to her and she didn’t understand it but she didn’t mind it.

“Bart?” Ken asked when he’d caught his breath from laughing- the corgi in the backseat was chasing her stubby tail again. “You okay?”

She was watching him a little too closely considering she was behind the wheel. But he guessed they’d crash if they were supposed to crash anyway. “You’re happy.”

“Uh… yes?” He didn’t really have to think about it. He’d… well, he’d been the happiest he’d ever been these past few months. Just him and Bart and Chainsaw (Bart’s choice- they had no idea what the corgi’s real name was but she seemed to like Chainsaw just fine). He never would have expected it, but he wasn’t complaining. He wasn’t sure where Bart was going with this. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” she grunted, eyes back on the road.


Silence fell for a little while. Until Ken started giggling at Chainsaw’s attempts to climb into his duffel bag. Then Bart was giving him that look again, and a quiet: “Huh.”


“It’s…” she lifted one hand from the wheel to gesticulate in that broad, kinda drunkenly confident way she did. “It’s like- I’m happy anyway, y’know? But right now I’m more happy. It’s like… when you’re happy, I’m happy. Y’know?”

Another weird thing about Bart; she was the both the scariest and cutest person he’d ever met.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling now for a whole other reason. “Yeah, me too.”

“Well, yeah, of course you’re happy when you’re happy- that’s, like, what it is.”

“No, I mean- I’m happy when you’re happy. Like, reversed.”

“…Oh.” She kept her eyes on the road, but he could see her smile a mile off. “That’s nice.”

hamelin-born  asked:

May I please request darkcreature!gramander fluff? With the two of them as dark creatures, but still so very much happy and in love with one another?

[a/n] @hamelin-born of course! I’d be happy to! Sorry this sat in my inbox so long. It was super fun to write though (I admit, fluff is not my strong suit. I’m not super practiced at it… but I hope this suffices!). Besides, it’s about time I give the boys some comfort and fluff. Maybe I should make it a thing. 1 fluff for every 5 fics of pain. XD Hope you enjoy!

Originally posted by dannywitwers

There were many sides of Graves that Newt loved. He loved the director that could back him into a corner, all long lines and powerful edges, and simply devour him with hot breath and even hotter lips. He loved the man that woke up earlier despite going to bed late, just to help Newt with his chores around the enclosures of his case. He loved the friend that made sure to walk Queenie home after an unexpectedly late night at the office. He loved the sympathetic human being that decided to turn a blind eye to a certain kind no-maj and his bakery when he realized just where those creature-inspired pastries Newt loved so much were coming from. He loved the way he doted on the Niffler when he thought Newt wasn’t looking, or how he seemed particularly in awe of the powerful grace of the Nundu despite their dangerous (and very illegal) presence.

He loved him when he had Newt in his arms, his lips at his shoulder whispering kind words into his freckled skin. He loved him when he woke up trembling and he loved him when he lost himself beneath Newt’s touch and he loved him when he tried to hide the fact that he used reading glasses because he thought it made him old.

There were many sides of Graves that Newt loved. But this one… Graves curled up on the couch – hair mussed and sleepy eyed and clad in an old and battered Ilvermorny sweater – dozing sweetly with the faintest snore… This was one of his favorites.

Newt came to stand beside the couch and delicately set the bowl of oil he had been carrying down on the side table before leaning down to gently check Graves’ temperature by pressing his forehead up against the other man’s brow. Warm, still feverish from the change. Newt nodded, expecting no less, before gently taking the paperwork from Graves’ slack grip and gently setting it aside as well.

“M’not done with that,” Graves mumbled, one eye cracked open to watch Newt with a frown – but he made no move to stop him. Newt smiled.

“It’ll still be here for you later,” he said simply, before turning back to the director and gently brushing a sweaty lock of hair from his brow. Even narrow as they were, he could still see amber peeking out inside the dark depths of Graves’ brown eyes. “How are we feeling?”

“Told you m’fine,” Graves groused even as he sunk a little more into the baggy comfort of his sweater, his jaw tipping instinctively into the callused curve of Newt’s hand as he brought it down to cup his face. “I need to get used to this.”

