#chevroletdean writes

[chevroletdean]

forgotten birthday ── ✮⋆˙

Summary: Alec is new to the concept of birthdays, considering he doesn’t even really have one himself. When his s/o is sulky all day, he’s confused, until their friends throw them a surprise party and he realizes he’s messed up big time.

ship: alec mcdowell x gn!reader genre: fluff to note/warnings: little bit of angst, vague descriptions of the reader (they're wearing a minidress and have long-ish hair), partying with alcohol, reader gets tipsy, use of y/n word count: 3.2k a/n: my first time writing for alec and my first entry for the @jacklesversebingo challenge, let’s go! really excited about the prompts i got prompt: Forgotten Birthday credit & links: header edited by myself, but i used sensitivehandsomeactionman’s gifs ──〃★ dividers ──〃★ jacklesversebingo 2024 masterlist

wanna listen to the spotify playlist while you read?

Routine had always been something Alec was comfortable with.

If anything had been drilled into him at Manticore, it was routine. Getting up at the same time every day, following a strict morning schedule – from what to have for breakfast to his early workout session.

Granted, with the escape from that prison came a breath of fresh air. And with the newfound freedom came the struggle to adapt.

Alec was a quick learner, always had to be, and he knew how to blend in as well as how to stick out. However, there were still things he had to learn. Or rather, unlearn.

His first meal of the day still consisted of the same porridge bowl, although recently he sprinkled some candy in there from time to time. His timer was still set to 4:30 AM each morning, although he allowed himself the luxury of hitting the snooze button more and more lately.

With no exception of today.

A day like any other: Getting up early, refilling his stomach, wrapping up those push-ups, taking a shower, getting changed, brushing his teeth, and texting you. His favorite part of the morning routine.

Alec [5:31 AM]: Morning sunshine, slept well?

He knew your timer was always set to 5:30, something you’d complain about on the regular.

“I swear, Normal is working us to the bone for no damn reason. He acts like the packages will disappear into thin fucking air if we clock in a minute too late,” you’d always say with a yawn the moment you’d set foot in Jam Pony.

At this point, your grumbled speeches have become part and parcel of his daily routine.

Even through this, you are his favorite addition to that new and free life of his. You’re an aspect he’ll gladly include in any of his activities.

Alec laid his eyes on you the moment you became coworkers. And what can he say, his irresistible charm made it impossible for you to not match that interest (though you’d probably fondly roll your eyes and disagree with that wording).

About three months ago, he asked you out on a date. That is, he had tried numerous times before – from the very first day you were introduced to one another, in fact. But he didn’t let up until that day three months ago, when you finally said yes.

One of the best nights of his life.

The other ones on top of that list were those that followed it.

The second date, your first kiss on the small dance floor of Crash. The third date, you falling asleep on the couch with him during a movie marathon. Fourth date, your coy question if he wanted to be your boyfriend and his fit of laughter when he told you he thought you were a couple ever since you pulled him to the dance floor.

You’ve only been dating for a couple of months, but he already couldn’t imagine a life without you.

Y/N [5:33 AM]: Morning! 🤍 Very, can’t wait to see you at work xx

Alec [5:33 AM]: Very, huh? Your pretty head came up with sweet dreams again?

Your response, an eye rolling gif, had the corners of his lips twitch upwards around his toothbrush. He was surprised to see you reply so fast in the first place. Usually you’d sleep in until you’d be running late for work.

You definitely weren’t a morning person, so your chipper mood was a pleasant surprise to say the least.

Alec [5:36 AM]: Could’ve just said you missed me, babe 😏 omw to work, better not be late to pick up your good morning kiss.

As his luck would have it, that one would just have to wait.

Straight upon arrival at Jam Pony, Normal forced a bunch of ready-for-delivery mail onto him. He barely managed to shove his bag into his locker, before he had to take off again. That’s what he got for being the first to show up at work.

Delivery took ages, too. The ungodly amount of letters and parcels of various sizes were manifested in the form of a tall tower, which threatened to topple over with each turn he took on his bicycle. It seemed to be a busy day, too, traffic blocking his way multiple times.

By the time he finally made it back to Jam Pony, his eyes immediately caught sight of you.

Your conversation with Max and Original Cindy was interrupted by your soft yelp, triggered by the sudden sensation of firm arms circling around your waist from behind. Alec gently poked your sides, fully aware of how ticklish you were and reveling in riling you up.

How could he not with how adorable your pout was?

“Sorry, babe,” he chuckled and pressed an apologetic kiss to your cheek. “Couldn’t resist.”

You gently pried his hands away from your ribs and guided his arms into a proper embrace around your frame instead. Said hands found home around your middle, as if you’d done this for decades.

“Not you jumpscaring me and being late to pick up your good morning smooch,” you huffed theatrically, the roll of your eyes overly dramatic and belied by that cheeky grin of yours.

His feigning of having taken offense was no better – though he pretended to pout, there was an undeniable spark in his eyes. “Can I place an order for a pre-lunch smooch instead?”

You giggled softly and turned your head back, angling your chin upwards to lock lips with him. Even when you pulled back again, you added an extra peck to the tip of his nose afterwards. The little display of affection earned you gagging noises from Max and Original Cindy, the latter of which crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“I’m gonna need an extra shot tonight just to wipe that image from my memory,” she teased.

“Good thing the drinks at Crash are cheap,” Max chimed in, grinning at you. “You guys are coming, right?”

Usually Alec didn’t mind unwinding with his friends after work, but something about his coworkers’ tone felt off. Plus, he could think of different ways to unwind with you, specifically. He’s been meaning to invite you over anyway.

“Actually, we were–” Alec started, only to be cut off by Cindy.

She jabbed a sharp finger in his direction. “Don’t finish that sentence,” she warned, “I don’t need details about the after-party, loverboy.”

The light sound of your bemused chuckle smoothed over the bickering. You placed a soothing hand on Alec’s arm, giving him a shrug of nonchalance.

“I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to celebrate after,” you whispered for only him to hear, leaving him to deadpan.

After-parties and celebrations?

The jargon definitely stirred something within him that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Not that he got the chance to ponder over the matter further – a special occasion, national holiday, some kind of anniversary? Surely not, given that he had memorized every single event between you two down to the timestamp. Not to mention that it wouldn’t make sense for the others to celebrate with them then. 

Before his gears could continue turning, a firm hand patted a friendly slap onto Alec’s shoulder.

“After-Work-Crash-Party?” Sketchy’s voice rang through the group, loud and confident as always. “Count me self-invited.”

The next voice that joined their chatter was less enthusiastic.

“The only thing you should be counting is the During-Work-Workload,” their boss huffed and puffed sternly. Normal cleared his throat in obnoxious fashion, tapping his wrist watch and effectively disbanding the group for now.

However, as the day went on, your beam decreased more and more. That smile of yours didn’t falter, at least not at first, but it didn’t reach your eyes anymore. Whenever someone would say your name, your eyes lit up expectantly, only for your expression to sink seconds later.

“Hey, Y/N?”

Your ears perked up at your coworker’s voice, your chin was raised high and the imaginary puppy tail was wagging excitedly.

“Sign this for me, will ya?”

Everything about you deflated, shoulders sinking, bottom lip jutting out into the ghost of a pout.

“Y/N?”

Same anticipatory eyes as before, wide with curiosity as you blinked at Sketchy.

“Have you seen Max?”

You didn’t even bother to listen to the rest of his inquiry and shook your head instead.

Alec observed this for a while, watching as people came up to you to seemingly chip away at your good mood. They weren’t any different from usual, so why were you?

By the time Alec went for a shot, you barely even reacted anymore.

“What’s up, sunshine?,” he hummed, playfully nudging his shoulder against yours, but you didn’t even lift your gaze to look at him. He only managed to pull an apathetic hum from you that could easily be mistaken for a groan.

“Wanna ditch this place?,” Alec whispered, lowly enough so as not to gain any unwanted attention from Normal. His suggestion at least had you blink at him, though his green eyes failed to find any enthusiasm in yours.

“Can’t,” you sighed. “Normal dumped an extra load of packages on me… Today of all days.” That last sentence was muttered under your breath so quietly that Alec would’ve nearly missed it, were it not for his enhanced hearing. You gestured leisurely towards your bike, a tower of cardboard boxes stacked onto its back.

“Tell you what,” Alec hummed, swiftly unloading the boxes from your bike and carrying them to his own. “I’ll take care of those for ya and you’ll get a headstart at ditching this place.”

He wasn’t taking no for an answer, you knew that beforehand, but it didn’t stop you from trying.

“It’s fine, Alec, don’t really have anywhere to be anyway.”

At that, Alec raised an eyebrow. He added the last box onto the pile, then used one hand to cup your chin and the other to interlock his fingers with yours. With his knuckles tucked neatly under your jaw, he tilted your face upwards until your eyes met.

Definitely no spark in them anymore, but what did you have a smug, cheeky boyfriend for if not for a little cheering up? You both knew he always managed to pull a smile from your lips, even if you wouldn’t admit it so as not to stroke his already inflated ego.

“I could think of a couple places I’d like to take you,” he teased with a smirk. “But how about we start with you getting ready for that After-Work-Crash-Party and I’ll see you there, hm?”

There it was again. That subtle twitch of your eyebrow, so small he could’ve easily missed it. You sighed and nodded reluctantly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Fine,” you gave in. “Are you sure it’s okay? I can help with–”

“I’m sure,” he interrupted you and then dismissed you with a chaste kiss. He mounted his bike, the crisp ding-ding of his bicycle bell the last thing he gave you before taking off.

It wouldn’t be until hours later, with him just arriving in front of the bar, that you’d see each other again. The streets of Seattle were illuminated only by obnoxious neon signs buzzing about, most of them busted. It was a cold night, the air crisp enough that Alec could see his own breath upon each exhale.

Breath that hitched in his throat the moment your frame entered his field of vision. You just turned the corner, striding towards him like a vision – despite him not knowing where to look first.

Your hair was styled, locks bouncing freely and lightly across your shoulder with each step you took. Apparently the chillier temperatures had not stopped you from picking out a minidress. It was decorated in dark sequins that reflected the neon lights in a way that made you sparkle.

He couldn’t help but let out a whistle as he eyed you up and down. His gaze briefly stopped at your exposed legs, right where the hem of your dress stopped. 

“I feel like the luckiest, most underdressed guy alive,” Alec chuckled once you stood in front of him. “You look amazing.”

Your lips curled into a bashful smile and you shyly hooked your arm through his. He took the cue and guided you inside, holding the door open for you on the way in. You both stepped inside, eager to warm up and grab a drink, only to be met with complete, eerie darkness.

Concentrating hard on his dimmed surroundings, Alec tensed at your side.

His hand clasped over your wrist as he grabbed you tightly, ready to pull you away, should the need arise. He was already in alert-mode, bracing himself to fend of any potential danger, when suddenly–

“Surprise!”

The lights flickered on, revealing your friends. They held balloons and threw confetti your way, clapping and cheering. A banner hung from the ceiling, the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY! spread across the fabric in a bold, glittery font.

Oh. Oh.

The group began to strike up a song, while Max busied herself with lighting a singular candle on a cupcake. She carried it over to you, a wide smile plastered across her face as she urged you to blow it out and make a wish.

Still dumbfounded, Alec watched as you beamed and closed your eyes, snuffing out the candle with a short puff of air.

It was your birthday.

Damnit, it was your birthday and Alec had no idea!

It all made sense to him now. 

Your sparkly dress. The weird conversations.

That’s why you’d been sulky the whole day. You were hoping someone would congratulate you, even just mention it.

This whole time he’d been under the impression that everyone was just going to meet here like usual, like any other day after work, part of that god forsaken routine-thing.

Special days to Alec were still a foreign concept. He was aware they existed, of course, but how could you fathom birthdays when you never celebrated your own.

Hell, he didn’t even know if he had one, technically.

“Your drinks are on us, sweetcheeks,” Original Cindy winked your way, thereby interrupting Alec’s internal monologue.

Right. This wasn’t about him. Today was about you. But, God, did he feel stupid. Playing along by giving you an awkward smile and nod, Alec nudged you towards the others.

“They better be,” you snickered, taking a ceremonial bite of the sugary pastry that’s been offered to you. “I thought you guys forgot.”

“We’d never,” Max gasped, playing along with your playful melodrama. “Right, Alec?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, mocking her with a cynical grin as if to say ‘very funny, Max, really.’ He felt the jab right away. These guys hadn’t so much fooled you as they had pranked him, huh?

The rest of the group took over, pulling you to the dance floor and singing along to the music with you while beer came flowing.

Alec ordered a bottle of champagne and joined you, deeming that this was the least he could do after fumbling so hard today. It was definitely on the pricier side, but the way your eyes lit up as he clinked your glasses together gently made every cent of it worth it.

You were getting bombarded with birthday wishes and showered in small gifts ranging from silly to thoughtful.

Someone placed a shiny, plastic tiara on your head, a tacky B for ‘Birthday’ centered in your hair now. You wore it like royalty. Sketchy handed you funny stickers and charms to decorate your bicycle helmet with. You were currently aweing over a collage of polaroids that Cindy and Max had crafted for you.

All while Alec was standing off to the side, back leaning against a wall, one hand in his pocket, the other fidgeting around with a bottle.

“Someone’s a party pooper,” Max spoke, stopping to stand next to him.

“Ten minutes ago I didn’t even know there was a party I could poop on,” Alec quipped and took a sip of his beer.

“You didn’t get Sketchy’s text?”

Obviously not.

But he could hardly blame his friend for this mess.

Alec shook his head and scoffed, more to himself than anything, really: “Ten minutes ago I didn’t even know today was their birthday.”

“Better spend the rest of it making it a good one for them anyways,” Max shrugged and gave Alec two or three reassuring shoulder-pats.

He knew she could relate somewhat.

Birthdays at Manticore were nonexistent. What’s more: They were nonessential. What mattered there was the present and the future. When you were born, or if you were merely a lab-creation, made no difference.

“Alec,” your cheerful voice rang through the pensive cloud in his brain. “This is the best party ever! C’mon, let’s dance!”

You were clearly already tipsy, your nose even redder than those flushed cheeks of yours, your eyes slightly glassy and your movement awkward as you staggered over to him. Your clumsy hand clawed at his sleeve until somehow you managed to pull him along.

You were having the time of your life and he couldn’t help but chuckle, a fuzzy warmth spreading through his chest at the realization that you wanted him to be part of this joyous moment.

Forgotten birthday or not, he’d make sure you’d have a party to remember.

Alec’s arm snaked around your waist to steady your swaying path and prevent you from tripping over your own feet. He even had to adjust that little crown on your head, loose strands of your hair tangled in it.

“Careful there, birthday babe,” he snorted softly as you clung to his shoulders and attempted to twirl to the music.

“Y’know,” you mumbled with a crooked, toothy smile, slurring over your own words. “Y’made my day, Alec. Really did.”

“Me?”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded strongly, repeatedly poking at his chest with your pointer finger. “You– mhh… you’re today’s hero!”

His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. Him a hero when he was the fool to overlook your birthday?

“What did I do?”

“This party, ‘s great, really is, I love it,” you babbled. “But you! You’re like the only one that made me happy earlier. At work, y’know? ‘N your text was’the first one – hic! – I got this mornin’ like you thought ‘f me ‘n that was so sweet.”

“I’m always thinking of you, darling,” Alec grinned, clearly bemused by your yapping, but also making a mental reminder to only have you drink water for the rest of the night.

“‘Xactly!,” you exclaimed in a Eureka tone. “I can always count on ya. Y’always make me feel like ‘s my birthday. Every. Single. Day.”

He laughed heartily and pulled you against his chest, his arms tight around your wobbling frame. You nuzzled your head to his shoulder with a content sigh.

“That’s because I’m glad you were born no matter what day it is,” he half-joked. It was definitely the truth, but he still felt a little bad for not realizing how special today was.

He’d make sure to shower you in gifts every year from now on. Sing you a song the minute midnight strikes and take you out to wherever you want to celebrate.

You rewarded him with a dazzling smile that had him feel like he was the birthday boy and your joy was his present. Alec spun you around, even scooted you up briefly to twirl you midair, just to enjoy another of those sweet giggles.

Once back to your feet, you still felt like you were on cloud nine.

“Happy birthday, darling,” he whispered into your ear, his lips grazing the spot just beneath it.

[thebiggerbear]

Writer Recs List Page 2

Rec list under Read More:

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*I will update this list as I go

dividers by @firefly-graphics

Page 1

[zepskies]

Hey Zepskies!

So I just wanted to ask if you could tell your most fav fav fics for Supernatural.

I’m pretty sure I’ve read all your fics and they are just 🥹🥹SO GOOD!!❤️❤️

But I need more.. so if you could pls pls help me out here🥰

Thanks!!

Oh my goodness, what a great question!!

(And thank you, my lovely. I'm so glad you enjoy my writing. 🥰🥰)

I've actually been doing a lot of reading lately, despite also writing up a storm, working on Smoke Eater.

Here are some of my favorites! They will span Tumblr, Ao3, and FF.net, as I did a lot of my early reading/writing on other platforms.

Now, in no particular order...

Keep in mind, I probably like several fics from each of these authors, but I'm featuring one or two that I very much enjoyed.

**[Minors beware, I'm recommending a lot of 18+ only content here!]

Dean Winchester x Reader or OC:

Stories are Dean x Reader unless noted OC.

Hold On I'm Coming - @ravengirl94

Clear the Area - Alisha Ashton (Excellent 4-part series!)

