#Spn x reader

[super-incorrect]

Sam, propping his feet on the table - So, I heard you like bad boys

Y/n - What? No!

Sam, immediately taking his feet off the table - Oh, thank god. That felt terrible

[justiceiswater]

The sheer audacity! im in full agreement with deans assessment!

“I’m sure Y/N will be down in a minute,” Dean said. “Take a seat.” Truthfully he was grateful for this opportunity to scope out your date. “So,” he said, taking a big bite of pizza. “What are your plans for the evening?”

Your date sank into the couch and peered at Dean. “I don’t know. Maybe dinner or something.” They shifted a little and stretched casually. “I’m just looking forward to the end of it, if you know what I mean.” They added a laugh at the end of the sentence and glanced around the room impatiently.

Dean’s eyes narrowed and bored into the person sitting across from him, who clearly had no plan, and no desire to act like they weren’t just interested in a booty call.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean spat.

Your date’s head snapped around to take in the angry and perplexed expression on Dean’s face. “W-what?” they replied, feeling more than a little hesitant due to the stare they were getting.

“Do you have any idea about the chance you’ve got here? There is no one else on this planet like Y/N. And your plan is ‘maybe dinner or something’ and then trying your hardest to get laid? There is no way in HELL I’m letting you take Y/N out. You don’t deserve anything more than a boot up your ass.”

Your date’s mouth dropped open. Clearly they were now regretting what they had said, but there was no way to take it back. They were nearly being crushed by the waves of anger and annoyance radiating off of Dean. “Oh, I–”

Dean stopped up and dusted off his hands. “No, no. You’re done. Let’s go,” he said.

Your date didn’t move and just continued to stare back wide-eyed.

“Now. Get. Out. Before I deliver that boot.”

Your date scrambled up and Dean followed them to the front door, practically slamming it on them in his haste resolve the situation. Now he’d just have to think of a way to tell you that you weren’t going out tonight… at least not with that jackass.

He grabbed the keys to the Impala and sat down, waiting anxiously for you to appear. 

[incorrectanything]

Dean: WAIT Y/N, DON'T LOOK AT MY LAPTOP!

Y/N: Why...?

Dean, sweating: I was doin'.. uhh... adult things on there.

Y/N, glancing at the screen: But this is a Buzzfeed quiz...?

Dean, slamming the laptop down: What Disney Princess I am is none of your business!!

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

first meeting

❤︎ Dean x Seraphine ❤︎

Warnings: I don't believe there are any.

Word Count: 1,919

Dean didn’t even bother asking where Cas had wandered off to. If the angel wanted to babysit another celestial tagalong, fine. Sam mumbled something about the library—“Don’t wait up”—and Dean just grunted, already halfway down the hall.

He was too tired for this shit. Too wired to sleep. His head was buzzing, full of angel politics and Heaven’s next screw-up. He needed a drink. A wall to lean against. Five damn minutes without a holy crisis or emotional minefield.

He pushed open the door to his room and—

Stopped dead.

You were standing there. Back to him. Head tilted. One hand drifting across the edge of his dresser—over old things he never let people touch. The worn leather of Dad’s journal. A photo of him and Sam, sun-faded and bent at the corner. That little carved charm Missouri gave him after she saved his life.

You weren’t touching them like they were trophies. You were touching them like they mattered.

And your hair—Christ. It caught the low light like metal kissed by fire. Rose-gold. The colour of dusk and devotion. Of copper turned soft with time. Your dress matched it, pale and sheer in places, clinging to your body like it had been spun from smoke and silk. You looked like something sacred. Something ancient pretending to be human.

Dean’s fingers twitched toward the pistol tucked in the back of his jeans.

“Alright,” he said, voice low and gravel-worn, like a threat spoken through a prayer. “I don’t know what the hell this is, but you’ve got three seconds to explain before I make you bleed glitter.”

You turned at the sound of his voice. And smiled.

God, that smile.

Like you were looking at something you’d been waiting forever to find. Like you already knew him.

“I was searching for my sister,” you said, voice wrapped in breathless warmth. “But I stumbled upon you instead.”

Dean blinked, slow. Frowned.

“What the hell does that mean?”

You tilted your head, eyes never leaving his. There was nothing sharp in your gaze. Nothing cold. Just a softness that felt like silk pulled across bruised skin. That should’ve made him flinch.

But it didn’t.

“It means,” you said, like you were telling him a secret, “I think I was meant to find you.”

He stared. Harder now. Like squinting might make sense out of all this glow.

“Are you… an angel?” He asked, instantly hating the way the word felt in his mouth—like it didn’t deserve to touch the same air as you.

You laughed. Soft. Distant. Like wind in chapel rafters.

“I was,” you said. “Long ago. Before they gave it a name.”

Dean stepped in then. Slowly. Cautiously. Like you might vanish if he moved too fast. And still—he kept one hand close to his waistband. Just in case. Just in reflex.

“What do you want from me?” He asked, quieter now. Less bark, more bite.

You turned your face toward him fully then, your gaze brushing over him like reverence made flesh.

“Nothing,” you said, as if the word hurt to say. “I only wanted to see you.”

That didn’t sit right.

People didn’t just look at Dean Winchester like that. Not unless they wanted something. Not unless they were trying to fix him or fight him. You looked at him like he was already whole. Like he was something holy in his own right.

Dean’s jaw tensed. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.

“I don’t do… cosmic soulmates, sweetheart,” he muttered. “Whatever kind of ancient love story you’re trying to sell, I’m not buying.”

But even as he said it, his eyes betrayed him. They trailed the curve of your collarbone. The shimmer of light catching in your hair. The way you stood in his room like you belonged in it.

You stepped closer. Bare feet whispering against bunker tile. And then—God help him—you reached out. Just your hand. Just the air between you. But it felt like a choice. Like the universe had tilted and this was the place it had landed.

Dean didn’t move. Couldn’t. Didn’t draw his weapon. Didn’t raise his voice. He just watched you. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like a weapon.

He felt like a man. And that scared him more than anything.

You stepped closer. And closer still.

He didn’t back away. He should have. He always did. That was the rhythm—flirt, deflect, retreat. But you weren’t flirting. You weren’t teasing. You were looking at him like you meant it. Like you knew something about him he didn’t know himself. And when your hand rose—fingers hovering for a breathless second—then brushed against his jaw, featherlight and reverent—

Dean stilled.

His pulse kicked. His throat worked around a breath he hadn’t meant to hold. And before he could stop himself, before logic could drag him back into the armour he wore like skin—

He leaned into it.

It wasn’t conscious. It wasn’t trained. It was reflex. Like something in him had been waiting for that kind of touch all his life and didn’t know it until now. Your fingertips skimmed the stubble on his cheek, soft as dusk. He could feel the chill of your skin and the heat beneath it. And then—he looked down.

And you looked up. Eyes wide. Luminous. Flicking between his own like you were memorising the colour of them. Like you didn’t want to miss a single shift in their shade. You scanned the whole of his face—his brow, his lashes, the faint scar near his temple—and whispered:

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Dean scoffed immediately. A sharp exhale through his nose, more armour than breath. He turned his head a fraction, pulled back just enough to frown.

“Yeah, okay. Time to shut that down, sparkles.”

But your expression didn’t change. Not the awe. Not the softness. If anything, you looked confused. Almost… pained.

“Don’t you see it?” You asked. Voice like a violin string, trembling with truth. “Don’t you see how good you are?”

Dean laughed. It was small. Bitter. A single note of disbelief that echoed too loud in the room.

“Lady, you’ve clearly got the wrong Winchester.”

But you didn’t move.

You stepped forward instead—just one, breath-close now, your frame nearly pressed to his. You were small. Delicate. You barely came to his collarbone, and his mind flickered—just for a second—to the thought that he could probably lift you with one hand. Cradle the back of your neck and hold you up like prayer. Carry you around the bunker just to feel your weight against him.

The thought hit him square in the chest. Uninvited. Hot.

Shit.

You tilted your face up again, and your voice dropped even softer.

“You are the brightest light I’ve ever been around.”

He blinked. Once. Twice.

“You’re kidding, right?”

But you weren’t looking at him like it was a joke. You were looking at him like it was the truth. Like you were stunned by the sight of him. Like you were witnessing something.

“I’ve spent my entire life around the First Light.” You smiled, soft and aching. “So that’s saying something.”

And that—that—was when it clicked. Dean felt the shift in his chest before his brain caught up. The words looped. First Light. The way Cas had said it earlier. The reverence in his voice.

