#i still watch this like. once a week at least

[tthoroughfare]

garden daisy (part 2) // ellie williams

*･゜ﾟ･* summary: ellie makes a new friend, and you feel all weird about it.

*･゜ﾟ･* pairing: modern!ellie x reader

*･゜ﾟ･* content: sfw

*･゜ﾟ･* length: 1.6k

this is part two of this series! find part one here

okay so i feel like the way i've organized this series is kind of confusing as it started as a random blurb... technically part one is this blurb however the real story starts in the xmas fic! the blurb just kind of exists floating around somewhere before the events of that and sets up the dynamic. call it part 0.5 i guess. also i'm so sorry if ur name is haley it was genuinely the first name i thought of hahaha

after christmas, once you’re all settled back into life at college, ellie gets a new job. it’s just a few shifts a week at a music store, but she seems to be enjoying it. you’re happy for her; it’s nice to see her getting out of the apartment more, doing something that allows her to be in her element.

but then she starts mentioning a girl she works with. like, a lot.

“dude, look at what haley sent me today, i was dying.”

“haley had, like, the coolest shirt on at work.”

“oh my god, so i found out haley likes comics, too.”

at first, it doesn’t really bother you. then, it’s a case of you trying not to let it bother you. why even should it? she’s allowed to make new friends; her life doesn’t revolve around you.

still, you don’t like the way your chest starts to twist every time she gets mentioned, every time you see ellie smiling at her phone. you can hear them on facetime frequently through the thin walls of your apartment, and you more often than not end up shoving your headphones in to drown it out.

they start spending time together outside of work, too. she mentions that they’re going to see an exhibit together on a shared day off, and it takes everything for you to look up from your laptop, give her a tight smile and utter, “cool.”

you can tell she’s a bit dispirited by your reaction, like she’s debating saying something. she leaves it, though, just nodding once and pursing her lips before walking away. you kick yourself for it immediately — wishing you’d tried harder to appear enthusiastic for her. you’re worried it could be the seed of a wedge being driven.

it’s not like she’s completely neglected your friendship. you live together. you see her every day. she still gently knocks at your ajar door, poking her head around and asking if you want to watch a movie with her. you make dinner together on friday nights, something you’d done since you moved out of the dorms and got a semi-decent place.

you’re just so used to it being the two of you. sure, you both have other friends, but you’re best friends. you can’t help but feel a little uneasy all of a sudden someone new is making their way up the ladder, ellie not having quite as much time for you anymore.

at least, that’s what you tell yourself the reason is. you know the real one.

you eventually meet the esteemed haley when she comes over to hang out, and to your petty dismay she well and truly lives up to the boasting. you’ve seen pictures of her (as in, you found her on instagram and stalked her at two in the morning), but she’s even prettier in person. she’s sweet, too, giving you a hug and saying how great it is to finally meet you. ellie talks about you all the time, apparently.

the evening’s spent with the tv on, a few drinks sipped. you’re on one side of the couch, ellie on the other, new friend in the middle. you hate how genuinely likeable she is; she goes out of her way to speak to you, asking you questions about yourself and chatting jovially when you find common ground. she’s cool, smart, witty — it’s impossible not to compare yourself, and feel subpar. like old news.

and you wish you weren’t, but you’re reading into every little thing. the way the two of them easily bounce off of each other’s jokes, the way you can see even where you’re from how ellie’s eyes light up when she looks at her. deciding three’s a crowd and you’re just hurting your own feelings, you call it pretty early.

when you stand after finishing your drink and announce that you’re going to bed, you note the way that ellie’s face drops. “oh… really?”

you scrunch your nose, trying to sound untroubled. “yeah, i’m kinda tired, so…”

“m’kay,” she replies, chewing slightly at the inside of her cheek. she knows you better than that. since you first met, you’ve never been ‘kinda tired’ by nine.

after a pause and a quick look back and forth between the two of you, haley gives you a smile, reiterating her earlier statement. “well, it was so nice to meet you, anyway.”

you return it, nodding. your eyes flit to ellie for a split-second. “yeah, you too. see you both later.”

with that, you place your glass in the sink across the room and head off down the hall.

you change and get ready for bed, although the plan was never to sleep. you’re nestled under a blanket, lights dim and a candle burning as you keep your eyes trained on the bullshit stream of youtube videos you’d put on. you’re not really paying attention, mind well and truly elsewhere; simultaneously feeling sorry for yourself, and like the most petty, mean person in the world.

you feel pathetic for wishing ellie’s new friend wasn’t so easy to get along with. she came off as a nice person, and not in a sickly, fabricated way. you could understand how she’d easily tugged ellie out of her shell. a part of yourself had been secretly hoping she was irritating, or bitchy, or weird towards you — you just wanted something to latch onto, something to validate all the uncomfortable emotions that had been swirling ever since she became prominent.

but there was nothing. now all you’re left with is a weird bitterness towards a perfectly normal, sweet girl, her only crime being fetching up a childish possessiveness within you.

you don’t even understand why you’re like this over her in particular; ellie was always an introvert, but it wasn’t like she was a complete recluse. she’d had a serious girlfriend in high school, seen a couple of girls your first year of college, and you don’t remember feeling anywhere near how you are right now. you just guessed you didn’t have as much understanding of how you looked at her back then, combined with the domesticity of now having your own real place luring you into a warped way of thinking.

you hear haley leave around an hour and a half after you’d taken yourself to bed, followed by ellie shuffling around the kitchen space. the tap runs and there are a few clinks as she washes then places the three glasses to dry, hitting the lights off. her room’s further down the hall from yours, and she hesitates as she’s making her way there.

a few light taps sound from the other side of the door. “you asleep?”

“… no,” you call out softly, watching as it cracks open and ellie picks her way in. wordlessly, she plops herself onto the bed next to you, arm behind her head. you shift away a little, offering her more room.

“what’re you watching?”

“uh…” grabbing the remote, you pause the video for a beat so the title shows. you’re not even sure; you’d just selected the first you saw, then let the rest autoplay. “… ‘six most disturbing forest encounters caught on camera’.”

she chuckles. “spooky.”

“eh… they’re all fake.” you look up at her, smiling a little.

“could’ve fooled me.”

“i’m sure,” you laugh lightly, feeling the need to turn away when she goes to meet your eyes.

it’s quiet for a while, but you can sense she wants to say something. it’s not like one of the times she waltzes into your room simply to hang out, sit at the side of one another peacefully.

“you okay?” she eventually asks gently, turning her head to regard you. you don’t meet it.

“yeah, i’m fine.”

“you sure? ‘cause… i don’t know. you seem a little…”

“i’m all good.” glancing up, you offer an unconvincing, flickery smile. “don’t worry.”

“… okay.”

you can tell it offers no comfort, but she doesn’t push it. just settles further into the bed, scratching at her chin.

her eyes dart from the tv screen to the wall, then back to you. “haley’s cool, right? guessed you guys would get along.”

“yeah, she seems nice.”

she’s really not being subtle; but then again, neither are you. you’d been perfectly friendly while you were all together, but the way you’d disappeared coupled with your increasingly half-hearted responses whenever she was brought up pointed elsewhere.

“seriously, what’s up?” she turns onto her side to face you, resting her head on her arm. “i don’t like this.”

you roll your eyes, sighing as you turn, mirroring her. “it’s stupid.”

“what’s stupid?”

your mind flashes with a million ways you can get an overview of your feelings out, without having to tell her the root cause. “i don’t know, i’m just… like, used to it being… y’know, me and you.”

she pulls a face, letting out a fond scoff and furrowing her brow. “what do you mean?”

a tiny groan sounds from your throat, fingertips rubbing at your eye. “i’m just being stupid. fuckin’ embarrassing.”

laughing quietly again, she narrows her eyes a little. “what, are you, like… jealous?”

“no, i just… i don’t know. ignore me.” you’re trying to ignore the way you can feel your cheeks heat up when she says that word. you’d known all along that’s what you were, but being confronted with it is a whole other sensation entirely.

she doesn’t say anything for a moment, just keeps a small smirk on her face and looks down. “that is stupid.”

“right. thanks.”

“no, like…” subconsciously shuffling closer, her leg brushes yours. she quickly moves it. “dude, i can have other friends, but no-one’s gonna be you.”

you blink, thrown by her sincerity. you’d half-expected her to poke a little fun, call you a dumbass. she continues, your eyes meeting hers as she settles her head into the palm of her hand. “you’re always gonna be my best friend.”

yeah, i know, you think. that’s the problem.

[yaniluvs]

and i'll still be right next to you, my dear 日 ── your boyfriend comes to your rescue, after uni, when your pms turns you into a gremlin..?

𓍯 bf!seungmin ʚଓ fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ） 1.6k ── ༯ DRABBLE, domestic fluff, humour, flirting, comfort, mentioned pms, kisses, uni au, pure love, dying jokes. req. by ml ! ⸝⸝𓂃 LiBRARY. 𖦹ࡇ𖦹

yani's note ˖ ˙ ᰋ this was an absolute TREAT to write omg. i love love love love seungmin sm i'll explode >< thank you mama @cosmicalily for the request, i really hope it comforts you, at least in the slightest !! please take care of yourself and continue get pampered by your people ;) ! comments, requests, asks, likes, follows and reblogs are always appreciated ! comment/ask if you want to be added to my mastertag ! oh god that was a lot of exclamation marks happy reading <3

it starts with a dull ache in your lower abdomen, the kind that makes sitting through lectures feel like an olympic sport. your mood swings follow shortly after, along with an unshakable craving for chocolate. by the time you make it back to your shared apartment with your boyfriend, you're ready to flop onto the couch and disappear into a blanket cocoon.

your boyfriend in question, raises an eyebrow when he sees you shuffle through the door like a defeated sims character. "rough day?" he deadpans, his voice laced with sarcasm.

you groan in response, dropping your miffy tote that he had gotten for you merely two weeks earlier; kicking off your shoes with a dramatic flair. "i'm dying," you announce, flopping onto the couch face-first. "just let me perish here in peace."

he snorts, closing his laptop and setting it aside. "what's the cause of death this time? bad grade? forgot to take your charger? or is it the apocalypse of your own making?"

you flip over and glare at him, your energy too drained for a proper retort. "you’re walking a very thin line, kim seungmin. keyword, very."

that gets his attention. his teasing expression softens, and he stands up, walking over to you. "ah," he says simply, sitting down on the edge of the couch. "that explains why you’ve been texting me in all caps about chocolate and why you cursed out a squirrel this morning."

"i still stand by that," you reply, crossing your arms. "that squirrel was judging me."

seungmin rolls his eyes but can’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. he nudges you gently. "move over."

you grumble but comply, scooting over so he can sit beside you. he throws a knitted blanket that was earlier draped on the side of the couch, over both of you and settles in, his arm casually slung over the back of the couch.

"what do you need? heating pad? snacks? my undivided attention to watch you be dramatic?"

"another retort and you're gonna be-"

"begging for mercy? your highness, i am so deeply sorry to have offended you in this state of-"

"you're insufferable."

"and yet, here i am, ready to be your personal butler," he smirks, leaning back like he’s got all the time in the world. "...your highness." he adds.

"tell me what you want, and i'll think about it."

"actually, on second thought, don't. stay here, i'll be back in the speed of sound."

"it's said as the speed of light."

"too bad i'm not a science major. now you," he leaned in to press a soft kiss on the temple of your head, before patting the top and standing up, draping the blanket over you once more. "..stay here, with all your miffy plushies, and watch some tv. i'll be quick, okay?"

ten minutes.

it had been only ten minutes since he had gone, and then that was when you heard the familiar rattling of keys from the doorstep.

he stepped inside, balancing two loaded grocery bags of goodies and what not. his eyes flicked over you with a keen, knowing look. your cheeks were puffed, a tell-tale sign of bloating, and the slightly pinched expression on your face made his heart tug.

"i told you to stay seated."

"i had to change, mister." you shrugged.

"so that's the excuse for wearing my hoodie? again?" he remarked, raising an eyebrow as he placed the bags on the table. "did i leave anything behind that you haven't stolen?"

you got up from the couch with a dramatic groan. "i don’t steal, i borrow."

"you mean like how pirates 'borrow' treasure?" he said, shrugging off his jacket. “how’s your mood? should i brace for impact or am i safe for now?"

you shot him a glare, but it lacked heat. "hey!"

"sorry, sorry," his lips twitched, but instead of firing back, he reached for your waist, his cold fingers brushing against your arms. his touch was both gentle and grounding. "is it getting worse?"

the softness in his voice melted your defenses immediately. you sighed, leaning your head against his shoulder as he held you tightly in his arms. "i hate this. i feel gross and tired and…" you trailed off with a wave of your free hand.

he squeezed your hand. "and?"

"hungry," you whispered.

he smirked, his teasing demeanor slipping back into place. "lucky for you, i come bearing gifts." he reached into the bag, pulling out your favorites—chocolate, a lot of chips, and the sacred comfort food: ramen.

he waved them in front of your face. "all for the lady, thanks to her knight in shining armor."

you made grabby hands immediately, eyes lightening up. "gimme."

"what do we say?"

"seungmin, i will literally punch you and have zero remorse, right now."

"eh.. i doubt that. but i'd love to see you try, darling."

. . .

just as you were about to go for his hair, he laughed, surrendering the snacks. "alright, alright. eat your feelings, grumpy little gremlin."

"what did you just call me?" you cringed.

"a gremlin?"

"you've been spending way too much time with felix."

"what's with the face?" he asks, sitting back down. "i’m not a monster, you know. i have my moments."

"rare moments," you quip, taking a bite of the chocolate.

he rolls his eyes again but doesn't argue. instead, he adjusts the heating pad and plugs it in, gently placing it against your lower abdomen. the warmth is instant, and you let out a content sigh.

"better?" he asks, his tone softer now.

"better," you admit, giving him a small smile.

the two of you settle into a comfortable silence, the kind that only comes with years of friendship and understanding. seungmin picks up the tv remote, scrolling through options before landing on a rom-com you secretly adore but would never admit to liking.

"really?" you tease. "i didn’t peg you for a rom-com guy."

he shrugs, his expression carefully neutral. "i’m not. but you are. and you’re unbearable when you’re bored, so consider this a self-preservation tactic."

your heart does a little flip at his words, even if he disguises them in sarcasm. you lean against him, your head resting on his shoulder. he stiffens for a second but quickly relaxes, letting you get comfortable.

