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rrxnjun · 1 year ago

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where do broken hearts go? [lmk]

you know what they say about past lovers that can remain just as friends - either they're still in love with each other, or they never were in the first place.

pairing: mark lee x fem! reader

genre: exes to lovers. angst, fluff.

wc: 12k (11.926)

warnings: mention of sex, weed and alcohol, heartbreak, swearing, park jihoon of treasure is one sassy bitch and also accidentally somehow the main character of this fanfic plz dont @ me, inconsistent writing style bc i took 3 months and 3 depressive episodes to finish this fic

playlist: where do broken hearts go - one direction / too good to say goodbye - bruno mars / everytime - ariana grande / closer - waterparks / tornado warnings - sabrina carpenter / survive the night - the boyz

a/n: hey do some of you still remember me..... AHAHA tell a friend to tell a friend rrxnjun is BACK! this fic isn't the ideal vision i had in my mind but we are working on not being so hard on ourselves with our writing so! here we are. i still kind of like it :,)

When you walk up to your best friend’s apartment one day with a tub of ice cream under your arm and the biggest pout on your face, Park Jihoon makes a complete list of things you should do to get over your failed relationship with Mark Lee. And while you think your dear friend has some psychopathic tendencies sometimes, you’d say the list is actually pretty reasonable of him.

There’s something about the five simple steps that makes you wonder if it’s really as easy as Jihoon makes it sound. And while you doubt it– because the pinging pain in your heart makes it seem like the heartbreak is truly going to kill you in a few minutes if you don’t do something about it– you give it a try, because come on… you’d do anything to not feel like this ever again.

Step one – cry it out.

“He was a cunt anyway,” Jihoon mutters as he steps into the living room with two spoons in his hands, throwing one of them to you– while almost managing to hit you in the middle of your forehead in the process, adding a concussion to the mix of problems you have going on right now– and you find yourself furrowing your brows at his hateful comment.

“Why’d you say that?”

“Well, as your best friend, I’m supposed to be on your side, no?” he says as he takes a seat on the sofa next to you, watching as you wrap one of the thick blankets you got for the male around your figure– you bought it mainly for yourself, because his apartment is cold as a freezer and you knew he wouldn’t buy one for you to use in the first place– and shrugs. “Besides, he broke your heart, and any male who does that is a cunt in my eyes.”

“I broke up with him,” you mourn, “so I broke my own heart,” you snicker, despair fully filling you up from the inside– fitting everywhere into your lungs and choking you up from how bad you truly feel. Now, this isn’t your first breakup– you’ve had your fair share of boyfriends in high school (in your baddie era, as Jihoon called it), but Choi Yeonjun from Maths class and Jung Woonyoung, the guy you dated for a total of 2 months over the summer break before he moved away, weren’t exactly boys you found yourself falling in love with. Sure, you liked them, you kissed them and went on dates with them– hell, you even hooked up with Yeonjun once before you realized the relationship truly wasn’t for you– but no one managed to cave into your heart just as much as Mark Lee, your first college boyfriend did.

“But you sure had a reason for it, come on!” Jihoon huffs, taking the tub of ice cream from your hands and opening it for you, since you’ve gotten quite weak from the lack of sleep and nutritions ever since the break up, hands clammy and not cooperating. “You don’t just break up with someone to break your own heart. He did that, that’s why you said goodbye to him,” he says before sitting the enormous tub of ice cream between your two bodies, nudging you to dig into the frozen delicacy.

“Yeah, but–”

“No buts, young lady. We are here to make you forget you ever even dated Mark Lee, so open up, eat the ice cream and focus your attention on Titanic so you can finally cry it out,” he says, and by the tone of his voice, you’d think he’s angry with you. Jihoon has this aura around him that makes you think he’s always at least a little annoyed at everything– but he told you to not mind it and that it’s just his sassy bitch attitude.

He does have a point, though. You broke up with Mark because he broke your heart first– there was no other reason for it. If it was something minor, something small, you were sure you could work on it. You have, numerous of times before, brought up something and had a mature conversation about it– something you always so admired about Mark, being so cautious and understanding when navigating problems in the relationship– but when you bring up the same thing over and over, and it never gets fixed despite him telling you he’ll try harder next time, you think you’re allowed to feel a little heartbroken at his nonexistent efforts. And that’s exactly why you decided to quit the relationship– after a while, you felt like you were putting in more effort than he was, effectively making you feel like he’s not even that interested in dating you in the first place.

First, he just told you he was forgetful. He forgot he promised to pick you up from class one day– and you said that it’s okay, he is busy, after all– and it was the first time it happened, so you didn’t really mind that much, truly. Then, he forgot about the date you scheduled– but it was fine, because you didn’t have reservations anyway, you could change the day to any other day of the week, after all. He kept forgetting the stuff you told him in between the conversations you shared– and it was small things, you understand, but sometimes, you wondered if he was ever really listening to you at all.

Forgetful soon turns not interested in your eyes, and when he doesn’t call you in the evening like he promised he would, when he doesn’t show up to the party you invited him to, because he forgot it was that day, you’re one step closer to calling it quits, because each and every one of these situations sends a sharp pain into your stomach. The last straw was just last week, though– and realistically, it was an important day, as much that you thought the day is somehow gonna fix everything, but the truth is somewhere completely else as Mark Lee forgets about your one year anniversary and never shows up at your doorstep for the dinner you prepared for the two of you like he promised he would.

And it doesn’t click in him two days after either– you don’t even get a text. He got so forgetful over time that he forgot about you completely, and that’s when you took an uber to his place and broke up with him for good.

And even though the breakup was the most painful thing you’ve ever felt yourself go through, Jihoon is right– you’re not the one that broke your own heart. Mark Lee did that for you many times before, and this was just the breaking point.

“Fucking hell, you bought cookies and cream again?” Jihoon huffs when he takes another spoonful of the ice cream into his mouth, eyebrows furrowing at the sweet taste. Looking at him from the corner of your eye, you wipe your left cheek as you hum, immune to his nagging by now.

“You know I hate cookies and cream!”

“You know, Hoon, I bought this for myself. When you’re the one that’s heartbroken, we’ll share your favorite ice cream flavor instead,” you mumble, munching on the coldness on your tongue, sniffling a little when your eyes avert to the TV screen.

And after that, the teasing from your best friend’s side stops. Maybe it’s just because he hates to see you cry– and he rarely gets the chance, if you’re being honest, since you’re pretty good at handling your emotions– but you secretly know that it’s because when he looks back at the TV screen in front of the two of you, the sad part of the movie hasn’t even started yet and the tears are not the result of the movie, but of your own thoughts instead.

Step two – give him back all of his stuff and the stuff he’s given you that reminds you of him. Demand that he does the same.

Now, step two was a thing most couples do when they break up. Realistically, it makes sense– you wouldn’t want stuff that’s not yours just laying around, and also, it’s just bound to remind you of the person you lost. Naturally, you’d want to return it.

“Why does he have to return my things as well?” you mutter under your breath as Jihoon helps you fold all Mark’s hoodies into a cardboard box, alongside with wrapping the little things your ex boyfriend made out of ceramic for you in tissue paper like you asked him to– even though he complained and said that it shouldn’t matter to you if they break, because you are the heartbroken one– but you held those little things too close to your heart to let them get damaged in the first place.

“Because that’s how it works,” Jihoon hums, watching as you throw another one of Mark’s shirts onto the top of his head, shielding his vision. “What, you don’t want your stuff back?”

“I mean…” you mumble, deeply considering of the fact that the thought of getting your stuff back didn’t even cross your mind until now, before you realize your favorite pair of socks is thrown somewhere in Mark’s drawers– the blue ones with peaches on them– and you suddenly have the revelation that while you don’t necessarily need the stuff back, you’d love to wear those socks again. “I guess…” you note as you walk over to Jihoon and take a glance into the full cardboard box, looking over the stuff and chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“It’s like witchcraft, y’know,” Jihoon points out, looking at you with fierce eyes mirroring the stupid idea that just flashed through his brain, “if you don’t exchange the things, a piece of you is still kept at his apartment and you won’t be able to move on.”

And again, Park Jihoon does have psychopathic tendencies, but he may be onto something here. So you listen to him as you nod along and close the cardboard box, ready to drive over to Mark Lee’s apartment and drop off the things you’ve collected from him for the past year. The box includes all of the clothes messily scattered across your drawers and your closet, the picture frame of you two together that you always had on your night stand, the ceramic bowls and a little tiger sculpture he made for you when he took a pottery class with his friend Renjun, and the lost guitar pics you found under your bed and at the very top of your bookshelf from when he used to bring his guitar along and play you songs on rainy afternoons. The only things of Mark’s that you kept were the love letter he gave you for your birthday and the USB with his cover of Justin Bieber’s Off my face on it that he shyly gifted to you on one of your dates; but you would never tell Jihoon that in fear of him getting rid of those most precious memories for you.

It’s good to let go, but you don’t think you’re wrong for wanting to keep something to remind you of the good times. The times you still felt loved by Mark.

“Off we go,” you say, standing up and bringing the box towards your front door, your best friend at your feet. He promised to drive you to Mark’s place– you think he’s worried about you meeting your ex-boyfriend face to face for the first time since the break up, but he said it’s because you’re too broke to Uber all the time, efficiently throwing all the considerate thoughts you were accrediting him out the window– and after a few minutes of the drive, you find yourself standing on the doorstep of Mark Lee's apartment.

Taking a deep breath in and out, almost chickening out with the flood of thoughts and excuses you could say to Jihoon when you come back to his car with the box still in your hands– sayings like “he wasn’t home” or “he didn’t want those back”, the latter stupider than the first– you decide to face your problems head-on and finally knock on the mahogany door, waiting for Mark to answer. And he does– of course he does, because he’s always home, and as his ex-girlfriend of one year, you're painfully aware of the fact– but when that happens, you feel your heart falling all the way down to your stomach, crushing you and suddenly making it hard for you to breathe.

“Um… hi,” he greets you, voice a little groggy, as if he hasn’t spoken in a while– and when you meet his eyes, the deep chocolate orbs you always found yourself admiring and writing silent odes to in your head, you quickly glance away in fear of staring into them for too long and making decisions you wouldn’t like to make.

“Hi,” you awkwardly greet back, clearing your throat and moving a little in your place, shifting the weight from one foot to the other. You're surprised you're able to keep up with the conversation, thoughts running in your brain faster than you can comprehend them, heartbeat ringing in your ears from the unexpected anxiety. Maybe Jihoon was right and you should've taken a shot before coming here– at least you'd have more courage and social skills clearly needed for this kind of interaction. “I… brought you back your things,” you say, finally looking up at the male and chewing on your lips, letting out an awkward, tense laugh when he stares at you with an empty look, “figured you’d want them back,” you add, watching as the male opens his mouth and closes it in what seems to be shock before he presses his lips tightly together and nods at you.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he watches you clumsily hold up the cardboard box to him, ready to leave his stuff there with him and escape as fast as you can, not really minding how you'll get back to Jihoon's car– if jumping down the window of the entrance hall is the fastest option, you're ready to get to it. The truth is, everything is starting to get a little too hard to bear– his familiar scent filling your nose, the hoodie he wore to your first date enveloping his figure, his messy hair reminding you of the many times you brushed your fingers through it in attempts to smooth it down. It’s only been two weeks since you last saw him, but it was starting to feel as if you forgot about him already and were now relearning all the things you once fell in love with again, looking at him in the same light, yet noticing him and all the small details a little bit differently. “Thanks, I… I actually, uh… I have your stuff here too, so if you want it back I’ll– I can just–”

“Y-yeah,” you nod, almost a little too eagerly, “that would be… cool,” you say, trying hard to ignore the fact that he had your stuff packed too, intending to give it to you, and the crashing reality that comes with it, telling you he was prepared to do this before you were and how it’s making you feel kind of shitty.

Mark moves further into the apartment, the sound of him dropping the box to the floor filling your ears before he’s back at the door in no time, a similar cardboard box in his hands that he offers to you with a tense smile on his face. “Wanted to bring it around so I had an excuse to see you, but you, uh… beat me to it, I guess…”

Looking at him as you take the box out of his hands, gaze as if to tell him not to say such words to you when you’re still so fragile to his effect, you only nod and mutter out a simple “Thanks,” before you turn on your heel and intend to take the stairs back down.

“I’ll… see you around, then?” Mark calls after you as you take the first step out– something about it making you feel like it’s the first step out of his life, in a way– and you only nod, because one, you truly don’t know how else to reply to this question, and two, you really, really don’t know if you’ll ever see him again, but you can't bring yourself to say it to his face. Somehow, it would feel like torture to admit it– and you're not prepared for that reality just yet.

Rushing outside and getting into Jihoon's car, you almost feel like you’re on the verge of breaking, and when the male asks you how it went as he’s reversing out of the parking lot, you only bid him a one-word reply before you look through the box on your way home, too impatient to stay back from the memories.

And Jihoon didn’t really think this one through, because the fact that you gave Mark back the things that reminded you of him meant that he did the same, and now all the things you brought along to Mark’s apartment were in the cardboard box, all stained with countless memories and feelings attached to each and every single thing. The artwork you made for him, the little heart-shaped keychain you gave him for his birthday, the plant you gave him that was now long dead and dried out– those were once your stuff, but all in this world with the intention of love being sent out through them to your now ex-lover, and the fact that they’re in your possession again instead of his is not making letting go of Mark any easier.

And maybe Mark was right and he truly was forgetful, because as you rummage through the contains of the box, while you find out your favorite blue socks are nowhere to be seen, surely still buried somewhere in the drawers of his closet, obliterated out of his memory, there’s a gray hoodie sitting at the bottom and it’s surely not yours– it’s his and it was always your favorite, and you always used to wear it at his place when you got cold or when you just really wanted to smell his cologne, and you suddenly don't know if it's presence in the box slipped his mind or if he truly left it there on purpose.

Couldn’t he forget about that too?

Step three – block his number.

The third step comes into place after you accidentally slip out to Jihoon about the phone call you get on a Friday night– more like two hours into Saturday already– and now, most of all, you must admit that your best friend might be right about his advice.

Your phone starts ringing at 2:11 AM, and while you weren’t sleeping– you’ve been having some trouble with dozing off without being overbeared with thoughts lately– the name flashing on your screen shocks you for more reasons than one.

Mark Lee calls you, three weeks after your breakup, in the middle of the night. You haven’t spoken since the time he gave you back your stuff, and even though you’ve done quite a bit of stalking on his social media, you have no news of him or his whereabouts. Naturally, a call from him in the middle of the night startles you and shakes you to the core. He has no reason to call you, so your brain does the math and concludes there must be an emergency– and god knows that even after being hurt by him, you could never ignore him and leave him hanging in a state of need.

So you pick up– with shaky hands and a raging heartbeat, expecting the worst. Listening to the other side of the line, you take a deep breath in and out, bracing yourself for the impact of the words you’re going to hear. The voice on the other side is laced with haziness and his tone is almost a little tired– worn out, even– when he finally greets you from wherever he is.

“Hi,” Mark says, and for a second, your heartbeat steadies itself and the world stops spinning– he sounds okay, and for a moment, you’re grateful to hear his voice.

Humming, as if to collect your thoughts, you clear your throat before you offer him an answer. “Hello,” you greet, “what’s- what’s up?”

“Just wanted to hear your voice,” he says, almost a little abruptly to your question. He doesn't overthink his answer and he doesn't give himself time to think if it's a good idea or not– he just blurts it out and now it's your problem to deal with, when it's there, out in the open. Your palms get sweaty and you start to lose feeling in your fingertips, making you take a few seconds to yourself to process the situation before you decide to finally answer to the strange sentence.

“It’s late, Mark,” you mumble, and you involuntarily wonder if the sentence doesn’t have double meaning– it's too late for anyone to call at this hour, and at the same time, it’s been weeks since your ex boyfriend lost the privilege of listening to your voice when he can’t sleep in the middle of the night whenever he feels like it– and it’s now too late to do anything about it or make it any easier to deal with.

“Shit, sorry,” he chuckles to himself, and you suddenly recognise the laziness in his voice to be the effect of his and his best friend Hyuck’s Friday endeavors; the sweet coating of his voice being the effect of none other than the momentary bliss that comes with the relaxation of his body and mind when he's high. “Didn’t realize,” he concludes, making you shake your head at him in disbelief– not really mattering that he can’t see you in the act.

“‘s okay,” you mumble– and in your perfect reality, you hang up the phone now. In your perfect reality, you connect it to your charger and close your eyes, calling it a night. You fall asleep with no thoughts rummaging through your brain and wake up in the morning to a new sunny day, ready to take on the responsibilities of what’s to come, having productive days ended with smiles and a hot dinner you make for yourself just because you feel like it. In your perfect reality, you protect your own heart. This is not your perfect reality, though– and that’s why you stay on the line, listening to Mark ramble on the other side of the phone, intoxicated and slightly out of it. You wonder if he’ll remember calling you when he wakes up tomorrow. You wonder if he’ll regret it, or if he’ll just shrug his shoulders at the fact and go on with his day, not really paying you much thought when he’s sober.

“I was with Hyuck just now,” he says, and you hear the rustling of his sheets on the other side of the line, making you wonder if he’s washed up and ready for bed, “and– and I remembered how we all used to hang out together, y’know… you with us all– you always clicked with my friends and it was so cool and stuff… and I realized, right, they’re not as funny when you’re not around… but anyways… Jeno’s girlfriend asked about you, ‘cause she didn’t know…and telling her felt so silly, ‘cause they all kept looking at me and I knew they were pitying me, but it was my fault in the first place–”

“Mark–”

“No, it’s true. And it’s cool, I don’t– I don’t blame you, or anything. I just… I dunno, I guess it got me wondering…”

The line goes silent on the other side, and you settle into your own bed, giving him time to continue. When he doesn’t say anything for a long time, you wonder if he’s fallen asleep.

“Mark?”

“Hm?”

“You still there?”

“Yeah. How was your day?” he asks, tone of voice casual as ever, as if he’s forgotten about all the words he’s told you up until now– as if it’s not 2 AM and both of your hearts aren’t breaking at the sound of each other’s voice on the other side of the line.

“It… it was okay, I guess,” you say nonetheless, too hopeless to find a way to end the conversation before he does.

