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maddie0101 · 29 days ago

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tuesdays can go to hell

— based off of THIS request. I hope you like it nonny ! ❤︎

summary: trapped in a time loop, dean is forced to relive his worst nightmare—watching you die, again and again. will he find a way to break free, or is he doomed to suffer forever?

warnings: death, gore, angst, friends to lovers, based off of the tuesday episode!, slight jealousy, idiots in love, dean's personal hell, sad but has a happy ending!

word count: 9.7k (idk how to even defend myself anymore)

The first thing Dean hears is the soft crackle of static, followed by the unmistakable opening chords of Nirvana’s “Come As You Are”.

His eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep, and he groans, squinting against the bright, unforgiving morning light that seeps through the motel blinds.

The music was pretty familiar, comforting, and somehow just right for the moment but he shifts to glance at the clock on the nightstand, blinking as his eyes struggle to focus.

It’s early, but the time catches him off guard. And It’s Tuesday.

Dean blinks a few times, his mind still foggy as he processes the day. Something feels a little off, but he can’t put his finger on it. He leans back against the pillow, rubbing his face with one hand as he tries to shake the sleepiness.

Meanwhile, you’re already up, moving around the room. You adjust your jacket, grab your stuff, and pour yourself a cup of coffee. You catch his confused look and raise an eyebrow, a smirk forming on your lips as you sip from your mug.

“You look like you’ve been run over by a truck,” you tease, your voice light and playful. “C’mon, it’s just Tuesday. You planning to sleep all day or are you gonna join the living?”

Dean grins, though it’s more of a lazy smile. “I’m alive, sweetheart. Just… took me a second to catch up with the day.” He pushes himself up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Alright, alright, I’m up. But if I’m gonna survive today, I need coffee.”

You hand him the mug in your hands, and he takes a long sip. “Mmm. Best part of waking up,” he mutters, giving you a look as he takes in the rest of the room. “You sure you’re not secretly a caffeine dealer?”

You laugh and shrug, not bothering to hide the amused grin on your face. “I don’t know, maybe I should start charging you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, shaking his head as he stands up, stretching his arms over his head. “You’ve got me hooked, sweetheart.”

With one last playful glance, he walks over to his duffle bag, preparing to get dressed for the day.

You’re already halfway to the door, your voice carrying over your shoulder. “Hurry up, Winchester. That diner’s not gonna wait for us.”

Dean chuckles softly to himself, grabbing his clothes. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Don’t get all impatient on me now.”

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As the two of you step through the diner’s squeaky door, the bell above chimes loudly, announcing your arrival.

The familiar scent of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee immediately hits you, making your stomach growl in anticipation.

Dean glances around, eyes scanning the nearly empty diner, the soft hum of conversation and clinking silverware filling the space. The early morning light filters through the fogged windows, casting a warm glow on the checkered floors and faded booths.

He’s about to make a joke about the place when he spots a man at the bar, clearly struggling.

The guy’s hunched over the counter, his fingers tapping nervously on the wood as he stares at the menu, brows furrowed in confusion. He looks like he’s caught between wanting to make a decision and just giving up.

In front of him, a waitress in a bright yellow uniform stands with a pot of coffee in one hand, looking unamused. “Can’t stay unless you order something, Cal,” she says, her voice sharp but not unkind. She doesn’t budge, eyeing the man with an amused glint in her eye as if she’s seen this exact scene play out a hundred times. "You know the rules."

“Some coffee,” the man finally mutters, his voice a bit defeated as he nods to the waitress. You and Dean share a quick look, both of you amused by his indecision. But with that, you make your way to an empty booth, the worn seats creaking slightly as you slide in across from each other.

You let out a quiet sigh, feeling the weight of the morning start to settle in. Your eyes drift upward to the menu posted above the counter, the chalky letters barely legible under the dim lighting.

A small smirk plays on your lips as you nod toward the menu. “Hey, Tuesday. Pig ‘n a poke,” you say, your voice light, a hint of teasing beneath it.

Dean’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, his gaze following the motion of your finger as it points to the menu above. He scans the words slowly, his lips parting slightly. “What the hell’s that supposed to be?” he mutters under his breath. He glances back at you, the corners of his mouth twitching upward into a playful grin.

“Just sounds like something you’d like, Dean,” you shrug nonchalantly, your voice light and teasing.

But before you can say anything else, the same waitress from earlier approaches, her bright yellow uniform standing out in the dim diner light.

She stops at your table, notepad in hand, her pen poised and ready to take your order. “Are you kids ready?” she asks, her voice casual.

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply with a nod, your voice warm and friendly as you meet the waitress’s gaze.

“I’ll have the special, side of bacon, and a coffee.” You flash her a quick smile, then glance at Dean, a mischievous gleam in your eye. “And he’ll have the exact same thing.”

The waitress jots down your order with quick, practiced movements, her pen scratching against the paper as she nods in acknowledgment. She lifts her eyes from the notepad, offering you both a smile that’s a little brighter than necessary for the early morning.

“You got it,” she says, her tone light but efficient, before turning on her heel and walking off, her footsteps echoing.

“Ordering for me now, sweetheart?” Dean’s voice is laced with that familiar teasing tone, and he shoots you a smirk that makes your stomach do a little flip.

You roll your eyes, half exasperated, half amused by his constant subtle flirting.

“Of course,” you reply, your voice light as you meet his playful gaze. “I know what you like, and—” You pause, tilting your head and pointing up to the menu sign above. “That’s exactly what you would order.”

Dean’s lips curve into a soft smile as he shakes his head, clearly entertained by your confidence. His eyes linger on you for a moment longer than usual, something unspoken flashing behind them. You knew him so well, better than anyone ever had, and you were right. He would’ve ordered exactly that, no questions asked.

But there was more to it than just your perfect read of him. A swell of warmth fills his chest at the thought of how deeply you understood him, and for a brief moment, he can’t help but just stare at you—really look at you.

Your beauty wasn’t just in the way you looked, it was in the way you moved, the way you carried yourself with that quiet confidence, and the way your eyes sparkled whenever you teased him.

It left him breathless, like he was standing on the edge of something he couldn’t quite grasp.

Dean swallowed hard, his heart skipping a beat. He was a goner.

Completely head over heels in love with you, but the thought of telling you… it terrified him.

No, he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk ruining what you had, the friendship he cherished more than anything.

What if you didn’t feel the same way? What if, in the end, he lost you completely?

Those doubts plagued his thoughts, gnawing at him constantly. They clung to him like a shadow, keeping him frozen in place, preventing him from taking a chance, preventing him from telling you how deeply he really felt. The fear of losing you was far worse than never knowing if you felt the same.

“Alright, I’ve got this,” you said, breaking Dean out of his thoughts as you pulled a crumpled newspaper clipping from your bag. You spread it out on the table in front of him. “Dexter Hasselback. He was passing through town last week when he disappeared.”

Dean tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning the text. “Last known location?”

You nodded, your finger tapping the paper. “His daughter said he was on his way to visit the Broward County Mystery Spot.”

You reached into your jacket pocket, pulling out a small pamphlet and handing it to him. Dean took it, unfolding the glossy paper with a slight frown. His eyes skimmed the words, then froze, his eyebrows arching as he read aloud, “‘Where the laws of physics have no meaning?’”

He glanced up at you, a look of confusion flickering across his face. You shrugged, just as confused. “No idea what that’s supposed to mean,” you admitted, a hint of a frown on your lips as you glanced at the pamphlet again.

Before you could continue, the waitress returned, her presence interrupting the moment. She gently placed your coffee in front of you, the scent of it rich and comforting.

You smiled at her, murmuring a quick thanks as she set Dean’s cup down in front of him.

But as she reached for the hot sauce sitting on her tray, her hand slipped, and the bottle fell with a sharp clatter. The cap popped off mid-air, and a fiery red stream of sauce splattered across the floor, splashing in all directions.

The waitress gasped, as she muttered "whoops. Crap. Sorry." She turned toward you and Dean and you awkwardly sent her a soft smile that it was fine.

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As you and Dean stepped out of the diner, the cool morning air hit your face, but your attention was still fixed on the newspaper clipping in your hands. You ran your eyes over it for what felt like the hundredth time, but your mind wasn’t fully on the words.

The golden retriever tied to the bike stand a few feet away yapped loudly, its bark echoing through the quiet street, but you barely registered it, too absorbed in the details of the case.

Dean, walking beside you, gave a quiet chuckle, his voice breaking through your thoughts. “You know, joints like this are only tourist traps, right?”

He gently took the clipping from your hands, sending you a teasing look before letting his eyes flick over the paper, clearly unimpressed. “I mean, balls rolling uphill, furniture nailed to the ceiling—sounds like a bad magic act. The only danger’s to your wallet.”

He rambled on, shaking his head, but you cut him off before he could say more. “Dean, I’m just saying, there are places in the world where holes literally open up and swallow people whole. The Bermuda Triangle, the Oregon Vortex—”

“Broward County Mystery Spot?” Dean interrupted with a raised eyebrow, his tone laced with sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes, irritated by his dismissal. “Well, sometimes these places are legit,” you shot back, trying to make him see that you weren’t just chasing shadows.

Dean’s chuckle faded, and his expression turned thoughtful, though his skepticism was still evident. “Alright, so if it is legit—and that’s a big ‘if’—what’s the lore? You got anything to back it up?”

“Well—” you began, but before you could finish your sentence, a blonde girl walked past, her shoulder brushing against Dean’s. The contact was accidental, but it was enough to make her pause, mumble an apology, and move on.

You both turned to watch her, and Dean’s eyes immediately slid over her form, an appreciative smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You couldn’t help but glare at the back of her head as she walked away, your stomach tightening in an unpleasant knot. The rush of jealousy hit you like a wave, sharp and sudden, a deep ache settling in your chest as you watched Dean check out another woman—just like that.

A bitter taste of frustration filled your mouth. You wanted to confess everything you’d been holding inside for so long. But the jealousy gnawed at you, a poison you couldn’t seem to shake off.

Every part of you wished more than anything to tell him how you truly felt, to stop pretending that it didn’t hurt when he looked at others like that. But you kept it all buried, just like always.

“The lore’s actually pretty freaking nuts,” you continued, determined to steer the conversation back to the hunt. You couldn’t let Dean’s skepticism cloud your focus just yet. “I mean, they say the magnetic fields at these spots are so strong, they can actually bend space-time. People who’ve visited? No one knows where they end up. It’s like they vanish into thin air.”

Dean chuckled under his breath, glancing at you as if you were indulging in some wild conspiracy. “Yeah, sounds a little X-Files to me,” he muttered, his eyes darting off as two guys across the street struggled with a piano.

The large, awkward instrument wouldn't fit through the narrow door of an apartment building, and you could hear one of the guys grunt in frustration.

“I told you it wouldn’t fit!” the first guy groaned, pushing against the heavy piano as if it would magically slide through the doorway.

“What do you want, a Pulitzer?” the second guy retorted, his voice edged with annoyance, sweat dripping down his face as he shoved the piano in vain.

Both you and Dean’s eyes narrowed at the sight, watching the whole debacle with a mix of confusion and mild disbelief. You shook your head slightly, refocusing your attention on Dean as the noise of the men’s arguments filled the space between you.

“All right, look,” you said, voice steady but determined, “I’m not saying this is some crazy phenomenon happening right now, but if it is… we’ve gotta check it out. See if we can do something about it.”

Dean sighed, but the determination in your voice didn’t go unnoticed. He shifted his weight, turning to face you with a resigned look. “All right, all right. We’ll go tonight, after they close. Get ourselves a nice, long look. You happy now, sweetheart?”

You nodded, finally feeling like you were getting somewhere. “I’ll take that as a yes,” you said with a small, satisfied grin, even as you noticed Dean’s reluctance.

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Later that night, the air in the mystery spot felt thick, charged with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. The moment you and Dean walked inside, your eyes widened at the sight of the hallway.

The walls were painted in glowing green, swirling patterns that seemed to pulse in the dim light of your flashlight. It was disorienting, like stepping into some other world that didn’t make any sense at all.

The whole place was trippy, and you and Dean exchanged a look, a silent ‘what the hell’, before you both ventured deeper.

The strange feeling never left. The place was completely bizarre. As you and Dean walked around, your flashlights flickered over random objects that seemed more at home in a funhouse than a place you’d investigate.

But you kept going, trying to make sense of it all. It was a hunt, after all. Your eyes landed on an upside-down table nailed to the ceiling, and you blinked.

“What the hell?” you muttered, voice thick with disbelief, before you turned to look at Dean.

He was holding the EMF reader up, scanning for any sign of paranormal activity, but the machine was unresponsive. He shook his head slowly, frustration evident in his posture.

“Find anything?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dean only sighed, the EMF reader basically dead in his hands. “Nope. Nothing. This place is a bust.”

Before you could say anything else, a voice sliced through the silence, sending both you and Dean into alert mode.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

You both spun on your heels, guns raised in an instant. Flashlights blazed into the darkness, landing on a man standing just a few feet away, his shotgun pointed directly at your chest.

Your heart hammered in your ribcage, panic surging through your veins as the cold steel of your gun felt heavy in your trembling hand.

Dean’s jaw clenched, a low growl of anger radiating from him at the sight of the man’s weapon trained on you. The protective instinct in him flared, but he forced himself to remain calm, to keep the situation from spiraling out of control.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean said, his voice low and steady as he slowly lifted his pistol to the side, showing the man he wasn’t a threat.

But you didn’t lower yours. You couldn’t—your heart was racing too fast, the fear clawing at your insides. You kept your eyes trained on the man, praying he wouldn’t make a move.

“You robbing me?” the man snarled, his eyes wild with panic.

Dean was quick to respond. “Look, nobody’s robbing you. Calm down.”

You slowly, cautiously, began to lower your gun a little, trying to ease the tension, but the moment your hand shifted, the man’s gaze snapped back to you. His shotgun followed, cold and unyielding.

“Don’t move!” he barked, his voice frantic, trembling with fear.

“I’m just putting my gun down,” you whispered, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible, but the man’s eyes were wide, and there was a desperation in them that sent a chill down your spine.

You didn’t even get a chance to say another word.

The blast of the shotgun was deafening, the sharp, violent sound tearing through the air like a thousand crashing waves. You barely had time to register the pain before the world turned into a nightmare, an explosion of searing agony ripping through your chest.

The force of it slammed you backwards, and you crumpled to the floor, your body crashing to the ground brutally. Blood poured from your wound, pooling beneath you.

And time seemed to slow at that moment. Dean’s world tilted, spinning in a cruel blur. His entire body went cold, the air around him thickening, heavy with the weight of the impossible. His eyes locked onto you—his world—falling. The blood, crimson and hot, blossomed across the floor in a haunting bloom.

His breath caught in his throat, and everything around him blurred, fading into a void of suffocating silence. His heart shattered in that moment, a jagged, gut-wrenching crack that he could feel in every fiber of his being.

“Y/N?!” His voice broke, desperate and raw, like he was reaching out to you from miles away. His pulse raced, his body screamed at him to do something, anything. He scrambled to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as they hovered over you, not knowing how to fix this.

His fingers shook violently as he touched you, the warmth of your blood staining his hands. The reality of what was happening started to sink in, and it felt like the earth itself was collapsing beneath his feet.

No, no, no…

Your breath came in shallow, painful gasps, each one a struggle, as if your lungs were fighting against the inevitable.

The pain was excruciating, unbearable, but what truly shattered Dean was the sight of you—his world—so vulnerable, so fragile in his arms. You were slipping away, fading right before his eyes, and he was powerless to stop it.

His heart twisted, the ache inside him growing unbearable as he watched the life drain from you. His face crumpled and his hands clutched at you as if he was holding on to the last shred of a dream.

He was crumbling in front of you, and the devastation was written all over him, his eyes wide with terror, his body trembling as he fought to keep it together. But in the face of this, how could he?

“Sweetheart… please, don’t do this to me,” Dean’s voice was a ragged whisper, thick with desperation. His words were a prayer, a plea to the universe that he didn’t even believe in.

He was choking on his own emotions, his breath coming in sharp, frantic bursts as he reached for your face. He traced the lines of your cheek with trembling fingers, trying to comfort you, even as the terror of losing you consumed him.

“I’m right here, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice cracking with every word, every plea. He could barely hold himself together as the tears began to spill, hot and fast, blurring his vision. “You can’t… you can’t leave me. Not like this. Please… don’t leave me.”

But you didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The words hung in the air between you like an unsung song, and the silence was deafening. Your body was so still, so quiet.

Your chest no longer rose and fell with shallow breaths. It was as if time itself had stopped, and everything that had ever mattered to Dean had shattered in an instant.

You were gone.

The words didn’t make sense. Gone. How could you be gone? No. This couldn’t be real.

Dean’s entire world collapsed inward in that moment. His chest constricted painfully, and with trembling hands, he shook you, pleading for you to wake up.

“Y/N?!” His voice was a hoarse rasp, jagged with the agony of disbelief. He clung to you, trying to force you to come back, but the emptiness of your gaze told him everything he needed to know.

The world around him fell apart in an instant. His soul felt like it had been ripped from his body, leaving him hollow. The tears came, unstoppable.

He pulled you closer, hugging you against his chest, holding you like he could somehow make this all go away. Dean's body shook violently as sobs wracked through him, each one tearing him apart from the inside out.

