#i strongly suspect it was just my next door neighbour coming home and being loud about it for no reason. she does that from time to time

[fingertipsmp3]

Who is yelling outside my house at 11:07pm

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Bad Bromance

It’s Tama Tonga time! I’m still adjusting to the new, clean-shaven and short-haired Tama. The two are easier to deal with together than when he just shaved the beard off but... Well, I’m not quite back to my old levels of Tama lust just yet. Doesn’t mean the lust is gone though. Oh no...

Pairing: Tama Tonga x OFC/ reader

Word count: 2,934

Content advisory: smut and angst

You steel yourself as you go to answer the doorbell. There’s no need to look because you already know who it is. 10 a.m. They were right on time. The moving truck is smaller than you expected, such a compact space to fit two years of someone’s life. When you and Tanga Loa had broken up, it seemed like something too huge to process. It’s painful now to see it reduced to a bunch of boxes piled in the spare bedroom waiting to be transported to his new home, his new life. 

The day he’d come back to pack, you told him to take what he wanted and had fled for the entire day, returning late at night to find he’d claimed very little. It had sat there for a week, waiting for the movers and you’d kept the door to the room closed that whole time. If you didn’t have to look at it, you could try to forget how everything between you had just collapsed into a lake of bitterness and suspicion and resentment. The break up had been necessary but that didn’t make it easy. 

You set your features, seeking to look calm and indifferent for the movers but that immediately breaks down when you open the door. You had hoped that Tanga might accompany them, not because you wanted to see him but because him being there would allow you to get out while they worked. Instead, he’s sent his brother Tama. Your expression darkens the moment you see him. He’d come along to help with the packing and the two of you had glared at each other without speaking. It made sense that he would be protective of his younger brother in the wake of a break up but the fact is that you and Tama Tonga had only ever been civil to each other for Tanga’s sake. You strongly suspected that he’d helped bring about the decline of the relationship because he’d never thought you were good enough for his little brother. For your part, something about him had grated on your nerves from the moment you met him. Yes, both brothers were cocky, but Tama carried that further. He was loud and arrogant and always wanted to be the center of attention. Something about him had gotten under your skin immediately and so you’d made a point of doting on Tanga all the more just to show the elder brother that you weren’t going to make him the center of your attention. And things had pretty much gone downhill from there. 

Tama grunts and pushes into the hallway, pushing you right back inside as he does. 

“Everything still in there?” He nods towards the spare room. 

“Yeah.” You have to resist the urge to tell him he doesn’t need to stay. 

You turn and walk back to the kitchen, installing yourself on one of the barstools next to the center island, the feature that had sold you on the place when you first saw it. You stare glumly at your phone, trying to focus on your Instagram feed while your mind is raging at the idea that you’re trapped in your own home with Tama. You could leave but you tell yourself that you can’t trust him not to take a few things extra, or smash something you love, or play some horrible, bitter prank to teach you not to mess with his family.  

Maintaining the illusion of concentration becomes harder when he follows you into the kitchen and helps himself to a beer. You suspect he does this in part to push your buttons, seeing if you’ll snap at him because he doubtless has some retort all lined up and waiting. It’s safer to keep your nose buried in your phone, which is exactly what you do. Nevertheless, you watch him from the corner of your eye, sipping your beer and staring at his own phone. He has a habit of laughing and mumbling in reaction to whatever he’s seeing that grates on your nerves. It’s like everything has to be a performance with him. 

A couple of times, the movers come with questions for him but it’s otherwise an uneventful and efficient operation, up until the very end when you see one of them carrying your lamp out the door. 

“Wait!” you yell, scurrying after the surprised-looking man. “That’s not supposed to go! That’s mine!”

“No, you said everything in the room was his to take,” Tama growls, arriving behind you. 

You whirl to face him, almost unable to believe you’ve heard him correctly. “That lamp has been with me since I went to college! He probably meant to move it to another room and forgot. But it’s mine and it stays here.”

Tama gives you a contemptuous scowl and shakes his head. “You said he could have everything. Considering how much he’s letting you keep, it’s a real bitch move for you to start trying to get more now.”

“Come on, Tama,” you groan, “he can take another lamp. Take whatever other lamp you want. Take a fucking ceiling fixture for all I care but that one is mine. It means something to me.”

He shrugs. “If he left it in that room, it’s because he wanted it.”

“Are you kidding me?” you shriek, trying not to notice the bewildered face of the mover stuck in lamp limbo. “Call him. Fucking call him and ask him if he wants that lamp or if he’d be willing to take another one.”

“I’m not bothering him with this shit, he’s been through enough because of you.” Tama turns his attention to the mover. “The lamp goes.”

You’re humiliated as a loud sob breaks from you, tears flowing. You could fight. You could call Tanga yourself. But it’s suddenly like the weight of the past weeks, of the past months of anxiety in your relationship and watching it fail, crashes down on you. So you turn and run back to the kitchen, trying to keep the sounds of your crying low enough that they won’t hear you. This time, you sit at the kitchen table, where you can bury your head in your arms and wait for this to be over. You hear the men chuckling down the hall. Tama must be entertaining them with stories of what an idiot you are. 

