#which automatically makes me think. well what if this was Not The Case

[varreblogger]

people seem to always assume he’s some sort of bdsm sex god….. and what if he wasnt super sexually experienced. what if you tried to get at his armpits and he got startled and squished you like a bug

[fideidefenswhore]

Catherine [of Aragon], [Princess] Mary, and Anne Boleyn are enemies of Cromwell and do not fare well at her hands. In fact, [Mantel's] focus on Cromwell seriously undermines the claim her account is more authentic than Michael Hirst['s].

Writing Mary I: History, Historiography, and Fiction

[silversurfersx]

Stroopwaffels | f1 grid

f1 grid × driver!reader × (lowkey) franco colapinto

[smau + rl]

summary : in which the reader had an accident but pretends as if it never happened, is chronic online, and loves stroopwaffels

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris, lewishamilton and others

yourusername: got traumatised, got stroopwaffels and then a nice nurse lend me her crocs (they're so adorable)

view comments

user1: oh god, she's lost it...

user2: girl, you good

landonorris: *we got some stroopwaffels

yourusername: I'm injured, let me take some ownership

lewishamilton: hope your doing better 🤞❤

user3: that crash looked bad, I hope you're doing alright

user4: well looking at those picture, I think she's fine

user5: or she got some head injury, because what is going on

user6: so are we not going to talk about it???

yourusername: about what?

user7: hope your feeling better ❤

francocolapinto: que te mejores pronto 🥰🥰

yourusername: Idk what you're talking about, but gracias hermoso 😚❤

user8: how are you still alive, that crash looked so mad!?!?

user9: is no one gonna question the amount of stroopwaffels that they bought???

user10: fr, they're like those ppl from the maths books

___

The race started normal. The nervousness as the lights started to turn on, the anticipation electrifying the air as you waited for the lights to turn off. The beating of your heart when they did and the automatic pressure applied to the throttle by you which followed.

You managed to pass a few cars before the first corner, passing a loud crowd in an even louder car. The heat behind your seat, was already making you sweat, and you knew that it would only get hotter as you went along. At least the outside temperatures were still decent.

You remeber checking your side mirror when you tried to pass the car in front of you, and the voice of your race engineer talking into your ear, but you didn't remeber turning. You can't recall if it was your own fault or the car's, or if it was the track. But you do remember your car hitting the curb as you went flying of the track, hitting the fence.

You remeber hearing distant voices, but you couldn't answer, you couldn't move. Your sight was moving so slowly, the dizzy world around you only got a bit clearer after a few moments. Clear enough for you to notice that you had to get out. A smell of fire was what brought said clarity up. Your hands were shaky, as you tried to unfasten your seatbelt. It normally wouldn't have taken this long, but your body was just too heavy. When you finally managed to unbuckle them, you dared to look outside. Over your already heavy breathing, weaved a sense of panic when you noticed that your car had embodied itself into the fence, above the ground, so you had to jump out. There were already Marshalls below, discussing what to do, a crane slowly approached as well. One of the marshalls ran up to the car with a ladder.

Even through your foggy mind you knew what they were planning to do, so you prepared to get out. Trying not to disturb the weight of the car too much, you pulled your legs in and pushed your body up, waiting for the ladder. You looked down towards the orange figures, only making them out blurry through your impacted vision. You jumped a little when a Marshall suddenly appeared by your side. He had already climbed up the ladder, but you hadn't noticed.

His lips moved, but you couldn't hear anything. You didn't know how to answers, so a thumps up had to be enough for now. He seemed to noticed your dizzy state and shouted something down, before slowly reaching out to you, to help you on the ladder. The drop down wasn't far, but the other Marshalls still put you airmattresses in case you should fall.

You don't know how you managed to make your way onto the ladder but you did. Following the Marshall down, as he stayed below you, one hand reaching up and holding you close to the ladder by your back.

At the bottom you had to take a moment to breathe. A Medical team immediately checked if you were alright for the moment, before leading you towards the medical car to take you to the medical centre.

___

liked by francocolapinto, landonorris, maxverstappen1 and others

yourusername: good things: doctor who, stroopwaffels, y mi persona favorito, Franco 😘

view comments

user9: I aspire to be this nonchalant, girl just had a big crash, but instead of addressing it she posts her boy

user10: are they together? user9: I genuinely don't know yourusername: neither do we 🤔 user9: OMG?!?! user10: what is that supposed to mean???? 😳😳

francocolapinto: 🥰🥰❤ [liked by yourusername]

yourusername: 🥰❤😘 [liked by francocolapinto] user11: what is this, guys? yourusername: 😘 user11: welp

user12: WHAT IS GOING ON ?!?! 😲💀👀

user13: right??

landonorris: are you still concussed? 😃

yourusername: from what 👀 landonorris: 💥🏎 yourusername: I don't know what you're on about 🤔 landonorris: 💀

alexalbon: are you dating my teammate?

user14: alex out here asking the important questions yourusername: no alexalbon: I just heard franco shout in protest carlossainz55: I did too yourusername: what are u doing at williams, another dinner date with james 🤨😏😘 charles_leclerc: hahaha, she got you there 😂😂

maxverstappen1: can I get some stroopwaffels too?

yourusername: only if you watch doctor who with me 🥰 maxverstappen1: ok 😊

___

The conclusion from the medical staff after your inspection came to a surprise almost. You were pretty much fine, aside from a concussion. Nevertheless did they still sent you to the hospital to get a CAT-scan just to be sure that everything is fine.

After everything there got concluded, you were advised to stay overnight before being able to get picked up by someone. Not that you were in a state to complain, as you were still way too dizzy and tired to complain. The way too hard hospital bed, with it's annoying pillows didn't bother you as much in that moment, because you couldn't really concentrate on it anyway, as you quickly fell asleep.

While you were out, some of the drivers came up to visit, leaving flowers and get well cards. One of the drivers got also instructed to pick you up in the morning. That someone turned out to be Lando. For whatever reason.

Although you were still a bit dizzy, you managed to not throw up or fall on your nose when you made your way to Lando's car. The gifts you received were already on the backseat. The curly headed man, smiled brightly as he saw you, which you returned, still slightly delirious.

"They gave me these funky pills so now I can't stop smiling." Was the fist thing you announce when you sat in the passenger seat. Lando simply laughed loudly and started the car.

"Hey, can we stop at some shop, I'm craving stroopwaffeln." You answered, trying to pronounce it as Dutch as you could, remembering the way Max taught you.

"Fuck yeah, stroopwaffels are the best." Lando agreed eagerly. "But don't tell our trainers."

Completely off it, you lifted a wobbly finger to your lips and let out a pshhh. Lando watched you, and bit his lip clearly holding back a laugh.

"Shit you're high." He mused. "But you have to pretend not to be when we ho shopping, alright."

You held out your pinkie, "I swear."

Lando giggled and wrapped his pinkie around yours.

___

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, francocolapinto and others

lando.jpg: stroopwaffels 🍪

tagged: yourusername, oscarpiastri

view all comments

yourusername: did you steal my stroopwaffels???

lando.jpg: I payed for them yourusername: paid*

user14: damn they're really out there living their best life

user15: he did oscar dirty, haha

user16: I really want some stroopwaffels too now 🙃

oscarpiastri: why are you all so obsessed with stroopwaffels?

yourusername: cause they're amazing

lando.jpg: seriously osc

danielricciardo: oh can I get some too 😯

lando.jpg: no yourusername: yes danielricciardo: great 🥰 thanks y/n

user17: I love the crocs

___

You had been ordered to stay in bed by the doctors, so that was exactly what you had been doing. Laying on your couch, watching doctor who, drinking tea and eating stroopwaffels. You ignored the sickness coming over you as you bit into the soft stroopwaffel, before placing it again over you mug, just in time for Franco to come back into the room from the bathroom. Way too loud in your opinion. The remains of the concussion were still present and you were trying to improve your health before the race this coming weekend. So you did nothing and chilled with Franco.

He came over after you got back home and hasn't really left your side since then.

"What candles do you use in you bathroom, they smell amazing." He announced throwing himself back on the couch next to you.

"I think they were a gift, so I'm not sure." You answered, moving you eyes from the television towards the boy.

"Who gave them to you?"

"Charles, but I think Alexandra picked then out." You nodded chuckling alongside Franco.

"Ah, then I'm gonna ask her, maybe I can also pet Leo."

"Maybe you can steal him and then we can co parent him." You suggested eyes focused back on the screen.

"Are you on drugs again?" Franco asked leaning over and poking your cheek. You still had problems moving you eyes, as the world seemed to just lag behind when you did. So with you simply staring at the screen showing barely any emotions you did appear sluggishly, as if on medication.

"Well, I do still take my meds, but I'm not high." Slowly you turned to look at Franco who frowned at you.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to race this weekend again?" He asked concerned. It was a question he had continuously asked over the past few days. And you replied the same everytime. "I have to, I might get dropped if not. I don't want to not perform and look weak in front of the media, they're gonna eat me alive. I mean people have driven in worse states."

Franco didn't answer, but his expression clearly didn't agree with your words. Though he knew that arguing with you wouldn't matter. It would only lead to headaches. So all he did was throw his arms around you and moved his body weight into you, so that you both fell onto your side.

You landed on you back and Franco squeezed in the gap beside you and the back of the couch, arm draped over your torso. When befriending him your quickly learned that his love language was physical touch, so random cuddles were starting to be normal behaviour for him. Especially when he wanted to show that he cared and comfort you.

You never complained, because you actually loved it. You loved the kind of bond you two shared. But there was a slight problem just now.

"I can't reach my stroopwaffels."

[after-witch]

A Barter [Yandere Feitan x Reader]

Title: A Barter [Yandere Feitan x Reader]

Synopsis: Feitan wants one thing. You want something else. 

Word count: 2200ish

Notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, noncon

God, you’d kill for some books. Not even some. Just one. A single book to pass the time, to retreat into, and above all, to keep you from being so fucking bored.

You’d asked Feitan for some about two weeks ago. Laid out your case as carefully as anything, even written down a list of genres you like, or specific books if he wouldn’t mind, but you ended by affirming that you’d be happy to read anything that he felt like picking up.

He didn’t bother answering. He only stared at you until you left, feeling ashamed, stupid–and more bored than ever. 

It’s amazing, really, how your brain eventually stops firing off all cylinders, stops being stuck in flight-or-fight-mode, after a while. Even a kidnapping can become ordinary. All it takes is a year or so–you don’t exactly have a calendar to keep track–of being kept in a few rotating dingy hideouts by a torturer with a penchant for basements to make you able to think of things other than is-he-going-to-kill-me-or-not.

Things like: what will Feitan do, if you ask him for a book again?  Scoff? Make you beg? Or, perhaps the most likely, simply ignore you once again? He does his fair share of that, for all that he refuses to let you go.

Well.

There’s nothing to do but find out. Even that is a relief from boredom, trying something new: repeatedly asking your captor for some remnant of normality.

