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#oh fifteen year old dean you break my heart
espresseo-cafe · 4 months
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life is still beautiful | johnny | ch.3
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genre: cappucino, romance, angst, university!au, dad!au, drama, slice of life
pairing: collegestudent!johnny x fem!reader
bean count: 4.3k
a/n: hope you all are liking the series so far! 🤎 note: this is only a work of fiction, it doesn’t reflect the artists’ personalities in any way.
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that gentle gesture and soft movements under the sun.. it was loving, protective, and kind.
johnny was quite disappointed because he wanted to approach whoever she was at that party. however, he was called by one of his friends to help him with something. but she was already gone by the time he got back to the balcony. and youngmin was sleeping soundly on the comfortable hammock swing, surrounded by pillows.
he was quite caught up with it that he couldn’t take his mind off on what he saw that day. his thoughts was so preoccupied to the point he didn’t notice that youngmin was starting to heave impatiently, not having his spoonful of rice.
“johnny.” his mom snapped her fingers in front of him, tutting her lips as she took the baby’s spoon from him, feeding the almost crying toddler. “you seem kinda off this very morning.”
johnny blinked his eyes, finally off of his trance that he gave his mom a hum as a response. “sorry, been thinking a lot lately.”
“don’t tell me you’re thinking about minji.” she smirked at him, taking another spoonful to youngmin.
“i-uh, no mom.. not minji. this other girl.” he sat back, fiddling a fork on his scrambled eggs.
“moving on so quickly, huh.” johnny felt a pat on the back from his old man. “it definitely runs in the family.”
his mom giggled at the comment, seeing johnny’s cheek turning pink and she hoped it wasn’t from his good night sleep. “is she pretty?”
johnny stretched, “dunno, couldn’t get a good glimpse at her.” brushing his hair back, “uh, what time is it?”
his dad checked his watch, “five minutes to eight.”
johnny’s eyes largened and quickly ate his breakfast and stood up. he almost forgot that today was the camp for dean’s listers. “i gotta leave, i’m supposed to meeting the guys at the campus in fifteen minutes.” he drank the remains of his juice before kissing the top of youngmin’s head. “see you in five days, my little bud. love you.”
youngmin squealed in baby language as if he was answering him. “bye dada.”
“take care john!” his mom called out, “don’t forget your sunscreen!”
mr. suh chewed on his breakfast, “he finally has some time to be a normal university student, but don’t you think he matured quite a lot?”
mrs. suh continued to feed youngmin, “in a way he very much did. i told him to have a break from time to time, but he just didn’t want to.”
“ever know the reason why?”
“oh dear, i wished we knew.”
the sun was at the start of its brightest shine, slipping in between your curtains and giving you some vitamin d for the day. you inhaled the breezy air as you opened the window.
“it’s a lovely day for camping.” yeri stood beside you, handing you a cup of coffee for a booster. “excited to mingle?”
you cackled and twisted your head side to side, hearing your bones crack was so refreshing. “excited? yeah, i guess i am.” you unlocked your phone seeing a text message from the guy you were suddenly paired up with. “oh a notification from love click.”
“who is it?” yeri jumped curiously, holding your arms and scooted closer to you.
“oya oya. what’s all the fuss in the morning?” yoohyeon came out of the bathroom with a face mask, seeing a notification on your phone. “ah omg! what’s his nickname?”
your heart beated quickly, scrolling to see his profile. “let’s see, dudekuma.. kuma? what does that mean?” both yeri and yoohyeon shrugged, waiting for you to see more of his details. “he’s from our university.. third year.. business major. eh whatever, i’ll go prepare for the camp.”
“ah, y/n, let me help out.” yoohyeon followed you to your bedroom. “there must be more deets about him.”
“it’s been two months since i last got paired, haha this app sucks.”
yeri pressed her lips and sighed, her chance of setting you and johnny up came to a zero before it even started. she wondered if you remembered what happened during her first year at the university.
during her first day, you and johnny both helped her look for her lecture room when others straight up ignored her. and immediately, she took a liking of your pairing because you both were very responsive and aware.
an idea struck her and she shot johnny a text message.
[ yeri ] : “johnny! are you busy?”
[ johnny ] : “kinda, i’m rushing to meet the guys at campus, dean’s camp.”
yeri jumped a little, you and her were going to dean’s camp as well.
[ yeri ] : “oh, then nevermind! see you later!”
[ johnny ] : “cool, see you!”
johnny’s breath was almost out when his friends waved at him as he caught up, giving him little punches and teases because he was late. it was scorching hot to anyone’s liking, but his tank top was showing off his arms and most of the girls in the line couldn’t take their eyes off of him.
“the young dad joins the camp, huh? bingo!”
“think we’d be grouped together for games?”
“ugh i think i might have a chance at him, heard he broke it off with his son’s mom.”
“no way, seriously?”
kun rolled his eyes and diverted johnny’s attention elsewhere, noticing his discomfort and annoyance at the inappropriate comments. “have they got no chill? that’s way over the line.”
“hyung they’re just in heat, literally.” jungwoo shook his head and johnny actually laughed softly at his roommate’s joke. they walked to the coach bus to place their bags and equipments when a high pitched squeal deafened their ears.
“hi guys!!” yeri jumped with a lot of things on her hands and taeyong immediately ran to help her. “you guys made it to the dean’s list! finally.”
taeyong messed up her hair playfully, “what do you mean ‘finally’? we’ve been here since year one. well except jungwoo.”
“hey! well it’s true”.
yeri laughed in joy, placing her things in the compartment, “i’m kidding you dumb dumb! anyway, there’s this person i want you guys to meet, she’s recently added to the list.” she turned to look at you, but you were standing by the vending machine buying some drinks. “ah bummer, i guess we gotta wait until we get in.”
“who is she, yeri?” kun squinted his eyes at you before johnny took the rest of the bags inside the bus.
“y/n, from the early childhood education department. she’s in year three like johnny oppa, taeyong oppa, and you.” she smiled at your walking figure towards them. “such a lovely spirit she is. i was planning to set her up with you-”
kun twitched a little, “huh, me? you know i’m taken-“
“ah not you. where’s johnny?” yeri hummed, “i really think she and john will look good together. i already visually ship them.”
taeyong and kun exchanged looks, “you know johnny is freshly heartbrokened, can’t let them set sail when they’re not on the same boat.”
“gotta make them meet at the port somehow.” yeri pondered and she lit up, “jungwoo, sit next to me for the bus ride, please?”
jungwoo blushed, “ha? i’m not sitting next to you-”
“i heard you’re good in mario kart.” yeri smirked, “but i’m better.”
“why you little-”
the professors called the students to aboard the bus and take off to the campsite. johnny closed the upper compartment, his eyes catching someone having a hard time carrying her extra bags back up.
“need some help with that?” you turned to your left, seeing a guy kind enough to help than others who walked passed by you to get into their seats.
“that’ll be great, thanks.” you smiled, handing him your bag as he placed it on top so easily.
“i’m johnny, i don’t think we’ve met before.” offering his hand for a handshake.
you nodded, reaching your hand out as well, “y/n. nice to meet you.”
johnny looked at you for a while and coughed awkwardly. he didn’t want you to be weirded out because of his prolonged staring. well who wouldn’t be taken back when you were really, really pretty? there was something about you that emitted beauty that he couldn’t seem to explain.
he looked around and discovered most of the seats were taken. his eyes searched for his group of friends, only to see them seated by the back. he also noticed you looking for certain people too while one of the professors gestured for you guys to sit down.
the bus started to move when another guy bumped into you as he was playing around with his friends, making you lose your balance. your cheek touched johnny’s body as he held your arm, supporting you from not falling. your face heated up in embarrassment and fixed your posture.
“hey watch it.” johnny told them off, earning hisses from the guys. he faced you while he pressed his lips and pointed to the vacant seats with his head. “guess we’ll be seatmates for the whole ride, ladies first.”
“thanks.” you smiled, sitting next to the window.
johnny placed his hands in his pockets, why was he feeling jittery when he just met you? he didn’t want to be influenced because of your looks, ‘cause that already had happened with minji.
for the first time, he wanted to know you more. unlike in the past, it was always the ladies who made the first move and his friends would point that out and tease him about it. it wasn’t his fault if girls seemed to take interest in him. he was just winging every single move and went with the flow.
right now, he wanted to make the first move, a conversation would be the best to begin with. he shifted his head to you to do just that, though he found himself in a blur because you were already drifted away into a slumber.
your phone zapped and johnny didn’t mean to look- the bus was running through the tunnel- but the device lit up and showed a notification from an app that somehow made his mood to slightly change: love click.
she uses love click as well, huh?
he mentally sighed, that one chance of getting to know a new face wasn’t going to happen at all. he shook his head and talked to himself: what am i thinking.. it’s not like i’m looking for new love. then his eyes found its way back to you if he could help it, somehow he felt peaceful just staring at you.
he decided that this time, he’d start out as friends and see what the outcome would be, unlike before.
the camp location differed than the years that came before; it was larger in scale and had more activities. whilst everyone dispersed to their respective boys’ and girls’ cabins, johnny’s eyes was stuck as glue to your figure, busy talking to yeri.
“saw you two having a little chat back at the bus.” taeyong nudged the guy, seeing johnny flinch a little after realising that he had been staring at you for too long. “what do you think of her?”
“hmm, other than really pretty, she seems tired. well, her eyes speaks a lot. she slept most of the ride-” stopping mid-sentence when taeyong just smiled at him. “what?”
“nothing.” taeyong placed his locked fingers at the back of his head, holding in a chuckle because he noticed johnny all aloof, avoiding the topic he tried so hard not to fall into. “no harm in befriending someone. at least now you get to be friends first, not just jumping straight right into it.” referring to the boy’s previous relationship with minji.
johnny grunted as he lifted two of his bags; one duffel bag rested on his shoulder, and the other luggage in his free hand. he shook his head at taeyong, a prominent side smirk showing, “i guess i could give it a try, would that shut you up?”
“maybe.. i just have a good feeling towards y/n.”
the birds chirped just outside the cabin’s window, yeri stretched her legs as soon as her body met with the sheets of the bed, “ah, this bed makes me miss my actual one.”
you stifled a laugh, “did someone make you cranky on the way here?” knowing her too well, she was the type to show her feelings out in the open.
“jungwoo.” she placed her knuckles towards her eyes, rubbing them, “he defeated me in mario kart.. jerk.”
“ah come on, it can’t be that difficult.” you said, turning the device on, “let me know the rules, maybe i can be good at it.”
yeri feigned a gasp, “you haven’t played a game console befo- ah, nevermind.”
“it’s fine, yeri. now you know there are some people who has been living under a rock. let’s go for food before the orientation?” you dusted your leggings as you made your way out.
the unexpected dark humour caught her off guard, slapping her own mouth for not being careful enough. “aish, yeri you blabbermouth.”
you, yeri, and the rest of the dean’s listers walked towards the ampitheatre, and if you could count, there were about a hundred students- or more, in the dean’s list this year. among these hundred people, johnny could immediately spot you in your light purple top, outstanding the rest of people who wore other types of purple and he couldn’t help but be flustered at the sight of you even though you were just like a meter apart.
his ears perked up when several guys behind him were checking you out. “who’s the new girl? she’s hot.”
johnny unknowingly stood next to you after seeing your slight discomfort. you bowed in a quick thanks for his immediate response, but wondered why he reacted so quickly in a crowded space.
“i ship them.” taeyong mouthed, crossing his arms while kun and jungwoo nodded.
“me too.” yeri mouthed back then sighed, “but this pretty friend of mine is inexperienced.”
kun hummed, “well they could take it slow if they’re both open to it.”
johnny stared at your side profile, you radiated a glow he can’t seem to figure. a gentle aura yet mysterious, in which he wanted to know you more.
he wished for the same, for you to want to know him. but how on earth could he bring up youngmin? would that push you away?
he was about to ask you something but then you took your phone out to take a photo. you expected to snap a memory of the bluest skies with clouds that gave you peace, only to be startled that the front camera greeted you instead. johnny chuckled at your startled face and you didn’t even miss his upper cheek dimples appearing prominently, clearly making a little fun at your flinching towards yourself.
“you didn’t see that, okay?” you said as you switched the camera back to the front view, ears heating up and yet snickering at yourself out of embarrassment.
“too bad, i already saw it.” he licked his lips, still finding himself staring at you. “but i’ll keep it to myself.”
you finally looked at him and now he was the one who flinched, “i’ll take your word for it.”
yeri, taeyong, jungwoo, and kun all high-fived each other after witnessing the short exchange you and johnny had. “my ship is sailing!! think they’ll buy each other tickets?”
kun just ruffled yeri’s hair, “let them walk around the port first.”
teachers and counsellors sounded the alarm for the start of the camp. this camp was more on team building and social connection. though this year, all students were divided into five teams and will compete through courses of fun and physical games.
“alright, here we have ballots. each of you will pick a colour from the box from five teachers including myself.” mr. kim from biology called out. “five teams will have a leader, an alumni from last year. teams are based on the colours of our school logo: crimson commanders, aquamarine archers, magenta muskeeters, prussian pirates, and saffron soldiers.”
johnny hoped to be in the same team as you, but it was too soon to hope because it may backfire on him. as everyone lined up to the ballot boxes, he still kept stealing glances to wherever you were. he mentally slapped himself for being creepy and his friends were just earning a lot of funny get-go’s to tease the boy after all is done.
“yeri which team are you in?” you asked, quite excited to know the reveal. yeri just hushed you sneakily and gestured you to go where the guys were. “oh we’re revealing it together?”
“yup, it’ll be more fun.” she jumped and skipped over, holding the coloured paper in her hands. “guys! wanna do a simultaneous reveal?”
jungwoo shouted out loud in agreement, “ahh obviously, on three!”
the rest of you showed your papers, only to be disappointment because, yeri was sorted into magenta, taeyong in aquamarine, jungwoo in saffron, kun and johnny in prussian, and you in crimson.
“aw man i thought i’ll be teamed up with you, y/n.” yeri pouted. “anyway-“
“y/n, right?” you turned to the person who called your name, a pale skinned guy with doe eyes and long lashes. buffed up in his red shirt, his muscles screamed as if they wanted out. “i’m choi seungcheol from business department, year three. we share the same minors.”
you just blinked, he was quite attractive. he was in the same minors as you? no wonder he looked very familiar.
“i don’t mean to eavesdrop or be a party crasher but i just saw you with a crimson paper so i thought to drop by and say hi.” he smiled, his doe eyes still staring at you and to be honest, you couldn’t even look away.
you stared at the group you were with and back at this choi seungcheol, “um yeah, i do have the crimson paper so obviously we’re teammates.”
“cool, then let’s go group with the others.” he sparked up in joy before turning around, you pulled a face, wanting to chuckle as you looked back to yeri and the guys.
“i guess that’s my cue.” you clapped and laughed, “may the best team win?” putting on a salute gesture before leaving them to join seungcheol and the other twenty three people.
johnny and the others just nodded and mirrored your action. kun let out a two toned giggle, “she’s actually really cute, huh, right johnny?”
the tall guy just rolled his eyes and shook his head, “let’s go okay?”
the games in the past four days were mostly physical than critical thinking. and it seemed that you’ve gotten closer to the guys that yeri knew from her high school. so just to name a few, games included paintball, obstacle course, treasure hunt snorkelling, and at the moment, the final game: dodgeball. somehow you wished you sat out for this one because the activities were starting to get to you.
mostly because you were distracted at this game, and the distraction consisted of meaty calves, sleveless upper body with six pack abs, buff arms, refined biceps and triceps, sharp jawline, honey brown eyes, and luscious lips.
to put it simple, johnny suh.
you sighed to yourself that you even allowed yourself to be attentive to him in the past few days. well, because he stood out so much, at least to you. he was someone who unexpectedly got your attention to how sporty and a team player he was.
funny how you didn’t even know such a guy existed at the university. he was one of a kind.
even though you both did talk during the past few days he was still a bit far fetched, like a celebrity made to be intimidated with. and mostly because you were grouped with them together with yeri during breaks, a single conversation with just him was almost impossible.
so in front of you he stood, like a statue sculpted to perfection you were staring at him as if you were in the museum. you were probably so into him at this point that you disregarded calls of your name in the distance when reality finally hit you in the form of a ball.
you shook out of it and the whistle beeped. no one expected you to be out because if anything, you were one of few people to actually play really well in the previous games. so you just laughed it off to hide the fact you were distracted because of johnny.
you sat by the bleachers with taeyong who called for you to sit next to him. “y/n, over here!”
“hey.” you sat beside him, drinking a bottle of water while he handed you a clean towel. “that was my out, by the way. i’ve been put into the frontliners by seungcheol in almost all of the games.”
taeyong just chuckled, “you sure? ‘cause from where i’m sitting, you just looked distracted.”
you coughed from your bottle, crap did he figure you out? “i- i wasn’t.” your flustered face made him want to laugh but he didnt want to embarrass you.
“okay, i believe you.” he said as he gave you a soft punch on the arm. then he decided to try again to confirm if his hunch was right. “johnny’s still in it, you think he’d be out any time soon?”
you looked at the opposing team, “a big guy like johnny? not a chance. he could be the last one standing-” as soon as you finished you sentence, johnny got hit on the chest by seungcheol. “i stand corrected.”
a bunch of ‘aw’s’ and ‘oh’s’ heard when johnny exited the court and seated next to you. “prussian pirate got hit by a cannon.” you teased, giving him a bottle of water.
“my ship’s still standing though.” he gave you a smile, drinking from the bottle and gosh you wished you looked away earlier because his arms just flexed, and.. veins... “unlike the commander who got out first so early in the game.”
you shook you head and playfully rolled your eyes, “i was tired. good enough for a reason.”
taeyong stifled a laugh, not believing any of that, his hunch was right. “really y/n-”
“a-anyway i gotta go hit the showers ‘cause i’m sweaty and i need to start packing since we’re leaving tomorrow. bye guys.” taeyong chuckled hearing you say that in one go as you left, leaving johnny blinking in confusion and awe because in no way were you sweaty since you didn’t even play today.
“she’s really is something.” kun sat back down after being beaten, noticing johnny’s staring at your already far figure heading to the cabins. “it was intentional, right? you actually wanted to be hit by the ball, that’s why you were off the team even though you’re the ace.”
maybe, maybe not. johnny didn’t know how he felt, was it because he was desperate to have a romantic companion? it had only been three months when he broke up with mj and no word from her since. not that he expected anything but was it a reminder that maybe he could finally open his heart to someone new?
was he ready though? was he ready to open his heart to a new relationship? the thought of you made him so certain that you could be the one, the one who could mend his heart. but then again he was hesitant because really, he only knew you for five days.
even though those five days were already proof that he might’ve fallen for you, it was a reality check for him. how could he ask you to join his little bandwagon outside of this camp? it may not be the right path to start something new, because what would you actually think of him? what of youngmin?
although his team was celebrating for winning the most points and were awarded tickets to a carnival a week from now, he remained quiet until the end of the camp. he was still so lost in his thoughts that it made kun slightly worry because johnny was a type of person who keeps things to himself.
as everyone waited for departure just outside the coach buses, he spotted you talking with seungcheol. seemed like you both were hitting it off or just making a simple, friendly conversation.
“ah i forgot to ask for her number.” johnny mumbled to himself.
yeri stood by, for she knew how johnny was aware of your existence in the past few days and that he might’ve had his heart beating for you. although she wanted to set you guys up at the port so that her ship could sail.. “seems like there’s a detour before the journey.” she told herself.
taeyong, being the observer that he is, put his elbow on yeri, “you noticed it too?” he asked her, “i got no worries though.”
“what do you mean?”
“y/n was acting funny yesterday at the dodgeball games. if i’m correct about her then trust me that we’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“you mean.. there’s a chance that she might like johnny?” yeri’s eyes lit up. “oh my gosh!”
“can’t jump to conclusions, that’s why i said we don’t need to worry.” taeyong ruffled her hair then jumped a little when she shrieked. “what?”
“agh no we have the right to worry!!” she facepalmed herself then bit her fingernail. “choi seungcheol.. wait..”
“uh yeri?”
she wasn’t sure if she should say but she had no one else to tell about her rising worry. “y/n has love click, alright? before we came here she and yoohyeon unnie were talking about how she got a notification and read out the details of the guy she was matched with.”
taeyong already joined the dots. this was going to be a challenge. “let me guess, he’s from our university, business major, year three?”
yeri pouted, “yes, i can’t believe i just remembered now but choi seungcheol ticked all of those boxes. ”
“well damn.”
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taglist: @titanmaknae29 @joepomonerof @lovesuhng @studyingthemind @cheyehc @kyeomooniee
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cosmicgrapevine · 19 days
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They stopped at school first; every teacher except Miss Vernon had loaded them down with spring break homework, and Melanie wanted to plead her case to Mr. Hansen. It was past 4:30 and the halls were nearly empty. Just as she was ready to knock on the dean’s door, someone inside smashed their fist against it, hard enough to rattle the handle. Melanie flinched and stepped back, staying away from the windows.
“Fuckin’ hell, Gary, what’s gonna change your mind, huh?” It was Travis. Goddammit. “Dead body? Is that what’ll sway ya? ‘Cause it’s comin’, believe me.”
“Mm…nah.” That was Mr. Hansen, who sounded utterly unworried. “Sure, I had my doubts at first. But he’s been a perfect student, and practically gone native already.” They were talking about Lynd. “All he needs is to make a few friends outside the LKPC. I gave Nate Goldman a nudge; said he should teach Lynd some ball. We do need an infielder.”
“Friends? He’s a Markstepper, Gary, a born and bred killer. They don’t have ‘friends’. And he’s the second one to turn up here this year, in the heart of Warden territory, and rumors are flyin’ about Equinox too. The Marksteppers are plottin’ something, and that boy’s a part of it, and y’all are buyin’ his ‘Oh, I just want a hooome’ bullshit like he’s your long-lost son. Just gimme a chance to prove it—”
“I said no.” Mr. Hansen’s voice had changed, now simmering with contempt. “You’ve always been an asshole, Travis. When you were fifteen, I thought hey, he’ll grow out of it. But now you’re twenty-four and even worse, ‘cause the old man spoiled you rotten all those years. Now you’re on his bad side for once, after that stunt you pulled with the mirror, and you can’t handle it.”
“So in you crawl, trying to get me to go behind Mr. C’s back with you, and you think the best way to do that is threatening one of my students?” He chuckled. “Tell you what, if I hear you went through with it anyway, I will personally flash-fry all the fat out of your vicious little brain, and you know that’s not a metaphor, pal. Now get lost.”
Melanie didn’t have time to react before Travis slammed the door open. He did a double-take upon seeing her, and for a second Melanie flinched, worried that she’d be the literal punching bag for Travis’ frustration, but instead he simply snapped “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I j-just had a question for Mr. Hansen…”
“You didn’t hear a fuckin’ thing, got it? Not a fuckin’ thing."
Melanie eagerly nodded. She just wanted him to go away. And he did, his stomps echoing down the stairwell.
Mr. Hansen approached her, shaking his head. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, Melanie,” he said.
“What’s he want with Lynd?”
“Oh…” Mr. Hansen shook his head. “Just the usual Warden chest-thumping. Can’t handle being shown up by a Markstepper. But I promise you, he won’t hurt anyone. I’ll see to that.”
“Why do you guys keep that psycho around?” She said bitterly. “How can you trust him?”
Mr. Hansen leaned in. “If it was up to me, he’d be out on his ass, for exactly that reason. But it’s not up to me, and I think you know who’s calling the shots here. Travis and the old man, they have a history. I’m sorry, but that’s all I can say. Now, what did you need?”
“I’ll ask later,” Melanie said. She just wanted to get out. When she was in fifth grade, and her dad was neck-deep in chasing down mobsters, she’d learned about made men. Mafiosos who had the blessing of the boss to do whatever they pleased, who answered only to him. That was Travis. He could do anything, hurt anyone, and Florentino would cover for him. He was in Florentino’s doghouse now, apparently, but who knew how long that would last?
No, there was no justice in Warden-land. There was only power. Mr. Hansen could lie to her—and himself—but he knew it too. He knew Travis wouldn’t respond to reason, only violence, and he knew he could deliver that violence, in the form of some horrific literal-brain-melting magic, if he had to. She didn’t trust him either. She didn’t trust any of them deep down. Not even her parents.
Of course, in her dad’s mafia tales, there was one level between the boss and his made men: his actual family. Like her. She wondered what Travis would have done otherwise.
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chapeldean · 2 years
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POV: You are Dean Winchester and the year is 1994 and you have spent the last ten years drawing your home on every piece of paper you can find.
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lisinfleur · 3 years
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Blómstur
The request:
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Author’s Notes | This was definitely one of the cutest things I ever wrote. Universe | Vikings Pairing | Ivar x Reader Info | Viking Age AU, requested by @blonddnamedhandz​ for 5CW Ivar II. Posted for HTGI Event. Title translation: Flower. Words | 1306 ⁑ Warnings: Mentions to labor pains, Ivar’s ableism about his children.
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It was what? The fifth one? The sixth if he would count the twins as two. There was Sigtryggr, Ingvar and Ímar - the twins. There was Udir and the little ones Erik and Einar - this last one his major concern since he didn't have left your boobs when Ivar accidentally got you full of his seed once again.
Would he be able to avoid his children from hating each other as Sigurd and he had done for so long?
Another sip of his mead, and, one more time, the cup almost fell from his hand with a growl of pain in your voice coming from the bedroom.
Why did it have to be so loud every single time?
Sigtryggr was taking care of his little brothers for him, outside of the house, to grant none of them would listen to your screams. As the older one, he had already age enough to understand those moments, and he knew how afraid his little brothers could be. He was thinking about getting a wife himself, on top of his fifteen years, and maybe carrying for his little brothers was a good way to learn how to behave when it was the time to see his wife screaming to put his children into Midgard like you were doing for his father's one more time.
Another scream cutting his thoughts.
"Gods..." Ivar mumbled, drinking from his cup one more time. "Why does it have to be so painful?"
Couldn't the gods be merciful about the birth part of that process?
To make the children was something so pleasurable! Why should putting them into this world be that horrible, bloody, and painful way?
You cried once again, louder. And Ivar swore he heard the midwife asking you to be strong and do it one more time.
Fuck that shit! You were the strongest human being he'd ever seen in his life!
Sword wounds? He could handle them.
