#At first glance it seems that he is looking at Dean with a dumbfounded face

[justquicksshot]

"I can't care 'bout anything but you"

For some reason, whenever I hear "lovefool" by the cardigans I always think of them.

And speaking of thinking about them, a few days ago I had a language exam (English is not my native language) , an item asked me to create a small essay writing about my favorite celebrity, and I wrote about these two, I can't imagine my teacher's face when she read my text 🤭

[lucidlivi]

I Can See You (II)

Series Masterlist/Warnings

Tag List: @jc-winchester @mrsjenniferwinchester @perpetualabsurdity @antisocialcorrupt @heavenlyackles @anixiiee @jackles010378 @suckitands33 @deans-spinster-witch @k-slla @alternativeprincess @spnbaby-67 @cevansbaby-dove @cutedisneygrl @ladysparkles78 @rach5ive @deansapplepie @lauraashley93 @hzllxhoundxx @kmc1989 @creative-writing92 (if you would like added please comment on this post or send an ask with the story name so I can keep my story tag lists straight!)

"well I can see you."

What did that even mean?

Was he trying to flirt with me?

Surely not!

Although all of me wished that was the case, it couldn't be.

Could it?

I spent the rest of the night, well in to the next morning thinking about his words. I heard a light knocking on my door breaking me from my spiraling thoughts. Jared opens the door, crashing on my bed. I take my hand running it through his shaggy hair, it was something that always calmed him.

"what's up?" I asked him as he sighed.

"just tired, and a little nervous to start filming today." He admitted.

"don't be nervous, you'll be great, you always are." I smiled.

"I'm kind of glad you're coming with."

"kind of?" I scoffed in mock hurt.

"you know what I mean you brat." Jared said shoving my hand away from his hair.

"if anyone is a brat here it's you moose." I teased.

"just shut up and get dressed, we have to leave in a hour."

"you cut me deep moose." I joked.

Jared rolled his eyes before standing up and walking towards the door.

"uh one more thing, just uh stick with me and Jensen today, don't go wandering off like you do." Jared said, referring to my disappearing act last night at the party.

Jensen.

At the mention of his name, the events from last night, his words, it all came flooding back. I bit my lip, once again starting my spiral of overthinking.

"did you hear me?" Jared asked.

I rolled my eyes at him. He could be really annoyingly overprotective sometimes. I reluctantly shook my head in agreement.

"now get out of here!" I groaned throwing a pillow at him.

Jared dodged it easily, laughing before departing from my room.

I quickly got up throwing on some jeans and a t-shirt that read I ❤️Dean Winchester. I got it simply because I knew it would make Jared mad, and as his little sister I had a duty to annoy him as much as possible.

I ran a hand through my hair before descending down the stairs. Jared and Jensen sat in the kitchen, hunched over bowls of cereal. Jared was the first one to look up.

"what are you wearing?" He asked rolling his eyes, causing Jensen to look up too.

I could see the grin spread to Jensen's face.

"I for one love it." He smirked.

Jared rolled his eyes again.

"I can't wear your merch, that'd be weird, besides everyone knows Dean is the superior Winchester." I laughed grabbing the cereal box and dumping some in to my open mouth.

"she's got a point." Jensen said grabbing the cereal box from my hands to pour me a bowl.

"I hate you both." Jared grumbled, getting up to put his bowl in the sink.

I could feel an awkward tension settle between me and Jensen as Jared left the room. It was the first time where I had no clue what to say to him. It seemed like he was struggling with the same thing.

"about last night.." Jensen started but I cut him off.

"what about it?"

"I uh probably shouldn't have said that.." He said rubbing his neck nervously.

Ouch.

It was silly of me to think he meant anything by it.

"oh, okay." I whispered, trying my best to hide the disappointment in my voice.

Jensen breathed a sigh, standing up and walking over to the sink to deposit his bowl. He turns around quickly glancing at me.

"I meant it, I just probably shouldn't have said it."

I was dumbfounded as I watched him leave the kitchen.

I let out a shaky breath I didn't realize I was holding. I couldn't stop the smile that spread to my face.

Holy Shit.

It was definitely him being flirty.

Why else would he say he shouldn't have said it?

He didn't want Jared to know he was flirting with his little sister.

Okay, maybe I was getting a little too ahead of myself.

I scarfed down the rest of my cereal quickly joining the boys in the car. I kept sneaking glances at Jensen but he never returned them. It was like when other people were around, I was just Jared's annoying little sister, but when we were alone he was different.

I was feeling excited when we got to set. Jared and Jensen immediately went to wardrobe and makeup, dragging me along. I didn't realize just how much went into getting ready for shooting. As soon as they were ready they were whisked away to start filming. I stayed close, just like I had promised. I didn't mind though, it was cool to see Jensen and Jared take on a different persona and become Sam and Dean Winchester.

I giggled as Jensen broke character, yelling at Jared for messing up his lines.

"be nice to him!" I yelled from the sidelines.

Jared gave me a look as if telling me to shut up. I smirked before standing up and stretching my muscles. It felt like we've been here for hours already. I know I promised to stick close, but I really needed to find a bathroom.

I slipped away quietly, walking around the massive studio. I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket. I pulled it out, bringing it to life. It was a text from mom asking how Jared was doing. I rolled my eyes typing back a reply. It seems it didn't matter how I was doing, like usual.

I was too busy looking at my phone that I didn't see the body in front of me until I was crashing in to it.

"shit, are you okay?"

I looked up to see a really handsome guy, he looked to be around the same age as me.

"uh yeah, that was totally my fault." I said taking his extended hand so he could help me to my feet.

"are you uh a Jensen fan?" He asked pointing to my shirt with a laugh.

"I'm uh, Jared, uh Sam's sister, I got it mainly to make him mad." I said awkwardly.

I wasn't the kind of girl who was experienced with talking to guys, especially handsome ones.

"Well Jared Sam's sister it's nice to meet you I'm Jeremiah, I'm an extra for the first two episodes." He teased.

"It's nice to meet you too extra Jeremiah." I teased back surprising myself.

He laughed, making me blush.

"It's uh (y/n)." I said with a smile.

"(y/n), nice name for a nice personality." Jeremiah said making me blush even harder.

I wasn't use to men complimenting me.

"thank you." I replied shyly.

"well uh, I should get going, I'm supposed to be in the makeup trailer." He smiled offering me a small wave.

"Jeremiah." I called causing him to turn around.

"could you uh, maybe point me towards a bathroom?" I asked with a laugh.

"I'll do you one better, follow me."

I started to walk next to Jeremiah, taking a moment to get a good look at him. He had the prettiest blue eyes, a vast contrast from Jensen's green ones. He was naturally tan, with muscles protruding from his shirt.

"I get it, it can get a little crazy on set, hard to find things." Jeremiah spoke, breaking the silence.

"yeah I don't know how you guys do it." I admitted looking at where we were.

I was indeed going the complete opposite direction of the bathroom.

"yeah and I'm just an extra." He said sounding a little bummed.

I grabbed his hand giving it a comforting squeeze.

"Jeremiah don't worry you'll get your big break soon enough, Jared thought he was going to be working odd jobs forever and now look at him." I comforted.

"you're really cool, you know that?" Jeremiah said turning towards me with a smile.

I felt the blush spreading to my cheeks once again.

"you're really cool too." I smiled.

"uh here we are." Jeremiah says gesturing to a door.

"thanks." I said offering him another genuine smile.

"see you around Jared Sam's sister." He said with a wink.

"see you around extra Jeremiah."

I couldn't fight the smile on my face. It was nice to be noticed by someone. I quickly used the restroom, before skipping happily back to set where the boys stood.

"what's got you so smiley?" Jensen asked as he took a seat beside me.

"oh nothing." I said trying to shrug it off.

"no come on, just tell me." Jensen said bumping me with his elbow.

I took a deep breath. I could tell Jensen wasn't going to give it up.

"Jeremiah, he's uh one of the extras on set, he's nice." I shrugged as if it weren't a big deal.

I thought for a second I saw a flash of disappointment on Jensen's face.

"nice is he?" Jensen asked leaning back in the chair.

"yes, he was nice." I said bumping him with my elbow.

"just be careful, nice guys are the ones you have to watch out for." Jensen said.

"are you giving me relationship advice?" I asked with a giggle.

"just want you to be careful baby moose."

I rolled my eyes at his nickname.

"can you please stop calling me that, I just want to be called by my actual name." I grumbled making Jensen smirk.

Jensen stood up, leaning in to whisper in my ear.

"nah, you'll always be my baby moose."

I couldn't fight the blush that spread to my cheeks as I watched him walk back to set, ready to film the next scene.

my baby moose.

Holy Shit.

I settled back in the chair trying to calm my breathing as I watched the next scene. I saw Jeremiah walk on to screen, reciting his lines. He caught my eye offering me a smile. I offered him one back, catching Jensen's attention.

"and that's a wrap." I heard the director yell off screen.

I stood up ready to greet Jared. I was surprised to see Jeremiah walking over to me.

"Hi." He said with a grin.

"Hi Jeremiah, you were great out there." I said offering him a smile.

"Thanks, I uh came over to see if maybe you wanted to go get coffee with me?" Jeremiah asked with a hopeful smile on his face.

Woah.

He was asking me on a date?

I glanced past him to see Jensen talking with a female coworker. He was laughing and putting a hand on her arm.

I realized that Jensen would never like me the way I liked him.

"I would love to go for coffee with you Jeremiah." I said loud enough so Jensen could hear.

"great, uh let me go change and then we can go." Jeremiah said before rushing off.

I smiled as I watched him leave.

"ready to go?" Jared asked returning from his trailer.

"actually she has a date tonight." Jensen said before I could.

I glared at him.

"a date? who with?" Jared questioned.

"Jeremiah, the extra." Jensen answered again scoffing as he said extra.

"so what if he's an extra, he's nice, and he likes me." I said, glaring directly at Jensen.

"I didn't say there was anything wrong with being an extra." Jensen defended.

"yeah well you sure seem like you have a problem." I growled.

"Jared and I don't want you to get hurt is all." Jensen shot back.

"I think the both of you should just let me make my own decisions." I yelled.

Jensen was about to respond, but Jeremiah was walking over to us again.

"I uh know this great coffee shop, you ready to go?" He asked nervously looking at Jared and Jensen.

"I am, I'll see you both later." I said glaring at both boys, but mostly Jensen.

Who did he think he was?

He acts one way when we're around everyone else and another when we're in private. It was confusing and frustrating. It was like he was ashamed to be with me. I deserved to have someone who was happy to be around me, happy to be seen with me.

Jensen

I watched her walk away, slipping her hand in his.

I could feel the jealously burning in my chest.

I shouldn't be jealous, I know that.

I can't help it.

I thought I made it clear that I was interested, but I guess I hadn't made it clear enough.

"dude, what's up with you?" Jared asked looking at me.

"nothing, I just don't want baby moose to get taken advantage of by some guy we don't even know." I said trying to hide what I was actually feeling.

"I mean yeah but he seems harmless enough." Jared shrugs.

I think that was the problem.

He seemed like a good guy. A guy that could treat her how she deserved to be treated. A guy that Jared approved of.

"I guess so." I answered.

"I'm beat, you ready to go home?" Jared asked with a yawn.

"I'll catch you at home, there's some things I need to take care of first." I said offering him a smile.

"okay man, see you later." Jared said with a wave.

I was suddenly feeling the need for some coffee.

Reader

"oh my gosh no." Jeremiah said laughing at my embarrassing story.

I had been talking to Jeremiah for over an hour. He was super easy to talk to once I got over the nerves. He was actually really funny too. I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

"I swear to you, spilled it all over the designer." I said laughing too.

"you certainly have a thing for great first impressions." Jeremiah winked.

"It's one of my many shining qualities." I joked.

"I mean you didn't have to hurt yourself to get my attention." Jeremiah flirts, placing a hand on my cheek.

I couldn't stop the blush that spread to my cheeks.

"you're cute when you blush." Jeremiah said gently stroking my cheek with his thumb.

"I probably look like a mess." I said laughing.

"I don't think that's even possible." He whispered, closer to me now.

I could see his eyes shifting from mine, down to my lips.

I think he wants to kiss me.

I think I might want him too.

I gulped as he leaned in, fluttering his eyes closed.

"baby moose, so funny seeing you here."

I jumped at Jensen's loud voice pulling away from Jeremiah.

"Jeremiah right?" Jensen asks holding his hand out for Jeremiah to shake.

"yeah, hey." Jeremiah answers shaking his hand.

It was incredibly awkward as Jensen stood staring at Jeremiah.

"uh Jere, can you go get me a refill?" I asked handing him my empty coffee cup.

"sure, be right back." Jeremiah smiled, taking my cup and disappearing towards the front.

I turned towards Jensen glaring at him.

"what the hell do you think you're doing?" I growled.

"oh you know just getting some coffee."

"you have no right, you need to go!"

"relax, I'm just grabbing some coffee." Jensen smirked.

"well grab your coffee and go, now."

"you don't have to be such a brat." Jensen scoffed before leaving.

Jeremiah came back shortly after with a now full cup of coffee.

"everything okay there?" He asked looking around for Jensen.

"yeah, sorry he just can be kind of an ass sometimes." I said furrowing my eyebrows.

I sat with Jeremiah for another hour, talking and laughing. He then offered to drive me home, which of course I accepted. He pulled in to the driveway, turning off the car.

"I uh, had a really nice time with you tonight." Jeremiah said.

"I had a good time too, thank you." I said offering him a smile.

"I guess this is goodnight then." Jeremiah said slowly, like he was dreading leaving.

"I mean shouldn't we say goodnight properly?" I asked turning towards him with a flirty smile.

Jeremiah smirked, getting what I was hinting at.

Jeremiah leaned in, capturing my lips with his in a gentle kiss. I put my hand on his cheek, kissing him deeper. He was really good at it. I slowly pulled away, allowing the blush to spread to my cheeks.

"goodnight Jeremiah." I said before exiting the car.

I couldn't fight the smile as I walked in to the house, going towards the kitchen.

"how was the rest of your hot date?" Jensen asked sitting at the kitchen island.

I felt my anger towards him return.

"excuse me?"

"relax (y/n) I was just having a bit of fun." Jensen said.

"you're an asshole you know that, okay, all I wanted was to go on a date with a guy I think is cute, and sweet and you had to show up and ruin it." I growled.

"and me showing up for like two seconds ruined that, really?"

"why couldn't you just let me have this one thing, just admit it you cared where I was, who I was with." I started but Jensen quickly cut me off.

"no I didn't, I don't." Jensen was quick to defend

"stop lying!"

"stop being such a baby!"

"oh and you're such an adult huh, you spent your night crashing my first date just for fun!" I yelled furious at him.

Jensen glared at me, taking a sip of his beer.

"you know what just forget it, why don't you go flirt with some more girls." I scoffed turning to walk away.

"yeah, well why don't you go kiss some more wannabe actors." Jensen growled.

I took a deep breath walking away from him.

I feel that if someone really wants you in their life, they’re gonna show it, not just talk about it, and if their actions don’t match up to their words, I lose interest fast.

Jensen was unbelievable.

If he wanted me, he would show it.

I used to know I wanted him, but now I'm not so sure.

Author Note:

I hope you enjoyed part two! If you could, please leave a heart, comment, reblog, or a follow it would be greatly appreciated! Stay tuned for more!

[shallowseeker]

Beach Boys

Dean hates that this beach is public.

There’s too many noisy folks, and now a roaming wad of douchey bros (you know the type) is courting Sam for beach volleyball.

Sam looks dumbfounded, like he hasn’t noticed how tall he is, and how that might make him first pick for the intramural beach-losers’ draft.

But Sam, being Sam, quirks an easy grin and says “sure.”

Ugh.

Jack throws puppy eyes, and Sam asks if he can play, too. The dude-bros shrug, friendly in that oily, college-keg-totin’ kinda way.

“I’ll play,” Mary says, jumping up and giving Jack a gentle nudge. “Show you the basics.”

Well, Dean doesn’t wanna play.

It’s been Hell getting his overlapping towels just right so none of the friggin’ hot sand grates against his skin.

The group of college bros move off to the net a little ways down from them and plops their enormous Arctic Cooler keg (surprise, surprise) off to the side.

Rowena pulls her sunglasses down, peeks appreciatively at the mass of tan, muscly bods, and makes to move her entire setup closer, umbrella and all.

“You comin?” she trills.

When Dean shakes his head, she pulls off her oversized hat and plops it on top of his head.

“Suit yourself.”

///

Sam gets the hang of it pretty quickly, but then, he barely has to even jump to spike the ball.

Mary is good—quick on her feet and able to skitter through the thick, ankle-floppin’ sand like a human sand-crab.

Jack is—not good. He misses more than he passes, and his first serve doesn’t even go over the net. The college bros jeer, and Dean squeezes his empty beer can hard enough that it crunches.

He mentally names them: Smirky Opie for the tall redhead, Stifler for sunglasses guy, and A.C. Slater for the dark-haired one.

They’re all dicks.

Dean can tell.

“You can do it!” Mary keeps saying, and Sam just claps his hands like some kind of deranged rec-league coach.

When Jack digs his first spike, Dean whoops for joy. When Sam slams down a kill, Rowena whistles.

///

“They seem to be enjoying themselves.”

Dean hadn’t heard Cas come up.

“Yeah,” he says absent-mindedly. “You got the better stuff?”

Dean peeks up, and Cas’s face is shadowed by the glare of the sun. But he’s got two drinks in hand, one deliciously chocolate and frothy-looking.

“Oooh, gimme.”

Cas dutifully hands over the creamy glass of Bushwacker. Then, Dean watches Cas watch him gulp it down. Finding it difficult to keep his gaze, Dean tracks his eyes back to the game, where Mary misses a block at the net.

“Hold this,” Cas says, and a shorter, orange-colored glass gets shoved into Dean’s free hand.

Dean takes a whiff. Rum?

“Whatcha get?”

Cas’s lips twitch, “Jungle bird.”

Dean fails to hold back a smile. “Nice.”

“Rum, pineapple juice, and Campari, though I can pick out many more molecules than that.”

Cas stoops to snag his own towel, discarded and messy on Dean’s right side, then snaps it mid-air, sending tiny granules spraying too near to Dean’s nest of towels.

“Hey.”

“Sorry.”

Cas re-spreads his towel and settles down, no more than a foot of space between them. Dean glances over, finds him lying flat with both eyes closed.

Cas’s hand shoots out expectantly, and with a fond snicker, Dean sets the Jungle Bird in his open palm.

When Cas takes a small swig, his mouth bumps up against the slice of lime hooked onto the glass rim. His unoccupied hand rests against his stomach, looking extra tan against his plain white tee.

Dean kind of wishes he’d move it, maybe drop it strategically into the space between them.

Dean blurts out, “You don’t wanna play?”

Cas squints one eye open. He looks curiously to the volleyball net.

“Not particularly.” Then, “Those males seem somewhat mean-spirited.”

One of the dudes gets hang-time and crams a spike so hard into Sam’s face that Sam barely gets his wrists up to shank it.

Yeah.

“You have more towels than when I left.”

Dean rolls his eyes. So what if he’d hogged the towels? So what if it made more laundry that they'll have to do tonight?

“Sand’s itchy as fuck, man. You see that beach house five doors down? S’got a hot tub built into their deck.”

Cas’s eyes close again, languid and as close to relaxed as Dean’s ever seen him.

“Hot tub. Wouldn’t you find that oppressively hot in summertime?”

“Not at night! That’s the real time to enjoy the beach anyway.”

Cas stares at him for a long time. Dean can’t parse it.

“Yes,” says Cas.

Dean clears his throat and glances back to the game just in time to see redheaded-douchewad-Smirky Opie spike the ball into Jack’s dopey, smiling face.

Blood sprays from Jack’s nose, and Smirky Opie grins wider.

Dean’s blood pressure goes through the roof.

[chucksfavouriteprophet]

The Intrusion - Chapter 8

Back to The Intrusion masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: After the hunt, Dean gives you a surprise that brings you closer and sparks start to fly. That is, until the mood is seriously ruined and all hopes of the two of you getting along seem doubtful.

Word count: 1,900

Warnings: angst, language, talk of trauma, Dean and the reader being the same person once again

<>

The next few days passed like every other - you tried to kill time sleeping in, re-watching your favourite show, helping out with hunt research. Things were quiet out there, and even Sam and Dean had started getting fidgety. You were sat in the library, flicking through some old lore books you hadn't seen before with Sam, when Dean came back from running errands. He bounded in the door with a strange amount of enthusiasm, a smile planted broadly across his face.

"Whats got you in such a good mood?" His brother questioned as Dean leapt down the stairs.

"Oh, nothing much. Just errands, ya know?" He raised an eyebrow, practically shaking with anticipation.

"Dude, whatever you're hiding, you're doing an awful job at it. Just tell us, will you?" Sam sighed, having had enough of his brother's teasing excitement.

"I'm not hiding anything! At least, not for you baby brother. Y/N - come with me," he clapped his hands together in excitement, skipping back towards the garage. Confused, you shared a wondering look with Sam, before tentatively following Dean out. You still weren't too sure where you stood with him; after the lingering moment on the Wendigo hunt, you hadn't been as close again and hadn't talked about it either. But he didn't seem as moody and withdrawn as he used to be, which you supposed was a promising sign.