"you’re not so bad," you murmur, your voice barely audible over the movie’s opening scene.

he glances at you, his features softening in the dim light of the screen. "don’t get used to it," he says, though there’s no real bite in his words.

the rest of the evening passes in a haze of warmth and quiet companionship. at some point, seungmin shifts, pulling you closer so you’re practically curled up against him. his arm drapes around your shoulders, his thumb absentmindedly tracing circles on your abdomen, slightly massaging.

you sat in comfortable silence, with the distant hum of the tv, for a few moments as you tore into a bag of tortilla chips, the faint outline of the heatpad that he had prepared resting on your abdomen, visible. seungmin watched you with a fondness he rarely let anyone else see.

he wasn’t one to be overly affectionate in public, always opting for sarcasm and well-placed retorts instead of grand gestures. but here, with you curled up against him, he let his softer side surface.

"do you need some tea or water?" he asked after a while, brushing a few stray strands of your hair away from your face.

you nodded, too busy munching to reply.

he stood with a sigh, muttering under his breath. "you’re such a queen, making me do all the work."

"you fucker- you literally just admitted to being a 'knight in shining armor' and 'butler' like less than half an hour ago!" you called after him.

"okay, easy with the language, sailor," he raised his hands in defence, 'i take it, it's still terrible?" he frowned, looking into your eyes.

"not as bad as earlier though, thanks to you." you grin.

"...and the mood switches.. you're scary."

. . .

by the time he returned with two cups of freshly brewed chamomile tea, you had sunk deeper into the beige couch, looking more like a cozy lump than a person. he handed it to you and sat back down, pulling your feet into his lap.

"thank you," you murmured, being handed the floral teacup in your hand.

he nodded, rubbing small circles, giving slight pressure at certain points into your calves, trying to ease your pain. "don’t mention it."

a comfortable lull settled over you two again. you closed your eyes, letting the pain and discomfort ebb away under his gentle touch.

"you know," he said suddenly, "if you just stopped having a uterus, this wouldn’t be a problem."

"oh, brilliant. now why didn’t i think of that?" you rolled your eyes. "but now that i think of it, it might give rise to someone else's problems, not affecting me though." you spoke with an innocent grin on your face.

he stared at you, unable to understand for a hot second. until it came to him- and you could swear you saw his ears shading crimson.

"wow, you're so thoughtful." he murmurs, catching your hand before you could hit him again and holding it tight. "you’re so violent."

"you’re so annoying."

"and yet, here we are," he quipped, threading his fingers through yours.

you squeezed his hand. "here we are."

for a moment, neither of you spoke. the late afternoon light streamed through the windows, casting a golden glow over your intertwined hands.

seungmin looked down at you, the usual sarcastic smirk replaced with something softer, quieter. "i know it sucks," he murmured. "but you’re doing great. you’re strong. and i’ll be here… even if you eat all my hoodies and make me buy half the store every month."

your lips quirked. "you’re the best, you know that?"

"as if it wasn't obvious," he deadpanned. "but it’s nice to hear it."

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger

[airybcby]

for the new event! ~ 🫐 & 🍦 with barou please!

a barou shoei blueberry sundae :)

જ⁀♡⊹｡° last ones out

�� a/n — for my more than a married couple event :) - masterlist -

♡ word count — 1.3k

♡ content — barou shoei x gn! reader, gn! reader, one bed trope, mentions of barou's sisters, reader calls barou king once, very respectful barou, reader confesses, i have barou blush a lot idk why

♡ synopsis — who knew a broken bed could lead to you building a great wall of china of pillows just so barou shoei can have a place to sleep comfortably.

Barou Shoei was prideful to a fault.

That much became glaringly obvious within the first week of the marriage simulation.

When his bed frame broke on the third night, you could tell he didn’t want to admit it was a problem. He’d barely mentioned it, brushing it off like it wasn’t a big deal.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said, arms crossed as if daring you to challenge him.

“You can’t just sleep on the floor, Barou. We have a couch, at least—”

“Too small,” he interrupted, glancing disdainfully at the tiny loveseat in the corner. “I’ll manage.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “For a whole week? Until the landlord gets it fixed?”

Barou’s jaw tightened. “It’s fine. I don’t need anything else.”

You wanted to argue, but you could see the stubborn set of his shoulders, the way he stood firm like this was some kind of test of willpower.

Still, you hated the thought of him waking up sore and miserable every day.

“You could...” The words came out before you could second-guess them. “You could stay in my bed. Just until your bed gets fixed.”

Barou’s eyes snapped to yours, wide and disbelieving. “What?”

“You heard me,” you said, trying to sound casual even as your heart raced. “We can put a pillow wall between us. It’s not a big deal.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not? It’s just a bed.”

“It’s not just a bed!” he snapped, his voice louder than he’d intended. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before muttering, “I’d never let a man sleep in my sisters’ beds. No matter the reason.”

The comparison caught you off guard.

“This is different,” you said softly. “We’re partners for this simulation, remember? It’s not like I’m asking you to stay forever. Just until your room’s fixed.”

Barou hesitated, his gaze flickering to the couch again. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the way his pride and practicality were warring with each other.

He was too proud to admit that sleeping on the floor was a bad idea, but he also didn’t want to impose.

After what felt like an eternity, he sighed.

“Fine,” he muttered, not meeting your gaze. “But only until my bed’s fixed.”

The first night was painfully awkward.

Barou lay stiff as a board on his side of the bed, his arms pinned to his sides like he was bracing for battle. The pillow wall you’d built between you felt more symbolic than functional, but it seemed to put him at ease.

You watched him out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he’d ever relax.

“Are you always this tense?” you teased lightly, trying to break the ice.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, turning his back to you. “I’m trying to sleep.”

You bit back a smile, settling into your own side of the bed.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

By the third night, things had loosened up—slightly.

Barou wasn’t quite as stiff, though he still stuck to his side of the bed with military precision. He even helped you rebuild the pillow wall after you accidentally knocked it over in your sleep.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kick you out,” he muttered, his tone gruff but not unkind.

“Sure, King,” you teased, earning a rare, faint smirk from him.

Everything changed on the fifth morning.

You woke up to the sun streaming through the curtains, the warmth of something solid and heavy draped over your body.

It took you a moment to realize what it was.

Barou’s arm was slung over your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His deep, even breathing tickled your skin, and you froze, unsure of what to do.

The pillow wall had disappeared at some point during the night, leaving you tangled together like it had never existed.

You glanced over your shoulder, your heart racing as you took in the rare softness of his expression. Asleep, he looked...different. Peaceful, almost.

But then he stirred, his eyes blinking open.

The realization hit him like a freight train.

“Shit—” He scrambled back, his face a brilliant shade of red. “What the hell?”

“I—I don’t know!” you stammered, sitting up quickly. “You must’ve rolled over or something.”

Barou looked away, running a hand through his hair as he muttered something under his breath.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said finally, his voice gruff. “Just...forget it happened.”

But you couldn’t forget—not the warmth of his touch, not the way your heart had fluttered in those fleeting moments.

The incident was never brought up again, but it lingered between you like an unspoken truth.

Barou was quieter after that morning, more thoughtful in a way that made your chest ache. He’d return to his usual gruffness quickly enough, but there was something different in the way he’d look at you sometimes—a flicker of hesitation, as though he was holding back something he couldn’t quite say.

It wasn’t until the end of the simulation, as you both stood in the now-empty apartment, packing up the last of your things, that he finally broke the silence.

“Sorry,” he muttered abruptly, his voice low.

You glanced up, confused. “For what?”

His shoulders stiffened as he avoided your gaze. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “For... that morning.”

It didn’t take much to know what he was referring to. You remembered it too—the way you’d woken up tangled together, the pillow wall nowhere in sight.

“It’s okay,” you said, offering him a small smile. “I didn’t mind—”

“That’s the problem!” he cut you off, his voice sharper than he intended. His face flushed red, and he turned away, unable to look at you. “I shouldn’t have— It’s like I—” He struggled to find the words, frustration lacing his tone. “I pushed myself onto you.”

“Barou.” You stepped closer, your voice firm enough to make him stop. “You didn’t push yourself onto me.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you cut him off, your heart hammering as you said, “I liked it.”

That made him freeze.

He stared at you like you’d just said something incredibly stupid, his dark eyes wide and disbelieving.

“What?”

You swallowed hard, willing yourself to keep going. “I liked it,” you repeated, softer this time. “I liked being close to you. I...” You took a deep breath, your hands trembling slightly. “I like you, Barou. I have for a while. And I don’t want this to just be a simulation. I want us to be real.”

The silence that followed felt deafening.

Barou’s face turned pink, his lips parting as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. When he finally spoke, his voice was gruff, almost defensive.

“You’re so stupid,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face to hide the faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

You blinked, taken aback. “What—”

“Stupid,” he repeated, shaking his head as he glanced at you. His expression softened just slightly, his tone losing some of its edge. “You’re putting up with me. Saying stuff like that... What the hell am I supposed to do with you?”

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You could start by saying yes.”

Barou exhaled sharply, his gaze darting away again. His ears were tinted pink now, but he didn’t argue.

“Yeah, fine,” he muttered finally, shoving his hands into his pockets. “We’ll try it. But don’t blame me if you get sick of me, got it?”

You laughed softly, stepping closer to brush your hand against his. “I don’t think that’ll happen.”

For a moment, Barou didn’t move, but then, with a quiet sigh, his hand wrapped around yours, his grip firm and warm.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he said, his voice low but sincere.

“You won’t,” you promised, your smile widening as you squeezed his hand.

And for the first time, Barou Shoei let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, this was something worth holding on to.

i love him so much someone sedate me

i hope you liked it!

likes , comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[jollyhunter]

24 Kinky Days with Dean x reader - Day 22.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW - MDNI! - includes explicit sexual content, Dean being naughty and goofy, teasing, praise kink, bit of fingering, a lil' spankin', biting, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it before u tap it!), softdom!Dean, Dean guiding you through a new s♡x-position, fluff, aftercare and also there's pizza (yes, that's a warning) - no use of Y/N - there's probably more so just let me know if I missed something - English is not my native language and I’m dead on my feet Contains brief reference to Dec.9 (Whip Stroke) and Dec. 16 (Roll Over Rule)

Summary: Your ideas of 'self-care' couldn't be more contradicting: Dean's craddling a pillow and munching on his cold pizza, while you go through your yoga routine next to the motel bed. The entire time he's watching you stretch and bend and arch your back with lingering eyes... until he decide's you've had enough yoga. Time for a 'fun way' to relax.

Words: ~6,500 (yeah, I know, prepare for a lot of teasing, but it'll pay off)

Feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated! Let me know in the comments what your favorite part was! <3 A/N: At this rate, I give up on the order of the prompts / days. 🥲 But I definitely want to complete the challenge! (Sorry for the long wait y'all!)

22nd Dec. - Yoga, Kama Sutra - potato, potahto

“Of course pizza beats yoga.” Dean scoffs, his eyebrows pinched together with a lazy shake of his head in disbelief. Like the audacity of you even questioning the superiority of fast food? Unbelievable.

“But- how can you even compare the two? That’s junk food. And this is like…” You think for a moment until you remember the right term, “Self-care. You should try it once.” You try to argue in hopes that this conversion might still turn to your favour. But you know you’re pulling on threads by now.

“Oh I do self-care.” He retorts gruffly, his eyes flickering down at you. And to proof his point, he stuffs a big bite of pizza into his mouth, munching on it while he continues, his words halfway muffled, “Food and beer’s my self-care, baby.”

“But-” You groan with a roll of your eyes but stop yourself there. If that man wasn’t halfway as fit as he is, you’d at least still have the trump card of health factor left. But truth be told, despite that, you didn’t have any more arguments, and you both knew it.

So in Dean’s eyes that settled it. His way of self-care is superior to yours. End of discussion.

His focus shifts back to his pizza and the old TV boxed in by a pair of wooden chairs. The smell of cold junk food mingles with the musty carpet that's infiltrating your nostrils everytime you get a bit closer to the floor. Gratefully the sweet cinnamon smell of one of those Christmas candles you had lit the moment you returned to your room, covers up most of the motels stale stench.

After Dean has been channel zapping through various Christmas movies, he finally gave in and tossed the remote control aside on the bed. The TV is running some ads in the background now and Dean is on his stomach stuffing his face with pizza, while you are on the ground next to the motel bed, doing your yoga session on a mat. "To relax," as you had explained to him. "Desperately needed after this case had turned out to be a damn goose chase all along." You added. And on top of that, the hard mattress you had to put up with for the past week did little to ease your bad mood or aching back pain.

By now, Dean had become used to your sporadic yoga sessions whenever time allowed it. Although it was still a mystery to him how this ‘weird hippie stuff’ was in any way relaxing to you, he always enjoyed watching you. And he’d made it a habit of his own to comment with a lick over his lips – perhaps even a low, appreciative whistle – and shamelessly lustful eyes taking in every detail of your body as you’re going through your routine, “Have I ever told you how lucky I am? Like jesus – you’re so fuckin’ flexible. Like some friggin’ contortionist. I bet you can even hook your foot behind your head.”

So, naturally, Dean isn’t really paying any attention to the TV. Even though the intro sequence of “Die Hard”, one of his favourite movies, is now playing.

As always his eyes are lingering on your stretchy outfit and how tightly your favourite colour wraps your body, highlighting every curve of yours, no matter where. The thin shimmer of sweat on your exposed skin and the way you seemed so in control and at the same time at peace. To him it felt like a big contrast to the moments of action where you’d cut down a vamp or plunge a stake through a pagan’s ribcage, your movements quick, precise and face and clothings always covered in the red aftermath.

He takes another bite of the pizza, attempting to distract himself, but his gaze keeps drifting back to you. Your rear in the air now as you switch into the Downward Dog pose. The soft moans and heavy breaths that slip your lips makes him chew slower. His mind now imagining you arching your body in other ways rather than yoga moves, while moaning his name and – Damnit, Winchester, get your mind out of the gutter.

“You having fun up there?” Your teasing voice rips right through his rather explicit picture of him going through some yoga poses with you at his mercy and he almost chokes on the mouthful of pizza. He forces it down with a swig of beer, while he gathers his thoughts sufficiently to reply with a cocky smirk, “Just enjoying the view.”

“Of course you do.” You roll your eyes but can’t help a soft chuckle before you switch to another pose.

