#liz winchester

[endless-oc-creations]

🎃Oc Halloween Challenge 2023 🎃Day Two: Lights, Camera, Action!

For day two, take a look at Elizabeth Winchester's social media! x

💕 Forever Taglist: @bravelittleflower​ @sunlitscribe​​​ @eddysocs​​ @raith-way​​ @waterloou​​​ @decennia​​ @hiddenqveendom​ @aaronhotchstuff​ @foxesandmagic​ @booty-boggins​​  @asirensrage​​  @connietheecunning​​  @lucys-chen @arrthurpendragon @daughter-of-melpomene @thccraft💕

[rositaslabyrinth]

Necklace STAYS ON during.

[rowenasamuel]

supernatural meme: [3/10 episodes]

"Okay. My name is Dean Winchester. Sam is my brother. Uh, Mary Winchester is my mom. And Cast- Cas is my best friend." - Regarding Dean, s12Ep11

[alien-magnolia]

I Need Someone Older

Fic description: Dean finds you on a hunt and takes you along to get you safely out of danger, fun ensues :) as the two of you feel an inevitable pull of attraction towards each other.

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tw: AGE GAP! Hyper-feminine reader in early 20’s, Dean in late 40’s, daddy issues <3, dom-coded dean, sub-coded reader, bj, breeding kink!, extremely subby-coded reader, helplessness, praise!!!

Word count: 3.1k

Don’t like, don’t read!!

May 5, 2007

7:40 pm

Your white knee high socks were getting a little dusty from the dirt on the woodsy soil. You came out here to write your poetry, desiring a place for peaceful solitude, and perhaps some creative inspiration. You dusted off your skirt as you sat down on the moist bed of grass. The waning moon was a bit yellow tonight, yet you thought nothing off it. You began to write a few words in your floral notebook, with some neat handwriting and a gel pen.

All of a sudden, you hear a wail in the distance. The wind is cold. A few leaves rustle out a few feet away from you, causing you to stare into the dark pathway on your left, in which many trees loitered. You felt as if you were being watched. You continue with your writing, until again you hear a rustle, this time, a bit closer than before. A chill goes down your spine, and you slowly turn to see a pair of yellow eyes, a figure with long, sharp, claws, and a tall, curved, spiny, skinny, body, with a tail. It snarls, coming closer to you. You drop your notebook, and crawl backwards, the dirt making indents on your palms. You hear a few male voices, and see boots running to attack the creature.

You see a flame, the creature is light ablaze, and you pass out from fear. The last thing you remember is strong arms lifting you up, the smell of beer and cherry pie clouds your nostrils.

You wake up in the wood again, this time, the brighr and warm morning light shines down on your skin, littered with cuts and bruises. You seemed to have lost your favorite lipgloss in the process.

“Where am I? My head…,” you whine, seeing a handsome man next to you, bandaging your cuts and cleaning them. That cheered you up a bit. You wince as his calloused hands rub alcohol on your wound, and you meet his eyes. He had green eyes, dark hair, wore a flannel and jeans and had the most amazing body <3 he looked just, so big, compared to you!

You ask him his name and what happened. “The name’s Dean, sweetheart. My brother and I were in these woods looking for a wendigo. We sure as hell did find one.” You nod, still reeling from the attack last night. “Did that… person, thing, do that to me?,” you ask, eyes wide, a bit nervous. “It’s no person, honey,” he chuckles darkly. “Hate to break it to you, but monsters are real. The whole gang. Vampires, werewolves, spirits, demons, all other things that go bump in the night. All are real.” You sit in shock as he continues to fix your wounds. You notice how good his calloused (gunpowder covered) fingers feel on your calves. You wince as he brushes over a wound, jerking your leg back.

“Too rough?,” he asks, a large hand resting on your thigh. You nod. “S’alright. I’ll be more gentle, yeah?,” he asks, and you nod, feeling satisfied as the older man returns your smile.

“Hey. Might’ve caught trail of another wendigo up ahead. We should get going,” another man dressed in similar fashion walks up ahead, talking to Dean, taking a glance at you. “What's the hold up, Dean?,” he asks.

“Shut it, Sammy. Can’t you see I’m doing something here? Found her at the site where the thing was. Had to fix her up.” Sam nods, as Dean tells him your name. The two then agree to further go hunt for the second wendigo. “What about her? We’re deep in the woods now, sure as hell she ain’t going to go back on her own, Sammy.” “Fine. Take her with you, as long as she doesn’t cause a problem.”

So it was. You were now going to hunt for the wendigo with the Winchester brothers. The dirt and thick jagged branches sometimes were too much for your legs to handle, so you held onto Dean for some of the walk. He didnt seem to mind, and only smirked as you accidentally leaned too much into him, your soft chest grazing his wide and big arms.

“Stay here, stay put. Don’t go anywhere,” Dean commands you, and you do as said, wait as the boys go into the dark cave. An hour later — there was fire, shrieking, and the boys come out unscathed. The last wendigo has been killed, and the three of you make your way back to “baby,” which you later learned was Dean’s nickname for his ‘67 Impala.

Dean drove with Sam in the front, you in the back seat. You dozed in and out of consciousness as the engine lulled you toward the heavy tug of sleep, you overheard the two men speaking about you.

“Well, Dean she has no ID on her so it’s better off that we take her to the local sheriff’s station. We know Jody, she might be able to help,” Sam inquired. “Yeah, well Sammy, you know what, Jody’s probably just going to tell her to go back to the woods or some shit. Maybe she’s far from home. Maybe she was hiding. Who the hell knows? Bet she’d tell us first before talking to law enforcement,” Dean countered.

“Why is it always you and women, Dean? She’s so young too. Maybe a little too young for you?”

“Shut it, Sammy. Respect her. She probably has her reasons. She’s real pretty and I’ll get what I want, eventually,” Dean retorted. Sam sighed.

You drifted back into sleep but squeezed your thighs together at the thought of the older man using you and getting what “he wants.”

You were more than happy to give it to him.

