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#the tension
galaxyspeaking · 6 months
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stoking the flame.
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irispurpurea · 4 months
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"And they're not talking."
I've said it before and I'll say it again.
Crowley and Aziraphale will not call each other by name until the climactic moments of Season 3.
If Crowley addresses Aziraphale at all, it will be "Archangel" or "Supreme Archangel." Aziraphale will fumble and stutter and find any excuse not to say Crowley's name.
And when Crowley finally does say "angel" or "Aziraphale," when Aziraphale finally says "Crowley" ... I think we'll all collapse on the spot.
How a single name can hold so much agony, longing, love. How much it hurts to actively keep their mouths from forming the familiar, comfortable shapes, how close they come to saying it but they stumble at the last second, bite their tongues.
The way they said each other's names, the way Crowley called Aziraphale "angel" and the way Aziraphale infused every syllable of "Crowley" with utter adoration, that's one of the ways they said "I love you." They know that now. So they won't be able to say it again until that climactic moment arrives.
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theweddingguest · 6 months
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BOTTOMS 2023 / dir. Emma Seligman
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feyhunter78 · 2 months
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Oooh how about nerd!miguel who gets so nervous when you come to his dorm for the first time? (maybe you forgot something and went there to pick it up) like he’d be eyeing you sitting on his bed but trying not to make it obvious ☺️
I definitely cannnn, I made this a bit more spicy than maybe you intended, and I had it be the second time y/n is at Miguel's apartment for plot reasons, but I hope you like it anyways!!!!
Door Frames and Doorways
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Artist cred: twitter jammunin
Miguel’s apartment complex is nice, like really nice. Four gates, elevators, 24-hour security, and you’re pretty sure you saw at least six Ferraris in the parking garage.
You punch in the code and wait until the gate opens, your phone in one hand while you walk, scanning the garage for the elevators. Once inside, you press the button for Miguel’s floor, and lean against the mirrored walls, watching the numbers climb. It’s fancy, more like a hotel elevator than an apartment. Finally, the doors ding and slide open, you step out onto plush carpet, the hall leading to his door is pristine, artwork—hotel style artwork—on the walls, everyone’s doors are decorated with name plates and their apartment number.
O’Hara 2099, Miguel’s nameplate reads, and you knock quietly. It is getting late, and you’d hate to disturb any of the other residents, but you really need your planner.
You wait a second, then knock again, nothing. You go to text Miguel, then the door swings open.
You’re greeted by Gabriel clad in the most typical college boy pajamas you’ve ever seen, red gingham pants and a white muscle shirt, his smile wide, and his eyebrows wriggling cartoonishly. “Well y/n, fancy seeing you here.”
“Hey Gabriel, I left my planner here yesterday, Miguel said I could come by and grab it?” You ask, looking past him for Miguel.
It’s not that you don’t like Gabriel, he’s friendly, sociable, funny, popular but not a dick, and he’s Miguel’s brother so he shares similar features, so he’s definitely not ugly. But he smells like weed, and as much as a small part of you wants to ask if you can take a hit—school has been a bitch, you need a break—you don’t know him like that. Plus, it’s late, and you still have to drive back to your own apartment.
The living room is empty behind him, the TV on, casting dim colors across the floor, the balcony doors open letting in the cool night air, and most likely the smell of weed out.
He opens the door wider, “of course, come in. Miguel’s in his room, did you text him?”
“No, I was going to, but then you opened the door, so.” You follow him in, and he shuts the door behind you. “I was already home when I realized I left it, I’m sorry to barge in on you guys’ night like this.”
“Don’t even worry about it.” He walks into the living room, where you can see a blunt resting in a novelty ashtray. You’re not totally sure, but it looks like a spider. “You want a hit?” He offers you the blunt, that tangy, almost sweet smell hits your nose, and you feel like a nicotine addict feigning for a cigarette, the way you take a half step forward, hand outstretched.
“I shouldn’t…” You tell yourself, and Gabriel, but really yourself.
Gabriel shrugs, “suit yourself. Yo Miguelito, y/n’s here.” He calls out, flopping onto the expensive looking leather couch and taking a deep inhale, holding it, then blowing the smoke out towards the open balcony doors.
There’s a heavy thud, then the jiggle of a door handle, and Miguel’s door bursts open. He looks…out of breath? His hair is tousled, his t-shirt half on, hem riding up, exposing his toned abdomen, his sweatpants sitting low on his hips. “Shit, y/n, I didn’t see your text.”
“She didn’t text you; I heard her knocking.” Gabriel says through a cloud of smoke.
