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quinnylouhughesx43 · 1 month

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A Little Attention

summary: in which ethan and y/n are arguing heatedly, turns out it’s over something simple if only she would’ve said something

word count: 3.93

warnings: ⚠️MDNI 18+⚠️, smut smut smut, unprotected p in v, rough, moderate-a lot of foul language, fem!receiving oral, fem!receiving fingering, bit vivid

notes: hi there 👋🏼. this was written for @mommahughes19-23 for her birthday (everyone tell her happy late birthday 🥳) i feel it is one of the most vivid pieces I’ve ever produced smut or not. seriously no minors, if anyone can tell me how to age restrict it please message me 🥲

Ethan's fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, his knuckles white with the effort of containing his rage. Y/n's eyes flashed with a fiery defiance that matched the heat of his own. They stood in the living room, their voices rising and falling like the crescendos of a tumultuous symphony. Their words were sharper than the knives in the kitchen drawer, each one a deliberate strike aimed at the heart of the other. The air had unspoken accusations and a tension that could be sliced with a child’s toy knife.

"You never listen to me!" Ethan's voice echoed through the apartment, bouncing off the walls and ceiling.

"And you never understand!" Y/n shot back, her own volume rising to meet his.

Their argument had been brewing for days, a slow brew of unspoken resentments and misunderstandings. It had finally reached a boiling point, spilling over into a confrontation that neither had seen coming. Ethan's eyes searched hers, looking for a crack in the armor of her anger, a glimpse of the softness he knew lay beneath. But all he found was a mirror to his own fury.

Y/n's chest heaved with the force of her words, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she tried to keep up with the pace of the fight. Her cheeks were flushed, not just from the heat of her words, but from the rush of blood that came with the adrenaline coursing through her veins. The scent of their shared rage filled the room, a heady perfume that seemed to thicken the air around them.

"All you ever do is hockey this, hockey that, hang out with this group, hang out with that group," she desperately pleaded, her voice cracking with the weight of her frustration. "When will you have time for me?"

Ethan's anger fizzled at the sound of her desperation. He knew he'd been seeing her less recently, but the insinuation stung more than any slap ever could. He was torn between his love for the sport that had given him a future and the woman who was his present.

The woman who is hopefully his future.

The rage that had fueled him moments ago dissipated, leaving a cold, stark reality in its place. He had never meant to make her feel like she was in second place. He stepped closer to her, his heart pounding in his chest, and reached out to touch her, but she flinched away. He could see the hurt in her eyes, and it was like a punch to the gut.

With a heavy breath out, Ethan realized quickly the fight wasn't worth losing her over. He reached out again, this time with gentle hands that trembled slightly. "Babe," he began, his voice softer than the whisper of a leaf in the wind, "I'm sorry."

Y/n looked at him with sad eyes that spoke volumes. Her anger had not disappeared, but the intensity had given way to a deep sadness that was far more poignant. For a moment, she just stood there, her chest heaving with the weight of her emotions. Then, she turned and started walking up the stairs to his bedroom. The sound of her footsteps on the wooden steps was like a silent scream echoing through the apartment.

Ethan knew he had to act fast but he couldn’t chase after her instantaneously. He couldn't let the argument end like this, not when he felt so much for her. He waited a few moment, giving her space she to collect herself. While allowing himself some time to come together. Then, he followed her, his heart hammering against his ribcage like a drum. Each step he took was like sinking in molasses, slow, deliberate, feeling stuck in time, as if the fate of their relationship hinged on the precise timing of his arrival. Anyone who has ever been in a relationship knows timing is always crucial in arguments.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he saw her silhouette through the slightly ajar door of his bedroom. She was lying on the bed, her back to him, her body a taut bow of tension. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting a warm, intimate light over the disarray of their clothes, a silent testament to the tumult of their emotions.

Ethan approached slowly, his steps measured, each one a silent apology. He slid into the bed, his body careful not to disturb hers. He lay on his side, close enough to feel the heat of her body, but not so close that he could be accused of invading her space. He reached out, his hand tentative as it rested on her hip. Her skin was warm and smooth, a stark contrast to the ice-cold fear that gripped his heart.

For a moment, she remained stiff, unyielding. Then, almost imperceptibly, she leaned back into him, her body melting into his embrace. It was a subtle surrender, a silent acceptance of his apology. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the curve of her body fit against his like a jigsaw piece finding its match. Her breathing evened out, he took that as a good sign.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n," he whispered into her hair, his voice raw with emotion. "I didn't mean to make you feel less valued, or that I was ignoring you. I've just been caught up in everything, and I know that's not an excuse." He paused, feeling her body tense slightly. "I'll make it up to you, I promise. Just tell me what you need."

She rolled over to face him. Her eyes searched his, the anger now replaced by a smoldering intensity that sent a jolt of electricity through his body. She reached up, her hand sliding over his jaw, and then down to cover his mouth. The touch was gentle, but the message was clear: she didn't want his words, she wanted action. Ethan's pulse quickened as he felt her other hand begin to trace the line of his collarbone, her fingernails lightly scraping against his skin.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice a low, throaty purr that sent shivers down his spine. "I just missed you so much." His eyes stared right into her, and the depth of her need reflected in the dark lust filled pools. "I just got so frustrated because I needed you, and you weren't there. I needed you so badly, I couldn’t take care of it myself."

Her hand traveled south, slipping under the waistband of his sweatpants. The warmth of her touch was like a brand, searing through the fabric to the very core of his being. She teased him gently, her fingertips tracing the outline of his cock, which grew hard and thick beneath her touch. Ethan's eyes rolled back in his head, his breath hitching in his throat. He hadn't expected this, but the sudden shift in her demeanor was like a balm to his bruised ego.

“Y/n,” he shakily breathed out. “Baby, please. You do..”

She cut his words off placing one finger to his lips. “Ethan.” Y/n groaned. “Do not make me go back to my dorm, to my toys that are very much not you.”

Her hand traced his cock again, but this time she stopped and lightly squeezed it. The sudden pressure was like a switch thrown in a dark room, illuminating a hunger in Ethan that was more primal than anything he'd felt before. He took a sharp intake of breath, his eyes never leaving hers. He felt his body respond to her touch, his cock swelling and pulsing with the rhythm of his heart.

Without another word, Ethan rolled over her, his body a mountain of heat and need. One arm slid under her, supporting her back, while the other slipped under her shorts, seeking the warmth between her legs. Her thighs parted for him like the pages of a favorite book, revealing the slick wetness that coated her pussy. He groaned, the sound a mix of relief and desire, as his fingers found her clit and began to circle it with an urgency that matched the racing of his heart.

"All you needed was a little attention?" he teased, his voice low and gruff, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Hmm? Was that all it was?" His thumb applied gentle pressure, rolling her sensitive nub in a way that made her eyes flutter closed and her back arch. “You just needed to be a brat and pitch a fit to get my attention?”

"I need more than a little attention," she murmured, her voice thick with need. Her hand slipped down to cover his, urging him to increase the tempo of his strokes. His touch was electric, setting her nerve endings ablaze with every brush against her clit. "Much more," she gasped, as he obliged, his fingers moving faster, pressing harder.

Ethan's mouth found hers in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep, tasting the sweetness of her need. He could feel the tension coiled tight in her body, the way she arched into his touch, begging for more. He broke the kiss, his teeth grazing her lower lip, drawing a soft moan from her. "How much more?" he whispered against her ear, his breath hot and heavy.

“All of you. Please E.” She whimpered.

Ethan growled with a smirk, his eyes gleaming with desire. The roughness of his touch across her body sent a thrill of excitement through her, making her pussy clench around his fingers before he withdrew them. He began to remove her clothes with a purposefulness that was almost violent, ripping the fabric as if it were paper standing in the way of something he needed to claim. Her shirt was the first to go, torn away to reveal her lacy black bra, which he quickly unhooked. Her breasts spilled out, the nipples already erect and begging for his mouth. He didn't disappoint, taking one in his mouth and sucking hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, making her gasp with pleasure.

Her shorts were next, pulled down with one swift motion, leaving her in nothing but a pair of drenched panties. He kissed his way down her body, his mouth leaving a trail of fire wherever it touched. When he reached her panties, he didn't bother to remove them, instead choosing to kiss and lick the fabric that separated him from her soaking wetness. She bucked her hips, trying to get closer, but he held her firm, the restraint only adding to the delicious torment.

Unable to resist her whines any longer, Ethan tore the panties away, revealing her to his eager eyes. He spread her legs wider, exposing her completely to his gaze. He took a moment to drink in the sight of her, the way her pussy glistened with arousal, the way her thighs quivered with anticipation. His dick throbbed painfully, demanding affection, but he held back seeing how he with holding attention from was the reason they were arguing in the first place. This time wasn’t about him.

“I want to taste you, pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “Tell me how much you want me to make it up to you. Tell me how much you need me too.”

Her eyes snapped open, the desire in them a wildfire that could have burned down the whole apartment complex. “Ethan, please. I need you to fuck me so hard I forget everything else exists. I need to feel you everywhere, to drown in you. I need it rough and intense, just like how we felt downstairs. I want you to fuck the anger and frustration out of us both.”

The words were like a lit match thrown into a barrel of gunpowder. Ethan's control snapped like a dry twig underfoot. He grabbed her hips and yanked her to the edge of the bed, kneeling between her legs. He looked up at her face when his mouth made contact with her pussy. He let out the deepest of deep groans when he watched her eyes roll back slightly.

Her sweet scent filled his nostrils as he tasted her, his tongue delving into her warm, wet depths. She was already so close, her body quivering with the effort of holding back. He didn't bother with gentle licks or teasing strokes; he went straight for the kill, his tongue flicking against her clit with the precision of a snake's strike. She screamed out his name, her legs wrapping around his head, holding him in place.

"Do you want to know what you taste like?" He asked, his voice muffled against her, a smile playing on his lips as he plunged a finger into her, feeling her tighten around him. "You taste like you’re mine." Ethan stated firmly, possessively. His voice filled with satisfaction as she moaned loudly in response. "And I am going to make sure you feel like it too." He adds another finger, pumping fast, his thumb paying close attention to her clit. His tongue alternating out with his thumb. “By the end, you’ll have no doubts baby girl. You are all fucking mine.”

"I'm so close," Y/n whimpered, her body tightening around his fingers. She could feel the orgasm building inside her, a storm ready to break. Ethan's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched her, his mouth a wicked smile against her sensitive flesh.

"Good," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. "Because I'm going to make you come so hard you'll forget how you were feeling when you were without me, missing me." He took her clit into his mouth, sucking hard as he pumped his fingers in and out of her. She bucked against his face, her nails digging into the bed sheets. The sensation was overwhelming, a crescendo of pleasure that washed over her like a tidal wave. The red flush across her skin a perfect show of the sensation flowing through her.

With a final, brutal tug of his fingers, she came with a scream that was muffled by the pillow she'd bitten into. Her body convulsed, her pussy clenching around his digits as she rode the waves of pleasure. Ethan withdrew his hand, his fingers glistening with her juices. He brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a smirk that was equal parts arrogance and satisfaction. The taste of her on his tongue was intoxicating, a heady mix of sweetness and desire that made his cock throb with need.

He stood from the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving hers. With a swift movement, he removed his sweatpants and boxers, revealing his hard, thick cock. It bobbed slightly in the warm, lamplit air, a silent demand for her attention. He stroked it a few times, watching her reaction. Her eyes followed the motion of his hand like a hawk tracking its prey, her pupils dilating with each pass.

Ethan climbed back between her legs, his cock pressing against her slick folds. He didn't enter her yet, instead choosing to tease her by rubbing the tip against her clit. She bucked her hips still sensitive from moments ago and trying to force him inside quickly but he held back. He was enjoying an all new type of power play. He leaned in, his mouth hovering just above hers. "You sure you want, uh what was it you said?" he asked, his voice a gruff whisper that sent shivers down her spine. He moved to whisper right next to her ear. “Me ‘to fuck the anger and frustration out of us both’ y/n?” Ethan nudge her head to the side with his nose so he had better access to the sweet spot on her neck.

Her breath was coming in short, desperate pants as she nodded frantically. "Yes," she whispered, the word barely audible.

With a predatory growl, Ethan didn't wait, lifting one of her legs over his shoulder, effectively opening her up to him. He positioned the head of his cock at her entrance, feeling the heat of her desire. He took one final look into her eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation, but all he saw was the need for release, the same need that pulsed through him. He slid into her with one stroke, burying himself to the hilt.

Y/n's eyes widened with the suddenness of his entry, her body stretching around him. He didn't give her time to adjust; instead, he began to pound into her with a ferocity that matched the intensity of their argument. Each thrust was punctuated by a grunt of effort, his body moving in a primal rhythm that seemed to echo the beat of their hearts. Her walls tightened around him, the friction almost painful, but he didn't slow down. He was a man on a mission, she asked him for something after being upset with him and he was not going to let her be unhappy with him again.

He reached down, his hand wrapping around her throat, his grip firm but not painful. "Is this what you wanted?" he growled, his voice a dark rumble that seemed to resonate through the very air around them. "Do you want me to fuck you like you're mine?"

Her eyes, glazed with pleasure, searched his, and she nodded frantically. The pressure of his hand on her throat only served to heighten her arousal, sending a fresh wave of wetness to coat his cock as he pounded into her. The sound of their bodies slapping together was like a drumbeat that echoed through the room, a rhythm that seemed to sync with the racing of their hearts.

Y/n’s whimpers grew louder, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. Each thrust was a declaration of ownership, a claiming of what was his. She could feel herself losing control, her body responding to his every move with a mindless need for more. The sensation was like nothing she had ever experienced before, a heady mix of pain and pleasure that had her teetering on the edge of sanity. The hand that was holding her throat traveled down her body and came to a rest at her lower abdomen. Ethan applied slight pressure. Eliciting a sharp loud moan from y/n. Ethan smirked proudly.

Her eyes were glazed over, her pupils dilated to the point where the color was almost entirely obscured. Her nails dug into his arms, leaving half-moons of pain that Ethan barely felt. All he could focus on was the way her body responded to his, the way she arched into every thrust, the way her pussy clenched around him like a vice. He felt like he could come just from watching her lose herself in the moment.