So, with a squirming stomach and an awful blend of worry-relief slick in your gut, you push off your mattress on the floor, hop up–

And run right smack into Feitan, who has chosen this exact moment to make his own surprise appearance into the room that has become your own. It startles you both and it’s only his own honed reflexes, you think, that keep him from copying your own startled trip as you almost stumble backwards right onto the dingy hardwood floor.

You catch yourself, without dignity; and it is without dignity that you manage the only verbal response you can, a shaky, uncertain: 

“Um.”

Feitan stares at you. And then he huffs, which might be as close to an “um” as you might ever get from him. 

But what little standoff there is between you folds easily. You back down first. Of course you do. Quite literally, you walk backwards, until you feel the firmness of your mattress behind your legs, and you sit down.

It’s best to sit, when Feitan wants something. You never know what it might be, after all.

“Did you…” You pull your knees up, prepared to be told to head into the basement at worst, or to make him something to eat, at best. “Did you need something?”

It’s his lack of response that clues you into something being strange first. Then it’s the fact that, as you dart your gaze towards his face, you can see a faint something about him–on his cheeks, maybe? They look a little flushed.

Maybe he’s sick. The thought of tending to a sick Feitan is not something you’d considered before. You’re not keen on considering it now, but what choice do you have?

“Are you sick?” 

“What?”

The word is bitten out but it lacks the usual harshness in his tone. Instead he sounds–taken aback, maybe. Embarrassed, even, and that’s a bit more stomach-churning than annoyance. What would he have to feel embarrassed about? 

“Sorry,” you reply, automatically, wanting to avoid being sent down to the basement again. “I just thought… because of your cheeks?”

His fingers do not fly to his cheeks. Instead, he slowly, deliberately, raises his hand to his cheek and brushes his knuckles over his skin. 

It makes him hum–thoughtful. Quiet. 

Completely unnerving. 

And when he turns around and shuts your bedroom door, your thoughts begin to feel rootless. It’s a strange gesture. What would he shut the door for, anyway? No one else would see you. Even if he had someone chained up in the basement, they weren’t likely to get away.

The thoughts get swallowed down when he stands in front of you, arms crossed.

“I need something.” He pauses. “From you.”

You can’t bear to meet his gaze, so you stare down at your feet, picking at the frayed lace on your socks. “From… me?”

“From me?” He repeats, a mocking lilt just detectable in his tone. 

Heat rises in your chest, and you stamp it down just as quickly. The days where you used to argue–and plead–and argue some more are gone. Mostly, anyway. 

“What,” you swallow, “could you need from me?”

He hesitates. You think for a moment that he’ll simply leave, forgetting the matter entirely. Then he pulls at his cowl, revealing his face–mouth set in a frown–before he begins to pull at his coat. He shrugs it off like a robe and it drops to the floor without ceremony. Underneath, he’s wearing a slim tank top and trousers. Both are suspiciously stained, despite the dark fabric.

Still, he just stares at you, until you can’t take the silence any longer.

“Um,” you say, an echo from earlier. 

This time, when he huffs, it’s less of an “um” and more of an implicit marker of your own stupidity. 

“You wanting books?”

Oh. 

That’s what this is about? The books. The books you wanted–needed, really, to get you through this newfound life. If you can call it that.

So you nod, slowly. Already not liking where it’s going, even though you’ve yet to find the destination.

Feitan’s lips quirk into something like a frown before he speaks. An uncertain little thing. 

“Take off your clothes, then.”

Ah.

It’s–a trade.

A book for–well. That. 

It’s not that you didn’t think it was coming, eventually. Perhaps you’ve always known that he’s going to have sex with you, one way or another. The only decision you have is in the little details. Will he pin your wrists down and take you screaming? Or will you submit and wind up on the bed of whatever free will you still possess?

You know which one ends with more pain, more tears. You know which one ends with tears, yes–but something you want, too. A book. Or two. Something to tide you over. 

So–so you swallow and look up at him as firmly as you can and nod. It’s going to happen, so it might as well happen on your terms. Or what you can pretend are your terms, at least.

“Fine.”

He almost seems surprised, but he bites it back quickly as you hastily begin to shrug your clothing off. A flimsy tank top and thin leggings that were beginning to rip at the seams, but you didn’t feel like asking for a sewing kit or a new pair. 

He stares down at your naked form and it’s only when you awkwardly pat the spot next to you on the mattress that he moves, almost jerking his body as he jerkily crawls down onto the bare mattress. It creaks underneath him, and you instinctively shift backwards, leaning your back against the pillow.

Let it just be over with then. Let him do what he wants–and you get your books, and that awful tension that’s been hovering since he took you can unravel. 

Only he doesn’t simply crawl over you and begin fucking hard, satiating whatever lust that’s been built up inside him. Instead, he scoots himself until he’s laying above you, yes, but leaning down and… what? Looking at you. Expecting something. He leans down, his face closer, and it hits you.

He wants to kiss.

He doesn’t want just sex then, you think. He wants… more? He wants–wants… you? Yes–maybe? He wants you, in some way that he doesn’t have you yet. Even though he has you, literally, where he wants you; makes you do whatever he wants, controls what you eat and what you wear and when you sleep. When you shower, when you speak, often enough.

And now he wants whatever kissing him will give. It’s a shitty world, when you can’t keep anything for yourself. You could refuse. Could press your lips tight and turn away, make it harder on him. 

Harder on yourself, too. 

You swallow, and he follows the motion in your throat as he finally leans in closer, his chapped lips brushing against your own. Equally chapped, to be fair; lip balm wasn’t exactly a top priority for either of you.

“Open your mouth,” he says, and it’s almost softly. Almost like it’s not a command and is instead a request. 

Well. If you’re going to do it, you might as well get something more. 

“I want–I want a trilogy,” you murmur. 

He stares at you, uncomprehending–until he gets it. You’re bartering. He snorts against your skin, but doesn’t disagree as he captures your parted mouth, shoving his tongue inside with little fanfare. 

If he got what he wanted from the kiss, you don’t know, because by the time he’s practically breathing down your throat, you feel his hands part your naked thighs. And when he pulls away and positions himself to see what he’s revealed, his expression turns into something you’ve only seen him sport in the basement during particularly fulfilling torture sessions.

Satisfaction.

It’s almost flattering–fuck, something has to be, your naked back against the mattress as Feitan finally pulls his trousers down and positions himself at your entrance without any fanfare. Or preparation. Not that you were expecting it. Maybe, to him, the kiss should have been enough.

The ceiling has a stain on it–that’s what you’re thinking, as he thrusts inside you. It hurts, there’s a startling sort of burning and pressure, and you don’t have any time to be eased into things as he lets out a long sigh and begins to fuck you.

Your body shifts against the mattress with each thrust, and you think–is this going to be it?--before you feel a startling, uneven jolt of pleasure between your legs. When you glance down, you can see Feitan’s hand between your legs; it’s his thumb, you think, rubbing your clit almost haphazardly.

It’s enough to dull the sting, at least. Enough to make you gasp in something other than discomfort. 

Maybe that gasp is why he leans down again, why his free hand grabs one of your wrists and pins it above your head. It’s to keep you still, you realize a moment later, as he begins to bite and lap against your neck. You’ll have hickeys, after.

It adds another layer of pleasure, something warmer, something that sends tingles down your stomach despite the discomfort of the situation. 

“Feitan–”

“Hush,” he says, and you do, and you’re almost grateful for his words. It’s easier not to say his name, to bite down your gasps and sounds. Especially when saying his name merely made him rut harder against you, faster. It’s almost too much, the friction between your body and the mattress, your heart rate speeding up, the feeling of his thrust between your legs. It’s almost dizzying, making it harder to keep your thoughts straight. 

Harder and faster, all because you said his name. Because it made him hornier–or because he wants to leave? The question lingers, caught between thrusts and the feeling of his mouth against his skin.

His thumb rubs harsher against your clit until you’re suddenly spasming, cumming as he’s still fucking you. He takes his hands away too quickly and it’s not an entirely satisfying orgasm but you’re in no position (literally) to complain about it. Instead you try to ride some lingering warmth between your legs as he reaches his own peak, abandoning your bruising shoulder and bruising your lips, instead, a kiss that’s part teeth and tongue.

He thrusts forward and goes still and makes an almost keening sound into your mouth as he finishes, and you feel the warmth spreading inside you. It’s not pleasant, but the feeling when he pulls out and some of it dribbles out is far less so.

Next time, you think, you’ll tell him to keep touching you when you come. So it feels better. Hell, next time, you’ll barter for something more than a book, too. 

You expect him to stay against you, maybe even kiss you again, in the afterglow. Instead, he simply stands up without fanfare and begins to redress himself. Pulls his pants back up–you hope to whatever god there is that he washes his clothes soon–and begins to pull on his top and coat.

“What genre?”

You don’t register the question at first. You’re too fucked out, too guilty, lost, confused, hazy, to understand the question. 

Maybe he sees all that, because before he throws his cowl back up, you see his smirk.

“For your books.”

Oh. Right.

“Fantasy,” you answer, without needing to think. 

Above you, that ceiling is still stained, and now your mattress has new stains. It was the first time Feitan fucked you, but it won’t be the last, and what sort of Pandora’s box did you open today, anyway? 

So yes, a fantasy trilogy is what you ask for, naked and bruising on your bed. 

You’ll need something you can escape into every chance you get.

[vaginalvr]

….allow me to set the stage my liege:

Spencer and fem reader are married and work together at the BAU (they are the most adorable and fluffy couple ever change my mind), reader is pregnant this makes Spencer *and* the time more protective/caring towards reader and Spencer gently *suggests* that reader *maybe* should consider desk duty/just interviewing the families etc, this makes reader really emotional (damn pregnancy hormones) and she just gets upset (not at anyone just with herself) about how she feels like she’s letting the team down/not doing a good job bc she’s pregnant and feels useless, Maybe the rest of the team enter the conversation and (who have totally *not* all been watching/ease dropping on the conversation this whole time) all comfort her (especially Spencer) and just say it’s bc they don’t want anything to happen to her or baby 🥺

(If you could bless me further I would love a lil scene where Spencer is holding the reader’s belly and starts talking about how him touching her belly helps the baby ((he just wants to connect to baby hehe)))

Just loads of teeth rotting fluff!!

Ofc if you’re ok with it!!! Thank you my liege 🫡 and don’t stop writing for the love of *god* 🙏

content warning: Comfort, pregnancy hormones, protective team, lots of Spencer belly-touching fluff, soft BAU family energy

a/n: im not good at fluff, this may have taken me a week in a half, go away love ya

word count ~ 1k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

You didn’t think anything of it at first—how Spencer had started carrying your bag every morning, how he’d automatically started opening doors for you like clockwork, or how he always instinctively placed a gentle hand on the small of your back when you walked into the bullpen, like he was guiding you through a minefield.

It was subtle. Sweet.

Until it wasn’t.

