spnfic85

[spnfic85]

Asked my spouse and here is their passionate answer:

Wonder Woman as a Boy Mom- well duh she’s an Amazon who’s raised to hate guys (I disagree with him)

Tony Stark with a non-genius child- he’d have an aneurysm

Hal Jordan - he’s never home

John Steward- he’s a military bald black man. That is THE WORST dad to disappoint

Dick Grayson- he’d be terrible because he’d be too supportive. Helicopter parent to the MAX

Aside from Batman, which of ADULT SUPERHEROES (out of certainly good guys I mean) would make the worst father/mother figure?

We don't count minor superheroes/sidekicks for obvious reasons.

[spnfic85]

Some idiot: "Why are you reading your own fic, that's shallow and stupid"

All fanfic writers and writers everywhere: "Who the fuck do you think I wrote it for?!"

[spnfic85]

Cannot begin to say how much I love this fic 🥰

I think this chapter sold me…

As I sit in the dark… smoking weed… and reading fluff 😅😶‍🌫️

Lesson 8: A Well Meant Prank

More cute filler type stuff cuz we're about to hit the road running. That being said, THIS IS NOT A GOOD IDEA. In fact, it is a VERY BAD one. DO NOT DO THIS. It is only a fun prank in the sense that there are magic healers in this world!

CW: Weed smoking

You step back into your room and are met with two strangely serious looking dwarfs blocking you. “Hello,” you chirp as you look between their unwavering gazes.

“Hello, Love,” Fili responds with a curt smile before returning to his serious face.

“Has something happened that I’m unaware of?”

The boys share a look before raising their eyebrows. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

“What is this?” Kili asks as he raises a small cloth pouch from behind his back.

You stifle a chuckle and try to match their expressions, even though you can already see the facade cracking slightly. “I believe, my dears, that is a tobacco pouch.”

They roll their eyes and Kili smirks. “We know that. Why did we find it among your things? We have never once seen you smoke.”

“True, I do not smoke tobacco, it hurts my lungs. I do however like pipe weed from time to time to give my brain a rest, so to say.”

The boys have a slow blink of confusion, “You do know of pipe weed, yes?” They shake their heads in unison. “Oh,” You step a bit closer to show them what is in the bag, “It’s an herb that when smoked will relax your body and mind. It’s a bit like being drunk.”

“Huh,” Fili took a sniff of the pouch, “An herb that does all that? It smells funny.”

“It can, but the benefits are worth it. It also makes food taste even better.”

Their faces brightened at that bit, “Really? Would you mind if we tried some?” Kili asked.

“Of course. We can have some before dinner.”

-----

The princes approached you with a glint in their eyes after lunch.

“Hello, boys. Do you need something?”

“Y/n, we’ve had an idea…” Kili spoke

“Go on.”

“The day after tomorrow is our last night here. Lord Elrond will be able to read the moon runes and then we’ll be on our way.”

“So, we thought why not have some fun with the rest of the company beforehand,” Fili finished.

“What kind of fun?”

“What if we got everyone together for a smoke, and mixed some of the weed into their pipes?”

Your eyebrows rise and you grin, “Oh? A prank. That sounds fun. Hmm…If we were to do it anywhere on our journey, this is likely the safest spot. The Elves are skilled healers, just in case things go south, and it would be nice to see Thorin without a stick up his khakhaf again.” (Arse)

“Our thought exactly,” Kili said as he kissed your cheek, “If you gather the herb, we will get everyone comfortable on the patio this evening.”

“Divide and conquer, gentlemen.”

True to your words, the company gathered around the fire pit on the patio, surrounded with comfy chairs and pillows while they smoked their pre-packed pipes and chatted. Throin shoulders dropped their usual tension in the easy familiarity. You supposed that he likely felt better now that the stay in Rivendell was nearly over.

The three of you sat down on the patio on the lounge chairs, surveying where the rest of the company spread about. You imagine that for the most part, the dwarves will be goofy and giggly, and hungry. Fili decided to be somewhat responsible and brought snacks from the pantry. You took a bite from a pickle as you settled next to the boys to watch.

Within the hour, you noticed that the company seemed to giggle and sway under the influence.

At one point, Bofur stood and began to dance. He stamped his feet off beat while singing a sea shanty. The other laughed and tried to join in, only to step on toes and collapse back into their seats. Kili pulled you into his lap as you both fell, laughing all the while.

“This is simply wonderful!” you joke as you begin to feel your own buzz. You blink quickly and look over to the boys. Unsure of how you had gotten weed into your pipe. You all had agreed to stay sober to babysit the company.

“Did one of you decide to prank me too?” you ask as you sway a bit. “I’ll confess first if it helps reveal the culprit, I put some in Fili’s pipe.”

He looks at you with mock offense before laughing. “I got Kili.” You both playfully glare at the dark haired giggle box. “Maybe a touch too much…”

“Ooooo,” Kili whispers. “Look at Uncle.” He points to where Thorin and Bilbo were sitting beside one another sharing drags from the other’s pipe. “Do you think this may be what he needed to finally admit it?”

“Admit what?” you ask as you use your magic to change the color of the smoke rings you blow.

“Admit that he fancies his burglar,” Fili states as he takes a drag from your pipe, brows furrowing when his smoke ring doesn’t also change color. “No fair.”

“Admit it?” you parrot. “I thought it was common knowledge?” You teasingly pout at Fili before kissing him to share your magic trick with the smoke. His eyes light up like a forge when his next puff of smoke comes out in shades of blue.

“Common to everyone except the two of them it would seem,” Kili breathes as his attention is trapped within the swirling smoke above you.

“Fili!” Bofur yelled, gathering everyone’s attention. “You and your kharm inkhi, help me keep these nungbuhâ on beat!” (brother, come, lovable idiots)

Fili laughs and pulls out his fiddle from his cloak. He stumbles over and taps out a beat while he and Kili prepare their bows. It takes them a bit longer than usual to find their wits, but they still manage to carry out a ditty.

You jump up onto mostly stable legs thanks to your tolerance and join the others who are dancing with the music. They were as enthusiastic as usual, if a bit subdued. They dance, snack, and laugh until their cheeks redden. At one point, Thorin and Bilbo dance together, falling into a fit of giggles. It reminded you of the company’s night at Bilbo’s house. A merry gathering of loveable people. You imagined that once your quest was successful, there would be plenty of days spent in Erebor like this.

[spnfic85]

A Question Of Courtship - Kili Durin X Female (Human) Reader

Title: A Question Of Courtship

Kili Durin X Female (Human) Reader

Additional Characters: Bilbo, Lobelia (Mentioned), Gandalf (Mentioned), Thorin, Dwalin (Mentioned), Balin (Mentioned), Fili, and the rest of the Company (Mentioned)

Requested By: @kpopgirlbtssvt

WC: 3,695

Warnings: Mentions of adoption, Reader is adopted by Bilbo, very brief and slight prejudice, brief mentions of injuries and wounds, italics, nightmares, confession, teasing, banter, counting, Ones, mini angst, and fluff

Twenty-two years ago, on a beautiful sunny morning, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, had found you on his doorstep. That morning was like any other morning for the Hobbit. He would wake up, get dressed, eat breakfast, and then smoke his pipe out in his little garden as the sun rose before readying second breakfast.

But, on one fateful day, Bilbo had finished his breakfast - a smile on his face and his stomach full - as he made his way to the round front door. Upon opening the door, his pleasant grin faded into one of confusion. Right on his little bench, where he always sat at the beginning of the day to watch the sunrise, now held a basket.

A gift perhaps?

Walking over, he stashed his pipe back within his cotton vest, staring down at the brown woven basket, a light blue blanket covering the top; hiding what was underneath. Bilbo was a bit apprehensive, not fully knowing what was inside the basket, but with the thought that it was perhaps food or any baked goods, he reached over to take the blanket off the top.

Instead of any food, he found you. A wee little baby, wrapped in a second blanket - a small seemingly-homemade quilt. You were sleeping, peacefully, and only after tearing his bewildered gaze from you, did he see the note on the top of your quilt. Taking the note, he opened it, and read it;

'Please, whoever reads this, take care of my baby.'

That was it. And as Bilbo looked up from the short letter, he wondered what he was going to do with you. There wasn't even a name of your mother, nor one for you... Bilbo wasn't prepared to take care of a child - a baby - something that needed a lot of attention, food, and love. He was not ready to take care of a child. His mind quickly filled with late nights and ear-piercing crying... His beloved routine would be in shambles. But, when your eyes opened, peering up at him, a little smile appeared on your face... All the thoughts of finding someone more fit to raise you left his mind completely. 

Before Bilbo knew it, he decided to name you 'Y/N.' He was now a father.

A father to a Human. 

Bilbo found out that you were a Human when you grew and surpassed him in height. This was difficult, yes, his home was small, compared to you, but thankfully the ceilings were high enough that if you ducked slightly, you'd be fine. Though, because of your height, you needed specific things for your life to be more comfortable. Such as a bigger bed, which was handmade by one of Bilbo's lovely neighbors, as well as chairs and whatnot. And clothes. Do not get him started on the clothes. Bilbo even expanded his garden, enough to now fully feed both him and you.

And in the beginning, when you were still such a small, little thing, Bilbo was worried about the possible prejudice that would arise. He was worried that some of those in Hobbiton would find you odd. A Human in Hobbiton... But, news of Bilbo's Human daughter was quickly spread, and as quickly as it was spread, it became accepted. People began to forget that you weren't exactly like them - and, in many ways, you weren't. You were kind and gentle, and oh-so very loving; that made everyone around you want to be just as kind and gentle too. 

This brought happiness to Bilbo. You seemed happy. He was happy too. And life was calm and peaceful in the Shire once more.

But, skipping to the present day, that all seemed to change. 

A gentle breeze swept past you as you sat on the edge of the riverbed. You sat upon a large stone, dipping your bare feet into the water. It was warm and soothing and you smiled as you watched fish swim past, occasionally coming up for a moment and nipping lightly at your toes. Your hair was tied back, but little strays were persistent and broke free; framing your face nicely. The setting sun shone brightly on your head but didn’t bother you much. You had grown used to the sunlight and weather and took no offense to it at all. It was warm enough today - despite the breeze - that you wore a thin jacket; which you loved immensely, along with a simple dress, and some leather boots. Being a Human, unlike Hobbits, you were unable to walk around on your bare feet for more than an hour or two at a time without growing uncomfortable; you couldn't count how many times you came home with little sores on the bottoms of your feet.