He slowed his pace, his strokes turning long and deep, drawing out her pleasure like a master artist. His hand found its way back to her throat, his grip firm but gentle, a silent reminder of who was in control. "Look at me," he ordered, his voice a low, guttural growl. "Look at me while I make you feel this good."

Her eyes snapped to his, the intensity in them making his own pulse race. He watched as she bit her lower lip, her teeth sinking into the plump flesh, trying to hold back the scream that threatened to tear from her throat. He could feel her pussy starting to pulse and squeeze around him, her inner walls fluttering like a bird taking flight.

"Are you about to come for me, baby?" Ethan's question was a low growl, his voice thick with need. The words were a demand, a challenge. He knew she was close, he could feel it in the way her body was tensing beneath his. A quick simple “Uh-huh” was muttered.

With a smirk, he pulled out of her, flipping her over onto her stomach with ease. He grabbed her hips, positioning himself behind her. Her favorite position, their position when they need to be quick or he’s wanting to show her he pays attention. He took a moment to appreciate the view, her round ass in the air, her slick and it’s all for him. The sound of her gasp was like music to his ears when he thrust himself back inside, and he felt her body tense around him as he filled her completely.

She was teetering the edge of her second orgasm and he was veering towards his first.

"You take me so good, baby," Ethan groaned, his words hot and heavy in her ear. "So tight, so wet, like you were made for me." His hands gripped her hips, his thrusts deep and punishing, each one sending a bolt of pleasure through her body. "You look so pretty when you're getting fucked like this, all flushed and desperate for more." He gave her hips a squeeze, he was holding her up. Her legs were shaking too much to keep her up herself.

Without warning, Y/n's body tensed up like a bow string pulled tight, and with a scream that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room, she came. Her pussy clamped down on him like a vise, her inner muscles pulsing around his cock in waves of ecstasy. Her nails dug into the bed, her back arched high, and she trembled uncontrollably as the orgasm ripped through her like a tornado. It was the kind of climax that stole her breath, made her vision swim with stars, and left her feeling like she was floating on a cloud of pure bliss.

Ethan watched her shatter with a mix of pride and need. He felt her pussy milk him, and it was all he could take. With a roar that seemed to echo through his very soul, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and let go. His hips bucked against her as he emptied himself inside her, filling her up with his hot, sticky come. Each pulse of his release sent a new shock of pleasure through her, making her orgasm last longer, making it even more intense.

As the waves of pleasure receded, Ethan pulled out of her gently, collapsing onto the bed beside her. He rolled onto his side, his breathing ragged, his chest heaving. He reached out, his hand shaking slightly, to trace the line of her jaw. She was so beautiful, so perfect, and he felt a fierce surge of love for her that could bring him to his knees.

Y/n turned her head to look at him, her eyes still glazed with the aftermath of her climax. A soft, sated smile graced her lips, and Ethan felt his heart swell in his chest. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth, tasting the salt of her skin. "You're mine," he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Always." He paused and thought about what to say for a moment.

“Just next time, talk to me about how you’re feeling before you get a moody and bratty because you need dicked down. I’ll happily do it, but…” He stopped talking to push some hair out of her face. “But y/n/n, sex isn’t everything in a relationship, I can give you physical affection in many forms. Not that sex isn’t great, I don’t want it to be everything with us. Okay, baby?”

She gave him a genuine, gentle smile reaching out to hug him. She was so desperately, hopelessly, in love with him it was painful at times, but he was so worth it.

#cay writes #ethan edwards x y/n #ethan edwards fic #ethan edwards smut #18+ mdni #mdni #umich smut #umich x reader #umich request #umich fic #ethan edwards x reader #ethan edwards blurb #hockey smut #nj devils smut #ncaa college hockey

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katiesyellowcardcollection · 2 months

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Williamson x teen!daughter social media

this was honestly so fun to make so i might turn it into a mini series - send any reqs/ideas of thinking of writing a few mini fics on it aswell🙃🙃

you’re gonna go so far masterlist

y/nwilliamson_

y/nwilliamson: A dream come true making my debut for this special club, To represent Arsenal on the biggest stage just like my momma is the greatest honour.

To the fans, i promise to try and leave this shirt in a better place then when i found it, i’ll always give my all when wearing this special badge.

#COYG

liked by leahwilliamsonn, kyracooneyx and 65,897 others.

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leahwilliamson so proud of you my baby girl, i can’t wait to see you shine even more in red and white, love you❤️

view 12 replies liked by 345 others

Katie_mccabe11 look at you all grown up🥺🥺 proud of you rascal.

view 9 replies liked by 145 others

jordannobbs feels like yesterday watching you mess around at the training ground now look at you!

view 5 replies liked by 312 others

alessia stargirl 💫💫

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arsenalwfc many more to come❤️

view 17 replies liked by 543 others

y/nwilliamson_

y/nwilliamson post season dump <3

liked by jordannobbs, caitlin foord and 23,975 others

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kyracooneyx nice tan🤣

y/nwilliamson you’re a funny one xx

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victoriapelova nooit meer met jou naar het meer gaan

view 4 replies liked by 47 others

(never going to the lake with you again)

leahwilliamsonn stop growing up so quickly🥲

view 135 replies liked by 478 others

teyah.goldie miss you xoxo

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katherinemollerkuhl ❤️❤️❤️

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y/nwilliamson_

y/nwilliamson America dumppp

liked by caitlinfoord, katie_mccabe11 and 14,654 others

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stephcatley @/leahwilliamsonn you look cute xx

view 5 replies liked by 78 others

leahwilliamsonn ❤️❤️

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kyracooneyx howdy🤠

view 3 replies liked by 58 others

jbeattie91 your fits 😍😍

leahwilliamsonn she learned from the best beats x

y/nwilliamson_

y/nwilliamson football saved my life in ways most of you could never imagine, to make my debut for my country is something ill never forget, wearing that badge is the greatest honour.

liked by leahwilliamsonn, ellatoone and 45,792 others

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leahwilliamson so so proud of you kiddo! many more caps to come

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graceclinton_x proud of you trouble

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alessia superstar

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jordannobbs i told you!! super proud of you rascal

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kyracooneyx YEAH THE DEBUT 🙌🙌

view 4 replies liked by 62 others

leahwilliamsonn_

leahwilliamsonn happy birthday to my sweet girl, 17 years of age!! being your momma for the past 10 years has been an honour, watching you grow into the person you are today makes me so proud, i can’t wait to see what you do next love you lots xo

liked by y/nwilliamson, jbeattie91 and 112, 678 others.

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y/nwilliamson love you so much ❤️❤️

view 16 replies liked by 271 others

kimlittle1990 happy birthday kiddo!

- y/nwilliamson thank you kimmy❤️

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liawaelti feels like yesterday you were hiding in the cuboard from me🙈 @y/nwilliamson

-y/nwilliamson 😂😂😂

y/nwilliamson_

y/nwilliamson family fc takes on hiking

liked by arsenalwfc, laiacodina5 and 67,237 others

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teyah.goldie still not over your cooking abilities 😍😍

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alessia yeahhh the campers

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laiacodina5 bit wet y/n?😅

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y/nwilliamson_

y/nwilliamson april moments

leahwilliamsonn love the quote my girl proud of you🫶🏼

view 52 replies liked by 350 others

jordannobbs 💕💕

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victoriapelova ik hou van jou

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teyah.goldie chefs👩‍🍳👩‍🍳

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y/nwilliamson_

y/nwilliamson gutted to end my first season with the Arsenal this way💔

thank you for all your messages i really appreciate them and have really felt the love 🫶

my euros dream is over but i’ll be cheering along my teammates & momma from home hoping to bring it home again!

🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿🔴⚪️

liked by leahwilliamson, jordannobbs and 122, 675 others

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leahwilliamsonn we got you baby girl💕

viviannemiedema with you every step of the way kiddo❤️

teyah.goldie rehab buddy, you got this❤️ 🥲

arsenalwfc we’ve got you, y/n❤️

katie_mccabe11 ❤️❤️

jordannobbs still got that smile, proud of you always kid

lionesses back soon❤️

kyracooneyx nandos on me, love you🫶🏼🫶🏼

#arsenal women #woso #woso community #leah williamson #woso x reader #woso fanfics #awfc x teen #arsenal x reader #arsenalwfc x reader

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rottenpumpkin13 · 3 months

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Every time Sephiroth experiences something normal or cute and exclaims “Oh!” on this blog, I melt from wholesomeness overload. Please never stop letting him be delighted by little things in life 🥲🥲🥲

Anon you are so right, and for that we shall provide a list of interesting things that have delighted Sephiroth's inner child 🖤🩶💜

• His first time seeing a lava lamp at a store, his eyes lit up, and he was propelled to buy a lava lamp for every room in his apartment.

• When Angeal bought Halloween-themed cookie cutters and invited them over to bake. Sephiroth was fascinated by the intricate and surprisingly precise skeleton cookie cutter. He made 23 of them. He was very proud of his skeleton cookie army.

• When Genesis gifted him a toasted marshmallow scented candle that did exactly what it was designed to do. His office smelled like s'mores for a week, and filling out his endless paperwork pile was frustrating, as he kept craving marshmallows.

• The time him, Angeal, Gen, and Zack visited Kalm's autumn festival, and it was right when the leaves had fallen. They spent more time at the local park making leaf piles and jumping in them than at the actual festival.

• One time he had the window in his office open, and a ladybug flew in and landed on his wrist. He spent the next thirty minutes not moving, just staring at the bug friend that was kind enough to see him as a comfortable resting spot.

• When the stray cat that he had feeding in the HQ's parking garage turned out to be a mother, and had kittens. Angeal and Genesis had never heard Sephiroth cry, which is why they were alarmed when he called them shaken to tears, asking them to meet him at the underground. The next hour was spent hashing out a plan to get the kittens and the mother cat up to Sephiroth's apartment discreetly without anyone seeing. Fortunately they were successful.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #ffvii crisis core #genesis rhapsodos #ff7 crisis core #angeal hewley #crisis core #headcanons

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wanderlust-in-my-soul · 2 months

Text

Currently Watching - August

aka The Masterlist

Because I love a good little list - in alphabetical order! 😊

Regularly updated during the month, latest update 29.08.2024

A little link to my favorite bl-tropes-collection 💙

gif-requests are currently closed🌼

Here you can find all of my gifs.

At the end you can have a look at what we can expect in August with a MDL link and a link for a trailer (if avaible).

This is guaranteed to contain spoilers!

1. 4 Minutes 🇹🇭 (4/8)

Okay. I catched up. I wasn't in the mood for this series, but now I am a little bit hooked. We have a really cute couple here with a really nice love-making-scene. We have a totally messed up relationship of three people, two love each other, two hurt the other one and two are horny for one with very graphic scenes. And yes, I saw it too. Oh, the story itself? Confusing, yet interesting.

2. Cityboy_Log 4.2 🇰🇷 (17/23)

This week was... okayish. They were mostly bonding at a group and doing stuff together. Nothing really happend. They played games, the trouple was cute and JJ tried to act, but really, those moments were more cringe than anything else...

3. First Note of Love 🇹🇼 (4/12)

The looks they gave each other! The constant bickering! The compliments! The necklace as a gift! I see you! I like them. They get more comfortable together and are now forming a band. Hopefully Sea can help Neil getting back on stage without fainting or having a panic attack. I am curious how this whole series will move on, but I am intrigued. But what is that age gap?

4. Hidamari ga Kikoeru 🇯🇵 (10/12)

🥲 I'm fine... the only thing that helped me in the end was the preview for next week. How could he listen to Maya? How? I know why, but still... why? And now Taichi thinks he was just a replacable someone who doesn't mean anything to Kohei 😭 I really don't like it here! And I hope Maya chokes on her words! I don't care that she's going to cry next episode. Right now I still don't like her. Boys! Get your shit together and talk to each other! Please!

5. I Saw You In My Dream 🇹🇭 (7/12)

THIS WHOLE SCENE WAS SO DAMN CUTE!!!!! I like them! And Yu finally collecting his courage to tell Ai, he likes him. I need Ai to tell him he likes him too! But the preview for next week! I can't wait! The best start in my vacation! Do I feel bad for Wann? No, not really. He saw the signs, he got the vibe between Yu and Ai, but he still tried. I guess he is a good guy, but he is not Yu.

6. Seoul Blues 🇰🇷 (3/8)

Well... Our bad boy got together with their mutual friend. Little Mr. Angsty likes our bad boy, but is to afraid what might change, so he didn't take his change when bad boy confessed to him. And of course he now is unsure about bad boy's feelings. And our lady in denial knows that her bad boy doesn't like he like that and I guess she can feel those two are very much into each other, but she still wanna try it and give it a shot. Well... good luck. And while she is thinking about her bad boy thinking about someone else while kissing her, her bad boy is now kissing little Mr. Angsty. I don't know how this friendship can be fixed. There is so much wrong with their entire realtion-/friendship... and I love it!

7. Takara no Vidro 🇯🇵 (9/11)

I started with mixed feelings about this series and I ended up totally loving it! I enjoy this series very much! They talk with each other and they understand each other. They have such a good relationship at this point and I love how Takara is opening up and questioning his plans for the future. Life is unpredictable, love is unpredictable and there can be people who change your plans for the better or worst, but that is something for other shows.

8. The On1y One 🇹🇼 (4/12)

Best chemistry! I love them! I love pounting Wang and this absolutely smitten boy Tian so much! Tian was everything this episode. He couldn't stop looking at Wang and couldn't stop smiling. He is already in love. And Wang uses Tian for learning, but he is slowly falling. And I hope it will be this: he fell first, but he fell harder! Good series!

9. The Trainee 🇹🇭 (8/12)

This was one of the cutest episodes ever and at the same time one of the saddest with the most wholesome break-up ever. Ba-Mhee did something wrong, she apologised and Tae realised that he is part of the problem. I am cusious how they work around this whole story. But Jane and Ryan. Oh the cuteness! I loved every scene with them. And I loved that Jane was jealous and Ryan reassured him. I am a little bit anxious about next week. Guess this was my favorite episode so far!

10. Word of Honor 🇨🇳 (20/36)

Those two flirt a lot and are a married couple. Everyone knows that. And I love and enjoy that! Overall this is such a fun watch and the different sects and intrigues are sometimes a little bit confusing, but interesting. I love this world of martial arts and I love how protective Wen Kexing is over Zhou Zishu. I haven't felt like watching this lately. I wasn't in the right mood.

