#that they can FINALLY find happiness together?

[specialgradefckr]

here, kitty, kitty!

tw: dubcon, hybrid au, reader is literally a pet, loss of bodily autonomy, examination kink, slight medical play, piercings, possession

So, Satoru wants to get a cat hybrid.

Suguru supposes he shouldn't be surprised. Satoru's never hidden his porn history or anything. He's constantly suggesting they find a third, while instantly rejecting all suggestions.

A diva like him couldn't have sex with just anyone. And for Suguru himself, well, he preferred to have a certain level of... control in a relationship.

Which suited Satoru fine, most of the time, and Suguru was willing to concede on the rare occasion.

But Suguru doesn't have cat ears, a tail, and a pussy, and he can even admit that he misses the fairer sex sometimes, too.

They've been together so long, know each other so well. Familiarity breeding boredom, maybe. They're happy together, but Satoru wants more.

He's also incredibly needy, exactly the type of child who would beg mommy and daddy for a pet kitty.

That's also the type of child cats tend to despise. But no matter how many times he tries to explain it - "It's not that simple, Satoru" "A pet is a serious commitment, you know" - Satoru, much like a whining child, just doesn't listen.

And, well, Suguru is getting tired of telling him.

So that's how they end up here - with you.

A beautiful thing. All curled up in the corner of your stall - cage, really. Your ears twitch at the noise, and you look up, wide-eyed and anxious in a way that tugs his heartstrings.

It's truly a pity that you're at a place like this.

The interior is well-decorated, clean, with lush carpets and furnishings. The interior of your cage has a soft-looking blanket bunched up in it, and plush bedding in the back.

But there's no mistaking its purpose. In the background, there are moans, whimpers, and the occasional sob.

Throughout the wide room, a few pets were being taken out, paraded for potential owners. Poked and prodded and played with.

You, like all the others, are completely naked.

These hybrids are for sex.

Suguru had almost wanted to leave right away, but Satoru had been so excited, dragging him in by the hand. "Just look! We only have to look!"

After the assistant, a tall, well-dressed blonde man, guides them to the cat section, he's starting to think this isn't Satoru's first time here.

And that's when they'd found you, the sorry thing that you are.

Something trickles down his spine at the thought that you'll be seen by others, sold off, used for sex at your owner's discretion.

"Ooooh, I love this one!" Satoru sounds excited. "Can we take a closer look?"

Nodding, the assistant unlatches your cage. You look out, carefully, with big wide eyes, and the assistant waves you out, but you don't move.

He goes in with a leather lead, latching it to your collar, tugging until you finally crawl out, ears tilted back as your tail curls around your body.

Suguru accepts the lead in one hand as the man steps out for a moment.

The assistant reappears pushing a cart of what looks like medical instruments. Tongue depressors, stethoscopes... lubricant.

"All our pets are virgins. You aren't permitted to have sex but you're free to examine them however you like."

Suguru stands there, silent and shocked while Satoru gleefully agrees.

With a tap of his hand to your back, the assistant guides you to lean forwards, chest pressed against the floor, ass up, right in the middle of the shop in front of them.

Your tail sways gently, curling around Satoru's hand when he grasps at it, delighted, running his hand through it and down the length of your body.

"She soooo cute! Look at her pretty tail. And that ass." He whistles, smacking you on the flank.

Suguru watches your whole body flinch at the contact, but you stiffen up, staying in position. He feels a weird, light flip in his belly. This sort of thing was crazy to begin with... but wouldn't it be better to adopt you than leave you here?

He can't even see your face, meet your eyes. Something inside him screams to comfort you; gather your smaller figure up tightly in his arms and squeeze.

"It'll be all right," Suguru finds himself saying, effortlessly smooth as he approaches you. Gently petting the side of your head, watching the ear on that side tilt to accommodate him. Cute.

Well. He supposes he's a cat person, too.

Satoru is still cooing and groping over your admittedly fine body. Suguru can't help but notice how you stiffen under Satoru's wandering touch, but lean into his gentle pets.

He kneels by your head so he can scratch behind your ear, catching the side of your pretty face.

You reward his efforts with a slight, barely noticeable purr - one that goes away when you gasp, face flushing.

That'd be Satoru.

"See, look at her getting wet already! I bet she looks real good taking dick." Satoru says with a giggle as he reaches your pussy, giving your clit a little rub and teasing your entrance.

The employee, straight-faced, gestures towards the instruments beside him.

"As I said, our pets are kept as virgins until they're sold, so you can't have sex with them. But any other form of examination is permitted, including penetrative ones."

Satoru gives him that terrible, impish grin. "C'mon Suguru. We should check she's in good health before we get her."

"Who said we're getting her?" Suguru shoots back, stroking tenderly over your head, down your back, in soothing motions.

There's a sparkle in Satoru's eyes; he knows Suguru isn't willing to leave this shelter without you.

Those terrible, wicked, beautiful eyes glance over the instruments, mouth splitting into a grin as he fixes his gaze on one of them.

Pulling out the speculum, Satoru slinks towards your backside. Tracing lines over your folds, fondling your clit with purpose.

"See! Soooo wet," He coos, positioning the speculum at your entrance.

Suguru pulls away from you to sit next to Satoru, "Be careful. That's not a toy."

"I know, I know!"

Satoru's tone isn't exactly reassuring to you. Still, you can't do anything but hold yourself up, your ass and cunt bare and exposed to them as the cool metal slides in.

Just the feeling of it spreading you open has you whimpering, tail curling around your thigh.

Suguru's hand comes to rest at the base of your tail, near your back, petting down it in a gliding motion.

"There's a good girl, hm," His voice has a heady satisfaction to it, fingers curling around your tail, "Just hold still for us, don't be afraid. We won't hurt you."

You can't help your reaction, keening under his soothing, affectionate tone. A little whine escapes you as the cool metal slides deeper in, and Suguru makes an effort to reach down and pet your head again.

"Yeah!" Satoru chirps. "See, it's not so bad!"

Somehow, this, too, fails to reassure you. However, one of his hands sneaks around to rub over your clit, until you're dripping, clenching around the metal instrument.

"Good kitty," Suguru murmurs, and you find a shameful, low rumble building in your belly.

Satoru notices, though, "She likes it!" - to your horror, he slides the speculum all the way in, and starts spreading it - you - wide open.

"Here, Suguru, don't you want a look?" Satoru says, spreading you one-handed. His other hand rubs just close enough to your clit to keep the arousal lit.

"Hm..." Suguru hums.

But Satoru knows him - knows that this is as close to a yes as he can bring himself to admit to an idea he hadn't suggested himself.

You're so cute, too, he can't help but stroke your pretty little folds, all soft and wet for him. Even as he gapes your cunt wide, it's drooling all over his fingers. You're a natural. So perfect~

"Just look!" Excitement shoots through his chest, "You can see inside... that's her cervix, right?"

He does see it, they both do, that tender, reddened roundness at the end of your pretty little passageway. Walls straining against the speculum, a tight little hole winking at them at the very end.

Like a prize. Like an invitation.

It stirs a terrible, primal heat in Suguru's loins. Seeing so deep inside you. So far. You've almost certainly never even seen this part of yourself... it's only for him. For him and Satoru.

For them to see right now. And later, feel it kissing their dicks, hot and wet as you get filled up with their cum...

"God," Satoru says out loud, "I just want to take her here and now, you know? This cute cunt would look so nice all swollen and dripping with cum, yeah? Right, Su-gu-ru~?"

It's so painfully obvious by now; Satoru had already scouted you in this shelter. He'd picked you out on purpose.

Somehow, he's not even upset. But he can't just say that. Even if he's already itching to have you home, with his name on your collar and your leash in his hands, to play with...

"She looks... healthy." Suguru says, glancing at the employee.

The assistant nods shortly. "As you can see, she has a very strong pelvic floor, and she's in prime breeding condition. Our pets are kept in perfect health." 

A pause. "Is she in fit to go home today?" Suguru asks, ignoring how Satoru nearly cheers at the statement.

"All of our pets are. If they weren't completely healthy, they wouldn't be on display. We take their care very seriously here."

Suguru nods again, and the assistant leaves to retrieve the final adoption papers.

Satoru pulls the speculum out, and Suguru takes a moment to press his body into your thigh, supporting you, petting over you.

"You were so good for us," He cooes, "Don't be scared. There's a good girl," Suguru hums as your tail slides against him, "You're coming home with us, now. Aren't you excited?"

There's a terrible relief that pours through you at the words good girl, at the gentleness with which those large hands guide you to a much more comfortable position, sitting at his feet.

You press yourself against his lower legs, looking up at him shyly, feeling a purr glow through your chest as Suguru smiles down at you.

He's so nice. The other man is lecherous, a bit scary, but it'll be okay as long as this nice man is here, right?

It seems almost finished, as the employee returns - but the white-haired man, the extra pretty one, raises a brow at an option on the paperwork.

"Clit piercings?" Satoru's voice seems extra excited, "Is that an option? Instead of the microchip?"

Piercing? You stiffen at the word. To say you didn't like pain would be a dramatic understatement. Just the thought of some needle near your flesh, a hole that won't heal...

Suguru's hand comes down onto your head, running through your hair, brushing all the thoughts away as you lean into his touch.

It's hard not to crave the warmth, the gentleness. You're only a hybrid, after all, bred for companionship and affection.

The employee pauses for a moment sighing, "It's not an option for all pets. It's a clitoral hood piercing, which can house a micro-sized, state of the art gps tracker. The issue is, it requires some delicate handling. You would have to keep her still, and ideally, keep her clit hard, so it's easier to avoid."

Satoru pulls you up into his arms, like you're no lighter than a switch - you yelp, but he just laughs.

He sits back onto a chair, holding you in his lap and spreading your legs. With one hand, larger than your whole pussy, he spreads your lips open, revealing your cunt.

Your feverish eyes look for Suguru, who approaches from the side, squirming in Satrou's lap anxiously.

Those dark eyes run over you, and for once, the look on the handsome, dark-haired man's face makes you shiver.

"That should be easy. You've been playing around it all this time, haven't you, Satoru?" Suguru's tone is half-accusatory, but Satoru only laughs.

It's easy for you to follow the line of his sight to between your legs, right at the crest of your clit, where Satoru's long, clever fingers stroke heavy circles around it.

"Just hold her like that" The assistant states, pulling out a piercing gun, "This will only take a moment."

"Look at her cute little clit!" Satoru snickers, "Gonna look so pretty with the piercing over it. Plus, if she ever gets lost, we'll find her right away!"

You can feel his body better now, pressed up as you are against him. His chest is solid, muscled, and he's wiry but lean behind you as he holds you easily in his grip, locking his legs inside yours.

Your ears tuck down as you squirm nervously, but Satoru's grip holds you tightly in place. The tip of your tail swishes as it winds against Satrou's leg as it presses into yours.

Suguru sits down next to you, one arm wrapping around your back and up over your chest. He presses his cheek to your poor quivering ear, nuzzling into it.

"Mmmh, don't be scared," He hums lowly, a noise like involuntarily relaxes you, "It'll be over quick."

His voice changes, deepening, hardening, and it's like it's coming from someone else entirely when he says - "Satoru. Keep her on the edge, make her cum when it goes in."

A whine escapes you. Goes in? You don't want this.

The assistant's gloved hands nears you as he gets on his knees, sharp eyes darting at your exposed sex, pulling the strange, unfamiliar tool right up to your most vulnerable place.

You whimper, and Suguru kisses your ear, folding it against your head, "Shhh, shhh. Don't be scared. You feel good now, doesn't it?" He says in a voice like honey.

Satoru's fingers dance over your folds. The strokes get shorter and shorter, the bud of your clit swelling up with pleasure and sensitivity alike. Gut churning with arousal, dripping from you, and a rapidly growing anxiety.

"I don't," You say, but your head is already spinning, "I don't, don't, wanna, I don't wanna, please..."

Leaning forward, Suguru tucks some hair behind his ear, showing you his own gauge piercings.

"I have one too, see?" He hums, "Yours will be much smaller, just a little one. It'll barely hurt."

You stare in confusion, tearing up as your own ears flick nervously. He has one too? But this is between your legs!

"No, no no no, please no," You plead with him, "I don't want it, please-"

"Shhhh." Suguru's hand darts up to your mouth, fingers pressing down on your tongue, "Yes you do. You'll love it so much once you have it, don't worry."

He feels silly for trying to explain. That won't calm you down now.

It makes sense that you can't understand. You're just a sweet little kitty, as much as you look like a human, and this is all just scary and uncomfortable for you.

You're a cat hybrid, a domesticated creature. Pets don't have to think about what's best for themselves; their owners do that for them.

He feels your rough tongue squirming against his fingers, drool pooling around them.

It makes him lick his own lips. His pants are tight. He wouldn't be surprised if Satoru hadn't already -

"Hnngh... yeah, kitty, you'll love it," Satoru pants, grinding up against your ass, making you whimper even more.

Suguru lays another heavy kiss on your ear, "Shh, shh. Hold still, kitty, you can do that, can't you?"

In the midst of all the pleasure, the quickening strokes that have your core clenching in anticipation. The fingers in your mouth, the iron grip on your hips, your legs, holding you in place, the bodies against you; Suguru's soft voice is your anchor in a sea of overstimulation.

But all you can do is warble, fangs teething against his skin, just barely not breaking through. You tremble at the effort, gnawing at his knuckles, wrapping your lips around his fingers.

"You're so sweet," He croons, "So good for me. There's a good kitty."

His fingertip draws down along your tongue, triggering your reflexes to suckle at it.

"There you go, nice and ready," Suguru coos, stroking your head, "Keep her close, Satoru."

With one large hand on your hip, holding you steady, Satoru starts rubbing your clit in sharper, fierce circles, coaxing it to stiffen and peek out further.

The assistant tugs back the delicate skin over your clit, all dripping and swollen. He gives it a quick wipe as he pulls the piercing gun in, making you panic even further.

Suguru pets and kisses as you, squeezing at the tension in your shoulder and your neck, while Satoru rubs just beneath your clit, in hard presses that send pleasure shooting through you.

"Feels good, right?" Satoru pants in your other ear, pinning your hips tightly against him and his throbbing erection, "I'm gonna make you feel even better real soon, kitty."

You sniffle helplessly in his lap, clit throbbing as his fingers work your sensitive nub. It sends you closer and closer to release, a tightening coil of anxiety and pleasure curling in your core.

"Hold still," Suguru murmurs softly, "Be good."

And you try; you try to be good and hold still for Suguru, who pets you and strokes you and says nice things to you. But it's so hard. Every fiber of your being wants to flinch away, and the constant stimulation against your clit is nearly blinding, burning hot arousal searing through you.

You're half-trembling with terror. Heart racing as you stare at the piercing gun sliding into place over your wet, exposed cunt.

"You're being so brave," Suguru whispers, "Such a brave little kitty. Just a little longer."

With a final click, the employee pierces you, sending a sharp jolt of pain through you. You shriek at the sensation, and would have jumped if it weren't for Satoru's iron grasp around you.

But Satoru keeps rubbing, your sensitive bud throbbing with both the effects of his touch, and the pain of the piercing now settled in place just over your clit.

It's all too much, the swell of pleasure building in your core until the pain only adds to the intensity. The dam bursts forth, and you choke on Suguru's fingers as you tense up, breathless, all discomfort melting away in the airy bliss of your climax.

"See," Satoru purrs, arms moving to wrap around your chest and hold you close, "Told you I'd make you feel good."

"That wasn't so bad, was it, kitty?" Suguru lays a kiss against your heated cheek, pulling his saliva-slick fingers out of your mouth so you can pant in the aftermath of your release.

"Look, Suguru~!" Satoru grins, cheeks red, as he taps at your new piercing, "It's so cute!"

Suguru straight up smacks his hand away, muttering some admonishment you don't catch; dimly, you register a wetness against your ass, at the front of his pants.

Panting, sweat-soaked, you slump forward as soon as Satoru's grip on you loosens - but it only tightens right up again, drawing a confused mewl from you as Satoru tugs you up to carry in his arms.

There's more kisses to your head, your ears, your burning hot cheeks. A buzz between your legs so sharp you can't even tell if it hurts or feels good, so you settle for whining whenever you're jostled.

"Be careful with her, Satoru."

"I am, I am - aren't you gonna do the paperwork? I think she needs a little aftercare."

You slump helplessly against Satoru's chest, ears flicking to pick up conversations you're too tired to pay attention to. Tail swaying underneath you, slung over one of Satoru's arms.

"Don't start monopolizing her already. We can do that together once we get home."

"I'm the one who wanted her in the first place!" Satoru whines.

Suguru rolls his eyes, "So you admit you went here without me and picked her out first?"

"But you like her, though," Satoru says, giggling, shifting you carefully in his arms to better support your head.

He looks down at you, curled up in his arms, with a satisfied smile, as the paperwork is signed and they're about to leave.

Aren't you just the cutest little kitty he ever did see?

He just knew Suguru would love you. He's playing it cool, but Satoru knows he can't wait to get you home to dote on you, set up rules and routines. He's probably salivating at the thought.

A pet just for them. Docile and sensitive and fuckable, a loving companion to come home to every day, a toy for them to use together or apart.

Satoru tucks your head against the crook of his neck.

He can't wait to break you in.