His eyes narrowed. He stepped back half a beat, hands falling uselessly to his sides.

“…Wait. First Light. You said you were looking for your sister.”

You blinked, gaze never leaving his.

“She’s here, isn’t she?” You asked gently. “Aurelia.”

Dean swore under his breath. Low. Barely audible.

“Son of a bitch.”

You tilted your head again, that smile curving like you already knew what he was about to say.

“You’re her sister.”

“I am,” you said.

Dean stared. And you—standing in his room like a rosegold daydream—just smiled like dawn and destruction were the same thing.

“You’re her sister,” he said again, trying to anchor himself in something that made sense.

“I am,” you murmured. “But I’m not just her sister.”

He ran a hand down his face. “Okay. Cool. More cryptic angel crap. Awesome.”

That got a little laugh out of you. Not mocking. Just amused. Like watching a toddler throw a tantrum in a cathedral.

He dropped his hand and narrowed his eyes at you. “You got a name, or should I just start calling you Hallmark?”

You tilted your head slightly, curls slipping over your shoulder like poured light.

“My name is Seraphine.”

Dean blinked. Like the name had a flavour. It did. Something sweet. Something ancient. It felt like the breath before a kiss.

He scoffed again, trying to get the air back in his lungs. “Of course it is.”

You didn’t take the bait. You just looked at him. Like he was already something you loved. And that was the problem.

He could handle desire. Lust. Hell, he’d spent half his life wrapping himself in it. But the way you were looking at him now—like he was known, like he was chosen—that cut deep. That crawled under his ribs and stayed there.

He crossed his arms. Defensive now. Annoyed at how warm his chest felt.

“Well, Seraphine,” he said, all dry bite and bravado, “you want me to take you to your sister or what?”

You blinked once. Slow. As if you had to pull yourself back to the question. Then—softly, like petals hitting marble—you shook your head.

“No,” you said. “I want to stay with you.”

Dean froze. The words hit harder than they should have. Simple. Gentle. True. And it rattled him.

“…You just got here,” he muttered, looking anywhere but your face.

“I know.”

Dean’s arms crossed tighter.

“You don’t even know me,” he said again, gruff, like saying it enough times would make it true.

But you didn’t argue.

You stepped forward again—slow, deliberate—and stood fully in his space now. Flush. Close enough that he could see the faint shimmer clinging to your skin, like you’d been dusted in starlight and hadn’t noticed. Close enough that he could smell roses and honey and something older—something like the air just before a thunderstorm.

“I do know you,” you said. Not in defence. Not in plea. Just quiet certainty. “Because I knew what you were made of before you were ever born.”

Dean flinched. Just a twitch of his brow. His breath went still.

“…You wanna explain that one?”

You tilted your face up to him. Eyes wide, shimmering. And this time, you looked at him not just like you knew him—but like you remembered him.

“I told you I was once an angel,” you began, voice like silk dipped in gold. “But that was a long time ago. Before angels had wings. Before language had names for things like me.”

Dean swallowed.

“Aurelia,” you continued, “was the first spark of light. The beginning of all things. She is the start of the song.”

Your hand hovered over your chest, gentle.

“But I came after her. Not to follow. To balance. I am not light.” You paused. “I am what light aches for.”

Dean’s heart thudded. Too loud. Too fast.

“I am the first embodiment of love,” you said softly. “Not the kind you speak of in vows. Not the safe kind. The true kind. The kind that creates galaxies. That breaks empires. That bends gods and men alike.”

Your voice grew quieter with each word. Not weaker. Just closer.

“I’ve burned with it. Wept for it. Watched it tear the sky apart and mend it with a kiss.”

Dean couldn’t look away.

“I was the first emotion. The first ache. The first prayer whispered into the dark.”

You met his eyes again, and this time your smile was almost shy. Almost human.

“And somehow, after all this time… you make me feel it again.”

It hit him like a gut punch. Dean stared at you, jaw slack, throat tight. He didn’t have a box to put that in. Didn’t have a wall tall enough to keep it out.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

You tilted your head, smiling softly. “No,” you whispered. “Just Seraphine.”

A/N: I love her. I absolutely love her. She's so soft and she's gonna piss Dean off so much, but he's gonna love having someone who only sees the good in him, eventually. When he finally realises that, yes, he deserves that.

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @cevansbaby-dove @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l @liiiilsss <3

[prettybbybruise]

Whenever I’m sad or stressed I watch supernatural bloopers, my boys always make me smile 💕🥹

[wetsocksinbed]

no words just 2005 Dean Winchester

[sacr1ficialang3l]

LITTLE MISS SCARE-ALL

Introducing… vampire-rockstar!reader ✮⋆˙

✮⋆˙nyx is the nickname the townsfolk had given her after they all realized no one really knew her name. It fits, though. After all, she is their goddess. 

✮⋆˙nyx is rock n roll personified. Tight little leather skirts and flimsy little tank tops. Knee-high boots that could squash you if she wanted to, long red nails that somehow don’t inconvenience her when she decides to play the guitar for a lucky crowd, always smelling of vodka and cigarette smoke and power.

✮⋆˙nyx is a force of nature, an unstoppable beast, but she is also just a pretty girl that wants to have fun and make people jump along to her music. Dean will soon realize that she is not like other vamps he knows, and that he is not immune to her spellbinding aura. 

✮⋆˙nyx will crash her way into the Winchester’s lives, and her fangs will sink in deep into the older one’s heart, no matter how much he tries to stop it. After all, he had never met a daughter of the legendary Count Orlok. 

✮⋆˙The Winchesters are not ready for Nosferatu’s wild, ravishing, fierce rockstar daughter, but she is coming, and no one can stop her. 

TONIGHT'S SETLIST:

✮ Black No.1 - Type O Negative

✮ Runaway - Bon Jovi

✮ The Rain Song - Led Zeppelin

✮ Closer - Nine Inch Nails

NOTES: so, I'm trying something different with this! this will be a mini-series and the first part will come out soon! I've been working pretty hard on this because I loved the concept and I can't wait for you all to meet Nyx<3

TAGS: @littlesoulshine @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @h8aaz @otteropera @xoswiftieprincess @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery <3

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

[stargazedwinchester]

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `steady hands, dean winchester

Summary: You help Dean overcome a panic attack. Word Count: 739

“Shit!” you scream as the vengeful spirit dashes you across the room, thrashing your head on the plasterboard, causing you to tumble onto the floor. You’re weak, your whole body shaking beneath you. The spirit approaches you, its face full of distress and misery. Heart racing, he reaches toward your chest and plunges his hand toward your ribs, making you cry out in pain.

Where the fuck are Sam and Dean?

-

Dean has a gut feeling that something terrible is about to happen. Adrenaline rushes through his head as they finally burn the ghost’s body, which had been terrorizing the new residents. Dean knew to get back to you.

As soon as the match greets the gasoline, Dean shoots off to the Impala, Sam hurrying behind him.

-

You lie there, half unconscious. You hear footsteps approaching you with muffled voices. “Y/N?” Dean kneels before you, his hands on your shoulders. He lifts you up so you’re sitting with your back against the wall. You hiss in pain. The damage that the ghost has done felt irreparable. Dean sits at your level, his eyes complete with panic and anxiety. “Y/N?” He begs, noticing you’re trying your damndest to respond, hell, trying to stay awake. He taps your cheek, gaining your attention. “Baby, please…” He calls, his voice cracking slightly. Sam paces behind him, his phone pressed to his ear. Your feet feel like static, a million little needles travelling up your legs, numbing your whole body. Everything goes dark. “Sammy, she’s not responding!” Dean frets, his cheeks burning bright red with fear of losing you. He scrambles through the inner pockets of his jacket, searching for his flask. He twists open the bottle and pours a small amount of holy water over your face. It’s cold enough for you to regain consciousness, and your eyes meet his perturbed ones. Dean takes a tremendous sigh of relief, sitting fully on the floor, his hands covering his eyes as he goes to lie flat on his back.

Sam insists on leaving the room to give you both some space. He was worried about your health, of course, so Bobby was talking him through on what to do to help you gain consciousness again. It takes you a little bit of time to come around, and you lock eyes with Dean, who’s now sitting up watching you with wide, cautious eyes. He seems stiff, like he’s paralysed with consternation. You’re winded, but it doesn’t stop you from crawling over to Dean, who looks like he’s struggling to breathe. “Dean?” You call him softly, and he just glances at you before staring down at the floor. “You okay?” You run a hand through his hair. He gulps.