Your afternoons usually persisted in reading in the small forest near the entrance path to Hobbiton before you traveled around the town, greeting your friends and neighbors before finding yourself sitting down by the river. Hobbiton, though being the only place you've ever been, was a beautiful and peaceful place. You loved it, but you longed for adventure. You often imagined going on adventures to far-off places, seeing large castles, and riding horses. Like the storybooks had told you, but, though you were old enough, Bilbo would always become so uneasy at the mere mention of you leaving Hobbiton. You knew that you could leave if you so wished, but you hated the thought of him being alone. Alone to face the wrath of Lobelia. 

You knew that you were different. And no, not in the way that you were a Human and your friends and family - and father - were not. You were different. Special. When you were twelve, you had been running around with some of the other children, and in the cloud of fun, you had tripped and fallen. Finding your knee all scraped up, you felt tears sting the backs of your eyes. You had carefully brushed the dirt and whatever else away from the somewhat bloody scrap; a tear leaving your eye. It fell, landing on your knee, and within mere seconds, your cut had healed itself. You remembered the feeling of awe and confusion as you stared down at your now perfectly healed knee. You told your father - Bilbo - and with a bit of research, you had learned that your tears could heal injuries. 

Well, when you got older, this fascination with your powers and healing in general, you trained to become a healer. You learned all that you needed to know; certain tonics, plants to use, and ones to stay away from. It was helpful, very helpful in fact, that you became one of the best healers of Hobbiton. Though, there wasn't a lot of healing you had to do. Hobbiton was - as said before - calm and peaceful. There were no wars, no battles, no fights that caused any wounds or anything that needed healing. At most, you had a papercut or a gardening scratch that needed tending to. So, you were free to do anything you pleased, most of the time, most of the day.

But, as the sun began to fall past the horizon, you quickly got up from the stone. Walking home, the grass gradually dried your feet as you made your way home; continuing to hum a song as you got closer and closer. Entering the home, you could smell supper cooking, and you smiled. After a long day, you were excited to eat. Stashing your shoes away, you found your father plating supper, and you joined him, helping him. 

The supper looked delicious, but before either you or your father could even begin to eat or take your first bites, there was a knock on the door. You both looked up at each other, confused. Who would be visiting this late into the night?

"Did you invite someone?" You asked your father, who shook his head.

"No," He looked towards where the door was located, "Did you, my child?"

You shook your own head, "No."

You both then stood, and Bilbo opened the door. There stood a Dwarf. He stared at the both of you - possibly somewhat surprised by you - then the intimidating Dwarf gave your father his heavy furs and weapons. Before you knew it, there were a handful of Dwarves in the Hobbit hole, along with Gandalf. You stood beside your father, hearing the story of Erebor, the dragon, and the Dwarves wanting to reclaim it. It was a thrilling story, and you found yourself wishing and longing that you could come along and help. 

Well, your wish would soon be fulfilled. 

~~~

You had been walking, you didn't know how long, but you didn't care. You were happy, a bright smile on your face as you looked at all the tall trees, and colorful plants; just admiring the world around you. You followed after some of the other Dwarves, your father beside you. It had been a good couple of days since the beginning of the journey to Erebor. Gandalf had convinced the Dwarves - mostly Thorin - that they would need a burglar. A burglar and a healer. 

Your father did not want you to go. He was insistent that you stay home, and watch over the Shire, and his garden, but Gandalf said that you would be a key member of the Company if you came along. You remembered looking up at Gandalf, and with that knowing look in his eyes, you knew that he knew about your powers. You had then spoken, telling him, and Thorin, that you would be honored to come along. Bilbo grumbled and protested against you signing the contract but with a smidge of convincing by you that next morning, both you and your father were running through Hobbiton to catch up with the Company.

You had been collecting flowers, some white ones, pink ones, and even some yellow ones. It had been a good couple of months since the beginning of the journey. Throughout the journey, aside from running away from goblins and trolls, you and the Company had gotten closer. All of the Dwarves, even Thorin, and Dwalin - though they never said anything to you, being so broody and stoic - all the Dwarves had grown to love you. Your kindness and spirit were contagious. They'd all come out of their shells a little - especially Balin, who had taken quite an interest in you and had even begun to teach you Dwarvish.

And Kili... Well, you had unintentionally caught the young Prince's attention since the very beginning. 

Kili watched as you picked flower after flower, taking in everything; your energy, your joy. Everything that made you, you. He found your voice breathtaking, and your words always filled him with such warmth and comfort. He enjoyed the moments he did have with you. The conversations you both shared. The more the journey went on, the more both you and Kili grew closer. You talked about your interests and the things you liked doing. He loved watching you laugh and smile, and hearing the stories that you told. He could listen to your sweet voice for hours on end. Seeing the sun reflect off your hair, the light dusting of freckles across your nose and cheeks, your smile... His heart pounded faster than usual and he felt himself blush. You had no idea what he saw. No clue. No clue as to what you had done to him. His eyes sparkled as he looked at you, and Fili noticed this. 

"You should speak to her," Fili spoke, slightly startling Kili out of his thoughts. 

He blinked, snapping out of his thoughts, before he turned to Fili with a questioning glance, "What?"

Fili sighed quietly, glancing from you to his brother once more. "You should tell her how you feel," He explained gently, watching the way Kili looked at you. "Tell her how you feel about her."

Becoming somewhat started, Kili nudged Fili's side, "Must you be so loud?" He whispered, glaring at his older brother who pursed his lips.

"Yes, I must," He whispered back, looking back at you briefly, "Because you are oblivious."

"I'm not oblivious," Kili defended, "Just... Cautious," He admitted, fiddling with a leather strap on his shoulder. "I believe that she is my One, Fee." He spoke softly, his voice nearly drowned in the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves of the trees.

Fili's frown turned around at his words, "Then you must speak to her. You know how important Ones are, Kee."

"I do," He replied calmly, "But..." He trailed off, shrugging helplessly. "I don't think I can. Not yet," He mumbled quietly, almost inaudible, but still audible to Fili. Looking back over at you, Kili sighed... 'Soon,' he thought. Soon, he'd tell you. He just didn't know when. It was hard to have any privacy - or alone time for that matter - when the rest of the Company was present.

~~~

That night, you shot up from your bedroll. Your breathing was uneven and frantic, and you were covered in cold sweat. Glancing around you, seeing that everything was alright, you shook your head. You rubbed your cheeks, hoping that you didn't wake anyone. The nightmare was dark, and gorey. You weren't scared of the goblins or trolls when you had first encountered them, no, but the nightmare changed something inside of you. It frightened you, to the point that you couldn't breathe properly, let alone sleep. You didn't understand why such a thing happened to you, or why such things would plague your dreams. 

"Are you alright?" A voice asked, and it slightly startled you, making you turn your head to see Kili. He sat at the base of a tree; it must have been his night for night watch. 

"Oh, um-" You paused, trying to collect your thoughts and emotions. "My apologies, I am fine." You murmured softly, smiling reassuringly at him. "Just a dream."

Kili merely nodded. After a few moments of silence, Kili finally spoke up. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You pursed your lips, turning your gaze to look at the fire; contemplating before standing. Kili watched as you grabbed your fur blanket, walked over to him, and sat down beside him. "It's nothing to worry about, really," You insisted, "Just about the trolls."

Kili hummed before nodding, "I would understand having such dreams. Trolls are incredibly ugly creatures."

His words made you laugh, and you quickly covered your mouth with a hand to quiet yourself. Thankfully, none of the Dwarves, nor your father, had awoken. His words helped you, making you smile, and a small feeling of happiness spread through you. "Thank you, Kili," You said, leaning towards him slightly. "Your words have indeed helped me. As always."

"Always," He repeated quietly, his smile only growing as you reached out to place your hand on top of his.

~~~

The next morning, Kili awoke first. He was just peeking out from above the horizon, and with a small groan, he tried to stretch; but with the weight that was pressed against his shoulder and side, he stopped. Looking beside him, he found you, fast asleep, your head on his shoulder; blanket covering you, the sunlight shining right onto your face, making you appear like an ethereal being. He felt himself freeze, the warmth radiating off your body and into his. He stared at you for a moment, before glancing down, your hand still covered his. He smiled sadly as his thumb brushed lightly against your skin. 

At your soft sigh, he paused, his chest tightening as you slowly woke,  blinking at the sunlight. "Good morning," Your voice was barely a whisper, and Kili chuckled slightly.

"Good morning." He returned quietly, shifting slightly, careful not to disturb you. "Sleep well? No nightmares?"

"Mhm," You hummed, "No nightmares about ugly trolls." You laughed lightly, causing Kili to smile.

There was another pause between the two of you, neither daring to say anything as the minutes ticked on. Kili watched you as you gazed upon the sunrise, the rays catching every detail of your features, until his mind wandered away. What would you say? What would you say about the fact that his heart raced whenever he gazed upon you, whenever you spoke? Every word that left your lips, it seemed, touched a part of him, deep within the depths of his soul. If he listened, he could hear the echo of your sweet voice, your laughter... If he closed his eyes, he could envision your smile, the light dancing in your eyes. But what if... what if he told you? Would you feel the same? You were his One... He must tell you.

But as the day went on - breakfast being served, traveling closer and closer to the mountain - Kili began to doubt himself. Perhaps, perhaps he wouldn't be able to bring himself to. Would he dare to say it out loud? He wasn't sure. And the longer it lasted, the less confident he became. Finally, after everyone had eaten their fill, the group came to a stop.

"This will be our camp for the night," Thorin announced. "We shall take turns staying up with the watch. Fili and Kili, you can grab sticks for the fire."

Fili quickly spoke, "I can go find food, Kili and Y/N can find wood for the fire."

With that, Thorin raised an eyebrow but allowed it. 

Fili gave Kili an encouraging grin, and Kili let out a deep sigh. Doubt tickled the edges of his mind, but once his eyes met yours - seeing your smile - that doubt fluttered away.

Side by side, you and Kili walked around the woods. The evening sun was slowly falling below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and yellow, creating a beautiful sight. Finally, since the nightmare, you and Kili were together alone. Without the other company or the Company, it was easier for you two to talk without interruption. But now, surrounded by the sounds of crickets chirping, of leaves rustling - all alone - Kili felt nervous again.

"Y/N," His voice brought you attention away from the wildflowers and towards him, a smile on your face, "Can I ask something?"

You frowned slightly, tilting your head to the side, "Of course." And Kili felt a lump swell up in his throat. 

You looked ethereal. The setting sun cast a golden halo around your hair, causing the strands to sparkle in a way that almost blinded him. Your eyes were bright, shimmering, and filled with curiosity. He swallowed hard. He wanted to ask you the question - but he hesitated. How would you respond? Would you even answer? But, he couldn't speak, he was just so mesmerized by you. So lost in your beauty. Lost in your eyes. Lost in your smile. He didn't want to lose you.

"You are so beautiful..." He muttered out, still so lost in the depths of your stare.

A flush painted your cheeks, and you glanced away shyly. "Oh… Th-Thank you, Kili."

His eyes widened as he snapped out of his head, "I- I did not mean to say that out loud." He spoke alarmed,  his expression one of horror as he realized what he had said. He bit his lip. 

You blinked owlishly before letting out a short chuckle. "It is alright," You murmured softly, staring at him with a warm, gentle expression. "Nevertheless, I thank you for the compliment."

He breathed out heavily, unable to stop a smile - albeit a nervous one - from appearing on his face. "I did not mess this up, did I?"

You let out another little laugh, shaking your head, "No, I don't think so."

A sweet, silent understanding swept over the both of you, and as his hands brushed against yours during your little walk through the woods, you both completely forgot to grab any kindle for the fire.

