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reidsmanuscript · 2 months ago

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Exceptional

Summary: what happens when spencer hears the rumors about your teenage years? what happens when some of those rumors are true?. Pairing: Spencer Reid x lawyer!reader Genre: hurt/comfort and fluff at the end! wc: 5.5k! TW: burning wounds, bullying, misogyny/patriarchal behavior, violent and impulsive behavior. not proofread yet. A/N: in the middle of writting this i realized it's very based on "the archer" and "the man" by Taylor Swift Masterlist! (it's not necessary to read the first 4 chapters!)

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If we're talking about anecdotes from your teenage years, well—there’s not much to tell. Just the totally mundane story of an angry, emotionally volatile teenager with too much brainpower who somehow bulldozed her way into Harvard Law. No big deal.

JJ had great stories about high school—being the captain of her football team, those wholesome, small-town moments straight out of a coming-of-age movie. Emily had the wildest stories—traveling the world, the chaos of never staying in one place, and even the ones that made you feel something, like how badly she just wanted to fit in.

It started with the urgent case the BAU was handed—students linked to an elite Harvard secret society were disappearing, their bodies found staged in ritualistic ways. As the case unfolded, Spencer turned to you, his voice a little more cautious than usual.

“Do you know anything about some Seraphic Circle?”

You didn’t need to think. You’d heard plenty about them. Too much, really. "I’ve heard of them," you said, your tone dripping with disdain and rolling your eyes. “Rich kids with too much money and power. Half of them don’t even deserve to be there, but their families pay for their spot.”

You were reluctant towards accepting going with them to Massachusetts, too much memories and teh constant fear someone might recognize you and call you out for past decisions that maybe weren't the best. Maybe they were worse than you wanted to confess and might even scare Spencer away.

Still, he had asked you to accompany them. “Do you think they will remember you?”

“Nah… i don’t think so, they have tons of law students per year so…” maybe your words were right, but the higher thn usual pitch on your tone gave you away to spencer, that only he was able to detect, of how you weren’t saying all the true

Long story short, that's how you end up where you are right now, walking behind de BAU towards the Dean of Harvard office, with Spencer by your side.

You reach the office just as Hotch shakes the dean’s hand, introducing each member of the team. “SSA Jareau, SSA Morgan, and Dr. Reid,” he says, gesturing to each of them in turn. “We also brought—”

“Woodvale.”

The dean’s voice cuts through the room the moment his eyes land on you, recognition flickering across his face. Not even a hundred years would be enough to erase your name from his memory. He didn't like you back then.

An almost cynical, carefully polite smile curves your lips as you extend your hand. “Dean Langford.”

He grips your hand firmly, his expression unreadable. “Seems like you’ve come a long way from that time your burned one of my students”

The atmosphere in the room shifts instantly, tension crackling like a live wire. But you don’t let it show, ignoring how he didn’t consider you a proper student. Instead, your voice remains cool, measured.

“Those accusations were debunked after no evidence was found,” you say smoothly. “Unlike the very real recordings and witness statements I had of that same student saying—” you pause, tilting your head slightly, your smile sharpening, “women became hysterical when it came to sexual crimes.’”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Emily and JJ smirking, while Langford’s expression hardens.

The dean's smile barely falters. So, he does remember you. Not surprising—back then, you were even more impulsive than you are now. And that says a lot.

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Don’t ask how, but somehow Garcia had dug up records that gave the team a list of names tied to the so-called “secret society.” Ironically, when the BAU interviewed students about it, everyone seemed to know what it was—just not anything useful.

“They sacrifice animals.” “A bunch of douchebags with too much money.” “They run everything. If you’re one of them, you’re untouchable.”

“Do any of the names look familiar?” Rossi asked, sliding the list toward you.

You scanned it, then shook your head. “Only the last names. But that’s not surprising—most of them come from old money.”

Garcia had also uncovered some interesting financial records. One name stood out: Andrew Carrington, former lawyer at his family’s prestigious Massachusetts firm. A-class dickhead.

“He’s got buildings in the city,” Garcia said, displaying files on the computer. “But his family’s the real power—deep pockets, old money. There are even a couple of campus buildings with their name on them.”

Rossi raised a brow. “Legacy admission?”

“More like a blank check.” You leaned back. “Everyone knew he bought his way in.”

“Any possibility he’s involved?” Hotch asked.

You considered it for a moment before shaking your head. “I don’t think so. Back then, this club was his pride. These murders? They only drag its prestige through the mud.”

“So… this Seraphic Circle thing,” Emily said, tilting her head. “Were you ever part of it?”

The police station buzzed around you, a low hum of voices and ringing phones, but your focus was on the files in front of you. Spencer sat beside you, skimming through pages with his usual quiet intensity. Neither of you was big on PDA—no hand-holding, no lingering touches in front of the team—but subtlety was an art you both had mastered. Your elbows brushed as you shifted in your seat, his knee resting against yours, the quiet pressure grounding.

“Not really,” you answered finally. “They claimed you had to have a big name in law, but what they really meant was that you had to be rich—and if you were a man? Even better.”

Morgan flipped through a file. “But you do know this Carrington guy.”

Before you could answer, Spencer’s fingers brushed against the side of your knee—a light touch so subtle no one else would notice. A quiet signal. He’d felt your tension the moment Morgan had mentioned Carrington.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “Yeah… It was hard not to know someone like him. He’s got that whole ‘king of the school’ vibe, but honestly, he’s not capable of something like this.” You spoke nonchalantly, but your voice betrayed a hint of discomfort.

The team shifted focus to the next lead, moving on to analyze the unsub’s possible personality traits. After a few more exchanges, the decision was made to call Carrington in for questioning tomorrow—there was no use doing it this late. The discussion had settled, but Spencer’s fingers brushed against your knee again, just enough for you to catch it. He was still attuned to your every movement, a silent understanding between the two of you.

After that, Hotch made the call for everyone to get some rest. One by one, the team decided to call it a night, heading out to their respective rooms. You and Spencer lingered behind, both of you wrapping up the last of your thoughts on the case.

Spencer was the one to break the silence. He looked around the station, then at you. His eyes softened for a moment before he spoke. “Enough for tonight. Let’s get some sleep.”

You nodded, thankful for the break. As Spencer found your coat, you dropped the files onto the nearest table. You stood still as he slid the coat onto your shoulders, the fabric brushing against your skin. As he did, you both made the mistake of letting your hands touch—just a fleeting brush—but it sent a warmth through your chest.

The walk to the motel was calm, with the quiet night air wrapping around you both. Spencer felt a strange mixture of calm and anticipation swirling in his chest, emotions he didn’t usually indulge. It wasn’t something he had the vocabulary for, not in his usual clinical sense. For once, there wasn’t a need for facts or equations to understand the feeling that settled inside him.

His fingers, almost absent-mindedly, curled into yours. It was a subtle movement, but the softness of it caught him by surprise. His thumb traced small, slow circles over the back of your hand, a tender rhythm he couldn’t quite explain. For someone who usually lived in the world of patterns and logic, this was unfamiliar territory. But the simple touch, the way your fingers fit together so naturally—it felt right.

In a world where everything was either solvable or predictable, this felt like the exception. There was no analysis needed. No need to question why it felt so much like a moment he wanted to hold onto. Maybe it was the quiet between you two, or the way everything around you seemed to fade as his thumb ran over your hand. All Spencer knew was that in that moment, nothing else mattered.

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The next morning, Hotch had sent Morgan and Prentiss off to speak with students on the campus, while he and Rossi took over the interrogation. The room felt different now, quieter—like the calm before another storm.

Andrew Carrigton settled into the chair like he was sitting at a country club luncheon rather than an interrogation room. His suit was crisp, his cufflinks glinting under the fluorescent lights. If he was rattled by the fact that three of his former society’s members were dead, he didn’t show it.

Hotch sat across from him, his expression unreadable. Morgan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, unimpressed.

“Mr. Carrigton,” Hotch began, “we’re investigating the murders of three students, all of whom were members of the Seraphic Circle. You were one of its founders. We need information.”

Carrigton exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Tragic. Truly. But I haven’t been involved in years. You’d be better off asking one of the new recruits.”

Hotch didn’t budge. “We’re asking you.”

Carrigton smirked, tilting his head. “What do you want me to say? That it’s a secret society? That we have rituals and secret handshakes?” He chuckled. “Come on, Agent. It’s a networking club. A prestigious one, sure, but hardly the Illuminati.”

Rossi let out a sharp breath, unimpressed. “Right. A ‘networking club’ where only the rich and powerful get in, and anyone who doesn’t measure up gets chewed up and spit out.”

Carrigton raised an eyebrow. “That’s life, isn’t it?”

Hotch didn’t rise to the bait. “The night of the first murder, there was an event. Who was in attendance?”

Carrigton hummed, tapping a thoughtful finger against his jaw. “Hard to say. The Circle’s grown since my time. Dozens of faces, most of which I wouldn’t recognize.”

“You’re still connected. You know the leadership.”

Another lazy shrug. “I might know a few names. But as I said, things change. The president rotates out, always some eager young thing desperate to prove themselves. They run the show until the next one takes over.” He smirked. “I imagine the current one is quite overwhelmed.”

“Who’s pulling the strings?” Hotch asked.

Carrigton chuckled. “You give us too much credit, Agent. It’s not some grand conspiracy. It’s a club. People join, people leave. Some do well, some don’t.”

“And the ones who don’t?”

Carrigton waved a dismissive hand. “They drop out. Go on with their lives. Or—” he smiled, sharp, “—they stew in their resentment, blaming others for their own failures.”

Morgan’s jaw tightened. “You think that’s what happened here?”

Carrigton leaned back in his chair, perfectly at ease. “I think it’s always the same story. Someone on the outside looking in, bitter that they weren’t enough. And now they want to take it out on the ones who were.”

Hotch’s voice was cold. “That’s a convenient theory. But it doesn’t answer our questions.”

Carrigton’s smirk widened. “Then maybe you’re asking the wrong ones.”

From the other side of the glass, you watched Carrigton with growing irritation. He was the same smug, arrogant bastard you remembered from college, only now it was worse. His attitude hadn’t changed a bit, and neither had his ability to waste everyone’s time with his deflections.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as he ran his mouth, completely ignoring the fact that three people were dead, his precious club possibly involved. He was too busy leaning back in his chair, playing at some sick power game.

You glanced at JJ, your patience already hanging by a thread. “There’s no cameras here, right?”

JJ, clearly thrown off by the sudden question, gave you a puzzled look. “No… why?”

Without answering, you turned your focus back to Carrigton and felt your hands tighten into fists. His polished smirk made your blood boil, his greasy hair gleaming under the lights. Your shoulders squared, the weight of your frustration making your movements sharper. You ignored Spencer’s curious glance, his quiet scrutiny as he watched you.

You didn’t have time for any of this.

You walked to the door and knocked once, the sound sharp in the sterile room. Before anyone could respond, you turned the handle, stepping into the interrogation room.

Carrigton’s eyes locked onto you the second you walked in. His gaze flickered briefly, a subtle but noticeable flash of discomfort before he quickly masked it with that same patronizing grin.

“Well, well,” he sneered, adjusting the collar of his shirt like he was trying to put some distance between himself and the real world. “I didn’t realize the FBI was hiring gutter rats now.”

Spencer tensed from the other side of the glass, his expression hardening as his frustration mounted. He was clearly growing angrier at Carrigton’s smug demeanor, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing you were even a little fazed. You simply smirked and kept your focus on the man sitting in front of you.

Carrigton’s glare never left you as you stepped closer, your tone ice-cold. “This ‘gutter rat’ is about to charge you with obstruction of justice if you don’t start talking, Andrew.”

Carrigton's eyes narrowed, his lips curling in a sneer. “That’s blackmail.”

You didn’t flinch. “And if you keep dragging your feet, that’s another charge—contempt of court. Trust me, I’ve got plenty more where that came from.” You leaned in just enough to make sure he heard you loud and clear. “You want to keep playing games, or you want to start answering questions?”

Carrigton shifted in his seat, the cockiness starting to waver, but he still clung to that arrogance like a shield, gripping it with white-knuckled desperation.

“I want my lawyer,” he said, forcing his voice to stay even.

You scoff, tilting your head as if you were genuinely considering his words before your lips curled into something sharp and ruthless.

"Is that your way of admitting you’re not a good enough lawyer to defend yourself?" Your voice was smooth, razor-edged silk, venom threaded through every syllable. "Start talking."

His nostrils flared, a flicker of something—hesitation, anger, maybe both. It was barely a breath, but you caught it.

"From what I know, the admission process has gone to hell," he sneered, grasping at arrogance like a lifeline. "I spoke with their president last week about it. I'm not throwing my money at that place just for them to start letting in anyone."

Rossi’s eyebrows lifted as he slid the crime scene photos across the table, each image a stark, undeniable truth. “Are these people just ‘anyone’ to you, Andrew?”

For the first time, Carrigton’s arrogance fractured. It was subtle—the flicker of his gaze, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. His fingers twitched, but he didn’t reach for the photos.

And then you saw it. No matter how high his shirt collar was, it couldn’t quite hide the edges of old scars peeking out—angry, uneven marks trailing up the side of his neck, disappearing beneath expensive fabric.

"We didn’t have anything to do with this," Carrigton muttered, his voice suddenly lacking its earlier bravado. His eyes flickered briefly over the crime scene photos, but his gaze quickly dropped.

"Who’s ‘we’?" Hotch’s voice was cold, demanding, cutting through the silence.

Carrigton didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he shifted in his seat, hands gripping the edges of the table, knuckles turning white. He wasn’t as confident as before.

You could feel it—he was trying to hide the discomfort, but it was there. The truth always made people uncomfortable.

You pushed yourself off the wall, your movement slow and deliberate, your eyes never leaving him as you circled around behind him. He tensed, just slightly at first, but it was enough.

The memory was still fresh, and you knew it. He hadn’t forgotten how you burned him—how the scalding coffee had left that mark on his neck. He was trying not to show it, but it was eating at him, that simmering, seething reminder that you’d done it and he couldn’t touch you for it.

You stopped just behind him, letting your presence loom over him like a shadow. He could feel your gaze, feel the space between you—too close for comfort, too close for someone who hated you as much as he did.

"What’s the matter, Andrew?" You leaned in, your voice low and smooth, but your words sharp as a knife. "Don’t like me standing here?"

"I told him to stop accepting anyone," Carrigton muttered, his voice tightening as he stumbled over the words. "Grayson Locke, that's his name. Legacy admission. But I had nothing to do with this. We even went through some names, cut people off."

You could feel the hesitation in his voice, the way he was trying to distance himself from the mess that was unfolding. His words were almost defensive, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you. The stammering wasn’t lost on you—it was almost pathetic.

"What names?" Rossi’s voice was firm, but he wasn’t pushing too hard yet. He was letting Carrigton sweat just a little longer, a strategy you were both accustomed to.

Carrigton's jaw tightened, his eyes darting nervously between Morgan and you. "It was a list," he said quickly, almost as though the words were tumbling out before he could stop them. "Just find him. Tell him I told you to give it to you." He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to the door. "Outside of that, I don’t know anything else."

There it was. The slip. The admission that he was just as tangled in this as the rest of them. But it wasn’t enough. Rossi stepped out of the interrogation room, heading off to search for the list.

“See? Was that so hard?” You taunted, slumping into the chair Rossi had just vacated, your eyes never leaving Carrigton. His smug façade cracked, just enough for you to see the shift. The sense of discomfort that he could no longer hide.

His eyes flicked to you, venom dripping from his words. “You think you’ve won? All you are is a stray dog who’ll burn in hell.” He spat the words, his jaw tight, but beneath the bravado, there was fear creeping in.

You straightened in the chair, completely unbothered by his outburst. “And you’ll be right there with me. I guess you know a thing or two about burning, don’t you?” Your smirk was sharp, a silent jab at the scars on his neck, the ones you’d left there.

His expression faltered, just for a second, but it was enough to make your blood run colder. Without warning, he shot to his feet, slamming his palms down on the table with a force that made it rattle. His face was inches from yours now, his breath stinking of rage and something darker—panic.

“Fuck you, you deranged bitch,” he hissed, his voice barely contained. “You’ll always be the daughter of some filthy addicts. You’ll never belong to this world. My world.”

