#Sam/OFC

[ani-coolgirl]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Brief Sam Winchester/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Sibling Incest, Pegging, Voyeurism, Voyeur Sam Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, brief cunnilingus, Masturbation, Denial Series: Part 7 of Kinktober 2023 Summary:

Kinktober 2023: voyeurism & pegging

One guy gets pegged, the other guy watches. It's not to weird.

Until it is.

[spitefulsatanfics]

“Ain’t Nothing Subtle ‘Bout the Way He Loves Her”

Word Count: 4,631

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Setting: Supernatural, Season 2 (set shortly after “Born Under a Bad Sign”)

Tones: ☑ Fluff ☑ Domestic Love (as domestic as hunters get) ☑ Pre-established Relationship ☑ Found Family Vibes ☑ Lovesick!Dean who tries so hard to be cool ☑ Reader overhears how gone he is for her and melts

Synopsis:

⸻

When Dean brings Y/N to the Roadhouse for the first time, it’s just supposed to be a pitstop. A beer, a burger, maybe a tip on the next hunt. But Ellen’s no fool, and Ash doesn’t miss much either—and neither of them can help but notice the way Dean’s entire world shifts a little when Y/N walks in the room. He’s trying to be cool. Chill. The guy. But when the woman you love knows how to stitch a wound, kill a wendigo, and laugh at your worst jokes? Well, you’re gonna talk about her. A lot. Y/N overhears every soft confession, every bashful brag. And when Dean finds out? Let’s just say… the flustered hunter is real.

⸻

“Ain’t Nothing Subtle ‘Bout the Way He Loves Her”

The sun was dying slow and gold behind the Colorado hills when the Impala pulled up outside the Roadhouse. Dust rose soft around her tires like the place itself was exhaling—welcoming, wary, watching. It was the kind of spot that made your boots feel heavier and your shoulders feel lighter, if you knew what to do with a whiskey and had something worth bleeding for.

Dean popped the driver’s door, stepping out with his usual lean-and-stretch maneuver. The leather jacket creaked, the air smelled like beer, old pine, and maybe a dash of demon stink from some nearby town they’d just cleared out. But for once, his muscles weren’t tight with mission or guilt. Instead, his eyes flicked to the passenger door where she sat, legs tucked under her, hair wild from the wind.

“Y’ready for the madness?” he grinned, cocking a brow.

Y/N stepped out, slamming the heavy door closed behind her. “Please. I’ve seen you try to eat gas station sushi. I think I can handle your friends.”

Dean laughed—full and unguarded, the kind of laugh that made him look five years younger and a little more like the boy his mom remembered.

Inside, the Roadhouse was alive with the usual hum. Darts clinked. Glasses thudded. Ash’s ridiculous hair bobbed behind the bar as he scrolled something on his ancient laptop. Ellen looked up from a rag she was wringing out, sharp eyes landing on Dean. Then on the woman walking in beside him.

And like a switch flipped, her entire face changed.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Ellen said, a grin crawling slow across her face. “Dean Winchester, bringing a date into my bar?”

Dean instantly stiffened. “She’s not a date, she’s—”

Y/N was already giggling. “Don’t worry, Ellen. I know how hopeless he is with labels.”

That got a laugh from Jo, who popped out from the back room like she’d been waiting for the curtain to rise. “He’s definitely hopeless, alright.”

Dean groaned. “Great. A tag team.”

But Ellen wasn’t done. She came around the bar and sized Y/N up like a general inspecting a new recruit. Her eyes were sharp, measuring—but kind beneath it all. “You hunt?”

Y/N nodded. “My dad started me off with salt rounds and silver before I was potty trained.”

That got Ellen’s respect. She reached out to shake her hand.

Dean, behind them, tried so hard to play it cool. Just nods, casual, stoic. But his eyes betrayed him. Every second, he was checking Y/N’s face. Watching her reaction. Smiling like he’d swallowed the goddamn sun.

And Ellen saw it. Oh, she saw it.

⸻

An hour in and Dean had loosened up. The gang had made room at their usual table, drinks flowing, stories flying. Jo was trying to one-up Y/N with old salt-burn tales. Ash was explaining the finer points of demon detection with his “genius-level IQ,” which basically meant “I drink beer and hack things.”