“That’s good to hear,” he says, sighing, “that’s… awesome. You still taking those yoga classes on Mondays?” he asks, and you snicker to yourself– because what kind of question even is that? Who asks that on a late night call, when there are more important things you two need to talk about?

“Yeah,” you lie, still. You haven’t been since the breakup.

“That’s great. Wouldn’t want you to… y’know,” he laughs to himself, “be too sad over this… ‘t was for the better, after all.”

You hear yourself hum– the noise way more stable than your actual words ever could be– and you find yourself feeling silly in the conversation, lying to your ex boyfriend through your teeth; because at the end of the day, you don’t want him to worry about you– because it seems to be the case that he is. And it’s stupid, because he hurt you and you shouldn’t care, maybe you should’ve even show him that you’re heartbroken and that he is the reason behind your pain and the way your life is falling apart, bit by bit, but you don’t find it in you to be so cold and heartless. At the end of the day, you still care about Mark and there’s nothing you could do about it. Turns out that breaking up with him doesn’t magically make the feelings go away– and you knew that, but now you have proof.

“What were you saying before, by the way? You… trailed off at the end,” you say, reminding him of his previous words.

“Oh, that,” he snickers into the microphone again, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he twists and turns in the sheets, “don’t worry about it. It was selfish of me.”

It was selfish of him to call in the first place. But you won’t tell him that.

“What was it?”

“It’s just… I was wondering if I lost you forever, y’know… if there was a chance we could ever…” he trails off again, but this time, you don’t bug him to complete it. You’re not stupid– you know the implication of his words. You’ve known him for a long time, after all– maybe you should’ve predicted this when you picked up the call.

“I mean…” you hum, “you didn’t lose me completely, if that’s– if that’s what’s keeping you up at night. We’re still friends, aren’t we?” you say, and in the corner of your brain, you can’t even believe the words yourself– but if it was selfish of him to call, you think it’s okay for you to selfishly fill both of you with empty promises, just for the sake of not breaking your heart even further.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “that’s– …I’m glad.”

The line’s silent after that, and you wonder if you two have used up the list of words to say to each other this time, if there’s truly no other answer at the end of this conversation. When the situation gets too much for you to bear, the heaviness finally settling on your shoulders and your chest, you finally find the courage to sniffle out a quiet goodbye.

“Good night, Mark.”

“G’night,” he drags out, mind still cloudy. “Love you,” spills out from his tongue, like a bad habit.

He ends the call before you get to say it back. Maybe that’s for the better.

And the truth is, you should’ve really listened to Park Jihoon and blocked Mark’s number after this encounter. But you didn’t– you’re too weak for Mark’s sweet words, finding yourself still hanging on to his saccharine voice and the muffled ramble he has reserved for you only every time he gets high and loses all self-control before calling you on Friday nights selfishly demanding your attention, somehow falling for him like a teenager over and over again despite promising yourself you're gonna move on for real now.

Step four – date someone new.

“So…” Jihoon starts one day, eyes glued to your skull like laser beams, the tone of his voice so incomprehensible you think he’s going to scold you for the actions of your previous days– even though you haven't told him about the midnight calls with Mark and so if he's not going through your phone, he has no way of knowing. Tense and nervous, still, knowing that the impact of his words could either heal you or cut you open like a knife– damn him for always being so brutally honest, no matter how soft his heart is for you– you smile at him with tight lips, crossing your arms on your chest in defense.

“So…?”

A nervous laugh almost escapes your throat. If Jihoon wasn’t suspicious of you before, he surely is now– or he just finds you strange by the way he furrows his brows at you and scans you up and down, taking a second for himself before he sighs and seemingly decides to drop the weird way you’re acting right now, shaking his head and focusing on the task at hand.

“I was thinking… my friend asked about you,” he says, nonchalantly looking down onto his hands and taking the dirt out from behind his nails, as if it’s not a big deal and he doesn’t even care that much. “Choi Hyunsuk from Biology, you know him– shabby haircut, kinda short, failed the class so he has to retake it this year…?”

“I think you’re forgetting the fact that the two of us have completely different majors, Hoonie,” you sweetly smile at him with irony, making him roll his eyes with a sigh before he tries again.

“The guy who ripped his pants at Xiao Dejun’s party last year?”

“Oh, that one! You should’ve said that earlier, of course I remember Choi Hyunsuk from your Biology class,” you nod hurriedly, the gears finally clicking in your brain.

“As if I wasn’t talking about him for the last few minutes–”

“Okay, and what about him?” you cut him off, already tired of his annoying tangent.

“I said he asked about you.”

“I heard that already,” you nod, looking at him with expecting eyes. “And?”

Jihoon stares at you, unblinking, as if you fell on your head and he’s trying to comprehend if you’re still here with him or if you got a concussion and need to be transferred into a hospital. When the contact of his eyes on your skin gets a bit too uncomfortable– you swear his looks could actually kill someone, if he tried enough– you furrow your brows at him in confusion and shake your head in disbelief.

“Why are you staring at me like that, Park Jihoon?”

“Just tryna see if you’re really that stupid or if you’re just pretending,” he mutters under his nose before he sighs again– his favorite activity whenever you’re around, it seems– and speaks up again, tone of voice reminding you of a kindergartener teacher trying to explain why it gets dark in the evening to a bunch of 4 year olds. “You know, when people ask about you, they are usually interested in you, as in, my friend Hyunsuk didn’t ask because you’re nice, but because you’re hot, if you know what I'm getting onto.”

“Oh,” you get out, eyes wide in concern and a little shaken-up, “well, that’s… nice of him, I guess.”

Jihoon only hums at you before he looks around himself and brings out the bag of chips that he left open by his right side only a few seconds ago, not really speaking more about the topic. It’s either he’s waiting for you to get what he’s hinting at, or he’s just waiting for you to get even more confused and ask him about it in a few seconds again– either way, he’s not the one doing more talking right now, because conversations with you, the most oblivious person he’s ever seen, are never productive if he goes too fast.

Chewing on the chips, his eyes go wide when you finally open your mouth and talk more about the topic at hand– just like he predicted. “Why are you telling me this?”

Your best friend swallows before he places the bag of chips back to its original place and turns his whole body so he’s facing you, speaking up again. “I was thinking that maybe, just maybe, you’d like to hang out with him. Like a date, before you ask– because I know you’re gonna ask– and why? – because, again, I know you’re gonna ask– because I simply think you should try to date again to get your mind off the loser you broke up with two months ago,” he says, blunt and honest, answering all of your unsaid questions at once, and before you know it, he has you snickering and shaking your head in disapproval.

“Absolutely not,” you retort, waving your hands in the air to only further show your disagreement with the proposition, “that would just be a massive catastrophe.”

“Why? Hyunsuk’s nice.”

“I didn’t say he isn’t, it’s just…”

“Just?” he probes you, eyebrows raised and questioning.

“I… don’t know,” you nervously chew on the inside of your cheek, aimlessly shrugging. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea, Jihoon.”

“Because of Mark?” he asks, and the moment his name escapes your best friend’s mouth, the whole room goes strangely quiet– you feel your heartbeat in your throat, the tips of your fingers start tingling and you swear that if you concentrate hard enough, you could feel a bead of sweat drip down your forehead with the incoming stress and nerves only the mention of your ex boyfriend brings you.

“No, that’s not it–”

“Sure,” he nods, sighing to himself– and there it is again, the judging look you so despise.

“You can’t just expect me to date other people a few weeks after my break up, Jihoon,” you exclaim, “that– that wouldn’t even be fair to your friend. You know I wouldn’t be invested,” you explain, and your friend rolls his eyes in frustration, sighing to himself.

“Oh but I know that! And Hyunsuk does too,” he shakes his head at you, “just thought the company of someone else could take your mind off things.”

“I have you,” you try.

“Yeah, but all we do when we’re together is mope about Mark Lee,” Jihoon snickers, “and don’t get me wrong, I’m more than open to bitch about your ex boyfriend and as your best friend, I don’t mind, but the fact that you’d be hanging out with someone else could take your mind off him, because you wouldn’t feel comfortable talking about him with someone else, y’know?”

You shut your eyes closed, a heavy sigh heaving out of your body as you try hard to concentrate and not lose it, and with how Jihoon’s tone gets softer and he’s not as loud with his brutal, yet logical advice, he must feel you getting overwhelmed and accommodates to your needs. “Look, it’s gonna be fun. I promise. Hang out with someone new, feel wanted and hot and pretty again, get some male attention that’s not your ex boyfriend, and you’ll see how it makes you feel. If you hate it, you hate it and you can slap me, I don’t know... If you don’t, you can keep dating around with my friends, and I swear I’ll hook you up only with the nice ones,” he takes your hand into his and waves it around in comfort, making you open your eyes and look at him again.

Seeing the softness and encouragement in your best friend’s eyes, you sigh to yourself. All this time, he’s tried to help you– what if you finally follow his advice? Who knows, it might even help.

Sighing, you squeeze his palm and hover over him to get the stranded bag of chips he’s guarding on the other side of the sofa. “Fine,” you mutter, “but let your friend know that he’s the one paying, okay?”

“Perfect. I'll text him your number, then.“

And maybe Jihoon was right and after dolling yourself up and dressing up in your favorite dress just so you would feel as comfortable as possible, you don’t feel as bad when his friend Hyunsuk picks you up in his white Volvo and chats with you on the way to the restaurant. He makes good small talk and even gets a giggle out of you, the music in his car is low and you find yourself slowly easing into the situation. You don’t remember when the last time you went out with a guy that wasn’t Mark was, but it’s surprisingly nice.

And Jihoon was right– you feel pretty. And when Hyunsuk opens the door for you after pulling up to the parking lot of the restaurant, you even feel wanted. You like the attention, just like any other girl would, and the smile you offer to your date seeps of tender shyness as you get out of the comfortable seat of his car.

The illusion, though, is soon broken as you notice the restaurant he pulled up to. Your smile freezes, your palms get sweaty and you feel your heartbeat rummaging against your ribcage as soon as the idle atmosphere of the restaurant opens up before you. And realistically, you could turn on your heel and get back to the car, tell Hyunsuk that you want to go to another restaurant– but you don’t do it, against your biggest wishes, because you worry that the boy already made a reservation and you don’t want to ruin an evening that’s going well so far.

“Everything alright?” your date checks up on you, seemingly noticing the frown on your face, and when his worried eyes meet yours, it’s sealed– you’d feel too bad for pulling out of the date now. So you only do what you always do best– you put on your best relaxed smile and nod, catching up to him and ensuring him that you’re all okay and you didn’t just talk yourself out of an anxiety attack.

Because you owe it to him and to Jihoon– both of them worked so hard to make you feel happy and help you to get over your ex boyfriend. It’s not Hyunsuk’s fault that he just managed to pick the restaurant your said ex boyfriend works at part-time. He had no way of knowing, and if you’re lucky enough, Mark wouldn’t be on today. He only works here part-time, it’s not like he’s here every day, and as far as you’re concerned, he only worked like two or three days a week when you dated. It would be a weird coincidence for him to be working the day you go there with your new date– you hope you’re not that unlucky.

Hyunsuk is a gentleman. Opening up doors for you, pulling out the chair for you, letting you talk and not interrupting you. He watches you with fond eyes and you almost try to feel bad for the fact that even if this ended well, the poor boy would just end up being a rebound. He deserves so much more, and you start to worry if this date was a good idea after all. Wasn’t it selfish of you to agree to this?

“What do you want to get?” he asks as you open up the menu, and you squint at the prices, mentally taking a note to order the cheapest thing just in case he wants to pay for you at the end of the evening.

“Spaghetti Bolognese,” you blurt out, despite it not being your favorite meal. Hyunsuk just stares at you with squinted eyes, but doesn’t disagree with you. After all, he has no way of knowing that you dislike the taste of the sauce in most restaurants– even though your conscience tells you that Mark knew that and always made sure to remind you about it before ordering for you, worried that you won’t get to eat much that evening– the only thing left to hope is that it tastes good in this particular place.

“Okay, sure,” he nods and puts the menu down, smiling at you before engaging in a comfortable conversation with you. It feels like you’ve known Hyunsuk forever– his personality oddly reminding you of Jihoon’s caused mainly by the fact that the two have grown up together. Everything flows soundly, but you still find yourself anxiously picking at your cuticles as you cautiously look around the restaurant, fearing the fact that you could catch a glimpse of your ex boyfriend at any second.

And maybe you should be a psychic, because those bad feelings were not there for nothing– when you see a waiter walking out of the back and eyeing your table, ready to get your order, the boy is a few inches taller than your current date, raven hair messy, but still a little styled, dark circles under the man’s eyes, and there he is– your ex boyfriend. Mark Lee halts in his movements, wearing his work uniform, eyes wide, a hint of something that breaks you at least in two mirroring in his orbs before he turns on his heel and disappears in the back again. When he doesn’t come back and his co-worker joins you and Hyunsuk at your table with a warm smile, you stop waiting to see the glimpse of him you selfishly desired to catch despite fearing the interaction the whole evening.

You want to fall through the floor and disappear in the depths of this earth. For some reason, you feel mortified. What would he think? And why do you even care about his feelings? A million different thoughts run through your brain and you worry that you’re being too distant from your current date, but Hyunsuk’s warm eyes reassure you that he doesn’t mind.

Piercing the food on your table with your eyes, you try to battle the noisy words running around your brain.

It’s easy to say you’re over someone when you don’t see them. To have them in front of you, meet their gaze and acknowledge their existence and still be able to nod and say that you’ve moved on, is something completely different.

Were you ever convinced that you were over Mark Lee in the first place, though?

After all of this– the months of following Jihoon’s advice, although making a few mishaps along the way as you continue to pick up Mark’s calls on Friday nights, snoop around his socials and let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t, overthinking everything and making you wish the relationship never ended in the first place– it’s time for the last step of it all. The last, most crucial part of this whole moving on process– the most important one, if you may.

Step five – avoid him at all costs.

Sounds easy, right? After the four previous steps, you’d already cried plenty about the lost months with your ex-boyfriend. You’d already given him back all of his stuff, not tying yourself to him with any material memory. You’d already gone on a date with someone new, choosing to distract yourself instead of letting yourself feel the emotions. After all the previous steps, this one’s supposed to be the easiest one. The one you’re supposed to want to do, after all. The break-up wasn’t messy, but it was still painful– it’s only natural for you to not want to see Mark ever again, right?

Wrong.

Because you never listen to the advice you’re given. That just wouldn’t be you, would it?

And so when Mark Lee calls you one day and tells you that he has a free train ticket to the Bukhansan stop, explaining that he was supposed to go hike there with Donghyuck who canceled on him last minute because of an assignment due midnight, you don’t really hesitate much before you shoot him a short text saying that you’re down and get ready for the short hike.

When you meet your ex boyfriend at the station, his figure slightly slouched up until the moment his eyes meet yours, you feel the quiet tension in the air. You’ve seen each other a few times before this meeting– on a party you went to with Jihoon, at the campus when you went to class one morning, your ex boyfriend walking you towards the Art building, hell, you’ve even met in the grocery store, all accidental and making your heart leap in your chest with tension. This time, though, you’re here completely intentionally, just to hang out with him, and something about the fact makes a dull pain shoot all through your intestines, a sensation so uncomfortable you try to hide with a tight-lipped smile.

“Ready for the hike?” he asks, adjusting the bag on his back, playing with the straps with clammy fingers. You can’t help but notice how he looks just like a little boy, in his little world, shielded from everything. He seems to have taken a protective stance, and you hate how the air between you shifted from how you two used to be when you were dating. Mark seems scared. Nervous. On top of his feet. Maybe you shouldn’t have agreed to this at all.

You’re already here, though. Turning around and leaving wouldn’t really work right now, as you take a step towards the train that’s just arrived, humming to your ex boyfriend in agreement. Taking a seat on the place Mark’s pointed to you on the train ticket, you try to loosen up your muscles and get as comfortable as you can, clearing your mind as you gaze outside of the window.

“How have you been?” he asks, clearing his throat.

Pressing your lips into a tight line, you turn to him as you search for an answer. “Better,” you nod, voice quiet. “You?”

Mark hums, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Good, good,” he lies through his teeth, “I’ve seen you at the restaurant the other day,” he hints, and you battle the sigh that’s begging to cut out of your throat. You don’t know where he’s going with the sentence. It’s not a question– only a proposition, barely even that– and you could ignore it with a nod of your head, you could pay it no mind as you see the bitterness in his gaze and the slightly self-conscious averting of his stare. You don’t know where he’s going with the conversation, but frankly, you don’t know where you are going with your answer either, as you shrug to him in a casual manner and peep under your breath.

“Yeah,” you say, “that was just… Jihoon’s friend from uni, I suppose,” you complete, and the sentence hints at nothing– it doesn’t clear out the confusion, it doesn’t outright say anything that could make Mark believe that it was just a casual hang-out with a friend, but still, you see the boy visibly relax as he nods to you and offers you a tight-lipped smile.

“Oh,” he hums, looking out of the window, past the profile of your face. The change in topic is sudden and sharp, but also welcome as he falls into a casual conversation with you, and suddenly, you’re reminded by the Mark you once knew– the guy you’ve once called not socially awkward, but so social that it’s awkward– as he talks to you about his day and rambles on about the weather. “It’s good that it won’t rain today, I bet the view will be nice.”

Locking your gaze with him for a brief second, you lick your lips and point your eyes towards the ground. It’s good that it won’t rain today, as opposed to last time you two went to the Bukhansan trail. You wonder if he remembers.

Before you have a chance to mention it– and in all reality, you won’t, no matter how bold you could be feeling at the moment– the train comes to a stop at your station and you hop out of the carriage, ready for the hike.

It’s easy to forget how messed up things have gotten between the two of you when you walk alongside with your ex boyfriend, laughing at his silly jokes and gasping at everything he shows to you with a pointed finger, finding yourself admiring the sound of his giggle when he spots a squirrel pass your path somewhere near the top of the hill. The trail is almost empty at this hour, since the two of you have decided to go in the late afternoon, and you find your soul to finally be at peace after so many weeks, you finally feel relaxed in the nature, one with the wind and the gentle sound of birds chirping lullying your running thoughts to a rest.

