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animereaderinsertwriter · 2 years

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Previous - Chapter 2 - Next - Series Masterlist - Series Playlist

Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags/Warnings: fantasy au, violence, smut, angst, fluff, non-major character death, pregnancy, dub con/fuck or die but only kinda?, enemies to lovers, there's an arranged betrothal somewhere in there that eventually goes away, spoilers for dabi's identity

ao3 link here

“The sacred day we know as Beltane was one of the few sacred holidays whose celebration was not forbidden by the Empire. It was a celebration of springtime, the coming summer, and fertility during the warmest and best months of the year, and so long as the imperial soldiers got their fair share of the celebration (both in terms of food and sex), everything went on quite well. However, it is worthy of note that the good gentlefolk of the Clans often forgot to warn their imperial counterparts of the danger of traveling during this time of liminality without a proper offering to give to those they might meet, and many a man with an imperial lion on his breast found himself carried off to the realm of the fae, never to be seen again.”

—Balthazar the Wise, On the Age of Unrest

A few hours before dawn's first dim glow painted the horizon, (Y/N) had nearly worked her hands free of the rope that bound her. Silently as she worked, she dedicated every layer of skin, every drop of blood as a sacrifice to the goddess; her fury flowed hot and deep, and even as she tore more flesh to wrench free, she thought of home and how every single scrape on her wrists from this encounter would be answered by swirling flame and piercing ice.

I'm coming, Shoto, she thought fiercely, finally freeing one hand fully from the rope. You won't have to worry for long.

If (Y/N) were honest with herself, Shoto had been right to try and convince her to call off this mad trip to the countryside— the dangers had obviously outweighed the benefits, if her current situation was any indication— but it was Beltane, and (Y/N) had always taken a few weeks away from the Summit to visit the people, her people before the festivals. Besides, ever since her betrothal, she'd felt more strongly than ever the need to be free and roam where she would while she had the chance. Soon, she would be a lady of Clan Todoroki, and some of that freedom would be stripped from her.

Naturally, however, that freedom would not be given lightly, nor would it be exchanged for a small, trifling price; no, for a sliver of her freedom, (Y/N) would secure peace for the people and all the protection the Todoroki name could provide her, which was no small thing, indeed. It was a good thing, too, that she and Shoto were as compatible as they were, for while Shoto would be honor-bound to seek vengeance for his betrothed regardless of the fondness between them, the act of capturing and humiliating the closest confidante of the Todoroki heir apparent warranted a hellish punishment indeed. When he caught wind of this, Shoto would be like a bloodthirsty hound unleashed from its cage; because for all that they did not love each other as lovers should, (Y/N) was as dear to Shoto as she was to him.

"You're my star-match," he'd told her once under the midnight sky as they sipped an ale strong enough to warm their very bones. "If I thought I could ever love anyone, it would be you."

Once (Y/N) made it back and told her story, Shoto would squash every man in this camp like a bug beneath his heel. Vengeance would be swift and sure, and (Y/N) hungered for it.

Just a little more, she thought, pulling the rope over the meat of her right hand. Only a few more seconds…

She was free!

Swiftly, (Y/N) glanced around, looking for something she could use as a weapon just in case she was found; a moment later, she grabbed hold of a knife Dabi had haphazardly thrown to the ground before collapsing on his mat to sleep. Now armed, she quietly made her way towards the exit, but stopped just in front of Dabi's sleeping figure, hovering there while she considered her options.

I should kill him, she thought, tightening her grip on the knife she held. It would be easy.

It was true. The human body was such a fragile thing— all it would take to end his life would be a quick drag of a blade across his throat. (Y/N) could do it without even waking him, and she'd be free to make her escape with no one the wiser until she was long gone. One smooth, solid slide of the knife in her hand, and Black Dabi would be no more, her vengeance won by her own hand.

Really, she should do it, she thought, moving silently towards the sleeping marauder. It would be wrong of her not to strike this blow for every peasant farm boy slain, for every young maid robbed of her girlhood; morally, it was (Y/N)'s duty to end his life.

At least, that's what (Y/N) told herself as she lowered her body gently over his, watching his chest rise and fall steadily.

In his sleep, Dabi looked peaceful and almost sweet. As (Y/N) placed a knee on either side of his hips, raising her knife to his neck, she thought that he could almost have been handsome if he hadn't been so evil. He had the fine, strong features of a nobleman, and in another life, she might have batted her lashes at him in the marketplace.

One motion, she told herself, placing the knife against his skin. It will be quick and easy, and more merciful than he deserves.

But before she could manage it, a lightning-fast and beastly-strong pair of hands gripped (Y/N) by the upper part of her arms, and she nearly sliced through the tendons of Dabi's throat by sheer accident.

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I interrupting your fun, pussy-cat?" asked Dabi with a dark chuckle, his voice thick with sleep. "You didn't really believe that I could sleep through all that racket you were making, did you?"

(Y/N) had thought that she had been rather quiet herself, but in hindsight, it was possible that she had been mistaken.

"You're a monster," she replied hoarsely, and Dabi pulled her down, forcing the full weight of her body down onto his pelvis. "If I don't kill you, more innocent people will die by your hand."

"Most assuredly," he agreed, smiling almost lazily, his eyes half-lidded. "So do it. Stop playing with your food and eat it."

To her horror, (Y/N) could feel the hard press of Dabi's cock against her. Desperately, she tried to move away, but Dabi held her hard and fast, his grin turning almost manic as she squirmed against him.

"Do it," he urged her, his grip on her arms painfully tight as he pulled her closer. "Kill me, purge me, purify me, O Hand of Cerridwen. All men die, but few do so beneath a beautiful woman."

(Y/N) looked at him then— really looked at him— and was suddenly struck by how familiar he seemed. Though it was dark, she could have sworn she knew his eyes from another face.

This is not his path, a still, small voice within her said, and (Y/N) lowered her blade. He has a part yet to play in this life. Let him live.

"Why hesitate?" he asked with a strange softness. "What do you see, pussy-cat?"

"A man," she replied, equally soft, and she knew she couldn't make herself complete the task she had risked everything to accomplish.

What a fine mess I'm in now, (Y/N) thought, watching as Dabi stared intently at her. I'm certain he'll do worse than tan my hide this time. Who knows what hellish punishment a stunt like this would warrant?

Just then, an idea occurred to her.

No killing, the goddess had commanded— but as far as (Y/N) was concerned, maiming was entirely on the table.

"Terribly sorry to cut this philosophical talk short," she told Dabi, tightening her grip on her knife, "But I've got places to be."

With that, she raised the blade and brought it down again just above Dabi's collarbone, driving the knife through his flesh and down into the ground. The sound Dabi made as his body was wounded could probably have been heard for miles around, and (Y/N) knew she had mere moments before the whole of the League was on her tail. Adrenaline coursing through her veins, she scrambled out of the tent and into the night, looking desperately for a means of escape.

Horses, horses— where were the fucking horses? On foot, (Y/N) would be little trouble to hunt down, but on a horse—

Ah!

A fine black stallion was tied to a tree about five yards away, and (Y/N) bolted to it like her life depended on it.

Which, incidentally, it did.

"Easy, easy," she told it as shouting and the clanking of metal could be heard from all around. "Will you let me ride you?"

The stallion snorted and beat the ground with its hoof. It became immediately apparent that the animal was of some ill temper, but (Y/N) didn't have time to be picky; she hauled herself up onto its back as best she could without the aid of stirrups and a saddle, and she held on for dear life as the damn thing bucked once then took off like a shot, carrying her out of the camp in the blink of an eye.

I’m free! she thought, laughing hysterically as the stallion beneath her beat the earth with his hooves, his gallop faster than anything (Y/N) had ever experienced. They’ll never catch me now— the moors are perilous at this hour, and these mists are so thick that they won’t be able to see even a foot in front of them. It would be a fool’s errand to chase me now.

Her joy, however, was short-lived. Not even a moment later, a shout rang out across the moors that chilled her to the bone.

"You wily little bitch!" came Dabi's voice, rich and booming as though he were close on her tail. "When I catch you, I'm going to make that thrashing I gave you look like a goddess-damned maypole dance!"

Panic overtook her as the sound of galloping hooves and that of her heartbeat intermingled, hammering in her head in a great cacophony. (Y/N) willed the horse beneath her to gallop faster, terrified of what would happen if she fell back into Dabi's clutches— but even as she did so, the damn thing stopped completely, launching her from its back and onto the ground. Temporarily, the world went black, and when (Y/N) came back to herself, she could have beaten herself for having been such a fool.

What the horse had seen— or otherwise sensed— and she had not was the fairy ring that she now lay in the middle of, the white-capped mushrooms sharing at her as though to laugh at her predicament. As the mists before her thickened, (Y/N) remembered belatedly that the same perils that existed for her pursuers existed also for her— and the mists at this hour held more than just physical obstacles.

"Where are you, you wretched bitch?" Dabi called out, oblivious to (Y/N)'s peril. "You can't hide in the mist forever!"

(Y/N) should have just let him wander off into the mists without breathing so much as a word in warning— ironically, if she had, it might have kept Dabi from discovering her and stumbling into the fairy ring— but (Y/N) just couldn't help herself. She called out to him, doing the best she could to dissuade him from searching for her.

"Stay back!" she yelled out to the moors, hoping like hell that Dabi would understand. "Turn away, Dabi! It isn't safe!"

There was a somewhat muffled reply, but before (Y/N) could process it, a hand dropped to her shoulder, startling her. When she turned to see what— or who— had touched her, her blood ran as cold as ice.