And Dean?

Dean was floating. One arm over the back of Y/N’s chair, one leg half tangled with hers. He wasn’t even subtle. Whenever she laughed at something Jo said, he grinned like he’d won a war. Every time she reached for her beer, he was already sliding it closer.

Ellen stood at the bar, arms folded, watching the whole damn thing like it was a soap opera.

“You ever seen him like this?” she asked quietly to Ash.

Ash didn’t even look up from his screen. “Never. Dude’s whipped.”

⸻

Later, Y/N excused herself to the bathroom, and Dean got up to grab her another drink—leaving her jacket slung over the chair.

That’s when Ellen made her move.

“You got it bad,” she said, flat-out, wiping down the bar in slow circles.

Dean raised a brow. “What?”

She stared him down like a seasoned gunslinger. “Don’t play dumb, sweetheart. You’ve been grinning like an idiot all night. The only time you looked away from her was when you were blinking.”

Dean scoffed, scratched the back of his neck. “She’s cool. That’s all.”

Ellen leaned in. “You called her your girl three times already. And just now? You ordered her drink before she even asked. You don’t do that unless you’ve memorized someone’s whole damn soul.”

Dean blushed.

Actually blushed.

“Oh, man,” Ash mumbled from the end of the bar. “It’s terminal.”

Dean shot him a look. “Bite me.”

But Ellen smiled—soft now, not teasing. Just… knowing.

“She makes you happy, doesn’t she?” she asked.

Dean looked down at the bar top, swirling the condensation off his beer bottle with one finger.

“Yeah,” he said. “She does.”

And like some cheesy fate-orchestrated moment from a movie?

Y/N had walked up just in time to hear that.

⸻

He didn’t notice right away.

Not until she kissed his cheek when he handed her the beer, still warm from the bottle but even warmer from her lips.

He blinked. “What was that for?”

Y/N just smiled, coy. “Just… felt like it.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “What’d I miss?”

Ellen chuckled under her breath.

Y/N leaned closer, her voice low and honey-smooth: “Nothing, baby. Just glad to be here.”

⸻

Outside, later that night, Dean had her pressed against the Impala, arms on either side, breath puffing warm in the chill.

“You heard me, didn’t you?” he muttered.

Y/N tilted her head. “Heard what?”

Dean groaned. “You know what.”

She laughed. “That you memorized my whole damn soul?”

Dean groaned louder, forehead thumping to her shoulder. “God, kill me now.”

But she pulled him in tighter, fingers sliding into the back of his hair.

“Not a chance,” she whispered. “I kinda like lovesick Dean.”

Dean grumbled against her neck. “I’m not lovesick.”

“Mm-hmm,” she teased. “Tell that to the three different people you told I’m the best shot you’ve ever seen."

“I stand by that.”

“And that I make better pie than you.”

“Lies. Slander. I was drunk.”

“And that you’d give up the Impala if it meant keeping me safe.” Dean stilled. Pulled back, looked into her eyes.

“I meant that one,” he said, voice low.

Her breath caught. “Dean…”

He leaned in. Kissed her soft. Then whispered against her lips, “Ain’t nothing subtle about the way I love you, sweetheart.”

⸻

Author’s Note:

Thank you for reading, you sinfully sweet sugar demons! If you ever wondered what it would look like if Dean tried not to be totally whipped in public and failed? This is it. Thank you for loving these soft moments with me, for believing in the kind of peace a hunter might dare to touch. Until next time, keep the pie warm and the Impala fuelled.

Love always, Little Devil 🖤🔥

[adhd-winterfalcon]

young sam wilson having a crush on james “bucky” barnes of the howling commandos during his WWII unit in school vs adult sam wilson dating and eventually marrying bucky barnes wilson…

do you see my vision

[winchestergifs]

The real question is who are you? What do you mean who am I?