You didn’t move, didn’t even blink. The words hit, but they didn’t land. “Did I strike a nerve?” You leaned forward slightly, your tone dropping to a razor-sharp whisper. “Or should I say... burn a nerve?”

Carrigton’s entire body stiffened, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles went white, veins bulging from his hands. His chest heaved with the kind of raw anger that radiated off him like a furnace. “You’re still the same psycho bitch I met years ago.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t let his venomous words land, only smirked. “Have you learned how to make women come, Carrigton? Or are you still calling them hysterical? Is that why your wife is filing for divorce?”

It wasn’t just the words, but the sharpness of your tone, the deliberate push of your venom that made it sting even more. Garcia had provided all the dirt, the skeletons hidden deep in his closet. You weren’t above having a little fun with it, using it to your advantage. Carrigton, though, was losing his composure with every word you threw at him.

You opened your mouth to retort, but Hotch beat you to it, rising from his seat. "Enough. We appreciate your time, Mr. Carrington. We'll contact you if we need further information," he said, his voice calm but firm.

Andrew huffed dismissively, rising to leave. As he reached the door, he paused, casting one last venomous glance in your direction. "You think you’ve got a place in this world? Trust me, you don’t. People like you? They end up alone, scrambling to hold onto the little sanity they have left before it all slips away."

He didn’t wait for a response, Spencer’s gaze locked with yours the moment Andrew was out of the room. His eyes were filled with concern, but you chose not to address it. Now wasn’t the time.

Instead, you stayed silent, the words echoing in your head. Something about them stuck, gnawing at you. Maybe it was the way he spoke—like he knew something about you that you hadn’t even fully admitted to yourself. Scrambling. It was true, wasn’t it? You were constantly on edge, barely holding it together, pretending that you didn’t feel like you were one step away from losing it. Maybe it would be easier to just give in, let go, and fulfill everyone’s expectations of you. Be the damaged, angry, broken thing they wanted you to be.

For a moment, you almost believed his words.

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If murdered students weren’t enough to set the rumor mill on fire, your presence definitely did. The thing about rumors is that they spread like wildfire.

“Sooo… guess what we’ve heard?” Emily’s voice broke through the room as she and the others approached, grinning like they had just uncovered the juiciest piece of gossip on campus.

“Anything useful?” you asked without looking up from the file you were flipping through. “Or is this about the librarian hooking up with students in the archives? Because if it is—old news.”

Morgan smirked, shaking his head. “Nah, actually, we heard about some girl who once got a professor fired.”

“And,” Prentiss added, leaning in with a knowing smile, “was banned from mock trial as a freshman after making another student indirectly confess he bought the answers to his exams.”

Your fingers froze for just a split second—the briefest pause, barely perceptible to anyone but Spencer, who noticed it right away.

You shrugged, trying to keep your voice steady. “People get weirdly creative when it comes to making up rumors.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “So you’re telling me,” she pressed, “that you’ve never heard of the girl who burned some rich kid’s manuscript because he plagiarized her?”

You sighed, closing the file with exaggerated nonchalance. “Sounds like a legend. And legends aren’t real.”

Emily snorted, clearly enjoying this. “Or when she threw a chair at a debate judge for interrupting her?”

Morgan gasped dramatically. “And don’t forget when she flipped a Monopoly board at a networking event after some trust fund brat said she didn’t have the ‘pedigree’ for law.”

Emily smirked. “I heard she broke his nose.”

You shrug it off. “Monopoly makes people violent. Everyone knows that.”

You knew they weren’t trying to be mean, but you’d rather die than show any hint of regret. You had made some questionable choices in the past, but those didn’t define who you were now. Right?

Morgan chuckled, crossing his arms. “Right, right. So I guess the whole thing about you making a guy cry so hard during a mock trial that he dropped out of law school is fake too?”

You were forced to pretend not being able to stop the small smirk tugged at your lips, “Okay, in my defense, that guy was pretentious and thought using big words would make him win.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, “Some student mentioned you, uh, burning people when they pissed you off.” He exchanged a glance with Prentiss, both of them catching on to your lack of eye contact. “Is that what the Dean was referring to?”

You couldn’t help but feel a slight heat creep up your neck, but you managed to keep your gaze on the desk, avoiding their eyes. You didn’t need to give them the satisfaction of seeing how much it bothered you. “People talk,” you muttered. “But if you believe everything they say, you’re as crazy as they are.”

You could’ve fooled anyone in that room full of profilers, because hiding behind your indifference mask was something you were well-practiced at. That was, of course, if they didn’t know you deeply. If they didn’t spend weekends with you, cooking together, exchanging quiet conversations and inside jokes. If they weren’t Spencer Reid—the only one in the room who could read beneath the surface.

He noticed the way you winced when you shifted your neck, the subtle way you massaged the sore muscles with your hand, avoiding eye contact with everyone. To anyone else, it might have seemed like nothing, but to him, it was a clear sign that something was off. You weren’t as fine as you were pretending to be.

"Anyone want anything? I’m doing a coffee run." You don’t wait for an answer, already making your way toward the break room. But the laughter behind you lingers—harmless, good-natured, but still too close to the laughter of your ex-classmates. It curls around your ribs like a memory you don’t want.

You don’t notice Spencer saying he’ll come with you, but you realize he’s there when you hear his footsteps—loud enough for you to hear him, deliberate so he doesn’t startle you.

At the coffee machine, you take a breath, ignoring him. You press the buttons and try to shake the feeling off, but when you glance at him, just for a second, all he sees in your eyes is guilt. Shame.

"What?" Your voice comes out sharper than you mean. "You also think I’m a menace to society? They’re lucky I turned out halfway functional. Statistically, I shouldn’t have.”

Spencer stays a few feet away—close enough, but not crowding you. The perfect arms-length distance. It was something he understood about you, something you never had to say out loud. Letting you decide if you needed space or needed closeness. Giving you control, even in something as simple as this.

"None of them think that," he says quietly. "I don’t think that."

It takes effort to look at him, but when you do, the tightness in your chest gets worse. You hate it. You hate the way it feels when you take a step closer, resting your forehead against his shoulder. And you hate how naturally his hand finds the back of your head, his fingers brushing through your hair in a slow, soothing motion, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

"I didn’t mean to—God, have you seen the scars on his neck?" Your voice cracks, barely above a whisper. "What kind of… monster does that?"

His hand stills against you for a second.

It breaks his heart every time you talk about yourself like this—like you’re one of the people he spends his life trying to stop.

"Technically, the probability of someone from your background reaching your level of success is less than three percent. And even among that group, only a fraction manage to sustain high-pressure careers."

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Yeah? And what’s the probability of me snapping one day and proving everyone right?"

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t flinch. "That’s not the point."

"Then what is?"

He exhales, steady and patient. "The point is that I could pull up hard data showing how statistically, you shouldn’t have graduated at fifteen. Or made it through law school on a full ride. Or become one of the best prosecutors in D.C. The odds of that happening were lower than one percent. But you did it. So if we're playing by numbers, then statistically… you're exceptional."

He pauses, watching you carefully. Then, softer "And not in the way you seem to think."

Your fingers curl into the edge on themselves, nails pressing into your palms as you process his words. You hate how much they settle into your chest, how they make something raw and aching twist inside you. You exhale, forcing out a scoff, trying to grasp onto the sarcasm that usually keeps you afloat.

"You make it sound like I'm some kind of miracle,"

"You might as well be the proof that God exists to me," Spencer says simply, like it’s the most obvious fact in the world.

Your throat tightens. You shake your head, swallowing past the lump forming there. "I hate how you do that," you murmur.

"Do what?"

"Make me feel like maybe I’m not beyond saving."

His hand stills for a moment before he squeezes the nape of your neck, grounding. "Then I guess I’ll just have to keep doing it until you believe it."

And for once, you don’t have the energy to argue.

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The case wrapped up when the team uncovered that one of the students they had interviewed had been fixated on getting into the Seraphic Circle. After his rejection, it became his breaking point, driving him to kill the members in a vengeful spree.

You would have laughed in Andrew Carrington’s face and shown him just how much that exclusive little club had spiraled into something violent and twisted, you would’ve. But, of course, that would’ve been disrespectful to the victims, so you didn’t. You wouldn’t let yourself sink into that bitterness.

But, it didn’t matter in the end. When you landed back in Washington—home, dear home—it didn’t matter. The case was closed, and, for the first time in a long while, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders. Your past mistakes no longer haunted you, and as you stepped into the familiar rhythm of your life, you realized that, just for this moment, you could breathe.

To be honest, you weren’t the same person you were back then. The young teen you once were would have never believed, or even considered, that she could be in a loving relationship with a man who would love her unconditionally, no matter what. She never would have believed that someone like Spencer could ever like someone like you.

"Are you hungry?" Spencer asked, his voice soft as he dropped the go-bag by the entrance of the apartment. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead "I saw this new recipe for homemade lasagna," he added, his eyes lighting up in that way they always did when he was excited about something. "It has layers of ricotta, mozzarella, and this really rich, savory meat sauce that I think we could definitely pull off. I thought we could make it together—maybe add a little twist of our own, like some fresh basil?"

You smiled at his enthusiasm, noticing how his fingers brushed through his hair absentmindedly as he spoke. It was always endearing to watch him get excited over the little things. "Homemade lasagna? That sounds amazing," you replied, already picturing the cozy evening ahead.

His grin widened, and he pulled his phone from his pocket, swiping through the recipe. "It’s supposed to take a bit of time, but it’s not complicated...just a lot of love and patience—so, you know, I think we can manage. Plus, it’ll give us time to talk...and eat a lot of cheese."

You laughed, the sound light and full of affection. "I think I’m sold. Lasagna and cheese? Definitely the kind of night I need."

He gave a small nod, as if he were confirming his excitement to himself. "Okay, I’ll grab the ingredients. You’re in charge of setting up the music. Deal?"

"Deal," you said, already feeling that comforting sense of peace that only came from spending time like this—together, in your little shared world, filled with small moments that meant everything.

Who would’ve thought you’d be cooking lasagna with the soft crackle of a vinyl player spinning Billy Joel and Elvis Presley in the background

　　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

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cowboysandcigarettes · 4 months ago

Text

JUNO

summary; watching dean work with some kids on a case leads you to an interesting realization.

warnings! established relationship, canon-typical violence, talk of pregnancy, smut!, praise kink, breeding kink (oops), soft sex, but it kinda unintentionally turned nasty, unprotected p in v (stay safe!)

CASES WITH KIDS WERE ALWAYS HARD. you had a soft spot for kids, especially little ones, even with their sticky fingers and clingy hands.

you had always thought about having kids, but once you became a hunter, you threw that idea out the window. hunting was no life to raise a kid in, god knows you only barely survived in your late teens.

when you met dean, you fell fast and you fell hard. it was difficult to resist his charms and good looks, but your case of lovesickness only grew as you and the elder winchester grew closer. he slowly opened up to you, allowing you to peel back the layers of toughness and defense that he had built up over the years, letting you see the real him.

that only made you fall more in love.

luckily, the feeling was mutual, for as soon as dean had set eyes on you, he was gone. he instantly knew you were the most beautiful thing he had ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes on, and as soon as you opened your pink lips to greet him─cussing him out for hijacking your hunt actually─he was completely done for.

neither of you had said anything for a long time, letting the feelings and tension build up over the years until it all came to a boiling point after a hunt almost gone wrong. you had barely had time to take a breath after almost dying before dean's roughened hands were on your face, grabbing you and crashing your lips to his.

you had been together ever since, and although the thought of having kids occasionally popped in your head, you figured dean would never want that. he was a hunter through and through, he could never leave the life, and if you were to have a kid, you could never raise them the way you and him had been raised.

so you pushed those dreams deep down, happy to live your chaotic life with dean, content with just the two of you.

but then you ended up in oregon.

♡ ♡ ♡

the case was a pain in the ass, a couple of rogue vampires taking kids, 'training' them to become a part of their nest.

finding the bloodsuckers was easy enough, they had been holing up in some old farmhouse off the highway, posing as new townsfolk and greeting the neighbors to scout their next victims. it only took the boys and you a day to find the farmhouse and pile into the impala, rumbling off to save the day once again.

the three of you had charged in after a quick surveillance, machetes in hand and dead man's blood at the ready as you crept in, trying not to wake the vamps. unfortunately, they were still up and at 'em, and suddenly ambushed the three of you before you could even process it.

there was only two of them and three of you, but with their enhanced strength and skills, it was pretty much a fair fight. sam and you had been fighting off one of them, dean grappling with the other, when the situation had grown more complicated.

the fight managed to be pushed into one of the other backrooms of the farmhouse, which just happened to be where the vamps were holding the kids. you noticed first, telling sam and calling out to dean before swiftly turning back to your own fight.

"i got 'em!" he calls back, kicking his vamp straight in the chest and sprinting over to where the three kids were tied up, tears streaking down their dirt covered faces.

you manage to get the jump on your own opponent, knocking the monster down. movement out of the corner of your eye catches your attention, and you look up to see the vamp dean had been fighting pushing himself up from the ground, fangs bared and snarling at dean, whose back was turned as he untied the kids.

"hey, ugly!" you call, a quick nod from sam assuring you that he had the other creature handled. the one snarling at dean turned in your direction, pausing for a moment before his lips curled again, baring his rows of sharp, deadly teeth at you. you just gripped your machete tighter, bracing yourself in a fighting position. "come and get it."

the creature hissed and charged at you, but you were one step ahead. you noted the flimsy floorboard in front of you and you waited until he was a few steps away before raising your machete over your head, bringing it down hard on the shaky board.

the impact of the blade further destabilized the wood, and as you stepped back, the vamp stepped on that floorboard, his leg crashing through, leaving him stuck. he cried out and growled, hissing and flailing his hands around, trying to reach for you, but before he could even call out to his buddy, you raised your machete again, swinging it around and cutting the bloodsucker's head clean off.

the creature's skull thudded against the wood as it fell, and you stood there for a moment, catching your breath before you lifted your head, trying to find sam. a proud grin spreads across your face as you see him standing at the foot of the other vamp, it's head cut off just like the other one. he meets your gaze, and you both turn to head towards the exit, cleaning off your machetes on some nearby hay bales.

you walk behind sam to the impala, pleased to have come out of the farmhouse with minimal blood staining your skin and clothes. you hear dean's voice before you see him, and as you round the car to greet him, you cut yourself off as you take in the scene in front of you.

the three children are leaning against the door of the imapala, their heads barely reaching the bottom of the window, faces dirt stained and tear streaked. the sight would break your heart if you weren't so distracted by dean, who was crouching in front of them, an easy, comforting smile on his lips as he spoke to them softly.

"see? i told you we'd get 'em for you," he tells them, and the gentle tone of his voice makes you melt a little. "you guys were so brave, doin' exactly as i said and helping each other get out. you guys are real superheroes."

the little boy in the middle, the youngest of the three, looks at dean with wide eyes, still glistening with tears, but there's no more trace of sadness other than the tear tracks on his dusty cheeks. "like batman?" he asks, his small voice slightly wobbly.

dean grins wider at that, and you can practically see the sparks in his eyes as he nods at the little boy. "hell yeah, exactly like batman," he assured the boy. "he'd be so proud of how brave you were, all of you. i mean seriously, i was so scared, but you guys were totally badass."

all three of the children's faces lit up at that, the two girls on either side of the little boy looking at each other and giggling softly before looking back at dean.

he pretended to be confused, cocking his head and looking between the two girls. "what's so funny?" he asks, his lips twitching as he fights off a smile.

