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hpxmcusworld · 4 months ago

Note

HOPE TO GOD THAT THIS TIME FRAME IS STILL THAT FEW HOURS THAT YOUR REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

pretty please can you write dean x top male reader.. but i want reader to be the most cocky hunter asshole known to man,, like rude, no empathy/sympathy, NOT LIKEABLE at all. LEGIT NOTHING IS GOOD ABOUT READER except his looks, of course. bobby asked reader to help dean with a hunt and with so much bribery, reader agreed. pls sex like in the bathroom of a bar or sex in an abandoned house,, JUST something with a shit ton of degradation and insults. 😈 oh and make reader very rough, I mean VERY.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x M!reader

NSFW. Minors DNI.

HERE YOU GO 🙌🏼. I hope you enjoy this, and it fits your request. Also I’m not to sure if there’s enough degradation 😭 Sorry!

You’re a dick, an asshole, a brutally honest person, someone who doesn’t give a shit about someone else’s feelings, and many other things under those categories. If someone needed to be told the truth, they’d come to you. Even if it meant getting their feeling hurt. You were a well known hunter. If someone were to bring up you in a conversation, or your name was heard, nine times out of ten someone will scoff or scowl. People hated working with you, but you were a damn good hunter so most didn’t have much of a choice. So when Bobby called, asking you to help the Winchesters with a hunt, of course you were gonna be a hard-ass.

“They just need you this one time. Yeah, I know I’ve said that before but this one’s bad. They’ve been on it for a week. They never take that long on a hunt,” Bobby explained. Hoping you’d just quit with the act and accept it already.

“I couldn’t care less of what they need. What good does it for me? Absolutely nothing,” you paused, actually considering whether going or not. “Find somebody else.” You finished, hanging up the phone.

“Damnit,” Bobby cursed. But he wasn’t about to give up. It was Bobby for fucks sake.

Your phone rang again. You let out an irritated sigh, shooting your phone a look. C’mon, this was the least you could. So after a few seconds of letting it ring, you finally picked it up. Answering it, and putting it up to your ear. “What?” You snapped.

“Could you please just help them out? Hell, I’ll even buy you whatever drink you want after. They just need help, no matter how hard they refuse to admit it.” Bobby pleaded.

“Fucking— you know what? Fine. Where are they?” You finally, finally agreed. Bobby whispered a quiet ‘Oh, thank God’ when you responded.

“They’re in Erie, Pennsylvania. Hunting down something they’ve never heard of. They called me for help but I ain’t got nothin’ but a steaming pile of shit.”

“Alright, give ‘em a call for me would you? I’ll be on my way.” You grumbled, beginning to get up and pack the things that needed to be packed. Once one of you hung up the phone you shoved it back into your pocket.

—

The drive there was calm, and relaxing. Something you needed. Nobody talking your ear off, being annoying, or anything of that sort. Peace and fucking quiet. That was until you arrived at the motel they were staying at. The moment you knocked on the door and Dean opened it he shut it. Right in your face. And best believe that pissed you off.

“Oh, hell no,” Dean exclaimed. “Nuh uh. Nope. Not doing it. He can fucking leave.”

“Dean, it’s only for a few days. I don’t like him either but we need the help.” Sam said, attempting to calm his irritated older brother. Dean, knowing he won’t win this argument, decided he was going for a drive. Also going to complain to Bobby, because what the fuck?

“Whatever. You can deal with his shit on your own.” He said, walking toward the door that you were currently talking shit behind. The moment he opened it he pushed past you. Hearing him say ‘move’ in the process. You surprisingly didn’t say anything. Deciding to be mature and walk into the motel room.

“Sorry about him. This hunt hasn’t been the best—“ Sam started.

“Yeah, I know. Otherwise I wouldn’t fucking be here.”

You caught Sam off guard. Over the course of time you saw them last he forgot how you were. “Listen man, I understand you’re upset but don’t take that out on me.”

Kicking the door shut behind you, you grumbled stuff under your breath; clearly not caring. Meanwhile, Dean was pretty far from the motel. Arguing with Bobby over the phone while music played faintly.

“Dean, please you need him for this hunt.”

“He’s a huge asshole! We can handle this hunt ourselves. It’s nothing we haven’t done before!” Dean nearly shouted.

“Bullshit! You’ve been stuck on this for a week. You should be thanking me that I called him. Now, get your ass back to those books!” Bobby quipped, pressing the button to stop the call. Still irritated, Dean decided to stay out for a little longer. Calming and preparing himself to deal with you for more than twenty-four hours. When he returned you and Sam had been looking at lore books for the longest time. Your eyes began to hurt. Though the sound of the door opening and shutting brought your attention back to reality. “About fucking time. We could’ve used your help.” You scolded. All Dean did was shoot Sam a look. Sam shook his head, hoping that Dean took it as him suggesting for him to brush it off. He did. Rolling his eyes and sitting at the end of the bed.

“What do we got?”

Then the both of you began to explain what you’ve came up with in the past two hours Dean had been gone.

—

You guys pretty much stayed up all night. Getting only about two hours of sleep. You ended up bunking with them, staying on the couch. Of course not without hearing Dean’s complaints. You were in the bathroom, currently. Changing your clothes and getting ready for the day. Just as you unbuckled your belt, and began pushing down your jeans the door opened. It was Dean. “Oh, shit. Sorry.” He said, quickly. But couldn’t help himself with catching a quick glimpse of your body.

You caught it. Of course you did. “You gonna take another look or are you gonna close the door?” You pointed out. “I wasn’t looking at you, you’re crazy.” Dean said, shutting the door rather harshly. You laughed to yourself, then continued to change. “Whatever you say.”

Once all of you were ready to leave and go find out more things, you all walked out the door. You noticed Sam and Dean got closer together while walking toward Dean’s car. Dean was whispering something to him. “I don’t want him in my car.”

“It won’t be the first, and it definitely won’t be the last. You’ll be fine.” Sam replied. You couldn’t care about what they were saying. It was probably about you. No, definitely about you.

You guys drove around all damn day. It was late and you guys didn’t get jack shit. Well, you found out a few more useful things, of course. But Sam pointed out a pattern last minute and you guys had to turn around to this random house. It was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, but there were a few houses around it. Not that it made it any better. Sam, deciding that you and Dean need to get on better terms, put you two as partners to check out one singular house. While he went off to check out a different one across the street. The moment he walked away you swung your arm around Dean’s shoulder.

“Just me and you. Alone. So dreamy, isn’t it?” You teased. “Get off me.” He grunted while shrugging you off. Then you trailed after him into the house. Mind you, these houses are abandoned. By the looks of it no one has lived in them for years. So maybe you’d finally catch whatever you guys have been hunting. Once inside Dean spoke up. “You take down here, I’ll go upstairs.” You agreed, there was no reason to argue.

You found nothing downstairs. So you decided to go upstairs to Dean, see if he needs any help with anything. Just as you started to walk up the worn stairs you heard a loud thud followed by a grunt. Your feet started to move faster. You won’t admit it but you nearly tripped up the stairs. Once you got to the room Dean was in, you brought out your gun. Not knowing if the thing he was fighting would even reaction to the bullet, or if it’d even affect it. Turns out it did do something. It vanished into thin air, leaving you and a nearly out of breath Dean. “What the fuck was that?”

“I’m not sure, but whatever it was seemed to be affected by the gun,” he paused to take in a breath. “That’s a plus.” At lunch, you guys found out whatever this thing was can be stopped by a sigil. And you soon found out that Dean attempted to draw one.

Dean had drawn a sigil, yes, but it wasn’t working for some reason. “I don’t know why it didn’t work. The book said it would!” He exclaimed. So you took a look at it. Almost immediately noticing how he messed up a line. “Well if you’d fucking do it right,” you grumbled, fixing it. Dean had drawn these things for his whole life, and now he’s messing up? How does that make sense? Well, he’s just now come to realize that whenever you help them out with a hunt he always fucks up on something. Whether it’s something little or big. One time, he fucked up a ritual, another he forgot holy water. There are many other times. Dean cursed under his breath before fully speaking up.