Finished in August

Series

His Man Season 3 🇰🇷

What was that? I enjoyed the first two seasons so much! And this one felt very manipulated by the production. The secret missions were just there to cause drama and misunderstandings. And othe rparts really felt just boring. I was not really invested in the couples this time. I wish we would have seen more of their friendships. Perhaps that was because the fight between JY and MK was so centred. In the end I am happy MS and MK made it and became a couple. And it is nice that SM and JS got together too. But who thought it was a good idea to keep that "break-up" between YJ and HM in the show? That was just awful to watch! I never saw them vibing together, but a short notice that they decided to stay friends would have been enough. I don't have to see that Hanmin gave the ring back, they made together. I get where he is coming from, but I wish they could have talked about this in private! There were some bad coices of the production which was not favourable for the show! If there is a season 4 I hope it stays away from artificial drama! Just a 7 out of 10 for me.

Century of Love 🇹🇭

We got a happy ending. Hm. Great. I don't know. I guess I wouldn't have mind if San had died. It was a little bit too constructed with the little piece of that stone in the end and the change of heart from the fake Vad... So I am a little bit dissappointed with the ending. Yes, I cried, because I have feelings, but at some points I had to skip parts because there were just too many emotions that clashed in my face. But I am happy for San and Vee. Overall a good 8 out of 10.

Bad Guy 🇰🇷

Honestly? I like cheating stories when my couple wins. In conclusion, I liked this short series. I am curious if we get a second part like with Blue Boys. I would be happy if we could just end it here. The two sad boys finally got their happy ending and can now be enough for each other. I like that. Wish we could see a little bit of their everyday life or how this decision impacts their lifes. I liked it. I give it a 8 out of 10.

Cosmic Playlover 🇯🇵

I enjoyed the show. It felt a little bit rushed, but over all, I enjoyed the plot and the love story. Two men working in the beauty industry and both go their own way and just loving what they do. That was also really good to see! I especially enjoyed the dynamic between these two. And they talked! Sure there was drama, but in the end they talkes to each other and listened to each other and could solve their problems. Such a nice little show. I give it good 8,5 out of 10.

Movie

Short Film

Dropped in August

My Love Mix-Up! 🇹🇭

I guess I've dropped this one. I don't know why exactly. I think it was a cute story and I liked watching it, but right now I don't have the energy to keep going. I will come back to this one when it is finished and when I am in the mood for some fluff.

Looking forward to in August

The Last Time - Trailer (Aug 16th)

The Loyal Pin - Trailer (Aug 4th)

Sugar Dog Life - Trailer (Aug 4th)

Summer Night - Trailer (Aug 5th)

Cosmetic Playlover (Aug 6th)

Monster Next Door - Trailer (Aug 8th)

First Note Of Love - Trailer (Aug 12th)

Addicted Heroin - Trailer (Aug 13th)

Love Beneathe The Stars - Trailer (Aug 16th)

The Paradise Of Thornes - Trailer (Aug 22nd - Thai Cinemas)

The On1y One (Aug 22nd)

Affair - Trailer (Aug 30th)

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hanafubukki · 3 months

Text

The third anniversary trailer of twst is interesting to me because of its foreshadowing/ominous feelings with the way it cuts the scenes. Well, in terms of Lilia and Malleus when you think about it.

This is, of course, going off of certain assumptions.

For one, the shadow below being Malleus and not another student 🤔 (we already saw Leona enter Ramshackle by this point and Vil and Rook is already there at the party idia and his brother are in their room and Cater and Trey are baking, so it’s highly likely that is it Malleus)

Assuming this shadow is Malleus, we see he’s alone with no one around.

Going forward to the rest of the trailer:

Someone walking up the stairs, alone. No one is next to them and the sign we saw before? Is behind them.

You’re probably wondering why do I get that ominous/foreshadowing feeling and it’s because of the next few scenes.

Vil and Rook looking towards the newcomers to the party and lo and behold.

Our faes of Diasomnia, with Lilia right there next to Malleus.

Lilia was not there before. There was no shadow of him being there at all in the beginning with the anniversary sign, and even with the stair scene, no floating lower half of said fae (no matter how high he’s floating, you should see at least a part of his body or shadow)

And we see Grim being patted by the invite.

Invites of any kind have significant meaning for Malleus. We know how much he wants to be invited and we know how they will have already been/will be used in Book 7.

So I can’t help but wonder. What could this mean?

Does this have some connection to Lilia? A foreshadowing of the future? Why isn’t Lilia there?

But then, if you recall, Malleus offered Lilia his happiest dream in book 7, one without Malleus in it.

And then the thought hit, what if? This is Malleus’ dream? One where he is invited? To a celebration where everyone can have fun and be merry?

A party that’s not celebrating his father’s departure and no one is sad at the end of it?

What if Lilia’s shadow missing is the hint to all this?

Wouldn’t that be the best way to show this? Lilia who Malleus loves so much and doesn’t want to lose and the reason why Malleus OB.

It would make sense if this was Malleus’ dream, wouldn’t it?

We all wondered why did this anniversary trailer focus only on the third years? And not the rest like previous years right?

The third years are important in the aspect that those are who Mal is “closest” with and they are his classmates who he spent all these years with (people who are not Lilia, Silver, and Sebek specifically and people who he can essentially talk to without them running away in fear as we have seen).

Another point that I believe adds onto this theory is the release date for this trailer, and in correlation, main story release.

The third anniversary trailer was released in March 2023, while Book 7 chapter 2 was released the month before, specifically 2/27/23. (Thank you Mumble for helping me find this info @irafuwas 💞💚)

Chapter 2, the chapter where Malleus puts everyone to sleep, giving them their happiest dreams. The chapter where, you know, Lilia gives Malleus an invite to his….going away party hahaha 🙃🥲

Everyone except Malleus is asleep. Now wouldn’t this be a devious way of foreshadowing on the twst devs side? A hint of not only Malleus’ dreams and the possibility of him falling asleep but also the way the invites will be used in the future (as we now see with Idia’s plan)?

This trailer being Malleus’ dream would also explain the discrepancies between the Grims in the trailer.

Despite the size change inconsistency with Grim (he has such a big head lmao), you see the outfits as well. Grim isn’t wearing his ceremonial robes (something he is so proud of and I doubt he would just take off) and he’s back to his ribbon (his everyday uniform)

Also take in the fact of the backgrounds, the one with Vil and Rook has bright colors and saturation while the other is darker with the sun setting. (Don’t get me started on the symbolism of the sun or sunset)

This can also show how it’s dream vs reality. Especially if you consider what Malleus considers a happy dream.

Malleus, who didn’t understand or, rather, can’t accept/is in denial (I’m going to run him over with Crewel’s car) that his hatching was Lilia’s happiest dream. That all that pain and suffering led to something so joyous.

He, the one who continued to offer a happy dream that didn’t include him but his parents and Silver to Lilia.

Would the bright colors not show this? How he thinks “happy” dreams should be? As oppose to reality with the darker hues in the other scene?

And then we see currently, how the twst boys are fighting/rejecting the “happy” dreams as well. Which adds onto these points as well. Them fighting against this path chosen for them.

[also, the emphasis of invites, getting along with others, being empathetic, caring (/guarding Silver), and understanding others’ views (as well as wanting to be understood) as we saw with Malleus’ tsum card adds on to this does it not? 👀🤔 Tsum tsum events, after all, does give hints to main story as well]

If this was the twst devs way of foreshadowing future events and giving us hints of Malleus’ dream, then I can’t wait to see what we have in store.

In short, no one hold me back! I have a mallet with Malleus and Lilia’s names on it and I’m not afraid to use it!!!! 😖😤

(Absjsjshs I can’t stop laughing omg, Mumble said he was ‘strangely’ invited for once and I’m dying of laughter 😂😆 *covering eyes 😅😅* he’s going to be strangely invited to Idia’s party alright absjsjffnfnf 😆🤣😅)

#🌺mumble🌺#i already know mal’s ob flashback is going to kill me but imagine we see his DREAM?!#I am going to cry I already know it #been wanting to write this theory for awhile but didn’t know how to word it until today so yay 🥳🥳💞💞#twst theory #twst theories #lilia vanrouge #malleus draconia #twst analysis #twst character analysis #twst book 7 #diasomnia #twst lilia vanrouge #twst malleus draconia #twst grim #twst #twisted wonderland

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eoieopda · 2 years

Text

lacuna (knj)

lacuna (n): a blank space, a missing part

In his twenty-eight years, Kim Namjoon had made countless mistakes. Most of them were insignificant and could be shoved easily enough into the back corner of his mind. The worst of them were all tied for first place, keeping him up at night.

Loving you, losing you, and now – picking up the phone.

Pairing: Ex!Kim Namjoon x Fem!Reader Type: One-Shot (Angst, Smut - 18+ or else.) Word Count: Like, 7K (?!) Content: ex-boyfriend au; exes to something?; literally so much angst; yearning; pov switches; oral sex (f receiving); unprotected sex; p in v penetration; cursing; texts from Yoongi. A/N: For reasons unknown, I decided to break my own heart today! The lyrics you'll see below are from "Sooner" by The Low Blow. There's also a reference to one of my favorite tv shows at the end - did you catch it? (1/9/23) The sequel, Redamancy, is finally here! (3/17/23) There is now a playlist 🥲

Sitting cross-legged on the rug, your weary, unfocused eyes stared somewhere in the vicinity of Min Yoongi. Shrouded all in black, you nearly assumed he was your sleep paralysis demon, hunched over his keyboard with his eyes narrowed in thought – but you hadn’t slept much at all lately. Not with your deadline looming overhead like the sword of Damocles.

He relayed what was already looping through your brain. “It’s missing something.”

You scrubbed your hands over your face, too burnt out to care if your foundation stayed where it was supposed to. “I know,” was all you said, though it wasn’t all you were thinking. Listening to this demo – this crushing song about love lost – you knew what was missing.

Or rather, who.

Once again reading your mind, Yoongi spoke with a wary sigh. This time, he said the quiet part out loud. “Listen, I know that on a personal level, this is a terrible idea. But if you really want this track to ache –”

“I’ll call him.”

Yoongi turned to look at you over his shoulder. He, like you, hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours; but his surprise still managed to crack through an otherwise impassive expression.

“You sure you want to be the one?” His frown was microscopic, but it was there and it bruised. “I have to hit him up, anyway, so I can handle this for you.”

You’d never told him – or any of your friends, come to think of it – the details of your whatever it was with Namjoon. You couldn’t call it a breakup; that would necessitate a relationship. You couldn’t comfortably assign that word to this indescribable something.

But maybe that’s precisely why it hurt to breathe when you thought too hard about it. Maybe the thing that burned in your lungs was the fact that whatever it was wasn’t much of anything at all.

The universally known narrative was that you met Kim Namjoon at a release party two years prior. After years of putting out extended plays, he was dropping his highly anticipated, full-length masterpiece.

That’s what your label called it; that’s what the press called it; but you couldn’t agree. That word wasn’t heavy enough – it didn’t give due credit to the pieces of himself he broke down and buried within those twelve tracks. You felt seen when you heard it. When you saw him, it was game over.

As the story goes, you went home with him that night. While true, it was the tiniest fragment sitting sharp at the tip of an iceberg. The rest was an ill-equipped ship, sailing in slow-motion through the dark.

He'd spent the entirety of his celebration focused on you. What you thought; what you wanted for yourself; what made that tipsy, uninhibited giggle come flying out of your chest. And then, holding his hand like it’d been tailor-made for yours, you followed his lead out of there while confused partygoers murmured in your wake.

He fucked you like he knew you – on a cellular level – and he looked at you like you were all there was. You’d spent the entirety of the following day there, draped over him or nestled underneath him. You were never not touching in some way – in the little interludes of sleep; while cooking a breakfast too big for the two of you alone; on every surface of his apartment.

He changed your life in those twenty-four hours, but not enough for it to stick.

You’d spent as much time with him as you could in the year afterward, until your twin ambitions sent you both rocketing in other directions. Your various obligations never allowed you to be in the same place for long; and when they did, it was over too soon. No amount of time would ever feel like enough, but half a day, here and there, felt like a cosmic joke.

Like the universe was punishing you for wanting everything, all at once.

Eventually, you came to a fork in the road. His career, though international, was rooted in Korea – home. Yours took you to Los Angeles, to a vastly different time zone, and a schedule that refused to make space. And you tried, but when it came down to choosing – idling together or racing forward alone – your respective dreams were so heavy that they tipped the scales.

Neither of you could blame the other. After all, you’d both made the same decision. There was some small comfort in knowing that he understood you. That consolation couldn’t keep you warm at night when you’d instinctively reach out and find half of your bed still empty.

It would’ve been so much easier to live without him if there was some horrible betrayal to pin it all on, but he was as perfect when you lost him as he was when you found him.

Shaky legs pushed you off the ground. Without meaning to, you groaned as your body returned to its regularly scheduled programming. Yoongi simply muttered, “Same,” as he made additional adjustments in his editing software.

You affectionally touched your knuckles to his shoulder as you passed by, though you quickly realized this gesture wasn’t made to comfort him.

You shut the door softly behind you and headed up the hallway. Having kicked off and subsequently lost your shoes several hours ago, you padded in socked feet across the hardwood. The pattern – the various evolutions of Eevee – clashed so blatantly with the extravagance around you. Glancing down, you chuckled. At least some parts of you were still recognizable.

The door to the stairwell creaked as you pushed it open and ducked inside. No longer camped out in the soundproof studio, you could hear the smattering of raindrops as they pummeled the exterior walls of the building. Somewhere between a drum roll and machine gun fire, you couldn’t figure out if the noise emphasized or relieved your anxiety.

Gently, you lowered yourself down on a step halfway up the flight. As you stared down at your phone, your knee bounced of its own volition.

For once, you were thankful for the seventeen-hour time difference. This was the kind of call you needed to make at midnight, but one you didn’t want him receiving at midnight. It felt so much safer in daylight.

At least one of you had eyes on the sun.

You’d deleted his number from your phone months ago because you thought it might help you let go. It didn’t. And to make matters worse, you still knew it by heart. As you typed it out easily, you wished this realization surprised you. You also wished that you’d catch him at a bad time, so you could simply leave a message.

You’d never been lucky, though, had you?

Namjoon was half-asleep at a café table when the vibration of his phone against the wrought metal snapped him out of it. In his under-caffeinated daze, he couldn’t determine what that unbearable grinding noise was.

