#for some reason i feel really happy whenever see Gary pissed off

[oshicakes]

haikyuu boys having an attractive s/o

pairings. oikawa tooru x reader, nishinoya yuu x reader, kozume kenma x reader

genre. fluff

an. hello~ heres the request and im really sorry to keep you waiting for this. i hope you'll still enjoy this. have a great day! 💖

Oikawa Tooru

got labeled as power couple of the school.

both of you modeled for the school's poster. and also got into small modeling gigs together.

he'll tell you that he can't accompany you in your photoshoot but when you arrive at the event he's already there with some snacks and drinks.

he tends to look at your picture whenever he's thinking about you. he also got copies of your photoshoots.

he don't mind being extra clingy especially he needs to remind everyone that you are taken and he's your boyfriend. he's a total show off.

you support each other through thick and thin. and is proud to each other.

just as expected, there are still bold girls and boys who approaches one of you.

he isn't possessive or a jealous type of a boyfriend but when someone tries to hit on you and is making an uncomfortable moves and gestures to you don't expect him to just watch you.

a co-worker has been forcing you to join them in karaoke. you politely declined them. but his grip on your shoulder tightens as you try to lose from his grip.

"my, my, my, its seems that you are forcing y/n. what are you? a perverted old man?" a familiar voice said on your back.

he grab the guy's hand and introduced himself as your boyfriend and violently shake hands with him. then he pulled you and walk out of the place.

"it just pisses me off whenever this happens to you. some guy just really don't know how to respect and keep their pants zipped." he frustratingly said.

"i'll drop that gig next time. please calm down." you said then rub his back.

"no, it's them that should quit that gig. ill make sure of that."

"okay, okay. let's go to that restaurant that you've been wanting to go." you held his hand and before walking, you kissed his knuckles.

Nishinoya Yuu

you met him where you're not having a great day. someone from upper class just confronted you "stealing their lover" that you don't even know.

you've been confronted a lot of times with the same reason. you're close to believing that your attraction is a curse.

and your friends didn't help, saying that's because youre attractiveness made them unfaithful with their lover.

"here." you lifted your head and saw nishinoya standing infront of you. he's handing you a popsicle.

he reached for your hands and made you accept the ice cream. and then smiled widely at you. "i won an extra gari-gari kun. you can have it."

"uhm, thank you." you smiled at him then opened the packaging and bite into it.

"you're really beautiful when you smile. bye, see you at school."

since then, you are often seen with him. that leads to friendship and later on being into relationship.

he'd feel so lucky to have you as his s/o.

he calls you gorgeous and you often receive a text from him reminding how beautiful you are, how much he loves you, some quotes and jokes to brighten your day.

he doesn't get jealous that much. instead he would be very proud and happy for you whenever someone else compliments you.

he'd probably join that someone who complemented you in complementing you.

he would encourage you and support you in any ways.

he's one of the reason why you're so confident with yourself. cause it wouldn't last a day without him complimenting you.

he's like a ball of sunshine to you. he knows when and how to lighten you up and boost your self-esteem.

Kozume Kenma

its not a big deal for him. as long as he loves you and you love him, that's all that matters.

but that doesn't mean he doesn't get jealous at students who shamelessly approach you, give you gifts and confesses to you.

he's adorable, acting tough and not bothered by it, but just by looking at him with a small pout on his lips, you know that he's jealous.

he'd make you his homescreen. and some of his icon in games is you too.

he's a lowkey show off and would be proud and smuggish when someone notices it.

like when someone asked him who's his icon, he'd proudly say that's my s/o.

he would support you at anyhing you do.

sometimes he'd be protective whenever some of the students went overboard with you. he's ready to raise hell i tell you.

but there are times when insecurities and doubts struck him. he's really afraid that you'll leave him and find somebody new.

"kenma, are you okay?" you came to his house and found him laying with his stomach.

he didn't answer you. but you know thats he's awale since he's doing something with his phone.

you decided to lay on top of him. you heard him whimper but you didn't budge. "whatcha doing?"

"staring at your photo."

"huh? why? im here now, you can stare at me instead." you joked.

"say.. aren't you regretting being my s/o? i mean your attractive and even though im your boyfriend you still have a lot of admirers ready to catch you when we break up."

"what are you talking about? you're the most amazing and the most gorgeous man i know. i wouldn't trade that for anything." you said and kissed his cheeks.

he change his position, making you lay on the bed too. he made you lay your head on his arm and snuggled you close to him.

"im really the luckiest." he whispered and hugged you tighter.

[mellometal]

Hey, everyone.

If you saw the post from earlier, I had to delete it. There were things I forgot to discuss and things that didn't get saved into my drafts. Sorry if you have to see this again.

I've been WAITING to talk about Glee. Not in the good way either. There's so much wrong with the show, and it's sickening. Yes, I've watched the show last year. Against my will, but that's because of other people refusing to put on anything else besides Glee. I can say that I hate Glee with my entire being. (My initial reason for hating it was because they covered "SING" by My Chemical Romance and turned it into a slow, patriotic song when it's a song about rebellion. NOTHING about "SING" is patriotic. I hated the show since I first heard about it...for that very reason. I was like thirteen or so at the time when I first heard about Glee? Despite it being out since 2009.

Though it's been over for several years now, it's a show that many people have mixed feelings about. From what I've seen, you either love Glee or you absolutely hate it. There's no in-between that I've seen. (If you can't already tell, I hate the show.)

The show is a literal dumpster fire, the characters are all fucking awful people and all of them are poorly written, the script pisses me off, it literally makes me feel disgusting, and don't even get me started on the covers. Most of the covers aren't that good. A lot of them sound like nails on a chalkboard to me. The pacing of the show makes NO sense in certain areas (like when Blaine was initially made to be a grade above Kurt, but was then changed to be like the same grade as him so he'd stay). It just feels like everyone in the show is either a Mary Sue, a Gary Stu, their whole personality is just that they're from a minority group or they're EDGY AND HARDCORE DELINQUENTS BLEEEEHHHHH, creepy as fuck, bigoted as all hell, or they're just background characters who occasionally have the spotlight.

TW: The following post and any other posts that I'll make about this show contains subject matter that may be triggering for some audiences. It will go into subjects like racism, homophobia, ableism, outing of a person in the LGBT community, bigotry in general, statutory r@pe (between teachers and students), teachers being creepy towards students, mentioned past child m0l3stati0n and invalidation of the victim's trauma, making fun of su1c1d3, making fun of overdose, making fun of drug addiction....a lot of fucked up things.

If anything mentioned above is triggering for you, please feel free to scroll and consume safe media instead. I'd rather have you be safe than to be triggered by anything I'm gonna talk about.

Let's start off easy. The characters. It's easy to tear them apart. At least the most problematic ones.

Rachel, the Main Character™️, is textbook definition of a Mary Sue. Instead of calling her Rachel, I'm gonna call her Mary Sue for the whole post. She's almost completely perfect (like too perfect), her flaws are minor if anything, she gets all the special treatment....you get the picture. When Mary Sue does anything fucked up or she says anything fucked up, it either goes unnoticed, people make up excuses for her being a shitty person, or it gets twisted so it looks like Mary Sue is the hero! (I hate her. So much. I cannot stand her.)

