#dean spn imagine

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Imagine...Dean After A Rough Hunt

Pairing: Dean x reader

___________

Most of the time after hunts, the boys came home with a few bumps and scratches. Occasionally, they needed stitches. Rarely would they actually show any sign of pain. Never had Dean come home with a face beat to hell and no words to accompany him.

“Is he...Sam what happened?” you asked, Dean already walking to the bathroom to clean up. Sam didn’t look so great either but at least he’d said hi to you.

“He got his ass kicked. He’s not used to that,” said Sam. “Can you get him to talk? You’re good at that,” he said softly.

“I’ll check you out once I know he’s okay,” you said, giving Sam a smile that told him to rest while you were gone.

“You got it boss,” he said, taking slow steps forward. “I’ll be in my room.”

When you were sure he could make it there on his own, you quickly made your way to the bathroom you and Dean shared. He was struggling to get out of his over shirt, his shoulder looking like it had a nasty gash in it.

“Sit,” you said, dragging a stool over. Dean’s eyes said he could handle it but he wasn’t in the mood to fight and simply did as told. You used a pair of scissors to cut away the shirt, it was ruined anyways. You did the same to Dean’s tee until he was sitting there in just his jeans. “Baby...”

His back was covered in bruises, his chest the same, a few cuts, some large, others small scattered around. His arms were scratched up, his knuckles split open. His cheeks were swollen, cuts around his eyes. He had dried blood in the back of his hair, had dried blood everywhere, hiding even more welts you were sure.

You got him out of his pants, sighing as you saw a deep and jagged cut along his thigh.

“You stay right here and I’ll be right back,” you said, trying to run your hand gently on top of his head, finding another bump there. Dean stayed quiet as you left, telling Sam to start getting himself cleaned up as Dean would take some time.

You’d cleaned up Dean before, just as he’d done for you. But never had he looked defeated, avoided your gaze. You did your best to wash him without causing pain, his sharp inhales of air the only indication that even that small act was tortuous for him. As you focused on the larger wounds first, you wished Cas was around, that he could heal your poor baby. But he wasn’t and Dean was looking to you to take care of him, even if he wasn’t saying it.

It took a long time, longer than you expected, to stitch, clean and bandage everything you could. You would have made some joke that he looked like a mummy if it weren’t so painfully true. Dean changed into loose pajamas as you helped him, carrying most of his weight as you got him into your room and sat on the edge of the bed. 

“I’m going to check on Sam,” you said, dashing out of the room. Thankfully Sam wasn’t as bad as you feared and he was half-asleep by the time you got back to him. “Drink this baby,” you said, handing Dean a glass of water filled with crushed up pain-killers when you made the trip back.

He drank slowly, as if that hurt him too, but were glad when he had the whole glass and then some. But he was still looking at you with sad eyes and you didn’t understand why. From what Sam had said, you’d saved the victims.

“What’s the best way for you to lay down?” you asked, seeing Dean shift to want to lay on his back. You smiled as you helped him, pulling the covers over top so he wouldn’t have to move before you crawled in beside him. You rested a hand on the top of his pillow, only your fingers gracing the top of his head, the motion not appearing to cause any discomfort.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a scratchy voice. 

“For what?” you asked.

“You told me to never come home like this. To not be stupid and don’t get in a fight I have no chance in hell of winning,” he said quietly, tilting his head so he could feel more of you against him.

“You came home, that’s all that matters,” you said, kissing the top of his forehead that had come out unscathed.

“Thanks,” he said, easing some, his breath slowing as the medicine started to kick in.

“Get some rest, Dean, I’ll be here when you wake up,” you said, giving him a soft smile he couldn’t see but instead felt. In a few minutes, he was passed out, the look of pain gone. “I got ya.”

___________

[demonicseries]

imagine it. The night is November 5th, 2024. The election results are in. Misha Collins post a video. The camera is facing him, as he says “I love you.” Then it pans to the other person in the room, Jensen Ackles. He responds with “Kamala Harris is the next present for the United States”

[paunchsalazar]

in heaven

[pieandflannel]

hey girlie, could you do a dean x reader where he finds out she's a squirter? thanks xxx

౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ like a faucet 💦

₊⊹ ʚ ₊⊹｡ ⋆ ˚ ⋆ ｡˚ ₊⊹｡ ₊⊹ ୨♡୧ ⊹₊ ｡⊹₊ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ˚ ⋆ ｡⊹₊ ɞ ⊹₊

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: dean uses a new fingering technique that makes you squirt for the first time.

cw: 18+ smut, fingering, squirting.

word count: 445

julia yaps: thank you for trusting me with your request! hope you like it! <3

────────── ୨ৎ ──────────

dean was always good when it came to pleasuring you, like hella good. but tonight? he was something else. it’s as if he was using a new technique or something, which he was.

he couldn’t help himself but read that article about female pleasure you had accidentally left open on the laptop. after all it was like you were asking for him to read it.

his fingers worked in perfect rhythm, drawing out constant moans from your pretty parted lips. you just couldn’t control your volume. your fists grasping the fabric of the bedsheets for dear life as your hips bucked against his hand.

“you like that sweetheart?” he coaxed, his voice low and full of cocky satisfaction, noticing the results of this new pussy play technique he desperately wanted to try out.

his fingers stretching your hole open, slow but deliberate strokes, teasing that sweet spot deep inside you, over and over and over again.

his thumb circling your clit with enough pressure to have your hips grind against his hand, desperate whines and erotic moans bouncing off his bedroom walls as you lay on his bed with your legs wide open, his fingers playing with your pretty little pussy. sam and cas definitely hearing you from across the bunker.

“s-so good” you manage to cry out, your mind turning to mush from the intense pleasure. “d-dean~”

you were close, so so close. but the intensity kept building and building, forming into something almost too much to handle. a sharp gasp tore from your lips as the tension snapped, a cry leaving your lips as pleasure crashed over you, not like a tidal wave, but a goddamn tsunami.

something wet gushing from between your legs, soaking dean’s hand, the sheets, everything. dean just made you squirt, hard.

your body shook, the overwhelming feeling flushing over you, your eyes widened as you’ve never experienced this before, you didn’t even know you were able to do that.

your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you hide your face in your hands, but dean just grins, looking downright smug as he stared at the mess you’ve made.

“well, damn” he chuckled cockily, dragging his soaked fingers over your skin, deliberately spreading the wetness all over your swollen clit and lips.