He could, however, see the way the elderly woman nearby was scowling at him. He furrowed his brows and blinked back at her; silently asking what the fuck her problem was. Just as silently, she pointed an angry, wrinkled finger to his tabletop.

By the time his brain kicked into gear, he was too late. He picked up his now-quiet phone and nearly dropped it in an instant when he saw your name tied to a missed call.

He didn’t think twice before returning it – he should have – having figured there was only one way to know if he was truly hallucinating. You picked up immediately in a voice so you that he couldn’t have imagined it. He knew because he'd already tried.

“Hey.”

People who didn’t know you often mistook the natural rasp of your voice for tiredness, but he did know you. You were beyond exhausted, more so than the last time he’d heard from you. Five months and twenty-one days ago.

This sounded like another all-nighter; like you got so consumed in creating that you couldn’t sleep until you finished. Remembering you like this opened a black hole in his chest – all this fondness with nowhere to go, collapsing in on itself, pulling.

What kind of masochist was he, voluntarily subjecting himself to this conversation?

“Hey,” He croaked. Even his voice didn't know what to do.

He heard shuffling on your end. You always pinned your phone between your right ear and shoulder to start — he immediately recognized the sound of your hair against the receiver when you switched it to your left side. Vanilla and honey flooded his nose despite the thousands of miles that separated him from the scent of your shampoo.

There were a thousand questions spinning dizzy in his mind, but he couldn’t untangle them to spit one out. The longer you both remained quiet, the worse it got – and the worse he felt for his silence. Even without seeing you, he knew that your brows were knitting together. He knew that quiet made you feel too exposed.

Namjoon cleared his throat to speak at the same moment you asked, “How are you?” His words echoed, a half-second from being uttered in unison.

He prayed to any god that he’d stop feeling so nervous. There was no reason to be, not with you. You were his comfort zone, his safe space and – oh. Past tense.

Presently, you were – what, exactly? Could he call you an “ex” if you’d never had a title? It all felt too juvenile, hearing people whisper about his girlfriend. You were –fuck – You were home, and now his house was haunted.

A ghost.

“I’ve been good,” he said quickly, planting a hollow smile on his face that wouldn’t have convinced you if you were there. Liar, liar, liar. “Busy. You sound –”

“Awful?”

“– like you’ve been working all night.”

He heard a sheepish chuckle and his clumsy, thudding heart went flying off into the void.

“That’s actually why I’m calling,” you admitted in a voice so tiny he nearly missed it, “And I wouldn’t be – I promise – if I could’ve bothered anyone else with this. This one, though… when I hear it in my head, I can’t imagine anyone –”

“Say less.”

It slipped out of him automatically. He couldn’t stop it. Now it was dangling there in dead air where he couldn’t reach it and shove it back down his throat. He must have said that to you a thousand times, giving you whatever you needed before you could even finish asking.

This was the first time he’d ever said it without punctuating it with a kiss to your forehead, though. And now, his equilibrium was off, like the staircase had one less step than he was expecting.

When you finally broke the silence, he could’ve sworn he heard you sniffle, but he quickly kicked that thought back into the cage it escaped from. Your voice didn’t sound sad at all, so you couldn’t have been crying. Why would you be?

“I can have Yoongi send you what we have so far, lyrics too. If you’re interested, just let me know – verse, bridge, whatever you want.”

“You’re with Yoongi?”

It came out exactly as he hadn't intended – accusatory. It was no business of his who you spent time with, professionally or otherwise. And it didn’t even surprise him that Yoongi would stick around after the – whatever it was. All your shared friends stayed shared. His confusion was solely that Yoongi never mentioned working with you, let alone flying stateside to do so.

Why hadn’t Yoongi said something? Did he assume Namjoon wouldn’t be interested in hearing about your project? Because he would - he kept up with all of your releases, even if it hurt. Was he scared that the mere mention of you would exacerbate the tailspin Namjoon was barely surviving?

Or was it something else?

“Yeah, he got here a few days ago. I offered to send the vocals to him, but he said he wanted In-N-Out,” Your laugh, even under the weight of your sleepiness, still packed a punch. “Might be the longest trip anyone’s ever made for animal-style fries.”

Namjoon felt like he was going to pass out, but for your sake, he tried to echo your laugh. “Sounds like he’s got his priorities in order, as usual.”

That uncomfortable silence crawled back in and settled in the space between you. It never used to be like this. His mouth remained open as if his broken brain could think of a single thing to say. There were hours in every second that passed, but he didn’t hang up – and neither did you.

“So, if I figure something out, I can shoot it back over –”

You interrupted this time.

“No need,” You chirped. You must’ve sensed that his train of thought now consisted only of question marks because you dove right back in, “I’ll be in Seoul at the end of the month, so we can put all the pieces together then.”

Please be speaking metaphorically. Please say –

“I’ve gotta hop off now, but it was –” Your voice petered out at the end of your statement, and he didn’t know what to do within the pause.

What pleasantry would you settle on to end this conversation? Was it nice to hear from him, or did you also feel like you’d walked through the emotional equivalent of a car wash?

It was heavy when you exhaled the amendment, hitting the ground with a thud that could’ve knocked him over.

It was torture, and it drop-kicked him into the abyss at full-speed. No light above, no hope below. A black hole that he kept selfishly refusing to close – all because he answered your call.

“Thank you, Joonie.”

Fuck. He was doomed.

You spent a shocking percentage of your life on international flights. It was a privilege – you knew it – to travel to the extent that you did, but it was so lonely.

If you were flying, there were two justifications. The first was the most common – touring. You’d touch down in cities all over the world, stay for a few hours, and then you’d leave again as soon as you could blink.

Your interactions were limited, either one-sided conversations from a stage; or facilitated entirely by a local translator. Never truly connecting, missed phone calls and texts sent too late to get a response. The same stale conversations with the crew that had been stuck with you for months.

The second was less common, and somehow even lonelier – visiting a home that was no longer yours.

It always went the same way. You’d touch down at the Incheon International Airport in your home country and feel just as foreign as the tourists bustling around you. You’d gather a suitcase’s worth of belongings and try not to think about the fact that they – and everything else you owned – once lived there, too. You’d hit customs and then, as a reward, snag yourself some boba from the café on your way out the door.

In all those trips, you’d never once hailed a cab because Namjoon was always waiting. You’d hear him before you saw him with how loud he kept his car’s stereo, but when you did finally lay eyes on him, you’d light up like a sparkler. He’d shower you with affection – publicly, despite his usually private nature – and swap out the luggage in your hands for some thoughtful surprise. Flowers, usually, after painstaking deliberation over the meaning he wanted to convey.

Now, you stood on the sidewalk with your empty hand in the air.

Shortly after settling into your cab, you fell asleep. The person who would have gently scolded you for taking this risk wasn’t there to do so. Instead, you woke up stiff and disoriented to the sound of your driver honking his horn. You quickly learned that he wasn’t honking at traffic; he was honking at you with a scowl on his face.

“Time to go! Wake up – your stop!”

He was speaking in English, so it took you a few moments to determine whether you were dreaming. Impatient, he honked again.

Did he think you were a tourist? Was he right?

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you threw the door open and hurled yourself out. You ran to the trunk, snatched your suitcase, and tried not to remember that you didn't used to have to do this part yourself.

Yoongi had the foresight to give you a spare keycard before leaving California, so you were able to get into his building quickly – before you were honked at again. Spoken to in English again, like this place had never been home.

You, belonging nowhere and to no one, kept yourself together until the elevator doors gave you some semblance of shelter.

Alone, alone, alone, you cried so hard that your shoulders shook. The mirrored walls around you showed infinite versions of you, all pitiful like you were still that little girl who’d gotten separated from her parents at an amusement park. It was incredible how you felt smaller in that elevator than you did as a child.

And fuck, did that embarrassment make you cry even harder.

Eventually, those doors would have to re-open, and you’d have to let yourself into Yoongi’s unoccupied penthouse just to wait for his return. You were so sick of walking into empty apartments and hearing nothing but your own footsteps. No warmth, no laughter, just a black hole of your own creation.

You chose this, you reminded yourself. This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? You were so busy chasing broader horizons, you didn't notice that the sun had disappeared. If you’d known – really, truly known – what the fall would be like, would you have taken that leap of faith? No, you think, but you did and there’s no jumping back into the airplane once you’ve dived out of it.

Ding.

There was a post-it note waiting for you on the inside of Yoongi’s door that you would’ve missed if you hadn’t taken so much time to shut it behind you. His handwriting was shockingly neat for someone who was always in a rush. His note told you that he’d be home in two hours, that there was food for you in the refrigerator, and that you should help yourself to whatever you needed.

The sinkhole in your stomach wasn’t created by hunger, so you pushed that down to the bottom of your to-do list and dragged your luggage to the guest bedroom down the hall.

Every inch of his place was undeniably Yoongi – monochromatic and edgy, but still so confusingly inviting. His guest room was similar in style, but with more personalized touches than most visitors tended to expect. Framed photos of friends, and the collaborators he was most proud to work with.

Your eyes eventually found one of you, beaming brightly.

It hurt to look, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away. It was taken in a photobooth at Kim Seokjin’s wedding last spring. You were sandwiched on a small bench seat between Yoongi and Namjoon.

The former, like you, was captured in the middle of a laugh - smiling at the camera with all teeth, eyes crinkled at the edges but still sparkling. The latter wasn’t looking at the camera at all – just you, like you were all there was.

Forcing yourself to look away, you returned the frame to its place on the vanity and kept moving. Your primary instinct was to hurl yourself into the plush bed and never leave it. But you felt stale after spending so much time traveling, and you didn’t want to collapse into those beautiful sheets until you’d scrubbed the day off you.

Shuffling off to the bathroom, you finally remembered to take your phone off ‘airplane mode.’ All at once, the floodgates opened. The onslaught of texts, emails, and voicemails was so overwhelming that your phone froze.

When the flurry stopped, you scanned through your various inboxes for anything that might require an immediate response. Finding nothing urgent, you were about to set your phone down when you saw an email from Namjoon, addressing both you and Yoongi.

His verse, you realized as you opened it.

I think I lost you sooner than I wanted to And I know you can't say the same But I can't hate you for doing what you've gotta do Cause I'm just in bed sleeping through the pain Do you see wasted potential when you look at me? Of what we could be if it wasn't like this I know you asked me not to try and change myself But when I was with you, I felt fixed

It took everything you had not to drop to your knees.

Namjoon was an incredible liar.

He didn’t utilize the skill often – in fact, he was usually too honest – but when he did, he could get himself out of any unwanted scenario.

In the distant past, he’d slip out of obligations made by his label to stay home in bed with you. It worked every single time. Instead of putting on some over-priced suit, wasting his breath swapping empty pleasantries with industry tools; he’d be hooking his arms around your quivering thighs, pinning you to his face as he fucked you with his tongue.

In the present, he lied again.

Yoongi asked, “How did it feel to hear from her again?”

“To be honest,” Namjoon started, knowing full well that nothing he said next would be, “That shit’s behind me, man. I was surprised her number was still in my contacts, you know? She’s been a non-factor for a minute.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, “With the number of girls you’ve gone through in the meantime, I imagine it gets hard to keep track.”

Hook, line, sinker.

Namjoon offered a smirk and a shrug in response, which Yoongi accepted without further comment. The relief of being believed did nothing to cure the nausea swirling in Namjoon’s stomach, though - not just for the cruelty of his lie, but for the way he’d acted since you left and stayed gone.

He learned early on that it would take more than fucking someone he didn't know to keep warm, but knowing better didn’t mean he did better. None of them – and there were many – could pull him from the limbo he found himself in without you. There was an emptiness gnawing at his insides that he couldn’t fill, and the more he tried, the more it tore at him.

The only thing he succeeded at was becoming someone he didn’t recognize –someone he didn’t even like.

Yoongi pulled into his parking garage and turned to Namjoon, staking him through the heart with words alone. “Well, the non-factor is upstairs, so try to remember her name when you see her.”

Namjoon chuckled, but it didn’t sound anywhere close to convincing. There was a flicker of doubt in Yoongi’s quickly flexed eyebrow, though he kept any questions he may have had to himself. Without a word, they clambered out of the car, and they stayed quiet until they stepped into the elevator.

“How has she been?” Namjoon asked more quietly than he meant to. Like someone who’s scared of the answer - or worse, being asked why he’s asking. Quickly diverting further inquiry, he provided clarification Yoongi hadn’t sought. “Sounded tired as fuck on the phone.”

Yoongi glanced at Namjoon before selecting the button marked with his floor number. “You know how she is,” He hummed.

That one hurt. He knew how you were – past tense.

Except for that one phone call, he hadn’t heard your voice in months. He hadn’t seen you for even longer than that. Your number hadn’t changed, but for all he knew, everything else could have. All he had now was his memory’s pale imitation of you, always in sight but never within reach.

A ghost that disappeared into the walls before he could get too close.

When the elevator door opened, Namjoon was fighting between running forward and running away. Incapable of doing either, it was Yoongi’s light punch on his bicep that prompted his feet to move. Namjoon trudged along after him until Yoongi stopped short with a groan.

“The fuck?” Namjoon coughed as he collided with Yoongi’s back. “Don’t tell me you’re already winded, dude. I’m not giving your old ass a piggy-back ride.”

The scowl he received could’ve scorched the Earth.

“I forgot my fucking phone in the car.” Yoongi tossed his apartment key at Namjoon. It thudded against his unsuspecting chest only to be caught on the rebound.

Then, Yoongi pointed at the door. “Go play nice and figure out where we’re getting take-out from. I had a dream about bulgogi last night that was borderline sexual, so keep that in mind.”

Namjoon’s face scrunched up. “I’ll be trying my best to keep it out, so thanks for that.”

Yoongi had already turned around, waving a dismissive hand as he stalked off.

As soon as Namjoon heard the elevator doors close, his phone chirped in his pocket and caught him off guard. He glanced down to find a text from Yoongi – who was, apparently, also a liar.

Yoongi [18:19 PM]: fyi you always say “to be honest” when you’re about to say some bullshit Yoongi [18:19 PM]: "non-factor" my asssssss

Namjoon grimaced and shoved his phone back into his pocket before walking to Yoongi’s door with his heart in his throat.