Burning bleeding wounds with red-hot blades? Easy!
Now passing something as big as his children through a hole where his dick was used to feel tightly compressed? This was something his manly mind wasn't able to figure out how it was possible.
You'd always had long deliveries. His children were painfully big, healthy boys he could call everything but little. Sigtryggr was fifteen, and he was already taller than him! Ivar could bet he would be as tall as Ubbe or maybe Björn! And the twins weren't going through a different way: tall children, all of them! Big babies, all of them!
A new scream cut his ears. Were you giving birth to twins once again?
He got his crutch, forcing himself to stand.
It was taking too long!
Thinking closely, Siggtryggr had taken one day and half of a night. The twins took two days to be born. Erik was the shorter with one whole night. And Einar had taken almost as long as his twin brothers - the lazy thing. This one was approaching the end of its first day, but fuck! It was supposed to be quicker now, wasn't it?
Ivar thought about sitting down once again. What would he do inside that room but bother the women's work? What did he know about labor, to start with?
But what if something was wrong with this baby?
What if it was something wrong like...
Ivar felt startled by his own thoughts. Was it possible that the gods would allow Hel to touch one of his children like she had caressed his legs? After all the others, this one?
His eyes looked at the door, his heart speeding, his breath becoming shorter until everything stopped in his mind.
And around him.
A freezing cold shiver slid down his spine.
Why was everything so deep silent?
As fast as he could, Ivar rushed into the room, not minding the scared expression on his face when he opened the door, catching all the pairs of eyes into that place at once.
You were laid in bed, tired and sweaty like the last times you've done that. Ivar's eyes ran over the midwives, none of them seeming to be scared or anything but surprised with his sudden entrance.
One of them approached you, delivering a moving package in your hands.
It was smaller. Why was it smaller than the others?
Ivar's heart sunk into his chest as he approached the bed, but your smile confused him for a moment before you could show him the little package in your hands.
"Isn't she lovely, husband?" you asked.
And everything broke into shards of stars and light around him.
She was smaller than the others.
She.
His little gift from Freya was looking at him, with icy little blues exactly like his, filling his eyes with tears and making his lips break in a giggle that remembered that knock-kneed fool's voice for a moment.
Oh, Floki would be surely laughing at his anxiousness if he was there to see that moment. Or else, he would be making any stupid joke about how visibly melted Ivar's heart was with the sight of that little preciosity in your arms.
"A girl..." he mumbled, giggling again. "You gave me a beautiful little girl."
"Yes, my love. And I want to name her Aslog Ivarsðóttir. To remember your beautiful mother she'll probably grow to follow in beauty.”
He giggled again.
Oh, damn that fool! He would grow into an old wreck just like him.
But how wouldn't he be happy in front of such a thing? You passed the little package into his hands, and he cut the cord like he'd done so many times for his children before, marking her little forehead with the blood as a blessing.
"Oh, gods, look at you..." he mumbled, speechless in front of the small blue eyes looking at him so full of curiosity.
How, in the name of Odin, could something be that beautiful?
"I grow, I get older, but the gods don't get tired to bless me, do they?" he asked the little one as if she could answer him. "I've seen many things in this life, my child, but none... None was as beautiful as you are, looking at me like this."
His words were making you feel your heart full.
"My father once told me his daughter was the light of his heart. I never understood what he was talking about... With the many sons he had, how could she be different?" Ivar said, looking at you.
And then, turning himself to caress his little girl's face, as gently as if his fingers could break her delicate skin like the flowers you've once seen him braiding into a crown for you.
Maybe now, he would have more flower crowns braided by his hands in the course of his life.
"I get him now," he said. "It is different." Ivar completed.
He loved his children. Every single one of them.
But that moment was unique, and her way to look at him was unspeakable.
His heart was sure he would never see the world the same way once again.
She would be the light to enlighten his way. And what once was black and white had just been painted in the most beautiful colors Ivar ever had seen in his life.
"Are you happy, husband?" you asked.
Just to see him lifting his teary eyes to smile at you.
"No... Happy is too little of a word to define how enormous is what I'm feeling now."
Happiness is nothing, his father once said.
In that little girl's eyes, he could understand it too. It's nothing.
Happiness is nothing compared to the wonders he could experience with you by his side.
Happiness was nothing compared to what it was to hold that little package knowing his world would never be dark ever again.  
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Part 24: Appearance
Erik shuffled down the aisle of the train car, crutch nudged snuggly into his armpit and a suitcase half his size rolling behind with a heavy looking duffel. No one offered assistance and he didn't ask. As a black man, he could always count on that as a consistency. Crutches and all, he'd be viewed as overly capable. From a young age it was ingrained through experience.. all you have is yourself because no one out here will help you, a young black man. Time had proven it again and again. Injured, he could still handle more weight than the average man and it was because he pushed himself. He relied only on himself. Even hospitalized, he found ways to maintain his strength. Weakness and laziness was never an option, not even for recovery. With all his money, that was still something he couldn't afford. But they could.. the white couple on the left. He couldn't help but notice them sitting there.
A closer look told him they weren't actually a couple. The blonde girl's face screamed underage. Fifteen/sixteen. The heavy makeup she wore aged her. She looked high. Heroin, Erik guessed glancing subtly for track marks. She looked up and he glanced away to a Spanish speaking family with five kids including a crying baby. He bit his lip on his way to take his seat at the rear where he could see everyone. The man in front of him was on his way to sleep. Erik put in his earbuds and continued his watch.
As the hours passed, he noticed more and more. The kids had no home training. The parents had no sense of awareness considering they sat opposite a fifteen year old girl being held against her will. It could easily be one of their kids, with them not paying attention it wouldn't take much. The baby had the healthiest lungs of any baby he'd ever heard. That blonde girl was high as hell. She got up to use the bathroom on his side of the train and he kept his eyes down as she passed with her trafficker on her ass to make sure she ain't try nothing risky. Ain't none of my black ass business, Erik told himself. He hadn't signed up to save any little blonde girls. He kept his eyes down as they passed him again to return to their seats and she dropped a tiny earring on the floor next to his foot on purpose. Damn, he groaned dropping his head on the back of the seat. Why me? I just said I ain't wanna get involved in this shit.
Taking a deep sigh, he picked up the earring and did what made sense. He googled the train police department and texted in a report using his sub contact phone, the main phone. He gave a description of the couple and information regarding the train. You're welcome, he thought watching the back of the girl's head before settling back in his seat comfortably. Any other time he'd have ignored her, not that victims often reached out to him so clearly. Still, it was an unnecessary risk calling on police. What if they decided to search the train? The whole point of taking the train was to not be searched.
Y/N would be proud right now, his lip twisted in irritation. She'd become the true north of his moral compass. What would Y/N do in the situation? The thought made him nauseous. She wouldn't survive his lifestyle. He wouldn't survive it with her morals. This is dangerous. We are completely incompatible, but I still want you, he admitted to himself. It was more like need. Obsession even. There was a burning feeling in his gut. "This shit ain't healthy," he muttered.
-----
"Wow, may I..," Tanner's fingers hover in the air, his eyes on your fresh braids. Your eyebrows answer before you can and he lowers his hand with a smile. "Those braids are really something. Would it be offensive if I asked how they're attached?" He looks so fascinated. He's been staring and talking to the top of your head since he saw you this morning in the lobby and now he's staring just as hard from across the small booth table at Pho Station.
"You just buy braiding hair and braid it into your hair. That's literally it."
"Braiding hair.. what's that?" His head rests on his hand as his elbow sits on the table. He's so curious, staring dreamily.
"It's packs of hair you get at the store specifically for braided styles." You slurp in a spoonful of long noodles.
"Is it human hair?"
"Synthetic." It comes out muffled as you break off the noodles hanging from your mouth with a chopstick so you can swallow.
"Synthetic? What's the difference..," his blue eyes drift lazily down to your nearly black ones. "Well, I mean in how they look."
"Human hair is typically Malaysian or Brazillian, something like that. You can straighten or curl it because it's actual hair. Synthetic fibers can melt but it's inexpensive and can mimic hair textures well."
"Well it's beautiful," he nods. "I've always wondered about it. Does it hurt?"
"Mm-mm," you grumble slurping the broth of your chicken pho. "No these are knotless and they don't hurt." That confuses him so you get into the difference between regular box braids and knotless. "You can't even sleep when you first get regular box braids because it's so tight that's why I don't wear them."
"Yes.. don't wear them if they hurt. Don't wanna pull out all that beautiful hair.." His eyes hold a familiar twinkle. The way he stares.. it reminds you of Erik. You don't wanna think about the meaning of it.
"Damn right.. Hey your pho's gonna get cold."
"Oh," his brows raise in faux offense. He picks up his soup spoon looking away for the first time. It's about time. "Well these.. knotless braids," he gestures with the spoon, "They look amazing on you," he smirks. "But you're already gorgeous, you know that."
"This from a Gene Kelly/James Dean lookalike. You look like you belong in a Marvel movie. That dark hair.. chiseled jaw? And who do you get those eyes from?"
"My grandma. My mom's eyes are carmel brown and so are my sister's. My father's are a darker brown."
"Punnet square kicked in hard."
"So tell me where your features come from," his eyes twinkle, hands folded under his strong chin. Your heart nearly skips a beat. It took a while for you to admit it to yourself because you'd have to admit you were lowkey using him.. but you knew what he was doing and how he felt from the start. That look was infatuation.
Opening doors, calling on me, paying for lunch every time, bringing me coffee? It's a lot.. Well that's because he likes me.. No It could be friendly, doesn't mean he likes me.
Almost everyday you told yourself the same thing.
I don't want him as anything more than a friend, maybe a work husband now that I know he's a cool lil white boy. I think he knows that..
Not when you flirt back he doesn't know that..
But is it really flirting or being nice? Besides I think he might feel the same.
A look into his eyes slams that possibility.
Who am I kidding. Maybe it's wrong to let him pay. Is that selfish?..
Girl, you're not dumb you know exactly what you're doing..
No, but really, I enjoy his company. I look forward to our little lunch outings as much as he does..
Then pay for yourself!..
I KNOW, but I don't.. want to...
Blinking, you sigh clearing your guilty conscience. "I look exactly like my dad but my personality is my mom."
"Oh really. That's where you get those adorably chubby cheeks from? Your dad? Interesting family photos I bet."
"Believe it or not that's also where I get this tummy and all this ass from," I say straight faced watching his cheeks sink in. On that note, he buries himself in his pho and I watch him hold himself together, the both of us laughing on the inside.
"You're ridiculous," he smiles down at his bowl. "What will I ever do with you.."
"Hopefully keep feeding me."
"Of course, Barb told me about a BBQ place about fifteen minutes from here. How about tomorrow?"
"Then I can show you pictures of my bootylicious father," you stare watching him collect himself again.
"Wow," he chokes on his broth. "Or we can look at yours, completely up to you."
-----
Never had it felt so good to be coming or going. Erik wheeled his bags through the station coolly, but internally he was leaping for joy like a little kid. After touching down in every continent through the military as a soldier and then a mercenary soldier, he was used to traveling. New locations, customs, and languages were the norm. War, battle, and toppling small countries for their resources and political control was the norm. It wasn't right, but it made big money and when his service ended, he retired. However, that didn't change the fact that he was still a multilingual and adaptable war weapon with no other real skill or interest other than killing. He was good at it so he made it a business. A consultant was what he called himself. Gameplay and development was the front.
Life as an assassin made him his own boss. He could kill and go off the map at will. He'd travel as far as it took to complete the task and take cash or cryptocurrency which he'd translate into several offshore accounts before his domestic ones. He'd usually buy a throwaway car, restock his ammo, spend time sunbathing on a yacht in the Maldives, hunker down in a city where he blended in and then isolate for a month wallowing in a small room before his next kill. Sightseeing wasn't on his agenda. He'd been all over the world and seen the worst of human nature. Texas had been a first as far as experiencing the high points anywhere. He'd enjoyed his stay with a woman and they'd gone on dates, real dates. He'd gone to an amusement park of all places and taken her around the city. It was magical though he'd almost been killed for it. Texas.. Not Cartagena or Havana or Jaipur but country ass Texas. Now here he was finally back in Cali. Nothing came close to the joy of having someone waiting for him. Someone who'd be overjoyed to see him. His job was done, his leg was healing up nicely, no one was after him because he'd left no one alive that could easily identify him. He was on his way home.
Home, he smiled somewhat bitterly. More like playing house.. Ain't none of this shit real and eventually it will end, probably in disaster.
Still.. He couldn't drop the facade for it was filling a hole within him that he hadn't realized until recently could be filled. He had latent desires. Playing house with her was the closest to a home he'd ever get.
-----
Erik's car takes premium gas and you wonder about his bills. Is he paying them? 'Cause you're not. He'd better have it worked out because once the lights go out in this isolated grand establishment, you're gone. You've gotten too used to walking around with every bright light in the house on at night. Walking through the bathroom butt naked you light the very last of his pricey looking black label white candles having burned through the rest of his supply. This one's Leather scented, not the best but not bad. That's why it was last. Locking the bathroom door out of habit, you run the shower and enjoy the luxurious spa room you've become accustomed to. The water pressure still hits. The warm thick white towels are fresh from the dryer. Your body is hairless from shaving and you've just purchased a new body oil to try that Ava swears by. Though you're only going to bed, you can't resist it. It smells like like fresh baked cookies from the oven and makes your skin radiate golden. It's perfect for a pool party or the beach.. whenever you end up going again which may be a while. Taking a few suggestive shiny body selfies in the towel, you decide to go ahead and send them to Erik though he doesn't deserve them. Someone has to see your glass skin. You hadn't spoken to him in the last two days as he'd been "busy". Doing what, you had no clue. It felt like bullshit. All of it. It was maddening to the point that you didn't want to care anymore, whether he returned or stayed. He'd been gone too long. Waaay too long. His reasons for wanting you out of Texas were beginning to feel like lies.
There's probably a huge harem of harlot whores he's entertaining and he doesn't want me to know he lied about only having three submissives, the asshole. He's probably in some twisted unsanitary orgy in a dark and questionable dungeon drinking glowing lime jello shooters and getting blackout drunk right now.. Probably whipping some poor girl with one of those long cowboy whips. God knows what he does with his other subs. If he was that dirty with Lil Bitch's morally debased ass and that was in front of me...
Every now and again the thought would cross your mind. Fuck him, you thought. Stay gone. I'll keep living here alone in the lap of luxury.
Never before had you been in a hot tub so often. It did wonders for a post work unwind with a smoothie or herbal tea in hand. You didn't need him when you had wifi, cable, powerful A/C, and a full fridge. He could stay with whoever he was with.
But what if he doesn't come back, your mind wonders darkly. What if he stays in Texas and never comes back?
Suddenly the house seems a lot chillier and unwelcoming.. Empty even. Too quiet. Hugging yourself for comfort you wander through the house and turn each of the lights off one by one to get an idea once more just how dark it gets. Too dark. Pitch black. You can't even see a hand in front of your face and panic sets in along with a strong inner body chill. This isn't something you can do and if Erik never comes back...
Honestly you've never seriously considered that possibility. The thought brings a loneliness that echoes the depth of darkness, both equally terrifying. The fact is that you do care.. profoundly to the point that his continued absence really bothers you. He has already become an indestructible pillar in your everyday life. Going days without so much as a hello feels like a week and that doesn't do much good for your anxiety.
Flipping each of the lights back on, you settle into Erik's bed this time around and stare at the time until you doze off. When you open your eyes there's natural light coming in through the window and you take a grateful breath before sitting up in the bed.
"Good morning," a chilling voice interjects and you nearly have a heart attack, unable to scream in the face of Flu sitting on the edge of the bed watching you. You want to run, scream, fight, anything but your body which is frozen in absolute fear and shock will not move. He smiles and you dart upright in bed sweating cold bullets and panting. Outside is still dark. According to the clock you've been sleep three and a half hours. It's 3:30 AM. Taking a deep breath to calm your breathing you look around the room comforting yourself with the mantra "It's just a dream. You're okay. You're okay. There's nothing to worry about. You've been safe and you're still safe. You're completely safe." A few minutes of repeating it and looking around, listening closely to the air has you relaxed enough to fall back asleep especially since your eyes are crossing up. When your eyes open again you check the clock. It's been almost another hour but you keep waking up.
Hold up. Didn't I have the light on?
Thinking back, your half sleep mind isn't completely sure but you know you sleep with the lights on. Nervous to move, your wide eyes search the pitch blackness before you and when you get the courage to move, you turn over bracing yourself to see Flu sitting there beside you on the bed. Nothing's there or out of the ordinary.
Did the lights go out? Did it blow? I think I had it on...
It's not getting up to explore. That's how people fir in movies. Instead, you bury your head in the covers like a small child and slip back into sleep. Or at least almost. Before you can cover your eyes with the blanket, you hear something that sounds like a slight vibration. That would be normal.. if your phone wasn't all the way downstairs.
A hand clamps over your mouth and as you feel a body quickly cover yours you grab at the darkness in attempt to gouge, scratch, and scrape whatever you can reach. When you pull locs, your brain registers and you yank them hard to get a noise.
"AHH," he whisper screams.
"ERIK WHAT THE FUCK?!" This time your lungs are free and healthy because you yell directly in his ear, slapping at him. "YOU ALMOST GAVE ME A HEART ATTACK." Breathless, you try to catch it, still swinging. "Why would you do that! What the fuck is wrong with you!"
"I wanted to surprise you," he grips your hands. "I didn't think you'd try to rip my damn hair out! And why your nails so sharp!"
"Are you mentally deficient? In what world did that seem like a good idea to you?!"
"Catch your breath," he says quietly.
Getting up he flips the lights and sits on the bed beside you. You haven't seen him in what feels like ages. "You still having nightmares." It's not a question as he looks in your tired eyes.
"Not often, just a couple of times since I've been on my own here." You didn't really have them when you two were together. He nods understanding your meaning. You hadn't mentioned it on the phone or through text. What could he have done about it anyway? There's a moment of silence as he rests his hand over your blanketed leg.
"I'm sorry for being away so long..," he says quietly. "I mean it. I'm sorry for scaring you.. I honestly didn't consider the nightmares because when we were together you didn't have them. I promise you, you are safe. He can't hurt you. There are many things in this world that can, but I promise he's not one.. and as long as I'm here I won't let anyone touch you. I will protect you with my life."
"That's good and all," you sigh, half listening and half asleep already. "But can you just.. stay here with me until I fall asleep."
"You in my bed," he smiles climbing fully dressed under the blanket to scoop you into his arms. Instantly your body clings to his and his shirt becomes your new pillow. You feel the quick sensation of his lips on your temple. "Did you miss me," he whispers. You mean to respond, but instead you fade out asleep.
-----
As soon as he'd slipped into the bed, she was knocked, sleeping soundly and breathing loud. He stroked her braids, her arm, and her back gently but firmly the way he always had when she needed help to relax.
"I missed you," he whispered into her forehead. She responded with a small fart and his nose crinkled. He didn't smell it which meant it was trapped under the blanket. She did it once more just then but it was louder. She'd be horrified if she were awake. "Y/N," he groaned hoping he wouldn't smell it. He didn't dare move though. He only sighed and continued rubbing her back. "Stink," he nicknamed her on the spot. "My lil stink stink," his stomach jumped in humor thinking of her reaction in the morning. He wanted to see the expression on her face when he called her that and when she heard the explanation of why. It made his chest shake. He tried to control it so not to wake her. She was sleeping too good for him to even get up and take his outside clothes off and they were hot to sleep in. He wanted to get comfortable.
That's okay, he decided as he settled in to fall asleep exactly where he was, under her. It took some effort to get comfortable in that position but in that moment there was no other place he'd have rather been.
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holylulusworld · 3 years
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Shadow of my past lover
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Summary: Returning to your hometown is harder than you thought.
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Characters: Sam Winchester
Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating, flirty Dean, cocky Dean, sad reader, heartbreak, mentions of a break-up, a hint of fluff, tension
Divider by  @firefly-graphics​
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“How long, Y/N? How long did you hide out there in the middle of nowhere?” Sam wraps you in a hug, almost crushing you. “It’s been too long if you’re asking me.”
“Fifteen years, I think,” looking up at the tall man you can’t hide the smile creep onto your lips. “You grew like a weed, Winchester. If only I knew you would become a hot guy,” you grin, patting your friend’s cheek.
“Dean will freak out,” you frown, and your body goes stiff when Sam, your best friend from childhood, mentions his brother. “Still mad at him? Will you ever tell me what happened back then? One day you just broke up. Everyone couldn’t believe Dean was with that other girl. It was always you and him. I believed you would marry one day.”
“It was a nice dream,” shrugging you give Sam a sad smile. “Dean never told you why he broke up with me after the summer break that year?”
“No,” Sam shakes his head, wondering what could’ve gotten between you and his big brother. “Dean only told mom and dad he’s got a new girlfriend and that you broke up with him,” you scoff, shaking your head. Tears threaten to fall but you push them away.
“Classy, Dean. Not only did he lie, but he also dared to blame me too,” frustrated you kick a stone away, pacing back and front, wringing your hands. Sam remains silent, just gives you time to open up to him.
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“Munchkin, what happened back then? We always wondered why you never came over again. Then you moved away with your parents and no one ever saw or heard of you again,” guiltily looking up at Sam you give him a soft pat to his scruffy cheek. “Dean did something stupid – right?”
“I came back, bouncing my legs as I missed your brother so much. Three weeks away from the boy I love were hell to me, Sammy,” you exhale.
“Dean and I, we-“ you bite your lip, looking away to find the right words. “A month before my parents forced me to spend my summer break in France, Dean and I had sex for the first time. He was my first, and we promised there will no one else.”
“I assume one of you broke the promise. And I might sound prejudging but I guess it was my brother,” Sam watches your face fall. “Oh, Y/N.”
“Anyways, we made a promise at the age of sixteen Sam. Young love and crap,” you shrug, eyes dropping to your shoes. “I kept it, you know. There was a cute boy in France. He was charming and well, a French boy. I loved his accent and sense of humor. If not for Dean, I could’ve fallen in love with him.”
“I see,” nodding thoughtfully Sam watches you pace around him. Your hands clutched to your sides you scream in frustration.
“I came back, barely unpacking my stuff as I wanted to meet up with Dean. I climbed up the tree, sneaked into his room but oddly, he wasn’t happy to see me,” sniffing you look at Sam. “I wanted to kiss and hug Dean, but he was distant. I knew, just knew something is off and asked him what happened.”
“I’m so sorry,” helpless Sam must watch you recall that night. He can see the pain flash over your face and wishes he could soothe you. “What happened?”
“Dean said one word – or rather name. Lisa, the new girl. You know the one we caught blowing Brady off behind the gym,” you huff. “Dean said he and that bitch got closer over summer and that she’s better in bed.”
“Ah, you son of a bitch, Dean,” Sam yells. “Sorry mom,” he grumbles, wrapping you in a hug. “That was a dick move, literally.”
“Dean excused his betrayal, you know. He said if I didn’t leave him for three weeks, he would’ve never cheated on me, that bastard,” gritting your teeth you hide your face in Sam’s chest. “I loved him so and he replaced me after not even three weeks.”
“Dean is an ass,” grunting his brother’s name Sam gently runs his hands up and down your back. “He had the perfect girl, the one, by his side. How could he mess up everything for a girl like Lisa?”
“The worst is –  my first time is tainted by his betrayal. Anytime a nice guy wants to go on a date with me, I ask myself – is he a nice guy or like Dean? Does he pretend to like me to get into my pants? Will he leave me after a few dates too.”
“The shadow of your former lover follows you,” nodding, you smile as Sam understands how you feel. “When Ruby cheated on me with that douche at Stanford, something broke inside of me. Jess, she was the one healing me.”
“I heard about your wedding plans, Winchester,” giggling you look up at Sam. “Shame you are off the market.”
“So, you are back in town to do what?” Sam watches you inhale sharply. “Do you want to shoot my brother or beat his ass to hell and back? I’d lend you a hand, you know.”
“Nah, it’s nothing, really. My parents want to renovate our old house. The last renter moved out and they want to sell it or hire it out again,” you explain. “I am here to check on the house and property.”
“I can help you later if you want me to,” holding out his hand Sam smiles when you place your hand into his large palm. He would never tell you so, but when you moved out of town, never looking back, you broke his heart a little too…
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“Hello, sweetheart,” Dean opens his arms, waits for you to pounce on him to greet your former boyfriend but all he gets is a frown followed by an annoyed huff. “Sammy said you need help to check on your parent's house. Couldn’t believe you came to town and didn’t greet your favorite Winchester first.”
“My favorite Winchester is Sam, followed by your parents,” you snap at Dean. “I don’t know why you expected me to greet you, Dean. After all, I never was good enough for you anyways,” walking toward your parent’s house, keys pressed to your heart you ignore Dean follows you.
“Y/N, that was a lifetime ago,” grumbling Dean watches you unlock the door with trembling fingers. “I was a stupid boy back then. We both made mistakes and it ended up in a breakup.”
“We both made mistakes?” furious you spin around to glare up at Dean. “When did I make a mistake? While I was yearning for you in France? When I gave you my virginity? Or when I didn’t even unpack my shit to climb up the tree to be with you?”
“When you had something going on with that French douche,” Dean growls. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out you fucked that asshole?” Dean is in your face, breathing heavily, while you try to find your words.
He is not the boy from back then anymore. In front of you stands an angry and aggressive man, a tall and bulky one.
“I did not fuck Pierre! He was nice, yes, but I would’ve never cheated on you, Dean. I took one picture with him, at a fucking museum. It was for his sister, as she didn’t believe him he mate a girl from the US!”
“He had his arm around you. Your best friend Bela showed us more pictures. You had a hot date with him on the beach. That douche had his arm around you on every picture!” Dean talks back.
Slowly losing your patience you drop your bag to fist Dean’s plaid. You don’t give a shit he pants heavily or that you can smell his cologne. 
“My mom took the fucking picture. She asked Pierre to wrap his arm around me. I was never alone with him, Dean. All I could think about was to get back to you – not fuck that boy!” 
“Bela said you fucked that guy!” 
“Bela didn’t say shit, Winchester! She always made stupid jokes. I bet she said I should fuck him or something. Why should my best friend tell you lies about me?” now it’s you who is in Dean’s face. You growl at him, pushing against his chest but unlike the boy from back then, the man in front of you won’t budge. “Damnit, you are too strong. Did you eat too much spinach?”
