#hope this helped a bit and that you have a wonderful week 💖

[mobius-m-mobius]

Hello there!

I have to ask cause it's everywhere and apparently my husband and I didn't see it!

Aziraphale & Crowley were obvious to us as a couple but we didn't see this with Loki & Mobius (please people don't be mad 🙃). I saw a great love and a bond that will last forever but not the way we witnessed in Good Omens. To me it was more of a family thing. Like Mobius has two sons. Could be the representation of Thor and Loki. I don't know. I was so surprised when I saw all this on Tumblr. I want to rewatch the show now to see if I really missed all the signs.

Hi there! 😊 Thank you for the ask and please don't worry for wondering, part of the joy in a watching experience is being able to see something in a completely new light. I hope you've come to the right place as Lokius and Aziraphale/Crowley are the only romantic pairings that have stood out to me in ages but now for fairly different reasons so I'll do my best to explain why in my own personal view Lokius is a slow burn for the ages above and beyond all other love stories to me and I'd absolutely recommend rewatching Loki, especially season 2, with the mindset that the tropes of every good romance are present in *every* interaction Loki and Mobius have.

(adding a read more here as I feel this is about to get almost horrifically long if you'd like to know even some of the signs lol)

Right from the start we see Mobius recounting being a fan of Loki's most mischievous acts on the timeline, pushing the question of just why he's focused on ruling and nothing else, really getting under his skin in a way no one ever has before?? And in that there's something even better and deeper than love at first sight; intrigue. Loki's furious at being held by the TVA but can't help being drawn back to what an enigma Mobius is to brush off his insults and offer salvation in the face of knowing every good or bad thing Loki's ever done and believing in him anyway.

Cue the tentative partnership and rapport they both get far too comfortable in which you see when Mobius indulges in letting Loki ruin the mission at the renaissance fair and later tries to backtrack in reassuring Ravonna he's got things under control, then again when Loki realizes Mobius has been reading him too well and defaults to leaning in to "fix" his perfectly tied tie, a callback to when Mobius pointed out Loki has a tendency to try and seduce people in more powerful positions who could help him. You actually see Mobius lean in for a moment before realizing himself and pulling back, but contrary to everyone else Loki's tried this with he doesn't give in or get angry, he laughs and once again points out what Loki's up to, trying to find a way to get to the Timekeepers.

That entire sequence is the tipping point for me when they officially enter romantic territory, as Loki's visibly thrown and surprised by the way Mobius reacts and scrambles after him, finally taking things seriously enough to do real work and is rewarded not only with trust he's never been given so freely before but a now mutual fascination you see during their conversation in the cafeteria (a highlight of the series for me ) when Loki can't help but try and learn more about the person who knows him so well already by asking genuinely about Mobius and his jet ski magazine. Blew me away because any previous version of Loki would've never taken the time or interest in something so ridiculous (in his eyes), but this Loki shyly takes in the way Mobius beams and opens up, because how could you not fall a little when such a simple pleasure makes someone happy?

Then when they research Roxxcart they flirt again, Mobius praising Loki and teasing he might take his job before what we refer to as the Roxxcart grocery store divorce and for good reason 😂 When Loki's captured back to the TVA, Mobius isn't just hurt, he's clearly jealous and *extremely* so because he thought *they* had been building something only to now think Loki played him all along and during Loki's next interrogation Mobius loses his temper in a way he never has before, making scathing comments about Loki stabbing him in the back and siding with his "girlfriend" which should kind of speak for itself there 😅 Then their mutual assurance of trust before Mobius is pruned and the hug in the void being initiated by Loki is huge as well when this is the first time he's shared EVER that with someone and you see the crushing despair when Mobius later no longer remembers.

Getting into s2, it's easier for me to sum up with the base of their s1 relationship laid out since there's no need to get into as much detail when the entire thing is pure romance start to finish.

Loki and Mobius frantically desperate to find each other when in reality they had been separated for maybe an hour? Mobius ignoring all other issues at hand and his superiors to gently hold Loki by the waist and pull him close, constantly grounding by touching his back, arms, anywhere to provide extra comfort and Loki giving him that control, Mobius spending the entire season actively trying to enjoy being on the field without limits for a change and organizing dates between the two of them all season when his focus used to primarily be on the work. He repeatedly asks Loki to go for a drink, suggests visiting the theatre, going on a hot air balloon ride, etc, while Loki stops to indulge in popcorn and pies just because small joys are important to Mobius. When Loki visits Mobius' original timeline self they spend the ENTIRE ep flirting with each other, and honestly Don having two kids is just as it seems since there were no official indications otherwise; he may share genes with Mobius but is a different person with a different life. Don can't stop bringing up how single he is, teases Loki about following him home, which Loki absolutely did but only after fixing his hair and coat to try and look as good as possible before seeing him (because again, he looks like Mobius) and getting so flustered stammering over his words he may as well have been in a 90s Hugh Grant rom com 😂😂

Don't even get me started on the finale, which has every character except Loki and Mobius basically living their ideal life while the two of them are clearly left unfulfilled and wanting, missing each other to the point Mobius leaves the TVA (which exists out of time) for a timeline that Loki can see as a tear rolls down Loki's face in the final scene because of it.

Do I think that had their characters been tied to anyone but the Disney/Marvel corporations they, like Aziraphale and Crowley, would've shared a kiss as well? Absolutely yes, but that isn't a necessity for me personally and in all honesty despite Aziraphale and Crowley having kissed I actually felt season 2 of Good Omens was a massive backtrack for their relationship compared to the quality of time they spent together in season 1 which I much preferred. Again, that's personal preference and everyone sees and interprets elements of romance differently which is completely fine and I hope this wild ramble at least gave some perspective on how I and many others view Lokius 😂💖 Happy watching, no matter how you end up viewing them, and thank you again for the ask!

[vettelsvee]

Hi love! For your tortured poets department, can I request endgame from the reputation album, lando being the driver please please 🙏

END GAME | Lando Norris

Lando Norris x Friend with benefits Piastri!Reader

SUMMARY: You were used to have random hookups just for fun, including with Lando Norris himself. It's not until he decides to lock both of you up on his driver room and talk about your weird relationship that you don't realize that, deep down, you're willing to settle down your mind and start a dating him ↳ REQUESTED: Yes! Thanks for requesting and hope you like it 💖 Part of REPUTATION in MY TORTURED DRIVERS DEPARTMENT

WORD COUNT: 2745

WARNINGS: Slightly +18 at the end (sorry for leaving it there ☺️), mentions of friends with benefits, spelling with multiple people, angst, curse words

VEE'S NOTES: Haven't written Lando in a very, very long time, so hope you like this one! University and my mental health are killing me but you know what? Writing is what keeps me going (and specially your comments have been a boost of serotonin for me lately). Also... the 2k special is already living rent free in my mind and I can't wait to achieve the goal to post it 😭 I wanna give spoilers now so... you know 🤓 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

"You finally decided to show up at a race. I was starting to think you only liked having me naked in your bed behind your brother’s back."

You smiled at the screen, playing with your fingers as you thought how could you answer Lando. Your relationship was based purely on sex, moreover sexting, with barely any real conversations whenever you met, moans and orgasms speaking for you both instead.

You had never felt the need to go beyond that, to involve feelings in your relationship, or at least that’s what you had made clear to Lando before sleeping with him the very first time. You also let him know that, besides him, there were other guys with whom you had no commitments whatsoever.

However, it was with Lando that you spent most of your time. The others were nothing more than a safe escape, an easy way out when the Brit wasn’t around.

"Be grateful that I even came," you finally replied. "And don’t flatter yourself. I came to see my brother, not to make you come before a race."

You hesitated, wondering if your reply was harsh enough to keep him from getting any ideas and, more importantly, to stop him from insisting on meeting up. You weren’t sure how, but you wanted to end that strange relationship before it spiraled out of control because, whether you wanted to admit it or not, you had started to feel something for him.

Yes, just a few weeks ago, you had one of your usual encounters with a friend of one of your best friends. But everything fell apart when, right before reaching your climax, you couldn’t help it: you moaned Lando’s name instead.

That was what made you question what exactly you felt for Norris and why the label of friends with benefits seemed to be fading away.

"Don’t play dumb, Piastri. See you at the motorhome. You know exactly where."

You huffed. Of course, you knew exactly where you’d be meeting. After all, ever since your brother became a Formula 1 driver, you had visited his teammate’s personal room more than Oscar’s.

With a sigh, making sure neither your mother nor your sisters were nearby, you got up, grabbed the plastic cup that still had a bit of coffee left, and walked with as much determination as you could muster toward McLaren’s motorhome, finishing your drink along the way.

As you walked, mentally preparing a script in case things got tense with Lando, you greeted the people you knew, or at least those who knew you as Y/N Piastri. Lewis was genuinely happy to see you and even stopped to chat, but you excused yourself, saying you had already made plans. Fernando gave you a knowing look, as if trying to figure out what exactly you were about to do with a certain driver.

Even your brother crossed paths with you at the entrance to McLaren’s motorhome. You managed to lie to him, partially, saying Lando had asked you to take a few pictures of him before the race.

Oscar gave you a strange look, then rolled his eyes, offered a small smile and told you to enjoy whatever it was you both were about to do.

You said nothing, but you knew your twin brother well enough to realize he already had a pretty good idea of what you were up to with Norris. Not that you tried too hard to hide it.

When you reached Lando’s room, you didn’t even have to knock. The door opened instantly, revealing a slightly tired-looking Lando with a cup in his hand. His race suit was already on but zipped only to his waist, leaving the top half hanging loose. His team cap was still on, though it didn’t last long since he took it off and tossed it aside within seconds.

He grinned from ear to ear, like he had been waiting for you with far too much anticipation.

"Come in. Make yourself at home," he said with that mischievous tone you were so used to hearing, though something about it felt slightly different this time.

You walked inside without hesitation, crossing your arms and ignoring him, except for the occasional sideways glance to see if he would do or say something before you did. Unfortunately, he didn’t.

"If you wanted a quick fuck before the race you could’ve just said so, you know?"

"I don’t think today’s the best day to fuck you and let everyone hear," he replied. "At least, not yet. Today, we’re going to talk."

"We don’t talk, Lando," you shot back, feeling an internal alarm go off. "And when we do, it’s just to ask about the safe word of the day, what we want to do to each other, and how close we are to coming."

"Well, maybe it’s time we started talking, don’t you think so?"

His answer took you completely by surprise. Your gazes remained locked on each other, and you felt the atmosphere grow tense.

For the first time in a long while, there was no excuse you could use to avoid that conversation with Lando. Maybe the fact that you had been ignoring him for the past few weeks was enough to make him realize that there was a chance—however small—that things had changed between you two.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the growing sense of unease settling in your chest. Lando kept looking at you with that same intensity he always did, except this time… it was different. It wasn’t the first time you found yourselves in a situation like this, where there were a thousand unsaid things hanging between you, waiting to be voiced. But it was the first time, at least on your part, where feelings were involved beyond pure physical desire.

"I don’t think there’s anything to talk about," you said as nonchalantly as possible, but your tense posture betrayed you.

Lando set his cup down on the table beside him. Then, he sat on the edge, crossing his arms again, and reached for your hands only for you to pull away and take a step back.

"I think you know exactly what we need to talk about," he replied calmly. His voice was lower than usual, and you felt the heat grow between your legs. You shook your head, feeling guilty and doing your best to push away that sudden, but familiar, awakening in your body.

"You’ve been avoiding me, Y/N. And don’t tell me you haven’t, because you were in Monaco and never called me to meet up… to see each other," he added, his voice laced with something unreadable. "In fact, we usually sext almost every day, and you didn’t even bother to tell me what  new lingerie set you bought for when you came over."

"I didn’t tell you I was coming to Miami either."

Your reply, rather than making you sound indifferent, exposed you completely. Lando raised an eyebrow, as if he had caught you red-handed. That was when you realized you had seriously screwed up.

"I haven’t been avoiding you, Lando. I’ve just been busy," you insisted.

"Busy? You mean busy by ignoring me?" He scoffed, ironic. His expression turned much more serious now, and you started to worry about where this might lead. "Tell me the truth, Y/N. What’s going on? What’s happening with you?" he emphasized.

You averted your gaze, pretending to take interest in the room’s decoration, a room you already knew by heart. You knew you couldn’t keep dodging the topic, but you also had no idea how to confront it without changing everything you had so far. It was impossible to put into words what you felt for Lando, not when your relationship had always been purely physical. And especially not when there was a real chance you were just confused… and, well, you couldn’t forget the possibility that he might only see you as his hookup.

"Nothing’s wrong," you finally responded.

"I thought we were always honest with each other," Lando sighed, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

You felt your throat tighten. It was hard to breathe. You had been honest, at least when it came to the unrestricted desire between you, to touching each other without attachments, to seeking comfort in one another without questions that went beyond your wildest fantasies. You had avoided anything personal.

But now, you were slowly breaking the unspoken rules that had kept you in perfect balance until this moment.

"I’ve been busy, Lando, and the last thing I wanted was to deal with you, alright?" you insisted, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "Things should have stayed the way they were until, according to you, I started ignoring you."

"No, Y/N, things aren’t like that," the Brit denied, shaking his head. He stepped closer, cornering you against the wall. "If you don’t want to face something because you’re afraid of rejection, just tell me. But, for fuck’s sake, don’t act like I did something wrong, because you’re killing me."

"Lando…"

"Stop insisting that nothing is happening between us, when that’s exactly what makes me think the opposite."

His confession caught you completely off guard. His words—clear, direct, and without a hint of sarcasm, threw you off… especially because you knew he was right.

You felt the urge to run, to disappear, to pretend none of this had ever happened. Most of all, you wanted to deny yourself any romantic thought you had ever had about Oscar’s teammate.

When you lowered your gaze, Lando moved back slightly, giving you space and making sure he didn’t overwhelm you more than you already seemed to be. You sighed, trying to relax once again, but before you could say anything, he spoke first.

"Tell me nothing’s wrong between us, Y/N Piastri," he said softly. "If nothing has really changed, if everything is the same between us… dare to look at  me in the eyes and say it."

Your chest tightened. You couldn’t run away, not when Lando had you emotionally cornered, teetering on the edge of an explosion. Your breathing was unsteady, heavy. Your mind screamed at you to find an excuse, anything that would let you stay true to yourself regardless of what happened next.

Lando waited, unmoving, his blue eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made you tremble for the first time in your life—without him even touching you. It was the first time he had shown himself to you like this: so vulnerable and yet so determined at the same time.

"Nothing is wrong between us, Lando Norris," you finally whispered, forcing the words out, ignoring both your heart and the boy standing in front of you.

"Say it again, but this time, look me in the eyes."

He didn’t move an inch. He knew you were lying; your posture gave you away—the way you avoided his gaze, the way your fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt and your accreditation pass…

You squeezed your eyes shut tightly. You had no choice… at least, not entirely.

Lifting your gaze, you met his blue eyes once again. Your lips parted slightly, ready to try and let out a lie convincing enough for both him and yourself.

But it was impossible. You couldn’t keep doing this, not when, deep down, and no matter how hard you tried to deny it, you felt something more than just pleasure for Lando Norris. The fear of rejection… it terrified you. The thought of him turning you away, of losing what you had with him, was unbearable.

"Lando…"

"You don’t have to say it if you’re not ready," he interrupted. "But please… stop pushing me away. Stop making this to us."

"It’s just…"

Nothing. No matter how much you tried to explain yourself, to find a logical enough reason for your sudden ghosting, you couldn’t.

"It’s just what, Y/N?" the Brit pressed. "Are you afraid to take a risk? To admit something because you’re scared of what might happen next? Because you don’t want to change the life you’ve had until now? Because you want to…?"

Lando forced himself to stop. He ran his hands through his hair, exasperated, turning his back to you. Guilt hit you immediately, your body trembling as the storm inside you began to break free. The driver rubbed his face, frustration radiating from him. This was exhausting him. You were exhausting him, to the point where he was starting to doubt his own feelings. Feelings that had started to grow the moment he realized it hurt when you ignored him, when you didn’t even send him a simple "Hey."

"I wish this were different, Y/N," he finally murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he turned to face you again. "I wish you didn’t make me feel like this. I wish I could just be content with what we had before and pretend none of this was happening…"

Your stomach twisted painfully. That was exactly what you had been thinking, the very reason you had pulled away from him and from whatever this was. You had ignored the fact that your feelings for Lando Norris had become something much stronger—maybe they had been there for far longer than you were willing to admit.

"Lando, listen" You tried to step closer, but he pulled away.

"No, Y/N, no," he said bitterly. "I tried convincing myself there was a reason you were ignoring me, acting like I was nothing to you, and then it hit me that I really want you as more than just someone to fuck."

"That…" you struggled to say, stepping toward him. This time, Lando didn’t stop you. The sincerity in your eyes, the way you looked both calm and nervous at the same time, made him realize he had to trust his instincts. And that was exactly what they were telling him.

"That’s what I wanted to tell you," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, but Lando still heard you. "That’s why I kept you on standby for two weeks… I knew this would change everything, that you’d react badly, that we’d end up fighting, and I… I didn’t know how to face the possibility of you rejecting… this."

Lando stared at you in surprise before a sad smile crept onto his lips.

"Y/N… I’ve always been good at reading signals, but this has been driving me fucking crazy."

