clem

i still think you’re beautiful and i don’t ever wanna lose my best friend

[clemeowntine]

about me !

general

you can call me clem or clemeow! i’m 18, and i use she/her pronouns. i occasionally like to write and sometimes even draw :3

likes

cats, animals, supernatural, big sky, countdown, the boys, radio company

DNI !

racist, homophobic, transphobic, zionist, islamophobic, antisemitic, wincest/proshipper, generally problematic

requests

please read my rules before requesting anything!

please talk to me! i’m friendly + don’t bite :3

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Every Day That You Want

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, tooth-rotting fluff, pregnancy, pre-established relationship, marriage proposal

Summary/Warnings: You have big news for Dean. News you have to tell him, wether he likes it or not. You really hope he likes it, though.

Author's Note: Kind of a prequel to another fic of mine (Still You Want Me), but can be read alone. I just love putting big scary men in normal situations.

Word Count: 2.9k

You can do this. You’ve been to hell and back, you’ve killed angels, you’ve survived at least three apocalypses, and you’ve helped raise the Anti-Christ. This should, comparatively, be easy. 

It’s not. It’s the most daunting and terrifying thing you’ve ever done. It’s just words, but you’re going to choke on them because they could ruin your life. You’ve rehearsed in front of the mirror until your voice didn’t sound like yours anymore and nothing you said seemed real. It had been like repeating the same one word over and over again, until it’s nothing but an odd sound. Until it meant nothing.

But this has to mean something. You have to be able to say this to Dean, and you have to try and not get lost in the possibilities of how he’ll respond. He won’t leave you—Dean would never leave you—but he might tell you he doesn’t want this, and then you’ll have to make a choice. You don’t want to make a choice. You don’t want to hear Dean tell you that, with the lives you lead, this wouldn’t be a good idea. That it doesn’t matter what either of you want, because this isn’t something you get to have.

You want to have this, though. You want to have Dean and the baby. You want to have him as you’ve always had him before—strong and tired, always fighting because it’s all he knows how to do, but resting his head on your chest in the dark and humming against your lips when he kisses you—but you also want to have him in this new way. Where he’d smile for more reasons than just you and Sam and Cas. Where he’d get to direct some of that undying loyalty to someone who’d never be ungrateful, who’d would see him as a hero in a way he might finally believe. 

He’d be so good at it. Dean would spoil the kid, and teach them everything he knew, and care for them more than he’d ever care for himself. It breaks your heart sometimes, how he doesn’t kill himself for Sam, and he doesn’t drink himself to death for Cas, and he tries to get better for you, but he still doesn’t really know how to look in the mirror and not see a shadow.

And this would be the piece of him that’s never been tainted. The piece of him that crawls over you in bed just to hold you, that still watches cartoons and gets excited when he sees a cool car or hears an awesome drumline. The part of him that still cares, against all odds, and cares so much you’ve been worried it would kill him. The part of him that’s so simply made of light and love, crushed under years of his soul being bruised and beaten.

A part of him that won’t break. A part of him you love just as much as the rest of his wreckage, but that you still try to tend to, because you’ll love him the same if it vanishes, but you don’t think he deserves that. Dean deserves to only have that piece of him expand, to have it absorb all the love you throw at him, to grow until he can see it too. Until he can believe it’s there.

You know that it’s all so fucking hard. That Dean will never be all light, but you wouldn’t ever expect him to be. You know that a baby won’t fix him, not by far, but you also know it will show him he can create something. That he doesn’t poison everything he touches. 

That he made something entirely good, with you.

And if he tells you he doesn’t want this, you’ll live with that. You’ve lived with worse.

But you don’t even want to try to live with it. You’ll probably have to, but you’d like to pretend you won’t. 

The most you’re daring to pray for is that he doesn’t freak out. But angels don’t really take your calls anymore. 

So you’ll just have to hope.

You’ve set this up perfectly. There’s a pie in the oven that you will not let burn. There’s bacon and pancakes on a plate waiting for him when he finally gets his ass up. You have the whole bunker to yourself, because Sam’s off to see Eileen.

You’re not allowed to tell Dean that—Sam says he gets annoying—but you will in order to get him in a better mood. Sam’s fatal mistake was believing that you wouldn’t do anything to make Dean happy. So this is really on Sam. He’s the one that introduced you to Dean in the first place. Just because you were his friend first doesn’t mean he didn’t lose your automatic allegiance the moment he said this is my brother and his brother was the hottest man you’d ever seen. 

Sam should’ve known better. His big head should’ve understood that letting you anywhere near Dean—let enough so close that you’d be allowed to fall in love with him—would have always resulted in you using his secrets against him to make Dean happy, so you could slip in the fact that you were pregnant with Dean’s baby as easily as possible. 

Like any sane person would.

Although you have been up for hours, after only sleeping two. And you might be losing your mind. But anyone would lose their mind in a situation like this. Waiting for their dumb boyfriend to wake up so they can change his life forever. 

But Dean’s still asleep. You’re starting to get worried. He usually sleeps in late, especially after hunts, but not this late. Not past noon, long enough for you to stress eat half of his pie, then make a whole second one. Not long enough for the coffee to go cold three times.

You’re about to go check on him when he appears in the kitchen door. Bleary eyes and mussed hair, his glazed eyes focusing slightly when they land on you.

He starts to shuffle towards you, and you forget everything you’d rehearsed. He looks sleepy and adorable, and you’ve seen him like this before but you’d like to see it a million times more. You’d like Dean to always drop his head on your shoulder and wrap his arms around your torso, to always slump over you with a low hum. To always kiss the crook of your neck and let out a long breath when your hands snake around his neck and your fingers tangle in his soft hair.

You could have him like this forever. 

You just have to tell him. 

“Dean-“

“Why’re you up.” He speaks against your skin, his voice slurring slightly, tugging you a little closer. “’S early.”

“It’s 3pm, baby.” You draw back to smile at him, and he just blinks at you. “You’ve been knocked out for fourteen hours.”

He shakes his head, pouting slightly as he takes your hand in his. “Nah. Doesn’t feel it. C’mon.”

Dean starts to walk away, taking you with him, and you’re snapped out of the daze.

“Wait,” You pull on his grip, and he turns with a frown. “Where are you going?”

“We’re goin’ back to bed.”

You give him an amused look, your affection briefly overpowering your panic. “We?”

He nods, tugging your hand in his until you’re pressed right against his chest. “Only up ‘cause you weren’t there. Need to get my girl back to bed, you need sleep too-“

You do need sleep, but until you tell Dean, you might as well be injecting caffeine right into your bloodstream.

“But I made you bacon-“

“Course you did.” He grins, pressing a light kiss to your nose. “You’re awesome, baby.” 

You feel your stomach flutter, and at this stage it has to only be nerves, but that doesn’t make anything easier. “Can we please eat?”

Dean hums, scanning carefully over your face. “You eat already?”

“I had some applesauce-“

“Then we’re good.” He starts to move again, and now you’re attached to him like a magnet. You couldn’t move away if you tried. “Bed.”

You’re frayed and wired and on edge, trying so hard to find the will to insist he stay and eat, but Dean’s so warm and suddenly you’re drunk on him. He’s sturdy and soft in all the right places, herding you back to bed with hands on your shoulders and mumbled praise about being his dream girl, making him bacon for breakfast and lovin’ him more than he deserves, and you wish you had enough backbone to just shout at him that he does deserve your love. He deserves whatever you can give him, including a baby that he needs to know about now before you explode.

