#oh to be a mini music man 😌 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zepskies · 2 months ago

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Wow, @lamentationsofalonelypotato you spoil me, friend!! This review of Part 1 absolutely made my day and put a huge smile on my face. 🥰

I really love again that you give so many wonderful little pieces of domestic life with Dean and I think that you did a very accurate depiction of him having a mini panic attack when he realizes how serious the relationship between him and the reader is getting.

Oh why thank you!! This series let me explore a lot of facets of their relationship, and this early on I wanted to emphasize the domestic aspect that Dean hasn't gotten since Lisa. Mixed into their hunter lifestyle, hopefully it would be a better fit for Dean and the reader here.

LOL his mini man panic attack was so fun to write. And Sam just being like, "A-huh, you done?" 😂

He’s acting like such a guy when it comes to the reader moving his stuff around and I am HERE for it lol. Men really do freak out when you move their stuff and when you try to leave your stuff at their place. And even though we all love Dean, he really is that dude. Also love the classic guy thing when they never understand how long it takes a woman to get ready. It's a lot of effort boys and it's worth the wait. 😉

He really is! lmfao Men complain about women being "extra," but they can be so particular, especially about their stuff. We saw from Dean's room in the bunker that he likes a particular order to things, so I thought it would be fun to have that feminine energy in his life shake him up lol. And hell yeah it's worth the wait! 😌💅🏽

Is it wrong that I imagine Dean looking around at all her bottles and products in the bathroom in absolute horror with the music from Psycho in the background? 😂

LOL I can see it like an episode in my head!!

And he’s not used to having a stable girlfriend around him all the time, caring for him, genuinely invested in what he’s doing through the day, and that makes so much sense for him to be a little out of his comfort zone to have someone move in. I know that by saying this I am neglecting Lisa… but legit I want to forget about her oh my stars. Please make it go away…😬

Exactlyyyyy. It's taking some adjustment time for both of them as Dean gets used to having a girlfriend in his space. I think with Lisa he had to try and fit himself into her life, her house, her things, while in this it's the other way around, so it's still "new" for him in a sense.

Haha I'm about to throw myself under the bus, but I shipped Dean x Lisa hardcore when I was first watching the show! It was always the hopeless romantic for me wanting better for Dean on the show, seeing him with a stable family life. I think the writers had to do her characterization a bit dirty in order to write her and Ben out of Dean's life. 🥲🥲

The reader’s reaction to his subtle comments about where his stuff is was making me laugh. She’s so sassy and fun, and she’s the perfect other half to Dean.

Ahaha thank you!! I so appreciate you for saying that. 🥰 She's not without flaws, but I thought she could match Dean's energy and give it right back to him in a playful way. 💕 (Hairline kisses are so wholesome, aren't they?)

Also thank you so much for explaining what the food was because it all sounded amazing and I would not have known the first thing about any of it. 😅

Oh of course! That's part of the "everyone is welcome here" with the cultural aspects. Plus I've had people tell me they want to go out and find some Cuban food to try, like you went out and found some cafecito! 😘 I love writing about food. lol

Goodness I don't think I'm ever going to have a normal reaction to Dean making the reader feel better when her thoughts begin to ride the self-deprecation train. It's so cute how much he cares for her and wants to make her feel better and lets her know that she belongs there with him. (AND THE EYEBROW KISS *swoon*) Also I teared up when she said the thing about having someone to cook for, because oh man, the feminine urge to bake and cook and make things for other people is so strong with me. 😭

UGHH GIRL SAME. It defeats me every time fr. 😮‍💨😮‍💨

As much as she wants to take care of her partner in Dean (and feed him and Sam), Dean's instinct is to take care of her right back in how she needs. It's why I wanted to pair him with a "giver" like him.

Oh yeah, I infused a bit of myself there with "the feminine urge to bake and cook and make things for other people." 🥰👌🏽

I will also say that the lore/the way you incorporate actual hunts into your work is so seamless and you should be VERY proud of that. It is literally like watching an episode of Supernatural.

Omg thank you!! I try my best to make that aspect feel natural and do research when necessary--back into the show, in mythology, etc. 💜💜

I know that Dean didn't want to give Andy's mother false hope, but I probably would have done the exact thing the reader did. I would have made that promise to reassure Andy's mom. But at the same time I see Dean's argument about caring too much for the people around you. I think he probably gets that from understanding that there are a lot of things that can go wrong on a hunt and that at the end of the day you can't save everyone/you're not always in control of the situation even if you'd like to be.

