#Cherry Pie AU | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zepskies · 8 months

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Smoke Eater - Part 7

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥 Series Masterlist

AN: So I don't know why it takes me exactly seven chapters to get to the smut, but so far that's three different series where that's happened. 😂 (Never Say Goodbye, Break Me Down, and now Smoke Eater. Go figure! 🤷🏽‍♀️)

Word Count: 6,200 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! For smutty smut and baking shenanigans, tinge of angst.

Part 7: “Cherry Pie & Lemon Drizzle”

You liked Dean’s apartment. It was on the second floor out of three, and a modest, clean, comfortable space.

Though overall it felt very “dude bro” in décor. You supposed that made sense, considering it was just Sam and Dean living here.

And while you still hadn’t met Sam (he was working late tonight), it gave you a chance to do something you’d been very much looking forward to doing with Dean…

“Not for nothin’, this is probably one in three of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth,” said Dean.

True to his word, his mouth was full. You giggled as a flake of pasta spewed from his mouth.

“Oh really? Makes me curious about the other two,” you said mischievously. And you handed him a napkin to blot his face.

You sat across from him in the small dining room adjacent to the kitchen. The table itself was barely big enough to fit in the space, feeling more like a nook than a room, but it sat three people. That was usually enough for Sam and Dean, and occasionally Eileen when she came over.

Dean chuckled, his brows dancing. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find out.”

Your face warmed at that, despite your amusement. You had made dinner, for which Dean had been more than enthusiastic.

“You mean I get an actual chef making me food? Sign me the hell up,” he’d teased.

Never mind that you weren’t an actual chef. You had focused on patisserie in culinary school. He didn’t seem to mind though, as he’d devoured two servings of salmon and fettucine alfredo, even down to the steamed broccoli. You had to admit, it warmed you inside to see him enjoy your food.

You’d promised to cook for him last week, and he hadn’t let it go until both your schedules opened up enough for you to come over.

He now hummed in satisfaction as he finished off the last bite on his plate and wiped his mouth with the napkin.

“Thanks for this, sweetheart. I needa have you around here more often,” he said, tossing you a grin.

You smiled back. “It’s my pleasure.”

It wasn’t the first time Dean had invited you over to his apartment, but for the life of you, you didn’t know why it had taken you so long to accept.

…Well, okay, you did know why. You were reluctant to leave your grandfather alone, potentially all night. But George had been adamant about you going out for as long as you wanted, on the promise that he’d check in every few hours until he went to bed.

“Okay, ready for dessert?” you asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said. He still thought about those cookies you brought to the firehouse, almost a month ago already.

Damn, has it really been that long? he thought as he helped you collect the dishes from dinner. He followed you into the kitchen, where you already knew the lay of his land.

Sam couldn’t cook for shit, so it usually fell on Dean to be the figure of culinary expertise. But he had no problem making way for you, especially if you were going to look over your shoulder and wink at him like that.

“Good, because you’re going to help me,” you informed him.

Dean’s smile grew. “All right…what did you have in mind?”

While he started on the dishes in the sink, you hauled out even more ingredients from a big grocery bag you’d brought and stored in the refrigerator. He watched you out of the corner of his eye and spotted lemons, among other things.

“Lemon drizzle cake,” you replied. “One of my grandma’s recipes. I just need a mixing bowl and a cake tin.”

“Good, because we’re not very Betty Crocker in this place. Let’s just say my kitchen tools are limited,” he said, raising a brow at you. “You know, if you wanted to bake, I’m sure you’ve got all the proper bells and whistles at your house. We could’ve done this over there.”

You paused to consider the question he wasn’t quite asking, because he had a point. You could’ve invited him over your house instead. You joined him near the sink and leaned against the counter, tapping your nails on the tile surface.

“Well, as you know, I live with my grandpa,” you said.

“Good ol’ George,” Dean grinned. “That guy’s hilarious. Like the fourth Stooge.”

He particularly liked the story you’d told him about the time George had bought you your first makeup palette when you turned fifteen, but hadn’t told you it was face paint…the kind that clowns used.

“And I’d love for you two to get to know each other better. Don’t get me wrong. But barring the fact that we probably wouldn’t have much…privacy,” you pointed out with a subtle smile, trying to ignore Dean’s resulting smirk. Never mind that you two hadn’t needed “privacy” just yet.

“I guess I’m just not used to inviting people over. I’ve been trying to limit the exposure to germs in the house,” you admitted. At Dean’s quizzical look, you had to explain.

“My grandfather had cancer last year,” you said. “He had surgery to remove the mass, and did well, considering his age. He’s in remission now…but I’m still looking after him.”

You’d gone with him to see his primary doctor a couple of weeks ago for that persistent cough. While the doctor seemed to think it was George’s asthma acting up, you’d still scheduled an appointment with his oncologist.

And while your thoughts led you down an all-too familiar path, Dean processed this with a nod of his head. He shut off the sink. After drying his hands, he looked over at you and brushed your cheek with his thumb.

“I’m glad he’s doing better now,” he said. His brows furrowed. “And your grandma passed just a few years before that?”

You nodded, letting out a deep breath. “Yeah. It’s been a long few years.”

So, Dean took an inventory in his mind as he rested a comforting hand on your back. You took care of your family. You could cook. You were beautiful. And still, you kicked ass at your job and seemed to have the rest of your shit together.

He had to admit. The more he learned about you, the more he liked you.

“Anyway,” you shook your head with a smile. “Sorry. Ready to bake?”

Dean’s lips quirked as he followed you to the other side of the kitchen. He stepped behind you and letting his hands fall to your waist. His lips skimmed the side of your head, pressing a kiss there.

“Okay, Rachael Ray,” he teased. “Teach me your ways.”

You were trying to measure out some sugar in the bowl first, but you giggled with a warm blush as he kissed his way down your neck.

“Are you actually going to help, or are you just going to distract me?” you volleyed back.

Dean hummed against the crook of your neck. “Can’t I do both?”

You picked up and egg and raised it level with his face.

“Hmm, should I try cracking this against your forehead?” you pondered.

His teeth playfully nipped your skin in retaliation, making you flinch with a yelp. The egg actually cracked in your hand.

“Shit,” you laughed, and you quickly dropped as much of it in the bowl as possible. But getting fractals of the shell in the bowl disturbed your anal sense of meticulousness. When it came to cracking eggs, you typically had nothing if not precision.

You shot Dean an accusatory look over your shoulder. He just grinned back at you.

“Am I helping yet?” he joked.

You chuckled dryly in response. “Just you wait.”