“Well—um—your planner is in here, on my desk, I can grab it for you?” Miguel stutters out, running a hand through his hair, his glasses askew.
“I can get it myself, it’s no big deal.” You reassure him, slipping through the space between him and the door frame.
You’ve been in Miguel’s room before, literally yesterday, but you’re still amazed at how clean it is. His bed set against the far wall, framed photos of his family, awards, and scholarships up on the other. His bathroom door is ajar, and his desk light is off, your planner sitting in the very center of the huge desk with its multiple monitors.
There’s a candle lit, sitting atop his wardrobe, the scent of evergreen drifting through the room, and you detect a more musky undertone, but don’t let the thought linger.
You cross the wide expanse of plush carpet and grab your planner, holding it to your chest. “Thank you so much for finding it, I was freaking out thinking I lost it somewhere on campus.”
He nods his head, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the door frame. “It’s no problem, I know you live and die by that thing.”
“Not all of us can keep a perfect schedule in our heads, Miguel.” You tease, sweeping your eyes around his room.
There’s a decorative pillow on the floor, beside his bed, and without thinking you bend over and grab it, before getting onto his bed and crawling forward placing it back in its rightful place.
Miguel sucks in a sharp breath, and you turn to look at him. His pupils are dilated, his face is flushed, and he keeps shifting his weight, unable to meet your eyes.
“You okay?” You ask, getting off his bed and placing a hand against his forehead.
“Y-Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” He says, taking a quick step back and bumping into the wall.
You laugh, finally connecting the dots. “Miguel, are you high?”
He blinks at you, then nods slowly. “Yeah, yeah, sorry, I don’t do it often, Gabri just brought it out, and I only started because my ex wanted me to, but now I only smoke with Gabri I sw—”
Squeezing his shoulder playfully, you look up at him, still laughing a bit. “Miguel, it’s cool, I smoke sometimes, with my sister Kenzie, I’m not judging you.” You explain, giving him a teasing smile, your hand instinctively sliding down to rest above his heart as your laughter dies down. “Look at you, Mr. Genetics Genius partaking of the devil’s lettuce on the weekend, it’s kinda hot.”
Did you really just say that? Why did you say that? What the fuck y/n?? Are you high???
“R-Really?” Miguel asks, his lips, his stupidly plush and perfect lips, parted in surprise.
“Yeah, it’s like a thing, the good boy with a secret dark side. Not that I’d call smoking weed a dark side, but still. I’m a little bummed, though, looks like someone else corrupted my good boy before I could.” You say, a faux pout on your lips.
You’re so glad Miguel can’t hear your heartbeat because you’re pretty sure it’s trying to bust out of your chest.
“Dígalo de nuevo.” Trsl: Say it again.
You tilt your head at him. “What?”
“Say it again, please.” He whispers, his pupil blown wide, his hands hovering over your hips.
“Say what? That I’m bummed someone else corrupted you?” You’re starting to feel self-conscious, doubt trickling in, but you try to push it to the side and loop your arms around Miguel’s neck, fingers threading in his thick locks. “That I’m upset someone else got to my good boy first?”
Miguel lets out a sound akin to a whimper, and heat rushes through you. You’re suddenly aware of just how close to him you are. You’ve practically got him pinned to the wall, and he looks so good, you just want to—
His hands clamp down on your hips, dragging you forward. “Soy tuyo y/n, tu buen chico, tuyo, tuyo, tuyo." Trsl: I’m yours y/n, your good boy, yours, yours, yours.
His words and lips ghost over your own, and you dig your fingers into his shirt, eyes fluttering shut.
“Tuyo?” You ask, head spinning, the scent of Miguel overwhelming your senses, driving every rational thought from your brain.
“Sí, eres mío, dulzura.” He breathes, his voice low, vibrating in your bones, intertwining with your synapses, and filling you with liquid heat. Trsl: Yes, you’re mine, sweetheart, sweetness, darling, etc.
You’re going to do it, you can’t wait any longer, the words are brimming at your lips, waiting to spill over. “Miguel, please, kiss m—”
“Yo, you find that planner or do you guys need help looking?” Gabriel’s voice cuts through the tension, and you all but fling yourself back.
“No—no, we found it, we’re good, thanks.” You call back, too embarrassed to even spare Miguel a glance as you rush out of his apartment, planner pressed to your chest to hide your rapid breathing.
It’s not until you’re halfway home, you realize you didn’t smell any weed on Miguel, but you definitely saw the lotion bottle that had been kicked under his bed.
