#thank you for the prompts I love these so much

[mggslover]

‘spencer’s “first” time showing you his jealous/possessive side’. bau reader and spencer just started dating and are a bit reserved when it comes to showing affection in the office. a new agent starts flirting/trying to get readers attention and for the first time spencer make sure everyone knows who his girl friend is <3 thank you !!!

the first time spencer gets jealous genre: fluff word count: 965 a/n: oh how i love this prompt!! thanks for the request

Spencer Reid wasn’t big on PDA, so it didn’t surprise you when he suggested keeping your relationship under wraps once it became official. You didn’t mind much—sure, it was a little frustrating when he’d pat your hand away at the round table or create distance the morning after a particularly fun night, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of you—but in general, you were glad to keep things private. You had no problem avoiding the “no dating between coworkers” policy drama, and it gave you the opportunity to focus on the cases and enjoy Spencer’s company even more when you’d sneak off home together at the end of the day. 

So, when you found yourself chatting with the new addition to the team—Agent Owen Rogers—you didn’t expect the effect it would have on your boyfriend.

“Of course he’s taken an interest in her. That woman makes everyone fall head over heels,” Penelope half-sighed, her voice a mix of awe and envy as she watched you talk to Owen from the office window. Her words caught Spencer’s attention, and he turned to the scene, spotting you mid-conversation. He recognized the looks his colleagues were giving Owen—those same dreamy, admiring glances they'd had for Hotch’s brother whenever he visited the office.

Spencer’s posture stiffened as the understanding sank in. If he were being honest, he’d liked the new agent when they first met, but now, seeing the way Owen was smirking at you as he moved closer, that initial fondness had quickly morphed into distaste. He could still hear his colleagues gushing over the agent as he quickly got up and headed down the stairs toward you.

“So, I was thinking Italian? Do you like Italian?” Owen asked, his voice upbeat.

Before you could even open your mouth to turn him down, you felt the familiar warmth of your boyfriend’s arms wrapping around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder.

“We love Italian.”.

You stood there, completely bewildered, as your boyfriend not only inserted himself into the conversation but also made the boldest display of possessiveness, wrapping his arms around you without a second thought. It was so un-Spencer-like—especially in the office—but you weren’t about to complain, your hands instinctively resting over his arms.

“Actually, Owen—I can call you Owen, right?” He doesn’t wait for confirmation before continuing. “You know, it’s fascinating how often people pick Italian food for a first date. Objectively, it’s a terrible choice. Think about it: you’ve got these long, slippery noodles��spaghetti, for instance—that are practically designed to humiliate you. The odds of splattering marinara sauce all over yourself—or worse, your date—are alarmingly high. And then there’s the garlic. People convince themselves that a mint will magically erase it, but we both know that’s just a delusion. Why anyone still thinks it’s a good idea is beyond me. Kind of stupid, don’t you think?”

You bit your lip, struggling to suppress your laughter as Owen’s face crumpled. You truly felt sorry for the poor thing—he really was a nice guy—but seeing Spencer get this sassy, especially when it was all because of you, was strangely entertaining.

“I—uh, yeah.” Owen gives a nervous laugh, his fingers awkwardly brushing the back of his neck. “Pretty stupid.”

“But we’d love to have Italian food with you! Right, baby?” Spencer gives your waist a subtle squeeze, his silent cue for you to play along.

You cough slightly, trying to cover your laugh. “Right! Yes, totally—Italian sounds great.”

“Yeah, that’s cool, guys. But, uh, now that I think about it, I’m swamped. You know, being a new agent and everything.” Roger’s voice wavers just enough to betray his weak excuse.

“So unfortunate. Maybe another time,” Spencer replied smoothly. Owen nodded stiffly, forcing a tight smile before quickly walking off.

You scoffed a laugh as Owen disappeared down the bullpen, the shock still lingering. You turned to Spencer, your eyes wide in disbelief.

“What in the world has gotten into that pretty head of yours?”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed a little, suddenly aware of how much of a spectacle he had just made in the middle of the office.

“He was asking you out,” he said quietly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You chuckled, reaching up to adjust his collar. “And I was just about to say no.”

His arms found their way back around your waist, leaning into your touch as if he’d forgotten where he was. His eyes flickered from your hands to your face, his expression softening. “I know you were. But he should know not to ask you.”

You smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear, amused by how the man who’s so intent on keeping your relationship discreet in public is now letting his clingy nature shine through.

“You know he can’t smell that I’m taken, right?” you teased, a playful glint in your eyes.

“Well, maybe we should change that,” Spencer whispered, his voice low as he leaned in, his face brushing against your neck, causing you to giggle.

Unbeknownst to you, the whole team had quietly tiptoed their way down the stairs, and gathered around on the other side of the bullpen. They stood there, wide-eyed, like they were watching an episode of their favorite drama.

“Derek… Am I seeing this right?” Garcia whispered, voice dripping with curiosity as she watched Spencer's face disappear into your neck.

Morgan’s chuckle echoed through the bullpen. “Oh yes, babygirl. You’re seeing it just right.”

Spencer’s grip on you tightened as he sensed the peering eyes, but instead of discomfort, he radiated a quiet pride. He wasn’t hiding anymore—he was proud of what you shared, proud to be yours, and for you to be his, and he wanted the world to know it.

[tristansfreezingtheirbrain]

Actually let me talk about this for a second because I have been doing a self prompted character study on Sherlock based on the fact I DO NOT FOR A SECOND BELIEVE HE IS A SOCIOPATH.

And I think the writers of the show know this. It wasn’t an accident on their part, I think it’s very intentional.

Sociopaths are described as having little to no care about other people or their lives, sometimes even not caring about their own, but I don’t think it’s true in Sherlock’s case.

Yes he is antisocial and doesn’t appear to care who lives or dies, but we all know he does care.

What he does, is intentionally dissociates to save peoples lives.

He is right, feelings do get in the way of investigations, the reason he’s so good at what he does, is he’s able to separate himself from what’s going on, which leads me to my point…

I am by no means an expert but I pride myself on my intense love of phycology, and it’s that love that started me on this tangent that currently has its own 3 page essay in a notebook on my shelf.

I think Sherlock Holmes has a kind of dissociative disorder. My evidence:

- mind palace. A thing some people do but, I should point out, is not often seen in neurotypical people, and is also not often seen in sociopaths. The ‘mind palace’ as the show calls it, is often a place someone goes to in their own head to escape situations in which they are stressed or feel in danger. This is not technically how Sherlock uses it, but I’ll explain the connection in a minute.

- when put in situations where he needs to be at the hight of his productiveness, he disconnects all feelings he may have about a case in order to be more efficient.

Both of these things lead me to believe that stress triggers a disassociative state in Holmes.

He also ( SPOILERS!!! MASSASIIIVVE SPOILERS IF YOU HAVENT SEEN THE LAST EPISODE )

Engaged in Confabulation, which is when someone’s brain changes memories in order to protect itself from further stress, which would have been caused by traumatic events.

This is another thing that you see often in people with a dissociative disorder.

I think he has a subset of depersonalization/derealization disorder, which is the closest real diagnosis to what he seems to have.

I’ve also entertained the notion of him being on the autism spectrum, but I’m always careful with that because I have autism and I have a tendency to project so that could just be me relating to him in some ways. And, it’s very well known that autism and dissociative disorders kind of go hand in hand, so sometimes it can be hard to tell if someone has autism, or just a symptom of it, which is what dissociative disorder falls under in that context.

But if I was to say he is on the spectrum, this is why.

-often considered sociopathic ( is not, as I just explained )

- often considered narcissistic ( is not, and if you think he is you seriously overestimate how much he cares about himself and what happens to him. He does care about other people, it’s just hard to focus on things he can’t see immediately in front of him. )

- lack of understanding of feelings

-under/over stimulation

-very in depth knowledge on some things, complete oblivion in others ( unless he deems them important ) ( aka, hyper fixation )

-unable to focus on things he doesn’t care about

-disconnects in stressful situations

-often makes decisions people deem childish ( ex: not helping Mycroft solve a case because of a sibling fued )

AGAIN I AM BY NOOOOO MEANS AN EXPERT- AND I AM NOT CLAIMING TO BE- I JUST FIND THINGS LIKE THESE REALLY INTERESTING!!!

Anyways.

Thanks for coming to my red talk 🙌

He doesn’t feel things that way… I don’t think.

[mistymysticalmoon]

Frosty Morning

･ charles leclerc x reader ･

prompt: (fluff) on a snowy monaco morning you and charles enjoy a cozy, sweet moment together, cuddled up with léo and tangled in sheets.

warnings: none

wc: 800

a/n: leave a request inbox is open!

masterlist

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The warm sunlight broke through the curtains, melting away the frost on the window and pulling you from your dreams.

Your eyes flutter open, met with a light snow, a rarity in Monaco, which made it all the more beautiful.

It was finally winter, which meant fuzzy socks, hot chocolate, Christmas, and, best of all, winter break.

After a tough and exciting season, you and Charles could finally have time for yourselves. It had been a year since you'd both said "I do" in the serene south of France, surrounded by all you loved and adored. Your honeymoon had been long and amazing, but right after that, it was back to work for the both of you.

You had both yearned for each other in your time apart and now that you were together you intended to make the most of it.

You softly turned on your back, careful not to wake your sleeping husband, knowing how much he needed this rest. At the end of the bed lay Léo, comfy as ever sprawled out and lightly snoring. You shift, making yourself comfortable to gaze upon Charles’ unconscious face, his hair disheveled and his lips slightly parted.

He looks so peaceful, so perfect. You can't help but reach out, moving a misplaced hair from his eyes.

"Mmm," he stirs, nuzzling his face into his pillow before faintly opening his tired eyes.

"Oh, sorry, love, I didn't mean to wake you," you whisper, feeling guilty for selfishly stealing him from his sleep.

"Morning chérie" he smiles, reaching for your face.

You smile back at him, leaning into his touch and returning the greeting.

"Good morning, how did you sleep?"

"I always sleep beautifully when you're here, mon amour." Charles coos.

"Mmm, is that right?" you tease snuggling up to him.

He nods, chuckling deeply as he wraps his arms tighter around your frame, holding you impossibly close.

"I missed you, so much" you mumble into his chest.

He pulls your face up to his, bringing his lips to yours in a deep, meaningful kiss. You moan into his mouth, your fingers tightening around his bicep to steady yourself.

"Fuck, I missed you, baby, you have no idea," he murmurs against your lips.

"Mmm," you hum in accord, your fingers snaking into his hair, pulling softly just how he likes.

He pulls away only when he feels he needs air, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead and little pecks all over your face. You giggle at the sensation, play fighting him off before returning the gesture, also leaving him in a fit of giggles.

You sigh in contentment, looking over your husband's face, having missed these simple times when it was just you and him in your own little world away from all the racing and media and championship titles.

Just your Charles.

"You're so beautiful, mon cœur," Charles whispers, moving a strand of hair behind your ear. You giggle as you nuzzle your face into the bed, feeling a sudden shyness at his compliment.

"Amour, let me see your face, come here." He pulls your face up to his view, smiling and caressing your cheek and your cuteness.

"Thank you," you whisper, looking down at his chest where your fingers trace imaginary words and shapes.

He smiles at your shyness, finding it endearing. He leaned in to nudge your nose, his hand reaching up to cup your jaw, pulling you in closer, Your eyes fluttered shit as his lips met yours in the softest of kisses, his thumb brushing your cheek as you melted into each other.

It was a simple kiss, but it said so much.

Charles was slow in pulling away, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before you were burying your face in his chest, his arms pulling you in closer. You felt such love and tenderness you could burst, tangled up together with the one you loved in the place you called home.

Suddenly, a quiet yelp was heard in the room, pulling you and Charles from your intimate moment. Looking toward the end of the bed, you see Léo making his way up to the two of you, having become restless and needy. "Good morning, Léo, my love," you coo, beckoning him by patting the space between you and Charles.

Leo excitedly makes his way over, wagging his tail and getting straight to greeting his two favorite humans.

"Vraiment Léo?" Charles exclaims as the puppy licks over his face, causing you to burst into laughter at the adorable scene.

"Someone's excited to see us this morning, aren't you, Léo?" you giggle, petting his small frame as he makes his way over to you, now attacking your face with doggie kisses.

And so you spend the frosty winter morning like that, snuggled up in bed with your two favorite boys, overwhelmed with kisses.

[mrsmangi]

just found ur account and I love ur writing!! Dianthus Barbatus

smile - luigi mangione

♡ flower prompt: dianthus barbatus - trying to make a loved one smile by any means necessary - meaning: derived from the greek words “dios” (god) and “anthos” (flower); symbolic of feelings of love, affection, gratitude and admiration ♡ w.c.: 1.1k ♡ a/n: hi anon! thank you so much for this request. i'm sorry it took so long! hopefully, you enjoy it as much as i did writing it. <3

♡ send me a flower & i'll write a drabble based off the prompt ! ↪ prompts that have been requested

Luigi has never considered himself a man of grand gestures. He isn’t the type to make speeches or sweep princesses off their feet in dazzling displays of affection. It isn’t his style. Luigi prefers quiet moments, subtle actions that proved to speak louder than any word in the dictionary ever could. Still, as he stands outside your door this morning, he wonders if maybe it’s the right time to try it out. 

