#they are everything to me. living rent free in my head

[lilianne-tarot]

PICK-A-CARD: What's your lowkey powerful move? ˚୨୧⋆.˚

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I. II. III.

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Hey there! Welcome to another PAC reading on my blog page—I hope you all enjoy it! Comment down what you felt about the reading and if it resonated with you and show some love, Your support means everything to me!<3 How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images below. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you—go ahead and read both!

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⋆˙⟡Pile I

Ohhh, bestie, this spread is JUICY. I can already feel the energy radiating off these cards. So, the Ace of Pentacles is giving “I walk in, and the room shifts” vibes, maybe some of yall even feel that thing. people see you as someone who knows how to manifest real, concrete results. You give off that effortless “I make things happen” energy, and the wild part? Half the time, you don’t even have to announce it. You just move in silence, and suddenly, things start aligning in your favor. It’s like you have a golden touch, and people feel that. Now, here’s where it gets interesting—because the Magician reversed is shaking things up. Normally, the Magician is that “I have all the tools, I can do anything” card, but reversed? This is the art of the illusion. You have this insane ability to make things look effortless when, in reality, there’s a whole strategy behind it. nobody ever fully understands how you do it. Are you lucky? Are you secretly a mastermind? Do you have some divine favor that keeps you ahead? (👀 Spoiler alert: it’s all of the above.) this spread overall screams natural-born leader—you don’t even have to try to command attention, you just do, some of yall have held some major leader position in their lives, maybe in school or in now in your work space. What keeps people thinking about you? It’s the way you exude confidence in a way that’s not cocky, but magnetic. You have presence. You don’t need to brag, you don’t need to prove yourself, and you definitely don’t need outside validation. yall seem to be really secure in yourselves. but I would def say, Some people may even wonder if you’re manipulative, or if you’ve got some sort of secret advantage. People admire you, but they also lowkey fear you—because not everyone can handle someone who just moves differently.

This is the kind of energy that leaves ex-friends and past situationships wondering if they fumbled the bag . So keep doing what you’re doing, because this is powerful energy. Now tell me, does this reading not scream “you”? Because I feel like I just exposed your entire aura rn. 😂🔥

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⋆˙⟡Pile II

first of all i was so shocked when I saw all cards of this deck was cups. we’re not just talking about leaving a cute impression on people. This is some straight-up, ‘I met them once, and now they live rent-free in my head’ type of impact. Let’s break it down. Your Vibe? Ethereal, Emotionally Addictive, Unforgettable. Look, not everyone has the ability to make people feel something so intensely that they’re out here journaling about it six months later, you're that airport crush of people 😭.You are that person. The Knight of Cups, Queen of Cups, and Six of Cups together? Ohhh, this is emotional witchcraft. You have this almost cinematic energy—people don’t just remember you, they replay you like their favourite movie scene. It’s like you’re the embodiment of a nostalgic song that makes them stare out of the window like they’re in a music video. You’re not trying to be unforgettable—you just are. People feel safe with you, seen by you, and understood by you. And that?? That’s rare as hell in a world full of surface-level interactions(cmon we all what a pile 2 person in our life) . This also tells me your impact isn’t just strong—it’s lasting. People don’t move on from you quickly. Even if they don’t see you for years, something will trigger a memory of you (a song, a scent, a random moment), and suddenly, boom—there you are, sitting pretty in their mind like you never left.

people always remember you anyway. It’s not about being the loudest in the room—it’s about how deeply you made them feel something. And let’s be real: people forget words, but they never forget emotions. You might not even realize the weight of your presence until years later, when someone confesses, “You changed my life and didn’t even know it.”

So yeah, your power move? You leave emotional fingerprints on people’s souls. And the gag is? You don’t even have to try. 🤷‍♀️

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⋆˙⟡Pile III

They’re screaming depth, and an almost frustratingly intriguing energy. Like, people think they know you, but then you do or say something that makes them go, “Wait… who are you, actually?” And that question? That is why people cannot get you out of their heads.

Let’s talk about The Hanged Man sitting right in the middle—because that’s the core of your vibe. You don’t operate on the same wavelength as everyone else. Your energy is like when you’re watching a thriller, and the main character does something weird, and you just know there's a deeper reason, but you won’t find out until the end. You have this eerie, compelling stillness that makes people want to decode you. Then we have The Moon along with the hanged man, which? Chef’s kiss—because now we’re getting into that dreamy, slightly chaotic, almost unreal quality about you. You give people just enough to feel like they’re getting closer to understanding you… only for them to realize they have no idea what’s real and what’s projection. People get lost in their own assumptions about you. They see what they want to see, not necessarily who you actually are. (💀 Tell me why this feels like exactly the kind of energy that makes exes spiral at 3 AM, trying to figure out why they still don’t understand you.)You don’t need to flex your growth because by the time people catch on, you’re already five steps ahead. There’s something almost intimidating about how quietly powerful you are. Like, you might not even realize how often people compare themselves to you. You make people feel like they need to level up—but they’ll never admit you were their motivation.

