#to do so and it's not their fault but at the same time they all did say they're aiming for the highest grade so what gives

[hesagoodone]

Hi, thank you for taking the time and trouble to whip up a proper reply, I really appreciate that. :) I also think we are on the same page about a lot of things, actually. Will come to that later.

First, I really, really want to believe that John doesn't care about Mary. Perhaps he doesn't. But then it is Mary whom he chooses above Sherlock, always. He marries her, first of all. Then he forgives her for almost killing Sherlock. Then he blames Sherlock for getting her killed despite knowing how hard Sherlock had tried to protect her. Then he cuts Sherlock off, cruelly, from his life when grieving for Mary. Finally, he literally beats Sherlock to a pulp, presumably out of his grief and anger over Mary's death. Even if the reason is not Mary, he knows Sherlock believes it's because of Mary's death, and John himself confirms it: "He's entitled. I killed his wife."//"Yes, you did."

So, if he does care more about Sherlock than Mary, he does a shit job of showing it. I mean, he really beats the former up for the latter, how on earth are we to infer that he cares more about Sherlock? Or, is it that he hurts those he really cares about? That is even worse, to be honest. I'd rather he not care about Sherlock, then.

You're right that these two NEVER communicate and that just messes things up, royally. However, Sherlock was willing to explain everything, it's John who shuts him up:

JOHN (tightly): I don’t care how you faked it, Sherlock. I wanna know why. SHERLOCK (bewildered): Why? Because Moriarty had to be stopped. (He looks at John’s expression.) SHERLOCK: Oh. ‘Why’ as in ... (He lifts a finger, pointing it in John’s direction. John nods.) SHERLOCK: I see. Yes. ‘Why?’ That’s a little more difficult to explain. JOHN (darkly): I’ve got all night. SHERLOCK (clearing his throat and looking down): Actually, um, that was mostly Mycroft’s idea.

So, John's more interested in knowing the reason behind his own exclusion in the plan, than in the actual reason for The Fall. (Which is understandable, but then he never gets back to that second question at all!) And from here on, John's only interested in who else knew, and before even that can conclude, he's headbutting Sherlock (again). The initial one was fine, really, but after that it's just him not willing to listen anything Sherlock has to say. No wonder Sherlock doesn't bring up the explanation ever again. After this reaction, why would he risk another such outburst?

Also, I don't agree that John has no reason to believe Sherlock suffered in the two years away. He knows it had something to do with Moriarty, an undercover mission, something that took *Sherlock* two whole years, how difficult a deduction is the rest? And if he does believe that Sherlock instead suffers from the loss of John, that's also true.. isn't it? If John can see that suffering, so very obvious throughout S3, and yet do nothing about it or even acknowledge it, then that makes it all even worse.

If John can't forgive Sherlock, and yet insists that he has, then it's a major disservice to both of them. And it's not Sherlock's fault. It leaves Sherlock in that tragic position of having no idea what to do: because how do you apologize to someone who keeps saying that they forgive you and it's all over and everything's back to normal? Like I said before, what is Sherlock even supposed to do? He literally kills a man and flies off to his death to give John the life he wants; if that can not make John trust him, or forgive him, I don't even know what will.

I don't think Sherlock does anything on the show that warrants anyone calling him a monster, least of all John. I don't think there's anything in the world that Sherlock won't do for John, and then to get called a monster by him? I'm just glad Sherlock wasn't around to hear that.

I can't imagine why John would feel as if Sherlock doesn't care about him. The first day they meet, Sherlock's running around London with him to "prove a point" regarding John's cane. Sherlock, who barely ever eats himself, is constantly taking John to restaurants and asking if he's alright, if it's better now, if he's okay. Sherlock calls him a "friend" right in the second episode, the same Sherlock who John knows is alarmed by the very concept of "friends". John himself takes note in his blog of the hurt in Sherlock's eyes for that one second when he thinks John might be Moriarty. The way he's maniacally taking the bomb vest off of John, scared out of his mind! And this is all only the first season. It only grows from here, with Sherlock dying and killing and living for John, and we still have John saying stuff like: "Who would he bother protecting?"

You say that the reason why John is so off-balance is because "Sherlock wasn't supposed to care". That's exactly the opposite of the impression that canon John gives. He's constantly berating Sherlock for not caring enough (I've already quoted lines above). And he's pissed off when Sherlock says that he doesn't have friends, never mind that it's John himself who had corrected friend to colleague. That rather makes one think he *expects* Sherlock to care about him, right?

"Sherlock caring is not a positive." - that's something Mycroft would say, not John. :D I mean, if what you say is true, that he'd rather have a sociopath who doesn't care, I think it makes John way worse (and selfish!) as a character. One, he doesn't even know Sherlock one bit, because he never was a sociopath, even on day one. Two, he'd rather have Sherlock live the anti-social, lonely life that comes along with being a "sociopath", instead of seeing him a well-loved human.

What I do completely agree with, is that the story did indeed exist to make Sherlock suffer. And they made John an asshole to do that, because nothing except John could truly hurt Sherlock.

Sherlock, 4.02 The Lying Detective

[invincibledc]

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮!?

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞!𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐞!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⭑.ᐟ synopsis: when a superhero keeps following you everywhere. Especially this one guy, he’s such a weirdo.

⭑.ᐟgenre: idk I just thought of this

⭑.ᐟ info: reader is a childhood friend of mark, they slowly fell apart due to growing up. Reader had forgotten about mark, but mark never forget him.

1 o’clock, watch y/n go into work, watching how he looks so bored. Cute with his eye bags as he stretches his body. God he looks so yummy.

7 o'clock, watch him go home. His room smells so good, he’s quite the guy who doesn’t even care about masculinity but his own life. I took one of his boxers.

Mark finished his daily stalking, he’s got to focus more on his hero life than this. But god, he hates how he didn’t realize how much you meant to him.

He hasn’t told anyone about his sick habit of watching you. Why should he.

They’ll just look at him strange, it’s not his fault when he saw you again at burger mart in all your glory. Showing up when he use to work there, ordering the same meal you always loved when you both were just kids.

“Thank you sir.” Is all you said to him. Sir. As if you didn’t know who he was.

As if you weren’t the one that cheered when he played baseball.

As if you weren’t the one that showed him affection, making it a one sided puppy love.

He forget what it felt like to stop being obsessed with you since a young age. You both grew up handsomely.

But god, he couldn’t help but watch you sleep. You’ve got to stop leaving your window unlocked.

But how else would he steal your boxers and sniff them.

He could try and be friendly towards you again like old times. But he’s so awkward, and too obvious.

You caught him staring at you, as if he was trying to burn an image into his head. He was outside of his hero suit. Just staring at you, appalled by this, you quickly left the place you were at.

Who was that weirdo.

Well that weirdo was currently frowning with a sad puppy dog face, wondering why you don’t remember him.

Who wouldn’t remember him, he gave you his favorite comic books and toys!

You started to notice him more.

Around your job, house, going for a run, at a friend’s house. Which was weird, William never told you about it him.

But here he was, staring at you with a stupid grin on his face.

“Yeha ima go will, cya.” You left William’s place, leaving William looking confused as mark just frowns.

Wait, do you seriously not remember him?

Guess he’ll have take measures into his own hands.

[arandomao3user]

Please give me somemore freaky bernard and trans tim? Idk it just scratches an itch in my brain.

*Flips sunglasses off* Freaky~ Bernard and Trans!Tim? My specialty.

*Flips sunglasses back on, because light hurts my eyes*

My only hope in life is that I somehow make the fanon interpretation of Bernard out to be an absolute freak...

—

Tim, sitting atop the bathroom counter as Bernard removes a bullet from his thigh: Sorry, I know this isn't an ideal couple activity.

Bernard: What? Y'know I love putting things in the holes in your body.

Tim:

—

Tim, lying in a fetal position on the bathroom floor:

Bernard: Uh... Are... Are you okay?

Tim: Get me pregnant and cure me of my humanly ailments.

Bernard, unbuttoning his shirt: Okay.

Tim: I MEANT I'M ON MY PERIOD! I was being dramatic!

Bernard, slowly buttoning his shirt back up:

Tim:

Bernard: I'll get you chocolate and a heat pack.

Tim: Thank you.

—

Tim: You made homemade chocolate, bought strawberries, and made me coffee... Why?

Bernard: Studies have shown that all three can be like edible aphrodisiacs or improve your sex life.

Tim:

Tim: You made food horny?

Bernard: I want to make you horny!

Tim, playfully: Before marriage! For shame, Mr. Dowd.

Bernard: Your fault for showing such pretty ankles.

Tim, sticking his foot in Bernard's face: New fetish found!?

Bernard, laughing: No, no, no!

Tim: Are you calling my feet unattractive!? My heart is forever broken, you've ruined me, Bernard Dowd.

Bernard: I'll make it better and ruin you at the same time.

Tim: How's that?

Bernard: With rope and you singing like the pretty bird you ar—

Damian, kicking open their door:

Bernard:

Tim:

Damian, holding a screeching stray cat while he is covered in claw marks, bleeding in several areas: Did I interrupt something?

—

Tim, glaring at the mirror:

Bernard: You hallucinating again, love dove?

Tim: My binder is not binder-ing today.

Bernard: . . ? Uh, you look pretty flat to me.

Tim: No, no, it's not that, it's just... None of my binders are binder-ing.

Bernard:

Bernard: We can go binder shopping if you'd like?

Tim: Yeah, I'd like that.

—

Tim, slipping inside covered in blood:

Bernard: OH MY GODS!? Tim are you okay!? Why aren't you at the med bay!?

Tim: Oh, no! No! This isn't my blood! Jason shot a guy in a major artery and I happened to be the closest.

Bernard: So, it's not your blood?

Tim: Nope.

Bernard: So, like, appropriate time to say you look hot as hell?

Tim: Not an appropriate time, at all, I'm covered in a strangers blood. But, I appreciate the compliment.

—

Barbara: So, Tim, care to explain why you spent three hundred and sixty two dollars yesterday on pregnancy tests?

Tim: Oh, yeah, my period was a day late.

Barbara: So, it was more logical of a conclusion that you were pregnant than you were simply stressed?

Tim: Have you seen Bernard's search history?

Barbara: . . . I am buying you condoms for your wedding gift.

—

Tim, waking up in the med bay: Ugh, what happened?

Bruce: You were stabbed, luckily it was the area your spleen is supposed to be in, so no organs were injured.

Tim: Good.

Dick: But we are concerned as to why you have so many bruises on your neck!?

Jason: Hand shaped.

Tim:

Tim: Trust me when I say, none of you want answers to that.

Damian: Admit it, Dowd is harming you! We've already taken fingerprint samples!

Tim:

Tim: How do I explain this?

Jason: Say the word, I'll put a hole between his eyes.

Dick: I've killed before and I'll kill again.

Bruce: Excuse me?

Dick: Nothing.

Duke, walking in: I called my friends, we're gonna go f-#% Bernard up in thirty. Tim you wanna join?

Tim: NO!—

Duke: It's okay, I got you, it's hard.

Damian: We are here for you, Drake.

Tim: Damian. Cover your ears for a second.

Damian: Why?

Tim: Because you're ten.

Damian: I am fourteen!?

Tim: Ears!

Damian, grumbling as he covers his ears:

Tim: Bernard and I have rough, kinky sex.

Duke:

Dick:

Bruce:

Jason

Tim: This will serve you all well as a reminder to never look deeper into me or my relationship.

Stephanie, from the batcomputer: WHERE WAS THIS ATTITUDE WHEN WE DATED?! Vanilla ahh mother—

Bruce: I do not need anymore information.

Dick: I don't know if I wanna kill him the same amount or more now..?

Duke: This family is a prison.

Jason, walking out: I'm leaving for the next two weeks, nobody look for me.

—

Tim: I just wanna be a guy in the long hair and dress way, y'know?

Bernard: I do.

—

Tim, sitting in the dark beside Bernard, who's asleep, watching him:

Bernard, slowly opening his eyes: . . . WHAT THE F— Tim, why the hell are you awake!? It's... *looking over*... One in the morning!

Tim: Wanna test how effective my new birth control is?

Bernard:

Bernard: Hell yeah.

—

Tim, with one of those stupid chompy fish heads on a stick he got from the aquarium, battling with Bernard's:

Bernard, with his own stupid chompy shark head on a stick he also got from the aquarium, trying to chomp Tim's:

Tim: Wanna make them kiss?

Bernard: You're a genius!

—

Bruce, walking in: Tim, have you. . .

Tim, shirtless beneath Bernard:

Bernard, who has given Tim a hickey for every state if the United States and was working on the 51st:

Bruce, processing, then walking away: I've done worse. Use protection unless you want a mistake!

Tim: A baby or an STD!?

Bruce, closing the door: Both!

—

Bruce, scolding Dick and Jason: Why can't you boys just be more like Tim!?

Jason: An apathetic super villain in the making who wears the death shroud of others?

Dick: Wanted in three states and five countries?

Tim, walking into the cave in a "Daddy's Little Superhero" crop top— he got it from Harley— and a thermos full of monster energy, clicking on his phone contact that reads "Daddy" before putting it to his ear, walking past the three: Hey, Bernard!

Jason:

Dick:

Bruce:

—

Bernard, high off pain meds:

Tim, holding his hand: How're you feeling, Bern?

Bernard: . . . Who are you?

Tim: I'm your boyfriend.

Bernard, slowly looking him up and down: Damn.

Jason, kicking the door open: I was dragged here by Dickface, why?

Tim: Bernard was mugged on his way home from college and got stabbed, for your information.

Dick: How's he doing?

Bernard: I have a hot boyfriend.

Jason: We should check him for a concussion.

Dick: Jason, be nice! He nearly died.

Jason: I DID die.

Bernard, slowly reaching up to cup Tim's cheek: Hi.

Tim: Hi.

Bernard, whispering loudly: You look breedable.

Dick:

Jason: They have him on the good s&#$, huh?

Tim: Oh, no, this is how he usually... Actually, yeah, sure, it's the drugs.

—

Tim: Hey, Ber?

Bernard: Yeah?

Tim: You said before that I was your gay awakening, when did you know?

Bernard: . . . Probably when you took charge the day of the shooting, when Darla was dying. Made me realize a lot about myself, but especially the fact I love you.

Tim: Aw, sweet... Now the truth?

Bernard: The day we met and I realized how absolutely jacked you were. But, I did fall in love with you the day of the shooting, before that you were just jerk off material.

Tim, sarcastically: How romantic.

Bernard: I'll buy you more zesti..?

Tim, playfully: My Father warned me about men like you.

Bernard: Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne?

Tim: . . . Good point.

—

Tim: Bernard Dowd! Did you go online and, to the official Bruce Wayne account, operated by Bruce Wayne! And publically, declare you were, and I quote, "F#-%$ing your son and giving him a better Daddy than you ever were"!?