Honestly yeah same, but I'm glad you could see Dean's side of the argument too! I think the most conflicty conflict is best when both sides have merit. Dean's experience backs up his points, but there's a more human touch that the reader is coming from.

The subtle The Walking Dead reference, very well done lol.

Ahaha thank you!! I stole that from 12x15 when Dean pulls out Lucille. 🤣

AND IT'S A CLIFFHANGER!!?😱 I can't be mad about that, I do them so often too when I write. I can't wait to read part 2 and hear the traditional "you should've listened to me!" 🥰

Cliffhangers work! I love a good cliffhanger honestly. It doesn't even bother me when I read them in other people's stories because it can be such a delicious narrative choice. 😏

Thank you so much again, friend, for this lovely review!! I really hope you enjoy Part 2 whenever you get to it. It's spicy, in more ways than one. 😘

Devour Me - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader

Summary: When you and Dean start to press each other’s buttons, both of your tempers ignite. To make up for it, you give him an impromptu salsa dancing lesson…one he didn’t exactly ask for. (18+)

AN: This is a two-part sequel to “Midnight Espresso!” I would read that one first before you dive into this one. (It’s fun, I promise!)

Word Count: 3,800 Tags/Warnings: Supernatural shenanigans, tiny bit of body insecurity, hurt/comfort, fluffy fluff, and a cliffhanger...

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 1: "A Takeover"

When Dean asked you to move in with him, he really didn’t think it would come to this.

Clearing a nightstand for you, half of the dresser, a section of his closet. Those things are reasonable.

But this is a total takeover, he thinks, as he surveys the sheer amount of crap you’ve brought into his room.

Mind you, despite this still being a bunker, the décor is nice. You brought in sturdy, but stylish wicker baskets for his pile of cassettes (and your CDs) next to the TV, filing bins for the haphazard shuffle of papers on his desk, installed dark wood shelves on the wall for his various weapons and your collection of books.

But he’d had his music organized—not alphabetically or chronologically, but by his own personal rankings of awesomeness. Now they’re all shuffled together by band name.

Plus, he likes having his shotgun on the floor by the bed, within reach, not three feet above his head. And where the fuck is his collection of…magazines?

The point is, every time he looks for something, you’ve put it in a different place. Not to mention the damn bathroom (don’t get him started on all your shea butter lotions, makeup brushes, frilly-smelling soaps, and the army of hair products now taking up space in his cabinets and drawers).

Dean is sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to figure out where the hell his cassette of Zeppelin IV is, when you breeze into the room he now shares with you. You’re dewy with sweat in a Guns & Roses shirt and some yoga pants you reserve for cleaning.

And that’s another thing. You’re more anal than Sam about having the bunker smelling like Pine Sol. However, as you’ve expressed before (after nagging him to pick up his dirty, and occasionally bloody clothes from the floor), while you like a clean house, you are not in fact the maid.

“Hey, baby. Can you fold these for me?” you request. “I need a shower.”

He raises a brow as you dump a new basket of fresh laundry onto the bed. It looks like you washed your clothes mixed in with his, which he actually doesn’t mind. He fishes out one of your red, lacey thongs with a hint of a smile. He bought you these last week, and they already have a tear. (His fault.)

“By the way, next time you move one of my things, mind leaving me a post-it note or something?” he dryly remarks. “It’s like a scavenger hunt in my own damn room.”

You pop your head out of the bathroom, though he can tell by your bare shoulders that you’ve already gotten undressed. Your mouth is quirked at the corner.

“It’s called organization,” you tease. “Apparently a foreign concept to you.”

You disappear back into the bathroom, giving Dean the privacy he needs to grumble almost inaudibly to himself. But then he hears your voice behind the door.

“Oh, by the way. Your vintage collection of smut is in the bottom of your nightstand,” you call out. “That 1996 edition of Busty Asian Beauties is particularly classy.”

Dean hears the wryness in your tone, and his face actually heats up in embarrassment. He frowns at the bathroom door, his jaw tensing, but he takes a breath. Deciding to let it go with a roll of his shoulders, he puts on the TV to catch up on Dr. Sexy M.D. He also neglects the task you gave him, just for a little while.

When you’re still in the bathroom an hour later, Dean starts to get curious about what the hell you’re doing in there. The shower isn’t even running anymore.

That’s when he hears the hairdryer go on.