“I almost lost you,” his voice breaks. His whole body visibly shaking from terror. Dean’s breathing becomes more apparent. Uncontrollable. Dean has suffered irreplaceable losses. He wasn’t careful enough when it came to you.

“Dean, baby, listen to me.” You instruct. “I’m okay, I’m just winded. I’m not hurt. Okay?” Dean doesn’t respond, so you place yourself right next to him, rubbing his back. “I want you to try something with me,” you soothe him, and he hardly nods. “Take a deep, slow breath in through your nose, then out through your mouth, baby. Ready?” You attempt to show him how to calm himself down. His shaky breaths break your heart seeing him so vulnerable and upset. You repeat this process a few more times, rubbing his back for reassurance. “I’m here, Dean. You’re okay.” You lull, using your opposite hand to cup his face and place a kiss on his cheek. He looks over at you, and you’re smiling at him with comfort, hoping that he knows that when he struggles, he’s not alone. That you’ll always be by his side, no matter what.

“I love you.” Dean makes out, and you nod in agreement. “I love you too.” You place a long kiss on his temple. He huffs with relief before standing up, grabbing both of your hands and helping you up too. He opens his arms to engulf you in a hug, and you don’t hesitate to wrap yourself around him, inhaling his scent and feeling completely at ease when you touch. Dean plants a kiss atop your head, his hand scrunched in your hair. His grip indicates he’s not ready to let you go.

He never wants to let you go.

[dollyfetti]

🎀 apparently u guys love my late at night drabbles so here we go! manifesting attracting spn fandom oohhmmmmm

okay but dean winchester with a gf who has a case of daddy issues

unedited, nsfw, praise kinks, “daddy” kink, oral (f!receiving), sex, idk i’ll add the rest in the morning !

dean just sees himself within you— and not in the cheesy movie way where he looks into your eyes and sees his own..

it’s the way you silently ask for him to praise you, to acknowledge what you’ve done, even if it’s something as simple as cooking breakfast. you constantly need his attention, but thankfully, you’re not desperately clingy. it’s more so in a “hey do you still like me or am i annoying” manner. but either way, he’s always thought of you as a sweet, gentle soul that just yearned to be loved.

little does he know, you think the same of him. he was just a boy who experienced too much at a young age.

anywho, you’d given him bits and pieces of your relationship with your father. you had muttered to him at your most vulnerable state about how your entire life, you’ve always had a weird perception of men. it’s not that you didn’t like them, some were fine. though with all, you were just… not yourself.

then you had shaken your head, wanting to drop the conversation as soon as you said those stupid words. “not myself”. you practically shriveled up in embarrassment.

but he doesn’t mind. if anything, he wanted to hear more, but he didn’t push it.

dean wanted to fill that void in your life. he was more than glad to be the man you looked up to, who you admired. and a bonus, if he could be that for you, you would stick around. you’d never leave him and he’d make you proud. he would be the absolute best, strongest gentleman you’d ever seen.

well. in his eyes, a big strong manly man did not resemble him at all in this moment.

“fuuuck..” you mewl, your hands gripping your boyfriend’s moist shoulders as you ride him with all your might. his face was twisted in his usual lust filled way, his eyes squeezed shut as tiny groans and whimpers fell from his mouth— not that he even realized. you were glad, cuz he’d definitely force them down if he did, and it was like music to your ears you never wanted to end.

“ohh.. thank you..!” you squeak, bouncing on him with heavy breaths. “th- thank you, dad- dean… it’s so good…”

it’s a very quickly fixed error, but even in his dizzy, dumb state, dean caught it.

his hands on your hips tightened before sliding down and squeezing large handfuls of your ass, earning a delicious moan from you. “wha- what’s so good, baby?” he gruffs, wanting to hear more as his hips buck up feverishly.

you respond immediately, leaning down to press kisses along his neck and jaw. “you.. you you you..”

dean lets out another small whimper, his eyes opening and watching your tits bounce mesmerizingly in front of his face. he swallows hard, looking up with an eager gaze as he guides you up and down his dick. “yeah?” he hums lightly, almost unsure of what you’re saying.

“you’re so good..” you mutter, not even knowing the effect it would have on your “manly brute” of a boyfriend.

you gasp at the loss as he quickly pulls you off him, shoving you down on your back against the squeaky mattress. your eyes widen, chest heaving as you watch him slither down between your disgustingly messy thighs.

you whine as he kisses your inner thigh, picking up your head to stare at him. “oh- baby, what are you-”

“call me daddy.” he demands before licking a long stripe up your clenching pussy. you gasp again, your eyes squeezing shut instinctively. shyness floods you, and you drop your head back down against the bed with a breathy moan.

his eyes dart up to you, his thick leaky cock beginning to rut against the sheets like a horned up teen. “say it. please.” he grunts, his breath fanning your sensitive cunt before delving right in, his nose purposefully bumping your clit as he slurps your juices, not even waiting for you to say anything.

you moan loudly, your hands squeezing the bedsheets tightly. “oh god, daddy!” you whine, your hips twitching at all the stimulation, a hand coming to tug on his hair. the tight grip of your fingers curling around his locks cause a delighted hiss to slip past him, his mouth only opening wider.

“yesyesyesyes…” you babble, the squelchy gushes of your pussy and dean’s skilled tongue louder than your own voice. “mmph- i love you!”

dean groans, his tongue laying flat on your clit, shaking his head side to side quickly before replying, “i love you, sweetheart” right against you.

[castiwls]

Dean Winchester, who is just sooo obsessed with you. Like he just thinks your the most perfect thing he's ever met. He sticks to you like a limpet whenever you're not in a life-threatening situation.

He's always finding a way to touch you, dragging you into his lap whenever your trying to research, small teasing kisses against your skin which slowly become more insistent. Kisses become his teeth scraping against your skin, red marks blossoming as whatever book you'd been reading, his tossed aside as his hands become more insistent. His fingers 'accidentally' grazing your thigh just enough to make you go soft in his arms.

He's a menace. Distracting you from any task you try and do which doesn't involve him. Trying to make breakfast becomes a balancing act between watching the bacon and smacking his wandering hands away as he presses up against your back.

Dean whines like a petulant child when you tell him no, sending him to the table as he mumbles something about you being a killjoy! So what if he was touchy? So what if you'd been through many, many bottles of concealer in the last few months in an attempt to cover up the marks he loved to leave all over your skin.

So what if you were spending more time letting him have his way rather than doing the research you needed?

He was just so obsessed with you...it's only fair he expresses his gratitude for the fact that you chose to put up with him.

[supernotnatural2005]

First of all, thank you for the shout out friend 🥹, i’m glad you liked that one! ❤️

Secondly, is anyone else hot in here?

Holy, wow this was delicious! 🥵

"Seriously, what are you two, teenage horndogs?," Sam scoffed, scrunching up his nose.

This right here^^ thank you Sam, however, i absolutely live for this shit 😂. I love horny-sex-crazed-Dean x reader fics 👌🏻

Yes to this ^^ 🤣

"Oh please, Sammy," Dean quipped, "Not the weirdest place you've found us."

And now this i am incredibly curious about 👀 and would be so down with the exploration of these places with these two 😏

Amazing Liane!! 💗💗

7 Minutes In Heaven

nsfw prompts, send in a character + a number

PAIRING: Dean x Fem!Reader GENRE: Smut (18+ CONTENT) TO NOTE/WARNINGS: PWP, established relationship, fingering, claustrophobic spaces, unprotected p in v (wrap it up), Sam third wheeling WORD COUNT: 2k PROMPT: 8) oops, we were just hiding in this closet, but then the close proximity get us too turned on not to fuck A/N: ty @justwhisperingfantasies for requesting this one <3 CREDIT & LINKS: dividers by cafekitsune ─〃★ join the taglist ─〃★ Dean Masterlist

“Quick, in here!”

Dean didn’t question your suggestion, blindly following your lead as you opened the door to the closet and pulled him inside. Slamming the door shut behind you, you squeezed against him. You held your breath, and for good measure shoved Dean against the wall, slapping your palm over his mouth.

“Damn, sweetheart, if you wanted to play seven minutes in heaven, you could’ve just told me,” he quipped, voice half muffled by your hand. Though you only understood half of it, the grin you felt against your skin was enough for you to understand.

“Shush,” you whispered, partially flustered but even more insistent on not getting caught.

Sam, Dean, and you had snuck your way into this house, searching for a lead against some demons. When earlier you heard footsteps approaching, you knew you had to hide.