[totallywoman]

grandpa haymitch!!!

my biggest epilogue headcanon is that i 100% believe haymitch decides to quit drinking when he finds out katniss is pregnant (because i REFUSE to accept he doesn’t live to see their kids). i can see him reaching the point in his life where he thinks katniss and peeta don’t need him anymore, and starts letting go of living. i imagine that lenore dove visits him in a dream, her hair gray and faced wrinkled (but as beautiful to him as ever). she tells him that his time with his family is not over and they will need him more than ever.

then, he finds out katniss is pregnant, and everything changes. he finally sees an opportunity to start over. everyone he has ever loved has been hurt by him, but he refuses to burden another soul he loves. he loves katniss and peeta too much to break their trust like that yet again, and already sees himself holding their sweet baby in his arms. he can’t imagine stumbling around, slurring his words in front of someone so precious. it’s simply unthinkable.

he thinks of burdock. his adored daughter having her own child. he makes a silent promise to him to take care of his grand babies, something that was taken away from him.

so one night, soon after katniss and peeta break the news, he dumps all the white liquor down the drain. he ends up miserably sick, but just the thought of that baby or the sight of katniss’ growing belly is enough to keep him from going into town and buying more liquor.

he eventually comes back to life, and is more present in katniss and peeta’s lives than ever. he helps them put together the baby’s room, cares for katniss when she’s not feeling well while peeta’s working, and never comes back from town without something for the baby.

when katniss goes into labor, he spends the entire day pacing back and forth downstairs in the living room. he is so worried about her. the sound of labor pains is almost enough to put back a drink. almost.

when he goes upstairs and meets their baby girl, he breaks down. katniss and peeta have never seen him cry until this moment. all he can see are the two people he loves most in the world, wrapped up into a tiny bundle of dark curls and chubby cheeks. she looks just like katniss, remembering the days where burdock showed her off in the hob. he imagines the future he wanted with lenore dove, how they were going to have their own babies and grandbabies. she would be so proud of him, so happy he got to experience the love of being a father and a grandfather in this world.

as baby girl and her brother grow, haymitch becomes their favorite person. they love to ride on his shoulders, chase around with the geese, and play dress up with him (which is katniss’s favorite thing to watch - he looks ridiculous and can’t help but scowl at her as she laughs at him dressed up in a dress and tiara. he does it anyway, it makes the kids happy).

he eventually teaches the girl how to play piano (because he obviously learned it to honor lenore dove), and brings her a bundle of wildflowers after her first recital. he is there for every birthday, every school performance, every sport event, and every sunday (at the very least) for dinner. he walks with katniss every afternoon to pick them up from school, and carries the boy on his shoulders while he holds the girl’s hand.

he loves her beautiful voice and her kindness toward everyone she meets. he loves his curiosity, his belly laugh, and the mop of blonde curls on the top of his head. he often finds himself ruffling them, just as he would do to sid so long ago.

they remind him of all the innocent souls he loved and lossed. sid, louella, ampert, lou lou; all too innocent for the creulty of the world. the difference is, they are out of the capitol’s reach.

finally, he is not defined by his faults. he is not the rebel tribute who got his family and his girl killed, a victor, a mentor, or a drunk. he is grandpa haymitch. loved to death by two little kids and their parents, just for being him.

lenore dove often visits him in his dreams, telling him she’s so proud of him, and to keep living for her in this world where the sun rises on days full of love, hope, and peace.

[maddie0101]

birthday surprise

summary: It’s your birthday, and you think dean has forgotten, but you’re completely wrong as he surprises you with a few things you’ve always dreamed about.

warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, smut (mdni), cute surprise for the reader, dean is so thoughtful, impala sex, heavy makeout, fingering, p in v, dirty talk, semi public sex (but dean & the reader could care less), cute shit tbh.

word count: 5.6k

note: in honor of my birthday I decided to write this smutty little oneshot to celebrate! 🤭 I hope you guys enjoy! ☻

Dean forgot your birthday.

At least, that’s what it seemed like. The whole damn day had passed, and he hadn’t said a word. No offhand comment in the morning, no teasing remark over coffee, no gruff, half-assed “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

—Nothing.

And it hurt...more than you wanted to admit.

Because sure, it wasn’t like birthdays had ever been a big deal in your life. You weren’t expecting balloons or cake or some grand gesture.

But a mention? A quick acknowledgment that today wasn’t just any other day? That would’ve been nice.

But instead, Dean had spent the day being… well, Dean. Fixing the Impala, cracking jokes with Sam, arguing about dinner plans. Acting like today (or whatever the hell the date was) didn’t mean a damn thing.

By the time the sun started to set, you’d accepted it. Forced yourself to shake it off. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. He’s probably just distracted.

But then, out of nowhere his voice rings out through the bunker. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go for a ride.”

You blink at him from your spot on the couch, arms crossed over your chest. “What?”

Dean just smirks, jerking his head toward the door. “You deaf now? Let’s go. Got somethin’ to show you.”

For a second, you debate telling him to shove it. Making up some excuse to stay behind and wallow. But there’s something in his expression—something warm and teasing that makes you exhale sharply and push yourself up. “Fine.”

You don’t ask questions. You just climb into the Impala, feeling the familiar hum of the engine vibrate through your bones as Dean peels out of the parking lot. The windows are rolled down, the night air cool against your skin, and despite yourself, you feel some of the tension slip away.

Dean doesn’t talk much, just lets the radio fill the silence, his fingers tapping against the wheel as he drives. And then twenty minutes later you see it.

Your stomach flips, a mix of excitement and disbelief bubbling in your chest. The neon sign flickers in the distance, casting a warm, nostalgic glow over the lot, illuminating the rows of cars already parked and waiting. A massive screen stands against the dark sky with previews playing as people settle in with their popcorn and sodas.

Dean pulls into a spot near the back, maneuvering the Impala with ease before killing the engine. The sudden quiet makes the air feel heavier, more intimate. You glance at him, but he’s already looking at you, one arm slung over the back of the bench seat, lips twitching into a smirk. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches. And for a second, you don’t say anything, just blink at him like you’re trying to piece together how the hell you got here—how you went from sulking all day, convinced Dean had completely forgotten you, to this.

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. Then, before you can find words, he reaches into the backseat.

Rustling and the sound of plastic crinkling causes your brows to furrow. What the--

A bag lands in your lap, heavy with all your favorite snacks. The ones you always pick up at gas stations when you’re on the road together. The ones you didn’t even realize he noticed.

Next comes a couple of cold drinks, condensation beading on the outside of the bottles. Then, the final touch—your favorite blanket, soft and familiar, smelling faintly of fabric softener and the Impala’s leather interior.

“I didn’t forget,” Dean says simply. “Just wanted to make it a surprise.”

A lump forms in your throat. You swallow hard, fingers curling around the blanket, trying not to let how much this means to you show too obviously on your face. “You’re such an asshole,” you mutter, voice shaky with something that is not sadness.

Dean grins. “You’re welcome.”

You huff a laugh, shaking your head, and as if on cue, the screen changes—the opening credits of your favorite movie rolling in big, golden letters against the night sky.

Your heart stops. “You—” You whip your head toward him. “You got them to play this?”

Dean shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Nah. Just got lucky. Guess it’s fate.”

Fate. You don’t know why that word makes something warm curl in your chest, but it does.

The movie starts, the familiar soundtrack swelling through the old, crackly speakers. The air smells like buttered popcorn and the faint trace of summer rain on asphalt, and for the first time all day, you feel seen. Like Dean knew exactly how to fix what he’d broken, like he knew exactly how much this would mean to you.

As movie plays on, the familiar scenes wash over you. Without thinking, you shift a little closer, tugging the blanket over both your legs. The cool air nips at your skin, but it’s not the chill that makes you move, not really. It’s just the way the space between you and Dean seems to stretch out, like it’s begging to be filled. You’re not sure what’s happening, but it feels like something’s been hanging in the air all night.

Dean doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even really react. He just gives you that smirk, half amused, half something else you can’t quite put your finger on, and his eyes flick to yours.

Not the teasing kind of glance you’ve gotten a thousand times, but something a little more… hungry? Something that makes your stomach tighten, that pulls your chest in with a slow, desperate pull.

You look away, pretending to focus on the screen, but it’s like you can feel him in your bones, right there next to you. The warmth of his body, the scent of leather and gasoline, the subtle hint of cologne that lingers in the air like he’s impossible to escape.

“Comfy?” His voice cuts through the stillness, and it’s deeper now, less playful.

You hum, your voice betraying you as it comes out a little softer than you intended. “Mm. Could be a little warmer.”

Dean’s laugh rumbles out low, rough around the edges, like he’s trying to hide something. It’s the kind of laugh that makes you want to press closer, see if you can crack the shell he’s been putting up around himself for years.

But you don’t. You just try to act normal, even though your pulse is racing under the weight of his arm slowly sliding over your shoulders, pulling you into him.

It’s like his touch knows exactly what you need before you even have to ask for it. Warmth. Comfort. Something more...His fingers brush against your arm, and it’s soft, like he’s not even thinking about how much it makes you feel.

But the thing is, he is definitely thinking about it. He’s been thinking about it for way too long.

Dean’s fingers linger a second longer than they should, and he knows it. But he can’t help it.

He’s wanted this for so fucking long, wanted you for so long, it aches in his chest every time he breathes.

There’s a moment where everything is too much—the heat of him close to you, the way his chest rises and falls with every breath, the way the night air feels like it’s getting thicker, like the whole world is holding its breath along with him.

And then he just… stops pretending.

He lets his hand drop down, his fingers gently cupping your shoulder. It’s not just a casual touch anymore. It’s tender. He’s treating you like you might shatter if he moves too fast, like he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold this back before he fucking loses it.

Dean’s throat tightens, the words sitting at the back of his mouth, and for the first time in a long while, he’s not sure what to do. He’s spent so long keeping his feelings locked up, pretending he doesn’t want you in ways that make his heart race, that make his skin burn.

He looks at you, his eyes soft but full of something heavier than any of the bullshit he’s used to hiding behind. God, you make him feel like he’s breathing for the first time.

“I—” Dean swallows, his voice tight. “You don’t know how much I—” He cuts himself off, lips pressing together as if he can’t get the words out.

He wants to say it. He wants to tell you how every time you smile, it feels like the world shifts in the right direction. How every time you’re near, his chest feels too tight, like it can’t hold in all the love he feels for you. How his heart aches when you laugh and the world feels like it’s finally clicking into place, but he’s scared. Scared that if he says it out loud, he’ll ruin everything.

And he can’t lose you, not when you’re so close.

Dean’s hand stays where it is, resting on your shoulder, but it feels like he’s holding you together in some way, like he’s afraid if he lets go, everything will fall apart.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. His eyes, once dark and unreadable at first, are now soft as they trace over your features. They flick from your eyes to your lips, to the curve of your jaw, the way your hair falls over your shoulder. He studies you like he’s trying to memorize every detail, trying to burn it into his mind in case the moment passes.

Dean's gaze is intense but gentle, a combination that makes your heart race in your chest, your breath coming a little quicker than usual. You try to ignore it. You try to focus on the movie, to keep your eyes glued to the screen and not let yourself feel the weight of his stare.

But you can’t. It’s like he’s pulling you in without even trying, like you’re helpless to the gravity of whatever this is between you.

Then, without realizing it, you slowly turn your head, your eyes flicking to his.

Dean’s gaze doesn’t move; it stays locked on yours, and when you look up at him, it’s like the world sharpens into focus.

He’s closer than you thought. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, close enough that every subtle shift in his expression sends a jolt through your chest.

And then, for the briefest moment, you feel it. The intense heat between you and your eyes flick down to his lips, unable to stop yourself.

Dean doesn’t miss it. His lips part and his breath catches as his eyes drop to yours. His gaze softens impossibly more, as if that is even possible. And when you look back up at him, your pupils blown wide, the space between you disappears in an instant.

Dean’s hand moves from your shoulder to your face, cupping your jaw with a surprising gentleness that contrasts with the hunger in his eyes.

And then, without a word, he leans in. There’s no hesitation in his movement, but there’s something careful in the way he does it—like he’s afraid to startle you, like he’s making sure this moment is real. The space between you disappears, and then his lips graze yours, featherlight at first, barely there. A quiet, searching touch. His breath is warm against your skin, mixing with yours in the small space between heartbeats. He lingers, as if giving you the chance to pull away, to stop this before it can become something he can’t take back.

But you don’t.

Something in you unravels and without hesitating you instantly kiss him back. The moment you do, it’s like a floodgate opens. Warmth spreads through you, deep and consuming, wrapping around your ribs like something you’ve been starved for.

His lips are warm, softer than you expected but still undeniably Dean. It's like he’s trying to memorize this, like he’s afraid it’ll slip through his fingers if he moves too fast.

But Dean presses in just a little more, deepening the kiss by fractions, like he’s testing the weight of something fragile in his hands. Like he’s terrified he’ll break it. There’s nothing rushed about it, nothing reckless—just the slow, aching realization that this is happening, that neither of you are running from it this time.

A quiet sound escapes Dean, low and soft, and he tilts his head, deepening the kiss just enough to make your pulse stutter.

As the kiss deepens, slow at first, but then something shifts—something turning raw and urgent. Dean moves closer, his fingers twitching where they hover near your jaw, like he’s fighting the instinct to grab, to pull, to take.

Your lips part, just barely, and that’s all the invitation he needs. He presses in, the kiss turning hungry, desperate, like he’s trying to make up for lost time, for all the moments this almost happened but didn’t.

His hand finally moves, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head just right as he claims your mouth with something deeper, something needy.

A soft moan escapes you and fuck, it does something to him. A slow-burning fire turns into a full-blown inferno, that quiet, careful control snapping like a frayed thread. He groans against your lips, low and rough, his other hand landing on your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to make you feel trapped—but in the best way.

The air in the impala turns thick, charged with something electric. Your hands find him, gripping the front of his jacket, like you need something solid to hold onto, like you need him. He responds instantly, his body shifting toward yours, chest pressed against yours now, heat radiating between you.

Dean pulls back just enough to breathe, but it’s not enough distance—not when his hands are still on you, gripping like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm and uneven, and for a moment, all he does is look at you. Like he’s memorizing you, like he’s trying to make sense of what just happened—of what’s been happening between you for longer than either of you have admitted.

Then, almost like he can’t stop himself, the words slip out. “I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you.”

The confession hits the air between you like a spark to gasoline, and he doesn’t stop there. His grip tightens just slightly, and he exhales a shaky, almost disbelieving laugh, his mouth twitching like he can’t believe he’s saying this out loud.

“Jesus, I—” He shakes his head, eyes flickering between yours, searching, desperate. “I don’t even know how to say it right. It’s just—you. It’s always been you. Since day one. And I know I should’ve said something sooner, should’ve—”

You don’t let him finish. You barely even realize what you’re doing as your hand is grips the back of his neck, yanking him back toward you with a force that makes him grunt in surprise.

Your lips crash against his again, harder this time, deeper, as if the kiss is some kind of answer to everything you’ve both been holding in. The softness of his mouth against yours, the heat of his body, the way his hands immediately find your waist, pulling you closer, it all consumes you.

His breath catches as your fingers slide into his hair, tugging him closer still, and it’s no longer slow, no longer tentative. It’s frantic, desperate, like you’ve both waited your whole lives for this moment and now that it’s here, you can’t stop, can’t get close enough.

Dean’s hand moves, sliding down your side, fingers gripping the hem of your shirt like he’s not sure whether to pull it off or just hold you tighter. His lips move against yours with a hunger that makes your head spin, each kiss deeper than the last, and you find yourself gasping for air between kisses, your pulse thrumming so loudly in your ears you’re sure he can hear it too.

You’re lost in him now—in the taste of him, the feel of his body pressed so close it’s like you can’t tell where you end and he begins.

Every movement, every inch of his touch ignites something inside you, building with each passing second. His hands are everywhere, pulling, guiding, needing—as if he’s desperate to make sure this is real, that you’re here with him, just like this.

For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, and everything else fades. You can’t breathe, can’t think, only feel.

But then you pull back, just enough to meet his eyes, breathless. “What do you really want for my birthday, Dean?”

He looks at you, eyes dark and full of a hunger that matches your own, lips swollen and red from the kiss. He hesitates, for a fraction of a second, then his thumb brushes against your jaw, his voice low and rough as he asks, “What do you want?”

You hold his gaze, your chest tight with anticipation, but you’re not going to shy away. You gather every ounce of courage, your voice barely more than a whisper, “I want you. Inside of me.”

The air between you both crackles with heat, the words hanging there for a moment that feels like an eternity.

Dean’s entire body goes still. Then something primal flares in his chest, a fire so intense it makes his breath hitch. His hands tighten on your hips, and before you can even process it, a growl rumbles low in his throat.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he mutters, his lips brushing against yours in a way that promises more. He slams his mouth back onto yours, pulling you in with an urgency that’s almost reckless, like he can’t get close enough.

His kiss deepens, savage, hungry—like he’s claiming you in every way that matters.

He pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips, his words a dark, dangerous promise that sends a shiver straight down your spine. “You have no idea what you just did to me.”

His hand moves lower, resting on the curve of your waist, possessive, needy. It’s a whisper of everything he’s been holding back, everything he’s been wanting for far too long. And in that moment, you know nothing else matters except him.

You don’t even notice when the movie’s credits begin to roll or when cars start pulling out of the drive-in.

All that’s in your head, all that matters, is the feeling of Dean, finally, right where you’ve wanted him for so long.