Unspoken - @thatonewriter15

The Girlfriend Who Remade Christmas - @deanwinchesterswitch

Twenty Minutes or Less - @iprobablyshipit91

Magical Blooms

The First Time Series - @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

The Dangers of Hope

It's All For You

Things Learned and Unlearned

Remind Me - @justagirlinafandomworld

Delicate

The Fallout

Feral - @jawritter

Here For You - @marvelfanfn2187a113

Collared - @spnexploration

Old Man - @kaleldobrev

Creature of the Night - @waynes-multiverse

Friends with Benefits - @deanwritings

Safe - @waywardxwords

Carry On - @acreativelydifferentlove

You're Home

Helping Hand - @deanwanddamons

Love Language - @mind-empty-just-fictional-people | @jacklesbrainworms

It Ain't About Pity - @ejlovespie

More to Love - kittenofdoomage

Never Spoken, Always Said

The Widow - @pink-sparkly-witch

Say I'm Beautiful - Lindsey D. Perez

While They Dance On A Pin (Jane Series 5) - shirleypositive72 (Dean x OC)

She's My Cherry Pie - BeccabooO1O

Feral - @luci-in-trenchcoats

Witches - @waywardxwords

Wild Flower - @deanbrainrotwritings

Take a Shot - @rizlowwritessortof

Late Night Show

Lost in You

That’s How It Should Be (Sheriff!Dean)

Girls, Girls, Girls - @spnbabe67 (Dean x OC)

NSFT Alphabet [Dean Winchester] - @chevroletdean

Masturbation [Dean Winchester]

Roots in My Dreamland - @pamwritessometimes

Dean Winchester x Lisa Braeden:

Damages - adventuresinposting

One Step at a Time - FaithDaria

A Dad By Any Other Name - bloodmagik

Sam Winchester x Reader or OC:

Stories are Sam x Reader unless noted OC.

While You Were Sleeping - Avrilando (Sam x OC)

With The Eyes of a Loving Man - Avrilando (Sequel to While You Were Sleeping)

It's Your Birthday - Lindsey D. Perez

If You Give a Moose a Muffin - Lindsey D. Perez

All of Me - ALoversDream

Could Have Told You That One, Winchester - BeccabooO1O

Samnesia - @princessmisery666

Delicate - @ohsc

I'm sure there are many, many more, but here's a starter list for you of my favorite people! 💕

I have several more stories favorited on my FF.net account. (Beware if you try to read any of the stories I wrote there though. Some of those are old as hell and not to my current standard. 🤣)

[chevroletdean]

nsft alphabet [dean winchester] ── ✮⋆˙

genre: smut, explicit ─ minors dni! a/n: writing headcanons was easier than a kinktober one shot, oops. enjoy, i'll try to follow up with a sam version soon. and possibly other characters? (i'm feeling like writing one for alec mcdowell tbh) feel free to request any in my inbox! credit & links: alphabet ──〃★ dividers ──〃★ request here taglist: comment a green heart 💚 to be added to the dean x reader taglist (please note: ageless blogs will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts) @winchester-whiskey @whormotional @spacecowgirl126

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

It honestly depends on where you guys are, but generally speaking, he always makes sure you’re okay. If there’s anything you need, he’ll tend to it – which can range from a clean towel to a gentle forehead kiss. Even if you’re technically on the run or have somewhere urgent to be, he at least makes sure you’re both good to go.

Preferably he likes to take his time with you though. The aftermath of sex is one of the rarer opportunities for Dean to be openly sappy and vulnerable. Even with hookups, to some degree at least, the warmth of a lover’s arms is one of the places he can fully relax and he wants them to feel just as comfortable.

That said, he can be a little lazy. He makes sure the necessities of aftercare are fulfilled, always, but don’t always expect a luxurious bubble bath and immediately changing the sheets. Oftentimes he just wants to collapse onto bed with you and catch his breath.

He’s 50% giddy and proud smile – all cocky grins and smug bragging – and 50% sleepy. Your embrace is the closest he can get to experiencing heaven, he’s sure and getting to rest his head against your chest is the best feeling on earth. The sound of your steady heartbeat will definitely lull him to sleep and he’s insistent on cuddling the whole night through.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He has a love-hate relationship with his face. People keep telling him he’s handsome and even call him a pretty boy and sometimes he can’t see what they see. Most of the times his face card is a useful tool when it comes to investigation and working his charms. Other times he can’t stand looking at his own reflection. But when you compliment him on his freckled nose, his green eyes and long lashes, he definitely takes pride in it.

This particularly applies to his lips. He knows you love how pink and plump they are. And how pretty you think that smile of his is. It gets him anywhere he wants. Plus, the things he can do to you with that mouth, speaking sweet nothings, kissing you all over… what’s not to take pride in?

As for you, he’s a simple man, sometimes bordering on caveman – he’s obsessed with your butt and not shy to let you know. Whenever he gets the chance, his hand is somewhere on or close to your ass.

Your hands too though, not a chance he passes up on to hold it, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t think about your hands on him 24/7. If you wear any rings or nail polish, he always notices.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Loves to ask “Where do you want it, baby?” but his personal favorite is definitely in your mouth. Not even down your throat, he loves seeing you stick your tongue out for him, all coated in his cum, before you swallow.

He’s tried tasting his own cum before out of curiosity and had conflicted feelings about it. He’s even considered changing his diet afterwards, but (unsurprisingly) he got tired of eating so much fruit pretty quickly.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Not really a secret, since it’s literally canon and we all know he loves wearing lacy panties, but yeah. He definitely stole a pair of your underwear before and he’ll deny having seen it anywhere if you’d ask.

Since he loves sexting, he definitely has a nude or two of you and after annoying Sam enough to show him how the stupid printer worked, he now keeps his favorite lewd picture of you in his wallet, because why not? It’s especially useful when you two have to be separated because you’re working on different cases or something of the sort.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Dean has obviously fucked around a lot (literally), countless of hookups under his belt. He definitely knows what he’s doing and he can be very annoying about it when he boasts.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

You on top of him is his favorite sight. His hands get to grab everywhere and he loves that he can focus on watching his cock slide in and out of you as you ride him.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Sex, for Dean, is fun. It’s a good time, where you get to enjoy each other and make each other feel amazing. If he can’t get a giggle or a smile out of you, he thinks he’s not doing his job right.

However, there are definitely occasions that call for a more serious mood. Such as intimate moments after a rough day, where he and you just want to unwind and feel each other.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Short answer: He keeps his pubic hair trimmed, but not completely shaved.

Long answer: There’s other body hair he treats differently. Over the years he’s developed light chest hair, which he sometimes bothers to shave. He keeps his happy trail, as he’s never thought about it. His thighs are somewhat hairy. His body hair sometimes has a little hint of red color mixed into it.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) 

Unfortunately there’s little room for the real big romantic settings, such as rose petals and lit candles around the bedroom. With life on the road for the most part, you have to make do with what you have. He tries to make each time as special as possible though, it’s always passionate.

Dean’s a big softie once he lets his guard down, which you manage with ease. Very verbal, huge on saying sweet nothings. Lots of kisses. Definitely likes holding or touching you throughout it all. If possible, not a sheet of paper will fit between you two.

Eye contact is his strong suit. Doesn’t matter what position you’re in or what you’re doing, he loves getting lost in your eyes. If you ever avert your gaze or close your eyes, he reminds you to keep them on him.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Dean, as a certified porn addict, beats his meat a lot. His libido is high and he can’t always come crawling to you, so he relies on trusty lube and his hand more often than he likes to admit.

Definitely has a fantasy of you walking in on him and lending him a helping hand.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Roleplay! Just the thought of you in a sexy costume gets him hard. You’d make him the happiest man alive if you greeted him in a nurse costume. He’d also be into a police officer costume, handcuffs included. It’s fun and it allows you two to play pretend for a bit.

Praise, both ways. He’s always gushing about how good you are, how amazing you feel, how pretty you look while you’re fucking. In return, he loves getting praised by you. Nothing fuels him more than pleasing you and he’s so eager for those compliments.

Food play, to some degree. He loves seeing your pretty mouth stuffed, lips wrapped around a sweet treat in seductive fashion. Or when he gets to lick whipped cream from your skin? Again, playful and fun.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

His favorite location for sex remains a bed (bedroom, motel, he’s not too picky in that regard), because there he can take his time with you.

Of course making sweet love to you in the backseat of his car is always an option, too. The way the Impala's windows fog up is addictive for him.

That said, he won’t say no to other options. Not an inch of the bunker has not been defiled by the two of you. Shower, kitchen, the table in the main hall, the library, even Sam’s room while he was out. You name it, he’s fucked you there at least once.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Dean Winchester’s mind runs dirty at the smallest things. It doesn’t take much to pop the idea into his head that he wants to bend you over the nearest furniture or pin you against the nearest wall to have his way with you.

When you’re in a grumpier mood – that might sound shitty, but hear me out: He loves your gruffier, feisty side, because it makes him wish he could make that tension in your shoulders melt under his touch. He wants to kiss that scowl away and make you see stars until you forget about why you were even mad in the first place. You are hot. You being angry is even hotter, and it’s like a challenge for him to do something about it. Plus, you could always take it out on him, dominate the shit out of him until you’re no longer pent up and frustrated.

What never fails to drive him absolutely crazy is you wearing his clothes. You in his shirt or jacket makes his heartbeat skyrocket and his dick rock hard. It awakens something primal and possessive within him.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

A hard no for him would be anything involving causing you (intense) pain. I’d go as far and say he’d not even be into spanking, unless it’s like a playful slap on your ass. He’s not even a fan of choking or biting you. He hates seeing you hurt and if things get too intense, it’ll only trigger memories of him being forced to torture others in hell. There's already enough blood and guilt on his hands.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Hear me out when I say earlier seasons Dean goes weak in the knees when you suck him off. Nothing more of an ego boost than you drooling over his cock.

Later seasons Dean though? He likes to give head like a starved man. Getting you off is a huge turn on for him and admittedly, you riding his face is a high that he can’t compare to anything else. He’ll use every part of his mouth, lips, tongue, teeth until your legs give out and he has to hold you against him.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends on the mood. He can do both, but he prefers slow and sensual. Dean loves taking his sweet time with you, worshiping every inch of your body. He wants to cherish the moment and really commit every detail to memory.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Again, proper and passionate sex is his preferred way to go. But even then he has a high sex drive and more often than not, you don’t have much time for anything but a quickie. Most of the time, actual proper sex is a luxury, so you make do with what you can.

If you two have to rush it, you might as well have fun with it: It’s turned into a challenge of how quickly he can make you come undone on his cock versus how long it’ll take for you to make him orgasm.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Leaning towards no. Referring back to the fact that he doesn’t like hurting you, he also doesn’t like putting you into danger. Safety comes first, otherwise it’s not enjoyable for him.

On the flipside, he’s experimental when it comes to new things. You wanna try out a new kink? Sure! He won’t say no to spicing up your sex life. Just nothing involving potential damage.

He definitely is risky when it comes to public spaces. Likes to steal touches, sometimes subtle, sometimes not so much. The thrill of potentially getting caught red handed with his fingers between your legs under the table? Fuck, yes.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He’s not done until you are.

Lasts an average time, but that doesn’t mean he can’t go for a round two. Or three. Or more, you get the idea. Unless the situation calls for anything out of the order, he makes sure to be gentleman enough to make you cum first. 

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Handcuffs for him, or anything to tie him up with, you can get creative, so long as you tease him until he’s a whimpering mess unable to touch you.

Once you pulled out a butt plug and initially he thought it was for you, but, oh, was he wrong. Since then it has turned into a regular part of your bedtime activities.

He’s not one to get jealous of a toy, so if you want to use anything to rile yourself up further, he sees it as an aid more than a competition. Plus, there’s something insanely arousing about seeing you play with yourself, whether it is with the help of a toy or not.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

More than anything he enjoys being on the receiving end of teasing. You can make him beg so prettily.

However, that’s during the sex itself. When it comes to working you up beforehand, he’s a master. Teasing touches, sultry words, dangerous spark in his eyes and a cheeky grin? He’s bold and he’s not afraid to bite off more than he can chew.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

If you want him to be, he can be so damn vocal. Big on the whimpering department if you dominate him. And, again, just as enthusiastic regarding sweet praise and dirty talk.

Other than that, he’s usually all heavy panting and grunting. Not so much moaning and screaming, that’s what he tries to make you do.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He knows it’s cliché, but he likes to turn on the record player when he has sex. Playing some music during the hanky panky makes the whole experience even better. His playlist, of course, consists mostly of classic rock, but he’s genuinely picked the more romantic songs. Nothing Else Matters by Metallica, Fool in the Rain by Led Zeppelin, Love in an Elevator by Aerosmith… you get the idea. After an especially passionate night to a whole LP of Led Zeppelin, he couldn’t help but flinch and turn bright red when the same songs started playing in his car the next day. Dean also made a mixtape just for the occasion as a gift for you.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

A good six and a half inches, about seven when he’s hard, in size and definitely on the thicker side in girth.

It’s smooth minus that one prominent vein on the underside.

Pink tip that turns even brighter when he’s aroused.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He broke the scale, Dean is one horny bastard.

He’s either going to town on you, much to the dismay of anyone else in the bunker, or he’s pent up most of the time.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

After making sure you’re okay and putting in some effort to clean up (at least a little), he’s out like a light. Dean is a light sleeper, but the blissfully exhausted state he finds himself in after exerting himself makes him clock out. It takes everything from him to not just collapse on top of you and say hello to dreamland sometimes.

[chevroletdean]

backstory stuff (req.) ── ✮⋆˙

pairing: dean x fem!reader genre: fluff to note/warnings: objectifying dean bc he looks edible, shameless ogling, kissing and making out, cussing word count: 2.5k a/n: tysm to @midnight--raine for requesting this! i definitely had the "blablabla place name proper name backstory stuff" audio stuck in my head writing this, hence the title for this drabble; btw i, too, would not be able to focus. other than that, this is written in 3rd person pov, which is actually my preferred style of writing/reading.

“Don’t forget the pie,” Dean called out, just before the door closed shut with a thud. That was about the last coherent sentence she was able to make out – and not because what followed was inaudible or anything like that. The priorities of her focus have simply… shifted.

Plus, and that was a much more favorable explanation for her own conscience, silence filled the space currently. Usually silence between them was comfortable, but at that moment she felt like her heart was hammering against her chest so intensely that the sound echoed off the walls, and like her blood was rushing through her veins was as loud as a waterfall in her ears.

With Sam off to buy some much needed food, she and Dean were left behind in the motel room, the space of which suddenly seemed awfully cramped. Ironic, considering how insistent she had been on not minding to share a room with the brothers, despite Sam’s double-inquiry if they should rent separate ones:

“They have another spare room,” Sam said.

“It’s fine, Sam,” she replied.

“Are you sure?” Sam followed up.

“Positive,” she confirmed with a nod.

“Dean might snore again and–”

Cue his older brother: “Speak for yourself, Sammy!”

“One room is enough, Sam,” she chuckled, clearly amused by the familiar bickering.

Two beds and a couch were plenty of space, after all, and it would only be for a night – whoever lost at rock-paper-scissors (Dean, of course) would survive a couple of hours on a couch.

Except she wasn’t sure if she could even make it through the next thirty to forty minutes.

This case was a tricky one and her attention span was pretty much dead as is, especially on an empty stomach. In hindsight, she still regretted grumbling about being hungry. Maybe she should’ve volunteered to make the trip to the convenience store instead of Sam. Then she wouldn’t be stuck here, making a fool of herself.

Neither the tablet in her lap nor the books sprawled around her on the bed were of interest to her anymore. Not with her blood sugar low. Not with too many frustrating hours of not finding anything. And most importantly:

Not with Dean sitting on the couch right across from her.

Not with the way his hand was holding his book open in his lap, long fingers nestled right in the joint of the pages, wedged in the folds in a way that shouldn’t look half as erotic as it did to her. Christ, she had to snap out of it.

As if on cue, Dean cleared his throat, startling her to the point of flinching. Her panicked eyes darted away from his hands and to his face while she silently begged – more like downright prayed – he hadn’t caught her staring.

His eyes remained glued to the pages, unbothered as ever and indicating the coincidental nature of his actions. Relieved, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Not that the fear of getting caught made her stop gawking at him. And, honestly, could anyone blame her? Nobody.

Not with the way he rolled up his sleeves, exposing freckles and veins on his arms, which he – to make matters worse – just had to stretch out, first forward, then upward, his muscles flexing. Not with the way he tipped his head back too, straining his neck until it gave a soft pop and he gave a soft groan.

Snapping out of it was no longer an option. Except it had to be. Dean and her were friends, partners in crime only in a jokeful and strictly platonic matter. In a poor attempt to distract herself, she decided to speak up. Anything to disrupt this silence, the tension of which was as palpable as it was torturous for her.

“If the couch is too uncomfortable, you can have my bed,” she offered, watching as he shifted around on the cushions. Lost game or not, Dean was the one who always had to endure hours behind the wheel and she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about denying his sore body the comfort of a proper mattress.

“Worried for me, sweetheart?” He scoffed with a teasing grin that made her simultaneously roll her eyes and feel the tips of her ears turn red.

“You’re the one cracking your joints like you’re suffering from arthritis,” she huffed.

“Nah, ‘s fine,” he mumbled in response, rotating his shoulders briefly, before redirecting his focus to his book.

Silence befell the room once more and she had to admit his diligence was admirable, compared to her own. She was still way too distracted to think about the case, while he was purposefully flipping through the pages. His brows were knitted together in deep concentration, those emerald eyes of his squinted slightly as he skimmed over the words. Not to mention his mouth.

Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of his tongue poking out. Its tip ran along the seam and over his bottom lip briefly, moistening the skin there into a glossy state. As if their pink shade wasn’t mesmerizing enough to look at already. His pearly whites followed close, biting the glistening skin of his lower lip, sucking it in for a second, before releasing it with a click of his tongue.