"And you think it’s not been making me feel the same?" you shot back, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

Lando stepped closer, taking your hands in his. You didn’t resist, feeling how the both of you tensed at the contact. His lips inched toward yours, and when they finally met, the kiss was so fierce, so full of passion, that you ended up straddling him on the couch, moving against him, desperate to feel him. Even though you both knew there was still a race in two hours.

"I don’t want to touch you like this, Y/N," Norris whispered against your ear as you left small bites along his neck. "Y/N, stop it babe…"

"I don’t wanna be just another ex-love to you, Lando…" you murmured between kisses, still searching for friction between your bodies.

"And I don’t wanna miss you like your other lovers do, babe…"

This time, Lando gripped your waist firmly, flipping you onto the couch beneath him. His eyes never left yours as he carefully lifted your shirt and started massaging your breasts over your bra.

"I wanna be your end game, Y/N," Lando breathed, unable to tear his gaze away from you.

Your breath came out in shallow pants, and you felt like you were teetering on the edge. Your hands gripped the unfastened gear around his waist, tugging lightly to keep him close.

"Then prove it."

"I have a race in two hours, love…" he murmured, his voice rough as he pressed his forehead to yours, his arousal growing.

"Then you better be quick," you teased, running your hands over his abs beneath the fireproof. "Especially if you don’t want Osc to hear us…"

"You’re gonna be the death of me one day, Y/N Piastri," Lando groaned as he trailed his fingers up your thighs, lowering himself before you. "Now, open your legs for me... You deserve a punishment after being such a bad, bad girl these past few days…"

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Someone New 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You've had a crush on your best friend for years, but you're slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: please enjoy the first chapter!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“No, no, not the pink, red,” you cup your hand over your ear pod, “exactly what it says on the order sheet.” 

Were anyone to see you, sitting in the dirt, with a brush in hand, all alone, they might think you’re a bit out there. You, talking to the air, dusting off a clump of soil, orchestrating your own voice with the bristles. You dip your head as you focus on what the voice in your ear is saying. 

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” you argue, “I put in the order weeks ago. A red bow. I have the receipt– I mean sure, pink or red doesn’t matter to me but it’s not my birthday.” 

“We’ll see what we can do,” the woman relents. It’s not exactly a triumph but as close to as you can hope. If it’s pink, you’ll just have to take the fall. The damn fondant will be devoured by the night’s end anyhow. 

You hang up with a double tap on the ear pod and your playlist resumes. You go back to trying to uncover the shape caked in layers of muck, turning the brush to chip away the rougher bits with the pointed tip. The work is tedious but it has to be. You can’t risk damaging the relic nestled inside. 

The abrupt chiming of your ringtone once more sounds through the bluetooth earpiece. You huff and hit the pod with the heel of your hand. You greet the call with only your name. 

“Are you still on site?” Your boss, Arturo asks. 

“Yep, still here,” you still your hand and twist your arm, pulling back the end of your glove to see your watch, “just a bit longer. You know I have that thing tonight.” 

“Uh, yes, I recall,” he says dully as you hear paper shuffling, “you got time to chat?” 

“Sure,” you keep the cluster of dirt and the brush in one hand and use your other to push yourself to your feet, “I just gotta catalogue this before I finish the day.” 

“Well, I have good news and bad news,” he begins as you carefully walk between the cordoned off patches. The whole place is a maze of where and where not to step. You go into the tent and put down the half uncovered idol. It’s brittle, made of hide and yew, with a bit of bone. “Lucia is pregnant.” 

“Oh? That’s great,” you furrow your brow, wondering what that has to do with you. 

“Means she can’t travel for a while. She’s adverse to long term commitments at the moment so…” 

“So…” you trail off as you label the mound of dirt and make notes for the next day. 

“So, you want her assignment?” 

“Which one?” You peel off your gloves and shake off the excess filth. 

“Norway. It can be a bit dingy but the landscape is nice.” 

“Norway? For how long?” You close up the ledger and tuck it away on the shelf. You pass between the tables of artifacts as you pull out your phone. 

“Could be a while but I figured you never get to go very far. You’ve been pent up in-state for so long, you could use the vacation.” 

“Oh? Well, I…” you scroll through your phone and see the notifications. Emails confirming delivery, messages asking if everything is sorted. “I’d have to think about it…” 

It’s evasion more than indecision. You know you don’t want to go. You can’t go. Your whole life is here. You have an apartment and friends and… Steve. Your best friend.  

“Make sure you do think about it. It’s a great opportunity. Especially for a junior anthropologist. Lucia won’t be on leave forever.” 

“I know. I’ll think about it.” 

You hang up and pluck the earbud out. Ugh, you’re covered in dirt and dust. You don’t have time to go home and shower. You knew you wouldn’t. You have to be at the venue before everyone else. You can change there and try to wash up in the sink. Whatever, no one’s going to be looking at you anyway. It’s Peggy’s night. Yay. 

You lock the fence and tug one last time to make sure it’s secure. You drag your boots across the thinning grass to your car parked on a stretch of gravel. You drop inside and hit start. You connect to the bluetooth and get some tunes going. You buckle your seat belt as you check the mirrors. You’re probably going to have to speed there. 

You back out as the music blares from the speakers. It’s not loud enough to drown out your thoughts. Why did you agree to this? Peggy doesn’t even like you. Oh, but she likes Steve. She is his girlfriend and you are only his best friend. You’re supportive. You keep your mouth shut and smile. 

Ugh. You squeeze the wheel until your knuckles hurt. You know why you offered to help plan the surprise. You’re pathetic but you’re not delusional. It meant you got more time with him. There hasn’t been much of that since Peggy came along, not just the two of you. 

Classic, isn’t it? In love with your best friend. Friends since college. Friends forever, you vowed naively, thinking that forever would never come. Nothing lasts that long, you can only hope to outlast Peggy. 

And if you don’t, maybe this crush will finally run its course. 

💟

Red and white streamers decorate a long table set with trays. There’s a banner over it that reads ‘Happy Birthday, Peggy’, and a stack of gifts already forming in the corner. Guests drift in with anticipation as you hurry around to check off all the items on your list. 

You fix a small vase of flowers, trying to hide the droopy one in the back, and tug a wrinkle out of a tablecloth. You smile and wave at those who are early as you weave between them. You pull out your phone and lean it on the clipboard angle in the crook of your elbow. They’re on their way, okay. Keep it cool. 

As you come to the kitchen door, you nearly collide with someone else. Sam touches your arm gently as he keeps you from tripping backward. You gasp and hug the clipboard with a wobbly grin. 

“Hey,” you greet breathily, “you’re here.” 

You look down at the guest list and check him off. 

“Ah, figured I’d make an appearance,” he kids, “Rogers would take it pretty rough if his best pal wasn’t here.” 

“Please, don’t start that with Bucky again,” you warn as you point the pen in his direction, “the two of you, in fact, are seated separately.” 

“No fun!” He whines dramatically. 

You scrunch your lips at him and peer around. Yes, none of this has been fun. Caterers, servers, tables, space, food! Yes, you were going to check on the cake. Your sole squeaks as you twist sharply and go to slam your hand into the door. 

“Hey,” Sam blocks your way with his arm, “before you disappear, you’re still wearing your boots.” He points to your feet, “in case you’re wondering about the snail trail.” 

He sweeps his finger up in a gesture alluding to your previous path. You glance over at the dirt littered in your stead then down at your dusty boots. You sigh and hang your head back. 

“Fuck!” You snarl. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll find a broom,” he assures you, “while you take a breath. You need it.” 

“I can’t, Sam, they’re already on their way. I still have to get everyone in their place and… quiet,” you scowl, “ugh, this is gonna be so bad. I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“So… why’d you do it?” He asks as he drags his hand away from the doorframe. You look at him and blink slowly. You shrug. 

“I’m a good friend,” you insist. 

He gives a skeptical hum and nods, “sure are,” he grumbles, “too good, if you ask me.” 

You throw up your hand before turning into the kitchen. You don’t have time to worry about him. Is he jealous that you’re helping Steve so much? Or does he know something else? You don’t let the seed sprout as you nearly cry out at the sight of the cake. 

A pink bow. Jeez. Of course. You check the cake off your list, nearly tearing through the paper. It’s better than nothing, even if Peggy never settles for less than the best. 

There’s no time to complain or send it back. Your phone vibrates again. Five minutes. Your heart is racing. Why? This isn’t even your party. You just want it to be perfect for Steve. You hate to disappoint him. Ever. 

You really shouldn’t care that much but you do. Like so many other things in your life. 

💟

The crowd can't keep quiet. There's a low buzz that ripples through the guests. A wave of anticipation that's spread like a deadly virus. 

You feel a nudge in your side and peek over as Bucky sends Sam a sneer and wriggles in place. Those two never let up. You hiss at them to quit and they look as guilty as a pair of unruly children. 

"He keeps tickling me," Bucky whispers. 

"No, I'm tryna fix his hair, look at this mess," Sam flicks a strand away from Bucky's cheek, "this is a nice event, Buck, not your living room." 

"Both of you," you warn.  

"You're bitching at me when Indiana Jones here brought the dig with her," Bucky mutters. 

You look down. Dammit. You still didn't change out of your boots. You roll your eyes. It's not about you. It's Steve's night. Er, Peggy's.  

You shake out your nerves and shake your head, "you two," you step behind Bucky and insert yourself between the men, "behave." 

"Yes, mom," Sam snickers as Bucky groans and tries to smooth the few shanks that have slipped free of his low ponytail. 

You exhale and give an exasperated look to the door. You really can't handle them on top of everything else. You just want this night to end already. All your hard work and you won't even get to enjoy any of it. 

"Everybody," Natasha hisses as she runs away from the doorway, "they're coming." 

The group quiets, as much as they can, a collective bated breath as you wait and listen. The lull is unbearable as the heat of the bodies around you pricks sweat down your neck and across your scalp. The door begins to open, almost as if in slow motion, and as the guest of honour is revealed, you cry out. 

"SURPRISE!" The eruption of the chorus has your head spinning as Peggy gives a melodramatic swoon, grabbing at Steve's arm as she leans on him heavily. 

She parts only to fan her eyes and squeal. "Oh my god, you guys!"  

She teeters on her heels as people holler happy birthday and her group of girlfriends flutter over to wrap her up in a cacophony of giggles and preening. You smile, a bittersweet twitch in your cheek as you watch her spin back to Steve and pull him into a kiss.  

You're happy for them really, proud to see all your effort come to fruition, but you just feel so hollow. For an instant, you think it should be you right there, gushing in glee over the celebration of another year, with Steve beside you.  

You gulp down the jealousy and wiggle your nose to ward away the tears. That's a stupid thought. If it hasn't happened in more than a decade, it's not going to happen now. 

💟

As the guests disperse into their own conversations, you finally manage to wade through to the happy couple. You approach with a small wave at Steve. He doesn't see you, he's watching Peggy as she chats with Natasha. 

"Hi," you call above the din, "so, you like it?" 

Steve turns to you, confusion stitching his forehead before he registers your questions. He nods and gives a smile, "it's amazing, you did so good!" 

The sparkle in his eyes, the perfect line of his jaw, the way he's looking at you, it makes your heart rend. You tilt your head and dig your toe into the floor bashfully, "thanks. I'm so happy to see it come together." 

"Um, the cake," he brings his index finger up, "I was hoping to bring it out soon." 

"Er, yeah, it's back in the kitchen. About that–" 

"Great," he claps your shoulder and brushes by you, "just gonna put the finishing touches on it." 

"Hm, what do you–" 

He's gone before you can finish your question. You deflate just a little, setting your feet flat as you sway aimlessly. The motion hooks Peggy's attention. You give a sheepish smile as you wring your hands. 

"Oh, uh, just came over to wish you a happy birthday," you chirp, "are you enjoying it?" 

"Ah, I didn't see you here, I thought maybe you were busy…" she gives a pointed look to your boots, "working." 

"Um, yeah, no," you fidget, "always happy to come support you two." 

"Where is Steve?" She gazes past you, shouldering by dismissively, "he was just…." 

Right. You nod and flit away in embarrassment. You can't say you ever got along with Peggy. Where you're accommodating, she's a bit too demanding. Different people, but you don't dislike her. You just don't mesh. Or perhaps it's just that you don't get what Steve sees in her. Especially when you're right there. 

Enough. This isn't about you or your stupid dumb heart. Just smile and go with it. 

The kitchen door swings open, a noise barely discernible above the hue, and the rattling wheels of a cart underline the steady drone. A lull washes over the crowd as they part. You move with the tide and face the sudden divide. 

A hush falls over the room as Steve pushes the cake across the floor. He stops before Peggy as she faces him, another feigned pout of surprise. He grins proudly at her as you stare curiously at the top of the cake. 

"Oh, pink?" She comments on the fondant bow as her eyes flick over to you. She quickly corrects herself an admires the double tiered dessert, "Steve, it's so pretty." 

You know she hates the colour. You recall the one time you wore a pink bow in your hair and she made a similar comment. Cute, she remarked in her roundabout way in her oh so sophisticated accent. 

You manufacture a smile and step closer as Steve beckons to the guest. Tension stills the air, almost paralyzing the crowd. You squint at the heart shaped box perched atop the bow. 

"Is this for me?" Peggy asks if it's not obvious. 

Steve nods, his cheeks tinting pink, as you notice how he wipes his palms on his pants. Peggy delicately takes the box from the pedestal of fondant and your ribs ache from the pounding of your heart. You curl your fingers until your nails dig into your skin as you watch him kneel beside her. 

She doesn't notice as she opens the box on its hinges. Her lips part and she stares at the contents. She looks over at Steve to find him on his knee and she claps her hand over her mouth. Her eyes gleam as she whimpers his name through her fingers. 

The scene hazes behind your tears as you stare wide eyed. Your ears ring as Steve's voice is dulled by your shock. 

"Margaret Elizabeth Carter," Steve's timbre warble just a bit, "will you make me the happiest man on earth?" 

You don't wait for her answer. You already know it. It's the very same you give in every outlandish dream you've ever had of your happy ending. You spin and storm through the crowd, blind with horror and self-pity. 

Surprise! Your whole world is crashing into pieces. 

[akajustmerry]

Do you have any personal advice on writing good romance? People have vast tastes on the matter but I wonder what your personal takes are

hello!

honestly, I've been studying writing romance for a while because i want to maybe write a rom com novel and while I grew up writing fanfiction I don't think it's the same as actually crafting romance from scratch. I don't have a tonne of experience with it yet, but these are some strong feelings I have on writing good romance that i've gathered in my journey so far;

when you find a romance you really love, take it apart piece by piece like a clockmaker would a clock until you understand why it compels you. if you find a romance you hate, do the same thing. you'll learn a lot about your tastes from this and you'll also learn what "good romance" is to you because it's different for everyone.

I firmly believe all good romance is a portrait of 2 characters (or however many characters are involved). Again, this is just my opinion, but I hate reading or watching romance where I don't know the characters that well because then I'm just sitting there asking why they're even interested in one another. Focus on characters more than tropes. i think there's way too much focus on tropes in recent years.

this is VERY just my opinion but I think when writing a romance it's good to think about how and why the characters would interact if they couldn't be physically intimate. What do they share (values, goals, opinions, conflicts) with each other besides having the hots for one another? And look, for some audiences, having the hots is enough, but for me i don't like when a relationship feels so flimsy that a week of social distancing would break it.

i used to feel really self-conscious about writing romantic scenarios i hadn't experienced, and apparently this is very common for romance writers. it's very important to remember that most authors in fiction genres are not writing about things they've personally experienced either. do your research, write with confidence and compassion and you should be fine <3

MY BIGGEST BIT OF ADVICE IF YOU FORGET EVERYTHING ELSE IS sincerity. just sincerity. so many current or modern romances are so irony-poisoned and self-referential. it takes the immersion and joy out of it. unless you're doing something intentionally meta like lovers being trapped in a movie or something, there's no need for them to reference tropes or hating tropes or whatever. have your characters be sincere and write sincerely.

anyway, i hope this helps! i know you sent this a while ago but i really wanted to think about the answer. hope that's okay 💖

[harrywavycurly]

I’m dying to see Harry trying to help with wedding planning because god that just seems like it would be so overwhelming 😫

Hiii babes!! I hope you enjoy this! I agree it seems like it would be so overwhelming and he would do his best to help anyway he can!💖

-find all things for the Lonely series here✨

A/N: You’re worried that you won’t have centerpieces for your wedding but Harry is there to help fix it all, enjoy✨

You try your hardest to keep your facial expression polite so you don’t let your eyebrows rise too much or your eyes get too big and you make sure your smile doesn’t falter not even for a second as Malory, the lovely woman showing you some examples of centerpieces for the tables at your reception, places a giant floral arrangement that’s full of red roses that’s in a jeweled vase on the table in front of you. You want to give up, this is the fifth arrangement she’s shown you and you don’t know where she’s getting the inspiration from because you had told her what the theme or vibe of your wedding was a few weeks ago when you called to set this appointment up and she had assured you she understood but so far nothing was giving you that impression at all.

“Is your fiancé joining us?” Malory asks with a smile as she stands next to the table holding the hideous flower arrangement.