DEAN WINCHESTER SEASON 1 ✫ 2005-2006

[edwardsdeathcabcd]

i've said it before but it will forever and always make me insane that jacob's ending is to join the cullens for the sake of bella not having to give anything up. they find out jake will be immortal & tied to renesmee forever, so bella gets to smile & say "my family is finally complete! ^-^" but jake already HAS a family. he has a father and 2 sisters. quil, embry, seth and sam are like his brothers. jacob and leah were planning to run away together. he's always been welcome in emily's home, sue has been a family friend since before his birth. bella abandons her mortality by choice because she feels no connection to the people around her, but jacob has really strong bonds. it's clear that every character we meet in la push is like family to him, he's an active member of the community. jake would've graduated high school and been a mechanic, would've grown into a young man. a good friend, a fun uncle, a present son. he's set up to have such a rich life. and he's just magically compelled to give that up. beyond his control, he loses sight of everything, because his high school crush's baby is now the singular most important thing to him. he's perpetually 18 with his perpetually 18 year old girlfriend, running around vancouver or alaska or wherever with the girl who friendzoned him at 16 & her in-laws (who were antagonistic to him for months). and i'm just supposed to say omg yay now he doesn't have to let go of bella! everyone is happy! it's complete madness

[phrysic]

dean smoking a fag

[khaoala]

I was lost. I was in a dark way and... I was thinking about...

SAM REID as LESTAT DE LIONCOURT and JACOB ANDERSON as LOUIS DE POINTE DU LAC episode 8 of INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE

[claudiadpdl]

is this the official sign that we've made it

[bvrtysbvtches]

sometimes a found family is the son of satan, a gay angel, his husband, and A Guy™

[sofiaruelle]

Just a couple of besties with matching missing 2 front teef~

[starrylanex]

shower power — sam winchester

kinktober day 1, summary - after a long hunt, sam pulls you into the shower at a shared motel room, where dean could walk in. his large hands grip your hair as he takes you against the shower wall, making you keep quiet. warnings - no use of y!n, lower case intended. word count - 1,5k. take me back to main kinktober masterlist;

hiii angels, i feel like this sucks because i rushed it:((((

——

the door of the motel room shut behind you with a thud, the click of the lock barely audible over the pounding of your heart. all three if you had been through hell tonight—blood, sweat, and tension thick in the air—but even after the hunt, something more primal lingered between you. it had been building for days. maybe weeks.

dean's voice drifted behind you to the other side of the room, muttering something about the bed and the tv, but you couldn't focus. you needed a shower, something to wash away the grime—and the tension that coiled tightly in your chest.

without a word, you made your way to the bathroom. the door creaked open, and you barely had a chance to turn on the water when you felt sam's presence behind you. before you could say anything, he locked the bathroom door behind him and his large hand gripped your arm, pulling you back into the small space with him.

"sam," you whispered, barely able to get his name out before he backed you against the tiled wall in the shower, the cold seeping through your clothes as his lips crashed down on yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

"shh," he murmured against your lips, his voice a low, gravelly warning. "dean's right outside." his hand slid up to your jaw, his thumb pressed against your cheek and the rest of his fingers spread to where your head met the neck, not squeezing, but holding you in place as his lips moved to your ear, teeth grazing your skin. "you're gonna have to be quiet."

your breath hitched as his words sent a thrill through you. you were planning on taking care of yourself in the shower, not wanting to disturb sam, but apparently he had the same idea, as his other hand was already working on your clothes, rough and fast, tugging them away as if they were in his way—because they were. and the moment the both of you undressed each other, throwing shirts and pants away, the shower sputtered to life, the perfect temperature water hitting your skin, already forgotten in the heat of the moment.

sam pressed you harder against the wall, his broad frame caging you in. his hands found their way back to the both sides of your face, cradling you. you bit down on your bottom lip to keep from making a sound, but when one of his hand slipped between your legs, and teased your already wet and sensitive lips, a gasp escaped your throat.

"quiet," he growled, his voice thick with desire as his long middle finger moved, sliding up and down on you, his other hand still gripping your jaw, tilting your head back. his lips found your throat, sucking and biting hard enough to leave marks that would last for days. "or he'll hear everything."

you whimpered, trying to stay as quiet as you could, nodding as his hand left your jaw and grabbed your leg, pulling it around his waist. the pressure of his body against yours had you already seeing stars, the friction of his long finger making it nearly impossible to stay silent. every stroke, every touch from him sent fire through your veins, even when he still hadn't entered you properly.