How soft those lips would probably feel, she wondered. She bet they were warm. They probably tasted like whiskey.

Their shape was worth obsessing over, too – plump and full, the soft curve of his cupid’s bow so perfect it might’ve as well been painted by an artist. The left corner of his lips curled upwards suddenly, his mouth forming words, the content of which went straight over her head. She registered the sound of his voice, but the actual syllables fell on deaf ears.

She was so busy observing the movement of his lips that she didn’t realize he wasn’t just mumbling to himself, but actually talking to her. Only when he tilted his head and said her name did her eyes widen.

“Sorry,” she uttered, her own voice breathless and strained and her throat feeling tight. And so very dry, no matter how often she’d try to swallow the lump in there. “What was that?”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up and his gaze wandered down on her, swiftly.

“I said: Could you look up–,” he repeated, but interrupted himself mid sentence with a sigh and a sheepish grin. “Nevermind, give me that.”

Discarding his book onto the coffee table, Dean lifted himself off of the couch and made his way over to her bed with a confident stride. He plopped down right next to her. Her breath nearly hitched in her throat as she felt the mattress sink slightly beneath them, but she didn’t resist as he reached for her tablet.

Usually she would’ve protested at him touching her stuff without asking, but the subtle brush of his fingers against her own sent an electric jolt down her spine that made her forget all her words. Either oblivious to her reaction or simply not caring, Dean proceeded to type away on the screen. She figured he must’ve had an epiphany and was trying to look up a possible solution to whatever creature they were searching for. But with every fiber of her searching for the details of Dean’s body next to hers, she couldn't care less about any monster.

His lips were moving again. That is to say, he was speaking, but the auditive part thereof blended into the background while the visual aspect grasped her full attention. She couldn’t help it; up close the view was even more alluring.

She thought she recognized the vowels O and E in there somewhere, though her reception of that was purely based on what speech patterns she thought she saw his mouth produce.

“Huh?” She asked, which made him erupt in a short laugh. That sound she definitely perceived. Not only with her ears but also with her heart, which skipped yet another beat.

“You’re not a great thinker on an empty stomach, eh?” Dean teased, gently nudging his elbow against hers and turning the iPad for her to look at. Whatever he was showing her on the screen, she didn’t care. She couldn’t bring herself to care. Instead, her eyes remained glued to him, albeit by now her gaze had at least wandered back to his eyes.

“Or maybe you’re hungry for something else,” he spoke, in such a bold and direct tone that she nearly jumped.

“What?” This time she wasn’t asking because she didn’t hear him, but precisely because his words had been loud and clear.

“No offense, but you’ve basically been gawking at me like you want a bite.”

Oh, fuck, he did catch her staring. Her eyes widened and her lips parted, but she struggled to come up with a snarky response on the spot. All she could do was scoff coyly.

“Have not,” she puffed, her body language betraying her even now as her eyes remained glued to his, despite her flustered state. “You wish.”

That’s what this was, right? Bickering, bantering, teasing – they’d always throw quips at each other playfully. Albeit they usually weren’t remotely close to touching a subject like this. Whatever this was, even. Romance? Longing? The aforementioned hunger?

Dean’s voice dropped an octave as he echoed her half tongue-tied denial. “Have not?” He was so smug about it too, victorious grin on those irresistible lips, mischievous spark in his green eyes, tone laced with mockery. “What’re you so flustered for then?”

“I’m not flustered, shut up,” she groaned, before turning her head away from him.

Or trying to, anyway. She was stopped in her tracks by Dean’s hand, his knuckles nestled just beneath her chin and tipping her head back. Just like that, she froze. Her heart froze. Time itself froze. Instinctively she held her breath and she did not dare to move a muscle.

His breath was a warm summer’s breeze against her skin, yet it made her shiver. His whisper tickled her senses — How was it possible for a voice to be as smooth as velvet and gravelly enough to make her tremble at the same time, anyway? “Then I’m sure you don’t mind me doing this?” She was pretty sure there was nothing Dean could’ve done right then and there that she would mind, flustered or not.

His knuckles brushed against her jawline, fingers opening slowly and cupping her cheek properly this time. As he pulled her closer, she couldn’t help but find his ministrations surprisingly tender. If she didn’t know it any better, she’d say Dean Winchester, notoriously known for being a flirtatious womanizer with an inflated ego, was just as nervous as she was. There was a tremble in his fingertips, a slight twitch in the flutter of his long lashes. A flicker of emotions in his darkened pupils.

Perhaps it was her imagination, or maybe she was projecting her own agitation onto him.

Either way, it was on her to fill that space between them. As if on instinct, her body moved on its own, leaning forward, closing her eyes, capturing his lips with her own. Even though the kiss was chaste, she already knew Dean’s pillowy lips were like a soft cloud she wanted to sink into and get lost in. His mouth was, as she had guessed, sweet and smokey with whiskey.

Their lips brushed together, tentatively at first. His fingers gently carded through her hair. The warmth that had blossomed in her chest lingered even as she pulled back again, just enough to be able to look into his eyes again.

“Who’s flustered now?” she teased within a whisper, the pink color on her cheeks betraying her confident act. However, she definitely had a point, considering that Dean’s flushed shade matched her own.

He lunged forward with enough force to pin her down onto the mattress. The sudden fierceness had her grasp onto his broad shoulders, pulling him down with her. His mouth was on hers again in an instant, hot and searing and with the intent to devour her whole. They breathed each other in, their lungs craving the depth of the kiss more than oxygen itself. Raw desire replaced the initial shyness of their first experimental peck. Dean’s tongue moved against hers as if he was trying to erase anything else from her mind. She kissed him back with equal fervor, finally bursting the bubble of endlessly long yearning and pining.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted t’do this,” Dean slurred as if drunk on her taste, his words muffled by the silky texture of her lips.

His hands traced down her sides, outlining a curve for her that her body willingly arched into. She pulled him impossibly closer and closer still, even when his mouth proceeded to wander down her jaw, down her neck. He marked a path down the column of her neck until his teeth grazed her throat to pull broken gasps and mewls from within. The meek sounds fueled him. She was practically sending him on a mission to coax all the pretty noises from her puffy, kiss-bitten lips. She was an instrument, his fingers strumming her chords. She was his favorite song.

“Should’ve done this a long time ago,” he purred and the rumble of his chest buzzed straight into her heart, down her spine all the way through her core.

“Agreed,” was the simple and only response she was able to choke out.

Her shaky fingers tightened their grip on his shirt, the fabric wrinkling under her impatient pulling and tugging. One hand snaked around his shoulders, finding home in the nape of his neck as she allowed her fingertips to comb through the tresses of his hair. Touching him was grounding, while the low growl she was able to draw from him had her feel all dizzy and fuzzy.

Dean lifted his head again to crash his lips into hers with newfound vigor. Their hands were everywhere, running over every plane of muscle, every hill and valley to the point of their limbs tangling together messily. Nothing could separate them from their magnetized state.

Except the rustling of keys at the door. As quickly as they had found each other, their lips withdrew from one another. Both her and Dean quickly sat up, faces flushed and chests heaving with ragged breaths. He cleared his throat while she busied her shaky fingers with smoothing over her hair. By the time Sam returned and closed the door behind him, they had reluctantly pulled away. The inches between them were as sobering as Sam’s voice.

“They were out of apple pie, here’s cherry,” Sam sighed, placing the plastic bag onto the coffee table. He glanced over to the two, his eyes flickering back and forth between them with wonder. She could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to piece together the clues. Their flushed faces, Dean’s disheveled hair, her messy shirt.

“I think I had enough sweets for today,” Dean muttered half-awkwardly towards his brother and with a half-smug wink towards her.

credit & links: ao3 ──〃★ dividers ──〃★ request here

taglist: @ladysparkles78

comment a green heart 💚 to be added to the dean x reader taglist (please note: ageless blogs will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts)

[chevroletdean]

mirror sex [dean winchester] ── ✮⋆˙

kinktober 2024

ship: dean x afab!fem!reader genre: smut, angst to note/warnings: explicit – minors dni, established relationship, hunt almost gone wrong, canon-level violence, patching/stitching up wounds, dean’s self loathing tendencies, hurt/comfort, little bit of praise kink, fingering, porn with plot word count: 3.6k a/n: three days until halloween and i feel like i’m way behind on kinktober. i might just try to get to some of these during november as well, my apologies. also, the cat’s out of the bag: i’m a sucker for angst. i’m curious what you guys enjoy to read/write the most, are you more into fluff, smut, or angst?

Dean’s harsh on himself. Always. You knew that even before you started dating him. It’s how he grew up, after all. From a young age it’s been drilled into him by John; that he has to be tough and strong, that he isn’t allowed to think before he acts, that certain things have to be done – even when these things are ugly. Even when they turn other things ugly. Things like the sight of his hands afterwards. Things like his whole reflection, honestly.

It’s days like these where he enters autopilot, in a poor attempt of resorting to a self-defense mechanism. He can’t stand the reflection in the mirror, so he simply doesn’t look. He wouldn’t like what he sees, so he avoids it altogether, if he can.

Saving people, hunting things, the family business – killing monsters always sounds so heroic until you realize your decisions are cut-and-dry to the cruelest degree, until the soap can only scrub clean the red from your hands but not the guilt that still sticks to your skin, and until you begin to wonder who the actual monster is.

Dean’s harsh on himself in that he blames himself for everything. It’s all his responsibility, the weight of the world always on his shoulders.

Hunts go wrong. It’s part of the job, but that thought isn’t as comforting as it should be, because it doesn’t change anything and it doesn’t take away any of the gravity.

Dean and you had been tracking down this pack of aggressive werewolves. The job had sounded so easy, everything had been so straight-forward. Until you two realized that the town’s sheriff was in on it, and ultimately, so was his son. Partially, at least. Just a kid, barely twenty-one – about the age when Sam hit the library, when he should’ve hit on cute girls on campus, around the age of frat parties with beer-pong cups and hangovers.

A guy who had his whole life ahead of him, but had it snuffed out by a silver bullet to his chest. (or rather, by Dean’s finger pulling that trigger, if you’d ask Dean how it went down, because he sees no point in distancing himself from the narrative when it was his doing). Not because that kid wanted any of it. Hell, as Dean and you had been investigating the case, you came to realize all that boy wanted was a peaceful life. And you knew it was possible, some werewolves were able to build up normalcy without killing anybody, picket-fence and all, more so than your average hunter, sometimes.

But you had shot the sheriff, given that he’d been systematically kidnapping his victims throughout the years. And upon witnessing the silver piercing through his father’s chest, the student went downright feral. He attacked you and jumping you, going for a bite that never landed, was the last thing he ever did.

“You had to shoot him,” you told Dean in the car, just like he predicted you would.

“I know,” came Dean’s reply and those were the only words during the whole ride, just like you predicted they’d be.

Even upon arrival back at the bunker, he remains silent. The loudest noises are just his footsteps, which are heavier than usual as he drags you to your shared room, and ultimately the slam of the bathroom door that he shuts behind the two of you.

“Sit,” he says, voice laced with anger that you know he only directs at himself, and nudges you to the edge of the bathtub. You know better than to argue with him and despite the fact that there’s a nasty gash on his shoulder, you let him clean the minor scratch above your eyebrow first. You must’ve hit your head back when the werewolf slammed you against a shelf, but you’ve definitely had worse. But Dean puts others before himself and your wellbeing is always his priority.

Yet, his ministrations aren’t exactly gentle. He dabs the rubbing alcohol to your cut brow without any regard for the way you wince slightly. His eyes don’t meet yours as he shoves his hand into the cupboard and impatiently fishes for bandages. His jaw is clenched tightly as he patches you up with a bandaid.

He’s in his own head, clearly – or trying to keep those spiraling thoughts at bay within his self-critical mind. Those what ifs and should’ve dones would kill him otherwise.

You can only watch as he straightens his back, turns around, takes a step towards the sink opposite to the bathtub, slams the cabinet shut again, and keeps his gaze purposefully low. His eyes remain glued to his hands as he washes them, as if he doesn’t dare to lift his chin.

“Let me help you with your shoulder,” you mumble softly and he almost can’t hear you over the running water and the running thoughts. It’s your gentle touch that makes him snap out of it, but even as he raises his head at last, his eyes only land on the reflection of you. Your face peeks out over his shoulder, one of your arms wrapped around his middle, the other hand ghosting over his blood-soaked sleeve.

“No need, ‘m fine,” he grumbles, stubborn as ever. But as he turns off the faucet, the movement reminds him of the sharp ache and the dull throb in his arm. Just the graze of the sheriff’s bullet. He knows he got lucky, but he also can’t bring himself to care about any of that with every other dreadful aspect of today.

“A couple of inches away from death doesn’t fit my definition of fine, Dean.”

He can’t argue with that, it would be hypocritical. A droplet of blood on your forehead is enough to make him worry and who is he to deny you your concerns when he’s been injured too? Besides, he knows you can see right through him. Physical injuries are one thing, but the emotional damage often runs deeper than any blade or gun could.

Though his muscles are stiff, Dean doesn’t resist as you slowly peel off his flannel. His eyes are still fixated on you. He can’t bring himself to look at the wound himself, much less let his gaze drift anywhere close to his own reflection right now.

Your movements are mesmerizing enough to keep him distracted anyway.

You reach around him to turn the faucet back on and you grab a washcloth. You tie your messy hair back and out of the way and you carefully roll up the short sleeve of his shirt. You dampen the cloth and wipe the blood from his arm. Once you disinfect the wound, he ultimately looks away. Not because of the sting of the rubbing alcohol, but because of the pain he recognizes in your eyes. Your brows knit together and you frown slightly, sighing to yourself.

He can’t bear watching you pity or fuss over him when part of him feels like he deserves this.

“C’mon, ’s not even that bad, sweetheart,” he grumbles, but his voice is strained.

Your movements come to a halt as you blink up at the mirror, expecting to see his green eyes look back at you through the reflection. But Dean’s head hangs low again and his hands grip onto the edge of the sink he’s staring into.

“I’m glad it’s not,” you hum, but you still grab ahold of his hands and pull him away from the sink. “Sit.”

When you say that word, it sounds a thousand times softer than when he did. You know he hadn’t huffed it at you earlier, but rather didn’t bother concealing his bad mood. Still, his annoyances aren’t directed at you, so he makes an effort to pull you closer gently, in apologetic fashion. His hands settle on your hips as he sits down on the edge of the tub. You’re standing between his legs, surgical thread and needle in your hand.

“Lift your arms f’me, babe?”

When Dean follows your instructions without a witty remark about how eager you are to get him to strip, you know the self loathing is bad. You help him peel off his shirt, tossing it straight into the laundry basket. Luckily there aren’t any other major injuries, though you suspect a couple of bruises will bloom by tomorrow.

His hands go back to your hips, as if he’s able to steady and ground himself by holding you, to which you have no complaints. As long as he’ll let you stitch him up, you even let his bolder touches slide. You’re so focused on closing up the wound that you barely react to his fingers curling around the back of your thighs.

With this position, Dean’s practically forced to face the mirror again. It’s right behind you and with the way you’re half bent over, leaning down to his arm, the view is without obstruction. But his attention is fixated on the jeans-cladded plush in his palms. His hands wander higher, fingers splaying out over your curves. He gives your ass a gentle squeeze to which your breath hitches.

“Careful, unless you want to end up looking like Frankenstein’s monster,” you chuckle playfully, relieved that he’s in high enough spirits for teasing touches.

“Since when are you not into the scarred badass guys?”

“Touché,” you smile in response, “Although I prefer them in a confident mood.”

He groans, knowing where this is going, but he decides to play along. “What d’ya mean?”

Your smile curls into a smug grin as you shrug. “I mean,” you sigh and finish the last stitch, securing the thread into a knot and setting the needle aside. “Scarred, badass guys are even hotter when they know that they’re strong,” you continue, before you plant a kiss to his forehead, “that they’re brave…” Another kiss, to his nose this time.

A quiet growl escapes him as he instinctively tightens his grip on your ass. You know he doesn’t fully believe your words, but you’re adamant about convincing him, so you continue with your list: “…heroic.” More kisses, this time a chaste one directly to his lips, though Dean scoffs and pulls away almost immediately.

“Yeah, right,” he scowls. “Nothing screams hero more than murdering someone.”

“You saved me tonight,” you argue back, whilst gently cupping his face. “You’re definitely my hero.”

His gaze wanders from your lips up to your eyes, seeing nothing but gratitude and adoration in them. Both of which he feels undeserving of. Dean Winchester isn’t half the hero you think he is, he’s all kinds of screwed and his fucked up life consists of violence and regret most of the time. Yet you always look at him as if there’s something worth looking at. Even when he can’t see it himself.

“Just doing my job,” he replies and his voice feels thick and wrong on his own tongue.

“No,” you huff, your thumbs tracing the sharp edge of his jaw, the scruff grazing against the pads of your fingers. “It’s not your job to look after me, or to fight evil. But you’re damn good at it and you do it to make the world a better place. Just like you did today.”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow at your words, since he’s not exactly sure how shortening the lifespan of a young man can possibly add any plus points to his karma. But he understands where you’re coming from, even if he can’t accept it fully just yet. He doesn’t regret pulling the trigger either, he’d do it again – in a heartbeat – if it meant keeping you alive. In that regard, what he did was the right thing, but that didn’t mean it was an easy thing.

“You did what you had to do, babe,” you sigh, tilting his face up a little again before he could avert his gaze once more.

You’d tell him that he shouldn’t beat himself up over it, but that would be like talking to a wall. Your reasoning tends to reach him better than the loving reassurances, even though you both know you’re right. Maybe that boy didn’t deserve to die, werewolf or not, but in that moment it was either him or you.