“Yes he-”

“Sorry I’m late sweetheart Gem needed my approval on her dress and it took ages longer than intended.” As if on queue Harry walks through the door of the little shop and you instantly feel like you could cry the moment his eyes lock with yours and his soothing voice fills your ears.

It’s moments like these that you’re thankful that Harry has known you for as long as he has because he knows what’s going on the moment he sees you and takes in your glassy eyes and the way you’re biting your bottom lip, so he briefly looks away from you so he can give Malory a warm smile as he walks over to her. “Hi I’m Harry the fiancé of this lovely woman over here and I’m just wondering if I could get a few moments with her? Haven’t seen her all day and I just-”

“Oh of course! Yes I’m Malory and I’ll just go get the next few arrangements ready.” She gives him a knowing look and a playful wink as she pats Harry on the arm before she turns and heads off towards the back leaving you and Harry alone in the front of the shop. The moment she is out of sight Harry is turning around and taking the few steps over to you so he’s standing in front of you wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest while his lips press a kiss to the top of your head.

“What’s wrong baby?” He asks as he gives you a nice squeeze as you let out a deep sigh and close your eyes and let yourself get engulfed in the comfort that is just being with Harry, he’s always been able to wrap you up in his arms and make you forget about the world around you and you need that in this moment more than anything.

“They’re all ugly.” You mumble with your eyes still closed as your arms snake around his middle pulling him closer to you. Harry begins to run his hands up and down your back as he places a kiss to the side of your head. “We get married in nine months and we aren’t going to have any centerpieces.” You explain as you try to fight back to urge to just let out a frustrated sob because you didn’t think picking out a centerpiece would be difficult but it’s proving to be just that.

Now Harry isn’t going to lie and say he’s been the best at helping plan this wedding, he has left a lot of the details to you but does give his honest opinions when you ask for them but lately he’s been able to tell that the few wedding related tasks left have been a bit more daunting and he’s adamant on not letting you have a breakdown over something like a seating chart or flower arrangements. So when you asked him to come help pick centerpieces he didn’t hesitate to say yes, he knows what the vision is for the wedding and the reception and he knows that with the help of Jane, the wedding planner the two of you hired once you realized planning a wedding on your own wasn’t something you were cut out for, it shouldn’t be an issue to get exactly what you’re looking for. But going off of the way you’re practically clinging to him and on the brink of full on crying in the middle of this flower shop he is clearly mistaken. Harry decides in that moment when he feels your grip on him tighten as he hears you let out a shaky breath that he is going to make sure you leave this shop with a smile on your face.

“We are going to have centerpieces love don’t worry.” His voice is soft and soothing in your ear as he begins to ever so gently rock you back and forth a bit in his arms. “Let’s have a look at the options she’s shown you so far yeah?” You open your eyes and look up at him so your chin is resting on his chest and Harry looks down at you and gives you a reassuring smile as he leans down and places a quick kiss to your lips.

You reluctantly let go of him as he loosens his hold on you so you can turn around in his arms. His hands move to your shoulders as he walks a half step behind you as you lead him over to row of tables that hold the examples of centerpieces Malory has given you so far. As he stands there Harry can’t help but raise an eyebrow as he looks at them, he doesn’t know why the lovely shop owner would show these to you after you gave her the inspiration for the wedding because these don’t fit the theme at all so he can understand why you feel defeated and upset.

“This can’t be right.” You just shrug at Harry’s words as you look at the arrangements again trying to maybe find one you don’t dislike too much. “You told her where we are getting married and everything?” He asks and you nod because yes you told Malory all the details of your wedding.

“Yes and I think she even talked to Jane as well.” You answer and Harry is officially dumbfounded but he doesn’t have time to ask anything else before Malory walks in with another centerpiece in her hands and this one is no where close to what you’re looking for with all the bright pink and white flowers sticking out of a clear vase with a big pink tule bow wrapped around it. Harry feels your shoulders slump under his hands and even though he can’t see your face he knows you well enough to know you’re putting on your best fake smile as you look the arrangement over.

“This one can be done is different heights as well and we can add candles around it or-”

“I’m sorry Malory but are you sure these are for our wedding?” Harry doesn’t want to be rude but he also doesn’t want to look at anymore centerpieces that aren’t anywhere near what you want and he knows you’re too polite to say anything so he will happily do it for you. Malory turns her attention away from the arrangement and faces Harry with a slight look of concern on her face so Harry does what he does best and turns on the charm flashing her a smile that shows off his dimples as his gently squeezes your shoulders.

“I only ask because while these are just lovely arrangements,” she smiles and you see a slight blush take over her cheeks and you almost feel bad because you know how overwhelming Harry’s smile and slow and soothing tone can be especially when you’re not prepared for it. “They aren’t really the right fit for our wedding.” He explains with a warm smile and Malory looks away from Harry’s intense stare so she can turn and grab her clipboard off the table next to the last arrangement she brought out.

“Let’s see the notes I have for your wedding are classical glamorous romance with reds and pinks but also the classic touches of white-”

“Sorry for interrupting but whose wedding is that for? Because that’s not ours.” Harry asks in a soft tone as he continues to soothingly rub your shoulders, he knows you’re on edge because you don’t like this sort of thing and he’s aware you view this as a form of confrontation and you would rather just look at arrangements that you hate than tell Malory you don’t think these are meant for your wedding.

“Oh god I’m so sorry these are for the Gibbs wedding.” You feel your whole body relax as Malory admits the mistake because you now know it’s not that she doesn’t understand your vision for the wedding it’s just that she had the completely wrong wedding in mind.

“Ah that explains it then because we are the Styles wedding.” Harry states as Malory gives you an apologetic smile as she reaches for one of your hands.

“You must’ve been freaking out oh my goodness I’m so sorry.” You let out a sigh of relief making Malory chuckle as she gives your hand a squeeze. “Again I’m so sorry about this but let me just go grab your sheet and show you some examples that actually fit your wedding theme okay?” You just nod as she gives your hand one last squeeze before letting it go and heading off to the back to grab your sheet and start setting up some examples of centerpieces you’ll actually like.

“How do you do that?” Harry raises an eyebrow at you as you turn around so you’re looking up at him with a look of almost disbelief on your face because you really don’t get how he manages to just swoop in a save the day all the time.

“Do what?”

“You come in here and I’m on the verge of a breakdown and not even five minutes later is all fixed.”

“I just don’t like it when you’re upset.” He answers as he places a hand on the side of your face while he other one rests on your hip. “So I try to fix it as quickly as I can so if that means I have to tell Malory that she has to start over with the arrangements then so be it.” He explains with a shrug because for Harry it comes without any hesitation to do whatever he has to in order to make you feel better. That’s just how he’s been since the day you met all those years ago so he has no plans on stopping and if anything now he’s just willing to do even more to stop your tears because you’re going to be his wife soon and the idea of you being upset makes his heart sink to the bottom of his chest.

“I’m so happy it was just a little mixup.” Harry smiles as he watches you look genuinely more relaxed as you lean into his touch.

“Me too because I really didn’t want to have to fire her.” You roll your eyes making Harry raise an eyebrow at you. “What? You don’t think I’d do it?”

“You can’t fire her Harry because we haven’t hired her yet.” You state as you loosely wrap your arms around his neck. “This is like the test run and if we see something we like then Jane will handle setting it all up for the day of.” Harry just nods and you begin messing with the hair at the back of his neck.

“Well just for the record I’d happily fire her if I needed to.”

“Really?”

“There’s not a lot I wouldn’t do for you love.” You smile at his answer as he leans down and places a kiss to your forehead before he leans all the way down and places a sweet kiss to your lips. “I love you.” He mumbles against your lips before giving you one more little peck.

“I love you too” Harry can’t help but grin as he pulls away because he’ll never get tired of hearing those words leave your mouth.

“Okay now tell me does this fit your wedding more?” Harry’s hand drops from your face and your arms go from around his neck as Malory appears with one of the most beautiful arrangements you’ve ever seen in her hands. Harry smiles as he watches you walk over to the table she carefully sets it down on so you can get a closer look but he can tell by the smile on your face that you love it.

“This is gorgeous.” Your answer makes Malory smile as she goes to grab another example for the two of you to look at. “We might actually have centerpieces at our wedding.” Harry chuckles as you turn and stare at him with a giant smile on your face as you excitedly clap your hands and do your signature happy dance.

“Thank god because what’s a wedding without centerpieces?”

[potatoplace]

Officially Yours

💖 Valentine's Collection 2025: Marriage 💖

Azris x Reader

Summary: It's your wedding day, and you couldn't be more excited!

Warnings: none! ☺️

Words: 1091

Author's Note: and here it is! The last fluffy drabble in this collection 🥹 my heads a lil weird rn so idk how much sense this makes BUT I think it's cute ☺️ I hope you guys like it! 🫶 Read it on AO3!

18+ only pls

🤍💙🤍🧡🤍

Music played, the gentle notes drifting across the temple and flowing through the doorway, passing into your ears. Your song, the song meant to signal for all to rise and watch as you glide down the aisle towards your beloveds.

Excitement coursed through your veins, butterfly wreaking havoc with your stomach as your ladies fluffed out your train one last time, double checking that your veil was secured.

Your father coughed from beside you, drawing your gaze to his beaming face.

“My darling daughter, you have no idea what an honor it is to present your hand in marriage today,” he started tearily. “I love you, and know that there is always a home for you in Summer, no matter the reason.”

Your own eyes felt a bit misty as you gave him the last hug you would give before being married. “I love you too, papa,” you murmured against his shoulder, careful not to smear your lipstick on your veil. As soon as you pulled away, one of your ladies huffed and straightened your veil, earning a huff of amusement from you.

Your father extended his arm to you. “Let’s get to it, Y/N.”

You grasped his arm eagerly, your other hand clutching your bouquet tightly. “Lead the way,” you whispered as the door in front of you opened, revealing the tightly packed temple, a large aisle lined with floating balls of flame running down the middle, leading straight to…

Your breath caught in your throat and you nearly stumbled at seeing Eris and Azriel standing before the altar in the Autumn Court finery, looking more breathtaking than you had ever seen them.

A smile broke over your face at the sight, and you paid no mind to the hundreds of fae watching you every move, your eyes and mind only for your loves.

You and your father stopped just before the pair, and he turned you towards him to lift your veil over your head. You turned back to the altar, a blush rising to your cheeks when you saw the sheer awe and reverence in hazel and amber eyes.

Your father took his seat as you stepped forward, joining your loves in front of the altar, standing between them.

The priestess behind the altar raised her hands, calling for silence.

“Today, we join our High Lord with his chosen lovers, our soon to be Lord and Lady of Autumn. As is customary, the bride will present an essence of life in our wonderous court as a token to the vibrant life you will lead, and the bridegroom will present riches that represent the wealth of love and happiness your lives will hold. The High Lord will then incinerate the offerings, so that the Mother may give you her blessing.”

Your eyes were shining with tears as you went through the motions you’d practiced so much over the past week, placing your bouquet in the shallow dip on the altar and swirling a lit stick of incense around it as you’d been instructed to by Eris’s mother, Althea.

Azriel’s offering was next, a glittering handful of sapphires, rubies, and diamonds, followed by a siphon that he’d pried out of his armor last night as you watched. More incense was lit and swirled over the offerings before Eris snapped his fingers, a flame appearing atop them.

In the next moment the offerings were lit, a bright, blazing fire that warmed you to your core. Within a minute they were reduced to ashes, leaving the three of you softly smiling at each other, proof that the Mother approved of your love.

You said your vows, promises of protecting the Court that you were now to help rule and to be ever faithful and loyal to your loves - the easiest promises you ever had to make.

Azriel and Eris kissed first, your mind working to memorize the exact way that their lips pressed together, how they both let their eyes shut for the tiniest second before remembering where they were, the softness in their expressions when they pulled back from each other.

Then the priestess instructed Eris to turn to you, his amber eyes burning brightly with love as he closed the gap between you, his lips pressing so softly to yours it left you breathless.

Last but most definitely not least, Azriel’s lips met yours gently, a stray shadow tangling itself in the hair at the base of your neck how one of his hands usually would.

You reluctantly pulled yourself from him, a small gasp leaving your lips as you felt a golden mark burn itself into your left ring finger, definitive proof that you belonged to them, and they belonged to you.

Cheers erupted through the temple as the priestess let golden sparks fly from her fingertips, signaling that the ceremony had been successful.

Your focus was solely on your husbands, taking in the happiness and love in their eyes as they led you to the reception hall, each of them grasping one of your arms tightly.

Azriel pulled your chair back for you, while Eris helped you arrange your long train so that it wouldn’t get torn before they took their seats on either side of you.

“Have a told you how beautiful you look?” Eris whispered into your ear after the first course was served, a delicate blush rising to your cheeks.

“Not today, I don’t think,” you replied quietly, giggling when one of Azriel’s shadows brushed against your cheek in an attempt to move your gaze to him. “Yes, Azzie?”

“You look positively radiant tonight, bunny,” he murmured before pressing his lips to yours.

“Thank you both,” you said tearily. “I love both of you so much.”

“And I love you too, Y/N,” Azriel replied, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“And I’m sure that you know by now, my Lady, that I love you greatly,” Eris said as he wrapped an arm around you. “Now, I’m requesting that you eat some of your dinner, as I plan on spending the entire night on the dance floor with the two of you.”

A smile broke over your face at the idea of dancing the night away with your husbands!

“I suppose I can do that, High Lord,” you giggled, enjoying the heat that rushed into his amber eyes at your words.

Tonight would be a long night, you were sure, first on the dancefloor, then in the privacy of your now shared quarters in the High Lord’s wing of the Forest House.

🤍💙🤍🧡🤍

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao @twismare @wrenisrad

[deanwritings]

The Guest House - Chapter 12

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 3,760

A/N: I'm back! Therapy has been great, I'm feeling like myself and that I can breath again. It's been a tough year and ya girl's mind needed a restart, but I am back and doing good.

Also, hope this chapter can be a bit of escape with the election insanity this week. Take care of yourselves everyone! 💖

Dean squeezes his eyes shut as he rests against the door.

What the fuck are you doing? Is all that rings in his mind.

Here he is, with some random girl who's staying in his guest house, put there by his bitch of an ex wife, basically groping her while his mother is a room away. Like he’s seventeen again. 

Really and truly. What the fuck. Are. You. Doing?

Dean rubs an exasperated hand down his face, the heels of his palms digging into his eyes before his hands slap down against his sides. 

It’s the whiskey. He tells himself. Just the whiskey. 

It has nothing to do with your smile. Like when you lit up on the track when you found out Rick would be taking you racing in your dream car. 

Nor your smart ass remarks that always seem to be waiting behind those pretty lips of yours. Or how you drive him crazy in the best and worst ways. Like making him say “please” in the garage this afternoon. 

It definitely has nothing to do with the way you look at him, no longer with disdain, but more recently with shining Y/E/C eyes and something that makes him want to throw you against this damn door, his nose running down the delicate skin of your neck as he takes you in as his hands explore every part of you. 

It also doesn’t help how you react to him; like when he turned your manners game around on you in the garage, and your eyes lit up in a way that made him want to throw you across the hood of Baby and have his way with you. Then just now in the hallway, how you seemed to want this as much as he did. How you leaned into him at his touch, the feel of your curves everywhere as he held you against him.

Those god damn hips. 

Dean’s jaw tightens at the thought, his teeth grinding down as something besides his heart rate starts to rise. 

Fuck. His head falls back with a thud against the doorframe. 

Y/N is hardly the first woman he’s been attracted to since his separation from Lisa. Hell, in the beginning, women were what kept his mind off his imploded marriage. Benny had laughed that Dean was making up for lost time since he and Lisa had gotten together when they were so young, but in reality, Dean just hated coming home to an empty house every day. All he could think of was Lisa and Gavin in his house. In his bed.  

But Dean would be lying to himself if this was only attraction. Ever since their hike, he’s found himself looking towards your cabin everyday before work, hoping to catch a glance of you before he has to leave. When sitting at his empty dining table, he would think about texting you, or maybe even going over and knocking on the cabin door, envisioning interrupting your own meal and riling you up in the process. Watching that fire come alive in you set something alive in Dean. It was like a wildfire, and he was happily caught in its path. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like that. Somehow, at some point, you had drawn him in, and god damn did he want more. So much more. 

And it’s not just your body he wants to get to know. He’s found himself wondering what your favorite color is, or what movies you like to watch. He wanted to know, besides him, what made you tick? What makes you happy?

Could I make her happy?

Dean shakes his head and toes his boots off, shaking his head, trying to rid his thoughts of you. He doesn’t want to think about that last question, because he knows the answer. 

And while he tries to focus on undressing, his body is not willing to let go of the idea of you just yet.  

He’s wound up, and god damnit did he need a release. 

He undoes his belt and reaches into his boxers, feeling himself strain against the fabric as he takes a deep breath. He grunts, squeezing his eyes shut before pulling his hand out of his pants.

He shakes his head. He can’t do this. Not with you a wall away and his mother across the hall. He has some self respect. Not much, but he couldn’t sink as low as jerking off to you while you slept in his little brother’s room.

Sam.

And just like that, thinking of Sammy snaps him out of it. He relaxes with a deep breath, the tension finally beginning to fade away.

For extra measure, he pushes himself off the door and pulls it open, striding quickly down the hall to the unoccupied bathroom. He locks the door behind him and reaches into the shower and throws the water on. He drops his undone pants, letting them and his boxers pool around his feet before stepping out of them and throwing his sweater over his head before stepping into the shallow tub. 

