#plastic hearts

[theunholycyrus]

#miley cyrus #younger now #plastic hearts #my edit #she is coming era #miley cyrus 2019 #miley photo #mileyworld #miley cyrus 2010 #mileyraycyrus

[adorelights]

Happy Birthday Miley Cyrus

23rd November 1992

#miley cyrus #meet miley cyrus #breakout #the time of our lives #can't be tamed #bangerz #miley cyrus & her dead petz #younger now #she is coming #plastic hearts #endless summer vacation

[waynes-multiverse]

Plastic Hearts – Part 21

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, smut (p in v, dirty talk, spanking), fluff, angst, comfort

Word Count: 7.6k

A/N: It's finally happening! Get the Office gifs ready 👀😂 It's so good to bring this series back after such an unexpectedly long time away. We've got five more chapters left, so let's make 'em count with as much drama and ridiculousness as possible, shall we? Ready? And action! 🎬

<< 20 || Spotify Playlist || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

21. Rock You Like A Hurricane

Dean swallows the clot that has formed in the back of his throat as the first button of her white cotton blouse flies open. The air in the office feels dry, his mind hazy. Is he dreaming? Once again, he reminds himself to stop mixing booze and blow. It never ends well and barely ever helps.

Another step forward, another button, another swallow.

Y/N is a Fata Morgana, a mirage, slowly moving towards him through blurry lines and summer heat.

“Don’t you want me?”

The innocent lip bite that accompanies her question sends him downstairs, predestining him to burn in hellfire. He swallows again. Of course, he wants her. He always does.

The heels of his boots dig into the rotten floorboards as he pushes back on his office chair, enough to free his thighs from underneath the wooden desk and show off the bulging erection blooming in his jeans. It started to form as soon as she walked in and turned that damn lock behind her back.

The corners of her pink lips rise to a smile. She likes what she sees, and soon enough, she finds herself slotted between his bow legs with his greedy palms smoothing up her denim-clad thighs until they find a home on the juicy globes of her ass and squeeze tight. Green eyes darken as they wander up her frame before they meet two sparkling orbs that mirror his own lust back to him.

More buttons spring open, the blouse slipping off her shoulders and hitting the ground. A gray leotard becomes visible, two pointed peaks on luscious hills poking through the thin material, his mouth forming a ring around one of them, hot air igniting her skin and stealing her breath. Her arms weave around his neck, her head lolls back between her shoulder blades, her legs grow unsteady. Eyes close, fingers tangle in his hair and claw at his skin.

One large hand travels to the front, works the zipper of her jeans, and shimmies the denim fabric down two smooth thighs. His other arm snakes around her waist, holds her tight, and pulls her closer until she straddles his lap and lets their hips fuse into one.

Their eyes find each other. Gently, he brushes her hair out her face, tucks it behind her ears, strokes her flushed cheeks. She’s breathless and breathtaking, and then she dips her head and catches his lips, kissing him until he is, too.

“Wait, wait, wait…” He draws back in a drunk state of mind and gasps for air, hoping oxygen will help in clearing his head.

“What?” She pouts, her voice velvety soft and delirious.

“I just-… I have to ask you something first, make sure…” The air works wonders, the fog dissipates from his mind. Green eyes watch her closely. There’s something off, something wrong, something out of place. Y/N wouldn’t just stroll into his office and throw herself at him. As much as he enjoys this little dream sequence, it’s not who she is. “Why are you doing this? You’re not-, uhm…” He swallows harshly, his mind racing in circles. “You’re not fucking me, so I’ll stop being mad at you, right? ‘Cause that’s not what I want.”

God, the thought alone kills him. It’s his goddamn nightmare. What if he subconsciously manipulated her to do this? What if he’s taking advantage of her? What if he drove her so desperate that she sees this as her only option? What if she actually doesn’t want this?

But a gentle smile forms on her face instead. She pecks his lips, rests her forehead against his, and softly shakes her head. There’s amusement in her voice. “You already said you weren’t mad at me, remember?”

“Then why?”

Y/N shrugs and licks her ample lips. “I want to. I want you… You’re the best guy I know. I can’t think of anyone I’d want this with more,” she assures him with a sweet smile and caresses the scruff on his cheeks, her hips grinding against his crotch. “It’s just-…” She bites down on her lower lip, cutting off her sentence.

“What? Tell me, sweetheart.” He clutches her chin and draws her gaze to meet his eyes.

“Even with the show being over, I don’t want the girls to find out,” she confesses nervously.

Dean nods in understanding and gifts her a smile. “Lucky for you, I’m good at keeping secrets. Have I ever let you down in that regard?”

She thinks for a beat, then shakes her head and matches his smile. “No.”

“See?” He grins, showing his pearly white teeth, and pulls her lips back to his for a searing kiss that seals their deal.

His hands begin to roam the curves they’re holding, her hips rocking against his in a needy rhythm, desperately searching for more friction to scratch the unbearable itch he seems to cause.

“Need you so bad, need this cock so bad…” she whispers between kisses and ragged breaths.

“Yeah? You think you can get off like that?” Dean lifts his thigh a little higher, shoves it right against her clothed cunt to give her a bit more friction, and listens to her whimpers in satisfaction. “Show me how much you want this… want me, baby girl. Wanna know how desperate you are for this cock, Y/N. Work for it.” His challenge is accompanied by a little smirk, which soon disappears and becomes stuck in his throat when Y/N accepts with eager nods.

Shit, he really needs to stop underestimating her. That’s already been his first mistake when he met her.

Her arms lock tighter around his neck for more balance as she rubs her pussy against the rough denim that covers his thick thigh. Her breathing grows so labored that kissing becomes an impossibility, the need for air in her lungs greater than the need to stay connected. The strong arm slung around her waist helps her move while his other hand tweaks, pinches, and gropes her tit, prying the gray cotton of her leotard over one shoulder to free the flesh and expose her nipple to the cool office air and his hot breath. He feels a wet patch forming on his leg, sees the stain on his jeans from her arousal as he peeks down between them.

“Dean, I’m–…”

Y/N doesn’t have to say it out loud. He can see it on her face that she’s damn close. “Such a good girl. Cum for me, huh? Let me finally fill and stretch this nice pussy with my cock, baby. Been waiting for you,” he coos. “Bet you’re so tight, yeah? How long’s it been?” His tongue licks the hardened bud before he pops her tit in his mouth and sucks, bites, tears.

“Fuck!”

She explodes, his name falling from her lips in prayer as she trembles and quivers in his arms. Her mouth parts, sucks in as much air as she can to fuel her lungs. Her arms cling to him, fingers denting the skin on his broad shoulders.

“That’s my girl,” Dean praises her, smiling as he lets her ride out her orgasm. “So, so pretty when you come. I missed that face.”

“Dean, please… Need you inside me now,” she purrs against his lips, swallowing his groans as they connect.

“Yeah? You sure?”

“Uh-huh, please,” she begs breathily. “How d’you want me, boss?”

“What do you want, Y/N?” Hearing what a woman wants him to do to her or what she wants to do to him has always been one of the biggest turn-ons for him. “Tell me.”

“Want you to bend me over your desk, take me hard, punish me… Been a bad girl. Need you to punish me, please,” she whimpers and hungrily claims his lips, her nails digging into his jaw.

Now, Dean should probably be worried or at least stumped by her somewhat strange request. Not because it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard a woman ask for in the bedroom, but because it’s not necessarily something Y/N would say. However, she’s also an actress, and he’s about 99.9% sure she’s playing a role and following a script in her head. And well, hey, he likes playing too, so who would he be to deny her wishes? He’s been dreaming about spanking her ass and punishing his favorite Russian villain for weeks at this point.

“I think we can arrange that, baby girl,” he promises, a saucy smirk plastered on his lips. “But first – need to see your face when I break you in, yeah?”

Y/N grins and nods against his lips, her hand reaching down between their heated bodies and unbuckling his belt, pulling it from its loops, metal clinking before the sound of a zipper follows. Lifting her ass from his lap, he helps her strive off the denim, pushing it down his legs till it pools by his ankles, only leaving a thin barrier of cotton between them.

“Condom?”

Dean nods and motions for her to stand up, so he can reach into the bottom drawer of his desk. As he fishes out a foil packet, Y/N discards her leotard, nothing but naked skin and flesh left for his eyes to devour. Removing his own pair of boxers, his long cock bounces against his stomach and stretches to his belly button, fully erect, head swollen, and leaking at the tip. He tears the foil with his teeth and rolls the latex down his aching length before his hands drag her back into his lap.

Her arms settle on his muscular shoulders, her lips find and bruise his as he lines himself up with her entrance and threads his dickhead through her dripping folds. Her cunt is pink and glistening, hot and wet as he slowly slides inside, lets her feel every inch that fills her tight hole to the brim, her small body sinking down on him till they’re inseparable.

A moan escapes them both when he’s fully sheathed in her heat, and Dean knows lasting long would border on a miracle. Her mouth falls open as he stretches her tight walls, her eyes seeking his and not daring to look anywhere else. Unsurprisingly, Y/N takes direction well. She remains connected to him – mind, body, and soul.

“Fuck, Dean,” she breathes and swallows at the sheer thickness inside of her, her eyes finally falling closed as their foreheads meet.

Dean caresses her cheek and softly pecks her hairline. He then shuts his eyes as well and just focuses on the feeling of her wrapped around him for a blissful heartbeat. This is all he ever wanted.

Her. Here.

“You good?” he checks, his fingers trailing soothingly up and down her spine as she relaxes her muscles and adjusts to his size.

A gentle smile twitches and tugs on her lips. “Yeah, I’m great… You feel great.”

“You know, if you keep giving me compliments like that, it’s gonna be hard for me to smack your perky ass purple and blue,” he chuckles and watches a grin form.

“I like to make things hard for you,” she sasses and kisses his lips, her pussy purposely gripping his throbbing dick.

“There’s my bad girl.” Dean can’t fight the smile on his face. “Alright, you ready?”

Dean doesn’t have to wait for an answer as her hips begin to lift and rock against him, calming like the Pacific waves and soothing like the lullabies his mother used to sing when he was sick as a child.

“M-more,” Y/N whines, the needy desperation haunting her vocal chords.

“Beg for it,” Dean whispers, nuzzling his nose against her ear with a smirk.

“Please… Please fuck me, boss,” she rasps her pleas. “Need it hard and fast.”

“Anything you want, sweetheart.” Dean catches her lips, the kiss scorching and lasting before his hands smooth up her bare thighs and grab her ass tight, lifting them both from the chair.

Swiftly, her soles hit the ground as he swirls her in his hold and bends her over his desk. Her tits press flush against the wood, his palms finding her hips as he pulls her closer to him, ass up until it brushes against his solid length. With his knees, he spreads her legs wide and easily slots between them. He palms both asscheeks, caresses the skin before he administers his first slap, the sound echoing through his quiet office with her whimper as he watches the juicy flesh ricochet, completely entranced.

“You got a safe word, Y/N?” Dean asks as he soothes the red spot on her cheek.

“Hmmm,” she muses and bites her lower lip, and he can see the mischief twinkling in her orbs. She giggles, “What about ‘camera guy’?”

His palm strikes the other globe, making her yelp and jolt on the spot.

“Ow, fuck!” Y/N’s moan drowns in a laugh. “Jesus, Dean, I was just kidding.”

The director chuckles, “Yeah, well, I wasn’t.” With one harsh and fast thrust, he drives his cock back into her tight cunt, causing her to slam forward, her hips bruising against the desk. Her fingers curl tightly around the edge, knuckles white as she keeps herself pinned in place. He leans forward, his chest pressing against her back as his warm breath fans against the shell of her ear, his blunt fingernails denting the skin on her hips. Smirking, he demands, “Safe word. Now.”

“Fuck, uhm…” Breathlessly, her mind spirals, his cock slowly dragging in and out of her and not stopping to give her even a second to ponder. “Squirrel?”

“Squirrel it is,” he agrees amusedly, straightening as he picks up his pace and drives in deeper, watching as his dick gets swallowed by her soaking cunt, his swollen shaft glistening with her slick. “Shit, baby girl… Wish you could see how well you take me. Your needy little pussy sucks my fat cock right in,” he groans, listening in delight as his balls slap against her ass with each roll of his hips.

“Maybe you can bring your camera next time, boss,” Y/N mewls her suggestion as she falls apart underneath him.

“Yeah? Would you like that, huh? Would you like to see how fucking desperate you are for me, sweetheart?”

“Uh-huh, would love that, boss. Wanna see how you fuck me and split me open,” she breathes hazily, her moans getting louder with each slam of his hips. “F-fuck, so close… Wanna come on your cock, please.”

“Oh, we can arrange that, sweetheart,” Dean chuckles, his breathing growing more labored as well as sweat starts to collect on his skin in sticky beads. He’s close, too, feels his cock throb and swell inside of her. His palm smacks her asscheek one last time. She cries out with pleasure as the sting burns her skin, her pussy clenching around his dick and gripping it tight.

But just as his hand sneaks to her front and finds the sensitive little nub, their ears both perk up as the big metal door of the gym flies open and a wave of female chatter floods inside.

“Oh, shit!” Y/N moans loudly at his last violent pound into her pussy before Dean’s palm covers her mouth and stops the rest from spilling out.

Pulling her up, her back straightens and presses flush against his body. He slows his thrusts but still pushes in deep enough to tickle her cervix and keeps the little circles on her clit alive, feeling her knees give in as her legs become putty. Her breathing is harsh and restricted against his palm, her lips straining and tightening to keep the screams inside.

“Ssh, ssh, ssh… you’re doing so, so good, baby,” Dean whispers his praises into her ear and chuckles as she clenches hard around his dick. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Trust me, they won’t hear us over their blabbering,” he chuckles. “Relax, okay? Let loose… little more,” he orders her, feeling the tension in her muscles shift to her head as she bites down on his fingers to keep it locked inside. “There you go… Gonna need you to come quietly, and I’ll be right behind you, alright? Can you do that?” Y/N nods against his hand. “Good girl,” he coos and pecks her temple quickly.

And then, he draws out till only the tip remains inside her drenched channel before he roughly slams back in. His thrusts become relentless in both speed and force as he fucks her, her screams of pleasure only muffled by his palm and the harsh bite of her lip. Tears sting her eyes and stream down her cheeks, trickling onto his fingers at the intense pressure as her walls tighten. One more thrust, and they begin to flutter, her body convulsing as she falls over the cliff and milks his cock for all he’s got, pulling him over the edge with her.

A primal grunt rumbles in his chest and crawls out of his throat, his fingers leaving bruises on her hips behind as he spills hot ropes of his seed into the condom, his cock throbbing in rhythm with her twitching cunt. His hand falls from her mouth as she braces her palms on the wooden surface in front of her.

Deliriously, they both gasp for air, every breath jagged before the storm within them calms. Dean brushes her hair from her sweat-covered neck and lovingly kisses the salty skin on her shoulder blade, a blissful smile gracing his lips.

The sun blinds her eyes as Y/N stands on the green, perfectly cut lawn of the Dusty Spur. The boys have called an emergency meeting at the motel this time, gathering all the women in front of the reception outside.