“Ok, so we’re done. I’m heading out.”

You lift your head to see him swagger into the room. He nonchalantly drops the keys- Tanga’s keys- on the table in front of you. 

“You still pouting about your fucking lamp? You can get pieces of shit like that at Ikea.”

“I know where I can buy lamps, you asshole. The point is that that one was mine. It’s the one thing that’s been with me ever since I moved into my own place. You don’t even want it, he doesn’t even want it. You’re only taking it because you know it’ll hurt me.”

“Some of us think you deserve to get hurt a little.”

“A little? You think your brother is the only one hurting right now? I didn’t want things to fall apart. And I did try to make it work. I hate that we couldn’t save what we had and just because you haven’t seen what I’ve been going through doesn’t mean that I’m not in pain.”

“You’re still the one who got to keep this place and almost everything in it. And now you’re trying to take back even some of that.”

“I told him he could have whatever he wanted! It was his choice!” You punch the table to emphasize your point but feel yourself flinch at the pain. “Whatever,” you mutter, “you never liked me anyway.”

“Ok, you wanna start this? You’re right, I never liked you because my brother doesn’t need someone who always needs his attention focused on her, who can’t handle that sometimes he has to concentrate on his career.”

“Oh that’s rich, coming from you. I never did anything to get in the way of his career. You’re the one who needs all his time and attention because you’re just worried that if he has anything else in his life that it’s going to hurt your career.”

“Hey, he loves what he’s doing.”

“He loved me too.”

Tama chuckles and smirks at you. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, babe.”

You’re on your feet, lunging towards him before you’re even aware of what’s happening. Your fist lands with a thud on his sternum, and you shove him repeatedly with both hands, trying to get him to move. 

“Get out! You get the hell out now and stay away from me!” 

It’s not like you to be physical like this, not at all, but it’s like you’re not in control. You keep screaming and hitting, growing all the angrier when he shakes off your blows like they’re nothing. He stands unmoved, the same smirk on his face. A moment ago, he said he was leaving. Now that he knows you want him to leave, he won’t budge. He just lets you flail at him and cry until he finally places his hands on your shoulders and firmly but not roughly backs you up against the wall. 

“You need to chill out before your neighbours call the cops.”

As soon as you stop raging, it’s like all the strength has gone from your body and you have to balance yourself against the wall to stop from sinking into a pile on the floor. 

“You told him to leave me,” you hiss, unable to look your tormentor in the eyes.

“Yeah, I did. A bunch of times. You’re not the right person for him.” 

“Oh you can fuck off with that you arrogant jackass! You don’t want him to have anyone in his life. You don’t want him to think about anything that might interfere with your plans! I loved him and I wanted a life with him!” Once again, you pound your fists against Tama’s unyielding chest. When your energy is spent, he presses his hands against yours and gently pins them back against the wall, holding them in place. 

“Come on. You and I both know that it wasn’t gonna work between you and him,” he whispers. 

Your first inclination is to hit him again but as he presses his weight against you, holding you in place, dark eyes bearing down on you, it feels like something catches fire in your core. It’s not like desire, at least, not like any feeling of desire you’ve ever experienced, but like an eruption, heat pouring out from your loins and setting the rest of your body alight. Yes, despite the tension, you’ve always known that Tama was attractive, but feeling him so close, the heat of his body penetrating your skin, his attention completely focused on you, you feel a wild lust that eclipses anything you’ve felt for any other man. You return his gaze and it’s like there’s an electricity between you, like you can feel the power of your desire meeting its match. 

His grip on you loosens just a little and immediately your hands are grabbing at him, tangling in his hair and pulling him into a kiss. At the same time, one of his hands snakes behind your head and pulls you to him, his response equal in passion to yours. Your embrace is a mix of lips, tongues and teeth, like the two of you are intent on devouring each other. It’s a few minutes of this before his mouth drops to your neck, teeth gnashing against the flesh there, his lips and tongue soothing the wounds he inflicts as his moans resonate through your body. 

You practically scream as he shoves one hand underneath your shorts and panties, thrusting his fingers into your already soaked sex. The speed and intensity of his touches only increases when you inadvertently shout his name, grinding yourself against his hand while your thigh is positioned between his legs. As wrapped up in your own pleasure as you are, your body shudders with anticipation as you feel the shape of his hardening cock against you. Although you never would have admitted it, you’ve often stared at the man in his skin-tight ring gear and you have noticed the outline of what he has in his pants. 

He breaks away just long enough to pull off your shirt and then his own before pinning you against the wall once more and lifting your hips. You wrap your legs around him, thrusting your hips to meet his as the two of you continue frantically embracing, mouths clashing and wrestling against each other as fiercely as anything you’ve seen in the ring. You let your head fall back against the wall as he grabs hold of a breast, licking and biting his way down your chest and swirling his tongue around the nipple before he wraps his lips around it and sucks harshly. You cry in pleasure and he quickly lavishes the same attention on the other breast before he gathers you up, his hands inside your shorts cupping your ass as he carries you over to the kitchen table, the cool tiled surface sending a shiver through your heated skin. 

