#and I don’t want to argue with people about it

[randominchident]

the good luck charm

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. max vertsappen x reader ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

you kiss max's forehead one race morning "for luck". he wins. it becomes a thing.

It started as a joke. As most things do.

You were both exhausted and half-dressed in a hotel room in Monza, Max trying to stretch out sore muscles while you searched (unsuccessfully) for your other shoe. Something about the early morning, the nerves, the jetlag, the weird sleepy love you always carry for him—it made you lean in, cup his face in both hands, and press a long kiss to his forehead.

"May your tires be warm, your brakes be cool, and your competitors forget how to drive," you said solemnly, eyes still half closed.

He gave you the flattest look imaginable, though the end of his ears blushed a faint pink from the kiss. As they always did. “What are you doing?”

“Blessing you,” you replied, as if it was obvious. As if it had happened a hundred times before. "So you win."

Max snorted, jokingly thanked you for your wise words, and then won the race.

The next weekend in Baku, just before he headed back into the garage, he stopped in front of you. Didn’t say anything. Just stood there with his helmet under one arm, brows raised. Waiting.

You blinked at him. “…Yes?”

Max looked around and then lowered his voice. “Aren’t you gonna do your weird blessing thing?”

You smiled. You were obnoxious about it. You made it a whole scene. Two hands to his cheeks, a huge dramatic smooch in the exact middle of his forehead, a made-up chant about tire degradation and curses upon the other drivers' decision making capabilities. He pretended to hate it.

He won again.

Now it’s a ritual. It practically part of his warm up routine.

He always finds you. Doesn’t matter if it’s Silverstone or Suzuka, if you're sitting quietly in hospitality or standing in the garage trying not to get run over by a mechanic on a scooter. He finds you. Every single race.

Helmet in hand. Suit half-zipped. That laser-focus look on his face until he sees you. Then it softens—just slightly. His jaw unclenches. His hands flex like they want to hold something. You.

You rise on your toes, brush your lips across his forehead, whisper the familiar words: “For luck.” Because sometimes he doesn't need the big speech, the dramatic show, the curses upon the other cars—he just needs you.

He never says much. Just nods, or gives you the tiniest smile. Once, after a win, he muttered “works better than pole” with a blush he tried to pass off as heat exhaustion.

You didn’t tease him for it. Much.

One day the camera's pick it up, and suddenly it becomes clear that your little tradition is not a secret and private as you once thought. Even the Sky Sports commentary team has something to say:

“And there’s Max Verstappen’s girlfriend giving him—what’s clearly become—a bit of a pre-race tradition. Can’t argue with results.”

It's nice. You like being part of the flow of race day. Its nice to be relied upon, even for something as small as this.

And then… one weekend, you’re not there.

You tried. You really did. But your flight got cancelled, the backup was overbooked, and Red Bull’s private jet was full of engineers and people who don’t think “I give Max forehead kisses before lights out” qualifies as essential personnel.

You call him from the airport instead, bags at your feet, coffee in hand. Max offered to send his own jet back to pick you up, but it would never have arrived in time.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I really wanted to be there.”

Max is quiet on the other end. “You tried.”

“I’ll scream your blessing into the sky from here, okay?”

He huffs a laugh, but it sounds tight. “Might need it. Grid’s a mess.”

“You’ll handle it. You always do.”

You want to say more. Something sappy. But you can already hear noise in the backgorund of the call. He's being pulled away by Christian or Helmut or someone asking about tires. So you settle for, “I love you. Drive safe.”

His voice softens. “Love you too.”

Back at the track, people notice something’s… off.

He’s still fast—because of course he is—but there’s a tension in his shoulders. The calm, razor-sharp version of Max that usually shows up on race day feels thinner, more like a mask.

Christian corners him right before the anthem. “You good?”

“Fine,” Max says. Short. Clipped. Cold.

But his eyes keep scanning the garage, looking for something—or someone—he knows isn’t there.

The race goes okay. Not amazing. A few things go wrong. His start is messy. Pit stop’s a second too slow. He finishes second, which for anyone else would be great, but for Max it’s a shrug and a “whatever.” Second place always hurts. Always has for him.

After the cooldown room, after media, after debrief, he ducks away from everyone and finally calls you.

“You cursed me,” he says.

“Sorry?”

“I had no forehead kiss. And now look. P2. Disaster.”

You smile, curling up in the airport lounge chair. “Guess you need me, huh?”

He exhales like he doesn’t want to say yes, but then, quietly: “Yeah. I do.”

And then impossibly quieter: "I always do."

The next weekend, you’re definitely there.

He doesn’t even say hello when he finds you sat in the garage. He just walks up, stands in front of you, and tilts his head down expectantly.

You blink. “Wow. No ‘how are you,’ no hug—just forehead service?”

He glares at the ground, but there is a small smile on his face that you can just barely see. “Do the thing.”

You grin, place your hands on his cheeks, and kiss him gently on the forehead.

“For luck,” you murmur.

He exhales. Content. “There it is.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Says the one casting spells on my head.”

You lean in a little. “They work, don’t they?”

Max just smiles. The small, secret one. The one he saves for you. Then he nods.

After he wins that race, he dedicates it to the team. Then, on the radio, voice quieter:

“Tell her thanks. It worked again.”

You hear it. Of course you do. And when he lifts the trophy, champagne flying, there’s a tiny smile on your face that says yeah. you’re welcome.

[callikari]

YOU'RE MY FAVORITE ╰┈➤ kind of problem 。。。

PRECIS 。 he doesn't hate you (but he think he likes it that way.)

西村力 x fem!reader 1218 fluff highschool au opposite attract ─ kissing teasing emotional vulnerability skinship

REBLOG FOR A KiSS

nishimura riki hates mornings, loud people, and unnecessary affection. so of course, fate seats him next to you.

you — with your sparkly pens, cherry lip gloss, and the habit of being genuinely nice to everyone, including him. you talk too much, always smile like the world isn’t exhausting, and keep offering him gum even though he never says thank you.

(he always takes it.)

“you should smile more,” you say one morning, tapping the corner of his mouth with your pen. “you’d look cute if you didn’t look like you hate everything.”

“i don’t want to look cute,” he mumbles.

“too bad. you kind of do.”

he chokes on his water.

you treat him like someone worth taking care of.

when he shows up with damp hair, you push your umbrella into his hands without asking. when he skips breakfast, you press half your sandwich into his palm. you say his name like it’s normal to look at him gently, like it’s not strange to care even when he doesn’t make it easy.

and somehow, he doesn’t push you away.

riki acts annoyed. at your chatter. your energy. the way you remind him to drink water like you’re responsible for him now.

but then it’s picture day, and you’re fixing his tie like it’s second nature, murmuring something about how “you’d be helpless without me,” and he just… lets you. doesn’t move. doesn’t stop you.

when you pat his chest lightly after, like you’re proud of how he turned out, he has no idea what to do with that.

“look at you,” you say. “pretty boy.”

he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

he gets a paper cut during class and barely reacts, but you notice.

“riki. you’re bleeding.”

“it’s fine.”

you dig through your pencil pouch. “i’ve got bandaids—want rilakkuma or space rockets?”

“…rilakkuma?”

“thought so.”

you stick it on for him, then tap it once like sealing a deal. “good as new.”

he doesn’t respond. just leaves it on for the rest of the day.

“drink water,” you tell him, holding out your bottle.

“i’m not a toddler.”

“didn’t say you were. but dehydration makes you cranky.”

he glares at you, but takes it.

(he pretends not to notice the lip gloss mark on the rim.)

when you find out he’s been skipping meals, you start showing up with something wrapped in foil.

“what’s this?” he mumbles.

“something with actual nutrition, for once.”

“you’re acting like i’m five.”

“you’re acting like you don’t need it.”

he eats it anyway.

(you cut the crust off the next day without comment. he doesn’t complain.)

“you’re kind of like a cat,” you say once, watching him swat at a paper ball someone threw at him.

“what?”

“you pretend you don’t like people, but you keep showing up. and you’re grumpy when you’re hungry. and—” you grin— “you’re secretly affectionate when no one’s looking.”

“take it back.”

“never.”

you boop his nose. he mutters something under his breath and doesn’t meet your eyes for the rest of lunch.

one day he shows up late, hoodie on, eyes heavy. you don’t ask questions. just tug him toward the empty music room and sit him down.

you pull out a cookie from your bag. press it into his hand.

“eat first,” you say quietly. “then nap. i’ll wake you up before class.”

he looks at you like he wants to argue, but doesn’t. he eats in silence. and when he finally closes his eyes, you drape your jacket over him and keep watch.

he says your name softly, right before he dozes off.

that afternoon, he finds you by the back steps.

“why do you baby me?”

you look up from your phone. “what?”

“i’m not some charity case,” he mutters. “you don’t have to do all this.”

you shrug. “i know.”

“then why?”

you blink at him, like the answer’s obvious. “because i like you.”

he freezes.

“like, not just ‘you’re tolerable’ like. i actually like you. and you’re terrible at taking care of yourself, so i do it for you.”

“…oh.”

“you okay?”

he hesitates. “you like me?”

“yes, riki.”

“…like, really?”

“you’re exhausting,” you sigh. “yes.”

he stares. then: “can i hold your hand or are you gonna turn this into a whole thing?”

you smile. “i mean, i could—”

he takes your hand.

you stop talking.

he’s still grumpy. still rolls his eyes when you make a big deal out of nothing. still pretends he’s unaffected when you fix his hair or lean your head on his shoulder.

but he lets you do it all.

and when he calls you “sunshine” under his breath — quiet and honest, like the word is just for you — you pretend not to hear it, just so he’ll say it again.

he’s not good at affection. not the way you are. his hands get awkward, his words feel clumsy, and he never knows if he’s doing enough.

but he tries.

he starts carrying an extra granola bar in his bag — not for himself, but for you, when you’re running late or forget to eat. he won’t say it’s for you, but he slides it across your desk when you’re too tired to smile and mumbles, “you always feed me. figured i’d return the favor.”

you beam at him like he just handed you the sun.

he nearly explodes.

one day, it’s cold and rainy and you show up to school shivering, jacket forgotten. at lunch, you come back from the vending machine to find his hoodie draped over your seat.

you look at him.

he doesn’t meet your eyes. “it’s not a big deal.”

��riki—”

“just wear it.”

you slip it on. it smells like fabric softener and him.

“you’re warm,” you tell him.

“shut up,” he says, ears red.

when you forget your umbrella, he waits outside your classroom after school, pretending he was “just passing by.” walks you home without a word. you don’t bring it up, and neither does he. but the next day, he hands you a compact umbrella, still in the wrapper.

“keep it in your bag,” he says. “you forget stuff.”

you blink. “you bought this for me?”

“don’t make it weird.”

you smile anyway.

he starts noticing the little things — how your hands get cold easily, how your hair gets tangled when it’s windy, how you forget to take breaks when you’re stressed.

so he does what he can.

throws a scarf at you in the morning. pulls you toward the shade when it’s too hot. slips your favorite snacks into your bag with no note, no explanation, just a quiet kind of care.

it’s not perfect, but it’s him. trying.

and you notice. of course you do.

“you’re getting good at this,” you whisper one day, threading your fingers through his as he walks you home.

“at what?”

“being mine.”

he squeezes your hand. doesn’t say anything.

but when you get to your door, he kisses your forehead — awkward, fast, barely a brush — and mutters, “you’re my favorite, okay? just… don’t tell anyone.”

you grin. “your secret’s safe with me.”

(he kisses you properly a week later. still shy. still soft. but this time, he doesn’t pull away.)

taglist is open :: @nocturnebite @cheruphic @chrrific @manaah02 @jungwonbropls @ijustreallylike2read @ijustwannareadstuff20

vi says :: i worked hard on this so i hoped you enjoyed it TT

© callikari — all rights reserved

[syrecjh]

─★ ˙ 𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ No One Sleeps Mad

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || husband katsuki bakugo x wife reader, pure fluff

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

Three years of marriage to Katsuki Bakugo, and you learned something vital: silence is his weapon of choice. People always warned you that living with him would be Chaotic. Explosive. Loud. But in the quiet moments, when something’s wrong, it’s the stillness that cuts the deepest. Because Bakugo doesn’t yell at you. He doesn’t slam doors or shout insults. He just... stays quiet. Too quiet.

Tonight’s fight wasn’t big—just a few words that cut too deep, too fast. It started small, but in the silence that followed, you could feel it growing. You could feel him pulling away, not out of anger, but out of control. That’s when you know something’s wrong. When he’s not arguing, not raising his voice, but retreating inward. And for Bakugo, that retreat is the most terrifying thing. The calmness in his eyes is what makes your stomach churn.

You try to go to bed. You lie there, facing the wall, pretending to be asleep. But you can’t escape the space between you. The weight of unsaid things.

You hear the soft creak of the door. He doesn’t speak at first, just stands in the doorway, his silhouette outlined in the faint light. His arms are crossed, like he’s holding himself together. Waiting.

“You’re not sleeping like this,”he finally says, his voice low and measured. No shouting. No anger. Just a simple statement. But it hits you like a brick. "We're not sleeping like this,"

You don’t turn around. You don’t know what to say. So you let the silence stretch. And with it, the tension.

“Oi. I’m serious.” His voice is softer this time, but there’s a firmness there, like a command without a forceful edge. It’s the kind of calm that makes you feel exposed, like he’s reading you better than you can read yourself.

You swallow hard, refusing to show that you’re trembling. “I just want some space, Katsuki.”

His footsteps sound as he crosses the room. He doesn’t hesitate. He sits down on the edge of the bed, but just enough distance between you. It’s not an invasion, but an offer. An invitation.

“I’m not going to let you lie to me,” he mutters, his voice raw. “Space doesn’t fix shit. This does.”

He’s never been the type to hide behind words. He says what he feels, whether it’s love, frustration, or raw honesty. And right now, his honesty stings. It hits you right where you’re vulnerable—where you want to be left alone but know you can’t be. Because he knows you better than anyone. And he knows that pushing you too hard won’t help. But neither will letting you sleep with this weight in your chest.

You sit up slowly, heart racing. His eyes don’t leave you, but they soften slightly. You feel the walls start to crack. You hate that it’s coming to this, but you can’t help the sigh that escapes you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, barely audible, like the words hurt to speak.

He doesn’t respond right away. But he doesn’t have to. His fingers move toward you, just enough to touch your shoulder—lightly, but it’s everything. He doesn’t say it, but you can feel his love in the simple touch. His apology, his offer to make it right.

“Stop making this harder than it has to be,��� he mutters, his voice thick with emotion you almost never hear from him. “We fix this tonight. Even if we’re both exhausted, we fix it.”

You can’t fight it anymore. You lean forward into him, the weight of the fight slipping away as he holds you, the promise of resolution lingering in the air between you two. “We don’t sleep angry, not in this house. Not in this marriage.” he whispers into your hair, almost like a vow.

And in that moment, you realize that, for Bakugo, love isn’t about perfection. It’s about finding the way back to each other, no matter how small the fight is or how much pride you both have. It’s about never letting the night end without fixing what’s broken. It’s about never letting the fight win.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

[holyblonded]

untitled | something blue

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, Olga rios x teen!reader, barcelona femeni x teen!reader

summary: you can barely breath and for the first time in your life, people notice.

warnings: depersonalization, hate comments

notes: pls send requests!! i am running out of ideas

You weren’t even supposed to be on the app. You’d opened it to watch a highlight, just one clip someone tagged you in. The nutmeg, the assist, the way the crowd gasped. It had been a long week, flights, games, sore muscles, sleepless nights. You just wanted that thirty seconds of reassurance, something to make the grind feel like it mattered.

But you scrolled. You shouldn’t have. You knew better. Everyone always said not to. But your thumb moved on its own, and the comment popped up like it had been waiting for you.

“Alexia and Olga's charity case."

It didn’t even hit right away. You stared at it, blank, the words not quite sinking in. Then they did. And your whole chest went hollow.

It wasn’t that it was the worst thing anyone had said about you. You’d been called worse. You’d survived worse. But something about it… this one felt personal. Close. Too close. Like someone had peeled open your ribcage and found the one quiet place you never let anyone touch.

And then, you kept scrolling. You couldn’t stop.

"Why did Barça even pick her up?"

"She's a liability."

"Does she even start on merit or just 'cause of who she's living with?"

"Another case of talent wasted on a broken kid."

"She's gonna ruin that team."

"Nothing but trouble."

You stop breathing for a second.

You blink, but the comments don’t blur the way you wish they would. They just sit there, sharp and clear. And they echo. They get louder the more you read. Until they’re not just comments anymore, they’re truths. Ones you’d buried deep. Ones that have always hovered under the surface.

Because you know what? Maybe they’re right.

You don’t close the app. You lock your phone, but you don’t throw it away. You just sit with it. The silence in the room grows teeth. The hum of traffic outside doesn’t ground you like it used to. And for some reason, your bed, this soft, expensive mattress in this warm, clean home, feels like a place you don’t belong.

Isn’t that what they’re all saying? That you don’t belong here. That you never did.

You’re not crying. It’s worse than that. You’re stuck. Frozen. Like you’re watching yourself from outside your own body. You can feel your thoughts spiraling, dragging you down with them, and you just let it happen. Because what are you supposed to do? Argue with people who are only saying what you already fear?

You think about how you got here. Not the goals or the contract or the jerseys.

No.

You think about the cold nights sleeping with your hoodie tucked over your face. You think about sneaking into 24-hour diners just to sit and feel heat. You think about how you always wore your backpack while sleeping because it had everything you owned. You think about the jobs you worked, the lies you told, the way you learned to run before you learned to trust.

You think about how no one was there. Not your mom. Not your dad. No system. No safety net. You built yourself out of broken glass and concrete and the sound of police sirens in the distance.

And now? Now you’re in Barcelona, living in an house with two people who love you, who really love you, but you still flinch when you hear footsteps outside your door. You still expect it to all disappear.

Because somewhere inside, you believe you’re temporary. That no one knows who you truly are.

You open your phone again. Not to check the comments. Just to feel the weight of it in your hand.

Not the part of you that starts to believe all the things people say. Not the part that thinks Alexia and Olga are wasting their love. Not the part that thinks even football can’t save you if you’re already lost.

You lie down, eyes wide open. You can’t sleep. You don’t eat the next morning.

You’ve always been good at disappearing. It was survival.

But this time it feels like vanishing from a place you were finally starting to think might be home. And you hate that one stupid comment was all it took to make you doubt that. But here you are. Vanishing anyway.

You showed up to training fifteen minutes early. Not because you were feeling extra focused or anything motivational like that, but because you didn’t want anyone waiting on you. You didn’t want the questions.

You’d already dodged enough of those from Olga. You mumbled something about being tired and sore, then went into the bathroom and stayed there until she stopped hovering by the door. Alexia didn’t push, just met your silence with her own quiet kind, but you saw the way she looked at you over breakfast. The way she kept glancing up every few seconds, as if willing you to talk.

And nkw, training. You thought maybe you could just run it off. Breathe it out. Be the version of yourself that made everyone shut up when you stepped on the pitch. But from the first warm-up, everything felt wrong.

Your legs were heavy. Your timing was off. You couldn’t connect a pass to save your life. Every touch felt like it came a beat too late or too early, and it made your stomach twist. You knew everyone was watching. You knew.

Alexia tried to talk to you on the walk out to the pitch, something soft and careful like, “Maybe after training, we can go to the beach?”—but you just nodded, eyes forward, pretending you didn’t hear the weight behind her voice.

You saw Sydney waiting by the cones, laughing at something Vicky said. Normally, that would’ve made your chest unclench, would’ve pulled a smile out of you without effort. You waited for it to hit.

It didn’t.

Vicky nudged you during rondos, joking about how she was about to nutmeg you again, and you just gave her a tired, half-hearted smirk.

Sydney touched your back, low and comforting, asking quietly, “You okay?”

You just said, “Yeah,” without even meeting her eyes.

And they knew. Everyone knew.

Even Pere noticed. About halfway through drills, he blew the whistle and called you over. His tone wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t casual either.

“You good?” he asked, frowning. “Anything hurting? You look off.”

You shook your head quickly, too quickly. “Nah, I’m fine. Just… tired. Long week.”