You were in a dingy 1970’s era hotel room, with dark brown shag carpet, rickety beds with neon orange polyester sheets, and a single lamp in the corner, flickering on occasion. No tv, but a rotary phone and radio. Sam was on a chunky laptop that whined and whistled due to all the power his research into Wendigos was taking up. You believed he was on a library forum of some sort. You sat on the bed, dwindling with the phone cord. The low buzz of the fan was heard from the corner.

Dean comes up to you. “Heya, kid. I’m gonna go get some grub. Wanna come with?,” he asks, offering you a hand to help you up from the bed. You nod, smiling, and taking his hand. Dean opted to go to a local bar to get some takeout. He ordered a large burger, large pilsner beer, and a cherry pie. You got some chicken and French fries, sharing some pie with him. You tell him that you were in the woods to write poetry, you got lost and then time seemed to go. Your cell was dead too. He told you about his ‘job’ with his brother Sam, choosing to follow his dad John Winchester’s legacy of hunting down things that go bump in the night. He made you laugh, asking you about your writing, your college education, a life that someone like him never had.

“We’re so different, you and I, know that? Seriously. I mean, college? In my dreams. Wondering what that’s like,” he said to you, while taking a sip of his beer.

“What can I say. I want a decent life for myself, sometimes. I have a pull towards the arts. Literature, actually. Sometimes though, I just want to be on my own. Without the pressures of society, on the road, like you two. Bet you don’t have any deadlines to meet,” you jokingly admit to Dean.

He chuckles, but then nods, a more serious expression growing on his face now, taking another sip of his beer. “Life sucks, kid. Sucks for me and Sammy, we’re out on the road, might die the next day. Never know what the fuck’s chasing after us,” he has a bit of a solemn expression, taking another sip of his beer.

You nodded, understanding him, seeing through the “tough guy” facade that he’s put up. He was scared. He needed someone to comfort him, to support him. His brother was his partner, yet that wasn’t the partner he was looking for.

You reach over to put your dainty hand on his large one. “Thanks for dinner, really. We should save some for Sam, though, I think,” you giggle, watching a grown man blush over your gentle touch. “Yeah, sure thing sweetheart. Anytime…,” he trails off, his blush seemed to get stronger and he was avoiding eye contact a bit.

“You okay?,” you ask, meeting his eyes, feeling something start to heat up between the two of you, the air suddenly was heavy. “You’re just, well, pretty, kid. Seriously. Real fuckin’ nice, sweets,” he chuckles, his large fingers coming to intertwine with yours. You almost faint under the pressure of his hand on yours, your eyes drift to his muscular and wide frame, his tattered Jean jacket, his necklace on a black piece of string, his chiseled jawline. As funny as he was, you knew that you had an undeniable attraction towards him.

He saved you from the wendigo, but you let him. You let him take you back to the motel with Sam. You let him have you stay with them. Now. You’d let him have your body. All of it.

“Maybe we can go into those woods again? I can show you some poems?,” you reel, watching the older man’s eyes light up with a burning flame. “Sure, thing, kid. I’ll take you up there in ‘baby.’

With a few stares and leers from the other inhabitants of the shady bar, Dean leads you by the waist out the door, and into his impala, opening the door for you, of course.

“Ladies first,” he bows down a bit as he holds the shabby car door open for you. You take his helping hand and slide into the shotgun (front) seat. He quickly runs over to the driver’s side, a toothpick in his mouth as he climbs in, adjusting the jagged rearview mirror. You struggled to buckle up in the old model of a car, so Dean helped out, buckling it for you. You liked the many things he seemed to do for you. His care. His help.

He pulls out of the diner driveway, one of his ringed hands on the wheel, another tracing gentle patterns all over your thigh. You adjust your socks as his patterns make you heat up — inside and out. “I know a place. You down? If not I’m fine with it, sweet thing. No pressure, s’all,” his voice is soft, gentle, as if speaking to a child. You blush. “It’s alright, Dean. I’ll show you my poems. I’ll show you something else too, I think you’ll like it,” you cover your smile as you let out a few small giggles. He smirks back at you.

“Oh I’ll like it, alright. God damn,” he stifles, his strong, calloused fingers gripping a bit harder on your soft thigh. The rest of the drive was tense, just how you liked it. Soft rock — ‘Blue Oyster Cult’s’ “Don’t Fear The Reaper” played in the background, and it would usually lull you to sleep. Not tonight. Your heart raced, stealing glances at the man next to you. The man about to take your virginity, what concept you or society made of it. You hoped he didn’t mind.

The impala pulled into a motel parking lot: the same one where you left from. “Dean. Your brother..won’t he..?, you ask, and he quickly interrupts. “Well just be in a different room, is all. Sammy wouldn’t care anyway, as much as I’d like him to. He takes your hand again, leading you to Room 22, on the second floor. Your fingers trace the grimy balcony railing as you head up there.

The door shuts. You smile at him, then look down at your feet. “Can I, um. Kiss you, Dean?,” you ask, shy and sweet, a delicious pie on the shelf, a cherry blossom that smells and tastes so sweet, intoxicating the older man closer and closer to you. “F’course. You’ve never done this before, have you?” You nod. “Let me take the lead, yeah, sweet thing. I’ll be gentle. Scout’s honor,” he smiles, holding up two fingers. You nod, wrapping your small arms around his broad chest. Your soft chest pressed against his, you feel the cool metal of his pentagram necklace press against your warm, beating heart.

His large arms trail down to squeeze your waist a bit, and then rub circles down below, your waist and hips. He gave them a tight squeeze, you gasped at his strength. His fingers continued ministrations on your waist, hips, thighs, and the two of your lips danced in a slow and sensual rhythm. You could taste the beer and cherry pie on him, and you ran your fingers through his coarse hair.

His thumb rubs your cheek a bit, and he picks you up in his arms, you wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you over to the bed, gently laying you down under him. His face above you, his brown eyes in awe taking in your sweet skin, putting him in a trance. His calloused hands run down your arms, your belly, gentle, soft, and slow. He grabs your chin, pulling your face towards his, and meets you for a chaste kiss, slow, you felt the stubble on his cheek and smiled into his lips.