He takes in a sharp breath as the cold spray of the shower meets his heated skin, his teeth clenched tight as he drowns himself under the stream as he works to think about anything but you.

Your eyes flutter open, a glimmer of the morning sun sneaking through the gaps of the curtained window. You take in a deep breath, flipping from your side to your back and sigh as you look up at the ceiling. 

Your mind is still reeling from last night; Dean’s hands holding you tight against him, his lips teasing your neck. 

You shut your eyes and swallow.

It was simultaneously one of the hottest and most frustrating things a man has ever done to you. Of course you had wished he had done a hell of a lot more, but the tease of it somehow made it that much more exciting. It made you wonder what else was in store for you. Just a sweet little taste of the possibilities that was Dean Winchester. 

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand beside you, and you shake off last night’s memories as you lean over to pick it up, the screen reading 9:52 with a few notifications beneath it.  

Shit. You quickly sit up. Normally, this would be a regular wakeup time for you on vacation or on the weekends, but you were a guest in someone’s home, and it felt incredibly rude to be up here sleeping while they were most likely downstairs waiting for you. 

As you scramble out of bed, the throb from last night’s wine is front and center in your head. You reach into your purse and throw back two Advil with a swash of water that you set out on your bedside last night before you throw on some fuzzy socks and a hoodie large enough to snuggle yourself into.

Before you reach for the door, you peek at yourself in the full-length mirror and grimace. You smooth down your hair and give it a fluff with your fingers before you reach into your makeup bag, dabbing on some concealer under your eyes and on a few of your red spots, with a light swipe of subtle blush on your cheeks before you deem you look good enough without looking like you’re trying.

You take a deep breath and open the door, taking in the quiet hallway and noticing both the doors to Mary and Dean’s rooms are ajar.

Fuck. You were at least hoping Dean might have also slept in after last night. But no such luck. 

You head down the stairs, your hand on the rail so you don’t slip in your socks before you wander into the kitchen. Mary is sitting at the table in front of the windows, one of her legs propped up and her head hidden by a book. Dean is hunched on a barstool at the island, a plate of food in front of him, currently being shoveled into his mouth, his usual caveman behavior, you’ve noticed, when it comes to food. 

“Morning,” you offer softly as you head over to the coffee maker, a half pot waiting for you. Mary had given you a tour of the kitchen while you cooked dinner last night, and you reach into the cabinet above the brewer and grab a light yellow ceramic mug and fill it about 3/4s of the way.

“Milk’s in the fridge.” Dean mumbles over the food in his mouth and you turn to face him fully. His eyes are cast down at a paper spread flat in front of him next to his breakfast. A smile you hadn’t intended falls at his lack of attention and you head over to the fridge, pouring until your coffee resembles the color of sand. Exactly how you liked it. 

“Want some coffee with that milk?” That deep voice rings out again, and this time when you look up, you’re met with Dean’s enchanting, forest eyes. Your heart skips a beat in your chest and you recap the milk before putting it away and closing the fridge door.

“Some of us enjoy flavor.” You smirk at him as you lean against the counter behind you, your hands wrapped tightly around the warmed mug, the kitchen cool in this March morning. 

“Milk doesn’t have flavor.” Dean grumbles, shoving a fork filled with eggs into his mouth. You frown at him. 

It’s like the tale of two Deans. The suave, sexy sweatered Dean who looks at you like he’ll throw you over your shoulder and make you scream until your voice is hoarse, and the pain-in-the-ass, mannerless idiot you’ve mostly grown accustomed to these last few weeks. 

Looks like you were getting the idiot this morning. You sigh at your own disappointment and swallow down your frown, wondering what that means about last night. 

When you don’t respond, Dean looks back to you, a question in his eyes. 

“There’s a plate for you in the oven.” Dean points his fork to said appliance. You turn your head, following the direction of his utensil-turned-compass.

“Oh,” your shoulders drop. “You didn’t have to save me a plate.” You feel your cheeks flush at the thought that they waited for you so long this morning that they had to keep a plate warm for you in the oven. 

“Oh don’t worry, Dean made it fresh.” Mary peeks out from behind her book for a quick second before disappearing again behind the cover. Dean drops his fork with a clank and shoots his mother a look, one she misses. 

You push off the counter and pad over to the oven. You pull open the door to find a blue ceramic plate.

No way.

You pull out the plate from the oven, the platter only slightly warm, and are greeted with two pancakes and a side of bacon. 

You quickly close the oven and turn on your heel facing Dean.

“You made me pancakes?” Your voice catches in your throat as you stare down at the fluffy buttermilk pancakes sitting poised on the plate. 

“Yeah, well, mom made eggs and I know your picky ass won’t eat those. Can’t have you starve before a big day.” Dean’s eyes met yours for only a moment before he shifts on the barstool and returns to his paper. 

You smile, even though Dean’s not looking at you anymore. You maneuver around the kitchen, grabbing a fork and knife before settling down at the island, a barstool between you and Dean.

You turn and look at him, his shapely jawline adorned with a devilish level of scruff.

“Thank you.” You say earnestly. This catches Dean’s attention, his gaze finding and holding yours long enough to make your heart skip a beat. 

“Don’t mention it.” He lingers on you for a moment longer before turning back to his paper and flipping a page. 

Your lips quirk but you try to not think too much on it as you begin digging in; the pancakes, buttery and full of vanilla, melting deliciously in your mouth. 

The rest of breakfast goes on in silence; Mary reading her book, Dean focused on the paper, and you left flipping through your phone since no one seemed interested in chatting. 

As you load up your dishes in the dishwasher, Dean folders his paper up and slaps it down on the counter before sitting up straight and crossing his arms as he stares you down.

“Think you can be ready in an hour?” Your face falls.

“More notice would have been nice, but yes, I can be ready in an hour.” 

“Good, cause we’re leaving in an hour.” You cross your arms, matching his stance.

“You don’t say.” Dean rolls his eyes at you and you huff. 

“Just go get ready.” He shakes his head, and now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. 

Such a pain in the ass. A handsome pain with a handsome ass. But still a pain. 

“Fine. See you in an hour.”

Forty-seven minutes later, you’re showered, your hair is dried and curled into a soft wave, and you’re putting on the finishing touches of your makeup when there’s a soft knock on your door.

You peek at your watch.

“I still have thirteen minutes!” You call out. 

Dean really was pushing the boundaries today. And it was driving you crazy. 

He practically dry humps you last night, ignores you this morning, but makes you a delicious breakfast because he remembered you hate eggs. The man was impossible and it was starting to annoy you. And frustrate you, in a way you were not used to. You bite down on your lip.

“It’s just me.” Mary’s gentle voice calls back.

Shit. 

You drop your mascara into your makeup bag and push yourself off the floor and scurry to the door.

“Sorry about that,” you apologize as soon as Mary comes into view. “I assumed you were Dean.” You offer a half smile as Mary chuckles.

“It’s okay. Mind if I come in.” You step aside and open the door fully, allowing Mary to step in. 

“I just wanted to see if you need any help with your outfit.”

“My outfit?” Your brow furrows, and you look over to your bed where your black chunky sweater and jeans lay waiting for you. Mary’s eyes follow your line of sight. 

“I’m going to guess Dean didn’t give you a heads up, since men never think about these things, but these car shows tend to be on the dresser side.”

Fuck. No, Dean did not tell you that. Your jeans were the nicest thing you brought with you. 

“Yeah, he failed to mention that.” Now you stare at your outfit, anxiety flooding through you at the thought of sticking out for being underdressed. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

Mary just smiles at you.

“Come with me.” She waves at you before heading out of the room, and like you’re told, you follow her, heading across the hall and into her bedroom.

The room is large and full of windows and natural light. The lake-chic theme of the downstairs continues through the primary bedroom, with white furniture, a canopy bed with a blue bedspread that matches the wainscot walls, and yellow accents throughout the room. On one of the dressers is a large, framed, selfie of Mary and John, which looks more recent than a lot of the pictures in the living room. Mary’s smile is bright as ever as John kisses her cheek, the two of them in heavy jackets and beanie hats, the hint of snow behind them. 

Mary continues through the room, stopping in a short hallway before disappearing through a doorway. 

“I’ve got a few options that will probably fit you.” Mary’s muffled voice carries through the open doorway before she steps back into view, several hangers in her hand. “You look to be about my size from twenty years ago. And luckily I’m terrible at throwing out old clothes.” She chuckles as she lays out her six options on the ombre comforter that probably matches the lake when it’s not frozen. 

They’re all a mix of dresses, different colors and styles, but the fifth from the end catches your eye.

“Ohh, how about that one.”

Dean taps his foot as he waits in the foyer, checking his watch again. It’s now been an hour and seven minutes since you went upstairs. 

“God dammit woman,” he mutters out in a sigh. 

He meant to tell you last night what time you had to be ready, but the two of you got a little preoccupied. Now he was paying for it by not giving you more of a heads up. 

He should have said something the moment you came downstairs this morning, but he wasn't ready to face you right at that moment. The dreams he had about you last night made it hard to look you in the eyes. And when he finally did, you looked absolutely beautiful, sleep still in your Y/E/C eyes and a glow in your cheeks. You looked like you belonged here, resting against the counter in his mother’s kitchen, cozied up in some giant hoodie and pajama pants with coffee-flavored milk in your hands. 

The floor above him creaks and he turns quickly on his heel, his face dropping with his mood when he sees who it is. 

“Is she ready yet?” Dean all but whines to his mother as she descends. Rather than answer him, she stops two steps from the bottom, standing slightly higher than her statuesque son, and smacks him right in the side of the head.

“Ow!” Dean’s hand jumps to where his mother landed her stinging blow. Not that there was much power behind her swat, but she hasn’t smacked him like this since he was a teenager. 

“What the hell was that for?” Dean bemoans with a grimace, cradling his head.

“Dean Michael Winchester.” Dean’s eyebrows furrow at his mother’s use of his full name.

This was not good.

“You didn’t think,” Mary takes another step down. “To one,” she raises a finger. “Tell her that the car show is cocktail attire.”

Shit. 

“And two.” The second finger goes up. “What time to be ready. So don’t you stand here with a puss face asking when she’s going to be ready.” Dean drops his hand at his mother’s scolding and rolls his eyes. 

He starts to shake his head when Mary’s hand makes contact again, the surprise sending Dean stumbling.

“OW!” Dean yells louder this time, more annoyed than actually hurt. With how much smaller Mary was compared to him, Dean doubted she could actually hurt him even if she really wanted to.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Dean.” Her voice is sharp as her grass-green eyes stare him down. 

“I’m sorry, fine.” Dean concedes. “I just didn’t think about it.” But Mary doesn’t break eye contact.

“She’ll be down in a few minutes.” Mary gives him one last pointed look before taking the final step down and disappearing into the living room. 

Dean watches her go before glancing back towards the empty staircase, sighing out his frustration and giving you a few more minutes of grace.

Three minutes and forty-two seconds later, Dean is leaning against the frame of the front door when the upstairs landing groans again.

Dean’s head whips in that direction as he pushes off the door, just in time to see you take the first step. You’re wearing the black heeled boots you had on yesterday, but it’s paired with a strapless beige dress, the edges trimmed in black with a matching belt wrapped tight around the gentle curve of your waist.

Without thinking, Dean lets out a low, impressed whistle, ignoring the pounding in his chest as he stands up just a little straighter. 

Your hair is down, styled off to one side, with the most makeup Dean has seen you in so far; with full, dark lashes, pink cheeks, and bright red lips, which Dean can’t seem to look away from.

Something else is starting to stand a little straighter too.

Dean clears his throat, and offers out a hand as you get to the last step.

“Thanks,” you reply gently before you drop his hand and head for the coat rack.

“You look nice.” Dean’s now taking in the view of you from the back, leaving little to the imagination like those workout pants did a few weeks ago as the dress seemed to hug your body perfectly. 

Damn. And here mom thought you weren’t prepared. 

You spin on your heel, one arm shimming into your jacket sleeve, your eyes as bright at your smile.

“Thanks.” You repeat. “The dress is your mom’s.” You smirk.

Dean’s mouth drops open as his stomach falls.

“Please don’t tell me that.” Dean groans. The last thing he needs to think about is his mom in that dress. The same dress he was just checking out your ass in.

You just quietly chuckle as your other arm flails for your second sleeve, just missing the opening.

Without a word, Dean steps closer, grabbing your jacket for you and holding it steady so you can slip your arm into. Once it’s in, Dean raises your jacket just a bit before resting it on your shoulders. 

You turn back to him with a smile of thanks, which he can’t help but return.

“Ready?” 

“Sure am.” 

Dean opens the front door for you and you step outside into the bracing afternoon air.

“Have fun, kids!” Mary’s voice travels behind the two of you as Dean steps outside and closes the door behind him. 

You take gentle steps across the driveway, avoiding the few patches of ice that are still lingering. This gives Dean the opening he needs to step in front of you, getting to the passenger door of the Impala about three steps ahead of you.

Without a word, he pulls open the door.

“Wow, getting the full gentleman treatment today, huh.” Your cheek dimples with your half smile as you lower yourself into the passenger seat. Dean smiles down at you.

“What can I say, I’m full of surprises.” You chuckle as Dean gently shuts the door before heading around to the driver’s seat and hopping in.

With one last check of the mirrors, Dean backs out of the driveway, and the two of you were off. 

[sukioyakio]

His little Stress Relief

genre: fluff just fluff,(the title doesn’t sound fluffy to me,it probably the amount of amount of smut I read 🤷‍♀️😔🤪💖 Will have some bit of angst

SUMMARY: Sometimes your 6’9 foot tall man can be an little bit clingy at times.

Author note: “I just love me an big Buffy guy being such an clingy and cuddly guy towards their girlfriend (I’m not forgetting about my guys here)anyway I’ve been changing the way how my intro a lot 😭😔🤪.”

ANYway hope you like it.

It was an very busy stressful week for Miguel,everything and everyone was annoying him.The entire spider society was just so stressful to deal with,and when he didn’t have to deal a lot,those stuipd anomaly kept popping up,left and right.

But knowing miguel,he deals with it pushing his body to the limit.He will protect the spider society no matter what,But that doesn’t make him tried and exhausted from working,fighting,yelling at people who get on his skin.The achy scars and bruises on his skin were an pain to deal with.And right now He was in his office or bat cave whatever people says,he was standing on his platform with holograms around.Grumbling about to Lyla to tell some of the spiders that they have an mission to do,and him typing out the information about these anomalies.

peter b Parker who was walking with Jessica drew,they were coming back from their mission,and were going towards to Miguel little bat cave.

“Ughhh,it’s been such a busy week” Peter says in a tired voice,as he stretches his back and his shoulders.

“Oh c’mon now,at least your not the one who has to collect all the mission reports”Jessica says with an annoyed look on her face,sighing at the work that she will have to do later.As she rubs her swollen stomach walking towards Miguel office.

Peter just let out an amused scoff out,as they were walking down the hallway towards the BIG BOSS.

“Don’t you think Miguel would let us slack off for a day!! I haven’t seen my lovely wife and daughter”peter says with a whiny voice,as he made a loud dramatic sigh.

Jessica sigh with a playful smirk on her lips. “Aye man at least after this,we can take a long ass break,cuz my ass need it”She says with a sarcasm,as she let out a chuckle.

Peter suddenly remembered how much Miguel calmed down he was after his wife when Peter asked her if she could come over to talked (helped) him out with Miguel.In which peter had that dorky grin that only means that he had another wonderful idea.

In which Jess turned to look at peter face and saw that grin which in her mind means “he gonna get his ass kick again”,but right before she could say anything to Peter.

“Gotta go bye for now— I’ll be back!” As he zapped off to where Miguel’s wife was.

“DONT do!!— something that will get your ass in the hospital” Jess says in an loud tone but soon lower as she get more closer to Miguel office,she always says that his office is so far away,she rolls her eyes to the back of her head,and letting an scoff out her lips.

She enters Miguel man cave,her heavy but professional steps could be heard from the man who was standing up on his little platform,As she walks in an steady pace and was finally met with Miguel batman era.She stands an few steps ahead but wasn’t quite at the edge of the cliff.She looks up at Miguel,with her one of her hands on her hips and the other one was rubbing her pregnant stomach.

“Ahem” She says loud enough for him to put down his attention from all the work he was doing and putting himself through.Miguel eyes have this dark circles under his eyes,you can tell that this men take his dedication and time for all he does for.But there time where all he takes is to come home to his lovely wife,who his stress reliever.But he does this so people doesn’t have the same fate as him or try to do what he did,nor to do anything that would cause them any harm.

He turned his head towards Jessica,looking down at her,with a sternly expression on his face.He clicked something on his watch to make the platform start moving down towards the ground,very . . . Slowly. very slowly.Jessica wasn’t bothered by it at all,it just meant that she had a time to herself to calm down and free her mind from work.

And in which off letting the platform on the ground nope,he just kept it fairway there,and so he looked at Jess with a sternly and serious expression,and that instantly imitating persona he had.

“Bueno, ��cómo fue la misión?,and where the hell is Peter”Miguel says in an seriously voice,as one of his eyes brow raises up in question of where would that idiot of the worlds most talkative person you would ever meet,would be possibly be.As he stares at Jess for an good minute before letting out an annoyed sigh,pinching the bridge of his very strong nose,grunting at how much of an goof ball peter is.