You reached the garage (to which you'd only even discovered existed a few months back), and stood dumbfounded in the door. Across the room lay a beaten up Harley Davidson Fat Boy, lying in a bed of metal and iron pieces. Mouth hanging open, you walked over to her slowly, not quite believing your eyes. She had once been a glossy red, but the paint work was severely scratched and rusted. The leather seat was torn and the speedometer smashed, but there was certainly potential.

"What ya think?" Dean beamed at you, arms out in gesture. You didn't really know what to say as you glanced up at him.

"For me?" it was barely a whisper, making him laugh.

"Well, I can't see Sammy riding it so, yeah, its for you. Spotted it on a wolf hunt a few weeks back and suddenly realised you're bikeless now, so I went back for it today. Thought maybe we could patch it up together?" You noticed the slight waver in his voice on the last sentence, as though he wasn't quite sure whether to say it or not.

You gulped, nodding quickly. "Dean, I - I love it. Thank you. Really." You walked around the bike, bending down to take in all the elements. You were already thinking about how to rebuild the masterpiece.

"I'm er, glad," Dean smiled, suddenly becoming slightly awkward. When he'd seen the bike, he knew you'd love it, but at that time he still thought you hated him and it would be weird bringing it back. Now, though, he thought maybe he'd broken through a bit and you weren't so cold to him. Truth was, you'd been growing on him too, and it felt nice to give you something.

You looked up at him from where you were crouched, grinning from ear to ear. "Well, c'mon then. You gonna help me or not?"

He breathed a sigh of relief, instantly bounding into action and reaching for the equipment out the back of the Impala. Time flew by as you worked, listening to some crappy local radio station on the stereo and joking about a bit. It was nice - for the first time, you and Dean actually had the opportunity to get to know each other.

"So, you enjoyed that hunt, huh?" He quizzed you while he tightened a screw.

"Um hmm," you nodded back, lying beneath the bike with an allen key between you teeth. You took it out to work on the underneath, replying as you did. "It's weird you know. I never thought I'd get the opportunity to put those skills to test. It always kinda seemed like a game to me, the Men of Letters. The training and stuff, that was just a hobby. I never thought I'd actually need to know that shit."

"Well, its lucky you did." Dean huffed back. "Both at the bar that time, and on the hunt. Its good for a girl to know self-defence. Although, I'm pretty what you know is a little more than that."

You chuckled, indicating for a spanner by his side. He spun it round his index finger to show off, before thrusting it your way. You rolled your eyes, lying back on ground.

"Maybe you've got a point. I enjoyed it, though. Certainly never thought that would happen."

You chatted idly as you worked, the hours whizzing past. That tough, macho man you'd lived with all those months seemed to have disappeared, leaving a kind, genuine guy with a few daddy issues. You enjoyed talking to him, and he felt the same. As he'd adjusted to living in the bunker, Dean had become accustomed to the idea of a housemate and once he'd stopped being so bitter about it, was finally able to see you as a person rather than a problem. He'd always been physically attracted to you, despite his hesitance to admit it, but now he was finally getting to know you and bringing your personality out, he found you even more enticing.

As the clock ticked away, Sam bought you up sandwiches and beers, glad you were finally getting along. He'd always seen similarities between the two of you and was relieved you were both starting to get over your stubbornness and actually talk. As you drank and worked, personal space started to become a thing of the past as you clambered over each other to reach parts of the bike and fell on each other in fits of giggles. As you worked on the exhaust pipe, Dean fixed up the alloys on the rear wheel, meaning you were lying across his lap hanging upside down. With a few drinks in you, your sweaty bodies rubbing against each other prompted a few sparks to fly, and you had to physically restrain yourself from not staring up at his brilliant green eyes against his oil stained face.

"Hey, Y/N, mind if I ask you something?" Dean chewed the inside of his cheek, not sure if he was about to push the boundary.

"Sure," you pushed yourself up quicker than anticipated, the blood rushing to your head and you swayed slightly, Dean reaching round and supporting your back to steady you. "Erm, thanks," you murmured, feeling the blush tinge your cheeks. You were acutely aware that there was about half an inch between your faces as you were now perched on his knee. You could feel his warm, hop tinted breath against your face.

"The other day, on the hunt. When me and Sam asked about how you were so awesome at hunting...you said 'we' a lot. Like, 'we came to the bunker'. I know you said you came with your mom but, was there someone else?"

He knew he'd taken it too far once the colour drained from your face and you stiffened beneath him. You cleared your throat slightly, inching backwards. Shit. That was not what you'd expected.

"Dean...I..."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to pry. Forget it." He stood up, brushing himself off, leaving you frozen on the ground still. Just like that, the moment had passed. Dean cursed himself for thinking you were close enough now that he could ask those sort of personal questions. All he'd done was knock your relationship back to square one.

"My sister," Dean wasn't quite sure if he'd imagined it, your voice was so quiet. He stopped just before the door, turning his head slightly backwards.

"I have a sister. Had a sister. Thats who I meant when I said 'we'. Sometimes I forget its just me now." You gulped the words down, feeling tears prick your eyes. You couldn't believe you had said the words, but there was something about Dean that made you want to talk to him, to tell him about all your past shit. You looked down, trying not to let the tears spill, as his booted feet stepped towards you and he crouched down to your level.

"I'm sorry. What - what happened?"

You picked at your fingers, biting your lip. You'd never told anyone about what happened to your sister, always blaming yourself for her demise. How could you talk about it? How could you tell him? He'd hate you, think you were a horrible person. You saw what an amazing brother he was to Sam; if he heard what you'd done, he'd be disgusted.

"She died. She died and I couldn't save her. I didn't save her." He reached forward, hand touching your arm. You flinched away, withdrawing completely. This was too much, you couldn't talk about this. How had this happened? A few minutes ago you'd been joking around, actings like friends almost. Now, you wanted to strangle him at mention of your sister. Your blood felt cold, your muscles frozen. But you had to get out of there, you couldn't just sit in front of this man for any longer. Not when you knew what he'd think of you.

You leapt up, hanging your head and wrapping your arms round you. "I-I'm, sorry, Dean." You breathed before striding out the garage and making a beeline for your room. You left the elder Winchester cursing at himself, angry for pushing you too far. He knew he'd crossed the line and was furious that he'd let his curiosity get the better of him. Of all people he knew how hard it was to lose a sibling, especially when you blamed yourself. Hell, he'd been there plenty of times. Sadly, he tided the garage up, leaving the bike as it was, before heading back inside for another beer.

<>

"Go talk to her Dean!" Sam was exasperated at his brother. Having heard you running down the corridor and burying yourself in your room, he'd immediately questioned Dean once he came in covered in grease with teeth gritted.

"She doesn't want to see me Sam, trust me." Dean popped the cap and gulped down the cold beverage. "I fucked up, I said the wrong thing. She's probably back to hating me again."

"Dean, no. Its alright to ask questions, you didn't know she was gonna clam up like that! Just go apologise, I'm sure it'll be fine."

Dean downed the rest of the beer, flicking it into the trash. "I'm going out. Don't wait up Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes and groaned. Dean going out to get drunk and sleep with someone wasn't going to help anyone, but when he got like this there was no budging him. He toyed with knocking as he passed your room, but the silence and lack of light coming through the cracks suggested you might already be asleep. Plus, this wasn't his issue to get involved in. This was between his brother and you, and he didn't want to get in the way of whatever complicated relationship the two of you were starting to develop. So he left, walking away sadly, shaking his head at once again another mess his brother had got himself into and praying he hadn't blown it this time round.

| Chapter 9 |

Tag list

@sexyvixen7 @stitchintimefan @tristanrosspada-ackles @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @siospins2 @hellhound-whisperer @nancymcl @rinnie-rintarou @mxnsonsbabe @foxyjwls007 @imherefordeanandbones @bluedragonflylady @elephants-bubbles-brachosauruses @craftytrashprincess @tiggytaylor

(note: this is a forever tag list so if you’d like to be added/removed please let me know!)

[lxngbottom]

#rj’s200celebration🦔

Imagine Neville getting with reader and she’s like the prettiest girl in school so everybody is surprised and jealous of him

HEADCANONS FOR THIS REQUEST!

warnings: fluff, swearing, but that’s all i think (:

sorry i know i haven’t been posting everyone’s requests ive just been super busy so pls bare with me!!

okay so let’s begin

this girl man

she’s something different

not only is she STUNNING

but she’s so sweet at the same time

the perfect woman doesn’t exis-

anyways

so everyone in one way or another has a crush on her

boys AND girls

and of course that includes neville

and obviously so do seamus, dean, ron, harry—

the list goes on lmaoo

but one day she walks into the great hall with her friends

and of course all eyes are on her

including the gryffindor boys

“bloody hell...” seamus sighs,

“you can’t be that fit and not have a lad can you?” dean asks

“do you guys think she has one? there’s no way she doesn’t.” ron also adds

“i think if she had one the whole bloody school would know...” harry jokes

but neville can’t even join in on the conversation

cause he just can’t stop staring at her

“why don’t one of you just ask her out already? the staring is really annoying, actually!” ginny huffs

but secretly

ginny may or may not have a secret crush on her too (;

“like it’s that easy?!” ron blurts out chewing on food

suddenly

oh no

“wait—“

“oh fuck...”

“why is she—“

“okay! stay calm you gits!”

yeah she’s walking over to them

neville starts panicking with them

and when she gets there they’re all staring at their food

and they’re trying to pretend like they weren’t just gawking at her

“um—neville!”

neville’s eyes go wide and he looks up at her

“h-h-hi...”

seamus sighs because he stuttered

“um... you dropped this yesterday during herbology! figured you’d um—want it back?”

she holds up a single pencil

and neville just looks at her with a really confused look on his face

ron is just as confused

but then harry looks over and sees her friends staring at her and neville and they’re giggling and whispering

“oh—um... thanks?”

he takes it from her with shaky hands

and oh my god they’re fingers touch

her face literally turns red

“um......”

she’s trying to think of something else to say but she just CAN’T.

she can’t stop staring at neville and how incredibly handsome he is

oh yeah did i mention that she fancies him???

she suddenly just runs away back to her table with her friends

and neville sees her friends laughing and she puts her head down

she seems....

embarrassed?????

“bloody hell! what was all that about, longbottom?!” seamus snaps, glancing over towards her

he just shrugs with the pencil still in his hand

harry finally puts the pieces together

“uh—hey... neville? did it ever occur to you that she maybe... fancies you?”

there’s silence for a moment.

and then

everyone starts laughing

“you’re kidding, right potter?!”

“no, finnigan...”

neville is just sorta dumbfounded

“she doesn’t fancy me! i mean—i’m—me!”

“neville... a girl would never come up to you just to give you back a bloody pencil you dropped.”

neville is just in denial

because how could a girl like her actually have a crush on him?

but as time passes

he starts to notice the things she does

like he’ll catch her staring a lot

and when someone is flirting with her and he’s nearby she’ll just stare at neville instead

she turns red literally every single time he says anything to her

he’ll see her friends pass by and giggle to each other

maybe she does fancy him????

so neville finally gets the guts to confront her

and he passes her a note telling her to meet him in the greenhouse

and OF COURSE she goes straight to her friends

they’re all so happy for her

so she goes obviously

and he asks her the question

and she’s just like

“is it that noticeable?”

he just laughs nervously and says, “a bit...”

and she just smiles at him all goofy

and he thinks she’s just the most prettiest thing he’s ever seen

so they become official

but neville wants to keep it secret for a while

because secretly he’s afraid that people will tease her ):

but of course ginny catches on

so she gets ron to go on a mission with her

and ron the whole time is just like, “there’s no way, ginny! i mean... i hate to be mean but, a girl like her wouldn’t even look at neville like that!”

but then

oh merlin

ron and ginny see them snogging by the greenhouse

“go neville!” ginny squeals

and ron hushes her

but oh no

they hear them

and neville is super upset

“you guys can’t say anything! like... ever!”

“why can’t they, nev? we’ve been together for a month now! it’s time for everyone to know!”

so neville reluctantly agrees to make it public

and she is so excited to show off her lovely boyfriend

seamus and dean are hurt by the fact that neville didn’t tell them

but at the same time they’re jealous as fuck

EVERYONE is jealous of neville

and of course people tease them

especially malfoy

but she tells neville to now worry about it because it doesn’t really matter what other people think

but no one can deny the fact that they’re adorable

and the first argument they have is in neville’s dorm while all of the guys are in there

“why are you getting so angry?! i’m not going to leave you for another guy, neville!”

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU THAT’S WHY!”

dean in the back is just like: :,))))

but it doesn’t matter because she really loves him

and he really loves her

[calaofnoldor]

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290​‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass​​ (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural​‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant​‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo​ and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes​ Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.  

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.  

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

TEAM IDJITS: @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @carryonmywaywardbucky​ @swiftlymoniquesblog​ @moosewinchester​ @sams-sass​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ @jotink78​ @winifrede​ @writingforthelonelysoul​ @turtletaylor98​ @lyarr24​ @deanwanddamons​ @peridottea91​ @tvdspngirl314​

TEAM MOOSE: @paulaern​

if you’d like to be added (or removed) please let me know!

[goldenraeofsun]

PO Box 8921

“What is that?” Dean demands as Sam dumps a duffel bag full of mail out on the war table.

Cas looks up from his tome on Babylonian chaos magic or Shang dynasty dragon taming or whatever he’s moved onto now. All Dean knows is that the book smells like rotting flowers and mouse shit, so he banished Cas to the other end of the war table.

“Fan mail,” Sam says.

Cas sets down his book and walks closer.

Dean throws Sam a baffled look. “Why the hell are we getting fan mail?”

“It’s more like we’re getting Chuck’s fan mail,” Sam says sheepishly.

“Explain. Now.”

Cas picks up a letter curiously.

Sam sighs. “The last time Charlie was here, we hacked Flying Wiccan Press - Chuck’s old publisher - and we redirected his mail and royalty checks to a local PO box. I figured if anyone deserves money off those books, it’s us.”

“I thought his books tanked,” Dean says flatly.

Sam scowls. “It had a resurgence after the angels came into the picture,” he says with a sidelong look at Cas, who’s apparently absorbed in reading a note from Vancouver, British Columbia.

“Seriously?”

Sam shrugs. “They’re very compelling, apparently. I’ve been checking it every very few months, but two days ago I got a call saying they were running out of space.”

“Why?” Dean picks up a large flat envelope and rips it open. “What the…?” he murmurs. He slides out a matte illustration of the Impala driving down a nameless highway, golden swaying wheat fields bracketing both sides of the road, a fading sunset illuminating the horizon. His mouth falls open.

Sam takes a seat and pulls Dean’s laptop towards him.

“I was doing research,” Dean says quickly as Sam flips it open.

Sam takes one look at the screen, grimacing, before he clicks the mouse forcefully. “Really, Dean?” he gripes. “Cas was right there.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, smirking. “Exactly. I needed to know if he thought-”

“No,” Sam says, horrified. “I do not want to know.”

“You asked about the research.”

Sam’s does a full-body recoil. “That was not what I meant and you know it.”

Dean chuckles. He sets aside the beautiful painting of his baby (that one’s going in the Dean Cave for sure) and picks up the next package of similar size and weight. He eagerly tears off the top and pulls out the contents. It takes him a second, but the trenchcoat slipping off the figure’s shoulders is a dead giveaway.

“Hey!” Dean says, spinning it around to show to Cas. “I think it’s supposed to be you.”

Cas looks up from another letter - this one from Wellington, OH - and tilts his head. “My wings aren’t rainbow colored. They’re actually a color not perceptible by human eyes - maybe by some genetically mutant shrimp -”

Dean laughs. “You don’t have an eight pack either. It’s all artistic license, baby.”

“Aha!” Sam says, spinning the computer around, the porn tabs banished to the void of Dean’s browser history. “The fans reached a milestone last week.”

“What mile-” Dean cuts himself off as another illustration slips out behind the one of Cas. It flutters to the table.

“Is that of us?” Cas asks curiously, reaching for it. He holds it up.

“No way,” Dean says vehemently as he shuffles around to stare at it over Cas’s shoulder.

“Probably,” Sam pipes up.

Dean glares over at him. “How do you know that, Samantha?”

“That milestone?” Sam says, his face an odd mix of smug and constipated. “There are a hundred thousand fan fiction stories, as of last Monday.”

Dean blinks. “Fan fiction?”

“Yeah, a lot of it.” Sam sets aside the laptop and reaches for a nearby letter in a robin’s egg blue envelope.

Dean takes a large step away from the pile of half-opened mail like it just started emitting Sam’s toxic post-Chipotle farts.

“Are we - are they - is it more Sam slash Dean?” Dean asks in a faint voice.

Sam smirks. “Not this time. Like I said,” he says as he scans his letter, “the readers really liked the angels.”

Dean makes a choked noise in the back of his throat. Do all these letters wax poetic about Cas? That’s a lot of people that have thought about his angel naked. And that doesn’t sit right with Dean. “Why?” he demands.

Sam throws him a sharp look. “Why not? Cas is our best friend. He’s a good dude.”

Dean glances to Cas for reassurance, who shrugs as if to say he doesn’t understand it any more than he does.

“So they, like, have a thing for angels?” Dean asks haltingly. “An angel kink?”

Cas scowls.

“Not all angels, just Cas,” Sam confirms. “Plus love interest.”

Dean shifts his weight to his other foot. “Right… you and Cas?” Dean ventures as Cas sighs loudly next to him.

Sam rolls his eyes and pushes a letter towards Dean. “No, not me and Cas, jerk.”

Dean picks it up tentatively. He really can’t handle reading about a fictional version of himself banging Cas, but before he can flip the letter open, Cas nudges him with his elbow. “Sam’s right. This one is obviously of us,” he says, tilting the drawing so Dean can get a full view.

It takes a moment for Dean to get what he’s seeing. Everyone in the illustration is fully clothed, first of all. It shows a darkened, windowless room. An outsized television illuminates the three figures watching an episode of Scooby Doo. One of the men is sprawled out on a recliner, Sam’s long, hippie hair a dead giveaway. Another man is asleep in the second recliner, covered in a draped trenchcoat - Cas? No, there's a third guy standing above the second, his elbows braced on the back of the recliner, his fingers tangled in Dean’s hair as Dean sleeps on.

“This is very sweet,” Cas rumbles.

Dean picks up the letter Sam handed him, his face flaming. “Unrealistic,” he grunts.

“Really,” Sam says flatly as he reaches for the illustration. He whistles as he takes it in. “Nice light composition. And what are you talking about? We watched Scooby Doo like three days ago in the Dean Cave.”

“I’d never fall asleep in front of the TV,” Dean says scornfully. “That’s a disgrace to Scoob.”

Cas makes a noise that Dean hopes is a cough, but judging by Sam’s smirk was probably more of a snort.

Dean flips open the letter, and, to his surprise, it doesn’t start with contrived porn dialogue.

Dear Mr. Edlund,

I’ve been a follower of your work for many years, and I have admired and rooted for Team Free Will, especially for Dean and Castiel’s relationship. Despite all the pain, despite destiny itself working against them, they found each other and created something that resonated with thousands of people. They truly have a profound bond that transcends every barrier imaginable, and it gives me hope.

Dumbfounded, Dean reads on, shutting out Sam and Cas completely.

He swallows thickly as he sets the letter down.

“Dean?” Cas asks, concerned. “Are you alright?”

Sam drops his joking expression. “You good?”

Dean nods.

“No matter how your story started out,” Sam says slowly, “you won. And it seems like you did a lot of good along the way.” He gestures to the pile. “More than just saving people from monsters.”

Cas lays a hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezes. “Apparently I am a gay icon now,” he says, his face completely serious.

Dean cracks up. Wiping at his eyes, he grabs another letter at random. “We’d better get going on the rest of these. The faster we read ’em, the faster Sam can reply.”

Sam’s face falls. “Wait, no-”

[herstarburststories]

tolerate it

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: your love for Dean used to be celebrated, but now he tolerates it.

A/N: here it is, hunters! First fic of the year, wow! I hope you guys like it! Based on Taylor's song tolerate it. Also requested by @ashleyygeza!

Warnings: so much angst, language, smut

There was this thing you always liked to do. It was mostly the learned behavior of a child that grew up in motel rooms. It was usual for the adult that called a bunker her home, too. You’d lay on your back, staring at the light on the ceiling and squint your eyes to the point the glimmering white light could be mistaken as the moon. You never thought you’d end up doing that to people as well.

It used to be something so sensual and sequin back then, but now the fact that he's so much older and wiser only makes you quiet. You see his bruised hands and worried glances; the stubble on his face growing as his sense of self starts to fade with borrowed time. Dean used to love you in screaming colors; now he just sits in silence reading with his head low, researching the next case under the dim light while you watch him. Sam can't seem to stand slow deaths either -- he just clears his throat and leaves the bunker with the empty excuse of a supply run. 

Still, you remain here. You stand still like a good ornament in Dean's collection of lovers. It seems like it's a matter of time until he leaves you too. Yet, you’re sitting and watching him, and you can't help but wonder if you aren't just another wrinkle on his face. You’d been a memory of something worth dying for, once, but now you were starting to believe you were just another battle scar; marred skin that had spent so long settling that he didn’t even notice the scarification anymore. 

Hours pass as quickly and emotionally draining as dry heaving. His huffs of annoyance and thirsty fingers of whiskey were difficult to ignore. The eldest Winchester doesn’t dare to approach you; to throw those dust-collecting books away and make love to you with dumbfounded grins and breathless groans like he had done so many times before. That was when you were a complete person and not just the husk of a lover destroyed. Once you held the strength of Jeanne d'Arc, now you sit and wait for a man to love you back. You’d be disgusted by your weakness if you had any pity left to spare.

