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beet0pia · 2 years

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Chapter 1; The beginning

(hello! this is my first real attempt at writing a fanfic so please be patient with me as I learn. feel free to let me know any feedback you may have. this is going to be a Daryl x reader fanfic, even though Daryl isn't in this chapter. i hope you enjoy! thanks for reading.)

other chapters

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words: 2,065

Daryl Dixon x reader

warnings: swearing, typical twd stuff

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I looked at the digital alarm clock that was sitting on my dresser, 10:43. “Shit” I mumbled to myself and frantically threw on the first shirt I saw when I opened my drawer. It was a fitted black t-shirt with an oval cutout meant to show off my cleavage. I pulled on a pair of baggy light blue jeans and slipped my arms into the sleeves of my favorite purple cardigan. I ran out of my bedroom, quickly put on my boots, and grabbed the keys to my car out of the small bowl they sat in before heading out the front door.

As fast as I could, I made it to the parking lot and hopped into my car. I glanced at the time displayed on the dashboard, 10:57. This made me realize again just how late I was going to be. I drove out of the parking lot and onto the road towards the small college I attended. Classes always started at 11 am sharp, this was emphasized from the first day. I pulled into the parking lot and quickly got out of my car. I hoped I could slip into class without my professor noticing, alas that wasn't going to happen. “You're late miss L/N” Dr. Collins practically barked in my direction, causing a few heads to turn and look at me. I mumbled an apology and sat near the back of the classroom.

The class went by quite slowly, it usually did, but I still loved it nonetheless. Majoring in biological sciences was one of the best decisions I've made. We went over some of what we had learned that year, as our finals were coming up in a bit less than 2 months. The lecture was cut short by the phone ringing, Dr. Collins went and picked up the phone, saying a quick “hello” before listening to what the person on the other end of the line had to say. All I knew was that, whatever this call was about, it wasn't good. His face paled and his eyes widened, after he hung up the phone he turned towards the class and said in the most concerned voice “we’re gonna die”. This caused a lot of people to frantically start moving around and yelling questions at the poor professor. He didn't respond and instead turned on the small television in the corner of the room. Displayed on the screen was what I can only describe as chaos, people running away from others who were covered in what looked like blood, people screaming and crying in pure terror. The camera then panned over to the reporter, who was trying to remain as calm as she could in this situation. “As you can see behind me, chaos has broken out here in Atlanta. Seemingly normal people have started viciously attacking each other.” She was about to continue when one of the bloody people came up behind her and grabbed her shoulder. When she turned to look, they lunged forward and took a bite out of her neck. Suddenly the camera fell to the ground and all that was seen and heard was the bloody grass and the screams that came from the woman. This caused a huge panic to erupt in the class, with everyone yelling and trying to run out the door. I just sat there, in shock at what had just gone down on the screen. As my classmates ran out the door to the hallway, more screaming could be heard outside. Finally, I got up and headed towards the commotion. Those things made groaning noises while ripping chunks out of screaming people in the hallway. I then heard that horrible groaning coming from behind me, turning around I came face to face with the lifeless face of one of them. My fight or flight response kicked in, and I turned and ran towards the door, without drawing much attention from those damn things, I made it to my car.

I started driving towards the highway, not even bothering to go back to my apartment first, thinking that I had nothing of value to get. I was quickly greeted with the biggest traffic jam I had ever seen. People were honking and screaming everywhere. I sat there listening to the commotion and thinking about where to go for what felt like hours. Then most of the noise stopped. I stepped out of my car to see what was happening, in the sky were about 10 helicopters all flying towards the city. People started climbing their cars and waving frantically in an attempt to get the attention of what they believed was help. Instead of any help arriving, the next thing that happened was just more chaos, we all watched as a loud boom followed by a cloud of smoke and light erupted in the city only a few miles away. They were bombing the city we had all come from not long ago. There was no one coming to help.

After a while many of the people started either running or driving away, I just sat and thought about everything for a while. Finally, I decided I had to go, not sure where, but I knew it was what I had to do. Opening the back door of my car I grabbed the small backpack that was hanging on the back of the passenger seat. My grandmother always kept what she called an “emergency pack” in case of breaking down and getting stranded and I took her advice to do the same. I rummaged through it just to see what I had: a small flashlight, a metallic blanket, a multitool, a pocket knife, a few granola bars and bags of beef jerky, a change of clothes, as well as a small book of mazes and crossword puzzles. I threw the bag over my shoulder and started walking along the side of the road.

Walking for what I believed was around 2 hours, I took whatever turns felt right. It was getting rather dark and I started to feel tired both physically and mentally. I knew roughly where I was and if I was correct in my assumption, that meant I was near a campground. I walked into the forest next to me and began going in the direction I thought the camp was in. suddenly I saw it, a small group of log cabins. Not seeing any obvious signs of life I started towards the cabins, making sure to listen carefully to hear if there were any people or those things. Not hearing anything I went and looked into the window of a small cabin, making sure it was empty I slowly pushed open the door, gripping the pocket knife in my hand. There was no one inside. Inside it was quite small, only 2 rooms, one was the living area which had a small couch and a table with four chairs stacked neatly in the corner, as well as a few cabinets along with a counter. The other room was a bedroom, in the center was a full-size bed made of logs and made with a deep green plaid blanket and matching pillows. There was a small table with an oil lantern in both rooms. I sighed and went over to the lantern to have some light in the room. I pulled the lighter out of my jacket pocket and lit the small fire inside. Making sure the front door and windows were all locked I then went and sat down on the edge of the bed, kicking off my shoes and rummaging in my pocket before pulling out a cigarette. Once I finished my well-deserved smoke break I laid down and tried to get as comfortable as possible before drifting into a restless sleep.

I was awoken by the sound of banging on the wall next to me, I peered out from behind the curtain hanging in front of the small window. I was shocked to see one of those things. Still half asleep and annoyed at the fact I had been woken up so abruptly, I rubbed my eyes and sat back onto the edge of the bed to slip on my shoes. Throwing my cardigan back on and grabbing my bag I started heading out the door. I walked around the cabin to where the thing was and stared at it for a moment as it pounded on the wall. Slowly I started walking towards it, attempting to not startle it. I made my way right behind it and held my knife up in case it turned to attack. Of course, it did, the thing turned around quickly as I stepped on a stick, causing it to break with a small crack sound. In a fit of panic, I stumbled backward as the thing reached out to grab me and groaned louder than before. I tripped as I stepped backward and fell onto my butt with a thud. As the thing got closer I kicked my foot out causing it to fall on its face not even a foot away from me. I stumbled up so that I was kneeling in front of it and watched as it tried to grab my leg. I almost felt bad for it, but whoever this thing was previously was long gone. I held the knife as tightly as I could and plunged it into the thing's temple. After a harsh tug, I pulled the knife out and wiped it on my pant leg. I had heard people on the highway saying that these things would only die with a hit to the brain and I mentally thanked myself for eavesdropping on that conversation. I stood and decided I would have to continue walking until I found something of use.

It was probably around noon now, as shown by the sun being so high in the sky, when I heard what sounded like people talking. I tried as quickly and quietly as I could to head towards the voices. Finally, I saw them, a group of people. I was cautious and tried to decide how to approach them to not end up scaring them. I hid behind a large tree and closed my eyes, trying to muster up as much courage as I could. I was never very good at talking to people, and now it seemed like everyone was on edge. Then I heard a crunch, I quickly opened my eyes to see what had happened and was met with a man holding a gun directly at my head. “You alone?’ he asked while his eyes darted around as if to find others hiding in the trees. I nodded slowly to not startle him as he already seemed stressed enough.

“It's just me, I'm alone.”

“Are you armed?” he said quickly and with much authority that made me think that he must be the leader of this group. Again I nodded, pulled out my knife, and held it towards the ground.

“I just have this,” I said quietly as I threw the knife onto the ground in front of him. He sighed and lowered the gun from my face.

“Sorry ‘bout that, have to be cautious with all those geeks around. I'm Shane.”

“Y/N”

He nodded and told me to follow him, which I did. We got to the center of their camp, where he introduced me to everyone that was there. The camp was in a quarry, all around were trees and rocks, at the bottom of a large hill there was a lake where a few women were washing clothes. I was happy to have found a group of people that seemed to have some kind of system in place. Shane then helped me set up an extra tent they had, I thanked him and he left me to get set up. I laid out the sleeping bag I had been given along with my blanket and the pillow I had taken from the cabin. It wasn't until I had sat down that I realized how tired I still was after a night of restless sleep and being woken up by the thing these people called “geeks". I laid down on the not-so-comfortable bed I had made and before I even decided what I was going to do, I fell asleep.

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chapter 2

#twd #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl x reader #twd x reader #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x female reader #twd fanfic #daryl dixon fanfic

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c-e-d-dreamer · 3 years

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This is so long and so angsty, and I am so sorry! Also, I took the “Music” prompt a bit loosely and based this off music lyrics? Hope that counts. Song is I Do by Wild Rivers :) @nessianweek

My sweater on your bedroom floor, you can take that // You don’t want my love no more, honey I can shake that

Cassian swallows down a sigh as he opens up the trash bag in his hands. The crinkle of it as he shakes it out is especially loud in the quiet of his bedroom, like a crack of thunder ringing in his ears. Leave it to Mor to demand that he “spring clean” and “finally get rid of that shit you hoard” only to bustle out of his apartment without even an offer to help.

The living room had been an easy place to start. The photos had been one of the first things he had removed post-breakup, so there wasn’t much left out there anyways. But his bedroom. Well, he isn’t sure the last time he'd really gone through his closet.

He opens the doors to find various clothing and items strewn about haphazardly. Some are on hangers, some are stuffed onto the shelf above, and a good chunk litter the floor. He tries to organize as he goes, pulling out and sorting through the different items to decide which to keep and which to donate. He’s sifting through the pile on the floor when his hand brushes against something soft and somehow familiar. With a tug, he comes face to face with a small cream colored sweater. The sight of it has him falling back onto his ass, his breath hitching as he runs his thumb along the cable knit pattern.

If he closes his eyes, he can see them here, see her in this very sweater. He can feel the sweater under his palms as he slides his hands over her waist, feel the delicious warmth of her skin as slips his fingers under the hem. He can hear her laughter in his ear, like a favorite song he wants to bottle up and play on loop, as he presses kisses to her neck and behind her ear.

Cassian digs the palms of his hands into his eyes like he can scrub the image from behind them, but all it does it make his chest ache. Like a damn full of splintering cracks, barely held together with tape. He can feel that familiar thickness clawing its way into his throat, and he can’t take it. He tosses the sweater into the trash bag and heads for the kitchen, desperate for a beer.

I come, you go, back around back around // I see your ghost on a train downtown

Downtown is a mess as always. All Nesta can think about is a glass of wine, the chocolate cake in her fridge that she picked up from Trader Joe’s, and the next chapter of her book waiting for her on her nightstand. But instead, she’s weaving her way through busybodies and tourists who don’t know how to stand on the right and walk on the left.

Once she gets through the crowds, she walks with practiced ease to the platform she needs, scrolling aimlessly through the array of texts from her sisters and friends from earlier today. She sends off a quick reply to Gwyn and Emerie before sliding her phone back into her bag. She turns to look at the board above the platform to check the wait time of the next train when her eyes catch on something else. Someone else.

The sight of broad shoulders and a tangle of curls corralled into a top bun has Nesta’s heart stuttering to a painful stop and clenching hard deep between her ribs. She can already feel that all too familiar prick pressing in behind her eyes, threatening release. She can practically hear his laughter from here, loud and booming and so full of life, as he throws his head back.

All it takes is one thought to send her spiraling back. Back to a calloused hand sliding against her own, fingers curled firmly around hers. Warm. Safe. It takes her back to a nose brushing against her hair at her temple, that laughter in her ear, a promise that screaming at passing trains is the best form of therapy.

Nesta has to turn away and press a hand over her mouth to keep in the choked sound trying to spill forth. When she looks back down the platform, he’s gone, and all Nesta feels is the hollowness pressing in on all sides.

It’s just a baseball cap, I ain’t even missing // And a Springsteen track, I don’t listen

Cassian’s late. He knows it. Azriel is going to kill him if he’s not out the door soon. He does another quick check around his room, pulling out drawers in his dresser and even checking under his bed. And then it hits him, a flash behind his eyes harder than a slap across the face.

It’s the hat being placed on a head of golden brown waves. It’s a soft press of lips against his own and lithe arms winding around his neck. It’s a mumble of “it looks better on me anyways” and clear eyes piercing into his own, deep and smokey blue and glinting like the roiling ocean under a setting sun.