Greetings, blessed one, the creature above her seemed to say, its eyes soft and considerate, though they were also the unsettling shade of ichor gathered in a wound. You are far from home.

The creature— one of the aes sídhe, (Y/N) could only assume from its humanoid shape and colorless visage — held out a wooden cup for her to drink. As she took it, she also noticed another, smaller aes sídhe, one who looked to be possibly more feminine, hiding a little ways back.

Fear not, Hand of Cerridwen, said the first aes sídhe, straightening itself from where it had bent to speak to her. Drink of the cup, and you will be well.

The first rule of the supernatural was to never, ever eat or drink anything offered to oneself by a nonhuman. (Y/N) knew this rule well, as it had been beaten into her derriere as a young novice in the temple who liked to skive off her lessons, but she’d had no water in the past several hours. A mere moment ago, she would have killed for even a single drop of something liquid… and even now, confronted with a strange being who didn't feel the need to move its mouth to speak, (Y/N) wasn't sure where she stood any longer.

"What will this drink do to a mortal body, O Fairy of the Ring?" (Y/N) asked, finding herself a bit shocked that she had reverted to the Old Tongue, as she hadn't quite realized what language the aes sídhe had mentally addressed her with. "I believe you bear no ill will, but do you know of its effects?"

The aes sídhe shook its head.

It is naught but the water of our land, our people, blessed by the goddess, it said, and (Y/N) peered into the cup, finding the liquid that lay within as clear as spring water. Drink now, little sister of the Mortal Lands, and taste the blessing of the Land Undying.

(Y/N) knew better, but she drank the cup dry. The water— smoother, sweeter, and more viscous than anything she'd ever drank— was gone in a matter of seconds, and the aes sídhe extended a hand to her, intending to help her to her feet.

"Back away," came a low, rough voice from behind. "Come one step closer, and I'll burn you to ash."

(Y/N) turned, her body trembling and her mind racing at hearing the Old Tongue once more— Aloud! From a human!— and then everything in the world seemed to slam to a screeching halt as she realized that the voice belonged to Dabi.

Oh, he was angry now. His chest was heaving, his sword was drawn, and his eyes were wide like a snarling beast's. He charged at her, flames coalescing into existence in the palm of his left hand, and for one awful moment, (Y/N) was struck with paralyzing fear.

He's going to kill me, she thought, terrified. My lineage, my legacy ends here—

But then Dabi strode past her, only stopping once his body was fully in front of hers, his feet planted solidly at shoulder-width before her.

He wasn't trying to capture (Y/N); he was protecting her.

Ah, a champion for the little sister, said the ais sídhe, a little amused. A man for the woman of the goddess.

"I am no one's man but my own," Dabi shot back. "I said get back."

At that, (Y/N) scrambled to her feet, alarmed.

"You fool!" she hissed, tugging at his jerkin. "That's an aes sídhe, it could squash you like a—"

"I know what it is," he snapped, shrugging away from her. "Get out of here while you still can, I'm giving you an opening."

(Y/N) wanted to laugh… only, she felt much closer to crying.

"Dabi," she said in Common, yanking him backwards as the aes sídhe looked on. "I'm the Hand of Cerridwen. I don't need an opening."

Dabi turned to look at her then, eyes narrowed.

"The fuck are you on about?" he asked, matching her languge, and the aes sídhe took that moment of distraction to close in.

You feel such anger, such bitterness, it said, its large hand gripping Dabi's jaw. It gives you strength, mortal, but it makes a poor sacrifice.

"Sacrifice?"

Dabi looked genuinely confused, and (Y/N)'s heart sank as she noticed the faintest rays of light coming through the fog.

It was the dawn of Beltane, and Dabi had nothing— no pouch of seeds, no bouquet of spring flowers, no summer crops— for the aes sídhe.

It is Beltane's dawn this morn, and you have crossed into our land, the aes sídhe told him, releasing his face. You mean to say that you come without an offering?

(Y/N) didn't know what to do. There had to be a way to stop this madness, and yet without an acceptable gift, the aes sídhe were well within their rights— well, certainly within their habit, in any case— to do with Dabi as they would. Death would be favorable in a situation like this; aes sídhe were fond of taking wayward humans into their fold for, ah, recreational purposes. If (Y/N) couldn't invoke some right, weasel out through some technicality, Dabi would be—

Sai'dor.

All three of them— (Y/N), Dabi, and the aes sídhe— turned to look at the aes sídhe's smaller companion, who now approached.

What is it, sweet one? asked the first aes sídhe— Sai'dor, apparently— and its companion looked at (Y/N) with a sheepish expression.

I have foreseen this, it said. Its eyes never left (Y/N), and she felt suddenly discomfited by the depth of its scrutiny.

Sai'dor shook its head, then spoke a phrase that (Y/N) didn't understand.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dabi demanded. (Y/N) could have punched him, but before she got the chance, the smaller aes sídhe spoke up.

The fields are ripe for sowing, it said with a tiny smile of shiny black teeth, and there is more than one kind of seed. Let that be our gift to the goddess; in receiving your offering, we give also our own. Provided, of course, that the Hand is willing.

(Y/N)'s heart sank to her stomach. It all became painfully clear what the aes sídhe expected of them, and she was sick at even the thought.

It has been foreseen, said Sai'dor almost gently. Consider it wisely, little sister.

That was it, then. One way or another…

Her hand drifted to her torso, and Dabi looked horrified.

"Absolutely not," he said, once more in Common. "I refuse."

It was almost cute, (Y/N) thought, how he suddenly wanted to play the hero now. Cute, but ultimately futile.

"You can't refuse," she told him, pulling him once more to her by his shirt. "You should have left like I told you to. If I had been by myself, none of this would have…"

(Y/N) didn't finish her sentence, but Dabi's eyes widened, first in understanding, then in panic.

"Fuck," he swore.

(Y/N) let out a hysterical little giggle, wondering whether or not this was what it would feel like to go insane. "That's the idea."

Dabi turned to her, piercing her with eyes of azure, his expression determined.

"I won't do it." There was no anger left in him, only acceptance. "If you're truly free, then go. I'll deal with this."

(Y/N) shook her head. She didn't know what the right answer to this was, but she did know that she wouldn't be leaving Dabi here to face this alone. He might have been a murderous bastard, but he had risked his very life to save her, and that in itself had value.

Would it be so bad? she wondered, taking in Dabi's strong jaw, his slender nose. He's a bit patch-work, sure, and he's a murdering bastard, but… he's not bad-looking.

In any case, it couldn't possibly be worse than two weeks in an imperial dungeon, could it?

(Y/N) closed her eyes for a moment, and when she reopened them, she looked on Dabi with the eyes of the Mother— eyes that saw brokenness, not vileness… pain, not anger. This man, as well as any other, had the potential to be good, but he had made terrible choices. Even so, the Mother had a plan for him, and (Y/N) was resigned to play a part and bear witness to it.

"Come, Dabi, make your peace," she told him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "In all things, we must endure."

He stared at her with a blank expression instead of finishing the platitude.

"What?"

(Y/N) sighed. Men always required too much explanation.

"I'm hardly a virgin, and you're hardly unhandsome," she told him, her eyes locked with his, "And unless your tastes run in the other direction, I think we should manage just fine."

Dabi looked at her as though she'd taken a bite out of a plague rat right before his eyes, and (Y/N) fought the urge to laugh.

"Have you lost the fucking plot?" he demanded, batting her hand away.

And here she was hoping that an amoral blackguard like Dabi would be an easy lay. So much for that.

"If I said I wanted you," she said, stepping even closer, "Would you deny me?"

There was hesitation in Dabi's eyes, but there was skepticism too.

"Not even an hour ago, you would have killed me," he told her. "How am I supposed to believe you want me now?"

(Y/N) wet her lips. Dabi followed the action with his eyes, and she knew she had him.

"An hour ago, I didn't know you spoke the Old Tongue," she replied, placing a finger gently over his lips, tracing the seam of them. "An hour ago, you were my captor, the man who stripped me of my dignity before a camp of marauders."

Dabi grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away, but he did not release her.

"And what am I now, priestess?" he asked. His eyes— still so familiar— burned with an intensity unlike anything (Y/N) had ever experienced, and she swallowed thickly before she replied.

"You're the man who risked his life to save me." Suddenly emboldened, her eyes opened with godly insight, she added, "In fact, you're a nobleman's son who has chosen the wrong path, a would-be lordling that I might have flirted with at festivals, had we been in the same circles. You are so much more than you would have had me believe— and now I'm baring myself to you in the same way you've unwittingly done for me."

Dabi shook his head.

"You lie," he told her, crossing his arms. "If you can't do any better than that, then— mph!"

There were few things in the world indeed that couldn't be solved by a simple kiss. This situation, (Y/N) supposed, would certainly not be hurt by one.

"Could you speak to me in the Old Tongue again?" (Y/N) asked against his lips, wondering if it was herself or the goddess talking. "I haven't heard it since the war ended, except for—"

(Y/N) stopped short, stricken with shame at the thought of her betrothed. Shoto also spoke the Old Tongue when his father wasn't around to scold him for it, but instead of the usual joy the thought of him brought, (Y/N) felt only guilt and sorrow.

"Is this really what you want?" Dabi asked, adopting the language of the ancients once more. "Your eyes are sad."

I am the High Priestess of this land, (Y/N) wanted to say. When has what I want ever truly mattered?