“didn’t know you could do that sweetheart, but I sure as hell ain’t complaining.” his smirk prideful, his ego fed knowing he just made you squirt like a faucet.

“sorry about your bed..” you spoke after finally catching your breath. dean shakes his head with a smile.

“don’t apologise darling, we’ll just sleep in your room tonight, i’ll clean this up tomorrow” he reassures you with a forehead kiss.

thank you so much for reading! feedback and reblogs are always deeply appreciated <3

tags: @jensino @emeraldcrs @soldiersgirl @jensenacklesballsack @missus-ackles @littlesoulshine @deanswifeyy @slut4jackles @h8aaz @figisonline @figthoughts @angelicjackles @losers-clvb @lyarr24 @cowboysandcigarettes @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis

𑁥౿ check out my masterlist for other works!

♡ see this post to be added to the taglist!

© pieandflannel – do not plagiarise or repost any of my work!

© reserved for photo/gif owners!

[sacr1ficialang3l]

older!dean headcanons˚୨୧⋆｡

OLDER!DEAN WINCHESTER X YOUNGER!READER (read here)

WARNINGS: mentions of/implied smut (MDNI). age gap.

NOTES: He is back! My psych final is tomorrow and i am going insane, so this is shorter than usual. You have all been so sweet and supportive, and I just wanted to give you a little something as a thank you while I study. I love you all, thanks for the kind words. As always, English is not my first language. Enjoy<3

˚୨୧⋆｡ After months of resisting you and denying his feelings, he is the sweetest man ever when you two get together. He adores you, and he makes sure to show you. He spoils you rotten, lets you get away with almost anything, and he always needs to have a hand on you.

˚୨୧⋆｡ He is protective!!! Like, very protective. He always keeps an eye on you during hunts, and makes sure to kill any evil motherfucker before they can even think of putting their hands on you. And when you do get hurt, you think it pains him more than it does you. He patches you up with gentle touches he didn’t think his blood-stained hands were capable of. He looks at you with sad, deep eyes as he kisses over the wound, and then he doesn’t even let you get up from bed, even if the injury is as tiny as a paper cut. 

˚୨୧⋆｡ After every case, he loves, or more like needs to cradle you against his chest and hold you close. He wraps his huge arms around you and presses you to his side, or on top of him, and he just buries his face on your hair and breathes in. He tells you it is to calm you down after hunts, to make you feel safe. But you think it is more about him. Like he needs to remind himself that you’re okay. That you’re there next to him, and that you’re not going anywhere. 

˚୨୧⋆｡ You love to annoy him, it is your favorite hobby. Play with his hair while he and Sam research in the library, brushing it right in front of his eyes while he tries to read. You love to sit in a barstool in the garage while he works on Baby and talk his ear off when he has no way to escape (not that he would). You force him to watch rom-coms and chick-flicks that he pretends to hate, but you catch him smiling to himself a few times. You poke him, and bite him, and jump on him all the time, and he wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

˚୨୧⋆｡ You have a habit of sinking your teeth into his biceps any chance you get. There are always teeth marks on his flesh that he wears with pride. (There are always hickies on your thighs and collarbones to match, of course.)

˚୨୧⋆｡ He claims not to be the jealous type. “I'm too old for things like that, sweetheart.” But you knew he was. He didn’t mind when people stared at you when you walked into a bar or around a small town, always that his arm was around your shoulders or your hand was on his. He is proud that such a pretty girl chose him. But the moment some frat boy tries to approach you at a bar when you are alone, he feels his blood boil. He watches from far away for a few seconds, trying to keep his cool, but he loses it when the guy decides to brush your hair behind your ear. He quickly walks across the bar until he is right behind you, pulling you against his chest and glaring at the dude over the top of your head. The boy is gone in less than a second.

˚୨୧⋆｡ You try to show your love for him in every way you can. Dean was confident and strong, but it sometimes felt like he doubted your feelings for him, like his brain was trying to convince him that you deserved better and that you would get tired of being with some old guy eventually. So, you shower him in love. You learn how to bake pies just for him, making him a new one every week. You wash his hair in the shower, massaging his scalp to help him relax. You get him naked in bed and go on a journey of kissing every scar you can find. You press your lips over the small ones, run your tongue over the long and raised ones. And of course you make sure to tell him how much you love him. You murmur soft i love you’s against his lips. You remind him every day of how beautiful he is, how good he is. You whisper in his ear about how hot he is, how he makes you lose your mind and how no one could ever compare to him.

˚୨୧⋆｡ Dean liked being rough with you in bed. He loved manhandling you, leaving purple fingertips marks on your hips, pulling your hair. He was careful at first, too scared to hurt you. But you wanted him to, you begged him to make it hurt. 

˚୨୧⋆｡ Because you loved it when it hurt a little. When he sank his teeth into the flesh of your thighs, when your knees ended up bruised from kneeling on the floor for too long, when you could still feel him days after. You love the marks that he leaves, a living reminder of his touch on your body. It made you feel complete, it made you feel his.

˚୨୧⋆｡ Dean tried to go slow with you at first, thinking that you might be too inexperienced for everything he wanted to do to you. But he didn’t know that you were just as much or even freakier than him. 

˚୨୧⋆｡ Your favorite thing to do was, when Dean and you were alone in the Impala for a long drive, to rest your head in his lap. You lay across the front seat casually, looking up at him with innocent eyes when he sends you a warning look. You start by “accidentally” rubbing your cheek against his crotch, loving the way the scratchy fabric of his jeans felt against your skin. You would tease him until he was hard and his breath was ragged, and then you would take him in your mouth. You order him to keep driving as you suck him off slowly. You drag it out, edge him until he is desperate and gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white. And when he finally comes, you swallow it all like a good girl, moaning in satisfaction, enjoying the way his cum coats your tongue. It makes him groan every time, nostrils flared with the need to fuck you. Sometimes you keep going, keep suckling on him until he is whining in oversensitivity and has to pull you away by your hair.

˚୨୧⋆｡ In return, Dean gives you pleasure every time he can. He can eat your pussy for hours on end, in the kitchen counter, or the Impala, or in a lonely classroom when you have to infiltrate a school for a case. He will fuck you on his bed, or the floor, or against the wall. He just loves to make his girl feel good, see you shaking with pleasure, begging him to stop and to keep going at the same time. He loves when you tell him that he’s the best you have ever had, and the best you will have. He loves when you scream his name and your thighs close around his head because of the overwhelming sensations. He loves to make you cry with pleasure. 

