#sometimes i wonder what i did to get to this point

[reignpage]

She's Crazy But She's Mine

Synopsis: In which everyone wonders why hockey player!Toji is with the weird girl  Warnings: smut, fluff, porn with some plot, fem!reader, some cringe - might hit home for some people lol, cockwarming, semi-exhibitionism, blowjob, unprotected sex, roleplaying, biting, dirty talk (at parts cringy on purpose), boxers sniffing, improper use of hockey sticks, cunnilingus, fingering, not proofread - like seriously, not at all. sorry Word Count: 2k

Toji’s the star of the hockey team — highly skilled, a strong performer, speedy, agile, a visionary, and so damn hot. Everyone loves him: the guys want to be him and the girls want to ride him. With those broad shoulders, his slutty waist, sinful smirk and tempting scar, he’s earned his title as MVP. 

What people don’t get, though, is why he walks the halls of campus with his arm slung over a girl who is clearly not on his level: you wear anime merch, galaxy leggings, and big, boxy glasses you don't seem to actually need. People who have classes with you gossip about how you sit at the back, in the far right corner, chewing on your hair and drawing male characters in intimate positions. One cheerleader even swears you hissed at her when she said she likes your art style. 

After practice, he doesn’t hang back with the guys, instead, he’s heading over to the robotics lab to pick you up.  You’re rambling about circuits, the future of android domination or whatever to some nerd. He blushes when you press close. Toji, at the doorway, is staring daggers at the lanky little shit, who obviously didn’t get the memo about his claim. 

“Ya like nerds, ma? That why you were practically milking his dick in the lab?” He’s bullying his fat cock inside your tight, sloppy pussy. Your ugly-ass leggings are ripped apart at the crotch, legs spread to their limits as he fucks you against some shelves in the janitor’s closet.

Breathless, glasses askew, you reply. “N-no. Was just -ah, Toji, slow down!- just excited to tell him about LADS… I think he’d -hah- really like Zayne.”

He laughs against your neck, sucking at a sensitive spot just to feel you tighten around him. 

“God, if your moans didn’t sound so damn good, I’d stuff your panties in your mouth.”

In the locker room, after a good game, the guys ask him why he’s even with you. They point out that you talk to yourself sometimes, that you have different pictures of pretty men in your phone case every day, wear brightly-coloured clothes you made yourself, and have only ever been seen drinking cans of Monster.

Toji doesn’t bother answering. Why would he? They’ll never understand your dynamic, your appeal, and the fact that he wouldn't be able to shake you off even if he did want to. 

With the pummelling of the water, he hides the nasty slurrrrrrps coming from your mouth as you kneel between his legs in his stall, at the very back of the showers. Toji's always the first one in the locker room after a game because he knows you'll be hiding somewhere; you love to lick, suck and fondle his balls after he's gotten all sweaty and sticky. Something about his 'musk' and 'pheromones' unlocking your 'inner moon goddess.'

You’ve got a tail plugged in your ass, all soaked and pathetic looking, but when it twitches as you clench, empowered by the taste and enormous size of him filling your throat, your hockey player boyfriend can’t help but cum hard. 

“Drink it all up —yeah, just like that, good girl.” He licks his scar when you stick your tongue out, playing with the cum on there with your long fingers, making yourself gag just for him. “Shh, keep quiet, yeah? Don’t want them to catch you. Alright, turn around, baby, show me your pretty pussy.”

Bent over, you smoosh your face against the cold tiles and spread your cheeks for him, purposefully clenching so he can see your juices drool out when he lifts your soggy tail up. Wriggling your ass, you whisper, “Come and plant your seed, oh Dark Lord. Make this mudblood bear fruit for my serpent king.”

He shakes his head in disappointment but sinks his cock into you anyways. “You got back into your Harry Potter phase again, didn’t ya?”

Since he's started dating you, his understanding of pop culture has broadened considerably. For example, just recently, the new Marvel movie came out and you couldn't stop replaying edits of Bucky. He was doing push-ups when you dropped to the ground and crawled right under his body, his arms fully extended. That mischievous grin on your lips could only spell out one thing: trouble. 

That was how he found himself, folding you into a pretzel, in his bedroom. And despite the dangerous hold he had around your neck, you could only whine out, "Harder, Buck!"

"Yeah, Steve, take my fat cock. Milk the Winter out of my Soldie—God, these lines are so shit, ma. Who wrote this garbage?"

Nails digging into his meaty forearm, sweat-slicked and delirious, you reply with a giggle, working your ass back against his pelvis to feel his tip kiss your cervix. "My mootie. Don't worry about it. Come on, we're only in Act Two out of seven. Think you can last?"

He grunts. "Worry 'bout yourself, doll. I can do this all day."

Sometimes, your weirdness doesn't even involve him. Just last week, he came home after practice and dumped his duffel bag in the living room on his way to the bathroom, keen to get clean. When he finished, he noticed the bag unzipped and rifled through. Sighing, he saunters into his bedroom, bends down, grabs your ankle, and drags you out from under his bed.

With his boxers covering your entire face, he tuts. "What have I said about taking my shit? Huh? What did I say about going around and sniffing my boxers like some kinda dog? Said you just gotta ask, didn't I?"

Shamelessly, you come to a kneeling position, pulling his towel off so you can nuzzle his already half-hard cock, still wearing his boxers on your head. "Sorry, Toji."

"Show me, ma. Show me how damn sorry you are."

Not a moment of peace is given to him with you as his girlfriend. Not when you always have a new hobby, when there's drama unfolding all the time in all the online communities and fandoms you're part of, and certainly not when your appetite is seemingly endless. He can't even tape his new stick up for grip without you climbing on his back and laying kisses all over his neck. "No."

"But I wanna!"

Trying to shape you off, he says, "You gotta wait. Need to get a feel for it before I keep taping."

Of course, you don't listen to him. So, he's forced to throw the tape aside and let you crawl onto the floor, between his legs. The hockey stick is hooked on your clothed pussy, pressed deliciously right against your slit.

"Needy fucking girl, aren't ya? Can't fucking wait. Well, fine. Go on, then. Make it a good one. Make it worth my damn time."

Grinding, you get lost in the friction, groping your bouncy tits over your shirt. He huffs a laugh when you meet his gaze, eyes clouded over with desire, and lick a long stripe up the shaft. "Toji, tie my wrists to the ends and fuck me from behind, please."

"Sure, but I get to choose the movies for the next week. Getting tired of all the Lord of the Rings shit."

You moan in agreement when he suddenly tugs on the stick, pulling it hard against your clit. Your pussy juices coat the toe and he can't resist rubbing his throbbing cock over his shorts, already imagining all the good luck seeping into the stick, carrying him onto his victory.

"Cum, baby. Get it all wet for me, yeah? I'll be sure to thank you real good when I win next time."

Showing up to practice with a crick in his neck, Toji shrugs off any questions about it. His teammates would only tease him for being a simp if they found out he had spent hours the night before eating you out under your desk as you gamed.

He had three fingers stuffed inside your drenched cunt, curling them again and again against your gummy spot as he sucked hard on your pulsing clit. Your thighs quivered around his head, keeping him close, threatening to suffocate him; there are worst ways to die, he supposed.

"Fuck! Whose goddamn Venti is that? Did they even equip any fucking artefacts? I gotta carry this team with my Yaelan. Again."

Toji fought the urge to roll his eyes, and instead focused on rolling your clit around with his tongue, teasing the bundle of nerves with his skills. Despite your less than perfect diet, he finds that you actually always tastes good. You only eat fast food and chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs, yet you're sweet, mild, and completely addictive.

Sucking hard, partly to bring you closer to an orgasm and partly so he could bring your attention back to him rather than whatever's on your screen, he listened to your sharp intake of breath. "Ah! T-toji, be gentle. I'm still -ngh!- sensitive."

"Hurry up and win then, ma. My balls are about to fucking burst."

You giggled, brushing a hand through his hair, scratching just right and gaining a low groan out of him. "Give me one more -hah- o-orgasm and I'll let you -fuuuuuck, Toji- creampie me. You can watch it ooze out like custard filling, whatd'ya say, baby?"

"Yeah, sure. But don't make me recite any lines from whatever mafia erotica shit you're reading, yeah?"

He bit back a chuckle when he felt you pout, through some cosmic connection (your words, never his) and shoved your chair back suddenly. Standing to his full height, he lifted your hips with him, leaving you dangling in the air, clinging to the armrests desperately as he sucked the soul out of your drooling pussy. "Yes, fuck! God, y-you're so good to me. I love -hngh!- you! Marry me!"