But he gets you back into bed, splaying his body over yours and pinning you down.

“Didn’t see Sammy,” his head is buried in your chest, his voice muffled against your skin. “Where’dhe go?”

“Eileen’s.” You sigh, running your fingers through his hair. “I’m not supposed to tell you that, though.”

Dean chuckles, his hands drawing slow circles on your hips. “You’re a little backstabber, sweetheart. I’m never tellin’ you anything again.”

“I’m backstabbing Sam for you.” You shrug, smiling at the air. “I’d never backstab you.”

“’S exactly what a backstabber would say.”

You giggle. “You’re tired, Dean. Your brain’s not working right. Maybe if we get up-“

“Not getting up.” He grunts, squeezing your body. “Not until you get your own fourteen hours.”

“I’m okay, Dean-“

“No. Sleep.”

You sigh, squirming slightly under him. “You know, it’s bad for you to sleep in. It’ll mess up your circadian rhythm-“ 

Dean tilts his head up, frowning at you. “What’s going on with you?”

“I, um-“ You swallow, your whole body suddenly far too warm. “Huh?”

“You always make me sleep extra after hunts.” His voice is a little stronger, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why’re you suddenly trying to get me up?”

“Nothing’s going on-“

“No.” Dean’s sitting up now, rolling onto his back and pulling you over his lap, his gaze stern. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong either-“

He says your name, squeezing your waist as he rubs his jaw. “Please just tell me. If it’s a body we can hide it, but I need to know if it’s a monster body or person body-“

“Why the hell would it be a person body-“

“I dunno, but if it is you gotta tell me, so I can grab the salt.” He cups your cheek, offering you on his charming, downright boyish grins. “I’m not letting any ghosts haunt your hot ass, babygirl.”

“Thank you.” You mumble, dropping your brow to his. “But it’s not a body.”

“So there is something.”

“Yeah.” You whisper. “But I… I’m not-“

“Hey,” Dean leans back, holding your gaze as he tucks some hair behind your ear. “Whatever it is, I don’t care. I’m helping you.”

You swallow, squeezing your eyes shut. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, like it’s simple. Like this will really be that easy. “For you? Always.”

It takes deep breathes, and hands curled in Dean’s t-shirt—gripping him hard, making sure he won’t fly away or vanish into the air when you speak—but you do it. You run over your entire rehearsal one last time and let it all go, because Dean’s right here, in front of you, and you just need to-

“I’m pregnant.”

You say it, and he doesn’t vanish into nothing. Dean just stares at you, eyes wider than you’ve ever seen them, and whispers, “With a baby?”

“Yeah, Dean.” You offer him a small smile. “A baby.”

“My- my baby?” 

You open your mouth with a slight frown, and Dean’s hand flies to cover your mouth before you can speak.

“Wait, shit, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just-“ He groans, his eyes seeming to drive right into your soul as his voice because hoarse. “You’re sure? That you’re… growing one?”

You wish you could read him better right now. You’d laugh at him saying growing one.

Instead you just nod, and it’s like something flips in Dean. He grins—wide and toothy and unrestrained—and you barely have time for the relief to hit when he’s kissing you. Long and deep and passionate, until you’re dizzy and grinding down onto him, falling over his chest and clinging to his shoulders.

“Dean,” you gasp as he dives down to kiss a line over your collarbone. “Shouldn’t we, shit-“ He starts suck on a soft spot behind your ear, and all your exhaustion is starting to catch back up with you, so everything is really just a haze. “Don’t we need to talk-“

“No,” he mutters, rutting slightly up into you and chuckling against your skin when you whine. “Just need you, baby, need to- son of a bitch!”

Dean’s yanks himself up and twists to his bedside table—his hand on your hips holding you steadily against him—scrambling around the drawers as he mutters low words you can’t hear.

“Are you okay?” You ask, your hand fisting in his shirt once more. “I mean, I know you might have doubts about-“

You’re cut off as Dean surges back up to kiss you again, this one shorter and soft, but still firm. 

“No doubts, sweetheart.” He mutters against your lips. “And I’m better than okay. I’m fucking amazing.”

“Good.” You sigh, pulling back to scan over his face. “What was that, then?”

Dean smiles at you, and it’s… nervous. He’s almost never really, truly nervous, but this smile has no edge, no carefully designed charm. It’s just Dean, purely him, smiling at you like you’re holding his heart in your body.

You kind of are.

“I know I, uh, I don’t say it enough. You know I’m not good at saying it. But I do love you,” Dean says your name, and you blink at him. This sounds like a speech. “I love you so much it drives me insane. And I’d never want this, want a baby, with anyone but you. But, I, uh, I want all of this. Whole stupid, apple pie thing, just with you.” He takes a long breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “Marry me.”

You gape at him. “What?”

“Marry- shit, wait-“ Dean reaches slightly behind him, grabbing a small box, and pops it open with his thumb. There’s a diamond ring inside, and it looks like a real one. Not the ones you’d use on cases, that would give you a rash for a week after. This looks… carefully made.

Made for you.

“Dean-“

“Marry me?” Dean looks between your slack jaw and the box, his voice almost nervous. “Please?”

“I-“ This is going better than you could’ve ever even imagined. You’re not sure how to handle it. “I don’t want you to marry me just because you knocked me up-“

“Baby, I didn’t pull this ring out of my ass.” He drawls, his voice a little firmer. “I’ve been getting ready to ask you for months. I was going to kick Sammy out next week, make a picnic in the library-“

“Really?”

“Yeah, I-“ He frowns. “Why’d you think I was poking about your ring size?”

“I don’t, um, I don’t remember you doing that.”

Dean laughs, shaking his head slightly. “That’s good. I was worried I ruined it. I, um-“ he glances down at the ring, his face falling back to the nerves, and you realize you haven’t actually answered him yet. “I haven’t-“

It’s your turn to kiss Dean, and these words aren’t difficult to say at all. “Yes,” you whisper, pressing another, smaller kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll marry you.”

“Awesome.” He grins, and the ring is barely on your finger when he’s diving back into you, kissing you until you can’t ever remember anything has been difficult in your life. 

You yawn right as Dean pulls away, and he chuckles. 

“You alright, sweetheart?”

You hum, nodding. “I’m good. So good. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Dean says your name in your ear, and it’s quiet and gentle. Not like a secret, but a promise. “How’s a day in bed sound? We can try and get you pregnant again.”

“That’s not how it works, babe.” You giggle, folding a little deeper into his hold. “I’m gonna have to buy you some books.”

“I’ll read them.” Dean kisses the top of your head, and you can feel his smile on your skin. “For you.”

“Thank you.”

“Course.” He sighs, squeezing your body slightly. “We’re having a fucking baby.”

“Yeah.” You smile, and there’s that piece of him, shining on the surface. All joy and wonder for something that’s really just good. “We are.”

End Note: Dean Winchester in my head this is indeed the life you live every day. Season 15 isn't real it can't hurt me.

Title from Waste by Foster the People

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful

[clemeowntine]

why do i keep getting ads for the book of mormon. WHAT would make me phone think i want that.

[reginaphalangelobster]

You and Sam had been pushing yourselves through back to back hunts for weeks, staying up late to research, waking up early to get a jump on going over crime scenes and talking to family members of victims. You'd been pushing yourselves too hard and it was finally starting to catch up to you.

You were sorting through the bloodied up clothes you had to fit in your bag somewhere away from the clean ones, when you felt a hand clamp down on your arm, tugging you back until your feet got caught behind each other, landing on the mattress with a thud.

