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t1red-twilight · 7 months ago

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don’t call me “d”

summary: a girl pushes herself onto dean during a case.

content/warnings: gn!reader, angst?, fluff?, light hurt/comfort

notes: sorry if your name is victoria. i’m sure you’re lovely

word count: 1.6k

masterlist d. w. masterlist

you, dean, and sam were currently up north in new england working on a case. just the morbid usual: a couple of strange deaths, all the doors were locked, et cetera, et cetera. the most recent victim was a man named evan, who was almost decapitated.

halfway through interrogating the most recent victim’s friends and family, the victim’s sister decided that she would tag along. she had caught on to what the three of you were actually investigating and she wanted in.

her name was victoria, but insisted that she be called vic. a feisty thing, she was. ‘vic’ had long red hair, and did not care for any sort of personal space. at least, with dean she didn’t. when you introduced yourselves to her, it was explicitly expressed that you were dean’s partner. she didn’t care to respect that in the slightest.

at first, she was seemingly respectful. this façade didn’t last long. soon she was fruitlessly flirting with dean and completely ignoring both you and sam.

it didn’t help that perhaps in another circumstance she might’ve been dean’s type. she was tall and slender with a playful attitude. you knew from the beginning that you were in for a long one.

vic’s brother had an uncle that he was close with. she had willingly given his address, and that’s where the four of you were headed.

you grumbled in annoyance. vic had not let dean have any space, no matter how hard he tried to walk in tandem with you. eventually you had just given up and just walked beside sam.

it was evident that you were pissed, sam immediately sensed how livid you were. “you alright?”

“just peachy!” you replied, sarcasm flooding your tone. as you said this, dean turned and slowed so that he could walk with you and sam. you tried to distract yourself by examining the neighborhood, but your train of thought was cut off by dean speaking in a confrontational tone.

“victoria, you can leave. we’ve got this. we’re professionals.” dean gave her a deadpan look and when she didn’t move, he followed with a tautly-stretched smile. she still didn’t move.

“don’t be silly, d. i’m coming. evan was my brother.” dean muttered a couple profanities under his breath.

the look of irritation very present on his face. this didn’t last long as you had reached your destination.

vic did the honors of knocking on her uncle’s door. it took the man a moment to answer, and when he did he was clearly in a state of distress. it makes sense when one of your close relatives meets an untimely, violent end.

however, what vic did next shocked you to your core. when her uncle answered the door, she reached behind her and pulled dean to her side. then she spoke in a loud, clear tone, “this is my boyfriend, dean, and his friends. we just wanted to talk about evan, see how you’re holding up. is that alright?”

the man nodded and opened the door, but when you and sam were about to walk in she shut it in your faces. she wiggled her fingers at you in a wave. your blood was boiling. what did she think she was doing? did she honestly think that by forcing herself on dean would make him want her?

you turned and sat abruptly on the porch stairs. sam followed you. “she’s a little, uh, spirited, isn’t she?” sam turned to look at you. your brows were furrowed and illustrated your expression with the disdain you were feeling.

“yep.” you responded curtly. you were seeing red. sam tapped his foot against the concrete in impatience. “i don’t like her.”

“she’s extremely pushy.” sam sighed. the both of you sat in silence for about half an hour before dean and vic finally emerged.

dean reached down and helped you up off of the stairs. he then spoke broadly to sam and you. “well, the guy knows nothing more than what we knew. evan was a stand up kid who was suddenly found dead with defensive wounds, but no windows were broken or doors unlocked in his apartment. apparently he visited his uncle the night before it happened and was acting a little frantic.”

vic hung off of dean’s arm. “see, d, i told you. that old guy doesn’t know anything.

dean shook her off and gave her a curt smile. “don’t call me d.”

sam decided it was a good idea to look over evan’s apartment again. you had decided to look around the kitchen, where the body was found the morning after.

damn, evan’s apartment was cold. you wondered if that was the default setting or a symptom of something else. it was eerily quiet, too; quiet enough that your ears rung. you squatted to get a better look at the place where the body was found, and you saw some blood that had crusted over.

while you were examining the baseboards and the blood that had clearly been missed by the clean-up team, you heard someone approaching you from behind. “some blood was missed by clean-up. that’s gross, don’t you-“

you turned, fully expecting it to be one of the boys from the weight of the footsteps, but coming face-to-face with the spirit that had evidently killed evan. “dean! sam!” you shouted. you tried to get to your feet, but you weren’t fast enough. the spirit got close enough to you to knock you back.

unfortunately, neither party arrived before the spirit lunged at you and slashed your upper arm. the pain was sharp and quick, and you soon felt warm blood trickle out of the wound. the ghost vanished soon after.

you were able to find some bandages in the back of the impala and cover it up with a long sleeved button down of dean’s. you figured you’d worry about caring for it properly later once everything was over. hopefully, no one had seen how much you were bleeding and you could get away with pretending you were fine.

later that night, after some more snooping online (mostly on sam’s part), you could find the grave that held the corpse you were looking for.

dean had dug up the grave of said ghost. he salted it and burned it, and that was the end of it. you were quite surprised; in the past the burning hadn’t been too successful. if you were being honest, your rage blacked out most of the events that happened for the rest of the night.

the dirt crunched under your feet as you walked back to the impala. vic trailed after dean; your shoulders tensed. the scene mirrored a mother duck and her ducklings. luckily, you made it to the passenger seat before someone else could. you slammed the door and your arm stung with pain again. you hoped that no one had seen you flinch.

the ride back to vic’s place was awkward, to say the least. soft rock filled the silence, and that calmed you slightly.

the impala jerked to a stop in front of vic’s house. “do i really have to go, d?” she poured. how pathetic of her.

dean turned and answered her instantaneously. “yes, and don’t call me d.”

her pitiful pout worsened, “are you sure? we could have some fun?”

“yes. get out of my car.” when she didn’t, he followed up. “now, please.” finally she listened to what dean was saying and left. dean didn’t even wait to see her to get inside, he just sped off to the motel you were staying that night.

the motel bed was calling you. at arrival you practically jumped out of the car and into the room. it was just a typical run-down motel, but you couldn’t wait until you drove out of town and forget today ever happened.

“woah there tiger. wait up for the rest of us,” dean jogged to meet you. “let’s take care of your gash now, alright?”

you closed your eyes and sighed. suddenly you were extremely aware of dean. you were very much emotionally exhausted. “it’s not that bad. the bandage will hold up just fine.” at this, dean grabbed your hands.

“please? just let me take care of you.” the shines in his eyes was convincing enough.

that’s how you found yourself in the dirty bathroom, sitting on the toilet with dean sealing your wound with stitches. “you’re not mad at me, right?”

you were stumped that this notion. “no? why would i be?” you blinked in poorly veiled shock.

he spoke plainly, “because victoria was falling all over me all day today.”

you looked astray to the confusing red shower curtain. “that’s not your fault though. it’s not your fault that she can’t respect your boundaries.”

“i just care about what you think, you know,” he stated, not looking away from binding your arm with more gauze.

hesitating, you thought both about what to respond with and how you actually felt about the whole situation. you thought it was clear that you weren’t mad at dean. you were just mad at how vic couldn’t stand that one man couldn’t want her. well, obviously it hadn’t been. how long had dean thought you were upset with him? did he-

dean broke the silence. “i lost you there for a second.”

you shook off your thoughts. “oh, sorry. i don’t blame you for her actions at all. you stated what you wanted several times. kind of crazy that she fully ignored us telling her we’re together,” you expressed with a lopsided smile.

he looked up into your eyes, “so we’re good?” his green eyes showed the slight apprehension he still carried.

you lightly tugged your arm out of his hold and held his face in your hands. “of course we are, d,” kissing his forehead afterward.

“i love it when you call me that,” he smiled.

“you missed,” he said.

“huh?”

“you missed.” he guided your face down toward his and greeted your lips with his. you kissed him in a way that you hoped affirmed him that you were both okay. that today hadn’t changed how you felt about him in the slightest. you felt him grin against your kiss. you pulled away and smiled at him.

suddenly you were aware of the toilet seat beginning to be uncomfortable as you sat, so you stood. dean followed.

“it’s cold out. let’s go warm up,” he said impishly. while flirtatious, you were aware he meant just to sleep.

“yeah, that sounds great,”

#lowkey shit but whatever #lee’s writing <3 #dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #supernatural x reader #x reader

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vero1shere · 3 months ago

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caught in your gravity

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

word count: 961

summary: you’ve been getting harassed at work for the past few months. that is until a handsome stranger arrives one night and defends you.

warnings: very cliche-y bartender stuff, harassment, derogatory language (slut, bitch), alcohol abuse, mild violence

a/n: so i’m back??? ik i haven’t written anything in a long time but umm here i am!!!

masterlist. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁inbox

A frustrated sigh escaped your lips as you wiped down the counter for the fourth time that night, scrubbing at a stubborn stain while silently cursing your job for the thousandth time. The endless mess, the sticky floors, and the clinging stench of stale alcohol on your clothes were bad enough. But the worst part? The relentless parade of truck-stop regulars: sloppy drunks who flirted too aggressively and looked at you as though you were just another item on the menu.

You tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, trying to brush away something that had dried on the counter, when the bell rang on the other side of the bar. You looked up to see a rather attractive guy approaching the bar. It was almost one in the morning, so the place was mostly deserted aside from a few regulars. Once he was closer to the light you changed your mind; a very attractive guy.

Throwing the dirty towel over your shoulder you took a deep breath before walking over to the handsome stranger. “What can I serve you?” You smiled, leaning on the bar. He looked down at you and you felt the air catch in your lungs. He had the most amazing green eyes. You were used to seeing new faces every day, but none like his. He smiled, seemingly checking you out as his eyes traveled through your face, answering the question.

“Just a beer, please” he replied, his voice deep and rough, like a low roll of thunder.

It wasn’t just his voice that threw you off. The way he looked at you, his gaze lingering as though he saw more than just a tired bartender, made your cheeks warm. Why was someone like him in a place like this at nearly 1 am?

“Coming right out” you responded, almost breathlessly. You were hyper-aware of his presence, the way his gaze followed you as you moved. Diverting your attention from that beautiful stranger, you served him the beer. Still smiling like an idiot. Your hands trembled slightly as you set the beer down in front of him, and when your eyes met his again, he smiled. A small, crooked smile that made your stomach flutter.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice softer this time, like he didn’t want to break the moment.

Before you could respond, a voice you knew all too well cut through the quiet.

“Hello darling,” Sighing and closing your eyes, you walked up to the drunk guy who was here seven days a week, flirting constantly with you. “What do you want, Carl?” you asked, your voice sharp.

“Wow, I don't think that's the way to talk to your best client,” he growled drunkenly. His breath reeked of bourbon, or maybe whiskey. You honestly couldn't tell, not that you cared.

“Are you going to order something else or are you finally going to get your ass out of here?” You exploded, not having the energy for this.

“I've always liked my women feisty”, he winked at you and a shiver of disgust passed through you. “What would it take for you to go out on a date with me?”

“‘M sorry, but for the thousandth time, I’m not really interested. Now please excuse me, but I need to get back to work,” walking to the idiot's left to clear another table, he grabbed your wrist. It was quite a rough grab and you knew it would leave a mark. You were whipped to face him and tried to hide the fact that you were terrified. He was drunk, strong and almost a foot taller than you.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just go out with me, I mean, you’re just a sleazy bar slut and it’s not like many other people want you” Carl growled, not looking away from your eyes. You tried to appear tough but the situation was getting scary. That’s when someone stepped in the middle of you too, breaking his hold on your wrist.

“Why don't you do us all a favor, apologise to the lady and get your ass out of here?” A deep voice said calmly. You recognized the voice, but you weren't sure who the person was until you looked over to where the green-eyed stranger was sitting. He was gone, well he wasn't gone, he was defending you.

Carl scoffed. “Yeah, like I owe any of you anything. A bitch and an idiot who’s fighting with someone on one foot-” he didn't get to finish. He was interrupted by the attractive stranger twisting the drunk’s arm, which resulted in a scream from the victim. He jerked his arm away and ran out of the bar.

You found yourself laughing after he left. After a few months, someone finally got that idiot to leave. Speaking of which, you finally got a better look at the stranger as he turned around, still quite close to you. The light nape of the neck that covers a sharp jaw, the perfect smile hidden behind full lips. Not to mention the eyes. Oh my god, those eyes made you melt.

“Are you alright?" he asked, much less intimidating. You realized he was looking at you and instinctively looked at the ground.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Thank you,” you murmured, feeling your cheeks flush. Then, he gently grabbed your wrist, which was already forming a bruise, and ran his fingers over your skin. Every second you were in contact with him, sparks broke out on your skin. You both looked at each other, staring into each other's eyes. Losing yourself in his eyes once again, you were glad he spoke.

“Dean,” he said breathlessly. “That’s my name,” he added after seeing the confusion in your eyes. “What’s yours?”

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scentofhydrangea · 1 month ago

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reverting back to my frat president luigi and frat sweetheart reader thoughts today, oh god😅😅

warnings cheating (from both parties), SMUT, luigi is mouthy, AND AN ASSHOLE, reader is kinda mean, praise, luigi is the pussy eating king™️!, only going as far as fingering + head cuz he and reader are a little drunk…

a/n initially started to distract myself from today but then got carried away and kept going :) i was listening to draco by future when i got inspo for this! you aint neva eva gettin yo bitch back 😋 not 100% lore accurate obviously

with one week before spring break, students at upenn are on a collective bender — barhopping, each frat taking turns hosting parties, and professors sending angry emails to the dean of students. tonight, phi psi was in charge of hosting.

you and the other phi psi sweethearts, emilia and halley, were up and at the house by noon to start preparing! with some light conversation, boys started to make their way downstairs for afternoon classes or brunch. you three had already told them you weren’t cooking this week, so they can fend for themselves!

as the night approached, you had made around 200 jello shots and rounded up various types of cheap beer for the night. halley and emilia went to their own dorms to get ready; you stayed at the house to do your hair and makeup there.

brothers started making their way back to the house with takeout and more alcohol, some of the more helpful brothers bought decorations. one person you hadn’t seen at all that day was luigi — which didn’t shock you at all. he had gotten into a nasty fight with his girlfriend at sigma chi’s party last night, and you heard all about it from his best friend patrick earlier today.

“yeah, i mean he was trying to get her to go home without him and she knew what that meant. he got really mad at her and was telling her that she’s not his mom and that he’s a, and i quote, ‘grown ass man’ who can ‘do what he wants’. she was so fucking mad. she left him there anyway so i don’t really see why they argued,” he recounted with all the right gestures and mannerisms luigi would use.

he surely had to make some kind of appearance tonight, though, he was the president of the frat. the pledge master had already been bothering him today and by the time you came out of the bathroom from getting yourself ready he was the talk of the house.

“yo, where’s luigi?” brendan called out to you when you walked through the living room to sort through the bag of decorations that others had brought.

you shrugged and wrinkled your face up. “i know as much as you do,” you lie. you know he’s in his room.

“you guys are kinda,” he raises his right hand to show crossed fingers, “like, tight?”

you scoffed vehemently. “he wishes.”

three or four brothers set up the big standing speakers around corners of the house. people weren’t going to start showing up until around 10-11pm, so you have about an hour before girls trickle in.

your boyfriend was pissed that you were required to attend this, although it confused you since you had been to other parties this week. a feisty text notification buzzes in your pocket:

Don’t call me later tonight and ask me for a ride to your apartment. I’m not attempting to get through the storm of sweaty tech assholes to pull you out of that slut house.

Go ahead and make plans to stay somewhere else.

scoffing again, your thumbs fired across the keyboard.

i wasn’t going to ask you to, i’m gonna crash at halley’s. i already told you that

have fun alone tonight miss you love you

you end the short string of texts peacefully, though you really didn’t feel like being nice and pleasing him with a ‘love you’. the phone falls back into your jean miniskirt pocket and within minutes, your boyfriend is completely off your mind.

it’s a little silly that you’re still together even if he’s mean to you and so easy for you to forget about. you think about breaking up with him a lot, but you don’t want to have to embarrass yourself by telling people that you put up with it. you hope he just breaks up with you instead.

as you added finishing touches to the downstairs, familiar large footsteps thump down the steps. various ‘ayyyyy’’s and ‘there he is!’’s erupt from a crowd of fifteen or so boys clapping. you turn your head to see luigi, wearing an unzipped pullover on top of a white golf polo — he doesn’t even golf! — and khakis. he’s not one for fashion.

he says hello and apologizes for his disappearance, then makes his way into the kitchen, devouring a chipotle bowl that someone got and saved for him. luigi saunters back up the steps and goes into his room with a not-so-gentle closing of the door.

that tells you all you need to know — he’s moody and likely will be for the rest of the night.

an hour or two later, you manage to see him again! he’s drinking and talking to a few girls with two brothers around him. bodies are packed tightly in here; phi psi is known for the second-best parties in all of upenn greek life. his girlfriend was apparently denied at the door. you thought it was bold she even decided to show up.

as you’re having a drink and chatting with your friend, you smell the prominent cologne envelope your senses. you know that scent anywhere. you whip your head around and meet luigi’s gaze, and he must have been trying to speak into your ear over the bumping music because he’s leaned down, only a few inches from your face.

he seems shocked for a second, like a deer in headlights, like a toddler getting caught with the candy jar. luigi scans around your face as well, mentally noticing that the dark pink lipgloss you were wearing earlier was fading.

“where’s your boyfriend?” he asks, speaking loudly through the music.

“where’s your girlfriend?” you tease back with an easy smile.

he looks around, hesitating before speaking. “i don’t really wanna talk about her. i’m guessing you heard what happened last night?”

“everyone’s talking about it, gi,” you turn around, initially to introduce your friend to him, but your friend is gone. she’s teetered away across the room, talking to another brother. you turn back to luigi.

“what are you drinking?” he asks, looking down at your cup as if you didn’t know what he was talking about.

“i don’t know. my friend fixed it for me. whoever bought liquor is my new best friend,” you joke, placing your hand on his bicep.

oh god. he really is as buff as he looks.