He knows he’ll never be able to concentrate on his show with all that noise. So with a sigh, he clicks off the TV and eyes the pile of laundry. You probably cleaned the whole freaking bunker this morning. Despite his annoyance, he figures folding your clothes along with his own is the least he can do.

Dean scoops up the pile back into the basket and takes it elsewhere.

He finds his brother at the kitchen table and joins him with his basket. Sam’s gaze raises from his laptop to meet his brother’s grumpy face. He watches in mild curiosity as Dean plops down across from him and dutifully begins folding one of your shirts.

“You okay?” Sam hazards the question.

“Fucking peachy,” Dean replies. “Looking for a new case?”

“Yeah. Nothing yet.” Though Sam raises a brow when Dean all but tosses one of your girly sundresses on the table after it’s folded. (It’s yellow, and it happens to be his favorite on you.)

“Everything all right?” Sam asks.

Dean glances up, finds his brother’s knowing eyes, and doesn’t have it in him to lie. He lets go of a breath, as well as one of his undershirts to rub at his forehead.

“She’s nosey, Sam. She’s all up in my business.”

“Your girlfriend?” Sam clarifies, with raised brows. “Of six months.”

“Yeah, that one,” Dean quips, with all due sarcasm. “Ever since she moved in, she’s been going through everything, moving my crap every which way, making it so I can’t find a damn thing.”

Sam’s mouth edges at a smile.

“I’m tellin’ you, Sam, she’s damn near taken over,” Dean insists.

“You done?” Sam teases. Dean just leans in, like he’s about to level his brother with a secret.

“Matter of fact, she locks herself in the bathroom for like, forever. I just heard the hairdryer go on, meaning another hour at least. What the fuck is she doing in there, getting ready for prom?”

Sam finally has to chuckle. “Clearly it’s been a long time since you’ve lived with a woman, Dean.”

Dean scoffs. “Right.”

“And she’s actually been a big help in cleaning up around here,” Sam says, with a growing smirk. “Which is, quite literally, a refreshing change.”

Dean snorts at that.

“Of course, you’re happy,” he says. “A new damn dish rack turns you on.”

Sam shoots him a wan look. “The question is, are you happy?”

That manages to take Dean by surprise. He hesitates to answer…

But he’s saved when he hears someone approaching. He knows it’s you because he can smell the mix of your floral soap and coconutty shampoo; it’s a scent that often lingers on your pillow and has unconsciously infiltrated Dean’s nose.

His reply to Sam dies on his tongue when he sees you.

“Hey,” you greet both men, all bright and smiley with your hair in wild curls down your back.

A lot of the time you keep your hair straight or loose and wavy, so it’s rare for Dean to see your natural look. It’s a good one for you, he thinks. Along with those jean shorts hugging your curvy hips, and the V-neck top you’re wearing, which offers a nice peek of cleavage.

Your hand falls on his shoulder, with your thumb stroking his neck. You then brush that hand across his back as you pass by on your way to the kitchen. If possible, you’ve become even more touchy since you two got together.

Dean holds fast to your hand, stopping you in your path.

“So that’s what you were working on in there,” he remarks. “Thought I was gonna need to break out the fire extinguisher.”

You grin in amusement and do a little twirl under his hand, shaking out your curls a little.

“You like?” you ask. Dean tugs you back over. He reaches out and fingers at the soft ends of your hair.

“Beautiful,” he says.

“Looks real nice,” Sam adds.

“Why, thank you.” Your smile is contagious, and Dean can’t help reciprocating. You drop a hand on his shoulder again.

“I know you’re our resident Gordon Ramsay, but I kinda feel like cooking today,” you say. “Is Cas coming home anytime soon?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, he called this morning. Probably dropping back in tonight.”

You nod. “Good! I’ll make plenty then…oh, wait, he doesn’t eat.”

“What did you have in mind?” Sam asks.

“Well, I know you guys haven’t had much Cuban food, so I thought you might like to try some ropa vieja,” you reply. Sam’s brows knit together.

“Old clothes?” he translates. His two years of high school Spanish can give him that much.

“Yeah! But it’s basically shredded beef with onions, garlic, tomato sauce, and a bunch of other good stuff,” you explain. Then your eyes brighten. “Oh! And I can make my grandma’s famous black beans, white rice, some bread with crushed garlic and olive oil…”

By the time you finish listing the things you plan on making, Dean is already salivating.

Later that evening, when Dean actually gets to sample said food, he’s eaten enough for three men in the span of forty-five minutes.