A few more minutes and “helpful” distractions from Dean later, you successfully had a cake batter in the bowl. You were hand mixing up a storm and sorely missing your Kitchen Aid mixer. Dean was right though; his cupboards had little more than one cake pan, one mixing bowl, and one wooden spoon.

At home, you had a modest collection of cookware and bakeware that rivaled Williams & Sonoma. Though that had been a gift from your grandparents, when you graduated from culinary school. (Your grandma had picked them out before she passed.)

“What’s your favorite dessert?” you asked Dean. You were pretending not to catch him sampling the batter with a finger while you buttered the cake tin.

“Ever?” he asked, rubbing a licked finger on his jeans.

“Yeah. Number one top favorite.”

“Hmm,” he contemplated with a cross of his arms. “Pie, I guess.”

You smirked. That explained his little man-child display a few weeks ago, when you’d tried to share his blueberry pie on your second date.

“What flavor?” you asked.

“I dunno. I’m not real picky,” he said.

“Come on. Everyone has a favorite flavor,” you reasoned. “I’m more of a cake girl myself, but even I love a blueberry pie.”

Dean eyed your teasing grin with a growing smirk of his own. He remembered that day in your office just as well as you.

“Okay, fine. Apple, I guess,” he replied. You gave him a mocking look.

“Really, the most basic of them all?” You tsked at him, shaking your head. “What happened to Mr. Rocky Road?”

Dean chuckled, but he leaned against the counter next to you. Instead of giving it to you right back, as usual, he looked more thoughtful. A gentler look grew on his face. It caught your attention.

“You know, one of my earliest memories…” He looked up at you then, more self-deprecating.

You realized he was about to admit to something, maybe embarrassing, or maybe just vulnerable. Your smile softened too as you paused in what you were doing.

“You can’t leave me hanging on that one,” you said. And you drew closer with a hand soothing up his arm.

He glanced over at you. “I remember being…four, probably. My mom made pies during Christmastime. Cherry, pecan, whatever. But my favorite was her apple pie. I still remember it, because I haven’t had a pie since that tasted like that one.”

Your heart clenched, but your insides also warmed. Not just at the story of his mother, but the way Dean told it, his voice softer, steady, and deep. It told you a lot about him without him having to explain; just like you, he knew what loss was.

You curled your hands around his bicep and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Then your gaze drew back up to his.

“Have you talked to your dad since the last time?” you asked, a bit cautiously. “About his investigation of the fire?”

Dean sighed deep through his nose. “No.”

But despite his father’s warning, he had spoken to Sam.

“It’s different this time, Sam. The brand marks are the same,” Dean argued with his brother, this time in the living room. He sat on the couch while Sam stood, trying to process everything Dean had just told him about Mary’s potential murder.

“You saw the pictures yourself?” Sam asked.

Dean frowned. “No, but Dad—”

“Dean,” Sam cut him off as he gripped at his temples in frustration. “This is what he does. He sees evidence where he wants to see evidence. I’ve been down this road with him too, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean gritted out. John had roped Sam into helping him a few times, using his ADA status to look into different leads that ultimately hadn’t panned out.

“They always look like connections to him, but they never end up being anything more than his obsession,” Sam said.

He was firm, and Dean understood why, but his gut was telling him that it was different this time…

Still, he had no choice but to let it go. For now.

Dean shook his head of that memory. Instead, he tried to focus on being here with you. He liked this little yellow sundress you had on, despite the fall chill starting to set in outside. As usual, your hair was clipped up away from your neck while you got ready to put the now full cake tin into the oven.

He came over behind you and freed your hair from the clip, letting it all tumble down. You yelped and glanced over at him.

“Dean,” you chided, even though you were smiling. “My hair’s going to get in the batter.”

“I’ll keep it away, don’t worry,” he said lightly. He curled some of your hair around his hand so he could once again press a tantalizing kiss to the back of your neck. He felt you shiver.

You subtly leaned back against him, even as you whined in protest.

“Can you just let me get this in the oven?” you asked on a laugh. He smirked against your skin. You did manage to get the cake in the oven, but his lips and teasing hands were unrelenting as you tried to start cleaning up.

So you felt you had to take matters into your own hands. A mischievous idea had you smiling. You reached out for some flour that had spilled on the counter.

You turned, and before he realized what you were up to, you marked his forehead with an arch of white against his skin.

“Simba,” you said in a deeper voice, trying to mimic Mufasa from The Lion King.

Dean’s brows rose along with his widening eyes. He’d never seen you do something that childish, but it sparked his competitiveness as he blinked a bit of flour out of his eyes.

“You’re real proud of yourself, aren’t you?” he asked.

Your little smirk was answer enough. You flicked a bit more flour onto his shirt.

Dean chuckled darkly. “Okay, you asked for it.”

Both a gasp and a giggle caught in your throat.

“Oh, no.”

He reached past you for some flour off the counter and flicked it down at you, into your hair, across your face. He grabbed your flailing wrist and marked your cheeks. All the while, his grin grew ever deeper at your shrieking protests.

But you grew devious. You stuck two fingers into the bowl and scraped out a gob of raw, yellow batter. You were fully prepared to fling it into his face, but Dean grabbed your wrist.

“Ey, ey!” he raised a warning finger with his free hand. “You’re about to take this to a new level.”

You met his gaze through your lashes with a playful smile. “So?”

Dean raised a brow at you. He could admit, you had audacity. All he could do was call your bluff.

He took one of your battered fingers into his mouth. Your eyes widened at the feel of his soft tongue swirling around your finger, sucking it clean. All the while, his eyes never broke from yours.

Lord have mercy, you thought. Really, it was the only coherent one in your head.

He soon released you with a soft pop, before he did the same to the second finger.

Your breath hitched, and your blush was a living thing spreading down your neck, even as warmth pooled between your legs. By the time your second finger slid out of his mouth, you had to reach back to grip the counter just to steady yourself.

His arm slipped around your waist, and you reached for his face with both hands, bringing him down for the hottest kiss you’d ever had in your life. Teeth clicking, lips and tongues warring and devouring. Your fingers slipped roughly through his hair, while he gripped your hips and ass with a passion just shy of bruising.

You almost didn’t register the way his hands slipped under your thighs, to then heft you up onto the counter. You gasped into his mouth and clung tightly to his shoulders. He chuckled and positioned himself to stand between your legs.

“What, need a little warning?” he teased. Though he was breathless as your soft lips veered away from his, starting a burning path across his jaw and down his neck. You left the remnants of your lipstick all along the way, but it was the occasional graze of your teeth that had him moaning for you.