Cassian has to clench and unclench his fists a few times to get his head right, but then he’s pulling open his closet doors and digging out a different hat to throw over his mess of hair. He snags his keys and sails out the door to his car. When he turns the key in the ignition, the radio hums to life, the familiar lyrics of Springsteen flooding out of the speakers. Cassian almost wants to laugh at his luck. It would be this song.

Even with Springsteen’s vocals blaring, all Cassian can hear is his own voice singing along, purposefully off-key, her laughter-filled pleas for him to stop as she reaches across and tries to stifle the sounds with her hand over his mouth. With a hard jam of his finger, the radio cuts out. Cassian takes a deep breath, throws the car in reverse, and drives in silence the rest of the way.

It's just an old habit, I don't gotta kick // Or your best friends' pictures, I don't check 'em

The pile of blankets atop Nesta is the only armor she needs. She curls her body and burrows deeper into them as she opens Instagram on her phone, the small rectangle the only light in her otherwise dark bedroom. She takes a few moments to scroll through the posts on her feed and click through some Stories, but there’s no beating around the bush. She knows why she’s here.

Her finger hesitates for only a moment over the search button at the bottom of her screen, but then she’s selecting it. It only takes her typing in the “A” before the page comes up, and Nesta refuses to let the shame threatening to heat her skin win at what that means. She clicks on the first picture, taking in the wide smiles, the arms slung casually over shoulders. Nesta bites her lip so hard, that tangy metallic taste floods her tongue.

She shuts her phone off abruptly, tossing it onto her nightstand before rolling over. She curls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms tightly around herself, focusing on the phantom feel of different arms holding her close and warm breath ghosting across her shoulder. If she closes her eyes tight enough, she can feel the press against her back with each breath he took, feel the words “I love you” whispered against her spine.

Now I'm driving by the place we met // Could you go there?

Cassian’s so distracted, he doesn’t even realize he missed the turn for his apartment. He’s not even fully sure where he’s going until the familiarity starts to sink in. It’s too easy to pull up alongside and throw his car into park. At this hour, it’s all dark through the large windows, but there’s no mistaking the small wooden tables with the chairs stacked atop them. The register and the glass display case. The chalkboard declaring the seasonal drink specials in bright colors and swirling writing.

Cassian can still taste the sweetness of her drink against his tongue. Can still see her pointedly raised eyebrow and unimpressed frown like it’s branded at the molecular level of his brain. Those eyes cutting through him from the minute they locked with his own. That lilting voice of hers still ringing in his ears and asking him what he thought he was doing with her drink.

Cassian grips the steering wheel of his car until his knuckles turn white, letting his head drop until his forehead meets the leather. He takes a few deep breaths, then he’s throwing the car back into drive, letting the coffeeshop fade away in the rearview mirror.

Now you wanna talk? // Babe I don't care

“Nesta.”

It’s a simple sound. Just her name. But in that soft timbre, in that voice that Nesta’s heard rumble through his chest, it makes her blood freeze over. She knew she never should have agreed to come to this garden party. As soon as the text came through from Feyre, she should have declined. But that voice in the back of her mind, it had niggled, it had gnawed, it had climbed to the forefront, and now she’s standing in Feyre’s backyard, a cup of some sort of punch clutched between her hands and Cassian approaching her.

“You look good,” he says once in front of her.

Nesta is sure that has to be a lie. All she feels is weighed down, like every second of every day is spent trudging through thick mud. Concealer can work wonders, but it’s no miracle worker. And with him standing this close, close enough for Nesta to feel the warmth that always seemed to radiate off his frame, to smell that combination of fabric softener, cologne, and just him. All she can think about is the air stuttering through her lungs.

At her silence, Cassian clears his throat awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “So, how have you been?”

It’s casual, and Cassian throws an easy grin her way as he says it. Nesta hates it. She hates the way that he does look good. Hates the happy ease he didn’t even have to try to muster or pretend when he arrived, hugging and laughing with their families. Hates that she can tell the laughter lines around his eyes have gotten deeper.

“No,” Nesta says, turning on her heel abruptly and heading back toward the house.

She hears Cassian call after her, but she doesn’t stop. She’s surprised the whole backyard doesn’t hear the crack resounding from her chest, leaving shards of glass embedded deep in the skin.

I see you out in a bar downtown, but you look so different like you don't go thinking, but I do

Cassian watches the ice cubes bubble and clink in his glass of whiskey. He gives the glass another swirl before throwing the amber liquid back, reveling in the burn against his throat. He tosses a couple bills onto the bar-top and slides off the stool with a sigh. He turns toward the exit but his eyes catch on the other end of the bar.

Nesta is there, and Cassian’s entire body feels like it’s been set on fire as he takes her in, the gentle waves tumbling over her shoulders, the small black dress clinging to her every curve. He recognizes Gwyn and Emerie standing with her. He sees her laugh at something one of them says. Over the music and the crowds of the bar, he can't hear it, but it still rips through his chest like an arrow. Before he can even make a conscious decision, his legs are carrying him toward her, always toward her, like a ship brought home to safety by a lighthouse.

“Nesta,” Cassian says once he steps up behind her.

She turns and looks up at him, and his breath hitches in his chest all over again. His fingers itch to brush the hair away from her face, tuck it behind her ear and run the pads of his fingers through the ends. Her eyes are guarded and it makes his gut twist, urging him to press his lips against her skin until that look melts away like it used to. Maybe if he’d had another glass of whiskey he’d be feeling more brave. But the alcohol thrumming in his veins gives him enough courage to ask the question that’s been burning a hole through his head and heart.

“Do you ever think about us?” he asks, voice quiet and just for them.

A silence settles between them, but it’s charged, like even in this crowded downtown bar, everyone is holding their breath, waiting with baited anticipation. As the seconds tick by, Cassian begins to wonder if she’ll even answer, if he’s made a mistake, but then her hand is reaching up, smoothing a stray lock of hair away from his eyes.

“I do.”

#my fic #acotar #nessianweek2021 #nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #to the tune of let's get loud #let's get sad let's get saaaaaadddd #I cried myself while writing this if it's any consolation

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 3 years

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SWAT Guy (Part 4)

(gif by @supernatural-jackles)

Summary: Dean and Sam have a setback in their case and decide getting drunk is the best course of action. The boys end up sharing some of their darker memories with one another but it might be exactly what they need to crack the case...

Masterlist

Pairing: SWAT officer!Dean x reader

Square: In Vino Veritas

Word Count: 1,400ish

Warnings: language, smidge of angst

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Sam is the reader’s brother. This was written for @supernatural-jackles Tell Me A Story Bingo. Enjoy!…

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“Hey guys,” you said. They both grunted from the couch as you put the pizza box and other bag on top of the counter. “How was work? Any news in the case?”

“Not yet,” said Dean, Sam knocking back his drink. You caught the empty bottle of bourbon on the counter while you washed up, knowing for a fact it was half full the night before.

“Are you guys drunk?” you asked.

“Yup,” said Sam, leaning his head back over the edge of the couch. He giggled and Dean started to laugh. You rolled your eyes and got out a few pieces of pizza and fries for them, putting them on plates and carrying them over.

“May I ask why you two are drunk?” you asked while you fixed up your own plate.

“A bunch of shit went missing from the arsenal today,” said Dean. “They had the balls to drill under the building in the middle of last night.”

“Zero leads,” said Sam, taking a big bite.

“Something bad is going down. Real bad. Like stay the fuck home the next few days,” said Dean. Sam hummed around his food and you took a seat next to Dean. “It’s gonna be a fucking shit show when it goes down.”

“You guys are trained for that kind of thing,” said Sam, making a mess on his shirt as he scarfed down his food.

“They have our equipment. People could die,” said Dean.

“Yeah but you gotta try still,” said Sam, eating four fries at once. “I mean I got PTSD from that guy and I still go catch murderers every day.”

Dean’s head snapped in your direction and you slumped down.

“You have PTSD?” asked Dean.

“Yeah, he does,” you said quietly.

“Guy broke in our house when we were teenagers. Killed our parents. Almost got us too,” said Sam before he burped.

“Your parents were murdered?” said Dean. You nodded and took a small bite of pizza. “I’m sorry. Did they catch the guy?”

“It was a long time ago. Eventually yeah. He got life, no parole. I didn’t see or hear anything really. Sam came in my room and put me on his back and hopped out the window with me and ran us to a neighbors house. He’s the one that…”

“Saw it?” said Dean. Sam nodded and reached for his empty glass. “Yeah. I’ve seen my fair share of fucked up shit too.”

“I was so fucking jealous when you transferred to us,” said Sam with a laugh. “I heard about Denver. You go through that and here you come in all normal and cool and happy and I’m the one still going to therapy for something that happened nearly fifteen years ago.”

“The grass ain’t any greener over here,” said Dean. He was looking far more sober than Sam, one of his arms curling around your waist. “We can’t save everyone Sam. You were a kid. You saved the one you could and that is all we can do.”

“Did you really lose your family in Denver?” asked Sam. You knew Dean’s family had died suddenly a few years ago but he’d only ever implied it was an accident, nothing more.

“It was my mom’s birthday. Everyone was staying the night at the old house. My father was working on a case with the mafia. It was a pretty bad night.”

“How’d you…” you said, Dean smiling softly at you.

“Luck. I spent a month in the ICU. I have nightmares from work, don’t get me wrong. But mostly they’re about that night,” he said. He got up and took Sam’s glass away, replacing it with a bottle of water. “Next time we get drunk, it’s cause we caught this son of a bitch, not a pity party. Got me Sammy?”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“No, I’m not. But she’s my girl which makes you my boy and I was a Hell of a big brother if I don’t say so myself. So. Let’s eat, sober up, and tomorrow let’s try to catch these guys. Alright?”

Sam ripped off a chunk of his pizza and hummed. Dean sat down beside you and you rested your head on his shoulder.

“Eat your dinner, baby,” you said quietly. “We’ll talk later.”

“I’m sorry,” you said in bed that night after Dean told you about what had happened in Denver. “It sounds like a horror movie.”

“It was. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone,” he said as you had your arms wrapped around his back. He had himself tucked into you, his head under your chin. “But I’ve felt more like my old self the past few months. Met this sweet girl, makes me feel better.”

“I love you.” He turned his head up, smiling at you.

“You love me? Why?”

“You make me happy and I care about you. I wish you were as happy as you make me feel.”

“I was low before you. I hid it was all. But you do make me happy. You and Sam. I feel like I have a family again maybe,” he said.

“You do,” you said, kissing him slowly, lingering your lips together. “I got you tonight and every other night. I promise.”

“Good morning,” you yawned, both boys working at the kitchen table with their laptops. You gave Dean a kiss on the cheek and ruffled his hair before resting your chin on top of his head. “You had no nightmares.”

“Nope,” said Dean with a smile. You peered down at his screen, Sam sipping on a cup of coffee. “How’s it going over there?”

“I think you’re onto something with that theory of yours.”

“What’s the theory?” you asked.

“Well,” said Dean, encouraging you to take a seat on his lap. “I was thinking, most crap in that room you can get on the black market. But then it hit me, it wasn’t about them getting it.”

“It was making sure the cops didn't have it. Whatever they’re doing is going down today and would require SWAT to use that specific equipment they stole,” said Sam. You hummed and Sam turned around his laptop. “You know more about this stuff than me-“

“You’re a better investigator than I am,” said Dean, taking hold of Sam’s laptop. His eyes flickered over top of the screen and he smiled.

“You think that’s it?” asked Sam.

“I think we got it Sammy boy.”

One Month Later

“Well don’t you two look all cute with your awards,” you said. Sam rolled his eyes but Dean took it as an opportunity to gave you a big fat kiss.

“I am literally right here,” said Sam.

“That ain’t my problem,” said Dean. Sam smacked in him the back of the head after you’d broken apart and Dean flicked his ear back.

“Boys,” you said as the chief of the station walked over.

“Enjoying your party boys?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” they both responded, a small smile crossing the chief’s lips.

“Maybe this will be a reminder that working across departments can be a good thing going forward. I’d like you two to head up any joint task force efforts that may fall under either of your purviews,” he said, both boys nodding. “Enjoy yourselves.”

“Well,” said Dean after the chief had walked away. “I say we get Sammy a girl tonight to celebrate.”

“Yes!”

“No!” groaned Sam.

“Little hottie from the press office in the green dress over there has not been shy about eyeing you up and down,” said Dean. Sam spun his head around and rolled his eyes.

“That’s just Eileen guys. We’re friends.”

“Eileen! Sam wants to dance!” you called across the way as you pushed Sam over towards her.