"Shut up. That's my fucking line."

Even his brother sometimes wonders why you two are even together. It’s not that the younger boy doesn’t like you, no, of course, he does — you’re nice, and you bake him cookies. He just thinks you two are so different from each other. Toji likes sports and fitness. You like anime and bedrotting.

He's brought it up before, and his older brother would only muss his hair and tell him, 'You're asking questions you're not ready to hear the answers to.'

What he doesn’t get to see, because he’s at school, is that you two have found a common ground, a way to blend your worlds together. 

Your boyfriend watches sports on the TV, beer in hand and you on his lap, arms and legs wrapped around his body. You watch whatever anime you’re obsessed with at the moment on your iPad, which you hold up behind his head, nuzzling close into the crook of his neck. Occasionally, you’ll take a long whiff of his scent or chomp on his skin, and in retaliation, he’ll rut his cock deep inside you. Something about quality time and cockwarming really gets you going, apparently. 

“Up, baby. Need to get another drink.” He grunts when you tighten your hold around him, even going as far as to clamp down on his throbbing cock, grinding your hips around. A dribble of cum runs down his balls. “No? You’re a real piece of work. Alright, hold on tight then.”

Every step he takes drives him deeper inside you, nudging his fat cock head against that gooey spot inside of you. “Ah, Toji, your rock-hard member is impaling me!”

Groaning, he smacks your ass. “Do you gotta call it those weird ass names, ma? Ain’t ‘dick’ just fine?”

“What about ‘manhood?’”

“Try again.”

You hum. “‘Shaft?’ Or, ‘wizard’s staff?’”

He takes a swig of his beer, sighing. “Forget it.”

Yeah, his girl might be weird, but you're cute. Toji’s never met anyone else who can get his dick hard and leaking like there’s no tomorrow all while you ramble about which fictional world you'd love to be ‘isekaid’ into, whatever that means. You might be weird, but you help his brother out with his homework, massage aches out of his limbs after a particularly violent game, don't judge him for not having many real friends or for his family situation, and you push his desires to their very limits with your wild imaginations and lack of reservations. You’re incredible and people would never understand that.

And plus, Toji really doesn’t think you’re that weird, anyway.

“Hey, Toji? Can you cum inside and then eat me out? I want to record you making bubbles on my clit.”

Never mind.

[alwaysmaybank]

soft rafe hours

soft!bf!rafe x reader

warnings: barely proofread, use of y/n once, really soft and mushy!

this is my first time actually writing anything fan fic related so idk if this is good or not.. sorry in advance for the people that follow me because of jj or "right in front of you" but when I made this blog I was in my jj phase and now I'm in my rafe one, so sorry! hope you like it !!

the title is so cringy help me

summary: nobody ever saw rafe like this—so soft. well, except for you, especially during soft rafe hours: at night after a long day, when you’re asleep, when he first wakes up, when you’re sick or hurt, after an argument, on rainy days, and even sometimes in bed. you loved this side of him, even if he only showed it to you. people see him as the confident, smug rafe cameron, but one phone call reveals just how different he truly is.

more under the cut!

after tossing and turning the entire night, slumber is finally taking over your eyelids. just as they start to close… ping! you could've sworn you left your phone on silent? after groaning about it and wondering who it could be, it clicks.

ping! it's rafe. this has become a familiar trend now, him not being able to sleep so he texts and texts until you reply.

ping! until you two call.

ping! you consider just ignoring it, ping! but how could you? it's rafe. plus, if you even tried to ignore him, he would come over and break the door down if he had to.

ping! you eventually open your phone, your eyes closing instinctively at the blinding brightness, six texts from rafe.

rafey:

2:14am

hey baby you up? i miss you

rafey:

2:32am

baby? are u up? y/n?

you saw him yesterday. you’re not sure what’s going on, but you suspect it has something to do with ward, given his clingy behavior.

2:35am

hey rafey

rafey:

did i wake you? sorry baby

you lie. you don't want to make him feel bad.

no no dw baby i was watching something

rafey:

oh okay can we call? couldnt sleep without you i miss you

five seconds later, you call him. “hey baby,” you hear his quiet, soft, yet raspy sleepy voice first.

“hi,” you reply tiredly.

“i missed you,” he says, and you can practically hear the radiant smile in his voice.

“how was your day?” you just had a blissfully lazy day today, some shopping on the side.

“good, i went shopping and saw that whiskey you like on the shelf, reminded me of you,” you grin over the phone.

“mm, good,” you hear him mumble out. “just missed your voice,” he continues. “couldn’t sleep without hearing you first, baby.” that’s cute.

“awh, i love you, baby,” you reply, your tired but don’t want to stay silent; you know he needs this.

“i missed you today,” rafe murmured after a beat, his voice rougher now, more raw. “whole day just felt wrong without you in it.” your chest tightened slightly, in the best way as a blush crept onto your cheeks. he said stuff like this all the time; you don’t think you would ever get over it.

“you make everything better, without even trying,” he pauses, taking in a soft breath. “like… just existing.” you didn’t know what to say, so you settled for a soft, “i missed you too, rafey.”

rafe hummed on the other side of the line, clearly content with that answer. the call goes silent for a minute, the only sound both of your soft breaths that blended together.

“don’t hang up,” he mumbled, his voice hard to get the point across but softened immensely. “jus’… stay, okay?” he whispered, and you agreed with a soft hum.

there was another long pause, and then, so quiet you could’ve thought you imagined it, a little, “love you so much, baby,” slipped past rafe’s lips. you held a chuckle in before responding, “i love you too, rafey, goodnight.” but by the time you said that, rafe was fast asleep, his breath slowing down as the gentle trance of sleep pulled him in.

as you lay there, wrapped in the warmth of his soothing voice, you felt your own eyelids grow heavy, surrendering to a peaceful slumber where everything felt right.

this is wayyyy too short stop

[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

[pumkinzee]

Could you write smth similar to your husband!jason HCs but with percy please? i love all that you've written!

PAPER RINGS ˏˏ HUSBAND!PERCY JACKSON

pairing: Percy Jackson x gn!reader

⌑ - English isn't my first language so I'm using a translator and my basic knowledge of the language!

𝐑equest 𝐨pens! + 𝐫ules!

If Jason planned for months what the proposal would be like, he is the complete opposite. He always knew that he wanted to marry you, he knew that you were the one, the one who would raise his children, the one who he would wake up in bed with every day, he already knew that he would spend the rest of his days with you, he just didn't know how to handle the idea of ​​marriage. Too nervous? Yes, but mostly hesitant, he spoke a lot with his mother about how to take it and how to analyze when the right time would be. It took him longer than necessary not because of the decision, but because learn to organize. 

When you told him yes, he had a fit of nervous laughter, you thought it had all been a joke and you almost got angry with him until you saw how he started to cry from emotion. Yes, it was a complete disaster. 

Small and special wedding, his friends, his mother, Paul and Estelle, what we would all think. Beach wedding? Try to get the idea out of my head. Honeymoon to Montauk, you guys couldn't afford anything too expensive, it was a special place for him and he got to make it special for you too, it was the perfect place. 

You move in together a little while after the wedding, a comfortable and bright flat with a sea view, always lit up, sand on the floor and the smell of blue food, if that makes any sense. The move is quicker than you thought because of how used he is to moving, schools, houses, cities, everything Sally did for him unconsciously developed in him a great speed when it comes to moving.

As boyfriends he was already cuddly, as a husband? You're lost, wait till you spend the first week with a clingy, complaining husband, the kind that clings to your foot and you end up dragging him while you walk because he won't even let you go to the bathroom.

He is afraid of losing his ring, he wears it whenever he leaves the house, even when they go to the corner just to buy bread, he is very proud of his marriage. He tells his life to people who mention his ring just because they thought it was pretty, they learned to stop asking stupid things to stupid strangers.

He's not allowed to touch the kitchen, even if it's with all his heart and Sally taught him how to cook, I don't think he has any talent for cooking, I feel like he forgets he has things in the oven, he doesn't know how to turn on the stove, he cuts his fingers. You better cook or you'll have the kitchen as a decoration, sometimes you just ask Sally for help.

Sally? Oh, she LOVES you. You become another of his children, spoiled and pampered who will always have a plate of blue cookies on the table, she talks to you for hours about so many different things that you never get bored.