Every inch of him, every touch, every breath shared between you, it’s all that consumes you now.

Electricity pulses between you as Dean’s hands find their way to your hips, pulling you closer with a firm grip. He guides you into his lap, your body instinctively following his lead and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in deeper, tilting your head to give him more of you.

The kiss grows more intense, desperate, as you slowly start to move against him, your hips grinding gently against the hard bulge pressing through his jeans. Every movement ignites something inside both of you, the tension only building with each slow, roll of your hips.

Heat pools low in your stomach as Dean’s hands travel slowly down your thighs, his touch soft until they rest on the curve of your ass.

You gasp against his mouth when his large hands grip you, the sensation only making your hips move instinctively, pressing closer to him.

A soft moan escapes you as Dean nips at your bottom lip, and then, he forcefully thrusts his hips up, pressing into you, making you feel the exact effect you’re having on him.

"Fuck baby. Bet you're dripping f'me." Dean’s intense gaze locks with yours, and the heat in his eyes makes your breath catch.

A soft whimper escapes you as the feeling of him beneath you overwhelms your senses, nearly sending you spinning. It’s almost impossible to believe this is really happening, but in that moment, you couldn’t care less.

You sigh into the kiss as Dean's hands trail down your body, mapping every inch of you his fingers touch. “Dean,” you whimper, your voice barely a breath, “I need you.”

“Where, baby?” Dean teases, his voice low and rough, the words barely a breath as he leans in, his lips brushing your ear "Want me to fuck you? That what you want?"

"Fuck." Is all you manage to whisper, words failing you as he thrusts up into you again, sending the heat pooling in your core to an almost unbearable state.

"Use your words f'me baby." Dean teases, nipping at your ear as soft moans fall from your lips, the sensation making it hard to think clearly.

"Need you inside me, Dean." You whimper, "Need you to fuck me."

Before you can let out another sound, Dean growls low and demanding, “Get in the back.” His tone leaves no room for hesitation, and the urgency in his voice sends a rush of heat through you.

You quickly crawl over the bench seat into the back, moving with eagerly. Dean follows closely, his movements swift.

And before you can fully catch your breath, he’s on top of you, hovering for a moment, his gaze intense, almost searching before he crashes his lips onto yours with a fierce, hungry kiss.

You let out a low moan as Dean's hand started rubbing circles over your clothed core. The feeling sending electric waves through your body.

As Dean presses heated, scattered kisses from your lips down to your jaw, he finally lingers at the soft curve of your neck. A breathy moan escapes you as he finds the most sensitive spot surprisingly fast, his lips latching onto it without hesitation.

"Please, Dean-" you started to beg but let out another moan as Dean slips his fingers past your soaked panties and slips a finger inside you.

A sharp gasp slipped from your lips, only to be swallowed by Dean's mouth as it crashed against yours. As if one finger wasn’t enough, he slipped in a second, the steady rhythm sending shocks of pleasure through your body. Your brows knitted together, the coil in your stomach tightening, burning, desperate to unravel.

"So wet f'me." Dean groans in your mouth as you rock your hips with the motion of his fingers sliding in and out of you. "Been dreaming about this for so long. I can't wait to watch you come."

His words push you over the edge, and a loud moan echoes through the Impala as he keeps guiding you through your high. The feeling is pure euphoria as your body shakes. You’d fantasized about Dean making you come, but experiencing it firsthand is something else entirely.

"That's it. S' beautiful when you come for me." Dean coaxes you on as you ride out your high.

As the haze of pleasure slowly fades, you regain control just enough to grip Dean’s shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as you tug it upward. He lets you, his muscles flexing beneath your touch, and the second it’s over his head, his lips twist into a knowing smirk.

That cocky expression only fuels the fire burning inside you, and before he can get a word out, he’s already helping you out of your own shirt, his hands skimming over your skin with deliberate slowness.

His lips crash back onto yours, hungry and relentless, as the two of you lose yourselves in the heat of the moment. Hands roam, fingers fumble, fabric disappears between fevered kisses.

Before you even realize it, you’re left in nothing but your soaked panties, your skin burning beneath his touch, while Dean hovers over you—completely bare, his body pressed against yours, heat radiating between you.

You barely even catch your breath before the tip of his length was teasing you, causing a whimper to escape from your lips. "Dean quit teasing me." You pout, "need you inside me, now."

"God, I love it when you beg." Dean admits but doesn't give you enough time to make a sarcastic comment before he slowly thrust himself inside of you.

You instantly let out a loud moan when he bottoms out. The feeling of him inside you was better than you could've imagined and his large hands gripped the sides of your thighs. You met him each time he thrusted into you, wanting nothing more than the delicious feeling to never end.

"Fuck you're so tight." Dean groaned, snapping his hips to met yours "This pussy was made for me."

The words only spurred you on as you let out a string of curse words and moaned Dean's name over and over again like a prayer.

The only words you could manage to get through your lips was 'fuck' and 'dean'. Every other word in existence failed to cross your mind.

The coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter, a smoldering heat spreading through your core. The pressure builds into an almost unbearable burn, every nerve in your body igniting as pleasure coils just beneath the surface, ready to snap.

“Come with me, sweetheart,” Dean growls, his voice thick with desperation. His hips slam into yours in a frantic, uneven rhythm, the control he once had slipping away. You can feel it—he’s right there with you, teetering on the edge, barely holding on as he chases that final, shattering release.

“Dean—” his name spills from your lips in a desperate moan, the last thing you manage before the pleasure crashes over you. He drags his mouth along your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses, the sensation only intensifying the rush.

Your body trembles beneath him as the release takes hold, your walls fluttering and clenching around him, pulling him deeper into the sweet oblivion.

As the waves of pleasure slowly faded, the two of you lay there, bodies still tangled, breaths heavy and uneven. When you finally met Dean’s gaze, his green eyes were dark and hooded, a lazy smirk playing at his lips.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice rough yet tender. Then, that signature Dean Winchester grin appeared, teasing but warm. “And I hope you’re not too mad at me for ‘forgetting’ your birthday. Had to throw you off—I wanted to surprise you.”

“I love you too, Dean,” you whispered, your voice soft and full of warmth. A tender smile spread across your lips as your fingers gently traced the curve of his jaw, the touch barely a whisper against his skin. Your gaze lingered on the freckles scattered across his nose and dusting his cheeks, the way they caught the light, making him look even more impossibly perfect.

“And I’m not mad at you,” you continued, your voice almost a sigh. “If anything, I’m more than happy right now.” You paused, your heart swelling as you met his eyes, your smile growing. “It’s honestly the best birthday I’ve had in a long time.”

Dean’s gaze softens, a warmth flickering in his eyes that makes your heart flutter. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you for a moment, as if trying to read the truth in your expression. His hand moves to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing across your skin with a tenderness that feels both new and familiar.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the words are something sacred he’s only just realizing.

A rush of heat floods your face at his words, and before you can stop it, the blush blooms across your cheeks. You try to look away, but Dean catches the subtle shift in your expression, his lips curving into a teasing grin.

“Oh, there it is,” he says, his voice low, amused. “Look at you, all flushed. I’ve had you blushing this whole time, haven’t I?”

You try to brush it off, your smile turning shy as you look down, suddenly very aware of the heat spreading through you. “It’s not like that,” you mutter, but your voice betrays you, shaky and uncertain.

Dean leans in slightly, his face full of playful mischief. “Nah, it totally is,” he teases, his hand gently tilting your chin up so you meet his eyes. “You’ve been blushing for me since the first damn day we met, haven’t you?”

Your heart skips a beat, and you open your mouth to argue, but the words catch in your throat. He’s right. He’s always had this effect on you, and you’ve never known how to hide it.

Dean chuckles softly, a soft sound that makes your pulse race. “God, it’s so cute,” he continues, his thumb brushing over your cheek again. “I never realized, but now? Now I can’t stop thinking about it. You’re always blushing for me.”

You feel your cheeks heat even more at his words, and you try to turn away, but Dean catches your chin again, keeping your gaze locked with his. “Hey, you’re adorable when you blush. Don’t hide it from me.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, your heart swelling with the tenderness in his words. “You’re impossible,” you whisper, trying to keep the embarrassment at bay, but the warmth in your chest is undeniable.

Dean’s expression softens, his thumb tracing over your cheek in a way that feels intimate and unhurried, like he’s savoring this moment. “You know that, right?” he murmurs, his voice quieter now. “How much I care about you?”

Your heart races in your chest, and for a moment, you just let the words hang in the air. You’ve never been more certain of anything than you are in this moment. Dean looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters, and it makes the blush on your face feel like the most natural thing in the world.

With a teasing grin, Dean adds, “But seriously, you’re way too cute when you blush. Can’t wait to see it more often.”

You shake your head, unable to suppress a smile. “You’re lucky I like you,” you mutter, your voice playful but full of affection.

Dean smiles, leaning in slowly, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. “I’m not just lucky, baby. I’m damn lucky,” he whispers, and just as the words leave his lips, the lights to the big screen flicker and die, leaving you both in darkness.

The stillness between you deepens, and before either of you can react, laughter bursts from both of you, the sound mingling with the night air.

“You know,” you say, your forehead resting against his as you both laugh, “we just totally fucked in a drive-in movie theater.”

Dean chuckles, his lips still brushing against your skin as he pulls you closer again, the heat between you both lingering. His hand rests on the small of your back, fingers gently caressing your skin.

“Yeah, and honestly, I’m not even sorry about it,” he mutters, his voice thick with amusement and desire. His lips graze your ear as he speaks, sending a shiver down your spine. “Couldn’t think of a better way to spend the night.”

You look up at him, eyes half-lidded with the same fire that’s still burning in both of you. A teasing grin curves on your lips as you bite your bottom lip, almost shy but too lost in the moment to care.

“Round two?” you ask, your voice breathless, the question hanging between you like an invitation.

Dean doesn’t even hesitate. His eyes darken with a mix of desire and amusement, and before you can blink, he crashes his lips onto yours again, this time with an urgency that takes your breath away.

His hands move to pull you even closer, fingers tracing over your skin, and you feel the weight of him in every touch, every press of his body against yours. The world outside the car, the drive-in, everything blurs into nothing. There’s only Dean, and there’s only you, lost in each other in the most intoxicating way.

When he pulls back, just enough to look at you, his lips are swollen, and his breath comes in heavy pants. He smiles, a slow, satisfied grin that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he whispers, his voice soft, yet laced with something deeper. “I hope this is everything you wanted.”

Your pulse quickens at his words, the warmth in his gaze sending a wave of affection through you. You can’t help but smile, the kind of smile that’s full of everything you’ve felt in these past moments, and everything that’s still swirling between you.

“This was more than perfect, Dean,” you reply, your voice hoarse, but with the honesty that comes from how completely consumed you are by him. “I couldn't have asked for better.”

His smile widens, and he leans in to brush his lips against yours again, a soft, lingering kiss that says everything without needing words. He pulls away slightly, his eyes searching yours, and for a brief moment, the rest of the world fades away again.

“Good,” he murmurs, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek, the softness of the gesture at odds with the intensity of everything before. “Because you deserve a perfect birthday.”

A warm, content feeling spreads through you at his words, and you realize that, in that moment, everything feels right. Dean pulls you close again, wrapping his arms around you, and you let yourself sink into him, into the warmth of his embrace.

And for once, you don’t need to think about what happens next. You’re here, with him, and that’s enough. The perfect birthday, with the most perfect man.

author’s note:

hope y’all enjoyed this one! I had a lot of fun writing it! adding more fluff into my fics slowly! It’s growing on me, hehe! also, huge thank you to @bejeweledinterludes for helping me with the plot! ILY ❤︎

if you have a req you’ve sent in I promise I’m not ignoring it! working on them as fast as I can! It’s just taking me longer since I’ve been cleaning my house and hanging out with my friends :)

— requests are open.ᐟᅟ please read request rules.ᐟᅟ

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @star-yawnznn @exansation @darkrose064 @megara0224 @saturnsooya @miss-marmalade @xo-zeze @kamisobsessed @megara0224 (lmk if I missed anyone or if you’d like to be taken off the list)

If you would like to be tagged please fill out THIS form and I will add you to the list! ❤︎

my works

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[piastrisun]

the grand reveal.

pairings: franco colapinto + actress female character.

summary: the cameras have always loved you, but tonight, for the first time, you let them capture the truth—franco, by your side, no longer just a best friend.

genre: fluff.⠀word count: 2k.⠀ warning: none.

request: franco x actress!reader at the oscars or at some premiere of a movie she's been part of? 💕

notes: inspired by mary and tanner from cobra kai because i find them so endearing. and currently considering making a smau about this story as well. thank you for the req, i hope you like it!!!

the hotel suite is bathed in the soft glow of the golden hour, the warm light filtering through the tall windows, casting long shadows on the polished floor. the city skyline stretches out beyond the glass, the world outside buzzing with anticipation for the premiere of your movie—the one that has your name on billboards, the one people have been waiting for.

inside, it’s quieter, but the air is thick with something else—excitement, nerves, maybe even a touch of nostalgia. you stand in front of a massive vanity mirror, dressed in a stunning gown, the fabric hugging your form perfectly. it’s elegant, timeless, with just the right amount of sparkle to catch the light as you move. the dress makes you feel powerful, like you belong on that carpet, like this is your night.

and yet, as much as the premiere is about you, your thoughts are fixated on the man behind you.

franco stands near the edge of the room, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. he’s already dressed—black suit, perfectly tailored, crisp white shirt underneath, a picture of effortless charm. but even as he focuses on the small details, his attention keeps drifting back to you.

you’re breathtaking. he’s seen you in a thousand different ways—barefaced in the morning, bundled up in sweats on lazy afternoons, laughing so hard you can barely breathe—but there’s something about this moment that feels different. maybe it’s the way the dress moves when you shift, or how the anticipation makes your eyes shine just a little brighter. maybe it’s the fact that tonight, for the first time, you might actually let the world see what he already knows.

his fiancée. his best friend. the love of his life.

you meet his gaze in the mirror, and a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. he’s caught staring, but he doesn’t even try to look away.

“so,” you say, breaking the silence, voice teasing as you turn slightly toward him. “i was thinking about what you said.”

franco tilts his head slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. “which part exactly?” his voice has that casual tone, the one you know all too well. “i remind you that i’m good at talking.”

you smirk and glance over your shoulder. “haven’t forgotten. you’re a great talker. you just gave a whole talk about that superhero movie you watched last night.”

franco groans dramatically, moving to lean against the vanity beside you. “oh, come on! it was a great movie. maybe the plot was predictable and the effects were… questionable, but it was still good.”

you arch an eyebrow, your expression skeptical. “really? you think it was good?”

he huffs and crosses his arms. “okay, fine. it was barely decent. happy now?”

you laugh, the sound light and easy, shaking your head as you take a seat in the makeup chair. the artist starts working on the final touches, but your attention remains on franco as he watches you, eyes filled with something unreadable.

“so, getting back to it,” you continue, your voice softer now, more serious. “i was considering we could walk the red carpet together. properly this time. you said it would be fun.”

he stills for a moment, caught off guard by the suggestion. you see his throat bob as he swallows. you don’t usually hesitate to bring things up with him, but this is different. this isn’t just another premiere where he’s there as your best friend, the way people have always assumed. this would mean something else. this would mean stepping into the spotlight together, not as longtime friends, but as the couple you’ve been behind closed doors for the last three years.

his brows knit slightly as he watches you through the mirror, but you don’t let the pause deter you.

“we’ve been together for a while now,” you say, eyes focused on the buttons, your voice steady. “and we’ve been discreet about it. or at least, we’ve tried.”

he takes a step closer, eyes narrowing in thought. “but… that way, people would actually know we’re together, right?” his voice lowers, lacing with a thoughtful tone. “we don’t have to do this, you know. i was just messing around.”

you turn your head slightly, catching his eyes through the mirror again, your tone soft but certain. “i know that. but… it must be nice, though, to have people know we’re a couple. a very much in-love one.”

franco watches you carefully, his jaw tensing just slightly. he’s always been protective of your privacy, of keeping your love out of the chaos of the public eye, but there’s something in the way you say it that makes his heart stutter.

“are you sure?” he asks, and there’s something vulnerable in the way he says it.

you smirk, tilting your head. “what? getting scared now, colapinto?”

“no, no,” he says quickly, his voice slightly more urgent now, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “i want this. i want people to know we’re together, that i love you. i just… i just want you to be sure about it.”

you feel your heart swell at his words, your gaze softening as you meet his eyes. “i’m sure,” you say, and the conviction in your voice is clear. “i want this. i want everyone to know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

his lips part slightly, as if your words take him by surprise. then, slowly, he reaches for your hand, his fingers grazing the ring he gave you. the diamond catches the light, subtle yet undeniable.