“I’m gonna kill you!” muttered Sam, all smiles by the time Eileen was there.

“This is why I love you,” said Dean, kissing your temple and reaching behind you, trying to steal the last jalapeno popper off your plate.

“Thief,” you said, picking it up. You held it up to his mouth and he took a big bite, grinning after he’d swallowed. “You know...I know we said you’d move back home when this all settled down but we could...you know.”

“I think I’m sticking around home for a while if that’s alright with you,” said Dean. You grinned and he rested his head on your shoulder. “I kinda got this no nightmare streak going lately and I’d hate to mess with that.”

“More than alright with me, babe,” you said as you kissed the top of his head. “More than alright.”

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#tell me a story bingo #supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean #winchester #dean spn #dean au #swat!dean x reader

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soobadnoonecanstopher · 3 years

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Touch it for Real, Part 2

Genre: Humor / Fluff / Eventual Smut

Warnings: OMG they were roommates / slice of life / slow burn / mutual pining / crude humor / cursing / virgin!baek / enemies to lovers

Characters: Baekhyun X You/Female Reader

Description: You teach Baekhyun how to date. (Basically the Get You Alone M/V)

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

What you didn't know — what you couldn’t have known was that it wasn’t real. The flush you felt in your skin was real. The sticky sweat that spread over your bed sheets when you tossed and turned was real. The heat of it; the perceptible and tactile fire that spread through your veins felt so physical and solid, you had no way of knowing that this wasn’t real.

Slim fingers.

Fleshy thighs.

Hip bones beneath well worn denim.

Buttons popping with the barest of effort.

And the lips. Oh God, the softness of those lips as they traveled over your very hot skin. You could feel it all.

You never saw his face; you hadn’t needed to. You could smell him everywhere. You knew who this was. You’d know him with your eyes blinded; you’d know him anywhere.

At first you turned away. At first you resisted, but as the fire spread through you, you found yourself turning into him, searching for him, seeking out that connection to fuel the heat.

Why was this happening? Why did you rejoice in it? The longing and the desire had simply become too much for you to deny and now you were the one pulling him into you. You were the one who wrapped your legs around that slim waist and constricted and those sounds from his chest they were...they were…

Those sounds from his mouth, they were—

Screaming.

Laughing.

‘AH HA HA HA AH — YES!’ Rough staccato laughter; so, so loud — so damn loud, it ripped and it tore at your mind and it yanked you up so roughly; up so fast you felt your entire body shaking if not completely falling apart with the speed at which you were pulled.

You opened your eyes into pitch blackness. Your vision took only a second to adjust and you could make out the sliver of dim light from the street lamp outside that peeked through the very top of your curtains.

On your nightstand, pale yellow squared numbers taunted you with 03:42 AM and covering your entire body where you laid on your once so welcoming bed was your bunched up and sweaty comforter. It was heavy. It was everywhere. You felt suffocated by it. Why was it so hard to breathe?

Your comforter. You purchased it because it was pretty. It fit in perfectly with your room decor and it was pale in color enough that the brightly colored stuffed animals you set atop stood out and complimented the subtle pattern. It made you feel at home.

It used to make you feel at home. Now it was making you feel a very different sort of way. Hot and sweaty and flushed all over and now, very mad about all of it.

You could still feel that shaking deep inside your chest and you laid your palm over your forehead to feel for a fever. You swear you could feel the tremble happening inside, though it was fading now, you were sure you still felt that shaking inside of your body.

It was beginning to settle.

You felt another rumble, paired with a loud booming sound that vibrated and shook your wall. The glass of your window quaked and the pale yellow numbers on your nightstand danced in your vision.

‘HAHAHA! I got you asshole!’

03:44 AM

Speakers. Surround sound. Heavy bass. An impressive system at any other time of the day when the sun was out. But right now? When you had been peacefully asleep; when you had been dreaming? Earth shattering booms. Deafening shouts of victory from the idiot with every new explosion that rattled your bones.

You sat up and the comforter stuck to your sweaty skin. It wasn’t even hot in this room, yet this thing clung to you like it was coated in glue. Nearly four in the fucking morning.

You had to work tomorrow. It was the one day a month when you were required to report to the office in person for the staff meeting. And here you were being ripped awake by such a disturbing commotion and goddammit this blanket was hot.

This … thing.

This thing that brought with it images of him and images of, oh god, images of his fingertips and his lips and his, oh god, oh no. No, please not that. Anything but that. Of all the things that were absolutely off limits. Of all the situations that could never happen. Horror. An overwhelming horror; it tasted of shame.

No, no, no, no.

How could this have happened? How could those images be burning into the backs of your eyes? The more your overtired mind tried to make sense of it, the less sense this made. You looked down at the blanket, searching for answers.

Had something about this blanket been ruined?

Was it’s once comforting and innocent essence somehow completely changed on a molecular level and was it now….tainted forever? Because of him? Because of what he brought into your room and depravedly rubbed all over it?

You pushed it away with both hands reaching you pushed and pushed until it sunk down off the foot of your bed and the cool air blew over your hot bare legs. Even the cool air did little to calm the irritation you felt all over your body. It did nothing to cool you off. Your legs were made of pure fire.

He did this. You were sure of it. He brought this evil on you. And now with his room shaking howling laughter you were wide awake and angry at almost 4 am when you had work in the morning; you had to be worth a damn in the morning.

You were up on angry legs with rage pushing you forward and you reached down for the blanket that you didn't even want in your room anymore for all it represented. You hauled it with both hands and took two steps forward toward your closed bedroom door when your forward progress took a quick and southward dive and you fell, tripped up by the wretched blanket when you stepped on a corner instead of on your soft rug.

You could feel the burn on your kneecaps where you collided with the hard floor. You could feel a sting on your left knee that hit the hardest but burned into the carpet and you grunted through the pain to quickly lift yourself back up and gather every other bit of hanging blanket securely inside your arms.

The trek through the living room at such an ungodly hour when every living breathing cell in your body would have rather been asleep felt absolutely crazed. You reached his door, turned the knob just enough for the latch to disengage and with your entire being hurled that motherfucker open and sent it flying.

Oh and it flew. It hit the wall and bounced back hard, bouncing back quickly against your arms that held on securely to the blanket. The noise was shocking. It was a vindicating battle cry.

The commotion startled him. His hands were on the keyboard and a pair of headphones atop of his head and for WHAT, you could hear every single thing happening on his screen in mind deafening stereo surround sound filling up the whole room. You could hear it clearly from your own room and from inside this room it sounded like you were living inside of the subwoofers themselves.

Your rage was somehow louder and it made him spin toward the motion and sound of you at his doorway with a shriek of surprise. His eyes were saucers and his mouth flew open; an unchewed bite of some pink sausage fell out and bounced off his knee onto the floor below his sock covered feet and he was only screaming for a second before he was cursing.

“Shit. Jesus. Fuck. Ohh my God, Fucking Hell, oh my heart. Oh it hurts. Oh Christ I’m dying.” He was clutching at his chest. His headphones, the useless things slipped off his head and toppled down his shoulder following the sausage chunk and you could see them fall all the way down to the floor. The cord, which had not been plugged in quickly followed and pooled into a puddle at his feet.

“Do you have any idea ... what time it is?” Your voice sounded foreign to your ears. Had you always sounded so burly? You felt like an angry mountain lion ready to go in for the kill.

His eyes were closed up tight and he inhaled a deep breath before cracking them open to look at you through the heavy panicked breaths.

“Ohhh,” he moaned as his breathing calmed and the shock faded with each slow breath he took. “Ohhhhh,” he repeated softer, to himself.

“Ohhh…” this time he was looking at you and his eyebrows furrowed together as he did it. “Oh—whoa, whoa, whoa, you look….super fucking crazy right now. What is happening?”

His hands were up in confusion; in defense, and you were moving forward taking the stupid blanket and roughly shoving it toward him you hurled it right at his face and watched it hit as hard as a soft cottony blanket could manage to hit — it was more of a gentle nudge really, and then it fell down, taking his stupid glasses off his face and burrying them somewhere within the fluff where the blanket fell.

He was too confused to catch it. He had absolutely no idea what he had done to defile and destroy the sacred sanctity of your sleep.

He had no idea.

“What are you doing with this? Why are you doing this? Why are you giving me your blanket? Where are your pants? Is your leg bleeding? Tell me what is happening!”

“You!” You hurled a finger up and pointed it in his face. His eyes widened, crossed to look at the finger that clearly accused him of something just off the end of his nose and then looked back into your face in utter confusion.

“You—“ you inhaled to survive and your mouth hung open as the words, the accusations you had for him, the truth of what he had done to you, what he really hadn’t done, but what you were certain you felt happening in your sleep, in that dream, those words they stopped entirely as you looked at his face. His very real face, the very real pink cheeks and confused eyes of your roommate Byun Baekhyun who had absolutely no idea that you had just been disturbed during and then disturbed by a vivid and confusing sex dream about him.

Oh god.

You couldn’t say that.

You would rather be dead right here than say those words with your own mouth.

This had never happened before. He was a real person, you had never experienced a dream like that involving a real person. Not someone you knew like you knew Baekhyun. Not someone you lived with and had to keep on living with. The more you replayed the words that refused to come out of your mouth inside your head the more your sanity slowly returned to your mind.

“Your headphones are not plugged in.” You shook your finger in his face. Using every bit of anger you had built up on the walk across the living room, every bit of uncomfortable sweaty stinging ick you felt all over your whole body about the whole thing and you shot those death lasers out of your eyeballs and you focused them right on his face, right there in the center of his stupid forehead. That’s where you put it. That’s where you glared and that’s where you wished every little bit of comeuppance that he had coming to him would land. Right there on that head.

“Wha?” He said and his stupid pink lips frowned downward into a pout. Against your will, you watched them as they moved and then quickly focused your pointing anger back up onto the center of his forehead. It took a lot.

He was looking down at his feet and reached through the big fluffy blanket that covered him from the waist down to the floor to find the headphones that had landed somewhere within it all.

He pulled them up and kept pulling, following the cord until he reached the end and he held the male end of his headphones with his fingertips as he looked down at them with a scoff and a small laugh.

“Oh shit,” he chuckled to himself, “huh...would you look at that?” As if absolutely nothing at all mattered in the world and this was just a humorous little hiccup in his day. At 4 am on a work day.

The audacity of the man. The absolute shameless audacity.

“Would you look at that?!?” The volume of your own voice surprised you. You screamed it. Right at the top of your lungs and he jumped in his seat, closed his eyes up tight and clutched at his chest again with a pained wince on that face. Immediately after you’d done it you felt a pang inside. Was your anger really caused by being awoken? What were you really so damn mad about here?

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered to himself when his eyes opened again.

Then he directed them at you with his eyebrows furrowed and that glare right on your face.

“Jesus. Christ. Woman.” he half spoke again with his eyes on you and his face pointing directly at yours with each new word he spoke. You felt unjustly rebuked. The seriousness on his voice closed up your gaping mouth and you pulled your head back. Part of you wanted to grab his hair and pull it, demanding reparations and apologies and justice for his many 4 AM crimes against you.

“I mean...Jesus. Christ.” His head nodded to emphasize just how ridiculous he was now finding your current outburst and you felt the heaviness deep inside your arms as you sagged on your feet and wanted to give up your fight against gravity. Part of you knew you were justified in your outrage. How could you be losing this fight so easily to him? Maybe...maybe you were just tired.

“I’m just...so tired, Baek.” Your complaint came out as a sad little whine and your head fell back as you closed up your eyes. Suddenly feeling like you could drop right here at his feet and sleep curled up in your wretched comforter.

He must have gotten up. You could feel his arms on your shoulders and you were steered somewhere within his room. Your legs didn’t feel like moving but there were some calming circles being rubbed on your back that felt too nice to resist.

“I’ll turn it off, Bug. You can sleep, I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“I was sleeping so nicely.” You mumbled and you were in a bed that didn’t smell like you. “I was dreaming.” All at once the memory and that smell brought back a strange yet familiar feeling.

“Was it a good dream?” His voice sounded far away.

“Mhmm,” you hummed and you let yourself drift. You let yourself curl into the mattress that you were laid over and gave in to an unimaginable comfort that pulled you under too easily.

If he had any more questions you did not know, but something called your sleepy mind back for one more word. Something asked perhaps. You couldn’t be sure what it was, only your single word response slipped from your lips.

“You,” you told the questions, before disappearing entirely.