Newt sighed, amused and a little impatient.

“You can’t just will this away, Percival,” he said as he took one of Graves’ trembling hands into his own and willed heat into his fingers – easing the tremor from the director’s bones. “What you really need to get used to is taking care of yourself.”

Graves scowled even as a deep, contented purr blossomed in his chest from Newt’s administrations.

“I don’t have time to take off after every full moon, Newt,” he said.

“One day a month wouldn’t kill you,” Newt pressed as he eased his thumbs into the aching flesh between the tendons of Graves’ hand and moved up to start rubbing away the ache in the man’s wrist – slightly swollen from the transformation earlier that morning. “If you don’t listen to your body, it’ll make you listen. The last thing you or your team needs is their director passing out in the middle of MACUSA because you pushed yourself too hard.”

Graves looked away at that, more awake now than he had been – a cute little wrinkle between his brows from frowning. Newt apologetically kissed his hand at the sight of his troubled look. Graves wasn’t used to having to take it easy. Before Grindelwald, his power had been uncontested. His body had been strong, his magic even stronger. According to Tina, the man never got sick. His work had been his life. Sometimes he even slept in his office. He had never needed to slow down before. To rest.

And like many things, Grindelwald robbed him of that too.

Newt hadn’t believed it at first. He had never heard of a man becoming a werewolf without having been bitten by one. But sure enough, when they found Graves he was half mad from starvation and captivity and the pain of his oncoming transformation. And there hadn’t even been so much as a scar to suggest the man had ever been bitten. Graves had tried to warn them, though. He howled at them to close the door – to leave. The aurors just thought him crazed and panicked. They didn’t listen. They advanced on him with soothing whispers and eager hands, and all the while Newt couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong as he watched Graves press himself as far into the corner as he could – small and terribly thin and trembling. Eyes on the window. Afraid.

Afraid of himself.

They thought he was afraid of Grindelwald returning. Newt didn’t notice that it was the rising moon the man was watching until it was too late. Thankfully, Graves couldn’t remember anything after the transformation. Newt was grateful for that every day.

“Newt?” Graves asked, breaking the magizoologist from his thoughts. “Are you alright?”

Newt blinked, pinned beneath the worried warmth of Graves’ gaze – still glowing ever so faintly from his night as a wolf. And when Newt didn’t answer right away, Graves gently pulled his hand away and for the first time, Newt saw the man nervously avert his eyes.

“You don’t have to keep doing this. I know you’re busy,” Graves said softly, and Newt flinched when he finally recognized the man’s body language for what it was – shame. “I can take care of myself.”

Newt wasn’t sure what the man was expecting. But it obviously wasn’t the scoffing snort Newt let out at the man’s statement. Graves whirled to look at him with wide eyes as Newt took advantage of his shock to grab at the waistline of the man’s pants and ease them down his long legs, past his swollen and aching knees, until finally they were off the man altogether.

“If that were true, these,” Newt said, hot hands on the director’s knee caps, “Wouldn’t be so swollen. And I wouldn’t have had to argue with you to get you to stay home for once in your life.”

Graves scowled and opened his mouth to argue, but Newt quickly lifted himself up to silence the man with a chaste kiss before leaning back – smiling.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he said, eyes crinkled at the edges as he made sure to remember every line that made up the soft, shocked expression on Graves’ normally controlled and stoic face. “That doesn’t mean you have to do it alone.”

Without another word, Newt dipped his hands into the minty oil he had brought for Graves and shuffled down to kneel by the man’s legs. Gently, he eased them straight – lips soft and apologetic against the man’s shin when the cartilage in his knee popped angrily. Newt didn’t miss the way the director flinched or how he was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning.

“Ssh,” he said, eyes looking up the long line of Graves’ body to meet his feverish gaze. “I’ve got you.”

He willed the skin of his hands hotter as pressed his thumbs around the swollen edges of Graves’ right knee. He knew what it must feel like. Minty coolness and warm flesh and delicious pressure as he rubbed away knots and untangled the muscles that had been aggravated from the change. He rubbed until Graves’ bitten off groans turned into soft little huffs of pleasure beneath his breath. He kneaded the flesh, working his palms from the back of the man’s knee down into the meat of his calve, until Graves’ body had sunken into the couch – head back. He moved to the other leg once the man’s eyes slipped closed, Graves’ hands trembling for a completely different reason.