“I got frustrated over our breakup and started to train,” grunting Dean steps closer, forces you to move toward the door until your back hits the cool wood. “I thought you cheated on me and lied to you. I never was with Lisa before we broke up.”
“I don’t believe a single word leaving your treacherous tongue,” humming Dean watches you pick your bag back up. “Now get the fuck out of my sight.”
“Tongue,” Dean’s lips part to let his tongue swipe over his lower lip. You are engrossed in watching the skilled muscle taste what you longed to have for so long. “I know you always loved my tongue, sweetheart.” Dean husks before he crushes you with his body. His mouth hot against yours he pins your hands above your head. “Happy reunion, baby girl.”
“Get off me,” whining you part your lips to let Dean slip his tongue inside. “D’,” it’s a silent whimper, an unheard plea falling from your lips when Dean claims your soft pillows again.
“Do you know how many times I dreamed of kissing you again? I couldn’t believe I lost you to that French douche,” moaning your name Dean holds you there, pressed against the door, while your mind races and you can’t process Dean believed you cheated on him.
“I never even kissed that boy,” you sniff. “Why did you not ask me? Why hurting me deeply without any proof? Do you know what you did to me that night? You were the first boy I fell in love with, my first everything and you just told me I’m boring in bed and that I can’t compare to Lisa,” you cry, eyes filling with tears. 
“Back then, I tried to hurt you, Y/N. You hurt me, broke my heart,” glaring at Dean you purse your lips, ready to rip him apart. “I wanted to get back on you. I’m sorry.”
You growl, now fighting his hold on your hands you wiggle in his grip, shake your body to break free. 
“You asshole! Anytime a guy asked me out, I got nervous and believed he will think I’m awful at sex. I could never relax in bed with a guy. Most of the time I didn’t cum, too afraid he hates whatever I do.”
“Sweetheart,” nuzzling his face in your neck Dean sighs deeply. “I’m so sorry I ruined sex with other guys for you,” the smirk in his voice tells you otherwise, but you bite your tongue, waiting for your chance to hit his ugly face. (It’s not ugly but you try to convince yourself to hurt Dean.)
“I hate you so much, Winchester! It was your fault I had to move out of town. I cried the whole time, and my parents took the chance to finally move away. Fucking asshole,” Dean holds you pinned to the door, ignores you still fight him. “Lemme go. I need to check on my parents’ house.”
“You know,” a cocky grin on his lips Dean dips his head to roam your body with his eyes, “now that you are back in town, I could make things up to you.”
“How do you want to make up for breaking my heart for nothing? How will you give me back my self-confidence and make me feel like I’m sexy and desirable? There is nothing you can do about it,” you huff, frustrated.
“Sweetheart, I was stupid at the age of sixteen,” Dean admits finally releasing your hands to cup your face with the palms of his hands. “I know that I should’ve talked to you instead of listening to rumors.” 
He leans closer, stopping when his nose bumps into yours. You can see the freckles on his skin, can smell his minty breath but the worst is, you can feel his warm hands on your face, forcing your eyes to flutter shut.
“You broke me,” you whimper when his lips meet yours. With your eyes closed, you try to pretend you are still the kids from back then, but the way Dean kisses you and his rough hands on your skin reminds you he’s a grown man now. A handsome and cocky one.
“Baby girl,” Dean moans against your lips, only breaking the kiss to breathe again. “I broke my own heart by letting you go. I never was with someone I genuinely loved since our breakup. All this time I was with girls meaning nothing to me.”
“What do you want, Dean? It’s been fifteen fucking years,” your heart flutters anytime Dean looks at you, but you steel yourself to resist his natural charm. “We can’t turn back time and kick your ass for being a dick.”
“But,” he grins now, eyes dropping to your chest, “I could be a good former lover and make you cum for all the times you didn’t reach the peak with one of the douches you chose over me.”
“Dean Winchester,” hands-on your hips you glare up at Dean. “Don’t fuck with me! This isn’t funny nor something you can fix with your charm and a cocky grin. You hurt the young girl from back then deeply.”
“I know,” he sighs. “Let me make it up to you.” he pecks your cheek, smirking against your skin when you start to shiver. “I could start with telling you I never fucked Lisa. She was a boring chick, clingy, and had an annoying voice.”
“This doesn’t make me feel better at all,” grinning Dean watches you hide a smirk. “Only as you didn’t fuck her your behavior won’t be forgiven that easily.”
“Did the inquisition already begin?” Dean furrows his brows when Sam jogs toward you and his brother. “I wanted to film every moment, Y/N. Not cool, Munchkin. Restart and I can take some nice pictures.”
“Bitch, get out of my way. I had a nice conversation with Y/N,” hating his brother takes your attention away from him Dean glares at Sam. “Let me just make it up to my girl. I waited years to see her again. Hell, I even stalked her on Twitter, and I hate social media.”
“You should watch the old man try to play candy crush,” Sam smirks when he steps closer. “Give me the keys and I can have a look around while my brother tries to hit on you, Y/N.”
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“Looks good,” humming you look around the kitchen. “You should let us check on the pipes, electricity and I could call Bobby to help us check on the roof,” Sam walks around the house, a clipboard in his hands to make notes. “The windows downstairs look good.”
“I will check Y/N’s former room with her,” Dean grasps for your hand to drag you upstairs. “How about you check the basement, Sammy? Take your time,” cursing under your breath you try to keep up with Dean.
“Hey, wait! I’m not that fast, Winchester,” you scold. “Dean!” before you can complain Dean picks you up in bridal style to run upstairs. You would yell at him, but you admire his strength and the way he holds you close to his chest. “Let me down.”
“Never again, sweetheart. Now that I got you back in my arms,” Dean smirks when you start to squirm in his hold, “I’ll never let you out of sight again…”
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bechloeislegit · 3 years
Text
My Spy - Chapter 4
The Bellas had just returned from a meeting with the Dean and members of the Collegiate A Cappella Committee regarding the "vagina-gate" fiasco that had occurred during a performance for President Obama's birthday. They were sitting about the kitchen counter, discussing what they needed to do to fix things.
"What are we going to do?" Stacie asked, looking around at the rest of the Bellas. "We can't be responsible for the Bellas being disbanded."
"We'll just have to win the World A Cappella Championship," Beca said with a shrug.
"It's not going to be easy," Jessica said.
"You're right. It's not going to be easy," Beca said. "But we've been ICCA Champs for three years in a row. That should play in our favor, right?"
"I agree," Ashley said. "And I think we should start by checking out Das Sound Machine to see what we're up against."
"That's a good idea," Stacie said. "I bet we can find some videos of them on YouTube or something."
Stacie pulled her laptop to her and started searching for videos of Das Sound Machine.
"Wow," Stacie said. "There are a lot of videos of them."
"Click the first one," Ashley said.
Beca watched as the girls surrounded Stacie to watch the videos. She looked at Lily and nodded her head to the door. Lily nodded and walked out of the kitchen; Beca followed.
"Can we talk on the porch?" Beca asked, looking back toward the kitchen to be sure none of the Bellas noticed her and Lily leave the kitchen.
Lily nodded and went out the front door of the house. Beca followed and quietly closed the door after stepping outside.
"I know this is random, but have you heard anything from Chloe?" Beca asked as she faced Lily.
"No," Lily said. "Not since that time she texted me her number to give to you. And, that was almost three years ago."
"I thought that might be the case," Beca said. "And I did try to call her once I got back from Spring Break that year, but the number was no longer in service. I can't get her out of my mind. I miss her so much and every time someone even appears interested in me, I blow them off. I feel like I'm cheating on her or something. I can't get past what we had to even think about being with someone else. I just wish I could talk to her, to see if there was a possibility of rekindling our relationship."
"Even after all this time, you'd take her back?" Lily asked.
"I know it sounds pathetic," Beca said. "But, I would take her back in a heartbeat. She's it for me."
Beca could hear her name being called from inside the house. She thanked Lily and opened the front door.
"Beca, there you are!" CR said, seeing Beca and Lily entering the house. "Stacie is looking for you."
"Thanks, CR," Beca said, as she and Lily walked back to the kitchen. "What's up, Stacie?"
"We found out that DSM will be at the Metro Mall in downtown Atlanta next week," Stacie said. "I think we should take a road trip and check out their show. The videos we found of them look too perfect. We think they must have been edited, and seeing them in person will give us a more realistic idea of what they can do."
"We can do that," Beca said. "It will give us a better idea of what we'll need to do to beat them at Worlds."
~~ My Spy ~~
The next morning, Beca was up early. She walked into the kitchen to find Jessica and Ashley each with their laptops in front of them.
"Hey, Beca," Jessica said. "We're all signed up for the Worlds. It's in Copenhagen, Denmark, so we need everyone to check their passports so anyone who has to get theirs renewed has time to do that."
"We also made airline and hotel reservations," Ashley said. "The airfare was a bit higher than we expected, so we could only afford to reserve four rooms. That means we'll be doubling up."
"That's good," Beca said. "Thank you both for doing all that."
"No problem," Jessica said. "I have to call my mom and ask her to check my passport."
"Me, too," Beca said. "I think mine's still good, but I want to be sure."
"Don't forget some of the others may have to do the same thing," Jessica said.
"I'll mention it at rehearsals today," Beca said.
"I'd also suggest they ask their folks to express mail their passports, whether they need them renewed or not," Jessica said. "We have two months before our first break when most of us go home, so having them mailed to us now will help get the renewal process started for anyone who needs the time."
"That's a good idea," Beca said. "Thanks, Jess. I'll mention that as well."
Beca left the kitchen and went back to her room.
"You're up early," Amy said as Beca entered. "Where have you been?"
"I was talking to Jessica and Ashley," Beca said. "We were talking about Worlds and what we need to do over the next several months. You'll need to check your passport to be sure it's still valid."
"I know mine's still good," Fat Amy said. "I had to renew it four years ago to come to the U.S. for school and they're usually valid for ten years."
Fat Amy grabbed her phone and put on a light jacket.
"I'm going out for a while," she said, leaving Beca alone in her room. "I'll see you later at practice."
After Amy was gone, Beca pulled out her phone and called her mother.
"Beca?" Sarah's raspy voice said into the phone. "What's wrong?"
Beca winced as she looked at the time and realized it was only five-thirty in the morning in Seattle.
"Everything's fine," Beca said quickly. "I didn't realize how early it was for you."
"That's okay, I'm up now," Sarah said, yawning into the phone. "Sorry. So, why did you call me at such an early hour?"
"The Bellas are going to Copenhagen in May to compete in the A Capella World Championship," Beca said, rushing to get everything out quickly. "I need you to get my passport and express mail it to me. I have to make sure I have time to get it renewed if I need to. I'm sorry I woke you."
"I'll get it and take it to the post office later today," Sarah said. "What else is going on? I can tell by your voice there's something else you want to say. And don't tell me everything's fine because I'm your mother and I'd know if you were lying."
"I was hoping we could talk," Beca said.
"Hold on," Sarah said, putting her pillows behind her back and sitting up against the headboard. "Okay, I'm comfy now, what did you want to talk about?"
"Um, Chloe," Beca said hesitantly.
Sarah sighed into the phone. "I thought you were done with her."
"I can't help it, mom," Beca said. "I still love her. I know you don't want to hear that, but it's true."
"It's been three years, Beca," Sarah said. "She listened to me and has stayed away from you, why can't you listen to me and forget about her?"
"What?!"
Sarah sighed again. "Nothing."
"What do you mean by she listened to you?" Beca asked tersely. "When did you even talk to her?"
"I guess enough time has passed, I can tell you now," Sarah said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "She came by the house when you were here during Spring Break after your father was arrested."
"What did you say to her?"
"Beca," Sarah said, pleadingly.
"Answer the fucking question!"
"Watch your tone, young lady," Sarah admonished. "I'm still your mother and was only doing what I thought was best for you."
Beca laughed. "What was best for me? You mean, like when you shuttled me off to college so I could spend some time with my father? You know, the guy who is in Federal prison for the next fifteen years for being a drug smuggler and dealer?" Beca scoffed. "You know nothing about what is best for me."
"Your father said it was all a mistake," Sarah said. "He was in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Wrong place at the wrong time?" Beca sneered before taking a breath and saying, "I didn't call you to talk about my father. But, I now want to talk about what you said to Chloe when she came to the house."
Sarah leaned back and closed her eyes. Sarah sighed again and took a deep breath, knowing in her heart what she was about to tell Beca may well be the thing that sends Beca running away from her and straight to Chloe. She took another moment before replying.
"I told her I didn't know what she hoped to accomplish by showing up here uninvited," Sarah said. "Then she had the nerve to ask me to have you call her because she really wanted to talk to you. As she was leaving I yelled at her to leave you alone; that she was no good for you. I told her that you were over her because you were out with an old girlfriend from High School. And calling her was the first thing you did when you got home."
"Un-fucking-believable," Beca muttered. "Do you realize what you've done? The pain and heartache you've caused me? I could have been with Chloe all this time if you hadn't stuck your nose where it didn't belong."
"I'm your mother," Sarah said. "I only-"
"Oh, for the love of God," Beca interrupted. "Give it a rest! You don't care about what is best for me, you only care about the fact that Chloe was part of the group that arrested dad. If you really want to do what's best for me, then stay out of my life!"
Beca ended the call without waiting for a response. She turned the phone off and threw it and herself down on the bed.
~~ My Spy ~~
"It's awfully quiet up there," Stacie said, looking up the stairs. "Do you think we should go check on her?"
"I think we should leave her be for now," Jessica said. "She sounded upset and may need a minute."
"Jessica's right," CR said. "Let's give her a few minutes, and then we can check on her."
Stacie nodded and remained standing at the bottom of the stairs. Just then, Emily and Flo walked into the house and immediately sensed something was off.
"What's going on?" Emily asked, looking around at the Bellas that were congregated at the bottom of the stairs.
"We just heard Beca yelling at her mom about Chloe," Jessica said.
"Chloe? Is that the girl who was a cop and arrested Beca's dad?" Flo asked.
"That's right," CR said. "Beca and Chloe were a thing when it all went down."
"A thing?" Ashley said. "Chloe was more than a 'thing' to Beca. She's the love of Beca's life. Beca loved her then, and she loves her now."
"From what we heard Beca saying," Stacie said. "Her mother said something to Chloe that made Chloe leave Beca alone. Beca didn't like whatever it was she heard from her mother."
"Is she okay?" Emily asked. "Should we check on her?"
"We were giving her some space," Jessica said and looked up the stairs. "But, it's still quiet; too quiet. I think we should go up."
"We can't all go up there," CR said. "She'll freak out on us. Stacie, you and Jessica know her best. I think you two should go up."
"I agree with CR," Flo said.
"Okay," Jessica said. "Come on, Stacie, let's do this."
~~ My Spy ~~
Stacie and Jessica stood outside Beca's door. Stacie put her ear to the door and listened.
"I think she's crying," Stacie whispered.
Jessica knocked lightly on the door.
"Beca?" Jessica said, opening the door. "It's Jessica and Stacie. We just want to make sure everything is okay."
"Come in," Beca's muffled voice called out.
Jessica and Stacie looked at each other. Stacie opened the door and the two went up the stairs. Stacie peeked around the corner when she reached the top. Beca was sitting up on her bed, staring at her.
"Hey," Stacie said, stepping closer to Beca.
"Are you okay?" Jessica asked from behind Stacie.
"I'm so pissed at my mother," Beca said, sniffling.
"We gathered that," Stacie said. "We could hear you yelling at her all the way downstairs."
"Oh," Beca said. "Sorry about that."
"Meh," Stacie said, dismissing the apology with a wave of her hand.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Jessica asked.
"No," Beca said, sighing as she ran a hand through her hair. "Yes. I didn't know it, but Chloe came to see me in Seattle and my mom never told me until now that she was there. Chloe wanted to talk to me but my mother told her I was seeing an old girlfriend and to stay away from me."
"Why did your mother do that?" Jessica asked.
"She said she was doing what she thought was best for me," Beca said.
"But you don't think that's the real reason?" Stacie asked.
"No," Beca said. "I think she was mad because she believed it was Chloe's fault that my dad was arrested. He hasn't taken any responsibility for his own actions and my mom thinks he is innocent and they got the wrong guy."
Beca sighed and looked down at her fingers, twisting her thumb ring.
"I know you girls are all still mad about Chloe lying to everyone," Beca said softly. "But, I want you to know that I'm still in love with her."
Stacie and Jessica both smiled at Beca.
"Beca, I think I can speak for all of us when I tell you," Jessica said. "We've forgiven Chloe. It didn't take long for us to realize she was just doing her job. If she had told us what she was doing, it would have compromised the investigation."
"Jessica's right," Stacie said. "We are all proud of how Chloe helped bring down a huge part of a major drug ring. That's pretty badass stuff."
"Really?" Beca asked, her brows furrowed. "You all forgive her?"
"Yep," Jessica said.
"You don't have to be afraid to talk about Chloe to us," Stacie said. "We all know how much you love her."
"Are you going to try and find her?" Jessica asked.
"I would love to," Beca said. "But I have no idea where to even start."
"I do," Jessica said, grinning at Beca.
"Really?" Beca asked. "Where?"
"Start with Lily," Jessica said. "I have a feeling she has some tricks up her sleeve and can help you."
"That's a great idea," Stacie said.
"I don't know," Beca said. "I've been talking to Lily and she hasn't mentioned anything about being able to find Chloe for me."
"She wouldn't just come out and tell you she could do it," Jessica said. "You'd have to ask her if she could find Chloe."
Beca chewed her bottom lip until she came to a decision.
"What the Hell?" Beca said. "It couldn't hurt to ask."
"That's the spirit," Stacie said. "Let's go see if everyone's ready for rehearsal."
~~ My Spy ~~
Later that night, after the Bellas had finished dinner and were settling down to watch a movie, Beca asked Lily if they could talk.
"Kitchen or front porch?" Lily asked with a smile.
"Kitchen," Beca said and started in that direction.
Lily followed and both sat at the counter.
"Is this about Chloe?" Lily asked, surprising Beca.
"Yes," Beca replied. "I was wondering if you, maybe, had any way of finding where she is? I just want to find out if she's one, okay, and two, if she still has any interest in me whatsoever."
Lily looked down at the counter and back up at Beca.
"I'll do what I can," Lily said. "I can't make any guarantees, but I'll do my best."
"Really?" Beca squealed. "Thank you. Let me know if I can do anything to help."
"I'll start looking now," Lily said, standing.
"I really appreciate this, Lily," Beca said. "If there is anything I could ever do for you, just name it."
Lily nodded and left Beca sitting alone in the kitchen.
After a few minutes, Beca got up and rejoined the girls in the living room.
"Well?" Jessica whispered as Beca sat next to her.
"She's going to see what she can do," Beca whispered.
Jessica threw an arm around Beca's shoulders and gave her a side hug. Stacie saw this and looked at them with raised eyebrows.
"Lily's going to look for Chloe," Jessica mouthed to Stacie.
Stacie smiled and gave Beca a thumbs up. Beca sat back, smiling and nodding her head. She just knew Lily was going to find Chloe.
~~ My Spy ~~
A few days later, Beca had bid everyone goodnight and went up to her room. Fat Amy was out, so Beca was alone. She was surprised by a knock on the door.
"Come in," Beca called out.
Lily came up the stairs, waving some papers as she came into Beca's view.
"I found something," Lily said.
"What did you find?" Beca asked eyes widened in surprise. "Do you know where she is?"
"It took some digging," Lily said. "I had to follow her trail around the U.S. and a few other countries. She's been busy."
"Okay," Beca said. "Do you know where she is now?"
"As of today, Chloe was in," Lily said as she looked through the papers in her hand. "Atlanta."
"Chloe's in Atlanta," Beca said, excitedly. "Oh, my God! I can't believe she's that close. Do you know where she is in Atlanta?"
"I can't pinpoint an exact location," Lily said. "I can keep trying, but I'm not confident we will know more than she is somewhere in Atlanta."
"Thank you for doing this," Beca said. "I feel so much better since I think it's safe to assume she's still alive and okay. If you find out anything more, please let me know."
"I will," Lily said, handing the papers with her notes to Beca. "Goodnight, Beca."
"Goodnight," Beca said as Lily made her way down the attic stairs.
Beca looked through the papers Lily left with her. The list of places Chloe had been was fairly extensive. Over the past three years, she has been to New York, Oregon, California, Germany, and Australia. And now, Atlanta.
"She must still be working as an undercover agent," Beca muttered. "I wonder what she's working on in Atlanta."
Beca continued reading until tiredness took over. She put the papers on the nightstand and climbed under the covers. She laid down and was asleep within minutes.
Chloe flopped back on the bed, laughing as Beca crawled her way up Chloe's body. Beca kissed every inch of Chloe's bare skin as she made her way up, finally landing on Chloe's lips. The kiss was full of passion and want.
"Ready for another round?" Beca asked in between kisses.
"I'm ready for round 3," Chloe responded, in between more kisses. "And round 4, and round 5,-"
"God, I love you," Beca whispered before fully capturing Chloe's lips.
"Wait, what?" Chloe murmured, gently pushing Beca back to look at her face. "You love me?"
"Yeah," Beca said, moving to sit on the bed and look down at Chloe. "Of course, I love you."
Tears came to Chloe's eyes as she stared at Beca.
"I love you, too," Chloe finally whispered.
A big smile came to Beca's lips as she slid back on top of Chloe and kissed her. Her smile suddenly fell when Chloe was no longer under her.
"Chloe? Come back!" Beca cried out. "I love you!"
Beca sat up with a start and looked around. She wiped both hands down her face and mumbled into the darkness, "Where exactly are you, Chloe Beale?"
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A/N (actually just a friendly reminder): Next week is BeChloe Week 2021 and I will be participating. I may or may not have the next chapter finished in time to post on Thursday. I'll have to see how the week goes.
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lulu-zodiac · 3 years
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Title: You'll Know All I Haven't Said
Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Tags: Fluff, First Kiss, Pining, AU
Summary: Cas has always had an unnerving knack for knowing what Dean wants the most, even before Dean knows it himself.
If you want to be added to my fic tag list, let me know! <3
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Cas always gives the best presents.
Dean knows it’s something to do with his unnervingly observant nature, the way he’s so tuned into the people around him. Or maybe just Dean. The thought makes something unfurl in Dean’s stomach that’s feels a bit like fear, or anticipation maybe. It happens a lot when he thinks of Cas, these days. Which is a lot, if Dean is being totally honest. Cas is his best friend, has been since they were both eight years old, so it’s normal that he occupies a lot of space in Dean’s head. It’s just that these days – sometimes it’s so much that it scares Dean, just a little. Because he knows there isn’t much time left where Cas will be a daily fixture of his life; next fall, they’re both heading off to college and everything’s going to be different.
That’s why, Dean tells himself, he’s spent so much time trying to think of what to give Cas this Christmas. It’s hard to top Cas’s gift-giving skills. He has always had an unnerving knack for somehow knowing exactly what Dean wants, even before Dean knows it himself. Not that Dean would tell him, but all his most treasured gifts over the years have all been from Cas. A wonky, handmade wooden impala car Cas made in his Dad’s workshop when he was twelve. Zeppelin concert tickets the Christmas they were both fifteen. Last year, an anthology of Neruda with Cas’s scrawling writing on the opening page, which Dean has read more than the poems the book contains (not that he’d admit that to Cas).
The only problem with Cas being so amazing at choosing gifts is that Dean always feels under pressure to match Cas’s presents, give him something that he’ll treasure as much as Dean treasures the gifts Cas gives him. And the thing is, Cas is hard to buy for, hard to read, a lot of the time. Even though Dean spends more time with Cas than anyone else, and spends even more time thinking about Cas, he’s never quite sure what’s going on in his head. And that makes it difficult, because Dean so wants to make this last Christmas before they both go their separate ways special.
The thought of not being around Cas every day makes his whole chest ache, so Dean tries not to do it. But sometimes it just creeps up on him and it’s like having a bucket of ice water poured over him, a constant knife in his chest that twists deeper and deeper as it gets closer to the time he knows they’ll have to say goodbye. It’s not just about parting ways – Dean knows there’s no way he and Cas won’t stay best friends. But it's like there's also something that Dean's always been waiting for that might not get to happen, that graduating and leaving for college might get in the way of, and even though Dean has no idea what it is he’s waiting for, the idea that it might get pushed aside, might never happen, is somehow unbearable.
After a week of agonising over options, it’s finally Christmas Eve and Dean is standing on Cas’s doorstep, breath clouding out in front of him in the frosty air. There’s small parcel in the pocket of his leather jacket that he fiddles with nervously as he waits, feeling the bumps of his own bad gift-wrapping skills. His stomach flips over inexplicably when the hall lights flicker on there’s the sound of keys in the lock.
“Dean,” Cas smiles, quiet but sincere, and stands back to let Dean in. Dean is hit, as he is not infrequently these days, by how good-looking Cas has become. He’s not built but he’s lean, strong-looking, with a kind of grace about the way he carries himself. Tonight, he’s wearing an indigo knitted sweater that he got in a thrift store with Dean last year, and it makes the blue of his gaze feel infinite as it sweeps over Dean, familiar and warm.
“Hey,” Dean smiles stupidly, suddenly feeling self-conscious as he steps into the hallway. It’s warm and smells faintly of incense and home-baking, but they don’t linger, heading straight up the stairs to Cas’s room as usual.
“Very festive,” Dean remarks as Cas closes the door behind them, noting the multi-coloured fairy lights Cas has strewn around the window, glowing softly and casting the room into muted colours. Dean secretly prefers Cas’s room to his; he’s spent so much time in it over the years that it feels just as much like home, maybe even a little more because it has Cas in it.
“Thanks,” Cas is standing by the door, arms folded across his chest as he watches Dean inspect his bookshelf, run his fingertip along the spines. “There’s a new one there for you, if you want it.” His expression is uncharacteristically unreadable. Not that Cas is easy to read – not by any stretch of the imagination. But Dean’s spent a long time mapping out his different expressions and mannerisms, and it’s not often these days that he’s faced with one he can’t place at all. This one is not unfamiliar, though. It’s one he’s noticed playing across Cas’s features increasingly often in recent months, generally when he glances up and catches Cas off guard. It’s an expression that niggles away at the back of Dean’s mind when he’s trying to get to sleep at night, gets under his skin.