“Maybe,” you whispered coarsely against his skin, uttering a small laugh, “Sometimes I forget how damn strong you are.”

He scoffed. “Sweetheart, if I can heft a grown man on my shoulders up a flight of stairs, I can get you up on a little counter.”

You snorted in response. Perks of dating a firefighter.

And you shoved off his plaid shirt from his shoulders. Dean helped you by letting it drop the rest of the way to the floor, followed by his black undershirt.

You couldn’t believe this was the first time you were seeing him with his shirt off. It was a damn shame, really. But you caught the bit of smugness curving his lips at the way you were ogling, first with your eyes, then with your exploring hands over his toned arms and chest, and the solid plane of his abs, all the way down to his belt. You started undoing the clasp.

Dean couldn’t believe he was doing this, but he stopped you with his hands gently curling around your wrists. You looked up at him in confusion. To him, you looked unbelievably sexy then. Thoroughly kissed, hair tousled, a strap of your dress fallen to one shoulder while your lacey black bra peeked through.

Just the memory of having your curves in his hands had his dick hardening in his jeans, but he blew out a breath.

“Dean?” you asked. “What’s wrong?”

His hands tightened on yours as he peered down at you. “Are you sure?”

You blinked incredulously. “Did I look not sure?”

He paused, licking his lips. He raised a hand to hold your cheek.

“I just…you know I’m trying to do this right with you,” he said. “I just want to know…”

He couldn’t seem to finish what he was trying to say, but you thought you understood. You smiled up at him warmly. You leaned up for a kiss, softer this time.

“Dean, I trust you,” you said. And you could finally say it with no reservations. “I think this feels real. More real than anything I’ve had in a long time… What about you?”

When Dean smiled, it was warm, melting away the doubt in his eyes.

“Yeah, me too,” he said.

He seemed sincere. Maybe this man spared few words when it came to how he felt, but you’d seen a glimpse of the deeper parts. He felt things deeply, down to his bones.

His fingers sunk into your hair, and he guided you into a kiss. It was slower, but no less heady and wanting than the first. Your arms wrapped around his middle, letting you flatten your palms against the muscles in his back. But just as you were getting comfortable, Dean broke the kiss. He flashed you a smirk.

Before you could ask what the hell he was about to do, he’d hefted you back into his arms and over his shoulder. You squawked in protest as your whole world tipped over. Your face thudded on his back with a soft oof, your hair loose and falling like a curtain. Your hands accidentally fell against his ass.

“Ooh, someone’s handsy,” Dean teased.

“Dean!” you exclaimed, despite your peals of laughter. “Is this really necessary? I think I can find your room just fine.”

“Call it an officer’s escort,” he supplied.

“That’s for policemen!” you argued.

You couldn’t see it, but you could imagine the way he was grinning from ear to ear as he carried you through the apartment. You never noticed just how long his bowed legs were as he strode onward. But it felt like his shoulder was digging into your appendix.

Grunting in frustration, you slapped his ass again for good measure.

Dean laughed. “Hey, you’re only fueling my fire, baby.”

He slapped your ass right back, since he had an even better vantage point. He even slipped a hand underneath your little sundress and squeezed the inside of your thigh teasingly.

Your answering yelp, and the futile kick of your feet, had him laughing harder. His cheeks were aching.

Finally he reached his room, where he shut the door with his foot. He was gentle as he eased you off his shoulder and laid you down on his bed. You let out a breathless huff once your head hit the pillows. Your face was all red from being suspended upside-down, your hair a mess, and your dress pooling over your folded legs.

You gave Dean a playful glare. “Get over here.”

His smirk deepened, but he obliged you. He chucked his shoes off first, just like you let your sandals slip off the side of the bed.

He soon made his way up the bed, until he was hovering over you with his arms braced on either side of your head. He liked the way you were all laid out for him over his sheets, your wild hair spread over his pillows. He’d pictured something like this before, but nothing came close to having you for real.

He just didn’t know you’d been dreaming of the same thing.

You hadn’t allowed yourself to truly fall for someone, not in a long time. You’d been too focused on pivoting after school, on building your career, on taking care of your family. You’d dated here and there, but nothing had stuck for more than a few months. Even then, you’d never felt half of what you felt right now.

It scared you a little, but it also made you feel alive. Being with Dean made you feel that way.

So you took his face between your hands. His stubble rasped against your palms and the pads of your fingers. You didn’t mind that though. He’d left it a bit long for a shave last week. When you’d mentioned off-hand that you liked the thicker scruff (thinking it made him all the more handsome), he’d kept it for you.

Now, he seemed like he was waiting on your cue.

You guided him down to you. He kissed you hot and slow, while a hand moved to your waist and clenched in the material of your dress. He slipped a heavy thigh between both of yours. The pressure was welcome, but you wanted friction.

You bunched up the skirt of your dress and aimed to slip it off, but Dean stopped your hands.

“That’s my job,” he teased.

“Then how about you get to it?” you countered with a smile. He rose a brow at you.

“A bit bossy, but I can dig that,” he smirked.

His kisses dropped against your neck, down your exposed neckline, and he peeled down the straps of your dress one by one. Your breathing became more labored as he touched you, squeezing a breast over the bra as he exposed more inches of your body.

Your fingers carded through his hair on a sigh as he made his way further down. Though he finally got impatient enough to work your dress off all the way, followed by his jeans and your bra and matching lacey panties. He lavished attention what felt like all over your body.

Really, he was just strategic. He stopped in places where you lost breath, moaning his name. Like the spot just under your ear, where he sucked hard enough to make you see stars. Or over your breasts, taking a pebbled nipple in his mouth, swirling with his tongue like he had the cake batter off your fingers.

His hands mapped out the soft planes and curves of your body for the first time, sometimes smooth and grazing, sometimes adding pressure that made warmth continue to pool between your legs.

He went further still, wrapping an arm around your thigh and pressing nipping kisses along the inside. All the while his mouth drew closer to the place you wanted him the most. Even though you still raised up on your elbow and gave him a questioning look.

“Really? You want to…” Your voice came out in a whisper.

Dean looked up at you with puzzled brows. “Why not?”

You shook your head, your eyes widening marginally.

“No reason, I guess. I, um…I’ve never had someone do this for me first.” And certainly not on the first time having sex.

Dean frowned.

“Really?” he asked. “A guy’s never gone down on you first?”

You blushed. “Well, maybe with his fingers, but not…”

He shook his head and let out a breath. You felt it between your thighs, and your core clenched in anticipation.