Bernard, fixing himself a drink: What did you want me to do after finding out about what he did to your sixteenth birthday party?

Tim: So far Wally West, Roy Harper, and somehow Koriand'r, have all congratulated you and invited you to their club? Steph added to it saying she's done the same to both his son and daughter.

Bernard: Has he responded yet?

Tim: Bear.

Bernard: Has he?

Tim: . . . He said he was gonna get your Mom pregnant and give her a son she'd actually be proud of.

Bernard, choking on his drink:

—

I hope this feeds you well :D

[igotanidea]

My level of messy: Jason Todd x reader

„What are you doing?”

A simple question dictated by unusual circumstances.

Any other Saturday morning, Y/N would be all over the place, huffing and puffing, cleaning the dust, vacuuming and doing all the things that usually came with weekly cleaning up the place.

That day, however, she was sitting on the couch, with something in her hands, looking –

Well it was hard to put it into words.

So he didn’t, instead plopping next to her, sending her a few inches up due to the impact.

“I’m re-reading my old journal.”

“Ok.” Jason nodded. The silence that fell after that acknowledgment was his attempt at giving her a chance to elaborate. “Aaaaaand? Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying!”

“Mhm. Same accusation, same answer every time.”

“I am not-“

“Y/n/n, we’ve been through it a million times before.” He rolled his eyes “save us both some time sweetheart, and explain it, so I can make it better for ya, huh?”

“You’re gonna laugh-“

“Mh. Yeah. Sure. I’m gonna laugh at my soon-to-be-fiancé watering her eyes out. This is how big she thinks of me. That’s just effing great!”

“Stop being dramatic and – wait. Whoa, whoa. Hold back. Rewind. Soon-to-be-fiancé?”

“Not the point. Why are you crying?”

“I’m not-“

“Ah!” Jason groaned and before she realized what was happening she was being held down on the couch, with him hovering over her like a freaking predator with dangerously glistening eyes, tickling her side.

“Jason!”

“Talk or I’ll hold you captive forever.” His fingers were mercilessly rubbing her side making her giggle.

“But I am literally not crying now!”

“Talk!”

“Will you let go first?”

“No.”

“But-“

“Talk!”

“God!” she groaned, trying to wriggle and make herself a little more comfortable

“I mean it, princess, talk or-“

“You do realize your threats have no effect on – AAH! Ah! Stop! Fine! Fine, I’ll talk, just stop tickling!”

“Good girl. Now – what is the reason behind you trying to make yourself unhappy huh?” he brushed away tears from her cheeks, helping her sit up, now having made sure she won’t deflect anymore.

“It’s just – “ she sighed “do you ever feel like hugging your younger self?”

“Hugging my-“

“Don’t look so shocked. Do you? Actually, you know what, do not answer that question, it’s stupid-“

“Yeah.” He cut her off with one word, letting himself be vulnerable for a moment.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do feel like – well – maybe not hugging but at least saying some nice shit to that rascal.”

“Right…”

“I see a piece of my past self in every kid I stumble upon in the Crime Alley.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Big bad red hood getting all emotional. See what you did to me?”

“Well, for the record, it’s your fault. We were talking about me and then you just hijacked the conversation, acting like you’re a victim or something – “

“You’re so selfish, did I tell you that?”

“Not today, no.”

“Well, you’re selfish princess.”

“I am but a lady in distress and you refuse to help a lady in distress with offering a strong arm.”

“I’m not prince charming, Y/n/n. I am Red Hood.”

“You could be a red prince charming?”

“If you’re hinting at Deadpool, then let me tell you not a benchmark when it comes to Disney princes.”

She laughed softly, her mood becoming a little better, just by this banter, any outside would deem mean and harsh on both of their parts.

“Fine. Fine, have it your way” he raised hands in surrender. “What were you crying about – oh, wait, you call me inconsiderate but I think I actually did ask you that before-“

“I can’t remember.” She chuckled.

“You can’t remember why you were crying?” Jason frowned a little, sensing some sort of trap

“Yes.”

“Um… no?”

“Um… is this one of those situations when you pretend to have temporary sclerosis and then remind me of the tiny mistake I made a year ago on Monday, at 11.25?

“No!” she chuckled again “No, I’m being serious, I can’t remember. Wanna know why?”

“Because every time I feel down and like I’m a mess you come around and – “

“- prove to you that there’s a whole other level of being a mess?”

“NO!” she patted his chest in mock offense “will you let me finish the sentence!”

“Stop this domestic violence at once, young lady.” Her wrist ended up in his grip and away from any possibility of him getting abused again.

“- you come around and you prove to me that all you need in life is a person who matches  your kind of messy and crazy.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s called a partner in crime-“

“Ugh! You’re so dense! This is a whole different thing!” she opposed, becoming a little agitated, missing the obvious point that Jason was just messing with her in sheer selfish pleasure of seeing her eyes sparkle with mirth and her cheeks flushing.

“Y/N.”

“Why can’t you just understand that I’m trying to say—”

“I get it”

“No, no you don’t!” she wriggled against his hold

“Hey! Hey, stop it! Stop! Look at me!” his hands moved from her wrist to cupping her face. “I get it. Really. I know what you’re saying and I think –“

“Yeah?” she looked deep into his eyes.

“I think you’re my kind of mess too. And I think we match.”

“Like on Tinder?” she grinned pushing her luck

“God you’re impossible!!”

Yeah. So maybe it truly was about finding and keeping the person who was on the same level of craziness. The one who would understand that sometimes, healing trauma was about laughing at it and finding a way to move on with that laughter on the lips.  

[moki-dokie]

While I enjoy the snark I think it's worth addressing some of the concerns in that ask that may not be so obvious.

If blood is getting "everywhere" and has come to the point it's drying and pulling against the hair - you need to change your pad much more often or perhaps use a different brand that's more absorbent. The hygiene issue here is your pad usage, not the hair. Just because it's recommended to change them every 3-4 hours doesn't mean you can't do it sooner. If the pad is saturated and/or is not absorbing the blood, change it. Yeah it sucks going through so many pads sometimes but stewing in old blood is far more unhealthy for you than any amount of hair could be. (and the mere fact they mentioned it drying out at all is... worrisome. Like, shit's already extra moist on your period, pads tend to trap a fuckton of heat which makes it extra extra moist. How fucking long are you leaving your pad on to have that much blood dried on you anon?!)

If you're a heavy bleeder, consider carrying a travel pack of baby/wet wipes with you to help clean up a little more than dry toilet paper can until you can get home and wash up properly. Trust me those are a lifesaver if you're working a super long shift or might be out and unable to bathe for a while on your period.

If it's just annoying to deal with, then I'd recommend trimming just a bit. I do this because the natural discharge getting gunked up in hair between washes is a million times more annoying than blood, in my opinion.

Consider getting a bidet at home. They are extremely affordable and super easy to attach these days and there are some designed specifically for feminine hygiene. If you can't be assed to take a bath/shower then at least you can rinse off in the interim.

hair itself has never been a hygiene issue. we would not have kept hair in certain places in our evolution if it was detrimental to health and thus survival. It's how one cares for the hair that matters. The same exact way that long fur on your cat or dog is fine - unless they aren't grooming themselves properly (or the owner is failing to if the animal can't.) in which case it will start to get nasty.

Anyway if you really want to get into it, shaving, no matter how good your blade, causes microabrasions and microlacerations. though microscopic, these openings are all bacteria need to cause infections. you're also going to be far more prone to ingrown hairs, which can get bad enough to need surgical intervention. While waxing doesn't leave you with so many open wounds, it still leaves your follicles susceptible to bacteria growth and still carries the ingrown hair risk. And then the stuff like Nair carries a crazy high risk of chemical burn and/or allergic reaction. Hair removal, no matter how, is infinitely worse for you than just being hairy.

This is true of facial hair, too. I've heard it a thousand times before that people think beards/mustaches are unhygienic because of all the shit that can get trapped in them. that, again, is only true if you aren't washing and grooming properly - which is the basic fucking premise of hygiene.

so while yes, any hairy area can get unhygienic, it is the fault of the person not washing themselves rather than the fault of the hair. it's such a wildly stupid take to ever consider hair itself as unhygienic when our closest living relatives are some shaggy ass motherfuckers and miraculously they keep themselves clean.

just. groom yourself. and ffs change your pad more frequently.

This isn’t immediately relevant to me, I was just curious. I’ve seen people talking about how pubic hair doesn’t make you unhygienic or less clean, and for the most part I agree. However, I started shaving mine bc of periods, as the blood gets everywhere and pulls my pubic hair, which sucks to clean. I don’t have periods anymore, but I was just wondering if it actually contradicts the “not unhygienic” part or if I was just doing something wrong? I can’t imagine that having dried blood near your genitals is… clean

I am going to run a concept by you called "bathing" and the more advanced technique "washing your pubic hair"

[batboysanonymous]

Not in Love (Except I Am)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: It wasn’t love. It was convenience. It was comfort. It was stolen shirts and shared beds and the way his gaze lingered when he thought she wouldn’t notice. Y/n had convinced herself of that, until the night Azriel stopped believing her.

Based on the song: No I'm not in love by Tate McRae

Swear I'm only sleeping at your house six times in one week, 'cause it's convenient.

Y/n wasn’t in love with Azriel. At least, that’s what she told herself. Every single night she spent tangled in his sheets. Every morning she woke up wrapped in his shadows, with his scent clinging to her skin long after she left his townhouse.

She wasn’t in love with him. She couldn’t be.

Only kinda dressing like you now, 'cause your clothes, they fit me — and that's good reason, oh yeah.

She wore his shirts because they were soft, oversized, smelled like cedar and clean air and a little bit like his laugh, rare, warm, and private.

She crashed at his house because it was closer, and she didn’t feel like flying home, and maybe because his bed felt safer than her own. She learned all the lyrics to the songs he hummed under his breath because they were catchy.

Not because they reminded her of him.

Not because every little piece of him had embedded itself so deep in her bones that she wasn’t sure where she ended and he began.

I told you one, two, three times, don't you read into us. Every friend of mine, I told them the same: No, I am not in love. I am not thinkin' 'bout you.

She told Gwyn. She told Emerie. She told herself.

I’m not in love with him.

And every time Azriel’s hazel eyes met hers with that soft, patient, knowing look, the one he only ever gave her, she repeated it in her head like a prayer.

The sun's not gonna come up, and I don't hate every girl your eyes go to.

She didn’t flinch when he flirted with someone at Rita’s. She didn’t notice when other females looked at him with longing. She didn’t care. Except… she did.

I am not in love. Sky has never been blue.

She never let herself wonder what it would be like if he kissed her. What it would feel like to press her mouth to the words she could never say out loud.

What it would be like to wake up next to him and not have to leave before dawn, pretending nothing happened.

Until the night everything unraveled.

It was late. A bottle of wine half-empty between them, his shadows curling lazily around their intertwined legs. Her head rested on his shoulder, his breath stirring the hair near her temple.

"Cassian tried to convince Nesta to spar without warming up," she murmured. Azriel chuckled, low and rough. "He’s either brave or stupid." "Definitely stupid." She tilted her face up, close enough to count the freckles across his nose. Her heart ached.

Only singing to your songs like, 'Uh' — we got the same taste, that ain't my fault.

"You’re tired," he murmured. "So are you." He didn’t argue.

They went upstairs without speaking. She slipped into his shirt — the gray one that was soft from too many washes, that smelled the most like him — and crawled into his bed. He joined her, the mattress dipping under his weight, his arm finding her waist as naturally as breathing.

If I slip and I somehow say it, you should know in advance I'm wasted.

She lay awake long after his breathing deepened, staring at the ceiling. Not in love. Not in love.

But the words didn’t stick anymore.

Morning came too soon. His body was pressed against hers, his face buried in her hair. She slipped out of bed and padded to the kitchen, needing space, air, anything but the crushing weight of the truth she couldn’t admit.

She didn’t hear him come in until his hand brushed her shoulder. "Y/n?" His voice was sleep-rough. She didn’t turn. "Go back to bed, Az."

He stepped closer. "What’s going on?" Her hands clenched the countertop. "I couldn’t sleep." A lie. He knew it. "You’ve been quiet lately. Distant." "I’ve been busy." Another lie.

He exhaled slowly. "You don’t have to do that with me. You know that, right?" She swallowed. "There’s nothing to talk about." "There’s everything to talk about."

She turned then, her chest tight. His eyes searched hers. Gentle. Devastating. "Y/n…what are we doing?" he whispered.

She broke. "We’re friends, Azriel. We’re friends who…who sometimes blur the lines. But that’s all." His jaw clenched. "Is that what you want?" "It’s what it has to be." "Why?" Because if I fall for you and you don’t catch me, I will never survive it.

He stepped forward, cupping her cheek. His thumb brushed away a tear she hadn’t noticed falling. "I think you’re lying."

Her breath hitched. "I’m not." "Y/n." His voice cracked. "Stop pretending. Stop hiding. Just…tell me the truth."

She shook her head violently. "I can’t." He rested his forehead against hers. "I love you," he whispered. She sobbed. "Az…" "I love you. I’ve been in love with you for so long, I don’t remember what it feels like not to be."

Her heart shattered. "Why didn’t you say anything?" He laughed bitterly. "Because every time I looked at you, you were wearing my shirt, sleeping in my bed, but telling me we were just friends. I didn’t want to lose you. Not even to honesty."

I am not in love, I am not thinkin' 'bout you. The sun's not gonna come up, and I don't hate every girl your eyes go to.

She trembled in his arms. "I thought if I said it out loud, I’d ruin everything." He tilted her chin up. "You could never ruin anything. Not with me."

I am not in love. Sky has never been blue.

She choked out a laugh. "The sky has never been bluer than it is right now." And then he kissed her. Soft at first. Reverent. Like she was something precious. Then deeper. Fierce. Desperate. Years of longing, of buried feelings, all spilling out at once.

They broke apart only when air became necessary. "Az," she whispered. He rested his forehead against hers, breath ragged. "Tell me you don’t feel the same, and I’ll let you go. I swear it. But if you do…don’t lie to me. Please."

She closed her eyes, the words tearing free from where they’d been trapped for far too long. "I love you. I think I’ve always loved you."

His breath shuddered out of him, and then he was kissing her again, spinning her in his arms, both of them laughing through their tears.

No, I'm not in love, not, not. Why would you think that? Why would you think that?

She pressed her forehead to his. "We’re idiots, you know." He grinned. "The biggest ones in Prythian."

She kissed him again, slow and soft, like a promise. "I’m not going anywhere, Az." "Good. Because I plan on loving you for a very, very long time."

I am not in love, not, not. I am not in love, love, love. Why would you think that? Why would you think that?

And for the first time, they both admitted what they’d known all along.

They’d never stood a chance.