"sammy please," you whisper, bringing your hands and gripping his shoulders, head tilted back and eyes closed in pleasure.

sam hums, "please what, sweetheart," he murmurs against your neck close to your ear, his fingers gripped your hip so tight you were sure there'd be bruises tomorrow, but you didn't care. all you could think about was how badly you needed him. the water from the shower sprayed around you both, the heat adding to the intensity of the moment, but it did nothing to cool the burning inside you.

"i need you inside of me, please, sammy, please" you whimper, pleasure given just from his finger slowly building up.

sam's lips were on you again, his tongue sweeping across your bottom lip before his teeth grazed it. "you like this, don't you?" he whispered, his breath ragged. "the thought of dean being able to hear, the risk of us being caught." his hand tightened on your jaw, not enough to hurt you, but enough to manhandle you, pulling your head back to look into his eyes. "you love it."

you could only nod, your throat too tight with need to speak. your body ached for him, every touch sending you spiraling, but his control over you, the way he made you desperate and yet forced you to stay quiet, only made the moment more intense. water poured over the two of you, slowly washing away the dirt.

"alright then," he murmured, "let me take care of you sweetheart." he said and with swift movements he picked you up wrapping your legs around his waist, you whined as you felt his finger disappear from your cunt, but let out a gasp as soon as you felt him align his already pulsing cock against your entrance. you wanted to moan, to plead him to do it faster but you knew if you did dean would hear, so you stayed quiet, wrapping your hands around the back of his neck.

he then kissed you, like a man starving, nothing about this kiss was soft, teeth clashing and pulling, without a warning sam thrust into you, hard and full as he bottomed out, your gasp and his groan being swallowed by each others mouths. you couldn't hold on to him like this anymore so you brought your left hand to rest on the wall nearest you, which happened to be the glass.

sam did not waist any more second. his forehead pressed to yours, his jaw clenched as he fought for control. his thrusts were slow, deliberate at first, drawing out every sensation, every wave of pleasure. you could feel his breath on your lips, heavy and ragged, as he fought to keep himself quiet, too. you bit down on his shoulder to muffle the sound that threatened to escape as he picked up his pace, your nails digging into his back. each movement was rougher, more intense, his control unraveling with every second.

the tension in the room was heavy enough that you could cut it with a knife, the sound of water hitting the tile barely enough to drown out your heavy breaths, as sam continued to thrust into you, the eye contact with him was intensifying the aura around. you were both teetering on the edge, desperately trying to stay silent, but it was impossible to contain the raw energy that was about to break between you.

you cant contain your moan as he shifts and now hitting your gspot repeatedly, all you could thing about was him, sam, sam, sam, sam, sam as the pleasure built up.

"fuck," sam grunted, his head dropping to your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin. his hand snaked up to cover your mouth, his lips pressing to your ear. "i said... keep quiet."

you nodded, not being able to say anything e,se as your mouth hang open behind his hand but no sound came out, eyes rolling back as he thrust harder, his pace relentless now. the pressure built inside you, and built and built and built, your whole body tightening, but the intensity, the risk, the sheer need that filled the room—it was too much. you could barely hold back the sounds threatening to break free.

sam's grip on you tightened as he growled low in your ear, he could feel you clenching around him, he knew you were close and fuck if you kept clenching around him like that he was sure he would cum right at that moment as his movements becoming erratic, more urgent. and then, you vision blurred, your body shaking with the force of your release as he buried himself deeper into you. the sound of your muffled moan against his hand only spurred him on, his own release crashing through him moments later and right in you. his body trembled against yours, his grip finally loosening as you both came down from the high, the water still pouring over you both.

for a moment, you stayed like that—breathless, tangled together, hearts racing.

then, with a smirk, sam pulled away, his hand still resting on your hip as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

"next time," he whispered, voice hoarse, "we'll get our own room."

you couldn't help but laugh softly, even as you struggled to catch your breath. the sound of dean grumbling from the other room filtered through the door, and you knew he probably heard more than he let on.

but right now, you didn't care. all you could think about was sam—his touch, his intensity—and the way you knew you were already waiting for the next one.