You realize that this is just what you needed all this time. You needed to get out and walk for some while, to tune out yourself and to accept the fact that you’re still here, for another day, and something about that is still a blessing. Watching the back of Mark’s head as he walks a step in front of you due to the narrowness of the trail in this area, you smile to yourself. It’s easy to forget just how much you were hurt by him when he heals your soul with such a simple gesture. It’s easy to forget you were hurt when he seemingly tries to put all the broken pieces back together, glue them to where they were in the first place, when things were easier and you both didn’t have so many things to worry about.

You reach the top just as the sun starts setting over the horizon, and there are only a few people scattered across the peak, sitting on their own picnic blankets and gazing into the distance. The hues of the sky paint the world in a different color, the oranges, pinks and muted purples playing with your heartstrings as you come to a halt and crouch down and feel the presence of another soul mirror your actions only a meter away to your right, his gaze glued to your side. The view is beautiful, but the feeling of being watched isn’t ignorable anymore, and so you turn to your companion and raise your eyebrows at him, wondering if he has something to say.

You don’t know how you’ll be able to come back to your life after this and pretend you still don’t want to spend every passing second with the man on your right. You don’t know how you’re supposed to ignore the ever so growing love for him– even though after being so disappointed with the past, the feelings should be decreasing, not doing the opposite– and frankly, you don’t even want to think of going back to the way it’s been for the past few months. And so you don’t– you allow yourself to indulge the moment, to ignore the pain that’s about to come, just so you could hold another beautiful memory to your heart and enjoy the moment before it hurts you to think of it tomorrow morning.

“It’s even more beautiful than the last time,” Mark hums, but his eyes never leave your figure– if you were still dating, you bet he’d come out with a cheesy line about how you’re prettier than the view, or something. “It didn’t rain this time around, thank god.”

Gazing at him, you shake your head in disbelief. Scoffing, you play with the grass between your fingers. “You remember that?”

“Yeah,” he hums, “I remember a lot of things.”

The sentence makes you bitterly chuckle. He knows why you’re reacting the way you are– and you have every right to. He claims to remember a lot of things, but the ones important to you, the ones you wanted him to remember, he failed to save into his memory. And that’s eventually what made you break up with him, at the end of it all.

At your reaction, he sighs and drags a hand across his face, seemingly realizing the weight of his own words and just how ridiculous he must have sounded to you right now.

“I- That-” he stutters, shaking his head, “that sounded stupid right now, considering… everything… Didn’t it?”

“Kind of,” you nod, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, voice suddenly raw and serious, so different to the tone he’s been using with you the whole afternoon, “I don’t- I can’t remember if I said that back then, when you- when you… broke up with me, but I really am sorry, Y/N. You didn’t deserve that, and I am in no way shape or form trying to make this about me, but I hate myself every day for the way things turned out and if I could go back to that day, I’d do so many things differently.”

The sky in front of you deepens in reds and you taste iron on your tongue, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you’ve managed to bite on your lip too hard in the midst of the conversation. Tearing out stems of grass with your clammy fingertips, you focus on the clouds running through the sky, calculating your next response.

“Okay,” you nod, not giving him much else. The answer perfectly encapsulates the way you feel on the inside right now– you don’t know if you’re ready to accept his apology, if you’re ready to let go of it and act like you weren’t hurt or that none of it ever happened, but you listened to him and you internalized his words. He is sorry. He knows he was in the wrong. And you were aware that he knew all of this before– hell, you’d even go as far as say he knew it the moment you knocked on his door that day and told him it was over– but hearing it from him surely moved something inside of you to a more comfortable place.

“I-” he starts, voice breaking making him clear his throat before he continues, “I don’t expect you to forgive me. And I know I shouldn’t have expected you to still be my friend after all of this, and that- I shouldn’t have even called you so many times and approached you at the store and stuff, but um-” he mumbles, shrugging to himself, “I guess I just couldn’t stay away from you. And again, I don’t expect you to forgive me, I don’t expect you to do anything, really. So… yeah…”

Snickering at his aimless monologue, you shake your head in disbelief. “Mark?”

“Yeah?” he stares at you, eyes a bottomless pool of emotion.

“Why did you invite me here today? What was the… point, I guess?” you ask, hugging your knees to your chest as the breeze makes goosebumps appear all over your body.

Mark offers you a sad smile, head leaned to his right as he shrugs, and this time, his eyes don’t leave yours as he spills the truth into the air. “I guess I was just feeling selfish today,” he hums, and the sentence makes you cringe with the memory of his first call to you after your break up, “wanted to spend time with you.”

“Here, of all places?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “told you. I was feeling selfish.”

Snickering, you look away, staring at the sky again. The colors are starting to blend together into a deep, dark purple– the horizon darkening as the sun starts to say its final goodbyes to the day. You sigh to yourself, yet feel no bitterness or terror at his words. Somehow, you understand. Somehow, you get him a little too well. Somehow, you think you knew the moment he texted you today, and somehow, you think you felt it in your bones when you didn’t say no, although you could have. There’s calmness in your soul when you nod at the implication of his words, leaning back on your elbows and plopping your bottom to the ground, sitting at the dusty surface.

“You said you didn’t expect anything out of me today, Mark.”

“And I don’t,” he says, voice soft.

“And you brought me here to remind me of the last time we went?” you stare at him, a hint of a bitten-back smile playing with your lips. “Because you’re selfish?”

He nods, not escaping your gaze. “To remind you of the last time we went. To show you that… I remember, I guess. And that I still care, just like the last time. If not more.”

“Mark, you can’t just say all of this and expect nothing out of me right now,” you mutter.

“Actually, I can. Because that’s what I’m doing. I’m just… laying it out in the open, and what you do with the information is completely, completely up to you,” he explains, and you find yourself chuckling at him, the atmosphere instantly lighter as you hear his voice in its usual casualness, talking to you as if he was just unpacking what went on in class today, and not the starting and the end of your one year relationship.

And he’s right. What you do with the information is completely up to you, and the next steps and the progress of your relationship with Mark Lee is also completely in your hands. You could turn away and never talk to him again, you could curse at him and tell him that it’s too late now and he missed his chance, but if that was the case, you wouldn’t be here in the first place. He wouldn’t be inviting you to this place, lying about his roommate canceling just to trick you into going, and you wouldn’t be blindly accepting the invitation, wanting to see where the afternoon brings you.

“So you still care about me?” you hum, looking at him from under your eyelashes, noticing his slouched-over pose as he looks back at you over his shoulder.

“Always have,” he admits, “never stopped. Despite not really… acting like it in the past few months.”

“Why’d you stop acting like it, then?” you ask.

A sigh escapes his lips, his head turning forward before he leans back and sits cross-legged on the ground, more comfortably now. Shrugging, he answers the question. “I guess I just got too caught up with different things. And don’t get me wrong, you were always my priority, always, but I was all over the place with everything and my mind just couldn’t… there were too many things to keep up with and I couldn’t stay up to date with everything,” he says, “and I know it’s not an excuse, but it’s an explanation, and it doesn’t make it better or undo the pain I’ve caused you, but it’s… at least you know it was never because I’d care about you any less.”

His eyes bear into yours with such honesty you think the weight of the world will crash on you any minute, and suddenly, the whole situation seems so much clearer.

And you wouldn’t take it back, you wouldn’t undo the breakup or do anything differently, because at the end of the day, you think it was needed. Perhaps the time apart was what he needed as a wake up call and what you needed to shield yourself from hurting more.

“Stop me from saying it if you… if you don’t want to hear it right now,” he hums, voice barely louder than a whisper. There seems to be a silent communication between the two of you, a connection of some sort that brings out the strange telepathy, but you just nod at him, a gentle smile playing with your lips as you understand exactly what he means, telling him that it’s okay and that you don’t mind– you welcome, you need to hear him say it again.

Licking his lips, he turns to you fully, facing you. There’s not a hint of nervousness in his body, having done this a lot of times before, and then it happens– the repeated confession, confirming what was there the whole time, never leaving even when the times were rough.

“I love you,” he says.

And isn’t that all that’s needed?

A year is a long time with someone. Somehow, you wouldn’t want the time to go to waste. At the end of the day, if love is still present, isn’t it worth trying? One more time?

“And you still don’t expect anything from me?” you ask, gazing at him softly. “You don’t expect me to say it back?”

“No,” he breathes out, shrugging. “I just needed to get it off my chest.”

“Because you’re selfish like that,” you nod, teasing him.

“Because I’m selfish like that,” he agrees, breaking out into a slight grin.

Looking at the sky, now completely dipped in dark purple, you sigh to yourself at the turmoil of the conversation. You don’t say it back– although you feel it, you know it’s in there, playing with your heartstrings and clenching the muscle in the palm of its hand– you know love is there, deep inside, for the man that’s currently staring at you as if you hung the very stars appearing on the sky there yourself, stolen them from your own eyes and gluing them there selflessly, for everyone to see. You don’t tell him you love him back, you don’t tell him you forgive him or accept his apology. You don’t worry about what tomorrow will bring you, what your brain is going to tell you when you come down from the hill and get home, lay in your bed and overthink. You let the worries escape you, letting fondness and calm envelope you in a tight hug instead.

“Okay,” you nod, watching the boy next to you look at you with curious eyes. You take his hand into yours and place it on your thigh, playing with his fingers for a heartbeat before you meet his eyes again and smile. “I won’t say it back, but for all it’s worth, Mark… I’m glad you remembered.”

And that’s all he needs– there is love, there is fondness, and there is the silent confirmation that all you need right now is just a bit more time.

Where do broken hearts go?

Somehow, you think they hold on to the place where it all started. Somehow, you think your heart never went anywhere– it stayed on this hill, waiting for you to pay it a visit and pick back up everything right from where you left it.

“It doesn’t seem like a good idea to go here today, Y/N,” Mark laughed behind you as he looked up to the sky, the dark clouds shielding the sun that had been previously shining down on your hiking figures, casting an orange glow on the strands of your hair.

“Well, there’s no turning back now,” you shrugged, turning to him and grinning as you tugged on his hand, grip strong as you dragged the boy up the trail, your sneakers fast against the dirty ground. “We have finals starting next week and it’s gonna be too cold to go after the exam season is over, so we gotta go now.”

“I kind of regret telling you that I’ve never been here before now,” Mark sighed, but followed you nonetheless, breathlessly following your excited stride. It was October, the leaves on the trees were welcoming the two of you in shining colors, and the wind kissing your skin turned a bit chilly in the evenings– courtesy of the warm hoodie Mark shyly lended you when you shivered for the first time, adoring the way you, his friend, looked in the light gray fabric. Something about you wearing his clothes made the boy a bit hopeless about the day. Maybe he’ll have enough courage to confess his feelings to you, he thought. Maybe, despite the first raindrops falling on the skin of his bare arms, this evening will have a happy ending for you and him.

“Oh, please,” you squinted at him, continuing to run up the hill– thank god it wasn’t that steep, serving both of you as the perfect hiking difficulty, “even if you wouldn’t have, I’d drag you here anyway. It’s like, my favorite place to go in Seoul, haven’t I told you before?”

You have, Mark thought. But he was okay with hearing it again.

You squealed when the raindrops got heavier and the rain started pouring faster on the two of you, and Mark found himself laughing at your running figure. He was right behind you, praying that you don’t slip on one of the rocks and break your leg on the hiking trail, but he encouraged you with sweet comments and a hand on the small of your back as he watched the tip of the hill appear right in front of his very eyes, your body coming to a satisfied halt when you reached your destination.

“Tada!” you grinned at him, twirling a little like a ballerina, showing him the place with outstretched arms. He tried hard to observe the place, but his eyes stayed glued to your excited figure, gaze bearing into yours as you looked at him, amidst a little flustered, with sparkly orbs and a bright smile on your face. Your hair was a mess, his gray hoodie enveloping your body was slowly growing darker in color from absorbing the rain, and your sneakers were getting a bit muddy from walking around the place. He wanted to remember this moment forever, he thought– this version of you, the smiley expression on your face, the carefree and excited nature of your step.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” you exclaimed, jumping around and nearing the boy, but as you went to take his hand to drag him around the top of the hill once more, your feet slipped and you fell forward, a surprised squeak battling its way out of your throat.

Your whole life flashed in front of your very eyes in that moment, embarrassment spreading down your neck at the fact that you were about to fall face first onto the ground in front of your crush of a few months, before your body collided with a soft, yet firm mass engulfing you closer. A pair of strong arms steadied you against his chest, and when you looked up at your friend, you swear all words were taken out of your dictionary, the sight leaving you speechless.

“It is,” he gaped, eyes bearing into yours. Mark was agreeing with you, but something in the back of your head was telling you that he didn’t really admire this place as much as you did– his curious gaze was always plastered somewhere completely else.

That place being your face, of course. And your eyes, your cheeks, the mess of your bangs, and occasionally– screw that, almost always– your lips. Much like in that moment, a few centimeters away from his face, so inviting he thought it would be a crime to contain the urge.

And so he didn’t– he didn’t control his feelings and the ever-so growing yearning for you, as he silently leaned towards your face and captured his lips with yours in a firm, yet short kiss.

He looked at you with a nervous tint behind his gaze when he leaned away, the sight of your wide eyes staring at him making a slight flush grow on his cheeks. You looked so beautiful in that moment– flustered, surprised, with messy hair and lips still apart– and he was relieved to not find a hint of a displeased emotion in your expression.

“Okay, so- well-” you stuttered, laughing to yourself, “this didn’t go as I planned, but I guess I’m happy as long as the final result is the same,” you hummed, standing on your tippy-toes and pressing your lips against him once more, this time letting yourself enjoy the moment fully, mouth moving against his in a careful, yet excited rhythm. He tasted like the strawberry candy you offered him on the bottom of the trail and smelled a bit like rain, the mixture always staying in the depths of your mind as his warmth enveloped you in comfort and a feeling of home.

“The final result being…?” he asked when you pulled apart once again, a dazed expression overtaking his sharp features.

“Us,” you shrugged, “like this,” you clarified.

Mark laughed at that, hugging you closer to his chest. You rested your head on his shoulder, listening to the sound of raindrops washing away the top layer of dirt off the rocks on the tip of the hill, hands sneaking around his waist and enjoying the way they wrapped around him so tightly and so comfortably. You in his hoodie, in your favorite place, standing in his arms. It was raining, but it didn’t matter.

“Mark?”

“Hm?”

“If we ever get lost, or something happens… bring me back here, okay?” you mumbled close to his ear, lips gently glazing the skin of his ear, making goosebumps appear all over your new lover. “I’m convinced that this place could fix everything.”

“Even us?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not allowed to ever leave me now, what would there be to fix between us?” you smacked his shoulder, snickering to yourself.

“You never know,” he laughed, “what if I accidentally mess up somewhere along the way?” he asked, threading his fingers through your hair, smoothing down the wet mess.

“Okay then,” you hummed, “even us.”

Staring into your eyes, letting the moment play out by itself, Mark swore he’s never felt more at peace. He wondered if it was the effect of the place, the rain, or just your sheer presence. “I’ll remember that,” he giggled before he let go of your body, petting your head as he took a hold of your hand, tugging you down from where you came from, “now let’s go home before we catch a cold.”

Nodding, following the man as you both carefully, yet fastly made it down the trail, you enjoyed the way his hand fit into yours and the way you knew that after this, you can’t ever come back to being friends with Mark Lee. He was all yours, completely, utterly yours, and you knew in the back of your head, that you were his– and nothing will ever change that.

You would always come back to the hill with him. It felt ridiculous to think about you two ever having to fix anything between the two of you back then, but even in that moment, you knew that for him, you’d keep trying. As long as he does– as long as he remembers.

Where do broken hearts go? You guess they always come right back to the place they come from– and they leave glued back together every single time.

You guess your heart never really left the hill.

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ponderingmoonlight · 1 year ago

Text

Nanami fearing rejection from his wife and daughter after Shibuya left him seriously wounded

Pairing: Nanami x wife!reader; Nanami x daughter

Word Count: 1,9k

Synopsis: Even though he survived Shibuya, Kento Nanami dies from the inside just by the thought of losing you and his precious little daughter due to his severe wounds and scarred skin. But despite his great fear, your reaction turns out completely different than expected.

Warnings: Let's just pretend this is how it ended okay I'm crying, tried to proofread this but I'm just veeeery depressed right now, this might be the fluff you NEED after today's episode

Request and idea by gorgeous @wifenanami <3

Everything’s a blur. What happened last? How did he get here? His heavy heart skips a beat. Oh, right. His whole left side burns like a thousand fires, arm unable to move even an inch by the way his skin feel like bursting every minute. He was severely burned. The last thing he saw was…

Haibara, then Yuji, and then…

You.

Oh god, just the thought of you kills him from the inside.

“Hey, easy there. Your heartbeat is jumping out of the roof. You need to rest now, Nanami. I already called your wife.”

The smell of burned cigarettes simply takes his breath away, along with the venomous words that leave Shoko’s mouth so casually.

“My wife?”, he coughs out, body desperately trying to sit up.

No, this is impossible. You can’t see him like that, body covered in burn marks with his left eye and hair missing. What will you think of him? And what about your daughter? That sweet innocent angel, will she even be able to recognize him? You, his wife, the love of his wife. Your daughter, the greatest treasure on earth.

Will you be disgusted by his fearful sight?

“Yeah, she’s already on her way. Honestly I wasn’t sure if you’ll make it, so I-“

“Why on earth did you call her?”

Shoko stops in her tracks, laying her head to the side in nothing but confusion.

“Huh, what are you talking about? (y/n)’s your wife after all, why wouldn’t I tell her?”

“What if she doesn’t recognize me? What if she’s freaked out by me? What if she brings our daughter with her?”

His sweaty palms begin to shake uncontrollably. In his life, Kento Nanami lost a lot of things: Jobs, money, people, good friends. But oh god, the thought of losing you, his precious little family. It truly kills him from the inside.

“Stop talking nonsense. Being pathetic doesn’t suit you at all”, Shoko remarks dryly.

His widen eyes dart towards the door, waiting in nothing but thick fear for your arrival. Was this afternoon the last time you looked at him as lovingly as you always did? Was it the last time his daughter kissed his right cheek before she left the house? It can’t be, it just can’t turn out like that.