˚୨୧⋆｡ But after, he is the sweetest guy ever. He takes aftercare very seriously, murmuring reassuring words against your skin and softly kissing every bruise and bite mark. He reminds you of how much he loves you, of how much you matter to him. 

“I don’t know what I would do without you, baby. You keep me sane.”

“You’re such a good girl, my beautiful princess.”

“I will take care of you forever. Nothing will ever hurt you while I'm here.”

“I love you.”

NOTES: wish me luck on my final! I will be back after I'm finally free.

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

[zepskies]

Headcanon: Wearing His Clothes

Pairings: Dean Winchester x F. Reader, Beau Arlen x F. Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

AN: I haven't done one of these in a while! This one was requested by the lovely @luci-in-trenchcoats. 💜

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff, spiciness/implied smut

Headcanon: How Dean, Beau, and Soldier Boy (Ben) would react to you (getting caught) wearing his clothes.

Dean Winchester

Ugh, what a cocky SOB. 😆 (And yet, not the cockiest of them all.)

You've been doing it for weeks now, without comment from him.

But every time he sees you in one of his undershirts, getting ready for bed, it's always accompanied by a little once-over. A curve of his lips. A smirk, if you will.

He likes the look of you.

He likes that you're his.

And he likes the fact that you feel comfortable enough to steal his clothes.

He also likes welcoming you into bed next to him, with a hand running up your back, or venturing under whatever undershirt you've decided to slip on to feel the warmth of your skin.

"'S this mine?" he asks. You give him a quirking smile.

"You know it is," you say, with playful challenge.

Dean accepts that with a hum and leans in for a kiss as payment.

Sometimes that one stolen kiss leads to another, simmering with heat. And he’ll take great pleasure in taking back his shirt, casting it to the floor and rolling you underneath him on the bed.

But it doesn't stop at his undershirts. You steal his plaid ones if you want something to comfortably drown in when you're doing research, or just lounging in the bunker. The material is soft from several hundred washes. (The red and black one is one of your favorites.)

Rare though it is for him to wear hoodies, it's rarer still, because Dean can never even find one in his side of the dresser.

That's because you're keeping it hostage on your side, buried under your lingerie. (Even if he tried to find the hoodie, odds are he’ll get distracted.)

It gets to the point where he can hardly find anything of his.

His brows furrow as he rucks through his drawers for something clean to wear, while clad in only his most threadbare sweatpants.

"Damn it, woman. Where are my shirts?" he grouses.

You bite your lip and pretend to keep reading your book. You're already safe in bed, covered up to your chest by the blankets.

"I don't know. Have you done your laundry?" you ask, smiling to yourself. Dean catches you, with a suspicious brow raise.

He climbs into bed and snatches the covers away from you. You yelp at the suddenness and try to grab at them, but it's too late.

He discovers that you're wearing one of his newer shirts, which he had to buy to replace the ones he just can't seem to find.

"Are you kidding me? This is Theft in the First goddamn Degree!" he exclaims, even though he's close to laughing at the way you're already giggling. He manages to pin you underneath him on the bed, and he has half a mind to take this shirt back as well, by whatever means necessary.

And yes, tickling is one of those means.

"Sweetheart, for the love of God. Why do you keep taking my shit?" he asks, in a way that's half-serious in his frustration, but also half-teasing.

You shrug shamelessly, still smiling. You run your hands up his bare arms and shoulders, and back down his chest.

"I don't know. It's comfortable," you say. But your eyes lower as your face begins to warm with a blush. "Makes me feel safe...like you're always with me."

At that, the tension in Dean's shoulders eases. His smile can't help but soften around the edges as he looks down on you, now with fondness. After a while, he lets out a deep sigh.

"All right," he says.

You grin, because you know he's given up. You lean up for a kiss that successfully distracts him.

Dean still gets annoyed sometimes when he can't find a specific item of clothing in his drawer, but now, all he has to do is go over to your side of the dresser.

There he knows he'll eventually find what he's looking for.

Beau Arlen

Heh, in this episode of “Whose Hat is it Anyway”...

Beau's wardrobe reminds you of a cowboy in modern times.

Lots of browns and beiges, lots of slacks and buttoned-down shirts tucked in with an army of belts to choose from (even though the man only owns a few pairs of boots). Not to mention a slew of jackets that often pull the look together.

But being that he's new to Montana (specifically, Montana winters), you like to buy him sweaters. Cable-knits and soft ones in earth tones that you think bring out his eyes.

Beau accepts whatever you get him and graciously wears them. He trusts your judgment on what looks good on him, and he appreciates the way you think of him.

It's just one of those ways, however small, that you show that you care and that you're looking out for him.

One night while he's working late, however, you find yourself trying to reorganize the closet. The man is "organized chaos" at best, and you find one of his sweaters on the floor. It's a nice burgundy one that you bought him recently.

Ooh, so soft, you think, while feeling the fabric between your fingers.

You don't know what possesses you, but you decide to slip out of your pajamas and try it on yourself.

SO damn soft, you realize, as you practically drown in the sweater. It hangs about to mid-thigh.

Then you see one of his beige Stetsons hanging on the wall. A sneaking smile curves your lips, before you slip on his hat.

To complete the ensemble, you dig into the recesses of your closet and find a pair of your old cowboy boots. You go out into the bedroom and check yourself out in the mirror with a growing smirk.

"Hey there, darlin'," you try to impersonate your boyfriend's subtle Texan twang, and even his mannerisms by winking at yourself, tipping the hat forward.

You giggle at your own silliness in this moment, but alone in your own house, who freakin' cares? You should feel free to dance naked through the whole damn place if you feel like it.

So you spin on your heel and do a little twirl in your boots.

"Who's the sheriff now, huh?" You mime a pair of guns with your hands and shoot at your reflection. "Psh, psh!"

But that's when you catch sight of one Beau Arlen, leaning against the bedroom doorway with his arms crossed. An amused grin is plastered to his face.

You freeze in shock, still with your "gun hands" held up.

"Oh, don't stop the show on my account," Beau says slyly. He gestures at you. "Please, continue."

Your hot blush spreads from your cheeks and quickly begins to travel down your neck. "Uh...I was just...you know, cleaning the closet. You're very messy, you know!"

