#kas recs💌

[jasvtsc]

i’m gonna crash out this is so CUTE😭😭😭 I😭NEED😭HIM😭

⸝⸝ 𓈒ㅤׂ 𖦹 another dean blurb comin' ur way! 'cause i'm having WAY too much fun with writing 'em !!! originally, when this was sitting in my drafts, it was supposed t'be a full fic, but it wasn't coming out like i wanted it to, so i made it a blurb :p

warning(s) fluffy fluff fluff | implied shower sex | dean 'n his lil camera | reading gettin' a lil emotional. ୨୧

　ꢾ꣒　　 ⑅　　 ⁺　 　₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎　　 ✺ LIBRARY.

★ bonus. divider creds @anitalenia !

DEAN WINCHESTER was never really a 'stuff' guy. his life was all about function over form, about practicality, especially when it came to hunting. but one day, on a whim—or maybe because he'd been thinking about it longer than he wanted to admit—he bought a camera. not just any camera, either, but a $5000, top-of-the-line DSLR that he told himself he'd use to take pictures of all the places he and sam traveled to when they were on hunts. you know, a way to document the life he lived beyond the blood and gore, something to look back on that wasn't just a blur of monster and mayhem.

he didn't tell you about it at first. the camera just kind of appeared one day, tucked inside his duffle, and when you asked him about it, he looked a little embarrassed. "just thought it'd be nice to take some pictures of the scenery," he said with a shrug, like it wasn't a big deal. and maybe to him, it wasn't. at least, not in the way you thought.

but instead of snapping pictures of the rundown motels and backroads they traveled for work, dean found himself using the camera for something else entirely.

it wasn't until the two of you went on a mini-vacation, a week-long stay at a beach resort that you'd been talking about for years, that he really started to use it. you love the beach—always have. there's something about the sound of the waves, the feel of the sand beneath your feet, the salty breeze tangling in your hair, that makes you feel calm. and dean, well, he loves seeing you that way. relaxed, happy, at peace. so while you were busy soaking in the sun, or wading into the water, or just staring off into the distance with that little smile on your face, he was busy capturing it all.

you didn't know, of course. dean was sneaky like that. he didn't make a big show of it, didn't tell you to 'pose' or 'smile.' he just… watched you, quietly, through the lens, snapping photos of you when you weren't paying attention. and when you finally did notice him with the camera, he'd flash you that cocky grin of his and say something like, "just taking pictures of the view."

a few days later, after one of those long, lazy showers you and dean sometimes took together (the kind that weren't just about getting clean, if you know what i mean), that you stumbled upon a little secret of his. he stayed back in the bathroom, washing off a little longer, and you were sitting on the edge of the bed, feeling that post-shower glow, when you noticed a small album tucked underneath a pile of clothes in his black duffle.

curious, you pulled it out, flipping through the pages, and your breath caught in your throat. it wasn't just pictures of random places he'd been on hunts. it was you. photo after photo of you. at the beach, of course, but also in moments you didn't even realize he'd been watching—laughing, lost in thought, maybe even sleeping. and the pictures weren't just good; they were stunning. like, they looked like something out of a magazine, the kind of photos you'd see in a vogue or some fancy travel magazine.

you couldn't believe he'd taken them.

before he could catch you snooping, you quickly put the album back where you found it, heart racing a little, and changed into your pajamas, trying to act like nothing had happened. but the pictures stayed on your mind, even as you and dean curled up in bed and ordered some room service to cap off the night.

after that, you never mentioned it to him. you didn't want to make a big deal out of it, though you kind of wanted to. instead, you found yourself sneaking the camera for your own little adventures. when dean was out or distracted, you'd pull it from his bag and take a few selfies, figuring out how to use the thing. at first, it was a little tricky—those cameras are no joke—but with a little patience, you got the hang of it. you never did anything scandalous, just some cute pictures of yourself, and then you'd put it back in its place before dean could notice it was gone.

and he never did. at least, not until one night in your shared apartment. you were in the kitchen, snacking on some chocolate-covered strawberries dean had picked up on his way home from a hunt (because, in his words, they reminded him of you), and you were nose-deep in a romance novel you'd been dying to read. you heard him walking down the hallway, but you didn't think much of it. you were too wrapped up in your book and your snack, the perfect cozy day in.

what you didn't realize was that dean had found out about your little secret. he'd been going through the camera, checking out some new shots he'd taken, when he stumbled upon your selfies. not just the recent ones, either—he found all of them.

so when he came into the kitchen, camera in hand, he wasn't mad. in fact, he had this look on his face—kind of amused, kind of in awe. "so, you've been stealing my camera, huh?" he asked, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

you looked up at him, mouth full of strawberry, and gave him your cheekiest smile. "maybe," you said.

he didn't mind, though. if anything, he seemed impressed that you'd managed to sneak past him without him noticing. but later that same night, as you were getting ready for bed, you noticed something on his bedside table—a second album, smaller than the one you'd found before.

curiosity piqued again, you opened it up, and what you saw made your heart melt. dean had taken all the photos from the other album and added more—your selfies, the pictures he'd taken of you, everything. but this time, he'd decorated the pages with little stickers and captions in his messy, but endearing, handwriting. things like 'my beautiful girl,' 'my little mermaid,' 'my baby going for a swim.'

tears welled up in your eyes as you flipped through the pages, overwhelmed by how sweet and thoughtful it all was.

before you could even process it fully, you felt dean's arms wrap around you from behind, his bare chest warm against your back. you turned around in his embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck and peppering kisses all over his face. "you really did all this for me?" you asked softly.

he nodded, his expression soft and sincere. "yeah, baby. wanted somethin' to remember you by when i'm out on hunts. somethin' special."

he even told you that he kept one of your selfies in his wallet, and that he loved showing it off to anyone who'd listen—sam, other hunters, whoever. "you're my girl," he said, pride in his voice.

and you couldn't help but smile wide, knowing that, no matter where the road took him, DEAN WINCHESTER was always thinking of you.

… his pretty girl.

[jackleslut]

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ- KAS @jasvtsc

nineteen. polish. yapper.

reblogging stuff here instead of my main.

CERTIFIED JACKLES $LUT & YOUR FAV FREAK MCNASTY

— requests and asks are welcome on my main @jasvtsc !!

[wkemeup]

kas congrats on 15k! you absolutely deserve it :) you’re one of my favorite writers and I want to thank you for sharing your writing with us. It’s brought me so much comfort this past year💌

I’m recommending a series by @writerlyhabits that seriously gives me butterflies🥰 it’s about being neighbors with bucky (tfatws era), friends to lovers, idiots in love, rom-com vibes, and it’s so criminally underrated! warning: bucky is a charmer and he will make you swoon💛

You are so welcome and I am so glad! YES to friends to lovers though!! criminally underrated trope within itself! and a charming bucky is always a god tier bucky!

📖 Neighbors by @writerlyhabits

💜 Submit a fic rec here!

✨ More info on the 15k Fic Rec Celebration here!

[jasvtsc]

all of you better go and check out the reaper by my wonderful amazing evil twin @a1ecmcdowell and show it some love or else i’ll come to your houses in a threatening way‼️

[jackleslut]

NOW I WAS STRESSING 😭😭😭😭 ALSO THE CONFOM PART LMFAO

dean winchester x angel!reader — it's okay, it's okay.

or, dean breaks everything he touches, including himself. or, the first time dove has to use her grace.

cw, angst, injured!dean, he walks you through it kind of, dean whimpers but at what cost

word count: 2k

notes, this doesn't count toward my vote. if dean x angel wins u WILL get another i am loyal to my word!! i just got this idea n needed to get it out before i forget < 3 sorry ahead of time if it is 1) sad or 2) sucks it's late ok </3

★ ˚⋆

everyone always says the same thing when the worst comes true, but it reigns true every time - this was never meant to happen.

sure, dean could have been more careful. sure, he could have spent more time worrying about his mortal, breakable body, and not the ageless angel who'd attached to his hip. he'd gotten... used to it, more than anything, because accepting it wasn't the right word.

no, he did not want you at his side at every turn. that gave him another body to fuss over, to make sure didn't get hurt, no matter the cost. even if it was irrational. but dammit, it was you.

you were resilient. he was certain you could take care of yourself, but he panicked when he saw the claw emerging from the pitch black, heading right for your direction. dean knew, logically, that you sensed it coming, that you could have protected yourself-

he took the swipe of gashes to the shoulder anyways. a long swipe. shoulder to sternum - couldn't feel it through the daze of adrenaline, but he could feel the blood. so much blood, and so close to his heart-

"dean!"

your voice pulses in his ears like its own heartbeat. is he losing consciousness? fuck.

your footsteps pound on the dusty dirt trail in the forest, running up to where he was slumped against the nearest tree. dean coughed, blood staining his bottom lip, metal and copper clashing violently on his tongue.

"hi, dove," he whispers, trying to breath life back into his voice, falling just short. "little worse for wear, aren't i?"

"now is not the time for jokes." you kneel next to him, your eyes flitting quickly over his body until they land on the wet crimson slashes across his chest. "you bleed."

his lips quirk, even as the adrenaline is wearing and he's starting to feel the stark pain of the extent of his injuries, because he can't help it. "i do bleed," he says, wincing as the huff of laughter falls out of his mouth rips at his already ripped skin. "s'what happens when you get hurt."

"why did you get hurt?" you demand, fierce and defiant even when he's facing death. good god, he adored you. "i will live. i heal. you..."

dean knew. he knew this. how did he explain this to you, when you didn't even understand what his feelings meant?

"i've heard i look pretty good covered in blood," he says instead. "that true?"

your nimble fingers clamp hard on dean's jaw, forcing him to turn and look at you. so much feist in one ageless body. "now. is not. the time."

"you're so pretty," he breathes, his eyes melting in and out of focus. "so damn pretty when you're mad at me."

your face contorts in a mix of confusion and outrage. this, he thought, is why he doesn't tell you the other things he's been dying for in his mind. as much as dean loves your furious pout, as much as he loves the way you take that damn lip between your teeth again as you think how to stop his dying, it's better to keep you at a distance.