Aaawwww, Mary Sue didn't want some OTHER GIRL (Sunshine) to steal HER spotlight, so she SENT THIS GIRL TO A CRACK HOUSE. A FUCKING CRACK HOUSE, OF ALL PLACES. A PLACE WHERE THIS GIRL COULD HAVE BEEN PUT IN SERIOUS DANGER. THIS GIRL COULD HAVE BEEN SERIOUSLY INJURED AT BEST AND KILLED AT WORST. Yes, I'm aware not all drug houses are the same, but still. It doesn't matter what this girl did. What Sunshine did is irrelevant. It's not okay to send people to strange places where they don't know anyone, and are put in danger, even to the point of either getting injured or killed. But it's okay, because at least it's not an "active" crack house you sent Sunshine to, RIGHT, Mary Sue? You still sent some poor girl to a place where she could have been put in serious danger, even to possibly get injured or killed, all because you didn't want her to steal YOUR spotlight. You fucking disgusting, entitled, bratty cunt. You don't need the spotlight all the time anyway. THAT'S HOW THEATRE WORKS. YOU DON'T ALWAYS GET THE LEAD ROLE. YOU DON'T ALWAYS GET THE ROLE YOU WANT. AND THAT'S OKAY. YOU WORK WITH WHAT YOU GOT. Sincerely, a theatre kid.

There are other fucked up things Mary Sue has done, but this is the one thing I could find anyone talking about. If I remember correctly, she hurt her Gay Best Friend™️ Kurt in some way. All I remember is that Kurt was mad at Mary Sue about something. Mary Sue is annoying as fuck. What else can I say about her?

Next, we have Finn, who's textbook definition of a Gary Stu. I'll call him Gary Stu throughout this post. I hate this fucker too. He's the Main Character's Boyfriend™️, the Hot Quarterback™️, and The Good Guy™️. Yet....he's not a good person. He's treated like he's a good person, but he's really not. His flaws are fairly minor and excused (and any major flaws aren't even talked about much), he's almost completely perfect, and every fucked up thing he does is ignored or is justified in some way. Like how he outed Santana as lesbian in the hallway WITHIN EARSHOT OF EVERYONE. HE DIDN'T EVEN APOLOGIZE FOR THIS.

As a woman who has struggled with her sexuality growing up, this really brought back shit I went through. I "dated" boys when I was younger to cover up the fact that I'm only attracted to other women. I wasn't happy with these guys at all. I acted like I did so nobody would suspect anything. I felt nothing for them, except for in a platonic way. I've been outed twice. Once when I thought I was bisexual with a strong preference for other women (by my dad's girlfriend at the time), and when I came out as lesbian (by my brother). It sucks to be outed. The people who outed me in real life could have put me in danger. They could have made it so I had no place to go back to. They could have had me get hurt. It's a scary feeling. Like, it doesn't matter if you're supportive or if you're in the LGBT community. You don't fucking out people without their explicit permission. You especially don't out people to their abusers or to people they don't trust, let alone out them publicly. That's what happened to me. I don't wish this on anyone.

***By the way, for anyone who's closeted, you're valid, I love you, and I know how it feels to be stuck in the closet. You don't have to come out right now. Come out whenever you're ready to. Whenever it's safe for you to do so.***

Or how about the fact that Gary Stu made fun of Kurt's voice because he's gay? Gary Stu apparently has ✨anger issues✨ and that's pretty much the excuse they use to justify him doing fucked up shit to people.

They treat the characters who are from minority groups (i.e., BIPOC, AAPI, LGBT community, disabled people) like absolute garbage, put them through all this horrific shit, or they put them on a pedestal simply for being in a minority group. The teachers and other school staff are either written to be total bigots (Sue), or they're total pr3dators (Mr. Schue, the school nurse, and another teacher who I can't remember her name off the top of my head).

Sue pretty much only exists to be a poorly written villain who's a bigoted bitch just to be a bigoted bitch. Yes, there were some things she WAS right about (like how "Blurred Lines" wasn't an appropriate song choice for the Glee Club™️, but Mr. Schue The Pr3dator™️ downplayed it). Other than that...that's all I can think of. Because everything else that came out of her mouth was bigoted bullshit. Like these right here, for example:

Or how she drugged the principal, date r@ped him, and blackmailed him?

How about them making a tasteless joke about Sue committing su1c1d3 and having her "overdose" on multivitamin gummies?

DO I NEED TO EXPLAIN HOW FUCKED UP ALL OF THIS IS? I do? Well, first of all, she called people racist, homophobic, ableist, and otherwise disgusting names. She boiled them down to their race, sexual orientation, their disability, and their appearance in general. Second, SHE DRUGGED, BLACKMAILED, AND DATE R@PED SOMEBODY. I don't think I need to explain how that's bad. The evidence is right there. Third, she said she was committing "sue-icide" by overdosing on multivitamin gummies. (Yes, you actually can OD on vitamins in supplement form, and it can cause serious symptoms and even death. Specifically with vitamins A, D, E, and K, and Iron. Vitamins A, D, E, and K are fat-soluble. They're a lot harder to remove from the body. The B vitamins and vitamin C aren't as severe if you do OD on them because they're water-soluble, but still be careful. You can't OD on vitamins and minerals you find in food. If you take supplements, vitamins, etc., only take what's on the bottle.) As someone who has su1c1d@l thoughts on and off, this is extremely insulting. Yes, I do use humor and I joke about my own experiences to cope, but this? Nah. Nothing about this is funny or cute in the slightest. Enough said.

Do I need to explain how fucking terrible it is to make light of a serious topic like this? It was never funny to see Britney Spears' mental health be at that low of a point in 2007. It was never funny to see the abuse the paparazzi inflicted on her. How the fuck was this ever okay? You can dislike Britney Spears all you want, but this was never it.

This is all I have for now. I'll probably make a part two because there are way too many things to talk about.

[mccoys-killer-queen]

This week’s playlist (2/28)

This week is underappreciated songs from some artists. After this week I’m gonna take a break from this to come across different songs and see which ones I’ll shove in your faces some other time

1.) If I’d Been the One- 38 Special (1983)

This is the lead song off the 1983 album Tour De Force (and every song on there is DIVINE if I do say so myself). It’s the classic “put yourself in my shoes” song- “can you read my mind? Take a good look at my face” it’s just all catchy hooks galore. 38 Special needs a hell of a lot more appreciation from the Classic Rock Fandom on here. They’re like Lynyrd Skynyrd but less country and and more rock/pop. I almost put “In Your Eyes Tonight” on this list instead of this song, so I’d recommend that from this album too if you liked this one enough.

2.) Sing to Me- REO Speedwagon (1978)

Put on your long silk robe and stand on your balcony because it’s time for a POWERFULLY PASSIONATE song. It’s roughly two and a half minutes of wOw. I love Gary Richrath so much and this song hurts even more whenever I remind myself that it was written by him. When you start a song with “sundown, summer is fading” you get that nostalgia straight away. You’ll feel the wind in your hair as you gaze upon a sunset, you’ll feel the anticipation when that guitar solo hits, and you’ll feel like nothing will ever be the same. Would also highly recommend this album as well.

3.) Comin Under Fire- Def Leppard (1983)

By far the most underappreciated song off of Pyromania. The most appreciation they ever gave this song was putting it on the b side of Foolin (for some releases). They’ve played every song off of Pyromania live before EXCEPT FOR THIS ONE. It pisses me off! I think this song is the precise moment that Def Leppard came out of their fetus era and started molding into the superstars they were destined to become. This song is a combination of their early 80s style/sound plus their new found style that can heard on the rest of Pyromania. All in all, it’s BADASS. I hope they perform it live someday (specifically when I see them later this year...)

4.) Learn How to Live- Billy Squier (1982)

Holy mother of internal crisis part 2. I always like to think of the speaker in this song as someone who’s talking to himself and trying to reason with himself. “You’ve got a lot to learn, you play in the fire, you might get burned”, it just sounds like he’s trying to give advice to someone, but he gets to desperate as the song goes on that it sounds like he’s becoming more frantic at himself and trying to sell his convincing even more. The lyrics here are really the selling point of this song. The chorus is just pure poetry to me- “Learn how to give, learn how to take, learn how to live before it’s too late. Learn how to bend, learn how to break, learn how to mend broken heartaches. Learn to forgive, learn how to wait, learn how to live before it’s too late.”