Listen, you’re not just memorable—you’re the unresolved mystery in someone’s story. The “what if,” the “I never quite figured them out,” the “damn, I wish I could talk to them one more time.” People replay their interactions with you because they feel like they missed something. You don’t just linger in their mind—you haunt it. And the best part? You don’t even try. You don’t have to force an impact, you don’t need attention—you just exist in a way that makes people feel like they almost got close to understanding you… but never fully did. And that? That’s the kind of unforgettable energy that lives rent-free in people's minds forever.

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog—it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! ♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not predict the future in a fixed way. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[waynes-multiverse]

Oh, I'm so giddy to read this chapter, I'm squealing 😆😆😆

Dean had kissed you back. And not in some startled, accidental way. No, he kissed you like he meant it. Like one of those cocky heroes in the guilty pleasure romance novels you kept hidden on your bookshelf. Hands gripping you like he couldn’t bear to let go. Like he wanted to devour you. Your stomach flipped. For a second—just a second—you let yourself remember the way his lips had felt, the roughness of his stubble, the way he had pulled you closer, like— Nope. Absolutely not.

I loved this entire inner monologue and her reliving everything (plus that nasty hangover lol)! I'm glad she realized Dean kissed her back, though. Wondering if their first meeting will be awkward as hell or if they get over it quickly. Since there's smut in this chapter, I'm guessing the latter 😂🫶

You’d had too much to drink. You were disappointed, frustrated, and let’s be real—desperately overdue for a good lay. And Dean? Well, he was there. Familiar. Safe. Willing.

Yes, but what were his motivations, you fool!!! I yell at the screen, into the void where these idiots will never hear me...

It wasn’t some deep, long-suppressed thing.

Uh... Yeah, it is!!! I swear, Abbie, I will not survive this series. The amount of times I wanted to slap her in this scene... 😂🤌

Dean was already there, leaning against the counter with a mug in hand, his gaze unfocused.

Oh, homeboy's been brooding, I see 😆

I absolutely love this little tidbits about their past and their friendship and their families. You can feel the familiarity and love between them 🩵

Your eyes lit up when you pulled out a tub of rocky road ice cream.

Always rocky road! That's the hill I die on! 🫶

And just then, as if on cue, the TV blared Joey Tribbiani’s infamous line: "Joey doesn’t share food!"

10/10 for Friends references 😆⭐️ (And I saw your gif at the end – this scene has been living rent-free in my head since it first aired lmao)

His expression was raw, wrecked—like you had all the answers, and he was desperate for them.

Loved this line!

“I don’t want to think about politics right now,” you confessed breathlessly against his lips.

This wasn’t about feelings or what-ifs. This was heat and need, two people chasing a high neither of them was willing to resist.

Oooof, that smut was deliciously hot, friend 😮‍💨🔥 And still so sweet and loving and caring in between 🥹 Their connection and chemistry is undeniable. Get married and have kids already lol

“The way I see it, neither of us wants the hassle of a relationship,” you continued, keeping your tone light, matter-of-fact. “I mean, you’ve said it yourself—you don’t do relationships. And I’ve kind of… given up on the idea.” You gestured vaguely between you. “So why not just—enjoy this? No strings, no expectations. Just… fun.”

I knew it was going there obviously from the title of this story, but Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I wanna kill these sweet little idiots 😂😂😂

I'm done (for now lol). It's been a great pleasure yelling at you this week, Abbie! Can't wait to do it next week all over again 😆🩵🩵🩵

The Arrangement - Part Two

Pairing: Dean x reader

Summary: It's the morning after, you and Dean are both reeling, respectively, from the previous night. Can you both overcome the incident, or is more trouble awaiting?

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings/Tags: SMUT!!! (18+ONLY!!!) The usual angsty thoughts, will these two ever get it? Swearing

AN: Happy hump day! 🐫 We're still only just brushing the surface with these two, but I hope you enjoy ☺️.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist < Catch up here!

The next morning, you woke with a painful groan, the pounding in your skull like a jackhammer. Even with your eyes still shut, you could feel the dull, relentless ache radiating through your entire head. When you finally pried them open, you grimaced at the sticky sensation of last night’s makeup clinging to your lashes.