"the bag," dean nods to the duffel he'd dropped in his haste, a couple of feet from you, "get the bag for me, sweet girl."

he can sense the why? on your lips, and smiles, just slightly, when it doesn't come. too detrimental of circumstances for you to question is every ask and call, it seems. how bittersweet it is to be a priority only when he's dying.

you clamber back over with the bag, all but dropping it on his knee in your hurry. dean didn't even tell you what to look for before you'd unzipped it and started digging. "there's bandage wrap in there, somewhere," he rasps out, nodding his head toward you, even though you're not looking at him, "need it. to stop the bleeding."

your hands are shaking. he has nothing else to look at but you - wouldn't look anywhere else regardless - but it's the first thing his eyes lock on. "hey," he says, a little more firmly, even as it makes him wince, "s'okay. it's okay."

"you are dying, and i am useless." you snatch up a small square of shiny wrapping, and he has an explanation for why, exactly, he carries condoms everywhere, but you don't even question it. he forgot that you were too focused on him to be your usual, curious self. "this? will it protect you?"

dean pauses. now is not the time, your words echo in his head, and still, he can't help it. "protects a part of me."

you scoff, and he's upset, for a second, that the joke goes over your head. another thing he should have taught you about. upset again when you the condom also goes over your head and into the dirt with your dismissive toss.

should have. how dramatic was that? already thinking in past tense, because the pain has ebbed again, and that's never good. he was relatively calm before when he could feel it, knowing that, at the very least, it meant he could feel, but-

your hands pluck out the little roll of bandage, shaking fingers tugging at the loose end and starting to unravel it. "yeah, you've got it. not useless, dove," he mumbles, shaking his head like he vehemently denies that bogus claim. "never useless."

"what do i do with it?"

dean lifts his shirt up and over again, wincing again with a deep rumbling whimper as he feels the tear again of his skin, his muscles. a wave of nausea renders him dizzy and speechless. his arms stay raised, his vision swimming.

your irritation is so evident on your face that he's certain, right then, he's never seen you so frustrated. dean wanted to ask why, especially after all of the times you've asked him that. he didn't understand your irritation with yourself. all he needed from you was to cover up the wounds so that you could heal him without risk of him bleeding out.

"you want picked up?" you ask, tilting your head in front of dean's to force his eyes to focus on you again. "now is not the time, again."

"no-" he says, lips twitching in the corners. at the very least, you were keeping him present and conscious, what with all of your adorable attitude. he licks his dry, cracked lips and tries to ignore the copper taste on his tongue. "take that end and wrap it around. like..."

dean doesn't know if you know what a vest is, or a sash, because you don't seem to know half as much as castiel does. maybe what cas meant when he brought you into the winchesters' lives was that your naivety ran so deep because you were a new angel, a fawn trying to catch its footing and stumbling along the way.

he watches as it clicks in your mind, what he means. you are so much smarter than he gives you credit for. he leans forward, mouth falling open in a shuddery, whimpering gasp. luckily, you don't stop what you're doing and ask if he's okay. your care, it seems, either doesn't extend that far, or extends farther due to the gravity of the situation.

you straddle him as you wrap the gauze around and around, and it's damn distracting, having you this close to him again. "do it until you don't see any more of the claw marks, yeah?"

your head moves in a nod but your eyes never once leave him, focused on the task at hand. winding and winding, the gauze tightening and tightening, until his chest feels stiff with it.

"s'good," he says, raising his hand to rest his fingers on your wrist. "great job, sweet girl. here-"

his fingers walk their way down your hand until he takes the roll of gauze between them, moving the strip to his teeth and tearing until it ripped free from the roll. "there we go."

again, you stare at him expectantly, only this time, he's staring right back at you with the same anticipation in his eyes. "go on, dove. do your divine thing."

a blink. a second blink. "i don't know how."

his heart, he thinks, falls down to his ass. bypasses the gaping wound in his sternum and drops.

"that would have been great to know before i took the fucking-" he can't even be mad at you. he's dizzy, starting to shiver, and yet the idea of hurting you made him feel worse than all of those things combined.

"i did not ask you to!" no, you didn't, but what was a man who was used to jumping in front of the bullets to do? "i did not ask, and you were not supposed to be stupid."

dean forces a strained smile. "sweetheart, s'kind of my thing."

you bend down, still straddling, close enough that your nose brushes his. fuck. he was going to die without knowing what it was like to close that gap. "not the time-"

"for jokes, yeah, i- i get that," he grumbles, throat thick, spluttering on a cough. blood splatters in a hapless pattern on his shirt, on yours. "think i'm- allowed t'joke when i'm dyin'."

"you are not." your eyes stay locked onto his. there's so much passion in them that they glimmer and glitter even now, in the dead of night. "not, to either of those things. i will..."

dean hates your expression. the defeated, helpless panic in it a stark contrast to your resilient eyes. he wants to comfort you. wants to smooth the pinched skin between your brows with his thumb, but everything's starting to feel a little heavy. "cas-" his head thumps back against the wall. "uses his hands. touch."

your expression softens. there it is again, that determined gleam overtaking every other emotion on your face. there's my girl, he thinks, even though it's a thought he's never allowed himself to think before, about you. his inhibitions are lessened now, though, and who is he to hide a thing from you?

slowly, your hands lift to his cheeks, cupping his face between your palms. your skin is so warm, and his is so cold, and he can't look away from your eyes. dean's never believed in someone as much as he does you, right now.

your eyes close, and he's still looking. his head leans forward and knocks against yours, like he can't get close enough. he'd do anything to know what your lips tasted like. if they were as sweet as you were, or as furious as you tended to get.

"it's not-" you growl, and he opens his mouth to say something to counteract the rush of heat your gravelly voice shoots through his icy veins, when- "fuck it."

two beats of shock wrack through him, and he has no time, not a split second at all, to prepare for the way your mouth crashes into his. his eyes blink wide in shock before a wave of warmth starts in his chest and spreads like roots through his blood and deep in his veins. he sees the blue-white flash of your grace as it spreads around the both of you.

you pull back so suddenly that your lips pop, staring at him expectantly. no, not dean, his red soaked bandages on the outside of his torn shirt. you give him no time to process it before you're clawing at it, tearing it down the center. "jesus, dove-" his eyes drop down to follow your gaze.

the only remnants of his injury were the dried streaks of blood running down his chest, pale red and shiny in the areas still drying in the cold night air.

you laugh, soft and hesitant, and it's the prettiest noise dean has ever heard. "if i'd known i just had t'almost die t'get you to kiss me," he says slowly, "i'd have done it a lot sooner."

even if it was hardly a kiss - more of a collision. he'd just have to teach you how he liked it, later.

tags,

@figthoughts, @jasvtsc, @titsout4nicholas, @deanswidow, @whyyouegg,

@bombarda-babe, @whisperingwillowxox, @underground-secret,

@bitchykittenconnoisseur, @jensenacklesantidote,

@keira-kaz2y5, @ostaramoon, @depressionbarbie2023, @ultravi0lence14, @loverslantern,

@bleuatlas, @minettacreekk, @sthefferrete

[jackleslut]

i’m melting this is so CUTEEEEEE

Born In The U.S.A

dean winchester x angel!reader

1.3k | fluff, fem pronouns

summary: in a spur of the moment decision, dean decides to take his wide eyed angel on a road trip to see all of his favourite places in america.

“dean, are we there yet?” your sweet voice drifted through the small confines of baby, sending a smile onto dean’s face as he counted that being the fourth time you’ve said that in the span of five minutes.

you were so used to flying wherever you needed to go, that it took dean a good couple of months to explain to you that driving took a little more time than your usual choice of wing transportation.

he gave your thigh a light squeeze with the hand resting on it, turning his head slightly so he could see your bewildered expression. “almost there, sweets. just another hour or so.”

you and dean had spent the past couple of days in the impala together, driving around different places in america so he could show you his all time favourite spots.

he had realized you didn’t know much about earth, and in a last minute decision, he whisked you away from the bunker and left sam and cas to deal with any up coming cases.

dean hadn’t expected you to be so ecstatic. he was expecting you to worry about leaving the workload on sam and your brother. though he was greatly surprised when you jumped into his arms, hands hugging tightly around his neck as you peppered countless kisses on his face and neck.

the excitement confused him slightly, asking you why you weren’t worried. you just smiled at him, revealing that you’ve been undergoing an unfamiliar feeling of need for dean and just dean. you wanted some alone time with him, and dean winchester wasn’t one to complain about that.

so the two of you set off on your journey, the open road and dean’s favourite american destinations in front of you.

the stops you two had been on were pretty eventful. dean had started off in chicago, parking his car and taking you on a stroll throughout the city. you were confused on what he wanted to show you until the two of you stopped in front of what dean called ‘the big bean’. you looked at him bewildered, dean’s excited face confusing you more. your lips parted with lack of words before you looked at dean with a subtle look of wonder. “why is it called that, dean? it’s just a giant, metal blob.”

he followed up your trip to chicago with the next stop being in north carolina. dean brought the two of you to a truck stop, explaining that this was the first place his dad let him drive the impala. he followed that up with going inside the small convenience store attached and buying you a shirt that said ‘truck life or no life’. he ended up taking a picture of you wearing the shirt, you wearing an even more confused face to match. he posted it to his friends only facebook page, the caption reading, “my angel is better than yours.”

your last stop was in minnesota, dean pulling into a sleepy looking diner that had you fearing for what he had up his sleeve. though you were thoroughly surprised that all dean had in mind was expressing his love for what he called ‘the best apple pie in the whole damn world.’

countless times you told him it was a waste of time to come here. that all food tasted like molecules and you wouldn’t be able to enjoy it. dean didn’t seem to care though. he just kissed you on the cheek, leaving a slight residue of apple filling as he spoke through a mouthful of pie, “with you here, it’s all i could ever dream of.”

now you two had been driving for a day or two, not stopping until you got to maine; per dean’s request. you didn’t know what he had in store for this state, but you were starting to get antsy trying to figure out what it could be.

dean seemed way to calm for your liking. classic rock cassette taps playing in the background as his fingers tapped the beat on your leg. the angelic side of you wanted to worry, but the other side that loved and trusted dean with your entire being said otherwise.

as he turned onto a dirt road that was off the side of the highway, your bewilderment grew ten fold, not understanding where dean was going to take you. the impala rumbled to a stop, your curiosity leading you to lean forward and get closer to the windshield to a get a better look at where dean had taken you.

in an instant it all made sense. the willow tree that overlooked a mossy pond took over your vision, and dean was grinning ear to ear as you whipped your head to look at him with a surprised smile on your face.