“Okay, baby. I gotcha,” he said. He guided you back down with a gentle hand. “Just lie back and relax.”

You smiled, despite your lingering blush, and you stroked the hand that rested above your stomach. That hand soon slid down as he once again kissed and licked down your thighs. They quivered a bit as his fingers slipped between your folds.

“So fucking wet for me already,” he said in approval. You peered down at him, unable to help a smile.

“You want a medal?” you quipped.

Dean’s brows rose.

“Oh, I’m about to earn it.” His eyes found yours. “You know what my real favorite pie flavor is?”

Your brows knitted together. “What?”

A familiar smirk crossed his lips. “Cherry.”

Before your choked surprise could be broken with a laugh, he began.

And he wasn’t lying, about any of it. The pads of his fingers began toying with your clit, and that alone had your breath hitching and your hips squirming.

He held you down with one hand on your lower belly while his tongue joined his fingers, seeking your heat and finding the hot channel where you craved to be filled. You gasped.

“Oh, God,” you uttered. Once his warm tongue began rolling inside you, you almost couldn’t breathe.

He worked you over with fingers, lips and tongue until you were arching off the bed, fists clenched in his hair and in the sheets, releasing broken gasps of his name. He didn’t relent until your thighs stopped shaking around his head. Your knees were damn near pinning him there.

He eventually withdrew, wiping his mouth and nose with the back of his hand. He moved smoothly back up your body and heeded the pull of your hands on his arms, and then his face. You tugged him down for a sloppy kiss.

“How’s that for a first?” he asked breathlessly. His tone was teasing, but he was half-serious you thought, by the look in his eyes.

You were honest, without a hint of a joke. “Fucking incredible. Just like you.”

Dean wouldn’t admit it then, but what you said warmed him. He looked down on you with a smile.

Your hands caressed his face, down his neck and firm chest, and further still to caress his straining length over his boxer briefs. Dean let out a halting moan at your gentle touch.

“What if I want to return the favor?” you asked with a smile. He made a sound deep in his throat when you cupped him more firmly, letting your thumb brush over the head.

Well hello, you thought. He was thick, and a bit longer than your first thought. Your already sensitive core tightened at the thought.

Meanwhile, Dean squeezed your arm. His hot gaze bore into yours.

“Very, very tempting.” His thumb brushed your lower lip. “I’ve no doubt you’ve got some talents yourself.”

You smiled under the pad of his thumb. Part of you was contemplating some retribution, sucking it into your mouth the way he’d done to your fingers in the kitchen.

“But I’m thinkin’ I want to skip to the part where I have you coming apart all over again,” said Dean. His head bowed near your ear, though his lips skimmed the side of your face. “This time, from the inside.”

His voice was deep and threaded with grit. You bit your lip on a giddy laugh. You managed to nod, sweeping your shaky fingers through his hair.

“Okay, next time then,” you promised and gave him a sensuous kiss. “But first, just want to make sure you’re ready for me…”

You leaned down to slide his underwear for him, down to his knees. He helped you the rest of the way, kicking them off his legs. When he came back, you were sitting up.

You soothed warm hands along his thighs and took his cock into your hands. Dean dropped his forehead onto your shoulder with a grunt, again squeezing your arms as you touched him properly for the first time.

Dean had a habit of impressing you, and this was no different. You liked the feel of him in your hands, warm and thick and heavy.

After licking your hand to coat it with some wetness, you experimented for a moment in how you stroked him, trying to get a feel for what he liked just as he had for you. He gasped and jolted on one particular twist, and he finally stopped you with a hand on your wrist.

“Okay, baby. Keep that up and we’re not gonna get much farther for a while,” he said coarsely.

It was satisfying to know you’d made him feel even a fraction of how he’d made you feel.

You pressed a purposeful kiss into his neck. “I told you, next time I’ll take care of you for real.”

He chuckled, cupping the side of your face.

“Oh, you’re about to. Believe me,” he said.

He kissed you long and deep, until you were once again breathless. The two of you were kneeling in the middle of the bed like you had all the time in the world. And yet, you wanted him more than ever.

“I’m on birth control,” you told him between more fervent kisses, hands drifting, feeling skin to warm, dewy skin, breaths mingling.

“And I’m clean,” he said. You nodded, hesitating…

“It’s our first time,” you said. “Condom, just to be safe.”

He hesitated only a beat before he nodded back, agreeing to your request. “Yes, ma’am.”

He broke from you briefly. He turned and dug into his nightstand while your nails drew light patterns down his back. It was distracting in the best of ways. A trill of excitement had his hands moving quickly, ripping the foil packet open and fitting himself with the condom.

When he was ready for you, he turned and hooked an arm around your waist. You twined your arms around his neck, and once again, you let him lay you down. His kiss came first, and then his fingers between your legs, past your folds to stroke you back to life.

You moaned into his mouth and wrapped your legs around his hips. Though he surprised you again by hooking your legs over his shoulders. Your brows raised at him, and he shot you a wink.

“Trust me, you’ll like it this way,” he said.

You did trust him. Your hands caressed down his neck, down his chest, and you subtly urged him with your heels on his back, encouraging him where you both knew he needed to be.

And with one slow push, his cock was stretching your inner walls with slow, delicious friction. You both groaned at the feeling. His forehead pressed against yours. His hand trembled slightly, brushing your hair away from your face. And he began moving inside you in steady strokes.

Dean was putting his all into this tonight. He thought your promises to take care of him next time were as endearing as they were sexy as hell. Even now, you were touching him wherever you could reach, occasionally moaning his name in his ear, encouraging him with every thrust inside you.

Fuck, he was right, you thought. He was reaching places deep inside you, filling you to the very brim. And you were already on the edge of pleasure, brows furrowed, biting your lower lip so hard that your teeth nearly broke the skin…

Your fingers slipped down between you to further part your folds and rub your already sensitive clit. Dean caught the hint and moved your hand to do it himself, as in time with his thrusts as he could. Finally, you unraveled for the second time that night. Your gasp gave way to a moan.

Your tightening walls gripped him like a vice. His release hit him with the same force, choking a near shout out of him. His hand was a bit too tight in your hair, he realized, so he forced himself to ease up.

He petted over your hair instead as he came down with ragged breaths. After he released your shaky legs back to the bed, he leaned mostly on his elbow and thigh instead of sinking all his weight onto you.

You appreciated that. You soothed up and down his back while you panted for breath.

“Wow,” you managed to say.

Dean’s chuckle took him by surprise too.