“Well I came here to say that the mission was a success,but the part with Peter,better watch out for him and don’t kill him we need him” she says with an playful laugh as she walks out the door with an open smile on her face.

To which Miguel rolls his eyes to back of his head,and went back to work and there he was back working in his bat cave.Calling Layla to inform him about any updates about the anomaly’s,and to inform the other spider in the spider society.Some times layla would be annoying (an tease) to him.But after an hour or so,(peter was having difficulty finding which house is Miguel house) Peter finally came with you into Miguel office,with his cheeky techniques.

Miguel didn’t even get a chance to react to when Peter opened the portal onto his platform.

“Hello!!Big Boss” peter say with a cheerful voice,having a bright smile on his lips.”Look who I brought with him”he says with a warm smile.

The moment he turned around he saw you,with Peter.Holding a worry smile on your face.While peter was standing there with a cheeky expression,Miguel let out an annoyed sigh towards peter.He face was turning more angry then before,his eyes turning the color red.

“¡¡Por qué carajo!!Did you bring my wife here WITHOUT MY DAWN MALDITO permission!” He says with a raging voice,practically shaking the ground,easily making peter gulped down his own saliva.”im soooooooooo getting my ass in an hospital bed” peter said in his head of thoughts.

But luck was on his side for now. . .

“Peter go back doing work I’ll have a little chat with my husband”you said softly as ever to him,with a calmly smile.Giving him a look that gesture for him to leave.In which he did,He left with an awkward chuckle,and he gone.

Now you and Miguel were now alone in his big bat cave.Miguel aromatically regretted for having you see him get angry at his co worker.He hated for you to see him anger,he was insecure about how you felt about him.You words were the light of joy to his ears,but your words could be the ones that made him feel trapped.If he ever told you that he’ll be so vulnerable towards you his wife.Your the thing,the love,the drug,the crave,the addiction that he would never get over.

He was probably over thinking for a while,that he woke up from your reassuring touch.Pulling him to the ground so he could lay down on your thighs.He would do anything for you.

“Until death due us apart”

Now you both are on the floor on Miguel floating platform in silence;comforting silence.

You were sitting upright while patting,scratching, rubbing your hands against Miguel scalp.He looks like a little boy who only wanted to be next to his mama.After a few more minutes of the comfortable silence.You knew that he was very insecure about himself,especially after getting married and even before getting married,when you two were boyfriend and girlfriend,you knew he had some insecurities.

“Miguel I love you . .” You says with a calmly voice,calming him down.

Signal him to talk about what happened during this week

He instantly opened up about what happened at work,and all the exhaustion he endured,and the BS he gotten this week,basically vented about how much work and Be an hero was like a curse and an blessing.

He had that Grumpy Pouty on his beautiful lips,he just an enough of laying on the floor-ahem platform,and So he pulls you down on the floor,as he lays comfortably on tops of you.

You let out a light headed chuckles,He was your big scary,intimidating husband who can break any guys bones,but right now he’s acting very clingy with you.

You let him know that your love him so much,that seeing him like this pains you slowly but deeply in your heart.He was laying on top of your chest,in between of your breast.Letting him melt all his problems away.

“I’m sorry. . .no lady should have to seen what had happened with my co worker” he says with his eyes closed not wanting to be seen vulnerable.

As he continues to mumble apologies,to the point that he says like a whiny child.You couldn’t help but laugh at him being a whiny cringy child.

“What so funny about me apologizing,mhmm cariño”he said to you as he raised his head to look at your eyes. Seeing you laugh,seeing you felt like the world was pause,his body felt so calm.

“Ha-ha,your are my clingy hobby.You could be one whiny old man.” You said with a playfully voice,as you felt him lift your body put you into his laps.You couldn’t help but smile at him.

“I’m not an old man,nor a whiny kid.Im literally just 3 years older then you” Miguel says with a whiny voice,as he rolls his eyes.

You know he love it.You already know that he’s ok,that he is no more tense.

“I still love you gramps” you said as you leaned towards his face to give him a passionate kiss,which he accepted.Love was felt through your body.

as you both end the kiss,leaning on each other forehead.

“I love you” you said softly with a warm smile.

“Yo también” he says softly with a warm smile.

THE END

I hope y’all like it,and I probably suck explaining the positions of them but IM trying 😄 anyway I hope y’all enjoy it,but I low key think I put so much fluff here

THE QOUTE OF THE DAY: by an friend

“THE day can be boring when nothing eventful happens”

✌️

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Hii, i love your storys and i hope you could do a Casey Nowak one, were casey is older than the reader. Casey has her menopause and has not that much of a high sex drive anymore and other menopause symtomes. She is really scared that the reader will leaver her. They have to find a way to handel the "problem".

Hey, friend! Hope you enjoy! 💖 - illdowhatiwantthanks

Changes

Casey Novak x fem!reader Warnings: implied sex, discussions about sex, menopause, explicit language (please let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.4k

Summary: Something's wrong with Casey. You can tell. But she doesn't seem to want to talk about. You're worried you've done something wrong, but it turns out to be something neither of you have control over.

It was one of those days that should have been perfect. A light rain outside served as the perfect excuse for you and Casey to stay in bed all day. And, for the most part, that’s where you’d been. Besides a late brunch–pancakes eaten hot as you stood by the kitchen counter–you’d been lounging around. Casey had gotten a bit of work done, but her laptop sat abandoned on the nightstand now as you straddled her hips, lavishing her in long, slow kisses. You took your time with her; you had time to take today.

But there came a moment when you realized, even as aroused as you were, that Casey was no longer kissing you back, not really. You pulled back, looking at her curiously, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“You okay, love?” you asked.

Casey avoided your eyes. “Yeah. I’m sorry, honey, I’m just not feeling it today.”

“That’s okay,” you assured her, moving to lay beside her. And it was. It was always okay if Casey wasn’t feeling it. But you couldn’t help the aching in your lower stomach, the wetness pooling that you knew would probably not be taken care of today. And probably not tomorrow. The truth was, Casey hadn’t been feeling it much at all lately, which was odd for her. For the entirety of your relationship, over five years now, Casey had always had by far the highest sex drive of the two of you. But now, it was like a switch had been flipped.

Nevertheless, you tried your best to be loving and supportive, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing your face into the crook of her neck. But as soon as you did, Casey squirmed away, huffing.

“Y/N, just…don’t touch me right now, okay?!”

Her voice was rough, harsh, and you flinched. Casey sighed and covered her face with her hands, flushing deeply. You moved away, watching her with concern. Casey never yelled at you. And she always liked to be touched. So much so that you teased her about it. Something was wrong. And it had to have been something you did.

You wondered what it was. It must have been something bad for Casey to react like this. Casey was so direct, she didn’t let anything fester. So for her to avoid talking about it? You wracked your brain, going over the last weeks and months of your relationship, trying to figure out what you’d done to drive a wedge between the two of you.

You felt tears form in the corners of your eyes. This had never happened. Not with Casey. You talked things through. You worked things out. You left nothing unsaid or unspoken. You were suddenly terrified that something had ruptured, something that you wouldn’t be able to fix.

“I’m sorry, Casey,” you whispered, your voice shaky.

She turned quickly to look at you, her eyes wide with surprise and concern. “Oh, honey, for what?” she asked, wiping a loose tear from underneath your eye.

“I can tell something’s wrong,” you said, your voice quiet. “Did I do something? Did I hurt you?”

Casey exhaled heavily, a few of her own tears glistening in her eyes.

“It’s not you, sweetheart, it’s me,” she mumbled.

Your heart dropped all the way to your stomach. It’s not you, it’s me. That’s what people said before they left you.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

“No!” Casey groaned and rubbed her temples, chuckling a little. “But you might want to break up with me after this.”

“Casey,” you pleaded. “Please talk to me. What the hell is going on!?”

She sniffled, a single tear dripping down the side of her face, and you grasped her fingers in yours.

“I haven’t had a period in three months.” She spoke quickly, as if afraid she might not get it all out.

Your hand shot to your mouth. “You’re pregnant!?”

Casey choked out something that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Y/N, I’m gay. How would that even happen!? I’m not pregnant.” She took a shaky breath. “I’m starting menopause.”

You were silent for a moment, watching as Casey squeezed her eyes shut, trying (and mostly failing) to suck the tears back into her eyes.

“Oh,” you said, when you finally spoke. And then felt like an absolute idiot that that’s what you led with. But this was new, and you weren’t really sure how to address it. You were years, maybe even decades, away from menopause yourself, but you wanted to do all you could to support Casey.

“Well, are you…” You stumbled through your words, as if tripping over rocks. “Do you feel… okay? How are you– God…” You covered your face with your hands. “I’m so sorry, love, I’m completely fucking this up.”

When you removed your hands from your face, you were shocked to see Casey shaking with sobs.

You surged toward her. “Hey,” you cooed, your voice heavy with emotion. Your hands stopped just before touching her. “Can I… Is it okay if I touch you?”

She nodded, shuddering, and you pulled her onto you so that she could rest her head on your chest and you could wrap your arms protectively around her, placing a flurry of kisses on the top of her head. When her tears had subsided and her breathing slowed, you carded your fingers through her hair, hoping the rhythm would help calm her.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” she said, her voice rough from crying. “You’re not doing anything wrong. I just… I’m hot as hell all the time, and I’m moody, and I’m dry as the fucking Sahara.”

“You are hot all the time,” you teased, resting your chin on her head.

She swatted at your arm. “This just…” Casey sniffled again, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “It’s not what you signed up for. I don’t want you to feel trapped.”

“Casey.” You sighed, caressing her cheek. “This is exactly what I signed up for.”

“No, it’s not. I’m basically an old lady.”

“Hey,” you said, tilting her chin up so she had to look at you. “I can assure you that you’re not an old lady. You know how I know?”

Casey shook her head.

“Because I don’t want to fuck old ladies.”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled a bit.

“Now when you’re actually an old lady, like a little meemaw, and we’re living in the retirement village, I’m sure then I’ll want to fuck old ladies because I’ll be old, too, and my tastes will have grown with me. But for now? No old ladies. Only MILFs.”

Casey giggled, and you smiled, glad to see your girl feeling like herself again.

“Okay,” she conceded, still a bit hesitant. “But you deserve sex if that’s what you want. And I… I don’t really want sex very much right now.”

You stared at her, eyebrows raised. “Come on, now, Counsellor, you work SVU. You know better than that. Nobody deserves sex. That’s not how it works. And I think you forget that I know my way around a vibrator.”

“Yeah, but–” You shushed her quickly with a finger pressed lightly on her lips.

“No buts. I love you, Case. Not because you’re great in bed. Although…” You shrugged. “I mean, you are. I love you because you’re you. That’s not gonna change.”

Casey sighed. “Okay,” she whispered, snaking her arms around you.

You sat like that for a few minutes, relieved to be on the same page again, to know what was wrong. And even though you might not be able to fix it, you could at least be there for her.

Casey finally spoke, her fingers playing lightly with the drawstring of your sweatpants. “If you wanted to try out the vibrator… Maybe I could watch?”

You shot up, staring at Casey as she smirked at you, desperately hoping she was serious. “Really?”

She nodded, propping herself up with her elbow. You launched yourself out of bed, full-on sprinting to the closet, where you kept all the toys. “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” you breathed.

Casey laughed and called out, “You better not come too fast! That’s no fun for me.”

You grinned, poking out of the closet to point at her. “See? I told you! MILF.”

Casey shook her head playfully, relieved that you’d taken the news so well. And so, so happy that you were hers. As you rifled through the closet, you felt much the same.

[so-i-did-this-thing]

Hi Nicholas, hope you're keeping well and having a good week! I have a question about trousers that I was hoping either you or one of your wonderful followers might be able to shed some light on.

I'm a fairly thick-thighed trans masc and am perpetually wearing holes in my trousers at the top of the inner thighs. I know that's a problem for a lot of people, but I was wondering if it's an issue that's exacerbated by lower quality fabrics or is just a fact of thick-thighed life.

The reason I thought of you was because I was thinking about how vintage clothing is often higher quality than today's fast fashion, and wondered if vintage trousers stand up to this kind of wear and tear a bit better. Or is it a matter of fit?

I also wondered if you or any of your followers know if there are any sewing/construction techniques that could help make trousers that are less prone to this issue. I've heard a lot of ways to repair the holes that appear, but no suggestions on how to make trousers that aren't going to be as at risk of getting those holes in the first place.

Thanks for your time, and for being such a (remarkably handsome!) inspiration 💖

Hello and thank you! I am going to throw this question up for other folks to weigh in on.

In my experience, lower quality fabrics, like those with spandex in the mix, contribute greatly to how quickly clothing wears out. Most modern jeans, for example, are anywhere from 2% or more spandex. And even that 2% does a LOT to ruin the longevity of a garment.

There are repair/reinforcement methods, such as patching and sashiko, but again, leaving that open to folks experienced with them on how well they actually extend the garment's lifespan wrt this kind of wear.

Also, folks feel free to drop brand and other recommendations. Let's say both jeans and trousers, ideally masc style. Thanks, gang!

[7ndipity]

He Forgets Your Birthday

Jin x Reader

Summary: Jin just wants to make your birthday memorable, but what happens when life gets too hectic and makes him forget?

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: angst, swearing

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! Sorry it took me a little bit to get to.

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Life moved quickly with Jin, in multiple ways.

The first time you ever met, he asked for your number, fearing you wouldn’t cross paths again and he might not get another chance. You both said ‘I love you’ less than two months into dating, after he accidentally let it slip out during one of your first nights together, you even ended up moving in with him after less than a year when the apartment you were subletting fell through(or more accurately, flooded through, but whatever)

Things also moved quickly because of your careers. Sometimes days would flick by without your realizing, a week would turn into two before either of you noticed, and then suddenly it’s been nearly two months since your last technical date.

Despite your reassurances that you understood, Jin felt guilty at times for the two of you missing out on special occasions like holidays or anniversaries with each other, but one day he promised he wouldn’t let slip past was your birthday.

You weren't exactly a fan of making a big fuss for your birthday, but Jin wanted to make it special for you.

“I’ll cook,” He’d promised you. “I’ll make all your favorites, as well as traditional seaweed soup for good luck, and then we’ll do whatever you want for the rest of the day.”

“What if I don’t want to do anything?” You’d asked, raising a brow as you sat on his lap.

“Then we’ll do nothing together,” He’d replied, pulling you closer. “And have a wonderful time doing it.”

It’d been an easy promise to make when your birthday was still almost a month away, but as the days and weeks passed, things became increasingly hectic. Comeback season was drawing close, and with it came the pressure and chaos of constant rehearsals, video shoots, and promotional activities, leaving Jin little time to think about much else. Half the time you were already asleep before he got home at night, tiredly wrapping himself around you for a few precious hours before starting the cycle all over again.

He didn’t even know what day of the week it was until Jimin spoke up as they slumped against the wall, trying to catch their breath during rehearsals.

“Oh, how’s Y/n? Did they like their gift?” Jimin asked. “I haven't heard from them since I texted happy birthday this morning.”

Jin felt his heart screech to a stop as he looked over at the younger man, hoping he had misheard. “What?”

“The flowers you helped us pick out? I figured they would’ve-” Jimin’s voice trailed off as he noticed the growing look of horror on Jin’s face. “Tell me you didn’t forget?”

Jin’s whole body felt cold as he fumbled for his phone, stomach dropping as he read the date, and then the numerous text notifications from you.

His hands shook as he read your words, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

‘You left this morning before I got to say it, but love you💖’

‘Do you know what time you’ll be home?’

'Ngl, I'm kinda excited for tonight, it's been ages since I had your cooking😋'

‘Jinnie? Is everything okay?’

‘You’re not coming, are you?’

‘You could at least answer your phone so I know you’re okay.’

Shit.

Sparing no time explaining to the others, he grabbed his things and bolted out the door, nearly sprinting for the elevators.

He couldn’t believe how badly he’d fucked up, you must’ve been so upset with him. How would he even explain himself to you? Would you even talk to him when he got home? He wouldn’t blame you if the answer was no.

“Y/n?” He called as he opened the door but the house was silent, all the lights off, the stillness seeming to loom over him as he kicked off his shoes.

Tip-toeing through the house, he caught sight of the bouquet of flowers the guys had sent you sitting proudly in the center of the dining table, their cheery brightness almost mocking him now.

As he neared your shared bedroom, he caught sight of a sliver of light slipping out into the hall from the crack in the door.

Peeking in, he found you curled up on your side of the bed, sound asleep, but he could tell by the puffiness around your eyes that you’d been crying, shattering his heart completely.

He slowly sank down on the bed next to you, gently brushing your hair out of your face.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.” He choked, tears blurring your image in front of him. He felt like the worst boyfriend in the world, how could he have forgotten something like this?! He had promised you!

He’d always tried so hard to live up to his commitments and responsibilities in your relationship, no matter how small, but in the moment when it mattered the most, he’d failed you.

“Jinnie?” Your cracked, sleep laden voice snapped his attention back up to you, meeting your tired eyes.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry.” He said, crying in earnest now.

“ ‘s okay.” You said drowsily, too tired to fight with him.