"Sam!" You batted at him arms, feeling both of them close around you.

He didn't respond, merely humming as he brought you into his chest, caging you in.

"Baby, we need to clean up, and shower, and get ready for bed-"

"We're in bed, honey" He mumbled, nuzzling closer, lips against your temple, too tired to even press a kiss there.

"You know what I mean"

"Gimme five minutes. Then you can get up"

"Sam, I just need-"

"You need to stay, for four and a half minutes"

"C'mon, I-"

"Four and a half minutes, that's all I'm asking"

"Fine" You huffed, pretending not to be tempted to stay.

Your forehead shifted to rest against his shoulder, his warmth beginning to soak in, luring you to rest.

"Four and a half minutes" You slurred, melting into his hold "Tha's all"

"Four and a half minutes, baby" Sam's hand smoothed up and down your back, keeping you close.

For a lot longer than four and a half minutes.

[clemeowntine]

raisin bran haters dni

[clemeowntine]

i miss eating too many edibles, getting orange juice, and eating frosting out of the tub

[clemeowntine]

not being close with moots you used to be souper close with is so sad like why am i mourning you like my husband that went off to war

[crystaleunoia]

ᯓ★ one shot .ᐟ.ᐟ

. ❥ ּ֯ ┆꒰ coffee .ᐟ ꒱

⤷　𝄂　summary: soldier boy is on the bench as to not blow the operation, and you return to the van for a break, soft-ish soldier boy—you’re his soft spot. ◞ ִׄ ⊹

wc: 1150 words ??

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

no use of y/n — if i have to, i use ___ instead

barely any sightings of reader and ben together…

this was actually awful and terrible characterisation, it was too short and not enough interaction between you guys and ben, but it’s 2am and my phone is on 1% now so it’s too late to delete it all… pms is making me want soft lover ben so i’m sorry guys

just suffer my terrible writing… i need prompts to cook.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

ᯓ★ masterlist .ᐟ.ᐟ

The gala is a sea of silk suits and glittering gowns, a fundraiser for some shitty superhero charity that you’re collecting intel at.

You, Butcher, Frenchie, M.M and Kimiko are out on the floor, whereas Hughie, Annie and Soldier Boy have to sit behind so they don’t get made.

Their faces are too well known.

You sit with Butcher, donned in an elegant black silk dress, your hair freshly styled and cut, gold jewellery adorning your wrists and neck.

You look beautiful, smiling, laughing—but it’s all a performance.

Whether it be fake smiling at some random couple brag about their recent trip to Rome, or tolerating a hideous man flirting with you, nobody suspects a thing.

To them, you’re just another youthful person with a kind smile and a shared love for superheroes.

Despite the fact that you’d rather smash your head against the champagne bar than talk to the people here, your facade holds up… for a while, at least.

Gradually, your cheeks burn from the performance you uphold, and no volume of alcohol can dull the disdain in your chest.

“I’m going to check on the van.” You murmur a quiet, swift excuse to Butcher, rising from your chair with practiced elegance.

He nods, patting your back half-heartedly as you turn towards the exit.

Weaving your way through the crowd, your shoes carve into the back of your foot, creating a caustic, unbearable friction.

“Fuck this…” you murmur, plastering a smile on as you glide by the couple from earlier. As soon as you pass, a heavy sigh escapes your lips.

How can anyone endure a life like this everyday? None of it’s even real. Nobody here likes one another. It doesn’t take a genius to see that.

Your heels clack on the concrete as you reach the van. Sliding the door open, you clamber in, perching beside Soldier Boy—Ben.

The van is cramped, smelling of stale coffee and Hughie’s nervous sweat. Annie is scrolling through her phone, Hughie is nervously tapping his foot, and Ben is sitting stiffly, trying to look like he isn’t staring at you as you slide the door shut.

“Hey.” He clears his throat loudly, making Hughie jump, “Get anything good yet?”

You lean against the van wall, “Nothing. Just a lot of rich people pretending to care.”

Ben scoffs, “Sounds about right.”

He shifts on the bench, his large frame shaking the entire van. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest, emphasizing his muscles through the suit jacket Butcher made him wear despite not being out on the floor.

“You want a drink? We got shitty coffee.” He asks.

You reach out and pick up the cup in front of him, raising it to your lips and taking a small sip.

His eyes widen as you take the cup, “Hey— that’s mine.”

Annie pipes up, eyes still locked on her phone, “There’s a whole thermos right there, Soldier Boy.”

He shoots her a glare before turning back to you, voice dropping, “It’s fine. You can have it.”

Everyone goes silent for a moment, and he covers up his tracks, “It tastes like shit, so…”

He watches you drink, eyes trained on your lips. His expression is a mix of annoyance and something softer, almost pleased. He uncrosses his arms, then crosses them again, flexing subtly.

“Thanks, Ben.” You murmur, the first genuine smile you’ve had all night now on your face.

Only you are allowed to call him Ben. He’d kill anyone else that tried to call him it. Butcher almost got his arm broken for calling him ‘Benny boy’.

But you? Oh, you’re the exception.

You’re always the exception.

Ever since Soldier Boy joined your crew a few months back, he’d always respected you. Which was insane, considering all the sexist remarks he’d come out with when you first met.

But over time, the remarks stopped coming, and Soldier Boy found himself wanting to be around you.

Whether it be to train, or to work on a job as a team, or even just to watch crappy war films and critique them with you, Ben would always find an excuse to be around you.

You’d fallen into a routine every morning. Get up at 8am, see a mug of steaming coffee on the kitchen counter waiting for you, and sit on the kitchen counter with him making predictions on how the day would go.

If anyone ever brought it up, Soldier Boy would stare daggers at them and threaten to feed them their insides. But the moment he looked back at you, his gaze softened.

Soldier Boy had a soft spot. For you.

He didn’t know why—christ, nobody knew why. It just… happened. You were just there. A steady presence in his life.

Always trustworthy, loyal, funny and caring. You never backed down from a fight. And you didn’t need Compound V to be a hero.

He admires you. And that’s a big compliment. Soldier Boy doesn’t admire anything but himself in the mirror.

“I better go back in. Butcher’s going to get himself killed if I’m not by his side.” I grumble, resigned.

“Good luck, ___.” Hughie pipes up from the front passenger seat.

“Thanks, Hughie.” You hoist open the van door, but before you leave, you turn back to Soldier Boy. “Do I look okay?”

His eyes are already tracking you, trailing down from your face, to your tinted lips, and finally your dress.

“…Yeah. You look good.” The words come out, strained and repressed. You raise an eyebrow with a small smirk.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, kid.”

“Okay, grandad.”

“Watch it.” He warns sharply , but his signature smirk appears, contradicting his tone.

You laugh, and god is it music to Soldier Boy’s ears.

He’d pay for that laugh. Hell, he does everything to get one out of you.

That laugh could be the only sound he’d hear for the rest of his life. He wouldn’t need anything else.

Just you. Always you.

He didn’t feel the same way for Crimson Countess, or Clara, as he did for you.

No, not at all. With them, it was destined to end badly. He was a bad man. They were bad women.

But for you? He’s changed more than he’d care to admit.

Everyone in the crew has noticed.

They’d be blind not to. The lingering looks, the soft smile he tries to hide whenever you enter the room, the way whenever he’s hungry he’ll order takeout for you too, even if you didn’t ask for it.

And somehow, for once, he doesn’t care.

He welcomes the fuzzy feeling in his chest, wondering if you feel the same.