From the corner of his eyes, he watches how you effortlessly stretch your legs apart just to roll over onto your stomach where you continue with propping yourself up on your hands, arching your back and then tipping your head back while pressing your stomach into the mat.

“Tell ya what,” he suddenly speaks up before he interrupts himself, stuffing the rest of the pizza crust into his mouth and swallowing it down. “You could probably do the whole Kama Sutra without breaking a sweat.”

You hold the Cobra pose when your chest briefly heaves from the huff that slipped your nose. “Horn dog.”

“Yoga, Kama Sutra – potato, potahto.” He snorts with a mocking tone, clearly starting to get annoyed from his fruitless efforts to distract you so far.

He shifts on the bed, propping his head up on the pillow in the crook of his arm to get a new angle on your curves. After watching you for a moment, he decides it’s time for a new approach.

He clears his throat before he muses in a sultry tone, “There’s also better ways to relax than yoga.”

While he licks his greasy fingers clean, he can’t help but appreciate the way the tight fabric of your yoga pants stretch over your curves again.

Still playing deaf, huh? A playful Cheshire smile forms on his lips when he finishes to suck his last digit with a obscene pop. He then continues in a demanding voice, “C’mere.”

“I’m not done yet.” You reply curtly, muffled slightly by the mat, your head now dropped down with your forehead resting on your folded hands.

He lets out an amused hum, “Oh yes you are.”

Within seconds he rolls off the motel bed to move on top of you, straddling your thighs and pressing down on you, pinning you against the mat.

You let out a surprised gasp, “Dean!”

But the only response you get is a cheeky “Heh-heh”.

When you feel his warm hands cup your butt cheeks and starting to squeeze and massage them, you lift your head to glance back over your shoulder at him. You give him your warning ‘seriously now?’ look, which he just deflects with a mock-innocent grin of his that said ‘what?’.

The way his palms squeeze firmly against your butt cheeks makes him let out a low satisfied hum in his throat. One hand moves to rest next to your head, supporting him as he leans down. His breath’s hot against your ear when he mutters, “This’ a lot more fun than that bullshit yoga.”

You want to bite back with a snarky comment about it not being bullshit at all – but your thought gets cancelled the moment his lips brush over the sensitive skin behind your earlobe, tracing a path of open mouthed kisses along the side of your neck. You let out a low shuddering breath, instinctively tilting your head for him.

But then a waft of his junk-food-slash-beer-laced breath hits your face and it instantly makes your nose scrunch up in a cute fashion.

“De, you smell like a dumpster.” You chuckle and reach with your hand over your shoulder to playfully shove his face away.

“Oh yeah?” He retorts with a smirk. Meanwhile his free hand snakes to the inside of your thighs, tight fingers sliding up under the stretchy fabric of your yoga shorts.

“Huh… only one way to solve it.” He mutters before he nips at your hand which had been pushing his face, giving the tip of your middle finger a short sharp bite that makes you gasp and immediately pull away.

He chuckles at your reaction and then straightens up to sit back on your legs. He inches further down to your calves, his eyes darting from his fingers wiggling under your short pants, up to your face again with a smirk on his lips. “I know what you’re thinking, sweetheart…”

Your anticipation’s building quickly. Feeling his fingers tracing so teasingly along the rim of your panties made the heat pool in your stomach and your mind throw all other plans for your remaining yoga session out the backdoor. And he damn well knew it the moment he brushed against the damp stain in the centre of your thin patch of fabric.

But then you let out a frustrated huff. He’d suddenly pulled his hand from between your legs to pat your ass with it, his glinting emerald eyes never leaving yours as he continues with a drawled “Nuh-uh.”

Then he leans over to the bed, his hand sliding into the pizza box where he fishes a remaining slice out. “Open wide.” He orders with a grin as he reaches with his hand over your shoulder. There he prods the tip of the pizza slice against your cheek, “C’mon, down the hatch. Commit a sin for me.” He quips with a feigned serious tone.

When you still look at him with that expression of befuddlement, he chuckles, his grin widening, “Take a bite, sunshine. Your breath’s my breath.”

You’re torn between being turned on by his words in some dirty twisted way and being utterly amused by them. It’s not like you were on a diet – heck, you sometimes eat so much junk food with all the cheap diner’s you’d hit every day on the road, it was a damn miracle you hadn’t gained weight yet.

“C’mon, Say aaaah.” He hums, still grinning from ear to ear as he prods the pizza slice against your lips.

After an amused snort, you can’t help but crack a grin of your own, “You’re a silly man, Winchester, you know that?” You finally give in and open your mouth enough to take a bite of the cold salami pizza.

“Yeah, but I’m your silly man.” He replies as he discards the pizza slice back into the box.

You swallow the bite down when his finger swipes over your bottom lip to clean away a streak of tomato sauce. His eyes follow his thumb’s movement, his touch gentle but the expression on his face more mischievous when he watches the tip of your tongue licking out to chase his finger to catch the bit of sauce.

You hold each other’s intense gazes, eyes darkened with something more. The sudden shift in atmosphere had you both still in your movements, taking in how the air between you had suddenly charged up.

Dean finally can’t take the tension any more and lets out a low growl from the back of his throat. He withdraws his finger, before giving your cheek a soft pat. “There’s my good girl.”

Your lips curl into a proud smile at his praise, “Only for you.”

A soft chuckle slips over his lips as he straightens up to sit back on your thighs again. His hands run down your back until they wrap around your hips, fingers trailing the hem of your yoga shorts. He hooks his fingers into the elastic band, slowly starting to pull them over your butt cheeks.

Your breath hitches when the cold air makes contact with your exposed rear. Next moment you feel his teeth dig into the soft flesh of your left bum cheek which triggers a short surprised yelp of yours.

“It was just too tempting.” He chuckles against your skin before he lets go of your butt with a wet-smooch to the red mark and straightens up again.

He pats the spot where he’d just claimed you, with his hand, “Lift up your hips, sweetheart.”

As you wiggle underneath him, he gets up on his knees, his weight now lifted off you to aid you with it. He leans forward to get a better hold on the fabric to properly pull the yoga pants along your panties down towards your knees.

“There we go… Now hold still for me, sunshine…” He mutters while his hands move along your skin.

A shiver runs through your body as you feel the only thing between you and him being taken from you, how you feel the fabric brush down your legs until you are completely exposed for him. Exposed and at his mercy. And damn it made your breath hitch from feeling vulnerable, as much as excitement.

After his hands had traveled further down, taking your pants and underwear with him, he discarded the redundant pieces of clothing to the side.

Finally satisfied, Dean slides down your legs again until he’s sitting on your calves, his hands on the back of your thighs. “Now where was my good girl’s cute little butt again.” He comments as he gently palms the soft globes of your cheeks with his smile never leaving his lips.

You groan softly and your eyes flutter closed, your body practically melting into the yoga mat under his touch.

“Oh, right, there it is.” He squeezes, his large hands massaging the flesh before he suddenly gives you a firm spank.

“Jesus-!” You yelp up at the unexpected sharp smack, your eyes wide open now as you whip your head to the side to stare back at him.

“Hey, you’re in prime spanking position here. What am I supposed to do, just admire the view and do nuthin’?” He mutters behind a teasing chuckle, his green eyes glued to the spot on your butt that was now slowly turning a light shade of red where his palm had hit you. “Plus, I know ya like it. Or you want me to get out the leather crop and remind you of our spankin’ session last week?”

Your thighs twitch involuntarily at the reminder of that evening. And the heat in your core is tingling from the vivid memory of that sweet-burning sensation that had taken over your body every time the leather smacked down on your skin.

“Guilty as charged.” You mutter while you have to force a moan back down your throat.

Dean’s lips curl into a cocky grin, “Knew it.”

You playfully narrow your eyes at him as you glance back over your shoulder to keep an eye on his sinful hand. But Dean stays unperturbed, if anything, your warning look just spurs him on even more.

“That’s for looking too damn good in those tight-ass yoga leggings.” He continues, giving your butt another firm slap before he reaches between your legs and your breath catches in your throat. His thumb traces the outline of your dripping folds, “And this-” His fingertips just graze over your centre, “That’s for being my good girl.”

He takes a moment to enjoy your gasp and how your head had dropped to the mat, your breath shaky already. His tongue darts out to lick his lips before he orders in a more gravelly tone, “Now be a good girl and spread your legs for me. I need to taste you.”

A shuddering exhale leaves your mouth, followed by a curse that luckily gets swallowed by the yoga mat you’re breathing into. You bend your knees slightly outward, as far as his hips pinning down your calves allow you to go.

“That’s it sweetheart…” He murmurs before his large hands grab the inside of your thighs, guiding your legs to part even further while his head slowly starts to sink down between them.

Your thighs begin to shiver from his warm breath hitting your soaked slit, desperately begging for his attention. Your hands blindly search for the edge of the mat, your fingers clutching it on each side as you prepare for him to dig into you.

Dean of course notices your anticipation and can’t miss the chance to comment on it.

“You’re gonna grab that mat nice and tight for me, sunshine. And you’re gonna hold still, keep those legs spread, and stay nice and quiet.” He instructs, his tone taking on a more commanding one, but still with a mischievous edge to it.

He then lowers his eyes again to admire the slick flesh between your legs where your folds are already parted, practically gleaming in the dim light of the motel room.

“Damn, look at you all nice and wet and open for me.”

Dean shifts his weight to brace his left elbow on the floor next to your hip, the other hand splayed out on the small of your back to hold you in place.

“You’re like a damn waterfall already, sunshine.” He murmurs in awe. The way your body reacts to him never ceases to fascinate him. He leans in, and you feel his hot breath coming in short puffs as he places a gentle kiss on your hooded clit, before he pulls back again.

As you immediately lift and tilt your head to look at him, he lets out an amused hum, “Now now, head down, sweetheart. Remember, yoga’s about relaxing and focusing on your body.”

“Smartass.” you manage to groan out.

“Eatsass.” he corrects you and before you get to be smart with him again, he proofs his point by suddenly parting your slick folds with his tongue, drawing it all the way up until he pulls it back into his mouth with a smack of his lips.

A low moan ripples through your chest, finally feeling that long desired friction that has you melt into a puddle of a blubbering mess. “Please- Dean- don’t stop- I need more- please-”

He grins at your pleading words and dives right back in. Licking, prodding, tongue lapping across your glistening folds, drinking your juice like its the only thing that keeps him sane. He moves up, his tongue circling your clit before he wraps his lips around it. Your legs suddenly tense up and a pathetic mewling-yelp erupts from your parted lips when he starts to suck at your bud like he’s finishing off a flurry through a thin straw.

Your hips jerk back and involuntarily try to pull away from the onslaught. But in vain as his large palm presses down on your stomach to keep you in place and in reaction to your attempted escape, he just increases the borderline painful pull on your clit even more.

The foam gives in under your clawing fingers, feeling yourself near your climax. You’re close to a scream - until he finally loosens his grip around your sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re relieved and frustrated at the same time. Your clit’s now swollen and overstimulated and oh so close to pop you off the edge.

“P-please…” you whimper and turn your head to the side against the mat to be able to look back at him, “De… please – I-… I’m so close-”

“You want to come on my face… or my fingers, hm?” Dean hums with a cocky sound to it.

“Both- anything- please,” you beg now, your chest heaving under the weight of your body, your breaths grown ragged and heavy.

“Such a greedy little thing,” he growls, his tone laced with pride, knowing exactly that he can always drive you mad with need if he wants to.

He shifts his weight, his chest resting between your legs and his free hand snaking over your thigh to join him. His fingertips reach between your legs, running through the folds, as he lets his finger circle around your entrance for a moment. At your muffled whimper, he effortlessly pushes his middle finger inside. “But first, I wanna see if I can make those legs of yours quiver from just one finger…” Dean states, his tone low with a raspier edge, and darkened eyes fixed on your dripping hole.

You gasp at his words, his gravel tone sending a shiver down your spine. But after a moment of enduring his finger’s tantalizing strokes, your patience snaps and you regain your voice.

“Oh fuck you.” you groan in protest, your teeth clenched from frustration. One finger after all this teasing? This was just pure torture now and he knew it.

“What? You want me to go in full house?” He chuckles knowingly, enjoying your worn down patience way too much for your liking, “Want me knuckles deep inside you again, is that it?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, but instead quickly jams his index finger inside you, pumping them both in and out while his lips enclose around your clit once more.

You don’t even have the time to gasp for air when you feel your walls clenching and gripping onto his curling fingers. A few seconds of intense onslaught of his is enough to send you flying over the edge with a loud guttural moan. Your nails dig into the mat, your legs are shaking and your walls fluttering around his fingers while he helps you ride out your height.

Once you fall limp and try to catch your breath, Dean slowly withdraws his two fingers to raise them to his mouth and suck them clean. He grins, wiping his face with the back of his hand before his tongue swipes over his lips, kingly as he does so, savouring every last drop of your taste.

He shifts on top of you to move a hand next to your waist on each side, leaning down to grab the hooks of your sports bra between his teeth. With a swift tug, it falls open and he leans in to kiss you between your shoulder blades. You let out a low hum, enjoying the soft affection with eyes fluttered close. He moves again to gently tug the last piece of clothing over your shoulders and arms until he flings it over his shoulder, where it lands next to your other things.

You feel the rough fabric of his shirt graze your skin, and the buckle of his belt makes you shiver when it lowers down on the nape of your back. Just below it, the growing bulge behind his jeans rubs against your butt when he rolls his hips against you.

“You feel how hard I am just because of you?” He murmurs against your skin, the words almost lost in a stifled groan. But you still answer with a low confirming hum. He continues to plant kisses along your back, taking his time to explore every single inch. His lips send small shivers down your spine and all the way to your core again, each one of them like a spark along your fuse.

“Babe?” He mutters between hot kisses lining up to your ear now.

“Mh?” You hum into the yoga mat while tilting your head slightly for him.

“You ever heard of the elephant position?” He asks innocently.

The what? That name earns him a surprised giggle of yours. It was nothing unusual that Dean would randomly hit you up with some sex-position he’d like to try out with you, but this one was a new one to you. “Are you seriously talking about how elephants mate? Or are you trying to impress me with the yoga pose?” You tease him. Clearly he wasn’t talking about the latter. “Or, let me guess, it’s a Kama Sutra thing.”

He plants another open-mouthed kiss right under your ear, “Mmm-hm,” and his throat rumbles against your neck, is lips lingering there for a moment while he murmurs, “That… Ever tried it?”