Instead, she shook away that uncharitable thought and kissed him again. The texture of the scarred skin of his lower lip was strange but pleasant against her own, and she pressed forward, deepening the kiss, allowing her hands to come up and trace the metal embedded in his skin with her fingers. As she did so, strong, calloused hands cupped her shoulders, first pulling her closer, then pushing her back; (Y/N) opened her eyes, puzzled by the motion, but when she saw where Dabi was looking, she couldn't quite blame him.

A little ways away, the aes sídhe were sitting in the grass, the vines they wore as clothing shed to reveal their forms as they touched and kissed. In the early light, they looked like the ghosts of lovers who had died together, having run off to the moors to fulfill their forbidden vows. For a moment, (Y/N) wondered if that truly was what they once had been.

"Look at me," said (Y/N), moving Dabi's face back to hers with a gentle hand. "I'm the woman who is about to give you her body. As such, I deserve your full attention."

Dabi's eyes were soft then, softer than they had a right to be, and he returned her words with a kiss of his own. He kissed her deeply, his tongue pressing forward past her lips, and he caressed the very place on her neck where he had choked her before as if in silent apology.

"It's not in me to be gentle," he warned her, his lips moving to tease at her ear. "If that's what you were hoping for, you should say so now."

With a quiet smirk, (Y/N) grasped his cock through his pants.

"Don't coddle me," she replied as Dabi inhaled sharply. "Unlike this New Religion's virgin queen, my goddess doesn't require those who serve her to remain untouched. I know my way around a man, and man has known his way around me enough to know that I like it rough."

Dabi huffed a laugh, then winced, drawing back to clutch at his shoulder. It was then that (Y/N) remembered the wound she'd given him earlier, and she scratched the back of her head, sheepish.

"Lie down on the grass, and I'll take care of that for you," she said, pressing her fingers around the wound. "It'll make things easier, more pleasant."

Dabi brushed her away.

"It's cauterized," he said, "And something else for nothing— you won't be the one giving orders around here."

So saying, he fiddled at unlacing her shirt, revealing her breasts. Eagerly, he lowered himself to kiss between them, taking one in each hand as he left markings there with lips, tongue and teeth. Impatient, anxious to be done, (Y/N) fisted a hand in his hair, unsure of whether she wanted to pull him up to kiss her or down to have those teeth scrape against her nipple, but he tugged against her with such force that she was worried she would rip the strands from his head no matter what she chose.

"Pushy, pushy," he grumbled against her skin, nipping the sensitive skin of her left breast as a calloused thumb brushed over her nipple. "Pull my hair all you like, pussy-cat— you're not the only one who likes it rough."

(Y/N) groaned at that, but then Dabi sank to his knees, his hands at the laces of her breeches. Teasingly, he rubbed the heel of his palm against her sex, and she threw her head back at the sensation.

"Like that, do you?" he asked with a grin, and (Y/N) felt the vicious urge to kick the bastard for being so smug. She would have, too, if he hadn't yanked down her breeches, grabbed her by the cheeks of her sore arse, and smashed himself face-first against her sex.

"Mm, the way you taste," he chuckled darkly against her pussy as she shuddered. "You really are divine."

Only a truly evil man could have known just how to become (Y/N)'s undoing in the way that Dabi did. Slowly, teasing, he used the big, bony knuckle of one finger to rub against her clit, using his tongue to lick the wetness from her core as he traced sensitive circles into her skin. Just when (Y/N) thought she would have to exhale a soft please, he moved his fingers to her opening and his mouth to her clit, thrusting two fingers inside her, reaching just deep enough to tease her, slowly but forcefully pumping them in and out as she rocked against him, helpless to do anything except ride the wave of her pleasure.

"Yes," she cried at one particularly hard thrust, his tongue flattening against her clit. "Dabi— Dabi please—"

She didn't need to ask him twice. A third finger was added, and the long, slender digits hammered in and out of her with a force that sent her quaking. His tongue circled her clit, and he began alternating between teasing and nipping and sucking it in a maddening cycle of pleasure-pain. (Y/N) had never felt like this— never— and she clung to Dabi's hair for dear life, hoping to the goddess and all things good that she didn't pass out from it.

"Fuck," she swore as his mouth closed gently around her clit, sending a jolt of sensation through her whole being. "Oh, oh, I'm so close already—"

Beneath her, Dabi was using his free hand to stroke himself, and watching him pleasure himself so roughly, almost punishingly, pushed her over the edge and into orgasm, drenching his fingers.

"Dabi!" she cried, pleading as he curled his fingers inside her. She pushed at his head with all her strength— she wasn't sure how much more she could take— but he didn't budge an inch. "Fuck, I've finished, I've come, I—"

Dabi pulled away from her clit, but his fingers inside her never stopped.

"Let me see if I can make this situation any clearer," he grinned, sharp and carnivorous. "This isn't about you, pussy-cat. It's about me."

With that, he buried his face between her thighs once more, and (Y/N) could almost have cried at the sensation of too much and yet somehow not enough. It felt as though Dabi was going to consume her entirely, and in that moment, (Y/N) wasn't quite sure that she would object.

It's been too long since I've been with someone, she thought as Dabi finally, finally withdrew his fingers, switching hands so that the wetness from her covered his prick as he stroked it. I've spent so long on my own that I had forgotten what being with another person feels like.

Since her betrothal to Shoto, (Y/N) hadn't been with anyone, especially not Shoto himself. Despite the immense, all-consuming love they had for one another, it wasn't that kind of love, and it hadn't felt right to engage in such a thing until it was expected of them to do so… but now, faced with a blue-eyed devil who looked like he could rearrange her insides, she almost wished she had been a bit more in practice than she was.

"Who did this to you?"

In the time that (Y/N) had lost to her musings, Dabi had still been kneeling before her, watching her intently. He was looking at her now with darkness in his eyes, and suddenly she felt very, very naked, and a little fearful.

"Didn't you hear me?" he demanded, splaying a hand over her thigh. "I asked who did this to you."

Ah, (Y/N) had forgotten. The scars.

All across her body were scars from the war. Either from healing the wounded or sustaining her own injuries, scarring was inevitable… but what Dabi was doubtless referring to was the scars she obtained during those fourteen days of captivity.

The matter of her scars, however, was none of Dabi's business.

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," she replied curtly, and Dabi snatched her to him, somehow still commanding despite being eye-level with her crotch.

"You and that smart mouth," he growled. "If I had more patience, I'd teach you a lesson about sassing me."

"You don't have it in you, craven," she shot back. Bitterness of the past welled in her, threatening to drown her, but Dabi was too quick to allow it. Mean, nasty thing that he was, he swung a single powerful arm behind her, landing a sweeping blow to her knees, and she took a hard fall right onto her ass. Now angry, she made to scramble to her knees, but she was too slow; Dabi was on top of her, his cock hanging long and hard from his breeches, and he wrapped a hand around her throat, suddenly vicious once more.

"Silence," he ordered, this time in the Old Tongue, and (Y/N) couldn't fight off the shudder that ran through her body at the command. "You wild animal, you untamed beast— I risk my sorry neck to save you, do everything I can to keep you from harm and you— you stand there talking to me like I'm some serving boy, like I'm beneath you— fuck, I can't stand it!"

He kissed her then, furious and forceful, and her hands found themselves once again in his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue forced itself between her lips. (Y/N) wanted to consume and be consumed; at once, she felt drunk, feverish, and the slide of Dabi's cock against her was an unbearable temptation.

"You said you hate me?" he told her, pulling away to look at her with those eyes that were more blue than the sky, more wild than a rabid wolf, "I can promise I hate you more, pussy-cat. You weak-willed woman, you worthless bitch— you and yours fucking gave away everything that I fight for, everything that was taken from me, and yet here you are, so fucking beautiful that I want to crush your skull beneath my hands just to get away from you. You are every mistake I never would have made."

"You're insane," she snarled, biting his lip, and he bit back. Hard.

"Count on it," he growled right back. "We can't all be well-adjusted like you, Your Worshipfulness— though I question how begging for a criminal's cock is any form of sane for a straight-laced boot-licker like yourself."

"I did not beg—" she protested, but then she was being shoved onto her hands and knees, her face full of dirt and her ass in the air as Dabi's cock slid between her thighs.

"Maybe not," he said, bending his body over hers so that they were touching back-to-chest, "But you will."

Dabi snuck one hand around her to play with her too-sensitive nipples, and the opposite arm forced her into a headlock. He kissed and licked and sucked all along her neck, and (Y/N) shuddered at the feeling of his cock sliding along her folds, always close but never enough. It was maddening, but (Y/N) would not beg, she wouldn't, she'd die before she lowered herself to that—

"Please," she gasped as he licked the shell of her ear. "Dabi, I— I'm sorry, I didn't mean what I said, I just—"

"Beg," he snarled, his teeth skimming the back of her neck, teasing at a bite.

(Y/N) shivered.

"Fuck," she hissed as one of his arms circled her neck. "Please, please, I want you to fuck me."

He chuckled darkly against her, raising the hair there with the warmth of his breath.

"You think that's adequate?" he asked, tightening his forearm so that it was almost strangling her. "Are you so unaccustomed to asking nicely that 'I want you to fuck me' is the best you can do? Pathetic. You don't even know my real name; you never even fucking asked for it."

(Y/N) didn't know how else to beg. She rocked herself backwards into his cock, hoping for something, anything, but all she got for her efforts was a stinging bite to her collarbone.

"Ask me for my cock," he said against her skin, rutting his cock even harder against her. "Beg me for it."