The world felt like it was slipping through his fingers, his grip on reality loosening with each second.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking beyond recognition. The words were barely a whisper, but they held all the emotion, all the truth he had been too afraid to say. His heart shattered as he spoke them, the weight of everything unspoken crushing him beneath its intensity.

The tears streamed down his face as he rocked you in his arms like he could undo the damage, like he could somehow force reality to bend to his will.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring you back.

You were gone.

And Dean was left in the ruins of his heart, clinging to you in agony.

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Dean jolted awake with a sharp, ragged gasp, his heart thundering painfully in his chest. Sweat clung to his skin, his mind a jumbled mess of fragments and images, as if his body hadn’t quite caught up with reality.

A familiar tune filled the air, and his brows furrowed in confusion. The same song, Come As You Are, was playing, its melody sort of haunting and surreal.

His eyes snapped open, and he shot up, panic gripping his chest as he searched the room, his breathing shallow.

There you were, standing by the door, your jacket in hand, the soft light of the morning spilling over your figure like a gentle caress.

You turned towards him, raising an eyebrow as you adjusted your jacket, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “You look like you’ve been run over by a truck,” you teased, your voice light and effortlessly playful, like nothing was wrong. “C’mon, it’s just Tuesday. You planning to sleep all day or are you gonna join the living?”

Dean’s heart stopped dead in his chest. He felt as though the air had been sucked from the room. You were alive.

But he had just watched you die.

The images were so vivid, so real—the blood, the way your body had gone limp in his arms. The way the life had drained from your eyes, leaving him broken and empty. He could still hear your gasps, the soft, haunting whispers of your last breath.

He blinked rapidly, trying to shake the haunting memory from his mind. No, no. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. It had to be some twisted nightmare.

His body was frozen in disbelief, his heart still lodged somewhere deep in his throat. He rubbed his eyes, his hands trembling as he tried to process the impossible.

“I’m—I’m up,” Dean managed, his voice rough and unsteady, the weight of his words sinking in like lead. His gaze flickered over to you, watching the way you moved, so alive, so here.

The confusion twisted in his gut, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask the questions. Not yet.

You were already halfway to the door, your voice cutting through his spiraling thoughts. “Hurry up, Winchester. That diner’s not gonna wait for us.”

Dean’s heart thundered against his ribs, a mix of relief and terror knotting together inside him.

You were here. You were alive. But the image of you--bleeding out in his arms, wouldn’t leave him.

He couldn’t shake it, couldn’t erase it from his mind. He swallowed hard, trying to catch his breath, trying to steady himself.

You turned back, a knowing look in your eyes, and the soft glint of something unspoken passed between you two before you glanced away, your tone still playful, yet there was an undertone of something deeper.

Had you noticed? He couldn’t tell.

“Come on, Dean,” you coaxed, the easy familiarity of your voice pulling him back. “We’ve got breakfast to get to.”

Dean stared at you for a moment longer, his chest tight, his mind racing to catch up. With a shaky breath, he stood, forcing his legs to move. You were right—this was just Tuesday.

But as he followed you out of the room, the weight of the morning hung heavily on him. Everything felt off, as though reality was fraying at the edges, but for now, he had to trust that you were here. Alive.

And that, for some reason, was enough to keep him moving forward.

“You okay?” you asked gently, your voice soft as you studied Dean, noticing the subtle change in his demeanor. Something was off.

“Yeah…yeah,” Dean muttered, his voice distant, like he was still trying to shake off something heavy.

“Just… some dream,” he said, blinking rapidly as he rubbed his eyes, attempting to push away the lingering feeling of that strange nightmare that clung to him.

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"Drive safely now, Mr. Pickett." A man's voice cut through the oddly familiar little diner. Dean blinked again, noticing the Deja vu he was getting.

"Can't stay unless you order something, cal." The same waitress dressed in a yellow uniform stood infront of the guy trying to decide what to order. "You know the rules."

Dean's eyebrows furrowed as he glanced back, noting this exact thing happened yesterday. Almost to a T.

You and Dean sat at the same exact booth as the one in Dean's dream. You sigh before a small smirk plays on your lips as you nod toward the menu. “Hey, Tuesday. Pig ‘n a poke,” you say, your voice light, a hint of teasing beneath it.

Dean’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, his gaze following the motion of your finger as it points to the menu above. He scans the words slowly, his lips parting slightly. This feels oddly familiar.

"What's that supposed to be?" Dean questions, starting to feel uneasy with the way things are playing out exactly how they did in his dream.

“Just sounds like something you’d like, Dean,” you shrug nonchalantly, your voice light and teasing.

But before you can say anything else, the same waitress from earlier approaches. She stops at your table, notepad in hand, her pen poised and ready to take your order.

“Are you kids ready?” she asks, her voice casual.

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply with a nod, your voice warm and friendly as you meet the waitress’s gaze. “I’ll have the special, side of bacon, and a coffee.” You flash her a quick smile, then glance at Dean, a mischievous gleam in your eye. “And he’ll have the exact same thing.”

The waitress jots down your order with quick, practiced movements, her pen scratching against the paper as she nods in acknowledgment.

She lifts her eyes from the notepad, offering you both a smile that’s a little brighter than necessary for the early morning. “You got it,” she says, her tone light but efficient, before turning on her heel and walking off, her footsteps echoing.

Dean's stomach continues to churn at the exact event unfolding. This could just be Deja vu...could it? Dean swallows the lump in his throat as a slight awkward silence fills the air before you speak.

“Alright, I’ve got this,” you said, pulling the same crumpled newspaper clipping from your bag. You spread it out on the table in front of him. “Dexter Hasselback. He was passing through town last week when he disappeared.”

Dean stills at your exact words from the nightmare. His eyes flicker back and forth from the newspaper clipping, to the people around you in the diner, and then back to you. Noticing everything is exactly like his dream.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked softly, your voice carrying the weight of concern as you pulled Dean’s gaze back to you. Your brow furrowed, noticing the way he seemed distant, lost in thought. “You’ve been acting off.”

Dean blinked, as if he hadn’t quite realized you were speaking. He shifted his gaze back to you, his jaw tightening slightly. “You don’t…?” He trailed off, trying to find the right words, his brow furrowing deeper in confusion. “You don’t remember any of this?”

“Remember what?” You squinted, your concern growing as you tried to piece together what he was talking about. His words didn’t quite make sense.

“This,” Dean said, gesturing between the two of you and the diner around you. “Today. Like—like it’s happened before.”

“Do you mean like déjà vu?” you asked, still trying to wrap your head around it, watching as Dean’s eyes darted around the diner, his unease palpable.

“No, I mean like it’s really happened before.” Dean’s voice was low, almost shaky, as though he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

“Yeah, like déjà vu, Dean,” you said, your voice soft, but the confusion was still evident in your tone.

“No, forget about déjà vu. I’m asking if it feels like—” He paused, trying to find the words, his eyes narrowing as he looked around again, his anxiety rising. “If it feels like we’re living yesterday all over again…”

You leaned forward slightly, a frown deepening on your face. “Dean, are you okay? We’ve never been here before…” you said gently, your voice laced with concern. His restlessness was growing, and it was starting to make you nervous.

Dean sighed, frustration settling over him. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as if he couldn’t explain what was happening inside his mind.

At that moment, the waitress arrived with your coffee, setting it down in front of you. “Coffee, black,” she said, her voice bright and cheerful.

You smiled at her, murmuring a soft “thanks” as she set Dean’s coffee down in front of him. But just as she reached for the bottle of hot sauce on her tray, her hand slipped, sending it tumbling toward the ground. Before it could crash, Dean’s hand shot out, catching it in a smooth, almost practiced motion.

“Thanks!” the waitress said with a surprised smile, clearly impressed by his reflexes.

Your eyes widened slightly at the quick reaction, but you couldn’t help but smile. “Nice reflexes, Winchester,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood, though the tension still hung between you two.

Dean gave a quick, distracted smile, but there was no hiding the haunted look in his eyes.

Something was very wrong, and whatever it was, he wasn't sure if he could shake it off.

──────────────────────

As you and Dean stepped out of the diner your attention was still fixed on the newspaper clipping in your hands. You ran your eyes over it for what felt like the hundredth time, but your mind wasn’t fully on the words.

The golden retriever tied to the bike stand a few feet away yapped loudly, its bark echoing through the quiet street, but you barely registered it, too absorbed in the details of the case.

Dean walked beside you, his mind racing as his gaze flicked back to the same golden retriever barking at you.

The same exact events, almost every single one—kept happening. His heart pounded, a sense of dread sinking deeper into his gut.

There was no way this was just déjà vu. It couldn’t be. This wasn’t some glitch in the matrix; it felt too real.

“Well—” you started, breaking the thick, uncomfortable silence that had settled between you two, but before you could finish, a blonde girl brushed past Dean. Her shoulder made brief, accidental contact with his, just enough to make her pause, mumble an apology, and move on without another word.

You both turned to watch her, and Dean’s eyes followed her, but not with the same intensity as before.

But this time, his attention shifted back to you, his gaze lingering on the faint frown tugging at the corner of your lips.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he did, it struck him. Were you…jealous?

“The lore’s actually pretty nuts,” you quickly picked up the conversation, eager to shake off the thoughts swirling in your head. “I mean, they say the magnetic fields at these spots are so strong, they can actually bend space-time. People who’ve visited? No one knows where they end up. It’s like they vanish into thin air.”

Dean’s brow furrowed slightly. You had said that yesterday. Or had you? The words were too familiar, too painfully similar to the conversation he’d had with you before. He could almost hear the echoes of the same sentences repeating in his mind.

“Dean, are you even listening?” you asked, your voice tinged with concern, noticing how distant he seemed.

You tried to keep the conversation going, but the weight of his unease pressed on. “Is this about the whole déjà vu thing?” you pressed, glancing sideways at him.

Dean blinked, trying to focus. “Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I feel like I’m reliving almost the exact same moments,” he said, his voice tight with frustration.

And as if on cue, the same guys from the dream appeared in front of you.

“I told you it wouldn’t fit!” one of them groaned, pushing a heavy piano with all his might, as if trying to will it through the doorway. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his muscles straining with the effort.

“What do you want, a Pulitzer?” the second guy shot back, his voice laced with annoyance. The sight was almost surreal, like watching a bad rerun of the exact same scene.

You and Dean exchanged a look, eyes narrowing at the ridiculousness of the situation. But Dean didn’t seem to move, he stayed frozen, the sound of the men’s argument pulling him deeper into the feeling of déjà vu, like a door he couldn’t escape.

“Is it still happening?” you asked, your voice quiet, noticing the way Dean was staring, distant and unsettled. He only nodded in response.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice strained. “It’s like… look, we were at the Mystery Spot, and then—” His throat tightened, his words tripping over themselves as he tried to make sense of it. “And then… I woke up.”

His voice trailed off, and you tilted your head, noticing how his gaze wavered, as if trying to hold back something—something deeper.

You blinked, a slight catch in your breath. Was that… a tear?

The air between you thickened with the weight of unspoken things, and you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, “And then what?”

Dean swallowed hard, and for a brief moment, you could see the rawness in his eyes, the vulnerability that he didn’t often show. “I woke up, Y/N,” he repeated, his words breaking the silence. He didn’t elaborate, but the emptiness in his tone told you everything. The pain was still fresh.

You two kept walking in silence, but the tension between you was palpable. Then, with sudden urgency, Dean spoke up. “Wait a minute. The Mystery Spot. We’ve gotta check it out. Maybe it has something to do with this.”

You paused, looking at him skeptically. “Okay?” you asked, your voice laced with uncertainty. “We’ll go tonight after closing?”

Dean spun around to face you, halting both of you in your tracks. His eyes were wide, his urgency clear. “No.”

You raised an eyebrow, confusion and frustration swirling inside you. “Why not?”

Dean shifted uneasily, a forced smile pulling at his lips. “Uh…let’s just go now,” he said, almost too quickly, his voice strained. “Right now. Business hours… nice and crowded.”

Your brow furrowed even more. “My God, what the hell is wrong with you, Dean?” You couldn’t hide the irritation in your voice now, your hands resting firmly on your hips. Something was off. Something in his eyes told you that this was more than just a simple detour.

“Y/N…” he pleaded, his eyes softening with a desperation you didn’t fully understand.

You sighed, shaking your head in disbelief, but finally relented. “Okay, fine. We’ll go now,” you muttered, frustration laced in your tone as you walked past him and into the street.

Dean was only a few steps behind, but you didn’t realize how quickly things were about to unravel.

As you reached the crosswalk, a car sped by, and in an instant, you were struck. You flew backward, your body slamming into the pavement with a sickening thud.

Time seemed to freeze as Dean’s heart dropped into his stomach, the world around him going eerily still.

“Y/N!” he screamed, his voice filled with pure terror. His legs moved before his brain could even register, and he rushed to where you lay in a pool of your own blood on the concrete.

His breath hitched in his chest as he knelt down beside you, his hands shaking as he pulled you into his arms.

But when he looked down at you, his world stopped.

Your eyes were glossed over, and blood trickled from the corner of your mouth. Your body was limp in his arms, lifeless.

His heart shattered into a million pieces as he desperately pulled you closer.

You were gone.

Again.

──────────────────────

Dean woke up with a gasp, his heart thundering painfully in his chest. Sweat clung to his skin, and for a moment, he thought he was suffocating. His mind raced, trying to understand the dream, or was it a dream?

A familiar tune filled the air, its haunting melody wrapping around his thoughts like a chain. Come As You Are by Nirvana. The same damn song.

Dean shot up in panic, his breathing shallow and erratic, his eyes wide as he searched the room. The last time he’d woken up to that song, it had been the beginning of another hellish cycle. He’d hoped it was just a nightmare.

But no.

There you were, standing by the door, your jacket in hand, adjusting it as the soft morning light spilled across your figure. The room looked exactly the same—nothing had changed.

The exact same.

You turned toward him, an eyebrow arched in playful concern, a smirk tugging at your lips. “You look like you’ve been run over by a truck,” you teased, your voice light, effortlessly playful. As if nothing was wrong. “C’mon, it’s just Tuesday. You planning to sleep all day, or are you gonna join the living?”

Dean’s heart squeezed in his chest. Tuesday? Again?

A tremor ran through his body, and for a moment, his world tilted on its axis. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He felt… trapped.

His mind was swirling with confusion, his body heavy with exhaustion. The same damn Tuesday over and over again. The same damn morning, the same damn conversation, the same damn events.

His eyes flickered to the clock, then to the door.

You were already moving, oblivious to the torment flashing behind his eyes. Every time you walked through that door, he lost you.

Every single damn time. He couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard he tried.

He blinked hard, swallowing down the panic clawing up his throat. “I’m—I’m fine,” he stammered, forcing a breath through his chest. “I just—” His mind was so clouded with what felt like a thousand lives lived in the blink of an eye. He rubbed his face, trying to shake the feeling of déjà vu, but nothing felt real anymore.

You were already halfway to the door, completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside him. “Hurry up, Winchester,” you called back over your shoulder, your voice light. “That diner’s not gonna wait for us.”

Dean blinked again. You were alive, and yet every single time, no matter how hard he tried to stop it, the outcome remained the same.

You died. Every single time.

──────────────────────

One time, you were laughing at something stupid Dean had said, your voice light and carefree as you took a bite of your food.

Then, in the next instant, your face turned red, your eyes wide with panic. You gasped for air, your hands clawing at your throat as the food lodged there.

Dean froze, his own breath caught in his chest as he scrambled to help you. His hands were shaking as he tried to perform the Heimlich maneuver, but it was no use. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and just like that, you were gone.

And then...It was Tuesday.

Again.

──────────────────────

Another time, it was a piano. You had been walking next to him, talking about the case.

Dean barely heard you, his mind a mess of frustration and confusion. But when the piano fell, seemingly out of nowhere, he turned in slow motion, his chest seizing with dread as it plummeted toward you.

He screamed your name, but it was too late.

The piano crashed down onto you, pinning you beneath its weight. Blood pooled around your head, and Dean’s knees buckled as he fell beside you. His hands trembled as he tried to lift the heavy instrument off your broken body, but it was impossible.

You were gone. Again.

Then, the song blared again.

──────────────────────

Time after time, the same scene played out. Getting shot at the mystery spot. A car accident. A falling shelf. Choking. Getting smashed by a piano. A malfunctioning electrical wire that shot sparks and ignited an explosion....Each time, you died in some random, unpreventable way.

It happened over and over again. And every time, it was the same gut-wrenching devastation.

Dean was always powerless.

He screamed your name, his voice raw, desperate, as if somehow that could stop the inevitable. His heart shattered all over again as he knelt beside you, cradling your lifeless body in his arms.

But It was like he was trapped in his own personal hell, forced to relive the same agony over and over.

The crushing weight of loss never lessened, and each death was a new wound, a deeper scar, shredding him to pieces.

──────────────────────

By the hundredth Tuesday, Dean was just… done.

He was tired of the same damn day playing over and over again. Tired of watching you die in every possible way, shot, choked, crushed, electrocuted. It was all random, all brutal, and it never got easier.

Every time he wanted to say something, wanted to tell you how he felt, wanted to kiss you, but damn it—but he couldn’t.

Not when you wouldn’t remember. Not when he’d lose you again in the next loop. It was like being stuck in a nightmare that never ended.

He couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t keep watching you die over and over again and pretending like he was fine.

So when that damn song started blasting through the radio again, the one that used to be comforting but now just felt like torture—Dean lost it.

He glared at the radio, his patience snapping. Without thinking, he slammed his hand down on it, cutting off the music that had started to drive him crazy.

──────────────────────

Dean sat in the booth, his gaze hard and distant. He wasn’t paying attention to the endless chatter around him, his mind racing a mile a minute.

You were still trying to wrap your head around what he’d told you. “So, you’re caught in a time loop?” You asked, skepticism lacing your voice. The whole thing sounded insane, even for you.

“Eat your breakfast.” Dean’s tone was rough, his eyes briefly flicking over to you before turning back to whatever caught his attention in the diner.

You raised an eyebrow at his sharpness, confused. “What the hell is up with you?” you muttered under your breath, but he didn’t react. You sighed and rolled your eyes, shaking your head.

Dean, meanwhile, kept his eyes locked on the man in the suit who had been in the diner every damn day. The same guy who always showed up, always ordered the same thing, and always left at the exact same time. But this time, Dean had had enough.

Without another word, he slid out of the booth and followed the man, his frustration bubbling over.

“The hell, Dean?” You grumbled, quickly tossing cash on the table and shoving your wallet back into your jacket before darting after him. “Where are you going?”

Dean didn’t respond, and by the time you reached the door, he was already outside, chasing the guy down.

You didn’t even have to break your stride to catch up. Just as you were about to reach him, Dean shoved the suited man hard against a chain-link fence, the impact making the man grunt in surprise.

“Hey!” the man yelped, but Dean didn’t let up. His anger was clear, his jaw clenched tight as he kept the man pinned.

And then, you saw it. Dean’s eyes—dark and icy, full of raw fury. It sent a shiver rolling down your spine.

“I know who you are, you son of a bitch,” Dean growled, pushing harder into the man’s chest, making him wince. “Or should I say what you are?” He cocked his head, his voice low and menacing.

“Dean—” You started, trying to get his attention, but he didn’t budge.

“Oh my god, please don’t kill me!” The man stammered, sweat dotting his forehead.

“Dean, stop!” You reached out to grab his arm, but he didn’t move. He was focused, laser-focused on this guy.

“It took me a hell of a long time,” Dean muttered, his hand tightening around the man’s collar. “But I got it.”

The man’s eyes widened. “What?” His voice shook, but Dean just smirked in response.

“It’s your M.O.,” Dean continued, his words coming out slow, deliberate. “Going after pompous jerks, giving them their just desserts. Your kind loves that, huh?”

The man squirmed under Dean’s grip, fear flashing across his face. “Yeah, sure, okay. Just put the stake down,” he begged, his voice almost a whimper.

Dean’s hand clenched around the stake, and you finally noticed it—how tightly he was holding it, how dangerous this situation was.

“Dean, maybe you should—”

“No!” Dean snapped, his voice seething with rage. “There’s only one creature powerful enough to do what you’re doing. Making reality out of nothing, sticking people in time loops… You’d have to be a god. You’d have to be a trickster.”

“Mister, my name is Ed Coleman. My wife’s name is Amelia. I’ve got two kids! I sell ad space! For crying out loud, just let me go!” The man was practically crying now, but Dean wasn’t hearing it.

“Don’t lie to me!” Dean yelled, his grip tightening until the man was choking. “I know what you are! We’ve killed one of your kind before!”

Before you could say another word to try and calm Dean down, the man’s face morphed—changed entirely into a face you knew all too well.

“Actually, bucko,” the trickster’s voice was unmistakable, and Dean’s grip loosened slightly. “You didn’t.” The trickster grinned, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he looked between you and Dean.

Dean’s anger only deepened. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded, pushing the trickster harder against the fence, his voice dropping to a dangerous level.

The trickster just smirked, unfazed. “You’re joking, right? You Winchesters tried to kill me last time. Why wouldn’t I do this?” He shrugged as if it was all just a game.

You stepped up beside them, unable to hold back anymore. “What about Hasselback? Huh? What’d you do to him?”

The trickster’s eyes flickered to you, then back to Dean. “That putz? He didn’t believe in wormholes, so I dropped him in one.” The trickster laughed, his expression wicked as he glanced between the two of you. “And then, you two showed up. I made you the second you hit town.”

“So, this is fun for you?” Dean’s voice was cold, his eyes narrowing. “Killing Y/N over and over again?”

The trickster raised an eyebrow, looking utterly unconcerned. “One? Yeah, it’s fun,” he smirked, “and two? This isn’t even about killing her. This joke? Is on you, Dean. Watching the woman you’re in love with die… every day… forever.”

Your heart stopped. The words hit like a ton of bricks. Dean didn’t confirm it, but his silence said everything.

You looked at him, your breath caught in your throat. Was it true? Was he really in love with you? Was this some sick game?

Dean’s face contorted into pure rage, and his fist clenched around the stake. “You son of a bitch,” he growled, his voice a deadly whisper.

“Tell me, how long will it take you to realize—” The trickster started, but Dean cut him off.

“I kill you, this all ends. Now.” Dean’s voice was like gravel, low and dangerous. He shoved the stake harder against the trickster’s stomach, a threat hanging in the air.

“Whoa, okay! Alright,” the trickster groaned, raising his hands. “Look, I was just playing around. Fine, fine, you’re out of it. Tomorrow, you’ll wake up and it’ll be Wednesday. I swear.”

“Lying piece of shit,” Dean muttered under his breath, not buying it.

“If I am…” The trickster tilted his head, still smirking. “You know where to find me. I’ll be at the diner. Having pancakes.”

Dean shook his head, his jaw set tight. “No. It’s easier just to kill you.”

“Sorry, kiddo, can’t have that,” the trickster taunted, his eyes flicking to you. “Nice to see you alive and well, doll.”

Before you could even say anything or Dean could react, the trickster snapped his fingers.

──────────────────────

Dean’s eyes snapped open, but this time it wasn’t Nirvana blasting from the radio. It was Night Moves, that old classic, crackling through the speakers.

He jolted upright, blinking against the confusion as his eyes darted to the radio. Instead of reading ‘Tuesday,’ it flashed Wednesday. His heart skipped a beat.

He quickly scanned the room and there you were, in the kitchen, pouring yourself a cup of coffee, your back to him as you hummed along to the tune.

“You gonna sleep all day?” you teased, giggling to yourself as you set the pot down and took a sip from the mug.

Dean rubbed his face, still processing, but he couldn’t help but grin at you. “No Nirvana?” he asked, his voice sounding way too groggy for his liking.

You raised an eyebrow, looking at him over your mug. “Yeah, I know. This station sucks, but hey at least Night Moves is playing,” you laughed.

But Dean’s brain was running a hundred miles an hour.

Wednesday. It's Wednesday.

His heart fluttered with excitement and relief. He blinked, looking around again as if he expected everything to change, to make sense.

“Wait, hold on,” Dean muttered, his voice a little shaky. “What do you remember?” Slowly, he pushed himself up from the bed, rubbing his hand through his hair.

You looked at him over the rim of your cup, a bit confused by his urgency. “I remember you losing it yesterday, almost going insane, and then… running into the Trickster…” You trailed off, your voice faltering slightly as you remembered his words.

Dean’s stomach dropped. His mind clicked into place, memories of the Trickster’s taunting words rushing back to him.

He hadn’t thought about what you’d overheard until now, and suddenly, he found himself pushing. “What all do you remember? You know… what the Trickster said?” Dean’s voice was tight as he slowly made his way toward you, his throat tight with nerves.

You shifted uncomfortably, your cheeks turning an unexpected shade of red. “Oh, uh… nothing much, really,” you muttered, trying to brush it off.

But as you turned your head, hoping Dean wouldn’t notice, he was already right in front of you. He saw everything. Every tiny movement, every little change in your face.

Dean was too close now, his voice soft but firm. “I know you heard him, Y/N.” His eyes flickered over the side of your face, almost as if he could see right through you. Then, with a tenderness you hadn’t expected, his hand reached up to gently turn your face toward him, his finger barely grazing your skin.

Your breath caught in your throat at the touch. It felt so… intimate. So delicate. Your pulse was racing, and for a second, you wondered if he could feel it, too.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing heart. “Is it true?” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

Dean’s own heart was pounding in his chest, the sound of it loud in his ears.

This was it. The moment he’d been waiting for, the moment he’d told himself he would seize after all those damn Tuesdays of watching you die over and over again.

And now, he wasn’t going to let it slip through his fingers.

You remembered. You were safe. And he wasn’t going to wait another second.

So he didn’t say a word. Instead, Dean cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing over your skin as he leaned in. Without hesitation, his lips met yours. The kiss was soft, gentle, but it hit you like a lightning bolt.

Every nerve in your body lit up, sparking with something you couldn’t quite explain, a warmth spreading through you that you hoped would never end.

The world around you seemed to disappear as you melted into the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him to be even closer than he already was.

Every inch of you seemed to hum with the connection, the warmth, the intensity. His lips were soft but insistent against yours, igniting something deep inside you that you never knew you were capable of feeling.

Dean’s hands were gentle as they cupped your face, his fingers trembling slightly, like he couldn’t believe this was finally happening.

The kiss deepened, and you couldn’t tell where your heartbeat ended and his began, but it felt like everything you’d been waiting for, everything you’d been holding back, was finally spilling out. As the kiss lingered, your lungs screamed for air, but you didn’t want to break it. You didn’t want this moment to end.

But eventually, you pulled back, both of you breathless, faces flushed, hearts pounding in unison. You didn’t move far—just enough to look up at him, your arms still wrapped around his neck, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt.

Dean’s gaze softened, but there was a storm of emotions swirling in his eyes, ones you couldn’t quite name.

He swallowed hard, his voice low but steady. "I love you,” he confessed, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “I’ve been in love with you for so damn long, and fuck, I’ve been terrified of losing you, terrified of not being able to say it, but now… after everything… I can’t keep it in anymore. I can’t pretend it didn't kill me watching you die over and over again. I just can’t…”

His breath hitched, and you could see the weight of his words pressing down on him. But it was the truth. And somehow, with the weight of it in the air between you, you felt the same truth flicker in your chest.

You smiled softly, your heart aching with the same confession you’d been holding inside for far too long. “I love you too, Dean,” you whispered, your voice shaky but sure. “I always have.”

Dean’s expression softened, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His lips curled into a half-smile, a mixture of disbelief and pure relief flooding his face. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice low, rough around the edges.

You nodded, your chest swelling with the emotion that had been quietly building for so long. “Yeah,” you repeated, more confidently this time, as you pressed your forehead to his.

And Dean closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of everything lifting, but only slightly. He pulled you closer again, his hands running through your hair, gently tugging you back into another kiss.

But this time, it was different, softer, sweeter, filled with everything that had been left unsaid for so long.

And as you kissed him again, Dean knew, deep down, that nothing would ever be the same.

You weren’t stuck in a time loop anymore.

The future was unknown, but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was you, the one who held his heart in your hands, and the one who he'd never let go of again.

author’s note:

hi, nonny! I hope you like this one! I know it was a bit sad but figured the happy ending was worth it :)…I honestly had the idea pop into my head after watching that same episode the other week and thought it would be interesting to switch things up a bit. sorry for the wait! I had been working on this for a little bit and wanted to make it perfect :)

hope you guys enjoyed! ❤︎

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

tags:

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

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

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months ago

Text

A Hole in the Heart

Between this and the drunken confession from Leona fic 😭 I must be in my Savanaclaw era… Maybe I’ll write a food-related Jack fic too, who knows www

Imagine this...

There’s a cute guy working behind the counter.

You can only afford to dawdle for so long. Your eyes are supposed to be focused on reading the menu mounted overhead or browsing the glossy breads and cakes on offer. Instead, your gaze drifts up to the employee—a hyena beastman—sheepishly awaiting your order.

He leans on the glass display case, face nestled in his arms, cheek to forearm. His dirty blonde hair sticks up like someone has aggressively ruffled his head. The boy blinks at you with big, blue-grey eyes, mouth permanently etched into a sloped smile that suggests he is capable of stirring up trouble off his shift.

An apron hangs loosely from his lanky frame, and a cap is clamped down between two large, twitching ears. His tail, short and stout, wags like a metronome, in time with the rhythm he taps out with a finger.

Yeah, he’s definitely super cute, you conclude.

“… Hey.”

You jolt at the hand passion waving in front of your face, at his voice. It’s casual and warm, like the sound of an old friend’s greeting after a long day.

The bakery employee lifts his head and quirks a brow. “You decided what you want yet? You’ve been starin’ for a while now.”

W-Was I really staring?!

A hand flies to your face, testing it for signs of self-consciousness. Your skin is flushed and tingles, like flames have been lit under it.

“S-Sorry, I must’ve dozed off,” you mumble, burrowing into your collar and praying that he doesn’t notice. Focus here, you remind yourself. “You have so many options, I’m having a hard time deciding. What do you recommend?”

“Me?” He fully draws himself up, trading his smile for a smirk. “I know just the thing. Hang on a sec!”

The employee peels away and snags a donut from the display case, wrapping it in a checkered napkin. The pastry is plump and full, fried to a golden perfection and covered in a shiny sugar glaze.

“Oh… It doesn’t have a hole in the center,” you realize.

“The holes are usually there to help the dough cook evenly. We repurpose what’s punched out as donut holes,” he says, eyes glittering with gluttony, “but nothing beats having the whole thing, hole and all.”

“Pfft. When you put it like that, it feels sort of sad.”

“How do you figure?”

“A donut with a hole sounds like a person that’s missing their heart. Some important part of themselves just… poof. Gone.”

“A person missing their heart, huh? You got an imagination on ya.”

D-Did he just compliment me?

Your heart leaps up and lodges in your throat. It’s suddenly difficult to usher your words out.

He shakes his head and turns away, setting to his work. The boy becomes but a blur of activity, and you watch him, mesmerized.

He generously ladles chocolate sauce onto the donut, garnished by a handful of sliced nuts. Then he glops on a healthy helping of custard cream, a spritz of whipped cream, and a big spoonful of berry jam. The result is one decadently sticky pile of sugar with everything under the kitchen sink thrown onto it.

He presents the towering donut to you with a flourish. “Ta-dah! I give you… the Ruggie Special!”

You gape at it, unsure of what to do or say. There’s no way I can finish this before class starts, you fret—but you accept the donut in a daze, not wanting to reject all his efforts. Your fingers and his graze, sparking a thrill within you.

“What’s ‘Ruggie’?” you ask shyly.

“That’s me.” He winks and points to himself. No, to the name tag pinned to his chest. “Ruggie. Ruggie Bucchi.”

H-He told me his name. You clutch your hands together in an attempt to calm them. Is he flirting with me?

“W-Wow, you have a menu item named after you? That’s cool,” you babble. Oh no—you’re so horrid at small talk, you scold yourself.

“Unofficially, yeah. The boss doesn’t mind if I use the extra ingredients lying around to experiment. Oh, speaking of—” He holds out a hand. “All that extra stuff’s gonna cost ya. That’ll be 700 madol, if you please!”

“700…?!” You startle, as if waking from a dream. The donut’s mountain of topples wobble, threatening to tumble. “That’s over 5 times the cost of a single plain donut!”

“Well, this is a single plain donut with all the fixings,” he corrects you with a snicker. Ruggie points to your Special. The chocolate sauce is rapidly dribbling down, cream leaking into the napkin. “Look, it’s already getting all over you. Better cough up the cash and get to eating it real quick~”

“Nrgh…” You reluctantly fish out 700 madol and slap the bills onto the counter. “Here. Just take it already.”

“Nishishishi, thank you for your patronage!” Ruggie happily scoops up the money and deposits it into the register. The bills are swallowed up by the metal contraption, as if it is feasting on your misfortune.

Why do I feel like I just got duped by a pretty face?

Your stomach lurches, disappointed with yourself. Friends and classmates always teased you for this. Head in the clouds, too sentimental, unlucky with guys, so quick to fall in love and even quicker to have your heart broken—all phrases they used to describe you.

Someone absolutely hopeless in their flights of fancy. A donut wandering around with a hole where their heart should be, seeking what they lack.

You flush deeper. Maybe I’m proving them right. I’m seeing things that aren’t there.

“W-Well, thank you for your recommendation,” you say hurriedly.

“No prob,” he replies with the tip of his hat. “All in a day’s work.”

A day’s work, duh. Stupid, stupid. He was only buttering you up to swindle you into a sale.

The donut is oozing into your palm now. You frown and attempt to mop what is spilling with your tongue. Ruggie laughs a little—and you’re not sure if he’s laughing with you or laughing at you. Truthfully, you don’t know which you’d prefer.

“Need more napkins?” he offers, a wad of them at the ready. “These’re free.”

“Th-Thank you,” you mutter, grabbing them with your free (clean) hand. “I have to get going, or I’ll be late.”

“Uh-huh. Don’t they all?”

You gather yourself, hurrying to the door and flinging yourself through. It swings as you exit, the bell above jingling and ringing out your departure. The warm, comforting smell of sugar dissipates into the outdoor air.

“See ya around,” he calls after you, a teasing lilt in his voice. You don’t see what kind of an expression he’s making, but you don’t dare allow yourself to look back and find out.