Your alarm clock was ringing. It was a sufferingly familiar sound that could rip you awake from the deepest sleeps. Today it sounded far away, but that tune was so ingrained into your mind that you immediately opened your eyes and stuck a hand out to look for your phone to stop it.

Only your hand reached and found nothing. You moved further and bumped against something hard like a table that should not have been there.

“Mmm,” a soft moan sounded out from somewhere below and when you finally opened your eyes and searched your ceiling, the layout was definitely different.

This was not your room.

This was not your bed.

“Don't you work today?” You followed the sound of his voice and found it coming from somewhere curled up on the floor beside the bed underneath your comforter. The one you’d abandoned last night. The memories flooded in an instant.

“Yeah. I’m getting up. You can have your bed back, Peanut.”

Peeling back his blankets for a quick escape you saw your own bare shins; knees; thighs; all the way up to your underwear. You’d fallen asleep with only a t-shirt on last night. But there was a new addition. You saw a flesh colored bandage stuck to your knee with a brown-red stain in the center of the gauze pad. You paused to look down at it, a thousand conflicting inclinations running through you in a single breath and not a spare minute to dwell on any of them because your alarm was still ringing and Baekhyun had turned over and peeked his face out from under your blanket.

You could not explain the urgency to leave. You freely loitered near him and around him constantly without even a second thought.

Although you had never done it in such a state of undress. This could have explained the rush. How much would he see of you? How many flaws could he make out with his sleepy eyes. How long had it taken him to apply the bandage last night? Did he use his bare fingertips to softly dab ointment on your wound or did he merely slap on a bandaid with a rough palm. He wouldn't have lightly blown on it to dry the medicine would he?

Something was wrong with you.

These were not important questions for you to be asking. You needed to get out of his room before he saw any more. Perhaps the dream had done much more damage than you had feared.

You could have stepped down off the bed beside where he laid. It would have only required an extra step to get over him. Instead you climbed down to the foot of his bed and without a look back you were out of his room under the compulsion of the ringing alarm and you surrendered willingly.

Back inside your room you could breathe freely and deeply. You could indulge in your routine of getting ready for the day and you took your time to get your hair and your makeup looking nice. It was cold out so you opened for the thick winter leggings to get you through the commute without freezing to death and you were out of your door just in time to stop for a morning coffee.

The day dragged. You were probably just out of practice, having worked from home for so long that having to make an active attempt to look busy enough to justify your paycheck with so many witnesses in the office had you feeling burnt out by lunch time.

You went for a walk to avoid awkward small talk with your co-workers even though it meant you didn't have enough time to actually eat any real food before your break was over. Still it was preferable to the alternative. Namely the meddling old women who, every time they saw you had some new neighbor’s friend’s son, or some doctor’s nephew they just had to set you up with.

So what if you were single. So what if you were too young and too pretty to be alone. There wasn’t some invisible timer counting down to your swift and imminent demise just because you didn't have a boyfriend. You were pretty sure that timer was running for everyone despite the relationship status on their facebook profile. And you did not mention your facebook profile to Baekhyun because he would probably flip out, hack into your computer and delete the whole thing. The dramatic man. How else were you supposed to see what a mess your high school friend’s lives were shaping up to be.

When it was finally time to go home for the day you were more exhausted than you thought was normal for someone still walking around on her own two legs. You were the angry sort of hungry that made you annoyed with every single sound you heard on the subway and not even your headphones in your ears playing your favorite songs eased your anxiety.

You glared at the woman across the aisle with the unruly kids who refused to wear their masks right. You glared at the old man with his nose sticking out of the top of his and you tightened your own mask to your face and took a step back and away from the group of youths that eyed you up and down as they moved through the doors.

You’d never before been so happy to open the door to your apartment and be greeted by the pleasant hum of a refrigerator that you knew had to have at least one tasty thing you could snack on to take the edge off of your mood.

Inside was bright. It was cleaned recently — You’re welcome — It was sparkling and gleaming and well organized and it was full of a multitude of raw ingredients that could be chopped and sliced and diced and cooked up to make a wonderfully healthy and fulfilling meal for whoever had the energy and ambition to embark on such a feat.

You peered inside at the bottles of water in the door. The sticks of butter and the bottles of sauce mocked you. You were pretty sure raw eggs cracked into your open mouth would give you some sort of infection that would require you to leave the house again this month so you opened the drawer where you were sure you saw a cheese stick hiding inside last night.

There it was.

It was white and bouncy. It was salty and individually wrapped and it was calling your name in sweet a cheesy joyous chorus of promised deliciousness.

It was yours.

It’s most amazing feature wasn’t the chewiness or the cold chill it had from sitting for weeks in a refrigerator. No, the best thing, and you mean the absolute very best thing about this single plastic wrapped cheese stick was that it existed.

Exactly when you needed it most.

Feet shuffled behind you. Baekhyun would be waking up from whatever napping schedule he’d accidentally tricked his body clock into adopting and he would be stumbling into the kitchen for a drink of water.

You unwrapped the cheese stick and stuck the end between your lips. Instantly rewarded by the soft way it gave when you bit down. You took the tiniest bite and you chewed carefully and thoughtfully. Perhaps your eyes rolled back and closed and perhaps you might have even experienced something akin to out of body experience of pure pleasure as you chewed, swallowed, and opened your mouth again for another bite. A real one this time.

What you hadn’t anticipated, was the cruelty of the universe that had allowed you to live this many years on Earth only to end up here in this exact moment with this man whose home you also lived in. You hadn’t expected the crushing reality of watching that man sleepily stumble into you with his eyes half closed and open his big mouth as wide as it would go and sink that mouth down directly onto the entire exposed part of your cheese stick, of which maybe 85% had been exposed, and chomp down ruthlessly with nearly the entire thing vanishing away before your eyes.

You watched him chewing noisily with his mouth open and bits of white cheese bumbled around inside before he let out a noisy laugh complete with a snort that sent bits of cheese flying across your once clean kitchen.

“Haha,” he said as he swallowed, “your face.”

He was laughing at you.

He ate your cheese; well, most of your cheese. He was laughing now, harder. The longer you stood staring at him in absolute shock at what he had just done the harder he laughed and you could feel the countdown happening inside of your chest. A number for each heart beat that seemed to be speeding up toward his death.

He had no idea. He never ever did.

This man was so close to death and he was giggling now and reaching for the big bottle of orange juice that sat inside the fridge.

He lifted it up to his lips and drank from the bottle, not even bothering with a glass. He drained half of its contents and when he pulled the bottle down, some things, tiny and white - mini specks of your cheese floated around inside the orange liquid.

You saw bright white nothingness.

You would like to go on the record now, and plead insanity.

In your mind's eye, everything was just all white.

Like the afterlife in movies. Except far less peaceful but equally unexplainable.

Violence may not be the answer. But you really had very little memory of this.

You had flashes of it. His deafening screams and your hand reaching into a bag of cheese puffs for handfuls that you shoved into his gaping mouth. You don’t even know where you got them from. They just appeared suddenly and they crushed so easily into soft powder as you pressed them between his teeth. The powder coated the surface of his skin around his mouth. It flew in the air too as he screamed. You were covered in it. Your hands were stained bright orange. The color of your wicked crimes.

The whiteness returned. Then more flashes of your crimes. Your mind touched on images of the sticky drops of orange juice that fell one by one from his hair that laid completely flat, lacquered to the top of his head. Then, his cries of pain with your knees dug into his chest and both of your bright orange hands squeezed tightly around his neck. The coughing when you pressed down harder in the middle of his neck and the eventual sensation of him fighting back. The urge to live must be strong in him. Why did he resist this so much? Just die already. Why fight the inevitable? If not done by you, surely some other person would do it.

When you came to, you were inside of your bedroom packing a bag full of clothes and stuffed animals. You felt that this was probably your get-away bag, and that meant he was probably dead.

Drowned in two ounces of backwash filled orange juice and lungs stuffed with brightly colored cheese flavored* puffs (*contains no real cheese.)

You had a list happening inside of your head. Things you had to do before you left this place forever and never returned. A strange calm had washed over you; probably brought on by shock.

First, you had to pack this bag. You had stuffed it full of overcoats. Your winter coat with the pink polka dots. The fluffy yellow puffer jacket you got as a gift from your best friend. Your rain jacket in case it got wet in hell. Second, you would go into his room and clear his search history. It was something you had always promised you would do for him and he had promised to do the same for you. After that, you would call the police from a pay phone on the corner of the block to anonymously report the crime.

Your bag was full. Too full to fit the brightly colored pink bunny even though it was a tiny thing. You pushed and shoved, squeezing it in between the layers of coats until you were sure the seam of your bag was about to pop if you tried to zip it closed.

You still had your toiletries to pack. This would never do. How could you pack a get-away bag without your favorite shampoo.

A flood of memories came to you. Your favorite shampoo and handing the bottle with your eyes covered to Baekhyun as he showered. All at once, that steady and all consuming calm wavered and you felt the first hot tears building. Stinging and burning as they crested and spilled over your lashes onto your cheeks.

Your lips were stuck in a deep frown and you did your best to inhale through a stuffed up nose.

“My poor Peanut,” you said into the hollow empty space of your lonely bedroom. You’d have to venture into his bathroom to get your shampoo. Possibly walking past his lifeless corpse which you were pretty sure you left somewhere in between the kitchen and the living room.

A maniac. You were a heartless monster. The remorse you now felt, which could very well help you in court, coated you from head to toe and you cried openly when you pulled your bedroom door open and took your first step out of your room.

Shampoo and search history. These things were your destination.

But a sound coming from somewhere deep in the kitchen threw off your steps and you felt the hairs on the back of your neck rise with the unexpectedness of it.

More than just a sound, you could smell something too. Was that sizzling? Had you accidentally turned the stove on and now your whole apartment was on fire? Was this how you could get rid of the body?

No. You had to get a grip now. That was going too far. You could understand homicide but desecration of a corpse? Ick. That kinda shit was for sickos.

You focused your energy on your destination and took three big steps to cross the living room and placed a hand on the door knob of his room.

The knob clicked noisily when you turned it too quickly and you heard a shuffle coming from the kitchen. A shuffle and then a scrape and you turned at the sound.

“Hey Bug, food’s ready. Come eat. I made your favorite.”

You froze on your feet with your eyes wide open, nose too stuffy to breathe so your mouth hung wide open as well. With tears streaming down your face, made fresh again by the sight of him standing in the kitchen with a white towel draped around his neck, clean wet hair, and a frying pan and spatula in his hand, you gasped.

You had never been quite so relieved to see the sight of your stupid roommate. Overcome, you dropped the bag you carried at your feet and rushed to where he stood with arms raised and the dish he had just finished cooking elevated and you reached for his body with your arms outstretched. When you felt his warmth you wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him in for a tight hug.

“Uhh,” he said softly, flinching upon contact and freezing up but first lifting the hot pan high enough to remove any danger of burning you with it. “Why are you crying?”

You squeezed tighter and buried your face in his chest. You’d get his shirt wet with tears and with snot but you didn't care. He was okay. Your overwhelming guilt for your behavior towards him was so thick you had a hard time not sobbing harder when you felt the awkward steps he took to set the hot pan down and free his hands and then that first warmth of the palm of his hand that landed on your back.

When the other hand joined and slipped around your shoulder a quiet cry got caught up inside the back of your throat and you heard a warning sound somewhere. Because the warning did not exist in this realm of reality he did not hear it and another step into you brought his arms tighter around your shoulders and when you felt those hands move gently over your back the warning sound blared up hot and terrifying.

You and him did not do this. This was not something you had ever done with Baekhyun. Sure, light touches sometimes. Plenty, even. Hell, you playfully smacked him for something new and annoying every single day. You weren’t exactly scared of him, but you had never hugged him before and you sure as fuck didn't ever hold him.

“Bug?” His voice was calling you. You had an inkling that it might have been the second or third time and you pulled back from him. His hands released you the second he felt your retreat and you looked at the spot where you’d mashed your whole face into his shirt wincing at all the face shaped wet spots you saw there.

He didn't seem bothered by it and you inhaled a deep trembling breath with a meaningless nod of your head at him. Whatever had happened didn’t matter. Everything was fine. Everything was over and it was okay. He was okay too.

He offered a small smile and turned to get two bowls to fill with the food he had made.

It was fried rice. Simple, no frills fried rice with a fried egg on top and just enough spice to make it interesting but not enough to activate any more water works. It was his favorite and you were pretty sure he didn't actually know how to make any other dishes. But hadn’t he just said he made your favorite?

“Baek, This isn’t my favorite. This is your favorite.”

He placed a bowl in front of where you sat and he lifted a quizzical eyebrow with a small tick of his head.