~~~

The next morning - walking towards Erebor - with an encouraging smile from you, Kili jogged up towards your father. Again, the nerves were immense, but he steeled himself, clearing his throat to gain your father's attention. Bilbo looked over at the young Prince, an eyebrow raising.

Around them, it felt like the world had gone silent. Like all attention was on him. Kili let out one more sigh, before speaking, "I would like to ask for your permission to braid Y/N’s hair." Now, everyone's eyes were on him, but Kili stood his ground, looking directly at your father. There was no backing down. He wanted to prove himself.

"Braid?" Bilbo muttered, clearly this was the first he was hearing this, "You want to braid my daughter’s hair?"

Kili nodded, glancing at Thorin, he merely grumbled and continued walking, before Kili realized by Bilbo’s expression that he was confused. “Oh, uh, I mean courting. I would like to court your daughter. She- She is the light of my life. She is my One. I know I do not deserve her, but-" Kili let out a sigh, running a hand through his curls. "Will you allow me to court her?"

Bilbo stared at him with wide eyes, clearly shocked and speechless. His gaze darted back towards you, who stood a couple of meters behind, watching intently, but at the sight of your smile, Bilbo quickly composed himself and let out a deep sigh, nodding. "Alright," Bilbo stated. It was obvious how much both you and Kili smiled at each other, and just from the looks in your eyes. "You may court my daughter." He added, giving him a stern look, "But, if you do anything, I will have my cousin's throw potatoes at you."

Kili's smile grew as he nodded, and he could hear some of the other Dwarves cheering for him. "Thank you, Mister Boggins."