(Y/N) almost wanted to cry. What else could she possibly say or do?

"Please," sobbed (Y/N), fisting her hands in the grass. "Please, please give me your cock, Dabi, I want to feel you, I want to come with you inside me, I—"

Dabi released her from his headlock then, and lacking the strength to hold herself up, she collided with the ground so hard it made her jaw ache.

"Call me by my name," he told her, grabbing her by the hair. "Ask me what my name is."

"Y-your name—" she gasped as he was suddenly inside her, filling her. "What's— What's your name?"

"Call me Touya," he murmured, his lips suddenly close to her ear as he yanked her upwards. "That's the name I want you to scream when you come."

Touya… where had (Y/N) heard that name before? There was something in the way he said it— in the whispering of it, in the nigh-upon painful utterance— that was as familiar and yet impossible to place as his eyes. She knew that name, knew it like the smell of the land just before a thunderstorm, like the banished light of a candle in a temple corridor; it was a part of her somehow, and she couldn't help but repeat it, try it on like a silken slip.

"Touya," she groaned as he began fucking her in earnest. "Where do I— oh fuck."

Dabi— no, Touya— repositioned them slightly, adjusting the angle, and (Y/N)'s words died in her throat. There were a thousand and one things racing through her mind— too much, not enough, are they seriously watching us from over there? Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me— but she couldn't focus on a single one of them. The hot slide of Dabi's cock inside her, the wild, erratic thrusting of his head against her insides, all of it was too much, and all she wanted was to not think.

"That's it," Dabi praised her, pistoning his hips. "See, you can be good, pussy-cat— and if you're very, very good, you'll get the cream you're hoping for."

"Touya," she gasped. "Touya, I—"

"Quiet, now," he told her in the Old Tongue, his hand coming around to circle her clit. "Find your mountaintop."

And wasn't that beautiful? Find your mountaintop, he'd told her— of course, it was just an Old Tongue nicety referring to an orgasm, but as (Y/N) was sent careening towards her own, it seemed so poetic.

(Y/N)'s second orgasm felt like free-falling. Her whole body was a-tremble, and adrenaline coursed through her, carrying its own high. If she would have been cognizant enough, she would have been ashamed at how she cried out, how wrecked she had become as Dabi finished inside her, but all she could do was sink against him, at once heavy and weightless as she collapsed against him.

"Shit," said Dabi, pulling her up and steadying her on her knees, his skin warm and wet where they connected. "You don't do things by halves, do you?"

(Y/N) wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but decided to let that be a problem for her future self to suss out; she faded in and out of consciousness until she finally succumbed, warm and safe in the arms of a strange man with two names and familiar eyes, whom she hated and yet trusted with her life.

I'm sorry, Shoto, she thought as the darkness of her inner being took over. I hope you can forgive me.

***

Dabi had never felt so emotionally raw after sex, but he supposed there was a first time for everything.

The Hand of Cerridwen lay sprawled out over his body, her own having consumed too much of her energy to maintain consciousness. Truth be told, Dabi might have passed out right along with her if only his bloody stab wound from earlier didn't hurt so bad. The sharp pain of it kept his body thankfully awake and alert, but his mind was hazy and unfocused as he held (Y/N) to his chest, wrapping his arms around her torso and wondering what the hell he was supposed to do from here.

You reveal much, Black Dabi— or should I say, young Todoroki.

Dabi flinched at the echo of the aes sìdhe's mind-voice in his head. He'd nearly forgotten they were there.

"Is that a threat?" he asked tiredly, and the aes sídhe let out a breathy sound that might have been a laugh.

Merely an observation, it said, patting the back of its mate, who was still busy between its thighs. You reveal everything, and she reveals nothing— and yet— how amusing!— neither of you are the wiser.

Dabi wanted to ask for an explanation, but even blinking took too much effort.

Still, mused the aes sídhe, I suppose you do make quite a pair. Though there is much you do not know and cannot see, your child will be strong. My mate has foreseen it.

A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Dabi's stomach, but he refused to succumb to it. The Beltane sunrise was long past them, and he had little time to worry about a child of all things. He needed to dress himself, dress (Y/N), and get out of this mad fever dream; if he didn't get them back to camp soon, who knew what would happen in the meantime.

"Come on, priestess," he sighed, pulling out of her as he struggled to pull up his pants without throwing her naked form to the ground. "Wake up, pussy-cat, we've got a long way to go."

She woke, if you could call it that— (Y/N) was alert enough to stand, but dazed and disoriented as Dabi dressed. Feeling foolish despite his coherency, Dabi helped her into her clothes once he was done with his own, pausing only once when he felt metal against his skin. Looking down, he caught sight of a glint of gold on her hand, and upon closer inspection, noticed that there was a plain gold band encircling the ring finger of her left hand.

An engagement ring.

This just keeps getting better and better, he thought to himself, cursing his own naivete. He had supposed (Y/N) to be unattached, a spirit free to roam the land as she wished; but under the Empire— with their New Religion and their woman-hating and their flaccid fucking pricks— it was no surprise that the High Priestess had attached herself to a man who could protect her and give her rights in their world.

A man who could hold her back, maybe, Dabi thought bitterly to himself as he whistled for the horse (Y/N) had stolen away from him. A man who could punish her with impunity under the law— a man who is rich enough to buy that pretty chunk of gold and fancy that he owns her.

Dabi might have crossed a few lines himself, but at least he knew there were bloody lines.

Farewell, Todoroki Touya, said the aes sídhe with a toothy grin as Dabi's own black stallion approached. May your path be shaded and your burdens be light.

Dabi nodded in return, helping (Y/N) up onto the great beast before situating himself behind her. Bandit— for that was the name of the horse— snorted contrarily, but eased into a canter at the nudge of Dabi's heel into his side.

She took both of us for a ride today, huh, old boy? Dabi thought fondly at the stallion. Had her way with man and beast alike, and now we have to carry her sleepy little arse back.

It was curious; no one— no one— had ever ridden Bandit besides Dabi and lived to tell the tale. Scarce had a fool's arse cheeks touched that animal's back that weren't smashed beneath several hundred pounds of warhorse… and yet (Y/N) had convinced the stubborn beast to gallop for her. How she managed it, Dabi would never know, but he had to admit that watching that wily lass ride at breakneck pace across the moor had seemed something of a dream. She was the finest rider he'd ever seen, too, and he began to wonder what it would have been like to know her in a world without an inheritance of war.

"Touya," she said, stirring suddenly in front of him. "I know that name."

Slowly, she turned to him, and Dabi felt his cheeks flame as she looked at him with searching eyes.

I revealed too much, he thought, thinking back the words of the aes sídhe and his discovery of her engagement ring, And she revealed nothing at all.

"Who are you?" she asked earnestly, pressing him. "I know you're high-born, so don't lie."

"Don't call me that unless we're alone," he told her, refusing to meet her gaze. "Who I am is of little consequence."

(Y/N) turned around then, but Dabi knew the conversation wasn't over— after all, a woman never loses an argument, she only postpones it— but even so, he was glad to regain their peace, especially once they approached the camp. It wouldn't do for the men to see his reclaimed prize as anything but tired and pliant to his will after the stunt she had just pulled.

"Dabi!" Twice exclaimed, jogging up as soon as Dabi reached his tent. "Thank the goddess— we thought you were a goner for sure!"

Dabi huffed a laugh. "So did I. Here, help her down and into the tent— I'm going to get something to eat, and then I'm going to sleep. The first man that wakes me up before I'm ready had better hope we're being ambushed, because if not, I'll have his guts for garters."

That didn't quite happen, though; as soon as Dabi had eaten and settled in, he found himself wide awake, staring at (Y/N), who was fast asleep on the furs he liked to lounge on. She was so innocent and peaceful in her sleep, but the image of what lay beneath her clothes haunted Dabi like a wraith in the night. Those scars… he had never seen their equal on a woman. He wanted to touch every single one, wanted to know their story— the war had affected everyone, he knew, and the tales of the valor of Cerridwen's Chosen had inspired the nation in times of desperate need— but he was almost afraid of what he would find. There was already so much rage within him that any more would surely crack open his ribs and spill from the seams in his flesh like froth from the mouth of a rabid wolf.

“Hey, pussy-cat,” he murmured to her, expecting no response. “What’s your story, huh? Why did you give up the fight for this land and make peace with the Empire?"

When (Y/N) spoke, Dabi nearly jumped out of his skin. In that moment, her voice was not her own, and instead took on the deep, melodious tones of a woman many times her age.

“Because the war was lost before it had begun,” she said, her lashes kissing the skin of her lower lid. “When a bonfire is lost to the rain, it is better to carry a torch into a cave than to let the fire burn out entirely just to breathe open air.”

Dabi’s heart was going to beat out of his chest.

“Goddess divine?” he asked, sitting upright. “Cerridwen, Mother of us all?”

(Y/N) spoke no more, but Dabi knew what he’d heard. His hands shook as he peeled back his blanket, and he walked on wobbly knees over to where (Y/N) lay, placing his hand on her cheek. He caressed her skin, remembering the way he’d struck that very cheek earlier, and then and there, he vowed never to strike her again. She was fragile, this woman, but not fragile in the same way that a glass vase would be; she was fragile like a vessel of Greek fire. Dabi had been careless with his treatment of her, and suddenly, the words of the aes side came back to haunt him.

Your child will be strong, it had said. My mate has foreseen it.

If a child really did come from that union… it would be more than goddess-blessed. It would be more than human.