He watched you for a second too long, then nodded and let it go. But you could feel his eyes on you even after you jogged back.

You messed up your next three passes. Lost your marker twice. You knew you were playing like shit, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Alexia pulled Frido aside during the water break.

“She’s been like this since last night,” she said, arms crossed tight. “Olga’s worried sick. She barely said a word this morning.”

Frido glanced toward where you were sitting on the grass, hunched over your cleats, barely touching your water bottle. “Want me to try?”

Alexia hesitated, then nodded.

So Fridolina came over, crouched beside you like she always did when she was about to say something kind. “Hey, flicka. You don’t seem like yourself. Want to talk?”

You didn’t even look at her. “I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

You tied your shoelaces slower, pretending it took all your focus. “I said I’m good.”

She didn’t push. Just gave you a small nod and walked back, but you felt it in your stomach, the disappointment. The quiet kind. The kind that made you feel guilty for not being able to be okay.

Then Sydney sat next to you, legs stretched out. She didn’t say anything at first. Just sat there, letting the silence build.

Eventually, she asked, “Is it me?”

That made you glance at her, finally.

“No,” you said. Quiet. Honest.

She nodded, biting her lip, then offered, “Do you want me to sit here, or leave you alone?”

You didn’t know the answer. You didn’t want to be alone, but you didn’t want anyone near you either. You just stared at the ground and said, “I don’t know.”

She stayed anyway.

Vicky tried too, after drills, when you were walking off, dragging your feet behind the group. She bumped her shoulder against yours and said, “Come on, you always yell at me when I mope.”

You gave her a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Maybe I’m tired of yelling.”

“You don’t have to be okay all the time,” she whispered.

You didn’t answer. Because the truth was, you weren’t okay. And you didn’t know how to say that out loud without breaking something inside you. So you stayed quiet.

Even when practice ended and Alexia’s arm brushed yours gently in the locker room. Even when Olga texted again:

Tell me if I need to come get you.

Even when you saw your name in another headline online later that night and your whole chest ached. You just kept spiraling. Quietly. Completely.

It had been days, but you still didn’t feel like yourself.

Everything you did, every step, every blink, every word, it all felt like watching someone else do it. Like you were floating behind your own eyes, watching your body move through the world on autopilot. You brushed your teeth because that’s what you did every morning. You got dressed because that’s what came next. You stood in front of the mirror, tied your hair back, stared into your reflection… and didn’t really see anything.

You weren’t tired. Or maybe you were, but it felt deeper than that. It wasn’t exhaustion, it was detachment. Like you were living your life underwater. People talked to you, the team, Olga, Alexia, but it felt like their voices came through layers of fog. You responded when you had to, short clipped answers. Enough to keep everyone from pushing harder.

Today felt no different. You stood by your closet, already in training gear, lacing your cleats when the door creaked open behind you.

“Don’t bother,” Olga said softly.

You turned to look at her.

She was already dressed. Not fancy, but normal. Jeans. A hoodie. No makeup.

“You’re not going to training today,” she said, stepping in further. “We’re going out instead.”

You didn’t say anything. You just sat on the bed and began taking your cleats off.

She didn’t explain where you were going. You didn’t ask. You just followed her, got into the car, and stared out the window. The city disappeared behind you, and the roads thinned, the traffic faded, the sky stretched wider.

Eventually, she turned down a dirt path and parked beside an open field.

It was beautiful.

Not the curated kind of beauty, like the manicured parks in the city or the postcard beaches. This was messy and real. Wildflowers grew in uneven patches. Cows roamed lazily through the tall grass, and there was a soft murmur of water in the distance.

“Come on,” she said.

You followed her down toward the stream, to a flat spot shaded by a few crooked trees. She sat down in the grass, patting the spot next to her.

“This is where I come when I feel like everything’s too much,” she said, voice quiet. “When the noise in my head gets loud. When I feel like I can’t breathe.”

You didn’t respond. Just looked out at the cows. One stared back, disinterested.

“I don’t come here to fix anything,” Olga continued. “Just to remember I’m still part of something. Nature doesn’t expect anything from me. It just lets me exist.”

There was a silence. Long. Heavy. Then you heard her sniffle. When you looked over, her eyes were wet.

“What’s going on with you?” she asked, voice shaking. “The way you’ve been acting… It’s scaring everyone. You’ve shut us all out. You don’t even look like you anymore.”

That’s what finally broke through the haze. That voice. That crack in it. The fear underneath. You blinked hard. The weight in your chest loosened just enough to let words out.

“There was this comment,” you said slowly, your voice sounding foreign in your own ears. “Someone called me ‘Alexia and Olga’s charity case.’”

Olga’s face hardened.

“And I know… I know it’s just a comment. But I kept scrolling. And there were more. People saying I don’t belong at Barça. That I’m a liability. That I shouldn’t have been taken in. And I just—” You swallowed, chest heaving. “I couldn’t stop reading. I couldn’t stop hearing it.” Your voice cracked. “I started wondering if they were right. If I’m just… a problem you two decided to fix. A project. I started thinking maybe you didn’t really want me. Maybe I was just—convenient. Like you took me in because you felt guilty.”

At that, Olga broke completely. “No,” she choked out. “Hell no.”

She reached for you, and before you could stop her, she was pulling you into her lap like you were a little kid. You were taller than her, but it didn’t matter. She held you like she used to when you had night terrors, when you’d cry yourself hoarse from fear and hunger, back in LA. Like she knew how to ground you even when you couldn’t find your own hands.

“Listen to me,” she said, holding the back of your head, her voice thick with tears. “You are not a charity case. Don’t you ever think that again. You are my little sister. You’re blood. I don’t care what anyone says. You’re mine. You’re ours.”

You felt your body sink into her. The first real thing you’d felt in days.

“I love you,” she whispered fiercely. “We love you. Alexia. Me. All of us. You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to earn it. Just be. That’s enough. That’s always been enough.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt the wetness soak into her hoodie.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “Thank you for not leaving.”

She kissed the top of your head.

“You’re stuck with me, kid.”

When you got home that night, the world still felt a little off. The colors weren’t quite sharp. The air still didn’t sit right in your lungs.

But when you sat on your bed with your notebook, you wrote something down.

THE PEOPLE WHO STAYED

- Olga

- Alexia

- Sydney

- Vicky

- Frido

- The Team

- Yourself (eventually)

You looked at that last one for a long time. And for the first time in a while, you believed it might be true.

[yunamoona]

formation a !

summary: you’re getting hit on!!! Luckily your friends have a protocol to neutralize this very situation.

content: fluff, satoru gojo x fem!reader (ft. Shoko and Suguru), silliness, gojo vs jealousy. Gege if he was full of joy and whimsy AU where they all at least make it to their last year of school together. Oh and thug Geto (but not really) allusion to the “Formation b” og at the end.

a/n: we all saw how quick Gojo was to reacting to Megumi “getting hit on.” formation b??? yeah, that was NOT his first rodeo…anyways, this is my first oneshot! please be forgiving, but I’m open to constructive criticism! also feel free to send feedback & reqs! info in my pinned.

“I don’t waannaaaaa!”

“Then go home.”

“I don’t wanna do that eitherrr”

Before you can snap at him again, it’s Suguru who smacks him upside the head, “then quit whining,” the man grumbles as Satoru whimpers and rubs the back of his head. “It’s already hot as balls out, you’re giving me a headache.”

Satoru huffs at that, purposefully stumbling along the sidewalk to knock himself into Suguru. There’s an oof as Geto returns the gesture by elbowing him in the gut, and some of your and Shoko’s shopping bags slip down Gojo’s arms as he shoulders the other man again, more intentionally this time. It’s moments before the two break out into a full on scuffle.

“Let’s bring Haibara and Nanami next time, kay?” Shoko jests loud enough for the two behind to hear, her thumb jabbing backwards towards them with that feline smirk on her lips. “They’re way more well-behaved than those idiots.”

“You can’t replace me— maybe Suguru, but not me!” Satoru wheezed out, sputtering a bit. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Suguru tightening the headlock around the other boy’s neck, squeezing a choked sound from Satoru as his sunglasses slipped down his nose. “You’d miss me too much!”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, we’re almost done shopping, alright? I just wanna get one more thing.” You point a little ways ahead to the shop you’ve been meaning to get to after hearing they had a sale on all their blind packs.

Yet looking backwards, you could see the heat was getting to your friends, making them more irritable and haggard. Even Shoko looked about ready to call it a day, but it was Satoru who appeared to be the least tolerant. He was practically dragging his feet across the ground, cheeks flushed red from the absurd heat and a rare genuine frown on his lips. The sight made your heart pang just a little.

Your gaze traveled around the little outdoor shopping center, landing on something that you were sure would bring up the mood— at least for a certain someone.

“Oh!” You pepped, pointing out a little cart stationed at the corner across from the store you wanted to hit up. Perfect. “How about we stop for ice cream?”

The way Satoru brightens immediately is almost uncanny, azure eyes sparkling and wide. “How’d you know that’s exactly what I was thinking?” He beamed, toothy grin wide and unabashed. “See, this is why we’re soulmates!”

You wish he’d stop saying thoughtless nonsense stuff like that.

The four of you stroll up to the stand, the older man running it joyfully greeting your group as Satoru leaned over the counter, enthusiastically giving your orders. You can’t stop thinking about that shop across the way, though. Clarence. Blind boxes. Marked down. MiniBrands…other people were gonna buy them all out…

“Shookoooo,” You whine, your bottom lip jutted as you reach for her hand, nodding your head towards the store. “Come with me pleeaaase? I’ll be quick.”

Lie.

Both of you told the guys you’d only be a minute, but it’s been at least 15 by now. Where the heck were they hiding your stupid discount mystery boxes??

“I know they’re here,” You reassure Shoko after dragging her into the same aisle you’ve checked three times now. “Somewhere. I have that feeling.” She doesn’t argue, but you feel her unspoken doubt.

After a while still, Shoko taps you on the shoulder.

“You keep looking, I’ll be right back,” she hums, middle and pointer finger tapping her lips. Then she was waving and strolling out the automatic doors, right back to where you both left Satoru and Suguru. The latter was manspread on a bench and scrolling on his phone, the former half-perched on the armrest watching the screen over Suguru’s shoulder. He had his second half eaten popsicle in one hand, taking sneaky licks of your ice cream in his other when he thought no one was looking.

He didn’t pay Ieiri any mind for a good several minutes, not until he peered up into the glass window of the store across the street, tongue frozen mid-lick of your ice cream. You were in there, without them— with some guy— chatting. Laughing. Suguru’s head rose when he heard the plop of frozen dairy hitting the asphalt, following his friend’s gaze after registering his alarmed expression.

The ebony haired man sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth. “That’s rough.”

In a blink Gojo’s hands grip Shoko’s arms with urgency. “Shoko.” He gritted, hand flying to make wild motions toward the shop.

The girl squinted, spotting you inside after a few seconds, talking to some guy. “Oh. Good for her,” she’d acknowledge coolly around the cigarette at the corner of her lips.

Satoru’s frown drastically deepens.

“You were supposed to stay with her— what happened to girl code?”

“I needed a smoke. And what do you know about girl code?”

“Queens before nicotine!” Satoru stressed while jostling the easygoing girl.

“C’mon, c’moonn, we gotta hurry. Do it like we practiced, alright?”

“These what you’re looking for?” The man who’d originally approached you pulled out a small colorful package from a larger cardboard box, lopsided grin on his plain face as he held it out to you.

“Omg, yes!” You cheered, clasping your hands together. At long last, you’ve been reunited with your cheap blind boxes. “Thank you so much, you have no idea—“

Your name is called out somewhere down the aisle, and when you turn to look, you spot Shoko back from her smoke break.

The brunette looked less than enthused, however, eyes flitting down to very obviously scan some note cards between her fingers. She briefly cleared her throat.

“Another one? Damn girl. Isn’t this your third one today? I thought what we had meant something to you.” She exclaimed flatly, articulating every word like a robot. She shuffles to the next card. “Girl, you crazy.”

???

You stare at her with a gaped jaw and knitted brows, lips barely forming the beginnings of the word “What—“ when you hear the chime of the door. And in the storefront’s entrance stood Suguru- reimagined to look…vaguely thuggish?? Your eyes don’t know where to look, between the rolled up sleeves of his rumpled uniform that showed a poorly scribbled tattoo sleeve on the arm of his pocketed hand, and the jagged scar with a smudge of red that’s suddenly appeared on his right cheek. (You’ll learn later they’re sharpie marker and Shoko’s red lip stain.)

“Hey babe,” BABE?? “Sorry to keep ya waiting. There was…a complication.” He grunts around a toothpick. You only notice he’s lugging a bat over his shoulder when he taps it twice against himself for an intimidating emphasis. He begins to stride toward the three of you, unimpressed glare landing on the man who’s now shuffled slightly behind you. “But there’s no trouble here. Right?”

The poor guy looked ready to piss his pants out of fear. You were ready to explode out of shock and embarrassment.

“I—“ You open and close your mouth like a gasping fish, but no words are forming as your baffled expression shifts between Shoko and Suguru. “What the hell is happening?!”

Admittedly, you did feel a sense of foreboding. Like a piece was missing from this debacle of a puzzle. A grand finale that would ensure you would never set foot into this store for at least another decade out of pure shame.

“Would you step away from her? You homewreckers!”

No. Nononono—

To your horror, large hands clap over your arms, spinning you around to face teary cerulean eyes.

God knows where his uniform jacket’s gone, or where he’s managed to get a tie to wear at the collar of his white button up on such short notice.

The way he laments your name is already enough to make you cringe, his disheveled white hair cascading as he slumps his head forward between his shoulders, his hands bracing on yours.

“I knew you’d be out here, fooling around! Don’t tell me it was a lie? When you said I was the only one for you?? I slave away everyday at that damn office— to provide— for us!!” He’s sobbing, in the midst of his own soapy k-drama. You half expect cherry blossoms to start raining from the tiled ceiling covered in harsh fluorescent lights, or for some violin-heavy ballad to start playing.

“Come home,” he begs, lifting his face stricken with faux tears to meet your eyes. “the kids miss you…”

There are no words to describe how much you wish to disappear. The blood that had drained from your face comes back tenfold, now buzzing in fiery humiliation.

There’s a too heavy, too long, awkward pause.

“…Okay, well. If you don’t need anything else, I should get back to restocking…” The man who’d been the target of Satoru’s strategic wrath half-bowed his head, anxious to shuffle away with a forced polite smile. “Glad I could help you find what you were looking for, miss.”

“Huh.” Both Gojo and Geto chirp in unison, heads tilting in confusion. Only then do the men maybe register the fact the guy who was “hitting on you” was wearing a uniform and a name tag. And then understanding dawned. Not before you yank at either of their ears, unfortunately, which they begrudgingly accept.

“What is wrong with you guys??” You fume, and either of them shrug, wincing when you tug harder. Best to take this sitting down. “Why would you embarrass me like that— and why’re you dressed like the villain of a low budget movie?” Geto glances sideways and you can almost see the guilty cartoon sweat drop.

With a long suffering sigh you release the both of them, whipping around to Shoko with hands on your hips. “Okay, but why’d you go along with this?” You ask in exasperation. She merely gives a halfhearted shrug.

“‘Was bored.” Figures.

“So mean! We had good intentions, where’s the love?” Satoru pouted, faux tears in his eyes as he rubbed at his reddened ear.

“You,” Was all you could muster in a dangerous tone, accusing finger jabbing towards him. He jolted, at least having the decency to look somewhat fearful even if it was mostly overshadowed by thrill. “I know you’re behind this.”

“Sweetness, hey,” He attempted to pacify you, palms forward. “before you get mad, I—“ The squeal that elicits from him is girlish as he twisted just out of your reach. Then he’s booking it. Slippery bastard.

The way he cackles at you as you give chase makes your cheeks burn hotter, curses and promises of strangling him spilling from your lips. He howls when you nearly crash into the ice cream stand while whipping around the corner after him, the owner shouting his own swears at the two of you and…

…and the remainder of the memory escapes you as sunspots dance in your vision. Bright light sears your eyes the moment you manage to blink them open, a bead of sweat rolling from your forehead down the bridge of your nose. You just sit there for a minute like this, dazedly staring at the sky. Trying to hold onto the vivid imagery before it began to fade back into the recesses of your mind once more. With a grumble you gain your bearings, wiping your face with a sleeve as you stand. You swear there’d been shade over this bench when you sat down…just how long had you been sitting here in this heat?

You look side to side. Where have your students gone? Well, your students, and that overgrown manchild—

“Fushigurooo!!”

“No.”

“But Fushigur-“

“Stop following me.”

Your head snaps to where your students are zipping past the sidewalk, Yuji stumbling after Megumi as he stormed off.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Fushiguro! I really thought she was hitting on you— y’know, Bros before Does!” Itadori placated with a pleading gesture of his hands. With one glance behind him however he jolted, picking up the pace into a sprint almost immediately after spotting Kugisaki barreling towards them.

“Itadori, you idiot!” She squawked, waving a fist as if to clobber him once she caught up. “Making us chase down that angsty sea urchin in this heat! You’re gonna get it!!”

All three disappear around that corner where that ice cream stand always used to be posted, an echo of the past. Come to think of it, it hasn’t been around for years, and you idly wonder what became of the old man who used to run it.

As if on cue, Satoru meanders up to you, ruffling his snowy hair as he readjusts his blindfold over his eyes. He beams simply at the sight of you.

Your glare hardens, and he startles. He knows that you know he’s the mastermind behind that spectacle you’d just witnessed. Was it really that long ago since he pulled this same stupid stunt? He never did quite change.

“Ehehehhh,” He pitters nervously, putting on a wide innocent grin as you approach, index scratching a nonexistent itch at his jaw. “Hi sweetie, baby, love of my life—”

What makes him give pause though is the way you just trudge into his side and nod your head against his chest. You feel an arm instinctively wrap around you, and it makes you uncomfortably warm in this hot weather, but you don’t entirely mind it either. “Hey, what’s up,” he murmurs more sincerely, head craning to get a better peek at you. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Is what you mutter in response, still replaying the dream of that memory in your head. It made you feel poignantly happy, but the aftertaste of the emotion left you…tired. “Heat fatigue.”

“Right.” His grip tightened, nestling you closer. He doesn’t say anything, just letting the quiet fill the air aside from the croak of locusts. You wonder if he’s reminiscing on those times, too. Before everything— “I betch’ya got a nasty tan line.”

“Satoru!”

“I’m kidding! You’d be sexy even if you had a redneck tan.”

“Ew, don’t even say that!” You scold even if you can’t keep the ridiculous smile off your face. You still check under your sleeve for good measure, to which he chuckles.

“Wanna get some ice cream?” There’s a smile in his voice, and you feel his lips stamp a kiss to your sweat damp forehead.

“Y’read my mind.”