With the side of his face he nudges your head further aside before he dives down to take the skin of your neck gently between his teeth, pinching it enough to make you gasp.

At his question, though, you look a bit sheepish and you shake your head, “No… is it… good?”

Dean beams at your admission – he simply loves it whenever he can show you something new, especially when he knows how much pleasure it’ll bring you.

He perks his head up like an excited dog, “Oh you’ll love it, baby. I promise. It hits all your super-sensitive spots.” He leans back in to nibble on the soft flesh of your neck before he continues in an eager tone. “You wanna try it?”

“Uh,” you lift your head now to glance back, meeting his glinting green eyes above his wide smile. Your lips curl upwards at the sight of his excitement and you respond, “Yeah, will you, uh, will you show me?”

“Of course, baby.” He leans back to lower his hips on your thighs again, his eyes raking up and down your buck naked body. “I need you to stay just like this- uh – whatever pose this is.”

You chuckle and raise yourself on your elbows. “The sphinx.”

“Yeah, right, okay, sphinx.” He mutters and pushes himself off you for a second, “Stay. Don’t move.”

He reaches for his belt buckle, the sound of the metal clinking while he unbuttons his jeans and slides the denim along his boxers off his hips. The heavy, worn jeans quickly land somewhere next to your yoga outfit, and his shirt follows seconds after.

“Yeah, that’s better.” He mutters to himself before climbing on top of you again, his knees straddling your legs as he lowers himself down. He runs his hands up and down your sides, his firm pecs brushing against your back. “’M not crushing you, am I?” He asks, his tone softer for a moment.

“No, all good. Don’t worry.” You reassure him before you angle your shoulders to nuzzle your nose against his jawline, feeling the scruff prickle your skin.

“Good.” He nuzzles back into your neck, hands trailing down your arms, “Mmmh… you’re so soft, sunshine.” His hands continue their path until they wrap around your wrists and guide your arms up just slightly above your head as your chest slowly lowers back down. He places them there before he murmurs against your ear, “Keep them there for me, baby, keep them right where I can reach them, yeah?”

“Mhm.” You nod and suddenly become aware of the way the tip of his erection brushes against your inner thighs every time he moves.

“Just wanna make sure I know where those hands are.” Dean chuckles and purposely bucks his hips so that his swollen head briefly kisses your entrance.

His hands slowly glide up the inside of your arm, fingertips ghosting over your twitching skin. He brushes them underneath you, hands up the front of your chest, cupping your breasts and slowly kneading the soft flesh in his palms, “Can’t have you squirming and fighting against me while I’m trying to make you feel good, y’know.”

You arch into his hands, needy little sounds of pleasure dripping off your lips. Your core’s burning again, begging to be taken care of.

“I know baby, I know…” he coos between tender kisses, and in spite of his chapped lips, he caresses your shivering skin with soft love letters.

“Dean- please- I-” you start to plead, your voice bouncing off the pink foam you’re panting against.

But Dean finishes for you with his voice dropped to a rougher octave, while still trying to sound soothing for you, “You just want me to pound you mindless into that damn mat… I know… and I can’t wait to make you cry, sunshine… Gonna make you scream my name so loud, the folks at the front desk will hear it and think there’s a whole exorcism going on or somethin’… But first you need a lil’ patience, sweetheart… alright?”

The question was of course rhetorical. Once your boyfriend has his mind set on something, he’ll pull through with it. Or at least that’s how he’d like to describe himself. You of course know that you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger whenever you really want.

“It’ll be worth it, I promise… I’ll make sure you come so hard, you’ll be seeing nuthin’ but stars for a whole minute.” He adds while he withdraws one hand to palm his erection before he lines up behind you.

“But first… I gotta pump your tight bands of muscles up… the ones closest to your sweet, drippin’ entrance– ” He begins to explain but gets interrupted when he pulls a gasp from your lips, thanks to him suddenly biting down on your shoulder.

His words come out slightly muffled as he continues with a growl, “… get them hot ‘n aroused ‘n sore from all my undivided attention… I want you to come just from my cock inside you.”

You feel his tip teas your entrance, circling it but never pushing in like he’s waiting for the right moment. His feet then dip beneath your legs, before his calves and heels press against your thighs to keep them clamped together. “That’s it… keep ‘em nice ‘n tight.” He husks somewhere behind you while he rocks his hips again. His warm breath’s skimming over your sweat-dampened skin sending shivers of goosebumps in its wake.

Once you’re just in perfect position for him, he finally pushes his cock inside you in one smooth motion which draws a low guttural moan out of your throat.

For the next minutes, Dean does as he explained, taking his sweet time to build up your tension at just the right spots.

He pulls the ridged-band along your slick, clenching walls, slow and ordaining. When he feels you twitch, he knows he’s found just the right spot. With deliberate rolling motions of his hips he begins to push and pull the head of his cock along your g-spot.

Your face drops to the mat, a shaky breath rippling out of your throat when you feel him graze your insides. His slow motions are torturous and unbelievably pleasurable at the same time.

His strong thighs bind yours between his own while he increases the friction, now rutting his swollen tip against your tightly grasping entrance.

“You feel that baby?” He whispers huskily, his lips right next to your ear-shell.

“Y-yeah,” you answer weakly, your breath slowly picking up pace to match his hips new rhythm.

Once he notices your entrance shimmy around his shaft, he knows he’s got you just where he wants you. He swiftly pulls his length out, earning himself a frustrated whimper of yours.

“No- no please, don’t stop-” You start to plead but before you know it, he pushes back in. This time without holding any inch back.

“You did so well, being so patient for me…” He begins to mutter against your hair, “I’ll take care of you now. Let go and just feel me, sunshine.”

You groan, arch your back and raise your chest off the floor, holding yourself upright with your elbows. But you quickly notice it’s in fact, Dean, who’s keeping you from collapsing back into your pink mat.

He had his arm wrapped around your torso, pulling your back close to his chest. His large palms slide along your body until they wrap around your soft, plump flesh to cup one of your breasts, your nipple teasingly pinched between his thumb and index finger. He supports you both on his free hand pressed into the foam, the muscles of his biceps flexing relentlessly from the force of his movements.

All the while he keeps snapping his hips against your bum with precise thrusts, each time taking your breath as he meets your cervix. Each collision eliciting a twinge, like a sweet hurt that has your pupils dive under your eyelids.

He switches his supporting arm, the freed hand roaming every part of your body like he’s exploring and worshipping it at the same time. His large palm comes to rest on your ass, splayed out on your soft flesh. Then you feel him slip out of you, shifting his position as he puts some of his weight on your ass now to hold you down when he begins to pound you into the mat again.

“Oh fuck-” The new angle draws a surprised yelp from you.

But Dean quickly comes to soothe you with open mouthed kisses dancing up your spine, his teeth skimming your skin and his lips tasting the sheen of sweat clinging to your body. Arrived at the nape of your neck, he husks out, “Good girl, takin’ every inch of me… lettin’ me fill ya up all the way…” his voice drifts off when his tongue darts out to lick the sensitive spot behind your ears, sending another shiver down your back.

The new pace of his hips is slower but no less intense. He continues to slam his cock past your slick folds, pulling out almost entirely before he rocks his hipbones back into your cheeks. Over and over, each time all the way to the shaft’s base, drawing those guttural moans from your sweet lips which make him growl with pride.

He rasps out groans and praises against your neck, each spurring you on equally, “You’re taking me so well, baby- Fuck- so good for me… my good girl… bein’ so, so perfect, only for me…”

Your moans grow more desperate, breathless, feeling his cock harden against your soft walls. “D-Dean-,” you whimper as your head briefly lolls back to lean into his shoulder just before it drops forward again with a loud shuddering moan sparked by your core.

Your hands start fisting into the crappy motel rug, pulling at the loose threads of it as you desperately search for something to hold onto. Your frantic actions don’t go unnoticed by Dean who’s watching your every hitch in breath and twitch of your muscles, always making sure he doesn’t miss the signs that the pain’s still pleasurable to you.

He quickly shifts his weight as his hand on your ass darts over to your clawing fingers, doing the same with his other. He untangles your fingers from the fabrics, intertwining them with his own while his forearms come to join yours on the pink foam, supporting himself on both elbows now.

He can feel your legs tremble against the weight of his hips, which he uses to plough you into the yoga mat as he slams into you. His movements now erratic and rough. Squelching sounds mix with your combined moaning and panting. Driving each other closer to the edge with every sound.

“Y-you close, baby?” He growls against your ear, already knowing the answer. He can feel your fluttering walls gripping him tightly, “Fuck-” he groans, his hands squeezing yours and pinning them there when your body starts to buckle and shudder beneath him. He’s now driving his cock inside you with primal need.

“Oh God-” you whine, face pressed flush into the foam as you feel the knot in your belly tighten up and your muscles go tense.

“F-fuck yeah- that’s it- squeeze and come on my cock, come for me-” He growls, his voice dropped to a gravelly, rumbling tone. He runs his nose along your neck, across the trail of red marks, when he suddenly sinks his teeth into your flesh once more.

And that does it for you. Your knot explodes into waves of pleasure rippling through your body. Stars take over your vision when you scream his name. Your walls flutter around his cock, pulling him over the edge along you and coating your walls with his warm seeds. The climax keeps crashing down on you in multiple shock waves until your body finally falls limp, your limbs twitching as if you’d been struck by a lightning bolt.

Dean collapses on top of you, his breath ragged and hot as it wafts against your sweaty skin. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his biceps just barely able to keep his body from completely burying you under his weight.

“Damn… that- wow…” You whisper breathlessly, still trying to regain your vision and collect your thoughts.

“You were amazing, baby.” Dean praises you with a hoarse voice, his lips lingering on your temple.

You tilt your head to catch his lips in a soft, but purposeful kiss. When you pull back just enough to speak, you catch a glimpse of his eyes briefly widen at your words, “No, you are amazing.”

♡

For a moment you both enjoy each other’s soft breaths and the way he hugs you tightly as he wraps his body around you like a heavy blanket. You keep nuzzling your faces into each others hair while you let the silence be filled by your affections. Silence except for the TV which’s now playing the final scenes of “Die Hard” in the background.

After some time, Dean pushes himself off you, gently sitting back down on your bum as he takes in the sight of you in front of him. His hands are kneading the flesh of your ass as he watches you with hooded eyes. Then a cheeky grin begins to form on his lips when he realizes something.

“Y’know, you’re laying down in the perfect position for me to do somethin’.” He states with a full-out grin now.

“Huh-?” Before you can even process what’s happening, his fingers dig into the skin where he knows you’re the most ticklish.

“Dean!!” You squeal like a mouse – but the sound quickly hitches into a high-pitched giggle while you desperately try to wiggle away from him. “St-stop it- y-you jerk!” You stutter between gasps for air and the tears gathering on the rim of your eyes. You kick your legs, throwing him off and not wasting your chance, slipping away to scramble for an escape.

But you quickly find yourself back on the motel rug with a gasp and a thud, thanks to Dean pulling you back by the ankle. His smile has turned into that smug grin of his when he taunts you in a commanding voice, “Where d’you think you’re goin’, hm?”

“Th-that’s- unfair!!” you protest, but your words dissipate in another round of giggles as you turn onto your side, trying to free yourself. But Dean has his calves wrapped around your knee to lock it while his fingers skitter across the heel of your foot. You grapple with his free hand but he effortlessly evades your flailing limbs and grips you by the hip before you get to wiggle away again.

Next moment, you find yourself unceremoniously flipped back onto your stomach and his weight dropped down on your ass to pin you down bellow him. His thighs straddle you, this time reverse as his hands dart out to snatch one of your ankles, bending your leg back so he can continue his assault.

“Unfair? Me?” He lets out a deep chuckle, lips pursed in mock-innocence, his head tilted to glance back down at you over his shoulder. He stills his teasing fingers, waiting for your reaction.

You try to catch your breath while you narrow your watering eyes at him, daring him to go on.

Of course that sly bastard musters the audacity to answer your threat with a wink of his emerald eyes glinting with mischief and his lips flashed into that cocky smirk of his.

“Never.”

A/N: Dean going from goofy to smut to fluff to rough sex and back to fluffy and goofy like 📈 Idk I just see him like this, a caring 'n goofy softdom horn dog who loves it when he can show you new things.

Let me know what you think and if you got to enjoy it my sweet vixens ♡

Masterlist of opened windows:

1st Dec. - Sunshine 2nd Dec. - Spell Book 3rd Dec. - Lights Out 4th Dec. - Tickle 5th Dec. - Dirty UNO 6th Dec. - (TBA) 7th Dec. - Candlelight 8th Dec. - Hex Play 9th Dec. - Whip Stroke 10th Dec. - Barbie World 11th Dec. - Temptation ... (check the masterlist for more!)

Kinky Advent Calendar Tags:

@ariasong11 ♡ @deansjacket ♡ @literallylexa ♡ @lmpala1967 ♡ @foxyjwls007 ♡ @impala67rollingthroughtown ♡ @aylacavebear ♡ @jc-winchester

[sheepispink]

Food to feed the heart ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི relationships: simon riley x baker!reader

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི A/N: ello cuties i know i havent posted anything so take this before i post the next chapter (likely this weekend) because i also have exams next week which also means no chapter.. 😔

Part 1 | Prev | Next

A few days have passed since he had driven you back home from the farm, and you’re still a little flustered that you had fallen asleep so easily. It was embarrassing but thankfully he wasn't the one to wake you up; you’d probably pass out again if you opened your eyes to his skull mask in your face—no offense to him, of course. The truck jostled as he unpacked the car to take out all the fresh produce, clearly having no intentions of making you help. He handled it all with ease, feeling more like carrying a shopping bag than the heavy glass bottles of milk. “Simon?” Your voice has mumbled out sleepily, dragging your tired self around the side of the truck to watch as he lifted each crate. He had gone completely still at your words though, something shifting behind his eyes that were usually quite sharp, though it doesn't seem to be uncomfortable. That look alone flustered you and you immediately got to work despite his protests, hurrying to pack all the produce away.