And all the while, Newt smiled. He drank in the sight of this Graves; the normally fierce and powerful director turned puddle on the couch. The strong lines of his face soft with pleasure and his body slack beneath Newt’s touch. Messy hair and inelegant clothing and glistening skin. He cherished every second of easing the baggy, battered sweater up the hard planes of the man’s stomach. He kissed and worshiped every inch of pale skin the journey exposed and loved the way Graves grumbled sleepily as Newt guided the overgrown sweater over the man’s head. He memorized the feel of the man’s firm body beneath his hands as he rubbed away the weariness of the werewolf’s shoulders and the tautness in his back. He didn’t stop until Graves was well and truly lost to the world, half asleep and blissed out from the magizoologist’s attentions.

And when Newt was finally content with the quality of his work, he simply eased Graves’ upper body up so that he could slide his lap beneath the man and join him on the couch. Newt smiled as long, powerful arms threaded themselves around his waist so that Graves might press his nose into the redhead’s stomach – his ribs rumbling heavily against Newt’s thigh beneath the weight of his contented purrs. Yes. This was one of his favorite sides of Percival Graves; the side he never showed the world.

“What an odd pair we must make,” Graves mumbled sleepily into Newt’s belly. “A werewolf in the lap of a dragon.”

Newt smiled down at him and brushed the director’s dark hair back from his brow even as he willed his body hotter, eager to soothe Graves’ aches.

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘perfect’.”

fornhaus  asked:

i saw you have some recs for good fluff hurt/comfort sterek, may i request them?

I don’t really have any good fluff recs (again, I’m not big on just fluff), but since they’re h/c some of these of course contain fluff. But yeah, here’s some general hurt/comfort. Some of these are short and there’s, like, direct hurt/comfort, while others are much longer and there is both hurt and comfort at certain points. Regardless, they’re all awesome. Enjoy!

Gunplay is Not Really Our Kink by theroguesgambit

“The rules to the game are simple. One bullet, six chances. You pick it up and take turns pulling the trigger on the other man, or we gun you both down right now. You play along, only one of you has to die. Fun game, huh?”

Derek and Stiles are captured by a group of hunters and forced to play a twisted game that only one of them might walk away from.

Don’t Speak by fatale

The Alpha pack has systematically attacked Stiles and his friends for months, testing their strengths and weaknesses. When one of the Alphas goes after Stiles, he awakens in the hospital and realizes that something’s wrong. Very wrong. All sounds seem to hurt him, he can’t understand what anyone is saying, and when he tries to speak, it’s gibberish. How is he supposed to deal with the fact that he’s lost the ability to communicate with his dad and his friends?

Without his ability to talk, his sarcasm, and his wit, what does Stiles even have left? Enter Derek, the only one who seems to make it better.

Sanctuary by darkmagess

Starts where 3B stops, with Kate attacking Derek in the loft. She kidnaps him to Mexico, and Stiles, Scott, and Lydia rush to find him before Kate can inflict too much damage. She inflicts enough, and Derek retreats into his mind to escape the horrors of his situation. The Derek they find is not the one that left Beacon Hills.

Keep reading

Roman, pls come assist your children. 

SERIOUSLY. Seriously. You know what, fuck you for being able to pull off a suit and still look like a grungy, hot mess of a man, YOU CAN’T HAVE BOTH AT THE SAME TIME DEANFORD. 

… Okay so I have a little bit of a thing for bloody Dean, sue me. He seems content, therefore I am as well.

Look at this little cutie golfing, aw. I cannot honestly imagine this dork golfing, but instead driving the golf carts into random places. 

So soft, so cute, so yes.