You try to busy yourself with scrubbing clean. A bathroom—you should have stopped by the bakery’s bathroom to wet the napkins, to wash your hands with soap. But you have your pride, and you refuse to march back in, to have him mocking you a second time.

You wipe at your thumb, but the napkin catches and sticks at the corner. There’s a blot there, dark-colored and bleeding.

… Huh? What’s that?

You lift the napkin and squint at the smudged shapes scrawled onto it. Letters and numbers come into view.

Ruggie Bucchi, followed by a series of numbers strung together. A phone number.

Everything in you stills.

When did he…?

You rifle through the rest of your napkins, looking for other hidden messages. Nothing else, just the one.

But if he passed me his phone number, that means… He’s interested in me too?!

Excitement kicks up in you again. Hope, dancing a little jig.

You melt, pressing the napkin to yourself. Your heart practically beats right out of your chest, as if it wants to see the proof with its own eyes.

Ruggie. Ruggie Bucchi… The quick-witted guy in the donut shop, the boy with an impish grin and fast fingers.

The hole in your chest fills, having found its missing part. Whole at last, tasting sweeter than any confection.

You’ll have to text him first chance you get.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Ruggie Bucchi #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #Ruggie Bucchi x Reader #Reader #self insert #something no one asked for #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #imagine this

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rosesareredrosa · 9 months ago

Text

You Don't Know Me Anymore but that Can Change

Theo x fem reader

Summary: Where Theo neglects his relationship with Y/N due to spending too much time with his friends. Realizing his mistake, Theodore promises to change and starts making efforts to reconnect.

Authors note: I have no clue what to write please send in requests

Word Count: 988

The dim light of the Leaky Cauldron flickered as Y/N sat at the corner table, swirling their drink absentmindedly. The place was bustling, but it felt like they were in a world of their own. They glanced at their watch, sighing as the minute hand inched closer to 8:00 PM. Theodore was late. Again.

Just as Y/N was about to give up, the door creaked open and Theodore Nott slipped inside, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Y/N. A guilty smile tugged at his lips as he hurried over, planting a quick kiss on their cheek before sitting down.

"Hey, sorry I'm late. Blaise needed help with something," he said, running a hand through his dark hair.

Y/N forced a smile. "It's fine, Theo."

Theodore studied the menu briefly, then closed it with a satisfied nod. "I already know what I want. How about you? You like this place, right?"

Y/N bit their lip, looking away. "I used to."

Theodore's brow furrowed. "What do you mean 'used to'?"

Y/N took a deep breath, finally meeting his gaze. "You don't even know me anymore, Theo. You're always with Blaise or your other friends. We barely spend any time together."

His eyes widened in surprise. "That's not true, Y/N. We're here now, aren't we?"

Y/N shook their head. "One dinner doesn't make up for all the times you've been absent. Do you even know what my favorite drink is? Or how my day went?"

Theodore opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, a look of realization dawning on his face. "I... I guess I haven't been around much, have I?"

"No, you haven't," Y/N replied, their voice tinged with sadness. "You used to be my best friend, Theo. Now I feel like I'm just an afterthought."

He reached across the table, taking Y/N's hand in his. "I'm sorry. I never meant to make you feel that way. I've been so caught up with everything else that I didn't realize how distant I've become."

Y/N's eyes softened, but they didn't pull their hand away. "I miss you, Theo. The real you. Not the one who's always busy with everyone else."

Theodore squeezed their hand gently. "I'll make it up to you. I promise. Let's start over, right here, right now. No more distractions. Just you and me."

Y/N felt a glimmer of hope at his words. "You can change if you mean your word no empty promises."

He nodded earnestly. "I do and I will change, Y/N. Every little detail."

A small smile tugged at Y/N's lips as they finally felt the walls around their heart begin to crumble. "Okay, Theo. Let's start over."

The evening carried on, but this time, it was different. Theodore listened intently as Y/N talked, and for the first time in a long time, they felt truly seen. It wasn't a perfect fix, but it was a start. And that was enough for now.

Days turned into weeks, and Theodore kept his promise. He showed up on time for their dates, texted more often, and made an effort to be present. He started paying attention to the little things, like Y/N’s favorite flowers or the way they liked their coffee.

One Saturday afternoon, Theodore surprised Y/N with a picnic in a secluded part of the Hogwarts grounds. The summer sun bathed the landscape in a warm glow as they settled on a checkered blanket. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and the sound of the Black Lake's gentle waves created a soothing backdrop.

Y/N looked around, taking in the thoughtful details. "You remembered I love picnics."

Theodore grinned, a bit of pride shining in his eyes. "Of course. I’ve been paying attention."

They unpacked the basket, laying out sandwiches, fruit, and Y/N’s favorite chocolate-covered strawberries. As they ate, the conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and shared memories. It felt like old times, and Y/N’s heart swelled with a mixture of relief and happiness.

After they finished eating, Theodore leaned back on his elbows, gazing up at the sky. "I've missed this," he admitted. "Just being with you, no distractions."

Y/N looked at him, their heart aching with a mix of emotions. "I’ve missed it too. But I need to know this isn’t just temporary. I need to know you’re really here for me."

Theodore sat up, taking Y/N’s hand in his. His expression was serious, sincere. "I know I’ve messed up, Y/N. I let my friendships and other things get in the way of what’s really important. You. Us. I’m not perfect, and I’ll probably mess up again, but I promise to always try to make it right."

Y/N studied his face, searching for any hint of doubt or insincerity. All they saw was the boy they fell in love with, the one who made them feel special and cherished. "Okay, Theo. I believe you."

His smile was radiant, filled with relief and joy. "Thank you. I won’t let you down."

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a blissful haze, talking about everything and nothing, simply enjoying each other’s company. As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Theodore wrapped an arm around Y/N’s shoulders, pulling them close.

"This is just the beginning," he murmured. "I want to make new memories with you, ones we can look back on and smile."

Y/N nestled into his side, feeling a warmth spread through them that had been absent for too long. "I’d like that."

And as the stars began to twinkle overhead, they knew that this time, things would be different. They were both ready to put in the effort, to make their relationship stronger than ever. Together, they would navigate the challenges and celebrate the joys, side by side.

#theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #slytherin x reader #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x you #angst with a happy ending #light angst #fluff

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poeghoul · 1 year ago

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hard times

in which harry is grumpy and mean and has a scary job

word count: 3,315 warnings: angst, semi-mafia!harry, a single mention of drugs, semi-gun violence, harassment. do not read if opposed to any of the topics mentioned. authors note: i haven’t written in years so this may be bad. inspired by "western nights" by ethel cain.

Harry met Niall at a small diner called The Vinyl booth at 9:37pm, an oddly specific time Niall gave to him, Harry thought. Niall had been interested in forming a connection with Harry, seeing as he’s the biggest drug supplier in all of northern California. Niall loved The Vinyl Booth; he loved taking his girls there every other Sunday after church. It was a warm, cozy diner, with checkered flooring and a jukebox that only worked if you kicked it in the right spot.

“Harry!” Niall exclaimed, excited to finally be meeting with him after hearing about him for so long. Harry gave him a curt nod as Niall put his hand out for him. Harry took his and grunted as Niall brought him in for a weird semi hug that men do. “Good to finally meet ya,” Niall smiled and held the door open for him, a little bell attached to the handle sounded. Harry walked in first as Niall followed behind and stood while they waited for someone to seat them.

“Niall? What are you doing here so late?” A girl approached the two men, smiling at Niall before grabbing two menus.

“Y/n!” Niall exclaimed, returning an even bigger smile than she had initially sent him, “just needed a little late night treat.”

“Of course you did, come on,” she led the two to a corner booth, “I’ll be back with some coffee.” She smiled at the two and Harry noticed she hadn’t greeted him or even made eye contact with him once, which infuriated him; he was used to everyone showing him the respect he swears he deserves.

She walked back with two small gray ceramic mugs in her hands before turning again to get the coffee pot (Harry assumed they hadn’t brewed a fresh batch in some hours, disgusting him even more than he already was with the sticky menu he was holding). She went to pour some into Nialls mug before Harry decided to speak up.

“When was that brewed?” Y/n looked up as she stopped pouring the coffee.

“Um,” she paused, trying to remember when she last even touched the pot, “maybe around 5,” she shrugged, phrasing it more as a question than a statement.

Harry scoffed, “and you expect us to be okay with drinking that?” he practically shouted at the girl; she was taken aback, furrowing her brows and cocking her head to the side. “Get him a new mug and brew a fresh batch, we’re not drinking coffee that’s been sitting out for nearly five hours.” he spat. Niall went to speak up and Harry shot him the deadliest glare the man had ever seen, effectively shutting Niall up.

“I’ll get on it,” she murmured as she bowed her head, picked up Nialls mug and spun on her heel, heading towards the sink to dump out the hour's old coffee.

“You didn’t have to shout at her, Harry,” Niall scolded the man like he was a four year old. Harry just looked at him and shook his head, going to speak up before deciding against it.

The bell on the door rang. It was one of his security guards; he had told both (one of them planning on coming in three before 10pm, the time they closed) to observe the interaction between the two men; one to scope out Niall, and two to make sure Harry made it out alive. With what Harry did, not making it out of the diner was an option. The burly man sat down in a booth facing Harry directly.

Y/n was at the coffee pot, pouring in new coffee grinds and pressing at the brewing options, though there couldn’t have been more than one option with how old the machine was. She looked up as the man sat down, a puzzled look taking over her features; Harry couldn’t stop staring.

Y/n approached him, “Hi,” she smiled at him, “I’m y/n I’ll be taking care of you today, can I start you off with some coffee? I’m brewing some right now so it’ll be the freshest coffee of your life,” she joked with him, purposefully being loud enough for Harry to hear; he just narrowed his eyes at her and, instead of gazing at her, he began glaring. The man just nodded. She gave a half smile before walking back to where the two men were sat, pulling out a small notepad and pen from her apron. “Oki doki, Niall I know what you want already,” she smiled at him, a dimple forming in her cheek. She looked at Harry, “how about you? Have enough time to look the menu over?” He hadn’t even opened it.

“No,” he said simply. Her smile faded, a puzzled look taking over her features.

“Oh, well, do you have any questions?” She tucked her pen and notepad into a small pocket on the black apron that was folded and tied around her waist.

“No,” he replied, a bitter tone, “I would like some fresh coffee though, if you’re capable,” he tried his hardest to contain his smirk.

If y/n didn’t care about her job, she’d bark at him. If y/n didn’t care about the owners and how close she had gotten to them, she would’ve taken her pen from her apron and jammed it in his hand with all her might. And if y/n had the guts to either of those, she would. She cares, though, far too much to do either of those; so instead, she smiled and prayed that her eye wouldn’t start twitching.

“Of course, sir,” she turned and rolled her eyes, mimicking him under her breath. Harry heard her, but didn’t say anything. She grabbed another mug and the coffee pot, almost burning her knuckles in the process. She placed Nialls mug before him and poured into his new one, making sure to leave room for creamer. “Room for cream?” She made eye contact with Harry. He shook his head, humming a ‘no’. She tried her best to fill it to where it would spill on him if he picked it up too quickly, and made her way to the only other patron in the small diner. The bell on the door rang again, but it wasn’t who Harry was expecting.

Y/n looked up at the character who walked into and watched as he walked past her and sat at the counter. Nobody ever came in this late, three of them looked scary and they were all men. She felt her heart skip some beats in the worst way. Thankfully, two of the cooks were here, but they were already upset with her for seating guests twenty something minutes before closing.

She walked behind the counter, setting the pot down on the heater, and walked to the man at the counter. She noticed his red ringed, dark brown eyes. “Hi, I’m y/n,” she started her script, “I’ll be taking care of you tonight, what can I get ya started with?” She grabbed her notepad and pen, again, hoping he knew what he wanted to eat so she’d have an excuse to go into the back, wanting to be with the men she’d known for some time, rather than three suspicious men and Niall (who, according to her, was far too gentle to hurt a fly).

He smiled at her; it made her stomach curl. “Orange juice, please, and a mixed cheese omelette.” She scribbled in her notepad, muttering a ‘got it’ before scrambling to the back to put the order in.

“So,” Niall began, causing Harry to finally look away from the door the girl had basically run through. “I know you didn’t agree to meeting me here for the chorizo and eggs plate,” he joked at Harry. He gave a curt nod. Niall cleared his throat. “I know you have a busy schedule, so I’ll get right to it,” the bell on the door sounded again. Three minutes before closing, right on time. His other bodyguard walked past the two and sat at another end of the counter. Y/n peaked her head through the swinging door, looking around before setting her eyes on the last patron to walk in. She sighed before walking out and giving him her whole spiel.

“Coffee, please,” the man smiled at her. She was grateful for someone, other than Niall, to show her some kindness in a non creepy way. She turned to grab another mug and the pot of coffee and made her way back to him.

“Long night?” she asked him while pouring into his mug. He nodded and smiled at her, offering her a thank you. Harry felt a twinge of jealousy in his chest.

Niall continued to speak to him, though Harry tuned him out, granting him responses in the form of grunts. He watched the girl bring out the orange juice for the boy at the counter before going into the back and returning with a bowl of prepackaged creamers. “Sorry, Niall, the creamers completely slipped my mind.”

“Not a big deal, y/n, I knew you’d get around to it,” he reached into the bowl, grabbing a package and ripping it open to pour into his coffee. He did that four more times, turning the near black brown to a light, almost white shade.

She looked at Harry, his eyes already on her, “finally decided?” he shook his head. She just stared, no emotion on her face.

“Just get him the same thing as me, please” Niall awkwardly cut in. Y/n’s gaze softened, looking at him and smiled, before nodding and walking off. Harry, still, couldn’t stop staring; watching how she walked and moved and how she reacted to every word said to her. He also noticed how the boy at the counter did the same. Niall continued to talk at him about a deal he was wishing to make. Something about expanding Harry’s territory and getting a small cut. From what Harry heard, it wasn’t a bad proposal.

+++

“Thanks, again, for meeting with me, Harry” Niall shook his hand, a beaming smile plastered on his face. Harry offered him a pursed smile in return. “Get home safe.” Harry nodded, watching as Niall turned to walk to his car.

Harry turned to his, getting in the backseat, greeted by his bodyguard, Daniel, who’d entered the restaurant earlier. They sat in silence as they waited for the final of the two men, Jax, to return to the car. Harry had sent him a message halfway through their meal, asking (more like demanding) him to stay in the diner until the skeptical character had left; he left a bitter taste in Harry’s mouth and he just wanted to ensure the safety of the girl he was fascinated by.

He waited. And waited. Bit at his nails, ran his hands through his hair, groaned many times and waited even more.

Time seemed to go by so slowly. He stared into the window, watching the three of them closely. His left leg was bouncing up and down, an unfamiliar sense of anxiety coursing through him. Huffing through his nose, he ran his hand through his hair. He hated how he was feeling, and judging by her body language, she was feeling similarly.

Y/n stood with the coffee pot, having had to make another batch as the group of men continued to order more and more cups throughout the night, waiting for the two men to leave so she could crawl into bed. She had been here close to eleven hours now, and was growing anxious being practically trapped in a room with two strange men she had never seen, especially since the two cooks had left for the night (she was too scared to ask them to stay, not wanting to be a bother but she desperately regrets that now).

The bigger man of the two sat glaring at the smaller one, watching his every move. Y/n could tell he was growing uncomfortable with harsh eyes on him at all times; it made her feel safer, though.

The small one offered her a small smile, asking for the check silently. She felt a wave of relief to soon have him out of her hair. She couldn’t wait to leave; she had already wiped down all the tables, swept, asked the two men if they’d be paying cash or card, and when they both replied with card, she closed out the cash drawer on the register. She was eager, practically vibrating. Nothing planned for the night, she just couldn’t wait to step outside into the fresh air, feeling suffocated in the small space of the diner.

She handed the small receipt to him and he immediately offered her his card, making sure to graze her hand with his. She noted how cold and pale it was. A small ‘thank you’ before a pursed smile graced her features. She ran his card through the machine, printed a receipt and handed the two over. He smiled at her, leaving a ten on the counter before walking out.

Outside, Harry noted the movement inside the diner, watching the weird man walk out of the restaurant and around the corner to where, he assumed, was a back alley. Jax walked out shortly after, y/n walking to the door behind him to lock it before heading to the back, but he hesitated to leave, still. The lights shut off shortly after. He couldn’t make out much more.

The door opened and, though he could barely see her silhouette, he could tell she was locking the door behind her. She stood in front of the diner, typing away at her phone. He groaned at how oblivious she was to her surroundings. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a head peeking around a corner. He unlocked his door, prepared to jump to her defense at any given moment. The man who peeked around the corner fully emerged and walked up behind y/n, his hands in the pockets of his oversized jacket. He said something to her, Harry couldn’t hear what, and she practically jumped out of her skin. She turned around with wide eyes and slipped her phone in her back pocket.

“Oh,” she gasped, “hey, did you leave anything inside?”

He grinned at her, “no, actually was just wondering what you were up to after this.” she gulped.

“Um,” she tried to think of something, anything, to lie about, but blanked. “I’m just, uh, gonna hang out with my friends,” she rushed out. His grin turned into a smirk.

“You sure?” She nodded. His smirk vanished. “You’re lying.” she shook her head, a small ‘I’m not’ escaping her lips. “Yes, you are,” he stepped closer to her, “I hate liars.”