Bilbo let out a deep, dramatic sigh as Kili ran back towards you, taking your awaiting hand. Running a hand down his face, he turned around to see both you and Kili smiling, and he knew then - seeing you both interact with each other - he knew. You were happy together. And he could never be angry. If you were happy, then he was happy too.

~~~

Main Masterlist - The Hobbit/Lord Of The Rings Masterlist

[spnfic85]

I don't know why I bite (Dean Winchester x female reader)

You and Dean can’t stop fighting, so Sam locks you in a room together, literally, to hash it out.

Read it on AO3

Rated E, 18+. 6.9k words. Violence. Rough sex. Everyone's pretty dysfunctional. General hurt. Biting. Dean + dog metaphors because it just makes sense.

I don't really know how I feel about posting long fics like this here - it seems a little awkward to read, but I'm gonna let y'all decide whether you like this format.

My friends think I like to fight, but it's just not true. Sometimes I lose my temper and blow off a little steam, but I've never enjoyed it.

I'm not a violent dog.

I don't know why I bite.

- Isle of Dogs

Dean Winchester is driving you crazy.

From the first moment you mouth off to him when you first meet you know you found a good sparring partner.

He’s quick, you’re quicker. You’re clever, he’s more clever. He grins at your teasing and you laugh at some of the jabs he gets in.

It works, because you’re both intensely aware of your own roles, your own pitfalls – you can’t hurt him by making fun of something that’s part of the character he’s created, because it’s not really him you’re making fun of. It’s the same the other way around.

You make fun of how much sex he has with strangers, because it’s part of his bad boy glamour, just another coping mechanism.

He makes fun of your excessive violence towards the less humanoid monsters you fight, because he knows you don’t actually enjoy it, that you do it to look tough in this boy’s club that is hunting, that your hands shake when you wash them later.

You make fun of his love for his car, but never of the fact that it’s one of the few kindnesses his father’s ever given him, because the first is fair game but the second would be like pushing a knife between his ribs.

He makes fun of how jumpy and irritable you are sometimes, but never of how often you wake up screaming, because one has been weaved as a silly trait into your personality and the other he knows too well himself.

How well you have to know each other, how intimate the understanding of that line you don’t cross is, is something neither of you is willing to look at. It’s like surgery, sometimes, how close you have to cut to the line, to give the other one that thrill of being known, of being seen, but never of being known too well, of being watched. That would go too far.

If Dean or you were able to take that, you wouldn’t need those intrinsic personas to shield you from everything that could be painful.

You’ve known each other for about a year when it takes a turn. It doesn’t happen on purpose and, looking back, it’s no one’s fault.

You’re attracted to Dean because, well, you have two eyes and a sex drive. You know he is attracted to you because he checks you out, which, well, Dean would probably check out a wall if it had a nice pair, but he does it with a look in his eyes that’s different, that’s not the mask he uses to bang waitresses and co-eds and unhappy wives, all non-descript shadow people passing through his life.

Potentially something could have come of it. Maybe, if one of you would have been lonely enough or horny enough, you could have let your personas, your life-long starring roles, play with each other. It probably would have been hot, but performative, both of you too busy to prove how much you don’t need to be there.

It doesn’t happen that way, though, because this happens:

Dean and you are hurt, which isn’t unusual. You can’t open your right eye so well and you hear a whistle every time you exhale. Dean’s got blood running down his face from a cut somewhere in his hair and the thing you were hunting speared him with a pen, a pen, because that’s what was in reach when Dean was standing over it, getting ready to beat its head in. It wanted to live, and you can’t think about that too much because if you do you think you’ll be sick.

Essentially, you both look like you’re on death’s door, so you don’t go back to Sam, because you know it will terrify him. Instead, you stop at a gas station, get everything you need to imitate a visit to the emergency room. The guy working at the gas station looks at you two and you must look like Natural Born Killers but neither of you cares. You get a bottle of shitty whiskey as well.

Then you hunker down, in the cheapest pay-by-the-hour motel you’ve ever seen. There’s red neon everywhere and you don’t even want to know what the room would look like under a black light.

“You first,” you say to Dean, and he complains, but you push him down on the chair you’ve moved to the middle of the room. “Stabbed beats carved-in lung,” you say, and Dean scoffs, which makes him cough.

“Anything to get to put your hands on me, huh?” he jokes when he’s recovered. You sort of chuckle, trying to find the cut on his head first. “Been a long time, has it?” he asks, flinching when you find it.

“Winchester,” you say, laying a cotton bud soaked in alcohol against the cut, making Dean buck under you, a deep groan leaving him. “You could be the last man on earth and I’d still prefer celibacy.” Dean chuckles.

“Don’t know what you’re missing out on,” he says. The cut’s mostly stopped bleeding, so you decide to leave it for now.

“Yeah, a bunch of STDs,” you mumble as you kneel down, suppressing a whine at something hurting, you don’t even know what.

The stab wound is next. Dean, in his infinite wisdom, pulled out the pen. It’s a natural instinct, to want something that is hurting you out of your body, but he still should know better.

You push up his shirt, look at the wound, ignore all that skin around it.

Cotton bud. Alcohol.

Dean hisses. “Whiskey?” he says, and you stop what you’re doing for a second to grab the bottle off the table near you, pass it to him. He opens it, takes a deep gulp, while you watch his throat work, swallowing. He drops his head, the bottle leaving his mouth, some of it running down his chin. It shouldn’t make you feel what it makes you feel. He’s a mess, and so are you, but getting to watch him like this is a privilege you know not many are afforded.

Stripped down, broken, fresh off a kill. It’s him at his best, in a way.

He passes the bottle to you, and you don’t wipe the rim. You set it down when you’re done.

“This is gonna need stitches,” you say, motioning to the wound. He nods. “What are you waiting for then?”

He barely makes any sounds while you do it, while you sew him back together. It’s over soon, since you’re quick and practiced and it’s not a huge wound. He sighs when he’s done.

“Good?” you ask.

“Magnificent,” he says, panting a little. You give him a second to recover, then push his arm for him to move. He gets up, and you take his place.

You’re not sure how much he can do for you but you’re not going to skip the chance to have him touch you, to have him try to fix you. He looks at your eye first, cleans it but it’s just a shiner, there’s not much to do. While he does it, his thumb rests on your cheek. You’re intensely aware of it, but you just look ahead.

“Saw you miss that one shot,” he says, when he’s done, and his hands leave your face. “The first one? At the big guy?” He shakes his head as he takes the whiskey and drinks again. “I’ve seen some bad shooting from you, but that was sad. Such a big target, too.”

You chuckle, but something pulls in you. No, you think, but you don’t know why. This should be save terrain.

You flinch when Dean lays his hand on your chest, above your breasts but the inside of his wrist is brushing against you. You think for a second that you can feel his heartbeat through it but then you’re not sure.

“Breathe in”, he says, and you do, while he concentrates on where the wheezing sound you make is coming from. “Throat?” he asks, then frowns. “You got choked? When?”

No, you think again, and this time you know why. You swallow, and it hurts.

“While you were hiding out downstairs,” you say, but your voice is missing the apathy required to deliver the jab, so it falls extra flat. Dean picks it up, though, but he misunderstands.

“Oh, you mean when the big guy decided to chase you after you didn’t shoot him?” He chuckles, his hand not leaving you, but then he stops, thinking. “No, no, he was already dead.”

You need him to stop. You need him to stop trying to figure this out. He’s doing it so he can make fun of you. If he knows which of the freaks hurt you, he can pick out specifically why that one getting to you is embarrassing. It’s fine, normally, but you don’t want him to know.

“Let’s see,” he says, his hand slipping off you. “There was the big guy, the squirrely asshole that stabbed me, and those two in the basement,” he counts off while he reaches for the whiskey again. He shakes his head, concentrating. “Who was upstairs?” he wonders.

He can never shut up. It’s like he was born without the skill, without the knowledge of how to ever just shut the fuck up.

He lowers the bottle, then holds it out for you but you don’t grab it. “Be honest,” he says. “Did you just run into a door at a funny angle and now you’re pretending there was a fifth?” He shakes the bottle a little, because he thinks you didn’t notice it.

You can’t reach for it. You don’t feel your hands.

“It was a child,” you say.

It wasn’t a child, of course, at least not a human one, for whatever that’s worth. It was something that was wearing a child, the kid itself burned out long ago. But it looked like one. It sounded like one. Not when it launched itself at you across the room or when it gave that godawful screech. But later, when it was lying there. That’s when.

You swallow again, and your throat hurts. Little chubby hands did that, the ones with the dimples. You feel a tear roll down your cheek. No no no. This isn’t supposed to happen.

You wipe at it, immediately, but you know Dean’s seen it. Seen you.

He lowers the bottle, slowly, like the strength is going out of his arm. He says your name, and you say: “Don’t.”

He says it again and before you know it you are standing up so quickly that the chair goes flying.

“I said fucking don’t!” you snap at him, because you just need him to stop. You need him to stop sounding like that and you need him to stop looking at you like that, his eyes all soft and his mouth in a straight line. This is worse than anything.

No, you need to get out. Your chest is constricting and you just need to not be here.

You stride towards the door and Dean is stupid enough to come after you, and he’s grabbing you, his hand like a vice around your upper arm. You turn so suddenly that he has to let go, the turning making pain flash through you, and you think good.

“Don’t ever touch me,” you grunt and Dean takes a step back. Then you’re out the door, no idea where you’re going.

You don’t come back for three days.

You left your phone at the motel with Dean so there’s no way for him to contact you. You barely remember the days. You have your wallet on you, so there’s that.

You drink, you know that. You drink and you don’t stop drinking because it’s the only way you can sleep.

You pick someone up, at some point, hoping you can be fucked senseless but it’s disappointing, doesn’t get you anywhere, so you leave. You don’t dare touch yourself, your body and what it can do horrifying and disgusting to you.

It doesn’t feel like three days, but apparently that’s what it is.

When you return to the motel, the one you were originally staying at, not the one you and Dean went to, you expect the brothers to be gone.

You get a room, get cleaned up, sitting in the bath water while it goes from boiling hot to lukewarm. You walked past a second hand shop earlier, picked out some clothes, just jeans and a shirt, carrying them with you in a plastic bag. You also bought some other essentials, and you clean yourself as much as you can, make yourself as presentable as possible.

Not to look good. Just to look not broken. Just so you can pretend nothing happened.

Then you go to the room you shared with Sam and Dean. You knock. They’re probably long gone, but then you hear foot steps behind the door, familiar murmuring and the door opens and Sam’s there, all puppy dog eyes and awkward posture.

He looks immensely relieved when he sees you, and you think for a second that he’s about to pull you in for a hug but something on your face stops him.

“Jesus”, he says, as the door swings open to reveal Dean, farther back in the room, his phone in his hands. “We called every hospital around, we thought you were—”

“I’m fine,” you say, tearing your eyes from Dean. “Your brother didn’t tell you I was going out?”

“Going out?” Sam says, unbelieving and a little bit angry as you push your way past him into the room. “You were gone for three days!”

You ignore him, look at Dean, your eyes daring him. He’s looking at you like he’s expecting your head to explode, but then he says: “She said she was going out, Sammy, leave it alone.” Sam looks bewildered as you turn to him.

“But you said—” Sam starts, but Dean must throw him a look that shuts him up. You don’t turn back in time to see it.

That is how the balance is thrown off. Once it is gone, you cannot reestablish it, no matter how hard you try.

The jokes you make at Dean’s expanse are all missed shots. They don’t cross that invisible line, but they’re… they’re mean. They’re nasty. They’re no fun. They come out of you that way and it makes you cringe at yourself, but you can’t stop.

Dean, on the other hand, overcompensates the other way. His jokes are soft, way too soft, and every single one of them makes your blood almost boil over. Reminds you that he thinks you’re something that needs to be spared, needs to be put in bubble wrap.

That you’re something he can look at the way he looked at you that night.

You two become unbearable to be around, so you don’t really blame Sam for putting his foot down.

It’s another no-name town in another no-name county and you know, and Dean knows and Sam knows that the evening will drag on the way every other evening has dragged on in the last weeks – with tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife. With you being mean to Dean and Dean barely defending himself, barely hitting back.

