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mydadleft471 · 5 months ago

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Cerulean Coast and Flower Crowns

Summary: Messmer takes you on a date to the Cerulean Coast. Fluff ensues.

This was a request from anonymous! I'll link the request here! I'm so sorry this took forever, I just started school again and the back half of my summer was NUTS. But this prompt was so cute I couldn't stop thinking about it, so I got home and busted it out. Thanks for the patience and the request anon!

Also, thank you guys for over 100 followers! I didn't realize I hit that until today, so thank you all so much! The support I get on here is insane, and it means everything to me. I love writing so much, and being able to share it with other people is so satisfying and gratifying!

As always, please enjoy and thank you all for following, reading, liking, commenting, and reblogging! I hope I'll be able to post again relatively soon because I love this man sm

A soft knock at the door slightly startled you.

“Just a minute!” You hollered, trying to finish your braids as quickly as possible. Ever since you had braided Messmer’s hair, he’s been trying to get you to match him. Wearing matching braids was a simple gesture, but to him, it was anything but. He’d yet to work up the courage to ask you to braid a lock of his hair in your own.

Securely tying your hair in place and giving yourself a glance in your vanity, you decided you looked good enough to answer the door. The embroidered gold collar on your red dress glimmered in the sunlight streaming through the nearby window. Whichever way you turned, you would seemingly glow. A set of polished ruby earrings and a matching necklace sat on the table before you. They were another gift from Messmer. He loved when you wore red. Perhaps it was something possessive, or maybe it was the fact that red was his color, so wearing it meant you were proud to be his. Whichever it was, you didn’t mind. You just enjoyed making him happy.

Standing from your chair, you hurry to the door and open it. Standing before you was Messmer himself. You notice that he’s not in his usual armor and cloak, but instead, he wears a ruby tunic with black pants. He looks simple, yet regal, all at once. His hair has yet to be braided, as he insisted that your braids look nicer. You think it’s just an excuse to have you do his hair, which you don’t mind.

“Hello, beloved.” You greet him with a blinding smile. “Would you like to come in?”

He nods and enters your room. The smell of vanilla wafts in the air pleasantly. You catch his eyes drifting over your dress. He seems to realize that he’s been staring at you, and looks away quickly.

He clears his throat. “Red suits thee, it seemeth. Ne’er have I witnessed anyone as beautiful as thee, my consort.”

“You look wonderful as well, Messmer. What’s the occasion?”

“I wish for thee to accompany me to the Cerulean Coast.” His face is red.

“For what, my love? Is there some pressing business to attend to there?”

“No.” He grabs your hand and straightens the matching gold ring on your middle finger. “I wish to take thee there. Nights ago thou had said something about the beauty of the Cerulean Coast.”

“Are you asking me on a date?” You cock your head at him.

“I- yes.” He seems like he’s trying to shrink away from your gaze.

“When did you want to go?”

“If today suits thee, then today. When thou’rt ready.” He squeezes your hand.

“Well, first I need to put on my jewelry. Then, I assume, you want me to braid your hair to match mine?”

“How well thou knowest me.” He gives you a shy smile.

“Come on, then.” You lead him over to your vanity and you sit down.

You reach for your ruby earrings and begin to put them in, but Messmer’s hand gently stops you. You shoot him a puzzled look. Did he not want you to wear these today?

“If I may, I would like to assist thee.”

You give him a small nod and hand him the earrings. They’re comically small in his palm. He leans down and slowly puts your earrings in, careful to not accidentally poke you. Once he finishes, he reaches for your necklace and stands behind you. He gently drapes it over your neck and adjusts any jewels that aren’t facing the right way, then clasps the ends together. He ghosts his hand over your neck and collarbones, making you shiver.

“I adore thee in red.” You see him smile at you in the mirror. His eye glints possessively and your stomach does somersaults.

“Your turn.” You hop out of the seat and gesture for Messmer to sit, which he does.

You grab your brush and begin to part his hair down the middle, brushing it so it’s silky and smooth. Taking three small strands of hair, you begin an intricate braid. When you finish with the first one, you wordlessly pass it to him to hold, which he does. He’s gotten used to your silent cues when doing his hair. You begin the left braid next, shaping it into a half-moon, soon to be joined together with the other braid. It’s a very simple hairstyle, yet it is Messmer’s favorite.

Tying the ends together, you lean over and give Messmer a quick peck on the cheek to tell him you’re finished. His face reddens and he gives you a bashful smile. Even after all this time, he still flusters from the simplest of gestures.

He stands from your vanity chair and gently grabs your hand. He brings it up to his mouth and places a delicate kiss on your knuckles.

“Will the Keep be okay while we’re away?”

He nods and squeezes your hand. “Fear not, beloved. I have left Gaius in command. We shall return by sunset.”

It seemed like he already had everything planned for the day.

He leads you, arm-in-arm, down the stairs and hallways you’ve started calling home, and servants bow their heads in greeting as you pass. One of Messmer’s serpents winds around your waist and the other perches on your shoulder. They relax against you, comforted by your warmth.

Messmer shakes his head. “Fickle creatures they are. But I cannot fault them for preferring thee.”

“They’ve only been with you for the entire duration of your life. They can’t be tired of you.” The serpents hiss and wind around you tighter, making you and Messmer laugh.

Once you reach the gates to the Shadow Keep, Messmer signals to one of his guards. The heavy doors slowly open, revealing the vast plains of Scadu Altus. The breeze gently tousels your hair and you huff. Messmer gives you a small smile and tucks a wind whipped lock of hair behind your ear.

A knight approaches with Messmer’s horse and hands him the reins. He’d pulled away from you briefly to pet her. You’d seen her before, but you’d never dared to ride her. She’s a large, black horse with deep brown eyes. Her mane flows freely down her neck and she exudes power. She’s stubborn, but Messmer had rode her into many battles and came back unscathed. If he trusted her, so would you.