Your lips land on him once more, this time on his jaw, before they wander down the hollow of his throat. Dean welcomes the sensation of your mouth on his neck, your teeth against his collarbones. Your hands on his chest, warm and soft and eager. So eager to make him feel good, to prove to him his own worth.

Your fingers are always enough to make his walls crumble. The sweet nothings you whisper to his ear always suffice. It might not heal him entirely, but his doubts are soothed for the moment whenever you need him. Whenever you give him what he needs. Whenever you love him.

Your hands reach the waistband of his denim pants, against which his cock is already beginning to strain. Once your touch ghosts over the prominent bulge, he snaps and indulges. In one swift movement, he stands up, his hands still tight on your hips as he picks you up and carries you to the sink. Within a second you find yourself positioned on the bathroom counter, your back nearly bumping against the mirror behind you and your legs draped around Dean’s waist. You’d complain about how he should be careful, lest he wants the fresh stitches to rip open, but your protest dies on Dean’s tongue, which he has already slipped past your lips.

Dean kisses you hard and with purpose, as if wanting to repay your praises. Where your mouth works its magic through words, he has always known different ways to use his. Always a man of actions, your boyfriend. His lips wander down your neck, making you gasp in delight.

He grunts, dizzy with the taste of you, your scent, your voice. You’re so soft under his calloused hands that he’s reminded once more of how close he was to losing you tonight. His impatient hands pull your shirt up over your chest, where his lips latch onto. He doesn’t even bother pulling it over your head fully, eager to search your heartbeat with his tongue, as if he’s able to taste that you’re still alive that way.

While you’re busy discarding your shirt properly, Dean’s mouth finds your nipple through the lace of your bra. You arch your back into his touch further, his name falling from your lips in a whimper that almost has his brain short-circuit.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he gruffs and pulls you off the counter, turning you in his arms so you’d face the mirror. His low voice is gravelly and half muffled by the column of your neck, which he still works some hickeys into. “Always treating me like some kind of hero when you’re the one keeping me alive and sane.”

His bare chest is pressed flush against your back and your hips are lodged against the edge of the sink, to which your shaky fingers grip so tightly that your knuckles turn white. You whimper again, softly, as you feel him rock his hips against your ass. Were it not for his large hands around you, one on your waist, the other cupping your breast, your knees would give out and you’d topple over.

Dean shoves a little harsher, his chest still flat against your back as he pushes you closer to the mirror. It’s fogging up slightly with how heavily you’re panting against the glass. Your eyes meet through the reflection and he finds himself not minding the mirror so long as you’re in the picture as well.

The bandaid that used to roughly match your skin color earlier now sticks out against your flushed face, red and warm all the way down to your neck and even your chest. Your lips are kiss-bitten, puffy and slightly parted as your ragged breath is interrupted by little mewls and whines.

Most days Dean’s looks in the mirror and hates what he sees. But he could get used to this view. At least he can appreciate the sight of his own hands on you, one around your throat, the other between your thighs, making you unravel, being held by yours as you reach for his wrists.

“Maybe scratch the sane part, you know you’re driving me crazy,” he revises his earlier statement as his deft fingers make quick work of your jean’s button and fly. His breath is hot against the shell of your ear and you shudder as he watches every small reaction of yours closely, like a hawk.

He shoves his hand straight into your underwear, satisfied when his fingers find your slick and his ears pick up on the meek moan. He’s barely even touched you yet, but you’re already soaking. You’re so damn responsive it almost makes him want to rip both your pants off and just take you until you’ll see stars. While patience is a virtue, it’s not Dean’s strong suit – yet he wants to take his time with you.

“Always taking such good care of me,” he whispers roughly, gently pinching your clit between his middle and ring finger. “My turn making my girl feel good.”

Using your previous methods on you now, he presses a soft kiss to your temple. His lips brush right against the edge of your bandaid. “My pretty girl,” he breathes, before his mouth wanders to your cheek, where he places another kiss.

“My smart girl, always using her pretty head to keep us alive.” God knows his words are true – your quick thinking and ability to stay level headed has saved the both of you out of dangerous situations more times than he can count.

One of his fingertips slips past your entrance, causing you to overhear whatever he adds to the list of compliments. You’re too distracted by the digit sinking deeper into your cunt with little resistance.

Your blush deepens further, fingers curling around the sink’s ceramic. Your eyelashes flutter and your eyes threaten to close, but Dean prevents your head from dropping low with a gentle nudge of his hand. His fingers tighten around your throat, firm enough to make you redirect your focus, but not enough to squeeze your windpipes, let alone hurt you in any way.

“Eyes on the mirror, doll,” he hums against your jaw. “Would be a shame if you were t’miss out on the show, huh? Look how pretty you are f’me, princess, all sensitive and needy.”

You squirm and whimper, struggling to follow his order with how he’s making your head spin. He’s not playing fair. How’re you supposed to focus on anything except him adding another finger to pump in and out of your cunt?

“Dean, please,” you moan, desperately trying to wiggle your hips. You aren’t even sure what it is you’re begging for, exactly. More of him. All of him. Not like you can’t already feel him throb against the curve of your ass.

“Wanna see you cum on my fingers first, baby,” he mumbles, nearly slurring over his own words. But the hand around your throat loosens its grip and he already moves it down to pull your pants lower. “Know you’re almost there, can feel you squeezing the shit out of my fingers.”

You half groan half sob, beyond flustered, but too far gone to argue back. Your legs are already shaking thanks to his fingers thrusting in and out of you and your breathing becomes more ragged with each intake of oxygen. You attempt to throw him a pleading glance through the mirror, but all you can see is your own messy state. Your gaze briefly flickers down, watching his thumb circle your clit in the reflection. However, your eyes are forced back up as Dean’s free hand winds up in your hair and pulls your head back until it’s settled against his uninjured shoulder.

“Eyes up here,” he quips and you’d want to wipe that smug smirk off his lips, were it not for his fingers curling inside of you and pushing you over the edge at last. Your mouth falls open and you cry out as liquid heat rushes through every fiber of your body. You see your own reflection, expression twisted into pleasure and bliss as your orgasm washes over you and you clamp down on Dean’s fingers. Your grip tightens around his wrist, which doesn’t stop him from guiding you through the ecstasy.

“So good for me,” Dean praises, or you think that’s what you hear in your hazy state. You’re still trying to catch your breath as he withdraws his hands from between your now sticky thighs. He brings it up to his mouth, giving his fingers a brief lick. You shudder in awe watching him. His pupils are blown wide, glistening tongue peeking out from those plump lips of his.

But he changes his mind at the last second.

“Not done with you yet, sweetheart,” he whispers and presses his fingers against your lips. You obediently open your mouth for him, welcoming his fingers in, though you flush more as you taste yourself on his skin.

Your walls flutter and clench around nothing just at that, but you have a feeling he’s about to do something about the empty feeling. He smirks knowingly, his cheek pressed against yours, your faces in the mirror side by side.

“Think I should show you how pretty you look taking my cock? I swear, it feels unfair that I’m always the only one who gets to enjoy the show.”

credit & links: ao3 ──〃★ dividers ──〃★ request here taglist: comment a green heart 💚 to be added to the dean x reader taglist (please note: ageless blogs will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts)

@winchester-whiskey @whormotional @spacecowgirl126 @zepskies @hot-and-confused

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[chevroletdean]

masturbation [dean winchester] ── ✮⋆˙

kinktober 2024 (open to suggestions for this year's list) ship: dean x afab!fem!reader genre: smut to note/warnings: explicit – minors dni, vague descriptions of the reader, horny dean and mentions of his porn addiction, panties word count: 1.1k

People don’t call Dean a porn-addict for no reason.

His laptop has frozen on questionable websites more than he cared to admit and there’s also the not so subtly hidden stash of magazines scattered across his room. Some are carelessly shoved under his bed, for others he at least had put in the effort of storing them in the drawer of his desk.

However, despite his impressive collection, they pretty much only serve the purpose of collecting dust nowadays. At most, they had a collectible value, or some nostalgic keepsake. But they don‘t come in handy as much as they used to.

After all, why would he need any of that when the mere thought of you is enough to drive him insane?

Memories of you, specifically of the two of you together, are organized and cataloged in his brain more neatly than the special editions of his zines could ever be. And replaying them in his mind makes him harder than any video ever could.

There’s the vivid image of the first time you shared a motel bed with him – sprawled beneath him with your hair a messy halo that spilled across the pillow, framing that flushed face of yours.

Or that one evening that ended up in both of you being a little more than tipsy and a lot more than touchy – he can practically taste the whiskey on his tongue whenever he thinks about your hot tongue pushing against his. He can certainly feel the ghost of your touch across his heated skin, your hands uncharacteristically soft for a hunter’s.

In fact, everything about you is so damn soft.

Your pretty lips, whether they’re locked with his or wrapped around his cock. Your voice whenever you let out those shaky breaths and sinful moans. Your curves, especially those damn hips of yours that he loves to latch onto with a death grip every time he sinks into you and drowns in you.

Like last night in the backseat of his car, you straddling his lap in nothing but those cute little panties and that pretty bra. His favorite set; the lacy one with the tiny bow in the front, green in color (you insisted they are sage when you bought them, but he only remembers that because you also mentioned they’d match his eyes — and they say romance is dead).

Your body curved into a perfect arch while his mouth moved from your jaw down to your chest, his tongue circling your nipples through the thin lace and his large hands sliding around your back to undo the clasp with a mixture of practiced ease and the usual impatience.

He always wants to take his time with you and then he never follows through with it, because he can‘t wait to feel your tight heat envelope all of him.

“I’m never gonna find that one again,” you had protested as he tossed the garment somewhere to the front seat. Your pout made him want to kiss you until your lungs ache from the lack of oxygen. 

Other than that, your complaints did little to distract him from the task at hand, which was shifting you on his lap, his hungry fingers hooking through the waistband of your underwear.

“I‘ll make it up to you,” he whispered, his promise wrapped up in his hot breath and darkened eyes, like a little present. “Lift your hips for me, baby.”

Baby. Him calling you that never failed to send shivers down your spine. It was a loving nickname he had reserved for his beloved car, and maybe you should take offense to the fact that he’d put you on the same level as a vehicle, but he’d always say it with such reverence. As if you were above it all.

You bit your bottom lip, a sight that made his grip on you tighten further, and obediently lifted your hips, enough for Dean to pull the lace down your legs. “Are you gonna toss them somewhere around here too?”

“No, sweetheart,” he chuckled whilst he slowly removed your panties, his hands running along your skin and his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “These are going in my pocket for safekeeping.”

He carefully folded the lace, slipping the panties into his jeans as if they were something precious. Something to be treasured.

And they were. They are.

Why else would he have the lace scrunched up in his fist right now, along with his throbbing cock?

The texture of the lace wrapped around his arousal doesn‘t compare to your warm cunt clenching around him, of course. But damn it all if stroking himself with the panties that would cover your pretty pussy doesn‘t come close.

Dean‘s head rolls back against the headboard of his bed and his legs tense and stretch over the mattress as he continuously works his hand up and down on himself. He‘s all ragged breaths, heaving chest and fluttering eyes and he can‘t help but wish you were here.

He grunts quietly at the idea of you walking in on him like this.

How beautifully your eyes would widen if you got to watch him drench your panties in his precum. Fuck, maybe you‘d lend him a helping hand and make sure not a drop goes to waste. Your delicate fingers always look so good around his length and Dean bets the sage green lace would only enhance the sight.

Maybe you‘d even put them on right after, soiled and covered in his seed, practically marked by his scent.

Dean‘s breath hitches in his throat at the mental image he has just painted. That fantasy of you walking around in dirty panties does something to him, something that makes the jerking motion of his hand increase in pace. His hips meet the thrusts with purpose at this point, the added friction of your underwear pushing him closer to the edge in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

Your name falls from his lips, his voice merely above a whisper and trembling at that.

God, he misses you. Your smile, your touch. If only he could touch you right now, let his hands wander across every dip and curve of your body. But you‘re out helping a friend with a case and he can only resort to touching himself, and to pathetically using your clothes as a substitute.

His hips buck upwards and stutter and he glances down on himself. His thighs flex briefly, his dick twitches in his hand and he hisses through his teeth as thick, white beads spill through the green lace. They sit atop the fabric like pearls for only a second, before the material soaks some of it up, the sage tone darkening into a wet spot. The rest of his release dribbles down, coating his fingers and sticking to the garment.

credit & links: ao3 ──〃★ dividers ──〃★ request here ──〃★ kinktober

taglist: comment a green heart 💚 to be added to the dean x reader taglist (please note: ageless blogs will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts)

[chevroletdean]

leather jacket and pumpkin spice latte ── ✮⋆˙☕🎃

pairing: dean x (gender neutral) reader genre: fluff warnings: slightly suggestive but nothing explicit word count: 1.6k

a/n: i've also published this little drabble on ao3. i’m just craving fall weather and the halloween mood.

He had to do a double take.

Dean had not gotten much sleep tonight – hence the decision to slip out of the motel room and grab coffee to go so early in the morning –, so who really knew, if he wasn’t still dreaming? The sight before him sure could have been straight out of his imagination.

Actually, he was sure he had a dream just similar to this before. Some time ago. Or maybe not too long ago. Kinda hard to tell with how often you haunted the three to four hours of shut-eye he was able to catch each night.

When he had left, you were curled up in your blanket, looking like a little burrito wrap. He could barely see your face, a tuft of hair sticking out the only indication of your presence. He figured you were fast asleep and since there was a coffee shop just around the corner, it shouldn’t take too long for him to get back; and it didn’t. Except in the twenty minutes he’d been gone, you had already gotten out of bed, having exchanged the blanket for something else to wrap yourself into.

Not even the soft creaking of the old door to your shared motel room was enough to startle you. Dean’s eyes scanned you up and down, admiring the look of his leather jacket on you. The material hung loosely around your frame, several sizes too big on you. Hell, it was too big on him, but it seemed to swallow you whole, practically dwarfing you.

The leather was loosely crinkled at the joints of your elbows, as if you had attempted to roll up the sleeves a little, but soft, hugging your frame as you rummaged through the kitchenette‘s cabinets.

“Not even any damn tea here,” you sighed to yourself, bottom lip jutting out into a grumpy pout. Your mission to get at least somewhat warm and cozy failed miserably. You weren’t much of a morning person to begin with, but the busted heater in the motel room was your last straw.

October nights in Minneapolis were freezing, according to you at least. “Do we really need to go hunting a werewolf here? He‘ll probably turn into an icicle once the sun sets anyway,” you had grumbled during the car ride.

“Will a pumpkin spice latte do?”

Dean‘s voice startled you at last. He watched you visibly flinch, spin your head around and stare at him with wide eyes. You blinked at him first, then at the disposable cups in his hands and he could practically see your eyes light up with anticipatory sparkles.

You had teased him about his quote-unquote fragile masculinity before, but watching your lips curl up into a giddy smile was worth the feeling of self-consciousness at the coffee shop‘s counter. Somehow asking for extra sweetener and added vanilla went against his principles.

You never understood his aversion to coffee with milk and sugar and how it wasn’t as tough as Dean’s usual americano order. Either way; maybe those syrupy sweet beverages weren‘t too bad after all if they made you happy. And maybe instead of caffeine, he just needed the adrenaline rush of your fingers brushing against his. You took the cup he held out for you – or rather snatched it away.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled. “You’ve got plenty of time to practice the goblin thing for Halloween.”

His teasing remark earned him no more than a roll of your eyes. You were much more occupied with the brew in your grasp, clearly savoring the warmth on your hands and the sweetness on your tongue as you took a sip. The pleased hum that left your lips bordered on a moan and thus sent a shiver down Dean’s spine.

“Whatever witch blessed Minnesota with pumpkins in these weather conditions, may no hunter find them,” you hummed happily.

“I‘m pretty sure the artificial flavor is not from any local pumpkin patch,” Dean snorted softly.

“Shut up and let me enjoy the magic.”

“Magic, huh?,” he grinned, before he gestured downwards to your… attire. “That your wizard‘s robe then?”

You nearly choked on your beloved pumpkin spice latte, realizing the state you were in. After having woken up pretty much abandoned and freezing, you had grabbed whatever clothing item was nearest. It just so happened to be Dean‘s leather jacket, which now made you feel absolutely silly. You had simply thrown it on without thinking, not even bothering to change out of your pajamas beforehand.

At least that was what you were telling yourself and what you were set on convincing Dean with too.

“I was cold,” you shrugged defensively, but there was no way Dean would fail to pick up on the way your ears turned slightly red.

Noticing the tell-tale sign of your flustered state, his lips curled up and he huffed out a bemused chuckle. Emerald eyes wandered down your body once again with that shameless spark in them that he never bothered to conceal. “Didn’t say I was complaining.”

Far from it.

He was itching to reach out to you, pull you closer, let his hands wander all over you. To slip his fingers under that jacket, under that cozy pajama–

“Let me get changed so we can visit the witness.” Your suggestion interrupted those thoughts of his and left him scoffing. Of course you’d divert the topic to the case. Surely, if he were to point it out, you’d blame it on your desire to abandon this nightmare of a motel.

But Dean wasn’t quite ready to get to work just yet.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he spoke, his tone as rich as the cinnamon in your coffee, and stole the pumpkin spice latte from your hands again, setting it on the small kitchen table. “What’s the rush? At least finish your coffee first.”

“It’s called a to go cup for a reason,” you half-chuckled half-sighed, but joined him as he took a seat regardless.

The two of you shared your coffee over idle conversation, your inner morning grouch more and more satiated with each sip. Despite your previous nagging about freezing, you definitely didn’t mind the coziness of lazier mornings like this.