Dean looks reluctantly away from Cas and back to the shelves, eyeing them more closely. His hand pauses on an unfamiliar hardback, Bluebeard by Vonnegut. “This?”
“If you want it,” Cas says, and Dean thinks he detects a note of apprehension beneath the warmth, a kind of distraction, as though he’s thinking about something else, which is a sharp contrast to his often unnerving focus that’s usually directed Dean’s way.
“Thanks,” Dean takes the book of the shelf and flips through the pages, catches a few flashes of Cas’s dextrous scrawl.
“Don’t – don’t read my notes now,” Cas crosses the room, takes the book from Dean’s hands and closes it. “Not when I’m here.”
Dean eyes him curiously. One of his favourite things about Cas lending him books all the time is getting to read Cas’s private thoughts filling the margins. “Is this my Christmas present? Not like you to forgo the fancy paper and the chance to upstage my gift-wrapping skills.”
A smile pulls at the corner of Cas’s mouth, his eyes crinkle with quiet amusement even though the nervousness doesn’t dissipate, Dean notes. “No, it’s not your present.”
“Then where is it?” Dean asks, glancing around the room – but there’s no sight of a gift. Just the soft glow of the fairy lights and Cas’s notebooks on his desk, a couple of jumpers hanging over the back of his chair, the little cactus Dean gave him for his birthday two years ago sitting stoutly on his bedside table.
“You’re very demanding,” Cas admonishes, handing the book back to Dean and crossing the room to sit down on one end of the window seat, curling up like a cat. There’s a twinkle of amusement in his blue gaze, but he pulls the sleeves of his jumper down over his hands, something Dean knows he only does when he’s nervous. The thought makes a pang of nerves curl through Dean too, although he doesn’t know why, doesn’t know why it feels like they’re waiting for something.
“Well, you’re very mysterious,” Dean counters, flopping down on the other end of the window-seat and pushing one of his socked feet playfully at Cas’s. “And unnervingly good at presents, which is why I’m so particularly demanding today. I’m expecting great things. How is that you always seem to know exactly what I want?”
“I very much hope that’s true this year,” Cas says, quiet in a way that makes Dean catch his breath, inexplicably nervous too. He’s looking down, still fiddling with the stray thread from the cuff of his jumper. His expression is uncharacteristically vulnerable in the soft light, messy dark hair and wide eyes so blue that they make Dean’s heart fumble a beat in his chest when Cas suddenly looks up, holds Dean’s gaze. It’s very quiet, the space between them. Dean feels very aware of his heart, doesn’t know why it’s suddenly going quite so fast. “You go first,” Cas says, low, eyes intent and full of something, and it takes Dean a moment to remember what they’re talking about.
“Oh – yeah, okay,” he stutters, feeling his cheeks flush as he fumbles in the pocket of his jacket and pulls out the package he’d wrapped earlier. “Look – don’t get too excited. You know I’m not great at presents, but I wanted to do something special, because you know –” he breaks off, trying to push down the sudden sharpness in his chest, “This might be the last Christmas we spend together, and I don’t want you to go forgetting me when you’re off being all genius at some school I’d never be able to get into.” He thrusts the present unceremoniously at Cas. “Badly wrapped as usual, sorry,” he adds, as an afterthought.
“Dean,” Cas is holding the wrapped present, but he’s not looking at it. He’s looking at Dean with the kind of familiar, earnest sincerity that makes Dean’s heart ache, that he’s going to miss so much. “There is no chance of me ever forgetting you,” Cas says slowly, and the something in his gaze deepens, turning into something that makes Dean feel simultaneously as though he wants to look away and never look away again. The space between them suddenly feels intimate, theirs. Just the two of them, the way Dean always aches for when it’s not.
“Thanks,” Dean says, gathering himself, but his voice sounds unsteady to his own ears, like he suddenly feels. Off-kilter, dizzy, like they’re both spinning into orbit. “Okay, okay, open the goddamn present already,” Dean mumbles, awkward, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if Cas keeps looking at him like that, and he’s afraid of how much he wants to find out.
Cas looks at him a beat longer, before dropping his attention to the present, unwrapping it carefully with his long, dextrous fingers. There’s a moment when he pulls the leather-bound album out of the shell of wrapping where Dean feels hot all over, embarrassed by his own sentiment. He digs his nails into his palm, watches as Cas opens it and goes still, reading Dean’s inscription. There’s a long pause, and then he turns the first page, and then the next and the next, looking at the photos of him and Dean that Dean has collected from over the years: the two of them togged up in winter coats and red welly boots, making snow-angels in Dean’s back garden; Cas aged ten with a tearstained face, watching as Dean puts a band-aid on his grazed knee; both of them on their first day of middle school, Cas moody with pins all over his jacket and scruffy converse sneakers, Dean grinning with his letterman; Cas, windswept and smiling two summers ago, lying on a sandy beach and gazing up at Dean with that a hint of that something Dean can’t get out of his head now.
Cas finally looks up at him, eyes so blue it hurts to look at them. “Thank you, Dean,” his voice is slightly hoarse. “This –” he breaks off, swallows, turning the album over in his hands. “This must have taken you ages.”
“Don’t mention it,” Dean mumbles gruffly, cheeks heating up. His heart is racing, and he wants to change the subject, take the focus away from how intimate the present suddenly feels now that Cas is holding all their memories in his hands. “Anyway, enough of that. I’m glad you like it, but you know I can’t handle chick flick moments. Come on, your turn. Where’s mine?”
The unreadable look is back on Cas’s face with more intensity, combined with something Dean definitely recognises as nervousness now. Cas’s chest is rising and falling more rapidly, eyes wider than usual, cheeks slightly flushed as he holds Dean’s gaze, almost like he’s steeling himself for something. “Okay,” he says, seemingly more to himself than to Dean. Okay, close your eyes.”
“What?” Dean blinks.
“Close them,” Cas says, with slightly more authority, but Dean can see the way Cas’s fingers are trembling where he’s still holding all of their memories, their whole friendship in his hands. Cas glances down at it unreadably, like it’s suddenly fragile, and then back at Dean. He swallows, repeats, “Dean,” quietly imploring.
Dean closes his eyes. Cas’s gaze and the fairy lights all fade into to soft shadow. Vision gone, Dean suddenly feels very aware of the proximity between them, the almost imperceptible warmth of Cas beside him, the way their thighs are pressed lightly together. Dean has a sudden urge to nudge his closer to Cas’s, to close all the gaps and feel how warm Cas really is. He breathes in, suddenly breathless, and is overwhelmed by the smell of Cas’s skin, familiar and musky, a hint of the patchouli incense he always burns when he’s working. The smell of home. Dean’s heart is suddenly racing so hard it hurts. “Cas?”
Cas is silent. There’s a pause that might be a single heartbeat or the whole last ten years, and then there’s warm, tentative pressure against Dean’s mouth. Cas’s lips, silken soft and hot, brushing tenderly, slowly, against his. Cas’s hands cupping his face, rough and warm and trembling, holding him still as the world spins away into nothing. Cas’s breath, gentle and unsteady against Dean’s mouth, punctuating the kiss.
Dean’s eyes fly open, and the first thing he sees is blue. Deep, exhilarating blue. Like the sky at that moment just between dusk and darkness. And then he’s drowning. He ducks forward and captures Cas’s mouth again with his, stomach somersaulting at the stifled sound Cas makes, like he thought Dean wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t want this. The heat unfurling deep Dean’s chest intensifies at the way Cas’s hands grab at the front of Dean’s shirt, clumsy and desperate, the way Cas shifts closer, all warmth. Cas’s mouth is hot and wet and perfect, tongue twining with Dean’s as they kiss, pressing so close together that their noses nudge together, that Dean’s not sure who’s heartbeat belongs to who anymore.
When they break apart for breath, Cas’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes are dark and shining. He’s so beautiful Dean aches with it.
“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Cas says, voice low and heavy in a way that makes arousal curl through Dean. His eyes are full of quiet happiness, and that something that Dean hasn’t been able to get out of his head for months. It’s wonderful to finally know what it is, to know that it is this. Dean feels like he’s floating.
“Merry Christmas,” Dean echoes, dazedly, and his voice sounds as rough as Cas’s. He shakes his head, smiling in disbelief. “I told you that you always know what I want before I do,” he pauses, “Though, amazing as all the others were, I think this present might just top the list.” Dean is vaguely aware that he’s grinning giddily, heart still pounding.
“I wasn’t sure you’d like it,” Cas admits, looking down, and Dean catches a hint of the nervousness Cas was full of earlier, that makes sense now. Dean feels a rush of warmth for him at the courage it must have taken to cross that line, to take a whole ten years of friendship in his hands and do what Dean never had the courage for.
“Hey,” Dean reaches out, twines their hands together. It’s reassuring the way he can feel Cas trembling a bit too, reminding him they’re both in this together, it’s just the two of them, the way Dean likes it best. “Cas. It’s the best present I’ve ever had,” he says, honestly. Cas looks up and smiles at him, brighter than the lights above them, than anything Dean’s ever known – and Dean suddenly has to rethink his words, because Cas looking at him like that, so full of love and happiness, is better than anything Dean could ever have imagined.
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Blossom fully (deep in my bones)
(Teacher!JK x College student!Reader) PART ONE
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Warnings: JK has anger management issues, very slight violence, a lot of fluff, don't get a heart attack.
Genre: Fluff.
Word Count: 10.3k
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader
I have decided to turn this into a trilogy. This is Part One, enjoy. Let me know if you want to be tagged (you could just comment, or dm me).
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Love. Adoration. Lust. For Jeon Jungkook, his entire life, they had been just words, nothing more – after all, these were just concepts made by society, what if people had not known about the concept of love? Would they still try to find it? Would they still be willing to work for it? Then, you came into his life, and gave meaning to those words.
“Welcome to the annual football championship between Seoul Nation University and Sungkyunkwan University 2020,”
“Break his jaw!” Jungkook heard the other team chant, while looking at him. He just scoffed while adjusting his gloves, as if.
“Really? Think you can do it? Go ahead and try,” Jungkook mocked them across the field, his tongue poking against his left cheek.
Jungkook was never set out for failure, it was never allowed in his life – because he knew for a fact that his father would have his throat if he didn’t turn out to be the best of the best.
At age five, he had a strict workout regime and had less than 10 percent body fat, maintained till present date. He had also learnt that he would rather be loved than feared, he hated the look in the eyes of his classmates when he accidentally punched his seatmate, Byung-chul, just because he had taken his red crayon without asking. Now, no one would sit next to him at lunch. 
He told himself that he didn’t mind it, but he couldn’t help but cry at night because no one wanted to play on the see-saw with him. He knew if he asked them, they would have no choice other than to say yes, after all, they didn’t want to end up like Byung-chul, hospitalized, with a broken arm. But what’s the use, if they don’t actually want to be with him?
Age seven, he had landed his first punch on his butler when he saw him abuse his dog. He didn’t know what to tell to his therapist, how could he explain that all he saw was red when he saw Yeontan being thrown out of the room? How could he explain that he had no control over his body? He couldn’t control the beast in him that had pounced over the man.
Age ten, he landed his position as quarterback on the national “Under 19,” football team. Soon, he had to drop out – not because he couldn’t play well, hell, he was probably the most talented played that they could’ve scouted. But, because he wouldn’t tolerate any thing that would come in the path of him and his success.
Age fifteen, he had graduated high school, gotten a perfect 1600 in his SAT, and been given a full ride to SNU. Throughout his high school career, despite having narrow minded, shallow and mindless classmates, Jungkook still wishes he made more memories, had photos with friends in his camera roll (rather than just pictures of sunsets and tattoo designs),
Age 20. Present Day, and he had earned the title of Doctor, not that he could actually perform in the surgeries because of his “anger issues”. Currently, he was a Grad student, but also taught the first year Undergrads, just because of his immense knowledge that could be on par with the old, wrinkly professors that had been teaching since 30+ years.
There had never been a championship, never an exam, never a game that Jeon Jungkook hadn’t won. He wasn’t going to lose this one either. The chants from hundreds of people across the campus stadium were deaf on his ears when he heard the other team’s captain call him an asshole.
Everyone knew Jungkook had well, anger management issues. And to say they were bad was, well, an understatement. So far, the only thing he’s learnt from 14 years of anger management classes, movies, documentaries and seminars is that – only attack when they punch you enough to make you bleed.
“Jeon! Look out!”  
Without a warning, the other team’s captain had punched him in the face, hard enough to bust his lip.
Jungkook just sighed, shook his head as if he were disappointed (He was, in fact disappointed, did this dumbass not known what he could do to him?), and calmly just brushed his white glove against his lip, internally wishing he could see his red blood smeared across it.
And there it was, a streak of blood. Then, Jungkook punched him back – not stopping until his face was almost disfigured – suits him for even trying to mess with Jeon Jungkook.
Around an hour later, Jungkook already knew he was going to be chewed out by the college dean, so he was already counting down from 100 on his way to seminar room number 3.
“54, 53, 52, 51,” he muttered under his breath, pushing back his – now long (he really ought to cut it now, it was starting to get into his eyes) – hair back with his left hand, and entered the room. He could see he interrupted a lecture, and was almost about to head back when-
“Oh! Jeon Jungkook, what a pleasure!” he heard the college dean speak in his pretentious, and extremely conceited voice, here we go again.
“Everyone! Welcome Doctor Jeon Jungkook, he’s one of our in-house surgeons. Topper of the college, topper of the board, topper of the university. In fact, he’s of the one of the best – if not the best student SNU has ever got the chance to teach. He’s got the most impeccable academic record, of all time, now going to teach biochemistry to first year undergraduates this year,” Jungkook scoffed when he heard the entire class clap their hands at his arrival, after the Dean’s speech that complimented him, but he knew better, he kne-
“But what’s the use of all that? In anger management, he scores a zero. He’s a classic example for all of you, if you can’t hold your anger in, you’re nothing more than a murderer with surgical instruments in an emergency ward. Without compassion, your degree is of no use to me. Even a low score is acceptable to me, but not that behaviour,”
Was he trying to rile Jungkook up on purpose?
“Please continue, sir, I really loved the analysis you’ve done on me, please do continue,” The words flew out of Jungkook’s mouth as he made his way up the stairs to the stage where the dean stood.
“What behaviour is this? I need you to write an apology letter to Sungkyunkwan University, and to the college board as well,” 
It was clear the dean was about to get off the stage, before well, Jungkook spoke again. The dean didn’t really think he was getting off this easily, did he?
“Football is a violent sport, the minute they entered our territory, and tried to abuse the rules, that’s the minute everything and anything is allowed. As far as the apology goes, I’d rather quit the college than write that bullshit,”
The seminar room was so quite that a pin dropped would shatter the silence. Jungkook smirked before he exited, “I won’t lose anything by leaving SNU, any other medical program in the world will be ready to accept me, the only reason I stay in this hellhole is because I enjoy the spring in Seoul. But imagine the loss of pride that SNU will experience once Jeon Jungkook leaves the establishment,”
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Jungkook walked across the campus cafeteria as he tried to find his lighter in his pocket, fiddling with his cigarette in his other hand. “Are you seriously going to leave?” Jimin runned after him, struggling with his lab coat, “what will you get out of this? Just write the goddamn apology,”
Jungkook decided to settle on a table where three rowdy boys sat, flexing their muscles, but as they saw Jungkook approaching, they simply muttered apologies before scattering away, leaving the table.
Jimin-ah,” Jungkook smiled as he puffed his cigarette, “there’s nothing for me here, besides, I was planning to move to the US, anyways,”
“And leave me and Tae here? Wow, you’re such a considerate friend, you know,” Jungkook saw Jimin pout, and smiled.
It was really a miracle that he made his first two friends ever while his second year, here at SNU. Jimin loved pets, and was practicing to become a vet, while Taehyung was – kind of – crazy, and even scared Jungkook the first time he met him. He’s pretty sure Tae would’ve set the lab on fire if Jungkook hadn’t studied chemical properties before his class. At first, he hated it when both of them would tag along, following him to lunch, inviting themselves into his mansion, and forcing him to go to the arcade with them – but soon, he had learned to love being around them.
While looking around for Tae, so he could finally break the news of him leaving, his eyes landed on your figure. Now, Jungkook had never believed in love at first sight. Hell, he didn’t even believe in love, so, love at first sight seemed a little – well, impossible. But here you were, the reason why Jungkook felt like his heart was going to come out of his ribcage, it felt as if Jungkook had been struck by cupid, because the way you looked so adorable in your pink dress had left Jungkook feeling giddy. Seoul had a lot of pretty girls, he saw them every day, some of them even deserved to be on the cover of Vogue – but you, you were different, Something about you, your vibe, your pink cheeks and eyes that curled up when you smiled, something about you was difference.
Jungkook looked down at his letter of quitting, and simply tore it down when saw your figure leave the cafeteria.
“I can’t believe this, you see one of the first years, and suddenly, you want to stay?” Jimin shouts and slams his fat book on the table, muttering curse words.
Intimidating the first years – ragging, as they called it – had always been Jungkook’s favourite thing to do. Every year he’d either make them do ridiculous tasks, like eating a living goldfish, or running around the block naked. However, this time, it was different.
He made sure he entered the class taught by the foreign professor, so he could sneak in a couple of threats without making too much of a scene in front of the directors. As he excused himself in the full class, he couldn’t help but be glad that he looked quite… intimidating today. Everyone was already, well, scared of him, but his leather jacket, motorbike, and bandages on his fingers (which are actually there because he hurt his fingers by writing too much – not from the constant fights that people think he’s immersed into), they just add to his picture.
“There’s a medical camp soon for freshmen, so I would like to make an announcement,” Jungkook smiles, but everyone can sense the chilly aura underneath that smile, “I would also like to speak in Korean, since they’re mostly fluent in it,”
“Yes, Mr. Jeon, you may continue,” the British Professor smiles back – she can’t deny him, he’s her co-worker now, after all.
“Listen to me carefully,” Jungkook lets his tongue poke his inner cheek, as he brushes back his – way too long – hair, “I’m not going to repeat this in English, and that dumbass shouldn’t get a clue of what I’m saying,” he says as he nods politely at the professor on the slightly lifted stage. Once he confirms that she can’t understand a word, he turns her back towards her, and walks across the class, staring at everyone with a predatory look in his dark eyes.
“There’s a new girl, freshman, she’s mine. Other than her, you can woo any girl you like, but if I even so catch anyone staring at her, let alone trying to get on those cute study dates, or pretending to be in the same hobbies as her,” he looks across the stadium, “you’ll end up in bandages. With a failing grade in my class.”
Jungkook can’t help but present a fake smile, “don’t look so scared, idiots, you don’t want her,” he nods off to the professor, “to think I’m saying something wrong,”
“Why does it sound like a threat?” A nameless teenager from the back speaks up, which makes Jungkook’s smile slide off faster than sound travels.
“I’m not threatening you. I’m warning you. Besides, don’t even try to outsmart me, don’t worry new girls come in every year, you’ll have your chances. Now don’t sulk, or look suspicious. Circulate this message around, I don’t have enough time to go to every single unit,” he scans everyone’s face again, making sure they digested his new given information.
Once he’s satisfied, he convert back to English, “Good luck with the camp, guys. Meet you in my class tomorrow,” and with one last threatening smile, he’s gone.
“What did he say? Why did it sound like a threat?” the teacher joked once Jungkook left, and the class couldn’t help but immediately deny the threatening tone. After all, no one wanted to face Jeon Jungkook’s wrath.
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Your nervous jitters were still present, and you don’t want to admit, but you did tear up a little when you saw your parent’s car become smaller and smaller as it continued to drive down the road, till it finally is so far that you can’t even make it out with your eyes.
While most people had roommates of their own year, you were stuck with a sophomore and you didn’t exactly know whether that was a good thing, or a bad one. She had made very clear about what side of room was hers, and why it was hers, and how you’re not even allowed to get onto her side – and that did make you a little annoyed, because how could someone be so pretentious, but throughout the span of three days, the pretentious-ness was definitely wearing out. She’d cook dinner for you every day, because you didn’t have a rice cooker and she did (which, you really needed to invest in a rice cooker because you can pretty much cook anything in that fucker), and she was amazing at giving advice for every single teacher out there. You still had to get used to her high use of curse words, but it’s just what made her, her.
“Oh damn, you got the worst professors out there, bro you better goddamn pull your socks up, otherwise things aren’t gonna look pretty this semester,” you heard her chuckle, as she sits on her bed with one leg on top of the other.
“Why? Who’s so bad?”
Fucking hell. You already had had enough of bad teachers, it’s almost like you were cursed because your high school teachers were literally out to get you – but you guess it was a blessing in disguise because that just made you work even harder (just to spite them, hah), and you somehow ended up here, at SNU, one of the most prestigious colleges in Korea.
“It’s actually not all that bad, you got Mr. Lee for microbiology. He isn’t all that bad, but just don’t sit in the front row unless you want spit on your face every time he talks. I swear it’s like he had a motherfucking fountain in his mouth. Also, he loves it when you submit your papers with a perfect format, so do that whenever you give his weekly assignments,” She says, all while applying on a red blood coloured nail polish.
You study your schedule once again, “What about Mr. Kang?”
“No fucking absolute way! You got Mr. Kang? Bitch, seems like the universe is tryna fuck you over,” she says, and then mumbles a curse when some of the rid pigment ends up on her skin.
“Is he bad? Strict?” you can’t help but already be scared of the semester, and it hasn’t even started yet.
“He’s the most pretentious fucker you’ll ever meet, he just thinks he’s the best professor because he graduated from Oxford. Big woo, motherfucker. Half of his class fails pretty much, the only two people to walk out of his class with an A* grade were this kid named Baek-woo or something, and of course, Jeon Jungkook,”
Jeon Jungkook. You swear you’ve seen that name before. Oh wait, ohhh, he was your biochemistry professor.
“Jeon Jungkook? He’s also a professor?” you look at your perfectly squared schedule, and you have his classes thrice a week. Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
“You got him?”
“Yeah,”
“Don’t know if I should call you lucky or not, because I have no clue what he teaches like. All I know is he’s fucking crazy good at everything, and that he’s super-hot. Not that he’s really interested in any girls, also I personally think he’s mental or something,” your roommate had finally finished painting her feet, and was now letting them sway in the air, and dry.
She spent the next hour talking about Jungko- Professor Jeon was basically a murder, a thug, a gang member or whatever even. You just laughed at the thought of it all.
First day, and you’re more nervous than you intended to be. It wasn’t going well, at all.  You had decided to look chic today, with your new (way too expensive) designer blazer, and your nude high heels, but here you were, sitting in the fourth row, wearing a red polka dress that made you look like a freshman. A high school freshman, not a college freshman.
You cursed yourself for buying a fake version of the nude heels (also, you could feel a tear forming in your eyes when you saw the heel broken, when you finally unpacked your belongings, but you sucked it right back in), you also wished your roommate was dead, because now you were sitting on your bed with a coffee stain on your blazer (no amounts of sorry could fix this disaster).
Also, you couldn’t help but notice an ungodly amount of stares thrown at you – not from hate, but just from sheer curiosity, and you were just so self-conscious because of it all, that you slipped from the last few stairs down the hostel causing your bare knees to get the nastiest scrape. Fuck, that’s going to hurt.
So when you finally settled in your Biochemistry class, you couldn’t help but well, be scared. There were rumours of Jeon Jungkook, your new teacher to be. Rumours that he used to be in a gang and dealt with drugs, and underground fights. There was a rumour that he once put a room to fire, killing almost 50 people. Also, that one time when he came to school with bandages on his hands – probably because he punched people to death, or hospitalizing them. There are rumours about him running over people on his motorcycle as well, and you can’t help but be extra conscious about this class, in fact you wouldn’t even have opt for it in the first place if you knew that Jeon Jungkook was the one teaching it. But, even since you’ve transferred, you’ve just told yourself that these were just rumours, and not everything is the truth.
Till now. He entered the class, probably not following the teacher’s dress code – you were pretty positive that leather jackets and ripped jeans weren’t exactly allowed, but he just looked so hot good, that you could let it slide. His stare lingered on you for quite a while, and you couldn’t help but fidget in your seat, avoiding eye contact.
“You, in the fourth row,”
You could see him pointing at you, but you just internally wished that it wasn’t actually, well you, that he was calling. Looking around, you see several other people in your row, maybe he was pointing towards the girl on your left that looked way more presentable than you.  Or maybe it was the boy on your left with glasses way too big for his face.
“You, in the red polka dot dress, come here,” Professor Jeon looked at you, and smiled? Why would he smile when he looked at you?
(You also quickly dismissed the thought that he has the cutest bunny smile you’ve ever seen, where his eyes crinkle slightly, and his cheeks bunch up – because that’s just inappropriate, even though the age gap isn’t that big.)
He quickly examines your knees, and you swear you see a flash of surprise (and worry?), and before you can register what is going on, he kneels down in front of you, and clicks his tongue, as if wanting to scold you.
“Sit here, in the front row where I can see you,” he says, after a few seconds of inspecting your new injury, and as you adjust yourself, you can’t help but be uncomfortable from the gazes of your classmates that disappear as soon as Professor Jeon starts teaching. Getting into SNU was a nightmare, and you weren’t going to let yourself fail any classes, but instead of listening to what Jungkook was teaching – which but the way, he taught way better than any of the other staff there. But his stare. His stare was terrifying.
His aura was definitely dangerous, and red sirens were bursting in your head, telling you to keep your distance from him. His deathly stare seemed anything but inviting, and when the boy to your right asked you about the syllabus, you couldn’t help but shiver under Jungkook’s Professor Jeon’s glare. He spent the next ten minutes shouting at the poor boy, who looked as if he was about to faint any second now. Scary.
Ever since, you’ve been avoiding any contact with him, even purposely ignoring him when he asked you what happened to your knee. (You tell yourself that his sad puppy face doesn’t bother you but in reality, it breaks your heart, and every time you try to sleep, it haunts you. (You then remind yourself about the numerous rumours he’s into, and the last thing you want to get in between is drama and romance)).
The first time Jungkook heard your name was through Taehyung (no, he wasn’t jealous that Tae knew your name before him, but he couldn’t help but want to reverse back time, just so he could learn your name before Taehyung did. Why did Tae know your name before he did?), and your name was on his tongue the entire day. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, all he could think about was how your hair would feel when he would brush his fingers through it, how your hand would fit into his, how you would look in his oversized t-shirts. (Occasionally, he would also think how you would look, laying on his bed, underneath him – but the sheer thought of it gets him hot and bothered and what not, and he doesn't have the time to be fooling around, that too, with a student).