Until you walked into Hotch’s office and found two ergonomic desk chairs—one of which was significantly more cushioned and suspiciously new—and a printed sign above the corner of the whiteboard that read "CASE SUPPORT ZONE: REID-Y/N ONLY."

You’d cocked an eyebrow at Spencer, who’d sheepishly scratched the back of his neck and said, “It’s just temporary… for, um, optimal comfort.”

You were pregnant, not made of glass.

At first, you had laughed it off. You could still handle flying across the country, still interview witnesses, still chase a suspect if needed—well, maybe not chase far, but you could still contribute.

But this morning… the conversation had taken a different turn.

“Sweetheart,” Spencer said gently, his thumb brushing your knuckles. “I was thinking… maybe for this case, you could stay at Quantico? Just help with victimology, interviews with the families over video… Not the field stuff.”

You blinked. “Why?”

His mouth twitched in that soft, loving way he reserved just for you. “Because you’re six months pregnant. And we’re flying to Idaho in a snowstorm. And the last time we were on a jet, your ankles swelled to the size of cantaloupes.”

You scowled. “That’s not fair. It was a pressure thing, and I forgot to wear compression socks.”

“I know,” he said quickly, leaning forward. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just… I worry, okay? I worry a lot. And I know you’d do anything to help the team, but I don’t want to risk anything happening to you. Or the baby.”

You blinked again, and—oh. Your throat tightened.

You knew he was right. Of course he was. You weren’t mad at him. You weren’t even mad at the idea. But the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

“So that’s it?” you said quietly, pulling your hand away. “I’m just the pregnant lady now? Useless to the team until I pop this kid out?”

Spencer’s eyes widened, clearly panicking at your interpretation. “No, no, no—sweetheart, that’s not what I meant—”

You stood quickly from your desk and pressed the heel of your palm against your forehead. “God. I didn’t mean to snap, I just—I feel like I’m letting everyone down. Like I should be out there. And instead I’m just… hormonal and puffy and crying for no reason—”

“You’re not letting anyone down,” Spencer interrupted gently, rising from his chair. His hands hovered, unsure whether to reach for you. “You’re growing a human. That’s not nothing.”

You opened your mouth, but your voice cracked. “I just wanted to help.”

And from the silence behind you, a familiar voice added:

“You are helping.”

You turned—and there they all were.

Hotch. JJ. Emily. Morgan. Garcia. Rossi.

Every last one of them standing outside your little shared office, apparently having heard everything.

“Sorry,” JJ said, raising a hand with a sheepish smile. “We weren’t eavesdropping. We were just… standing nearby. At the exact right time. For ten minutes.”

Emily gave her a look. “Solid recovery.”

Rossi stepped forward, smiling warmly. “Kid, you’re not letting anyone down. The fact that you even think that says how much you care.”

“And we do, too,” Garcia added, crossing the room to pull you into a soft, squishy hug. “About you, not just your badge. The field will still be there when you’re ready.”

Morgan smirked. “Plus, we all know you’re going to try and jump back into action the minute the doctor clears you. Let us baby you while we still can.”

That earned a small laugh from you—wet and a little hiccupy, but real.

Spencer’s hand slid to your lower back, and he pressed a kiss to your temple. “You’re incredible,” he whispered. “And you’re already the bravest mom this kid could ever ask for.”

Hotch stepped forward last, nodding with that calm, steady authority only he could deliver.

“You’ve always gone above and beyond for this team,” he said. “Let us return the favor. This is a team effort. And that includes your safety.”

You sniffled again, wiping under your eye. “Stupid hormones.”

“You’re doing amazing,” JJ added, smiling at you. “Seriously. I nearly cried the first time I couldn’t zip up my vest. It’s okay to feel emotional.”

Spencer slipped his arms around you from behind, hands resting over your slightly rounded belly.

“And you’re not going desk duty forever,” he added. “Just until you and the baby are safe. That’s all I care about.”

You leaned into him, letting yourself sink into his warmth.

“I love you,” you murmured.

“I love both of you,” he whispered against your hair.

That night, after the house was quiet and the team had left for Idaho, Spencer was curled beside you on the couch, a book abandoned on the coffee table, the soft yellow glow of the lamp washing over the two of you.

You had one hand resting on your bump when he carefully lifted your shirt and pressed a kiss just beneath your belly button.

“Hi, baby,” he said softly, like he always did. “It’s Daddy.”

You smiled, tangling your fingers in his curls as he settled against you.

“I read that babies can start to recognize touch and sound by the second trimester,” he said, his palm smoothing in slow circles. “So if I talk to you now, you might know my voice when you’re born. And my hands. I want you to feel safe when I’m holding you.”

You blinked hard against the sudden rush of tears in your eyes.

“And I know you don’t know what the word ‘hypothalamus’ means yet, but don’t worry,” he murmured. “I’ll teach you all of them. Every single one. You’re going to be so smart. Just like your mom.”

You let out a soft laugh through your tears. “You’re going to be the best dad.”

He looked up at you, eyes glinting with unshed emotion. “I already love them so much.”

You nodded, threading your fingers through his. “They already love you, too. I can feel it.”

Spencer pressed another kiss to your belly.

And you swore, in that perfect little silence, you felt the baby kick.

[occasionalsnippets]

I need to know more about fd au reader as robin 🙏 /lh

Main concept

Some assorted miscellany.

If you didn’t think Batman was going to get better, you wouldn’t have allowed Tim to become Robin no matter what. You'd reluctantly give Bruce a B- in parenting. He's not perfect but he's trying which is enough that you're willing to help.

You, through gritted teeth: I know and believe you can be good but this is rotten work, especially to me, especially if it's you, but I'll do it.

Your persona as Robin is carefully curated so that you are almost exactly like Tim. It’ll get annoying if people get confused about there being two different Robins running around at the same time so it’s easier if you just pretend to be the same person. You fill in enough times that putting on the Robin uniform automatically makes you slip into “Tim-Robin” mode which freaks a lot of people out at how uncanny it is.

You can perfectly imitate Tim's voice.

Despite your efforts pretending to be as similar to Tim as possible, it’s not totally perfect, obviously. You’re- a bit scary actually. You make the right quips, make the same distractions and appear to be exactly the same as “normal Robin” but it’s just… something is a little bit off. You’re always watching. Maybe you’re just the Robin that takes after Batman’s demeanor the most.

Part of what adds to the whole “hmm something is up with Robin 3” is that sometimes people will be like “I definitely saw Robin break his arm yesterday so how tf is he okay and patrolling today???”

Tim is still a better detective than you are but you’re no slouch either. You did not squint at gritty photos of crime scenes from three different newspapers and reconstruct doll house versions of them with dollar store craft supplies so you could teach 9-year old Tim how to analyze crime scenes just to become a “mediocre detective”.

During the early Robin 3 days, Batman used to accidentally call you and Tim, Jason. He’s also called you Tim on several occasions.

You take the Robin role during Batman’s “bad days” early on in Tim’s run as Robin because you’re able to handle to worst of it. Batman is… relentless, cold, terribly uncooperative on those days. He didn’t want another Robin and you’re well aware of how he lashes out at the two of you because of it. You don’t want Tim to go through the worst of Batman when being Robin is supposed to be something good. What are you meant to do if not protect him?

Wrangling Batman is difficult. You spend way too much time pulling him aside to say “You need to pull back on your punches. If you land them in the ICU again I will be ending this patrol early.” Although just having a Robin beside him makes things better, it doesn’t mean it’s great by any means. Depending on how much he pissed you off, you enact various punishments upon him such as making all his coffee decaf, helping Alfred make his least favourite foods, shutting down the batcomputer so he can’t work on cases and so on.

Overtime, as Batman gets better, you fill in less often. It's also because around this time you get very busy running Drake Industries.

You get on Commissioner Gordon’s case about how many cigarettes he’s smoking. All these Robins and you're the first to look so disappointed in him.

You have gone on patrol several times and no one noticed it was you and not Tim. It’s funnier not to correct them until you de-mask at the end of the night and reveal that it was you all along.

Sometimes you and Tim just swap in the middle of the night.

At the top of a lot of contingencies, there’s a note that just says “if (Y/n) inexplicably has an answer or solution, believe them and follow what they say”

[ephemeralinstance]

Solas has always been right before

I know we all joke about how Solas' plans always go wrong. But while the details of practical implementation do not seem to be his strong point, it's notable that up until the present day Solas' moral compass has always been rock solid.

He was right that the spirits taking lyrium would have negative consequences. He was right that using the dagger against the Titans was an awful thing to do and would lead to further negative consequences. He was right that the Evanuris were tyrants and he was right to rebel against them. He was right to tell Mythal she shouldn't go back to the Evanuris. And from what we saw of Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain, it seems pretty clear that he was right to make the Veil, since otherwise they really would have destroyed the world (the practical implementation of this plan was not the best, of course, but the judgement that the Evanuris needed to be stopped by any means necessary seems right).

This is important context, because people often suggest that Solas is excessively prideful for deciding to take down the Veil without listening to anyone else's views on the matter. While there's certainly some pride involved, it's very relevant that Solas has spent his whole life in situations where he was the lone voice speaking in favor of what is right. He's learned to trust his own moral compass because in the instances when he let himself be swayed, terrible things happened. From that point of view, it's not so unreasonable that he doesn't change his mind about the Veil just because most others disagree.

Moreover, in this particular case, there's a specific reason why the judgement of others on this matter would be compromised: the Chantry has been propagating prejudice and lies about spirits for hundreds of years, and everyone in modern Thedas, even those who are not Andrastians, is to some degree influenced by that. By contrast, Solas was once a spirit and remains close to many spirits. To me it seems completely reasonable that he's unwilling to accept as valid the opinion of someone who does not see spirits as people or is afraid of them (such as Varric!). I also would not accept as valid the opinion of someone who denied the personhood of some group like this.

This context also sheds light on Solas' decision to act alone. Agreed, in light of his track record he should have anticipated that if he tried to take down the Veil all alone it would go badly. But also, he had very limited options. Given the extreme prejudice toward spirits throughout Thedas, he is justifiably pessimistic about the chances of anyone understanding his reasoning and wanting to help. We know some elves were working for him, but they most likely didn't know the full details of what he was planning to do, and I imagine he eventually started to feel guilty about manipulating them like that. And looking at his friends in the Inquisition, probably the only person who might have listened to him about this is maybe the Inquisitor in some world states. It therefore seems a little unfair when the narrative criticizes him for acting alone - realistically, what else was he supposed to do?

Indeed, in light of all this it is surely natural to wonder if maybe he is right again. He clearly has good moral judgement, after all, and he has far more information about the Veil and the Fade than any of the people opposing him. It's true that there are some strong emotions involved which might compromise his rationality; but on the other hand nearly everyone else in Thedas also has their judgement compromised, by irrational prejudices against spirits and mages, so it's not obvious that Solas is automatically in the wrong just because he's motivated in part by regret and grief.