Sure, the heater in this cheap motel wasn’t working properly and you forgot to pack an extra sweater to shield yourself from the crisp October air — but some aspects of fall did make you feel warm. Namely pumpkin spice lattes. Or the fact that Dean remembered you liked them with two pumps of vanilla.

Once having finished your coffee, you disappeared into the bathroom to get ready for the day. A quick shower later and having changed into your daily attire, you went back to Dean.

And you caught him red handed. He was eyeing your coffee tumbler, giving it an experimental sniff, before downing the very last bit of it. You snorted softly as he grimaced and tossed the empty thing into the waste bin.

He looked about as flustered as you did when he caught you wearing his jacket earlier. To each their own guilty pleasures, huh?

“Yummy?”

Christ, that smug smirk of yours was dizzying. Or maybe it was the sugar rush, from just a singular sip.

“Not for me,” Dean grumbled, tone more defensive than necessary. “Just wanted to try and..”

As he trailed off, he averted his gaze away from your eyes towards the leather jacket in your hands. A hint of irritation flickered across his expression.

You raised an eyebrow at him, your smirk not fading whatsoever. As you made your way towards the door, you stopped in front of him and held out the neatly folded jacket. “And?” You asked.

“And, uh… confirm that I prefer more subtle flavors,” he mumbled, his eyes wandering back up, but stopping at the curve of your lips. The second he saw them part slightly, some witty remark likely already on the tip of your tongue, he leaned in to place his own atop.

The kiss was chaste, but he was still able to taste it — behind the freshness of toothpaste, the mixture of cinnamon and nutmeg still lingered.

Subtle, just the way he preferred it. Or maybe it was just his imagination; or some of that autumnal magic you had mentioned earlier.

As Dean broke the kiss, he grinned watching your eyes flutter back open. He’d never get tired of that sight. Just like he’d never get tired of seeing you wearing his clothes. Placing one hand on top of the jacket, he nudged it back towards you.

“Keep it for today,” he said, his words neither an offer nor a suggestion, but rather a request. “Don’t want you complaining about being cold the whole day.”

You blushed and you pouted, but you didn’t protest and swiftly slipped it back on.

Dean gave an approving nod, adjusting the collar of it and smoothing the material over your shoulders. It was definitely too big on you, your hands weren’t even visible under the long sleeves anymore.

“You know you could’ve just asked if you wanted to borrow my clothes, sweetheart,” he teased, which earned him a playful smack on the chest.

“You weren’t complaining earlier,” you puffed. “And while we’re on the topic: You could’ve just asked if you wanted to try the pumpkin spice latte.”

Dean gave a short laugh and stole yet another kiss to savor the taste. You shivered as you felt his tongue slip past your lips and his fingers underneath the leather, settling on your waist. Even through the remaining layer of your shirt his touch seemed to leave a trail of fire down your sides.

“You weren’t complaining either,” he whispered, his warm breath on your flushed skin still the best remedy against cold weather.

credit & links: dean icons ──〃★ dividers ──〃★ request heretaglist: there's no taglist yet, but feel free to hmu if you want to be added <3

[chevroletdean]

you always meet twice ── ✮⋆˙🥃📞

pairing: dean x gn!reader genre: fluff, dash of angst if you squint to note/warnings: set around season 10, mentions of the mark of cain, dean being a grumpy old man, cute first meetings, miscommunication word count: 2.8k

a/n: this is random, i just wanted to write more fluff, since you guys were so nice about the last one. thank you again, i didn't expect so much positive feedback!

He swore that that giggle of yours could soften a demon’s black heart. He should know, having been one himself not too long ago.

You flashed him one last mesmerizing smile and slid something across the counter before you turned around and left the bar. His eyes lingered on you until you were through the door and out of sight. Only then did he dare to glance down towards your little goodbye gift, which he swiftly grabbed and carried back to Sam’s booth.

“Seriously?” Sam scoffed, the crooked grin on his lips reflecting a mixture of disbelief and belittling. “What is this, the 2000s?”

None of that seemed to bother his older brother, who was all toothy, boyish grin and lit up eyes as he proudly flaunted the napkin in front of Sam’s nose. Numbers were scribbled on it in black ink, clearly a phone number.

Was it a little old-fashioned? Maybe, but didn’t that make it all the more charming? Dean certainly seemed to think so and even though it must’ve been about 10 years or so ago since he last had anyone write their number down for him like this, he thought he deserved a sliver of joy.

“They even wrote ‘xoxo’ next to it, dude,” Dean boasted. “What’s that mean again, love and hearts or whatever?”

“Hugs and kisses, Dean. It means hugs and kisses,” Sam corrected him with a sigh. His brother was a lost cause.

The little symbols were about as cheesy as the act of the whole number on a napkin thing and Dean was eating it up with a giddiness that could only be matched by a lovesick teenager. You’d think after about two decades of acting like a flirtatious heartthrob, he’d either mature or be harder to impress.

“Either way,” Dean beamed proudly, “I’m still in the game.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, but he refrained from any witty remarks and settled for a snort instead. It’s been a while since he’s seen Dean’s lips curled upwards – after a couple of rough weeks and many setbacks, it was good to see him smile again.

He’s been to hell and back, literally and figuratively, and after all the worrying about the Mark of Cain, recovering from being a literal demon, and the usual apocalyptic sense of dread, who was Sam to deny him his fun?

Turns out he’d have his little moment ruined hours later anyway, and not even by Sam or any of his teasing comments.

He must’ve slept horribly or maybe the lack of leads in this case was starting to frustrate him.

It was unclear what exactly caused the switch to flip, but the grin from last evening that had reached from one ear to another was nowhere to be seen anymore. Ever since they left the motel and drove into town, he was back to his grumpy self.

Sam nearly flinched as Dean slammed the door of the Impala shut a little harsher than necessary. Dean’s brows were furrowed in frustration as he practically stomped into the diner. His little brother followed suit, barely making it through the door while it was still open. They took a seat and ordered some breakfast.

Despite knowing he wouldn’t get an explanation, Sam tried anyway.

“What’s up with you today?”

Dean shot him a glare that not only signaled he’d refuse to answer, but could also suffice for straight up daggers. He took a demonstratively large gulp of his coffee. “Can we just focus on the case, Sammy?”

Focus on the case was rarely what Dean wanted to do, not when he had a potential fling going on anyway. Which could only mean one thing.

“No luck with your napkin sweetheart?” Sam teased, seemingly hitting a sore spot as Dean slammed the coffee cup back onto the table with a clatter.

“The case, Sam,” he repeated insistently.

Right on the money then. What else would rile him up into such an irritable mood?

Giving in — albeit he did a terrible job at concealing a gloating grin —, Sam booted up his laptop and went through the files. It was all pretty straightforward: Bunch of people went missing over the past few days, one of their bodies having turned up with their blood drained. Vampires, likely, though Sam and Dean had yet to find the nest or talk to anyone in relation to the victims.

“There’s this one college student that went missing two days ago, usually never misses a class or a shift at their part-time-job,” Sam spoke and turned the laptop around for Dean to look at the missing person alert. “We could split up, talk to one of their professors and a coworker.”

“Fabulous,” Dean grumbled, using his fork to stab holes into his slice of pie. His mind was clearly elsewhere. Presumably on a certain someone he had met last night – and was stood up by, apparently.

“Seriously, what happened?” Sam half-groaned, half-grinned. There was some genuine concern in his voice. Even if the situation was kind of amusing – it didn’t happen often that someone was able to humble Dean like this –, he knew his brother was on edge already.

Anger and bottling up feelings were always his specialty, but with the Mark of Cain still attached to his arm, they should probably not risk any major stress.

Dean grumbled something inaudible, half of his words swallowed by the coffee cup, the rim of which was pressed against his lips. Sam only thought he heard something along the lines of ‘wrong number’ and gave a confused “What was that?” in response.

“Whatever,” Dean groaned. “Any contacts, an address?”

Sam nodded and told him the address of the coworker. With Dean’s shitty mood, he’d rather not bring him to campus to scare away any freshmen. So, they separated for the time being, Sam heading to the university while Dean made his way to that address downtown.

On his way there, he fished for his phone again. And the napkin.

He had tried to dial the number earlier this morning and (much to his obvious dismay) the call had not gone through. He typed it in again, number for number, double-checking each digit individually. Maybe he had somehow gotten it mixed up in his half sleepy state earlier?

‘The number you have called is not available. Please check the number and dial again. The number you have called is n–’

Dean definitely didn’t get it wrong, comparing the number on his screen and the napkin again.

With a scoff, he shoved his phone back into his pocket, exchanging it for his F.B.I. badge instead. Grumbling to himself, his feet dragged him past a picket fence – each step heavy-footed – and up a porch, where he rang the doorbell.

As for why you’d trick him like that by giving him a wrong number, was beyond him. You could’ve just said no when he asked for your contacts, so why go through the hassle to be this mean about a rejection?

Unless he somehow had made you uncomfortable last night, although he could not for the love of it remember anything but your bright smile throughout the whole conversation. In fact, you had eagerly nodded when he offered to buy you another drink.

The soft creaking of the door disrupted his thoughts. By default habit, he already held up his badge, deciding to focus on the task at hand. Sam would be giving him a handful if he got too distracted during a case.

“Special Agent Murray, could I–?”

His introduction died on his tongue as his gaze fell upon a dazzling and oddly familiar smile. A heartbeat later and said smile vanished from those lips, which then twisted into a surprised O-shape.

“I don’t remember writing my address down,” you chuckled. Nervously. But not the kind of nervousness he would’ve expected from someone who had practically dumped him in the shittiest way possible.

The quip itself was somehow unfitting, considering those circumstances.

Who knew the coworker of the victim would be you, of all people, in a rather big town like this?

“Special Agent, huh?” Your smile was back on your lips, the intrigued spark in your eyes resembling that of last evening, and confusing him only further. “Am I in trouble, did I commit a crime?”

If handing out false numbers was a crime—

Dean cleared his throat and averted his gaze. He briefly fidgeted around with his badge, struggling to put it away again. Maybe that extra cup of coffee at the diner earlier was a mistake. As if it wasn’t already awkward enough. He wasn’t keen on making a fool out of himself further, so he decided to get this job over with as quickly as possible.

“I have a few questions about Daniel Anderson,” he said, tone dry as bone and honestly, rather hostile. “I take it you are his coworker?”

You blinked up at him, your smile fading once more. It was almost as if you were half-intimidated by his grumpy demeanor, but did you really expect a warm reunion?

“Uhm, yeah,” you mumbled, almost meekly, and opened the door further, stepping aside to make room for him. “Come on in, please. Would you like some coffee?”

Dean was led to the living room, where you gestured towards the seating options – a small couch and an armchair. Even though he just had about a gallon of it, he accepted your offer and settled on the couch.

While you were busy in the kitchen, he glanced around the room. A small but cozy living space and a pair of shoes kicked into the corner of the entrance that he definitely recognized. So you weren’t some lost twin of last night’s encounter.

“Excuse the mess,” you chuckled shyly, again with a warmth that exceeded his expectations. “I mean, you know how it is, I got home pretty late last night and have not had the chance to clean up yet.”

How come you were able to brush off this palpable tension with such ease? He was practically dying on the inside here while you, without hesitation, sat down next to him instead of the armchair and handed him the cup of coffee.

Dean once again cleared his throat, taking a sip of your coffee – as if somehow the caffeine could counteract his nerves instead of fray them further.

“About Mr. Anderson,” he began, clearly not wanting to dive into the topic of last night. If he didn’t know it any better, he swore he could see a flicker of disappointment in your eyes.

Your answers to his questions matched what Sam already found out. Your coworker was last seen coming to work three days ago, punctual as always, then wasn’t seen again. Apparently he had been the last to leave the office, which wasn’t unusual, since he’d often work overtime. A diligent guy, from the sounds of it, despite working only minimum wage and managing his studies at the same time.

“I thought I haven’t seen you around town before,” you hummed, eyeing him up and down briefly in a way that made him feel naked despite his suit. “No wonder, if you’re a federal agent working a case here. I gotta say, you can pull off a tie just as much as the flannel.”

That caught Dean off guard for several reasons. One being the fact that you were even more assertive when sober, apparently. The more obvious one, however, remained your previous rejection of course. He could not wrap his head around the concept of you flirting with him now.

You in no way looked anything remotely guilt ridden or embarrassed. If anything, your responses to his gruff attitude were mellow in fashion. And you still subtly brushed your knee against his despite everything. Were you messing with him?

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” you mumbled, hesitant for the first time today. “You can show up at my doorstep, but you can’t give me a call?”

Huh?

His widened eyes and the deadpan silence in the room seemed to go straight over your head.

“Well, I guess you’re busy with work,” you sighed with a crooked grin on your lips. “You should’ve told me, giving a special agent your number is kind of embarrassing.”

That was your problem, his line of work? Well, in that regard, he couldn’t be too hypocritical. He was as much of a special agent as your number was real, after all. Still, he was done with your games.

“I did give you a call,” Dean huffed. “Or tried to anyway, but you already figured that, I bet.”

Now it was your time to look all puzzled, at least until Dean pulled out phone and pocket. He dialed your number and put his phone on speaker. If in some twisted joke the third time would be the charm now, he’d feel really stupid.

But as expected, the error announcement came through the speaker once more: ‘The number you have called is not available. Please check the number and dial again.’

The color drained from your face first, before a redness crept up your neck. Your gaze flickered back and forth between Dean’s phone and his glare.

Then you burst out into laughter. Your cheeks were flushed in a bright pink while you hastily scrambled to find your own phone.

“You think this is funny, sweetheart?” Dean sighed, damn near pouting.

You didn’t reply, just snatched the napkin out of his hands. Your fingers were warm against his, since you had them wrapped around your own coffee mug moments earlier.

“Double-awkward, I gave a special agent the wrong number, oops,” you giggled and facepalmed.

Oops?

Dean was about to retort something, clearly unappreciative of the way you were still trying to make up excuses.

But you remained unfazed. More than unfazed: You reached out to his lapel, those warm fingers of yours wrapping around the pen in his chest pocket. All he could do was stay frozen in place as you crossed out the last two digits on the napkin and rewrote them above – in reverse order.

“You switched them up,” he mumbled, more of a realization than a question.

“I get clumsy when I’m nervous,” you smiled softly, rubbing the back of your neck and nodding apologetically.

You did not fail to notice how Dean’s eyes lit up again. That scowl, the harsh line on his forehead, they melted away. Some of that boyish, cheeky grin replaced his gruff facade.

“Nervous,” he echoed and his smug smirk confirmed his returned confidence. He had made you nervous last evening, huh?

“What did you think I needed that second whiskey sour for,” you giggled with that gentle edge that turned his heart into mush.

He knew right away that he wanted to see you like this more often, flustered, because of him no less. Enough to give you trouble thinking straight.

“How about you run a test-call, just to make sure I didn’t mix it up again,” you suggested.

It took him a solid three or so seconds to process your words and then he flinched, fumbling around with his inner pockets in too obvious of a desperation. Once again, he cleared his throat, realizing this must’ve been the dozenth time or so you got him this flustered. You really knew how to keep someone on their toes, whether it was on purpose or not, huh?

Dean dialed the updated number and surely enough, the buzzing vibration of your phone eased his anxiety once and for all.

“And here I was, thinking you were trying to mess with me,” he laughed breathlessly, to which your smile softened into a pout. Clearly you weren’t fond of the idea of upsetting him in this manner.

At least for a split second, before it widened into a mischievous smirk.

“I don’t know if that would go against the law,” you hummed teasingly, “But I’m an upstanding citizen and if you were to arrest me, I’d hope it would be under different circumstances.”

With that and a wink, you took the empty cups from the coffee table and made your way to the kitchen again. Like last night, Dean was left letting his gaze follow you until you weren’t to be seen anymore. As he snapped out of it, he stood up and headed towards the entrance.

“Call me if you hear anything from Daniel,” you smiled at him as you hurried to open the door for him. “Or, you know, in general.”

Dean chuckled briefly, the first time he’s laughed properly today, and gave you a nod. On his way out, he practically skipped his steps down the porch, to which you couldn’t help but grin.

By the time Dean met up with Sam again, he was humming happily to himself. Sam raised an eyebrow at his sunshine-giddy brother, scanning him up and down.

“What happened to you?”

“I’m still in the game, Sammy.”

links/credits: ao3 ──〃★ dividers ──〃★ request here taglist: comment with a green heart 💚if you want to be added to the dean x reader taglist from now on

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biting / marking [sam winchester] ── ✮⋆˙

kinktober 2024 ship: sam x afab!fem!reader genre: smut to note/warnings: explicit – minors dni, vague descriptions of the reader, sam being a bit rough and unfair, oral (fem receiving), petnames (doll, princess and such) word count: 1.3k a/n: this isn’t proofread, sorry. i’m rushing through the kinktober at this point, wahhh taglist: comment a book emoji 📚 to be added to the sam x reader taglist (please note: ageless blogs will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts) @s7nburn

It started innocently enough, but the process definitely wasn’t a slow one. The first time around, a cozy morning after a long night, the sight of a hickey peeking out of your turtleneck awakened something in him. That’s all it took for him to know he likes a trace of himself on you. Ever since then, he’s deemed it his mission to make it as difficult as possible for you to cover up the evidence of your passionate moments.

Sam has always loved the aftermath, the remnants of your bliss – and why gradually pick things up when he could just wreck you right away? You always look so pretty when he’s done with you.

The way a sheer layer of sweat would stick to your flushed skin, making you glow. The way your hair would spill over the pillows, framing your reddened face and creating a messy halo. The way your eyelashes would flutter weakly against your cheekbones as you struggle to keep your eyes open. The way your lips would slightly part as you’d try to catch your breath. They’re prettiest when they’re kiss bitten, pink, plump and swollen.

