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deanwinchesterswitch · 1 year

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The Girlfriend Who Remade Christmas

Part One: A Bad Banana

Square: Advent Calendar ~ @spnchristmasbingo

Song: You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch ~ Pentatonix

Pairing: Dean x Nicole {Nico/Nic} OFC

Summary: Nic is not happy about Dean’s Grinchy behavior.

Warnings: Flangst, canon divergence

Word Count: 1,497

Beta: @princessmisery666 I'd be lost without you.

Credit: @talesmaniac89 made the gorgeous title card and divider

Series Master Post

“Dean Rupert Winchester!”

“What’d you do?” Sam chuckles, glancing at a confused-looking Dean sitting across from him.

“N- Nothing,” Dean scoffs, heart rate fluttering in wary fear.

“Dude, she made up a middle name for you. She doesn’t do that unless she’s super pissed.” Closing his laptop, Sam begins to stand. “I think I’ll just-”

“Yeah, me too.” Dean drops his feet to the floor and pushes up from his seat.

Both men freeze at the roar of her voice, “SIT!” and drop back into their respective chairs.

“Why?” she snaps, eyes narrowed and fixed on Dean like daggers pinning him in place.

Not sure what he’s done to provoke her ire, Dean attempts a little bravado even as he squirms in the chair. Giving her a cheeky grin, he jests, “Why does shower sex have to be so complicated? Why does Sam refuse to cut his hair? Why do I love you so much? Gonna need a little more clarification there, Nico.”

The resounding whack of the large booklet that lands on the table in front of him makes him jolt. She leans over, palms flat on the polished wood, bringing herself to eye-level with him. “Why was that in the garbage? Why are ALL of the windows open? Why is all of the candy gone?” Each staccato syllable is pronounced with fierce precision.

“It’s an Advent calendar,” he sneers. “Christianity …the coming of …Chuck. I’m not celebrating that douchebag’s birth.”

“Well, remember, it’s probably not his real birthday; it’s actually the winter sols-” Sam cuts himself off when Nic puffs her cheeks and expels a heavy sigh.

“It’s a Christmas countdown.” She softens her tone. “It’s meant to create excitement and anticipation for the upcoming celebration.”

“What’s to celebrate?” Before she can respond, Dean adds, “Don’t get any ideas about decorating or exchanging gifts either,” and flatly states, “There’s nothing special about it. It’s just another day. We don’t do Christmas. Right, Sammy?”

Sam smartly doesn’t reply, clearing his throat and tucking his chin. Dean frowns, giving his brother the stink eye for not backing him up.

“You agreed to help cut down a tree and decorate the bunker.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You did.”

The cute smile that curls her lips momentarily distracts him, and he shakes his head to dislodge thoughts of where those pouty lips were last night and shoves the calendar back across the table in frustration.

Lifting her fingers just enough to stop the book’s forward motion, her eyes remain locked on Dean.

“A couple of months back. When Donna and Jody came by for game night, we started playing that drinking game that you were surprisingly awful at, and Donna kicked your ass. Sam,” she tilts her chin toward the bent head of her friend, “ended up completely wasted.”

Dean smirks when Sam shifts in his seat but continues to avoid eye contact with either of them. Clearly, his traitor of a brother is going to be of no help with the situation. “I remember, but what’s that-”

“I mentioned I wanted to go all-out for Christmas this year,” she cuts him off, “real tree, garland, lights, gifts, the whole shebang. Sam started whining about the hassle, pine needles, the environment, blah, blah, blah. You,” the Cheshire cat grin warns him that she’s going in for the kill, “agreed to everything I wanted to do. I’m pretty sure it was just to annoy Sam, but I have witnesses to your compliance.”

“Well,” he shrugs, “I changed my mind.” He knows he might be pushing back a bit too hard. The low growl she emits gives away her growing frustration. He also knows that he’s being unfair. The night in question, he’d been mesmerized listening to her explain how she wanted to transform the bunker into a winter wonderland. Excitement and hope had started to weave their way into his heart, and he began to believe they could have something normal or, at least, something close to it. Maybe he could have the apple pie life he’d always wished for but never believed he’d get.

In the days following, though, that hope started to dim. Sam seemed content with completing his goal of cataloging every single artifact in the bunker, digitizing all the paper files, and doing less hunting. Dean figured he’d found a new girl, too, as Sam’s thinly veiled excuses of three-day ‘healthy lifestyle’ seminars and serial killer movie theater marathons were lame. Now that Nic had more time to devote to jewelry making, her business had taken off, and she’d been occupied with creating pieces and running her online store.

Which meant Dean had a lot of empty time on his hands. Time to think about what he wanted to do with his life …the life he never thought he deserved or would get to live. What is his purpose now?

It left him feeling unsettled and lost—angry at himself. He doesn’t want to burden Nic with his issues. She’s dealt with them enough over the years, and now that things are going well for her, he doesn’t want to damper her happiness. Yet, here he is doing just that, and he can’t seem to stop himself or keep the anger in check.

“You were so excited when Mrs. Butters manifested Santa’s workshop in here. I thought that you might want to see the bunker decked out like that again.”

“Yeah, well, you know how that almost ended. So, no, I don’t want any reminders of it.”

Narrowing her eyes, she taps her fingers on the calendar as she straightens. A shift in her features indicates she’s going to try a different approach. “What about the beauty of the holiday? The wonder and excitement of it all.” Her smile is sweet and soft. “The spirit of giving. People coming together, helping one another.”

“They should do that every day,” he scoffs, taking a large gulp of his drink. “Not just one day a year.”

“I don’t disagree with that,” she nods, “but I thought that since this is our first year without an apoco-”

“Don’t say it!” he warns, pointing a finger. It’s probably a silly superstition, but it just doesn’t need to be put out there for the universe to hear.

She holds her hands up in surrender, “Okay, not saying it! I just thought we could make something of the holiday for a change.”

“Do what you want, but I won’t be participating.”

Nic jolts at the near-defiant stare Dean aims at her, anger rising to meet his. “You-” she huffs, chest heaving and hands clenching into fists, “you’re a- a …bad banana.”

“A what, now?” Dean asks, brows knitted together, and lips pursed.

“You know,” she sweeps a hand in the air between them, “a greasy black peel …heart an empty hole …seasick crocodile ...“

Sam snorts, and Dean swears the temperature in the room drops ten degrees as she turns a cold glare to his brother. “Are you calling him a Grinch?” Sam’s smirk is large until he raises his head to face her. Happy to have her anger diverted from him, if only briefly, Dean chokes down the laugh bubbling in his throat as Sam’s eyes widen and fear creeps into his features.

“You think this is funny? I’m trying to bring a little joy back into our lives.”

“Uh, well …it was kind of … “ Sam finally shuts up under the intensity of her stare.

Dean draws her attention, clearing his throat. “Remember the year you got poison ivy from that Christmas tree farm while tracking a pack of werewolves? Or the year you bought that cheap mangled tree hoping to liven up the crappy motel we were stuck in and it ended up being full of stick bugs? Or what about the year that Sam and I were almost ritualistically sacrificed? Nothing good happens for us at Christmas.”

Narrowing her eyes, Nic forcefully shoves the calendar back in his direction and declares, “We’ll see about that!” briskly walking away and leaving Dean to choose between saving his drink from being spilled or letting the book slide off the table. He chooses his drink, cringing when a stiff cardboard corner pokes him in the gut.

A distant door slams a few moments later, and Sam gives a low whistle. “You should go after her.”

“Nope. I learned my lesson a few years back. She needs time to cool down. You know that.”

“Would it really be so bad to have some kind of celebration? You know how much she loves this time of year,” Sam attempts to initiate a concession.

“You want to participate in all that commercialized crap? Go ahead, but the two of you can leave me out of it.” Dean snatches the half-empty bottle of whiskey and his glass from the table as he stands, letting the countdown calendar fall to the floor without a glance as he storms out of the room.

Love Me Some Pie tag list:

@akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09 // @deanwanddamons // @flamencodiva // @idreamofplaid // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @michellethetvaddict // @mvdeanw // @shawnie74 // @siospins2 // @thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix

#spnchristmasbingo #advent calendar #tgwrc: part one #a bad banana #122222

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motleycrueobsessed · 3 months

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Cc! Wilbur with a sick reader headcanons

First write, but as promised. It came a bit early since I’m cracked out on monster energy. Got into a car accident today, the fanfiction writers curse is real 😭

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-Would literally treat you like a dying child. He would be SUPER dramatic about it until you got better.

-He would stop streaming until you got better

“You’re sick, how could i stream when my darlings sick?”

- He would turn your bed into like a little nest.

-Despite really not wanting to get sick, he would cuddle you and keep you warm until you felt better.

- Buys you your favorite snacks, drinks, and if its real bad, maybe that book you’ve been eyeing up or a teddy.

- Personal space while your sick? Dont know her.

- He loves you, and cares about your well being.

-Henceforth making him a clingy little shit until you get better.

- He would make you hot tea and soup.

“You are NOT staying up tonight darling, you need rest!”

- Puts on your favorite show or movie

(Especially if its a musical.)

- This man is just a big teddy bear when it comes to you, ESPECIALLY now since your sick.

“I don’t care you don’t wanna. You’re going to the doctor, sweetheart.”

- Can’t sleep? He’ll read you a book you like until you eventually sleep.

- Hamilton, Heathers, etc. Something is ALWAYS on.

- Heaven forbid you have a bad sickness.

- If that’s the case..

- You’d be lucky to get 10 minutes when he isn’t clinging to you those days.

- The only time he wouldn’t be, is when he’s out at the store, one of you is in the washroom, or he’s cooking.

-You are going NOWHERE.

- Need to clean the house? He’s on it.

- Feed the cat? Already done.

- Some sorta assignment due coming up?

- “gently” calls your professor and explains you need and extension.

- Or he would do the assignment for you, or just help.

- King of reassuring words.

“You’ll be okay darling, you always are, my love.”

- even if its just a cold.

- He’s not getting off of you.

- He would cancel band practice until you feel better.

- And if you’re in a band too, you’re not going to that either.

- Your job?

“Your boss can suck my-“

“Wilbur!”

- He would try to make you laugh, as much as he could.

- He knows it sucks being sick, so he tries to make it as good for you as he can.

- He loves you. And he’s not afraid to tell you that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ill write again tomorrow!!

Pleasseee send me asks!! Ill get to them as soon as i can!!

Ily. Drink water and take care of yourself <333

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self-loathing-angel-of-thursday2 · 6 months

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Beautiful Spouse’s Rewatch Thoughts SPN 09x05 Dog Dean Afternoon

“What’s it with dudes watching sports reruns and shit?” “Feel like that’s way too fancy to be your shop gun” “what the hell” “the fuck just happened?” “there’s still risk involved. Go die on a hunting trip and all. Kinda risky I guess” “what a weird..oh. it’s the fkn PETA folks” “a good egg? As opposed to what? A scrambled egg? A deviled egg?” “Is that a common dog name or something?” “hippie witches” laughter

“I love how he knows what it is” “surprisingly” “they’re really selling it’ “when we were tagging the joint” “that’s a lot of makeup for one scene but it’s good though’

“What a fkn asshole” “Wouldn’t there be a lot more screaming with the cats that are in the bag?” That cat would be fighting and stuff

“Isn’t he a snake or something?” laughter “what the fuck” “down the hatch” “does it take an hour for the drugs to kick in?” laughter

“Fuck that shit” laughter

“How is that going to matter? He’s not a fkn dog” laughter “OK Ricky” (From Trailer Park Boys) “Wasn’t Sam the one with the dog? So why is he being so annoyed?” “what the fuck” “One zero four” “anyone on a 4/10 schedule?” “It was perfectly lit before they shone flashlights on it” “Why are the lights in the fridge on while the door is closed?” “Fkn hamsters or something?” “close” “looked like some grapes in there’ “Hoodoo and spices - good name for a spear” “Ok” “Wouldn’t it be easier for them? Dean’s gun is a 45; Sam’s is a 9mm. WOuldn’t it be easier to use the same caliber when making bullets and shit? Feel like there’d be an efficiency gain there” “the sharktopus?” laughter

“You gotta brush your gums better” “what the fuck” “good now all the stray dogs have tasted human and need to be put down” “I don’t think it works like that with dogs though” “saw that coming” “fuck that. I’d go get drunk again just so you’d know” 🎶jacked up on juice🎶

“Is that like the purple drink? You get jacked up on juice?” “or maybe kids learn to ferment the juice in the cellar and they got jacked up on juice” “Or maybe your name is Jack and you’re stopped on the side of the road and all you have is the crates that the juice would go into” “You’re using the juice to get jacked up”

#beautifulspouserewatchesspn #supernatural rewatch #supernatural #supernatural s9

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samdeancass · 3 years

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They Get Hit With A Spell That Turns Them Into a Cat/Dog (Supernatural Preference)

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Jack

Warnings: None.

Requested: Yes, by Anonymous.

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Dean

Dean had been uncharacteristically quiet on the ride home from the hunt which really concerned you. “Dean, are you sure that spell hasn’t done anything? Your really quiet, which isn’t like you.” You placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and rubbed your thumb across it. “M’fine. Just tired.” You nodded your head and turned to look out of the window, slowly drifting into sleep.

You awoke when Dean pulled into the garage. He switched the engine off and exited the car, heading straight towards your shared room. You followed him, only to be stopped by Sam in the library. “Hey, Y/N. How’d the hunt go? I tried to ask Dean but he just walked into the room.” You shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t know. The witch hit him with a spell but it doesn’t seem to have done anything.” Sam furrowed his eyebrows. “That doesn’t sound right. Let me do some research and I’ll get back to you.”

You nodded your head and made way towards your room. You lightly tapped on the door but you received no answer so you headed straight in, letting out a gasp at the sight that you saw. On the floor in front of you lay a German Shepard wearing the remnants of what seemed to be Dean’s flannel.

“Err, Sam!” Loud footsteps sounded behind you and stopped in the doorway. “I think we’ve found out what the spell has done.” You elbowed Sam in the ribs when he began to laugh. “Oh c’mon, Y/N. You’ve got to admit, this is kinda funny.” A little smirk found its way onto your lips. “It really is, but I would much rather a human boyfriend than a dog one, thank you. So get researching!”

Sam

You were quite worried about Sam. He had been hit by a spell with unknown consequences and he was acting as if everything was normal. “Sam, are you sure you’re alright? I mean, you got blasted pretty hard with that spell.” He looked down at you and entwined his fingers with yours. “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. If the spell was that serious, it would have taken effect already.” Sam brought your hand to his mouth and kissed it. You tried your best to push your worries to the back of your mind but it was proving pretty tricky.

You and Sam were the only ones in the bunker as Dean had taken Cas and Jack to a nearby bar. Sam excused himself to take a shower so you took it upon yourself to unpack all of the weapons. After a while, you noticed that you couldn’t hear any noise coming from yours and Sam’s shared bedroom so, being the curious person you are, you decided to investigate.

“Sam?” You knocked lightly on the door and waited for an answer, but nothing came. You pushed open the door and walked into the bathroom and there you found a quite large Golden Retriever, wearing remnants of Sam’s flannel. “I knew something was going to happen! Why don’t you ever listen to me, Sammy?” Kneeling down in front of him, you began to stroke Sam’s fur whilst ringing Dean on speed dial.

“Hello?” A gruff voice answered, so you knew that Dean had been drinking. He wasn’t going to take this seriously. “D, I need your help. Me and Sam have come back from our case, but Sam got hut by a spell. At first, nothing happened but when we came back to the bunker, the spell took affect and Sam’s now sitting on the bathroom floor..... in dog form.”

Loud laughter sounded on the other end of the line. “Seriously, Sammy’s a dog?! I have to see this! We’re on our way!”

Cas

You weren’t worried at all when Cas got hit with a witches’ spell, after all he is an angel and angel’s didn’t really become affected by spells. So that’s why you found it very strange when you came back to the motel room to find a Persian cat sat on the bed, surrounded by Cas’s trenchcoat.

Slowly, you walked towards the cat. The closer you got, the more the cats head turned to the side. “Fuck.” Immediately, you got your phone out of your pocket and dialled Sam’s number. A few rings later and Sam answered the phone. “Y/N? Is everything Ok?” “Well.... not really. You wouldn’t happen to know how to turn an angel back to their true form after being turned into a cat by a witches’ spell, would you?”

Jack

Jack was a little worried when he got hit by the spell. It was his first hunt and he didn’t know how it would affect him, given that he was half-archangel and half human. You tried your best to console Jack but part of you feared that something was going to come of it.

You left him in the capable hands of the Winchesters whilst you went to get a shower. You loved the feeling of washing the grime away after a hunt, there was nothing like it. It was the only time that you actually got a minute to yourself, given that you live with two grown men, an angel and an archangel child.

“Y/N, we think that you may want to see this!” You inwardly groaned and leant your head against the tiled wall. “Why can they never cope without me for longer than a minute?!” You got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around your body before walking towards the map table where you found Sam and Dean surrounding a Norwegien Forest Cat walking across the table.

“Er, guys. Why in the holy hell is there a cat on the map table.” Sam rubbed the back of his head with his hand. “That cat is actually Jack. Turns out that the spell did affect him.” You held your head in your hands. “Why do things like this always happen to us? Please hurry and find a cure before I go crazy!”

Supernatural Tags:

@akshi8278 @stellastyless @deascheck

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester preference #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester preference #castiel #castiel x reader #castiel preference #jack kline #jack kline x reader #jack kline preference #supernatural #supernatural preference

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there-must-be-a-lock · 3 years

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For Us Sinners

Soulless Sam x Reader

Word Count: ~4130

Warnings: This is 100% pure smutty religion-themed filth. Sam is dressed as a priest. There’s sex in a confessional, severe perversion of the Hail Mary prayer, and a lot of blasphemy happening. Like. A lot. Orgasm denial. Squirting. Non-explicit mentions of Winchester threesomes, gun play, and knife play.

A/N: For @stusbunker‘s “Jam Basket” fic exchange! This is for the lovely @rockhoochie. I managed to squeeze a decent amount of her jams in here. Sarah, my dear, I hope this makes you even a little bit as happy as your friendship makes me.

Thanks to @cracksinthewalls @fangirlxwritesx67 and @fookinghelljensensthighs for lore, encouragement, and inspiration!

You’re frowning at the trunk arsenal, wondering if it’s possible to sharpen a machete too much, when movement catches your eye. Sam rounds the corner of the old warehouse, and you grab a knife and a whetstone just to have something to focus on that’s not him and his stupid smirky face or the way his shoulders look in that suit.

The whole priest thing is a really good look on him.

“Dean’s not back yet?” he asks, without preamble, sitting on the edge of the trunk next to you. You focus very intently on your knife.

“Nice to see you too, Sam,” you snark, to cover the way you’re blushing. “Why yes, I did have a super fun afternoon of doing fucking nothing! Waiting around for you two is exactly how I wanted to spend the last three hours, thanks for asking.”

He laughs. “Weren’t you just telling me that I should stop pretending to be normal polite Sam?”

“Whatever,” you mutter.

“Lemme see that,” he says abruptly, and plucks the knife from your grip before you can protest. He takes one look at it and laughs at you, twirling the blade in his fingers. “Working out some frustration, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What’s really going on? You’re only like this when you’re hungry or horny.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, but he’s totally fucking right. He’s way too perceptive these days.

You’ve been refusing to play poker with him ever since this whole soulless deal came to light. He’s like a walking polygraph test… a very attractive, muscled polygraph who’s really good in the sack.

He’s analyzing your expression with his head cocked. “The knife thing?”

“I don’t know what you’re — that’s not—”

He holds the tip of the blade to your throat, and you stop stammering immediately. You close your eyes and swallow hard.

“That’s not new, though,” he says thoughtfully.

When you open your eyes, ready to protest, he’s tucking the knife back in its sheath and twisting to set it in the trunk.

“How’d you know about that?” you ask reluctantly.

He just smirks, that godawful not-Sam not-smile, with his dimples popping and his eyes glittering.

“One of these days you’re going to realize that I’ll never judge you,” he says, low and sly. “C’mon. Tell me.” He puts on a prim, sanctimonious face, pointing at the collar, and says, “Confess your sins and all will be forgiven.”

He ruins the pious effect by licking his lips and aggressively eye-fucking you.

You try to laugh, but it comes out all squeaky. You’ve never been good at poker, and if Sam’s smirk is anything to go by, he can see exactly what’s written all over your face.

“Shut up,” you say preemptively. “Asshole.”

“This is totally doing it for you, isn’t it?” Sam asks.

“Shut up.”

His smile is gleeful. “Oh my god, it is!”

“That’s not — I’m not—”

You grit your teeth and stand up abruptly, and it’s not like you can go anywhere but you need to move; it’s impossible to think straight when he’s right there and he smells so good.

He gets up so quickly you barely have time to blink before he’s in your space. He backs you against the warm metal of the door, caging you in with one big hand planted on either side of your head, and you have to tilt your chin up to meet his wickedly sparkling eyes.

“Don’t lie to me,” he says, soft and heated, lips curling up in a familiar dangerous smile. “Lying is a sin.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you huff, but you can’t stop staring at his mouth.

“Besides, I can always tell. Admit it.”

“You are so fucking—”

Without warning, he’s tugging at your zipper, yanking the button open, and shoving a hand roughly down the front of your jeans as he murmurs, “You are so fucking into this.”

Before you can protest (not that you’d really want to) he’s got two fingers sliding into you, curling sweet and easy where you’re ridiculously, undeniably, outrageously into this.

“Maybe a little bit,” you sigh.

He’s just smiling, watching you squirm, playing with you like a cat might play with a mouse, and as much as you’d like to be angry about it, he knows exactly how to use those clever fingers. Then —

“Dean’s back,” he says calmly, and before you can even process that, he’s sucking his fingers clean and walking around the car to greet his brother.

You have about three seconds to button your pants, thank your lucky stars that you were on this side of the car, and generally get your shit together before it’s back to business.

“It’s a goddamn garden statue,” Dean is saying. “Some crazy old bat donated it to the church and then just up and left town. First person disappeared the next day.”

“So we wait til dark, take it down, break the curse.” Sam shrugs. “Easy enough.”

“Like a chant ‘n’ smash,” you offer. Both the boys give you blank looks, and you try to pretend like your brain isn’t totally scrambled. “You know. Like a salt and burn. A good old-fashioned chant and smash… no? Okay, whatever.”

Sam is barely containing his laughter. Asshole.

“I could use a nap before we do that, I’m wiped,” Dean grumbles, taking off his clerical collar as he slides into the driver’s seat. Sam keeps his on.

As you’re all getting buckled, he says, “Why don’t you just let us handle this one, Dean? You should take the night off.”

“If you guys want some privacy to bone, you can just say so,” Dean grouches. “But get another motel room, don’t bring Baby into it.”

“Yeah, we know. We will,” Sam reassures him.

Dean does not seem reassured. He looks at Sam suspiciously. “So, what, you’re just being nice?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Sam says bluntly. “You look like shit and I don’t want you hunting with me when you’re this sleep-deprived.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay, that I buy. Man, this whole soul-free honesty shit is gonna take some getting used to.”