Messmer looks at you, standing timidly a few feet away. He gives you that gentle smile that only you get to see and approaches you.

“Have I told thee her name?”

“No,” you shake your head, ruby earrings gently knocking against your neck. “She’s beautiful, though.”

“She is called Belladonna. A fine horse she is.” She whinnies at his praise, stomping her hooves as if eager to go.

Messmer reaches out to you and you give him your hand. He slowly pulls you towards Belladonna and extends your hand to her. She sniffs you a few times and then butts her head against you.. Messmer laughs and you begin to stroke her mane, amazed at how silky it is.

“Thou needn’t worry; she is gentle. No harm will come to you with her, beloved.” You believe him as she nuzzles into your gentle pets and scratches. The tension you felt upon seeing her dissipated almost immediately.

“Come, consort mine.” He mounts and settles onto Belladonna easily, as if he’s done it a thousand times. He wraps an arm around your waist and hoists you up with assistance from his serpents. You settle with his stomach against your back, legs thrown over the side of the horse gracefully.

“Wilt thou be alright?” Messmer secures you in between his arms, reins clutched in his hands.

“Just… don’t go very fast. Please?” Your stomach churns with anxiety being up so high. You also haven’t ridden a horse in what seemed like ages.

“Whatever thou wishest. We shalt go as slow as thou requires.”

With a snap of the reins, Belladonna begins a slow trot. You thought you’d be jostled around more, but between the slow pace, the easy terrain, and Messmer’s form keeping you steady, you find yourself sighing and sitting back against your lover.

The trees are tinted gold as you ride past them, sunlight streaming in between the leaves. The grass sways in the gentle breeze and you admire the nearby wildlife as they prance carefree among themselves. You could imagine your surroundings in a painting. It was nice to be out in fresh air and away from the Shadow Keep, even if only for a little while.

Most of the trip is spent in silence apart from the gentle sounds of Belladonna’s hooves against the dirt and the occasional chirp from a bird nesting overhead. Eventually, the golden grass yields to a field of cerulean flowers. They seem to glow as they are guided to and fro by the wind. You wonder if they are magic, perhaps related to the Carian royal family?

“I have forgotten the beauty of this place.” Messmer’s quiet voice plucks you from your thoughts.

You turn your head to look back at him. He smiles down at you and presses a light kiss to your forehead. You hum in response.

“I’ve only been here once. I was fighting through it, so I really couldn’t stop and enjoy the scenery.”

“Since thou hast expressed thy interest in returning here, I requested that my knights clear this place of any who would pose a threat to thee.”

“You did that for me?”

“Of course,” he responds calmly. “Thy safety remains a priority of mine.”

“Thank you, Messmer.”

“Gratitude is not necessary, beloved.”

Belladonna stops at a sparkling coast with deep blue water. Messmer dismounts, then assists you off the horse. Bending down, he offers you his arm, which you take gladly. He leads you towards the coast, the water rippling as it crashes over the sand. Flowers mimic the waves and sway in the breeze. You notice that there is a blanket sitting among the blue flowers with a basket. You look up at Messmer whose face is bright red.

“Did you plan this?” You ask incredulously.

“Certainly not alone. Rellana assisted me.” He lets go of your arm and sits on the blanket. You follow his movements.

“What could’ve possibly made you ask Rellana for help?” You giggle and adjust your dress.

“I wanted thee happy, but I was unsure of what to do. Thou requested to return to the Cerulean Coast and I wished to make the occasion special.” He toys with the blanket and avoids your gaze.

“What did Rellana tell you?”

“She instructed me to bring thou here for a picnic. I hope it is to thine liking.”

You move forwards and cup Messmer’s cheek in your palm. He gives you a bashful smile. “I love this. Thank you, my love.”

He exhales and kisses your palm, visibly relaxing. “When Rellana offered her advice, I held the belief that this would not suit thy tastes. I am glad I am wrong.”

“You worry too much.”

“I am aware, beloved.” He reaches over towards the basket and opens it. “I requested rowa fruit pastries be made for thee.”

Your mouth waters at the sweet smell drifting from the basket. Messmer hands you one and you carefully unwrap it and take a bite. It’s perfectly fluffy and sweet. You offer a bite to Messmer, and he shakes his head, not willing to take your treat away from you. You huff and refuse to budge. Rolling his eye, he takes a small bite and you smile, triumphant.

You finish your pastry and look out at the ocean. The crashing waves provide a soothing sound and you can practically feel Messmer’s tension burning away. His serpents nap on the soft blanket, curled into one another.

You lean forwards and pluck a glowing blue flower from the ground. The stems are long enough to weave together. Looking back at Messmer, you realize that this shade of blue would look perfect among his deep red locks.

“My love?” You call to him in a sing-song voice.

“Yes?” He knows you’re up to no good when you sound like that.

“Can you go gather some more flowers for me? I think 30 should be enough.”

“Thou wouldst have me pick flowers?” You understand where he’s coming from. As a hardened war veteran and powerful demigod, picking flowers was probably not on his list of things to do.

You shoot him a pleading look. “Please? For me?”

“Fine, but I shall never again hear the false notions that I do not love thee.”

“Thank you!” Even though he seems upset, you know he’s just faking. He could never be upset with you.

He gets up and gets to work gently plucking flowers from the ground. As most things are, they are comically small in his hands. You begin to gather some near you, stretching your arms to pick them. You create a small pile, delicately draping the flowers over one another without sullying the serene glow of the blue petals.

In a few minutes, Messmer returns to you holding a bundle of blue flowers. He sets them next to your pile and sits back down. You give him a quick peck on the lips and utter a quick ‘thank you,’ then begin weaving the stems together. You work on Messmer’s crown first, as his will take more flowers.