You thought the house would be empty during this time, but apparently you were wrong. And you’d rather not get caught by any demons without knowing how many of them were there.

So, you made yourself as small as possible within this cramped space, pressed up against Dean. Tightly. You’d barely be able to fit a sheet of paper between your frames. At first, you didn’t even notice, completely unaware of how your chest was pushed against his in a way that connected your quickened heartbeats.

After a couple of seconds you turned around, leaning towards the door to decipher any noise from outside. Your back remained flush against Dean’s torso, the warmth of his body seeping right into yours.

His hands clung to your hips, the grip just loose enough to not make you suspect a thing.

If you focused on him instead of the noise outside, you’d feel the twitch of his fingers against the waistband of your jeans—why’d you have to pick these tight ones that made your legs so impossibly long anyway? You’d sense the way he was torn between pulling you closer and creating some distance before his restraint would slip.

When you shifted slightly, he hissed through his teeth and dropped his forehead onto your shoulder.

“C’mon, Dean, focus,” you tutted, still oblivious.

Dean mumbled something in response, almost inaudible despite no longer having his mouth covered: “Should’ve cleaned the pipes.”

You tensed, throwing him a look from over your shoulder. “What was that?”

“Nothin’,” he rasped awkwardly, clearing his throat. “Just said- uh, I wish the pipes were clean.”

You rolled your eyes, choosing to ignore his predicament. Not like yours was any better—his warm breath tickling your ear, his fingertips slipping just barely under your shirt. There was not a lot of air in here, but it was definitely thick and making your head swirl.

“I think they’re gone,” you whispered through a tight throat, then reached for the door.

“Whoa, wait,” Dean hushed, grabbing your wrist to stop you in your tracks. “Can’t get out there like this.”

A rebuttal on your tongue, you opened your mouth but all that came from your lips was a soft gasp as he squirmed behind you. Subtly, but enough to make you feel the press of unmistakably hard against your lower back.

“Dean,” you grumbled, though it sounded less like a protest and bordered more on a whimper.

“Seven minutes are hardly over,” he joked, voice low and raspy in your ear. His hands, rough and warm against your skin, trailed higher under your clothes.

Although the demons, presumably at least, have left, you still weren’t in the clear. Who knew if there were more in the building. Not to mention Sam who had volunteered to check upstairs.

To Dean, however, none of that was important. Not with the plush of your ass right at his crotch and your bare flesh heating up under his palms. Honestly, you couldn’t pretend anything else mattered to you either.

Pulling you closer, he made you grind against his hips and you knew your own composure was lost there. You turned around in his arms and crashed your lips against his. Hungry. Wanting. Needing.

Taking.

Whether it was the sheer adrenaline of the hunt or the impossibly smug smirk on his lips, prominent against your own, the tense air in this small space was set ablaze. And the fire? As consuming and destructive as your kiss. Chaotic in a way that took over all of you.

You were not sure how, with how little room you two had, but you tore off layer for layer. Lifting your arms, you aided Dean in pulling your top over your head. Your hands, roaming everywhere, unfastened his belt in rushed fashion.

After you clumsily kicked off your jeans, Dean suddenly lifted you up and turned, pinning you against the wall. Clattering told you that you must‘ve knocked something over, but neither of you could care less.

You only chuckled briefly, breathless, craning your neck while Dean busied himself littering kisses all over your throat.

“This is embarrassing,” you huffed bemusedly, “we’re acting like some sex-crazed highschool sweethearts at prom.”

“Nothin’ embarrassing about it so long as we’re not caught,” Dean shrugged, one hand sliding between your bodies. Deft fingers slipped in your panties, sliding through your slick. “Unless you’re into that? ‘Cause, pretty thing, you’re fucking dripping and I haven’t even started yet.”

A whine was pulled from you as one of Dean’s fingers slipped into you with an embarrassing lack of resistance. His thumb circled your clit, making your thighs twitch around his waist.

“You’d like that, huh? Letting all those black-eyed sons of bitches watch me wreck you.”

You bit your lower lip, so hard you thought you’d be drawing blood. Pulling your underwear to the side and adding a second finger, Dean worked you open, though the filth he whispered into your ear made you clench around him in no time.

“We’d be putting on one hell of a show, hm?,” Dean teased. “Too bad I don’t like to share.”

His mouth met yours again, tongues tangling and teeth colliding while the rough pad of his thumb expertly pushed you closer to the edge.

He was playing you like an instrument, strumming your chords to make you all but sing his name.

“That’s it,” Dean cooed, peppering your face with sweet kisses. “Practically sucking me right in. But you seriously gotta turn that sweet voice down, ‘less you really wanna be caught.”

All you could do was press your lips together tightly, which earned you a rewarding “Atta girl,” and a soft peck to your nose.

The pace with which he pumped his digits in and out your tight channel was relentless—until he pulled away and you literally sobbed.

Dean murmured softly, shuffling his jeans down and lining up with your glistening folds. You let out another cry, pleading and needy, your hips desperately bucking to meet his agonizingly slow motion.

“Shh, nice and quiet, remember?”

“Please—” you moaned, and fuck, if your wish wasn’t his command. “Need you, De.”

You didn’t have to ask him twice, your pleas answered as he thrusted into you in one, perfectly fluid motion. Your broken gasp swallowed by his lips, your nails bit into his shoulders. Haphazardly you removed his shirt, craving to feel every inch of him under your hands.

He barely shrugged it off, focused on maintaining the iron grip on the back of your thighs to not let you drop.

“Getting me all hot ‘n bothered in the middle of a damn case,” Dean grumbled, pretending to scold you when in reality he couldn’t get enough of you. Ever. “You even know what you’re doing t’me? Driving me nuts, wiggling that pretty ass in front of me, ‘s fucking dangerous, sweet thing.”

As far as you were concerned, you technically didn’t do anything—you never had to. Wrapping Dean around your little finger was as easy as dismantling your favorite gun, and just as satisfying. Taking Dean apart and rebuilding him new was always rewarding.

Still, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t proud of stirring his desires. Your boyfriend could barely keep his hands to himself. Not even in a small closet, hiding from demons. Especially not in a small closet, just the two of you squeezed together.

You leaned in, claiming his lips in a softer, slower kiss— sensual and deep, making every second of it last.

He thrusted his cock into you at just the right angle, the tip bruising that one spot with precision every.

Single.

Time.

Again. And again.

Stars flooded your vision, Dean’s name the only coherent word falling from your kiss-bitten lips.

Sensing how close you were just from the hitch in your breath and the tension in your body, Dean’s thumb repeated the circular motion over your clit. He kept rubbing and pinching until you were gushing on him, leaving a creamy ring around his base.

“C’mon, sweetheart, let go f’me,” he whispered, breath hot and searing against your neck. “Let me feel you, I got’cha.”

A final thrust had you shatter and yelp and clench. Hard. Hard enough to push Dean over the edge too, voiceless grunt sputtering from his throat as he stilled deep within you. You shuddered as his warmth flooded you, your walls fluttering around him still.

A moment of silence lingered, aching lungs eagerly refilling with oxygen the only sound between you.

Dean’s forehead slumped against yours, ragged breaths mixing with chaste kisses in between. He slowly, carefully set you back on your feet, but never removed his hands. His fingers continued rubbing soothing circles over your hips, your sides, while he helped you put your clothes back on.

Maybe you got carried away a little, your stance barely stable as you accidentally knocked over yet another unidentifiable piece of interior. A small laughter burst through you as you realized what a mess you’ve caused— clothing hangers scattered across the floor along with the damn clothes rail.

“You okay, sweetheart?,” Dean hummed, to which you gave a cheeky smile and a nod. “Got kinda distracted there, huh?”

“I’m not complaining,” you giggled softly, readjusting the collar of his shirt.

Admittedly, both your hands were clumsy in redressing each other—both of you still shaken and flushed, and, in your defense, working pretty much in a dark, tiny closet.

Upon finally opening the door and stepping back out, you nearly stumbled on your wobbly legs. Dean staggered just as much, though somehow he managed keeping both of you upright, chuckling to himself.

Said self-satisfied grin faded the second someone cleared their throat behind you. Both of you froze, then with wide eyes turned to Sam, whose judgmental gaze scanned you up and down.

Mismatched buttons, your shirt hanging half off your shoulder, messy hair, was that lipgloss on Dean’s mouth?

At least you had the decency to look a tad bit guilty and flustered. Much unlike his brother, who was all chin held up high and confident posture. Damn show off.