“Shit,” Dabi swore, brushing hair away from her face. “How the hell are you asleep?”

There was no reply, and there wouldn’t be one; the righteous rarely had any problem finding their rest.

#dabi #dabi x reader #mybigbangacademia #touya x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #dabi smut #dabi x y/n #touya x y/n #fantasy au #enemies to lovers #a suitable match (to start a fire)

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sibsteria · 3 years

Text

valentines [spn cast and characters]

summary: how much do they care for it? what do they do?

warning: fluff, smut-ish, my frazzled single brain

Cast:

Misha Collins:

• he won't admit that he kinda loves it

• he'd definitely cooks

• but always gets distracted

• by you

• if you have kids, they are away that night

• the traditional dinner doesn't last long before you're both attached by the lips

• whatever alcohol is being consumed has a cute romantic twist

• you're up all night

• so many hugs

---

Richard Speight Jr:

• he kind of cares for it

• like, a sweet gesture is as far as it goes

• a gift and a movie

• but also

• he so buys heart printed boxers to make you laugh

• and you do, you laugh so hard

• like, everything is so serious and going smoothly

• and his pants are off and just-

• absolute hilarity

---

Sebastian Roche:

• it's more of a 'if you do, he does' situation

• you'd bake together

• even though he's awful at it

• everything comes out half decent and edible

• he just wants a chill day

• hardly any movement and you don't leave the house

• I repeat

• don't

---

Rob Benedict:

• fucking cringy bitch, he likes it enough to make you blush all day

• writes a small song about you both

• obviously on an acoustic

• he recreates your first date because he's that guy

• meaningful gifts rather than expensive ones

• the affection king

---

Mark Pellegrino:

• he doesn't care for it but will do anything to make you smile

• rolls his eyes at the cringy sexual jokes you aim at him

• but then he makes up for it by bringing them to life at the end of the evening

• y'all just kind of act like it's a normal day

• with more affection

• mostly from Frankie

---

Alexander Calvert:

• thinks he has to impress you, so he tries

• definitely a flowers guy

• the kind to steal kisses at any given moment

• a romantic at heart, but he hides it well

• that evening though-

• the hottest sex you've had in your life

• he wears the necklace

• it's a cold opposite to the heat of the moment

---

Felicia Day:

• when I say valentines, you say romance

• she's the queen of making you feel loved

• she can't pull herself off away from you

• wine and her romantic spotify playlist

• you wear her t-shirt and nothing else, all day

• the sex? absolutely spectacular

---

Mark Sheppard:

• he cares for it more than he'd like to

• but not enough to give you the satisfaction of a romantic dinner

• did someone say takeout? mark sheppard did

• you don't even care, just not being alone on valentine's is enough (yes I'm looking at you)

• bed ridden and pyjamas

• sweet hugs that last forever

---

Ruth Connell:

• you try your hardest to refuse all the romance

• in no way is she going to let that happen

• chocolates, flowers, candles, dinner, music

• she doesn't waste time

• big softy

---

Characters:

Castiel:

• has no clue why there's heart shaped confections and objects everywhere

• asks Sam and Dean what's going on

• if you two aren't dating he will absolutely ask you to be his Valentine in a traditional way

• valentine's alcohol bottle? check

• sweet card? check

• innuendoes that make you choke on your spit? bingo

• if you are dating already he'll give you a bouquet of chocolate roses

• you'll get him a custom tie with everything he loves on

• pb&j, bees, dean

• he has no idea what is going on, but wants in

---

Gabriel:

• to be frank, he doesn't give a shit, but loves you so-

• he will wear the moustache with or without your protests

• try every line in the book to bed you

• chocolate ! covered ! everything !

• -and that's just for him

• turns your room into a valentine's dungeon, hearts, banners, flowers (so many), everything is pink and red and- ugh

• you hate it but kind of love it

• and you love him for doing this without asking

• he will talk you into some food play with like, chocolate and whipped cream and shit

• you get it in your bellybutton and slap his head away before he can get it, wiping it off yourself

---

Chuck:

• wants nothing to do with the 'holiday'

• you reassure him it's fine and that you don't care

• but your thoughts say different

• so he caves and writes you a poem

• it's the most beautiful thing you have ever heard

• man has a way with words

• and you have your way with him

• the one ability he can't give himself is the love he feels for you

• he hardly says it, but he doesn't have to

• because you know

• from the way he looks at you, treats you, talks to you

• it's so obvious

---

Jack Kline:

• much like Cas, a discussion between him and the Winchester's gives him the knowledge he needs

• omg sweet baby is obsessed with Valentine's day

• he keeps handing you things, one after another throughout the day

• not everything is store bought

• 'I made this for you!' you fucking melt 'I saw it online and- I thought of you, I wanted to make it so I could make you happy'

• but you don't need things to make you happy

• he makes you happy

• and when he hears your thoughts say that he just-

• he almost cries, he hugs you tighter than anyone ever could

• 'you make me the happiest'

• he's just a big bundle of cuteness

---

Lucifer:

• just, no

• neither of you care

• you torment all the couples on dates, making things go wrong

• making them spill things on themselves

• the waiters 'slip' with their food

• a little more sinister ones like- making it look like their s/o is cheating

• and if you don't like that, he will stop

• deep down, it kind of is a date

• two people who love each other to the ends of earth, doing something that makes them happy

• he takes a break from rough fucking to make you feel adored

• even though you always feel adored

• because Lucifer himself, is taking up his time with you

---

Balthazar:

• he asks you if you want to do anything and you say no

• he's so confused and sceptical

• he's lowkey kind of hurt that you don't want to spend romantic time with him, lowkey

• oh, if only he knew your plan

• you ask him if he wants to watch a movie

• he hops at the opportunity to do something with you and goes all out

• expensive wine, snacks, flowers, so many snacks

• he lets you pick

• he looks at you like your his world

• and then Titanic starts

• his soft grin drops and he rolls his eyes

• 'really?' 'really.'

• he doesn't really care though, he has you

---

Crowley:

• tells everyone to fuck off so he can have time with you, completely alone

• he just wants to be loved, and so you do that exactly

• you muster up all your romantic stops, and bam-

• you pester your angel friend to help set up décor and snap up some things

• he has no idea until he actually sees it for himself

• he wants to cry, but uses everything in himself not to

• no one has ever done anything like this for him

• he know your special, and he knows he can't let you go

• that night, if you don't already have it, he offers you immortality

• to be with him forever

• you'd be the queen of hell for eternity

• you instantly say yes with no hesitation

• he is taken back by your acceptance

• but in a heart melting way

---

Charlie Bradbury:

• she loves it when she has you to spend it with

• you send each other valentines card memes throughout the day

• fancy takeout with candles and music

• bathing together because intimacy

• you but new lingerie

• so does she

• 'love that colour on you' you make her blush so much

• she likes to think she hold the reigns in the relationship

• she is so wrong

---

Rowena MacLeod:

• like, no

• she'll kiss you like her life depends on it but

• not much goes on

• you might treat each other to a stamina spell so you can really stay up all night

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mattzerella-sticks · 6 years

Text

Decadence (a Dean/Cas 10th Anniversary Fic)

It's Dean and Cas's ten-year anniversary to when they first met. It was a wild one at that, with one saving the other - and in return gets stabbed! But with a sequence of events like that, who can forget?

Cas might have, seeing as Dean was the one who marked it on the calendar.

But did he really? (ao3)

Dean couldn’t be happier.

He’s standing at the counter, an apron tied around his waist covered in flour, with his hands stuck in dough. Behind him, his little boy gurgles as his sister plays with him. “Come on Jack,” he hears Claire say, “We don’t bite Batman…” His phone, nearby and playing music, switches over from Metallica to classic Kansas, and the song washes over him. Dean doesn’t know how long it’s been since a commercial interrupted his playlist, ruining the momentum. It all couldn’t be more perfect.

‘Then why am I feeling off?’

Before Dean could finish his thought, a warm pair of arms slides around his waist, squeezing him from behind. Jack squeals in delight over the melancholic chorus of ‘Carry On My Wayward Son’, but it all filters away as his husband’s voice whispers behind him.

“Pie?” Cas chuckles, “What’s the occasion?”

Dean smiles, pushing away and deeper into Cas’s embrace. He wipes his hands on his apron and turns, pressing their chests together. His grin fades into a frown, however, after taking a good look at Cas’s face, and the myriad of soot stains swept across it. After a quick whiff, Dean gags and pushes the other man away – to Cas’s delight.

“What did I tell you about doing that?” Dean says, “If I wanted to smell like smoke and sweat I’d just go jogging with a cigarette!”

“But babe,” Cas keeps laughing, “you look cute when you’re disgusted. Besides,” he takes a finger and wipes it across Dean’s own brow, white flour clinging to it, “I’m not the only one who needs a good cleaning.” He blushes at Cas’s suggestive smirk and eyebrow wiggle.

“Gross,” Claire interrupts, “can you please do that somewhere else away from impressionable children?”

Dean keeps Cas away at an arm’s length, and uses his other hand to point towards an adjoining hallway. “Go,” he orders, “Take a shower.”

“Fine,” Cas sighs. Dean starts to return to his pie, only to pause as his husband still seems reluctant to move. “But,” he continues, “Can you at least tell me why you’re making pie?”

“Who says I need reason to make pie?” Dean asks innocently.

“You don’t,” Cas admits, “if it were any flavor besides blueberry. You only make them when a day is…” he holds up his fingers, “special.”