“Stop being a dick, alright? Seriously. It’s annoying.” Dean said, watching as you fixed the sigil. “Well we wouldn’t be here if you didn’t mess up. We could’ve told Sam that you got rid of it, then went home,” you paused, but had one more sentence ready to roll of off your tongue. “Always fuckin’ something up.”

“It’s not like I meant to! God, have some empathy.” Dean nearly shouted. You decided not to respond. Standing up once you were done and turning to face Dean. You got close, really close. And Dean just let you. Hell, all he was doing was staring at your features. Your eyes, your nose, your lips. Especially your lips. But he wouldn’t admit that. “I don’t give a shit what you meant to do. I care about getting this done and going fucking home.” You whispered, lips barely touching his.

Okay, he was starting to get a boner. But so what? You don’t know, at least he thinks you don’t know. But you do. Of course you do because your you. So you know what you do? You press your lips against his, harshly. Your hand going straight down to cup his dick, squeezing probably a little too hard. But Dean loved it. You pushed him back against a fully built wall. Not one where it was coming apart. Dean moaned into your mouth, hips pushing into your hand. When you pulled away to breathe you held his bottom lip in between your teeth. Then let go once you’ve stretched it back far enough, watching as it snapped back to place. You heard Dean groan in response.

“Fucking slut. You like getting yelled at? Like getting called out for the shit you’ve done, huh?”

All Dean did was whine and fuck his hips into your hand. You couldn’t lie, your dick was starting to leak from how Dean was reacting. You wanted to do something about it, no, had to. So you pushed your lips against his again. The hand that was one his crotch undid his belt and pants, then you used both hands to push down his pants and boxers all in one swift motion. The feel of the cold air on his throbbing, twitching cock made him wince. You didn’t care. Moving to undo your own pants yourself.

Your cocked bobbed once it was free. “Fuck, baby, you see what you do to me?”

Dean swallowed. “You gonna fuck me good? Make me feel what you did to me even days after?”

“Course.” You replied, knowing that you’ll keep that promise you just made. Before Dean could respond, you spit in your hand then proceeded to reach down and grip his cock. Your spit and his pre worked well together, creating nearly the perfect lube. Dean cursed under his breath—letting out a broken moan and making his head go back. With his head going back you saw it as an opening to go for his neck, so that’s what you did. Pressing opened mouth kisses, and soon sucking hickeys. Which was a complete bad idea because you guys were not supposed to be fucking, instead hunting. In the heat of the moment Dean didn’t seem to care, but you know once he realizes he’ll flip, and you’ll be in deep shit. But that’s a future problem.

His hands quickly scrambled to your shoulders when your pointer finger and thumb squeezed his tip. You don’t know why you did it, perhaps just for the fun of it. Dean refused to let you hear anymore noises from him. So, he turned to biting his lip instead. Though that did very little once you took his legs, propped them up on your hips, and spit on your fingers.

“Oh, fuck..” Dean whispered.

“What? Can’t take some dick? I’d assume you could, y’know? With all those people you’d fuck,” you paused, and without any warning shoved a finger into his hole. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one of those girls wanted to reverse the roles. Ya catch my drift?” A teasing smile playing on your face. All Dean did was groan and wince.

You didn’t care, only using him for your own pleasure. Did he know that? Maybe. Maybe not. His reaction only made you want to add the second a lot quicker, but you decided to wait a few seconds. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away. While your finger worked you went back to his neck. Pressing kisses, biting and sucking hickeys. When you added the second? Oh, he about made sure Sam could hear him from across the street. Moaning and groaning so damn loud.

“Shut up. I mean, unless you wanna get caught, then I can make that happen,” you leaned in closer to his ear. “Besides, you’re just going to be showing your brother what kind of a slut you really are.”

And to that Dean let out a drawn out groan. “Fuck you,” he spat.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Me talking down on you. Who knew that the big, bad Dean Winchester likes being degraded.” You continued to annoy him because why not? Something that you picked up when you have sex with someone is that although you can be an asshole during it, it turns out to be the best sex they’ve ever had. For you it was just another reason to be cocky.

You soon add the third, not caring if he was ready for it or not. Or maybe it was because you forgot? Oh well. Either way he’s got three fingers up his ass, and he seemed to be enjoying it. But the grip that he’s holding on your shoulders was tight. Not that you really minded it. Once he was nice and prepped you spit into your hand again. Making sure it was enough to lube your cock up, but even if it wasn’t your pre helped. Making your hand glide up and down your dick. Then, you aligned your tip with his hole, and started pushing in agonizingly slow.

“Fuckfuckfuck..” is all that you heard in your ear. You stopped about half way, not to give Dean a moment but because he felt so fucking tight even though you’ve prepped him. Your hand went to his cock—beginning to stroke him. Meanwhile you soon began to push your hips forward, pushing your cock deeper till you bottomed out. The added pleasure causing Dean to let out a broken moan. He chased after your lips. Feeling a sense of an overwhelming need to feel you closer to him. The kiss was rough, heated. The both of you loved every minute of it. Teeth clanking together, breaking away to breathe for a quick moment before pushing your lips together again, the harsh pull of someone’s bottom lip while the other pulled away. When you pulled away to look at Dean, his lips were swollen and even more pink than before. Not that it mattered, just something you noticed.

Also, throughout the whole time you two were kissing, Dean had gotten drawn closer to cumming. The mix feeling of your cock driving in and out of him, and the glide of your hand in his cock all made it much easier. To which he soon came with a moan that died down to a whimper. His cock twitching and throbbing within your hold as white spurts of cum got onto his shirt. Which is another problem you two need to fix before regrouping with Sam. You could practically feel him pulsating in your hand. He nearly panted into your mouth with how close you two were. Your thrusts didn’t let up and neither did your hand. Even when he started to warn you about the overwhelming sensation he was beginning to feel.

“Okay— I..uhm!” It was obvious Dean started to speak, but once your cock hit his prostate it turned into a hum. With Dean getting more squirmy, it made it difficult to keep him up in your grip. “Uh, uh. I haven’t even came yet. You’re gonna have to wait.” You reminded. Your thrusts got more faster and rough with you nearing your orgasm. That bullet must’ve really affected whatever that was, because you two have been going at it for quite some time. Hopefully Sam moved onto a different house by now, and not questioning where you two were.

“Who,” you say, following up with a thrust to match when you spoke. “Knew that Dean, a complete ladies man, can take some cock? Your like a bitch in heat. Every time I hunt with you guys, you’re always going away to fuck some whore while Sam’s doin’ all the work.” With one, two more thrusts and your cock abusing his prostate, the both of you came at the same time. You letting out a groan and Dean letting out a whimper. The feeling of your cum painting his walls made him clench, which caused you to let out a grunt. The two of you were panting, breathing heavily. You still had some stamina. Dean on the other hand you weren’t to sure of.

But to you, it wouldn’t be fair if he got to cum twice, and you only got to cum once. So you moved the both of you to a sturdy looking table. Hopefully it didn’t collapse with the added weight of Dean. Anyway, you set him down on it. He was on his back and his legs automatically wrapped back around your waist. But you wanted to switch up, grabbing his legs and hooking them over both your shoulders. You gave no warning—slowly beginning to push your cock into him again before starting to speed up. Dean let out a groan, closed his eyes and put his head back. His eyebrows drawn up slightly. You wouldn’t admit it but it was beautiful. Reducing a man that was stubborn and feared by most, to a squirmy, panting, and whimpering mess. It was like you earned a trophy.