“I’m not lying,” she backed up, her breathing picking up. He stepped even closer.

“Now you’re lying again,” he glared down at her, “must I teach you what happens to liars?” Her eyes began to well with tears. A car door slammed. A gun pressed against the boy's temple. His eyes widened.

“Touch her and I’ll blow your fucking head off,” Harry snarled, pressing the gun even harder against him.

“I-I wasn’t, I swear, I swear,” he barely made out. Tears began pouring out of y/n’s eyes.

“Okay, so then tell me what you were gonna do, hm,” with his free hand, Harry grabbed y/n, pulling her behind him. She hid her face in his back and gripped his shirt in both hands, trying to focus on controlling her breathing.

“Nothing! Nothing, I swear,” he cried out.

“You swear, hm?” he let out a breathy laugh, “Why’d you wait for her, hm? Why’d you hide back there?” The boy’s mouth just opened and closed; Harry held back a laugh. “Say something, don’t be shy. You weren’t a minute ago.”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I’ll leave right now if you let me, I swear, I promise!” He began to sob.

Harry just pressed harder, “that’s not what I asked, though, is it?” The boy shook his head as best as he could, “then answer my questions.”

“I just, I wanted to see her.”

Harry laughed, “so you wanted to see her, and you couldn't have done it in a normal manner? Couldn’t have asked to hang out rather than hiding in a fucking alley waiting for her when you knew she’d be most vulnerable, fucking scum,” he spat out, inching his face closer to his.

He sobbed, “I’m so sorry.”

Harry moved the gun from his temple, but not before he pressed a little bit harder. “Get in the car,” he muttered, keeping the gun pointed at him and ushering y/n with his back towards the backseat of a black Range Rover. She opened the door and jumped in before Harry did the same. He put the gun in his holster, secured under his jacket. He looked to y/n, who was shaking in the middle seat. “You okay?” She nodded, her face down, staring at her fingers picking at a loose thread on her jeans. “I’m sorry,” Harry apologized to her, anger surged through his veins and he wished he could get out and have the opportunity to pull the trigger pointed to the back of the boy's head. The car started and pulled out of the parking lot. “We’ll take you home, I’ll send someone to stay in the general area for your safety,” she looked up at him with watery eyes.

“Okay.”

“Can you give me an address, please,” he handed the phone to her, with trembling hands she took it and typed out her address. It was a six minute walk. “How were you planning to get home?” she handed back the phone.

“I walk.”

“For every shift?” she nodded. “I don’t like that,” he admitted.

“It’s only, like, five minutes,” she shrugged, still not making eye contact.

“Still don’t like it,” he ran his hands through his hair, sighing. She picked at her nails, chewing on her bottom lip.

The drive was short, two right turns and they arrived at her apartment complex. Harry opened the door and helped her out, following her up the stairs, standing close behind her as she unlocked the door.

“It’s a little messy, sorry,” she opened the door and led him in. He stood in the entryway, taking in the details of the decorations that filled the small space (it was a small studio apartment, big enough for Y/n, but far too small for Harry). Her bed wasn’t made, with halloween sheets and decorative pillows on the floor next to the bed, and the only chair in the apartment was covered in laundry.

“It’s not bad,” he looked down at her while she gazed at him. Harry loved the way she looked at him and hated that he loved it.

“Thank you for taking me home and ya know,” she smiled at him. He nodded.

“I’ll send someone to take you to work and bring you home for the next few days, need to make sure you’re safe,” he took a deep breath in, stepping closer to her, his hand reaching up to graze her cheek, resting it as he caressed the soft skin with the pad of his thumb. He looked down at her, a glint in his eyes she couldn’t make out. His gaze shifted to her lips, his hand stilled and she tilted her head up in the slightest.

His expression changed, he removed his hand, and he stepped back. “You’ll know when they’re here. Goodnight,” and with that, he turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Her cheek felt cold.

She missed his touch.

And that would be all she thought about for the rest of the night.

troubles always gonna find you baby, but so will i.

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles blurb #harry styles fics #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles fanfic #harry one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry #harry styles fiction #Ethel cain

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bunny-jpeg · 7 months ago

Note

hiii, can i please have powered sugar donuts and a sweet pastry with a side of cider served by george russell? thank you 🩷

bakery menu!!

want to submit your own fic? then hit up the menu, there are tons of requests to be made! i happily accept former drivers and also new drivers coming in! along with other fandoms, so please, hit me up with them! i'd love to see what you come up with!! as for this lovely anon, thank you for the prompt! i hope you love it <3

powdered sugar donuts ("marry me.") + sweet pastry ("i'll make it all better.") + cider (body worship) served by george russell (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, needy!reader, established relationship, phone/virtual sex, praise (kink), masturbation, caring george, mentions of marriage

you hated when you got needy. it was a part of you that you wished you could grow out of. but sometimes in the back of your mind, you got so needy. not only a sexual need, but a need to be held by your boyfriend of the last few years.

even wrapped up in one of his sweatshirts wasn't enough. you only found some relief when you rubbed yourself up against the bed with the collar of his sweatshirt was up against your nose. it made you whine a little and you knew desperate times called for desperate measures.

george loved that you were needy. it was nice to be with someone who needed him. and not for his racing prowess or his status or even his money. you simply needed him, to feel close to him. you wanted to curl your fingers in his hair and snuggle up with him.

and he in turn wanted to snuggle you, he wanted to hold you in his strong arms. feel you close to him. if he was lucky have his head against your chest and feel your heartbeat.

so, it was a bit of a surprise when he heard his phone ring and saw it was from you. but, not just a phone call, but a video call. "hello, my love." he said but his eyes went wide to the sight of you.

naked save for your panties and his sweatshirt. it was a little big on you so you had to pull it up a little to have access to your pussy. you said, "i miss you, honey."

george was thankful he was alone for the evening. only a bit ways away in italy, while you were back home. he shifted himself on the bed to get a better view of you, "aw, you miss me? i miss you. have you been taking care of yourself?"

you shifted a little in bed and showed off more of your body to him. you pushed the sweatshirt over your stomach and he groaned at the sight of you. you replied, "i can't not without you."

"aw, my love. get comfy. i'll make it all better." he said so gently that it made you warm all over. you kept the hoodie on as you positioned the phone upright against some pillows as you got yourself comfortable. in the low light george couldn't see the most, but he could remember your body by memory alone.

"but you're so far away."

"then i'll have to simply watch you. i'll be right here the whole time. i know, being away from each other is hard. but, i promise when i come home. i'll take care of you." his voice was a promise and it made you warm all over. you loved him so much. it could easily drive you made of how much you adored him.

you started to rub your cunt over your underwear, george got a good look at them. a simple checkered pattern across a bikini cut pair. they were cute and watching you rub yourself through them only made them more cute.

george could feel himself grow hard in his sweatpants, but continued to eye you as you pleasured yourself. he could take care of of himself later, for now it was all about you. he licked his lips before he said, "that's it. god, you're beautiful. c'mon move a little faster."

you shuddered from his words. there was something in them that ran electricity through your body as you continued to rub against your clit. even though you were miles away from one another, you felt a little closer to him.

"i wish i was there to touch your body right now. to touch you all over. fuck, you look so beautiful." he shifted a little against the bed and it made him exhale deeply, "that's it, my beautiful girlfriend. i love every inch of you.

"george." you whimpered.

you continued to rub harder against your clit and you felt tension in your legs. you felt your heartbeat deep in your chest as you pleasured yourself. you knew how to make yourself feel good, but george knew all the tricks to make your toes curl. it was almost not as good when you did it yourself now and days. you moaned a little louder, you were alone in your apartment. you could be a little louder.

"i know, i know. fuck, i want to kiss your pussy. i want to drag my tongue across your clit and feel you grip onto my hair." george said, and heard you moan in response. he wished he could have a recording of this, it'll make the weekend go by faster, "i want to kiss you all over. from those soft cheeks down to your thighs. i want to make you feel good all over."

he loved you, he could say he was addicted to you. admiring the shape of your body even under the sweatshirt. he knew that you yearned to be close to him.

"ah! fuck, marry me, please! one day, please." you tensed up more as you continued to rub your hand up against your clit, the feeling flooded your brain.

"i will. but, i don't want to propose during the middle of a season. not fair to you, it should be something special. somewhere special. no racing, no work. just you and i." he smiled. he knew that he had been ring shopping for a few weeks now. casually online and if he walked by stores in places far from home.

you whined, "i love you." you said as you really worked yourself. you could feel a bit of sweat on the back of your neck as you rubbed yourself more. it didn't take much longer before you were breathing heavily and trying to keep your voice at a moderate level.

and george watched you with a careful eye. he could feel the heat in his face as he watched you climax. you whined that you were cumming and george continued to praise you. he said, "so beautiful. so beautiful for me. i can't wait to feel you in my hands once more. the most beautiful woman i had ever seen. i love you. so much."

"i love you too." as you started to relax, the tension in your body replaced was the warmth of post-orgasmic bliss. you cuddled yourself further into the fabric of the sweatshirt and got onto your side facing him.

george saw your nose in the collar of it and smiled, "i'll be home soon. you won't be without me for much longer. do you feel better?"

you nodded, "much better. i do still miss you." you cuddled up to the rest of the pillows and looked at your boyfriend on the screen, "how many days till you come home?"

george smiled, his cock still painfully hard in his sweatpants. that'll be dealt with later, at that moment he wanted to admire you. he said, "well, after tomorrow's race. why don't you come and meet me at the next one? i'll book you a flight, and you can see me in baku. how does that sound?"

you smiled softly and replied, "sounds amazing."

he moved a little on his bed and moved the phone as well, "now, tell me about your day before you fall asleep on me. i want to hear all about it." <3

#bunny writes #the bakery #george russell x you #george russell smut #george russell x reader #george russell #george russell imagine #gr63 smut #gr63 x reader #gr63 #reader insert #formula one imagine #formula one smut #formula 1 #f1 smut #formula one fanfiction #f1 x reader

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leaderwon · 1 month ago

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CHAPTER 02 — chocolate milkshakes and little shifts

wc — 605+

prev — masterlist — next

Later that afternoon, the sun hung low in the sky, painting the sidewalks in gold as you pushed open the door to Riley’s Diner, the same place you’d all been going to since freshman year.

The bell above the door gave its usual cheery jingle, and the familiar scent of vanilla milkshakes and greasy fries hit you like muscle memory. The place hadn’t changed one bit. same checkered floors, same red booths, same slightly sticky menus that probably hadn’t been wiped down properly in months.

Jay was already there, sprawled across the booth like he owned the place, flipping through a menu even though he always ordered the same thing. Jake was beside him, humming along to the soft music playing through the speakers, and Sunghoon sat across from them, absently stirring his water with a straw.

“Wow,” you said, sliding into the booth next to Sunghoon, “I didn’t realize this was a private event.” “You’re late,” Jay announced, like it was a court verdict. “You’re annoying,” you replied sweetly.

Lia appeared behind you, pulling her jacket off as she slid in next to Jake. “Blame her. She spent ten minutes trying to pick an outfit.”

Jake’s eyes lit up with teasing delight. “For me?” You rolled your eyes. “For myself. Not everything is about you.” “Sure, sure,” he said, grinning. “But if it was, I’d be honored.”

You reached over and flicked his forehead. Jay snorted. “You guys flirt like a married couple.” “We’re not flirting,” you and Jake said in unison, before pausing and giving each other a sideways glance.

Sunghoon’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t say anything.

“Can we order?” Lia asked, waving down a server. “I’m starving.”

Once the food arrived, burgers, milkshakes, and fries piled high, it felt like you all fell into that old rhythm again. There was laughter, mock arguments over fry stealing, and ridiculous debates about who would survive a zombie apocalypse (Jay insisted it would be him. everyone else disagreed).

But somewhere in the middle of it, you caught yourself staring. Not at the food. Not at the posters on the wall.

At them.

Jay leaning back with his stupid smug smirk, throwing a fry at Jake’s face. Jake with whipped cream on the tip of his nose, swatting at Jay while giggling like a literal child. Sunghoon quietly sipping his drink but smiling to himself at their antics.

It was one of those rare moments where you saw them not just as classmates or childhood friends, but as them. The trio. The constants in your life. The chaos and comfort all wrapped into one.

And suddenly, that weird feeling from earlier returned. The one you couldn’t name. Like something was shifting, and you were standing right at the edge of it without realizing.

You snapped out of your thoughts when Lia nudged you under the table.

“You okay?” You blinked. “Yeah. Just spaced out.” “Thinking about college stuff?” “Something like that.”

She gave you a knowing look but didn’t press. Lia always knew when to ask and when to just let you breathe.

Across the table, Jake was laughing again, probably at something dumb Jay said and Sunghoon’s gaze flicked toward you for a brief second.

Just a second. Then it was gone.

But something about it stuck with you, like a faint echo in the back of your mind.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was everything.

You didn’t know it yet, but this would be the last time things felt exactly like this, simple, predictable, safe.

Because soon, everything would change. And it would all begin with a box you thought you’d forgotten.

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notjustjavierpena · 1 year ago

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Diner

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: My first darkfic and based on that one picture of Pedro in Freaky Tales. READ THE TAGS!!!!

Summary: You get more than you paid for during your visit to a roadside diner.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, non-con, degrading language, condescending language, blood and violence, threats of violence, forced masturbation, forced orgasm, forced creampie, reader does NOT enjoy this!

Word count: 3.3k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52941784

Diner

Something about roadside diners makes you feel like you are in an alternate universe. It starts the second that you step out of your car and onto the asphalt, a weird sensation of not being in the real world overtaking you as you listen to the cars drive by at a dizzying speed. There are a few cars here already, but you suspect that most of them belong to the people staying at the motel just next to the small and informal restaurant instead of people eating dinner. It is late after all, so late that you can see you are just in time for a coffee before they close.

You’ve been driving home in the summer heat for your sister’s wedding, crossing state lines for days now to make it in time, and it means quick dinners, cheap coffee, and sleeping in your car. At this point, you’ve actually come to like the greasy fried food and the coffee that almost resembles tar with how strong it is. It helps you regulate your body temperature in the car, forcing you to cool down because it’s scalding hot in your stomach.

A tiny bell rings as you walk through the door. The checkered tile floor seems slightly sticky as you move through the place with the taste of stale coffee already present on your tongue as if the setting has triggered a memory. You notice the single customer sitting in a booth along the window, all broad shoulders and sleeves rolled up as he eats two slices of toast with eggs and bacon, but you don’t think much of the man as much as you think about eating breakfast foods at night. It’s always oddly satisfying, weirdly rebellious.

You squeeze in between two chairs from the line along the counter. You brush away a few granules of sugar from it, smiling slightly as you are approached by what you assume is the only staff at this time.

“Just coffee?” The lady behind the counter asks as she notices you not looking at the menu and not checking out the pie underneath a glass dome to your left.

“That’d be great,” you reply.

“And no milk or nothin’?” She continues.

You shake your head no and look around at nothing of importance the second she walks away to start up the coffee machine. It gurgles a few moments later.

Behind you, the man has finished his meal. He gets out of the booth to use the restroom, leaving you to sip your coffee alone with the waitress who makes no effort to start up a conversation with you (then again, you don’t start chatting with her either).

Time passes. The song playing from the radio in the background ends. The stranger reemerges and shakes his hands dry on his way to his table again. He doesn’t sit but instead carries his plate to the counter.

“Thanks, Doris, great like always,” he smiles, turning to you briefly to acknowledge your presence. He nods in greeting.

“Anytime, Joel,” Doris blinks at him, batting her lashes. She is clearly infatuated, and you can understand why; the two of them seem to be about the same age. Joel is tall with broad shoulders in an open flannel with a t-shirt underneath, his hands look rough and used to hard labor, and his hair is slicked back by what you don’t know whether is gel or sweat but it looks like he has run his fingers through it several times today.

“Well, I’m off, see ya tomorrow,” he turns to go gather his things at the table where he has been eating. You think nothing more of it.

“Anything else, honey?” Doris asks and you shake your head.

“No thanks,” you say politely, “I’m all good.”

“I’ll have my smoke break then,” she states, untying her apron and hanging it on the wall only to proceed to dig out a package of cigarettes from the pocket on the front, “You can just leave the money on the counter when you leave.”

And then it’s just you and Joel and an eerie feeling settles in your stomach at being alone with a man you don’t know, especially in between cities and even moreso at night.

You glance over your shoulder to watch him carefully but he is just picking through his wallet to leave a tip on the table. You look straight ahead again and shake your head at how ridiculous you feel about your anxiety, rolling your eyes at how you could think such things about someone who is having eggs at midnight.

Still, something feels wrong. You steal another glance over your shoulder and see the table with the empty plate, and the crumbled bill beside it. What you don’t see is Joel, which is weird because you haven’t heard the bell from the door being opened and clo-

A rough hand settles on the back of your neck. It grips you hard until it hurts, causing you to crane your neck and gasp loudly into the room. Joel’s voice makes your skin crawl, “Fuck, you are pretty.”

You hear a deep inhale through the nose followed by a satisfied sigh, “Smell pretty too. Been driving all day alone?”