“i may or may not have sent out an order for real liquor,” luigi chuckles with a faux sheepishness. “i can’t stand all the warm beer sometimes. shots just get the job done, and some people like cocktails.”

“have you ever had jungle juice?”

a confused look takes over his previously calm expression. “is that some sort of fruity concoction that’ll put you in the hospital?”

“you’re overestimating my tolerance entirely,” you giggle. “if you make it right, it’s not bad.”

“that still doesn’t tell me what it is,” he speaks before you can get another sentence out.

“probably because i wasn’t done talking!” you fake scold. “it’s like orange juice and pineapple juice and hawaiian punch with everclear or vodka. you just have to be careful with it. it’s kinda famous for being roofied, but i’ve never been roofied and i used to drink it at frat parties.”

“why would i want to drink something that’s famous for being roofied?”

“it’s just a thing! i don’t know!”

you both chuckle and a song that you both like comes on. almost instantaneously, you both start singing loudly and off key right in each others faces. warmth spreads through your body and you’re sure it’s the alcohol, but his smile is just so wholesome and the way the only lights are from laser projectors and an led light strip on the ceiling just makes him look so different in some weird way.

you keep singing and dancing with him, both of your bodies getting sweaty and migrating closer and closer. soon, you’re chest to chest, and you already know that if you come back to the house tomorrow you’re going to be tortured by the rest of the brothers. by now it really doesn’t matter, you’re having a good time with the president of the frat!

“you’re beautiful,” luigi says just loudly enough for you to hear.

your heart sinks. “what?”

“you’re beautiful, [___]. i mean it.”

“you know i have a boyfriend,” you correct him.

“yeah, and i have a girlfriend. she’s a bitch, and your boyfriend is a fucking dick.”

you’re silent for a moment. “he’s just protec-”

“don’t fucking defend him, [___], he doesn’t deserve your attention and support. if you don’t like him, break up with him.”

“you’re so drunk, gi.”

“only a little,” he shrugs, his hand finding your waist again and roughly pressing his lips to yours.

you can’t even pull away, you just feel paralyzed. then your lips start to move against his and before you know it you’re nearly tongue kissing. you feel your panties dampen with need almost immediately. he whines deeply onto your lips and you pull away to breathe.

“people are going to notice,” you look around hastily.

“do you wanna go to the main floor?” he asks, knowing that his reputation as well as yours can be tarnished by a too big of a slip up.

you nod and he grabs your hand, leading you through the crowd as if you’re a frat virgin. he grunts a few rude “move”s and “‘scuse me”s. by the time he’s trudging up the steps with you, your heart starts to thump in your chest. you’re not going to the main floor, you’re going to his bedroom.

back up in luigi’s room, you’re realizing how drunk you are by the way there are no moving lasers to make you feel steady. you’re swaying a little and fall down onto his bed. you’ve been in this bedroom so many times, but it feels different being in here now.

he sits down next to you after locking the doors and windows — roof walkers are strangely common here. his lips smash against yours again, this time overpowering you with wet kisses. one of his hands is on the back of your head and the other is on your cheek, gingerly pulling you in.

“you smell so good,” he whispers, trailing his kisses down your neck and onto your collarbones. he inhales your perfume on your collarbones and nibbles at the soft skin of your upper chest, leaving little purplish-red marks to blossom. luigi works his way down and looks up at you to ask for consent with his eyes.

you nod approvingly, not knowing what you’re approving, just that you want him. he pushes your halter top up a bit, looking at you again for approval, and continues to pull your shirt off with your nod.

luigi’s mouth immediately attaches to your peaked nipple, swirling around it and suckling at the skin around your breasts to leave hickeys.

“not like your boyfriend’s gonna see. i know your sex life isn’t the best.”

you look at him, confused on how he’d know. you were friends, but you’ve never mentioned anything of the sort.

“girls don’t hang out with frat brothers that they aren’t dating every weekend if they have a happy sex life,” he states matter-of-factly, and it pisses you off in a way.

“she must not suck you off very well, then,” you retaliate.

“she doesn’t,” he shuts down your attempt at getting him back. “you just look like you could suck a dent out of a car door.”

“excuse you,” you roll your eyes, getting turned on by how he’s being mean. arousal and wetness seems to snap loose, rushing to your heat. you squirm in place and he notices.

“are you getting wet? poor girl,” he pulls you over onto his thigh by your waist with no strain, his biceps flexing. the only thing you can think of is getting put into a headlock. as soon as your bikini underwear meet his khaki pants, you’re pathetically grinding against his buff thigh.

“s’at feel good, hm? feels good to use my thigh?”

“mhm,” you whine, lying your forehead onto his shoulder.

“you wanna take your skirt off for me, baby?”

nodding, you pause for a moment to shimmy out of the jean miniskirt. as soon as you toss it onto the floor where your shirt lays crumpled to the ground, you go right back to riding his thigh.

the tent in his pants looks huge when you glance down, and you whine again. “lu…”

“hm? y’okay?”

“wanna fuck you..”

“oh, sweet girl,” he mutters, flipping you around and lying you down properly. he places his head at your thighs and gently kisses them. luigi looks to you for approval again, and with your impatient nod he pulls your underwear to the side, delving his tongue into your wet folds.

your hands knead his scalp with a gasp, almost like you’re guiding him through what he should be doing. “fuck, gigi, that’s so good!”

he lifts your thighs onto his shoulders, allowing his tongue to work through your folds with a rough gentleness. “you taste so good, sweetheart,” he huffs.

one of your hands releases from his hair and grips onto the bedsheets, pulling onto them for dear life as he relentlessly eats your pussy like a starved man. you’re quickly orgasming, gasping out his name like a prayer.

he doesn’t stop to let you catch your breath, though, he just keeps going.

“lu, stop, s’too good…”

“i bet he doesn’t eat you out like this, does he? does he know what he’s missing out on? hmm?” he replaces his tongue this time with his middle finger, sliding it up and down your folds to gather his own spit before plunging into your warm, soaked cunt.

he then adds another before attaching his wet lips to your clit, making out with your pussy like a long distance relationship reunion. “shit, luigi, i’m gonna cum again! j’st like that, yes!” you moan pornographically, grinding your clit down onto his mouth fervently.

“you’re so tight, pretty girl, squeezin’ my fingers so good. can he fuck you like this with just his fingers?” he prompts again with a hateful tone, getting angry at the thought that another guy can’t make you cum — it’s not like it’s even hard for luigi to get you to cum.

you shake your head. “no, he can’t. he barely ever fingers me — fuck!” you admit before he hits that spongy spot with his fingers, and immediately his assault on your cunt becomes absolutely relentless.

“just like that, please! fuck, oh my god, you’re the best!” you plead to him, feeling that cocky smirk against your clit.

“yeah? you’re so much better than her. fuck, i love this pussy.” he grumbles, shaking his head so his nose brushes against your clit over and over.

your hand grips at his scalp again, pulling his big nose to your clit harshly. “i’m gonna fucking cum, lu, you’re so good…” you trail off breathlessly, thighs beginning to shake.

“you got it, baby girl. go ahead and cum on my face. you deserve that, yeah? go ahead n’cum,” he instructs, fucking his clothed bulge into the mattress below him.

you follow his order with a loud yelp followed by a high pitched, drawn out moan and bucking your hips to his face. he groans deeply as you clamp onto his fingers, legs shaking violently against his head and thighs squeezing together to almost suffocate him in your pussy.

as you come down from the high, you’re embarrassed that he made you cum so easily. you look at him and realize once he sits back up to catch his breath that he came into his own pants.

he lays his head down onto your naked chest, comfortable in the domestic position. he can still smell your pretty perfume on your neck. after five or so minutes of cooling down and catching your breath, he looks at you softly — some kind of way you haven’t seen on him.

“what do you say we get you cleaned up, hm? you can stay right here in this bed with me if you don’t wanna go home after.”

you nod your head with a gentle smile. “yes, please!”

#🙈: cici’s little thoughts 💙#luigi mangione #luigi nicholas mangione #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione smut #luigi mangione oneshot #luigi mangione x y/n #luigi mangione x yn #luigi mangione fluff #free luigi mangione #free luigi

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just-a-ghost00 · 9 months ago

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Do you know them? What do they admire about you? (possibly 18+)

This is part 2 of the secret admirer PAC. To check part 1, click here. You can either choose the same group as for the first part or choose another. It's completely up to you. For the first question, I will only be drawing one card to get a simple yes or no answer.

Group 1

Do you know them ? - The Star

That's a yes. You possibly interact with this person online and/or they live at a distance from you. They could have Aquarius influence in their chart.

What do they admire about you ? - 2 of pentacles, ace of cups, 9 of pentacles, page of pentacles

They admire your youthfulness and your giving nature. They like that you try to remain impartial and never judge a book based on its cover. They like your independent thinking but also your independance in general. You work very well on your own and you're not needy, which they value. You can think for yourself. They like your analytical mind, your curiosity and your ability to learn in any circumstance. They like how honest you can be about your feelings, your experience and difficulties. You wear your heart on your sleeve and are easy to be around. You're very laid back which gives them space and security. You make them feel safe and cared for. They like your enthusiasm and openness to life. You have a good balance and your heart is pure. They admire how you're always in a good mood and seeing the glass half full. This gives me Dean/Castiel dynamic vibes. In this person's eyes, you are a Castiel.

Song : (You're the) Devil in disguise - Elvis

Group 2

Do you know them? - Knight of pentacles

That's also a yes for you. You either know them through work or your studies. This person could be an earth sign. They like horses. They may have recently made an offer or given you a gift. They walk slowly.

What do they admire about you? - 5 of pentacles, 8 of cups, 3 of swords, 2 of cups

Okay this may be a bit weird but they like your clinginess and also when you complain to them about things that upset you. They admire your ability to ignore what doesn't serve you or would only bring you down. They admire that you're still standing strong despite all that you've been through. They admire your kindness and ability to connect with all people, to love them unconditionally. They like when you ask them for help or rely on them when you're feeling down. They like to see you sad. They think you're beautiful when in pain or crying. This may be a little triggering, I'm sorry. They like that you also don't deny your help and guidance to people in need. You're a good samaritan. You can't say no. They admire your resilience. Also your ability to know when to give up or to delegate. Your ability to rely on your peers or know who to find when in trouble. They like your moodiness and your bad temper. They like to see you upset. It's entertaining to them. They admire the emotional responses they can get from you because it's something they fail to understand or are unfamiliar with. This energy is rather disturbing. This gives me Crowley/Aziraphale dynamic vibes. In this person's eyes, you're an Aziraphale.

Song : I wish I didn't love you so - Betty Hutton

Group 3

Do you know them? - 10 of wands

You don't know them on a personal level. You are aware of their existence but it would be very hard for you to figure out who they are. You wouldn't suspect this person to admire you. You know them either from a time of your life when you were in trouble or through a common responsibility you share. So this could be worked related, but not just that.

What do they admire about you? - 9 of wands, 8 of swords, knight of swords, 7 of cups

They admire your ability to get out of any situation and slither your way through obstacles and people's BS. They admire your feisty nature and your honesty. They think you are brave. They admire how you always keep your options open and stay alert, ready to strike at any given moment. How you never stay stuck in one spot. This person would like to tie you down so they can pick your brain apart. You're a mistery to them. This gives me Will Graham/Hannibal dynamic vibes. In this person's eyes, you're a Will Graham. Constantly thinking, constantly moving, unstoppable, impossible to get a hold of or manipulate. Hard to read. Always one step ahead. Too clever for this world. They admire how stubborn and reckless you can be at times. You're unpredictable and never boring.

Song : Eye of the tiger - Survivor

#pick a card #pac reading #just-a-ghost #tarot reading #spiritual pac #love pac

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h8aaz · 18 days ago

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HIIII i was wondering if you could do a Crowley x Winchester!reader where reader lays on her bed, touching herself, imagining its Crowley (she’s using a toy / her hand, idm) and then, she hears the familiar voice. Things go from one to the other and boom.

HIIII SWEET ANGEL!! omg i would LOVE TO!!!! bc mark a. sheppard is actually so fine and he doesn't get enough credit/recognition for literally anything smh. but i hope this is good for you anon!! and any other crowley lovers :3 🩷

❝ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 .ᐟ ❞

summary .ᐟ — you pleasure yourself to the thought of crowley, even going so far that you imagine it's him— until that becomes a reality.

warnings .ᐟ — winchester!reader . fem masturbation + oral receiving . fingering . piv protected (yippee!!) . slight mention of marking . crowley calls reader 'darling' as a permanent nickname . he also puts his deal to use bc duh . dean, sam, + cas mentioned.

wordcount .ᐟ — 1.4k words.

gabs yaps .ᐟ — omg i actually love crowley so much + IM SO SORRY THAT THIS IS RUSHED + LITERAL EONS LATE ANON PLS FORGIVE ME ILYSM <3333 likes, comments, + reblogs are very appreciated!!

a sweet, sultry moan broke through your plush lips as your fingers pumped in and out of your core at a slow rhythm, the vibrator in your other hand working overtime on your clit. “god, crowley, right there," you whined. you threw your head back in pleasure, moaning out soft profanities with the demon's name slipping in-between.

your hips bucked against the vibrator, a broken cry slipping from your mouth. your bedroom was filled with the echoes of your noises, both the ones spewing from your mouth and the wet slick that coated your fingers—allowing them to slide in and out of your cunt easily.

your nipples were hardened into peaks, your bare skin covered in goosebumps from the cold. the sheets of your bed were rumpled up under and around your body, while your hair sat unruly against the pillow under your head.

the bunker was empty. your older brothers were out on a hunt with a familiar angel. the lack of annoying debates on random lore allowed you to let yourself be as loud as you wanted.

your movements became more frantic as the knot in your stomach slowly got tighter, signaling that your orgasm was near. “fuck! oh, fuck, crowley. yes, yes- please!” you screamed, your thighs shaking and your eyes squeezing shut.

you were so close, you were right there. until a voice—an accent—you recognized all too well broke through the heated atmosphere. “go ahead, darling. cum for me.”

your movements stilled as if the world froze completely, eyes shooting wide open as your head jerked up, meeting the gaze of him. crowley.

“what the fuck, crowley?!” you panicked. you pulled your fingers out quickly, shutting off your vibrator and scrambling to cover yourself with a blanket.

“oh, please, don't stop on my account.” he grinned. “plus,” he pointed at you, “you were just moaning and screaming my name.” he eyed your blanket-covered form as you huffed in frustration. “you provide quite the view, winchester.”

“oh shut up!” you shouted, tits heaving with frustration under the blanket you held tight to your body. "we've been over this, you can't just fucking pop into my room whenever you like! privacy is a thing, y'know?!" you yelled at him, all while his stupid smile grew.

he tilted his head, "feisty as ever." he said, making you roll your eyes. "what good is your privacy if it prohibits me from seeing and hearing you like this?" he snapped his fingers, your blanket completely disappearing.

"hey!" you gasped, covering yourself with your hands.

"especially," crowley shrugged off his blazer, settling it on the back of the chair by your desk. "if it's all for me?" he whispered, making his way over to you on the bed. you whimpered. you fucking whimpered. and the noise went straight to his hardening cock.

your hands slowly fell from their covering positions, the arm across your breasts making them jiggle slightly at the removal. crowley growled at the sight, now hovering over you.

his gaze shifted to meet your eyes. you nodded at the silent ask of permission, moaning at the feel of his lips on yours. your hands flew to hold his face while one of his roamed your body and the other held your hair.

this felt like a dream. you couldn't believe he was actually kissing you, feeling you. and willingly after catching you in the act? you were about to pull away to make sure the moment was real but you refrained as a loud moan escaped you, his fingers having found place on your swollen clit.

your back arched, whines spewing freely as his hand that was previously in your hair moved to grope your breast. "so responsive, huh, darling?" he cooed before shoving two fingers into your slick hole, easily being sucked in.

"oh, fuck!" you melted into his touch so quickly. your walls wrapped around his pumping fingers like they were meant to be there—like they had always been there.

the view of you being so broken for him turned him on. and he just had to taste you.

he moved down to flick his tongue against your clit, gaining more noises from you. he added a third finger as he began to devour you, eyes up at your face to catch your reactions.

his name flew from your mouth nearly like a mantra, like it was the only word you knew how to form. your hands gripped at his hair. tugging. pulling. yanking. all as you grinded against his working mouth. his scruff rubbed on your inner thighs and folds, fueling your high.

before you knew it, you were cumming. and you were cumming hard. your vision clouded in white, your body shaking and heated, you'd never orgasmed like this before—not even when you'd touch yourself.

your breathing was ragged and shaky, your chest rising in heavy pants. you looked down at him right as he began to move back up. his face was covered in your arousal. his lips glistened with your cum, colliding with yours so you could taste yourself.

your hands shot down to his belt, fiddling with it, trying to get it unbuckled as fast as you could.

"eager, are we?" crowley teased before assisting you on your mission. you pushed his pants down with your hands at first, then switching to your feet. "please," you begged. "please fuck me, crowley." his name coming out as a whine.

the demon swiftly pulled the rest of his pants and boxers down. he snapped his fingers, a condom appearing in one hand and the rest of his clothing gone. you rolled your eyes at his stupid magic trick, watching him roll the rubber on before sinking his throbbing cock into you, stretching you as he bottomed out.

"oh- god, yes!" you screamed, silently thanking his past self for making that deal.

"wrong guy, darling." he smirked before painfully pounding into you. his head dipped into the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking hickeys into the soft and pure flesh.

your insides clamped around him, slick gushing from the rough manner of which his hips slammed against yours. sweat coated skin, sweet moans, and his dick drilling into you—this was definitely real.

your neck, collarbones, and chest were covered in marks, which will be a pain to try and explain to your brothers as you were sure you'd never be able to cover them. what lie would you make up? crowley would surely out you any chance he got, and he most definitely won't be subtle about it.

but that was a problem for future you. as for now, all you could think about was how good he was fucking you.

your eyes continuously rolled to the back of your head as your back arched into him. he was swirling his tongue around your hardened nipples, giving you more pleasure. his hands gripped the flesh of your hips, fingers digging into the soft, squishy skin.

your mouths became connected once more, muffling and swallowing every noise you made for each other. pulling away only when the two of you came at the same time, your nails raking down his back with red streaks in their wake. the sensation made him growl while your tongues tangled through the dual orgasms.