Buying you flowers had been an impulsive decision–something he just decided to do as he spotted a quaint flower shop on his way back home from an early errand. He spent a lot longer in the flower shop than he would ever admit to you, running his thumbs over the different textures of petals and second-guessing himself. He wanted them to be perfect–if not perfect, then right. 

The bouquet feels small in his large hand–too small, maybe. Luigi almost feels foolish holding them. The thought that he might subconsciously be attempting to distill everything he feels about you into something as fleeting as petals has his nose twitching in disapproval. 

His thoughts are interrupted by the soft click of a lock coming from your door and the creak of its hinges as it opens. You stand in the doorway, wrapped in his sweater he had left at your place a few nights before, a steaming mug in your hand. Your hair is slightly mussed, expression settled between somewhere surprised and sleepy. 

“Luigi?” you ask gently. Your voice sounds hoarse from sleep. There’s a faint crease on your cheek that suggests to him you’ve only just woken up, and yet, to him, you still look radiant. 

He smiles, holding up the flowers as if to explain himself. “Hey. I thought I would stop by.” 

Amusement sparkles in your eyes as your lips begin to pull into a smile. “With flowers?” 

“Yeah,” he says, feeling silly now. “Thought you might like them.” 

“What’s the occasion?” you ask, stepping aside to let him inside. 

“No occasion,” he says cooly, attempting to play it cool as he holds out the bouquet to you. “Just missed you.” 

“Thank you,” you say as you take the bouquet, your fingers brushing against his. The brief contact sends a small jolt of electricity through him. He thinks he may never get used to being so close to you–a blessing like you feels too unreal to fathom. “They’re beautiful, Luigi.” 

“They reminded me of you,” he says, watching your face carefully. He follows you into the kitchen where you search for a vase. You move with a kind of casual grace, the hem of his sweater brushing against your thighs, your bare feet padding softly against the floor. It’s a small, domestic thing, but he feels like he could watch you forever. 

“You know,” you begin, rinsing out a small face, glancing at him over your shoulder, “you don’t usually stop by unannounced.” You give him a sidelong look, an eyebrow raised in playful suspicion. “Did something happen? You’re not usually this…spontaneous.” 

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can’t a guy just want to spend time with you?” 

“Sure,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips. You set the vase on the table. “But I know you, Luigi. You like routine. This is very un-routine.” 

He couldn’t argue with that. You weren’t wrong at all. Then again, he thinks, watching you arrange the flowers with careful hands, there isn’t much about you that fits neatly into his routines. Maybe that’s what he liked the most about you. You slipped into the cracks of his life seamlessly, filling spaces he hadn’t even realized were empty. Everything felt brighter with you. 

“I guess I just thought it might brighten your morning,” he says. He shifts his weight slightly, watching you as you continue to fret over the positioning of the flowers. “Doesn’t hurt to try, right?” 

You glance over at him, your small smile morphing into a grin. “You’re surprisingly good at this,” you tease, tilting your head as you meet his eyes. “Have you been practicing?” 

“Only in my head,” he admits, a gentle grin tugging the corners of his mouth. “For days.” 

Luigi wasn’t lying. The truth was, he had spent most of the week thinking of ways to make you happy. He had noticed how tired you looked the last time you spoke, the way your eyes drifted to places he wasn’t capable of following, like your thoughts constantly weighed on you. It bothered him–the thought that you might be carrying more than you let on. 

“I hope they make you smile,” he says softly, leaning against the counter as you fill the vase with water. He could only hope you understood his unspoken plea for the flowers to speak what he didn’t have the strength to convey aloud. 

“They already have.” 

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relief washing over him. He wants to keep this version of you here forever–the one that smiles at him like he’s something good. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” you say, placing the vase on the island of your kitchen. You turn to face him, eyes softening. “But I’m really glad you did.” 

“I’m glad, too,” he says, voice low. “I don’t think you realize just how much I want to make you happy, baby.” 

He doesn’t miss the way your cheeks flush with color. You bite your lip, laughing with your chest and shaking your head. “You silly man,” you breathe through your laughter, “you already do. More than you know.” 

He studies you, allowing a silence to fall over you. He isn’t sure if he deserves these words you spew, but he wants to. More than anything, he wants to be the person who notices the little things about you. The one who shows up, even when there’s nothing special about the day. The one who makes you feel like you’re the center of his world–because you are. 

The moment ends when you break the silence, tilting your head. “Have you eaten?” 

He blinks. “Not yet.” 

“Well, lucky for you, I was just about to make breakfast,” you say, turning toward the fridge. “But if you’re eating, you’re helping.” 

He steps closer to you, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. “Deal. What’s on the menu today?” 

“Pancakes,” you say, glancing at him briefly. “Think you can handle that?” 

“I’ll have you know, I make a mean pancake,” he says, grabbing the eggs from the fridge with a flourish. “Prepare to be blown away.” 

Then, you smile and laugh. It fills the room in a way that makes his chest tighten and feel as though it might burst from love. He doesn’t say it aloud then, but Luigi knows he would do this every morning if it meant that he would get to see you smile.

[klunkcat]

50 VAGUE ANGSTY + HURT/COMFORT DIALOGUE PROMPTS

7. "Did they hurt you?" gio + author's choice :3c

This is foul, just want to say! Not my fault!!!

Gioverse can be found here - this is n!mikey centered because its me <3

His first mistake, in a long line of many, was assuming he could leave for a few hours.

Gio had mentioned in the start-stop way of his that meant more half hedging implications of noticing something than ever an outright statement, that he’d never had broccoli and cheddar cheese soup before. This was, of course, a sin that Mikey had no choice but to right as soon as possible. He’d thought he could be in an out in thirty minutes, maybe an hour tops. Swing by April’s place after giving her a call, pick up the ingredients and head back. Easy peasy. 

He and Gio had really started to crack into his recipe book lately, and the thought was a syrupy sweet palpitation in his chest. Adding one more warm thing to the repertoire of lessons he was bundling the kid in seemed like a wonderful opportunity. 

Except, of course, he’d left Gio alone with them. 

It had been a long minute since Donnie had willingly left his lab, in his defense. More often than not Mikey had to brave the mess of cold wires and empty metal to try and bring dinner to his brother that he knew in his heart of hearts would be forgotten. And Raph rarely stayed in the Lair long enough to do anything other than sleep. He hadn’t thought— well, there was the crux of it. He hadn’t thought at all. 

Returning through the front door with bags of broccoli and the fancy kind of cheddar, he’d been thinking of warmth. Of getting that rare shy smile of Gio’s to shine through once again, just for the two of them. He’d been thinking of kitchen lights and music bouncing off walls, and not at all of the echoes or the empty rooms around them. 

“ – if you think, for one second that he’d– “

“That’s the problem!” Raph’s voice thunders. Mikey’s heart takes a sharp twist and tumbles straight down to the stone floor. “I don’t know anymore. You don’t either! Just— can we stop pretending?” 

A sharp, icy scoff. “Isn’t that what you’re best at, brother of mine? Or is that just Mikey. Should we ask him?”

“Don’t,” Raph growls back. 

“Or what! You’re not even here. Am I the only one who can’t do this? This thing where we act like we can make anything better just because he’s here—” Donnie’s voice pitches up, practically a roar by the end splintering off into a thousand barbs Mikey knew he’d wrap himself in the second that he could. But where is Gio? 

There’s a crash.

The bags fall from his hands to the floor. He takes in the fact Gio’s bedroom door is open, that the lights in the living room are on and— 

It’s all noise and color. Mikey barrelling through, skidding to a stop and registering just enough to note Raph’s balled fists, Donnie’s sharp glare, and Gio, standing just behind the couch, surrounded by shards of glass. Gio’s wide eyes, looking between his brother’s and over at Mikey like he isn’t sure there was anywhere left in the world for him to go. 

No one moves except for him.

He falls to his knees instantly, scooping Gio’s face in his shaking hands. “Are you— did they hurt you? Show me your hands, buddy, okay? I’ll check, I’ll make it better, you’re safe I promise, I—” 

Gio blinks, lets Mikey fuss and turn his hands all over, placating and malleable. There’s a tiny scrape on his knee that looks old, no cuts or nicks on his hands. No red or purple rising on his dark skin. Mikey closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against Gio’s for a shaky breath. 

He feels Gio’s hands reach up and press against his palms. “I’m okay,” he whispers after a moment, voice small and trying not to shake in the way that made his voice flatter. Younger. 

It doesn’t stop him from being terrified, because Gio had grown up somewhere Mikey didn’t know, where pinches and slaps had been handed out as easily as words. And it had taken Mikey all these hard months just to get the kid to stop scanning for exits in every room they stood in, and his brother’s had been yelling.

The thought slows, grinds to a halt. His brother’s had been yelling. About him. 

He makes himself lean back. Glances over at the rest of the room. 

Raph’s face is hollowed out. A complete study in guilt, one hand reaching forward almost unthinkingly. Like the smallest shard of an old Raphie had flickered through for a microsecond before vanishing on both of them. And Donnie– 

“We didn’t know he was here.” Don says, flat as ever. 

Mikey frowns, pulling Gio more firmly into his side. “That doesn’t make it okay.” 

There’s something strange to Donnie’s expression. Guilt? It can’t be. The loss of his twin had warped him so thoroughly that Mikey could never manage to fully understand, and he knows that this Donnie is a facsimile more often than his own person, but he’d thought… It isn’t a kind thought. It isn’t a thought he’s allowed to have anymore. 

“Mikey—” Raph tries, and some of the simmering anger Mikey makes sure he doesn’t have rises up between his breaths. 

“Don’t Mikey me. You were yelling about—” his voice catches, he makes it hold. “About me, right? You think I’m playing pretend. That I don’t know how bad we are.” He remembers that Gio’s here and holds onto the reminder like a buoy in the midst of all this disappointment and hurt, and the things they never say out loud anymore trying valiantly to fight their way through. “I’m not a stupid kid anymore, of course I know!” I know more than you, I know a thousand other worlds more than you, how badly we’re broken, I’ve seen them. 

His hurt crashes against him. “Of course I’m angry! I’m tired, and it’s so hard to try but I can do it  even if you can’t, and I am trying, so just. Stay the hell away and leave Gio out of this!” 

Raph’s face twists, his good eye dropping to the floor. “We thought. I thought he was with you. We wouldn’t hurt him.”

Gio’s warm and still bendable with his need to appease at Mikey’s side. It grounds him in all the same ways it makes all of this so much worse. Wouldn’t hurt him, except they’d yell and glare and avoid, right? Wouldn’t hurt him except that they didn’t know Gio thought he didn’t belong in the one place he should always feel safe. That he thought they hated him.

He opens his mouth, some boiling betrayal burning on his lips— 

“It’s my fault.” Donnie cuts in, still blank and stiff and sharp the way he always is, now. The admission is a tiny miracle nonetheless, and Mikey’s anger dies a quiet heat death in the center of himself. He doesn’t miss the tiny lurch in Gio’s breathing at his side, though. 

No one says anything for a long, horrid moment. Donnie looking straight through Mikey like he’s alone on a dying star; and it aches– it aches all the way through to know it’s an untouchable chill Mikey can’t ever break through even when he tries, and it’s worse to think that he’s used to it, but it’s familiar all the same. Don turns his head, hands flat at his side. 

“I’m the one who can’t do this.” Love right, he means. He doesn’t mean he can’t at all. 

Mikey pulls Gio closer, like he can shield him from the misunderstanding he knows will reach the kid anyways. He feels the words hit Gio, wash over him as Donnie leaves with a hiss of his lab door clicking firmly into place. 

He doesn’t mean it, Mikey thinks of saying helplessly. Except Donnie does mean everything he says, it just exists in stone blocks and hard data now and none of the softness has anywhere to stay. 

Raph watches Donnie leave, and lets out a long sigh. He rubs a hand over his face, and ages rapidly in a thousand eye bag lines all at once. “I’m sorry, kid,” Raph mumbles. Mikey’s not sure if he means Gio. He hasn’t been Raph’s kid in a long time. 

“It’s okay,” Gio says, stiff and quiet. Raph nods to himself, eye gazing emptily at anything but them, and shuffles himself off to his room. 

It’s them, again, like always. Mikey hates the fact he’s relieved enough to let himself untense— that his brother’s could ever exist in the same sentence as danger. It hurts to realize that his instincts have been wired backwards and inverted like this, in this reality Mikey couldn’t save anything from. 

He lets Gio go with a puff of breath and forces himself to stand, tries to find the strength in himself not to cry. There’s a light in him somewhere, still, but it’s different, too. 

Maybe he has been playing pretend in a type of way. Acting like he hadn’t changed as much as everyone else, too. 

Gio’s hand touches his, briefly. “Your knees.” 