“Jesus, man. Going for a record on indigestion?” Sam cautions him, despite his amusement.

Dean pointedly ignores his brother to look over at you. After he swallows another forkful of beef stew, he says, “Not for nothin’, this is probably the second-best meal of my entire life.”

“Oh, yeah?” You giggle. “What’s number one?”

“Diner called Slammies in Alabama. Best fucking pie on Earth,” he easily recalls. “Double applewood bacon cheeseburger, chili cheese fries, brick oven pizza. Bar none.”

Sam inclines his head, remembering the food coma he and Dean had that night. They’d hit the rock-hard pillows at the motel and slept like they’d been on an all-night bender.

“But this is like, right there,” Dean says to you, leveling his hand up by his head.

“Well, let’s see if this moves the needle,” you reply as you get up from your seat. You answer the question in his eyes. “Forgot something, hold on.”

But before you can leave the table, Dean reaches over and takes your hand.

“Thanks, sweetheart. For all of this. I mean it,” he says.

A soft, genuine smile grows across your face. You lean down and press a tender kiss below his hairline, stroking his cheek before you go.

Dean quirks a smile. It’s taken him time to get used to how open you are with your affections, but he likes it. All of it. Every time you reach for him, touch him, brush against him, intentionally or not. He always has.

Though he has to resist embarrassment when he notices the way his brother is watching him. Sam raises a brow, smiling that irritating smile of his.

“Oh, yeah. You’re not happy at all,” he intones.

“Never said I wasn’t,” Dean says defensively. But he perks up when you return. Maybe you’re bringing more garlic bread.

Instead, you’re holding a tin pan.

“What’cha got there?” he asks.

“Dessert,” you announce. It’s a Cuban flan: creamy, rich custard with a consistency smoother than cheesecake, and thicker than pudding.

You haven’t even sat back down yet when Dean carves himself a generous slice. He moans when a large forkful melts in his mouth. You start to blush as you watch him with crossed arms and a hand over your smile. You don’t know whether to be amused or flattered.

Sam watches his brother stuff his face with a subtle shake of his head.

“You’re enabling him,” he tells you. You shrug, but then you rest your hands on both Sam and Dean’s shoulders.

“Now I have someone to cook for,” you say. You have tears in your eyes, but you quickly blink and try to turn away. Frowning, Dean takes your hand.

“Hey, where you going?” he says, and aims to pull you into his lap. You hesitate, knowing you’re not going to be able to squeeze between him and the table.

“It’s okay, these hips don’t fit,” you chuckle wryly, with a sniffle. But Dean just backs his chair up from the table a bit to make room.

“What’re you talking about? You fit right here,” he says firmly, and he tugs you down. This is the one thing Dean has tried his damndest to break you out of—that self-deprecating streak of yours.

You finally accept being guided into his lap, where you indeed fit snugly across his thighs. His arm comes around the front to hold you close by your hip, while his other hand rests comfortingly on your back.

Looking up into his eyes, you draw enough courage to be honest.

“I was mostly raised by my grandma,” you begin to explain. Your father wasn’t ready to be one, and so wasn’t in the picture. Your mother died when you were in high school. So when your grandmother also passed away a few years ago…

Well, you’ve been alone for a while.

You sniff and wipe at your face, but your eyes close as Dean’s lips press above your brow. When you next open your eyes and cautiously look between the brothers, Sam’s sympathy warms you.

“If it isn’t obvious, you have a home here,” he says. “We can never replace what you’ve lost, but…we’re your family too.”

You know that Dean feels the same way by the way he brushes the tears from your cheek, thumbing at your bottom lip.

"You're right where you need to be," he says, with a hand squeezing your hip. His sincerity is in his even tone, in the firmness in his eyes.

You’re able to smile a bit.

“Ah…I’m interrupting, aren’t I?”

The three of you turn to the kitchen doorway, where Castiel stands awkwardly. He clearly senses emotional tension, but it breaks the moment you turn to him with a tearful laugh.

“Hey, Cas. Have you ever eaten ‘old clothes?’” you ask.

His puzzled expression is absolutely priceless.

When Sam finds a possible hunt in Hope, Indiana, Castiel agrees to go with you all. It’s a small, corn-fed town in the middle of nowhere, and five people have gone missing over the course of a year.

The latest is a nine-year-old kid named Andy Campbell. That alone upsets you; if you have one weakness, it’s for kids.

“Local farmers have been reporting dead cattle too, drained of blood,” Sam says from the passenger seat in the Impala. “I’m thinking vampires trying to keep a low profile.”