His hand runs through your hair, over your cheek, this thumb caressing your face a bit. You keep the kiss going, you feel him getting rougher, hungrier for you. Your hands touch his broad chest, trailing on the hem of his shirt, which you take off. His chest was bare, just with a tiny bit of hair, and a very prominent happy trail <3 of which you run your fingers through.

His hands lead your hips up against the wall, tracing patterns on your back. Your lips are hungry for each others, you push your chest into his. “Fuck, sweet thing. Gonna drive me up the wall here, Jesus,” his voice now an octave deeper, raspier, breathless. His cherry pink swollen lips meet yours again, you feel his aftershave on your face. Your thighs rub against his growing bulge, positioning your legs so his thickening tent on his jeans was pressed up snug, right into your growing wetness in between your legs.

“Dean…want it,” you moan out, your delicate, manicured fingers tracing the toughness of his stubble. “Want what, huh? Gotta ask nicely, don’t keep me guessing, honey,” he smirks, a condescending expression appearing on his handsome face.

“I-uh, your, uh, oh, fuck,” you breathlessly whimper out, as his rough, calloused fingers gently slide down between your legs, rubbing your soft, warm folds, through your pretty and pink lace.

“Let me see what you got down there, hmm?,” he smirks, knowing that he has you completely wrapped around his finger. You nod, his hand cups your cheek for another kiss. He slides off your skirt, your knee highs, your Lacey top. You work on his jeans, until he stops you, with a look — meaning that he can take care of it.

All clothes gone — your legs intertwine, he presses his leaking bulge into your folds, you could practically feel how you clenched around nothing!!

“Dean…,” you beg again. “What’s wrong, huh? What’re you beggin’ for, seeet thing. Gotta give me words,” he says, all the while his thick fingers continue to work you open — get you ready for him.

A soft smile is on his face as his fingers become ever so gentle, continuing a circular pattern, pausing to tightly cup and squeeze your pulsing mound.

“Want. Want your, ha — your cock, Dean. Please. Please!,” you squeal out, just as he cups and massages your mound once more. “Why didn’t you say so, at first, sweet thing? Here I was thinkin’ you only wanted my fingers,” he chuckles, smile full of adoration — seeing you in a close to ruined state. His fingers pull out with a squelch.

You whine at the loss, your cunt throbbing, pulsing, desperate to be filled!! He smiles, hands on your hips. “Bend over f’me, baby.” You do as said, his smile and yours widen as his two hands cup your ass, giving it a hard smack.

His hands trace up and down your back, your waist, until you feel his soft tip press at your entrance. You turn around to view what you’ve been waiting for. He’s big. Short, yet thick. Oh so thick. You weren’t sure if he’d fit. A large vein ran down his left side. Fuck — how you wanted that in your mouth.

His hand gently guides your face back down into the table which you were bent over. “Down, baby. You’ll get a chance later, yeah?,” he soothes you. You nod. You feel his throbbing tip at your mound, as he slides in — you feel the stretch, just for a bit, and then he starts to push in, you felt so full !!

“Fuck— ah, Dean, too much, too much,” you squeal out, as he slides in, and starts to move, thrust, slow, gentle at first, and then deep, fast, his thick balls slapping against your mound. You saw stars, felt pressure as he kept going, faster, rutting into you, his hairy chest pressing into your back. The man had put you in a mating press. You wouldn’t mind. With how it’s going with him — you’d take his seed. Anything for the man that saved you from the Wendigo.

Your eyes roll back into your head, his grip on your hips was like a vice. The two of you finish with screams. He groans. “Fuck, sweet thing. You take it like a champ, yeah?” You nod giddily, anything for his praise and approval. “How’s about we stay in this room tonight? I’ll getchu’ a beer.” You nod. “That’s my good girl. Stay put.” With that, your mound is even more wet, you’re left clenching, covered in his cum as he leaves to get you snacks.

He comes back, presses a nice kiss to your forehead, and makes the two of you some dinner. You wondered what this will lead to.

Author’s note: pls support your creators <3 if you love this fic pls comment or reblog! Greatly appreciated <3 xoxo - Liz

[dr-lizortecho]

mating resurrection marks

[arcane-vagabond]

Fairy Tale Writing Challenge

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away...

Welcome one and all! If you know me, you know there are few things I love more than a good fairy tale! So, to commemorate 1,500 followers and the rebranding of my blog away from solely being a Top Gun: Maverick blog, I've decided to host a little writing challenge!

Rules:

You MUST be 18+ in order to participate (Your age must be listed somewhere on your blog, I will be checking.)

This writing challenge is open to all fandoms!

This challenge will run continuously.

Send me an ask/message to let me know that you're participating!

You MUST choose both a fairy tale and a word for this challenge! Only one person per word prompt. I will add more if I need to.

Tag/message me when you've posted!

Can be a one-shot, two-parter, or series!

Please use the "read more" feature if your fic is over 500 words.

Please use the hashtag "FTWC" so we can read and reblog your work!

You don't have to follow, but reblogging this post would be nice to get the word out there!

How does this work?

You will pick a fairy tale and then one word from the prompt list. You must incorporate that word somehow whether by using it in the prose itself, or by giving your fic that overall feeling.

If there is a fairy tale you would like to do that is not listed, shoot me a message and I will add it!

Message me if you have any questions!