Beau snorts and draws closer. Those green eyes of his take in the full sight of you, down your bare thighs and cowboy boots, and back up to your embarrassed face. You bite your bottom lip on reflex.

"You know, I like what you got goin' on here," he says, waving a hand down your form. "But it's just...it's missing something."

He takes his badge with the gold star off his belt and pins it to your sweater.

"There you go. Perfect fit," he says, even as his hand slides up the slope of your back. You find yourself pulled further into his orbit as you try (and fail) to stamp down a smile.

"You're late, you know," you remind him. Beau bows his head and presses a kiss into your neck. You feel his smirk there.

"I'm sorry, Sheriff. Gonna arrest me, or let me off with a warning?" he teases. His other hand comes up to adjust the hat on your head. You smirk and cling to his arms over his dark brown jacket. It's one of his nicer ones.

"I think I can let you off," you play along. You lean up to skim your lips across his cheek, and closer to his ear. "But only for good behavior."

He has to chuckle then. "I can accept those terms..."

Beau's hands slip under your stolen sweater and begin to slide it up your body, inch by inch.

"Though I'm gonna need you to keep the boots on," he says lowly, just before he claims you with a searing kiss.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Oh, here we go. 😅

As with most things, it's a point of pride for Ben.

He'd prefer you be too fucked out to move, let alone put on clothes after he's finished with you.

On the rare occasion that your body doesn't feel too much like warm molasses after a few hot rounds with your boyfriend, you like to at least grab one of his discarded shirts to cover yourself.

If he still has energy, he'll take that as a challenge. He'll try to slip his hands underneath whatever shirt you've found and divest you of it, so he can start devouring you again.

However. Ben does like seeing you in his clothes, in a possessive, claiming way.

There are days when you just want to be swallowed up in one of his large, comfortable shirts as you lounge about the house.

Ben sometimes watches you putter around, cleaning, working, cooking, reading, or watching TV in nothing but his clothes. He wonders if you're even wearing panties. You could be bare faced with a severe case of bed head, but his eyes will still occasionally follow you.

His expression doesn't reveal too much, but he likes it. (And because you know him, you know it too.)

Maybe he'll catch you as you pass by, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. You startle with a yelp, but then you grab onto his arms and smile.

"Can I help you, sir?" you tease.

"Think you can just walk by me, looking sexy as fuck?" he remarks. He steals a slow, thorough kiss. You cup his face and bring him back in for more, tenderly stroking his cheek.

"You know why I like wearing your stuff?" you ask. Your smile hints at teasing.

Ben arches a brow. "Why?"

"Because it keeps you looking," you reply. And you reach a hand around to slap his ass, for good measure.

Then you saunter away from him to get back to what you were doing.

Or at least, you try to.

Ben grabs your hand and pulls you back towards him, back into the cage of his arms, where he falls back into the trap you've so often laid. And he finishes what you started.

AN: Well, then. 😂 I hope you guys enjoy this! Who had your favorite reaction: Dean, Beau, or Ben? 😘

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[bruisedfig]

DEAN WINCHESTER holds your hand when he’s eating you out. he laps at your weeping pussy like a starved man, his warm tongue flicking and sucking on your fattened clit, pulling whimpers and gasps from your pretty mouth.

dean’s good at this; good at eating pussy and making you cum again and again and again for him. you’re so sensitive and swollen from his mouth, but that doesn’t stop him.

your sweet needy noises fill his ears, and his hand moves from holding your thighs open to searching for your hand. he finds it, intertwining your fingers and squeezing it gently as he laps at your cunt, forcing more of your honeyed nectar onto his tongue.

you taste so sweet; dean can’t get enough. he holds your hand, squeezing it encouragingly as you cum again, his puppy dog eyes flickering up to meet yours, checking in with his pretty baby, gauging just how much more you can take. he rubs his thumb along your soft skin, a silent gesture of affection passed between the two of you.

dean’s hand doesn’t leave yours until he’s done, pulling away from your drooling overstimulated cunt, his chin and lips glistening with your arousal. he licks his lips, trying to savour the taste of you as his green eyes rake over your twitching form.

“you were so good for me, yeah? so good, sweet girl,” he praises, squeezing your hand again as he brings it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it.

[em-ontv]

Need some space — d.w.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x lover!fem!reader

Summary: Dean could never keep his hands off of you, latching onto you whenever he could

Content: fluff, established relationship, clingy/touch-starved Dean, not proofread, English is not my first language, mistakes should be present, sorry!

Word count: 912

Dean was a lot of things—sharp-tongued, reckless at times, stupidly brave—but you hadn't expected "clingy boyfriend" to be added to the list.

Yet somehow, here you were, flipping through dusty books with his head in your lap, eyes half-closed like an oversized housecat. He shifted to a more comfortable position on the couch, clearly uninterested in the research you were trying to get through.

"Dean," you sighed, nudging the book away from where it almost brushed against his face. "How am I supposed to read with your giant head in the way?"

"Don't mind me, sweetheart." he mumbled, eyes closing and voice bordering a purr. "You're doing great. Keep it up."

You gave his forehead a flick, earning a dramatic groan. He swatted half-heartedly at your hand but refused to move an inch. Instead, he stretched his legs out further, making himself even more comfortable.

"Seriously? You're not even gonna pretend to help?" you glared at him. "You know, I'd really appreciate it if you started flipping through some books too."

"Helping," he said lazily, cracking one eye open and giving you a smirk. "Emotional support."

Without waiting any further, he reached up, took your hand, and pressed it to his head. Your fingers tangled in his hair instinctively, and he melted under your touch like butter on a hot pan.

When you stopped and started to pull your hand back so you could flip a page of the book, he let out a pathetic whine, pushing your hand back against his head, like he’d die before letting you go.

"You're such a baby. I have to get this done before Sam comes back." you muttered, squishing his face between your fingers, making him pout.

"Cut it out," he grumbled, frowning up at you, though the way his frown dissolved when you laughed said otherwise.

"If you're not gonna help, you're not gonna complain either." you said, and he retaliated by kissing your wrist, peppering soft, warm kisses all the way up your arm.

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. Dean's touchy-feely tendencies had only escalated since you started dating. Take the case last week, for example.

You'd been interviewing a witness at a diner, trying to keep your questions subtle and professional. Dean, however, had other ideas.

"So, you're saying the lights flickered just before you heard the noise?" you asked the frazzled waitress.

"Uh-huh," she nodded, glancing nervously between you and Dean.