“You and me both,” you sigh, and Sam gives you a wink in the rearview mirror.

* * *

“That is the creepiest-looking angel I’ve ever seen,” Sam comments, striking a match. “And l’m including Zachariah in that. Okay, here we go.”

He lights up the little bowl of herbs he’s concocted and says a few things in Latin, and then the smoke coming up from the bowl turns eerie green and seems to sink into the worn concrete.

“Is that it?” you ask dubiously. “How do we smash it?”

“That’s the fun part,” Sam says. He attaches a silencer and loads his gun, quick and practiced, and when you’re both out of shrapnel range he aims almost lazily while you try not to stare at his fingers. Bad enough that he’s still wearing the priest getup. Watching him shatter an angel with a few perfect shots shouldn’t be a turn-on, but…

“Shouldn’t” is one of those words that lost most of its meaning when you and Sam started fucking. In the last two weeks, he’s managed to discover kinks you’ve never even admitted to yourself.

Speaking of —

“C’mon,” he says, and when the gun is deposited safely back in the arsenal, he grabs your hand without waiting for an answer, leading you around to a side door. The door isn’t even locked. Sam’s smile is gleeful in the moonlight.

“What are we doing?” you ask, as he leads you inside.

It’s almost completely dark, just a faint glow from the emergency exit signs to light the sanctum, until Sam takes out his matches and lights a few of the tall pillar candles that are arranged in nooks around the altar. The golden glow flickers and dances on the walls.

Sam grabs you by the wrist, and you halfheartedly attempt to tug your hand away. He’s got that glint in his eye that can only mean trouble.

“We really shouldn’t be here,” you hiss, as he pulls you over to the confessional.

“What are they gonna do, condemn my soul to hell?” he says flatly, and you stifle a giggle. “We established a while ago that my immortal soul is fucked.”

“Mine isn’t,” you mutter.

He looks at you with another of those smirks and says, “That’s why you’re the one who needs to confess.”

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” you sigh, but instead of answering, he crowds in close, pressing you up against the smooth dark wood of the confessional, and kisses you, all teeth and tongue and liquefying heat, until your lips feel bruised and your entire body is tingling.

“Confess,” he whispers, and with one last grin, he points you toward one curtain and slips behind the other.

If you’ve learned anything about Sam over the years, soul or no, it’s that there’s no point arguing when he’s made up his mind about something.

Sam seems to have made up his mind.

You pull the curtain closed behind you and sit on the little bench, and you have to breathe through some long-buried memories before the words come to your lips.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” you whisper. “It has been… a long time since my last confession.”

The flickering candlelight cuts through small gaps around the curtain, casting dancing shadows through the cramped space. Your cheeks are burning.

“Sam?” you ask tentatively. “This feels stupid.”

He lets out a low, cocky chuckle, and his voice is all sorts of promising when he replies, “Trust me, I’ll make it worth your while. Play along for me.”

Fine.

“Where do I start?” you mumble. “I drink, frequently. I have been dishonest. I gamble, and I do not dress modestly, and — I don’t know. What else?”

“Do you have impure thoughts?” You can hear the smile in Sam’s voice.

“Yes.”

“About what?”

You swallow hard, closing your eyes, thinking about the way he looks right now. No preacher has ever looked so good in that black suit. “About… about you.”

“Go on.”

“About the way you feel inside me. About the way you fuck me.”

“What did you think about last time you touched yourself?”

Your breath hitches. “I thought… I imagined that you —”

“Lying is a sin.”

Fuck.

That’s the thing about Sam; he won’t let you get away with politeness, or with half-truths, or with telling him what most guys would want to hear.

Fuck him and his creepy polygraph spidey senses.

“I imagined that it was Dean,” you whisper, cheeks burning.

“And how did that go, in your fantasy?” There’s no trace of surprise or hesitation in his voice.

“I was — he bent me over the hood of the car.”

“That’s not the first time you’ve thought about him, is it?”

“Sam, I don’t — this is weird,” you say, squirming slightly.

“Why?” he says, and you keep waiting for the jealousy or the disgust to color his words, but all you can hear is curiosity. “Do you think about him while I’m fucking you?”

You let out a long, measured exhale. “Yes.”

“Have you thought about him walking in? Listening to us?”

“Yes. Sam, I don’t—”

“Were you thinking about him a couple days ago, in the middle of the night? When you couldn’t seem to keep quiet?”

You shudder, pressing your thighs together. “Yes.”

“Tell me.” When you hesitate, he continues, “I wondered… felt the way you were squeezing around my cock every time it got too loud. You wanted him to hear.”

“I wanted him to — to imagine. I hoped he was awake, and that he was turned on, and—”

“You wanted him to join in,” Sam supplies, when you falter. His voice sounds husky, now. “You were imagining both of us, huh? What else?”

“Sitting in your lap, in the backseat, while he watches in the rearview,” you mumble, and now that you’ve started talking, it’s hard to stop: “I think about getting on my knees for both of you. Letting him have my mouth while you fuck me, or… one of you holding me down.”

“Have you imagined us handcuffing you? Taking turns with you?” he asks calmly.

“Well now I’m imagining it,” you huff, and your nervous giggle breaks the tension for a moment.

“I know you’re holding out on me,” Sam purrs, when the silence starts to stretch. “Leave my brother out of it, if you’re getting all hung up on that. What else?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble.

“Trust me. God isn’t judging you and neither am I. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

You can’t bring yourself to spit it out, even like this. “That’s it.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice is silk and steel now. “Why don’t I take a guess?”

“Fine.”

“Knives,” he says bluntly, and your inhale is too sharp to be innocent. “You like the way a knife looks in my hands, the way it’d be dangerous if I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Yes.”

“You want to know what it’d be like: cold metal on your skin. A knife at your throat, or... a gun to your temple.”

You’re shaking.

“How’d you know?” you whisper.

“I pay attention,” he says simply, voice ragged, and then there’s a long pause before he asks, “Is that the end of your confession?”

You’d almost forgotten where you are. You’re grateful the screen is still between you and Sam.

“Yes,” you say, and because old habits die hard, you add, “I am sorry for these and all the sins of my past lives.”

“As for penance…” You can hear the teasing note in it, and some of your self-consciousness dissipates. “You can begin by taking off your clothes.”

“Here?” you laugh. “Sam…”

“Here. Now.”

You let out a tiny, nervous whine of protest, but you’re too turned on to care, not when you’ve already crossed so many lines tonight.

Then you strip, taking off your clothes with shaking hands and setting them in a neat-ish pile in one corner of the tiny booth. It’s chilly, and you wrap your arms around yourself, feeling goosebumps run down your bare skin.

“Okay,” you say softly.

“Now... you can say ten Hail Marys,” Sam says, with that smirk in his voice again.

“I — really?” you ask.

Just as you’re thinking that’s all?, Sam is ducking through the curtain of the confessional, crowding you in and pushing on your shoulder until you sit back down on the narrow bench. Even in the barely-there flickers of light you can see the wicked smile on his face as he drops to his knees in front of you.

“And you may not come until you’re finished,” he orders coolly.

Then he’s hooking his arms under your knees, grabbing you by the hips and pulling you forward so that he can get that filthy smirking mouth on you. He licks a hot slick stripe up your center, swirling his tongue over your throbbing clit, and —

“Holy fucking shit,” you gasp, letting your head fall back against the wood with an echoing thunk, because whatever Sam’s doing with his lips is sending sweet fluttering waves of heat through your belly. “Oh my God, Sam, that’s—”

“If you keep taking the Lord’s name in vain,” he growls, nipping at your inner thigh, “I’ll double it.”

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,” you start, and it’s been a while; Sam’s not the only reason you have to pause. “Fuck. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the — the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now—” Your voice breaks as you whimper, and you finish in one long rushed breath: “— and at the hour of our death, amen.”

“There you go,” Sam says, practically moaning the words against slick skin. You’re already having trouble thinking straight.

You start all over again, trying to rush through it as quickly as possible, but you stutter as Sam fucks you shallowly with his tongue.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Sam says, curling two long fingers into you.

Except it’s bad. In the short time you’ve been doing this, Sam has learned your sweet spots like nobody’s ever learned them before, and he’s not touching them now. This is barely a tease, compared to what you know he can do to you. It’s bad, and it’s going to get so much worse.

You start to stammer through the third prayer. You’re so wet — from the thrill of the setting, as much as what he’s doing with his tongue — you can hear the slick thrust of his fingers inside you, dirty and distracting.

When you pause for breath between “Mary” and “mother of God,” Sam hums low against your cunt, and you know he enjoys this, you know he gets off on it, but he lets out these noises that never fail to make you feel feverish, and now is no exception. It doesn’t feel chilly any more. By “amen,” you’re burning up.

“Three down,” Sam murmurs.

On the fourth “grace,” he closes his lips around your clit and sucks gently, and you make a high, squeaky, mortifyingly desperate sound. Your voice keeps breaking as you stumble through the next lines, until you end on a long, relieved groan.

“Good girl,” he croons. “Six more.”

“I can’t,” you hiss.

“You can. And you will.”

On “full,” Sam twists his knuckles, and you gasp, arching your back, squirming. He fucks you in the same rhythm as your words, dragging friction across your g-spot with every syllable, and when you try to speed up, rushing through it, you can’t even get to “sinners” without breaking off in a moan. He stops completely as you pant for breath, and as you mumble through the last lines, painfully slow, you’re rolling your hips, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, desperate for more.

“That’s five,” Sam says. “I’ll give you a second to catch your breath.”

With his free hand, he grabs one of your wrists, guiding your hand to the back of his head. His eyes flick up to you, watching hungrily, until you slide your fingers through the silky strands and tug lightly.

You sigh. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Hope not,” he says, smirking against the crease of your thigh. “I’m into some weird shit, but I like ‘em warm and breathing.”

“Ha fucking ha, Sam, that’s — fuck,” you choke, as he fits his mouth to your clit again, and this time he sucks lightly in time with the slow thrusts of his fingers. You forget what you’re saying, somewhere around “God,” and stumble to the end in bits and incoherent pieces.

“Six.” You realize you’ve got a death grip on his hair, all your muscles tensed-up and rigid with electricity that’s got nowhere else to go, but when you ease up, he pumps his fingers in deep and growls, “Harder.”

He adds a third finger, and it’s so fucking good, so fucking much, filling you with fizzing pressure, and it takes most of your willpower to stop yourself from going under.

You grit out, “HailMaryfullofgrace.” Lightning lances up your belly, and you squirm— “TheLordiswiththee.” — twist your fingers in Sam’s hair— “Blessedartthouamongwomen.” — muscles quaking, cunt clenching around perfectly curled fingers— “Blessedisthe. Fuck. Fruitofthywomb. Fuck — Jesus!” — tension surging and swelling — “Holy Mary, mother of God, prayforussinnersnow, fuck, Sam!” — you’re almost there, almost, and he stops, refusing to give you what you want as you gasp out, “And —at the— the hour of our death, amen.”

“Seven,” he says harshly, and you can feel him breathing hard, damp hot air teasing your slick swollen skin, and his mouth is so close to where you want it. He gives you a second and then: “Keep going.”

You babble out a few words at a time, and your voice is ragged and broken, but it must sound close enough to what he wants; he’s winding you up again, fingers crooking expertly against that sweet spot. The heel of his other hand digs into your lower belly, right over that point of white heat, and it’s so intense, suddenly, that everything goes sparkly and distant.

“Pray for us,” you groan, and he sucks, fast and hard. “Pray for us — us sinners —”

There’s this pressure, right there, right where his fingers are stoking a fire, and it’s blazing, and —

“Sam, I can’t. I can’t, I’m gonna—”

He’s not holding back, and you can’t either. You buck helplessly against the incredible suction of his mouth, holding him with both hands fisted in his hair as you bow up and cry out. All that pressure peaks, crashing down in wave after wave of relief, pulling you under like a rip tide as you come dripping-wet and messy.

It blinds you, for a moment. You’re out of your body for who knows how long, lit-up and paralyzed by the high-voltage shock of it.

When you come back to yourself, Sam is scooping you up and swapping places with you in one smooth movement, manhandling you so that you’re straddling him; he’s got his pants open just enough, can’t seem to wait any longer, and the breathless urgency is so unusual for him that your head spins.

You’re still clenching through the lingering quakes of your orgasm, trembling, boneless like a rag doll, and it’s not you sinking down on his cock so much as him pulling you, filling you up inch by inch as you squeeze and quiver around the thick length of him.

When he’s as deep as he can be, his arms wrapped around you and practically crushing you to his chest, you both pause and take a ragged gulp of air.

“What even was that?” you slur, bracing yourself with a hand against the wall and trying to adjust. He lets out a rough groan through gritted teeth.

“That is what I’ll be seeing every time I look at a confessional now,” he pants, starting to rock up into you. “Never gonna be able to walk into a church without getting hard.”

He wraps an arm around your ribs, and the heat of his splayed hand on your shoulder feels like it spans half your back. Your naked skin seems even more obscene as it brushes the stiff cloth of his suit, and you can feel your own wetness soaking the fabric in places. You shiver, roll your hips, and you can feel the way he reacts, shuddering under you.

“Seems like I’m not the only one who likes this a little too much,” you say, breathless.

“Who said anything about too much? No such thing.” He barks out a laugh, bucking up in a way that makes you moan. “I’ve been to heaven, and trust me when I say, this right here—” He twists his hips viciously to emphasize the word. “— this is so much better.”

“God, this is so —” you whimper. He fists a hand in your hair and bites your neck, and you jerk helplessly against him.

“God doesn’t care,” he growls. “God wasn’t listening to you just now.”

“That’s not —” You’re pretty sure he’s missing the point, but with the way your cunt is throbbing at every perfect thrust, you can’t remember what that point is; you can’t remember anything.

“God’s not going to answer those prayers,” he says hoarsely. “I’m the one who’s going to handcuff you and bend you over the hood of the car and fuck you until your legs give out.”

“Holy shit, Sam.” Your brain is shorting out.

“I’m going to make sure Dean sees you when you’re all strung-out and begging for it,” he promises. He jerks up with a vicious twist of his hips, and you grind down to meet him, every inch of your skin singing. “I’m going to hold a gun to your head while you ride me. I’m going to give you anything you want.”

“Please.” Your moan sounds more like a sob, and you can’t see straight anymore; it’s all going distant, until the only thing that feels real is the aching, pulsing heat of him inside you.

Sam claws at your back, dragging his open mouth up the side of your neck until he can snarl against your ear: “God doesn’t answer prayers, but I do.”

He surges up to meet you one last time. Your vision flashes bright white as you come, one exquisite pulse after another rolling through you, and it feels like a purer sort of ecstasy than any religious experience you’ve had in a church.

This is worth a little hellfire.

There is now a follow-up drabble here!

#sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #sam winchester smut #soulless sam #stus1kjamexchange

490 notes · View notes

goldenraeofsun · 3 years

Note

A/b/o + celebrities and/or coffee shop 👀

Thanks so much for the prompt, Julesy, and I'm so sorry for the long wait! Part II should be up in the next few days, but hopefully this beginning 7k will satisfy for the time being 😘

Castiel is elbow-deep in suds when Jo plunks a medium to-go cup on the edge of the sink. “Thank you?” he says, bemused.

“It’s not for you, doofus,” Jo says, rolling her eyes. “There’s a customer out back,” she jerks her head towards the service exit that leads to the alley where they dump their trash and Ruby takes her furtive smoke breaks. “I need you to take this to him.”

“Out back?” Castiel repeats dubiously, craning his neck to catch sight of their on-site baker, Benny, who is busy kneading focaccia dough for tomorrow’s sandwiches. Benny, full of southern politeness, doesn’t give any indication he’s eavesdropping.

Jo gives Castiel a short nod, her alpha scent flaring with irritation. “I’d take it out there myself, but he always talks my ear off, and Kevin still can’t draw a latte art that doesn’t look like a dick, so…”

Castiel frowns but nods, and Jo’s expression eases once she doesn't hear a challenge to her request. Still, he has to ask, “But why doesn’t he order at the counter like a normal customer?”

Jo takes a step back towards the door. “You’ll see. Just… don’t make a big deal of it.”

“A big deal of what?” Castiel calls to her, but she’s already disappeared out to the front of the cafe.

Castiel sighs and wipes his hands on a dish towel. He picks up the drink, sniffing curiously.

He nearly gags at the strong aroma of brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and apples all on top of espresso and milk. They definitely don’t serve that on the menu. Admittedly, Castiel hasn’t memorized the list of hot drinks they serve at Hunter’s Cafe, but this is an assault on anyone with a nose. He’s been their busboy and dishwasher for six months since his second year as a graduate student began, and Jo has only let him mind the counter three times, all as far from peak time as she could get.

But a job is a job. Holding the drink, he shoulders open the back door.

“Hey - oh, you’re not Jo,” a familiar voice says.

Castiel stops dead in his tracks because, despite the sunglasses, the baseball hat, and hunched shoulders, Dean Winchester is unmistakable.

Away from the limelight, Dean apparently favors soft-looking flannels over worn tee shirts and jeans. In one hand, he holds a half depleted sheaf of french fries. Stunned, Castiel doesn't immediately hand over the reason for his appearance.

“Whatever, is that mine?” Dean demands, zeroing in on Castiel’s cup.

Still beyond speech, Castiel dumbly hands the affront to coffee over.

After a muttered thanks, Dean takes a long drink. “Christ, this tastes even better than normal.”

Castiel inhales a surreptitious breath. It’s not every day one gets to catch the scent of Hollywood’s omega darling.

Not that anyone would know Dean's secondary gender just by looking at him. Dean stands a few inches taller than the average male omega - he has nearly an inch of height on Castiel, and Castiel is the dictionary definition of standard alpha physique.

While Castiel might not be Dean’s most knowledgeable fan, he hasn’t been living under a rock for the past five years. It was all over the papers when Dean was cast in his first alpha role. Dean wasn’t the first omega actor to do so, but he was certainly the most prominent. Castiel’s sister, Anna, an actual fan, spent a memorable dinner ranting about how all the prejudiced reporters on the press tour. Apparently they only asked Dean about the diet and exercise routine that transform into a “real” alpha, while, in the next round, his alpha castmates fielded questions about their characters’ moral code and complex development.

But, in the alley behind Hunter’s Café, Castiel’s nose is completely overwhelmed by the fryers of the fast food restaurant next door, the set of dumpsters directly to his right, and the almost offensively apple coffee Dean is currently drinking like his life depends on it. Dean could smell like old gym socks for all Castiel can tell.

“Where’s Jo?” Dean asks once he resurfaces. He jams a few fries in his mouth. Before he's finished chewing, he sucks down some more latte in an unholy taste combination.

“Busy,” Castiel replies. “We have a new hire, and so far Kevin can only draw genitalia on lattes instead of flowers.”

Dean guffaws, nearly inhaling his drink. Swearing unrepentantly, he takes his sunglasses off and rubs at his temple with his free hand. “Christ, I’m too hungover to laugh like that.” He squints over at Castiek before sliding the sunglasses back on his face.

Castiel stares. “If you’re hungover, why are you here at -” he checks his watch “-seven in the morning?”

Dean slurps at his fruity latte before he answers. “Got a meeting at nine. This,” he says, brandishing his mostly empty cup, “and a large fries are the cure.” His hands occupied, Dean ducks his head to fish a single fry out and holds it like a cigarette between his lips.

“That sounds disgusting,” Castiel says, aghast.

Dean inches the rest of the fry into his mouth. “Don't knock it ‘til you try it,” he says with a wink.

Cas blushes.

“Hey,” Dean says, a new thought coming to him, “What’s your name?”

Taken aback by the question, he answers, “Castiel.”

Dean mouths his name once, his brow furrowing at the new syllables. With a small shrug of capitulation he says, “Well, Cas, thanks for the drink.” He toasts him one before tipping the cup all the way back, draining it.

“You’re welcome, Dean.”

Dean grins. “I couldn't tell if you recognized me or not.”

“I did,” Castiel says, clearly unnecessarily.

Amused, Dean throws him a long, considering look. “You’ve got one hell of a poker face.” He unceremoniously shovels the rest of the fries in his mouth and balls up the wrapper. He tosses it with practiced ease into the waiting dumpster.

“Thank you?” Cas says, nonplussed.

“Thank you,” Dean says, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. “You’re the one who saved my hide.” He sidles forward and shoves a bill into Castiel’s slack hand. Without another word, he takes off out of the alley and onto the street.

Once he’s out of sight, Castiel unclenches his hand. Dean tipped him ten dollars.

* * *

“How is this even more pungent than last time?” Castiel demands, nose wrinkling as he sets a now clean muffin tin back on the shelf. It’s been a week since he met Dean Winchester, and hadn’t gotten so much as a whiff of apple pie since then.

He is alone with Jo in the kitchen, since Benny’s early morning shift ends at eleven.

“I added a caramel drizzle,” Jo says, her scent rising with her self-satisfaction.

Castiel stares at her in horror. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“’Cause I’m trying to see what his limit is, and so far - nothing,” Jo says, shrugging. “Get to it. He’s real grouchy if you make him wait too long.”

“And why aren’t you taking it to him?” Castiel says, eyebrows rising. “Kevin’s moved onto multiple hearts now. Admittedly, his first one looked like a labia, but he’s gotten much better.”

“But Ruby didn’t show up, so we’re short staffed,” Jo says shortly. Outside, Kevin yells something indistinguishable though the kitchen door, and Jo winces.

Castiel takes the latte.

Just like last time, Dean is waiting, wearing a different flannel but the same jeans with the hole above the left knee. He abandoned the sunglasses, since the clouds overhead cast the whole alley in shade. They’re hanging from the vee of his shirt collar, pulling the fabric down a tempting extra inch.

Unfortunately, the fast food restaurant next door must have just taken out the trash last night, since the alley reeks of stale bread and rotting fish patties.

Castiel lets the door slam behind him, unable to hold back his corresponding smile as Dean lights up as he sees him.

“Thank god,” Dean says as he reaches for the latte. “I was starting to think Jo was gonna stiff me.”

“We’re short staffed at the moment,” Castiel says apologetically, “so you got me again.”

Dean eyes him over the lid of his cup. “Not a downside from where I’m standin’,” he drawls.

Castiel has no idea how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. Dean can’t mean it like Castiel thinks he does. He’s an actor, feeding people lines is the dictionary definition of his job. Instead Castiel asks, “No french fries this time?” because he’s not nearly ready to leave yet.

“Already ate ’em, while I was waiting,” Dean says dismissively.

Castiel shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry.”

“No harm, no foul,” Dean says with a little grin. “I got my caffeine fix eventually, and that’s what I really care about.”

“You look remarkably more put together than last time,” Castiel says as he leans against the doorway, watching Dean sip at his drink.

“Didn’t drink as much,” Dean says with a grin. He tips back his cup and takes a long pull. “Fries can only get you halfway there. Christ, that’s the stuff.”

Castiel can’t help but make a face. The latte smells horrendous; it can’t taste that much better.

“What?” Dean asks, eyes narrowing.