You’ve long since closed the shop now, but you were preparing some dough as per usual. It was all you ever seemed to do these days, and even if more people were appreciating your bakes, you find yourself desperate for a new invention. Or well, at least somekind of new product in the shop. Somehow, your mind drifts back to your old train of thought that other day, what Simon would eat for lunch. You think he’d like something rich with flavour, considering how dry military food would be, but not spice—it doesn't look like he could handle that much anyway. Savoury seems to be his preference, even if he has tried a few of your sweeter options before. Don’t soldiers need lots of protein and carbs too? At least that’s what everyone says about building muscle, so you mentally jot those points down too. Your stomach rumbles as you see a notification from a cooking channel you follow, instantly clicking on it to see the thumbnail that is the most delicious tacos with their seasoned meat and vegetables. The video even showed pulled chicken tacos, but that’d seemed to be too messy for him to eat on the job— definitely a note for another day.

You hum as you lean against the counter, looking at the bread dough in the bowl before you. Pulled chicken sounded damn good especially for protein, you have bread already, and shredded vegetables would be easy to get…you're going to make the best damn meal he’ll have in his life.

——————————————————————

Sweat trickles down his back and soaks his shirt as he pants quietly, breaths eventually slowing down from his early morning run. The air is crisp, almost biting with how cold it is as December deepens. He doesn't particularly like how much his thoughts have shifted these days, always thinking about his next visit to his bakery rather than the rest of his schedule for the day. Damnit, just the mere sight of a teacup makes him think of your grin when you hand one to him. He’s convinced he’s starting to go insane.

The locker rooms are quiet at this time, and so he pulls off his top in one smooth motion before throwing in his laundry bag that he’ll handle later. His muscles flex as he stretches them a little, fishing out a fresh vest and shirt when his phone buzzes in his duffel bag. That’s unusual, no one really bothered texting him apart from his phone service provider or occasionally an app notification. Even Soap preferred to just hunt down the Lieutenant himself, knowing he barely ever checked his phone. But he does now, because now he’s got someone who has his number, and who actually wants to text him too. Your name and the silly picture you took on his phone flash up, and for once his thumb fumbles when he types his password in.

“Is there any chance i could potentially leave something for you at like.. a military gate.. post.. thing? You forgot something in the shop!”

He raises a brow at the message, knowing damn well he’s never been reckless enough to forget something that would be important as to be delivered to him at this time. If it really was something, surely it could wait until he inevitably saw you next week. At least, that’s what his rationale is telling him. He shouldn't breach work hours and go off and let you into the base, no he should just tell you that it isnt possible and he’ll handle it himself. He’d be damned if he ever let you drive your truck up here, carrying one of his things and delivering it to him personally. What if someone saw you? What if another soldier talked to you and you realised they’re the one you want to stay friends with and not him?”

At that he slams the locker door closed, letting out a deep breath and ignoring the way his face heats. It’s just because of the run, just because of the way his mask clings to his face. It’s really hot in here, yeah that’s it. This -2° air is boiling.

It’s almost lunch time now, and he walks down to the admin area where an intern, who is usually tasked with the mundane tasks like these, tells him there’s a girl waiting for him at the gate. He just gruffly nods, hands stuck in his pockets as he steps out of the building and where you stand on the other side of the barrier, awkwardly waiting with a little paper bag. He’s glad you’re wrapped up, a thick scarf practically engulfing your face and a wooly hat covering the hair he loves the look of. “Miss Lost and Found, is that your name now?” He hums, stepping towards you and you almost jump, not used to the physical skull mask he wears on base and rather the more tame chalk one. But his voice resonates instantly and you grin, tugging down your scarf to your chin. “I may have lied. I came bearing a delivery.”

Well he hadn't expected you to straight up lie to get your way, but he supposes it must be a good cause and so he takes the bag when you offer it to him, though not without taking your wrist too. “C’mon, let's get you warmed up inside.”

You’re not sure if you stick out like a sore thumb because of the thick jacket you wear compared to the camos sported around here, or due to the Lieutenant’s grip around your hand as he tugs you along. It must be a mix of both, assuming from the way the other soldiers look at Ghost and then you before scurrying off quickly. He eventually seats you opposite him in an office, letting you sit on the couch as he settles on the armchair. Though.. this office does not match him in the slightest. “Captain’s office, not mine.”

He hums, digging out the container out of the paperbag with curiosity along with a warm flask. “You didn't..” He grunts, eye flickering down at the food and then up to you, not quite sure just yet if the little lunchbox you brang is something he had somehow left behind in another life or you really had brought him lunch while he was working.

“I did. I wanted to thank you for all your help the other day” You grin, and he pulls off the lid, instantly caught in the delicious smell inside. Two large chicken stuffed buns right beside each other, practically still hot considering you cooked them this morning. Beneath is veggie sticks, ones you’d usually give to little kids, layered over seasoned rice in case he wasn't full on the buns already. And of course, would it really be you if you didn't give him a dessert? Of course, nothing too sweet, in fact you even went out of your way to make another off menu item for him… oops.

“Banana bread? Do you note down everything I say?” He likes the way your smile grows wider when he notices your efforts, taking care to remember that for later too. Though, he really is surprised you were paying that much attention to him. “You know I'm gonna devour this, righ’?”

Though you’re quickly cut off when the door bangs open, a noise common around here but not exactly for you since you unintentionally jump. It doesn't go unnoticed by Simon though, whose hand shoots out to protect before realising you had only jumped at the door and nothing actually serious. His hand says awkwardly hovering before you before he just picks some lint of your shoulder, quickly turning to the door instead. Is he going crazy or what? The cause of the noise was a bulky man who had almost as much muscle as the man in front of you, only shorter than him and the muscle was more evenly distributed.

“Lt, the fuckin’ rookies are at it again! This new batch are always fighting eachother!” He exclaims, walking over to the desk in the office to snatch a cookie out of a jar that easily blends into the rest of the furniture around. You stare at him as he bites into it, the crumbs falling onto his tactical gear before his head lifts to meet Simon’s, only to see you right in front of him. He raises a single brow at you, then chomps on a cookie a little more.

“Oh, is this one of ‘em? Lass doesn't even look terrified, have ye lost yer touch mate?” Ghost grunts as the man jests, and shakes his head before trying to move the lunchbox out of the man’s sight. “She’s not a soldier, Johnny.”

“Not a soldier eh? So.. CIA? One of Laswell’s right?”

“No”

”Medic?”

“No.”

“K9 Trainer?”

“No.”

”Damnit, Lt, yer killing me!”

‘Johnny’ groans as he steps around the desk, before promptly noticing the lunchbox that Ghost had failed to completely hide behind him. Though, that left even more questions unanswered. For starters, when has Ghost ever sat with someone for lunch?

“None of ya business who she is. I’ll deal with the rookies in five, just get ‘em rounded up, Soap.” Then he turns to you, wrapping the scarf that was tossed to the side back around your neck before he pulls you up by your hands. “And you need to get back home.”

“Do I really look like I could be in the CIA?” Soap snaps his gaze to you as your head tilts, in a way that’s far too friendly, towards Ghost though he only rolls his eyes up at you and huffs out a chuckle. “You couldn't even kill a fly.”

“I didn't want fly blood on me!”

You argue and Ghost turns to see the other soldier staring, so he grunts and closes the lid onto the lunchbox. Soap had just been through a series of emotions and confusion was an aspect of all of them. Ghost had just tucked a scarf around your neck, refused to give your identity to him and he was about to walk you back to wherever you came from. For once in his life, he stays silent as his Lieutenant leads you out, a hand on your back to guide you.

——————————————————————

After he walked you back to your car and made sure you knew your way out of the complex, he had spent the next half hour dealing with those damn rookies Soap groaned about. Finally, he was free now, the little blue lunch box in front of him, and lord was he starving. As he promised, he devoured everything you made him, even taking a moment to stop and savour the burst of flavour the shredded chicken had been coated in. It was more than good, it was like the takeout they only got every so often, like the drinks he’d share with his taskforce, or even the sigh that gets let out when everyone comes back unscathed from a mission. It was comforting and warm, a promise of safety and he’d be damned if he never got to try this cooking ever again. So, he savours each bite, every drop of tea in the flask until it’s empty. He’ll scrub the container clean for you, grab you a box of chocolates even if it was meant as a thnak you. And he’d be back in that bakery, as soon as he could.

———————————————————————

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Taglist:

@hidden-treasures21 @bieberismysoulmate @gallantys @tessakate @galactict3a @krispymagazinepizza-blog

[ashonheavenscloud]

mission accomplished || c. vernon

warnings: none! || wc: 1.1k

a/n: from another round of frantic fanfic with mi amor @lixiesfreckless !! enjoy <3

─── ���⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

"Vernon, what are you-"

"I know, I'm sorry, I just-"

You step aside, bewildered but not in any way bothered by your best friend's impromptu appearance at your apartment door, despite it being nearly midnight. You're already in button up pajamas and fresh from a shower, a mug of tea forgotten on the coffee table. You were going to binge a show, but all plans for the evening have been wiped from your mind at the sight of the man running an anxious hand through his brown curls as he steps into the room. You notice immediately the guitar strapped to his back. He paces once, twice next to you, before blowing out a breath.

"What if I mess up-"

"Vernon, you've been practicing the song for weeks, you’re not going to mess it up just because you’re finally playing it in front of its intended audience—-“

“What if she doesn’t like it?” He blurts and turns to look at you, and your jaw nearly drops at the suggestion.

“Vernon…if she doesn’t like it then her and I are going to have some serious beef,” you chuckle, but seeing as how your joke does little to calm his nerves, you place a steady hand on his shoulder.

“Listen to me. You’re a talented artist with a good heart. The song is amazing, and heartfelt and…sweet,” you feel a slight pang of something in your chest, but ignore it and continue, “if she can’t see that through this, then she doesn’t deserve—-“

“Can I practice it with you, one last time?”

You hesitate, although you're not entirely sure why. You've heard it several times before, even if not in its entirety. Vernon had been working on it for ages, strumming chords and humming melodies and writing potential lyrics in his little music journal while you studied or binged your shows. He'd played you pieces, snippets, and they'd been beautiful. To hear it now, performed all the way through, in preparation of Vernon's confession, has your voice caught in your throat, a sour taste in your mouth that you can't explain.

But he's your best friend, and his pleading eyes break through any consideration of refusal before you can even truly contemplate turning away. You could never do that to him. "Of course you can."

You lead him to the couch and sit on one side, letting him set up the instrument and check that it is carefully tuned. His hands, you notice, are shaking. God, he must really be nervous to play this for this girl. Your heart aches for some reason seeing him shift in his spot.

"Okay," he eventually murmurs, seemingly half to himself. You're not sure how else to help him relax, so you just tap his foot with yours to get his attention. Once his eyes glance up to meet yours, you smile slightly.

“Pretend I’m her,” you say, and the words taste bittersweet as they roll off your tongue.

After one more shaky breath, he begins to strum.

You’re glad he decided against playing with a pick for this song, because the gentle plucking of the strings is way better suited for the lyrics, at least to you. You allow yourself to fall into the simple melody as the notes envelop you, until you begin to imagine another reality; one where this song was meant for you.

Vernon's voice is quiet, but as the song continues, he appears to gain more confidence. Still maintaining a delicate softness to his tone, the lyrics roll from his tongue with an assuredness. You close your eyes, simply listening as the beautiful song fills the otherwise silent space.

By the time Vernon's voice fades and the last notes disappear from the air between you two, your lungs feel constricted, your heart torn between wishing you could have listened to him for an hour, and wishing you could bolt from the room, escape to somewhere that would allow you space to gather your emotions into carefully sorted compartments instead of the tornado that fills your chest.

Your eyes flicker open to find Vernon watching you intently, nibbling anxiously on his bottom lip, thumb hooked under the neck of his guitar and tapping the wood. You see him swallow, before quietly asking, "So... what'd you think?”

“I think it’s perfect, Vernon,” you answer honestly, subconsciously laying a hand atop his. “It’s beautiful, and heartfelt, and…” you pause before finishing your thought with a gulp, “it’s hard not to fall in love after hearing that.”

It would be hard is what you meant to say, and judging from the flicker of confusion on his face, it’s what he expected to hear too—- but he seems to brush the slip up off entirely, running a hand through his curls before speaking.

“Thank you for…well putting up with all of my nerves about this whole thing,” he sighs, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck and moving the guitar off the couch to rest beside it. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

"I get it. This is... vulnerable." You swallow thickly. Now that the song has finished, and the moment has broken, a bitter taste fills your mouth. You've been forcefully pulled back to reality, reminded that this isn't actually yours. "I don't know if I could be as brave as you, to sing this for someone you care about so much. There's really no way she won't love it."

Vernon doesn't answer right away, bouncing his knee before glancing at you. He's always had an intense stare, but for some reason, this particular look in his eyes steals the air from your lungs.

"In that case..." he inhales deeply, and blows out in his next breath, "Do you? Love it, I mean?"

"What? Of course I-" Wait. Wait.

Vernon's nerves are taking over again, evident in his rambling. "I'm sorry, I know I'm springing this... I didn't know how to tell you it was... you. But it's you, it always was for you, and if that makes you uncomfortable I-"

You don't give him a chance to finish, closing the distance between the two of you, slipping a hand behind his head and pressing your mouth to his. Vernon inhales sharply before immediately melting into the kiss, hands falling to your waist and sighing against your lips as you pull away with a grin.

Vernon’s eyes flicker open, all previous nerves visibly deflating from his body. “I take it you really do love it, then?”

You giggle and kiss him again, just for good measure, feeling lightheaded. “What do you think?”

Vernon laughs softly, squeezing your waist gently and pulling you closer to him, eyes alight with happiness. “Mission accomplished.” He murmurs with quiet delight before kissing you again.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

seventeen masterlist

navigation

[eighthchair]

Bracelets, a Fields of Mistria Fanfic

March x Gender Neutral Farmer

Based on this bit of dialogue

Gods, this is so fucking stupid.

March stood on the first step of the farmers house fidgeting with the small box he held in his hands. In all honesty, he doesn’t full know why he’s here in the first place.

Well, he knows why he’s here, he just doesn’t know why he chose to do this specifically. He doesn’t know why he chose to make something for them of all people.

From the very moment that overly-cheerful, disgustingly optimistic…

pretty, confident, hardworking—

… pain in his ass farmer moved to Mistria, they have gotten on his last nerve.

They never know when to quit. Almost everyday without fail, the farmer would bother him. Stopping by the shop to say hi or using his forge to make bars and armor, it was infuriating. The days that they left him alone were…

Lonely, empty, unsettling—

… a blessing.