But you deserve so much better. Damn, you are straight up gorgeous, a woman who turns heads on a regular basis. You need more than a crippled man by your side, more than one half of the man you used to know. He wouldn’t even be mad if your eyes lose the spark they hold for him when you see him today.

“I’m leaving now. Something seems to be off. I’m trying to get back by dinner.”

“Why do you have to go this early? I thought we’d have a little time for ourselves. Since our precious little angel is still at kindergarten and I have the afternoon off…”

Your hands roamed around his broad chest, eyes filled with nothing but affection and love. You were always bad at hiding your feelings, your bright orbs being the centre of his universe. God, how much he wanted to lock the door behind you, how much he longed for your touch. But this sounded serious.

“As much as I’d love to take that offer immediately, the young ones need me, (y/n). But I will return as soon as possible and then we’ll finish what you started.”

“Promise it”, you demanded, a small understanding smile decorating your delicate lips while he held your body so tightly against his.

“I promise it. I can’t wait to see you tonight.”

One last longing kiss on your forehead. One last kiss before he left your house with a last “I love you” shouted into thin air.

“Damn”, he hisses through gritted teeth, pain pulsating through his whole body, taking his sight.

What is his life worth without you in it?

-(y/n)’s POV-

“Mommy, I’m scared.”

“Hey, hold your head up high, angel. Everything will turn out alright, okay? Daddy is a hero, after all”, you reassure your daughter softly while secretly wiping away a falling tear.

When Shoko called you a few minutes ago, your feet begin to carry you on their own, heart hammering against your aching chest. Your loving husband, the man who gifted you with the precious daughter who holds your hand tightly. She didn’t tell you what happened to him, how he feels. But her tone was as urgent as never before, making you storm down the dark streets of Tokyo in pouring rain until you finally arrived at Jujutsu High, opening the well-known doors to the hospital wing with trembling hands.

Please, let him be alright. Maybe injured, but alive. Maybe distressed, but all in all fine.

Please, let your husband be alright.

You wander down the cold hallways, eyes roaming around the area in a desperate attempt to spot your husband somewhere between the countless injured people. Where is he? Where did they put him?

Suddenly, your orbs get stuck on a wave of pink hair.

“Yuji?” you breathe out.

“Mommy, there’s Yuji!”, the excited voice of your little daughter next to you cries out, already on her way to storm towards the pink-haired boy.

You can’t hold back. Out of instinct you follow her tiny feet, embracing the boy in front of you in a tight hug.

“Please tell me you’re alright, tell me you feel well”, you whisper into his ear.

In an instant, tears start to swell up his eyes, soaking through the fabric of your elegant autumn dress. Your heart shatters into a million pieces, hands gently stroking through his hair.

“I’m not. I’m far away from feeling well, (y/n)”, he cries against your neck, letting himself fall completely against your frame.

Oh Yuji. You hate to see him like that, his thick tears falling like the pouring rain outside.

“I’m sorry for letting Nanami-sensei down, I’m sorry for all the things I did, I-“

“Don’t talk any further. I’m sure you did your best, Yuji. And I know Kento is very proud of you. Please, get some rest now, okay? Did Shoko already check on you? Hey, do you want to stay with me tonight?”

“You can sleep in my room!” your daughter suggests in an instant, hugging Yuji’s leg while looking up at him with doe eyes.

“Thank you, I’m okay. You should look after Nanami-sensei. After all you’re here because of him and not because of me, right?”

“I will always look after you, Yuji. But yes, I’d really like to see my husband right now”, you reply tenderly.

“Is my dad alright?”

“He’s in room 018 down the hall. Please…tell him I’m sorry”, Yuji mutters.

“There is nothing to be sorry about, thank you for your help, Yuji. Come on darling, let’s go see daddy.”

You let out your shaky breath, hand holding onto the doorknob. Finally. You will definitely pay Yuji a visit later on. But know, you have to focus on him. Finally, you’re able to see your husband again.

“Kento, I’m here-“

“Don’t look at me. Get out and never come back”, his harsh voice instructs you.

There he sits, back faces towards you will a white cloak covering his upper body. Your mind begins to race, his punitive tone being to unusual. Not even when discussing, your husband ever turned this cold. What has gotten into him?

“Hi daddy!” your daughter greets her father with all excitement.

His heart breaks in an instant. Why? Why on earth do you have to be here? And why did you have to bring your daughter with you? Why do you have to see him like that?

“I am not the man you fell in love with anymore, (y/n).”

The bitterness in his voice makes you squint your eyes while walking towards him.

“What are you talking about, Kento? I might love you even more after you survived this hell”, you reply in an instant.

“Daddy, what happened to your face?”

Like in slow motion he turns around, revealing severe burns on the left side of his body and his eye covered in bandages. Your heart skips a beat. Oh god, what happened to your poor husband?

“Who did this to you, love?”

“It doesn’t matter how or who. But I understand that I’m not the man you married anymore. I am only half of the man I used to be. So if you want to leave me behind, if you want to take care of our daughter alone-“

He is forced to stop mid-sentence by the way his little daughter presses her tiny body onto his lap, hugging him as tightly as never before. And your gaze that makes time stand still. Your gaze that isn’t filled with disgust like he imagined.

No, your look holds nothing but love and gratitude.

“You can’t imagine how happy I am to see that you are well. When Shoko called me I thought we’ll might lose you. Kento, I…I love you with all my heart. The thought of letting you go, the thought of never seeing you again. I’m so glad.”

And then you sprint towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck carefully with your loving gaze never leaving him.

All pain seems to vanish, nothing else but you matter. Your eyes always tell the truth, he knows all too well. And right now, they scream at him in nothing put the pureness of love while a tear runs down your smiling delicate mouth.

“Now you look like a hero, daddy”, his daughter mumbles against his chest, smiling up at him so widely that even Kento Nanami can’t hold back any longer.

“Because he is, sweetheart. Your dad is a hero”, you clarify with shaky voice, pressing a kiss against his right cheek.

“You aren’t disgusted? Even though I look nothing like the man you fell in love with an never will?”, you mutters.

Gently, your hand caresses his uninjured cheek.

“Nothing will ever distress my love for you. No scar in the world will stop me from loving you with all my heart. I’m so glad you came back to me alive. Nothing else matters.”

“I think you look cool, daddy!”

A single tear rolls down his cheek. For the first time in his life, he isn’t able to keep his composure any longer. A tear of joy, a tear of gratitude. Of course, Nanami was always very aware of what a wonderful woman you are and how well you cared for his little daughter as well. But oh, seeing both of you with your arms wrapped around him, gazing at him with nothing but love and tenderness in your orbs…

Your eyes never lied at him.

How does he even deserve this? How does a simple man like Kento Nanami deserve such a loving wife and daughter made of pure gold?

“We need a cool name for you now, daddy.”

“Daddy first needs all his energy to get well again, sweetheart. But yes, you are right. After all, every hero has a special name, right?”, you reply, chuckling over your very own falling tears.

“I’m not a hero, darling”, Nanami contradicts, running his hand through his daughter’s hair softly.

“But to me you are, daddy. And to mommy too.”

“Indeed. And when all of this is over, I’ll take you to Malaysia”, you confirm, cuddling against his chest while resting your eyes.

“Malaysia, huh? Sounds great…”

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @lovelyluna1 @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife @coffeeluvr96

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speakergame · 8 months ago

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Progress Update - 3/4/24

Hello and happy March!

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? 😅 Well, I finally have some good news for you this time: I have some actual news!

I'm happy to be able to announce at last that an update is on its way! I’ve still got some assets to make and code cleanup and testing to finish, but I should finally have something to show you soon.

I’ll put a cut at the end of this and go into more detail about the what and why of what I’ve been working on during this long and unintended hiatus, but the tl;dr is that I hope to have an update out by the end of the month, and that said update will break any saves made in Chapter 4. Unfortunate, but unavoidable, since Chapter 4 had to be recoded from the beginning 😞

I just want to thank all of you once again for sticking with me through my extended silence! Especially to my patrons who’ve put up with me putting everything on pause month after month while I dealt with my real life shit, and to everyone who’s sent me kind and supportive messages to let me know Speaker hasn’t been forgotten. It really means a lot to me.

Okay, enough of that sappy shit! I’m gonna get back to work finishing this up 😁 I’ll put out another update later this month once I have a more definite release date.

Thank you all for reading! I hope you’re having a fantastic 2024 so far, and that the rest of the week treats you kindly. See y’all soon! 💙💙💙

(For those who want a more detailed breakdown on what’s been happening and what to expect, hit the readmore)

I won’t go into the personal life stuff I’ve been dealing with this past year that has slowed down my work, but as far as the actual game goes:

To put it simply, I just wasn’t happy with it. Some of it could be because of how many times I had to reread the same section while I was coding the scenes that would’ve taken place after the last update, but no matter how much I edited or rearranged it, I didn’t like how that scene turned out. There was something… formulaic that had been happening with the way I always laid out scenes, and a bit of stagnation in the story, character, and relationship development that bothered me.

So I rewrote it. And when I still didn’t like it, I rewrote it again. And I still didn’t like it. I thought about scrapping the whole thing on more than one occasion as I struggled to get out of the corner I’d written myself into.

Inspiration finally struck at the beginning of this year, thanks in part to another interactive novel I follow, and I really like the direction I’ve taken it now.

Instead of the RO split scenes happening where the last one left off, Speaker, Seer, and Gavin are gonna have a chat about Things™ to move the next story arc forward. Then Speaker will get some downtime, by themself at first and then in an extended scene split with the RO of their choosing.

All the Big Plot Things that were going to happen in Chapter 4 will be moved to Chapter 5 instead, and 4 will be a bit more of a filler episode. A deep breath before the plunge, as it were.

This split won’t just be a quick conversation/reaction from the RO, but a full on different direction for the rest of the chapter based on who you choose. Most of them will involve leaving the house; all of them will involve actual one-on-one time (or one-on-two time, as the case may be) away from the others. And though romance isn’t required, all of them will have the potential to really move the romance forward if you so choose. One or two might even have a lock-in choice (maybe. I’m not 100 percent on that, so don’t hold me to it)

These scenes won’t be in the next update, because they’re all very complex, but the update will definitely have the Seer chat and at least some of the by-yourself stuff. The update after will have the rest of the alone time stuff (including the clothes/body CC you’ve all been waiting for), and then the one after will start the RO scenes. I think.

I may actually split the RO scenes into separate updates, and let my darlings over at Patreon vote for the order they’re released. That way I can focus on one at a time instead of trying to split my attention six ways at once.

Okay, that’s enough rambling for me today. Time to get back to work! Still got a lot to get done before this is ready, but it’s so close now.

#speaker game #progress update #so happy to finally have some progress to update about XD #maybe I can finally start answering some asks again too and fully resurrect this poor blog

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lovebugism · 2 years ago

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band!eddie and reader finally having some alone time in the tour bus *wink wink*

18+ rockstar!eddie universe <3

It was one of those rare occasions where the rest of the band wanted to go out and you wanted to stay in. There hadn’t even been a show that day, just interview after interview after interview. It left your social battery at an all time low. So when Jeff and Gareth wanted to barhop the night away, you lamented that you were way too tired to accompany them.

And Eddie, being the nice guy he was, opted to stay in with you. “Someone’s gotta make sure the lady stays safe. Wouldn’t want someone to steal ya,” he’d half-joked.

You scoffed. “Because, god forbid, you lose your bassist, right?”

“Well, if I lost you, I think I’d die, but… yeah, having to find a replacement would definitely be more emotionally taxing.”

Eddie Munson was the only person in the world who could rival your sarcasm. It was so easy for the both of you to cover up a sweet thing with something so playfully sour. The boy finishes his quip with a stupid, lovedrunk grin that nearly makes you melt.

“Obviously,” you retort.

The rest of the boys disappear for the next several hours, enough for the sun to have set and stars to sprinkle the sky. If you had to guess, they’ve probably got a running bet on how many bars they could get free drinks from. It’ll go on until they can’t see straight anymore, no winners or losers — unless you count your manager, who’ll no doubt have to escort them back to the bus.

With them gone, the bus is practically silent for the first time all tour. There is no boyish yelling or tuning guitars or video games. There’s not even the muffled sound of tires on gravel with the tour bus parked. It’s total silence filled only with the faint sounds of Charlie’s Angels coming from the common area. The episode is practically on mute, though, because Eddie knows you’re tired and doesn’t want to disturb you.

The soft quiet ushers you into its velvet arms. It almost lulls you to sleep several times over, but something in the back of your mind refuses to let you slumber. You were annoyed at first. You were squirming in your tiny bunk for nearly an hour until you realized you were filled with a need of a different kind.

You didn’t need sleep. You needed Eddie. Like a child needs their baby’s blanket — you can’t be without him for too long, or you might start screaming. The sudden ache to be close to him hits you like a freight train.

The sliding door of the bunks glides open with a mechanical schlick. You lean against the frame of it, clad only in a too big shirt that probably belonged to all the boys before it got to you, and admire your boy in his element.

He’s all spread out on the leather couch, curly hair untamed and in a messy chestnut halo on his head. He wears a piece of outdated Corroded Coffin merch from back when you only played gigs at The Hideout. The shirt clings to his torso while a pair of old pajama pants hang low on his hips.

Eddie’s eyes are firmly trained on the small television in the corner of the bus. The chocolate of them dart around the screen as Farrah Fawcett turns flips beneath a shoddy cable service. He barely acknowledges your presence, too engrossed in the climax of his show.

“Thought you were sleeping,” he says without looking at you.

“I’m too bored to sleep,” you practically whine.

Your feet shuffle along the carpeted floor as you walk the short distance to him. You all but flop onto the couch at his side, burying your face into the warmth of his neck.

“What do you mean you’re too bored to sleep?” he mocks with a soft laugh. He turns to press his lips to your head, not exactly kissing you there, just resting against you. His words are muffled: “Why didn’t you go out with Jeff and Gareth?”

“Didn’t want to,” you answer shortly.

“Solid answer,” he nods. “What do you wanna do then?”

He doesn’t necessarily mean it suggestively. He’d probably go lie in traffic if it’d make you less bored, he loves you so damn much — but fuck if a million dirty things don’t pop into your head all at once.

It’s practically the first time you’ve been alone all tour.

Now that you think about it, every time you’ve fucked Eddie, it’s been at the discretion of prying eyes just behind a door or in a room over. Hotels are few and far between, and you and your boys are the tightest clan the universe has ever seen, so it leaves little room for opportunity time for you and Eddie.

But here you were now, with no one around, and practically all the time in the world (or rather, until sunrise, when the rest of the band shuffled back onto the bus).

“I don’t know,” you lilt, though you’re already hooking a leg over his thighs.

Eddie feels like a teenage boy all over again as you settle onto his lap. A wide grin tugs slow at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t bother to hide his excitement. “What are ya doin’, doll?”

“Nothin’,” you shrug, feigning innocence, like you’re not slipping your fingers through the hem of his pants. The tips of them inch into his boxers and trail down the thin patch of coarse hair there with a touch that’s smoother than water.

His cock is already half-hard when you take him into your hands, warm and soft and stiffening in your grip. Eddie exhales deeply through his nose at your gentle caressing, his gaze now turned down to where work him harder.

“Keep watching your show, baby,” you tease with a knowing grin as you slip his dick from the confines of his pajamas.

“How can I—” he tries to joke, but the words get lost in his throat when you slide your panties to the side. He goes instantly stupid at the sight of your slick collecting along the manicured thatch of pubic hair just above your pussy. His brain all but ceases to function when you rub yourself along him, drenched folds parting to welcome the bulbous tip of his cock.

You feel like silk, he concludes, or maybe something somehow softer.

Eddie swallows thickly while his obedient hands settle on your hips to steady you. He continues, this time with a tremble in his voice. “How can I when you’re pullin’ this shit, huh?” his button eyes flit back up to look at you, a smirk forming on his pink lips. “You just wanna ride me, huh? That’s what you need?”

You don’t answer him. You’re barely listening, if you’re honest, too concentrated on positioning him at your opening. You gasp softly when you pierce yourself with him, then exhale low moans as you sink slowly onto his cock. The burn is a minimal one, somewhere in your lower tummy, that washes away with a flood of velvet-coated pleasure.

Eddie fills you so perfectly, just like he always does, like he was made to be seated inside you.

“Well, this is an excellent way to pass the time, if I do say so myself,” he manages to quip through bated exhales from where he’d been holding his breath. You rock your hips over his lap without warning. His pink lips form a tight line as something short of a growl bubbles in his throat and rumbles in his chest.

You watch with a proud grin as his eyes flutter shut and his head falls back. You push his curls over his shoulder to press open-mouthed kisses along the pale expanse of his neck, occasionally dragging your teeth along the milky white tendon there.

Eddie hums to himself when he feels you mewl softly against his skin. Your hips sway back and forth over his thighs, moving to a rhythm of their own accord — all slow and methodical. It’s a pace that always gets him pussy drunk. A steady rise and fall that forces him to feel all of you and makes him swear that you’re some kind of succubus.

“Oh my god,” he says within a dragged out exhale. He starts to babble to himself while you work yourself over his lap. “Fuck me… This is so… so fucking hot. Shit— your pussy is so good to be, doll…”

He forces himself to open his heavy eyes to watch you mount him. His chin tilts down towards his chest and he shifts his hips so he has the perfect view of you. Your honey coats his lap, leaving his cock and pubic hair glistening with your slick. The sight of him all shiny with you makes him dizzy.

His palm leaves your hip and seeks purchase on your ass, not really thinking about it, just gravitating to hold you there. He grips you with guitar-string calloused hands that encourage you to rock harder against him.

Your hand trails from his shoulder down to where the two of you meet. You start to rub your clit with a lust-fueled fervor that just about makes him implode. You whine when your fingers meet the sensitive button, clenching somehow tighter around him as your pleasure begins to crescendo.

“That feel good?” he wonders through bated breaths. His hand leaves your ass, rising for no more than a moment, only to come down again in a practiced slap that makes you jolt against him. The sting of his palm adds gasoline to the simmering embers of your impending orgasm.

You whine, louder this time, arching your back and keening shamelessly against him.

It makes him grin. “Huh? Feels good on your pretty little clit, doesn’t it, doll?”

“Fuck yes…” you cry through a tight throat. “Feels so good, Eddie— fuck.”

Your hips lose their rhythm as your body fights to find its own pleasure.

