❥ summary: zoro struggles with his feelings about you after another sex to destress night.
— @lamentationsofalonelypotato for romance bingo
you were a distraction - someone to help zoro forget about the world, if only for a little while. just a fuck buddy.
at least, that’s what he told himself.
but as he lay there the morning after, staring down at you curled up against his chest, he wasn’t so sure anymore. his arm rested naturally under your neck, his hand draped over your shoulder. your breathing was steady, nothing like the ragged gasps and moans from the night before.
zoro shifted slightly, his gaze lingering on you longer than he wanted to admit. his mind was restless.
are you really just that?
before he could chase the thought any further, you stirred against him, your voice still heavy with sleep.
“you okay?”
“it’s morning, dumbass,” he muttered.
your eyes fluttered open slightly before widening in realization. “my plants!” you groaned, attempting to sit up.
zoro let out an exasperated sigh and caught your forearm before you could escape the bed. “hey, they’re not gonna die on you.” with a firm but gentle pull, he rolled you onto your back and hovered over you, pinning you beneath him.
your lips parted as he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. “zoro…” you whispered, but he silenced you with a slow, deliberate kiss.
one hand braced against the mattress, supporting his weight, while the other trailed along your jaw, down your body. his rough fingers found their way between your legs, his thumb circling your clit as a finger slipped inside you.
you exhaled a shaky moan against his lips. “mmm, still stressed?”
“yes,” he muttered, sliding another finger in.
your head fell back against the pillow as he worked you open, the sensation making your body arch toward his touch. his grip shifted, capturing your wrists and pinning them above your head as he replaced his fingers with the head of his cock, teasing you by dragging it along your entrance.
zoro moved to his knees, pushing into you slowly, feeling you clench around him the deeper he went. a low groan rumbled in his throat as he rolled his hips, grinding against you to add friction. letting go of your wrists, his hands traveled down your body - one steadying your leg while the other caressed the length of the opposite thigh.
his lips followed the path of his hands, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh before sinking his teeth into the soft flesh. you gasped, gripping the sheets beneath you.
he didn’t let up. his pace turned ruthless, pounding into you while his fingers dug into your skin. the sting of his bite mixed with the pleasure, sending waves of sensation through your body.
“you piss me off,” he muttered against your thigh, his voice rough with frustration.
your breath hitched. “don’t mean to,” you murmured, though you didn’t bother asking why.
of course, you didn’t mean to. you don’t know how i feel.
zoro shifted his grip, one hand anchoring himself on your breast, his thumb brushing against your nipple before pinching it between his fingers.
“you’re a distraction,” he grumbled, his thrusts never faltering. “and that stresses me out.”
a teasing smile ghosted your lips. “oh?”
zoro stilled. his sharp gaze met yours, dark and unreadable.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEETIE !!! This is for you 🧡 ENJOY!
⋆ ˚｡⋆ CHARACTERS Dean Winchester x @lamentationsofalonelypotato , Sam's also there!
WARNINGS Pure Crack (especially next part), Canon Violence / Swearing, Reader (Lee) is a student at the university, POV's all over the place (imagine it like in an episode)
⋆ ˚｡⋆ SUMMARY Dean must go undercover at a university to solve a weird case of a series of deaths involving potatoes.
⋆ ˚｡⋆ WORDS 2,4k
⋆ ˚｡⋆ J / NOTE Would you believe me if I was to tell you that this was meant to be a drabble or an imagine, but I suddenly imagined it like an episode and just kept going, and now I had to stop myself before your birthday's over and instead make a two part mini series out of this??? Anway, I hope you like it so far, hun! <3
Main Masterlist ❀ Dean Winchester Masterlist
Dean ducks under the police tape, walking up to the body covered by a white sheet, sprawled out in the middle of the campus, while straightening his fake FBI uniform. He's closely followed by his younger brother who almost tore down the tape as he had tripped over his long legs, earning himself an amused smirk of Dean's.
Sam mutters an annoyed, "Shut up, jerk." under his breath, before his focus shifts to the victim in front of them.
"Sure, Sasquatch," Dean quips and leans down to pull back the sheet, uncovering the face of a guy who looks like he's been in his early 20s. The bright sun reflects in eyes wide in shock, the angular face partially framed by middle long, blond hair that's stuck to his sidebuns.
"Isn't that the douchebag who sexually harassed a girl the other day?" Dean asks with a raised eyebrow.
"Yeah, Tommie Parsons," Sam huffs through his nose while he flips his notebook open, "That's the third student in two months who dropped dead at exactly 1PM. What do you think? Revengeful spirit perhaps?"