With Paul it's much the same, a good cup of tea and you'll be comfortable talking with your father-in-law about adult life and life in general.

They love you, you are never bored and you are always invited to spend the holidays with them, there comes a point where they ask about you so much that Percy wonders if they ever hesitated to adopt you before the wedding.

Estelle adores you, she loves it when Percy brings you with him because she can run to you so you can hug her and carry her into the air. You spoil her a lot secretly from Sally, she is your little accomplice to play pranks on Percy.

Percy develops a baby fever that lasts...oh, how it lasts.

nswf cut!

Once you were lying on your bed, happy to be alive since demigods live less than average, and the next you have Percy between your legs. He doesn't say much, at first you think he just wants cuddles and is being whimsical, but you quickly realize he has something else on his mind.

Dealing with horny Percy is...wow. Dealing with him on your honeymoon was just the beginning, he's quick and possessive, but not toxic possessiveness, he owns you because he wants you to be there for him and him alone, it hurts his heart when you're not with him. He is healthily obsessed with you.

Kisses on the neck drive him crazy, he is not a very vocal person, but be prepared to have to shut him up, you will never see him making as much noise as now again

He loves being on top of you, reading your features, how you roll your eyes, how you shyly moan his name. He gives you kisses all over your face when you take him because he knows which is big

He has a very big ego, sorry, this man is obsessed with the way you squeeze him or squirm because of him

Sex in public? Yeah, well, no. Places where no one is there but someone could walk in, he knows what he's doing.

nsfw cut!

He’s a dad son

Yes, we would all want to see him with a daughter, he would treat her like a princess and spoil her a lot (Estelle would be jealous) but I feel that with a son he could be the boy he never could; He would scream, he would laugh, he would run around the house, they would watch movies until late, he would take him to the movies, they would play soccer together, he would take him to the beach, he would be the boy Gabe never let him be.

He is not overprotective, but that does not mean he is irresponsible, he knows that, if his son has his powers, he would know how to defend himself perfectly, he would train him but in his own way, being the son of the most powerful demigod will not make him weak, and Percy knows that.

If your son gets suspended or something, Percy will defend him the way Sally defended him.

Blue food everywhere.

You come home from work and the first thing you see is Percy asleep in the living room with your son asleep on your chest, the television is on and there are cookie crumbs on the floor.

©pumkinzee

[theonlyonesora]

The Third Rule

Lily x Oscar Piastri x You (Reader)

Chapter 4 - Early Departures, Lingering Looks

The morning was gentle. Warm light spilled across the floor, soft and honey-gold, slipping in through gauzy curtains. I was already dressed—hoodie, shorts, bare feet against cool tile—as I zipped the last of my overnight bag.

Lily was still curled up in bed, lost in that kind of sleep where you could tell the world couldn’t touch her. Oscar and I had both woken early—accidentally, maybe. Or not. I wasn’t sure anymore.

The kitchen smelled like coffee. Quiet clinks and the low hum of the kettle filled the silence.

Oscar handed me a mug without asking how I liked it. Somehow, he just knew.

"You're up early for someone who went to bed at 3 a.m.," I said, voice a little hoarse from sleep and salt air.

He gave a small smile. “You were louder than I expected.”

I groaned and covered my face. “Oh my God. You heard that?”

“Everyone heard that.” He leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee. “Lily nearly suffocated herself laughing into a pillow.”

I buried my face in my hands, then peeked at him. “Do I get points for enthusiasm?”

Oscar’s eyes glinted. “You get full marks.”

We laughed, the kind of quiet laugh people share when the rest of the house is still asleep.

And then… a pause.

The kind that didn’t feel awkward. Just aware.

It was the first time we were truly alone. No Lily between us. Just me and him and the smell of coffee.

“You’re leaving today,” he said. Not a question.

“Yep. Train’s at nine.”

“You packed like someone escaping a scandal.”

“You never know when scandal will call.” I gave a wink over my mug. “Especially with you two around.”

Oscar’s eyes softened. “This weekend was… fun.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It was.”

Another pause. Another almost-something.

“I get why she loves you,” he said after a moment.

That caught me off guard. “You do?”

He nodded, his voice low. “You make her laugh. You protect her. You see parts of her I think even I miss sometimes.”

I looked down at my mug. “She saved me too, you know. When we met. She gave me a soft place to land.”

Oscar stepped closer. Just slightly. Still respectful. Still safe. But there was something in the air now, the kind of hum you feel under your skin.

“She told me you reminded her of me,” he said. “I never saw it before.”

“And now?”

“Now I think I get it.”

I looked up at him, eyes meeting, locked just long enough to wonder about things that had no names yet.

“I should go,” I whispered.

“Yeah.” He didn’t move.

But then I did. I reached out, fingers brushing his arm gently, just for a second. Not a flirt. Not a promise. Just… a thank you, maybe. Or something waiting.

“Take care of her,” I said softly.

He nodded, voice quiet. “I will.”

And as I walked out the door, bag slung over my shoulder, the morning suddenly felt a little heavier.

Like something had shifted. Like something had started. Or maybe just been acknowledged.

And I wasn’t sure what was next. But I knew it wasn’t over.

.

Lily woke up to the smell of coffee and the feel of sunlight dancing across the duvet. The bed felt strangely empty, and the apartment was too quiet.

(Y/N) was gone.

She sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes and pulling one of Oscar’s shirts tighter around her frame. The morning had that particular stillness that only followed something. And her gut already told her… something had shifted.

She padded into the kitchen, where Oscar stood leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone like he hadn’t been standing in the exact same spot for thirty minutes.

“Hey,” she said, voice groggy.

He looked up immediately. “Morning.”

She smiled sleepily and kissed his cheek, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Did she leave already?”

He nodded. “Train left a little after nine.”

“She didn’t even wake me.”

“She said you looked too peaceful.” He hesitated. “Didn’t want to ruin that.”

Lily leaned back, looking at him more closely now. “You okay?”

Oscar let out a soft exhale through his nose. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

Her brows lifted gently. “About what?”

There was a beat of silence. A flicker of something in his eyes that wasn’t guilt. Wasn’t shame. Just… complication.

“She’s different in person,” he said finally.

Lily leaned against the island across from him, arms folded, expression unreadable. “Yeah. She is.”

Oscar nodded slowly. “I think I get it now. What you meant all those times you said I’d like her.”

A small, wry smile tugged at Lily’s lips. “Told you.”

Oscar met her gaze, searching her expression. “She’s magnetic. The way she laughs, how she makes everything a little more alive… It’s hard not to get pulled in.”

Lily didn’t flinch. “I know.”

Another silence. He was waiting for something. Maybe her jealousy. Maybe her anger. But Lily was never the kind to rage; she thought first. Always.

Lily nodded slowly. “She has that effect.”

There was a long pause. The kind that felt like a dare.

Then Lily tilted her head and asked, very carefully, “Would you tell me if you wanted her?”

Oscar looked stunned for a moment—not because of the question, but because of how calmly she asked it.

“I don’t think I want her like that. I just… I feel close to her now. And it’s new. But also not?”

Lily smiled, a little sad, a little warm. “Welcome to my world.”

Oscar’s eyes softened. “You’re not upset?”

“I think,” she said slowly, walking over to him and sliding her hands under his shirt, resting them on his waist,

“I just need to know what we’re doing. If we’re honest… if we trust each other… then I’m not afraid of her. Or you.”

Oscar pulled her into a quiet embrace, head resting against hers. “I love you.”

“I know.”

He pulled back to meet her gaze. “Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said honestly. “But I do know I want to find out with you. And with her, if she wants that too.”

Oscar exhaled. “This is insane.”

Lily smiled. “Yeah. But also kind of hot?”

Oscar chuckled and pulled her into a deeper hug. And somewhere, faintly—like the echo of laughter on a beach at midnight—they both felt (Y/N)’s name still lingering in the room.

Tag List:

@freyathehuntress, @mimisweetz, @aleatorio1234, @totallynotluluu, @rorabelle15, @prongslena, @linnygirl09, @mangotaitai, @forensicheart, @devilacot

[alittlegiraffe]

If you‘re ever tasking requests: Could you maybe write something about them being at the studio and his boys like her very much and think she great for Marshall? (like Royce, Mr Porter, Paul)

I absolutes love your waiting🥰🥰🥰

Title: “Soft for Him”

The house was loud. The kind of loud that came with sports on the TV, beer in hand, and men shouting over each other like the game could hear them. You stayed mostly in the kitchen, humming softly as you arranged sliders on a tray, fingers brushing pink gingham that matched the little bow clipped in your hair. You didn’t need to dress up for this—it was just the guys—but you liked feeling put together. Pretty. Even if sometimes you wondered if you looked a little too out of place next to the world Marshall belonged to.