[themessyaofmind]

rewatching CABNW for that one second of Sam riding a missile + him slicing the plane's wing with his wings (mind you, my cap is so fucking hot!),

also for that Bucky cameo (the hug! the I love you buddy!),

and all those moments of Joaquin being the nation little brother (when he played game in that ancient phone and saying Sam used to play that old ass game all the time? that's so little brother of him!)

[spitefulsatanfics]

❝𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍’𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐗 𝐀𝐁𝐂𝐒❞

Dean Winchester x Female Hunter!Reader Rating: 18+ (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT) ⚠️ Warnings: Graphic sexual content, kink discussion, dominant!Dean, soft!Dean, oral sex (f & m receiving), praise kink, overstimulation, slight bondage, aftercare, emotional intimacy, jealousy kink, dirty talk, feral protectiveness, possessiveness, slight degradation, vulnerability, and more (it’s Dean, baby — man’s got layers).

❝𝑰 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑, 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚. 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅. 𝑰 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓.❞

— Dean Winchester, somewhere between love and sin

🜛 A — Aftercare

Dean acts like he doesn’t need it — until he does. And he gives it like it’s second nature.

His voice drops low, raspy with concern as he tucks you into his chest, pressing lips to your forehead like he’s sealing you shut, safe from the world. Calloused hands rub slow, lazy circles over your spine. He’ll clean you up himself if you let him. Bring water. Fix your hair. Stroke it out of your face while whispering soft things like “You did so good for me, sweetheart.”

It’s the one time you ever see Dean not pretend he’s invincible.

🜛 B — Backseat of the Impala

Classic. Sentimental. Dangerous. Holy.

He’s feral when you crawl over the leather, looking back at him like sin wrapped in denim. Your name sounds different when he groans it against the curve of your thigh. The Impala has seen blood, guts, demons, salt — but the look in Dean’s eyes as he ruts into you under the Kansas stars? That’s reverence.

His hands don’t just hold your hips — they claim. Fingers bruising. Panting against your shoulder like he needs to stake his soul on the way you scream his name in his car.

🜛 C — Control

Dean doesn’t play with power lightly. But with you? He devours it.

Being in control doesn’t mean cruelty. It’s calculated, coaxed, sweet-talking you into giving in until you’re begging — not because you have to, but because he’s made it feel good to let go.

He ties your wrists with his belt when he’s really feeling like a menace. Growls things like “I got you, baby. Don’t even try to think tonight.”

And you don’t. You can’t. Not with him above you like that — dripping devotion between every filthy word.

🜛 D — Dirty Talk

Dean is fluent in filth. But his filth loves you.

“God, look at you,” he murmurs while you ride him, half-broken with pleasure. “Fuckin’ perfect like this, takin’ me so sweet. Made for it, weren’t you?”

He whispers things in your ear that make you shudder. Tells you what you look like. What he’s going to do next. What he wants you to do — and always follows it up with a raspy, “Atta girl.”

🜛 E — Exhibitionism

Dean likes the risk. Motel curtains half-open. Car parked just off the road. Someone might see. Hell, he wants them to.

He wants people to know he’s the one making you cry out like that. Wants to fuck you in your hunter's gear, boots on, still smelling like gunpowder and sweat.

It’s primal. Territorial. He wants the world to know you’re his without having to say a damn word.

🜛 F — Face-Sitting

His favorite throne? Your thighs.

Dean worships from below like it’s the only prayer he believes in. He growls when you try to squirm off. His grip bruises your hips as he pulls you back down, voice thick with hunger.

“Nuh-uh, princess. You stay right here. Gonna make you come ‘til your legs shake.”

🜛 G — Gun Kink

You clean weapons together. You fight side by side. You trade bullets like love notes.

He’s never more turned on than when you’re cocky with a blade or blood-smeared from a hunt. He’s had you against the trunk of the Impala with your gun holster still on — his fingers between your thighs, saying, “Still got one weapon loaded, don’t we, sweetheart?”

🜛 H — Hair Pulling

Dean lives for that grip. Yours in his, his in yours.