‘Damn,’ Dean thinks, glancing at the container of blueberries nearby, ‘Am I that predictable?’

“You are,” Cas answers for him, smirking, “Now, care to tell me what we’re celebrating?”

“It’s… nothing –“

“It’s not nothing, Dean –“

“Fine,” Dean says, sagging against the counter, “It’s our… anniversary.”

Cas blinks, looking towards the nearby calendar in confusion. “Dean, are you okay? Our anniversary isn’t for another two months –“

“No, not our anniversary anniversary,” Dean clarifies, “I mean the day we… met.” It’s right there on the calendar, surrounded by stars and little fires. He’s surprised Cas didn’t realize it sooner, but then again he avoids looking at it more than necessary. Balthazar was the chosen model for that month, and the suggestive posing with the hose made it awkward for him to meet their friend’s eyes.

Dean understands though. He spends most of the time in the calendar’s presence, and forced to deal with Cas’s co-workers’ attempts at ‘blue steel’. The only month they didn’t mind was July – even if Cas was reprimanded every time for being late to his shift.

“Oh,” Cas says, smile blooming, “That anniversary.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “That one. Did you forget?”

“Hard to forget something like that,” Cas chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck, “But if I did… it’s not like you’ve got anything else planned besides pie, right?”

Dean rolls his eyes, turning back to his pie. “Shower. Now.”

“Of course,” Cas says, leaning forward one last time to drop a kiss on his cheek, “I won’t be too long.” He slips out, his footsteps fading away, leaving Dean with their kids and his pie. His attention doesn’t stay on that for long, either, letting muscle memory work through the recipe while his mind goes back a decade.

September 18th was more than just the day Dean and Cas met. On that day the greatest adventure Dean has ever known began, and in the most dangerous ways – with his almost-death.

He’d been undercover for the last four months, infiltrating a gang, and was very close to taking the entire operation down. Earning the trust of one of the lieutenants was the toughest part, and still left Dean with feelings of regret to this day. But it paid off – almost.

Alistair allowed Dean to tag along as back up for a meeting with some suppliers in the warehouse district. He followed every procedure and kept his tracks clean and wires hidden. The only thing he wasn’t prepared for were the DEA storming the place. A fight broke out, and along the way someone tipped over an abandoned tank of gasoline.

The explosion nearly deafened him. When he came to, he could barely see past all the smoke. There were gang members and agents scrambling everywhere, fleeing before the building collapsed. Dean could barely walk, and all his strength he put into calling for help. The only one who could was Alistair, but the blast tore through Dean’s shirt, and his cover was blown. He still remembers the man’s yellow teeth, harshly spitting out the words ‘traitor’ ‘rat’ and ‘die’ before he disappeared into the smoke.

It was hard to stay conscious, with Dean coughing non-stop and his head dizzy. Before he passed out, the last thing he heard was a deep voice and the word ‘saved’.

Next thing he knew, he was waking up in an all-white room. His first thought was that he’d died and gone to Heaven, but the uptick in the heart monitor beside him brought him back to his senses. That and the gorgeous man with blue eyes and stubble leaning over, telling him to calm down. At least, that’s what he was told, as in the moment his voice sounded like wailing sirens and glass scraping against glass, giving him a serious headache. The pain brought back awful images from before, and in his haze Dean figured the man was one of Alistair’s cronies there to finish him off.

‘Like hell,’ Dean thought, ‘’M not going down without a fight.’ He pushed back, forcing the other man to stumble over a plastic chair. Dean pulled himself up and, in a move he’d come to regret later, ripped his IV out with a shout. Scanning the room quickly, Dean saw an empty syringe in a nearby wastebasket. He lunged for it before his ‘attacker’ could recover, and while he was stunned jammed the needle into his shoulder.

“We’re gonna need some help!” someone shouted, “Patient is hostile!”

It wasn’t long before he was knocked out again. The next time he woke up, the man beside him was instead in the nearby bed.

“Y’know,” he started, “you have an awful way of thanking people.”

Dean shot him a dark look and a raised brow. “And what exactly should I have thanked you for?”

“Saving your life?” the other man said, “Pulling you out of the collapsing building that was on fire? Do you remember?”

Dean did: the fire, the smoke, everything about how he ended up there. Except for the man beside him, which was saying something as Dean would definitely remember someone like that.

“So you aren’t here to kill me?” Dean asked.

The other man’s eyes went wide. “What? No I was… no!”

“Oh…” Dean trailed off, finally tearing his gaze away from him. He tried to distract himself, tapping his palms against his thighs through the thin sheet over him (all he could do after being handcuffed). Soon enough, the other man started their conversation back up again.

“Why did you think I was there to kill you?”

Dean snorted. “Well I did just wake up in an unfamiliar environment with a splitting headache and a handsome stranger after a traumatic experience involving a bunch of gang members and drug dealers.”

“…You think I’m handsome?”

“That,” Dean blushed, “That’s what you took away from all that?”

“I already knew about the situation,” he said, “My commander filled us all in after we put the fire out… So, do drug deals normally go down like this?”

“Wouldn’t really know,” Dean shrugged, “Usually I’m helping bust them up but they don’t blow up in my fast like that… pun intended.”

“Isn’t it counter-intuitive to snitch on your own deals?”

“Not if I’m undercover,” Dean sighed, “Which I was until this little mishap. In the frenzy one of the higher ups saw my wire so… there’s no way I’ll be able to go back in.”

“Oh,” the other man smiled, “so you’re a cop?”

“Yep,” Dean nodded, “Officer Dean Winchester,” he gave a little salute, “And you…?”

“Novak,” he supplied, “Castiel Novak.”

“Castiel?” Dean parroted, “What kind a name is that?”

“It’s biblical,” he said, “My parents were very religious.”

“Alright, Cas,” he stared, then winces, “You okay if I call you Cas?”

“Cas is… preferable.”

“Okay,” Dean continued, “So – I don’t know if it’s the pain meds finally kicking in – but if we get out of here… you wanna go out some time? Figure I should repay the guy who saved my life n’all.”

Cas blushed and bit his lip. “I’m not sure,” he drawled, glancing away, “As long as you promise there’ll be no sharp objects?”

“Not promising that but I can say that you won’t see one in my hands?”

“Then I don’t see why not,” Cas chuckled, once more meeting Dean’s eyes. They didn’t look away until Sam barged his way in, finally showing up after hearing about Dean’s injury.

“You look lost in thought…”

Dean blinks back into awareness, the pie somehow already done and cooling on the stovetop. Beside him, Cas stands in a faded tee and jeans with a few holes in them. “Come on,” he continues, pulling him away, “let’s go enjoy that outside while summer’s still here.”

“Wait, let me grab the –“

“Claire’s got it, don’t you sweetie?”

“Right behind you!” she says, pushing Dean along. It’s a struggle, but at least Dean manages to tear off his apron before he’s dragged into their backyard.

“Seriously what is with you –“

“Surprise!”

Outside, waiting for him, is there family. Sam is the closest to them, rocking baby Jack in his arms, still in his suit – ‘must have come straight from work’. Behind him Mary watches form behind her phone, recording the whole thing, while Bobby has an arm around her. His former co-workers, Jody and Donna, are on the other side of him, with twin party poppers in their hands. Bringing up the rear are Cas’s brother Gabriel and his wife, Rowena. Even his therapist managed to make it.

“Wow,” Dean starts, choked up, “I can’t…”

“You didn’t think I’d forget,” Cas says, “Ten years is a long time…” Claire moves out from behind them and puts the pie in the middle of the table. Cas leads Dean closer, where everyone has gathered to watch.

“I don’t…” Dean tries to say, “This doesn’t…” Watching all of his loved ones, gathered around, makes his heart swell, and his head hurt. “This is…” he says, words leaving him.

“Dean?” Cas asks, “Are you okay?”

“Cas…” Dean turns to him, only to fall silent. His eyes widen, and he can’t help the jittery gasp that escapes.

Cas stares at him, quizzically, in a dirty trench coat and suit, with blood and bruises everywhere. “Dean?” he says, “Please… I know you’re in there…”

“What?”

“Dean…” Sam, now, is beside him. Only the suit is gone, now. He’s staring instead into tired, brown eyes, with an unsettling beard and swathed in plaid. Even Jack is gone, replaced by a kid nearer Claire’s age. “Please, fight him,” Sam begs, “I know you can.”

“Fight what?” Dean asks, “What’s going on?”

“It’s not you!” Mary shouts, “Wake up, Dean! Please!”

“I won’t let them kill you,” Sam snarls, “We’ll find a way. We always will.”

“Dean,” Cas begs, “Please… stop this… Michael…”

He remembers.

“Michael!” Dean says. Across the table, his therapist raises an unimpressed brow.

“Dean?” he asks, “What seems to be the problem? Are you having an episode again?”

“No, you… there’s no…” he looks around, noticing how everyone has frozen in place beside the two of them, “You broke your promise.”

“Wasn’t much of one to break,” Michael shrugs, crossing his arms, “Just like you’re spirit –“

“You’re using me –“

“To do what you were always meant to do!” Michael cuts him off, shouting, “To be my sword. My vessel! Be glad I’m at least keeping you locked up safe here in this fantasy. If I were anything like my brother you’d be sitting front and center with no power to do anything but watch.”

“That – that’s not true,” Dean says, “I can – I can…”

“You’re already starting to forget,” Michael smirks, “Exactly what I was talking about. You can’t fight me because you don’t want to fight me.”