"we should do this more often, yeah?" crowley panted while you whined a small "please."

you heard the loud and echoed bang of the bunker's front door being closed, signaling that your brothers and castiel were home.

"shit!" you gasped as the demon pulled out and got off of you. "well, this was nice, winchester. but i'm afraid i don't want to be brutally tortured and screeched at so this is where i, unfortunately, depart. till next time, darling." he said breathlessly before smashing his lips against yours in a bruising yet tender kiss then disappearing as if he wasn't even there to begin with.

"hey!" dean called your name, "we brought dinner! get out here!" he then banged his fist against your, thankfully, locked door.

"dean, stop. stop! go...help cas or something." sam shooed the oldest away before gently knocking on your door, "we got dinner, your favorite too. you coming?" he questioned your name.

"uh, y-yeah! m'coming!" you replied as normal as you could, calming down when you heard him give an 'okay' followed by his booming footsteps walking away.

you pushed yourself up and went to get off your bed, your legs wobbling and shaking until they fully gave out, leaving you on the floor. "god fucking dammit, crowley." you cursed quietly.

tags: @sunsbaby @ultravi0lence14 @starzify @soldiersgirl @bejeweledinterludes @littlesoulshine @j2archives @legalmente-loca @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @daylighted

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sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth · 29 days ago

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Forbidden Fruit (Winchester men x female reader) - Chapter 2

You're over at the Winchester house, meeting Dean and John for the first time. When you and Sam disappear to his room after dinner, Dean and John think about what it would be like to be with the girl the youngest Winchester brought home. And maybe, just maybe, you're thinking of them too...

Read it on AO3

Rated E

Part 2 coming to AO3 this Sunday!

Chapter 2 - Dean

Dean still can't believe the catch his little brother made. He lets his eyes wander up your thighs as you stand on your tiptoes to pull the plates out of the top kitchen shelf. If that skirt were just an inch shorter...

He sips on his beer, making casual conversation, being his best self. For Sammy, of course.

It isn't how he had planned spending the evening. After that waitress at Wendy's ditched him he had decided to turn the night into some quality brother time, which he and Sam haven't had in a long time. But this is just fine, too. Maybe even better, since he gets to tease his little brother and check you out while doing so.

You seem to be one of the cool chicks, even though he'll probably never understand how someone with your looks would go for a guy two years her junior. You could have anyone. You could have him. Not that he would ever do such a thing to Sam. Well. Except for that one time with that blonde girl, whatshername... Rachel? But that really was all her. That girl must have been a succubus or something. He still feels a little dirty when he thinks of that night. He shudders at the memory, but brushes it off. 's not like Dean Winchester can't handle a wild one.

As the three of you set the table, Dean flashes his brightest smile at you, and you mirror it. You really are a cute one. Feisty. All wits and giggles, touching Sam here, biting your lip there, always making eye contact with Dean. He can't blame you. It's just the effect he has on women.

As the man of the house, Dean starts serving you and Sam when he suddenly hears the front door. That... wasn't the plan. His hands go still for a moment as he looks at his father coming in, and he can see Sam doing the same out of the corner of his eye. John's face is speaking volumes.

It's the face he makes when he doesn't get his way, in this case meaning he couldn't get his hands on the artifact he had been hunting for almost a week. But that's not something they can discuss right now. Not with you present. He wonders what's going to happen now, if John's going to have an outburst, kick all of you out. It wouldn't be the first time.

Dean snaps out of his stupor as Sam finally speaks, introducing you to his dad. To his surprise, at least a little of John's tension seems to fall off him as he eyes you carefully. A good sign.

When you address John, your voice sounds different than it had sounded earlier, bantering with Dean. There's this quality about it that he can't exactly put his finger on, something almost authoritarian, a tone that's not disrespectful but he would never have employed toward his dad. And when you call him Mr. Winchester it just... it makes his breathing stagger for a fraction of a second.

And it seems you really do have some magical effect on John as well, because he just walks over to the table, throws his jacket over a chair and sits down to reach for the food.

Dean hesitates for another moment, and then all of you resume what you were doing before. He's still a little skeptical of how... normal all of this feels, how nice. Like an actual family dinner. He pokes at his chicken, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He flinches a little when John speaks again. Dean looks at you, trying to gauge if you saw his involuntary reaction, but fortunately you seem to be looking at your boyfriend for once.

"So," he hears his dad asking, "how did you two meet? Dean, get me a beer, will ya?"

He immediately gets up to the fridge, fulfilling John's request, but listens closely to what you're saying.

He grins at you telling them how you and Sam met in a bookstore. Of course, that's where Sammy goes to pick up girls. A freaking bookstore. Such a dork.

He opens John's beer and sits back down to join the conversation, making a crack at Sam. He's still chuckling at his own joke when he hears you say another couple of magic words. You go to the local community college. Dean's sure his eyes must have lit up like a Christmas tree when hearing those words. You're a goddamn college girl.

He stares down at his plate, drowning his food in hot sauce and stuffing his mouth because he's sure he's starting to salivate a little, images he wouldn't want Sam to read off his face popping into his head. You, sitting in class, chewing on a pen. You, having a PJ-pillow fight with your equally attractive roommate. You, at a kegger, downing an entire solo cup in record breaking time. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, trying to make a little more room for his physical reaction to those mental pictures of you.

He takes another big gulp of his beer. It's just not fair, college girls going wild? That is one of his top three fantasies. His mind makes it back into the actual room just in time for him to hear you saying you study something with languages. He bets you're really good with all things French, alright.

And then he sees you, leaning into Sam, your thumb brushing over the corner of his mouth, which is already a gesture that's making him want to get up and grab you, and then your lips meet your boyfriends'. Dean is mesmerized by the pure beauty of it, God knows he has kissed his fair share of women, but the way you do it, so casual, so unashamed and loving in front of everyone, that's just something he hadn't expected.

He's never had someone do that to him. He feels that a lot of his girlfriends only wanted him for his looks. To parade him in front of their friends. Or to piss off their parents. Or both. Not that the devil-may-care attitude he's cultivated so well over the last few years would have allowed anything deeper than that. There was this one girl, Jackie, captain of the high school soccer team, who he tried to talk to, about Sam, and how he felt it was his responsibility to keep him safe, but she had just stupidly grinned, stuffed her panties in his mouth and ridden him for the next couple of hours. But you, you're different. You...

There's a bang, and suddenly, while Dean is still enchanted by your nonchalance, Sam sends hot sauce flying everywhere.

He almost jumps up, worried for a second he might get sauce all over his shirt, and then he sees that you got sauce all over your shirt.

His eyes follow the trail the thick droplets leave going up from your stomach, getting smaller higher up your chest, and two tiny ones directly on that soft, soft skin of your cleavage. His tongue darts to his teeth, the impulse of licking it off you almost strong enough to act on it.

He watches you like in slow-motion, getting up, leaning over toward him. He thinks you're wiping the spilled sauce on the table away, but he's not entirely sure because all he can focus on is the jiggling pair of tits right in front of his face.

Dean cocks his head a little, looking glass-eyed, imagining his face pressed up against those lush curves, and then the moment is over as quickly as it came.

You stand up, apparently going to change. He wouldn't have minded you just taking the stained shirt off and remaining in your bra, but alas.

With you gone, the room suddenly goes quiet again, like it usually is. Dean stabs at his food for a little while longer, thoughts still hung up on that tiny bit of lacy fabric he thinks he saw under your shirt. He swallows, looks at Sam. His damn little brother who scored such a minx.

Then you're back, and Sam is saying something, but Dean's not paying attention. He's just looking at you, your beautiful smile that is so prominent in your eyes, and how you look so pretty even in Sam's old shirt. It makes him tingly, and not only in that sultry way he is so used to, in all the ways.

He is somewhat relieved when you and Sam get up to go to his room, to watch a movie or something. Probably some fantasy flic with a bunch of dragons. He's a little sad he doesn't get to ogle at you anymore, but it's probably for the best. The way you made him feel right there, smiling, licking your lips at him... it would have only gotten harder if you had stayed.

So he finally clears his plate, says good night to John, and is off to his room.

Dean closes the door behind him. He just stands there, a little unsure of what to do with himself now, and listens for a moment. Then he hears the front door go, which must be John leaving. Other than that, everything is quiet. Slowly, an idea forms in his head. Dean lies flat on his stomach next to the bed and reaches underneath it, blindly feeling for something. He pulls out a navy sock, an alarmingly large dust bunny and then finally the cardboard box he is looking for.

He blows on it, which he immediately regrets, then opens it, sitting on the bed. At the top of the stack of magazines lies his favorite edition of Busty Asian Beauties, but that's not what he's hungry for right now. He flips through the magazines, a couple of them sticking together, searching for a specific one. He carelessly throws one after another aside, until finally, almost at the bottom of the stack, he finds it.

It's a Playboy with a feature series on weather girls. On page 13, next to the recipe for a Vesper Martini, he finally finds her.

She's wearing a see-through swimsuit, holding a tiny parasol and is sucking on a twisted lemon peel. And she looks just like you. Well, the nose is a bit off, and the hair. Her boobs are bigger, too, but yours look more real. And her smile is not as pretty as yours. But it'll do.

Dean blindly grabs for the lotion on his nightstand, his muscle memory instantly kicking in. He shimmies his pants down, his slick hands finding his half hard cock. He looks at the girl in the magazine, pouting her lips at him, and starts pumping.

Dean imagines you pushing him down on the bed. That tone you used talking to John... it has given him ideas. You're a girl who knows what she wants. Who gets what she wants. He imagines you tearing his jeans down, dropping to your knees, marveling at his cock. He thinks the slight curve of him would make you bite your lip, because a girl like you appreciates the things you can do with that. He knows it's a great dick, and for a second he feels kind of sorry for you that you'll probably never get to enjoy it. But that's not what he wants to think about right now. Now, he wants to think about what your mouth would feel like on him. He can almost feel your tongue running up his shaft, those soft, plush lips of yours kissing the groove on the underside.

He imagines your fingers digging into his thighs, holding him in place while you explore him. He'd want to fuck you right away, show you what a real man could do, but you've got your own head. And you love giving head. You want to tease him, give him the full college girl experience, and you call him Mr. Winchester.

You hollow your cheeks like a goddamn professional, taking all of him deep without—

Dean suddenly snaps out of his fantasy. Was that...? He furrows his brows, straining his ears. He could swear he just heard someone... moan?

All of a sudden, his mouth feels very dry, and while she is gorgeous, he's having a hard time focusing on the weather girl. He stays silent, alert for another couple of seconds. Nothing.

He clenches his jaw, tucks himself back into his boxers and gets up to get himself a glass of water. He really is having a hard time swallowing.

He awkwardly shuffles out of his room, his erection straining against his pants. He decides not to switch the light on. He's somewhat slower when he passes Sam's room, listens for a moment, but the silence is deafening.

Yeah. He was probably imagining things. He ventures on into the kitchen, downs a big glass of water, splashes some on his face. He wipes it away with his sleeve and makes his way back to his room to finally take care of the tent he is pitching, and then he stops dead in his tracks a couple of feet away from Sam's door.

His eyes go wide as he hears it again, that sinful, high pitched moan. A moan that lets him know you're having all the right buttons pushed, probably at the same time.

He presses his back to the wall next to the door, his hand shooting into his boxers. He closes his eyes.

Dean pictures the face you're making, enjoying whatever the fuck it is that is eliciting that kind of sound from you. He likes to think it's his tongue. Teasing your entrance, lapping at your juices. He wonders what you taste like. If it's anything like that deliciously crisp apple scent of yours, sweet and alluring, like any forbidden fruit.

He imagines pushing a finger into you, your hand rough in his hair, rasp voice telling him to give you more. He imagines sucking on your clit, making your eyes roll back into your head while you pant his name. He knows you'd enjoy that. He's really good at it. Or so he's been told.

There's another moan from the other side of the door, and some squeaking from the terrible mattress he knows Sam sleeps on.

Now you're straddling him, giving him a full view of those gorgeous tits of yours, bouncing up and down just like he had imagined back at dinnertime. Who gives a crap about continuity, this is his fantasy, and since he can't have the real thing he's going to make this an experience to remember. His fist clenches around his dick.

You're grinding yourself down on him, your hips under his firm grasp rolling beautifully. One of your hands is scratching over his chest, he likes the way it stings a little. He also likes the idea that you'd mark him up as yours. The other hand is running through your hair, he probably picked that up in one of John's old VHS porn tapes that he found when he was 11, but who cares. Your hand runs over your neck, your chest, and your mouth falls open as you gently pinch your nipple. Yeah. He likes that. This perfect picture of you fucking yourself on him, using him for your pleasure. Ruining him.

He picks up his pace, because he feels you'd be close. You'd be so on the edge, the feeling of fullness he's giving you, that you'd want him to meet you halfway, his hips thrusting against your wetness. His breathing becomes irregular, and it's a good thing you're not actually there because he's not sure how much longer he can—

No. Not like this. He wants to come inside you, but you want to taste him. He's stroking himself, just the last couple of pumps, in his mind looking down at your beautiful features, tongue stuck out, those gorgeous eyes blinking up at him. The image of you waiting for him to paint your face with his spendings is just too much. Dean comes, hard, shuddering, careful not to leave a mess anywhere. He shivers. Takes a breath. Looks around.

He can still hear you and Sam going at it, but he's done. He grins to himself. Good for Sammy, he thinks, taking his girl to town.

#supernatural #spn #fanfiction #fanfic #spn fanfic #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #john winchester #john winchester x reader #john winchester x you

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jjmbbg · 27 days ago

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ʟᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴊᴀᴄᴋᴇᴛ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

thank u @daylighted for literally reassure me that doing this was alright and all. this is me, guys, joining to the "object!reader verse"!! hope you love her <3

✮ Leather Jacket!reader has a rough personality with strangers, always possessing cold and gloomy looks, and being blunt enough to make an adult cry. But Dean doesn't really seem to have a problem with her. After all, she was his.

✮ Leather Jacket!reader appeared, or rather, reappeared, in Dean's life after years. How or why is unknown. Maybe it was due to the sentimental value Dean had for it when it was still a simple object, that feeling of security it gave him every time he put it on and, maybe, a witch must have done it.

✮ Leather Jacket!reader didn't have a name at first, where Dean only called her by pet names, "sweetheart", "princess", "darling", etc., but it got to the point where "Jackie" started to be an ideal name. Or at least for strangers to call her that, because for Dean, she will always be "sweetheart".

✮ Leather Jacket!reader has brown hair, with some strands even lighter than others—it reminds Dean of what his jacket looked like the last time he saw it—and captivating eyes that Dean always gets lost in every time he looks at them.

✮ Leather Jacket!reader smells like what Dean remembers, besides the very clear smell of leather, she has a soft touch of whiskey and something like wet earth. Also, she still has Dean's cologne on her skin, and no matter how hard she tries to get it off, she can't. That cozy, familiar scent is a part of her forever.

✮ Leather Jacket!reader has memories, many memories, that she likes to remember.

✮ Leather Jacket!reader may be cold and blunt, but she also has a sensitive side. But she HATES showing that side of herself with all her might, and only allows herself to do so when Dean is around—and only when she can no longer bottle up her emotions.

✮ Leather Jacket!reader can't really read. She recognizes certain words and sentences, especially the ones Dean always says, but beyond that she can't.

✮ Leather Jacket!reader is basically what Dean wants in a woman. She's independent, strong, feisty, open-minded, and has her heart set on him. A woman who knows that, despite love and affection, the hunt always comes first.

✮ Leather Jacket!reader is fond of Sam and vice versa. She's like the little sister he never had, and she's the person he can tell things to that he'd never tell Dean. She listens and doesn't judge.

✮ Leather Jacket!reader will never agree with anyone but Dean—and sometimes anyone but Sam. #1 ally and defender of the Winchesters, always looking out for the pair of fools.

✮ Leather Jacket!reader has a favorite seat: Dean's lap. And it's really hard to get her to leave it when they're out at bars—not that Dean minds, clearly.

✮ Leather Jacket!reader isn't just a jacket that came to life and turned into a woman. Leather Jacket —Jackie— is a woman who feels, loves, laughs, eats, and cries. She loves learning to read and watching weird movies that Dean or Sam like. She likes to stick her head out the car window and feel the wind blow through her hair. She likes to belt out songs that the Winchesters hate just to annoy them. She likes to stand barefoot in the rain even if she ends up getting sick from it. She likes to pick out her own and Dean's clothes to match each other, or help Sam get better outfits even though, due to their lifestyle, it's not necessary.

✮ Leather Jacket!reader loves being a human being now.

#object!reader #leatherjacket!reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x leatherjacket!reader #dean winchester drabble #dean winchester post #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles #supernatural #the cw #eric kripke #drabble #text post

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cryptictales · 1 year ago

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𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖... (𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

| ・゜゜・．satisfying a request for my best friend, so she can live out her fantasyyyyyy, here’s to you babe. Enjoy.

| pairings; dean x reader

| warnings; insults, aggression, touching, foreplay, smut, after-care

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

“Can you for ONCE, make up your mind on just one fucking thing.”

“First off, dean if you want to keep that tongue of yours, I suggest you watch your tone with me.” she rolled her eyes, returning her attention back to the radio, flipping through the stations.

“How about we just not listen to anything?” Sam chimed in from the backseat.

“Shut up assclown.” They both responded in sync. Not even realizing it.

“Oh, absolutely NOT.”

“Don’t you start dean; Taylor is a goddess.”

“I do not care, this is my car, my music, I will not be forced to listen to this shit.”

She ignored his protests, turning up the dial on the volume as she sang loudly to the lyrics. Knowingly it was just annoying the older Winchester even more.