He blinks. Oh. There’s blood, patches of it on the floor in between the glittering bits of glass. For a moment he worries that he had missed something after all, that Gio had been hurt— Gio stares nervously at Mikey’s legs where he’d crashed to his knees. 

There’s bloody tears in his pant legs. He doesn’t even feel it.

“Oops,” Mikey tries to laugh. It comes out wavering and pathetic. Gio bites his lip–  isn’t that a thought. All the yelling and the anger and the sheer brokenness of their family, and Gio looks like he might actually cry just over some scrapes from Mikey being stupid. He loves this kid so much it balloons right through him constantly in endlessly shocking ways. 

I’m sorry, Mikey thinks. He’s always sorry these days. “Let me get cleaned up, okay? Then, um. How about a new recipe? Think you’ll love it.” 

Gio looks like he wants to say something, closes his mouth instead. Smiles that tiny way Mikey would burn the world down for, instead. 

Maybe they’re both pretending, really. Maybe that’s all they can do. 

___

Gio grew up cold, it’s an inescapable reality he’s forged his understanding of the world around. There’s a bone deep chill that resides within most places, rooms for things that aren’t to be kept, and stern words meant to correct in straight neat lines. There’s no space for anything else. That’s the reality, kid. 

He’d spent most his life adapting, quick as he could to make the next deadline or the next drop. Make sure he was useful but not too important to be seen, to keep the jobs coming and food for the next day available. 

There was a point A to a point B, a quickest route forward. That’s all he needed. 

When Mikey found him a lot of that had been subsequently shaken apart. A lot of things suddenly meant staying, and promises, and bright room lights that held. Suddenly, food was fun and a given, and could be asked for, and there were laughs bubbling up and bouncing back to him, and warm hands against his cheeks asking ‘are you okay’ just to know. To check. 

He knew what being warm was because he knew the cold. He considered this a gift. 

There isn’t a single atom of himself that doesn’t ache with a deep homesickness he’s not sure he’s allowed to have every second that his Mikey is lost somewhere unreachable, but he is grateful. As much as he loves his family now, and their bright silly constant thrum of life everywhere he goes, he wouldn’t ever have chosen differently. 

If he was cold for nineteen years, it was so his big brother could burn bigger in comparison. 

His family now has plenty of warmth all on their own, but he tries to burn the same way for them all the same.

It’s funny, sometimes; his stomach twists with a fond ache that’s equal parts grief and absolute relief all in one that ties his words up somewhere else he can’t touch, but he misses his Mikey in the same way he loves this one. He wonders if Mikey knows how bright he is, that it’s the bravest thing he’s ever known. He’s also so small, here. Breakable in all the ways he bounces. It’s absolutely terrifying. 

Gio had been fighting in back alley scrapes and life or death battles since he was ten, but that doesn’t mean his little brother should. 

“Did they hurt you?” He asks, scanning absolutely every inch of Mikey’s arms and face he can see. He presses carefully at his sides, where the hard shell and plastron give way to more tender spaces. Mikey giggles instead of flinching, thank god. 

“Gogo~” Mikey complains, laughter bright on his cheeks. “I’ve been in bigger fights last week.” 

“You got thrown through a wall.” 

Mikey waves a hand. “Like, a little.” 

“No, he’s right,” Leo leans over Gio’s shoulder. “That sounded pretty rough. Anything dislocated?”

Gio hates the idea abruptly that any of them know what dislocation feels like, or that it’s regular enough it wouldn’t be obvious. 

“I’m fine, really! I pinky promise double swear.” 

Leo purses his lips. “With sprinkles on top?”  

Raph’s worry sensors must ping at the commotion, because Gio can hear him abruptly switching to Mikey fussing mode from the other room. Mikey’s expression darkens, Gio switches tactics. 

“You’re okay,” he decrees, with a tiny nod. “Soup will fix it.” 

Leo’s muffled snort is worth it for the way Mikey’s eyes light up. 

“Oh! I have broccoli I’ve been meaning to use.” He immediately jumps up, luckily confirming he is in fact just fine in the same motion, and instinctively puts both hands on Gio’s cheeks with excitement. “Oh mama, you have no idea what can of worms you’ve just unleashed. I’m going to make so much soup. How about a new recipe? I think you’ll love it.” 

Gio’s heart does something funny. 

“I’m sure I will,” he smiles back. Warm enough for all of them.

[zepskies]

I don't even blame you for being hesitant loll. Like I mentioned, love triangles aren't typically my thing either, especially not with Sam and Dean, but I weirdly got really into this prompt thanks to the requests -- but I wanted to do this one "choose your own ending" style so everyone would be happy (mostly). 🤣💜

Thank YOU so much for reading! Though sorry your heart suffered. 😅 Believe me, mine did while writing all this angst. 💞

Choosing Him

Pairing: Dean W. x Reader, Sam W. x Reader

Summary: You and Sam have been dating and living together for a few months, when Dean shocks you with a confession. Now you have to choose.

AN: This was requested by this beautiful anon! (And also by my friend! ❤️)

Read this as a stand-alone or see this imagine for context: Dean gives you an impossible choice. (In which Dean is in love with Sam’s girlfriend.)

**Note: This contains two alternate endings: Sam vs. Dean.

Song Inspo: “I’m on Fire” by Bruce Springsteen

Word Count: 4,300 Tags/Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, unrequited love, as well as love requited.

Imagine: Choosing him.

“Dean, just talk to me. What the hell happened?” Sam asked.

No, he implored. Angrily.

But he implored, nonetheless.

Dean was good at being stubborn. In fact, he was a professional. His lips were tight in a frown, his brows just as knitted as his brother’s.

He sat cross armed on the couch while Sam stood, using his hands to punctuate his exclamations, as he often did when he was frustrated.

“Nothing, man. I already told you,” Dean tried.

“No,” Sam said sharply. “She’s actively avoiding you. And you’re taking any excuse you can not to be within three feet of my girlfriend. So either you said something, or you did something.”

Dean looked up at his brother with a heavy sigh through his nose.

They’d been at this for a while now. So long that he was surprised you hadn’t come barreling into the living room already to break up the argument. Because he had a feeling that just the sight of you would shut them both up. (Not in a good way.)

Dean’s throat was tight, his stomach churning with unease, though he tried to show none of it on his face. He could see that Sam was on the verge of losing his shit. Just a hair away from assuming the worst.

And the worst of him.

That, Dean couldn’t abide.

“Look,” he gritted out. “I didn’t do anything.”

Sam paused, tilting his head. He took in a breath that was only slightly calming, enough that he lowered to a seat on the coffee table, across from his brother.

“Then what’d you say?” he asked.

Dean felt even guiltier just remembering.

Three weeks ago…

You wanted to know why he was drinking alone. Why he’d downed nearly an entire bottle of Jameson in the kitchen on a Tuesday night.

“You really wanna know?” Dean asked. His voice was both a rumble and a coarse whisper. His green-eyed gaze fell to your lips.

He watched you suck in a subtle breath. Your eyed widened, and your body froze. He also saw the blush staining your cheeks.

So he leaned in, slowly. He was mere inches away from finding out how sweet you really were.

He heard your shallow breath. His eyes flicked up to yours, and instinctively knew that he’d captured you. He was making you think about it.

“Tell me no,” Dean said. Tell me to stop, or I swear to God...

“Dean, what...” you whispered. But that wasn’t a no.

Still, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t do it. Not to Sam.

Dean merely reached out with a hand to soothe a gentle thumb across your cheek. He realized then that he loved you. He loved you enough to let you go, if he had to.

"It comes down to this," Dean said. His voice was deep, full of grit and desire. He saw the conflict in your eyes.

He swallowed. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, but he used every ounce of self-restraint he had left, forcing his hand to fall away from your cheek.

"You've got two choices, sweetheart," he said. And he pulled away, leaving you there at the table.

You never told him to stop…but he just couldn’t do it.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean eventually answered his brother.

He ultimately couldn’t bring himself to voice the desperation of a drunken idiot.

He met Sam’s gaze directly. This much, he could say.

“All you need to know is I’d never…even drunk off my ass, I’d never hurt you,” Dean said.

Sam turned those words back and forth in his mind. His mouth firmed as he read between the lines, as he so often had to with Dean, who struggled to express the deeper parts of himself. Sam realized then what his brother was finally confessing.

“She loves you,” Dean added, with a self-deprecating smile.

That fell between them for a moment, as Sam rested a hand on his knee and processed all of this in record time. He glanced up.

“What about you?” he asked.

Again, with that quirk of a smile that didn’t reach Dean’s eyes.

“Don’t you worry about that either.”

He got up, clapped Sam on the shoulder, and left him there to continue thinking. Dean passed the kitchen and continued down the hall.

Neither man realized that you were standing behind the kitchen doorway. You’d been about to attempt a bit of stress baking. A chocolate tart, maybe. Or a cheese souffle. Or even the new cherry pie recipe you’d found for Dean. Anything to take your mind off your current predicament.

However, now you knew you couldn’t put it off anymore.

You didn’t want this, for either of them. You couldn’t let yourself be a coward.

Steeling yourself with a deep breath, you left the safety of the kitchen…

And you ventured into the living room, where your boyfriend was still brooding. He raised his head when he saw you out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat. Even now, he was relieved to see you. He also felt like he was standing on unsteady ground.

“Hey, yourself,” you greeted back. You tried to smile, but your heart was in your stomach with nerves. “I need to tell you something.”

Sam seemed to realize what you wanted to talk about. He sighed.

“Look, don’t worry about it. Dean and I talked it out—”

“No. No, because I need to say this. Because you deserve to hear it from me,” you insisted.

You also paused, as you didn’t quite know where to go from here.

Sam’s brows furrowed, but he tried to be patient. He watched your gears turning as thought to thought shifted in your eyes. It was one of the things he loved most about you, how open and expressive you were. He could usually tell what you were thinking…except for today. And the past few weeks.

That was what had him more nervous than he’d like to admit. If a blow was coming, he’d really like to be prepared…but he just couldn’t fucking tell.

Until you began speaking.

“Okay, first of all. Nothing happened,” you assured. You rested your hands on Sam’s shoulders. He looked up into your eyes, but before he could even nod in response, you kept going.

“Dean was drunk, and I wasn’t. Which probably won’t make you feel all that better, but the point is, all I did was ask him what’s wrong? And he didn’t want to tell me. But then I pushed the issue, as you know I do sometimes. I’m working on it, I really am.”

You levied a finger at Sam, at which he could only nod. Again, before he could offer a reply, you kept going.  

“Well, finally he was all, you sure you wanna know?” you said, mimicking Dean’s deeper voice. Sam was tempted to smile, if but for what you were actually saying, and the way your gaze averted from his.

“And there was a moment there when…I thought maybe he might try to…but he didn’t. The problem is, I didn’t say no,” you confessed. Your brows knitted as you revealed how disheartened you felt at that, how guilt-ridden.

Sam’s eyes softened a bit, even though your words stung.  

“I should’ve said it,” you knew. “I should’ve pulled away, but I didn’t. Though in my defense! I was in shock. He was saying shocking things without saying them, you know? And I don’t want to be in this cliché…teen drama-esque, love triangle bullshit! You’re not Edward and I’m not Bella and this isn’t goddamn Twilight. And I refuse to be treated as such.”

You were huffing and puffing by the end of your little rant. Your eyes widened a fraction when you caught Sam trying to stamp down a smile.

“Is this amusing to you?” you snapped.

“Not at all,” Sam said. He shook his head, and with a sigh, drew you back to him with his hands on your hips. You stood between his open legs and grasped the front of his shirt.

“Look, thank you for telling me,” he said. “I know that we kind of rushed this a little. The moving in thing, I mean. It just…it felt right, at the time.”

“Yeah, I was kinda there for that,” you quipped. Your smile made him smile in return.

“Well, I guess I just need to ask you…if it still feels right,” he said.

He looked up into your eyes, still not quite sure what he would find. His heart was in his throat, no matter how many times he cleared it. He was good at looking calm when he wasn’t, and maybe his face was composed, but inside him was a tempest.

You calmed it with one touch. A gentle hand on his chest.

“Sam,” you said. Your smile was beautiful and warm. “After you left Stanford. After what happened to Jess…I didn’t know that her funeral was the last time I was ever going to see you.”

Despite that melancholy memory, your lips soon curved into a grin.

“Well, not for a long time anyway.” You both lightened at that.

Then you became more contemplative. Your gaze wandered beyond him for a moment, lost in the past.

Sam’s hands moved up to your waist and squeezed gently. You came back to him with a brighter expression.

“But when I saw you again, I thought…damn, he’s amazing,” you said with a giggle. “Even more amazing then when I knew him.”

Sam looked down at that, despite his smile. You picked him back up with your hand on his cheek. It was overgrown with stubble, a week or so past when he'd usually shave.

You didn't mind the scratchiness, but you wondered if you'd been distracting him too with your indecision. That thought made you feel all the more guilty.

“I still think that when I see you. Get to wake up next to you, research mythology and symbology and dead languages, and other things that should be impossible,” you said. “So yes, it still feels right for me. Very much so.”