Castiel probably shouldn’t tell Dean what is exactly on his mind. Castiel has found very few people appreciate his default brand of honesty - Hunter’s Café customers, especially. But Dean isn’t technically his customer - he’s Jo’s - and Castiel has reached the point in his life where he doesn’t need to hang onto people who don’t like him and vice versa. Dean isn’t even providing extra publicity for the establishment, since he’s getting serviced in the alley behind the kitchen.

Technically, Castiel needs a celebrity acquaintance as much as he needs a free bag of cat food (he doesn’t have a cat).

But he does like having one.

A celebrity acquaintance, that is. Cats are inherently suspicious.

Reluctantly, Castiel says, “I can’t imagine that latte tastes very good.”

To his surprise, instead of demanding Jo bring him his coffee from now on, Dean laughs. “Not a fan of apple pie?”

“Not in my coffee.”

Dean takes an obnoxiously loud slurp. “I think it’s delicious.”

“I think your taste buds must be severely incapacitated.”

Dean waggles the near empty cup in front of Castiel’s face in what must be an enticing manner to someone with no sense of smell or taste. “Wanna try?”

Castiel valiantly holds back his recoil. “No, thank you.”

But Dean’s genial expression doesn’t waver. “‘M feeling pretty much human again, so it’s up for grabs.”

“I’d sooner lick the dumpster,” Castiel blurts before he can filter himself.

Dean whistles, rocking back on his heels. “Harsh.”

Castiel sighs. Honesty was a mistake. He mutters, embarrassed, “I’m just not a very big fan of sweets.”

“No?”

“I’ve been living with my cousin while in graduate school at Columbia,” he explains, his tone apologetic for his earlier comment, “and he has a horrendous sweet tooth. I don’t think he’s ever seen a carrot that wasn’t in a cake first.”

A wide grin splits Dean’s face. He laughs.

What Castiel wouldn’t give to scent Dean’s joy for himself. “He would probably love that latte,” Castiel continues wryly.

“Probably,” Dean agrees. He taps his fingers against the sides of the cup as he asks, “So you’re in school? For what?”

“Do you really want to know?” Castiel asks seriously. He’s had too many conversations with strangers and casual friends who have asked the exact same question and regretted asking it almost immediately.

Dean ducks his head. “I don’t know any graduate students, and I,” he breaks off, his cheeks going pink, “I never went to college, so I have no idea what it means.” He sucks on the dregs of his latte, gaze dropping to the vicinity of Castiel’s knees.

“Oh,” Castiel says, feeling lighter. “In that case, I’m studying ethnomusicology.”

Dean’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Are you fucking with me? That doesn’t sound real.”

“It’s a legitimate area of study,” Castiel assures him. “I research music as it pertains to culture and diverse elements of social life. Ethnomusicology focuses not only on the music itself, but music as a social process, as a medium for humans to relate to each other. In short, it examines how music functions in a particular society.”

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean doesn’t get the glazed-over look most people do when he explains his field of study. “So what kind of music are you talking about?”

Now it’s Castiel’s turn to flush. His colleagues, while they respect his academic reputation, have nearly all looked down on his chosen object of study. “One of the main tenets of ethnomusicology is a global perspective on music-”

“What, like Tibetan throat-singing?” Dean interrupts. At Castiels’ stare, he explains quickly, “Sammy had a phase.”

Castiel chuckles. “Yes, I do know a professor at Cornell who is studying just that. But my focus is much closer to home. I study,” he inhales a small breath, “tribute bands.”

Dean’s mouth twitches. “What.”

“Tribute bands offer a fascinating definition of the nature of performance, the difference between authenticity and identity,” Castiel says, already on the defensive. He can already hear his voice trying to fall into his usual academic patterns, and tries to rein himself in, “and historical consciousness in popular music. Here -” He pulls out his phone.

Dean listens in complete silence to Yellow Dubmarine’s cover of I Want You.

“Anyway,” Castiel coughs, embarrassed he made Dean sit through all that, “I also teach Rock and Roll from the 1950s to 1980s. There is a great deal of crossover with my specialty since most tribute bands recreate acts from the 60s to the 80s.”

“Dude,” Dean says in a rush, “if you think that makes you less interesting, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Castiel blinks.

“What bands are we talkin’ about?” he asks eagerly. “More Beatles? The Stones? The Who?”

Castiel nods. “I’m hoping to go to a Lez Zeppelin concert next month.”

“Led Zeppelin?”

“Lez,” Castiel says, emphasizing the ‘z’, “an all-female Led Zeppelin tribute band.”

Dean frowns. “They have a gimmick?”

Castiel shakes his head. “They’re completely sincere, I assure you.” He smiles wryly. “I interviewed Misstallica for a paper I’m writing on diverse, for lack of a better word, musicians in the tribute world, and they felt right at home with the long hair and tight pants. I’ve never met people who more adore the songs they perform.”

“Huh,” Dean says, rubbing his chin.

“Except maybe Air-O-Smith,” Castiel adds, “an American all-omega tribute band of Aerosmith.”

Dean’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.

“My favorite all-omega tribute band, though, is Omega You Eight One Two,” Castiel muses, “a Van Halen cover band.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean says faintly.

“Their lead guitarist, as you can imagine, is phenomenal.”

Dean shakes his head, his expression going slack. “Wait, seriously? That’s a thing? All omega acts?”

“Of course,” Castiel says. “That’s one of the most compelling aspects of tribute bands, when they flip the traditional male-alpha dynamic of the original, and how they translate that into their own act while keeping the whole performance authentic to the creators. It’s a fascinating process to watch and study.”

“I bet,” Dean says fervently. “Hey, d’you think-”

The back door opens before Dean can finish his sentence.

Jo pokes her head out, looking askance at the pair of them. “Are you still out here?” She glares at Dean. “Stop complaining about your diet, and let Castiel come back to work.”

Castiel’s mouth purses. “You’re on a diet?”

“Not on cheat day,” Dean tells him, lifting his empty cup. He turns to Jo. “And I wasn’t complaining at all. Cas was actually telling me about tribute bands.”

“Really?” Jo asks, her nose wrinkling.

Dean tosses his trash in the dumpsters. “They sound awesome.”

“I like them,” Castiel says lamely, off-footed now the conversation is clearly wrapping up.

Jo rolls her eyes, alpha irritation practically radiating off her. “Good for you.”

“Alright, well, I’ll let you deal with Joanna Beth on your own,” Dean says as he pulls out his wallet and hands Castiel a folded bill. He gives a mocking salute as he takes a step back, “Good luck, dude.”

“Thank you?”

“Come on, fanboy,” Jo growls once Dean’s disappeared from view, “back to work.”

* * *

“Can’t you take it?” Castiel asks, his tone verging on pleading, as Jo follows him back into the kitchen. It’s too early in the morning for another meeting, closer to first time Castiel met Dean at seven am compared to their last meeting at a little before eleven.

This past weekend, Castiel went down a spiral of Dean Winchester content. He read up on all of Dean’s recent projects, scanned headlines about rumors of his next film - some action thriller that Castiel presumes is the reason for Dean’s diet, and watched interview after interview. Dean on Stephen Colbert. Dean on Good Morning America. Dean on some very confusing show where they forced him to eat spicy chicken wings, which just seemed like an exercise in pepper-based sadism.

Castiel didn’t really understand the Saturday Night Live skit where Dean played one half of a demon-hunting brother duo, but the live studio audience laughed uproariously at multiple points.

Jo all but slams Dean’s latte on the ledge above the sink. “You know the health inspector is here. I can’t let Ruby near the guy, and you know how Kevin gets around figures of authority.”

Castiel sets down his tub of dirty dishes. “He nearly peed himself when he had to tell you he dropped a tray of scones over the floor last week,” he says flatly.

“Exactly,” Jo says. “Benny is busy,” she says, tipping her head to where Benny is adding more flour to a huge bowl.

“Cheers, darlin’.”

She turns back to Castiel. “So, you’re it today, champ.”

“Great,” Castiel grumbles.

“What?” Jo asks, her hands on her hips. “You seemed to get along with Dean. I actually didn’t know you could talk that much before I sent you back there.”

Castiel carefully transfers the dirty plates to the sink. “Getting along with him isn’t the problem,” he says darkly.

“Getting along with him too well is the issue?” Jo asks, her eyebrows rising.

Castiel scowls at her observation. Her emotional intuition is what makes her an excellent café manager, so he can hardly fault her for that. He doesn’t respond to her question.

“Take it to him,” Jo says, her tone softening. “He likes you.”

Castiel raises his head to stare at her. “How do you know that?”

Jo pulls her phone from her back pocket and waves it in his face. “We talk,” she says. “How do you think he orders every time? He’s not getting those lattes for free, not after I spent so much time getting them exactly right.”

Castiel can’t hold back his grimace. The latte still smells awful, like a vat of boiled candied apples.

“Look,” Jo says, lowering her voice, “Dean’s famous, sure, but he’s actually a very private person. He runs his mouth to anyone who’ll listen, but he never really says anything important. So he doesn’t really connect with a lot of people. If he says he likes you, I’m gonna say that’s a good thing - if you tell him I said this, I’ll kick your ass - and make you his designated errand boy.”

Castiel bites his lip. “But I don’t -”

“Dude, don’t make me pull the boss card,” Jo says, just the barest hint of threat in her words.

“Fine.” Castiel snatches the latte off the counter. “But I want a raise.”

“You can get a free sandwich.”

Castiel glares daggers as he shoulders open the back door.

But the alley is empty.

Castiel breathes through his mouth as he steps out. The overflowing dumpsters carry the odor of moldering cheese and more rancid fish, and the fryers next door are still going strong. He doesn’t find Dean lurking behind the trash for some strange reason, and he’s about to head back in and dump Dean’s latte down the sink when a shout makes him turn around.

“Hey, Cas!” Dean calls, jogging in from the brightly lit street.

“Hello, Dean.” He hands over the latte.

“Thanks - sorry.” Dean rubs the back of his neck with his other hand. “Some fans caught me sneaking in here, and wanted a selfie.”

“Oh,” Castiel says for lack of anything better to say.

Dean tips back his cup, his expression falling into pure bliss. “Christ, that’s so much better when I’m not hungover.”

Castiel stares. “You’re drinking that with all your capacities intact?”

“Ain’t no better way to enjoy pie,” Dean says, grinning widely.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “That’s not pie.”

“It’s as close as I’m gonna get at eight in the morning on a Thursday,” Dean says with a shrug.

Silence falls between them, and Castiel can’t help glancing over Dean’s shoulder, tentatively scanning for the people who caught his attention earlier. Plenty more would have approached Dean if he didn’t have Jo’s latte waiting for him; Castiel would bet his job on it.

Dean is a celebrity.

Castiel is a grad student who can’t even afford to support a guinea pig on his stipend and café salary.

After a long beat, Dean asks, a touch hesitantly, “So, what’ve you been up to?”

Stalking you on the internet.

“Nothing,” Castiel lies. At the slight fall in Dean’s expression, he adds, “I cleaned my kitchen over the weekend.”

Dean chuckles. “You’re a weird dude, you know that?”

Hurt, Castiel takes a step back. Jo probably needs him for… something.

“Not in a bad way!” Dean says quickly. “Shit,” he swears under his breath, “please don’t stop giving me coffee.”

Castiel hesitates. “Why is it weird that I cleaned my kitchen?” He frowns. “I suppose you employ someone to do that for you.”

Dean seesaws his free hand back and forth as he sips at his latte. “Not always,” he lowers his voice, “I actually like cleaning - it helps me relax and shit. There’s nothing like blasting some tunes and scrubbing out that stain on the counter that’s been annoying you forever.”

Castiel lowers his voice too. “Is this a secret?”

Dean grimaces. “Not really. But, you know, it’s one of those omega things.”

Castiel doesn’t know. Well, he knows it is a stereotypical omega trait to like housework, but he has no idea why Dean would whisper it in a back alley like he’s confessing to defrauding an elderly relative. “And that is bad because…?”

Dean takes a long pull from his cup. “I don’t want to hammer the omega thing home too hard, alright?”

“But you are an omega,” Castiel says, feeling a little stupid for saying it out loud.

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, “but if I lean into it, I’ll stop getting alpha roles.”

“You only want to play alphas?” Castiel asks curiously.

Dean’s mouth twists. “They’re the better parts. Omegas are always the damsels in distress or get killed off first for the plot.”

“I’m sure not all films are like that,” Castiel says. God knows, Anna made him sit through enough films with an omega protagonist that did not fit the typical romantic comedy restrictions.

“Most.”

“The last movie I saw,” Castiel says, hesitant because Dean must know more about this than him, “my sister recommended it, it had an omega lead who led a team of paranormal investigators. A sort of horror-comedy.”

Dean’s face loses some of its hostility. Almost intrigued, he asks gruffly, “D’you know who wrote it?”

“Not off the top of my head.” Castiel pulls out his phone to look it up. He reads aloud, “Ghostfacers, directed by Ed Zeddmore, written by Harry Spangler. Starred Maggie Zeddmore and Alan Corbett.” He pauses, trying to remember the details. “I think they both were omegas. I’m sure there are more films like Ghostfacers out there for you to make.”

Dean sips at his latte. “A few. None with big enough names attached to really get on my radar.”

“Well, if you signed on, wouldn’t there be a big name attached?”

“Yeah,” Dean says in a tone that clearly conveys he’s thought of this possibility before. He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s just - what if I take one of these roles, and it gets all this attention just ’cause I’m in it, and it flops?”

Castiel tilts his head. “That would hardly be your fault. Most failed films are hardly the work of one person. Usually, it’s a combination of a bad story, bad production, and bad acting.” He levels Dean an appraising look. “Right off the bat, you control two of those elements - pick a good script and act as well as you always have.”

Dean blinks. “You’ve seen my stuff?”

Castiel’s brow furrows. “I thought I already said I knew who you were?”

“Yeah, but,” Dean says, his voice petering off with embarrassment, “that didn’t mean you liked my movies.”

“The majority of America liked your last movie, Dean,” Castiel says dryly. “Either that, or you have a very hardworking and wealthy mother who poured a hundred million dollars into ticket sales.”

“I mean, Mom’s a fan, but not that big of a fan,” Dean says, chuckling. “I’m pretty sure she’d rather get a twenty-minute call from yours truly than sit through a two-hour flick with my name on the poster.”

Castiel hands over his phone. “Here,” he says, tilting it so Dean can see the summary of Ghostfacers.

Dean brightens as he reads through it. “The Alpha dies first?”

“He thought he could deal with the ghost on his own.”

“Typical alpha macho,” Dean snorts. His head snaps up as he gives the phone back. “No offense.”

“No offense taken,” Castiel says easily. “With my lifestyle, posturing is a waste of time. I’ve long ago resigned myself to not being the primary breadwinner in any future household.”

“Really?”

Castiel throws him a look. “I’m in academia, Dean. Tenure is hardly a guarantee. Even so, there isn’t a wealth of money out there for ethnomusicology grants.”

Dean tips his head in acknowledgement. “It’s awful big of you.”

“Just logical,” Castiel says evenly. “It shrinks my dating pool considerably, but I’d rather do what I love than compromise that much for any potential partner.”

Dean inhales a deep breath, his eyes unfathomable. “I get that.”

“If it means I can’t afford to mate a house-omega, I’ll just have to keep cleaning my kitchen myself,” Castiel finishes with a shrug.

Dean grins. “I mean, if you spot me a six pack and don’t tell my trainer about it, I’ll clean your kitchen.”

Castiel turns bright red. He can’t bring himself to respond to that offer, so he changes the subject.

* * *

Castiel doesn’t even bother pretending to protest as Jo barges into the kitchen, the telltale scent of sugary apples wafting around her like a palpable shield. Castiel already set himself for heartbreak where Dean Winchester is concerned. He might as well take advantage of every interaction he has left.

He went to sleep late last night, watching one of Dean’s earlier movies. He was slimmer and younger, but he still shone with his signature charisma and talent. For the first time since Castiel started the morning shift at Hunter’s Café, he snoozed his alarm.

Hurrying through his morning routine, Castiel couldn’t help resenting Dean just a little. If only Dean hadn’t chosen a profession where his literal job is to be whatever his audience wants him to be.

As Castiel pushes open the door, Dean is waiting outside. Dark sunglasses shield his green eyes, and a violet bruise blooms over his left eyebrow. As the door slams shut behind Castiel, Dean winces. His left hand holds a half-empty paper container of french fries.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says. “You don’t look good.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean says darkly. “Gimme.”

Castiel pauses. “Did your hangover eliminate your manners?”

Dean flushes bright red. “No,” he mutters. “Sorry, Cas. I just feel like shit.”

“You look like shit,” Castiel says frankly as he hands it over.

“Thanks,” Deans says, his voice sour as old lemons. “I told Charlie tequila shots before Monopoly was a bad idea, but did anyone listen to me?” He gestures to his face. “Next thing I know, Jo’s throwing Charlie’s bag of DnD dice at my head.”

“You got that playing Monopoly? Wait, Jo did this to you?” he demands, gesturing to the cafe behind him. “Jo Harvelle?”

Dean just glares over the rim of his coffee cup. “Yeah, Katniss got me good.”

“God, why?”

One corner of Dean’s mouth lifts in a distinctly smug smirk. “’Cause she was going bankrupt, and she had to sell her last property to me.”

“So this was because of Monopoly,” Castiel says dubiously. In his experience, a board game has never led to actual violence.

Dean shrugs. “Game nights get intense. Why do you think I’m always bangin’ down your door the morning after?”

Castiel can’t believe it. “You’ve been getting this drunk at a game night? Every time?”

“So what?” Dean shoves four french fries in his mouth. “Whaddya think I was doin’?”

“Partying?” he suggests.

Dean snorts. “Maybe six years ago when I was doing B-level flicks and trying to meet as many people as I could. Now I have a back-to-back shooting schedule and hangovers if I don’t pace myself.”

Castiel watches Dean polish off his fries at a truly impressive and horrifying speed. He can’t help asking, “Why was Jo at your game night?”

“’Cause she’s a menace who knows how to pick locks?” Dean heaves a weighty sigh. “I’ve known Jo since we were kids. She and her mom - who started Hunter’s Café - were my neighbors.”

“I had no idea.”

Dean gestures to the alley with a wry hand. “Jo likes to keep it under wraps.”

“I see why Jo keeps making those drinks for you,” Castiel says, nodding at the half-finished latte in Dean’s hand.

“You didn’t make it?” Dean says, and does he sound almost disappointed?

Castiel shakes his head. “Jo is keeping the recipe close to the chest.”

“Probably worried everyone’ll want one if they get the taste.” Dean tips the cup back.

Castiel can’t help his noise of disgust. At Dean’s sharp look, he says aloud, “She’s probably worried everyone will never come back if they try it.”

Dean’s laugh cuts off with a wince. He raises a hand to his head. “Christ, last night was a mistake.”

Castiel surreptitiously scents the air for a better gauge of how discomfited Dean really is, but, as always, all he gets is trash and fryer oil. “How are you doing? Apart from the injury, headache, and general hangover-related malaise.”

“Oh, apart from that?” Dean echoes mockingly, but his words lack any heat. He crams a few fries into his mouth. “I asked my agent to send me a few more scripts with omega roles,” he mutters.

Castiel smiles. “That’s great.”

Dean hums his agreement. “Hopefully, she’ll pick out a decent one, and I can get something set up for after Two for the Show wraps.”

“Is Two for the Show the reason for your diet?”

Dean huffs. “Yeah. I have a bunch of shirtless scenes, so that means three months with the diet coach from hell.”

Castiel makes a noise of sympathy. After a moment, he asks, “Is it worth it?”

Dean chews a fry, scowling between bites. “Not really,” he says in a low voice. “Sammy’s the farmers market maniac in the family.” Wistfully, he continues, “Give me a good cheeseburger deluxe every day for the rest of my life with a side of pie, and I’ll die a happy man.”

“I didn’t think apple pie came as a side.”

“Not for you, maybe,” Dean says with an obnoxiously loud slurp of his latte.

Castiel doesn’t bother holding back his smile.

Dean sighs, rubbing his temple with the heel of his hand. “It’s just like, I don’t look like a traditional omega, so I figured I might as well try for the alpha roles.” He swallows. “’S a win-win situation. I look the part and the characters are better - what’s the downside?”

Castiel cocks his head. “Other than your restricted diet and inadvisable levels of drinking?”

A humorless smile pulls at Dean's mouth. “Not pullin’ the punches this morning, huh?”

Castiel colors, his face heating with shame. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well.” An inadequate excuse, but it’s not like he can tell Dean the real reason for his more uncharitable thoughts.

Castiel has never been one to lean into his alpha instincts. Possessiveness, aggression, arrogance - Castiel has had his (mostly regrettable) moments, but they hardly define his character. But over these past few weeks, he’s had to repeatedly tell himself that he can’t solve Dean’s problems. Dean is a wildly successful adult with millions of fans, while Castiel can’t even handle Hunter Cafe's front counter during the morning rush.

Dean would hardly welcome a nobody little alpha telling him to just… do what he wants and damn the consequences because he deserves to be happy with his life and his work.

Dean plucks out the rest of his fries and balls the wrapper against his hip. He lobs it in the dumpster. “No, I get it. I’m complaining about things that most people would kill to have.” He glances towards the mouth of the alley, his mouth set in a thin line.

But before Dean can leave, Castiel says quickly, “That’s not the way I see it. Your specific frustrations aren’t universal, but hardly anyone’s are. Society is inherently unfair, and it’s understandable to be angry about it.”

God knows Castiel railed enough about the unfairness of Dean Winchester to Gabriel enough over the past few weeks.

Even now, hungover and bruised, Dean is beautiful.

Castiel steels himself. “And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think not looking like a typical omega is a bad thing.”

Dean turns to him in surprise, and Castiel would give up that free sandwich Jo offered him to be able to scent what exactly Dean is feeling. But, after a second that stretches into an eternity, all Dean gives him is a quiet, “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel nods, chastised by Dean’s reaction. “I should get back to work,” he says awkwardly.

Dean mutters something that might be a swear underneath his breath. Raising his voice, he says, his tone apologetic, “’Course. Sorry for keeping you.”

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s alright. I,” he pauses, “always enjoy talking to you.”

Dean’s mouth lifts into a small smile, and it’s like the sun rising through the early morning fog. “You too, man.”

* * *

After his next shift, Castiel asks Jo to show him how to make Dean’s apple pie latte.

Castiel’s first attempt is a disaster. He burns the espresso and adds too much nutmeg. Jo makes him try it anyway, as a non-monetary payment for her time. As Castiel gags, a smirking Jo dumps the bitter, weirdly savory mess down the sink.

“Passable,” Jo declares at Castiel’s second try. “You need more of the apple concentrate, though.”

“It’ll be too strong,” Castiel protests even as he shakes more powder in and gives it a stir. He hands it back to Jo for evaluation.

“You could barely taste it!” Jo says. She raises it to her lips. “Mm, that’s the stuff.”

“It is?” Castiel asks hopefully.

Jo nods and pushes the cup towards him. “That’s what it’s supposed to taste like.”