Taglist: @willowpains, @masbt1218, @antonia002, @bookishcait, @fuckingsimp4azriel, @fanficscuziranout, @buttermilktea11, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff,  @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch,  @okaytrashpanda, @mariaxliliana, @kksbookstuff, @marina468

Want to join my tag list? Drop a comment or check out this link to submit a specific series you would like tagged in! (Or if you just don't want to comment, that's okay too)

[themilfsland]

Here we go again | chapter 2

Pairing(s): Wanda Maximoff X female!reader

Summary: Your path keeps colliding with Wanda, making you wonder if she feels the same way you do or if she even remembers anything. You will have to wait for an answer.

Words count: 2.9k

warning: none

A/n: I tried to make something different with the narrative, so I add some parts as Wanda's POV, but mostly is readers. Please coment if this way is confused/boring, then I can change for the next chapters.

The song lyrics for this chapter is "Angel Eyes" - ABBA

fic menu / chapter 1

"Wanda?"

Her face was expressionless. if she was surprised to see you there, she hid her reaction very well.

"Y/n! What a surprise to see you here!" — she smiled, but her expression remained unreadable. — "Well, let's not keep you waiting. Let me check your room and help with your luggage."

Check-in was done, and Wanda offered a tour of the place—it was truly stunning - the restaurant, the lounge, the game room, and even a cozy little library. Every room had large windows, letting natural light flood in while the fresh breeze played with the curtains.

There was only one problem in that paradise—Wanda. You were trying your hardest to act normal in that situation, but you were probably failing miserably with your awkward smile. On the other hand, Wanda seemed completely at ease, as if running into you didn’t affect her at all—and deep down, that was bothering you.

"Alright, here’s your room." — She handed you the key, and as you reached for it, your fingers brushed against hers. You wondered if she felt the same thing you did. — "This room is great, it has a beautiful view of the sea. I hope you enjoy your stay. If you need anything, I’ll be at the front desk."

Just as she was about to leave, your curiosity won over, and the words escaped your mouth before you could stop them.

"Wanda"

"Hm? Yes?"

"So, you moved? Are you living here now?"

"Oh, yes. Not too far from home, right? But yes, I've been living here. Not too long ago, though." — Her voice saying "home" kept echoing in your head.

You didn’t know what to say, and she didn’t seem to be in the mood for conversation either.

"Well, that's good for you, I guess…"

"Yeah, thanks. I’ll be on my way then, got other things to do. See you around." — She turned, indicating that the conversation was finished.

--

"Okaay, what was that?" — Yelena said, closing the door to the room. You threw the luggage on the floor and headed for the balcony door, needing to breathe.

"Y/n, talk to me. It's her, right? Wanda?" — She followed you to the balcony. — "Well, you have good taste, she's really beautiful."

"Shut up, Yelena!" — You kept your back turned to her.

"Ok, ok, sorry. But it’s not my fault you didn’t have any more pictures of her to show me, so I had to use my imagination. Anyway, she surprised me."

The one time you confided in her about your romantic history with Wanda, you had to leave out some details and tell a few little lies, like saying you didn’t have any photos of her anymore — lies. Now, you felt a sharp twinge of guilt for not being completely honest with your best friend. Maybe it wasn’t just with her that you hadn’t been truthful — perhaps you weren’t being honest with yourself, either.

"If you don’t want to talk, that’s okay too." — She stayed by your side. — "You know, I just want to help you."

You turned to her, locking eyes. — "Then we’re leaving." — You replied firmly, your steps heavy as you made your way toward the room.

"What? No, no, Y/n!" — She grabbed your arm. — "Look at me. You’re not thinking straight. Breathe. Come on, with me." — She started breathing deeply, guiding you to follow her rhythm.

After a few deep breaths, the two of you sat down on the bed.

"So… do you want to talk now?"

You let out a deep sigh. — "I don’t know what to say. It’s her, in the flesh, it’s Wanda."

"Alright… it's her… but you have to remember that what happened between you two is in the past. You’ve moved on, and so has she. You’re both adults now."

"But… but…" — Your words seemed to be trapped in your throat, a wave of frustration and anger starting to course through your veins. — "Did you see how she reacted when she saw me? I looked like a stranger to her. This is ridiculous. I should’ve known from the start that she was like this. I was too pathetic to believe her words. We made plans together!! And then, in my last attempt when things got harder, I went to her house, but that guy, the son of the owner of the place where her family set up their business, told me she didn’t want to see me and had already made her decision. So…"

"Wait, what?" — Yelena interrupted you. — "You never told me about that last part."

"No? Well, maybe because it’s too humiliating. My clown face, staring at that boy — her future boyfriend. Everything was planned, and I was the one who didn’t fit into her story. The worst part was having to hear her last words through his mouth."

"I'm so sorry, Y/n. I didn’t know." — She held your hand. — "Those were her choices, not yours. Whether she regrets it or remembers that time, it’s not for you to know. But you can’t let her affect you like this. She’s in the past."

Yelena's words felt like thorns, but deep down, you knew they were the truth, and she only wanted what was best for you.

"Thank you, Yelena. I needed to hear that. It’s just… it hurts to remember all the good times when I thought I could never live without her."

"Oh, little thing, I know, heartbreaks aren’t easy. But you’re strong, a determined person. And we’re here in this amazing place to have fun and make the most of it." — She said, standing up and pulling you with her. —"Come on, positive energy. No sad faces. Whether Wanda is happy or not, that’s not our problem. Our focus is on us." — She started walking toward the door, holding your hand to make sure you followed. — "Let’s grab something to eat and check out the beach. The next few days will be great, I promise."

---

POV Wanda

Agatha jumped out of her chair as she heard the door being violently thrown open.

"She’s here, she is fucking here."

Another loud noise as the door slammed shut.

Wanda’s body seemed to dissolve like sand onto the couch in the hotel’s office. Agatha remained motionless, sitting behind her desk — she was the owner and manager of the place, and during her free time, she also indulged her talents by mixing drinks at the bar. Her eyes were fixed on Wanda, so confused that she couldn’t say a single word.

She probably said something else, but it was impossible to understand the muffled sound through the pillow.

"Okay, okay, what’s going on? And who is she?" — Agatha stood up and walked toward the sofa.

More muffled and incomprehensible sounds. Agatha rolled her eyes and pulled the pillow completely off Wanda’s face.

"Wow, your face looks terrible. I guess 'she' must be a ghost you just saw." — Wanda let out another frustrating grunt and covered her face with her hands. — "Ok, sorry. Something bad happened. I’m all ears. Tell me." — She pulled Wanda's hands away, now staring at her.

"She’s here. It’s Y/n, she’s here at the hotel."

"Wait a minute. Y/n??? You mean that big love of yours?"

"Shut up. She’s not my great love. She’s ridiculous. She left me, don’t you remember what I told you???"

"Yeah, yeah, I remember. You were in love and made plans for the future, but then she told your guy she was leaving and didn’t even want to speak to you directly."

"Yes, she left me, and no, Vision is not my man. Please, you know that whole other story with all the details, we don’t need to talk about it again."

"I know, I know, my bad. I just want to say that you made great memories with Y/n and then with Vision, and both are in your past. There’s no reason for this to shake you now, you’ve moved on, and I’m really proud of you."

"Thank you, Agatha. But why would she be here? Exactly here?"

"Hmm, I don't know… This is a tourist spot, anyone could come here. Is she alone?"

"No… there’s another woman with her."

"Oh, so it's a honeymoon."

"What? Are you crazy? They’re not together like that, why would they be a couple???"

Agatha noticed the shift in Wanda's tone of voice.

"I don’t know. Maybe because this is a place couples usually visit? And what if they were a couple? Didn’t you say you didn’t want to know about her anymore and that you didn’t care? It seemed to me like you had gotten over her years ago."

"Of course, I’ve gotten over her, and honestly, her personal life doesn’t interest me."

The seconds of silence felt eternal. Wanda sat down on the sofa, now next to Agatha. A sigh of frustration escaped her.

"Alright, no bad mood here. I know seeing her again made your heart tremble a little, and there’s no point in denying it, I know you. But I won’t force you to open up about your feelings right now, you need to breathe a bit."

Agatha stood up, pulling Wanda’s hands to get her to stand as well.

"Let’s go buy some sweets for you to eat."

"You know, something with alcohol would be more welcome right now."

Agatha let out a laugh as she walked toward the office door. — "First of all, I believe it's still too early to drink, and second, I think you forgot the simple detail that you can’t do that." — She left the door open, signalling for Wanda to follow her.

"Ugh, sometimes you’re so boring."

---

"Everything here is perfectly perfect. I feel like I’m in a summer movie." — Yelena said, walking beside you while swinging a shopping bag — this is what she said she wouldn’t spend too much on during the trip. — "Now I get the feeling you have about this place."

"See? I’m always right." — You winked at her. — "I’m just looking forward to seeing you wear that hat you just bought. It’s so out of your style."

"Are you mocking me? I can't believe it, what a terrible friend you are!!!" — She pulled the hat out of the bag and put it on her head. — "See? This is style." — She struck a pose. — "It’s not just you and your love who have a beach vibe."

You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms. — "Honestly, Yelena. Can you just be quiet for one second?" — You knew she was just playing around, but deep inside, your mind brought back images of you and Wanda watching the sunset by the beach. It was a nice memory, and you allowed yourself to enjoy the warm feeling that came with it.

"Where's your sense of humor? I feel like my best friend got swapped out on this trip. Come on, Y/n, you’re not like this. Just relax."

Before you could respond, she pointed ahead and said, — "Ice cream!! Let’s get some. Look, I’ll grab that table for us to sit at, you make the order." — Not giving you a chance to argue, she headed toward the table. — "Find a refreshing flavour for me, like some natural fruit, lemon or mango, I don’t know. Just pick something tasty."

--

You placed your order and stood waiting by the counter. Your thoughts were calmer now. The walk and fresh air had really done you good. Even though it wasn’t your hometown, you felt welcome, almost as if you were at home. The view of the sea, the tranquillity, people laughing and having fun – it was your place of peace.

Thinking of your hometown brought Wanda to your memory. You tried to focus on the good moments—the first date, the walks together on the beach, the meals you cooked together, everything when it was still good, just you and her. But then, your memories unravelled as your vision adjusted to the sight of Wanda right there in front of you.

"Oh, hi there." Her voice was soft as if it was meant only for you to hear.

It took you a few seconds to process that she was actually standing there in front of you and not just a figment of your imagination. Her scent was the same as always—the smell you had once been addicted to. She was closer now, even more so than when you had met earlier. You could see every detail of her face—your eyes tracing every feature, like watching a favourite old movie replaying. Soon, a wave of sadness washed over you, mixed with a bitter tinge of anger—bad memories consuming you. How was she able to make you feel all the good and bad things at once?

"Are you okay?" Her voice again reminded you that you hadn’t responded. "Don't tell me you're remapping the stars." She let out a soft laugh, easing the tension in the air.

That phrase made your stomach twist—"remapping the stars"—it was what you always said to her whenever you found yourself admiring her face - when her face was so close to yours. And sometimes, your fingers would trace her skin, caressing every part: her lips, her eyebrows, her mouth, her nose. Every touch of yours, you said you were mapping the stars.

Why did she say that? Does she remember everything like you do? But how unfair and painful it was for her to say that to you. You swallowed hard, feeling your throat tighten. You forced yourself to give the bare minimum of a response, acting as if it hadn’t affected you at all.

"I'm waiting for the ice cream that Yelena ordered."

"Oh, of course."

You noticed how her expression and mood shifted suddenly. Then, you found yourself questioning what could have caused this change—was it because you mentioned your friend's name? Is she imagining things about you two? Or is it you who’s imagining things?

The uncomfortable silence was broken when the attendant appeared at the counter holding an ice cream.

"Vanilla with chocolate chips? Whose order is this?"

"It’s hers." You said without thinking, so spontaneously that it even surprised you.

The attendant handed her the ice cream, she took it- a surprised glance came your way.

"How did you know?"

"Oh, um, I guess your favourite flavour hasn’t changed then." You forced a laugh to lighten the moment.

She just nodded. "See you around, then. Bye."

---

"Sooo… aren't you going to tell me?" Yelena said, savouring her ice cream.

"Tell you what?" You tried to play dumb.

"Seriously, y/n? I saw everything."

"Everything? What did you see then?"

"Are you playing the fool? Alright then, I saw you talking to Wanda and the way you were looking at her." She raised an eyebrow as if challenging you.

"And what kind of look would that be?"

"Okay, look, if you don’t want to talk about what just happened, we can stop here. I’m just trying to help and understand." Her dry tone definitely irritated you. "But I saw your look to her like you were going through a whirlwind of emotions all at once."

"It’s just… I… she… it’s totally her fault! Did you look into her angel eyes?? one look and you're hypnotized." You tried to justify yourself, but as soon as the words left your mouth, you immediately regretted it.

"Wow, are you trying to justify yourself, or are you convincing me that you still have feelings for her? I’m confused now."

You took a deep breath, trying to understand your feelings—the truth was, you didn’t know the real answer to her question.

"I don't know, it's just that every time I see her, will it bring back all the pain?"

You sounded sincere, and Yelena nodded, giving you the space to organize your thoughts.

---

POV Wanda

"Perfect, Agatha. Of all the places here, she was there, making an order."

"This time, you can't blame me. It was you who wanted ice cream, and here we are."

"Okay, but why didn’t you come wait with me? You said you were coming right behind."

"I know, but then I saw you start interacting with someone — y/n. So I thought it was better not to intervene."

Wanda stopped walking, standing still and staring at Agatha with her arms crossed.

"Honestly? The conversation seemed to be going well between you two. What happened in the end?"

"What happened? I don’t know, she was just there waiting for her order—the ice cream for that other girl." - Wanda emphasized mentioning Yelena, and Agatha noticed.

"So, are you jealous? You don’t even know that other girl properly."

"I’m not jealous!!! And I don’t care about that other girl or anything. I don’t care, okay? Even though she always used to look at me that way. I guess it’s a game she likes to play."

"Okay, Wanda. If you say so. And honestly, maybe you’re seeing things that aren’t there. Maybe it’s your heart speaking this time."

Wanda chose not to continue the conversation. She ignored Agatha and turned, heading back to the hotel. She savoured her ice cream—her favourite flavour, vanilla with chocolate chips. The last words of her friend replayed in her mind—heart? Oh silly and fool heart. "She took my heart, now I must pay the price," Wanda whispered to herself.