You didn’t fit the mold. Not the industry, not the scene. You weren’t bold, brash, or razor-sharp. You were soft-spoken, gentle, more prone to offering a plate of cookies than a snarky comeback. And sometimes, you’d catch one of his friends or crew giving you that look—the one that said, her? really?

You’d learned not to read too far into it. But still.

“Yo, where’s the—” Paul’s voice boomed into the kitchen before he caught himself, “Ah. There you are. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You gave him a little smile. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just came to grab more napkins.” He leaned on the counter, watching you for a second. “You holding up okay?”

“I’m good,” you nodded, glancing into the living room where Marshall was half-reclined on the couch, beer dangling in one hand, eyes on the screen—except they weren’t. He was watching you. His gaze soft, settled, like the whole party had faded behind him.

Paul followed your line of sight. Smirked. “You know he looks at you like that even when you’re not watching, right?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Like what?”

“Like you’re the only person in the room. Like you’re some kind of peace he didn’t think he’d ever get.”

You looked down, brushing crumbs off your apron. “I don’t always feel like I fit, you know? Like I’m not his kind of person.”

Paul gave a low chuckle and began stacking paper plates. “You’re not. That’s kind of the point.”

You looked up.

“He’s all sharp edges and fire,” Paul said. “And you… you’re the soft place he lands. You don’t have to be loud to be good for him. Hell, he’s loud enough for the both of you.”

Your eyes stung a little. You turned to the sink under the guise of rinsing off a spoon.

Paul clapped your shoulder, gentle. “You’re good for him. Better than good. And he knows it.”

Later, when the house was quiet again and Marshall tugged you into his lap without a word, burying his face into the crook of your neck like he always did when he needed grounding, you thought maybe Paul was right.

You might not fit into the world on paper.

But you fit into his.

---

The kitchen was quieter now, though it still held the echoes of the evening—beer bottles clinking in the trash, the faint buzz of the game’s post-show commentary drifting from the living room, the low murmur of goodbyes and back-slaps as people filtered out the front door.

You were stacking dishes in the sink, sleeves rolled up, soft curls falling around your face as you worked, when a familiar voice behind you said, half-slurred:

“Yo. Where the hell are the cookies?”

You turned with a laugh. “Hi, Denaun. Not even a hello first?”

He grinned sheepishly and leaned against the doorframe, red Solo cup in hand. “I knew you made those cookies. I told Proof’s cousin, like, ‘watch—she probably made the good kind with the sea salt on top.’” He peered around you exaggeratedly. “Am I wrong?”

You grabbed the plate from the counter and held it up with a little curtsy. “Sea salt and all.”

“Yes!” He took one with the reverence of someone who’d just found gold. “You’re too good for this place. For him.”

You raised a brow, amused. “Is that your way of saying thank you?”

Denaun took a bite and groaned like it was a religious experience. “Nah, that’s my way of saying… listen. Marshall used to be a dick.”

You snorted, half-turning to rinse a bowl. “Used to be?”

“Okay, okay,” he conceded, laughing. “He’s still an asshole. But now? He’s, like… a better kind. A domesticated asshole. Like one of those angry raccoons that found a warm attic to live in.”

You pressed a hand to your mouth to stifle a laugh.

“I’m serious,” Denaun continued, now gesturing with half a cookie. “There was a time you couldn’t talk to him before noon without risking your life. Now he’s out here asking people if they want ‘another slider’ and keeping your pink dish towels folded. I saw him fold a towel earlier, swear to God.”

You shook your head, cheeks warm.

“He’s different,” Denaun said, tone softening just a touch. “Still him. Still angry at the world. But with you? It’s like the anger doesn’t own him anymore. You’re the calm in his storm, and I think he finally figured out that he needs that. Needs you.”

Before you could respond, Marshall’s voice cut in from the hallway. “You giving my wife a hard time, Denaun?”

“Just saying nice things, swear on my mama,” Denaun called back with a mouthful of cookie.

Marshall stepped into the doorway, one brow raised, arms crossed. “Better be. You mess with her, you mess with me.”

Denaun held up the cookie like a peace offering. “Tell her to make more of these and I’ll never speak ill of you again.”

You and Marshall locked eyes, and despite the tiredness in his face, he gave you that look again—that steady, quiet one that made your chest go warm.

Denaun wandered off, muttering something about stealing a Ziploc bag.

Marshall crossed to you and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. “Don’t listen to him.”

You leaned back into him. “I liked what he said.”

He kissed the curve of your neck. “Yeah? What part?”

You smiled. “The part where he called you domesticated.”

Marshall groaned. “Jesus.”

You turned in his arms and cupped his cheek. “Don’t worry. You’re still my asshole.”

He smirked and kissed you slow, sweet. “Damn right.”

Marshall’s lips were just about to meet yours—hands firm on your waist, his breath warm and steady—when the kitchen door swung open again.

“Yo!”

You both startled slightly, and Marshall groaned audibly, dropping his forehead against your shoulder as Royce burst in like he was announcing the second coming.

“Tell me Denaun’s not the only one getting cookies. That’s favoritism, and I know that’s not how this house runs.”

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing, gently pulling back from Marshall’s arms to grab the small blue-lid Tupperware you’d prepped just in case. You held it out to Royce like it was a peace treaty.

“Already packed. I know how you guys operate.”

Royce’s eyes widened like you’d handed him treasure. He took the container reverently, then looked at Marshall, utterly serious. “I get why you love her, man. She’s the best of us.”

Marshall snorted. “Don’t tell her that. She’s already impossible to live without.”

Too late—you were smiling, cheeks warm.

Royce turned on his heel with a gleeful, “Denaun! Suck it, I got mine pre-packed!” as he disappeared back down the hall.

Marshall sighed, deadpan. “Next time, we fake our deaths and move to Montana.”

You laughed, turning back to him. “With your friends? That wouldn’t stop them. They’d still show up like, ‘you got Wi-Fi? And snacks?’”

He shook his head with a chuckle, then slid his arms around you again, tucking you close. “You’re too good to them.”

“I’m good to you,” you said quietly.

That finally settled him. He leaned in again, slower this time, pressing a kiss to your mouth that was all gratitude and grounding.

And no one interrupted this time.

---

It took some convincing, a glass of water, and a very firm “You can either sleep in the guest room or I’m calling your mom” before Denaun finally flopped back onto the bed with a dramatic groan.

You tucked the blanket over him like he was a sulking teenager instead of a nearly six-foot grown man. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“Gonna steal your throw pillows,” he mumbled into the mattress.

“Fine. Just don’t puke on them.”

You turned off the lamp, pulling the door halfway shut behind you—and nearly bumped into Marshall, leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed, wearing that unreadable half-smirk, half-melted look he always gave you when you did something that cracked him open a little.

“You enjoy bossing my friends around?” he asked, voice low, amused.

“I enjoy keeping them alive,” you said, brushing imaginary lint off your sundress.

Marshall reached for you, pulling you in without effort, tucking you into his side as the hallway dimmed behind you both. “You always this sweet to my friends, baby?” he murmured against the shell of your ear, lips trailing lower until they found that spot on your neck he knew made you sigh.

“Only the drunk ones,” you teased, smiling against the warmth blooming at the base of your throat.

He huffed a laugh, nose brushing your skin. “Lucky me, then.”

You walked together down the hall, his hand splayed warm and heavy on your hip, his body angled toward yours like even gravity favored pulling him closer.

“You’re really good at that, you know,” he said quietly, almost like it was a secret. “Taking care of people. Even the ones like him.”

“I like taking care of people,” you said. “Especially the ones who don’t always know how to ask for it.”

He hummed against your skin. “You sure you’re not too good for me?”

You stopped, turning to face him fully, your hands smoothing over his chest. “Maybe I’m just right for you.”

Marshall looked at you like you’d said something holy, and then his mouth was on yours again—deeper this time, slower, like he wanted to carve the truth of that into memory.

Behind you, Denaun let out a heroic snore that made the walls vibrate.

You both broke the kiss with a laugh, and Marshall grinned. “Guess we’re not getting much sleep tonight.”