“dean,” you breathed out, opening the car door and stepping out into the earthy atmosphere. “this is the place where we met for the first time.”

“it is, sweets. possibly the best place america has to offer.” the grin on dean’s face could outshine a million suns, following behind you as you slowly walked towards the droopy tree. the two of you had met here around one year ago; castiel had heard static over angel radio, implying at a rogue angel was coming down to earth.

you’d rebelled like cas, seeing all the good that he was doing for humanity and disagreeing with the harsh and lucrative beliefs of the angels. when you fell underneath that willow tree, wings and grace gone, you were so confused, harbouring the knowledge of millennia and eons with no knowledge in how humans operated in today’s society.

when cas quickly transported sam and dean to the location in a remote location in maine, the group of three found you huddled underneath the willow tree, soaked to the bone from landing in the pond and shaking like a leaf. your knees were brought to your chest and you were rocking back and forth, reminding dean of a petulant child who just got caught doing something they shouldn’t.

the brother’s decided that cas should approach you. and when he did, you looked up at him with these big and wet eyes that had dean’s heart breaking in half. he heard you mumble a, “why do i feel like this, castiel? why is there this hollow pit in my stomach making everything feel so empty?”

“you’re experiencing human emotions, most likely a sense of heavy sadness.” his gentle nature and smile brightened your face a bit, allowing you to follow his actions as he softly gripped your elbow and raised you to your feet.

“come with us,” dean spoke lighter than he’s ever heard himself. “we’ll teach you how to live.”

the rest was history, and now, dean stood under the same tree where he saw you for the first time. he remembers how scared you were that day, eyes fleeting over the bunker like something was going to jump out and kill you.

for a couple of months you were in a rough place. missing your brother’s and sister’s while slowly adapting to human life. dean was by your side the whole time, and those moments spent together was what grew the profound bond between you two. this is when dean started to feel his heart stop and clench anytime you came into a room; the time he fell in love with you.

“dean, this is amazing.” there was a teary lilt to your voice, and in an instant you’d turned around and collapsed into dean’s arms. he was warm against the biting air, bringing you close into his body as his hands found purchase in stroking your hair.

“thank you.” the two words left your mouth in breaths, smushing against dean’s chest as he smiled down at you, leaving a kiss on the crown of your head.

pulling away from you at an arms length, following up by wrapping his arm around your shoulder, dean walked the two of you towards the willow tree, a little smile decorating his face. “honestly angel, we can just tell people you were born here. no one needs to know. though to me, you’ll always be born in the u.s.a.”

“isn’t that the song that sam likes?”

“oh sweetheart, i have so much more to teach you.”

*dean totally has a facebook account with only ten followers where he posts almost 10 times a day and i’ll die on that hill.

tags: @a1ecmcdowell @jasvtsc @ostaramoon @cosmicanakin @fallbhind @aylacavebear @rubyvhs

[jasvtsc]

i’m in love with beau arlen ‼️

helping beau relax after a stressful day at work (beau x gf!reader) 18+

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

imagine beau getting home to your apartment after a long day, a deep sigh rumbling from his chest as he sits down on the couch, almost defeatedly.

“what’s wrong, my love?” you ask, seeing the exhaustion etched on his face, taking a seat beside him.

“just a long day, darlin’. don’t worry about it,” he replies, pulling you into his arms, caging you against his chest.

“you say that, but i do worry. i care about you, beau,” you smile, searching his eyes as the soft-spoken words leave your lips. you plant a tender little kiss on his cheek.

he hums with a tired smile as you plant another kiss. and another. and another. you kiss your way along his bearded jaw, your lips eventually finding his.

beau kisses you back lazily, letting his eyes flutter shut as his body melts into the couch, but as you slip your leg over his thighs and settle in his lap, it’s like a flip switches. he kisses you back hard, with a desperate intensity to it.

“so tired,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling at your shirt, “just been wanting to come home and see you. more than anything, darlin’.”

you sense the emotion behind his words; you can tell he’s had a rough day. you know he needs a little lovin’ right now.

you let him slip off your shirt, his mouth attaching itself to your neck, sucking and biting at your skin gently. he pulls at your bra straps and you nod, giving him permission to continue undressing you.

he pulls the rest of your clothes off, along with his, with such reverence in his gaze as he looks at you. his eyes widen as you settle in front of him on the floor.

“oh, sweetheart. you don’t have to do that, you’ve worked all day too,” he breathes out, his fingers tenderly pushing back some hair from your face.

“don’t have to, want to,” you correct him, taking him in your hand, your eyes locked on his.

he gasps at your soft hand wrapping around his cock and the shivers that run down his spine as you begin to pump him. you watch his shoulders begin to relax and the tense expression on his face slowly disappear.

“mmm, are— are you sure?” he asks again, his tone lazy and tired, his southern drawl coming out a little.

“positive,” you reaffirm.

beau rocks his hips a little as you pump his hardening cock, quiet and needy moans falling from his lips.

“ahhh… sweetheart, that feels so good…” he coos lovingly, watching you from the couch in awe.

you smile up at him, watching him through your lashes, enjoying his gaze that’s so full of love and affection.

as you take his hardened cock into your mouth, a deep moan erupts from his chest. beau’s hand comes to rest on your head, not guiding your movements by any means, but just out of desperation to touch you, to have the comfort of your body against his, even in that small insignificant way.

you bob your head up and down his length, your tongue swirling over his sensitive tip, tasting his precum as he watches you in a mixture of adoration and fascination.

“fuck, darlin’. feels so good. you look so beautiful like this,” he mutters, his free hand gripping the couch.

you hum around his cock, enjoying how the vibrations make beau’s hips jerk up towards you.

deep and strangled groans fall out of beau’s mouth as he gets closer, twitching against your tongue. you grab the base of his cock, jerking off what you can’t fit in.

beau bites at his bottom lip, trying to stifle his moans as they get louder. his grip in your hair gets a little tighter, now guiding you along his member. you let him, seeing the neediness and exhaustion still haunting his features.

“ahhh… oh, god— mmm, feels so good. don’t stop, baby…. please…” he whines out, his eyes locked on you.

you bat your lashes up at him, moving up ‘n down his thick cock faster, your hand still wrapped around his base.

he whimpers as he fights off finishing right there in your mouth, “ahh ahh, darlin’…. w-where?”

you look into his desperate eyes as you pull him out of your mouth with a ‘pop’, your hand still jerking his sensitive pretty pink cock. you stick your tongue out and open your mouth, answering his question.

he nods in response and grabs ahold of his length, jerking himself off quickly, “fuck, darlin’… gonna cum in that pretty mouth of yours…” he grunts out, hisses and groans flying past his lips.

he lets out a deep pathetic moan as he finishes, his warm ropes of cum covering your lips and tongue as he milks his cock for every last drop.

your eyes stay locked on his as he shoots his load into your mouth. a small smile grows on your face as he slumps back into the couch, a tired but satisfied look on his face, “oh, jesus. baby, you’re so—” he shakes his head, unable to find the words to describe how strong his love for you is.

you obediently swallow, wiping the drops above and below your lips into your mouth, your tongue teasingly wrapping around the tip of your finger. beau groans again, watching you tease him as you swallow his cum.

“so damn beautiful,” he comments, “thank you, babygirl. i— i really needed that.”

you nod, shifting on your knees in front of him with a smile. you tilt your head and look at him as he smiles back at you, “i know. you looked like you needed it, baby.”

he hums again, watching you crawl back up onto his lap. his hands find their way to your waist, “is it my turn to make you feel good now, my darlin’? i’m dying to return the favour.”

you smile widely and shrug trying to play coy, but the excited squeal that escapes your lips as beau pins you down against the couch gives away just how eager you are.

A/N: first time writing for beau !!! the daddy issues in me are SCREAMING for a piece of him like actually it’s so bad.

requests and feedback are welcome!! reblogs are appreciated!! thank youuuu!!!

✩ taglist: @chevroletdean @fitxgrld @jasvtsc @bluestrd @1-imbroglio @titsout4nicholas @faithfulsofi @tortureddarkstar @abellmunsonmovie @atenea585 @theoneandonlystonedspiderman420 @manicjk @aileenunfiltered @minettacreekk @jackleslvr @winchester-whiskey @artyandink @emeraldcrs @freyabear @a1ecmcdowell @cosmopolitan-thedrink @jwritestuff @suhnisideup @spookyysinsanity

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[jasvtsc]

LALALALALALA YET ANOTHER ABSOLUTELY AMAZING DRABBLE WRITTEN BY MY WIFE😌😌 GO CHECK IT OUT‼️‼️‼️

WAITIN BY THE PHONE

sam x fem! hunter reader

warnings: no particular warning! pure fluff! soft! sam, s1+s2 kinda vibe, use of y/n, basically sam acting like a begging dog all for you- but in a cute way!! use of y/n

Sam was never the type to act so desperate. The Winchester brothers were always deemed ‘unstoppable’ by the majority of the hunting community, their stories shared around like marshmallows at the campfire, and yet the moment you entered their lives, he was at a complete loss for you.

the three of you had met on a hunt, a vamp nest in the middle of the Midwest, probably Nebraska. you’d never been the type to welcome others along a hunt, but after bashing a demons head in and looking up only to find a puppy-dog eyed man and his brute of a brother, you gave up that whole ‘lone wolf’ idea. You were - a list aprehensivo at first, after so little communication between the three of you, the various questions, the holy water being thrown in your face (which pissed you off a little), you got along just fine.