And then once they started venturing into the mines, the gifting started. It was only a few nice pieces of ore here and there, which he appreciated. But then it turned into whole ingots at least once a week. They even found him a piece of Meteorite for him to experiment with! Honestly, if that brain dead idiot thought that they could win him over with shiny pieces of metal, they’re stupider than he thought.

But then...

“March!” The farmer came barreling into his workshop, covered in dirt and debris, “March, you’ll never believe what I found!”

March stood from his workbench and rolled his eyes, before turning around and stretching a bit, “Can’t you see I’m busy Farmer? What could be so important?”

The farmer deflated a bit and pouted, “Come on, it’s really cool! I think you’re going to love it.”

March just scoffed, “If it’s another ingot you smithed up, I can make some that are ten times better ya know.”

They shook their head and approached him, “It’s better than anything I could have done, that’s for sure, but I found it just now in the mines.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” March said, looking up and down at their dirtied figure, “Would it kill you to wash up before coming in here, you’re trailing in dirt.”

“Sorry, I just couldn’t wait to show you!” Their hands were still behind their back, clearly hiding whatever it was they wanted to give him this time.

“Well then stop wasting time and show me!”

Their smile got impossibly larger as they brought their hands to the front of them. The item was still a bit dusty from being excavated, but the shine and luster of it was undeniable.

“No way,” March’s jaw dropped, “Is that—”

“A perfect copper ore!” The farmer exclaimed, jumping up and down in excitement, “I didn’t even know ore could be so perfect, but just look at it!”

March grabbed the ore from the farmers hand and studied it closely, the structure of it is almost crystalline and it’s denser than any piece of copper he’s ever held before, plus if he shines it up a bit, he can almost see his own shocked expression looking back at him.

“Incredible,” he whispered to himself, still staring at the chuck of metal in awe.

“Isn’t it?” The farmers voice broke him out of his reverie, “I thought you’d really appreciate having something as nice as this.”

March’s head snapped up to look at the farmer, their face sporting a small smile while they watched him admire the ore.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I found two today and the first one went to the museum and I don’t have any idea what to do with this one so…”

“You can’t be serious.”

The farmer tilted their head in confusion, “Why not?”

March sputtered and pushed the ore back into their hands, “What do you mean ‘why not?’ This is much too nice to just give away!”

“Well it’s not like I’m just going to put it in my shipping bin and let Balor sell it to whoever will pay the highest price for it. Plus, you’d be able to do much more with it than any other blacksmith that could buy it.”

“But—”

The farmer placed the ore on his workbench, “No buts, it’s yours now.”

He spent the next day staring at the metal and contemplating what to do with it.

I mean, with something so naturally perfect the possibilities were endless! He could forge a beautiful sword or a glistening shield to display in his workshop to show just how impressive his work is. He could make a new set of tools for Ryis that would last him forever. He could make Reina new cooking utensils to go with the newly renovated inn.

Or he could make something just for them.

It took days to get it just right, one just to sketch out and plan the design, another to make a few test pieces with other, more dull pieces of copper to ensure that everything went smoothly, and nearly three days were spent delicately curving and carving the metal into something beautiful and intricate.

March has no idea why he did it, but he did and now he’s standing on their front porch like a moron wondering if he’s made the right choice or if he should just run back to his workshop while he still can.

“March?”

A voice from behind him causes him to nearly jump out of his skin, he turned around slowly and came face to face with the person who’s been living in his head for the past few weeks.

“What are you doing here?” The farmer asked, their flannel tied around their waist instead of around their shoulders, their well defined figure on display, “I mean, I’m happy to see you of course, but I don’t think I’ve ever had you on my farm before.”

March coughed a bit, hoping that the blush he could feel creeping up his cheeks wasn’t noticeable, “No I’ve never been here before. I just…” His voice trailed off, what the hell was he supposed to say!

The farmer climbed the steps to stand next to him, “Well, do you want to come inside? It’s a bit warm out here, don’t you think?”

March just nodded, not completely trusting himself to speak, and the farmer waved at him to follow them in.

Their house was exactly what he expected it to be.

For such a small space, they sure did know how to make the most of it. Even with the bed, the couch, the kitchenette, a carpentry table, and more than a few chests, the house felt cozy and welcoming.

“Wow, you can really tell that you live here, Farmer.”

They just laughed while putting things from their backpack into their respective chests, “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

March watched as they meticulously placed crafting materials, cooking ingredients, artifacts, and foraging items in specific places in each chest. Considering how incredibly busy they kept themself, it made sense that the root of that was a well organized storage system.

They finally finished their task and stood up straight to look at March once again, “Well, welcome to my home. It’s not much, but I’m working on it,” They laughed a bit and started walking towards their kitchenette, “Do you want a drink? I can put on a pot.”

“Oh, um, I’m not really a tea person.”

The farmer just smiled, “I know.”

Of course they knew.

“S-sure.”

The farmer gestured towards the couch, telling March to have a seat while they made refreshments.

The bright yellow couch was much comfier than March thought it would be and he found himself getting lost in thought again.

What the hell was he doing? All he came here to do was give the stupid farmer this stupid gift and leave without having to look at their stupid face for long, and now he’s sitting on their fucking couch. Maybe he should have just sent it in the mail.

The couch dipped next to him, alerting him to the farmers presence. They held out a mug for him to grab and he could smell the mixture of chocolate and coffee coming from it.

“Oh, you remembered.”

They laughed, “Of course I did, it’s not a hard thing to remember anyways.”

They both took a sip and March had to stop himself from groaning, it was delicious. How the fuck are they so good at everything?

“So, what brings you to my humble abode?”

Oh right their stupid gift.

March looked at them, their eyes peeking at him over their coffee mug, shining and curious.

“Well, um…”

Fuck this is harder than he thought it would be. His mouth opened and closed a few times while he tried to find the right words to say to them.

They waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts, sipping away at their drink.

March cleared his throat before he started talking, “Well, since you’ve moved to town you’ve been…”

A huge help to the community—

“… more competent than I expected you to be.”

They chucked a bit, “Thank you, that is certainly high praise coming from you.”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Farmer.”

The soft smile they gave him almost left him breathless.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He shifted slightly away from them before continuing, “And, you’ve been, well… y’know… giving me gifts and shit so I wanted to…”

Give you something in return, to tell you how much I appreciate them, how much I appreciate you—

“… make sure you don’t think I owe you anything.”

“They're called gifts March, you’re not supposed to pay me back,” they said with an eyeroll.

He flushed a bit, “Whatever! Either way I don’t want to owe you shit so I made you something.”

March set his mug down on the coffee table, pulled the box out from behind his back and handed it to the farmer.

“What? You made me something? You didn’t have to do that,” The farmer gasped, taking the box from him tenderly.

“Well I did so, do whatever you want with it I don’t care.”

I hope you love them.

“Can I..” The farmer looked at him shyly, “Can I open it now?”

March scoffed, “If you must.”

The farmer set their own drink down and lifted the lid gingerly before pulling out a set of copper bracelets.

March could almost feel his soul leaving his body as he watched them examine the jewelry.

The first two were plain bands, perfectly shiny and glittering in the light. The next was one with rubies set into the metal. The fourth was a band carved to look like vines intersecting and intertwining with each other. The fifth was a delicate chain with four charms on it, a sickle, a hammer, an anvil, and a cow.

“Oh my gods…” the farmer whispered, their hands trembling slightly as they held the gift.

Shit they hate it.

March scrambled in his brain for something— anything— to say to get the bracelets back. It was a stupid idea anyways, of course they would hate it.

Before he could make a move to snatch them back, he was thrown back onto the arm of the couch as the farmer threw themselves at him and wrapped their arms around his neck.

March sat their frozen, his arms suspended in the air.

What the hell is happening?

He could feel their breath brushing against his neck as they whispered to him.

“They’re beautiful.”

It felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders.

March let out a sigh of relief before letting his arms drop and wrap around the person in his arms.

“You really like them?”

“Are you kidding?” They pulled away from him to look him in the eyes, their own shimmering with unshed tears, “This is the best gift anyone has ever given me.”

They moved to sit up and wiped at their eyes, “I don’t even know what to say.”

March followed them in sitting up, letting his hands rest at their waist and a small smile to grace his features.

“Well, you could start with a thank you.”

The farmer laughed loudly, a huge grin on their face.

“Thank you March, so so much,” they said as they leaned over to rest their head in the crook of his neck.

March tilted his head to rest his cheek against theirs, “Of course.”

Beautiful creatures such as you deserve beautiful things.

[man-i-love-fanfiction]

To Share the Space with Simple Living Things - Hozier x Fem! Florist!Reader

Chapter Four: Poppies - Imagination

Summary: You finally get to visit Andrew at his workplace, and he discovers a not-so-new way to handle his feelings.

Word Count: 2711

Author's note: Hope you're all enjoying! Sorry again for having such a splotchy posting schedule, between holidays and getting the flu I was... preoccupied. Anyways, have a chapter of your favorite tattoo artist yearning his heart out as compensation 🖤

tag list: @celery-grace @gayandfairycore @deathmybride @harry-bowie-mercury @hodgepodge-musings @blue-eyed-bug @secretttytttttttttt @dinner-n-dxatribes @padfootblackswh0r3

fic below the cut <3

It had been three days since you had gotten coffee with him, and all Andrew could think about was you. It was getting a little concerning. Concerning to him, at least. He was a grown man, who was he to have — for lack of a better word — a crush? Let alone one he was too embarrassed to express his feelings for?

It was close to torture, but he had no right to complain. He had brought this upon himself, and he accepted it. He asked a woman, particularly one he thought was beautiful, to get coffee with him, paid for her, and still ended the whole affair with their relationship being at most friends and at the very least acquaintances. Stupid idea, and the definition of a missed opportunity. Alex had already berated him over this decision (“What do you mean you bought her coffee, just the two of you, and you didn’t even attempt to drop a hint that you like her?”). And it’s not like he didn’t torture himself over it, thoughts randomly popping up telling him what he could’ve or should’ve said or done. The regrets he had, no matter how minuscule they were, ate away at him when he had nothing else to think about. All because of a choice he made and a label he refused to give. What a way to self-sabotage.

Everything about you, from how you met to how easily your conversations flowed, was magnetic, pulling his thoughts (and him) towards you. The serendipity of it all was like he had been transported into one of those overly saccharine romantic comedy movies he would sometimes catch his mother watching. What was the term she had used once? A meet-cute?

The slight vibration of his phone in his pocket brought him back to his reality. A call from an unknown number. Usually, he would hang up, or at least ignore it. But he was in between clients, and more importantly, a little bored. So he answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi. It’s Y/N. From the florist.” Andrew let out a sigh of relief at the sound of your voice. “That end of the world you were warning me about last time never happened, so I had enough time to finish your bouquet.”

He chuckled at that, a lighter sound than he intended.

“That’s fantastic. Both the world not ending and the bouquet being ready.”

“Is it alright if I swing by soon?

“Yeah. I’m on my lunch break in between clients, so I’m free.”

“Perfect. See you in…” you paused, which he surmised was you mentally calculating how long it would take you to get there before continuing, “about fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

He grimaced as you hung up the phone, and true to his word, he waited. His time was occupied with sketching a design for an appointment he had in a few weeks, Alex hanging around with him. Immediately, everything was put down when you walked in. Fifteen minutes later, just like you had told him, he heard the bell above the door ring. He watched as you opened the door, tightly gripping a vase containing the flowers, letting in a beam of sunlight with your entrance.

“I’ve got one order of a chrysanthemum arrangement for Andrew?” You announced, feigning not knowing who he was.

“Great, you're here. Let me take that off your hands.”

He rushed over and grabbed the bouquet from you, and in a moment he had to remember to thank the gods for later, his fingers brushed yours, making his heart rate spike so suddenly he almost had a medical issue.

God, he was pathetic.

“Thank you so much for this. You never fail to amaze me.”

“Of course. You can keep the vase, by the way. Free of charge.”

He looked down at you, his brows furrowed but a smile still on his face.

“You are physically incapable of not being nice to me, huh?”

“Please. I do this for all of my orders. You're not special,” you joked, and he scoffed in reply.

“Wow… and I thought we were friends!”

“I’m just humbling you a little. Besides, I can't let other customers think I have favorites. It's unprofessional.”

“Favorites? Plural? Do I have competition?”

“Yes. It's you and a little old lady that orders centerpieces for her dinner parties. Don't go beating her up for the top spot.”

A beat passed before a mischievous smirk came across your face.

“Though, I am a fan of a guy that would fight in my honor.”

Not being able to sense your tone, Andrew swiftly changed the topic, unsure and unwilling to think about how he'd throw a punch for you.

“So, you used flower language for this, right? What's it all mean?”

You smiled, and the way your face lit up gave him a rush, a sudden burst of butterflies in his stomach. He listened intently, despite his urges to focus on you and not the words you were saying.

“Alright, I’ll give you a quick rundown of the meanings. Chrysanthemums are joy, of course. There are some sunflowers, specifically dwarf sunflowers, because they represent pride, like how you’re proud of your work, hopefully. Orange roses for fascination. And last but not least, calla lilies for magnificence and beauty, like what you create here. Hopefully you and your colleagues like it.”

He couldn't help the incredulous laugh that cane at the end of your statement.

“Are you kidding me? It's beautiful. Of course I like it,” he reassured. You didn't verbally reply, but the new warmness of your features was all the response he needed.

He paid, making a comment along the way about how he almost left his wallet at home this morning, but caught himself: “I promise I’m not forgetful, just… all over the place.” You listened, seemingly actually invested, and took the money from him once he offered.

“Thank you. You are single-handedly keeping my small business afloat.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, both out of confusion and concern.

“Are you not doing well?”

“I mean, we're making sales, meeting the quotas we should be. Barely. But we're not exactly a hotspot anymore. It's not common for people to get flowers, and if they do they get cheap bouquets cheaply made at a grocery store or online. People these days don't bother to make an effort.”

He observed you as you thought for a moment, a pause only he could have read into. He could’ve sworn you looked him up and down, though his hopeful imagination could have tricked him. There was more optimism in your tone this time around.

“You do, though. Make an effort, I mean. I appreciate it. You might be the only guy I know that does.”

Your words were taken to heart, but he deflected your compliment, fearing he'd become too flustered if he let it linger.

“Is the bar truly that low?”

“That's not low! These days, finding a guy who tries is like winning the lottery.”

You barely gave him time to react before pulling out your phone, which had just vibrated in your pocket.He could already see the disappointment set into your features.

“Crap. I have to get back.”