You grinned back. “Speak for yourself. I packed the cookies and tucked in your drunk best friend. I’ve earned at least six hours.”

Marshall swept you into his arms anyway. “Fine. But I’m still making it hard.”

“You always do,” you giggled, as he carried you off toward your room.

---

By the time the bedroom door clicked shut behind you, your body felt like it had been wrung out and gently folded. The noise of the day had faded, leaving only the hum of the house and the low sound of Marshall moving behind you—setting his phone on the dresser, kicking off his shoes.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers working at the tie of your dress, when his hands came to rest gently on your shoulders.

“Let me,” he murmured.

You dropped your hands into your lap and let him take over. He undid the knot with slow, careful fingers, letting the soft fabric fall away from your frame like petals. There was no rush in him tonight—no teasing, no heat behind his touch—just that quiet kind of reverence that always caught you off guard. Like every part of you mattered. Like he saw you.

“You did a lot today,” he said, voice low as he leaned down to press a kiss to the curve of your shoulder. “Didn’t sit down once.”

“I’m okay,” you murmured, even though your legs ached and your back was tight and your eyes stung just a little.

He didn’t answer. Just helped you out of the rest of your clothes, his touch soft and patient, like he was unwrapping something precious. You lay back against the pillows and he tugged the blankets up around you, settling beside you without a word, arm curling protectively around your waist.

“Turn over,” he said gently.

You blinked at him. “What?”

“I’m giving you a massage. Don’t argue.”

You laughed, too tired to protest anyway, and rolled onto your stomach. A moment later, his hands were on you—firm, slow pressure working into your lower back, then gliding up your spine, his thumbs finding every knot and easing it out with practiced care.

You let out a soft sound as your body began to melt under his touch. He leaned down, brushing your hair aside to kiss the back of your neck.

“You do too much,” he whispered. “Always taking care of everyone else.”

“I like it,” you murmured into the pillow.

“I know you do,” he said. “That’s what makes you... you. But you don’t have to do it alone all the time.”

His hands slowed, resting against your shoulder blades. “You come in here, soft voice and pink dress, and you don’t even realize you’re the strongest one in the room.”

Your throat tightened at that, but before you could speak, he shifted beside you, curling you into his arms as he lay down, holding you close and warm against his chest.

“I got you now,” he said softly. “Let me take care of you for once.”

You didn’t answer—not with words. Just tucked your face into his chest, let yourself finally relax, and breathed him in.

And he stayed right there, one hand stroking lazy circles on your back, the other holding you steady—quiet, grounded, safe.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there in his arms, skin warm against his, wrapped in that stillness that only came with being completely known, completely safe. His hand never stopped moving—those slow, steady circles along your back that started out soothing but gradually dipped lower… brushing the curve of your hip, tracing the dip of your waist.

You sighed into him, soft and breathy, and you felt the way his body responded to the sound—his breath catching slightly, the arm around you tightening.

“You’re relaxed now,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple.

“Mhm.”

“I like you like this.”

His voice was low—rougher now, darker at the edges—and it made something in your stomach flutter. He shifted beside you, coaxing you gently onto your back, his eyes searching yours in the dim light.

“You sure you’re not too tired, baby?” he asked, fingers brushing your cheek.

You shook your head, already arching slightly into his touch. “Not with you.”

That was all he needed.

He kissed you slowly at first, like he was still handling something fragile—mouth soft, patient, coaxing. But when your fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, something shifted. The kiss deepened, his weight settling over you, hands sliding over your skin like he was relearning every inch.

“You take care of everyone else,” he whispered, his lips trailing down your neck, along your collarbone. “Tonight, I take care of you. No interruptions. No distractions.”

You gasped as his mouth found that tender place just beneath your jaw, his hand slipping beneath the blanket to trace the inside of your thigh. “Marshall…”

“Shh, baby. Just let me make you feel good.”

And you did.

You let him take his time—let him worship every part of you with his mouth, his hands, his voice murmuring soft praises against your skin. He moved like a man who knew what it meant to fall apart, and how to put someone back together again—slowly, reverently, with just the right amount of heat to remind you how deeply he loved you, how much of himself he’d always give to you.

By the time you were breathless and shaking beneath him, his name on your lips like a prayer, he kissed you again—forehead pressed to yours, the words “I got you” whispered again and again like a vow.

And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, you knew: the world could fall apart outside those walls.

But in here, you were home.

---

The morning light crept in slow, golden stripes through the blinds, brushing soft across the room. The scent of rain lingered faintly from the storm that rolled in sometime during the night, and somewhere down the hall, Denaun snored like a dying lawn mower.

You stirred beneath the sheets, sore in the sweetest way, skin still humming with memory. A warm arm was slung across your waist, and when you shifted, Marshall murmured low behind you.

“Mm. You movin’ already?”

You smiled sleepily, nestling back into the curve of his chest. “Trying to, but apparently I’m trapped.”

His voice was rough and lazy. “Damn right you are.”

His hand slid a little lower, fingers brushing along your hip possessively. You let out a soft laugh.

“Someone’s feeling smug.”

“You’re warm, you’re naked, and you moaned my name like a song last night,” he mumbled into your hair. “Course I’m smug.”

You reached back to swat at him, but he caught your hand easily, lacing your fingers with his and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“You sleep good?” he asked, voice gentler now.

You nodded. “Like a rock.”

He smiled against your shoulder. “Good. That was the goal.”

Just as you were melting into the quiet again, a knock sounded at the bedroom door—too enthusiastic, too familiar.

“Y’all decent?” came Denaun’s unmistakable voice. “Because I’m making coffee and I swear the cookies are gone and I’m suspicious.”

You groaned into the pillow. “He’s relentless.”

Marshall sighed, flopping dramatically onto his back. “I should’ve let him drive home drunk.”

You laughed and rolled over, leaning up on one elbow. “You love him.”

Marshall scowled half-heartedly. “I love you. Him? He’s like athlete’s foot. Won’t go away, mildly irritating, but you learn to live with it.”

You bit back a giggle, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Well, athlete’s foot made coffee. I’m gonna go make sure he doesn’t burn down the kitchen.”

He caught your wrist gently, looking up at you with that rare, unguarded softness.

“Hey.”

You met his eyes.

“Thank you. For yesterday. For last night.” His thumb traced a line along your wrist. “For being mine.”

You leaned down and kissed him, slow and lingering. “Always.”

And then you slipped from the bed, pulling on one of his shirts—the hem brushing your thighs—as you padded barefoot down the hall, laughter already rising in your chest at the sound of Denaun arguing with the coffee machine.

Marshall watched you go, head tipped against the pillow, a lazy smirk tugging at his mouth.

Yeah, he thought.

Always.

[oddballwriter]

Hello! If you're willing, could request dbbq ena with a gn!reader who has more self destructive stims (ex: bitting nails, skin picking, scratching at arms, ect.) Nothing too serious, just not the best or most healthy stimming methods. Kind of like her helping them break the habits and all?

It's entirely fine if not! Live your writing, keep up the great work and have a wonderful day!

No Biting

Dream BBQ ENA w/ a partner with self-destructive stims

Warning: Reader having self-destructive stims and habits (skin picking, nail biting, etc). Dream BBQ ENA being her weird little self.

As someone who also has destructive stims (nail biting, skin and scab picking, nibbling, and hair tugging) I get this so much because sometimes a really do bite my nails till I end up damaging the part where the nail meets the actual skin and pull hang nails till they hurt. So tbh thanks for this anon

Again, any and all behavior you do is a marvel to ENA. She definitely has moments where she herself stims and has her own habits. But when she notices that you do certain things like pick your skin and all that. She’s interested

Especially since some of these things seem to cause you pain but you still do it

She picks up on the fact that you sometimes pick at your skin and then show signs that it hurts, like the spot becoming red and you having small micro expressions of pain when you start doing it again

“Why must you do this repeated action if it quickly becomes unenjoyable for you? Is it programmed into you?”

You explain to her that it’s just a thing you do out of habit and that it’s just second nature to the point that you keep doing it even though you probably shouldn’t

“So you have programmed this behavior pack into yourself? Might you be able to uninstall it then?”

You agree that you could, but that it’s hard since it is in fact second nature at this point

ENA then decides that this is her duty now. To keep you from doing these stims and breaking the habit

She does this in one of two ways, respective to which side is active

Her business side just stays vigilant to anything and everything you’re doing at every single moment to be there when you start doing whatever self-destructive habit you have, and politely prevent you from doing it

Like if you try and bite your nails. She just takes your hand and gently pushes it away from your mouth stating “You are not a consumable, dearest. There is no need to have your phalanges make contact with your oral cavity.”