“so what?” he teases, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “you’re gonna show off that ring i got you?”

you smile, your hand instinctively touching the ring, its simple elegance, the diamond catching the light. you shrug lightly, your eyes mischievous. “maybe.”

franco laughs softly, the sound of it filling the space between you. “is that so?”

you nod, a wink in your eye. “why not? let’s tell the world.”

for a moment, he just looks at you—really looks at you, as if he’s memorising every detail of this moment. and then, he exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head in that way he does when he’s completely, hopelessly in love.

he steps closer, hands resting on either side of your arms, his touch light but grounding. “then let’s do it,” he murmurs, voice just for you. “let the world see how much i love you.”

your heart flutters, a slow, warm smile spreading across your face. the final touches of your makeup are done, and as you stand, your heels clicking against the floor, you turn to face him fully.

reaching out, you adjust his tie slightly before smoothing your hands over his lapels. he watches you the whole time, his eyes filled with something indescribable.

with a playful tilt of your head, you extend your hand. “shall we go make our debut?”

franco grins, taking your hand in his, squeezing it just slightly. “let’s show them. together.”

and as you step out of the hotel suite, hand in hand, it’s no longer just another premiere. it’s the start of something new. something real. and for the first time, you’re ready for it.

the air outside the hotel is electric. the streets are lined with fans, their voices blending into a constant hum of excitement, the flashing of cameras already starting before you’ve even stepped onto the carpet.

as soon as you step onto the red carpet, the world erupts around you. the photographers call out, their voices overlapping in a chorus of eager requests. the evening arrives, and you stand at the entrance of the venue, the red carpet stretching out before you like an endless sea of flashing lights and eager faces. the sound of photographers shouting, “over here!” “please, a smile, miss!” fills the air as you step onto the carpet, your heart racing despite all the experience you’ve accumulated over the years.

the flashing lights are blinding, but you navigate through them with practiced ease. even after years in the spotlight, it still makes your pulse race. you’ve done this before, so many times, but somehow, the attention always makes your cheeks warm. not out of discomfort—just a lingering sense of disbelief that this is your life now, that people care this much about a movie you’ve poured your heart into.

still, you smile, giving the photographers what they want, offering small waves and graceful nods. you make your way down the carpet, pausing at the right moments, your dress shimmering under the flashing lights. you hear the way the photographers compliment you between their calls—little things like, “stunning as always!” and “you look incredible tonight!”—and despite yourself, your face heats up. you can’t help it.

as you walk down the carpet, your eyes seek out franco. he’s standing a few steps behind, looking as handsome as ever, watching you with something soft in his expression. he’s been in this position before, always lingering nearby, the best friend at your side. but tonight, it’s different.

his eyes meet yours, and a wave of comfort washes over you. this is your moment to share with him, and you can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement at the idea of walking this path, not as “just friends” but as a couple.

you gesture toward him, the subtle motion barely noticeable to the crowd but clear to him. his expression shifts from calm to a soft grin as he picks up the pace, closing the gap between you two. you meet him halfway, your hand reaching out for his as he steps to your side. the cameras react instantly, the shutters clicking even faster, a fresh wave of voices calling out.

“franco! look this way!”

“side by side, please!”

“one with the two of you together!”

franco leans in slightly, his arm instinctively wraps an arm around your waist. the photographers shouting for more smiles, more affection, their flashes still blinding in their intensity.

you look up at him, your voice soft, but still carrying a playful edge. “you ready?”

franco lets out a small laugh, his eyes gleaming with affection as he glances at you, his hand tightening around yours. “yeah, as ready as i could be.”

and then, with deliberate ease, you lift your left hand—the one with the engagement ring. the one the world has never seen before.

the cameras catch it instantly. the flashing intensifies, and a fresh wave of excitement ripples through the photographers.

“wait—is that—?”

“miss! the ring!”

“are you engaged?!”

you don’t say anything—not yet. you just smile, subtly adjusting your fingers so the diamond catches the light, making sure there’s no mistaking it. beside you, franco chuckles under his breath, barely containing his amusement at how effortlessly you’ve just dropped this revelation on the world.

“well,” he murmurs, voice full of teasing warmth, “i guess that’s one way to tell them.”

you glance up at him, eyes dancing. “go big or go home, right?”

he laughs, his grip around your waist tightening just slightly in silent affection. “remind me never to underestimate you.”

and as the noise around you swells—the shouts, the cameras, the realisation spreading like wildfire—you know there’s no turning back now. the world knows.

and you couldn’t be happier.

you smile, a mix of joy and nervousness bubbling in your chest as the weight of the moment settles in. it’s not just a simple red carpet stroll anymore. you and franco are no longer hiding in plain sight. this is you, standing proudly together, side by side, sharing your love with the world.

franco leans closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, “so, what now? more pictures?”

you laugh, the sound light and free, as you glance back at him with a playful grin. “now we own the spotlight, i think.” you squeeze his hand, feeling the weight of everything—the love, the excitement, the fact that this is no longer a secret.

©⠀piastrisun original work. please don’t translate, claim or repost any of my writing, 25’.

[zepskies]

Aw yay!! I'm really happy to hear that. 🥰😘

I just felt like there was a little more to explore in the time gaps of Part 2, namely with some important conversations that would've had to happen after reader and Dean finally get together at the end and before the wedding. 😅

And Benny honestly started to frustrate me the most the longer I thought about him (not me trying to find the only thing wrong with that man lol). It doesn’t take away from him being a class act at the end there, but he honestly was a bit of a shitty friend to Dean. If we relate it back to Friends and Joey’s feelings for Rachel, he always, always, always put his his friendship with Ross first and was willing to suffer. I truly think he would’ve sold his soul to get them back together, no matter how much it would have hurt him 🥲💔 And I don’t see that priority with Benny. Even during the visit at the hospital, instead of telling reader she won’t be alone because Dean will get his act together, he implied that he will be there. But he should’ve walked right out of there, pulled Dean aside and told him his baby momma is afraid of being alone, that Dean might have a real shot there, and if he truly wants this, he should stop with all that Lisa bullshit and fight for his family 🤷‍♀️

Omg you're so right! With Joey it was always clear that he was willing to self-sacrifice rather than hurt Ross. I think of all the "friends," Joey had the biggest heart. 💗

Whereas here, Benny was pretty selfish to go after the reader, thinking Dean was all wrapped up with Lisa and didn't want her like he did. 🤔 I so agree with you that Benny really should've "real talked" with Dean - asking him what he's doing with Lisa when clearly the reader needs his support. In that sense, Benny was an opportunist -- he stepped in where Dean should've been, intentionally wanting to be that guy.

Secondly, I totally can see that Dean didn’t make a move all this time because he was so scared of getting rejected again. And Lisa was available and offering, so he pretty much settled, thinking he’d never have a shot with reader. Makes complete sense to me and is definitely a trademark Dean move 🤓

BIG YEP. That was the crux of it with Dean - he was young and scared of a second rejection, and afraid to "mess up her life" even more, even though she 100% doesn't see it that way. It's the typical Dean self-worth issues wrapped in AU clothes. 😅🙃💙 (This is 💯 one of those issues that's going to be explored in the epilogue)

And PS: Your friend probably did cut out coffee. A lot of women do. Either because they want to or because it’s still a common misconception (I thought that too, but all the books said a cup is allowed). Knowing you’re a coffee lover, I just wanted you to know you’re allowed to have that life-saving cup in the morning 😘💜

Ahhh thank you!! In the future if you don't mind, I might hit you up with a pregnancy question if I run into one of these ideas in a fic. 😆😆

Girl yes, my Cuban blood would probably stop flowing. 🤪☕ I think I would die if I didn't have my 1 cup per day to wake me up in the morning. Like I tell my family, "I'm not even breathing yet. Don't talk to me."

Aw I'm so glad you love your tag! 😘 Wanted to give you some lovely alliteration back from one writer nerd to another.~

IF I STAY - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

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

AN: Deep breaths Are you ready for a rollercoaster of emotions? 😘❤️

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

Word Count: 13.1K

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

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 2: It’s Now or Never

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…Or something like that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Benny! It’s good to see you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why does it smell like a bakery in here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aw, come on. It’s a badass name!”

“What about Aiden?” you suggest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How about Benjamin,” comes a Louisiana drawl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FIVE YEARS LATER... 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Need an iron lung?” Lisa teases.

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

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

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

Dean’s good mood diminishes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? What’re you talking about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean expels a heavy sigh. “Lis—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your brows raise high. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just that what? he wonders.

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

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

“Dean!” Benny shouts in alarm.

Luckily, the truck itself breaks Dean's fall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Benny nods.

“You got it, brother.”

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

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

Her tone is cutting, and it takes you aback.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two Months Ago...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I caught a minnow!”

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

“A marlin?” Robbie questions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you tell him?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you ask.

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

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

“Before Lisa,” Dean says.

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

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

Your eyes widen. Finally, that jogs your memory.

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

You have to laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

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

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

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

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

But Dean surprises you with another question.

“Do you think if…”

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

Just as you open your mouth to reply—

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

“Okay, thanks, Mom,” you nod.

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

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

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

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

Now...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nice and safe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dean,” you gasp.

Benny’s expression slackens. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She just gives him a long look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She pauses, with her back turned to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The only one he can see is you.

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

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

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

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

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

“Lisa, I loved you.”

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

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

He goes to her and kisses her cheek. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say.

Instinctively, Dean knows it’s a lie.

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

Dean leans a hand on the doorframe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, Dean. You can't just..."

"I mean it," he insists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you agree. “Let’s try.”

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

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

Your fingers tangle in his shirt, and then in his hair as you moan into his mouth. “Dean.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he answers against your lips, though he doesn’t give you much room to keep talking.

You haven’t heard him call you sweetheart in a long time. You feel your heart knitting back together, stitch by stitch. Tears sting in your eyes anew, but you squeeze your eyes shut against them.

“I…”

You can’t even continue the breathless thought. You hold his face desperately between your hands, pressing your forehead to his for a moment as you both catch your breath. But this man is like the sweetest, most seductive vice. Now that you’ve gotten another hit, you can’t resist. You no longer want to.

His arms wrap around you more securely, and he leans in to lure you back into his kiss. His tongue breaches past your lips to curl along yours with tantalizing strokes. His hands slowly move down your back and along your waist.

“Mmm, missed the hell outta this,” he groans into your mouth. Your heart flutters again at the way he holds you, the way his big hands squeeze you and feel you.

You let him guide you down onto the sofa cushions. He slots himself between your bare thighs and runs his hand up familiar smooth skin, bunching the skirt of your dress higher as he goes. He aims to get himself reacquainted with every soft part of you that welcomes him back.

For once, the gates around your hearts swing free. 

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

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean says.

His son’s beaming grin is wide and toothy, but the boy takes his job very seriously and delivers the other ring to you. You smile brightly and caress his cheek after you take the shining, white gold band from him. It matches the thinner band that Dean has for you; it'll soon join the engagement ring that once belonged to his mother.

Robbie had liked Benny a lot, but he loves his dad. He’s probably the happiest person in the room to see his parents take each other’s hands in front of the minister. 

Benny is understandably absent in the chapel today. You had met with him after that night of your botched anniversary to apologize to him, and so had Dean. Benny understood. He’d admitted that in the back of his mind, he feared this might happen.

“I wouldn’t blame you for being angry with me,” you said to him. “You can even hate me if you want.” Benny gave you a wry, melancholy sort of smile. “Part of me’s still mad at you, I won’t lie…but there’s no use in it. Not even hating you.”

Even though Benny bowed out, carrying his hurt and his grief on those broad shoulders, letting you go meant letting go of a friend too. He put in his paperwork to transfer out of Firehouse 83.

As he’d told Dean himself that day, and in fact, the last words Benny said to him…

“There you go, Lieutenant. A spot’s just opened up.”

Dean didn’t want to get promoted this way. He felt guilty enough as it was, and not just for Benny leaving the firehouse. Benny recommended Dean to the Chief himself though, saying that if they were going to give someone a Lieutenant’s badge, it may as well be the guy who got a perfect score on his test, and had the natural leadership skills to boot.

To the end, Benny was a gentleman.

Now, Sam beckons his nephew over. Robbie quickly goes to his uncle’s side and puffs his little chest out as he stands proud behind his dad. 

Dean is able to take you in, your beautiful white dress, and everything about you that makes him smile…including the way you smile back at him.

Man and wife is all he hears. It’s all he needs to hear, before he’s pulling you closer by your newly anointed hand. He dips you for a thorough kiss in front of all your family and friends. 

You squeal in surprise, making Dean smile hard enough for his cheeks to hurt. Giggling hard enough to make you tremble, you raise a hand to caress his cheek. But you give him another real kiss after he guides you back up to your feet.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. The words are just for him to hear. Dean pulls back enough to see the truth shining in your eyes. Beautiful.

“Can’t help it, right?” he teases. 

You smile in amusement, but you grab his chin and shake it. 

“You got me,” you reply. “I really, really can’t.”

Your beaming smile softens. Even though the entire room is clapping and hooting and hollering in celebration, in that moment, all you really see is Dean. 

Here in his arms, you know that this is where you were meant to end up. From now on, it’s where you’re meant to be.

AN: From Lisa and Benny to Robbie and everything in between. Dean and the reader certainly aren't perfect in this, but what do you think about how their story unfolded? I truly hope you guys enjoy this one, because I've had so much fun with it. 🥰❤️❤️‍🔥

**As a reminder, One More Day (Dean x Latina Plus-Sized!Reader) comes out on 4/04 - the day after my birthday!~

Until then, please let me know what you thought of If I Stay! 😘 I might write more for these two in the future...

"Shall I stay? Would it be a sin, if I can't help falling in love with you?"

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[numinously-yours]

Choose a letter: A message from your future spouse

In this week's reading, I have letters from your future spouses <3 Each reading will also have a love song attached along with a specific line from that song that stuck out. Choose a group and happy reading!

Like your reading? Reblog and tag your group!

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Letter 1

Song: True by Spandau Ballet Lyric: "This is the sound of my soul"

Cards for your letter: ace of swords reversed, three of pentacles reversed, queen of cups reversed, and the two of cups

Text: Hi Darling, I’m sure that you’re wondering where I am & when I’ll finally show myself. Right now, I am working to make sure I will be the best version of myself when we finally come together. Past relationships haven’t worked out. I know I get to meet you eventually, but the journey’s been a bit exhausting. I bet you can relate. As I take this time to work on myself, I feel my soul being pulled closer and closer to yours. I know this is a test of our faith. The universe is asking us to following our souls’ purposes. Among all the signs, synchronicities, prayers, and intuition, if we always come back to the needs of our souls then we’ll always be on the path to each other. I don’t know when we’ll meet (I hope it’s soon!) but I know that when we do, this will all make sense. With love, Your future spouse

Letter 2

Song: You're the inspiration by Chicago Lyric: "You know our love was meant to be; the kind of love that lasts forever, and I want you here with me"

Cards: The World reversed, Justice reversed, The Lovers, ten of wands reversed, seven of pentacles reversed, The Fool

Text:

Dear X, The main purpose of my letter is to let you know that our relationship will be unlike anything either of us has experienced before. Where there used to be passive aggression, there will be healthy communication. Where there used to be blame, there will be accountability. Where there used to be burdens we carried alone, there will be an extra set of hands to distribute the weight. In my own life, I am finally gaining the closure I need for the experiences that have brought me down. I am feeling rejuvenated and optimistic. I know for a fact that all the bullshit was to show us we don’t deserve anything less than the feelings above. We will take this upcoming adventure together and I think you’ll be convinced, too. I can’t wait to show each other what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like. Let’s find each other soon, okay?? I love you! X

Letter 3:

Song: I swear by All-4-one Lyric: "I'll build your dreams with these two hands"

Cards: Six of wands, page of cups reversed, four of pentacles reversed, The Hierophant, The Empress

Text:

Dear future spouse, This is the fourth draft I’ve written of this note to you. The first three were on paper but with all the scratching out I’ve been doing, I decided to skip the paper and find a keyboard with a backspace button. I want to get my words just right. Up until recently, what mattered most in my world was fancy gadgets and making enough money to buy them. But then something changed and all I can think of is wanting to create a life of substance, not a life of things. My viewpoint of the world has been opened, and with that, comes longing for connection and sharing the beauty of life with someone else. I am ready for that feeling people talk about when they speak on love. I am ready to show someone how important their mere existence is. Now more than ever, I truly believe we only get this one life to live, and it shouldn’t be wasted on the material. I hope that when we meet you will know it’s me. My yearning to connect with you is strong and I would be surprised if my energy hasn’t made it your way yet. If it hasn’t, that’s okay because I won’t stop trying. I finally know what is most important in this lifetime and I won’t forget it any time soon. Sincerely yours, Your future spouse

Letter 4:

Song: Meant to be by Bebe Rexha (Acoustic version) Lyric: "We got nothing but time. As long as you're right here next to me, everything's gonna be alright"

Cards: The Lovers, The World, Seven of Cups, The Chariot, Queen of Swords

Text:

Hey you! Our meeting is right around the corner, I can FEEL it. I’ve been working hard on manifesting the life I want and you are an integral piece of that. You emit an energy that I can’t get enough of. I can just tell how smart, true, and incredible you are. When we get together, there will be a sense of fulfillment that neither of us knew was missing. So many opportunities are on their way to us! I know you share the same value for relationships as I do. I want you to know that I will always work my hardest to make you aware of how special you are. It is my promise that I will be honest, open, and respectful to you. I am SO ready to make these manifestations come to fruition. See you soon! - Your future spouse

[maevedoodle]

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

Pairing-Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Summary-You and Steve got into a fight before he left on a mission. You never got the chance to make things right. Now, he’s finally back, bruised, exhausted, and standing at your bedroom door at 2 AM, looking at you like you’re the only thing keeping him together.

Tags-Light angst,wounded steve rogers,soft steve rogers,comfort,fluff,happy ending,argument,harsh words

Word count-2.8k

The moment Steve stepped into the living room, something felt off. You were already standing there, waiting, eyes red and a knot of anxiety settling deep in your stomach.