Sam’s more genuine smile lightened you. He nodded and let you tilt his head back, slipping your fingers through his hair. He liked the way you touched him freely, both reassuring and affectionate.

He didn't want to admit it, but he'd been quietly afraid. Afraid he'd read you wrong, that his heart had somehow lied to him. Now he knew that it rang true.

“Okay. Good,” he said. And he reached up to touch his lips to yours.

At least, it was a simple touch at first. It soon grew in passion, becoming a more claiming kiss. He pulled you in flush against him. A hand tangled into your hair, brushing against the back of your neck, and you hummed in delight.

Your hands sunk further into his hair, just as your mouth wordlessly claimed him back. His long fingers trailed down your back and made you shiver against him. You gave more and more of yourself with each kiss.

"I love you," you whispered against his lips. Because he deserved to hear that too.

Sam paused. His eyes were still closed as he recovered some of his breath. He rested his forehead against yours and brushed a tender hand down the soft column of your neck.

"I love you too," he admitted. He had resisted saying it, and even felt a bit ashamed that he'd doubted your feelings. Now, he felt like an idiot for not fighting harder before.

This, what he had with you, it was worth fighting for.

He smiled at the way you kissed his cheek then, soft and slow and with purpose.

After a moment, you pulled away to stroke his cheek once more…and also to tell him one last thing.

“When I saw you again, I did have another thought,” you said. “He’s amazing, but…how can I think that about my best friend’s boyfriend?”

Sam frowned then, as that reality had crossed his mind as well, back when he reconnected with you last year. You held a hand to your chest, over your heart.

“Jess was like a sister to me. So how could I think about you like that? It didn’t matter how much time had passed since her death. That thought, and those feelings still had weight, Sam,” you said. “My point is…try not to be too hard on your brother for this. I think he’d rather lob off an arm than cause you any pain.”

Sam considered your words with a nod.

“I’ll talk to him. Don’t worry,” he said.

“No, I…I’d like to talk to him, if you don’t mind,” you said. “That is, if you trust me.”

Sam’s brows rose, and then furrowed slightly.

“I do, baby,” he said. “You can talk to him if you want, but…I have to. He’s my brother. He should hear it from me too.”

No need, Dean couldn’t help but think.

He pushed off from the wall, twisting a wrench in his hand as he made his way back to the garage.

It stung. Actually, it fucking cut and twisted. More painfully than Dean would ever, ever admit.

However, he knew when he needed to bow out. This was one of those times.

He’d just have to learn how to let you go, for good this time. He wouldn’t risk hurting you, or his brother again.

So once he made it to the end of the hall, he shut the door, once and for all.

Or…

You didn’t want this, for either of them. You couldn’t let yourself be a coward.

Steeling yourself with a deep breath, you left the safety of the kitchen…

And you ducked out the back way, heading down the hall.

You found Dean exactly where you’d expected—in the garage, getting ready to work on his Baby. He was sitting on a stool with his box of tools beside him. Tools he didn’t let anyone touch (except for that one time you hid his power drill, just to mess with him).

You crossed your arms.

“We need to talk,” you said.

Dean sighed, and spied your stern face over his shoulder.

“What fucking now?” he muttered. You didn't quite hear him, but you recognized his surly frown.

“Yes, right now,” you said. “Why did you do it?”

“What?” Dean asked, raising incredulous brows. “Why?”

“Yeah, why.” You stepped up to him while he swiveled in your direction. “If you supposedly had feelings for me, why did you wait so damn long? Why did you wait until we got here?”

You weren’t just casually dating his brother. You were living with him. Even if it had just been a few months, you loved Sam…and yet, you hadn’t pushed Dean away when he almost kissed you.

Why, why, why? you thought. Your teeth ground together when you thought of how tenderly Dean had touched you. The fire in his eyes, just barely held back by a thin wall of self-restraint.

“Tell me no,” he’d said.

And now, annoyance made his face tight.

“Look, just forget about it, all right? I was drunk—”

“No. You weren’t that drunk,” you refuted. “I’ve seen you slaphappy, laughing at nothing, grinning like the Joker and falling onto the couch face-first, passed out drunk. You were coherent that night. You were honest. So tell me, how long have you felt this way?”

Dean tensed. He didn’t want to do this. You both knew that, but he also knew that you weren’t giving him much of a choice.

And yet, you were waiting on him, as patiently as you could manage (something he knew was difficult for you). He sighed deeply.

“Pretty much from the beginning,” he said.

“What?” you said, ever so eloquently. You wanted to cringe at yourself. (And you called yourself a linguist.)

Your lips pursed in disbelief. “What part of the beginning?”

Dean glared heavenward, as if that could stop you from asking questions.

“From the first damn second I saw you,” he snapped. The longer he looked at you, however, he couldn’t help but soften. “I remember, you argued with Sam about dead languages, that Latin was for pussies. Ancient Greek was the tougher beat.”

That was true, you thought. And that argument stemmed back from when you and Sam were in college. Ancient history, you could say.

“The Greeks were more fun too,” you added. It triggered a smile to briefly lighten Dean’s face.

“Yeah, you said something about mass orgies,” he said, his brows furrowing.

You bit your lip at the memory. You might’ve winked at Dean with more confidence than you’d felt at the time.

Now, the man shook his head.

“Right then, I wanted to know you,” he said. “Problem is, the more I did, the more I liked what I saw.”

You stared back at him in dismay.

“Why couldn’t you have just told me from the beginning?” you asked.

Dean made a sound of frustration, carding a hand roughly through his hair.

“Oh, and what, break up the show?” he snarked. He waved haphazardly beyond you, to the moose of a man somewhere beyond the closed doors of the garage. Remembering his brother made Dean’s irritation start to fade, back into self-deprecation.

“You and Sam…you’ve got history,” he said. “He’s smart. He takes care of you, protects you. He’s uh, more the boyfriend type, anyway.”

Dean looked away from you then, crossing his arms. You relaxed yours and couldn’t help but draw near to him. A frown took over your features as you tilted your head.

“Okay, Sam and I have history,” you said with a nod. “But…you don’t think you’re smart too?”

Dean’s lips pursed somewhat as he glanced back up at you. You met his stare.

“You don’t think you’re capable of all those other things?” you asked.

Dean didn’t have an answer for you. At least, not one he was willing to say.

For the past few weeks, you’d been fighting with yourself. You’d turned that moment in the kitchen over and over in your mind, and why you couldn’t do what you were supposed to do.

Now, looking at Dean’s face, you understood why your heart broke for him. Why your heart ached with ridiculous longing for him in equal measure.

You knew then that he’d take care of you. That he’d protect you. And maybe…

“Sam and I don’t make a habit of going after the same girl,” Dean said. Even that, it seemed, was difficult for him to get out.

It broke you from your thoughts, again with your frown.

“Yeah?” you asked. A bit of your temper sparked once again. “Is that why you’re making me Yoko Ono? I’ll tell you something right now. You’re not John and Sam’s not Paul and I refuse to break up the band, Dean!”

“No one’s asking you to!” Dean said, finally raising his voice to match you.

He got off his seat and stood to his full height. Though he wasn’t as tall as his brother, he still towered over you. You craned your head up to glare at him.

His green eyes were once again full of fire. You tried to resist it, but that look made a jolt of electricity zip down your spine, and between your legs.  

“Oh, really?” you retorted. “That’s what you want? For me to forget you didn’t shake me the hell up?”

“Yeah, I really fucking would,” Dean gritted out. Even though his heart leapt at your admission, that he’d shaken you up at all.

“Why?” you said. “If you claim to care about me, why would you—”

“Why would you?” he shot back. He gestured at you with a dismissive hand. “The second you saw him, it was like your face lit the hell up. I’m not gonna get in his way. And by the time the you two were together, I just…I didn’t think you…”

Dean cut himself off, turning from you to wipe a frustrated hand over his mouth.

You watched him very closely, all while you made efforts to take in some deep, even breaths. You followed him, and more tentatively, you grabbed onto his wrist to tug him back around.

“Why would I what, Dean? You didn’t think I’d what?” you all but pleaded. Your grip lowered and tightened on his hand.

“Just talk to me,” you said. “Because this is your one and only chance.”

He was reluctant. For once, you could see it written all over his face. Or maybe you were just getting better at reading him.

“It’s fine. I’ve made my peace with it,” said Dean.

Liar.

He shook his head and slipped his hand out of yours.

“At the end of the day, you saw him, not me,” he said. “So go back upstairs, and we’ll never have to talk about this again.”

Your frown deepened as he sat back down and tried to turn away from you. You were so goddamn mad. At yourself, or at him, you didn’t know what percentages of each.

So you closed the distance between you and Dean and turned him back around, with a firm hand on his shoulder. Even with that small touch, your insides fluttered at the firm muscle there, and the broadness of his frame when he let you move him. He blew out an exasperated breath.

You wavered just slightly, as you contemplated the confession you were about to make. It shamed you, but at the same time, you were woman enough to admit your mistakes.

“I did see you,” you said, meeting his eyes. “But Sam never hesitated to show me what he wanted. And maybe…maybe he was safer. Familiar, and less dangerous.”

Dean’s brows furrowed, incredulous and confused.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked.

You couldn’t fault him for it. Your hand eased on his shoulder.

“Dean, seeing Sam again was like getting my best friend back,” you told him. “Back in college, we were thick as thieves. Me and Jess, Sam and Brady. And when you two found me to help with that case, I wouldn’t have ever seen him as anything more than my friend…until he did something about it.”

Your gaze was pointed. Dean’s lips pursed.

“When I met you,” you continued, “it was like the Godfather ‘thunderbolt.’ When you flirted with me, I didn’t know what to do with myself…whereas with Sam, I could fall back on my old habits.”

Dean’s face knitted further, making you sigh.

“With Sam, I’m the person I was when he knew me. The me that never faltered. That had all my shit together,” you said. Your small smile then was self-deprecating at best.

You felt vulnerable. Dean could see it in the way you held yourself. It was costing you something to be this honest, and that meant something to him. His face might've been stoic, but he was hanging on your every word.

“With you…with you I can’t hide," you said. Your voice was softer, slightly trembling. "And that terrifies me, more than monsters.”

Looking into Dean’s eyes again, you found him actually listening. He seemed to be digesting your words, and trying to make sense of them. You reached for him, clenching a hand in his shirt.

“So what was it that you thought I wouldn’t do?” you asked.

Dean studied your face a moment longer. He hesitated.

But he couldn’t keep lying to you either. What you’d just said gave him hope that he wasn’t about to fall flat on his face here.

With a deep, defeated breath, he shook his head and leaned his elbows on his thighs.

“I just got to thinkin’…” he said. “Why would you give up what you’ve got with him, for me?”

You didn’t know quite what to feel when you looked down at him. Disheartened, sympathetic, annoyed…but most of all, you felt your heart clench.

Your hands framing Dean’s face brought his eyes back to yours. You stepped in between his open legs.

“I’m going to try something. Just once,” you said, biting your lip. “And if it doesn’t work, we won’t speak of this again. Understand?”

A true smile finally twitched at the corner of his mouth.

“All right,” he agreed. You nodded.

Slowly, ever slowly, you leaned down and brushed your lips with his. It was chaste and sweet. Your hands were soft curving along his jawline. His hands found their way to your waist, molding to your shape. That steadied you, and encouraged you to dive back in.

You tilted your head and kissed him a bit deeper. He held you more securely against him, like he was afraid you were going to think better of this and pull away from him.

But you didn’t. His lips were soft and supple and knew how to move against yours. He soon guided you down for a seat on his strong thighs, even though the stool he was sitting on creaked at the added weight.

Then his tongue begged entrance past your lips. If this was his one chance, then damn it, he was going to make the most out of it.

You let him in with a moan. Your fingers tangled in his short hair, your nails dragging down the back of his neck and making a tendril of heat run down his spine. He squeezed your hips, down your thighs, while his lips continued to ravage yours.

It was one hell of a kiss.

But it wasn’t just lust either. At least, not for you. It was warmth, and an overwhelming feeling being right where you were always meant to be.

For Dean, it felt like a craving he wasn't meant to indulge in...but even so, having you in his arms felt as natural as he feared it would be. He didn't just want you. He wanted this. Today, and every day.

When his lips finally dragged away from yours, it took you a moment before you could even open your eyes, let alone catch your breath.

“Damn it,” you whispered.

Dean chuckled, and pulled back just far enough to graze your cheek with his curled fingers.

“Guess I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said. You smiled, but it soon fell.

“Oh God, Dean. What’re we gonna do?” you asked. Already there were tears stinging in your eyes. And still, you held him back with your arms curled around his neck. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

Dean’s relief, and a hidden swell of happiness, also dimmed. “That ship’s sailed, sweetheart."

You sniffed, wiping at your face. “Don’t joke right now, please.”

“I’m not joking,” he said. He held you a fraction tighter. His deep voice rumbled, with desire, longing, and remorse all at once. “I’m actually serious beyond fucking belief.”