Once they arrived back at the bunker, his ears radiated from the torture of listening to ‘Taylor Swift’ for the last hour. (Y/N) was still humming to the tune of the last song from one of her favorite albums by Taylor. Sam quickly scurried inside to avoid further arguing between them.

Dean made his way to the kitchen, grasping a cold bottle of beer from the fridge. Popping the cap and chugging the liquid down. (Y/N) walking into the kitchen she brushed past him, grabbing a cold Pepsi.

“Why do you have to purposely keep provoking me?”

“I don’t do anything, that sounds like a ‘you’ problem d-e-a-n-o” she taunted, knowing she was just digging further under his skin. Something about his aggressive nature was attractive, but she never admitted that in the open.

Dean would finish off his beer, his green hues never leaving her. She was annoying but feisty, it was attractive, but he ALSO wouldn’t admit that in the open. He would turn to lean against the countertop. “Pft, brat,” he mumbled.

“Excuse me?”

“What?”

“You want to try saying that to my face?” she turned towards him, placing the can down on the counter. She walked over to him until she was now standing directly in front of him.

Dean licked his lips as he arched a brow, he leaned in slightly closer as he mouthed the words this time slower. “I called you a b-r-a-t” he spoke, his eyes looking her up and down for a moment. The deadly silence between them, although the tension was evident.

“Have you guys seen my---oh nope never mind.” Sam beginning to walk into the kitchen, and then immediately turned around to head back to his bedroom.

“ You talk a big game Dean, but we both know you don’t act on shit.” she bit down on her bottom lip.

Dean had enough of her sassy shit for one night, he grasped her by the throat yanking her up against his lips. The tongue delved between her lips and into her mouth. He would turn her around and force her up onto the counter. His other hand moved up her thigh. Fingers bruising against her flesh. (Y/N) let out a breathy moan when his lips traveled from her own onto her neck, his tongue swirling over her skin and purpling the skin beneath his lips.

(Y/N) pushing him slightly off, her breathing increasing as she wasted no time to slide off her shirt, Dean following her lead as he threw his shirt to the ground. His hands moved back to grasp both sides of her face again, smashing lips together, his hand venturing down from her face to her neck, down her backside to unclasp her bra, letting it fall with ease. His lips moved from her own again to wrap around the nipple of her breasts. Pulling and tugging at it, his other hand pinching at her other nipple, sending stimulation throughout her body. He removed his hand, as he moved to pop the button of her shorts, sliding his hand inside with ease. Meeting the coated wet lace, moving it to the side to see the damage he had caused. “Oh fuck, you’re so wet.”

“Oh, shut up, and just fuck me.” she protested, as her arms wrapped around his neck, kissing along his neckline. She felt his fingers meet her numb, flicking over it made her wince, biting down on her bottom lip as she arched her back slightly. Dean groaning, his erection building behind his jeans, aching to be released and inside of her. (Y/N) would decide to busy her hands working to undo his belt buckle, then his jeans, using her legs to shift them down. Dean worked his fingers, hooking two inside of her while his thumb rubbed over her sensitive numb.

After a few moments of working her up, Dean was over it, he would remove his hand grasping her thighs again as he forced her up to wrap her legs around him, and he would move to slam her down onto the table. Removed his jeans and then boxers fully, ripping off her shorts and then underwear. Climbing on top of her, he would delve his head down to capture her lips again, one hand moving to grasp her thigh pulling it up and around his waist, his other hand moving to line himself up with her entrance.

He was greeted with a welcoming wetness, sliding the tip slowly inside of her. Worked himself to stretch her walls to get used to his length. “Oh fuck.” She moaned out, “I can go slower if you want?” “No, it’s perfect,” she spoke breathlessly. He did this for a few more moments before she started to rock her hips, wanting him to go faster. Dean getting the idea, as he moved to place both her arms above her head, he would thrust himself deep inside of her, feeling her walls enclose around his hardened length. The pair shared quite a few moans and groanings of pleasure, the table rocked as Dean picked up the pace, his hips rolling into her with ease. Skin clapping against one another, “Oh fuck baby, oh fuck right there—” (Y/N) felt him hit her g-spot perfectly, her cries growing louder, not even caring about who else could hear them. The tension was only climbing between them, which was bound to happen.

The damn of her orgasm exploding around him, once her arms were released, she clawed her nails into the sides of his biceps, leaving her own marking. Dean felt the ocean of her orgasm submerge his member. He would make her ride out her high, moving to take her other leg and placing them both up and against her chest, as he pounded deeper inside of her. Feeling his hardened length throbbing for a release, he moaned out when he finally felt his spurt of hot cum shoots deep inside of her, filling her up to the core.

The sweat dripped from his forehead, as he leaned down after releasing her legs, capturing the taste of her salty tasted lips against his own. His hand moving to grasp her throat again, exchanging tongues, he would part his lips from her own.

Gathering their clothes, Dean needed to clean up the mess they made. Knowing Sam would avoid the kitchen for a good couple of days if he knew what had taken place. He would grasp her hand as he moved to take her back to his bedroom. “You can uh shower, and sleep here. I’ll take the couch.”

“No—uh I mean, can you stay?” she asked in a more relaxed tone of voice. Dean would accept, that after the showers of washing off the moment they had together, they both crawled into the bed. He moved to turn off the table side lamp, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her into his chest.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ𝐹𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑇𝑎𝑔𝑠; @lucishellhound @isabellacugliari-blog ☽︎ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

#supernatural fan fic #spn fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction

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cognacdelights · 11 months ago

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play wicked games, win wicked prizes [2]

gif by @spacedean.

my supernatural masterlist

play wicked games, win wicked prizes [1]

summary: she craves male validation. he's the best high she's ever gotten. now they're both stuck in a sick and twisted game of foreplay that neither are willing to lose.

warnings: a whole fuck tonne of daddy issues. self-esteem issues. abandonment issues. i am well aware that this is not a healthy relationship and is for entertainment purposes only. sexual content and themes. praise kink. mentions of death and grief. swearing. alcohol use. religious undertones. small age gap romance.

author's note: sorry that it took so long to post. i had a few issues. but we're here. also, i got carried away. it's now going to be in three parts, but i promise that the final part will be worth the wait. minors have been warned. do not interact.

Dean drummed his fingers against the steering wheel out of boredom. His heavy metal mixtape filled the background as he watched carefully out the windscreen, observing the world before him. He was always watching. Scrutinising. That’s how he managed to stay ten steps ahead — by knowing his environment, noticing when the tiniest of details were off. His eyes scoured every inch of the scene that unfolded in front of him, followed people and their every movement, and noticed every little detail.

The faint smell of chlorine hung in the late-spring air and smoke-like clouds loomed in the distance; there was a flash thunderstorm brewing nearby. The bearded barista’s apron pocket was stuffed full of dollar bills, yet in the six hours that he had been parked there he’d only seen six or seven customers wander inside the upmarket coffee house — and one of them was Sam; he was most likely stealing from the cash register. Short-changing customers and pocketing the difference. And the cops were clearly rattled by the deaths at the boarding school; three patrol cars had cruised past in the last thirty minutes, and there were extra patrols on foot. They were on high alert.

The door to the Impala opened, and Dean instinctively whipped his head towards the passenger side. His malachite eyes found Maggie — dressed in a modest, high-neck blouse and a long, flowing skirt that grazed her ankles. Her dark locks were neatly braided into a sensible bun at the nape of her neck, and a natural layer of make-up cleverly hid the garish welt that stained her cheek. She looked positively prudent. Respectable, even. He almost didn’t recognise her.

“Nice get up,” he teased, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards into a half-smirk as he turned the music down.

Maggie responded with a tight-lipped, sardonic smile — then flipped him her middle finger — as she climbed into the passenger side. She reached into the depths of her leather purse and retrieved two matching pieces of cloth; they were tied neatly into parcels and wreaked of flower-like herbs. She threw them carelessly towards Dean as the door slammed shut behind her.

“Hex bags?” Dean raised an untamed eyebrow. He curiously untied the leather string that held the cloth together and peered inside at the contents. Rabbit’s teeth, bird bones, and lavender.

“Hex bags,” the feisty brunette confirmed. Her fingers found the clear buttons of her blouse and swiftly began unbuttoning — the high-necked garment uncomfortable and suffocating around her throat. “Matching, best friend hex bags. I found them in both their dorm rooms.” Oh, the irony of a witch in a Catholic boarding school.

Dragging his tongue along the dry ridges of his bottom lip as his gaze followed her quick-moving fingers, he watched in anticipation as she exposed her chest to him once again without any hint of hesitation. As the black, lace fringes of her bralette were exposed he cleared his throat and diverted his attention back to the contents of the hex bags. “So, uh—” he twiddled with the bird bones, fighting the urge to take her half-naked body in once again, “—that’s great. We just find the jealous third wheel and case closed.”

“If only it was that easy.” Maggie ridded herself of the god-awful, itchy blouse. She clumsily kicked off the kitten heels that had rubbed her heels to glory and pushed the waistband of the skirt down her thighs. “Missy Braun was a resident Regina George, and Imogan was her Gretchen Weiners.”

Dean peered towards her out of the corner of his eyes and simply blinked; Maggie may as well have been speaking a foreign language.

Rolling her umber eyes at his lack of pop culture knowledge, she explained, “Missy and Imogen terrorised the school.” Her long, pleated skirt fell into a crumpled pile in the footwell and was soon joined by her tan-coloured tights. “There are about three-hundred potential Sabrina the Teenage Witch’s on roll that those girls have humiliated in some kind of way, and we only have two days to find her. They’re shipping them all back to Mommy and Daddy for an early summer vacation come Friday.”

“Looks like we got some work to do,” he mused in his usual, sarcastic tone. It was then that he caught sight of her in the rear-view mirror — round ass shamelessly in the air and covered only by the thin string of her thong as she leant over the seat, reaching for her clothes in the backseat. Jesus Christ, she really was going to be the death of him. He adjusted himself in his seat, finding a more comfortable position that kept his semi-erection a secret.

“Where’s Sam?” she questioned casually. Maggie had noticed the empty coffee cup that had his name and order scrawled across the side, discarded in the cup holder, and the noticeable lack of his presence. There was an unmentioned tension that hung in the air between them; it surrounded them, holding them in a tight coil and squeezing until the pressure overflowed in way of a petty sibling squabble. Even though Maggie had grown up with the Winchester Brothers, their bickering still drove her to the point of insanity.

“Gone for a walk.”

“Okay—” she twisted her half-naked body back around and slid into a sitting position, t-shirt and shorts in hand, and asked directly, “—what the hell is going on with you two?”

“Nothing,” Dean deflected, folding his arms across his muscular chest in an obvious display of defence, “we’re fine.”

Maggie sent him an unrelenting glare. One that Dean was no match for. He broke instantly with a long exhale and threw his head back against the leather seat.

He was quiet for a second longer, formulating the words in his mind. “He shacked up with Amelia when I was in purgatory,” Dean admitted with a careful choice of words — cleverly calculated to keep his deepest and darkest emotions from surfacing.

“I know.” That was all she said. I know. It was tactical really. She knew Dean Winchester far too well. In fact, she knew the man better than he knew himself, and this was one of his best self-defence tactics. Give just about enough to satisfy them without giving anything away at all. Keep everybody at a distance so when you give an inch, they’ll think it’s a mile. But that didn’t wash with Maggie. Maggie knew better. Maggie used the same damn tactics herself.

She merely shimmied a pair of ripped, denim shorts up her thighs.

It took several moments of an awkward silence before Dean broke once more. “So—” he reluctantly delved further, “—instead of looking for me, he was holed up in a motel room doing the horizontal line dance with Florence Nightingale.”

“First of all—” Maggie pulled a t-shirt that he distinctly recognised as being one of his own over her head, “—Florence Nightingale was a human nurse, not a dog nurse. You’re thinking of Dr Doolittle.” She tied the hem at her abdomen into a crop. “And secondly, I know.”

“If you know all of this, then why are you asking me what’s going on?” His head swivelled to face her abruptly in frustration.

“Because you’re being an asshole, and you’re fobbing me off with some bullshit excuse to shut me up,” she answered, casually shrugging her shoulders. Tugging at the elastic in her hair, she released the braided bun and combed her fingers through her long, sleek locks. “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, Dean.”

He threw his head back against the seat once more, rubbing the palms of his hands over his face. A loud, defeated groan echoed throughout the Impala; this was the last conversation he wanted to have with a half-mast hard on. “Can we just drop this already?”

Of course, in true Maggie May fashion, she ignored his very obvious pleas to leave this subject well alone. “You’re hurt that he didn’t come looking for you, aren’t you?” she spit-balled her thoughts on the situation, “you’re upset that he moved on without you.”

Dean sent her a look. It was one that she couldn’t quite interpret. A cocktail of emotions swirled around his tired eyes as they glazed over ever so subtly. His stubble-lined lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke, voice considerably timid. “I wouldn’t have stopped until I’d gotten Sam back if he was the one stuck in purgatory.”

“Dean—” her whole demeanour shifted, softened, as she scooted closer to him. Her arm rested atop the back of the seat and her body twisted towards him, her legs haphazardly hanging over his. “There’s a few things that you need to remember here. Sam isn’t you. Your childhood was a lot different to Sam’s. You were raised to protect him at all costs — hell, you raised him yourself. You weren’t just his brother. You were Mom and Dad too. Yeah, Sam was taught family above everything, but he didn’t have the responsibility of someone else’s life in his hands.”

He watched cautiously as she leant forwards, the gentle palm of her hand resting on his shoulder. It was such a simple gesture, but the warmth of her touch comforted him immensely. “It just—” he really did struggle with emotions, even if it was easier with Maggie, “—feels like a punch in the gut.”

“You know, deep down, that Sam never wanted this life. He went to Stanford. He applied to law school. He wanted to be a lawyer, and get married, and buy a house with a white picket fence, and have two point five kids. The whole shebang. He wanted a normal life. And Sam grieved in the same way that a normal person would. He put you to rest and built a new life for himself, and he just so happened to find someone that he really cares about in the process. I might not like her, or agree with what he did, but I understand why he did it. He made a normal life for himself.”

Gradually, he melted into her delicate touch; he found solace in her words and the strokes of her fingers against his skin. He knew that what she was saying made sense, and he knew that she was right, but it didn’t curb the anguish that consumed the very pit of his stomach.

“Sam loves you very much Dean, and he idolises you. Hell, that’s probably why he left this woman that he loves to jump back into a life that he doesn’t want. To be with his big brother. And yeah, he probably feels guilty for not looking for you. For being happy with Amelia whilst you were fighting for your life in purgatory. But you can’t blame him, or even hate him, for going after what he really wanted. He thought you were dead. We all did. You just disappeared. How was he supposed to know where you were, or what happened to you?”

Dean simply exhaled in response. Words were too difficult in that moment. Mostly because everything that Maggie was saying was right. She had rationalised everything for him, plain and simple for him to understand. Now he just had to come to terms with it.

“I’m not taking his side—” Maggie reaffirmed with a tender tone, “—I’m actually on your side.” She dragged her finger carefully down the length of his neck and traced the glimmering metal chain of his cross necklace, toying with it. “I’m on the side of you not holding onto all this resentment and hatred for your brother, that I know you love very deeply. I’m on the side of letting whatever this right now is go and moving on with your own life. You’ll regret it.”

“And what about you?” his eyes flicked up to meet her own.

A reticent laugh spilled from her throat, “that’s a lot to unpack and we’ve had enough chick flick moments for today.” She couldn’t ignore the obviously elephant in the room any longer that she herself was harbouring a stubborn grudge against the youngest Winchester, too. But she was going to give it her damned best effort. She chose to ignore the disapproving shake of his head that she’d earned.

The fox-eyed brunette reached upwards and placed a loving peck against his cheek before he could respond, signifying the end of their conversation. Her gentle lips lingered against his skin, replaced only with a fervent burning sensation. She untangled her bruised legs from his body and shuffled back into the passenger side.

Dean gave her thigh an appreciative squeeze. A silent thank you, and a hopeful reminder that he was there to listen whenever she was ready.

Maggie’s lips twitched ever so slightly into a smile as she peered out the window. Suddenly, she was one with the clouds. That familiar jolt of electric that she felt every time he touched her.

Maggie and The Winchesters had committed numerous crimes over the years. Breaking and Entering. Impersonating a Federal Agent. Grand Theft Auto. There had to be a case for kidnapping in there somewhere with all the times they’d shoved a demon into their trunk and hit gas. However, stealing confidential information about private school girls and proceeding to stalk them in every area of their sordid lives might just take the biscuit. If anything, this was the one that was going to get them caught. This was the one that was going to stick. It didn’t look good from any angle, and there wasn’t a single explanation that was going to make it any less creepy.

Maggie sat in the leather armchair — her bare leg pulled up in front of her and her spine arched at an unhealthy angle as she scrolled through the social media site. An open, room-temperature beer stood beside her laptop, always within touching distance, with a crumpled-up register of all three hundred and sixteen students beside it. Condensation from her thawing beer had dribbled onto the paper, staining and blurring the ink of her rambling notes. They would only make sense to her anyway.

Sam perched opposite her, fixated on his own laptop. His long hair was dishevelled and tucked behind his ears, and his pin-strip shirt had been unbuttoned to reveal the navy t-shirt beneath. His own beer had gone relatively untouched, now flat and bordering on stale.

“Well, it looks like the field hockey team were out of town during both murders,” his smooth voice filled the room, airing out his findings. His bloodshot eyes peeled away from his brightly lit screen long enough to meet with hers and capture her attention. “We can rule out an Emmy Palladino, Victoria Harding, Shannon Brackenridge, Kayleigh Dougherty, and a Fallon Carpenter. There’s others but they’re not tagged.”

In one swift motion, she placed the pen between her teeth and pulled the ball point free. She searched through the seemingly endless list of suspect names and crossed them off as they appeared.

The harsh taps of Sam’s fingers hitting against the keys sounded through the motel room. Then, he spoke again, reeling off another list of names at an unhelpful speed, “—ah. Verity Montrose, Daphne Alcott, Annaleise—”

“Slow the fuck down,” Maggie grumbled as she tried to keep up with him. Her pen scratching against the thin paper, and the hard wood of the table, filled the awkward silence between.