Taglist:

@starrycherie ; @raven-ss ; @swaqcenix ; @milflovers4

[softsunnyy]

🚨 choking, gagging, oral sex, dom! Quinn, two people obsessed, but this time it's Quinn who's crazier. Quinn is controlling, jealous, aggressive. He almost uses your other hole. Description of your body being hurt, but it's all consensual. Cockwarming, and i think that's it. If i forgot anything, I'M SORRY 🚨

poorly written, but this time i'll blame my hand

@ruinix , because u loved it, i hope you enjoy a new part of this <33

today you arrived at your dorm a little later than usual. It wasn't really your fault, since one of your classmates stopped you to ask you something, and he wouldn't stop talking, even though you told him you were short on time. The problem is, you know he won't care.

oh, and don't even try to explain that it was a boy who made you late.

you know what awaits you as soon as you open the door. It's quiet, and you get goosebumps because the place is really cold. You tried to look for him, but he wasn't anywhere visible, so you know exactly where to go.

your feet guide you before you can think twice, and your body feels frozen as you stand in front of your bedroom door. You internally debate whether it's best to open it calmly, or if you should walk in completely guilty.

you can't come up with an answer when the door opens in front of you and you see him. He looks at you angrily, desperately. He's not happy with you because you should have arrived 20 minutes ago.

do you know how desperate he got when you didn't arrive? when you didn't answer his call until ten minutes later than you were supposed to leave your class?

he doesn't even want to know what you were doing; he wants to see you suffer, for worrying him, for messing up the schedule he knew. For not being there and leaving him waiting with his cock aching and ready to be served and devoured.

“what the fuck are you waiting for?” his voice makes you jump, nervous, feeling small under his eyes. You move before even processing what he asked, leaving your things on the floor and starting to undress for him, as you'd learned lately.

since the first time, there hasn't been a day that he doesn't wait for you in your room, ready to take you in every way you could imagine. And he was training you, so you would know how to be good for him, so you would know how to behave around him.

and he just watches you, slightly satisfied at the sight of you on your knees on the bed, your body completely naked, at his disposal as it should be.

it's then that you see him unbutton his pants, pulling them down slowly, too slow for your liking, continuing with his underwear, freeing his cock, which stood proud, mad, red, with veins decorating its length.

and you wait for him, trying not to rub your legs together, trying to ignore the heat the sight of him causes you, because you know better.

when he stands in front of you, you wait for his instruction, opening your mouth. “You’re gonna suck my cock until i get bored, and i don’t wanna hear a single complaint about it.” you nod, and he brings his member to your lips, letting you put it inside your mouth at your own pace. His hand went to your hair, grabbing a handful so he could control your actions.

you start to push his length in slowly, but he loses patience midway and just thrusts, shoving the entire length into your mouth, making you gag, which makes him smile. Soon he started moving, thrusting in and out of your mouth while you tried to use your tongue, feeling the saliva drip down your chin and wet your body, leaving a disgusting trail of drool down your thighs.

gagging prevents him from fully entering each time, so your hand helps, masturbating what wouldn’t fit, going at the same speed as your mouth, listening to Quinn’s grunts.

“doing so good for me” he tugged on your hair, making you moan, which made his cock throb “Such a good whore” He threw his head back for a moment, enjoying how you tried to suck, to lick, to swallow his entire length, trying to make him enjoy it so he could forgive you.

and even though you don't say it, your pussy is dripping just from watching him enjoy himself, which motivates you even more, because you want to be noticed. You want him to bury himself inside you and tear at your walls until he reminds you why you must follow the rules. You want him to use your body and fill you until your hole can't take any more of his cum, until your body is completely stained with his fluids.

but when you made him cum, he didn't stop, he didn't let you stop. He kept thrusting into your mouth without slowing down, making you moan in protest, since you had barely been able to swallow his cum, choking a little on it, and making you need some air. However, he isn't going to give it to you, because he loves the way your eyes fill with tears and your face turns red.

he's getting overstimulated, but he doesn't care. He wants to fill your mouth again and again, until you can't swallow it anymore. And even though you cry and try to push him away, your hand keeps moving, continuing to caress his cock until you feel it harden like before.

and Quinn takes advantage, because he knows you'll do as he tells you, so he keeps cumming, even though his legs are shaking, even though his cock aches, and even though he sees the way you're desperate, barely able to breathe, remnants of his cum at the edges of your mouth, and you're rubbing yourself against the blankets so you can get some attention on your pussy.

“are you gonna cum like that? i haven't even touched you.” and you know it, which makes you moan, as pathetic as you look, and reaching your climax just like that, moaning so loudly that he had to take a second because it felt so good.

and your jaw aches, your wrist aches like never before because you´ve been jerking him off so quickly, but you don't want to stop. You want to suck him dry, until he has nothing left to give.

however, he still wanted to be inside you, so after cumming one last time, he pulled his cock out of your mouth, enjoying the way you gasped, trying to fill your lungs again, coughing a little, which caused some of his cum to stain your chin.

he didn't let you clean yourself up, and ordered you to lie face down and ass up, which you obeyed without a second thought. When you moved, you let him see the huge stain you'd left on your bed, proof of your intense orgasm, brought on just by watching him enjoy himself. And when he looked at your pussy, it glistened, smelling strongly of your arousal and soaked in your fluids.

he couldn't resist it, and before getting behind you, he leaned in to lick between your lips, tasting you. This made you whimper, and your body moved back, trying to feel him a little more. But that wasn't what he wanted, so he pulled away, stood behind you, and took his cock to rub it against your pussy.

he hit your clit with his tip, then thrust, forcing his way between your walls until he reached the deepest part of you. He ripped the air from your lungs, and didn't even give you time to compose yourself, penetrating in and out, hammering into you, placing his hands on your waist for more stability, and seeing the marks he'd left on your body the previous days.

his hands are marked on your ass cheeks, in now-purple bruises that made it painful to sit down. Your thighs are riddled with bites that burned too much the first few days. Your back is riddled with hickeys, and your waist is bruised from his fingers.

it looked like a crime scene, and he loved how it looked on you, and knowing that he did it, knowing that he marked you like that.

he was going so fast that one of your hands went to your back, trying to push him to slow down, but he just grabbed it, preventing you from moving, and making the pain in your wrist worse.

you moaned, you cried, you begged him, but he wasn't going to stop, and you knew it.

that's when he decided to ask the question you least wanted to answer, and the one that made you start to panic. You couldn't lie to him, because he'd know.

“where were you?” he questioned, leaning against your back, murmuring against your ear, still bruising your gummy walls from how hard he was moving.

“i…” you tried to think of a response, but it was impossible, and the knot forming in your stomach made it even harder “what?” you whimpered.

he tightened his grip on your wrist, knowing the pain would bring you back to reality. “Where were you?” He asked again, more impatient.

“i…” you sobbed, unable to think coherently. “I’m sorry, a boy…” you whimpered, not thinking for a moment about what you were saying. “A boy… stopped me.” You tried to breathe, but it was nearly impossible, and your lungs burned. “He wanted to ask me something about the class.”

you couldn't answer more than that, but it wasn't important. From the moment you mentioned a boy, Quinn's mind went red. His hands tightened on your body, squeezing some of the bruises and your wrist, making you moan in pain and pleasure. And anger flooded his mind again, causing the hand holding your wrist to let go, moving to your neck, which he grabbed brutally, squeezing, cutting off your breath, making you gasp desperately.

"a boy? you left me waiting for a boy?" his thrusts slowed, making you want to complain. However, they went deeper, kissing your cervix, repeatedly hitting the depths of your tight pussy.

you shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks and your face bright red from the lack of air.

“no? but i think that's exactly what you just told me.” He sighed, feigning disappointment to make you feel bad, then released your neck, making you bury your face in the bed, panting loudly, trying to regain oxygen.

he continued moving slowly, and he straightened again, watching carefully the way he went in and out of you, thinking about his next actions. It was then that he pulled out of you, slamming your pussy with his cock again a couple of times, then with his hand, harder this time, dry, watching your fluids spurt in the process.

“Quinn!” you cried, trying to move away, though his other hand prevented you. He continued, watching your pussy turn red and irritated, until enough was enough.

when he guided his cock again, he decided to tease you, brushing against your other hole, making your eyes widen, surprised, and panicked.

“Quinn…” He inhaled, having to hold back his desires for a moment, and thrust into your pussy in one swift thrust.

“not today,” he said, more to himself, resuming his wild, animal movements, hearing the bedpost hit the wall.

the two of you didn't last long, and when you came, it was intense and loud. You drenched his cock with your fluids, making an even bigger mess. And he followed soon after, staining your walls white, marking you as his once again. Reminding you who you belong to.

he let you recover for a couple of minutes, without leaving you, and then he moved, adjusting you on the bed so he could lie behind you, hugging you and pressing himself against your body, still with his cock, now soft, inside you.

“i’m sorry,” you apologized, and he knew you meant for being late.

“don’t do it again. I got worried when you didn’t answer,” he sighed, relaxing at the scent of your hair. “I'm sorry too. I think i left a nasty mark on your neck.”

you just smiled, secretly enjoying it. Knowing everyone would look at you and know you belonged to him, that you’ve been put in your place.

they’d know someone was teaching you how to be good.

“it's okay,” you yawned, so you moved a little closer to his body, cuddling. “Goodnight.”

“goodnight, pretty girl”

[waynes-multiverse]

Finally doing my commentary here ❤️‍🔥 I really needed some time to even digest everything this masterpiece had to offer. And one particular part has even haunted me since then and has popped up multiple times during random chores lol. Truly shows how impactful this was ☺️🫶

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

Well... It takes two to tango, buddy. I think you can lighten up lol

Apparently, condoms are fragile little shits.

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.

Much like her, I fully freaked out at that part!!! Like, wtf, man!!! And all the while, my mind also went: "Well, he's surely gonna end it with Lisa now. It's the most logical conclusion." But NOPE! Our boy went a different way 😂

And I think it totally makes sense since he's still so freaking young!!! (He honestly reminded me of Buck in 911 lol – Idk if you watch it but he was very much a player firefighter like Dean) Essentially, they're both babies having another baby. It's already hard when you're a couple, but both of them being separate entities through this in a way makes it even harder. Although they try to be a unity, it's completely different since Dean isn't gonna be there 24/7 (which he also fully realizes the extent of it when she starts dating Benny).

But man, I wanted to slap him left and right, shake him awake, and tell him to get his head outta his goddamn ass 😆

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.

I was the exact same 😂😂 I still make my son most of his food myself instead of store bought (like apple sauce, bread, cookies etc.) ❤️

Now at seven months into your pregnancy, you’ve gotten to the embarrassing “waddle” stage.

Felt that lmao. Luckily, Robbie didn't sit on her ischiatic nerve and numbed half her leg too 🙄 I felt like a pinguin who got ran over by a truck 😂

“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.

Instantly knew where you were going with this. Probably the moment I started to brace myself and put my seatbelt on for this ride 🤣

Aw, poor Benny, who had probably wanted to go out with her since the wedding and then sadly realized Dean got there first 🥲

“I stopped drinking coffee for the baby. ”

Oooh, Alex, super important to know for you if you're ever going down the pregnant route: You're allowed a 12oz cup (up to 200 mg daily). Enjoy that coffee in the morning, girl 😏☕️

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.

Still love that her water broke in the middle of class lmao. This was honestly a big fear of mine whenever I went outside during that last stretch 😂

“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.

My God, I hated it so much that Lisa thought it was a good idea to come and then pick a stupid fight, drawing Dean's entire attention away from such an important moment. His sole focus should be on reader and his son atm and not on this. I felt terrible for her here 🙈💔

It seems to you that all they do is argue, break up for a week or two, and then get back together again.

Dean not backing out of this relationship is one thing, but Lisa really should've ended it somewhere during reader's pregnancy or those first months after the birth. Yes, she liked him and wanted to try and make this work, but you gotta cut your losses at some point, girl, and walk away when your dignity's still intact. Even Mona broke up with Ross, and that was wild 🤣

Maybe Dean should've asked reader to move in with him and surprised Lisa with it. Maybe that would've finally done it. She was resilient and hopeful till the bitter end lol ❤️‍🩹

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.

This was such a precious moment between them. Had tears in my eyes 😭😭

And then the goddamn cavalry arrives to break them apart! I hope for their second child they won't allow visitors till the next day lol 🙏

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.

Literally. How about you people just ask what momma wants, huh? I'm glad she had Dean there to support her, though 💕

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.”

Typical Benny 🥹 This was so incredibly sweet of him and she really needed that (even if it did cross boundaries a little. At least wait till she gets home from the hospital to shoot your shot, buddy lol). He really had it bad for her, and I think that made him blindsided in that regard 💔

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.”

That hit so deeply 😢 I cry during that scene with Rachel every time too 😭

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.

That really showcased that Benny truly wasn't the one for her, no matter how nice, kind, and considerate he was. It's sad, but it happens. Her heart always belonged to Dean from that first night on ❤️ In the end, it would've been unfair to both of them (even all four of them) if they all stayed together in those pairings.

And it's honestly not just on reader and Dean who went wrong by never admitting their feelings and talking it out like the grown-ups they aren't lol, but both Benny and Lisa are a bit selfish for staying with them as well. You can't tell me they didn't know or heavily suspect there were feelings there between them. Those two decided to butt into a young family, so they made that bed a little bit themselves, too 🤷‍♀️

Especially Benny – and hear me out, if Benny had been truly a good friend to Dean, he would've put his own feelings aside in the first place and talked some sense into him. But fair enough if he decided to go after her himself lol (I thought a lot about that specifically this week since we've talked about how Benny was a class act till the end, but honestly, this probably would've been even classier of him 🤝)

I don't know why I get so defensive of reader and Dean in this story, but I was rooting for them hard 😂🩵

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.

It's like your describing my kid lol

And I love that both our HC is that Dean literally needs the threat of a proposal from another man to make a goddamn move 🤣

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.

Yup, makes complete sense. And again, it's on both Lisa and Benny for looking the other way here and not noticing that 🤷‍♀️ They literally accepted that Dean would just fix things in reader's home all the time etc. and it was clear both were bothered by that. Denial all around with these four 😂

“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.” & It’s too much, knowing Benny’s slowly but surely carving out a father-figure role in Robbie’s life.

And this is the part that I thought most about. I sobbed then and I'm sobbing reading this again now. I was so incredibly heartbroken for Dean for missing out on all that shit. You just want him to have all the good things and enjoy being a dad to his heart's content, so this truly ripped me apart 😭😭😭

Honestly, he’s surprised she’s stuck around this long.

Same. Girl was committed 🤣

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

But the mother of his son, which makes her family...

Lisa pissed me off during that scene, although I completely understand where she's coming from. Dean really broke her in a way. Still, she's known for five years what she's gotten herself into 😂

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 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. 

I swear I wanted to murder you and Dean here, Alex, aka the part where I really thought you were going to break my goddamn heart 😂💜💜💜

I was livid with that man lmao

And then that whole conversation at their parent's house!!! Fucking finally they're adressing this. Istg they better go to couple's therapy after and learn to communicate properly. Those skills are lacking with these two idiots 😅🙈

“Dean,” you gasp.

I loved how this was the scene that absolutely reached a boiling point with everyone!!! The drama queen in me was like, "Yes!! Let's go!!!" 🤣🤣👏👏

“Just be honest, for once,” she pleads.