Of course, the details of the implementation need more work! But implementation aside, on just the principle of the thing, the choice to show him consistently being right in the past means there's every reason to think Solas could very well be right about the morally correct course of action with regard to the Veil. And Rook&co could be just another entry on the long list of people who did the wrong thing and caused harm because they didn't listen to him.

[dailydoseoffanfics]

HEHEHEHHHE I'M GLAD TO SERVE :3

(warning: uhhh pretty angsty, i guess) (but i suck at writing angst soo uhh..bare with me.) (also another possible ooc)

Okay so, if you were controlling the killers before they trusted you, then you just gave a good reason as to why they shouldn't trust you. I mean, from their perspective, they gotta go through rounds where they're being chased by killers, so imagine their reaction when they found you're controlling the people that is killing them. I think they gonna start a rebellion against you at this point 💀

HOWEVER, if all of them had a mutual agreement to trust you and they found out? Oh, I feel like all of the survivors are gonna go through a rollercoaster of emotions. They're gonna feel any emotions except anything that's positive. Shock, sadness, angriness, disbelief, you name it. But y'know what they all have in common? All of the survivors will feel betrayed.

(How did the survivors figured it out? Well guess what. When you're controlling the killers, they also have VISIBLE, WHITE STRINGS ON THEM !!!11 OH NOES!!!)

Noob just. automatically goes back into being scared of you. All the trust they had for you vanishes. (Especially if you killed them) And now they're putting more efforts into getting out of your strings. They looked up to you. They thought they could trust. But now, they feel like an idiot for trusting you. Why would you do this? WHY?

Now, for Two Time, it depends. If they found out before the obsession, their view on you becomes more negative, and now they think you're some kind of devil. They gonna think you see all of their teammates merely as toys, including them, which puts a bad taste on Two Time. So, expect to see them heavily glaring at your screen, and on rare occasions, even try to cut a string with their dagger.

But during the obsession?

....Well. They definitely saw it for sure, but they choose to ignore it. You see, when Two Time is obsessing over admiring you, they think you're a pure deity that could do no wrong. They totally didn't witness you killing Chance as Chance drops dead on the floor. So uh, Two Time in their delusional era.

Speaking of Chance, he's a....pretty special case. Because instead of immediately losing trust, he initially smirks. Crunky! You're the big bad killer now? Well, if it's a challenge, then he accepts. Chance likes challenges, and you being a killer excites them more. I mean, makes the experience more thrilling, i guess?

However, Chance is NOT blind. They saw how you controlling one of the killers has affected the survivors, and the survivors AREN'T happy. (Except for Two Time he guesses...) It's not like he doesn't give a shit about how their friends are feeling, so basically, Chance has mixed feelings about you, especially as he's thinking more about you being the reason as to why he's stuck in this time-looping game.

Chance won't try to break out of your strings, but you will notice how Chance has a blank face throughout the rounds....

Elliot on the other hand, completely loses his shit, in a bad way. I'm talking like CRASHING THE FUCK OUT type of way. So ALL this time, he thought he could trust you, that you just had good intentions and meant no harm, that you just wanted to help him and his friends. He trusted you, he TRULY did. But then YOU turn around and control those.....those PEOPLE THAT LOVE TO TARGET AND KILL HIM EVERY. SINGLE. FUCKING. ROUND.

He's saying all of this internally, but trust me when I say that this man is TWEAKING. Like....you can see his eye twitch once in a while and he KNOWS he can't get out of your control, so he just resorts into saying passive-aggressive stuff towards you. He's definitely going to make his hatred towards you LOUD AND CLEAR.

He's mostly pissed off, but another part of him just feels. Crushed. Sad. He genuinely feels so stupid for trusting you. He just..... wants everything to be quiet. And be left alone.

(elliot's reaction summarized):

Shedletsky, Builderman and Guest 1337 are gonna feel the MOST betrayed about this. I mean, at this point, almost ALL of the survivors are gonna be pissed about it, ESPECIALLY THESE 3. Great, absolutely wonderful, they totally asked for this already hellhole game to make their lives worse by having you betray their trust. They're totally jumping up and down from joy.

Even then, they can't get out of your grasp, it's almost as if the world is mocking their lives and purely just sees all 3 of their sufferings as entertainment. It almost feels hopeless. Keyword: almost.

Yeahhh, Shed's gonna rebel by just. Randomly stopping regardless if they're in a chase or not. Oh and he's gonna purposely miss his slash no matter how correct and close the position is (bro's gonna step back). Builderman's the MOST BLUNT. Bro's gonna start dissing you, telling you that you're just like the killers: seeing their fear and deaths merely as entertainment. Guest 1337 won't do much, but he WILL give you disapproving looks and sometimes snears at you.

(I just know Shed will be MORE pissed off if you're playing as 1x1x1x1. Like...dude. C'mon, REALLY? YOU'RE CONTROLLING HIS LITERAL EMBODIMENT OF HATRED??? Ohhh, Shed is SEETHING, meanwhile, 1x1x1x1's pride and ego is secretly rising, and he's got a cocky grin on his face.)

007n7....has nothing to say, initially. It's just.... This is just too much for him. First he has to deal with his son being a killer, and now he has to deal with you? Yeahhhh... bro will be the first person to accept his fate. And when you're playing as him again, 007n7 will avoid eye contact with you as MUCH as possible. He needs someone to talk to :broken_heart:

In conclusion? You better have the option of being a killer disabled. Or have a 700-word essay with REASONABLE and GOOD explanations as to why you've played as a killer.

[jifloulette]

➳ you didn't expect that by telling the itoshi rin that he looks like a hirono would make him blush so hard

pairing ; itoshi rin x gn! reader

word count ; 0.8k

inspo ; i read a rin fic with him being interested in smiskis and like other trinkets that reader collects so this is where i kinda took inspo from except it's a hirono version !!

you and rin decided to hangout at your place today and do the math assignment because you were lowkey getting sick of having to go to his home every day. (also because he was just lazy after soccer practice and he asked, no he kinda practically begged you to give him a piggyback ride) you were really excited because it was a rare occurrence that you and your boyfriend hung out at your house. when the two of you arrived, rin greeted your parents before removing his shoes and going upstairs with you to your room.

the two of you really weren't doing the homework and just decided to spend some time together in which you decide to show him your hirono collection! he would be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued with this collection of yours, saying that their designs were very detailed and the quality of materials used to create them wasn't of low quality.

you did notice him glaring at the little action figures when he heard you say that they were really really cute...

"hey, rinnie! don't look at my children like that!!" you playfully shout loud enough that it wouldn't hurt his ears, "huh? what do you mean children..?" rin questions you. "well.. anything that I collect are automatically my children because I'm taking care of them so in this case, my hironos are my children! and since your my boyfriend, they're like your children too! you're like that one father that'll lowkey neglect them.. just kidding!" you reply with a huge cheeky smile on your face.

Rin didn't let in anything of what you said sink in, he just really liked listening to you talk. He didn't even notice the small smile starting to grow on his once cold-blooded face until you pointed it out and teased him, to which he replied by just simply rolling his eyes ate you.

The two of you just spent the time talking to each other and letting one another know about the funny and important events that happened today at your classes. (even if you were doing most of the talking, he didn't care) you also talked about how you saw on Instagram that there was going to be a new hirono series coming out and you really wanted to buy two. one for you, and one for rin! he did say that he didn't want one because it was a "lukewarm" thing to spend money on but you didn't care, you were still gonna buy him one, whether he liked it or not. god, did you know how to play with his strings, you knew he couldn't deny you for doing something so innocent and loving.

"Baby, i think we should start doing the math homework, don't you think?" Rin reminds you, actually it sounded more like a command and all of a sudden, you discover something amazing! "Wait wait wait wait! Oh my god, I just realized something.." you say, startling the boy a bit. "This hirono of mine looks like you, omg omg omg omg!!!" you cheerfully squeal.

"h-huh..? w-what are you talking about, y/n? that lukewarm toy doesn't look like me. not one bit." your boyfriend states. you then place the hirono besides his face, carefully observing and comparing the toy's features to his. the hirono's hair and eyes looked too much like the boy in front of you, it was oddly hilarious. you chuckled the moment you looked back at rin, his face reddening due to the random remark you just made.

"i-i.. no, it does not look like me, give me that..!" rin says as he snatches the toy from your hand after. he looked at the toy, trying to find what part of it looked like him. you couldn't stop staring, the way he was so focused on your little figurine was just so mesmerizing to say the least. you saw after that he was confused, like really confused. he was clueless about what part of the hirono made him look similar to it. it was only then that you got up from your bed and grabbed his hand, going to the body mirror in your room. "see! you looking so confused doesn't make sense because if you put the hirono up to your face, it looks like an exact replica of you!" you say, and to his surprise, you were in fact right! there was a bit of silence as he once again compared the toy's appearance to his, looking rather astonished at the discovery.

"wait, y/n, it kinda does look like me.." rin answers, "told ya!" you reply before giving him a quick smooch on the cheek. just when his face was starting to go back to its normal shade, your sudden action made it turn red once again! "hmph.. you're so annoying.", "buuuut.. i know you love me." you say teasingly, the boy's face heating up even more as you laugh at his reaction.

it was safe to say that because of your silly discovery, itoshi rin might just start to enjoy staying at your place more, mostly because he gets to see you talk about your hirono collection and how you bought some more boxes you wanted to open with him, but he'd never say that out loud. you did tell him that he could take the hirono that looked like him but he denied, saying that it was your property. it was only after he left that you noticed some space between 2 figures on your shelf, you shortly message him saying "take care of the little rin figurine!! you're his dad after all!!"

note ; a little something i made as i try to work on another rin fic because he won the poll i made last week, pls bear with me, it's another hellweek in school :((

[milliesfishes]

⋆౨ৎcoriolanus takes the night off to bake fall treats with you⋆౨ৎ fem reader x coriolanus snow

It had been an awfully quiet day, and the silence was becoming stifling. You had read every magazine in the house, and your embroidery didn't feel appealing right now. Outside, the world was turning to the colors of fall, bright oranges and reds decorating the grounds of the mansion.

The door opened and shut to the room, and you looked up, smiling when your husband entered. He looked tired, hair messy from his perpetual habit of running his fingers through it, tie long abandoned, sleeves pushed up. You reached out for him, making a fake pouty face at him that tilted the corners of his lips up. "My love."

"Darling," he greeted, kneeling at your side and resting his head in your lap. Your fingers automatically started running through his hair, soothing the tensions of the day from his scalp.

"You're back early," you commented, stroking the side of his face. "I wasn't expecting you until later.

Coriolanus sighed, nuzzling his cheek against your thigh. "Long day. Decided to come home early."

"Poor thing," you cooed, bending to kiss his hair. "You work too hard, darling. You're going to turn grey before I do."

"I'd better not," he grumbled, and you suppressed a giggle. "With any luck my hair won't change color."

"Hm." You smiled, fingering his platinum hair. "Well...just in case maybe you should take a break. Don't work for the rest of the night."