But his favorite are the constellations of purple scattered across your body.

Because those stick for a while and they fill him with pride.

If he can have it his way – and for the most part, he does – he treats your body as a canvas. You’re already a work of art, but there’s this primal urge of his to add his signature. To mark you as his muse. Every artist has a favorite tool and his preferred method is his mouth.

Sure, his large hands never fail to find home in the plush of your skin and leave behind a print or two; just like right now. His grip is like iron as his fingers deftly sink into your hips to pin you down.

But his mouth creates the prettiest patterns on you.

You’re already covered in hickeys from his lips latching onto you; not to mention the indents of his teeth. Like little nicks, deep enough to bruise just slightly without drawing any blood. He could break you so easily, yet you continue your attempts to push yourself impossibly closer to him still, wanting more. The blind trust you offer him is addictive. You seem so fragile underneath him like this, completely at his mercy.

“You squirm too much, doll,” he grumbles. As if he could ever actually be annoyed by your adorable little reactions. Those noises fuel him further, if anything.

His voice is half-muffled by the flesh of your inner thigh, which he sinks his teeth into in warning fashion. You respond with a soft sob and he licks over the tender spot apologetically. His tongue is searing hot against your sensitive skin and despite your best attempts to still your movements, he still makes you shudder. In your defense, Sam has spent a good amount of time just kissing up your legs and thighs. You’ve long lost track of time by now, but you’d have an even harder time counting all the marks he’s left behind on your skin. There have been too many soft, wet kisses planted against your tummy and between your legs for you to keep track of.

Not an inch of you is spared by his hungry mouth.

“Sorry, ‘m s-sorry… just–” you whine, interrupted by yet another playful nibble of his sharp teeth. His lips ghost over your clit and you hold your breath. You know better than to make any commands – not that you’re in any state to form any coherent sentence anyway –, unless asked for otherwise. Even if you’re on the brink of melting after all his teasing, Sam’s the one deciding when he’s had enough, and his thirst for your taste is far from satiated.

“Shhh, I know,” he hums and you swear you can feel the victorious smirk on his lips right against your core. “Just stay still f’me, princess.”

Not that you have much of a chance anyway with your movement restricted by his strong hands. Sam shifts below you so his head is slotted between your thighs, one arm wrapped around your lower half enough to hold you against the mattress. Instinctively your trembling legs drape over his broad shoulders. You feel daring enough (and needy for an anchor) to reach down to him and he obliges, using his free hand to interlock his fingers with yours.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers and his warm breath tickles your slick.

He’s even more thorough when it comes to diving into your folds than he is kissing your thighs. His mouth is hot against you, drinking you in like you’re the finest liquor – and to him, you’re just as intoxicating. His tongue nestles into you with the intention to suck you dry and his sharp nose presses against your clit.

You whimper, your voice almost broken as your breath stutters in your throat. The sound is strained enough for him to pull back and place a gentle kiss to your center, giving you a second to breathe.

“You good, baby?”

You nod your head eagerly and squeeze his hand, but he lets go of it and gives your thigh a light pat or two, firmly enough to get you to respond properly. Sam always needs to make sure you’re still with him, attentive and enjoying yourself.

“Feels s’good, Sammy,” you confirm shyly. “Don’t stop, please.”

“Wasn’t planning on it, pretty,” he chuckles darkly, returning to feasting on you until his chin is glistening with your juices. You’d be bucking your hips wildly to grind against his face were it not for his strong arm holding onto you like a damn vice. It just makes you whine all the louder, but Sam’s in a giving mood. “Almost there, you’re so good f’me,” he mumbles, slurring and babbling his words like a drunk.

He pushes you right to that edge of pleasure, a familiar coil tightening in the pits of your stomach. Sam’s tongue flicks against you with practiced ease, alternating between flattening the muscle against you and curling his lips in a way that makes you moan. You’re on the brink of ecstasy, when he suddenly pulls away.

“N-no, please,” you complain desperately. He’s teased you enough! This is just cruel.

“Not done with you yet,” Sam huffs. “Gotta give some extra attention to more obvious places too, hm?”

Your mind is too hazy to make sense of his words, let alone respond, until his lips wander upwards steadily. He licks a languid stripe up to your navel, followed with soft nibs over your ribs. You swallow thickly as his lips close around one of your pebbled nipples and you yelp softly as he uses his teeth to give it a playful tug. He only switches to the other breast to give it the same treatment, working another hickey onto it. It’s a harsher bite close to your collarbone that makes you squeal, which in return makes him chuckle.

“Sorry, got a bit greedy there,” he grins, those hazel eyes of his clearly satisfied with seeing your cute pout. He decides to soothe that little frown away by pressing his lips to yours and making you taste yourself.

It should shock you how easy it is for him to make you forget all your annoyances. After all, you’re still left high and dry, and all it takes is a simple kiss for you to melt under him. His mouth wanders yet again, following a path across your cheekbone. His teeth catch your earlobe, pinching it gently. His kisses suck reddish marks along your jawline and down your neck.

Flushing, you arch your back, realizing he’s marking you up on purpose. He’s busy with a spot under your chin, making you gasp softly. “Sammy, the weather is way too warm for scarves,” you protest within a weak huff. “There’s no way I can cover those up.”

“That’s the whole point, doll,” Sam replies, the curl of his smirk pressed against your throat. “By the time I’m done with you, a scarf wouldn’t make a difference anyway.”

credit & links: ao3 ──〃★ dividers ──〃★ request here ──〃★ kinktober

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nsft alphabet [sam winchester] ── ✮⋆˙

genre: smut, explicit ─ minors dni! a/n: another nsft alphabet, because these flow more easily than one shots atm. again, feel free to suggest any character for this alphabet thing in my inbox! credit & links: alphabet ──〃★ dividers ──〃★ request here taglist: comment a book emoji 📚 to be added to the sam x reader taglist (please note: ageless blogs will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Sam is very attentive to you afterwards, and it‘s like he‘s always prepared or thinking ahead. He makes sure you have a glass of water to drink, cleans you up, if you‘re up for it he‘ll carry you to the shower. He can even throw a massage in there, if you’d like one. You don‘t have to lift a single finger.

Keeps asking you if you‘re okay, if anything hurts. Showers you in kisses all over, so much so you think it‘ll turn into a second session.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his arms and shoulders. You always hold onto them as if your life depends on it and it‘s so easy for him to pick you up with them, or engulf you in a tight embrace. Usually he’s not one to brag or flex, but he likes to impress you. He obviously works out and every now and then enjoys showing off his muscle mass to you.

His hands. They‘re so big compared to yours and also quite useful. He loves the sight of his long fingers working your sex, or when he grabs a fistful of your thighs. His grip is like iron when he holds your waist, calloused against your smooth skin. Basically just loves manhandling you.

As for you, he loves your legs. Whatever outfit you‘re wearing, tight pants, loose sweatpants, short or long skirt, it always draws his attention to them. Needless to say, he prefers them wrapped around his hips, or alternatively your thighs draped over his shoulders.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He has an amazingly healthy diet and he‘s a vegetarian, his cum has a nice smell and taste to it.

But Sam still prefers cumming inside of you, so long as no risk of pregnancy is involved (i.e. birth control, ot anal sex). Those urges are primal, he loves the idea of marking you up from within. The best part of filling you up is watching it drip out after he pulls out and he enjoys pushing it back in with his fingers, telling you not to let a single drop go to waste. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He‘s walked in on you once, touching yourself. You didn‘t notice him and he wanted to be a gentleman and walk back out, but he was frozen in place for long enough to watch you orgasm. That image is still vivid in his mind and he feels equally turned on and ashamed of it. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He‘s had his fair share of sexual encounters and he knows how to satisfy his partner. His body count is just shy of double digits, or barely above it, which is plenty enough of experience to know what he likes and to recognize what his partners enjoy. Confident in his skills for a reason.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Sam loves any position that involves pinning you down and fucking you stupid into the nearest surface. Against a wall, bent over a table, pushed doggy style into the mattress. Bonus points if he can grab your hair or choke you from behind to pull your back against his chest. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He‘s not messing around. Sam is on a mission to make you see stars and forget your own name and he‘s serious about that.

When he‘s not deadset on making you drunk of his dick, then it‘s about being passionate with you in a gentle manner. But he‘s not relying on jokes to satisfy you. It‘s not a game, it‘s serious. 

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Very well groomed and insistent on his personal hygiene. You think he‘s just adamant about the hair on his head? Apply that to the rest of his body too, he makes sure he‘s clean and tidy everywhere at all times.

He keeps it short down there, but not entirely bare. His body hair on his arms and chest is thick and dense, but not unruly.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) 

Sex with Sam is intense. With feelings involved, you are his to worship as well as claim. 

He‘s anything but a brute. You‘re his treasure and he treats you accordingly. Expect him to go over the top when he has the chance to. He doesn‘t care if you think it‘s cheesy. You deserve a nice hotel room, a bottle of champagne, rose petals leading to the king sized bed and scented candles. He‘ll go the extra mile as often as possible.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

It‘s not his favorite way of getting off. He prefers having you satisfy that need for him and returning the favor. So if it comes down to pleasuring himself, it‘s probably when you two can‘t be together. Even then he tries texting you or giving you a call, your voice helps immensely.

In a scenario where he can neither see you nor talk to you over the phone, he prefers to do it under the shower and get it over with quickly. It‘s mostly for releasing the tension and never because he wants to properly enjoy himself. The shower is a practical way of cleaning up right after and the least messy method.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Marking! Sam wants your body covered in remnants of his touch. Hickeys, bitemarks, bruises shaped like his fingers and hands, your ass and thighs tender and red. Every inch of your body should be proof that you‘re his.

Choking. You feel so small under him and those big hands of his fit perfectly around your throat, his long fingers holding you until your face goes red and your breath starts to stutter.

I feel like he‘d be into blindfolding and Shibari (or simple handcuffing works too). There‘s something so intimate about getting to drape your body the way he wants and tying you up with these pretty ropes. This way he can tell how much you trust him, blindly if necessary.

Cockwarming. Oh, he enjoys having you squirm in his lap or kneeling in front of him, any of your holes so full and stretched out by him while he focuses on the book in his hands. It gets you needy and when your impatience wins over, he gets to put you in your place.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Shower. It‘s like sex has turned into some kind of morning ritual and unwinding before bed activity for the both of you. What‘s there not to love, when he can pick you up so easily and pin you to the glass? Oh, and washing each other‘s hair, scrubbing each other‘s back? It‘s the best way to start and end the day. 

He generally prefers the privacy and comfort of your shared room. Every piece of furniture there has undergone thorough testing.

The bed works nicely, although you‘ve definitely broken it before. The desk is a good option, the chair an even better one. Against the bookshelf was a little clumsy, but it worked. And, yes, he‘s had you down on the floor before too.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Once the two of you were doing research together and you were so focused on reading a book. With a pencil you scribbled down notes and when you were deep in thought, you‘d tap it against your lips or put it in your mouth. Your lips around it, your teeth holding it – fuck, that made his blood rush straight down to his core.

Anything domestic makes his heart flutter. His life is so chaotic and you‘re already his anchor as is. But when you‘re humming to yourself as you fold the laundry, all he wants to do is grab you and kiss you dizzy. When you‘re doing little dances in the kitchen, he can‘t help but let his eyes roam all over you. 

On a more deprived note: After a particularly rough hunt you were covered in grime. Sweat, dirt, and blood that was luckily not yours but the vampire‘s you had just decapitated was sticking to your skin, you looked disheveled and badass. He didn‘t know he had a serious thing for dirty until then.

Loves it when you’re touching his hair. You’re the only one allowed to mess it up, card your fingers through it. You pulling on it makes him weak.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

It‘s not a hard no, but he doesn‘t care much for being dominated. Sam likes to be in charge and your attempts of taking over are, at most, cute in his opinion. He might entertain the idea of it to indulge in your little attempts, but it‘s just until he gets to flip you around and show you how it‘s really done.

Anything public, maybe. Sam prefers to have you all to himself and he‘s rather possessive when it comes to you. Your sex life is reserved for you and him only, he doesn‘t need any witnesses or participants.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He prefers giving over receiving, because you just look ethereal when you’re all flushed, his head nestled between your thighs as he holds you down and works his tongue on you. When Sam goes down on you, he‘s devouring you whole until you beg him to stop. Performing oral on you is only done right, in his opinion, when you‘re overstimulated afterwards.

When you suck his cock, it‘s about the only thing he lets you control fully. He might grasp your hair, but you set the pace. It‘s a rare occasion during sex for him to lean back and enjoy the show.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He‘s rough. Really rough.

His pace varies between slow and fast thrusts, because switching it up is the magic ingredient for him. But he always hits hard and deep and with purpose. Every draw of his hips against yours makes your body jolt.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

They‘re not only convenient for you two, they‘re amazing. More often than not has Sam pulled you aside to the nearest private space and taken care of you in under three minutes. He gets off on making you crumble and cum quickly.

If he can, he‘ll take his time with you. But you‘re constantly on the road and sometimes a couple of minutes is all you have. He makes the most out of every second. A handful of minutes is all he needs to make your legs shake.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Yes. There‘s little to nothing that he‘s not open to trying. He‘s used to danger, almost to the point of desensitization — risky acts during sex are just that but a positive and satisfying version of it. So long as he still has things under control, he‘s down for anything.

That said, he‘s a man of routine. What works for him, works for him and he doesn‘t need to change a winning team, right? Doesn‘t mean it‘s any less exciting, he can never get bored of you and he makes sure you‘re just as satisfied.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

His stamina is insane. He can last for hours, if you both have the time for it. His self control is immaculate and he truly holds on to his own orgasm until you‘re absolutely satiated.

It‘s more like one insanely long round. He prefers it that way, to make that one count and to drag it out, milking it for what it‘s worth. Usually you‘re both satisfied enough – and too exhausted.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Sam Winchester doesn‘t need any toys. His body has enough tools to take you apart without any additional help. If you said you wanted to try a dildo, for example, he‘d just double down on pounding his cock into you and he‘d ask you if you still needed anything else to fill that pretty hole of yours. 

The most he can get behind is a blindfold or ropes to tie you up. Nothing for between your legs or to penetrate you though. That‘s his job.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Making you beg and whimper needily is his mission. He loves getting you all desperate and whiny. He has internalized everything that drives you crazy, he knows where to touch, what to say, which kind of glance to throw at you. Teasing you is so fun and he can do it for hours upon hours.

He‘s rather impatient, which is why he wouldn‘t appreciate getting teased much. Being on the receiving end of this just doesn’t do it for him – that is to say, you won’t get away with much before he takes matters into his own punishing hands. He might enjoy your attempts of seducing him, but he takes what he wants (so long as you‘re okay with it ofc). If you’re trying to get him to snap, teasing is the way to go.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

You are the lead singer here, your voice the center role. He intends to make you moan and scream until you forget your own name and can only remember his.

Doesn’t mean he’s breaking a sweat to hold it back. His self control game is strong, that’s all. From him you’ll hear heavy, but steady breathing. Occasional growls.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Sam is definitely the type to rearrange your insides and then, after taking care of you and cleaning up, casually goes on with his day as if nothing happened. He’s nose-deep into his book again as if he didn’t just split you open on his cock ten minutes ago. This includes the most outlandish random conversations and deep talk too.

Like... What do you mean “Did you know, according to the lore, tulpas can be prone to allergies?” – you’re still trying to catch your breath while he’s already being a nerdy smartass again???

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Little Sammy needs its own trigger warning.

The man’s a giant not only in height, but also in the downstairs apartment and it’s honestly intimidating the first few times around. Well above average. Like way up there, the big dick energy is accurate. Something over 7 inches and thick, heavy, curved, veiny.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Honestly, Sam’s libido is not that high, but he’s just a man with needs too. He definitely would tease you for being way hornier than him. While he takes pleasure in intimacy, he’s not a horndog. It’s about quality over quantity for him anyway.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Referring back to the wild card headcanon, Sam usually isn’t very tired after sex. In fact, he makes sure you’re the first to fall asleep in his arms. He’s the one who’s probably worn you out way more than he exerted himself, after all.

He can’t clock out before he knows you’re comfortable and have everything you need to rest. Additionally, he likes the feeling of you cuddling up to him and wants to relish in that for a bit, before he drifts off.

[chevroletdean]

spanking [sam winchester] ── ✮⋆˙

kinktober 2024 ship: sam x afab!fem!reader genre: smut to note/warnings: explicit – minors dni, vague descriptions of the reader, established relationship, fingering, dirty talk, orgasm denial, spanking as the title suggests ofc word count: 2.4k a/n: happy belated october, i guess. it was a busy month for me, but i wanted to at least finish the prompts i've put up on the list, even if it takes me into november!

You’re not even entirely sure how you ended up in this position.

Sam’s been awfully quiet, all day. If you didn’t know it any better, you’d say your boyfriend is in a bad mood. But his demeanor today is not so much glooming as it is brooding. He’s pensive, if anything. Focused.

The lead you two have been following is a complicated one. You’ve spent a good week on this case already and with each dead end, the frustration level increased. Sam and you are a good team, smart thinking and hard working.

But this is where you come to a parting of ways regarding hunting styles.

You know you’ll go crazy if you have to read one more word. You need a break, if only for a thirty minute nap. Or, judging by the soft growl of your stomach, maybe some food. Anything but more of this digging into a nothing-burger, pun intended. Sam on the other hand is too stubborn when it comes to this part of hunting; he’s not satisfied until he finds a clue.

You’d jokingly call him a nerd, were it not for the fact that you cherish this hard-working attitude of his. Good for him, but as for yourself, you’re definitely done for today.