He watches your nimble fingers thread the flowers together. Your beautiful face pinches slightly in concentration, and you move strands of hair away from your face as you work. He moves closer to you and holds your hair away from your face, helping you work faster and more efficiently. The ruby earrings adorning your ears sparkle in the dim sunlight. He admires you and wonders how he ever got so lucky.

Soon, you finish his crown and present it triumphantly. He gives you a loving smile.

“For me, beloved?”

“Mhmm,” you say, placing it on his head. The blue glow creates a halo and compliments his red hair well. He looks stunningly handsome.

“A consort is deserving of a crown.” He gestures to you.

“I’m making mine next.”

“Wouldst thou teach me how to make these crowns?” He scoots beside you.

Your eyes light up and you nod. Grabbing two flowers, you show him how to weave them together tightly, so they remain locked in place. He watches you work and when you hand him two more flowers, he does his best to mimic you. It is harder for him to tighten them, as his hands are much larger than yours, but he tries his best. Once he’s weaved them together, you tighten them.

With you watching and patiently helping him, he eventually creates a circular crown of bright blue flowers.

“Aren’t they fun to make?” You beam up at him.

“Fun, yet frustrating for my hands are much larger than thy nimble ones. But I enjoyed making it. I had the most wondrous teacher.” His gold eye shimmers at you.

He lifts the crown and you lower your head. He places it delicately on your head and smooths your hair down. When you look up at him smiling, he finds himself marveling at your beauty. The Cerulean Coast pales in comparison to your sweet smile.

“Beautiful.” He breathes the word, in awe of you. He pulls you closer to him, pressing a loving kiss to your soft lips. He sighs, at peace once more, thanks to you.

He’d have to remember to thank Rellana after this.

#messmer the impaler #messmer x reader #messmer x tarnished #messmer the impaler x reader #elden ring x reader #elden ring messmer #cerulean coast #i love this man #he's so soft #and he deserves a flower crown

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giamee · 7 months ago

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🏵️ ᯓ★୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐒!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ blade x poledancer!reader

request ؛ ଓ @/anon i am on my KNEES for a drabble or fic of fem or gn reader seducing blade. take full creative liberty just PLEASE

gia's notes ؛ ଓ ok this officially marks the start of my blade x the weeknd extended universe. anon thank u for this JUICY juicy prompt <3 i hope that i did it justice

word count ؛ ଓ 1.0k ( + suggestive content but nothing explicit, really unsexy description of a pole routine from yours truly, no pronouns but reader is wearing a skirt, HIGH heels and thigh garter :p )

THERE'S A NEW FACE HERE TONIGHT. near the back, dark hair and dark eyes scanning the room rather than remaining transfixed on you. that's not something you see every day. it's not just that, but it's all of his body language that makes you think that he's here for other reasons than to watch a show and maybe heckle you in hopes of getting lucky later. he's got his arms crossed against his broad chest, positioned oh so carefully to be able to survey as much of the room as possible.

you wonder who, or what exactly he's looking for as you keep doing your routine. it's a shame, you think. you'd much rather have his attention than the drunken faces hooting and hollering at you, trying to catch a glimpse up your skirt as you do a spin around the pole.

no, he's more... refined. there's an element of self-restraint to him that you rarely see here, and though it really isn't a high bar, it still draws your attention.

you wish that he would step into the light a little more. you could make out his features, just barely thanks to him being so far away and the dim lighting of the club. from what you could tell, he was handsome, all dark and brooding and serious. just your type.

here's the part where you have to focus. you tear your gaze away from the mystery man, rather regrettably, instead fixing your grip on the pole, pulling yourself off of the ground and letting your legs fan upwards as your world tilts on its axis and you're now spinning whilst upside down.

the clamoring crowd at your feet goes crazy, hooting and hollering like they always did. it was a tired routine but they were always impressed nonetheless, if the amount of bills flying at you was anything to go off of. and amidst the chaos of it all, your eyes still manage to travel past them all and meet the ruby eyes of the man stood against the back wall.

he wasn't just letting his gaze wander this time, either. he was really looking at you, all of his attention focused on your movements. a little thrill ran down your spine at this revelation, the connection between the two of you remaining unbroken even as you dismounted as the song ends.

your wish came true. his interest had been piqued.

while he may not be at your feet cheering, you still recognised that look in his eyes that he gave you. the one of lust, an underlying hunger that blazed deep and clawed its way to the surface. it draws you in, keeping you pinned in place even as you danced, and suddenly he was the only person that mattered within this entire building. suddenly, he was the only person that you were performing for.

the next song started playing, a slower one that relied more on sensuality than feats of acrobatic strength. good.

you let your fingers trail along the pole as you take sultry steps around it, finally letting your hands curl around it as you bend low, edge of your skirt brushing against the ground despite the tall heels that you wore. you roll your body upwards again, letting yourself grind against the pole, the hollering crowd distant as your gaze remains locked on him.

at the way his throat bobs as he watches your movements. the way he shifts in place as the room's temperature now feels a couple degrees higher. the way his eyes still meet yours so steadfastly.

you've definitely got his attention now.

you turn, back to the pole as you squat down again, letting your spine arch forwards as your chest meets the floor, hips remaining high. he watches you, hungrily, and you feel that electric stare of his in your core now. at this rate, you'd be leaving the pole wet.

you wouldn't mind letting him get lucky later.

and by the looks of it, he wouldn't hesitate to take you up on any offer you made him.

you're back on the pole now, just a simple pose as you do a spin first, before tucking your leg around the metal for stability and lifting off of the ground again.

more cheers from insignificant men, but what you pay attention to is how the man has pushed off from the wall now, stood up straight all while still watching you.