You get to the room, put your bags down and Sam is already by the door again. You and Dean both look at him, wondering where he’s going.

“I’m getting another room,” he says, face serious. “And you two,” he continues, “you two will stay here and figure out what the hell it is that’s going on, because I’m not dealing with it anymore.”

You open your mouth to speak but Sam turns to you and says: “No, figure it out.” Your mouth closes. Who knew. The little guy could actually be imposing.

“Sammy, this is stupid,” Dean says, because of course Dean’s allowed to say something. “You’re grounding us?” Sam nods. “Yeah.”

“Or what?” you ask, before Sam can stop you. He looks at you both, then shrugs, and then he’s pulling the door closed behind him.

There’s silence, and then Dean says: “Well, that was ominous.” He looks at you, maybe hoping you’ll laugh or agree, maybe you can dogpile on Sam for a little while, but you don’t.

You feel terror sitting in your jaw and in your hands. You don’t want to talk to Dean. You don’t want to figure anything out. You want to shed your skin and start your life over and go to sleep and never wake up, but none of these seem to be realistic options.

So you sigh, instead, sitting on the bed nearest to you. There’s not even any alcohol in the room, since you’re in a dry county, and of course Dean’s thinking the same thing.

“He couldn’t have done this when we were in Vegas?” he mumbles. Still no reaction from you as you hear him sit down on the other bed behind you. You hate this. You feel like an animal in a cage. You feel itchy.

“Okay, should we do this?” you hear Dean behind you, and you think you hear him slap his thighs.

You finally turn around to him, slowly, your face unbelieving. He’s sitting there, looking prettier than ever.

“What?” he says.

“Just... you,” you reply. “I can’t believe you’re being so gung-ho about this.” Dean inclines his head. “If Sam thinks—”

“No offense,” you say, fully intending offense, “but screw your brother, okay? I’m not a child. I’m not getting sent to my room without dinner.”

And of course, at that you see it, that child, that child-thing, sprawled out, little eyes looking at the ceiling but seeing nothing. You almost shake yourself.

Unsure if Dean notices, you stand up, but instead of walking outside, you pace.

“He’s not wrong, you know?” Dean finally says, but you don’t stop moving.

“About what?” you ask, without looking at him.

“You’ve been a real asshole the last couple of weeks,” Dean answers.

And God, why does it feel so good that he calls you that?

You stop pacing, turn to him, a grin that’s probably a little psychotic-looking forming on your face.

“Now was that so hard?” you ask.

“What?” Dean asks.

“Not treating me like a little porcelain figure?” you say. “Calling me an asshole?” Dean shrugs. “Well, don’t act like one if you don’t wanna be called it.”

He doesn’t get it, doesn’t get that this is exactly what you want, but it doesn’t matter because even that little bit of disrespect makes the itch in your flesh feel a little less overwhelming.

“I know I have,” you say. You nod at him. “And you’ve been acting like a wuss.” Distantly you realize that you are actually doing what Sam told you to do. You’re talking about it, or at least you’re acknowledging that there is something to talk about, which is more than you’ve done in this whole time. So, good for Sam, you think. And you keep going.

“What happened, Dean?” you ask, your arms going wide. “You saw me upset once and now you’re too much of a bitch to joke around?” You feel yourself teetering at the edge. This could go so horribly wrong but you can’t stop tap-dancing at the edge of that volcano.

“You’re gonna protect my feelings?” you ask in a mocking tone, and you think your voice sounds shrill. “Dean Winchester always saving everyone but himself, huh?”

Dean’s looking down, his face tense and you can’t help but keep pushing.

“I’m an asshole?” you say, and for some reason there are tears burning in your eyes and you don’t know why. “Well, you’re a pussy,” you spit.

“That’s enough,” Dean says, and his voice is cold as steel. He looks up at you, still sitting on he bed, and he terrifies you for a second. But the terror is a thrill.

You scoff at him. “Fuck you if you think you can tell me what to do.”

He gets up faster than you can react. You gasp in fear when he’s suddenly in front of you and then he’s pushing you against the wall behind you. It’s only a foot or two, but the impact hurts beautifully, making clearness and focus rush through you for a second, but it’s over before you can even really enjoy it.

You want to whine at the loss of it, at the sudden lack, everything turmoil again, like a family of rats has nested in your chest. You need it back, that focus.

“Fuck you, Dean,” you say, too joyous by half about your words. “Gonna show me what a man you are? You’re pathetic.”

You see his hand raise and form a fist out of the corner of your eye, and something goes through you, something horrible and you think he’s going to hit you.

You look at his hand and something like a yes comes out of you. It sounds almost sexual, and maybe it is.

Dean’s threatening demeanor drops immediately. It takes him a second to understand what caused your outburst, and he looks at his own hand and then he looks at you.

He wasn’t going to hit you, you suddenly realize. He’s balling his fist because he’s mad, and you see it from the angle he’s holding it. You’ve seen Dean throw a million punches, and this isn’t how he would do it, even if he was mad with anger.

But Dean understands, understands that that’s what you thought he was doing and that that’s what you wanted him to do.

He takes a step away from you immediately and your stomach drops. His face is as open as it’s ever been. He finds your gaze and you’re not sure what he sees in yours but you know what you see in his.

You’ve gone too far, you can feel it in your blood. You can see it on his pretty features. This is his weak spot. The holy part you’re not allowed to touch just like there’s parts of you he’s not supposed to touch. His own fear of himself, of his clever and precise violence. The one that’s been cultivated in him from the time he was four to however old he is now. The one he keeps at bay, no matter what, for those he loves and wreaks on those he doesn’t.

There’s that clear line that neither you and Dean are supposed to cross, and everything beyond that is below the belt. And you just went for it.

He’s fought so hard to bury that part of himself, so that the people he cares about never need to be scared of him like he was scared of the people that were supposed to care about him. It’s cost him everything.  And you just came for his throat.

This is so far beyond your usual arguing. This just hurts.

“I’m—” you start, but Dean’s never been good at listening, so you falter immediately. You feel tears burning in your eyes. God, he looks so sad. You blink, run the back of your hand over your nose. It’s deadly silent in the room.

Dean looks, and you don’t know how else to describe it, like a dog whose owner is holding a news paper. He knows what’s coming and he can’t stop it. He’s fear and shame and disgust in himself. You don’t want to give a shit. He’s not your mess to clean up.

But you do. Of course you do. Just like he did. He cared enough to let you verbally pummel him for weeks, barely keeping his fists up to deflect.

You say his name, or you think you do, and then suddenly he’s moving. He’s walking towards the door and you don’t know why and you don’t know how but you know you need to stop him. If he walks out that door you don’t think you’ll ever see him again.

So you rush forward, manage to get yourself between him and the door.

“Dean, don’t,” you say and he says: “Get out of my way.” His voice is deep and he's not yelling and in a way that is way scarier. But you can’t move. You can’t let him leave.

“Please don’t go,” you say, hoping you can simply convince him. You lean your back against the door, and you’re pretty sure he won’t grab you and simply pull you out of the way, because you can see his hands are trembling.

“I’m sorry,” you say, because your stupid pride has been stopping you, but now it’s the least important thing in the world. “I shouldn’t have pushed you,” you say, but you’re not sure he can hear you. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I just wanted to make you mad.” His head shoots up.

“Why?” he pushes out through gritted teeth.

“Because I couldn’t stand that you pitied me,” you say. God, Sam would love this. A real heart-to-heart. How precious.

Dean frowns. “I don’t pity you,” he says, disdain in his voice.

“Yes, you do,” you insist. “You’ve been pulling your punches for weeks. And it made me… it just made me so angry.” Dean shakes his head.

“You’re insane,” he says, and then he goes for the door, reaching around you to open it.

“No!” you say, and you push him back. He stumbles, just a little bit, but it makes him look so angry that you press yourself harder against the door. Just like you thought, he’s not going to move you out of the way, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try to get around you.

“Move,” he says, and then: “Get out of the fucking way.”

“Make me,” you bark back. Dean stands there for a second, and you think he will. You think you have completely misjudged the situation and he will make you move. But he just goes for the door knob again, reaching around you. You push your arms against him. Now that he knows you’ll try to shove him, he plants his feet and there is no way you can move him.

He’s so close to you and so angry and you don’t know what to do, you don’t know how to get yourself back and you don’t know how to get him back.

Your mouth lands on his before you even know you’re going to do it. Dean flinches and immediately moves back. He looks shocked, and you try to congratulate yourself because it worked. Even though that wasn’t what you were doing. You weren’t trying to stop him, you were just trying to kiss him.

It’s fucked up to do it like this, in the situation you’re in. But then you’re both pretty fucked up.

Dean swallows, and looks unsure. Both of you are breathing hard and for a second he seems to just listen to that, so you do too. It’s erotic, and you don’t know how but you feel it do something to you. Dean’s gaze meets yours. He’s either about to kill you or fuck you.

He moves forward and presses you against the door. You think for a second that he’ll try for the door again, but he doesn’t. His lips find yours, but what you do can barely be called kissing. It’s a battle, like everything between you is, but you manage to get your hands into his hair, grabbing it, making him grunt. He pushes you harder against the door and you find it difficult to breathe and it’s perfect.

You lean your head back at the feeling of containment, and Dean goes for your throat. He runs his teeth over a sensitive spot, making you buck and then he’s sucking against the skin so much it hurts. Your grip tightens in his hair and he makes a noise.

Before you know it you’re pushing his jacket off his shoulders, his hands barely leaving you to let you, and then his flannel goes next. When he’s free of it, he grabs your wrists and pins them over your head, attacking your neck again. You moan, you can’t help it and he ruts himself against you.

You move your head to catch something of him, anything, and you manage to get at his jaw, nipping at him. Dean flinches, but he lets you do it. Then his hands let go of your wrists and travel down your arms, down and down, until they are at your chest and he roughly squeezes your breasts. Another moan escapes you and then you’re dropping your hands and he’s dropping your tits, moving on to your hips instead.

You find his crotch first, press your hand against it, agitating what you find there. Dean hisses, and his mouth slams against yours again, but this time you force your tongue past his lips, keeping him there as you battle again, open-mouthed and breathing hard.

Dean’s hands wander from your hips to your ass, squeezing and then he’s pushing one of his legs between yours. You grind yourself down on him, but it’s not enough, it’s not nearly enough to dispel any of the energy you need to dispel. He’s pushing you against his leg by grabbing your ass but again, it’s not enough.

You tear one of his hands from your ass and maneuver it to your front, push it between the waistband of your jeans and your skin, shove him down. Dean doesn’t stop mouthing at you when you do it, except to groan into your mouth when he fingers make contact with your underwear.

He takes control, shoving his hand deeper until he finds you there. Both you and him are surprised by how wet you are. You’re not sure when that started but neither of you cares for much longer, when you feel Dean push two fingers into you.

You almost sob and with just enough wherewithal you unbutton your jeans to give him room to move, before you grab his hair again and lean your head back against the door. He feels good, and even though his thrusts are rough, they hit the right spots within you, forcing you to close your eyes at what feels like electricity running through your body.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you pant and feel Dean’s plush lips against your jaw. He’s not kissing you, not exactly, just making contact, just getting as close to you as he can. You pull his hair a little and feel the air come out of him when he moans.

You don’t know how it’s possible, but he's getting you to the edge fast, and you have high-pitched, desperate moans leaving you soon. Then you’re pushing him away.

His head snaps up, and he looks worried for a second, but all you want is more of him. His hands leaves you, and you’re pulling at his t-shirt, trying to get it off him. You manage, and then he’s tugging at your shirt.

“Get that off,” he says, and his voice is rough and deep, the timber of it running through you. You do, pull it over your head and he goes for your bra before you have even pulled it off your arms. He nearly tears it off you, and then he reaches around you, bringing you close, as he pushes his hands into the back of your pants to push them down.

You use the closeness to open his jeans but then you have to step out of your pants and underwear and shoes as Dean makes them fall to the ground, to avoid stumbling.