Entries;

🧸 @arcane-vagabond w/ The Little Mermaid and Desiderium

Fathoms Below - Derek Hale (Teen Wolf)

🧸 @baezen w/ Jack and the beanstalk and Petrichor

A Perilous Place - Isaac Lahey (Teen Wolf)

🧸 @sorchathered w/ Little Red Riding Hood and Apricity

Little Red and Her Wolf - Bucky Barnes (MCU)

🧸 @kissmecaitie w/ Beauty and the Beast and Acrimonious

🧸 @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer w/ Cinderella and Sonder

🧸 @hardlyinteresting w/ Peter Pan and Scintilla

🧸 @goldenseresinretriever w/ The Steadfast Tin Soldier and Adust

🧸 @queenofvelaris w/ Sleeping Beauty and Labyrinth

🧸 @elizabeth-holland24 w/ Beauty and the Beast and Juberous

The Beast Within - Jake "Hangman" Seresin (TGM)

🧸 @devil-angel-winchester w/ Rapunzel and Avidulous

🧸 @elixirfromthestars w/ Cinderella and Eudaemonia

Fairy Tales;

👑 The Little Mermaid

👑 Cinderella

👑 Snow White

👑 Sleeping Beauty

👑 Rapunzel

👑 Little Red Riding Hood

👑 Jack and the Bean Stalk

👑 Goldilocks and the Three Bears

👑 Rapunzel

👑 Peter Pan

👑 The Ice Queen

👑 Beauty and the Beast

👑 Hansel and Gretel

👑 The Frog Prince

👑 Alice in Wonderland

👑 Pinocchio

👑 Rumpelstiltskin

👑 the Six Swans

👑 The White Snake

👑 The Princess and the Pea

Prompts;

⭐️ Acrimonious: Deeply or violently bitter

⭐️ Adust: Of a gloomy appearance or disposition

⭐️ Apricity: The warm rays of sun in the winter

⭐️ Avidulous: Somewhat greedy

⭐️ Desiderium: An ardent desire or longing; especially a feeling of loss or grief for something lost

⭐️ Dyspathy: Lack of sympathy

⭐️ Effervescent: Lively, full of energy, bubbly

⭐️ Epeolatry: Admiration of words

⭐️ Eudaemonia: The state of being lucky

⭐️ Futz: To pass time in idleness

⭐️ Graumangere: A great meal

⭐️ Hiebal: Of or relating to winter

⭐️ Hokum: Out-and-out nonsense

⭐️ Juberous: Doubtful and hesitating

⭐️ Labyrinth: A complex set of passageways

⭐️ Melancholy: A feeling of pensive sadness

⭐️ Peripatetic: A nomad; someone who travels from place to place

⭐️ Petrichor: The smell of earth after the rain

⭐️ Raconteur: Someone who's very good at telling stories

⭐️ Scintilla: A trace or spark of something

⭐️Sonder: The realization that each passerby has a full life of experiences, emotions, and problems just like you

⭐️ Sonorous: A deep and full sound

⭐️ Wassail: Mulled wine

[rositaslabyrinth]

Danneel liking these two reels on Instagram LMAOOO she’s just like us.

[rowenasamuel]

sam/rowena + height difference

[alien-magnolia]

Highway to Hell

(AC/DC, duh.)

Tw: Casual dominance / relationship domestics with Dean, possessiveness, dumbification, size knk, dom!-coded Dean, sub!-coded reader, daddy!knk, innocence, etc.

Please support your creators and reblog if you can <3

———

The way Dean takes care of you simply made you melt.

You’ve been on the road with him and Sam for a few years now, and you are a welcome presence. Especially for Dean.

You help the boys out, hunting down the supernatural, abolishing curses, negotiating with witches, vampires, and the sort. Sometimes there is a brief period in which you all have no cases. You settle. A dingy mid-Americana motel, doors with paint peeling off, beds that creaked terribly. That was the usual option. Until the three of you found the compound used by the Men of Letters, in the mid 20th century. It was a bit outdated, yet it gave you one thing that you simply desired with fervor — from Dean especially. Privacy. Domesticity.

Yours and Dean’s room was on the other side of the compound. Away from Sam. It was a master suite, right next to a private bathroom. Moments like this were your favorite. Dean lazily lay on the bed, hairy thighs spread, nursing a beer in his right hand, a cigarette in his left. You have just stepped out of the shower. Wearing nothing, of course.

The soft glow and muffled sound of the tv spread through the yellow tinted room. You walk your way over to him. He was still focused on the tv. His glance turned to you, a smile instantly creeped across his face. “Hi there. Need something, sweetheart?,” he raised his brow.

“Need you, D. Got all dolled up, you see?,” you tell him, fingers dwildiling behind you, your nipples, perked up from all the hot water. “Can see that. Why don’tcha come on up here,” he smiles, predatory, patting his thighs. “Daddy’ll take care of ya,” he adds, with a whisper.

You giddily accept the invitation, getting onto his lap, straddling his thighs, your warm wetness pressed up against him. “Want you to ride me, sweetheart. Like one of those bulls at the bar, yeah? Use daddy’s thigh on your sweet lil’ cunt. Wanna see her purr, yeah?,” he chided, bringing a large hand to cup your face. You nod, and follow instructions, as told. You wanted to be good for him, after all.

You rode, panting, heaving, giving it your all. You swung back and forth, sometimes pausing to give him a little dance. He was lucky, having a sweet thing like you in front of him, cigarette, beer, and the tv to keep him entertained. “Keep it movin’ f’me, pretty girl. You’re almost there, aren’t ya?” You nod, your face straining as you feel yourself tighten on his thigh. He moves his thigh into you more, and you scream, letting go. “There she is. Let go, baby. Daddy’s got ya.” You collapse onto his chest with a sigh, spent from this little interaction.

“You tired, baby?,” he asks, earning a nod from you, and a sigh. You were exhausted. He understood. “I got ya.” With your head still lay flush against his chest hair, he picks you up, bringing you to the bathroom. You were already half asleep as he set you on the counter, washed your face, cleaning you up. He brings you back into bed, making sure your head stays on his chest as you fall asleep.

—-

You liked how he took care of you. If you ever got hurt during a hunt, Dean would stop everything to make sure you’re okay. He would tell Sam to go on, leaving his brother frustrated as Dean would dote over you.

He always took a chance to carry you. Sometimes even through the woods — he was afraid that you’d get hurt and trip over the thick branches, because it has happened a few times already.

Whenever the three of you stopped at some local town bars, Dean always made sure to have his arm around your shoulders at all times — even walking you to the restroom if you asked. Sometimes you would sit with your legs on his lap as well. He would stroke your thigh if you got nervous. He would always double check your drink before you drank it, making sure it was okay for you. He would never let you have more than two shots of whiskey.

God forbid if a local bar-goer ever leered at you. Dean would walk over to them, ask them why, and then start throwing punches, ending with a simple, “Stay away from my woman, asshole.”