“Yeah,” he agreed. He turned his head to press a sloppy kiss where your neck met your shoulder.

Just then, a distant-sounding jingle reached your ears. It was familiar…and you remembered it was the alarm on your phone, which was probably in the kitchen.

“Oh shit,” you gasped. “The cake’s still in the oven.”

He blinked. “Well, I don’t smell burning, so we’re good.”

“Dean! You’re a firefighter, remember?” you laughed, but you still tapped his shoulder so he’d roll over. Reluctantly he did, but he still took you with him, even after he’d slid out of you.

You yelped and clung to his shoulders to balance yourself. “I gotta get the cake!”

“Five more minutes,” he grumbled into your neck. He also liked the way your breasts were pressed against his chest.

“It’s going to be so…damn…burnt!” You punctuated each of those syllables with a playful smack on his arm, until he finally released you with a lazy smirk.

You shook your head and huffed in amusement. Sliding out of bed, you searched around your dress. The first thing you found was his discarded undershirt. You slipped it on real quick and cautiously padded out of Dean’s room. You didn’t know if Sam was back from work, but this was not how you wanted to meet him.

The halls were quiet, so you didn’t think he was home yet. You managed to get to the kitchen unscathed, where you turned off your timer and grabbed some oven mitts. You opened the oven and pulled out the cake, setting it down on the counter. Your eyes narrowed at the almost perfect dome on top.

“What’s the verdict, Chef Ramsay?”

Dean leaned in the doorway, dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and nothing else. The view was delectable, but you sighed and gestured at the cake with a shake of your head.

“It’s burnt.”

“What? No, it’s not,” he refuted. He joined your side and stared down at the top of the cake, which was half browned. “Looks all right to me.”

“Trust me, it’s going to be dry,” you said, “even with the lemon drizzle on it.”

It was the perfectionist in you that smarted with disappointment. You didn’t want to serve anyone something you weren’t proud of, especially Dean. But he just leaned over and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” he said. “I’m still gonna eat the crap out of it.”

You glanced at him, unable to help a small smile. He grinned back.

“Anyway, I think it was worth it. Don’t you?” Dean said. He pulled you in towards him by your waist, and you went willingly, resting your hands against his bare chest. You let your nails drag against his skin a little as you contemplated.

You looked up at him with a grin of your own.

“Yeah. Definitely worth it.”

Dean later sat with you again at the table, this time with your chairs closer together as you each ate large slices of delicious cake (even if it was a bit dry). Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the copious number of dishes still left in the sink and the flour and batter sprinkled across the counter.

He knew Sam was going to have a conniption when he got home (in the morning at this rate). He was probably crashing at Eileen’s apartment tonight.

Good, Dean thought. That meant he’d have the place all to himself, with you.

“You know, I just realized something,” he said.

You knew that look in his eyes. He was about to say something smartass.

“What’s that?” you asked. He reached out and thumbed at your chin.

“I just got my dessert twice in one sitting,” he remarked. “That’s pretty damn good, if you ask me.”

You snorted in laughter. You also blushed, but you were unable to stop smiling either.

You set down your fork and eased back from the table. Your hand on Dean’s shoulder encouraged him to do the same, so you could sit across his lap. He welcomed you with a warm hand on your bare thigh. Already it was creeping under the shirt you borrowed.

You stroked his cheek with the back of your hand and gave him a mischievous smile.

“Think you could handle another serving?”

AN: 🫣 Was it everything you wanted it to be? lol I love me some baking innuendo. What did you like more: eating the cherry pie or making the lemon drizzle? 😏❤️‍🔥

In Part 8, Dean's past comes a knockin'...

Next Time:

While you were getting dressed, a phone buzzed on one of the nightstands beside the bed. It was Dean’s phone.

You went over to it curiously as you fixed the straps of your dress. The screen showed a missed text message from last night, around 10:00 p.m., and another one this morning. You read the latest one with a sinking feeling in your chest.

From Marissa: Surprised I didn’t hear back from you last night. The offer still stands. 😘

Keep Reading: PART 8

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

#Cherry Pie & Lemon Drizzle #Smoke Eater #Part 7 #dean winchester #Firefighter!Dean Winchester #dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x female reader #firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester x you #firefighter AU #dean winchester AU #spn #supernatural #zepskies writes

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valiantstarlights · 6 days

Text

[Loving You is Cherry Pie] How It Started

Featuring doting father Alpha!Hob (43) and his son, recently presented Omega!Dream (20).

Not me looking for something appropriate(?) to post on Father's Day and finding this in my notes. 👀

The title is from the song, "Paparazzi" by Lady Gaga. While it could mean that loving someone sweet is as easy and enjoyable as eating cherry pie, knowing that Lady Gaga is allergic to cherries changes the meaning of the lyric drastically.

CWs: Aside from the dead-dove-ness of the premise, there's also toxic family dynamics (Dream's mother and her side of the family) and all the unfun stuff that goes with it, like verbal abuse, gaslighting, etc.

Important: This is (hopefully) going to be a series of non-linear oneshots. Maybe even a series of 'what if' oneshots. Who knows what I'll do? Certainly not me. 😂 Oh, and because this is an omegaverse fic, it's going to be on AO3 for public consumption. Anyway, Happy Father's Day, everybody! 😉

The Missus

"Talk to your son, Robert."

"And a very good morning to you as well, Nyx. May I ask what happened?"

"I merely requested, very reasonably, I might add, for him to call you 'Father' instead of his childish nickname for you, and he slammed the door in my face and called me a bitch."

"I see nothing wrong with Dream calling me 'Papa,' though?"

"You see nothing wrong with it. But everyone else is telling me how they think Dream is a spoiled, immature--"

"Everyone else, huh?"

"Yes! Look, I'm just concerned because the boy's birthday is coming up, and everyone on my side will be at the party, and--"

"Wait. A party? Nyx, you know Dream hates parties. And--"

"(scoff) That's your argument? 'Dream hates parties?' (laugh) And so what if he does? It's a family tradition--"

"Be reasonable. Dream is going to be presenting on his birthday, and he's overwhelmed enough with crowds. What more when--"

"Destiny is an introvert as well, and he did admirably at his presentation party. And besides, we both know Dream is just being dramatic, so you need to stop encouraging him. He's almost of age, Robert! He needs--"

"You're right. He's almost of age, and I think it's high time for you to start treating him like he's an adult who can make his own decisions. Have you even asked him what he wants to do on his birthday?"

"(scoff) Lock himself up in his dorm room and read his silly books, no doubt."

"So let him do that."