You saw everything you needed to see in his eyes. It gave you the strength to be honest.

“So am I,” you nodded, sniffling again. “I’ll talk to him.”

Dean shook his head. “He’s my brother. I’ll do it.”

You stroked his cheek, feeling the rasp of stubble against your fingers.

“Together, then,” you compromised.

And with an unsettled breath, you reluctantly detangled yourself from Dean. Before this went any further, you needed to talk to Sam. It was easily one of the hardest things you’d ever contemplated doing in your life.

Dean seemed to have similar thoughts as he let you up, then stood along with you. He dragged a hand through his hair again and heaved a sigh.

“It’s not gonna be easy,” he said. His brows drew together as he considered every alternative reaction his brother might have. None of them were pretty.

You rested a hand on his arm.

“Look, Dean. If we’re going to do this…if I need to leave the bunker, I will. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work, as long as you’re in this with me,” you said.

Both your gaze and your will were unwavering. Dean didn’t doubt that you meant every word; that you were willing to jump into the fire with him. And that was just a small fraction of what had made him fall in love with you.

He took your hand, and pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of your wrist.

“I’m with you,” he replied.  

AN: So while it was painful to contemplate both of these scenarios, I hope I did them justice! 🥲

Which ending was your favorite: Sam, or Dean? 😘

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[hvnlygrl]

congrats on your celly love! i’m sorry i didn’t see it sooner bby 💞

This would be cute as a blurb or moodboard but;

Prompt 4 “Accidentally saying “I love you”” with best friend JJ would be adorable and funny 💞💞

love me on accident.

pairing — bestfriend!jj maybank x fem!reader

word count — 0.6k

synopsis — everyone knows that the two of you are in love, except you two. that is until an accidental love confession brings you together.

notes — i love this!! thank u for requesting babe!

moodboard based on this fic!

join my follower celebration — until feb. 3rd!

you were both drunk off your asses, clinging onto each other as you desperately tried to keep your balance. he held your waist, your arms wrapped around the back of his neck. the two of you being physically close and relying on each other was far from a new sight to anyone.

this, however, was something much different. pope couldn’t help but notice the way the two of you gazed into each other’s eyes, almost as if you were both longing for something. he was curious, but knew better than to even mention something of the sort to either of you, especially in your drunken states.

you could smell the mix of different alcohols on jj’s breath, his eyes glossy and red and the beads of sweat that lined the top of his hairline. he grinned at you, and your heart fluttered at the sight. “how you feelin, my girl?”

“a little wobbly,” you huff through a laugh, smiling back at him. “how you feelin, blondie?”

he rolls his eyes at the nickname you gave him the first time the two of you met. “i told you stop calling me that, it messed up my street cred.”

“oh, your street cred, huh?” you giggle. “i didn’t realize you had such a name for yourself in the obx.”

he scoffs dramatically at that, hand flying up to clutch at his heart. “ouch!”

“sorry,” you give him a soft peck on the cheek, “you totally have street cred.”

“thanks, princess,” he can’t help the way his cheeks flush red at the kiss. “you have a good bit of cred yourself.”

you huff at him, “oh yea, i’m your best friend, of course i got street cred.”

he laughs, heart pounding in his chest as you sway with him to the music. “you’re welcome.”

you give him a soft punch to the chest, “cocky, aren't we?”

“please, don’t act like you don’t love me.”

“i don’t,” you tease, squinting your eyes at him as he frowns.

“well, i love you,” he grumbles, breath catching in his throat when he realizes the tone he said it in. jj prays you don’t notice it.

“wait,” your eyes go wide for a moment, “did you just-“

“um, no.” he immediately starts stuttering, “that’s not, i don’t, no, like, i meant-“

“i love you too,” you hold a finger up to his lips. “i was waiting for you to say something.”

“me? why couldn’t you say something?” he breathes out heavily, heart still beating a mile a minute.

“well, why didn’t you?” you shrug, “i didn’t know you felt like that.”

“of course i do, how could i not?” jj says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “you’re-you’re perfect, y/n. like seriously, the perfect girl.”

now you’re blushing, face tucked into the crook of his neck, “shut up.”

“no, i mean it,” he softly caresses your face, angling your chin so that you’re making eye contact with him. “you’re actually perfect.”

“so are you.” you can’t help but notice how close your face is to his, his breath tickling the tip of your nose.

jj inches toward you slowly until his nose is brushing against yours. you take the opportunity to tilt your head upward, letting your lips meet his gently. he freezes for a moment before kissing you back, one hand pulling your hips closer as the other rests against your jaw.

pope smacks john b to get his attention as he points at the two of you in your own little world in the kitchen of the chateau.

“holy shit,” john b whispers, jaw dropped in awe. “i never thought they would admit it.”

sarah rolls her eyes, “i did, pay up suckers.”

the pogues all huff, heads shaking as they pull cash from their pockets, grumbling soft cusses at their lost bet.

-> back to main masterlist

[navybrat817]

Prompt for your Ficlet Friday, whenever you have time!

Steve Rogers + "grabbing the other’s hand in big crowds".

Thank you. 🩷

I love this, Stella! Hope you like it.

True North

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Word Count: Over 400

Warnings: Established relationship, slight anxiety and insecurities, fluff

Steve hadn’t expected the sidewalk to get crowded so quickly for the parade, but he should’ve anticipated it. That was one of the reasons why you insisted on getting there early. You picked out a good spot and he brought enough chairs for the gang to camp out. But instead of hanging out, he insisted on getting you a necklace from one of the vendors a block away and now he had to find his way back to you.

He tried to smile when a few heads turned his way. He still wasn’t used to standing out in the crowd. Being small and invisible for the longest time, he was able to blend in easily. No one cared enough to look for him, save Bucky. With his new body, it wasn’t so easy for him to hide now. And having spent most of his life being the smallest person in the room, he still felt like a stranger in his own skin.

Craning his head, his heart raced when he realized he wasn’t even halfway down the block. He could’ve pushed people out of the way, but he couldn’t be rude. Swallowing, he tried not to feel overwhelmed at the feel of bodies pressing against him, their conversations too loud in his ears. A few whispered his name. Some snapped his photo, like they had the right.

He wished he would’ve asked you to go with him. It was silly. You didn’t need to look out for him. You didn’t-

“Steve.”

He blinked when you grabbed his hand. He had your touch memorized, the way your hand fit perfectly in his. “Hey,” he whispered, the sound of the crowd fading away.

“Thought you got lost there for a second,” you said lightly, but your eyes conveyed that you sensed how much he needed you.

“Almost did,” he said, letting you lead him through the crowd, refusing to let you go. “But it was worth it to find you the perfect necklace.”

“Oh, yeah?” you smiled over your shoulder. “You know, you really didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know, but I wanted to,” he smiled gently. “Thank you for finding me,” he said, his voice thick because he wasn’t just talking about today. And you knew that.

“You found me first, Steve,” you said, squeezing his hand. ���I’m just returning the favor.”

Later when he put the compass necklace around your neck, he’d explain that you were his true north. And if the two of you were ever separated for any reason, even in a crowd, he’d find his way back to you. Always.

Love and thanks for participating in Ficlet Friday! ❤️

[made-my-peace-with-all-the-bad]

WHY IS EVERYTHING IN THE OUTSIDERS SO NOAH KAHAN CODED???????

[crescenthistory]

Hello, may i request a prompt "are we friends?" between f!reader and the slytherin skittles? Where the reader used to attend Ilvermorny but had trauma from it (like bullying and fallout with friends). So she doesn’t want to intrude on the friendship that the skittles already have. Oh and they’re all in their sixth year. Thank you 🙏

hi lovely, thank you for this cute concept<33 i didn't explicitly emphasise what your past at ilvermorny was to leave it dubious and open to every reader

Prompt: F.3 "Are we friends?"

Words: 2.2k

Warnings/tags: gn!reader, use of y/n, ilvermorny!reader (no specified nationality), implied troubled background at ilvermorny, mental illness/insecurity shown through reader's pov, odd friendship dynamics, found family, intended as platonic!slytherin skittles x reader but can be read as romantic if you want<3

You weren't entirely sure what happened.

One day you were being thrown into what felt like a wild zoo filled with any and every kind of person you could possibly imagine, clad in dark robes and chattering around in hundreds of different accents, and you were decidedly determined to isolate yourself away from the masses and live a solitary life at Hogwarts.

The next, you were sitting in the library and the same group of Slytherins that sat with you yesterday – and strangely the day before that, and the day before that – plopped down around you and made themselves at home. As if this was simply the norm, as if it was a given that their seat was the one beside you.

You weren't offended or uncomfortable, necessarily, but you were certainly... confused. You didn't mind them being there, yet their presences were strange to you and you could not make sense of this disconnect in your mind.

When you arrived at Hogwarts a month ago, you had felt nothing short of publicly humiliated when you were brought up to the Sorting Hat after the ocean of 11 year-olds had been passed through it for the past hour. It was apparently not a common occurrence that students transferred in from other schools, especially not Ilvermorny, and there was no protocol for how to handle it. Instead of taking your Ilvermorny house into consideration and putting you in the Hogwarts house that most closely resembled it, Dumbledore himself had decided that this jittery 7th year student go through the same process as everyone else.

McGonnagall had pitied you enough to grab your shoulder before you went up to whisper to you, "The hat is your friend, not foe, Mx. L/N. Do not fear it."

With entirely too many eyes on you, you climbed the steps and gingerly sat down on the seat. Unlike with the kids, the Sorting Hat fit you rather snuggly, leaving you unfortunately without the much sought after shelter of the brim.

You solved the solution by looking down in your lap, trying not to visibly startle when a voice spoke in your mind.

Transfer student, huh? Haven't had one of you in a while. Most certainly interesting...

You reminded yourself friend not foe and closed your eyes, trying to will the hat to be merciful and grant you reprieve. To put you in a house where you can get what you need – solitude, privacy, quiet. It was just a year. You could go through a year if you were just left alone.

To your shock – though perhaps it shouldn't have been – the hat responded to your thoughts.

What you need, you say? Well, I do believe I can help in that regard. Keep your mind open, dear one.

The next word the hat spoke was out loud, not in your mind – it yelled out "SLYTHERIN". At the time, you didn't know whether to be relieved, confused or terrified. Unbeknownst to you, a certain group of 7th year Slytherins sitting at the end of the long table had shared curious looks and wide grins upon the announcement.

Those Slytherins were the very same strewn around you today, on various furniture all surrounding the same large oak table that was almost invisible beneath all your parchments and books.

You were sitting on one end of a settee, legs crossed and wrists resting on the table, somewhat jittery. On the other side sat Regulus Black in a similar position, his face as impassive as ever and turned down into a book that you were quite confident was not in the curriculum. Opposite you on a similar sofa, Barty Crouch Jr. laid upside down, with his legs thrown over the back of the sofa and his neck craning in a way that simply could not be comfortable where it rested on the seat. Pandora Rosier was sitting cross-legged on the ground beside Barty's head, braiding a dozen tiny braids into his hair, mixing black and acid green strands together absentmindedly. Her twin brother Evan Rosier was pretending to ignore whatever Barty was talking about as he did his homework, but you could see how his ears were perked up. Lastly, Dorcas Meadowes sat on an armchair beside the settees, twirling her wand and looking every bit like she was thinking of something she shouldn't.

You would be the first to admit that they were interesting people. In another life, perhaps you would even spend time together on purpose – but now, above all else one might want to know about them, you wanted to know why they were here.

It had started by them making space for you on the Slytherin table that first day, and afterwards they always left an open space there. Not asking, not demanding; it was as if they were just assuming you would sit there. And you didn't know where else to sit, so you did. Then the same thing happened in your classes – you sat down at an empty table, and before you knew it, one of them was taking the empty seat beside you.

There was never any proper introductory conversation, never any invitation into a friendship, yet they found you everywhere. It was not as if they didn't talk to you when they were there, though; from the very beginning, they were cracking jokes with and around you and roping you into their odd conversations. Learning more about you as you went instead of interrogating you on the spot.

It was sudden and unexpected and you didn't know what to do about it.

"Then I told him precisely where he could shove it and– are you even listening to me?" Barty cut himself off to look accusatory at Evan, whose eyebrow was now quirked up while his eyes remained trained on his parchment.

"Hm?" Evan asked absentmindedly, though you were almost entirely sure it was just to rile the other boy up.

Evan was usually successful in such endeavors, and this was no exception, judging by the shrieking gasp that escaped Barty. "You absolutely bloody wanker, how dare you– this is a good story!"

"Maybe," Evan drawled. "But it lost its charm around the third time I heard it."

Barty whipped his head sideways to stare daggers into Evan. "Salazar's soggy balls, this is a new story, I swear." He then rolled his head backwards to look at you upside down, pinning you to the seat with the same accusatory tone. "You were listening to me, right Treasure?"

You made a reluctant face. "Sorry, I didn't realise you were talking to me."

Barty let out a theatrical huff and threw his hands up in the air for effect, nearly hitting Pandora on the way, causing Evan to give his wrist a slap, still without looking. "Of course I was talking to you – I'm talking to you all. By Merlin, you're all awful friends."