Until it didn’t. And Sam was left uncomfortably waiting for permission to continue. He looked anywhere but the laptop screen before him as an icky feeling swirled in his stomach; there was just something about digitally stalking teenaged schoolgirls that made him feel dirty. Even though it was rationalised as being a part of the job, it still wasn’t his favourite thing to do.

“You know—” she piped up, popping the cap back on her pen with a purpose, “— you really hurt him, right?”

“Him, or you?” Sam questioned. His dark, thick eyebrows furrowed together, almost accusingly as he stared towards the petite brunette.

“Both,” Maggie admitted candidly. Her posture straightened as her shoulders fell backwards in a defensive move and a blazing glare bounced back towards him. “But this is about Dean.”

“Yeah—” he let out a breath, unfamiliar with the vicious heat of Maggie’s anger being directed towards him, “—I sorta gathered that. He’s giving me the cold shoulder and benching me on cases like he’s Dad.” He sat back, his back falling against the stiffness of the chair. “He won’t talk to me.”

“It’s Dean, he isn’t going to.”

Sam shrugged his broad shoulders out of exasperation, a look of helplessness etched into his fuzzy features. “I don’t know what he wants from me anymore,” he admitted solemnly, “I left Amelia for him. I jumped back on the road at the drop of his hat. I gave up my job, and the first place that I’ve called home in… forever. I don’t know what else he wants me to do.”

“He’s a stubborn asshole sometimes—” Maggie agreed, “—but it only ever comes from a good place.”

“You’re telling me?” he let out an indignant scoff, his voice raising to a pitch he never thought he’d take with her, “—if he’s not digging me out for stupid things, he’s giving me the silent treatment. He won’t listen to anything that I say. Everything is done Dean’s way, in Dean’s time, exactly how Dean wants it. Whether it’s right or not. I’m almost thirty and still being treated like a child. He’s no better than Dad at this point.” His boot-clad foot propped against the wooden leg of the table as he leaned backwards in his chair. “I should have known you would take his side. You always do.”

“This isn’t about taking sides. This is about you two not killing each other so we can get this job done and move on with our damn lives.” She was surprisingly calm in her response, despite her defensive flags being up. The very tips of her ears tinged an angry shade of rouge and her pruned brows dipped inwards. Her tone wasn’t it’s usual melody by any means — and her tongue dripped with poison — but she refrained from raising her voice. “Dean raised you. Dean dragged your ass up and did a damn good job of it given the circumstances. So, excuse him if the lines between brother and father are a little blurred here.”

Sam ran his fingers through his long locks, frustration evident in the way his face contorted into a frown. He opened his mouth to reply but was abruptly silenced when she continued; she wasn’t afraid to speak over him and make sure that her opinion was heard.

“You know, Dean told me that he wouldn’t have stopped until he found you. He would die for you — hell, he has died for you. He sold his soul for you. He went to Hell for you. And you just gave up on him at the first hurdle.” Maggie grabbed her beer and took a long sip, allowing the rage that was slowly building in the pit of her stomach to subside before proceeding. “Dean has a right to be upset that the brother that he loves, that he gave his life for, didn’t even bother to go looking for him. He has a right to be upset that the same sentiment wasn’t returned.”

“Maggie, that’s not what happ—”

“I’m not finished,” she cut him off curtly. Her dark, cinnamon eyes bore into his as she spoke soberly. “And he’s right to bench you from the job. You’ve been out of the game for a year. You’re out of practice and your head isn’t in the game. You’re still caught up on Amelia and that’s going to get somebody killed. The best place for you right now is doing research. And it’s just tough shit that you don’t like that.”

He was left in a pensive silence; she left him to soak up her words, to digest them fully. And he did. Sam saw things a little clearer, but that didn’t mean he liked what he saw. He often liked to live in a world where Dean, his father, and the lifestyle that he had been born into were the root cause of everything that had gone wrong in his life. And, most times, one or the other were to blame. However, Sam often failed to accept his own responsibility in things. After all, it was easier to blame Dean and his father.

Although, after several, drawn-out seconds, she couldn’t resist spilling the words that flooded her brain once more. “Maybe I am taking his side—” she contemplated aloud, “—but, this time, he deserves it.”

“So, what does he want?” he asked genuinely, “an apology?”

Maggie merely shrugged her petite shoulders. “An apology wouldn’t be the worst place to start.”

He raised an untamed eyebrow as he questioned cautiously, “and what about you?”

She stared at her beer on the table. The label was soggy and peeling off the side of the bottle. Small, carbonated bubbles rose from the very bottom of the bottle to the quarter line, where the liquid stopped. “I want the last year of my life back,” she told him. The viper had retreated and had left a door mouse in it’s place.

“Mags—” Sam breathed out unsteadily, still feeling the heat of their exchange, “—I’m sorry.”

“You turfed me out on my ass and told me to git,” Maggie recounted with a detached tone. Her cold gaze peeked above the rim of the bottle and pierced through him. “Dean was gone and you just left me. Alone. You, of all freaking people, left me alone. It took me weeks to catch up with you in Texas. Weeks. And when I finally did, you tossed me out like I was some piece of trash. I had no one, and I needed you. But you were too busy cosying up with Amelia. You didn’t give a shit about me anymore.”

“You ever thought that, maybe, I didn’t want to be found?” he spat back with sharp words, each syllable lacerating her diminished defence. He dragged his tongue along the upper row of his teeth. “I was grieving for my brother in my own way, and that didn’t involve you, Maggie.”

She was overcome with emotion. A fuck tonne of heavy, painful emotions. All of the grief that had consumed her — strangled her, choked her, suffocated her — over the past year had finally come to a head. It had churned her stomach sick for twelve long months; it had burned the inside of her throat; and it had decayed her insides until she was nothing but a walking meat sack of anguish and despair. Not anymore. She was about to expel that demon.

“So was I,” she screeched, her bottom lip rippling ever so slightly as her eyes burned with salt-laden tears, “I was grieving Dean, too.” Her chest heaved up and down as she took deep breaths; exhaustion poured out of her from every angle as all of the pent-up emotions from the past year began to creep to the surface and seep out.

“That’s enough—” Dean’s gravel-like tone filled the motel room as he appeared in the doorway, a take-out bag full of waffle fries and chicken tenders clutched against his chest, “—the both of you.”

The palms of her hands pressed against the table as she pushed herself to standing. Maggie made for the motel room door, a well of tears fighting to escape against the barricade of her waterline. Her heart thudded tenfold against her chest when she felt his ring-cladded fingers wrap around her wrist as she attempted to slip past him, and a high-pitched ringing blared through her ears. She simply shook her head at him, and slid herself from his grip, before disappearing out the door.

Maggie had vowed to sleep in her truck that night. The stubborn, defiant side of her had reared its ugly head and was seemingly there to stay. A permanent scowl had etched itself into her fair features — her full, rose lips pulled into a downturned pout and deep-rooted frown lines crinkled her forehead. Her umber eyes were reddened from the sting of tears, and her flushed cheeks were stained with streaks of strays that slipped past her reinforced defences. An empty cone of waffle fries and a half-used barbecue dip occupied her passenger side seat, as an empty beer bottle sat, in pride of place, in the cup holder.

However, as the clock ticked over into the am and the temperatures ran cruelly bitter, Maggie begrudgingly relinquished. She tip-toed back into the dark motel room and slipped into bed, beside Dean. She was careful with her movements, slow and steady, as she lifted the quilted blanket and nestled herself inside.

Dean stirred when he felt the spring-filled mattress dip, yet his eyes remained closed. A shiver danced along his spine in an elegant ballet sequence as she burrowed her ice-like toes between his legs, pressing them against his calves. His sweltering skin burned at the contact and felt her feet thawing against him. God, he hated with an undying passion when she did that.

“Maggie May—” he let out a low grumble, “—get them goddamn feet off me.”

“It’s just until they warm up,” she whispered back, her voice dainty and quiet. It was never just until they warmed up.

His burly arm casually stretched across the flattened pillows in an open invitation to the petite brunette. She currently resided on the opposite side of the bed, clinging onto the edge of the mattress. He knew that she would come to him in her own time — when she was good and ready. She always did. However, for the sake of an extra half an hour of much-needed shut-eye, there was no harm in hurrying that along. “Get here,” he rasped deeply.

Maggie shuffled closer, nestling into his side. As she laid her cheek against the bare skin of his chest, it burned. Dean emanated heat, from everywhere. Her arm lay casually across his stomach as she burrowed her feet further between his legs. She felt the gravelly vibrations of his disapproving grunts as a small smile curled the corners of her lips upwards.

The palm of his hand found her back — his thumb gently caressing the bumps of her spine. Slow, tender movements eventually faded into nothing as he fell back asleep. The sound of his soft breaths eventually turned to gruff snores.

When Maggie woke in the morning, it was abrupt. She turned herself over, eyes remained closed as she desperately grasped onto the frayed strings of a peaceful slumber. She poised her bare leg, ready for her thigh to fall over Dean’s thick, muscular ones. But it didn’t. All she felt was the cool crumples of the bed sheet, where he once laid. There were no chainsaw-like snores reverberating around the room. There were no cadenced breaths that fanned against her forehead, tippling down to the very tip of her nose. There were no calloused palms caressing the lengths of her half-naked body. There was no feverish heat radiating from his side of the bed.

Her sleep-filled eyes peeled open instantly and she propped herself up by her elbows. Her heartbeat pounded with rapid thuds and her stomach churned with bile — forcing it up into the crevices of her throat. Static coated her exposed skin, making the hairs stand on end. In a bleary haze, she scanned the room and her gaze fell on the nightstand. Car keys. Phone. Gun. All still laying, haphazardly discarded, exactly where Dean had left them. A long exhale deflated her lungs as she allowed her eyes to wander the motel room further, feeling the trepidation slowly leaving her body; it seeped out through her pores, evaporated off her skin into the musty motel air. His boots lay at the foot of the leather armchair and his jacket lay in a rumpled heap over the arm.

She let out another deep breath and let the relief overcome her. It gave her more clarity as she spied the harsh, white lighting emerging from the cracks in the doorway to the bathroom. The sound of the running shower soon filled the room, alongside the grating echoes of Sam’s snores.

There was something that that just drew Maggie to him. It was an ever-present presence, a sensation, a feeling. The invisible string. The slightest of tugs had her gravitating towards him, and vice versa. And that moment wasn’t any different. She felt the ever-familiar tug in the very pit of her stomach, and she answered to it. There was no use in fighting with it.

Climbing out of bed, she made her way across the motel room. Her feet were bare and padded lightly against the dull carpet until she reached the bathroom door. Carefully, she turned it and slipped inside. Sam remained sleeping not so peacefully, and none the wiser.

It was considerably warmer than outside in the main living space; the room fogged over with tepid steam as condensation laced the mirror. Maggie stepped onto the apricot bathmat and slinked out of her sleepwear. The old, logo-printed t-shirt and her plaid shorts ended up in a crumpled pile on the floor. Her lemon-coloured thong skimmed her bruised thighs as it dropped to the floor, and she stepped out, embracing the nakedness.

Maggie slowly peeled back the curtain and stepped inside the tub.

Dean turned to face her — his eyebrow arched questioningly, and his body draped with glistening water droplets, “can I help you?” His voice was low and scratchy; just how Maggie liked it. He’d caught the soft click of the door as it opened, and the blurry outline of her silhouette as she undressed herself out of the corner of his eye.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” she answered with a reticent tone. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as she felt a wave of nervousness; Maggie was in a newfound state of rawness. She was riding the wave of raw, untouched emotions and with that came a raw sense of vulnerability. She spoke her truth, even if hesitant. It was as though a dam had been broken the night prior, and all the pent-up emotions had been released.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he told her, stepping aside, “I thought you could use the sleep.”

Her slender figure slipped past him, under the water stream. Immediately, she was overcome with a warm and comforting feeling. Her dark lashes fluttered closed, and her muscles relaxed, her shoulders dropping backwards. She took a moment to relish the peacefulness of it all; the water pattered against her back at a heavenly pressure, and the warmth of the water felt like a loving embrace.

Dean took the opportunity to admire her naked self. Her breasts were full and pert — her taut nipples a glorious rose colour as the silver bars reflected under the harsh lights. Her curves were spectacular as an hourglass figure carved out her waistline. Her thighs were thick and juicy, and her pussy was freshly shaven. She truly was a sight to behold; full lips parted ever so slightly, dark locks slicked back, and a hint of a flush rouging her cheeks. He would savour this moment for the duration of his lifetime with several mental polaroids. Mentally framed and displayed in his Hall of Fame. He’d waited years for this moment, and it suddenly all became worth it.

Feeling the sear of his lust-filled eyes tearing her naked body apart, she opened her eyes and met his gaze. “I thought you’d left me,” she admitted quietly, chewing involuntarily on her bottom lip.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured. She needed that.

Dean reached his thumb upwards and, with one gentle motion, pulled her bottom lip from between her teeth. He then, ever so tenderly, placed a finger against her shoulder — guiding her to face away from him. She complied without question in her fragile state. His ring-clad finger meandered slowly down the length of her spine, until he reached her rounded ass. He wanted to give it a rough and playful squeeze — digging the crescent-shaped tips of his nails onto her fair skin and leaving his mark. But now wasn’t the time for rough; now was the time for tenderness. Maggie was delicate in more ways than one, and she needed soft. She needed comfort. She needed to feel his presence.

“You know—” he began, running his fingers through the lengths of her wet hair, “—you should take your own advice every once in a while.” He combed her chestnut wisps until they were sopping wet beneath the warm streams of water.

“What do you mean?” Maggie asked in response. She allowed herself to indulge in the feeling of the tepid water running along her body; it was calming — restorative even. It was as though she was washing away the memories of her emotional outburst from the previous night.

“You should let this thing with Sam go. Not for him, but for you.” Dean squeezed a generous dollop of her fruity-smelling shampoo onto the palm of his hand before massaging it through her hair. The tips of his nails grazed against her scalp in a gentle massage, working the product into a lather. “You told me to do it for me because it’s bad to hold onto so much anger and resentment. That same sentiment goes for you. It’ll eat you alive in the same way it would me, Mags.”

Her long lashes fluttered closed as she melted under his touch; the way in which his fingers worked her scalp scratched at her soul. “I can’t—” she deflated with a saddened exhale, “—I just can’t.” Her head tipped backwards as his masterful fingers found the sweet spot, a soft purring noise slipping from between her parted lips. “He was all I had left, and he still chose to leave me. I’ve spent the last year alone because of him. I needed him. I needed you.”

“Hey—” his palm carefully covered her forehead as he rinsed the shampoo from her roots, “—I’m here now.”

“But nobody was here this past year—” her voice cracked, making way for the heartache that she had held so deep inside of her, “—nobody was here when I needed them the most. Nobody was here when I bumped into my father on a hunt. Nobody was here when I was stabbed by a demon and was laying in the hospital as a Jane Doe for weeks. Nobody was here on the anniversary of Bobby’s death. Nobody was here on my freaking birthday. But Sam should have been. He promised me he would always be here.”

He continued rinsing down to the ends of her sopping locks, ensuring that he had gotten all the suds. “I agree. He should have been.” Placing the showerhead back in the holder, he picked up the bottle of conditioner. He squeezed out another generous blob and started running it through the ends of her hair. “Just think about it, yeah?”

Maggie stayed silent. She didn’t want to make any promises that she couldn’t keep — and if there was one thing about Maggie, the girl could hold a damn grudge.

Dean didn’t push her; he knew that would only push her in the opposite direction. Maggie did as Maggie pleased — or Maggie did as what made Maggie feel the least shitty about herself. She may know him better than he knows himself, but he knew her just as well. He knew her like the back of his hand; he knew the games that she played and exactly why she played them. Sometimes it was just a case of playing into them games. Sometimes it was anything to put a smile back on her face, and pull her out of the gloomy funk that she’d gotten herself in.

He simply rinsed the condition from her long, luscious strands. He took extra care to ensure that he’d got it all before reaching for her loofah. He lathered it with a sweet-smelling body wash and began scrubbing down her skin. He ghosted over her petite shoulders and arms, caressing each breast with an acute attention before continuing down to her stomach. He could feel the scald of her attentive eyes as she watched his every move. He continued down her body — seizing the opportunity to fondle her pert ass and exploring every inch of her juicy thighs. He reached her lilac-painted toes before trailing the loofah all the way back up. He skimmed the inside of her leg, grazed the mound of her pussy and past her naval, and brushed across her rigid nipple. She was enjoying that.

Once more, he detached the showerhead from the tiled wall and aimed it at her body. The pressure was just right as the stream hit against her shoulders, washing the suds away. He moved down to her ample breasts. A haughty smirk quirked the corners of his lips upwards as a low hum vibrated through her chest — the water hitting perfectly against her pierced buds. He took a half step closer to her as he slowly swirled the jet around her nipple, her back pressing against his sculpted chest. His hand snaked slowly around the concave of her waistline and settled against her hipbone as he continued downwards. He gently rinsed down her thighs.

Then, with one soft but commanding movement, he nudged her bruised thighs apart.

Maggie, consumed by the drips of dopamine coursing through her, obliged immediately. She spread her thighs apart, just enough to give him access to her aching cunt.

“Atta girl,” Dean praised with his usual, gravel-like tone. He aimed the water jet between her legs, letting the stream hit against her.

She sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden contact. A familiar tingle crept along her spine and down into the very tips of her fingers. Her skin tinged with the fire that she had been keeping at bay — locked within the dark, dingy caverns of her soul. Her eyes fluttered shut as heavy breaths slipped from between her chewed-up lips. The jet circled around her clit in lazy ministrations, forcing a strangled whine to claw it’s way out of her throat. She caught it with her hand, pressing her dainty fingers against her lips in a knee-jerk reaction.