*pew pew* 


Okay, but if this isn’t the cutest picture you have ever seen, then really, what is? Becuase okay, let’s just start with how sweet and pure and FUCKING BLUE HIS EYES ARE BECAUSE WOW OKAY, WHY DON’T WE JUST INSTALL LASERS IN THEM SO YOU CAN FINISH KILLING ME WITH THEM???? And okay, the little tongue sticking out? Wow, 12/10, please. AND HIS LITTLE THUMBS UP? WOW. And it’s raining, like imagine this giant dork in the rain??? HIS HAIR IS ALL WET AND LIKE KINDA CURLY AND HE’S GOT THE SCRUFFY AND I’M SORRY I’LL STOP NOW, I AM SORRY I AM, not really lmao.

…. Those black shorts are gonna kill me, wtf.


*me all the time, 24/7, about everything* 


Blurry but still WOW?????? 

Okay, I love wrapping hands and wrists, it’s so sexy??? 


>.> I mean, or I can just keep you? No? Okay. 



Back again with the black shorts

This just reminds me of Bugs Bunny saying “Put ‘em up, put ‘em up.” 

Renee took this photo, and I honestly LOVE THEM TOGETHER SO MUCH, WOW THEY ARE SO CUTE???? I know they aren’t together in the picture BUT WOW I SHIP THEM THEY ARE ADORABLE AND I HOPE THEY NEVER CHANGE. 

… Sweaty, shirtless Dean. Mama likely. 

Fluffy Dean

“Hey Shannon, why do you have so many pictures of Dean working out?” “I mean, I-” *FUCKING RUNS AWAY* 

I am trying to lip read here, and all I see is ‘What the table?’ 


This is like one of the Office moments.

Originally posted by dean-ambroselover

NOW SISSY THAT WALK. I’m sorry I have no control, I’ll make a real comment, hot dang like a summer choir, walk a little slower why don’t ya Deano? 

Originally posted by valstepiro

I know I shouldn’t be attracted to him smoking, I’M SORRY MOM, I KNOW I’M A HUGE DISAPPOINTMENT BUT THIS IS SO ATTRACTIVE TO ME, I DON’T????

Originally posted by deanambroseismines

Okay wow, this wins. This wins everything. My heart. My life. Everything, I literally am speechless, I CANNOT THINK OF A PROPER SECNTENCE THIS IS TAKING SO MUCH CONCENTRATION BECAUSE HE IS ASO BEAUTFIUL???? 

Originally posted by iletyoudowniknow

Look at these happy little goobers, I love them so much. Are they giggling over going over a speed bump? They’re literally the ccutest and will be the death of me

Originally posted by ambrollinsasylum

More evidence that this is a huge dork, I REPEAT DEAN AMBROSE IS A HUGE DORK WHO DESERVES ALL THE LOVE IN THE WORLD (and the WWE World Championship, amiright) 

Originally posted by thesawcesomeone

Listen, this is me about 98% of the time. Sometimes, they’re not drunken. 

Originally posted by thearchitectwwe

Any questions? No?? This post is made possible by the floofy Dean Ambrose fic my fav wrote @hardcorewwetrash (I suggest you all follow her 5ever, because everything she writes is the ALSO IT’S THIRST PARTY SATURDAY AND GUESS WHO I’M THIRSTY FOR, HAHAHAHAHA, everyone, the answer is everyone. 

My friend was talking to her kittens while on the phone with me and telling me how they were interested in my voice coming through the phone as I spoke to them, and I mentioned over and over how friggin adorable they are and she told me “honey, you are not ready for these levels of cuteness” and tbh I really don’t think I am

Sherlock’s favorite part of their morning routine has always been watching John make breakfast. Before he would find excuses to be in the kitchen while John went through the motions of getting ready to start the day. Sometimes Sherlock had an experiment that needed tending, sometimes he used his petulant side to his advantage, but he would always position himself for the best view. Now, he doesn’t need an excuse as he watches his lover prepare breakfast. Sherlock watches unabashedly at the rise of the shirt, revealing the low dip at the base of John’s spine, as John reaches for an item Sherlock intentionally set just out of reach. He smiles at the soft sounds John’s bare feet make as he pads around the kitchen, humming to himself as he goes through his routine. John is of course aware of the undivided attention he has. It used to embarrass him, now he just ducks his head and grins at knowing.
Most mornings, Sherlock is able to resist the tug that smile does to him. But some mornings, like today, he can’t. Swiftly he rises from his chair and pulls the mug out of John’s hand, setting it on the counter with a loud thunk. John’s grin widens and he pulls Sherlock into a deep kiss, his hips on Sherlock’s waist. They spend unknown minutes lazily enjoying the feel of each other’s lips, slow kisses, lingering sighs, happily taking the moments in. There’s no case waiting, no need to rush. Eventually, John’s stomach rumbles, reminding them that, yes they do need to actually eat. John pulls back with a giggle and Sherlock smirks at him, before he returns to the table to enjoy his view.