Though Barty continued on with his grumbling, you felt frozen in place by his last word. Before you could think more of it, the words tumbled out of your mouth. "We're what now?"

Dorcas tilted her head to the side, looking between you and Barty. "Oh, he didn't mean it Y/N, he's just a loudmouthed arse. You're still getting used to it."

"I resent that." Barty pointed at Dorcas as he spoke before he grabbed one of Evan's parchments, curled it up into a ball and threw it at Dorcas. "I'll have you know, I'm a fucking delight."

You were unaffected by their banter, eyes still narrowed at the lot of them, trying to decipher and understand what the hell was going on.

"You're thinking hard." Regulus remarked from your right, finally looking up at his book. At his rare contribution to conversation, Evan and Pandora seemed to perk up as well, and you suddenly felt entirely too much like you were being stared down. It was worse than the Sorting Hat.

"I–" you began, but cut yourself off and pressed your lips together with furrowed brows. "You think we're friends?"

Whatever they expected your answer to be, that did not seem to be it, based on their empty gazes. Dorcas reared her head backwards just a little, while Barty did a full body spin to land him in a mostly-upright position on the sofa – this time Evan yanked Pandora out of reach of Barty's swinging legs.

"What do you mean, do I think we’re friends?" Barty questioned then, almost offended. "Don’t pull my leg, why else would we be here? Either way, what I was trying to say–"

Barty's rant was once again cut off, this time simply by Dorcas holding up one hand in his direction while her eyes remained dutifully trained on you. "Love, did you not think we're friends?" she asked. Her voice was so painfully gentle, so caring, that you wanted to shy away from it, to pack up your bag and run and hide.

You realised that that was not a possibility. Instead, you tried to shrug as casually as you could and not let your emotions show. "Well, why would we be? We don't know each other, do we?"

You dared a glance sideways to see Regulus looking at you with a seemingly unimpressed expression, but you saw the twitch in the corner of his mouth. Evan opposite you, though, was not hiding his wide grin whatsoever. "Don't we know each other, love?" he asked then, seemingly partially smug.

"Yeah, if you don't know me, that is because you lot of wankers never listen. But I most certainly know you, L/N." Barty gestured with his finger in your general direction, as if he was preaching, which Evan yet again slapped away – though in favour of pulling Barty closer into his side.

"You don't know me," you tried, voice shaky yet growing somewhat frustrated with the situation.

"Of course we do," Dorcas intercepted. "I know you loathe breakfast but adore dinner. I know you prefer tea over coffee, I know that you like the sweets from back home better than those from Honeydukes."

"And I know that you're ridiculously patient, both with randos you're paired up with in class and with us, your friends," Barty added with a deadpan. "I know your real laughter is a very cute snort. I know you dislike being pranked but enjoy watching them play out, which is why we never play them on you but always around you."

"You're kind and you're bloody bright," Evan said with a nod, as if this was a natural conclusion. “Your best subjects are all of my worst ones, which is a joy. Watching your passion for them is the most enjoyable, though.”

"And you're peculiar just like us." Pandora finally spoke up with a smile on her lips and a glint in her eye. "That's why we go so well together – we're the same."

At some point in their conversation with you, your mouth fell open as you listened to them recount everything they had picked up about you over the past few weeks. The moment didn't feel real, it felt fabricated by some awfully optimistic and naive six year old still living in your mind, one that was readily crushed long before your transfer. You didn't realise they had noticed you so much.

You're brought out of your stupor by Regulus' quill being poked into your side, demanding your attention. You turned your head to find the twitch of his lip had turned into a small, knowing smile. "Even if we don't know everything about where you've been, we know who you are. You don't need to tell us anything for us to understand that."

"Yeah, what he said!" Barty exclaimed with glee, kicking his feet up onto the sofa as he leaned his entire weight on Evan.

“Even before we knew anything about you, we were friends.” Pandora was looking out through a window, seemingly in thought and awfully happy at being so. “In a way, we’ve always been friends, I suppose. When it just works like this.” 

You weren’t always sure you understood what Pandora meant, but this time, you felt it in your heart.

"Sorry love, but you're kind of stuck with us now. Should have sat with someone else on your first day." Dorcas shot you a wink at that, and something in your chest seemed to snap into place.

Even when you were asking an awkward question, the atmosphere never changed – there was no pity here, no judgment, just... kinship.

Friendship.

At last, you let a smile begin to bloom from within you, one which you immediately saw reflected back at you in your five new friends.

"No, actually, I don't think I should have."

[radioactiverats]

Curious question, (First, I love your mentor Starscream x seeker reader fics) what would it be like if Thundercracker and Skywarp were around? Because I keep imagining them as those weird uncles who decided to annoy Starscream by pulling reader into their shenanigans.

Hello, first of all thank you so much for reading! I absolutely love the idea of elite uncles. Starscream moaning that Skywarp has led you astray (shitty flying habits. Taking you out for your first drink of engex and trying to hide the fact that ur shitfaced before Starscream comes to skin you both. Oooh there's an idea). For now my brain vomited this out but thank u for the prompt I will prob return to it again!!

------

You’ve never formally met Starscream’s trine. The first reason being that he is fiercely protective of you, even if he’ll never admit it. Despite the bond he shares with his trine, he wants to keep outsider interference to a minimum - he gets one chance at keeping you safe, and if even one of Skywarp’s pranks go awry… in the privacy of his own processor, Starscream has never dared to finish that thought.

However, things have changed. As Megatron’s bloodthirstiness grows by the day, Starscream, like any good tactician, knows that the current strategy won’t work for much longer. With only him standing between you and Megatron’s idle and violent whims, he is regrettably forced to admit that he needs help to guarantee your survival. So what if a teensy part of him doesn’t want to share your attention? If you offline, he won’t have any of your attention at all.

As SIC, any overt moves will attract Megatron’s attention - so Starscream finds a tactical excuse. Your first group mission, he proposes under the guise of ‘training’ - to tag along with the Elite Trine.

Starscream is incredibly stiff when he informs you of the meeting - he’s usually forthcoming with details in your presence as he rants freely about something or other. But this time, he remains oddly tight-lipped, refusing to tell you who you’re about to see.

“As long as it’s not Megatron, I think it’ll be fine,” You finally mutter when you grow exasperated with his evasiveness. It seems to ease the mood a little because Starscream pauses, and you watch some of the tension bleed from his wings.

“It’s not,” He says at last. “Thank Primus for that.”

With that out of the way, you assure yourself it can't be that bad, beginning to grow curious as you follow Starscream to the open, grassy plain that has now become very familiar to you. Would it be someone you already knew? Or someone you’ve never met before?

Starscream stops when you reach the scuffed circle of earth that has more or less been forcibly converted into a landing pad. A sudden gust of wind ruffles the dry grass and Starscream nods curtly, although the expression on his faceplate seems slightly pinched. “Here they come.”

The distant roar of jet engines reach your audials and you squint as you spy to rapidly approaching blurs from the horizon. Blue and… was that… purple? There’s only two jets with this colour scheme that you know of. Your helm whips up to stare at Starscream in disbelief, but he stubbornly continues to stare straight ahead, optics tracking the approaching jets.

The clicking and whirring of transformation replaces the screech of fiery thrusters - with an impact that shakes the very earth, Skywarp and Thundercracker are standing before you. It's your first time being face to face with them - you're instantly struck by how similar they look to Starscream, all at once familiar and unfamiliar. It's uncanny, and you shrink back a little, choosing instead to study the freshly turned dirt circle around you. At least your landing pad is much bigger now.

“Screamer!”

“You call that a landing?” Screamer snaps. “I’ve seen sparklings do better than that.”

“Aw, lay off,” Thundercracker mutters. “It’s been ages since we last met.”

He turns to Skywarp. “But he’s right, you know.”

“Hey!”

The Elite Trine. To ordinary seekers, they were the stuff of legend - that aside though, you were busy drinking in this side of Starscream. Arms crossed, trading banter with Thundercracker - more relaxed than you’d ever seen him. Distracted, you don’t notice Skywarp sidling closer to you, and you yelp when his voice comes right next to your audial.

“This the ‘sparkling’?”

Starscream whips around so fast that you can’t help but flinch at the further damage done to your landing pad.

"Hello," you greet awkwardly. Should you be going for formality? You may have the privilege of being familiar with Starscream, but these are still your superiors, after all. Skywarp, however, has no such qualms, a smirk on his faceplate as he slings an arm around your shoulders. “So you’re the one Screamer won’t stop talking about, huh?” You blink, and the words are out before you can stop them. “He talks about me?”

You both look over at Starscream, who’s looking more and more constipated by the nanoklik, an undeniable flush of energon on his faceplate dampening the might of his scowl - you looking with an expression of puppy-eyed wonder and Skywarp with a shit-eating grin.

“Sure he does. He tells us tons of stuff - okay, okay - stop glaring at me like that. Does he talk about us? You know who I am?”

“Um,” You say. Of course you know who he is. But Starscream has… not talked about them, for reasons that he has deliberately kept from you. You’re not sure where you stand in this, but before you really begin to flounder, Thundercracker mercifully comes to your rescue.

“Let go, Skywarp,” He scolds. “You’re throttling the poor thing.” You gratefully stagger towards Starscream, who’d already taken a step forwards when Skywarp sulkily releases you - his enthusiasm had been rapidly turning into a very friendly headlock. Thundercracker sighs, finally turning to you.

“My designation is Thundercracker. We are a trine - you don’t need to worry about formalities. Your trust in Starscream can be extended to us, too.”

You know his designation as well, of course, but find yourself nodding along to the gentle cadence of his tone. It seemed that Thundercracker had a way of making others feel at ease. Even Starscream, whose wings had been twitchy all week in preparation to tell you of the meeting - was looking calm. Well, calmer. He’d nodded at you as Thundercracker spoke, looking relieved that someone more well-versed in emotions had translated his intentions into words before he had to do it himself.

Tentatively, you decide that you like them - independent of their relationship to Starscream. The more time you spend with them, the more distinct they're becoming, in personality, in the details of their frames and faceplates.

“What he said,” Skywarp added, serious for a nanoklik before promptly growing bored of the conversation. All three of you watch with trepidation as his expression grows mischievous.

“Hey, kid. You like me best, right?”

Starscream’s wings promptly flare, EM field prickly as the cacti in the Terran desert. This escapes absolutely nobody’s notice, and Skywarp cackles as Thundercracker buries his faceplate in a servo to emit a long-suffering sigh. You shuffle closer to Starscream as Thundercracker wearily goes to haul Skywarp up from where he’d collapsed in howling laughter on the ground.

“You’ll always be my favourite,” You mumble.

The pulse of his EM field reaches you even if he’s drawn it tightly against his plating.

“Yes, well,” He splutters, suddenly caught off guard. “I… I should hope so.”

Feelings are neither of your strong suits, but the silence that falls on you both is companionable and you allow yourself to enjoy Skywarp’s antics, Thundercracker’s exasperated attempts to get him to behave.

“Okay! Okay,” Skywarp wheezes. “I’m done. You should have seen the look on your faceplate, Screamer-”

“Why don’t we get down to business?” Thundercracker interrupts quickly.

“Thank you,” Starscream growls. He sighs dramatically, but his wings remain relaxed, hip cocked. You glance over at Thundercracker and Skywarp. Thundercracker shakes his head fondly, and Skywarp winks at you. There’s a strange sense of unity, a comfort in knowing that you’re all familiar enough with Starscream to know that the irritation is merely an act. Like you've been let in on a precious secret.

Starscream strides leisurely over to his trine, the three of them standing in front of you. It’s a takeoff formation - Starscream in the lead, flanked by Thundercracker and Skywarp. It’s the most common flight formation for trines, but it seems that they’ve purposely left an open space towards the back. A flash of recognition overtakes your processor - you’d studied this one night in the academy, holed up in the library. Trine formations were designed to be flexible, and one of the adaptations allowed the inclusion of a fourth when necessary.

There’s a glint in Starscream’s optics as he addresses you, a hand on his cocked hip.

“Your mission,” He drawls, “Is to keep up.”

[deusfoundry]

Hii again, sorry if I'm asking for a lot of Cedric requests (you can ignore this if you'd like). But there's this idea that's been plaguing my mind, where Cedric has always been told he has a lovely, charming, or beautiful smile that brightens up people's day or anything of the sort. But to him he doesn't really know what people mean when they say that. Until he sees reader's smile that just instanyly brightens up his day. "7 billion smiles, but yours is my favorite"

Thank you for reading thiss

hi nonnie! im assuming you're also the one who sent the ced request i got prior to this one and if so, please dont apologize!! i truly adore this man and i love writing for him! i hope i was able to do your prompt justice w this one eheh MWAH <333

if cedric's got a sickle for every time someone has told him he had a pretty smile, he'd be bloody rich by age fourteen.

he's heard it from everyone. from strangers on the street, older men with a head full of gray hair seeing a reflection of themselves decades ago in his youthful eyes. from letters he'd find slipped into his bag, secret admirers waxing poetic about his smile, how it had been enough to make the hour and a half they spend in snape's class bearable, how seeing him from across the great hall at dinner was the one thing they look forward to the most.

he's heard it first, and perhaps most often, from his own mother, who'd take his cheeks into her hands and look at him as if she's holding the entire galaxy between her palms.