"Not a chance in hell. The party will be good for him. And besides, when was the last time he interacted with the right sort of people? Ever since he started at that no-name university you stupidly let him attend, he has been meeting all the wrong sorts! No wonder his attitude is becoming worse. He should spend more time with his cousins, especially the twins, who always ask when they'll see him next."

"Ha. Right."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Are you kidding? You know Desire and Despair are only asking when they'll see Dream next so they would know when they'd be able to bully him again."

"Bully-- How dare you! The twins are absolute angels!"

"Yeah. Because knocking Dream unconscious and locking him up in a closet in the attic for almost an entire day when he was nine years old is absolute angelic behavior. If I hadn't found him--"

"My god, when are you going to let that go? It's been…what, a decade? And the twins have already apologized. You were there. You saw that Dream has already forgiven them."

"Okay, one, the twins did not apologize. You made Dream apologize to them, and he only did so because you threatened to throw all his books out of the house."

"That is not--"

"No. You know what? I'm not going to argue about this with you anymore. Dream is going to decide what he wants to do for his birthday--"

"He is going to alpha the fuck up and go to his own presentation party that MY family is so graciously throwing for him--"

"--and you can decide whether or not you want to support his decision. Goodbye. (hangs up)"

Dream

"Hey, baby. How are you?"

"…Good."

"Everything okay? How'd you do on your paper? That was due this morning, right?"

"…I am not calling you 'Father,' Papa."

"(sigh) I never said you had to, baby. But you can see where you went wrong, yeah?"

"No."

"You called your mother a bitch."

"She is a bitch. And a hundred other worse things. She's lucky I stopped at bitch."

"Dream."

"Fine. I will apologize to her. For you."

"Good boy. And speaking of, your birthday is coming up."

"I already know what I want."

"If it's hardbound volumes of the complete works of Shakespeare--"

"(laugh) I know you hate him, Papa, so I won't torture you and make you buy things related to him for me."

"Well, that's a relief. Because I was just about to say that I was talking to your mother, and I told her that you're old enough to decide what you want to do for your birthday. So…you know, if you just want to have a pizza party with your closest friends at that gaming cafe you all go to--"

"Oh, Papa, really?"

"I know you hate the Endless's unnecessarily lavish parties, baby. So yeah, really. Consider it an additional birthday gift from me to you. If you want it, that is."

"I…Yes. I would love that. And you will be there as well, right?"

"It's your call, Dream. If you'd rather just celebrate with your friends, I could just pay the gaming cafe in advance and leave you young people--"

"No! I…I would love for you to be there. And you're not that old, Papa. But if you're busy on that day…"

"Me? Busy on my son's birthday? Never gonna happen. I would move heaven and earth and all my meetings so I can share with you all my hard-earned wisdom via dad jokes--"

"Papa--"

"--and now all your friends shall suffer the same fete!"

"Papa!"

"Get it? Fate and fete?"

"…"

"Regretting inviting me yet?"

"…Never. I was just--oh, Jessamy just arrived with our food. Hey, Jess."

"Take-out again?"

"This will be the first time this month. (muffled) Yes, it's Papa."

"Well, just be sure to limit eating take-out meals. I bought you all sorts of kitchen stuff for your dorm so you two could use it for cooking, not for decoration."

"Yes, Papa."

"Don't roll your eyes at me, baby."

"How did you--"

"Ah, hold on. (muffled) Yes, a moment, please. I have to go, baby. But enjoy your dinner and say hi to Jessamy for me."

"Yes, Papa. I'll send you a picture of our food in a bit so you may suffer for your fete joke while you're in your meeting."

"(laugh) Evil. I like it. Well, send away, baby. I'll talk to you later. Love you!"

"I love you too, Papa."

"Hypothetically speaking, if the house is in my name and Nyx barely resides here, can I charge her with trespassing and destruction of property?"

"Jesus Christ. What has the bitch done now?"

"(sighs) Just…we had an argument--"

"Surprise, surprise."

"--and after Dream told her he wouldn't be attending her family's presentation party for him, she has been…"

"A fucking psycho? As usual?"

"Basically."

"How's my cute nephew, anyway?"

"Thriving at university and making friends with equally brilliant people. He was home this weekend, telling me all the updates on his group's DND campaign when Nyx burst in and…well. You know."

"Yeah. And how many times have I told you to divorce her?"

"About as many times as when you pranked me when we were kids. But--"

"No. Dream is almost an adult, and he fucking hates her. There is literally no need for you to suffer her and her crazy family anymore."

"(sigh)"

"You know I'm right."

"You almost always are. So…what, do I need to lawyer up or something?"

"I mean, I already have a list of lawyers for you to choose from, if you're not fucking around anymore."

"(laugh) Hold on to that, then. I'll talk to Dream first and see what he thinks."

"What he-- Hobs, who the hell do you think gave me the list of lawyers?"

"Dream did?"

"…You know, sometimes I wonder if I actually did hit you too hard with that plastic shovel on the head when we were five and you lost all your brain cells that day."

"Alright, that's enough. I think I'm losing more brain cells just by talking to you."

"You can't lose more if you already have none, stupid. But yeah. Think about it. Divorcing Nyx, I mean."

"Been thinking about it more and more, to be honest. But keep that list ready, yeah? Just in case."

"Yep. Bye, Hobs. Tell Dream his favorite aunt says hello to her paleo mushroom bean."

"I still don't fucking understand why you call him that, and why he doesn't mind you calling him that, but yeah, sure. Bye, Jo."

Dream

"Happy birthday, baby! I'll see you in a bit. Just gotta get your super secret birthday gift from my super secret lair--"

"Take your time, Papa. And leave the dad jokes at home, please?"

"Mwahahahaha!"

"…That does not bode well."

Papa

Papa? (Missed call.) (Missed call.) (Missed call.) Papa, please pick up. I need you.

Dream

"Hey, Dream."

"Papa!"

"Dream, I--"

"I'm so sorry, Papa. I suspected, but I didn't really know for sure. I… Do you hate me now?"

"I just need some time to process this. But I'm okay. And no, I don't hate you. This is very much not your fault."

"But…you're not mad at me? I love you."

"…I love you too, baby. I'm just…I needed to breathe for a bit. Sorry for suddenly walking out. How did the rest of the party go?"

"(wet sniffle) It was okay. Matthew ate most of the cake, and I think Lucienne won the most games so she got the chicken dinner crown."

"What do you mean, 'I think?'"

"I wasn't really paying much attention to what was happening after you left. Sorry."

"Oh, baby."