the second half of cynderbird‘s prize for my giveaway. (560 words: the Inquisitor and children belong to her.)
Triplets make it difficult for Cullen Rutherford and Sophia Lavellan to spend any time alone together. 

Cullen didn’t dare breathe.

Three lumps of curly blond hair rose and fell along with his chest as his children lay curled up on top of him, their drool soaking through his undershirt. Most days, he would’ve traded anything for a moment of silence from the triplets. But this? He’d spent near fifteen minutes twisting and turning his body, trying to slide them off. Each attempt led to a louder grumble and tiny hands tightening on his shirt.

He glanced to the door where his wife kept a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking in a barely suppressed laugh.

Help me, he mouthed.

Sophia was grinning as she crept into the room, coming to stand beside the couch.

“Help me,” he whispered.

“Why? You look so comfortable.”

Cullen had to fight back his pout. His eyes ran appreciatively down the thin shift she wore, enjoying how poorly it hid the shape of her body from him. “But the children,” he said in a half-whine. It felt like months since they’d all been asleep at the same time, and years since he’d held his wife close without the nagging worry that a nightmare of shadows would wake one of them into screams. “Please, vhenan?”

Sophia grinned, her vallaslin crinkling in a way that always made him want to kiss the markings. Leaning over, the thin material fell from her shoulder; his fingers twitched with the desire to touch the smooth skin, to pull the rest of the shift from her body, to–Cullen blanched as Leo rubbed his eyes, blabbering in his sleep.

Sophia scooped the little boy into her arms, craddling him as she hummed one of the songs from her clan. Cullen grinned as his son relaxed, the gathering frown easing from his face. Setting him down in his crib and tucking the blanket beneath his chin, Sophia returned for Catherine as she continued to hum. Cullen watched for a moment, the gentle notes pulling at his own eyes, before he rolled onto his side, taking Phoebe to join her siblings.

“Think they’ll stay asleep this time?” he asked beneath his breath, arms wrapping around Sophia’s waist.

“Mmm. Hope so.” Her neck tilted back with a sigh when he placed a few absent kisses against her skin.

He pulled her closer. “I missed you, vhenan.”

“I missed you too.” She turned and caught him in a kiss, fingers caressing his cheek. “But what if you showed me how much you missed me next door in that lovely bed of ours.” She smirked as she tugged him towards the hall. The floor creaked beneath her step. They both froze, half-inside, the tension mounting as they waited for–

Cullen groaned openly when Leo started to squirm against his blankets, face contorting in silent anguish before his cry echoed in the small room, awakening his sisters. “Every time,” he said, head falling onto Sophia’s shoulder. She pecked his cheek.

“I’ll take care of them. You should go rest; I could store the entire armory in the bags under your eyes.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded with a smile. “On one condition, Commander.”

“Name it.”

“Your wife will be expecting something extra the next time you finish one of your missions.”

Cullen grinned, catching her about the waist to give her a proper kiss before they parted. “Consider it done.”

in seeing this new promo pic of cas in bed i’m suddenly struck by how hilarious it is that with the entire realm of supernatural possibilities this show has the ability to explore, the thing i want to see the most is just dean and cas and sam hanging out at the bunker and like super domestic chill friendship stuff like “dean cooked burgers for dinner!!!!! bUT!!!!!!!! CAS DECIDED LAST WEEK THAT HE WAS GOING TO GO VEGAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!! tune in next week to see how this could cause a strain in their relationship”