Sam would roll his eyes and pull Dean apart from the men, every time.

—

Late at night, while you and Dean couldn’t keep your hands off each other, while he took care of your throbbing cunt with his more than you can endow cock, Sam sat at the other side of the building, studying. He was honestly astonished that his brother was so enamored with a woman, always caring for you in a way that Sam had never seen before. It was almost paternal. Sam knew that you were the one to bring out the best, most humane, qualities in Dean.

A/n: requests have been answered! I am on my period, so expect some more fics coming out in the next couple of days. Xoxo, Liz.

[rositaslabyrinth]

Miss possessive - Dean W

Dean x female!Reader

Seeing a girl flirt with Dean at a bar is insulting. You can only take enough of watching it before going over and dragging to the backseat of the impala.

Content warnings ; smut, sex in the impala, slight handjob, unprotected sex (don’t follow their example queens), eating out, lowkey sub!dean

Word count ; 1,901

Minors PLEASE do not interact!!

The bar is buzzing with low conversations, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter. You and Dean are tucked into a booth with Sam, unwinding after a long hunt. Everything is fine—until she shows up.

She’s pretty, you’ll give her that. Blonde hair, easy smile, and confidence radiating off of her as she leans against the bar right next to Dean. The first time she touches his arm, you tell yourself to let it go. The second time, when she giggles at something he says—something that wasn’t even that funny—your grip tightens around your glass.

Dean, oblivious as ever, just smirks, giving her that stupid, charming grin you know way too well.

You can’t hear everything over the music, but you don’t need to. You see the way she presses just a little too close, the way her hand lingers on his forearm, nails tracing the edge of his sleeve. She wants him, and what’s worse? She doesn’t even care that you’re sitting right there.

“Be right back,” you mutter to Sam, sliding out of the booth before he can stop you.

You don’t hesitate. You stride over, slipping right between Dean and the girl with a too-sweet smile. You place a firm hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly before wrapping your other arm around his waist.

“Hey, honey,” you purr, eyes locking onto his. “You were gone too long.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, but the second he registers the sharpness in your gaze, the tension in your grip, the way your body is pressed flush against his—oh, he gets it.

His lips twitch, amusement flickering in his expression. “Was I?”

You don’t give him a chance to say anything else before pulling him down into a kiss—one that isn’t just for show. It’s deep, possessive, a clear statement for everyone watching. Your fingers tangle in the fabric of his jacket, making damn sure he feels just how much he belongs to you.

When you finally pull away, Dean looks dazed for a second before a slow, lazy smirk spreads across his lips. “Damn,” he murmurs. “What was that for?”

You don’t answer him. Instead, you turn your gaze to the blonde, who’s now looking anywhere but at you. “Sorry,” you say with a saccharine smile. “Were you saying something?”

She stammers out an excuse before grabbing her drink and retreating fast. You watch her go, satisfaction thrumming in your chest.

Dean chuckles, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Jealous, sweetheart?”

You huff, tugging him closer by the belt loops. “You’re mine, Winchester.”

Dean leans in, voice dropping to something rough and teasing. “Yeah? Maybe you should remind me.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

Dean barely has time to react before you’re gripping his jacket, pulling him toward the door. He doesn’t resist—not even a little. In fact, he chuckles under his breath, like he’s enjoying this way too much.

“Damn, sweetheart,” he murmurs as you push open the bar door and step into the cool night air. “Didn’t know you liked an audience.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you march straight to the Impala, yanking the back door open before shoving him inside. Dean lands on the leather with a grunt, looking up at you with a mix of amusement and something darker, something needy.

You climb in after him, slamming the door shut. The second you’re alone, you straddle his lap, gripping his jaw and making him look at you. His hands settle on your waist, firm and warm, but you don’t give him the chance to take control.

“Mine,” you breathe, dragging your fingers through his hair. “Say it.”

Dean swallows, his smirk faltering for just a second before his voice drops, rough and sure. “Yours.”

That’s all you need. You crash your lips against his, pouring every bit of jealousy, every ounce of possession, into the kiss. It’s all-consuming, heat coiling between you as Dean groans into your mouth, hands sliding under your jacket, gripping tight like he never wants to let go.

“You get off on this, don’t you?” he murmurs between kisses, voice teasing but breathless.

“Shut up.” You tug at his collar, exposing the line of his throat, and nip at the skin there, hard enough to leave a mark.

Dean lets out a low, pleased growl, fingers digging into your hips. “That’s my girl.”

Damn right, you are.

And before the night is over, he won’t have any doubt about who he belongs to.

You grind down against him, a low, breathy gasp escaping your lips as you feel the pressure of him beneath you. The backseat of the Impala feels too small for the heat building between you, but you don’t care. You can’t—because all that matters right now is him, and the way you can’t stop wanting him.

Dean’s hands are everywhere, sliding under your shirt, pulling at your clothes as he pulls you even closer, his chest rising and falling beneath you with each breath. He groans at the friction, his grip tightening around your waist, fingers digging into the soft curve of your hips. The heat between you is suffocating, but it only makes you press closer, matching your movements with his.

“Damn, sweetheart,” he mutters, his voice ragged, a low growl beneath the words. “You want me this bad, huh?”

You smirk against his neck, dragging your lips along his jawline, sucking softly at the sensitive skin just beneath his ear. “I always want you, Dean,” you whisper, grinding down against him again, slow and deliberate this time, drawing out the sensation.

His breath hitches, and you feel the way his pulse quickens under your fingertips. But still, he doesn’t take control. Not yet. Not until you’ve had your fill of him. His hands slip under your shirt, skin on skin, sending shivers down your spine as he pulls you in deeper, closer.

“Say it,” you breathe, your hands trailing down his chest, fingers brushing against the waistband of his jeans before pulling them and his underwear down and off him. “Say you want me, Dean.”