After a successful hunt, the three of you went to the local dive bar, drinking away what cash you had left, draining it like a hummingbird to sweet water. You had (drunkenly) given Sam your number, slurring words, and warm smiles, eyes half lidded and pupils as wide as a cats when hunting a mouse, not thinking he would ever call, because hey- what drunk girl ends up getting a date after that kinda job right?

wrong.

fast forward to a few days later, the both of you on seperate paths, his brother and him in Philly, and you in New York, your phone rings. ‘No caller ID’ it reads, your skeptical, at first, but sooner or later you give in for the hell of it because you need a break from researching werewolves, and traveling all over New York of all places.

“hello?” you ask into the phone, one hand on your hip, contemplating if you should’ve even picked it up, after waiting a few moments- there’s a familiar voice, one you know all too well..

“hi… this is y/n right? we- um- did a case a few weeks ago?” it was sam, he normally wouldn’t be so awkward over the phone, but from his perspective at the bar that night, he thought it seemed pretty amazing that he got a pretty girls number- a hunter too nonetheless.

“yeah this is y/n - you’re sam right? where you working?” you shifted onto the motel rooms bed, sitting on the edge of it, tucking a hair behind your ear carelessly.

“well currently me and dean are in Philly- got a case of a witch apparently.” he replies, you could even imagine him now awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck, perching himself on the edge of a chair, listening in.

“a witch? really?” your voice rings out, curious, hell you didn’t think they’d be in the Midwest of all places, then again, witches do know how to hide well, so it’s not that surprising.

“yeah- she’s- an old one..” he remarked, sensing the sheepish tone and expression, you smiled softly.

“were you- waiting to see if I’d call?” you asked, a cocky yet soft smirk overcame your face, you wanted to roll your eyes but you had it out for him, so it wasn’t completely his fault.

“wh- no…” he disapproves, trying to change the subject, but the sound of your laughter from the other line fills his thoughts, his heart even gets a little faster after hearing it, biting at his lip, he suppressed a chuckle.

“you so were!” you chuckled, smiling at the fact that such a tall, brooding man like himself, was weak in the knees all for you.

“look can you help me with the witch please? Dean and I are totally stumped…” he responded, embarrassed that you’d found out he’d been waiting by the phone since that night at the bar for you to call him up for something. anything.

“whereabouts in Philly are you sam?” you ask, your laughter dying down, absentmindedly twirling a strand of hair around your finger, you had it bad, and you both knew it.

“mm fairmount..” he responded, after a few moments.

“I’ll be there in a few hours.. hang tight.” you reassure him, before hanging up the phone, and sighing contently. you never imagined in your wildest dreams you’d have a Hunter- nonetheless a man like him of all people, weak for you, and yet, here you both were.

you were his guiding light, and he was a follower.

reblogs + reposts appreciated!! mwah! ❄️

[jasvtsc]

GO CHECK IT OUT OCT FINALLY POSTED YAYYYYYYY

pov: you’re jensen ackles’ controversially young gf (alt!musican!reader) part iii

read part i here, read part ii here

youruser 12m

jensenackles

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jensenackles Fun morning in NYC. Thanks @/goodmorningamerica and @/livekellyandryan for the chat. Sorry for the explicit spoilers 🤭!!!

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theboystv Hope the coffee was iced

gibson_g1rl i think i know what’s going on hereee🤭

pearlzier i think we’re thinkin the same thing🤭🤭

youruser you did so good superstar🌟🤎

jensenackles Thank you, honey. I’ll see you soon☺️🤎

caswh0re @/jensenackles @/youruser music stuff??👀

gibson_g1rl @/caswh0re don’t be delusional

caswh0re @/gibson_g1rl 😭😭😭😭😭

vamps4y/n @/caswh0re @/gibson_g1rl nonono she’s right, they’re probably abt to fuck nasty

pearlzier @/vamps4y/n BYEE☠️

j2texas OMGG why tf is #She here😭

gibson_g1rl @/j2texas girl why don’t you #kys

youruser

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youruser *taps mic* is this thing on? resurrection coming out october 13th🐈‍⬛🧙‍♀️🦇🧛‍♀️

(note: absolutely no graves were defiled, and not a single dead soul was woken, in the making of this project !!! and big shoutout to st. louis cemetery no.1 for existing and being so cool n morbidly beautiful🤞)

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jensenackles So fucking proud of you, sweetheart. I feel incredibly honored to have been apart of this beautiful project, and I really hope that the world loves it just as much as I do.🖤🖤🖤

youruser hey bro wtf !!!!! you’re abt to get a very tearful phone call here in a minute😭😭 thank you so much for everything, i love you🖤🖤🦇

vamps4y/n AWWW JENSEN THATS SO SWEET !!! OKAY NOW SAY “vamp life til i die”

hrtsy/n @/vamps4y/n NOT THE TIME GIRL😭😭

gibson_g1rl @/youruser YOU GUYS ARE SO DISGUSTINGLY CUTE !!!! ITS NAUSEATING !!!!!

jasvtsc ANYONE ELSE CRYING AND THROWING UP AND BANGING THEIR HEAD ON THE WALL RN😭😭😭

suicideleopard i see that mausoleum we used to always make out behind

youruser you tryna run it back??

suicideleopard @/youruser Pause…

youruser @/suicideleopard nah nah nah it’s good dw i got socks on😼

gibson_g1rl @/youruser @/suicideleopard ?????😭😭😭

vamps4y/n @/youruser @/suicideleopard you guys are fucking insane, just make out already

youruser @/vamps4y/n i Really wish i could thumbs down instagram comments…..

suicideleopard liked your comment

jensenackles liked your comment

vamps4y/n @/youruser 😭😭 you literally started this

youruser @/vamps4y/n blaming everyone but yourself…

hrtsy/n OMGOGKFMFO NEEWWWWWW ALBUMMMMMM ON THE FUCKING WAYYYY OMGGGG😭😭😭😭😭😭

gibson_g1rl WE USED TO PRAY FOR DAYS LIKE THESE🙏🙏

y/ngirlies MOTHER IS FINALLY FEEDING US AGAIN

archiveofvirtue THE DROUGHT IS FINALLY OVER😭😭🙏

pearlzier WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK YOU GUYS!!!!!

jasvtsc THE SUN HAS FINALLY COME THE RAIN IS GONE🙌

youruser

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youruser when you gon’ fly me in private so i can land on that dick🧎‍♀️ #oldpics

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gibson_g1rl i beg your finest fucking pardon⁉️

pearlzier THE SECOND PIC?????

jensenackles Hey, nice coat!☺️

youruser OH THNX😸 yeah i actually stole it from this random white boy, he was super chill abt it tho

jensenackles liked your comment

archiveofvirtue @/youruser you two aren’t fooling anybody anymore, just hard launch already so we can be crazy in peace

y/ngirlies @/archiveofvirtue @/youruser RETWEET !!!

jackleswife that should be me

vamps4y/n we should take you out back and shoot you like a deer with chronic wasting disease

deanluvr i’m obsessed with seeing you guys in this era, i don’t ever want it to end🙏

jasvtsc this might be their best era yet

deansluvr @/jasvtsc it is fr

hrtsy/n mama y papa liked🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

caswh0re @/hrtsy/n iktr they’re just like us

youruser

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youruser CHICAGO I HAVE SO MUCH TO THANK YOU FOR

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yourbffsuser baby came back home for awhile guys😸😸

youruser you can take the girl out of the midwest, but you can’t take the midwest out of the girl fr🙁

hrtsy/n the sixth pic is so real, like i felt that🤞

youruser we revisited the trap that day☠️☠️

hrtsyn @/youruser OH?????

youruser @/hrtsy/n ☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

gibson_g1rl your silly ass was getting more train flattened pennies huh😭

youruser you know it babe🤭🤭

jasvtsc i love it when y/n in chicago🫶

pearlzier ykyk we always get some of the best music when she goes back🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

jasvtsc @/pearlzier EXACTLYYYYY

archiveofvirtue WELCOME BACK JUNE ADVENTURES !!!!!

youruser I FINALLY GOT TO FLICK THE BEAN AGAIN!!!!!

y/ngirlies @/youruser excuse me???💀

youruser @/y/ngirlies the giant stainless steel bean in millennium park☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

y/ngirlies @/youruser OHHHHH!!😭😭😭

vamps4y/n @/y/ngirlies @/youruser tf did you think she meant😭

jensenackles Hope you had fun sweetheart!!😊

youruser i did lovey, thank you🫂🤎

pearlzier @/youruser SWEETHEART AND LOVEY?????????😭😭😭😭😭😭

jasvtsc @/youruser LOVEY??? THATS SO FUCKING CUTE OMG????😭😭😭

gibson_g1rl @/youruser YOU GUYS ARE SO ADORABLE IM THROWING UP!!!!!!

deanluvr @/youruser PLS JUST GO CANON ALREADY OMFGG😭😭

caswh0re @/deanluvr @/youruser “go canon” 😭

youruser 3m

꩜ thank you so much !!! i hope you guys enjoyed reading this😸 all feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💟

꩜ SOOO much happening here, this part didn’t go the way i originally planned but i still like it🙏🏼

꩜ tags : @gibson-g1rl @pearlzier @jasvtsc @archiveofvirtue 🎀 lmk if you wanna be tagged and/or featured in the next part !!!!!

[jackleslut]

OOOOOOP-

( -_•)╦̵̵̿╤─ ㅤ ─ ㅤ addicted to the knife.

cw. graphic depictions of blood & violence. pre-established relationship. normal!au (kind of). unhinged!dean. sweet!reader. inspo from this tiktok edit.

THE BLOOD STAINS the sink this time, while he tries to wash it down the drain. pink on porcelain white, so vibrant still that he can almost hear the screams echoing in his ears.

there are so many justifications he has for himself in his head, and not a single one holds a candle to the reality of his reasonings. they were monsters, and they were going to hurt you.

he couldn't let them get away with it, could they? what kind of person would that make him if he didn't step in and protect the only person that broke through his defenses? it'd make him a monster too, wouldn't it? couldn't have that.

his fingertips are raw from trying to scrub the blood out from under his nails, and yet it still doesn't come out. the sink is still pink. and you're blissfully asleep in bed in the next room, unaware of the scent of decay dominating the house.

vampires, this time. that was why they bled so much. all the blood in their stomachs from draining innocent people; one could have been you. bled so much, not because of the fact he'd bludgeoned them until they were unrecognizable, and burnt them to be safe ─ was that the burning smell that clung to his nostrils? he'd thought you burnt dinner, too desensitized to it all that he couldn't distinguish the different scents of burnt meat.

the sink water is so hot, that steam billows off of it and condensates on the mirror. dean does not meet his reflection, and tells himself it's not because he'll see truths in the depths of his green eyes that he isn't ready to face yet. it's because the glass is foggy, and you're in bed, waiting for him to coil around you like a snake, and suffocate you in his protective embrace.