So when he saw you sitting with one hand on top of the other, in his class, he couldn’t help the smile when his eyes landed on you, you just looked so, so adorable in your little dress. The thought of you being away from him, just killed him inside so he had to ask you to sit in the front row, where he could look at you as much as he wants to, all while teaching his class. Of course, he saw red in his eyes when he saw your knees tainted with blood, and all he wanted was to wrap a bandage on it, he couldn’t bear to look at you, sitting in pain – but for once in his life, he was considerate and thought that you might not want the uninvited attention.
That consideration came to bite him in the ass, because you left before you could hear him, and as he saw you blend into the crowd, he couldn’t help but curse under his breath and want to punch the next person he sees.
There’s a lot that Jungkook changes throughout the first week of classes, he attaches a second seat to the end of his motorbike (because when you both start dating, he’ll have to take you around), and even cuts his long hair – in case you don’t like it, it could grow back anyways. He always has a packet of your favourite chocolate in the left pocket of his bag (no, he didn’t threaten the guy at the nearest 7/11 to tell him the candy you’ve been buying lately (he also denies the fact that he bought three plushies for you, that are currently sitting on his side table (the white rabbit with red cheeks reminds him a lot of you))). He can’t, but he tries to smoke way less, tries to buy less cigarettes, tries to chew gum instead, or drink more water. And he would never admit it, but he took a photo of your student profile, and set it as his wallpaper. Jimin and Taehyung exchange a couple of looks after discovering this fact, but don't say anything about it - none of their business, right?
Being an undergrad professor also has it’s perks, he can look at all your records, and well, currently, you’re failing Mr. Kang’s class – anatomy 101. Finally, a fucking excuse to talk to you, because the way you basically run after his class ends makes him think you’re avoiding him? But you wouldn’t do that to him… right?
Because of you, Jungkook has been rocking some Massive dark circles (with a capital M, because boy, they are blue and way too dark in comparison to his actual skin tone), the only reason being your existence and all he does is Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, while tossing in his bed at 3AM, thinking of how you smiled when he tried to crack a joke in the class, thinking of your pushing his fingers through your hair, thinking of how you fumbled with your thumbs before mumbling your answer to his sudden question.
“So, Y/N, what do you think out of all these,” he motions towards the options, “does not act as a restriction enzyme?”
He just wanted to coo over how your thumbs fought with each other, as you tried (key word, tried), to answer his really easy question. (It actually wasn’t even that easy, you were just too scared to get anything below a B in Professor Jeon’s class, so you ended up studying two chapters ahead of your syllabus – despite his fast pace). So, you knew the answer was Polydeoxtribonucleotide synthase, but for the love of god, you just couldn’t pronounce that word.  
“It’s, uh, polydetr-,” you swear your breath was knocked out when he started walking towards you, oh God, why was he walking towards you?
“Yes, continue,” he smiles while standing, literally right in front of you. How does he expect you to answer when he’s looking at you as if you have all the answers of the universe. As if you were, I don’t know, Aphrodite or something.
“Uh, it’s the option D,”
“And that is?”
That motherfucker. He knew you couldn’t pronounce it.
“Polydo-“ you were positive that at this point you weren’t even breathing.
“Hey, just take a deep breath and try again,” He said, while taking your left hand in his own, and massaged it. You were positive everyone in the lab was looking at you, but their stares didn’t even compare to your hot teacher’s burning gaze.
“Poly-deo-,” you take a breath in,”x-tribo-nucleotide synthase,”
“That’s right, the answer is Polydeoxtribonucleotide synthase,” Jungkook says without having any trouble with the word, and before he gets away from you, he smiles in your direction, and says, “Good girl,”
You’re left to yourself wondering if this is a dream or if that just happened.
Jungkook’s day was going just terrible. His landlord had to be the cheapest bastard he knows, who just wouldn’t fix the water system, so for a week he was basically stuck with showering with ice cold water. On top of that, he was wearing a bruise on the left side of his face, it was all red and blue because last night he was too drunk to notice his book shelf that he installed last week.
He was supposed to be in the cafeteria right now, because at approximately 1:30 PM, your stupid microbiology class ended, and you headed straight to lunch after that, before your anatomy class. It had been, well give or take, around two weeks since the semester started, and he thought he would get over you soon, but you were just so goddamn adorable, and cute, and all Jungkook ever wanted was to squish your cheeks and press your body closer to his.
He finally reached the bustling cafeteria, ugh, he absolutely hated the noise there – so he never really ate there, preferring the quite café around the corner, but he knew you were on some sort of dumb student meal plan that only profits the university, and not actually you.
He’s expecting to find you sitting with your laptop (with a red smiley star sticker on the top right, which is just goddamn adorable (and no, that definitely isn’t the reason why Jungkook too, has a red smiley star sticker on his laptop now)). But you’re there, with some random ugly boy’s arm sprawled over your shoulder, as you giggle repeatedly at his bad jokes.
He sits on the table on your right and loudly slams his old anatomy book, before taking a seat. Here he was, all prepared with notes on what you were failing, all ready to teach you what you didn’t understand, spending all night making flashcards (he also ripped that one flashcard where on one side he wrote, “Will you go out with me?” and the other side blank, so you could write your response. He argues with himself that it wasn’t because he was shy or scared you’d say no – it was because it’s too cheesy).
His blood just boils when he sees you not removing – he finds out the boy’s name is Kim Seokjin – his ugly hand from your own, and just gets up and walks away after you giggle for the nth time on his not even funny jokes.
(Later that night, Jungkook tells himself he’s way better than that Seokjin bastard, even if Seokjin’s skin is flawless, and even if he has a handsome smile, and even if he can cook, and even if he can make you smile. Jungkook couldn’t have flawless hands because of all the callouses he has from writing too much, and his bruises might take a while to heal (he even puts an icepack on them now), and he could learn how to cook something other than instant noodles, and he could learn some jokes from the internet. He could be better than Seokjin, he would be better than anyone for you).
You love the feeling when things go perfect, and today was just so perfect. You fried an egg, all round a perfect circle and the yolk didn’t even break – which it always does when you flip it. Then, you sharpened a pencil and somehow the nib came out more than perfect, which made you all giggly and what not. Everyone in your friends circle at this point knew that you were the biggest hoe for cute stationery. Then, your anatomy class got cancelled and you were just so happy, and you even made a new friend today, Kim Seokjin.
You were a little uncomfortable when he smoothly glided his right arm over your shoulder, but he was just so funny, and he bought you the special menu items today – so you couldn’t even complain. After all, you really looked at him as a big brother because all he talked about was how his roommate was a complete asshole.
(“I told him to get me some water – which he should, because I’m older than him, and he should totally respect me,” he says, with an exaggerated and exasperated sigh.
“And he did what?”
“He brought a glass full of ice and told me to wait,”)
The one thing that you were, in fact really over thinking was about that one professor of yours. Jeon Jungkook. As you let the water cascade down your body in the tiny (really tiny) cubicle of the washroom that you shared with your roommate, Hye-jin.
“I noticed Kook looking at you in the cafeteria that day, y’know the whole campus is talking about it,”
“Uh, yeah, it’s kind of hard not to notice,”
“I’m guessing you don’t know about the whole speech he gave in that one class at the start of the semester?”
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Jungkook doesn’t really believes in love at first sight, but after stalking you on social media, he knew he was a goner for you. (Especially after that one video of yours where you’re trying to pet a dog, but the dog runs away, and you end up pouting at the camera. (Yes, he screen recorded the video and watched it a billion times before sleeping)). 
He has never had the urge to protect someone other than himself, and maybe his friends. But you, it was different with you – he doesn’t know if it was the small chub in your cheeks, or the way your ears would turn red when he would ask you something, or the way you would walk, or the way you slapped your thigh when you laughed, or the aroma of your citrus shampoo when you would walk past him, or your habit of getting coming down to the convenience store to grab ramen every Thursday night at 10 PM. 
He doesn’t know it, but he knows he’s meant to love you, meant to keep you in his life, meant to be yours, and meant to make you his.  
He has endured, yet another week where he hasn’t talked to you – and not gonna lie, it’s actually driving him crazy. Every day he sees you talking to Seokjin and laughing with others, while he sits and does nothing other than gawk at you.
During class, while he did occasionally glance your way, he still has 73 students to teach, and this being his first year as a teacher, he can’t afford any sort of mishaps at all.
But every man on this Earth has their limits. And Jungkook’s limit was watching Seokjin kiss your cheek. While you did (playfully) punch him on the shoulder, and you did shout out ‘Gross!’, Jungkook was sure that you definitely didn’t mean that punch, and you definitely didn’t think he was gross.
Did you think that Jungkook was gross? Why didn’t you ever visit him during office hours? Because every single girl in his class was sure to meet him for some dumb question, or to ask for extra credit. But you didn’t. Did you like Seokjin? Did you like someone else?
The next time he sees you is on Friday, during his class and he just knows, he knows he can’t go through today without talking to you, and the only way to do that is to-
“Y/N, could you stay after class, please?” he says, without even giving you a glance.
You mutter a silent yes, and keep your head down for the rest of the class, trying your best to ignore the mumbles of the class, talking about you and why you get to be treated different from others.
“You wanted to talk to me?” you say as you walk around the long table, running your fingers along the marble shelf.
“Do you wanna go out with me?”
What. What the heck?
You chuckle, thinking it’s some sort of sick prank he’s playing, you wait for him to say ‘Sike!’ but it never comes. Then you think that maybe, just maybe he does actually want to take you out? No. No way, he probably just wants to get alone with you in an alley, where he would kill you – or even worse, sell you off.
“No, thank you. If that’s all, am I allowed to go?” you say all this, in the smallest, most polite voice possible, after all the last thing you wanted was to piss off your professor. (who might be in a gang, who knows at this point?)
“What? Why?” he says, almost panicked, and you hear a shuffle of items as he makes his way to you, trying to watch you before you leave again. He sees your face morphed into an expression of extreme boredom. Fuck, he had to do something, quick.
“Not to be rude, but Professor, I just don’t think it’s right – or even allowed for us to date,” you say, trying your best not to look at him, shuffling your bag on your shoulder, because fuck, he looked so sad – his eyes almost looked glassy, fuck, fuck, fuck.
“You don’t have to date Professor Jeon, you can just date me as the graduate student here. I’m, still a student here, Y/N,”
“And? You’re also like four years older than me,”
“Three years,” he says, pouting. Ugh, he’s so cute.
“That doesn’t make it any better,”
“It doesn’t?” he sighs.
“No, I’m still your student, and you’re still my teacher,”
“Tell me, Y/N, did you take chemistry in high school?” he asks, while quickly walking to the back and mixing some chemicals that he definitely wasn’t supposed to touch without gloves on.
“Yes, why?”
“Well, I’m currently holding, uh it’s either Acetonitrile or Iodine mixed with Vitamin C,” he says, and you can see both the liquids, which he mixes together without a worry in the world.
“And? Professor Jeon, what are you going to do?” you walk over to him, slower than ever, taking one step at a time.
‘Please, call me Jungkook. Or Kook, if you feel like it,” he gives you one of his signature smiles, that you should be used to by now – but you just get flustered every time.
“Now, will you go out with me?” he asks again, this time in a much more hopeful tone.
“No,” you say, drawing out the ‘o’, when will get the clue?
“Fine, I guess I’ll just drink this,” he looks at the two glass beakers in his hands, and pours the both of them into a much bigger glass container, “and die,”
You scoff, thinking he’s bluffing, “Yeah, yeah, go on,”
Of course, he’s bluffing because there is no absolute way that he’ll be mad enough to drink goddamn Acetonitrile, unless he wants his cardiovascular system, central nervous system, liver and kidneys to, I don’t know, stop working.
“I’ll ask this again, Y/N, just one date, will you go out with me?” he says, while picking up the glass container, closer to his face, and you actually want to play this game till the end. No way is he going to drink this.
“No,”
“Okay then,” he puts his lips on the container, and by now, you’ve actually started to get a bit scared. What if he does it? What if this crazy idiot actually drinks the fatal formula?
And then it happens. He drinks it. He fucking drinks it.
“What the fuck? Jungkook!”
“I’ll ask you again, will you go out with me?” he says after taking the biggest gulp ever. Is this his way of attempting suicide?
“Yes! Yes, oh god, I’ll go out with you!”
“Don’t say it like you’re doing me a favour,” he says, attempting to take another sip of the deadly liquid.
“No! I- Can you stop doing that? Stop drinking it! I’ll go out with you. In fact, I want to go out with you! Really!” you shout, trying to take the container away from him, scared shitless.
“Fuck, do I call 911?” you say, as you attempt to take your phone out of your 110 pound heavy bag. Then you hear him chuckle and throw away the remaining odourless, colourless solution.
“Relax, it was just water, I was just trying to scare you, but hey! You’ve agreed to a date with me, so it’s a win-win isn’t it?” Jungkook smiles sloppily, perching his elbow up on the table and letting his chin rest in his palm.
You can’t believe him. You really can’t.
You pretend to pick something up from the floor, “Professor, it seems you dropped something on the floor,”
“What?” he tries to look at your hand, to see what’s there, and just as you get his attention, you smack him across the face.
“Your common sense, you moron! What the hell were you thinking? Even if that was water, this could have traces of some really harmful chemicals and you ought to know better because you’re a goddamn teacher how could you be so careless you could have actually died-”
“But I didn’t, and now you’re going out with me,”
You can’t help the smile that creeps on your face, as your eyes glass up. You really had thought that he was going to die, or at the very least – harm himself severely.
“You’re so dumb, Jeon,” you say as you punch him, trying to suck your tears right back in – but they weren’t co-operating at all, and you let them fall down across your cheeks, causing Jungkook’s, breath to hitch up as soon as he sees them.
“Wait, wait, wait, are you crying? No, please don’t cry! Oh no, oh, I didn’t mean to… I was trying to make you laugh…” Jungkook says as his heart runs at 850 BMP a minute, trying to caress your face, trying to stop the tears from filling your eyes.
“What kind of sick-o would laugh at their professor dying? Are you mental?” you choke out, while trying your god-darn best to stop crying, because he was very much alive and right in front of you.
“I’m sorry, oh god, what should I do? What do girls like?” Jungkook was absolutely mortified. The first time he has ever talked to you – and he manages to make you cry. He totally royally fucked up. Big time.
He almost googled, ‘how to stop girl from crying’ and reading the wiki-how page, but decided against it, and hugged you – because that’s what his therapist told him to do when he hurts his loved ones. He would never – it wasn’t in him to physically ever hurt you. He couldn’t even bear the thought of that ever, and so when he did hug you, your sobbing decreased by a lot, and he felt much much better. Also, after holding you in his embrace, he realized how much he needed you to be next to him – to say Jungkook was touch starved is an extreme understatement, he loved the way he could you fit under him, the way your hair had a citrusy aroma, the way your arms hugged him back, it was comfortable. And Jungkook was positive that he could stay like this forever – if needed to.
You didn’t realize when he hugged you, but when he did, you were finally over the shock of thinking your crazy, dumb and hot professor had actually had some water instead of some deadly chemicals – and you weren’t the cause of his death. You wanted to hate him, but how could you? How could you just judge him upon some rumours that were just there to fit in the pieces of his live that he wouldn’t let other people know?
“I- I have a faculty meeting in five minutes,” you hear him speak, the vibration passing through his body – shaking you with it.
You clear your throat before letting go, and can’t help but feel the embarrassment rise out of you, in the form of red cheeks. You keep your head down, as he walks out the door of the lab, leaving you behind – but right before he leaves, he reminds you of your current situation, “Can’t wait for our date, sweets!”
Asshole.
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From Unknown Number
[1:38 AM]
Y/N-ieeee
r u sleeping
this is kook btw
To Prof JK
[1:40 AM]
how did u get my num??????
also do u not THINK before assigning all this hw :(
From Prof JK
[1:41 AM]
u should be sleeping rn bby
all i assigned was some reading???? and some worksheets????  
is it too much????
im so sry
To Prof JK
[1:50 AM]
well i do have a life outside of hw yknow
also im a huge procrastinator lmao
From Prof JK
[1:51 AM]
:( why r u taking so long to reply
r u busy
r u sleepy
also what life???? i’ve only ever seen u either at the library or the internet café down the street
whats my name saved in ur conatcts ;)))))
i saved urs as princess <3
To Prof JK
[1:54 AM]
it’s prof jk
From Prof JK
[1:55 AM]
thats boring :( im ur future bf now
also wanted to remind u the date is tomo so be ready
You don’t think before you change his name to Kook ‘Jungkook’.
To Jungkook
[1:57 AM]
oh yea how could i forget the fact that u tried to fake poison urself
also what?? date???
From Jungkook
[1:58 AM]
first of all, im so sry abt that i’ll buy u ur fav chocos
second of all, BRO
U LITERALLY SWORE U WOULD GO ON A DATE WIT ME
U PROMISED ME
To Jungkook
[2:01 AM]
i guess i changed my mind lololol
From Jungkook
[2:02 AM]
y????
look i know its weird some nuts prof asks u to go on a date with him
i know u don’t know me
but i know me
and i know i would do anything 4 u
i’ll be anything u want me to be
i can be smart
i can be funny too
i can try to cook for u maybe???? some pasta???
i could dance 4 u?????
To Jungkook
[2:06 AM]
dance????
no offense prof, but u seem so stiff
no way u can dance
From Jungkook
[2:08 AM]
is that a challenge…???
just tell me what u want and i’ll be that for u
To Jungkook
[2:09 AM]
u r dumb
From Jungkook
[2:10 AM]
i could be that
if u want me to be
come on, just ONE date i promise i’ll leave u alone after that if u don’t like it
To Jungkook
[2:13 AM]
mm… sis i guess u should start to figure something out then
bcz this aint good enough
see ya
From Jungkook
[2:14 AM]
ugh i cant force but :( pls?
istg itll be the best day of ur life
To Jungkook
[2:15 AM]
yea ok whatever u say im not going anywhere with u
night
From Jungkook
[2:16 AM]
goodnight!!!!!!
Don’t think too mucb about me
much*
To Jungkook
[2:18 AM]
In ur dreams
From Jungkook
[2:32 AM]
oh u do come in my dreams ;))
✓ Seen by princess <3 
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The next couple of days, you get some… gifts from a not so secret admirer. And you definitely didn’t change him name from ‘Prof Jeon’, to ‘Jungkook,’ to ‘Jungkookie <3’ in the span of 11 days. (And you most definitely didn’t feel giddy from inside every time you received a notification that read, ‘One New Message from Jungkookie <3’.
“You’re not very subtle, Professor Jeon,” you stay around after his class, watching him put away his books in is leather back. You can tell he was surprised by your action of staying back, but you had to put a stop to what was happening.
The next morning after he texted you for the first time, you had a Huge – with a capital H – bouquet of red roses, and you’ll admit you teared up a bit after looking at it, after all it was your first time receiving flowers from a boy (or man? (a man that was actual eye candy, but you’ll never admit that)).
Two days later,
From Jungkookie <3
[1:53 AM]
look outside
To Jungkookie <3
[1:54 AM]
dont tell me u r outside dumbass its like 2am
Lo and behold, Jungkook’s standing in the middle of the road, holding a single red rose and smiling. There’s a stark difference between his current self, and his demeanour during class – now the moonlight hits his unmade fluffy hair and cheeks, making him look years younger than he is. You can’t help but shout, ‘You idiot! You’ll catch a cold!’ while probably waking up several angry sleep deprived students in the process, but you can’t help but laugh at the way he dances for you. On this cold, lonely night, he brought you the warmth you didn’t know you needed.
It seemed that after that, Jungkook and you were the talk of the town, people would wait for both of you to get together, place bets on when you would finally say yes to him. On the other hand, you received candies from him, you had access to the teacher’s lounge coffee (which was honestly a huge plus point, now you could save five dollars on watery coffee, and have some actual caffeine), and he had pre-paid the 7/11 dude $500 in cash, so he wouldn’t even accept your payments now. The one thing that you actually appreciated him the most for was that he made you flashcards for Mr. Kang’s class (which you were failing, real bad), and while it wasn’t much, you still bumped you ‘F’ to a ‘D’, that just remained the highlight of your goddamn month.
To Jungkookie <3
[2:08 PM]
JUST GOT MY TEST BACK AND GUESS WHAT BITCH
From Jungkookie <3
[2:09 PM]
hi baby girl
:( i’ve noticed u r cursing a lot nowadays
To Jungkookie <3
[2:11 PM]
i’ve noticed u calling me baby lately but u don't see me whining so stfu
ALSO I DIDN’T FAIL
i mean i still kinda failed but it’s not a F
From Jungkookie <3
[2:13 PM]
im so proud of u, u r so so so smart
:( i wonder if u would let me teach u maybe???? tutor u???
✓ Seen 2:15 PM by princess <3
One of his much, much grander displays of affections was, well, kind of weird, he bought you a penguin. You were a proud, and extremely happy mother of a cute penguin named Otis.
From Jungkook <3
[9:07 AM]
ok but what would u want as a pet
To Jungkook <3
[10:38 AM]
penguin!!!!
You knew it must’ve cost him a fortune, and his job as a professor must not be enough, but you had always dreamed of being able to hold the certificate of your baby, and be able to monitor it, and be able to be the one to feed it (well, not literally). And he had to pay for his own grad school fees, which must be a total nightmare on its own – here you were, in his class, waiting for him to pack up so you could maybe pay him back a little?
By no means could you afford a $3000 penguin, but you could maybe ask him if there’s something you could do?
“So, Prof, how would you like me to re-pay you?” you honestly half expected a sex joke on his part – maybe because he looks like a fuckboy on steroids and snorts a lot of protein powder before hitting the gym.
“Um, maybe a hug?”
Oh. Ohhhh. Oh. Unexpected. Okay. Calm yourself down.
“A hug?” you tried not to look at his face, because you knew if you did, it would be hard, way too hard to be able to resist him. You knew he was all dangerous, and bad boy and what not – but, this man, the one with the bunny smile and the fluffy hair, and the one who smelled more like freshly baked bread rather than the axe cologne spray you had imagine, he wasn’t a gang member or a delinquent. He was simply asking for love.
“Why a hug?”
“Just… never really hugged anyone properly,” Jungkook knew he wasn’t asking for much. He could’ve asked for a date, or a kiss, or just anything, but all he wanted was to hold you.
It had been a hard week for him. Being a grad student wasn’t easy no matter how many hours of study you pull in, and no matter how much knowledge you attained – while he was way better off than his peers – he knew he couldn’t afford the failure – he was just starting to feel less and less like a human, and more like a robot. Also, it wasn’t easy to be an undergraduate professor – in fact, it was fucking hell. Your peers, and the entire fucking batch was just so hopelessly dumb – he doesn’t want to admit but he even cringes at some of the mistakes you made (who mixes up chemicals! They’re the most difficult to mess up!) and he hated it when he would just have to give you a ‘C,’ instead of the ‘A,’ you actually deserved (because you’re so smart and he can see it! But you’re also so stubborn, sigh).
Lately, it seems like without his therapist, life just seemed more difficult. When he looks at the broken pencils, the pieces of wood sitting on his table, the teared up paper, and the headache he was constantly in – he’s taken back to the 12 year old Jungkook who couldn’t control his hands, who did nothing but hurt those around him. He looks at his hands, he hates them, they hurt people without his permission. 
Sometimes, he would cry, because why couldn’t he simply control himself? Why did his anger, the red in his eyes, the strength of his arm always win over his subconscious and ability to think correct? Why couldn’t he simply re-do a question he got wrong instead of breaking pencils and tearing up everything apart? Why were there numerous holes in the wall covered by posters? Why did this animalistic rage always win over him? Why him?
Jungkook spends the night dreaming of actually being able to help patients, and operating instead of simply… being useless.
So, in that moment, he just wanted comfort. Simple as that. He doesn’t recall anyone ever hugging him in his life, maybe half sided hugs from coaches and professor, or the ones that Tae forces onto him, but other than that, Jungkook has never had an interest in physical contact with people – always thinking it was way showing vulnerability, but with you, he just wanted to be normal.
He didn’t want you to know him as the weird, crazy idiot with anger management issues, or the druggie who smokes weed 24/7, he just wanted you to know him as the real Jungkook he is. The real Jungkook who has iron man socks, and has a fear of microwaves.
So when you do hug him, and feel his arms by your side, and you can’t help but want to stay this way. Surprisingly, it isn’t you who breaks the hug, and you actually want more of it, more of that soft feel of his black shirt against your cheek, more of his hard arms closing you in, more of his warmth.
You clear your throat, and… you don’t know what to do.
“So, um, thanks y’know f-for Otis. You really didn’t have to, I mean I appreciate it I really do, it was more than anything anyone’s every done for me y’know? So like, um, yeah, I uh-“ you mentally curse yourself, just stop speaking already.
“You named it Otis? That’s such a basic penguin name,” Jungkook chuckles, hoping to make you even slightly mad, and the fact that you looked at him with an expression of shock and anger just added to his satisfaction.
Just like that, the awkward layer in the air no longer lingers, and settles to soft banter, something you enjoyed.
“Excuse me? It’s like, the cutest name ever, and whoever thinks against that is a total meathe-“
“I’ve never seen someone be angry and look adorable at the same time,”
“Well, mama didn’t raise no bitch, I will adorably kick your ass, Jungkook,”
“On a first name basis now? Guess I’m making progress,”
“I hate you so much,”
And now twelve minutes and seventeen seconds later, here you both were, sitting on the bench outside the local 7/11, sharing an egg and ham sandwich.
By no means did Jungkook ever mean to have his first lunch with you like this, he had planned it all out, first date, 100 day anniversary, his first ‘I love you,’ speech, the gift for your birthday in January – he didn’t expect to sit on the side of the road at the old, rusty (and really uncomfortable) bench, eating a one dollar sandwich.
You make fun of Jungkook after his high five got rejected by a passing by 5 year old-ish kid with his mom.
“He hates me,” Jungkook pouts and looks at his left hand with such sorrow and anguish that you can’t help but let the laughter bubbling in your throat let out.