"Steve," you said, your voice quiet but firm. "What is this? Another last minute mission?" He didn't respond right away. Instead, he just stared at the floor, like he couldn't meet your eyes.

His uniform was on, bag slung over his shoulder, and the weight of the entire situation crashed down on you. You knew this was coming, but it didn't make it any easier.

"You're really going to leave, just like this? After everything that's happened?" you asked, your voice shaking, a mix of frustration and hurt seeping through.

He finally looked up, and his face was hard, guarded. "I don't have a choice, Y/n," he said quietly. "It's a direct order. I have to go."

His words were cold, clipped, like a wall had gone up between you two, another one. "Well, I don't care about your orders, Steve." you snapped, your anger flaring. "I care about us." The words came out harsher than you meant, but you couldn't hold back anymore.

"You always leave. Every single time you walk out that door, you say it's for the mission, for the world. But what about me? When do I get to be more important?"

His jaw clenched at the accusation, and you could see the guilt flash across his face for just a second before it was replaced by anger.

"You think I want to leave you? You think I want to hurt you like this?" His voice rose, the tension crackling in the air between you. "I don't get to pick when I leave or how long I'm gone, y/n. You know that better than anyone!"

"Then what do you expect me to do, huh? Just sit here and wait? For you to come back, broken and distant, like last time? Because every time you leave, it gets harder. And I don't know if I can keep doing this," you shouted, the tears threatening to spill all over again, your heart racing in your chest.

"I'm doing the best I can!" he shot back, his fists clenched. "I'm trying to keep people alive. I'm trying to make sure we have a world to come back to. But you don't get it, y/n."

You scoffed bitterly, stepping back. "You don't get it either, Steve. You don't get how much this hurts. How much it hurts to watch you leave and never know if you're coming back. I love you, but I can't keep living in the shadows of your damn missions. I can't be second to everything else in your life."

His eyes softened, but it was too late. The words were already out, hanging in the air, thick and suffocating. You pressed your hands to your face, trying to stop the tears. "I just—I'm always waiting for you. And I don't think I can keep doing this. I don't know if I can wait for someone who keeps leaving me."

He looked like you'd just slapped him, and for a moment, there was silence between you two. It was deafening, like all the words you both wanted to say were stuck somewhere deep down inside.

"y/n," Steve finally whispered, voice raw, defeated. "I never wanted this. I never wanted to hurt you. I just—I don't know how to be everything for you. I can't just stop being Captain America, and I can't stop being the person I am. You knew what you were getting into when we started this—when we started us."

You shook your head, struggling to keep yourself composed. "I didn't know it would feel like this. I didn't know it would feel like you were slipping away from me every time you fucking leave."

There was another long silence. His chest heaved as if he had a million things to say but couldn't find the words. You could see it in his eyes. He was torn. He wanted to stay. But he couldn't.

Then the sound of his phone ringing cut through the tension like a knife. His face hardened, and he glanced at the screen. "I have to take this," he muttered.

"No," you whispered, your voice breaking.

The phone rang again, and Steve hesitated. His expression softened, but the decision had already been made. His hands were shaking as he swiped to answer. "Yeah, I'm ready," he said, his voice cold, unfeeling. It felt like everything was falling apart. You stood there, trying not to fall apart yourself.

"Steve, please," you begged, the tears spilling freely now. "Please don't go, I cant-" your voice cracked and broke.

He closed his eyes for a moment, his heart breaking as he stood in the doorway, caught between duty and love. Then, without another word, he walked over to you and gently, almost reverently, took your hand.

"Y/n, I'm sorry," he said, voice low and broken. "But I have to go. Can I—can I make you a promise?" You looked at him through tear filled eyes, your heart hammering in your chest, and shook your head, not wanting to hear it.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Steve. Don't promise me anything. You'll just leave again—and I'll be here, waiting, hoping."

He took a deep breath, his thumb gently brushing over the back of your hand as he pressed his pinky finger into yours. "I swear to you, I'll come back, y/n. I'll come back."

You shook your head, your breath catching in your throat. "Steve please stay."

But Steve's lips were already brushing against your knuckles. "I'll come back," he repeated softly, his voice firm yet filled with regret. "I promise."

And with that, he walked out of the apartment, leaving you standing alone, broken and trembling. The door closed softly behind him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, all you could do was wait in the silence.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the apartment, the finality of it making your heart sink. You stood frozen for a moment, staring at the spot where Steve had just been, as if you were hoping he'd suddenly come back, that somehow this whole mess would reverse itself.

But it didn't. He was gone, and all that remained was the emptiness that he'd left behind. The silence felt unbearable. Your fists clenched at your sides, and before you knew it, your anger started to rise, hot and suffocating.

"I hate it here..." you muttered under your breath, your chest tightening with frustration. You needed to do something. Anything. He wasn't the only one who could walk away.

You marched to your room, hands shaking as you threw open the closet doors. Clothes flew out, landing in a heap at your feet, and before you knew it, you were yanking things off hangers, stuffing them into a bag.

The anger only seemed to fuel you, pushing the hurt deeper and deeper inside. You couldn't do this anymore. You couldn't keep living in the shadow of his missions, never knowing if he was going to come back, always waiting for him to leave again.

You shoved your favorite jacket into the bag, your mind racing. How could  you stay here? The thought kept repeating in your head, but no matter how much you tried to force it, you couldn't shake the truth.

Steve was a part of you. He was everything you'd ever known. Every time he came back, you were there, waiting. And every time he left, you swore it would be the last.

You knew it wasn't healthy. You knew it. But you also knew that the life you'd built with Steve, your life wasn't something you could just throw away, no matter how much it hurt.

With every item you packed, you felt a small piece of you slipping away. And yet, you couldn't stop. You didn't know where you were going. You didn't even know if you were going to leave, but in that moment, all you could feel was the need to run.

You can't be here anymore, you thought, desperation clouding your thoughts, you can't keep doing this.

But the moment your suitcase was halfway full, your chest suddenly constricted. The anger, the hurt, it all came crashing down, and the walls you'd put up—those walls you had carefully constructed, crumbled to dust.

You sat down on the bed, your head spinning. You had thought leaving would give you control, that it would be a way to protect yourself from the pain, but it only made everything worse.

Your vision blurred with tears, your breath hitching as your chest felt like it was being torn in two. Your hand fumbled at the zipper of the suitcase, your fingers suddenly numb.

You wanted to stop. You wanted to make everything go away, but Steve, Steve was all you knew.

Your heart ached as memories of him flooded your mind, the quiet moments in the kitchen when he'd make you coffee, the way he would hold you at night when you'd fall asleep in his big arms, the way he'd smile when he saw you after a mission, tired but always somehow happy to see you. Those little things, the things that made him Steve were now memories that you weren't sure you could live without.

Tears fell freely now, hot and unrelenting, soaking into your clothes as you clutched the edge of your suitcase, feeling like the weight of it was too much to bear. Your breath came in ragged gasps, and you couldn't tell if it was from the anger, the sadness, or the hopelessness that seemed to surround you.

You can't leave, y/n. You can't. Not without him. Not like this.

You crumbled, your body shaking as you lied on the bed. The suitcase, half packed, lay beside you, abandoned as you gave in to the pain. Your chest heaved as the tears came harder, faster. Steve was your world.

He always had been. The thought of not having him in your life, of walking away from everything you had with him, felt like a part of you was being ripped out, a piece of your soul being torn away.

You buried your face in your hands, gasping for air as you cried. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he could leave like that, that you had to deal with the consequences of his missions while he was out there, saving the world.

And yet, you knew you could never truly leave him. Not like this. And just like that, the anger, the fight, everything you'd felt moments ago faded into a deep, overwhelming sorrow.

You were stuck. Stuck between loving him more than you ever thought possible and hating him for leaving you over and over again. As you lay there, curled up in your bed, the pain seemed to consume you whole.

You didn't know what to do. You didn't know if you could fix this. The only thing you knew was that Steve had become the very air you breathed, and the thought of him never coming back felt like it was going to suffocate you.

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ

2am

It's the middle of the night when Steve stumbles into the apartment, his steps unsteady, his body barely holding up under the weight of exhaustion and pain.

The mission had been one of the hardest he'd ever been on, nothing like the usual chaos, no. This one had pushed him to his limits.

Blood stains the side of his uniform, his skin bruised and torn in places he doesn't even remember. His left arm hangs at an awkward angle, the cut on his side still seeping through the cloth of his tactical gear.

Every movement is a struggle, each breath shallow as his ribs ache in protest. The weight of the pain feels like it might swallow him whole, but he pushes forward.

His focus is on one thing, you.

He can barely stand as he stumbles toward the bedroom door. He's been longing to see you, to explain, to make things right. But the tension of the fight before he left still lingers in his chest, a tight knot he hasn't been able to undo.

He knows he messed up. He knows he should've said more, should've tried harder to make amends. But now, all he can think about is the look on your face when he left hurt, angry, confused. And how he left it unresolved. How it's been haunting him ever since.

Pushing the door open, he's greeted by the sight of you, lying peacefully in bed. The soft rise and fall of your chest as you sleep, the way the moonlight catches in your hair, it's enough to break him.

He wants to reach out to you, to crawl into bed beside you and just hold you, but the sight of the suitcase stops him in his tracks.

His heart sinks.

Your suitcase is halfway packed, the clothes spilling out like you were about to leave, like you couldn't wait to get away from him. The realization hits him like a physical blow. You were going to leave.

He staggers forward, barely able to keep his footing, the exhaustion threatening to overtake him. He hovers by the bed, his eyes fixed on you, on the mess of clothes, and the crushing weight of regret

You stir in your sleep, the soft shuffle of movement beside you pulling you from your rest. Your eyes flutter open slowly, adjusting to the dim light of the room. The first thing you see is him, Steve standing there by the bed, his body tense, barely holding itself up.

Your heart skips a beat, and before your mind can fully catch up with the reality of what's happening, you sit up, your eyes scanning him frantically.

The bruises, the blood, the way he's barely standing, he's hurt, badly. Without thinking, you slide out of bed and step toward him. Your arms wrap around him gently, pulling him into a soft, hesitant hug.

The warmth of his body, the familiar scent of him, it feels like a balm on your wounds too. "You should've known I was never gonna leave," you whisper against his chest, the words thick with emotion.

He exhales shakily, his lips brushing against your hair. His arms come around you, pulling you closer, and he presses a soft kiss to your lips light, tender, full of an unspoken apology. It's not enough to erase the tension between you, but it's a start.

His lips linger against yours for a moment longer, then he pulls back slightly, meeting your gaze. His eyes are tired, but there's relief there, too like he didn't realize how badly he needed to hear those words from you.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely above a breath. His face is etched with exhaustion and regret, but there's love there too.

You give him a soft nod, then gently guide him to sit on the edge of the bed. Your hands tremble slightly as you begin to help him remove his gear, carefully unfastening the straps on his uniform, revealing the wounds he's been hiding.

The sight of his bloodied skin makes your stomach churn, but you push the panic down, focusing on helping him.

You run your fingers over the cuts, your touch as gentle as you can manage, trying to clean his wounds without causing him any more pain. "I love you Steve." You murmur, your voice thick with emotion as you press a cloth to one of the deeper cuts on his side.

His hand reaches up to rest on yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in comfort. "Do you now?" he teases, though it's clear from his tone that the guilt weighs heavily on him. "I love you too y/n stop worrying my beautiful girl."

You look up at him, meeting his gaze as you finish treating his wounds. "I'm not going anywhere, Steve. Not now, not ever."

His lips curl into a small smile, though it's tinged with sorrow. He nods, you finish bandaging his side. For now, it's just the two of you, in this moment, no more fighting, no more running away. Only the quiet comfort of each other's presence.

Steve's hand gently pulls you down onto him, guiding you so you're now straddling his hips. He winces slightly, the motion causing his injuries to flare up, but he doesn’t seem to care.

He chuckles, despite the pain, his breath ragged. "Guess I'm not as invincible as I thought," he murmurs with a teasing smile, though the strain in his voice is obvious.

You laugh softly, your fingers trailing up the side of his face, brushing a stray piece of hair from his forehead. His eyes flutter shut, a sigh escaping his lips. The humor between you both dies away, and a different kind of silence fills the air tension, but not the kind that keeps you apart.

His hand slips behind your back, pulling you closer as his lips find yours. It's not urgent, not frantic, but soft, lingering, a slow meeting of lips as if both of you are savoring this moment.

His touch is tender, his other hand resting gently on the back of your neck, urging you to stay close. You let yourself sink into him, the warmth of his body against yours making everything else disappear.

His lips move against yours, the kiss deepening as the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in this moment, this fragile space between past hurts and the promise of healing.

[cherryberrycheol]

Your Personal Caretaker | Choi Seungcheol | fluff

Pairing: choi seungcheol x reader

Summary: it’s a peaceful saturday morning and you wake up feeling sick (after a week of ignoring the symptoms and doing virtually nothing with it). seungcheol, who finally has time to not think about work, notices your state. being the caring partner he is, your husband is already on it and goes full ‘care’ mode before you’re even up

Word count: 2k

Genre/warnings: fluff, slice of life, established relationships, married couple, non-idol!seungcheol x non-idol!reader, reader is sick and seungcheol takes care of them, everyone is soft and happy no drama, domestic bliss at its finest, kkuma is there in the background and got some pats and compliments, seungcheol calls reader ‘pretty, baby, princess, silly girl’, i think i didn’t have any specifically descriptive words for appearance (let me know if you spot some), if i missed anything else let me know

A/N: if you hate being sick on your own then this fic is for you. I hate it myself, literally can’t operate on my own, need someone to think and make decisions for me. So it was a self-indulgent fantasy of what it would be like if Seungcheol was to take care of his partner when they don’t feel well and get too stressed to think on their own. Hope you like this piece of work as it’s the first one I’m posting for this account and in English too (⸝⸝º ^ º⸝⸝)

The text below isn’t proofread, proceed at your own discretion; if you see any mistakes I’m sorry, English isn’t my first language.

Masterlist

It’s a quiet Saturday morning. Seungcheol is lying splayed out on the sofa in the living room, enjoying every moment of this unrushed ecstasy. He’s been so busy with everything at work this past week, it being the end of the month with tie outs needed to be done and piles on piles of reports on end. He felt like he could give out any moment by Friday. But now that Saturday came and tranquility settled in he couldn’t get enough of this unwinding. No thought in his head, he just scrolled through his social media, chuckling at some silly no brainer stuff people posted there.

He woke up earlier than you today. Which he always does but usually on the weekends he likes to sleep in and stay in bed together for longer. Not today. Today he took it upon himself to bring you breakfast in bed. Despite having a devilish week himself he couldn’t help but notice that you were off yesterday when he came home and finally had the mental capacity to fully pay attention. So, spurred on by his own urge to take care of you today, he woke up as if it was any other work day. He had time to do so much stuff, like walking and feeding Kkuma, going for a jog to the gym nearby and back, taking a shower and having a brief breakfast himself. And you were still yet to wake up. Seungcheol knows that unsupervised you can stay in bed till past lunchtime without a blink of an eye. He wasn’t going to let you, but just another hour wouldn’t hurt. You looked so worn out after all.

After a couple more minutes of aimless doom scrolling he finds a breakfast recipe that he thinks he can manage to cook and goes to the kitchen to check out the ingredients, improvising with replacing some of them with those he currently has on hand. Seungcheol meticulously follows the instructions, really doing his best not to mess this up.

As he cooks he can’t seem to get away from this nagging uncomfortable feeling in his chest. A hunch that he knows what’s wrong. You two have been married for the past three years, dating for three more, and he knows you too well not to suspect that you’re probably falling sick. That’s why he’s cooking you a chicken noodle soup even though he knows you hate soups for breakfast for whatever reason. You always say that soups aren’t breakfast food but lunch. Seungcheol always smiles and lets you be with your silly cute opinions on food.

It’s when Kkuma suddenly lets out a quiet woof and pitter-patters to the closed bedroom door to sniff underneath that he knows you’re awake and probably out of bed. He feels slightly dissatisfied that he didn’t time things better to be the one to wake you up with cuddles and kisses but oh well, he’s going to have to deal with it.

The door opens and you step out of the dark bedroom where you didn’t even care to open the night blinds on the window. You’re wrapped in a blanket as if it’s a burrito-cape. You squint in the sunlight that hits you right in the eye with a small groan like a true night creature that hasn’t seen the light of day for years even though it’s only been one night. Kkuma wags her tail happily when she sees you stepping outside and pants, her pink tongue out. You look down at her and chuckle before crouching to ruffle her fur and give her pats and compliments.

“Good morning, pretty,” Seungcheol calls out from the kitchen and you stand up feeling as your head spins slightly and vision darkens for a moment. You just stand in place before walking over, enticed by the smell of food. You feel weak but still hungry, you’re definitely falling sick. “Did you sleep well? I wanted to wake you up myself but you beat me to it,” your husband glances up at your adorable disheveled state as you walk into the kitchen, still sleepy and blinking lazily. He assesses your state and can’t help a tinge of worry from emerging at the sight of your slightly pale face and silence. “Baby, you should go lie down if you’re feeling unwell.”