It’s been three days since she has fucked the director in his office. He was careful not to leave any marks on her throat behind or anywhere else where it might catch unwanted attention, no one batting eyelashes at the new bruises on her hips that joined some of the old ones from training.

Dean told her he wanted a repeat of their encounter, whispering the dirtiest and most sinful promises into her ear. However, they haven’t seen much of each other since then. Both of them have been quite busy after the news of their new time slot and impending cancelation broke. And while it certainly dampened the lighthearted mood in the gym for a day, hope was not entirely lost, though, and still thrived in everyone but Y/N and Jo.

Yet, the two of them played along with the illusion the show still could be saved for the sake of the team. She didn’t know why Jo was entertaining the farce, but Y/N did it for her friends and, well, Dean, who’d been pondering and working nonstop to try and figure out what went wrong in his well-oiled machinery.

Y/N hates that he blames himself, not having the guts to tell him it’s in reality all her fault. Even with his sunglasses on his freckle-dusted nose, she can see the bags under his green eyes from the lack of sleep in recent days and feels more guilt pooling in the pits of her stomach. She doesn’t want him to be mad at her again, which is why she’s glad she can use Billie’s new, harsh training regiment as a good excuse to avoid him.

“They gave a men’s wrestling show our slot! And you wanna know why, hm?” Cas throws his rhetorical question into the group. Y/N has never seen the producer so angry and swallows more shame down. “Truth is, they’re better! They fly higher and hit harder!

“They hit harder because they’re bigger. It’s physics,” Y/N points out and tries to keep her annoyance at bay. It’s a men’s world they’re living in, and she’s getting sick and tired of the comparisons.

“Oh, fuck physics, Y/N!” Cas yells, causing her to flinch at his tone. “I need you to take everything you got and push it all the way to the limit, okay?”

“I don’t know what else we can do. We’ve been training for hours almost every day. Sun up till sun down,” Donna says and sighs.

Maybe it’s not too late, and Y/N should request a private meeting with Dick at the network, try and smooth things over before they get any worse. Maybe a blowjob in the office is enough to get them their old slot back and save the show. Dean wouldn’t ever have to know, right?

Besides, would he even care? Maybe he’d be grateful. After all, she doesn’t have much worth beyond fucking someone if you asked anyone here.

“I don’t need to hear excuses. I need to hear results,” Cas huffs and places his hands on his squared-off hips, shaking his head.

“You want bigger moves? Fine, you’ll get ‘em,” Billie assures him with a biting fighter spirit.

Cas’ lips curve into an enthusiastic smile. “That’s what I wanna hear! Look, I know this is gonna be hard, but I believe in miracles, and we’re going to make this miracle happen!”

Jo heaves a sigh. “Right, so we break our bodies and wrestle harder and magically get our time slot back?” she asks wryly, but her sarcasm is sadly lost on Cas.

“Yes!” the producer agrees joyously. “Look, I have it from Richard Roman himself that this is what they’ve been missing.”

At that, Jo’s blaming eyes wander to Y/N as the two former friends share a look. Shamefully, Y/N averts her gaze to the green grass underneath her feet, and Jo clenches her jaw tightly and starts to grind her teeth. Ever since their heated conversation in the gym, things have went downhill between them. Nowadays, there are just judgmental looks and passive-aggressive comments passed between them.

“So you met with Richard Roman?” Jo turns her unresolved anger towards the guys.

Cas groans loudly and rolls his blue eyes back. “Jo, I’m sorry, okay? It was a guy thing. We had to storm the gates,” he explains.

“Yeah, don’t get back up on your feminist high horse, alright? We didn’t leave you out, okay?” Dean jumps to Cas’ defense and unsuccessfully smooths things over. “We just think your focus should be on performing this week, you know? You and Y/N have a big match coming up. The, uh, continuing tale of the bereaved mother and the insane Russian, right?”

Jo nods and clenches her jaw once more, biting back her surely fiery comments.

“Okay, enough talking! Let’s do it!” Cas announces eagerly and claps his palms together as the women scatter back to their rooms to get ready for today’s training.

“What time do you wanna rehearse today?” Y/N bitterly asks her blonde opponent, already expecting a bitchy answer.

“Oh, any time, really. I mean, we could rehearse all day and night. It won’t make a difference,” Jo replies in an annoyed tone as anticipated. “You of all people should know that.”

Y/N watches Jo leave, trying her hardest not to strangle her former friend. She gets it. She fucked up, but she still doesn’t agree with Jo. Would sleeping with Roman and sacrificing her dignity really have saved the show?

“Hey, everything alright?” Dean’s deep voice startles her. She was so preoccupied with killing Jo in her mind, she hasn’t even noticed the director sneak up on her. “I know Cas was a little intense today. Never seen the guy this riled up before. It’s like a puppy getting rabies.”

Y/N forces a chuckle from her throat and brushes him off. “Oh, uhm, yeah, wasn’t so bad. I get it.”

Dean’s brow creases, sensing something is off with her. Shit. She does not want the director to find out about what happened.

“You’re not mad at me, right? I know I’ve been a bit MIA the last few days. It’s just been crazy with everything going on,” he explains sincerely and shoots her a soft smile. “I meant to call you or at least talk to you. I hope you know that.”

“Yeah, no, like I said, I get it, Dean. Don’t worry about me, okay?” she assures him and compels another smile to her face before her curiosity takes over. “Did Roman really say our moves weren’t good enough?”

Her hope comes flooding back. Maybe it truly wasn’t her fault. Maybe the guy hits on so many actresses on a weekly basis that he doesn’t even care if one rejects him. Maybe it’s just all in her goddamn head, and it was just bad luck all around.

Dean shrugs and scratches the back of his neck. “Well, he didn’t say it exactly like that, but you girls are amazing. He’s gonna change his mind, and you’ll be back in your old slot in no time,” he promises her hopefully.

“Yeah, I guess so…” Fuck. It’s definitely about her.

“You sure you’re okay?” Dean checks again, noticing her absentminded behavior. Y/N’s usually chipper, eager, talkative, and hard to keep contained. She’s a warrior. The woman in front of him right now is the complete opposite, however. He almost doesn’t recognize her, and it worries him a little.

Is it him? Did he break her?

“Uh-huh, yeah, just tired, you know? Billie’s been riding us pretty hard this week,” Y/N excuses her strange mood with a half-truth, and Dean seems to buy it.

“Yeah, I bet.” He nods understandingly, chuckling. “Well, uhm, I’ve got some free time tonight. You wanna come over for dinner and I don’t know maybe… stay? You could ride me pretty hard, too,” he suggests, making her snort. “Admittedly, that sounded better in my head. Sorry.”

“No, uhm, I’d love to,” she replies honestly, giggling at his bashfulness. “But I’m pretty beat. Probably gonna fall into bed around seven like a dead person. Raincheck?”

Truthfully, there’s nothing she’d rather do than spend her nights (and days) with Dean, but the guilt in her belly is eating her alive. She can barely look him in the eyes. As of right now, though, she can see even more disappointment shimmering in his green orbs.

“Sure, yeah. Open invitation, sweetheart,” he says and acts as if her rejection doesn’t bother him. “But still, if all you wanna do is sleep, then you’re welcome to do that at my place as well. I do have the better mattress than the motel. Maybe a good night’s rest and a hot bath is all you need to recover, you know?”

Hot bath. The words make her skin crawl and take her right back to that horrible night where it all went wrong. How could she have been so stupid?

Y/N swallows the lump in her throat and fights for words. “Oh, uhm… I don’t, uh…”

“Hey, it’s okay, alright? No explanation needed, sweetheart,” Dean says and lets her off the hook. “Just wanted to offer, you know?”

“Thanks, another time.” Y/N forces one last smile to her lips.

Dean hasn’t seen Y/N in a whole week. Well, that’s not entirely true. He sees her every day at training in the gym, rolling around with Jo in the ring. But he hasn’t seen her privately since their little naughty stint in his office.

By now, he’s sure she’s avoiding him for some reason, but he doesn’t have the guts nor the balls to ask her straight. He’s too afraid of her answer, scared she has changed her mind about them and their arrangement. He’d accept it, of course, but he still doesn’t want to find out if that’s the reason why she keeps her distance. It would most certainly break his heart.

A knock on his office door makes his head snap up with hope that it’s Y/N. Either she’s here for another booty call or to end it. He’s prepared for both. To his surprise, though, it’s Donna who’s stopping by for a visit.

“Dean? Can we talk?” the curvy blonde asks insecurely, concern etched into every crease of her face.

“Sure, uh, what’s up?” Dean knows Donna and Billie have given their all to train the girls over the last few weeks, and if production could afford it, he’d give them both a gigantic raise. Unfortunately, he can’t but hopes it’s the thought that still counts.

“It’s about Y/N and Jo,” she informs him, and his ears perk up at that.

He’s noticed some tension between those two as well, so he’s not as surprised as he should have been. But honestly, sometimes it’s hard to tell what those two are fighting about. If it’s something new or just the same old beef.

“Usually, they do a good job of keeping their weird friendship stuff out of the ring, but not in the last week. There’s something wrong with them,” Donna tells him.

No shit, Dean thinks. Those two having issues is not an entirely new thing.

“What d’you want me to do about it?” Dean asks. He knows Donna didn’t just stroll into his office to chat and gossip. She’s looking for direction. Like the rest of these women downstairs, the blonde expects him to solve their problems. In the end, that’s his job.

“Postpone the match,” Donna prompts, the worry deepening. “I don’t think they should fight. They’re not communicating properly. Someone’s gonna get hurt.”

Dean tries not laugh, but in reality, it’s just fucking funny. Do these women ever think things through? Y/N and Jo’s match is the main storyline, the two of them being the best fighters as well. If they’re not entering the ring, he might as well just throw in the towel now and quit. The show would never make it back on air.

“Donna, I can’t do that,” he tells her frustratedly and runs a palm over his face. “C’mon, don’t be so dramatic. It’s not like they’re gonna kill each other.”

“Dean–” Donna is about to interject when he stops her.

“Fine, all right? I’ll talk to her,” the director assures the blonde.

Donna’s brow shoots up. “Her?”

“Them. I’ll talk to them,” Dean corrects quickly and watches her leave his office, clearly dissatisfied with his solution.

Dean hates West Hollywood like a mouse hates a cat. He can’t believe he fucking agreed to this thing in the first place. And the only reason he did agree was his stupid daughter, who’s not even here tonight because she’d rather spend time with her boyfriend than with her dad.

Fucking teenagers…

Honestly, Dean’s got no clue why he still came here without Claire. Maybe because he’s old-school and actually keeps his commitments, or maybe it’s because he’s got nothing better to do since neither his kid nor his not-girlfriend want to spend time with him. So, it was either getting drunk at home alone like he always does or do this.

As Dean enters the dark theater, he notices not a lot of seats are taken. Surprise, surprise! No one cares about him or his movies…

There’s a group of teenagers in the front row, though, who seem to be way to young to watch one of his films. But who is he to judge? He’s not their fucking parent. God knows he’s got his hands full with one teenager already.

He’s about to take a seat somewhere in the back when his green eyes spy a familiar head of hair. His heart skips a beat when he recognizes his favorite actress. Out of all the places in all the world, he’d never thought he’d meet her here.

“Hey,” he says as soon as he’s made it to her row. Her head darts up, but she doesn’t seem too surprised to see him here, which makes this coincidence even weirder. He assumed she strolled by this theater by accident and saw one of his movies was showing, deciding to check it out, which just so happens to flatter him and stroke his ego perfectly fine. “What are you doing here?”

Dammit. That sounded way too aggressive. He’s honestly happy she’s here; he just hasn’t expected it. Call it a ‘pleasant surprise.’

“Oh, uh, Claire invited me,” Y/N explains and gulps nervously. “But I can leave if you don’t want me here.”

Damn that kid. Of course, she meddled in his affair. Does she know he likes Y/N? Is it that obvious? Well, either way, someone’s getting a bigger allowance this week. Doesn’t he have the best kid?

“No, uh, stay. Please,” he says and sends Y/N his best smile. “Can I sit with you?”

Her face lights up. “Sure.”

Dean sits down on a red velvet seat next to her and feels like a goddamn teenager on a first date. His knees are shaking as he anxiously taps his boots on the sticky movie floor and drums his palms repeatedly on his thighs. Something inside of him urges him to hold her hand and interlace their fingers, or do one of those moves where he yawns and slings his arm around her shoulders.

In fact, he can barely concentrate on the movie until he takes her hand in his. But who cares? He wrote and directed this masterpiece, so it’s not like he’s missing out on anything important. He already knows the plot and every single shot.

Once their fingers touch, his heartbeat accelerates to light speed. She shoots him a look and raises her brow with a teasing smirk. He can catch it from his periphery but doesn’t dare to look straight at her. Instead, he awkwardly clears his throat and glues his green eyes stubbornly to the silver screen, pretending it’s not a big deal.

When did holding hands become such a fucking thrill? He’s not goddamn sixteen anymore, for crying out loud.

Y/N takes note of his uncomfortableness and focuses back on the movie but still gives his hand a small squeeze, telling him everything is all right. They remain exactly like this till the end credits roll across the screen.

And then, to his greatest surprise, there are cheers and claps from everyone in the theater. Y/N lets go of his hand to clap as well and bites her lip to hide a smile once she sees him blush furiously at the attention and admiration.

The group of teenagers then approaches him and stops by his row as a young, scrawny boy speaks up, “You’re a genius, Mr. Winchester.”

Mister?! How old do they think he is? Well, granted, he probably shot that movie before those kids were even born. Talk about feeling old.

“Your disorientation factor is truly masterful,” the boy continues. “Claire told us we’d love it.”

His brow shoots up in surprise. “Claire? How do you know my kid?”

“Oh, we’re all in AV club together,” the boy replies and gestures to his peers before they filter out of the theater.

“Huh.” Dean is gobsmacked, truly. For one, he didn’t even know Claire was in AV club. And secondly, he’s goddamn proud of her. Who knew the kid would take after her old man?

“See?” Y/N pokes his arm with her elbow, a big grin adorning her face. “You have a whole fan club of teenagers who adore your movie that they are, for sure, too young to see.”

Dean chuckles softly and wishes he could hide his reddening cheeks from her.

“I liked your movie, too,” she says then and watches his reaction closely.

“Oh, c’mon,” Dean tries to brush her off. She’s probably just saying it to appeal to his ego. He knows she’s not the biggest fan of his work. “Really?”

“Yeah!” Y/N says enthusiastically. “Those kids were right. It was disorienting. You were doing your own thing.” But then she catches her mistake and corrects herself, “Are. Sorry! You still are doing–”

Dean, however, shakes his head at her correction. “Nope, you’re right,” he admits and scoffs. “That was me twenty years ago. My hands all over everything like the biggest control freak, driving everybody nuts. I mean, my operator actually became so frustrated with me that he quit the first day and threw his camera at me. I had to shoot the rest of it myself.”

“You shot that?” Y/N’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Wow.”