[halfelven]

okay but ‘our society’ is they in the same way. sorry for not being more specific on an unedited post meant for my circle that escaped containment, as they say. but you can’t say our society and then say ‘they’ isn’t specific enough. it’s the same thing. they being the people who want to continue the way that our societies are being run. essentially conservatives

anyway they specifically would be the various heads of businesses (there are many) and other oligarchs + politicians who work with them to limit the working class’s leisure time and those who work to cut out/cut down children’s leisure time and school recess in order to condition a large group of people into being prepared for nonstop hours of work. this isn’t a conspiracy this is openly discussed in public. i grew up in conservative christian homeschooling circles in the usa and they literally are always talking about this

like to be broad it’s interesting that the upper class do play often, but it’s because they have money to access more adult playthings (think like speedboats, snowmobiles) and they have leisure time. it’s no secret that the upper classes steal the time of the working class, and encouraging the idea of valuing work above play helps to keep the working classes, well, working. also the types of playing that working class adults are encouraged to do in our society are usually not free but things that will make money for some company or other. like legos, going to amusement parks, video games, etc

then these same upper class will call the working class lazy and unfit, now often because they want armies

from whitehouse.gov

"This (poor health in american young adults) poses a dire threat to the American people and our way of life. Seventy-seven percent of young adults do not qualify for the military based in large part on their health scores."

this from the same political party that wants to reinstate child labour. they might argue that child labour is healthy, but fast food jobs, hard labour, any jobs with extended standing without movement are going to hurt the body.

not gonna dox myself but where i grew up in the usa kids didn’t have recess after middle school. i was homeschooled so i just would go run around whenever i wanted to. i live in a different country now which is where the outside gyms are. we would never get those where i grew up. they’re helpful to have, but they don’t replace fun physical activities you have to pay for

like i’m not going to write the history of work in western societies, but it’s pretty clear that right now the same people who are trying to take away even more of working class children’s free time and playtime are crying that their population isn’t exercising enough (so they’re sad they don’t have so many for the army)

where i currently live it’s also mostly conservatives who are pushing for ‘professionalism’ which includes teaching teenagers to stop playing in favour of work, studies and internships. it’s not as bad here as the usa. it’s not as bad here as in a lot of countries. but they also are having problems getting teenagers to have enough physical activity

anyway saying ‘our society’ is as vague as saying ‘they’ and you didn’t give any examples either for specific peoples or pieces of legislation which is annoying if you’re going to say that i’m like trying to cause conspiracies

i keep forgetting that most adults simply grow too tall to play on the playground and it no longer fits them. that + the contempt for play so many societies have makes having fun exercise difficult.

but anyway people were commenting about how many new outside free gyms for adults are going up like ‘why can’t they just build adult sized playgrounds why even outside do we have to do the gym’ and it’s a fair point. they’ve got hanging bars and no jungle gym. climbing the stairs to a high slide is a workout with the slide reward. you could argue that children who are too small would attempt to use it and hurt themselves but there are already different sized playgrounds for children based on their age/growth.

the free outside gyms give you the same boring motions over and over and no room for imaginative play. it is possible (ofc) to find fun exercise but most examples (trampoline park, ninja warrior, rock climbing) are costly. they love to beat playing out of their people and then cry that no one is exercising.

[kxsagi]

May i request an angst/comfort of Reo where reader has a genuine relationship problem she needs to solve with him but Sinc Reo hates conflicts, he just continued spoiling her which leads to an argument (with a happy ending 🙏🙏🙏🙏)

“𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐱”

a/n: this would be so canon i fear

(art credits go to りん on twitter)

you didn’t need another gift. 

not the new earrings he slipped into your bag when you weren’t looking, not the weekend reservation at that spa in hakone, and definitely not the rose gold watch sitting in its pristine little box on the table between you. 

you needed him to listen. 

“reo,” you start softly, picking at your sleeve. “can we talk?” 

“of course,” he says, smiling like he always does. the kind of smile that’s all shine and charm and sugar, designed to soothe before you even know why you’re hurting. 

you glance down at the untouched gift again. “not about the watch.” 

reo chuckles. “you don’t like it? okay. i’ll return it and get something else –” 

“reo.” 

your voice cracks. not loud. not angry. just... tired. 

his smile falters. 

you inhale shakily, eyes fixed on the expensive little box that’s somehow so much easier to look at than him. “you keep doing this thing,” you say, “where you shower me in all this stuff when i’m upset. like you’re trying to... make the problem go away by wrapping it in tissue paper and tying a bow around it.” 

reo shifts uncomfortably, fingers twitching against the armrest of the couch. “i just want you to be happy.” 

“but i’m not,” you whisper. “and i’m trying to talk to you about why, but you keep acting like if you buy me enough things, the issue won’t matter.” 

he doesn’t respond. not immediately. 

the silence stretches long enough that you finally look up at him, and your chest aches at what you find. 

reo’s brows are drawn together, mouth parted like he wants to speak but doesn’t know how. he looks… scared. 

and somehow that hurts worse. 

“reo,” you say gently, “i don’t care about the gifts. i care about you. and if we can’t talk about things that upset us, then what are we even doing?” 

he flinches. like you hit him. and maybe in a way, you did. 

"i’m sorry,” he mumbles finally. “i just... i hate it. conflict. fighting. i grew up watching people around me argue about money, control, business, everything. and it always ended badly. so when you’re upset, i panic. i think, what can i give you so you don’t leave me too?” 

you blink. “reo…” 

his voice wavers. “i know it’s stupid. but every time i see that look on your face, like you’re hurting and i might be the reason, it scares the hell out of me. i thought if i could give you everything, you wouldn’t have a reason to walk away.” 

“reo,” you repeat, heart breaking now, “i’m not leaving you. i just want to feel like you’re with me in the hard moments, too. not just the pretty ones.” 

he exhales sharply. stands. then walks over and sinks down beside you on the couch, head in his hands. 

"i’m sorry,” he says again, quieter this time. “i didn’t realize how much i was shutting you out.” 

you lean into him, resting your forehead against his shoulder. 

“you don’t have to fix everything,” you murmur. “you just have to face it with me.” 

he nods, arm curling around your waist as he pulls you into a proper hug this time, no watch, no bag, no new thing in his hands. just him. 

“okay,” he whispers. “no more running. just us. even when it’s messy.” 

you close your eyes against his chest, exhaling in relief. 

“even when it’s messy.” 

and for the first time in weeks, it actually feels like he hears you. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[mysterymachine67]

PAIRING -> Robert Chase x M!reader

SUMMARY -> Giving him a quick hj in a random closet before getting back to work.

NSFW. MINOR’S DNI.

You shoved him into some oldish looking closet. You didn’t know what it was used for, not that it mattered, but it looked like it held a bunch of random things. Anyway, you had a horny, needy boyfriend you needed to ‘attend’ to. Robert grabbed you, pulled you impossibly close, and pressed his lips against yours. As well as wrapping his arms around your torso. He groaned and chased after your lips when you pulled away, that same groan died down to a wince when you bit his lower lip.

Your hands worked quickly to undo his belt, fumbling with the buckle a few times. “Hurry up,” he urged. Cock throbbing and pressing against his pants.

“You can wait,”

“I can’t. I have to—“

You shut him up in the perfect way, and he couldn’t even argue. Your hand was around his cock, pumping a few times dry before removing it and putting it up to his mouth. “Spit.” And he did, making sure you got enough. Ohhhh the sound that fled from his mouth you couldn’t get enough of. You wanted to fuck him right here, make him scream your name and have everyone know what was going on. Watch as your cock disappeared into him, cum dripping from his hole. And maybe even—

Woah.

You had to stop yourself, otherwise the two of you would be in here for far too long than you needed to be. You knew he’d been pent up in some way. Based on his attitude lately and the way he’s been responding to people. So you finally decided to do something about it. “Mmm..“ his head went back and hit the wall.

“Leakin’ all over. How long have you been wanting this, baby?”

“Too long.” He grunted. If Robert’s sounds don’t get you guys caught, the loud squelching sound made from your hand moving up and down his cock will.

“Why haven’t you told me? Y’know I would’ve changed my schedule.”

“Didn’t come across my mind. Can you hurry—“

“Dr. Chase, I know what I’m doing.” You teased. Though he didn’t find it funny. Only giving you a look when you turned your head to look at him. You traced a vein, hearing a gasp and watching as his hips bucked lightly.

“M’close.” He whined. You thought about fucking with him even more—maybe stopping your hand till he begged and pleaded for you to continue. But he seemed to really care about time right now. So you decided otherwise. Robert’s hands reached out quickly to grasp at your shoulders. He looked down, taking in the sight of your hand moving along his cock. Though when he got closer and closer he moved his head and tilted it back. Hips thrusting into your hand as his orgasm washed over him. White spurts of cum shooting from his cock and getting onto his clothed and your hand. He was loud enough that if someone were to walk by they’d hear. Which you didn’t care but you’re sure he did. Robert huffed and his chest rose up and down quickly. When he calmed down he looked down at his clothes. “Oh god..I can’t go out like this.” You smiled, then proceeded to wipe your hand on his clothes. Now even more was on him.

“Oh! Seriously?”

“Yep.”

[tullipsoftheearth]

“Not Jealous, Just… Observant”

Ellie Williams x fem reader (established relationship)

———

She shuffled next to you like she’d just run a marathon, even though she’d walked, like, two blocks.

“Why are we up early for vegetables?” she muttered, yawning into her sleeve.

You glanced at her. Hoodie half-on, dark circles like she’d been in a war. “Because your entire diet is beef jerky and energy drinks.”

“They’re efficient.”

“They’re a slow death.”

She groaned but didn’t argue further, fingers finding yours as you stepped into the farmer’s market. It was crowded and full of chatter, fresh bread, herbs, people’s dogs in sweaters. Very normal. Very domestic. You loved it.

Ellie looked around like she was being forced to attend a seminar.

You led her toward a table stacked with strawberries that looked way too good to be real. “Look at these.”

Ellie blinked. “They look like strawberries.”

“They look perfect.”

“Still strawberries.”

You ignored her and dropped a basket into your tote, and that’s when she showed up.

She had the whole farmer’s market NPC aesthetic down. Flowy linen pants, vintage sunglasses, gold hoops. Probably made her own oat milk and saged her crystals on the full moon.

She picked up a tomato and smiled. “Careful, that one bruises easy.”

You glanced at her. “Oh—thanks.”

She smiled wider. “Pretty tomatoes for a pretty girl.”

You paused. Ellie did not.

She shifted slightly next to you, just enough that her body language screamed, try me.

“I work here sometimes,” the girl added. “You come here often?”

You opened your mouth, but Ellie beat you to it. “She’s does with me, her girlfriend.”

The girl looked at Ellie like she hadn’t noticed her until just now. “Cool.”

Ellie’s smile was polite, sharp. “Yeah. So cool.”

The girl gave a slow nod and drifted off with some excuse about peaches. Once she was out of earshot, you turned to Ellie, eyebrows raised.

“You good?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “Just saying. She was hovering.”

“She was being nice.”

“She flirted with you using tomatoes.”

You tried not to laugh. “You were jealous.”

“I wasn’t. I was—observing.”

You nudged her. “If I went back and asked her about those peaches—”

“I’d leave you here.”

You grinned. “Mm. Territorial.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t let go of your hand as you wandered past stalls selling bread, candles, jam, and way too many scented things. She muttered complaints the whole time but still let you pull her closer when the crowd got thick.

Then you saw her again. Tomato Girl. At the tea stand.

“Oh, hey,” she said. “Still here?”

Ellie exhaled sharply through her nose. “Yep. Still with me. Wild how that works.”

The girl stared for a second too long, then backed off again.

You turned to Ellie, amused. “You done?”

“I just don’t like when people pretend not to see me standing right there. It’s weird.”

You bumped her shoulder. “You’re so dramatic.”

“She was weird.”

“She complimented the strawberries, not proposed marriage.”

“She wanted you soooo bad.”

You laughed, and Ellie softened again, a hand on your back like she forgot she was mad.

“You know,” you said, “I probably could’ve gotten her number.”

Ellie stopped walking.

You smirked. “Relax. Kidding.”

She groaned. “You are so annoying.”

“I like seeing you flustered.”

She pulled her beanie down lower. “Next time we’re going to target.”

“Romantic.”

Still, she didn’t stop holding your hand the whole way home.

⸻

AN: hii if you guys have any requests or prompts plss let me know :)

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Okay, I am finally able to settle down and read part 2 and I am so excited!!

Again, I really love the soft reader in this fic. She's lovely and kind and there's just something about her that's so endearing that it makes me want to give her a big hug. 💚

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

I'm melting over her reassurance to Dean that she doesn't regret a single second! And the kiss had me screaming!

And then, he’ll be ruined for any other chocolate chip cookies that try to grab his taste buds. He’ll say, Blech. Chips Ahoy? These aren’t as good as Mom makes!

As someone who loves to bake I felt this in my soul. Also I love that you've given us another reader like the reader in Midnight Espresso who likes to take care of other people, because again it's so warm and welcoming and fantastic!

This cozy little scene kind of annoys Dean somehow, though he doesn’t know why. He does know that it shouldn’t.

Dean, Dean, Dean... you know why. We all know why.

She’s going to be a good mom, he thinks. He can only hope against hope that he can be the man his son needs.

I'm so happy at this point, but I just know that Lisa is probably gonna ruin it. Dang it, I love that you included her to cause some friction and some angst, but I'm just living life on the edge of my emotions each time she comes in.

“Why the hell did he have to bring her,” you mutter to yourself, wiping sweat from your brow. Here you are, gritting your teeth through contraction after contraction in this damn hospital bed, and Dean is outside the room talking to Lisa.

And there she is. Why, WHY did he bring her!

You know you have no real reason to be upset. She’s been trying her best to be your friend in recent months. Hell, she helped Eileen and your mom plan your baby shower. She even brought you flowers when she got to the hospital, but you notice how less than five minutes after she got here, she and Dean became embroiled in yet another argument. It seems to you that all they do is argue, break up for a week or two, and then get back together again.

Now I feel bad because I read the next sentence about Lisa being nice. Lisa I'm so sorry. Please accept this potato as my humble apology. 🥔

A large, warm hand rests over yours. Your gaze raises slowly, and Benny smiles at you. He’s serious though. “Don’t you worry about that,” he says. “You’re not gonna be alone.”

Okay... before I dive into the five years later, I just want to say that I feel so bad for Dean, but at the same time you GO Benny! Because he's being so sweet and kind and isn't playing with her emotions, and he's literally there for her even though she's having someone else's kid. Like what a man. 👏🏻

Oh, yeah, and the “you and Benny” thing? That’s been going well for two years now.

Literally screaming yes! I'm so happy for them. And also I love the Robert Plant reference.

Benny is a bit closed off though, the strong stoic type. He’s hard for you to get a read on, and sometimes you wonder if he’s just indulging you when you ramble on about your day or make silly jokes. Even now, sometimes you withhold the first thought that comes to your mind, hoping he doesn’t think you immature or…too much.

Oh buddy... and just like that the happy feeling is starting to ebb away. I mean I'm happy that she has someone, but I hate that she feels like she can't be herself there. It turns into feeling trapped really quick.

Side Note: Love the Jurassic Park reference. I know that you're as big a Jurassic Park girlie as I am!! 🦖

But it's also terrible that he let a four year old watch that 😬

“And she seems happy,” Lisa points out. “Don’t you want the mother of your kid to be with a good man who treats her right?” He nods, trying to hide his growing annoyance. “‘Course I do. I just…I don’t know. I still don’t see them together, I guess.” “Well, they’ve been together for like, two years.”

Baby, he wants to be the good man who treats her right. And don't think I don't see the subtle hinting that you've got going on Lisa. I'm about to take back my potato.

Lisa takes his hands in hers, uncrossing his arms. “I want to get married someday. I want kids too. And I want that kind of life with you…I’m just not sure you want it with me.” Dean expels a heavy sigh. “Lis—” “Don’t answer me right now,” she says, but she levels him with a serious look. “You need to decide though, Dean. Five years is long enough. You should know by now if you want to be with me.”

Dang it. Now I feel bad for Lisa. It's true though. It's literally five years of on and off and where is it going? I see what she's getting at and I do feel for her.

“By ‘we,’ you mean you and Benny,” Dean says, his tone becoming surly. “And about that. Don’t you think a bike is something you should run by me? That’s typically a ‘dad’ kind of gift.”

Ah yes, the classic Dean Winchester get mad at other things because he's too afraid to say the one big thing that he's held close to his heart for the past 5 years. *sigh* 😒

It's sad to me because Dean could have done this five years ago and it would have been less complicated. Now he's been with Lisa for 5 years, and the reader has been with Benny for 2. And yes maybe the reader isn't happy, happy, but in the end there are four people involved in this rather than the two it could have been at the beginning (or maybe 3?).

“Come ‘ere,” Dean says, a little stronger. When he reaches out to his son, the kid hops up onto the bed and buries his face into his father’s chest. Dean holds him as securely as he can, soothing his hand over the boy’s hair and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s okay, little man. ‘M okay,” he promises. Robbie nods, but he still continues to cry.

Oh my word he's such a good dad to Robbie even when he's hurt and I can't take the feelings! 😭

And the fact that Benny calls Dean "brother" is just making the feelings even worse, because I know what's coming and oh man, it's gonna hurt Benny so much.

“Maybe if you and Dean stayed together longer than five minutes at a time, he’d put you back on the short list,” you sling back. “But the truth is, you’ve never just…been there for Dean. Not without demanding something from him.” Lisa scoffs incredulously. “Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you. You’re the reason he can’t commit to anything. You think your little world is the only one that matters, and you call Dean for any little thing! What, don’t you have a boyfriend to help fix your goddamn sink?” 

Oh boy... this is... this is really... I have no words because both of them have points. But I would still like my potato back, thank you very much.

He has to be okay with the fact that you’ll probably marry Benny. You’ll keep making him cookies and cakes, giving him your smile and your time and your body. And Robbie will probably think of Benny as more of a father than his own Weekend Dad.  Meanwhile, you’ve spent the past few months keeping yourself in check as well. You’ve stopped calling Dean for help whenever something breaks down in your old-ass apartment. You try to keep your conversations less about life and troubles and whatever funny thing your students did that day in class, and more focused on Robbie–strictly about his schedule and his needs.

This is KILLING ME ALEX! They just need to communicate with one another instead of shutting each other out! DANG IT! SPEAK! DEAN STOP DOING THE SUFFER IN SILENCE BIT! We all know you can look super hot while you're brooding, but COME ON! I just want to hit him with a frying pan!

And her! Oh my word. I love her but please, PLEASE call Dean! He's your friend! You like him!

“That was you asking me out?” you ask incredulously.

Nice and safe.

Like an end table. Because that's what every woman wants from her significant other 🤣

Also I'm literally cackling over the fact that Dean and Benny chose the same night to ask their ladies to marry them. Their brains are so in sync LOL.

The only face he can conjure is yours. Your eyes are warm and welcoming, your smile as bright and contagious as your laugh. The only voice he can hear is yours, gentle and strong at the same time. The only one he can see is you. He knows the shampoo you use an

FINALLY!

“Maybe you did, in your own way,” she says, laughing a little through her tears as she wipes them away. “But you already have a family, Dean. Go fight for it.” 

She can have a whole truck full of potatoes. She did the right thing and the "Go fight for it," is just so lovely.

“It’s over. For good this time,” Dean shakes his head. “I realized what I wanted for my life, and where my heart is…” And he chuckles weakly. “Truth is, you’ve had it the whole time, sweetheart.”

Not like I’ve just hurt him, you think. Guilt still pricks at your heart. The last thing you ever wanted to do was lead him on, and yet, that’s what you’d done, wasn’t it? You thought you had loved him. You’re sure that you did, but maybe it just wasn’t the kind of love that could reach down deep and grab you, set your blood on fire, and make you ache when the burn was gone. That spark licks across your skin when Dean takes your hands.  

I especially love this little bit, because you describe what the reader wants in love (what we all want LOL) and then you add the difference when Dean touches her. But I also completely understand her hesitancy to go to Dean even though it's what her heart is telling her. She's trying not to get her heart broken and yet Dean is the person she's held there for so long.

Dean never imagined that his own son would hand him the ring he gives to his wife, but today, it just feels like symmetry. He grins and winks at Robbie.

Oh goodness THE WEDDING! IT'S HAPPENING!

Can I ask how long it's been since they got back together? I love the time skip, but I'm just curious to see how long Dean waited to pop the question. 😊

Also the stuff about Benny is so sad- I'm beyond happy for the reader and Dean (their love makes me so happy)- but dang he was Dean's best friend. And the stuff about Dean saying that this wasn't how he wanted to be promoted, I'm having so many feelings AHHHHH! But I wish Benny happiness. Who knows? Maybe he and Lisa will meet up in a few years and bond 🤪

(I also felt the need to add the next paragraph because I read the comments)

Also I'm gonna say this- I like what you did with Lisa and with Benny. I think that it made sense to add them in this and I think that Lisa added a catty/dramatic energy and Benny sort of became the (terrible word) placeholder for Dean to the reader, but both of these characters were helpful for moving the story along. And I think that Dean's character makes sense because yes at the beginning he was a playboy, but then he started to feel the stability of the reader, started to crave something more than what he had in his life- and instead of going with her, he clung to Lisa. Just as the reader wanted something more and started to date Benny, but missed the electricity of what the reader thought love should feel like. Dean and the reader both felt the need to push down their feelings and search in the wrong places for what they wanted from each other. At least that's how I took it and I loved every single second of this fic and how you wrapped everything up!