He offered an understanding nod, knowing as much as he wished he could stay in this moment, reality had to set back in.

“I hate to say goodbye, but it was really nice to see you. And your place of work. Keep me posted on if the flowers help raise people’s spirits.”

“Goodbye. Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

“Quoting The Bard at me? So you’re an artist and a nerd. Full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I am. There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll find out more soon enough. I’ll see you later.”

“Goodbye.”

The door closed behind you, leaving Andrew feeling a bit emptier now that you were no longer there. Finding the right time, Alex made his presence known again. Andrew was so focused on you he had almost forgotten he was in the room.

“So… that's the Y/N you keep talking about?”

“That's her.”

“The one you platonically took to a coffee shop?”

“The very same.”

Alex gave him a look: a squint accompanied by an oddly pensive expression, like he was trying to make the situation make sense.

“Is something the matter? Do… do you not approve?” Andrew asked. Alex replied slowly, cautiously.

“No, she seems wonderful. No complaints here. In fact, that’s the issue.”

“How so?"

“Maybe because you took a woman, an amazing one at that, on an outing that was a date in every aspect but its name. You essentially blocked yourself off from you two being romantic. It doesn’t make sense to me! How are you the same lad that would write love songs in college?”

“That was a decade ago! I’m more cautious now.”

“Oh, yeah. You're so cautious, in fact, that you started liking your florist. A woman that you've only met four times, including one time where you basically went on a date!”

Andrew felt a shame as if he had just been yelled at by a parent, though most of the sting came from the truth of his words. Only after he exhaled a deep sigh did Alex speak again.

“Listen, I don't mean to scold you. I’m only saying all this because I care about you. That being said, if you don't take this girl out sometime soon…”

“Alex!”

“I’m being serious! I was standing right there. I saw how you look at her and you're… enamored of the poor woman. If you don't do something about the way you feel— doesn't have to be soon, just eventually— then the only person that will regret it is you.”

Andrew gave a slow nod as he processed the other man's words. He hated how wise he could be sometimes.

“I… I need to find the right moment. I need to take my time.”

“Then take it. Just don't bottle up your emotions for too long. You don't handle it well. Plus, after a while of you blabbering on about the same person, it starts to get annoying.”

For the first time since you left, Andrew laughed, Alex joining in a moment afterwards.

“Alright,” he said, slapping a hand on Andrew's shoulder. “Let's get back to work.”

Andrew ruminated on his friend’s words on the drive home, his grip tightening on the wheel. As much as he hated to admit it, Alex was right; he did need to do something about what he felt for you. But he never did specify what.

It had been a while since he felt like this towards someone, so he wasn't lying when he said he needed to take his time. If he were to ever make a move on you, he would have to make sure he was certain. He didn't want to ruin your newly-labeled friendship, run the risk of throwing away something just starting, and something good. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t use an alternative method to handle these feelings.

He stepped into his flat, and for the first time in recent memory it felt… empty. Not necessarily from the absence of friends or family, just absence. The empty seats at his table, on his couch, in his bed, they almost screamed at him. He had never realized that the silence of being alone was so deafening.

What better way to fill the silence than with music?

He got straight to work, his craving to create overriding any hunger for actual food he had. Despite his own better judgement, Andrew had written down the lyric he had absentmindedly created a few days ago in his phone. He considered continuing from there, but preferred to do things the old-fashioned way. So he grabbed a pen, sat down at his kitchen table, opened his notebook, and began to write.

I have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me…

He hadn’t opened himself up to this creative vulnerability in so long, so he was admittedly a little rusty. Words were crossed out, rearranged, and substituted with synonyms if the amount of syllables didn’t fit the rhythm. Eventually, after he had eased into it, it felt no different from when he sketched a stencil or tattooed a client. Oddly enough, the more he wrote and the more effort he put in, the more the lines continued to blur until he felt just as comfortable as he did at his job. Whether it be a tattoo gun or a ballpoint pen, Andrew was always in his element when he had ink.

There was also the added factor of what inspired all of this fervor to write: you. You kickstarted something in his brain, subconsciously flipping a switch. that made him more musical. Before you he would turn on the radio or shuffle his Spotify and merely admire whatever song was playing, but after you came into his life, his thoughts strayed more towards you: I could write something like this. About her.

Should he consider you his muse? He’d decide later on.

Time slipped away from him, to the point that he was shocked to look at the clock and find less than an hour had passed.

One last similarity between the two was discovered. He harbored a similar sense of pride after he had finished— or, more accurately, stopped himself after writing a verse and a chorus. Not a finished verse and chorus either, simply a rough draft to remind him how to get back into the mindset.

The only difference was the audience, or lack thereof. There was no way Andrew was letting anyone see this or even know about it. He would maybe, maybe, consider showing you one day. Even then, he could only imagine he’d want to shrivel up in a corner as you read it, or God forbid, as he sang it to you. He couldn’t dare to think about that now, even though the guitar resting against the wall in his bedroom was almost calling his name. He had to leave it there for now. He could barely handle writing for the day, let alone singing and playing. For now, he was taking baby steps.

Even if he could muster up the courage, there was no chance anything he wrote would be leaving the eyes of his friends and family. He was no poet, and no star. He already had a job that let him express himself and make meaningful pieces of art. For that, he was grateful. He could be happy with keeping the songs for himself, writing for only his own eyes, and letting what he created at his job be for the whole world.

The notebook — funny how such a small object now held a power over him — was closed and stuffed in an empty shelf space in his closet, an attempt at keeping it out of sight and out of mind. His attempt was semi-successful considering every step of the rest of his day was accompanied by the thought of it. Not the shame, just the knowledge of knowing he had written something. The shock of actually having the strength. It stuck with him until he went to bed that night, not even nearing sleep being able to offer him solace. He tossed and turned well into nightfall, until it got to the point that he was getting restless. And desperate. So he picked up his phone. To avoid simply doomscrolling until his eyes began to flutter, he found some website that detailed flower language and started to read.

He willingly went down a rabbit hole, keeping a separate tab open to search for flora he didn't recognize by name. He made mental notes of meanings he found particularly interesting. The last flower he read of before falling asleep was the poppy. It meant eternal slumber, coincidentally what he was longing for at the moment, but also imagination. It was almost perfect how poppies represented the day he had. This was his last coherent thought before he drifted off.

There was a third definition, one that also summarized his day, that Andrew’s eyes didn't stay open to read.

Oblivion.

[hiding-under-the-willow]

If the hermit recap team is a paranormal investigation group I wonder what everyone thinks of them, at least Ghost-wise. Are they good at their job? Or do the ghosts watch them flail?

Okay so there's this episode in the show where the main characters attempt to get the ghosts to put on a big show of haunting the house for a bunch of paranormal investigators so they can charge people for ghost tours but all of the ghosts go on strike so they have to fake a haunting in a house that's already haunted. There is a subplot in this episode where a pair of ghosts spend the entire episode presenting a fake radio show to a recording device that's supposed to pick up ghosts, only for it to be revealed at the end that it doesn't actually work and it didn't pick them up at all. I was thinking about this episode both when creating Joe's character and when I decided I wanted the recap team to be reoccurring paranormal investigator characters.

Because I think it would be pretty funny if Joe, who was a radio host in life and can be heard through radios, recording devices, and other technology in death, did this whole bit, only for the team to come back at the end to pick up their recording device, listen back to the recording, briefly getting excited, only for Pix to go "Wait a second, I know that voice, wasn't this guy on the radio back in the 90s?" And they assume that Grian and Joel just played like a rerun recording of one of Joe's old shows as part of the fake haunting, meanwhile Joe can't decide if he should be fuming because his existence is being ignored or if he should be beaming because someone still recognized him some 20 years after his death.

And then they show back up at Grian and Joel's door two weeks later like "We checked this recording, it doesn't exist. Anywhere. And according to our research this guy died on your property. This recording is real. This kind of proof is unprecedented. Please let us investigate your house again."

And so Grian and Joel once again see the opportunity for money and accept. The ghosts continue to stay wary, refusing to directly interact with them, but they tend to just. Create proof on accident as they go about their normal wacky business. And so we have this dynamic where the recap crew keeps coming back to investigate, getting some kind of absurd evidence of ghosts, getting accused of faking it because the house already has a bad reputation for fake hauntings, and the recordings they're getting are absurd, and so they keep having to come back to try to get more.

I like to think Joe starts fucking with Pix by only talking to him when there's no cameras rolling, and so the two end up with a pretty funny relationship where Pix can have full conversations with Joe and yet can never manage to get another recording of him no matter how sneaky he thinks he's being about it.

Half of their job just becomes trying to deal with this one stupid absurdly haunted house that is dragging their entire reputation through the mud. And Grian gets to be like "Ha, yeah, you should try living with them." While trying to skirt around the fact that he can just straight up see and talk to all of them. Plus there's whatever the fuck is going on next door.

Just. this should be the general state of things by the time it's all over

I think it'd be really funny actually if Pix managed to figure out down to the most minute of details what the fuck is happening between these two haunted ass properties and the people and ghosts living in them but the whole experience has run him so ragged and made him sound so insane that everyone thinks he's just lost it and no one believes him. Ghosts so fucking annoying he has to either retire or become a disgraced conspiracy theory youtuber who exclusively talks about the ghosts in these two houses. Everyone thinks he's had some kind of mental break and honestly he probably has but everything he's saying is actually correct.

[bronx-bomber87]

Hello lovely fandom! It’s tiiimmeeeee. I’m so ready for this premiere. This hiatus felt like the longest one yet. Probably cause they weren’t allowed to share literally anything for months and months. While I might still gripe we’re only getting 18 and 20 would’ve been better….I am psyched to be analyzing a new season ❤️

Changing these up to First impressions cause mini and I don’t get along in terms of brevity. Now imma try and be briefer since I’ll be doing a deep dive next summer. Hopefully in our next hiatus. *fingers crossed* The library still a turd for new gifs. So had to make all mine. Also I must have a new angle at my new place. So they came out not how I wanted lol But after a full day of work I was too tired to re-do them all. It's a miracle this is coming out with how tired I am haha Anyways bear with me and hopefully next weeks gifs are better ha Off we go!

7x01 The Shot.

Cool thanks recap. Not like we forgot the breakup that ruined us all…Would like to say someday that won't ruin me to watch, but that's a lie...Love that to leave the lineup for recaps now. Thanks.

It's the little things like them sitting next to each other in the swat car that make me so happy. Not gonna lie I was grinning like a damn fool just seeing them seated together. God I missed them. Straight giddy them working together in the field. It’s where they originated. It’s where they’re going to heal.

I love her directing him in the field. That snap of her fingers and he knows instantly what she needs and follows. That beautiful rhythm only they can achieve. Silent communication at it's finest folks. Mmm loving this. Lucy taking down a dude double her size and Tim coming in to help finish him off. Hot damn I love them in the field. Legit ship crack to me everyone. Look at those beautiful humans in motion above. I can't get enough.

Oooh lord T.O Tim *fans self* Mmm Can’t say haven’t missed him. I'll be real honest. Yum. Thank you Nolan for not undermining him while he sized them up. We would've had words sir. It probably shouldn't delight me watching him tear them apart, and yet here we are with me drooling over him. With zero regrets. Just nice to see him in his element after being knocked out of it last year. I shall enjoy this year for him I can already tell.

Ha! Bingo card hit. That's one square down. ‘Grey guides Lucy with her career.’ Yasss I’m a dork I know but you all knew this ha Grey pulling strings to get her to T.O. "Temp." I’m sure it’ll stick. He see’s what a good teacher and leader she is. Look at him jumping starting this for her. Nudging her in the right direction.

Lucy not being sure....Still battling with that UC identity and detective path. Some left over S6 bleh hanging around. I think Grey is setting her path and she has no idea how ‘not temporary’ this will be. At least IMO. I see her excelling at this and wanting to stay at it. Plus like Grey said it’ll strengthen her position should detective come back up. Also like to list the reasons why I think this will be good for her.

One it'll rebuild her confidence. Something we all know was shattered and then run over by s6. Second it'll give her a new purpose and clarity for her career. (Which is also a bingo square for me. Yes I'll be tallying mine all year lol) Now she has to accept being a FT one for it to apply but I think it will. Lastly it'll get rid of the pesky 'Chain of Command' issue for them later on. Because we don't want that again.

Tim enters the chat and he is a most welcome addition. The mini banter about her training. I'm here for it and I love love love it. Look at the flirty smirks on these idiots. Like breathing fresh air once again. The small smirks have me reeling. Gimme. Grey although has no time for this LOL Ushering their asses out. Just happy they can breathe the same air again and not have it be nuclear.

Then the real banter begins. I’ve missed them so much. I wanna cry. Tim instantly offering to give her tips. Is this one of his small doses? Possibly I think he would’ve offered this as an olive branch either way tbh. But I love seeing how eager he is to bond with her over this. Lucy’s so cute with her ‘ My rookie.’ Girl you’re gonna wanna stay a T.O. I already see it.

Lucy of course has her sassy answer locked and loaded for him. He answers right back. Goodness their banter is top tier. And woo another bingo card for me. Well this was not in my official bingo card. BUT I did say how if she ended up as a T.O. this season this would happen. In my 6x08 review said they would end up doing a bet over who trains a better rookie. And here we are. I'm enjoying my spoils and grinning like a happy fool. Which is nice after spending the second half of s6 being emotionally spent and destroyed.

Oh Lucy, like you could ever walk way from your man about a competitive bet of all things. This is how they’re gonna heal my friends. Going back to the beginning. To their roots. Where this rock solid bond was started. In the field. Along with some banter and fiery competition thrown in. This new dynamic has me so giddy I can’t even contain myself.

You can see how excited Tim is she’s going to be a T.O. With him. Flirting with her by offering this up. Moth to a flame with her in general. But this? Man is raring to go. Being a T.O and competition with his girl? He is beaming with excitement. Also probably knows this is a good way to further his cause of mending fences.