“You’re wrong…”

“Am I?” Michael laughs, “There’s no shame in wanting things that could never happen, Dean. It’s… really pitiful. All I did was give you the paint and you’ve created a masterpiece of a prison you don’t want to leave. A world where you and your brother lived a normal life.”

“Sammy…”

“You have a loving family –“

“Stop it…”

“And true love… things that would all disappear if you even managed to break free.”

“I will…” Dean stutters, clenching tight enough to dig his nails into his palms, “I’ll…”

“You’ll what, Dean?” Michael asks, soft and mocking, “Are you still having those nightmares? Everyone affiliated in that gang is locked away – they won’t be getting out for a long time. Now, come on, use the breathing technique I taught you… In…”

‘Can’t… lose sight of… reality…’

“Out…”

‘Might not get… this chance again…’

“In….”

‘Ma… Sam… Cas… can’t fail –‘

“Out…”

‘Fail… wh-what?’

“In…”

‘What day is it?’

“Dean?” Cas asks one more time, “You okay?” Everyone at the table is looking at him. He glances around at them all, watching as their already smiling faces burn brighter the longer he stares.

“Yeah,” Dean finally says, “Just… can’t believe how lucky I am.” He leans in to drop a kiss onto Cas’s lips. “Now, come on, this pie ain’t gonna eat itself!” Everyone laughs as Dean starts to cut into the dessert. With pie in hand and surrounded by all the people he loves, well…

Dean couldn’t be happier.

#Destiel #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Destiel 10th anniversary #Supernatural #Spn #Spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #Destiel fanfiction #Destiel fanfic #10YearsofDestiel

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winchesterprincessbride · 7 years

Text

The Song Remains the Same

This was written for week #19 of the fantabulous @thing-you-do-with-that-thing SPN Hiatus Writing Challenge. I am using the trope damsel not in distress and ends up saving the day.

A/N: This story idea has been kicking around in my head for a while now, and it kinda sorta fits the prompt if you use your imagination so here goes. (I’m taking some liberties, I’ll admit.)

Master List

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel Novak, Meg Masters, Reader Balthazar (mentioned)

Stanford, California 2007

Dean was gonna blow. It was obvious to everyone around him. It was just a matter of time. Patience was not his strong suit, and Balthazar had kept them waiting for over an hour.

“I say he loses it in three….two….” Cas whispered to Sam.

“Meg!” Dean bellowed. “Get out here! Where the hell is he?”

Meg Masters, Castiel’s long-suffering girlfriend, and the band’s sort-of unpaid manager came stomping into the room. “That stupid fuck!” She shrieked.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Cas asked, trying to console her.

“Balthazar got busted with a buttload of coke. He violated his parole. He’s being deported.” Meg said through gritted teeth.

Dean threw his mike across the room. “Wonderful, just fucking wonderful! We finally have our big break, and now we don’t have a drummer!” Dean looked ready to have an aneurism.

Sam, ever the calmer of the brothers, looked at Meg to solve this problem as she did every other one that came up.

Two years ago, Sam and Cas had met in class at Stanford and had discovered their love of music and decided to form a band. Sam played the bass, and Cas was a classically trained pianist who also dabbled in keyboards.

Sam was an okay singer, but his older brother Dean was a great one, so he recruited him. Dean worked as a mechanic so it didn’t take much convincing. Meg knew a guy named Balthazar who agreed to play drums, but he was hard to control. He liked drugs, he liked women, and he liked not showing up for stuff.

After two years of playing the college circuit, “The Hunters” had built up a rabid following, mainly due to the guys' looks and charisma. They had started to really make a name for themselves, and when they were booked to headline the Greek Week festival, things really started looking up.

When Meg had gotten a call that a representative from Death Siren Records was coming to the concert to hear them play, Sam had started to think that maybe they could make it as musicians. He was barely going to class anymore anyway. All they needed was their big break, and he would finally make the move and drop out.

He didn’t want to be a lawyer anyway. He wanted to be a rock star. Cas had music swimming around in his head 24/7. Being in a band and writing their music helped him put some of his creativity on paper, and kept him happy. He didn’t care if he ever went back to school.

Dean wanted it all. The money. The women. The power. The adoration. No one was going to tell him he was just a lowly mechanic anymore.

Meg just wanted them to succeed. They were her ticket to bigger and better things. And she was in it for the long haul.

“So where are we gonna find a drummer who can learn our material by Saturday?” Sam asked out loud, shaking his head.

“Let’s break for tonight. We’re obviously not getting anything done. Let’s meet back here tomorrow, same time. And hopefully, I’ll have come up with a solution. Try not to destroy anything, okay, Dean?” Meg snapped as she snatched up her purse and stalked out.

The next night, everyone had arrived except Meg. She had a late class and had told Cas she could be coming after.

“She said she might have found us a drummer. That they were coming by to audition for us.” Cas said happily. “I knew Meg would come through. She always does.”

“Yeah, but we don’t just need a drummer. We need a great drummer that can learn our whole playlist in 3 days, Cas.” Dean grumbled.

They just hung out, waiting, and when the door opened, three pairs of eyes took in the petite girl that entered. She looked lost.

“This is a private rehearsal, Sweetheart,” Dean told her in his flirty way.

You rolled your eyes at him. “No kidding! The instruments weren’t a dead giveaway or anything. I’m looking for Meg. Is she here?”

Sam jumped down from the stage. “Can we help you with something?”

“I hear you guys are looking for a drummer?” You asked, giving him the once-over. Damn, he was tall!

Dean sauntered over to you. “You are a drummer?” He said doubtfully.

“What’s wrong, handsome? Never seen a girl play the skins before?” You snapped, and he bristled.

Before Dean could say something rude Sam spoke. “How about you play something for us?” Sam requested.

“Sure. I can do that.” Just as you pulled out your sticks Meg rushed in. “Sorry I’m late, guys. Oh hey, Y/N. You found it!”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure the Ken doll can handle a female drummer, Meg.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest but Meg just held up a finger. “Not one word, Dean. Not until you’ve heard her. She sings too.”

“Oh really?” Dean said with a raised eyebrow.

Cas smiled at you. “I’m looking forward to hearing you, play, Y/N.”

You sat down at the drums and took a minute to get yourself comfortable.

They were all staring at you intently, so you just pretended they weren’t there. You decided to go with “In the Air Tonight” because you felt it was a good song for both your voice and your drumming.

You could have heard a pin drop by the time you were done. You hadn’t missed a single note, and your voice sounded perfect, even to you.

Cas looked like he wanted to hug you. “That was amazing!” He said with a smile.

Sam looked stunned like he was seeing the drums played for the first time. “Wow. That was pretty impressive. How long have you been playing?”

“Since I was nine.” You replied with a shrug.

“It shows.”

“Well, Dean. I’m sure you have something to say, so out with it.” Meg snapped.

Dean looked you up and down. “Can you dress more like a girl? Like I don’t know, maybe a skirt or something? You're hot, show it off.”

You glared at him. “You try straddling a kit in a skirt. No one tells me what to wear, dude. It seems to me you need me right now more than I need you. So what’s it gonna be?”

(Part 2)

@skybinx-blog @percywinchester27 @a-sea-of-fandoms @dorky-and-i-know-it @pinknerdpanda @atc74 @jayankles @notnaturalanahi @midnightjazzmine @moonlitskinwalker @we-are-band-sexuals @winchestergirl-love @gecko9596 @ronnie248-blog @essie1876 @bohowitch @just-another-busy-fangirl @jotink78 @captainradicalpassion @keelzy2 @disneymarina @kittenofdoomage @mrswhozeewhatsis @oriona75 @frankiea1998 @akshi8278 @stylinson531 @valynsia @dr-dean @theoutlinez @imweirdandobsessed @growningupgeek @luciisthebest @laurenisnot @maddieburcham1 @canadianjelly @muliermalefici @brewsthespirit-blog @ilsawasanacrobat @nanie5 @weasleywinchester-blog @samisimportant @fatalcrossbow @violetsamalamb @letmusicguideu @grantsgorgeousgirl @faegal04 @feelmyroarrrr @kay18115@@milkymilky-cocopuff @mikimausiii @the-greatest-temptation @mrsbatesmotel53 @winchesterxtwo @superpanicromancesummer @thing-you-do-with-that-thing

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illuminating-dragons · 7 years

Text

Nesting (4/?): Profoundly

Summary: The lead up to a wedding isn't always peaceful, but people come together in the end.

Read it on AO3

Sam grimaced as he heard another dish hit the kitchen wall. “You’d think with two grooms we’d avoid the wedding crazies.”

“It’s your idjit brother,” Bobby grumbled, turning the page of an old ledger. “He can’t shut up to save his damn life.”

Dean and Cas’ wedding was in a week, and it was turning into an enormous headache for anyone within three hundred miles of the Bunker. It wasn’t the guest list, it wasn’t the food, it wasn’t even the damn venue.

It was the grooms themselves.

Since returning from Hell, Sam had witnessed Dean and Cas arguing only a handful of times. They were quick and intense, years of a profound bond soothing the worst of the anger. But ever since Jody and Donna’s wedding six months ago, ever since Hannah asked innocently when they would get married…

“What are we up to?” Sarah asked.

“Seventy four arguments,” Sam reported. “Since the start of July.”

Sarah groaned and hit her head off the desk.

He heard Cas’ raised voice now. Great. That meant a longer argument. Sam dearly wished that either Ben or Gabriel were here—they could knock sense into the couple better than anyone—but both were away from the Bunker.