“It’s not. I made you a promise, and I fucked up.” He said, wiping his face.

You didn’t speak, sitting up slowly and pulling him into a hug. As upset as you might’ve been, you couldn’t stand to see him cry.

You wouldn’t lie, you were deeply hurt, but it wasn’t just for you. You’d seen how hard he’d been working lately, coming home late sore and exhausted, bags under his eyes from fatigue. You hated seeing him so tired all the time, so stressed and not able to do anything about it. You knew that under normal circumstances, he would’ve never forgotten, but your lives weren’t normal.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He cried into your neck. “I’ll find a way.”

“Jinnie, I don’t care about the dinner,” You said, trying not to start crying again yourself as you pulled back to look at him. “All I really wanted was to be with you.”

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“Just come hold me, please.” You half dragged him under the covers with you, winding your limbs around each other tightly.

Neither of you spoke much as you slowly drifted off to sleep, clinging to each other desperately, needing to feel each other to be sure you were both still there.

When you opened your eyes the next morning, you found his side of the bed empty.

Sitting up slowly, you glanced around, questions only just beginning to form in your mind before you heard a faint noise from somewhere in the house, the scent of one of your favorite dishes drifting through the open bedroom door.

Still groggy, you climbed out of bed and followed the smell to your kitchen, where you found your missing boyfriend, his back to you as he stood over the stove, fussing at something he was stirring.

“Why are you so salty? I didn’t even add that much.”

“Maybe it’s just in a bad mood.”

He turned at the sound of your voice, eyes softening as they found you in the doorway, messy hair and sleep clouded eyes, wearing one of his pajama tops as a sleepshirt.

“I thought you were still asleep.” He said softly.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“Fulfilling my promise to you.” He said, turning back to the stove for a moment as he spoke. “It’s not quite all of your favorites, but it’s a start. Plus, we’ve got the whole day to do whatever else you want to do.”

“I have work.” You said, not unkindly.

“No, you don’t.” He responded. “I left them a message saying you were sick and couldn’t come in today.”

“Sick with what?” You asked.

“Bad boyfriend-itis,” He said, coming over to hook his arms round your waist. “It’s a very serious condition, it requires a lot of rest and care to recover from.”

“You’re not a bad boyfriend.” You said quietly, fiddling with his shirt collar.

“I’m not so sure about that.” He said, frowning.

“Well, I am.” You pushed up on your toes to press your lips to his softly, making him melt instantly. You let your hands slowly trail up and around his neck, earning a slight shiver from him before you pulled away to look at him. “What about rehearsals?”

“I told them the same thing as your work.” He said with a slightly dazed grin.

“You have boyfriend-itis too?” You raised a brow at him questioningly.

“Are you kidding? I’m patient zero.” He replied, earning a giggle from you, making his heart swell as he smiled down at you.

“Go back to bed,” He said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“I don’t wanna go back to bed.” You said, wrapping your arms around his waist, looking up at him seriously. “I told you last night, I just want to be with you.”

“Alright then.” He hooked his hands under your thighs, boosting you up to sit on the counter with a surprised squeak from you. “You can sit here and be my lovely assistant.”

“I don’t even know what you’re making.” You giggled again.

“Doesn’t matter, just follow my lead and make yummy noises when I show you something.”

The two of you talked as he continued cooking, stopping each time he passed by you to leave a kiss on your waiting lips. Once everything was ready, you moved to the table, sitting close enough that you could reach over and grab his hand as he settled next to you.

He glanced up at you. “What is it?”

“Just thank you.” You said.

He tilted his head. “For what?”

“Being you. Being here.”

Jin felt the familiar twisting in his chest as he leaned over to press another kiss to your lips.

“Always.” He promised.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake again, he swore to himself, he would be there for you, no matter what else was going on. You were his world, his heart, and he would make sure you knew that from now on.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan

[weemssapphic]

Could I request a fluff fic for Miranda :0?

Maybe the weathers getting colder, cuffing szn etc Miranda falls for one of her neighbors who keeps bringing her baked goods, she’s unaware that said neighbor likes her!!! (unaware queen). Literally anything cute and sweet to get me thru the treacherous winter of Northern Europe HAHA

A/N: Hello! Sooooo a. this became a bit more of a Christmas fic than a winter fic, I hope that's okay, and b. I also failed to finish it before Christmas as I had originally planned 🥴 buuut I do hope you enjoy anyway! HUGE shoutout to @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze and @agathaandgwenslesbian for beta'ing and hyping me up to post this, I love you both 🥺💖

Merry Christmas, Baby

Words: ~6.3k | ao3 link in title Warnings: mentions of alcohol/drinking, cigarettes/smoking

You’ve been living in your new apartment for about three months now, after leaving home and moving all the way to Australia for work. You like to think you’ve settled in well: you’re starting to get into a routine, you’ve managed to decorate most of your apartment and make it feel like home, Sydney isn’t as daunting as it was in the beginning - you were even able to give a tourist directions the other day.

The only thing missing is, well, friends. You get along well enough with your coworkers, they’ve been welcoming and have even started to invite you out. But more weekends than not you find yourself exploring the city on your own or hanging out on your couch with takeout, watching Netflix and thinking about your friends back home. You try to FaceTime them as often as you can, but the time difference makes it hard, and sometimes it makes you sad to ‘see’ them and know you can’t just meet up like you used to.

To stave off some of the loneliness you’ve been feeling, you’ve spent the past few weeks attempting to meet more people - and one person in particular has caught your eye: your neighbor, Miranda. You met her in the hallway during your first week in the building - she’d come up the stairs as you were fumbling with your keys, struggling a bit as your arms were full of groceries. She’d immediately offered to help, her eyes wide and her smile bright as she’d rushed over to you and grabbed the grocery bags right out of your hands. The way she looked down at you, watching your every move with great interest as you unlocked your door, brought a flush to your cheeks that only got worse during the subsequent small talk. 

Your interactions since then have been a bit sparse - you keep hoping you’ll catch a glimpse of her in the hallway, but you rarely do. Sometimes you’ll hear her apartment door fall shut late at night as you’re falling asleep, or you’ll hear her footsteps on the stairs early in the morning while you’re still getting ready - wherever she works, she seems to have irregular shifts.

~~~

It’s a Sunday evening and you’re spending it alone (again). When your friend back home had canceled your scheduled FaceTime call at the last minute, you’d decided to distract yourself by baking. As you put together the ingredients for blueberry muffins, you find your mind wandering to your tall, blonde neighbor - wondering what it is she does for work, where she’s from (you thought you caught a British accent but you weren’t sure anymore), whether or not she’s seeing anyone…

The sound of the timer pulls you out of your thoughts and you turn off the oven and pull the muffin tray out, setting it on the counter. Your heart sinks when you realize there’s no way you’re going to finish them all by yourself. You suppose you could bring some to work… You bite your lip, your brow furrowing as you stare down the baked goods. Perhaps you could bring Miranda some? Butterflies erupt in your tummy when you picture her opening her front door, her lips stretching into a smile that reaches her bright blue eyes. Perhaps she would invite you in, perhaps the two of you would spend the evening on her couch, getting closer by the hour as you get to know one another. Perhaps…

You shake your head, trying not to get ahead of yourself. You’ll just stop by with a few muffins and see what happens. Maybe she’ll be busy. Or she won’t even be home and you’ll be forced to leave them next to her door. 

After preparing a small basket of baked goods and changing from your rattiest sweatpants into a pair of jeans, you slip out of your apartment and cross the hall. Your heart begins to pound, your hands turning clammy as you bring your fist up to Miranda’s door. After a brief moment’s hesitation and a deep breath, you knock.

At first, you’re met with silence - your heart sinks a bit, and you try to ignore the little pang of disappointment that begins to creep up on you. But just as you’re about to turn around, you hear a shuffling behind the door. It opens just a crack - you hear an “Oh!” - and then it swings open fully, revealing Miranda in a navy bathrobe. Her hair is wet, slicked back - one strand falls over her eyebrow and she pushes it back, a smile growing on her lips as she looks down at you.

“Hello,” she says, sounding a little breathless. You feel yourself flush as you realize you must have caught her just out of the shower - perhaps it took her so long to answer the door because she wasn’t dressed yet, and the thought makes you slightly dizzy.

“Hi.” You can’t help but gawk a bit, and the thought of just dropping the muffins at her feet and leaving before you can make a fool of yourself briefly crosses your mind.

Her brows furrow slightly and so do yours, before you realize that you should probably say something else.

“I just wanted to…” You gesture vaguely at the basket you’re holding. “If this is a bad time, I can come back later,” you manage to stutter out, focusing all your efforts on keeping your eyes on her face.

“Oh, you’re alright,” Miranda says, craning her neck a bit to catch a glimpse at what you’re holding. “Are those muffins?”

“Yeah. For you.” You thrust your arms out, holding the basket towards her. Her eyes widen, darting between you and the basket as she takes it from you.

Her entire face seems to light up with excitement - she looks positively giddy. “Did you make these?”

“Yes! Yeah. I like baking. And I made too many. So I thought I would see if you want some.”

The smile that’s broken out across Miranda’s face is one you wish you could save and put in your pocket to look at on your worst days. It lights up her entire face, making her eyes sparkle and her nose crinkle - it’s the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen. You’re so distracted by it that you nearly miss her next words.

“Would you like to come in? I was going to make some tea.”

“Sure.”

You blush as Miranda steps aside, allowing you to step over the threshold of her apartment. She shuts the door behind you then walks past you into her kitchen. Even the way she walks is attractive to you - the mesmerizing sway of her hips, the way she pushes her shoulders back and swings her arms, her long strides. Taking a deep breath, you follow her and lean against the door frame, watching as she sets down the muffins on the counter and puts on the electric kettle. 

“I didn’t know if you’d be home,” you say, breaking the silence. You’re a bit embarrassed that your voice comes out hoarse, and you clear your throat. “I don’t see you around much. Do you do shift work?”

Miranda glances back at you as she rummages through the cupboards for two mugs. She smiles softly. “Sort of. I’ve been on call a lot lately.”

“Oh.” You cock your head to the side. “What do you do?”

“I’m, uh, a police constable.”

Your eyes widen as you process the information. It makes sense, you realize - and then you feel your mouth go dry as you picture Miranda in a police uniform.

“What do you do?”

Her question breaks you out of your trance, and you can feel your cheeks turn red. “Oh, um, that’s… I work in accounting.” You swallow back your embarrassment at having a “boring” desk job, your eyes darting around Miranda’s kitchen - anything to avoid meeting her gaze. 

“Steady work then,” she says - you can hear the smile in her voice and you dare to steal a glance at her face. Her expression is soft, completely at ease, and you can’t help but feel your shoulders relax a little. “How come you moved to Sydney? Did you move here for a guy?”

A sound between a snort and a chuckle escapes your lips and you quickly look away again. “Nope.” You want to say that you’re more into women, but you get nervous and something stops you. “I just needed a change of scenery. I figured moving to an English-speaking country would be easiest, and I thought the weather here would be nicer than in the UK.”

Miranda laughs a full-belly laugh, throwing her head back. “I’m from the UK, you know.”

“Tell me I’m wrong then,” you tease with a grin.

Her eyes flicker briefly over your form, an amused grin on her face. “You’re… you’re not wrong.” She ducks her head in surrender - then the kettle goes off and she turns to busy herself with preparing the tea. 

“So why did you move to Sydney then?”

“My boyfriend at the time was Australian.” Miranda hands you one of the mugs, then leans back against the counter, taking a sip of her own tea and observing you carefully. You try not to let on to the way that your stomach sinks when you hear the word “boyfriend” - it doesn’t mean she’s straight, you remind yourself (and besides, even if she did like women - it doesn’t mean she’d like you). You nod and hum in acknowledgment, hoping to come off as casual and unaffected as you sip your tea.

Miranda sets down her mug and reaches over the small kitchen table to grab a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Once again you find yourself mesmerized as long, slender fingers pull a cigarette out of the pack, placing it between her pale lips as she lights it. 

For a moment, she seems unaware of your presence - she takes a deep drag from the cigarette, her fingers playing with the lighter as she exhales a cloud of smoke. Then her eyes fall to your face and widen slightly. “Oh, God, sorry. Do you mind?” 

You shake your head - it’s not your apartment so it’s not like you have a say anyway, and, if you’re honest, you find it a bit hot. “Go ahead, it’s your apartment.”

She shoots you a grateful smile and takes another drag from the cigarette. “You want one?”

You nod and she tosses you the pack. Once you’ve plucked a cigarette from it, she steps towards you. “Here, let me,” she says, moving to light it for you as her own cigarette dangles from between her lips. She gets closer than would probably be necessary and her proximity makes you feel a little faint - you can smell the shampoo in her still-damp hair, and the smoke on her breath. Your eyes are trained on the lighter - when the flame goes out, you glance up, only to be met with the brightest blue eyes you’ve ever seen. They’re even lighter than you initially thought and her gaze is intense - it’s slightly overwhelming.

“Thanks,” you whisper hoarsely, forcing yourself to blink and take a step back. Miranda’s eyes are fixed curiously on your face as she plucks her cigarette from between her lips. She tilts her head, her lips parting into a smile.

“What?” There’s a playful edge to her voice and her eyes sparkle with mischief. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You freeze, your cheeks turning pink. “Like what?”

“You find me intimidating, don’t you?” You open your mouth to argue but she cuts you off, gesturing down the length of her body. “It’s my height, isn’t it? I get that a lot.”

“It’s not- I mean…” You shrug lamely, taking a sip of your tea to give yourself a moment to think. “It’s not you, I’ve just had a long day. A long few months, actually.” Okay, so you’re deflecting - but it feels way too nice just to bask in Miranda’s presence, and you don’t want it to end so soon by making things awkward.

Miranda’s face softens in an instant, little creases appearing between her brows. “From the move? It can be so hard to uproot your life like that.”

It’s a phrase you’ve heard before - people trying to sympathize with you, looking for something meaningful to say. But with Miranda, it feels different. With the way she’s looking at you, it feels like she truly understands. 

~~~

In the past few weeks you’ve gotten into the habit of bringing Miranda baked goods - always on the pretext of having made extras for work and other neighbors (though you never have any intention of giving them to anyone except Miranda). It’s more than worth the hours spent in the kitchen to see the smile that lights up her face when she answers the door. Sometimes she invites you in for tea and a cigarette, sometimes there’s only time for a bit of small talk before one of you needs to get going - but each time, butterflies erupt in your belly and you find yourself wishing you were brave enough to make a move. 

What you don’t know is that Miranda finds herself wishing the same thing. Sure, she loves everything you make her (nothing you’ve ever baked her has lasted more than 2 days at most), but the real reason her face breaks into a splitting grin when she answers the door is because it’s you who’s standing there.

Miranda can’t get enough of you - you’re easy to talk to, you make her laugh, you seem to take her as she is. And you’re damn beautiful. The most exciting part of her week is wondering on which evening you’ll come by unannounced after work, and she finds herself praying she’ll have the time to talk to you.

One such evening, you’ve come over with a tray of red velvet cupcakes - decorated with festive little Christmas tree sprinkles. Miranda’s just gotten off a shift and has the evening off, and she’s never been more grateful as she leads you into her kitchen and turns on the kettle. You make yourself right at home, settling on a kitchen chair and tucking your legs underneath you as you reach for the pack of cigarettes on the table - it’s almost become a routine now, and you look like you belong there. Miranda likes that thought more than she’d care to admit.

Still, despite how often you’ve come by lately, she feels there’s still some sort of barrier between the two of you. Your conversations are the best part of her week, yet they tend to feel a bit… shallow. She’s desperate to get to know you better but she’s holding herself back - the fear of driving you away, of being too much for you to handle, causes her to freeze up. You’re just being nice, trying to make new friends in Australia, and here she is, falling for you one red velvet cupcake at a time.

“Mir?” Your voice pulls her out of her thoughts and she looks at you like a deer caught in headlights. She tries desperately to remember what you were talking to her about, but she realizes quickly that her efforts are futile - she was too busy admiring the lock of hair falling across your cheek, the way you ran your fingers through your hair to push it back. 

“Sorry.” She offers you a sheepish smile, her cheeks slowly turning scarlet.

You smile back, and her heart skips a beat. “I asked if you’re staying in Sydney for Christmas or if you’re going back to London?”

“I’m staying here. I work on Christmas, so…” She frowns slightly - she hasn’t gone home for Christmas in a few years. Usually, she works and spends her off-hours curled up in bed watching Christmassy rom-coms by herself. She’s gotten used to it. “Are you? Going home for Christmas?”

“Nah. I blew all my savings in the move, can’t afford the plane ticket.” Something about the way you shrug your shoulders, your gaze dropping to the floor, tells Miranda that your nonchalance is a front.

“Would you like to come over?” Miranda, what are you saying? “We could cook something and watch a movie together.” Miranda, shut up! “Maybe you could sleep over and we could keep each other company.” Oh, great, now you’ve done it! Miranda’s eyes widen as she realizes what she’s saying, but she can’t take it back now - and, to be honest, she doesn’t want to take it back. Her heart hammers wildly against her ribcage as she waits for you to reply. It only takes you seconds, really, but those few seconds might as well be hours as time slows and Miranda begins to find it hard to breathe.