You’ve got his dick locked inside you with a grip so tight it’s got him seeing stars, and it makes him wonder if you’d stop. Like, if the boys barged in right now, would you keep going, too far gone and dumb on his cock not to see it through.

Something about that, you riding him for all he’s worth, whining while you come on his cock with your friends watching — seeing firsthand who you belong to — makes him want to burst all at wants.

“God, this pussy’s amazin’, baby… ’S gonna— holy fuck… You’re gonna make me come if you keep riding me like this... Shit, yeah, just like that, doll.”

When you come, you do it together.

It’s a borderline spiritual feeling, one that doesn’t happen very often because Eddie’s usually adamant about you coming twice before he has the first time. But now, both of you are sensitive and whining through your orgasms, heaving out incorrigible moans and grasping tightly onto one another.

Eddie takes to fucking up into you while you reach your simultaneous highs. He grips you hard enough to leave bruises while his thighs audibly slap slap slap against your more slick ones. You cry at the oversensitivity — electric shocks that contrasts heavily with the warm feeling of his come spitting into your fluttering walls.

You shake violently in his hold, moaning his name over and over like it’s the only word you can remember. Your orgasm comes and goes, and you’re left whining pathetic Eddie, Eddie, Eddie’s into the mostly silent tour bus.

The boy isn’t in much better shape either. He fights off a cramp in his foot from where he’d curled his toes too tightly and blinks away burning tears that sing the backs of his eyes from coming so suddenly.

Your hips come to a slow stop over his lap, too quickly and yet not soon enough. You rest your forehead over his own, knocking your nose with his before you lean in to press several lazy pecks upon his lax mouth.

“See?” you manage to tease through heavy pants. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I guess that wasn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Eddie quips with a wide grin and eyes that are still slightly glazed with dispersing pleasure. He rubs his hands over the skin of your ass to soothe where he’d held you too tight. It’s soft, too soft for what he’s about to tell you.

“Now, how about you spread yourself out on this couch and let me clean you up, ‘kay?”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #rockstar!eddie #eddie spaghetti drabble #st drabbles

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dovveri · 7 months ago

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everyone’s girlfriend but mine

𓂃𐀔 - includes smut

chp 1. looking for love

sana asks reader to join her on the next season of the bachelorette, undercover. night 1.

chp 2. the blurry line between friendship and something more

the second day on this season’s bachelorette involves our first group date, a solo date with last night’s lucky winner, and of course, a rose ceremony to say goodbye to a few more contestants.

chp 3. hickeys and swimsuits 𓂃𐀔

day 3 on the set of the bachelorette and y/n has to deal with sleeping with her best friend, a messy group date, and a tender evening.

chp 4. sun-kissed

an unexpected arrest deters filming for day 4 so instead, y/n and sana spend the day together. almost like a date?

chp 5. misunderstandings 𓂃𐀔

reader watches the most recent episode of the bachelorette and is met with something she doesn’t like. sana also seems to be angry for whatever reason and it builds up into a big argument at the end of the night.

chp 6. the right reasons

the final stretch of the season. home visits.

chp 7. aftermath

the finale! and then afterparty :’)

a/n: okay so first ever fic and i had no idea where i was going w it til the end so this ended up just being sort of a trailer ig and ill maybe try continue

“We have plenty of time darling, don’t stress.” Sana places the finishing brush of her lipstick gently across her slight pout. She frowns at you in the mirror as you fiddle with the silk of your evening gown, “The driver will be here in 10 minutes and look!” She twirls around and does a cute little flourish with her dress, “I’m already done so I’m actually 10 minutes early.”

You can’t help but smile at the gesture and then you remember what you were talking about. “That’s not what I meant and you know it Sana.” You return your gaze to your hands, fingers prettily painted a light shade of blue to match your dress for the night.

She sighs and walks forward, slipping her fingers between yours and interlocking them, stopping your fiddling. Everything about her is soft. The way her skin feels after she’s finished her morning stretches, the way her eyes look at you when you’re up late talking about everything and nothing, the way she’s sliding into your lap now and lifting your face gently with her hands. You’re avoiding her gaze as much as you can, eyes darting all over the room, anywhere but her pretty, pretty face.

But she grips a little harder and settles her forehead against yours, breaths mingling, noses touching.

“Baby… look at me.” Her voice is hushed against your lips, and god you’re only so strong. You meet those soft eyes you’ve fallen in love with.

“There we go.” You can hear the smile in her voice. “You can see it can’t you? Us, together in the perfect little villa only a few minutes drive from the big city, maybe a kitten or two, definitely stinky morning kisses and tickle fights.” Your eyes close as she presses light, slow kisses all over your face. “That’s waiting for us angel. It’s not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” The last word is spoken right against your lips, and she seals the promise with a kiss as sweet as her.

The driver calling Sana’s phone interrupts you and you chase after her lips as she breaks away with a giggle, sliding off your lap and picking up her phone.

You sigh, pinching your nose as you gather your things preparing to go to the ball where they would be announcing exactly who won Minatozaki Sana’s heart on live television in this year’s Bachelorette rendition. For now, her promise clouded the fact that it wasn’t your name she would be reading out tonight.

#sana #twice sana #minatozaki sana #sana x reader #sana imagines #twice #twice x reader #dovveri

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jezabelle9299 · 4 months ago

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Moving day S.R x fem! reader

Overture- Reader is moving into a neighborhood where a serial killer is hunting down women living alone, so when the FBI shows up on her doorstep she gets assigned protective custody from one Dr. Spencer Reid

*Includes references to season 1 episode 18 "Someone's watching" but this is season 3 or later

You were finally getting space away from your family, you’d finally saved up enough. You were able to actually buy a small house, as a mortgage payment ended up being cheaper than rent. You may be living it up in a two bedroom now, but you were no heiress. Movers were out of the question, you rented a small moving truck and set out to do a 24 hour moving day. You’d painted, picked up all of your second hand furniture, all of your packed boxes, and changed the locks. You’d just finished moving the first set of boxes inside when a black suv pulled in behind you in the driveway. An older gentleman came out and made a beeline towards you, with a man that looked like he could be his son trailing behind him.

“My name is Agent Rossi, and this is Dr. Reid, we’re with the FBI. We’d like to ask you a few questions.” You’d lived here a minute and a half and federal agents were knocking on your door. Your mother would have a stroke if you told her, so you focused on the younger guy who was about your age instead of letting your mind spiral with the possibilities of why they’re here.

“Sure, what can I do for you?” Your attention was pulled from the Dr. Reid, who’d yet to speak, when his colleague spoke up again.

��Can we come in?” The last thing you wanted was strangers in your house, but they had badges so you felt like you couldn’t realistically say no. Plus they could at least help you unload a couple of boxes while they talked.

“Sure, but everyone needs to grab a box first, I’m on a bit of a tight timeline.”

“Understood.” They each grabbed a box, and you did a small internal celebration that they grabbed the boxes of books you’d been dreading carrying inside. You grabbed one of the smaller ones, full of clothes instead. Once you arrived you sat down on the arm of your couch, gesturing for them to sit on the two chairs you’d picked up earlier that day.

“Thank you for getting those, I appreciate it. What can I do for you?” The younger man spoke up for the first time since he’d been there.

“We were hoping you could answer a few questions for us about the neighborhood.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can help you. Unfortunately the moving boxes aren’t really for decoration. I’ve lived here for less than a day.”

“We actually think you could be in a unique position to help, because you haven’t lived here long.You would be more acutely aware of the behavior of your neighbors because you aren’t used to it.”

“Alright, then by all means, ask away.” The younger man asked almost all of the questions, with the older Agent Rossi taking diligent notes in his notepad. He started with questions of your interactions with your neighbors, but then shifted to the crime that brought him there. Someone had been targeting young women who lived alone in the few blocks surrounding your house.

“Would you be comfortable coming to the station to be put in protective custody?” You’d say yes in a heartbeat if it was any other day. Especially if it meant being in Dr.Reid’s orbit. You weren’t big into dating, yet there was something–compelling about him. But this was quite possibly the busiest day you’d had in the last year.

“No, I’m sorry but I can’t. I’ve still got boxes to unpack, furniture to put together, I can’t just pick up and leave.”

“Understood. Give us just one second.” Agent Rossi chimed in, pulling Dr. Reid aside while you checked your phone. Well, mostly staring at the homepage while eavesdropping on their hushed conversation. They were terrible at whispering.

“Why don’t you stay here with her? You can help us over the phone if we need it, and she fits the victimology.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. She’s a little bit distracting. Maybe you should stay with her.”

“That’s exactly why you should stay with her, have you seen the way she looks at you? I swear she wouldn’t even notice I was here if I didn’t talk first.”

The young man eventually relented, although he still seemed a bit pouty about the whole thing. Then Agent Rossi turned his attention back to you, and you pretended not to have been eavesdropping on the whole thing. You couldn’t tell if he was buying it.

“How would you feel about Dr. Reid offering you protective custody here? You could go about your business, Dr. Reid would just keep an eye out for you.”

“Yeah that’d be fine, if he’s ok with it? It certainly won’t be interesting, you know, unless someone does decide to kill me.” He paled for a second before realizing it was a joke. You nudged him with your elbow, and then he finally let out a shaky exhale. Not really a laugh, but you’ll take it. Agent Rossi just gave you a smile and pat Dr. Reid on the shoulder.

“You kids have fun.” Then when the door was mostly closed behind him, he opened it back up to say “Not too much fun.” before laughing to himself all the way to the car. You pulled the tape off of one of the boxes before unloading some of your books onto the shelves you put up that morning.

“So Dr. Reid, what favor did you owe him to get stuck with me? Did you lose a bet or something?”

“You–uh, you can just call me Spencer, and why would you think I wouldn’t want to be here?”

“Why would you? I mean, it must be exciting being in the FBI and all, if it were me I wouldn’t want to babysit a fully grown adult.”

“It’s not babysitting, and I’m happy to be here.”

“Well that’s very sweet. But you're about to regret every life choice that’s led you to this point.” His face stiffened with confusion at that before you laughed teasingly.

“We have to move my mattress out of that truck. Since you’re here, I’d love to get out of dragging it on a tarp outside.” He actually laughed at that, and you were grateful you could get an actual laugh from him with that stupid of a joke. Maybe you had a chance with him after all.

You’d just managed to get the mattress on the boxspring in your room, barely. You crashed down onto it in celebration and exhaustion.

This is the fruit of our labor, and for that I thank you. I think this calls for a drink.” You jumped back up and bounced to the kitchen, with Spencer trailing slowly behind you, still trying to catch his breath. You continued talking to him down through the hallway. “I’m not big into actual drinking so I don’t have any alcohol, but I have water, orange juice, and coffee I think.”

He breathed a sigh of relief at the fact you’d stop going for a second. Before unloading your mattress you unpacked 3 boxes, and unloaded 6, while he could only struggle to keep up. You even found the energy to make conversation while you did it, and he was panting by the end, attempting to talk and lift. He’d never struggled to talk before. Every once in a while he needed to take a break from helping you to help the team, with them calling for whatever random information he could give, yet he was still lagging behind you with every trip back outside.

“Coffee sounds amazing.” He figured the coffee maker was already set up, with the energy you had, you'd have to have more than he did. And he had 4 cups this morning.

“Coming right up!” His relief at your pause in momentum was short lived. You made your way back to the living room and started shifting through boxes again.

“What are you looking for? I thought you wanted to take a break.”

“The coffee maker, it’s in one of these boxes, I just can’t remember which one. I mostly use it when I have guests.” You peaked his interest with that, there was no way that you just had all this motivation. It was humanly impossible.

“Do you usually order yours? Or do you have a preference for energy drinks?” Then you found the box holding the coffee machine and cut it open, laughing just a little bit to yourself at his interrogation-like line of questioning over something so simple.

“Neither, I’m just not super into it. All of this annoying is 100% natural.” You plastered a cheesy smile on your face as you turned to him, coffee pot in hand. He just furrowed his brow in confusion.

“I don’t think you’re annoying, but your relentless energy is interesting.”

“Well thank you, Spencer. I don’t think I have creamer, but I definitely have sugar, so I hope that’s ok?”

“Sugar is perfect, thank you again.”

“Of course, thanks for helping me with that mattress, and you know, the whole bodyguard thing you’ve got going on.” You got down one of the mugs you’d recently put away, before passing it, filled with coffee, along with the sugar to Spencer.

“I’ve got to return that truck as soon as we get everything out of it, but I can pick up some food on the way back? And I’ve got movies in one of these boxes. You’re welcome to pick something, I like everything in there.” He chugged the coffee in his hand before moving with you toward the door.

“Sorry, but protective custody only works when I’m close to you. So as long as you’re still ok with it, I’ll go with you. Also there’s no way I’m letting you pay for dinner after intruding on your space all day.”

“Alright, then we’d better get started, the sun’s setting soon, and I hate the idea of driving that thing at night.” He gave a short nod and followed you out. You got the rest of the boxes, returned the truck, and picked up your car from the lot. When you went to pick up dinner Spencer, true to his word, insisted on paying. You sat on the floor and ate off the box your coffee table came in, deciding to put it together another day. When you cleaned up and finished unpacking your boxes of books and dvds you told Spencer he could pick a movie. He chose the one sci-fi flick from your collection, and you were not at all surprised.

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You weren’t quite sure when it happened. When you had moved to the couch, when you had offered to share a blanket with Spencer, or when you ended up falling asleep propped against his arm, the energy you had all day finally exhausted. The movie was long since forgotten when his phone rang and he answered in a whisper, not realizing the ringtone had already woken you up.

“Hey Morgan, what’s up?”

“Hey kid, we found him, so you’re free to go. Unless of course, you’d like to stay.” You could hear the teasing tone in his voice even through the phone.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh forget it, Rossi already told everyone. Look, we’re not leaving until tomorrow morning. Just be at the station at 5 to pack up before we go, now go and make me proud.” You assumed he hung up with the way Spencer let out a long sigh before putting his phone back in his pocket.

“Everything ok?” You mumbled out, alerting Spencer to the fact you were awake and continuing to stay propped against him for your own benefit, before leaning up to stretch and be able to look him in the eye.

“Everythings fine, we found the person we were looking for, so we’re headed back to Virginia in the morning.” There was an air of sadness to his response, so you thought back on what the other agent said.

“I know you probably have to get back, but it’s late and you’re welcome to stay here if you like.”

“I really couldn’t, it’s not only an imposition, but really inappropriate. There’s this concept called transference, essentially it’s where you project affectionate feelings onto people who are helping you, or hold some position of authority. I can’t possibly take advantage like that.” He shuffled to get up from your couch, straightening his clothes and grabbing his things to put them in his leather bag.

“If you don’t want to, that's totally fine, but I wasn’t in danger. It was realistically babysitting more than anything, no one came after me, and nothing bad happened. Also, no offense, but I don’t really think of you or your friend from earlier as ‘Authority’. You’re like my age, and it’s not like you’re cops or anything. You’re federal agents, which is cool and all, but I’m not a murderer, so it’s not like I’m intimidated by you. I like you, but I’m not intimidated by you.” He couldn’t quite form a response, and his thoughts were swimming with the fact that he’d been assigned protective custody by himself twice and he ended up in this situation twice. I mean what are the odds. You were nothing like Lila though, with her he felt nervous all the time, but it was so easy spending the day with you.

“You like me?” You feigned exasperation, with an over dramatic eye roll, and a cheesy smile.

“Yes I like you. It wasn’t exactly an accident that I fell asleep on you, and continued to stay there after your ringtone woke me up.” He allowed himself a shocked smile, he wanted to keep his emotions neutral so as not to pressure you, but he couldn’t contain this.

“Could I maybe get a response? I’m feeling a bit vulnerable here.”

“Sorry, yes of course I like you. I mean, have you seen you? You’re quite possibly the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I’ll stay if you’ll still have me, but I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“What a gentleman–” Just as you were about to tell him that sleeping on the couch was a terrible idea with his height, his phone rang again.

“Reid.”

“Hey Spence, there’s a problem. We aren’t getting that break after all, and we need to get going now. We’ll brief you on the plane, but we need to go. Now.”

“Alright, I’ll be there soon. Thanks JJ.” He looked at you reluctantly after he hung up.

“I have to go, but I really want to see you again. Would–Would that be ok?”

“Of course it would Spencer, I’m just a phone call away.” You pulled out one of the post-its you were using to label boxes and scribbled your number on it.

“Also at the very least, you know where I live.” You laughed, and he did more of a shaky sigh while shaking his head at you. You opened the door for him, and said your goodbyes, wishing him good luck on whatever it was he was about to do.

You didn’t need to wait by the phone long, with him calling you to set up your first date that evening. It was a short drive from Quantico to your house, so he was hopeful about his new relationship. He just hoped this would be the last time you needed protection. He’d be there, and he just hoped that was enough for now.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid

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dianawinchester03 · 1 month ago

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Season 2, Episode 18 - Hollywood Babylon

Series Masterlist

Authors Note: The long awaited new episode is finally here! Once again, I’m so sorry for taking so long with this update (I’m still trying to kick dengue in the ass LOL) and thank you for your patience and understanding <3. Okayyyy, on with the story!

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Third Person POV

Los Angeles, California

The trio were currently on a tour guide bus, taking a tour around a Hollywood set. “First opened in 1927, the lot has been in continuous operation for eight decades” A tour guide said over a megaphone, rather enthusiastically as they drove around the set. Dean looked intrigued and excited as took in the surroundings.

Sitting next to Y/N, his arm draped over the back of her seat. “Hey, you know this is where they filmed Creepshow?” Dean leaned in to whisper in her ear. Y/N chuckled at Dean's enthusiasm, nodding frantically. Equally excited because she had a love for horror movies herself.

“And Scream. God, I love me some Billy Loomis” She swooned, licking on her vanilla ice cream cone. The set was bustling with activity. Actors and crew members were everywhere, rehearsing lines, setting up props, and adjusting lighting.

Sam sat in-front of Y/N and Dean in the tour bus, wearing a bored expression. He rolled his eyes at Dean's excitement and Y/N’s fangirling. “You guys are embarrassing.” He muttered under his breath, just loud enough for them to hear.