“What are you doing?” You are frozen to the spot. He has trapped you between the counter, two barstool chairs, and himself. The hand holding you in place is uncomfortable but mostly, its iron grip has started to make you lightheaded due to his thumb and index finger pressing into your carotid artery. It makes you not want to move in case he grabs harder.

“I just realized that I haven’t had dessert in a while ‘n’ pie just doesn’t seem to cut it,” he replies, breathing labored already from how he has control over what your body can or cannot do. The words make you squirm but you still, for some reason, haven’t thought about screaming for help.

“No,” your voice quivers and bravely you try to decline the offer, “I don’t want that. Please.”

“Afraid you’ll like it too much?” You can feel he has moved his head closer, can feel the smirk in his voice. You feel sick like you might actually puke if you weren’t working on an empty stomach.

“Doris’ll come back,” you reason.

“She’s closing up in ten,” he laughs as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard, “She’ll use every second of those ten minutes to have what she considers fresh air but I don’t think we need much longer, do you?”

You whimper, and then suddenly you’re on the move but it’s not by yourself. No. Joel is hauling you backward, moving you around like you weigh nothing, and causing your feet to stumble several times. However, he doesn’t seem bothered by your clumsiness caused by terror, just uses a bit more force until he can shove you down onto an empty table.

That’s when you feel panic starting to rise in your body. You start thrashing, grabbing at whatever you can reach on the table to throw it down onto the floor and make a racket. You cry too, shock setting in and causing tears to flow desperately as emotions become too much. This is it, you think, this is what prey must feel when they’re trying to escape.

Joel growls in anger, holding you roughly in place so your efforts are to no avail, “Shut the fuck up. Stop crying.”

You absolutely don’t. That is until your forehead and nose connect with the surface of the table. Joel has pushed you on the back of your head so harshly that your face has been violently knocked down onto the table, and it hurts, prickling in your nostrils and nausea settling more in your stomach. The impact makes you feel dizzy enough to not continue fighting him.

A sudden taste of iron fills your mouth. You are bleeding from your nose, you realize, and it replaces the salty taste of your tears and drips onto the surface of the table. Pathetically, you try grabbing at anything in front of you and you end up smearing the bloodstains across the white. It’s not the sight that makes you gag but the fact that Joel seems aroused by it.

“Relax,” he responds to your whine, “‘tis just a bit of blood.”

But that’s not what causes your noise. It’s the position you are in; it makes your ass stick out and Joel’s crotch rests against it whilst he reaches out for your hair, bunching it up in his strong hand and creating a makeshift ponytail to tug on. You try to make sense of what is happening but all you can focus on is how big he seems in his jeans, rock hard against you as he yanks your head up by the hair. It may be your foggy mind’s way of protecting yourself from realizing what this is, particularly because you had a brief thought earlier about how nice his hands would feel if they touched you. They feel horrible.

When he straightens behind you, his free hand starts tugging on your pants. He is rough in his movements but careful enough to make sure that nothing rips, knowing he shouldn’t leave evidence of your ravish behind.

“Please,” you slur with desperation.

“No begging now,” he purposely misunderstands, “I’ll give you what you need real soon, sweetheart.”

When your pants sit around your knees, he lets the hand go down between your legs. Your mind is suddenly very clear.

“Are you a virgin?” He asks with a dark smile evident in his voice. His hand skims along the inside of your thigh, and you feel your feet trying to move away. His fingertips are so close to where you don’t want them. He kicks your ankles hard enough to make you unable to breathe, unable to balance on your feet so you can’t even try to flee.

You whimper in reply.

The satisfied growl he lets out sends a shiver down your spine, cold sweat making you feel lightheaded.

“No,” you finally manage to stutter out, trying to convince yourself that replying is going to make the heartbeat in your chest less intense as you’ve made yourself less interesting to him. Instead, you realize that you have only disappointed him.

“Just when I got my hopes up,” he tuts, suddenly palming your cunt through your underwear. You want to scream and cry but somehow, you simply cannot and it dawns on you that your body is too scared of making him furious to do your most instinctive act of fighting back, “Can’t say I’m happy, but I am surprised at having a whore on my hands. Wait till I tell the guys back home ‘bout you, they’ll be so envious.”

His fingers curl around the fabric of your panties. He tugs them down your thighs and the fabric snaps at the violent yanks that he does. It was only the pants, you think, it was only those that needed to be saved for keeping up appearances.

The way the skin of his hand touches your bare thighs feels like fire, and you don’t know whether to feel relief that nothing has happened yet or become hysterical when your underwear sits around your knees too; you know the rest, know what he is about to do and now, you just have to wait for it to be over.

And then briefly, it’s gone but you don’t dare think that he might have changed his mind but when you lift your head, you can see him in the reflection of the window, sucking on his own fingers to wet them until they’re shiny with saliva.

“Stay still,” he commands, and the hand on the back of your neck slides down so he can rest his forearm on the small of your back to still hold you down. His wetted fingers go right between your legs to search for your clit, and he presses down on it until you let out a whimper from a sudden state of arousal slowly taking over your body.

He rubs you off for a few minutes where you fight every single nerve in your body to not enjoy it but suddenly you let out your first involuntary moan, pussy starting to wet against your will and shame setting in. You rest your cheek against the table, tears sliding down over your nose as you occasionally moan helplessly. Your poor treacherous body burns deep below your navel, and the tingling in your core makes you think that maybe, just maybe, it won’t be so bad.

“That’s it,” he says in a gentle voice, a tone that makes you hold back a gag, “Knew you wanted it, just needed a little encouragement.”

“Please,” you sob, “I can pay you.”

“I don’t want cash,” he replies simply, sliding his digits through your slick, “I want you, sweetheart, and it seems this pussy wants me too.”

Joel’s fingers leave you and you hear him suck his fingers clean with a hum. The air feels cool against your swollen cunt which is so wet by now that you start to believe, albeit barely, that a part of you wants this. How can you say you don’t when you are close to dripping?

“I’m gonna let go of you now but if you try anything, I’ll cut your fucking tits off with a steak knife, got it?” Joel’s threat doesn’t seem empty.

You nod, paralyzed, and he stretches. You shiver at the sound of his belt unbuckling and his zipper being pulled down. There’s a bit of shuffling and then you feel the blunt head of his dick poking into your ass.

He doesn’t waste his time it seems, because he rubs the tip through your wetness and starts to breach you. Color drains from your face at the realization of his size.

“No, no no no,” you pant as he pushes into you. He teases you open but only at first; you let out a sharp cry as he enters you fully and with no warning. The head had been a warning of how big he was going to be but now that he is sheathed inside of you to the brim, you feel like nothing could have ever prepared you for his size even if you had wanted him. He kisses your cervix, splits you open, and your cunt clenches in an attempt to push him out and pull him in.

“Fuck,” he moans and draws out the word, “Tight heaven.”

He fucks you like a ravenous animal and you turn into a helplessly moaning mess, held down to the point where your hips are hurting against the table because Joel uses all of his weight to pleasure himself with you.

His fingers dig into your hips enough to bruise and his zipper gnaws into the back of your thigh. You have never taken anyone as big as him before, and it’s almost an out-of-body experience to be stretched out again and again by him. He swears above you, rhythm faltering, every time you accidentally find a shred of pleasure in his thrusts.

You feel fucked out of your mind but you are stuck there, having to take each bruising thrust that sends pain shooting through your body each time Joel’s cock bumps the back of your cunt (which is every other crash of his hips due to his size).

“Ah,” you whimper shamefully when he nudges against your g-spot. It takes some of the pain away, and soon, you let out a breathless gasp. Would you actually enjoy him if circumstances had been different? If he’d chatted you up and booked a room at the motel next door?

You close your eyes, squeezing them shut. It leaves you to focus on the way that your cunt squelches from your wetness, how Joel grunts behind you as he continues driving into you.

“Listen to that, you really think your whore-pussy would sound like that if you didn’t want this?” He taunts.

“No, Joel,” you say without any tone to your voice.

“You wanna come, sweetheart? Touch yourself,” he pulls you back by your hips a little until you are able to move your hand to your crotch. His thrusts relent and bring you relief from your throbbing and pained muscles. You don’t move, and he grows impatient and cruel. You almost want to laugh at the contrast of his next line but you find yourself too scared of the unknown, “You think you get a choice here, you little bitch? Do it now.”

Reluctantly, your hand slides down between your legs but you still feel relief as you start touching yourself. In the moment, you try to remind yourself of what you like to do when it’s just you alone and you find that your cunt stirs with interest. It’s followed by a string of ahs as you begin to actually enjoy it, circling your clit with determination to finish.

“That’s it, wanna feel you milk me,” his breath is more ragged now. He is close you realize, and he is not going to pull out.

It feels shameful when you make yourself come, cunt setting off into spasms that should feel beautiful but just makes you hate yourself for enjoying the way they make you feel. You moan louder than intended, completely at the mercy of the pleasure that has been built up deep inside of you and is now coursing through your nervous system.

Joel seems to understand your conflict, radiating claustrophobic warmth as he speeds up his hips as if he is using your body to masturbate with you. His voice is breathy as he talks, he sounds nearly on the edge of coming, “Shh… It’s supposed to feel good. It should feel good.”

He finishes inside of you a moment later, warm and sticky with a looming threat of what could happen from this act. The groan he lets out is one you don’t think you will forget. He gives you his final thrusts, fucking you through each spurt of his cock, “Take it, oh fuck. Thaaat’s it.”

Time stands still after that. You don’t move despite him removing himself from you. Instead, you listen to him tugging himself back into his jeans, the rustling of the denim, and then the noise of his zipper and him buckling his belt.

After a moment more, his hands pull up off your shredded underwear and then he tugs your jeans up over your hips again. He hauls you up and holds your arms tightly so you don’t fall over once more. You don’t look at him and it seems to infuriate him. With a strong grip around your jaw, he forces your head towards him, “Hey, look at me.”

When you still don’t, he shakes your head a little, “Eyes here.”

You eventually follow through, vision blurry from how much you have cried. He scans your face, “You don’t tell anyone about this or I swear. I don’t usually hunt down pretty girls like you but I will. You go into your car and you drive away. I’ll watch you from here. Got it?”

Your body aches as you nod but your expression is blank, even when Joel pushes you out of his grip so you stumble and even when you see him stuff your panties into his pocket.

“Go,” he snaps when you’re still immovable.

You don’t know how but suddenly, you’re walking out the door, barely noticing where your feet hit the ground, and doing exactly what he has said. You probably shouldn’t even be driving let alone on the highway but you do until you feel nothing at all except his come dripping from your aching cunt.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

#pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller the last of us #joel miller imagine #joel x you #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #my writing

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starlightvld · 3 months ago

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Easy tagging, reblog/queue-ing, and more

Lately, I've seen some posts complaining about easily fixable issues on Tumblr, so I thought I'd pass on knowledge that used to be common but seems to have been lost along the way.

Xkit is your friend. Specifically, XKit Rewritten, the browser extension.

Download it to your browser, and you can get rid of ads, turn on the mutual checker, timestamps, quick reblog, and quick tags ... and that's just for a start. If you're not familiar with extensions, just go "Add-ons and themes" in the Firefox menu and search in the top bar for "Xkit Rewritten." (And yes, it's in Chrome, too.)

Quick Reblogs & Quick Tags - a match made in internet heaven

Quick Reblogs and Quick Tags work in tandem to give you the easiest set up for reblogging/queueing posts with appropriate tags. It requires setting up "tag bundles" at the beginning, but it's a simple thing. Just give the bundle a title and then list whatever tags you want under the title, separated by commas. Click "Add Bundle" when you're done.

You can make as many bundles as you want.

This pairs nicely with Quick Reblog in that you can add these bundles from the box that appears when you hover over the reblog button on ANY post. Just click the tag bundle(s) you want to apply, add any additional/specific tags if you want (or you can also just write your own tags into the "Tags" section without using a bundle at all) and then click "reblog" or "queue" for a one click solution without ever leaving your dashboard.

You can combine bundles, too. So if you're an artist/writer, you could make a generic bundle for your general art or writing tags, then make specific ship/fandom bundles and combine them based on what you're posting. I tend to pick a ship and stick with it for years, so I don't really need that, but for all you extra-awesome multi-fandom people, this can be a huge time saver.

There are a ton of other options with XKit, too, but these are the ones I find most useful. I hope this helps people feel more confident using the site and also tagging posts!

#tumblr made easy #tumblr fixes #xkit rewritten #tagging and reblogging #the ancient tumblr lore #OG Starlight

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meadowfics · 2 months ago

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meet me down on polk street

cho hyun-ju x f!woc!reader

part four here - this is part five - part six here

this is a series that is based in the united states in 1967. after coming out as a trans woman back in south korea, hyun ju moves far away to california and has met the girl who is the love of her life.. y/n l/n.

warnings: same ones as the last five chapters

the warm spring air of san francisco wrapped around you as you and hyun ju walked down polk street, the late afternoon sun glinting off the shop windows.

after the whirlwind of the past twentyfour hours…meeting hyun ju, inviting her into your home, the intensity of last night, and the moment earlier at the motel. it felt grounding to just walk side by side, the city humming quietly around you.

"so… there's this italian place i know," you began, glancing over at her.

"nothing fancy, but the food's good, and they have those red-checkered tablecloths that make it feel like you’re in italy or something. i found it when i first moved here and come here sometimes, does that sound good?"

hyun ju smiled softly, her hands tucked into the pockets of her vibrant skirt.

"sounds perfect," she replied, her voice light, but there was a noticeable ease in her now that hadn’t been there before.

she had changed after you got back from the motel…freshly showered, her dark hair still slightly damp and sat combed neatly over her shoulders. the korean’s outfit caught your eye as you walked together. the outfit details hyunju is wearing is stunning.

she wore black heels, adding just enough elegance without being over the top. the colors popped against her smooth complexion, perfectly in tune with the spring of 1967… a bold, yet soft, statement.

"you look very… winter turning into springtime," you commented, smiling.

she looked down at her outfit, a small blush creeping to her cheeks. "i wasn’t sure if it was too much while changing."

"no way," you laughed.

"it’s perfect. you could walk into a magazine spread and no one would bat an eye."

hyun ju chuckled, her shoulders relaxing even more.

the woman loved dressing feminine, even though it scared her sometimes. she couldn’t back in korea and the outfits helped validate her.

the italian place wasn’t far…just around the block and down a quieter street. a wooden sign that read “giuseppe’s trattoria” swung gently in the breeze, its red and green paint faded but still charming.

as you stepped inside, the aroma of garlic, basil, and baked bread filled the air. the place had that old-world charm…checkered tablecloths, wine bottles lined along the shelves, and a soft italian melody playing through the speakers.

a kind-faced waiter led you to a small booth by the window, giving you both menus before disappearing with a promise to return for drinks.

you settled in, your elbows resting lightly on the table, glancing at hyun ju as she looked around, soaking it all in.

“so…” you began, raising your brows playfully, “tell me about yourself…where are you from, miss special forces?”

she let out a soft laugh, her fingers gently tracing the edge of her menu.

“gwangmyeong,” she replied.

“it’s a small city in korea, not too far from seoul. i–uh– grew up there, spent most of my life moving between cities after joining the military.”

“ahh,” you nodded.

“so you’ve been on the move a lot.”

“more than i wanted to be,” she admitted.

you leaned in slightly, deciding to go first to make her feel more at ease.

“well, i’m from norfolk, virginia,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips.

“virginia is on the other side of the country but um… the beach was only five miles from my house. i used to ride my bike down there during summers, sit on the sand and only eat ice cream and fruit for hours.”

hyun ju’s eyes lit up.

“that sounds nice.”

“it was,” you said, though there was a tinge of sadness behind your words.

“my dad was a world war two vet, he served on the european side of the war, he being one of the only few non-white men there. my mom was a nurse stationed in france during the war too. they met there, actually.”

“really?”

“yep,” you chuckled.

“i guess it was a classic war love story, somehow. she patched him up after a minor shrapnel injury, and somehow, that was it for him.”

hyun ju smiled at that, the warmth in her eyes unmistakable.

“they got married after he got honorably discharged,” you continued, “moved back to my dad’s home virginia. dad worked in the shipyards, and mom became a housewife. typical, i guess. they had my sister in 1942 and me in 1944.”

“you’re… twenty-three?” hyun ju guessed, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought.

“january, ‘44,” you confirmed with a grin.

“ha! i’m older than you,” she said, leaning back in her seat, her smile playful.

“december ‘41.”

you gasped dramatically.

“oh no! i’ve invited a much older woman into my home!”

hyun ju snorted, laughing genuinely, the sound making your heart flutter in your chest.

“careful,” she teased, “i was a sergeant, remember? show some respect.”

you blinked in surprise.

“wait what!? you didn’t tell me you were a *sergeant!”

she smirked, a glint of pride in her eyes.

“i did say i moved up the ranks.”

“but sergeant?” you pressed, placing your hand over your chest mockingly.

“i didn’t realize i was living with someone so… authoritative.”

you kept that in mind for later late night activities with hyunju in the future..

hyun ju chuckled, her shoulders shaking slightly.

“you’ll get used to it.”

the conversation flowed easily, the nerves from earlier fading into the background.

“so, i remember you said back in the bar that you were discharged before vietnam?” you asked gently.

hyunju smile faltered slightly but didn’t fade completely.

“yeah,” she said, her voice softer now.