5.) Gonna Raise Hell- Cheap Trick (1979)

If you like a funky, sexy, groovy bass line, here you go. The Dream Police album is legendary in so many ways, but this song is what really sells it for me. This is definitely a stripper song for me. 9 minutes of pure badass grooving. Cheap Trick also deserves more appreciation on here. Dream Police is totally an album to listen to if you’re looking to get into them. Just make yourself bop to that bass line and that’s all you need to be sold for the entire song.

6.) The Long Run- Eagles (1979)

My favorite Eagles song. Chill, but in a bright and happy way. Gives you summer afternoon vibes. A bright look to the future with some killer but simple guitar riffs. You want some good 70s vibes? Look no further. This song is just sunshine all around, baby. Slow but groovy in the way that only the Eagles can convey. What more do I need to say in order to sell it?

7.) Mississippi Kid- Lynyrd Skynyrd (1973)

I don’t really have many words for this song, because there’s not much too it! Just listen to it and you’ll see what I mean. It’s definitely an earworm. Prepared to be blown away- but definitely not in the way you expected. This is definitely a minimalistic song- it’s so simple, but it’s just flat out awesome.

8.) Sweet Jane- Mott the Hoople (1972)

These guys also need more appreciation on here. Joe Elliott can’t do all the work when it comes to spreading the word of Mott! This album is also a wonderful album to listen to if you’re trying to get into Mott. This is the lead song off All the Young Dudes, and it- like The Long Run- is sunshine and good 70s vibes all around. It was also written by Bowie...

9.) Dreamers Ball- Queen (1978)

Where’s the Jazz appreciation on this site?? Apart from Fat Bottomed Girls, this song is my favorite song off the album. It’s mellow and is kinda slow swingy-jazzy-waltzy, just classy slow dance material in general. And yes, it’s another Brian May baby. “Take me, hold me, remember what you told me” it’s also so sad! The speaker’s down in the dumps because his lover/dancing partner left him, but he knows that he can go to the “dreamers ball” and dream of them instead. 

10.) Take Me to the Pilot- Elton John (1970)

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) You all know this as the sex scene song from Rocketman, but push that aside and focus on the song itself for a moment. It’s kinda like My Kinda Lover but for the 70s, in my opinion. The lyrics don’t really make any sense, but I feel like it’s kinda along the lines of “I’m truly yours, so take me straight to your soul” but then again, who knows? It’s a bop no matter what. 

(Spotify playlist)

[dcbicki]

I'm sorry to double dip but could you do danxamy for 14 and Jonsa for 6? Those are my two fave pairings!

I did the Dan/Amy one, but (if you’re still interested) could you send me a different message for the J/S one - it makes things easier to post? Also, I love how this was supposed to be a ‘few short paragraphs’ meme but I went over 3k words with this… Enjoy! :)

14. Things you said after you kissed me | Post-s6, in which Amy is ready to give birth, and Dan’s feelings are semi-ready to express themselves.

-

“If I find even one picture of this on that phone, you’re a dead man.”

“Ah, come on, Amy,” He starts, grins - that prick! - and then he’s scrolling through what she can only guess is a new photo album on his fucking iPhone. “Don’t you wanna have something memorable to show people, to commemorate this joyous occasion?”

She can’t tell if he’s fucking with her, or if this is actually all just a part of his stupid fucking plan.

“I think the probable sociopath I’m squeezing out of my fucking vagina is gonna be enough of a souvenir, thanks.” Her teeth grit and she’s frowning, reaching for something to hold onto other than the railing of the hospital bed.

She’ll commemorate this joyous occasion by chopping his balls off and force-feeding them to him through a tube. That sounds like a pretty solid revenge scheme right now.

“Dan! Can you just put the fucking phone down and get me some ice chips? For fuck’s sake.”

Amy doesn’t notice the two cups already on the side, chips melting. So, he just smiles, picks one up and hands it to her. There, hold that.

She doesn’t though – instead she finds herself grasping at his shirt, knuckles whiter than usual, face a pretty picture of sheer agony, “You’re gonna pay for this, you dick.”

“So you’ve said.” He’s rolling his eyes, and he laughs (because he’s not the one forcing an infant through his genitals) like the asshole she knows him to be.

And then he smirks, because he’s Dan, because he can, “You can only kill me so many times, you know?” The threat count is probably nearing the two hundred mark at this point.

Apparently, within the next couple hours, she’s castrating him with children’s craft scissors, gauging his eyes out with bendy plastic spoons, ripping his hair right from his scalp with just her bare hands, carving out his shrivelled up black heart and proceeding to feed his carcass to a pack of wild dogs. Oh, and she’s gonna feed him his ballsack through a fucking tube. Whether that’s pre or post heart failure, he isn’t sure.

Sure thing, Ames.

“I still get to torture you beforehand.”

“True. But you know I’d just consider that brutal foreplay.”

“Oh, fuck off.” She’d let go of his shirt sometime in the past minute, and her palm is wrapped so tightly around the frame she’s sure, he’s sure it will snap. Fuck, it’ll probably shatter.

Dan looks over at her then, (attempts to) run a hand through over-gelled hair, phone finally shoved inside his back pocket, “D'you want me to leave? I can just wait in the hall. I mean, I’ve got some calls to make and-”

Yeah, Dan, you’re not good with hospitals or empathy, I know.

“You’re staying right here.” Her blue eyes are like frozen blocks of ice, and her lips draw thin, cheeks puffing as her face flushes, neck tenses. “You’re gonna stand there, and only there, and you’re gonna hold my fucking hand like the nice man your mom thinks she raised.”

He nods, complies, shuffles forward so he’s leaning over the side of the railing. Even when she’s sat and he’s slouched, he still towers over her, still doesn’t loom. What kinda bullshit-

“Okay.” Dan sighs, adds, “Your mom’s outside, by the way.” As though that will get her to change her mind.

Oh, yes, Dan. Yes! Go get my mom, and you can wait in the hall with fucking Gary! That’ll make you happy, won’t it? Go!

“Well, then, that’s where she’ll stay.” She huffs out, eyes closed since he agreed to stay. Her head’s thrown back, blonde hair askew, face pink, lips plump. God, he wants to fucking straighten her hair. She isn’t her.

“Really?” He frowns anyway, confusion clear across his face, “Don’t you want some other woman here? I thought that was like a… thing.” His nose crinkles, “What about your sister?”

He doesn’t quite understand why she wants him here, especially with her mother right outside and she’s always seemed closer to her than anybody else in her family. Hell, Gary’s probably better suited for this kind of thing than he is - he’s into all that feminine crap, right? And he’s just-

Well, he wasn’t even all that great when they went for checkups. He just sat there in the chair and smugly grinned like an asshole whenever the doctor pointed at the screen, at the bean-sized, peanut-sized, melon-sized spawn of his that Amy was incubating.

Come to think of it, he’s not even sure he’s ready for the little bugger to be born yet. Then again, him not ready being ready isn’t the worst thing. Amy’s the one having to do all the work.

Push, scream, push, push, scream, cry, push, sweat, cry, sweat, scream.

Hopefully, she doesn’t die. Hopefully, she won’t leave him alone with a newborn. That would be some serious fucking divine retribution right there. Dan, you take this. You deal with it. Have fun, fucker.

“That’s not a fucking thing, and if you ever fucking bring up Sophie again, I swear to God I will have you murdered in your sleep.”

He’s brought back then, all wide-eyed and lost-looking.

With a sigh, he concedes. He is the father. (Wow, that’s fucking weird.) He’s the one who did this to her, with her. He’s the one who fucked her, and subsequently fucked them both over.

“Nah, you wouldn’t.” He glances down at Amy, raises one eyebrow pointedly in that way she really, really, truly fucking detests, “You wouldn’t deprive yourself of that pleasure.”