If you look at someone too much you can confuse it with love. And if you already love someone and keep looking, you might waste all the rose-colored visions love could create. Maybe that's what happened to Dean. It’s a treacherous game, and it seems like he’s winning. Perhaps it’s your fault, your snide mind speculates against your will. You should try harder.

You don’t miss Dean’s hidden sigh of relief when the door makes a noise, announcing Sam’s return. How could you? You notice everything he does or doesn't do. At first, you fantasized that, even if it started getting messy before, he was pushing you away because of the whole fighting God problem, now you aren’t so sure. The clues were all over the place when Chuck was gone. Dean smiled at Sammy as if there was no tomorrow and said we’re finally free without sparing a glance at you. When they-- when he started building other worlds, where were you? That long-fraught, battle-ridden past of the Winchesters might be gone, but the more you try to turn the page, the more they stick to each other.

‘’Sammy,” his gruff voice says. It is the first word in hours that wasn’t half-hearted mumbles agreeing with your occasional comments or the tuneful hum of a classic rock song between reading and drinking. ‘’Did you bring any bacon?’’

‘’Yeah, but they need cooking--’’ Sam interrupts his brother, already familiar with this conversation. Dean’s half-open mouth and wiggling brows meant one thing. He was such a kid sometimes. ‘’And no. I’m not frying this cardiac embolism waiting to happen for you, dude.’’

You get up, aiming a smile at the long-haired hunter. ‘’Don’t worry, I can cook it. I was gonna make some pasta anyway.’’

Sam slightly nods before tilting his head towards you. ‘’You sure?’’

‘’Yeah. My butt’s already sore from the research. Those chairs aren’t that comfortable.’’ You scrunched up your nose with a good-humored grimace. 

‘’Okay, thanks.’’ You nod, throwing a last glance at Dean, who barely moved since you got in the conversation. You turn around, walking to the kitchen when Sam’s voice reverberated through. Deciding to overhear against all your sense of privacy, like a schoolgirl in the bathroom, you lean against the wall. You can’t believe the point you got to at those moments, but the answer to the question Sam asks may be the solution for your personal tophet. ‘’What’s up with you?’’

Dean doesn’t seem phased by his brother’s prodding. ‘’What do you mean?’’

Sam arches his eyebrows. ‘’No butt jokes?’’

At least you aren’t going crazy here. Even Sammy noticed something peculiar about Dean and you. There had to be an explanation or reason.; something broken that you could fix.

‘’I’m a grown-ass man, Sam.’’ He scoffs as you heard the chair being pushed. You nibble on your bottom lip, catching your breath as they continue.

‘’Yeah, sure,” the younger man snaps sarcastically. Dean rolls his eyes. ‘’Actually researching when I leave you two alone? Come on, Dean. Did you guys argue or something?’’

‘’We are just fine.’’ His boots scuffing against the wood floor makes a well-known melody, just like Sam’s loud sigh. You know him; he thinks this his brother’s way to avoid the subject and run away. You can’t say you don’t agree with that.

‘’Dean…’’

“I’m gonna take a shower. I spent two hours reading. I gotta get ready for my bacon.’’ It is a simple answer that made your heart spin like a girl in a brand new dress. You had the sudden realization that at least he spent those hours with you, right? Deadly in his quietude, but he was there. Women always are excellent at convincing themselves that crumbs are a whole meal. Therefore, convince yourself this is enough.

You hear the creaking under his strong, heavy steps as he leaves, and a couple more from Sam as well. Ultimately, you turn around, clapping your hands together as you glare at the food still waiting to be made. You give yourself a comforting smile as you speak: ‘’Time to get to work.’’

Then you go. You pace around the kitchen, preparing the lunch with everything you have. Make it perfect, make it delicious. Fuck, even make it deluxe with pre-made bacon and vegan pasta on a Tuesday afternoon. It’s so silly how you make such a lavish effort with the smallest things only to maybe catch a glimpse of his attention. As if Dean would see, truly look at you again. You gave him the best you had, and when you ran out of that, you gave him what was left too. 

The pasta is smelling good. You two used to be each other's better halves, but since the coin had been tossed, you are now each other’s worst reflections. He’s your coldness; the gelid nature that was so useful as a weapon to hurt those who came before him. The ignorance, the lack of care for the ones who claimed to cherish you with their ripped out chests and open hands. You can see you in the way he moved, told white lies and walked away. All the most brutal aspects that your soul built through the years. You almost burn your hand, but at least it isn’t his bacon. And in you, you hold all Dean hated in himself lately. The clingy behavior, always urging to serve and make someone else happy. So needy for a gentle touch, one single proof that his lurking was wrong and he was worthy, that he could be loved someday if he just tried hard enough. Desperate in earge for aprovation, just like you grabbing the Men Of Letters’ sumptuous tapestry and the elegant candle holder, laying the table with the fancy shit.

‘’Wow.’’ Sam says once he arrives in the dining room. Dean refrains his reaction to arching his eyebrows in an unspoken question: what the fuck is happening there?

‘’Is the queen visiting us or somethin’?’’ You catch the pissed off glare that Sammy gives him, yet the older Winchester just shrugs. His little brother had the same eyes as him in many aspects, he had to agree that all those snobby objects were too much.

Unbothered, too used to his butch nature, you chortle. ‘’I just thought we deserved some nice things tonight.’’

Dean hums before adding: ‘’As long as there’s bacon.’’

Sam praises how good the sauce you made tastes. Of course, Dean just nods and agrees with a grumble, not even taking a second glance at you. He doesn’t notice that you are watching him, neither does he compliment your cooking. You never get the reaction you expect from him. Not a thank you, or a true smile, or even a drop of love in the saliva of his kiss, but you keep trying. Just like he tried to make daddy proud for so long. You both should know that's not how it works, but who can argue with a broken child mosaic in an adult damaged heart?

The green eyed man purposely sets the scene in a manner that his brother would be between the two of you. And yes, you manage to double cross this signal and sit down on another chair by his side. Although, when your elbows accidently meet during the homemade feast, Dean doesn’t look at you with the lopsided grin that you love so much. He doesn’t lean in to steal a kiss. Instead, he moves to the side discreetly. You were the roots of hope once, the one who could grow inside him and wrap around his organs for some relief of the hematoma and blood. The Winchester held the arm that pulled you closer and made sure you would stay. But he no longer touches you and the plants died of thirst and you are still here. In these moments, your trick mind asks: why are you still here? You can’t answer.

The lunch goes by filled with your and Sam’s chatter, Dean’s loud chewing and Miracle’s ocasional barks until there’s no food or reasoning to postpone staying together. All the three of you raise up, adamantly ignoring the strange atmosphere. 

‘’We’re leaving in an hour.’’ It’s all Dean says before leaving the room. Sammy dares to squeeze your shoulder softly before following his older brother’s path. With a suspire, you collect all the plates and lead to the kitchen again, starting to put the 60 minutes to good use. Polish plates until they gleam and glisten, maybe Dean will sneak in and wrap his arms around you, press a kiss to your neck and tell you to go to bed, that he will take care of the dishes. He used to do that. This was then and this is now. It’s easy to get lost in the tangles of time.

Of course he doesn’t. Though the hunter shows up with a bag and shouts from the living room for you to hurry up, so you do. Sleeping in the backseat of Baby through the streets of the United States, you wake up with Sam gently shaking your shoulder. Dean is already inside the restaurant. You try not to think too much about it, he could’ve been needing to hit the bathroom or something. As you and the youngest Winchester enter the establishment, four trained eyes fall on your boyfriend and the waitress, who’s clearly leaning forward to make her cleavage more evident. You two pace towards the table just in time to hear the end of their conversation. 

‘’Call me if you need anything.’’ The name tag says that the brunette is called Andressa. She's tall, tan and beautiful, smiling in a way that you never can never conquer. You miss having that confidence, how you’d walk in a room and be sure people would stop and stare. Remember when you used to be like that?

‘’Betcha.’’ He gives her a lopsided grin, the one that used to be directed to you. Andressa winks at him and leaves, swapping her hips in the most seductive way, which catches Dean's eyes like it's the whole Aurora Boreal and not just a woman's ass.

‘’Nice shirt, yeah?’’ You take his indiscretions all in good fun. Dean, though, takes a deep breath and wipes his face, as if he's the one with the right to be annoyed in this situation. It's so stupid how you keep making yourself smaller to fit in whatever expection is comfortable for him. At some point you'll disappear-- but hey, no body no crime. You attempted to explain yourself, ‘’I was just kidding.’’

He tightens his mouth into a thin line. ‘’I know.’’

‘’I saw one on Shein.’’

‘’Come on, Y/N.’’ The green eyed hunter scoffed. ‘’That’s like, Belladonna’s boobs sort of thing.’’

It’s so stupid how his opinons can change your whole weekend, as if your emotions were some sort of board game that Dean played by his own rules. You hang your head low, playing with the menu. You can ‘’Yeah, you’re right. It was dumb.’’

‘’That’s not what I---’’ He stopped himself with a deep inhale. Why did it seem easier for him to criticize than compliment you? You are using your best colors for his portrait of stares, yet all you gain are vacant side eyes. That man killed for you, and now every second by your side seemed to be murdering him. ‘’You’d look good on it.’’

You decide not to go on the next hunt, give both of you a break from the grey skies that always seem to suppress you and Dean. What if you two just need time apart? You live together, work together, and even have the same group of friends. Putting the whole monsters and multiple deaths aside, it was pretty much like a normal relationship. You must just need some time alone to miss each other. So you start going on less and less hunts. God, past you’d hate that scared little girl act, begging to be seen like a shiny toy.

Your cell phone buzzes, causing a smile besides the burning anticipation building up in your veins, crawling under your skin like a million little stars, or bugs. It depends on how you choose the perspective, no surprise you’d go for the romantic one. Well, it's a text from Dean. Plaid and crude: getting home in ten minutes. Why’d you be unpleasantly anxious about that? He’s your boyfriend and he’s coming home after a week! Your fingers dance around the keyboard before answering a sweet waiting for you, with a couple hearts in the byline.

You get his favorite burger and a whiskey older than you in the Deancave, which is settled up with a three hours marathon of Scooby-Doo. It was always so adorable when Dean and you made bets to see who’d guess the episode villain first. Even his hot dog pants and his robe are on the armchair. As for you, you are waiting by the door like you’re just a kid, in a vat to greet him with a battle’s hero welcome. One, two, three, minutes piling up as uncountable as the hidden tears that you cry each week in after the city’s asleep. Let’s be fair, you should’ve seen this coming from a mile away. What was the last time Dean accomplished something he promised to you? He doesn’t even reply to your text message asking if he was okay. Minutes trapped into hours, and you’re sitting with your back to the wall, right next to the door he should have burst out long ago. Time’s ticking, your mind is so tired and your body is sore; it’s exhausting to love someone like this, so you take a rest when sleep wins your hopeful, unclever thoughts.

Dean arrives one hour later, an oral scarlet letter on his tongue that tastes like beer and unregrettable priorities, an apologist expression accompanied of a very grumpy-ish Sam as the door is pushed open. The short haired hunter purses his plump lips at the sad sight; you sleeping on the floor next to the door, probably waiting for him. Maybe he should've answered your text earlier and not just rolled his eyes and ordered another drink. What a suburban mistake for a Winchester.

Dean doesn't turn around to face Sammy; his brother made his opinion on that matter very clear during their roadtrip. Instead, his aching body just leans in and picks you up bridal style — that would've made him smile in the gentlest way his blood-stained mouth and sharp teeth could, eye dipping with joy and a silent promise for the future, but now that only gets a stoic expression as he walks towards your shared room. 

He dares to sigh. There you go, taking too much space and time. This might be a deceiving concept dappled with melancholic nostalgia, but to take space and time wasn’t a trouble before. Dean once worshiped the light-hearted emotion you could bring out his inner little monster - or his soul, whatever you wanna name it. The time wrapped around your finger as he was, and things were just good. Raw good. Yet, now he sees it; time’s always running, and so is him. It’s no surprise the heart he was holding fell and was left behind at some point of the race.

The hunter bumps on the door with his shoulder, leading inside the bedroom and placing you on the mattress. Your body can’t help but to cling to him as you mumble in your sleep; maybe it’s your fond memory, used to Dean’s body seeking some human contact only in the middle night.

Clicking his tongue, he pulls away. The movement is docile, just enough to wake you up. Dean can’t help but to groan at this.

‘’You came back.’’ You murmur, while Dean adjusts on the spot next to you in bed.

Arching his eyebrows with some comedic background, he answers: ‘’Of course I did. I live here.’’

Live. You wouldn’t call what he does living. More like a ghost hunting his old house when you are around. Or maybe you were the ghost and sure, most people would run away from it, but Dean always goes looking for the supernatural beings anyway. Unnerving that he’d make someone he loved out of one.

‘’Why didn’t you pick up the phone? I was worried.’’

He shrugs and kisses your hand. ‘’Was busy.’’

It’s a poor excuse, but those are all that have been holding you two together lately.

Here it is. Your inner anger for being treated wrong, the mad woman inside you scratching to come back. He has been treating you like a coat in Texas’ summer, like a stained flannel, like a forgotten feeling. You deserve more than this. You are so much more than this. Who he thinks he is?

But he has those green eyes that cried single man tears, and he’s so close you can feel his breath on your cheek. And you love that man so.

Instead, you smile and reach out for his hand. ‘’I missed you.’’

Dean doesn’t answer. He restricts any emotion to a grin, and suddenly you are under him. He pushes his lips against yours in a desperate act of recovery, to gain back what he somehow lost through the way. The green eyed man might not find his love in you, but there’s something else he can work with; luxury. Love was always harder to spell than lust anyway. To you, the way he howls against your lips is love. To him, it’s the confirmation of the absence of it. But he can’t let go.

Your hands and his, still together coaxing each other into giving in. It’s so easy that way. Dean rushes to rip your t-shirt, gaining a laugh out of your and a kiss to his jaw. He’s out of his pants before you can even pull away to assist him. The male catches your earlobe, kissing that sweet spot to make you whimper his name.

‘’Dean.’’

Your wince, his shirt is tossed away, just like your skirt. You aren’t wearing a bra, and quickly your cherry panties are pulled apart with a simple move of his finger.

‘’Gonna make you feel so good, babe.’’ His index finger is shoved inside your tight cunt. You throw your head to the back, spreading your legs open. You want to beg him to make you feel anything good, for him to be the reason of the holy and not hollow, just this once. ‘’You are so wet--’’ Another finger, they move inside of you in an attempt to find the right spot. ‘’So fucking tight for me. I’ve fucked you so many times and you’re still so tight.’’ Dean’s thumb caressed your clit as he licked his lips, relishing how you squirm and whine his name. What a good girl. ‘’Can’t wait to fuck you.’’

It doesn’t take much longer. The eldest Winchester quickly replaced his skilled fingers with his pulsating cock. His member begged to be inside you, squeezed by those warm and tight walls. Your pussy was always so good for him, taking him so nice. Dean moans at the sensation, his hand losing yours to hold the bedpost, his thrusting wildly against yours.

No more praising words, no more foreplay. He comes to get what he wants and you’re willing to give. He used to touch you like a priceless wine, now his hands are hustled and careless like you are just another bottle of cheap beer. Dean fucks himself into you and you can’t do anything but groan in pleasure. Sometimes the hurting can be delicious, too.

You crave more, though. Your hands, tiny compared to his, meet Dean’s back, nails digging into the bare skin in a reminder I’m here, you’re still mine. Your legs wrapped around his torso, which only caused his moves to go faster and more ferocious, destroying your needy cunt for any other. It feels so good to have him inside you, fucking you up to the point you are an inchorent ball of cum and sweat. He’s gonna get you there, it’s certain, Dean always does.

His thumb comes back to your vagina, digital press to your clit as he attacks your neck. You try to move your head and get those plump lips against yours, but he sounds like an animal, increasing his rhymin and sucking your tender skin.

Everything is so hurried and irrational and not intimate. He comes inside of you after your own release, marking you up with his orgasm. As soon as he’s dones, he crawls out of you and lays on his back. Sure, you come around and rest your weary head on his chest, but that’s what it is. Deep silence. Not the one where love or magic or whatever Aphrodite is made of fills the void and makes the lovers comfortable. No, this one is visceral, like a chuckle empty of joy. It’s like the tie of gold that tried you two were tangled and ripped. Your love should be celebrated, but he tolerates it. He tolerates everything you do. He tolerates your presence. 

The wrath sneaks in smoothly and astute. You aren’t just one night stand or a sweetheart. How can Dean act like you are? You lift your head and watch him breathing with his eyes closed. It’s so brutal, emotionally violent how you are aware that he’s only doing that not to have pillow talk. Where’s that man who’d throw blankets over your barbed wire? Easily misplaced by the one who threw your boundaries away and out the trap there nowadays. You made him your temple, you mural, your sky, now you’re begging for footnotes in the story of his life.

In the rare cracks of lucidity, you picture what would happen if you did what your old, better self would do. Dean appears to assume you are fine, but what would he do if you break free and leave you two in ruins, took this dagger in you and removed it, gain the weight of you then lose it? He was so comfortable with you. Maybe he didn’t think you would ever do that, but there’s just so much a woman with your determination and cleaverity can take. Believe, I could do it. You did it before with others. Sometimes you need to leave to breathe. Perhaps it's time. 

But then, he embraces you. Just like that, all your doubts and fears and bruises caused by his kisses are reduced to paranoia. You decide maybe you got it wrong somehow. Not even blinking at the thought that Dean enjoys cuddles. No, he’s pulling you closer and snucking his nose into your hair because he loves you. Convince yourself. You are majestic with lies, it gets surprisingly facile to tell them when you nuzzle into the Winchester’s neck like his smell is some sort of placebo.  

You aren't tiptoeing around it, or even stepping on the doubts with tiny hoaxes. You are barefoot on his love-- but his love feels a lot like walking through a street of fire and thorns. But hey, isn't that the point of devotion? To put something, someone first? To go through any suffering and starve to get to the prize, to walk through the golden gates? If this was a church, the priest would tell you to get on your knees and pray harder. You can see where he’s going. You’ll do better. Be everything Dean needs. You can be worthy-- you are worthy. You were his everything once and you can be that again. Pick up the soul tapestry he shrewd so unintentionally and patch it up. Most of those things must be in your head anyway, and if they aren't… Well. He will love you that deeply again, right? Right? It’s an echo. Right.

Tomorrow you’ll try again. In the name of love, condepedency, or whatever it is. Sit and watch him.

Comment & reblog. Feedback is magic! Check my masterlist ♡ Tags in reblog!

[gayhuckleberryinatrenchcoat]

Beneath the surface

Part 3 of my Destiel wedding series. 

Click here for the masterpost.

The newlyweds finally go on their beach vacation for their honeymoon and Cas has to overcome an old fear.

~ 1k words

“Dean...” Cas muttered while his husband helped him into the dive gear. “I’m not sure if this is a good idea.” Dean frowned, concentrated on double checking his partner’s equipment. “We had a deal, remember? I agreed to get on a plane just to come here if you’d get over your fear of being underwater and come on a dive with me.” Cas knew Dean was right, he had agreed to this. But feeling the heavy weight of the oxygen tank on his back, he already regretted this decision. Lifting his head, Dean teased him with a grin “How can a multidimensional wavelength of cosmic intent be scared about going for a simple plunge in the ocean?” “Angels were made to fly, not to be trapped under the water”. Dean raised an eyebrow. “Well, humans were not made to fly and I still got onto that plane, didn’t I?” Cas sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing. “Come on sunshine. We’ll be right under the surface at the beginning, so if you’re getting anxious, we’ll be up within a split second. I won’t force you to follow through if you’re truly uncomfortable, but at least give it a try?” Cas swallowed hard, then nodded, reaching for Dean’s hand. “Okay, let’s go”.

After entering the water and making last adjustments, Dean gave Cas a questioning look. Cas squeezed Dean’s hand nervously and they slowly sank down. Dean kept his eyes fixated on Cas, ready to get him up immediately if he started to panic. Cas’ eyes were ripped wide open, taking in all those weird, new sensations. He had been around for billions of years and yet he’d never seen what’s underneath the surface of the ocean. Not until his pain-in-the-ass husband had made this deal with him for their honeymoon. Bubbles rose from Dean’s regulator as he chuckled at the dumbfounded expression on Cas’ face. He gestured to go deeper and they slowly sank into the deep blue.

Now that he was completely sure that Cas wasn’t going to panic, Dean started to take in his surroundings. He had always imagined that it would be nice to dive, that the underwater world would be absolutely stunning, but now that he was actually experiencing it, he kept glancing to Cas. Sure, he too was impressed by all the colorful fish around him and he loved how the sunbeams broke through the surface and illuminated the blue that seemed to swallow all colors the deeper they went. But the best part was experiencing all of this with Cas for the first time and seeing the pure joy on his husband’s face. The only sounds down here came from fish nibbling on the colorful diversity of corals and from their own breath, sucking in air from their tanks and blowing it out as bubbles. It was peaceful. As they glid past corals and all kinds of wonderful creatures, Cas kept tugging on Dean’s arm excitedly, pointing out rainbow-colored fish, a turtle and even a little squid that swam past them. Their time went over way too quickly.