The "for once" does it for me 💀 (And then Dean using past tense when saying he loved Lisa 🤯)

I both feel for Benny and Lisa and think both of them handled the break ups incredibly well – no doubt about it. But that proves to me a little that they always knew it could end this way and just chose not to see it (even Benny admitted that at the end). Ultimately, it's a little hard for me to feel toooo awfully sorry for them, ya know? The old "you've dug your grave" story 😅

“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.”

Fucking finally! 🥳 It's been a wild ride to get here, my sweet lil green-eyed idiot 💚🎢

I sobbed again during their wedding when Robbie brought him the ring and how happy he was that his parents were together 🥹

Honestly, I said it over on Patreon, but here again too: This was such an amazing, phenomenal, and yes, dramatic ride, but it was fucking worth every 20k word of it (if you can't tell by this extensively long and insane comment lmao). And I can't help falling in love with you... 💜💜💜

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?"

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

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):

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

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @kaleldobrev

@globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdeanwrites @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

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

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

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

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

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

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

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005 @redhoodieone

[grayson-nn]

Bite me. --+--

pairing: Vampire king Dick Grayson x M! Reader

Category: Angst/smut/fluff

Synopsis: Dick knows this was all his fault. That he caused this chaos... But he's so obsessed with you. He just can't let you go.

Tags: Mention of sex, blood, obsessive behavior, stalking, biting, starvation, brainwashing, desperate Dick Grayson, Vampirism

This takes place in the DC vs VAMPIRES universe

C/C: 4.2k

If Dick could have anything he wanted again, it would be you. Ever since his takeover of humanity, nothing had been the same for him or anyone else. He was constantly trying to fight the bloodlust, but he just couldn't help it. What else was he supposed to do when he was constantly fighting the urge to control? He couldn't help that he was turned, that this was his destiny.

He would sit in the tower overlooking Gotham, thinking about you and what it would be like to have you by his side. He was fine ruling alone, but deep inside, his instincts told him he needed someone - someone to rule next to him. He would send Diana and other vampires to hunt for you, setting traps like using survivors to try and lure you out. However, you were a slippery one and didn't get caught easily - that was fine, he liked a challenge.

Eventually, you would make a slip-up and get caught by Diana, who would drag you back to him. Dick would almost fall to his knees after seeing you; he didn't care if you were messy or anything, he just needed you. He would shower you with gifts - jewelry, riches, and even the smallest things like handmade gifts. He didn't care if he found them destroyed later or how much you tried to reject him; he could wait. You would accept this eventually.

If you were bad or tried to escape, he would keep you locked up in a room, sometimes taking away all food and placing you on a blood-only diet, just to try and get you used to the taste. However, he would never turn you without your consent - that was a line he wouldn't cross. He would try to get you to willingly join him, often manipulating you, telling you that no one would come and that it was better to accept him, to let him in.

He would do this for months on end, until eventually, your walls started to cave, and you began to slowly seek out his touch. You would let his hand linger longer on your arm instead of pushing him away. You were finally growing into him, accepting the gifts more and his touches. You still misbehaved sometimes, when you remembered your situation and what he did - he killed your family, your friends, and you would never forgive him for that. But maybe you could accept him now; maybe he would change.

He would tell you how he couldn't live without you, how if you ruled beside him, he would change for you and do whatever you commanded. He was desperate for you, and that was an upside. One day, you caved in a little too much and let him seduce you. He got on his knees and sucked you off so desperately that you came undone in just minutes. You could feel his fangs scraping against your cock, which only added to the sensation, but he was careful not to bite or hurt you.

Soon, by 15 months, you gave in, and he bit you - slow and passionate, to not hurt you. The last thing he wanted was to hurt his king, his boyfriend. And as promised, Dick changed his ways slightly; he still controlled the world, but he would spare whoever you told him to. Your make-out sessions were more passionate now that you were willing to let him touch you.

He would kiss you all over, scrape his fangs down, and bite at your nipples until you were whining and trying to push him off. Sometimes, he was the one receiving; you would be so mad at everything he did and bend him into the weirdest, uncomfortable position you could find, and take him rough, pressing his face hard into the cushions until his claws were tearing at the sheets, desperately begging you to touch his cock and let him cum.

Other times, he was topping; he would take you slow and sweet, tearing down your walls so you were a desperate mess for him before he would slowly rock your hips, praising you for each sound that left your lips. His hand would tease your cock, bringing his hand over it and squeezing around the head when he thought you were too close. He wanted to drag it on forever, overstimulating you until you were a puddle on the bed, before you both would cum out of sheer lust.

Aftercare was nice too; he or you would help each other up and take a nice long bath together in soaps and other riches, until one of you got out and cleaned the sheets off and replaced them. That's all Dick would want in his life, and he wouldn't ask for anything more if it was just you and him for eternity.

[oceanicwriting]

that easy?

summary: you have been obsessed with lorenzo berkshire since the first time you heard him talk. soft, cute, and shy wasn't in your list of turn-on, but now it was. and today, after a couple of weeks following him around hogwarts, you finally get something else than the hope of being touched by him.

pairing(s): shy!lorenzo berkshire x dom!fem!reader

a/n: not pretty sure what this is, but kinda like it bc i do have a thing for good-looking nerds! working in lorenzo x best friend girlfriend next, hehe.

+18 smut, masturbation (m!receiving), oral (m!receiving), public sex, premature ejaculation, cursing, shy (almost pathetic) and loud lorenzo berkshire

ㅤㅤㅤ there he is, with his glasses neatly arranged and reading a book on who knows what. his thin body, almost as thin as a twig, is resting on a wooden chair two tables away from you. it's even comical how much you like that bookworm because the last few weeks you've hung out in places on campus you've never been before... only to see him from afar. which of the two of you was more pathetic?

ㅤㅤㅤ —i don't understand why we keep doing this, —says one of your friends, shoving the book she's been falsely reading—. you could go over and invite him to f....

ㅤㅤㅤ —shuts your mouths —interrupts a voice coming from the students who actually study in the library. weirdos.

ㅤㅤㅤ —you shut the fuck up —she retorts to the air, waving her hand in symbolic dismissal—. this is ridiculous. any guy in this place would want to date you. besides... just looking at that leech, i can bet he's jerked off thinking about you more than once. i don't make the rules, honey.

ㅤㅤㅤ your friends start talking amongst themselves, betting a couple of coins on what was said. you, on the other hand, can only think of lorenzo berkshire masturbating with you on his mind, sweaty and moaning as softly as he talks when asked a question in class. the mere thought ignites something inside you that you could only forget when you see him in that position. you needed to see it with your own eyes.

ㅤㅤㅤ —girls, you can leave if you want, —you say suddenly, standing up at the same time as the brown-haired boy—. i'll see you later.

ㅤㅤㅤ neither of them notice that your footsteps follow lorenzo's because they celebrate their freedom and disappear from the library instantly. you set off, walking after lorenzo among the huge shelves full of books. each time, the light was less and less, giving a dark, dangerous, and intriguing air for someone who had never set foot in the hogwarts library.

ㅤㅤㅤ it's a while before it's just you among the shelves, invisible to the sight of any student who would have passed by a while ago. then, lorenzo stops, arranging the books in his arms on the respective shelf, undaunted by your hunting presence.

ㅤㅤㅤ —hello, —you greet, hearing your voice echo, and the boy's books fall to the floor—. oh, i'm sorry. i didn't mean to scare you.

ㅤㅤㅤ both of you have dropped to the floor to pick up the huge books, while lorenzo denies all the time as if he wanted to give you to understand that it was his fault. it's strange, a little tender if you must admit it, that he can't look you in the eye, and his cheeks are tinged with a slight pink.

ㅤㅤㅤ —nice glasses. —you can notice lorenzo's confusion at your presence, but he says nothing and, at the compliment, adjusts his glasses. how long his fingers are, so cute—. you know... i should wear glasses too, but i'm afraid i would look ridiculous, so i hide them in my night drawer.

ㅤㅤㅤ —ridiculous? —questions, stifling a laugh that she seems to want to explain later—. everything you wear looks cute on you.... i-i mean, that's... that's what e-everyone says.

ㅤㅤㅤ his embarrassment becomes so adorable to you that your body reacts instinctively, drawing you closer to him like a magnet.

ㅤㅤㅤ —and what do you say? —you know your cloying voice is having an effect by the pitiful way he moves—. can i try them on?

ㅤㅤㅤ he nods, passing you the glasses as if you had given him an order rather than a question. you put them on, and through them, you can see him trying to accommodate his eyes. so cute and appetizing.

ㅤㅤㅤ —they look nice on you.

ㅤㅤㅤ you've never been interested in someone like lorenzo before. it's most likely thanks to that you never noticed his existence at hogwarts. a boy who lives locked in the library would have no reason to meet the most popular girl in the magical world, would he? all of your ex-boyfriends were, although physically similar, jerks. boys full of frivolity, demanding and cruel who had nothing to do with this soft-spoken boy.

ㅤㅤㅤ it's pathetic. even you know it's pathetic as your body is undoubtedly attracted to him. you want to kiss him, kiss him so hard and long that his lips would end up cramping. but you don't, because maybe that could end up scaring him off, and you had to drag this moment out.

ㅤㅤㅤ —they look better on you.

ㅤㅤㅤ your hand reaches up to his arm, making it bristle. you go up and down, caressing his shirt-covered bicep. lorenzo doesn't seem to understand where the situation is going, so you take a step closer and guide his arms to put the books aside.

ㅤㅤㅤ —tell me, lorenzo, did you ever realize what you provoke in me? —he sighs, his breath choking and heaving—. did you see me sitting two tables away waiting for you to lift your head from your books? because, oh, merlin, how i looked at you wishing any of those books of yours were me. i wanted your fingers to touch me like that.

ㅤㅤㅤ your hand guides one of lorenzo's to your skirt, where you bring it up just enough so that your skin is electrified by the contact. he simply leaves his hand there, perplexed, gone, and you notice the dangerous bulge squeezing his pants.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i... m-me.

ㅤㅤㅤ though he tries to speak, his own breathing and your caresses, stagnating on his neck and gently descending down his chest, play against him. he can not speak.

ㅤㅤㅤ —do you want to leave? —you have to ask, although the answer is a clear negative—. do you want me to help you?

ㅤㅤㅤ your hand descending down his taut, hard lower chest makes him sigh again and again. when you reach the edge of his pants, you reach inside, making him startle.

ㅤㅤㅤ —just tell me if you don't want it like this, —you whisper, but he denies again, and your hand grabs his hard member to pull it out of its hiding place—. oh, merlin...

ㅤㅤㅤ maybe it was too stupid a bias, but someone like lorenzo shouldn't have a dick as big as that. your hand could hardly even curl around its girth, let alone cover its length. lorenzo, who has clearly seen himself in that situation, doesn't flinch at his nakedness. how many times he must have been hiding in his room with this great treasure between his hands, whimpering and pretending that someone was touching him.

ㅤㅤㅤ then you spit in your hand, a sufficient amount of saliva to start masturbating him. you go up, down, so slow and torturous that even you get desperate. his moans are soft, mixed with guttural grunts that make you shudder. you go up and down. one, two, three, four, five, six and....

ㅤㅤㅤ —fuck. n-no —he says as it happens. lorenzo trembles, grunts, and his fluids shoot out.

ㅤㅤㅤ —that easy? —you whisper, not judging, but certainly unsettled.

ㅤㅤㅤ he doesn't seem to have heard you because lorenzo tries to keep his composture as if he's had the best orgasm of his entire life. his face has exploded in red shortly after, when he seems to have realized what happened. his hands move towards his member, trying to hide it in his pants again, but you don't let him.

ㅤㅤㅤ —let me taste it. just a little, —you say, knowing that you must look as pathetic as he does at how horny it has made you that he cums so fast.

ㅤㅤㅤ —i'm s-sorry.

ㅤㅤㅤ you deny, smiling at him and falling to your knees on the floor. his cock again hard from the work of your hand. you try to taste his full length, although it's so hard that tears gather on your face from the inhuman effort of holding his member between your lips.

ㅤㅤㅤ it doesn't take long for lorenzo to unravel into a myriad of obscene sounds that are accompanied by the sound of your own saliva. he suddenly begins to move, instinctively seeking more. it's a matter of time, much less than the time it took to your hand, before lorenzo moans a little louder than normal and the beginnings of his explosion crash against your throat. he tries to come out of your mouth, but you don't even let him. you wanted every last drop.

ㅤㅤㅤ —what a-are you doing? —he asks, in a panic.

ㅤㅤㅤ you swallow every last drop of his semen and a burning heat embraces your whole body. lorenzo can't understand what had just happened, putting his cock away and walking away in a matter of seconds. you watch him go, his quick, clumsy steps not being followed by your own. after all, you've been left with his glasses, and you've got a big wet problem between your panties.

[vrystalius]

Their kisses — The Squid Game men.

How do they kiss? Where’s their favourite area to do so?

Pairing: Gong Yoo/Recruiter, Thanos, Dae-ho, Gi-hun, In-ho x gn!reader

Summary: How do they kiss, what areas do they prefer

Genre: Fluff <3

Fandom: Squid Game (s1&2)

Gong Yoo // The Recruiter // The Salesman

His kiss is always very gentlemanly. He tilts your face slightly to the perfect angle, admiring your expecting expression before leaning down to place a soft kiss on your lips.

His favourite areas to kiss are mostly on your face. Gong Yoo adores that scrunch of your nose whenever you think about something, the crinkle of your eyes when you smile and grin, the blush on your cheeks when he only points out the obvious to him, which you perceive as shameless flattering and flirting. It’s not his fault you are so perfect to him.

He doesn’t shy away from showing his affections in public either. You feel a kiss on your cheek, lips, nose, forehead and whatever other areas he can reach. Gong Yoo needs to remind you as often as he can that he still loves you, despite being 10 minutes away from you so he can buy a coffee for himself and the drink you mentioned liking.

Thanos // Su-bong // Player 230

He is shameless and he knows it. Su-bong’s kisses are often sloppy and over-the-top, turning the kiss into a grand gesture. His hands cup your face and slightly squish your cheeks together as he pulls you towards him, placing a wet kiss on your lips with a loud “Mwah!” sound.

Even if Thanos acts up a lot, there are also times where he’s more quietly affectionate. When he is tired or broody, his lips are featherlight as they trail kisses from your neck down to your collarbone and shoulders. He smirks pridefully when he sees you squirm away from his ticklish kisses and does not allow you to get away from him, his arms encircling your waist to keep you close. Bastard ambushed you with a tickle-attack.

Overall, Thanos’s kisses are mainly to annoy you, although he sometimes uses them to drown you in his love.