Dean chuckled at Sam's comment, nudging his brother's shoulder. "Oh, come on, Sammy. Live a little." He teased, his other arm around Y/N's shoulders, pulling her closer. Y/N stifled a laugh, knowing Sam wasn't as fond of all the movie chatter.

“Now, to the right here is Stars Hollow. It’s the setting for the television series Gilmore Girls” The tour guide stated over the megaphone. Sam visibly tensed up at the mention of Gilmore Girls, his eyes widening as Dean and Y/N looked over curiously. “Gilmore Girls?” Y/N muttered confused, Dean shrugged in return, having no clue about the show either.

Sam, however, seemed to know about the show, the sheer panic evident on his face. “And if we’re lucky? We might even catch one of the show's stars” The tour guide said over the megaphone. Sam turned to Dean and Y/N, Dean offering his brother an enthusiastic thumbs up. “Come on” Sam grunted, quickly rushing out of the bus.

Dean and Y/N’s faces dropped, “What?!” Y/N exclaimed through a mouth plastered with ice cream. “Let’s finish the tour!” Dean huffed. But Sam seemed serious on leaving the tour, the two rolled their eyes as the guide said, “And then to the right, here we have New York Avenue, and that’s where they shot Lois and Clark”

Y/N groaned as they exited the tour bus, catching up to Sam who was walking briskly to the car. She couldn’t believe he was making them leave mid-tour. “Seriously?” She grumbled, licking at her ice cream cone again.

Dean was clearly annoyed, huffing as he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “I mean, come on, Sammy. It was getting interesting.” He looked back at the tour bus with longing.

Dean’s eyes flickered to Y/N, who’s mouth was still messed up with the melted ice cream. He snickered at the way she looked like a toddler, defiantly licking away at the cone, annoyed with Sam for wanting to leave the tour. The trio now strolling around the Hollywood lot.

Y/N continued to lick at her ice cream cone, trying to salvage it. She shot a glare at Sam’s back, annoyed that he had cut the tour short because of some TV show. Dean chuckled beside her as he reached into his jacket pocket, taking out a handkerchief to wipe a bit of ice cream from her chin.

“You’re a mess, sweetheart,” Dean said affectionately, gently wiping the ice cream off her chin with the handkerchief. He shot a sly glance at Sam, who was walking ahead of them, still rattled by the mention of Gilmore Girls.

Y/N let out a soft huff, still annoyed at Sam for cutting the tour short. She looked up at Dean and couldn’t help but pout a little. “Stupid Sam and his stupid Gilmore Girls phobia...” she mumbled, as Dean wiped away the ice-cream from her mouth.

Dean chuckled at Y/N’s pouty expression and her comment about Sam’s aversion to Gilmore Girls while Y/N was trying to ignore the excessive pace her heart was beating. He tucked the handkerchief back into his jacket pocket as they continued to walk around the set.

Leaving the tour bus didn’t spoil their excitement however, Dean and Y/N were still scanning the set with wide smiles as Sam looked bored, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Hey, fellas. Check it out. It’s Matt Damon” Y/N pointed to a man who looked like Matt Damon. Dean’s mouth fell open as they continued walking. Sam snorted in amusement, “I’m pretty sure that’s not Matt Damon” Sam snickered. “No, it is” Dean insisted. “Well, Matt Damon just picked up a broom and started sweeping” Sam sassed, Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, he was probably researching a role or something” She shrugged. “Uhh…I don’t think so” Sam shook his head. “Hey, this way. Uh, I think Stage 9’s over here” Sam gestured to the entrance of stage 9. Y/N felt a familiar chill raise at the back of her neck, clearing her throat abruptly at the feeling.

“Come on, man. Let’s keep going this way” Dean groaned, pointing in the opposite direction. “Dude. No, come on, we gotta work” Y/N’s tone instantly went serious, grabbing Dean’s hand to pull him over to Stage 9. Dean groaned childishly. “Dude, you guys wanted to come to L.A.” Sam retorted. “Yeah, for vacation! I mean, swimming pools and movie stars. Not to work!” Dean exclaimed.

Y/N rolled her eyes at the brother’s bickering. She knew how stubborn the two could be, especially when it came to hunting.

“Does this feel like swimming pool weather to you, Dean?!” Sam shot back as they bent the corner. “I mean, it’s practically Canadian” He snorted. “Yeah, I know. I just figured after everything that happened with…Madison. We could use a little R&R. That’s all. You know?” Dean defended.

Sam sighed heavily, rolling his eyes again as the twinge of pain in his chest rose again. “Did you hear from Jo?” Y/N asked Sam curiously. Y/N’s question broke the tension for a brief moment, and Sam’s face lit up at the mention of the blonde-haired huntress.

“Actually, yeah” He answered a little reluctantly, shoving his hands into his pockets. Y/N’s eyes widened, waiting for his answer. “And?” She urged, wanting the information.

“She’s a couple towns over tracking something” Sam answered, clearing his throat. He refused to make eye contact with both Y/N and Dean, keeping his gaze focused on the crowd of people walking by them. “She say if she’s gonna meet up with us soon?” Y/N asked, missing her friend.

“She didn’t say” Sam answered, his voice coming out slightly harsh. He was worried about Jo, she was a good friend. A good hunter. But he knew how dangerous hunting could be. Sam didn’t want her to get hurt.

After everything that happened with Madison, the thought of his girl out there hunting on her own tugged at his heart. He hated himself for getting closer to her, for getting attached. God knows he wished he wasn’t so knee deep into his attachment to her. He was trying to force himself to pull away, selfishly not wanting to get hurt but also, praying that Jo wouldn’t hunt.

But he knew her well enough to know, she wouldn’t listen to him, not that she had to. He was torn between wanting to keep her safe, and knowing that she was her own person, she had her own life. And he had no control over what she did. He could only hope she’s safe, but deep down he couldn’t shake the feeling that she might be in over her head.

Dean and Y/N picked up immediately on Sam’s dreadful tone, sharing a look as the younger Winchester seemed lost in thought. “Look, I just wanna work. It keeps my mind off things.” Sam finally said after a few moments of silence. “Okay, okay, alright” Dean sighed, gently placing his arm around Y/N’s wrist to move her from the end of the sidewalk to the inner part as they continued walking through the set.

“So this crew guy, what did he—?” Y/N asked crunching on the last of her cone, changing the subject as she tossed her napkin into a bin. “He died on set?” She asked, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “Yeah, rumors are spreading like wildfire online. They’re saying the sets are haunted.” Sam stated.

A smirk raised on Dean’s face as his eyes flickered over to Y/N, “Yes, I got that ‘ESP’ feeling, Dean” Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes before he could ask, already knowing he was gonna mock her. Dean’s smirk widened as Y/N rolled her eyes.

“I wasn’t gonna say that!” He grinned, feigning offense as he dramatically put his hand to his chest. Sam snorted at the interaction before turning to Y/N, a concerned look on his face. “So you really sense something?” Y/N nodded in return. “What, like Poltergeist?” Dean asked.

“Could be a poltergeist” Y/N responded, with a shrug. “No, no, no. The movie ‘Poltergeist’ ” Dean shook his head, Y/N’s mouth formed an ‘o’, now understanding what he was referencing, “Yeah, I guess” She snorted, shaking her head, while Sam looked confused, his brows furrowed. “Huh?” Sam mumbled.

Dean and Y/N shot the younger Winchester a nasty side eye. “You know nothing of your cultural heritage, do you?” Y/N said In disappointment when Sam just shrugged. “It was rumored that the set of Poltergeist was cursed. That they used real human bones as, uh, props” Dean explained the lore as they continued to walk through the set.

“Like, at least three of the actors died in it” Y/N added, Sam tilted his head as he listened. “Yeah, it might be something like that” Sam nodded as Dean's eyes wandered, taking in the surroundings of the set, until they landed on a cute perky blonde-haired woman, strutting by.

His gaze lingered on her for a bit, a subtle grin forming on his face. He wasn’t one to miss an opportunity when he saw an attractive woman, especially a blonde. “Hey, check out the talent” Dean smirked, nudging Sam and nodding in the direction of the blonde woman. Sam rolled his eyes, clearly not impressed. Y/N shot Dean a look, silently warning him not to flirt.

She felt that burning feeling in her chest again. Before reaching up to swat him at the back of his head, “Focus!” She reprimanded him, pointing a firm finger at the elder Winchester. “Ow!” Dean exclaimed, rubbing his head where Y/N had swatted him. He grumbled slightly under his breath, but he chuckled a bit.

He looked back over at the blonde, who seemed to have noticed his attention and smiled at him. He smiled back, and was about to approach her when Y/N yanked on his sleeve.

“Dean! We’re working!” Y/N hissed, giving his sleeve a tug. She shook her head at his behavior, annoyed with his inability to focus on the task at hand. Dean rolled his eyes playfully at Y/N’s scolding. “Hey, I’m just looking!” He defended, his eyes still shamelessly wandering over the blonde.

Sam watched the interaction between the two with an amused smirk. “Keep it in your pants, man” He teased, causing Y/N to laugh softly. “Anyways!” Y/N exclaimed, tugging Dean along, who was still trying to get out of her grasps. “So, this crew guy, what’s his name?” Y/N asked Sam. “Frank Jaffy” He responded.

“You got a death certificate or a coroner's report or anything” Dean asked after finally giving up on running away. “Well, no, but, uh, it’s L.A, you know? Might not even be his real name” Sam sighed as Y/N let go of Dean’s wrist, he winced slightly at the loss of contact but swallowed it down. “Fuck, you’ve got a point” Y/N cursed.

“But the girl who found him said she saw something. A vanishing figure” Sam informed them, placing up a finger before shoving his hands back into his pockets. “What’s the girl's name?” Dean asked. “Uh…Tara Benchley” Sam answered. Y/N’s jaw dropped as both her and Dean paused in their tracks. “Woah, woah, woah! Tara Benchley?!” Dean exclaimed.

Sam looked confused again, his brows furrowed, “From Fear.com and Ghost Ship Tara Benchley?!” Y/N exclaimed. Sam's confusion morphed into realization when Y/N and Dean said Tara Benchley's name with such excitement. He didn't know much about pop cultural references, but he assumed Tara Benchley was well-known for horror movies.

“I guess so” He shrugged, still not fully comprehending their excitement. “Dude, why didn’t you say so?” Dean chuckled, a grin widening on his face. “What? So now you’re suddenly on board?” Sam snorted, shaking his head. Dean rolled his eyes, “I just- I mean, I’m a fan of her work. It’s very good” He cleared his throat, trying to hide his obvious starstruck expression.

Y/N didn’t bother to hide hers, smacking Sam on his arm. “She’s smoking, dude” She swooned, fanning herself. Dean tried to play it cool, but his excitement was evident in his voice. "Her horror movies are great. She’s an amazing actress” He added, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Y/N nodded in agreement, still fanning herself. “And smoking hot” She confirmed, her grin widening. Sam could only roll his eyes at their behavior, amused by their fangirling over the famous actress. They ended up wandering onto the set of the movie as one of the snooty producers, Brad, was rambling on with the directors, McG and Jay.

Brad’s eyes scanned the set, they landed on Y/N, assuming she was a Production Assistant (PA) “Uh, excuse, uh, leather jacket girl!” Brad called out, waving Y/N over. Y/N’s eyebrows rose in surprise at being addressed, but she exchanged a confused glance with the brothers pointing to herself in confusion.

“Yeah, you gorgeous. Come here” He ushered her over with a crooked finger, while munching on nuts. “Yes?” She asked as she approached him, trying to sound composed. “Could you get me uh, a smoothie from Craft?” He asked her, “You want a what from who?” She asked confused as Dean approached besides her.

“You two are PAs. This is what you do” Brad scoffed arrogantly as Sam quickly ran up to them, placing his hands on their shoulders. “Yeah, yeah. They, uh..one smoothie coming right up” Sam chuckled awkwardly, giving Brad a thumbs up before ushering them away. “What’s a PA?” Dean and Y/N asked Sam in unison.

“I think they’re kinda like slaves” Sam mused as they walked away. Sam turned and gave Brad another thumbs up while the producer checked Y/N out shamelessly. “They’ll let anyone into this business, huh?” Brad snorted.

Sam’s sarcastic remark about PAs being like slaves echoed in Y/N and Dean’s ears as they followed him away from the set. They were both baffled by the whole interaction and the producer’s entitled attitude.

As they sneaked away, Y/N glanced back at Brad, who was ogling her shamelessly. She felt a wave of disgust wash over her as she stuck her middle finger up at him discreetly.

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A little later, Dean and Y/N adjusted into their covers as PA’s, now each carrying around trays of smoothies. “I hate this” Y/N grumbled. “Agreed. This is so humiliating” Dean agreed with a nod, his voice laced with annoyance as he grimaced at the smoothies in his hands. Some actors and staff took some of the smoothies off the trays without a ‘thank you’ as the actors and staff chattered indistinctively within themselves.

Dean’s eyes went up to the catwalk, judging Y/N lightly: “That’s where he was found” He whispered. She nodded lightly before they both rested their trays on one of the snack tables. They quietly snuck up the stairs as the lights went off, indicating they were gonna start shooting. Dean kept his EMF meter handy, just in case as they creeped up the dark staircase.

The set fell into a soft darkness as the lights went out, signaling the start of the shooting. Dean and Y/N silently creeped up the dark staircase, the elder Winchester holding the EMF meter in his hand, just in case.

They reached the top, trying to be as quiet as possible to not draw any attention. Y/N glanced at the spot where the body was supposedly found, her stomach twisting into knots.

Y/N gently placed her hand on the spot where the body was found. Her fingertips gently brushed against the cold, hard surface as she closed her eyes and focused on any kind of energy, hoping to get a reading or some kind of vision.

Dean hovered closely behind Y/N, his breath tickling the back of her neck, as he quietly whispered, "Got anything? Anything at all?" He studied her expression as she continued to concentrate, hoping for any sign of a reaction.

“Yeah, the fact that you had too many cheesesteaks” Y/N grumbled, trying to ignore the quickening of her heartbeat in her chest as the cheesesteaks they had from his breath wafted from her ear to her nose. “Hey, don’t blame the cheesesteaks” Dean retorted defensively, rolling his eyes at her comment.

His hot breath fanned across her ear and caused her heart to quicken, not that he knew. He was used to standing close to her like this so he thought nothing of the effect it had on her.

Y/N forced herself to focus on the task at hand, pushing her crude thoughts about Dean’s close proximity to the back of her mind. She got up and began to press her hands all over the catwalk, trying to detect any lingering energy but nothing came. Shaking her head, “Nothing” She sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

Dean watched as Y/N searched, hoping she would find some clue. But when she came up empty, he let out a frustrated sigh. "Fuck" He muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair in irritation. "Try the EMF, maybe I missed something” Y/N suggested.

"Good idea" Dean nodded, pulling out the EMF meter. He scanned it over the catwalk in case there was something they missed. The EMF was silent no matter where he pointed it, making his frown deepen in annoyance. "Nothing" He muttered, shoving the meter back in his pocket.

____________________________________________

The bell rang, indicating shooting was over. Dean and Y/N we’re back on ground level, eating cheesesteaks once again. “So??” Sam asked hopefully, approaching the snack table where Dean and Y/N were hounding currently, snout deep in the miniature sandwiches. “No EMF anywhere” Dean told him, “No feelings either” Y/N added through a mouth full of food.

“Great, so what do you think?” Sam grumbled disappointed, Dean shrugged, “Well, I think being a PA sucks. But..the food these people get. Are you kidding me? Look at these things” Dean whispered, picking up two more cheesesteaks, handing one to Y/N. The female hunter nodded in agreement.

Dean's eyes lit up, “They’re like miniature Philly cheese steak sandwiches. They’re delicious” Y/N moaned as she bit into the sandwich along with Dean. Y/N then picked up one, handing it to Sam but he shook his head, rolling his eyes at the duo. “Maybe later” He grimaced.

Dean and Y/N shared a look before shrugging. She handed it to Dean, who immediately shoved it into his mouth, munching on it after finishing his other sandwich. “What did you find out about the dead crew guy?” Dean asked Sam through a mouth full of food, a piece of the steaks hanging out the side of his mouth.

Sam raised his brows at the way they were savagely demolishing the stack of sandwiches before clearing his throat, “Uh, Frank Jaffy was just filling in for the day. Nobody here knew him or where he lived, or anything” Sam explained. “Oh, great. So you found out as much as we did” Y/N scoffed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Not quite, I-” Sam went to say but Walter, one of the crew guys, reached between them to grab a cheesesteak. “Hey, guys” Walter greeted them. “Hey” The Winchesters greeted back in unison. “They’re wonderful!” Y/N smiled at Walter as he walked off. He gave her a thumbs up in return. “Listen, I did dig up some stuff about Stage 9’s history.” Sam began.

“Yeah?” Dean and Y/N mumbled in unison. “Yeah. Four people died messy here over the past 80 years ago. Two suicides and two fatal accidents” Sam said. “Any one of those could be a vengeful spirit” Dean mumbled. “Yeah. Just gotta narrow it down more” Sam sighed. “God I hate vengeful spirits” Y/N groaned, annoyed.

Rightfully so, since every encounter they’ve had with vengeful spirits drained her energy completely, due to their aggressive nature and aura.

Dean’s expression softened, “You know, if you want, you can sit this one out. Me and Sam can handle it” Dean said gently but Y/N shook her head. “Nah, it’s fine. I’m a big girl” She joked, nodding as she chewed on the cheesesteak.

Whilst mid chew, y/n’s eyes flickered over to Tara Benchley, a small sly smile appearing on her face. “I’ll get right on narrowing it down” Y/N muttered, wiping her mouth before stuffing her half finished sandwich into Dean’s hand. “Son of a-” Dean groaned as Y/N made her way over to Tara, snatching a script from one of the other PA’s hands.

Dean watched Y/N walk away, grumbling under his breath when she stuffed her half-finished sandwich into his hands. Sam snorted in amusement as Dean tossed the sandwich into the bin, dusting his hands off as his eyes narrowed in Y/N’s direction. “Are you supposed to get one of these?” Y/N timidly asked Tara, handing her the script with a starstruck smile on her face.

Dean clenched his jaw as Tara’s eyes roamed Y/N, a coy smile appearing on the actress’ face. That familiar burning feel returned as his nostrils flared. He schooled the act but his little brother caught onto his expressions quickly. “Oh lord, here we go” Sam muttered to himself as his brother quickly took up a smoothie from the table, stalking over to them.