Dean manages to turn the two of you, so that you are with your back to the bed and he pushes you towards it. When you get close you let go of him and crawl onto the bed, but you kneel on it, facing Dean. The two seconds it takes you are enough for him to unbuckle his jeans the rest of the way and drop them, along with his underwear, step out of them and his shoes and socks and kick them to the side.

He’s there in front of you, all glorious nakedness, but neither of you wants to lose a second to thinking, to wondering what it is you’re doing, so instead you collect some spit in your mouth, then run your hand along your tongue to collect the moisture and a moment later you have him in your hand.

Dean inhales sharply but you don’t hurt him, only stroke him until he’s fully standing. He’s beautiful, all of him, and if you took a second to admire him, you would see just how beautiful, but you can’t. You don’t want to break the spell.

He grabs you by the ass again, pulls you close to him, and you can hear him breathing hard, grunting at what you’re doing to him. One hand goes to the back of your head and he kisses you, really kisses you this time, roughly, yes, desperately, yes, but it’s still a kiss.

You stroke him faster until he grabs your shoulders and shoves you down on the bed. You land on your back, hair flying into your face and an insane chuckle leaves you. Maybe you’re losing your mind. Or maybe this is what you’ve been craving all along.

Then Dean’s over you, and he’s kissing you again, his hand running from your breast to your neck where he holds you tight, pulls you roughly against him. His erection is pressing against your stomach and you want him.

You get your mouth off his, and then you’re turning around under him. Dean barely leaves you room to do it, but you manage, and then you’re pushing your ass against him. He grabs your hip, strokes it.

And then he kisses your back and you freeze. He does it again, leaning over you, kisses, and then bites you there, but gently.

You gasp and you need him suddenly, need him so bad. Need him to make you feel anything else.

You push your ass up again and this time he does it, does what you want him to do. He lines himself up and then he’s pushing into you. A whine leaves you as you work yourself down on him and his hands are grabbing you everywhere, touching you everywhere and it makes you almost believe that you can be free of all this anger if only Dean keeps touching you.

He starts driving into you and for a second it’s overwhelming, so much, too much and too fast. Your breathing stutters and you need to concentrate on regulating it. But then Dean finds a rhythm and suddenly you can breathe. One hand of yours wanders back, grabs his underarm where he’s holding you and he grabs your elbow, holding onto you.

“Dean—” is all you can say, and his thumb strokes your arm.

“It’s okay,” he says and he’s driving into you, making you gasp again, which quickly turns into a moan.

“Yes,” you pant, “yes, don’t stop.” He doesn’t. He keeps up the pace, his thighs meeting the backs of yours with loud slaps until you think you're going to pass out.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and then suddenly he’s pulling out of you. You turn around to see what’s wrong but then he’s turning you around and your back meets the mattress again. Dean leans over you, pushing your leg higher.

“I want to see you,” he says, and your next inhale lets you feel the spiral again, brings tears into your eyes. Don’t be kind to me, you think, but at the same time you crave it. You want to see him gentle, want him to see his own gentleness.

He kisses you again, and you return it, wrap your arms around him and pull him close. He sighs against you, and then he’s pushing into you again. Your head falls back, you almost whimper and as Dean enters you, pushing your leg up against your torso, his hand cupping your cheek and his thumb running over your lips, you wonder when this turned from a hate fuck into whatever it is now. You find his thumb with your mouth, kiss it.

Dean leans closer to you and your hands go into his hair again. You still pull it, still make him grunt, but in response he lays his face against yours. What is this? you just have time to wonder when the movement of his hips makes you see starts.

He keeps going and going and going and you whimper and come and he holds you through it while tears run down the side of your face from the intensity, but still he keeps going.

“Fuck, I—” he mutters and you feel him throb inside of you, so you pull him close, bring your mouth to his shoulder and bite. Dean grunts, and then you kiss the place you just bit and he comes inside of you.

For a second you’re terrified he’ll roll off you immediately, so you wrap your arms around him. Dean moves into you once or twice more, but it’s just a reflex. His forehead is against your shoulder.

You find you’re stroking his back and just as you wonder if you should stop, Dean flexes his back, his shoulder blades moving under your fingers and he says: “Keep doing that.” So you do. Because you’re not ready to look at his face yet. You don’t know if you ever will be. But eventually you have to.

Eventually Dean needs to move, pulls out of you and rolls himself to the side. Your breathing has quieted down. For a moment, he’s not looking at you, but staring up at the ceiling.

Little eyes staring up at the ceiling.

A sob goes through you and Dean turns to you. He rolls himself towards you and then, after a moment of hesitation, pets your cheek.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks. You shake your head.

“No,” you say, your voice quiet. “You made it not hurt for a while though.”

He nods, and you’re pretty sure he understands exactly what you mean.

“I’m sorry,” you say then.

“You don’t have to—” Dean starts, but you interrupt him.

“I know what I made you feel. What I made you think. I’m sorry.” He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. “I will never do it again,” you add. He runs his thumb over your chin.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you needed to be pitied,” he says. “I’m sorry I…” he sighs. “I didn’t want to scare you.”

You nod. “I know,” and then: “I knew you weren’t going to hurt me. I knew but I wanted you to.” He nods again.

“Why? I mean why did you want me to?” You shake your head. “You know, Dean.”

And you see it in his eyes, because of course he knows. It’s the reason he sometimes drinks until he passes out. The reason he takes more punches than he needs to. Because it’s better than feeling the other thing.

He tugs some hair behind your ear and you lean into the touch. Suddenly the gentleness doesn’t hurt. Suddenly it’s everything you want.

You both lie like that for a while, just touching, just looking at each other.

“So what now?” you say. “We just go back to how it was before?” Dean thinks for a second.

“I don’t think that would work,” he says finally, and you have to agree. “Maybe,” he says, “we can both turn it down a few notches?”

You nod. “Probably a good idea.”

“And this,” he says motioning to nothing, but you know he’s talking about what you just did. “We can see where this leads?”

That one you have to think about for a moment. You feel that old thing roar its head in you, the one that wants to destroy any possibility of anything good possibly coming out of something gentle, something sweet. You fight it, and nod.

“That sounds good,” you say. Then you take a deep breath. “Do you think this is what Sam imagined when he told us to sort things out”

Dean huffs. “I really hope not.”

You smile a little, and then you do something daring.

Moving your shoulders, you scoot closer to Dean. He wraps his arm around you, holds you close.

You still look at each other, like two skittish animals but eventually, the warmth and comfort of another body so close overtakes you.

You can’t fight the need to be close so you stop, stop fighting it.

Dean’s hand rests on your chest and this time you’re sure you can feel his heartbeat. You listen to it, try to focus on it.

Ba-dum-dum, ba-dum-dum.

You’re too tired to fight. You always thought you’d need to be strong to stop, but it turns out tired works too.

Ba-dum-dum, ba-dum-dum.

You’ve never enjoyed it anyway.

[spnfic85]

Please (Dean Winchester x female reader)

Dean has been acting out, and you decide it’s time to give him what he really needs: to let go.

Read it on AO3

My 2024 Kinktober series

Rated E. 2.5k words. Dean gets the full sub experience - crawling, crying, begging. It's a hoot. Femdom. Some religious imagery.

Dean’s really fucked up this time, although you’re starting to suspect he’s doing it on purpose.

The last time he did it, chatted with a busty brunette in the bar where you could clearly see it, and you were done roughly fucking back at the motel, you let your head drop back, panting.

“You pull this shit again,” you said between deep breaths, “you’re seriously going to pay for it.”

And Dean, smug asshole that he is, had thrown you a look that told you that if it meant more of what you had just done, he’d let you catch him flirting with every woman between here and Alaska.

You don’t actually get jealous. You know Dean won’t actually do anything beyond chatting them up. And the reason he started doing that in the first place is to try to get a rise out of you, try to get you to the point where you are pinning his wrists over his head, fucking yourself down on him with no regard to his pleasure, only yours.

Cause. Effect. It’s simple.

But lately he’s been getting a little too cocky, a little too sure of himself. He still gets off, and he really likes seeing you the way you get, domineering and a little mean. He loves that someone cares enough about him to abandon their own control of themselves. It feeds something in him he didn’t know needed feeding, is your theory. But maybe it’s time to change up the game a little.

The two of you haven’t discussed this before, and a part of you thinks that maybe you should. But talking to Dean about sex is like talking to a dog about barking. He really doesn’t have that much to say about it beyond the doing of it. Plus, you cannot wait to see the look on his face when you do it, can’t wait to see his pretty face all confused. It makes you tingle just to think about it.

So it’s the usual, some sweet girl Dean chatted up, and he keeps throwing you looks over his shoulder, because of course he’s not subtle about. Thirty minutes later, you’re pulling up to the motel in the Impala. Your hair is already a mess from how roughly you and Dean have been kissing, but it’s nothing compared to what happens once you’re inside.

You haven’t even managed to take all your clothes off, only your jeans, your panties still dangling from one ankle, but Dean is already licking and fingering you so vigorously that you couldn’t care less.

“Fuck, yes, keep going,” you whine while you press the back of his head down roughly, his face against you, watch him with his eyes closed and brow slightly furrowed, like he’s in fucking heaven.

You come, your cry is loud and you’re distantly aware of someone banging on the wall that separates you from the next room, but you’re too busy having the top of your head blown off. Dean gets off you, basically rips his own clothes off in an effort to get to what will happen next. Boy, is he in for a surprise.

You’re still a little jelly-boned, but once Dean has taken off his clothes, he helps pull off your top, immediately leaning down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. You moan, roughly grab him by the hair and he sucks harder in response. Then he moves off you and turns, lays on his back, all the while stroking himself. He doesn’t need to, he’s hard as steel, the head of his cock wearing a crown of pre-come. You get on top of him immediately, high on your knees so his cock is below your pussy.

“You like making me angry?” you say as you slowly sink down. Dean grunts and you almost forget what your plan is, because goddamn he feels good. You stop moving when he’s fully seated in you.

“I asked you a question,” you say. Dean has his head pressed into the pillow, eyes closed, and he blinks them open now. He looks confused and you could squeal at the sight of that.

“Do you like pissing me off?” you ask again, voice calm. Dean seems to gather himself, because he nods. As a reward, you roll your hips, making Dean’s breath hiccup. His hands shoot to your hips.

“Tell me, Dean,” you say, not moving again. “Tell me and I’ll move.”

Dean needs to get his breathing under control, since it’s all over the place. Once he does, he looks up at you.

“I like that you take what you want when you’re mad,” he says, and you clench a little, making him flinch, eyelids flutter.

“Love the way you just take from me,” he adds, and he actually blushes, blushes so prettily. You grin and begin rolling your hips in earnest now.

“You just have to ask, Dean,” you say, hoping he can hear you over his beautiful moans. “You don’t have to act out, just ask me to pretty please be a little mean to you.”

The corners of his mouth twitch into a smile at that, but he’s already got his eyes closed again, completely absorbed by your movement. So now, it’s really a race against time, because you’re not sure you’ll be able to do what you want to do if you don’t come again first.

Though there’s no need to worry. Years of sex with Dean, getting to know how your bodies work together, plus how absolutely crazy it drives you to see him like this, get you there quickly.

One hand is in your hair, one on your clit, and your hips are snapping back and forth, and you can feel it build in you quickly. There’s a light sheen of sweat on Dean’s forehead and he looks like he’s in pain, so beautiful, so perfect. You come, riding him even harder to prolong your release, and just as you recover, Dean lifts his head from the pillow a little.

“Gonna, fucking, gonna come inside you,” he groans and you can feel his hips buck up for the extra stimulation. Your hands land on his chest and he probably thinks you’re gonna ride him right into it, but instead you press yourself up and don’t come back down.

It takes about two seconds for Dean to understand what you’re doing. He blinks his eyes open as he slips out of you. You climb off the bed, grab his shirt laying close by and use it, just as an extra pinch of degradation, to dab the sweat off your body. Then you turn back to Dean, and it takes you everything not to burst out laughing at the view.

He’s still in the position he was in, hands up, as if he’s holding on to a ghost version of you. Cock flushed and angry and it makes your mouth water, but you know better. You drop the shirt on the floor just as Dean sits up, not touching his erection. Good.