Picking up his coffee cup, the same gentle smile blooms on his handsome face.

The ___ smile.

[clemeowntine]

screenshotting fics so i can read them on the plane

[castielthinkr]

boaz priestley.... hhhhh i need him </3

REGULAR

summary boaz knows everything about your sandwich order but nothing about how to ask you out pairing boaz priestly x reader cw boaz is kind of insecure, reader's sandwich order is my sandwich order, mainly fluff, reader is a psych student :p notes i loveeeee boaz thank u for this

you're a regular. that's what boaz tells everyone when they ask why he knows your sandwich order to a tee. you're not really a regular - you've been in five or six times over the span of three months, and even then you've only ordered a sandwich maybe half as many times. you probably don't even know his name, but he knows which cheese you prefer, he knows that you prefer sourdough over any other bread, he knows you like lite mayo on one side of the sandwich and pesto on the other, and that you like your sandwiches toasted but not too toasted so that the bread doesn't get soggy.

jesus, he's head over heels.

the others just laugh at him.

it takes him weeks to build up the courage to talk to you. he's convinced you'll think he's a freak, especially since he chose today of all days to wear a kilt, but he's always been unapologetically himself, so screw it.

you're studying, he thinks typing away on a crappy little laptop like you do almost every time you come in with one of their refillable coffees beside you.

"hey," he starts with, internally kicking himself for it.

you look up, surprised that he's speaking to you. "oh. hi."

he smiles. you look so cute. "whatcha workin' on?"

"oh," you murmur, turning the laptop towards him. "just an essay."

he doesn't even bother to try and read it, aside from the title. "exploring the emotional impact of priming. sounds smart."

you shrug. "it's for my psych class. s'due in a few days but i left it 'til the last minute."

"i guess i should probably... leave you to it, then," he says awkwardly, fidgeting with his apron. his words make you look up at him again.

"you don't have to. you can stay. unless it'll get you in trouble, i don't want you getting yelled at 'cause of me," you ramble. he smiles. cute. you're just as awkward as him.

he takes a seat next to you, watching as your fingers fly across the keyboard as you type out your essay. it's adorable, you think, the way his eyes track your every move. the two of you sit for a while in silence, albeit awkwardly. he shifts every now and then, thinking of ways to break the quiet that's settled over you, when you speak up.

"um... i think i'm gonna go order something," you mumble awkwardly.

his head perks up. "yeah? i'll make it."

"okay, uh..." you start, "a sandwich, please, with--"

"lightly toasted sourdough, lite mayo on one side and red pesto on the other, melted cheddar, turkey, and lettuce?" he finishes.

you blink a few times, lips still parted from him interrupting you. "uh... ye-- yeah. that. how did you know?"

boaz doesn't know what to say to that. he feels a flush rising from his neck, and the tips of his ears get warm. "i just do, i guess."

a small smile makes its way to your face despite your attempts to stop it. "that's cute," you say quietly, almost regretting it when the words slip out until you see his reaction. he blushes more, his cheeks a rosy pink as he splutters and heads to the kitchen to grab your sandwich ingredients.

by the time he's made the sandwich, after tripping over himself a million times, flustered, you've packed up your laptop and are standing at the counter, bag over your shoulder.

"you're leaving?" he asks with a small pout.

you smile sadly, handing over some cash. "i have work."

"it's on the house," he says, pushing your hand away. "special. just for you."

now it's your turn to flush. "thanks..." you trail off, waiting for his name.

"priestly," he says on instinct. then, "boaz."

"well, boaz," you say, leaning on the counter with a sudden boost of confidence. it's now or never. "my shift finishes at five. yours?"

"five," he smirks.

you take the sandwich from him with a wide smile. "i'll be back at five, boaz," you say over your shoulder as you leave.

he stands there for a moment, hand still outstretched from where he held the sandwich. it takes a beat for him to respond, and by then you're almost out the door. "i'll see you!" he calls, ignoring the girls giggling at him by the register.

he's so screwed.

[autumnbutterflyy]

Not without trying

Summary: After everyone’s life seemed to fall into place, you decided to take a risk of your own. Your quiet crush on Priestly had always stayed that way — quiet. Trucker was the only one who knew. One shift, one favor, and one confession later, you start to wonder if some things are better left unsaid. Prompt: “But you don’t get to leave without letting me try.” Pairing: Priestly x F.Reader Warnings: mentions of physical violence, contains real scenes from the movie, mutual pining, angst, fluff. A/N: This is my very first post here on tumblr, hope you love it <3 English is not my first language sorry for the mistakes. I recommend watching the movie first to understand better. Word count: 5k

“So, where’s the mom?” you asked, wiping down the table with a damp cloth. While you finished setting things up for opening, Piper talked about how things were going with Julia. From the way she told it, it sounded… promising.

Piper kept painting, her attention fixed on the wall. “I don’t know,” she sighed.

“You didn’t ask?” Priestly glanced over his shoulder as he walked past her.

She shook her head. “No, I mean, as far as they’re concerned, I’m just some college student. It would be weird if I asked.”

“What if she calls or comes over when you’re there?” Jen asked, but before Piper could answer, the door swung open and Tish walked in with an unusual smile on her face.

“Oh, look,” Priestly announced. “It lives.”

“Barely,” Piper joked, crossing her arms. Tish dropped onto one of the bar stools. She looked different. Happier. This was new.

“All right, start with this.” Jen slid a drink toward her. Tish took it, that stupid grin never leaving her face. “I’ll get the IV drip set up.”

“So,” you asked, hopping onto the stool beside her, “how was it?”

“I’m in love.” She took a sip like that explained everything. You and Piper exchanged a look. Maybe she had found the right one this time.

“No, you’re in heat,” Priestly corrected. You shot him a look. He ignored it and pointed to the glasses he was cleaning. You rolled your eyes and went behind the counter to help him.

“Oh, look,” Tish started, “a man pretending to acknowledge the difference.” He flashed her an exaggerated, fake-polite smile. Tish lifted her chin proudly.

“You’re awful,” you muttered, stacking the clean glasses.

“I’m honest,” Priestly said quietly, leaning a little closer.

“That’s not the same thing.” He glanced at you, his smirk softening just a bit.

“Didn’t say it was.”

“Finally found an eleven, huh?” Jen asked, handing Tish a mug.

“Twelve,” she corrected. “I did things with Tadd I’ve never done before.” Her look said everything.

“Oh really?” Priestly shot back. “Like what? Wait for a second date?” Tish scoffed, already ready to argue, but Trucker walked in just in time.

“Well, the surf sucked,” he announced, tossing his keys aside. “What did I miss at our staff meeting?” He squeezed past you and Priestly, patting both your backs as he did.

Jen hopped up onto the counter. “Well,” she started, “Tish is in love. Or lust,” she added quickly, glancing at Priestly, “depending on who you ask.”

“Really?” Trucker grinned, stepping behind Tish. “I’m proud of you, angel.” They high-fived, and Tish smiled.

“Piper’s digging herself deeper and deeper into the pit of deceit with the Millers.”

“Good,” Trucker said cheerfully. “Nice to see our tradition of making the worst possible decisions has been passed on to the next generation.”

“Priestly has gotten in touch with his feminine side.”

You’d learned pretty quickly that with Priestly, this was just… him. Loud, unapologetic, impossible to ignore.

“I love my kilt,” he said proudly.

“And,” Jen took a deep breath, “I’ve reached a decision about meeting Fuzzy.” Every head snapped in her direction at once.