He works your shorts and panties the rest of the way off while you nearly rip his pants from his body, desperate to see what he’s been teasing you with. And it does not disappoint. Indeed, it’s kind of astonishingly beautiful, the perfect gentle curve upward, the generous length (a little more than his brother’s, although you’re not about to mention that), the succulent head already leaking precum. You run your hand over it, fingers circling the tip and spreading the liquid before you start stroking him, making both of you moan in pleasure. 

“Oh you like that,” he purrs with a crafty smile. 

You nod and smile back before leaning over to run your tongue along the seam of his dick, pushing him into your mouth. 

“Aw fuck,” he groans, his head falling back. You can feel his legs shaking as he fights to maintain control. “Oh god, honey, slow down, I’m gonna fucking burst.”

He eases you off him and pushes you down on the table, taking a couple of tentative thrusts at your pussy before you push back against him. 

“Fuck me Tama,” you whisper hoarsely. “I want you inside me.”

He curses as he presses all the way inside you and that magnificent cock feels as good as it looks. You’re almost screaming at the sensation of it, especially when you feel his hand move to your pussy. He strokes you a little before taking your hand and placing it so that you’re both manipulating your most sensitive spot. 

He lifts himself up a little, panting, “Show me what to do. Show me how you like it.”

And he proves a very good student, immediately picking up the sort of touches and movements you need, then taking over entirely as you whine in pleasure. Your muscles clench tighter, something which does not go unnoticed. 

“That’s it, come on my dick, angel, I wanna feel it.”

You’re practically there already and hearing his breathless, lusty voice is enough to tip you over the edge, a stream of ecstatic cries signalling your orgasm and making him increase his pace. 

The two of you watch the frenetic movement of his cock into your cunt until he’s clearly reached his breaking point, when he bends you almost double so that he can get as deep as possible, cursing and repeating your name as his own orgasm rips through him. The two of you are gasping for several minutes afterward, his head burrowed into your neck and trailing soft kisses up and down it. 

“Is that what all the bullshit was about?” you sigh. 

You feel him laugh a little before he raises his head, all hints of bitterness and malice gone from his intense brown eyes. 

“Yeah, I think maybe it was.”

You cup his face in your hands, still feeling disoriented from the wave of passion that’s just broken over you. There’s no point in bringing up the obvious problem with what you’ve just done. It’s hovering in the air around you and you’re both aware of it. Instead, you give yourself over to the moment, gently stroking his hair back from his face and humming in pleasure as he runs his hands over your body. And before you know it, the two of you are kissing again, languidly but with no less passion than before, taking the time to explore each other. 

“So,” he murmurs when he finally pulls away, “what were you planning to do for the rest of the day?”

“I didn’t really think about it. Figured I’d just want to lay down or something.”

He smiles and lifts you up, hands running over your back as he does. 

“You mind having some company?”

“I don’t mind having you as company,” you whisper, biting your lip a little. 

He kisses you again as he carries you into the bedroom and lowers you to the bed. As you kiss and stroke his sculpted chess, you have to fight to keep the larger reality out of mind. A wild, spur of the moment fuck is one thing, but feeling Tama’s hands moving over you, pressing you tight to his body and hearing the soft moans of pleasure coming from him, you know that isn’t where you want to leave things. Disaster looms and you’re running towards it.

[bumbleberrysky]

alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) | 03

pairing: gabriel x reader genre: soulmate au, canon divergent around s13, hurt/comfort, humour, future smut (probs) wc: 3.7k rating: sfw warnings: none really

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It’s something you’re destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you’d thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you’re suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you’d been brought here in the first place? Maybe…

Chuck works in mysterious ways after all.

prev. || next

“Well, whatever it says, we’re gonna have to wait until Cas and Dean get back before we can decipher it.”

You huff, sparing a glance to the angel huddled in the corner, resting his head against the drawers beside his bed. It’s been a few days since you’d first come back and you wish you could say you’ve had all sorts of good progress with Gabriel, but the truth is that you haven’t. He has receded so far into himself that a part of you is actually worried the archangel you knew is gone completely.

“I’m a bit worried,” you admit quietly to Sam after a moment. He turns his gaze to you and you hold it. “He’s… he’s worse than I thought.”

And, put bluntly, you’d thought he was bad.

Sam doesn’t say anything, merely releases your gaze and turns to survey the room once more; the walls are plastered in a scrambled mess of what you can only guess is enochian. You’re not sure when Gabriel had the chance to do it, but you know that earlier you’d visited him to offer him a portion of his grace back and he’d refused, so you’d left and when you returned some time later the walls were like this.

“Did Dean say when they were going to be getting back?” you ask, wringing your hands.

“He didn’t respond to my text, so I can only assume he’s driving.” Sam huffed a laugh. “Cas forgot to charge his phone again so I can’t reach him either.”

You purse your lips, trying not to smile. Of course, it is the little things that Castiel forgets. Like that wireless technology needs charging, that Beyonce is too well known to be used as a cover name, and those straws that don’t always come with fast food drinks.

You’re about to speak when the faint sound of metal hitting metal echoes through the bunker, heavy footsteps on steel stairs following suit.

“Well, I guess that saves us asking,” you say, patting Sam on the arm as you move past. The two of you depart Gabriel’s room, sparing him one last concerned glance before you close the door behind you.