You tug on his when he’s eating you out? He groans like it fuels him. He tugs yours when you get mouthy — or when you’re riding him too slow, torturing the both of you.

Hard enough to guide. Soft enough to care.

🜛 I — Intimacy

It’s not just fucking. It’s seeing.

When Dean touches you, he looks you in the eye. Kisses you soft, slow, like you matter. And when you tell him you love him — panting, half-drunk on him — he freezes, like he doesn’t think he deserves it.

But you say it again. And he says it back. Barely a whisper, like it might break him.

🜛 J — Jealousy

Dean doesn’t share. Period.

He’s not proud of it. But he’s honest. When some rookie hunter tries to flirt with you, Dean wraps his arm around your waist so tight you can feel his gun digging into your hip.

Later, he fucks you like he’s rebranding your body — leaving marks, claiming skin, biting your shoulder with a muttered, “Mine. You’re fuckin’ mine.”

🜛 K — Kinks

Let’s summarize the top tier:

Praise kink (King of this)

Light bondage

Oral obsession (giving and receiving)

Overstimulation (especially when you’re already shaking)

Possessiveness/Jealousy

Semi-public sex

Wearing his clothes while he wrecks you

Slight degradation (when he’s angry or desperate)

Hunter gear/knifeplay light aesthetic

🜛 L — Lingerie

He loves it — but rips it off half the time.

Tells you to wear it under your flannel on a hunt. Nearly crashes the car when you show him in the rearview. He’ll mutter curses under his breath like “Fuck, sweetheart, you tryna kill me?”

But he never forgets to tell you you’re beautiful first.

🜛 M — Marking

Dean leaves love bites like warnings.

You’re his. You wear him. Your neck, your thighs, your hipbones — he paints them in his name.

“I want people to see 'em,” he says against your skin. “Want ‘em to know.”

🜛 N — Name Calling

Sweetheart. Baby. Princess. Angel. Gorgeous. Good girl.

And sometimes — only sometimes — “My girl.”

He means it when he says it.

🜛 O — Oral Fixation

He could live between your thighs. Man’s on a mission.

Tongue slow, eyes locked, fingers tight on your hips. He talks you through it. Tells you how you taste. How good you look coming undone on his mouth.

And when you return the favor? He tries to keep eye contact, but ends up with his head thrown back, lips parted, guttural moans falling like prayers.

🜛 P — Possessiveness

He’ll never admit it outright. But he is.

Keeps a hand on your lower back in bars. Eyes follow you like a shadow when you're around other guys. He calls you “his girl” even when it’s just you and him in bed — like a reflex.

He needs to know you’re his, and you let him. Because you want to be.

🜛 Q — Quickies

Before a hunt. In a grimy bar bathroom. Between gas station stops. His hand down your jeans in the Impala.

He doesn’t always have time. But he makes it. And he makes it good.

🜛 R — Rough Sex

When Dean’s emotions run high, the bedroom gets feral.

He slams into you like he’s losing his mind. Grunts out curse words and prayers. Tells you how much he missed you. How fucking good you feel.

He holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. And you are.

🜛 S — Soft Sex

Because Dean isn’t just about rough.

Sometimes he takes his time. Slow grind. Warm touches. Eye contact and gentle kisses and “I love you” said between every stroke.

It’s sacred. Sacred and safe.

🜛 T — Teasing

He’ll edge you until you’re crying — and smirking the whole time.

His voice? Lethal. His fingers? Worse. He’ll pull away right before you fall apart just to hear you beg. And when you finally do? He rewards you.

Beautifully.

🜛 U — Undressing

He loves taking your clothes off — especially after hunts.

Bloody, bruised, breathing hard — he strips you slow. Peels away your layers like gifts. Licks the wounds clean. Worships you like a warrior goddess.

🜛 V — Voyeurism

He doesn’t even mean to sometimes. But you touching yourself? That’s a religious experience for him.

Especially if you whisper his name. Especially if you ask him to join.

Spoiler: he always joins.

🜛 W — Worship

Dean worships you. Your body. Your sounds. Your smile.

His lips trail prayers over your skin. He tells you you're beautiful even when you're sweaty and spent and ruined beneath him.

“You’re everything,” he whispers. “Everything, baby.”