Rolling onto your back, you immediately regretted it—your stomach lurched in protest, reminding you exactly why you were never drinking again. Not this time. Not after this hangover. The night felt like a blur, fragments slipping through your fingers as you struggled to piece them together.

The first thing that came back was your awful date. Monday was going to be awkward as hell at work, but you didn’t regret a damn thing. The look on his face after you ruined his expensive white dress shirt with that tasteless glass of rosé— the one he ordered for you—was worth it. A smirk tugged at your lips at the memory.

Then you remembered heading to the bar to see Jo and Ellen. Like always, you and Jo went one drink too far.

Something nudged at the back of your mind, a strange pulse in your chest as you reached for the rest of the night. The fog lifted slightly as your phone buzzed on your nightstand, but it wasn’t the screen that caught your attention. It was the bottle of Tylenol and the glass of water sitting beside it.

And just like that, everything came crashing back.

Oh God.

You kissed Dean.

Your headache surged as if your body was punishing you for your stupidity. You kissed your best friend. Were you really that desperate? That starved for affection that you had to go and make a move on Dean of all people?

But then—amidst the spiral of regret and sheer mortification—another thought surfaced.

Dean had kissed you back.

And not in some startled, accidental way. No, he kissed you like he meant it. Like one of those cocky heroes in the guilty pleasure romance novels you kept hidden on your bookshelf. Hands gripping you like he couldn’t bear to let go. Like he wanted to devour you.

Your stomach flipped. For a second—just a second—you let yourself remember the way his lips had felt, the roughness of his stubble, the way he had pulled you closer, like—

Nope. Absolutely not.

You shook your head, pushing the thought away. It wasn’t a big deal. It couldn’t be.

You’d had too much to drink. You were disappointed, frustrated, and let’s be real—desperately overdue for a good lay. And Dean? Well, he was there. Familiar. Safe. Willing.

That was all.

It wasn’t some deep, long-suppressed thing. It wasn’t because you’d been secretly wondering about him for years, how the way he touched you, kissed you, made every single rumour you’d heard about him feel a hell of a lot more believable. 

The whispers. Those hushed conversations in the school hallways. The restroom stalls where Karen Jones once gushed about your best friend’s talented mouth and fingers.

How on the rare occasion Dean had brought someone home, well… you weren’t proud to admit that the muffled sounds through the walls had left you pressing your thighs together, wondering just what he was doing in there to make them moan like that.

No. Nope. Dean was your best friend. That was sacred.

The idea of being anything more? Terrifying.

And besides, he’d been drinking, too.

That’s all it could be.

Dean didn’t look at you like that. Not really. He would’ve done the same with any other girl, right? It wasn’t special. It didn’t mean anything.

And the best thing to do now? Pretend it never happened. If Dean brought it up, you had the perfect excuse—"I was drunk, I had no idea what I was doing."

Yeah. That would work.

You sighed, scrubbing a hand over your face before reaching for the Tylenol. The mirror across the room reflected the mess you’d become—wrinkled dress, tangled hair, smudged makeup making you look half-raccoon.

First things first. A hot shower.

Then, you’d figure out how to face Dean without losing your goddamn mind.

Stepping out of the shower, you felt marginally more human—though your headache still throbbed behind your eyes, and the exhaustion clung to your bones. You wrapped yourself in a towel, rubbing at your damp hair with another as you padded into your room. Every movement felt sluggish, like you were wading through molasses.

Maybe coffee would help.

You threw on a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, too drained to care about much else. The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted into your room as you cracked open the door, coaxing you toward the kitchen like a siren’s call.

Dean was already there, leaning against the counter with a mug in hand, his gaze unfocused. The sunlight filtering through the blinds cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting the faint crease between his brows. He looked deep in thought, his fingers curled around the ceramic like he needed something to hold onto.

Then he spotted you, and just like that, the quiet weight in the air lifted. A slow smile tugged at his lips, easy, familiar—but there was something behind it. Something you couldn’t quite place. Uncertainty? Hesitation?

"She’s alive," he teased, breaking the silence.

You rolled your eyes, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. See? This is fine. It’s normal. We can handle this.

"Barely," you muttered, shuffling toward the kitchen island.

Dean pushed off the counter, already reaching for another mug. "Figured you’d need this."

He poured you a cup and slid it toward you as you climbed onto one of the barstools, elbows resting on the counter, head in your hands. You let out a low groan, still feeling like death warmed over.

"I swear to God, I’m gonna kill Jo for encouraging my alcoholism," you grumbled.

Dean huffed out a chuckle. "Yeah, good luck with that. She’d take you down first.”