Clearly, Yoongi wanted Najmoon to fix things with you. He’d crafted some false narrative to get himself out of there, to give Namjoon the time and space to do it. But there wasn’t a single fucking thing he could say to rebuild the bridge you’d both demolished together.

That is, if you even wanted him to try.

After unlocking the door, he froze. A full minute passed before his hand received his brain’s signal to turn the knob, and even then, his feet felt as if they were encased in concrete. If hearing your voice made him spiral, he was terrified of what the sight of you might do.

More than anything, he was scared to see how you looked at him – and he didn’t know what reaction he wanted. If you lit up the way you used to, it might kill him. If you had no reaction at all, it would definitely kill him.

He would’ve stalled at that threshold all night if you didn’t appear in the hallway, straight ahead. You froze like a deer in headlights, one hand still on the door you’d exited from. Eyes wide, lips parted ever so slightly in surprise.

He didn’t notice the red rims around your eyes right away, but once he did, every cell in his body screamed at him to run to you, to hold you.

But he didn’t.

Touching you now only to lose you again tomorrow - well, that was a scab he couldn’t rip off again. There was only scar tissue where his heart used to be.

“Hey,” You smiled so sweetly when you saw him, but it didn’t reach your eyes. Those fucking eyes! He’d give up everything he had to erase the sadness swimming behind them, threatening to spill out.

Why were you still so far away?

You glanced around him, noting Yoongi’s absence, but didn’t ask where he was. “I was thinking we could get something from that –”

The longer he stared at you, the more impossible it became to keep his distance. He couldn’t stand on that doorstep with you over there, trying so hard to look like you hadn’t been crying – like you weren’t about to start again.

Fuck it.

If he was so dead-set on re-breaking his own heart, he’d do it with you in his arms.

“Joonie, is everything oka–”

No, nothing was. Nothing had been, not for – fuck, are his eyes getting misty? - a long time. Not since you walked out of his apartment for the last time, and he let you. He couldn’t make any of it okay, but with you there now, he didn’t give a fuck about where you were before.

Your eyes were as big as the moon when he finally reached you, blinking your surprise up at him.

Did you really think he had any other option than to hold you? Did you have any idea how you looking at him like this - bare-faced, freshly-showered, vulnerable - demanded his immediate affection?

It felt like coming home, sliding his fingers through your still-damp hair. He could’ve fallen to pieces when the familiar scent of your shampoo – vanilla and honey – crashed over him, but he didn’t. His lips collided with yours, and for the first time in a fucking year, he felt whole.

You clung to him so desperately, you could’ve ripped a hole in his shirt. You couldn't care about that, though, because he kissed you and it was pure starlight. He kissed you hard, nicking your lip between his teeth until you opened your mouth against his.

You whimpered into him, drunk on the wet heat of his mouth, melting and falling and spinning and flying. You felt it all fall to the wayside, every second wasted without him, every text you didn’t send, every wrong turn that led you so far away.

You didn't realize until you finally broke apart that the tears on your cheek weren’t exclusively yours. His gaze locked with yours, and all either of you could do was gasp for air - chests heaving, lips kissed swollen. If not for the arm around your back, pinning you against his chest, you would’ve floated away. But he had you, completely.

Finally, you felt tethered.

Your trembling hand settled on the side of his face. Fuck! That face. The warmth of his skin, the heights of his cheek bones, the gentle slope of his nose.

How many mornings did you wake up and miss it? How did you ever fall asleep without it nuzzled into the crook of your neck, without the whisper of warm breath on your skin?

You wanted to scream until the hurt left your chest, but you didn’t dare – not with that face so perfectly close to yours.

He spoke first, “I’m so –”

Your eyes followed your thumb as it swiped over his bottom lip, unearthing a quiver that burned you up inside. He was paralyzed by your touch. Enraptured. Leaving that clause hanging open in the air.

His eyes were wide with anticipation as he watched you, pupils dilating when you whispered. “Say less.”

Faster than you could process, he lifted you off the ground as if you weighed nothing at all. Automatically, your legs locked behind his back; your lips re-captured his and his kiss never faltered as he carried you back into the guest room. Quickly and with a shocking display of control, he kicked the door closed without slamming it – or breaking it.

Like so many times before, he laid you gently onto the mattress as if you were crafted from porcelain. And when he finally pulled away from you, you gazed up at him in awe.

This was one of the million reasons you couldn’t seem to let him go – the way his eyes softened when you were breathless underneath him, like you were the only thing in the universe worth looking at.

There were too many things to be said that neither of you could verbalize. You felt them all falling down around you like confetti, loose ends to be tied up later. He didn’t need to say a thing, so long as he kept looking at you like that.

When his fingers landed at the hem of your shirt, you knew what came next. A dance you’d done a thousand times, you lifted your arms for him to pull it up and off. Still damp from your shower, the ends of your hair raised goosebumps as they chilled the bare skin of your back.

He moved slowly and without breaking eye contact as he unbuttoned your jeans. Your zipper followed, then your jeans and underwear in tandem. The denim dragged so deliciously against your thighs as he slipped them down, down, down. As he tugged them off your ankles, you discarded your bra and tossed it aside. You were entirely bare and shivering with anticipation when his gaze found you again.

His shirt soon joined yours on the floor. Kneeling between your legs, his bare chest burned against your own as he kissed you for the third time. So many more were needed to make up for lost time, but you could feel how much of himself he poured into the kisses he’d credited you with so far. The taste of his mouth on yours was indescribably intoxicating after so much time apart.

With you sufficiently distracted, the hands that cupped your face began to migrate. You felt so small under his touch, reduced to putty in the warm expanse of his palms. His face lowered too, freeing your mouth to moan as he placed open-mouthed kisses down the length of your neck.

Involuntarily, you gasped when his fingers pinched at one of your nipples. The curve of his smile impressed upon your throat as he suckled at the sensitive skin he found there, leaving clouds of indigo behind.

As he marked you, he rolled and tweaked your nipples in turn. Your eyes fluttered shut and you keened while your head crashed back against the pillows, “That mouth – feels s-so fucking good.” Your fingers carded through his hair, fingernails scratching lightly against his scalp; his silence broke with a shuddered moan.

“S’all I want, baby,” He hummed as his lips trailed down from your neck and beyond your collarbone. “To make you feel good.”

You were trembling when he claimed one of your nipples with his mouth. Then he had the audacity to look up at you from under his lashes when he released it with a lewd pop, causing your back to arch against his chest with a gasp. There was a rumble from deep within him when your grip on his hair tightened, and the sound alone made you gush.

“To taste you,” His tongue left a wet stripe above your navel as he continued his descent, large hands dipping beneath you to squeeze the doughy flesh of your ass. Shit - you would simply never recover from this. “To devour you until you melt in my mouth.”

Another sharp tug at his hair, another guttural moan breaking free from your chest.

How often had you dreamed of this in your time apart? How many times did you try to remember how it felt when that timbre whispered sins against your naked body? Fuck. With those words alone, he had you on the brink.

You whined when he pulled away from you; but it quickly turned into a gasp when he hooked his arms around your thighs and dragged you with him towards the end of the bed. Now kneeling on the floor, he ducked below your knees until they rested over the tops of his shoulders.

Face so near to your aching core, he growled, and you felt it. “I missed this pussy –” He placed a wet kiss on your inner thigh, prompting you to clench them reflexively. “I missed the way your thighs squeeze around me while you fuck yourself against my tongue.”

Shivering, slack-jawed, and stupid, you grabbed fistfuls of the comforter below you. He was so painfully close to your cunt and still so fucking far from you. You knew he could see how badly you craved him - you’d beg for his mouth if you had to.

Of course, you didn’t have to - you never did.

Seconds before your impatience could drive you fully insane, he was on you, tongue flat against your cunt, dragging up against your slit. When the tip of his tongue flicked over your clit, you cried out with a buck of your hips. His grip on you tightened, pinning you flush against him as he teased you.

“That it’s, baby. Good girl.”

It’s a miracle either one of you could form words with how relentlessly he licked, nipped, and suckled on your throbbing cunt. All you could do was babble in response to his praise – until the tip of his tongue penetrated your weeping hole, and you screamed.

A flurry of curse words spilled from your lips; his name sprinkled in between the obscenities. Fuck, you needed more. More, more, more. You extended your arm and reclaimed your grasp on his locks. Once you did, you began to grind yourself against his tongue until your abdominal muscles burned - you hadn’t utilized them to this extent since the last time.

His hand squeezed your thigh, goading you, encouraging you to use him the way you needed to. The pressure of his tongue increased with your pace. You had no control over the sounds you made; the breathless moans escaped you before you could think of trapping them. The coil was tightening, burning red-hot in the pit of your belly.

So good, so good, so g –

“Fuck!”

One by one, your muscles tensed in quick succession until your body shook violently in his grip. Toes curling, back arching, head crashing backwards into the pillows, mewling.

When you finally gathered the strength to re-open your bleary eyes, there were spots dotting the edges of your vision – and then there was Namjoon, fuck-drunk between your weakened knees, with a mixture of his saliva and your orgasm shining on his chin.

Lustful eyes locked squarely on your flushed face; his tongue slid from between his swollen lips to attend to the mess you’d made of him. His panting rivaled yours, but unlike you, he was still capable of speech.

“I will never – ever – get tired of watching you come,” he sighed before wiping his mouth against the back of his hand, “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

As he climbed back on top of you, he placed a chaste kiss on your sweaty forehead. “So vulnerable –” Then the tip of your nose. “So vocal –” Then, too briefly, your lips. “Perfect.”

“Joon,” You murmured against his lips. His mouth curved into a smile at the nickname, which you used almost exclusively to win arguments, or to persuade him to do something. It worked every time.

He nudged your nose with the tip of his as he tried to conceal his laugh. “Baby?”

The fond look in his eyes was quickly covered by fluttering eyelids as your fingertips whispered down over his chest. They snapped open and bored into you as your fingers slid over the waistband of his joggers, tracing a feather-light trail over the bulge below. You felt his cock twitch autonomously against the warmth of your palm.

“Shit,” He hissed through gritted teeth as you squeezed him. Eyes drifting shut once again; he rolled his hips to exacerbate the friction. His neck tensed, head thrown back, when you finally dipped under the elastic and took him into your hand. Skin to skin, burning up.

The next moan from his fawning mouth was something you hadn’t heard in his voice for months – your name. “I need you. Now.”

In the few moments he pulled away to remove his pants, a chill crept in and settled where the weight of his body had just been.

There it is again, you thought, the feeling of having him and losing him.

When this night was over and he was gone from you, would he stay that way? Should you have gone this far, knowing nothing would be different in the daylight?

You were blinking fast when he reclaimed the space above you. Something flickered in his eye as he assessed the look on your face, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he leaned down and kissed you so gently that you could’ve imagined it – but so completely that your brain could never have fabricated it. Not successfully, anyway.

You’d already tried.

Breaking apart once more, he reached down and stroked himself slowly. His eyes never left yours. You both held your breath as he slid into you, millimeter by millimeter, reminding your body – after all this time – how to take him. All of him, to the hilt, until you could finally exhale.

Stretched to accommodate his width, so fucking full, you saw a way out of the nothing that had you trapped like quicksand. It was him, always. Your safe haven.

Neither of you could speak once he began rolling his hips against you. The quiet was electrified by heavy breaths and whimpers. The wet heat of your cunt squelched as your walls enveloped him, just as unwilling to let him go as the rest of you.

Over and over, he grinded into you, dragging his length across your most sensitive places; hips swiveling slightly to the side as he pushed and pulled himself through you, the way he knew you liked it.

Open mouth beside his ear, you keened and sighed, wordlessly informing him that you wouldn’t last much longer. He was perfectly attuned to your subconscious movements, and he responded to each of them without hesitation.

He’d never need to be reminded that the fingernails digging into his biceps meant faster, and the upward tilt of your jaw meant deeper. That when your eyebrows rose above your closed lids, you were seconds away from your release.

He remembered exactly how to fuck you through your orgasm when it came – shallow, staccato thrusts that unraveled you further as you writhed against the sheets. The spot on your neck to nip at like some secret switch, praise dripping hot in your ear like honey.

“Such a good girl, squeezing me like this,” He panted, “Taking me so well – so fucking perfect for me, angel.”

As soon as you crashed down through the atmosphere, his movements threatened to ricochet you right back into space. You keened helplessly with your half-numbed fingers gripping any part of him where they could find purchase.

“I c-can't stop -” You mewled, “How am I s-still c-coming?”

His response didn’t come in the form of words. His lips collided with yours hard enough to clink teeth as he drove himself deeper and deeper and deeper. Sloppy, kiss-bitten lips laying claim; relentless in their mutual need for closeness. Your walls were still fluttering around him – was this your second orgasm or your third? - when he moaned into your mouth.

Every part of him tensed above, around, and inside you as the flood of his release filled every crevice of your cunt.

Breathing ragged, his head fell into the crook of your shoulder. Considerate as ever, he tried so hard to keep his full weight off you, but his exhaustion undermined his efforts. You didn’t mind at all – you’d re-build your home there, staying forever between his body and that borrowed bed if you could.

But you couldn’t, could you? If you felt empty before, how could you feel whole again after this? His name etched itself into your ribcage, and now your body would never re-acclimate to his absence.

Why did you do this to yourself?

You squeezed your eyes shut tight when you felt tears prickling in their corners.

Everything you felt for him – over the course of two years – came crashing down over you. You buried your face into his shoulder and tried your best to keep your crying to yourself.

You’d never get his scent off your body now.

He could sense your shaking; it forced his heavy lids open.

“I don’t know what to do with it,” you sniffled, silently begging yourself to stop. You felt yourself shrinking under his eye. It would only be a matter of time before you disappeared entirely.

His tone dripped with concern, serving only to deepen that infernal ache in the pit of your stomach. “With what?”

“All the love I have for you. I don’t –” You sobbed, “I don’t know where to put it now.”

His breath caught in his throat as if you’d punched him straight in the chest. If you listened hard enough, you might’ve heard his heart break. You could certainly feel it in the way he tensed in your arms.

When he moved off you, you feared the worst – that your incessant crying overflowed the bathtub, and your admission was the toaster thrown recklessly inside. But unlike the last time, he didn’t leave - and neither did you.

The mattress shifted as he claimed the space at your side - where he should have been all this time. Strong arms enveloped you as he turned to face you, and even though he held you, he couldn’t stop you from shattering.