it gave you a little headrush seeing in real time the effect that you held over him, and you recognised the last chorus of the song, signalling that your time was almost up.

an idea pops into your head, one that deviates slightly from your regular routine.

you turn your back to the audience, glancing over your shoulder seductively as you slowly bend down, fingers trailing past the hem of your short skirt and finally hooking onto the garter you wear on your thigh.

there's cheers at your pseudo striptease, with the way you shimmy your hips more than necessary as you unclip it tantalisingly slow, letting the flimsy fabric slide down your leg until it pools on the floor.

you step out of it, another display of your ass as you bend down to pick it up, finally turning to face the audience with a grin as you twirl it around your finger.

there's men clamouring at your feet, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at their behaviour in favour of scanning the back of the crowd for him. he's there, still watching you with an imperceptible smirk at your little show.

you hoped he realised that it was just for him.

you recognised the closing notes of the song, deciding to make your exit with one final signal to the mystery man of what exactly your intentions were. you throw the garter, hoping there was enough weight to it to travel far enough to not land in the wrong hands, and that it would sail past heads before landing squarely in the man's palms.

you turn and leave before you see it happen, but when you throw back a last cursory glance, judging by his grinning face amidst a sea of disgruntled ones, you had hit your target.

you wink and blow him a kiss before disappearing offstage. your name was on the door, anyway. it wouldn't be too hard to find you.

IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... fade into you

hsr men as your soulmate, and the marks you left on them in a past life

alternatively, you can find my hsr masterlist here! ୨ৎ

#୨୧ gia.txt :: blade #hsr blade x reader #blade x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr blade #hsr blade fluff #hsr blade smut #blade fluff #blade smut #blade x you #hsr blade x you #hsr fluff #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail fluff

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whereslynx · 3 months ago

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Hey love could u do one where it takes place at the santo party where Rubi is rapping and when he says “I didn’t wanna come tonight but spooky made me come” and everyone starts ooooing could u have the reader be like mmhh he makes me cum too and she’s just drunk and he does that lil smirk of his 😩

a/n: HAHAHAHAHAH SURREEEEE. had to leave out the breaking of the truce part for the sake of reader and spooky’s moments🤭

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⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The Santos backyard was packed with people, the dim glow of string lights casting a warm, hazy atmosphere over the party. The music was loud, rattling through the speakers that were set up near the patio, and the mix of laughter, chatter, and shouting filled the air. The grill had long since been abandoned, now just a pile of cold charcoal, but the drinks kept flowing, and the energy of the night was still high.

You leaned back against the fence, sipping on a half-full cup of whatever beer was left in the cooler, feeling the alcohol buzzing pleasantly in your system. The backyard had become a familiar scene for you, ever since you started coming to these Santos parties with Oscar—better known to the world as Spooky. As his girl, you fit in with the crew, earning your place among them with the same loyalty and respect that he demanded from everyone else.

Ruby, always the life of the party, had set himself up in the center of the yard, rapping loud enough to get a crowd of hyped Santos around him, cheering him on. He was in rare form tonight, spitting bars and dropping jokes, making everyone double over in laughter. You’d been keeping an eye on him while chilling near the back with your drink, watching the way the group circled around him, hanging on to his every word. Spooky and you had known Mario for quite some time, and when Spooky respected someone, you respected them too. So, you tended to make sure to make sure Ruby was okay.

“Man, I didn’t even wanna come tonight,” Ruby slurred, his voice dripping with playful theatrics as he paused, a sly grin forming. “But Spooky made me come!”

The crowd lost it, howling with laughter and nudging each other. You glanced over at Oscar, who was leaning against the edge of the patio, his back to the house, arms crossed as he watched the scene unfold. He hadn’t been paying much attention, but the second Ruby dropped his name, you saw that signature smirk pull at the corner of his lips.

Caught up in the energy of the moment and the alcohol swirling in your veins, you didn’t even think twice before loudly blurting out, “Mmmhmm… he makes me cum too!”

For a second, the backyard went dead quiet, your words hanging in the air. Then the entire crowd exploded in laughter, even louder than before, doubling over as they howled and jeered. Some of the Santos started hollering, “Ayyy!” while others slapped their knees and gave you looks of pure disbelief, like they couldn’t believe what just came out of your mouth.

You stood there, trying to hold back your own laughter, knowing full well that your face was probably flushed from both the alcohol and the sudden attention. Ruby nearly dropped the mic, cracking up so hard he had to lean on one of the guys for support.

“That’s it! She wins tonight!” someone yelled from the group, fanning their face as they kept laughing.

You caught Oscar’s eye from across the yard. He pushed off the wall, his dark eyes gleaming with that quiet, confident amusement that made your heart race every time. The smirk on his face deepened, and he slowly shook his head, like he couldn’t believe you just said that in front of everyone. But he wasn’t mad—not even close. He was proud.

As the laughter around you finally started to die down, Oscar made his way through the crowd, the air shifting as people automatically moved out of his way, giving him space. The backyard felt smaller with him walking toward you, his intense gaze never leaving yours. He stopped in front of you, his hand sliding around your waist as he leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear.

“Drunk, huh?” Oscar murmured, his voice dropping low, the teasing note unmistakable as it rumbled through his chest. His eyes flickered with amusement, a playful glint dancing behind the calm façade he usually wore. He leaned in just a little closer, his breath warm against your ear, making your skin tingle in the cool night air.

You tilted your head up toward him, unable to hide the grin that spread across your face. The warmth in his tone mixed with the steady heat from his body pressed against yours, filling you with a familiar, comfortable feeling—like everything in the world was just right when you were with him.