As they broke through the surface and ripped off their masks, Cas’ eyes beamed at Dean. He smiled widely and started to ramble: “Dean... that was incredible! Did you see that puffy fish in the cave? And the rainbow ones nibbling on the corals? The sounds they make are very endearing. I wish we could have stayed down longer.” Pouting, he added: “Why do humans have to breathe, this is utterly inconvenient.” He tilted his head. “I was never aware that the ocean was such a pleasant place to be in.” “So you liked it?” Dean asked with a big grin, happy to see Cas this excited. “I loved it” Cas admitted, biting his lower lip. “Thank you for pushing me to do this”. He pulled Dean into a tight hug. Dean cupped Cas’ face gently and gave him a soft peck. “Thank you for getting over your fear and sharing this experience with me. It was wonderful.” Then quietly, he added: “You’re wonderful Cas. I love you.” Pulling Dean in for another kiss, Cas whispered against his lips: “I love you too, Dean.” His lips tasted like salt and Dean pushed against them hungrily, making up for the last hour that they didn’t have the chance to kiss. As they finally pulled apart, they leaned their heads against each other, breathless but happy.

They linked their hands, their wedding rings shimmering in the warm afternoon sun. As they finally attempted to leave the ocean, their knees almost gave in, suddenly unfamiliar with the sensation of their weight after having floated weightlessly in the water. After a short struggle and some giggles, they made it out, helped each other out of their BCDs and dropped into the warm sand.

The rest of the afternoon they just stayed there, holding each other tight, sharing lazy kisses and basking in the warm summer sun. Dean dozed off at some point, exhausted from the dive. Cas watched him sleep, listened to his soft breaths and felt incredibly lucky. He tenderly brushed his fingers over his husband’s sun-kissed freckles, admiring how beautiful he was. He peppered little, ever-so-gentle kisses on every spot he could reach, Dean’s hair, his forehead, his cheeks, his shoulder. He cupped his face and let his thumb slowly trail down to those soft, pouty lips he loved so much. As he lightly brushed over them, Dean turned his head to kiss the palm of Cas’ hand before he searched out his lips. Cas gave him a short, incredibly soft kiss, before pulling away to look at him again. Still sleepy, Dean let out a grumpy groan at the loss of his lips and pulled Cas back down energetically. Cas understood and crushed his lips into Dean’s, turning him on his back and straddling him. Dean buried his hands in Cas’ hair, ruffling it up while he passionately licked into his mouth.

As the sun set over the ocean, they separated, their eyes still burning with desire. Completely out of breath, Dean brushed some lose strands out of Cas’ face and whispered a soft “I love you”.

@bonchickabelle 

[shesclearlya3]

Class Fight (p.1)

pairing: teen!dandy mott x teen!reader

word count: 3,303

warnings: language, jealous dandy, slightly au!dandy, all characters are 18

part 2 part 3

1.

It was the first semester of your Senior year. The first month of school had flown by, and the Fall dance was just a few weeks away. Your small group of girlfriends was anxiously awaiting for their crushes to ask them.

You weren’t particularly concerned with this. The dance fell on the one Saturday of the month where you had to accompany your mother to some stupid Tupperware party. It was the newest trend in American dining, and your mother needed you as her plus one. It wouldn’t hurt to miss one dance… right?

Your best friends Winter and Zoe were excited, but they were devastated you couldn’t come. You always went with them as a trio.

“Are you sure you couldn’t cancel?” Winter asked while you washed your hands in the bathroom sink. The school day was over, and you planned on accompanying her to the diner for greasy food and to catch up on homework.

“I already promised her weeks ago,” you said, drying your hands. “There’s still prom?”

Winter nodded in understanding, and you both knew it was the end of that discussion. Zoe came out of the stall, her face flushed and hair tied back. She looked clammy.

“You alright in there?” Winter asked her as Zoe took a disposable cup and drank some water.

“Kyle asked me to the dance!” Zoe replied breathlessly. You and Winter both congratulated her, and Winter asked why she looked so sick.

“I just got overwhelmed, you know? He came up and asked me right as I put my books away. I didn’t think he was going too, he never brought it up before-.”

You followed them out as Zoe recanted the story of how Kyle asked her. The halls were mostly cleared now as kids scrambled to leave as soon as possible.

“You’re riding with us, right?” Zoe then asked you, raising a neat eyebrow at you.

“Yes, Dandy probably left already.”

The girls both smirked to themselves, but you ignored it. You were used to it by now.

The thing was, Dandy Mott was the best looking guy in school, in your opinion. You had never attended a public school in your life, but you knew those boys could never compare. Dandy was from the wealthiest family in your private district, and with his looks, girls were all over him.

However, he was quite the character. 

Dandy didn’t necessarily associate with a particular group of kids. He was reticent and didn’t bother with any clubs, but he was quite attuned to the drama program. He was also known for his temper if things didn’t go his way, but age matured him, mostly. You were one of the few people who he actually gave a damn about in life. You attributed that to knowing him before school. Your grandfather was a business partner with the Mott family, where your family name found their wealth, and how you two were friends.

You weren’t bothered by the unwanted attention you got from girls attempting to weasel their way into your circle for the chance to talk to Dandy. Most of them gave up quickly, and that was that. Plus, you had Winter and Zoe as your protectors. They weren’t afraid to kick a bitch in the vagina if they overstepped the clear boundaries you had set for yourself. Dandy trusted you, and you weren’t about to fuck that up.

Plus, his mother, Gloria, was continually trying to set him up with girls in other parts of town. 

You climbed into Zoe’s new car, buckling your seatbelt and glancing across the almost deserted parking lot. You spotted him instantly, sitting in his car and staring right back. You slowly raised your hand, giving him a wave. Dandy slowly reciprocated the action, and you swore you saw him smile.

You spent the evening with the girls, eating dinner and trying to explain the symbolism in the required reading in English. The football team had finished their practice and were crowding what few booths and tables were left. You tried to block out their raucous laughter, loudly asking Zoe to read your theory to see if it were plausible. 

Winter had noticed the Quarterback, Jason, occasionally staring at you as he chewed his burger. Your back was to him, so you had no idea. She didn’t say anything, instead watching him from the corner of her eye, figuring he wouldn’t approach your table. 

“I just think it only makes sense to me,” you told Zoe, scratching your head. “I can’t concentrate with the boys screaming for no reason.”

“I think it makes perfect sense. You did misspell authority, though…”

You laughed to yourself, glancing around the diner as Zoe fixed your spelling. You were so distracted, you misspelled simple words. 

“We should get ready and go, it’s getting stuffy in here…” Winter commented, closing her English book. 

“Just a moment!” Zoe said excitedly, scribbling down in her own notebook now.

You had started gathering your things when both Zoe and Madison looked behind you, looking a mix of concern and amusement. You glanced behind you to see Jason Dean, smiling down at you. His dark hair covered his eyes, and he pushed it back.

You had no idea what to say. The last conversation you had with Jason was probably in fifth grade when he commented that women were weak while helping you carry boxes of school supplies, and you accidentally dropped a massive box of markers on his foot. He cried for an hour. 

“y/n,” he addressed you. You glanced at your friends who were eagerly watching you with their faces hidden behind their textbooks. Winter’s was upside down.

“Hi, Jason,” you responded, hearing the confusion in your voice. You listened to his friends giggling behind you, and you wondered if this was a joke. 

“I haven’t seen you in a minute,” he said cheekily, and you nodded. “You look good.”

You quickly looked him up and down. Jason was muscular but not bulky, and he was definitely a whole foot taller than you. He grew into his facial features, and he was a handsome guy. You assumed he was just talking to you on a dare, so you finished putting your things in your bag. Zoe and Winter didn’t budge, still pretending to read their books.

Jason realized you were dumbfounded at his statement. He quickly backtracked, “I just wanted to say hi. I’ll see you around.”

You bid him farewell, turning to your friends who were having a hard time concealing their laughter. You heard Jason’s best friend, Matthew, call him an idiot and what sounded like a smack on the back.

“y/n, you have a boyfriend?” Zoe asked, smirking at you.

You glared, standing up as they shouldered their bags and grabbed their books. “You know perfectly well I don’t speak to him.”

“I bet he wants to ask you to the dance.” Winter grinned at Zoe, who nodded in agreement as you stepped into the cold autumn air. 

“I’m not going either way.” you mumbled, and the girls dropped it until the next morning. 

2.

You didn’t think it was that big of a deal that the Quarterback tried to talk to you at the diner a few nights before. All the students who were present spread gossip like wildfire. You ignored it. You knew they were just children speculating what it could mean when it probably meant nothing. 

Zoe and Winter never brought it up again, and you were relieved that your friends didn’t dwell on it for too long. You loved that about them. 

It was after lunchtime when you sat in your History course, going over the notes for the test. You heard Jason and a few of his friends pile in, laughing and making comments under their breath. They took their designated seats in the back, and you felt eyes on the back of your head. 

A group of popular girls across the room started to giggle, and you glanced up to see Dandy walk in, his nose up and sauntering to the seat directly behind you. You wondered why he didn’t acknowledge you, but you didn’t dwell on it long. Dandy was often absent from any social interaction. 

Your teacher began the class the moment the bell rang. She decided to go over the notes an extra day and postponed the test. You were mildly disappointed but knew the material well, so you decided to doodle in your journal. One of the girls in the front occasionally popped her gum. 

Ms. Strode was talking about World War II when you felt something hit your elbow. You glanced over and saw a balled-up piece of paper. You glanced around to see most people were either frantically jotting down notes or not paying any attention. You picked it up, assuming it just needed to be passed ahead.

However, you read your name in neat cursive and opened it under the table.

Would you go to the dance with me? - Jason

You read the short invitation a good ten or so times before you could comprehend what he was asking. While the teacher wasn’t looking, you peeked over your shoulder to see him staring at you. His buddies were hiding their own smiles, but you didn’t see any malice behind it. Was he serious?

Of course, you’d have to decline. You already have an engagement. You promised your mother. You already declined the evening with your two best friends.

You didn’t send a note back, knowing it would be too distracting trying to pass it. Dandy would never try to give a stupid message.

However, Dandy had been paying attention and had managed to read the note over your shoulder when you laid it on your pencil case. He became green with envy, closing the book he hadn’t been paying attention too in the first place.

You hardly spoke a word to him this year. He wondered why that was. Dandy was very particular who he said too, and gave any sliver of his precious time. You were a comfort to him and probably didn’t realize that. Dandy knew he couldn’t seem desperate for your affection, or at the very least, your attention. He had hoped you’d be waiting for him in his car after school like the previous years before. Did he do something to upset you? Were you too good for him?

Dandy spent the rest of the class staring at the back of your head. He knew that wasn’t the case. Perhaps it was his behavior that steered you away. Of course, he liked being friends with you, but maybe it wasn’t enough. He was a loner who enjoyed his alone time. Dandy heard what people said about him. The general consensus was that he was doing everything right. 

When the class was dismissed, he hung back, watching as you quickly gathered your things and paced out the door. 

“Tough blow, man!” he heard Matthew say.

“She’ll come around.” Jason replied, his tone snarky. Dandy watched as they walked out of the room, his brows furrowing as he debated on taking the high road and asking you to the stupid dance himself. He wouldn’t go willingly. His mother, Gloria, needed him to be involved as much as possible. To keep up appearances, of course. Not for Dandy’s own goodwill. 

Dandy trailed out of the class, seeing you across the hall at your locker. Winter was beside you, somehow talking and applying lipstick at the same time. He stood off to the side, not minding all the bodies bumping into him and temporarily panicking that he’d yell at them.

This is it, Dandy thought. It’s a war, whether Jason Dean knew that or not. 

3.

Jason approached you the following day and asked if you’d mind talking to him at lunch. You hesitantly agreed, catching Zoe’s eye as she hugged Kyle before going into her class. She smiled at you, and you gave her a hesitant one in return. 

He definitely matured through the years. Jason was interested in you, and you felt comfortable talking to him through the entire lunch period, even catching yourself laughing at his sense of humor. Dandy played with the apple in his hands, glaring daggers at the back of Jason’s messy head. Winter noticed from her spot at your usual table and nudged Zoe, gesturing for her to look. 

“He looks pissed.” Zoe giggled, and Winter nodded in agreement. 

“I think Mott is going to kill him!” Winter said, stabbing at her steamed broccoli.

“Shouldn’t we let y/n know?” Zoe asked.

“I think she’s about to figure it out.” Winter said as Dandy stood up, heading directly to the table where you were sitting with Jason. Zoe and Winter fell into a hush, shoving food into their mouth and intently watching what was about to unfold. 

Jason saw him approaching first and paused, sizing the other guy up and down. Jason was bigger than Dandy in height and muscle tone from being an athlete, but Dandy wasn’t lanky either. You turned around, shocked to find Dandy staring down at you. 

“y/n,” Dandy nodded at you, ignoring Jason.

“Dandy, hi!” you said, genuinely happy to see him. “How are you?”

“I’m decent.” he said, smiling a little. “Could I have a word?” 

You glanced at Jason, who seemed timid, but he nodded. You stood up, promising Jason you’d be back as you followed Dandy out to the hallway. Multiple eyes followed you, and you heard the whispers starting as the door swung shut. 

“How are you?” Dandy asked now, looking down at you. His dark hair was neatly gelled and had a slight curl. 

“I’ve been good. I haven’t heard from you in a while…” you said.

Dandy nodded, “I could say the same. I assumed you’d come back around soon enough.”

You felt he was hurt by your absence. Dandy looked bothered, and you felt terrible. However, he was capable of approaching you as well. Which is what he thought he had to do. 

“Is everything okay?” you questioned, hoping his mother was doing well. You hadn’t seen her all Summer. 

“y/n, you know you’re one of the only people I care about in this stupid town,” Dandy said, glancing towards a teacher walking to the lounge. He gave you guys a questioning look but didn’t comment, disappearing into the next room. 

You weren’t sure how to respond to that, so Dandy continued, “Which is why I think you shouldn’t go to the formal with Jason.”

You frowned, “How do you know he asked me?”

“The whole school knows!” Dandy retorted, and you remembered. “I think it’s a bad idea.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m not going either way.”

Dandy looked surprised, and you saw the relief in his eyes. He laughed a little, his fingers drumming against his leg. “Oh.”

“What, are you jealous?” you asked, laughing at him. Dandy tried to hide his laughter, but it didn’t work. The quiet hallway was filled with your giggles.

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out.” Dandy said, and you were saddened to hear the bell ring. Dandy straightened up, the smile leaving his face as kids filed out of the cafeteria and the surrounding classrooms. Kids stared at you and whispered, many laughing and wondering if you were now a couple. 

Jason slowly walked in your direction, but you didn’t want to say goodbye to Dandy. You were ashamed that you had avoided him for so long. You missed him. Dandy glanced behind you, his eyes sharpening as your new suitor waited patiently, his hands in his beige jacket. 

“Be careful around him.” Dandy whispered to you before he disappeared down the hall.

You approached Jason, who gave you a soft smile, “Am I missing something? Are you two together?”

You shook your head, a light smile on your lips, “No. We’re just friends.”

“Oh…” Jason nodded, “Look, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry if I freaked you out the other day. We don’t have to go to the dance together, but-.”

“Oh!” you gasped. Jason frowned, giving you a quizzical look. “The dance… I forgot,” you lied. “Uhm, I’m actually not going. I have other plans…” you said.

Jason looked defeated but took the rejection gracefully. You promised you’d sit with him again tomorrow, and he visibly cheered up at that. You ended up having to sprint to your locker for your books after saying goodbye, but you couldn’t stop thinking about Dandy’s warning. 

“Be careful around him.”

The Friday before the dance went to complete shit.

That morning you ate your breakfast slowly, listening to your parents argue in the kitchen over a business deal your mother thought was a bad idea. Your father was greedy and looked towards the top dollar than what was best for the business and the family. 

If that wasn’t bad enough, Winter fell sick and couldn’t go to school. You had to wait for your father to finish getting ready before he could drive you. You were ten minutes late and got a verbal warning; you never got in trouble at school. You had three tests in a row, and by lunch, you were about to rip your hair out.

Jason was nowhere to be found, so you sat with Zoe. She was worried that Winter would miss the dance but was happy that she’d at least have Kyle if Winter canceled. Kyle came and sat with you guys, his shaggy blond hair wet from the downpour outside. 

You were anxiously looking around the cafeteria for any sign of Dandy. He had missed a few days of school, citing a fever when you called his house and spoke to his maid, Dora. You wished him well and knew he’d pull through fast. Plus, you saw his car this morning when you got dropped off. 

“They’re going to cancel the dance if more kids fall ill,” Kyle said as he ate a burger. Zoe glared at him, telling him to look on the bright side of things. 

“What? I am!” Kyle replied, smirking at his new girlfriend.

“I’m sure they won’t cancel.” you placated Zoe, who beamed at you. “All the parents who gave money will be pissed.”

You ate most of your lunch when the principal walked in. The room immediately quieted as he observed the tables before landing on you. He walked to you briskly, and you felt your heart racing as he approached. 

Am I getting detention? I’ve only been late once!

“Ms. y/l/n, could you come with me?” he asked politely, smiling at you, Zoe, and Kyle.

You nodded slowly, bunching up your trash and placing it on the tray. Zoe told you to leave it, and they’d take care of it. You quietly thanked her and followed Principal Harmon out, struggling to keep pace with his long, thin legs.

“Is everything alright, sir?” you asked. Now wondering if your parents died in some fiery crash or if you failed a class. 

“There’s been a disturbance outside this afternoon,” Harmon replied, his voice grim. “With Mr. Mott and Mr. Dean.”

You were shocked to hear this. You were silent during the rest of the trek to his office. When he opened the door, you saw both boys sitting in chairs. They both had packs of ice on their faces and sheepish expressions.

“What were you thinking?” you hissed to them as Mr. Harmon gestured for you to take the empty seat next to Dandy.

“Well, now that y/n is here, I think you both owe her an explanation and an apology.” 

Jason and Dandy shared a look. Dandy now looked pissed, and you could only imagine what lead to this. 

Oh, I have a pretty good fucking idea.

[channiebbang]

fluttering hearts

synopsis: a cute first date along the night market and the bustling streets of Seoul. A little spark lightens up between laughs, blushing faces and fluttering stomachs.

characters: Mark, Jackson, Main Character

pairing: University Senior!Mark x Univeristy student!MainCharacter

genre: a shit load of fluff

word count: 2.7k

warnings: none

author’s note: this is by far one of my most fluff works lmaoo I'm sorry if there are any mistakes hehe

Y/n shivered as the chilly breeze caressed her bare arms. It wasn't a cold evening at all, the light wind felt nice, but she had been standing for some time now, and her sleeveless dress wasn't helping. She refrained from checking the time on her watch, having done that three times already in the last minute.

She thought at how she came to be in this situation. Dressed in a somewhat semi-fancy dress, a couple of steps away from a fancy restaurant.

Mark Tuan. Her university senior of three years. He was all everyone talked about, kind of like the "It boy", if you will. And for good reasons too. He was polite, soft spoken, gentle and a ball of positivity to be around. Everyone loved him. Professors, deans, students, everyone.

Girls drooled over him, boys admired him. He received confessions left and right from girls and the occasional boys. He had it all. Or so it seemed.

See, Mark may have been showered with attention on the outside, and to some extent he was grateful for all the nice words everyone said to him, but he didn't really feel a connection with anyone other than his few close friends.

In fact, the guy was careful who he talked with and what he said. He was a very reserved person and although he was very respectful he also liked being respected. He knew most of the people that tried to befriend him didn't do it because they actually wanted to be friends. It was either because his dad was rich or it was because being Mark Tuan's friend is benefitting. Words he had actually heard someone say. Or people wanted to date him because in the three years he had been in the university nobody had seen him with anyone that could've been labeled as his girlfriend. So the ladies wanted a piece of him. They wished.

So when he, not only showed interest in Y/n but asked her out everyone was stoked. Out of nowhere a junior had been asked out by Mark. Nobody ever saw the two together, nobody ever saw the two even talk. But once someone overheard Jackson asking one of Y/n friends for her number for Mark, the news spread like wildflower. And you bet your ass Mark didn't speak to Jackson for a solid day, no matter how many times Jackson whined that he was just trying to be a good wingman. In the end he gave in because, c'mon, it's Jackson Wang we're talking about, how could he stay mad at him when he was just trying to help out.

But it's not like Mark landed a date the first time he asked, no sir. In fact, y/n had ignored his dm's when he reached out on Instagram, not wanting to get involved with someone so much on the spotlight. She didn't like attention at all, she had two friends and she was happy to go unnoticed at university.

Of course she knew who Mark was and of course she found him breathtaking, I mean it's not like she was blind and lived under a rock. She knew of his more than good reputation but even then she didn't want to be involved with him in any way. She wanted to focus on her studies, thoroughly.

Because she had two great friends, it was obvious that they didn't agree with her decision and tried to persuade her countless times when she told them that Mark had slid into her dm's. She refused.

So a couple of days had passed when the two groups crossed each other in the hallway and of course y/n's lovely friends decided to greet Mark and his friends, lying later that it was just to show their respect to their senior.

Mark on the other hand was very glad because he had taken it upon himself to greet y/n separately, flashing one of his million dollar smile. She stared at him for a couple of seconds before she bowed her head and muttered a greeting.