Arching her back at an unholy angle, she threw her head back against the robust muscles of her shoulder. Her mahogany tresses splayed across his tattooed chest as her hand reached up to grip onto his collar bone. She needed an anchor as the tension began to build up inside her. Her fingernails sunk into his wet skin, scraping and scratching until she broke the barrier. Heavy, sordid pants spilled from her mouth as the metaphorical rope began to coil around itself in the very pit of her stomach. It knotted once, twice, three times as her hips bucked candidly against the water stream — hitting her most sensitive of nerves.

“Dean,” his name rolled so effortlessly off her tongue with a salacious whine, her voice barley above a whisper. Her breath-like pants grew faster, and the metaphorical rope pulled tighter and tighter. Until her hand found her mouth once again, capturing the sinful moans that carelessly spewed from between her lips. Her curvaceous hips rocked back and forth in frantic motions, her back leveraged against his solid body, as she rode out her orgasmic high.

Dean eventually placed the showerhead back against the wall when she let out an overwhelmed whimper. His calloused palm still gripped her waist, keeping her naked body pressed against his own. His jade eyes peered downwards at the beauty before him, brimming with pride at the mess he had created; her cheeks were stained a fervent rose and her chest rose and fell in a rapid cadence as her lungs desperately pleaded for air.

Maggie nuzzled her head into the crook of his neck, her eyes still closed. She felt the warmth of his lips as he placed a soft kiss into her hairline. Oxytocin and dopamine drowned everything surrounding her out. Everything but him. For several moments, the only sound she could hear was the gentle thuds of his heartbeat; the only thing that she could feel was the delicate traces of his fingertips against her hipbone; the only thing to exist was him.

Then, she felt a surge of adrenaline and her natural instincts took over. No thoughts or considerations of the consequences — just pure desire. She pulled herself from his tight embrace and turned on the tips of her toes. Her fix-like eyes gazed upwards into his as her arms wrapped around his neck, her bare silhouette pressing against his own. Her full lips ghosted against his, caressed them with a sweet embrace. It was nothing like either of them had anticipated; it was loving, and tender, and fragile. She continued with her soft touch as his hands clung onto her waistline — securing her in place. Their tongues moved together as one. Exploring. Tasting. Embracing.

After what felt like a hundred lifetimes, Dean retreated slowly. He brushed the pad of his thumb over her jawline. “We better get you back to Mary Magdalene’s, Sister Maggie. We’ve got a witch to find.”

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester fic #dean winchester smut #dean x y/n #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #jensen ackles

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angelsdean · 6 months ago

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so far, sam's POV:

dean is belligerently drunk, not working the case at all while sam does all the heavy legwork and interviews.

dean is flirting with "some feisty little wildcat" that he's about to "reel in"

said woman is depicted as being "trashy" in sam's eyes, he's giving her Major judgy looks. the camera (Sam's eyes) "PAN up fishnet stockings and a tight miniskirt to reveal a sloppy drunk, heavily made up blonde girl"

starla is draped all over dean and then coughing and gagging as she struggles to hold down her liquor.

Dean then allegedly tells Sam she "has a sister" as if this is some porn fantasy. And this is SAM'S POV.

It's a deeply unflattering image that Sam paints, revealing a lot abt what Sam thinks of Dean and the women that associate with him. And Dean is quick to interrupt at this beat because that's not how it happened.

Now do I think Dean's perspective is wholly accurate and truthful too? No! The whole point is to show how people's limited perspective and biases will remember the same events differently. What happened is probably something closer to the middle of the two stories. Dean flirting with a pretty woman who is equally interested in him. Them having a good conversation. Sam working the case in a more traditional sense while Dean works the case the way he often does, playing up the charm and trying to get information organically through conversation rather than interrogation.

#vics spn rewatch #spn 2x15 #brother conflicts

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scarletqueenx · 15 days ago

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ANTI-POSSESSION TATTOO ! READER

⛤"but I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss, I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs"⛤

⛤ anti-possession tattoo!reader's skin is filled with curve lines of black ink that reflect her former shape as a tattoo. Dean loves to trace his fingers over them, which makes her tickle.

⛤ She hates demons. Her skin literally burns when she gets too close to one, and her protective instincts over Dean instantly kick in, making her look like his own personal bodyguard (not like he needed one really, but he still appreciates).

⛤ She's as feisty as a cat, and just as affectionate. She loves to lie next to Dean, placing her hand on his chest, right where she used to be in her tattoo form. The first night as a human, she snuck into Dean's bed in the middle of the night, curling up next to him like a scared kitten. Dean could have even sworn he heard her purr.

⛤ She suffers from hypergraphia, the intense desire and compulsion to draw. In fact, for her first few months as a human, this was her only form of communication with the Winchesters.

⛤ She's a girl of few words and many drawings, as she only speaks to those she trusts most. Dean was the first person she ever spoke a word to in her own voice, as he was the only one she felt comfortable doing so.

⛤ Black is her signature color. You'll never see her wearing anything other than black. It's the color of her ink, and that best defines her.

⛤ you can call her Ink if you like or as Dean calls her sometimes, Starry

a/n: this is my small contribution to the object!reader verse started by @daylighted, i've been seeing a lot of object!readers on tumblr and i felt the need to create my own

p.s. thinking of posting my dean's ring!reader if nobody else is doing it of course

#supernatural #spn #object!readers #anti-possession tattoo!reader #dean winchester #jensen ackles #dean winchester x object!reader #dean winchester x anti-possession tattoo!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #object!reader

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deanbrainrotwritings · 1 year ago

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— BORN FOR LOVING YOU

REQUEST : “Omg do you think you Could do the whole gets caught reading smut but with Sam instead please!!!” — @bookobsessedfreak

PAIRING : sam winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : dean winchester

WARNINGS : nsfw(18+), fluff, smut, fingering, praise kink, pussy slapping, cum kisses, unprotected sex (Sam’s too smart for that, no smooth brains allowed), rough sex, dom!sam, awkwardness

WORD COUNT : 5.3k

A/N : surprise for the sam girlies! title from big thief’s song. i never imagined I’d end up writing for sam, but hey, he’s so silly, I loved writing him. saw the book Chasing Love by Kat T. Masen on an Instagram reel LOL and it inspired this. I hope this is what you were expecting <333

Sam knew you loved reading. He never asked what it was read despite the obviously exotic covers on the books you carried around.

He stared at you when you opened them up shamelessly in front of him, watching the expressions on your face. He noticed when you’d bite your lip at a certain page, the slack-jawed focus when you really settled into it, the consideration as your eyes trailed away after rereading a section, and the confusion that furrowed your brows at other times.

He thought you looked cute. The blush that settled over your face was hard to hide, as the soft locks of your hair curtained your face. Other times you’d giggle, a sound that he loved hearing from you, and you’d slam the book down, startling him and Dean. Then, you’d compose yourself with a polite smile and a clear of your throat when Sam raised a brow at you. When Dean tried to take the book from you to see what excited you, you’d snatch it up off the table away from his grasp and he’d stick his tongue out at you before refocusing on the movie he was watching on his laptop.

Sam liked those moments: while he was absorbed in his research, you were reading and giggling, and Dean would roar out a laugh at the videos he’d watch. It was comfortable to be surrounded by his girlfriend and his brother, at peace for a few moments at least.

You were secretive about your books at first, and if it wasn’t for Dean, you never would’ve started to be comfortable about it.

Dean was like a brother to you and you loved him to death.

He found out about your book when he dug into your bag after you asked him to take a shirt out for you after your shower. When he felt the hard surface of a book, he was intrigued. Why would you carry around a book in your bag? He’d never seen you read, never saw you write in a journal, so he pulled it out for a quick peek, but he instead began to read the book which was underneath the stack of shirts you kept inside.

You’d stepped outside the bathroom in annoyance, shouting at Dean for taking so long. You stared at Dean with wide eyes and red face when you saw the familiar book in his hands. He’d closed it and then laughed at you, settling it down deep inside your bag, before handing you a shirt.

“You and Sammy must have lots of fun…” he’d joked thoughtlessly, then he grimaced when you snatched the shirt from him with a glare. “Actually, I don’t wanna think about that,” he frowned and shook his head, turning away when you silently asked for privacy.

“I’m never asking you for a favour,” you grumbled, throwing the towel to the floor when you put her clothes on.

“What? Why?” Dean complained, turning to look at you carefully. “So you read porn? Whatever, man! Have you seen the magazines in my room? Or the porn I leave open on Sam’s computer?” At that, he snickered and you gave him a pointed look, starting to brush your partially dry hair to detangle it.

He sighed and sat down on the bed in front of you, biting his lip as he thought about what to say. You were pretty shy sometimes, but feisty, he didn’t know why you’d be ashamed or embarrassed about porn. It’s not like you were a virgin, or like you and Sam hadn’t done the deed plenty of times.

“Do you really think me or Sam actually care that you wanna read stuff like this?” He asked, watching you slowly move your gaze to his. “Sam has porn under his bed, I’m sure you know, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Neither of us are gonna judge you, okay?”

“I know that,” you chuckled, shrugging. You set the brush down and sighed, thinking about why you feel embarrassed by it when you know how weird Dean’s taste in porn is and that Sam isn’t as much of a prude as everyone thinks he is. “I guess… maybe I’m not very comfortable with myself and sex.. I don’t know, it’s weird,” you admitted, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Hey,” Dean said, getting you to look up at him, “that’s fine. You just gotta get used to it, and uh, seriously, don’t hide what you like, okay? I’m sure it’ll make stuff between you and Sam… uh, spicier? Ah, shit, that’s gross.. maybe uh, more transparent? You know what I mean,” Dean rambled, slapping your knee very hard.

You laughed and shoved him away, considering his words as he got up with a chuckle to get back to cleaning the guns.

That was the start of your journey with being comfortable about sex. It really made you feel better. At first, as you tested the waters, you’d join in on whatever sexual innuendo Dean dropped, he’d been stunned by your lewdness, but he laughed anyway. Sam chuckled softly, for the first time, and it made Dean pick a fight with him for it.

You and Dean became close, definitely started to compete on who could be dirtier, with Sam either uncomfortable or red in the face from the things that were coming out of your mouth. Dean encouraged you, dared you to tease Sam, confident and sultry, until you left him speechless, flustered, and horny.

It was a game for you now, something fun and without shame. You’d never been more comfortable with yourself and sex like you were now, realising and learning things about yourself that you didn’t know and finding out what you liked with Sam.

It brought the two of you closer, somehow, and it was amazing. Sam wasn’t complaining either, at least not when it was just the two of you. It was a whole new level of love and romance you’d reached together, a level neither of you were aware was waiting for you to discover.

So, here he was, sitting in the dark library with your newest book, only a lamp at the table lighting up the text. Dean had gone out to meet some girl he’d been texting for a few days for a quick fuck. You were hanging out with your friends, catching up with them after a long time of not having seen each other.

Sam had gone out to buy groceries in the meantime, trying to get his mind off those books that clearly drove you crazy, but by the end of all the chores—the cleaning, the organising, the clothes washing—he had nothing to do but wait for you to get back.

He scrolled through news articles on his laptop, checked his phone multiple times for any new messages, but he evenly gave up on his restraint. With a long sigh of frustration, he made his way to your room, stared at your neat shelf and picked out the book you’d recently received from one of your girlfriends.

He snorted as he looked over the cover, Chasing Love. He hesitated as he quickly flipped through the book, the smell of crisp, new paper wafting up to his nose. He guiltily turned around after carefully reading the Blurb in the first few pages, walking out of your room with the book in hand.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to read it at first. He kept it beside him as he boredly scrolled through lore, but he’d glance at it in between tasks and his heart thumped in his chest, heat flooding his body.

He squirmed in his seat and grabbed the book without a second thought, searching for the first chapter, cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. He huffed out a breath and cleared his throat, looking around as if Cas would pop in and catch him in the middle of this.

He slowly started to settle into the book, his laptop shut off after fifteen minutes and he was already absorbed into the book, the words and the characters starting to flow through his imagination.

His eyes trailed away from the words sometimes, replaying the first sex scene in his mind as himself and you. He wondered if you liked it, how it’d make you feel if he did it, and why you never brought any of this up when it was this hot.

The memory of your warm skin beneath his hands and your soft lips moulding against his made his cock stir. He chewed on his lip and continued to read, recomposing himself, thinking of you the whole time.

As he read, page by page, he tried to remember what you looked like when you read this. He remembers the frustration making you frown, irritation making you roll your eyes and set the book down, how you did lots of thinking on certain pages while biting your lip or with disgust written on your face, and the arousal flustering you. He understood now which parts intrigued you and why.

The book was infuriating at times and the main characters irked him, but he couldn’t stop and just wanted to get to the end. Unfortunately, the universe had other plans, and the metallic door of the Bunker’s entrance groaned loudly, snapping Sam out of his daze.

He looked around, panicked and grabbed the book he was reading to hide it in between all the other books on the shelves. He scrambled back to his seat as the door slammed shut and turned his laptop on, settling into his chair to pretend he was still working on research.

His stomach fluttered when you shouted his name playfully, the tune of a song sweetening your voice. You sounded happier, relaxed, and he smiled, standing up to meet you where the war table lit up at the bottom of the staircase.

He greeted you with a kiss on the lips, sweet and quick, but your hands held his jaw in place and you pushed yourself up on your toes to kiss him harder. He moaned softly, pressing his hands into the small of your back so you were squished against him completely.

“Hi,” you whispered against his lips. He gave you a softer kiss and smiled lovingly at you, wrapped one of his arms around you to keep you close and raised his hand to cup the side of your face.

“Hey, how’d it go?” He leaned down to kiss you again before you answered, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek.

“Really great, I guess I really needed that,” you admitted, closing your eyes to his touch. “I did miss you though. I’m so used to spending every second of my life with you.” Your eyes fluttered open and he was already gazing at you, admiring you.

You didn’t always have time to get dolled up with hunting taking up most of your time, and if you’re ever pretending to be professionals, you keep the makeup natural and to a minimum. But right now, you looked fantastic, your beauty was enhanced by colours of your makeup that brought out the parts of you that he adored the most.

On top of that, the dress you wore was sexy and tight, wrapping around your curves and the dips of your body deliciously, your cleavage pushed up so seductively with the bra you chose to wear underneath. You were radiant with happiness and warmth, your shoulders and face relaxed in ways he hadn’t seen in such a long time. Hunting was really wearing you all down, he figured he should consider taking a break, too, with you for a while. Maybe even just one day.

“I missed you too,” he told you gently.

“How much?” You asked with a smirk, pressing your palms against his firm chest and sliding down to the hem of his grey v-neck. He smirked at you, then blushed and chuckled, dipping his chin to avert his gaze.

“Well, I do wanna take all your clothes off now that I’ve admired you in it,” he murmured, looking down at you intently. You grinned up at him, warmth blossoming in your stomach. Your breath clogged your throat when you felt his fingers tangle in the hair at the back of your neck, tugging softly so your head would tilt back. Your flirtatious words died the moment his palm struck your ass, replaced by an aroused yelp.

He leaned down to kiss you once again, with more passion, nipping at your bottom lip until you whined. He palmed your ass teasingly, tugged harder at your hair so your hiss permitted his tongue to slip between your painted lips.

You clung to his hips desperately, your knees growing weak with each swipe of his soft tongue against yours. You pulled away with a gasp unable to breathe as he stole the breath from your lungs, but he didn’t care. He grazed your jaw with his teeth instead, and bit down roughly on your pulse, soft strands of his brown hair tickling your shoulder, making you shiver with desire.

“Please, fuck me, Sam,” you moaned, arching into him as he licked and sucked at the entice spot behind your ear. Your body burned and ached for his touch on your bare skin, your nipples tightened in the lace bra, your pussy clenching and weeping with desire.

He smirked against your skin, “I will, but let me enjoy this first, beautiful.”

You shuddered again at his warm breath tickling your skin, his lips ghosting above your collarbone, traced by his tongue. He pressed soft kisses downward, until he got to your breasts. His grip on your hair didn’t let up and the other hand slid down between your legs from behind, his middle finger teasing your entrance over your soaked panties.

“Oh, fucking fuck,” you whined, squirming in his grasp. He bit and sucked at your cleavage, marking you possessively, and untangled your hair from his hand so he could wrap it around his fist perfectly, tighter.

He pulled away from you completely, all of the sudden, leaving you cold. You forced your eyes open to stare up at him, flushing when his hazel eyes glossed over with carnality. You released his hips to clutch his shirt, readying to remove it from his body.

“I’m gonna fuck you right here,” he told you, his voice dripping with the same lust that washed over his eyes. You moaned before he tugged at your hair again, testing your reaction. You bit your lip and leaned back against the war table, begging with your eyes for him to go through with it.

Sam hummed softly, his fingers grazed your thigh, moved in between to playfully brush your clit over the lace of your underwear. You panted harder and faster with every passing second, his teasing fingers slipped inside your underwear, the elastic waistband stretching around his hand. You parted your legs desperately, your body singing with pleasure as his fingers dipped into your wet cunt, gathering up your juices to play with your pulsing clit.

“You get so wet so fast,” he praised, “it’s so fucking hot.” You moaned his name, felt your orgasm approaching faster than you’d liked, but he rubbed your clit so perfectly, just the way he knew you liked. He tugged at your hair roughly, forcing your eyes open once again when you tensed up the closer you got to finishing. “Come for me, you’re so gorgeous when you come,” he whispered, and you did.

You gasped his name and moaned loudly, quivering as your pussy clenched and unclenched around nothing. It always impressed you that Sam could make you come in less than five minutes. He bit his lip as he watched you, your jaw slack and brows furrowed as you stared back at him. His fingers circled slower, moving at the same pace as the slow of your orgasm.

“I can’t wait to strip you out of this tight little dress.” Sam dipped his fingers down to your entrance, pressed his fingers inside your clenching walls to feel your cum. The slick substance stuck to his fingers and he pulled his fingers out of your underwear and lifted them up to smear your arousal across your painted lips. “I can’t wait to play with your tits,” he murmured, pushing his fingers between your lips.

You stared at him seductively, lost in desire, completely unable to do anything but take what he gave you. You sucked on his fingers, moaned at the taste of yourself, and melted into a puddle of sin when he pumped his fingers in and out of your mouth, mimicking the movement of his cock when he’d fuck your face.