Briefly, Sam’s eyes flickered to the closet behind you, the small space looking anything but inviting. Even less so the more he thought about what must’ve transpired in there.

He gave a disapproving sigh, shaking his head. “Really? Here?”

“Oh please, Sammy,” Dean quipped, “Not the weirdest place you’ve found us.”

Not even your playful, though somewhat firm elbow to his ribs stopped Dean from grinning. Neither you nor Sam needed a reminder of him walking in on you. In the library, or the kitchen, or— Maybe for the better not to elaborate further.

“Seriously, what are you two, teenage horndogs?,” Sam scoffed, scrunching up his nose.

“Remember that one time in the dungeon—”

“Please stop talking,” Sam and you groaned in unison.

Dean Winchester Taglist:

@berryblues46 @calibootsgirl @charliesangel67 @emma1998sblog @emmy21842

@foxyjwls007 @hot-and-confused @jollyhunter @ladysparkles78 @lyarr24

@midnight--raine @spacecowgirl126 @spn-reader @spookyfunhottub @supernotnatural2005

@whichwitchwanda @whormotional @winchester-whiskey @zepskies

Want to be added to the taglist? Please fill out this >FORM< Want to be removed from the taglist? Please send a DM Not sure if you're on the taglist? Check here

[super-incorrect]

Y/n, dressed as a cop - Trick or treat!

Sam - Y/n, you can't go trick or treating around the bunker.

Y/n - Just so you know, I take kisses instead of candy.

Dean, shoving Sam out of the way - Deal!

[of-many-incorrect-quotes]

Drunk!Y/N: Hey, I-I just want you to know that I think I have like a big crush on you

Dean:

Dean: Sweetheart, we’ve been married for three years

Drunk!Y/N:

Drunk!Y/N: So, does that mean you like me back, or-

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

sweet thing

part II

Pairing: Sam x Ruby x Innocent!Fem!Reader

Summary: Ruby whispers like the serpent, Sam worships like a sinner, and between them, you are kept soft, obedient, theirs. You used to be innocent. Now you’re sacred.

Warnings: 18+!, language, manipulation, demon blood era Sam, Ruby is a warning by herself, corruption, coercion, praise, smut (dirty talk, kissing, fingering, oral/cunnilingus, overstim, p in v, spitting, threesome f/f/m, mommy & daddy kink, DUBIOUS CONSENT), I may have missed some.

Word Count: 4,677

A/N: I had to do part two... because this was originally gonna be in the first part, but I took it out because I panicked and thought "that's too much, smin." and after plenty of encouragement from my fave (zoe) and all of you lovelies, I decided to expand on it and put it into part two. So... yeah. I hope y'all like it. I really do. Even if it is twisted as fuck. (I could be more twisted, but I don't wanna lose people with my warped mind.) All the love.

The motel room was quiet.

Not silent—there was the hum of the old A/C, the occasional creak of the bed as someone shifted—but that deep, hollow quiet that only came after something important had happened.

You barely moved.

Your body ached in places you didn't have names for. Your legs felt heavy, like they didn't quite belong to you anymore, and your throat was raw from all the sounds you barely remembered making. The sheets were damp with sweat. The air was warm. Somewhere nearby, the low sound of breath caught in a chest and then let go again.

Then came Ruby's hand. Light on your arm. Fingertips tracing lazy, feather-soft patterns over your skin.

"Hey, baby," she murmured, voice syrupy with sleep. "You're awake."

You blinked up at the ceiling, eyes sticky. You couldn't find your voice right away. Everything felt floaty. Far away.

Ruby shifted beside you, turning to face you. Her lips brushed your cheek once, then again.

"You were so perfect last night."

You swallowed. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. She smiled like that was expected. Like your silence made her proud.

"It's okay if it's a little fuzzy. First times are always overwhelming."

She tucked your hair behind your ear. Her nails grazed your temple. You still hadn't looked at Sam—couldn't. Not yet.

"You wanted it, sweetheart," she said gently, like a mother soothing a frightened child. "You were begging. You said please."

Your chest fluttered. "I... I think I remember..."

"You don't have to remember everything," Ruby whispered. "That's what we're here for."

She kissed your forehead.

"We'll take care of you. Always."

There was movement behind you. A shift in the mattress. You felt a hand—his hand—settle against your hip. Sam didn't speak. But his fingers curled there, steady. Warm.

Ruby smiled over your shoulder. "See?" She whispered. "He's been watching you all morning. Like he's afraid you'll disappear."

You turned your face into the pillow. Your eyes stung.

"Did I..." Your voice cracked. "Was I... okay?"

Ruby made a delighted sound. She cupped your chin and turned your face back toward her.

"You were beautiful. The way you begged? The way you cried?" Her smile was sharp, but her voice stayed sweet. "I've never seen anyone fall apart so perfectly."

You flushed, eyes wide. She kissed your lips—soft, sweet, claiming.

"And we're just getting started, sweet thing."

The days started to blur after that first night.

You never talked about it—not really. Not out loud. Ruby was always near, smiling like she had a secret, her touch everywhere. She'd slip into bed behind you in the mornings, press up against your back and guide your hand down between her legs, whispering "just like that, sweet thing. Be gentle, Mommy's sensitive."

You never knew where to look when she said that. Mommy.

Sometimes she'd pull you into motel bathrooms after their hunts, tug your shirt over your head with a laugh and drag you into the shower with her. She'd press her wet chest to yours, tilt your chin up, and say:

"You like being close to me, don't you?"

You always nodded. You always meant it. It was easier than asking why Sam never looked you in the eye afterward.

He was different now. Quieter. Distant. Sometimes he wouldn't touch you for days—just sit in the corner, jaw tight, fingers twitching, like he was trying to hold something back. Other times—when he came back from wherever Ruby took him, his pupils blown wide and his hands shaking—he'd look at you again. Like that night. Like he was starving.

One night, you woke to the door slamming. You stayed very still beneath the blanket. You heard Ruby's voice, low and amused.

"Told you she missed you."

Then Sam was on top of you—touching you through your clothes, rough and fast and silent while Ruby sat on the edge of the bed and smiled like a cat watching something small try to run.

You came twice before he even kissed you. You were crying by the end of it. Ruby shushed you, pet your hair, said:

"You're such a sweet little thing. So eager to please."

You didn't know what you'd done right. But you were glad you'd done it.

They did not take you again. Not like that first night. Sometimes Sam kissed you like he meant it, then left the room like he was in pain. Sometimes Ruby curled up behind you and whispered things that made your cheeks burn:

"You miss it, don't you? Having Daddy inside you." or, "Bet that pretty little body aches for him."

Daddy.

You didn't answer. But she always laughed like she already knew.

You started sleeping between them. Not always—but often enough. Ruby would call you sweet thing in the dark, stroke your back while Sam breathed hard behind you like he was trying not to fall apart.

You thought maybe you'd done something wrong. Maybe you weren't what they wanted. But then Ruby would smile that slow, gleaming smile and say:

"You're still learning, baby. We're just teaching you how to be good."

And you believed her, because when Ruby smiled like that, it was easy to forget anything else.

The rain had started sometime after midnight.

You'd curled up on the little armchair in the corner of the motel room, legs tucked under Sam's old shirt, knees pressed to your chest. The fabric smelled like him. Like soap and leather and something darker you could never quite name.

You'd been waiting for hours.

Ruby and Sam had gone out again. Another hunt. Another night where you weren't invited. You hadn't even asked this time—you already knew what they'd say.

"It's too dangerous."

"You're not ready."

"Just be good and wait for us."

And you were good. Always. So why didn't they want you?

You stared out the rain-speckled window, the night outside blurred and slick with water, and tried not to cry.

You failed.

You didn't sob. Not loudly. Just a few hiccupped breaths, your cheek pressed to your knees, your eyes hot. You weren't even sure what hurt more—the ache between your thighs from the memories they gave you, or the hollow in your chest from how distant they felt since.

You thought, stupidly, that they might come back and see you like this and think you were pathetic.

But then the door burst open, and you startled violently, lifting your head as Ruby strode in first—her coat soaked through, curls dripping, mouth parted in laughter. Sam followed close behind, jaw set, eyes wild.

Your breath caught.

He had that look again. Pupils blown wide. Shoulders stiff. His hands were clenched at his sides, arms crossed, like he needed to hold himself still or he'd do something about it.

And Ruby? Ruby saw you immediately. Her eyes lit up the second she caught the tear tracks down your face.

"Oh, sweet thing—"

She dropped to her knees in front of you before you could even wipe your face.