“No, it’s not my favorite. It’s your favorite. You make it all the time. And that’s why I made it now. Because it's your favorite.”

As he spoke, he pointed back and forth between you and the bowl of rice with his spoon. As if he was teaching a class on something you obviously didn’t know the first thing about.

“But I only make it all the time because it's your favorite, Peanut.”

You picked up your spoon and mixed the egg into the rice and began eating quickly out of necessity. You were about to pass out from hunger at this point.

He was watching you eat with that confused look on his face and he hadn’t touched his rice yet.

“Well whose favorite is it then?”

You shrugged and swallowed another bite. You were half finished with your bowl already and Baekhyun looked down and scooped up the egg from the top of his own rice with his spoon, leaning forward to plop it down on top of your remaining rice.

“Please tell me you at least like eggs on top.”

“Doesn’t everybody?” You remarked flippantly and you mixed again, feeling so much more human now that you had some real food in your stomach.

He was leaning back in his chair, fingertips over his face as he lightly massaged at the space between his eyebrows and you giggled to yourself with a mouth full of rice.

“I thought I killed you, Baekhyun.”

You heard him snort out a laugh and he quickly covered his mouth with both of his hands before he spat out all over the table. You yourself had to cover your mouth to keep your rice in and you laughed in a painful stifled way to keep from choking on the food in your mouth.

“You made me eat so many fucking cheese puffs I’m not even hungry right now.” He wheezed through his words and you saw him wiping at his eyes while you forced yourself to swallow before rice flew out of your nose.

He was holding his stomach as he laughed and the tight pained wince on his face only made you laugh harder.

You had eaten all you could and Baekhyun abandoned his food before he even started due to a certain cheese puff armed psychopath.

You’d stood to clear away the plates when you heard the hum of his phone vibrating on the table. You’d made your way into the kitchen when his voice piped up from where he was seated at the table staring down at whatever he had just received on his phone.

“Hey, uhh...h-how should I respond to this girl?”

“Girl? Baekhyun are you chatting with someone?” You perked up, instantly way more interested in what was happening on his phone than washing these dishes and you quickly rounded the corner back into the dining room to find out more.

“Oh wait, nevermind, I think...I don’t think she’s serious.” His voice weakened when his phone vibrated again and you’d reached a spot where you could clearly see the messages he had just received.

From Vixxxen18 again. You rolled your eyes hard enough for them to ache just seeing that familiar screen name.

“Ugh, this bitch again,” you said in a disgusted voice and you saw the flinch in his shoulders. He darkened a shade and you quickly grabbed the phone to steady it so you could clearly see what she wanted this time.

‘Hey honey, DTF tonight?’

You read the message out loud and he held his hands over his face and squirmed in his seat.

“Peanut do you know what DTF means?”

“Yes. I know what it means.” He interrupted you before you could get the whole sentence out. His ears were pink. You heard the clench of his jaw muffle his words as he spoke.

Her next message you didn’t read out-loud.

‘Spot me 50 for gas and I’ll come over’

“Gas doesn’t cost fifty dollars,” you scowled under your breath and your fingers were typing before you had a chance to second think.

‘Shouldn’t we get to know each other a little bit first?’

Her response came quickly and made your blood boil.

‘What makes you think I want to know you’

“Oh I’m going to kick her ass,” you said right before the phone was plucked out of your hands so fast you still moved your thumbs as you typed in the air, ready to give this bitch a piece of your mind.

“Settle down, Cheese Puffs, she's actually not that bad most of the time,” he said and he was closing out the messaging program quickly before you could say anything else to literally the worst human being you’d ever had a two second conversation with.

Your breathing was heavy and you must have had a look in your eyes that made him uncomfortable because he was reaching down to grab your hand and he tugged lightly toward the living room sofa. He was swiping with his other hand on his phone again.

“Here, I have some matches on the dating profile you made me. Why don't we have a look through them and find someone who’s ass you don't want to kick.”

He plopped down with a huff and you quickly sat down beside him, leaning well against his arm so you could see his screen clearly.

“God, you’re so mean today. What’s gotten into you? Ever since you woke up from that dream last night you’ve been ready to kill anyone who moves.”

You’d taken over the scrolling and found yourself lost in the freedom of judging the girls on his phone screen as he mused about what a grump you were.

Boring. Bland. Brainless. Vapid. Ugh.

As you flipped through them you not so quietly voiced how much you hated every one of them. Sure, for someone they could have been perfect but for him, they were not. His complaints about you went silent and as he watched the scrolling.

At last you found someone who seemed to fit some sort of idealized image you had of the perfect girl for him and you stopped scrolling instantly with a quiet gasp. He wasn’t saying anything about her though and you looked up excitedly at his face expecting him to be reading the profile she had carefully written, or looking through the pictures you oh so slowly scrolled past but instead of looking down at the phone his eyes were just watching you.

It was an odd and calm observation of only your face. And when you grabbed ahold of his eyes with your searching ones you raised your eyebrows and tilted your head down, pointing with the angle of your face at his phone screen so he could see her, so he could see Mia who lived only 5 miles away from him and had seen all of the animes that he liked and played the same kinds of computer games he played and was honest to god, cute as a damn button. Perfect! You wanted to squeal.

“Peanut,” you whispered and his eyes widened and his eyebrows danced on his face as he finally, finally looked down in his lap where the phone sat.

But the screen was now black. It had timed out. You clicked on a button on the side and it prompted him to log in again and what was wrong with him? Why wasn’t he unlocking it already? You grabbed his hand and his eyes glanced down where you touched his fingertips, carefully tracing with his index finger over the pattern he used to unlock his phone and it came back to life — the smiling, lovely image of Mia who lived only 5 miles away and was just absolutely perfect.

“Bug,” He said softly as he looked down at his phone screen and your smile was naturally wide as he watched each image fly across his screen. The anticipation of his reaction was killing you. He had to be as excited about this as you were. He at least seemed to be paying attention to the pictures this time.

But he wasn't squealing or even smiling about her. The silence on his side got you talking again. A quick nervous sort of talking to fill up the quiet. “She’s cute. And she's nice, I can feel it. And she's perfect for you. Let’s message her.”

You lifted a finger to your chin and thrust your eyes into the air to think. You thought back to some of the opening lines you’d been fed by the men you dated and you opened the window to send a message to Mia from Baekhyun.

“Bug,” he said again, even quieter than he had called before and it stood out to you that he had been trying for a while to get your attention now and you were so distracted with how much fun this was that you hadn’t really acknowledged him. You were being presumptuous. Just because you liked her didn’t necessarily mean he did. It even occurred to you that maybe you were being downright rude.

So you looked at him. Lifted your eyebrows up and rested the phone back down on his knee cap so he would say what he wanted to say already. You braced for the rejection of the cutest girl in his list of matches.

But instead of speaking he just looked at you and you slowly began to hear the actual ticking of the clock on the wall across the room from where you both sat. After much too long his eyes fell to look down the phone in your hand and you heard the smallest, softest scoff from his chest and he closed his eyes once with a long sigh.

And then he was nodding his head with his eyes closed up tight. “Yeah. Yeah, go ahead, send her a message. If you say she’s perfect, then she’s perfect.”

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

Tag list: @j-pping @blahblahblah-boo @his-mochi-cheeks @amyeonzing@littleflowercrown13 @baekinmylife @insta1010 @nana-banana @f4ncyvelvet@bbhbeth @beg0neth0t420

#Baekhyun #Exo #Baekhyun fic #Exo fic #Baekhyun fanfic #Exo fanfic #baekhyun smut #exo smut #baekhyun fluff #exo fluff #baekhyun exo

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suckerforsaikik · 3 years

Text

Okay so @gentrychild got this ask last year about her fic anyone and I wrote something for it but then I forgot about it and it's been in my drafts ever since so now i'm posting the (unedited) story!

description: Hawks realizes that to infiltrate Anyone, he needs to come up with some more creative strategies

----

Izuku was online a lot, nowadays. After leaving his old school and having more time with his new one, he spent around two or three hours just looking at articles for people who might need Anyone’s services. He would also check if there were any information leaks about the organization.

This process, while important, was just him searching up ‘anyone’ and any related phrases, like members' names, with a VPN and an incognito tab. He went onto different browsers and social media sites, all the way down to the most obscure links. This whole thing was repeated every week, sometimes sooner, since he started the group.

Unfortunately for him, because of the rough week he’d had, he hadn’t checked for a while. It had never been a big priority, thinking there wouldn’t be anything too important out there.

That assumption was quickly defenestrated when Dabi sent him a link with the accompanying text: “watch this now.”

At first, Izuku thought Dabi was going to rick roll him, even though the link wasn’t one he was familiar with. Not that he would put Dabi above creating his own video, just to get at Izuku.

He clicked on the link, mentally preparing to scold Dabi after he confirmed his suspicions.

Except.

This wasn’t a rick roll.

The title of the video proudly claimed “eating an onion every day until Anyone talks to me (day 1!)’. Maybe proudly was the wrong descriptor, because the thumbnail was a picture of Pro Hero Hawks, presumably after he had just taken a bite, tears in his eyes. The video was only two minutes long, but as he looked at the newly made channel, titled IAmMyOwnFursona, he could see seven videos of the same title and similar thumbnails.

With dread starting to consume him, Izuku clicked on the video.

“Hey Guys!” Hawks started off, as cheery as his usual persona. In his right hand, he was holding a large, bulbous onion.

“As you probably won’t know, I was assigned to infiltrate this enemy organization called ‘Anyone’ by my superiors. And don’t tell the Commission this, but it isn’t going as well as I hoped.” He added in an awkward chuckle.

“So I thought, since Anyone’s main goal is to help people, wouldn’t they also want to help me, by letting me stop eating all these onions? Just let me know when you’re ready to talk, my favourite vigilante organization!” With that, he bit an enormous chunk out, the tiny little crunches for each layer playing through Izuku’s speakers.

“Fuck, Shit, ah fuck it tastes so bad-” He went in for another bite. “Fuck!”

Izuku could only stare in horror as Hawks bit through the layers, one bite after the next, even swallowing the roots that were at the bottom. He… he hadn’t even unwrapped the skin. Who would do that to themself? Harm themself in that way?

With shaking hands, Izuku clicked on the next video.

“Here I am again!” Hawks waves at the camera, “No updates since last time, but it’s only been a day! Now, let’s get to it.” The onion was held in both hands, and his lips and teeth wrapped around a giant chunk. There was a small bit of hesitation, like his rational brain was talking to him, but then he bit through the skin with a sloppy wet crunch.

“Ah fuck. FUCK okay okay i got this”-another bite-”FUCKKK.”

Izuku clicked through each video, all of them starting with a chipper hawks, and devolving into madness.

“Hey guys! No more updates, but we’re only two days in! Okay, let’s go.”

“Welcome back, no updates again, so let’s keep it up!”

“I think I’m getting better at this. No one’s contacted me yet, sadly.”

“And we’re back again. Unfortunately, Anyone’s still not reached out, so time to feast-”

“I think half my taste buds have fallen out. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures.”

The videos hurt to watch, but Izuku couldn’t drag his eyes away from the screen, and couldn’t stop his hand from clicking on each one after the next. The more hawks consumed the onions, the faster he got, and by the seventh day, he swallowed an entire onion in less than thirty seconds. Izuku could feel bile rising in his throat, threatening to jump out.

He moved slowly, almost in shock, as he picked up his phone and called Kurogiri, putting him on speaker when he answered.

"Kurogiri, can you warp me somewhere? I need to help a hero in need."

#bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #hawks #takami keigo #anyone fic #izuku midoriya

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ri-ahhh · 3 years

Note

hi can you write about spending a valentine’s day with gray pls?

valentine’s day smut w/ gray? + more haha sorry couldn’t put them all in

A/N: I’m sorry this is a day late. It was supposed to be 90% smut but somehow it took on a mind of its own and turned into this monster.

warnings: smut, extremely cheesy, way too long

***

It should be a given understanding that Valentine’s Day is the dumbest, most antiquated, overrated holiday that’s ever existed. That had always been your take on it, even as a little kid — the worry of spelling your classmates’ names correctly on cards imprinted with cheesy Scooby Doo and Spongebob puns; the expectation to dress up nice in the hopes you would get asked to be someone’s Valentine in the hallways of middle school; the potential embarrassment of being the only person in class who didn’t get bought one of those stupid roses from a ‘secret admirer’ in high school.

There’s simply too much pressure surrounding the idea of professing your love or even your mere fondness for anyone and everyone in your life. The fear of rejection if you do, and the judgement if you don’t. It had always made you anxious, whether you had someone to share the day with or not.