“Maybe a little,” you replied with a soft laugh, shrugging as if it wasn’t obvious from your flushed cheeks and the slightly unsteady way you leaned into him. You could feel the buzz still coursing through you, the drinks from earlier making your thoughts hazy but pleasant. But more than anything, it was the closeness to him, the feel of his arm around you, that had your heart beating just a little faster.

Oscar’s smirk deepened, his hand still resting on your waist as his thumb brushed lazily against your skin through the fabric of your shirt. He tilted his head, giving you that look—half amused, half proud, like he enjoyed seeing you this way, all soft and carefree in his arms. The backyard lights cast a faint glow around you both, the laughter and chatter of the party fading into the background. In this moment, it felt like it was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other’s warmth.

“Just a little, huh?” he teased, his voice velvet-soft now, almost daring you to admit more. He knew exactly what he was doing, and the way his eyes searched your face, lingering on your lips for a beat longer than usual, told you he was enjoying every second.

You let out another laugh, the sound light and carefree. “Okay, maybe more than a little,” you confessed, leaning into him fully, feeling safe in his hold, like you could be completely yourself here with him, no judgment, no pressure. Just you, him, and the night stretching out before you.

Oscar chuckled, his breath warm against your skin. He pulled you in closer, ignoring the lingering stares and whispers from the crowd. You were used to this, the way everyone watched when the two of you were together. Spooky wasn’t the kind of guy anyone expected to see soft or affectionate in public, but here he was, holding you like you were the only one who mattered.

“Alright, alright, I don’t know how I’m gon’ top that off,” Rubi finally called out, still laughing. “But I wanna give something back. DJ, spin that shit!”

The crowd roared in agreement, a few of them still wiping tears of laughter from their eyes, and you couldn’t help but join in. The party would go on with Ruby’s rapping ringing in your ears, but after a moment like that, it was clear you had just made your mark on the night.

Oscar pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes gleaming with that familiar mix of mischief and amusement. The smirk playing on his lips never wavered, a subtle curve that made your heart skip a beat. “You good?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, just for you to hear. His tone was soft, intimate, cutting through the buzz of the party like it was your own little world.

You met his gaze, the warmth of his hand still resting on your waist, and nodded, the thrill of the moment still coursing through you. Your pulse raced, not just from the alcohol but from the way Oscar looked at you—as if nothing else in the world mattered. “I’m good,” you replied, the words escaping with a breathless laugh, still riding the high of your bold declaration.

Oscar’s smirk deepened, and his hand tightened slightly around your waist, pulling you closer for a brief second. It was that protective, almost possessive gesture that sent a spark through you, grounding you in the chaotic energy of the backyard. He didn’t have to say much—he never did—but the look he gave you, filled with pride and amusement, told you everything. He was impressed.

“Good,” he murmured again, his voice smooth as silk. With one last squeeze of your waist, he gently guided you away from the center of the action, his arm draped casually around your shoulders. You fit perfectly against his side, the heat of his body a comforting contrast to the cool night air.

As the two of you made your way back toward the patio, the music kicked up again, louder this time, as if to reclaim the space after the brief pause of the crowd. The backyard was alive with noise and laughter, people picking up where they left off, but there was a noticeable shift in the energy. You could still hear the echoes of their reactions, those playful, teasing calls of “Ayyy!” that followed you even as you walked away. It seemed like no one could quite let go of the moment you had just created, and every so often, someone would nudge their friend, sending another round of knowing laughs your way.

You didn’t mind. In fact, you wore their attention like a badge of honor. You had been the one to steal the spotlight tonight, and judging by the lingering grins and whispers around you, it wasn’t something they would forget anytime soon.

Oscar led you to a quieter corner near the patio, away from the crowd but still within the pulsing heartbeat of the party. His arm stayed securely around you, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles on your shoulder, a silent but intimate gesture that made you feel like the two of you were in sync with each other. Even though the laughter and chatter of the Santos continued around you, in that moment, it was just you and him.

As the night went on, people continued to pass by with playful smirks or lighthearted comments, reminding you that you had left your mark on the night. But each time, Oscar just pulled you closer, his quiet presence reminding everyone that while you may have been the one to steal the show, you were his—and that was the real reason you stood out tonight.

And you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, knowing that no matter how wild things got at these parties, at the end of the day, you were with the one who made you feel like the only person in the room.

#omb #on my block #on my block x reader #fanfic #oneshot #spooky #spooky x reader #reader insert #ruby martinez #oscar diaz #oscar diaz x reader

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allisluv · 2 months ago

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COMING CLEAN

chapter ten - savior complex

pairing: finnick o'dair x fem!oc

content warnings: arguments, mentions of a bruise, flirting, protective finnick, dissociation and not being able to tell what's real or not.

word count: 3.7k

previous chapter -- next chapter

Bloom's full lips pull into a disapproving line when she sees Dahlia's bruised cheek the next day. She ushers her muse into a chair at the vanity table and sends one of her assistants off to fetch a tray of coffee. Her fingers are cold on Dahlia's face as she pokes and prods, assessing how much work will have to be done.

Bloom clicks her tongue and roots through a makeup bag. "There's certainly damage control to be done," she murmurs under her breath. Dahlia has a feeling she's talking to herself rather than anyone in particular, but she listens nonetheless. "You know, there surely has to be a statute of limitations put into place. They can't ruin your beautiful face like this, I won't allow it! The night before your interview and everything! They know how to choose their timing, I'll tell you that for free."

Dahlia bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself from saying something she will later come to regret. She can't be mad at Bloom, not when she's telling the truth, because in the Capitol, that is all she will ever be; a pretty face, and nothing more.

Bloom strips her of her nightdress and closely inspects her for any more bruises or cuts that may be visible through the skin that her gown won't cover. Once she deems her socially acceptable to the public eye, she throws her into a cold shower and orders her back out within five minutes, so she doesn't even get to enjoy it.