“He was like 5,”
“Still, he totally ignored me as if I didn’t exist,”
You don’t even realise three hours pass by, as both, you and Jungkook (two nerds united together), talk about politics, how absolutely terrible Mr. Kang is (you laughed for three solid minutes after Jungkook tried to mimic his sneer), he basically forces you to let him tutor you in anatomy, because he just can’t see you not get an A next time (you scoff and act as if you’re doing him a favour by saying yes, while from inside you screaming happily only because now your grades will be much, much higher – you’re definitely not happy because you’ll have to spend more time with the funny, cute, really nice and just overall hot guy that smells so good).
“Oh my God,” Jungkook says as he extends an arm and feels the light rain on his palm, “it’s probably going to rain soon,”
You don’t pay too much heed until 5 minutes later, it’s turns into an intense round of teardrops on the concrete under you, and you’re left to whine about how you’ll walk till your dorm – and there was no way you were going to get a taxi because you literally lived two streets away from the store.
“Let’s dance in the rain,” Jungkook runs into the narrow street, without a care in the world, and you’re left contemplating whether you should join him or not.
“I thought you were sort of mental, but now I’m fully sure your mom dropped you on the head when you were a baby,” you shout from the bench, hoping he can hear your voice despite the loud splat of each raindrop when it meets the ground.
“Join me,” he says as he tries to pull your hand lightly, hoping you would come on your own, and while you haven’t had fun in the rain since you were a child, you can’t help but want to relive the feeling of the cold water hitting you, not knowing where you end up at.
Jungkook ends up leading you, and you both end up doing a sloppy couple’s dance with his hands on your waist, and yours on his shoulders. You look into his eyes and see a childish charm, you see an affection and a purity in his smile, in the cute not so perfect teeth he possessed, and you can’t help but smile. You had never had things come to you, you were never used to this, never used you things happening to you, for you.
After a good fifteen minutes of fooling around, he ends up walking you back to the dorm – both of you a mess, with clothes clinging to your bodies, webbed fingers, wet hair and sore cheeks from smiling too much. Somehow, you didn’t want to be apart from the boy who waved you goodbye, and you don’t end up closing the door until he goes down the stairs and you can’t see his figure anymore.
To Jungkookie <3
[6:17 PM]
im gonna have to use an entire tub of conditioner to make my hair not feel like hay
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PART TWO WILL COME OUT SOON XO (there will only be 3 parts).
also, just so everyone knows I absolutely adore jin, no bashing towards him, as once @kpopyandere​ said, and I quote: For real the closest I’ve ever been to believing in god is seeing Kim seokjin’s face. Only something divine could’ve created that.
I absolutely loved writing this even though it seems like it’s all over the place kind of lol. Been super insecure of my writing lately 🥺❤️ give me validation 🤩 jk but do let me know if you liked something or if u liked something in particular or idk also lmao sry there's no smut ;))))) wait for part two
taglist: @blkjmn​ @patpus​ @vantedollz​ @letmebeyour-sun​ @zeharilisharaban​ @hpnjrph​ @livewittykid​ @yzkyzkuniverse​ @nochuactivate​ @international-kpopfan​ @gvksp4ce​ @girlontheblock​ @kisskoos​ @jeonkooksgirl​ @hytibm​ @jooniescupcakes​ @teresaisla​ @lurkerarmy​
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blizzardfluffykpop · 3 years
Text
M&M’s
Summary: Need a tutor? Well, you’ve come to the right school, we have just the one for you. And he’s attractive too. 
Do or Not Series
Fluff 
Word Count: 2,346
Hongseok X Reader
Of all my time at school, I never thought I would need tutoring. I was an A+ student when I started failing my classes. My grades were in the trash, and I had no idea how to improve or even raise them. How do you even study? Why is college structured like this? UGH! So now here I am sitting in the Dean’s office listening to them preach about how I need to learn from this person to pass. That they won’t hold it against me if I pass because of this tutor. All I have to do is pass the exams, and if I pass. I will move up to the Sophomore year. How am I supposed to pass a class that I’m not participating? And who is this person they are setting me up with? As if to answer my question, they say, “He should be here any moment.” 
Like on queue, the door opens to reveal a rather attractive guy. They expect me to be able to study next to him? Oh god, I am so screwed, even worse than I was before. Okay, (Y/n), put your game face on and act like he does not affect you. “This is your tutor, Hongseok, and Hongseok this is (Y/n). I think you two will do well together.” We exchange a polite ‘hello’. Then the Dean tells him what the expectations are for the both of us. And I cannot help but feel my anxiety spike at each time he mentions ‘study’, ‘quiz’, and ‘pass’. What happened to cruising through school? Why is it no longer easy to pass? What did I miss when I was younger?
I was missing the old school structure. That I was memorizing what they said to forget it later. Because back then, as long as I knew the basics, I could pass. It wasn't like those classes were hard either. They repeated the same things over and over. So it was easy to remember, Hongseok had explained to me at our first meeting in the library. He wanted to know why I was failing and what made me remember best. I shrugged and said, 'probably repetition and listening' I wasn't sure, but that was the best guess I had. I never thought of ways to study because I never needed to beforehand. He grinned, “I know you wouldn’t believe it, but my first year here, I didn’t study. I didn’t know how or what worked for me or how I even learned. It took me to the last semester to realize what it was. Once it clicked, it was too late, and I barely passed my exams. To make up for me failing everything else, they asked me to tutor someone.” While I couldn’t believe my ears, something in my gut told me he wasn’t lying. Thus I decided that he was my best bet to make it into my sophomore year. 
The following Wednesday, we are stuck inside the library again. When we get settled in our seats, he pulls out two packages of m&m’s. “What are those for?” I ask, and he shrugs and says, “You’ll see.” I pull out my books, a pencil, and a notebook. I’m worried he will look down on me for not having any past homework or past tests. But I threw them all out in exhaustion and frustration. I couldn’t deal with that massive amount of failure. But rather than saying anything, he pulls out some flashcards and a calculator. “Let’s start with math.” 
Every time I got a question right, he gave me an m&m. My stomach growled at me every time I would get something wrong and lose out on an m&m. Not that I couldn’t reach in and get one, but the m&m's are rewards for whenever I get something right. Plus, he would give me his charming smile every time I got something correct, so I strived to get them correct. 
It wasn’t until we finished math and science and we were walking out together. That I noticed, he was catering to the way I learned. Repeating steps with me or asking me the questions out loud and going through the steps with me. Whether it be an example or how to fix my mistakes, my heart skips a beat as he asks to walk me home. 
"So, do you like university other than this?" I shrug, "It could be better, but generally I like it. Everyone I met is kind, like my roommates Changgu and Yanan. Like you're kind and sweet, I wanna thank you for helping me out." He grins, "You're helping me out too. I don't think either of us wishes to repeat Freshman year." I laugh and agree, "What about you? Do you like it here?" He shrugs, "It's okay. I don't have a roommate, but I have quite a few friends. So it helps, plus once you know how to study, it makes it so much easier." I laugh, "Yeah,... if I ever get to that point." When we reach my dormitory I tell him, "This is my stop." As I head inside, he yells, “I’ll see you this Sunday for History and [Subject].” I yell back my agreement and walk up the stairs to my room. I thought this would drag and not want to show up. But he makes me look forward to studying with him. Throwing my finished m&m bag away, I walk to my dorm with a proud smile on my face. 
Like clockwork every Wednesday and Sunday, I spend the whole afternoon studying. And he would ask me to study for little quizzes that he would give me on Thursdays. They are over everything we have ever been over together. With each test I passed, my confidence grew, and so did my feelings. 
Out of all the days that I spend with him, Thursdays have to be the hardest. With each test, I take the harder they become. I feel like my soul almost leaves my body every time he grades them. How his face turns up in cute ways, trying to figure out my process. Or when I get something right, he sends me a beautiful smile or his pout when I miss a question. His faces make my heart flutter while my stomach wants to throw up from fear of failure. Between the two, I can never seem to stomach Thursdays. 
While I have learned my study pattern, I still have to pass this course with him or I fail. While I’m taking a quiz, three Thursdays before my exam, he tells me. “I can already tell you that you are going to succeed with flying colors. So if you fail this quiz, take it with a grain of salt. You have to fail sometimes to succeed.” The first page was easy I knew all the answers without a problem. I rushed through them, and the next page was a little harder. When I got to the eighth page, I was starting to question whether I was studying. What does the eighth number of pi have anything to do with this course? I wish to cry as I take my best guess, which is all I can do when I reach the tenth page. I sigh in relief, it’s the last page it can’t be that hard, can it? Oh, yes, yes it can. “If you take the 4th number of the last answer. [Which I am positive I did not get right, considering that I only gave a two-digit answer to the last question]. Exponentially expand it by twenty-two. What is the number you get?” And that is the first part of the ten parted question. My brain craves a nap and a family-size bag of m&m’s. 
By the time I finish the last page, I am running on one brain cell. That is running around, throwing all the files in my brain into a shredder, and giving up. How did I not know a single answer after the third page? His face is in a pout after the second page, and my heart breaks. I don’t want him to disappoint him. I should study harder to make him proud of me. I groan internally, this is going worse than I expected. “Out of thirty questions, you got seven right!” He says in a cheery tone, and my heart falls out of my body, and my soul has ascended. 
“Remember what I said when you started taking the test?” I rack my brain for answers and find nothing. I shake my head 'no', and he pouts, “Aw,... Well, I said take it with a grain of salt. Maybe some quizzes are made impossible.” My jaw drops, “You did that on purpose--!” He shrugs, “Did I?” He makes me rethink what I said, and I pout and cross my arms over my chest. He hands me a pack of m&m’s, “Maybe study harder.” He winks, and I push him to the side when we get up to leave the building. “You know you passed the hardest question on the quiz, right?” My eyes nearly pop out of my head, “What?” He grins, “None of your work made sense, but in the end, you answered four on the last question, and that was the right answer.” I smile, “Sometimes taking your best guess works. Also, four happens to be the professor's favorite number, so if you aren’t sure, guess that.” My jaw drops open again as he ruffles my hair, “You did pretty well, (Y/n).” I brighten at his words and hug him. “I promise to study hard! Two more quizzes before the final test!” He laughs and hugs me back telling me, “You got this!” 
--
It wasn’t until the last study session that I realized how much I would miss Hongseok’s presence. It hit me like a ton of bricks, and when I got to my room, I was bawling. I wanted to see him more. I wanted to be around him and get to know him more. It took me a few moments, but I realized I fell for my tutor. How could I not? When I had a tutor like Hongseok,... Based on all calculations, I have a crush on him. I wonder if he likes me back, but there is only one way to know. Do I have enough courage for that? I’m not sure. I sigh and wipe my tears, saving them for a less important day. I need to study and pass these four exams. 
--
I spend hours studying for tomorrow, although I know my study method. It did not make studying any less boring. I missed Hongseok, who would crack a joke or grab us a snack. He made this so much easier studying five hours with him felt like two. Ugh, now five hours of studying feels like fifteen. At the sixth hour, I call it a day and pull the covers over my head, and dream of failing the exams. 
When my alarm clock finally rings, I’m happy to be up and away from those horrid dreams. With a brave face, I get ready for my exam day. I check my phone and see it’s Hongseok. He texted me, “Good luck on your exams! Fighting! You got this!” I smile and text him back, ‘thank you'. I got this, I keep reiterating to myself, but I can’t help but hear the doubtful voice in the back of my head. I am taking all my exams in one instance. So that means five hours of taking four different tests. While I know all the study sessions were preparing me for this moment, I want it to be over and done with already. 
--
Of course, none of the tests were easy they each pulled at my wit's end. I sit there for another thirty minutes waiting for them to grade my tests. Preparing myself for the worst news, I think about Hongseok’s encouragement. If he thinks I’ll pass, maybe he’s right. If it wasn’t just my grades on the line, I wouldn’t care as much. But when it comes to Hongseok, my heart is grasping at the hope that I made it above passing.
The professor looks up at me as I turn a page in my book. I set it down with a bookmark. They smile at me, “Your lowest is an 87,” I gulp, no way, “Your highest is a 99.” My brain is no longer processing words as I rush out of my seat to see my results. “Congratulations, (Y/n). You passed with flying colors.” I smile and shake their hand, thanking them, and skip out of the building. I passed. I really passed! Is this real? I'm not dreaming again, right? I pinch myself and let out a small ‘ouch’ definitely real. I skip out of the building and see someone wearing a blue sweatshirt sitting on the fountain. As I come up closer, I recognize them as Hongseok. I run up to him and hug him. He whispers, “Did you pass?” And I shake my head 'yes'. He runs his hands through my hair, “I knew you would! I’m so proud of you.” Hearing him say that my heart pounds, “Um, Hongseok,...” I pull away from him a bit, my arms still wrapped around him. He nods for me to continue, “Would you maybe,... possibly want to go on a date with me?” He smiles, “I was gonna ask you that!” We both laugh as he hands me a family-size pack of m&m's for us to share. We head over to my dorm, and that is the start of our new beginning. 
While we still study together, you can find us lying on the floor while watching the tv and throwing m&m's at each other. Making different kinds of foods together, making an even bigger mess in the kitchen. So yeah, if given the opportunity, I would fail my classes all over again. If it meant I got to meet Hongseok.
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Text
Sickly fake smile
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This was requested by: @velvetthunder1999​
Request: Hey :)) I was wondering if you could write something with George and female reader, where she is muggleborn and Umbridge makes her write something at detention like "I'm not mixing with purebloods" cause she knows she's with George. And he and fred are really angry, and she's like crying, and angst and fluff and I wish you the best if you accept to do it 😂 thank youu in advance! :))
*
Hope this is alright! I tried to really get into Umbridge’s mind and think how she would come forward about this!
*
Warnings: mentions of blood 
Pairing: George Weasley x reader
Words: 1.4k
If you’d like to request something please head over to my other blog, https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ronaldandremuslover and I’ll try and fix it for you !
~ ~ ~ ~
"Sit down, dear." She said, a sickly fake smile etched on her lips.
So you did, eyeing her suspiciously. This couldn't be good. Thoughts of all kinds ran through your mind, the kittens on the decorative plates that hung on the wall seemed to be able to read every single one of them. The way that they were looking at you made you feel incredibly uncomfortable. 
"May I ask why I'm here, Professor?" Your voice came out sounding more confident than you had intended.
Umbridge had her hands clasped, resting them on her desk. "Well, I have acquired some news regarding yourself."
"Oh?" 
"Yes," She straightened her back as if she was sitting on a plank, "I have been working here for - what has it been now? - four months. And even though I have had my own suspicions, I was hoping that such a good student like yourself would not condone this sort of behaviour."
Frowning, you asked her, "What do you mean? Have I done something wrong?" Your heart was starting to beat faster. What horrible thing have you done? And how have you not noticed it?
She smiled, so obviously fake it was almost humorous. 
"Well, dear, As I have been working for the ministry of magic, I know a lot more about my students than you might think."
The way she was speaking was making you annoyed. It was like she was talking to a six-year-old learning shapes. But the subject was confusing. It almost seemed like a threat. Like she was warning you. 
"Yes, I know you've worked for the ministry." You said, trying to sound friendly even though you wanted to turn around and leave promptly. 
The pink-clad woman nodded, looking a bit smug. "Yes, yes. But that is not what I wanted to discuss." She straightened her back even more if that was even possible. "I know that you, for instance, grew up in the muggle world."
Umbridge still had that sick smile on her pink lips.
You agreed, wanting to get this over with. "Yes, Professor."
"You're a muggle-born."
She had said it so curtly it had taken you by surprise. Her voice was flat and indistinctive. You simply nodded and looked at her, confused out of your mind.
Suddenly, the woman stood up and walked over to a light brown shelf, and took a quill and a piece of paper. She put it upon a smaller desk that stood by a window. The quill, of course, was bright pink.
She then motioned for you to take a seat at the desk she was standing at, smiling. 
"Come here, if you will." 
You hesitated but stood up. What other choice did you have? 
You sat down on the chair. It was probably one of the most uncomfortable chairs you have ever sat on. 
"Now, pick up the quill for me." She said, pointing at the said item that was displayed in front of you.
Once again, you did as she said and picked it up. Nothing weird about it. It felt like any other quill. But still, something, somewhere inside of you felt wrong. This was all strange. 
Umbridge who now stood in front of the desk, looking at you, started to speak. And what she said, shook you to the core.
"Write down 'I must not breed with purebloods.'"
Choking on air, you looked at her, wide-eyed. Was this a sick joke? 
"Wh-what?" You spluttered out, bewildered.
"Write it down on the paper." Her smile was still striking. 
Feeling completely dumbstruck, you write it down. 
It was not a completely normal quill.
After you had written it down fifteen times, the pain was almost unbearable.
~ ~ ~ ~ 
After almost an hour of writing the same sentence over and over again, your skin on the back of your hand was cut raw. The words etched on your skin burnt like fire and you could feel your hand pulsating. And even though you had fought it so hard, tears had rolled down your cheeks and slid over your lips. 
"Alright, dear." Umbridge interrupted, seated at her own desk. "Take a seat, please." She indicated the second chair at her desk.
Happy for it to be over, you dropped the quill in an instant. 
As you stepped over to take a seat, blood dropped down and onto your shirt, leaving bright red stains. 
"Do you understand why this is necessary, Y/L/N?" She asked when you had taken a seat.
But you didn't answer. You were heartbroken. 
"Hm?" Umbridge tried again.
Shrugging, you gently laid your wounded hand atop of your thigh.
"It's very important you remember these words Y/L/N. I know of your relationship with George Weasley." 
You looked up, devastated. It was horrible to hear his name come out of her foul mouth like she's tainting it. 
Umbridge continued. "I just want to make it apparent that mixed breeds are - how should I put it? - corrupted. I know the Weasleys are blood traitors and have been for years. But for you, a very clever and young (your gender) like yourself, to indulge in this behaviour."
"I- why- Is - wha-" 
"Shh, dear. I'm not asking you to break off your relationship. That would be cruel. Young love is incredibly powerful. But it has to be between the right people. And how I see it, you're a muggle-born interfering with pure-bloods, it is, to put it frankly, not acceptable."
You stared at her, disbelief washing over you. What was she doing? It felt like someone had taken out your tongue; no word left your mouth. It had gone dry, and tears were still rolling down your cheeks that were now warm from the pain you were in.
And to top it all of, the sick woman added, "No sexual interference with Mr Weasley from now on if that has been a proportion as of before."
"You- I don - why? Why are you - are you doing this to me?" You stammered, voice breaking.
She smiled, one so fake it almost smells of plastic. "Whenever you wonder why just look at your hand."
~ ~ ~ ~ 
Almost running down the hallway, tears streaming down your face and trying hard to control your breathing, you saw the stairs that led up to Gryffindor tower. 
You sprinted up the stairs and quickly said the password. The fat lady was about to ask you a question but was cut off when she needed to open the door. 
Not many were in the common room. Only four boys to be precise. 
"I swear, Lee if you do that to Professor Flitwick I'll give you a galleon."
"Pff, I'll do it for free."
You made declared yourself by walking out of a shadow. Dean Thomas, who was sitting in an armchair that faced the entrance looked at you and smiled. A kind smile. But it quickly turned into a frown. His reaction sparked curiosity as all of the other boys turned in your direction.
"Y/N!" Fred sprinted over to you and gingerly laid his hands on your shoulders, squeezing them gently. "What's happened?" 
Soon, all of the boys had created half a circle around you, eyes filled with worry over you.
"Love..." George breathed, and moved to take embrace you, but you pulled away and put your hurt hand in the air.
"Your hand..." Lee whispered. He reached for it, and you let him. He was incredibly gentle, but still, it stung.  
"What the fu-"
"Oh my-"
"Y/N, what!"
George only said one word. 
"Who?"
His voice was strained, his lips pulled into a tight, thin line. He looked as if he was trying to restrain himself from hurting someone. 
You pulled your hand back, feeling calmer. Being around your friends always calmed you down.
"Dolores Umbridge." Your voice was calm, you focused on your breathing. "She had asked me to accompany into her office," at this part, your voice had gotten a little bit louder, "she didn't say why. But I followed her. She made me write this sentence down on a - a paper." Now you were really fighting to make yourself clear. "The quill I used was enchanted and - and she just - she just sat there and - and-" Your voice broke, your breathing was uneven and your head started to hurt from the restrain to cry.
George pulled you into a tight hug but was mindful to your hand. He ran his hand soothingly through your hair and shushed you melodically.
"I promise she won't hurt you ever again." He whispered. "I won't let her."
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It’s the Asexual Pumpkin, Sam Winchester.
Asexuality can be defined as the quality or characteristic of having no sexual feelings or desires.
Fifteen year old Sam Winchester can't stop fussing his lower lip with his teeth, constantly biting the corner, as he reads fervently, and in a hurry.
It may be considered a sexual orientation or lack thereof.
He buries his head in his hands, fingers in his hair, and breathes out. It's not a lack of sexuality - not to him, that is. He feels everything - he's just not sure if he's feeling the right things.
And he can't stop thinking about it.
*
He's sixteen when a girl first kisses him. She's practically a stranger, given they've only had a few classes and a group project together - which makes it really weird for him when she walks up to him when he's sitting at his lunch table, cups his cheek, and closes the gap between their lips.
"It was a dare," She explains, pulling away. Sam blinks up at her as she hurriedly adds, "I had to kiss my crush."
She's probably making sure Sam doesn't think the dare had been to kiss the weird kid who always sits by the window at lunch with his nose in a book.
"Okay." Sam says, not knowing what to do with this information. "It's okay."
And that's it.
*
Sometimes when Sam's supposed to be researching monsters his dad's gone off to hunt, he fades out and inadvertently starts to research his own.
He's sure he isn't normal. This constant nagging inside his head which tells him there's something terrifyingly wrong with him because - there just is.
*
"Oh, Sam!" The boy he's got pinned against the wall groans, instinctively grabbing a fistful of Sam's shirt - Dean's hand-me-down flannel. "Sam, you're - Jesus, that's good."
Sam's got an arm wrapped around his waist, one behind his neck, and their hips thrust erratically, but together, in some sort of rhythm. 
He's trying.
He's trying to want this.
Sam kisses him harder, holds him tighter, and pulls him closer.
He's never been more scared than when it's all over, and the guy falls forward heaving, face buried in Sam's chest and strings of praise in his breath - because Sam still feels nothing at all.
And he realizes there’s a possibility that he’ll never feel anything.
*
Before he leaves for Stanford, Dean takes him out for a drink. John doesn't want them to go - or maybe he just says that, because then Sam insists that they do.
"You're gettin' out, Sammy." Dean says out loud, and there's only sadness in his eyes, for all the bright in his smile. "Jus' like you always wanted."
Sam blinks away his tears, and drinks to it.
His brother drinks heavily that night and they talk for hours, like they've never talked before - pretending that they'll never talk again.
Sam almost says it.
He almost ups and admits to his brother that he's a goddamn freak who doesn't want to have sex. That he knows it isn't normal, and he knows Dean can't understand how or why he feels the way he feels - but he needs to tell it to him, because he needs to tell it to someone - and he really doesn't trust anyone else.
But then he doesn't, because the night's coming to an end, and Dean pulls him into a hug when they get out to the Impala, and Sam doesn't let go for a very long time.
There's more important things, he tells himself, when Dean all but breaks down in the driver's seat, and asks Sam not to leave with just that look in his eyes and no words spoken - and Sam has to wrench his heart away, and close his eyes as he shakes his head.
He has to leave.
And that's enough he's done to Dean already.
*
All his future packed in a military backpack and a barrel bag, Sam walks into his Stanford dormitory for the first time. Before he even gets to his room, there's a guy with a stack of stickers and a Stanford cap, standing in his way.
"Nametags." He simply says, showing Sam a grey sticker, and proceeding to stick a cardboard under it so he can write. "I fill them for you." He adds.
"Sam Winchester." Sam says, leaning to see what else has to be written. They're asking for his pronouns. "Uh, he/him." He continues, after a pause.
"Are you sure you're sure?" The guy grins.
Sam gives him a look. "Yeah." He clears his throat. "Just taken aback."
"Well, I'll have you know," The guy gives Sam his hand. "I pretty much led the movement on there being pronouns on these, instead of majors."
Sam shakes his hand, feeling a little out of place, but warming up to the guy. His eyes flick down to his nametag and he reads Brady, above 'they/them'.
Oh.
"Okay, then." Brady smiles, putting the sticker on Sam's shirt himself after looking at him explicitly for permission, which Sam grants. "Don't go 'round changing your shirt, Sam."
Sam grins at them before walking off to his dorm.
*
He's at a bar the next time he meets Brady. It's been a long first week - good, but tiring. He's never been so bound by a schedule before, but then he's also never felt this free.
Brady's wearing a hoodie which could've fit another one of them in it, and they slide up next to Sam on a barstool.
"So?" They ask, as means of a greeting. "How was your first week?"
"Not bad. Can we talk about something else?" Sam says, because he's talked about it with himself so many times already - and he's here because he wants to stop.
"Sure." They shrug. "Would you order a drink for yourself, because I don't know what you like yet, but I'd like to buy you a drink."
Sam turns to them uneasily, but before he can even think about it, he's already blurted it out.
"I'm asexual."
That's the first time he's ever said it out loud, and something so minor provoking such a huge declaration - a milestone, for him - makes him realize just how free he feels.
"Cool." Brady answers, furrowing their eyebrows. "You mind me asking if you're also aromantic?"
Sam pauses.
He's never researched about this - and he's never even thought about it, but from the word, he can gather what it must mean. And from the context, he's even more sure.
"I don't." Sam answers. "And no, I'm not."
"Do you drink?" They lick their lips.
"Yeah." Sam breathes out, and it feels like a burden he'd not known about has finally been lifted off of his chest - and he turns to the menu.
"Awesome."
*
Eventually, Brady and he end up close.
Sam's not surprised. They've been friends for weeks now, and he's comfortable around them in a way Sam's never been around anyone before.
And they know so much about so many things, that Sam realizes how little he knows of the world outside hunting. They spend most of their evenings holed up together in Sam's room, watching movies, reading aloud to each other, and talking through the night.
Even if they fall asleep on the same bed, it doesn't feel weird, because it's Brady - and Sam trusts them.
Sam loves them too, but apparently not in the same way as Brady loves Josh, because one evening, almost a couple months in, he brings it up, and just as easily as they'd fallen in place together, they fall out of an undefined relationship.