“And?” you asked, her cheeks burned.

“Well, I mean, we have the same interests, he makes me laugh all the time, and I tell him everything. It’s a no-brainer. We have to meet.”

The questions came fast after that.

“What if he’s a woman?”

“What if he’s fourteen?”

“Convicted felon?”

“Paralyzed?”

“Ugly as a rhino’s ass?”

Jen didn’t flinch once.

One last question made a smile tug at your lips—Priestly’s.

“What if he’s got crazy hair and more artificial holes in his head than real ones?”

Jen turned to him, smiling sweetly.

“I could never be that lucky.”

“Okay, so when and where?” Piper asked, cutting in before the teasing could start again.

“Halfway,” Jen explained. “Next Saturday. A club in Morro Bay. He’ll be the one with a white rose on his table.”

Something warm settled in your chest. She was really doing it. Taking the risk and letting herself be happy.

“Oh, that’s so romantic” the old woman with the dog sighed dreamily.

“And what about you, sweetheart?” Trucker asked, turning to you.

You shrugged, forcing a small smile. Everyone had news today. You didn’t.

He caught it anyway—the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. He gave you an apologetic look. You shook your head slightly, with a silent it’s fine.

“Trucker,” Jen jumped back in, saving you, “I was wondering if there’s any way I could borrow the Cosmobile. I figured that way I could just camp out.”

“Of course,” he said without hesitation. “Anything for true love.” Tish was the first to sign up to accompany Jen. Piper joined too. You smiled a little guiltily watching them rally around her.

“Yep, count me in,” Priestly said, setting the last clean glass on the counter.

“Forget it,” all the girls shot back at once.

Their eyes flicked to you, waiting. Your lips pressed together.

“I can’t,” you said softly. “My mom needs me to watch my brother the next morning. She has the early shift. But I’ll be glued to my phone, I swear.” You slid your hand across the counter. Jen took it, squeezing once.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Can we get to work now?” Trucker asked, though no one was really listening.

“I’ll drive,” Priestly insisted, making you all laugh.

“No,” Piper said flatly.

“I’ll buy the beer,” he tried again. Jen laughed, touched by his persistence. Priestly sighed, tossing the rag onto the counter.

“Never get to do anything fun.” You patted his back as you passed him. He glanced at you then, mouth tilting into a half-smile.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” he said amused.

And for just a second, you wished that it wasn’t a joke.

The shop slowly settled back into its usual rhythm. Laughter faded into the hum of the grill and the soft thud of bread hitting the counter. Everyone drifted back to their place, everyone except you.

Later that night, Trucker caught you while you were restocking the fridge.

“You okay?” he asked, leaning against the counter watching you work.

“Yeah.” You slid the last two drinks into place and shut the fridge with a heavier sigh than you meant to.

“You don’t seem okay.” You smiled. Trucker never asked things he didn’t already know the answer to.

“I’m just thinking,” you said, reaching for a rag you didn’t really need. He nodded toward the stool beside him. You hesitated, then sat. “I promise I’m fine.”

He didn’t rush you, that was his thing. He just waited the silence to do his job.

“It’s just…” You stared at your hands for a second. “Everyone’s moving forward. Falling in love. Taking chances.” You shrugged. Your gaze drifted past him to where Priestly mopped the floor, shoulders loose, humming under his breath. Trucker followed your line of sight. He didn’t comment. “And I’m still here,” you added quietly, “telling myself it’s better not to want anything.” Trucker’s expression softened.

“And is it?”

You shook your head, a quiet laugh slipped out. “No. But it’s safer.”

“Safer doesn’t mean happier,” he said gently.

You swallowed. “I want a chance too” you admitted. “I just don’t know how to go after it without feeling stupid.”

Trucker smiled, warm and knowing. “Love makes fools of all of us. The brave ones just decide it’s worth it.” You glanced back at Priestly. This time, he looked up and for half a second, your eyes met, he smiled at you and you smiled back.

“What if it’s not?”

“Then at least you tried,” he said. “That counts for something.” You nodded slowly, letting the words sink in.

“But I just need a little time, to prepare myself” you said with a small smile on your lips.

He patted your knee, standing up. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

After a couple of days, Saturday finally arrived.

The girls left early, bags slung over their shoulders, excitement spilling out of them. You made sure to be there to see them off, hugging Jen a little longer than necessary.

“Text me the second you get there,” you said.

“We will,” Piper promised.

“Don’t do anything Tish would do,” you added in a mock whisper, glancing at her. Tish flashed you a fake smile. “I’m joking,” you said quickly. “I love you.”

Once they were gone, the shop felt quieter and bigger.

Priestly leaned against the counter, watching them disappear down the street. “So,” he said, glancing at you, “it’s just you and me.”

“Lucky you,” you replied, grabbing a notepad.

“Debatable.”

Trucker came out from the back, bag already slung over his shoulder. “I’m heading out,” he announced casually. “Should be a slow day. Close up whenever.”

You blinked, confused. “Whenever?”

“Whenever.” He shrugged. You caught the look he gave you before leaving.

“Please don’t,” you mouthed. He just winked, and the door shut behind him.

Priestly raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Guess we’re trusted adults now.”

“That’s a stretch.” He laughed, and you moved behind the counter with him. You worked side by side without thinking about it—passing things back and forth, stepping around each other like a practiced routine. After five years, you knew how he moved, when he’d reach, when he’d turn. He bumped your shoulder lightly when he passed, like he always did.

At some point, he glanced at the clock “You hungry?”

“Always.”

“Good. I can prepare something, but I need to go to the store. Wanna come?” you thought about it. It was already past four, the place was empty and quiet. You doubted anyone would come in for the rest of the day, so you agreed and suggested closing early, Priestly didn’t argue.

You flipped the sign to Closed while he grabbed both jackets, holding one out for you. Your chest warmed at the small gesture.

The walk to the store was easy. Priestly did most of the talking—you liked that about him. He made you laugh without trying, sometimes over something dumb, sometimes just the way he said things. Mostly, you liked how natural it felt to be beside him.

When you arrived, it might’ve been your introverted instincts kicking in, but you felt eyes on you. You glanced at Priestly. He seemed to notice too.

You leaned closer to him. “Why are they looking at us?”

He looked around and suddenly remembered his last visit a few days ago. "Ignore them."

He put a hand on your back and pushed you gently, guiding you down the aisle toward the mustard. The contact sent a small chill up your back. His hand didn’t leave you until he grabbed the yellow bottle. Neither of you said anything after that.

At the checkout, you noticed two boys standing nearby, each holding feminine hygiene products, grinning like they’d just won something.

“What—”

“Let’s go, baby.” Priestly interrupted you and basically dragged you out of there. You didn’t even see him pay.

Outside, you stared at him. He just smiled like nothing had happened.

Back at the grill, you dropped the mustard on the counter, grateful the store was only a block away.

“So,” he said, clapping his hands once “what are you craving? I’m all ears.” You thought about it for a second, eyes drifting toward the grill like it was an old friend.

“Something greasy. Something that’ll make me regret it later.”

He laughed. “Say less.”

You ended up sharing the small booth by the window, the one you’d sat in a hundred times before but somehow felt different now. Two plates landed in front of you—thick sandwiches stacked too high, toasted bread still crackling softly, cheese barely holding itself together. The smell alone made your stomach growl. Priestly always put his soul into every sandwich.

“You’re drooling,” he said, catching you staring.

“Shut up.”