The goading of her oh my lord. It’s s4 all over again and I’m here for it. Except Tim is far more aware he’s in love with this woman. The straight teasing and flirting in front of the entire station. Welcome back. Oh my word I love sfm. His telling smirk is amazing. Reeling her back in slowly LOL

Nolan actually ignites more flirty flirts for them when he tells them about the ringer. Because classic John can't shut his yapper. I’ve truly missed this high grade goodness though. Lucy accusing him of hustling her haha Tim deescalates her like only he can with his strong logic. Saying it's actually harder that he has previous experience. He’s not wrong. First thing I thought about him when they said he had experience…Poor Seth called a virgin lmao

The rookies get assigned and we get jealous/protective Tim. Welcome back to our screens. You've been missed. *grabs ice water* This premiere is trying to kill me in the best way. I was here for the show. You tell that cocky little boy babe. I think someone else had one of the rookies flirts with Lucy in their bingo card. So you get that square ha The balls to do that in front of Tim. This kid has a death wish on wheels.

Ovary explosion at the way he barked at him though. Man is making me thirsty af. Also this kid is not a ringer in the least. I know what it’s like to de-program someone. It’s not easy. When I would get someone from another team (and terrible manager btw) I would spend the first 30 days just getting rid of the bad habits before I could begin to mold them. So ringer he is not....Lucy has a better shot with fresh meat tbh. Seth is far more impressionable. Hence her finishing line above.

Tim TEARS Texas a new one. Was kind of hoping he would. Nothing like a solid Tim T.O. rant. This kid needed it holy cow. Too damn cocky for a rookie even with experience. Makes it worse. Get em Tim! I’m enjoying this far too much. Haha Mmm. Sidelines his ass as he should. Maybe he can rejoin when his ego is in check.

This scene had me cackling. First off look at them both with crossed arms. I'm dying. Also Lying liars who lie LOL Both struggling a little bit with their rookies. It’s hilarious. Can’t ever admit fault of course. Very s4 vibes going on here I love it sfm.

Friggin Nolan has to be include himself...Listen John they checked the guest list for this work flirt convo. You're not on it sir. So needy this one. He actually didn't bug me much at all in this one. Probably the lack of Bailey....

Tim’s final T.O scene has me drooling holy hell. The jacket, the stern taking to, and telling them to suck less? I’m dying hahaha I loved how this was shot. Seeing the faces as Tim grills them both. Putting them in place. I love it sfm I'm so VERY excited for this season for him. If this was our look into it I am ready for more.

Oh my word, this final scene of theirs. If you don’t feel giddy, and a sense of promise for reconciliation from this interaction, I can't help you. LOL. I mean that in the nicest way haha I really do. The subtext running through this scene like a bullet train of hope. The moment begins with puppy dog Tim. Let’s take a second to contrast how he just was with the rookies earlier. To seeing his girl in the parking lot. That's the Lucy Chen effect.

That man is walking on air, and beaming his best ‘Lucy’ smile as he approaches her car, looking like a damn snack I wanna devour. I adore the swapping of stories. Giving each other shit but staying confident in their abilities to right their rookies ships as it were. Lucy saying ‘Tomorrow is another day.’ With Tim’s hopeful ‘Yes it is.’ Got me all in my damn feels. To me it’s a positive setup for the entire season. The low key flirty vibes here are glorious first and foremost. Second the flirting inside the promise with those two lines has me reeling.

The smiles they both convey just shows our babies are healing. Lucy is healing. She isn’t holding back with the positivity and flirting right back. There is this underlying UST too. But the most beautiful part is their talk about 'Tomorrow'. Tomorrow is another day for them to get one step closer to being who they once were. Only stronger. Tim’s 'Yes it is.' Is everything. His tone of voice, how he’s looking at her, and that determination to make something out of every day he gets with her. Driven to make tomorrow a day he inches one step closer to the promise he made in the elevator in 6x10. Oooh lord I’m excited for this season.

I said couple days ago how amped I was for this new dynamic. Them being T.O’s together and finding their way back in this fashion. It’s a fantastic and true to them way to do it. Couldn’t be more excited. The LOOKS everyone my god. The way he is pining after her. Doesn’t tear eyes away for a second as she pulls off. And our girl checks the mirror not once but TWICE.

Making eyes right back at him. This scene should excite the hell out of you. I’m scaling the walls right now haha This is as a very very promising opening episode for them. Little more proof they're going to make their way back. Won't be right away but it's coming. This is what I was longing for when we left off all those months ago.

For them to be in a better place to even start this healing. I’m so ready for this journey. I really am. Trusting the writers to do this at the right pace. So when it does happen and it will. We’re gonna be on cloud 9 x1000 Ooof lord that was good. They know how to close out an ep our ship. Watched promo for next ep. I’m vibrating with excitement.

The UST I feel from that little clip is the beauty of Eric and Melissa. This season gonna be incredible i feel it deep in my soul baha Now I’m excited we don’t have a break now that we’re here. As always thank you thank you thank you. To any and all who comments(love me to chat don’t be shy wanna theorize with you all) , like or reblog these. You have no idea how much it means to me. Also proud of myself for keeping this brief ish for me lol Below is my side notes feel free to comment on anything said in this or below till next week my lovely fandom :)

~~

Side notes non Chenford

No Bailey in a the premiere was already staring off with a win for me. Sorry Jenna but ya know lol sorta not….really…

Lieutenant Grey! So happy for him. Solid reasoning why he got it. Sucks he feels bad but I'm glad for him.

Lots of action off the bat hot damn. They said we'd have more and I loved it

Oooh loving Wes being assumed to the station. Welcome sir. Happy to have you and more Wopez moments to come.

Aaron went to north Hollywood someone had to lol Makes sense he would leave due to Blair. Also leaves the door open for him to return someday. Which makes my heart happy.

Poor Wes has to hear the recording of a man wanting to do things to his wife lol oh my lord. He’s legit having a meltdown about it hahah I sense some trouble for Wopez. Should be interesting season for them.

[paperstarwriters]

Ugh I’m not great at just randomly posting without like planning and structuring the fic beforehand but I NEED to talk about him. To soothe my soul really.

Just—Muriel. Muriel and sitting not on his lap, but between his thighs, thick and meaty, bracketing your own hips as he leans his chest against your back and head. Maybe he’s settled down behind you to read what you’re reading. Maybe he’s opted to sit like this while e carves rather than sitting back-to-back. Either way, the habit starts as many do with warmth radiating from Muriel’s cheeks, but maybe less so than usual, less so than before, because he’s been with you long enough—long enough to be comfortable like this at least. To just… bracket you—blanket you. Lean atop your shoulders and wrapped around you like a child hugging their favourite plush. Maybe you’ve done that to him before, while you sit on the bed and he sits on the floor, or perhaps while he’s in a seat while you’re standing, just leaning over his shoulders. And maybe this is him returning the gesture.

Either way, as many cozy cuddly things do, this becomes habit. Ritual even. That if you ever sit down on the floor or on the bed in Muriel’s proximity, he’ll drape himself over and around you to cuddle as you work or read or whatever really.

He talks to you like that sometimes. Mundane things really. Like how he enjoyed his day with you, or how it’s really important for you to drink water—please stop forgetting, no coffee doesn't count. And sometimes he rests with his chin atop your head, and other times he leans in to say the things to your cheek, or even whisper it in your ear. He doesn’t mean anything by it most of the time, just whispering because he doesn't want to so harshly break the comfortable silence around you, but sometimes, just sometimes, he does like watching you squirm.

It sends something electric to his chest. Makes his face grow warm from the combination of shame and delight. Shame that he’s trying so selfishly to poke and prod at you like this to make you embarrassed just for his own enjoyment, that he’s still so anxious that he feels the need to test and see if you have the same reaction as he does to your mere presence. And of course delight every time it’s conformed—every time you squirm against his chest almost making him grin at the notion that for once he’s embarrassing you by doing nothing but cuddling a little. He’s still red faced when he does it, still averts his eyes trying not to be too happy at tormenting you, but so long as you don’t turn it back on him—don’t call out his obvious delight, he won’t pout.

Then again, even if you do he’ll smile eventually anyways, your own affectionate glee too infectious not to.

But like I can’t help but imagine how one day you might just be sitting between his legs like that, him draped over and around you while you chat. He interjects occasionally giving input when in short sparse bursts and the occasional thorough explanation, but at some point the conversation comes to a lull, a soft cozy silence that isn’t loathed in such comfortable company, but you still choose to break it regardless, not even trying to turn when you speak to him.

And maybe it’s a confession of love for the umpteenth time (though he'd never tire from it), maybe it’s a worm of some tender insecurity rearing it’s head, or maybe it’s Muriel, who’s had a bad day or a bad week, feeling shitty and horrible and loathing himself in that silent way he sometimes does, and you tell him that you can see him. That you know that it’s hard, that it’s awful, but you see that he’s trying too, and you’re so proud of him. So proud that he’s trying. That he cares for himself enough to try instead of shutting down and letting the hurt just consume him, and that you're always around if he needs some help, that he needn't shoulder the burden all by himself, no matter how much his broad shoulders can carry.

And either way the reaction is the same. He pulls away just for a moment, struck by your words—either appalled that you think so lowly of yourself or awed at such a blatant and earnest display of your love for him—before he presses a kiss to your neck. Once, maybe twice. Three times or even more if he's feeling particularly greedy, or if it seems to make you happy (so often three or more times lmao) And it's not just rapid little fluttery kisses, though it often devolves into that. But he'll start slowly, lovingly. Devoting his kisses to some tender spot along your neck that he's long since memorized, perhaps the ridge of your spine, or the soft column of tissue between your neck and your collarbone, or the tender patches of skin just behind your ear. And each kiss he gives with such reverence, such adoration and love—the same way he loves to do when he presses his lips to yours.

And at some point he curls against you, brushes his lips to your ear, and with that low rumbling voice, that you can feel as you rest your back against his chest, he'll say, "Thank you" if your words had been loving, or "I disagree." if it was something cruel to yourself. Either way, he's squeezing you tighter between his arms and legs, like he's worried you might leave him somehow. That you might try to squirm from his grasp even as you make your delight so blatantly clear. And while there is a thread of that thought that ties itself round his chest, it's more that he needs you to stay in place. So long as you stay where you are—so long as you you don't turn around, so long as you don't call him out for how red his face is, how embarrassing it is that he's so affected by you, so delighted when you show how much you love him, how upset he feels when he hears you don't view yourself the same way he sees you... so long as you don't look at him it's easier to tell you. Not to mention, it's so much easier to be honest when no one is watching him, when he isn't worried that he'd disappoint you somehow or make a fool of himself.

Most importantly though, it keeps him from getting distracted. Because it is. Distracting, that is. So very distracting to watch you watch him, eyes narrowing in on all those spots on him that he once might have hated, but now appreciates if only because you so vehemently adore. His chest and stomach for one; once markers of how large he was—how large he is—have become a point you often like to stare at. Eyes trailing down when his shirt is off, igniting in him that familiar, embarrassed, delight. And in the same way coals still able to start a fire anew with the right kindling, the thoughts set his mind alight with thoughts of what you'd so eagerly love to do to him if he let you. What he'd so eagerly let you do if you were willing.

The mere memory of your kisses all over his stomach and chest—and the one bite you pressed to his chest, right atop his heart, like you were trying to swallow what was already yours—oh it made his mind swirl, made his face grow beet red at even the vaguest memory.

So as long as you couldn't so easily reciprocate. So long as your back was to him. He finally would get to give back to you. To litter loving longing, dizzying kisses of his own against your skin. Against wherever he could reach, against whatever you would expose for him. Make you shiver and squirm in the way he often did for you. Make you keen or gasp or whine when he bit you, teasingly perhaps, or longingly, when the urge to carve a place for himself beneath your skin—safely tucked beside your heart—grows far too fierce. Never enough to hurt of course, every bite always followed with more kisses to your skin like an apology for even leaving the imprint of his teeth on your flesh.

Ah, but as much as he wants to keep you from watching him, to keep you from distracting him with your loving wandering eyes, he still will always crave the chance to kiss you, to feel you kiss him. To press his lips against your own, and cling to you like you were the very air that would fill his lungs with life. And whether that happen when you finally turn to peer at him, or when he tilts your head back guiding you with a warm hand against your cheek, he all to eagerly slots himself in the slight part between your lips, all too eager to just kiss.

Just for a second perhaps, or however many minutes it takes for you to loose your breaths, he doesn't care how long it lasts, so long as he gets to hold you after, so long as you let him bask in the glory of getting to love you, of getting feeling what it's like to be adored from the bottom of your heart.

Just stay here, with his arms wrapped greedily around you, and his thighs bracketing your hips. A full body embrace.

Ah, a Bear hug really.

[fallenclan]

hello fallenfreaks! i made this a while ago but its on youtubenow i guess... so The People can see it instead of the fellow freaks in the discord!!

https://youtu.be/kjp4ewjPREQ?si=6pylbTpSkgVy-Y0M

-🎲

[breannacasey]

every show I watched weekly for 5 seasons or more I've had moments where I was less into it and almost wished it would end. every one. except NCIS. been watching that show for 20 years and I do not get tired of it. it makes absolutely no sense but it's my constant. it's been there every week since early in my high school career when I was watching it dubbed in french. and it's still there into my thirties when I watch it in the original English as it first airs. when everything goes to shit, when I want it all to end, when I don't know what I want or enjoy anymore, it's always there. I get tired of other shows but not that one.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

am i tripping or is x3 relatively way better than dark phoenix like,,, obviously the second half of x3's plot is atrociously wrong (apart from when erik keeps bringing up charles) but the initial set up and premise feel less flat than dark phoenix with more things going on than just jean/phoenix and erik and the brotherhood don't feel as shoehorned?

i fear i feel you ..... however ive always held the belief X3 wasnt a terrible movie on the sole basis hank was there and the movie started with old man bickering while adopting their daughter so this aint a shocking opinion to meee

'but snap hank was in dark phoenix too' ok he didnt piss me off in X3 !!!!! moving on !!!!!!!!

[kuromi-hoemie]

man i finally got around to actively modding elden ring again today and i forgot how fucking funny this is 💀 i gotta make some before/after edits of what I'm doing to these spells so i can show y'all.

coming back to it this is definitely the funnest game to mod, with the editor tool u can live-patch the game and make n test all ur changes on the fly. it's so nice (⁠〒⁠﹏⁠〒⁠)

im on a smoke break but rn im working on making my initial set of spells and then need to make my recovery rates more fair, and then i wanna get into the dlc.. idk if I wanna finish the game real quick and make my way towards it on NG+, or just go to it now ૮ – ﻌ–ა i think it's supposed to be a p big DLC to play thru?? i look forward to being introduced to the new spells =ω=

[eggmeralda]

do you ever feel casually suicidal? like you're not depressed or anything you're doing fine but also it feels like a convenient option