You let out a short whine of response and wrap your arms around Seungcheol, clinging to him from behind. He’s so much warmer than you even though it’s you who’s wrapped in the blanket. The heat of his body seeps through his oversized t-shirt and you sigh, shivering slightly. Seungcheol feels you shiver and frowns in concern. “Baby,” he finally turns off the stove as the soup he was cooking is done. Seungcheol eases your hold on him just enough to turn in your arms and face you, his arms come snaking around your shoulders, pulling you even closer. He brushes your hair off your face, tucking the strands behind your ears before he presses his palm to your forehead, lips pursed in focus. “You need to take your temperature…” he murmurs, turning serious and then presses his lips to where his palm just rested on your forehead. Seungcheol hums to himself in some sort of confirmation that sounds like ‘I knew it’ and leans away just enough to look down at you. “Go lay down on the couch, baby, I’ll bring the thermometer and then you’ll eat chicken soup that I cooked for you.”

”I don’t eat soup for breakfast, Cheol,” you protest albeit weakly. You know that you’re falling sick and it’s really not the time to be arguing Seungcheol. The man is going to take a week off if he needs to just to take care of you because he knows how helpless and small any sickness makes you feel. “Don’t argue, princess, just go lie down,” he insists, turning you around and pushing gently to go take the couch. You oblige and he goes to retrieve the thermometer. When he returns, he’s holding it in his palms to warm up so you don’t need to feel the cold thing against your skin.

While you take the temperature, lying down, eyes closed, shivering and feeling like you could drift off to sleep any second, Seungcheol goes over to the kitchen to pour you some soup in a bowl. By the time he returns and sets the bowl on the wooden coffee table by the couch, you’re staring at the thermometer with an increasingly helpless expression. “37.6C,” you mumble quietly when your husband sits down beside you, moving the blanket and your legs over his lap. He tucks you in better and helps sit up. “How do you feel?” He asks, picking up the bowl of chicken noodle soup and a spoon.

You list off the symptoms that you‘ve been noticing but ignored all this week while Seungcheol didn’t have the time to notice either, both of you have been busy with work this week. The man already makes a mental list of all the meds and other things he’s going to make you do all week to nurture you back to health. “Silly girl, how many times do I have to tell you that you shouldn’t ignore the signs? Tell me. If you feel even a slightest bit unwell, baby. I know you hate everything to do with being sick, I’ll always take care of you,” he says and brings the spoonful of soup to your lips. You let him feed you, feeling like a child being gently scolded. “I know. But you were so busy this week, I didn’t want to add on top of that,” you mumble guiltily. Seungcheol has been getting less sleep and coming home later with all the end of the month finalisations at work. Besides, you try to do some stuff yourself like drinking more hot tea. You tell him that and feel even more embarrassed and guilty under his gaze. Your face heats up and you avoid his eyes only to hear him sigh defeatedly and continue feeding you.

“You think I wouldn’t have gladly excused myself from work for this week if you told me you were falling sick, baby?” He asks suddenly, voice warm and caring. A little amused. “You could’ve given me such a great excuse just to leave the office and not show up there for a week straight. I would’ve worked from home with you,” Seungcheol’s voice becomes a little whiny and complaining, he sighs and pouts. You blink at him, stopping mid-chew because you can’t comprehend how your husband can be so serious and caring but also so childishly having tiny grudges against you for not giving him an excuse to work from home.

“Now you have an excuse to stay at home and not work at all next week,” you counter, giving him a different advantage. “Now I have to work hard to make you healthy again,” Seungcheol protests with a louder whine. “It’s still work,” the man mumbles and feeds you another spoonful. “I don’t mind though. I love taking care of you, princess,” your husband adds in a cooing tone, his expression morphs into one of unconditional love and adoration. When you finish the soup bowl he stands up to go wash it. You just stay on the couch wrapped up in the blanket, Kkuma curled up somewhere at your feet. It’s peaceful and your heart feels more at ease knowing you won’t have to deal with this sickness alone. It’s been like this since childhood. Your mom always took care of you whenever you would fall sick for as long as you can remember. Feeling unwell even the slightest bit always makes you uneasy and anxious. It doesn’t help that you’re an overthinker. As soon as something is off it’s like your brain goes into this damsel in distress mode or rather ‘I’m a baby help me’ mode.

Seungcheol was perplexed when he first found out you’re absolutely unable to take it on your own. It was an accidental discovery over the phone when he called you to see if you’d be up for a date but in the middle of telling him that you have fallen sick you suddenly busted out with tears. So, being the provider and caregiver he is, it didn’t take him long to figure out how to use it to his advantage when you first started dating. The man saw it as a chance and dashed to take it. Caring for you and comforting you until you get well again and turn into this ‘I don’t need anyone’s help’ girl that most people know you as. In your defence, depending on Seungcheol has always been an easy and effortless experience.

You’re almost falling asleep when Seungcheol returns to the couch, removes the back pillows and climbs to lie down beside you, making you unwrap the blanket and let him in. You don’t protest. “Sleep it off, baby. We’ll see if it goes past 38C after you wake up and whether you need to take a pyretic,” he tells you, voice soft as he wraps his arms around you and tucks you into his chest, his lips pressing gentle kisses at the crown of your head. “You’ll be alright. I’ll take care of you, princess, don’t worry and just sleep.”

You sigh, his familiar scent engulfs you with his warmth as he cuddles you close on the couch, Kkuma still resting somewhere at your feet, content that her owners are at home and close by her side. “I love you, Cheol,” you murmur, sound muffled into his chest. You could try and tell him this a hundred times a day all year round and it wouldn’t be enough to express how much he means to you. Seungcheol smiles, his hand threading through your hair as he soothes you to sleep. He can feel his heart swell at the simple words. “I love you too, princess. Just rest and don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got you,” his lips press to the top of your head once again and he inhales your peach and orchid shampoo scent. He feels you relax into his arms as you drift off back to sleep. It’s going to be a long week but he will do everything to help you recover as comfortably as he can. “My sweet helpless baby,” he whispers a chuckle and sighs, listening to your even breaths.

*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this!

Masterlist

[mymeloreo]

★ The winner takes it all, the loser has to fall.

Synopsis: After going through a break up, some move on, and some don't. The winner moves on and goes to live their dream while the loser, is still stuck in the remnants of what was once a relationship.

Characters: Isagi Yoichi, Itoshi Rin, Mikage Reo

Isagi Yoichi

Yoichi never thought heartbreak would hurt this much. Yes, he has experienced loss, the bitter sting of not being enough. Surely, nothing would hurt more than that, right? Oh boy was he wrong. Very, very, wrong.

When you broke up with him for being too focused on soccer, claiming that he is prioritizing the sport over you, he thought you were ridiculous. He would never, ever, put something else over you, would he? But your feelings and experiences say otherwise. He barely goes home, and he doesn't treat you with the same warmth as he did before. And when you point it out, he promises to "change" and shower you with love and affection for a few weeks before coming back to his cold behavior.

After being fed up, you finally broke up with him. And although he doesn't understand why, he loved you more than anything! How could you think the way you did? But as he was given time to cool off, he did realize how cold he was towards you these past few months. And there is nothing he regrets more than that.

Now, as he was taking a walk at the park a year after your separation, he suddenly recognized a familiar face. It's you, his girlfriend... no, ex-girlfriend, with another man walking by your side.

You look like you've moved on and are happy with your current relationship, therefore he didn't bother you anymore. Who is he kidding? After all, your reason for breaking up was valid. You deserve to be happy.

But what was this feeling? Anger? Jealousy? Disappointment? Regret?

Because even now, even after you clearly moved on, he couldn't. And despite trying to run away from these feelings, he knows inside that it will eat him up alive for as long as he lives. And there is nothing he could do about that.

Itoshi Rin

You were nothing but a distraction. A barrier stopping him from achieving his full potential as a soccer player. If you ask him, he didn't even know why he chose to accept your feelings and have a relationship with you in the first place. Whether it's because he felt bad or wanted to play with your feelings, it didn't matter now. Because all you can feel was betrayal as he broke your heart with his words.

"You're nothing but a pain. Your lukewarm self is doing nothing to help me grow. Now, go away."

I mean, who were you to argue any further? Despite being completely in love with him, you at least had a little self respect that allowed you to leave him and not beg to save something that is beyond repair.

He's an asshole, you think. You'd be able to move on from him quickly, get yourself together and who knows? You might even find a new "love of my life". But nothing is a bigger lie than the things mentioned above, as even after 2 years of your break up, you never seem to move on from him.

Now, looking at the TV and seeing him win the World Cup for Japan, suddenly comes a tight feeling in your chest. You still loved him, and God did it hurt.

Mikage Reo

Reo never cared for the girls who paid attention to him. They are probably after his looks or money anyways. So, somebody tell his poor soul, why did he fall in love with someone who is exactly the type of person he dislikes?

Now, you only agreed to be in a relationship with him for his money and reputation. And although he knew that, he thought that he could make you fall in love with him for real. C'mon now! He did everything. He always complimented you, and never fails to spoil you with his love and money. And you only stayed because goodness, did you love the luxurious things that comes with being in a relationship with Reo.

So it isn't surprising when you suddenly broke up with him one day and cut all contact the very moment you set your eyes on another rich, billionaire son of a CEO.

Now, what was he expecting? It was bound to happen anyways. He always tells himself he will move on with a little bit of time. And as much as he tries dismissing it, he still loves you. Painfully bad.

Now, 2 years after your break up and seeing your engagement post with the other man, he felt his chest tighten and tears starting to form in his eyes. Why is love a curse as much as it is a blessing?

Hello!! Second post, and let me know if there's any grammatical errors or such, I'd love to fix it! Also a little bit ooc because I overthink things lmao.

[enchantresss97]

Wicked Ties-Chapter One

Characters: Roman Godfrey(Slightly AU Roman is not in high school anymore, the action happens in present times) x Reader

Description: When Roman Godfrey comes seeking your help, you greet him with a blade to his throat. Witches and upirs have been enemies for centuries, and their own past is stained with betrayal. But with danger closing in and his hunger spiraling out of control, you are the only one who can save him. Bound by need, torn by desire that threatens to consume both of you, your wicked ties may destroy you both.

Warnings: dark themes, magic, witches, upirs/vampires, blood, death, SMUT, sex (most of the types).

Word count: 4158

A/N: This will be three chapters story, I really hope you will enjoy it. Happy reading! ❤️

Roman Godfrey was a lot of things but never a fool. He should have known better than to trust a witch.

But desperation had driven him to her. The hunger was getting worse, his control slipping. He was running out of ways to stop himself from tearing through flesh and draining every last drop of blood from the people around him.

Dr. Pryce had been his last hope. If anyone could have found a way to fix him, it should have been him. He had watched Pryce lie to him, experiment on him, twist his life into something unnatural. The man had promised control but had only made things worse unleashing his power. It was because of him that Roman had become this. A monster driven by hunger, barely able to hold himself together.

So, Roman had torn his throat out. Slowly. Deliberately. Let the man feel, just for a moment, what it was like to be powerless under something stronger.

Killing him didn’t change anything. It didn’t make the hunger disappear, didn’t make the need any less unbearable. It just meant he was out of options. Through out the year he tried to find many ways to escape this nightmare. Sure, he enjoyed the power who came with this, a little too much actually but not being able to control the hunger was the only reason couldn’t let it go the idea of a cure.

So, he turned to something older, something darker.

The witch had promised answers. She had let him believe she had the knowledge to fix whatever was inside him. Instead, she played him for a fool.

She was ancient, a powerful force feared even among the Sabat. Her knowledge and strength were unmatched, her reputation etched into the hearts of every witch who dared to cross her path.

But Roman hadn’t cared about any of that when he stood before her, rage burning in his veins.

She had made him believe she could help him. She had let him think that she could fix the monster he had become. The Sabat revered her, she had led them, taught them, and shaped them into what they were and the coven trusted her implicitly. She had seen centuries pass, seen the rise and fall of many so yeah, he had fallen for it, just as he had fallen for every other promise of salvation all these years. But when he finally understood that she had been playing him from the start he snapped.

In a fit of fury, Roman had killed her. There had been no warning, no calculated move. Just pure, raw rage. Her laugh still echoed in his mind, mocking, cruel, dismissive. She had thought herself untouchable. But Roman was done being a puppet, done letting anyone control him. So, he had torn her apart, ending her life in a moment of overwhelming fury.

And since a bad thing never comes alone, of course he knows that the witches would never forgive him for it. She had been too important, too powerful to be disposed of like that. Her death would send ripples through the coven. They would come for him. He needs to be one step ahead.

And that left him with only one choice:

Now, he stood at your door. The only person who could help him. The thing was, you weren’t exactly on good terms.

You hadn’t been since high school, before either of you knew what you truly were. Back then, Roman had been just a boy, and you, a girl with the world ahead of her. But everything changed the moment you both found out the truth. The truth that tore you apart.

What you had back then was innocent, sweet even and that’s rich coming from an spoiled brat like Roman. But then you found out about each other, the power dynamics shifted. You learned what you were, and so did he. And as it always went with your kind, the attraction was undeniable, but so were the consequences. Your relationship had ended badly. Too much power, too much darkness, too many things left unsaid.

Now, Roman stood on your doorstep, desperate for your help, he hesitated only for a moment before knocking on the heavy wooden door. The night air was thick around him, the scent of damp earth and smoke lingering. He knew you were there, he could feel it. A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing your silhouette against the dim glow of candlelight. You didn’t look surprised, just annoyed.

But neither of you spoke. You stood there, frozen in place, just staring at each other. Even though you knew he was coming, the sight of him still knocked the breath from your lungs. He looked…different…older, rougher. His eyes were darker, haunted, but his presence was still overwhelming, suffocating even. And despite how much you hated it, your heart ached at the sight of him.

Roman didn’t fare much better. He had prepared himself for this, convinced himself that seeing you again wouldn’t mean anything after all these years. But now that you were standing in front of him, the memories hit him like a punch to the gut. You looked the same. Still had that fire in your eyes, that confidence that made his blood rush and his heart race. Yet there was something colder about you, something guarded, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was because of him.

He swallowed, a smirk slowly creeping onto his lips to mask the sting of nostalgia. “Long time no see,” he said, his tone casual. Too casual for what lay between you.

You didn’t look at him, instead tracing your finger over one of the tarot cards on the table. “What the fuck are you doing here, Roman?”

He didn’t answer immediately, just watched you with that lazy, arrogant smile, trying to hide the way his pulse was still racing from just seeing you again. “Missed me?”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder, your eyes sharp as glass. “Try again. Why are you here?”

He pushed off the doorframe and took a few steps closer, his gaze never leaving you. “I need your help.”

A humorless laugh escaped your lips. “My help” You turned fully now, eyes narrowing. “After what you did?”

Of course you already know what happened. Roman tilted his head, feigning innocence. “You’re gonna have to be more specific. I do a lot of things.”

That was it. You shot up from your chair, the knife already in your hand, and in a flash, you were in front of him, the blade pressed to his throat. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move, just looked down at you with that same cocky expression.

“Relax, baby,” he purred. “You’ll cut me before we even get to the good part.”

You didn’t bother responding, just pulled back and swung the knife again, aiming to slice his cheek. He ducked, catching your wrist mid-swing, and twisted your arm behind your back, pressing you against the wall.

“Getting feisty already?” he whispered against your ear. “You always did have a short fuse.”

You gritted your teeth and stomped down on his foot, making him loosen his grip just enough for you to break free and punched him in the jaw, the force making him stumble back a step.

Roman wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking when he saw the faint trace of blood on his skin.

You spun around and aimed a punch at his jaw again, which he dodged this time, but not without brushing his fingers over your waist. The touch sent a jolt through you, one you hated yourself for feeling.

“Can’t we just talk like adults?” he taunted. “Or are you gonna keep trying to take my head off?”

You threw another punch, and he caught your arm, smirking down at you. “You really think I wanted to kill her?” he asked, voice dropping to something almost serious.

You yanked your arm free, shoving him back. “You’re a fucking monster, Roman. You don’t care who you hurt.”

He clenched his jaw, something dark flashing in his eyes before he plastered on that smug smile again. “That’s not true, and you know it.”

You scoffed, muttering a quick spell under your breath. The room suddenly filled with an electric pulse, and Roman felt his legs buckle as the force knocked him down to one knee. You moved in to kick him, but he caught your ankle, pulling you off balance. You landed on top of him, and before you could move, he had you pinned beneath him, wrists trapped above your head.

He leaned down, lips brushing the side of your throat. “You’re so fucking stubborn,” he whispered, his voice rough. “I didn’t want to kill her. She wouldn’t fucking help me. She just kept pushing, saying I was a monster. Said there was no cure, that I should just accept what I am.”

You struggled against his grip, glaring up at him. “So you killed her?”

His expression darkened, but he didn’t move. “She lied to me. Promised to help, then called me a lost cause. I snapped. Didn’t even realize what I was doing until she was already bleeding out.”

Your breathing was ragged, your heart racing against his chest. You hated how his scent still messed with your head, how the warmth of his body made your skin tingle.

“You’re just trying to manipulate me,” you hissed, turning your head to avoid his gaze.

He let out a low, frustrated growl. “You really think that little of me?”

You met his eyes, and for a moment, there was something raw in them, something unguarded. But you couldn’t trust it. Couldn’t trust him. You pushed against his chest, trying to shove him off, but he didn’t budge.

“Get off me,” you snapped but he didn’t move.