Castiel frowns as the overly sweet apples hit his tongue. He can barely taste the coffee underneath all the other layers.

“Trust me,” Jo says, flipping her hair behind her shoulder as she sets Castiel up for a third cup. “Your scent’s getting in the way, but it tastes exactly like an apple pie.”

“My scent?” Castiel echoes, baffled.

Jo throws him a look as she pushes a clean coffee cup into his hands. “Yeah, you already smell, I dunno, crisp but sweet? A little like apples. Makes you think the latte dials it up to eleven when it’s more like a nine for everyone else.”

Castiel hadn’t thought to put those pieces together, but it makes an astonishing amount of sense.

He brings his last apple pie latte home to Gabriel, and his cousin makes him write down, step by step, how to make it. In between actual licks into the cup to get the dregs, Gabriel swears to visit him at Hunter’s Café more often.

When Jo next ducks her head into the kitchen to tell Castiel that Dean will swing by in fifteen minutes, Castiel gets to work. He awkwardly sidles behind the front counter and maneuvers around Ruby and Kevin, nearly knocking Kevin’s elbow as Kevin attempts some elaborate leaf pattern.

Castiel draws a rudimentary apple on top of Dean’s latte, and if it looks more like a misshapen mango, nobody will see it but Dean.

For the first time, Castiel heads out to wait for Dean at the mouth of the alley.

Dean doesn’t keep him in suspense for long. He makes his way down the street, shoulders hunched, and head bowed. Gaze fixed on the dirty sidewalk, Dean doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he turns the corner.

Dean isn’t even wearing sunglasses or a hat to hide his face, but everyone walks straight past him.

It’s the most riveting performance Castiel has ever seen.

A few steps away, Dean catches sight of him, and it’s like some magic switch is flipped on, and he is Dean Winchester again.

Smiling brightly, he jogs the rest of the distance and follows Castiel as he slinks further back into the alley. Dean wrinkles his nose as they get closer to the dumpsters and the smell of an entire rancid fast food menu hits him. “Hey, Cas,” he says as he takes his latte. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Castiel says, tipping his head.

Dean stares down oddly at the demented pear and takes a sip. Face going slack with a bliss Castiel doesn’t even need to smell, Dean groans.

Castiel freezes and sends up a silent prayer of thanks for the apron covering his lower half over his pants. “It’s good?” he tries futilely because Dean is clearly beyond speech.

Dean just gives him a thumbs up as he lowers the cup. He licks his lips, chasing the taste, and Castiel has seen pornography less graphic.

“I might have to tip Jo this time too,” Dean says, staring at the latte in his hand in wonder.

Castiel coughs. “I - I made this one, actually.”

Dean chokes on his next mouthful. “Are you serious?”

Castiel nods because if he opens his mouth he’s not sure what exactly will come out. Probably something highly embarrassing.

“This is the best one I’ve ever had,” Dean swears.

Castiel’s whole body heats with the force of his blush. “Thank you. I asked Jo how to make it, since it seems like I’ve taken over your delivery duties.”

Dean grins. “You’re a lot more fun than Jo,” he says lightly, “so I’m not complainin’.”

Castiel didn’t think he could get any redder, but here he is.

After an awkward beat, Dean says, “I think I found my next movie.”

“Really?”

Dean shrugs, but his eyes glimmer with anticipation. “It’s a World War II biopic about an omega who sneaks into the army, disguises himself as an alpha, and rescues a unit trapped behind enemy lines.” He taps his fingers against the side of his half-empty cup. “A little on the nose, but the script is good.”

“It sounds very promising,” Castiel agrees.

“Their biggest problem was the budget - historical pics aren’t cheap. But they think if I sign on early, they can leverage my name with the studio.” He smiles shyly. “Get the movie done right.”

“That’s fantastic,” Castiel says, a delightful warmth filling his chest - still a pale reflection of Dean’s excitement.

“Thanks to you.”

Castiel’s eyes widen in surprise. “Me?”

Dean throws him a funny look. “Yeah, you. You told me to get my head outta my ass and movies I actually like doing-”

“Not in so many words-” Castiel interjects, alarmed.

“’Cause the whole point of doing these stupid macho alpha flicks was so I could get the clout and money to do the stuff I actually liked,” Dean continues. “And I kept thinking, can’t do it yet, not there yet, until some rando tells me, fuck yeah you can.”

“I definitely didn’t say that-”

“It was implied,” Dean says blithely, waving off his protests. “So I figured, if this dude who doesn’t know me from Adam-”

“I’ve seen several of your films.”

“- tells me to go for it - it being something I’d thought of doing for years - is there any real reason why I shouldn’t?”

Castiel just stares at him, stunned.

Dean beams. “I’ve got a meeting with the director next week.”

“That’s wonderful,” Castiel says sincerely.

“Anyway, yeah, it’s partially thanks to you,” Dean says, tipping his latte in Castiel’s direction. “I also want to talk about romantic B-plot since I think it’s stupid.” He shakes his head, scoffing. “True mates, bullshit.”

“You think true mates are bullshit?”

As far as Castiel saw online, Dean’s never spoken on the record about true mates or any mates at all. Entertainment news sources reported rumors about him and a one-named alpha singer, Amara, early in his career, which he denounced thoroughly. A few months later, someone published revealing photos of him and an older alpha actor, Fergus Crowley. When asked about it, Dean refused to give details.

Dean makes a face. After a pause, he says, “My parents said they were true mates, but it wasn’t… pretty. No Hollywood romance between them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“’S fine,” Dean says in a tone that clearly says it isn’t. “Whenever Dad took off for a few days, I’d get to watch as many movies as I wanted, and - well, the rest is history.”

“I don’t know anyone who’s found their true mate,” Castiel says. His parents had a cold, distant marriage. A few times over the years, he wasn’t sure his mother even liked his father’s scent. Anna happily mated another omega last year, and Gabriel avoids all romantic entanglements like the black plague.

Castiel’s dating history can best be described as dismal. During his last visit to his pediatrician, his doctor called him a “late bloomer” which Castiel eventually realized just meant socially awkward. In the decade since, Castiel’s slept with a grand total of three people. And, to his supreme regret, none of them managed to bring his rusty people skills up to par.

But, in college, Castiel found music and his calling. And all his faults didn’t matter nearly as much.

In the crowd of a concert, people are so far outside the ordinary conditions of life, and so conscious of the fact, that they free themselves from individual concerns and devote themselves wholly to the collective. All their fury, their joy, their hunger for what they can’t have, is sublimated into the music.

Castiel has never felt more connected to humanity than in the middle of a crowd.

Truthfully, none of his past relationships ever measured up. None of his past partners ever managed to get Castiel out of his own head - not like the music.

Castiel shakes his head ruefully. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a true mate even if I had one.”

“Have a lot of super sappy sex with the lights on?” Dean offers, laughing.

Castiel frowns. “I wasn’t aware that kind of intercourse was restricted to true mates. I’ve done that in the past since I've always shared an emotional connection with the people I've slept with.”

“Oh,” Dean says, reddening. “Were you mated? Jo didn’t say.”

Inordinately pleased that Dean had asked Jo about him, Castiel shakes his head. “No, I’ve never been mated.”

Dean drains his latte. Swallowing, he says, “Me neither.” He throws the cup in the open dumpster and turns back to Castiel. “I haven’t dated in a while, actually,” he says in a low voice. “Couldn’t risk being seen with an alpha and remind everyone of what I’m not.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “Surely people can’t be that close-minded.”

“’Course they can. Most are,” Dean says, his voice full of assurance.

Castiel’s mouth twists. “That sounds like a negativity bias to me.”

“Huh?”

“Negative information sticks with us longer and more strongly than any positive counterpart,” Castiel says with a shrug. “It’s something I always keep in mind when reading my course reviews after the semester is over.”

“So," Dean says, eyes dancing, "you can take the nerd out of the classroom, but you can’t take the classroom out of the nerd, huh?”

Castiel smiles wryly. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Dean laughs. “Look,” he starts, his expression turning a fraction more serious. “I might be fucking up a good thing here, but do you want to go to a Lez Zeppelin show next week?”

Castiel’s mouth falls open as Dean reaches out and pulls out his phone to show him a ticket confirmation email.

“It’s no big if you don’t want to,” Dean says awkwardly into the silence.

“I - I do,” Castiel says, stumbling over the words. “You do?”

“Uh,” Dean throws him a bemused look, “Yeah? I bought the tickets, dude.”

“I’m just surprised,” Castiel says honestly.

Dean stares at him. “This is seriously comin’ out of nowhere for you?”

“A little,” Castiel says defensively.

“Seriously?”

Castiel shrugs helplessly. “You’re … you. You’re famous. Why would you ask me?”

“Because I like you?” Dean says, nonplussed. “You’re nice in a way a lot of the alphas I know aren’t, and,” he breaks off, reddening, “you said you didn’t mind that I didn’t fit in with other omegas, looks-wise-”

“I don’t,” Castiel interrupts. “I think you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Dean gapes. “Did you seriously -” he breaks off, apparently unable to voice the rest of his thought. His face turns an impressive shade of crimson.

Castiel shoves his hands in his pockets. “Should I not have said that?” he asks, brow furrowing. This can’t be the first time Dean has been complimented on his looks. As Castiel understands, good looks are one of the main precursors to acceptance in Hollywood.

“No - I mean, maybe - never mind,” Dean fumbles, more out of sorts than Castiel has ever seen him. “It’s that nobody just out and says that, even to me.”

“I just did.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean says, but he’s smiling. “You should look in the mirror sometime, though.” He winks, and Castiel’s brain nearly fritzes out. “So that’s a yes?”

Castiel nods, an all-encompassing warmth filling his chest and exploding out to the tips of his fingers and toes. “I’d love to.”

“It’s a date.”

Read Part II here!

#destiel fanfic #fanfic #destiel #profoundnet #rae writes fic #alpha castiel #omega dean winchester #alpha beta omega dynamics #celebrity dean winchester #barista castiel #professor castiel #the original apple pie latte

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baekhyuq · 3 years

Text

"Princess." Baekhyun (M)

Slasher Ghost Face!Baekhyun

(Halloween One shot)

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 5k

Mini Playlist:

Psycho - Baekhyun

Softcore - The Neighbourhood

She’s My Collar - Gorillaz

Pour Up - DEAN

Summary: There's some strange man outside your window?

The cold night brought out all the monsters, including himself. Baekhyun knew he was awful, in an awful world full of awful people. But when he saw you…he didn’t see anything but you. You were gorgeous, his treasure hidden in a cruel world. He saw you everyday, without fail. If he couldn’t see you that day, he went to your house. Standing outside your window, looking in. He always wore a mask to never be identified, with black clothing. He wore a scream mask, and his hoodie always over his head. He looked as if he were a trick or treater celebrating early.

Baekhyun felt his stomach do a back flip when he peered into your window to see you sat reading a book. Your mouth was moving, probably reading out loud. He wished to hear you voice say his name, to call out to him. You were in a t shirt that was all, he could see your bare legs. Drooling over the sight Baekhyun looked around the room. You decorated for halloween, it was vibrant and festive. He admired your spirit for the holiday, he wanted to dress you up. He had many costumes in mind, he stopped in thought. A bride? Or maybe a cat? He would decide when the time would come. You would love whatever he chose, he knew it. You’re drinking some sort of alcohol from the looks of it, it makes Baekhyun pout. He hated drinking, it was disgusting.

“Ah…” He says as you stand, your legs on full display. He loved seeing bits of you at a time, he didn’t want to see everything. That would ruin the element of surprise. Seeing your legs like this was a blessing, his heart thumped at the sight as you walked into another room. Baekhyun called it quits and left, walking home. He was satisfied, he would leave you to your night.

You couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, you had been experiencing it for months now. But you never found anyone or anything. It made you anxious, constantly. You tucked your hair behind your ear as you wrote down everything you needed to study. Your lecture notes were always scribbled mess. So you would come to the library after class to rewrite them, so they were legible for studying.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as you felt the feeling again. You looked around the library discreetly looking for anyone looking your way. The place was almost empty, safe for the random student studying, he had headphones on so you doubted he was paying attention to you. You went back to jotting down notes, finish the rest of them and packing up. You exited the library, seeing it was now late, you had to walk home in the dark. Something you despised.

When you left you never heard the door close behind you, turning back to see if it was caught on the rug. To your surprise it was a man dressed in black walking from the library, he had white hair and wore glasses. He was pretty cute if he wasn’t in such a rush you would’ve talked to him. You shook your head laughing to yourself. You always flirt when guys you thought were attractive. It caused you to be a heart throb for many men when they realized they weren’t going to get anywhere with you. You walked down your street, almost home when you heard footsteps behind you. You quickly turned around, seeing the man from earlier.

“Hey- not to scare you.” He says flashing a smile at you, your heart melts at the sight.

“Well Hi.” You joke, “You scared me.” you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I saw you leaving the library and I regretted not saying anything.” He laughs at himself.

“I was just thinking about how attractive I thought you were. But you seemed in a hurry, so I didn’t get to let you know.” You look up at his dark eyes, they have bags under them.

The man shakes his head laughing, he reaches out his hand. “Well nice to meet you how about we start with names?” He asks.

You grab his hand, shaking it softly. “Y/n, and you are?”

“Baekhyun.” He showed another sharp smile, canines on full display.

“Well, Baekhyun you have a charming smile.” You compliment.

“It’s very late, are you heading home?” Baekhyun asks looking down the sidewalk.

You nod, “Of course, where else would I be going this late. Definitely not going out party after studying for hours.” You laugh at your own joke. “How about you? Heading home.”

“Yeah, I live down this way.” Baekhyun grins.

“Perfect, you can walk me to my house. I was debating walking in the dark, since so many women are abducted at this time. In situations like this.” You comment as you begin to walk. Baekhyun follows beside you, hands in his pockets.

“I understand, definitely would want that.” He comments, “So how long have you been doing to this school?” He asks, he knew the answer.

“About 2 years?” You think for a second before answering. “How about you?”

“I just transferred.” Baekhyun lies. “I was touring the campus last month. I decided to come here since it was closest to home.” He couldn’t believe himself sometimes.

“Beats driving to school, gas is expensive right now.” You try to joke, it makes Baekhyun chuckle.

“So..” He says as you approach your house and walk up the stairs. “Is it possible to get your number?” He looks at you biting his lip in anticipation.

You hold your hand out, and he places his phone in your hand. You put in your contact when you see a message pop up.

“Are you done with her yet?”

You thought it was weird but brushed it off, whatever that was is his business. Giving his phone back to him you smile, waving. “Goodnight then, Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun walked home, swiping through your instagram as he did usually. He was lucky it wasn’t private. He stopped on your recent post, a picture of you at a cafe shop in town. A thought popped into his head, he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Smirking to himself he shook his head in disbelief.

“Maybe I’ll stop by tonight, tonight will be the night.”

He soon was home and he changed instantly, putting his mask on and his hood over his head. He left, walking down the same street you lived on. He made his way to the back of your house, he knew you always forgot to lock the back door. He slid it open, allowing himself in. He could hear you in the shower upstairs. He had plenty of time then, you showered for almost an hour each time he decided to come over, uninvited.

Baekhyun made his way to your room, his fingers brushing over the duvet on your bed. He opened your dresser drawers, seeing your many options for panties. He picked one, a red lacy thong, putting it in his pocket. He would savor those later. His boots squeaked quietly on the wooden floor, it was annoying to him. He sat on your bed, picking up your pillow and hugging it tightly.

Suddenly he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. His heart stopped, he dashed to your closet, closing the door behind him. He could see through the slits in the door, waiting to see you peer into the room.

You looked around the room, you were wrapped in a towel. You looked through your dresser for something to wear, you pulled out a see through dress. He’s seen you wear it plenty of times, and he loved when you wore it. You dropped your towel, slipping the dress on over your perfect figure. He saw you reach for your phone, posing in front of the mirror taking pictures. Your head dropped to look at your phone as if you were typing. His brows furrowed, who could possibly be getting sent those pictures? Who did she think was that deserving? His phone vibrated in his pocket, he pulled it out seeing a text back from you. He simply texted Hey and you replied now with a “Whats up?”.

He typed back quickly, “Nothing much, watching entertainment. You?” He grinned to himself, this was too funny.

“Just showered, I don’t know what to do next. Home work or just binge watch TV.” Your reply made him genuinely smile.

“Go watch TV, you deserve it.”

He watched your reaction through the closet slits. You shook your head, a grin on your lips. You sat on your bed, clicking on your television. His eyes widened, he didn’t think you would watch it in your bedroom. He thought maybe the living room? So he could escape this tiny closet. He cursed himself, bringing his knees up, resting his head on his propped up hand.

At least he had a show.

He watched your hand rest over your thigh, rubbing it up and down. What were you doing? He knew when he saw your hand dip between your thighs. He sighed shaking his head, of course he would be trapped in here and tortured as you got off. With out him. He heard your first moan, it was quiet. Then a second one, more loud and finally a call of somebodies name. Oh? What was that?

“Baekhyun…” You moaned loudly.

He couldn’t believe his luck, he took off his mask and sat it beside him. He dragged a hand down his face in agony, this was legit torture to his soul. He wanted to be what was between your thighs, not your slender little fingers. He wanted to kiss the freckle on your leg and brush over the birth mark on your tummy.

His hand traveled over his abs, stopping right above the hem of his pants. Should he? No.. He should wait till he got home. But he couldn’t resist when you were right here. He didn’t have to imagine you moaning his name. He heard it loud and clear, multiple times. Letting his hand under the hem of his pants he palmed himself through his boxers. Biting his lip as he watch you push up the see through dress you wore. It was meaningless to wear it when it was so see through and short. But he loved it.

Your fingers moved faster, and his hand moved just as fast. He quietly grunted and saw you jump in your bed. You stopped, looking at your closet door. His eyes widened, he held his breath when you stood up. You slowly walked closer and closer. Baekhyun had to think fast.

He typed something in a text to you. Your phone dinged immediately, scaring you again. You turned around looking at your phone and back to the closet. You walked back to your bed, picking up your phone.

“What are you up to?” He had typed. He let out a breath of relief when you stepped away, he needed to get out of here.

“I’m masturbating to the thought of you. Is that too forward?”

He could believe what he was reading. He didn’t know you could be this vulgar and honest. Typing back quickly he sent his text, smirking.

“So we’re both doing the same thing?”

You screamed happily, startling Baekhyun.

“I need a picture, desperately.” You texted him. He had to think quickly.

“How about I come over?” Brilliant.

You thought for quite some time before texting back.

“Sure. Remember which house?”

“Of course.”

Baekhyun’s heart pounded against his rib cage. Was he really about to pull this off? You hoped off your bed, changing once more. He watched every article of clothing you put on, expecting to be the one taking them off finally. You left the room, presumably to wait in the living room as you turned off your bedroom light. Baekhyun moved quickly, leaving the room and sliding out the back door. He made his way to the side of your house, seeing you in the living room indeed waiting. A cup of wine in one hand, and the other scrolling on your phone.

Baekhyun took his mask and stuffed it into the bushes hiding it. He walked up to the front door, brushing off his clothes before knocking. You opened the door seconds later, smiling up at him. Baekhyun’s heart jumped out his chest when you grabbed his arm and dragged him in. He hadn’t been in the house this way before.

“Well hello again.” You say giggling, maybe it was the wine?

“Good evening. Have you been drinking?” He asked, you nod.

“Would you like some, it’s just wine.” You offer Baekhyun your own cup. He takes it, downing the rest of the glass. “I know you did not just take that like a vodka shot.” You snicker, Baekhyun shrugs.

“It was okay.”

“Now…” You say, resting your hands on his shoulders. “Let’s talk about this tension.” You pulled him closer, his lips meters away. You were looking into each others eyes deeply. You smelled his shower gel, he smelled like strawberries. How contrasting to his dark attire, he looked so attractive in. You were the one to lean up and kiss him, the kiss felt like fire Baekhyun always saw in your eyes. He always imagined how soft your lips would be, soft and sweet. He became rough quickly, grabbing your jaw and bringing you closer.

“How bad do you want it?” He says looking down at your desperate eyes.

“I want it desperately, please.” You words pleased Baekhyun, he drops your jaw.

“Show me to your room then princess.” You grin, biting your lip before grabbing his hand. He watched your ass as your leg him to your room. Your swaying hips hypnotizing him. You turned on the light, sitting on the edge of your bed. Baekhyun closed the door, walking up to your slowly. He caressed your cheek, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip. He looks down at you with so many ideas, what should he do first? Chain you up? He knew you owned a pair of handcuffs. That would be too much for the first time..

He thought longer, stroking your soft skin. “Tell me what you want princess.”

You looked up at him before taking his thumb into your mouth.

“Understood.” He took in a quick breath as you reached for the hem of his pants. You undid them quickly, pushing them out the way along with his boxers. Your slender hands grabbed him, he sighed when you wrapped your lips around him slowly.

“Fuck, you’re good at this hmm?” He praised as you continued, you slide your hands under his shirt and he got the hint. He stripped his hoodie, revealing his toned and muscular abdomen and biceps. You drooled over the sight, sucking eagerly. You wanted to touch every inch of this man, he was so handsome and irresistible.

He held your hair from your pretty face as he watched himself disappear into your mouth and down your throat so effortlessly. You watched as his muscles flexed when he gripped your hair tighter, restricting himself from forcing himself down your throat. You thought it was gentlemanly of him.

“You look so hot from this angle, it makes me want to sit on your face.” You whisper to him, “I want you to eat me out with those lips. Please.”

Baekhyun’s dick twitches at your words, “Since you asked so nicely, princess.” He lays in the middle of the bed, pulling you to straddle his face. His dream of being between your thighs was happening. In the best way possible, he could taste and smell how aroused you were. He knew you didn’t need foreplay when you played with yourself earlier. You were dripping wet at this point, he pulled you down by your thighs. You sighed when he attached his lips to your clit, the stress leaving your body.

You moaned out when he sucked harshly, circling his tongue. “You’re good at this hmm?” You mocked, grabbing his hair. “The roles are reversed now aren’t they?” You kept teasing him. Baekhyun loved this version of you challenging him. But he also loved putting you in your place. He smacks your ass, earning a surprised shriek from you. It causes him to smirk, he knew you would falter with the amount of pressure.

“You’re mean.” You pouted on top of him. Baekhyun furrowed his brows.

“Do you want me to show you mean, Princess?” He challenged. It was when you nodded with pouting lips that he had you on your back with your knees pressed to your chest. “Dont go back on your word.” He smirks, taking his length in his hand. He rubbed the tip over your clit, smacking it teasingly. He loved hearing the sounds emit from your writhing figure. Your clit became sensitive to his touch as he repeated his actions. You were jerking at the oversensitivity, not being able to cum from just that.

“Mmm, what’s wrong princess?” He caresses your cheek pouting down at you. “Need more than that?” You nod up at him, looking at him with pleading eyes.

“Please give me more, I’ll be good.” Your words grant your wish. Baekhyun pushes your legs up, exposing your cunt to him. It being squeezed from your legs pressed together into your chest. He spits on your cunt, and you feel it slide down your lips. You quiver at the sensation, never experiencing something like that before. Baekhyun rubs his tip over your clit once more before pushing in. His cock stretches you and rubs your tight walls, he sighs as he bottoms out. He wraps his arms around your legs, holding them up so he can go even deeper. You feel it when he does, moaning loudly.