Dae-ho // Player 388

He can’t help but grin every time he leans in for a kiss. He can feel his stomach bloom and butterflies flying around and his face flush a little whenever you initiate them, cupping his cheek to pull his attention towards you snd away whatever he was doing. With every kiss you gift him, Dae-ho either falls in love with you all over again or gets deeper submerged in the ocean love he already feels for you.

He likes kissing your hands the most. Dae-ho can take your hand on his and place a kiss on your knuckles and palm while you’re busy doing something else, it’s his way of saying “Hey, I’m here and I love you”, even if you aren’t able to respond to his affections right now.

Dae-ho doesn’t mind kissing you in public but prefers doing it privately, as there he can shamelessly kiss you everywhere without catching scolding glances from the elderly for being so overly-affectionate with each other in public… sleepy kisses in bed triumph over all.

Gi-hun // Player 456 (post s1)

His kisses are always slow, hesitant. Scared you might not want or like them. His hand carefully interlock with his as he leans over to place a gentle kiss on your cheek, his eyes reminding of a soaked puppy left behind in a park during a rainstorm. How can a man look this pathetic and unbearably hot at the same time?

Gi-hun likes kissing your neck the most. It’s an intimate area he can only reach by nuzzling into your neck and savouring your warmth, before his lips slowly place a kiss here and there, trailing them all over your neck and shoulders. Sometimes he stops to softly bite into your skin and leave a hickey.

His face always looks surprised every time you kiss him anyway, his brows raising slightly in shock. Gi-hun adores you affections and could live just off them for the rest of eternity but he is insecure about how fitting he is as a partner, so you initiating the kiss reminds his brain that you do love him, maybe as much as he adores you.

In-ho // The Frontman // Player 001 // Young-il

He acts like he is entitled to your kiss. In-ho’ll expectantly glance over at you whenever you’re not very busy, silently waiting for you to lean over and place your lips on his. He’ll sometimes take your hand in his and place a kiss on your knuckles as if trying to pull your attention away from your phone or whatever so you can pay attention to him. This man was very busy all day and you aren’t even giving him an ounce of affection.

In-ho is a prideful man and rarely initiates his affections, but when he does, he takes his sweet time to appreciate everything about you properly. His lips kissing all the features on your face, going from forehead to nose, lips and chin, to your cheek and your jaw.

He enjoys having you comfortably seated on his lap while his hands steadily hold you by your waist, you busy cupping his face and kissing him all over while his eyes remained closed and his lips quirked up into a smile he tried very hard to suppress.

💠

Squid Game Taglist: @evyiione

Author’s note. Thank you for reading!

I haven’t posted anything for SQ in like a hot minute but I am torn between the KNY, SQ and DATV fandoms😭🙏 I hope you enjoyed this one though, it was fun to write! Idk what happened but the skills to write for Nam-gyu evaporated and disappeared so forgive me for not adding him 🥲

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves!

— Leave a comment or message me if you want to be added to a taglist <3

[weaselandfriends]

I didn't address this directly, but I think it does matter in the context of Ender as "the one." As I mentioned, in the frame of our real world, we could obviously not expect 10-year-old Ender Wiggin to be at fault for believing the lies that everyone else in the world believed. But in the frame of Ender's Game, where Ender is a supernatural genius, where he is smarter than every other person in the world (except possibly his siblings), and where that genius manifests specifically in perfection -- perfection in battle, perfection in making allies, perfection in understanding the true meaning behind things -- the fact that he is "tricked" only in this one way is a failure. After all, it's not as though Ender doesn't have doubts. In the second chapter, when his sadistic brother Peter forces Ender to play as the buggers in the game Buggers and Astronauts (solely as an opportunity to torment Ender), Ender takes this opportunity to empathize with the Buggers in a strangely cerebral way:

Peter opened the bottom drawer and took out the bugger mask. Mother had got upset at him when Peter bought it, but Dad pointed out that the war wouldn't go away just because you hid bugger masks and wouldn't let your kids play with make-believe laser guns. Better to play the war games, and have a better chance of surviving when the buggers came again. If I survive the games, thought Ender. He put on the mask. It closed him in like a hand pressed tight against his face. But this isn't how it feels to be a bugger, thought Ender. They don't wear their face like a mask, it is their face. On their home worlds, do the buggers put on human masks, and play? And what do they call us? Slimies, because we're so soft and oily compared to them? "Watch out, slimy," Ender said.

In fact, it's Ender's ability to empathize with the buggers that ultimately allows him to destroy them. He correctly identifies that they're a hive mind, and thus despite their fine-tuned control over their formations, they are vulnerable to a large degree of autonomous units acting intelligently independently at once. (Notably, this is exactly how Ender learned to beat Bonzo Madrid, who drilled his squadron to practice perfectly-coordinated precision maneuvers at his command; Ender would ultimately annihilate both Bonzo and the buggers.)

Dink Meeker also tells Ender that the buggers aren't a real threat in the same conversation where he tells Ender that the school administrators are the true enemy.

"I can't believe you still believe it." "Believe what?" "The bugger menace. Save the world. Listen, Ender, if the buggers were coming back to get us, they'd be here. They aren't invading again. We beat them and they're gone." "But the videos--" "All from the First and Second Invasions. Your grandparents weren't born yet when Mazer Rackham wiped them out. You watch. It's all a fake. There is no war, and they're just screwing around with us." "But why?" "Because as long as people are afraid of the buggers, the I.F. can stay in power, and as long as the I.F. is in power, certain countries can keep their hegemony. But keep watching the vids, Ender. People will catch onto this game pretty soon, and there'll be a civil war to end all wars. That's the menace, Ender, not the buggers.

Dink Meeker is completely correct here, down to predicting the Earth civil war that occurs immediately after Ender xenocides the buggers. The only thing he is wrong about is that there is no war, but only in the sense that the humans are now waging an aggressive, colonialist war against a foe who no longer wishes to fight. The answer is correctly told to Ender in plain English and he rejects it.

At the same time, Ender is juxtaposed against his brother Peter, also a supergenius. But Peter, rejected from Battle School for his sadistic tendencies, is outside the system of games and control that surround Ender, and thus turns his rule-breaking, game-breaking talents to the "game" of human society itself. Using an internet alias, he does a Machiavellian gambit for real-world power that actually works out, and he uses this power not for war but for peace, putting an end to Dink's prophesied civil war quickly and before it spiraled out of control. The story calls attention to the irony in this in a conversation between Ender and his sister:

"Funny, isn't it? That Peter would save millions of lives." "While I killed billions."

Peter indicates what Ender could have done, how he could have gained power over society even as a child, but what Ender rejected.

Again, I don't mean to say that Ender would be at fault in any real-world capacity, where even intelligent people would be fallible in such a situation. It is solely in the scope of a book that presents Ender as "the one," the genius-among-geniuses, who bends everyone around him to his will, that allowing himself to be manipulated in this way is a personal failure.

Ender's Game (novel)

Is Ender Wiggin (pictured above as the little brother from Malcolm in the Middle) guilty of xenocide?

Actually, let's first answer a different, but related, question:

What game does the title "Ender's Game" refer to?

It's not as simple a question as it seems. There are three games that have a prominent role in the plot, all very different from one another.

The obvious answer is the Battle School zero-gravity game, where teams of competitors play glorified laser tag in a big empty cube. In terms of page count, most of the book is dedicated to this game. It's also the game depicted on the cover of the edition above.

Yet this game vanishes during the story's climax, when Ender is given a new game to play, a game he is told is a simulator of spaceship warfare. This "game" turns out to not be a game at all, though; after annihilating the alien homeworld in the final stage, Ender learns that he was actually commanding real ships against real enemies the whole time, and that he just singlehandedly ended the Human-Bugger war forever via total xenocide of the aliens. This is both the final game and the most consequential to the plot, despite the short amount of time it appears.

There's also a third game, a single-player video game Ender plays throughout the story. The game is procedurally generated by an AI to respond to the player's emotional state, and is used as a psychiatric diagnostic for the players. Of the three games, this is the one that probes deepest into Ender's psyche, that most defines him as a person; it's also the final image of the story, as the aliens build a facsimile of its world in reality after psychically reading Ender's mind while he xenocides them.

Because all three games are important, the easiest answer might be that the question doesn't matter, that the story is called Ender's Game not to propose this question at all but simply because the technically more accurate "Ender's Games" would improperly suggest a story about a serial prankster.

Fine. But why does the title use the possessive "Ender's" at all?

He does not own any of these games. He did not create them. He does not facilitate them. All of these games, even the simulator game, predate his use of them as a player, were not designed with him in mind, were intended to train and assess potential commanders for, ostensibly, the hundred years since the last Human-Bugger war.

It's in this question that we get to the crux of what defines Gamer literature.

These games are Ender's games because he dominates them into being about him. He enters a rigidly-defined, rules-based system, and excels so completely that the games warp around his presence. In the Battle School game, the administrators stack the odds against Ender, thereby rendering every other player's presence in the game irrelevant except in their function as challenges for Ender to overcome. The administrators acknowledge this in an argument among themselves:

"The game will be compromised. The comparative standings will become meaningless." [...] "You're getting too close to the game, Anderson. You're forgetting that it is merely a training exercise." "It's also status, identity, purpose, name; all that makes these children who they are comes out of this game. When it becomes known that the game can be manipulated, weighted, cheated, it will undo this whole school. I'm not exaggerating." "I know." "So I hope Ender Wiggin truly is the one, because you'll have degraded the effectiveness of our training method for a long time to come."

In this argument, Anderson views the game the way games have been viewed since antiquity: exercises in acquiring honor and status. This honor is based on the innate fairness inherent to games as rule-based systems, which is why in ancient depictions of sport the chief character is often not a competitor but the host, who acts as referee. In Virgil's Aeneid, for instance, the hero Aeneas hosts a series of funeral games (the games themselves intended as an honor for his dead father). Despite being the principal character of the epic, Aeneas does not compete in these games. Instead, he doles out prizes to each competitor based on the worthiness they display; his fairness marks him symbolically as a wise ruler. The Arthurian tournament is another example, where Arthur as host is the principal character, and the knights (Lancelot, Tristan, etc.) who compete do so primarily to receive honors from him or his queen.

In Ender's Game, it is the antagonistic figure Bonzo Madrid who embodies this classical concept of honor; the word defines him, is repeated constantly ("his Spanish honor"), drives his blistering hatred of Ender, who receives both unfair boons and unfair banes from the game's administrators, who skirts the rules of what is allowed to secure victory. Bonzo is depicted as a stupid, bull-like figure; his honor is ultimately worthless, trivially manipulated by Ender in their final fight.

Meanwhile, it's Ender's disregard for honor, his focus solely on his namesake -- ending, finishing the game, the ends before the means -- that makes him so valuable within the scope of the story. He is "the one," as Anderson puts it, the solipsistically important Gamer, the Only I Play the Game-r, because the game now matters in and of itself, rather than as a social activity. In the Aeneid and in Arthur, the competitors are soldiers, for whom there is a world outside the game. Their games are not a substitute for war but a reprieve from it, and as such they are an activity meant to hold together the unifying fabric of society. The values Anderson espouses (status, identity, purpose, name) are fundamentally more important in this social framework than winning (ending) is.

Ender's game, as the Goosebumps-style blurb on my 20-year-old book fair edition's cover proclaims, is not just a game anymore. Its competitors are also soldiers, but the game is meant to prepare them for war; the spaceship video game is actual war. And as this is a war for the survival of the human race, as Ender is told, there is no need for honor. The othered enemy must be annihilated, without remorse or mercy.

This ethos of the game as fundamentally important for its own sake pervades Gamer literature beyond Ender's Game. In Sword Art Online (which I wrote an essay on here), dying in the game is dying in real life, and as such, only Kirito's ability to beat the game matters. Like Ender, Kirito is immediately disdained by his fellow players as a "cheater" (oh sorry, I mean a "beater") because he possesses inherent advantages due to being a beta player. In an actual game, a game that is only a game, Kirito's cheat powers would render the game pointless. What purpose does Kirito winning serve if he does it with Dual Wielding, an overpowered skill that only he is allowed to have? But when a game has real stakes, when only ability to win matters, it is possible to disregard fairness and see the cheater as heroic.

This notion of the "cheat power," a unique and overpowered ability only the protagonist has, is pervasive in post-SAO Gamer literature. To those for whom games are simply games, such powers can only be infuriating and obnoxious betrayals of the purpose of games; to those for whom games mean more than just games, for whom games have a primacy of importance, these powers are all that matter.

That's the core conceit of Gamer literature: the idea that the Game is life, that winning is, in fact, everything.

What sets Ender's Game apart from Sword Art Online is that it creates the inverted world where the Game matters above all, but then draws back the curtain to reveal the inversion. The Buggers are, in fact, no longer hostile. They are not planning to invade Earth again, as Ender has been told his entire life. The war, for them, is entirely defensive, and Ender is the aggressor. And due to Ender's singleminded focus on Ending, on winning, on disregarding honor and fairness, he ultimately commits the xenocide, erases an entire sentient species from existence. He wins a game he should never have been playing.

The obvious counterargument, the one I imagine everyone who has read this book thought up the moment I posed the question at the beginning of this essay, is that Ender did not know he was committing xenocide. The fact that the combat simulator game was not a game was withheld from him until afterward. Plus, he was a child.

Salient arguments all. Ones the book itself makes, via Ender's commander, Graff, to absolve him of sin at the end. They're probably even correct, in a legal sense (I'm not a legal scholar, don't quote me), and in a moral sense. In real life, it would be difficult to blame a 10-year-old in those circumstances for what he did. But in the thematic framework of Ender's Game the book, these arguments are completely inadequate.

Ender has been playing a fourth game the entire story. And this is the only game he doesn't win.

A game is defined by its system of control and limitation over the behavior of the players. A game has rules. His whole life, Ender has been playing within the rules of the system of control his military commanders place upon him.

Their control extends even before he was born; as a third child in a draconian two-child-only world, his existence is at the behest of the government. Graff confirms this to Ender's parents when he recruits him to Battle School: "Of course we already have your consent, granted in writing at the time conception was confirmed, or he could not have been born. He has been ours since then, if he qualified." Graff frames this control utterly, in terms of possession: "he has been ours." He does not exaggerate. Since Ender was young, he has had a "monitor" implanted in his body so the army could observe him at all times, assess whether he "qualifies"; even the brief moment the monitor is removed is a test. "The final step in your testing was to see what would happen when the monitor came off," Graff explains after Ender passes the test by murdering a 6-year-old. Conditions are set up for Ender, similar to the unfair challenges established in the Battle School game; he is isolated from his peers, denied practice sessions, held in solitary confinement on a remote planetoid. It's all in service of assessing Ender as "the one."

Ender wins this game in the sense that he does, ultimately, become "the one" -- the one Graff and the other military men want, the xenocider of the Buggers. He fails this game in the sense that he does not break it.