“they were going to send me over, but i…” she hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “i got discharged before that could happen.”

you noticed she didn’t elaborate on the details, and you didn’t push.

“probably for the best after seeing the news footage from over there,” you offered, your voice gentle.

she nodded, her fingers drumming lightly on the table.

“yeah. probably.”

the waiter returned with your food, setting the plates down carefully…your lettuce-wrapped burger and fries, and hyun ju’s fruit salad with a bright, colorful smoothie.

“enjoy, ladies,” he said with a smile before walking off.

hyunju had a great blush on her face, knowing that the man validated her identity.

you picked up a fry, dipping it in ketchup.

“you’re really eating that?” you teased, eyeing her fruit salad.

she raised an eyebrow, lifting a forkful of sliced mango.

“what’s wrong with fruit?”

you popped the fry into your mouth, smirking.

“nothing. just seems too… healthy. ha i’m kidding, i’m kidding!”

hyun ju chuckled, taking a bite.

for a while, the two of you ate in comfortable silence, the hum of the restaurant and soft italian music filling the space between you.

it felt easy.

it felt right.

like you had known her longer than just a single night.

as you took another bite of your burger, you caught her staring…not in a way that felt invasive, but soft. curious.

“what?” you asked, smiling through a mouthful.

she shook her head gently, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“just… this is nice,” she admitted. you felt warmth spread through your chest, and you couldn’t help but agree.

“yeah,” you said softly, meeting her gaze. “it really is.”

the soft clinking of silverware continues, but for a moment, all you could hear was your heartbeat. hyun ju had just asked about your older sister that you briefly mentioned in the last conversation…so casually, so gently…but it was enough to make your chest tighten.

she noticed the way your expression shifted, the way your shoulders tensed, and immediately, her lips parted in regret.

“you don’t have to talk about her,” she said quickly, her voice soft, laced with concern.

you shook your head, offering a small, tight-lipped smile.

“no… it’s okay.” you hesitated for a moment before continuing, “her name’s amanda. we used to be close… really close, actually. we grew up doing everything together. she was only a grade above me in school so we had more opportunities to do things together.”

hyun ju set down her fork, giving you her full attention, her dark eyes soft but attentive.

“however, she didn’t go to college after high school like i did. she married her high school sweetheart, joseph, right after graduation.” you let out a dry chuckle, pushing your fries around on the plate.

“to the family, that was the better choice. the traditional one since according to my dad, the world is ‘turning into a bunch of hippies.’”

hyun ju’s brow furrowed slightly, sensing the sting behind your words.

“when i told my parents i was going to virginia tech…especially after the school started to finally integrated black and ‘colored’ people into their schools…my mom was secretly happy for me. she would tell me and i could see the joy in her eyes,” you smiled at the memory, but it faded fast.

“but my dad? he wondered if it was too risky. said something like, ‘college women aren’t preferable to a lot of men.’”

you rolled your eyes at the thought, the sting of those words still lingering after all these years.

“that was before i even realized i was gay. before i could understand why i didn’t care what men thought of me. i remember cringing at the idea of marrying a man. it felt wrong. it always had… but anyways…”

your gaze drifted to the window, watching the soft sway of tree branches in the spring breeze.

“now, though?” you smiled softly, your heart fluttering with the thought.

“i can actually picture it…getting married. maybe not the big white dress or all that, but… standing there with someone who really sees me. who loves me.”

you caught hyun ju’s gaze, her expression unreadable but her eyes so soft, so gentle, like she could see into your thoughts.

maybe it could be her, you thought for a brief moment, feeling the warmth spread through your chest.

the heaviness of the conversation pulled you back.

“anyway,” you sighed, “things changed with amanda. we were treated like equals until i decided to do something different. going to college made me the outsider. and when… when i was outed by jane…” your throat tightened at the memory.

“amanda was the only one who wasn’t outright cruel, she didn’t call me slurs or make disgusted faces at me but she stuck by her husband, joseph, who said all sorts of disgusting things about me.”

you could still hear his voice in your mind…muttering under his breath at family dinners, calling you slurs when he thought no one could hear.

“after i got my degree in social work, i ran. didn’t tell anyone where i was going, not even amanda. she's probably upset at me, but i do not know how she is doing anymore..”

you felt hyun ju’s gaze linger on you, and when you looked up, her frown deepened, her eyes filled with something unspoken.

“that sounds… familiar,” she murmured, her voice soft.

you tilted your head, giving her a knowing smile, “you ran away too.”

she nodded, her fingers playing with the edge of her napkin, “to find somewhere safer. somewhere better.”

the connection between you thickened, almost tangible.

“and now you’re here in one of the friendliest-ish cities for gay people,” you whispered.

“and so are you.”

the silence between you was no longer heavy…it was comforting, like the unspoken understanding between two people who had carried the same kind of pain for too long. after finishing your meals, hyun ju quietly reached for the bill, sliding it toward her before you could protest.

“hey—” you started.

she shook her head, smiling, “my treat.”

you smiled, letting her.

as the two of you stepped back out onto the sidewalk, the sky had shifted into soft shades of pink and purple, the sun dipping low behind the city’s skyline. the cool breeze rustled through your coat as you wrapped your arm around hyun ju’s waist, feeling her arm snake around yours in return.

the streets were quieter now, the city winding down for the evening. as you turned onto polk street, you noticed the familiar line forming outside the black cat bar. the neon sign flickered to life, casting its soft pink glow on the sidewalk.

you slowed for a moment, glancing at hyun ju. she looked back at you, and without saying a word, the two of you shared a silent agreement.

not tonight.

tonight, you just wanted to go home.

you both passed the bar, the laughter and music growing faint as you made your way back to your apartment. the place you guys met just 24 hours before can wait another evening.

when you finally reached your porch, you stopped, taking in the moment…the soft glow of the streetlights, the way her arm still rested gently around your waist, the ease you felt just being next to her.

nothing was said.. but the heated feelings lingered in the air, filling the quiet space between you with something sweet, and something real.

next part will be linked here

#cho hyun ju x reader #cho hyun ju #squid game #squid game fanfic #squid game s2 #squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #squid game x y/n #squid game x you #cho hyunju x reader #cho hyunju

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lostbookmark · 4 months ago

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MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Finding Masterlist here

Summary: After a failed engagement, you move back home and reconnect with your friends. Maybe, just maybe you can find love with someone you never expected.

Pairing: Yoongi x F. Reader

Warnings: Explicit Sex, Swearing, Cheating (Not Yoongi), Fighting, Protected/Unprotected Sex, Toxic Past Relationship,

Genre: Enemies(?) to Lovers, Neighbors to Lovers, Small Town romance. Hurt-Comfort, Slight Angst, Romance

A/N: I have no self-control. Hope you all enjoy chapter 4 a week early.

Jin's cafe, also known as Mainstreet Cafe, sat smack dab in the middle of town and was actually owned by his parents. In college, while you were starting to throw your life away for a worthless man, he was excelling in Culinary Arts. You always remembered him talking about wanting to own his own restaurant, earning Michelin Stars, and wanting to build his own culinary empire that would rival Gordon Ramsey. You honestly believed that he probably could have achieved it. Well, maybe not the Gordon Ramsey part but everything else. Unfortunately, being the good son that he was, he lived by his parents' demands. They wanted to retire but refused to give up the little restaurant or let him make any changes to the outdated building. The floor was still checkered in black and red tiles that have since started to fade some time ago. The booths still lined the windows, and tables stood in the exact same place. Other than the soaring prices, even the menu was still the same. Everything was still the same. Well, except for one that is. The horrible uniforms that you used to wear.

You and Jin had both worked at Mainstreet in high school, getting hired by his parents as soon as you turned 15. Looking back, the pay sucked pretty bad, but at the time, you felt rich when you went home with 60 bucks in tips. You finally had a little of your own money to do whatever you wanted. Which wasn't much, but it was a small taste of freedom. You had felt so grown up back then.

The uniforms, however, were just awful. Today, the servers were able to wear jeans and black Mainstreet Cafe t-shirts. Back in the day, you had to wear a 50's style pink poodle skirt with that damn black poodle pictured at the bottom, a white sweater with matching white ruffled socks. The skirt had hit about knee length, and the white sweater was just a tad too tight. It was embarrassing. It looked more like a Halloween costume than an actual work uniform.

You distinctly remember Yoongi and three of his basketball buddies coming in to eat all the time after school, after basketball games, and random times on the weekend. You also seem to remember that they sat in your section, taking the booth in the very back corner. It’s strange now that you think back on it. You think they even sat at the counter when you were behind there for the night running the cash register and shake machine. Weird.

You remember how you could always feel the way your face would heat up when you had to approach their table to take their order. You always prayed that it wasn't noticeably red or that your voice wouldn't be shaking and quivering with nervousness as you interacted with them. They always ordered the same thing, every time. Four baskets of fries and four milkshakes totaling 34 dollars and 40 cents. It's funny how you remember that, 34 dollars and 40 cents, but you do, just like it was yesterday.

The jingling of the bell above the door breaks you out of your nostalgic thoughts. You look up from your phone as you sit in a small booth that sits against the window near the front and see Yoongi walk into the cafe. Instead of turning and going to the back booth like you were always used to, he heads straight for the counter. As he is walking, he turns his head to look at you, giving you a slight nod in greeting before sitting down on a stool. You turn back to your phone, mindlessly scrolling through your social media, waiting patiently for your food that Jin was excited to surprise you with. He called it The Jin Special. In other words, since one of his friends was in the restaurant, he could finally cook what he wanted, and it wouldn't get back to his parents. It made you feel sad for him. He was talented. You wish that he was able to show off those talents. He would have been great in the city that ate you up and spat you out. He would have fit in perfectly with the so-called fancy friends and their fancy food. Luckily, he was better than all that. He was better than you.

“Y/N, sweetheart, sunshine, my love,” Jin sang out to you, drawing your attention to him as he stood on the other side of the counter, opposite Yoongi. “Come, come,” he beckons and pats the counter next to Yoongi.

“What?” You ask as you pocket your phone and get up to walk over to where he wants you.

“We have important business to discuss with you,” Jin informs you as you sit down on an unoccupied stool next to Yoongi.

“It's not that important,” Yoongi said, shaking his head while looking at you.

“It's very important, and you are the key to this important business,” Jin continues.”It's top secret….”

“Everyone liked your bread, and we want to discuss maybe having you sell it at our stand at the market,” Yoongi says, cutting Jin off earning himself a glare from your dramatic friend for spoiling the news.

“Wait, sell it?” You ask, looking between the two handsome men.

“Yeah, it would be the perfect addition,” Yoongi says. “Obviously, we do well, but this can bring in a whole new consumer group.”

“How many am I supposed to make? I can only make like four at a time,” you tell them. “Ingredients can get expensive.”

“You would use the business card to buy the ingredients,” Yoongi tells you quickly. “You wouldn't have to worry about the cost. Plus, we would pay you for your time.”

You hesitate and drum your fingers along the counter. This sounded pretty serious, and you were not sure if you wanted to take on the responsibility. Sure, you love to bake as a hobby, but this sounded like a business deal, and that scared you. It wasn't just a normal business deal. It was one with your friends, their business, and that put a lot on the line. Plus, you're not even sure if you have enough time to make what they would need. You did work full time, and your little free time was special to you because you didn't have much of it.

“How many would you need?” You ask timidly, giving in to the request, too afraid to look up at them.

“About 100,” Jin said with a big smile that you didn't return when your head snapped up at his words. In fact, you think your eyes widened to the point they bulged out of your head .

“No,” Yoongi cut in again, quickly shaking his head after he clocked your response. “How about we do a trial run. You make what you can, and then we sell to certain trusted customers for feedback. If all goes well, then…..we will discuss this further then.”

“It will go well,” Jin said, nodding his head assuringly. “Especially when paired with my special jam. This will be the first in my Jin's Jolly Jams line.”

Jin reaches somewhere behind the counter and produces a small white ramekin that is covered with a matching white plastic lid. Peeling the lid off, you see a purply red concoction with seeds that appeared to be a little too runny to actually be jam. Jam should definitely be thicker and not look like liquid. You and Yoongi exchange glances as you both hesitantly take a spoon from Jin, who was handing them out to you with a big excited smile on his face.

“Go on, try it.” Jin urges, pushing the ramekin closer to you. “It's raspberry. It took me forever to perfect it.”

You look at Yoongi again, and he is staring right into your soul. A look that is almost daring you to go first. Did you want to go first? No. Will you? Yes. You didn't want to hurt Jin's feelings, but you were positive that this was not going to end well. Taking a breath, you dip your spoon into the liquid, scoop some out and bring it to your mouth, and sample the liquefied fruit. You wince at the acrid taste that hits your taste buds. It makes you want to spit it out on a napkin, but instead, you swallow quickly. Yoongi raises an eyebrow at your expression and hesitantly follows your lead in tasting the jam.

“It's,” you start but don't know what to say to him. Your tongue sneaks out of your mouth and licks your lips. You swallow thickly again and look everywhere except him. The taste it left in your mouth was lingering and ungodly awful. “It's ummm….”

“Bitter,” Yoongi cuts in and supplies you with your missing word. You watch as Yoongi scrunches his face at the unpleasant taste.“It's really bitter.”

You continue to watch as Yoongi goes around the counter and gets himself a glass of water, taking a drink before filling up another one and handing it to you. You grab it from him and pretty much chug it down.

“I thought this one was going to be it,” Jin said, deflating at the reaction you two produced. He crosses his arms across his chest as he glares at his creation. “Do you happen to know any jam recipes, Y/N?”

“No,” you say softly and then drift off in thought. That's a lie. You think you do know where you can get some recipes. “Wait, I do. I do!”

You jump off your stool and run out of the cafe in a hurry as the bell above the door jingles violently behind you. You leave behind one confused man staring at you in bewilderment and the other yelling at you about your food as you jump into your car and pull out of the parking lot. Looks like you have a lot of work to do.

The attic at your parents' house was covered in dust, spiderwebs, and who knows what else. You don't think anyone has actually been up there in years by the amount of dust particles that floated in the air when you pulled down the creaky hatch. After your outburst, you drove to their house in search of your grandmother's recipes. She had recipes for everything, and if you remember correctly, there were a bunch for jams and jellies. You have a distinct memory of her house, always smelling like grapes as they bubbled away on the stove and when you were little. You're almost positive that she would have written it down at some point.

“Have you talked to Changkyun?” Your mom asked as she stood under the opening to the attic. “It's been months now. I think it's best that you try to call him.”

“No,” you answer, wiping your dusty hands on your pants as you finally climb into the attic. “Why would I?”

“Sometimes you need to forgive men for their indiscretions,” she explains. “Don't you miss the life that he provided for you?”

“It wasn't all that great,” you say, looking down at her from the hole going to the attic. “I'm happy now anyway. Do you know where grandma's recipes are?”

“I hear you are running around with the boys again. How are you supposed to find a good man if they think you are dating one of them?” she asks, ignoring your question. “Mrs. Kang said you and that Min boy were rude to her a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah, thanks for telling her about my relationship troubles, mother,” you say, moving away from the attic opening, looking around the dark room the best you can. You reach up to pull the chain to the hanging light, but nothing happens. “I'm sure the whole town just loved talking about me. Do you have a flashlight?”

“No. Are you dating him?” Her voice drifts up to where you were standing in the darkness.

“Who?” you ask, leaning over the opening again and looking back down at her.

“Min Yoongi?” She asks, sounding frustrated.

“Mom, where are the recipes?” You ask, going back to the original reason why you showed up in the first place.

“If you won't answer my questions, then I won't answer yours. Good luck up there,” she calls up, and you can hear her footsteps walk away.

Great. Perfect.

Once your eyes adjusted to the room, it took you a little bit but finally found a beautifully decorated box after rummaging through multiple plastic bins and several bags that were all collecting dust about an inch thick. You found it inside a cardboard box that was soggy and taped shut. It sat in the very back corner of the attic where there was very little light from the small dirty window, so you had to use your phone to see into the box. You smile as you look at the recipes written in your grandmother's elegant handwriting. Thankfully, they were still in good condition and not damaged from whatever caused the main box to be wet. You trace your fingers along the surface. This has to work. This is how you hope that you can repay them for helping you out so much.

“Did you find it?” Your mother asks as you climb down the ladder.

“Yeah, thanks for the help,” you say sarcastically and wipe your hands on your pants once more.

“You should give Changkyun a call,” she says. “Do you really want to be stuck in this small town, dating a farmer? That's a hard life.”

“I'm not dating anyone,” you finally tell her. “If I were dating Yoongi, Hobi, or any of the guys, I'm sure they would treat me better than Changkyun ever did. Also, I do have a career, you know. It's not like I'm suffering.”

“You are better than this small town,” she says softly. “I don't want you to regret coming back home.”

“I don't regret it. I'm going to be fine….everything is going to be fine,” you tell her. For the first time since you came home, you truly believe it.

When you got home, you immediately jumped in the shower. You were sweaty, dirty, and hopefully not covered in mold after climbing out of the attic. You were in such a desperate need to feel clean that you didn't pay attention to your surroundings. You didn't take the time to bask in the warm water, letting it relax your muscles like you normally did. You didn’t take the time to sing along to your favorite songs that would normally drift from your phone speakers. Nope, you didn't have time for that. Your mission was just to get cleaned and get cleaned fast. Goodbye, dust bunnies.