"Or a curse..." - Dean hums and straightens his back to look after a group of female students passing by the crime scene tape, while he continues to mutter, - "Whatever it is, it didn't hop the Blue Line... so it's gotta be tied to the place." His focus returns to Sam, his eyebrows wiggling.
"Looks like we're going back to university, Sammy."
"You mean, I'm going back," Sam retorts with an amused roll of his eyes.
While Dean tries and fails to bite back with some witty comeback, Sam's focus returns to the victim at his feet once more. His eyes roam the poor guy's crumpled body when he suddenly spots something. He tilts his head to the side and crouches down next to him.
"Huh, check this out... Looks like he has something stuck in his throat?" Sam observes with narrowed eyes.
Dean grins smugly while poking the small bulge with the tip of his black leather shoe. It bobs under the pressure and Sam shoots him a side-eye when the surrounding police officers start to watch them with skepticism.
"Ha, I bet he's not used to having something shoved down his throat like that.” Dean stays unperturbed and grins down at the horror-stricken, pale face, “Karma’s a real bitch, huh, Timmy?"
The next Day.
"C'mon, man, couldn't it have been something sexier? Like a sex ed or at least a sports teacher?" Dean grumbles with the phone clasped between his shoulder and ear, fingers fumbling with his tie.
"You wanted the job, don't blame me. It was the only thing available." Sam answers through the phone.
"Yeah but, a - a-" he shifts his phone to his hand and squints at his campus ID "- ‘Expert in South American Household Traditions’, seriously? The hell's that even supposed to mean?"
"You're only a guest mentor. You'll wing it, Dean." Sam sighs on the other side of the call, "Just focus on digging up some dirt on our victims and I'll have a look at our Deep Throater at the morgue."
"Yeah, yeah," Dean mutters while rounding the corner of the hallway, eyes darting around in search of his classroom, "Why can't they label this goddamn maze? This is rid- Agk-" his sentence breaks off into a grunt as he knocks into something.
Or rather, someone.
You land on your ass, papers gone flying across the floor. Wincing and rubbing your forehead which had collided with his hard shoulder.
"Damn, sorry, didn't see ya there," he apologizes and reaches out a hand towards you to pull you back to your feet, "You okay?"
"Yeah, all good," you mumble, patting down your skirt to smooth it out. You notice the scattered papers with a sigh and bend down to quickly collect them and tug them under your arm, "I'm late, sorry-" you mutter without looking at the guy once and about to dash past him when he suddenly interrupts you.
"Uh- Me too, actually. You wouldn't happen to know where I'm supposed to go?" He shoots you a crooked smile and points at his name tag reading "Dr. Phil. Page".
Your eyes widen, and for the first time travel up to meet his emerald ones, intense and glinting in the harsh light of the hallway.
"You're- you're our guest mentor for our special exhibition?"
"Yep. Households expert and the whole package," he chuckles a bit nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, "That'd be me."
The air gets stuck in your throat for a moment and the heat's rushing to your cheeks. He looks cute. And he's really young for a Dr. Phil.?
"Ah," you snap out of it and continue in a flustered manner, "Follow me, Mr. Page, I'm in your class. We gotta hurry tho!"
"Alright then. Lead the way, sweetheart," he smiles at you and your cheeks take a faint pink at the way he called you. But you quickly avert your eyes before you both hurry down the hallway with Dean following you closely.
Four hours and a very 'interesting' take on 'South American Household Traditions' later, you and the rest of the students flock in the canteen of the university.
Your mind keeps going back to your guest mentor. Despite the fact that he almost broke one of the relics of their special Inca exhibition, most certainly got every single date and object wrong and referred to a staff as a 'pokey stick', you couldn't ignore the fact that he had something charming, intriguing even.
Your circling thoughts are interrupted when a voice behind you has you turn to look over your shoulder, canteen tray in your hands. Behind you standing in line, is no other than your new mentor.
"Hey," he nods at you, lips quirked into a confident smirk, "How'd I do?"
"Uhm," you hesitate, mind racing for a kind way to tell him that he'd managed to butcher traditions worth thousands of years in just four hours.
"It was, uh... quite unique?" Mhm, real smooth. You facepalm internally.
"That bad, huh?" he chuckles and holds his plate out for a sausage, his eyes flickering back to yours as they crinkle, amused, "In my defence, it was my first teaching. And I kept getting distracted, y'know." He winks. Your ears flush and you giggle, trying your best to ignore the fact that it almost seems like your mentor is trying to flirt with you.
"Mind if I join you?" he asks casually and nods at the teacher table in the corner, "Ms. Tingles back there is giving me the creeps.”
Your eyes follow his and a cold shiver runs down your back when they settle on your history teacher. Hawk-like eyes of an elder woman bore into yours, face lined with sharp contours and a beak-like nose. And mostly, feared by all.