Bloom steers her back towards the vanity chair and sits her down. Finally, her assistant returns with a tray of coffees, one for each of them, and she sips her vanilla latte while pulling make-up products from suitcases and trolleys. Dahlia watches in amusement, gulping down her drink in a record time.

The makeover process is painful, partly because the phrase "beauty is pain," has an element of truth to it, but mainly because Bloom does not stop talking the ear off of Dahlia. She is relieved when she hardly recognises herself in the vanity mirror; at least all of Bloom's hard work counts for something.

Her skin looks better than it did to begin with, and the bruise is invisible under the many layers of concealer. Pouted lips have been glossed over with a ruby red lipstick, big, false lashes weigh down her eyelids, and highlighter defines her high cheekbones. Her hair has been swept up into a half-up half-down hairstyle, and Bloom has went an extra mile and bought a diamond tiara to sit atop her head.

Finally, Bloom disappears into the hallway and comes back, dragging a clothing rack behind her. Hanging from the rack is a black and gold ballgown that just might be the greatest thing she has set eyes on in her entire life.

For the first time in her life, Dahlia Holloway is left truly and utterly speechless. The lump in her throat borders on painful when she speaks. "Bloom, I don't know what to say."

Her stylist cocks a hip and presses a flat palm over her heart. "You don't have to say anything; I know I'm a genius."

Dahlia laughs, tipping her head back to stop the fresh tears from spilling over her waterline and ruining her mascara. Bloom is thankfully too busy yanking the dress off the rack to scold her for letting her emotions get the better of her. Once the dress is splayed out on the bed, Bloom opens the door and hollers for her prep team, who scurry into the room and wait for instructions.

It takes a while, but eventually, Dahlia's stylist and her three assistants manage to stuff her into the gown. She crams her feet into a pair of gold stilettos and, with the help of Bloom, heads out of the bedroom and into the living area, where Juniper, Wyatt and Malaki sip steaming hot mugs of something warm.

Malaki sets his cup of tea on the saucer and stands from the velvet armchair, beaming from ear to ear. "You look out of this world, my darling." He air-kisses Dahlia's cheek and rubs his thumb in circular, soothing motions over the skin on her shoulder. "Are you ready to go? June and I will follow along and we'll meet you in the crowd."

Dahlia nods and struggles forward in her high heels, taking tiny steps until she gets used to the pinching pain at her heels. She slumps back against the elevator wall as Wyatt pushes the button for the ground floor.

As they arrive in the lobby, she's temporarily blinded by the cameras flashing from outside. Her palms are slick with sweat and she's glad when Wyatt loops his arm through her own instead of holding her hand.

Dahlia's senses are almost immediately under attack once she's outside. The sun is beginning to set, casting shadows around the place, and the crowd are screaming so loudly that she wonders if her eardrums will burst from the sheer force of it.

It's almost too much, and she wants nothing more than to retreat back into her head, away from the noise and the people and the obligations, but Wyatt is pulling her back to the real world with his fingers splayed across her arm. He steers her in the direction of their private car and once she is safely settled inside with him sitting next to her, he asks, "Are you okay?"

Dahlia nods, unable to form the words, and she's grateful that he doesn't push her. The traffic is backed up all the way from the victor's suites to the communications centre. It takes them a full twenty minutes to arrive, and when they do, they're swamped with people who are begging for their autographs or a piece of their clothing.

Peacekeepers have to wrestle a man to the ground when he tries to grab Dahlia's dress, and they beat him with their batons. She tries to intervene and almost ends up with a bloody nose for her troubles. Wyatt whisks her away from the scene, reminding her under his breath that she has Ivy and River to think about.

People backstage are running around like headless chickens, and Dahlia almost gets swept clean off her feet by an Avox. She's preparing herself for impact when someone catches her elbow. The smell of sea salt follows and she knows who it is before even looking up.

Finnick smirks as she smooths out the creases in her ballgown. "You took the phrase, "falling for someone" quite literally, huh? If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was tell me, honey." Dahlia scowls but keeps her mouth firmly shut. "What? Cat got your tongue?"

As if God himself can sense her begging for an escape, Juniper comes barrelling around corners. Dahlia can tell something's wrong the second June slows to a stop, eyes wide and afraid as she clutches the stitch in her side. Dahlia pushes Finnick aside with her hip and grabs Juniper by the shoulders. "Breathe, June. Tell me what's wrong."

Juniper's chest heaves for breath as her hands flap wildly by her sides. "I hate this dress! It's too tight. These shoes are pinching me and I— I hate wearing my hair up! These stupid clips keep on digging into my scalp!"

"Okay," Dahlia soothes, tone firm but gentle as she spins Juniper around and starts untangling her blonde hair from the bobby pins.

It's a lengthy process, but the tension from Juniper's shoulders starts to dissipate as she begins to self-regulate.

"Sorry," she mutters, ducking her head to hide the colour in her cheeks. She can feel Finnick watching her out of the corner of his eye, and even though his gaze is more curious than anything, it still makes her feel embarrassed for her outburst.

Dahlia clicks her tongue. "Don't be silly. You have nothing to be sorry for. Is that any better or do we need to get Bloom to work her magic?"

"That's better," Juniper admits, rocking on the balls of her feet. "Sorry for interrupting," she says, gesturing between Finnick and Dahlia before scurrying away again.

A fond smile tugs at the corners of Finnick's lips. He breaks the silence by asking Dahlia, "She got any family?" She shakes her head no. "In that case, it's a good thing she's got you to lean on. You have some great patience with her. She seems to like you."

"June likes everyone," Dahlia scoffs, but there's no bite behind it.