“Yeah, I did.” Dean sighs and pensively scratches his beard. Something’s been bothering him for a while now, and talking to Y/N usually helps him sort through his jumbled thoughts. After all, she’s his Alma. “You know, I’m accustomed to a certain level of failure. When a project usually goes wrong, I know exactly what happened. It’s just-… with our show… I have no idea what went wrong there. I don’t know why they shit-canned us. Not a fucking clue. None. It’s driving me insane.”

Y/N grows quiet next to him and fumbles with her fingers. She swallows deeply before she opens her mouth. “I have an idea. I know why,” she confesses.

The director’s brow furrows. As he looks at her, he recognizes her nervousness. It causes him to worry. “What d’you mean?”

“Richard Roman, the head of the network? He-, uhm, he invited me to dinner… at his hotel room,” Y/N begins, the uncomfortableness growing inside of her and expanding in her chest.

Dean, on the other hand, stays perfectly still and quiet. The calm before the storm, so to speak. Because as soon as she said those words, he could feel his heart stop and drop several feet into the depths of hell. There, he’s sure he’ll find some kind of weapon he can use to kill that motherfucker before he comes back topside. The director knows how that story ends before she has even finished it, and it makes him want to puke his guts out and burn this godforsaken city down.

“He came on to me. As in… he wanted to have sex with me,” Y/N continues and clarifies in case he didn’t catch on. She’s not entirely sure the director is getting the message since he hasn’t said a word yet. “But I left before anything could happen. Ran away, actually. Bolted right outta there.” Her little chuckle at the end is a futile attempt to lighten the mood.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Dean’s furious, his nostrils flaring. He wants to punch and kill someone, but most of all Dickhead Roman himself.

“No, I’m not,” Y/N replies meekly. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.”

Bewildered, he frowns. “Mad?” That’s when he notices that she suddenly seems scared. Is she frightened… of him?!

“Maybe I can still fix it. Just call him and ask him if I can come by his office,” Y/N suggests, her voice laced with desperation. But not the good kind that usually turns him on. This time it’s just plain sad.

“To do what exactly?” Dean prompts grimly, already knowing her intentions. Over his dead body is she doing that!

“Well–”

“Fuck no!” Dean doesn’t even allow her to finish her sentence. In fact, he doesn’t want to hear it at all, or he might have to scratch his ears out afterward. God, he doesn’t even want to think about it. “You’re not fucking doing anything, alright?”

“But–”

“That stupid fucking son of a bitch,” Dean huffs and shakes his head. “What a goddamn prick!”

“So you’re not mad?” Y/N checks insecurely.

For a moment, Dean stops his rage to look at her, his heart almost breaking as he does. She deserves so much better in this life than all the shit she’s getting. How the fuck is any of this fair?

“At Dick cocksucking Roman, yeah. But not at you. Never at you, okay?” he emphasizes and sees her nod in relief. His heart shatters anew. How could she even think for a second he’d hold some sleazebag’s actions against her? But then his suspicions grow as he puzzles the pieces together. “When the fuck did this happen?”

“Uh, a little over a week ago,” Y/N answers quietly. “The night before they moved us to the nighttime slot.”

“That’s when you came to my office, and we–” Dean doesn’t finish his train of thought and cards a hand through his messy hair. Now, it makes sense. Her strange behavior, the inexplicable need for punishment, and everything in between.

‘You’re the best guy I know,’ he remembers her words. ‘I can’t think of anyone I’d want this with more.’

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Was that why you were avoiding me?”

A part of him feels unbelievably relieved. It’s not him but literally someone else’s fault. For once, he’s done nothing wrong. For once, he hasn’t ruined everything. But another part of him, the bigger one, just wants to rip Dickbag Roman’s throat out with his goddamn teeth. What a pathetic fucking loser…

Dean wishes he could beat the guy black and blue and leave him bleeding on the highway till a truck runs over him. He wishes he could cut off that guy’s dick and put it through a meat grinder. His mind can’t stop imagining the most gruesome ways to make that asshat suffer and die. In fact, he wishes Manson was still roaming Spawn Ranch and would send his Family over to that Roman’s mansion and leave Sharon Tate the fuck alone.

“I’m sorry. I guess I was scared you’d react like Jo.” Y/N gulps and averts her eyes to her trembling hands in her lap.

His brow knits, Donna’s warning words echoing through his mind. “Jo knows? What did she say?” But before Y/N can answer him, the director stops her again. “No, wait… I can take a fucking guess,” he mutters bitterly. The blonde bimbo probably told her to blow the guy in his goddamn office. Typical…

“Well, she’s not entirely wrong, you know,” Y/N mumbles and bites down on her lip without looking at him.

“What d’you mean?”

“All I’m good for is a fuck,” she says with a wry smile and wipes away a small tear. Dean’s heart twinges and hurts for her, but that pain is nothing compared to the cool blade of a knife he feels soon instead. “I mean, you of all people know that…”

Dean’s quiet for a moment and bites his nails as he ponders. His mind is a maze, and he knows he has to pick and choose his words carefully in order to get out of it.

“No, I actually don’t know that,” he states and catches her attention.

He tries his best not to sound angry or offended, even though he is a little. Hasn’t he been building her confidence for weeks now? Hasn’t he been instilling in her that she’s his favorite – and not just among the cast but on this planet in general? He figured she knew how much she truly means to him, but maybe he hasn’t been clear enough yet. He knows Y/N’s self-worth issues could fill every damn swimming pool in California, so maybe he shouldn’t expect a miracle so soon.

Mostly, he’s angry at Dicksuck Roman and Barbie for ruining all his hard work with one asshole move and a few bitchy words.

Dean wets his lips and lets out a sharp exhale through his nose before he looks at her. “Y/N, you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met in my entire life. You’re never just a quickie in the office to me. Do you understand that?”

She nods in slow reluctance. “I think so.”

“Good,” he says sternly. “Now believe it ‘cause it’s true.”

The green-eyed director cups her cheeks and pulls her to his lips, tongue meeting tongue in a searing kiss. The old seats creak when their weight shifts, Y/N leaning into his touch as she wrings for oxygen with heavy breaths. And where words fail, he tries his best to show her how he feels through his actions.

“Sorry,” Dean apologizes cheekily once he lets her get some air. “Couldn’t hold myself back any longer. That’s okay, right? We’re still on?”

Suddenly, it dawns on him that she might’ve still changed her mind about him. Has he just sexually harassed a woman right after she told him how she’s been sexually harassed by a superior? Jesus fucking Christ, he’s goddamn tone deaf, isn’t he?

To his luck, though, Y/N finds his stupidity amusing and giggles, placing another sweet kiss on his plump lips as she shakes her head. “We’re still on, boss,” she assures him and hears him heave a big sigh of relief.

“Awesome.” He grins from ear to ear and brushes a strand of rogue hair out of her face. “Are you and Jo okay? ‘Cause if you’re not, you gotta tell me. You wanna postpone the match?”

Now that Dean knows there’s no chance in hell the network’s going to let the show survive, he doesn’t even give a shit if the girls resort to doing the chicken dance in the ring or taking a dump on stage. No one truly gives a fuck anymore, least of all him. He never has.

The only thing he cares about is sitting right next to him.

Y/N, however, vehemently shakes her head. “No, we’re fine. I wanna fight. ‘Sides, I’m supposed to win this match, and I can’t wait to kick Jo’s bitchy ass.” She grins broadly.

“That’s my bad girl.” Dean smirks and pecks her lips. “You’re gonna stay over at my place tonight? Play a little Cold War in my bedroom?”

“Only if I can do my accent,” Y/N says, beaming.

The director playfully rolls his green eyes, even though he’s direly been waiting for that sort of role play. “Oh, you’ve got yourself a deal, Natasha.”

22. Girls, Girls, Girls – April 20

Hope you enjoyed this one! We came back with a literal bang 😂 Next up we deal with more drama and a hospital stay 👀

Don't forget I re-did the tag lists after the break, so pick your new place (everything, specific character, or series) and put your username in there ❤️

TAGS:

Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey @deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies @agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28 @mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33

Old Series Tags (only for this part): @jessjad​​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​​ @smellingofpoetry​​ @justrealizedimmascifygurl​​​​ @leigh70​​ @4getfulimaginator2022​​ @yeahmynameiscool06​​ @luci-wiggles​​​ @darkened-writer​ @mimaria420​​ @samanddeansannoyingsis​​ @sarasolros​​

#plastic hearts #dean winchester #director!dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x female reader #actress!reader #dean winchester au #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfic #director!dean winchester x actress!reader #glow au #supernatural au #supernatural fanfic #supernatural

[scribble-dribble-writes]

This is how I imagine Ken in Plastic Hearts 😭💖💖

I need him so badly 😩

#barbie movie 2023 #barbie movie #ken barbie #barbie #ken carson #ken x y/n #ken x you #ken x reader #ken fic #ken fluff #plastic hearts

[listography]

THE YEAR IS 2020

#women in rock #women in alternative #women in music #2020 #decade: 2020s #2020s #2020s music #lady gaga #chromatica #jessie ware #doja cat #megan thee stallion #ariana grande #kylie minogue #dua lipa #future nostalgia #phoebe bridgers #miley cyrus #plastic hearts #blackpink #blackpink jisoo #rose blackpink #lisa blackpink #jennie blackpink

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Plastic Hearts, Chapter Eight: Angels Like You

pairing: dieter bravo x actress!ofc (Violet)

rating: E (18+ only, angst, talks of addiction/recovery, oral (fem rec), unprotected piv, these two are so (maybe unhealthily) lovestruck, more angst but this time parental)

wc: 6.3k

series masterlist

December 22nd — Los Angeles, CA

Though Los Angeles never really got all that chilly in the winter, the city felt colder than it had in years as Violet drove down Sunset Boulevard with the top of her all-black BMW down, the wind whipping through her hair. 

Dieter had been in and out of the city for the past month working on the pre-production for his upcoming project, leaving her alone as she began to start her Oscar campaign for her lackluster movie. Even on the rare occasion that he was in town for an entire night, he seemed to be pulling further away from her with every passing day, but she couldn’t blame him, especially after the incident at the club and his discovery that she was using. 

Violet spent most of her free nights driving all over the city. This ritual had become sort of holy and precious to her. She needed the roof to be down, the heater and music to be on high, and most important of all, Dieter’s thick, brown coat bundling her up. She couldn’t explain why, but this was the closest she ever came to replicating the feeling of being with Dieter; the thrill of the icy wind hitting her face, the music so loud all of her thoughts were silenced, the warmth of his scent enveloping her making her feel safer than she’d felt in her entire life. 

It was nearing two in the morning when Violet’s BMW rolled back into her driveway, the music and the heater going silent in an instant. She sat there in the quiet evening air for a moment, steel-faced as she stared ahead at her shiny new mansion, but internally there was no feeling of success or fulfillment to be found. 

After forcing herself inside, Violet kicked off her shoes and slugged into the kitchen to make herself something to eat, a once, or twice if she was in a particularly good mood, a day task lately. She had only just opened the fridge when she was interrupted by an urgent thought—where the fuck is my phone?—the ache in her stomach momentarily dismissed as she patted herself down before running off on a hunt. 

Finding it upstairs on her bed, she was shocked to find three missed calls from Dieter, especially since she’d only heard from him once in the last week. She immediately dialed his number, putting the phone on speaker as she headed back downstairs into the kitchen. 

“Hey,” Dieter’s voice crackled through her speaker, bringing a smile to her face even with his almost indifferent tone. “Called a few times.”

“I’m sorry, I was driving,” she said, setting the phone down on the island. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just missed you,” he said, sincerity mixing with something unknown turning his tone sadder than she would’ve hoped. “Been so busy, all these meetings and shit. Sorry if it feels like…I don’t know. Like I’m not here.”

“S’alright,” she managed, a lump forming in her throat at the constant tension between them. “We are good though…right?”

“Yeah, I mean—“ he sighed. She could imagine the way his hand anxiously was rubbing at his jaw. “Shit’s…been a little weird lately. But we’re—you and I are still—I still love you.”

“Still?” she repeated, scoffing under her breath. “How fortunate am I that you still love me.”

“Violet,” he sighed. “Do you really want to go there?”

“Honestly, yeah,” she snapped, abandoning all hope for a meal tonight as she walked over to the island and stared at her screen as though she were glaring at him face to face. 

“It’s hard for me to be around you when I know that you’re still fucking using. That’s all. Yes, I still love you. I still love you even though it’s fucking hard and dangerous and a slippery fucking slope for me,” he said, a sharpness in his voice that she had yet to hear from him in the six months of knowing him. 

“I’m not using,” she countered weakly, not even believing her own lie. 

“Vi, pretending like you don’t have a problem doesn’t mean you don’t still have a problem,” he softened his voice. “I just want you to get help, but you’re not. You keep saying you’ll quit cold turkey and it doesn’t fucking work. Trust me.”

“Is that what I have to do to see you?” she asked, her voice breaking a bit as tears flooded over her waterline. 

“You can’t make this about me,” he sighed. 

“I have to. I don’t want to stop, but you want me to,” she said. “And I want you more than anything. Especially lately.”

The line went silent for a few beats, prompting Violet to carry on with her tearful plea. 

“I want to see you, to go to bed with you, to touch you. It’s been a month since I got to spend more than a day with you, do you know that?”

“Trust me, it hasn’t been fucking easy for me either,” he exhaled. “But I need to set boundaries and shit. And a big boundary is that if you’re using or if there’s shit at the house, I can’t be there. I can’t be with you, and I can’t be there.” 

“Then I’m done using,” she said decidedly, as if recovery was as simple as making a declaration. 

“Baby,” he sighed for the thousandth time in five minutes. “Find a rehab, or some sort of accountability program—“

“Christmas is literally in three days,” she chuckled. “After the holidays, I will.”

“Okay,” he managed after a beat, still not sounding his usual self. 

“Okay, so…can I come see you for Christmas?” she said, biting her lip nervously. 

“Yeah, you know, as long as you respect this line I’m trying to draw,” he said. 

“Of course I will.” 

“Just to warn you, my awful parents decided they wanted to have an awful Christmas Eve together at their place, so…keep in mind you’ll have to deal with their passive aggressive bullshit.”

“That’s fine, I can be passive aggressive right back,” she said, smiling down at her screen as if nothing ever happened. Her knack for forgiveness was a trait she both deeply admired and utterly hated about herself. “I can’t wait to see you, D. Really. I’m gonna…gonna get my shit together. I’m just…I’m taking this loss of a movie really hard.”

“I know, baby,” he offered softly. “You’re doing your best to cope, I know that. I just—there’s better ways. I know it doesn’t feel like anything matches that high, but—“

“You do,” she cut in. “Being with you beats it.”

Dieter was quiet for a beat. “Fuck, I’ve really missed you.”

Violet smiled softly and nodded. “I’m gonna find a flight for tomorrow.”

“Alright, baby,” he hummed. “I’m sorry—for the way I’ve gone about all this shit. I should’ve said something instead of just pulling away. Wasn’t cool.”

“S’alright,” she said. “We’re good now.”

“Yeah. We’re good,” he agreed. “Call me before you head out?”

“You gonna pick up?” she teased, earning a chuckle. 

“Yes,” he snarked and Violet laughed, the sound fading into a more comfortable silence than she was used to as of late. Dieter must have felt the shift back to normalcy as well, his voice soft as he spoke again. “You know I love you more than anything, Violet.”