“I’m beat, Sammy,” you groan and toss your laptop aside. “I can’t even look at another article anymore. The words are literally blurring before my eyes and you wanna know what they’re starting to spell out for me?”

French fries, burgers and chicken nuggets are the words floating around before your inner eye. If you mentally squint, you might see a chocolate milkshake thrown in there.

You wait for Sam to make a guess.

No response.

When you look over to your boyfriend, he’s right next to you – although you half expected to see an empty spot with how silent the room has been for the last couple of hours. He’s seated on his side of the bed still, back straight against the headboard, a heavy book in his lap. His eyes are glued to the pages and his brows are knitted tightly together in deep concentration.

He had a habit of using bookmarks, but keeping it lodged in the last spot until he’d put the book away again. You see it peeking out from somewhere in the middle and estimate that he’s flipped about fifty pages ahead already. He’s only started reading this book this morning. 

You pout and nudge Sam’s side in a desperate attempt for some of his attention.

The only response you get then is an unenthusiastic: “Hm?” Even then he doesn’t bother peeling his eyes off the book.

You know you have to test him.

“They’re spelling: Aw, shucks, I forgot to put on a pair of panties tonight and all I can think about is Sam’s hands between my thighs, making me cum on his fingers,” you ramble dryly, carefully gouging out his reaction. Which is non-existent basically, disappointingly but unsurprisingly.

He doesn’t even stir at your lewd words. Then again, you know how difficult it is to distract him when he’s locked down into research-mode; from experience. He’s clearly not listening and considering the nature of your teasing words (and your own cranky state), you take offense to the fact that he’s prioritizing the stupid lore over his girlfriend right now.

You nudge him again, harder this time and he finally protests quietly as you smack his shoulder.

“What was that for?,” Sam huffs and at last he meets your gaze.

“Were you even listening?”

With another sigh, Sam closes the book in his lap at last, after sliding the bookmark between the pages. “Sorry, what was that?”

Your pout turns into a frown and you roll your eyes as if to silently say ‘Nope, it’s too late now.’ Instead, you cross your arms in front of your chest. “I need a break,” you summarize within an exasperated sigh. “Let’s grab something to eat, c’mon.”

“Actually,” Sam starts and you already know you don’t like where this is going. “I think I’m onto something here, but there’s some more of that salad bowl in the fridge, if you wanna take that.”

Scoffing, you climb out of bed and head out of the room. Your steps are bordering on stomping and it is only in the last second that you decide slamming the door behind you would be a tad too much. Part of you admires Sam for his diligence, but you’re also absolutely baffled that he can’t take a hint.

A break wouldn’t hurt him either and you honestly crave some quality time with your boyfriend instead of being stuck doing research with just a hunting buddy. Lately, it all feels way too distant, thanks to this stupid case.

Besides, a salad? You secretly hope there‘s something with a little more cholesterol in the kitchen, but as you open the fridge it’s practically empty. Sam and you have prepared a giant salad bowl for lunch earlier today, the leftovers of which don‘t exactly suit your current cravings, but they will have to suffice for now.

You know it would taste a whole lot better if Sam would be having dinner with you, but alas, you are eating by yourself. Once you’re finished, you don’t even bother to properly clean up. Although no longer starving, you’re still grumpy. Rightfully so, you decide when you enter your shared room again to find Sam in the exact same spot you left him. Seriously, he hasn’t even budged a little.

Another sigh leaves your lungs, “You’re still reading? Find anything yet?”

“Nothing.”

Another ten pages or so, you guess from the space between the bookmark and his thumb. He’s read another ten pages in the time you’ve somewhat filled your belly with vegetables – and he’s still not done.

Rolling your eyes, you allow yourself to fall back into bed, shoving your laptop aside purposefully. You might not be hangry anymore, but you’re still cranky and frankly, touch-starved. Some attention from your boyfriend really shouldn’t be too much to ask for, after all.

However, your decision to scoot closer to Sam isn’t exactly rewarded with any enthusiasm. Even as you wrap your arm around his middle and mumble something about an after-dinner nap, Sam’s persistent on ignoring you. Even if it’s not on purpose, the rejection makes you feel rather neglected.

Beyond annoyed by his dismissal, you firmly nudge Sam’s arm up and drape yourself over his lap, replacing the book on his thighs with your head.

“Sweetheart-,” Sam groans, but thanks to your actions, the book slips out of his hands. “Do you mind?”

You muster a pout in his direction and watch as he flips through the book, trying to find the last page he was on. “Sorry,” you mumble, “for wanting to cuddle a little with my boyfriend.”

Sam’s counter-argument, whatever it was, dies on his tongue as he sees your frustrated scowl. “Fine, okay,” he mutters and shifts a little, adjusting your position so you’re comfortably lying across his lap. “Just this chapter, alright?”

Your counter-argument, whatever it was, is forgotten the second he combs his long fingers through your hair. You relax, laid down on your stomach across his lap and he places the book on your back, as if to hold you in place there. It’s better than nothing and you’re somewhat happy that he at least remembered his ability to multitask.

Needless to say, though, it’s far from enough – so can he really blame you when you squirm around restlessly?

After a couple of minutes, his free hand switches from patting your head to settling on your lower back. He traces the dip of it, running his palm across the curve of your ass before letting it rest on the back of your thighs. His thumb mindlessly strokes your inner thigh, making you arch into the touch.

“Sammy–,” you whine.

He gives your leg a warning squeeze and your breath hitches. The message is clear: He doesn’t want you to move a muscle, not even your tongue.

“This would be going way faster if a certain someone didn’t make me drop the book earlier,” he scolds, albeit his tone doesn’t hold much of an edge to it. It’s taunting enough for you to understand he’s playfully punishing you without holding any real resentment.

“But I–”

Smack.

You gasp as his palm lands on your rear in a quick motion. The sound echoes off the walls. The sting isn’t as painful as it is surprising. Instinctively, your back arches.

Sam’s voice is lowered, husky and stern, “You know how many pages you’ve made me reread?”

Before you can reply, he slaps your ass for the second time and instead of a coherent response, another yelp falls from your lips.

“Twelve,” Sam continues and gently but firmly presses the spine of his book onto the spine of your back, applying just enough pressure to keep you in place.

Against your better judgment you call him out on his bluff with a gruff, “If you know where you left off, then why are you rereading the–?”

Another slap interrupts your words, this one harder than the previous two. You whimper softly and feel heat creeping up your neck and down your core. Clearly Sam doesn’t appreciate you talking back, although his large hand smoothes over the fabric of your jeans in an almost apologetic manner.

“Don’t get smart with me, baby,” he scolds, flips to the next page, and pats your ass again, lighter this time. “Eight more to go, think you can keep count?”

You blush and nod, coyly, which only earns you yet another smack down your ass.

“Words, princess,” Sam reminds you.

“Yes,” you sob softly. “S-seven more to go.”

Seemingly satisfied, Sam’s fingers dance down to the apex of your thighs, soothingly massaging your tender flesh through the thick denim. “Good girl,” he hums.

Your fingers curl into fists around the bed sheets as you feel Sam’s hand wander around your hip and towards the front of your pants. With practiced ease he unbuttons them, before tugging the fabric down. Your breath hitches in your throat as he yanks the waistband over your butt, down to your mid-thighs.

As the chill air hits your bare skin, a shudder runs down your spine.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Sam rasps. “You weren’t lying about not wearing any panties, huh?”

Squeezing your thighs together, you flush in embarrassment. So he was listening to you after all? Bastard was just waiting to use it against you at the perfect time!

Sam’s hand travels between your legs and you stiffen as you feel his fingertips ghost across your folds, as if he intends to flip them like the pages. The soft rustling of paper above you confirms your suspicions that he’s still occupied with the book, speaking of. As he flips the page again, his palm connects to your bare skin once more.

You cry out softly and shakily, your head dropping low as you struggle to stay still.

A deep chuckle reverberates above you, “What’s wrong, forgot your numbers?”

Flip.

Smack!

“Six, five!,” you whimper, continuing to count down.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?,” Sam placates, letting his fingers slip between your thighs again. “This is what you wanted, no? My hands all over you? How’d you phrase it again?”

His fingers glide through your soft heat, which is already slick with arousal. You moan when his index and middle finger reach your clit to circle it slowly. Another whimper is all you can manage as you buck your hips, desperate for more friction.

“Making you cum all over my fingers, was it?” Sam whispers.

His digits tease your hole, only to withdraw a second later.

“I asked you a question,” he sighs, feigning a thinning patience. “Can’t even remember her own words, but is desperate enough to try and distract and tease me, so naughty.”

“Y-yes,” you answer. “Was talking ‘bout how I want you t’make me cum on your fingers.”

Flip. Smack!

You fail to stifle your sobbing. Your skin feels raw and you can only guess how reddened it is in color by the ache his touch causes afterwards. He always runs a soothing hand across the spot he just hit, but all it does is solidify the tingling sensation.

“Let’s see if I can help you with that,” Sam muses, pretending to be only half-interested. “After… how many pages again?”

“Four,” you say through gritted teeth, fully aware of his little game here.

“Right, four more pages,” Sam echoes and rewardingly squeezes your thigh again. The burn on your ass remains untouched for now, as does the ache of your soaking pussy. “Be a good girl and let me finish them, hm?”

He takes his time as he does and you’re left to wait in his lap, unable to move much. The only indication of what’s coming is the familiar sound of paper rustling, followed by him spanking you again. Four turns into three, into a two, and the agonizing one.

By the time he’s reached the last page, your head feels light and heavy all at once. You’re dizzy and sore, an uncomfortable numbness spreading down your bottom.

“Sammy,” you whine impatiently.

“Shh,” he shushes and briefly kneads your tender flesh. “Don’t make me start over.”

That’s enough to shut you up, but you’re still panting breathlessly in his lap, silently waiting for him to put the book aside.

Finally, he flips to the last page. You bite your tongue, that pretty round ass of yours arching up as if you were trying to get his hands on you more than he was. Fully prepared to feel his palm again, the word ‘Zero’ lingers on the tip of your tongue.

The impact never comes.

Instead, Sam places the bookmark between the pages, closes it and places it aside. Confused, you try to sit up, but he nudges you back down by the hips, pinning you to his lap. He shoves his other hand down your legs, thrusting a finger right into your soppy cunt.

“Time to reward my girl for being so patient,” Sam purrs. He adds another finger, pumping both in and out of you while his thumb finds your sensitive clit. “No cumming before I say zero, got it?”

The sound that escapes your lungs is half moan half protesting sob and fully incohesive response, “Please.”

“So clingy and needy for me,” Sam teases, curling his fingers inside you to hit the spongy spot within you. “You’ve held on ‘till now, what’s another countdown from twelve?”

credit & links: ao3 ──〃★ dividers ──〃★ request here taglist: comment a book emoji 📚 to be added to the sam x reader taglist (please note: ageless blogs will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts)

@s7nburn @figurantedefilme

[chevroletdean]

lingerie [rowena macleod] ── ✮⋆˙

kinktober 2024 (open to suggestions for this year's list) ship: rowena macleod x afab!fem!reader genre: smut to note/warnings: explicit – minors dni, vague descriptions of the reader, slight humiliation kink, massive praise kink, public, exhibitionism, power imbalance (rowena is queen of hell) word count: 1.9k

Being the Queen of Hell’s lover came with its perks. Not only did Rowena make sure you had everything you needed and more, she’d almost treat you as if you were Queen as well. Of course, you were to dote on her much like a devotee was to worship their deity – devotion, which you gladly carried out for your beloved. Regardless, your status differed greatly from that of a mere demon. You were more than just a servant.

The privilege of the crown was her own to carry, but you were her dearest darling.

Sitting in her lap was the closest you’d get to reigning a throne, yet you accepted that place with pride as if it meant you’d rule over her. And in a way both of you knew her rotten heart belonged to you like the underworld belonged to her. She practically said so herself: Your arms loosely draped around her neck were often compared to the best jewelry a woman could hope to wear, more valuable than any arrangement of pearls and gems. A forehead kiss of yours was a second crown, lipstick stains in her hairline carried like rubies and diamonds nestled in her locks. And her hand would find home in the small of your back whenever she had the chance to, holding you at her side like a mighty scepter.

You played an important part in her royalty.

Princess treatment was the standard for you. You were Rowena’s precious treasure and she made sure you knew. She made sure everyone knew.

“Look at you, doll,” she beamed with joy and the spark in her eyes matched that in your heart.

You quite literally were a doll, her prized possession to fuss over and dress up. You were a couple of hours deep into what could only be described as some sort of fashion show, modeling for her as if you were her muse. She’d always look at you as if you were the only thing worth looking at. As if it wasn’t her that was the most captivating thing in the room. Hell, in all of… well, hell. Yet she made you twirl around in front of her for her own entertainment, and subsequently that of her servants surrounding the throne.

It had started innocently with you showing off rich, silken fabrics. You had long lost count of the amount of long dresses, ruffled skirts and chiffon blouses of various colors. Every little outfit earned you an approving nod of your mistress and her smile would widen more with each one. Undoubtedly the reason for that was the increasingly revealing nature of your clothes. The more of your creamy skin peaked through the luxurious materials, the happier she seemed.

Next you stepped out in just nightgowns, the fabric almost translucent and leaving little to the imagination. Underneath you had only the thin material of underwear to protect some of your dignity, your most private parts still hidden. All of the lace and straps were expensive and tasteful, hugging your curves as if they were tailored and customized specifically for you. 

Rowena had handpicked every item herself, yet each time you stepped out from behind the partition screen, she’d let out a delighted gasp as if surprised. However, sensing her anticipation, you could already see where this was going.

Insecurities and self-consciousness found no place in her realms, ever. She made sure you felt pretty, always, because that’s what she declared, like a rule. It’s simply what you were and the Queen’s words were always final. But you couldn’t help the warmth creeping up your neck as you changed into a rather skimpy bra and panties next. If you could even call them that.

Your legs were entirely bare aside from the bows wrapped around your thighs. Their red silk was connected to the harness around your waist, a golden chain adorned with pearls in between each link. The bottom part of this set was made of the same material, threads of gold metal sitting around your hips with just a small slither of crimson silk around your vulva. The ‘panties’ were crotchless, your folds only decorated but not covered by anything. There was more fabric at your hips, another delicate bow on each side. A string of pearls sat right between your lips, one of them nestled directly against your clit. The slightest of movements caused a friction that would make your breath hitch.

Your chest matched the rest of the set, an intricate design of golden chains sitting around your shoulders and collarbone. It came with lace that covered your breasts – albeit its black fabric was so thin, your hardened nipples strained against the material –, yet another blood-colored bow sitting neatly right in the valley of them. A cascade of gold and pearls followed the pattern of your ribs, dangling against your skin. The harness was without doubt elegant and you initially struggled to put the charms on correctly. A soft jingle emitted with each rise and fall of your chest, so you purposefully kept your breath as shallow as possible. 

The metals and beads felt cool against your heated skin. As did the chilled air in the dark room, the stone walls of which were only dimly lit with candles that provided little warmth. Yet you felt like you were on fire, your heart pumping liquid flames through your veins. Blood rose all the way to your cheeks at the prospect of presenting yourself like this to anyone.

There wasn’t an inch of your body Rowena had not already thoroughly explored with her eyes, her hands and her mouth before – as for the other demons in the room, however…

Sensing your apprehension from the other side of the partition wall, Rowena hummed in that irresistible sing-sang voice, and you both knew her words were always able to coax you out of your shell: “Don’t be shy now, love.”

Reluctantly, you stepped in front of the throne. Your eyes were cast down in a poor attempt to hide your flushed face and at the bottom of the couple of steps leading up to the Queen, you sank to both knees. The dark stone tiles were cold and rough against your knees, but they provided a sense of comfort regardless, since they allowed you to curl slightly. An innocent maiden trembling at the altar of her Goddess. A sacrificial lamb amidst a den of wolves. The silence was thick and the tension so palpable you thought you could burst on the spot.

Still, the vulnerability wasn’t unwelcome, nor was it anything new for you.

Rowena loved putting you on display. She always relished the jealousy in the demon’s eyes, the hunger in them. They were allowed to look, because your beauty enhanced her power as Queen – and no matter how much they might wish they could, touching the Queen’s property was off limits.

“Up,” came Rowena’s sultry command then.

You swallowed thickly, but the lump in your throat would not dissolve. Slowly, you rose to your feet. Despite your best efforts to ignore everyone else’s eyes on you, you were painfully aware of the demons staring holes into you.

“Those pretty eyes of yours too, dear.”

You obeyed without hesitation, your eyelashes fluttering as you lifted your head to meet the Queen’s gaze. Her eyes were filled with adoration as she eyed you up and down, like a painter admiring his own work.

“The rest of you as well now, come on,” she chuckled and beckoned you up the steps with a flick of her wrist. The witch held her hand out for you and you followed her command, your feet moving up as if on autopilot until you were close enough to place your hand in her inviting palm. Rowena pulled you closer, spinning you once into a pirouette.

“I knew red would be your color,” she spoke, her thick accent laced with appreciation and pride. Maybe she was exaggerating a little, considering that the only red on your body was made up of the four bows and your warm face. The tip of her nose twitched ever so slightly as she smiled at you. “You look absolutely regal, dear. Ethereal. Worthy of a Queen’s lap like the Queen is of a throne.”

You got the hint immediately, but still waited for her to pat her thigh and hum the longly awaited “Come sit” which was immediately followed by the approving “Good girl” once you assumed position. You sat down in her lap like always, almost bridal style with the length of your legs draped across her thighs, one arm snaked around her neck, the other hand placed on her shoulder to form a loop.

“Isn’t she just a sight for sore eyes?” Rowena giggled, her eyes glued to your form and raking over every little detail thereof. She didn’t expect an actual answer from anyone in the room. In fact, if any demon would step out of line to make a wrong comment, that might just be the last thing they’d do.