ALEX, this fic was amazing! It had me feeling all the feels on this wonderful, beautifully written emotional rollercoaster. I can't wait to read the epilogue!

IF I STAY - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!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: Deep breaths Are you ready for a rollercoaster of emotions? 😘❤️

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” and “It’s Now or Never” by Elvis

Word Count: 13.1K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, pregnancy feels, hurt/comfort, fluff, time jumps and flashbacks, sexual tension, mutual pining, spice~, and an ending…

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 2: It’s Now or Never

At the doctor’s office, Dean goes in with you for the first trimester ultrasound. There you learn that you’re going to have a boy. Tears well up in your eyes and slip down your cheeks.

Dean wears a look of amazement as he sits on the edge of your bed. He takes up your hand and squeezes gently. He tries to be a strong support, even though he also tries to hide the fear that begins to churn in his gut.

For one of the first times in his life since Sam was born, he feels the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. In a good way. In a fucking scary way.

He looks at you and sees the wonder written across your face while you watch the tiny shape of your baby on the screen. His heartbeat thwaps fast and loud in the speakers.

Dean realizes something else then; the decision you're making is changing the course of your whole damn life…and it’s his fault.

With his weekly hookup rate, in the very back shelves of his mind he knew something like this could happen, even though he thought he'd been careful. (Apparently, condoms are fragile little shits.) But here, in this white wall-to-wall room that smells like hospital antiseptic, that thwap thwap thwap of a heartbeat reverberating in his ears, the reality of this is crashing hard on his shoulders and rattling down to the base of his spine.

Despite his earlier happiness, those thoughts stay with him when you two eventually get back into his car. You have the pictures of the sonogram in your hands. You smile down at them before you put them back in your purse for safekeeping.

However, you notice Dean’s sudden melancholy as he stares out at the road. He’s started the car, but he hasn’t moved to pull out of the parking lot yet.

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you, incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours and achingly familiar. But ultimately, it’s chaste. He pulls away and settles back in his seat.

When you blink your eyes back open, your expression is slack in shock.

“I’m sorry,” he says, seeming sheepish, and guilty. “I meant to say thank you. Just didn’t know any other way to say it.”

After a moment, you smile at him. It’s warm and almost shy.

Dean clears his throat, trying to ignore the way his face is heating up. He doesn’t say anything more. He just takes the wheel and shifts gears, pulling the car out of the parking lot. 

You don’t know what possesses you to bake cookies. Dozens and dozens of them, all the chocolate chip cookie recipes you can find. You’re in search of the perfect one. This will be the recipe your son will grow up on, and every time he eats them, he’ll remember how much you loved him.

And then, he’ll be ruined for any other chocolate chip cookies that try to grab his taste buds. He’ll say, Blech. Chips Ahoy? These aren’t as good as Mom makes!

…Or something like that.

Yes, these cookies have to be perfect. You’ll even write the ingredients down on a notecard and hide it away, and it’ll become your family secret recipe.

Once you feel like your cookie game is strong enough, you decide to test these babies out. You bring two dozen painstakingly baked confections to Firehouse 83, where Dean works. The man is a bottomless pit, to be sure, but you also want other people’s unbiased opinions. For science.

You park your car on the side of the road, making sure you’re not blocking the driveway where two huge fire trucks are parked. You head inside the firehouse with your big container under your arm and your purse on the other. Now at seven months into your pregnancy, you’ve gotten to the embarrassing “waddle” stage.

You’re still determined to be active though! You plan to keep working until you have the baby. Your parents live a few hours away, but you’re grateful that they want to help out as much as possible.

Even though they weren’t happy to hear about how you got pregnant, by now they've met Dean and begrudgingly admitted to liking him. He's really stepped up to the responsibility of a future father, insisting on baby-proofing your apartment, helping you shop for the essentials, and going with you to as many doctor’s appointments as he can. He’s even agreed to giving you child support payments, even though you hadn’t wanted to ask for it.

You look for him now as you enter the firehouse, trying to push the heavy glass door open with one hand.

“Here, I got you,” says a familiar baritone voice.

You’re pleasantly surprised at the man who helps you inside.

“Benny! It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, been…a while,” he chuckles, glancing down at the swell of your belly, but he squeezes your shoulder and leans in to hug you gently.

“Dean filled you in?” you ask. You hope so. Having to explain the story to one of his own friends would be embarrassing, especially since this is the man you walked in Sam’s wedding with. It reminds you of that day, and the way you told Dean that news in a glorified closet, with shaking hands and the wrong kind of butterflies.

Thankfully, Benny nods. “That he did…but come on, I’ll show you around. And I see you’ve brought somethin’ special for us?”

He gestures at the container you're holding and offers to take it off your hands. You give it to him, grateful for the help.

“Yeah, and I want you guys to give me your honest opinion.”

Benny tosses you a wink and a smile. “That I can do.”

Your cheeks begin to warm in a blush, but the way he helps you to a comfy couch in the common room earns your smile. There are still good men left in this world, and you’re glad to know that Dean works so well with one.

“You want some coffee, or water? Think we might have some lemonade,” Benny says.

“Water would be great, thank you,” you reply, as you rub your belly. The little man has decided to kick at your liver today. “I stopped drinking coffee for the baby. ”

It's your biggest challenge, to be honest. Try wrangling a group of fifteen to twenty six-year-olds while running on green tea, the fumes of sleep deprivation, reduced bladder control, and as much vim as you can muster.

“Ah, right,” Benny nods. “My sister has two kids. She cut out coffee, pain meds, some dairy stuff. But she claimed cheesecake was all right, ‘cause it’s got cake in the name.”

You giggle. “I see no flaw in her logic.”

Down the hall of the firehouse, Dean is just coming back in from going through a set of drills. He’s still the Candidate—the freshest blood in the house—so they’ve been putting him through his paces for the past several months. He’s eager to learn and to prove himself.

His ears perk up in confusion though. Did he just hear your voice?

Why does it smell like a bakery in here?

When he rounds the corner, he sees you in the common room, smiling and giggling like a teenager at something Benny said to you while he eats a soft baked cookie right out of a Tupperware container. You must’ve brought it for the firehouse.

This cozy little scene kind of annoys Dean somehow, though he doesn’t know why. He does know that it shouldn’t.

“Hey, look who’s here,” Dean says, forcing himself to smile. It becomes easier when you look his way, your eyes brightening at his arrival.

“There you are! Come ‘ere and try these,” you say, pointing at the box Benny holds. “Tell me if our son’s going to have the best PTA mom ever.”

Dean can’t help but grin after trying a big bite of one of your cookies.

“Oh, mah Gah,” he says, holding a hand under his mouth so nothing comes crumbling out.

“Good?” you ask.

“Good friggin’ cookie,” he confirms, after he swallows. “You’re gonna have the other parents frothing at the mouth. Who’s gonna be able to compete with this?”

Benny nods in agreement. When Dean squeezes your shoulder, your sweet, happy smile makes him smile too.

She’s going to be a good mom, he thinks. He can only hope against hope that he can be the man his son needs.

Two months later, the time has finally come. Your water breaks when you’re in the middle of teaching your second graders how to spell exaggerate—and no, Joey, it’s not e-g-g-zagerate.

However, the embarrassment of him pointing out the fluid beginning to stain your slacks is swiftly cut off by your shock. Your first call is to the principal, to have her send someone to cover your class. Your next call is to Dean, telling him to meet you at the hospital.

“Why the hell did he have to bring her,” you mutter to yourself, wiping sweat from your brow. Here you are, gritting your teeth through contraction after contraction in this damn hospital bed, and Dean is outside the room talking to Lisa.

You know you have no real reason to be upset. She’s been trying her best to be your friend in recent months. Hell, she helped Eileen and your mom plan your baby shower. She even brought you flowers when she got to the hospital, but you notice how less than five minutes after she got here, she and Dean became embroiled in yet another argument. It seems to you that all they do is argue, break up for a week or two, and then get back together again.

The sex must be explosive, like the fireworks at goddamn Disney World.

But Dean eventually does come back into the room alone. His support grounds you over the next few hours. He lets you basically break his hand, all while he gives you encouragement (and stands by your shoulder, so he doesn’t see anything you’d rather him not see).

And then, your son is born. Every muscle, every cell in your body is exhausted, but the pain meds have kicked in, and you’re in that blissed out state between abject reality and being entirely entranced by the bundle in your arms. His perfect face is just there, sleeping for the moment after the nurses taught you how to breastfeed.

Dean returns to sit in the chair beside you. He gives you some water and a piece of a protein bar. You’re not that hungry, but he pointed out that you haven’t eaten since before your water broke.

“Sam and Eileen are on their way up,” he says.

You nod in reply. You’re too into your son right now to think of anything else.

Dean shakes his head in wonder as he reaches out with a tentative hand, brushing his fingers over the baby’s downy head. He was born with a little tuft of brown hair.

“Okay, down to business,” Dean says, shooting you a playful look. “I vote for Zeppelin.”

You groan. “Dean, no. Veto. I’m not naming my son after a rock band.”

“Aw, come on. It’s a badass name!”

“What about Aiden?” you suggest.

“Veto,” he snorts. You two agreed to getting five “vetos” each, but this discussion has been more like a battle of wills over the last several months.

“Okay, what about Daniel? That’s strong, classic,” you pose.

Dean considers it with a tilt of his head. “All right, that one’s a maybe.”

Again, he strokes the baby’s soft cheek. You look over at Dean with a small smile.

“You’re going to be a good dad, you know,” you tell him. It earns his gaze. Although he’s trying to stay strong, you read the hidden insecurity there, the worry and fear. You rest a hand on his arm. “You are, Dean. You’re a good man, and you’ve really stepped up these past few months. This obviously isn’t how either of us thought our lives would go, but if this had to happen with someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

Dean’s expression softens. He hesitates, but he lays a hand over yours and squeezes gently.

“Thanks,” he says.

Your eyes meet, and it’s a moment charged with something you can’t even name. It’s not the first time you’ve felt this feeling with him. It both fills your heart with warmth, and makes you ache.

Then the door opens. It’s Lisa, Sam, and Eileen. Dean’s hand slips away from yours as they all pour in to congratulate you and Dean, and of course, meet the baby. There’s a lot of soft cooing and playful shushing.

In that small chaos, your parents call to tell you that they’re finally almost here. It really sucked not having your mom with you, but your parents live far enough away that they were going to take a train and stay with you for at least a week. Their train unfortunately got delayed due to mechanical failure.

It's okay though. Getting through the past several hours has made you realize that you’re stronger and more capable than you think, and even though part of you is still scared to death, you don’t need a husband to be a good mom. You’re going to give this your all, no matter who’s beside you…

And that's no more apparent than when Dean soon has to step out again, leading Lisa out of the room. He saw how her “helpful” suggestion to have a get-together at their apartment to celebrate the baby’s birth was setting you on edge. Really, you just want to sleep for the next 24-hours and not have any more pictures of you taken.

It gets loud enough outside your hospital room that Sam and Eileen feel they have to intervene. Lisa is Eileen’s best friend, and she’s the best equipped to try and deescalate the argument from that end, while Sam deals with Dean. It’s messy, it’s irritating, and it means that even today, you can’t just have a little bit of peace.

You sigh and cradle your still nameless baby close to your chest. He’s all that matters. Already, your heart is so damn full just taking him in.

“What’s your name, my little love?” you whisper. “What am I going to write on your certificate, besides Winchester?”

“How about Benjamin,” comes a Louisiana drawl.

You perk up and smile in surprise. “Benny, hey.”

He greets you with a slightly hesitant kiss on the cheek. He’s brought the baby an adorable teddy bear, and you a beautiful bouquet of white and blue roses, along with a box of chocolates.

“It’s the assorted kind, but they’ve got plenty of the caramel ones you like,” he says, then gazes down at the baby. “Aw, he’s a little charmer. Already got more of you than Dean, that’s for sure.”

You laugh lightly at his teasing. “I don’t know about that.” You hope your son inherits Dean’s strong jaw, and his green eyes.

Benny scratches the back of his head. “Also…sorry if I’m crossing some kind of boundary here. Looks like it’s a bit of a circus outside.”

You shake your head and smile through burgeoning tears. You set the chocolates on the end table where he’s placed the flowers and the teddy bear.

“No, it’s very sweet. Thank you,” you say. You glance out the window of your room to the hallway, where the arguing between Dean, Lisa, Sam, and Eileen seems to finally be calming down. You’re so damn tired, you don’t give a crap about whatever they’re hashing out now.

You look down at your son, and despite your strong thoughts earlier, insecurity begins to creep back into your mind like inky claws.  

“How are you holding up?” Benny asks. His face is kind and concerned when he notes the change in you.

You meet him with a wobbly smile. “Honestly? I’m afraid. I know I have a lot of people who want to support me, and I’m grateful, but…I just have this terrible feeling that we’re going to end up alone, him and me.”

You look down at your son, and you have to wipe away a tear from your eye before it falls on his face.

A large, warm hand rests over yours. Your gaze raises slowly, and Benny smiles at you. He’s serious though.

“Don’t you worry about that,” he says. “You’re not gonna be alone.”

FIVE YEARS LATER... 

For all that changes, there are some things that stay the same.

Dean and Lisa are still the world’s most “off again, on again” couple you’ve ever met. Sam and Eileen are still going strong as the hardworking, driven career couple. Your son is growing more and more every day and just started kindergarten this year.

(You ultimately caved on Dean’s idea to name him Robert, as in Robert Plant, lead singer of Led Zeppelin.)

Oh, yeah, and the “you and Benny” thing? That’s been going well for two years now.

What can you say? The man is persistent, but respectfully so. He’s considerate, reliable, and always calls you when work at the firehouse has him running late.

You haven’t yet invited him to move in with you. That part you’re still hesitant on, mostly because of your son, but Benny helps you drop off Robbie at school and makes breakfast for you all whenever he stays over your apartment. Benny takes an interest in your son’s life and keeps up with all his energy, taking him to the park to run himself ragged before dinner, and helping you tuck him in at night.

Benny is a bit closed off though, the strong stoic type. He’s hard for you to get a read on, and sometimes you wonder if he’s just indulging you when you ramble on about your day or make silly jokes. Even now, sometimes you withhold the first thought that comes to your mind, hoping he doesn’t think you immature or…too much.

But Benny shows his caring in all those little things he does for you. They add up into the big things, and he makes you feel supported. He makes you feel safe.

He even helps you plan your son’s fifth birthday. Robbie wanted to go all out on a dinosaur theme; he’s been hooked on Jurassic Park ever since Benny “accidentally” let him watch it with him on one of your rare nights out with your friends.

So you set up a little party at the park by your apartment. You managed to reserve the biggest gazebo, where there are three picnic tables covered with dinosaur plates, and tablecloths, streamers in different shades of green. You even bought a big dinosaur cake—also in a radioactive green color that you hadn’t been sure about, but your son talked you into. Robbie thinks it’s awesome.

He’s running around on the playground with a few of his friends from school. Their parents (along with Sam, Eileen, and Lisa) are talking amongst themselves at one of the picnic tables while you try to figure out how to get the Bluetooth speaker to connect with your phone.

“Haha! Got it. If you're so smart, Alexa, why don't you connect on the first try?” You fist-pump the air triumphantly, just as Benny comes to your side. He wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek, making you smile.

“How’s it going out there?” you ask, nodding at the kids. Plus Dean, who’s gamely been the one to keep them entertained with different games. Right now, it’s a thrilling game of Cowboys and Outlaws, where Robbie and his friends are the cowboys, and Dean is the outlaw. He’s been hiding under the slide, behind trees and other playground fixtures, while the kids have little squirt guns to pelt him with water every time they find him.

It's pretty damn cute, and you’ve been taking pictures. You smile at the sight of Dean leaping out at Robbie and the kids, catching them off guard.

“You’ll never take me alive, Sheriff!” Dean declares.

“Oh, it’s goin’,” Benny remarks with an amused shake of his head. “Still hard to believe that guy’s about to make it to Lieutenant.”

“Hahaaa, gotcha!!” Dean cackles. He’s grabbed up Robbie and yanked him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Robbie screeches with laughter while his dad runs around the playground, being chased by a bunch of five-year-olds with squirt guns.

Your smile threatens to make your cheeks hurt. You know your life is…unconventional, to say the least, but Dean is a good father to your son. He’s also been working hard at his job. He just took the Lieutenant’s test, and even though Benny already occupies that position at Firehouse 83, a spot at another firehouse might open up for Dean to transfer.

“Part of me doesn’t want to,” Dean admitted to you last week, while he was working on fixing your stubborn, leaky sink. “All the guys there, they’re like family, you know?” “I understand,” you nodded. “You have to do what feels best for you, whether that’s staying where you feel comfortable, or moving up in your career somewhere else. If it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it.” He took in your advice with a slow nod. “Yeah, thanks. Guess I have to time to think about it. Lisa had other ideas.” “Of course,” you said with a smile, but it soon dropped. “Why, what did she say?” “Do what I can to move up,” he sighed. “She’s got a point. That title comes with a pay bump, one I could really use right now.” “I get that. Totally valid,” you said. “But I just think it’s important for you to be happy with it too. Especially with what you do, helping people, saving people…I’d imagine being in the right mindset for all that is important, right? Who you work with can be just as important as the money stuff.” Dean considered you with a smile. “Yeah, exactly.”

As you think about it now, you have to admit that he’s grown up a lot.

Dean has to lean against a tree to catch his breath. Am I already getting too old for this crap?

Feels kind of young to have a stitch in his side after a few rounds with these kids, but even he has his limits. Lisa comes to bring him a bottle of ice-cold water, which he appreciates. He’s tempted to dump it over his head like he does after successfully neutralizing a fire. It gets literally hot as hell under that helmet and mask and all his gear underneath.

“Need an iron lung?” Lisa teases.

“Toss in a new pair of knees, thanks,” he wheezes. He downs half the water bottle in one go, but he smiles at seeing his son keep running around with his friends. He’s just got that manic kid energy that goes on for days. But Robbie’s also smart; like Dean, he likes taking things apart and putting them back together in new and ingenious ways.

Dean hopes his son likes the new model car set that’s waiting for him on the picnic table full of presents. In fact, he’s still surprised that you didn’t go with the race car theme he suggested for the party, but apparently, Robbie’s more into dinosaurs now. Dean wishes he knew that before he bought the model car set.

He looks over and catches sight of you and Benny wrapped up in each other. He has his arm around your waist while you fiddle with something, but the way you lean over and whisper near his ear elicits a smile on Benny’s face.

Dean’s good mood diminishes.

“Well, don’t they seem cozy,” he mutters.

Lisa arches a manicured brow. “Yeah, pretty sure he’s getting ready to propose.”

That earns Dean’s attention, his head swiveling back to her in surprise.

“Really?” he asks. “Who told you that?”

“His sister,” she replies. “Meg’s in my intermediate class, remember?”

Dean nods, sipping at his water, even though he’s a bit absent in the eyes. Lisa watches him shrewdly.

“Why do you seem upset about it?” she asks. “Benny’s your friend.”

“I know,” Dean says. He doesn’t need that reminder, or the guilty twinge. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong.

“And she seems happy,” Lisa points out. “Don’t you want the mother of your kid to be with a good man who treats her right?”

He nods, trying to hide his growing annoyance. “‘Course I do. I just…I don’t know. I still don’t see them together, I guess.”

“Well, they’ve been together for like, two years.”

Again, Dean nods his acknowledgement. It’s hard for him to believe that so much time has passed already. He honestly didn’t think you and Benny would be together this long. He’d always felt a little uncomfortable with one of his best friends dating you, but you’d seemed happy about it, so he didn’t discourage it. But he’d never been very supportive, either. At least, not about your relationship.

Lisa sighs and grabs his arm, pulling him aside before he can rejoin the party.

“Listen, we need to talk about something,” she says.

Dean restrains a tired groan. “Can this wait ‘til later?”

“I think we should do this now,” she says. A hallmark Lisa-ism. She’s opinionated and strong-willed, something Dean’s always respected about her. Sometimes though, the timing is damn irritating. He doesn’t want to get into another argument with his girlfriend in public, especially not at his son’s birthday party.

“Speaking of commitment,” she says with a sigh. “I think it’s fair to say that we’ve been on a five-year rollercoaster, you and I. You know why that is?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me,” Dean says, crossing his arms.