His gaze shifts to the door then as it swings open, allowing Amy’s (midwife? obstetrician? fuck knows!) doctor to walk through. A nurse follows, and Dan catches a quick glance of Amy’s mom talking to Gary in the waiting room.

Are they deciding which one of them is going to watch over the kid first so that Amy can catch some sleep, and Dan can go home and change out of his day-old shirt? He’s actually surprised that, for once, Gary isn’t at Selina’s side like a fucking half-turtled turd.

Amy’s been here for fucking hours – all bed-ridden and shit in a sweaty dull-coloured hospital gown, and (truth be told) he’s still pretty pissed about the blue balls she’d left with him earlier. (Granted, she went into labour, but still.)

Going home to stroke one out might actually come in handy. Pun fully intended, he grins. Just as long as he doesn’t catch a view of her child-baring vag beforehand-

“How are we feeling?”

He’s flicking open the chart the nurse hands him - Dan’s forgotten his name because it was some European-sounding bullshit and he had more important stuff to do than learn it - and he smiles up at Amy, all red hair and freckles and glasses.

“Just tell me if I’m fucking dilated.” Amy writhes on the bed, focuses her attention on the patterned ceiling, and Dan’s damn sure she’s gonna pull a fucking Exorcist in a minute and start levitating. It doesn’t look comfortable. Maybe Mike hadn’t been lying about his surrogate’s birthing story, after all.

The doctor shoves his glasses up his nose, snaps the chart shut and smiles (like a fucking teenage boy who’s gonna get his first upfront look at a woman’s privates).

He leans forward, does his thing (and Dan watches him out of the corner of his eye because focusing on that is a little more personal than he’s willing to get right now, or ever.)

He’d rather not see some guy - trained professional or not - put his hands anywhere near Amy’s crotch. (Unless it’s in a mirror… and he’s the guy.)

“Looks like I was right on time. You’re just about ten centimetres.”

The blonde sits up in her bed then, neck muscles still tense, shoulders raised and bony, “So the little fucker’s finally ready to come out?”

“Amy.”

“I can… start pushing?” She corrects herself with a sigh, half-ignores Dan’s burning stare. Fuck you.

“Seems so.”

She briefly relaxes then, lets herself fall back for only a moment, but then another contraction hits her again, only it’s worse this time, and Dan’s hand is actually there for her to hold and bruise and fuckin’ crush. Jesus, woman!

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“If we’re waiting for that, the kid’s never coming out.”

It’s intended as a joke, but Amy just tightens her hold around Dan’s hand, waiting until his knuckles crack before finally softening her grip.

Prick.

He holds up his other hand (semi-apologetically given the proud look on his face) before lowering it down to the side of the bed, wrapping it around the metal post and leaning closer to her.

“Okay. Push.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Just fuckin’ push, Amy.” He sounds ticked off, worked up, “Jesus, it’s not hard.”

Despite herself, she finds herself reassured when his hand reaches for her own, and then she’s going for it.

-

Turns out, it’d been harder than he thought it would be.

That epidural – no, those two epidurals – clearly hadn’t done shit because she was still in pain throughout, and her body was on the brink of a fucking collapse. Maybe that’s just what happens though. How the fuck is he supposed to know? He didn’t even wanna be here for this until she roped him, forced him into it.

Watching Amy Brookheimer give birth (to his child) hadn’t ever been on his bucket list, and now, he notes, there’s a reason that was. The whole thing had been brutal. She screamed, in his face, into his shirt. She cried, in his arms, into his shirt. She sweated, like a fuckload.

She’d been all red and warm and horrifically in pain, and Dan’s pretty sure he’s going to picture her mid-labour face whenever he’s holding himself back from coming from now on.

At least now she’s calmer, and quieter, and she’s finally fuckin’ let go of his hand. Honestly, childbirth turned out to be much more of a team sport than he’d thought it would be. He didn’t think he’d ever have to be someone’s punching bag, or actual fucking support system, so that was an experience.

At least now she looks like herself, and her blonde hair is straight again because she (post-labour, of course) practically assaulted a nurse until they gave her a hairbrush. Type A, confirmed.

At least now, he can run his hands through pretty, long, straight blonde hair and grab it, tug it, pull it. Maybe once she’s out of here, and he’s changed out this bloody tear-stained, snot-ridden sweaty mess of a striped shirt, they could-

Honestly, she’s really fucking glowing and he’s kind of enjoying it. Is she supposed to look this fuckable after just giving birth? He’s probably a mess himself, all bruised knuckles from her death grip, and aching legs from standing up for so long. Oh, well.

Their son is born at a healthy weight, with blueing grey eyes and a patch of light dark hair atop his head. But he’s all gunky and gooey and just plain fucking gross, so the nurse takes him away to be cleaned up when Amy’s had just about a minute with him.

He was actually kind of… cute? Fuck, she hates that word.

Cute in a way that meant if she stared at him for too long, she’d fucking vomit. Cute in a way that meant he was cuter than most babies – but then again, that’s just their genetics.

“You did great.” Dan’s grinning (again, like a dickhead), “You know that, right?”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“I’m serious.”

It’s not the first time he’s complimented her skills, competence. But it’s a strange kind of sincerity, one with a little more meaning, depth behind it than she’s used to receiving from him, from anyone.

Pushing herself up on both palms, her back aches as she stretches, props herself up into a comfier position against some square pillows. It’s not soothing, though, and she has to readjust the shitty cushions behind her to find some kind of comfort. She’s fucking sat on one, and it’s doing nothing to alleviate the pain she’s feeling down below.

“When do you think I can leave?”

She wants to be working, walking about, running around, doing things. Being cooped up in a hospital bed is not fun, is not productive, is not rewarding. Granted, she can still talk and call and email but it’s not the same as being up and about, out where the action is, where she’s actually useful.

Dan gets to leave whenever he likes. Dan doesn’t have to remain on bedrest for an undetermined amount of time. Dan doesn’t have to deal with a sore vagina and everything else that entails. Dan is a man, got the ‘get out of jail free’ card when she drew the one that forces her to take five places back.

Dick, she scowls.

“Probably tonight. That nurse said there weren’t any complications so we can probably go home later.” He reasons, shrugs as though it’s nothing major. Dick.

“We?” Amy lifts a brow, sniffles, “You can go home already, you know.”

“What, you think I’m just gonna fuckin’ leave you here?” Dan stares down at her, runs one hand along the cool railing, “Jesus Christ, Amy, you just had my kid. Even I’m not that fuckin’ cold.” He almost looks appalled at the idea – he’s desperate to leave though, to go home. Fuck it, he’s half-tempted to pack her bag, get her dressed, grab the baby and make a run for it.

“I’m just saying, you don’t have to wait for me-”

“Shut the fuck up.” His head ducks, eyes closing. What the fuck is he doing?

“I can have my mom bring me back to the apartment later. It s fine-” Because she’s still here, because Grandma B likes being involved in all things Baby Brookheimer-Egan related, because she’s just that kind of person. At least they’ll have someone to babysit for them that isn’t hired or fucking Gary.

“Amy, seriously. Shut up.”

“Why?” She smirks, figures she can get a rise out of him and whatever the fuck he’s trying to conceal. Is that… fucking emotion, some kind of weird display of fucking devotion? What- “Or Gary. It’s not like he has anything better to do anyway, other than trim Selina’s nails or wipe her ass.”

“You’re not going home with Gary. For fuck’s sake, Amy. Is it so hard for you to just shut your fucking mouth every once in awhile?”

You getting worked up there, Danny?

He sighs (deeply, strangely), and then he’s leaning down and kissing her before she can even say anything else, anything at all.

It’s a weird kiss, different from their normal, their usual. There’s no tongue shoved down her throat (which she almost sadly longs for), no hand on her neck (which is oddly irritating), no hair-pulling or shirt-tugging (which she really fucking craves).