But this Valentine’s Day, as a young twenty-something, you were actually (secretly) looking forward to it. Conner was your first adult relationship, with the title of ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ and labels and commitment. He’s cute and smart and charming and yours. So, sue you if you were quietly anticipating wearing that SavageXFenty set beneath a brand new dress while you went to dinner after being greeted at the door with roses and a box of chocolates.

And yet here you are, on February 14th, hood of your sweater drawn over your head as you rummage through your freezer with a clear target in your mind. Your eyes are blurry and swollen, but you find the pint of birthday cake Nada Moo with ease, and you slam the freezer door closed a little harder than you really mean to as soon as it’s in your grasp.

You’ve just popped the lid off when your phone buzzes on the kitchen counter where you’ve plopped down to eat your depression snack in a more acceptable place than your bed or the couch.

You see Grayson’s name accompanied by a goofy, up-close picture of him smiling filling the screen, and hesitate. He’s one of your best friends, and clearly done nothing wrong, but you’re not sure you’re capable of handling anyone of the male species right now after...everything.

At the end of the day, though, it’s Grayson. He knows heartbreak almost better than anyone, and you’ve coached him through it on more than one occasion. Maybe he can spew back some of your own advice if it comes to that.

You swipe the bar at the bottom of the screen, and your ceiling suddenly replaces the image of his silly, handsome face. “Sup?”

“Yo. Am I interrupting anything? Sorry, just remembered what day it is.”

You swallow. “Uh no, you’re not.”

“What’s wrong?”

You bite your lip hard, digging your spoon into the softened ice cream. Was it that obvious just from your voice that you had been upset? Or does he just know you that well?

“Nothing.”

“You sound like you’ve been crying.”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie. Let me see your face.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you concede. “No. I’ve been crying.”

He’s quiet, and you can’t bring yourself to look at his own face in the corner of the screen. You shove the chunk of ice cream past your lips, and after a moment he says with a softer tone, “Crying on Valentine’s Day is never a good sign.”

You’re glad that you’ve gotten so much of your tears out already, because you feel the inevitable prickle behind your eyes that would have been full-blown waterworks a few hours ago. You scoop another bite. “Conner cheated on me — has been, cheating on me. I found out last night.”

Grayson sighs your name, and something about the genuine sympathy in his voice makes you even more emotional. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. What a piece of shit.”

You shrug even though he can’t see, and sniffle past the lump in your throat. “It’s whatever. I’m still in shock more than anything. Hurts like hell, though, still. I let him have it when I saw the texts and he hasn’t tried to call me once. No texts. Nothing.”

He’s silent, but it’s that raging silence you know oh so well from him. It doesn’t happen often, but anyone who knows Grayson Dolan knows that when his volume comes down, he means business. A loud and obnoxious Grayson is a happy one, but a brooding and quiet one means serious business.

“Do you want me to go beat his ass? I’ll do it.”

A smile cracks your scowl before you know it, and you shake your head. “No thanks, Gray. As much as I’d love to see that happen, I like your face the way it is. And not on a mugshot.”

He chuckles a little, and you feel your chest lift some just hearing the familiar depth of it. “Well, do you at least want me to come over later? I totally get if you need to be alone, but I know from experience sometimes what helps the most is having good friends around.”

You’re a little surprised. “You don’t have a date?”

“Nope.”

“No one from the roster hitting you up?”

“I don’t have a roster,” he argues playfully, but you both know that’s a lie, if not at least a stretch of the truth. “And even if I did, you’re more important. Always.”

You sigh and take another bite. His words make your neck tingle and your toes wiggle, but you ignore it; your brain is full of confusion as it is. “That makes one man in my life who thinks so, I guess.”

You finally prop your phone up against the fruit basket sitting in the middle of your bar so he can see you. Grayson takes in your image, which admittedly must look kind of pathetic, and you watch his jaw clench and release in a way that you can’t deny is utterly sexy.

“Is an hour okay? Tell Vanessa to come, too.”

“Benito took her to Tulum for the weekend,” you say, referring to your best friend and her boyfriend. “She did threaten to get on a plane and come home early for me, though.”

Grayson grins crookedly, but his jaw is still tight. “Well, tell her you’re in good hands. See you in an hour?”

You give it one last quick consideration; you already feel this much better just talking to him on the phone. Nothing bad could come from him being in your apartment, and you trust him. “Yeah, that’s fine. But just so you know, I’m already at the stage of eating ice cream at 10:30 AM.”

“Did you forget you’re talking to the emotional ice cream eating champion? No judgement here.”

You finally let out a giggle, your spirits officially lifted. “I’ll see you soon.”

True to his word, Grayson arrives at your door about an hour later, his arms laden with milkshakes from Monty’s, a gift bag decorated all over with sparkly hearts, and a gorgeous bouquet of flowers.

You’re stunned. The only thing you’d managed to do in the time it took him to get here was take a quick shower in attempts to rid your face of some of the puffiness, throw on some shorts this time with a fresh hoodie, and toss the used tissues scattered around your place into the garbage.

Before you can say anything, he holds out the flowers. “They were out of roses. But I know you like pink.”

You reach out for them slowly, eyes wide, your fingers brushing his when you grasp the plastic wrapping. His cheeks are a similar color to the petals, and it makes both your heart and your lips smile.

“Peonies are my favorite,” you say truthfully. “And yes, especially pink ones. Thank you, Gray.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, sounding relieved.

As he crosses the threshold of your door, he leans down to kiss your cheek, and you can’t help but hum quietly and pull him in for a hug. “That gift better not be for me, either,” you mumble into his chest.

Grayson pulls back, his eyes sparkling, but keeps you close with an arm wrapped loosely around your shoulders. “Oh, this? No, this is for my other best friend I’m trying to cheer up on Valentine’s Day.”

You slap his arm playfully, and lead him into your kitchen, pulling out a vase from the cabinet beneath your sink for the flowers.

The bag has a few gifts in it: a new Comfy (“I remembered you ruined yours when that ketchup bottle exploded all over you the other day”); a huge bag of watermelon sour patch kids (“I know they’re your favorite. Also ice cream gives you brain freeze after the first pint or so, trust me”); and a heart shaped box of your favorite chocolates (“you can eat them or burn them, I wasn’t sure which you’d appreciate more but either is fine with me.”)

You appreciated all of it, more than he would ever understand. All you can do is fling yourself at him weakly, completely overwhelmed. “Fuck you, you’re gonna make me cry all over again.”

Grayson envelops you in those huge, muscular arms, cooing behind that laugh you love so much. “Is that a really backwards way of saying thank you?”

You grunt in affirmation, and with you still wrapped up in his arms, he starts waddling the two of you back the short distance into your living room.

“Here,” he says, coaxing you down into the blanket nest you had created on the couch. “You chill and find a movie. I’ll make popcorn.”

You do, and he does, and the next few hours are spent lounging about in your apartment. Having him here with you is doing wonders from keeping your mind from going down the paths you’d been spiraling towards ever since you saw the messages between Conner and no less than four other girls on Snapchat. You don’t believe in snooping, but finding the first one had been an accident when he received the snap while you had his phone, and your finger happened to press the icon at just the right moment.

In your eyes, though, the image of one pair of tits that weren’t your own was enough justification to see what else you could find.

“I hate to admit it, but I’m kind of relieved,” you told Grayson a while later, Shrek playing on the TV quietly. He’s sitting next to you, far enough apart for there to be couch space between the two of you, but close enough to share the oversized blanket thrown over your laps. “Obviously what he did is so fucking shitty and I’m not justifying it in any way, but I can be honest with myself now and realize I wasn’t in that relationship for the right reasons. There wasn’t anything there emotionally at the end of the day.”

“You still have every right to feel hurt by what he did, though. It’s a huge violation of trust,” Grayson assures, reaching out and squeezing your hand gently.

You squeeze back and grimace at him. “Yeah.” You let out a little mirthless laugh and shake your head, heat flooding your cheeks. “It’s so embarrassing, too. And finding out the day before Valentine’s, no less. Like, I just wanted to look cute, have a nice dinner, have some nice sex, and just... I don’t know. Have an actual Valentine’s day for once. No pressure or anxiety or anything.”

Grayson stares at you in that way he does — so intense and almost intimidating if there wasn’t a genuine warmth behind it. You’re suddenly aware of his thumb brushing the back of your hand slowly. He squeezes your fingers again.

“So, let’s do it, then. You and me.”

You arch a brow at him, smiling at the rosiness in his cheeks when he realizes what he might have implied. “The dinner part, I mean. And the dressing up. Even though I think you look plenty cute right now.”

You roll your eyes, but for the countless time that day, your heart flutters happily. Looking back, you can’t remember the last time Conner had complimented your appearance, let alone after hours of crying and lazing around in sweats, sugar crystals stuck to the corner of your lip.

“That would be great, except there’s no way we’re getting into any restaurant at this point,” you remind him. “Probably no delivery, either.”

“I’ll cook for you,” he counters, throwing the blanket off his legs and standing up with a groan. He stops to stretch, and the way his arms go over his head makes his shirt ride up at the bottom, exposing a chunk of hard muscles and golden skin.

You swallow, eyes trailing up the rest of his torso appreciatively. “I don’t have much.”

He’s already rummaging through your pantry, though, and pulls out a half-full box of pasta, a jar of marinara sauce, and a leftover chunk of sourdough bread. “You got salad stuff?”

You nod, and he opens the fridge to find some lettuce, peppers, and other salad fixings before setting them with the pasta ingredients on the counter. “Go get dressed, look as cute or not cute as you want. I’ll take care of this.”

He’s absolutely unreal. “Gray-”

Grayson holds up his hand. “Ah, no, I’m doing this. You deserve it. Also, I’m hungry. It’s a win-win.”

Your stomach growls as well, and that’s all the convincing you need. While he gets busy in the kitchen, you tidy up the living area some before heading to your room. You feel a little silly, making your third outfit change of the day, but you also like the giddiness in the pit of your belly at the thought of Grayson doing all of this for you. You might as well take advantage of having someone like him in your life. Show him some Valentine’s appreciation of your own.

You forgo the slinky red number you had planned to wear to the restaurant with Conner, and opt instead for a rather unsuspecting blouse-jeans combo, which happen to both respectively frame your tits and ass perfectly.

The lacy, bright pink set in the back of your closet might have made it beneath your clothes, though. The prettiness of it made you feel that much better, even if no one else was going to see it.

Maybe.

Padding back into your kitchen after running a flat iron through your hair and throwing on some concealer, mascara, and lip gloss, you find Grayson draining the pasta into a colander in the sink.

Grayson does a double-take when he sees you standing there admiring the flex of his bicep as he holds the pot. “Hey! You look amazing.”

“If you say so,” you joke, bumping his hip with yours as. You pass him to pull plates and bowls out of the cabinet.

“I do,” he insists quietly.

Arm outstretched mid-reach, you look over at him, locking eyes with his hazel ones. He looks a little surprised by the words that left his mouth, like he meant for them to stay inside his head. There must be some kind of challenge in your gaze, daring him to elaborate.

He busies himself with the pasta again hastily, his voice low. “Conner is a fucking idiot. To do that to you. To let you go. You don’t deserve that. Especially not today.”

Plates in hand, you rest them gently on the counter with your lower lip caught between your teeth, and peer over at this handsome man you’re so proud and lucky to call your best friend. He’s everything you thought Conner was — cute and smart and charming — but so much more — beautiful and good and kind.

And he’s been right here in front of you the whole time.

You reach out and touch his elbow softly. The hairs on his forearm are crisp but soft, and you follow them down to that gleaming watch on his wrist.

“You know,” you start quietly, fingers tracing the links of the band before flipping his hand over to trace the lines of his palm, “you keep talking about what I deserve today. But you deserve all that and more. You deserve someone’s love that matches your own.”

He watches your delicate fingers on his large, calloused palm, then trails his eyes up to yours when he feels their attention on his face. A piece of hair flops into his eyes, and you reach up without thinking or any hesitation to push it away again with a little smile playing on your glossy lips.

You look down and lay your palm flat against his, admiring the difference in size between your hands for a moment before interlocking your fingers with his.

“I love you.”

Your eyes flit up to his in surprise; he beat you to the words.

“In case that wasn’t obvious,” Grayson continues, turning towards you. “And I hope that’s not too much for you to handle, with everything you’ve had hap-”

“I love you too, Gray,” you interrupt, stepping that much closer to him so you’re nearly chest-to-chest with him.

“Yeah?” He sounds almost boyish in his astonishment, and it makes you want to hold him tight and never let go.