It's only when you turn in an attempt to shut off the water that you see it. A grasshopper, a huge green grasshopper in your shower. Startled, you feel frozen in the spot you were standing in, getting pelted in the face by the hot water. Slowly, you reach your hand out again, attempting to reach the handle of the shower once again when the large bug moves ever so slightly. You scream and scream loudly. In a hurry to get as far away from it as possible, you slip and fall into the bathtub, taking the shower curtain and rod with you as you go with them landing on top of you. This only made you scream more since you now lost sight of the nasty green insect. You throw the shower curtain off you, and your hands start to slap around your naked skin, hoping that it didn't hop on you. You shake your head and muss your hair with your hair just in case. The shower above you was still going, spraying hot water everywhere.

“What happened?” Yoongi said, rushing into the bathroom. He looked out of breath as his eyes scanned the area on high alert.

You look up at him, alarmed and quickly wonder how the hell he got into your home. Before you can open your mouth and question him, you see the monstrous bug again as it moves just off to your side. Screaming, you scramble out of the tub, slipping and sliding as you attempt to hide behind him, clinging to his back for dear life. Your wet naked body completely presses up against his fully clothed back. The back of his shirt is surely soaked now.

“What!” He exclaims again, looking around the steamy room.

You don't say anything and just point your finger at the mess that is your bathtub. While you still clung to him, hands wrapped around his body, holding onto his chest. Yoongi quickly shuts the water off and moves the shower curtain carefully. The grasshopper jumps past him, making you gasp and cling even tighter. Even he jumped back, startled by the little creature making its way out into the hallway.

“Get it, Yoongi!” You cry out and finally let go of him as he rushes out of the bathroom in search of the deadly bug.

You place your hands on your hips, and your eyes widen as you feel your naked skin. Looking down at yourself, you realize that you're still completely naked. Tits out, ass out, bare ass naked. Grabbing your towel, you wrap it quickly around yourself securely and cover your mouth with your hands. Your heart is beating so fast that you're afraid that it's going to pound out of your chest. Your hands were slightly shaking as you gripped your towel tighter. Maybe he didn't look. He's a gentleman, right? No, you don't think he saw anything. Suddenly, you hear his footsteps run down the stairs.

“It's gone….bye,” Yoongi yells up the stairs, followed by the slamming of your door. You're so embarrassed that you have probably traumatized him with your jiggly nakedness. He definitely looked.

Getting dressed, you rush downstairs. You think about going over to his place to apologize, but you don't want to make the situation worse. Just when you thought that maybe you two were heading in the right direction, this had to happen.

Heading into the kitchen, you see a bag of food with a note and a key on your kitchen table. You need to eat - Jin. You sigh, Yoongi probably came by to drop off the food that you left behind at the cafe when he heard you scream. He must have knocked and then used a spare key to leave the food for you when you didn't answer. You'll give it time and just avoid him for now. You'll apologize for flashing him and thank him next Saturday when you go to the market. Until then, you will focus on making this jam and hoping the earth will open up and swallow you whole.

《Chapter Five》

Tagged Readers:

@mar-lo-pap, @bontensbabygirl , @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs , @redragdoll, @svnbangtansworld , @wobblewobble822 , @busanbby-jjk , @pitchblack0309

#yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #min yoongi smut #yoongi x you #bts smut #bts fic #yoongi au #yoongi fanfic #bts yoongi #bts min yoongi #min yoongi #yoongi #suga bts #yoongi fluff #bts fluff #bts romance

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jokeroutsubs · 6 months ago

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📝ENG Translation: Elle Men Special: A Fashion Odyssey with Kris Guštin

Article written by Ajda Gregorc, published in the November/December 2024 ELLE Slovenia Magazine. Print and digital versions of the magazine are available for purchase.

Scans and English translation by @kurooscoffee, review by @weolucbasu and a member of JokerOutSubs, proofread by IG GBoleyn123.

Full article translation, scans, and Spotify link are under the cut 👇

🎧 Article available in audio form on Spotify.

Elle Men Special: A Fashion Odyssey with Kris Guštin

With Kris Guštin, the music author and guitarist of Joker Out, we escaped to another side of music, and with that, to his other passion. We talked about style and everything connected to it. There will also be no shortage of this in the band's third album, titled 'Souvenir Pop', which is released on the 15th of November—one week after the issue of Elle you’re holding now. How perfectly synchronised we are!

PHOTOS URŠA PREMIK, STYLING ALENKA BIRK

At Ljubljana’s Moderna Café, on a fresh but lovely autumn Tuesday, when everyone’s still at work or in school, he arrives in a dark green jacket with a checkered pattern, awesome trousers, and her necklace. This time, the menu is not serving music and life, but matcha and "all things fashion." I’m in a regular trench coat and a white T-shirt, but luckily he doesn’t judge people by their style—instead, the style might be what piques his interest to converse, if it's good, of course. Besides, he's the one being interviewed. So, let’s begin! AJDA GREGORC

Interviewer: When did you first discover your personal style or the field of fashion? Was it in childhood or a bit later?

Kris: I roughly divide my life into two periods: before I first held a guitar, and after. When I really got into playing and ventured into music, my world opened up in all areas. Discovering fashion definitely falls into this second period, so the post-high school era. To be completely honest, my style in high school wasn’t something I’m particularly proud of today. (laughs) My girlfriend and I still have a photo of me wearing cargo pants and a black sweater, which is a proof she truly loves me, since that look was far from the best choice. (laughs)

When did it evolve from just a aesthetic impression to self-expression?

My first contact with fashion as a form of art or expression was during our band's first music video or fashion shoot, when I realised that this is also something you need to consider as a musician. At first, it seemed to me like a fairly peripheral element, but as our career developed and we met new people who gave us more insight into this, I began to understand its significance, what I could personally gain from it, and what we as a band could gain. This quickly developed into standard practice. I was increasingly exposed to fashion; we had more and more costume rehearsals and stylings, and two years ago, we even got our first proper stylist. And then I really committed to it—at around nineteen or twenty. Before that, my philosophy was always to "just wear whatever I first find in the closet," but then I shifted to "I'll wear things that would make me stand out from others". But this process was a long one.

So, your style development with the band inspired your personal growth too? I’ve always wondered if a young person is compelled to mature in every area when so many 'big things' happen all at once, as they did for you.

Maybe you do "grow old" in terms of personality sooner. Yes, at first I wanted, and still want, to primarily express the difference or uniqueness that I feel inside myself through music, but then I discovered that this goes very much hand in hand with fashion, so I started looking for my expression there as well. Today, it's almost an equally important part of my day.

Which fashion ideas or directions attract you? You’ve probably encountered a lot of inspiration during your travels on tour, right?

Definitely, but speaking purely origin-wise, I think I’m just like any other rock musician—we draw from the rock aesthetic of the ’60s and ’70s, which was also very "in" when my fashion awareness was born. Back then, around 2016 to 2018, here were a lot of flamboyant shirts on the music scene, with a slight hippie influence, which was the starting point. Only later did I start getting interested in slightly more modern clothes. When I was younger, I found myself in street fashion, that sort of Eminem-esque, hip-hop vibe, so very baggy clothes, which I then began to reject when I made the shift toward the ’60s and a slightly psychedelic aesthetic. It makes perfect sense, as humans tend to jump between extremes. When I had worked through that style, I started discovering the aesthetics of the ’80s and late ’90s, which was also reflected in music at the time. The best example that comes to mind is Dua Lipa’s previous album, which was in the style of the “new ’80s,” and the fashion matched that as well. Today, the early 2000s style has come back, but I haven’t fully decided whether I like it or not. As a musician, I was, of course, initially inspired by other music groups. Arctic Monkeys were a big inspiration for us both musically and visually, as was the whole British rock scene, including bands like The Kooks and Oasis. That entire aesthetic has always been strongly present with us. I doubt there’s a single inspiration board at our shoots that doesn’t include a photo of one of those bands or, for instance, the Beatles. And that aesthetic has always been close to my heart, too.

Rockers have always been associated with more masculine fashion elements, while in recent years, many male musicians have been experimenting with more feminine style elements (for example, Harry Styles and Lenny Kravitz). David Bowie was already the one who back then started to blur these fashion boundaries. You, too, wear such pieces and dare to stand out with them.

It happened quite naturally, as the stylists we worked with always chose slightly more “unmanly” clothing for me. This doesn’t necessarily mean women’s clothing, but rather somewhat more androgynous pieces, which I quickly embraced. I found them interesting and appealing because there’s a lot of fresh expression in that style that I don’t find in traditional men’s clothing, though I don’t want to overdo it. I also started experimenting with them personally, choosing many more varied colours. For a while, I was very fond of pink, and lately, I’ve been playing around with orange. On the cover of the album 'Demoni', I wore an orange-pink sweater.

Are we, as an audience here, already mature enough for a musician to present his feminine side through fashion? Does that require courage?

It does, there will always be people who won’t understand you. But for me, when it comes to the stage or a shoot, I’ll wear anything, and if I feel good in it, I don’t worry about what someone thinks. When I walk around "in civilian clothes," however, especially in Ljubljana, I am still aware if I’m dressed somewhat "untraditionally." There’s a certain boundary that I still need to break within myself. On stage, it’s easier because it’s not necessarily a hundred percent my expression; I’m playing a certain character, but personally, sometimes I do need some courage to show up in a particular style. However, the awareness of being different is stronger in Ljubljana than in other parts of the Western world. For example, I never felt that way in London, but still, our capital isn’t the worst when it comes to this.

Speaking of influences, what about other artistic or cultural movements?

I love art deco, the aesthetics of the '20s and '30s, though it doesn’t influence my daily life. In terms of photography, Damon Baker’s black-and-white style is beautiful. The vintage camera aesthetic has recently won me over, which will also be reflected in our band. Musically, over the past year, I’ve been listening to old Italian chansons and older French music, chansons as well, so I’m clearly feeling very retro this year. (smile)

Will the third album visually stand out from the previous ones then?

Yes, it will be very different. In the last two, we used a lot of colours, but there won’t be as many in this one.

Style can be an excellent tool for expressing an artist's authenticity, but with increasing success, the artist can also become its slave; the line is thin. Do you ever feel the pressure of having to express your fashion style in your private life as well?

No, I’ve never felt like my style owns me; it’s always been the opposite. I’ve always felt like I want more, like I want to dress even better than the day before, especially when it comes to my music career. Perhaps style only hangs over my head a bit when I have no inspiration and would rather wear sweatpants on an ordinary, relaxed day. There’s nothing wrong with that, of course, but then I do think about what would happen if I ended up somewhere in the middle of the city dressed like that.

It seems that Joker Out has developed a distinct style despite outside influences.

Yes, today we are already very complete in our style. Others have definitely had an influence on us, and I think it’s great that each of them tried to express themselves through us – it was interesting to experience how Joker Out was seen by Ponorelli, and how Andraž Drobnič or Karlo Kirri did. Of course, there is a difference in this, but it also aligns with the development of our music and aesthetics, so all these influences are very welcome.

How much of your personal fashion identity is therefore reflected in Joker Out?

Maybe, as someone who is not an external observer, I can't answer that, but I can say that I was always one of the first to give feedback to the stylist when we were creating our outfits, approving moodboards, and so on. So, I have definitely shaped our style in a direction that suits me. On certain "blind stylings," when we just dressed up, I quickly threw something on myself and then helped look for pieces for the other band members.

What about this photoshoot, where Alenka Birk took over the styling? Did you let her take the lead with her tactics, or did you collaborate on fashion choices? How did the communication go?

I didn’t know Alenka, who, by the way, is an excellent stylist, before. She was recommended by Urša (the photographer, ed.). Later, she confided in me that she had also worked with my father. Alenka focuses on elegant men's fashion, which is a departure from this more fluid fashion; and this suited me because I had never really been photographed in a men's suit, jacket, and tie. I wanted to try something new. I hadn’t seen the outfits before the day of the photoshoot when we met in her small studio in the morning. There were nine of them in total, and we only swapped out a piece or two in at most three of the looks.

This is more of an exception than a rule in fashion photoshoots. Does that mean you felt good in them?

Yes. In some more so, obviously, but in others, you have to trust the people you're working with. When I first look in the mirror, I always keep in mind that if something isn't optimal, it doesn't mean it won’t work well on camera. Even if the pants are too short or creased, it's still worth photographing them, because the photo can be edited later, whereas on stage, it's a different story, and everything has to already be perfect in the mirror. Working with Alenka was very simple; we clicked really well, and I will definitely work with her again.

How linked are your confidence and the way you feel on stage with your styling?

Very connected. As a musician, you want to enjoy yourself as much as possible on stage, and the people who come to listen to you and pay for the ticket deserve to see you at your best, which means you have to feel good in every aspect.

You recently attended Ljubljana Fashion Week. Which of the local fashion designers do you like to follow?

As far as the Slovenian fashion scene is concerned, I’m still quite the beginner, so I only knew the designers we had worked with. This was my first time visiting the Fashion Week.

Which shows did you watch?

On the first day, all of them. I didn’t like everything, but what stuck in my mind was Sarivalenci¹ with their somewhat "country club", Lana Del Rey vibe, and golf moment. I also really enjoyed the Belgrade Fashion Week, as there was an obvious Balkan touch, which I would love to see more of in Slovenia.

¹Sarivalenci is a Slovene high fashion brand created by fashion designer Sari Valenci.

You are a fan of vintage clothes and second-hand shops. What do these pieces have for you that new ones don't?

Honestly, I don’t know if there’s an objective explanation why. I started getting into it because it was popular, and at the same time, it gives you the feeling of getting a more unique piece. At the same time, you're shopping sustainably and not contributing to the production of unnecessary new textiles on Earth, which is great, but I would be lying if I said that’s my main motivation. What I like the most is the experience of "flipping" through clothes, where each piece is different, like a treasure hunt, compared to regular stores where you "flip" through the same clothes in different sizes.

Did your mum, who comes from the Netherlands where people have been aware of this for many years, introduce you to this concept?

I wouldn’t say we talked much about it at home, but I literally lived it. This is probably true for Slovenians in general – almost all the clothes I had as a child were from older peers, or I would take something from my dad, too. When I was done with wearing the clothes, my brother would wear them too. Every piece of clothing that came into our house was passed around, which is a great practice, and it’s still like that today. My sister "stole" half of my sweaters, my mum sometimes takes something too, Maks borrows jackets from my dad, which I’ve also done myself. It's like we all share one big closet! (laughs)

So you have influenced each other’s style in your family, or rather, you still do so? Who has otherwise had the most influence on your style in the past, and who does today?

I don’t remember ever looking at my parents as role models in this regard, as I didn’t really think about it back then, but they definitely influenced me, at least subconsciously. When I see how my mom dresses today, I see parallels with my own style, so she probably did influence me, perhaps more than my dad. As for street style, which I mentioned at the beginning, it might have been inherited from my uncle, my aunt’s husband from the Netherlands, who wore loose sweaters and listened to hip hop. My mum also had an uncle from the Indonesian side of the family, whom I never met, but he was very eccentric. Some of his clothes made their way to us over the years, and when I looked at these pieces in the closet, I was fascinated by how they reflected his personality. Asian fashion became a bit closer to me because of this, and I might even explore it someday.

The heart necklace you wear all the time, even today, is from your girlfriend. Do you ever dress your girlfriend or does she dress you?

My girlfriend is very fashion-oriented and has played a big role in my fashion development. She has always encouraged me when I tried new clothes that, at the time, seemed more radical to me. In this way, she partially shaped me. We also really enjoy shopping together. She dresses me more often than I dress her, which means I ask her for opinion. There have also been times when we’ve dressed the same when it comes to basic pieces; we’ve never really styled each other, but there will probably be time for that in the future.

Where do you like to go for vintage pieces in Ljubljana? Did you find any gems while on tour across Europe?

Textile House Vintage Shop is, in my opinion, by far the best in Ljubljana. The next one is Humana on Stritarjeva street, where I find something every now and then. Abroad, we’ve visited many vintage shops in Dublin, Paris, and London. In the latter, I always go to Brick Lane, which is a street with vintage shops in the east side of central London, where the more hipster area starts. The downside is that it quickly becomes quite an expensive experience.

What kind of information can you deduce about a person based on what they’re wearing? Who, in your opinion, is truly well-dressed?

A person’s style is never a reason not to engage in conversation with them, but it is a very strong stimulator of my interest in that person. If I think someone is really well-dressed, I automatically assume they might think similarly to me and be interested in the same artistic, musical, or visual directions, so I’m more eager to talk to them. However, I’ve often met people who didn’t seem interestingly dressed, and later realised they were amazing people, even if they dressed completely casually.

Your audience expresses itself very differently in terms of fashion, as your parents also mentioned in a recent interview for Elle. How do you as a band perceive this?

Yes, what they meant was that it is no longer the case that you have to be "appropriately" dressed for a rock concert. When we observe the audience from the stage, I would say that the most typical thing for our time is that we are no longer genre-bound. Not just musically, but also in terms of fashion. 30 or 40 years ago, you would see people at a rock concert in leather jackets, black shoes, and jeans, and that was it. Today, you have flamboyant outfits with blue and green hair in one corner, gothic style in another, and of course, people in simple t-shirts and pants somewhere in the middle. And no one feels like they don’t belong; everyone sings our songs, and that’s really nice.

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