“It’s because you’re spread too thin,” she says. “Between the firehouse, construction jobs on the side…not to mention other things.”

“What? What’re you talking about?”

Lisa’s lips purse, before she pointedly gestures over at you with her eyes. “Well, for example. You’re still going to her place after your next shift to fix her fridge, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, should be pretty simple. I’ve just gotta swing by the hardware store and grab this specialty tool I ordered—”

“Dean,” Lisa deadpans. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about.”

She heaves a deep breath, running her fingers through her long brown hair.

“I get that navigating this situation hasn’t been easy for you,” she says. “It hasn’t exactly been easy for me either, but look.”

Lisa takes his hands in hers, uncrossing his arms. “I want to get married someday. I want kids too. And I want that kind of life with you…I’m just not sure you want it with me.”

Dean expels a heavy sigh. “Lis—”

“Don’t answer me right now,” she says, but she levels him with a serious look. “You need to decide though, Dean. Five years is long enough. You should know by now if you want to be with me.”

After letting go of his hands, she softens the edges of her words with a gentle kiss on his cheek. Then she turns to join the group now gathered around the picnic table where the food is, all the kids cheering for pizza and cake.

After the party, Sam, Eileen, Lisa, and Benny pack up their cars and yours with the leftover food, party supplies, and presents. Dean helps you clean up the trash, all while keeping an eye on Robbie getting out the last of his sugar-high on the playground swing.

You shake your head tiredly, if with a fond smile. “That kid’s gonna be up all night hype on that radioactive cake.”

Dean chuckles. “You want me to take him tonight?”

“It’s okay. I think he’s going to want to play with his toys,” you reply.

“Well, he could just as easily do that at my place,” he reasons.

You consider it, but you shake your head. “Yeah, but we got him the bike. He’s probably gonna want to try it out for a few minutes before we get him cleaned up.”

“By ‘we,’ you mean you and Benny,” Dean says, his tone becoming surly. “And about that. Don’t you think a bike is something you should run by me? That’s typically a ‘dad’ kind of gift.”

You pause what you’re doing at the sound of his tone. Your brows knit together.

“Sorry, but I feel like a bike isn’t exclusively a dad thing,” you say.

“My dad got me my first bike,” Dean replies. “Spent a whole three days teaching me how to ride.”

You take a minute to think about it. You understand where Dean’s coming from, so you nod.

“Okay, I get it. You want to be there to help teach Robbie? I’m sure he’d love that.” 

Dean tosses a wadded-up ball of frosting-covered napkins and stops, letting his hands fall to his sides in frustration. He draws closer and helps you untie the balloons from the picnic table.

“Yeah, I do, but that’s not the point,” he says. “Why can’t I take him home tonight?”

You blink up at him in confusion. “Well, like I said. The bike—”

“That I should’ve gotten for him,” he snaps. “Which, let me guess, Benny picked out. Right?”

You frown at him in earnest now. “Dean, why are you getting so upset about it? It’s just a bike.”

“Well you know what, it’s not! And it’s not just the damn bike either.” He swipes a hand over his face in annoyance, a telltale sign you’ve come to read well on the man. “Look, I’m missing too much shit, all right? Like, like the dinosaur thing! And the fact that I only get him on the weekends.”

You turn toward him, trying to put a cap on your own annoyance. This isn’t the first time you two have had a conversation like this. 

“We’ve gone over this before, Dean. Your schedule at the firehouse is just too unpredictable,” you say. “Robbie needs as much stability as possible between us. But…okay, if you want to take him tonight, that’s fine. We can bring the bike over to your place and show it to him there.”

You’re trying to be as reasonable as possible, and Dean knows that. Still, anger prickles just under his skin, and he can’t help but push his luck.

“You still should’ve asked be before you got the bike in the first place,” he argues.

Your brows raise high. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Look, it’s not like we bought him a Honda Civic. Honestly, Dean, why are you picking a fight with me right now?” you ask. “Did you and Lisa get into it again or something?”

Dean looks away and crosses his arms, giving you all the confirmation you need.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you nod. “I saw you two over there on the playground, looked pretty heated. But do me a favor. Don’t come at me with that energy, because I’m too damn tired of it!”

When you walk away from him, Dean can’t help but stare after you. He knows he fucked that up, just as he knows that you don’t deserve him snapping at you. He’s just too irritated to admit it.

For the entire week that follows, Dean finds himself distracted. He sticks to his word and helps Benny teach his son how to ride a bike in between their shifts at the firehouse, but Dean comes home each night feeling even more frustrated and drained than before. It’s too much, knowing Benny’s slowly but surely carving out a father-figure role in Robbie’s life.

These thoughts follow Dean to work, even while he climbs up the firetruck ladder in the rain. It’s parallel to a busted utility pole that still sparks with electricity, even in this torrential downpour. His task is to get up to the top and grab a large branch that’s tangled in the lines.

Rung after rung, he climbs. His safety mask protects his eyes from the rain, but he wishes they had some mini windshield wipers to keep his vision clear of the droplets pelting him in the face.

He also can’t help thinking of you. If Lisa’s right, then Benny’s about to become a more permanent fixture in Robbie’s life, and yours. 

Okay fine. It’s not like Dean expected you to be single forever, but did you really have to get with one of his best friends? Does it really have to be Benny, who seems so natural with Robbie, and more patient than Dean, and more of a support to you and Robbie than Dean can ever be?

And then there’s Lisa’s little ultimatum. He understands why she’s frustrated with him. Honestly, he’s surprised she’s stuck around this long. He knows she’s not going to wait too much longer for him to get his act together. For him to decide, as she put it.

It’s not that he’s not sure about her, it’s just that…

Just that what? he wonders.

He manages to grab the wily tree branch and maneuver it out of the power lines. 

He just doesn’t realize that his glove doesn’t have quite enough friction on the metal side panel of the ladder. Not only does his hand slip, but he’s forced to let go of the branch while he loses his balance. The branch falls to the sidewalk, far, far down below.

“Dean!” Benny shouts in alarm.

Luckily, the truck itself breaks Dean's fall.

Holding Robbie’s hand tightly in yours is the only thing keeping you steady as you lead him through the hospital. After the receptionist had checked you both in and gave you the room number, you hastened down the hall and up to the right floor. 2005.

Robbie breaks into tears when he finally gets to see his dad, laid up though he is in his hospital bed. Your throat tightens at the sight of Dean hooked up to all those monitors. He has his arm wrapped up and fitted into a sling. He has a thick piece of gauze taped to the side of his face, covering a wide, angry abrasion, but he seems to be resting easy on his back. The bed is at an incline, with most of the overhead lights turned off.

Robbie rushes to the bed before you can stop him. He hesitantly touches Dean’s non-injured right hand. “Daddy?”

“Robbie, wait,” you say, keeping your voice quiet. You quickly go over to the bedside and grab ahold of Robbie’s shoulders, but Dean takes a deep breath. His eyelids crack open.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, attempting a smile. His voice is rough and weak, but at least he’s awake.

Robbie’s lower lip wobbles as tears fill his eyes again.

“Come ‘ere,” Dean says, a little stronger. When he reaches out to his son, the kid hops up onto the bed and buries his face into his father’s chest. Dean holds him as securely as he can, soothing his hand over the boy’s hair and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“It’s okay, little man. ‘M okay,” he promises. Robbie nods, but he still continues to cry.

You can’t help but do the same. Tears slip down your cheeks without your consent. Dean beckons you over too, gesturing with his chin and a slight smile. You’re more tentative in the way you sit down at the edge of his bed. You run your fingers through Robbie’s light brown hair to help reassure him. Then, you meet Dean’s gaze and lay a hand on his good shoulder. You don’t know whether you’re steadying him, or yourself.

“How do you feel?” you ask. “The hospital called me. Benny told me what happened.”

The thought reminds you to text your boyfriend. You hadn’t had a chance to tell him you made it here yet. He must be downstairs grabbing a bite to eat, because he’s the one who rode with Dean in the ambulance and has been with him for a while.

“The hospital called you?” Dean notes in slight confusion.

“Eileen told me that Sam is in court right now, so I must’ve been next on the list,” you say. He also must have taken Lisa off his emergency list the last time they broke up for almost a month. He probably forgot to update it again.

You reach out a hand to almost touch the bandage by his temple. Instead, you hesitantly hold the side of his face to see the area better. Dean closes his eyes for a moment. You can see he’s in pain. Your hand lingers on his cheek, but you know, deep down, that it shouldn’t.

Dean doesn’t stop you though. He lets out a deep breath, savoring how nice the gentle touch feels when the rest of his body feels battered to hell.

“Fell off the ladder. Was a stupid rookie move,” he explains, but when he sees that look on your face, he tries to inject a little more joking into a smile. “S’ not so bad.”

“You could’ve broken your head as well as your arm,” you say, more sharply than you mean to.

Robbie whimpers and clings tighter to Dean. You cover your mouth, as if you can trap the words back inside. You don’t want to upset your son more than he already is, so you fall silent. Another tear works its way down your cheek, but you brush it away. Dean shakes his head.

“Hey, I’m okay,” he reassures you too. He manages to smile as he pats Robbie’s back. “Right, buddy?”

The boy’s head perks up. His eyes are still shiny, but he smiles too. He’s not one to speak when he’s upset though, so he just curls up against Dean’s chest and hangs onto him. Dean rests his good arm snugly around him.

You smile and stroke Robbie’s back. Though your hand lowers, resting on Dean’s hand. You take in a deep breath to calm yourself down. Dean’s fingers curl around yours, prompting you to glance up into his eyes. The way he’s watching you is soft, grateful.

Until the door creaks open. Benny steps in with a subtle clearing of his throat. You jolt internally, and you slip your hand away from Dean’s. You offer your boyfriend a wan smile.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey, baby.” He comes over and greets you with a kiss to the side of your head. He smiles at your son gently. “The gang’s all here.”

“Oh! Let me call Sam, and Lisa too. They still don’t know what’s going on,” you say. You get up from the bed to grab your phone out of your purse. Dean nods in agreement and thanks you, while Robbie plays with his dad's long fingers.

“How you holdin’ up, brother?” Benny asks, after you step out of the room. He settles into the chair near the foot of the bed.

“Ah, you know me. I’m like a cat. Always stick the landing,” Dean says, smiling lazily. The morphine is starting to kick in again.

Benny smirks. “Maybe you do got nine lives, the amount of close calls you like gettin’ yourself into.”

Dean’s good humor fades. He considers his son in his arms, and he shakes his head.

“Yeah, well, no more,” he says. He got a taste of what it would be like to leave his boy behind, and he’s not fucking doing it. He’s not leaving you to raise Robbie by yourself. The mere idea tears a new hole in his heart.

His eyes sting just enough that he has to blink a bit harder, swallowing past a thick well of emotion in his throat. He presses another kiss to the top of Robbie’s head. Then, Dean meets Benny’s gaze.

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it.

Benny nods.

“You got it, brother.”

When Lisa steps off the hospital elevator on the second floor, you happen to be coming out of the bathroom to fix your racoon eyes. You’ve been crying way too much. You attempt to greet Lisa with something reassuring, but she cuts you off. 

“What happened, and why didn’t the hospital call me directly?” she asks.

Her tone is cutting, and it takes you aback.

“Well, Sam and I were listed as his emergency contacts—”

“Why?” she snaps. “You’re not his wife or his girlfriend. I should’ve been listed.”

Jesus Christ. At this point, you can’t help it. You’re too tired and emotionally drained to lasso in your temper with this woman.

“Maybe if you and Dean stayed together longer than five minutes at a time, he’d put you back on the short list,” you sling back. “But the truth is, you’ve never just…been there for Dean. Not without demanding something from him.”

Lisa scoffs incredulously. “Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you. You’re the reason he can’t commit to anything. You think your little world is the only one that matters, and you call Dean for any little thing! What, don’t you have a boyfriend to help fix your goddamn sink?” 

You open your mouth to retort, but you pause as her words seep into your mind. She might actually have a small point about that one. You realize then just how often you’ve been asking Dean for his help, not just with your apartment, but with your car, and other logistical things that usually have to with Robbie. Dean’s just such a good handyman, and you thought he genuinely liked being able to help…even though Benny did mention once or twice that he’d be just as happy to help you.

“Lisa, this is a lot more than a leaky sink. I just wanted to get here with Robbie and make sure Dean was okay,” you try to explain.

“Good. I’m glad his son was the first person Dean got to see when he woke up,” Lisa says. “But I should’ve been the second.”

She brushes past you before you can even think of what to say. You’re in a state of shock, feeling guilty, incensed, and on the verge of tears all at once.

A familiar voice calls your name, and you turn to Benny just as those tears begin to fall. He gathers you up into his arms and holds you there in the middle of the hallway.

“She shouldn’t talk to you like that, no matter how high tensions are today. I’ll talk to Dean,” Benny says. You shake your head and bury your face in his chest, clenching your fingers in his red flannel shirt. 

“No, it’s okay,” you reply, despite the sob that shudders through you. You’ve lost the will to fight.

Benny shakes his head and presses a kiss to your forehead. “It ain’t okay, baby.”

“Please, don’t bother Dean with this. Especially not right now,” you say. You take a moment to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself. “I’m gonna go get Robbie so Dean can rest.”

You can’t shake the feeling that Lisa is right. You do rely on Dean too much. You just don’t want to think about why that is.

Dean makes a full recovery after a few months. He never does hear about what happened in that hallway, but he knows that things need to change. 

He decides to dig out his mom’s engagement ring from a locked box of his parents’ keepsakes, though he’s still waiting on the right time for it. He and Lisa start looking at houses though, for real this time. She hires a realtor and everything. 

He’s making a firm decision, and he thinks it’s the right one. He wants to be there for his son, but he doesn’t want to keep “spreading himself too thin.” He has to figure out how to set some roots, and some boundaries with you while he’s at it. He’ll just have to come to terms with the idea that he won’t get to be there for everything. 

He has to be okay with the fact that you’ll probably marry Benny. You’ll keep making him cookies and cakes, giving him your smile and your time and your body. And Robbie will probably think of Benny as more of a father than his own Weekend Dad. 

Meanwhile, you’ve spent the past few months keeping yourself in check as well. You’ve stopped calling Dean for help whenever something breaks down in your old-ass apartment. You try to keep your conversations less about life and troubles and whatever funny thing your students did that day in class, and more focused on Robbie–strictly about his schedule and his needs.

It’s kind of painful, if you’re honest with yourself. Sam will always be one of your closest friends from college, but in the past five years, Dean has truly become your best friend. Because you’ve told him things. The things that come from sharing a child with someone, like Sunday dinners with your parents, flipping through old yearbooks and childhood pictures—and the details of day-to-day schedules and little stupid things that happen in moments between moments.

Dean also knows the deep cuts. Like being pregnant and scared and breaking down crying on the side of the road. Like sharing the deepest well of your insecurities with someone who knows your body intimately, even if just for one amazing night...a night you’ve never quite been able to put out of your mind.

However, you know that things can’t stay the same. From now on, he just needs to be your son’s father. Nothing more, nothing less. 

So today, on a crisp April 24th, you’re getting ready for a highly anticipated evening with your boyfriend. Robbie is sleeping over your parents’ house, and Benny has been planning something special for your third-year anniversary. 

You slip into your new dress, a deep emerald green, with a pair of black heels you’ve rarely worn since before you got pregnant. Come to think of it, you were wearing these the night of Sam and Eileen’s bachelor-bachelorette party. The night you…well, the night Robbie was conceived. 

You shake your head to rid yourself of those thoughts. You even consider changing. 

You’re being silly, you shake your head. They’re just shoes. 

And yet. Thinking of that time so long ago, it reminds you of a recent Sunday dinner at your parents’ house.

Two Months Ago...

Your parents live modestly, but comfortably in rural Kansas. Their ranch-style home boasts a creek in the backyard, where your dad is teaching your son how to catch minnows. Your mom is inside working on an apple pie, knowing it’s both Dean’s and Robbie’s favorite.

You and Dean have kept close to the house under the shade, sitting on a bench made more comfortable by a pair of old polyester cushions with red, faded flowers.

“How much longer do you have to wear that?” you ask Dean. He glances down at his cast-covered left arm.

“Doc says it’s about ready to come off,” he says.

You nod, allowing yourself a certain smile. “How bad are you itching to grab my mom’s garden shears and cut it off right here?”

“Woman, don’t tempt me,” he says, his lips twitching at a grin. “I’ve been eying those overgrown scissors for the past half hour.”

You laugh and take another sip of your glass. Yours holds sweet tea, while Dean’s has some of your dad’s favorite whiskey. You both raise your heads when Robbie yells across the backyard.

“I caught a minnow!”

“Good job, buddy,” Dean grins. “See if you can catch a marlin!”

“A marlin?” Robbie questions.

“Yeah, like that orange guy in Finding Nemo,” Dean calls back.

Your dad gives Dean the same wry look you do, though yours is tinged with more amusement.

“Dean, that’s a clown fish,” you say. “He’s not gonna find that in the creek.”

“Aw, shit,” he tries to quiet his laugh. “Ah well, should keep him occupied for another twenty minutes.”

You bite your lip to stifle your laughter as well. Though something else occurs to you the longer you watch your son play and explore in the creek. Your dad has the patience of a saint as he puts yet another bait worm on the hook for the kid.

“He’s starting to ask questions, you know,” you tell Dean, in a quieter voice. “‘Why aren’t you and Daddy married? Why can’t we all live together?’”

Dean's brows raise. His good humor dims when he looks over at you.

“What do you tell him?” he asks.

You take in a deep breath, considering your words now as carefully as you did with your son.

“That we care about each other a lot, as friends,” you say, meeting Dean’s eyes. “And we love Robbie very much. Nothing’s going to change that, even if you and I aren’t together like a normal mom and dad.”

Saying it like that makes your heart twinge, for more than one reason. The way Dean’s mouth twitches into a rueful smile just makes it worse, but you try your best to ignore it.

“I never thought about having to explain it to him,” he says, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

It’s that anxious tell of his again. You notice every time he does it.

“I have,” you admit. “I just didn’t know for sure what I was going to say until it was coming out of my mouth.”

Dean smirks a little. “Yeah, that sounds like you.”

You roll your eyes and sip your drink, crossing your arms as well. Dean considers you then, looking at you in a way that makes you raise a brow in question.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing, it’s just…” He sits back against the bench and rubs his hands down his jean-clad thighs. “For the record, I did try to ask you out once.”

“What?” you scoff incredulously. “No, you’ve been with Lisa since the beginning.”

“Before Lisa,” Dean says.

He isn’t joking. He isn’t teasing. He’s serious as he stares back at you with those green eyes of his. Your brows furrow as you wrack your brain. Did he drunkenly leave you a voicemail on one of those “off again” episodes between him and Lisa? No. You know you’d remember something like that.

“It was a few weeks after the bachelor party,” Dean says. “I called you up, remember?”

Your eyes widen. Finally, that jogs your memory.

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.” And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

You have to laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Dean, you did not ask me out,” you say. “You wanted to hook up. There’s a distinct difference.”

Dean frowns at you. “No, I was. I invited you over—”

“For essentially some Netflix and chill,” you retort.

“Hey, I offered to make you dinner,” he argues. “I didn’t say anything about hooking up.”

You pause at that. His earnest denial makes you actually think back to what you remember about that conversation on the phone.

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.” And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition. “I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

You cover your lips with your fingers as you begin to realize…

“That was you asking me out?” you ask incredulously.

Dean’s brows furrow and he throws his hands up. “What? Who doesn’t like a little movie night?”

“Dean,” you huff another laugh. “You could’ve made it sound more like a date.”

“Well, ‘scuse me. Sorry I couldn’t afford the Ritz at the time,” he grumbles.

You sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

The more you think about it, the more you just shake your head at yourself. Why did you have to overthink it, like you do everything?

“Wow,” you say, softer and more contrite. “I honestly never thought…”

“Yeah,” he says. He shifts his gaze out ahead.

You glance over at him, now more unsure of yourself. He wouldn’t have any regrets, you think. He has Lisa. As much as they go at it, they always inevitably get back together. And now you know they hired a realtor. They’re about to start making solid steps forward.