“Sorry about that, it’s her first day” Dean smiled widely at Tara, handing her the smoothie. His charm radiated as he smirked at the actress. “Thanks” Tara giggled, accepting the smoothie from Dean. Y/N clenched her jaw, shooting subtle daggers at him before clearing her throat.

“You know, I know it’s really uncool to say this, but we’re big fans” Y/N said sweetly, Dean nodded enthusiastically, “Oh, God. What a terrible script” Tara snorted, “Uh, but thank you” She added, winking at Y/N. This made the hunter blush and Dean internally roll his eyes. “Yeah…” Dean chuckled.

“You found him right…the dead guy?” Dean asked awkwardly, Y/N’s eyes slightly widened as Tara’s smile dropped. She shot him a look that said, ‘Way to be subtle, hotshot’. with a gentle elbow to his ribs.

Sam rolled his eyes from afar as he watched the exchange, shaking his head at Dean's less than subtle approach to questioning Tara. Sam shot him a disapproving glare, knowing that they needed to be more tactful in their questioning. Dean winced at the nudge to his ribs, shooting Y/N a subtle glare in return.

“He’s sorry hun, you probably don’t even want to talk about this” She quickly apologized on Dean’s behalf, “No, actually it’s-…it’s okay, but nobody around here really brings it up very much” Tara assured him before whispering. “I think they’re all scared that I’m gonna have some sort of breakdown” The hunters nodded in understanding.

“That must’ve been awful” Y/N said sympathetically, Tara gave her a grateful smile. “What happened?” Dean asked gently. “It was horrible” Tara sighed, biting her lip as she reminisced on the terrible experience. “There- there was all this blood coming from his eyes…and from his mouth, and, uh…I saw this…um..” Tara’s voice was low as she explained, an unconvincing smile on her face.

“What?” Y/N asked curiously, “I saw this shape” She whispered back, Dean and Y/N’s brows cocked up. “To tell you guys the truth, I don’t know, actually what I saw, I just know I saw it” She explained as Walter approached them with a juice. “Here you go, Tara,” He said sweetly, handing Tara the juice and a bag of chips.

Y/N glanced at Dean, her eyes wide with interest and confusion as Tara spoke of the "shape" she saw. It piqued her curiosity as to what it could have been, and it clearly piqued Dean's as well, judging by the raising of his eyebrows. Walter approaching them interrupted their thoughts as he handed Tara a juice and a bag of chips.

“Thanks, Walter,” Tara said gratefully, accepting it before the PA left. “Uh, so this crew guy, Frank. I mean, did you know him?” Dean asked curiously. “Uh, no. Not that well.” Tara shook her head, opening the bag of chips. “It’s funny. It’s like no one around here knew the guy” Y/N said, shaking her head. “I’ve got his picture,” Tara told them.

The starstruck smiles reappeared on the hunters faces as Tara turned to fetch her folder from her bag. “You do?” Dean grinned. “Yeah, I take Polaroids of all the crew. It’s just one of those things you do to kill time on set” Tara blushed shyly, flipping through her folder as the two hunters smiled, eyes shining with excitement. “Um…right here”

Dean and Y/N moved to either side of her chair to get a better look. As Y/N scanned the picture, a sudden realization slapped her in the face. That familiar face looking back at her. Her jaw dropped, mirroring Dean's expression. They shared a look before muttering expletives in unison.

"Son of a fucking bitch"

"Jesus fucking Christ"

____________________________________________

The trio were now knocking on the door to the apartment of the man who was thought to be Frank Jaffy, “Gerard St. James?” Y/N questioned as Gerard opened the door. “Yes?” He raised an inquisitive brow at the three as Sam and Dean narrowed their eyes at him. “You’re still alive” Sam scoffed, “And you’re not Frank Jaffy” Dean added.

“Uh..no..” Gerard shook his head. “You were Desert Soldier #4 in Metalstorm: Destruction of Jared-Syn?” Y/N asked in a knowing tone, trying to keep her fangirl side at bay. “I was,” Gerard nodded. “I knew we recognized you” Dean chuckled, “We are huge fans. I mean your turn as a tractor-crash victim in Critters 3”

“Critters 3!” Gerard chuckled along with Dean as Y/N nodded enthusiastically. “Wow” She fanned herself again as Sam looked between the three, "And in Critters 4," Y/N added, her smirk growing wider as Gerard chuckled along. She was practically swooning as she fanned herself, her excitement palpable. Sam rolled his eyes at the trio, shaking his head at their fangirl behavior.

“Alright, well please. Come in” Gerard ushered them into his apartment. “Oh, cool” Dean muttered, gesturing for Y/N to go in first. As Y/N eagerly entered the room, Dean gestured for her to go first, his eyes quickly darting to her ass before he followed after her. Sam entered last, shutting the door behind them.

The walls were lined with pictures of Gerard in various roles, the trio now questioning him. “Yeah, it was the producers. I mean, they brought me in to play Frank for the day” Gerard explained, handing Sam and Y/N two coffee mugs. “Just to fake your death?” Dean asked, accepting a mug of coffee from Frank as he settled on the couch next to Y/N.

“Well, rumors of a haunted film set. Free publicity. Especially when you’re making a horror movie” Gerard explained as Sam sat across from Dean and y/n and Gerard settled next to Sam. “I mean, uh, it’s already all over the internet” He added, “Yeah, we know” Sam muttered, smiling tightly. “Well, these days, it’s all about new media. Building buzz” Gerard chuckled.

“They say that I’m the new Lonelygirl” The actor smiled proudly as Sam awkwardly sipped his coffee. “Who?” Dean and Y/N asked simultaneously, both confused. “And the ghost Tara saw?” Sam asked, “Projected on a screen of diffusion” Gerard explained, a lump grew in Y/N’s throat as he said this.

“Isn’t that kind of cruel? Messing with their heads like that?” She gaped, shaking her head in disgust at the fact that they would do that to one of her favorite actresses. “Hey, I just play the part, dollface. I don’t write the script” Gerard defended, y/n clenched her jaw as Frank continued to talk.

Y/N clenched her jaw at Gerard's words, growing increasingly frustrated with the fact that they were messing with the heads of innocent people just for publicity. She felt a protective anger towards the actress, Tara.

Dean, sensing her discomfort, placed a comforting hand on her thigh, giving it a slight squeeze. He shared her disapproval of their tactics, but knew they had a job to do, regardless.

“Speaking of, I’m playing Willy in a dinner-theater production of Salesman at Costa Mesa all next month” Gerard stated excitedly, taking up a couple coupons he had on the coffee table after resting down his own mug. “You get a free pepper steak with the coupon.” He said as he handed Dean the coupon.

The Hunter placed his mug on the table, using his free hand to take the coupon whilst the other was still rubbing gentle circles on Y/N’s thigh. A subtle shiver ran through Y/N’s body, a response to his unexpected and surprisingly comforting touch. She glanced down at his hand, then back up at him.

For a brief moment, she considered gently removing his hand, but a part of her went against it. Relishing in the comfort his touch brought to her, something she wasn’t used to much.

“Huh. Well now, wait a second. If you’re seen in public, won’t that ruin the hoax?” Y/N asked gruffly, clearing her throat, attempting to pretend like she wasn’t trying not to jump Dean right at this very moment. “Ha. Please” Gerard chuckled, shaking his head. “Frank and Willy, totally different characters” He assured them, turning to Sam.

Y/N forced a grunt, trying to keep her mind off of the warmth and comfort of Dean's hand, and refocusing on the conversation at hand. She shifted slightly, feeling more flustered as the actor explained the difference between 'Frank and Willy'.

Sam and Dean shared a look, both silently agreeing that this man before them was a complete jackass. “You know what?” Sam spoke up, playing his mug on the table, forcing a tight smile. “Thanks very much, Mr. St. James. it was just nagging at us, you know? But we’re very glad that, you know, you’re alive and well” Sam stated politely, pushing himself up from the couch.

Dean finally took his hand of y/n’s thigh, the female hunter placing her mug on the table also, letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in. “Yeah” Gerard smiled widely, shaking each of their hands. “Absolutely” Y/N forced a smile. A thought crossed Dean’s mind, “Hey, uh, I wanted to ask you, what was it like working with Richard Molt” He asked.

Sam furrowed his brows in disapproval and confusion as Y/N’s face brightened, intrigued. “Metalstorm. He was Hurok, king of the Cyclops people” Y/N explained, slightly excited as Sam rolled his eyes at the duo for the umpteenth time. The two turned to Gerard expectantly.

“Gentleman’s gentleman. And a bit of a womanizer” Gerard chuckled, “Yeah?” Y/N smiled widely as both she and Dean chuckled. Y/N's eyes widened with joy as the topic changed to one of her favorites. She felt a little star-struck as Gerard spoke of the actor, Richard Molt.

As he began speaking of his experience with the actor, both her and Dean chuckled and smiled. Sam just shook his head at her, unable to believe that she could still be gushing over this man after all these years.

____________________________________________

It was now the next day, Dean and Y/N both had headsets attached to their ears as they both stayed undercover in the roles as PAs, both liking it a bit too much. The previous day, Brad, the studio guy. “Hung himself” in the middle of shooting, the trio wasn’t convinced so they all stuck around to get a gist of everything.

Everyone on set was currently arguing in the middle of shooting, about whether ghosts would be “afraid of salt or shotguns”. Dean and Y/N snickered to themselves at the irony as Walter, a PA brushed past them, “These people are idiots” He grumbled annoyed, tossing his script to the ground. Dean and Y/N shared a look, both munching on taquitos as Sam approached them.

“Walter’s a little testy for a PA, huh?” Dean commented, Y/N nodded her head, taking another bite of her taquito. She looked over at Walter, who still had a sour look on his face, pacing back and forth through the commotion.

"I would be too,” She agreed. “But the food” She groaned slightly, throwing her head back as she took another bite of the taquito. Sam let out a chuckle, "How’s it going here?” He asked the duo in a low tone. “It’s going really good man. Tara’s really stepped up her performance” Dean said with admiration, Y/N had to hold herself back from rolling her eyes but schooled the act.

She nodded in agreement, “I think it’s probably all the sense memory she’s drawing on” Y/N added. “Sense memory?” Sam questioned, raising his brows at the two as they nodded. “Yeah,” Dean replied, crunching on the food. “Dean, Y/N/N, when I asked how it's going here, I’m talking about the case, right? We don’t really work here” Sam snorted, making their faces drop.

They swallowed harshly as he spoke, “You know, I thought you guys hated being PAs” Sam shook his head as they looked down at their attire. Both hunters were dressed as typical production assistants, their outfits blending in with the rest of the crew members.

Dean donned a black t-shirt, which was partially hidden by a green button down shirt. He wore faded blue jeans that were slightly stressed and his attire was topped off by brown work boots.

Y/N was dressed in dark gray jeans, light brown combat boots, and a black tank top hiding underneath a dark green button-down shirt, contrasting Dean’s outfit perfectly.

Dean and Y/N both looked down at their outfits in defeat. They looked back up at Sam, they both shrugged as Dean cleared his throat, "Well, uh, it’s just we..." He stopped, knowing he was digging themselves a hole. “I don’t know. It’s not so bad, feeling kind of like part of the team, you know?” Y/N added as De/‘ nodded in agreement.

“It’s good.” He agreed, “Oh, taquito? They’re wonderful” Y/N offered Sam a taquito as Dean crunched on his own. The younger Winchester grimaced, shaking his head, “No, um, listen, I conned my way into the morgue.” Sam began. “And?” Dean mumbled through a mouth full of food.

“News reports are right. Brad's doornail, no question” Sam informed them, but they two didn’t hear a word he said as someone was speaking to them through the headsets. “Copy that” Dean responded, “Coming right up sir” Y/N replied before covering the mic along with Dean.

“Sorry, what?” Dean asked Sam, “Copy that?” Sam muttered confused. “What did you say?” Y/N asked. Sam’s face dropped as he looked between the duo, rolling his eyes. He leaned forward, speaking low for only them to hear, "I said, the news reports are right. Brad’s a doornail."

"They’re aware!” Dean said loudly into the mic, still not hearing a word Sam said. “Who’s aware?” Sam asked, furrowing his brows. The two undercover PAs shared a confused look before looking at Sam. Y/N furrowed her brows slightly, “What are you talking about?”

“Sorry, what were you saying?” Dean asked, wiping his mouth. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a frustrated exhale. “The newspaper’s right. Brad's a doornail, no question about it.” He stated slowly, hoping they’d hear what he was saying finally. “I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t skip town” Dean said, nodding.

“Oh, come here. I want you to hear something” Y/N told the brothers, “Copy that. On my way!” She said into the mic again, Sam and Dean looked at her confused, following behind her as she made her way to Dave, one of videographers who seemed to have a liking to her. “Hey, Dave, can you play that thing you were playing for me earlier?” She said sweetly.

Dave smiled widely at Y/N, “You liked that, huh?” He teased, his face slightly flush. Y/N smiled back at him, giving him a gentle nudge as both brothers stood behind her, watching the interaction. “I sure did, I’m intrigued, play it for my friends here, would ya?” She asked, her voice slightly low and sultry in an attempt to flatter Dave.

Dean clenched his jaw tightly, his freehand balling into tight fists by his side. He swallowed his food gruffly as he watched Y/N flirt with Dave, his eyes flickering between the two as he kept a disinterested expression on his face.

His stomach twisted with irritation. Tearing his eyes away from them as Dave handed him a pair of headphones and then handed Sam one. “Thanks” Sam muttered as they both accepted the headphones, placing it on their heads.

“Doesn’t matter, we’re not leaving till we—” Mitch, one of the actors, voice came over the headphones before the audio began crackling and a static noise came through. The boys and y/n shared a knowing look.

“EVP” Sam stated as they walked through the set. “After Brad’s stage dive. And all of a sudden, my head's spinning like crazy and I’m sensing the spirits” Y/N said, “Yeah, I’m getting electromagnetic readings up the wazoo” Dean agreed, “For some reason it’s a legit haunting now” He added.

“Who’s the ghost, guys? What’s it want?” Sam sighed. The boys simultaneously looked at y/n, “Don't look at me, I just feel the damn things. I don’t see em unless we do a seance, and to do a seance, we have to know who the hell the ghosts are” Y/N put her hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, ghosts? As in plural” Dean furrowed his brows.

“Mhm. There’s more than one” Y/N nodded, “Great” Sam muttered sarcastically, “I think we should take a look at Brad's death scene” Dean suggested.

The trio were now outside, making sure no one noticed Sam picking the lock to Tara’s trailer. Dean knelt in front of the DVD, putting out his hand for y/n to hand him the CD. “Hey. Where’d you get this DVD?” Sam asked them as they sat back, rewinding the tape. “They’re called dailies” Dean corrected.

“I got it from Cindy, she’s kinda got this on and off thing going with Drew. He dubbed me an extra copy” Y/N explained, Sam tilted his head, somewhat impressed. “Here’s where the guy fell through the roof.” Dean paused the tape. “Right,” Sam said. “Here we go” Y/N muttered as he unpaused the tape.

“They must have super hearing” Mitch said through the TV, then an ear piercing scream came from Cindy as Brad’s body came falling from the ceiling, his neck around a noose, hanging mid air.

“Hey, wait, go back, go back” Sam suddenly said, Dean quickly rewinded the tape. “Right after. Right. Yeah, right” Both Sam and Y/N’s eyes widened as the figure of a woman appeared on the screen, “There” He gasped as Dean's brows furrowed. “It’s like Three Men and a Baby all over again” Dean muttered. Sam turned to them confused.

“Selleck, Dandon and Guttenberg. And I don’t know who played the baby” Dean tilted his head. “What’s your point?” Sam asked. “There’s a scene in the movie where people say that the camera caught a ghost on film. Apparently in the background of one of the scenes, there was this boy that nobody remembers from set. Spirit photography” Y/N explained.

Sam narrowed his eyes at the image of the woman, “I’ve seen her before” He said in a low tone.

____________________________________________

Later, they were all sitting in the cafeteria. Sam was doing research on his computer while Dean and Y/N fiddled with this equipment. “Here, check this out,” Sam told them, turning the laptop towards them. “Got your ears on? Over.” A man on their headsets asked. “Yeah, go for Ozzy” Dean responded. “Joan, here” Y/N responded back. “You guys got eyes on Tara” The man asked as Sam furrowed his brows at them.

“No. I don’t have a 20 on Tara” Dean said. “I think she’s 10-100” Y/N added with a small smile along with Dean as Sam rolled his eyes. “Copy that. Send her my way” The man said. “Okay, copy that” Dean and Y/N stated in unison, before the line went dead. “Sorry, what were you saying?” Y/N asked Sam. He just shook his head and pointed to the screen.

“Elise Drummond. Starlet back in the 30s. Had an affair with a studio exec” Sam explained in a low tone to ensure no one else heard them. Elise was the same woman they saw in the footage, “He uses her up, fires her, leaves her destitute. So Elise hangs herself from Stage 9s rafters right into a scene they’re shooting”

“Just like our man Brad” Dean muttered as he and Y/N stared at the picture. “So, what? She’s got it in for the studio brass?” Y/N questioned. “Possibly. I mean, it’s a motive, and Brad's death matches hers exactly.” Sam shrugged. “We’re digging tonight, aren’t we?” Dean groaned.

It was now nightfall, the trio found themselves in the cemetery where Elise was buried. “Which way?” Y/N asked as they shone their lights through the dark foggy grave garden. “Uh, over here” Dean answered, leading the way, using a map he bought. “Hey.” Dean called out to them. “Yeah” Sam and Y/N said in unison. “Ha, this map is totally worth the five bucks,” Dean chuckled.

Earning eyerolls from both younger hunters, “Hey, we gotta go check out Johnny Ramones grave when we’re done here” Dean suggested enthusiastically. “You wanna dig him up too” Y/N teased, nudging him with a small smile. “Bite your tongue, heathen!” He playfully shot back, causing Y/N to cackle.

“Guys, what I don’t get is, why now? I mean, after 75 years, Elise Drummond suddenly goes homicidal, you know. Why this movie? And how is she the only spirit that shows but Y/N felt multiple entities?” Sam questioned. “Well, maybe she’s mad they’re making a scary ghost flick” Dean suggested. “True. We could always deal with the other ghost after” Y/N agreed as they approached the grave.