She's about to tell Finnick that Juniper won't have her to lean on for much longer when Caesar Flickerman shoots her a wink as he passes by. She scowls at his back as he walks onto the stage, his presence welcomed by applause that seems to stretch on for minutes.

Defeated, Dahlia slumps back against a wall and folds her arms over her chest. She watches as Cashmere from District One struts onstage, leaving the remaining twenty-three victors to wait in the wings. "Like lambs to the slaughter."

Finnick chuckles dryly. "I know." He's trying (and failing) to discreetly watch Peeta from across the room, and as if he can sense a pair of eyes on him, the boy turns. Peeta excuses himself from a conversation with Wiress and Beetee from Three and heads straight for them. "Uh-oh."

Dahlia's gaze snaps away from her cuticles and hones in on Finnick's face. "What?"

"Looks like we have company," Finnick mutters, straightening out his spine and pushing back his shoulders. "Hello."

Peeta's grin is lopsided. "Hi." He pins his gaze on Dahlia. "You look nice."

Dahlia raises a brow, eyes raking over Peeta's frame. Although his white suit should be two sizes too big for a boy his age, he somehow fills it quite well. "You don't look so bad yourself." She has to choke back a laugh when Finnick scoffs from beside her. Blanking Peeta completely, she turns to Finnick and says, "Rein it in, lover boy. He's a minor and I'm not a predator."

"Plus you're the Finnick O'Dair," Peeta adds. "I'm not much in way of competition."

Finnick seems to weigh up the merit of what they're saying and, after a very dramatized sigh, he relents. "You've got a point, I suppose," he concedes, jutting out his chin. "You didn't come over here to tell us we look nice, so, come on, out with it."

"Well, first off, I never said you looked nice," Peeta smirks. Finnick opens his mouth to argue but he cuts him off before he can get a word in. "And I just came over to wish you both luck tonight."

Dahlia whacks Finnick in the arm when he scoffs. "Stop being a man-child," she scolds, and he shuts up fairly quickly after that. "That was nice of you," she smiles, eyes drifting to Beetee from Two as he takes his place on stage. "We should probably start running through lines."

Peeta is able to take a hint. He kisses Dahlia on the cheek and hobbles away before she can see his flaming red cheeks.

"Remind me why we have to be their allies again?" Finnick snaps, glaring daggers into the back of Peeta's head.

Dahlia's lips quirk upwards and she drops her voice an octave. "Careful. If you keep talking like that, I'll start to think you're beginning to like me."

Finnick smirks and leans down to brush his lips against the shell of her ear. "And so what if I am? Would that really be such a bad thing?" She busies herself with smoothing out the non-existent creases in her ballgown and he pulls away, cocking his head to one side. "I think the real issue is that you're starting to like me. You wanna know what I think?"

"Not particularly."

"I think that scares you."

Dahlia scoffs, folding her arms over her chest, creating an invisible barrier between them. "I am not scared. And I am not your friend, Finnick. We are not��friends. Stop pretending like you care."

"Who said I was pretending?" Finnick retorts. "You know, not everyone's got an ulterior motive, honey. You're a pretty likeable person."

Dahlia feels her blood boil. She hates liars. More importantly, she hates the part of her that fears Finnick is telling the truth. She cradles her head in her hands, trying to stop herself from slipping away into that other world again. "Stop, Finn. You're confusing me."

She squeezes her eyes closed and places one hand over her stomach in an effort to regulate her breathing. Finnick frowns, brows knitting together as she lowers herself to the floor. He mirrors her movements and kneels by her side. "Dahlia. Talk to me. I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

"It doesn't matter. It's not real," Dahlia mutters, pulling her knees up to her chest and very nearly popping a button on her black corset in the process.

Finnick's eyes soften. "What do you mean?"

"It's not real, is it?"

"Honey, I don't understand what you're talking about."

Dahlia sighs and straightens up, but refuses to look at his face. "None of this is real. It's just a dream."

Finnick crouches in front of her and coaxes her to look him in the eye. "This is real. You're not in a dream. I swear this is real, honey. Look, I'll prove it to you." With careful movements, he laces their fingers together and presses their joined hands over his heart. His skin is warm through the material of his shirt. "See? Can you feel my heart beating? This is real."

A crease appears between Dahlia's brows before she shakes her head. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Why would I lie?" He asks, challenging her belief system.

"I— I don't know, actually."

Finnick sits cross-legged on the floor in front of her. She doesn't make any indication that she's going to let go of his hand, and he doesn't want her to. "How about I make you a promise?"

"What kind of a promise?"

"I promise to always tell you the truth about whether or not this is real. But in return, you need to make me a promise." Dahlia purses her lips. "You have to promise to always ask me if you cant tell if something is real. 'Cause if I don't know, I can't help. Deal?"

Dahlia's attention drifts to Mags taking her place on the stage. Her interpreter, a man with bright blue hair, follows closely behind her. Finnick calls her name and she faces him once more. "Fuck it. You've got yourself a deal." He smiles. "You should do that more often," she blurts out.

"Do what?"

"Smile."

"I always smile!" Finnick argues.

"No. You smirk. You don't smile. Not like that, anyway." His cheeks turn pink and she clears her throat to get rid of the crawling sensation under her skin. She's not used to being this open with someone. He was right about one thing; it does scare her. "C'mon. You're on in two minutes."

Finnick helps Dahlia to her feet, and the other tributes watch them like animals in a zoo as they walk towards the wings of the stage. He lets go of her hand and kisses her cheek when his name is called, and Dahlia can't help but wonder why his touch is the only one that doesn't burn.

The crowd shriek and scream at Finnick's presence and Caesar Flickerman waits for the noise to die down before saying, "Well, well, that was a warm welcome! I must say, Finnick, your outfit is dashing. Was Ms. Holloway able to keep her hands to herself when she saw you?"