"dean?" your voice calls, soft padded footsteps echoing closer and closer in the room, to where he stands in front of a blood-stained sink, with the evidence of his crimes so deeply embedded into his clothes that his skin is sticky with it. not pink yet, but disgustingly red. dark. matches his eyes.

dean barely manages to turn the faucet off before you arrive, your face softened with exhaustion, pinched tight in confusion. "y'never came to bed," you slur through your sleepiness, blinking up at him. so damn sweet. and the world wanted him to let you get hurt. to let all of the monsters in the world destroy you.

no. not on his watch. he may have blood on his hands, may keep secrets from you, but he was not them. he'd never, ever lay a finger on you and risk hurting your pretty little head.

dean's smile comes so easily. it's you: of course it does. "stayed late at the office," the smile falls slowly, to mimic your sleepy expression. it's so easy for him to blend in with you.

you don't even blink at his lie. this is why he has to keep you safe. pretty and trusting. a fawn wandering into a wolf's den, too distracted by their soft fur to notice their snarling teeth. "come to bed now?"

"f'course, baby," dean whispers, and when he looks down to follow your reaching hand, the sink is the same porcelain white, and his hands are raw and aching.

relief seeps out of him like sap. slow and dripping, always a little left in the tank, never quite able to be fully excavated. this was why he did what he did, after all; that fear drove him like a knife.

your fingers close around his, though, and your eyes do not see the blood on his palms, as you pull him to bed. it's too dark in the bedroom for you to notice the fact that he'd missed speckles of blood on the collar of his button up.

your face buries into his chest, and the only smell you find in the bare skin is the strong scent of your floral handsoap. anything, to keep the scent of coppery blood from ever touching you.

nothing would ever touch you.

he stays up all night to make sure of it.

. . . tags.

@whyyouegg @sthefferrete @cevansbaby-dove @titsout4nicholas @cosmicanakin

@bluestrd @ultravi0lence14 @mccartneyqp @poughkeepsie99 @depressionbarbie2023

@im-bili @ariasong11 @chevroletdean @angelblqde @ostaramoon

@deansbite @lyarr24 @psyches-reid @reynas13 @momoewn

@deanswidow @jasvtsc @figthoughts @beausling @frosttbitessam

@aileenunfiltered @artyandink

[jasvtsc]

LMFAOOOO IM CRYING THE LAST PART😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

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

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

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

word count : 2.9k

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

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

��� ˚⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he drove past it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it was dead empty, four miles back.

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

"dean—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he was so damn screwed.

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

[jasvtsc]

IM TWEAKING TF OUT NOBODY SEDATE ME‼️‼️‼️

THE REAPERㅤㅤ—ㅤㅤEVENT OF THE FUCKIN' CENTURY.

THE REAPER disappeared off the face of the planet in the 20th century. SOLDIER BOY is the only one who holds the answers. A WAITING GAME ensues to see which, if either, makes it out of the depths of the unknown first.

includes, they're gay ㅤㅤㅤ u get to meet the side characters < 3 ㅤㅤㅤ idk i think that's it IT'S MILD. COMPARED TO WAHT COMES NEXT

word count : 3.6k

notes, my monthy fic update is done time to drop off the face of the planet again for 2384590438 years PERDFKLSLJ sry for edging aftercare for so long i'm just a girl whose interests change like the weather

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤprev part!ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤmasterpost!ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤnext part!

04.

COLE WAS NOT wearing his fucking glasses and that was final. The Vought stylist brought them in underneath a silver platter like he was supposed to be excited for the reveal of glasses that would help his failing eyesight. As if that was something he would ever be excited for. The rest of his life, watching it fail despite the rest of his body healing fine, all because his powers just did that? Going blind because his powers just did that? 

The only reason he did not tell Allie to get fucked was because she was the messenger. He didn’t shoot messengers. He just shot the sender twice.

“They’re really not so bad, Reaper,” she said in that soft voice of hers, tucking her hair behind one of her ears, fingers catching on the temples of the Vought Exclusive glasses she’d tried on. She was a sweetheart, really. Cole couldn’t believe he thought about shooting her.

Couldn’t believe a lot of the shit in his head, if he thought about it. So he didn’t.

“You try having your eyes failing on you, then tell me they’re ‘not so bad’,” he grumbles furiously, staring at his reflection in the large, golden framed mirror in one of Vought-American’s special dressing rooms on the upper floors. Cole meets Allie’s eyes in the reflection of the glass. “Oh. Fuck. Sorry.” 

She plucks his glasses off of her face, and unfolds hers from being tucked into the neckline of her peplum dress, sliding them into her face. “Should switch you and Obsidian’s suits for that. Inconvenience the both of you.”

“Hey, he’s innocent in all of this, alright?” Cole laughs, a sound he doesn’t often do. Too locked up in his head, where it’s all dark and fucky. A pause. “Obsidian’s coming?”

“Rumor has it,” Allie singsongs in response, coming up behind Cole to smooth out the skin tight leather of his outfit. He’s beginning to think she has a thing for him. He’s beginning to think he needs a new damn stylist — or whatever she was. “They want to show unity, between the Six, now that Soldier Boy—”

Oh, fucking kill him. 

“Yeah, yeah, no need to stroke his ego while he’s not here to get off on it,” he grumbled all over again, waving his hand in dismissive irritation. “God forbid he know they threw a fucking Gala for his safe return. As if he can die. As if I haven’t tried—”

Allie beams at him in the mirror, like he’s a spectacle. “Sorry,” she splutters when he catches her, head falling, “it’s just— I’m an intern, so I don’t get to see the likes of you all very often and— it’s real?”

Opportunities fall into his bored hands sometimes. Cole glances down at himself in his latex supersuit, then flicks his eyes back up to her. “Yeah. All real.”

Hates himself instantly. Has never, not once, felt so much like Ben in his life. 

“No!” she splutters all over again, her fist punching out to hit him in the arm. “The rivalries. The drama. I thought it was just publicity.”

Cole knew that, by the way. He’s just falling victim, like the rest of America currently, based on the newspaper headlines, to the influence of Soldier Boy. Get him out of here. 

Still, he puts on his media trained smile and nods once. “A lot of it’s just for show.” He talks himself out of trying to kill Soldier Boy twice an hour. “All in good fun.” He knows how he’d do it, too. “Gotta keep people watching, y’know?” Ben not included. Because Cole wanted to burn his eyes out and make his stupid head explode. 

Cole claps his hands together, turning his head to the door. Still closed, no sign of Legend yet, coming to collect him and the others. “Well, Allie. Go check for me that The Legend hasn’t croaked yet, yeah? He’s late again.”

Allie, seemingly having been waiting for an order, jumps into action like a robot. Cole felt a wash of relief the moment that she was out of the room. 

He didn’t hesitate to glance at the vanity counter that she’d left his glasses on, shooting the brightest beam of light at them to try and shatter them. No avail. Worth a shot, though. 

His door cracks open, and he first hears it in the sounds that come before the actual movement. Heavy stomping footsteps, an even heavier sigh. 

Cole expects Legend. Has an irritable teasing remark on the tip of his tongue. 

It’s Ben. 

“Just wanted to see if this was killin’ you yet, princess,” Ben hums, cigar hanging out of his mouth, hair styled flat and gelled against his scalp. “Having to celebrate me tonight.” 

“I’m not celebrating shit,” Cole says through a scoff, running his fingers through his hair. He really should start putting an effort into his appearance, shouldn’t he? Can’t just bank on being the one of the Six everyone’s afraid to cross. “There’s free wine. I’m goin’ for free wine.” 

“Don’t be like that,” Ben puffs an exhale of cigar smoke into the dressing room, making it smell like leather and tobacco at once. “You owe me a bit of fucking respect after the display yesterday.” 

Cole’s eye starts twitching, like it always does when Ben opens his mouth and tries to reprimand him for not kissing his ass. “Yeah. Alright.” 

He expects Ben to hound him a bit more, just to really solidify how much his feelings were hurt by specifically Cole’s unhappiness about his return. They’ve played this stupid game enough that Cole can predict every single one of Ben’s steps and still goes easy on him. 

Instead, there’s the telltale scrape of heavy, solid metal on hardwood, and he only has time to blink before the whistle of something flying through the room overtakes any other sound. Ben’s shield. 

Cole doesn’t have time to physically defend himself, or even react, before the edge of it slams into his abdomen and shoves him against the wall. Against the wall, into the wall — what was the difference? Drywall cracks behind his spine, and there’s a split second of blearing pain behind his eyes before his blood’s already sending its defenses to heal it. 

“What the fuck?” Cole shouts, his boot kicking at the titanium steel and trying to shove it off of his leg where it’d fallen. Expectedly, he can’t move it. 

Expectedly, he’s getting pissy. First they want him to make a grand debut next to Soldier Boy in fucking glasses — to prove that Soldier Boy is the strongest in his time of praise, he guessed, or maybe just so he could see. Either way made his blood turn to fire and ash. Then this—

“I have to go to a gala dedicated to me with a fucking hole in my chest,” Ben snarls, his booming voice echoing throughout the small dressing room. “Do you know how patronizing that is?” 

“I didn’t know you knew what that word meant,” Cole says, mostly to himself, “been reading the Daily Tribune? Doing the crosswords?” 

“I will fucking kill you one day, Reaper,” he responds through his gritted teeth, his own boots stomping on the ground as he goes to retrieve his shield, “and there won’t be a goddamn person to mourn you, and not a person to reap you either.” 

Anger flares through him like a lit match. It’d been a minute, and it’s rusty at best, but he gives in to the dark. The shadows cast behind the vanity, the darker ones beneath the soft, maroon couch in the middle of the room. 