He slid in the seat in front of you and took the first bite, sauce immediately betraying him. You smiled without meaning to, shaking your head as you had your first bite too. It was messy and perfect. Warm bread, salty meat, mustard just sharp enough to make your eyes flutter close for half a second.

“This,” you said through a chew, “is why I never quit this place.”

Priestly leaned back, watching you like he always did when you talked about things you loved. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”

You ate in comfortable silence for a bit, trading bites, nudging each other’s plates, laughing when you both reached for the same fry. It wasn’t romantic in the obvious way. It was easy. Familiar. The kind of moment that sneaks up on you and makes your chest feel too full.

When you finished, the sun was already starting to dip. The light outside was turning soft and golden. “You wanna walk?” you asked. “Before it gets dark.”

He hesitated only a second. “Sure.”

This time you closed the store completely. You texted Trucker to let him know, not only that you had already closed, but also to tell him that you would finally do it, take a risk.

You didn't say a word on the way to the beach. You were preparing yourself, telling yourself that you were only going to confess, not swim with killer sharks.

The sand under your shoes and the salty air calmed you. You walked shoulder to shoulder silently and you were using the view of the sea as an excuse while you counted backward from one hundred to zero so you could speak, but Priestly spoke first. Of course he did.

“This is… surprisingly romantic,” he said teasing. “You trying to seduce me?”

You laughed, but your heart kicked hard against your ribs. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He grinned, eyes on the horizon. “Too late.” You stopped walking without realizing it. He took two more steps before noticing, turning back to you with a confused smile. “What?”

You looked at him then. Really looked. The way the sunset caught in his hair, the familiarity in his face, the five years of inside jokes and late shifts and almosts sitting heavy in your chest.

“What if I am?” you said suddenly.

He blinked. “You are what?”

“Trying to seduce you.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them. He stared at you like you’d just spoken in a different language.

“I like you,” you rushed on, your heart pounding. “I’ve liked you for a long time, and I’ve wanted to tell you, but I was scared. I am scared” You corrected yourself  “I—” You didn’t let yourself finish. You debated it internally.  Your hands curled into fists. You stepped forward, shut your eyes, and kissed him.

Priestly froze.

For a second, you thought maybe he was about to kiss you back. His breath caught, his eyes flicked down to your mouth, but he pulled away gently, just one step, but quite enough to make your heart clench.

He looked at you like he didn’t recognize the situation. Like it had happened too fast. “I—” He stopped himself and you waited.

Hopeful.

“I’m sorry,” he said and you wished something else would come after that, but that was it, no explanation, no softening, no buts. “I’m sorry.” He repeated and your chest tightened.

“Priestly—”

But he was already shaking his head, already backing away. “I shouldn’t have let that happen,” he muttered, probably more to himself than to you. Then he turned.

“Hey—” you tried but he didn’t stop. You watched him, how he walked down the beach, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, shoulders tense, his shape disappeared in the distance. You just stayed where you were. The ocean kept moving and the sky kept darkening.

The worst part wasn’t that he left, it was that he didn’t look back.

You were thankful there was no work the day after the confession, even if it was you’d called in sick. You regretted everything about that night, every word, every second, but there was no going back.

He’d left things clear when he walked away. He didn’t feel the same.

Now you were back at work. The heaviness in the air was impossible to ignore, and apparently you weren’t the only one dealing with a heart problem.

Piper had called you the night before. Jen had left the club without meeting Fuzzy. She hadn’t gone into details until that morning. You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t need to. You knew that feeling too well, so you just hugged her.

Priestly arrived with his big entrance, his eyes met yours, but you looked away.

“All right,” he said, exhaling sharply. “I’m sitting by the phone waiting, wondering. I demand a full report.” The girls stood silent for a moment, Tish stepped in, taking him a few steps back.

“There’s a reason we didn’t call you” she said and leaned close to his ear, she whispered everything to him, his expression completely changed.

“You’re shitting me,” Priestly muttered, already moving past her, heading straight for Jen. “Jen,” he said, softer but tense. “Please tell me you didn’t leave Fuzzy just sitting there, wondering.” Jen didn’t answer. “God damn it, Jen.”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” she said quietly.

His jaw tightened. “No, I understand. I understand you didn’t talk to him because you were terrified he’d judge you based on your looks.” He paused. “Yet you’re completely comfortable doing the exact same thing to him.” Piper rubbed her back gently, he was not being that gentle.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. He turned to the door and left, in a different situation you would’ve gone behind him, but now things have changed, even if it hurt to admit.

The next few days were torture. Trucker tried to ask what was wrong, but you always brushed it off. He didn’t push it.

Things between you and Priestly turned cold. The feeling was foreign, uncomfortable and something you hated. You spoke only when it was about work. Nothing else. If the girls noticed, they stayed quiet. Everyone seemed trapped in their own world, and the Grill no longer felt the same.

Now you were moving on autopilot like you had been doing all week. It was a quiet day, and you were already closing. As usual, Tadd showed up to pick up Tish. You had to admit, you didn’t like him, no one did.

“Ready to go, babe?” he asked, Tish hesitated. The happiness she’d carried just days ago was gone. She hadn’t said anything, but everyone could see it.

“Hey, Trucker,” she called. He looked up from the paperwork in his corner booth. You knew he’d stopped reading the moment Tadd walked in. “Can I leave ten minutes early?”

“Sure, angel,” he said. “Just be careful if you go rollerblading.”

She nodded, grabbed her things, and headed out. Before leaving, she turned and gave you one last small smile. You returned it, hiding your concern as best you could.

A couple of days ago she’d come in with a cut on her forehead. She said she’d fallen while rollerblading, hit an ice plant and lost control. It hadn’t been convincing, but you’d let it go. Now, you were sure of the truth.

“I wish she’d leave him,” you muttered, setting the broom aside. “She doesn’t look happy.”

“I know…” Trucker said softly, gathering his things and standing.

“Need a lift home, darling?”

You hesitated, then nodded. You were too tired to argue. “I just need to restock a few things.”

“Leave it. You can do it tomorrow.”

“It’s less than five minutes,” you said and he sighed, he could never say no.

“I’ll be outside.”

True to your word, it took only minutes. You double-checked the locks, turned off the lights, and stepped out the back.

That’s when you heard Trucker yelling.

Your stomach dropped. The scene in front of you froze you in place, Priestly was on the ground. Jen was holding Tish, both of them looked scared. Trucker had Tadd pinned beneath him, his foot pressed hard against his throat.

You ran straight to Priestly, dropping to your knees beside him. He was obviously hurt and there was no question on who had done it “You okay?” you asked, hands already scanning his face for injuries.

“I’m okay,” he said, letting you help him sit up. Jen and Tish rushed over, asking the same thing.

“If I ever see you around her again,” Trucker growled, “they’ll be using your picture on unsolved mysteries. You hear me?” He stepped back and let Tadd go. Tadd scrambled up, eyes flicking over all of you before he bolted.

Priestly let out a breath. “Does anyone else feel like Trucker’s got some explaining to do?”

Trucker sighed. “Let’s go to my pad” You helped Priestly to his feet and guided him to the Cosmobile. You called Piper, she didn’t take long to show up.

The drive was quiet. Priestly told Piper what had happened. Tish leaned against his chest, shaken, while he held her without hesitation. Piper wrapped an arm around her comforting her too.

When you arrived, you all sat in a loose circle. Trucker handed Priestly a cold beer for the bruises. You were genuinely worried about him, but you tried to avoid looking at him altogether. You didn’t want to think about it, not here, not now. Still, the way Priestly had held her on the way over, made the memories flash, old jokes resurfaced. Old almosts. Maybe it had never been a joke at all, and she was probably the one he liked.