“I can’t wait to bury my cock inside your sweet pussy,” he groaned softly at the sight of you and pulled his fingers away to kiss the taste of you away. He sucked your lips fervently and licked wildly into your mouth, your hands subconsciously moving through his hair to tug almost as hard as he was tugging at yours.

He pulled away and panted aginst your mouth. He let go of your hair and reached beneath your dress to rip your panties off your body. All you could do was gasp. Then he reached up to unzip your dress, letting it fall around your feet. You kicked it away from you, stared at him expectantly and reached for his shirt.

“I need to feel you inside me now, Sam,” you whispered impatiently as you tugged his shirt upwards. He quickly slid it over his head and let it fall to where your dress was, you took the chance to admire his sturdy form. His hard abs became taught with every move and his sleep-pants hung low on his hips, the band of his boxers peeking above them. His hard cock easily tented the flimsy material, it made your mouth watered at the thought of tasting him and your pussy wanted to be stretched and filled. “Take everything off,” you ordered impatiently.

He wasted no time and shoved the garments down his legs without protest while you unclasped your bra expertly with one hand. All your clothes fell into a messy pile on the floor with your dress and ripped panties.

Once you stood naked in front of each other, it became a race of who would make the first move. Sam was faster than you, silencing your protests and subduing you with a hungry kiss. His fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples, a painful type of pleasure that made you so impossibly horny you nearly considered coming on the spot from the feeling alone, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of his mouth.

Hot and wet, he stepped his mouth down to your chest, licked at your nipple and sucked the sensitive nubs until you were squirming. You indecisively pushed his head into your breasts and tugged it away by his hair so he’d lick you somewhere else.

Sam had already made up his mind about how the night would go and he turned you around so you faced away from him with the table beside you. You had nothing to stare at but the dark library. Your heels gave you some help when he reached for the back of your thigh and slid his hand down to wrap around your knee, lifting it up onto the edge of the table.

“You’re so desperate to be fucked, aren’t you?” He teased, massaging the globes of your ass. You twisted your body slightly, leaning over to press your hands flat on the table, your pussy tingling with anticipation of his next move.

“Please, I need you so bad, Sam,” you replied with a moan. He kept his hand on your hip and squeezed possessively. You felt two of his fingers prodding at your wet hole, slowly he pushed them into you and back out to infuriate you and make you needier. The pads of his long fingers brushed over the spongy spot against your walls repeatedly, and your legs shook on the table. With a curse you whispered Sam’s name again, hoping he’ll end the delightful torture as his fingers prepared you for him.

He pulled his fingers from within your heat, replacing them with his hot cock to slide through your folds from behind you without warning. You whimpered pathetically as the head of his cock teased your clit, your heart fluttered excitedly, and you reached back to curl your fingers around the back of his neck to pull him close.

“You feel so good, Sam,” you uttered breathlessly.

“Are you ready for me, gorgeous?” He asked, moving your hair out of the way to drop kisses along your shoulder. You moaned softly at his words, his smirk evident as he brushed his lips up to your neck.

“Yeah,” you whispered, desperately wanting to be filled, needing to be fucked, by him only.

You felt the prod of his cock at your entrance, teasing your entrance with a few circles before slowly pushing in. Your breath hitched and you ached to get closer, but he held you in place with a firm hand on your hip. You pulled at his hair, silently commanding him to relinquish control to fuck you the way you needed to be, but he continued to slide into you slowly, and back out slightly. It was almost enough to make you cum.

You felt embarrassed by how close you’ve been to your orgasm when Sam had barely done anything but graze your sweet spots. It wasn’t surprising, but it always caught you off guard how easily your body gave into him. Right now, you felt like exploding around his cock, the stretch of him around your walls, it all felt unbearably gratifying.

Once he was completely inside you, he barely gave you time to adjust before he began fucking you in earnest. It was quick and hot, the pump of his cock in and out of you. Loud and wet sounds resounded throughout the Bunker, your wet cunt being filled by his cock. It was pornographic.

His fingers dug roughly into the soft flesh of your hips, red stripes following his nails the harder he fucked you. He held you up with his arm around your waist, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, overwhelming your senses with endless pleasure. You all but moaned out your pleasure like a porn star, unashamed and so, so happy you two were alone.

The sounds just ripped out of you and he rewarded you with harsh bites wherever he could reach. His fingers found your breasts, squeezing and kneading, plucking your nipples and pinching them until you cried out his name begging for him to give you more.

His hot breath left your skin warm and damp, but it felt so good, he’d grunt your name into your neck, against your nape, until you felt tingles running up your spine. Sam was complete sin. His hips smacked loudly and roughly against your ass, too. The pain he made you feel was just a thin strip compared to the pleasure, and it was something he had mastered to drive you insane.

You didn’t need much more to orgasm and he must have known, he knew you so well. He dropped his hand from your breasts and smacked your clit so hard you walls tightened around him in surprise, and you whimpered loudly. A dark chuckle from Sam followed a second slap, but he soothed your swollen clit with messy circles that drove you over the edge to your orgasm unexpectedly.

“That’s right, come for me,” he whispered. His cock throbbed and twitched while you screamed his name. Your walls clamped down around him, and he continued to rub your clit as your arousal dripped down your thighs. “You’re all mine, baby… Fuck, I love you,” he grunted as he came inside you. He pushed himself as deep as he could, and the tip of his cock touched the deepest parts of you when he swivelled his hips with a moan, desperate to claim you. It drove you to your third orgasm, hot spurts of his cum filling you up erotically.

“You’re so sexy,” he praised, removing his fingers from your now sensitive clit. Your lungs burned and you tried hard to recover, but you were a puddle in his arms. All you could do was catch your breath and be astonished by your boyfriend’s ability to make you come with a few strokes inside you, and just with the feeling of his cum warming up your insides.

“Jesus Christ, Sam,” you said hoarsely. He laughed breathlessly, lovingly kissing the bruises and bite marks he left on your neck and back. “That was amazing,” you said with a smile, relaxing into him some more. He pulled off you instead, and you gasped when you felt his cum slide down the inside of your thigh. You clenched your legs to stop anymore from leaving you, and looked up at him.

He was glowing, his cheeks were pink and his lips were swollen and red. Why’d he make sex hair look so hot? His skin glistened with sweat and his muscles flexed with every little move he made. You were sure he could make you come again with just that look in his eyes, teasing and loving, slightly amused, but very arrogant.

It’s like he knew what you were thinking and was thinking it too.

He leaned down to kiss you, softly sucking on your bottom lip. You instantly reached up to thread your fingers through his hair, kissing him with as much passion as he poured into you. His fingers trailed up the inside of your thighs and he groaned softly, prying your legs open to shove his cum inside you.

He pulled away from your lips and got down onto his knees to kiss your pelvis, then your thighs, and you opened your legs to give him room. He fingered you slowly and you clung to his hair and onto the table to remain steady, whimpering when he sucked your sensitive clit into his mouth.

“Fuck, Sam,” you whispered, letting him angle your hips to shove his tongue into your pussy. He licked the mixture of your cum with a moan of satisfaction while his nose teased your clit. You could feel the slow and painful build of another orgasm as your pussy stretched around his tongue.

Unfortunately, he stood up and took your face in his hands to kiss you. You moaned in surprise, submissively allowing him to push his tongue into you. You tasted your release and his as soon as he did and your mouth watered. He tilted your head back, his tongue invading and exploring your warm mouth until the taste of the two of you had diminished.

He pulled away with a heavy breath and smiled down at you, watching your eyes flutter open. “Let’s get ready for bed,” he suggested, pushing strands of your hair away from your face. You licked your lips, same as him, and nodded, but first wrapped your arms around his waist.

“I’m gonna shower…” You murmured, pulling away from the embrace. He nodded and chewed on his lip. “Meet you in my room?” You beamed up at him and slowly pulled away, walking in the direction of the restroom.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll wait for you,” he smiled, reaching out for your arm to tug you back into him and leaning down to peck your lips. You laughed into the kiss and he finally let you go.

He picked up your clothes from the floor and started making his way to your room, putting on his clothes and putting yours in the hamper. He cleaned himself up before starting to prepare your stuff. Then, he waited for you in your bedroom with the lights on, preparing your bed, some clean clothes for you to sleep in, and even brought you a water bottle in case you needed it.

You returned quietly, flushed from the heat of your shower, wrapped only in a towel. He smiled at you when you called his name softly and got up from the bed to kiss you again. He admired you with a soft expression on his face when he pulled away. Without makeup, you still looked beautiful.

“I got everything ready for you, then we can do whatever you want,” he told you, tugging the towel out of its place. You laughed softly, letting him steal it from you so you could get changed.

“Thanks, Sam, I really appreciate it.” You got changed and looked around your room out of habit, boredly taking in your space to make sure you could actually relax. But you noticed that your books were slanted and fallen over to the side, one of your books was missing.

You stared at it thoughtfully, pulling your top over your head, trying to retrace your steps of the day for when you had misplaced it. When nothing came to mind, you asked, “did I put my book somewhere else?”

Sam’s jaw clenched and he froze, looking past you and at the shelf. He internally facepalmed and then shrugged, his heart racing nervously. “Um…” he started, then shifted, moving his hair out of his face. “Yeah, I don’t know, maybe,” he mumbled, averting his gaze and rubbing the back of his neck.

Your brow rose at his suddenly strange behaviour, but you thought nothing of it at first. You hummed thoughtfully and made your way back to Sam, who was still acting shifty, even as he handed you a water bottle. You took it silently and narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously. He didn’t look at you at first, not when you opened the bottle slowly, or when you took a few gulps of it.

He pretended to busy himself with the sheets, lifting them up for you to sleep, but you knew now. He had something to do with it. So you grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you, and said, “Sam, I know you know.”

He broke easily, with a shy laugh. Instead of continuing to deny it, he looked down at his hands and nodded, “fine. Okay? I was curious about why you like them so much and I wanted to know what about them kept you excited… so I read a few chapters, and I wanted to try some stuff out… which you ended up liking,” he said the last part flirtatiously and your mouth dropped open in surprise.

You closed it and laughed, then pulled his face in for a kiss. He quickly dominated you, sucking on your tongue, making your breath hitch. You tugged at his hair and slid into his lap when he grabbed your hips and tugged you forward.

You pulled away from Sam’s sinful mouth, curiously and breathlessly asking, “you only read a few chapters?” He dove back in for a kiss and bit your lip sensually. He hummed a yes and then released your lip from between his teeth.

“Why?” He asked, a smug smirk on his face.

“You know why, there’s a lot more I thought was hot while imagining you doing it to me,” you replied shamelessly. He snorted and looked up thoughtfully, his thumbs sliding over the waistband of your underwear at the same time.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up slightly to make you fall onto the bed so you were laying on your back beneath his firm body. You puffed out a breath of surprise and smiled at him brightly.

“I should go get the book then.” He kissed your flushed cheek, then added, “I should consider reading all your favourite books. Don’t you agree?”

dean winchester version —> livin in you

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winchesterwild78 · 2 months ago

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Daddy’s Girl pt 6

Master List

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader (wife), Dean and Reader’s daughter, other characters from Supernatural

Warnings: Angst, attempted assault, accident, court proceedings

A/N: Another collab story with @cheekygirl2309. This chapter will explore the aftermath of the attempted assault and the effects on the family.

This is a work of fiction and does not follow the Supernatural storyline. I do not own the rights to the characters used.

All work is my own and @cheekygirl2309, don’t take it or use it as your own. Reblogs and likes are appreciated.

Minors DNI 18+

Delilah stayed home a few days until the visible bruises went away. Sam suggested we take pictures and document everything in the event we decide to press charges.

Dean tried to stay in the room when we took the pictures, but seeing how bruised and battered she was became too much. He left the room, jaw clenched and tears pricked his eyes.

I held it together until I got to my room and I cried. I wanted to hunt Jaxon down myself and make sure he could never have children.

The next morning Delilah decided to go back to school. Dean was willing to pull her out and homeschool her again, but Delilah wanted to stay.

“Well if it becomes too much today, you call me and I’ll be there.” Dean said as he kissed her head. She nodded and went to get dressed.

I touched his arm, “Dean, we raised a smart girl. She knows she can always call us.” He nodded.

A few minutes later Delilah and Charlie were ready for school. Dean drove Charlie to school and then Delilah.

Delilah’s best friend, Angel, came running up to the car. “Lilah! I missed you.” She saw Dean, blushed and smiled, “Hi Mr Winchester.” She giggled when Dean said hello.

“I love you, Delilah.” Dean called. “Love you too, Daddy.”

She got out of the car and walked with Angel to the school. Dean sat for a few minutes watching her.

When Dean got home he busied himself in the garage. I knew he was nervous. I was too.

Delilah was sitting in third period when she asked to go to the bathroom. All day she ignored the whispers and cat calls from some of the guys.

She was in the stall using the bathroom when she heard the bathroom door open. She finished, flushed and walked to the sink.

Washing her hands she heard a stall door open behind her. Her eyes flicked up and standing there was a Senior boy, Adam.

She swallowed hard and tried to leave. He stepped in front of her and blocked her. “Where are you going in such a hurry, baby?”

“Please leave me alone. I need to get back to class.” She tried to step to the side but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back, pushing her against the wall.

“Let me go!” She screamed. “Now don’t be like that. Jaxon said you were a little feisty. Come on baby, let me get a little taste.”

He smashed his mouth against her and she bit him. “Stupid Bitch! Such a fucking tease.” He grabbed her shirt and ripped it. She screamed and was able to use techniques Dean taught her to get free.

She ran out of the bathroom and out of the school. Delilah didn’t stop until she was at the park down the road. The park her and Dean spent so much time at.

When she got to the park she went into the individual bathroom and locked the door.

Pulling out her cell phone she called Dean.

“Hey baby girl. How’s it going today?”

“Daddy, I’m scared. Please come get me. I’m at our park.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, “I’m on my way baby. Are you safe?” “I think so. I’m locked in the bathroom.” “Okay. I’m on my way baby.”

“Dean, what’s wrong?” “I don’t know. I’m heading to the park to get her. She sounded so scared.”

“I’m coming too.” We jumped in the car and headed towards the park.

Once we arrived Dean and I jumped out of the car and ran towards the bathroom. We knocked on the door, “Baby, it’s us. Open the door.” Dean called through the door. We heard the lock click and she opened the door.

Dean and I gasped when we saw her. Dean took her in his arms as she collapsed and cried.

My heart sank. I could tell by her shirt she had been attacked. I was ready to go to the school and raise hell.

My first priority was to get her home. I gave her my jacket and wrapped her in it. Dean’s green eyes flashed with anger.

Once in the car, Dean drove us home. His hands gripped the steering wheel. I touched his leg, trying to calm him down and he moved it away. I softly gasped.

We got Delilah home and after she told us what happened she wanted to take a shower.

I was about to call the school when Dean came into the kitchen. His jaw was tight and he wouldn’t look at me.

“Dean, please talk to me. You haven’t said a word since we picked her up and you won’t even look at me.”

He grabbed a small glass and his bottle of whiskey. “Dean?” He flicked his eyes up at me and all I saw was rage. I swallowed hard.

“What do you want me to say?!” I just looked at him, “I don’t know. Maybe talk to me about what you’re feeling. Dean, I'm just as angry as you are.”

He scoffed. My brows furrowed. “What? What was that for?”

“You don’t get it do you?!” I was starting to get angry, “No, I guess I don’t. Enlighten me.”

“This is your fault!” I gasped “What?! How is this my fault? Dean, you’re not making any sense.”

“I wanted to homeschool her. We did for a while then you caved when she wanted to go to school. She would have never met that boy or been attacked if you hadn’t given in. We’re her parents! We’re supposed to protect her and we didn’t because you had to “give her experiences with kids her own age”. Is this the experience you wanted?! Well, congratulations. She’s experienced so much in just a few short days!”

Tears burned in my eyes as his words ripped at my heart. “Dean, I’m sorry. I never wanted this for her.”

The tears began to fall. Dean looked at me and for a moment I thought I saw regret, but he kept going.

“Sorry isn’t going to fix my little girl! Sorry isn’t going to make this better, is it?!”

I shook my head no and stifled a sob. Dean threw the amber liquid in his glass back and stormed out of the room. I leaned against the counter and cried.

He was right. When Delilah met some kids at the park she begged us to send her to school. Dean was against it, but I promised him she’d be okay. This was my fault.

I walked towards our bedroom, Dean wasn’t in there. I grabbed a bag and decided to go to Sam’s for a few days. I sent him a text and he told me to come on.

I packed my bag and walked towards the garage. Dean was working on the Impala. “Dean, I'm sorry. Please tell the kids I love them, and I love you too. I’m going to Sam’s until we can figure this out.”

He didn’t look up at me. I noticed his back muscles tense, but he just let me walk away. I think that hurt more than anything.

I got in my car and drove towards Sam’s and Eileen’s.

When I arrived, Eileen greeted me with a hug and a smile. She showed me the guest room and I sat on the bed and cried.

I felt like my whole life was gone. The love of my life wanted nothing to do with me. I was the cause of my daughter’s greatest pain and I felt like I needed to leave before I ended up hurting my son too.

Sam tried to convince me none of this was my fault. He called Dean, but he wouldn’t answer. He got in touch with Delilah and she told him what happened at school. “Uncle Sammy, I want to press charges against Jaxon and Adam. Can you help me?”

“Of course I can.” “Uncle Sammy?” “Yes pumpkin?” “Can you tell mom I love her and I don’t blame her?” “Yeah, I can do that.” They hung up and Sam came to tell me Delilah was going to press charges. “That’s good. Hopefully Dean can help her navigate that.” Sam looked at me with concern in his eyes, “Delilah needs both of her parents.” “No, she needs Dean. She’s always needed him.”

He nodded solemnly and left the room, pulling the door closed.