When she went back to her shared apartment that night she had been doing homework, well tried to do her homework, because a certain Mark Tuan refused to leave her mind. She felt guilty about not replying to him. It had already been a couple of days but she felt bad because she feared she was being rude.

So, before she changed her mind, she took her phone and replied to his text. And that was how she spent more than three weeks texting with him. She had to admit, Mark was fun to talk to. In that short period of time he somehow managed to soften her up.

He had always a funny remark ready, always ready to help her with her studies, even when she refused thoroughly, worried that it would take away time from his own studies.

So there she was, she had finally accepted his request to go eat something. So she was clad in a soft lilac dress waiting for a certain senior to show up.

It was two minutes later when a car stopped on the side of the road, Mark quickly climbed out of the back of the car after muttering some instructions to the driver and walking to y/n.

Now, y/n knew about Mark's good looks, but this. This was straight up rude. He was dressed in a turtle neck and a long coat and he was breathtakingly gorgeous. So obviously, she gaped at him and totally missed his greeting. Mark chuckled, a wide grin spread on his lips as he waved a hand in front of her eyes. She blinked rapidly clearing her throat, blushing hard when he giggled at her flustered face.

"Hi," he greeted again, "Sorry, I'm late. There was an accident on the way and I had to take another street," he apologized, a mortified smile adorning his features. Y/n smiled shaking her head.

"That's okay, I wasn't waiting for long anyway," she assured him, Mark nodded before throwing a glance at the entrance of the restaurant. A slow blush creeped up his neck and tainted his ears a bright red. Y/n tilted her head sideways, concern written all over her face.

"Are you okay?" She asked, her fingertips lightly brushing over his elbow as he cleared his throat, eyes falling back on her. He found himself staring at her, only then noticing how pretty she looked in her dress and styled hair. He smiled fondly at the white sneakers on her feet, contrasting the rest of her outfit.

"Yup," the tall guy smiled, eyes crinkling, y/n found herself smiling too. She nodded.

"I think I'm way past my reservation time," Mark muttered in embarrassment, fingers scratching behind his ears as he gave y/n an awkward laugh. The blushing explained. Y/n looked at him amused.

"Oh," she mumbled looking back at the entrance of the restaurant before looking back at Mark, a smile on her face.

"How about some street food?" She whispered excited, Mark stared at her, mouth hanging open. Her eyes were sparkling, the widest grin he had ever seen on her graced her lips. She oozed of excitement and adrenaline. Maybe Mark stayed in that position for too long because Y/n's expression slowly fell.

"...or maybe not?" She said unsure, her statement sounding like a question. Was Mark uncomfortable with street food? Her eyes shifted at the high class fancy restaurant and she mentally face palmed. Of course he would be, look at where he wanted to bring you and think about what you offered, ugh.

She felt mortified. She shuffled on her feet, uncomfortable and embarassed to have his eyes on her. She cleared her throat and Mark seemed to come back alive.

"Yes," he breathed out, holy fuck, what was that? He thought. He felt like time had stopped for a couple of seconds too long. Y/n looked at him confused.

"What?" She muttered, eyes wide in confusion. Mark chuckled.

"Let's get street food, I know a market not too far from here. It's a bit crouded but it comes alive at night, let's go," the boy blabbed, before taking a hold of her wrist and starting to walk down the street. Y/n was left dumbfounded, she couldn't grasp onto what just happened.

She stared at Mark, trudging behind him. His long legs taking big strides to where she had to jog a bit to keep up, she didn't complain though. His hand had her wrist in a soft grasp, tight enough not to let her slip away but loose enough not to hurt her.

His dark hair bounced at every step he took, the big smile on his face lighting up his face and his surroundings in a mesmerizing way. Or was that just in her head? She didn't mind though.

Mark, right there, resembled more to an excited child opening up his birthday presents rather than the semi-serious senior she had sometimes seen on campus.

She seemed to come back to her senses when she noticed Mark had been standing on the side of the road, waiting for the streetlight to turn green. One hand in the pocket of his coat while the other still had her wrist in grasp. Mark turned to her and flashed a smile at her, automatically she sent one back.

"We're not too far from it, you'll love it," he assured her, slowly bouncing on his heels, excited.

"Do you go there often?" She asked, just as the light turned green.

"Yupp, usually I'm with Jackson and Yugyeom. Sometimes Jinyoung joins. Oh, and Jaebum too, he's the one who showed us this place," Mark explained, a fond smile on his face when talking about his friends. Y/n smiled up at him.

"You guys seem to be close," she pointed out. Mark sent her a huge grin. The proud look on his face mesmerizing.

"Uhhuh, we've stuck together since middle school," he nodded, "Although, Yugyeom joined us when we were in high school, he's the youngest but we met him in the playground we used to go to play basketball. He was freakishly tall for being so young, we thought he was our age until he started calling us hyung, then we found out he was like 3-4 years younger," Mark laughed, the sound so painfully adorable even y/n found herself chuckling and smiling at him.

"Oh! We're here. Stay close, it's crowded," Mark smiled at her as she nodded. They walked into the market, looking at the various stalls.

Mark, even though on the outside he looked completely fine, was dying on the inside. He had been holding on her wrist for a long time. Was it weird? Did she feel uncomfortable? Was it rude? Is he dumb? What the heck? All these thoughts were running wild in his mind. But nonetheless, he didn't particularly want to let go of her, so he didn't. Don't ask him where that courage boost came from because he didn't know.

He slowly let go of her hand and y/n would be lying if she didn't feel disappointed. What? Well sure, it's not like she wanted to go on a date with him at first but Mark had a way with people and she surely understood now why so many people liked him. Mark Tuan, despite his reputation and all the love he received from people, was a humble gem. He was ordinary, the kind of ordinary that makes you feel comfortable and at ease.

A blush crept up the duo's necks when Mark took a hold of y/n's hand. Mark stopped breathing for a second, testing the waters. Seeing if she'd pull back. But she didn't, and so he engulfed her hand in his. She looked the other way, hoping, wishing, she wasn't blushing too much.

"Hey," Mark whispered, tilting his head down to her height so that she could hear him.

"Huh?" She hummed, turning back around to look at him. Only her movement was a bit too fast, and before he could retreat to his previous height, her face was right in front of his. Her breath hitched in her throat, his features more clear, vivid, at the close proximity.

Mark straightened up, clearing his throat. He cursed under his breath, before taking a deep breath and turning to face her with a cheeky smile on his lips. He raised their clasped hands and shook it a bit.

"Hope you don't mind?" He giggled adorably, the sound making y/n forget about their previous awkwardness. She shook her head.

"I don't," she smiled at him.

The two walked along the stalls of the market, laughing and enjoying their time and food. They stopped at many stalls to try various things. Mark was glad that y/n wasn't one of those stuck up girls that didn't know how to enjoy this kind of places. The loud atmosphere, the tight and crowded street, the warm air, the strong smell of food. He was glad he could share this with someone that like him, didn't mind all those things.

Mark looked at the girl walking one step infront of him. She had tied her hair up with a clip, a couple of loose strands framing her face, her bag was hung across her chest so she had both of her arms free. His coat, too warm for the already hot air, was thrown over her bag. He had told her he could have just carried it on his arm but she insisted that he needed both of his hands to eat.

He looked at her as her eyes scanned over the stalls they walked past. Her eyes were shining with amazement, a wide smile lit up her face. In a way, he was glad he was late and his reservation got cancelled. He had a feeling they wouldn't have had this much fun if they had dined there.

Mark kept his eyes on the girl, it was happening again. As clichè as it sounds it felt as if time slowed down, all the noise around him seemed to fade away, everything sounded as if he was underwater, everything but her blurred out. It was as if he was looking at her through a camera lense and he had focused only on her, everything else just a meaningless background that he didn't particularly care about. All he could see was her.

Her beautiful smile, her shining eyes, the hair strands framing her face, her collarbones, the thin necklace adorning her neck. All he could focus on was her. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, he couldn't understand this feeling at all. But he didn't want it to end, he wanted to drown in this feeling, this emotion, he wanted it to always be like this. If he knew what the feeling of being drugged was, this was it.

If happiness and contentment had come his way, he didn't know, but he hoped. He really hoped this was it. He hoped that feeling of being full of something, feeling warm inside, that everyone talked about, that happiness that people associated with various things, he hoped he had finally found it. And fuck, if that was what happiness and contentment and being at home felt like, god, he wanted to feel like this everyday.

Y/n scolded herself mentally as Mark took her hand in his again. His eyes were focused somewhere else, his action seemed spontaneous and if it wasn't, y/n wouldn't know and she was okay with not knowing. She smiled as she too averted her eyes around herself.

She scolded herself for not answering Mark's dm earlier, she scolded herself for not going on a date earlier but then again, maybe that is exactly why this felt so good. Maybe letting things happen at their own pace was the right thing to do.

So she told herself not to ponder about what was already in the past too much, she told herself to enjoy her time with Mark now and for as long as she could.

She didn't know why and how Mark made her feel so comfortable and how she felt at ease around him. But she did and surprisingly that's all that she found important. She told herself not to overthink what was happening and to just let everything happen on its own.

Their laughter mixing with the loud chatter and laugh of the people around them as they enjoyed their silly banters and jokes. The chilly breeze didn't feel so cold anymore as y/n walked beside Mark, hand in hand, arms pressed against each other, as they talked about what to try next.

[i-ntrmission]

Nine (Van McCann)

Just a silly little fic where Van is sporadic regular at a coffee shop. 

Part 1 (4.3k)

They say bad things happen in threes.

Your phone hadn’t charged overnight, leaving you with 15% battery.

A car ran through a puddle during your walk to work, soaking your legs.

An elderly man held the door of the coffee shop open for you, gesturing with a newspaper for you to go ahead, and a smile that you couldn’t help but reciprocate, until a busy mum storms out from the shop knocking into you and spilling fresh coffee down your jacket.

“Tough morning, eh?” Your co-worker, and resident barista genius, Toby comments with a chuckle while you stomped around the counter. Having seen what just happened, and taking in your soaked tights.

Julia, resident window art and slogan genius, glancing around from the till with a sympathetic pout while you roll your eyes at Toby, pushing on the staff door.

“Oh, leave off Tobes - leave her be. That was tragic, babe. Spare tights in my bag, help yourself.” She says before turning back to the line of customers.

“Cheers, Julia.” You sigh in relief while heading into the back, Toby’s dry chuckles and singsong of ‘Happy Friday!’ following you.

Once you have on dry tights, cleaned what you can from your jacket (thankfully it was leather), and hunted down a spare charger for your phone, you grab your apron and head back out.

By some grace of god, you had a later shift for today, meaning you missed the usual breakfast run full of impatient office employees, half asleep students, pass remarkable construction workers - thankful, with the way your morning had went you wouldn’t have been fit for dealing with that kind of stress this morning. Now in the clear for the easy hours before lunch.

“There she is,” Toby, a lazy grin when you re-emerge, Julia leaning on the counter beside him sipping from a mug, basking in the post breakfast rush comedown. “Here ya go, looks like you need it.” He slides a takeaway cup over to you, and you all too eagerly take a sip. Caffeine can nearly always fix anything, especially a bad morning.

Cinnamon caramel macchiato, a hum of appreciation and a drawn out ‘thank you.” He only chuckles out a ‘no bother’, picking up his tea. You had always found it ironic that someone who despised the taste and smell of coffee worked in a coffee shop, and on top of that made really fucking good coffee.

“So what’s happened you? Apparent from the coffee incident obvs, looked like you wanted to throttle all us when you came in,” Julia asks, brown eyes glancing over you as she takes another sip from her mug.

“Nah, she just always looks like that,” Toby says, a teasing grin. You just roll your eyes, it was true that your resting bitch face was Medusa level.

A sigh, taking another mouthful of your coffee and picking up a basin to start clearing the tables with while you shrug and launch into the story of your morning.

“Happens in threes, doesn’t it.” Julia comments when you catch them up.

"Well, that's my three strikes done for the day, thank fuck,” you shrug. She frowns at that.

"Touch wood."

"What?"

"You jinxed it saying that, need to touch wood for good luck!" Appalled that you never heard of the superstition at question.

Rolling your eyes, a huff as you walk away to start cleaning up. “Think I’ll be alright, Jules.” You weren’t superstitious. “Want some salt instead? Throw it over your shoulder!” Toby chuckles.

Julia only elbows him in the side, telling you both to piss off, mumbling something about having to spill salt first before you could do that.

But, maybe there was some truth in her superstitions because no less than ten minutes later, a cup slipped through your fingers smashing on the floor. Cursing yourself and then glancing meekly in her direction, she watched with a raised brow.

“Reckon it’s too late to touch wood?”

After the cup, you break a plate.

After the plate, you stand back to let a toddler and mum pass by you to get to the bathrooms, standing back with a smile - until you knock over a stand of artisan coffee bags.

“Another three down,” Julia mutters with a smirk while stacking clean cups.

“Sure you don’t want that salt?” Toby quips while walking by you as you sweep up spilt coffee beans. You give him the finger behind the dustpan you held, he reaches up as if to scratch at his beard - sliding his middle finger along his cheek, right back at you.

Your bad luck continues. During the lunch rush you manage to burn a granddad’s toasted sandwich, shortchange a regular who worked in the bookies across the street, and upend a student’s iced latte over your top.

You’re hopelessly scrubbing at the stain on your top when Julia walks into the back, grabbing her pack of fags.

“Jesus,” she mumbles, a dumbfounded look at how much you had managed to fuck up today. Completely out of character for you, a perfectionist by nature. “Did ya break a mirror or sommat lately?”

You only sigh and shake your head, “Any significance in the number 9?”

She thinks for a second, then smiles as she pulls a lighter from her jacket pocket. “9 is supposed to be good luck, actually. New beginnings,” she tilts her head, looking at you, “maybe buy a scratch card, or come to the pub quiz tonight!”

You laugh but before you can reply your manager walks in, a empathic glint in her eye. Everyone who worked here adored Carly, the ultimate mother figure. A caring but also a take no shit kind of person.

Your name - as she walks in, “what’s going on, pet? You’re a one man wrecking machine today!”

She tells you to take an early lunch, go home and get changed, clear your head and the come back. You sigh in relief of not having to wear a soggy blouse for the rest of the day. Half way home when you realize you’ve left your phone charging under the counter.

Finding Julia’s cat, Kurt, sitting on the steps to your and Julia’s shared basement flat. He purrs, pushing his head into your hand when you reach down to pick him up. You spend the next half hour sprawled on your bed with Kurt, eating rice crackers and watching “Best of Dean Winchester” complications on YouTube. Self care.

An hour later, when you walk back into the cafè Julia does a double take, stretching her arms wide and tilting her head in a ‘what the fuck!’ manner.

“Yeah? What’s up?” You ask, walking around the counter to pick back up your apron.

“Where’s your phone?! I’ve been texting you! Guess who’s bloody back?” A rush, and she’s all but bouncing on the spot, eyes gleaming with excitement.

You reach under the counter to pick up your phone, holding it up to her. It was still turned off but charged now. Telling her you forgot about it before you left. Not really bothered about her sudden elation, probably just one of her newest little crushes that changed every month. You entertain her, nonetheless.

“Who? Your man from the butchers?” Asking, while tying your apron, she shakes her head, eyes alight.

“Hm, weird uni Tolstoy wannabe?” You guess again, she shakes her head, then adds that he’s not weird just a bit eccentric and there’s nothing wrong with that. You still think the fact that he’s read War and Peace four times, and brags about, is a red flag.

You’re about to suggest the blonde and blue haired girl from the library when she cuts you off. “Anyway it’s nowt to do with me, cmon you know who it is!”

You only stare at her, blinking and out of guesses. She sighs your name is exasperation.

“Christ, you’re hopeless today. It’s only Van fuckin’ McCann, isn’t it!”

Your eyes widen, heart kicking around your ribs and blood pounds a bit harder at mention of his name. A reaction that surprises you.

“Fuck off!��� It comes out as an alarmed whisper.

Van McCann had been coming to the coffee shop for three years now. Often showing up for a few days at a time and then seemingly disappearing off the face of the earth.

He had an obsession with the loyalty cards you dished out with the paper cups, nine stamps got a free drink. He never filled one.

He first showed up three summers ago, middle of a heatwave. He was wearing all black, ripped jeans, and a holy jumper. The holes and rips didn’t seem to be a fashion statement, more like he had just worn the clothes to death. He was pale, too pale. Shoulder length hair that definitely hadn’t seen a shower in a couple days, bags under his eyes. Towing along a smaller guy with long hair and a bandana. They looked out of place. A cloud of cigarette smoke lingering around them, underlying weed.

You and Julia had exchanged a glance. “Homeless? Junkies?” She mouthed at you, after they had sat down with their teas and cinnamon buns you had freshly made that morning. You had rolled your eyes, told her to stop being a judgmental prick.

He came back the next morning, on his own. Same jeans but a black T-shirt, and fluffy hair. You had been cleaning tables, observing while Toby served him. He wanted another cinnamon bun, Toby told him he was out of luck, you hadn’t made them that morning. Glancing over his shoulder with interest when Toby had pointed you out as the resident baker.

The third morning he was back again, a Glasvegas T-shirt. Julia told him you loved that band while he was waiting on his coffee. You were putting out fresh cherry and chocolate scones, when he caught your eye.

“Ey, they’re class aren’t they? What’s ya favourite song?”

You always struggled to hold his gaze when he looked at you, that didn’t change with time. Insanely blue eyes framed with lashes that were wasted on him. You shrugged, “probably Lots Sometimes.” And he had broke out into a wide grin, giving you the first glimpse of his slightly crooked bunny teeth.

You had given him the first of many loyalty cards that day, seeing as he had come in for three mornings straight, he pocketed it with a little huff of laughter, novelty.

He didn’t come back for months after that.

You and Julia spent the next few days speculating who he was and where he had gone, passing slow shifts. Toby rolled his eyes at the theories, saying that he most likely found the new Starbucks across town. Julia sighed in disappointment while muttering something about how conglomerate multi nationals were the root of all evil.

However, he turned up again a month or two later. A busy morning, frantic. You hadn’t even had a chance to look up at the next person in line when you heard his voice, “well ‘ello again, Glasvegas.”

And that’s how it went on, the cycle of Van appearing for a little bit then vanishing for longer. Each time he easily became the best part of the long days - banter, shameless flirting, footie talk with Toby, taste testing any and everything you had baked as a trial run, swapping stories, endless loyalty cards.

He always had a strange little smile when you added an fresh coffee cup stamp to the grid, something the general customer didn’t really care about and it was often a surprise when they filled the card up.

He never gave a heads up when he would be leaving again, he simply just disappeared. And you tried to pretend it wasn’t weird that you got a plummeting feeling in your stomach when it came to the day he didn’t show up. Blue eyes, freckles, a contagious laugh. It was all lingering stares, fingers brushing longer than necessary, throwaway salacious comments.

“C’mon babe, you know he’ll be back, quit sulking,” Julia would playfully elbow you when the day came, and you shook your head with snort, “Shut up, M’not sulking.”

You eventually found out he was in a band, and sometime last year he had asked you if you wanted to come to one of his gigs. Well, he had asked the three of you - but Julia was going on holidays that weekend, Toby had a wedding, and when his eyes met yours you had instinctively crafted a lie about going to visit your sister in London. Something Julia gave you shit for for weeks afterward. You didn’t have a sister, and you hated London.

A few weeks after that incident - by then Van was long gone, Julia stormed into the café with an NME magazine in hand, slamming down on the counter, Van’s face filled the cover.

“Fucking hell!” You and Toby had exhaled in near unison.

“So turns out he’s actually proper famous then, eh?” Julia laughed.

“Am I the bad boy of rock, then? Oh mate..” Toby read from the cover, laughing. “And you turned down the chance to be his bands groupie!” He joked, turning to you.

“Here, I thought he wanted us to go watch his shite Arctic Monkeys rip off band play sweaty Whelans okay?!” You defended.

“Do you think we can start a wall of famous regulars now?” Julia changed the subject, taking a fresh scone you were laying out, flicking to the pages of his interview.

“Yeah, Rock’s bad boy Van McCann and Barry from Eastenders. What a lineup...” Toby snorted, going back to stacking coffee beans.

“I mean, Van kind of looks like Hugh Grant... If you squint.” You shrugged.

You and Julia went home and watched countless Catfish and the Bottlemen interviews and live sets, you liked seeing how Van never changed. No matter who he was talking to. Treating everyone like they were an old friend, not someone he had just met 5 minutes ago.

The band seemed to really take off that year, he came back less and less. But he was still the same old Van when he did, success didn’t change him. Then their second album dropped a year ago, and you hadn’t seen him since. You were happy for him, it was obvious that he was living his dream. Eventually, you stopped thinking about him all that much, life moved on.

Now you were looking at a smug Julia, instinctively glancing around the shop while she laughs and tells you he’s long gone.

“Came in literally 5 minutes after you went out, this day is honestly like some weird fever dream.” She tells you, while Toby comes out from the back.

“And she told him you didn’t work here anymore, should have seen the poor lad’s face!” Toby chuckles.

The two of them look at at each other with a groan when you ask why he’d be upset about you not being here anymore.

“I swear to god, if I have to watch the eye fucking over coffee cups for the next few days...” she sighs, an eye roll. “He’s made it obvious he’s fancied you since the first day he walked in, yeah? Give him a chance!”

“Fucking hell, that’s pure bollocks,” exasperated. Met with a disbelieving look, which only brings you further into defensive mode. “Look, you even gave him my number on one of the stupid loyalty cards last time, never even heard from him. Obviously isn’t interested one bit.”