The other three games Ender plays, he breaks. Usually by cheating. In the single-player psychiatry game, when presented with a deliberately impossible challenge where a giant gives him two glasses to pick between, Ender cheats and kills the giant. "Cheater, cheater!" the dying giant shouts. In the Battle School game, Ender is ultimately confronted by insurmountable odds: 2 armies against his 1. He cannot outgun his opponent, so he cheats by using most of his troops as a distraction so five soldiers can sneak through the enemy's gate, ending the game. At the school, going through the gate is traditionally seen as a mere formality, something done ceremonially once the enemy team is wiped out (there's that honor again, that ceremony), but it technically causes a win. Even Anderson, the game's administrator, sees this as a breach of the rules when Ender confronts him afterward.

Ender was smiling. "I beat you again, sir," he said. "Nonsense, Ender," Anderson said softly. "Your battle was with Griffin and Tiger." "How stupid do you think I am?" Ender said. Loudly, Anderson said, "After that little maneuver, the rules are being revised to require that all of the enemy's soldiers must be frozen or disabled before the gate can be reversed."

(I include the first part of that quote to indicate that Ender all along knows who he is really playing this game against -- the administrators, the military men who control every facet of his life.)

Ender beats the war simulator game in a similar fashion. Outnumbered this time 1000-to-1, he uses his soldiers as sacrifices to sneak a single bomb onto the alien's homeworld, destroying it and committing his xenocide. Ender himself sees this maneuver as breaking the rules, and in fact falsely believes that if he breaks the rules he will be disqualified, set free from the fourth game: "If I break this rule, they'll never let me be a commander. It would be too dangerous. I'll never have to play a game again. And that is victory." The flaw in his logic comes not from whether he's breaking the rules of the game, but which game he is breaking the rules of. It's not the fourth game, Ender's game, but the war simulator game, simply a sub-game within the confines of the fourth game, a sub-game the fourth game's administrators want him to break, a sub-game that gives Ender the illusion of control by breaking. When Ender tells his administrators about his plan, the response he receives almost taunts him to do it:

"Does the Little Doctor work against a planet?" Mazer's face went rigid. "Ender, the buggers never deliberately attacked a civilian population in either invasion. You decide whether it would be wise to adopt a strategy that would invite reprisals."

(And if it wasn't clear how much the administrators wanted him to do this all along, the moment he does it, they flood the room with cheers.)

Ender wins his games by cheating -- by fighting the rules of the game itself -- and yet he never cheats at the fourth game, the game of his life.

In this fourth game, he always plays by the rules.

In the inverted world of Gamer lit, where games define everything, including life and death, it's a common, even natural progression for the Gamer to finally confront the game's administrator. Sword Art Online ends when Kirito defeats Akihiko Kayaba, the developer. In doing so, Kirito exceeds the confines of the game, not simply by ignoring its rules and coming back to life after he's killed, but by demonstrating mastery against the game's God. Afterward, Sword Art Online truly becomes Kirito's Game, with nobody else able to lay claim to the possessive. Kirito demonstrates this control at the end of the anime by recreating Sword Art Online's world using its source code, completing the transition into a player-administrator.

(Though I wonder, how much of a class reading could one give to this new brand of Gamer lit? If classical games were told from the perspective of the one who controlled them, then is there not something innately anti-establishment in Kirito overcoming the controller? This is the gist of many other death game stories, like The Hunger Games, though none of them may be the most sophisticated takes on the subject, more empty fantasy than anything else.)

Ender never fights or defeats his administrators. He never even tries, other than rare periods of depressive inactivity. He doesn't try even though the option is proposed to him by Dink Meeker, an older student whom Ender respects:

"I'm not going to let the bastards run me, Ender. They've got you pegged, too, and they don't plan to treat you kindly. Look what they've done to you so far." "They haven't done anything except promote me." "And she make you life so easy, neh?" Ender laughed and shook his head. "So maybe you're right." "They think they got you on ice. Don't let them." "But that's what I came for," Ender said. "For them to make me into a tool."

Instead, Ender finds comfort in the control exerted on his life. When sent to Earth on leave, he seeks out a lake that reminds him of living in Battle School.

"I spend a lot of time on the water. When I'm swimming, it's like being weightless. I miss being weightless. Also, when I'm here on the lake, the land slopes up in every direction." "Like living in a bowl." "I've lived in a bowl for four years."

Because of this, Ender never cheats against Graff. He could; Graff states several times that Ender is smarter than him, and the fact that they have Ender fighting the war instead of Graff is proof he believes it. But Ender never considers it. He never considers gaming the system of his life.

If Gamer literature emphasizes the inversion of the world order, where games supersede reality in importance (and, as in Sword Art Online, only through this inverted order is one able to claim real power by being a Gamer), then Ender's Game acknowledges both sides of the inversion. For Ender, the games he plays are not simply games anymore. The psychology game, the Battle School game, the war simulator game; all of these he must win at all costs, even if it requires disrespecting the foundational purpose of these games. But his real life? Ender wants that to be a game, craves it to be a game, can't live unless the walls slope up around him like a bowl, can't stand it unless there is a system of control around him. He does what Graff tells him, even though he recognizes immediately that Graff is not his friend, that Graff is the one isolating him from others, rigging things against him. He does what Graff tells him all the way up to and including xenocide, because Ender cannot tell game from real life. That's the core deception at the end: Ender is playing a game that's actually real and he doesn't know it -- or refuses to acknowledge it, since nobody has ever tricked the genius Ender before this point.

Actually, that's not true. They tricked him twice before. Ender twice attacks his peers physically, with brutal violence. The administrators conceal from him that he murdered both his foes; he simply thinks he hurt them. The only way to trick Ender is to do so in a way that insulates him from the consequences of his actions. The only way he will allow himself to be tricked.

So, is Ender guilty of xenocide?

Under it all, Ender believes he is.

The dying Buggers, after reading Ender's mind, recreate the psychology game in the real world. The story ends when Ender finds this recreation, yet another blurring of the lines between game and reality.

The psychology game is different from the other games Ender plays, because nobody expects him to win it. Its purpose is not to be won, simply to assess his mental health. Yet Ender approaches it like the other games, cheats at it and systematically kills all his enemies until he reaches a place called The End of the World. (Another End for Ender.) His drive to win, to dominate, does not come solely from the pressures of the system around him, but from deep within himself, which is what Ender fears the most. But it is here, at The End of the World, where Ender finds atonement, both in the game and in the game-made-real. In the game, he kisses his opponent instead of killing them, and reaches a resolution he is happy with. He stops playing the game after doing this, though the game seems to continue (when an administrator asks him why he stopped playing it, he says "I beat it"; the administrator tells him the game cannot be beaten). It is through this act of love that Ender can escape the game-like system of control that puppeteers him no matter how smart and clever he is or thinks he is.

In the game-made-real, Ender finds his atonement in the same place, The End of the World. The Buggers left for him here, in this place that they (reading his mind) understood as the location of his mercy and compassion, an egg that can repopulate their species. Through this egg, Ender is given the chance to undo his xenocide. But that chance is also contingent on what The End of the World means to Ender, an end to the game, not simply the games he plays but the fourth game, the game of his life. Ender's Game.

[newobsessionweekly]

No way out

part 1

Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: When you finally find the courage to take action against your abusive boyfriend, Tim is there to save you. And something happens inside the two of you.

Angst

Warnings: Domestic abuse, emotional distress, violence, protective behavior, slow-burn romance, language.

A/N: As I promised, I will be more active around here. I got a request and decided to turn it into a mini series, I hope you'll like it. Feedback is always appreciated!! Take care of yourselves, bubs! Lots of love! 🫶🏻✨

Words: -

You were gasping for air before you even hit the floor.

The impact of your body slamming into the hardwood rattled your bones, but it was nothing compared to the suffocating terror gripping your chest. The room was spinning, but you forced yourself to look up—his shadow loomed over you, sharp and menacing under the dim light.

"You're always making me do this," he seethed, his voice thick with anger. "Why do you have to push me?"

You curled into yourself, the familiar sting of his words cutting just as deep as the bruises that would form later. Your body ached, but it was the emotional toll that shattered you the most. Because you knew him. You knew the boy he used to be—the high school sweetheart who held your hand in the hallways, who kissed you under the bleachers, who swore he’d never hurt you.

But that version of him was long gone.

A sob choked in your throat as you turned your head, eyeing your phone on the couch just a few feet away. He was pacing now, running a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath about how sorry he was, how it wasn’t his fault.

It was now or never.

With all the strength left in you, you lunged for the phone, snatching it into your trembling hands as you scrambled backward. He spun around, rage twisting his face.

"Don't you dare—"

You pressed 911.

"911, what’s your emergency?"

Your voice cracked. "Please, I—I need help. My boyfriend—he—"

A hand yanked your wrist so hard you thought it might break. The phone clattered to the floor, but the call was still connected.

"You think they can help you?" he sneered, gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. "You're nothing without me."

But he was wrong. For the first time in years, you felt something shift inside you. A quiet, burning defiance.

And then, in the distance—sirens.

Tim Bradford had answered countless domestic calls. Some ended peacefully, some turned violent, but every single one had the same thread of despair woven through them.

Tonight felt different.

Lucy kept checking the address, her expression tight. “Tim,” she said suddenly. “I know her.”

He flicked a glance at her, hands steady on the wheel. “Who?”

“The victim. Y/N. She’s my friend.”

His jaw flexed. He didn’t like that. “You knew she was in trouble?”

Lucy hesitated. “I—suspected. I asked her before, but she never admitted it.”

Tim exhaled sharply through his nose.

They pulled up to the house—lights off, curtains drawn. The kind of place where bad things happened in silence.

He stepped out first, scanning the surroundings. He didn’t like this either. The neighborhood was quiet, too quiet. He unholstered his weapon, nodding at Lucy to follow.

They approached the door. Tim knocked, hard. “LAPD! Open up!”

Nothing.

He could hear muffled yelling inside, a crash, then a choked cry.

Tim's patience snapped. He stepped back and kicked the door open in one powerful motion, the wood splintering under his boot.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

You were on the floor, bruised, tears streaking down your face. And your boyfriend—your attacker—stood over you, his face twisted in fury.

"Get your hands where I can see them!" Tim barked, stepping between you and the man without a second thought.

"She’s my girlfriend!" the guy snapped. "This is none of your business!"

Tim had him pinned against the wall in two steps. He twisted the guy’s arm behind his back, forcing him to his knees. “You like hurting people?” Tim growled. “Try me.”

Your boyfriend grunted in pain, but Tim didn’t care. He snapped the cuffs on, yanking him upright.

Lucy immediately rushed to you. “Hey, hey, are you okay?”

Your eyes were still locked on Tim. He wasn’t sure what you were looking at—the gun, the badge, or something else entirely.

“Y/N.” Lucy touched your arm, voice soft. “You’re safe.”

Your breath came out in a shudder, and your knees nearly buckled. Tim watched as Lucy steadied you, gently guiding you toward the couch.

For the first time since they arrived, you exhaled.

The paramedics checked you over, but Tim never left your side. He told himself he was just being thorough, but deep down, he knew better.

Lucy knelt beside you, guilt written all over her face. "I’m so sorry. I should have seen the signs. I should have helped—"

You shook your head. "You couldn’t have known."

Tim watched the way your hand trembled against the blanket draped over your shoulders. Without thinking, he reached out, gripping your fingers lightly.

Your breath hitched. His touch was warm, grounding, and for the first time in years, you felt safe.

It was wrong. You had just gotten out of hell, and here you were, noticing the strength in his hands, the way his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

But when he squeezed your hand back—just a little—you knew he felt it too. Something dangerous simmers in his gaze, something fierce and protective and angry—not at you, but for you.

The night ends in a blur. Statements. Paperwork. More questions than you have answers for. But through it all, Tim is there.

He stands close—not too close, but enough that you feel his presence like a shield. Whenever someone else talks to you, his eyes never leave you.

It's overwhelming. And yet... comforting. You don't even realize how exhausted you are until it’s over.

"You have somewhere to stay?" Tim asks.

Lucy speaks before you can. "She’s staying with me."

Tim nods, but something about his expression stays tight, unreadable. His eyes flick to yours once more, and for a split second, you swear you see something there—something you shouldn’t.

And then he turns away.

When Tim gets back in the shop, he doesn’t start the engine.

Instead, he turns to Lucy. And snaps.

"What the hell, Lucy?" His voice is sharp, cutting. "You’re a cop. How did you not see what was happening to your own friend?"

Lucy’s eyes widen. "Tim, I—"

"You should have known," he growls, slamming his hands against the wheel. "You should have done something."

"I didn’t know!"

"That’s the problem!"

The car falls silent.

Lucy swallows hard, guilt written all over her face. "Why do you care so much?"

Tim opens his mouth—then closes it. He doesn’t know.

But something about the way you looked at him—something about the way he felt when he saw you on that floor—unsettles him.

And for the first time in a long time, Tim Bradford doesn’t know what to do with himself.

[ilguna]

☼ say it like you mean it (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; over time, you’ve learned his techniques, and you’re really not entertained by it. if he likes you as much as he says he does, then why does he just say so?

warnings; swearing,

wc; 3.2k

--

The summer heat has finally decided to catch up with District Four it seems, and it only took until mid-August for it to do so. It’s not gentle by any means, either. All you’re doing is getting ready for the day, and it feels as if you live in a tin can smack-dab in the middle of the desert. 

This house is small enough as it is, the last thing you need to be baked alive in it. You think your mother is on the same train of thought that you are, because she’s opened every single window in hopes that a breeze will roll through. 

You find her in the kitchen, fanning herself with a thin book, boiling a pot of water on the stove to loosen up the metal for the hooks that are laid out across the dining room table. You would just use a torch to make the hooks easier to bend, but you weren’t cleared for a permit since the house is flammable, and it’s in a fairly nice neighborhood.

So, you have no choice but to use water, even though it’s more time consuming. Between you and your mother making hooks, it’s getting harder and harder to make the Peacekeeper’s deadlines on time. It would be just a little bit easier if you had one more person to help, but then you’d be given a bigger workload.

“How long are you planning on being out for today, honey?” Your mother asks, pausing her fanning long enough to look your way.

“It shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours.” You tell her, gathering the bags of hooks to place into your tote bag. “Just a few errands to run and I’ll collect what I need for my hooks along the way. Once I drop them off at the docks, I’ll come straight back.”

She nods, “PLease be careful when you speak to the Peacekeepers, you can’t afford another warning.”

“I will be.” You say, turning your back to her. 

You pull the tote bag onto your shoulder, rolling your eyes. It’s not your fault the Peacekeeper’s are a bunch of sensitive wimps—none of them can take a joke. All you did last week was tell them that you may or may not see them the following day to make the drop.

This resulted in several Peacekeepers being sent to your door in the morning to escort you straight to the docks to deliver your hooks. When you tried to tell them that you weren’t being serious, you were met with a citation, but really it was just a warning. If you get another one, then you’ll be taken into custody until they think you’ve learned your lesson.