“Only say my name Princess.” He scruffs your chin. You look at him with dazed eyes, nodding.

You feel your bottom half of your body being held even higher in the air as he thrusts faster and faster. The sounds of wet skin meeting fills the entire room. The smell of sex is heavy and you’re both becoming sweaty from the act. Baekhyun sits back on his knees, letting your bottom half almost drop from how high it was, onto his cock. He bit his lip when you moaned out his name.

“Be still.” He said sternly, pressing a hand on your tummy. He pulled out and slowly pushed in. “Do you feel that?” He looks down at you, messy hair and heavy lids. You nod. “That’s my cock filling you.”

“It’s the best feeling ever.” You say in a daze.

“Better than your fingers?”

“Fuck yes.”

He grinned, rolling his hips into you slowly. He felt you clenching on him tightly he could see the raise and fall of your chest. He knew you were about to be close. He slide his slender hands under your shirt, on your waist then over your breast.

“Fuck..Baekhyun touch me more.” You sighed when his fingers pinched your nipple as he rolled his hips into you. The combination made you feel fucked out your mind. “P-please. Ple-ease Baekhyun. B-baekhyun.” You couldn’t think of any other words, not forming a sentence.

He loved the look on your face, tears brimming your eyes. “I want you to cum, right now.” He leaned down to whisper before sitting back up. He placed his thumb over your clit, thrusting into you faster.

Your brows pinched together, his words repeated in your head.

“Come on Princess, I know you love taking this cock.” He said so vulgarly, he bit his lip grinning. His eyes were on your closed ones. “Look at me.” He commands. Your eyes flutter open, causing Baekhyun’s heart to pound. “Just like that.” He felt himself coming closer to his orgasm the more he spoke to you, he loved watching you follow his commands.

“I think…I’m going to-“ You’re cut off by Baekhyun’s hand grabbing your throat. He comes closer, now laying between your legs.

“Stay just like this, Princess.” He whispers, brushing his lips by your ear. He held you in place by his hand on your neck, rolling his hips deliciously slow. The slow and hard grinding made you lose your mind, you were so close. One simple thing would blow you right over. Baekhyun placed kisses on the side of your neck, whispering dirty things as he went. That was what sent you over the edge. You called out his name as you came al over his cock. Baekhyun moaned, before violently thrusting into you. His hands both wrapped around your neck, he fucked the breaks off of you. Your legs were becoming sore the longer this went on. You were overwhelmed by how sensitive your body came, Baekhyun’s thrusting was only making it more sensitive. Baekhyun noticed and slowed down before he stopped, leaning back on his knees. He grabbed his cock, jerking himself off as he looked over the sight of your tired state. He felt himself become light headed as he came all over your stomach. He held himself up with one hand before falling beside you, his chest heaving.

You turned on your side, placing your hand over his chest. A grin on your lips as you kisses his shoulder. “Tired?” You asked.

He nodded, resting his hand over his abdomen. “You’re a work out.” He joked. “I think I’ve died and went to heaven.”

You sat up, looking down at him. He looked back with tired eyes, his lips parted. His eyes dipped down to your chest then your thighs.

“Baekhyun, I know.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “Know what?”

“About you.” You whispered, running your hand down his chest and over his abdomen. He paused, looking back up at you.

“What about me?” He continued, he was becoming nervous.

“That you watch me.”

His heart jumped out his chest, he shot up in bed. You put a finger to his lips, pushing him back down by his chest. You swung your leg over his body, straddling him.

“I can see you through my windows Baek. When I saw you wearing the same thing you wore to come spy on me, I knew it was you.” You leaned forward, your clit laid right on his dick. He sucked in a breath, he could only choose to stay quiet as you spoke. “I was so scared the first time I saw you.” You felt his dick twitch under you. “But…” You caressed his cheek brushing your thumb over his lips. “I kind of liked it.”

His eyes grew wide, “You liked it?” He said in disbelief.

You nod, “I always thought to myself, who’s behind that mask?” You slowly started moving your hips over Baekhyun’s slowly hardening cock. “Then I saw you at the library. I know you’ve never been to that school. You didn’t even have the school uniform on.” You laughed, the noise music to Baekhyun’s ears. “But now that we’ve finally met, I’m glad you’re good looking.” You smirk down at him.

“When are you going to call the cops? When you’re done grinding on me?” He challenged.

Your smirk only grew, “No. I’d like to have you around, you’re charming. It would be a waste to put someone so handsome in prison.” You pouted at him. “But now, I just want to fuck.” You brought your lips to his neck, kissing right below his ear. Baekhyun’s eyes shut in bliss, his mouth falling open.

“I want to make you submit.” You whispered, licking up his neck. “It’s my turn now, baby.”

Baekhyun could wrap his mind around how much of a 180 this whole situation took. His dick was hard as ever, pressing right up against your clit. You rolled your hips, sighing at the feeling. The sticky mess being made right beneath you was loud. You were still sensitive from climaxing so hard, you were sure Baekhyun was the same. It wouldn’t take long before you would be doubling over from another one. Baekhyun’s hands held your hips, his slender fingers tracing a line up and down your back. You shivered at the sensation.

“You feel so good just sitting on my cock, I could stay like this forever.” He sighed, his head lolled to the side exposing more of his neck.

“I love seeing you like this.” You sat up slightly to take in his vulnerable state. “You look so innocent, it turns me on.” Your hand traveled to his hair, running through his white locks. “What would make this better is that fucking mask of yours.” You sighed. You had a mask kink, another reason you were intrigued by Baekhyun.

Baekhyun opens his eyes looking at you, you look like the definition of sin. “I took it off before I came in.”

“…Where?” You asked. “I want it.”

His eyes widened, “its in the bushes but you’re naked-“

You left the room before he could finish, rushing to the door. He shook his head, a grin appearing on his face. He closed his eyes waiting patiently, he couldn’t believe the luck he had.

“Come here.” You said causing him to open his eyes, the mask in your hand. Baekhyun stood from the bed in front of you, looming over you. Your legs shook at the sight of a completely naked Baekhyun. You reached up and put the mask over his head. You stepped back, biting your lip at the sight. “Handsome.”

Baekhyun shook his head. “I can’t believe this right now.” He said, his voice was so deep from being tired. It made you giggle, stepping closer to run your hands over his chest.

“After this you can sleep all you want.” You pat his peck, “But before..” You pulled his mask up just above his lips and kissed him. He was taken back before he moved his lips with yours. His hand came up to your waist, pulling you closer. Your breast pressed up against his chest made him groan. “I really wanted to do that.” You confessed before walking to the bed, dragging your nails crossed his chest. You bent over with your ass in the air, waiting. “I’m not going to wait all night Baekhyun, fuck me.”

Baekhyun grinned wordlessly followed your command, his hand grabbing and smacking your ass. You sighed at the sting, wanting him desperately now.

“What happened to making me submit?” Baekhyun teased from behind you, all thoughts of that went out the window when that mask came into the bedroom.

“Will you shut up.” You pouted, of course he would bring that up.

“Wouldn’t you like me to.” He pushed further. He swiped your clit with his finger getting a surprised gasp from you. Baekhyun couldn’t think why you would want him to wear such a mask while being fucked. Did you have a kink for this type of thing? Someone had to be mentally wrong to like the person who’s been stalking them. As if he had room to talk. He chuckled at the thought.

He positioned himself behind you, pushing into you slowly. You were still so wet after all this time? Baekhyun bit his lip, “Fuck, I won’t get use to this feeling.”

Your toes curled at the words, “I’ll let you, if you want. Anything for you.” You purred arching your back as he pressed his palm down your back.

“You’re invitation is too kind.” He whispered back, he would love to have this every night. That of course was only a day dream before this night. You pressed your ass back into him, desperately waiting for any kind of touch. Baekhyun took that as a cue, thrusting into you. He pulled you onto his dick so aggressively, a change from his slow hips rolling into you. His thrusts caused the bed to bump against the wall repeatedly.

“Mmm.” You moaned into a pillow trying to control yourself, his aggressiveness was turning you on. Your breast swung with each thrust, you grasped the sheets. Baekhyun held onto your hips so tightly you knew he would leave a mark. You could only ignore the pain from his cock stretching you out. Baekhyun leaned down, putting his hand on your neck. He used the hold on your neck to pull you back onto his dick even harder.

“Who’s cunt is this?” Baekhyun asks, looking down at your ass being pushed against him.

“Yours Baekhyun, all yours.” You moaned out, your brows furrowed as you focused on the feeling of him inside you.

“Correct.” He rewarded you by finishing inside of you, his cock throbbing in you.

You whined as he pulled out, feeling empty. You felt his fingers replace his cock. He hooked his fingers inside you as he stepped to the side to see your worn out expression.

“Dont think I forgot about you Princess.” The nickname made you clench around his slender fingers. “Finish yourself on my fingers. Go on.” He commands.

You started fucking yourself on his fingers as he smacked your ass with his other hand. The sting felt amazing. Baekhyun appreciated the view, your round ass and the arch of your back. He admired the way you eagerly pushed back onto his fingers and the way your thighs jiggled. He held your hip, stilling your movements. He teasingly rubbed your clit, after only fingering you. Your thighs quivered at the sensitive nub being played with. Baekhyun observed the way your body reacted, he placed a kiss over your ass before leaning back up. He started moving his fingers inside you on his own, earning a moan from you and a jolt of your body. Were you orgasming? He couldn’t tell, he continued but felt your thighs shake and your walls clench around his fingers.

“Wait w-wait!” You turned your head pleading and grabbing his wrist. You fell against the bed exhausted, your grip on his wrist falling.

“It looks like you got what you wanted.” Baekhyun said, his voice deep. His fingers left your dripping cunt, he lifted them to his lips, pulling up the mask and licking them clean. “What a sweetie you are.” He chuckles, looking down at your spent form. “Get some rest.” He pulled off his mask, tossing it to the floor with his clothes. He kissed the middle of your back.

“You deserve it.”

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muffinbeliever · 3 years

Text

When the Stars Align [08]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Soulmate!Reader

Word Count: 5801

Warnings: language, angst, sexual content, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), ANGST, lots of crying, theres dom/sub vibes if you squint, did i mention angst?

Summary: Soulmate!AU– Everyone has the first words their soulmate says to them tattooed on their wrists. You and your cat are living a normal life in Fort Collins, Colorado when three men come bursting through your door, completely changing your life. Reader-insert story. Starts around S06E08, but Sam has his soul, and it doesn’t really follow the series from there

A/N: APOLOGIES ! i have been absolutely swamped with work and exams. i wrote an extra long chapter full of angsty tears because you know i live for angst. i am so sorry for my irregular postings i'm trying to work on it.

Masterlist | When the Stars Align Masterlist

You snuggled closer to the object in your arms, eyebrows furrowing when you realized it was a pillow and not Dean’s bare chest. Despite last night’s unhappiness with your soulmate, you couldn’t deny that you loved waking up with him. Too tired to open your eyes, you patted your hand around the other side of the bed, frowning when cool sheets met your touch. You groaned and cracked your eyes open, squinting them not only because of the puffiness from crying but also from the bright beams of light streaming through your window.

The door opened slowly, and Dean peeked into the room, his wet hair indicating he just showered. When he saw you were awake, he gave you a tentative smile, unsure of how you would react.

You couldn’t ignore the feelings of hurt from last night, but you knew you were being irrational. Besides, you didn’t know how long he was going to stay for, and you didn’t want to ruin your time together. You could be mad at him later. You returned with an equally tentative smile and watched his face relax.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he said, his voice as smooth as honey.

“Good morning,” you responded sweetly, patting the bed next to you, wanting to be close to him. He happily obliged, the scent of his cologne filling your nose. The bed dipped beneath his weight and you curled into his side. Silence fell between the two of you, and you debated your next words.

“Bean,” you started, and he hummed in reply. “I’m sorry about last night. I overreacted and I know that it wasn’t your fault; it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It just is what it is.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, nervous that bringing last night up would result in another argument. Dean’s large hand rubbed across your back, and you relaxed under his touch.

“You didn’t overreact,” he murmured into your hair. “I shouldn’t have sprung it on you so suddenly. I wanted to tell you, I just didn’t know how to find the words or even start that conversation. I’m sorry for ruining our date.”

You leaned your head up, his worried expression filling your gaze. Your heart was no longer pounding; instead, it tightened at Dean’s pain.

“Last night may not have ended in a way that we both wanted it to, but by no means did you ruin our date, Dean. I’ve never been out like that before and it was amazing. There isn’t anyone else that I would want to do that with,” you reassured him, hoping your affectionate words wouldn’t scare him away. A hint of a smile danced on his lips before he leaned down, capturing you in a bruising kiss. And God, this man could kiss.

His hand stopped it’s soothing rubs against your back and instead travelled further south, gripping your ass. His tongue was wonderfully playing with yours, his soft lips like pillows. You ran your hands through his slightly dampened hair as he shifted under you, rearranging so that you were straddling him. You could feel how hard he was under his jeans, and you took the opportunity to press against him, slowly grinding your hips, eliciting a noise from Dean that shot straight to your core. He flipped you over expertly, taking control of the situation. His hands were exploring your body, rolling your pebbled nipples with his thumb and forefinger. You shamelessly moaned as he trailed kisses down the side of your neck, nipping at special spots that made you cry out.

You tugged at his shirt and as he tore it off in a hurry, you quickly unbuckled his belt in a swift movement. He slipped off the t-shirt that donned your body, immediately pressing open kisses on your chest as his fingers danced at the waistband of your underwear. You arched your back, a silent gesture of want.

“Patience, baby,” he breathed against your lips, and you couldn’t help the whine that escaped you. He chuckled darkly, and you gazed into his eyes, his pupils blown wide with lust.

“Please,” you whispered, pathetically. Dean smirked.

“Please what, sweetheart? Use your words,” he commanded lowly, and you could feel yourself getting impossibly wetter. He looked down at you, drinking in the sight of your almost-naked body that was writhing with want.

“Please touch me,” you whined.

“Touch you like this?” he asked with false innocence as his fingers grazed your rib cage, his light touches making their way up your body, kneading your breasts. You let out a struggled moan, frustrated with his teasing.

“Or should I touch you like this?” he whispered hotly into your ear, and before the words could fully register in your mind, his fingers dipped below your underwear and into your wet heat. You moaned loudly as thumb lightly circled your clit while his fingers pumped inside you.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and his lips were on you in an instant. You could barely think; how could someone be so good with their fingers? The room was filled with your breathy moans and the slick sound of Dean’s fingers in you. You felt your climax approaching, and Dean could feel it too. Suddenly, his fingers were gone as was the light pressure on your bundle of nerves. You whined at the sudden loss of contact.

“When you cum, sweetheart, I want it to be on my cock,” he said roughly and your eyes rolled back in ecstasy as he buried himself in your tightness until he was fully unsheathed. It only took a couple of well-placed thrusts before you were seeing stars, incoherently rambling as he worked you through your orgasm. The snapping of his hips was relentless, and by the time you had come back down from your high, there were only a few seconds before you could feel the pressure building inside you again.

“One more, sweetheart, I know you can do it for me,” he encouraged, and you shook your head, tears forming from the overstimulation of his fingers rubbing your clit and the fullness of his cock. He muttered praises in your ear as you came again, and his thrusts became sloppy as he drove himself over the edge. Spent, he collapsed on top of you, the comforting weight of his body caging you in against the bed.

The two of you laid there for a minute, catching your breath and allowing for your heart to stop racing. Dean pressed a light kiss to your neck before he rolled onto his back next to you. A glance at the clock told you that you had a little over an hour before you had to leave for work. You looked to your right and found Dean already looking at you, a twinkle in his tired eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently, and you nodded with a smile on your face.

“I wasn’t too rough was I?” There was slight apprehension in his voice. You placed a hand on his cheek and your heart fluttered when he nuzzled closer into your palm.

“I like it a little rough,” you admitted with a blush. He flashed you a wide smile and leaned in to kiss you.

“You’re going to be the death of me, woman,” he muttered against your lips and you giggled. He pressed a firm kiss to your lips before pulling away, getting off the bed in search of his boxers.

“Why don’t you go shower and I’ll cook us some grub?” he offered and your heart warmed at the gesture.

“Only if you make bacon,” you teased and he gasped dramatically, his hand clutching his chest.

“As if I would make anything else,” he retorted and you rolled your eyes playfully. You hopped off the bed and walked to the bathroom, uncaring that you were naked. You debated on taking a shower but instead threw your hair into a bun and opted for a hot bath, as your legs were still a little wobbly from your previous activities.

You hissed as the water made contact with your sensitive skin, but soon you were fully emerged, your muscles relaxing into the warmth. Leaning your head back, you sunk deeper into the tub, letting your eyes close. There was a slight clatter of pots and pans coming from the kitchen and you heard Dean quietly curse followed by the tapping of Meatball’s claws against the hardwood floor. You chuckled, envisioning a spooked Dean accidentally stepping on Meatball’s tail and an equally frightened Meatball scampering away. You laid there for a while, the exact time, you were unsure, but you guessed about fifteen minutes if the light pruning of your skin was any indication. Despite how comfortable it was, you didn’t want to keep Dean waiting. You quickly washed yourself before climbing out of the tub.

The tub quietly drained as you brushed your teeth, and you observed your reflection. Despite your tears from the night before, your face wasn’t puffy and your eyes shined brightly. You put on lotion before making your way to your bedroom. You pulled on a soft pair of leggings and a worn sweatshirt. You threw your towel into the hamper and glanced around your room, a smile quirking on your lips when you realized that Dean had already made the bed.

You wandered into the kitchen, a full pot of coffee sitting on the counter as well as a plate of eggs and pancakes. Dean was at the stove finishing up the bacon when he turned to you and winked.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, a comfortable silence falling over the two of you. When Dean grabbed your empty plate and made his way over to the sink, you protested but he silenced you with a look.

“You gotta get to work. I’ll clean these up,” he said and you sighed, knowing he was right.

“I’ll cook dinner then,” you compromised and he smiled at you. You gathered your purse and keys and Dean kissed you on the forehead along with a whispered promise to see you later. Meatball was sitting by the front door, his tail swishing with slight irritation and you frowned, knowing he was probably jealous from the lack of attention. You picked him up in your arms and brushed your hand over his soft fur. It took several seconds, but soon Meatball’s purrs filled the air and you placed a gentle kiss to the top of his head before setting him back down.

The bookstore was quiet and fairly empty, but you weren’t surprised. As the weather grew colder, people normally stopped coming in as frequently. Only at the peak of Christmas shopping did you see a lot of your customers in the winter. It was a day filled with stocking books and shared giggles with Thomas. The atmosphere between the two of you was back to normal, something you were grateful for. You didn’t want to lose Thomas as a friend. You were still full from the breakfast Dean had made, so by the time lunch had come around, you decided to go home for a little bit rather than eat.

You walked into your house, Dean’s voice echoing from the kitchen. He was on the phone. You weren��t sure who he was talking to, but he didn’t sound very happy. You couldn’t make out the words he was saying other than the occasional “son of a bitch”. The call ended when Dean sighed and said, “Alright Sammy, I’ll see you later.”

The kitchen was silent after that, and there was a sinking feeling in your chest. You knew that he wouldn’t be staying for much longer. Were you going with him? Did he want you to go with him? Are you guys together? This wasn’t a one-and-done type of thing was it?

“I thought I heard you walk in,” Dean’s voice came and you jumped. So lost in your thoughts, you had failed to notice him leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, a small smirk on his lips. He pushed off the wall and walked over to you, cupping your face in his hands and placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“If I had known you were stopping by, I would’ve made lunch,” he said, his eyes held mild concern and there was a slight frown when he noticed that you were drowning in thoughts.

“Sweetheart,” he said, and you shook your head, eyes filled with tears.

“You’re leaving?” You whispered, and his face fell. There were word lines on his face and his eyebrows furrowed. The small part of you that hoped he would bring you with him was crushed, and you understood that he was leaving you behind, again. He pulled you into his arms and rested his chin on the top of your head.

“Y/N, you know why I can’t take you with me, right?” His voice was thick, and there was a sharp pain in your chest when you realized that he too was holding back tears. You were tired of arguing with him. You were tired of the tears and the angst. You just wanted him.

“Be careful,” you whispered, defeated. You could tell he was taken aback, probably expecting you to fight. You stepped away, wiping the tears from your face.

“Be careful, Bean. I’ll be here when you get back,” you said with a sad smile. Because it was true: you’d spend forever waiting for him if you had to.

“I—,” he paused, before shaking his head, clearing his eyes of tears, “I’ll come back for you.” He promised, and you giggled while tears streamed down your face, your mind was a whirlwind of emotions. He wiped the tears from your cheeks and gave you a deep kiss.

Kisses with Dean weren’t unusual, but they were nothing like this. This kiss was filled with emotions left unexpressed and words left unsaid. It was filled with the missed time between the two of you and hope for the future. You weren’t sure when you would see him next, but you were sure that you would remember this kiss for the rest of your life. It was the perfect goodbye kiss, and that is what made it so hard.

He left soon after, not needing to pack anything, as he didn’t have much with him in the first place. With teary eyes, you watched the Impala’s tail lights until they reached the end of your street, turning left and out of sight.

While the reassurance of him returning comforted you, it didn’t keep the tears from escaping your eyes and the sinking feeling in your chest. Deciding to take the rest of the day off, you shot Thomas a quick text telling him that you wouldn’t be returning from your lunch break. Instead, you turned the TV on and cuddled with Meatball on the couch, seeking comfort in your feline companion. If you didn’t know any better, you would think that Meatball also missed the green-eyed hunter, as he kept staring at the door as if expecting Dean to walk through.

Time quickly passed and before you knew it, the sun had set and Meatball was meowing for dinner. You quickly began to regret not fighting Dean more, at least asking him to stay for one more night. But he left in such a rush, you didn’t want to be selfish and keep him to yourself when there could be someone out there whose life depended on him.

The events of the day left you without an appetite, so you filled Meatball’s bowl before retreating to your room. Your eyes fell on the dark henley that was laid out on the bed, and you smiled at the kind gesture. As if on cue, your phone rang and you giggled when you saw a goofy selfie of Dean fill your screen along with his contact name “Batman”.

“I wasn’t aware I had the hero of Gotham’s phone number,” you answered, teasingly.

“Not just Gotham, sweetheart,” came Dean’s low voice and your heart pounded in your chest. How was it possible for you to get this excited over a phone call?

“When did give me your number?” You asked, and Dean chuckled.

“This morning while you were knocked out. It was quite a sight; I took a couple of pictures to commemorate the moment,” he said, and you scrolled through your photos, immediately finding several photos of you sleeping, your mouth wide open and your hair sprawled everywhere. There were a couple of you by yourself but others were with Dean, him making silly faces as you slept.

“Creep,” you joked.

“I can’t help that you’re adorable while you sleep,” came his smooth reply.