"I've got too much to do, sweetheart," he shook his head, lifting it from your lap. "There's-"

"Don't," you murmured, giving him a pleading look. "It's been so long since we spent an evening together."

He sighed through his nose, looking up at you. Something in him seemed to break as he searched your eyes, the blue raking your depths. Finally after a moment, he lifted one of your hands, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. "You're very hard to say no to, sweetheart."

With a delighted squeal, you sprang to your feet, tugging him up. "I was just about to go down to the kitchens."

He tilted his head. "What for?"

"I want to make cookies," you tugged on his hand. "It'll be fun."

You nearly laughed when he squinted, letting you pull him to the door. "I didn't think you liked doing that sort of thing."

"I do," you smiled, practically skipping down the hallway with him. "My mother used to make pumpkin cookies every year in the fall. I want to do it too."

You could practically feel him soften at the mention of your mother. That was very nearly his weak spot, given his history with his own. When your mother had passed away last year, he had been the very picture of devotion, comforting you wonderfully and reassuring you that he was there for you always.

With that in mind, he squeezed your hand, nodding at you determinedly. "Let's make pumpkin cookies, then."

When you arrived at the kitchen you made yourself at home immediately. It wasn't the first time you'd come down to bake. Coriolanus on the other hand seemed clueless, which you found adorable.

You began to get out ingredients, twirling gracefully around the kitchen. He started organizing them, just for something to do, and you couldn't help your smile at that. It was funny to see the president of Panem unsure what to do for once.

In a sweet voice, you gave him instructions, having memorized the recipe by heart. Crack the eggs, stir in the flour, add the vanilla. It was so domestic to see him like this, and you could almost imagine the two of you in another life, doing this every night.

Once the cookies were in the oven, you twined your arms around his chest, pressing a kiss to his mouth. "Thank you, my love. For doing this with me."

Coriolanus' arms slid around your waist, and he returned the kiss. "Anything for my wife."

Loving the way those two words sounded on his tongue, you leaned up and kissed him once more. His lips moved lazily against yours, a safe kind of kiss that made you feel so loved. Coriolanus was the very picture of doting toward you, and you loved every second.

You kissed him until the cookies were ready, and once they were out of the oven you were sliding one into your hand, the little treat still falling apart from the heat. He smiled. "It doesn't have to cool?"

"It does," you giggled, breaking a piece off and holding it up to his mouth. He dutifully opened his mouth, letting you put it in. Eyes widening slightly from the heat of it, he chewed carefully and swallowed, pecking you on the forehead.

"It's good," he smiled, letting you put another bite in his mouth.

Smiling, you put a bite in your mouth, nearly gasping when it burnt your tongue. Now it was his turn to laugh, and he thumbed your cheek, brushing a crumb away. You saw a vision of the two of you doing this every year from now on, baking pumpkin cookies every year.

And he would be there with you, burnt tongue and all because he loved you.

tagging @kellielovesmovies because <3

[musedeluce]

Mandatory Wealth (Caleb X Reader)

A/N: Personally the thought of spending someone else's money is so distasteful to me, I really hate the thought of it. My idea of Luxury and Decadence is the same as MC in this fic, so I wondered how the LI's would deal with that. Regarding Caleb his money, and a pragmatic, independent MC who likes saving money, and who considers luxuries to be things like “getting the name brand groceries.” This is more like musings than a full fic, but I hope you enjoy!

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Caleb himself, growing alongside you, has the same idea of luxury. Things like getting the pricier groceries at the grocery store, buying clothes at the mall instead of a thrift store, being able to fill up the gas tank, handmade gifts – that’s luxury to him. So, when he actually has money he doesn’t quite know what to do with it except for those things. He’s nothing if not pragmatic and he funnels money into investments, and a high yield savings account. His paycheck is split between his expenses, his investments, his savings, and of course, the “whatever” money, used for whatever he wants/needs at the moment. You manage your money in a similar way, and easily maintain your lifestyle. In a way, he views his earnings as a matter of course, something mandatory for him to achieve. He doesn’t quite know what to do with it, but of course he’d take care of you with it, and of course he’d do what’s needed to earn enough money for both of you to be comfortable, and, if it came to it, for you to be comfortable alone.

・・・

That new money? A portion of it, Caleb spends on his residence. Now, he doesn’t go overboard and add things just to add them, and his house isn’t ostentatious or tacky in any way. It’s comfortable and has whatever necessary. He wants it to be comfortable for you, so he’ll add features and rooms you’ll like in addition to what he wants. For instance here’s a small workshop with a display case for his models, a room dedicated to your hobbies. The kitchen is state of the art and the bathroom is spacious and modern. The beds have comfortable, high quality mattresses and bedding. There’s a place to store your weapons and a place to train and exercise. There’s a thorough, effective security system to protect the residents – I.E, you. Though, to be honest any idiot who managed to break into the place would be met with an irate hunter and furious farspace colonel. His residence perfectly reflects the regard he has for you, it’s a perfect encapsulation of both of your requirements in a home.

・・・

Caleb’s gifts for you are split into different categories, and all of his gifts fit one or more of these. First and foremost, he’ll gauge what you need, and then buy you a gift that fulfills that need, and that he thinks you’ll like. Second, if you don’t need anything, then he gets you something he knows you want. Caleb is very attentive, and takes note of whatever catches your fancy. Third is the “impulsive” gifts. The gifts he gets for you for no reason, other than that he saw them and thought of you. They’re not things you need, or things you know you want, but instead these are things that Caleb thinks you’ll like. And given how well he knows you, he’s always on the money.

Any gifts you give him are taken care of meticulously, and if he can he keeps it with him as much as possible. (As evidenced by the necklace) He really loves it when you give him gifts, because although he knows for sure that you care about him as much as he cares about you, having a physical reminder helps ground him. You make him feel safe and stable, which is something he sorely needs and greatly appreciates.

・・・

Caleb wants to take care of you and cherish you, and the way he goes about it is almost… automatic and sometimes really quite subtle. In general, anytime he invites you anywhere he pays, be it food, tickets, souvenirs, ect. If he invited you, you aren’t paying, no matter what you say. If you invited him, he offers to pay but abides by your decision. The more subtle ways go a little like this:

“Hey, Pip-squeak may I please borrow your car to go get groceries for our dinner?” The answer is yes of course, and lo and behold – the car returns full up on gas, and your refrigerator is fully stocked for the next two weeks.

“Oh, Pip-squeak I noticed that your washer machine was on the fritz, so I figured I’d call for repairs, is that alright?” If you say something along the lines of “Oh, yeah I was meaning to do that.” or anything affirmative – even “Ah, I’m waiting until I can afford it”, he’ll set up the repair appointment for a time he’ll be at your place and pay for it. He’ll accept repayment from you if you insist upon it, but that money is going into a savings account specifically for you. Very often, whenever he notices something wrong, he’ll enact repairs for you himself. If he knows enough about how to repair whatever needs it, he’ll take care of it. Caleb is a smart man, after all. That also means that he knows when to leave it to the professionals. You repair things yourself of course, when needed, but those times less frequent now.

Ask to help him, he’ll be so happy. He get to spend time with you, while helping you out? He couldn’t be happier. Even if you don’t help, and just sit and keep him company, he’ll be happy as a clam, as often he doesn’t need help, though it’s always appreciated.

Very often, he’ll pay for something and you’ll intend to pay him back, but he’ll never mention the matter and distract you from remembering to pay him back.

Written on a note attached to a package holding new, top of the line hunter’s equipment: “Pip-squeak - Stay Safe out there! Your equipment is nearing the end of it’s safe use window, so I got a new set for you. Think of it as an early birthday gift ;)” In the package is the new, state of the art hunters equipment perfectly tailored to you.

In short, he really just beats you to it. If you want to pay for yourself you gotta be quick on the draw! He’ll let you, but he tries to not even give you the opportunity. But, he’s never angry when you pay, and if you pay for him he loves it. Being taken care of, most especially by you, is something he lives for. The reciprocal care between you two is his most treasured relationship.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

[wonwoonlight]

;) / choi seungcheol

➝ Seungcheol x Reader

➝ idol!au // est relationship // nothing but fluff // reader is an idol too // takes place in this universe

➝ word count: 1.8k

a/n: happy birthday, cheol! just smth short that i wrote for his bday <3 enjoy💕 not proofread lmao

“Hi.” Seungcheol waves at the camera, waiting for more people to tune in. It’s a random Thursday when he suddenly feels like doing a live, and after confirming with the company that he’ll just be doing a short one, they simply tell him to be careful. He’s long enough in his career to be doing lives on his own in his place, and with him being a leader and all, if there’s any member that they can be sure wouldn’t make a mistake during a live unsupervised, it’d be him.

Or if he makes any, well, it wouldn’t be anything like Mingyu did last month. After all, Seungcheol is currently in a publicly revealed relationship with another idol and that automatically means he’s more careful than anyone.

“I’m at home.” He leans forward to see the comments better, resting his chin on his palm. “Just suddenly felt like turning on the live because I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Huh? ‘Why is the live title different?’ What do you–ah.” He taps on his phone seeing that he accidentally titled his live ‘;)’ instead of the usual smiley face. “I must’ve made a typo.”

He continues to communicate like that, smiling to himself at the sweet questions they ask about you even though he doesn’t answer them as much as he wants to. Yeah, it’s been a year since he went public with his relationship, but the both of you have been keeping it low regardless. He would’ve shown you off everywhere if he could, but you’re more private than he is and he agrees to follow your lead because he’s fine with whatever you’re comfortable with.

At least most of the fans react positively to the news, which is thankfully still the case seeing as how he only sees so little hate comments when it comes to you. He wishes there isn’t any, but with this industry… he can only be thankful that only a very small part of people who claim to be his fans are against his relationship.

He’s just happy he has you by his side.

“It’s my day off today. I don’t have any schedules after this because I did my work out in the morning. Have you guys had dinner? I’m thinking of–” He pauses in the middle of his sentence at the sound of his door opening, eyes turning frantic at the sight of you who don’t seem to realize that he’s currently live.

“Hi! I came early becau–” You press your lips together when you finally notice the phone propped up in front of him, and if that’s not enough, his panicked eyes tell you enough that he’s doing a live.

You’ve promised to drop by later tonight, but because your lesson ends early, you decide to just drive to his place because you want to see him already. Giddy at the prospect of surprising him, you forgot to consider that this is very possible to happen, something that you actually have discussed with Seungcheol before. 

Seungcheol glances at the comment section, heart light with relief at how fans are freaking out: asking if it’s you and they’re all asking him if you can join the live even for a bit. 

“I’m doing a live.” He says for the sake of it, his eyes sorry despite the giddiness in his heart for some reason. You know what he’s asking you though–do you want to join me? Do you want to wait outside? Should I pretend that you’re someone else?

You also know that Seungcheol has been wanting to just… be with you in public. It’s not something he says out loud, but you know him and you know it’s something that he’s always desired. He just wants to love out loud, wants to share what–who–makes him happy with his fans.