It’s just a kiss on her lips (soft, surprisingly bland yet somehow charming), and then it’s over.

“What the fuck?” She exclaims when he’s pulled back, scratching the space between dark furrowed brows. “What, did you develop some kind of sappy dad hormones as soon as the fucking baby started kicking and screaming?”

“No, I-” He begins, shifts his gaze from the white sheet of her hospital bed to her face, all pink lips and flushed face. “I don’t know, Amy. Fuck!”

He doesn’t know why he kissed her - like that - save for the fact that he wanted to (almost desperately), so he did. Fuck, he feels feverish. He’s flushed, more than she is, has been, and he doesn’t understand why. His breathing is faster than it was a moment ago, and he wants nothing more than to take that kiss back.

“Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Amy leans back against her pillows, hitches up the bottom of her gown and stretches out her legs. “Fuck.” Her eyes close and she swallows a breath, way too calm for his liking.

Why isn’t she on edge? Why isn’t she begging to be let out of this room? Why isn’t she bribing nurses?

Why isn’t she Amy?

“You know I like you, right?”

“You like me?” She grins despite her eyes remaining closed, and her neck reddens, “Wow, Dan. What a revelation.”

“As in, I like you more than I like anybody else.” Dan shrugs (for no good reason), and he clears his throat with one hand smoothing along the bed railing, “As in, I say I like you, but it’s more than that, and you know it.”

“Oh, I do? Because you’ve made it so blatantly obvious over the years?” She laughs, once, practically hiccups. “Sure, Dan. You like me like that.”

His fingers dance along the thin mattress, curling around the hem of her gown, all pale skin and pastel blue cloth.

Why is she Amy?

“You never wondered why I stayed?”

“Because you think you’re getting something out of this.” She reasons, peeks one eye open and looks at him, flicks both eyes open when she notices his frown. “Jesus Christ, why do you look like someone just reported you as a sex offender? Sort your face out.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong.” He nods. He did get sex out of this. He did get Amy out of this, in some way, in some capacity. He did get a mini version of himself out of this, and his narcissistic ass kind of really loves that part of the deal. “Not entirely.”

“Oh, go on.” Amy smiles, “What am I missing? Why did you stay?”

“Because it’s you.”

Why is she Amy?

Because if she wasn’t, he wouldn’t be Dan.

“Is this the part where I swoon, and you get down on one knee, and the whole hospital staff applauds when I agree to marry you?” She’s smirking - that bitch! - and she licks her lips, holds her breath for a second.

“Is this where we elope and move to the suburbs and fuck maybe once every three months and I don’t let you finish?” Biting her lip, “Is this where you say you love me?”

She drags out that word, and Dan’s face near drowns of all colour. Fuck her.

“You’re a real cunt, you know that?”

She just nods, sheepish, lets the hand in her lap move to brush against his own, toying with her blue gown, “You love this cunt.”

“I do.” His palm runs along her stomach, stops just above the space between her legs. “And you love this dick.”

Amy smiles, ducks her head, understands him straight away yet doesn’t exactly deny it, “Fuck you.”

“Oh, believe me, you will. I’m just waiting until we can leave and they clear you for sex.”

“You’re seriously fucking turned on by this, aren’t you? That’s some next level, twisted mommy-issue shit right there, Dan.”

“Babe, the only mommy I’m thinking about right now is you.”

“If you start calling yourself ‘daddy’, I swear your balls are getting the chop.”

“Daddy Egan?” He boasts, beams.

“Just my luck.”

[succinct-assbutt]

I Think I Wanna Marry You...(Part 3)

Pairing: Dean X Reader.

Warnings: fluff, mild angst, Dean being a jealous bb

S/P/N- Sister’s Preferred Name.

Word count: 5k O_O

Summary: Dean, trying to get accustomed to Y/N’s family and her life in Boston, finds himself worrying about their very own lives together and what the future holds. Will he manage to find a permanent position in her life, or is it all just a role he must play for these two weeks?

Part 1

Part 2

A/N: I’ve been writing this over a span of two weeks and had initially planned to divide it into two or three parts, but decided against it. I hope you like this.

Tagging: @sassyspn67 , @awkward--jay , @daesunglg​ ,  @hayleynightcore​

                                                      ~*~*~

Dean prays his nervousness doesn’t show in the weak smile he offers the table of gleaming faces. They all stand as the three of them approach, all with welcoming smiles, all eyes trained on Y/N as she walks to them like a prodigal daughter returning home after so long.

 S/P/N goes in for an immediate hug once she’s close enough and engulfs her little sister, squeezing the life out of her. He tries not to chuckle at the way Y/N groans—countless stories about their childhood together, about how close they were and unbreakable bonds and up until today Dean has never once met S/P/N, but he can’t help but find the way she treats her sister amusing.

 The grin on her face is wide as she pulls away. “Look at you!” She says, eyes raking up and down Y/N’s face. “You’re so different now, oh my God!”

 “Please don’t start with me, we only just got here.” The y/h/c-haired girl replies as she straightens out the creases in her skirt. Before she can even get another word out, her mother is at her side, an ambient smile gracing her face.

 “Well, S/P/N’s not wrong.” Her voice is a deep baritone, husky and rich as she gives her daughter a kiss on the cheek then turns to the boys. And that’s when the anxiety comes flooding back.

 A queasiness in his stomach, a twitch in his jaw—something basic and miniscule like breathing or blinking, something he does unconsciously, suddenly feels mechanical. Forced. But the elder Winchester masks it with an amiable smile, the corner’s of his eyes scrunching up. Y/N’s mother’s eyes then travel to his own and her face lights up. “Dean…”

 “Marilyn…” He smiles.

  They hug like their old friends, like this isn’t their third (fourth?) time meeting; that’s the kind of person Y/N’s mom is. Everyone is her friend. Everyone is adored company rather than a burden, and Dean can’t help but feel a bit intimidated by this level of kindness because God, could he pick a leaf.

 Her face folds like dough when she simpers. “looking dapper as ever. Sam, don’t think I’ve forgotten you.”

 S/P/N cuts in, earning the elder Winchester’s attention. “So you’re the esteemed-Dean, huh?” She asks, brown eyes scrutinizing him; despite being her blood, she looks nothing like Y/N. A few join similarities here courtesy of genetics and maybe some shared habits, but Dean knows Y/N enough that he’d be able to distinguish her if she even had a twin.

 “Wow.” S/P/N turns to Y/N with a ribbing smile. “You really know how to pick ‘em.”

 “Shut up.” Y/N rolls her eyes, but the pink-tint in her face is undeniable—so she’s nervous, too. Good. Someone has to be, he thinks. Maybe Y/N can take his place in this apprehensive state, salvage him from his feelings.

 “The stories I’ve heard about you…” S/P/N says fondly. “Welcome. It’s great to finally meet you.”

 “Yeah, likewise. Your sister goes on and on about you.”

 “Likewise.”

 Dean’s expression then shows hwo taken abck he is at that very moment: his eyes widen a smidge and his brows quirk. Turning to Y/N, he asks, “Does she now?”

 The young hunter’s face is a deep red as she shoots her sister a dangerous look, jaw clenched. “Really?”

 “What?”

 Rolling her eyes, she then links her arm with his. “Come on, Dean. There’s still a ton of more people we have to meet.”She says  as she turns and strings him along with her. They scuttle aside, leaving Sam deeply invested in chatter with Marilyn as they venture into the crowd. Amused, the elder Winchester’s smirk doesn’t leave his face as they move.

 He leans in, voice hushed. “So, you talk about me a lot, huh?”

 “Shut up, Winchester.”

 “That’s not a no.”

 “It’s not a yes, either.”