“I know,” she hummed, her smile tender as she stared at his contact picture on her screen. “I love you, D,” she mused. “M’gonna go get ready for bed.”

“Okay,” he rasped. “Have a good night, V. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Night night.”

Dieter’s month had been long and grueling, constantly flying back and forth between New York and LA, New York and London, London and Germany, all to meet studio executives without an ounce of creativity in their bones and kiss ass until they were sure his role in the movie could suit their monetary desires. On top of all of this, he felt like he was working a full time job trying to figure out his situation with Violet after the big blowout at the club. Everytime he sought outside advice, he heard the same shit. 

It’s not safe for your sobriety to be with someone who’s using, his therapist said. This shit is toxic, Andrea said. If it comes out that Violet’s on coke, they’re all going to blame you, his publicist said. 

But of course it was cut and dry for them. 

They didn’t love her. They didn’t know her. They weren’t him, didn’t feel the way he did about life, didn’t know what it was like to meet someone who just fucking gets it. 

It wasn’t as simple as saying goodbye and moving on, but he couldn’t be with her the way he used to be anymore—as long as she was using, that is. 

He needed to put distance between them for a while while he figured out what to do about loving her the way he did and fearing it’s total control over him at the same time. 

Tonight, after a particularly difficult day spent at the office punctuated by a once a year call from his mother, he couldn’t keep himself distanced any longer. He needed to hear her voice, and more importantly, he needed to finally lay out his terms for their relationship. 

After the call ended, he still only felt partly relieved. There was this selfish child deep within him that was clinging onto the thought of seeing her again that couldn’t be tamed. That desperate, love starved boy had no care in the world about what could happen if she started using around him again—he was just glad she was there. The other, more mature part of him resembled more of the man who he saw in the mirror. This man had been let down by love every time he’s felt it. This man knew that sometimes you just fucking lose in the end. This man had, through multiple relapses and years of falling on and off the wagon, finally gotten sober, finally had his career back to where he wanted it, and this man knew that all it would take is one slip up for it all to go to shit. 

He hoped she was being sincere about getting clean, but as the old saying goes, hope is a dangerous thing to have. 

It hadn’t snowed the entire month, but as if the city was just waiting for Violet to come home, New York was covered in a soft blanket of white ice as soon as she touched ground. Dieter couldn’t help but smile at the coincidence as he stood in front of a large glass window in the airport, watching as Violet’s plane hit the tarmac. 

By the time she came walking towards him with a wide, smitten grin hidden beneath her thick wool scarf, Dieter had managed to forget all about his concerns regarding the state of their relationship.

“Excuse me? Can I get a picture? I’m a big fan,” she teased, sliding her arms around his waist as he pulled her in for the tightest hug of her life, swaying her side to side with his face buried in her scarf. 

“Missed you, Apollo,” he mumbled, squeezing her tighter before letting her go just enough to look at her, his hands lifting to frame her face. “A shit ton.”

“I missed you, Bravo,” she said, her eyes tracing the curve of his bottom lip. Dieter took her cue and leaned down, his fingers holding her chin as he kissed her soft and slow until it started to get too heated for Violet’s comfort given their current location. “Maybe we shouldn’t make out in an airport?”

“Bathroom?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Violet laughed and swatted his hip before shaking her head and pulling herself away from him. 

“Lame,” he teased, shooting her a smirk as he grabbed her suitcase with one hand and Violet’s hand with the other, lifting it to his lips to kiss it as they headed through the dull terminal. 

“Where’ve you been staying?” she asked in the backseat of the towncar Dieter ordered to pick them up. 

She could hardly keep herself composed, every atom of her being singing now that she was back where she belonged. She sat in the middle seat, Dieter holding her hand on top of her lap. The proximity of his fingers to where she’d been craving them, where she knew they’d excel at making her feel better than anyone before him ever had, was turning her thoughts feral, and so, she went searching for a distraction. 

“I’m renting a place in the West Village,” he said, letting go of her hand to rest his across her thigh, his fingertips nestling between her legs. “It’s nice. Has a studio, so I’ve been painting again.”

“Yeah?” she asked, airy but focused as she watched his hand flex with every stroke of his thumb over her dotted black nylon tights. “Paint anything for me?”

Dieter smiled, his eyes fixed on his hand as well. 

“S’probably all for you,” he managed, drawing her eyes to meet his. “Fucking missed you, V.”

“Come here,” she said, her hand fitting to mold against his cheek as she pulled him down to kiss her, neither of them caring about the driver seeing. “Don’t wanna be apart anymore. This sucks.”

“I know,” he sighed, resting his forehead against her shoulder. “It’s not working for me, either.”

“I’ll…” She stopped herself, glancing at the back of the driver’s head. “I’ll do better. About everything. I just want you.”

“I can help,” he offered, keeping his voice hushed as he lifted his head to look at her. “We can figure it out.”

“Yeah?” she smiled, her brows lacing together as if she was about to cry. Dieter poked his bottom lip out at the sight and nodded. 

“It’s you and I, kid.”

“God, I missed New York,” Violet mused as she and Dieter walked back to his apartment after having dinner at Dieter’s favorite sushi spot, the city looking extra magical from the snow and festive lights on every building. She was bundled up like a true Californian, Dieter’s arm hugged close to her chest. 

“You should move here,” he said, pulling her eyes to the side of his face as he continued looking ahead. “You seem happier here. You have friends. We could…we could move in together. If you did.”

“What about my place in LA?” she asked, letting go of his arm to hold his hand instead as they stopped at a crosswalk to wait for traffic to pass. 

“Keep it,” he shrugged, reaching to fix her beanie so that it covered her ears better. 

“Really?” she asked, biting her lip. Dieter shook his head at the effect such a small action had on him, his lips lowering to meet hers for a small, necessary-for-his-survival kiss. 

“After I finish filming,” he mumbled against her lips. Violet tensed at the mention of his impending absence turning her mood sour. 

“Let’s talk about something else,” she said, gently pushing him away as the light for the crosswalk changed, signaling the all-clear. 

They walked together in silence for a moment, neither one of them knowing how to continue to avoid the looming fact that their relationship only seemed to fare well when they were together, and soon they wouldn’t be. 

“Your parents,” Violet started, breaking the silence. “What’s that gonna be like?”

“Dull as fuck,” Dieter chuckled and shook his head. “My mom is going to pretend to be the most elegant human being you’ve ever met, and my dad’s probably going to use complimenting you as a way to insult me.” 

“I don’t think your dad’s going to compliment me after what happened at SNL,” Violet said. 

“Forgot about that,” Dieter smirked. “Feels like such a long time ago.”

“We weren’t even together then,” she smiled at him. “Two idiots.”

“I’m still an idiot,” he said, leading them up the steps of his apartment and unlocking the door. “Treated you like shit lately.”

“D,” she frowned as they peeled off their layers in the entryway. “You needed distance, it wasn’t shitty.”

“The way I did it was,” he argued. “And I’m going to disappear again next month for filming—“

“I don’t want to think about that, Dieter,” she sighed, heading down the hall to the living room, finding her place on the sofa while he walked into the adjoining kitchen. 

“We should talk about it,” he replied over the hiss of a bottle of sparkling water being opened. “I’m gone three months—“

“Shhh,” she groaned, laying facedown on the couch dramatically. 

“Just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not still here,” Dieter teased, making his way around the island to walk over to her, crawling on top of her. 

“You’re heavy,” she croaked from beneath him. 

“I have to leave,” he said, kissing her ear. “But I want you to come with me.”

“Okay, get up. I’ll talk,” she sighed, waiting for his weight to leave her before sitting up and facing him. “You want me to come with you to…?”

“Germany for a month, London for the other two,” he said, lifting his water to his lips. 

“I have award season,” she said. “I’ll have to fly back and forth from Germany and LA.”

“So do I,” he countered. “To be with you when you win.”

Violet rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Shut up.”

“At least come to Germany,” he begged, using those eyes of his on her. 

“I suppose I can do Germany,” she said, smiling at him as she crawled onto his lap, her arms draping over his shoulders. “It’s going to be freezing and miserable, isn’t it?”

“Oh, it’s gonna be shit,” he mumbled, his hands sliding her sweater up and off her frame, leaving her in a lacy black bra, a black skirt, and black tights. His eyes darted rapidly from her thighs to her chest to her face and back down again, unable to choose a favorite sight. “But you’re going to make it bearable.”

“Andrea’s gonna be pissed you’re bringing me,” Violet whispered as Dieter slipped her bra straps off her shoulders, his face burying in her cleavage while his hands kneaded at her ass under her skirt. 

“She can fuck off,” he murmured, sliding his hands up her back to unclasp her bra. “Look at you, baby.”

“I’ve been neglected,” she smiled, combing her fingers through his dark curls as he cupped the weight of her breasts with both hands, his lips pressing wet kisses on every inch of skin he could find. 

“Yeah? I’m a fucking idiot,” he mumbled, swiping his tongue over one of her stiff peaks, earning a roll of her hips. Dieter moaned at the taste of her, one hand cupping her breast while the other slid down her spine to guide her hips against his cock strained beneath black denim. 

“Take this off,” she whispered, tugging at his sweater. Dieter quickly obeyed, shucking the cashmere off his body while Violet lowered herself to the floor, her hands working the button of his jeans open. 

“I got this, you work on taking that skirt off,” he ordered, peeling his jeans off. 

“And the tights?”

“Leave them on,” he said, licking his lips as he sat back against the couch. His legs were spread, his fist slowly stroking his cock as he watched her slide her black mini-skirt off with lust drunken eyes, leaving her in only a pair of black tights and a black thong underneath. “Fuck me. Look at you.” 

Violet smiled adoringly as she walked to stand between his open knees, Dieter’s hands finding her hips. He leaned in, pressing soft kisses to her stomach while his hands slid around to squeeze her ass before ripping her tights right down the middle. 

“These are expensive,” she scolded through a giggle, allowing him to spin her around so that her ass was facing him. 

“This fucking ass,” he groaned, almost pained by his desire for the woman in front of him. “Wanna take a bite out of it.”

“Yeah?” she taunted, turning to look back at him from over her shoulder, a finger between her teeth. “Go on, then.”

Dieter smiled and shook his head. “Bend over, baby.” 

Violet did as he asked, bending over and holding onto the coffee table for stability as she spread her legs a little wider for him, Dieter’s moan confirming that she’d done a good job at following directions. 

“Pretty fucking pussy,” he cooed, moving her thong to the side and swiping a thumb through the mess of arousal coating her lower lips. “You want my tongue, baby?”

“Mmhm,” she purred, arching her back for him. Dieter groaned as he palmed the round globes of her ass with both hands, bringing his teeth to the soft flesh to give her a lovebite. 

“I could write a sonnet about your ass,” he mumbled, leaving wet kisses on both cheeks as he stripped her thong off and tossed it across the room, leaving her in only a pair of ripped tights. “Shall I compare this ass to a summer’s day?”

“Shut up,” she giggled, standing upright and turning around to face him. Dieter’s hands found her waist, his eyes round as they peered up at her. She carded her fingers through his hair before tugging on it, earning a soft moan. Tracing her finger across his bottom lip, she smirked at the look of sheer obedience coming from this beautiful man she’d somehow stumbled into love with against all reason or odds. “I wanna sit on this pretty face of yours, Bravo.”

“Fuck, okay, baby,” Dieter groaned, wrapping his hand around the base of his cock and squeezing it to fight off the ache of arousal turning him into pudding at her feet. “Can I—can we turn the fireplace on first?” 

“Why?” she laughed. 

“I don’t know, I’ve always wanted to fuck in front of a fireplace,” he shrugged. 

“And you, Dieter Bravo, a retired, semi-professional whore, haven’t done that yet?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him as she leaned down to ghost her lips over his, her hands cupping his cheeks. 

“Not…here,” he shrugged. “And certainly not with you.”

“Who was it?” Violet asked with an amused smile. “Someone famous?”

“Probably, hard to remember when I’ve got your tits in my face,” he said, his eyes fixed on her chest before finally making their way back up to meet hers. “Anyways, is that a yes to the fireplace?”

“Sure,” she laughed, stepping aside to let him get up and walk over to the built in hearth. Dieter stood there, butt-naked, his dick half-hard, scratching his chin as he stared at the modern fireplace. “Do you even know how to—“

“Please, I’ve won an Oscar, I think I can figure out how to light a fire,” Dieter snarked, though he remained visibly clueless. 

“I think there’s a switch on the side, baby.”

“Right. I knew that,” Dieter pressed the switch and lit the fire, earning a sarcastic round of applause from Violet as she stood watching him. 

“You’re very pretty, you know?” she asked, meeting him in front of the fire. She cupped his cheeks again and smiled at him as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her naked body close to his. 

“Did you know who I was before we met?” Dieter asked, sliding his hands lower to rest just above her ass. 

“You’ve been an A-list celebrity for the last twenty years,” she smirked. “Of course I knew who you were.”

“Were you into me?” he smiled, leaning in to press featherlight kisses against her collarbone. 

“Not really,” she sighed, feeling drunk from his touch. “Thought you were a douche.”

“Good judge of character,” he whispered just below her ear before taking her earlobe between his teeth. 

“What about me?” she asked breathlessly, melting into him as he started to lower them down onto the faux fur rug beneath them until she was flat on her back and he was hovering on top of her. “Did you think I was pretty?”

“I thought you were very pretty,” he replied, a soft, lazy grin on his face. “And I thought you looked like a prude.”

“Little did you know, I’m the opposite,” she quipped. 

“Mmhm,” he nodded. “A prude wouldn’t climb on top of my face and ride it like you’re about to.”

“Nope,” she grinned, pushing his shoulders to gesture for him to trade positions with her. 

Once Dieter was on his back, Violet assumed her position over his face and grinned down at him between her thighs, his eager eyes and plump lips glowing in the orange light of the fire. 

“Come on, baby,” he goaded her on, squeezing her thighs to pull her down to his impatient tongue. “Let me taste this pretty pussy.”

“Dirty mouth,” she purred, seating herself on his tongue and rocking her hips, one hand gripping his curls. 

At the feeling of his tongue against her, wet and soft and warm, she felt herself crumble just a little bit, softening into the rarest form of herself—a person she saved just for Dieter. “Fuck, D.”

He hummed and gripped her thighs, seemingly unable to get close enough to her. She responded to his neediness with a long, choked whine and her eyes on his, her face wrecked with pleasure that looked more like pain. 

“Your mouth is so—“ She shuddered at a spark of pleasure brought on by his lips surrounding her swollen bud, sucking it into his mouth. “Jesus, D. Fuck. Baby, keep doing that.”

One of Dieter’s hands left the top of her thighs to palm a handful of her ass, guiding her as she rolled her hips against his mouth, taking from him in a way that made it feel like she was giving him something instead. It was addicting, the sight of her chasing her pleasure so unabashedly, one hand tangled in his hair and the other kneading the weight of her breast. 

“I’m so close,” she gasped, her movements getting sharper and more desperate. “Fuck, I’m—fuck.” 