“Sounds about right, if a bit sloppy,” Dean remarks. They are in the Midwest though. If this is a coven, or even a rogue vamp who’s been here a while, maybe they got lazy. “So what, police station first? Get any details they might’ve missed.”

“I want to talk to the kid’s mom,” you say. It earns Dean’s gaze at you in the rearview mirror. “We can get the last time she saw him, where he went missing, anything she might’ve held back from the police.”

He nods and shares a glance with Sam. “I’ll go with her. You and Cas scope out the station.”

The angel has gotten better at pretending to be a Fed, but not by much. Sam agrees, even though Dean sees in his face that he’d rather be taking his brother. Dean tempers a smile and keeps driving to the closest motel in this dusty town.

You don a sensible pantsuit to match Dean’s Fed suit, along with your badges: Agents Buckingham and Nicks.

When Andy’s mom, Rachel Campbell, opens the door of her modest home to you and Dean, he lets you take the lead. You’re good at this part, connecting with the victims and getting them to talk. He sometimes worries about you though—that your soft, sympathetic heart will get the best of you.

“How long has Andy been missing?” you ask, accepting a cup of tea from the woman.

Rachel is around your age, maybe a few years older. She looks run down, a shell of a human as she looks at the carpet rather than at you or Dean. You can’t know exactly how she feels, but you have a vivid imagination.

And from the various pictures of her and Andy on the wall, just the two of them, you deduce that she’s a single mother. Just like your mom had been.

“Almost four months,” she admits. “The police station doesn’t even return my calls anymore.”

That upsets you, but you keep a lid on your emotions to focus on the woman in front of you.

“Andy’s father, he’s not around?” Dean asks. Rachel shakes her head, confirming your suspicions.

“No, we split up shortly after he was born,” she replies, her tone tired and resigned. “I was at work. I uh, I work at a doctor’s office. Andy was supposed to come home on the bus, like any other day…but he never did.”

She sucks in a shaky breath as the beginnings of tears make her eyes red and glassy.

“His school couldn’t tell me why he wasn’t on the bus. But one of his friends said he was late getting out of class, so he must’ve tried to walk home. Even though he knew he could call me when that happens…anyway, somebody must’ve grabbed him.”

Rachel looks away as a tear streams down her cheek, followed by another. You feel your throat tighten with a sympathetic burn behind your eyes, but you keep it at bay long enough to set down your tea. You reach out and lay a hand on the woman’s hand. She meets your steady gaze.

“I promise, we’ll find your son,” you tell her.

“What?” you ask Dean as the two of you leave the small house, walking back to the Impala in the driveway. You just know there’s something up with him by the stoic look on his face. It isn’t so stoic to you.

He waits until the two of you are in the car before he levels you with a raised brow.

“Look, I know you want to find this kid. I do too,” he says. “But watch out about making promises you can’t keep.”

You frown back at him. “What’s better, letting that poor woman have no hope at all?”

In his mind, Dean thinks it’s worse to give her false hope. But he sees how stubborn you’re getting, so he doesn’t push it. The fact that you care about people like Rachel is part of what drew him to you in the first place, but there’s a line, he thinks. A point where you can care too much.

When you two eventually meet up with Sam and Castiel, they’ve been able to confirm from the body of a recent Jane Doe, with a row of lethal bite marks on her wrist, that this is definitely a vamp case.

After narrowing down where each of the victims were taken, the four of you sketch out a perimeter of where the monsters could likely be hiding. It’s Dean who finds the old barn on the verge of a corn field, about three miles away from the school where Andy was taken.

You all wait until high noon the next day to scope it out. Looking into the front windows is useless; all evidence points to an empty home.

The back of the barn is another story. Cracking the barn door open reveals a large storage area, where a nest of vampires are sleeping in their beds. Some are coupled off, but you note a few on single beds.

Then, your eyes narrow on the humans sleeping piled together in the corner—three women, a young man, and Andy Campbell on a twin-sized bed of his own.

Dean carefully closes the barn door, and the four of you regroup back to the Impala.

“It’s a bigger nest than we thought,” Sam says, though he keeps his voice quiet. Dean is already opening the trunk for his favorite machete.

“First, let’s get those humans out,” he says. You agree with a nod when he hands you a weapon.

Dean shoots you a wink. “This one’s Brenda.”

“What happened to Lucille?” you ask, taking the knife from him.

“That’s the bat wrapped in barbed wire. Matter of fact, I should break her out.”