Finnick refuses to bite the bait and brushes the comment off with a laugh. "I should think you've got a higher opinion of my girlfriend than that, Caesar." His voice has an edge to it, but the crowd hone in on the word girlfriend and all else is forgotten.

Caesar chuckles light-heartedly. "Absolutely, Finnick. In fact, I understand you have a message for Dahlia that you wish to share with us. Isn't that right?"

Finnick smiles sweetly and makes eye contact with the camera straight ahead. "Honey, you have my heart for all eternity, and if I die in that arena, it'll be protecting you."

Dahlia feels her heart flutter, and she has to remind herself that Finnick is merely going through the motions. At the end of the day, he's playing a part, and they are not friends. They are simply doing what they have to to survive in this world.

And Dahlia doesn't know why the truth leaves her with a bitter taste in her mouth.

˚＊✿❀༓❀✿＊˚

Things run smoothly through Districts Five and Six. Johanna causes a scene when it's her turn to take the stage, and she doesn't calm down completely until Wyatt's interview, where everyone's interest is peaked.

Wyatt hadn't divulged what angle he was going to take to anybody, not even Juniper. He had just said that he had a plan and left it at that. So, when he tells the audience that he does not plan on making it out of that arena, most people are left stunned into silence, including his fellow victors in the wings.

Caesar laughs awkwardly and the crowd mumble amongst one another. "Are you telling me that you aren't even going to fight to get back home to your family?"

"Everyone I love is dead, Caesar. My wife, my daughter. The two people I care about most on this planet are dead. So, no, I don't plan on putting up a fight, because, frankly, I'm tired of living in a world where they don't exist."

It's so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Wyatt shakes Caesar's hand and crosses the stage in quick strides. Caesar announces that they're going to commercial. Wyatt descends the stairs and hasn't even made it into the wings when Dahlia shoves him. He stumbles, and Johanna stops him from falling flat on his face.

"What the fuck are you playing at, Wyatt? You've just marked yourself as an easy target!" Finnick places a hand on Dahlia's shoulder, but she pushes him off of her. "Stay out of this, Finn! It's got nothing to do with you!"

"This is about you." She points a finger in Wyatt's direction. "I have spent years working my ass off to keep you alive and you're what, going to throw it all down the drain? You're not even going to try to stay alive, which means I'm going to have to pick up the slack and keep you alive as well as myself! I can not believe how selfish you're being!"

"I never asked you to keep me alive!" Wyatt seethes. "Dahlia, it is not my fault you have a saviour complex! You don't know the pain I live in every day without them!"

Dahlia knows it's a low blow, but she's too blinded with anger to care. "You think I don't want to die every day? You are not the first person to lose someone."

"You have no idea what loss is!"

"Break it up!" Malaki barks, stepping between the two of them before it can come to blows. (And trust him, it will). "Wyatt, take a walk. Dahlia, pull it together. You have to be on stage in less than a minute."

Dahlia tilts her head back to stop her mascara from running. She can hear the side door banging shut, courtesy of her district partner, and she scoffs, trailing her tongue over her teeth.

"Don't even say anything," Malaki warns. "You owe him an apology just as much as he owes you one. You're both at fault. Now, hold your tongue for two minutes and get on stage or I'm going to get Bloom."

Dahlia clenches her jaw and shakes the tension out of her hands before stepping onto the stage. The lights are warm and bright as they track her every movement. She slows to a stop in front of Caesar, who kisses her hand and says, "Welcome, Ms. Holloway. What a pleasure it is to have you here with us tonight!"

Dahlia's blood is still boiling with fury, but she forces herself to smile, anyway. She can't afford to fuck this up and have the consequences rebound on River and Ivy. She doesn't have that luxury, unfortunately. "Hello, Caesar."

"I have to say, Bloom is constantly outdoing herself with these ball-gowns. Finnick is one lucky man."

"Well, you said it, Caesar, not me!" She grins as the crowd howls with laughter. "I'm only teasing. I'm a very lucky woman, if I do say so myself."

Caesar leans forward and she can smell the minty gum he must have been chewing backstage. It takes everything in her to not recoil away from him when he puts a hand on her shoulder. "Now, do tell us, Dahlia, how does it feel to go into the arena with your lover, despite knowing that only one of you can make it out alive?"

Dahlia swallows the lump in her throat. "It's not easy, I can tell you that much for free." Caesar nods empathetically. "I just-- as awful as it sounds, I hope I die before he does. I don't think I can live without him." She dabs at imaginary tears and the crowd murmur their sympathy.

Caesar reiterates most of the same questions he asked Finnick, and Dahlia leaves the stage with a drag in her step, one singular thought ricocheting around in her head.

How the hell is she meant to keep Wyatt safe in that damn arena?

#grace talks🐚🌷#the hunger games #thgs #thg #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #fluff #finnick odair x oc #finnick odair x fem!oc #fem!oc #dahlia holloway #coming clean wp

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waynes-multiverse · 8 months ago

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Plastic Hearts – Part 24

Pairing: Director!Dean Winchester x Actress!Reader

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

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

Word Count: 6.9k

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

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

24. Don't Dream It's Over

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even Ruby nods in agreement for once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck happened to him?

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

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

It’s like walking down memory lane today.

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

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

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

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

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

Well, a smidge different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean curls his lips. “Is that negotiable?”

She firmly shakes her head. “No.”

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

Benny.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh shit, Dean! Fuck, that’s it…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Crowley’s here, too.”

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

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

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

Y/N’s face softens. “Really? Why?”

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

“For me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Benny.

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

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

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

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

“Hey! I was supposed to do that!”

The actress only shrugs. “You were busy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I object!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t know…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

25. Dare

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

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

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@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

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

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

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

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73

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