“That’s it,” his praise was a suffocated rasp against her as she came, both of her hands planting onto the floor above his head as she rode out the waves of her climax. Dieter’s hands slid up her spine and back down, over and over again until she relaxed and sat back to look down at him with a satisfied grin. “So fucking hot, baby.” 

“Look who’s talking,” she purred, sliding down his body to sit her still sensitive cunt over his cock, her hand lightly gripping his chin as she bent down to give him a deep, greedy kiss. “You should win an award for what this mouth is capable of.”

“Yeah?” he smiled, sliding his hands down her back to rest on her hips, urging her to rock forward against the throbbing underside of his cocl as it laid sandwiched between her cunt and his stomach. “What about my dick?”

“Your mouth gets ‘Best Supporting’,” she said, lifting her hips and reaching back to line him up with her cunt. Dieter’s jaw dropped, his eyes falling between their bodies to watch as she slowly took him down to the base. “But this dick…” She hummed, the satisfying burn of his size bringing a smile to her face. “This dick is the main event.”

“Fuck me,” he groaned, sitting upright and wrapping his arms around her waist, his face buried in her neck. “You make me so fucking hard, V.”

“Yeah?” she moaned into his ear, biting on the lobe just to feel him shiver. 

“Fucking own me,” he rasped, biting her shoulder. “My fucking girl.”

It was Violet’s turn to crumble for him, the possessiveness in his voice stoking the flame of arousal that was already burning brightly in her belly. 

“Want you to fuck me,” she whined, placing both hands in his face to guide his gaze up to meet hers. “Want you to bend me over.”

“Yeah?” he groaned, squeezing the globes of her ass so hard she hoped it would leave a mark for her to remember this by. “Want it soft, baby?”

Violet shook her head. 

“No, you want it rough, don’t you?” he hummed at her choked sob, her walls pulsing at the sound of his voice. 

“Please,” she begged, breathless and desperate. 

“Okay, baby,” he cooed, stroking over her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Go on, bend over for me.”

Violet’s legs shook as she scrambled off of him and onto her knees, her face buried in the rug, facing the fire as it crackled.

Dieter could’ve cum from the sight before him, Violet’s back arched, the light from the flames casting an orange glow in some places, a dark shadow in others. She was still wearing her tights, sheer black contrasting against her olive toned flesh, the pink of her exposed center. Spitting into his hand and stroking it over the fat tip of his length, he found the strength to stave off his orgasm in favor of giving her another. She deserved it. 

She deserved everything in his mind. 

“Gonna fuck you full of me,” he rasped as he slid back into her, his eyes glued to the side of her face as she turned her head, her hands clawing at the fur beneath her. “Shit, baby. You look—fuck, it’s unreal.”

“D, please,” she cried, her voice choppy from the harsh snap of his hips into hers, her body absorbing the shock like a pro. “Wanna cum so bad.”

“Need anything, baby?” he asked, his breathing ragged and sharp. “Need me to touch you?”

She nodded her head quickly. 

“Where?” 

“Everywhere,” she breathed, her eyes flickering shut as he honed in on a devastating spot inside of her. 

“Here?” Dieter asked, reaching around her body to rub perfect circles against her clit. 

“Fuck,” she cried, long and drawn out. 

“What about here?” he growled, licking the pad of his thumb on his free hand before resting it over her ass, pressing into the muscle gently. 

“Dieter, shit—“ she gasped, warmth trickling up her spine and down her thighs at the feeling of him all around her, taking all she had to give him greedily. “I’m coming. Fuck, I’m—fuck.”

“Good fucking girl,” he grunted, snapping his hips to punctuate each word. “You want me to fill you up?”

“Please,” she cried. “Want it all.”

“Shit—“ Dieter’s eyes lowered to where they were connected, watching as his cock pulsed with every spurt of his cum painting her walls, his brows furrowed and lips parted in awe. “Fuck, I’m still coming, baby.”

Violet hummed, fucking herself against him just to hear him whimper, his hands landing on her hips. 

“Don’t get me going again,” he said. “I’ll pull a muscle.”

Violet laughed, slowly pulling away until he slipped out of her. Dieter hissed at the loss of warmth, instantly moving to lay next to her, the fire making up for the snow outside that chilled his apartment. 

“I’m fucking dreading tomorrow,” Dieter sighed, nuzzling his head against Violet’s chest as she scratched at his scalp. 

“Your parents?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, kissing over her pounding heartbeat. “I might not be able to take it and just fucking leave.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” she said, her voice softening with exhaustion. “We can leave whenever. You don’t owe them anything just because they birthed you.”

“They don’t see it that way,” he mumbled. 

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, pushing him to lay back so that she could lay on his chest instead. 

“I’m glad you came,” he said, almost asleep. “Love you. Shit tons.”

“Mm,” she smiled. “Shit tons.”

“Alright, if they start to act like dicks, we’re leaving,” Dieter said, his finger hovering over the doorbell of his parent’s place in Dumbo, a gray-brick building with a navy blue door. 

“Sounds like a plan,” Violet smiled, lifting her hand to his back to rub comforting circles on it. “C’mon, you got this.”

Dieter chuckled and let out a deep sigh before pressing the doorbell, his hands tapping on his legs anxiously. 

When his mother, Marianne, opened the door, she almost looked like a normal person to her son and not the villain he was used to facing only in memory. Her once-black hair had turned a sophisticated gray, her old Hollywood waves reminiscent of her glory days in the sixties and seventies—the woman Dieter studied in film since she was never around to study in person. 

“Dieter,” Marianne beamed, placing her hand delicately over the pearls on her neck. “Look at you. And your friend! Violet, is it?”

“Yes,” Violet nodded, offering Marianne a more polite smile than Dieter was used to seeing. “We briefly met when Dieter hosted SNL.”

“I don’t remember you hosting,” Marianne chuckled, turning to her son. 

“Checks out,” Dieter replied dryly. “Can we come inside?”

“Yes, come in,” Marianne moved aside to let Violet and Dieter inside her very blue home, the walls, ceilings, and floor all a different, complimentary shade. “Your father is in the living room, Dieter.”

“Okay,” Dieter managed. 

“Violet, you can come help me set the table,” Marianne said, waving for Violet to follow her as she disappeared down the hall into the dining room. Violet turned to give Dieter a pleading look as she forced herself onward.

“I can help, too,” Dieter said, joining the two of them. 

“Oh, please,” Marianne rolled her eyes. “Go say hello to your father.”

“In a minute,” Dieter returned, reaching for the pile of silverware to start sealing it out. 

“Dieter. Now.” 

Dieter scoffed at her attempt at authority. She never had any reason to perfect it. 

“You’re impossible,” she spat. 

“Alright, I think we’re gonna go,” Dieter said, dropping the silverware in his hands.

“What?” 

“We tried. I tried to tolerate you, but, really, it’s hard,” Dieter said, turning to Violet. “Let’s go?”

“Sure,” Violet said, giving him a soft nod and following him as he led them out of the room and into the hall. 

“Dieter, where are you going?” Dieter’s father, Ed, walked into the foyer and narrowed his eyes at his son as Dieter slipped his boots and jacket back on while Violet followed suit. “It’s Christmas Eve. You’re supposed to be with family.”

“I am,” Dieter said, reaching for Violet’s hand to lead her outside into the icy Brooklyn air. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t deal—“

“You don’t have to apologize,” she cooed, wrapping her arm around his waist as they started back in the direction of the subway. Dieter pulled her in close, kissing the top of her head. 

“I love you,” he muttered, squeezing her into him. “Thank you for being here.”

“Thank you for letting me,” she smiled, kissing the tiny, heart-shaped bald spot on his jaw. “So…Chinese for dinner?”

“Fuck, yes,” he nearly moaned. 

It was relatively busy at the small, family-run Chinese place Dieter chose, his claims of the best soup dumplings in the city sounding too enticing to pass up. 

Now, Dieter and Violet sat in a booth in the corner of the restaurant, cuddled up without a care for the table of young tourists who were clearly snapping pictures of the two of them. 

“So, Germany,” Dieter started, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “They’ve got me in a hotel, but I was thinking we could maybe rent a place. Have more space and not feel like we’re in a prison the entire time.”

“Where in Germany are you filming?” Violet asked, sipping her diet coke through a straw. 

“Munich,” he replied, stealing a dumpling from her plate. “I was there once for a press thing. It’s pretty, I think you’ll like it.”

“Well, if I don’t, Italy’s right there,” she smiled. “I can just run off to Venice whenever you piss me off.”

“Great, then I’ll come chase after you and we’ll add Italy to the list of countries we’ve fucked in,” he smiled back, waving his fork at her until she laughed. Proud of himself, Dieter leaned over and stole a kiss, his thumb stroking the line of her jaw. “Do you want your gift now or later?” 

“You weren’t supposed to get me a gift,” she frowned. “I didn’t get you one.”

“I don’t need shit,” he shook his head. 

“You could do with a new robe,” she snarked, taking another sip of her drink while Dieter gave her an unimpressed look. “Fine. I’ll take my gift now, please.”

“Okay, so it’s not…it’s not physically with me because it’s back at my place,” Dieter said, reaching for his phone again to search for something on it. “You remember when we went to the museum—a million fucking years ago?” 

Violet laughed and nodded. “Well, I remembered you liked Monet a lot, but I couldn’t just fucking buy a Monet, so instead…” Dieter faced his phone screen towards her, showing her a very close attempt at Monet’s Water Lillies. 

“D, did you paint this?” she beamed, zooming in on the picture to study the details. 

“Yeah,” he bit his lip as he watched her. “It’s not…perfect. But—“

“But it is,” she turned to him with a touched smile. “It’s you.”

Dieter looked shy as Violet turned back to the picture. 

“I can’t believe I’m the owner of an original Bravo painting,” Violet grinned, leaning over to rest her head on his shoulder as she passed his phone back to him. “Thank you, D. I love it and I love you.”

Dieter kissed her forehead and smiled. “Love it enough to try the sex-swing that I ordered as a backup gift?”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal smut #dieter bravo fluff #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo #dieter bravo angst #dieter bravo x oc #plastic hearts

[tellmeamiley]

miley cyrus mirror selfie

reblog or like if saving

don’t repost it

#MILEY CYRUS #TWITTER #MILEY CYRUS ICONS #ICONS #MILEY #TWITTER ICONS #MILEYEDIT #2015 #2014 #2012 #2013 #MILEY CYRUS 2012 #MILEY CYRUS 2013 #MILEY CYRUS 2014 #BANGERZ #MILEY CYRUS RARE #MILEY CYRUS SELFIE #MIRROR SELFIE #ICONS WITHOUT PSD #PLASTIC HEARTS #WHO OWNS MY HEART

[p1325]

Miley Cyrus as Hannah Montana (2009)

#hannah montana #disney #disney channel #pop #pop music #miley stewart #miley cyrus #2000s #2009 #y2k #pink #pink aesthetic #smiler #new year new miley #album #can't be tamed #younger now #miley and her dead petz #she's coming #plastic hearts #breakout

[lightscamerabitchsmileee]

Vote for your fave, reblog & share your thoughts and also your other faves even outside this list in the tags I would love to hear it 😊😊

Check out my masterpost for the other open polls thank you and have fun 😊😊

#miley cyrus #hannah montana #hannah montana 2 #meet miley cyrus #hannah montana the movie #breakout #the time of our lives #cant be tamed #bangerz #younger now #plastic hearts #nelly #ariana grande #lana del rey #charlies angels #soundtrack #mark ronson #late night feelings #dua lipa #pop #pop rock #hip hop #trap #country pop #country #teen pop #disney #tumblr polls #music polls #music

[orenjidreams]

Music taste ✨

#music #arch enemy #black pink #lady gaga #firewind #music taste #music cds #cds #miley cyrus #plastic hearts #911 #gaga #crybaby #devilman #devilman crybaby #netflix #anime #kpop #idol #jisoo #lalisa

[theunholycyrus]

#miley cyrus #younger now #plastic hearts #my edit #she is coming era #miley cyrus 2019 #miley photo #mileyworld #miley cyrus 2010 #mileyraycyrus

[timetravellingkitty]

Rayla, especially in arc 1

#plastic hearts #miley cyrus #rayla #tdp #🎧

[ciudadanouniversoblog]

😻

#joe locke #plastic hearts #osemanverse #heartstopper #alice oseman #heartstopper netflix #nick and charlie #heartstopper comic #nick y charlie #solitaire

[waynes-multiverse]

Plastic Hearts – Part 22

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, injuries, hospitals, jealousy, drug use, angst, smoking everywhere 'cause it's the 80s, girl fights, a whole lot of FLUFF

Word Count: 6.9k

A/N: Thank you guys so much for all your comments last week! So happy to bring these two idiots back to your screens of choice and give them an ending they deserve! Now, buckle up! We have some bitchy moments in this one 👀😇

<< 21 || Spotify Playlist || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

22. Girls, Girls, Girls

The gym smells of blood, sweat, and tears tonight. More so than ever before. The tensions run high.

It’s the first live taping since the show’s official cancellation. The first three matches have already run their course, the rest of the women joining Dean in his office, using the platform as the perfect viewing room. It’s like an NFL suite at Super Bowl. Everyone’s drinking, celebrating, and has gathered here to watch the biggest match of the night:

Red Sparrow vs. Liberty Bell

Usually, the green-eyed director would be bothered by the constant chatting, shrieking, and yapping. But tonight, he could care less as he passed the director’s crown on to his spawn, leaving Claire to man the booth and direct the show on her own, putting her AV skills to the test.

After all, the show’s already canceled. What’s the worst that could happen? Might as well let a rebellious teenager call the shots. Who gives a shit! Isn’t it awesome to be this carefree?

“Can you guys keep it down?” Claire hisses with an annoyed roll of her eyes, her shoulders tense with stress as she tries to concentrate on the monitors. “I’m trying to direct a show here! I can’t fucking hear anything!”

Amused, Dean chuckles. Now, his daughter finally knows what it’s like to be in his shoes. He’s tried telling everyone for ages that these women are fucking annoying and that being a director ain’t easy.

While the women are busy talking up a storm and pay attention to the match, Dean sneaks to his desk and opens the first drawer. He pulls out his pack of cigarettes, but it’s not a smoke he’s in the mood for. To his surprise and shock, however, the little bag of white powder he hides in there is gone.

Did he put it somewhere else?

Frantically, he starts opening every drawer, moving stuff in and out of them. He rummages through his folders on his desk, sees if he placed it there somewhere, but it’s nowhere to be found. His green eyes then dart to his kid and an eerie feeling settles in his stomach. Surely, Claire didn’t take it, right?

Like father, like daughter, it echoes through his mind.

He always loved the fact that his kid was so much like him – the love for good movies, the humor, the sass, the sheer unabashed talent. But not in that regard. God, does he hope she didn’t inherit his drug addiction, too.

“Claire?” Dean knows he has to be careful in his questioning, not wanting to alert the other women in the room to the pressing issue. But his daughter skillfully ignores him, too focused on her current task. “CLAIRE?!” he barks loud enough to rattle the entire office.

Yeah, okay, that wasn’t as smooth and inconspicuous as he had hoped, but he’s fucking panicking on the inside, alright? He has entered worried dad mode.

Don’t act so fucking surprised, okay? He has evolved like man is supposed to do.