"I just…(quiet sob) I missed my Papa."

"Fuck. I'm so sorry, Dream. I promise I'll make it up to you. We could…I don't know, rewatch your favorite series over an unlimited amount of pizza, or see a Shakespearean play at the Globe Theatre--"

"(wet laugh) But Papa, you hate Shakespeare."

"Yeah, but…I love you more. And I'm willing to put up with that bastard's--ah, hold on. Jo's calling."

"You should take Aunt Jo's call, Papa. I'll be okay."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Jessamy's here. We're rewatching Legally Blonde. Say hi, Jess."

"(muffled) Hi, Mr. G!"

"She says hi."

"Yeah, baby, I heard. So you're sure you're okay over there?"

"Yes, Papa."

"And you don't need anything else? Pizza? Blankets? My secret hot chocolate recipe?"

"No, Papa. All I needed was for you to call me."

"Oh, baby."

"I'm really sorry."

"Dream. You have nothing to be sorry for. And I'm not mad, nor do I hate you. I just…(sigh) It was…and still is, honestly, a bit of a shock. But I will always be your Papa, even if we're not blood-related. Okay?"

"Yes, Papa."

"Alright. I'll talk to you soon."

"Okay. …And Papa?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I still…(deep breath) Am I still welcome to go back home?"

"Of course, baby. You're welcome to come back home any time."

"And…And you promise you don't hate me?"

"I promise. I can never hate you."

"Okay. I love you, Papa."

"…I love you, too, baby."

"Shit. Sorry, Hobs. Jet just landed. Why the fuck were you calling me 27 thousand times? Are you okay? Is Dream okay? What's--"

"Dream isn't my biological son."

"I…What?"

"You heard me. I just found out when he presented as an omega and I reacted to his scent."

"You reacted-- Oh, fuck."

"I had to get the hell away from him as soon as I caught his scent. Calmed myself down a bit. A lot."

"Shit. You're compatible with him?"

"Yes."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Hobs."

"Fucking tell me about it."

"Have you talked to him yet?"

"Yeah. Just now, actually."

"How is he?"

"Worried that I hate him. Or if I'm mad at him. He wanted to know if he could still come home, Jo."

"Why the fuck would you be mad at him or hate him?"

"That's what I thought as well. Because right now? He is the last person on this earth who I will ever be mad at. But that's not what I was calling you about."

"Oh? Dream not being your bio son isn't the reason why you were calling me repeatedly like a fucking lunatic?"

"Yeah. I need you to give me that list of lawyers, Jo."

"Oh, hell yeah. Let's destroy this bitch."

The Missus Nyx Endless

We're over.

Excuse me? (Missed call.) Pick up the phone, Robert. (Missed call.) (Missed call.) (Missed call.) (Missed call.) You're acting like a child. (Missed call.) (Missed call.)

Stop calling me. Can't you read? We're over. Done.

And do I get to know why you're so callously filing to annul our marriage a day after our son's birthday, when he didn't even have the decency to show up to his own presentation party?

Yeah, okay.

Well? Go on.

Imagine this, Nyx. Imagine my shock and mortification when Dream, MY son, presents as an omega, and I, his supposed biological father, react to his scent. You know, in hindsight, I can see why you so desperately want him to present as an alpha. Why, if Dream did the 'proper' thing for once and became the alpha you always wanted him to be, then I would never know of your infidelity. In fact, I seem to remember a couple of nurses remarking that Dream looks healthy for supposedly being born premature. But was he really? Or was he born right on schedule? I mean, did you even pay attention in your required Secondary Gender classes? Because an alpha reacting to an omega's scent means that they're not related by blood to them. So yeah. We're over.

(Missed call.) Look, can you just pick up your phone so we can talk like actual adults instead of you suddenly accusing me of infidelity, as if you're some faultless saint who has never lusted after loose omega whores?

Funny. I'll have my lawyers contact you.

(Missed call.) (Missed call.) (Missed call.) (Missed call.)

Yeah, I'm still not gonna pick up and let you scream and gaslight me like you always do. I can fill in the blanks well enough by myself. All those work trips before our wedding? Not exactly rocket science. All I need from you right now is for you to sign the goddamn documents my lawyers are going to send.

And if I don't?

Gee, I don't know. I mean, it's not like my family owns an entire media company and has a lot of connections. Surely I wouldn't destroy you and your family's image, right? Because you've been such a good wife to me and a good mother to Dream, and you have never, not once, cheated on me with another alpha. Kronos, was it? What? Nothing to say? Fucking thought so.

Bean

"Aunt Jo?"

"Yeah, Bean?"

"Thank you for earlier."

"Nah. I should've fucking decked the cunt years ago. Glad I got to do it now. Seriously, don't mention it. It was my pleasure. How's your cheek?"

"Papa put an ice pack on it as soon as he could. Mother didn't draw blood, but Papa hasn't calmed down yet. He's calling even more people as we speak."

"Good. Keep that ice pack on your cheek. I'm coming over in a bit. Just gotta finish up here. You want anything?"

"Maybe vanilla ice cream for me and fish and chips from Cain and Abel's for Papa?"

"You got it."

CEO of Gadling Corporation Annuls Marriage to Estranged Wife

Robert Gadling, 43, annuls marriage to wife, Nyx Gadling (nee Endless) on grounds of infidelity prior to their marriage. (more on page 6.)

Lucienne

"Hey. I just heard the news. You okay?"

"Yes."

"Dream."

"I'm fine."

"But?"

"I don't like that I have to go by Dream Endless now. But I'm glad I don't have to see anyone from that side of the family anymore. I don't like that people whisper about me everywhere I go. But Papa doesn't hate me and I'm welcome to stay with him for as long as I want. It's a mixed bag, but I actually prefer this to how it was before."

"I mean, obviously. I met your mom once and all I could think of was hitting her with a chair. No offense."

"None taken. I wish you had. That would have definitely made last year's Halloween party more exciting."

"Alas. I was too worried about getting arrested in my Uhura costume. You were dressed as Morticia Addams, right?"

"I was. Mother was supposed to be Morticia, but she claims her costume shrank in the dryer and so foisted the costume on me. She went as the Bride of Frankenstein instead. Something about being the wife of a monster."

"Yikes. Thank god your dad had a late meeting and didn't arrive until after she had passed out from drinking most of the alcohol in the bar."

"...Mm-hmm."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Dream."

"It's nothing, Lucienne. I just remembered I have a paper due on Monday that I have yet to do, what with all the...drama."