“What? You thought we were done?” You scoffed. Tightening your grip on his thighs to the point where he’d probably bruise. Not a problem for you but a problem for him. “We— oh, God.” Dean breathed out. He swallowed before finishing his sentence. “We have to get back. What if something happened to Sam. What if-“

“None of that. Sam can handle himself.” You attempted to reassure. Which probably did not work but hey, you tried. Your hands trailed down his thighs to his sides. Which caused you to move your body down on top of his, of course you made sure to keep his legs on your shoulders. It helped push your cock deeper into him. And oh, the face he made nearly made you cum on the spot. Your lips brushed over his jawline, pressing kisses all the way down to his neck. Which already had marks in which you made not to long ago. You decided to give him one more, or maybe two. One by his collarbone and one on his inner thigh.

You should probably be thinking of ways to help him hide the very few marks on his neck and down, but instead you can’t help but think of how much of a whore he is, and how good he feels around you. It was like he was made for you. Dean’s jaw hung open but no sound came out. His hands gripped the edge of the table, he wouldn’t be surprised if he were to get a splinter. He tried to keep his mind off of the fact that he was currently getting fucked so, so good and his brother was probably working his ass off, but it was difficult. The feeling of guilt slowly started to seep into his body. But when you hit the spot within him, and soon spilled into him once more, it took his mind off of the thought. Dean arched his back and clenched his jaw; not daring to let out any noise for you. Even though he’d been doing it for nearly the whole time you’ve been having sex. You stayed buried in him till the both of you got your breathing under control.

You pulled out with a soft moan. Dean looked like he was about to fall asleep. So you playfully slapped his face a few times. Surprisingly the only thing he did was make a face. “Up.” You said. Soon enough after a few seconds he pulled himself up, the table creaking. How were you gonna clean this up? Who knew. But you two would figure it out. For the dried cum in his shirt you suggested he button up his jacket until you guys got back. Other than that you two found a way to clean everything.

—

The two of you walked out of the house. The earlier activities causing Dean to walk with a very clear limp. With the thing you guys faced it must’ve moved on, but once you met up with Sam again he explained that he got rid of it.

“What’s up with you?” Sam asked Dean, a look of confusion displayed on his face.

“He tripped.” You answered for him. Earning a small ‘huh’ and a look up and down at Dean from Sam. Then all of you walked toward the car. Ready for a shower, sleep, and maybe even a celebration at a nearby bar.

—

About an hour later once all of you took showers and changed clothes, you brought up how you all earned a nice drink and some food. In response to that, you all got in the car and drove to a nearby bar. Dean was the first to order food, then Sam, then you. While you all waited Sam started a conversation.

“So..why’d you guys take so long in the house? I cleared mine in like fifteen minutes, and I’m only one person.” He scoffed.

“Uhm, difficulties,” Dean answered, though it sounded more like a question rather than statement.

“We were pretty taken back when we got attacked by it. It caught us off guard, so we took some time to get back on our feet.” You lied. And it was quite concerning how good you lie, but it was a nice feature to have. Sam hummed in response, deciding it was a pretty good reason. “Well, I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” You announced, getting up from your seat.

The moment you started to unzip your pants the door opened. You didn’t turn around to look, focusing on emptying your bladder. But then hands went to your hips. It caught you off guard and you were ready to start throwing punches, but once a familiar voice whispered into your ear, you relaxed a bit.

“Did you come back for more? Can’t get enough of me, can you?” You teased. Letting out a small laugh.

“Shut up,” Dean paused. “Just need to…release some pressure.” You zipped back up your pants, clearly not being able to piss in peace. But you knew you’d probably be unzipping them sooner or later again. With a shake of your head you pushed him into a stall. Locking it then shoving him against it. You pressed your lips against his. Your hands ran down his chest all the way to his belt. Unbuckling it and breaking away from the kiss.

“Gotta make this quick,” you reminded. The minute you got his cock free and started to jerk him off he let out a sigh, and let his head go back against the stall door. His hips instinctively pushing up into your hand. “Can’t even keep it in your pants for a few hours. I thought you were better than this, Dean.” The mix of your tone and the way his name rolled off of your tongue he couldn’t help but whine. Your dick started to get hard in your pants, unfortunately you didn’t want to do anything with it. Just a quick handjob for a guy who can’t help himself. He got close, quick. Just as he let out a moan you heard the door to the bathroom open. Quickly moving your free hand to his mouth. Luckily the guy did his business quickly, but for Dean it felt like forever. Even though your hand was still moving up and down his throbbing cock. Speaking of which, the familiar feeling made itself known in Dean. The moment the person left you moved your hand, and Dean let out a small whine. He chased after his orgasm. Thrusting his hips up involuntarily to feel more. More noises spilled from his lips; a lot frequent and louder.

Just a few more jerks of your hand and—

You pulled back.

“Oh— what the hell?” He groaned. His cock throbbed and jumped, begging for release and attention. But you simply gave him a kiss, moved him out of the way and walked out of the bathroom. Returning to your seat at the table with Sam and leaving Dean with a hard-on. All you could say or think was that it wasn’t your problem.

“Everything all good?” Sam asked.

“Perfect.” You answered.

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hpxmcusworld · 4 months ago

Text

𝐅𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 ✓ LONG REQUEST: Spencer and the reader have been fighting. An actual fight instead of their usual bickering. Shawn withheld information on a case yet again but this time it was for a case she had been obsessing over for months. “I told you who I was before we even dated. Why are you surprised?” Has been, thus far, his only real defense. The reader thought she could get used to it but after arguing in circles with Shawn and trying to find logic in his nonsense, she gets tired. Though it all came to a head when Shawn compared the reader to Lassiter. “This is why I don’t tell you these things. You two just get in the way whenever I could make it so much easier. And I do because news flash! I get the guy. Always, one hundred percent of the time, and remind me how you get your guy? That’s right. You don’t. I do. Me. Not you, or Lassie or even Buzz. Me” He regrets it almost as soon as the motor controlling his mouth sputters to a stop but it’s too late by then. For once the reader is at a loss for words. All except for “I’m leaving.” Shawn begins to apologize but he can’t get the words to leave his mouth before she leaves. He doesn’t know if he’d even be able to man up and do it after. She’s on her way to her own apartment before an anger rises up in her chest and she does a u-turn (legally turns into a parking lot to turn around) heading towards Carlton’s apartment. She knocks on the door and he’s just gotten home from the department. His tie is loose and he’s got a clean glass primed for whiskey. “You busy?” She asks. Not sure what direction it should go in from here so dealers choice! Yippeee!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Carlton Lassiter x Reader + Shawn Spencer

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | Shawn is a douch in this one, sorry!

▸ Masterlist

𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱! 𝗦𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝘂𝗽𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗿!

The air in the Psych office was thick with tension, pressing against your chest like a weight, making it impossible to take a full breath. The case was over—wrapped up, solved, just another checkmark on Shawn’s endless list of victories—but this didn’t feel like a win. Not for you.

You stood in the center of the room, arms crossed so tightly your nails bit into your skin. Across from you, Shawn leaned against his desk, arms flung wide in that exasperated way of his, like you were the one being unreasonable. Like you were the problem.

“Look, I don’t know why you’re acting so surprised,” he said, his voice carrying that same familiar cocky edge. “I told you who I was before we even started dating.” He waved a hand through the air, like this was just another casual conversation and not the culmination of months—years—of frustration finally boiling over. “Why are you shocked that I act exactly like me?”

You let out a slow, measured breath through gritted teeth. “But Shawn! You hid information from me! I’m a detective—you can’t do that! I thought I could trust you.” The words tasted bitter, and for the first time, you weren’t sure if they were even true anymore. “You knew how much this case meant to me, how much time and effort I poured into it. I thought—” You cut yourself off before you say something you’ll regret. Instead, you shake your head. “I thought we were supposed to be a team.”

Shawn pushed off the desk, throwing his hands up. “We are a team!”

“No, Shawn, we’re not.” Your voice rose, but you didn’t care—not anymore. “Teams don’t lie to each other.” The words came sharp and unrelenting, like a blade honed over too many broken promises. “You didn’t just hold back information—you deliberately kept me in the dark. Again. You knew how much this case meant to me, and you did it anyway.”