In all honesty, Dean wanted to get completely clean two weeks ago. As soon as Y/N waltzed into his office and slept with him, he swore he’d never touch the toxic and nasty stuff again. He was done, and this time, it’d be final. No going backsies. But he had one teeny-tiny baggy left, and well, he hates to be wasteful. So, his plan was to slowly stop and keep the withdrawals at a minimum. And it worked great so far. It hasn’t snowed in four fucking days.

“What?!” his kid grunts back, audaciously annoyed.

“Did you snoop through my drawers and take my smokes out?” Dean asks her in his best dad voice. He’s gotten quite good at it since he practiced it over the last few weeks.

Do your homework!

Eat your vegetables!

Tell that fucking boyfriend of yours to stop sneaking in through the window, or I’ll get my gun!

“No, I don’t smoke!” Claire huffs without missing a beat and doesn’t take her eyes off the monitors even once.

Dean believes her. Usually, when she lies, there are a few seconds of thinking that pass by before she comes up with a reasonable excuse. Not that he buys any of them, but whatever. This time, though, she answered right away, and he knows she has no idea what he’s even talking about.

So, did he misplace it? You’d think he’d be more careful with drug storage, but sometimes it’s a glass of whiskey too many, and stuff gets lost. Did he leave it in the car? Is it at home?

But then it dawns on him. Joanna.

The blonde storms into his office, forcing the director to look up. Her mascara is smeared across her cheeks, her hair disheveled and overall she seems upset and out of breath.

“I need my own goddamn dressing room,” Barbie demands. “I can’t get ready and in the right head space with all of these women down there. I’m the star of the show. Some of us need peace and quiet to wash the shit of the world from us before they have to fucking perform!”

“Whoa, whoa, easy, alright? Sit down,” Dean tells her calmly and gestures to the seat in front of him, where the blonde immediately plops down with an exhausted huff. “You can get ready in my office tonight, okay? You want a drink? You look like you need one.”

Jo nods with a sniffle and accepts the flask he’s offering her, almost downing the whole thing.

“What’s going on? You good?” Dean checks. Usually, he wouldn’t care about the blonde’s feelings, but since she’s up against Y/N tonight, he wants to assure himself nothing goes wrong.

“Yeah, it’s just… Sam.” She scoffs and takes another swig. “He’s got a new girlfriend. His secretary, Jessica.” The blonde rolls her eyes at the name. “Who knows how long he’s been fucking her. Our divorce isn’t even final.”

Dean nods understandingly as he rises from his chair and pats the blonde’s shoulder. “I know. Divorce is shitty. You’ll get through this. Trust me.”

“Shit…” Dean mumbles.

He left an emotionally vulnerable woman alone in his office with a bunch of booze and drugs. How could he be this stupid and reckless? He doesn’t even suspect Jo took the coke on purpose. She was probably looking for a smoke and stumbled upon it, thinking, “What the hell? My day is already shit, maybe this makes it better.”

Dean knows because it’s usually what he thinks as well when he’s at his lowest. How do you think he got addicted to drugs in the first place, huh?

Here’s how: two divorces and a failing career.

“Boss?”

“Dean?!”

“Dad!”

The green-eyed director snaps out of his thoughts and turns to the room full of women upon their calling, all of them looking quite panicked and worried. It’s like a fox got loose in the coop.

His brow furrows as he approaches the booth and big windows, trying to see where the concern is coming from. “What? What’s going on?”

“I think there’s something wrong, boss,” Donna informs him. “That’s not the fight they’ve practiced during training. They’re going off script.”

Fucking shit…

“Dean, what the hell is going on?” Billie cocks an eyebrow at the director, but he can’t get himself to focus or reply as his green eyes are glued to the match downstairs.

Dean’s too cynical to believe in a God and has certainly never prayed before, but tonight he can’t help it and utter a quiet prayer, hoping for a goddamn miracle.

His heart is racing as he watches the match unfold. There’s nothing he can do about it. Nothing can stop it. It’s like watching a fucking car crash as a bystander on the sidewalk.

Looking at Y/N’s face, he can see that she’s panicking as well and getting scared. It breaks his goddamn heart. The actress tries to talk to the blonde and get through to her but to no avail. Killer Barbie is on a mission, and her target is clearly Y/N.

And then, it all happens fast. Jo throws Y/N onto the mat and grabs her leg, raising it up by the ankle. There are tears in Y/N’s eyes before an audible crack echoes through the gym. Y/N screams out in pain. Jo drops her foot and backs away in shock, hands high in the air. The entire gym becomes mum, only a few quiet gasps uttered by the audience bounce off the tall walls.

Dean’s heart is about to explode as he bolts down the stairs and almost takes a fall. He hasn’t even reached the ring yet and assessed the damage, but he already blames himself. This is all his fucking fault. Donna warned him, and he didn’t listen. Y/N was obviously not fine, and neither was Jo. How many goddamn warning signs did he choose to ignore? And for what? For fucking ratings no one even cares about?

Y/N’s agonizing scream rings in his ears as the director makes his way to her. Rufus is already there in his referee costume, trying to help her as best as he can. Dean’s so close he can practically count the steps to the ring. Has this gym always been this huge? It feels like he’s been running a mile.

But then, he’s abruptly stopped by Cas’ announcer voice and what his green eyes find unfolding in front of him.

“And here comes a camera guy to save our Russian warrior!”

Oh hell, no!

Dean should probably be glad that someone is helping her and not let his jealousy win. But does that someone really have to be fucking Benny of all people? The green-eyed director truly thought he was done worrying about that guy. Now, however, he has to watch that douchebag heroically carry Y/N out of the ring while the audience cheers and claps.

It’s his worst goddamn nightmare. Well, that and Y/N getting hurt in the first place.

“Put her down,” Dean demands fiercely as he faces Benny, his blood boiling as he watches the actress hold on to the guy’s neck and wince in pain. A bit of guilt mixes with his jealousy at that.

Don’t be an asshole. Focus, he reminds himself. Y/N’s more important than your fucking ego.

“What? No,” Benny denies his request with a confused and irritated frown.

“That’s an order,” Dean grits boldly.

“I don’t care. She’s hurt,” Benny snaps back with emphasis and acts like Dean doesn’t know what that means. “Fucking fire me if you have a problem with that. The show’s done anyways.”

That fucking little prick…

Dean purses his lips in frustration. What is he supposed to do now? Rip her from the guy’s arms? Start a fist fight?

“I can take her. I’ll drive her to a hospital,” the director insists with a little more reasoning.

“Let’s take my limo! There’s enough space for her,” Ruby chimes in as the whole pack of women flock to the rescue and worryingly gather around Y/N.

Great. More helping hands is what Dean needs right now.

“No, we’re taking my car,” Dean maintains, trying to remain calm amongst the concerned chatter. “Baby’s backseat got plenty of space, alright?”

“True,” Bela agrees with a dirty smirk.

Dean sighs, Billie rolls her eyes, and Y/N frowns at that. Dear God, these fucking women…

“How about we ask Y/N what she wants, huh?” Dean proposes, knowing the actress will surely pick him. God knows she’s picked him yesterday all night long…

Benny smiles as if he could win this battle. “Fine.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, what d’you want? Who do you wanna go with, huh?” Dean asks, lowering himself down to her with a gentle look in his eyes and a warm, caring smile.

“I don’t care!” Y/N whines with pained features and a high level of annoyance. “I just wanna go to a hospital! Any hospital in any car.”

Fair enough, Dean thinks dejectedly. Still, she could’ve done him a favor and picked him. He hates losing to a fucking camera operator.

“My limo it is!” Ruby exclaims and bolts ahead to the parking lot, keys jiggling in the air.

With a triumphant smirk, Benny turns and follows Valley girl outside, Dean swallowing down the urge to punch the guy as Y/N throws him an apologetic look over camera guy’s shoulder.

These fucking women…

Dean has floored the gas pedal of the Impala, but it’s fucking LA, so an hour was spent standing in traffic on the freeway. Moreover, he had to gather Claire and Cas as well and check on Jo, while Benny and the girls were already at the hospital with Y/N.

When Dean finally arrives, he rushes through the glass doors into the waiting area of the emergency room, Cas and Claire on his heels. His group is easy to spot, considering they’re all still in their fucking wrestling costumes.

His hands ball into fists when he sees Benny holding an ice pack to her injured ankle as she sits in a wheelchair, the girls scattered around Y/N on creaky hospital seats as they keep her company. He hates that camera guy is taking care of his girl. It should be him by her side, not some fucking footnote in this story.

“Hey, what the fuck is going on? Why is she still waiting?” Dean asks furiously, charging in full-throttle. His heart is burning for Y/N, and nothing can extinguish it.

Hell, if she isn’t getting help soon, he’ll burn this goddamn hospital down.

“Because she’s not a gunshot wound?” Ruby answers wryly, earning her glare.

But Dean supposes party girl has a point. It’s an LA hospital in a bad neighborhood.

“Want me to lick your wound? Saliva helps with blood clotting,” Meg offers as she holds Y/N’s hand tightly.

“She’s not even bleeding,” Cassie counters with a raised brow.

“She might be bleeding internally,” Meg argues and places her palm on Y/N’s forehead, taking her temperature.

“Stop it! You’re freaking her out,” Charlie scolds from the seat behind her.

“Why is this taking so long? My friend is in pain! Do you hear me?” Meg whines, calling to the nurses’ station.

Why are girls so exhausting? That question has been running around Dean’s mind for months now. He’s still lacking an answer.

Ignoring the female turmoil around him, Dean lowers himself down in front of Y/N and finds her eyes, smiling gently. “Hey, sweetheart. How are you doing, huh?”

“Dean!” Y/N smiles broadly when she recognizes him, her face lighting up and beaming brighter than the fluorescent lights above her. It warms his heart.

The director’s head then tilts slightly, inspecting her closer. She seems awfully chipper for someone in pain. Her pupils are gigantic, too.

Ruby leans in and whispers, “I gave her a Valium… and then half a Klonopin.”

Ah. There it is. She’s fucking high. That explains it.

Dean reaches out his hand and caresses her pink cheek, feeling her lean into his touch. “You feeling good, sweetheart?”

“I’m awesome,” she replies with a drowsy giggle.

He grins. “Yeah, I bet you are…”

Is it weird he’d like to fuck her in this state? Right, probably not a good time to ask those questions. (But he swears he wouldn’t take advantage of her. Just play with her and test her senses a little.)

“You’re so pretty,” Y/N tells him dreamily, making him blush hard as she touches a few strands of his hair and plays with them.

“And the first pill is kicking in,” Ruby notes, amused.

A nurse then finally walks into the waiting room with a tired gleam in her eyes and clears her throat to catch everyone’s attention. Dean can’t blame her. He knows it’s like a fucking circus in here.

“Good news. We have a bed ready, so I’ll take her back and all of you can leave?” the nurse explains and looks at the wolf pack hopefully.

Meg stares her dead in the eyes and replies flatly, “Not a chance.”

Yeah, Dean could’ve told that nurse those girls weren’t going anywhere.

Benny rises from his position and attempts to push Y/N’s wheelchair, following the nurse. But Dean will be damned if he lets him. Provocatively, he pushes the camera guy aside and scowls at him, making his territory and claim clear. The girls aren’t the only wolves in this waiting room.

“I got her. You can leave,” Dean growls with a deathly stare. “My show, my actress. I’m the director, and she’s my fucking responsibility, got it?”

Benny raises his palms in surrender and takes a step back. He already knew he lost when Y/N only had eyes for Dean as soon as the director showed up. A pill-high never lies.

The nurse helps Y/N into a bed in a small, quiet room. As they wait for a doctor, Dean impatiently paces the room, fuming away on his smoke. If you can’t tell, he’s far away from relaxed.

A man in a white coat with a friendly smile then finally strolls in and introduces himself. “Hello there, Y/N Y/L/N. I’m Dr. Gabriel Piccolo. Are you with the circus?”

Dr. Sexy, as Dean refers to the guy, lifts an eyebrow at Y/N’s unusual costume. You’d think as a doctor at a hospital in Hollywood, he’d see more people like this.

“I’m an actress on a wrestling TV show,” Y/N replies, not offended by his question in the slightest.

“Oh, uhm, I’ll have to watch it,” Dr. Sexy says politely and then gets straight down to business, cocking his head at her injured leg. “Okay, so left ankle. We’re gonna have to cut off this boot.”

“Oh! No, no, no. Sorry, these are important.” Y/N protectively throws herself over her knee-high army boot.

Dean sighs a little. Even high on pills and in unbearable pain, Y/N still prioritizes her silly job. “Alright, Doc. I got it,” the director relents and shoots the man a look.

Carefully, Dean unties her laces, loosening the shoe enough. “I’m gonna go slow, sweetheart. Just take it easy, alright?”

Dean flashes her a smirk and watches as she bites down on her lower lip, nodding. She inhales sharply and whimpers when he slips the boot off her foot. His fingers smooth over her leg, soothe the skin, and elicit a shudder from her. He can tell the action turned her on, can see the goosebumps rise on her arms as she presses her thighs together. He can practically hear her drip.

He smirks devilishly. Y/N sends him a knowing frown.

Dr. Sexy clears his throat and interrupts their heated moment, causing Y/N’s cheeks to flush furiously.

The doctor then assesses her ankle. It’s swollen and the skin a purplish-blue. Dean knows it doesn’t fucking look good. He guesses it’s not a simple sprain.

“Can you feel your toes? Can you wiggle them?” the doc checks. Y/N does as asked and moves her toes as best as she can. It’s not much though before she winces in pain. “How does that feel?”

Dr. Sexy touches the swell on her ankle, and Y/N squeezes her eyes shut and locks her jaw, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“Fucking hurts,” she grits through strained teeth.

“Okay, we’re gonna take some X-rays. See what we’ve got,” the doc finally says and disappears out of the room.

Y/N exhales an exhaustive breath and looks at the director. “Distract me,” she prompts with desperate eyes.

“Well, I’m not gonna be my regular chipper self,” Dean quips, making her laugh. He smiles, too, and leans in closer. “How about this?”

He wiggles his eyebrows and then dips his head, claiming her lips in a blistering kiss that makes her legs quiver. His tongue slips inside her mouth, swipes deep as teeth scrape her lower lip. Upon her first moan, he draws back with a smug smile.

He leans close to her ear, whispering against her shell, “You know if curling your toes didn’t hurt, I’d make you come so fast on my fingers right now, baby girl.”

Her eyes widen. She gasps and gently hits his arm in a scolding manner. “Dean!”

“What?” He chuckles and pecks her crown. “It’ll be alright. Don’t worry so much, okay?”

The girls then soon flood the room, one by one providing endless entertainment that surely no other patient at this hospital receives. Y/N’s a fucking star here, although she always is to Dean.

First, there was Claire, who practically emptied the vending machine, buying sweets and snacks for every taste (with Dean’s money). He’s nothing more than a wallet to that girl.

Meg, on the other hand, stole more pillows and blankets from other patients, making sure Y/N was as comfortable as possible. Ruby read Cosmopolitan to her and filled out the magazine’s sex quiz, intriguing Dean a lot.