"I don't think I'm over him." They confess. "I want to be, but I don't think I am, and that isn't fair to you."
Sam gets it. He isn't going to push.
"Let's still be friends, though."
"Obviously."
*
That's when Sam meets Jess.
She's perfect, Sam knows, every fibre of his being knows, and above all, she loves him. On their fourth date, Sam swallows his fears and explains to her that he's asexual.
It's become easier to do it - especially because when he's all out of words, and completely vulnerable, Jess takes his hand and asks, gently, if she could kiss him.
Sam nods, because he wants her to, and not just because no one's ever stopped and asked him that - and then he has her come close, linger for a second, and slowly, sweetly, kiss him.
For the first time, Sam feels something akin to what he knows he's supposed to feel - and he lets her kiss him, closing his eyes, and trying to stop thinking about everything.
He falls for her, irrevocably, very soon - but he still can't stop thinking.
What if he's not asexual?
What if he's been lying to himself all this time?
Jess and he move into an apartment in their second year.
She may not have been able to dispense advice like Brady would've, when Sam had his first panic attack - a hot mess, caused by everything at once; being away from Dean, being all alone, and being a fake - but that's the first time they fall asleep together, and not just on the same bed.
Sam wakes up with Jess's arm curled around him, and feels his heart flush with emotions.
When Jess wakes up too, she finds Sam staring at her with tears in his eyes and apologies on his lips, and he kisses her deeply but also confesses that he still isn't ready for sex, and he doesn't know when he will be, even though he's beginning to research demisexuality, and he tells her as much about Dean as he can, and he tells her how much he loves her but is still so afraid -
And she holds him in return, and reminds him that she loves him too, and that what matters more than all the labels Sam gives himself, is that Sam is happy.
"What would I do without you?" Sam asks, for the first time ever.
"Crash and burn."
*
Dean comes to get him - Sam drives the Woman in White to peace, they return home well in time for his interview - and then Jess burns to her death in front of his eyes.
Dean drags him out of the house forcefully, though Sam fights to get back to Jess - he fights with all his strength because he knows nothing will ever be the same. He's going to crash and burn without her - so why not do it right away?
Why not just let go?
But Dean's stronger than he is, and he won't let him. He holds onto Sam until the firemen have extinguished the entire fire, and he doesn't let him go out of his sight for days to follow - always unsure of what Sam might do, because he might not know why Jess meant so much to his brother, but he can tell how much she did.
(Sometimes, it's a really good thing he knows Sam so well.
And sometimes, it's the worst.)
*
Sam's starting to feel lost.
There had been comfort in a label - he could call himself asexual, tell himself he wasn't alone, tell himself he wasn't a freak - he was just different, and that was okay.
But now he feels like it's all a lie.
He's a liar and a coward and a freak - and god-fucking-dammit, he might call himself a fake, but Sam still isn't attracted to anyone, so he's just so fucking lonely all the time.
And he knows he's completely alone.
*
Sam punishes himself sometimes.
He'll go out with someone, like Dean does - and pretend to himself that he's trying to convince the world that he's normal, that he's okay - but the real reason he does it is because he always comes back guilty.
And he deserves that pain.
He deserves more of it - the depressing detachment which overcomes him in the middle of the night, the sheer repulsion he feels for what he did in the morning, and his perpetually burdened conscience.
When he doesn't feel like himself at all, with a stranger wrapped around him in an unknown bed, there's a cruel voice in his head which tells him this is what he deserves.
He doesn't deserve to be the real him - and Sam isn't even sure he knows who he is.
*
When Ruby enters his life, everything changes. Sam Winchester falls for a demon - though no one will ever call it love out loud, because that simply wouldn't be true.
But there's absolutely nothing else it can be.
She's demanding and feisty, and has a way with Sam which makes him want to shove her against a wall and fuck her until that smirk goes away. And she shows up everywhere, sometimes naked, wanting Sam to drink her blood or pin her to a bed, or both at once.
Sam would pick her up and she'd wrap her legs around him, and devour his lips with passionate, angry kisses until Sam forgot every other way to kiss.
This isn't him, he knows. Dean doesn't need to keep telling him that - he fucking knows.
It's the least himself he's ever been.
(But at least, he's goddamned strong.)
*
Brady shows up, again.
Sam's unsure of how to react to a demon possessing his best friend from Stanford - for Christ's sake, this is Brady, but then the demon admits to killing Jess and that's when the switch flips and Sam forgets he ever trusted this face.
Sam forgets he ever loved him.
*
Then, Lucifer happens.
It's unimaginable pain - forever. The Devil pierces through his flesh with knifes and ice cold hands, and tears him apart. The Creator of Hell tortures him, and breaks his bones and burns his skin and makes him beg for death a million times, with each breath.
Sam's chained and bound and raped, and Lucifer owns him for 180 years in the Cage, and makes him hate himself for every choice he's ever made.
Except the one which brought him there - for Sam knows he saved the World and he won't undo it, any chance he gets.
Even though nothing can save him now.
*
Castiel, his brother's angel, pulls him out of the pit, soulless.
The following fifteen months are a blur, but Sam knows enough to be utterly ashamed of himself.
And when he gets his tormented, ruined soul back, there's a fleeting thought that at least Lucifer's given him a reason to never want sex again - right before he loses his head.
*
With Amelia, Sam complicates things too much in trying to make them simple.
He can't think about himself anymore - so he stops thinking altogether, because he definitely cannot think about Dean or Castiel. Everything hurts, so he ignores it all, and pretends he's happy.
She believes him.
Sam's unwilling to go through the tiring process of telling her he's asexual - and frankly, as time passes, it feels like he left that word behind in Stanford.
So they sleep together a couple of times, though Sam's heart is never in it. Together, they neither have the emotional connection he and Jess shared, nor the needy attraction the demon blood caused between him and Ruby.
And then Don Richardson returns, and Sam takes the easy way out.
It's too easy leaving her, and not just because the world needs saving again and Dean is back.
Sometimes Sam wonders how real she had been.
*
Toni Bevell tortures him, on the behalf of the British Men of Letters, to get information.
When it doesn't work, she seduces him, and when Sam wakes up, they're under the covers, and there's wine and candles, and he's completely swallowed in this trance - until he suddenly has a flashback of the dungeons where she'd kept him, and sees through the hallucinations.
But it's not before they've had sex, and he's blindly answered most of her questions, and now it makes Sam feel disgusting.
It makes him feel abused.
*
Things never go that far with Eileen, but Sam supposes it's the closest he's come to trusting someone as much as he wants to, before he's comfortable kissing her.
She kisses him back gingerly, closing her eyes, and it's goodbye.
Because Sam wanted her to stay, and everyone he's ever wanted close, has always left.
*
It's after the end of Chuck.
Gabriel returns, for good.
And Sam realizes he has feelings for him, just barely in time to get him to stay - and wonder of wonders, he does.
*
They're on the bed, with Sam sprawled out in the middle, and Gabriel curled against his side with his arm tucked around him, and Sam's holding him there with a hand, while his other hand intertwines his fingers with Gabriel's.
In this moment, everything's perfect.
"I'm asexual." Sam whispers to the ceiling, quietly. "Or at least, I used to be."
Gabriel hums.
"Can people change?" Sam goes on, braving his heart for the answer.
"What their sexuality means to them can." Gabriel answers, as simple as that. "And it can mean so much, Samwise. Of course it changes."
"Asexuality is the quality or characteristic of having no sexual feelings or desires." Sam repeats, from memory. A really old memory. "It may be considered a sexual orientation or lack thereof."
Gabriel is quiet - they both are, until Sam realizes the archangel thinks he has more to say.
"That's it." Sam admits shyly. "That's the definition fifteen year old Sam read so many times in his head that thirty seven year old Sam remembers."
"Oh, you." Gabriel sits up, cross-legged on the bed. He stares at the hunter and sees the lack of acceptance in his own eyes. "That's over twenty years old, Sam. Listen to me."
"Okay." Sam swallows.
"You can relate to some traits of asexuality and not all of them, and still be considered asexual." Gabriel begins, serious. "You know it's a spectrum, right? So you may think differently about sex than other asexuals. Every asexual is unique, and their identities are shaped by all that that they've gone through, and not just what they were born as."
Well, nobody could've had the same experiences he did. Does that mean -
Gabriel goes on. "You may be grossed out by sex, find it uninteresting, or think it's mildly enjoyable if it's with the right partner."
Sam's eyebrows go up.
He liked sex, or something almost like it, when he was with Jess. It was boring, but not the worst thing in the world, with Amelia. And if all the other times, he's repulsed by it - apparently that's okay too.
"I - I didn't know that."
"Knowing you're on the ace spectrum can be enough." Gabriel tells him, squeezing his hand. "You don't have to define your sexuality every day of your life - it's there to decide who makes you happy, and not who you are."
Sam's speechless.
He's never thought about it like this.
"Call yourself whatever you like, Sammich." Gabriel smiles. "Asexual, demisexual, grey asexual - it's up to you. But don't let a label, or the seeming defiance of it upset you. You're human, not a piece of research you can label and file away in inventory - you're you, and believe me, that's all that matters to the rest of us."
"I -" Sam wishes he has the words to express what he's feeling right now, but he can't find any, so he just squeezes Gabriel's hand back. And mumbles, "I love you."
"I know," Gabriel teases, so Sam lets out a short breath of laughter and leans up to kiss him but Gabriel meets him in the middle. "I'm pretty great."
"Thank you." Sam breathes out, pulling away. "Thank you for everything."
"Shuddup." Gabriel blows a raspberry, just so he can ruin the moment and Sam swats at him playfully. "But hey, quick thing."
"Yeah?"
"Please don't let PTSD affect your take on your own sexuality." Gabriel says, adopting a serious voice again.
"It's hard when a lot of that trauma is related pretty closely to sex." Sam confesses, sighing.
"Yeah. I believe you, it - it must be hard." Gabriel sounds pained to say it. There's silence for a while. Finally, he says, "You know I'm always here if you need to talk, right?"
"It goes both ways."
"Noted." Gabriel leans in this time, and Sam lets him traverse all of the way so that it gets easier to pull him back to bed, instead of him sitting up.
"I'll be truthful with you, Gabe." Sam speaks up, a whole while later. Gabriel turns around to face him, pulling slightly away because they'd been cuddling. "I don't think I'm going to want to have sex ever again."
Gabriel nods in acknowledgement.
"What, that's it?" Sam makes a face. "Here I am, feeling guilty because I'll never be able to want sex with my partner who loves sex, and you're just going to nod?"
"Believe me, Samshine. I've had enough sex in my lifetime." Gabriel clears his throat, throwing in a wink which makes Sam laugh. "And for that matter, I'm pretty self-sufficient."
"You're gross is what you are." Sam rolls his eyes, trying to contain a smile.
"Sure, that too." Gabriel takes it in his stride. "And I'm sure you wouldn't be completely unwilling to help poor me out, if I needed it." His eyebrows dance. "You know, flex for me shirtless, say my name in your sexy voice sorta thing."
Sam swats at him with a pillow as he dissolves in laughter.
"Or even just a quick shoulder peek maybe." Gabriel shrugs, nonchalantly.
"What is it about my shoulders?" Sam huffs, mostly kidding. "I swear, I never stood how they can be an attractive feature on anybody."
"Ah, well." Gabriel makes a dramatic show of giving up hope. "I guess you'd have to be pansexual to get it."
Sam rolls his eyes again.
And that's that.
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67impalaandwhisky · 3 years
Text
Destiny Is Heaven Sent
Summary: Knowing Dean Winchester since you were fifteen, you’ve always been pulled in his direction. Always wanting to open up the rattled and broken cage your heart lives in. But when the child you’ve been raising together dies, you find yourself closing up the cage of your heart again. And if destiny has one thing for you, it’s to break you down before bringing you back up.
Characters: Dean x You, Sam, Castiel, Bobby, OFC’s, OMC’s, (Ongoing)
This Series Is Set Through Seasons 1-6 With Knowledge That The Bunker Exists
Rating: 18+
Warnings (Ongoing and Will Be Updated): Grieving, Mentions of Rape and Defilement (As Per A Case), Show Level Violence, Swearing, Smut, Impreg Kink, Blood, Fighting, Drinking, Dean Being Dean, Fluff, Angst, Dom!Dean, Sub!Reader
Warnings For This Chapter: Sexual Dreams, Mentions of Pregnancy Kink, 
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Chapter 4.
"I'll take the couch." You grumble as all of you step into the motel room.
Dean takes off his shirt, his eyelids drooping with sleepy intentions as he throws himself onto his bed.
"Come lay down beside me." He mutters as he lays his head down on the pillow. He pats the spot beside him as he pulls back the covers.
Sam makes it a point to scurry off into the bathroom and you sigh gently.
Laying in bed with Dean last night was kind of amazing. You didn't have a single nightmare, which is rare these days after Marsh's death. And, you didn't wake up a single time during the night. Even when you drink heavily, you still find yourself waking up every so often during the late hours of the evening.
"Fine. Just don't touch me." You reply as you take off your combat boots.
"No promises, Candy girl." He mumbles as he closes his eyes.
Laying down beside you, he cages you against his chest throwing his arm over you as well as his leg. He lets out a tired chuckle but the comfort you feel is too great to tell him to get off. 
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In your lifetime with your two best friends by your side, you have gone on countless Djinn hunts together. 
Comes with the territory of monster hunting.
Both you and Dean have been poisoned by a Djinn once or twice and even with the antidote around, those dreams can stick with you until you die.
Waking up from that dream-like state when you were twenty was disorienting and frightening. You didn't know what was real, what was fake. You cried for days on end when your life was dramatically different then what was pictured. 
Now, when you do see those dreams again you adore them. You welcome them in your sleeping trance. Because in that dream, everything is perfect and so real enough that you don't look at the oddities.
Dean's Djinn dream was just as real, just as frightening at first and just as welcome in his sleep quite like yours.
"Marshall Maverick Winchester. Get that gun away from your brother at the dinner table please." You chide your oldest adopted son.
Turning his head toward you, Dean finds himself smiling. Placing a gentle kiss at your temple, he waltzes around you grabbing the dinner you've both prepared in the presence of your two sons. 
"I wanna play!" Dean hears the youngest whine and he glances over at you as you flinch at the sharpness of his voice.
"Johnny Boy. Come on. Mommy doesn't feel good, stop yelling." Dean says as he places his hand on your growing stomach.
"But...But…" John whines as he holds his small hands up.
"No buts." Your husband cuts him off as he puts the burgers down on the table.
With a smile, you turn to your children with pie in hand. You were not as astonished as you should have been that they take after your husband with their favorite dessert choice. 
"Is it lemon blueberry mommy?" John asks as he pulls his plate closer to his four year old body.
"Yes it is." You whisper playfully earning a warm smile from Dean. 
As Dean begins to serve the food, Sam and Cas walk in with black sludge all over them.
"Oh good. Dinner." Sam cheers as he steps closer to the table.
"Nuh-uh. You better go wash up before you sit down at this table." You admonish your best friend as he frowns.
"But I don't eat." Cas counters as he takes off his mucky trenchcoat. 
"Go shower before my pregnant wife smites you." Dean's voice booms through the dining room.
John and Marsh laugh with each other as Cas hangs his head before retreating to his room.
With a groan, you finally sit down at the table. 
"Let me guess, your feet are swollen." Dean guesses as he sits down beside you at the head of the table. 
"Bingo." You mumble as he puts a burger on your plate.
"I'll rub your feet later when we get ready for bed." He whispers in your ear, pulling back he sends you a devastating wink.
The smile you return is equally as heart shaking to him. His breath stutters and his heart rate picks up as he smiles back at you.
"Ma. He's going for pie." Marsh tells you as John leans across the table.
You fold your arms, eyebrow quipped upward as he gives a nervous giggle. 
"Tattletale." He mumbles to his older brother before pulling at the pendant around his neck. 
As John has been getting older, the necklace he's had on since birth has been getting tighter and tighter by the month.
His small hands go to take it off and his father is stopping him within a second.
"Don't you dare take this off, son. We've talked about this." Dean admonishes as John looks down at his plate.
"But it's tight and I feel stuffy." He mumbles as he picks up a french fry.
Marsh takes his larger necklace off before swapping and wrapping John's around his wrist twice before clasping it in place.
"We need to keep these on until we're old enough to get tattoos like mom, dad and Uncle Sammy." Marsh tells his younger brother as he grabs the ketchup.
It was heartwarming to watch, knowing that Marsh was just like Dean with John as he is with Sammy. He would always protect his younger brother no matter what. 
It almost brings a tear to his father's eye as he picks up his bottle of beer.
"Why do you wear it?" Marsh inquires to his brother as he puts ketchup on his burger.
"So demons can't get me." John whispers. 
The youngest only whispers about monsters in the night, as if speaking loudly will summon them to him.
"That's right. But when we're home, you don't have to be scared. Nothing is going to get you." Dean says before sipping his beer.
John nods before looking down at the pendant in his hand as he munches on his french fry.
"Leila in school says she has a crush on me." John says happily, forgetting the whole necklace debacle within seconds.
Dean's eyebrows flick upwards as he leans his elbows on the table.
"Oh yeah? Isn't it a little early to be dating in preschool?" Your husband jeers at your youngest as you giggle.
Your hand lands on your stomach, rubbing comforting circles which catches his attention immediately.
He looks over, a sweet smirk spreading on his face as he rubs your seven months and growing stomach.
"I'm four, dad. Practically grown up." You hum to him before grabbing your iced tea.
"You look just like your father so it's hard not to get all the girls, huh?" You tease as he smiles down to his burger.
John did look like the spitting image of your husband. From freckles to wildy enchanting green eyes, he was so alike.
"Will you tell us how you met again?" Marsh asks as he takes out his phone.
"No phones at dinner." Sam says as he enters the room.
Marsh looks up before rolling his eyes and putting his phone back in the front pocket of his jeans.
"What monster did you kill today?" John asks excitedly as Sam sits down.
Shaking his long hair out of his face, he looks over at both of his parents who refuse to meet his eyes.
"No monster talk at dinner." Sam says and your almost unrecognizable nod lets him know he's right.
John and Marsh frown as Cas comes in to join you all.
"It was a ghoul." Sam whispers as he leans over his plate towards the kids.
You look at Dean, a laugh shared between you both as you both roll your eyes.
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Laying down in bed, you let out a gentle sigh as the bed comforts and molds to your body.
"Well now. Look what I have here all to myself. My two favorite girls." Dean says as he closes the bedroom door behind him.
You give a gentle laugh pushing yourself up the pillows as he stalks over.
"Not like you to forget Baby." You say, tilting your head as he pulls his t-shirt off.
"Just don't tell her. She'll get jealous." He teases as he takes off his pants.
Your eyes roam over his body before smiling wider. 
When it comes to your husband, exhaustion was not a word that seemed to fit into your vocabulary. He was like a freshly brewed pot of coffee, deep, rich and awakening. 
"My lips are sealed." You reply as he kneels on the bed. 
With a chuckle, he parts your legs. Running his warm, calloused hands over your bare skin, his lips graze over your bare belly. 
You can feel the stubble on his face, the short hairs tickling you as he gives languid kisses to the distended skin.
"De." You whisper in the dim lighting of the room.
He gives a gentle groan at your voice, hearing how you're becoming aroused and sluggish with lust.
"That's it, sweetheart. Focus on how I'm making you feel. How you want daddy's big cock to split you right open." His breath fans over your stomach as he talks to you, producing goosebumps on your now feverish skin.
"I want you so badly." You whine as he pulls down your bra. Your breasts heaving up at the action.
"God, you're so fucking sexy. So fucking mine." He growls out as he kisses over your chest.
"Pretty tits filling up with milk for my baby. Mine." His lips encircle your hard nipple, tongue flicking over the pointed bud earning a sweet moan from you.
His hand reaches for your clothed pussy, dying to feel how wet you already a-
"Dean." 
"Hey! Dean!" Shooting up in bed, he looks to the owner of the voice as his eyes widen.
"Hey man…" Sam whispers as he stands above his older brother.
"Dammit Sammy. Couldn't you have given me five more minutes? I was experiencing something great." He mumbles as he grabs the cup of coffee from the younger man's hand.
"Busty girl dreams again? You were moaning." Sam says with a laugh as he walks over to the small table.
Dean clicks his teeth as he looks over the room. He notices how the sun is already rising high in the sky before looking down at you. Your hair is splayed over your face as you take deep shallow breaths.
Was there anything more perfect than his dream? Anything more wonderful than that? You, his wife, his life partner. Pregnant and barefoot in his bunker with other little ones running around. Marsh would still be alive.
Running a rough hand over his face, he sips his coffee before sighing.
As you turn onto your back, he takes in your form. 
With your tank top rolled up to your breasts, he sucks in a deep breath before tugging down the shirt. God, you were too skinny now that he's looking at you. Why couldn't you just be pregnant like in his dream? Why did destiny have to fuck him like this?
"God fucking dammit." He mumbles as he wakes up.
"You okay?" Sam asks curiously. 
"Peachy." Dean grunts out as he walks to the bathroom.
The slam of the door makes his younger brother jump and you stir from your sleep at the noise. The thin walls shake and tremor with the force of Dean's action and you sit up with squinted eyes.
"Morning." You whisper as you begin to stretch.
"Mornin'." Sam says as his eyes flicker to the bathroom.
"He okay?" You ask as you pull the covers closer to your body.
Sam gives the typical shrug as he sips his coffee before running his hands through his hair.
"Is Dean ever really okay?" He quips as you lay back down.
Now that is a question for the ages.
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The morning had gone off without an ounce of weirdness which was odd to you considering how upset Dean was earlier.
He's so good at shoving things down inside of him until he explodes. It's scary sometimes.
"Come on out, Candy girl." Dean calls through the velvet curtain as you try to pull at any piece of fabric that's on your body. 
You feel absolutely helpless. The tube dress you're wearing is so infinitely small, you're afraid one cough from yourself will send the fabric into a revealing position.
"It barely covers my ass!" You whine as you fix your hair in the mirror.
"You have a nice ass." Dean comments calmly.
There it is again. The short and somehow completely honest answer from your best friend. He doesn't flirt with you like he does with others because maybe he doesn't have to. He's so himself with you.
Tugging the dress up, the bottom reveals your black thong and you groan gently before pulling it back down.
"No laughing!" You cry out before taking a deep breath. 
Just the thought of your older best friend seeing you like this sends your mind reeling. 
Pushing back the velvet curtain, Sam looks up from his phone before snorting and covering his mouth with his hand.
"Yes. Ha. Ha. Very funny." You grumble as you put your hands protectively over your body as if that would help.
Glancing at Dean, he doesn't show an ounce of hilarity in the situation. He swallows thickly as his eyes trail over your body.
"You look like a sausage in a casing." Sam says before throwing his head back and laughing.
You snort before turning around to the mirror again.
The black fabric hugs your body tightly, showing your flat stomach and your ample breasts.
It's uncomfortable to be in but your thighs press together as you watch Dean through the mirror.
Licking his lips slowly, his eyes stare at your ass. Your stomach coils and flips as his evergreen eyes begin to harden over.
"Dean. What do you think?" Sam asks through his laughs.
Dean doesn't dignify him with an answer. Your eyes trail over his body, taking in the flannel beneath his jacket before looking to his pants.
His pants are strained and tented and you avert your eyes quickly in the mirror as you think about yesterday morning.
Is it hot in here?
"Dean?" Sam asks as he calms his laughter.
Pressing your thighs tighter together, the muscles of your ass become taut and flex. The oldest brother does everything in his power to rip his eyes away before turning to Sam.
"You look fine. Buy it and let's go." He mumbles as he sits down.
It's when you bend over to grab your stuff that he lolls his head back.
Do you know how fucking sexy you are? Do you have any idea just how goddamn attractive you can be?
Upon bending over he sees your thong and the outline of your pussy lips. His hand flies over Sam's eyes as you gather your stuff.
"Dude." His younger brother mumbles.
"Close the curtain, you idiot." Dean chides you and you gasp gently realizing what you've done.
Fiercely pulling the curtain closed, you can feel your ears and neck heating up to a healthy shade of red.
"I'm going to wait in the car." Dean calls out before storming off.
Sam tilts his head before rolling his eyes.
"Just fuck already." He mumbles under his breath before pulling his phone back out.
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Dean stands beneath the shower head, letting the hot water soothe his taut muscles. His forehead presses to the chilly aqua tiles of the motel bathroom
God, you're probably out there in the room putting on that small dress right now. 
It's astounding how hard he actually has to try to keep his hands off of you. Would you even want him to touch you?
Yesterday morning, he saw you checking him out. Peeking an eye open, he saw how breathless you were as your eyes roamed his body.
It's been drilled in his head ever since he was younger-- his father always wanted you both to be together. It's always been Dean's 'destiny' to have you as his own. And, that's exactly why he can't do it.
He's always listened to John. Always done as told and for once, he didn't want to abide. 
Dean always thought that if he denied himself the pleasure of your company, he could stop a lot of heartache and pain on his end. But, now the heartache is starting to come from having you so far away from him.
He loved you from the minute he saw you. From the minute you met each other in that dingy motel on Christmas Eve. 
He loved you when you were dating Michael Bracken during a random highschool stint in Wisconsin. 
He always loved you. And, he always denied you.
Smacking his forehead into the wall, he sighs gently. 
Maybe destiny is something you just can't run from. God knows that every path him and Sam have ever taken somehow and in some way lead back to the same spot they were standing years ago.
"De?" Your voice breaks him out of his deep thoughts.
"Yeah." He calls back as he shuts off the shower.
"We have to get going soon." You tell him as he grabs his towel.
"Yeah. I'm coming, Princess." The pet name tumbles out of his mouth and he closes his eyes as he wraps the towel around his waist.
You rip the door open and peek your head in before narrowing your eyes at him.
"You know I hate that." You mumble to him as the steam wafts through the open door.
You've hated it since high school. He used to call you Princess when he warded off boys in the cramped hallways. You always found it embarrassing. 
Dean gives you a smile as he steps out of the shower, "Come on. You used to love the way I protected you." 
Rolling your eyes, you stand up straighter as you lean against the door jamb, "No. You used to love the way you protected me. I didn't need protecting." 
He chuckles as he wipes off the bathroom mirror. 
"I'll always protect you, whether you need it or not." He says and you hum in agreement before leaving him alone.