His face twitched—just a flicker of guilt, there for a heartbeat before he buried it beneath his usual bravado.

“I got the guy, didn’t I?” he said with a shrug, like that was all that mattered. “You should be happy.”

You stared at him, disbelief hitting you like a slap. “Are you serious right now?”

He tilted his head, genuinely perplexed. “You’re acting like I did something wrong.” Then, with that insufferable smirk, he added, “But let’s do the math, shall we? Me keeping things to myself? Works. Me telling you and Lassie everything? Not so much.”

The anger in your chest sharpened, cutting deep. “Leave Lassiter out of this. This is between us.”

Shawn didn’t even blink. “This is exactly why I don’t tell you these things.” His voice was sharper now, frustration bleeding through. “You and Lassie just slow me down when I could wrap things up faster on my own. And guess what? News flash! I get the bad guy. Every. Single. Time.”

He leveled you with a look that burned. “And remind me again, how do you get your guy? Oh, that’s right—you don’t. I do. Me. Not you, not Lassie, not even Buzz. Me.”

The words landed like a punch, knocking the breath from your lungs. Maybe because it wasn’t just arrogance—it was condescension. Dismissal. Everything you’d been trying so hard to ignore, finally spoken out loud in the worst possible way.

For the first time in this entire argument, you had nothing to say.

And Shawn noticed. His mouth twitched—just a fraction, like maybe he wanted to take it back. But it was too late. The damage was done, and you both knew it.

You swallowed hard and shook your head. When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet. Steady. Controlled.

“I’m leaving.”

Shawn blinked, his confidence slipping for the first time. “Hey, hold on a sec—”

But you were already turning for the door. You heard him shift, a step forward—maybe reaching for you, maybe trying to fix what was already broken. But he hesitated. He always hesitated when it actually mattered.

And this time, you didn’t wait.

The door swung shut behind you.

You didn’t look back.

You stormed to your car, barely aware of your own movements, your breath coming fast and shallow. Your hands clenched around the steering wheel the moment you slid into the driver’s seat, knuckles turning white.

At first, there was only numbness—a hollow, empty space where anger and hurt hadn’t quite settled yet. But the longer you sat there, the more the weight of the argument pressed down on you, sinking in like a bruise you hadn’t noticed until someone pressed too hard.

And then it all came rushing in.

The arrogance. The secrecy. The blatant dismissal. Like your work, your instincts, you, didn’t matter.

Your jaw tightened, your vision blurring for a split second before you blinked hard, shoving it down. No. No way. You weren’t going to cry over this. Over him.

Instead, you threw the car into reverse, the tires kicking up gravel as you pulled out.

You should go home. Call it a night. Let it go.

But instead, your hands moved on their own, flipping the wheel, making a sharp U-turn in an empty parking lot. Before you even had time to second-guess it, you made your choice.

There was only one person who might understand.

Carlton Lassiter.

You pressed harder on the gas, heading straight for him.

Carlton Lassiter had just arrived home, and for the first time all day, he let himself relax. It had been another long, infuriating shift filled with incompetence, paperwork, and the kind of stupidity that made him seriously consider early retirement. Now, finally, he had peace and quiet.

His tie was loosened, his gun locked up in the safe, and he was about to pour himself a well-earned glass of whiskey when a sharp knock at the door shattered the stillness.

Lassiter froze, instincts kicking in.

It was late. Too late for casual visitors.

Few people knew where he lived, and even fewer ever bothered to show up unannounced.

His fingers hovered over the whiskey bottle for a second before he changed his mind. Instead, he went straight for his safe, retrieving his gun out of pure habit before making his way to the door. Every muscle in his body was tense, his senses sharpened as he peeked through the peephole, bracing himself for anything.

Except you.

Lassiter frowned, lowering the gun slightly as confusion flickered across his face. He unlatched the door and swung it open, still gripping the handle with one hand, the gun now hanging loosely in the other. His sharp gaze swept over you instinctively, taking in every detail.

You stood in his doorway, arms crossed, shoulders drawn in like you were trying to make yourself smaller. Your eyes—red-rimmed and glassy—stood out against the dim glow of the porch light. Had you been crying? No—fighting not to cry. Your exhaustion clung to you like a weight, pressing down hard enough that it seemed to steal the air from your lungs.

And that rattled him.

He was used to seeing you sharp, confident, standing your ground no matter what was thrown at you. This? This was different.

“Y/N?” His voice lost its usual clipped authority, softening in a way that felt almost foreign. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, shifting your weight, your fingers tightening around your own arms like you were holding yourself together. Then, quietly, you asked, “You busy?”

Lassiter raised an eyebrow, his sharp instincts already telling him the answer: This isn’t just a casual visit. This is something more.

Without another word, he stepped aside, lowering his gun completely as he gestured you inside.

“Come in.”

Lassiter closed the door with a quiet click and turned, only to find you pacing his apartment, your movements sharp, restless.

You were boiling.

He could feel it—the way your shoulders tensed, the way your hands clenched and unclenched like you were trying to physically grab hold of your emotions before they spiraled out of control. Lassiter had worked with you for years, long enough to know you inside and out. You were strong. Brave. Unshakable.

Not this.

Not this broken version of yourself standing in front of him now.

Anger curled in his gut, low and simmering. He didn’t need to ask who had done this to you. He already knew.

“This is about Spencer, isn’t it?”

The moment Shawn’s name left his lips, your breath hitched, and your eyes filled with tears—tears you immediately tried to fight back, biting your lip so hard it looked painful.

Something twisted in Lassiter’s chest.

He hated seeing you like this.

Whatever that idiot had done, he was going to pay for it.

But right now, you didn’t need his anger—you needed something else. Someone to listen. Someone to be there.

So, without another word, Lassiter walked to his safe, locked up his gun, and then poured two glasses of whiskey. When he returned, he found you still standing in the center of his living room, arms crossed so tightly it looked like you were trying to hold yourself together by force.

“Sit,” he said, his voice gruff but gentle. He guided you toward the couch, handing you the glass before settling beside you.

You took a gulp, your hands trembling slightly around the glass. You were trying so damn hard not to fall apart.

Lassiter watched you for a moment before speaking. “What did he do this time?”

And that was it.

The last thread holding you together snapped.

You shot up from the couch, pacing again, your frustration spilling out in waves.

“He’s impossible! He thinks he’s untouchable! That no one else is good enough!”

Your voice wavered, but you kept going, unloading everything—the case you had worked so hard on, the one that mattered to you. How you’d gone to Shawn for help, only for him to hold back crucial information until the last second—until he could swoop in, solve it himself, and take the victory.

And then, the fight.

Every word exchanged. Every wound reopened. Every ounce of trust shattered.

By the time you were done, your breath was shaky, your shoulders tense from holding everything in. And then, without permission, a single tear slipped down your cheek.

Lassiter was on his feet in an instant.

Before you could react, his hand was on your shoulder, grounding you, steady and firm. The other—hesitant, yet surprisingly gentle—caught the tear before it could fall any further.

You blinked up at him, startled.

Carlton Lassiter was not good at comforting people. He was gruff, awkward, and had a habit of saying things that came out sharper than he intended. But you had known him for years, and despite his hard edges, he had always been differentwith you.

Maybe because you always got along with him—even when no one else at the station seemed to appreciate him the way he deserved.

Or maybe because, despite everything, he cared.

No, that wasn’t quite right.

Lassiter wasn’t just fond of you. He had a soft spot? Please. That was putting it mildly.

He was in love with you.

And seeing you hurt—seeing you torn apart by Spencer, of all people—the man who had stolen you from him, the man who had wormed his way into your heart when Lassiter had never even had a chance?

It infuriated him more than he cared to admit.

Your eyes met his, your gaze swimming with emotions you were too exhausted to hide. And God, your eyes—wide, vulnerable, searching—made something in him ache.