Every girl pretty much brought their unique sense of entertainment, making Y/N laugh and smile so much she almost forgot why she was here. Only one woman was missing from the wolf pack – Joanna.

As Y/N is finally wheeled away to her X-rays, Dean decides to join the other women in the waiting room. He’s more than happy to discover that Benny actually left when he can’t catch sight of the guy anymore.

Guess the director is the true winner, after all.

Donna then approaches Cas, who’s nervously sucking on a cigarette in the corner by the vending machine, and hands him a clipboard with a hospital form.

“Y/N doesn’t have insurance, and we don’t know what to fill out,” the blonde tells him and meekly saunters back to her seat.

Cas frowns and looks at the women in disbelief. “How could she not have insurance? She’s a professional wrestler.”

Billie arches a sarcastic eyebrow at that and replies wryly, “Yeah, employed by Novak Productions, who doesn’t provide health care.”

Cas swallows guiltily and purses his lips. “How many of you don’t have insurance?”

Almost every woman in the room raises their hand, except for Jo, Billie, and party girl.

That tracks, Dean thinks and is not the least bit surprised. Judging by Cas’ shocked expression, though, this revelation clearly shatters the privileged rich boy’s world.

The producer nods earnestly. “This is my responsibility, and I will take care of it,” he promises. Dean gives him a pat on the back, letting Cas know he’s doing the right thing. If the producer hadn’t footed Y/N’s bill, Dean surely would have.

The director then glances around the waiting area, noticing the sad faces and depressed mood. “Alright, she’s not dying, okay?” he tells them and catches their attention. “You guys did a great show tonight. Why don’t you go back to the motel?”

“Great?” Donna cocks a brow at his word choice. “We were amazing.”

Charlie looks up at him, a hopeful look in her eyes as her red hair shimmers in the fluorescent light. “You think we get our old time slot back, Dean?”

Dean smacks his lips, scratching the scruff on his chin. He then shakes his head. He can’t lie to them. Knowing what he knows, he also knows it’s over. “No, I don’t. I think we’re gonna die at 2am… But we’ll die on our own terms, alright?”

Nodding, Ruby sighs loudly. “I’ll drive everybody home. And then, we get drunk while we ice our knees.”

As the girls start to gather their belongings and rise from their seats, Jo rushes through the glass doors. The women punish her with little glares on their way out. No one buys it was an innocent accident. In fact, Dean’s pretty sure the wolf pack believes the blonde tried to murder their beloved leader.

Dean, however, doesn’t.

“She’s in room 3,” he tells Jo without further comment.

The green-eyed director didn’t know what he had expected when he sent Joanna into Y/N’s room. Maybe that they’d talk like adults, get it all out in the open, and finally make amends. Be best friends again.

But maybe that was a little naive of him.

It all started out innocently. Dr. Sexy entered the room with a set of X-rays and left happily a few minutes later. Meanwhile, Dean and Cas smoked in the hospital’s corridor and drank the most awful-tasting coffee out of plastic cups.

Then, the mood started to shift. The guys could hear the girls arguing with slightly raised voices, just loud enough for it to drown out into the hallway.

“Eight to ten weeks? It’s not that long,” Jo could be heard saying.

“It’s the rest of the season. I won’t be on the show,” Y/N threw in through gritted teeth. Dean could hear the upset in her voice.

Jo scoffed, brushing it off. “Well, we’re getting canceled anyways, so… It’s just a job, you know.”

“No, it’s not!” Y/N’s voice went up a notch in volume. Dean knew she was close to reaching a boiling point. This wasn’t good.

“Okay, geez, you don’t have to lash out at me. I did not mean to break your ankle, okay?” Jo countered, pushing all blame off her.

“I don’t fucking believe you!”

And that was the turning point. That’s when the yelling started. The one that could be heard throughout the hospital, spilling into every room and probably several floors.

“No, no, no…. See, that was an accident, Y/N,” Jo says with a jittery voice. “Unlike the time you accidentally fucked my husband! TWICE!”

“You made out with my prom date on prom night!”

“That is not the same thing, and you know it!”

“Oh? Is it the same thing when you hooked up with your co-star at your stupid soap wrap party one week before you got married? And coincidentally, Sammy was born nine months later! Is he even Sam’s? ‘Cause he looks a whole lot like what‘s-his-face!”

“How dare you!”

“You didn’t even love Sam! You only married him for his money!”

“You don’t have the fucking right to say anything about my marriage!”

Cas swallows down a big gulp of coffee, sharing a nervously concerned look with Dean. “Should we, you know, go in there?”

Dean’s eyes widen as he vividly shakes his head. “Fuck no! Are you nuts? We stay right here. Look, men are simple. They throw a few punches and then share a drink. And women… Well, women do fucking this. Bottle everything up, even for years sometimes, till it fucking explodes. Trust me, they need this. Let ‘em get it outta their system.”

Fucking women…

“Oh, do I have the right to talk about your power complex?” Y/N yells. “Or do I have to schedule a meeting with all the producers?”

“I’ve earned my title!”

“Right, your fucking work ethic is legendary! I’m so sick and tired of apologizing about Sam! I don’t care anymore! I have eaten shit for months! I have done everything I can think of to make this right!”

“You can’t make it right!”

“Great! Then I’ll stop trying!”

“Fine!”

“Yeah, fine like you telling me I should get raped to save our show! The show you don’t give a shit about!”

“God, you’re so melodramatic! I just figured you’re already screwing our director for attention, what’s one more network executive!”

Cas blinks at Dean with wide eyes and a raised brow. “Are you-… Are you and Y/N dating?”

Dean averts his eyes to the blue wall opposite him and wordlessly sips his coffee. He has a feeling the girls’ fight is about to take a turn, going into a direction he doesn’t particularly care for. Why can’t they just leave him out of it?

Cas, however, takes Dean’s silence as what it is – an admission. The producer’s face lights up with joy. He excitedly rubs Dean’s shoulder and gasps giddily. “That’s so great! You haven’t dated anyone since Amara! I’m so happy for you! I love Y/N! Are you guys getting married? Did you buy a ring? Can I be best man? You know what they say, third time’s the charm!”

Dean scowls at the producer and heaves a deep sigh. “Calm the fuck down, would you? No one’s getting married.”

“Go to hell! I’m not fucking Dean, okay?” Y/N denies Jo’s accusation loudly.

Dean thinks she’s a hell of an actress. If he didn’t know for a fact that he was balls-deep inside her last night, he would’ve bought that little lie.

“Oh please! It’s so obvious!” Jo counters. Dean can practically hear the exhaustive eye roll that followed. “He’s following you around the gym like a lovesick puppy!”

That’s what Dean was afraid of. He does not like where this conversation is headed.

“He is not! Shut the fuck up!”

“Are you really trying to fucking lie to me, right now? I’ve known you since middle school!” Jo snaps. “And he certainly fits your glorious dating choices! Drug addiction? Check! Asshole? Check! Commitment issues? Check! He’s perfect for you. I’m surprised your slutty ass didn’t jump him the first day!”

“Oh, fuck you, you fucking bitch!”

“Slut!”

“Whore!”

Then, more yelling, more accusations, and more tears follow before Jo storms out of the room and bolts past the boys down the hallway.

Fucking girls…

“I’ve never felt so guilty about anything,” Cas mumbles next to him, completely distraught and shaken.

Dean scoffs. “Geez, you’ve lived a charmed life.”

“Thought I was gonna have a wrestling show, and no one was gonna get injured?” Cas shakes his head at his own nonsense. “What the fuck is wrong with me? I destroyed our little family! I mean, Y/N is a gimp.”

The director rolls his eyes and sighs. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. She’ll go on to have a full life, okay?”

Somehow that causes Cas to smile cheekily. He nudges the director’s shoulder. “With you?”

Dean sends him a thundering glare and dumps his burning cigarette bud into the producer’s coffee cup as he walks past him and returns to Y/N’s room.

Dean sat quietly next to Y/N as a nurse put a cast on her leg. The ankle, much like the women’s friendship, was broken, and the actress was out of commission for the foreseeable future. She hadn’t spoken a word yet, only sniffling and crying silently to herself. Dean left her alone and only handed her a tissue every now and then, figuring she needed some time to calm down and think. But he still wanted her to know he was there in case she needed him.

As the nurse finally leaves, Dean reaches out his hand and takes hers, drawing comforting circles on the back of it. Patiently, he waits till she’s ready to look at him.

“Well, I won’t be needing these anymore,” Y/N mutters with a pout and dumps her army boots on the little bedside table. “You should give them to Claire. She’d make a great replacement Red Sparrow.”

Dean purses his lips. It takes a lot out of him not to roll his eyes at her dramatization. He supposes that’s what he gets for falling in love with a goddamn actress – fucking theater no less. But he knows she’s really going through it right now, so he’s willing to cut her some slack.

“Relax, I’m not giving your part away,” he assures her with an easy smile.

“Well, you have to, if you want to keep the storyline moving forward,” she mumbles grumpily.

“Who cares? It’s just a TV show,” Dean argues.

However, that particular line seems to anger her. “Everyone keeps saying that. It’s not to me,” she contends and finds his eyes, her teary-eyed and desperate look boring into him. “I have people now. People who come with me to the ER. People who care if I’m hurt.”

Dean nods his head in understanding. He knows Cas and Y/N are essentially right, as much as it hurts him to admit it. They are a little family – a weird and incredibly dysfunctional one, but a family nonetheless.

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just the easiest thing to say, you know?” he says and lets out a sigh. He rests his palm on her thigh and squeezes reassuringly. “How’s this? I don’t wanna make this show without you. I’m not gonna make this show without you.”

Y/N sucks in her lips, forming a tight line as she stares at her hands in her lap. “I thought we were all replaceable.”

Dean’s lips twitch with a smile. He lifts her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Well, you’re not, sweetheart.”

He leans closer and kisses her ardently till her toes curl. When she hisses slightly in pain, he pulls back, both of them chuckling.

Then, Dean swallows the heavy lump in his throat. He knows he has to come clean, literally and figuratively. He takes her hand in his again. This time for his own comfort.

“Listen, uhm, tonight was kinda my fault… on some level, at least,” the director starts.

Y/N’s brow creases, but she brushes it off with a disbelieving snort. “Why? Did you tell Jo to break my ankle?”

Dean chuckles lightly, although he doesn’t feel like laughing, considering he’s scared to death she’ll dump him in a few seconds once she hears the truth. “No, uhm, but she might’ve found something in my office that caused a lack of judgment on her part. I-, uhm, I might not have been as clean and drug-free as you believed me to be.”

“Oh. I see…” Y/N bites her lower lip and averts her gaze back to her hands, her fingers fumbling in a nonsensical pattern like a nervous tic. And then, she doesn’t say anything for serval minutes, while Dean slowly feels himself go crazy.

“So, uh, where do we stand? Are we mad? Disappointed? Disgusted? Sad?” Dean pries and pokes for an answer.

“I guess, uhm, disappointed,” she says finally. Dean sighs internally as his heart tightens. He had hoped it wouldn’t be that one. It’s the worst one. “And sad,” she adds.

Strike that. This is the worst one.

“Okay, uhm, good,” he replies before noticing her cocked brow at his answer. “I mean, not good-good, obviously. Just good to know where we are… So, where are we? Is this-, you know, is it over? Between us?”

Y/N glances at him slightly and takes a thoughtful breath. “No,” she says, and his heart rejoices with relief. “I kinda already knew you’re not perfect.”

Dean’s brow furrows momentarily before he smirks cockily. “Agree to disagree.”

Y/N tries to hide a smile at his joke. She’s unsuccessful in her endeavor. She squeezes his hand in reassurance. “It’s not your fault. It was still Jo’s choice,” she tells him. “Are you, you know, still…?”

Dean vehemently shakes his head. “No, no, I’m not. I haven’t for a couple of days, and I won’t anymore. I promise. Especially after tonight. I learned my lesson. I’m done with it. For good.”

“Okay,” she accepts.

Dean frowns a little because her forgiveness feels too easy, but he doesn’t get a chance to prod some more, her soft lips on his shutting him up for now. The kiss is fervent and sweet all the same. It makes his head spin and provides him with a completely different high – a much better one.

“Well, looks like we’re gonna have to get creative with this thing, huh?” Dean grins smugly and gently pats her cast.

Y/N throws him a raised look that borders on amusement. Of course, all he ever thinks about is sex. But she doesn’t mind a little sexy goofiness in her life right now and leans in for another kiss. He is a pretty fantastic kisser, after all.

“I got markers!” Cas hops cheerily into the room with a few pens held high in the air, watching the two of them quickly pull apart with red-tinted cheeks. The producer smiles adoringly at them. “You guys! Look at you! This is so exciting!”

“Oh, uh–”

Dean sees the panic spread on Y/N’s face and quickly swoops in, sending Cas a friendly but threatening look. “Hey, uh, buddy? Keep this between us, alright?”

“You got it! My lips are sealed.” Cas winks and locks his lips with his fingers, but his excitement isn’t even close to disappearing. “And I paid your bill, by the way!”

“Oh, Cas, you didn’t have to do that,” Y/N tells him sweetly and seems clearly flattered by his care.

“Yes, I did, ‘cause you couldn’t possibly afford it,” Cas says bluntly and uncaps a marker, signing his name on her cast. “And I felt so guilty.”

A knock on the door makes the three look up and watch Jo hesitantly amble inside, her head lowered in resignation and guilty admission. She holds up a duffel bag with a nervous smile.

“I thought you might wanna leave the hospital with pants on, so I brought you your favorite sweats from the motel,” she says and hands Y/N the peace offering. Y/N accepts it with a small smile. Jo then glances awkwardly at Dean and Cas. “As you may have heard, Y/N and I got into a big fight,” she explains the general tension in the room.

Dean nods curtly. “Oh, yeah, everybody heard.”

“Yeah, the cashier at the gift shop couldn’t stop talking about it.” Cas chuckles, causing Y/N and Jo to blush in embarrassment.

“So, what’s the plan, Dean?” Y/N looks expectantly up at him like he’s an oracle with all the answers.

Lucky for her, though, he’s cocky enough to provide them.

“You know what? We got four episodes left, right? Fuck it. No one’s watching. No one cares. Y/N can’t even walk. So I say we do whatever the hell we want,” the director suggests and grins broadly. “Let’s just set the weirdos free and see what the fuck happens.”

“I hope you guys have fun,” Y/N mutters with a hint of bitterness in her voice.

“Oh, you’re not getting out of it,” Dean interjects her pouting and self-pity. “You’re like a one-woman idea machine. I need you. Where we’re going, you don’t need legs.”

Jo smiles encouragingly at her and sits down on the edge of the bed as Cas hands her a marker. The two women then chat as if nothing ever happened, while the producer and the director share a confused look over the sudden ceasefire. But they take it as what it is – a gift from above.

Girls…

“Hey, uh, there’s something I need to do,” Dean says then. “Are you guys okay here to keep Y/N some company? I’ll pick you up right after.”

The three of them nod, and Dean feels confident enough to leave Y/N’s side. After all the emotional turmoil and chaos over the last week, the director direly needs an appropriate outlet.