Before you could respond, his hand found its way to the small of your back. Not a casual graze either—nope—it was a slow, deliberate caress, his fingers curling just enough to make his presence known. You froze, shooting him a warning glance, trying to shrug him off, but he was already leaning in closer, the picture of shamelessness.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, low enough that only you could hear. "You're doing amazing. Keep it up."

"Dean," you hissed through a forced smile. "Go sit down."

"What? I'm just keeping an eye on you," he replied, all wide-eyed innocence, grinning like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

The poor waitress looked like she wanted to crawl into the freezer.

And then there was that time in the library when you'd been deep into research, scanning page after page. Dean had sauntered in, plopped down next to you, and proceeded to rest his chin on your shoulder while humming AC/DC under his breath.

"Keep reading, sweetheart. I’m comfy." he murmured when you tried to shoo him off, knowing he'd just distract you. His arm snaked around your waist, and before you could protest, he was already pressing slow, feather-light kisses along your jaw.

Or the night you snuck into the kitchen for some quiet time with a PB&J. Five minutes later, Dean appeared in the doorway, his hair sticking up in every direction. He looked half-asleep, his brows pinched in sleepy frustration.

"What are you doing?" you asked, mid-bite of a PB&J.

"Couldn't sleep," he said, padding over to you with a frown. "Why'd you leave?"

"Dean, I was gone for five minutes."

He made a noise of dissatisfaction, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, nuzzling lazily into the crook of your neck. "Come back to bed with me." he muttered, his voice soft and heavy with sleep.

It was ridiculous. The same tough-as-nails hunter who'd taken on demons, monsters, and literal death couldn't go five minutes without missing you. But as much as you teased him for it, it brought a certain warmth to your heart.

Because for all his bravado, Dean was just a guy who'd spent most of his life terrified of losing the people he cared about, loved. His over-the-top clinginess? It was his way of making up for lost time.

"Alright, fine," you said, swallowing the last bite of your sandwich and dusting your hands off.

He grinned—smug at first, but it quickly melted into something far softer. He let out a content hum, nuzzling closer.

"Right now, please." he murmured, his voice heavy with drowsiness.

"Alright, just don't fall asleep on me in the middle of the kitchen." you said, rubbing his arm, leading him back to the comfort of your shared bed.

Under the covers, Dean curled up against you, his arms wrapped around your body, his face buried in your neck. His breath was gentle and even, warm against your skin. Just before sleep took him, he murmured faintly, "Love you, sweetheart."

[fallenangelblade]

i always wonder in the wake of these category 5 destiel events how long it takes for misha to get a “hey man” text from jensen

[southernimpala]

midnight swim

sam winchester x fem!reader (ft. dean :)

summary ↬ you and dean decide to take a dip in the pool after a rough hunt, but sam takes a little convincing

notice ↬ super fluffy, the boys are actually happy for once, a lil suggestive, sam's just a shy boy in love and dean sees it but you don't (what else is new), first ever work for spn and i'm so excited to keep writing for them, no use of y/n, lowercase intended !

wordcount ↬ 1.8k

motel pools were always a disgusting concept to you. murky, unkempt water that was debatably properly chlorinated, bugs and dirty concrete. every time you saw one, it was always you shutting down dean’s feeble attempts at dragging you and sam in with him. 

but this one is different. 

it’s nothing five star, certainly no cleaner than what you’ve seen in the past, but after the grueling hunt—a couple of stubborn poltergeists and a bunch of flying knives—you’re in need of something to soothe your muscles. and a gross body of water certainly feels like the right thing to dip your aching feet into.

“i’m grabbing three towels from the lobby,” dean says, a childlike grin on his face. 

sam stops him, looking up from his computer, “just get two, i’m stayin’ in.” 

“what?” you and dean both say simultaneously. 

sam looks between the two of you with furrowed eyebrows, “is this a surprise to either of you?” 

you roll your eyes, “come onnnn, sam. we just got done with a case and you’re already looking for the next one.”

“that’s because i don’t wanna catch some disease just because i’m bored,” he bears that know-it-all grin that erupts butterflies in your stomach and twinges an incessant need to slap it off him at the same time. 

“just come outside and enjoy some—” dean glances at the window, “—moon—whatever—just don’t be a grouch and get out there!” he reaches for the doorknob, “i’ll meet you there. you, too, sammy!” 

when the door shuts you turn back around to sam and cross your arms over your chest, tapping your foot, “so, what’s it gonna be? coop up in here or hit a midnight swim?” 

 sam sighs, defeated, “fine, i’ll go out, but i’m not getting in.”

the moon glows full in the pitch black sky, blending with the gross neon motel sign, its flickering M and T painting the pool a vibrant blue. there are some questionable stains on the pavement, and one visible from the bottom of the deep end, but it looks swimmable enough. 

soft rock music plays from a speaker somewhere, wrapping you in an embrace of nostalgia and something so winchester. 

sam’s leaning back in one of the flimsy plastic pool chairs, kicking his feet up and placing his hands behind his head, “maybe you’re right, it is kinda nice out here.” 

“it’ll be even nicer if you get in,” you tease, fumbling with the button on your shorts. 

you swear sam’s eyes find their way to your figure, growing wider as you slide the denim down your legs, revealing the black panties you wear underneath. 

your cheeks tint crimson as you feel his warm gaze on you, and pretending not to notice, you pull your shirt over your head, now exposed from head to toe, your bra—which doesn’t match at all—suddenly feels too scandalous for a pool. and now your heart starts to beat quicker, and—

“got the towels!” dean calls from behind you, startling both you and sam. you turn around as sam clears his throat, shaking himself out of a trance, “swimming in jeans, sammy?” 

“very funny,” he responds, narrowing his eyes. 

when dean lays the towels down, he quickly strips into his boxers, not wasting a second before cannonballing into the still water. you follow shortly behind, your underwear clinging uncomfortably to your now wet skin. the pool's temperature is a relief from the muggy summer night air, goosebumps crawling up the parts of you not submerged. 

you can already feel your tight muscles loosening—and dean’s rough swimming pelting water at your back—so much so, you throw your head back in pure bliss. 

“feels nice, huh, sweetheart?” dean says, brushing up against your forearm.

you nod, shutting your eyes, “hmm… just what i needed.” 

suddenly, your head breaks the water’s surface, and you’re pushed under. your eyes snap open in shock, but all you can see is the blurry underwater. you can hear muffled shouting before your shoulders are free and you spring back up. you gasp, whipping your now drenched hair as you spin around to dean, laughing so hard his face is pink. 