Dean reaches into the trunk and pulls out the blood-stained bat. He rubs the handle fondly.

“Ahh, Dad loved this thing.��

You sidle up next to him and glance over wryly. “You want some alone time with your big stick, there?”

Dean flashes you a smirk, giving you a long once over in your form-fitting shirt and jeans. “Well, you’re certainly welcome to join me, sweetheart.”

You snort in response, bumping into his side with your hip. Dean teasingly bounces one of your curls in your face. You smile and swat his hand away.

Sam subtly rolls his eyes, despite a small smile as he shares a look with Cas.

“All right. Can we go, please?” Sam says in amusement. Castiel awkwardly straps on a machete to his belt. He doesn’t believe he’ll need it, but Sam and Dean are always prepared. He wants to be as well.

You’re ready to go, but Dean holds you back by your shoulder. You look up at him curiously.

“Hey, follow our lead on this one, okay?” he asks.

You sense that he’s hedging at something more specific with that request.

“What do you mean?”

“The kid. I know you wanna beeline for him the second we get in there, but hold off,” Dean says. His gaze is serious. “He could be turned.”

He got a good look inside, the same as you. The kid was lying on a bed while the other humans were chained up on the floor. Still, you shoot him an incredulous look.

“Why would they turn a kid?” you ask. “They have the others.”

“Yeah, and they were chained up. Why not him?” Dean asks, imploring you to think logically. He shares a look with Sam, who silently agrees. You look between the brothers with pursed lips.

“Maybe they don’t give a fuck, because they’re cocky assholes,” you retort. And you walk past them to head back towards the barn.

The brothers and the angel share one last look, with Dean letting out a subtle breath before he follows you.

You creep back into the barn, as quiet as possible through the room of snoring vampires. The brothers and Castiel go to the sleepy women in the corner. They look dirty and malnourished, wearing threadbare clothing. Sam feels the pulse of the man prone on the floor, but he’s already dead.

When one of the girls wakes with a whimper, Dean holds his finger to his lips, warning them all wordlessly to be quiet. He looks over and doesn’t find you next to him. He nearly curses out loud when he sees you heading for Andy’s bed across the room.

Meanwhile, you touch the little boy’s shoulder and shake him a little. He wakes with a small sound of reluctance, but you shush him gently.

“Andy?” You grasp his shoulders. He nods, though his blonde brows are furrowed with confusion.

“Who…who are you?” he asks. He rubs at his sleepy brown eyes.

“I’m here to help,” you reply in a whisper. “I’m going to get you back to your mom, okay?”

After a moment, he nods and lets you pick him up into your arms. You hazard looking over across the room, and you find Dean’s annoyed gaze. Despite the uncomfortable churning in your belly, you ignore him for now and head for the back door.

You’re only able to take a few steps when you feel a hand wrap tightly in your hair and pull it away from your neck, just for rows of several razor-sharp teeth to sink into your neck.

AN: 😬 ...Sorry. If you don't know me by now, I love a cliffhanger. But how'd you like Dean getting used to sharing his space? (And having someone to occasionally put him on his toes.)

Part 2 will feature a good old fashioned "you should've listened to me" fight, some angst, some making up, some salsa dancing, and a healthy dose of smutty smut.

Next Time:

“I don’t care what that legendary gut tells you,” you sass back. “I’m not a little girl, and you’re not my damn father!”

Dean raises incredulous brows at the way you’re shouting at him. He crosses his arms.

“What’s this, some kind of Latina temper?” he asks snidely.

You truly become incensed at that.

Keep Reading: PART 2

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

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@theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @mrshalverson2021 @iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem @waters-2567 @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @beskarfilms @skyesthebomb @deans-spinster-witch @tmb510 @iamsapphine @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @chernayawidow @syrma-sensei

#reader appreciation #lovely mutuals #lovely review!! 💞💞#devour me feedback

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jadegreenimmortality · 3 years ago

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Hello there my lovely Jade! ❤️ Before starting, congrats on 200 followers once again, I can’t express enough how much you deserve it🥺💕

Ahem~ For the lovely event, I’d like to request Kunikida!