"Yeah," you breath with a shudder, voice dropped to a mere murmur, just in case the hold hag had developed super hearing, "Miss Tinkle's a real charmer." Dean chuckles amused at your sarcastic tone.
You hand your plate to the next lady who adds a portion of French fries to your meat. And Dean follows suit once you continue to pick your favourite sauce along the fries.
"Here love," the lady scoops Dean an extra portion onto the plate, "You look hungry," she smiles at him motherly. Dean's eyebrows shoot up, a surprised grin forming on his face.
“Well, ain’t you just a sweet peach,"- he leans in to read her name tag before he looks up again and shoots her a boyish grin -"Susan. You keep feeding me like this, and I might just have to stick around permanently."
You both took a seat at one of the outdoor tables, Dean sliding into the bench across of you. It's a lively place, students chattering around you while the atmosphere is warmed by a sunny spring day.
"You sure you want to sit with me, Mr. Page...?" you ask once you've settled down, afraid that he might have only followed you around because he didn't want you to sit alone. He nods, muffling a " 'course" between the French Frie he's chewing on before he swallows and his tongue darts out to lick the salt off his fingertips, eyes never leaving you.
"But you-"
"Just call me Dean," he interjects, that flirty smile spread across his face again, "What's your name, sweetheart?"
"I'm Lee," you smile sheepishly and stroke one of your brown locks past your glasses and behind your ears. He repeats your name under his breath, his smile widening for a fraction.
Then he clears his throat, his face taking on a more serious note.
"Can I ask you, Lee, did you know a Tommie Parsons by any chance?"
"Parsons?" you echo the name, lips twitched into a disgusted frown, "Yeah, heard plenty of him. He was a real ass. And a pervert." As you speak your mind, you realize what you'd just said and you quickly try to allay any wrong impressions, "Not that he'd deserved to die, of course."
"Of course," Dean repeats with a slightly arched eyebrow, "Mind telling me what you know abou-"
He doesn't get to finish his sentence when all of a sudden a loud noise tears through the lively chattering, followed by a girl screaming in panic.
Dean, hunter instincts kicking in, leaps off his seat and instinctively reaches for the colt hidden at the back of his waist, eyes darting around when they zero in on a guy at one of the tables.
He's pale as a sheet, wheezing and heaving like a cat that's trying to produce a furball. Dean's hand hovering over the colt falters.
"Hey- what's the matter?" he asks as he darts over to the table, eyes snapping back and forth between the guy and what was presumably his girlfriend next to him.
"I- I don't know- he just-" the girl stammers, but gets interrupted by her boyfriend's kecking sounds.
"C-c-an't- b-b-" his voice cracks and he doubles over, retching terribly. Dean's hands hover over his back, cursing under his breath, "Shit - hey, c'mon, talk to me!" Eyes roaming his writhing body, he notices how a bulge at his throat starts to form, bobbing right above his Adam's Apple.
Oh no-
The watch on his wrist reads 12:59.
He looks around the place, eyes narrowed as he scans every face in the forming crowd, like he's expecting a witch or a spirit to hide among them. Sure enough, his gaze meets Miss Tinkle. Watching the entire show from the doorway to the canteen, her eyes cold as they lock with his. Dean's jaw clenches, mind racing.
The hunter's attention is suddenly drawn to a backpack on the floor next to them. He looks up at the girl, voice sharp as he prompts, "Is this his?" She nods, trembling.
Without missing a beat, he lunges for the backpack and turns it upside down, its contents spilling across the ground.
"Come on, come on, where's that damn thing-" he grits out, hands rifling through the contents in vain, "Damn it!"
Standing on the sidelines, you can only watch in horror as your classmate scrambles for his water glass, sending fries flying everywhere as he does so, before his face begins to turn blue - and the next thing you know, he slips off his chair and hits the floor.
His body twitches once or twice.
Silence.
Then the campus gong goes off to signal it's exactly 1 o'clock.
Dean leans against the wall of the deserted staircase in one of the university's buildings.
"There was no hex bag," he mutters into the phone, fingers rubbing the spot between his eyebrows, "I don't get it, man. What the hell are we dealing with here?"
"It wasn't your fault, Dean. There was nothing you could've done to save him." Sam reassures him, voice soft even through the crackling phone.
"I should've. I was right there... Damn it."
"You tried your best, okay? You wanna hear what I found out in the morgue? The thing in the guy's throat?"
Dean sighs and runs a hand down his mouth before he regains his usual tone. "Yeah, hit me."
"A potato."
Dean blinks like he must've misheard him.
"A what now?"