"Why are you crying?" Her voice was low and syrupy. "What's happened, hmm?"

You tried to speak—tried—but she didn't really let you. She leaned forward, hands sliding up your bare legs under the hem of Sam's shirt. Her touch was warm, familiar, too much.

"You miss us?" She cooed. "Were you lonely while Mommy and Daddy were out working?"

You flushed instantly, eyes wide. You'd never called them that, but she'd been saying it for weeks. Referring to herself as Mommy, and Sam as Daddy. You weren't sure how to feel about it.

"I—I wasn't—"

Her fingers pushed higher. And then she gasped. A hand flying to her mouth in mock-shock, eyes glittering with delight.

"Oh my God, baby..." Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper. "No panties?"

You went stiff.

Sam made a choked sound behind her.

"Did you do that on purpose?" Ruby asked sweetly, sliding her hands to your hips. "Were you waiting here all soft and needy, hoping we'd find you like this?"

"N-no, I just—"

"Just what?" She purred, crawling her fingers higher, dragging her nails lightly against your inner thighs. "Just missed us so much you got wet waiting?"

You whimpered. Ruby looked over her shoulder, smiling at Sam like she'd just opened a birthday present.

"She's dripping," she said casually. "You wanna see?"

Sam didn't speak. He didn't need to. His chest was heaving, nostrils flared, hands clenched tighter now.

Ruby turned back to you, voice dropping to a gentle hum.

"You don't have to cry anymore, baby. You're not in trouble." She leaned forward, lips brushing your cheek, your temple, your ear. "You're perfect. You just need to remember where you belong."

Ruby smiled like a secret, her hands still stroking slow, taunting lines along your inner thighs.

You were burning. Face hot, legs twitching, heart thudding like a war drum in your chest. Sam's shirt had bunched high on your hips now, and your bare legs trembled beneath Ruby's touch, your breath catching every time her fingertips slipped just a little too close.

"So sensitive," she whispered, brushing her knuckles just below where you ached. "You missed us this much, sweet thing?"

You couldn't look at her. Or Sam. You stared at the window, the glass dark with rain, and swallowed hard.

"I didn't mean to—"

"Shhh." Ruby leaned in, her breath warm on your skin. "It's okay. We like you needy."

She reached up and curled her fingers around your thighs, dragging them open with gentle insistence, her nails scraping lightly. You whimpered.

"That's it," she cooed, eyes flicking up to yours. "Let Mommy see."

You flinched at the word. Your face went red so fast it felt like fire. Ruby noticed, of course. She always did. She purred.

"Ohhh, that's what it is. That little word's too much for you, huh?"

You bit your lip, hard.

Sam was still standing by the door, arms crossed, his breathing shallow. He hadn't moved, but his eyes never left you. They were so dark now you could barely see the hazel. You knew that look.

"Sam," Ruby called, her voice syrup-thick. "You're just gonna stand there and let me have all the fun?"

He didn't answer. But his jaw flexed. His nostrils flared. He was breathing through it—barely.

"Look how pretty she is," Ruby murmured, dipping her fingers between your legs. "Already so wet, Sam. And she's been crying for us."

You moaned. Just a soft, shattered thing as she brushed your clit with two fingers, slow and gentle, like she had all the time in the world to destroy you.

"Bet Daddy missed this little pussy too," she said, looking right at him. "Bet he's aching just thinking about what it felt like wrapped around him."

You made a broken noise, burying your face in your hands, thighs twitching.

Ruby grinned.

"Aw, baby. Getting shy now?" Her fingers dipped lower—just once. A teasing press that made your whole body jolt. "You wanna come, don't you?"

You nodded frantically.

"Then ask for it."

Your voice cracked. "P-please—"

"Not like that, sweet thing." Her tone dropped. Lush. Dangerous. "Say it the right way."

You shook your head, face burning, breath hitching.

"Can't," you whispered.

"Yes, you can." She leaned forward and licked a slow, deliberate stripe up your inner thigh. "You say Mommy, and I'll let you come. I'll even get Daddy to come over here and give you a kiss for being so good."

You whined, thighs trembling.

"Say it," she whispered, her fingers circling your clit now in slow, devastating spirals. "You're doing so well, sweet girl. Don't you want to be good for us?"

Sam groaned softly. You heard it. Low and guttural in the back of his throat.

"He's watching," Ruby said. "He's waiting for you. Don't you want him to see what a good little girl you are?"

Your breath broke. Your body arched. You felt the pressure building—tight and unbearable.

"Say it," she whispered again. "Say it, and you can come."

You were crying again. Not from sadness. From overwhelm. From everything. From her touch and his stare and the ache in your chest.

"M-Mommy—"

Ruby gasped like you'd given her a gift.

"There she is."

And then she curled her fingers inside you and you shattered. You came hard—sobbing, breath broken, back arched—your thighs trembling around Ruby as her fingers fucked you through it like she hadn't even noticed the way your voice cracked around that first desperate Mommy.

But she noticed. Of course she did. And she was grinning.

"There she is," she murmured, fucking you faster now, fingers soaked. "That's my good girl. You just needed a little push."

Your head lolled back, lips parted, body twitching beneath her. You barely registered the way Sam's breath hitched again from across the room. But Ruby did. She glanced at him over her shoulder, eyes glittering with dark delight.

"Still just standing there like a kicked puppy, huh?" She said, mock-sweet, fingers not slowing in the slightest. "How long are you gonna keep pretending you're better than this?"

He didn't answer. He never answered when she spoke like that—just stood there, shaking, breathing too hard, eyes glued to where her fingers disappeared inside you, again and again.

"She's begging for it," Ruby went on, her voice still syrupy, her fingers pressing harder now, faster. "She already called me Mommy. What's the matter, Sammy? You afraid if she says your name, you'll finally admit what you really are?"

Sam's jaw clenched.

Ruby looked back at you, her eyes suddenly soft. Gentle.

"Sweet thing," she whispered. "You want him, don't you?"

You whined. Nodded.

"Then ask him to come over," she said, her fingers pressing deep. "Use your words, baby. Ask Daddy to come take what's his."

You sobbed again. It was too much—your body hot and wet and raw, her touch relentless, Sam's stare scorching through you. You couldn't breathe. Still, you turned your head toward him, trembling, shame thick in your chest.

"Please..." Your voice cracked. "P-please come over..."

He didn't move. His fists were clenched at his sides. His mouth was parted, his chest rising and falling like he'd just run miles.

"Say it," Ruby whispered. Her fingers curled inside you, found that spot again, and pressed. "Say it right, baby. Call him what he is."

You squeaked—your hips jolted. Your breath caught in your throat.

"D-Daddy—"

Sam snapped.

He was across the room before you blinked, hand fisting in Ruby's hair as he dragged her up and crashed his mouth to hers—hungry, violent, a kiss full of frustration and filth and everything he hadn't said in days.

Ruby moaned into it, triumphant. And then he shoved her away. She stumbled back, laughing. And Sam grabbed you.

"Mine," he growled, voice ruined. "Fucking mine—"

He hauled you into his arms, kissed you like he needed to own your mouth again, biting at your lip, panting against your skin, muttering filth between each frantic kiss.

"You don't fucking say that unless you mean it—you don't call me that unless you want me to ruin you... you're not getting away now, baby—never."

His hands were everywhere. Gripping your thighs, your ass, one hand cupping the back of your neck like he wanted to keep you still while he kissed you until your lips bruised.

Ruby just watched, licking her lips.

"Told you she'd be perfect."

And Sam? He didn't even hear her. He was too busy breaking your mouth with his.

You were clinging to Sam's chest, your breath hot and fast against his throat, his hands gripping your thighs so tight it felt like bruises blooming. Your lips were swollen, your whole body throbbing from Ruby's fingers, and your mind was still spinning when she spoke again—voice bright and cruel with delight.

"She's gonna get on her knees for you, Sammy."

Your head whipped around so fast it made you dizzy.

"Wh-what?"

Ruby smiled at you like you were being silly.

"Oh, sweet thing," she cooed. "You'll love it. I promise."

Sam made a sound—almost a whimper, deep and guttural—and buried his face in your neck for a second, breathing hard.

"Jesus Christ..."

"Don't blaspheme in front of the baby," Ruby said mock-innocently. "She's still pure. For now."

You blinked at her, lips parting, still too dazed to form anything more than a breathy, high-pitched: "But... I don't— I don't know how—"

Ruby's palm cracked lightly across your ass, making you squeak and press harder against Sam, the sting blooming instantly.