Miguel’s version here👀👀
TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer
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liveasbutterflies · 7 months
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jeez, you're frustrating A TIME CALLED YOU 너의 시간 속으로 (2023) | Netflix
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sanjis-moulinrouge · 4 months
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nah, they were just about to making out
such a delightful scene for zosan lovers, the best 30 seconds ever
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harrylovesspaezle · 4 months
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thinking about "i dreamt that ya killed me" "good for you" with the fucking snarl and then ed saying "it was good for me" it fucking haunts me in my dreams both of them are so insane yet so perfect
the anger and the fear and the obvious sexual tension as well as the fucking way that they say all their lines.. literally everything about it is so unsettling and yet so captivating
like in the first half of that scene izzy doesn't really get what's happening but the second he does he gets that little smile that's so absolutely terrifying and wonderful and it just shows the kind of actors they are. Because wow hearing con/izzy laugh like that while pointing the gun at ed was downright insane but so perfect, and i could go on and on about these two but i'll shut up now
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duahauuoplanh · 3 months
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lvndrcrow · 2 months
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lena and gwen are so toxic yuri real not fake
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short-honey-badger · 4 months
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Peppermint Tea 2
I just could not stop thinking about this. Have some more. I hope you enjoy!
Masterlist
Warnings!: Still none! Inexperienced reader! I guess?
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Dracule huffed, nose scrunching at the taste of the shoddy peppermint tea that he'd chosen for the cabin boy to fetch him. Across the table, Sengoku raised a brow at the pirate.
“What? Not to your liking, Hawkeye?” He mocked lowly and is swiftly delivered a scathing glare from the yellow-eyed man.
Mihawk sniffs and sets the tea away, done with it, “Not my taste at all, Fleet Admiral,” he drawled. No. The only peppermint tea he wanted was yours, and it had been far too long since Dracule had laid eyes on you. Several weeks too long, in fact.
Sengoku scoffs and sits back in his chair. The warlord meeting had gone about as well as he had thought, with only Mihawk and Doflamingo showing. The pink idiot had shown his ass for half an hour before bugging out, stating he had more important matters to attend to.
“Whatever. Get the hell out of here, Mihawk,” The Fleet Admiral grouched, and the warlord happily rose and left without a word. Hawkeye went straight to his ship and hoisted the sail before turning east. It would take several days for him to reach your island.
To say that Mihawk is in a shit mond when he finally arrives at your island would be an understatement. The seas had not been kind to him, and it had left him soaked to the bone and desperate for a hot cup of tea.
The warlord doesn't waste any time, tossing his anchor and flashing to the shore. A permanent scowl is etched across his face as he stomps through the underbrush until he arrives at your quaint cottage. He shakes himself off any water once he stands under your stoop and then raises his hand to knock.
Dracule listens, sharp ears picking up the sound of Hank's nails on the hardwood and then the soft steps of your feet. The door is yanked open, and the furious scowl on your face disappears the moment you lay eyes on the soaked bird in front of you.
“Mihawk? Shit, come in here. You're soaked!” You grab his jacket without thinking and tug the warlord inside quickly. You flutter away and come back with a couple of fluffy towels that you hand over to him, “Gimme your hat and jacket. I'll hang it by the fireplace.”
Dracule huffed and found himself doing as you ordered. He strips off his hat and shrugs out of his coat to hand it over. His lips curl when he sees your eyes flick over his body and your face pink up. You turn and leave before he can decide to do something about it. He huffs and then takes advantage of the towels that you gave him.
You come back to see him stoking the embers of the fireplace, towel hanging around his shoulders, “Thank you, Darling,” he murmurs and hands you the one that he'd used to dry his hair.
You clear your throat, “Ah. You're welcome. Is everything okay?” You ask and take the towel back to the bathroom before you begin to clear away the seating, tucking away the gardening books you have spread out. You had not expected to see Mihawk so soon, not that you were complaining.
Hawkeye dips his head in a nod, “Fine. The weather was not kind during my trip here.” Dracule assures you and sits when you've cleared up a spot. He examines the books you've got scattered around, sharp brow ticking up in interest, “Botany?”
You nod, smile crossing your face as you nod, “Yep. I know enough, but there isn't anything wrong with wanting to know more. I had to teach myself a lot of this,” You gesture around your cluttered home and shrug. You weren't embarrassed about your life
“Admirable,” Mihawk rumbles. He grimaces when his boots squelch and raises a brow when you snicker at his scrunched face.
“I'm sure I've got some socks that will fit you. Let me go get some and then I'll make us some tea?” You offer, and Mihawk gives you what might call a pitiful look if the elegant mad made those. You snicker again and then walk off, “Make yourself at home.”