"you've got the loveliest smile, my dear boy. never lose it."

but he doesn't know what it means, to have a smile that brightens up the room. he can't wrap his mind around how one tiny smile can be enough to rid someone free of the burdens they accumulate as dawn turns to dusk.

cedric doesn't understand until he finds himself tucked in a corner of the library, buried under a mountain of books and parchment on what's supposed to be a weekend spent at hogsmeade.

he normally has a better hand at managing his responsibilities, but the combination of head boy duties, quidditch season starting in two weeks, and the workload that comes with n.e.w.t. level classes has made it impossible to do anything but thank merlin that he even manages to get through a single day.

cedric fights the urge to groan as he feels the seeds of an all familiar headache sprouting. an invisible force pounds against his head, a faint thud every few seconds that sends a twitch to his eye, but he knows it won't take long until he feels like an ogre is bashing his head against the thick books laying in front of him.

he wishes nothing more than for you to be here, with your own share of work, filling the stifling silence of his own little corner of the library with your frantic scribbling on parchment.

you'd let him take a break by now, body slumping against yours as he slots his head on the crook of your neck. he would breathe you in, greedily, and bite back a grin when you giggle at the ticklish feeling of his nose brushing against your skin. your fingers would find themselves tangled with his hair, tugging at the roots and digging at his scalp with enough pressure to release the tension on his shoulders.

he needs you, overwhelmingly so, but your friends had already whisked you off to hogsmeade before he could even ask if you'd want to join him.

at this point, he'd much rather take the ogre than spend another second alone.

"there you are."

cedric's head snaps towards the direction of your voice. he knows you're talking, watches the open and close of your mouth and the almost animated expressions your face dons as you approach him, but he's not hearing any of it.

he sees your smile, a reflection of the sun and the stars, and finally, he understands just how powerful it can be. he remains in a trance even as you clear a spot on the table for you to sit. his body moves entirely on auto-pilot, thighs spreading apart to make way for your legs as he drags himself and his chair closer to you. you've barely touched him, and yet he feels as if he's being pulled into a warm embrace by the clouds as you fish for his hand, locking your fingers together.

"love? are you alright?"

cedric swiftly slides his arms around your waist. he rests his head on your lap and hopes that the quiet hum he lets out is enough to quell your worries.

"better, bug. now that you're here."

vividly, he can imagine the face you make. a grimace in feigned disgust, your bottom lip between your teeth as you try to hold back a giggle.

"that's cheesy, ced." you give his head a light shove before running your fingers through his hair, to which cedric responds with a laugh and the tightening of his arms. he's given you no chance of escape, palms clutching onto the flesh.

"it's the truth."

and it is. if your smile had been enough to ease the ache in his body, brighten his day despite his workload that refuses to decrease, what more now that he's got you in his arms.

[magical-reid]

The Weight of a Handheld Promise

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Word Count: 1.1K

Prompts 7: “Go with me?” “Only if you hold my hand.”

31: “You said you wouldn’t fall in love with me.” “I lied.” 

Summary: In the midst of growing tensions at Hogwarts, Sebastian Sallow and the reader navigate the complexities of dark magic, friendship, and unspoken feelings. As their connection deepens, a simple promise to hold hands becomes a pivotal moment that marks the beginning of something that could change everything.

Reader’s Perspective

The late autumn air was crisp as you made your way down the Hogwarts courtyard, your scarf pulled snugly around your neck. The leaves were swirling in a flurry of reds and golds, and while you adored the changing seasons, today you felt restless.

It wasn’t until you heard Sebastian Sallow’s familiar voice calling your name that the restlessness lifted, replaced by a mix of warmth and anticipation.

“There you are!” he said, a grin spreading across his face as he jogged up to you. His hair was slightly windswept, and his wand was tucked haphazardly into his robes. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Really?” you asked, feigning nonchalance. “What for?”

He rolled his eyes, though his grin didn’t falter. “Well, the thing is, there’s this little gathering in Hogsmeade this weekend. Music, food, you know the deal. And I was thinking…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck—a rare sign of nervousness from the ever-confident Sebastian.

“Thinking what?” you pressed, though your heart was already racing.

“Go with me?” he asked, his words quick and almost casual, but his brown eyes betrayed him. They were filled with something much deeper than casual interest.

You tilted your head, considering him. “Only if you hold my hand,” you said, teasingly, but you meant it too. You’d had enough of stolen glances and lingering moments. If this was going somewhere, you needed it to be clear.

Sebastian smirked, though there was a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Deal,” he said.

Sebastian’s Perspective

He’d been planning to ask you to Hogsmeade for days now, but as usual, he found it much harder to keep his cool when he was actually standing in front of you.

The way you looked at him when you said, “Only if you hold my hand,” had nearly undone him on the spot. How were you so effortlessly charming and bold?

He’d grinned through his nerves, but as he walked away from the courtyard, he couldn’t stop thinking about your answer. Did you know how long he’d been waiting to have an excuse to hold your hand? Probably not, but he planned to make the most of it.

When the weekend finally arrived, he met you at the castle gates, dressed in his best robes and carrying a confidence that felt just a bit exaggerated. The moment he saw you, though, everything else faded.

“You look… amazing,” he blurted, before he could stop himself.

“Thanks,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He offered his arm, but you raised an eyebrow and extended your hand instead. “You promised,” you reminded him.

Sebastian chuckled, his cheeks warming as he took your hand in his. “I did, didn’t I?”

Reader’s Perspective

The day in Hogsmeade felt like a dream. Sebastian was at his absolute best—charming, witty, and surprisingly attentive. He kept your hand in his the entire time, as if he was afraid to let go.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, the two of you found yourselves wandering away from the main street. The air was cool and filled with the scent of wood smoke, and the quiet felt almost intimate.

Sebastian led you to a secluded bench near the edge of the village, where you could see the lights of Hogwarts twinkling in the distance. You sat together, the silence stretching between you in a way that felt both comfortable and charged.

“You said you wouldn’t fall in love with me,” you said suddenly, breaking the quiet.

He stiffened beside you, but when you turned to look at him, he was smiling—a soft, almost self-deprecating smile.

“I lied,” he admitted, his voice low. His eyes searched yours, as if waiting for your reaction.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you kept your voice steady. “You did, huh?”

“I did,” he said, turning to face you fully. “I told myself I wouldn’t, that it was too risky. But the truth is, I think I’ve been in love with you since the first time you called me out for being a show-off in Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You were a show-off.”

“I still am,” he said, grinning now. “But only because I like impressing you.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him—at his messy hair, his earnest expression, and the way he was looking at you like you were the only person in the world.

“I think I might be in love with you too,” you admitted softly.

Sebastian’s grin widened, and before you could say anything else, he squeezed your hand. “Good. That’s good. Because I’ve got no intention of letting go of this hand now.”

You smiled, your heart full. “You’d better not.”

And as the two of you sat there, watching the lights of Hogwarts flicker in the distance, you knew this was the beginning of something that would change everything.

[grandline-fics]

id like to request something - desperate kiss prompt with kid💗 love how you write him hihi

DESCRIPTION: Prompt: Desperate Kiss

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Kid

WORDS: 822

A/N: Thank you for the request! I also didn't realise it's Kid's birthday until I was finishing this. I hope you like what I came up with for Kid and this particular prompt

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

———————

Kid was always so self-assured, confident to the point some would call it arrogance. He was a true pirate, he wasn’t going to just roll over and let someone else take something he wanted. He also wasn’t going to just give up on pursuing something he wanted because someone was there first. Life was too short in his eyes to live anything but how he wanted and he did it unapologetically. Kid thought he was unshakable and never considered himself capable of hesitation. Then you had to come along and throw a wrench into his perception and the worst part? You had no idea what you did to him and with every passing moment of being around you he felt like he was slowly losing grip on the situation and going mad. 

On the calm, dark waters the Victoria Punk idly sailed through Kid had settled into his watch for the night. Knowing how bored Kid could get you decided to join him at least for a little while. To pass the time you shared a drink and idly chatted, mostly reminiscing about past adventures and tavern brawls. Which led you to talk about the most recent trip on shore that had gotten out of hand. 

“That poor guy didn’t have a clue what was happening.” You laughed with a small shake of your head. “Did you really have to punch him with your metal hand though?”

“Why not? Fucker had it coming.”

“Maybe it was the drink I had that night but I can’t remember him really doing anything to warrant a fight until everyone got involved.” You tired to focus your memory but still nothing came to mind. “I mean one minute he was boasting about his own crew then you appeared.”

“You forgot the part he tried to recruit you to his crew.” Kid explained and you gasped, reaching out to grab Kid’s arm as the memory sharpened. 

“That’s right!” You laughed, how could you have forgotten? Then you grinned broadly. “Were you scared I’d be sweet-talked into switching crews?”

“Don’t be a moron.” Kid scoffed, doing nothing to move away from your touch. “I wasn’t letting some nobody think he could take what’s mine.” Your smile stretched at Kid’s choice of words. You were part of the crew long enough to interpret what he’d been trying to say. You were his crew, a member of his family and he was a very possessive person and violently protective of the things that were important to him. To think his motivations went beyond looking out for a member of his crew wasn’t even in your mind to consider. 

“That’s what makes you the best Captain there is.” You smiled before finishing your drink. With a sigh you got up from your seat, taking his empty mug into your hand as well. Kid watched you carefully, his mouth falling into a scowl as he realised you were turning in for the night and he still had a handful of hours to endure a boring watch. You spotted his sour expression and mistook it for the earlier topic of conversation. Playfully you rolled your eyes and leaned down, pressing a kiss against your Captain’s forehead. “Promise I’m not going anywhere Captain. Stop worrying okay?”

You smiled and as much as you wanted to head straight to bed, you instead began to head for the kitchen to leave off the mugs you’d both been drinking from. The last thing you wanted was a lecture from Killer about the deck being left in a mess needlessly. Behind you, you could have sworn you heard Kid mutter ‘fuck this’ and thought he was cutting the rest of his watch short because of of how quiet it was. It wasn’t the first time he’d done something like that so it wasn’t entirely unexpected. What was unexpected though was when you heard his rushed footsteps drawing closer. As you reached for the door to the galley you were sharply turned and your back pushed against the solid wooden door. “Kid, what the-”

Before you could finish your question, Kid’s hand secured itself against your hip and his lips pressed hungrily and eagerly against yours. Fuelled purely by the desperate need for you to see him as more than just a Captain and desperate for you to finally see how he felt about you he couldn’t help but act the way he had. Against your lips, his arrogant grin crept in when he heard you drop the mugs in your hands as your mind caught up to what was happening. As the clattered loudly against the floor, you grabbed his arm and the back of his neck, returning the kiss at last with equal need. Inwardly he berated himself for doubting himself and hesitating making a move, because had he known kissing you would be like this he would have done this a long time ago.

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu , @appalost , @dindjarins1ut

[mrsmangi]

Hello! Can I request the Spider Flower prompt for Lu ? <3

- 🪷 Anon

fries & milkshakes - luigi mangione

♡ flower prompt: spider flower - a joke about getting eloped turning serious - meaning: symbol of the willingness to start anew; an open invitation to explore the unknown. ♡ w.c.: 1.9k ♡ a/n: hi 🪷 anon! thank you so much for your request. this was such a cute piece to write, i'm a sucker for idea of eloping with a loved one. hope you enjoy!

♡ send me a flower & i'll write a drabble based off the prompt ! ↪ prompts that have been requested

You and Luigi are sitting in a cramped booth at an old diner off the side of the highway. A place you would only end up in when your plans have fallen apart. You had been driving back from a weekend getaway to Michaux. The plan was simple: a quiet two-day escape to recharge from the chaos of work and life. A little hiking, a lot of breathing space. As usual, though, nothing had gone according to plan. 

First, there was a flat tire. Then, the tow truck that took so much longer to show up than the both of you had anticipated. Finally, the rain. Not just a drizzle, but an unrelenting downpour that had washed out the hiking trail you had been so excited about.

Now, here you are–both of you soggy, exhausted, and a little more than irritated by the detour that had brought you to this roadside diner. It’s really nothing special. There’s faded red leather booths, yellowing menus, and waitresses that have permanent frowns. Still, it’s warm and it’s dry. It’s the only place you have to sit down and recuperate in.

You poke at your fries, listening to the steady drip of water from your jacket onto the tile floor. The music from an old jukebox in the back of the restaurant fills the silence. The rain continues to pour outside. You glance over at Luigi, who’s been oddly quiet for the past few minutes. He stares into his glass of water, leg bouncing beneath the table.

“This trip has been a disaster,” you mutter, breaking the quiet. You’re not really complaining, more so venting the frustration of how everything’s managed to go wrong. “We’ve barely had time to do anything we wanted to do.” 

