Hello Boys

Dean crouched beside you, hands already on your calves, fingers moving to rub the arches of your aching feet like it was second nature. He was obsessed with touching you lately—not in a weird way but more like he couldn’t believe you were real. Couldn’t believe this was real.

“I just don’t like you carrying anything heavier than a craving,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your knee before looking up at you with those damn forest-green eyes. “You okay?”

You softened. Always did with him. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He nodded, reaching up to cradle your belly with both hands. Your shirt was stretched tight over it now—his shirt, really, soft cotton with an old Zepp logo, permanently claimed by you months ago. His thumbs traced light circles on either side of the bump, reverent.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I can feel her kick now. Stronger than yesterday.”

You smiled. “She’s definitely your kid. Already throwing punches.”

His jaw ticked slightly, and there was that look again—the one you were starting to recognize. It wasn’t just awe. It was something deeper. He looked at you like he was scared the world would take you from him. Like he was scared of being happy.

“I keep thinking I’m gonna wake up,” he confessed, voice low. “Like this is all some dream I’m not allowed to have. You. Her. A home.”

You reached down, fingers sliding into his hair. “It’s not a dream, Dean. You built this.”

He leaned into your hand. “No. You built this. I just… I’m the guy who got lucky.”

You both were quiet for a moment. Then his hand shifted again, thumb brushing just under the curve of your bump.

“I’ve got this list,” he said suddenly, eyes still fixed on your stomach.

You blinked. “List?”

“Of things I wanna do before she’s born. Stuff I wanna be ready for. I, uh…” He looked a little sheepish. “I read all the books. Sam caught me watching a diaper tutorial on YouTube the other night. Thought I was watching porn or something.”

You laughed, heart swelling.

Dean grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanna be good at this. Better than I ever had. You know?”

You cupped his cheek. “You already are. She’s lucky, Dean. We both are.”

His eyes shimmered just a bit. He didn’t cry—Dean Winchester didn’t cry, at least not where you could see it—but you felt it in the way he kissed your palm, slow and grateful.

He stood and pulled you into his arms, careful but close. “Swear to God, Y/N, I’ve faced monsters, angels, Lucifer himself—but nothing terrifies me more than the idea of not doing right by you and her.”

You leaned your head against his chest, hearing the steady thump of his heart.

“Then stop worrying,” you said softly. “You’re already doing everything right.”

His arms tightened just a little.

You had vented your frustrations and jealousy to Nick countless times.

And he always listened. He always spent his weekends with you to cheer you up after you had come home from those weddings, every time. He never once judged you. He always tucked you under his arm and fell asleep with you on your couch.

He’d often wake up hours before you and prepare breakfast. He’d always be dressed the same after the weddings too; shirt half tucked in, unbuttoned messily, hair frazzled from running his hands through it.

He never complained. He was always so cheerful in the morning. Which you always appreciated. He never tried forcing you to 'find the right man.' Never had he tried forcing you to get married to some random man. He never rushed you either.

"You'll find someone someday," your friends often told you when you voiced your sadness.

But Nick wasn't like that. He never spoke of finding someone else. Hell, you couldn't ever remember him having a serious relationship, either. Sure, he'd bring a few flings home occasionally. But never when you were home. And the women never stayed over night either.

He respected your space. And he respected you most of all.

And somewhere, in the quiet moments of mornings together, while he stirred scrambled eggs and hummed along to a song only he knew, you realized that maybe… maybe you were starting to wonder if the right person wasn’t out there somewhere, waiting for you. Maybe, just maybe, he was already here.

A month later, you found yourself once again slipping into a satin dress, the familiar weight of high heels on your feet, and Nick right there beside you. You’d lost count of how many weddings this year had included him but somehow, the presence of his hand brushing against yours felt heavier tonight. More noticeable.

“You okay?” he asked as he adjusted his tie, his hair messily perfect as always. He smirked just a little, like he knew the thoughts running through your head before you even said them.

You shrugged, trying to smile. “Yeah. Excited for Sarah and Mike. They’re… really cute together.”

“And you’re cute,” he said, casually, as if it were just another observation about the weather.

Your stomach did a little flip. You looked away, cheeks warming. “Thanks,” you muttered, hoping your voice sounded steady.

The ceremony itself was a blur — smiles, vows, champagne, the gentle rustle of your dress as you stood by your friend’s side. But all evening, Nick lingered just a little too close. Not in a way that made you uncomfortable, but in that quiet, protective way he always did. Like he was right where he needed to be: beside you. Watching you.

Later, when the music softened and everyone shifted to the dance floor, he held out his hand without a word. You took it instinctively, letting him lead you to the center of the room.

“You always get the slow dances,” he teased lightly, his eyes sparkling in the low light.

“And you always get to be my partner,” you shot back, half-laughing, half-nervous.

He shrugged, but there was a softness in his gaze that caught you off guard. “I like being here with you,” he admitted quietly.

You froze for a moment, the world around you fading until it was just the two of you in a bubble of soft music and flickering fairy lights.

“You… always say that,” you whispered. “But it’s never… like this.”

He leaned just a little closer, so your shoulders brushed, your hands still entwined. “Maybe because it’s never been just like this before,” he murmured.

And for the first time, you wondered — really wondered — if the reason you’d always been the “forever bridesmaid” wasn’t about bad luck or timing at all. Maybe it had just been waiting for the right person to notice you.

The music slowed even further, leaving just a soft melody in the background. Around you, couples swayed, but you and Nick hardly noticed anyone else. Your hands were still entwined, the warmth of his fingers pressed against yours, sending tiny jolts through your chest every time he tightened his grip just slightly.

“I’ve always… liked this,” he repeated, softer this time, almost like he needed to hear it as much as you needed to. “Being with you. More than friends.”

Your heart skipped. You couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t stop the way your lips parted slightly as if preparing for something you’d never let yourself hope for.

He tilted his head, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. The motion was slow, deliberate, intimate. His gaze held yours with a kind of intensity that made the world shrink down to just the two of you.

Before you could even think, he leaned closer. Your breath caught. His eyes flicked to your lips for a moment — almost asking permission — and then he closed the distance.

The first touch of his lips was gentle. Testing. Uncertain. But it was enough to make your knees weaken, to make your hands curl around his shirt, pulling him closer without realizing it.

He lingered there, soft, warm, careful. And when you leaned into him, the kiss deepened just a little, a quiet, slow acknowledgement of everything that had been simmering between you for years.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to breathe, resting your forehead against his. Your pulse was wild, your chest tight. “Nick…” you whispered.

He pressed another soft kiss to your temple. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he admitted, his voice low and rough with emotion.

Your heart swelled. You didn’t know what the future held, and maybe you didn’t need to yet. Right now, this moment — him, you, the gentle sway of the music around you — was enough.

And for the first time in years, you felt like maybe being a bridesmaid wasn’t about waiting for someone else’s love story. Maybe it was about finding the one you’d been standing beside all along.

Nick smiled, brushing his nose lightly against yours. “You’re mine, you know,” he murmured, teasing but utterly sincere.

You laughed softly, feeling a thrill of joy that had nothing to do with weddings and everything to do with him. “Finally,” you whispered.

i've been wanting to return to tumblr but this place distresses me so bad. nobody talks, nobody interacts. so im just most likely not returning from hiatus. i have posst that shwo where y'all can find me.

my mental health has been up and down for several months and im just over it.

i have absolutely no desire to return to this hellhole, or writing as of this current moment.