"you said a bad word," the girl on the left says, giggling at dean's face.

dean pretends to be offended, quipping something back at the girl to make all three of them laugh again, but you don't hear what, because suddenly you're picturing doing that with another kid.

your kid.

images flash through your head of dean, a little girl in his arms, a sweet smile on his lips as he rocks her gently. dean and a boy with his eyes and your hair standing side by side as he teaches him how to fix up the impala. you and dean side by side as you watch the milestones of your child's life, the look in dean's eyes as he holds them for the first time.

you bite your lip as you watch him with the kids, your heart warming in your chest. but the heat doesn't stop there, it travels through your chest, pooling quickly in your core as you suddenly picture yourself pregnant, dean's hands on your stomach, your sensitive breasts, hips and all over as he takes care of you.

the movement of dean standing up snaps you out of your fantasy, and with a soft smile, you help him and sam load the kids into the impala, offering to sit with them in the back, dean driving and sam in the passenger seat.

the drive back into town wasn't short, but you honestly were content to sit in the car for a couple hours as the kids eagerly conversed with you. they were smart, and you were surprised at their range of vocabulary as they told you about themselves.

you learned that the two girls were sisters, maia and ruby, that they were six and eight, and had a cat named max that they loved to death. the little boy's name was logan, and he didn't talk as much, oddly staying quiet as the girls chatted away at you, but once they turned into talking amongst themselves, he started telling you about all of his favorite superheroes.

eventually, exhaustion dragged the poor kids under, maia and ruby curling into each other, your heart warming when you felt the weight of logan's body leaning into yours. you let him lean against you, gently lifting your arm and resting it over his shoulder, holding him to you.

not so long into his slumber however, logan began to squirm against you, catching your attention as a small, heartbreaking cry left his lips. the poor boy was having a nightmare.

gently, you gripped his shoulders, squeezing lightly as you tried to wake him up. "hey, shh, hey, logan it's okay," you whisper, your heart clenching as another soft cry leaves his lips.

dean's eyes snap to you in the rear view mirror, the cry breaking his concentration on the road. "he okay?"

"he's having a nightmare," you say, meeting dean's eyes for a second, before a pained gasp draws your attention back to the boy next to you. his eyes snap open, brimming with tears as they meet yours, his trembling lips parted like he's trying to say something, but nothing comes out. "hey, hey, buddy, it's okay, you're okay."

you're shocked when he suddenly surges forward, crashing into you with a sniffle. as soon as he does though, your instincts kick in, your arms wrapping tightly around him, one hand cupping the back of his head to you as you shush him softly.

"shh, s'alright honey, you're safe, you're okay," you whisper, tilting your head down to press a kiss to the top of his head, continuing to murmur soft reassurances into his slightly matted hair.

what you didn't see was dean watching you in the rear view mirror. his eyes stayed glued on you and the little boy until he absolutely had to look back at the road, doing so just long enough that he didn't crash, then his gaze returned to you.

something about seeing you with the kids, the way you interacted with and entertained them the whole ride, and especially now, watching you hold and care for this little boy you didn't even know, it did something to him. it started with a pull in his chest, squeezing at his heart, but it moved lower and lower, sparking a heat in his stomach as images flashed in his mind.

you, barefoot and your soft stomach swollen as you grew his child inside of you. you, holding his child in your arms, just like you're doing to little logan right now. a life out of hunting, the life he's always secretly dreamed of, white picket fence and all. dean thinks about how you'd feel, the way your body would change, how he'd be able to mold it with his hands, how sensitive you'd be as he drags his fingers over your skin, up to your chest, making you moan his name.

he's abruptly brought out of his thoughts as a soft melody reaches his ears. he lifts his eyes to the mirror again, and he swears if he was standing up, he would've swooned.

you've got the little boy cradled to your chest, one of your hands cupping the back of his head to hold him to you as you rock gently, your lips pressed to his head, but he can still hear your soft voice.

singing.

dean had never heard you sing before, but he decided then and there that screw his pride, he was gonna ask you to sing for him.

later, after maia and ruby had been dropped off, not going before giving dean a crushing hug, the impala rumbled over to the other side of town to logan's house.

you hoisted the sleeping boy higher in your arms, holding him securely against your chest and covering the back of his head as you step out of the impala, nodding to sam and dean in silent assurance before walking up to the small house.

dean just watched you through the window, his eyes glued to you as you knocked on the door, careful not to wake logan. his anxious tapping of the steering wheel slows to a stop, a contrast to the beat of his heart, which rapidly speeds up as the front door opens, his eyes glued to you as the hysterical parents graciously thank you. his gaze never leaves you, eyes zeroed in on you as you hand over the sleeping boy, his racing heart swelling as you smile at them, leaning down to press one last kiss to the sleeping boy's head before bidding them goodbye.

sam clears his throat next to him, snapping dean out of his daze as you turn to head back to where they wait in the impala. dean tears his eyes from you to glare at sam, who has a knowing smirk on his face.

"what?" dean snaps, a flush crawling up his neck at being caught staring at you.

"nothing," sam replies, shrugging nonchalantly, but the smirk never leaves his face. "just never figured you were the type."

"type?" dean asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. "type to what?"

sam opens his mouth to respond, but he doesn't get the chance to as you open the door of the impala, swiftly sliding into the backseat pausing at the looks on the brothers faces.

"am i interrupting something?" you ask, raising your eyebrows as you look between them.

the brothers share a look, doing their silent telepathy trick that you've never understood, but then dean is clearing his throat and starting the car, eyes focused through the window as he pulls out of the driveway. "nope, just ready to get back to the motel," he responds curtly, and you can sense there's more to it, but you don't pry.

the ride back to the motel is silent except for the soft hum of the radio in the background, but you don't mind. all you can focus on anyways if getting dean alone in your motel room.

when you finally do arrive, you practically drag him out of the car, ignoring sam's roll of his eyes as you hastily unlock the motel room, stumbling in with more force then necessary and closing it behind you.

"what's the rush?" dean questions, the signature winchester smirk on his lips as he shrugs off his jacket and flannel, tossing them onto a nearby chair. "didn't know you got hot and bothered over killin' vamps."

you normally would respond with a roll of your eyes, quipping something back at him, but right now you're too focused the way his plain black t shirt is stretched over his chest, his biceps practically bulging in the sleeves making you almost salivate. you bite your lip as your eyes rake over him, lingering on his arms as the images of him gently cradling your child creep back into your head, making a familiar heat curl in your stomach.

he notices the lack of response, taking a step closer to you, ducking his head slightly to try and meet your gaze. "uh, hello? you gonna tell me what's got you all worked up or are you just gonna keep starin' at me like i'm a fresh piece o' pie?" he asks, snapping you out of your daze, your eyes flicking up to meet his.

your face heats up, a flush painting your cheeks as you avert your gaze sheepishly, slightly embarrassed at the thoughts running through your head.

"s'nothing," you mumble, dropping your eyes to your feet, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.

dean tuts at you, stepping closer, close enough that the tips of his boots come into view where your eyes are stuck on the ground. "ain't nothin' if it's got you flustered like this, sweetheart," he drawls, lifting a hand to your chin, cupping it and raising your head to meet his gaze. "so, i'll ask again. what's got my girl all worked up?"

you bite your lip again, your thighs involuntarily clenching together at the low timbre of his voice, the heat in your core starting to outweigh your pride. "i just..." you start, feeling the anxiety bubble up in your chest as you start to ramble. "you were really good with the kids today and i know its stupid, and i know you don't want kids but i saw you with them and it just really got me goin' for some reason and-"

"woah, woah," dean cuts you off, both of his hands moving to cup your cheeks, keeping your eyes focused on his, his thumbs stroking your cheeks gently like he could slow your rapid heartbeat through your skin. "slow down, baby, take a breath."

he just stares at you for a moment and you get the hint, taking in a slow breath, exhaling and letting some of the tension flow from your body. "good girl," he murmurs, tucking some of your hair behind your ear gently. "so, from what i heard, you are all worked up, thighs clenchin' and everything because of watchin' me with the kids?"

you don't answer with words, anxiety too tight in your throat as heat creeps up your neck, so you just nod your head in his hands.

"use your words, pretty girl," dean corrects, but there's something deeper in his voice, and you swear you can see his eyes darken as his grip on your face tightens just slightly.

"yes," you breathe out, swiping your tongue over your dry lips before pulling the bottom one between your teeth.

"oh, that's it, huh?" he asks, his voice lowering to a rumble that sends a shiver up your spine. "you wanna make me a daddy? let me fill you up and make you a mama?"

your eyes widen in surprise at his reaction, and you feel a flood of arousal drench your panties, making you clench your thighs together harder. the shock of his words wears off as he squeezes your cheeks a little tighter, urging you to answer him.

a strangled whine leaves your throat at the images his words create in your lust-hazed brain, and when you nod in his grip, a groan leaves his lips, his pupils dilating so much there's only a ring of shining evergreen around them.

"shit, babygirl, you have no idea what that does to me.." he growls, one of his hands slipping from your cheek to grip your hip tightly. he pulls you flush against him, and you can feel the heat of his body, along with the hardness that is pressed into your stomach, making your knees weak. "i was thinkin' the same about you all damn night long."

"you were?" you ask, your voice turning into more of a squeak when he dips his head down to nip at your neck.

"uh huh," dean mumbles into your skin, sucking on your pulse point so hard you swear stars flash behind your eyes. "just the way you interacted with the kids, when logan had that nightmare...all the sudden i just pictured you, all barefoot 'n round with my kid."

you whimper at the image, your eyes slipping shut as his hands drag down to the hem of your shirt, tugging on it lightly before pulling back enough to tear it over your head, tossing it who knows where before diving back down to btie at your neck.

"dean..." you moan breathlessly, back arching to give him more access as he trails his hands up to deftly unclip your bra, sliding the straps down your shoulders.

"that what you want?" he growls your name, the heat in his voice so intense you suddenly feel dizzy. "you want me to fill you up? fuck you so deep it sticks, then you can go around tellin' everyone it was me who knocked you up?"

you nod desperately, grinding your hips into him, groaning in frustration when you get no friction. "yes, god yes," you pant, gripping his shoulders to push him back from you enough to look him in the eyes. "please-"

that was all it took for the last of his resolve to break.

the next few moments were a blur of belt buckles and buttons as you both tugged at each others clothes, ripping them off and tossing them onto the floor of the now disheveled motel room. eventually, you both landed on the bed, now bare to each other, dean falling on top of you and immediately crashing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss.

you moan into his mouth, arching your back and wrapping your arms around his shoulders to dig your nails into his skin, bucking your hips up into him. the what between your thighs was too much now, an almost painful ache that only worsened when his hands slipped down to grab your grinding hips, pinning them firmly to the mattress.

"dean-" you start to whine when he pulls away from ravaging your mouth, but he cuts you off with another fierce kiss, stealing your breath away before he pulls back again, his eyes burning as they took you in.

"jesus christ," dean murmurs your name, his gaze raking down your flushed skin, lingering on your heaving chest before landing on the now sticky mess between your legs. "you've got no idea what you do to me, pretty girl."

"please dean," you whine, hips wiggling under his grip. when he doesn't acknowledge your plea, your hands drag up his shoulders to tightly tangle in the short strands of his hair, tugging until his eyes are on yours. "fuck me, please."

if possible, dean's eyes darken further, the jade that you love so much almost completely consumed by lust blown black, the sight making your thighs tighten around his hips.

"can't refuse my girl, now can i?" he pants, one of his hands leaving your hip to pump himself a few times before he lines himself up with your sopping entrance. your breath hitches as his leaking head notches at your hole, fingers digging into his scalp. it only seems to spur him on, a deep groan reverberating in his chest before he pushes into you, low moans leaving you both at the feeling. "fuck, sweetheart, you feel so fuckin' good."

your jaw goes slack, your eyes going hooded as he fills you to the brim, your body hyper aware of every ridge and vein as his cock settles in your clenching walls. you both stay still for a moment, getting used to the feel of each other, before the ache in your core starts to build again.

"move, dean, move, please," you whimper, opening your heavy eyes to meet his, wriggling your hips under him.

he groans, nodding before dropping his forehead to yours, his breath fanning over your lips. he's still not moving, and you open your mouth to beg him again, but before you can say a word, he pulls out almost all the way, gripping your hips tightly, then slams back into you, hard.

you cry out, your back arching as your hands move to grip his shoulders for dear life, your nails leaving red crescent shapes in their wake. he doesn't give you time to recover before he's doing it again, then again, and again, until he's building a steady pace that has your legs wrapping tightly around his waist, your toes curling in the air.

"oh fuck- dean-" you choke, words cut off as a particularly harsh thrust has his tip ramming into your cervix with so much force that your vision goes black for a second.

"shit, yeah..yeah that's it, pretty girl," dean grunts in response, the force of his thrusts causing his nose to bump yours, your foreheads still pressed together. "let me feel ya, squeeze this pretty pussy 'round me till she gushes all over my cock."

his filthy words only push you closer to the edge, your nails dragging down his back, making him groan. "fuck, fuck," you gasp as he rubs against that sweet, gummy spot inside you, your back arching as the coil in your stomach tightens.

"mhm, right there, baby?" he growls, his words almost a coo as he angles his hips to hit that sensitive spot with each thrust. "yeah, that's it right there. c'mon, you're so close, aren't ya, pretty girl?"

you nod, clenching your eyes shut as his thrusts punch broken whines and whimpers from you, leaving you breathless. a sharp slap to your thigh has your eyes flying open, a small yelp leaving you at the stinging contact.

"eyes on me, baby," he demands, and you oblige, your mouth hanging open as you continue to fly towards the edge. "atta girl, there you go. such a naughty fuckin' girl, gettin' wet 'cause all you wanted was my cock in you, fillin' you with my cum 'til it sticks. that's what you want, isn't it, baby? to be full of my cum, waiting 'til it sticks, then being full 'n round with my kid?"

all you can do is moan, the harsh movements of his hips and the way his tip his hitting the tip of your cervix perfectly succeeding in fucking you dumb.

"yeah, that's what i thought," dean mumbles, tilting his head to nip at your bottom lip, slipping one hand between your sweat slicked bodies to rub tight circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. "cum for me, baby, squeeze my cock 'til there's nothing left, ya know you want it. c'mon mama, give it to me."

the nickname is what pushes you over the edge with a scream that you think is his name, but you're too far gone to really know. your mind goes blank as your orgasm crashes over you in white hot pleasure, back arching and legs shaking.

somewhere in the back of your hazy mind, you hear dean groan your name, and you can feel his sticky release painting your insides, the warmth making your toes curl and legs shake as you come down.

when you start to regain some of your senses, dean's head is buried in your neck, his breath hot and heavy against your skin as he brings himself back down to earth. his rough hands run soothingly up and down your sides, sliding down to your trembling thighs.

after a moment, the room silent except for the both of yours heavy pants, dean speaks up, his voice slightly hoarse.

"goddamn, babygirl, 'f i knew me knockin' you up got you so turned on i would've brought it up a long time ago," he mutters into your neck, pulling a tired laugh from your lungs.

you sigh softly, head falling back against the bed as you try to bring your heartbeat down, his words ringing in your head. "thought you didn't want kids," you mumble in response, your hands stroking gently along his back, soothing the marks you made.

"i-" dean starts, but cuts himself off, pausing for a moment before he lifts his head from your sweaty skin to look down at you. one of his hands comes up, brushing some of your damp hair away from your eyes, his thumb lingering as he brushes the digit gently over your brow. "i didn't, not really. not until you."

the words steal the breath from your lungs again, your eyes widening slightly as you stare up at him. you search his expression for any sort of insincerity, but all you find is a look of love so intense you feel like he's tearing your heart straight from your chest. "not until me?" you ask, your voice barely above a hoarse whisper.

"not until you," he repeats, his words soft. he stares at you for a moment before sighing, tilting his head as he continue to admire you. "i never thought i would get a chance at the apple pie life, hell i didn't even really want to think about it, but then i met you, and everything changed."

his words, so heartfelt and so real, leave you speechless, your heart still pounding in your chest as you stared up at him in awe.

"you make me want all of those things, make me think i actually might deserve them," he continues, his thumb still brushing softly at your skin. "and i know we haven't...officially talked about it, but i love you, and if it really is somethin' you want, there's no one else i'd rather start a family with. if-if that's what you want, 'f course."

you don't even hesitate before you answer, a smile pulling at your lips. "yes," you breathe out, feeling your heart flutter in your chest. "there's no one i'd rather do it with."

a grin lights up dean's face, a look of boyish joy highlighting his features. without responding first, he grabs your face in his hands, cupping your cheeks and peppering kisses all over your heated face, making you giggle.

"you have no idea how damn happy that makes me," he mumbles between kisses, pressing on last, lingering kiss to your lips before dipping his head again, burrowing into your neck, his arms wrapping tightly around you. "you're gonna be the best mama."

you laugh softly, a warm feeling spreading in your chest as you wrap your arms around him in return. "we gotta get cleaned up first, then we'll continue this conversation," you mutter into his hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, but he just grumbles, burying his face further in your neck.