Should I say hi? You mouth at him, in which your answer comes in the form of his frantic face melting into a big, giddy smile in a matter of seconds.

“Hi.” You shyly wave at the camera as Seungcheol moves to give you space. “Sorry I disturbed your live. I didn’t know Seungcheol was doing one.”

“They’ve been asking about you anyway.” Seungcheol jokes, nudging you a little. “It’s like they come here to see you.”

You scrunch your nose in embarrassment, still not sure how to act with your boyfriend in front of the camera. You’re used to having him to yourself–not like this, but you can’t help but admit that it does make you giddy to be able to do this with him.

“There’s no way. Anyway, I can just wait outside so don’t feel pressured to end this quickly, okay?”

Noooo, stay with us!!

Don’t go!!! We’re happy to have you here🥺

Do you really have to go?

“See? They all want you here.” Seungcheol grins, getting more and more comfortable the more he sees positive comments about you. He laughs when he catches a funny one, points it at you and reads it to everyone. “Look at this ‘You’re so pretty. Do you need a girlfriend? Dump Seungcheol and come to me?’. I can’t believe you guys are already trying to steal her from me.”

You laugh incredulously, cheeks already hurt from smiling too much.

“Maybe if you make a better ramyeon than him.” You play along. “Seungcheol makes a very good ramyeon, you know?”

“Ah, good to know my cooking ability is a dealbreaker for you.” He nods in satisfaction before proceeding to tell his fans about a recipe he recently tried to make. “Invite her on Coups Coups? Heh, she doesn’t know how to cook.”

“Hey!”

“What? It’s true!”

“Yeah, but still…” You pout, and Seungcheol has to physically restrain himself from kissing the pout off your lips.

“She knows how to bake, though.” He turns back to the camera. “Perhaps we can do a baking episode someday. We’ll see.”

You stay there for another three minutes before excusing yourself, telling him once again that you’re fine waiting so he doesn’t need to end the live quickly for your sake. Waving at the camera and thanking the fans for being kind, you plop down on the sofa in the living room and allow yourself to be giddy for a few moments before texting your manager to let him know about what has just transpired.

It’s almost fifty minutes later that Seungcheol steps out of his room, his grin widens when he sees you playing with your phone. His heart also blooms in size, as much as he’s seen fans supporting you two on the internet, it’s entirely different to be with you on camera and see firsthand how his fans interact with you. He’s glad the experience seems to be pleasant for the both of you, and suddenly wonders if it can be a thing now that this has started.

“Oh, you’re done?” You look up before putting your phone to the table, immediately melt into his side when Seungcheol sits beside you. He doesn’t answer you though, simply cups your cheeks and dives into your lips like he’s been wanting to do since earlier. You smile into the kiss, fingers grasping his shoulder to balance yourself. You feel him smile also, and it’s then that you pull away and share a giggle with each other. “Don’t you look happy.”

“Mmhm.  I was finally able to show you off and my fans love you, this day can’t get any better.” He admits before kissing you on the forehead and pulls away.

“Finally, huh?” You scrunch your nose in embarrassment, though he can tell that you share the sentiment. “Have you talked to your manager about it?”

“Yeah. It’s fine, we didn’t do anything wrong and presumably didn’t say anything wrong. They’re monitoring it immediately, though, just in case.”

“Unlike Mingyu?”

You laugh at his unimpressed expression, only now finding the whole situation funny because Seungcheol, being the leader and all, was quite stressed about it at first.

“Did your manager say anything?”

“No. They… my management has actually been saying that it’s really up to me if I want to appear in public with you.” Seungcheol finds his heart fluttering at how shy you seem to be, the usual telltale of your nervousness showing itself as you play with your fingers.

“Yeah?” He wraps his arms around your shoulder, pulling you closer. “And what did you say?”

“I say I’ll talk about it with you.” You look at him, abashed. “Do you… want to? You know we’ve been getting invitations to appear on shows together, right?”

“I want whatever you want, baby.” He buries his nose into your hair, hopes that his voice doesn’t sound too hopeful as not to pressure you. He’d love to take you with him everywhere, but he knows you still find it bothersome and you like to be careful, which he respects. He understands where you’re coming from, and while he agrees that it’s important to be careful, having dated you for years even prior to the public revelation, he also thinks it would be fun to be able to appear in public with you. “You know I don’t mind anything as long as I’m with you.”

You’re silent for a bit, thinking about how you’ve actually also been wanting to do shows with him. It’s surely going to be different from the short live earlier, but the positive interactions with his fans make you somewhat hopeful and you admit that it’s making you crave for more interactions in the future.

“Perhaps we can start with our self-produced contents first?” You suggest and Seungcheol squeezes your shoulder a little too tight out of excitement. “Baking, you said earlier? And we’ll see after.”

“You’re serious?”

Shrugging, your smile extends into a grin at how happy Seungcheol seems to be. If this is how he looks at the idea of it, you can’t help but imagine how happy he’d be once the idea actually comes to life. “I don’t see why not.”

You yelp when he suddenly pulls you into his lap, hugging you so tight that you can’t help but laugh. You’re pretty sure the loud heartbeat you’re hearing is his, though you won’t be surprised too if it turns out to be yours either way.

“You know, one of the fans asked if I can just name the live with the emoji I used today if you’re ever going to come again in the future.”

“Oh? You used a different smiley face today?”

“By mistake. What do you say? Are you up to more lives with me in the future?”

You pretend to think about it, consider telling him no as a joke but decided against it when you see just how much his eyes are shining in expectation, probably already thinking of a hundred schedules that he can do with you by his side.

“I want whatever you want.” You repeat his words, heart fluttering about what the future might have in store for you and him. And when you see him smile, one of the happiest you’ve ever seen on his face, you know that things are going to be okay as long as you get to keep that smile on his face.

[scoobydoodean]

I see people saying there is evidence dean is bi all the time but I don’t see it? he only sleeps with and kisses women

Maybe I shouldn't, but I'm going to take this ask in good faith, and assume that you're either very young or very straight. Two general comments first of all.

First, if you are in fact looking for someone to fight with about "proof" of Dean's bisexuality, I don't give a shit. I think bi dean and acespec dean are fun and enjoy thinking about them and I think there is plenty of ways to build out narratives on these. I am not going to bandy words with someone over whether they think Dean is bi or gay or straight or whatever and what does and doesn't count as queer "evidence" because that isn't what sparks joy on tumblr for me.

Second, I'd be remiss not to point out that treating kissing or sleeping with people as the only way someone's sexuality can be known is a very narrow view. Bisexuals are always bisexual—not just when they're in same sex relationships. Under your sexuality test, someone who's never had sex or kissed is automatically ace, because there's no evidence that they've acted on attraction to others in a physical way.

Thinking from a bi perspective, your test ignores that socially, expressing attraction to the opposite sex openly is accepted in a way that expressing attraction to the same sex simply isn't (and DEFINITELY wasn't in 2005). No one will bat an eye at you for going on a date with someone of the opposite sex. But if you go on a date with someone of the same sex, you take on the risk of that being a problem for some of the people around you. It might be a problem for family members, an employer, neighbors, people in your local community, a stranger who you pass on the street, friends you grew up with, etc—maybe even the government. It's easier in a lot of cases to avoid mentioning your sexuality, and it's actually easier to find people of the opposite sex to date since most people are heterosexual. So you will often just not mention your sexuality, and while not necessarily being closeted (though that definitely happens too) just let people assume (as they often do) that you're straight until/unless you hit it off with someone of the same sex. Bisexual people almost always realize they're attracted to the opposite sex first, because they're socialized that way, which also means they can typically mask their sexuality more easily.

Your test also ignores censorship. What society perceives as socially acceptable impacts what you see in media. Openly queer characters were not common when Supernatural first began airing, and even now, a lead is very rarely queer, and it's nearly unheard of (until 911 like a year ago afaik) for a main character to be explicitly revealed to be queer late into a show's run, because networks care about profit and are afraid of losing mainstream audiences. As times change, those concerns mellow out, but the 2000s were absolutely steeped in homophobia and it was perfectly socially acceptable to hate gay people, think people of the same sex shouldn't be allowed to marry (still pretty common thinking tbh), and to believe that same sex romance is a form of sexual deviancy akin to pedophilia and incest and that it should get you thrown in jail or into a treatment center. That's the world Dean Winchester—a drifter who is already looked on with suspicion and would do well to avoid drawing any further attention—finds himself in, and it's the world that Kripke and the other writers knew when they started writing. Execs were not going to greenlight a bisexual lead. And they also weren't going to greenlight explicitly making a character bisexual late in the show's run because they'd fear losing mainstream audiences.

So if the only thing you'll accept as evidence of someone's queerness is kissing or sex, then Dean will never be queer to you and there's no "evidence". But if you're actually willing to think more critically about the queer experience and censorship, there's a reason that Dean can easily be read as queer and why it is incredibly common to perceive him as queer.

One of Kripke's inspirations for Supernatural was Jack Kerouac's "On The Road". Dean was named after Dean Moriarty, a bisexual man in the book. The book itself was originally censored by publishers to omit Moriarty's bisexuality. You can still read the censored version, or the "original scroll" that is uncensored. Considering that Kripke named Dean after a bisexual whose bisexuality was omitted for publishing, it isn't at all unreasonable to conclude Kripke was inspired by more than the road trip aspects of the story and this character study of Moriarty.

Add that Dean has multiple interactions with other men feel flirtatious (look at Sam as contrast), that Dean tends to have very deep and emotional bonds with other men (again in sharp contrast to his brother), and that Dean says things that lend to queer readings constantly. I have a bi dean tag--#swayze always gets a pass if you'd like to see what I've collected (note this is a tag for dean's overall sexuality which means I include his interactions with women as well, and haven't actively gone about seeking out gifsets and such to add to it as much as i've reblogged stuff that crosses my dash for the most part) but more specifically, we could look at:

parallels of Sam with women and Dean with men

Dean's infatuation with Dr. Sexy (coupled with mocking from Sam about Dean being a girl), it being made very clear that Dr. Sexy is the one Dean is infatuated with when he clocks the absent cowboy boots, and even how Gabriel tries to become his fantasy.

Look at Dean's bashfulness! Romantic harp music plays over Dr. Sexy's approach.

Dean giving three people the "last night on earth" speech

Dean looking appreciatively at a soldier in uniform

Dean helping Charlie flirt with a man after she explicitly says she can't flirt with a man because she's gay.

Kripke's comments on what Dean would be romantically attracted to in another person

Dean's gay thing and Ben Edlund and Phil Sgriccia making commentary on it.

Fun deancassie/deancas parallels

Cas lives in Dean's ass (and when Cas starts to deny then falters?)

Dean mentioning that he believes Bert and Ernie are gay, then immediately swearing Cas won't die a virgin.

Triplets

Crowley and Dean's summer of love

Dean's affinity for dorky little guys

That's very non-exhaustive, but some of the things I think are fun.