“what the hell!” you yell, rubbing your burning eyes. 

he struggles through his laughter to get words out, “you were flailing around like a fish down there!” 

your mouth parts in annoyance, you want to be mad but can’t bring yourself to be. the sound of such rare happiness warms your insides, and you huff a laugh, “sam, tell your brother that he almost drowned me!” 

“i tried,” sam says, and that’s when you notice he’s now standing by the edge of the pool, a crease of concern lingering in his forehead, but the ghost of a smile on his lips. your stomach flips. “dean, you almost drowned her.”

 “maybe if you were in the pool, you could’ve saved her,” dean baits, and sam’s face flushes. 

he chokes on his words, “you’re ridiculous.”

“not as ridiculous as you’re about to look,” dean says, and before sam has time to question it, he’s being snatched into the water by the bottom hem of his ragged jeans. 

a wave of water crashes against your face, but you unshield yourself quickly to catch sam’s surprised expression as he’s drenched in wetness. his button down has turned a dark, damp blue, clinging to the outline of his pecks, and his perfect wisps of hair stick to his neck and cheeks. 

you can’t lie to yourself and say he doesn’t look so good dripping wet like that. 

“i swear to god, dean,” sam threatens, “i will drown you!” 

“try it, sammy!” dean swims to the other end of the pool to escape his brother’s wrath. you watch from the edge, leaning against the pool wall as sam attempts to speed up. his clothes are obviously weighing him down, so an idea sparks to you. 

you move through the thick water to sam, stopping him by reaching for the buttons on his shirt. as he opens his mouth to question you, you shush him, “you’ll be faster without these,” and try to put on a brave face as sam’s eyes bore into you so intensely you’re drawn to meet them. and when you do, it’s catatonic. breathless as your fingers idly pop each button loose, a shimmering glint of confusion glowing in his eyes.

he’s still panting aggressively from the shock of the water, his soft lips tinted blue. you try to avert your eyes to anything other than his, but staring at his mouth isn’t a good idea, either.

he keeps you looking at him, his brows ever so slightly furrowed in bewilderment at your sudden boldness, but once the last button threads through, you’re hastily shrugging his shirt off his shoulders. you want to get his jeans, but you can already hear dean treading closer. plus, you don’t know if you’re brave enough for all that.

“alright, go!” you shout, queuing dean to start swimming faster. 

it takes sam a minute to break out of whatever trance he was in—hell, you both were in—but eventually, he starts towards dean, grabbing him playfully by the shoulders and pinning him underneath, just like you were. 

lighthearted giggles escape you and sam as dean tries to lift his head up, “oh, what was that, dean? i can’t hear you under all that water.” he laughs.

sam catches your face from across the pool, matching your smile. something twinkles in his eye. you catch it before it fades when dean grabs sam from behind the neck, flipping him under, too. 

you swim closer, attempting to hold dean’s large frame while sam grapples under the weight of his brother’s strong hand. “let him go, you monster!” you yell playfully, jumping onto dean’s back to take him down. 

sam manages to pop up, gasping for breath but grabbing your slick arm to pull you off dean and into him. your cheek is squished against his broad chest, water clinging to your lashes. your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, the leather belt still worn rough on your legs, while your arms circle his dripping neck. you can feel sam’s adam's apple bob at the movement.

dean tries to get ahold of you, but sam keeps you tight, and to keep yourself from crumbling under the weight of your crush, you try to focus on dean’s feeble attempts at shoving you under again. 

“i call a truce!” you call out, twisting in sam’s grip, “my savior has come!” 

“oh, yeah, just climb him like a tree, why don’t you?” he pants, shaking his hair like a wet dog. 

“whatever works,” you giggle, and when you turn into sam’s face, he’s already looking at you, eyes hooded with something indescribable, scanning every inch of your face as rivulets of pool water run down your smooth skin. “right, sammy?” you try and say, but it comes out breathless. 

"yeah," he nods, and suddenly the feeling of his warm body on yours in the ever chilling water is too much to ignore, now that the playing’s died down, “whatever works.” 

after the three of you get out, you all shiver underneath the poor quality pool towels as you make your way back to the room. sam is dying to get his damp jeans off his legs, and you’re dying for one more second against him, to feel his heartbeat against yours. 

sam, insisting to shower first—”it wasn’t my choice to get wet,”—”whatever you say, sammy,”—leaves you and dean sitting your damp bodies on the floor against the far right bed. 

“i’m happy we got him out,” dean says after a moment of silence, save for the low hum of the AC and the shower running in the bathroom. 

“yeah,” you agree, leaning back tiredly against the mattress, “me, too.” 

“y’know,” he starts, sitting up further, “it’s been a long time since i’ve heard him laugh that much.” 

your eyes open to look at him, prompting him to continue. 

“he laughs that much when he’s with you,” he says, sending you a rare, genuine smile, “i see it.” 

your heart blooms in your chest, pulse loud in your ears, “dean—” 

the shower stops and the bathroom door swings open, startling the words right off your tongue, “what are you two talking about?” sam asks nonchalantly, rubbing a towel against his noodly hair, damp on his forehead. 

you open your mouth to answer, to say anything other than, ‘we were talking about you loving me, or, something’ but dean speaks before you can. 

“i was telling her not to forget getting your jeans off next time,” he says teasingly, and sam stops in his trek to grab pajamas. 

“fuck off, dean,” he mumbles, embarrassed, but you swear you see the corners of his lips turn upward, just slightly. 

dean winks at you, and before he gets up to steal the shower, whispers in your ear, “he’s so in love, it’s gross.” 

you believe him when you catch sam’s eye twinkling at you again as the bathroom door shuts.

[vampiredaisiesss]

touch me — d.w. x reader

synopsis - you run your knuckles through the stubble littering his cheeks. your fingers travel upwards, thumb tracing his crow's feet. the lines on his face have deepened as he's grown older as has his hair gotten lighter. you find him all the more beautiful like this.

trigger warning - older dean winchester (early 40s) with younger reader (early 20s)

He thinks about time, about how it marks you, about how each silver strand falling to the floor is another reminder of all the years between the two of you.

The harsh glare of the bathroom light is unforgiving, casting every line on his face into sharp focus. Dean watches your reflection in the mirror. The gentle snip-snip echoes off the tile walls as you work the scissor over his hair, your lip caught between your teeth.