There was a small chance that he might just get himself off, but while Dean can be an absolute brat, it all melts away as soon as the sex begins. Then he’s like a little kitten.

You sit in the armchair opposite the bed, the one you turned around before you left for the bar, just in case tonight was the night, the anticipation making you giddy. You sling one leg over the side of it, revealing your pussy to Dean.

“Babe?” he says, sitting up, tone questioning and, if you listen closely, a little nervous.

“I think I’ve been letting you get away with this shit for a little too long,” you say, and then raise your hand, collect a little bit of spit with your fingertips. The hand goes to your clit, barely touching it, just enough for Dean’s eyes to drop there and stare at it, like a man in the desert looking at a glass of water. He actually licks his lips. You could die from love for this man.

“I think you need to learn, Dean,” you continue, flexing your shoulders a little because you are feeling too damn good. “Need to learn that bad behavior doesn’t get you rewarded.”

Dean still seems shellshocked, swallows heavily. Good chance his brain is still fighting through the fog of arousal.

“So why don’t you come over here,” you say, voice low, “and show me how sorry you are?”

You see the moment it clicks in Dean’s brain, the moment he understands what you want him to do. And the second after that, you see that he likes it. He doesn’t look happy exactly, but instead he looks… needy. Hungry. Desperate. But also blissful. His shoulders go down, his face relaxes.

He hesitates for another second and then he moves, and you want to pray to the gods above when you see that he gets on his fucking knees, and then Dean Winchester, feared and famed hunter, the man monsters have nightmares about, is crawling towards you.

You could come again then and there, because it is the best thing you’ve ever seen in your life. His back and arm muscles ripple with the movement, you can just see his perky ass over his back, his cock hangs heavy and leaking under him and his face is so beautiful, so full of reverence, like he's about to sacrifice himself at the altar of you.

He reaches you and you pull your hand back, because damn it, he knows exactly what to do, falls into the role like he was born for it. He rubs his face against your pussy and you gasp. It’s uncoordinated, he’s not eating you out, it’s something else. Your slick is smeared over his face before his tongue finds your clit, presses against it, sucks on it but only shortly, because he is working himself into a frenzy.

You wouldn’t mind coming again, but the truth is, this is about Dean. It’s about giving him what you believe, and see now confirmed, he always wanted. To be told what to do. To make up for what he’s done. To be taken care of. To completely let go, which you’re pretty sure he’s never been able to do for a second of his life. To beg for what he wants and actually get it.

His hands go to your thighs as he holds you open, almost as if he’s worried you’ll close your legs, as if they’re the gates to heaven and he’s terrified of not getting in. He tongues and nibbles at you and you just watch him.

“Please,” he finally says, and you feel the breath of his words on your sensitive skin. “Please, please, let me come, I’ll be so good.”

Jesus Christ, this is better than you ever imagined it could be. It’s actually making you emotional. Your hand goes out, and you pet Dean’s cheek and he moans, presses his face against your palm, brow deeply knotted, eyes falling closed.

“Please,” he says again.

“You’ve been very bad, Dean,” you say and he nods vigorously, looks up at you.

“I know,” he says, glistening eyes pleading. “But I can be so good, I promise. Just let me come. Just let me come inside you.” You look at him, pretend you’re thinking.

“I always thought you were a bad boy,” you say, thumb gently stroking Dean’s cheek. “But you’re really a good boy, aren’t you?”

For a second it looks like Dean comes right then, without any touching, because the shudder that goes through him is that intense.

“Yes,” he says, and it’s more of a breath, voice raspy and deep as if he’s been screaming, his eyes falling shut again. “Yes, I’m good.” You nod, continue stroking his cheek.

“Come up here, Dean,” you say. He does it immediately, pushes himself up. Daddy’s little soldier. So good at following orders.

You pull on his arms to make him lean towards you, one of his knees going on the seat of the armchair for balance. But instead of guiding him into you, you guide him so that his cock is lying on you, across your mound, and you gently stroke it. Dean gasps.

“You want me to make you come, Dean?” you ask, studying his face. He’s torn up, torn between the promise of release and self-control.

“Inside, please,” he huffs, restraining himself from bucking into your touch. His chest is rising and falling, his shoulders are tensed. “Please, please, let me come inside you.” You raise your eyebrows as if you’re confused by his request.

“But you can come on me, Dean,” you say. “Isn’t that nice?” Dean nods then shakes his head. God, he is really losing it.

“Inside’s better,” he says, then swallows, like he’s correcting himself. One of his hands lands on your waist, like he’s begging for entry. “Nothing feels better than being inside you.”

You purse your lips, then press a hand against his abdomen, push him back a little. Dean complies. His cock drops off you, head now hanging close to your entrance. You reach down, line him up, and then you wrap your legs around him, and pull him in.

Dean looks like he’s seeing God for a second. He fills you up so perfectly and a little moan escapes you. When he’s all the way inside you, you cup his face, run your thumb along his lips.

“That’s where you belong, isn’t it?” you ask and Dean just barely nods.

“Yes,” he breathes. You clench down on him, against him and he moans, so you do it again, harder.

“Fuck, please,” he grunts. You wonder if you can make him come just from this. Something to try next time, maybe. Right now, you need Dean as much as he needs you. You loosen the grip of your legs around him.

“Fuck me, Dean,” you say, voice quiet. “Come inside me, you deserve it.”

Dean’s hands go to your sides for a better grip, and you see that they are actually shaking. He pulls out, then pushes in again, clearly trying to control himself.

“Faster, baby,” you say, biting your lip. “Fuck me good.”

And Dean does. He’s completely desperate at this point, and he pulls out quickly and pushes in again even quicker, until he’s fucking himself into you fast and shallow. A drop of sweat runs down his temple and you want to lick it away, but can’t reach.

You don’t come again, which is fine, but Dean does, quickly and violently. He leans his head forward and it lands on your chest.

“Please,” he groans as he comes, his entire body shuddering, his back tensing. You wrap your arms around him, stroke his back.

“Ssh,” you coo, and something like a sob leaves him.

“You did so good,” you rasp into his ear and he presses his face into your neck as he’s coming down. You’re not sure if the wetness you feel on your neck is sweat or tears, but it doesn’t matter. You just hold him, for a long time, stroke his shoulders and back, tell him how good he’s been.

Dean never pulls the stunt with flirting in a bar again. He doesn’t need to. He knows how to ask now. 

[spnfic85]

is there gonna be another part of “First Comes Love” ? cause i loved it SO SO much🙂‍↕️.

Yes! Chapter 7 is definitely not the last of it. I've actually fit my writing into my new self-care plan with my therapist, so I hope you won't get tired of me!

[spnfic85]

#mood

[spnfic85]

'ao3 needs a like and dislike button'

what you need, my algorithm-rotten minded friend, is a grip

[spnfic85]

AND AND IT HAS 10K+ WORDS AND IS STILL BEING UPDATED?!?

[spnfic85]

Loki: Thor, haven’t you learned by now that I can outsmart you whenever I want?

Thor: You cannot.

Loki: Say “fort”.

Thor: Fort?

Loki: Now say it three times.

Thor: Fort, fort, fort.

Loki: Spell it twice.

Thor: F-O-R-T, F-O-R-T.

Loki: Say it two more times.

Thor: Fort, fort.

Loki: Now what do you eat soup with?

Thor: Ha ha! FORK! Ha!

Loki: Really? Because I eat my soup with a spoon.

[Loki leaves]

Bruce: See, if you ate soup with a fork, the liquid would just fall—

Thor: I KNOW!!

[spnfic85]

does anyone wanna hold hands until we feel a little braver

[spnfic85]

fanfic authors b like ‘haha this chapter got a little out of hand it’s a little longer like 60k words’

babes that’s a novel. you wrote a novel.

[spnfic85]

OKAY OKAY OKAY Soooo this has been floating around in my head rent-free for the past few days and today I COULDN'T HELP IT!!!

I thought Oblivious!Reader x Dean Winchester would be presh, but then I wondered what would happen if Dean finally just gave up and kissed the oblivious little creature until she understood. Ah hek. I hope this is okay, but OH GAWD did you inspire me!

Forevermore

Oblivious!Plus-size Reader x Dean Winchester

Warnings: Minors- DNI, Smut, angst (?)

Word Count: 2804

You looked up at Dean’s emerald greens as they flickered between your confused gaze. Your hands trembled in his as you processed the words he just growled to you in the waning dusk of the small kitchen of your apartment.

“Damnit Y/N- I said I’m in love with you!”

“What do you-” Your words are cut off with Dean’s firm kiss as he frames your jaw in his hands and tentatively drags his tongue feather light across your bottom lip. You gasped, realizing he meant every word and felt your hands tighten on his open flannel as your mouth opened to his invitation.

Your thoughts tumbled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him back with fervor. The flowers on the kitchen counter went ignored as Dean groaned into your mouth and backed you against the edge of the sink as if you’d disappear any moment from his hands.

“Waited so fucking long for this…” He murmured and pressed his forehead to yours as you both gasped for breath in the quiet. Your heart raced in your chest as you thought back to all the times he’s swung by with a coffee or some little trinket from his last hunt. All the times you’ve flushed as he’s mentioned a top he liked on you. You thought he just approved of the band or liked the colors.

He’s just being nice. You’d murmur to yourself, there was no way it was anything else between the pair of you.

He watched out for you like a big brother, right?

“Dean…” You murmured, “I don’t- I don’t understand.” You admitted looking up at him again, brows knit in confusion.

You saw the street light turn on from the kitchen window and you bit your lip as he looked at you gently, “Baby girl, what else do I need to do to prove it to you?” He looked at you in dismay, “I-I’ve tried so many things to show you what you mean to me…” Your heart broke at the loss in his eyes, the pain it inadvertently had caused him.

Your eyes rimmed in stinging tears and you chewed on your bottom lip as you continued to run more and more interactions through your mind. You wanted to scream, you were so mad at yourself for being oblivious to him.

You shook your head, “I can’t believe…” You murmured and he chuckled. The rumble traveled through your chest and you realized you were pressed flush to his torso. You felt your face heat as you turned beet red and you laughed bashfully. Dean’s thumb ran along your cheek as he peeked down to look you in the eye again with a small smile.

“Hey now, don’t get shy on me, baby girl.” Your eyes fluttered up to his and you smiled slightly, “That’s better. I’ve waited too long for you to look at me like that.” He rumbled and pressed his lips to yours in a chaste kiss before pulling away slightly. “I really am in love with you.” He murmurs softly, “Think I’ve been a lot longer than I realized, too.” It was his turn to flush crimson as you laughed softly at his admission.

“I didn’t think you felt that way for me… I just assumed you were being nice or watching out for me because… Because that’s the kind of thing you did, Dean.” You admitted.

Dean deserved your honesty, he deserved that in the least. He had always made sure to drive through your area, stopping in when he was in between hunts. You thought he was just keen on a hot shower and a meal that didn’t come from a drive thru. If anything, the random gifts were small payments or tokens of gratitude, something Dean has done since you two were young.

Dean took your hand and walked you to the couch and sat you down. He looked terrified, and you had only seen that look twice before. Both times he thought he was losing Sammy, struggling to hold on to what he held most dear.

“I’d want nothing more than to spend the rest of my days showing you how much I love you.” He reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You chewed your lip, searching for the crack in his resolve, begging the gods to let this be true. This man opening his soul to you couldn’t be a hallucination, there could be no way… Right…?

Finally, something snapped in you and all at once, you decided to leap head first into whatever Dean had to offer. All at once, something told you this was something you shouldn’t let slip past. You wrapped your arms around his neck again and kissed him desperately while climbing in his lap. You slipped your fingers along the back of his neck, palms framing his face as you rocked your hips into his lap and nipped for more. Dean groaned, hands braced on your plush hips as he pulled you down on his obvious erection.

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” He panted, nipping and sucking along your throat and shoulder.

You shook your head and whined softly, pulling at the hair on his nape. He cursed softly and stood with your bottom in his hands, making you squeal, while he marched to your bedroom down the hall.

You gasped as he laid you on your bed, reverently looking over your form as your chest fluttered to catch your breath. You reached up to him, your thighs dropping open in invitation and he felt as if he levitated to you in the bed. His hand shakes softly as he runs it down your side, his palm framing your hip as his other arm braced beside your head to keep his weight off of you.

“You’re so beautiful.” He murmured softly as you rolled your hips up against his as they rocked into you of their own free will. Your face flushed and you drug your nails gently down his covered shoulders. Dean closed his eyes as he sighed and rocked into you a bit harder. You gasped sharply, lining yourself against him to tease at your sensitive clit.