Or if you pick your skin she does that same, saying “There is no point to pinch at random coordinates of our form. It will only cause us semi-permanent and temporary anomalies there.”

Meanie has a very blunt approach of just telling you to knock it off

“HEY! What did we say about the biting? Knock it off before you break your membranes.”

“Quit scratching like you have fleas! We both know there’s no itch!”

It’s almost like when you tell a dog to drop something they have in their mouth. That’s the tone she has with you

She’s very happy when she’s able to watch you from the corner of her sights and doesn’t see you doing any of your self destructive stims anymore or doing more “healthy” ones that don’t involve any of the biting, nibbling, picking, or whatever

[johns-walker]

change

john walker/f!reader

when you get injured during a job, you and john have a genuine conversation for once

cw some thunderbolts spoilers (pre-movie, about his personal life), non-graphic depictions of injuries, discussions of mental health / 2.1k wc

i've been a john walker sh**ter since 2021, i've been in the TRENCHES and have watched wyatt russell's entire filmography - i love him. this mainly serves as a set-up/prequel to the second part which takes place during thunderbolts. also, named after the djo song. did i mention that i saw djo last night? i in fact saw djo last night.

It was supposed to be just a job. An easy one at that. 

Really, you were embarrassed to admit to yourself that you actually believed Val when she told you that this would just be an easy in-and-out, that you she was only sending you with your only frequent collaborator because she wanted extra assurance that the package you were retrieving would be found in a timely manner. Believing Val about anything had been a mistake from day one, especially something that had to do with your own personal security and well-being. 

From the moment a cloaked man’s blade embedded itself in your thigh, you knew that this wasn’t ever supposed to be an easy job. 

“She’s trying to get us killed.” Your voice came out as more of a complaint than an actual statement that you were trying to communicate to the man in front of you who was doing his absolute best to patch up your wound with what he had on him. 

“We’re alive, aren’t we?” Walker was stubborn, he always was. But sometimes you wondered if that stubbornness came from the fact that he had more going on than he ever wanted to let on to people. You knew about his issues at home, what had happened about six months ago at this point. It was why you became gentler with him, but he all but rejected any sign of kindness from you - mainly because he seemed to believe that you were just patronizing him, because, as he said, he ‘didn’t want to be coddled’. That didn’t mean that, eventually, he hadn’t started being a bit nicer to you, too. 

“Didn’t you take a knife to the shoulder, too?” 

“Yeah but I’m a super soldier, I’ll be fine.” 

He was too stubborn for his own good. 

“You still couldn’t died, I could’ve died. She told us this was easier than it was, and you know it just as well as I do.” 

As you finished speaking, he finished wrapping your leg and looked up at you. But there was a look in his eyes that told you that this conversation simply wasn’t going to go the way that you wanted it to go, because there was no reasoning with him on this matter. 

“If she wanted us to die, we would be dead.” 

“John-”

“You’ve said this for the last two jobs, if this is too hard for you, you can always tap out.” 

Sometimes it was easy to get a more human side out of him, but sometimes - times like this - it proved itself to be a challenge. Deep down, you were sure that he knew that there was a part of this operation that relied on Val lying to you so you would be more willing to do what she wanted you to do. Did she really want to get you killed? Probably not, she’d have to find more people willing to work for her if she did. Granted, you were certain that would-be superheroes weren’t too difficult to find nowadays. 

“Maybe she doesn’t want us to die, but she clearly has no regard for our well-being.” 

“Oh, please-”

“Forget it, John, I don’t want to argue.” 

Maybe it was the exhaustion on your face that made him listen to you as he moved away from where he was sitting, grabbing the chair that he had moved opposite to the edge of the bed that you were on while he was patching your leg up and moving it to the corner. 

“I’ll be in the other room.” 

Like usual, when you had far-away jobs, Val would either fly you out or get you a hotel with adjoined but separate rooms. When John decided to get up and leave, you could go talk to him whenever you wanted - and you typically did. That was what made it so difficult for you, when it came down to it. Well, it was among the things that made everything so difficult for you.

The issue stemmed from the fact that, at some point, the two of you had become friends. You weren’t sure when things changed, when your professional relationship had become a lot more personal. Maybe it was the night that you were feeling a bit rough, and while he wasn’t the type to talk you through that and give you a hug, he didn’t mind wordlessly sitting beside you and watching movies that the hotel had until you eventually fell asleep. Then you both started sharing more personal things with each other, personal issues that neither of you were sharing with other people. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t like that you were friends, because you did. But sometimes you liked it too much. It hadn’t taken you very long to figure out that the feelings that you had when you were around John weren’t exactly platonic, but that wasn’t something that you were going to tell him. Even if it had been months ago, he was clearly still reeling from the loss of his marriage and you knew that. The issue wasn’t workplace romance, or not wanting to tell him because of some minuscule reason. It was because you knew him, and you knew that if anything were to happen between the two of you it would need to happen on his terms - for both of your sake. 

Knowing him itself was a battle, because sometimes you wished that you could do more to help him. You wanted to do something beyond just exist and be a friend, because you knew what it was like. It was the reason you were the way that you were, and the reason that you were in the position that you were in. You knew - perhaps in a difference capacity - the pain that he was experiencing and you wished that there was something that you could do to help him. But knowing him meant that knowing that he would just live with whatever pain it was that he was going through, that trying to talk about it would only make matters worse. 

As you heard him settle into the other room, presumably changing out of his uniform, you did the same and let yourself lay down. The pain in your thigh was quite unbearable, but you were so used to getting stabbed at this point that it wasn’t something that you were particularly surprised by. 

With some Advil in your system and the knowledge that his experience in patching up combat wounds probably left you in a pretty decent position, it took you maybe twenty minutes to fall asleep for what you hoped would be the rest of the night. But that hope was dashed a bit later as you awoke to the sound of a light knocking on the door attached to your own. 

“It’s John, uh, if you’re still asleep that’s fine.”

“You can come in, there’s no locks.” You replied, sitting up in your bed and turning on the light. It had been about five hours since you had fallen asleep. John had clearly gotten out of the shower a bit ago, his hair still damp even if he was covered in dry, clean, casual clothing. 

“Have you been able to shower or is the pain too bad?”

“You know, it’s not often polite to tell a girl she needs to bathe more.” You replied, a normal playful tone in your voice as you spoke. But you knew that he was just being nice, even if a small smile covered his lips, you wanted to be nice, too. “I was going to, but then I fell asleep.” 

“I can wait here, you know, just in case you need anything.” 

“What’s going on, John?” 

He could be nice to you, but right now he was downright doting. It was true that you had been in danger during the mission, but even then he didn’t seem too disturbed by it afterwards. This was odd, to you. You had never seen him act so… caring. 

When he didn’t respond, though, you nodded and got up off of the bed. “We can talk after my shower.” 

You weren’t as quick as you would’ve liked to be in the bath, but you were trying your best to stay off of your bad leg. Despite the fact that the pain had dulled considerably since it happened, and the fact that you were used to things like these happening, you couldn’t say that you enjoyed the pain. Nobody did, even if it was something that you had become used to over time. Still, you were out and dressed in your sweatpants and tank top before you knew it, and you found John sitting on the bed waiting for you like he had nothing better to do. 

He wasn’t on his phone, hadn’t turned on the TV even though the remote was sitting right beside him. He was just waiting. It was quite odd, especially for him. 

“Seriously, John, what’s wrong?” There was no judgement in your voice as you sat down beside him, careful to not sit in a way that would disturb the medical bandages that were covering your leg. “I mean, you know I enjoy your company and all but it seems like something happened.”

You really felt like you shouldn’t known that something was wrong from the moment that he was the one to knock on your door, and not the other way around. Something had clearly been bothering him since before he had come into your room, and the fact that he asked if you were still asleep implied to you that he had seemingly tried to talk to you before, and couldn’t because you were knocked out. 

“You were right, I just wanted to tell you that you were right.” The confused look in your eyes seemingly only made this more difficult for him from the way that he was looking down. “About Val, she doesn’t care about us that much.” 

Truthfully, whether he told this to you or not, you knew that this was something that he was never going to repeat to someone else. He was telling you because he wanted to tell you and because he trusted you, but you were well-aware of the fact that this wouldn’t change how he acted around other people. You would never really ask him to change who he was, though. There were aspects of everyone that could be changed, it wasn’t your place to change that for him. 