"later," he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your pulse point, content with just holding you in his arms. "just wanna stay here."

"okay," you whisper into his hair, relaxing into his hold. "we can stay here."

dean hums into your neck, and you can feel him smile against your skin, making your heart skip a beat in your chest. you knew it wasn't going to be easy, getting out of the life never was, hell just living as hunters wasn't easy, and raising a kid was gonna be harder. but you knew that you had dean, and in the end, that's all that mattered.

he was all that mattered.

bri's thoughts! bri write a position that isn't missionary challenge: fail. (i'm sorry i'm basic i crave intimacy) okay so here it is! finally actually finished something (the 50 unfinished works in my drafts are screaming at me rn) and now i'm gonna go to bed and dream about being on snl because it is my current obsession, especially after the 50th anniversary episode, which i recommend everybody watch! so i won't shut up about that but anyways, here this finally!

tags! @ultravi0lence14 @bluemerakis @titsout4jackles @soldiersgirl @dulcescorderitas @flormpus @star-yawnznn @Jaredpadonlyyyy @grangerously @dclover27 @chronic-fangirl-222 @stevesxwhore @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakingdom

#⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ cowboysandcigarettes #♡ bri writes #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #supernatural #jensen ackles #dean winchester x you #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff #sabrina carpenter #short n' sweet deluxe #juno #have you ever tried this one?

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laceandlipstick · 1 month ago

Text

hunt me down | d.w

dean winchester x f!reader

MDNI

word count: 5.8k

summary: one bed, one reckless night, and nothing between you and dean would ever be the same again.

warnings: one bed trope, rough p in v, oral f!receiving, dirty talk (dean’s silly like that), slight restraint (if you squint), let me know if i missed any!

a/n: this was a passion project for my bsf @sudsnribbons hope u enjoy my love

The first time you met Dean Winchester, he nearly shot you.

In fairness, you had just tackled him to the ground inside a crumbling barn, both of you hunting the same vampire without realizing it. Your heart hammered as you lay sprawled across his chest, pinned down by his broad hands, the glint of a silver blade flashing dangerously close to your throat.

Then he smiled — all crooked grin and cocky confidence — and the heat that surged through you had nothing to do with adrenaline.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice a low roll of thunder. “Otherwise you’d be leaking all over this floor.”

You shoved off him with a muttered curse, cheeks burning hotter than the midday sun.

Dean just laughed, brushing dust from his jacket, the rich rumble vibrating straight down your spine.

You should have left it at that. You should have walked away and never thought twice about him.

But of course, that wasn’t how your story with Dean Winchester was going to go.

⸻

Two weeks later, you’re riding shotgun in his ’67 Impala, salt-and-burn job behind you, night bleeding dark and heavy across the open highway.

The radio hums something low and bluesy, and Dean’s fingers tap absently against the wheel. Every now and then, his green eyes flick toward you — quick, assessing glances that make your skin prickle with awareness.

You stare out the window, pretending not to notice. Pretending the air between you isn’t electric.

It’s a losing battle.

“So,” he says finally, voice lazy but laced with something sharper. “You ever gonna stop playing shy and tell me what your deal is?”

“My deal?” you echo, keeping your tone light.

Dean smirks. “Yeah. You’re a hell of a hunter. Quick, smart… sexy as hell. Yet somehow, you’re still flying solo. Why’s that?”

You snort, shifting in your seat. “Maybe I like my own company.”

Dean’s gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate. “Honey, if I were your company, you’d never be lonely again.”

The words settle in your gut like a lit match dropped in gasoline.

You swallow hard, willing your pulse to steady, but it’s useless. Dean Winchester is an inferno in denim and leather, and you’re standing way too close to the flames.

“Careful, Winchester,” you murmur, finally daring to meet his eyes. “You might not be able to handle me.”

Dean grins, slow and devastating. “Oh, sweetheart,” he drawls. “I can handle you just fine. Question is… can you handle me?”

You tear your gaze away before you do something stupid — like pull the car over and find out exactly what he means.

Instead, you settle deeper into the seat, pretending to relax, pretending you don’t feel his eyes burning into you like a brand.

The silence that follows is filled with unspoken promises.

⸻

The next motel you hit is a run-down little place off the main highway. Neon lights flicker overhead, buzzing like hornets in the humid night air. Dean cuts the engine, and for a second, neither of you move.

Finally, he tosses you a smirk. “One room left,” he says. “Manager said it’s got two beds. Hope you don’t snore.”

You arch a brow. “Hope you don’t talk in your sleep.”

Dean chuckles, low and rough. “Oh, sweetheart. You’ll be wishin’ I was asleep.”

The words hang there between you, daring, suggestive. You push open the door before you can embarrass yourself by blushing again.

Inside, the room smells faintly of stale smoke and cheap cleaner. One bed is pushed up against the wall, the other closer to the window. You drop your bag on the nearest mattress, trying to act casual, but Dean is too close behind you, his presence a solid, burning thing at your back.

You hear the soft rustle of his jacket hitting the chair, the creak of the bedframe as he sits down.

“You gonna hog all the hot water, too?” he asks, voice all lazy amusement.

You shrug out of your jacket, feeling his gaze scrape over your shoulders, down your back. Every nerve ending lights up like a live wire.

“Guess you’ll have to be fast,” you toss over your shoulder, heading for the bathroom.

Dean’s chuckle follows you like a touch.

And when you close the door, you lean against it for a second, breathing hard, feeling heat flood your cheeks.

This was going to be torture. Sweet, unbearable torture.

You shower quickly, but not quick enough to escape the images playing in your mind — Dean, sprawled out on that bed, long legs stretched, green eyes half-lidded with heat. Dean, close enough to touch. Close enough to taste.

You curse under your breath, toweling off fast.

When you step out in your sleep shorts and a loose T-shirt, Dean is stretched across the bed nearest the window, boots kicked off, TV remote in hand. His shirt is rumpled, his belt undone but still looped through his jeans. The sight of that loose belt — the suggestion of it — sends a molten rush straight through you.

Dean glances up, and for a moment, he says nothing. His gaze skims over your bare legs, the curve of your hips, the shadow of your collarbone beneath your T-shirt.

You shift your weight, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of bare skin.

“You clean up nice,” he murmurs, voice rougher than before.

You clear your throat. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Dean smirks, slow and sinful. “Sweetheart, the ideas I have… you couldn’t handle ’em.”

Your stomach flips. You yank back the covers on your bed, climbing in quickly, tugging the blanket up to your chest like armor.

Dean chuckles again, turning his attention back to the TV. But you can feel him still watching you, feel the weight of his gaze like hands trailing over your body.

You pretend to sleep. You pretend not to notice the way Dean shifts, getting more comfortable, the way the low rumble of his breathing fills the room.

You pretend you don’t imagine crawling across the short space between the beds and letting all that cocky bravado melt away under your touch.

Sleep is impossible.

⸻

You don’t know how long you lay there, staring at the stained ceiling, listening to Dean breathe.

At some point, the TV clicks off.

Dean shifts, the bedsprings groaning under his weight. You squeeze your eyes shut, pretending to be asleep, but you can feel him watching you again — like a tangible thing, heavy and hot in the darkness.

“You awake?” His voice is a low whisper, rough and full of something dangerous.

You don’t answer. Can’t.

Dean exhales, a soft curse under his breath. The mattress creaks again as he stands. You hear the soft pad of his boots hitting the floor, the rustle of denim sliding down legs. You swallow hard, biting your lip to keep from making a sound.

When you dare to crack one eye open, Dean is climbing into bed — your bed.

You stiffen instinctively, heart hammering.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, voice barely audible.

Dean smirks in the dark. You can see the white flash of his teeth. “Window’s drafty. Cold as hell over there.”

You narrow your eyes. “There’s another bed.”

Dean shifts closer under the covers, his bare arm brushing yours. His skin is warm — almost too warm — and you can smell the clean, woodsy scent of his soap still clinging to him.

“I’ll behave,” he murmurs. “Scout’s honor.”

You snort softly. “Were you ever a Boy Scout?”

“Nope.” His grin widens. “But I look damn good in uniform.”

You turn away, facing the wall, but it doesn’t help.

Dean’s heat seeps into your side, his breath stirring the fine hairs at the back of your neck.

Minutes pass.

Long, slow, torturous minutes.

You shift, pulling the blanket higher. Dean shifts with you, the mattress dipping. His thigh brushes yours — not an accident.

You freeze, barely breathing.

Dean’s voice is a low rumble against your ear. “You’re killing me, sweetheart.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“You think you’re the only one suffering?” you whisper, before you can stop yourself.

Silence falls between you — heavy, loaded.

Then Dean laughs, low and dangerous.

It’s the kind of sound that promises very, very bad things.

Good things.

You don’t move when his hand drifts across the small space between you, fingers ghosting the curve of your hip over the blanket. A featherlight touch — asking, not taking.

Your body lights up like a struck match.

“You want me to stop,” Dean murmurs, his lips so close to your ear that you can feel them move, “say so.”

You bite your lip, fists clenching the sheets. Your whole body screams for him to touch you harder, deeper — to take — but something stubborn in you holds the line.

Not yet.

Instead, you whisper, “You’re gonna regret starting this, Winchester.”

Dean’s hand stills.

His breath is ragged against your neck.

“Baby,” he growls, so low it’s almost a snarl, “I’m already too far gone.”

You dare to glance back at him, just a little — enough to see the way his jaw is tight with restraint, how his green eyes are dark and burning.

One move.

One move, and you could have him.

But you don’t.

You turn back toward the wall, every nerve in your body straining.

Dean swears softly. His hand retreats, but not before dragging slowly — deliberately — over your waist, your hip, your thigh.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trembling.

Neither of you sleep that night.

⸻

The morning light creeps in through the thin curtains, pale and dusty.

You’re not sure when you fell asleep — if you even did — but when you blink your eyes open, the first thing you notice is that Dean is still there.

Still close.

Too close.

His arm is slung heavy across your waist, his bare chest pressed along your back. You can feel the slow, steady thud of his heart against your spine — the heat of his skin, the solid, unmistakable weight of him.

And something else, too.

Something thick and hard, nudging insistently against the curve of your ass.

You freeze. Your pulse skyrockets.

Dean shifts behind you, groaning low in his throat, like he’s trying to get closer even in sleep. His hips roll, just a little, and the thick press of him drags along your backside, hot and heavy.

You bite your lip so hard you taste blood.

“Dean,” you whisper, but it comes out broken, needy.

He stirs — awake now.

You feel the exact moment his body goes tense. His breath catches, a soft, strangled sound against your neck.

“Fuck,” he mutters hoarsely. His hand flexes on your waist, like he’s torn between pulling you closer and pushing himself away.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice rough with sleep and hunger. “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t.

You can’t.

Instead, you push back — just a fraction of an inch — enough to feel the full, hard length of him against you.

Dean swears viciously.

“You’re playing with fire,” he growls.

You tilt your hips, teasing him. “Maybe I like it.”

That’s it.

That’s all it takes.

Dean flips you onto your back in a single, fluid motion, caging you beneath him. His hands are planted on either side of your head, muscles flexed, every line of his body taut with restraint.

His face hovers over yours, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath. His green eyes blaze down at you — hungry, desperate, feral.

“You have no idea,” he snarls, “how long I’ve been wanting to do this.”

And then he kisses you — hard, bruising, devastating.

It’s not soft, not sweet. It’s claiming.

Dean kisses like he’s starving, like he needs you to breathe, and you open for him willingly, moaning low in your throat as his tongue sweeps into your mouth, hot and demanding.

You fist your hands in his hair, dragging him closer, tasting the hunger in every rough pull of his lips, every desperate scrape of teeth.

Dean breaks the kiss with a gasp, forehead dropping to yours.

“Fuck,” he pants. “Tell me you want this.”

You meet his eyes — blown wide with lust, desperate and raw — and there’s no hesitation, no fear.

“I want you,” you whisper. “I want all of you.”

Dean growls low in his chest, deep and primal.

“You’re gonna get it, sweetheart,” he promises darkly. “Every goddamn inch.”

He peels your T-shirt up over your head in one swift motion, groaning when he sees you — bare, flushed, wanting. His calloused hands skate over your skin, reverent and rough all at once, mapping every curve, every shiver.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he mutters, like he’s talking to himself. Like he can’t believe you’re real.

You tug at his own shirt, desperate to feel him, to get your hands on that broad, strong body you’ve imagined a hundred times over.

Dean strips it off, baring a chest dusted with light hair, muscles flexing under golden skin.

He’s a force above you, a living furnace, and when he ducks his head to kiss down your throat, your collarbone, your breasts — you arch up, gasping, fingers clawing at his back.

His mouth is hot and wet, teeth scraping lightly, teasingly, until you’re squirming under him, whimpering his name.

“Dean—”

He shushes you with another searing kiss, grinding his hips down, letting you feel exactly how hard he is for you. Exactly how badly he needs you.

You moan into his mouth, rolling your hips up to meet his, desperate for more friction, more everything.

Dean curses again, voice wrecked.

“Need to taste you,” he growls against your skin. “Need to hear you fall apart for me.”

You don’t have time to answer before he’s sliding down your body, nipping, licking, worshipping every inch of skin he uncovers.

When his mouth finds the apex of your thighs — bare, aching, ready — you cry out, threading your fingers into his hair, pulling him closer.

Dean groans like a man tasting salvation.

And then he devours you.

Dean’s mouth is sin, pure and devastating.

He licks a long, slow stripe through your folds, groaning deep in his chest like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. His tongue works you open — slow at first, deliberate — every flick, every swirl designed to unravel you molecule by molecule.

You’re already a mess, gasping, writhing under him, clutching at the sheets.

Dean chuckles against your core, the vibrations making you whimper.

“Goddamn,” he rasps, voice wrecked. “You’re fuckin’ perfect. Sweetest thing I ever had.”

You moan brokenly, hips bucking up into his face.

Dean moans and pins your hips down, forcing you to take everything he gives.

He slides two fingers inside you, thick and perfect, curling just right, and at the same time his tongue circles your clit, hot and relentless.

The pleasure is too much.

Too sharp. Too perfect.

You shatter — screaming his name, coming hard against his mouth, against his fingers — your body jerking helplessly, every muscle locking tight before falling boneless into the mattress.

Dean doesn’t stop.

He keeps licking you through it, drinking you down like he’s starving, savoring every tremble, every moan.

Only when you’re gasping, too sensitive, does he finally pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a cocky, filthy grin splitting his face.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful when you fall apart,” he rasps.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Dean’s crawling back up your body, grabbing your thighs, spreading them wide around his hips.

You feel him — hot, hard, heavy — pressing against your entrance, still clothed in nothing but throbbing need.

“Condom?” he pants, forehead pressed to yours.

“Bag,” you manage, voice shaking.

Dean fumbles in your duffel at the foot of the bed, cursing under his breath when he finds it. He rips the foil packet open with his teeth, slicks himself quickly, and then he’s back between your thighs, pushing your legs up, lining himself up with you.

His eyes lock with yours — wild, hungry, burning.

“You sure, sweetheart?” he growls. “Last chance.”

You wrap your legs around his hips, dragging him closer. “Dean,” you whisper. “I need you. Now.”

He swears — low, broken — and then he’s pushing in, the thick head of his cock stretching you, making you cry out.

“Fuck,” Dean groans, burying himself slowly, inch by devastating inch. “So goddamn tight. So perfect.”

You clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into muscle as he bottoms out, hips flush against yours.

You’ve never felt so full, so claimed.

Dean drops his forehead to your shoulder, trembling with the effort not to move.

“You’re killin’ me, baby,” he mutters. “Feelin’ you around me — fuck — like you were made for me.”

He draws back, almost all the way out, then slams back in, hard and deep.

You cry out, head tipping back.

Dean finds a rhythm — deep, punishing thrusts that leave you gasping, clinging to him, desperate for more.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he pants, thrusting harder. “Take it. Take all of me.”

You meet him stroke for stroke, the slap of skin on skin obscene in the quiet room.

Dean growls, grabbing your thigh and hiking it higher, angling you so he can drive even deeper.