For once, Lassiter didn’t fight the instinct to be tender.

“He doesn’t deserve your tears,” he whispered.

His voice was low, rough with anger, but his touch? Soft. Steady.

Lassiter’s hand lingered against your cheek, his thumb brushing away the last trace of your tears. He wasn’t the kind of man who knew the right words to say, wasn’t the type to sugarcoat things or offer empty reassurances. But when he spoke next, his voice was firm—grounded in certainty.

“If he can’t respect you,” he said, his tone softer now, “then he doesn’t deserve you.”

Your breath hitched slightly.

It wasn’t just the words—it was how he said them. There was no hesitation, no doubt. Like it was an undeniable fact.

And maybe it was.

For the first time in years, you felt… seen.

Appreciated. Cared for.

With Shawn, you had loved deeply, but you had always felt like you were grasping at something just out of reach. Like your love was a fire that burned bright, while his flickered inconsistently, dimmed by distractions, by his need for attention, for validation. He had always been moving—flitting from one thing to the next, never quite stopping long enough to really see you.

But Lassiter?

Lassiter was here.

Solid. Steady. Present.

Your lip trembled, and before you could think, before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned into him.

He didn’t pull away.

Instead, Lassiter let out a quiet breath and wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight against his chest.

And God, it was the first time in so long that you felt like you belonged.

No proving yourself. No chasing after scraps of affection. No fighting to be enough.

Just this.

Just him.

You exhaled shakily against his shoulder, your fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. And maybe he was. Because the moment he tightened his arms around you, pressing you closer, something inside you settled. The ache in your chest dulled, the weight on your shoulders lightened, and for the first time in years, you didn’t feel like you were too much or not enough.

Because in his arms, you weren’t either of those things.

Your fingers curled gently into the fabric of his shirt, holding tightly, almost afraid he might slip away if you loosened your grip for even a second. His warmth enveloped you, safe and reassuring, and you found yourself leaning further into him, inhaling deeply the subtle, familiar scent of coffee, aftershave, and the faint lingering trace of whiskey.

“You deserve better,” Carlton murmured softly against your hair, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate deep in his chest, vibrating tenderly through you. “You always have.”

You closed your eyes tightly, fighting back fresh tears as those simple, genuine words filled the emptiness left by years of feeling unnoticed, unloved, and unappreciated. Your heart ached with bittersweet relief, and suddenly everything clicked into place—clearer now than ever before.

It had never been Shawn, no matter how desperately you had wanted it to be. Shawn had been excitement and laughter, but also carelessness, selfishness, and heartbreak; a flickering flame always just beyond your reach. But Carlton—Carlton had been there all along, patiently watching from afar, quietly supporting you in ways you’d never truly noticed until now.

Carlton had always seen you, respected you, even admired you, without demanding anything in return. And right now, standing here wrapped securely in his embrace, you realized with startling clarity that your heart had chosen him long ago—it had just taken you far too long to notice.

Slowly, Carlton shifted back just enough to gaze into your eyes, and the tenderness you saw in the endless depths of his blue gaze stole your breath away. His thumb brushed ever so gently over your cheek, his touch delicate and reverent, as though he feared any movement might shatter the fragile beauty of this moment.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered softly, the sincerity and raw emotion coloring his words making your pulse quicken. “You always have been. Shawn was a fool—he never knew what he had, never understood how lucky he was to have you.”

You swallowed thickly, lifting your hand to his jaw, fingers tracing softly over the stubble there, marveling at the way his breath seemed to catch at your touch. His eyes never left yours, searching your face, watching carefully for your response—hopeful, anxious, vulnerable in a way you’d never seen him before.

And then, with a tenderness that felt both natural and inevitable, you leaned up toward him, bridging the gap between you with unhurried certainty. Your lips brushed softly against his, tentative at first, testing and exploring. Carlton went perfectly still, almost hesitant, as though afraid to break the spell. But as the kiss lingered, his tension melted away, replaced by warmth, devotion, and a profound sense of relief.

His arms tightened gently around your waist, pulling you carefully, lovingly, impossibly closer. You felt the comforting weight of his hand on the small of your back, holding you securely, protectively, anchoring you to him as though you were the most precious thing in his world.

The kiss deepened slowly, filled with sweetness, honesty, and tenderness—no rush, no urgency—just two souls finally finding each other after years of silent yearning.

When at last you drew apart, breathless and trembling, Carlton rested his forehead gently against yours, eyes still closed, as though savoring the memory of the moment, committing every precious detail to his heart forever.

“I’ve waited so long for you,” he breathed quietly, vulnerability threading through his voice.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to realize,” you whispered gently, thumb tracing softly along his cheekbone.

Carlton sighed softly at your words, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed the faintest kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a long moment. His arms wrapped around you just a little tighter, as though he still couldn’t quite believe this was real, that you were finally here, with him, no longer slipping through his fingers.

He didn’t speak, didn’t rush to fill the quiet with words—he didn’t need to. Instead, he simply held you, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles along the small of your back, his other hand brushing through your hair in quiet reverence. He was grounding himself in you, in the weight of you against him, the way your body fit so naturally against his, as if it had always been meant to be this way.

And then, slowly, almost hesitantly, he kissed you again.

This time, there was no lingering doubt, no hesitation—only warmth, only the depth of a love that had waited too long to be spoken aloud. His lips moved against yours with quiet devotion, with an aching tenderness that unraveled every doubt, every old wound. He kissed you like he was making up for lost time, like he was promising that you would never have to wonder if you were loved ever again.

His hands held you as if you were something precious, something to be cherished, not just wanted. And God, it felt so different from anything you had ever known. This wasn’t the fleeting thrill of being wanted in the moment—this was home. This was safety.

You sighed softly against his lips, your fingers sliding up into his hair, and you felt the way his breath hitched in response. Carlton Lassiter, the man who was always so in control, so composed, shaken just by your touch. It made something deep inside you ache in the best way.

After a while, the exhaustion of the night began to settle into your bones, and as if he could sense it, Carlton gently pulled you with him as he laid back on the couch. He reached for the plaid draped over the armrest and pulled it over both of you, tucking it around your shoulders, holding you close against his chest.

You nuzzled into the warmth of him, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath your cheek. His arms remained wrapped around you, fingers idly stroking your back, a silent comfort that you never realized you had craved so desperately until now.

“You should sleep,” he murmured softly, his lips pressing a featherlight kiss against your hair.

You hummed in quiet agreement, already drifting, already feeling the pull of sleep as his warmth surrounded you, as his fingers brushed lazily through your hair.

For the first time in years, you felt safe.

For the first time in years, you felt loved.

As you lay there, curled against Carlton’s chest, wrapped in the warmth of his arms, you knew that tomorrow, you would have to face reality. You would have to tell Shawn it was over, have to let go of the past and everything you had tried so hard to hold onto.

But for once, the thought of starting over didn’t scare you.

Because maybe, just maybe, this time you weren’t starting over alone.

Maybe, just maybe, you were starting over with Carlton.

And with that thought lingering softly in your mind, you finally let yourself close your eyes, letting sleep take you in the safest place you had ever known.

▸ Everything

@alexxavicry

▸ Psych

@capitanostella @apesarecuul

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hpxmcusworld · 4 months ago

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fanfiction is so awesome. some of the most brilliant writers youve ever met are writing the most crazy porn youve ever seen. does that not move you

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hpxmcusworld · 4 months ago

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Stolen shirt

The bunker was unusually quiet, the hum of the old pipes and the soft creak of the floorboards the only sounds as you padded through the halls, barefoot, wearing nothing but one of Dean’s old flannels. It hung loosely on you, swallowing your frame, the sleeves a little too long, brushing against your fingertips.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

The faint smell of Dean — leather, whiskey, and old spice — clung to the fabric, comforting but electrifying all the same. You wandered aimlessly, pretending to search for something in the library when you heard heavy boots approach.