But Dean surprises you with another question.

“Do you think if…”

He doesn’t finish it, but you think you know what he’s asking. You hesitate, your fingers flexing around your glass that beads with condensation. You set the glass down beside you. 

Just as you open your mouth to reply—

“All right, pie is cooling and dinner is served!” your mom calls out. Her head pokes out of the sliding glass door to the backyard. You offer a smile, trying to hide how you jolted in your seat.

“Okay, thanks, Mom,” you nod.

You turn back to Dean, who also hesitates. His eyes meet yours, but all too soon, he locks the moment away.

Bracing his hands on his knees, he rocks to his feet and goes out to get Robbie and help your dad bring in the fishing gear.

You grab Dean’s whiskey along with your tea on your way back inside the house. You consider the amber liquid disturbed in his glass, and you down the rest yourself. The burn down your throat is a good distraction. If he asks about it, you’ll say you got the glasses confused.

You know you’ll have to leave that conversation unfinished at the foot of the bench.

Now...

Benny comes by your apartment and helps you into the passenger side of his pickup truck, like the gentleman he is. He takes you to a nice restaurant in downtown, much nicer than the usual sports bar or kid-friendly restaurant. You're very much looking forward to eating at a restaurant that doesn't feature chicken fingers or "kiddie" corn dogs.

“This is gonna be really expensive,” you whisper to him, after he hands his keys over to the valet. 

Benny squeezes your hand in his, leaning over to kiss your temple. 

“Don’t you worry about that. We both deserve a night out.” His blue eyes gleam with amusement. However, his gaze gentles, becoming more sincere. “You work hard, carin’ for everybody around you. How about you let me take care of you for once.”

Your eyes begin to water, your throat constricting with emotion. You rub his arm gratefully.

“Thank you,” you say. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that.” 

It’s always easy with Benny. Nice and simple and easy. Nice, supportive, and considerate.

Nice and safe.

That thought follows you while you and Benny walk into to the restaurant. He’s reserved great seats in the back corner, overlooking a beautiful courtyard. It’s decorated with hydrangeas and light wood dining tables, all framed with a rod iron archway as the sun begins to set just so. After holding your chair out for you before he sits himself, Benny orders a bottle of champagne to kick things off.

He turns to you with a somewhat nervous look in his eyes, like he's steeling himself. It’s uncharacteristic of Benny, who’s always so calm and charming and sure of himself. It makes a zing of anticipation run down your spine, and…a dash of fear. You don’t know why, and you don’t know how to beat the feeling down as you fidget in your seat.

He subtly clears his throat, then takes your hand. “Sweetheart, I know I’m not all that good at the words you’re supposed to say. But I can say that the past three years with you and Robbie, it’s come to mean the world to me.”

Your smile softens. He brushes his thumb over the back of your hand, encouraged by your reaction.

“So I think it’s time I made it clear where I stand, and how much I want to be the man in your life,” he says.

Your eyes begin to widen in shock, but not for the reason he thinks.

“Dean,” you gasp.

Benny’s expression slackens. “What?”

You point over his shoulder, and Benny turns to follow your line of vision. Dean and Lisa have just walked into the restaurant. They notice you pointing their way, and they both pause in surprise as well. Lisa is beautiful as usual in a slinky black dress, completely backless (something you feel you could never pull off, unless you had an invisible bra to keep the girls perked up).

Dean is…well, you’ve very rarely seen him in a suit, but charcoal gray works for him. The open collar and white buttoned-down works for him, as do the three top buttons he’s left undone, showing a tantalizing strip of tanned skin. He stares back at you like he forgot you live in the same time zone, let alone the same zip code.

“Uh, hey!” he casts out an awkward wave, before he makes his way over to you and Benny. Lisa is less than enthused.

“We shouldn’t interrupt their night,” you catch her whisper to him, but Dean doesn’t seem to hear her.

“What’s up, party people! Of all the gin joints in all the world, huh?” Dean says, a little too loudly when he thumps Benny on the back. Benny grunts, giving a bit of a forced chuckle.

“Dean,” he greets. “I think I told you about this particular gin joint. Good to see you can actually clean up once in a while.”

“Ah, you know what, this monkey suit ain’t too bad,” Dean says, pulling at his collar.

You smirk in amusement. “Yeah, I remember how much you complained about wearing a simple tie for Robbie’s Christmas pageant.”

He smirks down at you. “Hey, ties still might not be my thing, but nothing wrong with a sharp collar.”

He pops his for emphasis. You don’t know why it makes you laugh, but it does. Maybe it’s just his face and the silly, endearing expression he makes when he pouts his lips in a “blue steel.”

“So, is this just a night out, or you guys celebrating something special?” Dean asks, gesturing at the champagne bottle and your full glasses of bubbly.

Benny gives his friend a certain look. “Yeah, as a matter of fact. Today’s three years.”

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. You smile back at him, though you’re a bit self-conscious at the way both he and Dean, and even Lisa have their attention on you.

“We should let you guys get back to it then,” Lisa says.

Honestly, it’s a relief. You and Benny nod, wishing them a goodnight.

For some reason, you notice how Dean’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But he goes with Lisa, laying a hand on the small of her back. You force yourself to tear your eyes away from them and refocus on Benny. You take up your champagne glass and raise it in offering.

“All right, where were we?” you ask, if with a nervous trill in your belly.

Benny smiles. He takes up his glass and clinks it with yours.

Lisa nearly sighs. She and Dean are back in line at the front of the restaurant, waiting to be seated. The second time she catches Dean glancing over at the table where you and Benny sit, she shakes her head and digs into her purse for the valet card. She’s done with this.

“I think maybe we should go to a different restaurant,” she says.

That finally earns Dean’s attention, mostly confused. “What, why?”

She just gives him a long look.

He realizes that whatever her reasons are, it’s easier to just give in than to fight her on it. He’s learning when to pick his battles. Or is he just giving up?

Also, if tonight’s “the night” he thinks it is for you and Benny, maybe he doesn’t want to stick around after all. Three years, huh?

“All right, fine. Let’s go,” he agrees.

Dean and Lisa wait for the valet to bring the Impala around. The minute he gets behind the wheel and turns the key into the ignition, she changes her mind.

“Look, let’s just go home,” she says. “I don’t really feel like eating out anymore.”

Dean’s brows raise. “What? Aw, come on. We’re already dressed and everything. You look great, Lis. Just tell me where you wanna eat.”

Lisa remains firm, with a small shake of her head. “Please, Dean, just take me home.”

After a moment of indecision, Dean sighs. He revs the ignition and does as she says.

It’s only a fifteen-minute drive back to their apartment, but in that stifling silence, it seems to drag on for a small eternity. He glances at her a couple of times. Lisa has her arms crossed as she stares out the window, watching the other restaurants and mom-and-pops shops and forest trees and old houses of Lebanon, Kansas go by.

Dean counts it a blessing when they’re finally home. He walks up the few short steps up to their ground-floor apartment and unlocks the door. He flicks on the lights inside, and she breezes past him to toss her purse onto the couch.

Dean takes off his blazer and begins to undo the buttons on his cuffs. He watches her all the while, knowing that a storm is brewing. She shucks off her heels and slowly paces the living room on bare feet, like her whirling thoughts are fueling every step.

“All right, I give. What’s going on?” Dean asks. “What’d I do this time?”

She pauses, with her back turned to him.

Shit, he thinks. He shouldn’t have said it like that.

He prepares for the inevitable blow up, but it never comes. Lisa just heaves a sigh. Slowly she turns, and Dean’s shocked and dismayed to see the tears welling up in her deep brown eyes. He makes quick strides toward her, but she raises a hand to keep him at bay.

“Dean, when you picture yourself happy, truly happy,” she says. “Is it with me? Can you imagine yourself marrying me? Buying the house, having kids, growing old together?”

If Dean was thrown for a loop before, he’s even more stunned by her question. “Lis…”

“Just be honest, for once,” she pleads. Her tears begin to brim over, but she blinks, somehow keeping them at bay.

It’s a bit too long before Dean realizes that he can’t give her an answer. At least, not the one he knows she wants to hear.

When he thinks of that picture in his mind, of course he sees his son. But the only other person Dean can imagine there beside him is…

“I…” He wills his mouth to work, but nothing else comes out.

The only face he can conjure is yours. Your eyes are warm and welcoming, your smile as bright and contagious as your laugh.

The only voice he can hear is yours, gentle and strong at the same time.

The only one he can see is you.

He knows the shampoo you use and the perfume you like to wear, how the sweet and floral scents mix together and linger in your hair and on your skin.

Even now he remembers the contours of your body, and how it could fit so well against his. He knows that you used to try and hide your shape under loose, baggy shirts and cargo pants that did nothing for you. He knows how much courage it took you to wear that red dress to his brother’s party, because you told him once, at one of those Sunday dinners at your parents’ house.

Come to think of it, there’s not a whole lot that Dean doesn’t know about you, except maybe what you see when you look at him.

“You love her,” Lisa finishes for him. “I think you always have.”

Dean’s throat tightens. Somehow he swallows anyway, and he shakes his head. 

“Lisa, I loved you.”

“Maybe you did, in your own way,” she says, laughing a little through her tears as she wipes them away. “But you already have a family, Dean. Go fight for it.” 

Dean doesn’t know what to say, but he knows what he can do.

He goes to her and kisses her cheek. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says. 

Lisa merely nods, wiping her face dry. She watches Dean Winchester walk out of her apartment, and out of her life for good this time. 

Dean calls your cell, but it goes to voicemail. He drives all the way back to the restaurant and doesn’t find you or Benny there. 

Dean realizes that what he’s doing, what he plans to do, is not fucking cool. He wouldn’t blame you or even Benny for being severely pissed when Dean shows up. He also knows that he can’t let another day pass where he keeps lying to you, and himself. 

He eventually finds you at home. What’s weird is that Benny’s truck isn’t in the driveway—just your car. He knocks on your door, and he waits.

He unconsciously holds his breath while he waits in that terrible existence of limbo. However, his heart thrums back to life when he hears your footsteps drawing closer to the door. Anticipation, excitement, dread, it all roils together inside him like a bad cocktail as the door swings open.

And he’s once again rendered a bit breathless at the sight of you in that dress. The color alone appeals to him, let alone the way it accentuates your every curve, from full breasts to the swell of your hips, the softer slope of your thighs, and bare toes painted. You’re fucking delectable, every curve, and a temptation without you even meaning to be. 

You’re just…you’re still so goddamn beautiful, like the night he first saw you. Even now, he can almost feel the give of your thighs under his hands, his fingers pressed to supple flesh. 

But then he’s drawn to your face, and your wide eyes full of surprise. Your mascara is a bit smudged though. Your eyes are red too, like you’ve been crying. His brows furrow in concern.

“Dean, what’re you doing here?” you ask.

“I need to talk to you, but uh…did something happen?” he asks. “You okay?”

You’re reluctant to tell him. Did Benny say something to upset you? Or was it something he did?

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say.

Instinctively, Dean knows it’s a lie.

“This isn’t a good time though,” you say, after clearing your throat. “Can we do this tomorrow, maybe?”

Dean leans a hand on the doorframe.

“Please, it’s important,” he says. His eyes implore you harder than his words. Please.

That does it. A sigh passes through your lips, but you let him in. He knows Robbie is with your parents for the night, which actually makes this easier.

Once he steps inside the apartment, Dean does notice that your bedroom door is open. Half the drawers to your dresser are open too, and empty. Certain frames that used to be on your coffee table are no longer there, like the one of you, Benny, and Robbie on a camping trip. 

“You want some coffee, or soda?” you ask. 

Dean declines and grasps your arm before you can busy yourself into “hostess” mode. He leads you to the couch, where you both sit down together.

“What happened tonight?” he asks. “Where’s Benny?”

Your lower lip wobbles, the beginning of your telltale cry face. Dean knows his son gets it from you, and it always breaks his heart. He squeezes your arm gently, trying to ground you.

“Benny proposed to me tonight,” you confess, taking in a sharp breath. “He proposed, and I couldn’t give him an answer.” 

You shake your head as the tears sting hot in your eyes. 

“He got so upset, he just—he left!” You throw your hands up. “But honestly, I don’t blame him.”

Dean tries to comfort you as you try and fail to wipe at your face. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, cupping your cheek to brush the tears away himself. 

“Why couldn’t you answer him?” he asks. 

You look up at Dean, and you finally notice the shine of hope in his eyes. Dean touches your cheek more tenderly. 

“Does it mean I have a chance here?” he asks.

Despite what your eyes tell you, you still gape at him in shock. “What? But…what about Lisa?”

“It’s over. For good this time,” Dean shakes his head. “I realized what I wanted for my life, and where my heart is…”

And he chuckles weakly. “Truth is, you’ve had it the whole time, sweetheart.”

You begin to crumble all over again. You pull away from him and his touch, because you can’t believe it. You cover your face with your hands, sniffling as you try to make sense of his words, his touch, and the warm flutter threatening to brim happiness in your heart.

“God, Dean. You can't just..."

"I mean it," he insists.

You're still reluctant to take him seriously...no matter how much you want to. It's a conflicting realization that hurts, and makes you feel stupid for taking so long to figure it out, and makes you hate yourself for hoping his words are true.

"Come the morning, you’re going to change your mind,” you reason, without looking at him. “Like you’ve done with Lisa a thousand times.”

“No,” Dean says firmly. He shifts closer and prompts you to look at him, really look at him.

“Not about this, and you know it,” he says, catching and holding your gaze. “That’s why you couldn’t say yes to Benny. Because you know what we’ve got. It’s the real deal.”

You still look uncertain, even though you can’t bring yourself to pull away this time. Dean has always had this way of looking into the very depths of you, like he can actually see every thought as it passes through your mind.  

“I should’ve said yes,” you say. “I can rely on Benny. I know he would stay by my side, and…and I know he won’t hurt me.”

Not like I’ve just hurt him, you think. Guilt still pricks at your heart. The last thing you ever wanted to do was lead him on, and yet, that’s what you’d done, wasn’t it? You thought you had loved him. You’re sure that you did, but maybe it just wasn’t the kind of love that could reach down deep and grab you, set your blood on fire, and make you ache when the burn was gone.

That spark licks across your skin when Dean takes your hands.  

“What if I want to be that guy for you,” he says.

You allow yourself to look at him. Really look at him.

You know Dean. When he gets an idea in his head, it inhabits every bone and shred of muscle in his body. There’s no mistaking his resolve, or the steady grip of his hands over yours.

“If you let me, I’ll stay. I won’t leave you,” he says. In his eyes, there’s a firm promise. “I can be the guy you rely on. The man you can trust. The man who’s gonna love you, come whatever. Because now I know what it means. I know how it feels.”

You bite your lower lip against the smile that wants to surface.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

Dean smiles for you. “If you wanna know the truth, I’m pretty sure I’ve been loving you since the day I heard Robbie’s heartbeat for the first time.” 

Your tears flow harder at that. A shaky breath escapes you, though it does nothing to steady you. Dean strokes your cheek gently with his thumb. 

“Please, just give me this one chance,” he asks. Begs, really. 

He doesn’t have to though. You nod, just a little. 

“Okay,” you agree. “Let’s try.”

Dean's smile spreads slow, but warm across his face. It’s your favorite kind, the kind that crinkles his eyes. 

He leans in and claims your lips with his own. The passion of it is familiar, but you don't think it’s the same as five years ago. Now, there’s an underlying note of tenderness in his touch and each new way he tastes you deeper. He holds nothing back this time, and neither do you. 

Your fingers tangle in his shirt, and then in his hair as you moan into his mouth. “Dean.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he answers against your lips, though he doesn’t give you much room to keep talking.

You haven’t heard him call you sweetheart in a long time. You feel your heart knitting back together, stitch by stitch. Tears sting in your eyes anew, but you squeeze your eyes shut against them.

“I…”

You can’t even continue the breathless thought. You hold his face desperately between your hands, pressing your forehead to his for a moment as you both catch your breath. But this man is like the sweetest, most seductive vice. Now that you’ve gotten another hit, you can’t resist. You no longer want to.

His arms wrap around you more securely, and he leans in to lure you back into his kiss. His tongue breaches past your lips to curl along yours with tantalizing strokes. His hands slowly move down your back and along your waist.

“Mmm, missed the hell outta this,” he groans into your mouth. Your heart flutters again at the way he holds you, the way his big hands squeeze you and feel you.

You let him guide you down onto the sofa cushions. He slots himself between your bare thighs and runs his hand up familiar smooth skin, bunching the skirt of your dress higher as he goes. He aims to get himself reacquainted with every soft part of you that welcomes him back.

For once, the gates around your hearts swing free. 

Dean never imagined that his own son would hand him the ring he gives to his wife, but today, it just feels like symmetry. He grins and winks at Robbie.

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean says.

His son’s beaming grin is wide and toothy, but the boy takes his job very seriously and delivers the other ring to you. You smile brightly and caress his cheek after you take the shining, white gold band from him. It matches the thinner band that Dean has for you; it'll soon join the engagement ring that once belonged to his mother.

Robbie had liked Benny a lot, but he loves his dad. He’s probably the happiest person in the room to see his parents take each other’s hands in front of the minister. 

Benny is understandably absent in the chapel today. You had met with him after that night of your botched anniversary to apologize to him, and so had Dean. Benny understood. He’d admitted that in the back of his mind, he feared this might happen.

“I wouldn’t blame you for being angry with me,” you said to him. “You can even hate me if you want.” Benny gave you a wry, melancholy sort of smile. “Part of me’s still mad at you, I won’t lie…but there’s no use in it. Not even hating you.”

Even though Benny bowed out, carrying his hurt and his grief on those broad shoulders, letting you go meant letting go of a friend too. He put in his paperwork to transfer out of Firehouse 83.

As he’d told Dean himself that day, and in fact, the last words Benny said to him…

“There you go, Lieutenant. A spot’s just opened up.”

Dean didn’t want to get promoted this way. He felt guilty enough as it was, and not just for Benny leaving the firehouse. Benny recommended Dean to the Chief himself though, saying that if they were going to give someone a Lieutenant’s badge, it may as well be the guy who got a perfect score on his test, and had the natural leadership skills to boot.

To the end, Benny was a gentleman.

Now, Sam beckons his nephew over. Robbie quickly goes to his uncle’s side and puffs his little chest out as he stands proud behind his dad. 

Dean is able to take you in, your beautiful white dress, and everything about you that makes him smile…including the way you smile back at him.

Man and wife is all he hears. It’s all he needs to hear, before he’s pulling you closer by your newly anointed hand. He dips you for a thorough kiss in front of all your family and friends. 

You squeal in surprise, making Dean smile hard enough for his cheeks to hurt. Giggling hard enough to make you tremble, you raise a hand to caress his cheek. But you give him another real kiss after he guides you back up to your feet.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. The words are just for him to hear. Dean pulls back enough to see the truth shining in your eyes. Beautiful.

“Can’t help it, right?” he teases. 

You smile in amusement, but you grab his chin and shake it. 

“You got me,” you reply. “I really, really can’t.”

Your beaming smile softens. Even though the entire room is clapping and hooting and hollering in celebration, in that moment, all you really see is Dean. 

Here in his arms, you know that this is where you were meant to end up. From now on, it’s where you’re meant to be.

AN: From Lisa and Benny to Robbie and everything in between. Dean and the reader certainly aren't perfect in this, but what do you think about how their story unfolded? I truly hope you guys enjoy this one, because I've had so much fun with it. 🥰❤️❤️‍🔥

So please let me know what you thought! 😘

⋆˙⟡ Keep Reading: The Epilogue

"Shall I stay? Would it be a sin, if I can't help falling in love with you?"

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

Series Masterlist

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 @chevroletdeanwrites @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 @redhoodieone

[essycogany]

Sonic HATES Being Wrong

Like…to an extreme degree. Let me elaborate.

This is a very interesting detail I’ve noticed ever since I made my Sonic’s Flaws post. Here, I’d like to talk about Sonic’s most fatal flaw because this conversation gets interesting. The flaw is one every variation of Sonic can be guilty of and one that causes the most damage to his world and even the people he cares about. If you disagree, I understand. Just hear me out and even if I don’t convince you, I hope this turns out to be a fun read regardless. Feel free to give me some context, correct me, or add information if you‘d like.