 “Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

 Y/N then halts to a stop and whips around to face him, face constricted with irritation. Satisfaction floods Dean at the sight; pretending they’re in a relationship doesn’t mean abandoning his liking for razzing the young-girl. If anything, he reasons, it’s a catalyst.

 “Dean,…”She warns, her voice as thin as ice. “I’m warning you…I’m not one to shy away from slapping you right in front of all these people?”

 “You wouldn’t do that to your boyfriend…”Smirking, he goes to wrap his arms around her waist and pulls Y/N in, tipping his head down to look at her. Her expression then falters for a moment; her face falls and the fire in her eyes fades; but its brief, almost indiscernible, because seconds later her pout resurfaces.

 Their bodies are flush together, her nimble waist caged in his hands, and Dean tries so hard to ignore the way the tips of his fingers heat up at the contact.

 Instead, he chuckles and loosens his grip. Y/N manages to slip out as she rolls her eyes—even then, her blush is still evident.

 “Come on…”She links Dean’s hand in hers, and leads him over to another table crowded with some cousins and aunts. The garden is dotted with various people, all smiling when they see her, all going in for hugs and pecks on the cheeks and all giving such sly smiles when Y/N says that Dean and her are dating. Some congratulate them, some, whom Dean has had the pleasure of meeting before like Y/N’s cousin Garth, hold a teasing glint in their eyes.

 They talk to relatives and uncles and eerie aunts who, right in front of Y/N, try to hit on Dean. The garden is buzzing with life from all ends, music floating amongst chatter of guests, people dancing,  and as she talks more and more with old friends and relatives, he can see the young girl gradually unwinding.

 Her smile, ever-present and as radiant as star, grows with each second, with each interaction. She’s mirthful. Happy. If that’s the case, Dean wonders, then why was she so reluctant about driving out to Boston? Why had Y/N shown the idea of coming out here such disdain?  The question swims in his mind, but that’s as far as it goes. Dean doesn’t bother asking. That’s not his focus now—his focus now is playing his part and helping her get through these two weeks without any setbacks, and so he allows himself the luxury of sitting back and indulging in the buffet with Y/N. Their earlier hunger returns with a vengeance once they spot the table lined with various foods.

 They’re stacking piles of pastries onto their plates, when all of a sudden comes a voice.

 “How did you two meet?” Uncle Gary, a burly bull trapped in a man’s body, inquires. He’s got hair as grey as the ash on his cigar, and each time he speaks, the thick mustache atop his lip wiggles like a caterpillar. His wife, Steph, stands by his side, eagerly staring and waiting for a response.

 “Uhm..”Dean’s gaze slides to Y/N. She looks back at him, a brief horror flashing on her face. For a few seconds, they panic. Shit.“We met…”

 “In the park!”

 The elder Winchester, shocked, glances over at his girlfriend. She’s smiling at her uncle, her cool demeanor seamlessly in place. If you look hard enough, you can see the glint of pride in her eyes from just saving their asses.

 Uncle Gary’s thick grey brows quirk curiously. “In the park?”

 “Yeah…” Y/N affirms. “Well, by the park. I was, uh, walking my dog one morning when all of a sudden this car comes speeding out of nowhere as we’re crossing.” She casts cursory glance at Dean, who tries not to smile, both in appreciation and subtle arrogance.

 “Yeah.” He supplements, earning the attention momentarily. It’s kind of funny how synchronal they are—a close call like that, teetering along the line between exposing themselves, but Y/N manages to redeem them, and Dean, like a dancer moving to the tune of her symphony, follows without a beat.

  “See, I was on my way to work that morning. I was late, so you can imagine what a rush I was in, right? So there I am, cursing to myself as I speed down the road, one hand on the wheel and the other on my tie, when this fuzzy little poodle—“

 “Jack Russell.” She corrects. “ He was a jack Russell.”

 Dean raises his finger in benediction.  “Right, Jack Russell. So—all of a sudden, he jumps out onto the road and I’m in shock. “

 “Luckily, with quick reflexes like Dean’s, he managed to swerve out of the way. He misses him. ” The young girl plays the role so earnestly, her furrowed brow and weary eyes expression selling her distress. “God, poor Kujo was shaking like a leaf. “

 “So, Y/N, pissed as hell, tries waving me down. She’s running after my car until I finally pull over and she comes up to my window, and just starts exploding.” Dean’s eyes widen for emphasis, his hands waving in the air. It’s a known trait of his. Whenever telling story, to try and spice thing up or make them seem much more exciting than they actually are, the elder Winchester will flail around and pull faces, and Y/N won’t admit it, but she find it absolutely adorable.

 “She’s going on about calling the cops and road rules and safety, but at that moment all I’m focusing on is how goddamn y/e/c her eyes are.” He explains. He doesn’t notice that, as soon as the words leave him, the young girl’s face flushes red. He goes on, says something more, something that makes Aunt Steph’s face fold and crease like cookie dough as she smiles, and then finishes off with a firm arm around her shoulder.

 He gives it a firm squeeze, his eyes crinkled with a smile. “Long story short: I didn’t even show up for work in the end.”

 “Wow.” Aunt Steph’s grey eyes go wide like planets. “Unconventional grounds indeed.”

 “That story was a rollercoaster from start to finish! Loved it!” Uncle Gary, smile engulfing his face, slaps a friendly hand onto Dean’s shoulder who glances at Y/N.

 The pair shares a confided glance, their pride shining in the way they smirk at each other. They’ve pulled it off.  

 The elder Winchester offers a proud smile, fighting the urge to turn to his partner, to pull his lips back in a teasing smirk, for the smugness in his eyes to say I told you so, I told you the doggie hit-and-run would sell. Instead, however, he focuses on Uncle Gary telling him about his very own Terrier that nearly got hit by cyclist as she and her aunt wander off to the sidelines.

 “Well, well, well…” Someone says from behind them.  Dean instinctively turns; his eyes meet with a pair of deep blue ones staring intently at him, at Y/N, a lopsided grin set onto the stranger’s face. His hair, a deep onyx, cascades down his neck to his shoulders. He’s dressed in a suit, very official, very formal, and it makes the elder Winchester’s stomach turn for a moment.

 “Look who it is.” The stranger says.

 Dean furrows his brow. “Excuse me?”

 “Rick!”

 His head snaps in the Y/N’s direction, and his confusions swells even more when he sees the wide grin lacing the young girl’s face.

 Her eyes trained on the stranger, she shakes her head slowly. “Oh my God.”

 “Missed me?” The stranger smirks at her, then goes in for a hug.

 Dean steps aside and out of the way, trying not to bump into the table and almost topples over a tray of croissants. He watches, bewildered, as the two exchange pleasantries. Y/N’s arms are slung around his neck, as she giggles then pulls away.

 “Very much.” She smiles at him. “Wow. It’s been so long.”

 “Hasn’t it?”

 “Dean!”

 The elder Winchester, attention grasped, looks to her. She points at the blue-eyed man. “This is Rick—Rick Montoijia! He was my neighbor when I still lived my parents from, like, two houses down. Uhm, rick, this is my boyfriend, Dean.”

 “Heya.” Rick stretches his hand out for a shake. Hesitating, Dean eyes it momentarily and then finally accepts the gesture.

 “Hi….” His eyes scan the stranger’s face dubiously, his grip firm, trying to assert dominance. And all of a sudden, something has brewed in his chest.

 Something hot and vehement in the space below his ribs; an energy, a sense of intimidation. It’s stupid to feel, yes, but Dean can’t help it—his chest floods with a jealousy as he lets go of the other man’s hand.

 With an excited smile, Y/N addresses Rick. “What are you doing here? We—I haven’t seen you in ages.”

 “S/P/N’s wedding.” He points to Y/N’s sisters standing a few meters away. “Obviously I knew you’d be in town for that. I figured,’ well, when was the last time I saw Y/N L/N?’ and here I am.”