Dean leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, green eyes dark as they traced you slowly from head to toe. His smirk was lazy, but there was something possessive behind it.

“You tryin’ to kill me, sweetheart?” Dean drawled, voice low and rough. “Paradin’ around like that in my shirt, no pants, no shame.”

Your breath hitched as he pushed off the doorframe, walking towards you like a hunter closing in on prey.

“Didn’t say you could steal it,” he teased, but you could tell from the heat in his eyes that he loved it. And you? You knew you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

#male reader #dean Winchester #stolen shirt

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hpxmcusworld · 4 months ago

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Title: Good Boy in Chains

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Male!Reader

Rating: Explicit (E)

Word Count: ~4.2k (if fully written out)

Genre: Smut, BDSM, Rough Sex, Aftercare

Setting: The Bunker

Dynamic: Dom!Dean Winchester / Sub!Male Reader

⸻

Summary:

When the bunker door locks, you know exactly what’s coming. Dean Winchester isn’t just your hunting partner — he’s your Sir, your protector, and the only one who knows how to drag every filthy little sound out of you. With handcuffs, a collar, and Dean’s rough hands, you fall deeper into submission under his control. But no matter how rough he plays, Dean always brings you back down with tender aftercare, reminding you that you’re not just his sub — you’re his.

———————————————————————

“Good Boy in Chains”

Dean Winchester x Sub!Male!Reader | BDSM | Rough but Sensual | Bunker Setting | NSFW (Explicit)

⸻

The heavy, metallic click of the bunker door locking behind you sent a chill down your spine. The air was thick with tension, anticipation curling low in your stomach as Dean stalked toward you, eyes dark and hungry.

“You know why you’re here,” he said, voice rough like gravel, his boots echoing against the cold bunker floor.

You nodded, breath hitching.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” Dean demanded, tilting your chin up with two fingers.

“Yes, Sir,” you whispered, already falling into the headspace you craved so badly.

A slow, predatory grin curled his lips. “Good boy.”

Before you could process it, Dean spun you around and roughly pushed you against the map table. His hands wasted no time pulling your shirt over your head and exposing you to the chilled air of the bunker. The sharp sound of metal dragging across the surface made you shiver; you knew exactly what was coming.

Dean dangled the heavy leather collar in front of you before snapping it around your neck. His fingers trailed down to buckle it tight, but not too tight. You felt owned. Marked. Exactly where you belonged.

“Look at you already shaking. Pathetic,” he growled into your ear. “I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

Your knees almost buckled.

The next sound was the familiar clink of handcuffs. Dean restrained your wrists behind your back, the cold metal biting into your skin just enough to make you whimper. He loved that sound — and you both knew it.

“Such a needy little thing. Bet you’ve been waiting all day for me to ruin you.” His voice was pure sin.

Dean’s palm cracked against your bare ass without warning. The sharp sting made you yelp, but you stayed still, desperate to please. Again. And again. Each slap harder than the last, echoing off the bunker walls. His handprint was sure to bloom purple by morning.

“Count for me,” he ordered darkly.

“O-One,” you gasped.

“Louder.”

“One, Sir!”

“That’s more like it.”

He kept going, alternating between spanking and squeezing, leaving you a trembling mess against the table. The degradation came like a slow, dripping poison — intoxicating.

“Look at you,” Dean sneered, running his fingers over the raw skin. “Taking it like a filthy little toy. You like being my toy, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” you whimpered, shame mixing with arousal so overwhelming you could hardly think.

Dean’s hand drifted to your throat, squeezing just enough to steal your breath for a heartbeat. His grip was firm but careful, sending you spiraling deeper into submission. His free hand reached between your legs, teasing you with slow, cruel strokes, only to pull away when you pushed back against him.

“Desperate already? What a pathetic little slut,” he chuckled. “You’re gonna stay on edge until I say otherwise.”

And you did. Over and over. Dean drove you insane — pulling you right to the brink only to leave you trembling and humiliated, tears forming at the corner of your eyes.

But god, you loved every second.

Dean unfastened the cuffs only when you were nothing more than a shaking, pliant mess, but you weren’t free — you were his. Completely.

Without a word, he bent you over the table fully, pulling you into him. His hands gripped your hips like a lifeline, fingers surely leaving bruises. His voice, rough and low, was the only warning you got.

“Now, I’m gonna ruin you properly, sweetheart. And you’re gonna thank me for it.”

And you did — over and over again.

Your breath caught when Dean shoved his jeans down just enough to free himself. You could hear him spit into his hand, working himself lazily behind you. His rough fingers spread you open, teasing and humiliating you as you writhed against the table.

“Look at you,” Dean grunted. “So open, so fucking needy, and I haven’t even given you what you really want.”

“Please, Sir,” you whimpered, tears threatening to spill. “Please, I need it— need you.”

Dean leaned over you, pressing his chest to your back, his voice a low growl against your ear. “Beg properly, like a good little slut.”

You flushed, humiliated and desperate, but you obeyed. “Please, Sir, I need your cock. I need you to use me, ruin me. Please.”

Dean chuckled darkly, biting your neck just enough to make you cry out. “That’s my boy.”

With no more warning, he pushed inside. The stretch was immediate and overwhelming, forcing a strangled gasp from you. Dean was big, and he knew exactly how to make it sting in the way you loved. He bottomed out slowly, making sure you felt every inch.

“Goddamn,” he groaned. “So tight for me, baby.”

You whined beneath him, wriggling, but the handcuffs still dangling from your wrists limited your movement. His hands dug into your hips, pulling you back onto him with no mercy, setting a brutal pace from the start. Every thrust knocked the air from your lungs and sent shockwaves through your overstimulated body.

The sting from the spanking mixed with the deep ache of being stretched, making it hard to think. Dean’s degrading words only pushed you deeper.

“Fuck, look at you—taking me like the perfect little fucktoy you are.” His hand tangled in the collar, pulling it tight like a leash. “Nothing but a hole for me now, huh?”

You moaned shamelessly, drooling onto the table as you nodded, completely gone.

Dean’s free hand slipped between your legs, fingers brushing your cock — but just barely.

“You don’t get to cum yet. Not until I say,” Dean growled. “And if you do, you’re getting punished again.”

You were right on the edge, muscles shaking as he kept fucking you relentlessly, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. His hand wrapped around your throat again, squeezing lightly as his hips snapped against you.

“Pathetic,” Dean hissed. “You’d let me fuck you like this in front of the whole goddamn bunker if I told you to.”

The thought made you whimper uncontrollably, hips grinding back against him despite the humiliation. You wanted it — needed it.

“Sir— please, please, please—” you chanted like a prayer, eyes glassy and wet.

Dean felt you clench around him and growled like an animal. “Hold it, sweetheart. You’ll take what I give you and nothing more.”

The orgasm was there, cruelly out of reach, as Dean edged you over and over, pulling back whenever you got too close, dragging you further into submission. You sobbed, begging and shaking.

Only when you were incoherent and nearly breaking did Dean finally lean in, breath hot against your ear.

“Now,” he whispered.

The permission hit you like a truck. You came hard, untouched, spilling messily across the table, crying out his name. The orgasm wracked your body, leaving you trembling as Dean didn’t slow down — chasing his own release.

Moments later, with a low, guttural growl, Dean slammed deep and emptied himself inside you, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

He stayed there for a moment, panting against your neck, before finally pulling out. The warmth of his release dripping down your thigh was obscene — and you loved it.

Dean quickly uncuffed you, catching you before your weak legs could give out. His roughness melted instantly into tenderness. He scooped you into his arms, whispering against your temple.

“You did so good for me, baby. My good boy.”

You nuzzled into him, dazed, overwhelmed, but blissfully content.

“I got you,” Dean murmured. “Always.”

He carried you to his room without another word, ready to clean you up and hold you until the trembling stopped — until you knew you were safe, loved, and his.