“I’m home! And I brought food!”

Yeah, that’s definitely Dean. You just hope Castiel came in with him so he can see his brother and read the scribble on the walls.

x     x

 The scribble, as Castiel informed you, is a thrilling account of Gabriel’s Story, so to speak. What happened to him after his so-called ‘death’, and you tuned out for a fair amount of it (mostly during the detailed recount of time spent with porn-stars in Monte Carlo) but heard the important bits, like how he was traded in to Asmodeus and what the Prince of Hell then proceeded to do to him for the years following.

It saddened you, despite it being largely something you already suspected if not knew.

After listening to Castiel read the enochian on the walls, you’d had to leave. Uncharacteristic of you, and Dean had given you an odd look as you passed him in the hallway, but you couldn’t spend another minute in there. You felt bile rising to the back of your throat.

You really don’t have an explanation for why you’re reacting so strongly, so viscerally, to everything that has to do with Gabriel. Like you’d affirmed earlier, you only really met and interacted with him a handful of times! You aren’t close with him, haven’t known him extensively—

So why do you have this gaping pit of loss and grief in your stomach, like you’ve lost a limb?

It doesn’t make sense, and you’re not sure if you can make it make sense, honestly. You’d like to be able to put it on the backburner too, but every time you try it just creeps its way back to the forefront of your mind. In a bid to distract yourself, you hole yourself up in your room for the rest of the day, marathoning whatever dumb show is on TV. If you’re lucky, the entertainment channel might have old reruns of Neighbours. That never fails to make you laugh with its exaggerated soapy drama.

To your disappointment, the only thing playing in a marathon fashion is Family Guy, and with a sigh you bundle up in your covers and resign yourself to the afternoon. Well, if you wanted to numb your brain then this result isn’t so bad after all.

You spend the rest of the afternoon in your room, and pass out at some indiscernible hour. When you wake next, it’s a ridiculously early hour of the next morning and the TV is still running. You have a cramp in your neck from your odd sleeping position, and you rub it with a scowl as you emerge from the blankets and turn off the TV. You slept way too long, and there’s no way you can get back to sleep now.

Begrudgingly, you slip from your bed and into a standing position, relishing in the stretch you feel as you lengthen your tight, tense limbs. The floor is cold against your feet but you’re too lazy to search for the slippers that came with your room and instead just go on your way. Destination: kitchen.

You feel like a ghost, wandering the silent halls of the bunker. Dean is most definitely passed out by this point, and Sam… well he’s probably asleep, but you wouldn’t bet on it. That psychopath could also be out jogging. You’re so zoned out that you don’t even realise you’ve reached the kitchen until you stub your toe on the doorframe.

“FUCK!” you curse, managing to restrain yourself from howling like a lunatic just barely, at the last second. You double over, heaving in a big breath. Of course it had to be the little toe—

“y/n? Are you alright?”

The low, gravelly tone that brushes your ears is familiar and always welcome. You stick your thumb up so Castiel doesn’t worry while you grasp your bearings. When you find your voice, you follow up the gesture with a squeaky, “Fine! Peachy.”

“I would remind you that I can tell when you are lying, but I don’t think you aimed to be very believable.”

You straighten, throwing Castiel a bright smile despite the pain still throbbing in your foot. You should have looked for the slippers—this is your hubris catching you slipping.

“Sorry Cas, I shouldn’t be sarcastic. I’m fine, but I think one of these days I’m gonna break my toe for real on that stupid doorframe.”

Unfortunately, this isn’t your first run-in with the doorway. If anyone asked, you would tell them that the design of the hallway is atrocious and that door is not where it’s meant to be. Well, it’s not where you expect it to be every time you come to the kitchen, and is clearly an obvious design flaw.

The angel lets out a soft noise of understanding, lips twitching in the ghost of a smile. “Perhaps. You don’t seem to have very good luck with doorframes.”

“Nope, I definitely do not,” you respond, shaking your foot out before moving over to the fridge and checking to see if Dean bought strawberries. A noise of delight escapes you as you find what you’re looking for, several punnets stacked in the back corner. Ah, and they say old dogs can’t learn new tricks—Dean is a very good learner with the proper motivation!

(Pavlov would be proud of you.)

Castiel has a smile on his face as he watches you remove one of the punnets, hopping up onto the bench facing him and flicking the plastic open. He approaches, movements fluid and calm, and for a few moments you sit in comfortable silence. He is the first to break it.

“y/n… are you alright?” At his repeated question you give him a confused look, and he hurries to elaborate. “I mean… with everything. With Gabriel. I noticed how you left, yesterday.”

Ah. Well, you knew that you hadn’t been subtle, but you hadn’t been sure whether anyone was going to question you on it. You munch on a berry as you think, gaze flicking to the side. You wouldn’t dream of telling Sam or Dean about the odd sensations you’d been feeling, despite the fact they knew how you’d reacted to the news of Gabriel’s death, but Castiel… you felt comfortable confiding this in him.

“Well… yes, and no.” You drop the top of the strawberry into the lid of the punnet and reach for another. “To be honest, I don’t really understand what is going on with me. It’s like… super overactive empathy. It just hurts, to see him that way. And it makes me sad, knowing what he went through. Painfully so.”