For a second, he hesitates, but only for a second. Then, with a rough exhale, he grabs your face, pulling you close. “I want you,” he growls, eyes locked on yours with a fire you know all too well. “I fucking want you, I’m yours,

And that’s all it takes. You slide your hands up his chest, and you’re moving against him, slow at first. Teasing. The tension thickens, your pulse thrumming as you feel the heat between you rise, every inch of him pressing against you.

You can feel the way he’s holding back—holding onto whatever little self-control he has left. But you won’t let him. Not now. You’re the one in control, and you’re going to make sure he knows it. You push him back against the leather seat, leaning down to kiss him, all fire, all heat.

Dean’s hands slide to your hips, but this time, he’s not guiding you. He’s holding on, letting you set the pace, watching you with that look in his eyes—the same one he always gets when he’s completely lost in you. His thumb brushes against your skin, tracing patterns that make your heart race.

“You’re mine,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper as you pull back to look at him. “And don’t you forget it.”

Dean’s chest heaves beneath you, his hands tightening on your hips, pulling you down closer. He’s losing it, but he’s still trying to hold on, still trying to give you what you want—but you won’t let him.

You press down, and he gasps, his hands gripping the seat beneath him as his eyes squeeze shut. “God,” he growls, his voice low, guttural. “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”

You lean down, your lips brushing against his ear. “You like it,” you murmur, fingers moving to his aching cock.

Dean’s breath catches. “Fuck, yeah,” he groans, his hands finally snapping to your back, pressing you even harder against him, thrusting up into your hands even more, the friction too much to ignore.

You kiss him harder, every movement slow and deliberate. You move against him, your body sinking down on him just a little bit more each time, every inch of him filling you, stretching you in the best way possible, while you continue ti lazily stroke his base.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Dean mutters, his voice shaking as you start to move faster, pulling him in, making him feel every inch of your need. His hands are now on your back, guiding you, but it’s not enough for you. You want to be closer, deeper.

“I want you so badly,” you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you press down against him again, feeling the way his grip tightens on you, pulling you down harder.

Dean’s hand grip your hips harder, hid other hand going to the one on his cock yo grab ahold of and hold down on his chest. His control snapping as he slams up into you, a sound between a growl and a moan escaping his lips. You match his rhythm, desperate, frantic, the heat of him almost overwhelming.

He’s possessing you now, every thrust bringing him deeper, harder, until the world falls away, and it’s just the two of you, tangled in a whirlwind of heat and desire. His name falls from your lips in a desperate whisper, and that’s when everything snaps—when the tension reaches its peak, and you both break together.

You collapse against him, breathless and shaking, but he doesn’t let you go. His hands are still on you, pulling you close, his lips brushing against your forehead as you both try to catch your breath.

He helps you off of him, the way both of your fluids spill out of you back into deans skin is like a watching a waterfall. He taps your back, signaling you to move up him, which you do after a few more seconds of catching your breath.

With you hovering over his face, he had the perfect view of you, your glistening cunt from both of your come. He waisted no time, pulling you down by your hips onto his mouth groaning into you.

“Of fuck Dean, just like that, yes!” You moan out dropping your head behind you squeezing your eyes shut as you can feel his tongue swiping up through your leaking folds.

He groans into you, the vibrations coursing through your body drawing you closer to your second orgasm. You move your hips against his mouth, the feeling too good not to.

All you could get out was broken moans mixed in with barely there yelps of his name.

Once you come again, Dean works your way through it continuing to drag his tongue through you until he made sure you were clean of come

Once getting off and falling back onto his chest once again Dean’s chest rose and fell beneath you as he holds you close, the scent of leather and sweat surrounding you both. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice raw.

The moment is broken a few moments later though with a knock in the widow, jolting both of you up, dean making sure to cover you.

“Guys seriously? This is a shared car.” You hear sam scoff, before retreating back into the shared bar.

Liz talks : all I’ve been doing my entire spring break has been writing and working LMAO so two posts in two days, I hope yall like this fun little dean smut, inspired by miss possessive by Tate McRae. I also came to the conclusion that I CAN write smut I just can’t write smut dialogue so! Whatevs! I will not be looking at it after this out of sight out of mind! Let me know what yall think any kind of interaction is great <3

Tags : @deansbbyx , @deanswidow , @nymphet-quenn , @multiversefanfics , @star-maker-rain-dancer , @sunsbaby , @starzify , @bluemerakis , @aambearr , @blossomingorchids , @littlesoulshine , @daylighted , @wchswift , @emeraldcrs , @bossyblondie , @lunaleah , @pieandflannel

To be tagged in any future works of mine please check out this post !!

[rowenasamuel]

sorry now i need to talk about how rowena really is sam's best friend- but more than that, he's her best friend. rowena doesn't make attachments, doesn't have friends- barely tolerated her own son until after his death. she has acquaintances, she has pawns. but something about sam (and by extension, dean and castiel and even jack) is different. she lets him in, she confides in him- she comforts him, at times, when he needs it. hell, she spends half of her literal death scene at his hand comforting him because she cares so deeply for him. 'we've grown quite fond of each other' is such a heartbreaking statement for two people who don't let other people in very often, but let each other in despite a prophecy that foretold their tragic ending.

[endless-oc-creations]

Ali, my dearest frenemy…Thank you so much! I love this so much! I really need to get out of my headspace and just write since I love the idea I have planned for Liz’s story!

HAPPY (LATE) BIRTHDAY, MIMI! ( @endless-oc-creations )

Sorry this is late, as you know I am sick, but here is a series poster for Elizabeth Winchester. Hope all is well!

[rositaslabyrinth]

Lower back tattoo - Dean W

Dean Winchester x female!reader

You and Dean have always been best friends. Hunting partners. Beer buddies. The one person he can count on. But one glance—one goddamn glance—and suddenly everything changes.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, friends to lovers, tattoo kink, oral (f receiving), praise kink, fingering, soft dom!Dean, filthy talk, tattoo worship, protected sex, no use of y/n

Word count ; 2,345

Minors please do not interact!!!

Dean didn’t mean to look.

Really, he didn’t.

It was instinct, nothing more. A flicker of movement from the corner of his eye as you bent to grab the duffel bag near your feet. One second, his mind was focused on the motel’s water pressure (or lack thereof), the other on that tattoo peeking out just above the waistband of your jeans. Lower back. Inked. Deliberate. And stupidly, unfairly, hot.