[lotus--pond]

something I very much admire about bek's characters is their ability to be upset and angry in a way that while it may make the audience upset, it is fitting for their characters and ultimately makes sense from their pov

like: (using the bound guys as examples I'm sure there were times with Ari but I did not follow her lore as closely)

Sylph was very upset with Vast after she took his magic. and he had every right to be. Because, yes, while the audience understands that there was nothing she could have done because she was poisoned and could not have fought back, Sylph doesn't and unlike the audience, Sylph was permanently stripped of such a core part of himself and not only that, but part of his safety.

If the island fell, he wouldn't have been able to do anything, if he needed to get away from something he would have been basically helpless against another avian. and in a world and situation like his where the avicane was around and being a constant danger, that's fucking terrifying. And even if someone pursuing him couldn't fly, because of how weak his legs are, he's also at a severe disadvantage.

so yeah, I love Vast and I understand why she had to do what she did, more of her thought process, background that influences her decisions, and the whole context of the relationship between her and Viviana, but Sylph does not. I also understand that what she did harmed Sylph in such an intrinsic way that even if there was no worse option, that didn't mean what she did was good. Didn't mean that she was automatically forgiven or stripped of all responsibility.

and even recently with Vesper, her being distrustful of Aura, while it is obviously not true because we have audience privileges and can see from so many characters individual POVs, makes sense for her character.

she's been shown to be distrustful and not-particularly nice when Ev isn't around. She's also refusing to believe that there isn't a way off this planet. So when Aura says that their ship got pulled in by the gravity spike not only does that sound implausible because of what they know about Rionear and Rionear ships, but its scary because that means that the forces pulling them into this planet may as well be unstoppable with their current means. (I think it was mentioned in passing by Aura that the Cassion was running on an experimental core, which is why it wasn't able to get out of the gravity spike but my memory is shit so don't quote me)

Because if a Rionear ship with a starcore couldn't outrun it, how were they going to build a ship from scratch that could? Especially when most of the people there have no idea how to even start building a ship.

and (props to that other post where I talked about this I forget the name of the person but they were bringing up a good point like this) Vesper doesn't hold high opinions of many others (with the exception of Ev) and knowing Rionear ships she assumes Rionear should be confident and secure because they have like. the fastest ships. But Aura is not confident nor secure, and that seems strange to her.

And she's not wrong that aura is hiding something, she's just wrong about what star is hiding. She thinks they have this master plan or are hiding their true personality or crashed here on purpose, when in reality star is trying to hide Navi to keep it safe.

And star believes starself to be lying, star believes star is doing this and being nice and doing favors for people to bargain for protection for star and Navi. Which also probably makes Vesper think star is lying.

was Vesper in the right to go about it the way she did? no, she was being very rude and mean. Does it make sense knowing only what she knows? yes.

in both cases, is it upsetting? yeah. we know characters on all sides of the argument and have the full context of their lives and personalities and situations. Is it simultaneously fitting character wise? yes.

idk I just think its neat

[autisticshadowthehedgehog]

sometimes complaining about girlboss characters starts to feel like complaining about mary sues or manic pixie dream girls. theres a real criticism of the trend at some point but its gets quickly drowned out by a lot of misogyny. its okay for girls to do cool things

oh i'm fine for natural girlbosses. dot warner is still an icon above icons.

the problem is with "girlbossing," when someone looks at a feminine girl character and is like "now wait a minute. she can't be feminist if she is Nice and Romantic and Untrained At Combat. it's not like feminism is saying 'traditionally feminine things are not the problem, and they've been severely undervalued in favor of traditionally masculine traits.' no, it's the femmes who are wrong. we shall make them more masculine and in turn make them more feminist. but god forbid we make them actually butch. obviously we can't go that far" also somehow these characters usually end up as business owners because capitalism is good

ie: 90% of Cinderella adaptations in this day and age, Disney's reboot of Snow White, Mario Movie Peach (tho I haven't seen the movie myself so I'm just going based on what people told me).

Sometimes it's done WELL- like Webby in Ducktales'17 is textbook girlbossing, with her being more combat-oriented and less "cute." But that was clearly done as a way to explore more of her character rather than relegate her to "the character we pander to the Females with" and make her more proactive in the story they were telling, rather than as a way to make her "less girly." She's still into sleepovers and pink dresses and has female friends (who were added into the reboot), she just ALSO likes blood sports. Mario Movie Peach might be the same way, as I said I haven't seen the mov. or sometimes the girlbossing is Camp™, like & juliet. in which case it's fucking awesome

But the vast majority of the time, it's people thinking that a character being traditionally feminine is automatically antifeminist, without thinking "well, is this a character with a personality, wants, and agency"? Cinderella is constantly belittled for "doing nothing" but she's an abuse survivor in a situation she can't escape, who as soon as she's given a way out is active in trying to get her happy ending. 1950's Disney Cinderella literally is the one to run down the stairs screaming that she has the other slipper. Their 2015 girlboss Cinderella spins and dances in her room until the prince comes and gets her. And that's like. Their LEAST offensive reboot girlbossing.

Goddamnit I have to leave for work now. tl;dr the problem with girlbossing isn't "letting women do cool things", those things are sick and awesome. The problem is the writers implicitly saying "any girl that doesn't conform to masculine ideals of strength is clearly weak and needs to be fixed."

[theconstantsidekick]

Lit Cigarettes (Part 1)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester x BestFriend!Reader, Damon Salvatore x Stefan Salvatore x Sister!Reader (mentioned) Genre: Angsty Fluff

Summary: Y/n decides that Dean Winchester really needs to know how she feels about him.

(Set after the events of Supernatural season 4 and yes, Y/n is technically a Salvatore. I love the adopted sibling trope, can you tell?)

a/n: I have another part in mind if this does well.

Warnings: Smoking, mentions of smoking, romanticisation of smoking, a lot of that yes, sorry. Don't smoke kids.

Part 2 is here

He used to light her cigarettes when she was too busy talking. That’s what love is. According to her, that is the truest, most genuine form of love. The idea might sound quite contradictory, somehow. But it would make sense to smokers all around the world. 

The thought that somebody would just pluck the cigarette out of your hand, light it, take a little puff to keep the light aflame and just place it back between your index and middle finger. That’s somehow so painfully selfless that it can’t be classified as anything other than the most romantic act known to mankind. 

Now, the tragedy of it all was that that was the only showing of love she ever got from him. All she ever got was a lit cigarette handed off to her while she was too invested in spewing absolutely random bullshit about the sensors on automatic doors at some blackwater motel in an unnamed town. He’d do it quietly. He wasn’t quiet but there was always a quietness about him. Not quiet in the truest definition of the word. He was quiet in a different way, he talked. He was always charming, never not charming. He smiled and charmed everyone further still, but it felt like a very well rehearsed performance. His words, his charm, his smile seemed rehearsed, practiced relentlessly. A stark contrast to how they talked, when he talked to her and just her. Or well, so she thought until she found out that he could talk with a genuine smile to just about anyone unless there was a room full of people. Until the day she found that out, she felt quite special about it.

She felt important to him, enough for him to talk around her more, smoke around her more and light her cigarettes when she was too busy talking.

He never smoked around anyone else, hid the bad habit from his brother, but never her. It made her feel like there was a precarious unspoken bond between the two of them that could break at the mere mention of it. Could it?

She’s going to find out.

“Dean,” she calls out in no urgency, with a quiet calm. They are packing up their things, leaving the small motel room behind for another one in another town. Sam’s out at the reception, settling the bill. He’ll be back soon, she needs to wrap this up before he comes back. 

“Yeah?” Dean answers, never looking up from the duffle bag he’s aggressively shoving his clothes into.

“I love you.”

Dean’s motion halted at once. He doesn’t move, she thinks maybe he can’t move.

“Dean?”

The man in front of her gulps, audibly. “Yeah?”

“I love you.” It feels important to reiterate in this case. 

“I—” Words seem to be straining him. “I heard you the first time.”

“Good,” she tells him and then resumes packing her shit. But there’s a few more things to add, “I know we don’t talk about it, I know we aren’t supposed to. I know you’ve always known that I loved you and we still never talk about it, which means you don’t feel the same way, which again, I know. I am not trying to change your mind, I’m not trying to get into your pants. I’m certainly not asking you to love me back. I am not asking for anything actually, so you can quit looking so fucking terrified. I just needed to tell you because you up and died and it felt like my life stopped, like I couldn’t fucking breathe anymore. I felt hollow and broken and it felt wrong to be alive…” He looks at her then. Her voice is so thick with emotions, even though she is trying to keep them at bay, he must have felt compelled to look at her, she muses.

Shaking her head, she exhales audibly. “But you’re back now and I just needed to say it. I’ve loved you since I first saw you when I was 13. I don’t know how to not be in love with you, trust me, I’ve tried. So, I've learnt to make peace with it. I definitely don’t need you to say something, I just needed you to know that I love you, always have, most probably I always will. I need you to know that you are loved.”

There is silence then, no words, just the sound of her footsteps as she goes around the room picking up things she wants to shove into her bag.

“I…” Dean tries. But the words fade away just as quickly as the thoughts strike him. She looks at him for a second but the silence that proceeded makes her look away. She has just dropped a huge bomb, not that it was some revelatory information but it was something they had avoided talking about for literally ever, so it was fair that he needed some time to come up with a response. She is more than happy to give it to him.

But then Sam walks back into the room. “I’m pretty sure the dude at the reception thinks we’re a freaking thruple.” He walks to the washroom to collect his toiletry pouch and begins packing as well. “I mean, I’m not sure I can blame him? But I want to?” He shrugs. “Dean and I really don’t look all that alike, maybe that’s it? But this is like, the seventh motel in a row that’s given me really weird looks, you know? I don’t know whether to be flattered or plain disgusted—” His words drop off, as he finally notices the atmosphere in the room.

“Am I interrupting something?” He asks looking from his brother to his best friend.

“Yes,” Dean replies at the same time as she says, “No.”

“NO?!” Dean balks at her.

“Can you guys drop me off at the bus stop? I gotta head to Mystic Falls,” she says, zipping up her bag and exiting the room.

Dean follows her instantly. “Mystic Falls? I thought you weren’t talking to your brothers?” Running up to catch up with her, he races even further ahead to open the trunk of his car for her. 

“Yeah, but that was last week,” she tells him as if that was enough explanation. She places her bag in the trunk.

“They kicked you out!” Dean seems on edge. She can’t completely understand why. 

She looks at him. “It’s Stef’s birthday.”

“He’s had a couple hundred of those,” Dean argues.

She smiles, “I hope he has a couple hundred more, and I’ll try to attend them all.”

“Damon forgot yours!” 

She shrugs. “I’ll pretend to forget his. But this is Stefan. And besides, Caroline invited me. You want me to bail and piss her off?”

He slams the trunk shut. “Fine!” He acquiesces, albeit very aggressively. “But I’m dropping you to the Boarding House, not a fucking bus stop.”