“Here we go” She muttered, dropping the duffel bag, “Yep.” Sam sighed as they all got to work on digging.

After digging for a while, Dean finally hit her coffin. Y/N then handed him her butterfly knife to pry open the coffin. The old wood creaked open, revealing the skeletal remains of Elise. Sam immediately went to work on salting the bones as Dean climbed out. The elder Winchester took the initiative to douse the corpse with light fluid as Y/N got a box of matches out.

She struck the match against the side of the box, the flame igniting before tossing it into the coffin. Elise’s corpse was now in flames, the three watching as the corpse burnt.

____________________________________________

The next morning, cops were swarming the set. Apparently another one of the producers died horribly. “Run in with a giant fan.” Sam scoffed. “Same thing happened to an electrician back in ‘66. Guy named Billy Beard” Sam sighed as they took in the scene, blood was splattered almost everywhere. “What the hell, fellas?” Y/N groaned.

“I don’t know. At least we know it isn’t Elise this time. Doesn’t seem like her M.O.” Sam responded. “So she’s not the only homicidal ghost, great” Y/N groaned. “Yeah, but these things don’t usually tag team” Dean pointed out as they all walked outside to hear the director, McG, giving a speech.

“In light of Jay’s accident last night and in cooperation with the authorities. We’re shutting down production for a few days” McG announced, a few staff began to mutter disappointed. “I know, I know. Look, I’m not gonna lie to you, we’ve had a few setbacks this week. But we all know Jay and Brad wanted more anything….and that was to see Hell Hazers 2: The Reckoning, on screens all across America!”

Staff nodded in agreement as he continued, “Now, we owe it to them to go on and to pull together and to make this damn movie, huh?!” McG began clapping another with the rest of the crew. Dean and Y/N chuckled as they clapped while Sam snorted. “But- not- not today. Go home, someone will call you” He stated, cutting the speech.

____________________________________________

Later, Sam and Y/N were sitting in the trailer, watching the uncut version of the movie to see if there were any more spirits caught on film as Dean entered. Both were bored out of their minds as Y/N lazily munched on popcorn. “Hey” Dean greeted them, shutting the door. “Hey” Sam and Y/N muttered in unison. “So you find out where the electrician’s buried?” Sam asked, stuffing his mouth with popcorn.

“He wasn’t. Billy Beard was cremated” Dean responded, opening the fridge to get a beer. “Great. Now what?” Y/N scoffed, resting the bowl of popcorn on Sam’s lap. “No idea” Dean sighed, settling on the couch next to Y/N. “Anymore ghost cameos in the dailies?” He asked. “Not in the first six hours” Sam scoffed.

“Oh, man” Dean muttered, shifting closer to Y/N, slightly propping his arm against the backrest of the couch. “This fucking sucks” Y/N groaned, her shoulders slumping. “Tell me about it” Sam sighed, his eyes glancing between the two before going back to the screen, shoveling another fistful of popcorn in his mouth.

“You know, maybe the spirits are trying to shut down the movie because they think it sucks? Because I mean, it kinda does” Sam voiced his thoughts out loud, earning chuckles from Dean and Y/N. “Oh come on, the dialogue is, you know, I mean…” Y/N trailed off, trying to think of something good about the movie.

“Y/N don’t try” Sam stated, the two shared a knowing look. “Alright, I can’t even argue with that,” She muttered. “Yeah, it’s terrible.” Dean agreed. They all continued to watch as Tara’s character, Wendy started to chant in Latin. Sam and Y/N’s ears perked up at the familiar chant she was speaking.

Y/N quickly snatched the remote from the table as she and Sam pushed themselves up from their relaxed positions. Dean shot them a confused look, “Listen to the invocation” Sam pointed out. “Fellas….that’s the real deal” Y/N gasped, both her and Sam sharing a terrified look. “That’s a necromantic summoning ritual,” Sam added.

“What the fuck is that doing in a Hollywood movie?” He scoffed.

Immediately, they headed over to Marty, the writer’s, office. He was currently in the middle of a phone call, placing up a finger for them to give him a second as they timidly walked in. “Guys, we’re all shut down. What are you still doing here?” Marty asked the trio after hanging up his call. “Yeah, um, it’s just- sorry man. We- we- we just couldn’t help ourselves” Sam stuttered, chuckling awkwardly.

“We just had to tell you that we read the script” Sam told him. “And?” He asked expectantly. Sam couldn’t bring himself to compliment the horrible script so Y/N stepped in, ��It was awesome, sir” Y/N gushed as Dean nodded enthusiastically. “Awesome” Dean added as the writer’s smile widened.

“Really awesome” Sam fake gushed. “I know, it’s pretty rocking, right? I’m glad you guys liked it” Marty nodded, “Yeah, I really liked all the attention to detail” Sam said vaguely. “Dude, right on. That’s my thing, I mean, color me guilty, but that is me. I mean, I’m a total detail buff” Marty bragged, leaning back on his desk, his eyes scanning Y/N’s frame.

Dean took notice of this and internally rolled his eyes, slightly clenching his jaw. “No, I can tell. The way you worked in all those Enochian summoning rituals, in all the authentic language, and-” Y/N said but Marty cut her off. “Wait, you mean that Latin crap?” His smile dropped before shaking his head. “No, man. That’s Walter. Walter Dixon, the original writer” He told them, it was their turn for their faces to drop.

“You like that garbage?” Marty scoffed as he made his way over to his chair. “Wait. Walter the PA, Walter?” Dean asked for clarification. “No, he’s not a PA. He’s got a clause in his contract that allows him to come on set” Marty informed them, taking a seat on his chair. “But he wrote the invocations?” Dean questioned.

“He wrote a whack-job screenplay. There’s no pace, there’s no love interest. It’s all wackadoo exposition” Marty rambled on with disgust. “I had to cut like 90 percent of it to make it readable. Another 10 percent to make it good” He continued, picking up a script from his desk. The trio chuckled dryly as the man continued to talk.

____________________________________________

“Should've kept Walter's original script. It’s actually pretty good” Dean commented as they all held copies of the original script, reading it in their trailer. “Yeah” Sam scoffed, folding it up and tossing it aside before resting his hands behind his head. “And it reads like a how-to manual of conjugation. Like a textbook on how to summon ghosts and get them to do whatever you want” Sam said.

“Yeah, like kill people” Y/N muttered, flipping through the script. “Yep” Sam sighed. “So let’s say somewhere down the line Walter learned some pretty Black Magic” Y/N began, tossing her script on Dean’s lap. “Yeah, and let’s say he’s pissed at these people for wrecking his movie,” Dean added. “Motive and means” Sam deadpanned as they put two and two together.

“It’s worth checking out” Dean shrugged as they all shared a look. “Just once. Once, can someone haunt a strip club” Y/N groaned, sinking into the couch next to Dean. “Or a beach house, or a Playboy mansion” Dean agreed, tilting his arm back as he rested his arm behind her on the backrest of the couch.

“Or a candy factory. I’d like to be killed by gumdrops” Y/N added, imagining such a scenario. “Or-or a theme park. Death by log flume” Dean stated. “A puppy farm” Y/N giggled, imagining herself chased by a stampede of puppies as she leaned into his arm.

Sam shot them an amused look of disbelief. “You two are unbelievable” He stated. “Yeah, yeah,” They both scoffed, waving off his judgment, neither denying nor confirming.

____________________________________________

The trio made their way to the set, wielding their rocksalt guns. Their ears perked up when they heard Marty screaming for mercy and the fan that Jay was killed in was turnt on. “Oh, God!! Walter!!” Marty screamed with terror as Dean and Y/N bent the corner. “Now you’re gonna find out what being a ghost is really like!” Walter shot back.

“Walter please, Walter help me!!!” Marty begged. Y/N immediately aimed for the ghost of Billy Beard, dragging Marty towards the fan. A round of rocksalt went through his chest, causing him to disapparate. Dean and Y/N stood over a grateful Marty as Sam turnt the large fan off. “You are one hell of PAs” Marty said breathlessly. “Yeah, we know” Dean deadpanned a bit smugly as Y/N helped Marty up.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at Walter along with Sam, she and the young Winchester started stalking towards him, jaws clenched and infuriated. “W-what are you doing??” Walter stammered quickly, making a break for the stairs. “We could ask you the same thing Walter. Raising these spirits from the dead?! Making them murder for you?! That’s playing with fire, Walter!” Sam shouted at him.

“You don’t understand,” Walter sobbed, running further up the catwalk. “You know what, you’re right. We don’t understand!” Y/N shouted, aiming her gun at him. “Wait, wait, look.” Walter pleaded. “You put your heart and soul into something. Years of hard work. Years. And then they take it!! And they crap all over it!!” Walter raged as Marty scoffed and shook his head arrogantly.

“And then- and then they want you to smile and say thank you” Walter growled. “Walter, listen, it’s just a movie. That’s it” Sam tried to reason, trying to snatch y/n’s gun away from her but she didn’t let up. Walter took a deep breath, trying to regulate his breathing. “Look, I got nothing against you, guys. You’re not part of this. Just please, please, just leave” Walter begged them.

“But Martins gonna stay” He ordered, pointing to Marty. “Sorry, can't do that” Dean chimed in. “I mean, it’s not that we like him or anything, it’s just a matter of principle!” Dean shouted, warning a slightly offended look from Marty. “Then I’m sorry too” Walter said ominously before raising the pendant in his hand that binder the spirits. “Walter, please- no!” Sam pleaded as Walter began chanting in Latin.

The room began to shake as the spirits began emerging. Y/N’s body grew weaker, her breathing becoming more intense. “Y/N?!” Dean called to her worriedly, seeing her struggling to stand upright. “I’m…I’m ok” She lied, still trying to raise her gun, shaking uncontrollably. The spirits began inching towards them. “Sam!” Dean screamed, indicating for Sam to stay behind them.

“Come on, come on!” Y/N growled, the heaviness overweighting her and then suddenly, they disapparated. Leaving them confused. Only for Sam to be tossed to one side of the room. “Sam!!” Dean called out again, rushing over to his brother.

Y/N attempted to go shoot them but was quickly slammed against the wall, her gun falling from her hands as she cried out. “Y/N!” Dean called out to her, watching as she was repeatedly slammed against the wall, pinned against it by the flickering spirit. Dean then shot the spirit, causing it to disapparate, quickly helping y/n up.

“You good?” Dean asked her, worry staining his face as she nodded, scrambling for her gun. “Yes. I’m ok..” She lied again, leaning against him as he helped her limp into the fake house on the set, with Sam shutting the door behind them, all breathing heavily. “Come to the coast, we’ll get together, have a few laughs” Y/N mocked Dean’s words from a couple days ago in a high pitched tone.

This earned her a glare from him as they loaded up their guns with rocksalt. “Ah, fuck!” Dean groaned, cocking his gun alone with y/n. “I can’t believe this. Ghosts are real” Marty panicked. “What makes you say that?” Dean sassed sarcastically, not having any of it. The place was eerily quiet as they scanned the area. “I don’t understand. How is Walter controlling them?” Marty asked.

“Probably with that talisman” Y/N answered. “Can you see them?” Dean asked, so y/n flashed her eyes white, scanning the room. “How is she doing that?!” Marty exclaimed. “You ask a lot of questions Marty!” Dean snapped. A thought crossed Sam’s mind, the younger Winchester quickly pulling out his phone. “What are you doing?!” He asked Sam. “I mean, if film cameras pick these suckers up, then…maybe…uh…” Sam answered, using his phone camera to scan the room.

His eyes widened when the deformed spirit of Billy Beard came into view, Y/N spotted him at the same time Sam yelled. “Dean, Y/N. Right there!” The two instantly shot him, the rock salt hitting the wall behind them. “Got him!” Sam gasped, all breathing heavily. Sam and Y/N continued scanning with his phone and her eyes.

Y/N felt a chill behind her, swiftly turning around to shoot besides Dean where another spirit was going to attack him. Y/N noticed Walter above them on the catwalk, trying to get away. She and Sam shared a look, nodding in agreement. “Here, you get the idea?!” Sam instructed Marty, handing him his cellphone. Marty nodded obediently, taking the phone from Sam.

“Alright, you hold ‘em off, charming. We’re going after Walter!” Y/N told Dean, stuffing her gun into Marty’s hands. “Hey!” Dean called out to her, making her stop in her tracks as Sam ran out towards Walter, “Be safe” He pleaded as she turned to him.

“Ditto” Y/N replied with a smile, flashing him a quick wink with promise. She then hurried to the stairs, her and Sam running up the steps, they made it to the roof just in the Nick of time. Walter came rushing through the door to see Sam and Y/N, he stopped in his tracks. “It’s over Walter. Now give it to me” Sam ordered him, putting his hand out for Walter to hand him the talisman.

Their jaws dropped when Walter tossed it into the ground, breaking it. “There, okay, now no one can have it!” Walter shouted. Y/N might be a sympathetic person but she had to stop herself from laughing at the utter stupidity Walter just displayed by breaking the talisman. Pressing a hand over her mouth, “I wouldn’t have done that if i were you” Y/N muttered fearfully and Sam put up his hands in surrender.

He quickly pulled Y/N back by her wrist, backing away from Walter. “Oh yeah?” Walter scoffed. “Yeah” Sam shot back. “And why not?” Walter rolled his eyes arrogantly. “Because you just freed them!” Sam shouted as Dean and Marty came rushing through the door. “And we can’t stop them now” He added and both him and Y/N continued to back away.

“Walter, you brought them back, forced them to murder. They’re not gonna be very happy with you” Y/N pointed out as she and Sam inched towards Dean and Marty. “Yeah? So why not?” Walter scoffed when suddenly the spirits began growling, grabbing a hold of Walter. He began screaming for mercy as the spirits began clawing at him, his light blue shirt now staining in his own blood.

“And there’s your answer,” Y/N stated coldly, wincing when Walter’s cries of terror and agony filled the night air. Sam put a hand around her shoulder, gently guiding her away from the gory scene but she saw everything. Marty held the camera up, getting a clear view of all the spirits attacking and mauling Marty, unfortunately, y/n didn’t need the camera to see and it made her feel sick to her stomach.

____________________________________________

A couple days later, shooting is back in session. Two of the actors were in the middle of a scene. “Oh, God…oh god” Sandra gasped, holding up a phone camera before screaming, “There!” The other actor shot in the direction she pointed at, and all the staff were loving it. “I don’t understand. How can the spirits appear in the camera phone? And how can you see them but we can’t?” Sandra asked, pointing to a new character, Kelly.

Kelly shrugged, “I’m psychic. And the video picks up their frequencies in ways your eyes can’t” She said sheepishly, Sam and Y/N were standing besides Marty, the judgmental looks clear on their faces. Y/N cringed when Kelly’s actress said that, rolling her eyes in annoyance as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Cut!!” McG ended the scene. “Oh, print that one. That’s in the movie!” He cheered excitedly as the bell on set rang. “Oh! Loved it kids, loved it!” He exclaimed as Sam and Y/N scoffed, shaking their heads. “You find out there’s an afterlife and psychics and this is what you do with it?” Sam said in a low tone to Marty who was wearing a huge grin.

“I needed a little jazz on the page,” Marty shrugged, his eyes flickering over to Y/N. Y/N caught his glance, returning it with a glare of her own, crossing her arms over her chest. Marty just smirked in return, “Don’t look so glum, gorgeous. Tilly is playing a great you as Kelly” Marty grinned.

Y/N huffed, not amused by Marty’s comment. She looked away, watching as some of the crew members were setting up a scene in front of her.

____________________________________________

“Where the hell is he?” Sam grumbled in annoyance to Y/N as they walked around the lot looking for Dean. They stopped in their tracks when Tara’s trailer door swung open suddenly, almost hitting them both in the process. Our walked a very disheveled Dean, fixing his jacket and Tara leaning against the door, a sultry look on her face. “You’re one hell of a PA” She breathed out.

Dean’s eyes landed on Y/N, filled with guilt but the female hunter kept a stoic expression as Sam’s jaw dropped. Y/N felt as though someone just ripped her heart out, chewed it up and stomped on it with steel tipped boots. She could’ve vomited on the spot, just thinking about Dean with someone else.

No more Tara Benchley movies for her, that’s for sure.

“Thank you” Dean said sheepishly to Tara, who gave him a sultry smile. “Don’t mention it” Tara replied, the lustful look never leaving her face. Y/N’s heart was aching as she watched the interaction, a sickening nauseous feeling flooding her body. Dean’s eyes quickly flickered to her, seeing the neutral look on her face.

“You were a real gentleman” She added, still keeping her eyes on Dean as he nervously scratched the back of his head. He stole glances at his friend, the stoic look in her eye made his heart sink.

Sam was looking between his brother and best friend, seeing the hurt wash over her face and a look of guilt spreading through his brother's face. He shot Y/N a sympathetic look but she kept her face neutral.

“I guess I’ll see you around” He said quietly, Tara who just smirked at him. “I sure hope so,” She told him, eyeing him up and down. “Let’s go” Y/N ordered, trying to keep her voice firm. She turned on her heel, Sam following her as he gave Dean a stern scowl. Dean gulped, running after them with a smug look on his face.

Dean had yet to notice the clear range of emotions y/n was going through, though she was masking it well. Sam wasn’t stupid, he saw right through his best friend. Y/N fished her pack of cigarettes from her jacket, instantly lightly one up while Dean grabbed a burrito from the cart one of the caterers were lugging around. “God I love this town” Dean pranced happily between Sam and Y/N.

Y/N didn’t speak, instead keeping her gaze straight ahead as she took another huff of the cigarette, a cloud of smoke escaping her mouth. Sam sent a nervous glance at his friend, noticing the dark look in her eyes and the rigid stiffness in her shoulders.

She’d be a hypocrite to say that she wasn’t trying to get into Tara’s pants too. She totally was, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. She spent the next couple of minutes plotting to get laid at their next stop.

____________________________________________

Author's Note: And there we have itttt, I just wanna say once again, thank you for the patience and supporting me endlessly❤️❤️❤️

I hope everyone enjoyed it and I’m so excited for the next two episodes! I’ve already started on it lol

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Xoxo

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