 “Here you are.” Dean cuts in.

 All eyes shift to him. Y/N peers over Rick’s shoulder, trying to get a better glimpse, and the green-eyed hunter offers a strained smile; one far from genuine, something the young girl is obviously familiar with, because her smile begins to melt away at the sight. Dean doesn’t care. His gaze then shifts to Rick, whose smile is still smeared across his chiseled face.

 “Uhm, yeah…”The dark-haired man laughs nervously. “Here I am. So…”His attention averts onto Y/N. “How long are you gonna be in town? We need to catch up.”

 “Definitely. I’m here for—“

 “We’re here—“

 “—for two weeks. Yeah, we’re here for two weeks.” Y/N finishes, voice holding a dangerous edge to it. Dean chooses to ignore it, instead focusing on the way the dark-haired stranger’s face lights up with mirth.

 “Wow. That’s great.”

 “It really is, Rick. Anyhow, it was great meeting you, but we have to go.”

 “What?”

 Dean doesn’t give her a chance to object as his hand goes to Y/N’s waist, and he nudges her forward, quickly trying to get away as fast as possible. Luckily, they succeed; standing behind them, Rick offers a weak, awkward goodbye as they move further away. In his chest, dean’s heart thrums rapidly, incessantly.

 His jealousy boils like a hot stew, threatening to spill over, and he suffocates it; he’s being irrational. He’s being stupid. That guy is just one of Y/N’s many friends, he reasons. He’s just another familiar face from Boston, a ghost from her past, nothing too serious…

 But the call to worry is stronger than reprimand for Dean.

 When she notices his stiffness, Y/N turns to look at the elder Winchester. Concern swims in her y/e/c eyes. “You okay?”

 Attention grasped, Dean turns to her, finds her imploring eyes set on him. They’re back inside, sitting with Sam and the bride and groom, and the band is playing some variation of Eric Clapton’s Wonderful Tonight.

 Trying to stifle his feelings, the elder Winchester regains composure, offering a tight-smile. “Oh, yeah.”

 “Sure? You seem…absent. Like something’s bothering you.”

 “No, nothing’s wrong.” He lets out a sigh. He tries to steady the quaking in his core, letting his gaze drift across the room. Y/N scoots closer in and rests her head on his shoulder. Her hair tickles his jaw.

 “If you say so…”She says with sigh, her breath fanning against his skin. Her body is warm against his, like a tepid lava flowing down his skin, soothing, therapeutic almost.

 “Good job back there with nearly killing my dog, by the way. Put on quite the show.”

 The elder Winchester laughs. It’s soft and feint but she can feel it in the rumble of his body beneath her head.

 “Yeah, well, what can I say—I’m a sucker for theatre.”

 “Are you now?”

 “Oh yeah, massive fan. Plus, anything to get my story told.” Dean senses it hanging in the air like a string suspended between them, a silent question. It’s quiet for moment.  He then tips his head to glimpse down at her, a smile playing at his lips.

 “Say it.”

 “I don’t want to.”

 “You have to.”

 Y/N bites her smile back, a row of her chalky white teeth contrasting the burgundy on her lips, then lets it all bubble out. “Fine! You were right. Your good looks and charm won me over—there, are you happy?”

 Dean doesn’t bother to try and mask his smile. “Extremely.”

 “What’re you guys talking about?”

 His head turns; S/P/N waddles over and pulls out a chair a few seats away, smiling as she sits down. She folds the pleats in her burgundy skirt over.

 “Stuff.” Replies Y/N, head still draped against Dean’s shoulder.

 “What kinda stuff?”

 “Couple stuff. Dean and Y/N stuff. You wouldn’t understand.” She smirks; then Dean pokes her side and she lets out a giggle; it’s a sweet, quiet sound, like the hum of a bird or the wind wisping through the trees, and it makes the pit in the elder Winchester’s stomach from earlier yawn open.

 As Y/N speaks with her sister, the elder Winchester feels a flood of melancholy coming on. He can always tell when it’s happening; it’s like watching everything around you happening at a normal pace when all of a sudden things are slowed down, sluggish, delayed. That’s what Dean feels like right now. He loathes it.

 The evening is electric and dressed in a celebratory energy. More guests have arrived for the dinner, all pouring in in massive crowds and gaudy sartorial dresses. Dean has to stand when he greets them all, offering an amiable smile, the occasional hug and peck as they all fawn—oh my God, the Dean? Y/N’s Dean?

 It gets annoying having to hear everybody so jubilant over meeting him, at a point. They’re excited to be meeting their sister’s boyfriend, their niece’s lover, the man whom she, too, shall bring back here to Boston in a few years to wed. To them, Dean assumes, meeting him is a gateway to another one of this sartorial dinners just a few years ahead.

 To him, it’s plain insulting.

 Why did he even agree to this? Playing pretend had seemed less tedious in his mind. Doing it now, the elder Winchester is wrought with negative emotions; with jealousies and blind resentments and a bitterness because he shall have anything but this future with Y/N, and God, is he pissed.

 “Dean,” She says, pulling him from his reverie. Aunt Steph and good ol’ Gary sit across from them, sipping on some champagne and laughing with Y/N’s parents, and to their left is S/P/N and Japheth. Everyone is laughing and chatting and the air reeks of jubilance, except for the corner where a heavy grey cloud hangs over Dean’s head.

 Y/N’s hand is on his as he turns to her, her y/e/c eyes trained intently on his. “What’s wrong?” She pries. He has to say something. Lying would only act as a catalyst for his negative emotions (lying to Y/N, at least). So, instead, Dean heaves a heavy breaths and gathers the feelings in his chest into a single nest.

 “Nothing’s wrong.” He says. “I’m just trying to let this all sink in. Your family. It’s pretty overwhelming meeting all the people in your life who mean the world to you.”

 “I’m sorry if this isn’t how you planned to spend the next two weeks, Dean.” Y/N’s gaze falters, moving to their hands loosely draped over each other.  

 Dean’s eyes follow. He shrugs and, taking her hand in his, slowly links them together absentmindedly. Their fingers fit perfectly, like a key slipping into a lock, like a tight knot, and he tries to ignore it.

 “Don’t be, Y/N.” He replies. “Besides—I’m the one who offered this in the first place. I don’t really have the luxury of complaining.”

 “Should I give it to you?”

  “Keep it.”

 “Sure?

 When Dean finally looks up, he finds Y/N’s eyes trained on him, her lips pulled back in pleasant smile. In the background, the music slows to a stop as it shifts to the next song. More upbeat, more jazzy and fun. The room’s chatter provides the perfect undertone, but Dean ignores it—all of it, because all he can focus on right now is Y/N.

 His Y/N. For tonight, for two weeks.

 Whatever.

 He’ll take what he can get, even if it’s having the honor of playing her boyfriend for a period of time and then going back to being just her best-friend; to being her Dean and not her Dean.  Going back to a life where she sees their relationship, although intense, as nothing more than a deep friendship.

 It’s only been a few hours, but it’s crazy how much can be revealed to you in such a span of time. Dean sees it now—sees Y/N and, even if he didn’t think it possible, even more of her than he already has. He sees Y/N in her element, with her family, with her friends and with a sense of mirth radiating off her…And as great as it is, all it does for him is nudge at the thought that he shall never be part of that.

 They mean a lot to each other, he knows that much, but today has made him wonder if he will ever be part of Y/N’s suburban life, whether he’ll breach past their life spent in the bunker and in pages of lore and into that which holds this very idyllic essence.

 The thought, daunting and unfortunately saddening, hits the elder Winchester like a ton of bricks. He immediately turns away. He rests his focus on something—anything—that isn’t Y/N smiling at him and causing an uproar in the space behind his heart.