“Yeah,” you giggle. “A lot. I’m sorry it took me getting dumped to realize it.”

He shakes his head, his hand resting on your cheek gently. “Can I kiss you?”

You nod once before he’s swiftly ducking down to claim your lips with his. They’re soft and pliable, and you feel their effects from the nerves in your scalp all the way down to your bare toes.

“Grayson,” you breathe, lashes fluttering open as he pulls back just enough to look at you concernedly.

You smile, bigger and brighter than you have all day, and cup his stubbled cheeks with your hands, scratching your nails gently against his jaw. “I just wanted to say your name.”

Grayson grins now, too. He kisses you more insistently now that he’s got the taste of you on his tongue, which he flicks against the underside of your top lip as he breaks the kiss. “Say it again.”

“Make me,” you challenege, voice breathy and excited, eyes closed as you savor his sweet breath against your lips. “In my room.” You feel him tense up a bit, and you open your eyes to meet his questioning gaze, biting back a smile at the inevitable hope also shining there. “I’m sure.”

With that, Grayson hauls you up into his arms, and you wrap your legs around his waist with a squeal as he buries his face into your neck. He starts making the way to your bedroom, cooked food left long forgotten in the kitchen behind you.

“Are you wearing my signature scent?” he asks, inhaling your skin deeply.

“Mmhm,” you hum, threading your fingers through the back of his thick hair. It’s so long again, and you give the dark strands a sharp tug that makes him grunt. “Part one of my gift to you. Since you got so many for me today.”

“Part one, huh?” he says, crossing the threshold of your room. “What’s part two?”

“What I’m wearing underneath this,” you whisper in his ear, giggling loudly when he lies you down on the bed with more of a toss than he might have intended. “If you want it, that is.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind at the mere suggestion that he wouldn’t, and you take that as enough encouragement to tug at the bow tying your forest green silk wrap blouse together.

The folds part open and expose your chest, clad in that pink lace demi-cup bra with the cage detailing over the tops of your breasts. Grayson moans and dips down to nuzzle your cleavage, breathing in the scent of your warm skin. His hands trail up your sides, from your hips to your rib cage, until they settle in the dips of your waist. His touch ignites you, makes your back arch and your hips grind up against his thigh between your legs, just from the sensation of his hands on these new parts of your body.

“Grayson,” you sigh, and he smirks up at you with his chin on your tits when he realizes that’s all it took for you to say his name again.

You grab his cheeks and kiss that smugness away, shifting your legs so they’re wrapped around his waist once again, pushing down on the small of his back to get your centers to meet.

Both of you gasp into each other’s mouths when his erection rubs against your pussy, even through all the layers of clothing still on your bodies. You reach down blindly, still attacking his mouth with yours, and feel around for his belt.

His pants come off, followed by yours, and he sits you up enough to push your blouse off your shoulders rather gently considering the intensity of everything. Once the garment is tossed over his shoulder, you’re down to nothing but that pretty lingerie and he in his boxer briefs.

There’s a moment of pause and clarity for the two of you, staring into one another’s eyes as the reality hits of what you’re about to do. What it means to both of you. Grayson stares down at you, and places a hand over your rapidly thumping heart.

“Beautiful,” he says quietly, dragging his hand up your chest, over your throat, until he’s cupping you’re cheek and stroking your lip with his thumb.

You smile in return, then part your lips with your eyes locked on his, encouraging him silently to slip that digit in your mouth.

Grayson’s eyes darken, and he offers you his pointer finger instead, swallowing hard when you suck and swirl your soft, wet tongue around it.

Suddenly, he’s rolling the two of you over, switching positions so he’s on his back and you straddle him. You smile happily, taking your turn to duck down and attach your lips to the pulse point his neck, grinding down on his cock with a slow, steady rhythm.

“You’re so amazing, Gray,” you tell him, nipping at the lobe of his ear before kissing the underside of his chin. “Can’t believe you’re all mine now.”

“Can’t believe you’re mine,” he growls back, cursing when you trail your kisses down the center of his body, giving each one of those moon’s their own special attention before continuing down.

When you get to the waistband of his underwear, you trail your tongue on the edge of the elastic and watch his abs contract with each shaky breath he takes. One little move of your hands, and you’ll finally get to see what he’s really packing.

But before you can even hook your fingers there to pull down, he’s tugging on your hair. “Fuck, fuck, c’mere. Please.”

You pout, but follow his lead, licking back up his muscular torso until he’s able to drag you to him for a deep, wet kiss.

“Sit on my face,” he demands, shuffling down on the pillow to make more room for you.

That takes you off guard. “But—”

“Do it. Please. I fucking have to taste you.”

Your body must be working ahead of your brain, because before you know it, you’re straddling Grayson’s face, his tongue is sweeping through the wetness in your slit, and his dark eyes are peering up at you from between your thighs.

“Oh... oh!” you cry out when his tongue starts flicking against your clit. He goes back to swiping up all your arousal, then suctions his lips around your clit. He’s using one hand to hold the lace of your thong aside, and the other dips first one finger, then two inside of you. “Oh, fuck, that’s so good...”

Grayson moans, the vibrations erupting around your clit and sending you right to the edge already. You reach back and palm his cock, rock hard in his underwear still, and squeeze as he makes you cum all over his mouth.

He gets his fill of your cum as he groans and keeps up the motion of his fingers, the pressure of his lips, the softness of his tongue as your pussy pulses with each contraction of your orgasm. You wait for him to start letting up, but something about the way he’s working you just makes those waves stay steady rather than die down again. Maybe that’s his intention, because when you drop your head down to look at him with your mouth wet and agape, there’s a sparkling mischief in his eyes has he eats you out like his last meal.

Your hips grind against his face of their own accord, and you delve one hand in his hair while the other supports you on the headboard. You gasp out a quivering, breathless laugh as it all becomes just too much, and you try to lift off his mouth.

Grayson isn’t having it, though. He wraps his arms around your thighs and holds you down, reveling in the moans and whimpers and squeals as he makes you cum again.

“Oh my god — enough, enough, I can’t...” you whine, shoving on his forehead until he releases you and drops his head to the pillow. You could already see it by the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, but he’s smirking wide, chest heaving as you slink your way down his body.

You collapse next to him in a daze, and he rolls on top of you smoothly, peppering little kisses to your cheeks, your jaw, your nose. When you’re back in your right mind, you nudge blindly at his face so his lips find yours. He tastes like your pussy, and you sigh happily as you lift your heavy arms to wrap around his neck while his scoop beneath you, holding you close.

You continue to indulge in each other for a while, in the kisses you hadn’t been allowed to share until now. There’s something exciting about his familiarity and yet also this strange newness that has you absolutely desperate for him in every way.

“This is crazy,” you say when you pull back for air, studying his face hovering right above yours. You push back that stubborn chunk of hair that keeps falling into his eyes with a soft smile. “How did we end up here?”

Grayson turns his head to press his lips to your palm. “I don’t know. Is it too much? Should we stop?”

You shake your head vehemently, and he grins. “No, please. I think I just have to grasp that you’re really... mine now.”

He chuckles. “How do you think I felt watching you with that loser for five months?”

The mention of Conner makes you feel nothing — nothing other than gratitude for Grayson, that is. You slide your hands down his back, over his ribs, across his abs until your hand cups his dick.

His hips thrust into your touch, and you grin up at him demurely as you finally delve your hand past his waistband until you’ve got his length completely in your grasp.

He’s hot and hard and thick, and you start stroking him just to gauge the reaction in his face. He doesn’t disappoint, his jaw gaping open slightly, his breaths picking up, a flush rising to the apples of his cheeks.

Without warning, he reaches down and grasps your wrist. You pout, but he asks hastily. “Are we gonna have sex?”

You smirk. “Hell yeah.”

Grayson grins and shakes his head. “Alright, then you gotta stop.”

“Already?” you tease, letting him sit back and hook his fingers in the tiny string of your thong at your hips.

He gives you a look as he pulls the scrap of lace down your legs, then stands to push down his own underwear. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, and you wish he’d let you blow him some before you hit the main event, but he says, “I’ve wanted you for too long to take any chances about screwing up the first time.”

You melt a little, reaching for him as he climbs back on the bed. “There should be some condoms in the drawer there. Just to be safe after... you know.”

He nods and dips down to kiss you before leaning over to riffle through the top drawer of your nightstand. He comes back with a purple square, which you take from him.

“Gotta practice an activity safely,” you wink, tearing open the condom and rolling it down his shaft quickly.

“Shut up.” Grayson rolls his eyes, but smiles softly as he settles between your legs just right. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you whisper, gasping as he starts to sink inside you.

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpers as your walls suck him in and grip him tight.

He goes slow for a couple of minutes, allowing both of you time to adjust to each other. He stretches you out so much better than anyone you’ve ever been with, and you can’t help but clench around him when you see those tattoos and smell his cologne and hear his voice — all things that remind you that this is Grayson fucking you.

He growls the first time you do it, then sits up hastily, pulling his face out of your neck when you do it again. He tucks his knees beneath him, sits on his heels, and hauls your hips into his lap as the speed of his thrusts picks up incrementally. Until he’s fucking you for real, and your tits bounce in your bra with every upstroke.

You shove an arm beneath your pillow, enunciating the curves of your body, and watch his expressions as he fights to hold back. His hair is disheveled, lip caught tight between his teeth and muffling his deep, satisfied sounds that mingle with your open higher-pitched ones. He catches your eye and his hands on your hips grip you so tight for a moment that you’re sure little bruises will be there in the morning — not that you mind.

“Fuck,” he whispers harshly before slowing his hips and shifting down to give you a deep, sloppy kiss. “Turn over.”

You moan into his mouth, then follow his order, rolling onto your front as soon as he pulls out. You expect him to haul your hips up into the air, but he moves your hair off your neck and trails sweet kisses from shoulder to shoulder, his hand sweeping down the subtle curve of your back until he’s gripping your ass.

Grayson’s hand moves down your thigh and pushes it up and out once he’s cupping the back of your knee. The angle encourages you to twist your upper half until you have sight of him once again in all his angled, sweaty, muscular glory.

“Fuck me, baby,” you beg him, already anticipating the fullness inside you again. Needing it.

“Want me to fuck you?” he asks needlessly, pushing into your pussy once again. You moan loudly, either in confirmation or from pure pleasure, it doesn’t matter. The angle is tighter, the tip of his dick hitting a spot so perfectly accurate inside of you that you can’t concentrate on anything other than how good he’s making you feel. “Yeah. So fucking sexy. So beautiful...”

“Gray.. oh fuck yes, right there,” you whimper, catching onto his arm as he leans over you and gives you those hard, steady strokes.

“Open your eyes, baby, lemme see them when you cum,” he growls out.

You open them as much as you can, your vision blurry, but you can still make out those handsome features soaking in the pleasure on your face. Watching and waiting for you to get yours so he can get his.

As soon as you’re clenching like a vice around him, Grayson is letting go into the condom. You can vaguely feel the throb of him as he cums in spurts, the sound of his masculine, drawn-out groans making you shiver and tense up even more on his dick. If it’s possible for anyone to sound as sexy as they look, Grayson achieves that in spades.

He collapses on the bed next to you, and you have just enough strength to roll over until he’s got you gathered in his arms. You nuzzle into his chest and try to process everything. You had been hoping for nice sex today, and instead you got the best sex of your life.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence while you both catch your breath, after he pulls and ties off the condom, you smile into his cooling skin with a satisfied sigh.

“Thank you for making this the best Valentine’s Day of my life. Especially after it was starting to look like the worst.”

“You made this the best day of my life, period,” he says, kissing your forehead. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Gray.”

#the relief i have in finishing this lmao #im sorry its a day late this took way more effort than i thought it would #dolan twins #grayson dolan #smut #blurb #g blurb

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msmarvelouswinchester · 3 years

Text

Irresistibly Yours

Chapter 5 - Liar, Liar

Summary - Y/N Y/L/N moves to NYC in hopes for a fresh start after a nasty breakup. There she meets her neighbor, the cynical lawyer, Dean Winchester. A love-hate relationship starts evolving between them ever since they met in the elevator one morning but a desperate situation and a string of lies forces the two friendly rivals to go on a date or rather a fake date. Will sparks fly between them when Dean gets to know Y/N real and up close? Will Y/N finally find her Prince Charming in the grumpy, workaholic, divorce lawyer?