For a split second, it felt like the air got punched out of his lungs.

He blinked once. Then again. Tried to look away, failed. The design was something delicate—he couldn’t make it all out. Curved lines. Maybe wings? A crescent? Whatever it was, it wasn’t the tattoo that knocked the breath out of him. It was the fact that you had it. His best friend. His partner. You, who drank from his beer, stole his flannel, teased him about his music taste, slept three feet from him for months without a second thought.

And now here he was, staring at your lower back like a man who’d just been slapped across the face with desire.

Jesus.

He rubbed a hand down his jaw, turning away like he was trying to erase the moment from memory. Like he hadn’t just felt something uncoil in his gut, warm and unwelcome.

“Everything good?” you asked, your voice light, casual. You hadn’t seen him look. Of course not. Why would you? He was Dean. Predictable. Safe. Harmless.

“Yeah,” he replied, too fast. His voice cracked faintly, so he cleared his throat. “Yeah. Fine.”

You gave him a little smile and slung the bag over your shoulder, walking past him without hesitation, and god—how had he never noticed the way you moved before? The way your hips swayed? The way your shirt rose just enough to show the curve of that ink again?

Dean cursed under his breath.

Because now, he couldn’t unsee it. Couldn’t un-feel that jolt of heat in his blood. And the worst part?

He wanted to see it again.

Dean had always been good at keeping lines drawn in the sand.

There were rules to this thing—this life. No attachments, no roots. And when it came to you? There were even stricter rules. Best friend. Partner. Off-limits. The one person who knew how to patch him up when he was bleeding, who didn’t flinch at the dark things he said at 3 AM in some godforsaken motel room. The one who never looked at him like he was broken.

You were his person. Not in the romantic, hearts-and-flowers way. In the “I’d take a bullet for you, and you’d probably stitch me up afterward” kind of way.

And still—still—here he was, days later, lying awake in a too-hot motel bed, replaying that half-second glimpse like a goddamn teenager.

Lower back tattoo.

Delicate. Hidden.

Yours.

Dean shifted on the mattress, arm flung over his face like it could block the image from playing on repeat in his mind.

He’d barely slept since that moment. Not really. Every time he closed his eyes, his brain betrayed him with the sight of that ink and the curve of your back and the way his hands itched to trace it. What would you do if he did? Shove him away? Look at him with that wide-eyed betrayal? Or worse—pity?

No. He couldn’t risk that. He wouldn’t.

So instead, he lay there night after night, counting the ceiling tiles, pretending like he didn’t notice the way your shirt rode up when you stretched or the way your laugh made something tight loosen in his chest.

The next hunt brought you both to some dusty-ass town in Colorado, chasing what looked like a vengeful spirit haunting the ruins of an old mining site. Nothing you two couldn’t handle. You made a good team. Hell, a great one.

You were crouched beside a burned patch of floorboards, flashlight in one hand, EMF meter in the other, when Dean let his eyes fall on you again. This time, he didn’t mean to linger. He just—did.

You weren’t even doing anything provocative. You were focused, determined, a little smudge of ash on your cheek. But your shirt was riding up again, and for the briefest heartbeat, there it was. The tattoo. He could make it out a little better this time.

Wings. A feathered shape. Curving toward your spine like it belonged there.

Something in his chest gave a low, simmering throb.

“You okay?” you asked, glancing back at him, brows raised.

Dean snapped his eyes upward, guilt blooming hot and fast. “Yeah. Just thinkin’.”

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” you said lightly, standing. You stepped toward him, brushing dust off your jeans. “Everything good?”

Dean hesitated. He wanted to say yes. He should’ve said yes.

But something rose in his throat before he could stop it. “When did you get that tattoo?”

You blinked. “What?”

He felt the shift immediately. Your voice wasn’t defensive, just surprised. But still—he knew he was treading dangerous ground.

“That thing. On your back,” he said, tone deliberately casual. “Didn’t know you had one.”

You studied him for a beat, and he saw it—the moment realization flickered behind your eyes. “Ah. So that’s what’s been going on.”

Dean frowned. “What?”

You smiled. It wasn’t teasing, not exactly. It was something softer, unreadable. “Nothing. Just didn’t think you noticed stuff like that.”

He laughed, a little too tight. “I notice plenty.”

“Guess I’ve just never caught you looking,” you said, walking past him again. This time, your shoulder brushed his arm, just slightly. Not enough to count. But enough to feel.

Dean turned to watch you go. He didn’t know what was happening, but it felt like the floor was shifting under his feet.

Back at the motel, things got worse.

You were in the bathroom, shower running. He could hear your hum, faint but melodic, echoing through the thin walls.

Dean was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, trying like hell not to think about how close your body was behind that door. Wet skin. Warm water. That tattoo.

He groaned softly and dragged a hand through his hair. He needed to pull himself together. This was ridiculous. You’d been in and out of motel bathrooms a hundred times. Shared motel rooms a thousand. He’d seen you sleep, bleed, laugh, cry. None of this was new.

Except now it was. Now it felt like every molecule in the room was charged. The door creaked open behind him. Dean didn’t move.

You stepped out, wrapped in a towel, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends.

“Shower’s all yours,” you said, voice light.

He looked up. Mistake.

The towel dipped low at your back, and there it was—bare skin and ink, framed like a damn masterpiece. This close, he could see the shading, the way the lines almost shimmered against your skin.

Dean swallowed hard. Your eyes caught his. Something flickered between you.

Silence.

And then you tilted your head, just slightly. Like you were giving him a choice. Like you were daring him to break the rules you both had pretended didn’t exist.

Dean stood slowly. The room felt still. Heavy. You didn’t step back. You didn’t speak. He took one step toward you.

Then another.

And another.

Close enough to smell the clean scent of your skin. Close enough to see the water trailing along your collarbone. His fingers twitched at his side.

“You gonna ask to touch it?” you asked, voice low. Almost teasing.

Dean’s heart pounded. “No,” he said, voice rough. “But I might beg.”