Castiel nods, light eyes on you as he listens attentively and with care. You chew through another two berries before continuing. “Hearing it straight from him—well, as straight from him as it could be, I suppose—it just got to be a bit much for me. I had to leave. It just… made me feel a bit sick, is all.”

The look on the angel’s face is pensive, and it’s as though you can see his mind whirring a mile a minute behind the sky of his eyes. “I see,” he murmurs, gaze flicking to the side as he thinks. “Well, you are a very kind soul, so I am not surprised by your empathy. Though, if it is affecting you so strongly…”

He pauses, eyes finding your own again. “If you feel ill again, come find me. I’ll help as much as I can.”

You smile at him, every moment as sincere as you’ve ever been. “Thanks, Cas. I really appreciate it.”

x     x

Sam must have done or said something to Gabriel while you were locked up in your room, because there seemed to be a sudden change in his progress.

For the better, you think. Well, you hope.

He was a little less withdrawn, a little less manic and fidgety. He still doesn’t really speak, and doesn’t react well to loud noises or sudden movements, but Sam told you he had spoken last night.

To correct him about calling the Monte Carlo porn-stars ‘hookers’, of course. You’d wanted to slam your head into the tile wall when you’d heard that.

The day passed quickly after your encounter with Castiel, and you spent it cleaning and polishing your weapons—you don’t want to go down as that one stupid hunter whose greatest folly was improper upkeep of her arsenal. Only when you’d polished your machete to a gleaming shine did you admit that it was likely time for a break. You thought it had only been a few hours, so when you wandered out and found that it was actually almost dinner time, you’d been pretty surprised.

Sam had run into you in the hallway and filled you in, and afterwards had insisted on accompanying you to the kitchen. It seems you spend a lot of your time there, now you think about it.

The large, industrial-feeling space is where you find yourself now, making a lazy stir-fry from pre-packaged vegetables and beef. You’d tasked Sam with cooking the rice since he’d insisted on lingering for conversation, and since you trust that he’s more capable than his brother you don’t bother checking on his progress.

“Castiel was worried when he first saw Gabriel, but after seeing the writing he’s happy because it means the Gabriel we know is still in there, somewhere.” Sam updates you from your side, sniffing and peering into the wok before you in mild interest. “That smells good. You sharing?”

“Maybe,” you answer him, giving him a sly look. “Depends… you got any of that guilt-free ice cream hiding in the freezer?”

Sam peers around to make sure his brother isn’t listening before nodding, “Back corner, behind the frozen berries. We got a deal?”

“Pleasure doing business with you, young Winchester,” you answer with a shake of his hand, putting on an accent for his benefit. He snorts, moving away to grab two bowls—good timing, you have to note, since the stir-fry is almost done. “Kind of sad you still have to hide it from Dean, though.”

“Are you kidding? He has a nose like a bloodhound for sweets,” Sam says, coming back with porcelain in tow. “Did I ever tell you about the time he found an industrial-size bag of Hershey’s kisses I bought? I hid it in the vents in the dustiest corner of the library, and he still found it. That was meant to last me months and he tore through it in a week.”

You blink, mildly impressed. You knew he had a sweet tooth but you didn’t know it was that bad. “Dude, get your brother some therapy.”

Sam snorts, muttering something about how it would be easier to herd cats and juggle at the same time. You’re distracted for the moment by an errant thought that filters across your mind at the mention of chocolates.

Gabriel, in his time spent as a trickster, developed quite the soft spot for them… could it…?

You stir the food before you once more before taking the wok off the heat, moving it to the wooden chopping board on the bench; Sam takes initiative and turns off the stove behind you, something you’re thankful for.

You’ll have to test your theory after dinner.

x     x

The chocolates and candies you’d left for Gabriel after you’d had your dinner are, to your delight, gone the next time you see him.

You’d placed them on a tray for him outside the room and knocked, letting him know you had left him something. Of course, after that no matter how much you wished to stay you forced yourself to be on your merry way so he could retrieve them in peace. The rest of the night had been spent arguing with Dean about the proper name a werewolf-vampire hybrid should be called—not because you have an important opinion on the matter, of course, but because Dean gets very fired up about the subject and it’s very funny to behold.

Back to the point, when you’d returned on your trip past Gabriel’s room this morning (on your way to the kitchen, as anyone would expect), the tray had been placed neatly to the side with the wrappers twisted into the shape of a big, shiny bow. Kind of impressive, especially since you have no idea how he got them to stay stuck together like that.

It made you happy, though, that he’d eaten them. Angels don’t need to eat, of course, but he’d seemed to develop a taste for them ever since adopting the mask of Loki so you thought it might help make him feel a little more like himself.

You try not to think about it too much because it actually makes you a bit embarrassed— why are you so invested? You don’t quite want to know.