Pairing - Lawyer!Dean Winchester x Y/N

Warning - Language, mentions of death, strained father-son relationship, fluff

WC - 2637

A/N - Sorry for all the delays with this series, college is kicking my ass with all the exams and assignments I really like the end of this and you’ll see why ;( Happy reading! <33

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Beta’d by @deaan. Thank you patiently listening to my rants and helping me with this series <33

Series Masterlist Masterlist

“Good morning, Ms. L/N.” Y/N’s annoyingly hot neighbor stepped into the elevator, barely making any eye-contact with her and looking like a Vogue model straight out of a magazine.

She wondered how many tailored suits he owned because not once had she seen him in the same suit which led her to think about whether he was that loaded. All of them looked expensive as hell and the black one he was wearing today might very well be a Burberry suit.

“Hey, Dean. Morning,” Y/N tried her best to sound cheery but the hangover wasn't letting her feel like it.

“It's kinda funny how we keep meeting in the elevator.” Straight out of hallmark movies, one might say. She adjusted her sunglasses, squinting to look at the man as another woman stepped into the elevator. Her eyes trailed down to the briefcase he had in his other hand, which was new considering she had never seen him carry one before.

Dean gave her a side eye, not wanting to encourage whatever pleasantry her hungover brain had come up with. All of a sudden, she remembered that she wasn't supposed to even meet Dean in the elevator. “Am I runnin’ late or are you just simply early?”

“I'm a bit early-” Dean started.

The woman in front of them exchanged a glance with them, giving them a bright smile before wishing them good morning as the door of the elevator opened. She stepped out, the other two occupants of the apartment mirroring her actions.

“Who can be that cheerful in the morning?” Y/N grumbled.

“Apparently Ms. Mills over there.” Dean chuckled, making her groan.

“And you know her, how?” She asked.

“Just like I knew you.” He replied nonchalantly.

“Oh yes, the 'stalking'.” She said, air quoting to put emphasis on the word as she walked right beside him when they approached the exit of the building. “Why don't you have a hangover anyways?”

“I have a high alcohol tolerance, unlike some people,” he said, smirking, “and I can't be hungover. I need to meet up with a client.”

“Guess I'll have to make a pitstop at Starbucks,” she said, “Have a good day, Dean.” Y/N made her way to the other side of the road, hoping to catch a cab. She saw the lawyer disappear into the parking lot and come out a few minutes later in a black Chevy. She admired the beauty of the car and the man in the driver's seat before both disappeared into the NYC traffic.

“Really ‘The Judge’?” He grumbled.

“Ironic, isn't it?” She chirped mockingly at the annoyance of the man beside her. Y/N took a bite off the pizza she had ordered and looked at Dean only to notice his eyes focused on the screen in front of them, his eyebrows a bit furrowed.

Her cheeks warmed up, realising she had been staring at him for quite some time now and she swiftly averted her gaze. Swallowing the chunk of food in her mouth, she asked, “Have you ever faced any trouble from your clients?”

“All the time, Y/N-” he caught himself in the slip up and quickly corrected himself “-Ms L/N.” A smile graced her lips at the simple mistake but it quickly turned into a frown.

“Why'd you keep calling me Ms L/N? It makes me feel old.” She said, rolling her eyes at him.

“Just trying to maintain some boundaries.” He said.

“You're eating pizza, on my couch, with me, in my house while we watch a movie together and you're talking about boundaries? Unbelievable, Mr. Winchester...or should I call you ‘sir’?” Y/N retorted.

“Well some answers should be left well enough alone, behind a closed door.” Dean shrugged, making Y/N almost choke on her food. Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline at his brazen confession or rather casual remark about his bedroom activities. Talk about boundaries. Since the day they met, she had never seen him go out with a girl or bring one home. The walls were thin after all. “And I still can't believe how you roped me in for a movie night.”

Y/N was just really trying to extend an olive branch to him since he had tried to do the same two nights ago and what was better than a movie night for a little ‘get to know each other’ session. After all, pop culture choice could tell a lot of things about a person.

Clearing her throat, she said, “I still can't believe you don't like pineapple on pizza.” She mentally smacked herself for coming up with such a lame-ass icebreaker.

“No one likes pineapple on pizza.” He scoffed. “It's a crime.”

“Oh, do shut up.” There was a part of her that wanted to call him ‘sir’ at the very end of her sentence to test the waters, for reasons, but she decided against it.

What was she supposed to do with the information anyway? Her Adonis-like neighbor had casually hinted that he liked being called ‘sir’ in the bedroom...and how was that not supposed to conjure up any sort of images?

Why was it even bothering her so much?

Two weeks ago, Y/N was the one who hated his guts because of his dickish behaviour but she also was the one who lied to her colleagues about him being her boyfriend because she couldn't get him off her mind.

Dean huffed, almost like he was trying to control his laughter. “I thought you would be better at comebacks.” Tease.

“You're the lawyer, not me. I just write books or at least try to write.” She sighed.

“You write books? I thought you worked as a freelance writer for ‘All For You’.” He said.

“Uh no. Mr. I-stalked-you-and-I-know-everything,” she rolled her eyes, “I used to work as a freelancer. Now I have a stable job. Alcohol must've muddled your brain that night because I remember telling you all this stuff.”

“Please, I have an excellent memory and for the last time, I didn't stalk you. I just knew your name-”

“And my family history,” She told him, “The number of times I got a speeding ticket-”

“I don't know anything about your family but I do know you can't get a speeding ticket. You don't know how to drive.” He smirked.

“And here you are telling me, you didn't stalk me.” Y/N shrugged.

“That's not what I-never mind, let's just watch the movie.” Dean sighed.

“I thought you would be better at comebacks.” She threw back his exact words.

“You're ridiculous.” He shook his head, chuckling at her.

“Dean, will you please, for fuck’s sake, listen to me for once?” The desperation in his younger brother’s voice drew Dean’s attention.

“Sam, it's still a no.” A groan was heard from the man over the phone. Dean could picture the eye-roll that he received from his brother whenever he said something Sam didn't like. “I'm not goin’ back to Lawrence.”

His jaw ticked as the grasp on his cell tightened, old memories resurfacing with the mention of his hometown.

“I'm not telling you to come back forever. It's only for a day!” Sam exclaimed. Dean heard shuffling in the background as the tiny voice of his niece greeted him. The corner of his lips tugged up, forming a smile as he stepped out of his office.

“Hey, babygirl!” Dean said, “You being good for your Dad?” He heard a high-pitched voice of agreement from the other side followed by his brother's laughter.

“Ava misses her uncle.” The younger Winchester said. Dean didn't know why Sam was so persistent about him visiting Lawrence when he very well knew the reason behind his aversion to the city.

“Sammy-”

“You're already ditching the 4th of July, man, and it's Ava’s birthday.” Dean noticed Sam was holding himself back from telling the entire truth as he quickly walked down the stairs and stepped out of his workplace. “I'll try to keep Dad in check.”

“Why are you so hellbent on wanting me back in Lawrence?” Dean asked, moving over to his black Chevy. He leaned against the door of the passenger's side, rubbing his temple. There was no way he would willingly face his old man again. Scoffing at the idea, he got inside his car. His hand clutched the steering wheel tightly when he asked, “What is it, Sam?”

“There's nothin’, alright.” Dean knew immediately something was up at his brother's defensive stance.

“Baby brother, I know you better than anyone. Speak up.” He said.

Sam hesitated, before he said, “Fine. It's about Eileen. She is….I am finally bringing her around and I want her to meet Ava and y’all. I just want you to be there….please.” It was a big step for him and Dean knew that.

After Jess’ death, he had watched his brother become only the broken shell of the man he once was. It took a long time for Sam to come to terms with his wife's death because it happened so suddenly - a ruptured brain aneurysm which had started with just a simple headache and before anyone could do anything about it, Sam had to say goodbye to his wife forever. When he met Eileen a few months ago, he never thought he would end up falling in love again. He wanted her to meet his somewhat dysfunctional family, Dean being the other most important person for him, right after Ava.

“So, you want me there to show your girlfriend how perfect the Winchester family is?”

“I want you to be there because I want you two to know each other. I'm serious about her… this. After Jess, I-” Sam swallowed heavily, “You saw me, Dean. You were only fucking person who made sure that Ava didn't lose her other parent to some drunk driving or alcohol poisoning. Moving past the grief was the hardest part for me and I couldn't have done that without you. So, I want you to meet Eileen who's gonna be someone important to me too.”

“I'll see if I can make it-” Dean sighed, “- but I swear if John Winchester even dares to breathe in my direction, I'm heading straight out of there.” Dean turned the ignition, making the person on the other end let out a dreadfully long sigh but still vouching to keep their Dad away from him.

Ending the call, Dean dropped his head softly onto the steering, muttering under his breath something along the lines of Sam owing him big time before he pulled out of the driveway.

Dean had sworn to never be in the same room as his Dad the day he drove out of Lawrence.

Lips pressed into a thin line, he quietly drove through the busy streets of NYC. His mind played all the times he had to raise his niece because her Dad was too distraught by grief to take care of her.

In the Winchester household, Sam was the golden boy, but Dean, not so much. So, it had been a tough time for him to see his brother spiral down that deep, dark hole. For a while, Dean had been terrified that if his brother didn't pull his act together, he could be legally declared unfit to be Ava’s parent and that would have utterly destroyed Sam.

He truly didn't want to be at Ava’s birthday party but he loved the little girl to death and it would break her heart if Dean didn't turn up to her party and he also had to meet Eileen.

“Make up your mind, Winchester.” He grumbled to himself as he stopped at a crossing. He put on the radio and shook his head when a Taylor Swift song started to play. His mind travelled back to the young woman living beside him, a lopsided smile forming on his face.

It was nice to have a friend.

Dean took a left turn from the intersection when he spotted Y/N standing on the side of the road. She was looking down at her cell, a blue bag hanging from her side. He drove over to her side, pulling up right in front of her.

“Ms. L/N?” Rolling down the window, he craned his neck to look at her and asked, making the woman look up. It had been a few days since he last saw her.

“Dean!” Y/N was quite taken aback when she looked up to see her neighbor in the shiny four wheeler . She never expected to meet him here but thinking back, she remembered he had told her he worked somewhere around the corner. Small world. Even with the bare minimum knowledge she had about cars, she understood it was a classic car that he was driving. She let her eyes trail over the black car. “Nice wheels you got there, Dean.”

He gave her a shrug but the sparkle in his eyes gave away the fact he took pride in his car. Cocking an eyebrow, he asked, “What're you doing out here standing alone, Ms. L/N?”

“Oh, my work is just two blocks down and-” she raised her hand, her thumb pointing at the confectionery shop behind “-I was going to buy cupcakes from here before going home but the shop is closed, so kinda waitin’ for a cab or a bus.”

“I can drop you off. It's not like we live far from each other.” Dean smirked, making her smile. Surely, Y/N and Dean had come a long way since their first meet but she was genuinely taken aback by his niceties.

“I really don't wanna impose,” she said, “I'm sure I can get a cab from here.”

“Oh please, I insist. It isn’t gonna be any kind of trouble. Hop in.” He said, reaching over to open the door.

“Alright, then.” Y/N said but the moment she was going to step in, a voice in the distance pulled her back.

“Y/N!” Her colleague, Ruby, walked down the pavement towards her with a file in hand. “You left this behind.”

“Thanks, Roo.” Glancing at Dean, she started to walk away from the car, not wanting her to see the man inside, but it was of no avail.

“Damn, that's one sexy car. I know you can't drive so who's the guy?” She wiggled her eyebrows at her. “Oh please. Babe, you're gonna do some serious riding tonight, huh?”

“Ruby! It's nothing like that.” She shook her head. Dean stepped out of the car in the meantime, approaching the two women.

“Don’t be such a prude, Y/N.” Y/N’s eyes went wide when Ruby uttered those words as Dean came to stand beside her. She was already mortified at the thought of Dean meeting her fellow writer, and now, even more so. After seeing Ruby’s eyes lingering on him, she searched for any sign of mirth on his face. He was definitely not enjoying her shameless objectification. “So, you're takin’ my girl out tonight. I need to know more about you. What's your name, handsome?”

Y/N felt her face heat up at her friend’s poor attempt at flirting. All she wanted was for the earth to open up and swallow her whole or for a meteorite to crash into her, anything would be better than this embarrassment. “Ruby, shut-”

“I'm Dean.” The man beside her spoke up. His voice was firm, confirming her very suspicions that he clearly wasn't enjoying Ruby's bullshit. “And your name, gorgeous?” Y/N winced at his snark.

“No need to be rude, geez.” Ruby rolled her eyes at him. “I just asked for your name, De-....wait, hold up. You're Dean? Dean Winchester? As in Y/N’s boyfriend?”

Fuck.

Chapter 6

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