I laid on the bed and cried. For the next few days all I could do was cry, fall into an exhausted sleep, wake up and cry again. Dean refused to talk to me. Phone calls and texts went unanswered. I felt hopeless. One night I heard Sam on the phone. He was talking to Dean. “I can’t kick her out. I won’t do that. She’s my sister in law and you love her.” I heard Sam sigh, “You don’t mean that. No! I’m not choosing sides. Dean, this isn’t her fault! How can you say that?! How can you treat her this way? She’s your wife, the mother of your children.” My breath hitched. Despair washed over me all over again. I couldn’t come between them.

I went back to the guest room, closed the door and packed. I refused to make Sam choose sides. Dean was his brother, his flesh and blood. I couldn’t come between them.

Delilah and I had been texting and I told her I was proud of her for pressing charges. She told me she made the decision to finish her school year at home. Charlie wanted to be homeschooled too, so Dean agreed.

I told her I loved her and to tell Charlie I loved him.

Delilah: Mom, when are you coming home?

Me: Oh baby, I’m not sure. Dad is still really angry so I’m giving him his space.

Delilah: Mom it’s not your fault. None of this is. Please come home. I know he misses you. We all do.

Me: Maybe one day he’ll forgive me enough so I can come home.

I finished packing my things and headed towards my car. I drove down the driveway in silence. I had no idea where I was going. I just drove. Dean’s words playing in my head.

My phone ringing startled me. I looked at the phone and it was Dean. I swallowed and answered. “Hello?” “Hey, the lawyer needs the pictures you took of Delilah. Can you send them?” “Yeah, I’ll send them. Do you want them or should I send them to Delilah’s phone?”

“Send them to mine. Thanks.”

“Dean?” “What?” “Can we talk?” “I don’t see what’s left to talk about. Look, I’ve got to go. Don’t forget to send the pictures.”

He hung up and I let out an audible sob. This was it. My marriage, the love of my life, is gone. He wanted nothing to do with me anymore.

I was crying harder and didn’t see the deer coming out of the woods. I slammed on my brakes, swerved and hit a tree. That was the last thing I remembered.

I woke up to the sound of machines beeping and a pounding headache. My eyes fluttered open and I winced at the bright light. “Mom! You’re awake! Quick, go get Dad.”

I opened my eyes and saw Delilah standing near my bed. Her green eyes filled with tears as she held my hand.

I heard the door open and I looked up seeing Charlie walk in followed by Dean.

Charlie came to my other side and held my hand, “Mom, you scared us. I’m so glad you’re okay. I can’t wait for you to come home.”

I took a deep breath, “I’m glad I’m okay too.” I held both their hands, “I love you two so much. I’m sorry I scared you.”

My heart pounded in my chest. For the first time in several days my eyes met Dean’s. He was shaking and I could see he had been crying. His eyes filled with tears and regret. The anger I saw the other day was long gone.

Dean stepped closer to the bed, “Hey, sweetheart.” “Dean.”

Delilah looked at Dean and then me, “Hey Charlie, let’s go get something to eat and call Uncle Sammy.” He looked at her confused but she nodded towards the door. “Okay. We’ll be back mom. Do you need anything?” I shook my head no. I gave their hands a squeeze and they left.

Dean stepped closer to the bed. My heart pounded in my chest and his words replayed in my head like a broken record.

“Sweetheart, I, uh, don’t know what to say. I’m just so glad you’re okay. I was so scared when I got the call from the police.”

“I’m okay, Dean. You don’t have to be here anymore. Go ahead and head home.”

He inhaled a shaky breath. “Sweetheart, please don’t do that. Don’t push me away.”

“What?! I push you away? Do you remember what you said to me? You blamed me for our daughter’s assaults. You pushed me away and didn’t even fight when I said I was leaving. Just go Dean. Go home.” I turned my back to him as the tears fell.

He started to touch my shoulder but I moved away. It was too much.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I really am. I love you.” I heard his voice crack as he spoke. My heart hurt for him, but it hurt more remembering what he had said.

Dean walked out and sat in the chair outside my room. I broke down. Sobs filled my body and all I could think about was how empty I felt without him in my arms.

Outside the room Dean cried. He prayed and he cried. Cass appeared and put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You have to fix this Dean. She needs you. Go to her now!”

Dean’s eyes met Cass’ and he nodded. Walking back in the room he looked over and saw me in a ball, sobbing.

He did this. This was his fault and only he could make it right.

Dean walked over to the bed and climbed in behind me. He wrapped his arms around me and held me. Both of us cried. The pain from the past few weeks washed away with each tear.

Dean knew we had a long road ahead of us to fix us, but he was willing to put in the work.

Dean’s arms wrapped around me tightly. I turned to face him and for the first time in days I felt safe. He lifted my chin softly and our eyes met.

“Baby, I’m so sorry. I know you have every right to not forgive me. I was angry and scared and took it out on you. None of this was your fault. Jaxon and Adam are to blame. She was perfectly fine at school before this. Just know I love you and I’m thankful you’re safe. I don’t know what I would have done if something happened to you. I love you, Y/N.” He gently placed a kiss on my lips.

I sighed softly. I missed his arms and his lips.

The two of us laid in the bed, holding each other tightly as we drifted off to sleep.

When I was released from the hospital I checked into a local hotel. Dean wanted me to come back home, but I wasn’t ready. He hurt me deeply and I wasn’t sure how to move past this.

I had just gotten out of the shower when my phone rang. “Hello?” “Hey sweetheart. Do you need me to come get you for court?” “Hey Dean, no. I’m going to catch a ride with Sammy.” The line was silent. I heard Dean take in a shaky breath, “Baby, how do we fix this? I can’t stand not holding you in my arms. I, we, need you home.”

I swallowed hard, “I don’t know Dean. This isn’t something I can just get over. You hurt me. You blamed me for our daughter’s greatest pain. I’m her mother. The one who grew her and gave her life. How could you ever think I would intentionally hurt her?”

“I know, baby. I will never forgive myself for blaming you. Please baby, I want to fix us.” “Dean, today is about Delilah. Let’s focus on her and we will figure us out.” “That’s all I ask. I love you, Y/N.” “I know Dean. I’ll see you at the courthouse.”

We hung up and Dean let the tears he was holding back fall. It didn’t go unnoticed that I didn’t say “I love you”.

We all arrived at the courthouse about the same time. I hugged Delilah and Charlie. Dean tried to hug me but I pulled away. I knew if I hugged him I’d cave and nothing would be solved. He was visibly shaken by my refusal.

Delilah, Dean and I had to take the stand during the proceedings. I sat and listened to her recount the incidents and silent tears fell from my eyes. I looked over at the jury and noticed there wasn’t a dry eye.

Dean was the next to take the stand. He sat very still, his body tense and his jaw tight. When he recounted the phone calls and the aftermath I saw his resolve break. “These incidents have not only broken my baby girl, but they have broken my family, broken me. As her father it is my responsibility to keep her safe, and I failed her. I failed her mother. I let this break us and I took my anger out on her. I will never forgive those boys or myself for what has happened to my family.”

After Dean’s testimony, the court took a recess for lunch. We were ushered into a secluded room to keep us away from other people or potentially running into Jaxon and Adam.

Sam had us lunch brought in. The air in the room was thick with tension. Delilah held my hand and I looked up at her. “Mama, you need to eat. You need your strength.” “I know, baby. I”m just not very hungry.” She nodded.

“Uncle Sammy, can you take Charlie and I to get something from the vending machine and to use the bathroom?” Sam nodded. He knew Delilah was trying to get Dean and I alone to talk.

When they left the room the air crackled with tension. I pushed the rice on my plate around with my fork. I couldn’t eat. Dean took a deep breath and let it out.

“Sweetheart, how do we fix us? I’ll do whatever I can to make this right. I will never forgive myself for hurting you the way I did.” I continued to look at my plate. I couldn’t look at him. I knew if I did I’d cave, and dammit I didn’t deserve what he did.

He stood and walked over to me, gently cupped my face and tilted it up to look at him, “Please look at me, Y/N. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry for what I said. I will spend the rest of my life fixing this. Can we try therapy? The two of us, and as a family.”

I finally looked into his green eyes. The sadness and regret I saw was overwhelming. I missed him so much. I would do anything to make his pain go away. I leaned into his touch, closed my eyes and nodded yes. “I think we need to, Dean. I don’t think we’re going to get through this without help. I don’t want to lose you. I love you.”

Dean’s breath hitched at the sound of my “I love you”. “I love you too, Y/N.”

He leaned closer to me then stopped. His eyes met mine and I held my breath. I leaned closer, our lips ghosting each other. Finally meeting in a soft, gentle kiss. When we pulled apart, his thumb brushed against my bottom lip. “I’ve missed you. Please come home. We miss you.” I nodded and he pulled me into a hug. God his arms felt so good around me. I took a deep breath and inhaled his scent. The one that always brought me a sense of peace. The one that is Dean, leather, spice, a hint of vanilla, and just Dean, my Dean.

The door opened and in walked Delilah, Sam and Charlie. Delilah smiled when she saw Dean hugging me. Sam cleared his throat, “It’s time. Are you ready, Y/N?” I nodded and held Dean’s hand.

Once back in the courtroom I was called to the stand. I took a steady breath and let it out. I looked up at Dean and then over at our children. They were worth fighting for.

I was asked to recount my version of events. Starting with Jaxon. “When we got to Delilah she was cold, beaten and terrified. Her clothing was ripped and she had marks on her body. Her nightmares were horrible. Dean and I took turns staying with her. She clung to him like she did when she was a child. The day I took pictures of her was one of the worst of my life. I had to document what he did to my little girl and stay strong for her all the while I was crumbling inside. He took part of her innocence that day and I’ll never forgive him for that. Then he went to school and told everyone she was an easy target. When she returned to school Adam thought he could have his way with her. He followed her into the girl’s bathroom and cornered her. He tried to rape her. My little girl fought back. It’s my job as her mother, the one who carried her, gave her life, to protect her and I failed. I failed her twice. I will never forgive myself for that failure. Her choosing to press charges and take this to trial shows incredible strength on her part and I will always be proud of her. I can’t change the past, but I sure as hell can fight to protect her future and to do my part to prevent this from happening to another girl at their hands.”

Tears were streaming down my face by the time my testimony was over. The case was settled and the jury was asked to deliberate. All of us sat in the room together and waited. About an hour later we were told the jury had a verdict. Sam looked concerned. “Should we be worried Sam?” I asked softly.

He took a deep breath, “Honestly I’ve seen shorter deliberations that were in favor. You just never know.” I nodded and taking Delilah’s hand we walked back into the courtroom.

After the jury was seated the judge asked if they reached a verdict, “We have your honor.” “What is your verdict?” I held Delilah and Charlie’s hands. “We find the Defendants guilty of sexual battery and assault.”

I let out the breath I was holding. The judge thanked them for their service and dismissed them. The sentencing would take place in about a week. We were free to go.

The four of us walked out of the courthouse and to Dean’s car. The kids climbed in the backseat and I climbed up front with Dean. He slid in and looked over at me with a soft smile. Putting both hands on the steering wheel we headed home.

I placed my hand on his thigh. A silent gesture. He looked at my hand and then at me. Placing one hand over mine. “I love you, Dean.” “I love you too, Y/N. Let’s go home and start working on us.” I nodded and smiled. I knew we had a long road ahead, but I also knew we could tackle anything as long as we did it together.

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#hes gorgeous #so damn sexy #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x plus size!reader

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girl-next-door-writes · 5 months ago

Text

A Little Parlor Trick

Characters: Crowley x reader

Summary: A first encounter with the King of Hell stirs a curiosity that you aren’t sure you will be able to shake.

Word Count: 1413 words

Prompt: “And I’ve got friends on the other side.”

A/N: This is for the lovely @caplanbuckybarnes Caplan’s Disney Celebration. It’s been a hot minute since I wrote my favourite demon, but he is always worth the wait.

The dull hum of the Impala’s engine faded as Dean turned the key, cutting off the familiar purr that had become background noise during the long drive to New Orleans. The air here felt different—heavier, older, like it was thick with secrets. It clung to your skin, the humidity wrapping around you like a second layer of clothing as you stepped out onto the cracked pavement.

You glanced at the dilapidated house before you. It looked abandoned, but you knew better. A set-up like this was rarely what it seemed, and when dealing with demons, that was the one constant you could rely on.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. You’d been hunting with the Winchesters for a few months now—long enough to be able to interpret some of their silent language, even if you didn’t quite speak it fluently. This was your first real test, your first hunt involving the King of Hell himself, Crowley. You’d heard of him, of course—every hunter worth their salt had. But hearing about him and meeting him were two different things.

"Stay close," Dean murmured, shooting you a quick glance. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust you; it was just that Crowley was unpredictable. Dangerous. And it was never wise to underestimate a demon—especially this one.

You nodded, falling into step behind them as they approached the door. It creaked open, revealing a dimly lit interior. It felt cooler inside, almost cold, and there was an unmistakable smell of incense and something darker, like old magic.

And then you saw him.

Crowley stood in the center of the room, wearing his trademark suit with a deep red silk pocket square tucked neatly in place. He looked like he belonged more in a posh London penthouse than in this rundown Louisiana shack. His dark eyes glinted as he watched the three of you enter, a smirk already playing on his lips.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,” he drawled, his gaze flickering to you with interest. “And who might you be? New pet, boys?”

You squared your shoulders. “I’m not a pet.”

Crowley’s smirk widened as he let out a low chuckle, the sound rolling out smooth and lazy. “Oh, I like you already. A little fire in the belly. Just what I need.”

Dean cut in sharply, his tone gruff. “Enough games, Crowley. You said we’d find what we need here. We need information.”

“Ah, yes. Straight to business as usual, Dean.” Crowley’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “But why rush when we can savor the moment?”

You held your ground, not wanting to show weakness in front of the demon. “You’re wasting our time. Are you going to help us or not?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, amused. “Feisty.” He waved a hand casually, and the room seemed to shift, shadows growing longer, darker. “Alright, kitten. If you want a little parlor trick, I’ll oblige. After all, I do love putting on a show.”

With a snap of his fingers, the lights dimmed even further, and an array of candles flickered to life around the room, casting an eerie glow. You could feel a pulse of magic, something thick and tangible in the air, and it made your skin tingle.

Crowley took a step toward you, his gaze steady and unyielding. “You see, I’ve got friends on the other side,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “and they’ve got quite the talent for giving people what they want.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. There was something in the way he spoke, a kind of hypnotic cadence that made you lean in just a little closer, despite yourself. You knew you shouldn’t be intrigued, that you shouldn’t feel that pull—but it was there, undeniable and growing stronger with every syllable that fell from his lips.

“Don’t listen to him,” Sam warned, his voice cutting through the haze that seemed to have settled over your thoughts.

You blinked, shaking off the strange allure that Crowley’s voice had carried. He noticed, of course, the shift in your stance, the way your expression hardened again. But instead of being annoyed, he looked even more entertained.

“Oh, come now,” he said with a dismissive wave at Sam, “I’m just having a little fun. It’s not often I get such... charming company.” He directed his smile back to you, a hint of darkness behind his otherwise friendly facade. “You know, it’s a pity you’re tangled up with these two. You’ve got potential.”

You crossed your arms, keeping your expression skeptical. “And what exactly does ‘potential’ mean coming from the King of Hell?”

Crowley tilted his head, considering you for a moment. “It means you’re not like the others. Hunters—self-righteous, dull. You’re different. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Let me guess,” you retorted. “You’ve got some grand offer that I’d be a fool to refuse?”

“Why, yes,” he replied smoothly, “as a matter of fact, I do.” He extended a hand toward you, palm up. “You’re a hunter. That much is clear. But you don’t know what it’s like to have real power. To command it, shape it, twist it to your will. I could show you.”

Dean stepped forward, placing himself between you and Crowley. “Enough of your crap, Crowley,” he growled. “You’re not turning anyone here into one of your lackeys.”

Crowley’s expression barely faltered, but his eyes grew colder, a sharp glint replacing the warmth. “There’s no need to be so possessive, squirrel.” He looked past him, locking eyes with you again. “The choice is always yours, darling. But you’d be wise to consider all your options.”

For a moment, you felt that pull again, stronger this time. His words stirred something in you, something deep and unspoken. You weren’t tempted by the promise of power exactly, but there was a dark curiosity there, a part of you that wanted to know what he was truly offering, if only to understand why it resonated in the first place.

You took a step forward, brushing past Dean despite his murmured protest. “I’m not interested in becoming a demon’s plaything,” you said, your voice steady and firm. “But if you’re offering information, I’m listening.”

Crowley’s smirk returned, softer this time, almost genuine. “Well, that’s a start.” He snapped his fingers again, and the darkness in the room seemed to recoil, lifting like fog under sunlight. “Very well, then. I’ll give you what you need. But a fair warning—things in this world often come with strings attached.”

“Spare us the theatrics,” Dean snapped, though his voice betrayed a hint of relief. “Just tell us where to find the damned witch and the knife to kill her.”

Crowley’s attention shifted reluctantly back to the elder Winchester. “She’s not far from here. Runs a little apothecary down on Royal Street. You’ll know it when you see it.” He glanced at you one last time, that glimmer of interest still evident in his gaze. “Do be careful, kitten. It would be a shame if I didn’t get to see you again.”

You turned on your heel and headed for the door with Sam and Dean in tow, trying to ignore the way your heart was beating a little faster than it should have been. You’d expected Crowley to be dangerous, charming even, but you hadn’t expected the encounter to linger like this.

As the three of you stepped back outside, Dean shot you a look, his brow furrowing. “You alright?”

You nodded, not quite trusting your voice yet. “Yeah,” you replied after a moment. “I’m fine.”

But as you walked back to the Impala, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d left something behind in that room with Crowley—a piece of yourself, a curiosity awakened. And as much as you tried to ignore it, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d seen something in you that even you didn’t fully understand.

Inside the Impala, you replayed his words in your mind—You’ve got potential. You weren’t sure if it was a compliment or a warning, but it echoed there in the back of your thoughts, lingering like the smoke and shadows you’d left behind.

Crowley had planted a seed of doubt in you—a small, insidious thing. And as the engine rumbled back to life, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he knew exactly what he was doing all along.

#Crowley #Crowley x reader #SPN #Caplan's Disney Celebration #gndw fic

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