He thinks it, and they finally, finally fall silent for a second, obeying the command in his head and curl into a wispy black hand around Ben’s throat. 

“Nice trick,” Ben rasps through his strained throat, his twitching lips betraying the calm facade he wears like a mask, “gonna dim the light now?” 

Finish it. He doesn’t. Finish him. He won’t. “Maybe the one in your eyes.” 

“You wish.” 

You wish, you wish, you wish. Fuck, he did wish. 

It’s always like this when he gives in to the shadows. Their voices quiet when he reaches out to them, and then they’re loud, pounding in his skull. 

He’s gotten used to pushing them away, though, Even when it makes his limbs feel too big for his skin, denying something so innate within him. 

Cole holds the grip on Ben’s throat a second longer before he wills the shadows into bleary black smoke again. Ben’s hand comes up to rub at the reddened mark on his skin, his eyes ablaze with fire. 

Ben’s hands shoot out before Cole can blink, strong fingers grabbing Cole by the nylon of his supersuit, They drag him in until they’re nose to nose, hot angry breath splaying on his face in puffs. 

A blink, and Cole thinks he might hit him. A blink, and he’s certain he will, already preparing to have to pop his nose into place again, crack his jaw on track again. 

He kisses him. 

It’s bruising. teeth clashing into teeth, hard enough to send them both back into the wall behind Cole. Cole is too shocked to do anything, at first, except for let him, even as it felt like ice water being poured directly over his head, turning everything to ice. 

Finally, he returns to his senses, and he shoves Ben back with his hands on his chest. Ben’s hands only curl tighter into the nylon fabric. “What the fuck, Ben?” 

Ben’s chest heaves, heavy breaths leaving his parted lips. He says nothing in his defense, not a single word, but his eyes falling to Cole’s mouth says a thousand of them. One second, they’re staring at each other. The next second, Cole isn’t sure who moves first; him, or Ben. Ben, whose hands drag him back in by his grip on his shirt. Cole, who lifted his hands to grasp at Ben’s face, holding him in place so he couldn’t break free again. 

It wasn’t romantic by any means. It was entirely lust and anger driving their mouths together. Ben pushes him back against the wall and the cracked drywall behind them, using his grip on Cole’s suit to lift him easily. 

The skin tight fabric of their supersuits leaves little to the imagination about how this was affecting them, which does nothing but make Cole groan into Ben’s open mouth. 

Ben shoves him harder into the wall, his voice a low, warning omen on his lips. “Shut the fuck up.” 

For once in his entire life, Cole listens to him. He’d deny it until he died, though. 

Ben’s knee knocks roughly against Cole’s, forcing him to spread them wider, and once Cole obliges, he presses himself deeper between them. Ben’s tongue swipes across Cole’s bottom lip until it opens, invading his mouth with force, just as he invades everything. 

That thought alone has Cole shoving him off of him until Ben’s spine collides with the vanity, stumbling after him to sink his fingers in the waistband of Ben’s pants, pulling his hips closer but still keeping him pinned to the vanity. 

Ben’s pupils are blown, eyes glazing as he stares into Cole’s. He leans in, teeth clamping around Cole’s bottom lip and drags it backwards until it pops back against his teeth. 

“Hey, Reap,” a voice — Obsidian’s, he realizes — calls from the other side of the door, and Ben jerks back so quickly that his teeth bite into Cole’s lip. Cole’s eyes flare at the blood that draws to the surface of the skin, his eyes already flaring— “They’re about to announce us downstairs in the Plaza.” 

The gold in Cole’s eyes dies down, but his heart still rests firmly in his throat; can feel it when he swallows. Ben’s teeth are clenched tightly, his jaw flexing in the process. 

“Alright,” Cole calls back through the door, his voice strained and thick.  “I’ll be down.”

“Right. Tell Soldier Boy, too, if y’see him.” Yeah. Cole saw him, alright. Ben’s eyes dare him to say something about it. “His own party and he’s M.I.A.” 

Cole’s lips twitch. Ben’s eyes darken. 

Obsidian’s footsteps echo down the hallway outside before Cole can say anything, though, and weighted seconds pass where neither Cole or Ben move. One crowded against a desk, the other crowding him. 

Ben shoves past him once Cole’s mouth opens, the altered reality they’d found themselves in shattering around them. His shoulder knocks hard into Cole’s on his way out.

The door slams behind him, rattling in the frame against the hinges, leaving Cole to bear the weight of it all on his shoulders. 

—

Downstairs, the rich and the influential sit at circular tables in the ballroom of the Plaza, dressed to the nines and muttering amongst themselves. Golden lights hang over each table, illuminating the tablecloth and their glittering wine and champagne glasses. The stage at the very back of the ballroom is the brightest; stage lights drown it in glowing white, a podium in the center and three chairs to right of it, an open space on the left. 

“Hope you plan on dimming that,” Obsidian says from somewhere in the shadows over Cole’s shoulders. Sebastian Orville looks surprisingly steady on his feet and comfortable in this crowded setting for someone who hasn’t left his house in three months, minimum. Cole supposed three months was enough time to get his gravity shit in control, if anything. 

His eyes are as stormy as ever, though, when Cole glances over his shoulder to look at him. Constantly shifting swirls of black and gray, so at odds with the rest of him. Messy curtains of sandy brown hair falling in his face, tan skin, strong jaw. He’s the most boyish of the Six’s men, in a way, and somehow one of the least human in what he does. 

“How are you here?” Cole asks incredulously, scanning his form for any indication of what is possibly keeping him from sending every glass, every table, every person, from slamming into the ceiling. 

His lips twitch, but before he can answer, Klara, Liberty, says in a false whisper, “they’ve got him shackled.” 

Sebastian’s smile is wide and genuine for someone who’s housebound, and more than likely one with furniture floating around it like bubbles. He raises his folded hands up, sleeves falling down his elbows and revealing solid black shackles. “I am being very polite today.”

“Go on, let ‘im see how you walk,” Steven, Stratostorm, nudges him forward by the elbow. “He was shufflin’ around all over the lobby. Y’Shoulda been there.” 

Cole would have rather ended his life than be around these idiots for longer than he has to now. “Yeah. Should’ve.” It was the alternative, though, to making out with Ben Anderson in his dressing room. Every single option felt like a fever dream. 

Joanne, the youngest of them all, is silent, though Cole doesn’t need his stupid glasses to know why. Bloody Mary is a terror to most,  the goddamn poster child for Vought Guard Dog in the same way that Soldier Boy is Vought’s special snowflake. 

Obsidian and Stratostorm are still chatting in loud whispers behind Cole, with the occasional chime-in from Liberty. Still, though, there’s no sign of the man of the hour, and Cole can’t help but wonder if he ditched — and if somehow, he’s gonna find a way to flip the blame onto him. 

Legend walks onto the stage, and the room’s buzz of chatter dies into soft murmurs of intrigue and interest. Here’s the man who manages the Six’s shit — or really just covers their asses. To these people, though, he must seem like a god instead of just a glorified public relations manager and string puller. 

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he starts into the rectangular microphone braced on the podium, “it is with great honor to announce to you the safe return of our Soldier Boy, and along with him, the end of the war.” 

The room erupts into applause. Cole’s already bored, having heard variations of this speech in mindless gossip around the city and straight from the war-ender himself. “It’s another great honor to announce the attendance of the Six with us tonight—” A bright white spotlight bursts above them, illuminating the five of them, drawing the attention of every pampered head in the room. “All here to celebrate the re-arrival of leader Soldier Boy.” 

Cole wanted to tell him that Soldier Boy couldn’t lead a duck to water, but whatever. He didn’t care that much. He cared more about the notable absence of Soldier Boy, knowing that the man wouldn’t ever miss an opportunity to hear about his accomplishments. His skin is crawling with unease over the unknowns that keep building up. 

“Dim that shit,” Obsidian says again under his breath, “I haven’t seen the light of day in months. I’m going to fucking burst.” 

Cole’s eyes roll. Not that he was listening to Legend rattle on about the united front that was supposed to be the Six — checkmate to Allie for having guessed that part of this speech right — but he was a little preoccupied trying to find someone. Someone who he’d made out with in his dressing room. Fuck. 

Still, he glances up into the light, used to the way bright things burn his retinas at this point, as he turns the brightness down a few notches. Murmurs erupt in an undercurrent of sound beneath Legend’s speech. Cole doesn’t bother listening in to hear what they might be saying. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Legend says suddenly to an equally silent ballroom, “Soldier Boy.” 

The answer to Ben’s initial question when he’d walked into Cole’s dressing room was, yes, this was killing him. Celebrating someone that he hated and that hated him was a great feat. Still, he can’t deny the rush of relief that floods his veins at the fact that Soldier Boy was up there, even if it meant that the room was deafening with their equal relief. 

Klara leads the five of them around the back wall while they’re all distracted by whatever the hell Ben is saying — war talk, Cole imagines, or whatever war stories Ben can conjure up to make him look like God’s greatest gift. 

The open space on the right of the stage was for them. To stand and be gawked at like zoo animals. Cole was already counting the seconds to when he could leave and slam a dirty martini or twelve. 

“Now would be a good time,” Joanne whispers without moving her mouth much, her words slurring through her razor sharp teeth, “to unshackle Obsidian.” 

A rare joke — rare words — from her. Cole can’t help but quirk a smile. She’s too young to be reduced to silence like she’s been. It wasn’t her fault people were scared of her. 

“Strato’s got the key.” Obsidian jerks his head slightly in Stratostorm’s direction. 

Stratostorm is less subtle with his reactions, head swiveling back and forth between the two of them, before his eyes land on Cole. He thinks, at least. The visor over his eyes makes it hard to tell. “I do not have the key.”

“What?” Obsidian splutters out, clearing his throat to try and cover it when the sound echoes off of the walls of the stage. Cole can’t help the burst of laughter that breaks free from his throat. Obsidian’s chains rattle in his outrage, bound wrists flailing at his waist, out of sight.  “You fucking promised you wouldn’t lose it, you said—”

Their argument falls to the backburner of Cole’s mind, though, because his eyes make their way over to Ben at the podium, only to find him already looking at him on his strut to join them. Legend’s taking the podium again. 