Your once baggy tee was riding up your torso, as your nipples pebbled against the soft cotton. Dean looked down almost drunkenly as his hand on your hip teased at the hem of your shirt before splaying over your soft belly, inching towards the hidden curve of your breast.

Your hand moved over top of your shirt, as you dragged his hand higher, pulling the shirt with it, until his palm cupped the soft flesh and carefully squeezed. You moaned as his thumb brushed the taut nipple and made your back arch against him. He murmured affirmations as he kissed along your throat, nibbling at your shoulder, before ghosting over your shirt and under it before his mouth wrapped around the tight bud of the breast in his hand as he groaned. You panted, a warm breath fanning over the top of Dean’s head as you looked down as lightning traveled down to the apex of your thighs and settled low in your pelvis.

Dean’s warm mouth kissed across the valley of your chest and settled on your neglected nipple, while his fingers massaged, pinched, and gently twisted at the other. The sound that escaped your throat sounded raw from the attention and he responded in a similar grunt. Your fingers moved over his shoulder, pushing the open flannel down his biceps.

He paused, realizing what you wanted, and sat up on his knees to shrug off the flannel, before reaching over his head to grab the collar of his black tee, and pull it over his head in one fluid move. You watched him wide-eyed as he looked down on you like a starved man.

“May I?” He asked, reaching for the bunched tee above your breasts. You nodded and sat up, slipping your arms free quickly before he advanced on you again. Dean pressed his torso to yours as he kissed you deeply, hands roving every curve, dip, and valley on your body. Your hands shook as they held his shoulders, nails raking down his biceps.

Your hands continued to move down sculpted muscles, snagging on the belt buckle on his jeans. Dean's hands moved along your hips and bottom, making your hands stumble with the buckle as he pulled your hips against his again.

Before you could unbutton his jeans, he slid from your grasp, his hands grabbing the waistband of your leggings. You whined as you felt your face flush at his stare, and he cooed at you how beautiful you were as he tugged your leggings and panties from your frame. When you glanced up at him from under your lashes, your breath was snatched away at the look in Dean’s eyes as he dragged his gaze over your form. A look of yearning, of need, as if he looked upon one of the wonders of the world. Your heart crashed against your ribs as he moved his hands up your thighs, pulling you open and closer to him as he stood on his knees before you in worship.

His moves were deliberate, keeping his eyes locked to yours as his shoulders nestled between your thighs, begging them to open wider. As his soft, full lips moved over your hot core. And you whimpered as his tongue struck out, wide and thick as he dragged a stripe up your folds. Your hips lifted before Dean draped an arm over your pelvis to keep you still as he groaned into your sticky wetness. You moaned loudly as he quickly found the tight bundle of nerves and sucked gently. It took little time for your thighs to quake as your climax exploded through you. Dean lapped at you, groaning at the gift your body rewarded him with.

You were so sensitive, you felt your voice shake as you begged him. “Please Dean, please…” You were unsure what you needed, but you knew he was the apex of your ache. He murmured softly as he kissed your inner thigh and gently drew a finger along your slit, covering the digit in your slick. He blew gently on your clit as he sunk his middle finger into you to the knuckle. Your nails bit into his shoulder as you rocked down on his hand with an almost feral moan.

You were vaguely aware of the praises that tumbled out of your mouth as he moved slowly, coaxing your walls to relax and accept his thick finger. His mouth found your clit as he pumped a few times, before his index finger nudged for entrance. The stretch was a delightful burn as you mewled his name breathlessly.

Your body was buzzing from your climax, and it seemed the buzzing grew loudly as you hurtled towards another as he pumped two fingers into your body, curling them inward just right as his tongue ran circles on your clit. Your thighs pressed down on either side of Dean’s head, his shadow of stubble scraping the sensitive flesh, as you felt your walls clamp down on his digits and your body thrashed as wave after wave crashed over your body in euphoria. Your sight flared bright white along the edges as you screamed his name in your dark apartment.

You heard a bang on the wall across your room and you flushed in embarrassment as Dean chuckled and lapped gently at your folds. “Don’t be embarrassed baby girl. Let them know who makes you feel like this…” He smirked wickedly at you, pulling his fingers from your core. You whimpered at the empty feeling it left you but he shushed you softly as he pressed the two fingers to your swollen lips. You looked up at him in silent understanding and let your jaw drop, sucking the two slick fingers in your mouth. “Fu-uck Baby Girl…” He murmured as you closed your eyes for a moment to imagine yourself cleaning another part of him in this manner. You pulled from his fingers with a pop and let your mouth hang open slightly as he drew his middle finger over your bottom lip. “Gonna find out what that pretty mouth feels like later… Don’t think I can wait much longer right now though…” His voice was a deep umber, molten iron through your veins. A shiver spiked down your spine and radiated through your belly.

“Please Dean…” You murmur, “Please…” Your hands drag down his torso, catching on the button to his jeans again. He stared at you entranced, before nodding dumbly. His hands met yours as he helped unbutton the jeans with ease. You bit your lip as you finally freed his member and gasped softly. You had heard him joke on more than one occasion with his brother or friends that he was well endowed. That he had earned his cocky confidence with women when he had a roll in the hay. But no jokes had prepared you for what he was now displaying to you.

He was thick, long, and uncut. It twitched heavily under your watchful gaze and you looked up at him breathless once your eyes raced the length of veins. You pulled the jeans and boxers down his thick thighs before your lips crashed into his again as Dean laid you back down on the bed. His hips nestled between your thighs made you both sigh at the rightness you felt.

This was where Dean was meant to be. Your souls sang as he kissed you deeply. You dropped one of your hands between your bodies and gently dragged your fingers over the firm shaft. You rocked your hips slightly before lining him to your entrance. Dean nibbled at your throat as he thrust towards you carefully and felt your tight heat envelop him. You panted softly as your body accepted him, with each thrust bringing you closer together.

Dean moved slowly, reverently, as he kissed your lips as if you were his very breath itself. You clung to him as he rolled his hips into yours and ground against your sensitive bud. Your nails bit Dean’s back as he carefully picked up the pace. Your thighs moved high on his waist, as your moans filled the air along with the squelch of your body taking everything Dean offered you.

“So perfect Baby Girl,” He groaned, “Everything I prayed for, you’re it Baby.”

You whimpered, words long lost as he picked up the pace and started to pound into you as your walls clenched around his girth. Dean cursed as he felt your climax threaten to envelop you both as his mouth latched on a rigid nipple's bud as his hands gripped your thighs open, pressing your knees to each side of your chest.

You cried out as your back arched, your legs shook, and your walls clamped down on Dean, making it impossible to pull away. He groaned and ground into you, his pelvis smashing down on your bud as he came hard. You realized you were chanting his name as you came down, arms wrapped around his shoulders as you both panted hard as you caught your breath. Dean didn’t move from you as he peppered you with butterfly soft kisses as he murmured praises. Your fingers ran through his now damp hair as he settled a bit above you, leaning on one arm as he looked down at you in amazement.

“I should have done this forever ago…” He murmured with a wry grin. You laughed softly and nodded before kissing the big idiot above you and pulling him down into the bed.

Neither of you missed the grumbled complaint from the apartment over and you flushed crimson. “Mister Jenkins probably hates me now.” You murmured bashfully.

Dean scoffed and shook his head, “It’s impossible to hate you,” He murmured and kissed your nose, “But he definitely doesn’t like me now.” He chuckled with a smug grin.

You shushed him and smiled as he pulled you close to him, arms wrapping around you as you both got comfortable. He took a deep breath in before kissing the crown of your head, “Please never wonder if I love you Baby Girl… You are my world, forever and always.” He murmured softly in the dark.

You smiled into his chest and kissed over his heart, “My heart is yours forevermore.” You murmured as you felt sleep pull you away from the conversation. Your senses were filled with the man you adored, a fanciful thought actually fulfilled as you lay in his arms. And to imagine- this was real, this man really loved you… You wouldn’t waste another moment with him, never again.

Masterlist

my favorite fucking trope is chubby!reader living your life completely oblivious to the fact that the literal man of your dreams is in love with you and you're none the wiser.

like - you just traipse through life like "well he wouldn't like me back so it's wtv" all nonchalant and shit while the poor man is literally falling over himself trying to get it through your head that HEYYY that's not right??? i'm literally in love with you??? i worship the ground you walk on???? i'll do whatever you want????

and bless your heart, you see every single time he tries to hit on you as an act of kindness:

"awww, he got me (insert fav food here) cus i said i was hungry, what a nice guy!"

"he complimented my outfit! he must've liked the color of my shirt!"

"wow, he seems to be zoning out a lot, i hope he's okay!" (he's been staring at your lips for the past five minutes)

and he just... doesn't know what to do to make you see what he sees.

like you're so gorgeous and funny and why wouldn't he like you??

he's convinced that if he were to stand in front of you and tell you he loves you, you'd be like, "I love you too! you're such a good friend!"

(which has happened before and a little part of him died inside)

it literally takes him everything in his power to make you realize his feelings, and you just stand there for a moment, seemingly connecting the dots over the past few months, and all you can come up with is a small, dumb, "oh."

lord give him the strength.

[spnfic85]

Oh my heart...

[spnfic85]

another thot before my lecture begins in 7 minutes—

desperately needing a place to stay for the duration of the next few semesters of college but rent being unreasonably high so your dad's old friend, John Price, offers up his property for free because he owes your dad a favour and he just wants somebody to look after it until he gets back from a particularly long deployment.

and it works out well for the most part. the apartment is not only close to campus, it's also in a quiet neighborhood so you don't have to worry about noisy neighbours. and the best part? it's free.

cut to when he finally comes back from work and you're suddenly faced with how different your dad's friend is. you don't remember him having a beard, nor do you remember him being this... large. broad shoulders. big hands. deep, gravel voice that makes you feel warm in all the wrong places.

he stops by the first time to come and check up on the place (and you) and is pelasantly surprised to see that you haven't burned the place down. in fact, it's in better condition than he left it. much cleaner, more lively, more... you.

and suddenly, John doesn't mind having someone in his space. he doesn't mind the frilly pillows on the couch and the new curtains. it certainly smells much nicer too.

he enjoys the smell of homemade food and likes seeing you tend to the flowers you planted in his backyard.

"i hope you don't mind. i thought they'd liven the place up." you explained nervously when he saw the patch of plants sprouting from the ground.

"not at all." he smiles. "adds a nice touch."

he suddenly sees why a woman's touch matters so much to his house. and just for that, he plans to make you a permanent roommate.

just put the new ring on and sign right here on the marriage certificate, sweetheart—

[spnfic85]

Love this 🥰

I'm not on my writing blog but fuck it, I'm tired and this is extremely self indulgent.

Plus size reader x König blurb thing. Super short.

You just came home after a painfully long day of walking around and doing a lot of physical movement and you're exhausted. You had to walk home and by the time you get to the door you're ready to collapse.

But when you open the door and find your crazy tall Austrian boyfriend standing in front of the door like an excited puppy, something makes the tiredness go away. He'd heard you coming up the driveway and immediately went to the door to greet you.

When König sees the exhaustion and sweat on your face, he knows how to help his favorite girl. He lets you walk in the door before scooping you up bridal style, which is a welcome comfort on your aching feet, and bringing you to the couch.

"Meine kleine maus, let me help." God his voice could lull you to sleep right now, and you don't want him to leave.

"Baby... Stay." You tiredly make grabby hands for him, not caring how silly it looks. You just want your warm, comfortable man.

He chuckles and plops down on the couch beside you, refusing to cuddle until your shoes are off, which they were feeling kind of tight, and your coat is off. Then he gladly pulls you onto his lap and wraps his arms around your soft tummy, pulling your back against his comfortable chest. He rests his chin on your head, his large hands softly rubbing your sides and tummy.

Within seconds, the stress of being over tired and sore seems so insignificant compared to your large lover's warmth. You'll have a hot shower later, but for now you'll just enjoy this.