As the fourth touch, first time hand kiss from him maybe? 😳 Maybe this is too much projecting but I feel like he’d enjoy giving those in a tender and professional manner, being the gentleman he is. 😖

My personality (even though you’re probably familiar by all this by now🤭): I sometimes seem distant from the outside but I’m actually very kind 👉👈 I don’t talk much, I usually observe, but when I’m really passionate with something and that topic is brought up, I can’t stop rambling. (In my case, it’s classical music, literature and science🤭) I’m so serious when it comes to studies/work, I can’t stand irresponsibility, but outside of that, my kind of chaotic/feral side could come out for just a few seconds so beware. 👀

Date places: Art/history museums, library or at night, anywhere that would allow us to stargaze💕

I’m definitely an introvert.

Feelings about physical touch: I’m generally very hesitant with physical touch, I don’t like people touching me, but I’m usually more OK with it if the person is so beloved to me and if I trust them very much <3

Flirt: Oh I don’t flirt at all. Like, at all. I’m really reserved when it comes to those things haha. But I’m not opposed to being flirted with ONLY IF I feel things for that person 👉👈

Crush: If I ever had a crush on someone, it would probably go to grave with me if they don’t take the first step. I hide it as if my life depends on it.

I think that’s it😳❤️ Thank you so much for this lovely event, I hope you’re having a wonderful day and not forgetting to drink your water!! mwah✨

First Touches with Doppo Kunikida (#2)

A/N: Hiii my dear Req!! Thank you again for your lovely congratulations (⺣ﻌ⺣), I appreciate them very much. Stop making me blush already, I’m feeling all giddy! (☆ω☆*) So, Kunikida, huh? What a ground-breaking surprise, I would’ve expected you to ask for Kaji 😌- no just kidding, I’m sorry 😂😂 . One Kunikida coming right up!!!! I hope this puts a smile on your face <3.

Pairings: Kunikida x fem!reader

Genre: tooth-rotting fluff

Warnings: none

200 followers mini event

Let’s say you are a member of the Armed Detective Agency…

In general, you and Kunikida would start off as friends that click right away. Due to your diligence and generally reserved personality, you would get along really well in a workplace scenario, making you the workaholic power couple of the Armed Detective Agency. But also outside of work, you know that you can rely on each other when need be. Furthermore, you understand each other’s passionate spirit about your special interests and don’t mind one rambling to the other, which makes you good friends as well.

The first time you touched hands wouldn’t have been special at all if it wasn’t for his reaction. You had been with the Agency for a few weeks now and had found the members to be a quite eccentric bunch, each with their own quirks. To your surprise, you had nevertheless felt quite accepted and taken in right away, which you could contribute in large parts to the Agency member you secretly felt most comfortable with: Doppo Kunikida, the young, upright man with a firm and serious attitude that everyone seemed to respect and trust expect maybe Dazai, but you preferred not to mind him too much. You had felt drawn to him right away – not in a romantic or sexual manner, but rather because you felt him to be one of the few people you felt comfortable around to a certain degree right from the start.

And you had not been disappointed. While others seemed to moan over his strict mannerisms, you felt them to be a guidance for him and everyone that could be relied on – and as a colleague to work over hours with, he was a dream come true as you had found out today. The sun was throwing its last rays over the skyline of Yokohama, bathing the agency rooms in a dim, pinkish colour that softened the edges and seemed even to lighten up shadows. The atmosphere was filled with a quiet, peaceful concentration as the two of you each sat at their desks. It happened while he was handing you the last stack of papers that had to be edited. He was already looking at his schedule, carefully scanning the to-do-list, while you were revising the last letter you had worked on, which led to you grabbing the papers in a way that made your hands overlap - your small hand resting shortly over his fairly bigger, yet slender one – before you flinched away, instinctively retrieving from the unexpected touch.

You were used to people not questioning this further and if they did, looking at you funny; so you did not expect him to instantly lift his view from the notebook in front of him, turning to you to raise his eyebrows slightly and give you an attentive, asking look. He didn’t look surprised, but rather calm. Still, you could feel a subtle sense of concern linger under his polite question as he asked: “Is everything okay, (y/n)-san?” You were fast to nod and disperse his worries and soon, both of you were focusing again at the task as hand. But later, when he walked you home as he always did dutifully at such late hours, you found yourself feeling the memory of the warmth of his hand linger on your skin.

The first time he kissed your hand was over a year later. Time and patience had made the two of you grow close, finding comfort and understanding in the other, making you the closest of friends. Or so you told yourself, even when the random memory of the warmth of his touch returned to you occasionally. When your hands touched by accident now, you didn’t flinch anymore. And even though he never commented on it, you had an inkling he noticed, just as you noticed that he was always careful not to touch you out of the blue.