"Always." He mumbles before looking through the mirror as you walk away.
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Forever Dean Tags: @akshi8278​
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Note
OMG SLEEPOVER ksjdjskdkdke perhaps,,,,,I am yearning for prof!!bri who a little bit of a prick but it’s only because he’s angry that he’s into student!y/n 👀👀👀 also, congratulations on 500, you deserve it all lovely !
annie, i— this is right up my alley, thank you. (also holy crap i went off i’m sorry i put it under a cut not to clog everyone’s dash)
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i think the thing is brian absolutely would be an asshole of a prof because he’s so flustered by his indecent interest in one of his students. so instead of shoving the feelings down or even going out on a limb and talking to you about it, he would resort to taking it out on every student he comes in contact with at the university. he tells himself it’s okay, that he can be a bit of an asshole, because the teaching gig is only for the time being—only until a legal and financial fiasco can be worked out with the record label.
anyway, it’s a maths course. he’s good at maths—good at a lot of things, really—but he can’t seem to focus when he meets you that first class period. you approach him after the lecture and rather shyly tell him that maths is not your strong suit and that you’ve always struggled, but the course is required in order to get your teaching certificate. you hope, you say, that he can help you if you get stuck; if he has the time, of course.
he’s so struck by your beauty—simple and classic and refreshing amongst the sea of brightly colored eyeshadows and ripped jeans and graphic tees—that he can’t seem to formulate a solid response. he just gives you a curt nod and mumbles something about the syllabus before you leave the room, your face painted in confusion. he regrets his curtness, but it couldn’t be helped. it only gets worse from there.
as his interest grows—as he watches you interact with your peers and work hard and laugh and surprise your seat-mate with a coffee present from time to time—he shuts your requests for assistance down. he flat out tells you no, he won’t help you when you ask for him to explain your mistakes on the latest exam. he tells you he’s too busy, that it doesn’t matter anyway. you aren’t going to school to be a maths teacher. it hurts him to see your face fall, to hear the thick exam slap against your leg in defeat, but he squares his shoulders. he couldn’t bear to sit next to you by himself, in an empty classroom, and watch you struggle over things he finds so easy. he’d burst. he’d either literally explode into a thousand pieces or just kiss you breathless; he’s not sure which he’d prefer. it changes depending on the day.
your friends and classmates think he’s a right dick, and you’re beginning to think so too. at first, you thought he was just nervous. everyone knows who he is; everyone wants a piece of him; everyone is eager to find out why on earth brian may is teaching maths and astronomy at their university instead of writing new music and touring the world like the rock god he is. you can’t imagine the stress he’s under. so you cut him slack, forget his hard stares and frowns and obvious rejection.
but when he lays into you one period—visibly gets frustrated over the fact that you can’t complete an equation on the blackboard despite knowing full well that you struggle with this exact sort of problem. and when he mutters something under his breath about damned english teachers, you decide to confront him. once and for all before you go to the dean.
you wait until the room is empty before stepping to his desk. your heels click against the tile floor, but he doesn’t lift his head. he’s got one hand in his head of unruly curls, the other splayed across a crumpled piece of paper. you’ve spent hours trying to dissect his handwriting on your exams so you know at once it’s not a student’s work. it’s his own. a song, it looks like. or the beginnings of one.
you almost forgot he was a musician. not just your frustrating, albeit handsome, professor.
you clear your throat and will the nerves away. “professor may?”
he drums his fingers on the desk, and you can hear his foot tapping to an unspecific beat beneath his chair.
“professor may?” you ask again, this time with more force.
he looks up and already you can see boredom in his eyes. boredom and something else. anxiety? it’s unclear.
he heaves a sigh and leans back in his chair. it creaks, and he folds his long fingers over his chest. “yes, [y/n]?”
for a moment, you stand there, flustered. what do you say? 
excuse me, sir, could you stop being such an asshole and help me?
professor may, i’d really like it if you stopped brushing me off.
professor may, i’d really like if you bent me over the desk and—
(no, not the time. later perhaps...) 
you clear your throat again. “sir, i didn’t really appreciate the way you spoke to me this afternoon, about the maths equation.” you shift your stance slightly, curl the paper in your hand into a tight cylinder. “you know that i struggle.”
at least he has the decency to blush. he sits straighter in his chair. “yes, i know you do.”
“then why did you talk to me like that? in front of everyone?” you curse the fine sheen of tears that cover your eyes, and you shake your head to try and get him to stop looking at you like that—like you’re a china doll about to break. “it wasn’t very kind,” you finish lamely.
“no. no, it wasn’t.” he sighs, shuffles the papers around on his desk, then looks at you. “i’m sorry, [y/n]. i haven’t been the most... agreeable with you, have i?”
you hesitate but then shake your head again.
he stands, and when he does, you instinctively move back a step. he’s taller up close. you swallow hard.
“why do you hate me so much?” 
the question pops out before you can stop it, but once the words are out, you are relieved to finally voice your qualms. he seems to have singled you out as the recipient of all his ire, and you’re getting sick and tired of it. it’s spectacularly unfair, not to mention unprofessional.
to your shock, he laughs at your question. actually laughs at it!
heat rushes to your face in waves, and you grit your teeth. “i’m sorry, sir, i don’t see what’s so funny—”
still laughing, he cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “i don’t hate you, [y/n],” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “really i don’t!”
your jaw drops. “you... don’t?”
“no, no, of course not!” his laughter dissolves into simple chuckles, and he meets your gaze. his eyes are soft; you’ve never seen him look softly at anything before. 
“then why do you pick on me so much?”
it’s his turn to blush—again—and he rubs the back of his neck like a schoolboy. “it’s... awkward.”
you frown. “i don’t understand. what do you mean awkward? if you don’t dislike me then why do you—” he cringes, looking to the floor, and you loose your breath. “oh.”
“i’m no better than a boy in primary school.”
you have to smile, and even though your heart is beating wildly in your chest, a sense of calm settles over you. “no, you’re not.” you bite your lip. “you like me then?”
he nods. 
“like me like me?”
he rolls his eyes, sighing deeply. “must i spell it out?”
you smirk. “i think so—to make up for all the shite you’ve given me.”
brian huffs, but acquiesces. “fine. i like you, [y/n] [y/l/n], more than i should seeing as i’m your professor. it’s rather unseemly how much i like you.”
“i know how you can make it up to me.”
he laughs again, short and loud and a song to your soul. “i just did! i just made myself sound like a fifteen year old kid!”
on a sudden burst of bravery, you reach out and take his wrist. his breathy exhale is like a drug, and you long to hear him make more sounds just like that. he looks at your hand on his wrist before looking back at you.
“take me to dinner, professor,” you whisper.
“that wouldn’t—”
you shake your head. “don’t think about it. just take me to dinner.”
there’s a beat—a moment of clear hesitation and him working the numbers and risks through his brain—before he moves away to grab his coat. he shrugs it on then steps around the desk to touch your elbow.
“do you like thai food?”
jess’s 500 sleepover! (requests closed)
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mattzerella-sticks · 3 years
Text
Unwrap Me (1.4k, Dean Winchester/Castiel, M)
ao3 link
Dean never thought he would make it this far. Nor would he have as many wonderful things that he has now. A home, friends, family, and most importantly love. With a former angel.
Given how normal his life is now, Dean decides he wants to go all out celebrating Christmas. Parties, feasts, and the perfect presents. He wants to get Cas something that will translate everything that resides in his heart. Dean believes he has the right gift, but decides against leading with it. Instead surprising Cas with it after showing him his Christmas best.
Although, during his entire time planning Cas's present, he never wondered what Cas got him...
           Dean adjusts the ribbon wrapped around his waist, tastefully covering his half-hard cock with a large bow; its tails draped over his balls. Assured he looks perfect, Dean turns from the mirror. Texts Cas, letting him know his present is finally ready.
           Cas ☀ (11:45 p.m.): Be there soon. Helping Sam with research.
           “Sammy…” Sighing, Dean sets his phone down on the nightstand closest to his side. “Think you’d take even the smallest break today, since it’s Christmas.”
           Almost Christmas, at least. In fifteen minutes. But before they exchange gifts with their family next morning, Dean and Cas discussed a more intimate setting where they can unwrap each other’s presents. Given how this is the first year they’ll celebrate Christmas as a couple, Dean wanted some privacy. Not solely because of his attire. The lacy ribbon smokescreen for Cas’s real present, safely tucked inside his drawers. And, if well received, his outfit will help perfectly transition into a holiday tradition Dean hopes last many years.
           But, until Sam frees his boyfriend from work, he must wait. “What’s the point of being retired if we’re still cracking open lore?” Dean collapses onto the bed, disturbing scattered rose petals.
           Seconds later, someone knocks at the door. “Dean?” Cas asks, voice muffled, “Is it okay for me to come in?”
           Dean flew forward, cursing under breath. Then muttering prayers how Cas followed his instructions about knocking first. “Gimme a sec, Cas!” Dean tapped his phone, quickly finding the song he downloaded specifically for this moment. Orville Peck’s smooth baritone filtered through speakers he installed earlier, singing ‘Roses Are Falling’. Dean crawls towards the center of his mattress, sitting, cushioned by pillows. Scoops a few petals and peppering his legs with them. “Right!” he calls, stretching languidly, “You can come in!”
           Cas enters, and suddenly Dean’s carefully perfected smolder is extinguished. He throws a hand across his face, hiding his wide grin. Snorts and ducks his head, gaze still trained on his boyfriend.
           “Huh,” Cas says, “I guess great minds do think alike…”
           Dean watches Cas’s hands fall, trench coat parting open like curtains. Reveals a similar ribbon covering his genitals. Though while Dean’s was red, Cas chose green. It matched his boots and novelty cowboy hat: both dyed the same color as Cas’s ribbon. “Yeah,” Dean chuckles while Peck continues his serenade, “I guess so.”
           “I reckon so,” Cas corrects, drawl forcing a shiver up his spine. Visibly, judging Cas’s smug expression. Rolling his eyes, Dean climbs off the bed and advances.
           “Close the door,” he tells Cas, “don’t want to give Sam the gift of trauma.” Then, standing inches from Cas, he amends his previous statement. “More trauma,” he smirks.
           Cas shuts away the outside world, leaving only them. Dean guides Cas’s trench coat off his shoulders, tossing it aside when able. They tear away ribbon, both strips landing in a tangled mess at their feet. He wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s shoulders, kissing him. “Merry Christmas,” he whispers.
           Grip firm along Dean’s hip, Cas guides Dean closer. Chests pressed together, hearts beating the same song. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”
           Playing with the hairs at Cas’s nape, Dean breathes a confession against his neck. “I have another present for you.”
           “You do?” Cas’s fingers tease at his hole, searching, “It doesn’t feel like you do…”
           “Dog.” Dean shoves him off, laughing. “Is sex all you have on your brain?”
           “Forgive me, Dean, but when the most gorgeous man in the entire universe is in my arms – naked – my body succumbs to its most base instincts.” He squeezes at his stiff cock, smirking. “See?”
           Blushing, Dean ignores Cas’s attempts at baiting him. Knocks his hat off with a pointed flick. “Lose the boots, cowboy, and go lay down.”
           Cas obeys, trailing behind him. “I thought you said sex wasn’t your gift?”
           “Are you even curious about what I have?” Dean asks, hovering by his nightstand, “Because I can sit on your dick right now and I can put your real present away for your birthday.” Expression schooled into strenuous thought, he continues, “When is that again?”
           “Okay, okay, I get it…” Cas lies on his side, blue eyes shining with mirth. Like the ocean glittering from the rising sun. “I’ll be quiet, starting… now.”
           Dean sighs, doubtful Cas will keep that promise, but rummages through his drawers for Cas’s present regardless. He finds it well hidden, covered by an old car magazine he saved. Clutching it in his palm, Dean joins Cas. Kneels beside him, excitement wreaking havoc with his nerves. Bouncing, shoulders raised high, neck disappearing, and cheeks straining from his smile, Dean holds a fist out to an expectant Cas.
           “Cas,” he begins, “I – uh… well, I know we only started dating pretty recently, but I’ve loved you way, way longer than that.”
           “I know,” Cas interrupts, sliding his hand under Dean’s chin, cupping it. “You explained so after Jack plucked me from the Empty, right after punching me for making another ‘idiotic deal’, your words… and before our first kiss.” Dean’s joyful spirit flickers, glare piercing. Cas responds with apologetic crinkles, “You’re right… you’re right… quiet now.”
           “Anyway,” Dean continues, “it might seem like we did this all ass-backwards, but I could care less how we got here since here means you and I, together. We get to do whatever we want with the rest of our lives and… there’s no one I’d rather have at my side. In my passenger seat, or – when I’m tired, and need to lay my weary head to rest – on the wheel.” His fingers unfurl like spring flowers, a silver key nestled in his palm. Cas gasps, stare darting between it and Dean. “It’s not a ring,” he says, “because what’s the point in those if we’re legally dead. Besides, we’ve spent so many years running around in circles… never saying what we should have… I’d hate for that to be the symbol of our relationship. This, though, I… Baby’s mine. But –“
           “But you want her to be ours?” Cas finishes, forefinger gently stroking the key. He freezes, wincing at Dean, “Sorry, I did it again.”
           Dean relaxes, handing Cas’s key over. “Nah, I was pretty much done, anyhow.”
           Cas accepts his gift, then launches himself forward. Kisses Dean passionately, embrace drawn long enough that when they break both men pant. “This makes my gift look worse, by comparison, you realize,” he says, squinting, “you thoughtful, romantic bastard. Making me look like a tool.”
           “Hey, I happen to like what you got me,” Dean laughs, smoothing stray hairs from Cas’s temple. His other hand trails lower, brushing his boyfriend’s pubic patch. “Exactly what I’ve been craving.”
           Cas noses at Dean’s cheek, growling. “Oh, has it?”
           “Yep.” He pops the ‘p’, scratching Cas’s scalp while stubble scrapes freckled skin. “Think maybe I can get a taste of your candy cane, sunshine?”
           Laying a hand on Dean’s hand closest to his dick, Cas surprises him by removing it. “Maybe later.”
           “Later?”
           “I’d rather go for a drive,” he suggests, brandishing his new key, “wouldn’t that sound like a nice Christmas treat?”
           “Driving? Now?” Dean splutters, objections loaded like bullets in a gun. However, Cas tilts the argument in his favor, blue eyes wide and soft as if he were a puppy. A dirty trick played during battles Cas knew he would lose. Dean’s defenses crumbled, those bullets clattering on the floor. “I… guess we can. Never too early to get you and Baby better acquainted.” He rises, mournful, “Guess I better find some pants –“
           Cas grabs his wrist, stopping him. “No, Dean,” he says, “there’s no time!” He drags Dean out, ignoring all Dean’s squawked protests. Orville’s voice echoing, phone abandoned in their haste. “We have to drive like this!” he insists.
           “Naked?” Dean hisses, glancing around in case they run across wandering house guests. Any of their extended family Dean stupidly invited to celebrate Christmas with them. “Seriously Cas, why wouldn’t you let me put clothes on? It’s December, it’ll be freezing on the road!”
           Cas pauses at the bend of a corner, frowning. “I doubt it’ll be that cold,” he says. Then, feigned innocence fades into a leer. “If it is, I’m sure we can find ways to stay warm inside Baby. Maybe even fog up her windows…?”
           “A dog,” Dean shakes his head, cheeks ruddy with restrained laughter. “A no-good, conniving hound!” Stomping ahead of him, Dean leads Cas elsewhere. “I know a quicker way to the garage.”
           “I love you.”
           “I love you, too.”
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impala-dreamer · 4 years
Text
Just A Cape Away
SPN FanFic
~Dean gets hurt on a hunt and Y/N helps patch him up...and give him a little reward for his bravery. ~
Dean x Reader
2,090 Words
Warnings; NSFW, Show level violence and injury, Comfort Lovin'. Fluff.
A/N: Written for @burningcoffeetimetravel​ who won a fic and asked for some Comfort Smut with Dean. Hope you all enjoy!
My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon
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Dean went down, all breath pushing from his lungs in a loud groan as his back slammed into the cold earth. Wet grass tickled his cheek as he rolled onto his side and coughed; breath coming out in a fog in the cold midnight air.
“Son of a bitch!”
Dean was down but the fight wasn’t over. The wolf advanced, fangs bared, claws sharp and aimed at flesh. Dean tried to stand, flipping fully onto his belly to push himself up, but his wrist buckled under his weight and he skidded back down.
“Fuck!”
He felt the claws rip into his jacket, tips of the claws pushing down through the layers to dimple his skin. Any harder and they would have drawn blood.
In a flash, the ground fell away and Dean saw stars as the wolf flung him up and away, narrowly missing hitting a half-dead apple tree with his skull. Another crash of solid ground and Dean felt a rib break. He roared with pain and clenched his teeth as he curled inwards, left arm wrapping around his middle. His vision was starting to go, black and white dots pelting the edges as he searched the dark for his sparring partner.
The wolf was closer than Dean thought and there was no time to dodge the fur covered hand that swooped down with razorlike nails that tore through Dean’s shirt like a knife through warm bread.
His scream echoed through the dark and Y/N could wait no longer. She cocked her pistol and slammed the Impala door shut, rushing towards Dean’s voice.
He was bloody and sprawled out on the grass; exhales filling the air in heavy, sporadic puffs as he struggled to catch his breath.
“Dean!”
The wolf turned and Y/N took the shot, taking him down with a silver bullet straight through the heart.
Dean gasped as the attack finally let up, rolling to sit up as he clutched his ribs. “Damn it, Y/N!” he yelled through the pain. “I told you to stay in the car!”
She rolled her eyes, stowed her gun, and held out a hand to help him up. “I think you mean, thank you for saving my ass...”
Dean slapped her hand away and rolled onto his knees, sneering as a wave of pain spread through his middle. “You could have gotten hurt,” he hissed.
Y/N stood back and crossed her arms, one hip popping in annoyance. “Hey, asshole,” she growled. “I just saved your life. Say thank you!”
Dean gave in, his head hanging, body shaking, blood dripping. He looked up with red eyes and nodded pitifully. “Thank you, Y/N.” He shifted a bit and lifted his left hand to ask for help. He couldn't say it out loud, but he didn’t need to.
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The motel room was cold. The bathroom window was open and refused to shut, allowing a draft of late October air to sneak in and curl beneath the closed door into the main room. Y/N shivered as she passed it, bringing the first aid kit over to the bed, shaking her head at Dean who was refusing to settle.
“I’m fine!” he lied, wincing as he tried to sit up straight. He clutched his ribs and held in a cough.
“Oh yeah?” Y/N teased knowingly. “Shake my hand.” She held out her left hand so he would shake with his, but he sneered instead and looked away. “No?” Her smile was proud but her eyes were worried. He was really hurt.
“Shut up.”
“Is it broken?” she asked, reaching for his left hand. She turned it carefully in her hand and Dean hissed. The underside was red and a bruise was forming beneath his thumb, but otherwise it wasn’t too bad.
“Nah, just a sprain.”
Y/N sighed and ran her hand gently down his open palm. “I wish you’d stop hurting yourself.”
Dean shook his head. “I don’t do it on purpose.”
“You’re not Superman, you know, and without Cas around-” Her eyes filled with tears but Dean wouldn’t have any of that.
“Hey,” he cut her off, screwing on a smile. “I’ll be fine. I’m just glad you’re OK.”
Y/N laughed softly and kissed the middle of his palm; soft lips gliding over calloused skin. “I wish you wouldn’t do that, either.” She sat back to open the first aid kit, rummaging for alcohol swabs.
Dean grit his teeth as he unbuttoned his torn flannel. “Do what?”
Y/N ripped open a little square of soaked gauze. “Lock me out of hunts, try to hold me back. I’m not an idiot, Dean. I can take care of myself.”
Chewing his lip, Dean peeled back his blood soaked t-shirt; the frayed fabric clinging to the wound beneath, pulling painfully. “Fuck!” He took a deep breath and yanked the rest away, eyes growing huge as the sting bore into him. “I know you can,” he answered finally. “I just worry.”
Y/N met his eyes and leaned in, zoning in for a distracting kiss. “You worry so much about keeping me safe you go and get your own ass kicked.”
Dean puckered his lips, his eyelids dropping as she leaned close. “That’s not tru- Fuck!”
She kissed his scream away as she pushed the alcohol swab against his wound.
“You...bitch…” he gasped, sucking in a quick breath once her lips were gone and pushing it back out slowly. “Not cool.”
Y/N laughed. “I was trying to ease the pain.”
“You did not succeed,” he groaned, lips puckering into a pathetic pout. “God, this hurts.”
“Hey, don’t turn into a pussy on me. Where’s my big, strong superhero?” She dabbed gently at the edges of his torn flesh until the gauze was soaked in various shades of crimson.
Dean pushed his head back against the headboard and grit his teeth. “He died. Fifteen years ago. Shit.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said, leaning down to blow a soothing breath of hot air across the tingling skin. “You look plenty strong to me.” She kissed him gently, just above the slice as she fit a sterile bandage into place, securing the ends with tiny rips of tape. “And you’re just a cape away from being a superhero.”
Dean relaxed as her lips landed again, this time over his heart, slowly making their way upwards. He ran his good hand up her back, middle finger firmly tracing her spine. “Hey, not all superheroes wear capes, ya know.”
She kissed his aching shoulder. “I know.” Another peck at the bend of his neck. “Mine wears flannel…” She sucked at his pulse, feeling it quicken under her lips. “...listens to ancient rock…” Y/N licked at his ear and drew the tender flesh between her teeth. “...drives a kick-ass car…”
Dean’s eyes fell closed but his hand still roamed, moving upwards to tangle in her hair. He held her close, sighing a little moan as she nibble on his ear, licked at the sensitive space behind, doing her best to distract him.
“Ancient rock?” he laughed, her words finally filtering through his mind.
She smiled against his cheek. “Anything made before 1980 is ancient, Dean.”
He cleared his throat in sarcastic defiance. “Excuse me. I was made before 1980.”
Y/N lifted a brow and grinned. “Exactly.”
Very carefully, Y/N shifted on the bed, climbing to her knees and tossing one over his lap. She hovered over him, conscious of his injuries, and let her fingertips dance across his bare chest. He was bruising all over and she bent to softly kiss each bloody blossom.
“What’re you doing?” he asked, voice a raspy whisper as her hands traveled his body.
Y/N ran her tongue across his left nipple and felt his stomach tighten beneath her hands. “Just giving my hero a little reward.”
Dean pulled her up to him, his strong hand tugging on her hair until he could reach her lips. “I like rewards.”
“Then you’ll especially enjoy this one.” She licked into his mouth, caressing his plump lips with hers until she felt him weaken just a bit. When he let go and melted against her, she pulled away, sliding back down to continue her attentions.
Every scar, new and old, she acknowledged; each dip in his body, every muscle saw a visit from her lips. She went slowly, taking her time, moving in no particular pattern, massaging and lightly caressing every inch but the one that was aching for attention.
Dean’s cock was hard and pushed against his boxer briefs, the faded green cotton about to tear as it tented. He lay back and let her work, muscles too strained and overused to do much, too tired to contribute more than a heavy moan now and then.
Y/N was perched on top of his right leg, his thick shin between her thighs, bowed knee pushing lightly against her pussy. She sat up and drew his eyes to her, slowly peeling off her shirt and tossing aside her bra, exposing her tits for him. He reached up and took hold, cringing as his left wrist protested the quick move.
“Fuck.”
It was pained and sexual all at once, and Y/N bit her lip as he rubbed his palms against her nipples.  
“Just relax, baby,” she commanded, lifting his hands away. “Let me take care of you.” She dropped down and covered his cock with her tits, slowly rubbing against him. Dean pulled in a heavy breath and set his hands by his head, determined to lay back and enjoy. “That’s better.”
Y/N tugged his briefs away and licked him firmly from base to tip.
Dean’s throat tightened. “No,” he squeaked. “That’s better. Fuck.”
She took him in slowly; her lips a tight circle around his swollen head, bobbing leisurely, inch by inch sinking downwards. By the time her nose was buried in the thick hair around the base, Dean was gone, eyes rolling, chest heaving, fingers tensing against his thighs.
“Please, Y/N/N…”
She smiled around his dick and swallowed before pulling back with a pop. “What do you want, Dean? Tell me.”
His mouth opened, ready to answer, but she sank down quickly, sucking hard as she went, sealing her mouth around him.
“Fuck!”
“Tell me…” She bobbed at the tip, wetness leaking from the sides of her mouth, trickling down the sides of his erection.
“I...shit!”
Y/N swallowed and he growled.
“Tell me.”
“I-please!”
“Tell...me…” She choked on him, gagging as she forced her way down too quickly and Dean jerked his hips upwards.
“Wanna cum in that pretty mouth,” he grit, mind and body sinking to its most base desires. “Wanna paint those fucking lips. Fuck.”
Y/N sat up on her knees and set her hands on the bed beside his hips, giving herself better leverage. She worked faster, her mouth tight and hot around him, humming as she worked. Dean dragged his hand through her hair once more and collected a fistfull, using the ponytail to guide her speed. Up and down, up and down, deeper with each pass. He bucked his hips, meeting each push down with a hard thrust up, making her gag until her eyes filled with breathless tears.
“Shit, baby,” he groaned, “fuck, I’m cumming. Fuck.”
He released his grip to let her pull away, but Y/N wouldn’t move. She waved her tongue against his pulsing vein as he let go, shooting a hot load into her mouth with a guttural cry.
Y/N drank him down and then cleaned him up with kitten licks as he softened before her eyes.
“That was…” He searched for words, but English was hard, his brain a sleepy mush.
“You’re welcome, baby,” she grinned, climbing up the bed to lay against his uninjured side.
“So hot…” he continued, dropping his sprained wrist on his stomach. “Shit.”
Y/N lay her hand atop his and patted gently. “You earned it, Superman.”
Dean sighed and snuggled deeper into his pillow. “About that...I think I’m gonna need an actual superhero name.”
“Hmm… OK…” She scrunched up her nose in thought, Dean’s face doing much the same.
“Meat Man?” he offered.
Y/N shook her head. “No.”
“The Baconator!”
“The Bacon-Eater…”
“Nah... Impala Man!”
Y/N laughed and pushed up to look at him. “How about… Dean Winchester.”
He smiled. “Yeah, I like that.”
She kissed his cheek and settled back in place. “Me too.”  
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