Currently, you’re settled in the library with your legs crossed and a tome on celestial beings in your lap. By your side is a plate of celery and a jar of peanut butter, and Dean, who is seated at the oak table with Castiel across from him, is giving you periodic looks of disgust and twisted curiosity. He’d started off attempting to read up on some monster—you suspected it was Werepires, after last night’s argument—while Sam popped off to the store for groceries, since Mary and Jack were meant to be returning tonight. The keyword to note here is attempting; each crunch of celery between your teeth yanks his gaze from the book to you and you can tell its wearing on him. Castiel says nothing, having discovered candy crush on his phone earlier, and merely glances between the two of you every now and then with a faint look of amusement.

“Alright,” He finally breaks after your third stick of celery, giving it a look like it personally offends him. “How can you eat that? Just use a spoon if you like peanut butter so much.”

“What the fuck, ew,” you comment, chomping loudly before dipping the stick into the jar for another coating. “I hate peanut butter.”

“You’re sitting there practically eating it out of the jar!”

“I get cravings sometimes, Dean!” you throw back, somewhat defensively. “It’s like when people eat vegemite—no one likes it, but you get cravings for it, you know?”

“What—ew, no, I don’t know!” Dean’s face has now crumpled into a complete look of disgust at the mention of that particular spread, and he shudders as he regards you. “Every time you leave I almost forget what a freak you are, and then you come back and I’m reminded all over again.”

The way he says it has no bite whatsoever, and you flash him a grin. You don’t realise Castiel has even been paying attention until he speaks, the humour lacing his deadpan tone the only give-away that he’s teasing.

“That wasn’t very nice, Dean. You eat some weird things for a human yourself—like that greasy, fried dessert from the stall in the food festival we drove through.”

Dean at first looks like he wants to argue, but at Castiel’s example a flush of green instead washes over his features. “Ugh, god that was gross. Don’t ever let me buy before I try at a food market again, Cas.”

Castiel snorts softly, turning back to his phone, “You have my word.”

Dean seems to have forgotten he was shaming you for your celery topping, his attention now directed back to the book before him. His face is still kind of pale and you assume he is now adequately distracted enough for you to continue eating in peace. After consuming the rest of the celery in your hold, you go to turn back to your own book. It isn’t meant to be, though, because in the next second the familiar sound of the heavy metal bunker door creaking open splits the air and Sam’s bright voice follows after.

“We’re back! We brought fried chicken.”

You slam the lid back on the peanut butter, putting it on the plate with the celery and launching to your feet in record time, the book unfortunate collateral. It’s like you’re possessed as you zoom into the kitchen, stomach alive and stirring at the mention of chicken despite the fact you’d already been eating.

Upon entry to the kitchen, you’re faced with two new people you have yet to be introduced to—considering you’re familiar with most of Sam and Dean’s other contacts by this point in your friendship, you presume that these two must be Jack and Mary, the Nephilim and the Winchester brother’s resurrected mother, respectively.

“Hello!” you greet, darting forward to help Sam with the food. He gives you a look that tells you he knows exactly why you’d come to help and gives you the bag full of groceries instead of the one with chicken, just to spite you. Your face falls into a pout but your voice is still cheery as you continue, “I’m y/n, I hunt with Dean off and on.”

Both of their faces light in recognition, and you realise that your reputation has preceded you. Exactly which reputation depends on which brother mentioned you—you imagine Dean would have had some very interesting comments to add.

“Hello,” the woman, Mary, speaks, and you’re taken aback by how soft-spoken she seems in contrast with the badass aura and get-up she’s got going on. You’re a little surprised to see her, considering she’s the same age as you presume she would have been when Sam was a baby. “I’m Mary, I’m sure you’ve heard about me. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and… thank you for looking after my boys over the years.”

You beam a grin and it must come across as a very shit-eating one because you hear Dean groan from the next room over as he ambles to join the crowd in the kitchen.

“Don’t encourage her,” he says gruffly as he enters the kitchen, hugging his mother and ruffling Jack’s hair before following his nose to the bag with the chicken in it. “She’ll never let it go.”

“I’m Jack!” Your attention is torn from the previous interaction and redirected to the youthful blonde man next to Mary, grinning at you brightly. “I’ve heard so much about you—it’s nice to finally meet you!”

“Oh, you’ve heard about me?” you can’t help yourself from asking, and you hear Dean’s groan echo behind you. “All good things, I hope.”

It’s a little unfair of you to be fishing in the Jack pond for little tidbits you can use to bully Dean later, considering he’s literally barely a year old and doesn’t really know better to keep his mouth shut, but it is what it is. The question left you out of habit more than anything.

“Oh, definitely,” Jack answers, going to help Mary the second he sees her struggle with a bag from the corner of his eyes, “Well, mostly. Dean—”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Dean interrupted loudly and pointedly, not-so-subtly holding his finger to his mouth to tell Jack to shut it. “Dinner time! Everyone into the library, we have a lot to catch up on.”

Begrudgingly you let it go and follow his directions. He has a point; there is definitely a lot of informing to be done, especially regarding the archangel in the room down the hall.

You take a seat and wait for your meal to be served. The night passes quickly from that point on, the brothers cracking out some beer and Dean snickering when you turn your nose up at it (bad experience, better not to remember it). You get to know Mary Winchester and Jack Kline a little better, and now with all of your heads put together you hope you can come up with a solution to the issues around Gabriel and his recovery.

Well, that and you’re going to see if you can get some good material out of Mary to tease the brothers with. When in Rome, after all!

prev. || next.