The Flaw

Sonic is terribly pertinacious and stubborn. Most people would think of Sonic Prime where he doesn’t listen to his friends warning him to not destroy the paradox prism, but when I think of Prime!Sonic I don't think of that. Especially since this version comes off more as an inexperienced teenager trying to figure things out. While in the games, he’s portrayed as rarely being wrong. Not because he’s perfect, but because Sonic never feels the need to change because of past victories. After all, if everything is going his way, why should he change, right? Well, this can be a problem. The scene in S3 ep3 where a few of the pirates were lost at sea, shows how truly stubborn Prime!Sonic (and Sonic in general), can be. He verbally refuses to take accountability for lost resources and unknowingly helps Nine have better predominance over them.

In this scene, No Place was decaying and Sonic finds out that the other pirate crew was stuck there. Everyone else, even the villains, reasonably says it’s too risky and he ignores them. Of course, he is within reason but if things went sour, it would’ve been his fault. Especially since that almost became a reality before the Chaos Council swooped in to help.

Near the end of the episode, Sonic says it’s a win for everyone, but Mr. Doc says, “Was it? Your little friends are safe, but at what cost? The fox can conjure up more minions with the snap of his fingers. Whereas our fleet is damaged, our troops are spent, and we’re almost out of time.” Surprisingly reasonable call out of the consequences of saving the pirates, if they don’t have enough resources, they were even more screwed than before. Then Sonic says, “I’m sorry but losing anyone is not an option.” While it’s warranted and makes sense for his character, it almost comes across as “We had to save them because I said so.” This is an example of Sonic not having a good argument by addressing the results of their battle. He does it a lot more than you’d think. Despite Sonic not listening to people being a bigger staple of Prime, I personally think it’s never expanded upon or executed well. Not to me anyway, but I don’t mind anyone disagreeing.

In any case, Sonic, as a character in every continuity, tends to “follow by his own rules” but this can be perceived negatively as “doing whatever he wants no matter who argues with him.”

Examples

Sonic Boom Rise of Lyric tackles this too. This is probably the least serious example but still can be a problem sometimes. This is S2 Ep 19 when an Eggman robot Clone tries to break Team Sonic apart and almost succeeds too. It doesn’t have much to do with this topic but I do like how in this episode when the drama started happening, Sonic for once in his life tries to talk abohut his feelings with Tails who turned out to be Steve. I know this has nothing to do with this discussion, but I just thought it was a funny thing to point out. The one time Sonic tries to talk about his feelings, he gets the door slammed in his face. It’s so mean-spirited and stupid. I love Sonic Boom!

But yeah, Rise Of Lyric also shows how his stubbornness can end up with the world being at stake. Or in the case of this episode have your friends grow apart.

The Sonic Movies tackles his shortcomings perfectly. I think he's pretty impulsive in all 3 movies. Mixing his perniciousness doesn't create the greatest meal. He's younger, so that would be expected. This scene is the most recent example. Sonic as a character tends to live in the moment and here, Movie!Sonic is playing a huge role in this category. He’s not even trying to hear anyone out. He’s in a constant rage at this point and can’t think clearly. He wants revenge on Shadow so much he loses himself. His friends. His brothers are so loyal to still allow him to get the Master Emerald despite knowing he wants it for revenge. Sonic's so hurt, he loses himself and forgets what they originally were there for.

I'm sure if Sonic choose to let his feelings consume him, he probably wouldn’t have saved the world. Why? Let’s just say things would’ve went out of control without Shadow. Sonic dogged a big tangent bullet for having mercy on Shadow.

Yeah, Archie/Reboot Archie didn’t mess around either. I'd say it’s sometimes as tense and bit worse due to him having the biggest ego and ongoing trauma. I'm surprised he didn't go insane. Notice how harsh he is in these instances. He’s overly angry here. Luckily, he has a large group of friends to help him take things down a peg and reminds him how they have his back. Even when worst comes to worst (which is an understatement), his friends are able to get him out of that mindset and put him back in reality. Hunbel him to put it bluntly.

In a way, Sonic's flaws in the Archie comics make me think he feels so guilty that he pushes himself beyond his limits as a way to make up for his loudmouth. Like in other versions, he feels the need to take on more than he can physically handle. He strains his body, mind, and entire being to accomplish tasks on his own because he believes he deserves the punishment. Alternatively, he might just be exhausting himself and attempting to take on more than he can manage. It’s not surprising, really.

This panel is insane for letting Eggy make a valid point. You can tell by his ears how Sonic’s getting visibly irritated. By the end of the argument, he gets super mad and can’t even find a good quip to back himself up. Because in a way, he knows Eggman has a point. That’s how I interpret it anyway.

Game or IDW Sonic is usually in denial when it comes to being wrong. He doesn’t address the issues directly but the person who calls him out for it instead. He’s the most experienced Sonic. I know some people use “mature” but I think experience is a better term due to how he doesn’t have arcs or character growth like other characters. More so he’s used to this song and dance, so his hatred towards being wrong comes from a place of thinking he’s got everything under control. Until it bites him in the butt.

You notice in most of these Sonic’s pretty angry and isn’t the biggest fan of being told off. Even in different continuities, the guy cannot argue without not being self-aware most of the time. The funny thing is he isn’t doing it selfishly. At least not in a typical way. To me, Sonic is the least selfish character in the franchise for a good chunk of the series. He sacrifices himself, gives people more chances than they deserve, and even takes the time to stop his main goals if it means helping someone else. But the guy cannot take the time to admit he’s wrong or his morals have consequences. Not because Sonic thinks he’s better than everyone. I don’t think Sonic sees himself in that way, but I do think he’s always in “I’ve done this thing plenty of times. As long as this thing works, I’ll keep doing it,” mode. Or in the case of Movie!Sonic, goes on instinct which is also a common part of his characterization.

Why Sonic Has This Flaw

Sonic never stops running; he charges head-first into any situation, always striving to do what's right. After all, he's the fastest thing alive. Sonic doesn't have the luxury of questioning himself or dwelling on doubts. While it's true that he has caused some issues, including in the games, he doesn't waste time feeling sorry for himself. The only times he's shown insecurity were during the Metal Virus arc, so interpret that as you wish.

This brings up another point. Crazy how much I didn’t notice, but most of the time, Sonic doesn’t like it when people disagree with him. Understandable, everyone doesn’t want to be wrong. But he takes it to the extreme at times. Like sometimes he's baffled when anyone challenges him. Sonic’s also never truly called out by the right people. I don’t mean Shadow, Espio, Knuckles, or the villains. I mean, Amy, Tails, Tangled, or other characters he’s inspired. People who look up to him. Sure, they try, but I can count on one hand how many times he actually listens. Sonic’s always so caught up in doing things his way that he disregards people who mean the most to him.

I mentioned this in my other post but he doesn't listen to Tails in Sonic 06 or Lost World, so the games count.

While Sonic often has valid points in his arguments with others, he frequently comes across as someone who needs to be right. He rarely allows others the opportunity to express their views or admits when he is wrong. This issue is often overlooked in stories where these conflicts arise, either because there isn't enough time to address them or they remain unanswered altogether. This makes sense, considering that Sonic typically doesn’t undergo character arcs canonically. However, I appreciate the presence of characters like Shadow, Knuckles, Surge, Kit, and certain Archie characters like Scurge. They serve to challenge Sonic’s morals and illustrate that he isn’t always correct. If Sonic isn’t going to evolve as a character, at least these figures can show that his sense of freedom and living by his own rules doesn’t work for everyone. They can be portrayed negatively and can challenge his viewpoints. They can be questioned. They can be challenged. Sonic isn’t always right.

His passion shows that he truly wants things to work for everyone. His stubbornness drives him to the point of frustration as he strives to help others to live according to his ideals. However, at times his approach isn’t the most effective. You can see that Sonic genuinely hates this, yet he continues to push forward to help those in need. There’s something both beautiful and heartbreaking about that.

Conclusion

What’s funny is that Sonic rarely gets angry, so you could say this could be one of his few triggers. Along with people being unjust and other such.

Overall, Sonic has good intentions but the results of those intentions are severe. None of this is to imply Sonic’s a terribly written character. It’s just a serious flaw he has. Though listening to his friends more would help.

I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t like a moment of his friends noticing a constant pattern of him being pertinacious and not paying attention to anyone’s protest. I wouldn’t want it to come out of nowhere, but it’d be an issue that’d progress over a large amount of time and add up. It could be dramatic or constructive depending on the situation and execution. Whatever character does it, they’d either talk to him about it or physically show the outcomes of his actions. They do it all the time in other media but not canonically. This is just random speculation though. I don’t know if I’m in over my head but I hope someone got something out of this.

All of this is not to say Sonic never takes accountability or listens to his friends. SA1 scene with Amy, when he apologizes to Bell in IDW for being too standoffish, and plenty of other examples. Like the end of Sonic movie 3. That Sonic Boom episode where he apologized for not working with his team. And endless moments in Archie and Reboot Archie. Sonic isn’t unreasonable. Just 9 times out of 10 he can get a big head. That’s all.

Stay Creative! 💜

[amphitriteswife]

Jonggun as a dad

✔️Dad Jonggun! Who actually spent his time being your personal chauffeur because he doesn’t trust any other form of transportation cause you don’t have your license yet.

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who says ‘be safe.’ Instead of saying ‘be home at 9’ because he knows what it’s like to be a teenager and have fun.

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who doesn’t actively check your grades or your homework because he trusts his child to make good decisions. He’ll only step in if it’s necessary

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who actually understands and listens to you when you disagree with him. You’re his child. And it’s his job as a parent to try and understand you.

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who actually knows what you love and gives you little presents at the most random moments for just being his child

✔️ Dad Jonggun! who wouldn’t be angry of he found out you smoke/vape. He’d tell you to think wisely and make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into. But he ultimately wouldn’t stop you. He smokes too after all.

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who actually would let you have a boyfriend and be pretty chill with it….on the outside. Internally he’s dying. But your happiness is more important.

✔️ Dad jonggun! Who went to cooking classes because he doesn’t want his baby to eat junk.

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who will camp outside your bedroom door after an argument, waiting for you to to come out and say sorry to you with a hug

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who actually bites his tongue when you two argue, he doesn’t want to say something he can’t take back to the most precious thing in his life

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who thought you kyokushin Karate, not because he wants you to be a fighter like him (if you do he would be happy too) but because he wants you to be able to protect yourself

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who helps you with woodcarving when you have little art projects for school.

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who isn’t ashamed when ask him to buy you feminine hygiene products. You’re still his daughter, even if you’re now a young lady.

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who can’t say no to you when you ask for his credit card. He’ll look down at your face. His eyes staring into yours. A soft grumble escaping his lips before he hands you his card.

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who goes to your concerts when you don’t have anyone else to go with. He’ll drive you, buy you what you want, pat your back when you cry and let you sleep on his shoulder on the ride back.

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who enjoys talking to you about anything you find interesting, experience or just daily life. He’s your parent. But he wants you to feel as if you can say anything to him. No matter what.

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who wore a pink dress on your 3rd birthday because you asked him to be one.

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who takes you with him to Japan when he has to deal with Yakuza business but disguises it as a vacation

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who never explicitly told you what he does for his job, but let’s you believe he’s a bodyguard for some people.

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who showed up to all your events, even if you never noticed him. Even if you remain with your friends. He doesn’t take it personally. It’s your moment and you can choose how you want to celebrate.

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who wants occasionally picks you up during lunch break to have lunch with him and paid by him. He’ll have your books too if you forgot. And a laptop that is fully charged.

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who will hug you very tightly when you tell him that you will go to study abroad in another country.

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who lets you spam your stupid brainrot stuff on all his socials. He watches them all en responds to them too.

✔️ Dad Jonggun! Who remains stoic and unfazed, but feels so incredibly proud and lucky to have you as his child, always has. But when he sees you at your graduation, he can feel his chest swell with adoration.

That’s all I could think about yall😽

[jamiedc-they-them]

I’m here (Platonic)

Summary: You survived the void with your new friends, but part of you still feels trapped there.

Note: Spoilers for Thunderbolts :) also a comfort fic as my brain is being a cunt.

Warning: Survivors guilt and suicidal thoughts. Violence.

You had survived. You had fought for Bob, helped him with his demons, and saved New York.

It hadn’t taken long, but it felt like a while. Being trapped in the void before you all fought for and found each other.

You weren’t angry at Bob, not at all. You meant the hug you gave, and the promise that it gave: I’m here.

The New Avengers was an odd title, but you were working with it.

Friends was a concept you were working on as well. Having people stay and have your back.

Your mind was never kind to you. Maybe it was what made you sign up for Valentina’s project. You were like Bob, but a failure. One of the last ones alive.

You had a power, one of projection. You could show people things.

When you were escaping, you made sure not to touch Yelena or anyone. You did, however, touch Valentina’s people, showing them your anger.

And yet, you weren’t judged for it.

Not even Walker did. He just moved on, saying “just don’t pull that crap with me.”

You didn’t.

You had to fight yourself every day. Especially when you were in the lab, watching poor souls die (and having to fight others).

Survivors guilt was a term thrown around. Ava had said it to you one time, saying that she recognised the look.

She didn’t push you, however, she just smiled brokenly at you.

You didn’t know it, but Yelena was watching you, watching you look out of the window - but glad it was there. She remembered seeing John at the massive hole, when Bob had shown him his demons.

You didn’t need to be shown yours, it seemed, they seemed to always hurt you, attack you.

So, as saying, she was glad the window was there. A barrier.

She approached you slowly, standing next to you.

“I can still hear them, you know,” you say, “the others.”

“I can hear them as well. The ones I hurt.”

“I didn’t hurt them, Valentina did.”

She nodded, “I know. Sorry.”

You shake your head, “I know what you meant. It’s just….I saw one I had to fight, when in the void. I had to do it over and over again…I was just, so tired. I almost let them beat me.”

Yelena was still, watching you with hawkish eyes, but empathy coated them.

“That’s why you looked the way you did.”

“I just thought that…if I let it happen, maybe the voices would stop. Maybe I wouldn’t have to worry about hurting anyone else either my ability.”

“We got Bob out. He’s a good person. We helped people, and that felt good. But I’m just…I’m stuck. I don’t know what he saw when I hugged him…he hasn’t told me.”

“Love,” Yelena argued, “he saw love. He saw us fighting for him. But,” she said as she looked at you, hand hovering over your arm, “but now it’s our turn to help you.”

You shook your head, “it’s not that big of a deal. I just…hit a wall sometimes.”

“Show me,” she said, voice gentle, “if you are ok with it. Show me the wall you hit.”

“It’s nothing compared to yours…” you said, eyes holding guilt and voice trembling a bit.

Her eyes hardened, voice becoming firm, “comparing trauma doesn’t help us fix it. Comparing it does nothing. Your pain is your pain, and I want to help you with it. I want to help you break through this wall.”

“Why?”

Her heart felt like it shattered at the confusion and meekness of your voice. You were there for Bob, and there for each other and the civilians, but not there for yourself.

“Because what I said to Bob is true for everyone here, including you. Especially right now.”

“What did you say?”

“That I was there. That he wasn’t alone.”

Her hand lowered, now being an offer you: a hand to hold, a connection. Someone to stand with you in the dark.

“You’re sure?”

“I have never been surer of anything in my life.”

She was honest, words holding nothing but truth to them.

Slowly, your hand met hers.

She gasped, world transforming around her. Pitch black, until a spotlight turned on.

You, on your knees, blood dripping down your forehead. Someone above you, in a similar state, with another spotlight on them.,

The fight wasn’t clean. Two civilians forced to fight for survival. It wasn’t choreographed, it was vicious. Biting, scratching, you name it.

The red room was viscous, yes, but they were trained to fight in a clean (as clean as one can be) way. Flips and what not.

The fight ended with the person’s eyes being pushed in on by your fingers.

She felt something. Looking down, she saw blood on your fingers.

She looked back, your past self - showing just how young you were - and this person disappearing.

Your hand left hers the next moment - yet the connection stayed - as you were flung to the floor. Yelena saw who it was - the person you killed.

The memory was replying, like how it had happened in the void - only more brutal. This was your personal void, one where you made the rules.

She was quick with her actions, grabbing the person and moving herself between yourself and them.

The person didn’t have a face, but Yelena put her hands up, “it’s ok,” she said.

The person disappeared. Maybe progress —

She was the one tackled this time. She was quick in her escape.

More appeared. Your biggest demon, the life you took to save your own.

She fought, as did you. But she could tell you were getting tired.

She fired her electric bolts. She stunned, she kicked. Her instincts coming back.

Old habits and all that.

But she then remembered the promise to Bob, how she helped him.

You were fighting, but not the way you needed to. You were trapping yourself, no fault of your own, in a mental loop.

You just wanted it to stop., desperation leading to the permanent option. She wouldn’t let you. She knew the loop would never fully be broken, you would slip as much as you would move forward.

Healing wasn’t linear, it had ups and downs. Good days and bad ones. Today was a bad one, the last few weeks had been that.

It led to you standing by a window, head against it, looking down. It lead to you being in a bad state in the void and she missed it.

That was then. She knew now, she was in a place to help.

She put her hands down, turning and seeing you kill another demon. It appeared again.

Yelena was in between again, but this time she did something different: she embraced you, just as she did with Bob.

“It’s ok,” she said to you this time, “I have you. I’m not going anywhere. I can’t undo what happened —”

“I killed someone,” you sounded so defeated and shattered.

“I know,” she wouldn’t sugarcoat it, that would only make it worse.

“I made it and they didn’t. I don’t deserve that.”

She tightened her hold, “if you hadn’t made it, they would be saying the same thing. You’re not a monster, you’re human, and you were exploited.”

Your fist grabbed her shoulders, “it should mean something that I made it. All it meant is that I relive this over and over again.”

“Not alone,” she said, “not while I’m here.”

She felt you still. She knew what you were thinking.

“I will find a way to enter this place again. I will tell you as many times as I need to.”

You looked at her, tear-strained and tired. You sniffled, “You’ll get tired, everyone does. Even Valentina did. Put me in a coma before I woke up and met you all.”

She held your face in her hands, “I won’t,” she promised, “yes, we all have our demons, but right now your demons have you in a hole. I may only be able to offer rope, but I will hold it as long as you need. We all deserve a chance to deal with our demons, and someone to be in our corner. I will be that for you.”

“For how long?”

She softened, forehead going to yours, “as long as you need. As many times as you need to hear it. You're human, but you're also my friend.”

You sniffled, eyes opening and meeting her’s. Her eyes were filled with love and patience.

“All of us have things we are ashamed of. Sometimes we fall, but we have somethjng we've never had before: someone to help pick us up.”

“But…what if I can't help you like you are helping me.”

“Company can help. We all need something different. Your ability can help, but only when you are open to showing us. We won't judge you, but we’re here. To talk, or just sit with you. Or even helping you find someone professional.”

You wrapped her in a hug. She held you just as tightly, “Thank you.”

She kissed your head, “always. We’re all getting used to having each other, but were stuck with each other.”

She felt you chuckle a bit. She smiled.

You pulled back, holding hands.

“Ready?”

You nodded, wiping your eyes.

The world returned to normal, and she was holding your arm.

She squeezed your arm, “I have you. But, you don't live for them, you live for yourself. You keep making choices. You can't undo the past, and its clutches may never fully leave, but we’re here to help you hold on and keep moving forward.”

She did. She still did.

[strawb3rryg2l]

The Temp, Part 1

Characters: Robert Reynolds x (Female) Reader.

Summary: Mel trains a new temp - Y/N. Y/N just wants a normal life, one where she can forget her past as a spy and start anew. When she meets The Thunderbolts, she can't help but notice Robert Reynolds... or Bob, as everyone calls him. He's quiet, shy, and seemingly holding a lot inside. She almost feels the same, even if she doesn't know him personally. They find a likeness in one another and grow closer.

Warnings: reader is an ex-spy, talks of self-doubt, spoilers for the movie (Let me know if there any more warnings I should put).