As soon as you had seen the posters for the new exposition in the western history museum in Yokohama, you knew you had to go. By this point of your friendship, you didn’t hesitate to ask Kunikida if he would like to accompany you on your free day. And how was he supposed to say no when you look at him, your face the mirror image of a little sun radiating bliss into the world? Not that he would have refused either way though. He had found himself drawn to your reserved, yet tender and life-affirming personality since a long time, craving against all logic to be close to you at all time. So he agreed.

Your day at the museum was spectacular. The exposition was a splendid mix of art, fashion, music and technology through the ages, ending in an interactive section where you had the choice to put on costumes and get a photograph in a historical setting. After a whole evening of indulging in your passion, you felt little hesitation to suggest you partake in this to keep a memory of your day spent together, to which he was surprisingly fast to agree. When you stepped out of your changing room and onto the little historical set, you weren’t ready for the view: Kunikida looked rather splendid in the white suit, a purple vest shining under his dress jacket, and you were quick to lower your gaze, hoping to hide your blush. What a shame though, since you didn’t catch the look of utter awe as Kunikida looked at you in your gorgeous gown.

The only one that didn’t catch the mood was the photographer. With the impatience of a man who just wants to do his job, he asked you two to strike a pose so he could take a picture. Kunikida was the first to move again, silently offering you his hand, giving you the chance to refuse the touch. Which you did not. And so he bent over, bowing to you in a graceful manner you never were aware he had, one arm behind his back, one foot forward, to press an oh so gentle and careful kiss upon the back of your gloved hand. The photo was shot in this exact moment, an forever reminder of his gentleness – and your surprised, flushed face.

The first time you touched his cheek was a few months after the museum visit; it was the day he finally confessed. You noticed him to be nervous all day; any slightest change of his mood was easy to read for you by now, as you always kept an eye out on him at all times for many reasons. You had felt the shift in your relationship since that museum visit; just like everything in your relationship, it came silently and slowly, letting both of you accommodate to the unspoken love that was growing between you. But to bloom, it had to said some time and you surely didn’t expect him to be so nervous about the matter, even though you knew you’d never be able to take this step yourself, not even at this stage of your relationship.

His posture was even straighter then normal when he faced you, his face even more serious, his words even politer, if any of that was even possible. Any other person may had been intimidated by his stance, but you knew right away that it was nothing more than a way to cope with the nervousness that was surging inside of him. As you listened to his words, you couldn’t help but notice how they seemed awfully precise, as if he had prepared them beforehand, which of course was the case. And suddenly, just by realizing what an actual mess the man in front of you was right now, your own nervousness ceased to make space for a loving compassion. Wanting to soothe him, you stepped closer, offering a comforting and warm smile as he looked at you quite flustered. You raised your hand to place it softly against his cheek, and witnessed his eyes widen in surprise before lowering your gaze to give him a moment calm himself.

“You’re doing great. Go on whenever you’re ready.”

If Kunikida needed any last proof that he was taking the right decision by confessing to you, here it was. When he placed his large hand over yours and carefully grabbed your other hand to hold, his voice sounded calmer and even though you weren’t looking up, you knew he was smiling lovingly when he asked permission to ask you out on an official date.

The first time you kissed was on a cold winters’ day a few weeks later. The agency had been busy, buzzing with missions and clients going in and out and you had barely had time to do anything as a couple but share work. So you were quite excited when Kunikida told you he would be picking you up on your first free evening since a while to visit a newly opened library. After a short stroll through the shopping districts of Yokohama, you arrived at the place and as you dived into the seemingly endless shelves of books, surrounded by the smell of fresh ink and old knowledge, both of you finally felt the stress melt away. Your personal happiness even double when you found yourself in front of an extensive section books about musical history; Kunikida stood beside you, listening with a content smile while you talked excitedly, taking one book in the hand after the other to critically examine their contents and standpoints. It overcame him like a sudden wave, a need to be spontaneous he surely wasn’t used to. But in this precise moment, there was nothing he wanted more than to wrap you in his arms and draw you close. And there was nothing that could express the immense adoration he felt for you but a to press a warm, longing kiss upon your lips, silencing the stream of words coming from them in the most tender way. Alas, nothing could have increased his happiness more in this moment than you leaning against him and giving in to the kiss, which was precisely what you did just then.

A/N: My conclusion of this is: I am not able to KISS (keep it short and simple) and I love writing fanfictions about my friends LMAO. Somehow this got even longer than the first one, but I just let it flow, you know?

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