"Don't talk back," she said, still smiling. "You're gonna be a good girl and let Daddy teach you."

Your chest fluttered. Your thighs clenched. You nodded, still wide-eyed and hot-faced. Sam's head dropped back—he groaned, eyes fluttering shut for a second before he looked back at you, his pupils still black around the edges.

"You wanna make me happy, baby?" He asked hoarsely.

Your stomach flipped. You nodded.

"Yeah—yes—I do..."

He exhaled like he'd been punched, then gently let your legs slide down his hips until your feet hit the carpet again. You stood there, trembling between them, eyes flicking up at Sam—tall, wrecked, lips bitten raw—and over to Ruby, who raised a brow at you and tilted her chin down toward the floor at his feet.

Then back to you. A silent question.

Well?

You nodded. Your knees hit the carpet with a soft thud. You looked up. And Sam looked like he was about to levitate.

"Holy fuck..."

Ruby moved behind you, her hands running down your arms, smoothing your hair back over your shoulders.

"That's it," she whispered, kissing the crown of your head. "So obedient. You make Mommy so proud."

You flushed, swallowing hard as your hands rose shakily to Sam's belt. You fumbled—nervous, trembling—but he didn't move. He just watched you, his chest heaving, his jaw clenched tight.

Ruby leaned down behind you, her lips brushing your ear. "He's waited so long for this, sweet thing," she whispered. "You're making his dreams come true."

Your fingers slipped under the waistband of his jeans, tugging them down with shaky resolve. You pressed a soft kiss to the skin just below his navel. Then another, lower. You looked up again, lips parting, and Sam's eyes rolled back for a second, his fists clenched tight at his sides.

Ruby giggled behind you, delighted.

"Go slow," she whispered. "Get used to it. Be curious. He likes that."

You nodded. And then you leaned in—tentative, gentle—your lips ghosting over the skin, warm and unfamiliar. You licked softly, unsure, and Sam groaned so deep it rattled through his ribs.

Ruby reached around, cupping your jaw lightly, her other hand stroking your back.

"That's it, baby. So good. Such a fast learner."

Above you, Sam's hand fisted in Ruby's hair again, and they kissed—filthy, desperate—while you knelt below them like something consecrated. Ruby's hands were steady on your shoulders, guiding your mouth, murmuring quiet praise between kisses while Sam stood above you like a man on the edge of something catastrophic.

"That's it, baby," she whispered. "Make him feel good. You want to make Daddy proud, don't you?"

You nodded. You did. You always did.

Your fingers fumbled with the waistband of his boxers, the rough denim of his jeans still clinging low to his hips. You pressed a kiss just below his navel again, licked lightly at the skin, tasted sweat and salt. Sam groaned above you, deep and desperate, his hips twitching forward just a little.

You froze.

"It's okay," Ruby said, voice like warm silk. "Just your Daddy needing you. You can give him more, can't you, sweet thing?"

She guided your hand forward. You wrapped your fingers around him, shaky and curious, and brought your mouth lower. Your lips brushed the tip. You kissed. Licked. Gentle.

Then Ruby's hand pressed more firmly on the back of your head.

"Open wider."

You gasped, startled, but obeyed, letting her guide you down slowly. Until it was too much. You gagged, pulled back with a soft choke, eyes wide and watering.

"Oh baby," Ruby giggled. "You'll get there. It just takes practice."

Sam growled. It wasn't a sound of pleasure. It was warning. He reached down, fisted Ruby's shirt, and yanked her forward—kissed her hard, open-mouthed, filthy—and then shoved her back with a snarl.

"Don't fucking do that," he snapped. "She's not ready."

Ruby laughed. Like he'd just complimented her.

And Sam dropped. Dropped to his knees in front of you like something holy, grabbed your face in both hands, and kissed you. Sloppy. Deep. Wet. His own taste still on your lips. His tongue in your mouth like he needed to take something back.

"You okay?" He whispered against your lips, voice wrecked.

You nodded.

"Good," he breathed. "Because I'm done pretending."

He scooped you up.

You gasped, arms wrapping around his neck, your legs dangling off his forearms as he stood—eyes wild, mouth parted, like something ravenous. He carried you to the bed. Laid you down. Reverent. Rough.

Ruby followed, crawling beside you like smoke.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" She purred, fingers brushing your thighs. "You've been so good for us. You earned this."

Your breath caught. Your chest was tight. Sam was tugging your shirt up, pushing it over your head, and Ruby kissed your shoulder as it passed.

"You're not a virgin anymore, sweet thing," she whispered. "But this is still new. This is still the first time you know what it means."

You whimpered.

Sam kissed down your chest, over your ribs, back up to your jaw, his stubble scratching, his mouth so hot. He settled between your legs and looked down at you like he was watching something sacred die.

"I haven't stopped thinking about this," he said. "Never. Not once."

You nodded, legs trembling.

"Please..."

That was all it took.

He entered you slow, careful, but deep. And your back arched. Ruby kissed your mouth. Sam cursed through gritted teeth.

"Fucking tight," he panted. "Still feels like the first time."

Ruby's hand stroked your hair, gentle and possessive.

"Tell him he's yours," she murmured. "Tell Daddy how good he makes you feel."

You did. And Sam lost it. He started moving faster—harder—his hands gripping your hips like he wanted to disappear inside you.

"If I'm going to hell for this..." His voice was raw, broken. "...I'm taking you with me."

You sobbed—pleasure and panic and perfect surrender—and Ruby smiled like a queen. Your breath came in gasps—short, panicked, overwhelmed. Sam was deep inside you, his rhythm turning frantic, brutal. Your body rocked with every thrust, thighs trembling, hands scrabbling uselessly at the sheets.

"You feel this?" He growled, voice unrecognisable. "This is what you fucking do to me."

You whimpered—yes—but it came out broken, like a sob.

Ruby was closer to you now, her body pressed to your side, her lips at your ear. "You're doing so good, sweet thing," she whispered. "Taking Daddy so well."

Sam moaned, head dropping low, his hands tightening on your waist.

"Don't say that," he hissed, though he didn't stop. "She doesn't know what that means—"

"She doesn't need to," Ruby crooned. "She just knows she wants it."

She kissed your cheek, your neck, her fingers brushing gently over your chest, down your belly, until she found the spot where Sam was splitting you open and rubbed.

You screamed. Your legs kicked, tears spilled over your cheeks, your hands flew to Ruby's wrist—but she didn't stop. Sam didn't stop.

"You gonna come again?" Ruby whispered. "You gonna soak Daddy's cock like a good little thing?"

"F-fuck—Ruby—" Sam panted.

You nodded—couldn't form words—but your body answered for you. Your back arched, your toes curled, and you let out a broken, cracked sob as everything snapped. Your orgasm hit like a flood.

Sam swore, hips stuttering as your body clenched down on him, dragging him under with you.

"Shit—shit, I'm gonna—"

Ruby kissed your open mouth just as Sam groaned loud and deep, burying himself to the hilt as he came—hard—inside you, his grip on your hips bruising, his chest shaking with the force of it.

Everything blurred after that. You were floating. Crying. Ruby was kissing your temple, whispering praise. Sam was slumped over you, face in your neck, murmuring "mine" like a mantra.

"Look at you," Ruby whispered, brushing sweaty hair from your forehead. "Completely ours now."

You couldn't even nod. You just laid there, limp and full and ruined. And you didn't want to be anywhere else.

Ruby smiled like she'd seen it all before. Like every soft sob you gave them was prophesied. Like she'd stood at the gates of Eden once and whispered to Eve—not with threats, but with promises.

"It's not evil, sweet thing," she murmured, lips against your temple. "It's just love. We're just teaching you how to feel it."

She curled around you like smoke, like scripture rewritten, like the serpent who never lied—just spoke too softly to resist.

"Let the world call it sin," she said. "We'll call it devotion."

And you? You believed her. Because her hands never hurt, not really. Because her mouth tasted like salvation. Because the fall didn't feel like falling—not when it ended in their arms.

The room was warm with the weight of everything you'd given them.

Your body ached in slow, deep pulses—between your thighs, behind your ribs, where your voice had cracked around the word Daddy. Your head rested on Sam's bare chest, his hand stroking lazily down your spine. Ruby was curled at your back, her fingers tracing soft circles on your thigh, her breath steady against your neck.

You felt like silk stretched thin. Blissed-out. Barely conscious. But kept.

And for once... they weren't whispering over you. They weren't sending glances across your sleeping body or silencing their voices when they thought you were too soft to hear it.

They were talking.