Ben settles next to Cole, arms deliberately not touching. Cole’s eyes dance to the ceiling, asking gods that long abandoned them for some strength. Then at the spotlights, dimming them, too — the last thing he wants is more attention on him than necessary while his face is red hot. 

“What happened in—”

“Didn’t fucking happen,” Cole cuts him off, eyes straight ahead still, jaw ticking. “Don't Need your orders. Already got it.” 

“Good.”

“Good.”

The rest of their time onstage, Cole doesn’t remember. He’s sure he blacked out in his efforts to ignore Ben right next to him— the heat of his body rolling off in waves. At some point, they were dismissed, and Cole went straight to the first server he saw, taking two martinis off of his tray without a second thought. 

What he really needed was a cigarette. He gave himself ten minutes, though, before he excused himself from whatever useless conversation the equally useless politician had dragged him into. He really fucking hated these things. 

Ben catches up to him before he can push open the exit door behind the stage, hoping for some semblance of illusion of privacy. Cole bristles, his fists clenching at his sides. “Don’t,” Ben grits out, his face unreadable and brutish at once. 

“Fuck you, Ben,” he spits out, his eyes rolling instantly as if it was just second nature, dismissing any and every word out of his mouth, “I’m actually, physically and mentally, sick of your shit tod—”

“Can you shut the fuck up and listen for a second?” Ben snaps, eyes locked onto Cole’s and haunted. The sight of it is the only thing that snaps his mouth shut. “I’m being fucking serious. Don’t go out there.”

Cole has no other choice than to bite. “Why?”

“Obsidian’s dead.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤFEEDBACK & REBLOGS ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤGREATLY APPRECIATED!

tags: @jasvtsc @depressionbarbie2023 @deanswidow @titsout4nicholas (idk who else to tag the day i'm BLANKING i make a taglist is the day i'll see heaven)

[jasvtsc]

I LOVE SOFT DEAN! SO MUCH😭

sleepy motel mornings with dean winchester (bf!dean x gf!reader)

*ೃ༄

you began to stir as you heard the soft rustling of the bedsheets behind you. a tired hum escaped your lips as you felt dean untangle his body from yours, a stark coldness replacing the warmth of his touch on your skin as he pulled away. your eyes fluttered open.

“hey, where’re you going so fast?” you pouted, your eyes still puffy from sleep as you rolled over, watching dean begin to hop out of the bed. you wrapped your hand around his arm and pulled him back down next to you.

dean laid his head back on the pillow with a slight grunt and turned to you, a warm smile spreading across his sleepy face, “gonna make you some coffee, baby.”

a smile grew on your lips at his deep gravelly morning voice and you blinked a few times, trying to adjust your eyes to the brightness of the motel room. after a moment of looking at his sweet sleepy face, you shook your head and pulled him closer, “later.”

dean sighed and leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, a silent show of his love. he draped an arm over your side and you closed your eyes, soaking in his comforting and familiar scent; motel soap mixed with his cheap sandalwood and whiskey cologne. a strange combination, but one you've come to love and yearn for on nights when you're apart.

you smiled a little dopily under his touch as he pulled his face back to look at you. you found his eyes and flashed a playful, but pleading look at him, “stay with me. you’re warm.”

“oh, is that it?” he laughed softly, “you want me to stay just because i’m warm?”

you gently shook your head and looked at him with love and sincerity in your expression, “no, you’re warm and i love you.”

dean grinned, his green eyes lighting up at your words, “sap,” he teased and poked your side, “i love you too, baby.”

you couldn’t suppress the soft chuckle from escaping your lips. you sat up and lazily threw a leg over his waist, relaxing down on his lap. your hands found their way to his cheeks, cupping them gently as you held his head to meet your tender gaze.

dean’s hands sat on your thighs, rubbing the soft skin under your pyjama shorts. his eyes fluttered shut and he hummed as you leaned down and began leaving small kisses all over his face.

dean couldn’t help but laugh while you peppered soft little kisses on him; along his forehead, down his nose, over his cheeks and quick cheeky pecks on his lips. you held his face in your hands as your lips worked over his soft skin, each kiss a little mark of your love for the sleepy green-eyed hunter in front of you.

you hummed absent-mindedly, smiling to yourself as you kissed over his freckled cheeks. dean let out a quiet huff and you pulled away to look at him. his cheeks turned blush pink as you met his gaze and you could tell he was trying to keep his smile from growing any bigger.

“what was that for?” he asked, his gentle green eyes searching yours, his fingers mindlessly tapping on your thighs.

“cause i love you, deanie. a thousand more and you’re free to make our coffees,” you grinned and began leaving more tiny kisses on him as he sighed defeatedly with a smile.

A/N: soft dean! soft dean! soft dean! my favourite dean tbh i don’t think i’ve posted any fluff on here so here’s a short little something lol enjoy! <3

requests and feedback are welcome!

[jasvtsc]

CRYING CAUSE ILL NEVER BE HIS BIMBO GF💔

mechanic!dean x bimbo!reader - old habits die hard.

includes, so damn fluffy it's SEEICK. not teeth rotting fluffy but it's just ENDEARRINGGGG okay.

★ ˚⋆

it'd been a long ass day at the garage, and the last thing dean wanted to do was salt your fucking house.

it was a mistake, telling you about salt deterring demons, because now you seemed to think that demons were everywhere. which... was right, of course, but that guy at the bar that you'd thrown salt at was fine. a bit too drunk, but he was too out of it to know that he was staring at you.

guy realized it pretty quickly when you'd whipped out your to-go salt shaker and started pouring it into your hand like it was a sugar packet and tossing it at him.

really, he couldn't be mad. it was as cute as it was irritating, how determined you were to understand the lifestyle he had and then abandoned.

it came back, though, as all things left in the dust tended to do. catch up and with a vengeance.

it started simple. you’d texted him while he was slid underneath a car at the shop, grease and oil all the way up to his hands and smearing all over his screen when he’d grabbed the phone to text you back.

conveniently, one of those splotches of oil covered the important parts of your message.

can u replace salt with pepper

*warding

*wording? idk pls answer quick!!!

the last two came in quick succession, as your rambling thoughts often did when they translated into text, and he didn’t bother to scroll up and read the rest when you were absolutely adamant he answer quick. you typed so quickly that you often misspelled things with those acrylics of yours, so he just disregarded those details as nothing serious.

yeah sure.

dean didn’t know why you were so worked up over salt, of all things, but figured it had to do with cooking, and that you were out because you’d used all of yours — and his — on your little quest to salt every little thing you deemed demonic.

cute. like little kids were cute until they started wailing.

but dean was never, ever mad, even on days like this where nothing ever went right. carburetor’s busted in this guy’s piece of shit truck, and guy’s pissed because dean can’t shit one out and has to order it. diner down the road handed out the last piece of apple pie before he walked in there to get you and him one, like he usually did, on his way back to your house to see you. someone ran a redlight and nearly creamed baby.

yeah, by the time he got to your place, he was ready to throw the towel in and break something. to sit down and not touch anything else, since apparently everything was going to shatter when he touched it.

dean walks up your front steps, heavy sigh already laden on his lips about the fact that he did not have a sweet treat for his sweet thing, excuses sour in his mouth because he knew he’d endure a reaction akin to total devastation when he told you.

his hand lifts to knock, and he sees there, in a fleeting moment in the seal of your door, little ants. so damn many of them, its just a line of black. his eyebrows furrow, hand falling to his side again, as he kneels to get a better look at it.

his eyes are real close to it. he breathes in as he squints, trying to see if the movement is just hallucination or there really were so many that it looked like that—

immediately, dean’s nose burns. he can’t even stop the three sneezes in quick succession, or how his eyes water from it.

realization settles in. pepper.

his sigh is so damn heavy it rattles his bones. he makes sure, though, that he’s not anywhere near the pepper again, already having learned that lesson once.

dean grasps your doorknob and opens it, internally bristling at the fact that you didn’t even lock it. warded the house with pepper, so scared of a demon coming in, but not of the very higher chance of a break-in.

you were bent over all pretty over the back of your couch, little skirt riding up on your thighs, shirt bunched up where your chest pressed against the part of the windowsill that connected with the couch—

he gave himself a five second free card to admire the sight, before he cleared his throat.

“wanna tell me what you’re doin’, princess?” dean asked, his arms crossed firmly over his chest as he watched you. you, so focused on pouring the entire container of pepper in a strategic and straight line on the window sill.

you startled, as if you didn’t hear the door open and close, or, you know, his car pulling up.

“i’m salting the house,” you told him very matter-of-factly, your lips in that little pout that always zilched away every bit of irritation he could ever feel toward you.

dean blinks once, twice. “that’s pepper.”

you, again, look at him like he’s the one who doesn’t understand. “you said—”

“i thought you were talking about cooking!” he interrupts before you could try and ridicule him over this. nuh uh, that was his job right now.

you bristle, very visibly, and he almost laughs aloud right there. “i don’t cook, dean. be serious.”

how could he be serious when you were turning your house into a breathing hazard?

his lips start to curl, the laugh right there in the base of his throat.

“stop it. stop looking at me like i’m doing something silly and you’re not gonna tell me.”

“princess, you’re peppering your house,” dean says, and it feels so good to laugh after the day he’s had. you couldn’t stop the chuckle if you tried. “you have to know that’s silly, right?”

you told him to stop calling the little quirks you have stupid, even if it’s lighthearted. it’s implemented well into his vocabulary.

dean huffs out a breath through his nose to try and stifle it, at least. the last thing he wants to do is make you cry, or mad at him, when you were trying so, so hard.

he straightens, crossing the distance from where he stands to your spot on the couch. gently, he pries the pepper shaker out of your fingers. “were you really scared?” he asks you, and has to close his eyes at the weight — or lack thereof — of the pepper shaker. you’d done so much, and he could only see the front door barrier and the windowsill.

you’d turned your house into a lemon pepper chicken, and you were telling him not to laugh.