For a while, he let you. Squeezed you hard, stroked your hair the way he used to, let you cry out all the poison that filled the spaces in the cavern of your chest.

And when you could finally breathe again, he kissed your forehead. “I’ll trade you for it.”

(1/8/23): Check out the sequel, Redamancy, here.

2K notes · View notes

waynes-multiverse · 5 months

Text

Plastic Hearts – Part 24

Pairing: Director!Dean Winchester x Actress!Reader

Series Summary: Los Angeles, 1985. Y/N’s a young actress without any success, hopping from one failed audition to the next until one desperate mistake brings her to her breaking point. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, is a grade A asshole and washed-up director at the end of his career, known for his godawful slasher movies in the 70s and his love for blow, booze, and women. Lost in the toxic Hollywood life, their paths cross when one hopeless little wrestling show changes their trajectory.

Chapter Warnings: +18, language, weed, smut, fluff, angst, more heartbreak

Word Count: 6.9k

A/N: Can't believe this is the second to last part. Our boy has come far 🥲🤍 If you look closely, you catch a couple of throwbacks. Also, tons of funny moments ahead with some severe stabbing of the heart on the side (last time, tho – I promise 🤞)

<< 23 || Spotify Playlist || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

24. Don't Dream It's Over

“Smoke that bong! Smoke that bong! Smoke that bong…”

Y/N hears the girls chanting and giggling as she hops into the common room of the motel on her crutches. She laughs a little as she finds the women in a circle, strewn all over the four couches as they pass a bong back and forth between them. The air is filled with smoke and reeks of reefer – a typical Friday night at the Dusty Spur.

“I thought this was a team meeting about finale ideas,” she teases with a slightly scolding eyebrow and finds a seat on the dingy carpet next to Jo, leaning her crutches against the couch and clumsily lowering herself to the floor with a grunt.

“We are. We just needed a little help with the brainstorming,” Ruby assures innocently and holds the bong out to her with a daring smirk. “Pipe down, Captain!”

Y/N snorts in amusement, shaking her head. “Guys, no. I don’t do drugs.”

“C’mon, last chance. You’re gonna be a cool kid and finally smoke with us or not?” Ruby’s grin widens as she seductively wiggles her eyebrows with a demonic glint.

Y/N sighs, sending her a raised look that’s a bit playful in nature and less chiding than it usually would’ve been. “That feels like peer pressure,” she notes but then smiles coyly. Honestly, after the night she’s had, she could use a little fun and forgetting. “But alright. Gimme that bong.”

Some of the girls holler and cheer as Ruby passes her the bong and even lights it for her while she takes a deep inhale. Jesus fucking Christ, the cloud of smoke blows straight to her head, her throat scratching with a cough. She already feels lighter as if she’s floating through the fabric of the universe.

“You’re a natural. Never been fucking prouder,” Ruby says with a dirty grin and hands the bong to Alex next. Honestly, that girl might have escaped straight from hell.

Jo snorts as she looks at Y/N’s widely blown pupils before her eyes land on the blue and green bruises that decorate her neck and clavicle. “You’ve got something there,” the blonde deadpans, gesturing with an arched brow to Y/N’s throat.

Flustered, Y/N swiftly pulls the collar of her jeans jacket higher, trying to hide the evidence on her skin. “Probably just fell weird or something…”

“Fell in what? A pit full of leeches?”

Y/N bashfully ignores Jo’s teasing and clears her throat. “Sorry I’m late. Those crutches really slow me down.”

But Jo throws her a knowing look. “You’re late ‘cause you’re boning Dean. Own it.”

“What, no…” Y/N scoffs. It’s probably her worst performance to date.

“You haven’t slept here in four weeks. Everyone knows,” Jo says bluntly, watching her friend’s cheeks redden with embarrassment and a trace of panic.

“They do?”

Jo then looks to the group, speaking louder. “Guys? Who here knows about Y/N and Dean?”

Several hands raise without a twitch of surprise on their faces. In fact, they even seem bored by the news.

“Duh,” Ruby says to drive the point home.

“Wait, Dean?” Charlie seems bewildered for a moment before she sighs and pulls out a $50 bill, handing it to a victoriously grinning Ruby. “Dammit.”

“Thank you,” party girl says happily and pockets the money before a few other girls hand her money as well. “Pay up, bitches!”

Y/N’s brow furrows in suspicion and some offense. “Were you guys betting on me?”

“No,” Missouri sings in nonchalance. “We were betting on who you were doing it with. Some of us thought it was Benny, some Dean.”

Y/N gasps as she watches Billie pull out her money as well. “You too?”

Billie shrugs unapologetically. “For the record, I thought your slutty ass was doin’ both of ‘em. Donna even thought you were doing them at the same time.”

You gape at the blonde in shock. “Donna!”

“A girl can dream,” is all Donna says with a twitch of her shoulders.

“I knew it was Dean,” Meg tells you. “I could smell his cologne on you. You also smelled like dick and sex.”

“Unbelievable,” Y/N mutters under her breath, feeling quite speechless. Another part of her feels relieved, though. No one seems to be mad at her. In fact, the girls all seem to digest the news quite well.

There’s suddenly an odd feeling festering in her heart, and her mind wanders back to Dean and the dance, wondering what he’s doing right now. But she fights the part of her that urges her to go back and be in his arms again. Has he been trying to tell her what she thinks he has? Was he about to say–

“You okay?” Jo’s voice hauls her back into the present moment.

“Fine,” Y/N says quietly, shrugging it off. Her eyes then search for Ruby. “Can I have that bong back please?”

Ruby smirks all too happily. “Of course. Look at you!”

As Y/N takes another hit to blast her sorrows into a cloud of reefer, Bela storms upset into the commons. The girls look at her worriedly as she plops down on the couch next to Cassie and pouts.

“I’m getting deported. Your government told me to leave the country in thirty days. I don’t want to go back to England and my awful parents,” Bela groans with a miserable look and crosses her arms as she sinks further into the couch cushions. “What am I going to do?”

“You could marry an American,” Donna suggests half-jokingly.

“Who?” Bela asks wryly with a roll of her eyes and throws her arms into the air. “You think it’s that easy to get a man to marry you?”

Y/N’s eyes widen, the weed hitting her fully. It feels a little like she’s floating outside of her body. “Oooh! Chucky!”

Jo lifts a brow at her suggestion. “Her pathetic stalker fanboy?”

“No! Fuck no!” Ruby huffs, vividly shaking her head. “I mean, perfect solution and no, I don’t have a better idea, but fucking no! The guy is a weird loser.”

“Yes! Marry the weird stalker loser and then divorce him once you’ve got your green card,” Y/N proposes, her red eyes only growing wider. She then gasps as if a giant lightbulb went on in her hazy brain. “Oh my God! Our final show! Season 1, it’s time for a wedding!”

“Not the worst idea,” Billie agrees and glances at Bela, who purses her lips in thought. She doesn’t seem convinced yet, though.

“Cambridge, heartbroken after she discovers Mick is a mannequin after all, finds true love in the arms of her number one fan, Chuck Shurley,” Y/N pitches excitedly, while Jo stifles a laugh next to her, hiding half her face in her blouse. “We’ll pull out all the stops, and you guys get married in the ring! You’re Chucky’s bride! You can finally ride in on a horse!”

Bela sways her head pensively from left to right. “Loving the idea a little more…” She giggles in nervous excitement. “I’ve always wanted a horse. You think Dean will go for it?”

“I’ll make him!” Y/N promises eagerly. Jo’s lips part for a moment, wanting to say something, but then she closes her mouth again.

Ruby raises a brow and deadpans, “How you’re gonna do that? Blow him?”

Y/N almost laughs hysterically. “Yes! This is our finale, you guys! I’m so fucking high! I’m overflowing with genius ideas! Now, I know why Dean does this all the time. Can I have more?”

Jo snorts a laugh, greatly amused. She shakes her head. “Oh no, you’re cut off…”

Even Ruby nods in agreement for once.

Y/N’s been MIA for two days when Dean strolls back into the gym on Monday morning after a really shitty weekend. Claire left with Lisa, but at least he managed to convince her to let his daughter visit during summer vacations and some holidays. He insisted on Halloween, which didn’t receive any protest from Lisa, and promised Claire they’d watch tons of slasher movies together. And when his kid left with tears in her eyes, he might have cried a little, too. Not that he’d admit that to anyone.

Y/N, on the other hand, hasn’t called once or even sent a damn smoke signal, so neither has he. She hasn’t slept over for the first time in goddamn weeks, leaving him cold turkey. So, Dean drank till he passed out on the bed and forgot that her side was depressingly empty while Phil Collins’ A Groovy Kind of Love played on repeat. It was a fucking new low for him in terms of musical taste. He didn’t do drugs, though, and was real proud of himself, considering all the emotional turmoil he’s currently going through.

His skin tingles, nerves sizzling with every step closer to the bleachers. His heart jumps out of his chest with excitement as soon as his green eyes spy Y/N in the ring with Billie and Donna. She looks absolutely stunning. For a moment, he forgets how to breathe before he shakes it off and finds a seat next to Jo, who’s already been impatiently waiting for him.

“We know what you’re thinking, ‘How can she wrestle with a cast?’” Billie throws out rhetorically, all of it feeling eerily like a high school presentation. What’s next? A fucking diorama? Dean knows they’re trying to help Y/N, but he’s already anticipating a bit of a disastrous train wreck.

“I’m the novelty act!” Y/N announces and tries to sell it with a proud grin. God, she’s so fucking cute, and it’s hot all the same. He loves when she gets all nerdy and desperate. It feels a little like a throwback to the time he met her.

“Yes, people love watching someone beat the odds. It’s an underdog story,” Donna adds. Honestly, Dean feels slightly like he accidentally switched on the home shopping channel, expecting them to sell him some broken crap shortly that he doesn’t need and will then rot in a closet somewhere in his house.

“Alright. Take it away. Let’s get this over with,” Dean tells them with a small sigh, ready to placate his not-girlfriend, who actually might not even be his not-girlfriend anymore. She’s his not-not-girlfriend.

The girls then start, and Jesus fuck, it’s not good. Dean can hardly believe they have even worked on this for weeks, but he knows they did. Y/N’s told him as much. He then notices how Jo sinks lower in her seat, her brow creasing and twitching, jaw clenching and lips pressing into a thin line.

“Oh my God, it’s all so slow and weird,” the blonde whispers only loud enough so he can hear. He usually doesn’t agree with her, but…

“Yeah, that’s why I tell her to just lie there whenever we… Never mind.” The green-eyed director clears his throat when Joanna sends him a chiding glare.

But truthfully, having sex with Y/N in a cast has been a bit of a challenge. He mostly just pushes her into a position and makes her do a little role-play without moving around too much. Fuck, he can’t believe he won’t get to nail her in all her moving glory once that cast comes off. It feels a little like a cosmic joke. Yes, you can finally have her but only with broken parts. Dean can hear God laughing upstairs.

“Anyways, she really wants to wrestle,” the director explains sympathetically, keeping one eye on the atrociously dreadful match in the ring for show. Sometimes, he smiles through his pain, too, and nods politely. The three seem to buy it so far. Maybe he should become an actor. “And the girls really want her to be in the ring, too…”

Jo groans under her breath and rolls her eyes quickly, not longer than a blink. She does her fake Miss America smile at her colleagues every once in a while. It’s not as good as Dean’s, though. “You’re weak,” she hisses snappily. “Y/N’s gonna be fine. She deserves the truth.”

Well, by that logic, Dean should also tell her he loves her, and that’s just a ridiculous idea.

“We can’t deliver a match like this. We’ve got network executives coming,” Joanna reminds him and makes a little more sense now. Dammit. Her eyes flicker to the ongoing match with a shudder. “Dean, make it be over, please.”

Dean takes one more look, too, and sees Y/N clumsily tumble to the mat in slow-motion. “Yeah, alright!” Dean jumps up from his chair and raises his voice, taking a few steps closer to the ring. “I’m sorry, ladies, but it’s not… It’s just not working,” he says apologetically and sees Y/N’s face fall.

Oh God, he used to enjoy seeing that face once, all sad and disappointed, but now he just wants to hug her and tell her he’s here for her. Kiss it better. Maybe run her a bubble bath. Just make her happy, you know?

What the fuck happened to him?

“It’s about to pick up steam, I swear!” Donna exclaims, all panicked. At least, Y/N has found great and very loyal friends.

“What if I rip my cast off and land one last move?” Y/N presents her next idea with a dramatic hand gesture and an elevator-pitch smile. It’s like a villainous salesperson trying to sell snake oil. Ah, there it is – the desperate twinkle in her eyes is back.

It’s like walking down memory lane today.

Of course, Y/N would break every idiotic bone in her body to be in this stupid, stupid, stupid show one last time. But don’t worry, Dean’s not going to let her do that. He’s not as insane as you think he is.

“Yeah, let’s not do that.” He shakes his head, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Y/N blinks at him with puppy dog eyes and a fucking pout as she hops to the railing and leans on the ropes in her tiny leotard. “I might never wrestle again. I don’t wanna go out like this. Guys, please.” More pouting and begging. Where the fuck is he? Hell?! “Dean?”

The director glances back over his shoulder at Jo, close to whimpering. His eyebrows draw together, however, when the blonde mouths, “Weak.”

She shoots a small glare at Dean and clears her throat, looking at Y/N. “If we have a good enough show and get another network to sign us, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to tumble around the ring again,” Jo argues with a convincing smile. She’s so wise all of a sudden. Dean wishes he would get that much clarity from a single line of coke. Since the accident, she seems like a whole other person.

Well, a smidge different.

Y/N seems to accept that bit of wisdom as well, although she lowers her head with a sniffle. Dean even recognizes a few tears brimming in her eyes as she nods defeatedly.

Internally, he sighs. That used to make him happy, too. Back then, when he cut her during auditions and she looked like he was destroying all her hopes and dreams. Back when she hated him so much and that hatred lit up her eyes, stoking the glowing embers of fire inside them. But now, he doesn’t see that hatred and recognizes something else.

That something makes him smile. His heart flutters. She loves him too, doesn’t she? She might never say it, but he can feel it without words.

Dean then rubs his palms together, an idea hitting him. He knows his Alma, after all. She wants to be needed, so he’ll need her. “Alright, how about you’re with me, huh? Co-directing!”