🜛 X — X-Rated Photos

He keeps one Polaroid in his wallet. Secret. Just for him. You in his flannel, nothing else, grinning wicked.

He looks at it when he’s lonely. When he misses you. When he needs to feel you close.

🜛 Y — Yearning

Sex isn’t just sex for Dean. It’s yearning. It’s wanting. It’s need.

He doesn’t always know how to say he loves you — but he’ll spend hours proving it with his body. Fingers memorizing every inch. Lips tracing your name in reverence.

You’re the only one he lets see him like this.

🜛 Z — Zzz / Sleeping Together

Spooning, tangled limbs, his hand on your bare stomach. He sleeps better next to you.

And when he wakes up hard, pressed against you? You know how that story ends.

𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒃𝒚: 𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍 ♡ | Date written and published: 2025™

[oneecheri]

An angry love confession under rain with Dean Winchester!

tw: nothing idk but pure fluff, two idiots in love, sfw, she/her usage in text, reader is younger (he calls her little girl.)

"Stop following me! Stop doing this!" She glared at Dean in fury as he ran a hand through his wet, brown hair. "I'm not following you." He retorted, getting closer to her shaking body. His large build slowly blocked the way. "Get in. It's cold." He said through the rain, hoping to be heard. She shrugged in an attempt to stop him from coming closer. "I don't care! Stop telling me what to do!" She shouted, searching his dark green, captivating eyes. He got only closer, as if it was even possible, ignoring her tries to make some space between them. "Or what?" He asked cockily leaning his head aside. "What are you gonna do, little girl?"

He knew, she hated this nickname he gave and wanted to test the waters. "Don't -" she gritted through her teeth. " - call me that!" Dean's smirk only widened, seeing her furious state. "Stop treating me like a damn teenager!" It was so cute to see her get mad, and she didn't even know how she looked when she was mad. Her eyes would get bigger, her pupils blown wide. Her mouth would be slightly agape, showing her front two teeth. Wet lips would tremble vividly. There would be a pink little cast over her cheeks, and her breathing would get deeper, chest raising and falling wildly.

She swallowed deeply, feeling his intense gaze on her face. She muttered a quick "Whatever." and rolled her beautiful eyes at him. He was, however, quick to hold onto her arm, his grip unwavering yet not painful. Just possessive and borderline obsessed. "Are you afraid?" He whispered, quietly challenging her. She pulled her arm harshly, making him stumble, and their bodies hit each other softly. They were just so close, so close, yet none of them was brave enough to initiate something.

"I'm not afraid of you, Dean!" She murmured. His closeness, his warmth, his tall body, and his wet lashes were making her feel almost dizzy. "Get in the motel." He spoke, his dark greens not leaving her face, desperately trying to convince her. "I won't. " she breathed. They were so close, almost sharing the same air.

"Oh yeah?" He abruptly moved back, getting his jacket off his body. She furrowed her brows, looking at him in confusion. "What are you doing?" Dean was fast to take off his jacket and put over on her head, in an attempt to protect her from the pouring rain. This time, she didn't protest and let him do as he wished.

He held the jacket over her head. She watched his blown pupils, deep breaths, tiny freckles barely visible in the dark, short stubble of a beard and his tan skin. "Why are you doing this?" she asked. Dean's mouth was open, almost struggling to keep his words to himself. "Because -" he began, yet couldn't continue. She waited and waited, but he didn't continue. "I knew it." she said confidently. "You're a coward, Dean." She shouted and turned away from the jacket he was holding over her head, eventually leaving him behind.

As she was stomping hard on the ground and heading back to the motel, she was absolutely getting drenched from the rain. She heard Dean saying something behind her back and his heavy footsteps, yet she was determined not to look back. It was only then, that she got pulled back and felt a soft pair of lips on hers with a gentle whisper. "Because I love you." She found the peace she was looking for. Two stubborn hearts started beating in harmony, under the heavy rain one night.

[holybagelsstuff]

i'd fall for pippin's line ngl

[davilishuuu]

your tfem fanart is exquisite. thank you for all the work you do in transsam nation

You're welcome🫶 always a pleasure to serve my nation

Here's the siblings ever