(Aftercare & Morning)

Dean carried you through the quiet halls of the bunker like you weighed nothing, one hand under your thighs, the other cradling the back of your head. The rough hunter who had just dominated you so thoroughly now treated you like you were the most fragile thing in the world.

He kicked the door to his room open and gently set you down on the bed, crouching down to your level.

“You with me, sweetheart?” His voice was soft, nothing like the growling, commanding tone from earlier.

You nodded weakly, still coming down from the high. “Yes, Sir… Dean.”

Dean’s lips twitched into a proud little smirk. “There’s my boy.”

He quickly grabbed a warm washcloth from the bathroom and returned, gently parting your legs and cleaning you up with slow, careful strokes. He didn’t say much, just kept humming under his breath as if grounding you through the simple act of caring.

When he was finished, he pulled one of his worn flannels over your head and buttoned it for you, leaving you small and safe inside its warmth. He then slipped under the covers beside you, pulling you into his arms so your head rested against his chest.

“You did so damn good for me tonight,” Dean murmured, fingers brushing through your hair. “Took everything I gave you like the perfect little sub. I’m proud of you.”

The praise made you melt, almost overwhelmed by the difference in him now — the Dean who bruised and degraded you minutes ago was now the Dean who held you like you were precious.

“You’re okay?” he asked, tone dipping slightly into concern.

“More than okay,” you whispered. “I loved it.”

Dean sighed in relief and kissed the top of your head. “Good. You tell me if it’s ever too much, alright? No shame in pulling the plug.”

“I know,” you mumbled, sinking deeper into him. “I trust you.”

Dean’s grip tightened protectively. “You’re safe with me, always.”

⸻

The Next Morning

You woke up to the smell of coffee and the soft flicker of bunker lights. Dean sat at the edge of the bed, smirking at you over a steaming mug.

“Morning, sunshine,” he teased. “How’s my favorite little mess feeling?”

You groaned softly, stretching, only to flinch at the soreness blooming across your body. Dean chuckled darkly.

“Yeah, you’ll be feeling that for a while. Marked you up real good.”

You flushed, remembering every degrading word, every sharp slap, every whispered praise. But you also remembered the warmth of his arms after, the way he cradled you like you were everything.

Dean leaned in, brushing a soft kiss to your lips. “You’re mine, sweetheart. Always.”

And you knew he meant it — whether you were on your knees in cuffs, or wrapped in his arms under the bunker’s soft yellow lights.

⸻

End.

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hpxmcusworld · 4 months ago

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Title: “Holiday Surprise” — Part 2

Pairing: Shawn Spencer x Reader

The house was exactly as you remembered—warm, cozy, and over-decorated thanks to Juliet’s influence, no doubt. You and Shawn slipped off your coats and stepped inside, following the trail of muttered curses to the kitchen, where Lassiter was furiously stirring eggnog with enough force to churn butter.

“You knew,” Lassiter growled without turning around. “Tell me you knew this wasn’t going to happen.”

“Technically,” Shawn said, waltzing in like he owned the place, “he knew I was his boyfriend. You, on the other hand, missed all the signs. It’s almost like you don’t have the observational skills of a top-notch detective.” He winked.

Lassiter spun around. “You? Out of all the people in Santa Barbara, you chose Spencer?”

“Lassie, you should be honored.” Shawn clapped him on the shoulder. “Your brother has excellent taste.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Shawn makes me happy, Carlton. I didn’t tell you earlier because I knew you’d react like… well, exactly like this.”

Lassiter pointed a wild finger at you. “Happy? He’s a man-child who talks to pineapples and lies for a living!”

“Technically, I talk about pineapples,” Shawn corrected. “Not to them.”

Before Lassiter could explode further, Juliet appeared from the living room, smiling warmly. “Oh! You brought Shawn. Perfect.”

Lassiter’s head whipped toward Juliet. “You knew too?”

“Of course. I think they’re adorable together,” she said without missing a beat.

Lassiter’s eye twitched like a man on the verge of collapse.

Later that evening, dinner was somehow worse. Lassiter kept alternating between glaring at Shawn, sipping bourbon, and trying to pretend you weren’t curled up beside Shawn on the couch. Shawn didn’t make it easy—throwing winks, whispering cheesy lines, and cracking jokes just under Lassiter’s tolerance threshold.

As the night ended, and you were about to head out, Lassiter grumbled, “If you break his heart, I’ll break your face.”

Shawn grinned. “Don’t worry, partner-in-law. I’m in this for the long haul.”

Lassiter groaned. “God help me.”

#carlton lassiter #shawn spencer x reader #male reader #juliet o'hara

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hpxmcusworld · 4 months ago

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Title:“Holiday Surprise”

Pairing: Shawn Spencer x Reader (Carlton Lassiter’s younger brother)

Snow blanketed Santa Barbara like a rare miracle, and for once, Carlton Lassiter was in a good mood. His little brother was coming home for Christmas, and, on top of that, he was finally going to meet the mysterious boyfriend his brother had been gushing about for months.

“You better bring him,” Lassiter had said sternly over the phone. “No excuses.”

You’d nervously agreed, not daring to correct your brother’s assumption that you were dating some normal guy. Truthfully, you were head over heels for one Shawn Spencer, Santa Barbara’s most infuriatingly charming fake psychic—and your brother’s daily headache.

Shawn grinned as he adjusted the scarf around his neck, holding your hand as you both stood at Lassiter’s front door, a bottle of wine tucked under his arm. “Ready to give your brother the best Christmas present ever?”

You raised a brow. “A heart attack?”

Before Shawn could make another quip, the door swung open. There stood Lassiter, dressed in a ridiculous holiday sweater you suspected Juliet forced him to wear, eyes narrowing instantly.

“Merry Christmas, Carlton!” you said, pulling Shawn forward.

For a solid five seconds, your brother didn’t move. His eyes flicked from your entwined hands to Shawn’s smug face. Then his face paled, mouth opening but no words coming out.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he finally breathed, gripping the doorframe like he might keel over.

“Surprise!” Shawn said, with the kind of wide-eyed innocence that only made him look guiltier.

Lassiter muttered something about needing a stiff drink and disappeared into the house, leaving the door wide open.

You leaned toward Shawn. “Think he’s okay?”

Shawn smirked. “Oh, he’ll be fine…Eventually.”

#shawn spencer x reader #male reader #carlton lassiter #slight heart attack

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hpxmcusworld · 5 months ago

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🦉

My partner critiques my fics in memes, I felt this on a very personal level.

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hpxmcusworld · 5 months ago

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POV: being Jensen Ackles controversially young girlfriend moodboard

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hpxmcusworld · 6 months ago

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Could I please get a Gibbs x male or gn reader who has tattoos and some piercings and recently got snake bite piercings and walks into work (on Gibbs team with Ziva, Tony and Mcgee) without saying anything and waits to see which of the team notices the latest body mods first? (that’s a trick, it’s Gibbs of course) And then an awkward elevator kiss between the reader and Gibbs as they try to navigate the new lip piercings? Just some silly fluff with one of my favourite characters as I’ve read so many angsty fics lately 😂

I’m sorry I love this idea but I personally have no idea how this would work either 😂😭

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hpxmcusworld · 6 months ago

Text

Expresso Shots

Tony DiNozzo x Male Reader

Fandom -> NCIS

Requested by -> @sukuna-wafiu

Masterlist

A faint smell of medium dark roasted coffee—long forgotten and cold by now, from its loneliness of ignored attention—brewed with the distinctive flavour of caramel and ginger spice in it, lingered through the room like a warm breeze of early autumn afternoons—when the sun slowly slipped away, with its last few warm breath of light, into the darkness.

There's a particular spot, kinda like a mark or close to resembling a scar, on the orange coloured wall—in between the hung up frames of different scenery from Washington D.C, Maryland and Virgina—and Tony never took notice of that spot till now and he have to say, it looks absolutely ugly to look at it.