"Two crossroads demons last night," Ruby said idly, as if discussing the weather. "Both sloppy. Tried to run. You should've seen the mess Sam made of them."

Sam's voice came low—rough with guilt, but present.

"They were already dying when we got there. We just... finished it."

You blinked slowly against his chest, lips parted, breath shallow. You weren't sure if they knew you were awake.

"Did you use your hands again?" Ruby asked sweetly. "Or that knife you like?"

"Ruby," Sam warned, low and sharp.

But she only laughed.

"What?" She said. "She should know how much her Daddy bleeds for her."

You twitched slightly. Sam's hand paused on your spine.

"...She doesn't need to know that."

"She needs to know everything," Ruby purred. "She's ours now."

You let out a soft breath—barely a sound—but they both noticed.

Ruby smiled against your neck. "Awake, sweet thing?"

You nodded, slow and dreamy.

"Mmm..."

"Good girl," she murmured. "You did so well for us."

You blinked, lips dry. "You kill... demons?"

Sam was quiet for a long beat. "Yeah," he said softly. "We do."

"Bad ones," Ruby added, her tone light and sweet. "Ones that hurt people. We stop them."

You blinked again. Let the silence fall like dusk over your lashes.

"You're not mad?" Ruby asked, fingers brushing your hip. "That we didn't tell you sooner?"

You shook your head.

"I just... I thought you didn't want me around for that stuff."

Sam's chest rose under your cheek. "It wasn't that," he said quietly. "We just wanted to keep you soft. Safe."

"But you're stronger than we gave you credit for," Ruby added, a little too pleased. "You came apart so prettily, and you're still here. Still ours."

You hummed, curling tighter between them. Your limbs were jelly, your heart slow and warm. "You're letting me hear it now..."

"Because you've earned it," Ruby whispered, kissing the back of your neck. "And we're not hiding things from our girl anymore."

You sighed—soft, content—cheek still pressed to Sam's chest, his heartbeat loud and slow beneath your ear. Your body ached in a way that felt good now, like you'd been unraveled and then tucked into the warm space between their hearts.

Ruby shifted beside you, grinning lazily, her palm dragging slow down your bare spine. Then she leaned in, fingers brushing your chin.

"You're drooling again, sweet thing."

You blinked, dazed, and she giggled—thumb swiping a little line of spit from the corner of your lip before she kissed the spot.

"Mmm," she murmured, licking her lips with a smile. "I like you like this."

Sam exhaled hard through his nose. Ruby leaned over your hip, propped herself on one elbow, and tilted her head.

"You wanna come with us next time?" She asked, like she was offering a treat. "Wanna see what it looks like when Daddy's in the mood to rip something apart?"

Your eyes went wide.

Sam shifted beneath you. "No," he said instantly, voice low. "I don't want her seeing that."

Ruby raised a single brow. Slowly.

"Sam."

That was all she said.

He looked away, jaw tight. You could feel it under your cheek.

"I don't think I can stand leaving her alone anymore," Ruby said softly, stroking your hair. "Can you?"

Sam muttered something under his breath.

"Knew you were gonna say that."

Ruby smiled like sin.

"And you love me for it."

You blinked between them, your heart fluttering, your body still humming. And for a moment—just a moment—you saw it. Saw yourself standing behind Sam as he exorcised something screaming. Saw Ruby licking blood from her fingers like honey. Saw your hands not shaking, your voice not sweet—but sharp. Sure. Holy in a different way.

"Behold, I send you out as sheep among wolves..."

Maybe that was what you were. Maybe you were the lamb.

Or maybe—just maybe—you were the altar now.

@sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah @itshellfire @drakulana @nevercameraready @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l @xoswiftieprincess @liiiilsss @mj-102009 <3

[justiceiswater]

Aw poor dean! he doesnt know what to do! I love that reader is the type to have told this joke only days after meeting.

Warnings: (accidental) sexual innuendo lol

"Alright," Dean sighed, sliding out from underneath the structure, tools in hand. "All good here. Did you manage to get your holes filled?"

You looked over at him, already smirking to yourself, when he seemed to realize what he had just said.

"Oh—Uhh—No! I meant—the drill holes! The holes in the—Ahh, shit," he swore, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

You couldn't help but laugh at his awkward, flustered flailing. "Dean, I know we're working on this job together, but that is not an appropriate question to ask someone you've just met," you joked. "I mean really... next you'll be asking me if I'd prefer to do it on all fours or lying down—"

"Okay, stop—" he laughed, still flushing. "I didn't mean—"

"I can't believe you'd ask me such a question! We've barely known each other for 48 hours!"

"I didn't—"

"I mean, I've heard stories about you obviously, but I didn't think you'd really live up to them," you teased him.

"Stop, you know I—wait—you've heard stories about me? What kind of stories?" he asked, hesitant.

You laughed and shook your head. "Oh, that you're just a huge flirt and have a girl in every city you work in," you said, crossing your arms.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Okay... the flirt part... might be true. But no way I have a girl in every city! That's—that's insane!" he retorted.

"So, what percentage is more accurate?" you said, laughing. "75% of them? 50%?"

Dean sighed and looked more serious. "Come on, you don't really believe that crap, do you? I don't—I mean, hunters don't get close to people very often."

Your expression turned more sincere and softened. "Dean. I'm totally joking. I have heard a lot of crazy stories about you, and Sam too to be fair, but I prefer to make up my own mind about people." He looked surprisingly relieved and your heart jumped in your chest. "But to answer your question, all the drill holes are filled," you laughed.

He gave you a sheepish smile and turned to get ready for the next phase of the job.

Prompt: "That is not an appropriate question to ask someone you just met."

[l13]

cw: nsfw 18+, MDNI, fever sex, f!reader, lazy writing, not proofread

DEAN is half-lidded, can barely keep his eyes open. You're starting to get worried so you press your palm down against his chest to move away from him, but he grabs your waist, pulling you back down on his cock. “No, no, no, don't stop, don't y'dare stop,”

You whine, “But Dean- you're burning up.” and he really was. You could tell by touching his pecs, the skin too warm under your fingertips, and you could also tell by his pulsing cock inside of you. The hot sensation spreading through your cunt, the warmth traveling up to your belly.

Dean hisses, “It's this pussy- h my God- so warm baby, could stay inside you forever-”

He pushes you skin tight against him with a hand on the small of your back, his arms then circling around your frame as he holds you close, his breath fanning against your lips as he moans lowly

Holding his cheek in your palm, your eyes dance across his face as his head tilts back, eyes rolling from the feeling of your cold hand against him.

“Just like that honey, fuck yourself onto me c'mon. Want y'to cum all over me.” he was mumbling, his words barely coherent, yet his hips never stopped snapping up against you, chasing your hot cunt.

“Jesus, Dean-” you whimper against his lips as you roll your hips in circles, making sure he stays snug inside you, your clit rubbing against his pubic bone making your thighs shake “m gonna cum” you cry out, and he groans, giving you open mouth kisses, his thoughts too fuzzy to even kiss you properly.

Your walls clamp down on him, and he moans, “Yess, yeah that's it- fuck- squeezin' me so damn tight sweetheart-” his cock now gliding easier in and out of your puffy pussy with the help of your wetness

Despite the aftershocks, your body twitching, and your thighs begging you to take a break, you keep going. Now, sloppily fucking yourself down on his warm cock, as you egg him on, “Come on baby, cum for me. I want it s'bad,”

His cheeks are flushed, mouth hanging open n' eyes crossed as he stares into nothing, “Yes yes yes, oh please- please make me cum- i'll do anything just please-”

His voice cracks as he begs you, his hands grabbing onto your thighs, nails digging into your skin as he follows the movements of your hips, feeling the coil in his belly slowly unfold.

You place your hands behind you on his thighs, leaning back as you keep your relentless pace and he groans pathetically, sitting up to moan against your tits as he cums, snapping his hips up against you roughly to make sure he’s as deep as he can go, feeling his cum and your slick messing up the inside of his thick thighs.

You’re panting hard as you slow down, thighs still twitching every now and then as you run your fingers through his hair, murmuring praises against his temple, lips warming up quickly since he was still burning up.

“You okay? you ask, and he nods against your shoulder, moaning huskily when he gives another slow roll up against you, “Dean let's go have a look at you, I’m getting worried baby-”

“Wait.” he snaps his half lidded eyes up to yours, a tear running down his cheek as he grins lazily, “Wanna go again. Please?”

2024 © l13 | Do not steal, copy, edit, translate or re-post any of my works.