Dracule huffs at your retreating back and then reaches down to tug off his boots and then his socks. He feels exposed like this, but not unsafe or in any kind of danger. it's not a common feeling unless he was home, secluded away inside his room in his empty castle. He kicks back in his chair, warming his chilled toes by the fire.
You come back to your living room to see your guest lean back in his chair with his eyes closed. You take in his relaxed form, tiny smile playing on your lips as you watch him. He looks peaceful like this, the monstrous scowl gone from earlier. You jump when he speaks up.
“I can feel you staring, Darling,” he rumbles and cracks a yellow eye open to peer at the young woman he came all this way to see. He wonders if she understands how important such a notion was.
“Sorry! you just looked comfortable,” you tell him and then step into the kitchen to start the kettle. You slap your cheeks while hidden away from him, cursing yourself for being so rude to your guest.
Dracule rolls his eyes and stands to follow you to the kitchen. He comes to a stop behind you, reaching out one hand to place it on your hip. He feels you tense, and then the room drops in temperature as your devil fruit comes to life in response to the sudden touch. He ignores the cold and takes a half step closer, and you shiver at the heat radiating from his front.
“Don't be scared, Darling. You're safe with me,” Mihawk says quietly and then reaches past you with his free arm to gather the two mugs that the two of you used last time. He set them on the counter and then stepped back like he hadn't just rocked your entire foundation.
You swallow and turn around quickly, heart in your throat as you stare up at Darcule. He watches you, eyes intent, waiting for your next words.
“Which tea do you want?” You croak, and the tension in the air shatters when Mihawk snorts a laugh and runs a hand through his hair, fixing the black strands back in place.
“I'll take the peppermint, dear,” Dracule decides and watches the way you nod and quickly turns back to the counter. He leans in the doorframe, and by the time the kettle begins to whistle, the chill of the room has faded, and you face him with a relaxed grin on your face.
“One for you, one for me,” You intone and the two of you settle back by the fireplace in the living room. He takes his seat and you surprise him by settling on the floor by the open fire. You hand him his tea, and Mihawk sips from the chipped mug.
“Cold?” Dracule questions, and you nod, lips twisting in a weary smile. He finds that he does not like the distant look in your eye, as if recalling bad memories.
“Mhm, yeah. I ate the Yuki Yuki fruit when I was really young. You've seen it already. I'm always cold, so being warm is nice,” you admit casually, but Mihawk can still hear the strain on your voice. He frowns, curious for more, but unwilling to press for more if you did not want to speak on it.
“It is a formidable power,” Dracule murmurs and stands to set another log into the fire. His concern and curiosity for you grows, and he does not fight it. So, he settles back in his chair and parts his legs, “Come here, Darling.”
“What?” You demand, eyes wide and mouth growing dry. You can't have heard how correctly.
Hawkeye sighs, yellow eyes narrowing in on your befuddled form. The warlord knows that you aren't this dense. You're a smart girl, “Don't make me repeat myself, Darling,” he quips and pats his lap, “Come here. I'll warm you up.”
You find yourself standing on wobbly legs. In three short steps you stand between his legs, and Dracule finishes the job by grasping your hips and leading you firmly to sit in his lap. He sits you sideways, legs hanging over the side of his and pressing you into his chest. It's intimate, daring, and Mihawk has to look up to hide his smile when he feels you begin to relax against him.
You grin to yourself, warm and comfortable tucked up against your friend's? chest. You don't really know what's going on, but you like it. You like the squirmy feeling that blooms in your chest when this man who invited himself into your life looks at you.
“See?” Dracule speaks up, and you can feel the way his chest flexes below you when he curls one of his arms around you, “I told you I ran hot, Darling.”
@writingmysanity @kenkenmaaa @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff
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madamemiz · 1 year
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THE NEW CRYPTID SIGHTINGS CHAPTER HAD ME PACING MY ROOM LIKE A CAGED ANIMAL
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xxbeyondangelsxx · 7 months
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Alex & Henry ● "The ballroom lessons didn't exactly cover this."
Source: Red, White, & Royal Blue/Amazon Prime
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navnae · 10 months
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The scenes that represents steddie so perfectly is when the older group was in the upside down and they were talking to the kids through the sparkles. Steve’s focus being on the literal magic happening in front of him while Eddie was admiring him when he wasn’t looking is just so precious. Then the scene where Steve was staring at Eddie’s lips when he told him to get back with Nancy when it was obvious he wasn’t thinking straight. Both of those scenes showed them giving their attention to each other despite what they needed to focus on, ugh I love it.
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zuppizup · 1 year
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Underrated fanfic trope:
There was only one horse
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hazellblogs · 3 months
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You.
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