“Did you see my gift?” He asked, changing the subject. You nodded before remembering that he couldn’t see you over the phone.

“Yeah, I found it right before you called,” you said, picking up said gift and holding it to your nose. You inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar scent of cologne, leather, and whiskey. For the next couple of hours, the two of you talked about everything under the sun, enjoying each other’s company. You found out that he was a few hours outside of Sioux Falls, and that the normally almost 10 hour drive was dramatically shorter due to the Dean’s speeding. After lightly scolding him about his disregard for his safety, you proposed that he take a plane if he wanted a shorter trip, but he confessed his fear of flying.

It was nearly midnight by the time the conversation lulled, and you were laying comfortably on your bed in Dean’s henley. It was a comfortable silence filled with Dean’s deep breathing and the purr of the Impala’s engine, and you quickly drifted off to sleep.

The next few weeks passed by fairly quickly. Although you missed Dean’s presence, he made up for it with daily calls and endless texts. Every morning, you would wake up to a sweet text from Dean wishing you a good day. The two of you were faring well considering the distance. He would keep you updated on his hunts, as well as Sam’s wellbeing.

You were happy again, Thomas noted as he observed the smile that always graced your face whenever you were talking to Dean. Despite his lingering feelings for you, Thomas truly wanted you to be happy, even if that wasn’t with him.

However, there were some nights that left you feeling empty and those nights were the hardest. You muted your microphone and cried yourself to sleep, not wanting to cause Dean any pain. As the time apart grew, so did the frequency of those terrible nights.

Nearly three months after Dean had left, you were slowly starting to unravel. You began to isolate yourself again, turning down lunches with Thomas and opted to stay in your house when you weren’t at work. You often spent your weekends staring at a blank wall thinking about Dean for hours on end.

You were unsure if it was your imagination running wild or not, but you could’ve sworn that your soulmate was getting more and more distant. Your nighttime calls were getting shorter, often ending before you had fallen asleep, and Dean’s voice seemed to be sharper. You rationalized in your head that he was particularly stressed about this case and that once it was over you would have your goofy partner back.

When you woke up one morning without a text from Dean, you knew that your suspicions were correct. He was pulling away. You wished him a good morning and waited all day for a response that never came. Maybe he was just busy?

At 9:57 PM, your phone rang loudly, startling you from your trance. Your eyebrows furrowed as you saw “Batman” flash on the screen and your heart leaped out of your chest, a wave of excitement but also anger rushing over you.

“Where have you been?” You immediately asked when you answered, not even allowing him to greet you. Your voice was icy, upset with the way you were shut out all day, and Dean knew that he was in trouble.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice defeated, and you knew something was very wrong. There was a deep sigh before he continued.

“Sweetheart, I have to go away for a couple of days and I won’t be able to contact you,” he said and a million questions raced through your mind, but the most prominent of all: why? Conflicted with where to even begin, you let out a shaky breath that you weren’t aware you were holding in.

“Where are you going?” You asked weakly.

“I just gotta finish this case, and I’ll be back before you know it,” he rushed out. You opened your mouth to speak again, but Dean hastily cut you off.

“I gotta leave now, but I’ll see you soon,” he paused, “I’m sorry.”

“De—,” you called out, but it was too late. He had hung up on you. Furious, you tried calling his phone, only for it to go straight to voicemail.

“Dean Winchester, you will answer the phone right now and explain what is going on,” you demanded, before texting him variations of the same command. You tried calling Sam, but much to your anguish, his phone also went straight to voicemail.

“What the fuck,” you muttered, wringing your hands as you tried to figure out a way to contact the brothers. There was no way for you to track them, and you didn’t even know Bobby’s last name, only that he lived in Sioux Falls. You got on your knees and prayed to Castiel, begging for his help, but when there was no flutter of wings nor a handsome man wearing a trench coat in your home, you did the only thing you could do. You cried.

You thought it had hurt when Dean left the first time, but it was nothing compared to the pain you had felt now. This time, you had a glimpse of happiness, a peek into what your future could have held. A future with pancakes and forehead kisses, late nights in bed and early mornings curled around him. You had gotten used to his witty comments and snarky replies, his teasing and affectionate nature. You had finally began to see yourself being happy for the rest of your life with this man, only for it to be taken away, and you hadn’t the slightest clue why.

A day passed without any contact from the brothers despite the numerous calls, texts, and prayers you had sent. You had no idea where Dean was, how long he would be, or if he would even come back. For all you knew, he could’ve just left you, deciding that he could no longer do long distance. Unable to bare being alone in your lonely house anymore, you drove to Thomas’ apartment.

You knocked heavily on his door and noted the look of surprise in his brown eyes, before Thomas recognized your tear-stained face and disheveled look.

“What did he do this time?” Thomas growled, as he stepped aside to let you in. Not in the mood to talk, you merely shook your head as you felt tears welling in your eyes again. Thomas pulled you into a protective hug, and as much as you wanted to find comfort in the embrace, you were disappointed when the smell of lemons and fresh laundry hit you instead of cologne, whiskey, and leather.

Thomas pulled away once you quieted down, dragging you to the couch and insisting that you stayed there while he made you a cup of tea. You glanced around the room, taking in slight differences since the last time you were here. There was an unfamiliar jacket resting on the back of a chair as well as a pair of shoes by the door that you’d never seen before. When a shirtless man walked out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, you remembered Thomas mentioning a few months back that his brother was staying with him for the foreseeable future.

Thomas’ brother, you had forgotten his name, swept his dark eyes over the living room, spotting you on the couch.

“It’s about time Tommy found a girl,” he remarked with a smirk. Something about him made the hair on the back of your neck stand up and sent shivers down your spine. Thomas had briefly told you that they don’t really get along, but that he still wanted to help his brother out. You shook your head, clearing your mind of thoughts.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you introduced, “I work with Thomas at the bookstore. We’re just friends.” You clarified and noted the man’s eyebrows raise.

“Just friends, huh? I would’ve thought Tommy would mention working with such a beautiful woman,” he drawled before sticking out his hand.

“Dylan,” he said firmly and you looked warily at his hand before shaking it, very much aware that he was practically naked in front of you. Luckily, Thomas stepped into the room, a cup of peppermint tea in his hands.

“Dyl, go put on some clothes,” Thomas instructed, before looking back at you, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Dylan rolled his eyes and sauntered out of the room.

“Sorry about him,” Thomas said. Not wanting to cause any trouble between the brothers, you shrugged lightly before taking the tea.

“What’s wrong?” He kindly inquired, sitting next to you on the couch. You took a sip of your tea before setting it down, letting out a shaky breath. You spent the next hour explaining what had happened with Dean: how he had to leave suddenly for work and the past several months with the phone calls and texts, leaving out the more intimate details. You then told him about Dean’s changing moods and the strange phone call. You told him that you had tried many times to contact him, not mentioning Castiel, and how broken you felt without Dean by your side.

You were a crying again by the time you had finished, reduced to a bumbling mess, unattractively wiping your face with the sleeve of Dean’s henley that you wore for the past two days. It had long lost its scent, but knowing it was his still brought you a shred of comfort.

Thomas cooked your favorite pasta, and Dylan joined the two of you at the table for dinner. Hoping to get your mind off of Dean, you got to know Dylan more, asking questions about his career and his life in Fort Collins. You learned that Dylan was a problem child and he was at boarding schools for most of his life. He dropped out of college early on, much to his parents’ disappointment. He had gotten in trouble with the law for petty theft as well as drunk driving. He was now staying with Thomas as he worked at the mechanic, fixing cars and saving money until he could get a place of his own. Despite your initial impression of the man, you had learned that outside of his snarky demeanor, he was actually quite a decent guy. Him and Thomas weren’t very close as a result of Dylan being five years older and not around for the majority of Thomas’ childhood.

As the pasta disappeared along with two bottles of wine, the three of you delved into deeper topics. You learned that Dylan hadn’t met his soulmate yet and he was afraid he never would. He had a long history with women, and Thomas pegged him as a one-night-stand type of guy. You told him about Dean and the rollercoaster that was your relationship. You successfully avoided questions that directly asked about Dean’s job and the details of his life. It was nearly midnight when your phone rang.

You sucked in a breath, your heart pounding when you saw Sam’s name on the screen. Why was he calling you, after all this time? Why didn’t Dean call you first? Did something happen? You quickly excused yourself from the table, rushing into the living room before answering. “Sam?” You said, shakily.

“Hey Y/N,” came Sam’s tired voice.

“What’s going on? Where’s Dean?” You demanded, furious at your soulmate and his brother for leaving you without a clue as to what was going on.

“Dean didn’t tell you?” Sam asked, his voice twinged with confusion.

“Tell me what?” You asked, your heart racing at the endless possibilities running through your mind. However, none of them was remotely close to what Sam revealed.

“Lisa and Ben,” he said, and you flinched at the woman’s name, “they were kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped? By who?” You asked incredulously. Sam began explaining how demons came after them and how Ben had called Dean. You didn’t mean to, but you tuned out the younger Winchester, caught up in your own thoughts.

Did Lisa tell Ben to call Dean? Is this why he left? Did he have unresolved feelings for this woman? You collapsed onto the couch. You couldn’t cry anymore even if you had tried. No longer buzzed from the wine, you processed everything that Sam had told you, anger rising in your chest.

“Where is he?” You asked, not caring that you had cut Sam off. He sighed before answering.

“The hospital.” The hospital? Why on Earth was he in the hospital?

“He’s not in the hospital, he’s at the hospital. He’s uh… he’s taking care of some things,” Sam said, and you didn’t even realize that you were thinking out loud.

“I see,” you clipped. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Lisa and her son were the unmentioned things and that Dean still deeply cared about them.

“Y/N,” Sam said, “I’m so sorry; I thought you knew. Dean said he took care of everything.” You scoffed.

“He told me that he was leaving and that he would be coming back later,” you said coldly. You took pity on Sam, the tall man always kind towards you and it wasn’t his fault his brother was an idiot.

“Tell him I am expecting a call when he’s done with those… things,” you said before hanging up. You resisted the urge to hurl your phone at the front door, and instead screamed into a couch pillow before rejoining Thomas and Dylan in the kitchen. Thomas took one look at your face and pulled out the whiskey and three glasses.

You winced at the harsh burn as the alcohol entered your body, throwing back glass after glass in hopes of numbing the ebbing pain in your heart. He didn’t want you. He wanted her. He left you so he could be with her. You should’ve known he wasn’t over her, with the way he kept hiding things from you, how he hid their relationship until recently.

It wasn’t long before you were a drunken mess, Thomas insisting that you sleep on the couch as you were in no state to go home. You barely protested, knowing that you would rather be with Thomas in his apartment than in your house by yourself, sleeping in a bed that you and Dean used to sleep in.

A loud ringing from your phone woke you up. A pounding headache and an achey back signaled that you were hungover and on the couch. You didn’t remember passing out, nor did you remember Thomas bidding you a goodnight. You squinted your eyes at the clock on the wall, wondering who would be calling at three in the morning.

You scrambled off the couch as your phone continued to ring, seeing Dean’s face on your screen in that stupid silly picture he took that you hated to admit you loved. Wanting nothing more than to scream at your soulmate, you unlocked the door and crept outside, not wanting to wake up the whole apartment with your yelling.

“How convenient of you to call,” you said cooly when you answered.

“Sweetheart, I—,” Dean started before you cut him off.

“Don’t sweetheart me, Dean. Do you know how worried I was? How confused I was? You suddenly up and left me without a single explanation, and I have to find out from your brother two days later that you were saving your ex-girlfriend? You were in such a rush that you couldn’t explain it over a text or a voicemail?

“God, I cannot believe that you did that! Why did you keep this from me? Do you still have feelings for her? You asshole, you said you didn’t love her!” You screamed, absolutely done with the whole situation.

“What’s next? You’re going to apologize and tell me that she meant nothing, and that you only want me, but the next time another girlfriend of yours goes missing, you’ll be leaving again, without a single word?” You were out of breath now, your chest heaving. The other end was silent, before Dean spoke again.

“It wasn’t like that. I was trying to protect you,” he reasoned and you exploded again.

“Protect me? You keep saying that but all you do is leave me and hurt me. Don’t lie to me Dean, you were trying to protect her and her precious son,” you said venomously.

“You know what Dean? I’m done. Go be with Lisa and that kid. Go live out that perfect life that you had tried to before,” you said, suddenly exhausted. You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t keep fighting with him.

“Sweetheart, I know you’re upset,” he started, “Hell, Sam punched me when he found out you didn’t know. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you, I guess I didn’t want you to worry, but God I’m so stupid. I promise I’m done with Lisa. I had Cas remove their memories of me, so they can live a normal life away from all of this stupid supernatural bullshit. I don’t want her, Y/N. I want you.”

“No, Dean. You don’t get me. Don’t you understand? You chose her. She may not have any memories of you but you sure do have memories of her and the year you spent together. The year you played family. How dare you even be jealous of Thomas, when you’re with her?” You were tired. It was cold.

“I’m done, Dean,” you whispered defeatedly into the phone. “Please don’t call or visit. I don’t want to see you.”

“Sweeth—,” you hung up before he could even get the word out. Bubbling over with anger, you threw your phone to the ground and watched it shatter into tiny pieces. You rushed back inside, throwing yourself on the couch and sobbed until the sun rose.

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sorry-i-ship-drarry · 3 years

Text

38. Set it up, break it up

For everyone who's been supportive of these| fluff |making out |harry set draco up with someone Only to realise he liked draco all along |

" when was your first time ?" Seamus smugly asked Draco as he drank his butter beer from across the room sprawled over the bean bag

" I will prefer not to answer the question. It is highly confidential and that information shall only be revealed to Someone I'm with. So dear Seamus you can enjoy asking this question to other, while I would refuse to answer " Draco sophisticatedly replied, tilting his head to put on more emphasis upon his words.

" Merlin, you could've just said I'm not answering that. No need to go all Shakespearian " Ron rolled his eyes at Draco.

Harry chuckled as he joined Draco over the couch, putting his legs over Draco's laps, not that either of them ever minded that physical touch " that's Draco for you. He'll never give a direct answer. I can bet, if he were in an English Muggle class, he'd top "

" I topped nonetheless " Draco rolled his eyes, his hands automatically falling into a pattern of softly stroke the bottom of Harry's leg, a habit he's grown attached to.

" really? From what I remember I got 7 owls while you got only 6. It's just as if I was infact better than you " Harry smirked

" whatever Harry. I was the headboy " Draco rolled his eyes at harry, yet again but then again he liked these small bickerings with him. Blaise eyed them from the corner of the room, enjoying it himself, not Daring to say anything.

" and I was given the opportunity, I just denied "

" as if "

" whatever helps you sleep at night darling" Harry teased as he pinched Draco's cheeks softly

" don't " Draco growled as he swatted Harry's hand away

" one angry kitten aren't you " Harry chuckled, picking up his can of butter beer and drinking it.

" don't call me that " Draco sneered, not in a furious way, just slightly threatening way.

" anywaysss " Seamus echoed, breaking off their not so private conversation " when was your first time harry ?"

" Ron, you might wanna cover your ears for this one " Harry chuckled. Ron gave him a look but refused to do so " it was after war, when I got back with Ginny, in the time we were going out for a short time "

" what about in 6th year ?" Dean asked snuggling closer to Seamus on the bean bag

" we couldn't really ever get to it. I mean for one neither of us were ready, and we were just kids. Although when we did it after we got back together, we realised almost instantly it wasn't something we enjoyed, not that part, just with opposite sex kind of thing. Well mostly her, no offense. Or it could've been we weren't just attracted to each other that way " Harry explained

" really ? I always thought you guys would work out you know " Dean said. Harry looked at Dean amused but didn't say anything.

" I never thought you guys would end up together really. Never seemed as if so " Seamus added

" interest me in why ?" Harry asked

" it just, I always knew you were sort of bi even before you started going with Ginny. It was Evident really sometimes. And with Ginny herself, she didn't seem like a person to be with a guy. I mean coming from I figured my sexuality really early on, I just sometimes knew it.. besides after the first time you guys broke up, it seemed almost impossible for it work later on " Seamus explained. Everyone including Draco thought about what he had said and nobody could even deny that it was a lie.

" what's your dating track anyway right now Harry ?" Blaise asked standing over the chair behind Ron.

" oh it's not that bad. I do go out on a few dates. I went on a date last week infact and believe me that guy was really good, dashing, almost ced- well Cedric diggory Kinda hot but right in the middle of the date, I feel something going up my leg. I almost choked on my Tuna fish and he goes, do you like it ? I was more shocked than anything else. It was weird if anything "

" so what next ?"

" I didn't call him back. I think somewhere along the date, he might've said he had feet fetish.. he would much rather make love to my feets than me and it was just plainly weird "

" people have all different sorts of fetishes " Ron frowned

" yeah, I respect them but feet fetishes just creeps me out " Harry almost shivered at the thought of it.

And everyone soon fell into talking about weirdest kinks and fetishes, something they all were rather amused to be in conversation about, except, Harry.

Draco stopped stroking Harry's leg for a moment to softly clutch on them to seek his attention.

" it's alright Harry.. you can't change anything.. besides I think he lived a good life" Draco softly said.

" I still can't forget though. It's almost as if I can still see it happening in front of my eyes " Harry Whispered back.

" I know. He was a brave guy though. You can't do anything anymore. I'm sure- he'd want you to get over it too " Draco whispered. Harry bit his lip softly before nodding. To provide comfort, Draco again started stroking Harry's legs.

" feels nice" Harry smiled at Draco, who simply smiled back.

" talking off that, what say about going on a date with someone ?" Harry asked Draco but had inevitably grabbed attention from a few others in the room.

Draco raised his eyebrows in strange surprise " really ?"

" I met some guy at the animal shop across the street. He seemed like someone you could date " Harry replied

" why me, why not you ?" Draco defensively asked

" well, he's not my type but he's yours and he did seem to notice you with me a couple of days ago, so I thought maybe you could talk to him and see if you'd like to go out with him " Harry suggested.

Draco frowned at harry before clearing his throat " I'll pay that animal shop a visit then "

" great " Harry grinned

" I'm gonna use the loo " Draco sighed and got up abruptly

" unbelievable " Blaise announced. Harry looked around the room to receive strange looks " what are you all staring at me for ?" Harry asked confused

But nobody responded except that most of them groaned, leaving Harry more confused. Draco returned a few minutes, chatted a bit and then left claiming he had to feed his cat.

As a few weeks goes on by, Harry discovered that draco did started going with the guy he had told him about and was infact in a happy place to be with him. And it was all fun and games until Harry was offended that Draco no longer gave him that much time anymore or the fact that he kept cancelling on him over and over or that he longer was interested in watching movies with harry but sure had fun plans with his so called boyfriend or the guy he's dating, he cared no less. By which he meant, he did cared. To say his friends were tired of Harry ranting on about Draco cancelling on him that one time Ron even put up muffalito charm on him. It was splendid how things were going, in a sarcastic way of course until Draco decided it was time for him to make everyone meet his boyfriend, and harry wanted to burn himself on flames.

" I frankly don't understand why the expensive dinner, I mean, couldn't he had just invited us to his place or his so called boyfriend's place " Harry vented air quoting boyfriend

" Harry you were the one who set him up in the first place, stop being mad at him and jealous not to mention " Hermione rolled her eyes eating the chips off the packet

" jealous, I'm not jealous " Harry defensively said

" sure " Ron rolled his eyes.

" look Harry, you're clearly jealous that he isn't spending as much as time with you and its bothering you, so just talk to him about it " Hermione suggested shrugging her shoulder

" look, I don't know what's cooking in both of your brains but I'm-not-jealous " harry slammed the cloth over the counter and went inside his bedroom

" I miss the time when he wasn't such a dramatic ass " Ron taunted

" I can hear you " Harry yelled from inside the room, hearing faint whispers from Ron and Hermione in the living room..

And the truth infact was that Harry was jealous, which he Only discovered over the dinner when Draco was practically almost all over him that harry wanted to tell him to just sit in his lap, didn't of course. And to make it worse, he was jealous of how good they actually looked, which resulted in harry losing his appetite and almost groaning every five minutes. Hermione had to kick him under the table to behave a couple of times.

Spending the night in his thoughts, Harry came across things he wished he had known earlier or things he never felt but whatever it was, he felt frustrated in himself to set Draco up and he had no idea what to do next, so he decided to take advice from the only man he knew the best was at.

" Harry ? What a pleasant surprise. Ron's not at home though " Blaise said as he opened the door for him

" I actually came here to talk to you " Harry sighed as he went in. Blaise frowned in surprise before walking behind Harry himself

" well what can I interest you in, a joke, a mimickery,-"

" an advice actually " Harry groaned as he slumped down on the couch.

" oh- Ron's better at that-"

" he isn't, he told me to talk to you " Harry replied. Blaise walked into the kitchen, opening the window to the living room to converse through the kitchen.

" did he ? What can I help you with then ?" Blaise asked as he poured water for Harry and walking in to give it to him.

" I think, that I might have feelings for Draco" Harry replied

" you are officially the last person to know that " Blaise chuckled as he walked back into the kitchen and fetched something to eat.

" what ? You guys knew that ?" Harry sat uptight

" of course " Blaise scrunched his eyebrows as an obvious face

" why didn't you guys tell me ?" Harry asked agitated with his friends

" because these are the things we're not supposed to tell you, you're the one supposed to tell us, you dimwit " Blaise rolled his eyes, throwing his hands in the air.

" well you could've at least warned me " Harry groaned

" how could you not have known !! When did you even figure It out anyways?" Blaise asked as he shut the cabinet for the last time, bringing a packet of cookies and chips with him and slumping down in front of Harry.

" I think I've known for a bit since he started going out, but last night i was pretty confirmed that I was jealous " Harry Told him

" well I'd like to say you are that ruined your chances but guessing you came for advice, you came here to know how to fix it and I'll tell you, I do not have even the slightest idea how to fix your shit soup "

" what ?" Harry emphasised

" Harry, you yourself set him up with someone almost exactly like you. If Draco even Liked you at some point, now he knows that you don't like him and he's probably moved on and supposedly happy in his newfound relationship "

" Blaise, If I wanted to listen to how I fucked it up I wouldn't had come to you. I need to know how can I fix this " harry sarcastically responded raising his eyebrows

" look the easiest way is to simply confess or move on. I can't help you harry even if I wanted to. Draco seems happy " Blaise told him emphatically.

Harry was disappointed but knew Blaise was right, there was possibly nothing he could've done to make it right, at least not something that would sabotage their relationship.

It took harry a couple more days to become normal with the fact that draco was dating and finally paving his way to move on, which was definitely hard. And harry could've assumed he was doing good until Draco invited him for a picnic, claiming they haven't gotten out individually in a while. Normally harry would've been very ecstatic about it but considering the phase he was going through it was hard but didn't deny his sweet offer.

" took you a bit long- and your boyfriend's here too " harry pressed his lips in a thin line when he saw them coming together.