“yes!” you exclaim, still wearing that little pout. you’ve brought your hands into it, though, tossing them around in your upset. “i heard something outside, and i was really, really scared…”

dean’s expression softens. his free hand comes up to trace lightly over your cheekbone with his fingertips to try and soothe you. “and,” he drawls out, attempting to finish your sentence where you cut it off. “you didn’t have any more salt, so you had to use pepper.”

“you said!” oh, you were worked up. he felt like animal control trying to wrangle the puffed up kitten barring its teeth at him. “you said i could!”

dean’s eyebrows raise. “how was i supposed to know you meant to salt the house?”

your hand slaps very aggressively on your phone screen, resting beside you on the couch cushion. your manicured nails are typing so furiously on the screen that the clicks sound like popping gunshots.

then, you’re shoving your phone in his face, the text thread between you and him two inches from his eyes.

dean leans back to read it, the entire time watching you as you look poised to strike.

can u replace salt with pepper when wording your house

right. so that’s the part that he conveniently didn’t see, and the source of your typos.

the sigh he looses is so damn heavy.

“that’s my bad,” he says slowly, even though he still, still, is barely keeping his shit together.

you let out a triumphant little hmph that has him wanting to bend you over and show you what happens when you give him attitude, but he reels it in.

“yeah. it is your bad.” reels it in, barely. “now what do i do? my house is haunted, and— and there’s pepper everywhere—”

well, now the ice cold exterior is melting, because you’re standing in front of him with a wobbly lip, and it’s no longer funny anymore.

“where did you hear something?” he asks, his hand cupping your cheek again, resuming his soft touches to try and soothe away the upset, this time. “hey, c’mon, princess, i believe you. put those tears away. can’t help you if you can’t talk to me, can i?”

dean is never this soft with anyone. you’ve done a number on him from the very moment he met you.

your hand shoots out to point at the front door.

he uses his gentle grip on your cheek to tug you in, kissing your forehead lightly. dean has to remind himself a lot of the time that you don't know these things, because you grew up in a home that didn't prioritize raising soldiers instead of boys. your naivety was a blessing. "lemme go look," he mumbles on your skin, before he tugs back and turns.

he's gonna feel like a real piece of shit if there really is something.

his hand doesn't even touch the doorknob before he hears a soft sneeze on the other side.

dean peers through the glass, his eyes narrowed as he searches for the person on the other end, haunches raised because maybe his first theory was right. not a demon, but some fucker trying to break-in on his girl.

his eyes land on a squirrel, nose buried in the streak of pepper lining your front door. it sneezes, and sneezes again, before it scampers off on the creaking wooden boards that was your porch.

your soft steps pad up behind him, very blatantly tucking yourself behind his arm. "did you see it? i heard it, dean, i know there's something out there!"

you sound too damn upset still for him to tell you that your demon was an intrusive squirrel.

so he turns and brings you into his embrace, his chin resting on the top of your head, where he can hide the grin away from you. "yeah, i heard it, princess. we'll get this all cleaned up tomorrow and properly salt it. keep my baby girl safe from all the demons."

you nod into his chest, and it's so damn sweet, the trust you place into his hands. this little white lie won't hurt. not this one time.

notes, i rly don't know where this idea came from but it made me cackle so hard i had to write it instantly N E WAYYSSSS dean x stuff tomorr hope this hold u off til then

tags, @jasvtsc @titsout4nicholas @figthoughts @depressionbarbie2023 @deans-yn

[jasvtsc]

the way i would have no thoughts behind my eyes just ‘yes, whatever you say pretty strong boy😍’

all the times mechanic!dean was humbled by bimbo!reader - 18+

★ ˚⋆

dean was convinced, a lot of the time, that not a single coherent thought existed in the white noise of your brain, just accepting that you were one of those girls with a pretty face to her legacy. it wasn't a bad thing. he'd never admit it, but seeing your face light up when he explained something to you was one of his favorite looks on you - the glimmering wide eyes, the o-shaped part of your glossy lips as the pieces clicked into place.

other times, he was floored by the capacity of that pretty little head and the information it held. completely floored. you never said anything with malice either, or chastised him for not thinking in the same way that you did. just stated the things like fact, typing away on your pretty pink iphone with your pretty pink manicured nails, not even looking up to see that you'd taken his breath away.

there were a lot more of these instances than he cared to admit. he was a proud, prideful kind of guy, often convinced that it was his way or the highway.

until you came around.

he'd started a list on his phone, of some of those times, cementing them into a vault of your history. maybe he'd show it to you on your wedding or something cheesy like that, that he knew you would love. or maybe he'd keep it to himself, as to not humble himself further.

when you'd called a car's failing engine a "tummy ache", and that was how he figured out that the cause was the owner putting in the wrong gas.

the first time you talked him into trying on your panties, and he'd tried to deny it heavily, and you'd said, "it's just clothes." and it was so simple but he'd never thought of it like that. like holy shit, yeah, it's just clothes.

when you'd tried to hook up with him at his work, in the backseat of his car no less, and dean desperately tried to keep some semblance of professionalism at his job, and you were like "who's gonna see? no one comes here." and he proceeded to fuck you into the leather with, you guessed it; not a single customer to see the fogged windows and the rattling frame.

you got him to start saying things are cunty and that's not even the humbling part. the fact that he could not fucking stop himself from calling everything cunty when you were around was.

when you'd called the stars "little suns" and now every time he looks at the night sky, he can't help but think if you're looking at the little suns too.

he'd been staying late trying to finish a car and you'd gotten upset and told him "who's gonna need their car this late?" and yeah. who the hell was? he made it home in five minutes and made up for his time away.

he told you that one day he'd take you to meet his family and you called them the witch burners with the straightest face he'd ever seen. yeah. they did do that sometimes. but don't say that to their face.

sometimes his old habits would kick in and he'd start doing everything for you, like he did growing up with sammy, and you remind him every time that you were his baby but not his baby.

he joked that you were baby vers. 2, and you'd said, "you can't call everything you park yourself in baby." he started calling you princess immediately after.

he'd grabbed your hair once when you were bent over during sex and you whirled around so fast he honestly thought you were going to kill him. like there was more fear in his eyes then than there was in some of the hunts he did before he retired.

when you insisted in front of his coworkers that, no, you did not want to drive your car if he was there to tote you around already. like, fuck him, honestly, for not assuming you would want to be chauffeured. he was still living that shit down.

"no, dean, i'm not blowing you right now, this is a chanel lip gloss." right. because he was supposed to know what that meant. "i am not wiping chanel off with a paper towel, dean." tell chanel to get off her fucking high horse, thanks!

he tried to be romantic once and put his hand on your thigh while driving and you glanced down with a pout and said, "your filthy oil hands :(" with that exact sad face. he didn't know how else to convey the utter devastation in his typed list without the fucking emoticon. you'd have thought he ran over your baby or something.

notes, guys ... i fear they are rent free rn. something ab grumpy/sunshine in any form is going to do it for me every time.

tags ( if some of these dont work im gonna run up and down the street butt naked on god ) @titsout4nicholas @deans-yn @dipperscavern @devoursweetly @jasvtsc @panickedbitch @t3l3vangelism @jensenacklesfan69 @manicjk @mkendlic @hischrrypie @deanswidow @figthoughts

[jasvtsc]

GUYS GO CHECK IT OUT MY WIFE POSTED SUCH A BEAUTIFUL DRABBLE OMFGGGG

‘MY SAVIOR’

s1 sam x fem! angel reader

warnings: no particular warnings! pure fluff, s1 sam brainrot, mentions of studying, motel, on the road!! use of y/n !! comfort!

After what seemed like ages, the two boys entered the shitty motel room, the demon that they had banished back to hell was a tough one, winding even dean himself, who usually proclaimed arrogantly that he could ‘never be taken down’ found himself panting like a dog left out in the summer sun, grabbing a towel and immediately hitting the showers.

while he heard his brother in the shower, the water running, he sat on the edge of the motel’s bed, breathing in, looking down at the small cuts, and such, he fucking hated demons, but he hated putting them down too, cause they were so much work.

“sam?” a voice rang out, one he recognizes, almost instantly, that sweet yet monotone symphony that hits his ears, and finds kindness in hearing, he looks up, only to see an all too familiar angel at his side.

“hey… y/n..” he looked up, seeing her face, it made all the hell he went through better. it’s as if she was a balm to his open wound, healing him of any or all injuries, her eyebrows furrowed like a concerned guard dog, her lips slightly agape, worry and concern crossed her mind, and upon seeing the mortal she was employed with watching over for the time being hurt, she cautiously came over, studying him.

“you’re hurt- allow me to-“ she couldn’t even finish her sentence, her hand extended, ready to heal him at her own will, and yet, he persevered.

“it’s fine… just… c’mere..” he muttered, extending his arms out, beckoning her like a hurt animal and she his savior (in a way she was) and almost immediately, she obliged. she walked toward him, the air thick, and sticky, cause the damn AC was broken in the room, so it made all the more memorable for the both of them. Looking down at him, she tilted her head, her lips pursed, ones he wanted to kiss so badly..

“what is this?” she asked, cautious and unsure, as if one wrong move would mean having an angel blade to her throat. sam almost wanted to laugh at her obliviousness, how- strangely unaware she was of human mannerisms, but that’s what you get when you’ve only just come to earth after god knows how many eons..

“it’s a hug.. angel.” he responded, looking at her, a tired expression across his face, eyes half lidded, wanting to just fall asleep but still considering the angels actions, waiting for her, like a saint would from a god.

“a hug?” she asks, and he nods, moving his legs apart so she could move in between them, no other kind of intention needed, he just wanted her.

“it’s what humans do when- when they need to recharge… or maybe just when they need to rest.” sam puts it that way because it really does help to hug someone when stressed, or even tired, it gives him comfort, being touch starved and all.

“oh..” she responded, almost like a whisper, her hand coming up to cup his cheek, observing his cuts and abrasions. she gives in, wrapping her arms cautiously around his shoulders, his head against her stomach. this is what he wanted, soft love, tender.. and all from her nonetheless.

she was his, and he was hers. two beings intertwined in the fate of their worlds. she was his savior, and he was her lifeline.

credits to willow on pintrest for the banner!! ❄️🫧