[kythen]

Haikyuu!! - death-scented sweetness [1/?]

Aka the three sentence fic that grew way out of hand. Now on AO3!

EDIT: Now a multichaptered fic!

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Pairing: Kurodai

Summary: Vampire!Kuroo. Kuroo is looking for his next meal and he thinks he just found him. Also found here on AO3.

[Chapter 2]

Word count: 2,067

The sweet scent of blood fills the narrow confines of the alley, hanging thick in the air between Kuroo and his next meal. The man Kuroo had stalked through the night walks at a steady pace through the alley, never noticing Kuroo the whole time, his back faced to him and his neck bare, his hair cut sensibly short to the nape.

By the time Kuroo comes up behind him, his fangs bared and ready to sink into his neck, it is too late—this close, Kuroo finally notices that the man's blood isn't just sweet, but sickly sweet in a stomach-turning way, and the man has stopped walking, the edge of a smile glinting sharp on his mouth as he asks, "Aren't you going to bite me?"

Kuroo recoils, his nostrils flaring with the cloying scent of the man's blood. It doesn't smell right. It smells unnatural and that is saying something considering that Kuroo has encountered all sorts of people over his years of being, human and non-human, and he has never come across a scent like his.

The man turns, facing Kuroo head-on now, and Kuroo backs away uncertainly, no longer interested in feeding on him. But he is still interested in the man's scent and why someone like him would smell like that. Kuroo takes another whiff, picking through the different tones in his scent, marking him out as human, male, and—

"Dead," Kuroo states, his eyes wide as he finally recognises the sickly sweet perfume of the dead against the roof of his mouth. "You're dead."

The man shrugs. "I was, once. But now, I've lived too long."

"How?" Kuroo blurts out, curiosity overtaking his hunger.

"I'm not going to tell you that," the man says, amused. "I don't even know you."

"I could threaten you into telling me," Kuroo says lightly, sharpening his nails with a flick of his wrist.

"Don't waste your time," the man tells him without batting an eyelash. "I won't die. I'm not scared of death and I’m not scared of you."

Kuroo considers the man and his fearless attitude as they face off in the cramped alley. The man doesn't seem the slightest bit fazed by Kuroo and judging by his earlier reaction, he doesn't care if Kuroo was going to feed on him or not. His scent disturbs Kuroo, tickling his nose and making his spine tingle, and Kuroo's head spins as he tries to figure out his next move. He would feel foolish if he were to back out here now and he is famished, given that he had been counting on this man to be his next meal.

The man seems to take pity on Kuroo's confusion and he huffs out a sigh, saying, "You're a vampire, aren't you? Are you hungry? For you to be attacking me this close to the heart of the city, you must be. I could give you some of my blood if you like but judging by your reaction, you might not want it." The man smiles wryly. "Does it stink?"

"It's... different," Kuroo admits. "But it doesn't stink."

"So do you want it?"

With an intense scent like that, Kuroo is going to be tasting his blood inside his mouth for weeks if he does, but hungry vampires can't be choosy, and Kuroo doesn't think he will be able to find another person out this late at night. He wants to eat and he wants eat now so if this man is offering, strange blood or not, he will take it.

"Yes," Kuroo says quietly and takes a step towards him.

The man holds out a hand in front of him and Kuroo blinks. "Not here," the man says. "I'm not letting drink my blood in a dingy alley. Follow me."

"You're not going to kill me or something, are you?" Kuroo asks warily. "Lead me to someplace with a stake or fire or a guillotine?"

"Ha," the man snorts, his eyes glinting with amusement as he turns his back on Kuroo. "That's up to you to decide. I'm not going to force you to follow me home."

He sets off down the alley and Kuroo hurries after him, his footsteps soundless against the grimy ground, trailing the man like a shadow. Everything about this situation seems bizarre when Kuroo thought that he could just finish the man off quickly, suck him dry, then leave before the sun comes up. But now, here he is, trotting along at the heels of a man whose blood isn't even that appetising to him. Kuroo is intrigued and he only hopes that his curiosity doesn't lead him into trouble.

The man leads him to the outskirts of town where the oldest and grandest mansions are—or once were. Over time, the families had packed up and left, fires had overrun this district, and the mansions had fallen into disrepair. Kuroo had seen it all happen over the course of centuries and he is surprised to find that there are still people living here. They stop before a mansion which looks considerably more intact than its neighbours and the man pulls out a set of keys to unlock the front gate, pushing it open with a loud, grating noise.

"After you," the man says and Kuroo steps past him and into the premises.

The man does the same thing at the front door, giving Kuroo freedom into his home. Kuroo could wander but he feels obliged to stay by the man's side like an awkward houseguest as he strikes up a match and lights a branch of candles. There is something about this place that makes Kuroo's hair stand, just like how the scent of the man's blood had thrown Kuroo off guard. It isn't dangerous but there is something extraordinarily intriguing about the man and his mansion, something hidden, something unnatural, that makes Kuroo want to pry.

When Kuroo turns his attention back to the man, he realises that the man has a tiny silver blade in his hand and he is looking at Kuroo expectantly.