Meanwhile, Sam comes out, carrying his own luggage as well as Dean's—who had apparently completely forgotten about it. He opens the trunk again, eyeing Dean and her very suspiciously.

She moves to open the back door of the Impala. “You’re going to Ohio, it’s like a three hour detour.”

“It’s two hours with me behind the wheel. Get in,” he commands, leaving no room for any argument. 

“I was doing that anyway,” she says almost to herself, getting in the back. 

Dean stops her. “Get in the front. Sam’ll sit in the back.”

“I will?” Sam questions, lost.

Dean doesn’t care. He just gets in the driver seat, not waiting on either of the two. A look passes between Sam and her. He raises a brow in question, she just smiles and shrugs again in response and gets in.

Later, when Sam’s already asleep in the backseat, Dean clears his throat.

“So.”

She doesn’t turn around to look at him, she isn’t sure she was supposed to, and it’s drizzling, she doesn’t want to turn away from the window, not yet. “So.”

She can feel him shift uncomfortably next to her. “You gonna say anything?” He asks.

She thinks for a second. “I don’t think I have anything left to say, really. I said everything I had to say.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” Dean yells out.

She has to look at him then, with ire in her eyes. “SHhhh!! He’s sleeping!” She whisper-yells at him, pointing to Sam in the back seat. 

Trying to compose himself once again, Dean whisper-yells back at her, “What do you mean you’ve said everything you had to?”

“I said it, in the motel,” She explains.

“And that was it? The end of the conversation?” Dean questions, seeming very agitated.

“I mean, yeah! What else am I supposed to do?” She throws back, his agitation is quite contagious. It always has been. 

“You really think that was a reasonable end to that conversation?!” Dean bites.

She’s getting annoyed now. “What do you want? You want me to elaborate? Write a thesis paper on it? Or—or would you like to read my diary where I scribbled ‘Y/n Winchester’ a million times? What exactly is the resolution you’re looking for here?”

“You wrote ‘Y/n Winchester’ in your diary a million times…?” He asks, almost as if he cannot comprehend the idea of it. 

From anyone else she would’ve taken that as an insult. Had it been anyone else they might have actually been making fun of her. But it’s not anyone else. It’s Dean. So she’s compelled to look at him.

“Yeah, Dean. And it was just as embarrassing then as it is right now. But I was the nerdy teenager and you were the hot jock who the cheerleaders at Mystic Falls High were dying to date.” Just the thought of those days makes her morose. “I don’t like to think about those days.”

Then there is silence again.

Until Dean clears his throat, slowly he says, “But I never drove any of them home.” And damn it all to hell, it makes her smile. And damn it all to hell, her smile apparently makes him more confident in his approach. “I didn’t wait for them outside their place, blaring AC/DC at the crack of dawn, all to get milkshakes before school… It was you. I wanted to hang out with you.”

But that’s somehow the wrong thing to say, “Never at school.”

“What?” Dean asks, thrown off.

“You didn’t talk to me at school.” Admitting it, it breaks something in her all over again. It’s like she’s in highschool again. She hates it.

“That’s not true! We had lunch together everyday!” He defends.

“Nope,” she tells him. “You had lunch with the cheer squad while I sat on the table next to you silently eating really bad beans.”

“But I was there,” He tries.

“You were,” she concedes. “You were there but you weren’t there.”

Silence falls once again.

“I don’t blame you,” she is the one that breaks it. “For high school.”

“Why not?” Dean asks, sounding genuinely more hurt at the fact that she doesn’t blame him than the fact that she accused him of ignoring her.

“It’s a weird time for everyone, and I think Mystic Falls High was the first time you got to actually enjoy it. You stayed there long enough to stop being the new kid and I think it was also the first time you felt like you fit in. I didn’t, and that was never your fault… or your problem for that matter,” she explains, fidgeting with her hands in her lap.

“That’s not fair,” Dean opposes.

“What?”

“Your problems are my problems.”

And the finality of his statement gives her a weird sort of confidence to say, “Sheesh. Wonder why I ended up falling in love with you.” 

The car skids a little.

She can’t help it, she laughs.

“YOU CAN’T JUST SAY SHIT LIKE THAT!” Dean argues.

She’s still laughing, “I’m sorry. But… Come on! It was kinda funny.” 

“I did not find that funny! Not even a little bit! What’s so funny about being—” He cuts himself off.

She laughs a little harder. “That’s what’s funny! You can’t even say it! You wanna know what’s so funny about being in love with you? I can’t stop it. It’s…” She sits up to position her back towards the window and moves herself to face Dean better. “It’s like breathing. I have tried, time and time again, to stop, and for a while I can. I can try to hold my breath when I’m being mindful of it. I can remember not to breathe when I’m focused on not breathing but the moment my brain gets engaged anywhere else, I’m screwed. The moment I look away, the moment I burn my toast, or start reading a book or watch a film, the moment I’m in a rush to meet Bonnie, the moment my mind becomes occupied with anything other than the conscious thought reminding me not to breathe—BAM! I’m falling in love with you again. It’s so fucking easy, it’s so fucking comfortable. Loving you is the my most cherished accomplishment because I’ve done it so fucking well for so freaking long.” She smiles. “I feel like I deserve a prize.”

Dean stays silent.

Her smile fades.

She shakes her head, she knew what he felt. She’s always known how he feels. A long silence shouldn’t be the thing that aches her heart. Not after having been in love with this man for this long.

“Did you—” He cuts himself short. She turns to him again, eager for him to continue. And her silent pleas are heard loudly. Continue he does, “Did you decide to tell me… about this today cause we met 15 years ago today?”

“No,” she brushes him off. “I just needed to get this off my—” Suddenly his words strike her like a thunderbolt. “What do you mean 15 years ago today?”

He shrugs, eyes on the road. “A day before Stefan’s birthday, that’s when we met for the first time.”

“You… You remember the day we met?” She asks, dumbfounded.

Dean doesn’t answer, instead the car comes to a stop. He’s pulled into the parking lot of a 7Eleven. “I’ll be right back.”

Only when she watches Dean get out of the car and walk into the store does she realise that it’s the 7Eleven in Mystic Falls. They are only a few minutes away from the Salvatore Boarding house, barely 12 minutes away from her brothers’ place. 

She can’t believe she feels this way but a part of her feels like she’s running out of time. But running out of time for what? It’s Dean! He’ll be there to pick her up two days later. He’ll be there to light her cigarettes in a crowd—and not mean absolutely anything by it—in two days time. It’s not that long. They’ve dropped her off to live with her brothers’ for weeks even. Two days is nothing. It’s barely a visit. Then why in God’s name does she feel like there’s a clock right above her head counting down. And counting down to what??

“Here you go,” Dean says, as he gets in and throws something in her lap. 

She catches out of reflex. “Cigarettes?” It’s two packs of menthols, her current favorite.

“What about ‘em? You like these right?” He pulls out of the parking lot. “You quit Marlboro Reds a month ago, and switched to these so I thought they’d be a safer bet. Was I wrong?” 

It’s natural though. The most natural thing in the world. Dean buys her cigarettes. He always buys her cigarettes.

The thing about smoking that most people don’t understand is that it opens a whole new world. It’s bad obviously and no one should do it. But when you do it, when you smoke, there are a few things, a few rules that might not mean anything to a non-smoker but mean everything to a smoker. 

Take for instance, ‘Puff-Puff-Pass’. 

For any random person, the intricacies of ‘Puff-Puff-Pass’ exists to the extent of its name. But only a smoker knows that in an intimate setting, between two friends, the rule doesn’t apply. It’s rude not to follow the rule in a social gathering amongst semi-strangers, but among the two of them, it never applied.

Similarly, buying someone cigarettes is the purest gesture of care. 

Having a pack ready for consumption whenever she came back from a visit to the Salvatore Boarding House? To her that always felt like the loudest way that Dean could tell her that he cared for her. 

And he did these things often. Even when he quit smoking, he’d light her cigarettes for her. For as long as Dean has known she smokes, she has never lit a cigarette for herself. These gestures of… call it love, call it self-destruction, they have never not been there. So him buying her cigarettes is the most natural thing in the world but it throws her off still.

“Y/n?”

“What?” She suddenly remembers there was a question there, in his words before. “Oh yeah. Menthols… I smoke menthols now, yes. Good guess.”

He noticed me change my cigarettes? She asks herself, feeling something very close to giddy. Before she has to scream at herself inside, cause Dean has always done this and it has never meant anything. It’s just his small way of adhering to his duty of care.

“Thanks,” she tells him belatedly. She doesn’t fail to notice how the words make his nose scrunch up—the way it usually does when he dislikes something.

“You said you’ve tried not loving me,” Dean states and that’s all it is—a statement, an observation.

But she feels compelled to explain herself, “It’s not easy,” she tells him. “You’re… You’re you. You’re charming and hot and…” she’s spilled most of her guts, what harm can a little bit of spilling her heart do now? “You’re beautiful. You’ve got a different girl to take home every other night. It kills me inside, I won’t lie. It’s torture seeing you laughing with someone else. It really is. But it’s not your fault. And, I know you don’t feel the same way, and for a long time I didn’t mind this one sided affair cause, it was mine, you know? This love I had for you, it was all mine. I didn’t care if you loved me back… But then you…”

“Died,” he finishes the sentence for her.

She nods lamely. “It felt like my heart was ripped out of my chest. I don’t remember what I did when you weren’t around. I don’t remember how I survived because to me breathing was being in love with you. It’ll always be that. I just knew if I ever saw you again, I needed you to know how I felt. I’d been too selfish with my love for you. I… I don’t know. It sounds stupid now. I just needed you to know and I felt like I should tell you today so I did.”

And then the car stops again. 

She looks up and she’s standing in front of the boarding house. 

Clock’s run out.

Dean tries to say something but she doesn’t know if she has the courage to hear a placated, softly-worded rejection so she just gets out of the car. 

He follows suit.

He rushes to open the trunk and pulls out her luggage.

She takes it for him, and then begins walking to the door.

“Y/n!”

It feels like a gust of wind. 

The way he calls for her feels like the gust of wind that blows right before the lighting strikes.

She turns without hesitance. 

Their eyes lock.

He’s standing next to the driver side, the door to the impala is still open. The only thing lighting his face is a street light a couple paces behind him. Bathed in yellow, he looks like a wild field of sunflowers, with his messy blond hair and painfully green eyes. He’s absolutely breathtaking.

For all her talk of her love for Dean Winchester being like breathing, in this moment, at the sight of this man looking absolutely divine, she doesn’t think she remembers how to breathe at all.

So with bated breath, she waits for him to speak.

“Y/n…” He says again, before something changes and his eyes stop shining, his posture hardens, his hand grips the Impala’s door a little harder and his face loses color. Then he says, “We’ll pick you up Tuesday.” With that he gets back in the car and drives off. 

It’s only when they’ve crossed the Mystic Falls border does the silence in the Impala break.

“You’re an idiot,” Sam tells him. 

Find Part 2 here.