You see stars. You can’t even think.

His hand finds your throat — not squeezing, just holding, possessive — and the shock of it makes you clench around him, wringing a raw moan from his lips.

“You like that, baby?” he snarls, fucking into you harder. “You like me takin’ you like this?”

“Yes,” you sob. “Dean, please —”

He covers your mouth with his, swallowing your cries, his thrusts rough and wild now, desperate.

“I’m not gonna last,” he groans against your lips. “Too good. So fuckin’ good.”

His fingers find your clit again, rubbing quick, brutal circles, sending you hurtling toward the edge.

“Come for me,” he commands, voice dark and filthy. “Come on my cock.”

You fall apart again — shattering, screaming his name, every muscle clenching, your body spasming around him.

Dean follows with a growl, driving deep, grinding his hips against yours as he spills inside you, his whole body trembling with the force of it.

For a long, breathless moment, neither of you moves.

You just cling to each other, panting, wrecked.

Dean buries his face in your neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses there, his body still shuddering slightly.

“You’re mine now,” he murmurs against your skin. “You hear me? Mine.”

You smile, dazed and sated, threading your fingers through his sweat-damp hair.

“Yours,” you whisper back.

Dean stays inside you for a minute, still pressed tight against you, catching his breath. His weight is heavy — comforting — and you cling to him, fingers sliding up and down the slick muscles of his back.

Neither of you says anything.

No words needed.

Finally, Dean groans softly and shifts, pulling out with a low grunt that makes your cheeks heat all over again.

He ties off the condom quickly, tossing it toward the trash without even looking.

You expect him to roll away, maybe pass out like most guys would.

But Dean surprises you.

Instead, he reaches for you, tugging you against his chest, wrapping you up tight in his arms. One big, warm hand cradles the back of your head. The other strokes slow, soothing lines up and down your spine.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he murmurs against your temple, voice low and wrecked but gentle now.

You nod, still a little dazed.

Dean chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through your whole body.

“Fucked you good, didn’t I?” he teases, but there’s something raw and vulnerable underneath the cockiness — like he needs to hear you say it. Like he needs to know he didn’t break you, only made you his.

You smile, sleepy and sore and ridiculously happy.

“The best,” you whisper. “No contest.”

Dean pulls back just enough to look at you, his green eyes warm, soft, utterly wrecked with affection.

He brushes a few sweaty strands of hair from your forehead with surprising tenderness.

“Yeah?” he says, grinning that stupid, boyish grin that melts you faster than the sex ever could. “Guess that means you’re stuck with me now.”

You laugh, burying your face in his chest. His skin smells like sex and sweat and soap, like everything you never knew you needed.

“I think I can live with that,” you murmur.

Dean kisses your hair, slow and lingering.

“You better,” he says, voice low and rough. “Because I’m not lettin’ you go. Not after this. Not ever.”

You fall asleep like that — tangled up with him, your head on his chest, his heartbeat steady and strong under your ear.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you know you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Wrapped up in Dean Winchester’s arms.

752 notes · View notes

lostalioth · 8 months ago

Text

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

→ premise: there existed no such cricumstances in which dean doesnt want your lips against his. bloodied, bruised, even with broken bones, a kiss from his girl makes it all better.

→ pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: tw: blood, fluff, but some sort of instense making out, established relationship, descriptions of blood and injuries, blood in mouth, nicknames [baby, sweetheart, my girl], reader is described a bit to have anxiety

→ a/n: as always i hope dean isn’t too out of character as i have never written for him! enjoy my loves :) and sorry its short.

A hunt had gone south they got the monster and it was done but Dean was injured, they were headed back to the bunker. That was all Sam spit out over the phone, normally you appreciated his ability to get straight to the point. Currently you were cursing it as he hung up shortly after cause he was the one driving back. You had a million and one questions running through your head and more than half of them weren’t good.

This was the part of the boys going off hunting and you staying back that you hated the most. When one of them got hurt or something went wrong and all you could do was sit there, a chill running down your spine as your blood boiled in your veins, anxiously pacing the living room, trying to not let yourself jump to the worst conclusions which you regularly failed to do.

You used to go on hunts with them and instead of you currently being the one riddled with anxiety, it was Dean. Once the two of you pulled your heads out of your asses (as Sam would say) and realized you’ve had feelings for each other for years, you got together. Being officially together seemed to make Dean's protective nature increase tenfold. He was even more terrified to lose you now than before. He began fussing over you whenever you'd get even the slightest scarpe or bump on a hunt. He would glue himself to your side the whole duration. Forcing you to normally stay back in the motel room when the hunt turned into a more dangerous situation than dean cared to put you in.

You loved Dean but it began to get a bit too tedious to deal with and even Sam made a comment on how overprotective he was being. In an attempt to make hunts go easier and ease your boyfriend's anxiety, once you all situated yourselfs in the bunker you suggested to him that you go out on hunts less, especially when they could now take Cas. Dean jumped at the suggestion but you couldn't blame him.

“I think that's a great idea baby” he said with a kiss to your forehead.

You still helped out, researching things when Sam needed the help, going through old books and files in the library, patching them up when they’d come back with cuts and bruises. You hadn't realized just how jittery you'd be however stuck in the bunker when he was out and especially when they went on far away hunts.

They'd go to the hospital when things were really bad, so you knew if the boys were on their way back then it couldn’t be too bad. The reminder did nothing to sooth your racing thoughts, your heart thumping so hard you could practically hear it pounding in your ears. You didn't know just how long you've been pacing back and forth, too afraid to look up at the clock and realize it's only been a few minutes since Sam called.

You don't hear the sound of baby pulling into the garage, your head is too clouded as you were damn near about to wear a grove down into the old floors. The sound of a door shutting loudly and two sets of heavy footsteps are heard down the hallway. Spinning so quickly on your feet you nearly lose your balance you turn to face the noise. Watching as the brothers emerge from the dark hall, Dean's arm rests on Sam's shoulder almost using him like a human crutch. You let out a small gasp making them stop and both of their eyes snap up to yours, weather you gasped in surprise at the state of your boyfriend or in relief you can’t tell.

“Hi sweetheart, We’re home” Dean tilts his head, his voice laced with his usual sarcasm and deep tone. He pushes off of Sam, clearly able to at least stand on his own, slowly making his way over to you a small limp in his step.

In the blink of an eye you’re rushing into his arms, your soft hands grabbing ahold of his beaten up face and crashing your lips against his. He grunts out a “fuck” in surprise or pain the word dying in his throat turning into a noise as his eyes fall shut and he grabs ahold of your hips. With a sharp tug he pulls your body as close as he can to his, his hands sliding up your sides. His bloodied lips against your plush ones, kissing you like a man starved, a kiss you’ve come accustomed to when he comes home from longer hunts. “Missed you” he hums in a hushed tone into the kiss for only you to hear, making your racing heart only speed up. His blood flows into your opened mouth as the kiss goes on, the metallic taste on your tongue foreign but you were far too relieved he was back in one piece to care about the blood coating your tongue.

Any pain Dean felt after the whole ordeal and from the bumpy ride back to the bunker seemed to fade from his body. He could care less about his brother's presence still in the room or the blood still dripping from his face and that covered his clothes or his split lip. It felt as if all the bruises that were forming on his body were already being kissed away as your soft lips slid against his. The taste of your mouth overcoming the taste of the blood in his, your scent calming his body, reminding him he's finally home again. Your body grounding him.

A rough deep cough stops the moment making the two of you reluctantly pull away, lips swollen and parted as you catch your breath.

“Before this gets any more R-rated maybe we should patch him up and you know clean him up” Sam suggested with a small light hearted chuckle as he walks off to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. You were grateful you remembered just yesterday that it had needed to be restocked. “Sorry Sammy” Dean calls after him, you turn your head away and follow up with a “Sorry not sorry” down the hall after him making a small smirk grow on your boyfriend's face.

Once he's out of eye sight, Dean grabs ahold of your face by lightly squeezing your cheeks and turns your head back to face him. Leaning down to begin softly kissing you again, groaning against your lips when the pain in his body begins to return.

“Who needs a first aid kit, all i need is my girl's kisses” He mumbled softly against your mouth, making you break out into a smile. A small tear slips down your cheek, your breath returning to your lungs and the chill in your spine fading as relief finally settled over your body knowing he's okay.

→ a/n: if you enjoyed please reblog or send me some dean requests id love to write more for him!

2K notes · View notes

daylighted · 7 months ago

Text

dean winchester x angel!reader — innocence is a virtue.

or, how on earth is he supposed to corrupt you? you? or, dean's newest passenger princess is killing him slowly and violently.

cw, fluff but with sexual elements. mostly fluffy though. reckless driving DO NOTTT do this!! professionals only!! dirty minded!dean. honestly just horny!dean really. innuendos galore.

word count : 2.9k

notes, guys can i be so honest i have not even gotten to the seasons where angels come into spn. this is all based on the lil bits n pieces i know of the future stuff ok. ik i'm a fraud but BE GENTLE IF IT'S OOC OR ANYTHING < /3

req. by anon & in honor of kas's dean & angel fics bc i LOVEEE them

★ ˚⋆

dean, honestly, had never met someone quite like you. when he'd told cas in passing that he was about the most naive, innocent thing he'd ever met, all he did was give him one of those looks he reserved only for dean. he thought, then, that it was just because he was being a bit of a shithead, and cas was telling him without telling him so.

very quickly, he found out how wrong he was about both of his assessments.

the day you came down to earth and graced everyone, literally, with your presence, dean was smitten. never before had he met someone so sweet. so honestly pure. until you, he thought that purity was nothing but an ideology based on impossible feats. a pipe dream and a half for the faithful. no, the reality was that he just hadn't met you yet.

sam was pouring himself into research, too focused to realize that dean was all but whittling away in his starvation, so when he offered to go grab some cheap shit from the diner a few minutes from the motel, all he got in response was a mumble of agreement and a wave of his hand from him.

but you, who'd been sitting on the motel bed, stiff as if you had something stuck up your ass holding you in place, turned to him and asked to come with. that struck dean off kilter immediately, because he hadn't been asked for anything in a long ass while. sam just usually assumed he'd be writing shotgun wherever they went. john — no, he'd never ask his son anything, usually buried that sentiment in harsh demands and orders. cas asked him lots of questions, but permission was not often one of them.

and when he looked at you, read over your features and saw the genuineness in your wide, expectant eyes... god, how could he say no?

so you sat there in the passenger seat. dean had to buckle you in with a joke that flew right over your head — another joke you would not get, even though he was fucking killing it with them right now — about not wanting to send you flying if they got into a wreck.

you proceeded to unbuckle and buckle and unbuckle again a few times, seemingly fascinated with the click of the mechanism. dean wanted to be annoyed. genuinely. if sam had started pulling this shit, dean would have pulled over and drove a few feet ahead as a warning to cut it the fuck out.

but with you, it was adorable in its own right. god, it was! somehow it surprised you, every time it clicked, even if you'd already done it eight times. like, how did anyone expect him to get pissy at you when you were doing those sharp, surprised gasps every few seconds? a few more times and he'd be pulling over to give you something to gasp at, he thought idly.

and then winced, scrunching up his face, when he realized how deep in the gutter his head was. no, he wouldn't touch you. wouldn't even try to plant that idea in your pretty little head.

dean didn't want to corrupt you. if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he wanted to keep that pretty little head as clear as his nose was, alright? he wasn't going to be the one to break you into what this world was, its hardships and its cruelties — and its more deviant pleasures.

but fuck, you made it so hard to keep his head straight.

you did this thing, he realized too, on that silent, clicky drive, where you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth when you were in deep thought. thought about what, fuck if he knew, because if you said something to him in the moments that he watched you do it, he'd never know. he was watching your mouth but not to listen.

dean was about to start reprimanding himself in his head, for what must have been the third time already, when you said something, nearly making him slam on the brakes in his surprise.

"how are you doing this?" you asked, as if that wasn't the vaguest question he'd heard in his entire life.

dean blinked a couple of times as he waited for elaboration that never came. he switched hands on the steering wheel, resting his right loosely over the gearstick. "doing..." he trailed off, shaking his head slowly in a gesture to make you keep talking, "what, exactly?"

you did not catch the hint, and he was probably a fool for expecting you to. it took a few more seconds of you staring very intently at his thighs for you to speak up, and by then, he was fucking squirming in his leather seat, trying to not let it get to either of his heads that you were so blatantly staring at his dick.

"this," you answered, twinges of frustration evident in your tone. he couldn't blame you. he was getting frustrated in this car ride, too. "making it move."

christ. he was going to hell. he was going to hell again, this time because of his own drifting thoughts.

"you're gonna have to be a little more clear, dove," he managed through his teeth, voice strained, "'cause i don't think we are on the same train of thought right now."

another blink, and another few seconds pass. your hand shot up in his direction and he flinched, honestly flinched, convinced from the filthy thoughts circling in his head that you were about to grab him by the—

"this," you repeated, and he almost bristled at the attitude, almost told you off about virtues or whatever, when he finally got it. your arm stuck out in gesture to his legs, which pushed the gas pedal and rested against the doorframe, as he drove.

dean closed his eyes briefly, metaphorically swapping his metaphorical wrist for his headspace. he was not, was not, the person that should be introducing you to this world.

dean shifted again, bringing his left leg closer to the leather seat as he readjusted into more of a comfortable position. he hadn't even realized how tense he'd gotten on this short car ride until now. he was as straight backed as you were, and breathing just as slow. "driving?" he asked anyways, like an idiot.

"driving..." you repeated, like the word was as fascinating to you as the process was. "how?"

the diner sign was right there. it was teal and glowed, retro in style, announcing benny's bistro as open.

he drove past it.

dean knew that you did not sign up for a driver's ed course with him with your question, knew even more that he was risking his baby for a pathetic attempt at flirting with someone who did not even know the definition of the word, but to hell with it. you'd asked to come along with him, and therefore placed yourself in his hands for his guidance. the least he could do was make some sort of effort, couldn't he?

"c'mere," he grumbled once he'd pulled baby off into an unassuming back road, parking it dead in the center. you'd need all the open space. he patted his spread thighs a couple of times.

your stupidly pretty pink lips sucked into your stupidly straight teeth. fuck. "why?"

"just—" he cut himself off when he realized he was about to get snippy. you didn't deserve snippy. he was just hungry and horny and you were pretty and he was...

he was pathetic. looking for reasons to get you into his lap. he'd already been to hell, what are they gonna do, drag him back by his ear?

"just do it," dean finished on a sigh, his hand dropping to the front of his leather seat, grabbing the handle and shoving the seat back as far as it could go. there you were, staring at his dick again, making him feel hotter and more bothered.

he felt his heart stop solidly in his chest when you started to climb over the middle console, so oblivious to the faceful of ass he was getting. dean was practically praying to god at that point. he knew he'd been a shit until then, and definitely a sinner by every means, but if he could grant him a little fucking strength—

you plopped your happy little ass right between his muscular, jean-clad thighs. you were warm, was his first thought. he was screwed, was his second.

"what now?" you asked him, that innocent lilt to your voice as you did, and he felt like a dirty little freak for wanting to bend you over the steering wheel moments before ( who was he kidding? for still wanting to bend you over the steering wheel ).

dean took both of your hands and placed them on the steering wheel. once he'd closed your fingers around the wheel, he dropped his hands to your thighs.

"this one," he patted the left one, and nearly went molten behind you, when you lifted that thigh and placed it on his palm. "nuh uh," he tried to lightly correct, "this one you don't use. jus' keep it out of the way." dean's voice was strained in his ears, in his throat.

you slipped your thigh out of his grasp, pressing it up against the inner of his own thigh, your foot tucked around his ankle. you were so trusting and compliant. he was so, so screwed, and so, so awful for thinking about breaking that sweet naivety.

"this one," he said, patting your right thigh, and when you didn't move it this time, he smiled, just a little, to himself. "you use to make it move."

the flush on your cheeks that followed his tease was so damn pretty it took his breath away.

he lifted his leg, not able to reach the pedals with you sat between them and his seat all the way back. he pointed his boot at the left pedal, knowing you were watching each of his movements intently. "that's the stop pedal. push it down to stop." he repeated the process he'd done with your legs, boot pointing at the right pedal as he explained it. "that's the ignition."

pause.