"I'm serious. Like a fully grown, unpeeled, raw potato."
"Oh give me a break."
"Just reporting the news," Sam scoff-chuckles and continues to explain, "It even had the dirt on it still. Like it had just been dug up and magically zapped next to his windpipe."
"O- okay- uh, that's a new one," he comments, still confused, "So how's that fit our theory?"
"I'm not sure," Sam mutters, "I was thinking maybe it has something to do with what they ate. If it's not them who're marked by the curse, maybe it's the food?"
"Food?" Dean mutters.
Then his eyes widen in realization. His throat suddenly feels oddly tight, his hand instinctively rubbing his Adam's Apple.
"Oh no..." he gulps, face scrunched up into a grimace.
"What's the matter?"
"Son of a bitch jinxed the fries."
Sam's silent for a moment, then scoffs.
"And lemme guess-"
" 'Course I did, Sammy! It's friggin' French Fries, man!" he arguments before his brother can even finish his (correct) assumption. He turns on his heels in frustration, gaze passing by the window when his voice suddenly drops to a hushed one, "Hold on-"
Sam's questioning voice is now being muffled as Dean clamped his hand over the phone, his focus drawn to a loud discussion below the window in the staircase.
"Christ on a Stake - Bob! I said 'order one hundred potatoes', not 'enough to feed the entire goddamn town'!" An elder man shouts, hands flailing around.
Presumably the cook, judging by his clothings.
"I- I'm sorry sir, I - I didn't- " the boy stammers while he desperately tries to keep the gigantic pile of potato sacks from burying him alive.
Then a new, female voice cuts through the argumentation, her voice final and yet smooth, like poisonous honey, "Don't be so harsh with the kid, Jeff. I bet it was just a mistake. Besides, it could've been worse, right? Everyone loves potatoes."
Dean shifts behind the window, just enough to catch a glimpse at the new stranger.
His jaw clenches at the familiar face;
Miss Tinkle.
He raises his phone back to his ear, his voice low and tight, "You get the witch-killing bullets ready. I'll scope out the canteen and torch their storage room tonight, just in case... before anyone else eats of this cursed crap."
...
Behind the corner of the last step of the staircase, hidden in the shadows... is you. Pressed up against the wall. Hand clasped over your mouth to muffle your ragged breath. Heart racing along your reeling mind.
Witch-killing bullets? What the hell is he talking about? Is he trying to kill someone? And why does he plan on breaking into the canteen tonight to burn their food..?
J / NOTE @lamentationsofalonelypotato (and anyone else for that matter :D ) You have any guesses what's going on yet? 😏
EDIT: Pls ignore any typos or poor writing, I was high with 3 hours of sleep 😂 I fixed one or two things which I just noticed now, nevermind me lalala
HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOLLY!!! I hope today you’re able to sit back, relax with a cup of whatever you fancy, and eat a nice big slice of cake 🎂 I’m so blessed to have such a wonderful friend and fellow writer to yap with about the writers block bitch, imposter syndrome, and all the wickedly hot characters that inspire us to write stories about! 🥰
I made you this moodboard as a little birthday treat 😊
Seriously Jolly, I wouldn’t be the same writer without you. Happy Birthday Friend! ❤️
AAHHH THAT'S SO GORGEOUS!!! LEE, YOU GOT ME UGLY CRYING OVER HERE 😭❤️ Can I live in a moodboard? Please? I want to live in that moodboard *sobs*
Let me yap about the details for a moment; I ADORE the autumn theme, the foxes (🫶) and the emerald eyes of Dean vs. the fox's eyes, the lights in the forest with Dean looking up at it perfectly - ahhh I keep staring at it!! And in case it wasn't clear by now; I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT!!! 😭🥰
Thank you so so much, Lee! And honestly, right back at you; You've helped me through so much and I would not be where I am now if it was not for you. I'm very lucky to have you as my friend! ❤️
This is @lamentationsofalonelypotato! My main blog @the-potato-is-lonely and my writing blog @lamentationsofalonelypotato are a little bit mixed up 😅 But we talked the other day about the gorgeous moodboard you made for @zepskies for her professor!dean fic (It's happening and I'm so excited 🙌🏻)
First of all, congratulations on 500! 🥳 That's a huge milestone, and I am so happy for you!!
Second, I have humbly come to ask for a moodboard using the colors: green, silver, and black! I'm kinda nervous because I've never done a writing challenge before like this, but I am very excited because I have seen some of the moodboards you've made so far and they are just amazing!
Hey there! Thank youuu <3
I'm also so hyped for @zepskies' Professor!Dean story 😍 And I'm hyped about you deciding to join the event. 🎉🎉 Loving the color combo, here ya go! Happy writing.