Talk about ridiculous, right?

“Love you, mom.” You murmur, opening the front door, hand reaching to push the screen door out of the way before you even see it.

“I’ll see you soon, honey.” She says back, her footsteps fading away.

Your hand comes into contact with cloth, hand squishing into whatever it is. You yank your hand back, as if you’ve just touched the hot stove, eyes peering around the door. 

As soon as you see who it is, your shoulders drop, worry leaving you in an instant. Your face twists at the sight of Finnick, leaned up against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk on his face. You begin to dread what the rest of your day is going to look like, if he’s here already.

Usually he has enough courtesy to give you a headstart before ruining your afternoon.

“Please, not this today.” You groan, pushing past him to get out of your house. You pull the front door shut with a slam, heading down the steps without waiting for him to say anything.

“Good afternoon.” He muses, following behind you. He must not shut the screen door, because you can hear it squeal as it swings back into place. “You don’t want me here?”

“I wouldn’t mind as much as I do if you weren’t so annoying. How long were you waiting out there for?” You ask him.

“Long enough to hear your mom ask you to be careful.” He says, taking long strides to catch up with your pace. “Which she won’t have to worry about, because I don’t plan on leaving your side today.”

“Of course you don’t.” You sigh, adjusting the bag on your shoulder.

He ignores your comment. “So, what’s on the agenda today?”

“I’ve spent all week trading for fishing lure while you were in the Capitol, so I’m picking it all up today.” You tell him.

“What’d you trade them with?” He asks. “If you’d waited for me—”

“I don’t need you to negotiate for me, Finnick.” You shake your head. “I’ve been doing this since we were in school, I know how to get what I want without being scammed. Besides, I didn’t have time to wait for you, the Peacekeepers wanted the new hooks as soon as possible, and you weren’t here when the request came in.”

“How long ago?”

‘A week and a half ago.” You reach into your bag, pace slowing to go up to the first house. 

“You still didn’t answer my question on what you traded them for.” Finnick comes to a stop, back to the door so you have to look at him.

“We paid for some of them, and on some of the others I offered specialty hooks.” You tell him, going up to the house. 

The man that lives here answers the door after the first round of knocks, a smile on his face. You hold a polite conversation with him, while you unravel the cloth that covers the hook you made. He wanted it purely for decoration, since he’s been long-retired from being on the boats. He gave you the rest of his lure for free, no strings attached.

“Have a good afternoon.” You tell him, waving before you go back down to Finnick.

“How much did you pay?”

You really hate it when he gets on a roll with the questions. You’re not sure why it matters how much you paid for the lure, in the end you’ll be making a bigger profit with the Peacekeepers. And people don’t really have a need for lure when the Capitol provides good hooks for them in the first place. They just want something for them so they’re able to afford an extra meal.

“Not much.”

“You’re making more than what you paid, right?”

You stop walking, turning to Finnick. “Do you really take me for an idiot?”

He stares at you. “No.”

“Then why are you asking me questions like that?” You tilt your head. 

“Because I don’t want them to take advantage of you, (Y/n). You do a lot for the docks, whether these people know that or not.”

“I’m aware of that. And I don’t care if they appreciate my work. I’m just doing what I have to in order to survive. It’s not a huge deal.” You tell him, starting to walk again. “I’d rather prick my fingers a hundred times with the barb than have to deal with the boats.”

“You wouldn’t have to deal with either if you let me take care of you.”

Your face scrunches up at the thought. Once for the fact that he just said that to you, and twice for the idea of being supported on his Capitol money, which you despise. He earned his dollar of his money by beating the Hunger Games at such a young age, you’ll admit that.

But you’ll never come to terms with the person the Capitol has turned him into. 

The old Finnick—the one you grew up with before he got reaped—would never have said half of the things he does to you. His flirtatious comments are constant, they’re everyday, and they’re borderlining disrespectful. You’re not sure how many times you’ve told him to quiet it, and he never listens.

He’s not laying it on as thick today, but that might have something to do with what you said to him before he got on the train in July. You’d met him at the station after the reaping to wish him luck, because he’s still your friend, and he made a joke about taking you to the Capitol with him and showing you what luxury is.

You felt disgusted at the suggestion, because he should know that you’d rather be at the bottom of the ocean than in the Capitol. You backed away from him, and with a shake of your head, you told him that you’d never go there, much less with him. You left the train station after that, not bothering to give him the goodbye you usually do.

You hate the fact that he’s required to mentor the tributes. You think it’s a good idea, because Finnick broke the record for the youngest victor, but the person it turns him into… it’s just gross. He used to be friendly, funny and courteous, and a couple of years ago he changed. 

There were no signs, one year he went to the Capitol to mentor, and a month later he came out this insufferable Capitol brat. It only got worse when he mentored Annie Cresta, causing her to win the Games two years ago. Ever since, he’s been cocky, as if the world owes it to him.

You’re sick of dealing with it. Especially when it lasts for months, and by the time he seems to be getting better about his attitude, it’s Hunger Games season again. The cycle is never-ending.

“That’s nice, Finnick.” You mutter, pace quickening, as if you’ll be able to leave him behind.

“What?” He asks, as if he’s clueless. “It’s true. If you were with me, you’d never have to worry about half the things you do.” He begins to catch up with you. “There’d be dinner on the table every night, you’d have access to hot water in the winter, you’d be able to buy anything you want. You could’ve woken up in an air conditioned house today.”

“While that all sounds nice, I don’t want a life like that.” You tell him, eyes on the ground.

“Why not? Everyone wants a life like that.” He throws his arms out, you can tell by his shadow. “And I want to give it to you.”

“Because that means nothing to me.”

“Nothing?” Finnick asks. “So you’re telling me you don’t like the necklaces and jewels and—”

“Finnick!” You shout, irritated. You stop to look him dead in the eye. “What you’re doing isn’t working on me. I will never fall for the facade you put on for the Capitol.” You place a hand over your heart. “It’s all an act, and you need to give it a rest.”

Finnick’s face has dropped. “(Y/n), I mean everything I say.”

“Well, it doesn’t feel like it.” You throw a hand out. “Your lines are rehearsed. How many other girls have you talked to like that and believed it?” 

“I don’t talk to other girls, (Y/n). I’m not interested in them.”

“I don’t believe you.” 

Finnick stares at you for a long moment. “What can I do to prove to you that I do actually want you.”

“You can’t figure that out on your own?” You roll your eyes. “How long have we known each other? Have you ever listened to anything I’ve said?” When he doesn’t speak, you wave your hand. “Just go, Finnick. I’m sick of this, really. I got stuff to do and you’re slowing me down.”

Finnick looks down at the dirt, making a face. “All right.”

You watch as he walks off in the direction of Victor’s Village, looking like a kicked puppy. As soon as he hangs his head, you close your eyes, tilting your head back to take in the sun. You have half the mind to call him back and apologize, but you are running behind.

You turn to continue down the street, heading for the next house. You really hope he doesn’t give up entirely because of what you’ve said, you just want him to listen to what you’re telling him. 

It’s not like you don’t enjoy his company, because you do. He’s your favorite person to hang out with when he’s not being uptight. You think that if he were to ask you to be his girlfriend properly, you’d say yes, but you want it to be real. This doesn’t feel real, with the expensive jewelry, the money, the constant presents. It’s insane. 

You try to be quick to get done within the next hour, paying several people back for their kindness. You barely make it in time to the docks before they shut down for the rest of the day. While the Peacekeepers trust your handiwork, their Head Peacekeeper likes to inspect the hooks to ensure they’re good quality.

You’ve never had a hook sent back.

You tuck the money from the Peacekeepers into your bag, taking your time heading home. You’re sure mom has lunch ready, and most of her part of the work creating the hook has to be done by now. You’ll just need to attach the new lures and sharpen the barb.

When you make it home, it’s late afternoon. The front door and the screen have been opened to their max capacity to allow fresh air to enter the house. You pass right through the doorway, thinking nothing of it, until you come to a stop in your kitchen.

Finnick is leaning against your countertop, inspecting a hook you made last night. “Have you two ever considered opening up a shop closer to the dock? That way you don’t have to walk as far.”

“We have, but it’s expensive next to the dock. We know we’d probably make the money we need, but we can’t know for sure.”

“Have you considered a pop-up?” 

“A stand?” Your mom asks, considering it for a moment. “No, but I’m sure if we tried, the Peacekeepers would deny the permit, like they’ve denied everything else we’ve requested.”

“I’m home.” You tell them, mood fading. “I thought you went home, Finnick.”

“I did, but then I came here to wait for you.” Finnick says. “You should go and put on something more loose and comfortable.”

“For what?” You ask, setting your tote bag down by the door.

“Don’t worry about the details.” Finnick smiles. “I’ve got it all planned out.”

“I don’t have the time. I’ve got hooks to do.” You shake your head.

“Oh, leave them.” Your mom says, winking at you. “I’ll take care of it. The stove has been burning hotter lately because of the heat, I was able to get most of my work done. I’ll get you started.”

“I can’t have you do all the work.” You reason.

“(Y/n), you need a break.” She tilts her head down at you. “Go get changed. You can enjoy a proper day off for once.”

“Mom.” 

“Now, (Y/n).” She tells you.

You look at Finnick, a little upset by the fact that he’s ruined your plans for the rest of the day, but you know better than to argue any further with your mom. You pass them to go to the back of the house, where your small bedroom is. You swing the door shut with a single push, sitting down on your bed as you stare into the closet.

He said something more loose and comfortable—but you’re already wearing that. A regular shirt, a baggy pair of pants that once belonged to your father. You wish he’d given you more details.

You stand back up, mindlessly swiping through your tops before you stumble upon a tank top with thin straps that you haven’t worn in a while. You pull it off the hanger, throwing it over your arm as you turn to the small pile of jeans and shorts that line the wall. You crouch down, picking through them, finding a nice pair of light blue shorts that’ll reach your mid-thigh. 

You change quickly, throwing your previous clothes into the hamper, retying your shoes. When you join your mom and Finnick back in the kitchen, they both seem pleased with your choices.

“I’ll see you later this evening, honey.” Your mom tells you, touching your shoulder. “Finnick will take good care of you.”

You look at Finnick, who has a brighter smile on his face. He hands you your tote bag, which is no longer empty, like it had been when you dropped it off by the door. Now, there’s a neatly folded thin blanket inside. 

“Where are we going?” You ask Finnick, weirded out.

“Nowhere you haven’t been before.” He tells you, motioning for you to leave first. “Thank you, Ms. (L/n).”

“No problem, Finnick.” She waves.

The walk with Finnick is mostly quiet, not a lot of conversation is exchanged. You feel the need to apologize for what you said to him earlier, but you were just expressing how you felt, again. If he would just listen to you, then there wouldn’t be a need to be so straight-forward.

He brings you to the beach, under one of the few palm trees, where he lays out the blanket from the tote bag. Which reveals a couple of snack boxes underneath, containing fruit, crackers, spreads and juices. You stare at Finnick, wanting to tell him you’re not interested in experiencing the Capitol, when he completely takes you off-guard.

“Welcome to our first date.” Finnick laughs, “Sit, please.”

“A date?” You ask, pulling off your shoes to sit on the blanket. “Usually you have to ask the girl out first.”

“I would’ve, but you were already mad at me. That’s why I asked your mom for help.” He smiles. “Sorry, by the way, but I couldn’t let you be after what you said.”

You can’t help it, now. “I’m sorry, Finnick, I just—”

“You don’t have to apologize, I get it. Your mom explained it pretty well, actually.” He sits beside you, popping open the lids on the boxes. “I know where you’re coming from, and I know most of it is because of a rumor.” 

You nod, agreeing. 

“It started in the Capitol.” He tells you, shaking his head. “And as much as I hate it, I can’t escape what they say about me, so I’ve stopped trying. But I want you to know that I don’t talk to any other girls. You are the only one I talk to, because you’re the only one that’s stuck by me after my Games.”

“I’m your friend, Finnick.”

“Not everyone saw me that way.” He says. “They either stuck around because I was rich or left because I was a Capitol darling—a status I can’t help. They labeled me that way.”

“Oh.” You murmur.

He pauses for a moment, looking out at the water. “There’s a lot that happens in the Capitol when I go every year, and it’s partly why I act the way I do, and I’m trying to work on it.” He then looks back at you, taking your hand. “But I’m serious when it comes to my feelings about you, (Y/n). I really do like you, and I would like you to be my girlfriend.”

You stare at him, heart pumping in your chest, “I would love to, Finnick.”

He gives you a smile, “I thought you’d say-so.”

[thecircularsystem]

I just wrote this up in a server I'm in, and I really like it, so it's going here now.

The mass amount of "Innerworld is not a real place" recently (that I've seen) is coming from numerous individuals who do not have innerworlds at all, or who experience them strictly as a therapeutic visualization technique -- they only access the innerworld in cases of, "I have a problem that needs fixing." This crowd is attempting to delineate real and fake, and I think I've clued into why.

I think many of these systems, who are particularly early in recovery, are still relying on what I like to call Survival Shame. For many DID systems, when we are still in the abusive situation, shame is something that keeps us alive. Shame is a deactivator; it threatens, it dampens, it lessens.

So, for instance, we used shame (unknowingly, honestly) to prevent us from lashing out at our parents; if everything is our fault, then my parents can't be the ones at fault, meaning I am still safe to live in their house. Confronting that, breaking away from shame, would mean admitting I am unsafe -- and that was too much for me at the time, as it would be outside of my window of tolerance.

By trying to create this line between "strictly scientific experiences" and "real, existing thing," they're trying to use shame to stay safe. If innerworlds are strictly Fake And Imagined, then logically, so are their parts -- which means it's all just a mental thing, and there's still hope that they're not [insert shame filled internalized ableism here]. However, if the innerworld is a Real And Big exprience that people have, then so are the parts -- meaning that all those years pushing them away, wishing they would die, etc etc, means they were actually harming themselves. And these people do not have a window of tolerance yet that can accept this reversal of shame; they're not ready for that aspect of recovery.

So, when they see others who aren't at that stage -- for whatever reason, but typically because recovery is not linear or the same for everyone -- they get frustrated, because it's beating against their own view for their own systemhood. "This person says it's real, but if theirs is real, what stops mine from being real?" So they create these arbitrary definitions of Real or Fake, and anyone who is Faking is Clearly Evil. So they lash out and demonize those who do have real innerworlds, often unknowingly in a way to stay safe.

I think this is also where the "anti-recovery" label often come into play. Because, often, something is deemed "anti-recovery" if the person finds the concept unsafe for them, personally. The label of "anti-recovery" is a way for the person to validate their shame, to say, "Well, that person is being anti-recovery, so I am justified in calling it fake and misinformation." It's justifying the shame actions.