"that's the go," he corrected, sparing you any momentary confusion and any more questions, he hoped. dean could not keep sitting here idle with you between his legs. "makes the car drive. harder you push, faster it goes."

hell, hell, hell. he wasn't going to hell, because he was already in it, strung up and burning.

"i'll handle the gears," he added quickly, when he caught your head turning downward to the shift stick. "don't wanna overwhelm that pretty little head of yours, dove, with too much at once."

dean rested his right hand on the gear stick, his left hand gripping the handle on the driver's door for dear life. he needed the support; you were driving him up a wall with his claws out, and you were about to be driving him. driving his baby. it took a lot of coaxing from sam for dean to let sam behind the wheel. all you did was ask how do you make it move? and he was letting you drive.

you. who did not even know what a car was. who was learning how to drive literally that moment.

god help him. he'd prayed more in this fifteen minute drive than he had in years.

you pressed down on the gas pedal, and the car revved all pretty and loud. dean watched with bated breath as the response to your efforts registered in your head, the way your eyes lit up in that curious glimmer, the fucking teeth biting on your lip.

once you let up, he pushed on the gear stick's release, and tugged it down from park to drive. the car slowly began to move down the dirt path.

you slammed the brakes so hard that his head knocked into the back of your shoulders. "fuck, dove, gentle."

and you were, when you shifted your foot over to the gas pedal again. you pushed it down on it tentatively, the car starting to glide down the dirt road, the sound of pebbles grinding beneath the tires.

"better," he mumbled in your ear, leant forward to keep his eyes on the windshield. it's not that he didn't trust you, he just... yeah, he didn't trust you. "just like that, dove."

the praise, though, goes in one ear and out the other, because the gentle ease of baby's tires along the road is interrupted by you slamming the gas. the tires squeal. clouds of dirt and dust puff out from behind the car as it takes off.

dean's heart went from in his ass to in his throat in a manner of a second. "whoa, whoa, whoa!" he exclaimed, a nervous laughter bubbling out of his throat. "slower, slower, will ya? crashin' in the middle of nowhere is the last—"

you hit the brakes again, still hard but less this time. just enough to send his head knocking into your shoulder again as the car slowed.

slowed, but still headed toward the ditch. "right, see your hands?" he asked, chin nuzzling into the plush spot between your neck and your shoulder so he could see better. "twist 'em. nice n' gentle for me, to your left, yeah, good girl. makes the whole car move, yeah? jus' keep it on the dirt, not off "

you follow his instructions, and dean feels a swell of pride at this. maybe he should have gone into driver's ed or some shit. he was a good ass teacher.

"like this?" you asked, drawing him out of his self glazing. your voice, soft and hesitant, breathless with your excitement, has his chest heaving.

"yeah, dove, jus' like that," he rasped, his left hand moving from the doorframe to rest where your thigh met your hips. the car kept its slow pace down the long dirt road, and for the first time since you'd gotten your hands on the wheel, his heart doesn't feel like it's pounding in his throat. "no, no, don't stop. keep goin', you're doing so good for me."

his phone starts to buzz in his pocket, and like that, his self indulgent driver's ed lesson comes to a screeching halt. "you jus' keep on going like this, alright?" he asked you, patting your hip with his hand before he reluctantly let go.

he definitely answered the phone with more attitude than necessary. couldn't help it. he was having a great time. "what, sam?"

"everything alright?" sam asked, and then dean felt like a prickhead for giving him shit at all. "s'been thirty minutes."

dean sighed, his eyes lifting again to look out the front windshield. a stop sign was quickly approaching, and you didn't even need his guidance for that. you were slowing to a stop all on your own. he was so fucking proud, it was sick. "all good. long line at the burger place."

it was dead empty, four miles back.

"we'll be back in a few, alright? chew on one of your books or somethin' while you wait, make 'em useful."

"dean—"

he hung up before he could hear sam's sighed response.

his hand fell to your waist again, squeezing lightly to stop you from lifting your foot off of the brake just yet. "play time's over. calvary's callin' us back."

dean pushed the gear stick into park again before he moved both of his hands to your hips, helping guide you back into the passenger seat.

he adjusted the seat again, his hands finding their typical place on the wheel. he did a very illegal u-turn at the four-way intersection and headed back down the road that you'd driven him down.

"have fun?" he asked after a beat, eyes flicking over to see you. you looked so pretty in the orange glow of the sunset, your face lit up in deep gold.

you turned to meet his eyes, and he had to look away quickly, the bright glimmer of adrenaline in them knocking all the wind out of him. "yes."

"good." dean meant it. there were so few things he'd risk everything for, but that toothy smile of yours jumped to the top of that list.

"dean?" your voice rung out again, earning him another glance your way in acknowledgement. "what part of the car was in my back the whole time?"

dean faltered, eyes blinking in a bout of surprise and lips parting, searching for a response he did not have. his eyes dropped down to his lap for a second, dread and embarrassment pooling like ice water in his stomach at what he hoped wasn't— yeah. yeah, it was.

"i dunno, dove," he mumbled through his teeth, staring straight ahead, fingers tapping on the steering wheel, doing basically anything to not meet that curious look of yours. especially knowing you'd have your lip in your teeth all over again. "might have t'take it to the shop, while we're in town... get it checked out or somethin'..."

he was so damn screwed.

tags, @figthoughts @jasvtsc @titsout4nicholas @deanswidow @deansbite

#dahlia's ☆ journal #angel!reader #dean winchester x angel!reader #jensen ackles #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester one shot #spn #supernatural #supernatural one shot #spn one shot

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very-merry-birthday · 17 days ago

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The Voicemail

Summary: When Dean leaves a voicemail late one night, you can't help but listen- and get a lot more than you bargained for.