“I mean, it was your idea to go hiking in the middle of a thunderstorm,” he says, teasingly. There’s no bite in his voice, just a weariness you find yourself sharing. 

“Okay, so yes, I may have underestimated the weather,” you admit, picking up your milkshake and swirling the striped straw in a circular motion. “But we could’ve at least had a nice dinner somewhere.” 

“Yep,” he sighs. “And now we’re here. Eating rubbery fries and soggy burgers.” 

You snort at the absurdity of it all. He’s completely right. All of it is far from ideal. “I guess it could be worse,” you offer with a half-hearted shrug. 

“You know,” Luigi says, “This gives us a great excuse to run away and get married.” He leans back in his rickety chair, fingers lazily drumming against the side of his water glass. The booth you share creaks under his weight. His tone is so casual, so offhand, that for a moment, you’re not sure if he’s joking. 

“Stop,” you say, laughing softly. You ignore the way your heart stumbles in your chest. “Luigi, that’s not something you just drop on a person in the middle of a conversation about fries and milkshakes.” 

“I’m just saying,” he replies, raising his hands in mock surrender. “We could take this as a sign. Skip the mess of planning, forget about this trip that doomed us to this inedible meal, and just leave. Fly out to somewhere sunny and warm. Forget all this nonsense. We’d just…go.” 

You can’t help but chuckle, dipping a fry into the glob of ranch on your plate. “Okay, enlighten me, then. Where would we go?” 

“Anywhere,” he says. “Vegas. You, me, one of those cheesy chapels with Elvis officiating. We could get hitched. Leave everything behind. Move to Hawai’i or California. Far from Pennsylvania.” 

You stare at him, caught between disbelief and amusement. “The west? Really?” 

“Why not?” he asks, leaning back into the cushion of the booth. “This whole trip’s been a mess. What’s stopping us from making it more memorable? Listen–” He sits up, leaning forward. “–just picture it for a second: a bad suit, a bouquet of plastic flowers, and you in some glitzy dress that you’d probably hate. But you’d look good in it anyway. ” 

His playfulness touches your heart, lingering. You hesitate, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. It’s not the first time Luigi has flirted with you, not the first time he’s thrown out a line like this, but it is the first time it feels like he might not be entirely joking. 

“Don’t say that,” you mumble, grabbing your milkshake and sipping just to have something to do. “You might make a girl think you’re serious.” 

“What if I am?” 

He says it, soft and unassuming, and you still. It’s strange to hear something like that from Luigi. The guy who always makes light of everything, always ready with a dumb joke or a clever comeback. Now, there’s no laughter in his eyes, no punchline waiting to land. You laugh uneasily, shaking your head, trying to process the shift in his tone. “Luigi.” 

His shoulders lift in a half-hearted shrug, but his expression doesn’t falter. “I mean it. You spent so much time planning our trip, planning our lives, (Name)–have you ever thought to plan, or at least think about, what our wedding could be like?” 

You pause. Of course, you’ve thought about it. Not only once, but often. You’ve thought about the way his laugh makes you smile on your worst days, the way he remembers your coffee order better than you do, the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re dozing off. The way his hand melts into yours, as if he was meant to hold it, forever. 

More than that, you’ve dreamed of what it would be like to marry Luigi Nicholas Mangione. Not in the grand, cinematic kind of way, but in a way that feels real, something that feels like you. It would be small and intimate, just the way you both would like it. Neither of you would want the chaos of hundreds of guests or the endless pressure to impress. You’ve pictured the kinds of flowers you would want–wildflowers, maybe. Simple and beautiful. The cake wouldn’t be enormous or extravagant, just enough to share a bite and maybe smear a little frosting on his cheek because you know how it would make him laugh. You’d stand in front of the people who matter the most to you–family, close friends, the people who know you better than anyone–and say the words you’ve only dared to whisper to yourself in the middle of the night. You wouldn’t care about fancy centerpieces, gold-rimmed utensils, or which fork on the table is meant for salad.

None of that has ever mattered to you, not really. All you’ve ever cared about is him. Luigi. The way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world meant for him. You’ve thought about how his voice would sound when he finally says the words, “I do.” 

Afterward, there wouldn’t be a massive reception or an over-the-top honeymoon. It would just be the two of you, maybe sitting on the edge of a dock somewhere, with your feet dangling over the water as you laugh about how you almost forgot to exchange your wedding rings. You’d be wearing a white dress you found in the mall on a whim, something unpretentious but pretty, and he would be in a suit he’d probably complain about until the moment he saw you and forgot every reason he ever hated wearing it. 

You’ve always kept those thoughts buried, locked away like a secret too fragile to see light. You had convinced yourself they were one-sided, that you were simply too young to be committed permanently, that he couldn’t possibly want the same thing you did. And now, he’s looking at you with some kind of quiet, unshakable conviction, as if he’s already imagined all of it, too.

“I don’t…think we’re even close to that kind of conversation,” you manage to say, though you sound more uncertain of yourself than you would like. 

“Why not?” he asks, tone impossibly gentle, like he knows how easily you could back off. “What’s stopping us?” 

You can’t answer. Not because you don’t know, but because now, the longer Luigi holds your stare, the reasons feel less and less convincing. Every excuse you’ve told yourself–every hesitation, every fear–feels small in the face of the truth: you’ve wanted this for so long, and now, for the first time, it feels like he might, too. 

You swallow hard, fingers tightening around the soda glass as thought it might anchor you to reality. It’s so silly–he’s proposed to elope in a greasy diner as you two sit at a creaky booth, your ranch streaked fries growing cold on your plate. But the moment feels so undeniably right. 

Luigi’s fingers have already stopped their drumming against his glass. He leans forward, his dark eyes locked on yours, and for the first time tonight, there’s no teasing grin, no mischief. Just him, completely unguarded. 

“Will you?” he asks quietly.

Your eyebrows furrow. “Will I what?” 

“Marry me.” His words are clear and unwavering, leaving no room for ambiguity. “Run away with me. Forget about everything else–what people will say, the rules, the plans. Just you and me, baby. Start out life the way we want, no compromises. What do you say?” 

The question knocks the breath from your lungs. You can’t look away from him, even as your vision begins to blur with tears. Luigi isn’t joking–he’s really asking you. Here, in the middle of this old-fashioned diner, surrounded by the smell of greasy burgers and the clatter of dishes, Luigi is asking you to choose him. 

“Luigi,” you whisper, “are you sure?” 

“I’ve never been so sure of anything else in my entire life,” he says, moving closer to you from over the table. His hand reaches for yours, warm and steady over your own. “I love you, (Name). I want you. Not someday, not at a time where everything feels perfect. Right now.” 

You tremble as the tears finally spill over, streaking down your flushed cheeks. You laugh, shaking your head as if to steady yourself. “You’re crazy.” 

“Maybe,” he agrees, smiling faintly. “So? Will you?” 

“Yes,” you blurt out, soft laughter growing in volume. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Luigi. I’ll run away with you.” 

The smile that breaks out across his face is nothing short of beautiful. Before you say anything else, Luigi stands abruptly, pulling you up from the booth. You don’t care about the strange glances you get from the people surrounding you, just Luigi and the way his hands frame your face. The warmth of his palms as he wipes away your tears with his thumbs leaves you feeling whole. 

“Say it again,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing against yours. 

“Yes,” you whisper, barely able to contain your laughter and tears mixing into your voice. “A hundred times, yes.” 

He wastes no more time. His lips find yours in a kiss that’s everything at once—gentle and urgent, tender and fierce, a promise sealed between you two. You melt into him, hands clutching the front of his polo shirt, as if you’re afraid he might disappear. But he doesn’t. He stays, grounding you in reality. Sweet, sweet reality. 

When he finally pulls back, he still has his great, big grin on his face. “That settles it, then,” he says, kissing your forehead. “I can’t wait to start my new life with you.” 

“Me either,” you say softly. 

“One last thing,” he says, grin widening, tone light. “Can we get fries to-go?” 

“Yeah,” you laugh. “We’ll get milkshakes, too. For the road, of course.” 

He chuckles, taking your hand in his and tugging you toward the counter. As you walk, his hand never leaves yours, his pinky ghosts over your ring finger. You realize it then–that this messy, unexpected, perfectly imperfect moment–is the beginning of a fresh start: your happy ending.

[cheeseceli]

When you marry someone else

Pairing: ot5 TXT × Gn! reader (individually)

Genre: angst, unrequited love, a bit bittersweet, reactions

Prompt: they attend your wedding, but you are the love of his life, and he is not the groom.

Warnings: no happy ending for now, reader wears a wedding dress on Yeonjun's, Kai has mentions of food, mentions of tears and crying

A/n: had this entire idea when showering, so enjoy the angst! | Daily click

Yeonjun

He is so conflicted

He is genuinely happy at the thought of you finding the love of your life, but he is sad because it's not him

He is happy when he sees you in that beautiful dress, but he is sad when he sees that you didn't dress up with him on your mind

He wants to sit down on the first row to see you closer, but he also wants to stand on the end of the room so it doesn't hurt that much

He loves you but he wished he didn't

At the party, he would try his best to avoid both you and your now husband

He wants to be there for you, but it seems unfair that he needs to watch it in so many details

He tries to distract himself from the fact that this night is all about you dedicating your life to someone else

And he tries to ignore his mind telling him that this someone else was so not worth of you

His vows seemed shallow, and it was ridiculous how he didn't cry when he saw you walking down the aisle. It outraged Yeonjun to see him talking with his friends instead of being with you

Everything that the groom did, Yeonjun knew he could do ten times better

But he was trying to ignore it. For the sake of your night

And when you come to him, handing him the bouquet, he can't help but feel defeated

"I want you to be the next one to find everlasting happiness" is what you said to him

So Yeonjun took the bouquet, hoping and praying that it actually meant something

Soobin

He genuinely thought on not going

The moment he received the invitation, he threw it away

And since he refused to talk to you ever since, you thought you'd be missing your best friend on your wedding day

But in the end, he couldn't help but to go to the ceremony

It wasn't fair on you if he missed one of the most important days of your life

Especially since you had no idea Soobin has been in love with you for decades

So he attends the wedding

And he regrets it the moment he gets there

Why were you so beautiful?

And why were you so happy?

He talks to all your friends and family members throughout the day

He is searching for any hint that your fiance doesn't deserve you

Anything that could give him a reason to stand up and object

But there is nothing

The man you fell in love with was nothing but a kind and generous person

And Soobin can't recall a day where you had smiled that much before

So he just sits down in defeat when you start to say your vows, wondering what he could've done in the past so today would've been different

Beomgyu

He is trying his best to act like your best friend

Like yes, he's so happy for you!!

He'll cry tears of joy and he'll party all night!!

He's doing his best to just be happy for you

Because that's what he's supposed to be

Happy for you, not happy with you

So he buys you the greatest gift you could ever imagine

He talks with every single person in the party

He is the first to go to the dance floor and he doesn't hesitate on playing with the kids

He is trying to be happy

And when your groom comes to him, thanking him for taking care of you until now, Beomgyu cries a bit

Especially when the groom vows that he will love and protect you from now on

He cries in the ceremony and cries even more when you hug him by the end of it

But as your best friend, he promises he'll always do his best to be happy for you

Taehyun

He won't be there

I'm so sorry, but I don't think he would be able to endure the pain

Every time he saw you guys on a date, or the photos you post, or the messages you sent with "I'm with my boyfriend right now, can we talk later?" always felt like a dagger in his heart

So to see everything come to life was not something he could do

He'll come see you a day before the wedding though

And in his plan, he would try to convince you to give up

He never liked your boyfriend anyways, he didn't feel like too good of a person

So he tries to hint on the topic

But you're so blindly in love that you don't notice

And he's so in love with you that he simply gives up

So he just smiles at your content and announces that he needs to go, that he will get some things ready for tomorrow

But he doesn't

He tells you that there was an accident on the road, that he was suddenly required on his work, or that there was a family emergency

Something happened, and he couldn't make it to your wedding

And upon seeing your smile on the photos, he's glad he didn't

Hueningkai

The moment you tell him you're getting married, he is volunteering to help you in anything and everything

He is there when you choose your clothes for the day

He finds the best florist in town

He helps you decide on the cake, on the place, on the date, everything

Because he knows this is the last time you'll be relying on him for help

From now on, your soon to be husband will be the one who is supposed to be by your side

Till death do you apart

And as much as it hurts, Kai won't let the sorrow be on the way

If he has this last opportunity to help you and be with you, that's precisely what he'll do

So when the big day ends up being more beautiful than your dreams

And both you and your now husband come to him to thank him

He can't help but smile through teary eyes, which he reassures you that it's because of happiness

Now he knows that he at least tried his best until the end

Masterlist | you'll probably like: moving on

Reminder this is just fiction!! I'm not trying to portray real life and you shouldn't believe that this is how the members actually are. This is just for the vibe and the delulu!

Thank you for reading <3

Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans @zzzzzwicked @sheraayasherrecs

Dividers by @enchanthings | images 1 , 2 and 3