“Oh, it’s fine, you don’t have to take me in! I’ll be okay, I wouldn’t want to impose.” Your words come out in a rush and your cheeks are turning pink - Miranda’s heart starts to sink and she scrambles to find the right words to save the conversation.

“You wouldn’t be imposing, I’d have just had a few beers by myself after work anyway.” She chuckles nervously, before adding, “I could use the company.”

She quickly looks away from you, finding the brief moment of vulnerability too much to handle - she couldn’t bear to see the look in your eyes at the moment, certainly one of pity or judgment. 

“Oh… Well in that case, I’d love to spend Christmas with you. If that’s okay.”

Miranda’s eyes widen and she glances over at you to see you smiling shyly - her heart stutters in her chest and she feels her stomach flip pleasantly. She lets out a shaky breath, unable to stop the wide smile that’s creeping up her face. “Okay then.”

~~~

Ever since that evening in Miranda’s apartment, you’ve been buzzing with excitement. She’d ended up giving you her number so that you could plan when to come over, and it’s taken all of your restraint not to bug her every waking second - you wouldn’t want her getting sick of you and regretting inviting you over. 

But as Christmas is just a few days away, you decide to shoot her a text as you’re lying in bed at night.

Y/N: Hey there, it’s Y/N! I just wanted to ask what time you wanted me to come over on Christmas? :) 

You toss your phone aside, not expecting Miranda to text back anytime soon - it’s already late, after all. When your screen lights up moments later, however, your heart begins to pound.

Miranda: Hey! Miranda: I work until 4 Miranda: So evening I would say

Y/N: How does 6 sound? Is that too early?

Miranda: That sounds perfect :) 

Y/N: Great! Should I bring anything?

Miranda: Just yourself ;) Miranda: Wait Miranda: Actually Miranda: Do you remember the cookies you brought me last week?

Y/N: What, am I not enough for you? ;)  Y/N: (I’ll make some more)

Miranda: Are you sure?

Y/N: Absolutely!! Anything for my favorite neighbor.

Miranda: You’re too good to me

By the time you’re done texting her, you’re grinning down at your phone like an idiot. The screen goes black and you catch sight of your reflection - you blush and bury your head in your pillow. For the first time since you moved, you’re actually starting to get excited for Christmas.

~~~

Three days later you’re wrapping up a pair of Christmas pajamas (red, covered in little white snowflakes - you have a matching pair) to give to Miranda - you want to give her something for Christmas, but you don’t know her all that well yet to get her something personal. Still, you think (or at least, you hope) she’ll find the pajamas silly and fun.

Armed with the gift, a huge tupperware box full of candy cane cookies, your keys, and your phone, you pad across the hall and knock gently on Miranda’s door. You hear her muffled voice yell “coming”, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps, before the door swings open. Miranda’s eyes flick briefly down your body, over the wrapped gift and the cookies, before she finally meets your gaze. She’s slightly out of breath, and her lips curl up into a smile that meets her eyes. What you would give to kiss those lips… 

“Merry Christmas,” you say, smiling back and forcing your eyes to remain trained on her own.

“Right! Merry Christmas!” You could swear you see Miranda’s cheeks turn pink, but before you have time to question it she’s ushering you into her apartment, her hand coming to rest on your lower back as she steers you towards the kitchen. “I did some food shopping the other day. I wasn’t sure what you’d want to eat, I’m not usually big on holiday foods and I didn’t have time to prepare anything because of work.”

Miranda’s rambling has you swooning - you can tell she’s nervous, though you aren’t sure why. If only she knew you’d happily eat frozen pizza or cereal for Christmas dinner, as long as you get to spend it with her. 

“It’s fine, I don’t care much about Christmas dinner, we can eat anything.” You hope that you’re coming off as reassuring, though you can’t really tell as Miranda blushes again and lights up a cigarette.

“Maybe a curry?” she asks, chewing at her bottom lip.

“Yeah, that sounds great. Just tell me what you need help with.”

She seems to relax a bit, heading over to the fridge and pulling out ingredients. “What do you drink? Do you want a beer?”

“Please.”

The two of you spend the next 45 minutes side by side in the small kitchen, cooking, drinking, talking - mostly it’s Miranda, telling you about her workday. When she’s done chopping vegetables, she reaches for the pack of cigarettes again - “sorry, nerves,” she says with a faint smile. You still can’t fathom what she’s nervous about but you don’t want to push her, so you shrug it off and turn your attention to the curry that’s simmering in the pan. You dip a spoon into the sauce to try it, humming in delight the second the flavors explode on your tongue.

“This is really good, try it!” Without thinking you bring the spoon to Miranda’s mouth and, without thinking, she closes her lips around it. Her eyelids flutter shut and she lets out a little noise of pleasure that’s dangerously close to a moan. Heat pools in your stomach, your eyes glued to her lips as you slide the spoon out of her mouth - it’s the first time you notice a little scar above her lip, and you swallow thickly.

You quickly avert your gaze as Miranda’s eyes open again, taking a sip of your beer as you check on the rice.

“I was thinking we could just eat in the living room and watch a movie?” Miranda suggests when the curry is done cooking. You agree and help Miranda carry the bowls and a couple bottles of beer into the living room. It’s small, like yours, and a little cluttered. There’s a string of fairy lights above the window and a small Christmas tree sat atop a side table. Miranda’s eyes follow your gaze and she chuckles.

“I actually put that up two days ago, I panicked when I realized I didn’t have any Christmas decorations up at all.”

“You didn’t have to decorate on my account,” you tease, earning yourself a laugh.

“Oh but what kind of Christmas would it be without a tree?”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Miranda smiles at you as she settles on the couch, crossing her legs and setting her bowl in her lap. She gestures for you to join her. You tuck your knees underneath you, angling your body towards her. As you eat, you fall into an easy conversation - you find yourself getting even more comfortable in Miranda’s presence, feeling right at home in her apartment. You can tell she’s relaxing as well - she stretches her legs out, her toes (clad in Christmas-themed socks) touching the side of your thigh. 

“I got you something, by the way,” Miranda says suddenly, leaning over to place her almost-empty bowl on the table. You follow suit, a smile lighting up your face.

“I got you something, too - wait here!” Miranda looks somewhat surprised as you jump up and rush into the kitchen, returning with the gift you’d brought. She now has a gift of her own on her lap, and she’s picking at the edge of the wrapping paper as you settle back down beside her, a soft smile on her face.

You exchange gifts and Miranda’s chewing nervously at her bottom lip as she watches you tear open the wrapping paper. It’s a cookbook for baking - you can’t help but laugh, and you look up to see Miranda’s cheeks turn pink. 

“Is this meant to be a hint?” you tease, and Miranda chuckles nervously. 

“Sorry, I-”

“I love it,” you cut her off, setting the book down beside you and leaning over to wrap your arms tightly around her torso. She returns the hug - her arms are strong and comforting and you’re immediately enveloped in her scent. It takes everything in you not to kiss her.

After pulling away, you gesture eagerly to the gift that’s in her lap. She has a look of nervous excitement on her face as she begins to unwrap it - her smile widens when she takes the pjs out of the wrapping paper and holds them in front of her.

“I hope they fit, I guessed your size. I have the same ones and you seem like the type of person who would like them.”

Miranda’s eyes widen as she looks over at you, her expression nothing short of giddy. “You have the same ones? Wear them! We can match.”

Her reaction is exactly what you hoped it would be. The prospect of wearing matching Christmas pjs is both adorable and a little intimate, and you’re filled with nervous anticipation as you head across the hall to your apartment to get changed.

When you get back to Miranda’s apartment a few minutes later, the blonde is sitting on her couch with her legs tucked underneath her. She smiles so widely that her nose crinkles, and she opens her arms to you. Without a second thought, you allow yourself to be pulled into a tight hug.

“Do you like them?” you ask as you pull away.

“I love them!” The smile on her face is genuine, her eyes shining brightly, and you can’t help but blush, your entire body tingling a bit as your eyes drift down her body.

~~~

You’re about an hour into the second movie of the night and you’re already several beers deep (you’ve lost count, to be honest). You’ve scooted closer and closer to Miranda as the evening has worn on, and now you’re practically on top of her - your legs are bent at the knee, tucked against your body and resting on the outside of her thigh, your shoulder is all but glued to her own. 

You drain the rest of your beer, then pout at the bottle. “It’s empty,” you say, more to yourself than to Miranda, who chuckles and shifts beside you.

“I can get you another one?”

“It’s fine,” you say with a giggle. “Maybe I should stop drinking.” You’re not drunk but you’re definitely tipsy - you turn your head to face Miranda a little too quickly and, for a brief moment, the room spins, causing you to burst into another fit of giggles.

Your eyes meet Miranda’s, before dropping to her lips and getting stuck there. They’re curled into an amused smile as she chuckles at your inebriated state - though the smile slowly fades as her brows begin to crease. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and your own laughter quickly dies in your throat, your mouth going dry. You can tell Miranda’s breathing has gone shallow, her eyes falling to your lips. The air around you becomes thick and heavy, and Miranda’s gaze darts away.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, scrambling to scoot away - before she can get very far, your arm shoots out and holds her in place. 

“What are you sorry for?” you whisper. The only sound you can hear is the pounding of your own heart in your ears as you wait for Miranda to respond. Her gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips, a lovely shade of pink rising in her cheeks.

“I-” she starts, cutting herself off as she swallows visibly.

“Do you want to kiss me?” You don’t know what prompted you to be so bold (probably the alcohol), but when a soft, barely audible whimper escapes Miranda’s throat, you can’t say you regret asking.

“Yes.”

You definitely don’t regret asking. 

“I want to kiss you, too,” you whisper, leaning in slightly as you fix your gaze on soft-looking, pale pink lips that glisten slightly in the dim light of the living room. Then you stop yourself, hesitating as the room spins again. You’ve dreamed of kissing those same lips for weeks now but something is off. 

The alcohol, you realize - you don’t want your first kiss with Miranda to be clouded by alcohol. You want to appreciate and remember the moment fully, you want to savor every second. So, as much as you’re dying to close the gap and absolutely ravage the lovely, beautiful woman sitting next to you, you decide to pull back. “But I’m going to wait until tomorrow. I want to be completely sober for that. And… if you still want to kiss me tomorrow… then I’ll kiss you.”

Miranda nods slowly, looking a bit dazed. “That’s, uh,” she starts, her voice hoarse. She clears her throat. “That’s a good idea.” She shifts in her seat, crossing one thigh tightly over the other. The air is still thick and heavy, and it takes everything in you not to say ‘fuck it’ and push her back onto the couch - but you mean it, you really do want to be sober for that. So you lean back, putting a few inches of distance between yourself and Miranda for the remainder of the film.

You feel yourself becoming more and more tired, and by the time the credits are rolling, you’re struggling to keep your eyes open. Pushing yourself up off the couch, you sway slightly as you make it to your feet, and immediately decide to sit back down so that you don’t fall over.

“You sure you can make it back down the hall okay?” Miranda teases, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she watches you lean back against the sofa.

You roll your eyes and shoot her a playful glare. “I’m not drunk. I’m just tired.” As if to emphasize your point, you yawn widely as you finish your last sentence - Miranda laughs. 

“You can sleep here if you want,” she offers - then her face goes pale and she rushes to explain herself. “Not with me of course, but the couch is quite comfortable. Or you can take the bed and I’ll take the couch, that’s fine, too-”

She’s talking a mile a minute and it’s the most charming thing you’ve ever heard - especially since you definitely would sleep with her. You’d just prefer to do it sober. Giggling, you decide to show her mercy and cut her off. “Thanks for the offer. I think I’ll take the couch if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, let me get you some blankets.” She turns off the tv and stands, leaving the room for a minute and coming back with a pillow and an armful of blankets. You get up and try to help her to make a makeshift bed for you, but your movements are a bit sluggish and you realize you’re just getting in her way, so you end up perching on the edge of the coffee table until she gives you the go. 

You snuggle into the blankets - they smell like Miranda, and it takes everything in you not to bury your nose in them and moan out loud. Instead, you shoot Miranda a smile and mutter a sleepy ‘thank you’ - she nods, telling you to yell if you need her, then turns to leave.

“Oh, Miranda?” You lift your head off the pillow and crane your neck towards the blonde.

She pauses in the doorway, turning back to face you as she runs a hand through her hair. “Hmm?”

“Merry Christmas.” You beam at her, even as your eyes threaten to close any second. The evening was far from a traditional Christmas celebration, but it was the best Christmas you’ve had in a long time.

“Merry Christmas,” she replies, her smile soft and genuine, before turning around and disappearing into her bedroom, closing the door quietly behind her.

~~~

You’re out like a light the second Miranda is gone, completely oblivious to the internal struggle she faces as she curls up in her own bed. She tries to close her eyes and force herself to sleep, but she’s not tired at all - her mind is racing and her heart is pounding, her entire body responding to the evening she’s shared with you. The laughter, the sense of familiarity and peace, the tension when you nearly kissed her. And, God, does she want to kiss you. But you’re tipsy, and you probably just said that in the heat of the moment - she gets it, sometimes alcohol makes her flirty and a little horny as well. You probably won’t remember that conversation in the morning - and you probably won’t want to kiss her anymore either. 

She can’t help the way her heart sinks as she comes to that realization, and it keeps her up for the better part of the night. She feels like she’s just managed to nod off when the morning light starts to filter in through the curtains and she groans, burying her face in her pillow. 

Thud. 

Miranda freezes for a moment, her blood going cold as she hears a noise coming from her living room. Then she remembers that you’re sleeping on her couch and her body relaxes again. She’s nervous, wondering if you’ll be awkward about the previous evening’s sexual tension, but her curiosity about whether or not you’re already awake wins out and she pushes herself off the bed, smoothing a hand over her hair and wiping the sleep out of her eyes before creeping into the hallway, careful to be quiet in case you’re still sleeping.

There’s a clattering coming from the living room though, and she finds you collecting the beer bottles from last night that are still scattered across the coffee table. 

“Hello,” Miranda says, her voice still a little hoarse from sleep.

Your head whips around towards the doorway and your cheeks turn pink. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to clean up a bit. Did I wake you?” The way you’re chewing at your bottom lip is adorable and makes Miranda want to kiss you senseless. She chuckles and shakes her head.

“No, I was awake anyway. Here, let me help.” Miranda helps you clear off the coffee table, heading into the kitchen with an armful of bottles and her empty bowl from dinner. You’re right behind her with the rest of the dishes and you immediately make your way to the sink and start washing them - it feels so domestic that it makes Miranda’s heart flutter, and she has to look away and focus on something else so that you can’t see the blush on her cheeks or the yearning that’s surely shining in her eyes. 

“Do you want coffee?” she asks, waiting for your affirmative hum before starting to make some. She’s so focused on preparing the coffee machine that she misses you turning off the sink and padding over to her - she yelps as you press against her back, placing your hands on the counter on either side of her and boxing her in. Her heart is racing, skipping beats left and right as your body heat warms her from behind. Drawing in a sharp breath, she turns around to face you.

“Miranda?” Your voice is low and a little shaky, and your cheeks are flushed - gorgeously so, Miranda finds her mouth going dry.

“Yes?” she croaks out.

“Remember how I said I’d kiss you today if you still wanted to?”

All Miranda can do is nod, her mouth hanging open as all the blood rushes to her face.

“Well, I guess I wanted to ask you if you still wanted to kiss me? Because I’m sober now and I still want to kiss you.” You look just as nervous as Miranda feels - she nods again, afraid her voice will betray how badly she wants you.

“Please, say it,” you plead, your eyes wide and earnest. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Y-yes. I- I want to kiss you.”

Your lips curl up into a soft smile and your hands move from the counter to Miranda’s waist, your grip firm as if you’re afraid she’ll run away from you. You press yourself up onto your toes until your face is mere inches away from her own. She can feel your breath on her face, warm and shallow. Her eyes are glued to your lips, wondering when you’ll close the gap - then you do, your lips soft and plush as they press gently against hers. 

She allows her eyelids to flutter shut and kisses you back, her own hands reaching out tentatively to cup your cheeks. You smile into the kiss and she takes the opportunity to deepen it - you groan softly into her mouth as her tongue brushes against yours, and she swallows the sound, groaning back in return.

“I didn’t think you’d remember,” she murmurs, her thumb stroking your cheek.

“As if I haven’t been thinking about that since the moment I first met you,” you tease with a seductive grin, before wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her down for a second kiss, even more passionate than the last. 

x

@alexusonfire @brienneswife @pro-weems-places @bigolgay @kimiinou @imprincipalweemspet @h-doodles @bychrissi @katie-bennet @giogwensversion @gela123 @friskyfisher @justcallmelittleone @michi2504 @scream-queenlover @a-queen-and-her-throne @sequoirius @anne-lister @winterfireblond @imgayforwoman69  @Ssappling2004 @fictionalized-lesbian @i-like-reading @aemilia19 @milfsloverblog @missdowling @billiedeansbitch @The_Demon_of_your_Dream @agathaandgwenslesbian @http-sam @Cute-catx @saltrage @renravens @opheliauniverse @zillahofviolets-bayolet @scarlettssub @catechristiestuff @niceminipotato @barbarasstar @women-are-so-ethereal @thevillagegay @willowshadenox @lilfartbox1 @larissaoftarthweems @dovesintherain @fallenbutch @lunala-rose23 @ahauandthesun @thenazwife @lvinhs @sweetderacine @daydream-cement @ilovetlcc @wastdstime @ladylarissaweems @spacetoaim22 @m1lflov3rrr

[funfettifrills]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do a platonic Husk fic where the reader hasn’t regressed in a while and when they do they’re just a big ball of feelings and tears

It’s been a rough week

🎲 Caregiver! Husk x Agere! Reader drabble [platonic] ; Simple Comfort

;; A/N: I'm sorry you've had a rough week!! Thingsll get better 🫂 sending you much much love!! 💖💖 I hope this fic is good enough to bring some comfort ! ( ´ ꒳ ` )

;; Word Count: 889

─────────────────

You found yourself sitting at the bar in silence, your head laid on your arms as you attempted to regulate the incoherent turmoil of emotions that prodded at your mind. Lost in thought, you could only stare down at the surface of the bar and peer into the grooves of the brown wood. Analyzing any imperfections with your eyes as you fell into a dissociative state.