Steam still clings to the bathroom mirror from your shower, making the edges of your reflection soft, dream-like. Your tank top's damp where his hair falls against it, and there's something so domestic about this moment it makes his chest ache.

You hum "Hey Jude" while you work, because of course you know that's what Mary sang when she cut his hair. Of course you know that's what he sometimes hummed in his sleep whenever he'd have a nightmare.

"You're thinking too loud, again," you murmur, running your fingers through the short hairs at his nape.

"I've got shirts older than you," he says finally, the words tasting bitter on tongue.

You laugh out loud, and it sounds like every good thing he probably doesn't deserve. "And they're all flannel, and they all smell like gunpowder and cheap liquor that you probably spilled on them two decades ago, but never got dry-cleaned, and I love them." Your smile turns soft at the edges. "Just like I love the man wearing them."

"Kid—" he starts, but you cut him off.

"Don't 'kid' me, Dean Winchester. Not when you're balls deep inside me every night." You pause for just enough time to fix him a determined stare, and he offers you a small smile.

"You think I don't know who I'm choosing? You think I haven't counted every scar, every gray hair, every year you spent saving the world before I was old enough to know it needed saving?"

The scissor is forgotten on the countertop as you run your knuckles through the stubble littering his cheeks. Your fingers travel upwards, thumb tracing his crow's feet. The lines on his face have deepened as he's grown older as has his hair gotten lighter.

You find him all the more beautiful like this.

Dean's throat tightens. You're stripping him bare with your touch. "Exactly. You could have anyone. Someone who—"

He swallows hard, but he's smiling now. His chest feels heavier with something else. "When you say it like that, sounds like I should be in a museum, not your bed."

"Someone who what? Someone who hasn't survived forty years in hell? Someone who doesn't wake up reaching for a weapon? Someone who doesn't understand why I keep rock salt by the bed and devil's traps under the rugs?" You shake her head. "I don't want easy, Dean. I want you."

"There," you say finally, brushing loose hair from his neck. Your lips find that sensitive spot behind his ear, and he can feel you smile against his skin.

"Please," You chuckle. Your hands slide back into his hair, resuming cutting. "Museums are for looking, not touching. "And I'm very..." snip "...very..." snip "...fond of touching you."

"Touch me," he says, and it comes out like a prayer he never learned properly – rough and wanting and holy all at once. It curls around your heart in the shape of Dean's hand.

He reaches up, catches your hand before you can move away.

You touch him like you're reading braille, like every freckle on his body has a story to tell. Your lips trace constellations across the map of blue veins over his body. And when you finally put your lips on the scar along the side of his hip — the first ever souvenir he collected on his skin — you feel the smallest tremor in his breath. It’s so faint, but unmistakable, and for a moment, you could almost swear you made Dean Winchester mewl.

And you do.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Imagine...Dean and You Getting Hurt On A Hunt

Pairing: Dean x reader

You could hear Dean asking a paramedic a million questions, not a single one concerned about himself. You opened your eyes to find yourself in the back of an ambulance, Dean lying on a stretcher beside you. He could tell you were awake and struggled to reach over to you but couldn’t. Instead he thrashed his head back against his pillow in defeat, straining against the straps that held him down.

“Sir, I need you to calm down,” said the paramedic as you blinked slowly at Dean. You knew something was wrong with you, with both of you, but you weren’t quite sure what that was yet. You struggled when you saw Dean upset. You wanted him to feel better. “You need to relax, she’s seeing you panic and that’s making her do the same.”

Dean stopped as he took in how your heart rate had skyrocketed, how scared you looked. He sighed and forced himself to stay calm. You saw him relax and heard him say it was okay. Neither of you enjoyed the feeling of being tied down, especially when the both of you were in plain view of one another and couldn’t reach each other. You tried to speak but couldn’t as you felt how raw your throat was. 

“We’ll be at Mercy West in just a few minutes,” said the paramedic to Dean as you half-listened. 

“No, take us somewhere else!” yelled Dean suddenly, fighting again. The paramedic sighed as you both started struggling once more. You didn’t have much of an idea of what was going on but if Dean didn’t want to go there, it wasn’t safe. 

“I’m going to give each of you a sedative and by the time you wake up, you’ll be in your hospital beds feeling a lot better,” he said gently. 

“No, don’t you touch her,” said Dean as you started to get very sleepy. The last thing you saw was Dean shutting his eyes as you finally remembered what had happened.

If Sam didn’t get to you soon, you were screwed.

___________

[strawlessandbraless]

Godstiel but he was crazy horny and obsessed with Dean. Going around preaching the good word of Dean and reading from the Winchester Gospel (supernatural books). He’d put Dean Winchester on all the stained glass windows and replace Jesus on the Cross with Dean on the Rack.

[samsno1]

warnings: sub-ish!dean, breeding kink (whoops!)

sorry, i'm a sucker for sub dean, dont blame me

He was mesmerized, looking at where your bodies connected, as your slick made his dick shine under the poor lightning of the motel. He refused to tear his eyes away from it.

You were gripping him so tight and so good, the way you clenched around him making him practically whimper in your ear. You were eager to take more out of him, his noises bringing even more arousal to your hazy mind.

He held your hips strongly, his fingers squeezing everytime you grinded your hips back on his. His head was burried in your neck leaving wet kisses and dark hickeys where he could. Dean was desperate for you.

"You feel s'good" He panted and you groaned. He sounded high, drunk on your scent and the smell of sex that filled the room. "So warm and so, fuck- and so tight, God, please"

He sobbed, your hands roaming his back, one of them going up to his hair. You tug on it, making Dean let out a high pitched groan. Your mouth comes closer to his ear.

"Tell me what you want baby" Your voice deep with desire. A shiver runs down his spine and his hips falter slightly at your slight dominance. "You wanna fill me up, hm? Go around telling everyone that you were the one who fucked a baby in me?"

Dean moaned at that, one of his hands unconsciously went to rest over your belly, gently pressing over it. You had to supress a moan as the weight of his hand made his cock seem to be deeper.

"G- Please, please, I'll do anything" He lifted his head to leave a sloppy kiss over your lips, his forehead glued to yours "I'll fill you up so g-uh good, please baby"

You kissed the side of his mouth, not giving him the satisfaction of an actual kiss. "Do it Dean, just be a good boy and make me cum first" You ordered as your hand caressed his cheek and he viciously nodded, his thumb almost immediately going to circle your clit.