Julia had asked you if she could write your number on his loyalty card last spring. You had only half said yes, half said no. Noncommittal, all she needed to run with it. She handed it back to him without saying anything, only a smug smirk. You pretended you hadn’t sprung for your phone at every notification for the next two weeks in hope of hearing from him, you never did.

Julia - another eye roll, hands in the air, “Dunno, maybe he just lost the card! You just need to stop writing people off before you get to proper know them!”

The rest of the day dragged, but no more bad luck. As if the universe realigned around Van, which probably wasn’t too far from the truth.

By closing time, it’s just you and Toby left to do the clean up and lockup. It’s nearly 9 when you hear him drawl your name, walking into the kitchen and leaning against the doorway.

“Hey, Kiddo...”

“Toby, my love, what have I told you about patronizing me before you ask me for a favour?” Humming while you put cling filmed dough into the fridge for the pecan pie you were planning on making tomorrow morning.

He laughs and walks in, leaning against the counter. “Alright, sorry - princess.”

Shutting the fridge as you turn to face him with an eye roll, wordlessly telling him to go on. He launches into the how he kind of maybe forgot that his anniversary with his fiancée is tomorrow, their usual Italian restaurant they go to every year is fully booked but he knows the chef. Who, as of this morning, promised to do a private dinner for them, if he meets him at half nine and buys him a couple of drinks.

You listen while you clean off the counter tops, shaking your head with a laugh. “Dunno, mate. What’s in it for me? I mean apart from the joy of mopping floors and taking out the bins?”

Playful - a long sigh. “Isn’t the selfless act of helping out a friend in need reward enough?”

“Yeah, but we’d have to be friends first for that wouldn’t we?” You tilt your head.

“God, you’re such a little bitch sometimes, y’know that?” He chuckles, you shrug. “Right, how about I take the bins out and mop the floors all of next week, and I’ll treat ya to a Sunday roast down the pub after we finish Sunday, deal?”

He holds out his hand, eyes narrowing. Pretending to mull it over for a few seconds, you wouldn’t have made a fuss about him asking you to finish up tonight anyway, but he was always too easy to wind up. Eventually you sigh out a “suppose so” and take his hand.

Pulling you into a hug, dragging out a noise that resembles, ‘legend’ while kissing your head.

Once he’s gone, along with the rubbish, locking you in and halfway pulling the shutter down outside, you put on a Richard Ashcroft album and start on the floor.

Crazy world - you’re half singing along to the chorus, and finishing the floor, when you hear a faint noise behind the music. Insistent tapping. Confusion clouding - knowing you were here alone, glancing behind you, your grip tightening on the mop. And you almost jump out of your skin, a shadow in the entrance to the shop.

It’s Van.

He had clearly ducked under the shutter, now outside the door silhouetted by buzz of streetlamps, tapping on the glass. He laughs at your startled expression, holding up his hands and mouthing ‘sorry, sorry!”

Heart - thumping even harder now, lightheaded. Grabbing your keys to unlock the door, and when you’re face to face with him your mouth goes dry.

“Thought you’d gone and left on us, Glasvegas,”

Gaze flickering over you, a smile tugging on his lips. You can tell he’s been drinking, the all too familiar scent of hours spent in the pub lingers, mixed with fresh cigarettes, shrunken pupils and glassy eyes. A wave of trepidation prickles along your arms, drunk men made you nervous.

But - it’s Van, all messy hair, drunk eyes, and a lazy tired kind of grin. Relaxed and happy.

“Nope, still here like always,” releasing a breath you didn’t realise that you had been holding. Focusing on his necklace, sliver glinting under opened shirt buttons. “Heard Julia was messin’ with you earlier, eh?”

“Too good at fuckin’ with us that one,” he laughs, licking his lips. “Had me dead convinced you’d gone.”

Creased blue shirt - sleeves rolled up, the colour only makes his eyes look even more blue, and even more pretty. Finding yourself being increasingly self conscious despite his equally disheveled appearance. Knowing that your foundation was separating, concealer caking, mascara flaking and lipstick long gone. Coffee stains and flour marking your clothes.

“Did you want to come in for a sec?” You manage to ask.

“Can I? Won’t get ya in trouble or anything? Cause yous are closed.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes while beckoning him in. “C’mon, didn’t have you down as someone who follows the rules, McCann. Careful though, floor is still wet.”

“Oh, no, you’re dead right ‘bout that, love. Just I had you down as someone who always follows the rules.” Winking at you as he walks in, commenting how different the place feels at night.

“Anyways,” he turns back to you with a hum of your name, “Sorry that I scared you, don’t want ya to think I’m being weird coming here this late or anything, I was on me way home see, passing by and I found these on the ground outside..”

He holds up a hand, key chain around his finger and a Harley Davidson key ring you immediately recognize as Toby’s.

You cut him off, telling him they’re Toby’s, that he must have dropped them after locking you in earlier, and that he’s a fucking idiot. An entertained smile curving his lips at your mini rant.

“Sorry, been a long day.”

“Yeah, Julia mentioned you’d been having bad luck or sommat, tell me about it?” A hopeful glint in his eye, and you wondered if he had ever been denied anything in his life.

Ending up making him coffee and giving him leftover banana bread while you ran him through the dramatics of your day. He, like Julia, was shocked that you had never heard of the touch wood superstition.

“Sounds like you’ve been through it, love... then I show up and make it worse, eh?” Finishing his cake and his eyes find yours again.

“Yeah, something like that,” a teasing sort of lithe, the more you talked to him the more at ease you felt around him. It’s familiar.

“Alright, alright! See how it is!” His voice raising to a squeak, you laughed.

You wouldn’t let him pay for the coffee and banana bread, saying it was on the house for saving the shop from being robbed. He only shrugs and leans against the counter beside you. “Just means I’m gonna have to buy you one back, doesn’t it.”

“Thanks for the gesture, but I do get free coffee working here, y’know,” you tell him, already hearing Julia’s words about writing people off, but he was only being nice, wasn’t he?

“Fairs, I’ll buy ya one from a different place then, good to try out the competition innit?” Arms crossing while he looks at you, and you shake your head. Your cheeks aching from the permanent smile you had since he walked in, and you knew you’d cringe about that later tonight when you replayed the scene over in your head in bed.

“Only competition round here is Starbucks, and I don’t think Julia would let you step foot in here again if you buy anything from there.”

He laughs at that, telling you he was more thinking of crappy petrol station coffee. Something you scrunch your nose in disgust at, asking him if that’s all your worth to him. Drawing another laugh.

“C’mere I’d rather take you out for a pint, but m’sparing myself from the inevitable rejection and heartbreak,” he laughs, shaking his head. Your teeth sink into your lip, picking at loose skin on your thumb nail, practically hearing Julia screaming at you in your head.

“How long are you back for?” Finding yourself asking, though you never had before. Not something you ever talked about, questioned. He gives you a look, a smirk.

“Never talk about that do we, love?” He echoes your thoughts while digging in his pocket, ridiculously tight skinny jeans, until his pulls out the green little loyalty card. 8 empty stamp grids, his first one filled by Julia today. “But I’m gonna fill one of these eventually! Toby’s bet me a fiver that I won’t until I’m 30.”

You’re half tempted to ask him why he never called, or texted, or did anything with your number on the last card. Instead your mouth curls around telling him that you’d best lock up and get home. You’re knackered. He asks how you’re getting home, telling him you’re walking, that you only live 15 minutes away while he glances outside. Orange glow of streetlamps. It’s nearing 10, autumn weather starting to creep in.

“It’s dark out.” He states the obvious.

“And?”

“Love, I ain’t letting you walk home in the dark alone! Let me walk ya,” Exclaiming, typical Van fashion. Shaking your head, knowing his intentions were good but you were stubborn.

“Who are you, me dad? I’m more than capable of getting myself home, Van.” Teasing but firm, arching a brow at him. He tells you he’ll get you an Uber then, you repeat that it’s only 15 minutes home, that you’re walking. He only stares at you for a second or two, and you can’t hold it. Thankful that he’s obviously drunk and tired, because he gives in.

“Then at least text me when ya get home, yeah?” Curling his fingers for you to give him your phone, something you’re tempted to deny. But finding it endearing that he cares so much. Handing your phone over. He messes up his number twice.

Unexpectedly, he pulls you in for a hug before he leaves. All warm skin, and you realise you wish you could stay here talking shite with him for longer. All night even.

You watch him walk over to the door. “Right, night.. you’ll be here in the morning, yeah?” He glances back.

“Bright and early.” You confirm.

“Any cinnamon buns going?”

“Maybe, if you get in early enough.”

He laughs. “Right, night then. See ya tomorrow, Glasvegas. Text me, don’t forget!” He calls while he walks out and you grab your stuff to follow him out once you set the alarm.

Watching - he pretends to walk down stairs on the other side of the window before ducking under the shutter.

Leaving you to shake your head with an amused laugh. What a fucking day.

[typinggently]

wincest but seasoned with The Boys vibes

inspired by this post.

part 2

—

There’s a lot of talk about the Winchesters. Excellent hunters, destructive maniacs, obsessive adrenaline junkies. Objectively speaking not the best people to be around. None of that really prepares you for how fucking tall they are, though. Sam’s giant hands dwarf the machete as he tilts it, gets acquainted with its weight. "You tried it yet?“

Matthew shakes his head, not taking his eyes off Sam’s hands. Scraped knuckles, ugly fucking watch. "Don’t get a lot of shadow walkers. Too sunny, I guess.“ He hadn’t really meant to contact them, but he’s got too little experience and not enough manpower to take out an entire swarm of the fuckers. So he’d called Anderson who knows Mike who knows Parks who knows Jefferson who knew that the Winchesters were in the area. So here they are now, rummaging through his shit and weighing the 40%copper, 60%gold blade he’s been working on for the better part of a year in their big paws.

"Huh.“ Dean nudges a half-finished blaster with the tip of his muddy boot. It clatters and he pulls back, looking up with one of those pornstar grins that Matthew had gotten sick of approximately ten minutes after they walked into his workshop. "Well, good thing you called. We’ve had a few encounters in our time. Besides, this thing looks awesome.“ He throws a covetous glance Sam’s way, who shakes his head without even raising his head, blade firm in hand. A pouty sigh. "Man, you suck.“

—

Sam doesn’t look any smaller standing in the doorway, his right forearm resting against the upper doorframe, the left hand on the doorknob. His jeans are sitting low on his hips, unbuttoned, and he’s shirtless, his chest gleaming in the golden afternoon. Could be water, could’ve just gotten out of the shower, but Matthew can smell him, fresh sweat, salt and skin. He’s still wearing the watch. "Hey, man. Did’t we say seven?“

"Yeah.“ Matthew clears his throat. "Sorry to interrupt. I just — I followed a new trail and I’m about eighty-nine percent sure that they’re below the old cinema. If we move now, we can scoop out the place before nightfall.“

"Nah, no problem. And that’s great work, man, awesome.“ There’s a lot of muscle mass that Matthew’s not looking at, a flushed chest, pink scratches down his abs, fresh. "We’ll be ready in five, yeah?“

"Make that ten,“ Dean says somewhere inside the room. Sam turns his head, gaze lost somewhere Matthew can’t see from this angle, doesn’t want to see. A twitch in his eyebrows, then a quick flash of his tongue before he sucks on his lower lip, drags his teeth over it. Pink and gleaming wet.

"Yeah,“ he says, then turns his head to Matthew again, a rushed, dimpled smile. "Make it ten.“

Before Matthew can reply, the door shuts in his face. He stands, dumbfounded and still a little dazed, golden skin and musk-sweet sweat, dimples and pink scratch marks.

The slow cadence of Sam’s voice carries through the flimsy wood. No sound of the lock turning, but Dean answers, low and closer, now. The door shakes with the weight of a body shoved against it. Pornstar laugh and Matthew startles, steps back. Kind of regrets asking Judy about her daughter’s ballet rehearsals while she bagged his bell peppers, kind of regrets calling Anderson.

—

"Huh.“ Dean nudges Matthew with the tip of his boot, soaking the dirt on his boots with blood. "That’s ironic.“ In the pale-flickering light of his flashlight, the gleaming-wet intestines spilling out of Matthew’s clawed-open belly seem to writhe and pulse. Dean pulls his foot back.

Sam hums, shifting on his knees to wipe the blade on what remains of Matthew’s shirt, getting the worst of quicksilver-shimmering shadow walker blood off before it gets too sticky. "Didn’t have to happen.“

"Yeah, well. No one asked him to walk tits first into the bunch of em. That’s collateral. And hey —" Dean watches the way the blade flashes in the light, "You lose some, you win some.“

"You’re not getting the machete, Dean.“ Sam squints, turns the blade again, apparently satisfied with his work. "Not like we get a lot of walkers. And anyways, you damn well know you always aim too high. If this hits bone, it’s shattered. And we’ll have to take care of it, this guy isn’t going to make us a new one any time soon.“ A nod towards Matthew’s pale face, freckled with blood.

"Man, c’mon.“ Dean pouts, makes it pretty. Doesn’t even get a glance, so he adds some honey to his voice, sweetens the deal "I’ll torch him?“

Sam doesn’t respond, gets up with his eyes still on Matthew. Dean narrows his eyes. Not quite playful yet, just — challenging, maybe. "Ok, what about this. I do the torching and I blow you on the way back to the motel?“

A pause. Sam flicks his eyes towards him at least, throws him the lighter. Dean catches it, grins. Score.

[athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit]

Of Ice and Blood

Part 5

Look who's back with a 5k+ word count chapter?! Me!

I was planning on posting 1k+ at a time but stuff happened and I'm posting it all at once!

Enjoy and I'd appreciate it dearly if you reblog! Thank you!

Edit: Reached the 250 block limit so... The inevitable decision had to be made! Part 5 has a total of 3.42k words! The rest will be in a separate post <3

Pairing: Tai'chi Kashharzol (Orc) x Pearl Blackbell (Human OC/Reader)

Warnings: Cursing, Violence, brief mentions of blood and injury.

Overall SFW (but 16+ for language)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4 Part 6

*

The walk back to the school building was quiet.

Or so I thought.

Because it wasn't. At all.

Whispers, mutterings, echoed from the rooms as we passed by.

Are they doing it on purpose, or is my hearing sharper than usual?

"Hey look it's that girl."

"You mean the freak who sat beside the orc—"

"First day of school and someone already got killed. Should've expected him to be a savage."

"You think she wears a mask to hide her identity? Maybe she's a criminal-"

Probably the latter.

I shrugged. There stood a decent amount of distance between us anyway. So it's likely my hearing.

Students were watching us with weird suspecting eyes from a distance behind the windows. Sensing apprehension and outward hate when they saw Tai'chi next to me, his face in a neutral expression. But with my nose at this proximity, he smells pretty annoyed.

Just— why are there so many people,— humans–garnering these feelings towards someone they don't even know! And to even mock him like that! How dare —

"Pearl," Tai'chi called. His rich voice resonating, making the gossips of the students stop for a brief moment before they continued. Most likely slandering my name now. I didn't know I was standing still. Looking up, Tai'chi was a decent 9 meters away, with the staff members further ahead of him. He gave me a wondering look, worry along with his natural fragrance, drifted through me, carried by air.

I straightened up and took long strides, Tai'chi beside me, to catch up with them.

"Yeah, just thinking. I'm okay." Replying, not looking up to him. He didn't ask, but I felt like he would.

************short pov shift************

He was a bit bothered by the change in your scent and looked back when he noticed you weren't beside him anymore. There you were, standing in the middle of the wide hallway, brows scrunched up in aggravation.

He called out to you, probably a little louder than he meant to, but you looked up and hastily made your way beside him, both of you catching up to the rest towards the dean's office. He didn't ask, but you answered, only making him worry even more.

**********first person pov**************

As soon as we entered the main office of the center building, we were greeted with the sight of the dean and David, together with Miss Holson. He was a white fat man, though a bit taller than me, wearing a light grey suit with a few buttons open revealing a white undershirt, and a silly yellow, violet polka dot tie. I barely held back from snorting at the sight.

Mr. Silverstone was fussing over his son, his voice raised in slight panic was heard by everyone.

They went ahead of us then.

"My son! My dear, dear David! Who did this to you?!" he cried out. Once David, that son of a bitch, spotted me, he flashed me that blasted grin of his. He was acting, pretending to be hurt.

I hardly even left a scratch on him for fuck's sake. How I regret not punching him straight in the face.

Reverting to his fake, frightened, and miserable state, he pointed at me. "I-I-It's her father! She is the one who attacked me! Along with that thing with her."

Thing?! That sick bastard!

The dean whipped his head in my direction, eyes scanning me up and down before he diverted them to Tai'chi.

Well, it seems I'll ve packing up sooner than I thought.

My shoulders sagged.

Some professors were alarmed by this, frantically pushing forward to grab his attention.

"Mr. Silverstone, we still do not know what's for certain. We must interrogate them properly and listen to each of their sides before we make a decision." Mr. Dulrik asserted, his voice strained and close to animosity. He was not pleased with what the student had said.

The elder professor from earlier followed up.

"Listen to Mr. Dulrik, sir. We cannot take any risks and ju—"

"Silence!" the dean shouted. "I will not hear your reasoning. My son has told me everything I need to know. Miss Holson supported his claims and that's enough to decide what to do with these criminals."

Criminals?!

"The girl and that orc shall be expelled from this institution immediately. We do not need any murderers or barbarians here. I have always suspected why that Ernestine brat even allowed these monstrosities to be with us. To breathe the same air and walk the same land as we do, endangering our safety no less! A pathetic excuse of a founder she is! If it were me I would've—"

"You would've what?" Words came out before I stopped myself, my voice low, but it was heard still, drawing their attention to me.

"What did you just say?" He demanded, his anger slipping out more. The room was silent, except for the subtle ticking of the wall clock behind me, and the movement of air around us.

I lifted my head and looked at him dead in the eye. "You would've what?" This time, I replied, louder.

Before he could retort I went on, emotion fueling my words as I advanced with every question asked.

"Would've banned every single, non-human race from the university?

"Would've taught every human that they are greater beings and the ones that were different were meant to be stepped on?

"Would've ordered and tolerated bullying on anyone who was unnatural and weird looking?

"Would've put them in their place?

Isolate them? Degrade them? Despise them for being alive?" No-one stopped me as I approached him, the teachers separating and making way. Even Mr. Dulrik was regarding me curiously.

I scoffed. " 'If it were me' you said. You think I wouldn't notice how everyone else, that isn't human, was oppressed and treated like shit in this school? It seems to me that you already did what you would've done, didn't you? You are no dean, you are a clown, a pillock, a dumbass, and you call yourself human? You are more monster than any of us in this room."

I breathed heavily as I stood a couple of feet in front of him. His face grew to a crimson hue, my ears catching the sound of smoke seething out of him. At the back, David and Miss Holson were dumbfounded, shocked into place, shaken like ugly statues.

Finally, the dean spoke, his fists clenching hard as he faced me, almost drawing blood.

I am so gonna beat him up. Hell yeah, I will.

"Keep out of trouble if you can." Well, shit happened Mama, forgive me.

"How dare you speak to me like that! I, a pure-blood Silverstone, a line of royalty! If we were still at war I would've had you executed from where you stand—"

"How about you do it yourself then, oh mighty Silverstone jerk?" I mocked and gave a toothy smile, then I remembered he wouldn't see it. That was all it took to have him launching himself at me, the professors running to the sides to avoid his wrath.

His hands were balled tight, a fist aiming for my face, eyes filled with deadly intent.

Oh, he really wants to kill me.

Before it connected, I sidestepped, causing him to stumble forward. Even so, he immediately regained his balance and reached to grab my hoodie. I didn't dodge this time, but before he touched me, I used my right hand to slap it away. With my other hand, fitted with my crimson knuckle dusters, I met his fist with mine. Almost instantly, he stumbled back and crouched down, his left hand holding his bloodied one.

"You bitch!!!" he screamed in agony.

I think I broke his hand.

I glanced to my brass knuckles, some of the blood covering them, merely visible because of its color.

Shattered it perhaps.

"I will have you killed you insolent brat! I'll kill you!" he cursed.

"Now, now, Silverstone, you will do no such thing." A feminine voice cut through the large room. We all turned to the door to see a slim, tall, tanned woman who seemed to be in her 40s, her slightly wrinkled face showing it. She was wearing a black high-waist pencil skirt paired with a black one-button suit and a baby blue undershirt. The lady also wore classic white loafers and white hand gloves made of leather, with her ebony hair tied up in a bun.

Everything about her screams 'important'. I scented an intimidating yet reassuring aura around her.

I met her eyes and a sense of familiarity fell upon me. I know her and I've seen her before.

Wait. Could it be— she's—

"Madame Ernestine!" A professor exclaimed.

That means she's, "The founder," I said out loud.

She began sauntering in my direction, each step clicking on the floor, carrying herself with grace.

"M-Ma-Madame Ernestine!" The dean, shrieked as he stood up, shaking, his busted hand in his chest, his back facing me. "I didn't expect you to visit this year! We could've prepared for your arrival—"

"You shut your mouth now Welmir." She spoke out, her voice firm and borderline hostile. "I've had enough of your blabbering mug. I made it so that my arrival is unexpected. Leaving my outside duties rather early and rushed this year when news got to me that you, the dean, were neglecting your duties, or so, doing it wrong. Not to mention I had my assistant install extra cameras in... certain places last year and because of that, I saw what you did in the shadows. Maybe not all, but it confirmed my suspicions of you, and so," She clapped her together, "I decided to visit you today. And what a surprise it was to see you get beaten up by this lovely young lady behind you."