It made sense to you.

Once you were all comfortable, Trucker finally told you the truth. He passed around an old photo album and explained everything.

Before Trucker, he had been Gordon Hancock, captain of his high school football team. Then he was drafted. Somewhere along the way, he discovered he was good at killing people, he did three tours. Lost count of the bodies sometime during the second. When he came home, he wasn’t the same.

The name Trucker was born after long, restless walks on the beach at night. He met a group of reckless surfers who, for the first time since returning, made him smile. He bought a board. Changed his name. Swore he’d never hurt another human being again.

That promise still stood.

Tish moved closer and kissed his forehead, apologizing for making him break it. Trucker only shook his head, he’d promised not to hurt humans, and he was fine with that.

The tension eased, laughter slipping in where fear had been moments before. Trucker asked Tish for one thing only: no more shitheads. Maybe a nice guy, for once but she admitted those guys never asked her out.

It led Piper to ask him of the quiet fear of being rejected by Zo for who he used to be. Jen found proof that they, Trucker and Zo, had known each other longer than they’d realized. Different lives but same place.

You stayed quiet through it all.

Trucker’s story lingered in the room even after he finished, heavy and sincere, settling somewhere deep in your chest. You understood why he’d told it, why it mattered and you were glad he trusted you all with something like that.

The apartment slowly emptied.

Piper was the first to stand, stretching awkwardly before murmuring something about it being late. Jen followed soon after, exhausted in that quiet way heartbreak leaves behind. Tish hesitated at the door, squeezing Trucker in a tight hug before Priestly guided her out with a hand at her back.

You stayed seated.

“Door’s not locked,” he said gently once the place fell quiet again.

“I know.” You didn’t look up. He took a seat in front of you and waited.

When you finally lifted your head, he was watching you the way someone does when they already know the truth but want to hear it anyway.

“You wanna talk,” he said. Not a question.

You exhaled slowly. “I think I need a break.” His brow furrowed concerned.

“From work?”

“From… everything.” You rubbed your hands together, . “From pretending I’m okay.”

He nodded once. “Okay.”

“I don’t want to quit,” you said quickly. “I love this place. I love you guys.” Your voice wavered. “I just can’t be here right now.”

Trucker nodded undesrtanding. “This about Priestly?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “I told him how I felt.” Saying it out loud made it real in a way you hadn’t let it be yet. “And he… didn’t reject me. Not really. But he didn’t stay either.”

“I’m sorry,” Trucker said quietly.

“I know he didn’t mean to hurt me,” you added quickly, as if defending him out of habit. “That almost makes it worse.”

Trucker sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Sometimes people don’t know what they’re feeling until it hits them in the face. And sometimes they run from it.”

You gave a small sad smile. “He’s good at that.”

“How much time you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “A few weeks. Maybe longer. I just… need to breathe.”

He studied you for a moment, then nodded. “You take all the time you need.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He smiled softly. “The place isn’t going anywhere. Neither are we.”

Your chest tightened. “Thank you.”

He opened his arms without a word and you stepped into them, resting your forehead against his shoulder, letting yourself be held just for a second longer than necessary.

“Go take care of yourself,” Trucker said quietly. “And when you’re ready… you come back. No explanations needed.”

And for the first time in days, the weight on your chest eases, just a little.

You didn’t show up for three days.

At first, everyone assumed you were sick. By the second day, Piper started checking the schedule like it might explain something. By the third, they were all calling you.

You never missed work.

When you finally walked into the grill that weekday morning, the place went quiet for half a second. Not dramatic but noticeable. You felt guilty for leaving without an explanation. You knew they deserved one, not all the story but at least to know that you were leaving.

“Hey there, stranger,” Tish said, drawing everyone’s attention. Piper crossed the room and wrapped her arms around you like you’d been gone for years. Jen followed. Even Tish gave you a careful look. Priestly… well, he just gave you a quick look and got back to work.

You stopped trying to understand his actions a long time ago.

“Sorry I didn’t say anything,” you began, perching on one of the counter stools. The girls gathered around. Trucker stayed back, watching, already knowing where this was going. “I’m gonna take some time off,” you said quietly. “Just… for a bit.”

Piper searched your face. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, even if it wasn’t entirely true. “I will be.” They respected you didn’t want to say more, but they made you promise a girl’s night as soon as possible.

You grabbed the few things you actually kept there—your jacket from the back hook, the notebook you always forgot to take home, just little things. Enough to make it feel like you were leaving for good.

You were almost at the door when a voice stopped you.

“Hey.” Your body reacted before your mind did. You froze. Priestly stood near the counter, hands in his pockets, looking nervous “Can we talk?” he asked.

You hesitated just for a second but then nodded.

Outside, the air was warm. You were at the back of the place, the same place the incident happened. He was leaning on his car hood, you stood in front of him, waiting. His gaze avoided yours.

“I tried,” he finally said. “You didn’t notice—but I did.”

You frowned slightly. “Tried what?”

“Talking to you. Catching you alone. Joking like I used to.” He shook his head. “You shut every door before I could even knock.”

You crossed your arms, more to steady yourself than anything else. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“I know,” he said softly. “But you don’t get to disappear and pretend I didn’t feel it.” Your chest tightened. “That day at the beach,” he went on, “you dropped something real in my hands and I panicked. And I hate that I did.” He swallowed. “But you avoiding me? pretending that it no longer existed? That scared me more.”

You looked down. “I thought you liked Tish.”

His head snapped up. “What—”

“She was hurting,” you continued with a quiet voice. “And I saw the way you held her. So, I assumed I finally understood.”

Priestly shook his head immediately. “She needed someone. That’s all. And I cared because she’s our friend.” His voice softened. “It wasn’t what you think.”

“Then tell me.”

He didn’t answer right away, instead, he took a step closer. Slow and careful. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the familiar scent you’d tried so hard not to miss. His hand lifted, he hesitated but stopped just short of touching your cheek, like he was giving you time to pull away.

“I didn’t even know I liked you like that,” he admitted. “Not until you kissed me. And not until you walked away.”

“That’s not fair.” You felt the tears forming in your eyes. You looked away from him, but he caught your cheek in his hand, guiding your gaze back to his.

“I know,” he said. Your heart was pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. “And I’m sorry.”

He leaned in then—not enough to kiss you, but close enough that the space between you felt charged. His forehead almost brushed yours. Close enough that you could feel his breath, see the way his eyes flicked to your mouth and back up again, like he was fighting himself.

“But you don’t get to leave without letting me try.” he softly said.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The almost-kiss still hung between you, then you nodded. Just once.

“Okay,” you whispered. Priestly’s breath left him slowly, relieved.

“Okay,” he echoed. This time, he didn’t stop himself. He leaned in, his hand finally found your waist, gentle. The kiss was soft and felt like a promise.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his thumb brushing your side like a quiet promise. “This time, I’m not going anywhere.”

[clemeowntine]

Also omg the theme!!!! It's so wintery and beautiful!!!

thank you yippee!! i was worried it was too wintery because it’s summer here but im still digging it, and if it gets too wintery for me i can always change it :3

[clemeowntine]

i would send in an ask about the assuming things about you based on your blog but i literally know u so…

assume something u donut know…

[cafe-velour]

Old Habits Die Hard

summary: The one time Ben doesn’t slap your ass.