Bobby glared at Sam. “It’s your turn.”

“It is not, it’s Charlie’s!”

“She and Anna are in Moondor,” Sarah reminded him. “Come on, Sam. I’ve got to finish the playlist anyways.”

Sam knew there was no point protesting. He got up and went down the hall towards the kitchen. His brothers’ voices were lower now, but no less intense. Hoping he wasn’t going to have to pull them apart (again), Sam froze in his tracks when their voices rose again.

“I swear, Cas, it feels like you don’t want to get married at all!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dean, of course I do!”

“Then why do you keep picking at me?! Everything I suggest you shoot down!”

“You aren’t asking for enough!”

“What the fuck does that MEAN?!” Another crash. “I’m asking for what I want, Cas. It’s one fucking day of our lives, it doesn’t have to be perfect!”

“Nothing in your life has ever been perfect!”

The silence was louder than the crashes.

“What do you mean?” Dean’s voice was terribly quiet.

“You’ve been dragged around your entire life,” Cas replied. “You’ve rarely had an opportunity to make choices, and they haven’t been good ones. I want to make sure you can choose whatever you want, Dean.”

“I am choosing what I want, Cas,” Dean said. His voice was much gentler now. “I love all of the ideas we’ve come up with, and the ones I picked out are the ones I think are the best. It’s not the French Riviera, but it’s what I know. It’s what I want. I don’t want our wedding to be something completely out of my experience. It’s about us, about our life, our family…” There was another pause. “But that’s not really what you’re worried about, is it baby? You think I might not have chosen right when I picked you.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.” Cas’ voice was thready.

Sam risked stepping closer, close enough that he could see the kitchen. Dean and Cas were standing amid a bunch of shattered glass and china, and Cas had his head bowed.

“You are the Righteous Man,” Cas said. “You were made by Heaven itself to fight Hell, and you defied them both. You are better than anyone dreamed you would be. You could have anyone.”

“I want you.” Dean stepped forward and took Cas’ face in his hands. “Castiel, I want you. You are the Saviour of the Righteous Man. You were built to love God, and you chose to love me…to love me too. I love you, Cas. You’re perfect as far as I’m concerned. And if anyone thinks different—that might actually be a good thing. I get you all to myself.”

Cas laughed, but it was more of a sob, and Sam realized it was time to leave. He retreated to give them some privacy, but not before he saw Dean enfold Cas in his arms.

There were no more arguments that day, or the next five days. Which was good, because Charlie’s dress went missing, Kevin came down with the flu and they found out about a shifter in Topeka, running around in the guise of the dead (they’d been grave digging).

But by the day before the wedding, the shifter had been taken out by Samandriel, Kevin was healed after he actually admitted he was sick, and Charlie’s dress had been rescued from the trunk of the Impala. A vigorous washing got the smell of gunpowder out.

Most of the wedding guests were already there. Every ‘claimed’ bedroom was full, people chattering with excitement and finding “my damn pantyhose!” “You don’t need that shit!” “It’s the pair Gabriel made that doesn’t rip!” “…I’ll help you look.”

Dean and Cas sat in the middle of the chaos, told sternly not to help at all. Ben stood guard proudly, arms folded. He was taking his best man job seriously.

(Not all the arguments in the last six months had been between the grooms-to-be).

At last the kerfuffle died down, and the bachelor party began.

Cas had vehemently protested against this idea, and even Dean didn’t see the need. “I don’t want to be hungover on our wedding day, and besides, I am not taking my kid to a strip club.”

“Indeed not,” Cas agreed. “I don’t want you dead on our wedding day.”

With Ben as best man, however, Dean agreed to try a party, so long as Ben planned it. Ben had enlisted the groomsmen and groomsgals to help plan bits and pieces, but the twelve-year-old had kept most of the details close to his chest. Only Gabriel seemed to know the whole story, but he’d barely been in the Bunker in the last month.

Which Sam thought, given the chaos, was really a smart thing.

The first part of the party was a buffet. Everyone got their favourite foods, and they ate picnic style in the main room, curled up on cushions and bean bag chairs Gabriel had snapped up. Sam stole a few of Sarah’s grapes—to make up for it, he fed her the last of his strawberries. Dean and Cas were arguing playfully over which burgers were best, and the conversation rose and fell as everyone digested.

Then there was pie. Lots of different kinds, and Benny beamed with pride as everyone ate up. “Told you it was better than that magic food, Tricky,” he drawled.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Listen, Ex-Fangs, you just got your sweet tooth back. Give it some time to adjust.”

Benny rolled his eyes and bared his completely normal teeth. “Sure thing, sugar.”

Once the last bites had been scraped off the plates, Gabriel clapped his hands. “Alright, listen up everyone.” He turned to Ben. “Want to explain your idea for entertainment tonight, kiddo?”

Ben shuffled nervously. “Okay.” At Gabriel’s encouraging nod, he dashed out of the room.

“What’s he doing?” Dean asked.

“Patience, Dean-o. All will be revealed.”

Ben returned with a wrapped package and a strange looking video camera. It looked like a camera from the eighties had a baby with a telescope.

“What’s that, son?” Dean raised his eyebrows as Ben sat down in front of him and Cas.

“Well, I thought it would be nice to talk about memories from when you were younger—not just with each other, but with other people in our family. And that’s easier when you’ve got some visual aids, so…”

Dean opened the package carefully. It was a photo album.

“What—we didn’t—we don’t have all that many pictures, buddy.” Dean said gently. “You don’t need this big a—” He opened the album and fell silent.

“Dean?” Sam asked. He scooted so he could see the pages, and his jaw dropped.

Every page was crowded with pictures of him and Dean, and Bobby, and Ellen and Jo and Cas and Ash…Sam spotted pictures in college, and pictures with Pastor Jim, pictures with random hunters and survivors…

“Ben suggested this and I thought it was a great idea,” Gabriel explained. “I went back and took all the pictures that were ever taken of the two of you and anyone you call family and stuck ‘em in. I’m working on the rest of you, but I thought the newlyweds would go first.”

Dean leaned over and hugged Gabriel and Ben tightly. He was shaking. “You have no idea how much this means,” he said, voice thick.

“It was no trouble,” Gabriel assured him. “Just promise me you’ll keep taking pictures. That album’s not going to fill itself!”

Dean laughed. “Promise.” He picked up the strange camera. “Is that what this is for? I’ve never seen one like this.”

“Nope.” Gabriel snapped, and suddenly everyone had popcorn and candy on their laps and they were all facing a screen hovering just in front of the staircase. “That is a memory projector, patent pending. Kali helped me make it.”

“A memory projector?”

Gabriel snapped again, and the camera flew out of Dean’s hands to hover just behind them. “Ben asked me about home movies. I know you guys didn’t make too many, so I made some.”

Sam blinked. “How?”

“Short version is I followed you around in the past whenever you did something mildly interesting and ‘filmed’ it. I’ve got some memories of Cas from when he was a fledgling too.”

Both Cas and Dean’s eyes were wide.

“And don’t you worry, Cassie,” Gabriel added. “Bal and Anna gave me some more…recent ones.”

Cas groaned. Dean took his hand. “Come on babe, it’ll be fun. It’s a great idea, Ben. And thanks for your help, Gabriel.”

“Like I said, it was nothing. Now let’s get this film festival going.” Gabriel paused for effect. “I call it ‘The Profound Bond’.”

“Balthazar!” Cas tried to launch himself at his brother. “You weren’t supposed to repeat that!”

But it wasn’t nothing, Sam realized as a clip of him and Dean as small children started to play. Time travelling was difficult for angels, even archangels; and now a tiny version of Cas popped up too. Gabriel had somehow managed to convert his own memories of his fledgling’s true forms to tiny children who looked like their current vessels. And he’d done it all in time for a wedding, refusing to take credit for the immense amount of effort.

And Sam watched Cas lean his head on Gabriel’s shoulder for a minute, and Dean smile over Cas’ head, and knew that the to-be-weds knew it too.

It was late when they stopped watching videos (the one where Sam was chased by a goose at a petting zoo, forcing Dean to rescue him by dragging him on top of the Impala’s hood got an annoying amount of laughs), and Sam carried a sleeping Sarah to their room. He crawled in next to her and cradled her in his arms, and for a moment dared to dream of maybe someday…maybe someday they would have a wedding eve. They weren’t ready for that yet—he wasn’t ready for that yet—but for the first time the idea seemed possible. A future with her.

And with that thought, Sam fell asleep.

He woke to a gentle touch to his shoulder. Confused, he looked up and gasped, yanking Sarah closer.

His mother stood over him. “Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Sam shifted as Sarah stirred. “No problem,” he whispered. “Are you all here?”

Mary nodded. “We came as soon as we could. We thought you could all use a hand first thing in the morning.”

Sarah was awake now. “Hi Mary,” she said sleepily. “We’ll be up in a minute.”

“What about Dean?” Sam asked.

“JO GET OUT WHAT THE FUCK?!”

The outraged shout rang through the Bunker.

“YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO SPEND THE NIGHT WITH YOUR GROOM, EITHER!”

“FUCK THAT!”

“Who thought Jo was a good idea?” Sam muttered. Sarah giggled.

Mary’s eyes danced. “No one.”

And with that, Destiel’s wedding day began properly.

#spn fanfiction #spn au #destiel #destiel wedding #AWOBS universe #acme146 fanfiction #nesting #wedding #hurt/comfort #cas is insecure #so is dean #don't worry #crosspost from AO3

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