Me?! Lovely—

My face warmed from her comment.

"Listen here, brat." he regarded the founder. The founder. "I do not know what you are talking about. I have done my duties and more for this university. I made it so that everyone here is safe and this girl,"— he spat— "harmed me, my precious son, and his friends!"

"And all of you deserved it, severely," she responded flatly. "You put my dear students at risk and antagonized them with your schemes, tolerating the behavior of treating other races like animals, disrespecting even the professors who are different in kind," she glanced at Mr. Dulrik and the others. "You even forced a minotaur, an elf, and a dwarven student to act the part of being in a student council, hoping people wouldn't notice the crimes you did behind our backs. Did you expect me to turn blind eye to this?"

It was all pretend?!

The mere thought of what he did to threaten them to it makes me wanna puke.

"I am furious, Welmir Silverstone. To think I believed you'd change your ways after my father's death with the renovation of the institute. Trusted you to do your job as dean and make the students comfortable, welcomed. But, no. You chose to follow his footsteps, became selfish, blinded by greed and pointless hate. You are a disappointment to all of us."

I smelled her rage under that near non-expressive facade of hers. It was spicy, like fire having an odor of its own.

"You are but a child! You know nothing of this world! This world of ours needs to be purged off of those rats. You cannot tell me what to do!" He yelled as he brought up his uninjured hand to hit her. I was about to step in when Madame Ernestine grabbed his arm and threw a right uppercut, blood spilling out of his jaw. The punch sent him a few steps back, he would have landed on me if I didn't move out of the way before he collapsed on the floor groaning and holding his mouth.

Ooh she's strong! Nice! I grinned.

"You are hereby stripped off of your job as dean along with all of your titles, properties, and henceforth banished from these grounds, together with your son and Emma Holson, whom I found out laid with him, and the abusive acts they had engaged in." Her words laced with poison, disgust and anger as she gave the final judgement.

"Never show yourselves. Ever. Again," she spat. "Take them away."

Out of nowhere, men in black suits came in and apprehended the young instructor, who twisted her heel trying to escape. She yelled at them to let her go, saying she has done nothing wrong. David, the bastard, was held in place by one of them as he struggled in their grasp. The dean— or should I say, Mr. Silverstone, in pain and bleeding, was dragged up by two others and headed straight out of the door. He shouted ;

"Mark my words, brat! I will—"

And the door slammed close.

With my gaze following them, my eyes landed on Tai'chi. I took off my dusters and waved, tucking them back up my sleeve.

He is smiling! And oh wow he's damn gorgeous— wait what?

My attention was drawn away to the lady in front of me. I got distracted by Tai'chi that I almost forgot about her.

"Oh my God I uhm— hello Madame Ernestine." I took one step back before bowing. "It's an honor to meet you. I—"

"Oh dear, please raise your head. No need for such formal gestures. I am Valerie Ernestine, founder of the new Ernestine State University." She stated as she beamed at me.

"I uh- Yes ma'am I know of you. I'm quite a fan actually— I mean! My name is Pearl Blackbell, ma'am."

Oh God, that sounded so stupid.

Then she hugged me.

"Ma'am?!" I squeaked. My arms went stiff, nervous to even touch her. Before I could, she pulled back, a gentle expression on her face.

"Nice to meet you, Pearl Blackbell."

"I- nice to meet you too Ma'am Ernestine!" I stammered, praying my face and ears isn't as red as I feel them to be.

"Please, call me Valerie."

"Ma'am Valerie."

"Just Valerie, dear."

"I'm so sorry ma'am but I can't— my mother will hit me in the head with a frying pan if I forget my manners."

"Very well, then. It brings me joy that you were raised properly by your parents."

"Thank you ma'am, I really am happy to have them, and I only hope for them to be proud of me— oh wait. Uh, ma'am Valerie?"

"Yes?"

"Am I gonna get punished or expelled?" I shrunk, expecting the worst.

"Why ever did you think of that?"

"W-Well you see, I did harm uh, students and they're probably in the infirmary right now and—"

"Oh, Pearl, no." She let out a light chuckle. "You won't be punished or even expelled for that! In fact, I saw how you defended yourself and your friend from them. They did attack you first, sweetie. And what you did was impressive!" She clapped her hands. As I stood there in relief, I couldn't help but shot up when the words sank in.

"Oh, thank you. But how...?"

"Apparently, I had my assistant install some cameras in the forest area for particular reasons. I watched you from the monitor as I made my way here," she replied.

"Oh. Oh, wow. That's actually pretty awesome," I sighed.

"Indeed, it is," she smiled. "Excuse me for a bit."

******pov shift to 2nd person (two characters)*****

Madame Ernestine turned and walked towards the remaining teachers to talk about important matters at hand.

"Greetings, my friends." She beamed at the staff and looked at Professor Dulrik and the woman who supported him earlier. "Hello, Roldo and Amila. I have missed you dearly." She bent down to hug the two of them before she went on. "I apologize for not taking action immediately. To think he did this to all of you right under my nose! Why didn't you contact me Roldo?"

"My apologies, Madame Ernestine. I didn't have any proof to show his plot against you and the others. He was very elusive and kept us very busy in our own offices for the past year with you away. That was until today, with the young lady over there standing up against his son, he snapped."

"It really is a good thing she came here, didn't she?" she whispered.

"Indeed, Madame," Amila replied.

There was a brief silence, before Valerie spoke up again. Her gaze locked at the dwarven professor.

"Roldo, my old friend, I want you to take your place as the new dean of this university. I trust you to do your duty a hundred percent better than that impudent man ever did. Will you accept this responsibility?"

"I- Valerie this is-"

"Roldo, you are wise and have seen things most of us here have not. I will not force you on something you do not want, but I put my faith in you, to help me, along with the rest of the staff, to teach everyone here that all of us stand in equal ground, and that we must respect and acknowledge each individual, regardless of their kind. No one, no student, should ever feel uncomfortable in this haven of mine."

"I understand, Valerie." The dwarf took a deep breath and vowed;

"I, Roldo Dulrik, son of Grol II, son of Frerin, accept the responsibilities given to me as dean of Ernestine State University. I will do my duty to the best of my abilities, and remain loyal to you and to this institution." He responded as he thumped his right fist against his chest.

"I know you will, my friend." Valerie grinned at him, her eyes full of trust and hope.

While they were occupied with discussing certain issues, you tried to sneak away, only to be called back by Madame Ernestine.

"Pearl, my dear."

"Yes ma'am?"

"Thank you."

She had a soft smile, emotions clear on her face, directed at you. The founder, Valerie was thanking you for your bravery, kindness and overall honesty. You simply nodded and grinned from ear to ear behind your mask. You were, however, suddenly nervous when Valerie and the two professors approached you. No, actually, all of them were, but the others are heading out of the office, perhaps to go back to their respective classrooms and start working, they gave their thanks as they went out.

"Pearl Blackbell, a wonderful name!" Professor Dulrik remarked. "May the Gods bless you and shine upon you in all your days," he grinned. Before you could reply, Professor Amila hugged you and whispered. "Thank you, for beating up those idiots," —which made you giggle— "It was the right thing to do, and also I had to defend myself. and thank you, Professor Dulrik."

"Nonsense, call me Professor Roldo, lass." He patted your shoulder as he went past you and out of the office, but not before he slapped Tai'chi's forearm.

"You best protect her if you can, lad. Even so, it is obvious she won't need protecting!" He laughed, and went on, quietly, as if whispering. "...Be her friend, my boy. Her eyes...they show the pain she had gone through. You saw that in her, didn't you?"

Tai'chi simply nodded in response. He knew what he meant.

"Then do what you must. If word ever comes to me that you hurt her, I will hunt you down with me battle axe hidden in my office, you hear?"

This time, he chuckled. "I hear you, Professor. I won't. I swear on the the name of my clan, no harm will befall on her." He told him, his voice firm and true.

"That's what I'm talking about, lad!" He replied as he finally exited the room.

Tai'chi shifted his gaze to you. You and the dean were still talking so he stood there, patiently.

"We best be on our way. We still have a number of things to set straight. We will see you around, Miss Blackbell. Don't get into trouble now." The founder giggled.

"I will try my best, ma'am."

"Oh sure you will, sweetie. Goodluck. And oh, the two of you should start going back. It's past lunchbreak afterall." She said as the two ladies sauntered past you and went out.

"Thank you, we will." You said, mostly to yourself.

**************************************

Part 6 will be posted shortly! Like, shortly shortly. Like, an hour or so shortly. Stay tuned! Thank you for reaching this point uwu✨

Tags: @crackinanutshell @kokokatsworld @mitchiesdungeon <3

[orwocolor]

Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter Seven

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Cursing

Summary: Gwilym shows up in your bookstore to apologise but there still might be more obstacles on your way to happiness.

Author’s Note: And another sprinkle of angst so that chapter six doesn’t feel so lonely. Only one more chapter and an epilogue remain, so keep an eye out for those! Comments and reblogs are always very appreciated :) Check my masterlist to read the previous chapters. Dedicated to my sweetie @justgwilym​.

Dragging your feet, you crash on your sofa, a floral pattern of one of the walls spinning around you. You squeeze your eyes shut, but as you lose the point of focus, you sense a rise of, so far, the most powerful wave of nausea. You fight the feeling and instead fix your gaze on one of the paintings decorating the living room.

Breathe in.

And breathe out.

You should not have drunk that much. But Jane and Charlotte were unstoppable and admittedly, you needed it. After a couple of drinks, you actually started having fun. Daniel turned out to be a very pleasant companion with a taste for slightly dry humour that, partially due to your inebriated state, made you burst in laughter multiple times during the party.

Oh god, you are going to hate yourself so much tomorrow.

Once it seems the whole world will not tilt again and toss you on your side, you brave a few steps into the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water. Gulping it down, you can already feel its beneficial effects, which are further enhanced when you press the cold glass against your forehead. You serve yourself another drink and with each sip, you begin to trust your legs again.

You release a content sigh as a soft breeze and smell of rain touch your cheeks when you open the windows; it truly does a world of good. Grabbing yourself two slices of toast bread, you settle onto the sofa, open your laptop and click on a random video for you to watch while you wait to get better before you go to bed. If you lay down right now, you’re sure you would throw up.

With an occasional chuckle leaving your lips as you listen rather than watch a stand-up show, you almost miss a soft, hesitant knock on your door. Almost. Your fingers hover above the keyboard as you contemplate pausing the video. If you press the space key right now, there will be no doubt you’ve heard the knocking.

Slowly retracting your hand back to your side, you let the comedian continue in her sketch and you just wait. It probably takes only a minute, but for you, it’s an eternity before you can hear Gwil shut the door to his flat behind him.

You release a breath you have not realised you were holding and hide your face in your palms.

You are not in a state to face him right now. You need some time. And most importantly, you need to put some space between you, otherwise you’re going to care way too much, and you are not in the position of allowing yourself feelings of that sort.

~

“I’m sorry, sir, I’ll be back in a minute, just let me attend to this young lady,” you throw behind your shoulder as you rush to the cash desk and leave a customer in the historical section.

“Maybe I can be of service,” Mr Dean appears next to the customer’s shoulder, who jumps a bit, not expecting someone else, and you send a grateful glance to your friend. You knew you could count on him. Whenever he’s in a good mood, he loves to entertain people in the bookshop and no matter the topic or genre they’re looking for, he turns into an expert, gladly offering recommendations.

You hide a smile when you notice Mr Dean’s eyes sparkling as the man mentions the French revolution and he starts guiding him to the needed section.

“Here you go,” you hand the young woman her bag and say your goodbyes, a shrilling sound of chimes hanging at the entrance door announcing her departure.

While you bend down and disappear behind the till to throw away the receipt the woman didn’t want, the chimes sound again, and you emerge from behind the cash desk.

No.

He’s there, right in front of you, the surprise written in his face matching yours.

“Hello,” Gwil says softly and for a split of a second, you forget to breathe.

You’ve managed to avoid him the whole weekend by some miracle, although, admittedly, on one occasion, when you were forced out of your flat to do grocery shopping, you spotted him at the entrance door when you made a turn to your street. At that moment, you remembered you wanted to check something on your phone, and after fiddling with it long enough for Gwil to get home, you plucked up the courage to do the same.

You assured yourself you just needed some time and space and by the time you would meet him, you would have known what to tell him.

Well, your past self can go screw herself because here you are with your tongue tied.

“Hi, Y/N!” Ben is on Gwil’s tail and greets you cheerfully, his hand raised in a wave.

“Hi,” you manage to blurt out, quite happy with yourself for not butchering the single syllable. It’s all about little victories, right?

“So, uh, I’ll go check some books I guess,” Ben breaks the silence when neither you nor Gwil seems to do so, and scurries farther into the store.

“I am so, so sorry, Y/N,” Gwil eventually breathes out and raises his lowered eyes. “I wish I could have a good reason for not showing up the other day and for copping out on you like that, but I just don’t. I…”

He looks around and bites his lips, looking for a way of how to finish his sentence in books-filled shelves.

You wait patiently because you have the feeling that there is something he needs to say, and it would be ill-advised to interrupt his thoughts.

“Okay, I’m probably already not in your good books, so why not make even a bigger twat of myself, eh.”

“Ha, in the good books. Get it? You’re in a bookshop,” you chuckle, your voice not as strong as you would like it to be.

“Yeah,” he replies, and the corners of his lips rise up slightly. Soon, his voice turns serious again. “Well, I went to that stupid audition and I just fucked it up. Yeah, there’s no better word for that. I fucked it up, big time. I tried to persuade them to give me another chance, I said I would do anything, and the production assistant surprised me. She promised me another audition if I went for a drink with her afterwards, and I… didn’t refuse.” He takes a deep, shaky breath, presumably the first one since he started explaining what had happened. “I wasn’t thinking, and when I realised I was supposed to be with you, it was too late.”

“You could have called me,” you say slowly, daring to meet his gaze.

“My phone was dead. I was fiddling with it so much while I was waiting for the audition. Was driving Ben absolutely crazy.”

“Can confirm!” Ben’s head peeps out from behind a shelf and quickly hides again when he spots both your and Gwil’s not so amused expressions.

“Still,” you start and shake away the trembling feeling that is creeping to your voice, “You could have come by later and explain all of that to me that night.”

By some miracle, it’s as if he senses the direction of your thoughts, and rushes to set the record straight, offering the absolution you haven’t, until now, realised you desperately craved.

“The moment it dawned on me what a jerk I was, I said my goodbyes and left. But it was too late, and I felt like such a prick, so I actually dropped in another pub and drank some more. Was so shit-faced I stayed at my brother’s ‘cause he lives in that area.”

A great weight is lifted from your shoulders and you can finally take a deep and long breath. You feel a smile tugging at the corners of your lips but Gwilym does not see it; he is avoiding your eyes, as mortification keeps surrounding his whole person.

“I am so, so sorry,” he repeats once again and the moment the words leave his lips, you forgive him.

Actually, you already have.

You are just about to tell him so when he finally finds the courage to look into your eyes as he reaches out and gently grasps your hands that have been resting on the counter.

“Please, can you forgive me?”

His thumbs are lightly stroking your skin and you cannot tear away your gaze from his beautiful blue eyes.

“Sir, I must ask you to leave right now!”

Wait, what?

It takes you a moment to become aware of where you are and what is happening. The bookshop, right. And as for what is going on…

“Sir, I won’t repeat myself, leave this building immediately!” Peter’s voice reaches such volume that every customer stops in their tracks, their curiosity taking the better of themselves.  

“I was only showing this young lad the historic section. I don’t reckon it’s a crime,” Mr Dean responds in his defence, which only infuriates Peter some more.

“You’re always just helping other customers, or browsing, or, God forbid, reading our books without paying a single penny for them. I want you gone. This is not a library!”

“Peter,” you say weakly, not capable of wrapping your head around it. He isn’t supposed to be here, otherwise you would have warned Mr Dean beforehand.

“Is that the Mr Dean you told me about?” Gwil whispers and it is only then when you notice your hands are still placed in his and his face is much closer to yours than you remember.

“Yes, I’m–” you start but Gwilym won’t let you finish the sentence.

“Trust me, darling. I’ll stop by at your place at around seven, okay?” he hastily says and places a soft kiss to your cheek before leaving you at the till dumbfounded.

“Grandpa!” he greets joyfully and rushes to Mr Dean to give him a proper hug. “Have you found the book you told me about?”

Mr Dean shoots a glance your way before he replies. “Ah, I… Yes. Yes, yes, I did, give me a second.” You’re taken aback by his quick reaction because you have not moved from your spot, your jaw down, and you are pretty sure your arms are still stretched in front of you although Gwilym’s warm palms are no longer holding them. You fix your posture in an instant and clear your throat, at least trying to give the impression of having everything under control.

Although you are not particularly proud of yourself, you’re still doing better than Peter. He is just standing there, opening his mouth like fish as no words are leaving his lips.

Gwilym pretends he has only just noticed him and raises his eyebrows in make-believe innocence. “Is there any problem here?”

It takes a couple of moments before Peter gathers his bearings.

“I’m sorry, but this is your grandfather?” he finally finds his voice and points an accusatory finger at your dear friend.

“Yeah! He’s been wearing my ear off about this wonderful book he discovered here, so I’m here to get it for him. For his birthday, you know? Which is coming soon, isn’t that right, grandpa?”

“In a couple of days, actually,” Mr Dean confirms and nods his head seriously as if contemplating the fleetingness of time and existence.

“Urgh, I’m the worst grandson ever, really, looking for gifts this late, I should be ashamed of myself.” You are fascinated by Gwil’s acting; he doesn’t miss a beat and comes up with lies so quickly, all you can do is stare in astonishment. It’s not like anyone needs you right now because all customers are watching the scene unfold.

“Ah, got it!” The victorious announcement of Mr Dean makes Gwil turn on his heel and leave Peter behind.

“Wow, that’s really pretty! You weren’t lying about the photographs.” Gwil expertly inspects the pictures of various relics and nods, approvement and appreciation readable from his pursed lips. “Excellent! We’ll take it.” He closes the book in one swift motion and heads to your cash desk.

By this time, you have composed yourself enough to remember all the common niceties, and you are quite proud of your performance as you easily scan the book that you’ve seen cradled in Mr Dean’s palms many afternoons and punch the price into the card reader so that Gwil can pay.

“Would you like it gift-wrapped?” you do not forget to ask and when your gaze meets Gwil, your heart starts beating so fast you almost can’t hear the answer.

“Oh yes, please, that is if we’re not bothering you.” Gwil’s smile lights up his whole face.

“No bother at all,” the corners of your lips rise in a matching smile and you procced to neatly wrap the book in a piece of brown paper, taking extra care to tie a dark blue ribbon around the package.

“Thank you so much, have a lovely day!” Gwilym places the book under his arm and leaves the shop, Mr Dean on his tail offers a wave and a wink that, hopefully, Peter cannot see.

Through the display window, you almost miss Gwil turning around and mouthing ‘see you tonight’ before he and Mr Dean disappear behind the corner. You almost burst into laughter when Ben suddenly emerges from behind the bookshelves and dashes after them.

You have got the feeling that Peter is mumbling something, but all you can think about is your lovely neighbour and the kiss he ever so gently placed on your cheek.

You resist the temptation to touch your face, wondering whether the imprint of Gwil’s lips can be found there, or whether the gesture is forever inscribed into your mind only.

But then, you finally register Peter’s words...

“I can’t believe it! And of all days he’s got to pick today and embarrass me in front of the buyers. God damn it!”

… and your smile freezes.

~

Buyers.

The sequence of syllables still sounds foreign and dangerous to your ears.

Buyers.

No matter how many times it rolls off your tongue, the word remains the same.

So that’s it. Peter’s made up his mind and he is going to sell the bookshop. And that leaves so many questions unanswered. The new owners, are they going to keep the staff, or do they plan to hire a new bunch of people? Is there even some certainty that they will not rebrand and establish a branch of a fast-food chain? It’s not like the city is flooded with them, right.

You feel the dizziness creeping up your neck as those thoughts swirl in your head, not permitting you a moment of peace. You almost crash into a passer-by, but thankfully you manage to keep yourself upright and the take-out bag with your late lunch intact in your hold.

Once you finally arrive home, you heat up the food you have brought with you and open your favourite book in a desperate attempt to diverge the direction of your thoughts.

You are torn between biting your nails from the uncertainty of your future career and halting in the story and daydreaming about Gwilym’s visit tonight. And with that mindset, you go about your day while you clean up, water plants, and dust your flat; you have been putting it off for ages.

Emerged in thoughts, you almost mishear the buzzing sound of the bell. You are wearing baggy trousers and an old t-shirt with stains God-knows from what. You have reckoned you’ve still got time to change before Gwil’s visit. Oh well, he has seen you at your worse.

However, your brows furrow as you step into the hall and catch a glimpse of the digital clock.

5.40 p.m.

Swinging the door open, you are met with no one. Another sound of the bell and the line on your forehead deepens.

“Hello,” you mutter when you press the intercom, and the static comes through.

“Y/N! Hi! Ready to go out and grab coffee with me?”

It takes a moment before the dots connect.

“Oh, Daniel, hi! I… erm… can you give me ten minutes?”