The witch’s slender fingers danced from your knee up to your thigh in giddy fashion, toying briefly with the bow there. “Like a little Yule present, just for me to unwrap.”

You squirmed subtly and bit your lower lip. Her touch never failed to send shivers down your spine and make you crave more. Make you crave everything your Highness had to offer.

She caught on quickly, her smile twisting into a mischievous smirk as she leaned in closer to your ear. “As much as I enjoy making everyone know you’re mine, I think we should get rid of the audience, what do you say?”

Her whispers made you shudder as did that hand of hers, which wandered higher and higher. You nodded shyly, fearing your voice would fail you, were you to attempt uttering a single word. Sometimes she’d tease you into asking nicely or downright begging, but it seemed she was in a generous mood today. Or perhaps she was just as pent up from watching you flaunt all the pretty outfits as you were from giving her a show for hours.

“Out,” Rowena said sternly, and even though that single firm command was enough to make everyone else scatter through the door, she couldn’t resist adding fuel to the fire. “Let me enjoy my pretty little princess in peace.”

Her keen eyes followed the demons that made a beeline to the door until she closed that shut with a blink of her eyelashes. To you it was always impressive how effortlessly she worked her magic. Whether it was in general or specifically on you – such as when she let those slender fingers of hers slide down your exposed skin.

Her nail grazed right down your middle, over your navel and gave the chain around your hips a playful little tug. The gasp she was able to draw from you as a result made her chuckle, which in return made you arch your back and buck your hips. Usually Rowena would tease you further for your impatience, but this time she was just as eager. Her hand dipped between your thighs and she experimentally rolled that one pearl over your clit right against your sensitive skin. You didn’t even realize how you’d shifted in her lap, your head rolling back until it fell against her shoulder and her warm breath tickled the spot right beneath your ear.

It occurred to you then that she was more than just a Queen, she was your Goddess. One that made the lines between saint and sinner blur so beautifully, you didn’t know whether you were in heaven or hell.

“As much as I love showing off my darling, some of you is reserved only for me.”

credit & links: ao3 ──〃★ dividers ──〃★ rowena gif ──〃★ request here ──〃★ kinktober

taglist: comment a crystal ball 🔮 to be added to the rowena x reader taglist (please note: ageless blogs will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts)

[chevroletdean]

Jacklesverse Bingo 2024 ── ✮⋆˙

Very hyped for the @jacklesversebingo challenge! <3

This Masterlist is still a WIP and will be updated regularly (summaries and stuff will be added and might undergo changes). Every work will be linked here after it is posted.

⚠️ Works marked with an *asterisk will include 18+/smut content. Always read the warnings, please. ⚠️

Prompt: "I don't want to find out what I would do if I lost you." Pairing: MOC!Dean Winchester x Reader Summary: (⚠️ season 9-10 spoilers ⚠️) The Mark of Cain is slowly turning Dean into something he's scared of and he needs to take precautions; he needs you to promise him something. Type: Part of a Series

Prompt: Forgotten Birthday Pairing: Alec McDowell x GN!Reader Summary: Alec is new to the concept of birthdays, considering he doesn’t even really have one himself. When his s/o is sulky all day, he’s confused, until their friends throw them a surprise party and he realizes he has messed up big time. Type: One-Shot

READ HERE

Prompt: "Of course, you're good enough, you idiot." Pairing: TBA Summary: TBA Type: TBA

Prompt: Work Adversaries Pairing: TBA Summary: TBA Type: TBA

Prompt: Character A has to pick up Character B from the police station Pairing: TBA Summary: TBA Type: TBA

Prompt: Sensory Deprivation* Pairing: TBA Summary: TBA Type: TBA

Prompt: The Blade of a Knife Glinting in the Moonlight Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader Summary: (⚠️season 9-10 spoilers ⚠️) They had vowed to Dean that they'd do whatever it takes. When they find him – that is, the twisted version of the love of their life – will they be able to finish the job? Type: Part of a Series

Prompt: Biting* Pairing: TBA Summary: TBA Type: TBA

Prompt: "If you want something, then ask for it."* Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Reader Summary: People dance attendance on him all the damn time, so why can't you? He's Soldier Boy, America's Greatest Hero, and he's used to taking what he wants. Type: TBA

[thebiggerbear]

WIP Wednesday - 11/6/24 - Michael!Dean x Reader

A/N: This is an excerpt from "This Time The World Burns and You With It" that I've been working on since mid-July. Working on this has gotten me through some recent stressful personal stuff (don't ask me why it's this project or this character lol) and kept my writing going despite the absence of any kind of energy or time and the desire to just give it all up. I really do wish we had gotten more time with this character with Jensen playing him in the show but what we did get is pure gold.

Forever Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel; @hobby27; @impala67rollingthroughtown; @ladysparkles78

Michael!Dean Taglist: @chevroletdean

Supernaural Taglist: @just-levyy; @heartlessdelusions; @brightlilith; @muhahaha303; @mariahoedt

@solacedthistest; @deansimpala; @foxyjwls007; @onlyangel-444

JA Character Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx; @lyarr24; @rebel-paladin; @deans-spinster-witch

@bts24; @roseblue373; @nancymcl; @c1gs-coffee; @peachhiz

@kickingitwithkirk; @fanfic-n-tabulous; @illicithallways; @mentallyillandgae; @ladykitana90

@radioactivatedspider; @zepskies

You couldn’t even make sense of why you felt the way you did, especially after seeing the evidence of what he’d done just mere moments before hearing Maggie’s scream, watching her painfully die, and knowing everything he’d done on Apocalypse World and planned to do here. How could you feel anything for a monster like that?

Something you kept in mind when Michael showed up in your motel room a few days after the incident, once again wearing Dean. You tightened your grip on your angel blade though you knew you wouldn’t really use it; you wouldn’t kill Dean for your mistakes. Naturally, without lifting a finger, Michael knocked it out of your hand before he sent you flying up against the wall, holding you there. 

“That’s a different greeting than I got the last time we saw one another,” he mocked you in that voice that was anything but Dean’s.

“It’s the only greeting you’ll be getting from now on, you son of a bitch,” you hissed at him through gritted teeth.

“It’s a shame. I got the impression you wanted me to stick around.” He came even closer with his crooked smile.

“Not anymore.”

Green eyes stared into yours as he leaned in closer. “Let’s test that theory, shall we?”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours and just like that, your brain short-circuited and you were kissing him back. Within moments, he released you and you grabbed at him, keeping yourself from falling while also fervently kissing him, your fingers knotted in his hair. His arms came around you and he turned, walking you both to the bed.

Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged for this upcoming work. Also please let me know what you think in the comments below.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

[zepskies]

Agree with so many of these HCs!! Love me a NSFW alphabet. 😏❤️‍🔥

nsft alphabet [dean winchester] ── ✮⋆˙

genre: smut, explicit ─ minors dni! a/n: writing headcanons was easier than a kinktober one shot, oops. enjoy, i'll try to follow up with a sam version soon. and possibly other characters? (i'm feeling like writing one for alec mcdowell tbh) feel free to request any in my inbox! credit & links: alphabet ──〃★ dividers ──〃★ request here taglist: comment a green heart 💚 to be added to the dean x reader taglist (please note: ageless blogs will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts) @winchester-whiskey @whormotional @spacecowgirl126

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

It honestly depends on where you guys are, but generally speaking, he always makes sure you’re okay. If there’s anything you need, he’ll tend to it – which can range from a clean towel to a gentle forehead kiss. Even if you’re technically on the run or have somewhere urgent to be, he at least makes sure you’re both good to go.

Preferably he likes to take his time with you though. The aftermath of sex is one of the rarer opportunities for Dean to be openly sappy and vulnerable. Even with hookups, to some degree at least, the warmth of a lover’s arms is one of the places he can fully relax and he wants them to feel just as comfortable.

That said, he can be a little lazy. He makes sure the necessities of aftercare are fulfilled, always, but don’t always expect a luxurious bubble bath and immediately changing the sheets. Oftentimes he just wants to collapse onto bed with you and catch his breath.

He’s 50% giddy and proud smile – all cocky grins and smug bragging – and 50% sleepy. Your embrace is the closest he can get to experiencing heaven, he’s sure and getting to rest his head against your chest is the best feeling on earth. The sound of your steady heartbeat will definitely lull him to sleep and he’s insistent on cuddling the whole night through.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He has a love-hate relationship with his face. People keep telling him he’s handsome and even call him a pretty boy and sometimes he can’t see what they see. Most of the times his face card is a useful tool when it comes to investigation and working his charms. Other times he can’t stand looking at his own reflection. But when you compliment him on his freckled nose, his green eyes and long lashes, he definitely takes pride in it.

This particularly applies to his lips. He knows you love how pink and plump they are. And how pretty you think that smile of his is. It gets him anywhere he wants. Plus, the things he can do to you with that mouth, speaking sweet nothings, kissing you all over… what’s not to take pride in?

As for you, he’s a simple man, sometimes bordering on caveman – he’s obsessed with your butt and not shy to let you know. Whenever he gets the chance, his hand is somewhere on or close to your ass.

Your hands too though, not a chance he passes up on to hold it, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t think about your hands on him 24/7. If you wear any rings or nail polish, he always notices.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Loves to ask “Where do you want it, baby?” but his personal favorite is definitely in your mouth. Not even down your throat, he loves seeing you stick your tongue out for him, all coated in his cum, before you swallow.

He’s tried tasting his own cum before out of curiosity and had conflicted feelings about it. He’s even considered changing his diet afterwards, but (unsurprisingly) he got tired of eating so much fruit pretty quickly.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Not really a secret, since it’s literally canon and we all know he loves wearing lacy panties, but yeah. He definitely stole a pair of your underwear before and he’ll deny having seen it anywhere if you’d ask.

Since he loves sexting, he definitely has a nude or two of you and after annoying Sam enough to show him how the stupid printer worked, he now keeps his favorite lewd picture of you in his wallet, because why not? It’s especially useful when you two have to be separated because you’re working on different cases or something of the sort.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Dean has obviously fucked around a lot (literally), countless of hookups under his belt. He definitely knows what he’s doing and he can be very annoying about it when he boasts.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

You on top of him is his favorite sight. His hands get to grab everywhere and he loves that he can focus on watching his cock slide in and out of you as you ride him.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Sex, for Dean, is fun. It’s a good time, where you get to enjoy each other and make each other feel amazing. If he can’t get a giggle or a smile out of you, he thinks he’s not doing his job right.

However, there are definitely occasions that call for a more serious mood. Such as intimate moments after a rough day, where he and you just want to unwind and feel each other.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Short answer: He keeps his pubic hair trimmed, but not completely shaved.

Long answer: There’s other body hair he treats differently. Over the years he’s developed light chest hair, which he sometimes bothers to shave. He keeps his happy trail, as he’s never thought about it. His thighs are somewhat hairy. His body hair sometimes has a little hint of red color mixed into it.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) 

Unfortunately there’s little room for the real big romantic settings, such as rose petals and lit candles around the bedroom. With life on the road for the most part, you have to make do with what you have. He tries to make each time as special as possible though, it’s always passionate.

Dean’s a big softie once he lets his guard down, which you manage with ease. Very verbal, huge on saying sweet nothings. Lots of kisses. Definitely likes holding or touching you throughout it all. If possible, not a sheet of paper will fit between you two.

Eye contact is his strong suit. Doesn’t matter what position you’re in or what you’re doing, he loves getting lost in your eyes. If you ever avert your gaze or close your eyes, he reminds you to keep them on him.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Dean, as a certified porn addict, beats his meat a lot. His libido is high and he can’t always come crawling to you, so he relies on trusty lube and his hand more often than he likes to admit.

Definitely has a fantasy of you walking in on him and lending him a helping hand.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Roleplay! Just the thought of you in a sexy costume gets him hard. You’d make him the happiest man alive if you greeted him in a nurse costume. He’d also be into a police officer costume, handcuffs included. It’s fun and it allows you two to play pretend for a bit.

Praise, both ways. He’s always gushing about how good you are, how amazing you feel, how pretty you look while you’re fucking. In return, he loves getting praised by you. Nothing fuels him more than pleasing you and he’s so eager for those compliments.

Food play, to some degree. He loves seeing your pretty mouth stuffed, lips wrapped around a sweet treat in seductive fashion. Or when he gets to lick whipped cream from your skin? Again, playful and fun.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

His favorite location for sex remains a bed (bedroom, motel, he’s not too picky in that regard), because there he can take his time with you.

Of course making sweet love to you in the backseat of his car is always an option, too. The way the Impala's windows fog up is addictive for him.

That said, he won’t say no to other options. Not an inch of the bunker has not been defiled by the two of you. Shower, kitchen, the table in the main hall, the library, even Sam’s room while he was out. You name it, he’s fucked you there at least once.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Dean Winchester’s mind runs dirty at the smallest things. It doesn’t take much to pop the idea into his head that he wants to bend you over the nearest furniture or pin you against the nearest wall to have his way with you.

When you’re in a grumpier mood – that might sound shitty, but hear me out: He loves your gruffier, feisty side, because it makes him wish he could make that tension in your shoulders melt under his touch. He wants to kiss that scowl away and make you see stars until you forget about why you were even mad in the first place. You are hot. You being angry is even hotter, and it’s like a challenge for him to do something about it. Plus, you could always take it out on him, dominate the shit out of him until you’re no longer pent up and frustrated.

What never fails to drive him absolutely crazy is you wearing his clothes. You in his shirt or jacket makes his heartbeat skyrocket and his dick rock hard. It awakens something primal and possessive within him.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

A hard no for him would be anything involving causing you (intense) pain. I’d go as far and say he’d not even be into spanking, unless it’s like a playful slap on your ass. He’s not even a fan of choking or biting you. He hates seeing you hurt and if things get too intense, it’ll only trigger memories of him being forced to torture others in hell. There's already enough blood and guilt on his hands.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Hear me out when I say earlier seasons Dean goes weak in the knees when you suck him off. Nothing more of an ego boost than you drooling over his cock.

Later seasons Dean though? He likes to give head like a starved man. Getting you off is a huge turn on for him and admittedly, you riding his face is a high that he can’t compare to anything else. He’ll use every part of his mouth, lips, tongue, teeth until your legs give out and he has to hold you against him.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends on the mood. He can do both, but he prefers slow and sensual. Dean loves taking his sweet time with you, worshiping every inch of your body. He wants to cherish the moment and really commit every detail to memory.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Again, proper and passionate sex is his preferred way to go. But even then he has a high sex drive and more often than not, you don’t have much time for anything but a quickie. Most of the time, actual proper sex is a luxury, so you make do with what you can.

If you two have to rush it, you might as well have fun with it: It’s turned into a challenge of how quickly he can make you come undone on his cock versus how long it’ll take for you to make him orgasm.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Leaning towards no. Referring back to the fact that he doesn’t like hurting you, he also doesn’t like putting you into danger. Safety comes first, otherwise it’s not enjoyable for him.

On the flipside, he’s experimental when it comes to new things. You wanna try out a new kink? Sure! He won’t say no to spicing up your sex life. Just nothing involving potential damage.

He definitely is risky when it comes to public spaces. Likes to steal touches, sometimes subtle, sometimes not so much. The thrill of potentially getting caught red handed with his fingers between your legs under the table? Fuck, yes.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He’s not done until you are.

Lasts an average time, but that doesn’t mean he can’t go for a round two. Or three. Or more, you get the idea. Unless the situation calls for anything out of the order, he makes sure to be gentleman enough to make you cum first. 

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Handcuffs for him, or anything to tie him up with, you can get creative, so long as you tease him until he’s a whimpering mess unable to touch you.

Once you pulled out a butt plug and initially he thought it was for you, but, oh, was he wrong. Since then it has turned into a regular part of your bedtime activities.

He’s not one to get jealous of a toy, so if you want to use anything to rile yourself up further, he sees it as an aid more than a competition. Plus, there’s something insanely arousing about seeing you play with yourself, whether it is with the help of a toy or not.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

More than anything he enjoys being on the receiving end of teasing. You can make him beg so prettily.

However, that’s during the sex itself. When it comes to working you up beforehand, he’s a master. Teasing touches, sultry words, dangerous spark in his eyes and a cheeky grin? He’s bold and he’s not afraid to bite off more than he can chew.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

If you want him to be, he can be so damn vocal. Big on the whimpering department if you dominate him. And, again, just as enthusiastic regarding sweet praise and dirty talk.

Other than that, he’s usually all heavy panting and grunting. Not so much moaning and screaming, that’s what he tries to make you do.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He knows it’s cliché, but he likes to turn on the record player when he has sex. Playing some music during the hanky panky makes the whole experience even better. His playlist, of course, consists mostly of classic rock, but he’s genuinely picked the more romantic songs. Nothing Else Matters by Metallica, Fool in the Rain by Led Zeppelin, Love in an Elevator by Aerosmith… you get the idea. After an especially passionate night to a whole LP of Led Zeppelin, he couldn’t help but flinch and turn bright red when the same songs started playing in his car the next day. Dean also made a mixtape just for the occasion as a gift for you.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

A good six and a half inches, about seven when he’s hard, in size and definitely on the thicker side in girth.

It’s smooth minus that one prominent vein on the underside.

Pink tip that turns even brighter when he’s aroused.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He broke the scale, Dean is one horny bastard.

He’s either going to town on you, much to the dismay of anyone else in the bunker, or he’s pent up most of the time.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

After making sure you’re okay and putting in some effort to clean up (at least a little), he’s out like a light. Dean is a light sleeper, but the blissfully exhausted state he finds himself in after exerting himself makes him clock out. It takes everything from him to not just collapse on top of you and say hello to dreamland sometimes.