Her face lights up like the brightest spotlight beam. He's this close to hanging her over the ring and save some money on electricity. “Really?”

Dean purses his lips, hiding his smile underneath it. She’s so fucking cute. “Yeah, I mean, you’re gonna do it anyway, so let’s just make it official, alright?”

“Okay, imagine I’m the bride,” Dean says as he swoops through the ropes into the ring.

“Alright, picturing you in a white dress,” Y/N closes her eyes and teases, the tip of her tongue sticking out between her pink lips as she leans on her crutches.

The two of them had been working on the final episode for the last day, Y/N filling him in on her vision of a wrestling wedding. Then, Dean got to work and tried his hardest to make the magic happen. One good thing about co-directing with Y/N is that he can call as many meetings as he wants to under the pretense of the show.

The young actress still hasn’t stopped by his house yet or slept over, but at least he gets to spend the days with her. He actually loves the idea of a wedding. People surely are into that kind of shit – the love shit. And what’s a finale without some satisfying romance?

Dean scolds her with a look, playfully warning her. “Could we take this directors’ meeting seriously, please?”

Y/N hides her grin and gives him a nod. God, he’d love to spank her defiant ass right now.

“Okay, so, I’m the bride, standing right here underneath this beautiful arch in the middle of the ring, being all nervous…” Dean hears her snort a giggle before she stifles it when he sends her another admonishing little glare. The prop department (aka some of the girls) has built an obnoxiously pink balloon arch. “Alright, zoom in, and then bridesmaids are coming out one by one, sliding into the ring.”

“Bela will be riding in on a white horse, by the way,” Y/N declares more than she asks permission. “We’ll make it look like a unicorn.”

Dean curls his lips. “Is that negotiable?”

She firmly shakes her head. “No.”

Y/N’s not usually this confident or disagreeable, so he knows she has most likely conjured up a character role inside her head. Dean probably could tear it apart and make her cave if he really tried, but he doesn’t care enough about a fucking horse to do so. Guess he’s gotta make someone rent a horse somewhere and bring it to the gym.

Benny.

“Okay, I’ll allow it. Keep the horse,” Dean agrees, smirking like the devil on the inside. “So, who’s gonna give the bride away?”

“Why do we need someone to give her away?” Y/N shrugs. “Kinda sexist. She’s not a possession.”

“C’mon, you’re a pastor’s daughter. This is weddings 101.” Dean shakes his head in incredulity. You’d think a woman knows something like that.

Y/N snorts in amusement. “You would know, Mr. Divorced Twice.”

“Ha ha.” Dean narrows his eyes with a warning look. “I thought you girls fantasized about this shit your whole life.”

“Not me. That’s a gross generalization,” Y/N says and holds herself up by the ropes as she slides her crutches into the ring and follows them shortly after. Dean waits patiently till she’s back on her feet and sticks, standing next to him underneath the balloon arch. “I think we need a platform and some stairs leading up with an aisle through the bleachers.”

“Yes!” Dean agrees eagerly as they play off ideas and plan a fucking wedding of all things. He never would've thought they'd do it this soon. However, brainstorming with his Alma has always been his favorite part. Y/N’s still and forever will be his goddamn muse. “A platform, so everyone can get a good look at what true love looks like.”

His heart twinges as he looks at her and the way she smiles and gnaws on her bottom lip, swaying on her crutches. When has she gotten so close to him? He can smell her deliciously seductive perfume and feel her inviting and irresistible warmth. She’s so goddamn close that he could kiss her right now if he really wanted to. And fuck, does he want to.

The director subtly clears his throat, continuing, “Alright, next is, you know, vows… declarations of love… how they can’t live without one another.” His forest-green eyes find hers. He swallows thickly and takes a step closer. His heart skips a beat, and he can tell hers did, too. She sucks in a breath. “You know, fiction,” he adds and grins wryly. Y/N tilts her head, throwing him a look that says she doesn’t buy into his cynicism. Probably for the best since it’s all bullshit, anyways. “And then…”

“They kiss?” Y/N beguilingly smiles up at him, her eyes flashing to his lips. This time, it’s her who steps closer, her body only inches away from his at this point.

A soft smile forms on his freckled face. He dips his head, his fingers reaching underneath her chin and lifting her lips to his. They brush against each other for a few palpitating heartbeats before she parts her mouth and lets him slip inside. His massive hands roam from her cheeks to her neck and down her sides and waist and back up again. Her crutches fall to the mat by her sides as she locks her arms around him and seeks support on his body instead.

He kisses a path along her jawline and back to her ear, his teeth scraping her lobe. His hands hold her close by her waist and dent the taut flesh there. “Little risky, isn’t it? Since when are you okay with gym PDA?” he teases, his gravelly voice sending shivers down her spine.

Y/N chuckles softly and seeks his lips again, kissing him once, twice before she looks into his eyes, the tips of their noses touching. “They kinda already know.”

Amused, baffled, and most of all happy, Dean arches a brow. “Really?”

His heart melts onto the fucking butterflies in his belly till they’re screeching. Maybe he doesn’t need a wrecking ball and a bulldozer to conquer her heart by force. Maybe all it takes to win her over is just a billion tiny baby steps and a plethora of patience. The only problem with that is that Dean can hear the clock ticking away his precious time. There are only two days left till the final show and an impending goodbye.

Y/N nods without a sliver of panic. “Yeah, it sorta came out during our finale meeting. I took drugs.”

Dean blinks in sheer amazement. “I’m sorry, what? You were fun for once, and I missed it?” he teases, earning him a playful slap of his arm.

“Yeah, I smoked a bong and got high,” Y/N tells him with a clandestine grin like she’s sharing a secret only meant for his ears alone.

The green-eyed director snorts, however. “A bong? Reefer? Sweetheart, that barely counts as a drug.”

Y/N gasps, bewildered. “Sure it does! It’s illegal, Dean.”

“You’re such a nerd.” He grins down at her and cups her cheeks, pulling her back to his lips. His mouth wanders down to the column of her throat and the fading bruise there, sucking a new one into her skin. He’s so busy he doesn’t even hear the gym door open.

“Hey boss, might wanna focus that Hoover vacuum somewhere else. Like her clit,” Ruby hollers, laughing loudly as she passes the ring with a few other girls on their way to the changing rooms.

Y/N snorts into his chest, laughing as well. She tries to curb it, but her whole body is shaking in his arms. For weeks, Dean wanted the girls to finally know about them, so he could kiss her whenever and wherever he wanted to. He should’ve known that wish would come with a steep price.

The director heaves a sigh and caresses her cheekbone. “Wanna continue this meeting in my office?”

“Fuck,” Dean groans, his breath tickling the shell of her ear. He slows his thrusts a little, trying to rein himself in before he blows his entire load. He adjusts her legs around his waist and pulls her a few inches closer to the edge of his desk with a bruising grip on her hips.

“You need to hurry up. The show starts in ten minutes,” Y/N reminds him, giggling softly.

Hungrily, he claims her lips and kisses her breathless. “You need to come first.”

Y/N shakes her head before it falls back with a moan when his lips trail a wet path down her throat. “I already came four times. I’m tapped out.”

“Nah, I don’t buy it. I’m not stopping till you wet my dick again, sweetheart,” he threatens with a playful smirk. “So, if you want us to be punctual…”

Dean’s hand dives between them and pushes her leotard further out of the way till his fingers reach her clit properly. Although she’s not performing tonight, he still made her dress up in full hair, make-up, and costume. One, so he could fuck her exactly like this. And two, he still has a surprise in store for her that will surely get him his cock sucked later tonight.

He pushes deeply back inside her, slow and steady strokes of his cock that match the circles on her sensitive flesh. Y/N’s whimpers grow louder, her pussy grips him tighter, and her nails dig deeper into his shoulders.

“Oh shit, Dean! Fuck, that’s it…”

Y/N’s last orgasm is violent as she screams. He can tell it even hurt a little by the sheer force her cunt squeezes his dick. It’s not the small, regular pulses that happen with the first few. This climax feels more like an epileptic spasm, almost causing her to pass out as tears sting her eyes.

Dean can’t restrain himself any longer and spills into her throbbing pussy with a primal cry. When she’s steady enough, his hands let go of her hips and brush her cheeks, pressing kisses to her panting and pink lips.

He rests his sweaty forehead against hers and smiles crookedly. “Last night… You wanna come over to my place after the show? Have dinner with me, enjoy a few drinks?”

“Sounds good,” Y/N agrees and kisses him softly.

As soon as he slips out of her, the young actress then eagerly puts on her headphones and makes herself comfortable in his chair by the monitors, Dean taking a stand behind her. He honestly can’t help the proud grin on his face as he watches her. She’s come so fucking far.

“It’s a full house today. I think we’ve made something that people really love,” Y/N notes with a smile curving her features. It’s almost melancholic in nature. They both know it’s make or break tonight.

“Good. It’ll look great for the suits,” Dean says and leans his palms on the backrest of her chair, looking over her head at the screens.

“Crowley’s here, too.”

The green-eyed director groans slightly at that. “Maybe he came to apologize for being a spineless dickhead. Still can’t believe he left you alone in that hotel room. Probably should’ve bashed his car, too…” he grumbles.

Y/N’s brow raises as she finds his eyes over her shoulder. “Who’s car did you bash?”

“Uh…” Shit. “Dickbreath’s,” he confesses.

Y/N’s face softens. “Really? Why?”

Dean only throws her a look that says, ‘You know fucking why.’

“For me?”

“Yeah. Of course for you,” Dean tells her and pecks her crown affectionately. She smiles gratefully up at him, her eyes watery. He rolls his at her sentimentality, albeit his heart bawls in his ribcage out of sheer happiness. “Get to work. Don’t fuck this up.”

Y/N only snorts at his feigned sternness, not taking him seriously in the slightest. “Alright, boss.”

The music then starts with the classic Wedding March as the first bridesmaids slide into the ring in matching pink and gold leotards. Joanna’s character is, of course, the maid of honor and comes in last before Bela slowly rides down the aisle on a white horse with a pink glitter cone on its head.

“That horse better not shit in here,” Dean mutters and crosses his arms with a sternly knit brow.

“Oh, it’s definitely going to,” Y/N says with an amused chuckle.

Guess Dean will have to find some poor soul to clean all that shit up after the taping.

Benny.

“Where did you guys get that wedding dress from?” Dean asks curiously as he eyes the pompous and puffy princess puke with disdain.

“Oh, it’s Jo’s old one. We agreed to burn it in a dumpster in the parking lot after,” Y/N quips, laughing.

“So, you guys are really friends again?” Dean suspiciously quirks a brow. He hasn’t seen or heard anything to the contrary, but with these two you never know.

“Yeah, better than ever, actually.” Y/N smiles brightly. “She even offered to drive me to my audition in San Diego three days ago.”

“Hey! I was supposed to do that!”

The actress only shrugs. “You were busy.”

Dean purses his lips, his head bobbing. “So? How did it go?”

“Good, I think. They didn’t hate me straightaway. They even smiled. That’s-, uhm, that’s good, right?” With an insecure lip bite, she glances up at him.

Dean twitches his shoulders and gifts her a small smile of encouragement. “Yeah, maybe.”

He’d love to tell her she would surely land that role and hype her up like the best cheerleader in the country, but truth is, he doesn’t want to see her get crushed by the cruel machinery of Hollywood again. There are some things he can’t know nor control. Y/N’s career is one of those things. He wants to protect her heart, and in a way, he’s shielding her from too much disappointment.

“Yeah, I mean, I know I’m not gonna get it, so it’s fine,” she says as casually as possible and gulps, focusing back on the monitors in front of her. But Dean knows it’s a lie. She really seems to want it.

“What’s the part, anyway? You never told me.” Dean smiles interestedly. It feels a little surreal that, come tomorrow, she won’t walk through the doors of this gym anymore and work for him.

“Oh, uh, they’re doing a reimagining of fairytales. It’s pretty cool. I auditioned for Cinderella,” she tells him with bright excitement before trying to rein herself in again.

Admittedly, it sounds like the perfect fit. Evil step-sisters torturing her? She certainly has some experience in that department. Fucking great. Now, Dean’s got to muzzle his own excitement. He believes she might honestly get that stupid role.

“I object!”

Y/N and Dean stop the chitchatting and turn their strayed attention back to the sudden commotion in the ring. All they see is Bela standing with her fanboy underneath the balloon arch. Rufus is dressed in a priest costume and officiating, but then there’s also Cas, who swoops between the engaged couple and pulls Bela to the side.

“Garth, tighten up on this,” Y/N orders one of the camera operators as Dean puts his own headphones on, listening in.

There’s some vivid back and forth before Bela announces she won’t be marrying stalker fanboy Chucky, after all. She’s marrying Cas, instead.

“Fuck you! Fuck all of you! Love is fake, just like wrestling!” Chuck screams before the bridesmaids tackle him and throw him out of the ring. The crowd then does the rest and boos the guy out of the gym.

“Granted, this is some amazing television,” Dean notes but then shakes his head, furrowing his brow. “But what the fuck is Cas doing?”

“I don’t know.” Y/N snorts a laugh, amused, her eyes transfixed by the show below. “But Bela’s about to marry a millionaire without a prenup.”

Dean groans. “Oh Cas, you fucking idiot…”

As soon as the vows are exchanged, chaos ensues. The rules for tonight’s battle royal are: Whoever wins the bride’s bouquet, wins the plastic crown. It was Y/N’s idea.

“Y/N, stop humming Dammit Janet,” Dean warns her as soon as he hears the familiar melody again. She’s been doing it this whole week.

The girls then fall out of the ring one by one until only three remain: Joanna, Donna, and Meg.

“Hey, Benny, I want a close-up of Donna’s face as soon as she wins the crown,” Y/N commands into her microphone.

Dean laughs a little, his grin widening. “Oh, Donna’s not winning the crown.”

Her eyes dart to him, brow questioningly creasing. “Is Jo keeping it?”

Dean doesn’t answer her directly. Instead, he grabs her crutches. “Take your headphones off. That fuck before was enough warm-up, right? Ah, never mind. You'll be fine...” He quickly helps her to her feet as she keeps blinking at him in utter confusion. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Dean leads her outside the office and shows her to a zip line with a pulley, leading straight down to the ring. “Alright, don’t do some fancy shit and hurt yourself. Don’t make me regret this. Just catapult in with your foot out, okay? They all know you’re coming, so crown's yours.”