"Y-yes...I will, thank you, thank you" He thanked you and started fucking into you harder, stimulating your clit to make you orgasm so he could get his reward afterwards because, after all, he would always be your good boy.

So, yeah, another drabble. I have a couple requests pending and I apologize for that, life's been kicking my ass lately and I've got no motivation to write whatsoever, enjoy the drabbles while I come back to normal LMAO

[fluffsnake]

[pieandflannel]

₊˚⊹♡ body swap 👥

₊⊹ ʚ ₊⊹｡ ⋆ ˚ ⋆ ｡˚ ₊⊹｡ ₊⊹ ୨♡୧ ⊹₊ ｡⊹₊ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ˚ ⋆ ｡⊹₊ ɞ ⊹₊

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: what’s the first thing dean does when he wakes up in your body? the clear obvious.

cw: 18+ smut, pwp , exploration of the female body, female masterbation, dean’s a bit of a perv, dean flicks the bean while being in your body, mention of nipple piercings.

word count: 1k

julia yaps: i was watching a misha and jensen convention clip where they answer a question about how their characters would react to waking up in a female body. and i got this wicked but fun idea hehe <3

inspo: this vid (thirteen minutes ten seconds)

────────── ୨ৎ ──────────

dean’s eyes slowly open at the sound of the alarm coming from the nightstand clock, an unfamiliar tune playing, this definitely wasn’t a song he would choose to wake up to. it’s too.. cunty as some would say. must have been another prank of yours, he thought.

he groans and reaches out to smack the clock to switch it off, noticing his arm much smaller and lacking his usual muscle. he squints his eyes for a second. “what the-?” he mumbles as he sits up in the bed rubbing his eyes, noticing that this wasn’t his room.

it was yours. and you were nowhere to be seen.

he looked down at his body, realising that he owns a pair of breasts. at first he was highly confused whether he was having a weird wet dream or something, but as the wheels in his brain started to slowly turn he remembered what happened yesterday.

you and him were hunting down a witch that casted a spell before she got away and cursed the both of you with some latin chant none of you understood.

little did the both of you know it was a body swap curse, which explains why dean is in your body now. wearing a cute lil tank top, pj shorts and all.

his hands cup the breasts, a smirk growing on his face. “boobs, awesome” his hands feeling them out, there was a foreign feeling underneath his fingertips other than the breasts themself though, something that seemed to trigger small sparks throughout the body. the curiosity getting the best of him, he lifts up the tank top to reveal the piercings decorating his nipples. his eyes widen for a sec.

“well aren’t you full of surprises” he whistles to himself, impressed by how nicely the piercings look. “so hot” he murmurs to himself.

a lightbulb lights up in his head, a devilish smirk spreading across his face. he lays down with a little thud against the pillows, long hair flying in his face.

he wonders what else you can surprise him with, but a tiny voice inside his head tells him to be respectful, after all it is your body, originally, and maybe you didn’t wish for him to intrude on your privacy like this.

but there was a bigger voice telling him to explore, he fought with his thoughts for a long second before he let out a “ah fuck it”

letting his hand slowly sneak down the soft skin of the abdomen, his touch teasing, making his breath hitch slightly. his hand wonders lower and lower until his fingertips meet the waistband of the pj shorts.

without much thought he slides his hand under the material expecting to be met with another layer of some lace panties or something, but there was nothing, absolutely nothing stopping him from continuing his exploration.

“clever girl” dean chuckles. she probably doesn’t wear panties to sleep so it’s easier to play with herself whenever she wants, he thought.

he bites his lip as his hand wonders curiously lower, sliding the middle and ring finger between the slit, finding the bundle of nerves called the clit.

his legs spreading automatically as he presses down on the little button, trying to feel it out. “oh? oh..” dean’s eyes widening a bit at how sensitive that part is. “oh wow” his mind constantly wondering back to the thought of you touch yourself, how you would probably cover your mouth so no one in the hallway hears your little whimpers and gasps.

“dammit…” he mumbled to himself, not being able to stop himself, he knew this was wrong, so wrong, he swapped bodies with his friend and now he leaves no room for privacy for god’s sake. but as he starts circling his finger around the clit his thoughts of guilt vanish.

“w-wow this feels… so good” dean whispered to himself as he quickens the pace of his fingers, he’s slightly intrigued with how much pleasure such a small thing can produce. he would be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling more educated now on the female body, despite the amount of women that came thanks to him.

his other hand slides under the tank top and cups the breast, realising how much smaller your hands are that your breast can’t fit like it would in his calloused ones.

he runs his thumb over the hardened nipple and piercing, his mouth flying agape as he finds the jackpot of pleasure. the feeling of nipple and clit play mixed together sending sparks throughout the whole body, from head to toe.

his back arching and breathing quickening. small curses and moans flying out his mouth as he feels an odd feeling in the pit of the stomach, a bit different from what he would be feeling while jerking off. the pace of his fingers speeding up to the point he starts seeing stars, his eyes closed and toes curled, mouth flying agape.

and then a huge wave crashes over him, whimpers leaving his mouth. probably being the first man to know personally how a female orgasm feels like.

his finger stopping, his chest heaving up and down, legs slightly shaking.

he takes his hand out of the shorts and looks into the top drawer of your nightstand for some tissues or anything he can clean up with. after all he made a mess between his legs.

his eyes widening as he sees a bottle of lube and a bunny vibrator just casually sitting there in your drawer. top drawer to be exact, you weren’t afraid of anyone finding it because you never expected to find yourself in this type of scenario, but here you were.

his lips curve into a devilish smirk, “ooo naughty” he says before taking it out and looking at it. a wicked idea coming to mind, making his smirk widen even more.

“guess she won’t mind waiting 10 more minutes” he says to himself before sliding down the pj shorts.

click here for part two !!

thank you so much for reading! feedback and reblogs are always deeply appreciated <3

tags: @jensino @emeraldcrs @soldiersgirl @jensenacklesballsack @missus-ackles @littlesoulshine @deanswifeyy @slut4jackles @h8aaz @figthoughts @angelicjackles @losers-clvb @lyarr24 @cowboysandcigarettes @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @rositaslabyrinth @deanspookiebear @tinas111 @bejeweledinterludes @miss-marmalade @multiversefanfics @cupidzbunny @pinksatinpanties

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