The Impala pulls into the parking lot of H-ELLTV in Anaheim. It’s early in the morning, the sun barely up but still powerful enough that the beams sting his green eyes. Maybe it’s also the lack of sleep that causes it to hurt more.

Drugs aren’t an option. It’s too early to drink, even for him. And sex would’ve been possible, but he doesn’t want to be the ass that asks for it while his not-girlfriend is suffering in the hospital.

So, here he stands, next to Dicksuck Roman’s spot, where a beautiful dark blue Aston Martin V8 is parked.

Ever since Y/N told him what that creep tried to do, Dean’s been raking his brain with different revenge fantasies. Sure, he could cut off the guy’s dick and make him eat it, or cook his balls over a BBQ grill, or chop his head off and dunk it in acidic cleaning supplies. But Dean knows the only way to truly hurt a man is through his car.

The green-eyed director then pops open Baby’s trunk and hauls out a golf club. It was a gift from Cas that came with an invitation to hit the green in Pasadena for “networking purposes.” As if. Cas eventually accepted that Dean would rather kill himself before setting foot in that country club. (He might’ve also threatened to kill everyone else in it, which scared Cas enough to drop it.)

Dean’s heart soars high to the cloudless sky above as he administers the first few blows, shattering the front window and thoroughly denting the scratch-free and glistening hood.

Not anymore, Dean thinks with sinister joy.

He stops mid-swing, though, when Crowley walks by. The two men look at each other for a moment. Will the manager call the cops? Will Cas have to post bail on top of paying hospital bills?

But Crowley only bobs his head in acknowledgment. “He pisses off a lot of people,” he offers as an explanation and strolls ahead into the building, not paying Dean any more mind.

So, Dean continues hitting and swinging and batting until his lungs burn and his arms hurt. Only then does he drive back to the hospital across town to pick up his friends with a lightener heart.

23. Every Breath you Take – April 27

*sighs blissfully* Aah, some sweet fluff before all the drama starts... (And yes, I consider this chapter less drama and lots of fluff. That's how far we've come 😂)

Let me know how you've enjoyed this part! Are we rid of Benny for good? Is Y/N going to break Dean's plastic heart? 👀

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[scribble-dribble-writes]

Plastic Hearts - (27)

<<<Prev

---

This is the last chapter! So it's a bit long and a little spicy in certain bits haha but I hoped you enjoyed the journey so far!

We got to the end and a happy ending 😆

Love you all, thank you making this a great experience and for all the lovely comments 💖

---

The sun kissed your skin and so did your husband, his dark blonde hair catching the light as his eyes took in the sight of you sprawled out in your swim suit. Just your very presence seemed to make him look drunk and for his fingers to crave for your warmth.

The waves were gentle today, that it made the sunlight glimmer over the surface like patches of diamonds. It had been a while since you had moved out to the Hamptons. You hadn’t had a lot of grey days or gloomy clouds hanging over your head, it was endless blue skies and white clouds, the beach air seemed to agree with you as you took in a deep breath. This new chapter made up for everything, so much so that Barbieland was now in the past.

The city had it’s charm but you needed a change of pace, a step towards a new start. The wounds in your heart was healing, it was time to step out from Melissa’s apartment and a life you knew. You had grown comfortable in it and all you needed was a shift in your perspective. It was nostalgic, to place the keys to that dark wood door into the hands of a new tenant as you packed away your things into a moving truck. But the beauty was, you weren’t doing any of this alone. Every aspect of this change felt welcome and adventurous because he was by your side.

So as a reward to all your hardships, now you began your day with morning swims instead of bustling through an angry crowd and by lying in Ken’s arms as you lounged by the beach instead of being in a loud kitchen. Life had taken a slower pace and you enjoyed every bit of it.

It only felt like yesterday when you walked out that hotel lobby hand in hand, gold rings gleaming in each other’s ring finger and now it had already been a year of this bliss. The gathering was quaint but it was never about the people or the grandeur of it, it was getting to be there together after having thought you had lost him forever. It was getting to slow dance to your favorite song and then dance the night away.

You were by the corner talking to one of your friends when Ken found you during your reception, his cheeks flushed with colour and a smile that he couldn’t contain.

“Come on, I’ve requested a song for us.”, he took you to the middle of the dance floor as he tipped his head toward the Dj to play the song.

The intro began to play as he took your hands in his to give you a playful wink. ‘The very first night’, by Taylor swift was the song he had chosen. You shook you head as you laughed.

“Every weekend, the same party. I never go alone and I don’t seem broken-hearted. My friends all say they know everything I’m going through. I drive down different roads but they all lead back to you”

He sang the words to you, it took you back to the all the times you had seen him waiting outside during Girls night. To think that all those different roads had in fact led you both together made the nostalgia dig deeper.

"We never saw it comin’, not tryin’ to fall in love, but we did like children runnin’, back then we didn’t know we were built to fall apart. We broke the status quo, then we broke each other’s hearts."

You sang the second verse to him, because that was how you fell in love, and you broke the status quo when you both found your own lives here, but parts of the story left you both with broken hearts only for it to seal together now.

His eyes beamed with life but so did the corners as it held traces of his tears.

"But don’t forget about the night out in L.A. Danced in the kitchen, chased me down through the hallway. No one knows about the words that we whispered. No one knows how much I miss you."

This you sang together, he placed his forehead on yours as you swayed together. For all those nights ago when you were catching feelings and falling in love all over again.

It truly was one of a kind, a love you will never get to witness again in this lifetime.

"Take me away to you."

He spun you out and that night was the best you had ever witnessed, your heart was full. It felt like it could go on forever.

You knew nothing about what life held from then on, all this was new and so when many advised that it would start getting harder after the honeymoon phase died, you didn’t understand the logic.

Because for you, his love was constant. It wasn’t something that demanded a lot of effort. You and him shared that easy frequency where fights were limited, like you could read each other’s mind. The honeymoon phase didn’t have an expiration date, he treated you with such tenderness that it wasn’t just a display of his affections, it was the embodiment of it.

But today was important, it was the grand opening of your restaurant, situated right on the beach front. At the very thought your mind dipped away from your daydream and into the endless spiral of preparation for the event, so you held his face in your hands to get his attention to which he groaned as he pouted his lips.

“We’ve got to prepare for the evening.”, you chuckled to which he broke free from your hold to nuzzle his into your neck as he laid by your side.

“We’ve got hours to prepare.”, he mumbled sleepily.

“I don’t know, I don’t want anything to go wrong.”, you said as you sighed.

“And it won’t.”, he reassured you.

You nodded, placing your hand over his that wrapped around your waist. You turned to him, to catch sight of him resting so peacefully. He looked like a merman come to life so content with his life on land, that you were blessed with having him with you, in the arduous journey of life.

“I’m just nervous.”, you let the words spill because with him it just ebbed from out of you. His thumb stroked your body as his eyes fluttered open.

“Don’t be.”, he said gently, his eyes finding yours, you were lost in his gaze.

You weren’t saying anything and neither was he, but you were having an entire conversation. You pushed away his hair, he caught your wrist, to then pause before he kissed your palm. It was as if he could never get enough, that’s how he displayed his affection. Delicately and unconditionally, executed with excellence.

“You know what you have to do now, don’t you?”, you felt his grin against your palm to which you groaned, squirming away but he didn’t let you slip away.

He reeled you in, like a boat out on the bay, till you were on top of him. He raised his brow letting you know that he was waiting for it, the sentence he got you to repeat every time you doubted yourself.

“I deserve this happiness.”, you began to which he closed his eyes again, feeling appeased as he listened to you.

“And?”, he asked.

“I worked hard for this.”, you continued to which he nodded his head in agreement.

“You did and you continue to.”, he held your cheek as his eyes found yours again but now he beamed and you knew that he was proud of you.

As you held his gaze you narrowed your eyes at him knowing well why you were out here. The morning swims and walks by the beach were your effort in helping him get out of his fear of the water. All this while, he would only stand by the shore and never get in. You didn’t force him, it had to be on his terms, he would wait for you when you went out for a swim but you could see it in his eyes, the desire to follow you in.

“Now it’s your turn.”, you got up and he sighed as he looked at the serene waters.

You held your hand out to him and he took it, to stand up and dust the sand off him.

“Race you to the shoreline?”, you asked him, with adrenaline beginning to rush into your bloodstream.

“What will you give me if I win?”, he smiled as he rested his hands on his hips after pulling away his shirt.

“Anything you want”, you said mischievously which piqued his interest.

“Ok count down to –

But you didn’t, you didn’t wait for him as you took off running, down towards the open waters.

“Hey!”, he called after you, telling you it wasn’t fair that you cheated as he chased after you.

You felt laughter fill your mouth and the sweet taste of victory when your feet touched the water before you dove in.

He slowed down the moment you waded away, his smile sobering as his feet rested ankle deep. His eyes however were on you, looking at you as if he was mesmerized. He wanted to get out there. So he waded in deeper, the water rising up to his knees.

So you made it easy, and got closer to him instead, as you stood in front of him. Your hair slicked back as you felt water trickle down your face, your hands were cold and wet as you placed it against his cheek.

“You don’t have to push yourself. This is greater progress than before.”, you told him.

But something about the way you shimmered beneath the sun, the cold touch of your fingertips, he knew he couldn’t let this hold him back. He had to let go, of the way his past fears still had an edge over him. He wasn’t going to lose everything again. All this he had now was here to stay, so were you. So the waves didn’t seem daunting anymore.

He hummed as his gaze fell to the shape of your lips, his eyes darkened as he bit his lip. He took in a deep breath, looked ahead and in that instant made up his mind.

You didn’t expect it, when he picked you up, getting your legs to straddle his waist as he ventured further. The water level raising up his waist to his chest. Seeing you smile was intoxicating that he wanted to venture further.

“I just needed the right motivation.”, he chuckled.

“Oh and what is that?”, you asked swiping away water from his face.

“You”, he said, his eyes taking in the details of your face.

And with that feeling the cold waters around him that were being to turn warm as he got used to it, he couldn’t wait anymore, he reached up to place his lips on yours.

It was sweet, the taste of strawberries on his lips then the sting of the salt balanced it out. He pulled away from you, leaving you wanting more with a sly grin on his face. You dipped low, you lips hovering over his.

“You don’t want to claim your prize?”, you whispered feeling bothered that he didn’t catch the meaning of your phrase from before.

“Not here.”, he said slowly, his voice getting husky and low.

“I feel jealous having to share you with the sea.”, he said and it only made you chuckle. That his competition wasn’t another man’s attention but the elements around you. That some how he wanted to be the breeze that caressed your skin, the water that enveloped you or the sun that made your hair change colour.

“Alright.”, you conceded with placing a kiss on his forehead.

It was relaxing, bobbing a long the waves as you lazily swam about. But with the afternoon sun rising higher, the water was getting warmer and your skin had spoken up enough salt.

---

So you packed up and headed home. Your new place was much bigger, the large windows let natural light stream in, your kitchen was idle with a few covered dishes from last night sitting on the counter top. You dropped your bags into the allocated space that contained all the items that related to your beach activities.

Ken put away his flip flops to then head over and peruse through the fridge to cure his hunger.

“I’m headed off to take a bath.”, you let him know as you undid your hair, a trail of water droplets followed you.

The salt now stuck to your body and face that everything felt grimy and uncomfortable. So you took a towel and got into the shower space, the warm water cascading over you to make you feel fresh and clean.

But half through you heard the sound of the bathroom door open and close. You saw his silhouette through the fogged glass. The outline of his body gave way to his presence as he got into the shower with you. He held his sweet gaze but you could tell he wasn’t here to play games. He drew closer to you until he towered over you, to tilt your chin so your eyes were on him, the water beginning to cover you both, his hand slid up your neck as his fingers wrapped around your throat gently. His eyelashes dripping wet, his light hair turning dark as it soaked through.

“I’m here, to claim my prize.”, he said, his voice lost its politeness, now he said it with an authority making his lip tilt up.

“Took you long enough.”, you said as you met his gaze.

You slid your hands down his back, there was no holding back now. He found your lips with a passion and hunger that never seemed to run out. Being touch starved only meant neither wanted to keep their hands to themselves. He held you steady, his body pushing you up the tiled wall as you held onto him, your hands slipping against the glass as he dug his tongue deeper.

Your bottom lip getting caught between his teeth as his hands traced down your body. The salt disappeared, the steam took over. There was no time to pause, it was a dance, it was an art. The way he paced himself and the way you craved his touch.

You could see his little puffs of air take up a wispy form as the hot water continued to keep you both warm. His fingers travelled down the dips of your waist to the curve of your backside. He trailed it back up to cradle your head again as he held onto your hair, the edge of his nails scraping against your scalp as he exposed your neck to leave a trail of kisses or to leave little love bites but you fought for your turn.

You pulled his chin down to you, meeting his unrelenting mouth with yours, the sound of his delighted moan drove you insane, the power your touch held to make him weak in the knees, it empowered you to pull on the ends of his hair, to pull him deeper towards you that his hand slipped from when he had braced himself against the wall behind you. He pressed into you and you pulled away to catch your breath.

Madness, you were both full of it. You would eventually get to finishing up your bath later, but as he took caught his breath, his chest rising and falling with yours, his eyes focused on yours to tell you he only wanted more, you knew this was far from over. He pinned both your hands above your head and dipped his head to meet your lips again.

--

The walk up to your store was nerve wracking. The sun had set and the moon was out, Ken was all dressed up in a loose blazer, white fitted shirt and trouser pants, he looked pristine while you wore a maroon velvet gown, perfect for this evening. But when you caught sight of your restaurant, the nervousness faded because the neon sign was on. ‘Melissa’ in a cursive font lit up the street and reminded you of fond memories.

Ken took your hand to give it a gentle squeeze, his hair combed back as he nudged you ahead. You stood taller and pushed through the door to be greeted by your friends and staff, some of whom joined you from Sam’s kitchen.

The menu was set, the food was prepared and everyone looked happy. Ken invited his colleagues from the local school he worked at and also from the youth program he was overseeing. You grabbed a drink to clink against the glass to get everyone’s attention.

“I know I’ve spoken a lot over the past few months so I just want to keep this short. I wanted to thank everyone here, for being a pillar of support and for cheering us on. Looking forward to a great night and to the many more that are to come.

Here’s to new beginnings.”, you finished raising the glass in the air to hear an eruption of cheers around you.

The crowd fizzled away as each one found their own spot, you took a sip from the glass as you turned to the photo wall behind you. Ken slipped his hand from behind to kiss your cheek to then rest his chin on your shoulder as he admired the photos with you.

It had one of Melissa, a lot from New York, one from your wedding day, one with Ken and you riding horses and many more. This was your new legacy, one made by your own with the people you loved. The other walls were still empty but you knew that as time passes, they will become full too.

You took Ken’s hand as you found your table, that idea set up for you two, he held out the seat for you to sit in and once you did, he took up the seat in front of you.

Your plates were placed in front of your with the first course and it felt like you had come full circle from where you began to where you were. The world paused for a second. Ken’s eyes caught yours before he looked towards to shelf near the entrance. You turned to see it too and on it sat, Chef Barbie and Beach Ken.

For the dolls who once had nothing, now the world was theirs, it was yours and his.

---

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