 The night simmers on, laced with laughter and chatter and smiles too bright for Dean to bare. He only watches from the sidelines, an observer, a spectator...Y/N is the center of the orbit that is the eclectic crowd. She smiles and the entire room responds with an abundance of simpers; her laugh is a mellifluous symphony overpowering the music, her eyes glint like the stars in the sky and she throws her head back and captivates the attention of everyone in the room. She reels them all in like a magnet, like she’s magic…

 And to Dean she is…

 She always has been and always will be. She is ethereal and glimmering and inside her is a flame and a tornado and such vehemence that would tear a mere mortal apart, but doesn’t even scratch her skin the slightest.

 Y/N is magic and she will always be magic, and Dean knows this. He wishes he didn’t, but he does, and it hurts…Because the hollowness in his chest that comes from watching her so radiant makes him wonder why he said yes to the torture of being just another planet in her orbit in the first place…

 ~*~

 The list is exceedingly long, but what stands out predominantly on the account of things they were meant to discuss before they left home (but didn’t), is the sleeping arrangement.

 Standing in their hotel bedroom, the elder Winchester stares at the single bed, at the six fat pillows nested at the head and the vast comforter definitely two huge for two. It’s a lover’s suit; of course the hotel would be expecting customer’s to be doing anything but sleeping in these sheets, but Dean’s case is the exception.

 Y/N is in the bathroom getting ready for bed. The sound of the shower running echoes throughout the otherwise silent room and the elder Winchester feels a small welt of nervousness claw at his belly. They’ve shared beds before. This shouldn’t be a big deal…

 But…

 God, he’s acting like a teenage boy with this. It’s not that hard, Dean tells himself. They can even divide it into two regions if they want, Y/N’s, and then the extremely comfy one with the extra pillow for him. They can sort this out. It doesn’t have to be awkward, eh tries to reason, but something tugs at his gut and tells him otherwise, because Dean feels all sorts of anxious.

 Maybe it’s the thought of lying to sleep with her after the mortal sin they’ve just committed throughout the day: fraud. Artifice. Maybe, Dean thinks, it’s the fact that they’ll have to pretend to be together even as they lay to sleep that terrifies him maybe it’s the lover’s suit. He and Y/N are anything but. All the times they’ve slept in the same bed in the past, it’s been in dingy, itchy, sketchy motels, not five stars hotels that probably provide complimentary condoms.

 He lifts the thick blanket on the bed and crawls under it, trying to get comfortable. The bed is cloud, embracing him, engulfing him into its form like it’s an amoeba and him its prey. God, this is comfy. Dean’s eyes flutter and he tips his head back in subtle ecstasy.

 Right at that moment, the door to the bathroom swings open.

 Y/N stomps out in pajama shorts and a towel clasped tightly to her chest, eyes wide as she glimpses around the room. Opening his eyes, Dean then ctaches her gaze.

 “Sorry.” She apologizes and points to her beg at the foot of the bed. “I just need my shirt from my suitcase. Don’t look!”

 “No promises.” But he doesn’t, instead covering his eyes with one hand. He hears the patter of feet and the rustling of clothes as Y/N retrieves the garment, then rushes back into the bathroom. When she returns, a moment later, this time she’s fully clothed.

 “The pressure here is ace.” Y/N says, holding her fingers up in an appropriate gesture as she saunters towards the bed. She hauls her bag off and onto the floor, then climbs up, pushing the blanket aside.

 “I can’t remember the last time I took a shower and didn’t want to get out.”

 Dean lowers his hand and looks at her; hair wet and clinging to her skin, her face is bare, all the makeup from today washed away into the drain. A few pimples dot the surface of her cheeks and, although feint, there’s a single splatter of freckles just below her jaw line that Dean always finds himself admiring.

 “That’s good to know. In other news: the sleeping arrangement. How’s this gonna work?”

 “You mean top or bottom?”

 “Grow up.”

 Y/N’s grin never falters as she laughs. “I don’t really mind, Dean. If it bothers you, you could always take the floor.”

 “I never said it bothers me…”

 “Does it?”

 Her eyes are staring intently into his and he’s trying too damn hard to not get caught up in them. He shouldn’t. the moment is far from appropriate. She’s basically telling him to get out of the bed and spend the night on the floor like a hound, and heaven be damned if Dean is going to let himself focus on anything but defending himself.

 So he tips his head back slightly, locks his eyes on hers, and says, “Not at all.”

 “Then goodnight, Winchester.” Y/N smiles, before turning the night-light off and wiggling further under the blanket.

 Dean mirrors her. He slides beneath it, letting it came up to his chest and closes his eyes. He can feel the steady beat of his heart, the pulse of his blood. Sleep hovers over him like a phantom but never once dares to preside.

 Minutes pass and he’s still awake. The elder Winchester fidgets, turning on his side, eyes meeting the bright glare of the moonlight invading the room. He checks his watch on the bedside table. Two am. Still up. His eyelids feel heavy and a yawn pries his mouth open, but Dean can’t sleep, and it’s an insomnia, the worst kind of insomnia, that he’s too familiar with.

 He’s dabbled in it in the past; with the mark of cain and in purgatory. When he was demon, when Sam was soulless and when Cas was presumed dead. Dean knows this plague, greets it like an old friend, doesn’t even bother fighting it, but there’s no denying that it’s annoying. He wants rest—needs it. The last thing he needs right now is a visit from this phantom that keeps him up, staring at the blank ceiling.

 A few seconds subside when silence is broken by hushed voice.

 “Dean ar—you’re awake?” Y/N rolls over, her droopy eyes meeting his.

 The elder Winchester nods silently. His eyes burn.

 “How come?”

 “I don’t know.”

 “What do you mean you don’t know? You don’t know why you can’t sleep?”

 “That’s what I just said.”

 The sheets shift. Y/N props herself up on her elbow, looking at him, her eyes still swimming with sleep. He wonders what woke her, but remains silent as he turns to meet her gaze.

 Y/N’s eyes are somber and intently set on him; there’s a weight on her heart for a moment, something that visibly bring out the worry in her gaze. “Nightmares?”

 She’s been with him through all of them; all those times mentioned, all those calamites in his life, Y/N has walked through them with Dean. Consequently, she can tell when something’s up. It’s comforting for Dean to know that’s she’s so in sync with him, that they’ve got this visceral connection that alerts her when something’s up, but unfortunately now it’s a bit of a false alarm.

 He shakes his head. “No. Just can’t sleep.”

 “Oh…” She voices simply and within a moment the solemnity fades. Then comes the sound of the sheets shifting, Y/N sitting up and she turns on the nightlight. The warm light right away glares onto the side of his face. Dean squints, lolling his head to the side.

 Y/N’s hair dangles around her face as she looks at him. “Anything I can do to help? Get a glass of water, sing you a lullaby?”

 “Rock me to sleep?” He supplements.

 She shrugs. “Anything.”

 Then, chuckling, elder Winchester turns away and allows his gaze to float back to the ceiling. y/N continues to speak in the background, going on about the day and tomorrow and how everything’s going to go down so that everything turns out as planned. She’s notified Sam already, apparently. Unlike Dean, he won’t have to do much besides be himself and distract Marilyn for the weekend…

 But for Dean, Y/N proclaims, it’s going to be a long two weeks: he’s going to have to do a lot more than he’d anticipated; more work, more fraud. For the following days he must wear his disguise as though it is anything but…and the funny thing? Dean knows it’s going to be elementary…

 Because they can only get so much closer.

 Because they, before today, already spent nights in bed chatting about everything and anything that came to mind; because he already used to walk inches close to her and comb his fingers through her hair and laugh and feel (God, did he feel), and so maybe this is going to be a walk in the park. Maybe it will be easy, Dean thinks—until he’s reminded of earlier at dinner and the gaping hole in his chest.

                                                       ~*~*~

Part 4

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