Word Count: 1790

Note from the author: This is my work and not only will it be posted on this account (@Strawb3rryg2l) . It will also be posted to my account of Archivesofourown (@ Strawb3rrygal). I will link it here once it is uploaded. This is a work in progress, and my first ever fanfiction so please be kind. This movie brought back my love for Marvel, and I'm super excited about this series I will be writing. This is my first attempt of a slow-burn, friends to lovers, and smut (mueheh). So without further ado... Happy reading!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Being the assistant of the new Avengers was quite an ordeal. 

Y/N had shadowed Mel. It was only supposed to be temporary work. Y/N was only meant to cover Mel during her vacation. She was leaving for her well-deserved three-week trip to the Dolomites in Italy. Y/N was willing to work.

Willing… and quietly watching everything.

Being Valentina Allegra de Fontaine’s assistant was more about information control than coffee runs. There were reports to catalog, people to monitor, egos to smooth over, and secrets. So many secrets. Y/N learned quickly that everyone was watching someone else. Everyone had blood on their hands. Y/N just made sure no one noticed hers.

Y/N adjusted her blazer in the mirror before stepping into the conference room. It was Day Four, and so far no one had asked too many questions about her. She was just "Mel’s temp." That was good. Low profile. Safe.

The morning’s meeting was more like a war council. The Thunderbolts — or whatever unofficial name they were using now — gathered in a quiet buzz of tension. Yelena Belova lounged in her seat like it might bite her. US Agent was already annoyed about something. Bucky looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Ghost was halfway invisible, and Red Guardian was arguing with the espresso machine in Russian.

And then there was him.

Robert Reynolds. Or Bob… which is what they called him.

He walked in like he wanted to disappear. Hood up. Shoulders tight. Hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his worn coat. The others gave him space. It seemed like a respectful distance. A low hum seemed to follow him, like the room shifted to accommodate a presence far too big to be human.

Sentry. The man with a million exploding suns inside him.

He sat quietly near the edge of the table, a glass of water in front of him. He stared into it like he expected it to show him something.

Y/N didn’t mean to stare. But there was something about the way he held himself like he was bracing for a disaster no one else could see.

She recognized the feeling.

When Valentina spoke, her voice cut through the tension like a scalpel. "Three weeks. That’s how long we have until we present our team to the U.S. Government. We need order, presence, and we need good optics. So we behave. Understood?"

Y/N took notes, nodding at key points like Mel showed her. No eye contact. Don’t fidget. Be useful, invisible, forgettable.

Then Bob spoke.

It was a mumble, barely audible. “What happens if Void shows up?”

Silence.

Valentina didn’t blink. “Then we all hope to God we don’t have a repeat of New York.”

Bob flinched like she’d slapped him.

After the meeting, Y/N found herself alone in the hallway, pretending to review her tablet. Bob was standing near a window, gripping the railing like it might vanish. The skyline reflected off the glass. He didn't look at her, but he knew she was there.

"You’re new," he said.

"Temporary," she replied.

He nodded, still not looking. "That’s good. People don’t last long here."

"You seem to be doing alright."

He let out a short breath. Not a laugh, not really. “You think?”

She almost smiled. “No.”

That earned her a glance.

His eyes were tired. Not just physically like his soul hadn’t slept in years. But there was something in them that wasn’t entirely broken. Just… quiet, waiting.

“You don’t talk much either,” he said.

“I find it keeps me alive.”

He looked at her a moment longer, then turned back to the skyline.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I know the feeling.”

—————————————————————————————————

It was day Five of Y/N being an assistant and she was restocking the files in Valentina’s private office when she felt it, a presence behind her.

Too close. Too quiet.

In an instant, her fingers tightened around the steel pen she’d been using, eyes flicking to the nearest reflective surface. A silver-framed photo of Valentina shaking hands with someone who was probably on a kill list.

A shadow moved just behind her shoulder.

She turned fast not enough to strike, just enough to confront.

It was Yelena.

"Relax," the assassin said, popping a stick of gum in her mouth. "You looked like you were about to stab me with a Montblanc."

Y/N exhaled slowly and loosened her grip. Her fingers were white.

“I don’t like being snuck up on,” she said coolly.

Yelena tilted her head, intrigued. "Interesting." 

Y/N said nothing. She just tucked the pen back in its holder, turned to reorganize the folders, and kept her face blank. Yelena studied her for another moment, then walked off, humming.

The tension stayed in Y/N’s shoulders even after she left.

This is a desk job. A normal job. That’s what she reminded herself every morning in her tiny New York studio apartment. It barely fit a bed, but it had a window that looked out onto a sliver of Central Park, and for the first time in years, she could wake up without her fingers twitching toward a weapon.

The job paid well (extremely well) and it had benefits. Like if she did a good job she might get a good letter of recommendation for a full time. That used to be unimaginable. Now it was survival. Not in the blood-on-your-hands way. In the groceries-in-the-fridge kind of way.

She wanted this. She wanted quiet.

But the instincts didn’t go away just because you filed paperwork instead of targets. They just got quieter, sharper, lingering.

Later that day, she ran into Bob again in the break room, of all places.

He was sitting on the counter, cradling a cup of coffee. He looked up when she walked in.

“Montblanc pens are expensive,” he said.

She blinked. Word got around quick. “Excuse me?”

“You were going to use one like a weapon earlier.” He shrugged. “Just saying. Would’ve been a waste.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Were you watching?”

“No,” he said. “But I notice things.”

There was no smugness to it. Just a quiet admission, like he couldn’t help it. Like his mind was always ticking, cataloging danger. It made her pause.

“Old habits,” she muttered, pouring herself a cup of the bitter coffee.

Bob glanced at her. “You trying to break them?”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

He looked down into his coffee. “Me too.”

She sat on the far end of the table, not too close, but not too far. They didn’t speak again, not for a while, but the silence wasn’t awkward. It was a truce. A shared stillness between two people with shadows stitched into their skin.

It felt like the quiet recognition of someone else who was also just trying to breathe.

—————————————————————————————————

It was raining on the sixth night.

Thunder rolled low across the sky, and the windows in the briefing wing trembled slightly with each boom. Most of the team had gone home or tucked into whatever shadows they slept in. Valentina was overseas on a black-site visit. The building was eerily still.

Y/N stayed late to finish organizing next week’s logistics brief. It was busy work, a little pointless, but it kept her hands moving. Kept her from thinking too much.

When the printer jammed for the third time, she let out a tired sigh and leaned against the table, rubbing her temple. The storm outside felt too close. She hated storms. It brought memories.

Thunder always reminded her of flashbangs.

Behind her, a door creaked open.

She turned sharply and saw Bob standing in the doorway.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. His hair was damp. No hood. No coat. Just him, in a soft looking hoodie, holding a paper bag.

“You’re fine,” Y/N lied. Her heartbeat hadn’t settled yet. “Shouldn’t you be… I don’t know. Sleeping? Flying? Saving the world?”

He gave a tired shrug. “The world’s still turning. I thought I’d get takeout.”

He held up the bag like it was evidence.

“I didn’t know you ate takeout,” she said, unable to hide her surprise.

He smirked faintly. “I don’t. Usually. But I figured… if I’m trying to be normal, maybe I should start somewhere.”

He stepped into the room, hesitating just slightly before gesturing to the table.

“You hungry?”

Y/N looked at the leftover files, then at the bag.

“What kind of takeout?”

“Thai. Hope you’re not allergic to peanuts.”

She wasn’t.

They ate on opposite sides of the table, cross-legged in their chairs like two kids at a sleepover. The food was warm. The silence wasn’t heavy this time, it was easy. Familiar.

Halfway through, Bob spoke without looking up.

“Do you ever get tired of pretending?”

Y/N froze, her chopsticks hovering over the noodles.

“Pretending what?”

“That you’re okay. That you belong here. That you're not scared you're gonna slip up and ruin the whole thing.”

The words hit too close. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she set her container down, carefully, and stared at him thoughtfully.

“Yes,” she whispered. “All the time.”

Bob didn’t move. He just nodded.

“I used to be afraid of the Void showing up again,” he said quietly. “Now I’m more afraid of what happens if I get too comfortable. If I let myself believe I’m just a guy with a job. Because that’s when it sneaks in.”

Y/N turned her head slightly, watching him. The way his voice cracked, the way he didn’t look at her when he spoke like he was afraid he’d see fear on her face.

But she could only feel understanding.

“I don’t know what it’s like,” she said gently, “to have a part of yourself that powerful. But I do know what it’s like to have a version of yourself you’re trying to outrun.”

He looked at her, really looked. And for the first time, Y/N saw him soften, just a little.

“I used to be good at running,” he said.

She smiled faintly. “Me too.”

He didn’t speak again for a while after that. Y/N didn’t move, just enjoyed the silent understanding between two people who only wanted a bit of peace. 

He cleared his throat after a while and Y/N looked up.

“This was nice.” He said.

She nodded, and he closed his container. He got up unsure, looking at her once more, and shook his head as though he was fighting against a thought he had had.

“Would you want to do this again?” She found herself saying. She’s not sure why she said that. Maybe it was how Bob didn’t make her feel like an intruder, or a spy, or a ghost.

Just a person.

He seemed surprised and slowly a smile crept on his face. “Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

————————————————————————————————

[tinytinyblogs]

Why not? Just move in with me darling!

The moment they realize you're not where you belong

Hyung line, Maknae line

💬 Update again life’s been such a rollercoaster lately, with so many ups and downs. But through it all, I hope whoever’s reading this is having a good day. Sending you the warmest virtual hug! ❤️

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Han

Han's cheerful demeanor disappeared the moment you refused his offer. His usual bright eyes dulled instantly, replaced by something far more wounded—something far more dangerous. “You don’t love me enough, do you?” he asked, voice low, almost broken. You tried to explain, to make him understand, but he wasn't listening. In Han’s mind, love meant saying yes without hesitation, without conditions. And if you truly loved him, you would have agreed to move in without a second thought. That night changed everything. Gone was the playful, light-hearted boy you thought you knew. In his place was someone colder, someone who didn’t bother hiding his resentment. Slowly, without you even realizing at first, Han began isolating you from everyone you cared about. He called your friends bad influences, claimed they didn’t truly have your best interests at heart. When you tried to defend them, to stand up for the people who had been with you long before him, he didn’t argue. He simply stared through you, as if your words didn’t matter. Because to him, they didn’t. Bit by bit, he chipped away at your world until the only safe place left was him. The scariest part was how natural he made it all seem. He masked his manipulation behind smiles, behind sweet words, behind concern that seemed genuine.

He wasn’t cruel outright he was clever. Calculated. When isolation wasn’t enough, he escalated. Suddenly, Han grew sick. Or so he claimed. At first, it was minor headaches, fevers, dizziness. Enough to make you worry, to make you drop your plans to be by his side. Then came the injuries. A twisted ankle. A fall down the stairs. Incidents that always happened when you mentioned leaving, always just serious enough to make you stay a little longer. You knew, deep down, something wasn’t right. But every time you tried to pull away, he would look at you with wide, pleading eyes, as if his entire existence depended on your choice. One evening, as you sat by his bedside, wiping a cool cloth over his forehead after he claimed another fever, he reached for your hand. His grip was weak, trembling, but unrelenting. “Stay,” he whispered, voice cracking with emotion. His thumb brushed over your knuckles in a desperate, shaking rhythm. “Because I can’t… If you go, I don’t think I’ll survive.” The words burrowed deep inside you, heavy and suffocating. How could you walk away from him now, when he looked so broken, so fragile? How could you live with yourself if something happened to him? And that was exactly what Han wanted. Not your love freely given but your love trapped by guilt.

Felix

At first, it seemed like he accepted it. When you told him you didn’t want to move in with him, his bright smile faltered, dimming like a light being slowly snuffed out. His eyes glazed over with something close to quiet distress, and for a moment, you almost regretted your decision. Almost. “Okay,” he said in a low, flat voice, the sound so soft it barely reached your ears. It wasn’t angry or pleading. It was... disappointed. But more than that, it felt final, like he had heard you and accepted it. You wanted to believe that. You needed to believe that. But you were wrong. The next day, you came home from work, exhausted and ready to collapse into bed only to find the door to your apartment unlocked. Panic spiked in your chest as you rushed inside, only to be met with a sight that made your stomach churn. He was there. In the middle of your living room, wearing that same bright, sunny smile you thought you had crushed just yesterday. Except now, it didn’t feel sweet it felt wrong. All around him were boxes. His boxes. His clothes. His books. His life. unpacking into yours. You stood frozen, watching him hum to himself as he arranged his things neatly around your apartment like he belonged there, like he always had.

When he finally noticed you, he didn’t look guilty. He didn’t look apologetic. He looked happy. “Finally,” he said with a grin that lit up his whole face. He dropped a stack of books onto your coffee table like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Since you didn’t want to move in with me,” he continued, stepping closer to you, “I decided to make it simple.” You opened your mouth, but no words came out. He didn’t seem to mind. He closed the distance between you, his hands brushing your arms in a touch that should have felt comforting but instead made your skin crawl. His smile softened just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “I moved into your apartment instead,” he said, as if it was the most obvious, reasonable thing in the world. His voice was full of affection, the kind of devotion that could suffocate. “Well, after all,” he whispered, his forehead nearly touching yours now, “you should be near me, shouldn’t you, sweetheart?” You could feel the walls closing in, feel the invisible cage snapping shut around you. Because deep down, you knew this wasn’t a compromise. This wasn’t love. This was ownership. And you had just become his favorite possession.

Seungmin

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable, voice calm eerily so. “That’s not the right answer,” he says, as if he had already predicted your response but was quietly hoping you’d choose differently. There’s no anger in his voice, no raised tones, just a firm finality that sends a chill through you. It’s not a warning it’s a confirmation. He knew you’d resist, but he also knew what he’d do next. Because Seungmin doesn’t argue. He acts. He is methodical. Brutal, even. When things don’t go his way, he doesn’t sulk or beg he simply takes control. And when you said no to moving in with him, he didn’t plead or ask again. He simply let it hang in the air, gave you that look that said everything without words. A look that said, You’ll regret this. And then darkness. You wake up suddenly, the world blurry and your head pounding. There’s a sharp pressure behind your eyes, a dull ache that throbs with each beat of your heart. You sit up slowly, confusion spreading through your foggy mind as you take in your surroundings. This isn’t your bedroom. It’s far too neat, too cold yet familiar in the worst way. Your things are here.

Your favorite hoodie, your toothbrush on the sink, your books stacked beside his. It’s all been arranged around his apartment like you’ve been living here for weeks. But you don’t remember a single moment of coming here. You blink, trying to make sense of it, and then your eyes land on him. Seungmin is sitting just a few feet away, relaxed, watching you with calm, patient eyes. There’s no guilt in his gaze, no shame. Only satisfaction. “How do you feel, darling?” he asks, his tone gentle, almost affectionate. “You’re home now. Don’t worry. Home sweet home with me.” He stands, taking slow steps toward you. There’s a slight smile playing on his lips, not quite warm, not quite cold. Just... certain. “I hope you understand now,” he continues softly, as if he’s giving you a life lesson instead of terrifying you. “When I say something, I mean it. You belong here. With me. And when you don’t listen…” He leans in, voice dropping lower, more intense. “Well, I’ll make sure you do.” You freeze, heart racing. Your instincts scream at you to run, to scream, to fight but something about his composure is paralyzing. There’s no chaos here. No mess. Just his quiet obsession. And it hits you. You didn’t move in with Seungmin. He moved you in.

Jeongin

Jeongin’s lips form a soft pout the moment you refuse him again. It’s subtle, almost boyish, but the glint in his eyes betrays something far more dangerous simmering beneath the surface. He doesn’t react violently, not yet. He just stares at you for a beat too long, his jaw tight, as if he's holding something back. Then, with a forced smile, he lets it go, for now. But he doesn’t stop asking. Day after day, the same question lingers in the air like a ticking clock. “I just want to keep you safe. Is that so bad?” he says with a calm voice, but there's a tension in it that unsettles you. At first, you try to laugh it off, brush it aside, pretending it’s nothing serious. But he keeps pushing, keeps repeating it like a mantra. Eventually, the persistence wears on you. It becomes suffocating. You snap. “I already told you I’m not moving in with you, Jeongin! Why won’t you just drop it?” The words hang in the air, sharp and unforgiving. And in that moment, something in him shifts. It’s subtle at first just a twitch in his brow, a slow exhale through his nose. But then his smile fades, and the real Jeongin steps into the light. The one he’s been trying to hide.

The one you've been lucky enough not to meet, until now. “I see,” he says softly, voice low and flat. “So that’s how it is.” Before you can respond, he moves. In one swift motion, he grabs your wrist tight enough to hurt. His grip is no longer gentle or playful. It’s demanding, bruising. His eyes no longer hold warmth or affection, only obsession and frustration. “How many times do I have to tell you to move in with me?” he growls, shaking your arm as if trying to rattle the resistance out of you. You try to pull away, but he’s already dragging you toward the corner of the room where a few empty boxes sit, boxes you hadn’t noticed before. He kicks them harshly, the sound echoing through the apartment like a gunshot. “Pack your stuff. Now.” His voice is cold, unrecognizable. “Don’t make me do it for you.” You freeze, heart pounding, breath caught in your throat. The boy who once spoke sweetly to you, who claimed he only wanted to protect you, is gone. Replaced by someone who sees your refusal not as a choice, but as a challenge. And challenges don’t end well with him. In his mind, you’re not rejecting him. You’re just resisting what’s inevitable.

[pagesfromthevoid]

I literally can't stop thinking about Thunderbolts and how emotional it is. I desperately want to eat snacks with Bob in his reading nook

OKAY BUT SAME. I have a book nook and I just KNOW that man is so content in his corner because it’s my favorite spot too. With one of those big comfy chaise chairs?? Hear me out….

For the first few months after the Incident™️ (as the Thunderbolts group chat has deemed it), Bob isn’t very social. He feels bad, and he’s waiting for any and all of this…niceness to go away.

It always does.

The one thing he finds solace in is this little corner by the window that he’s deemed his. At first, it’s just a pillow and some throw blankets he piles up and sits in because that’s all he really has. But then, a chaise chair shows up one day. Nothing fancy, but big enough for at least three people for some reason.

He tests the waters because he was really content with his little blanket corner. But the chair is really nice, and it’s so comfortable. And it’s nice to have because he sleeps better when he’s around the others so he naps whenever they’re around in the corner.

Then a bookshelf shows up. Not a big one. Just one of those Billy bookcases from IKEA. But it’s sitting there, with the stack of books he had collected set up neatly on it. There’s empty space for him to add more. It’s hard to focus on books for long periods of time but that’s okay, because now he can just…set them on the shelf.

More books show up slowly over time. Little sticky notes from the team on the covers, telling him they thought he’d like them (he uses them as bookmarks).

You leave him a book one day. Bright pink sticky note on the inside cover that says:

Thought of you when I saw the cover. I hope you like it. Let me know —I’m reading it too.

He has to out the note in the back because he gets distracted, reading it over and over instead of the actual book.

He’s about halfway through the book a month later, still trying to focus on it, when he finally feels like he can kind of talk about the book without sounding stupid.

He waits for you to walk by before he says anything.

“Hey, I’m —I’m almost done with that book,” he says, holding it up.

He swears to god that his heart melts when your entire mood shifts. You’re excited, and your smile is contagious and god, he made you smile like that? Can he keep doing that?

“I haven’t had a chance to read it in a week or so,” you explain, but you hold up a finger. “Give me a sec, I’ll be right back.”

And you are right back. Book in hand and a bag of chips. And you don’t even hesitate to take up the empty space next to him, opening to the last page you left on. Bob almost cries when he sees he’s only a chapter behind you.

“Catch up, and we can talk about it.” You offer, settling into the chaise —though you’re careful not to touch him. He appreciates that you don’t mind he’s a little alarmed by touch but he’s too happy to care. He settles in close to you, shoulder brushing yours gently.

The two of you are too absorbed in your book to notice that members of the team keep dropping things off on the shelf.

Yelena brings a bag of M&Ms. Ava two cups of tea. Bucky doesn’t leave anything, but he watches with a soft grin. They ban Alexei from bugging you two, but he leaves a pizza for actual dinner. And John is about to leave condoms —mostly as a joke —but Bucky smacks him upside the head. Then the arguing starts.

That’s what brings you two to attention for the first time in a few hours.

Bob wouldn’t trade it for the world though.