"Somethin' up?" Husk had finally spoken up from the other side of the bar, flashing you a friendly yet concerned look. Even when you weren't in little space, Husk always let his grumpy walls down around you. He could read you like an open book and easily sense when you needed a shoulder to lean on.

"I dunno.." you replied softly, keeping your gaze downwards as you traced your fingers on the counter in a poor attempt to distract yourself. It was as if your stress and worries were all drastically piling up in your mind. The fact that you hadn't been able to regress in a while only worsened things.

A part of you was pushing away regressing, the mental block was disrupting any means of being able to properly release the tense emotions that took hold of your mental state.

"There anything I can do to help you out, kid?" Husk asked, resting his elbows on the counter as he leaned towards you.

He knew you well enough by now that an "I don't know" alluded to an upset mind. He didn't want to pry but he still couldn't help but worry over you.

Hearing the name "kid" was the wrecking ball against the mental block that you had been stuck with.

You finally looked up at Husk with wide eyes that were forming tears. Being able to regress after a long time of not doing so was an instant release for all of the emotions you had been burdened with.

You failed to form words, you could only sniffle as tears fell. Husk frowned in worry, making his way around the bar's surface.

"C'mere kiddo, I got you." He spoke softly in comparison to his usually tense tone, scooping you up in his arms and making his way to a couch for a more comfortable area to release your emotions.

As he carried you, you could only cling to him. Hiding your face in the crook of his neck while tears poured. He didn't care about the tears that were to wet his fur, he was used to this by now and only cared about whether or not you'd be okay.

Once sat on the couch, he kept you in his lap. With your chin resting on his shoulder, he lightly rubbed your back while bouncing his leg a bit.

"Shh, I got you, kiddo. You’re okay." He cooed and repeated in simple comfort.

You continued to cry and let out shallow breaths, you melted into his hold as you finally expressed your pent-up emotions.

After a few comforting moments of allowing you to sob, the cat spoke up,

"You wanna talk about it?" He spoke carefully, not wanting to overwhelm you if being verbal was too much for you at the moment. "You don't have to use your words if it's too much."

You moved your head from his shoulder to look at him, preparing yourself to speak up. Tear streaks lined your cheeks with a visible pout.

Husk gave you a comforting smile as he gently wiped the tears from your face, waiting for you to talk.

"Big feelings.." You spoke simply and childishly, being unable to grasp the weight of your pain verbally. "Overwhelming." Was all you could get out. Recalling what you were feeling only welcomed more cries. The sight would generated a pang of sadness in Husk, he was always quick to worry when you weren't doing well.

He brushed your hair away from your damp features, combing through it in a comforting motion.

With your simple words, he was able to grasp your worries. Husk was good at being terribly observant of you and others in general. His strong intuition was a strength when it came to being a caregiver.

"I know it's overwhelming, Sweetheart. Emotions are a lot, but you gotta feel them." He explained, "Keeping them in does you no good. You're allowed to feel sad, or grumpy, or anything at all, Kid. And I'll always be here when you need me."

You let out a small ‘'kay,’ his words were enough to soothe you. You took in deep breaths to finally regulate yourself as you cuddled more into Husks' embrace. His hold was warm and his fur was surprisingly soft, being in his arms was adjacent to being under a cozy blanket. You could hear (and feel) him lightly purring which was something familiar that helped to ease your moments of stress.

He smiled down at you and gave you a small squeeze,

“I'm proud of you for feeling such big emotions, being able to show ‘em just means that you're brave.” Husk praised, he was relieved that he was successful in attempting to help you out. His praise went straight to your heart, internalizing it greatly.

He ruffled your hair which caused you to giggle a bit.

“You're a lot braver than I am, Kid.”

[the-bear-and-his-sunbird]

A Thedas Weekend prompt for you! Your lovely Siobhan x Emmrich, "a kiss to wake your lover up in the morning" if you haven't done it already! 💖

Thank you for prompting me! It is far from polished but I hope you enjoy anyway!

Tag: @thedasweekend

Siobhan sleeps even more often. After the gods have been defeated and Solas and Inquisitor Lavellan have been reunited in the Fade there had been countless of hands that demanded to be shaken, condolences to be listened too and festivities to attend. After a polite amount of time Emmrich and Siobhan had taken their things and left with Manfred.

In a few weeks they will again set off to Ferelden, to pay a scheduled visit to Hardings mother, as the loss of her daughter has devastated her.

Now with time and calmness guarding them from all the horrors they have grown accustomed too, they rest.

Emmrich smiles fondly whenever he finds her curled up somewhere, memories of all the times he saw her like this in the Lighthouse coming to light. His Darling ran on pure stress and will alone for months.

Her sleep is well deserved.

Even with all the rest he has taken himself, he follows his habit of rising early in the morning, attending to his stretches and taking time to collect himself.

It is a habit he enjoys, even more now that he has the privilege of sharing his life with Siobahn. Some mornings , when he is finished with his routine, he indulges for a bit and watches her sleep before waking her.

This is one of those mornings.

Emmrich sits on their bed and watches Siobhan for a moment. Her auburn hair cascading over the pillows like a river delta. The piercing he gifted her gives the illusion that eyes are looking back at him, even when her own lids remain closed. Bugs eyes, she had titled them, one of her rare giggles escaping her lips. Less rare now that they are safe.

A smile forms on his lips as his heart soars. He loves her dearly, fiercely, with an intensity that scares him sometimes.

With that thought he leans down and kisses her softly on the brow. He feels her stir under him, eyebrows furrowing a little, and he presses yet another kiss to her face, this time on her cheek.

This time Siobhan hums softly and turns her head towards him. Her eyes remain closed but her breath tells him that she is awake enough already.

“My dear, I thought about fetching some tea. Would you want to share in some time with me?” he murmurs against her skin.

„Yes, please.“ she mumbles. The sheets rustle as her left arm reaches up to cup his neck and she starts caresseing him with the sluggish movements of someone still stuck between dreaming and waking.

He closes his eyes for a moment, just taking time to enjoy her touch, before he takes her hand and presses a kiss to it before carefully guiding it onto her pillow.

„I will be back in a minute.“ he says and pushes off the bed.

As promised, he returns shortly after, balancing a tray with tea on his hands. Manfred is busy with his education as an apprentice now and while Emmrich does catch himself in the motion of asking him for help every now and then, he is so very proud that his son is growing on his own.

When he sits down the tray on a small table, he wonders if Siobhan has gotten up already or if he has to wake her fully this time.

Emmrich makes his way to their shared bed and finds her fast asleep again. Relishing in the beautiful mundanity of it all, he smiles and sits down on the bed again.

A few more kisses it is then.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

hi! i just reached crimson badlands in my current playthrough so how do you think sve bachelors, particularly the mages and adventurers, react to farmer (their s/o or spouse) asking them, "if i turned into a fallen adventurer, are you going to kill me?" it's like 'if i turned into a big, will u still love me?' but feel free to sprinkle some or make it angst btw!! i love ur works <33

OK, dear anon, got it 👍 Just a little pinch of angst, and- *accidentally dumped a whole bag of angst* Oops... Erm, to be fair, this headcanon would be sad either way you look at it, because no one can handle the corruption in Crimson Baldlans yet, and accordingly none of the adventurers have any answers on how to at least help the lost souls. So.... yeah, thanks for the ask! 💕

PS: I'm a bit confused about the "particularly mages and adventurers" thing, since available candidates from this category is Lance and Magnus. Or did you mean like future candidates too? I will leave available candidates this time, hope it's ok for you! 💖

_________________________________________

Victor:

"What...?"

Victor knows for the existence of magic in general, of adventurers and wizards that protect ordinary people like him from monsters or worse that lurk in the dark depths, of various wonders. Since Farmer had become his partner, his knowledge of these noble monster hunters and masters of the arcane arts had become even more extensive. Victor had understood perfectly well the risks of such work even before he and Farmer had officially started dating. Understood, feared for them, but always supported them in their urge to protect. However, the idea that his lover's job could be so dangerous, and the very possibility that they could meet an end worse than death... What could he, a simple guy with a passion for building bridges, do to an armed man? Especially a man close to him?

"There's always a solution, I'm sure." No, he's not sure of his words at all.

Magnus Rasmodius:

"...."

Magnus tore his gaze away from the gurgling cauldron to look his spouse in all seriousness in the eye. Ever since Camilla pointed them in the direction of the Crimson Baldlans, Farmer has travelled almost once a week on a perilous journey into the cursed lands where even the most hardened warriors can easily fall to the fangs and claws of the most fearsome of creatures. Each time they take a risk, in the name of protection, in the name of an idea, in the name of riches and glory, while Magnus stays in their shared farmhouse, praying to Yoba and the spirits that his spouse will return alive. Praying that the urgent message from Camilla would not be the very thing the old wizard feared most. Fearing that he would not have to face their body, scarred by black magic.

"That is my duty. If I have to, I will put an end to it." And that was a lie.

Lance:

*Sigh* "Do you really want to hear my honest answer?"

Castle Village has been home to Lance for most of his life, and as a local and adventurer, he knows full well what awaits anyone who dares to step foot in the sands that have been soaked in the blood of men and monsters for decades. Before the corruption of unknown origin, this place was already dangerous, and now instead of simple death, fallen warriors and wizards can become the living dead, cursed to wander forever knee-deep in these sands until a brave soul comes to the end of their suffering. These brave men were many.... And many have not returned, for to see your friend, parent or child as 'fallen', and you will involuntarily feel a hesitation, a shiver in your hands at the realisation that the one you lost is finally found. It is enough to make a living warrior join the ranks of the dead.

"I must. But... I don't think I can." Even he has weaknesses that will make him hesitate, and his lover as a fallen warrior.... is one of those.

[magicians-abode]

HII it's anon from the last rq :3 im probably gonna call myself bard anon cause that just works i think!! i come bearing another request 🤲 once again its chilchuck cause i love him and the way you write for him!! maybe a scenario where the reader is very VERY scared of water due to them nearly drowning in the past or something, and because of that they avoid bathing unless it's washing their hair and chil takes it upon himself to help them bathe (they're pretty close at this point so it's not awkward, just sweet and loving <3) again, have a lovely day and take care of yourself!!

- 🎻 (bard anon)

Hiii bard anon! So glad to see you requesting again! ^-^ makes me so happy. I struggled with my anxiety the whole week, postponing my writing since the requests are piling up (they're only 4 but I get stressed) so today I noticed that I hadn't posted for a whole week and tried my best to write this little something. I really hope you and everyone else likes it, and that it doesn't seem rushed. Have an awesome day! 💖 (I feel like this sucks ;-;)

"Calming the waters"

[Chilchuck Tims x gn!reader]

Warnings: implications of drowning - gender neutral reader ‐ fluff

The party had reached a point in the dungeon where everyone was exhausted and sweaty. All everyone wanted was to eat, rest, and hopefully find somewhere to freshen up. But that last part was optional, since the dungeon didn't really have many places like that.

Luckily for them, walking around they had found a room with only an onsen in the middle, so they decided to settle just outside of the room to rest for the night. Marcille and Laios took turns washing themselves up, except for Senshi and (y/n).

Chilchuck had decided to wait until everyone was asleep to enjoy the onsen with a bit more privacy, but he couldn't help but notice how (y/n) barely even came close to stepping into the room. So he approached them, tugging them away from the rest of the group.

—I was thinking about cleaning myself up while everyone was asleep— he clears his throat, slightly flushed at the fact he was admitting this— and since you haven't gone yet, I wondered...— he stretched the sentence, making a circular motion with one of his hands as the other rested on his hip, his gaze looking at the oh so interesting wall.

(y/n) looked at him, piecing everything together easily, and even though they were touched by their partners gesture, they declined.— Sorry Chil, I– um... I'm fine, you know? I don't think I need a bath— they did though. They stank to be fair. But they were too scared to step into the room where the onsen was. Much less get into the water.

Chilchuck felt sad at first, and he was ready to let it go. Maybe they didn't want to bathe together. Perhaps it was a big step for intimacy, but upon noticing the expression on their face, he stopped and grabbed their hands.— You don't have to lie. You um... look very sweaty to be fair. And I know you don't want to be all dirty forever. So what's the truth?— he spoke softly, looking up into their eyes with nothing but care, curiosity and a pinch of worry.

—N-Nothing's wrong, what do you mean?— (y/n) notices how Chilchuck raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing them, and they sigh, defeated.— I guess I could wash my hair at least. Wouldn't want Marcille's spells to not work on me in case of an emergency— they mumble, raising a hand up to touch their hair.

Chilchuck sighed, not really content with the answer, but decided to let it go for now and talk about it later when they were alone.

After having a delicious monster meal, cooked by none other than Senshi (and a little help of the forever enthusiastic Laios), everyone prepared their bedrolls and happily went to sleep.

Except for our lovebirds. Who sneaked away into the next room silently to enjoy some time alone and relax away from the rest for at least a while.

Chilchuck didn't doubt getting rid of his clothes and getting into the onsen for a second, his skinny body relaxing under the calming hot water as he sighed, closing his eyes and relishing on the pleasant feeling and the silence of the night. (y/n) sat on the edge fully clothed, and although they couldn't deny how their legs had trembled as they walked closer to the onsen, they were a bit relieved to have Chilchuck's company, his presence providing a small sense of safety despite the whirlwind of emotions in their chest.

Dipping their fingers in the water and then their whole hand, they scooped some water and patted their hair, very slowly, but surely, wetting it.

—What are you doing?— Chilchuck spoke after watching the scene for a moment. He was somewhat amused, he wouldn't lie. Why not just get into the water?— I assure you, there are no monsters in here if that's what worries you— he chuckled.

—No... I know. It's not that— (y/n) mumbled as they looked at him.— I'm just...— they bit their lip. Was it safe to say it? To tell him they were scared? Chilchuck had a reputation for being teasing sometimes, but he didn't usually mean anything bad by it.— I'm scared of the water, Chil— they admitted eventually.

Chilchuck perked up at the comment, not expecting that answer. He had expected them to say sometimes like: "I'm embarrassed to show my body" or "You're making me nervous" but not that they were afraid of getting into the onsen.— What do you mean, love?— he whispered, moving a bit closer to them, the water splashing gently around as he swam.

(y/n) took a deep breath, and exhaled shakily— When I was younger... I went with my friends to a forest. There we found a pond, and my friends and I decided to get in, since it was a very hot day— they began explaining, fidgeting with their fingers and the hem of their clothes— we swam for a while and it was fun splashing each other in the face, until one of them splashed me and, to avoid it, I dipped under the surface of the water. I was too close to the edge so something got tangled between my feet, and– I started to–...— they took another shaky breath in.

—Hey, hey, it's fine— Chilchuck stood up, not minding the fact that he was naked, and placed a hand on their shoulder.— I know it must've been scary, but that's not going to happen here— he lifts their head to make them look at him.

—But what if– —Chilchuck pressed a gentle kiss to their lips, now fully understanding why they didn't want to get in.

—No buts. You're here with me, and I'll take care of you. Besides, this is an onsen love, there's nothing that can hurt you— he looked into their eyes, brushing his thumb over their cheek— I want to help, if you'll let me— he whispers.

And for a moment they stop to look around, evaluating, thinking. The onsen isn't deep at all. If Chilchuck can stand in there properly, they could too. But what if a monster came and attacked? The rest of the party was outside. Sleeping, yes, but they would wake up and kill it.

Standing up with a newfound sense of safety, they slowly got rid of their clothes, folding them nicely and leaving them beside Chilchuck's. The half-foot stood inside the onsen and by the edge, looking at them with a reassuring smile and extending one hand in their direction.

—That's it love, take your time— Chilchuck took their hand once they were near the edge, and held them as they very slowly dipped one leg in. Once (y/n) had decided it was in fact safe, they stepped in with the other leg and crouched, their body thanking them for the warmth of the water.— You're doing great already, (y/n)— he pressed a kiss to their forehead.

Taking the soap Marcille had made before, he lifted one of their arms and started helping them get clean.

—Thank you...— after a moment of silence, they looked at him with gratitude, and he chuckled, shaking his head with a smile.

—Nothing to thank me for, love. I care about you— the feeling of his hands roaming through their body felt as calming as the temperature of the onsen, helping their muscles relax after so much fighting in the dungeon. Perhaps now the idea of getting bathed more often didn't sound so scary in their mind, but only if Chilchuck was there to provide some company and kisses. That part was essential.