You shot him a glare, then mumbled another spell, the air around you warping with heat. Roman flinched, forced to release you as the energy crackled around him. You scrambled to your feet, grabbing for the knife again, but he intercepted, catching your wrist and spinning you around, trapping your arm behind your back. Your body was pressed against his chest, his breath hot against your ear.

Both of you were breathing heavily, chests heaving with the aftermath of the fight. His grip was firm but not painful, and you could feel every hard line of his body against yours.

For a moment, you froze. Your mind drifted back to high school, back when you and Roman were inseparable. He was always handsome, undeniably so, with a lean frame that moved with effortless grace. He was good looking, but now? Now he was something else entirely.

The boy you once knew was gone, replaced by a man, a raw, intimidating presence. His body was bulkier, his muscles more defined, his chest pressing against yours in a way that made it impossible to ignore just how much he’d changed. There was a heaviness to him now, a strength that sent a jolt of awareness through you. He wasn’t the same person. And God, did you feel it.

Back then, Roman was still discovering who he was, barely scratching the surface of his power, unsure how to control it or even fully understand what he was. But now? Now he radiated power, a force that could crush anything in his path. There was no hesitation in his movements, no uncertainty. He knew exactly what he was, and how dangerous that knowledge made him. Stronger than ever. Definitely, far more dangerous than you ever imagined.

And then, there was his appearance. Impeccable, like something out of a high fashion magazine. After finding out that he’s the only heir of the Godfrey Industry, Roman started to carry himself with the poise of someone who had everything, a figurehead of the Godfrey empire. His clothes, tailored to perfection, fit him like a second skin. Sharp suits that spoke of wealth, power, and influence. It wasn’t just a look; it was a statement. A fashion icon in his own right. Oh and he definitely kept that throughout the years. The way he moved, the way he held himself, his every detail screamed control and authority. And even in this chaotic moment, you couldn’t help but notice it.

“Please,” he whispered, pulling you to reality. This time his voice wasn’t cocky or mocking, just desperate. “I didn’t know where else to go. I can’t control it. They’re going to come for me.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, his voice sending a shiver down your spine despite everything. You wanted to push him away, wanted to scream and curse him, but something in his tone made you hesitate.

His forehead dropped to your shoulder, and his hands loosened their hold, just enough to give you space if you wanted to pull away. But you stayed still, caught between your anger and the way his body molded against yours.

“Please,” he repeated, softer this time.

Your breath hitched, and for the first time since he walked through the door, your firm stance is starting to weaken.

You both stood facing each other, the air still thick with unspoken emotions. The fight had died down, but the tension between you two had only grown. You shook your head, clearly frustrated, but with an edge of determination. Your arms crossed, facing the reality of the mess Roman had made.

“You really have no idea what you’ve done, do you?” you said, your tone sharp, but beneath it, you couldn’t help the edge of disbelief. Roman’s careless actions had just thrown him into a storm, and you were the one left trying to figure out how to stop it.

“Hiding isn’t going to work” you said without waiting for his response, moving back to your chair, the subtle grace of your movements betraying the storm inside you. You sank down, the heels of your boots clicking softly against the floor as you reclaimed your space. The Tarot cards that had been spread out in front of you now felt like the only thing grounding you.

Roman raised an eyebrow, the cocky smirk still on his face, but it faltered when he saw the serious look in your eyes. “You don’t want me to hide? I thought you’d be all for that,” he taunted, though there was a flicker of concern beneath the bravado.

But one thing that apparently never changed? His dirty mouth. And his arrogance. Even now, with all the changes, Roman was still the same bastard he’d always been. He still knew how to push your buttons with every word that left his lips, his cocky attitude never fading.

“Shut up, Roman,” you said, your voice firm, staring at him, almost incredulously. “The coven won’t just let this go. You know that, right? They will come for you.”

Roman leaned against the table, his posture casual, but the desperation in his eyes was clear. “I don’t know what I expect to do, but I need you to help me. You’re the only one who can.”

You took a deep breath, your fingers brushing against the edges of the cards. Slowly, deliberately, you began gathering them together, the soft shuffle of the cards a steady rhythm as you stacked them. They had always been a way to focus, to clear the noise from your mind.

You reached for the cigarette case on the table, effortlessly picking up the long cigarette holder. You slid the cigarette into its end and brought it to your lips, the holder dangling elegantly between your fingers. The smoke curled lazily from your lips as you took a slow drag, eyes never leaving Roman.

Roman raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. “I didn’t know you smoked,” he remarked, his gaze still on you.

“Well, I learned from the best,” you replied, a hint of playfulness in your voice while you shuffled the cards once more in your hands.

You could feel the old familiarity settle in the room, and your mind briefly drifted back to a different time. Roman teaching you how to smoke for the first time. It was supposed to be innocent, just a few puffs shared between you two but every time you tried, you both ended up closer than expected. His hands, guiding yours. The way his lips brushed against yours as he demonstrated how to inhale. And somehow, every lesson ended the same way: both naked moaning each other’s name.

Roman’s eyes had darkened slightly, and you could tell he was thinking about the same thing. And for a moment the sound of the cards sliding against each other was the only noise in the room. You drag once more from the cigarette and then spread the cards back to the table with slow precision.

“I’ll talk to the coven,” you said finally, your voice cold, calculated. “I’ll explain it, make them understand. But you need to keep your mouth shut and let me handle this. The witch you killed, she was kind of the leader, I’m sure you already know this by now. After her, there were others in the hierarchy. I will speak and I’ll deal with them. You don’t get to say a word.”

Roman took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Smart? You mean playing nice with them? I’m not sure that’s my style.”

“You don’t have a choice,” you said, your voice low but firm. “Now pick a card” you continue without looking up from the cards you’d laid out before him.

Roman raised an eyebrow but didn’t hesitate. He moved toward the table, his fingers brushing the cards as he chose one with deliberate slowness, flipping it and then gave it to you. You watched him closely, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you analysis the card.

Your eyes met again and you saw Roman ran a hand through his hair, his mouth twisting into a rueful grin. Another gesture who reminds you of the old Roman, he always used to do this, apparently he still does.

“I know I fucked up,” he said, the cocky edge to his voice still present, even as he tried to show some kind of regret. “But I didn’t have much of a choice.”

You gestured to the cards. “Pick another one.” You said ignoring his statement.

Roman hesitated for only a moment before he reached out and drew another card, his hand still steady, but you could see the tension in his movements now.

“So, what does it say?” He asked studying the new card, trying to read something in the design, the symbols but he knows shit about tarot reading. You didn’t let him see your reaction, but you were scanning him, watching him carefully. The way he looked at the cards, the way he hesitated, everything he did had meaning to you.

Neither of you spoke, but the air was thick with the weight of the unspoken, everything that needed to be said, but wasn’t.

“Not everything is meant to be said aloud.” You finally broke the silence.

Roman stared at you, his frustration clear, but he knew better than to push you. Not yet, at least. He was here because he needed you, and clearly you weren’t about to make this easy on him.

“I’ll talk to the coven,” you said again after few seconds, “But you really need to let me handle this, Roman, no more tricks and no more loosing control. And no promise this will work.”

Roman shifted, standing a little straighter. He didn’t like it, but he knew it was the only option. His usual cocky, self-assured attitude flickered, but only for a moment.

He stepped closer, his gaze drifting over you in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re so confident,” he said, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “You always were.”

You didn’t step back, holding your ground. “I’ve had to be. But I’m not the one who killed a high-ranking witch, am I?”

Roman chuckled softly, the sound rich with arrogance. “No, you’re not. But you always did like being the one in control, didn’t you?”

“Not this time, Roman,” you replied, your eyes narrowing. “But still, this time you have no choice but listening to me.”

After a long pause, Roman said, his voice quieter than before. “You know, I didn’t think it would come to this. I didn’t think I’d ever be asking for your help.”

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you watched him carefully, letting the moment stretch. His voice wasn’t just the usual cocky edge; there was a vulnerability to it now, one that didn’t sit well with him.

“You don’t have much of a choice,” you said after a beat, your tone cold but not unkind.

You knew. Him, standing here in front of you was the last place he wanted to be. And the same went for you. Fate had a cruel sense of humor, mocking both of you by dragging him to your door.

There he was, in your space, with that same cocky smirk and unspoken desperation behind his big green eyes.

You looked at him with a sly smile, one eyebrow raised as you pointed to the cards in front of him. “Wanna pick another card?” you teased, your voice laced with a hint of mischief.

He let out a low, frustrated groan, rolling his eyes. “Enough with the card game,” he muttered, but the corner of his mouth curved up despite himself. He leaned forward, his hands pressing down on the table as he bent over it, his face just a breath away from yours. The tension crackled between you like a live wire, his scent, the expensive cologne and something unmistakably him filling your senses.

“So this is the plan, right?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, daring you to challenge him. “You’re really gonna help me?”

Your eyes traced the shape of his lips, and suddenly, memories came rushing back. His mouth against yours, hot and greedy, claiming every inch of your skin. Those full lips had kissed you breathless, whispered filthy promises in the dark, tasted every part of you. You hated that you remembered so vividly.

“Yes,” you replied, forcing your focus back to his eyes. “But what do I get in return?”

Roman let out a soft laugh, one that was both amused and tinged with something darker. “You know, you haven’t changed. Still the same stubborn, sexy witch you always were.”

You met his gaze, your pulse quickening despite yourself. The attraction was undeniable, and it pulled at you, but you couldn’t afford to let it get in the way now.

“And you’re still the same cocky bastard,” you replied, your voice sharp but with a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, leaning back, settling into the chair with an air of nonchalance.

His gaze flicked down to your mouth before meeting your eyes again, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Anything you want,” he drawled, the words coated in sin and seduction. He didn’t move back, he stayed right there, so fucking close.

You picked up the cigarette holder again, taking a slow, deliberate drag before letting the smoke curl from your lips. Your eyes never left his as you gave him a faint, almost mocking smile.

“Then we have a deal,” you said smoothly, the hint of a challenge glinting in your eyes.

His lips curved into a smirk, clearly pleased and maybe just a little irritated because he was losing control and loosing control was the one thing Roman Godfrey hated more than anything. And right now, that’s exactly what he’d done.

Given in, let himself be pulled into your plan, and surrendered to the one person he never thought he’d have to depend on. The tension between you was almost palpable, his jaw clenched as he tried to mask the frustration simmering behind those sharp green eyes.

Roman’s gaze dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second, and you saw something flicker in his expression, something primal and raw. He looked at you like he wanted to bite, to taste, to remind you that you weren’t the only one pulling strings here.

But he didn’t say a word. Just gave a single, sharp nod, his eyes never leaving yours. He hated that he needed you. Hated that he couldn’t just walk out and figure this out on his own. Hated how much power you suddenly had over him.

Your lips twitched, amusement glinting in your eyes as you watched him fight for control. You wondered if fate had been waiting all this time just to pull you back together and make you face everything you’d tried to forget.

[matmiraculous]

Encanto TV Show

So. I had Ideas. I want to know peoples thoughts before I actually start writing. (Ignore the fact that i'm almost 4 years late to the fandom)

Season 1

1 - Pilot: The Family Madrigal (Whole Fam Feat: Mirabel)   Mirabel helps the family adjust to healthier habits in the early days after Casita is rebuilt, gently guiding them into a new chapter of life together. 2 - A Room of Ones Own (Mirabel)   Mirabel feels like the family is avoiding her and gets really upset and lonely, only for the family and Casita to reveal that they made her her own room! 3 - Luisa Lets Go (Luisa)   After accidentally breaking something during a vulnerable moment, Luisa realizes she still ties her worth to being strong and learns what it means to rest. 4 - Camilo Cares To Much (Camilo)   Camilo shapeshifts nonstop to please everyone, but when a young fan copies him a little too well, he starts to unravel. 5 - Of Rats and Men (Bruno and Julieta)   When a strange illness spreads in town, Bruno’s rats are unfairly blamed. He and Julieta team up to solve the mystery, healing a bit of Bruno’s reputation. 6 - Antonios Big Adventure (Antonio)   Antonio discovers a creature that can’t speak to him, forcing him to explore other ways of understanding, and learning that connection takes more than magic. 7 - Game Night (Madrigal 3rd Gen + Mariano)   The Madrigal kids (plus Mariano) have a game night that quickly devolves into chaos, competition, and comedy, before ending in giggles and heartfelt bonding. 8 - Flashback 1 (Madrigal 2nd Gen as Teens)   Teenage Julieta, Pepa, Bruno, Félix, and Agustín navigate early gifts, clumsy romance, and Alma’s rising expectations during the miracle’s first years. 9 - Guys Night (Agustin, Felix, and Bruno)   Félix and Agustín drag Bruno out for a night in town, challenging the village to treat him better while Bruno learns how to loosen up and be seen again.

10 - Power Swap (Whole Fam)

   The family wakes up with their gifts completely shuffled. Cue hilarious chaos, instant regrets, and a whole new respect for each other’s daily struggles. 11 - An Artists Touch (Isabela and Mirabel)   Mirabel and Isabela try to collaborate on a mural, but their wildly different creative styles clash until they find a way to blend beauty and mess into something uniquely theirs. 12 - Pranksters (Mirabel and Camilo Feat: Whole Fam)   Mirabel and Camilo start a petty prank war that escalates into full family participation where everyone picks a side. 13 - Flashback 2 (Madrigal 3rd Gen. Pre Camilo and Mirabels Door ceremonies)   A goofy happy episode about the Madrigal grandkids before Camilo and Mirabel both ahd their gift ceremonies. 14 - Still Abuela (Abuela Alma)   As the village moves forward and relies less on her, Alma questions her place in the family, until Mirabel reminds her she’s still their light, even without the candle. 15 - Bedtime with Bruno (Antonio and Bruno)   Bruno tells Antonio a bedtime story, and one by one the other kids gather to listen. Bruno feels like a part of the family finally. 16 - The Babysitters (Mirabel and Camilo)   Mirabel and Camilo babysit a group of chaotic village kids and clash hard on parenting styles, until they learn that fun and structure can coexist. 17 - La Ratonovela (Rat Telenovela Feat:Bruno and Dolores)   Bruno narrates one of his full-on dramatic rat telenovelas in person for once while Dolores keeps interrupting with ideas and questions. 18 - Hearing Hearts (Mariano +Madrigal 3rd Gen)   Mariano tries to plan a romantic surprise for Dolores, while navigating the absolute nightmare of dating someone who can hear literally everything. 19 - Flashback 3 (Pepa Feat: Newborn Antonio)   The story of Pepa’s pregnancy and the day Antonio was born. Its chaos obviously. 20 - Birthday (Madrigal Triplets)   The triplets celebrate their first birthday together since Bruno returned, unlocking sweet childhood memories, unresolved guilt, and the quiet power of forgiveness.

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

Ahh I had a feeling I dreamt that (should probably fix my sleeping schedule 😃)

I'm going to attempt it irl now. 😭

Basically do u have any hcs for kazutora w a sister who likes mikey? But like in tje final timeliness obvi I don't rlly think it would work otherwise

So I imagine them meeting like when they're rlly young like idk since kazutoras dad sucks maybe he asks baji for some help protecting his sister and then he brings mikey and so her and mikey meet like that

And like I think shed have one of those personalities where she's extremely sassy to like cover up all the trauma ykwim

But as an adult she still kind of crushes on him and tries to get over him by dating the absolute worst specimens on Earth 😮‍💨

Anyway what r ur headcannons for how they might end up tgt? I rlly love the way u write the characters hehehhe ❤️❤️

I think they'd make a pretty good couple together, here's how I think that would happen!

Definitely one of those they're both so obviously crushing on each other and everyone can see it but themselves kinda situation.

Kazutora is so done with this whole situation. On one side he has to hear and see how much you clearly love Mikey. And on the other side he's constantly seeing Mikey pout over you being with yet another guy and whining about how you never pay that much attention to him anymore. Not to mention all the bad boyfriends Kazutora has to beat up for you (Baji happily helps).

Mikey tries extra hard to show off in front of you and talk to you because he wants you to focus on him. Has also been known to challenge some of your previous boyfriends to fight as a way of showing you he's stronger

Mikey finds the sassy side funny a lot of the time but he can also see what you're doing and in a sudden serious moment he encourages you to be yourself more. 

Emma actually tries her best to give you tips on how to tell Mikey, as well push Mikey to tell you. She really wants the two of you to get together.

When you're finding things a bit difficult there's a specific place Mikey likes to take you. It's a quiet place, where he sometimes took you when you both younger. 

Mikey definitely has a nickname for you, similar to how he changes others names

He's not slick at all though, has asked Kazutora so many times what he would think if he starts dating you.

Doesn't notice your reactions when he says things like "You're mine" and "I'll always protect you"

Pouts if he notices you're not at one of his races, he always tries extra hard to win if you're there. Even Draken notices how he get's a little more serious.

The confession finally happens after Mikey hears what your latest boyfriend was like to you. Beating the guy up then rushing you, he admits that he's in love with you during the heat of the moment as he's checking up on you. You both then freeze for a moment, realising what's been said before you confess back to him too. The shocked but happy looks on everyone's faces when you told them about it the next day made Mikey laugh. 