Warnings: Smut, Mutual masturbation (over the phone)

~~~

You paced around the empty bunker, desperately looking for something to do. Trust them to leave you here by yourself while they went off hunting. You'd already spent three days trying to fill the time with menial tasks, and you were bored as hell.

More importantly, though, you missed Dean. You didn't think you would. You weren't supposed to! But having him around every day just felt right. As much as you'd deny that you were flirting, that maybe there was something between you, with him gone you suddenly realized what you'd been trying to hide from yourself. You had the biggest crush on that man.

You thought of the way he'd laugh at your jokes, the way he'd walk around in that stupid robe, the way the corner of his eyes would crease when he smiled...

You shook your head. You were better than this! You didn't need to be pining after him, especially when he wasn't even here to pine after!

As if he could read your thoughts from three states away, you felt your phone vibrate, a message from Dean popping up on the screen.

I hope you're keeping out of trouble ;)

You couldn't help but laugh at his message- he really was an old man trapped in the body of- well the body of a god. You resisted the urge to reply straight away, your mind filling with all the awful flirty messages you wanted to send. You felt stupid, like a school girl with a crush on her teacher- of course he didn't feel the same way. You put your phone down without replying, trying to seem nonchalant, to yourself more than anyone.

You tried to think of anything else, anything but Dean, anything but that stupid winking face. You went back to your laptop, trying to find another hunt, maybe one you and Dean could go on... Just the two of you, long drives, small motel rooms...

You pushed the thought from your mind. You were strong, you didn't need him for a hunt. When he came back that's what you'd show him, that you were independent, that you could handle yourself. You picked up your phone, typing out your message before you could overthink it.

All good here. Hope the motel is ok? You up for some more fight training when you get back? Xx

As soon as you clicked send you regretted it. Kisses? Oh you felt like an idiot.

You threw your phone back down on the bed, you wouldn't let him win. Not that he even knew there was something he was supposed to be winning. You left the room, leaving your phone, trying to clear the thoughts of him from your mind.

But there he was, for the rest of the day. Trying to clean the bunker? His legs. Cooking dinner? His hands. Brushing your teeth? His chest. While you were showering? Just Dean.

You couldn't get him out of your head, even as you patted yourself dry from the shower. You looked in the corner of the room, one of his screwed up shirts he never put away laid crumpled on the floor. That's when you decided: if he wasn't here you'd let yourself crush. Why not? It wasn't like he could stop you.

You reached down to pick up his shirt and pulled it over your head. Looking at yourself in the mirror you smiled. Sure, maybe he didn't have feelings for you, but even he couldn't deny you looked hot wearing nothing but his shirt.

You slunk back to your room, reinvigorated by your decision. You let your mind wander, picturing him walking in on you wearing his clothes. You liked the thought.

That's when you remembered your phone, laying in the middle of your bed exactly where you'd thrown it earlier. A knot formed in your stomach, had he replied? Had he even seen your message.

Looking down at it your breath hitched as you read the notifications:

Dean: Missed Call

One new voicemail.

You sat on the edge of your bed as you clicked the notification. The monotonous computer voice replied.

☏You have one new message : "Hey sweetheart, just wanted to call to check you're okay? The motels fine, we'll be home in a few days anyway- and I'll take you up on that offer. Be warned though, I'm gonna exhaust you until you can't walk the next day." Press one to replay, press two to call back, press three to delete-☏

You put your phone down and lay back on the bed, arousal growing between your legs. He had to know what he was doing- surely. You let your hand roam down between your thighs, thinking about his words. Exhaust you until you can't walk? You bit your lip just thinking about it.

But thinking about it wasn't enough. You had to hear him. You had to picture him in front of you, saying it directly to you. You picked up your phone again, ready to replay the voicemail.

☏"Hey sweetheart, just wanted to call to check you're okay?"☏

You liked the nickname, even if you knew he didn't mean anything by it. And you liked that he was checking in on you. You pushed your fingers down, tentatively settling just above your wetness.

☏ The motels fine, we'll be home in a few days anyway- and I'll take you up on that offer. Be warned though,"☏

You bit your lip. This felt wrong. Getting yourself off to this message? When he was hundreds of miles away? When he didn't even know you had feelings for him?

☏ "I'm gonna exhaust you until you can't walk the next day." ☏

Oh what the hell! You pushed your fingers through your already wet folds, picturing him saying it, the way he'd tense his jaw after, let his eyes flick over your body. You stifled a moan, and then let it escape your lips. If they were going to leave you alone in the bunker you were going to make the most of it. You were going to be loud.

☏ Press one to replay, press two to call back, press three to delete-☏

You looked back down at your phone. #1.

☏ "Hey sweetheart-" ☏

You let his words wash over you like silk as you pushed a finger into yourself. God he sounded so good. You moved your fingers carefully, touching yourself in a way only you could, small movements that sent waves through your body. You allowed yourself to carefully brush over your clit, another loud moan escaping your lips.

☏ "-until you can't walk the next day." Press one to replay, press two-" ☏

You positioned yourself properly on the bed, one hand between your legs, the other on your phone next to you, finger hovering above the #1. Your imagination wasn't enough, you needed to hear him, you needed that voice.

☏ "Hey sweetheart," ☏

You got into a steady movement, your fingers pushing into yourself, the occasion tease of your own clit. You let out a moan at every opportunity, the pornographic sounds that you usually hid trapped in thin walls finally able to fill the bunker. As soon as the message had started, it finished, and you pushed the #1 again, needy for his voice.

☏ "Hey sweetheart," ☏

You let your fingers circle your clit, barely listening to the words anymore, just the sultry tone of his voice. Your other hand hovered over your phone, you found yourself in a pattern of barely letting the message finish before you were pressing the button to make it restart again. You let yourself get louder as you felt your arousal growing, eventually calling out his name into the silent night air.

☏ "Hey sweetheart, " ☏

You were getting close, your back arching off the bed, pushing your fingers deep into yourself, the pool between your legs dripping over your digits. You needed him, all you wanted was to hear him.

"Hey sweetheart,"

You let out a loud moan as your fingers circled your clit.

"-are you okay?"

That wasn't right. You didn't know what wasn't but... Something.

"Is everything alright?"

You looked down at your phone. This wasn't the voicemail. This was a call.

You scrambled, pulling your hands back up and bolting upright, your chest heaving as you panted. There was no way, how could you have been so stupid to call him back. You picked up your phone, ready to hang up,

"Y/N? What's going on?" He sounded worried. You felt bad, you knew you couldn't hang up, he'd be calling you back within seconds. And if you still didn't pick up he'd drive down here himself just to check you were okay.

"Y- yeah, I'm fine-" you said hesitantly, trying to pull yourself together, your breathing finally evening out. You looked down at yourself, still dressed in nothing but Dean's shirt, feeling like he could see you, a deer caught in headlights. You shook away the thought, of course he couldn't. You just had to get through this conversation.

"What the hell is happening over there?" His tone grew louder, obvious caution in his voice, still not entirely satisfied you were safe.

"I didn't mean to call, Dean, it was an accident. I'm fine, I've got to go now I-"

"What were you doing?" You could hear the panic leaving his voice, an obvious smile on the other end of the phone.

"It wasn't anything, I'm going to go now-"

He laughed to himself, "Because if you're not in the middle of a fight... sweetheart it almost sounded like moaning?"

You bit your lip, your brain going blank as you tried to think of a reply.

"Are you watching porn?" He laughed again.

"Dean I'm not watching anything-"

He sucked in a breath, "Oh so that was all you?"

You stopped talking, knowing anything you'd say would just make it worse.

His tone grew thicker as he spoke. This wasn't his usual lighthearted flirting, this came from deeper. "Don't get all shy now, I want to know what you were thinking about."

"I... I was listening to your message." Your words felt like honey leaving your throat.

That caught him off guard, there was a pause as he thought carefully about what you said. "That moaning was because of me?"

"Dean this is stupid I'm hanging up-"

"No! No-" he cut you off, desperation in his voice turning into assurance, "I want to hear more."

You swallowed hard at his words, laying back down on the bed, your whole body exhausted from the adrenaline.

His voice became more certain, "I've never heard you be that loud before. Sure I've heard you moaning through the walls when you think we're all asleep but-"

Your face flushed at his confession, picturing him hearing you late at night, stifling your moans.

"-I've never heard you sound like that before." He continued, "I've been trying to picture it. Every night I think about what you'd sound like if I was in your room, my hands on you instead of your own... Fuck you don't know what you do to me sweetheart."

"You- you were listening to me?"

"I tried not to at first but- god baby- the thought of what you're doing late at night got my cock throbbing. It got to the point where the only thing that really got me going was the sounds of your little hidden moans and whimpers. God I wish I was there right now to see you darlin'... What are you wearing?"

You looked down at your ill-timed outfit, "I'm just wearing your shirt..."

You heard him let out a strained chuckle as he imagined it, "You're full of surprises aren't you? What were you doing, I gotta hear you say it..."

You swallowed hard, sinking into the soft bed, "I was listening to your message, your voice and- touching myself."

He sucked in another sharp breath. "Touch yourself, now, for me."

You bit your lip, once again placing your hand between your thighs.

"Are you doing it darlin'?"

You murmured in agreement as you pushed your fingers through your soaked folds.

"I want to hear you moaning, don't hide it, I need to hear you. Push a finger into yourself baby."

You did as he said, slowly pushing a finger into yourself. You half bit back your moan, still embarrassed, before letting it out, letting him hear you.

"God baby you sound so good. I wish I was there, I want to see you touching yourself darlin'. Does it feel good?"

"Yeah Dean- It feels so fucking good... I wish it was your hands-"

You heard him let out a small grunt, clearly he was touching himself at the same time. You pictured it, his hand around his hard cock as he listened to you, the feeling flooding through your body.

"Add another finger baby, I want you to fill yourself up-"

You did as he said, pushing two fingers into yourself and letting out a small gasp.

"- that's it baby, fuck yourself with your fingers. I can picture how hot you are right now, just wearing my shirt, you've got me so fucking hard over here- just wish you were here to see it, see what you're doing to me-"

You laid there, listening to each other's moans, gasps, his panting. You pictured his hands on you, pushing into you.

"You wanna touch your clit for me baby? Picture me teasing you?"

You did what he said, teasing yourself with your fingers, circling your desperate bundle of nerves. You let out a loud gasp, wanting him to hear what he was doing to you.

"Good girl, you sound so good for me, darlin'. You want to cum don't you, I can hear it."

"Yes Dean- fuck-" you felt your orgasm rising, a tight coil forming in your stomach.

"Hold on, not just yet." His voice sounded so smooth, so calm, even as he was pumping his own cock he was fully in control. "Keep yourself there baby, just for a moment."

"Dean please-" you felt so ready, so desperate for release, holding yourself almost past the point of breaking.

"Just for a second baby, keep going, keep touching yourself, I want you to keep going for me baby. You're so fucking hot- I want to touch you so bad, wish it was my tongue on your clit right now baby. You want to cum for me darlin'?"

"Dean please- yes!"

He paused for a moment, keeping you on the edge, you held your breath, unable to focus on anything but holding yourself back.

"Cum for me darlin'."

You felt a wave overcome you, shaking your body, the coil in your body finally releasing. You let out a loud gasp, Dean listening intently down the phone as you finally let yourself cum. You came harder than you ever had before, his words flowing through you, his voice felt like hands hot on your skin.

You lay there panting, your chest heaving as the waves kept flowing, finally melting off of you as you regained clarity. You blinked hard in the empty room, almost surprised that Dean wasn't laying there with you, finally lifting the phone back up again to speak.

"Dean I- I can't believe I phoned you." You felt embarrassment flush on your face once again.

"I'm so glad you did darlin', you wouldn't believe how long I've wanted to hear that- God I just want to see you- when I'm back, will you let me?" All the control had left his voice, vulnerability creeping in.

"Fuck Dean- of course." You sighed against the phone, "I want to see you too."

He paused, an inaudible smile, "I ought to go darlin', but we can talk about this more when I get back?"

You hummed in affirmation.

"God darlin' I can't fuckin' wait... You stay out of trouble will you?" He chuckled as he hung up the phone, leaving your imagination filled with his return.

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bitchface24-7 · 5 months ago

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THE SEDUCTIVE PROFESSOR VIKTOR PT2

synopsis: after completing “The Science Behind Magic: HXT101” with straight As your darling Professor Viktor decides to reward you. After all, you're no longer his student... So you two are no longer breaking any rules. And he can have you in Any. Way. He. Wants.

warnings: age gap (viktor’s gotta be anywhere in his 30s-40s to be a professor, reader is in their 20s (early to late I don’t really care) ), technically still a power imbalance, switch leaning dom!viktor, I tried my best to make this gender-neutral, this isn’t gonna be a full on story, just bullet points I come up with, Grammarly as my beta

genre: m/f or m/m

p.s. Please save me from this man, why is he invading my every thought and dream? He's making me realize things about myself.

PART 1

Being in higher education is a total pain in the ass.

Having Viktor as your professor made it a million times easier.

Especially since you finished his class as the top student. The look on Viktors face when the charts were released still gives you butterflies to this day.

You're officially a graduate of your STEM program! And with how amazing your grades are, and how many spectacular references you got; you were able to become Viktor’s TA. Allowing for Jayce to become the Lab Professor of “The Science Behind Magic: HXT101” (they still alternate roles. They hate being confined to one aspect of teaching.)

Especially since you're now secretly dating the most sought-after professor the academy has ever had.

You know it’s still frowned upon, a TA dating their superior, but at least it’s not as bad as a student fucking their professor. You're guilty on both counts.

You only have a scheduled class twice a week. Once on Tuesdays in the morning, and once on Thursdays in the afternoon. The rest of the week you're free to do whatever (and whomever) you please. It's mostly built this way so you can have enough time to grade almost a hundred assignments and still have time to relax.

You two have squeezed that schedule dry.

You've had sex in the classroom, in your shared office, in the library, in each others apartments.

You're fucking like rabbits.

You'll never forget when you were honestly, truly, just trying to grade some papers with Viktor in the library and all of a sudden you're getting fondled underneath the table and you're covering your mouth trying not to get caught.

You were rewarded that night with how well you behaved. You made sure you two didn't get caught. How sweet.

But there have been times when you've been bratty; desperately craving Viktor's love and attention.

And you got it, in the form of you getting your throat fucked and ass smacked with Viktors cane. He didn't stop until you had tears streaming down your face and your ass was a beautiful mixture of red, purple, and blue.

(you were too stubborn to use your safe word)

The looks of concern your students shot you as Viktor subtly yet smugly drank his sweetened coffee made your blood boil in both anger and lust.

You could barely sit or move due to the spanking, and you could barely talk due to the pounding your throat received. Making it so Viktor taught the class and you sat there pretty; and incredibly uncomfortable.

Some students shot you pointed looks but you pretended they weren't there.

But… there has been instances where YOU were the dominant one.

Where you sucked his cock under his desk, not caring if colleagues came in to chat. Even if it was the dean.

Where you rode him into the mattress, painting his pretty neck and chest with a smattering of hickies.

Where you sat on his face until your body gave out due to how skilled he is with his fingers and tongue.

You're not sure you've ever orgasmed this much before in your life, but you’re not complaining!

Aside from the mind-blowing sex… dating Viktor is like a dream come true.

He’s caring, sweet, kind, and thoughtful. He's still snarky and sassy with a dry dirty humour but… he's perfect.

And you wouldn't change a damn thing about him.

Even when you two are cuddled up in bed late at night and you're having a deep conversation, and Viktor’s insecurities peek through, you shut that shit down immediately.

You're in awe over the fact Viktor's never been in a proper relationship before.

You make a promise to yourself after learning that. You'll be Viktor's first and last relationship.

Till death do you part baby! You wonder which ring will look best on your ring finger.

(but that's a bit farther into the future. Enjoy your relationship as it is now with its sweetness and crazy freak nasty sex)

#arcane #viktor arcane #professor viktor #arcane imagine #arcane x reader #arcane smut #viktor imagine #viktor x reader #viktor smut #viktor x reader smut #banners by cafekitsune

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yousavorthis · 2 months ago

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wincest/weecest fic rec list!!

hungry til well fed // sharingflannels 25k words

"There's a shared desire between Sam and Dean that is buried deep beneath the surface. The need to consume and be consumed that goes without the other's knowledge until circumstances bring things into the light. Like any form of tension, something's gotta give sometime."

miles to go before I sleep // Trojie 7k words

"Maybe, if he'd grown up without a gun in his fucking waistband, he'd have kept it to … spanking, or something. Yeah. Sam wants to be spanked like a racecar driver wants a bicycle."

Bullet for my Valentine // merle_p 8k words

"Stupid. He is so goddamn fucking stupid. Running his mouth like a fucking idiot, not knowing when to leave well enough alone. Bad enough that he just practically talked dirty to his little brother, which, Christ – he must be more stressed than he thought if his self-control mechanisms have started malfunctioning that badly. But no, no, he came up with a scenario straight out of a bad slasher film, as if that is something normal people talk dirty about, as if that is something Sam would seriously enjoy. As if – As if Dean hadn’t hunted his own brother through the maze of the bunker, eyes black and hammer raised to strike, not even a full year ago. As if Sam hadn’t, just a few weeks back, knelt at his feet, neck bared, waiting for Dean to deal a fatal blow with a fucking scythe."

Guardian Ad Litem // fraukatzen 24k words

"Sam has always called Dean “daddy” when dad’s not around. Dean likes it a lot."

(for you and me) i got no alibi // remy (iamremy) 23k words

"There are people hitting on Sam wherever he goes, and Dean is doing weird things like holding doors open for him and touching him way more than is necessary, and it's all driving Sam up the wall. It doesn't help that he's been in love with Dean for just about forever, and all of it feels like a mockery of something he'll never get to have. Meanwhile, Dean is at his wits' end trying to figure out how he can make Sam realize that he is, in fact, trying to get into his pants."

turn the other // thecapn 13k words

"Dean Winchester has hit his brother before. In anger. When he deserved it. With his righteous right hand closed into a furious fist, he has distributed what he believes to be justice. It is not just his duty to keep Sam corrected, collecting penance, it is his right. This isn’t that. --- We all have our breaking points."

I will mar myself again // theknife 2k words

""Tell me you're not doing it on purpose." Dean says. There's a tremor in his voice, and he trembles, with rage and with fear and with love, above all. Sam doesn't reply. (Or: After Sam's wall breaks, he starts getting hurt on cases. A lot.)"

Hands Away // objectlesson 13k words

"When you’re horny and alone with one person in one room for a long time and you’re sixteen and all you’ve ever been taught is to love your brother more than anything, it doesn’t seem like that far of a leap to start imagining what his mouth would feel like around your dick."

Daddy's Got You // deanbaby 4k words

"Sometimes Sam gets really needy, and the only thing that will settle him is a good, hard, deep dicking from his big brother. Luckily, Dean knows just how to take care of him. All hail Sampussy. No ages are explicitly given, I picture Sam late teens, Dean early twenties for this fic."

sink into me // poetictragedy 4k words

"Sam doesn't understand why Dean has to go out to get sex, when he’s got Sam. (Sammy's sixteen.)"

A Winter Dawn // RockSaltandCherryPie 11k words

"Sam (14) and Dean (18) enjoy winter at a cottage up north while John's on a hunt."

I ain't no lady, but you'd be the tramp // tehdirtiestsock (thatotherperv) 11k words

"a human Lady and the Tramp, with dog-like sex" AKA the original abo fic of all abo fics. yeah. *this is J2 but i thought it was worthy of being included.

Co-Sleeping // 69inthe67impala 5k words

"Sam ends up on the wrong side of a genderswap spell and Dean wants to make the most of it."

heaven is a place // candycanesandlollipops 2k words

"Sam sticks his tongue out, berry pink like the underside of something sweet and alive you’re not supposed to see, and it makes Dean think of pussy lips. Wet and slick. A pale purple circle with a smiley face stamped on it sits in the middle of all that pretty pink. Dean tilts his head up, just a little because he’s tall but his brother is taller, and licks the pill off Sam’s tongue."

7 Minutes // formalizing 4k words

"Sam was not wearing that outfit when Dean dropped him off at his friend’s Halloween party a few hours ago. If he’d been wearing that, Dean wouldn’t have let him out of the house, let alone out of the car and into a den full of horny teenagers drinking cheap beer and listening to the Backstreet Boys croon about romance."

Skirting the Issue // formalizing 2k words

""Should’a been a real nice weekend, y’know? Just the two of us—no hunt, no interruptions. Could’ve made the most of it, but you had to start up with that jealous girlfriend act of yours…" Sam hates every second he's not the sole focus of Dean's attention. Careful what you wish for."

Tap Out // formalizing 1k words

"Sam tries—really, he does. But Dean doesn't believe in pulling his punches, takes him to the ground sore and sweaty every time."

Harvest // formalizing 1k words

"He always did fall too deep in love with things that could destroy him—a fast car on an open road, cheap liquor burning all the way down, and the way his little brother says ‘please’. Sam is sweet fruit coming into season, and Dean has sticky fingers."

Fireworks // formalizing 1k words

"When Sam gets up the courage to ask his brother for kissing advice, he’s not sure what he expects–maybe a little laughter, a strange look, eventually, hopefully, some actual advice."