“Is that the only thing bothering you?” You asked him, not because you were prying, but because it seemed like there was more that he wanted to tell you. There was a part of you that knew he would never, ever be completely out in the open because it just wasn’t who he was. But you hoped, somewhere deep down, that he would try to be more honest and open. 

“I just wanted to tell you that, I don’t want you to leave. I don’t… I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to be withholding.” 

Seemingly, it was difficult for him to get those words out. You understood why, and you were honestly more than surprised that he even said anything to begin with. But again, you knew him and what he had been through. He hadn’t been there for his family, he hadn’t been there for anyone other than himself. He got selfish, and mean, and he wasn’t the person who you were sure that the people who cared about him knew. You weren’t there when any of it happened, because that was his home life and you weren’t really friends at that point, but you knew about it. He told you about it. And you knew the importance of him coming to you now.

“You’re the only person I have, I don’t want to make you leave.” 

“I won’t leave, John.” Your words were soft, and quicker than you intended. But he didn’t seem bothered by it, and for once, he didn’t seem bothered by the feeling of you pulling him into a hug. Even softer this time, as though you were confessing some kind of secret that he didn’t already know, you continued -  “You’re the only person I have, too.” 

The tone of the evening seemed different than the other nights that you’d fallen asleep watching movies with him, because for the first time, he didn’t leave. He didn’t mind the feeling of you asleep on his arm, and you didn’t feel perturbed the next morning when you woke up to find his blond hair obstructing your eyesight and you tried to get up.

But the change in tone didn’t bother you, even if it changed the way that your relationship functioned as a whole. You couldn’t be too sure what would happen, and you knew that some of your actions throughout the coming weeks and months were implicitly non-platonic even if neither of you explicitly admitted it. But whether you talked about it or not, you had each other, and even if nobody else was there for you, that was more than enough.

[sasukekys]

What are the chances of Kishimoto "breaking up" (in the literal, explicit sense, without having to look for subtexts in the writing) SS, don't get me wrong I know they are "only together" (Sasuke going home just for his daughter) because of Sarada, but Sakura continues to use Uchiha clan symbols, the house is full of Uchiha clan symbols and we need to believe that they are married precisely because of that (even if there is no ring)

And when I say breakup, I mean Sasuke saying "enough" and we get the truth of the situation

uhhhh no? sakura wearing the uchiha crest doesn’t force us to believe in anything, i’m sorry, i’ve been getting way too many anons about ss and somehow all of them are trying to push the ship to be believable in one way or another, wether it’s that we need to believe sakura is married to sasuke because she wears the uchiha crest, or that you can’t decanonise the novels because of sj, or that sasuke needed to fall in love with sakura to have a daughter with her… it’s the rhetoric that feels iffy, so i beg your pardon if i’m mistaken, but i’m wondering about your true intentions regarding ss in this blog.

sakura wears the uchiha crest but sasuke doesn’t, it’s the only moment of the story that he stopped wearing it, not after the massacre, not after tobirama called them a cursed clan. coincidentally, the moment kishimoto designed sakura wearing, sasuke isn’t anymore. it doesn’t say anything good about sasusaku, but rather it only makes sakura look worse.

fugaku says you can only be considered an uchiha after you master the fire style jutsu.

sakura surely hasn’t done that, and yet she still wears the uchiha crest. this is at the very least disrespectful to the clan’s name and beliefs.

not only sakura is ignorant about the uchiha, but also about sasuke as a person. his “wife” can’t even tell if he ever wore glasses, a trait that is literally in the person’s face.

she doesn’t have a wedding photo with sasuke, she doesn’t even have a normal photo with sasuke, she doesn’t have a wedding ring. but more importantly, she doesn’t have any of sasuke’s affections. has never been kissed, even though she still tries to get it and then lies to her daughter about something that is “better”. her daughter questions if she’s really married, and sakura can’t even comfort her in that. so many insecurities, and the only thing to overcompensate to all of that seems to be many many uchiha crests.

when naruto mentions “the truth about itachi” to sasuke, kishimoto does draw sakura wondering about it, but she never demonstrates any interest in some big truth about the most important person of the guy she’s “in love with”. when sasuke talks about his revolution, she thinks it’s great timing to confess to him (even though he has already rejected her before) and say she wants things to go back as they were… sasuke had just said he wanted things to change, did she even pay attention? sakura is constantly portrayed as ignorant, but not innocently, not being kept in the dark by others, sometimes she’s willingly so. she chooses to be ignorant. just one more indication of her selfishness, portrayed in many occasions in the manga.

what we can take from all of this is that sakura doesn’t care about her surroundings if it doesn’t affect her personally. sasuke’s clan isn’t important to her, not the history, not the sad truth about it, what truly matters is that she can use it as a decoration. she doesn’t have sasuke’s affections, but it doesn’t matter, because she can compensate that by flaunting his crest everywhere, i guess. it makes her look like she only cares about status and empty titles, that’s how she’s always seen sasuke and that’s what he’ll ever be to her, someone to fulfil her fantasies, to make someone so unremarkable feel special that “she won” against all the competition. but it still doesn’t say anything good about sasusaku.

i don’t remember where this quote is from but “someone pointed out how in gaiden we see sakura brandishing the uchiha crest, we see her painting it on her house, and wearing it proudly on her back even though she’s not an uchiha. you know who else was doing that in gaiden, the shins. yes, sakura is using the uchiha name in the same way the shins are. kishimoto made it a point to show us that sakura thinks of the uchiha in the same way the shins do by brandishing the crest on her house and on her clothing. we all know sasuke doesn’t wear that crest anymore. we know he doesn’t particularly care who wears it anymore. we know he has taken up itachi’s ideology about practically everything. so why does it seem so important to sakura and people say that kishi isn’t anti sasusaku.”

so does kishimoto really need to say things explicitly? do things have to be perfectly said? no one can use their interpretation skills anymore? is there some hidden truth beyond everything he has written already? let’s be for real.

[foreverabby]

Abby Anderson from a comphet perspective:

Hey guys. First off, I want to say that this isn’t my headcanon of her necessarily, but that the possibility has absolutely crossed my mind. I wrote a cute piece about it on my previous account that you guys enjoyed, and I wish I still had it to link here.

I could argue for it either way, if I'm honest. But let’s explore it, yeah?

I guess if we’re deep diving this, it’s important to have some idea of what compulsory heterosexuality really is. Which, of course, I can’t possibly summarize in one paragraph.

Every queer person has their own story and experience. But in essence, it’s a combination of society and circumstance convincing you of what you’re supposed to want. And it’s not always a conscious lie. Think of it as spending your whole life mistaking admiration and safety or even fear for attraction. As someone who lived it myself, I’d describe it as a deep, gnawing sense of something broken, like a hollowness left by relationships that just felt kinda wrong.

The next point I want to make, is that people often argue that Abby wasn’t capable of letting herself reach for happiness after grief overtook everything in her life. While this is totally possible, as someone who lives with PTSD myself, it’s not the only outcome of trauma.

In fact, often times, it can be the opposite. Grief doesn’t always shut people down. Many trauma survivors actually seek out sex and intimacy as a means of coping (hi, Manny, I see you, good sir) and it’s entirely possible the loss she endured could’ve intensified her need for affection.

But if what is being offered does not feel right, it gets complicated.

Grief definitely made her rigid, but I don’t want to ignore the flickers of queerness that shine through in some of her scenes.

Again, this is my personal interpretation, not fact.

But it’s interesting to me that after five years of life threatening raids, violent patrols, confined quarters and messy high adrenaline camaraderie, she’d never engage in any form of attachment outside her adolescent relationship with Owen. No casual lovers, no drunken kisses, no flings. Maybe there were, and we just didn’t hear about it. But it’s heavily implied otherwise.

It’s intriguing to me also, that her roommate is arguably one of the most sexually active people in the apocalypse, and her reaction to it is rather indifferent. Proximity and trauma bonding often lead to blurred lines. Manny is flirty, shamelessly horny, and chasing tail at every outpost (we love a romantic King) and Abby lives with him. This man is throwing sexual energy into the air like confetti.

Comphet can sometimes include trying to feel something with people who are safe and trusted, but Manny is loud and flamboyant at times. A relationship with him wouldn’t fly under the radar. She’s private and hyper disciplined. Also, they’re so platonic it’s unbelievably sweet. But why?