"I'm not going to hurt you or anything," the man scoffs as Kuroo leaps nearly a foot into the air. "This isn't blessed or smeared with garlic or magically going to transform into a wooden stake so relax. For a vampire, you're such a scaredy cat."

"Well, I don't usually find myself in situations like this," Kuroo informs him, straightening his coat, embarrassed. "You see, when I interact with a human being I usually just kill them and suck their blood so there isn't much going on between us."

"Not one for socialising?" the man asks with a smile on his face.

"With human beings," Kuroo corrects. "Now, what's that knife for then?"

"I'm not going to let you drink my blood from my neck so you're going to have to settle for my arm." The man unbuttons his sleeve and starts rolling it up his forearm.

"Why not? It's tradition," Kuroo grins, baring his fangs at him.

"I know that it definitely isn't as sexy as it looks, despite what erotica says," the man says tartly, "and it's going to be uncomfortable for both you and me so you're just going to have to deal with it."

"Not one for being embraced from behind with my strong arms?" Kuroo asks, waggling an eyebrow at him. "Feeling my moist lips on your delicate neck?"

"Okay, you've definitely been reading some of that trashy stuff," the man says and finishes rolling up his sleeve. "Look, do you want my blood or not?"

"Yes please," Kuroo says, remembering his empty stomach.

The man draws a line down the inside of his forearm with the tip of his blade, slicing through his flesh shallowly. Blood trickles out from the fresh cut, streaming over his forearm and dripping to the floor. Kuroo is there by his side before the first drop can fall, kneeling on the floor and taking his arm in his hands. His head feels dizzy with the cloying, sweet scent of the man's blood, his stomach rolling but hungry for a taste at the same time.

He catches the droplets of blood on his tongue first, the small amounts burning sweet in his mouth, before he puts his mouth to the rivulets running around his arm and then starts lapping at the blood fresh from the man's wound. It is a lot like choking on roses, his mouth and nose filled to bursting with the scent of sweet death, but he can't stop. He is famished and the man's blood is warm, thick and red with life. He runs his tongue over the length of the cut and the man winces, his arm trembling in Kuroo's hold.

"That stings," the man says, pushing at Kuroo's head. "How much do you need anyway?"

"Usually, I drink it all," Kuroo says, sucking at the seam of his cut, which makes the man flinch and yank at his hair. He glances up at the man, his eyes half-lidded, his insides warm and heavy with fresh blood as he purrs, "Since you can't die, why don't you just give it all to me?"

"No, thanks." The man tugs at his hair again, shaking Kuroo off his arm. "That's all I'm letting you have. Get off me."

Reluctantly, Kuroo detaches himself from the man's arm, eyeing the last remaining droplets as he licks his lips. The man's blood had been as strongly flavoured as his scent, which should have made Kuroo sick to his stomach, but he hadn't been able to stop. Despite the cloying sweetness, it was addictive in its own way and it was filling, which means that Kuroo won't have to hunt down another human for the next few days. In fact, if the man was willing to feed him regularly...

Kuroo tastes the insides of his mouth and winces. Maybe not. While the man's blood had tasted good while he was gulping it down, the aftertaste lingers too strongly for his liking. Until his next meal, Kuroo suspects that his mouth is going to taste like the man's blood, death-flavoured sweetness.

"So," Kuroo says, feeling satiated nonetheless. "Are you going to tell me your secrets?"

The man inspects his arm but doesn't make a move to close his wound or roll down his sleeve. It is still bleeding sluggishly and Kuroo's eyes are drawn to it despite himself.

"No," the man says. "Are you going to get out of my house?"

"You invited me in."

"For a meal. Singular," the man says. "Because I took pity on a starving vampire. Now that you're a well-fed vampire, you should take your leave."

"We aren't even going to cuddle? A bit?" Kuroo flutters his eyelashes at him.

"Stop reading that trash." The man rolls his eyes but there is a hint of a smile on his lips as he shoos Kuroo off.

The man escorts him to the doorway, if only to make it obvious that he wants Kuroo to leave, and Kuroo halts at the threshold. He still has time before the sun comes up and tonight had been an adventure he hadn't expected to have when he had gone in search of food. He leans against the doorframe and the man folds his arms across his chest, raising an eyebrow.

"Look, I don't want to seem ungrateful by just leaving—" Kuroo starts.

"Oh, you won't," the man interrupts. "I want you to leave. I won't consider you an ingrate."

"So thank you," Kuroo pushes on valiantly, raising an eyebrow to match the man. "I'm Kuroo."

The man blinks, as if he hadn't been expecting to get a name after all of this. "Sawamura," he says and that is all Kuroo gets.

"Sawamura," Kuroo tries out and finds that it suits him. "I hope our paths cross again."

Sawamura snorts but he is openly smiling now, even as he waves Kuroo's farewell off. "I'd rather not. You vampires are a troublesome lot."

"Now we’ll definitely meet again." Kuroo grins.

"Just go before the sun comes up and my blood goes to waste when you turn into ashes," Sawamura retorts.

Kuroo leaves, going through the front yard and the gate like a civilised being. When he turns back, he sees Sawamura still standing in the doorway, a lone figure dwarfed by the backdrop of his crumbling mansion.