“Sure thing!”

The dash across your flat, from the door to the dresser, then to the bathroom and back to the hall could be considered a match to any Olympian’s winning sprint race, but it is too early after your accident and your ankle makes itself known. You grit your teeth and grab a purse, leaving your flat and hoping no appliances have stayed turned on.

How could you have forgotten?! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

“Hi!” you greet breathlessly when you fly from the entrance door, and Daniel gives you a lopsided smile.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” No matter how hard you try not to give anything away, the blush on your cheeks betrays you. “Oh my God, you did!” Barking out a laugh, he lets you take a couple of deep breaths before you start walking down the street. “Maybe it should be you who’s gonna buy the coffee today.”

“Gladly,” you smile and spot a cosy café. For a split second, you consider taking him to Hazel’s, but then you imagine the soft hues of brown and gold against black and white background of your most beloved café. Your mind goes straight to the day you bumped into Gwil and Ben in there and you do not wish to stain that memory. Besides, this café is right behind the corner of your block of flats, which means you shouldn’t get stuck at some far-off place. “Actually, I owe you ‘cos I’ve got some plans at seven and I need to get home by then.”

“Oh, okay,” he replies hesitantly, and you bite your lips, feeling like an arse. Well, you can make it up for him by paying for the coffee, right?

~

You are trying. You are really, truly trying. Daniel is nice. Funny, smart, and knows all the iconic movie lines off pat, however, the moment you look into his eyes, you feel nothing, there is no bated breath, no heart beating fast. Nothing. And honestly, it seems you are not making a particularly good impression either. He takes notice of your constant checking the time on your phone, and when you catch yourself doing it for an umpteenth time, you roll your eyes at yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter after a moment of silence, which you wish were a companionable one, but you are too fidgety.

“It’s fine, I get it,” Dan offers a sheepish smile, which you return. “Let’s get you back home, okay?”

The wind is chilling and light drizzle lands on your hair. As you walk down the street, you notice that Daniel is trying to gently hold your hand. It starts with your fingers brushing and you would dismiss it as an accidental touch but when his fingertips graze the back of your palm, you sense the intention in the gesture. You bring your hand up, brushing off a damp strand of hair and scratching the back of your neck so as not to give him another opportunity for touch.

Hoping this debacle is behind you now, you say your goodbyes and grab the door handle to your building. Oh, how foolish!

“I know you’re lost in thought today but it was a nice date and honestly, I’m not ready for it to end.” He gives you a smile and his eyes sparkle when you stop in your tracks and turn your head to face him.

His gaze drops down to your lips and you are (literally) taken aback by the movement to such extent that your body shoots away. In the process, you press your back to the doorbell panel and jump a bit, not expecting that kind of contact.

“Careful.” Daniel’s fingers find your waist to keep you upright. “I realise I might not be the man of your dreams, but I hope we can go for dinner next time.”

“I…” you start, unable to find the words that would not hurt him.

“No, don’t say anything,” he whispers, and it is only then when you realise his face has inched closer to yours. And then he presses his lips to yours, and you freeze at the spot.

Your eyelids do not tremble with emotion, neither do you melt into his touch. You just stand there, barely moving your lips and thinking that this guy just cannot take a hint. You might have been waving the ‘I am not interested’ flag right in front of his face and he still would be none the wiser.

When he finally lets go, your gaze is still fixed forward and you suck in your lips in a subconscious effort to prevent him from another attempt of a kiss. However, you catch a flicker of light in the corner of your eyes and without giving it a second thought you twist your neck, and your gaze falls into the entrance hall. The windowpane which reflected two figures kissing a moment ago turns transparent and reveals a figure standing inside.

He’s there, at the top of the staircase, taking you by surprise for a second time this day.

But this time, his eyes are hurt behind his glasses, a deep line is forming on his forehead, and it seems as if he’s rooted to the cold stone floor. Your heart is breaking at the sight of him and you know you must do anything within your power to atone for this moment because you never ever want to see such pain written in his face.

“Gwil,” you breathe out softly and bend down to escape Daniel’s embrace. Pushing the main door, you rush to your neighbour, your friend, your… “Gwil, this means nothing, I’m not –”

“My doorbell rang, and I was foolish enough to think you couldn’t wait until seven. I…” He is avoiding your gaze, his eyes roving round the hall. He brings his hands to his sides, but quickly finds out there are no pockets in his soft camel pleated trousers and so he clasps them together. When he bites his trembling lips, it is almost unbearable to keep your eyes on him, but you cannot look away either.

Then, his features harden, and it is probably worse than before as your stomach tightens.

“Goodbye.”

You almost miss the sound, his voice barely above a whisper. Tears threaten to fall down your cheeks, but Gwilym is already gone, his moccasins tapping against the cold tiles of the stairs. You fight the urge to wrap your arms around yourself and have a breakdown right here and now. All you do is simply turn around, every movement calculated so as not to make an unnecessary one. Daniel is still standing at the entrance, his eyebrows raised in the piqued curiosity of what has just occurred.

“I can’t go for another date with you. I’m sorry.”

But you don’t feel sorry at all, well, not sorry for him at least. Your thoughts have turned into a tangled ball of turmoil and indescribable emotions, which are hard to make sense of.

When you reach your floor, you stop in your tracks to your flat. You have thought you lost all the courage, but you muster some from deep inside and cross the hall to knock on his door with determination.

God knows how long you are standing there, you knock again, and again.

Nothing.

Not even a sign of hope.

Your heart skips a beat when you finally hear the creak of a door being open, but a lump forms in your throat instead when it dawns on you that it is not Gwil’s door but Mrs Thompson’s.

“Hello Mrs Thompson,” you greet meekly the slightly open door of the 3A flat and drag your feet to your home.

You do not bother taking off your shoes or clothes. Crushing straight into your bed, you finally give yourself the permission to let your emotions flow and cry yourself to sleep.

~

Taglist: @lv7867​, @spacedustmazzello​, @queenwouldyourathers​, @im-an-adult-ish​, @fairestkillerqueenofall​, @supernaturalee​, @queenlover05​, @geek-and-proud​, @chlobo6​, @mrsmazzello​, @timeandpixiedust​, @kerouacsroad​, @gwilsmainhoe​​

[herstarburststories]

illicit love

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x reader

Summary: Jensen loves you, but sometimes love isn’t the right thing.

A/N: Hey, guys! All we needed was a newish fic to say that I was really back, here it is! This one goes for @negans-lucille-tblr 6k challenge. So glad you got to another millestone, honey. It's like I was posting my part for your 5k celebration just yesterday! xD Prompt in bold.

Warnings: age gap, cheating

Jensen Ackles kept squinting through the bricks of his memory in an attempt to recall where it all began. Maybe it was when he drove off the road he had known for years with the dumbfounded desire to take the trails yet traveled, threading his fingers through your hair on the night of September 7th. He could’ve chosen the easy out and say it all started to crumble with the first kiss, but no. The actor, father, and now horrible husband highly doubted that. No, as he unwound the convoluted wires in his mind, it wasn’t the first clandestine meeting that he saw as the beginning, not the first kiss or the primal stolen glances. It wasn’t even the lies or the way he pushed his body against yours in an act of illicit faith.

Like any grand mistake, it was way before that. Just like how the church not-so-gently advised, it all starts with craving something you never thought you would want.

It happened when he landed the job in a new series after leaving a fifteen-year-long rollercoaster, pushing away any real witness to the fact the old show that swallowed part of his soul was over. There was a certain shock of excitement misplaced by the fact he was going to be working with Eric again, and that the show was an abrupt change considering what he had been doing previously. Now, he believed it was his body’s particular way of telling him that — as the savage animals can sense rain or a calamity — this, baby, this is gonna change your life.

JENSEN ACKLES CAST AS SOLDIER BOY!

‘’Since when have you read comics?’’ Jensen arched his messy eyebrows at Dee’s curiosity about the Homelander and Soldier Boy panel making it to the screen. Shaking the comic book in his right hand slightly, he continued: ‘’Especially that kind.’’

‘’Never,’’ Danneel stated plainly, “but I have Google. It was pretty much the first thing that appeared.’’

‘’Well, Eric said that scene won't be on the screen. Besides, the portrayal won't be that Soldier Boy, but the original one who died in the war. ‘Course, he wouldn’t have died there in our show, but it ain’t the panel one.’’ He shrugged, bringing her closer to his side as she snuggled against him. ‘’There’ll be a bunch of Herogasm, which is basically drugs and sex. Just not with Homelander.’’

Danneel nodded at his explanation, humor clinging to her words as she added: ‘’Guess the only man I have to share you with is still Jared.’’

‘’Hey, you knew what you were getting yourself into.’’ Jensen scoffed playfully before kissing her cheek. ‘’Can't wait to start the show.’’

Jensen leaned forward to rest the comic that he had been religiously studying to form a psychological character profile on the dashboard of the Impala. The actor was spending plenty of hours inside his most palpable Supernatural souvenir -- Baby. His safe place. He sure as hell needed one of those, as molding a whole character that has a bunch of source material wasn’t as easy as he pictured. With Dean, he was putting himself and the script in one until it made his imaginary best friend. It was love at the first sight. Soldier Boy, however, was a long story short. Jensen figured he should do both, honor the character created and add his own special ingredients to it. It was a brand new kind of passion that he hadn’t done for a series in the longest time. Still, his glance trailed back to the woman by his side in the backseat.

‘’Let's hope it won't last another decade,” she mocked.

Jensen shook his head with a chuckle, relaxing against the leather seat. Even the mere smell of the Impala was enough to settle his nerves. ‘’Eric has plans for five seasons.’’

Danneel’s features contorted as if having war flashbacks. Sort of. She never imagined Supernatural would make it that far, and now with three kids, signing on for another excessively time-consuming idea for a new show didn’t seem too appealing either. Yet, she would support Jensen in any decision he’d take regarding his job. “Remind me the last time I heard that line before?” 

‘’Come on.’’ He let out a wry huff, poking her side in a playful manner. She couldn't help but laugh, returning the gesture with tickles to start a very light-hearted battle. He seemed happy with the new job, something Danneel truly thought he would have more difficulty with. She’d pushed her weathered worries away with his easy-going laughter for now.

SOLDIER BOY’S LOVE INTEREST?

Eric Kripke threw the gossip magazine on the table, his eyes not straying from his long-time friend’s. He could’ve simply added the digital article to an irate email and be done with it, but he was a simple man with extravagant taste. That had been usual through his whole career, especially regarding the Supernatural aesthetic. Yet, in those mundane situations, Jensen almost found it too much. That wasn’t the case, though. If anything, the plain, yet still overpowering words that his green eyes scanned made his body sweat. He could even hear his organs working from the absolute silence of the blame that covered the room. Kripke’s room had never seemed more like an interrogation chamber than now.

The magazine in question held Jensen and your picture on the cover, his arms wrapped around your torso as he pulled you close. The most sequin smile hung from your lips like happiness was something that could be touched on that sunny day in the private park near the studio. Giant and garish letters made the headline along with the subline: Jensen Ackles wearing his Soldier Boy costume caught sharing a passionate kiss with the new arrival of The Boy’s Team: Y/N Y/L/N, also known on-screen as Cangaceira!

His voice came out as an accusation: ‘’What’s this, Jensen?’’

‘’We were…’’ The director just waved his hand to interrupt.

‘’Don’t try saying you were practicing a scene because I wrote the Soldier Boy and Cangaceira kiss, and it wasn’t here.’’ Acid tainted his words with no space for fake niceties on his set. Jensen remained in the chair, not even daring to make the most subtle move. Eric knew where he was hitting, and Ackles deserved a punch in the jaw. “The sex scene wasn’t here either, but you two added a lot of erotic subtext. Trust me, I know.’’

His shoulders fell in exhaustion. ‘’Eric…’’

‘’You’re lucky we were going to make those two a couple anyway. I can just put the kiss here and save your ass. What if that wasn’t the case, huh?’’ the director continued, more interested in spilling out his anger than listening to dumb excuses. ‘’What about Danneel, Jensen? You have a wife and kids, for God’s sake!’’

The breaking point. Jensen rose to his feet with sudden frustration, a growl leaving his lips as he pushed the chair to the side with uncharacteristic brutality. How could Eric bring up his family like this? And how could Jensen’s heart not bring them up when he kissed you before?  It was all a fucking mess, and he had no choice but to choke down whatever came out of it, even if it was poison and spite.

‘’Fuck, Eric! Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think it doesn’t pull me apart every time I go home and know I’m lying to the people who love me?’’ The vein on his neck popped as he spoke, emotion gushing thicker through his arteries than blood. Woe remerged under his skin as he swallowed dryly, resting his hands on the table and looking down. That wasn’t him. He had done a lot of things that weren't him lately. ‘’I have enough guilt here, pal.’’

Eric just glared down at the man’s outburst, furrowing before asking, ‘’What’s going on, Jay? You don’t just get up and cheat on your wife. That ain’t you.’’

He shook his head. ‘’I don’t know. Y/N’s just…’’

‘’At least 20 years younger than you,” he stated. ‘’Just starting her career and might be getting the homewrecker title if someone finds out.’’

‘’I won’t let that happen.’’

‘’How? You are gonna be more careful or will you cut it out and go back to your wife and three kids?’’ When Ackles didn’t respond, Eric sighed. ‘’Just stop this, Jensen. Let her go.’’

Jensen scoffed humorlessly. ‘’I can’t.’’

Kripke felt like talking to a teenager. He shook his head as he got up. ‘’Do you have any idea what you’re doing here? This could destroy your family, destroy Y/N’s chance to make a name when you already have your own. That’s selfish in all proportions, Jensen!’’

‘’I know, I know.’’

‘’She deserves more than this and —’’

‘’I know.’’

‘’You are gonna mess up everyone’s lives —’’

‘’I know!’’ He slammed the table and winced, turning around with his hands on his head. If only he could stop his thoughts for a second and reorganize his feelings. ‘’Do you think it doesn’t rip my heart out that I can’t love her?’’

‘’Who?’’ The burning question was ready to set everything ablaze. ‘’You can’t love Y/N, or you can’t love your wife anymore, Jensen?’’

He couldn’t love you in public. He couldn’t love Danneel anywhere. Love just escaped through his reaches when you spoke his name like a prayer, and it was time to accept that.

‘’Both.’’

NO CHICK FLICK MOMENTS: SOLDIER BOY AND CANGACEIRA TALK ABOUT WHAT TO EXPECT FROM THEIR RELATIONSHIP

‘’It's amazing to portray with Jensen. I’ve watched Supernatural since I was like twelve, which probably isn't advisable.’’ You chortled, answering the reporter’s question. Your body could barely contain your excitement under your skin, although, why would you want that? You did it. You got the job you had dreamed and worked hard for. To a bonus, you were working with Jensen Ackles! If there was someone that had earned the right to scream to the sky until your face was the color of the red carpet your heels currently stood on, it was you. ‘‘I was even a Samgirl!’’

Jensen faked a gasp next to you, a light spectrum surrounding the interview. ‘’Really? Me too!’’

You pushed his shoulder playfully while he chuckled. ‘’Anyway, I'm very excited to be here and portray a strong latina superhero. The representation’s very important, and to be able not only to cherish it, but to be a part of it doing what I love and inspiring people like me is… mythical.’’

‘’Wow, woman!’’ Ackles pursed his lips, clapping a little before shifting his gaze from you to the reporter. ‘’She likes the big words. I swear, dude. She’ll just come and in like, a casual conversation, say something like gelid or whilst, and then she's gonna say dumbass. Both sound smart as heck.’’

You winked. ''It's the accent. Makes everything sound nice.”’

Jensen nodded but was quick to sprinkle in an incendiary remark to his compliments. ‘’Yeah, I have never seen someone confuse coach and couch before. Go sit on the coach got a lot of wrong ideas.’’

‘’Hey, you sat on the coach!’’

‘’Because I’m a good boy.’’

You rolled your eyes despite the grin on your lips. ‘’Sure, mister hours-to-get-ready.’’

‘’Hey, plenty of face masks are needed to keep this — ’’ He pointed at his face. ‘’at fourteen.’’

‘’All I hear is that you’re old.’’ Your eyebrows knitted together. Jensen licked his lips at the sight. On any other day, he’d pick you up, say I’m gonna show you who’s old, and enjoy where your teasing had gotten you two, but he couldn’t do it now. You’d get what was coming to you after the event, perhaps even under the table if your dress allowed it, or in the bathroom, if you kept going.

The mischievous smirk on your cherry-stained lips proved that you knew what was going through his mind. God, you were his sweet death. Nonetheless, Jensen sighed dramatically and looked at the camera. ‘’This is what I have to deal with every day.’’

The reporter went on, happily surprised about how comfortable you and Jensen seemed together. Usually, new coworkers were timider around each other during interviews, especially when they were a romantic pair. The journalist decided to try getting a little sneak peek of the couple aspects of Soldier Boy and Cangaceira.

‘’It's definitely interesting.’’

‘’But not in the best way.’’ The only thing more messed up than Jensen’s relationship with you was the correlation between your characters. At least you and he had the purity of love, even if it was twisted enough to turn heads and churn stomachs

‘’Certainly not in the best way.’’ You agreed, bringing him back into reality as always. ‘’It's really nice to explore a couple that doesn't consist of two white people getting to it like most main characters of the shows in our current climate. It’s not the kind of relationship you should be rooting for — not because it's interracial or anything, that's pretty much the biggest, if not only, positive aspect about those two — but because they aren’t healthy at all, just as all main relationships in our show. It's not a romance series, and we certainly don't treat our couples like it.’’

‘’Told you she is the beauty and the brains.’’ His cheeks dimpled with joy and pride as he looked at you. Jensen knew how excitedly nervous you were about that interview. He couldn’t wait to tell you how great you were like you were born to sell dreams and magazines. ‘’But yeah, it’s a messed up relationship like any other in The Boys. After all, it's not a respectful, wholesome show. It's about gritty superheroes that ain’t got heroism. Soldier Boy isn't a good guy, and it translates in his relationship too.’’

You nodded in agreement, brushing his arm to keep you sane. ‘’It’ll be an interesting dynamic to see on-screen to our show standards, but it's not an actual picture of how a relationship should be.’’

THE BOYS 100TH EPISODE PARTY!

The glimmer of his green comet eyes caught your undivided attention in the throngs of people. The crowd had gathered for his family, his arm around his wife's waist as you both shared a tender, stolen look. You savored her wine and yearned for the man in her arms.

It was just a small celebration due to COVID’s lasting effects on public events. People from the set and their significants together were in the Ackles house for a couple of drinks, small talk, and a cake with The Boy’s comics printed on it.

‘’Aunt Y/N!’’ JJ tugged your dress, her mix of Danneel and Jensen’s features almost haunting your soul. Almost. You would never despise a kid for that — you didn’t even have the right to. If anything, JJ was the one that would graduate to hating you someday. You didn't have enough youthful stupidity not to know the risks of being in love with a married man. ‘’Auntie!’’

You leaned in the most that you could with the red skirt, glancing at the child. ‘’Yes, honey?’’

‘’That’s my new Barbie! I bought a beach one! She looks like you!’’ the blonde kid said with a childish joy that ached in your heart. You could end up destroying her family’s stability if Jensen went any further, yet there she was; buying dolls that looked like you and so happily babbling about it.

You were a monster. Love opened you up and planted greedy seeds, and now you were a monster growing like a beautiful tree that could never be strong enough to hold a kid as they climbed up. The fact that you could sense Jensen’s eyes on your ass didn’t help one bit.

‘’She does! That’s so cute, JJ.’’

‘’You can be her. I have one who looks like mommy, I’ll be her, ‘kay?’’

Your nausea was replaced by a pageant smile and a nod, and so you spent the night sharing longing stares with the dad and playing dolls with the daughter. It was a role that was never yours.

ILLICIT AFFAIR? JENSEN ACKLES SEEN ON THE BEACH WITH Y/N Y/L/N

‘’I can’t believe you did this to me, to our family,‘’ Danneel screamed exasperatedly as she threw her clothes in a bag and heart on the wall. Jensen just stood there, accepting the deserved fury. ‘’Ten years of my life, Jensen, and you just threw it away for a mistress! I gave up on my job to be a stay at home mom because you didn’t want a babysitter. I supported you in every moment. I loved you!’’

‘’I’m sorry…’’

‘’You don’t get to be sorry,” she howled, glaring at him with the hatred of an overthrown nation. She felt like he got to the podium and forgot to say her name. ‘’You let that woman get in my house, drink my wine, talk to my children…’’

Reflexively, he said, ‘’Our.’’

‘’Shut the fuck up! There’s no ours anymore, no us!’’ Her words had garnered a learned violence, much louder than the sound of the zipper closing her duffel bag. She threw the CC exclusive on the floor, holding onto the handle for dear life. He didn’t deserve to see her breaking, only her anger. ‘’You destroyed our family, you destroyed me!’’

He pleaded, unable to discern if it was for her or the guilt: ‘’Dee.’’

‘’I hope you’re happy. I hope you go to her, get her to sleep on our bed, and be happy for a month.’’ She gulped, pursing her lips. Her glossy eyes coupled with the pink hue of her lipstick brought back a treacherous memory of their wedding day. ‘’And then, I hope she cheats, like you did to me.’’

The next headline didn’t call it love.

Comment & reblog. Feedback is magic! Check my masterlist ♡

TAGS IN REBLOG!

WANNA BE TAGGED? SEND ME AN ASK/DM