"Oh! Yeah, of course. Sorry for suddenly going off on a tangent. I really just wanted to see if you were okay."

"And I appreciate you calling to check up on me. Truly."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll leave you to the tender mercies of your academics then, Dream Gadling."

"Thank you. I much prefer that name over the one I have right now."

Papa

"Hello? Papa?"

"Hey, baby. Is everything alright? It's one in the morning."

"Yes. I'm safe in my dorm. I was just thinking…Can I still call you 'Papa?' Or do you want me to call you something else now?"

"'Papa' is fine, baby. I mean… (pause) Yeah, I think it would be strange if you suddenly called me 'Robert' or something."

"You don't have to sound so disgusted with your own name, Papa. I think 'Robert' is a perfectly lovely name."

"Aww, thank you, Dream. (paper rustling)"

"Are you still working, Papa?"

"Ha. I wish. No, baby, I'm looking through profiles right now."

"Of employees?"

"(sigh) Of omegas."

"Omegas."

"Yep."

"…"

"You there?"

"Why."

"What do you mean, 'why?' For marriage, of course."

"Marriage."

"(sigh) Yes, Dream. Marriage."

"You and Mother just got your marriage annulled barely a fortnight ago."

"Yeah, well, your Papa's not getting any younger, and the Board is breathing down my neck trying to get me to get married again."

"What do they care?"

"Well, baby, it turns out that I don't have an heir yet."

"What do you mean? Am I not your heir? Did you not raise me to run the company competently one day? I'm good at the job, Papa. You know I am."

"You are. And I said the exact same thing to the Board. But they still want me to have a biological child to inherit the company someday. You know. Far into the future."

"So you have to marry again. And have a biological child with your new omega spouse. Children."

"Look, Dream, it's not like I'm having the time of my life right now."

"And me? Am I…Am I expected to just step aside for this new family of yours?"

"Baby, no. You're still my heir. Even the Board acknowledges how brilliant you are. But--"

"But once I have outlived my usefulness, I will be replaced by someone who shares your blood."

"Dream--"

"I'm suddenly feeling drowsy, Papa. Good night. (hangs up)"

"Shit."

Dream

No one will ever be able to take your place, Dream. You are my son, no matter who your biological father is, and I will always love you. (Missed call.) (Missed call.) (Missed call.) Can you please at least let me know if you're safe? I'm getting worried.

I'm safe.

Okay. That's good, baby. Thank you for letting me know.

Jessamy (Dream's roommate)

Jessamy? Is Dream alright?

Hey, Mr. G! I mean, yeah? He's quieter than usual, but he's going to classes and eating and sleeping normally. Is everything okay?

Not sure, actually. Look, can you please keep an eye on him?

Yup, sure thing! Anything in particular you want me to look out for?

Just strange behavior, I suppose. The two of you have been roommates for a couple of years now, so in a way, you know better than I do what to look out for.

Eleanor

"I'm sorry. I don't know what has gotten into him."

"Hey, it's okay. It's totally understandable that he'd be very protective of you."

"It's just… I've never seen him act like that before. He's usually so well-mannered."

"Seriously, Robert, it's fine. Sure, he glared at me the entire night and interrogated me like I'm a criminal, but given what you both have been through, I get it. If I were in his shoes, I would totally do the same thing."

"I don't think you would 'accidentally' spill a glass of red wine over another person's clothes, though."

"Pssh, please. I have 'accidentally' spilled many an alcoholic drink when I was in uni as well. Granted, I spilled them mostly on handsy alphas."

"I'm really sorry."

"And I really don't mind. It's a dress, Robert. I can get it dry cleaned. If anything, Dream has provided me with the perfect excuse to go shopping."

"You don't have to be so understanding about this. He was a right little hellion tonight."

"Trust me, I've dealt with worse. Oh, hold on. (muffled) Oh, thank you, Chris. I just got home."

"Good. Great. I'll see you soon?"

"(laugh) I'll see you during our business lunch on Monday, Robert. And don't worry, it will take more than a glass of 'accidentally' spilled red wine on my dress to scare me off."

"(relieved sigh) Thanks, Eleanor."

"Ellie. You've dabbed enough napkins on my person to call me Eleanor."

"Ellie, then. Good night."

"Good night, Robert."

Dream

"Dream. Care to explain your behavior tonight?"

"Not really."

"Dream."

"Robert."

"…Okay, I'm going to give you time to calm down, but I still expect that explanation from you. And an apology to Eleanor."

"…"

"Dream."

"(hangs up)"

Jessamy (Dream's roommate)

Um, Mr. G? Dream came back yesterday at around 3AM, and he was really hungover this morning. Please don't tell him I told you.

Alright. Thank you, Jessamy.

Dream

"I said no, Corinthian."

"…Corinthian?"

"…Papa."

"Anything you need to tell me, baby?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

"Right."

"…"

"Well, I just called to tell you I won't be home this weekend."

"Understood. I am to let no one in, and all exterior doors must be locked at all times. Should an intruder somehow get past security, I am to hide in the safe room first and call you and/or Aunt Jo second."

"(sigh) Dream…"

"Is there anything else?"

"I miss you."

"…"

"We've barely talked since I started meeting with potential omega partners, and when we do talk, I get the sense that you'd rather do anything else than talk to me. What do I have to do? I feel like I'm suddenly doing everything wrong where you're concerned."

"If I ask you to stop meeting with other omegas, would you do it?"

"Baby…I have to."

"Then there's nothing left to talk about."

"You know you're one of the most, if not THE most important person in my life. I want you to be a part of this decision too. Anyone I choose must also have your approval."

"And if I choose no one?"

"(sigh) Baby…"

"You say I'm important to you. But--"

"Hold on. (muffled) What? Now? Goddammit. (sigh) Listen, baby. I have to go. But I'll call you later, okay? Just before my plane leaves, as always. I hope you answer. I don't like leaving on a plane without talking to you beforehand. You're my good luck charm, you know?"

"Fine. What time shall I expect your call?"

"(muffled) Yes, it's Dream. Just one more second, Ellie. What was that, baby?"

"Nothing. I said I'll pick up when you call. Is that Eleanor?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. We're both attending the same international conference, so I invited her to just fly with me on the jet."

"...I see. I have to go to class now."

"Oh, of course. Sorry for keeping you. Have a good day at school, baby. Love you."

"(hangs up)"

Papa

Ppa help In eed you Ith urts

#dreamling #the sandman #my writing #good job my thumbs #fic: loving you is cherry pie #idk what to call this #oyakodon AU #i guess??#sometimes i think i'm funny

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