𝒘 — Soldier Boy & Fem! Reader ⟢ ( 1.1k-ish ) mostly ooc. established relationship. fluff/maybe a little angst?

Inspired by @abbotsbunnygf !! Go check out her work if you like The Pitt/Shawn Hatosy. It’s sooo good ♡

Ben was really starting to piss you off. It’s been exactly twelve hours since he last touched you.

You’d been keeping score in your head all day. First, he hadn’t slung an arm over your shoulders while you two were watching TV last night. Then, no rough kiss pressed to the top of your head when you shuffled into the kitchen this morning. No teasing pinch at your hip when you squeezed past him to grab a coffee mug. Nothing.

But, Worst of all… he’d stopped his favorite pastime: Smacking your ass every time you bent over.

Like now, for example. You’re bent over the edge of the soaking tub, scrubbing at a spot that honestly didn’t need scrubbing. Mostly because you were bored. Mostly because sitting still for more than five minutes had never really been your thing.

The oversized t-shirt you’d stolen from Ben rode up with every stretch of your arm, cool air brushing the skin of your thighs where your sleep shorts ended.

Then you heard it.. Heavy, familiar footsteps coming down the hall.

Ben wandered into the bathroom, muttering under his breath about where the hell his razor had disappeared to. He reached past you for the shaving cream sitting on the shower caddy, close enough that his body heat just barely ghosted over your back.

His hand hovered for the briefest second. Fingers flexing. Palm spread open. Muscle memory was about to win.

Then.. Nothing.

He caught himself and pulled his hand back. Like it had never crossed his mind at all.

You straighten up slowly, soapy sponge still in hand, suds dripping down your arm as you stare at him with furrowed brows, watching as he pops open the cap of the shaving cream up like everything’s perfectly normal.

“…Ben?” You mutter, almost offended.

He glances over, eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”

“You walked right past me. Bent over. Ass basically out. And you didn’t do shit.”

He pauses, looking genuinely confused. “Was I supposed to?”

Your face heats up with a mixture of embarrassment and confusion. This man has slapped your ass every single time you’ve given him the chance for months. Washing dishes? Smack. Reaching into a low cabinet? Smack. Standing up from the couch? Smack. Never just… nothing.

You set the sponge down. “You didn’t even touch me.”

Ben huffs, turning back to the mirror. “Didn’t realize was on a fuckin’ schedule.”

・・・۶ৎ・・・

The weirdness doesn’t stop there. Later you walk past him in the living room and he almost reaches for you. His hand lifts halfway, gearing up.. just to give your back a light, polite tap instead. You stop dead in your tracks, mouth dropping open.

“Something wrong?” he asks, eyes glued to the TV.

You don’t give him a proper answer. Instead, you bend over to grab a magazine off the coffee table, just to test him… Still nothing! He just keeps his gaze steady on the screen.

・・・۶ৎ・・・

By dinner you’re officially freaked out. He’s frighteningly tame. He hasn’t made any stupid comments. Hasn’t pulled you down into his lap. Hasn’t made a single dirty joke all day. Just… nice. Respectful even. You don’t think he’s ever been this quiet around you before.

You finally snap that night in the bedroom. Climbing up onto the bed and straddling his lap before he can even settle against the headboard.

“So what the hell is going on?” you ask, poking his chest. “You’ve been acting weird all day. Did I do something? Are you mad at me?”

Ben’s hands settle on your thighs, warm and steady but not wandering like usual. He looks surprised. “Mad? Fuck no. Why would you think that?”

“Because you didn’t slap my ass this morning when I was literally bent over right in front of you,” you mutter, half dramatic, half serious. “You always do it. Every time. And today? I got nothing. I hate it and I miss you.”

He watches you for a long second, jaw tight. Then he lets out an exasperated sigh and rubs a hand over his face.

“Figured…” He pauses. “Ah, hell.”

He looks almost embarrassed.

“Some limp-dicked suit at Vought.. ‘was running his mouth about how I should show you some more respect now that we’re serious. Said I act like an animal sometimes. Got me thinking… maybe you were just puttin’ up with it. With me. I was trying to dial it back. Be less of an asshole for once.”

You stare at him for a second, heart twisting in your chest.

“Ben,” you say softly, leaning closer. “You’re an idiot.”

He raises an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk trying to come back. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You gently cup his face with both hands and kiss him, slow and warm. When you pull back just enough, your foreheads rest together.

“I would’ve told you if it bothered me,” you mutter, soft and quiet. “I like that you can’t keep your hands off me. That’s how I know we’re good. Don’t try to be someone else. I want you exactly like this.”

Ben’s voice comes out quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “…You really mean that?”

You smile, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “I do.”

That does it for him. The tension melts out of his shoulders and his hands slide up your thighs, grabbing your ass with both palms, squeezing hard like he’s been waiting to do it all day.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he sighs against your lips. “You sure? ‘Cause I’ve been fuckin’ dying to do that all day.”

A small smile pulls at your lips, holding his gaze. “Positive.”

He lets out a deep laugh, the sound rumbling in his chest as he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you fully.

“That’s my girl. Fuckin’ missed this. Thought I was gonna lose my shit trying to keep my hands to myself.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, then your temple, holding you tight. You melt into him, gently punching his chest just to hear him groan.

“Don’t ever do that stupid shit again, you hear me?”

“Never,” he promises, voice warm and gruff. “You want me like this? That’s what you’re gettin’. Every damn day.”

You laugh quietly and bury your face against his shoulder, tugging at the dog tags hanging from his neck. He wraps his arms around you tighter and presses another kiss to the top of your head.

・・・۶ৎ・・・

The next morning you’re back in the bathroom, organizing the cleaning products under the sink. Ben walks in while you’re bent over reaching for the bottles in the back. Without a bit of hesitation this time… his hand cracks down hard on your ass, the sound echoing off the tiles.

You give a surprised yelp, then throw him a look over your shoulder, trying (and failing) to seem annoyed.

“Morning, doll,” he says smugly, squeezing the same spot before pulling you back against his chest. “There’s my favorite fuckin’ view.”

You lean into him with a dramatic sigh. “Welcome back, you big idiot.”

[princegabriel0096]

ACG-Goobers?!!?!?

O mein god what is this?!

Yes, it's a goober!! In charm form woo!!!

Come check him out! > https://acggoods.com/store/prince-gabes-trinkets

by purchacing this and future Trinkets you'll help me leave the very sour household i'm in!

[zepskies]

IF I STAY || Series Masterlist

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: This three-part mini series is for @redhoodieone, a lovely new member of my Patreon!

Series Tags & Warnings: (18+) Firefighter!Dean, plus-size!reader, Firefighter!Benny, lawyer!Sam, (background Saileen), smut, thick thirty, hints of body insecurity, but also body appreciation, angst, fluff, and hurt/comfort, meet cute, strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, mutual pining, and much, much more... ❤️‍🔥

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis

Chapters:

✦ Part 1: Fools Rush In | Podfic version!

✦ Part 2: It's Now or Never

✦ Epilogue: Soul Surrender

ঌ Series Complete!

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version of Part 1 | Fools Rush In:

ঌ Want to get notified when new stories drop? Follow my fic library blog - @zepskieswrites - with notifications on.

Join My Patreon ⊹ Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @kaleldobrev

@globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @0ccvltism

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @cheynovak @jollyhunter

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005

[askboxmemes]

I wanna know what people assume about me because of my tumblr.

Put an assumption in my ask. I’ll confirm or dispute it. I’m not gonna be mean or anything, I’m just very interested.