Y/N doesn’t say anything, but her lips begin to quiver before the first sob follows, a few tears escaping her eyes. She then hops over to him and slings her arms around his neck, crying softly into his chest.

“Okay, alright… Don’t fucking cry. You’re gonna be on TV. Get it together,” he reminds her firmly but can’t help the smile that flickers alive on his face. He rubs her back, hugging her briefly before he lets her go again.

But Y/N only stretches her neck and captures his lips in a passionate kiss. She steals his air right out of his lungs, her wet cheeks brushing his skin and beard. As she withdraws, her eyes find his, shimmering with words she can’t say out loud, although, for a heartbeat, Dean thinks she might. But she pecks his lips instead, her hands grabbing hold of the pulley.

Dean helps her onto the wooden railing and, upon her determined nod, gives her a little push. Cast first, she flies into the ring, the girls tumbling to the ground and rolling underneath the ropes like pins in a bowling alley.

Triumphantly, Y/N grabs the bouquet and takes a few victory laps around the ring before Rufus places the glittering plastic crown on her head. And while she jokes around and does her bit in full Russian persona, her grateful eyes never truly leave the director.

She flashes him a smile, and Dean knows then that he can’t keep it in any longer. It’s all or nothing, make or break tonight.

“This is the best night ever,” Y/N sighs and snuggles herself deeper into his arms, her head lying on his chest as they sit on the loveseat on Dean’s backyard porch and enjoy the quiet chirping of cicadas and splashing of sprinklers on the suburban grass.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees with helter-skelter heartbeats. His fingers grasp her a little tighter as he rests his chin on her crown and inhales her scent, trying to memorize it in case he won’t get to smell it ever again.

It feels like they’re an old married couple, cuddling on the porch under blankets. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they’d been doing this for thirty years. And as Y/N pointed out, he’s already been married twice, so at this point in his life, he truly knows when something feels real and unique. When something needs to be cherished and protected. None of his previous marriages have felt anything like this.

“You think the meeting with the network executives tomorrow will go well?” Y/N asks, glancing up at him as he thoughtfully nurses his beer.

“Maybe, we��ll see,” he sighs and pecks the top of her head. “You girls still planning on going on that insane camping trip tomorrow?”

Y/N giggles. “It’s not insane! It’s supposed to be relaxing. Just us and nature. It’s our last hurrah if you will.”

“You know what else is relaxing? A spa,” Dean retorts. “You guys are no campers. One or more of you is gonna be eaten by a mountain lion or a coyote come Monday.”

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence.” Y/N laughs. “How can you still underestimate us after all this time?”

Dean only chuckles in amusement. “Sure you don’t want me to book you something in Palms Springs?”

“No,” Y/N insists, laughing. “I’m actually looking forward to this. I even got a trail map. I wanna go hiking.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a sound decision, considering you’re on crutches.” Dean snorts, rubbing his temples. At least a rattlesnake won’t be able to bite through the damn cast on her leg.

“A small hike,” Y/N adjusts her answer. She then twists her head back and cups one cheek, bringing his lips to hers. As she pulls back, she bites her lower lip, a smirk visible underneath. “I think I’m ready for dessert now.”

Dean smiles gently but stops her hand from crawling down his jeans. Fuck, he should get a medal for this. “Hold on a second, okay?”

“Is everything okay? You always want sex.” She looks the same amount baffled as she does worried – like he just ran into the middle of the 101 completely naked after escaping Betty Ford.

“Yeah, no, I-, uh, I just wanna talk for a second, alright?” Dean swallows harshly but is by far not courageous enough to look at her yet. His hand covers hers, drawing small circles with his thumb on the back of it. It’s more for his comfort than hers.

“Oh-kay…” Y/N chuckles nervously, lifting an eyebrow.

“I don’t want this to end, Y/N. I wanna give this a shot,” Dean confesses bravely and finally meets her eyes. His shoulders feel a million tons lighter as the words rush out. He’s caged them for so long in his heart, it almost feels odd to set them free now.

“What d’you mean?” Y/N straightens in her seat a little, her brow creasing more and more with every passing second. He knows it might go horribly wrong at this point, but he needs to get it all out in the open. Shoot his goddamn shot before it’s all too late. Dean wants to be buried with as little regrets as possible.

He has already accumulated enough of those over the years. His first two wives, not seeing Claire grow up, the drug addiction, and one godawful movie. He doesn’t want Y/N to be among those things.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you gotta know at this point.” Dean looks at her, gauging her reaction. But all he sees is a sea of confusion and denial.

“Know what?” Y/N starts to get defensive, so he does as well.

“That I’m in love with you,” Dean grits with some bark in his voice, which is probably not the best way to deliver a love declaration.

Y/N’s mouth parts, but no words come out. She looks shocked, but Dean can’t tell whether it’s because she really didn’t know or because she didn’t ever think he’d say it.

“I didn’t know…”

“Yes, you did,” Dean snaps, the anger and frustration inside of him surging. “Is this really how you’re gonna play it? C’mon, I know you want this, too.”

“I-I don’t, okay? I’m sorry if I misled you,” Y/N retreats further and blinks at him apologetically.

“Oh, you didn’t.” He lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head at the audacious incredulity. A part of him hoped she would just admit it and say it back if he pushed her hard enough. But if anything, he knows she’s a stubborn one. “I mean, Jesus fuck, Y/N! Would you just stop being a fucking idiot?”

“I’m not being an idiot,” Y/N defends. “Why are you being mean?”

“You are, and I’m not! You’re just fucking frustrating me,” Dean huffs and takes a deep breath to calm down a little. How the hell is he supposed to get through that thick head of hers? “You’re really gonna throw all this away? You and me… what we have… Do you know how fucking rare that is? ‘Cause I fucking do. I’ve looked all my life for this… for you.”

“I-I thought this was just sex for you… You said this was just fun,” she argues.

“Do you really think that? Y/N, if all I wanted was easy fun, I would’ve kept fucking Bela,” Dean tells her bluntly and watches her gaze fall into her lap where she fumbles with her fingers.

“I don’t wanna lose you as my friend,” she says quietly.

“Well, you’re gonna. I can’t keep doing this with you. Either you love me, or you don’t. This is it,” he says plainly. Maybe an ultimatum isn’t the best way, but Dean can’t do it anymore. If he plays this game with her any longer, whatever is left of his plastic heart might disintegrate for fucking good. “I love you. I fucking love you.”

Y/N’s eyes begin to sting with tears. Her lower lip trembles as she swallows. “I-… I should go. I’m sorry.”

Clasping his mouth with a palm, Dean defeatedly falls back into the seat and stares up at the dark night sky above him. He nods, tears brimming in his green eyes. “Mhm, yeah, you should. Go. Fucking leave…”

Dean doesn’t look at her. He can’t watch her go, so he willfully keeps his eyes trained on the few stars that weren’t swallowed by light pollution till he hears the front door softly shut.

Fuck.

25. Dare

You're probably screaming right now, and I get it. But let's give our girl some time to think, alright? I have a feeling some stinging desert sun will help with that. After all, you can't have a finale without some satisfying romance 😏

Focus on the good and funny! What was your favorite moment of this part? 👑💖

TAGS:

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@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73

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dazaiandhislovelybandages · 7 days

Note

Maybe, Shinichiro with a s/o that is friendly but a bit of an air-head. S/O is 5 years younger than Shinichiro (if this part makes you uncomfortable you may skip it. OF COURSE DO THIS IN THE ADULT TIMELINE WHERE THEY ARE BOTH ADULTS). S/O used to be a gang leader, when she first told Shinichiro about it, he kinda freaked out, warning her about the dangers of gang world but s/o just told him to trust her. S/O is considered pretty, she has heart shaped face and small waist. When she was in high school, she rejected 20 love confessions, her reason? In s/o's words, she didn't understand romantic love (andshealsodidn'tfeelthesameasherpretenders), to the point she was even called a heartbreaker, despite her just being honest about what she felt 🥲. If you need height, s/o is 1.74

Oh, and s/o gets along pretty well with Manjiro and Emma. She came from an orphan center as well. (She lives with her best friend whom she calls a 'sister'). She surprisingly has 'innocent feelings as well (ex. Shinichiro once went to buy an earring pair but he got into an accident that left him in a hospital for a few days, when he came back to s/o with the earrings, s/o saw the injuries, then she cried "I don't want this! I don't want you to be hurt because of me!" 😭. Shinichiro upon seeing this was surprised but mostly moved.)

Gang Activity {Shinichiro Sano}

A/n: thanks for requesting but seriously, I didn't need that much of a detail because you almost wrote the piece yourself. That being said I didn't quite catch what the plot you wanted me to write was because I kind of got lost in the details you mentioned. And also yeah the details were pretty much useless because I don't include descriptions. I made the reader to be around the same age as Shin in the first timeline so about 22 or 23. Anyways, hope you like it.

Pairing: Shinichiro x fem!reader

Trigger Warnings: MANGA SPOILERS

“Shit's not good for your lungs Shin.” You hugged Shinichiro and he returned the gesture by placing a kiss on your cheek.

“Ugh I could get used to this.” He exclaimed, throwing his head back to look at you rolling your eyes. A devilish smile was plastered on his face, a triumphant look in his eyes celebrating the way he had actually avoided your comment. But had he really? No, you loved pestering him about him smoking habits and he loved it as well.

“Listen, I really didn't want to do this but here I go.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I told Manjiro and Emma about you moving in and um… Manjiro wanted to help with the whole process… so he… he wants to carry your things with his friends.” A sigh escaped Shinichiro's lips.

“I don't mind really.”

Mikey was for sure trying his luck on you, something that Shinichiro despised, to say the least, so having him help you move out of the apartment you shared with your best friend was the worst case scenario according to him.

It was funny seeing him being jealous of his brother however. During your first days together, you had concluded that his innocent jealousy was only because he had never had a girlfriend before so he didn’t know how to act but later on you found it was more than that.

“He is literally twelve, relax.” You giggled. “That's how boys his age act.” It was a desperate attempt on your side to relax your nerves as well and Shinichiro knew that.

You had been honest with him, had told him all about you coming from an orphanage and the difficult years you spent there and he had been more than understanding. But while he could understand how difficult living without any parents was since he had lost his own parents too, what he couldn't quite understand was the fact that you couldn't seperate your best friend that easily.

The two of you living together had only been a natural progress since you now spent most nights at his place rather than your own and even though you had been quite hesitant to accept, you did it because you knew that someday it would happen. You couldn't live with your best friend forever no matter how much you wanted to.

Not surprisingly enough, your best friend had been way more excited than you. In her words it was about time you actually did something for yourself and not for someone else.

Mikey and his friends came to the shop right after school ended, one hour after yout arrival at Shinichiro’s shop, and by the way the young Sano boy had walked in, you figured out that there had been some kind of stupid argument between the two brothers. Mikey shook his head and introduced you to his friends: Baji, Haruchiyo and Senju, Haruchiyo’s little sister.

It wasn't long until you found out that they were just as chaotic as Mikey was so it was no surprise that Shinichiro had almost emptied not only his pack of cigarettes but also a small bottle with aspirins by the time you left.

“Go and pack your stuff and take whatever you guys can with you. I'll come for the heavier things in like half an hour from now.” Shinichiro had said.

“Thank you guys for offering to help me, it means a lot.” You told them once you were alone. You couldn't tell how you managed to be more anxious around four little kids than every other adult you had ever met. It was silly, really, given the reputation you had. But of course, no one knew that yet.

“It's our pleasure.” Haru smiled and Baji with Mikey aggressively nodded their heads in affirmation. Senju was holding her older brother’s hand, not really talking throughout the entire walk back to your house.

“Okay this is how it will go: I'll take my guitar along with two boxes and the rest of you can take this small suitcase with some of my clothes, okay?”

It wasn’t okay. They protested because they didn’t want to let you carry both your guitar and the two boxes all alone and so you ended up agreeing on you taking just one box, Mikey and Baji the other two boxes, Haru the small suitcase and Senju a bag with your jewellery. Obviously you didn’t give them any heavy things and they were so excited that they never noticed you taking your guitar even though you had promised not to.

“Say Y/n.” Baji spoke while you were all walking towards Mikey's house. You noticed his eyes were glued on the insides of the box he was carrying. “Were you in some sort of gang?” The rest of the kids abruptly stopped walking and turned around to look at you.

“I was the leader actually.”

And yes that was the reputation you have been talking about. It wasn’t much to be honest and it had gotten you in trouble many times but you were proud of it.

Everyone seemed to be in awe and suddenly they became even more energetic, saying how amazing and cool you were. If you hadn’t stopped them, they would have set the boxes on the street just to take a look at the box in Baji’s hands.

“Y/n, you know how to fight, right?” Baji asked you. You had reached Mikey’s house by that time and were catching your breath, getting ready to leave again.

“I do.”

“Amazing!” Haru and Senju said in sync.

“Big bro doesn't know shit about fighting and he always got beaten up even though he was the leader.” Mikey rolled his eyes.

“Why are we suddenly talking about gangs?” Shinichiro took the box you had forgotten to set down and placed it on the floor of his room.

“Y/n was in one.” Mikey said and Shinichiro's eyes widened at the sound of this new information. He looked at you and then at the box Baji had opened which contained your gang uniform and some pictures you had taken with the founder members. There was also one box back in your apartment that contained the gifts that the members had given you the day you disbanded the gang.

“I…” Shinichiro was at a loss for words. You already knew what he was going to say as if he hadn't been a member of a gang himself. "You know that shit is dangerous, right?"

"So? I was really good at it, you know?" You waved him off and picked up the box Baji had been carrying. “This contains meetings, fights and general hangouts with the gang. One of the founding members was aiming to become a filmmaker therefore he was filming everything. If you guys are interested, you can watch it.” You handed the cassette to Mikey and almost immediately he and his friends went to the living room. “Shin?” you reached out to your boyfriend once the kids left.

“How can you get even more amazing as the days pass?” He smiled and patted your head, bringing you close for a hug. “Why didn't you tell me?"

"You never asked."

#shinichiro x reader #shiniciro sano x reader #sano shinichiro x reader #sano shinichiro #shinichiro sano #tokyo revengers shinichiro #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers shinichiro x reader #tokyo revengers #writing #anime and manga #anime #manga #tr shinichiro #tokrev shinichiro

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