"it was just us but his plans got cancelled last moment so he tagged alone.. i hope you don't mind " Draco plead guilty

Harry sighed before giving him a firm smile and nodding " it's going to be one hell of a day "

Halfway through the picnic, harry Would've assumed he would be the thrid wheel but it was infact quite opposite, his boyfriend, jake was infact the third wheel who basically had no idea about draco's life which surprised harry a little more than it should have.

" you- jake, you alright ?" Harry asked looking over draco's shoulder at his boyfriend who looked puzzled

" what? I'm fine, just thinking " he gave them a firm smile.. draco leaned a bit into jake as if to give him the feeling he was still here but jake rejected it, much to draco's surprise.

" what you thinking about ?" Harry asked furrowing his eyebrows.

" what exactly I'm doing here?-"

" shit- I'm sorry for making you feel as if I'm intruding-"

" no, it's not that. It's just so clear that you both are so meant to be together, yet here I am on a picnic with two people who are supposed to be together but are not because of me-"

" that's not true " draco interjected

" is it not ? " Jake asked more firmly than before, not forgetting to give a smile so as to not sound harsh.

Draco opened his mouth to say something but closed it again.

" even if it is true for me, I don't think Draco feels that way . Besides you guys are dating, I don't want to be the reason for your break up" harry replied sympathetically

" you're not harry. I just- I can see it, maybe you two are blind but I'm not.. Enjoy yourselves " jake said as he abruptly stood up

" jake don't be like that " draco too stood up

Jake sighed taking draco's hands in his own " I'll stay if you admit you don't have any feelings for him, if you've never wanted to be with him, if you've felt anything closer to what you feel for him about Me. Admit it freely and I'll stay"

But draco couldn't say anything..

" thought so. I'd be fine by the way. I don't think I've seen two people belonging to each more than you two " and jake departed.

Draco stood there a few minutes watching him walk away, his shoulder slouched as if not believing that he'd just been dumped.

" draco-"

" you're a jerk " draco turned around

" what ?" Harry asked confused

" you're an insolent jerk " draco picked up from dry leaves from the ground and hitting harry with that.

" what the fuck did I do ?" Harry shielded himself as draco threw more and more leaves and grasses

" you fucking moron, you were Flirting with me " draco huffed stopping for a moment

" I wasn't flirting " harry whined. Draco gave him a look before picking up more leaves and throwing it at him

" okay, okay. I was but hey it's your fault to go along with it " harry stumbled back over the ground

" well it's not my fault if you're bloody good at it "

" is it my fault that you enjoyed and I'm not the only victim here, you were flirting too " harry looked up at Draco from the ground

" I wasn't flirting " draco narrowed his eyes. Harry hooked his leg around that of draco, making him trip over and fall over harry, who he instantly rolled over, pinning draco to ground.

" were you not ?" Harry breathed

" it doesn't matter-"

" you were flirting back" harry commanded

" okay, fine I was but you had no right- hmph" draco moaned softly as harry kissed him over the lips, kissing until the need for oxygen finally had made sense again.

" now tell me, how long have you wanted this?" Harry huffed.

Draco rolled his eyes, still pink from all the kissing " I haven't wanted this "

" okay " harry frowned as he leaned down, his lips lightly brushing over that of draco's " you sure ?" Harry asked not moving an inch closer or further

Draco's breath choked down, desperately wanting to lean forward to kiss him again but didn't to avoid giving harry the satisfaction of having the upper hand.

" you don't want me to kiss you again then? That's right yeah " harry whispered as he bit Draco's lower lip, earning a soft moan and his body involuntarily pressed against harry's

" seems otherwise " harry whispered.

" merlin " draco moaned. Smirking harry pulled away looking at Draco from a distance.

Sucking his cheeks, draco immediately pulled harry to him and kissed him again, this time in more desperation and rush.

" guess who's got the upper hand now " draco moaned as he freed his hands and put them in his hair.

" you" harry chuckled, Thoroughly enjoying kissing draco himself.

" jerk " draco chuckled

" you're the jerk " harry chuckled

" and you broke his heart " harry whispered against his lips smiling

" eh, he always knew it anyways " draco shrugged

" you really are a jerk then " harry smiled as he pulled away a bit, admiring draco.

" and you're the jerk who just broke my relationship and has basically manipulated me into kissing you " draco raised an eyebrow amusingly

" I don't regret it " harry regret

" me either " draco smiled and leaned in again.

Requests open

Day 37- you're my home, draco | Day 39- cuddle me in

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sugawara-sweetheart · 4 years

Text

𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 (𝔪)

(n.) to be cleared from censure or doubt, by means of demonstration

RA!oikawa x reader | 25/08

Warnings: face fucking, orgasm denial, spitting, masturbation, degradation

word count: 5.2k

part 1/12 of aphrodisia series

college is supposed to be the best three years of your life.

and it usually is. you’ve built so many memories here in the quaint campus town you’ve spent the past year living in. there’s the parties that stretch till the orange sun rises between pink morning clouds, music pounding in your ears and your body buzzing in drunken delight. there’s the amazing friends you’ve made with long, lasting connections that you can feel that strong emotional tie that bonds you together for life. there’s the coffee shop study dates, the night time adventures in the forests of thickly-knitted trees, your sight a whirlwind of bright, psychedelic colours and the satisfying warmth of passing a class and being one step closer to achieving your dream.

but good comes with bad. there’s times when you’ve been so hungry and scraped the ends of your purse, only to come up with enough pennies for a small packet of ramen to last you the night. there’s the overwhelming academic stress, assignments piling on assignments and marks scrawled on the front in angry red all looming over you like a heavy, grey cloud. and finally, the last of your problems came in the form of oikawa tōru.

you wouldn’t say devils belonged on earth but oikawa tōru was most certainly a demon from the fiery pits of hell- or rather RA hell. you often found yourself questioning what you did to the universe in your past life that was so bad that oikawa happened to be the resident advisor for your floor. he was likeable to everyone else, of course he was. he was handsome and tall and athletic, face chiselled and his big eyes a warm shade of brown, lips often tugged in a smirk that had girls swooning for him- and you knew that because your friends always insisted on hanging out in your dorm room, giggling as they caught a glimpse of oikawa as they passed by. but oikawa’s eyes would burn into you. you’d always feel them, raking over you when you’re leaving your dorm room in a tight dress for a night-out with friends. you’d feel them piercing into you when you’re at the campus starbucks and you always grimace when you’d see oikawa’s horribly sweet smile, sweeter than the pure syrupy frappucino he buys. you always hate how he wiggles his fingers at you, eyes crinkling with a grin you know is laced with so much cold hostility.

“y/n-chan, it doesn’t hurt to smile!” he sings at you whilst you curse him under your breath. but the worst thing about oikawa is that he has it out for you. he’s a predatory snake, slithering around for a chance to bite and whenever he can, he will.

this is where you are now. you stand in the centre of your room, arms folded tightly across your chest as you watch oikawa stalk around your space. you can tell he’s scrutinising your dorm room so carefully, peeling away as many layers of you as he can as his brown eyes gleam, narrowing at the photographs and postcards on your walls, smiling at the books scattered around, the pile of clothes on the floor. but he’s searching for more- maybe a candle amongst your beauty products and toiletries, maybe a corner of plastic carrying that white powder or green clumps sticking out from underneath your dresser, any pet fur or holes in the wall.

you’re trying to keep stoic, keeping your eyes fixated on oikawa as he spends his time peering into your bedroom but there’s still panic rising in you. you’re sure everything is in place- you brushed away all the cat fur off your bed from last week when you nursed a weak stray kitten back to health and your sealed packets of weed are hidden away in your sock drawer. there’s no way oikawa will find anything, even if he wants to. that nauseating panic dissipates as you see the sourness on oikawa’s face, his shoulders slouching as he turns to leave.

“bye now, oikawa. don’t come again.” you smile, chuckling at his scowl when suddenly he stops. you freeze as you notice that bright gleam in his eyes and the smile that stretches across. it’s the same look when he delivers a particularly hard serve in a volleyball match. it’s the look of winning.

“not so fast. what have we here, y/n-chan?” you stop breathing as oikawa strides across the length of your room to your wardrobe, his hand snaking into the slightly ajar door where he pulls out a can of gin and tonic, grinning proudly like he’d won a trophy. you swallow hard, a thick lump rising in your throat.

“that’s not mine.” oikawa frowns mockingly, feigning a look of confusion.

“oh really, y/n-chan?”

“yes.”

“so someone just broke into your room and decided to put a full can of gin and tonic in your wardrobe?” you wish it could’ve been a beer bottle, then maybe you could distract him and smash it over his big, annoying head. but you can’t so you grit your teeth, hands curling into fists.

“yes. i don’t know-”

oikawa cuts you off with his high, sardonic laugh that makes you growl quietly.

“come on, y/n-chan,” he looks so smug, making that hot anger tingle in you. “we both know this is yours. and it’s against the college rules and not to mention, illegal.” he sighs heavily, shaking his head slowly with little tuts. “it looks like i’m going to have to write you up.”

“oikawa…” you hiss warningly but he looks so utterly gleeful.

“you’ve had quite a bad streak already, haven’t you? what’s this now- the third offence?” you clench your jaw, the vein in your temple throbbing as you recall the two other times oikawa had written you up- once for a stupid candle you promised was just for decoration and the other for playing loud music just that one time. but this was much worse, a criminal offence and you remember how severe the dean had been the last time, how he told you if you kept making trouble, perhaps it’d be wise for you to find somewhere else to live.

you feel sick. your stomach churns and your hands tremble as you clasp them to your tight chest, trying not to feel nauseous.

“don’t write me up.” you say, hating the way your voice shakes. oikawa pouts and cocks his head at you, but he’s so insufferable, so mocking as he taunts you.

“it’s my job, y/n-chan. and some of us follow the rules.” he exhales heavily, shrugging but the corners of his lips are still twitching with a smile. “oh my, it really doesn’t look good for you right now. maybe you need to call up a realtor or check out some ads-”

“hey, don’t be so hasty.” you say, forcing a smile as you step closer to him. he regards you with interest, smiling further at your next words. “i’m sure we can settle this ourselves.”

“is that so?” oikawa smiles so widely, tossing the can into your bin carelessly. “well, what do you have to offer me?”

you hesitate. you’re the average college student and you’re broke, offering money would be a joke. you were both majoring in two vastly different courses, you couldn’t do his assignments for him either. free drugs? no, that’d be digging yourself into a deeper hole. you needed something quick, something easy but valuable- a one time thing.

you’re horribly aware of the way oikawa’s studying you, leaning against your wall so casually with a smirk and his hands on his hips. he looks so triumphant, so amused and you hate it. but you know how else he looks at you. you’ve seen how his eyes always darken, how they slowly rake over your body, taking in your curves and bare skin when you’re going out to a party. you’ve heard the way his breath hitches in his throat when you leave your shower cubicle in the morning just as he comes in from practise, your skin steaming and hair dripping wet droplets down the bit of cleavage that your fluffy bathrobe exposes. you know that despite the petty ways you and oikawa spite each other, he’s still attracted to you and…

what are you thinking?

you clench your eyes shut, rubbing at them as you try to comprehend the situation. it’s oikawa- the stupid, irritating, hellish RA or...it’s an eviction. it’s getting kicked out of convenient, comfortable college accommodation and having to find somewhere else to live in the middle of the academic year. not unless you did this. sure, oikawa was an insufferable man and you wanted nothing more than to make him choke on milk bread but you’d been with worse.

“i don’t have all evening, y/n-chan.” oikawa sighs, dismissively glancing at his nails. “so if you don’t have anything to offer, i’ll just write you up and be on my merry-” he chokes, spluttering as he springs up to his full height, eyes widening at your actions. “y/n-chan! what are you doing?”

you ignore the way the heat rises to your cheeks as you slowly unbutton your shirt, resisting the urge to shiver when the cool air meets your skin. oikawa’s scandalised, but he’s falling into the trap, his eyes looking so needy the way they follow your fingers, drinking in the view of your beautiful body.

“this is what i’m offering.” you say firmly even though your fingers tremble and your heart pounds against your chest. “come on,” you urge with a teasing smirk. “i’ve seen the way you look at me, tōru.” the way you drawl his name is the last step and oikawa completely falls into your trap. he steps forward quickly, his eyes fixated on your chest before they flicker up to meet your eyes and suddenly he’s leaning in.

“woah!” you cry, causing him to frown with confusion. “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“i’m obviously trying to kiss you- or do you always start off a fuck with a handshake?” oikawa looks amused, cheekily grinning as you growl. you don’t even reply as you grab him by the brown, silky strands of his hair and pull him into you.

the kiss is messy. and needy. teeth clashing together as you and oikawa kiss each other hungrily, small, little, breathy gasps escaping him as you slide your tongue between his lips. he tastes of mint and you hate to admit it but he’s a good kisser, almost eliciting soft moans from you as he peels off your unbuttoned shirt. he pulls you closer to him, one hand wrapping around your bare waist and the other snaking into your hair, tugging gently to peel your lips away from his. you feel dizzy and breathless as oikawa starts to trail open mouthed kisses along the column of your neck, making you shiver and gasp as he sucks in the delicate skin.

“don’t leave marks.” you hiss, pushing him away with a rough hand at his forehead, making him laugh.

“y/n-chan,” he teases, trailing a finger along your collarbone just to make you squirm. “let me just remind you that if you don’t want to do this, i can just write you up instead. would you like me to do that?” he’s vicious. he plays ugly and he knows that because he looks so pleased whilst you just exhale heavily, brow furrowed with anger.

“no.” he beams.

“good girl. now take off your bra.” you smirk as you reach behind, unclasping the lacy garment but not without shooting a remark.

“do you even know how to take off a bra?”

oikawa scowls but his retort dies on his tongue when you slide off your bra, revealing your bare chest to him. he’s silent, eyes carefully taking in your curves, the way your nipples pebble in the cool air before he steps close to you.

“so you can look pretty.” he teases, placing his large, calloused hands over your tits, drawing out a small gasp from you at the coldness.

“don’t act like you’ve not been staring at me for months like a dirty, little per-” you break off when he pinches your nipple, his face contorted in an angry scowl as you hiss through gritted teeth. his other hand moves up to your shoulder and with a strong force and fingernails digging into your skin, he pulls you forward.

“you know, this is supposed to be payment for me and it’s not that enjoyable when you keep speaking so either shut up or i’ll make you.” the hand on your shoulder is heavy as it pushes you down, making you groan as your knees bump against the carpeted floor. you look up at oikawa, grimacing at his leering smile before your eyes trail down, meeting the outline of his hard cock straining against his white sweatpants. you almost want to laugh.

“god, you really are disgusting, aren’t you, oikawa?” his face flushes with indignation and as you laugh, he pulls down his sweatpants and briefs. as his cock springs up, hard and twitching against his clothed stomach, you fall silent and it’s oikawa’s turn to sneer. he wasn’t the biggest, probably ranging around average but his cock had to be the prettiest, his public hair neatly trimmed and the tip red and leaking beads of precum. oikawa watches you carefully, biting his bottom lip as he wraps his hand around his length, stroking it slowly with soft pants rolling from his lips.

“you’re really annoying, y/n-chan.” he says, reaching out for your head with his spare hand. you wince as his nails scrape along your scalp, fisting your hair tightly before he’s bringing his cock to your face, smiling crudely as he taps the leaking head against your lips. “so it’ll be nice to shut you up for a bit.”

as you open your mouth to spit back a nasty remark, oikawa’s hips snap forward and his thick cock pushes between your lips, making you moan at the feeling of your mouth being so stuffed. oikawa groans, the grip on your head tightening and making the pain burn, tears stinging in your eyes. but you know why you’re doing this. you curse oikawa in your head as you slide your tongue along the underside of his cock, along the thick prominent vein that has the fiendish man choking on a throaty moan, and as he yanks your head back, you’re quick to swirl your wet muscle around the sensitive tip.

“fuck- look at you.” oikawa chuckles, his voice deeper with lust. “you look like such a slut with your pretty lips wrapped around my cock.” you frown, feeling that flicker of anger as you prepare to remove your mouth but he’s too quick. he grips your hair so tight, you can’t help but cry out, muffled by his weighty dick in your mouth and suddenly oikawa’s hissing as his hips snap forward, sheathing most of his cock in your mouth. “don’t be rude to me, pretty girl. remember why you’re doing this.” that’s the last he says before he’s fucking your mouth, pushing his length into your mouth till the tip snaps against the back of your throat, making you gag at the sudden shock. oikawa’s lost in pleasure though, thrusting in and out of your mouth quickly with his head thrown back and strings of moans and slurred swears rolling from his lips. you force your throat to relax, breathing heavily through your nose as you let oikawa use your mouth, ignoring the way the weight of his cock on your tongue aches your jaw. it’s degrading too, humiliating as he fucks you like a doll, balls slapping against your chin and you look like such a mess, saliva and precum dripping down your chin, onto your chest with tears streaming from your eyes. oikawa suddenly pulls out from you, pushing your hair away from your face as you cough up the saliva, letting it all drool down your face as you gasp for breath, clutching at your throat.

“you okay?” oikawa doesn’t look the least bit concerned as he pumps his cock, your saliva glistening off his skin and wet, smacking sounds filling your room as you glare at him through your teary eyes.

“you don’t think you could’ve warned me before you fucked my face, dumbass?” you hiss, your voice hoarse after oikawa’s cock abusing the back of your throat. he simply beams, eyes rolling lazily to the back of his head as he continues to stroke his dick.

“consider it a surprise, y/n-chan. come on, let’s go again and you’ll be a step closer to clearing your offence.” you glower at oikawa, nudging yourself closer to him and opening your mouth obediently for him to thrust back in.

he’s needier this time, both hands gripping your head in place as his hips snap forward fast and abruptly and moans bordering on consistent, loud, desperate whines, something close to a sob. but you don’t even think you’ll be able to tease him, not when he keeps fucking your mouth so hard and all you can do is focus on breathing, not choking on his thick cock. your eyes tear up with every hard thrust against the back of your throat and you try your best to swallow, to pull out more of those desperate whimpers from oikawa whilst spit just trickles down from the corners of your lips.

“you’re so much better when you’re quiet and with my cock down your throat.” oikawa chuckles, smiling at you with heavy-lidded eyes as he removes one of his hands to stroke your dick-hollowed cheeks. then the hand on the back of your head pushes you further, forcing you to take more of oikawa’s dick into your mouth before the tip is nestled in the back of your throat. you gag and choke around it, drool spewing from your lips so messily and tears leaking from your clenched eyes. but oikawa’s moaning and you hate to admit how pretty he sounds, even when blood pounds in your ears and his cock is so deep into the back of your throat. “i’m tempted to cum right down your pretty little throat.” oikawa sneers and your eyes suddenly widen, convinced he’s ready to release right then and there but he finally pulls away, panting as you gasp for breath once again.

“you’re not always so bad, y/n-chan.” oikawa says as he pulls you up from your knees. you scoff, wiping away the saliva from your chin with a scowl on your face.

“you’re always bad, tōru-chan.” oikawa doesn’t say anything at the way you mock him, instead opting to push you onto your bed. you glare at him as he tugs off his t-shirt and sweatpants, leaving himself completely revealed. you hate to admit how nice his lean, athletic body is, his milky skin and the muscles of his chest and legs attractive. but you don’t get much chance to admire much more before he pulls downs your shorts, leaving you in just your panties before he’s settling between your legs.

“i don’t think i’m so bad when i’m letting you redeem yourself.” he sneers. “unless of course, you’d be willing to be evicted- ow, y/n-chan.” oikawa winces when you tug at his hair harshly but his eyes darken and suddenly he stands up and shoves your shoulders, pushing you onto the bed. he hisses as he flips you over, making you lie on your stomach before he tugs at your ankles, making you kneel before he presses himself up against you.

“you know, y/n-chan, i was going to be nice and prepare you beforehand but you’re just being so rude to me.” he says, little breathy pants escaping him as he grinds his hard cock against your clothed core. “besides, i don’t even think i need to. you’re so wet and i haven’t even touched you yet.” he was laughing at you, his voice irritable and sardonic. you only growl into the bedsheets, hating the way oikawa was right as he kneels back, admiring the wet patch on your pretty panties. “how pathetic of you, y/n-chan. did you really enjoy me fucking your face that much?”

“shut up, crappykawa.” you hiss but you can’t help the little moan that escapes you when he presses his fingertips against the soaked patch, the little stimulation against your soaked folds enough to have you whining and pushing up against oikawa for more. he cackles, an actual taunting cackle.

“fuck, you’re such a needy, desperate slut, y/n-chan.” oikawa coos, pressing against your back and bringing his face close to yours. his hot breath lingered over you, making you shiver as his teeth scraped your ear lobe, big, calloused hands reaching to palm your tits. “you’re begging to be fucked, pretty girl. you’re whoring yourself out-” oikawa cuts off when you snap around to glare at him, exhaling vehemently and your voice a vicious snarl.

“i swear to god, oikawa tōru, if you don’t just get on with it, i’ll-”

oikawa yanks down your panties roughly, the cold air immediately hitting your soaked folds and making you moan softly. you’re desperate, cunt throbbing and you’re biting back gasps as his rough fingertips stroke your pretty cunt before he’s trailing them along to your clit. oikawa’s breath hitches as he rubs, hearing a little moan pull from your lips before he’s removing his fingers and you can feel him stroking his cock.

“so wet- is this all for me, y/n-chan?”

“well it’s not exactly like it’s for my sleep paralysis demon standing in the corner of my- the fuck?!” you hear oikawa chuckle mirthlessly and then a cold, wet globule lands on your folds, making you shriek as you feel the head of his cock prod at your pussy.

“did you just fucking spit on me?!” you yell, turning your head to face oikawa. he looks so gleeful, smiling so wide at you.

“that’s right. here we go now, y/n-chan.” you gasp, choking out into the bedsheets as oikawa pushes his cock into you. the stretch is deliciously painful, the burn laced with so much pleasure as he sheaths his cock inside you. he moans loudly as your walls clench around him, letting the veins of his thick length drag against your velvet walls till he bottoms out, gasping and gripping your hips tightly as his hips press against your ass.

“be a good slut and just shut the fuck up for once.” oikawa hisses, groaning with the stimulation. you scoff, a snarl hot on your tongue as your head lifts but oikawa’s too quick; he growls as his fingers grip your hair, pulling harshly at your head to push it back into the bedsheets. you groan, muffled by the harsh way he presses your head into the comforter. “there we go, much better.”

then he’s slamming into you. it’s relentless, thrusts fast and forceful, the whole bed shaking as oikawa fucks you hard and fast. the pleasure surges through you, so bittersweet as its entwined with the pain of the tip of his cock nudging your cervix and the burning of him fisting your hair so tight. you can barely even breathe, choked moans and sobs collecting in your comforter but oikawa doesn’t care. wanton moans escape him as he fucks you, the room filled with the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin, that sinful squelching.

it’s clear that oikawa isn’t focused on you, not with the way one of his hands grips your hip so tightly you’re sure there’ll be bruises, and the way the other forces your head down. this is just about him, his pleasure, his payment, his sordid bribe.