Tony didn't even know why he keeps staring at it, because when he gotten back to your office section—minimal surprised to see it empty as, by the time now, you and others of your colleagues should be back from the investigations—after having brought the cups of Coffee for the daily shared break, waiting for you, Tony's attention had been unintentional drawn to the ugly mark on the wall.

You're awfully late, Tony noted—glancing down onto his watch—10pm already and you told him you would be back from the investigations by 4, yet your desk still empty and void of your presence.

»DiNozzo? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the Hospital?« it's Lacy's voice, which pulled Tony out of his stupor staring.

Lacy Lacrosse—or Lala as you would nickname her from time to time, is one of your teammates and close to being a good friend—had been surprised to find Tony still in the office, questioning why no one seemed to have informed Tony—despite him being your emergency contact number one—about your situation conditions and your stay in the hospital.

»What you mean hospital? I'm waiting for [Name]. You guys are awfully late, by the way.«

»Tony....« Lacy sighed out, feeling now even more worn out than before, because Tony genuinely didn't seem to know and now she had to tell him and that's lowkey a point of exhaustion—simply in the sense of having to retell the whole story of what happened again and also making it clear, that you're doing—more or less—okay.

»Tony......[Name] is.....he's in the hospital.« Lacy decided to just rip off the bandaid of bad news in one go, it's easier that way.

There a thousand thoughts running through Tony's mind, when Lacy told him these news, but none of these had stuck—expect for one, getting to you as fast as possible and making sure, desperately hoping, you're alright.

~~~•~~~

Groaning in discomfort, you moved a bit—although this tiny movement caused already a slight wave of pain coursing through your nerve system—around on your hospital bed, hoping to find a bit of relief—because constantly laying on your left side, while the right throbbed painfully, wasn't so comfortable as it seemed to be and especially not with the amount of pillows—to keep you from moving around in your sleep and cracking up your hip even more—being propped up against your back.

Huffing out a breath, after having accomplishing the small task of—although still laying on your left, but slightly leaning back—moving into a comfortable position of posture, you looked at Tony—whose had been sitting on the plain white chair, hunched over and hands folded into a prayer, even though Tony wasn't a person for god or any religious beliefs—a few hours now, barely moving as if he's frozen or didn't want to spook you with his movements.

There was also this blank, almost vacant—as if he wasn't in the current time flow of the here and now—and unblinking stare in Tony's eyes, which brought a ounce of concern to you, because you never had seen your boyfriend like this before—it's just something new, despite being in a four years into a relationship, to discover and given your current injury state it might have short circuit Tony.

»Tony? Tony, love, could you get me a new hot water bottle please?« you asked, voice a bit hoarse and rough, but Tony remains unresponsive, keep staring at whatever there's to stare at.

It's like a repeat—Tony's mind wandering back to these unpleasant memories, rewinding them like a strong gush of upcoming wind after a calm—of the accident in the depths of Virgina's snowy mountains and forest, two years ago.

First it was being stuck in the car—a Queen Cassette on repeat, especially the song Somebody to love, to listen to—which had been sabotaged to break down in the middle of nowhere street, during their drive back to the base—after finishing up a second investigation in the lonesome, ghost walking empty, mountain town—and getting hit by a snowstorm.

And being stuck in the car with you during a snowstorm—which Tony would have find romantic, if it weren't for a case—wasn't the bad thing to happened, it was what had happened next.

After a few hours of rough sleeping on the backseats and when the snowstorm had passed, there had been a fresh bloody trail on the thick snowed up ground and Tony—after having mobile signal again, sending a quick sms to Gibbs and the others—persuaded you to follow these trails with him.

And you even told Tony, it wouldn't be such a wise idea to do so, but he didn't listen—insisting more and more to follow the trail and getting to a possible suspect—and so, one accident lead to another.

What also wasn't so wisely decided from Tony, was to split up and search through the area alone—with nothing but a gun, one extra ammunition and a knife for potential protection—which had lead you into the misery of being getting stuck in a small bear trap (which only had left a good bleeding, swollen ankle and a sore scarring afterwards) and then crashing into a frozen lake and almost drowning if, thanks to god and the fates, Tony hadn't been near enough to hear your scream and barely getting you out of the lake.

Tony had carried you all the way back to an, kinda as it looked maintained enough to be still in use, abandoned hut—which he had discovered—jogging back and forth from hut to car to get some needed stuff.

Once he had started a chimney fire, Tony undresses you completely naked, tending with the first-aid kit to your wounded swollen ankle, before huddling you up into blankets—to keep you from getting hypothermia and a possible high fever—and holding you close in his arms, hoping you would wake up soon from your unconsciousness and being okay.

~~~•~~~

Tony flinched, being roughly pulled out of his thoughts—which resembles fleeting leaves being swept away by the wind—when something hit him one the head

»Yeah?« Tony asks, looking at you with a raised eyebrow of questioning—finding no amusement of getting hit by a paper ball.

You frowned at Tony for a second, before you raised an eyebrow of your own—reaching your hand out for his and it does takes Tony a moment to grab your hand and giving a long good squeeze.

»Tony, you're okay? I've never seeing you spaced out like this.«

»It's all good, just in thought.«

Tony remembers clearly your blue quivering lips and the ashen, frozen cold, complexion of your face—so ghostly, that Tony had to feel for your pulse more than just once, just to make sure you're still alive.

And somehow, while seeing you on the hospital bed once more, your lips looking blue once again—as if you didn't get enough oxygen or being on the brink of hypothermia.

»Care to share your thoughts?«

»It's just.....just.....you know, seeing you like this, injured and in pain, makes me so.....urgh, I don't know.«

Aah. You knew exactly, as it wasn't the first time, what your boyfriend's problem was—while your dad, as a single parent of six (with you being the youngest) children, was hellbent keen on teaching you and your siblings how to express feelings, Tony himself wasn't so lucky and had to suffer through a distance and detached father figure in his life.

Tony had decided not to tell you about his memory diving to your accident—which also caused you a fear of being surrounded by water too long—back then, because if he does, you would ask him what he's talking about as you don't remember any of it anymore.

»Hey, it's fine. I'm not really hurt at all. It's just a shattered hip, nothing life threatening, love. Really, I will be forever bound to desk work and suffer through paper chaos.« you laughed a bit, grunting in pain afterwards from moving too much.

»Yeah, it's just, you did gave me quite the scare, when Lacy told me you're in the hospital.« admits Tony truthfully, sighing out and giving you another squeeze.

It really was a scare for Tony to get told by Lacy—who only came back to the office to get some of your stuff and it was mere coincidence for her to find Tony there in the first place—and not by the hospital or Helms or Gibbs themselves of what had happened to you—although in later realisation they did tried to call, but Tony hadn't his phone with him.

Tony couldn't even imagine the pain you must have been in, after being shot—during the suspect chase—two time in a row into the right hip and crash landing into a window.

»I could tell, with how you rushed inside here, all panicked and both McGee and Jenner apologising on your behalf of behaviour.«

»Well, Jenner wouldn't let me thru to you, had to wrestling him away and McGee was babbling something while waiting for Lacy. Ten bucks, McGee's crushing on her.«

»Twenty bucks. You know how Jenner can be. Be glad neither Helms nor Gibbs are here, otherwise you would have been booted out of the hospital completely.« another laugh escaped your lips.

Tony smiled, hearing you laughter—despite the pain filled grunts whenever you moved your bandaged up hips too much or even slightly—was such a pleasant sound to his ears, that Tony sighed softly in relief and it felt as a weight of tension was being lifted of him.

Getting up from the chair, still holding your hand, Tony leans and down and pressing a soft kiss onto your forehead—giving you one of his charming gentle smiles, which could make your knees buckling weak, before locking his lips with yours for a sweet short kiss.

»Anything else besides the hot water bottle?«

»A cup of (f.drink), please.«

»Anything for you, mio caro.«

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