She trusts him more than anyone else. He supports her and sees her in ways she doesn't find elsewhere.

Food for thought.

Isaac, being the militant ex-marine he is, placing them together in shared living quarters always had me curious.

I wonder if it would've been different, if she had a queer, female roommate.

Also, to say it’s because she was in love with Owen, feels a little disingenuous. Sure, that may have been the case, but again, when has that ever really prevented humans from seeking companionship in times of immense stress? Especially at her age. She's beautiful, warm and funny, and the WLF is full of strong, attractive people. She’s one of the toughest, most respected and capable soldiers. Nobody made a move on her? I doubt it.

But did women feel comfortable reaching out? I genuinely wonder. Would she have even entertained the idea in the absence of safe queer attachment? Or would she have defaulted to the only thing commonly modelled to her? Conversations surrounding queerness would’ve been so much different for them than it is for us.

Something to consider.

Anyway. If you’d like me to go deeper with this, I’m absolutely down to do it. It’s a fascinating topic for me and I really cut out so much from this one, just to keep it from being too exhaustive.  

No matter what, this girl deserves boundless, gratuitous amounts of love. I adore the thought of her with a woman because she's such a softie and it just fits her so well. 💚🩷💚

[andielle]

prologue|chpt. 1|chpt. 2|masterlist

You were born with powerful, photographic memories. A blessing, because you did amazing things in life. A curse, because you remembered every single inch of your parents' faces when they died. Meanwhile, you got to know Mark Grayson in college, he doesn't know who you really are, but you know him—you know him as Invincible, the 'hero' that caused your parents to die. What happens when you take comfort in the person that caused you grief?

chapter 1: therapy | 0.6k words | warnings: vivid depictions of violence

SEVEN MONTHS AGO, THE DESTRUCTION OF CHICAGO

YOU desperately pumped at your mum’s chest, trying to get her to wake, even for a minute. People screamed around you, and some watched, as you were pathetically crying and pumping with all of your strength, trying to resuscitate her. But all you ended up doing was get more red on your hands. 

You looked behind yourself to see an injured Invincible standing amidst the chaos. His costume was tattered, tainted with blood. His right goggle was shattered, exposing his eye, and for a moment, you could piece together what he really looked like behind that mask.

With a gust of wind, he was gone. You hear a building collapse, and you were quickly grabbed away by a passerby.

—

CURRENT TIME

“I saw him yesterday,”

“Who did you see?”

“Invincible,” you revealed, “but he wasn’t in costume.”

The woman sitting in front of you uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “Did you interact with him?”

The woman was Jean, your therapist for months now.

Ever since the incident, you started staying with your grandparents. It was really bad, you would hear news after news, about Chicago. You would feel sick to your stomach whenever you heard about the countless lives taken away. The train… The collapsed buildings… It was a disaster.

Your grandparents stopped watching the news for a while, and it slowly got you better. However, they felt that it was best that you got weekly therapy sessions, so here you were. But your night terrors never stopped, sometimes your screams could be heard from houses away.

That was back then though, the nightmares continued and you still got visions of your parents, but it was better than before. Jean helped you to cope.

“I did, he was introduced to me by a friend. But,” you looked at Jean before looking down again, “I expected myself to feel angry, or break down right there even. But he was just a normal guy—I don’t know,” you admitted.

“The last time I saw him, he was in costume—so seeing him out of it, it was like it was a separate identity,” you rambled, hoping that you made some sense.

“Sometimes it's hard to believe that superheroes do lead normal lives when they’re not wearing the costume,” Jean said, understanding. “What did you feel when you talked to him?”

“Well, a part of me felt bad,” Jean looked a bit surprised at your statement.

“He really is just a normal guy out of the suit,” you continued, “His father beat the shit out of him, went missing, and left him with the lives of many people taken away. I just wonder if he’s just like me—constantly mourning and constantly miserable.”

For a moment, both of you were silent.

You had no idea what was going through Jean’s head. But it was true that you were curious about Mark. You wondered how Amber and him came to be; if he was genuine; if he really was your average Joe out of the costume, away from the danger?

“If you’re comfortable, you could try to befriend him—you know, something casual. Maybe it could give you closure,” Jean broke the silence. “Just be careful, you know how dangerous it can be to be affiliated with superheroes."

As much as the idea felt weird, she did have a point. Maybe it really would give you closure, if you knew what Mark went through. You both might even have gone through a lot of similar things, have similar interests. But still, befriending the Invincible? That's if you even see him again—but knowing his superhero identity, he would be too busy to make new friends.

You took it into consideration nonetheless.

[charlie-fabray]

You're not wrong. It can be very fun to scheme. Sometimes I'll behave particularly bratty to see what Sir Ivan will do 😜 I have no problem at all with you being overprotective of a plant. I'm overprotective of all of my plants. See! It's a great word isn't it? Thank you Kyle!

I'm really sorry you're going through this. I can tell how much you love your family and I know how important they are to you. Just remember that they love you and what goes on between the two of them is different than them being your mom and dad and loving you so much. EQ is Emotional Quotient. How I understand it it's basically how you see and understand emotions. Like not just your own, but also others and even societies. It seems like a complex concept but it boils down to understanding emotions. You should make a point of doing it, if you want to. None of us is promised 'later'. Make the time silly! They're very good. Wonderful. I'm so lucky and grateful every day.

Good. I'd get sad if you didn't, but I hope you don't have a creepy agent! That sounds terrible. I hope you just call me with all the good and exciting news about your shows and all the people you're meeting. Yeah exactly. Like not letting someone peer pressure you away from your values. That would be being steadfast. Yeah, I would agree with that. It's probably true for all kinds of relationships. You look for different qualities for all of them. Don't cry!! You're probably right about that too. That was probably how we were supposed to meet. It made our friendship stronger, right? It built trust in a kind of round about way. Hm, yeah the fish emulsion would probably be pretty bad too if you didn't mix it with water like you do for your plants. The condensed stuff is pretty rank.

Wait, wait, wait... are you saying spaghetti and then redvines separately? Or are you talking about spaghetti with redvines in it?!?!!?!??!? He did. There was spanking! Spanking isn't usually one of my major kinks but when it's done right whoo boy!

That might be one of the best compliments I've ever gotten. <3

Good. The door is open!

But sometimes scheming is fun!😈😈 You know, when it’s for something good. I’m just being overprotective of Hiss Noddle plant lol. How many relationships did you have? Charlie, your smile is super foxy ;). I hope nothing else comes up… Luckily my dad is easier to talk to, than my mom. But I can’t talk to her anyway. I was able to talk to him and it seems my mom and him had been thinking about separating for a while. I guess they were just waiting for certain things to fall into place. What are EQs? I still want to ask Jade on a date, I just haven’t gotten around to it. How are things with you and your Dom? 

I’ll message you every day too. So I can tell you about the show and if we have a creepy agent. Okay, like being firm on your decisions? I guess because you look for different things in a soulmate and in a sexmate? Yes! Aw, thank you Charlie. You’re going to make me cry. Maybe it was awkward, or maybe it was exactly how it was supposed to be. Okay, awesome. There’s this girl on TikTok that gives legal ways to get revenge on someone, and one of them was about leaving seafood hidden in their house. That’s why I asked, lol. 

You’re the most special to me. It shed a light on! Cool. Cool! Cool. I’ve heard that theory about sandwiches. Perhaps it’s just true about all food. It would explain why my spaghetti and redvines is never good. So then he punished you? 

Also your hands help take care of plants and that’s beautiful and compliment-worthy. 

On my way!!

[javierduffy]

different.

[tagarilaghost]

I SWEAR CELEBI'S THINGY IS COMING SOON BUT I REALLY WANTED TO POST THIS ALRIGHT

yeaah... future trio got me too...

and Darkrai is there too, because of course he is.

hey look i drew a cute Drifloon :D

...ignore the rest

whatever started at Darkrai doodles ended in brainrot of future trio + darkrai and I'm blaming @scribz-ag24 for this

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

A gift horse for @piosplayhouse

[suerza-orbitae]

Started muttering and pacing to this cus ✨️maladaptive daydreaming✨️ and I heard our Leo Valdez go

"I ALREADY HAD ANXIETYYAHOOOO"

Me: hey guys does anyone know what tf he's doing-?

Several headmates, unanimously: rocketship

I have made the executive decision to not question further.~🪽

"I introjected them" You fucked up a perfectly good character is what you did. Look at it, it's got anxiety