“so tight, y/n-chan.” oikawa teases, punctuating his words with harder thrusts that has him exhaling. “don’t you get some?” you want to snap back a reply but you can’t, your attempts at words just incoherent vowels choked with moans. it feels good, his cock sending shivers of pleasure into you every time he slams his hips into your ass but it’s not enough. you’re hissing with the frustration, your wet pussy squeezing tightly around oikawa’s length, throbbing as you need more. “so desperate, so needy.” he continues. “you’re clenching around me so tight. i didn’t know you wanted me that bad, y/n-chan.”

“fucking idiot.” you curse out into the bedsheets but oikawa takes your muffled mumbles as a chance to push your head deeper, making your back arch more and the new angle has him thrusting deeper, making the two of you moan loudly. but it’s still not good enough and without any stimulation at your clit, you won’t cum. but clearly oikawa doesn’t know- or maybe he doesn’t care with the way he fucks you solely for his pleasure. you move one of your hands between your legs, your body almost toppling but it’s worth it to rub at your clit, letting warm pleasure fill you. but it’s short-lived because with a large crack, burning pain sears through your ass cheek.

“did i say you could touch yourself?” oikawa growls. “it’s like you want to be written up.” you want to sob, so desperate for enough pleasure to b able to release all over his cock as he continues to fuck you. oikawa thrusts faster and sloppier, chasing his own high with loud, whiny moans rolling from his lips, the harsh grip on your head tightening.

“fuck, fuck, fuck-” oikawa gasps as his cock twitches and seconds later, he pulls out, moaning over your desperate whines before he cums, three hot spurts of cum landing on your back.

“oikawa, you fucking prick!” you shriek, kneeling up to face him as the cum clings to your skin. “you just came on me- without even getting me off!” it angers you more to see oikawa look so relaxed, a dazed smile lingering on his face from the aftermath of his climax as he pants, his cock already softening. “oi, shittykawa!”

“well, at least i didn’t cum in you.” he merely smiles with a shrug before he stands up, getting your tissue box. you glare at him, scoffing when he pushes you onto your stomach and wipes the cum off your skin.

“yeah but i’ve not fucking cum at all!”

you’re whining with desperation, your throbbing cunt so wet with your slick running down your thighs as you clench around nothing, almost grinding into your mattress.

“are you really this useless, shittykawa? i’m going to have to make myself cum because your stupid, good-for-nothing cock can’t do a job right?” you want the vicious snarls to make oikawa’s face fall but he only seems amused as he sits at the end of your bed, leaning back on his palms with a lazy smile on his face.

“well, i wouldn’t be opposed to that.”

you scowl as you sit up, turning to face him as you spread your legs, letting him see your pretty pussy glistening with your slick. you shudder, sighing as you begin to rub your clit, slowly building up the pace and not removing your eyes from oikawa’s hungry gaze.

“you’re so fucking useless.” you snap, gasping as the pleasure begins to build. it tastes so sweet, so satisfying as you dip your fingers below, sliding them through your slick folds. you’re so sensitive, so needy you can’t help but gasp and jerk at the gentle touch, eyes fluttering shut and a low moan escaping you as you slide one finger in, your whole body slumping against your headboard. it feels so good, pure, warm pleasure rushing through your veins as you pump your finger in and out of your squelching pussy, your walls so sensitive as you brush them. “fuck, my fingers do a better job than you.” oikawa smiles, tilting his head as he tears his brown eyes away from the way your pussy clenches around your finger to meet your eyes.

“really? so what, you think you can make yourself cum on your fingers?” you laugh, your chuckles mixed with gasps of pleasure as you begin to pump faster, inching your second finger towards your hole whilst your thumb rubs at your clit.

“of course i can- it’s you that can’t make a girl cum.” you’re panting now, pumping two fingers in and out of your cunt fast and hard before moving your other hand to your mouth to slide your tongue over the pads of your fingers. oikawa’s eyes widen as he watches you rub the wet fingertips over your hardened nipple, a whine pulling from your lips as you buck your hips with need. “this is how you pleasure a girl, you dumb fuck. you can’t even make me feel half this good!” you choke out more moans as you slide in your third finger, the stretch burning slightly but you’re so close as you bite your bottom lip. your legs quiver as you enjoy the way oikawa looks so drunk and needy watching you fuck yourself on your own wet fingers. “your cock could never reach this far.” you hiss with venom. the coil in your stomach is so tight, so ready to snap, just a bit more…

“do you even know where the clit is or are you just pure stupid?”

you’re laughing through your pants of pleasure as oikawa’s face flushes and he scowls with indignation.

“hey!” his humiliation was the final push over the edge and as you curl your fingers deep in your pussy, that coil snaps. you moan, back arching and vision going white as pure pleasures explodes through you, making you jerk and shake as you ride out your orgasm on your own fingers. you can feel oikawa’s hungry stare on you, his eyes widened as he drinks in every moment of your orgasm.

you pant as you remove your fingers, grimacing at the way they’re coated with your release. you’re about to reach for a tissue but stop, noticing the way oikawa’s staring at the glistening slick on your fingers. he’s needy.

“what, you wanna suck on my fingers? clean up all my cum?” you laugh as oikawa’s face reddens but he doesn’t refuse when you crawl towards him and kneel over him, smiling as you push your fingers into his mouth. oikawa’s brown eyes are fixated on yours, the hunger in him so evident as he sucks around your fingers, moaning at the taste of your release. you scoff as his tongue flicks at your fingertips, shaking your head at the insufferable man. “fuck, you’re so disgusting. dirty, pathetic boy.” oikawa slips his mouth off your fingers with a wet pop, scowling at you.

“you’re so mean, y/n-chan.” he whines yet there’s a hint of a playful tone apparent. “i’ve got half a mind to actually write you up, maybe also include how rude you’ve been to your poor RA.” he starts as you throw him his t-shirt, your eyes cold and angry.

“don’t fucking try it, shittykawa. now get out before i make you choke.”

oikawa sighs and laughs as he pulls on his clothes swiftly, picking up his trainers at the door as he ruffles his messy brown hair.

“let’s leave that for the next time you’re about to get written- sorry, sorry, i’m going!” the door slams shut as oikawa narrowly misses the hairbrush that you send whirling across the room.

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guardianofrivendell · 3 years

Text

Dwarves Always Knock Thrice

Requested: Yes and no. @estethell challenged me to write a modern AU with Fíli and Kíli knocking at the reader’s door instead of Bilbo’s by mistake. I interpreted it as a ‘what if Fíli and Kíli end up in modern day Europe?’

Warnings: none so far, I wrote this with a fem!reader (sorry! I try to write more gender neutral in the future, I promise)

Summary: What if one day your favorite fictional characters knock on your door? A modern AU with a twist! (any similarities to what I would do in this case are purely coincidental 😏)

A/N: Yes, yes, I know. There are hundreds of fics like this one. But none of them were written by me and my weird sense of humor 😆 Depending on the response I’ll turn this into a multichapter fic, if not this will stay a standalone oneshot.

Humming a rather cheerful tune, you pressed the button on top of the coffee machine and your morning fuel started dripping into your favorite cup. You waited patiently until the foam reached the edge and then you turned the machine off. With the cup held between your hands, you inhaled deeply. Nothing like the smell of fresh coffee for a perfect start of the day.

A few minutes ago your boyfriend had left to go to work, only to see him again by the end of next week. He was going on a citytrip with your group of friends for a few days, which had been planned ages ago. You were supposed to go with them, but unfortunately, you didn’t have any vacation days left. No, it was back to work for you instead.

Not that you minded. You loved your job, and you were lucky enough to be able to work from home when you wanted to. It didn’t actually feel like work that way. At least you had decent coffee, you didn’t have to dress up and you could take a break whenever you wanted. And now with your boyfriend gone for the week, you had no interruptions and lots of quiet evenings to look forward to. Cheers to that, you thought while you sipped at your coffee.

The dinner table became your makeshift workplace, coffee within reach. There were no video meetings scheduled today so you were wearing your favorite pair of black leggings and a long oversized knitted sweater, with fluffy socks on your feet to complete your comfy outfit.

You moved your computer mouse and your laptop sprung to life. James, your Sphynx cat, hopped on the table and pushed his head in your hand, demanding cuddles.

“Another day at the office, how dreadful,” you smiled, petting him behind his ear. James purred and started to bathe himself.

He was a Sphynx cat, so there was no fur. Nothing but flawless pink skin, soft to the touch. It almost felt like petting a warm peach. You chuckled at the comparison, and James stopped his grooming to look at you.

“Oh, I’m sorry your Majesty. I’ll let you to it.”

You booped his nose and got to work.

After a day of sifting through emails, processing data and editing documents and spreadsheets, you felt utterly exhausted. A phrase your boyfriend likes to throw at you on these moments suddenly came to mind, ‘How can you be so tired when you’ve done nothing but sit down on your ass all day?’ Always the charmer.

You stood up, raised your arms above your head and stretched, groaning in the process. You froze when your stretch session was interrupted by three knocks on your front door.

“Who still knocks these days?”

It was almost 6 pm, slowly turning dark outside and you’d let the shutters down about an hour ago. It was something you did as soon as the sun was setting. It was silly really, but it made you feel safe.

But now it prevented you from seeing who was at your door.

The neighbours from down the street wouldn’t come by for a visit, they were the kind of people that liked to keep to themselves. Your parents would call first, so… a polite burglar perhaps?

You couldn’t be too careful these days, especially now, when you were alone, so you went to your intercom first to see who was at the door.

The camera didn’t show anyone. You could see a part of your front yard, but that was it. Strange… You thought you could hear voices, so maybe there was someone at the door after all. Maybe someone had driven their car into the ditch. Wouldn’t be the first time. You lived in the countryside, with roads where only one car at a time could pass, with ditches on both sides. A challenge for city people, and the occasional daredevil usually had to be towed out of said ditch.

What’s life without a little risk, you thought, and made your way to the front door. You weren’t the one to turn away from people in need. It would probably get yourself killed one day, you were too kind and gullible and people tended to take advantage of that.

Another three knocks sounded, a little louder this time and you swung the door open.

“Finally!”

Your boyfriend rushed inside and shot up the stairs. When you looked to your driveway, you saw his car with the lights on, the motor still running. He was running late again. As usual.

After a few minutes he thundered down the stairs, his hiking boots in hand.

“Almost forgot these,” he said while lifting them. He kissed your cheek and ran off. You sighed. “See you next week, sweet. I’ll miss you.”

Sarcasm was your way to cope, to learn how to deal with the lack of love and care. Because who were you kidding? He wouldn't miss you.

You shuffled to your kitchen, in need of something hot. To drink, that is. And while the coffee machine filled your cup for the second time that day, you rubbed your face with your hands trying to think of how you had ended up in this situation in the first place…

“Just try and enjoy a week by yourself,” you whispered.

You were about to take a first sip when three knocks sounded for the third time.

“Seriously?”

When you opened the door, you couldn’t stop the massive eyeroll when you saw it was your boyfriend again.

“Hand me the reservation papers of the hotel, will you? I forgot them and I need the address for the gps,” he said.

“I sent it in an email to Tom, and I put the address in the gps system yesterday. Now go, you’re late enough as it is. Call me when you get there okay?”

He smiled and kissed your cheek again.

“Bye! Enjoy your week by yourself!” “I will, don’t worry,” you smiled.

Before you closed the door there was a bright white flash. You covered your ears on instinct, something you always did when there was a thunderstorm.

“That was very closeby,” your boyfriend gasped. “They didn’t say anything about a thunderstorm tonight.” “I’m not sure that was lightning… there was no thunder?” “It’s probably nothing to worry about.”

And with those words your boyfriend left for the second time that night.

After closing the front door with a small heart, you tried to calm yourself. You were terrified of thunderstorms, and you really didn’t feel like going through one when you were on your own. Let’s just hope he was right and it was nothing, you thought.

Your coffee…! Taking a sip from the now lukewarm drink, you pondered if you would make it into an Irish or Italian one. Heaven knows you deserved it, right? With your coffee still in hand you made your way over to the liquor cabinet, only to be interrupted by yet another pair of knocks on the front door.

“I’m going to kill him,” you murmured while you walked into the hallway. “What could he have possibly forgotten this time?”

You swung the door open with a little too much force, but you couldn’t care less by that time. The small amount of patience you had left was already out of the window and you just wanted to enjoy your spiked coffee.

“What did you forg-?!”

Your voice got caught in your throat when your eyes fell on your visitors. Visitors. As in plural. Definitely not your boyfriend. You recognized them immediately, there was no doubt who they were but… it couldn’t be! This was simply impossible!

In your shock you forgot you were holding your cup of coffee and it slipped out of your hand. The cup completely shattered on the floor but you hardly noticed.

Because right in front of you, in the light of your porch light at your very own doorstep, stood Fíli and Kíli.

As in Fíli and Kíli, nephews to Thorin, King under the Mountain. As in Fíli and Kíli, characters from The Hobbit. Fictional characters. With a heavy emphasis on ‘fictional’. Made up by Tolkien.

So how the hell was it possible that they were standing in front of you, alive and well?

The two Durin brothers were a bit taken aback so it seemed, because they too remained silent at first. After a few awkward seconds Kíli was the one who decided to speak up instead of his older brother. He was clutching his sword and quiver, just like he did in the movie.

“Kíli,” he began. He was side eyeing his brother who was still staring at you, and smacked Fíli’s chest when he didn’t respond. “What?” “Kíli,” Kíli repeated, pointing at himself and then at his brother who finally caught on. “And Fíli.” “At your service,” they both continued, bowing deeply.

“Y/N, at yours,” you responded without a second thought. Kíli’s face split into a wide smile.

“We’re looking for master Boggins!” “Yeah, I kind of expected you to say that,” you murmured, but they heard you. “Oh, so you’re a seer?” Kíli assumed excitedly. “No! No, I’m just… me. But there is no mister Baggins here,” you said, correcting Kíli. “Are we at the wrong house?” Fíli wondered. “I’m afraid so.” “Well… can you help us find him?” Kíli looked at you expectantly.

You sighed. “I would but, I’m afraid it’s a little more complicated than that.”

Both of their faces fell. They were so in character, if someone was pranking you, they did one hell of a job in finding these two actors. And their costumes were spot on, from the carvings on Kíli’s bow to the colour of Fíli’s fur coat. It was scaringly accurate… They looked so much like Dean and Aidan’s version, but not quite. You didn’t know why exactly, but you had the feeling they were real. They were Fíli and Kíli, sons of Dís.

Fíli stared at you with a confused expression. “What do you mean, my lady?”

Oh. Now, if you weren’t already a little enamored by their looks, the title he just gave you would have. You weren’t exactly used to endearments.

Not that Fíli had meant as an endearment but you wouldn’t mind if they called you my lady for the rest of your life. It just made you grow a couple of inches.

“I’m probably going to regret this, but… come in.” You stepped aside so they could enter the hallway.

The heavy boots they were wearing made scratching sounds on your tile floor and your mind immediately went to your delicate wooden floors in the rest of your house.

You were going to sound extremely bossy and uptight but you had to think of your interior.

“Could you both maybe take off your boots?”

The two brothers looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

“If you want?” Fíli asked you.

“Please.”

You took the swords and quiver from Kíli so he had his hands free and placed them in a corner of your hallway. Fíli followed your example and added his own weapons to the pile.

“I trust you not to attack us when we’re unarmed,” he winked at you.

You smiled back at him, knowing all too well he still had some smaller knives hidden somewhere. For a moment the thought of reenacting the knife scene in Mirkwood crossed your mind, but you thought better of it. He wouldn’t find it as funny as you thought it was and you’d probably lose a finger or two if you tried to take a knife from him. It was best not to challenge him. Yet.

Once their boots were placed neatly next to their weapons, you motioned them to follow you into your living room. Your eyes drifted to the shards of your coffee mug and the spilled coffee, you needed to clean it up but it simply had to wait.

“I don’t really know how to begin explaining all this,” you said, while waving your arms around you, “but it might be a good idea if we sit down?”

You gestured towards the sitting area and both brothers took a seat on your couch.

It seemed like they didn’t know where to look first. Their eyes wandered to your tv, surround system, laptop, aquarium, …

Kíli whispered something in Fíli’s ear, to which the older brother shrugged his shoulders.

“Do you want to drink anything?” you suggested. “I have water, milk, beer, …”

Their eyes lit up when you mentioned the beer, so you nodded your head.

“Beer it is, although I need to warn you. It’s Belgian beer, so it’s probably a lot stronger than what you guys are used to.”

You mentally facepalmed at your last sentence, why did you even mention that? They didn’t realize they were in a different universe, so mentioning your country would give them zero information.

“I think we can handle it just fine,” Kíli commented with a smirk. Fíli nodded in agreement. “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

After another look at the dwarves on your couch, you disappeared into your kitchen. You fetched two beer glasses out of the dishwasher and two bottles of beer from your fridge, before you noticed how much your hands were shaking.

Okay, Y/N, you need to calm down first… Easy to say when you have two dwarves sitting in your living room. Dwarves! And your favorite dwarves too. How many times had you imagined this exact moment in your fantasies? In your dreams?

Of course! That was it…! You probably fell asleep at your laptop and you were dreaming. But then why did it feel so real?

Maybe someone was pranking you after all? Nah, that wasn’t likely. Nobody knew you were even in the Tolkien fandom. Let alone who your favorite characters were.

So it must be a dream... But if you were dreaming, they definitely would have been an exact copy of the movie Fíli and Kíli. As in, Dean and Aidan in costumes. The ones sitting on your couch looked slightly different, still handsome - Mahal, did they look handsome - but you would probably refer to them as discount Dean and Aidan.

Your small mental breakdown was interrupted when Kili started to scream.

“What is that?!”

Quickly snatching the bottles and glasses in both of your hands, you hurried back to the Durin princes.

When you entered your living room, you were met with quite the hilarious view. Tolkien had described Fíli and Kíli as fearless and courageous, but there was nothing courageous about their behaviour right now.Fíli was sitting with his legs pulled up and Kili half on Fili’s back, pointing at James who was trying to jump on Fili’s lap.

“That’s James, my cat.”

“That’s a cat?!” Kíli yelled. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing!” you laughed, placing the glasses and bottles on the coffee table. “He’s a sphynx cat, he’s supposed to look like that. They don’t have fur.”

You called James and he immediately ran to you, so you could pick him up. He rubbed his head against your chin and started purring, happy to get some attention.

You crouched down before the two princes.

“Go ahead, pet him. You don’t have to be scared.” “We’re not scared,” Kíli protested, puffing out his chest. You smirked and rolled your eyes. “Of course not.”

They were wary at first, but eventually both brothers were petting James. Before you could stop him, James jumped out of your arms on Fíli’s lap and curled up against the fur of his coat.

Fíli froze and tried his best not to let it show that he wasn’t comfortable with this at all. Next to him, Kíli had the hardest time keeping a straight face, biting his lip in an attempt to stifle his chuckles but his shoulders were already shaking with laughter.

You poured their beer and placed it in front of them.

“Like I said, it’s pretty strong so small sips. Do you want me to take James away?” Fíli shook his head. “I-it’s fine!”

You took a seat on your other couch and anxiously started to rub your thighs.

“So… like I said, I don’t really know how to explain this but I think I know what happened to you.” “Wait… did something happen to us? I don’t understand?” Kíli asked, raising his eyebrows in confusion.

Oh, right. They didn’t realise they were in a different universe right now. Maybe you should take a different approach.

“Can you tell me what happened before you knocked on my door?”

Kíli took the two glasses and gave one to his brother before he took a gulp, humming appreciatively.

“I like this,” he said. “And to answer your question, we traveled to the Shire and knocked on the door with the mark. And here we are!” “But… my door doesn’t have a mark?”

It was Fíli’s turn to roll his eyes. “Kee, you’re not telling the whole story. But you’re right about this,” he smiled while raising his glass, taking another sip. “This is good stuff.”

You chuckled when you saw some foam sticking to his mustache. He raised an eyebrow at you. “What’s so funny?”

“I have enough beer in the fridge, you don’t have to save some for later,” you laughed, pointing at your own lip to get the message across.

Fíli quickly wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. The movement made James shift in his lap and the Dwarf went rigid again. You decided not to say anything about it, you figured maybe Fili didn’t like cats that much. Or just James.

“So what did Kíli leave out?” “Your door wasn’t the first one we knocked on. There was a round, green door in the Shire. And that one had the mark of Gandalf. He’s a wizard.”

You nodded. So far it went exactly like it should. Shire, green door, mark.

“But when we knocked on it, we found ourselves in a field all of a sudden. And your house was the only one around so we figured that was where we were supposed to be. Since Gandalf is a wizard, you never know what to expect.”

Okay, that was different. It almost sounded as if they went through a portal of some sort. Like a portkey? They touched the portkey and traveled to a different universe? But portkeys weren’t part of Middle Earth, that was Harry Potter. Did they have something similar?

“You’re not in Middle Earth anymore,” you said softly.

Both brothers stared at you with wide eyes, their beer long forgotten. Kíli looked at his older brother, and pulled at his sleeve.

“What does she mean by that?”

Fíli kept his eyes fixed on your face, searching your features to see if you were lying. If you were trying to prank them.

“It means that you traveled between different worlds. In my world, where you’re in right now, Middle Earth is fictional. A story. It doesn't exist. Just like my world doesn’t exist where you’re from.” “I don’t believe you,” Kíli said with a frown.

You had expected this. It’s not like you would’ve believed them if you were in their place.

“Look around,” you tried to explain, “you can see things you recognize. The furniture, me being a human, … But you can also see things that you don’t understand. They are from this world.”

“You said Middle Earth was a story to you?” Fíli asked you. “Yes. There are tales about Middle Earth, and Elves, Dwarves, Hobbits, the race of Men, … Orcs, wargs, goblins,” you explained, careful not to mention anything about their storyline or the one with the One Ring. “But I’ve never thought it could be real.”

They stayed silent for a few moments, letting it all sink in.

“How… How do we get back to Middle Earth?” Fili wondered. “I’m sorry, I really don’t know. But I’m going to help you find your way back. We’ll figure something out.”

You played with your fingers, a telltale sign you were nervous.

“And in the meantime you can stay here... With me.”

A/N: There you go... This is the setup for a possible new multichapter fic if people are interested in it. Just think of the two brothers in a modern day kitchen and bathroom, how the reader tries to cope with her fictional crush in her home and... how will they get back to Middle Earth? Would you be interested to read that? Let me know! And of course let me know what you thought of this story :)

A/N part 2: Sometimes tumblr switches paragraphs for no reason at all, if you notice this happened, send me a message! I’ll try and keep an eye on it myself, but some help is always appreciated.

Permanent taglist: @roosliefje @kata1803 @artsywaterlily @entishramblings @sleepy-daydream-in-a-rose @marvelschriss @kumqu4t @myrin1234 @dark-angel-is-back @the-fandoms-georgie @lathalea @xxbyimm @sokkasdarling @katethewriter @aredhel-of-gondolin @leethology @thepeanutcollective @elvish-sky

Kíli taglist: @elles-writing @sxperncturalimpala67

#fili x reader #kili x reader #fili and kili #the hobbit #the hobbit x reader #hobbit character in modern world #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit oneshot #fili #kili #durin princes

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