[themathmusician]

am i a poppy x ian shipper? not particularly. do i think the choice to write in a kiss between them was bad writing and that the show's completely gone to shit? ........... no.

idk maybe it's just because i'm aspec and don't fully understand the difference between platonic and romantic relationships, but i don't think poppy and ian kissing just like immediately places their relationship in the "romance" category. alloromantics describe romantic love as being "more" than platonic love, and that it causes you to want to hold their hand, cuddle, go on dates, kiss that person, etc., but people in platonic relationships do that too, and likewise not all people in romantic relationships check all those boxes. the distinction essentially comes down to how the people in those relationships choose to define them.

the end of 4x10 is an intense moment between poppy and ian. throughout the show their main conflict has been poppy not thinking ian cares about her, respects her or sees her as an equal creative partner while ian does but doesn't know how to show it; this conflict stems from both of them being emotionally underdeveloped and have virtually no "experience" being in a close relationship with another person (neither have really had serious romantic relationships or any friends outside of work).

this season, culminating in this episode, is the closest they've ever gotten to resolving this. end of S1, ian gives poppy equal standing as creative director at MQ, but that doesn't resolve it. end of S2, ian and poppy quit to make poppy's game, essentially putting poppy "over" ian, but that doesn't resolve it either. end of S3, ian proposes that they stop trying to fix it and just make things work "the old way", but that still doesn't resolve it. the only thing that triggers any sort of meaningful growth in their relationship is the presence of an outside threat, i.e., one of them having a close personal relationship outside of each other (storm).

ian, unsurprisingly, doesn't know how to react in a mature way. he starts by ignoring it, then acting like a petulant child until he finds out she's pregnant and goes into Full Dad Mode and ends with him squeezing her so tight that she slips through his fingers (end of 4x07). and then, presumably upon hearing that david managed to wrangle her back to MQ, ian is faced with a decision: help her be happy (i.e., getting away from MQ to be with someone she loves and allows her to explore her creative interests with a partner who truly inspires her) or let her be unhappy, knowing she won't prioritize her self and her wants (based on her long history of Never Choosing Herself).

either way, he's going to be unhappy if he's not with her, so he does the maneuvers that play out in 4x10. and she's gone, and he'll likely not see her again for a long, long time, and he goes back to care for their child (elysium), alone. it's all he has left of her. and he doesn't tell her because if he does, she might come back.

and she does come back. because despite his best efforts, he doesn't actually know what will make her happy. because she doesn't know what will make her happy. until she's in the air. and she learns that there's a glimmer of hope that she can be with her partner who she loves (Ian) and their baby (MQ and elysium).

and it's complicated. and it's intense. and he's trying and all he's been doing this season is doing the best he can to make her happy, from having boundaries, to baby helping, to buying the machine, to helping her escape to a life that he thinks gives her a chance at happiness. and poppy thinks, when has storm ever made that much effort. when has anyone?

so it's not hopeless with ian. and she can have it all.

and they're both so happy to be back together and in a place where they can maybe finally start to understand each other - where ian can show poppy his love in a way she can believe and understand and they can truly create together - and the hugs aren't enough.

so they kiss. when words fail, this is the best we as humans can do i suppose (idk, i personally hate kissing, so what do i know, but that's what i've read. so.) now, are poppy and ian going to start holding hands and giving each other soft kisses and start fucking and stare into each other's eyes dreamily and do all that classic romantic shit? i doubt it. they're not romantic. but they are romantic in the sense that they know everything about each other and they're comfortable with each other and they want to be in each other's company more than anyone else. but how is that any different from the love we feel for our best friends? how is that different from a qpr? where's the line between platonic and romantic?

does it matter?

[1dmonthlyficroundup]

— 1D Monthly Fic Roundup —

Hi, and welcome to the 1D Monthly Fic Roundup for March 2025! Below you’ll find 1D fics that were all published this month. We hope you’ll check out these new fics! If you would like to submit your own fic, please check this post on how to submit or visit our blog @1dmonthlyficroundup​. You can find all our other posts here.

Happy reading!

＊ In Alleyways and Fire-escapes by yourdelicatepov / @harrysmaison [M, 25k, Louis/Harry]

“Shut the fuck up, Zayn,” Louis mutters, not having the energy to even speak louder.

“I’m just saying, you should’ve heard him out. He probably had a good reason to act like that–”

Louis raises his head from the cushion to glare at Zayn. “Are you seriously taking his side right now? When he literally tried to accuse you?”

“I’m not siding with him, Louis,” Zayn says calmly. “I’m just saying that no normal person acts like that unless he’s either gone mad or really scared.”

“Scared? What the fuck would he be scared of?”

Zayn shrugs, looking away. “I don’t know,” he says but he very much looks like he does know.

Louis's life has been a drag since Harry left him. He's stuck between uni and his part-time bar job, occasionally hooking up here and there. He hates Harry for leaving, and the fact that he can't forget him. But at least he's got Zayn- his flatmate and only real friend who's also the least problematic person ever. Louis wishes he could just move on and find joy, but, spoiler alert, things are about to get real messed up. Part 1 of Hearts at Stake

＊ Even the stars in the skies, they are wrong by flamboyo / @riverswater [M, 14k, Louis & Zayn]

“I feel like,” Zayn starts again, after another long pause. “I feel like I was given something beautiful, but that is also a ticking bomb. And it’s gonna go off soon, and it’s gonna destroy me. So I know I should destroy it first.” He hides his face in his hands, and Louis refrains from offering him a cuddle. He’s finally talking. “But I don’t know if I have the guts to. I don’t know if I really want to. Because it’s so beautiful and rare, and I’ve wanted it for so long. But now that I have it, it’s corroding me. And I don’t know how long I can keep going like this.”

It’s May 2014, and the Where We Are tour just started in South America. The boys are buzzing with excitement, but Zayn can't take it anymore. He is ready to leave the band.

Louis knows that no reasoning will ever convince him to stay.

＊ It'll Never Change, Baby by Worldsofdreamers / @defences-down [M, 1k, Zayn/Niall]

Ten years have passed, and so much has changed in the time since.

Or a look into the 25th of March 2025

＊ Not Without My Muse by Worldsofdreamers / @defences-down [E, 34k, Zayn/Niall]

Life continues as it always does at a relentless pace. Touring, moving across the country and familial responsibilities keep everyone busy. But never too busy to spend time together. A How It Found Us Sequel

＊ Lover Be Good To Me by Worldsofdreamers / @defences-down [E, 3k, Zayn/Niall]

A long weekend calls for a trip up north.

The fact that it's their anniversary is icing on the cake.

＊ 23 and Me by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright [E, 315 words, Louis/everyone]

Louis only works for about 30 minutes on March 15 each year, just enough time for his short but intense Ides of March special: Impale Caesar! 60 people surround him, 23 of whom have paid extra for the honor of stabbing their dicks into one of his holes. Part 13 of Glory Hole-idays

＊ Out of Our Systems: Part 5 by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings [E, 13k, Harry/Zayn/Louis]

After two and a half years into their relationship filled with fun, laughter, and love, the only thing they need a little more of is time. Part 5 of Out of Our Systems

＊ The Tokyo Surprise by @srldesigns6277 [E, 8k, Harry/Louis]

Harry surprised his fans by running the Tokyo Marathon, so Louis surprised him in return.

[guess-that-ship]

S15 Round 1

More than just a sidekick

cw: major spoilers

Henchman has been working for Scientist for years, and though Scientist is considered undesirable by all, Henchman is still by his side. And while Scientist acts as though he’s uncaring, he still seeks out Henchman’s opinion and thoughts on his latest discoveries and revelations.

Things change, however, when Scientist disappears and is presumed dead. Henchman gets a new job, but mourns his loss everyday, still holding out hope that Scientist is out there somewhere. And shockingly he is. Scientist meets with Henchman once again, and Henchman immediately returns to his side. Scientist brings Henchman along for his evil schemes, and when Scientist is defeated, Henchman is the one who rescues him and nurses him to health, keeping him safely hidden away from the heroes who believe he’s dead.

But of course, an evil scientist can’t stay dormant forever, and Scientist gets wrapped up within a different scientist’s evil plans. Henchman is jealous that Scientist’s attention and love is focused entirely on this new scientist, and is eventually left behind. Scientist, meanwhile, finds out that the other scientist’s evil plans would kill everyone, and the only way to stop him is through sacrificing himself. And in Scientist’s final moments, he calls out to Henchman, proclaiming to the world that he’ll miss him. Leaving Henchman mourning one final time.

Fly Away...

cw: spoilers

He didn't have anyone to call a friend, until he came along.

The life they lead is one of strife and conflict, but there's peace in the little group they carve out together. When a traitor is ratted out from among them, his friend swears revenge. He tries to convince him to stop, to preserve his life, but that friend is at the end of his rope. That dear friend's greatest wish, dying in his arms, is to have had the courage to steer him out of this existence, out of his loneliness, towards the light. After that friend's death, it's exactly where he goes.

In another time, he rewrites their story. There are countless ways it could have gone, but the only one where that friend is happy is one where he never meets him. He accepts, wiping himself from existence, so the friend can live his own private dream of a quiet life. Never even knowing who died for his sake. All because of the kindness that was offered once, in memories of after-work sunsets, a world apart.

[shouldaspunastory]

For @tevivinter, @lasatfat and @dadrunkwriting

Elgaris 'Elegy' Ingellvar x Lucanis Dellamorte, (SFW, Pining, First date, first kiss) 1651 words.

---------------------------------------

It’s not that Elgaris is ashamed of their body. Not anymore. You don’t put that much work into decorating something you don’t care about. Elgaris’s body is a tapestry of careful and purposeful scars artfully recreating the skeletal structure beneath skin, fat, and muscle, a few accidental scars that tell the story of what the battles and close calls they have survived, and the twin pink lines beneath each pectoral- their proudest and hardest earned- the battle for peace in their own body and to live as their most authentic self.

It's still a little surreal, still sometimes finds them lingering a moment longer than necessary in front of the full-length mirror after stepping out of the bath, eyes following the trail of water drops as they slide down their flat chest to their belly. But finally, for the first time in their life everyone else can see the person they always knew was inside. And if they don’t like what they see? Elgaris is secure enough not to be bothered by it.

This, though… it’s different.

Lucanis sees them. Of course he does. He always has, but tonight…

Elgaris can feel their heart hammering against their ribs as they slowly make their way down the hall from their quarters to the library and main living space. They take a slow, trembling breath, steadying themselves, then another. They focus on the cool stone beneath their feet with each step, a soft smile playing at the corners of their mouth as their dress swishes about them, the faintest whisper of the silks with each step.

“Holy crap,” Taash gapes as Elgaris steps out onto the terrace, eyes wide as they take in their new attire. “Lucanis seen that yet,” the qunari asks. Elgaris shakes their head, a gentle blush coloring the tips of their ears where they poke out from beneath their tight blonde spirals which free from any immediate concerns of conflict or work for them to interfere with, aren’t pulled back into their usual ponytail, but instead, hang loosely framing their face and ticking bare shoulders, a simple braid pulling back those few stubborn shorter pieces that would otherwise fall into their eyes.

“Omigosh, Rook, you look so pretty,” Lace exclaims excitedly as she makes her way to the top of the stairs.

“Yeah,” Taash agrees awkwardly. Clearly no better at compliments when the feelings are strickly platonic than they seem to be in what Elgaris has observed lately between them and their dwarven companion, though Lace doesn't seem too troubled by it.

“Thank you,” Elgaris smiles softly, the blush creeping up into their cheeks now, ducking their gaze shyly to their feet and the small, intricately embroidered flowers that adorn the dress- chrysanthemums, poppies, marigolds, dahlias, lilacs, carnations, lilies, roses, forget-me-nots, orchids, and tulips. Delicate, colorful reminders of the fragility and fleeting nature of life, and immortality and legacy of memory. It is a far cry from their Mourn Watcher robes they have continued to wear even after so long away from the Necropolis, and yet their origin and home is handstitched together into every inch of the fabric here too. “You- you don’t think it’s too much,” the elf asks, a little uncertainly.

“No way,” Lace grins, shaking her head. “You look lovely. I’m glad you bought it. You deserve to feel pretty, to take a moment for yourself. We’ve been doing nothing but running ever since the ritual, you especially.”

“Yeah, this is gonna give Lucanis a heart attack,” Taash add with a chuckle. “I mean, in a good way,” they add with a shrug when Lace looks up at them.

“Go get ‘em kid,” Varric chuckles softly, leaning against the wall to the infirmary with a fond grin. “They’re right, you deserve to have something for yourself and a little happiness in all this mess.” Elgaris nods, nerves soothed a little by their companion’s reassurances as they say their goodnights and make their way across the courtyard to find Lucanis.

“Rook, I thought it was my turn to cook, why is Bellara-“ Lucanis says as the elf opens the door to the kitchen and dining area, before the assassin turns to face them and all words seem to leave him, the silence broken only by Bellara’s soft giggles.

“I asked her to,” Elgaris smiles, quietly thrilled with the way his eyes can’t seem to decide quite where to look, but haven’t once left them since they arrived. “I thought perhaps you and I might go out for the night,” the elf says softly. “Have dinner at Café Pierta and maybe wander the markets together afterwards,” they suggest hopefully. “Unless you’d rather stay in,” Elgaris adds after a moment when Lucanis still hasn’t said anything.

“No,” Lucanis replies quickly shaking his head, taking several stumbling steps forward to close the gap between them, the slightest distortion, a chorus of his own voice and Spite’s as they answer them bringing another soft smile to the elf’s face as she watches him. “No,” he repeats as he stops in front of them, dragging his gaze back up from the low plunge of their dress that highlights the skeletal patterned scars over their clavicle, sternum, and ribs to meet their large violet eyes, sparkling with hope, tenderness, and an inescapable partiality that makes Lucanis’s stomach do flips. “A night out with you sounds… perfect,” Lucanis confesses softly with a smile that makes Elgaris feel weak at the knees.

“Meirda,” Lucanis whispers softly, shaking his head softly, still not breaking eye contact with them. “Should I go change? I feel like I should go change. I’m not sure I have anything here that’s-“ the assassin mutters softly.

“Lucanis,” Elgaris interrupts softly, one of their small hands reaching out to clasp his own and offering it a reassuring squeeze. “You look fine,” they reassure him with a fond and patient smile, “handsome as ever.”

“Yes, but you look...“ Lucanis starts to protest, barely registering the compliment in his urgency to somehow prove himself worthy of their company, “like you stepped out of a dream,” the assassin breathes before Elgaris can say anything more, causing the elf to blush furiously.

“Oh,” Elgaris manages softly, briefly registering a stifled, gleeful squeal from behind Bellara’s hand clamped tight over her mouth as she is clearly doing her best trying to pretend to be busy with the dinner preparations for the rest of their companions during this exchange, rather than the reality, which is that the elf is likely taking meticulous notes for their next attempt at a romance serial. “Do you dream of me often,” the elf replies, before immediately kicking themselves for not thinking before opening their mouth. Why in the Fade did they say that?

“YES,” Spite answers before Lucanis can reply or protest, causing the assassin to wince a little in a way that makes the answer clear even to Bellara who doesn’t have the luxury Elgaris does as a skilled Mourn Watcher of being able to hear Spite. Elgaris, at least, has the good grace not to laugh at his expense.

“Never anything as good as this though,” Lucanis says softly, looking down to where their hands still clasp his own with a small smile, his thumb gently rubbing the back of their hand. “Shall we? If you’re sure I’m dressed well enough to be seen with you,” Lucanis says, gesturing towards the door. Elgaris nods, still smiling, still holding his hand as they make their way to the Eluvian that will bear them on to Treviso.

“I’m relatively certain we’re awake,” Elgaris says softly with a smile as they take their seats at the café a short while later.

“Oh? Because of the coffee,” Lucanis asks, taking another slow and grateful sip from his cup. Elgaris waits for him to swallow and set the cup back down on the table before answering with a mischievous smile, emboldened by their date and the way he’s scarcely been able to take his eyes off them since they walked into the dining hall.

“Because in my dreams, we’re usually kissing,” Elgaris whispers. Lucanis inhales sharply, eyes snapping open, pupils blown wide as he stares back at them.

“Rook- Elegy, I-“ Lucanis replies hoarsely, momentarily glancing out towards the canals, looking embarrassed.

“NO,” Spite interrupts. “ROOK OPENS DOORS. STOP CLOSING THEM.”

Elgaris does their best to suppress a smile at the spirit scolding the assassin’s hesitation and self-doubts.

“I’m sorry I ran off,” Lucanis whispers softly, still looking slightly shamed despite his spirit’s dressing down and the elf’s patience.

“It’s alright,” Elgaris replies gently. Of course, it had confused them. Frustrated them. To have come so very close to what the pair of them had seemed to be dancing around for so long, to what Elgaris had scarcely allowed themselves to dream they might have, let alone to find it amid all this. But hearing him speak with some of their other companions, talking to Spite when they had freed them both from the prison of his own mind, they’ve come to understand it. That he might be as unsure, as anxious about irrevocably ruining things between them and losing them as Elgaris is, maybe even more so. The fear lingers, even now. But the hope, the pull around their heart in his direction is stronger. “Stay with me now,” the elf asks hopefully, mindful of their cups as they reach across the table to clasp his hand in theirs as his eyes lift back up to meet theirs.

“I can’t begin to imagine what you see in me,” Lucanis admits shaking his head softly, “but I pray you never stop seeing it.”

“Never,” Elgaris promises fondly, a brilliant smile taking over their face as Lucanis stands and rounds the table, still holding their hand and gently tugging them up to their feet, before pulling them into his arms for a soft, tender kiss.