Pink-Pussy Dream Girl // formalizing 1k words

"Sam is first crush, first time, first love hopeless for his brother."

take everything i want you to (you're mine) // loveinourowngrave 6k words

"Feeling clean is important to Sam. Lucifer finds a way to take that away. Dean finds a way to fix it. (post Lucifer resurrecting Sam in Beat the Devil. Dean finds out, potentially in not a great way, exactly what happened between Sam and Lucifer)."

Fortunate Son // slutbee 17k words

"Dean doesn't understand why Sam is different, why he won't just do what Dad wants him to. If he did, then Dad wouldn't beat him all the time. Dean tries to help him conform, but everything changes when he finds Sam's journal, which lays out all his freaky desires."

Like Mirrors in the Distance // orphan_account 13k words

"Sam chuckled and let his chin rest against the top of her head. “It’s weird,” he said. “The kind of shit you can admit to strangers. We barely know each other, but I could never say this stuff to Dean.” She lifted her head and looked him in the eyes. “It’s because we’re strangers, Sam. When we leave, it’ll be like none of this ever happened.” “Yeah,” he said. “I dunno if that’s a comfort or a tragedy.” She rolled her eyes at him and looked back out over the town. “Both, probably,” she said."

Birds on a Wire // killabeez 14k words

"Set between "Hunted" and "Playthings." Dean's not sure when, exactly, everything started to change."

Carry Me Over the Sky // killabeez 10k words

"Follows 2x08, "Crossroad Blues." Dean's running on fumes, and Sam's the match."

The Palm Oasis // fictionallemons 12k words

"John strands Dean and Sam at a middle-of-nowhere motel while he investigates possible demon omens in Arizona. The place is nothing to write home about, but at least it has a pool. Dean resolves to think of this as a vacation for him and his studious little brother, but when their money runs out sooner than expected, he considers turning tricks at a nearby truck stop so he can feed Sam. Then a creepy guy from the pool makes an offer Dean doesn’t want to take but Sam won’t allow him to refuse—and the brothers edge over a line they’ve both been wanting to cross for a long time."

everything's warm when your heart grows cold // dollylux 1k words

"Sam comes home after a night out."

sure as the stars // dollylux 4k words

"Dean knew that letting Sam walk home from school alone was a bad idea."

Cry Little Sister // dollylux 2k words

"Sam wants Dean to play with him."

Know when to walk away and know when to run // deirdre_c 4k words

"Dean challenges Sam to a game of strip poker."

Mercy for you, none for myself // deirdre_c 2k words

"Dean enters the Panic Room at exactly the wrong time."

Bright Spark into a Flame // deirdre_c 4k words

"When Sam convinces him to camp out in front of the fireplace, Dean discovers that it's not so bad."

Between You and the Devil I Stand // deirdre_c 2k words

"If Sam can't fight anymore, Dean will fight for him."

and i know that the line is thin // according2thelore 15k words

"“It’s not working,” Dean sits down on the other end of the couch heavily with a whoosh, jostling Sam. Sam almost drops his book, and protests loudly. Dean turns to look at him. “We have to be gayer.” Sam barks a laugh, startled, but Dean’s expression doesn’t change. Sam sits up, putting his book down in his lap. “Gayer?” Sam tries to process Dean’s impassive expression. “Why don’t you tell me what you think that means?” Or: In order to catch a monster killing gay couples in Iowa, Sam and Dean have to dig deep and pull out the performance of a lifetime. Or...y'know. Not that deep. Written for WincestWednesdays July 2024 Event, Week One: "Performance"!"

Like the Real Thing // cianfrie 3k words

"With Dean, it’s always like this. A thousand years of waiting, then one minute to ruin everything. So Sam saves him the trouble. He looks straight ahead and murmurs, “Brady and I were together.” For a second, Dean’s foot lifts off the gas, and the car drifts slightly toward the center line. His arms go rigid, and the engine growls beneath them as he presses the pedal down again. He licks his lips slowly, then nods. “Okay,” he mutters, voice controlled and smooth."

Sams eyes were closed // Boys_just_wanna 1k words

"Two teenage brothers sharing a bed. What could go wrong?"

Matryoshka dolls // Goshen (applecrumbledore) 24k words

"The guy who dropped Dean off in the morning was in his late fifties, a mop of curly black hair and a boxy canvas jacket. Sam followed Dean through the motel room as he kicked off his boots and shucked his jacket. “Since… Dad. You’ve been—” “What, Sam? Since when do you give a shit about this stuff? I don’t go around holding up scorecards for all the chicks you’re not banging, you fuckin’ monk, you’d think the least you could do is—” “He looked like him, dude.”"

A shitty, earnest play starring someone else // Goshen (applecrumbledore) 25k words

"Sam could see himself letting his carefully-cultivated life go totally off the rails at Dean's sudden appearance: skip lectures, bail on friends, hole up with him in his stuffy little dorm room and fuck each other's brains out like they were in the pay-by-the-hour motels of their youth, waste his hard-earned money on greasy takeout and hunt some motherfucking ghosts, all while being hopelessly, unapologetically in love, the way he was before he had anything else to think about."

Acid // Goshen (applecrumbledore) 15k words

"Sam said, "You know I wish you just wanted to fuck me? That would be easy, they've got words for that kind of messed up." That just made Dean's pits sweat. He felt like Wile E. Coyote running into a tunnel painted onto a mountain face, little birds circling around his head. "Uh." "What do you know about Jeffrey Dahmer?" He'd been having a good day."

Yesterday, minnesota // Goshen (applecrumbledore) 29k words

"Any initial awkwardness filtered away over a hundred miles of highway as Sam thumbed through the missing witch’s diary again. Some people had secret coke habits or secret second wives, and some people had passionate, pitch black, no-kissing sex with a family member every four to six months and never talked about it. You had to find ways to cope."

I have to live here // Goshen (applecrumbledore) 30k words

"“Have you been doing laundry? Where are all my boxers?” Dean kept walking right into this stuff. Sam weighed his options and spoke carefully. “Half your boxers are in the second drawer of my dresser. You didn’t like going to get clean underwear, in the morning, so you made me clear out a drawer for you.” He paused. “I’ve got a drawer in your room, too.” Dean looked physically pained. “That… can’t be true.” Sam sighed and went back to his book. “I know you don’t remember, but we had a lot of sex. You’re gonna have to trust me.”"

Worthless cartography // Goshen (applecrumbledore) 15k words

"Dean didn’t know what finally made him go for it. The djinn’s dream was a catalyst, but the call was coming from inside the house, and he’d been letting it ring for a very, very long time. (They get one night together right before Sam is taken to Cold Oak. Dean has to deal with that.)"

Snooping and breaking things // Goshen (applecrumbledore) 18k words

"Dean kept looking at his ring on Sam’s finger, which was also his finger. To see the ring anywhere but his own hand seemed wrong, and seeing it on Sam’s hand specifically was… intimate. He couldn’t think of another word for it. Not more intimate than inhabiting Sam’s body, but it was close."

salt skin // Trojie 7k words

"It's about permission. Or it's about pain. Or it's about something else entirely, Dean doesn't fucking know. All he knows is, he doesn't have enough trust left in him to just leave any part of Sam in Cas's care."

snuff // chinablue 4k words

"There's nothing good on TV, and Sam's contemplating killing his father again."

Under Sufferance // veronamay 4k words

"From this prompt on blindfold_spn: Sam/Dean, touch-starvation. Besides other things, Lucifer touch-starves Sam in Hell as punishment (Sam did fall in the Pit with his entire body and all...). Once out, Sam cannot bring himself to ask Dean despite how badly he needs it. Dean needs to realize what Sam's problem is, and how to get himself to help, since constant touching doesn't exactly come naturally to him. Set between seasons 5 and 6."

#wincest #weecest #gencest #weirdcest #deansam #samdean #fic rec #wincest fic rec #fic recs #PLURAL #some of my favs #not complete but a good start #will add more as they come

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 5 months ago

Text

Headcanon: How They Meet Their Plus Size Girlfriend

I'm officially trying my hand at headcanons (only a few years behind the ball there)! If these go over well, I might start to incorporate them more around here.

Special thanks to @zepskies for the idea (okay, it's a little different than we talked about but I think it still fits the bill) and getting me on the headcanon bandwagon! 😘

Warnings: language, implied smutty times, implied body insecurity

Dean Winchester

Dean’s always been the kind of guy to think if a woman’s beautiful to him, she’s beautiful. Case closed. Which was exactly his thought when he caught a glimpse of Y/N at a dive bar outside of Lawrence. He’d do a double take, not being shy about how he took you in or hiding the smile on his face when he saw you watching him. One quick look away before you were looking back and that was more than enough invitation for him.

He’d be on his feet, at your table in under ten seconds, not deterred by the furrow of your brows. In another ten he’d have laid out one of, in his opinion, his best lines. His confidence fell a sliver when all you did was stare back at him but that was alright. He wasn’t going to give up that easily.

“Why don’t you try that line on the blonde over there that’s mentally undressing you?” you’d say, fighting back the urge to say something snappy at the ridiculously handsome man in front of you. Before he had even come over, you knew he was trouble, knew his type. He surely had made a bet with the longer haired man at his time and had come over to play a game with you. There was no way in hell he was actually interested, not when there were at least five different women at the bar ready to jump at the chance to take him home.

The man would smirk, lifting his head as if he realized something. To your annoyance, he’d slip into the empty chair beside you, taking a short sip of his beer along the way. He’d adorably rest his elbow against the table’s edge, leaning his head against his hand as he slumped down, all the while smiling at you.

“If I wanted to talk to her, I’d have gone over there. Now you can tell me to get lost or you can give me a chance.”

“Chance to what?”

“Take a beautiful woman home,” he’d grin, looking up through his lashes. You’d laugh, gesturing down to yourself, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Hey now. Don’t tell me when I think a woman is hot and I won’t tell you.”

You’d raise your eyebrows, the mysterious stranger inching closer, lifting his head with a certain boyish mischievousness. “C’mon sweetheart. One drink.”

“Fine. One drink.”

One drink turned into five. One night turned into six. Six nights turned into Dean spending the night and making breakfast for three weeks straight.

Dean smirked when you let him inside the house, his hands immediately shooting to your hips and pulling you crashing into his chest.

“Down boy,” you’d teased as he tried to kiss under your jaw, his grip keeping you from returning to the kitchen. “Dean. It’ll burn.”

“We can order takeout,” he mumbled, nipping at your neck. You rolled your eyes, smiling when Dean chuckled. “How’s that one drink working out for you, sweetheart?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you said, Dean walking you back against the front door, his hands shooting to your face, capturing it like he had been starved all day. “Someone miss me?”

“My favorite girl? Always,” he hummed, body jerking when a waft of cherries floated through the room. He tilted his head, eyes wide. “You…made pie?”

“Well you said you like-” He’d slam his lips to yours with an almost bruising force, leaving you breathless before jogging away. “What are you doing?”

“Saving the pie!” You crossed your arms, laughing as he scrambled to put on an oven mitt and yank it out of the oven. “Crisis averted. You didn’t say it was pie, sweetheart. We never let a pie burn.”

He walked back over much slower as it cooled on a rack, Dean placing his hands on either side of your head, a dangerous smile on his face. “Now, where were we?”

Beau Arlen

Beau would wait a while before making a move on you. He had to prove it to himself that he was ready for another relationship and that Emily was doing better after everything that happened over the summer. So he quietly waited and settled for your friendship. There was no reason in his head to drag you into his crap or jump the gun when he knew it’d cause problems. But he didn’t miss the way you caught him staring during movie nights, dinners, at park yoga (that truth be told he only did at first because Emily’s therapist thought it was something nice to do together but didn’t want to admit he actually enjoyed).

Beau knew he would be sending conflicting signals. Eyes that said for the love of god I want this, words that said this is platonic as hell. He had to go so far as to keep his hands off of you completely for fear he would break his resolve and just plant one on you. Naturally when he finally felt like he was in a good place to give things an honest shake, you’d tell him on his lunch break that you had a date that night.

“Cancel it,” Beau blurts out. He’d watch you scrunch up your face but he’s already let the cat out of the bag. Might as well go all in. “Go out with me.”

“Beau, we can hang out tomorrow. I want to go out with this guy, see where it leads. I'm not getting any younger. I need to get serious about finding someone.”

“Yeah and I’m serious about going out with you. Let me take you out on a date.” He’d understand your hesitation. He was the one backing off whenever you’d put out feelers in the past. Beau knew he had to go all in if he wanted to earn that trust with you.

“Beau. Come on. I know I’m not your type.”

Beau rose from the other side of his desk, striding around it and stopping in front of your chair. “You are my type and before you open that mouth of yours to argue, I thought I owed it to you to get my shit together before I did this. I ain’t perfect but I am ready to try.”

He’d rest a hand on your thigh, waiting for your reaction, inching up ever so slightly to make it clear that was more than a friendly gesture.

“Beau, I don’t…you never seemed interested-“

“I am. In all of you. But I wanted you to get the best version of me. The one that is emotionally available and that’s taken time.” He’d lean down closer, sliding his hand up your leg, grazing your hip, your ribs, all the way up to your cheek. “I’m ready if you want me.”

“Of course I want you. But…” He’d hum, leaning in close, pressing his lips to yours.

“But you don’t think I want you?” He frowned when you looked away, his hand catching your chin. “I’m a big boy and you’re a big girl. I think we’re both old enough to trust that we’re telling each other the truth. So go out with me tonight. I promise it will be a million times better than whatever guy you were going to go with.”

It’d take a moment but he’d grin as you texted your date you had a change of heart, Beau already planning the perfect evening together.

Not long after that first date Beau would be spending most of his nights with you, whether that was at home with Emily, out at your favorite bar, or exploring town. He’d constantly have an arm around you, your waist, your shoulders, your hips. Beau liked to keep his girl close. Maybe he’d worked through a lot but he was still protective through and through and that meant he was always watchful of you. Including the occasional stray eye when you were out. Beau always made sure to give them a look to back off and that you were taken.

“What are you doing?” You’d ask one night, catching him with narrowed eyes.

“Nothing, dear,” he said, tucking you into his side, forcing a smile. “Just fending off the sharks.”

“Sharks?”

“You really have no idea how beautiful you are, do you.” He’d watch you do that thing with your nose which meant you were fighting back the heat trying to rise to your cheeks. But he wouldn’t fight his own, smirking as he kissed you deeply. “Thank god you’re all mine.”

Soldier Boy/Ben

Ben would make a move on you the second he saw you. Long strides across the club and an arm draped around your shoulders as he almost ignored your presence in favor of order a round of shots. He’d keep you close even as you attempted to pull away, turning his head with a coy smile.

“Where you going, gorgeous? Didn’t you come out tonight to have fun?” he grinned darkly, enjoying the mixture of disgust at his arrogance and the intrigue hidden underneath your frown. “Someone in a skirt like that is looking for a good time. Well, here I am. No strings attached”

He’d lick his lips as you’d take your shot without breaking eye contact, Soldier Boy’s eyebrows raising in surprise. He wouldn’t have been sure if it’d be that easy but he’d take it. Until he’d watch you down the other shot and turn around, walking off to the dance floor with a wave over the shoulder.

Challenge accepted.

He’d follow you out, letting you take the lead, growing frustrated every time you’d teasingly pull him in only to push away. His desire would only grow when you gave him the slip at the end of the night, no longer a game in his mind. You weren’t simply a conquest anymore. He was curious about the woman in the leather skirt and how on earth she was resisting everything he was offering.

Finally, finally, he’d find you outside the club, leaning against the cold brick wall, hands clasped behind your back.

“Now don’t you run off on me again,” purred Ben, taking your hand in his, eyes dark and hungry. He’d smirk at your feigned disinterest, putting on his most innocent expression he could muster. “My place. Let me do wonderful things to that body of yours, gorgeous.”

He’d take your nonchalant shrug for a yes and before he knew it, he’d have you in his apartment, down on his knees, making good on his promise. Before he could get his head on right though, he’d hear the click of your heels on the marble floor. With a wobble and fixing the tent in his pants, he’d catch you halfway out the door, his eyes wide in bewilderment. “Where you going, baby?”

“Like you said, I was looking for a good time and I had it. I don’t remember saying you were getting any more than that.” He’d lean against the wall, cocking his head and letting the coil in his gut unravel.

“Baby, stay and I’ll keep on chasing you until you’re sick of me. Scouts’ honor.” He’d smile at your laugh, jutting out his lip. “Aw, don’t make me beg.”

“What a shame. I bet you’d beg real pretty.” Soldier Boy wouldn’t fight the way his breath hitched. He’d been with plenty of teasing women before but they always wanted him in control. Something about that threat, promise, whatever it was would make his skin itchy with need.

“Want to see if you can make me?” He’d know his hook was in the moment the words left his mouth, the way your eyes raked over his body. “No one’s ever been able. Think you’re that good?”

“Oh sweetie, you’ll regret that.”

Two months later, Soldier Boy wouldn’t regret it for one second. Not just for what you’d brought out in him in the bedroom. You challenged him, called him on his shit and damn he liked you putting him in his place. He wouldn’t quite understand it but somewhere he likened it to something akin to deeper feelings. Everything had started out at pure sex but there was something about you that stayed under his skin, something that him taking you out on real dates, to movie premieres and parties. Something that made him want this to last. He’d growl at the man that once tried to lay a hand on your ass, not even pretending to be sorry when you’d chastised him for breaking the guys arm.

Soldier Boy knew his anger was quick and he wasn’t the easiest person in the world to deal with but he didn’t care. Nobody laid a hand on his girl. Not unless they wanted to lose theirs.

Russell Shaw

Russell didn’t love going in the office. He considered the field his true workplace. But every so often he had to go in to deal with contracts, paperwork, or in this case, get reimbursed for a phone that’d been destroyed somewhere along the Amazon river.

So that was how he’d turned the corner too quick and slammed straight into you. He’d fall smack on his ass and look across the way, finding you in a similar position, coffee staining your peach colored blouse and a shattered mug on the ground.

“Oh fuck,” he’d say as he’d notice the red streaks coming from your hand. He’d slide across the floor, pulling the forest green handkerchief he kept on him and quickly covering your bleeding palm. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was an accident,” you’d say, wincing as he tightened it.

“Let me take you to get that stitched. You shouldn’t drive like that,” he’d say before ducking into a nearby room and alerting an admin to what had happened. Russell would stay in the waiting room the whole time you got checked out and after getting you out of work the rest of the day, he’d take you down the street to his favorite food truck, encouraging you to get your blood sugar back up even if you’d barely lost any in the first place.

“I’ll happily pay for the dry cleaning or new clothes,” he’d say as you sipped on a glass of sweet tea, finding his nervous energy kind of adorable. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“Well, you know you contract guys. Break into enemy territory in the dead of night? No problem. Walk down a hallway? Now that’s dangerous.” Russell would smile hard at your teasing, more than happy to not have incurred any of your wrath in the long term. He had the feeling you were uncomfortable in your messy clothes though, despite the cardigan you were holding closed with one hand over your shirt.

A gust of wind would come through and threaten to throw all your food to the ground, both of you reaching and grabbing before it could fall. In that instance, Russell would spot that you weren’t just uncomfortable. Your peach blouse had turned completely see through and was revealing a light pink bra.

“Here,” Russell said without thinking, shrugging out of his jacket on the cool day and standing, handing it across the table. You’d blink up at him before slowly taking it, holding the much thicker material to your chest. As much he might have liked, he kept his mouth shut about the bra, instead letting you eat your lunch quickly and quietly.

Russell would insist on driving you home with an offer to take you into work to get your car in the morning.

“Sorry about ruining your clothes again,” he’d say on your front porch, holding up a hand when you tried to give his jacket back. “You keep it. Not like we’ll never see each other again, right?”

“Right. I’ll uh, see you tomorrow then.”

Russell would pause halfway down the steps, feeling your gaze on his back. “Do you want to maybe…get dinner later? I don’t have any jobs lined up for a few weeks and I’m a sucker for pink.”

He’d turn around with a hesitant smile, one eyebrow raised as you lifted your chin. “Seven. Don’t be late.”

Russell smirked when he picked you up that night wearing a pink zip up, enjoying the smug look on your face.

“So where you taking me, Shaw?” you’d ask, Russell opening the passenger door for you. “I normally don’t wear jeans and a hoodie on a first date.”

“Maybe you’ve been dating the wrong men,” he’d wink as he closed the door. “It’ll be fun and no coffee will be thrown or shrapnel will occur, I promise.”

“Oh well, is it even a first date without those?” He’d chuckle, quickly hoping behind the wheel.

“I guess that makes this our second date then,” he’d shoot back with a smile.

Russell finds out after his first job away that he doesn’t like being away for weeks at a time from you. Phone calls and face time aren’t enough. He puts in a word with his supervisor about taking shorter missions only from then on out. He’s absolutely giddy to pull up to your house when he gets home from the airport, even if you haven’t been answering his texts today.

“Hey,” he says when you answer the door. He doesn’t like the sliver of doubt on your face. “What’s wrong?”

“I should have asked them before but when you go away…are there others?” He’d hate how small your voice sounded, the way you’d rub your arm absently. “I mean, I know we’re new and didn’t really talk about it and you go to some places with some very beautiful women-”

“I got a beautiful woman right at home and she is all I want. Just me and her. Understand?” Russell would kiss away that worry until it was a faded memory, one he would be more than happy to dispel to you over and over again.

___________

#headcanon #Dean Winchester #Beau Arlen #Soldier Boy #Russell Shaw #Dean WInchester x reader #Beau Arlen x reader #Soldier Boy x reader #Russell Shaw x reader

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