You smiled—small, secret, and wild. And then you turned, just slightly, baring your back to him. An invitation.

Dean reached out, fingertips hovering just above the ink, not quite touching. “You’ve been hiding this the whole time?”

“I wasn’t hiding it,” you murmured. “You just weren’t looking.”

He let his hand fall—slow, reverent. Skin and ink beneath his fingers. Heat and ache blooming behind his ribs.

Everything was different now. And somehow, impossibly, it felt like it was always supposed to be.

The towel hit the floor with a soft thud. And Dean just stood there, eyes drinking you in like he’d never seen a naked woman in his life. Scratch that—like he’d never seen you.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, low and reverent.

You didn’t shy away. You let him look. Your spine straightened a little under his gaze, like you were baring more than skin—like you were letting him in.

Dean closed the distance in two long strides, and his hands were suddenly everywhere—your waist, your hips, your back. His fingers skimmed over the curve of your tattoo like it was delicate lace, tracing the shape with awe and hunger. He leaned in, mouth dragging warm and open against your skin.

“You don’t know what you’ve done to me,” he murmured, tongue flicking out to taste where the ink dipped toward the base of your spine. “You have no idea.”

You let out a soft, shaky sound—half gasp, half moan—and Dean’s cock throbbed against his jeans.

He turned you slowly, hands big and warm on your sides. His mouth was on yours again in a kiss that was messier now, hungrier—no more patience, no more pretending.

You were still wet from the shower, water droplets clinging to your skin as he pressed you back toward the bed.

“Lie down for me,” he said, voice like gravel.

You did.

Dean shed his clothes like they were in his way, stripping down until nothing separated him from you. When he climbed over you, he paused—just a beat—to look into your eyes. The weight of it hit you both.

“Still sure?” he asked.

You reached up and threaded your fingers into his hair. “I want you. Every part.”

Dean kissed you like a man starved.

His hands slid down your chest, over your breasts, kneading gently before his mouth followed—teeth grazing your nipple before his tongue soothed it. You arched beneath him, fingers tightening in his hair, gasping his name.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he muttered, dragging kisses down your stomach. “I’ve dreamed about this.”

He settled between your thighs, spreading them with sure, steady hands. And then he saw just how wet you were for him.

“Shit,” he breathed, thumb brushing lightly through your folds. “All this for me, sweetheart?”

You bit your lip, nodding, breath stuttering as he leaned in.

“Need to taste you,” he said, and then—he did.

Dean’s tongue moved with slow, devastating purpose—licking a long, deliberate stripe up your slit before sucking your clit into his mouth. You cried out, hips bucking, but his hands pinned you down gently, one arm curling under your thigh to keep you spread for him.

He moaned against you like you were his favorite meal. “You taste so fucking good.”

You were already close—he knew it. Your thighs trembled, your fingers dug into the sheets, and he didn’t let up. His tongue circled, lapped, and teased until your moans turned into gasps of his name—Dean, Dean, Dean—like a prayer.

Then he slid two fingers inside you, slow and thick, curling just right.

You came with a strangled cry, back arching, thighs clenching around his head. And he loved it—kept fucking you through it with his fingers, mouth still working your clit, dragging every last second out of it until you were shaking under him.

When he pulled back, his chin was slick and his eyes were dark as hell.

“Didn’t think you could get hotter,” he said, voice wrecked. “But seeing you fall apart like that? Fuck.”

He kissed your thigh, then your hip, then up your body until he was back over you.

You pulled him down for another kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, moaning into his mouth.

“Condom?” you whispered, breathless.

Dean reached into his wallet on the nightstand without looking, fingers finding the foil square like he’d practiced it a thousand times.

But this—you—was different.

He tore it open with shaking hands and rolled it on, then braced himself over you, his cock dragging against your slit.

“You ready for me?” he asked.

You reached down and guided him to your entrance, voice steady even through your heat. “I’ve been ready, Dean.”

He slid in slow.

Thick. Deep. Stretching you until your jaw dropped, breath catching in your throat. He went slow, watching every twitch of your face, every moan slipping out of you as he filled you completely.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, resting his forehead against yours. “You feel so goddamn good.”

You rocked your hips up to meet him, and that was all it took—Dean began to move.

His thrusts were slow at first, deep and deliberate, grinding into your body with every roll of his hips. He held you like he couldn’t bear to let go—one hand cradling your jaw, the other gripping your thigh, fingers digging into flesh.

“You’re mine now,” he growled against your neck. “You hear me?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Yes—Dean—please—”

He picked up the pace, hips slamming into you now, wet skin slapping and your moans growing louder with every stroke.

“That’s it,” he said. “Take it. Take all of me.”

He fucked you like he meant it. Like he needed to.

Like this was the moment everything changed—and he wanted it to.

When he felt you tighten around him, your cries growing desperate, he kissed your lips, your cheek, your shoulder.

“Come for me again,” he whispered. “Come while I’m inside you.”

And you did.

Your whole body arched, pulsing around him, and Dean lost it—groaning your name like it broke him, burying his face in your neck as he came hard, thrusting deep and spilling into the condom with a low, wrecked moan.

You lay tangled together afterward, your head on his chest, his fingers lazily tracing the curve of your tattoo again.

Quiet. Safe.

Everything unsaid finally spoken in the way he held you, kissed your temple, and whispered, “I should’ve looked sooner.”

You smiled, breathless. “Guess you finally caught up.”

Liz talks : this was lowkey rushed at the end IM SORRY, I wanted to get something about tattoos out since I’m getting my first one next week lmaooo so have fun with this!!

Tag list : @sunsbaby , @starzify , @bluemerakis , @aambearr , @blossomingorchids , @littlesoulshine , @daylighted , @wchswift , @emeraldcrs , @bossyblondie , @lunaleah , @pieandflannel , @sunnyteume , @deanswifeyy , @deansbbyx , @deanswidow , @nymphet-quenn , @multiversefanfics , @star-maker-rain-dancer , @sapphic-destiel

To be tagged in any of my future works please check out this post !!

Any engagement is greatly appreciated !!