"That’s fair," you sighed dramatically, taking a careful sip of coffee. The warmth seeped through you, dulling the sharpest edges of your hangover.

Dean leaned his hip against the counter, watching you over the rim of his mug. “Sam messaged me this morning, reminding me. Is Ellen still making her famous stuffing for Christmas next week?"

You perked up slightly, grateful for the normalcy of the conversation. Okay, good. This is good. Normal.

"Yeah, of course. She said she’s already prepping. Swore up and down she’s gonna outdo last year."

Dean smirked. "Doubt it. That was peak stuffing."

"You say that every year."

"And I mean it every year." He took another sip of coffee before tilting his head. "Bobby still threatening to deep-fry the turkey?"

You snorted. "Always. But Ellen put her foot down after the ‘grease fire incident of 1999.’"

Dean laughed, shaking his head. "Man, that was a hell of a year."

"It was a hell of a mess," you corrected. "We were still finding soot in the kitchen in February."

"Yeah, but it was worth it. Best damn turkey I ever had."

"You say that every year, too."

"And I mean it every year," he shot back, grinning.

For as long as you and Dean had been friends, your families had celebrated Christmas together. It started when you were kids, when Bobby and Ellen realised how much easier it was to combine everything into one big gathering.

Every year, you’d alternate whose house hosted—one year at the Winchesters’, the next at your place. It became tradition, something that felt as much a part of the holiday as presents under the tree.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched. The back-and-forth was easy, natural—like it always was. The conversation wrapped around you like a familiar blanket, momentarily pushing away the lingering awkwardness from last night.

See? This is fine. It’s fine.

Then the silence settled.

And suddenly, you were aware of everything.

The space between you—too small, too charged. The way his fingers curled around his coffee mug, his knuckles flexing just slightly. The way his shirt stretched over his shoulders, like you hadn’t already memorised the broad shape of him years ago.

Your eyes met his, and the second they did, your stomach twisted.

Dean didn’t look away.

And neither did you.

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to stay still. No sudden movements, no giving anything away. But then your gaze betrayed you—just for a second, barely a flicker—dipping down to his mouth.

Shit.

Because now you could feel it again.

The way he kissed you, rough but deliberate, like he had wanted it. The taste of whiskey, the heat of his hands, the way his fingers had curled into your hips like he was holding on for dear life.

Dean cleared his throat. Stepped back.

"I’m gonna head to the store," he said, too casual.

It took a second for the words to register. "Oh. Yeah, okay."

He hesitated—like he might ask you to come with him—but then he smirked instead, lips twitching. "Would’ve invited you, but, uh… You kinda look like the walking dead. Don’t want you cramping my style.”

Your head shot up, glare locked and loaded. "Ass."

Dean just grinned. "Try not to die while I’m gone."

Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Your fingers tightened around the coffee mug as you exhaled, long and slow, staring at the door like it might offer some kind of answer.

Yeah. You were so screwed.

By the time Dean strolled back in through the front door, the afternoon sun was already dipping beyond the horizon, casting the sky in deep hues of amber and violet—a telltale sign of the short winter days.

In his absence, you'd done your best not to dwell on the events of last night. Dean hadn’t brought it up, and you figured it was best you didn’t either. Did that stop your mind from running through every why, how, and what if on repeat? No. But for now, distraction would do.

So here you were, sprawled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, watching reruns of Friends while feeling sorry for yourself in more ways than one.

“Hey,” Dean greeted, kicking the door shut behind him, hands full with grocery bags. He dropped them on the island, his keys clinking against the counter. “Sorry I took so long. Had to deal with a work emergency before I could hit the store.”

You peered over the back of the couch, blinking sluggishly. “S’all good. I crashed for a bit after you left anyway.” You stretched, groaning. “I am starving, though.” 

After Dean had left, for a much-needed grocery run - as you too discovered the disastrously emptiness of your fridge, all you’d eaten were two pop tarts you’d found in the back of the cupboard. 

“Well, if you’re up for it, how about I whip us up some burgers?” Dean smirked, already putting things away. Your stomach growled at the suggestion. You practically salivated at the thought. Dean could grill a mean burger, and he damn well knew it.

“Oh My God, yes.” You practically moaned. Dean chuckled as you hopped up and shuffled to the kitchen, immediately snooping through the bags. Your eyes lit up when you pulled out a tub of rocky road ice cream.

“Ohh, heck yes!” Dean turned just in time to see you clutch it to your chest like treasure. Rubbing the back of his neck, he shrugged it off. 

“Yeah, well… figured you’d want it. Hangover ritual and all.”

It was such a simple thing—something so Dean. But it made your chest squeeze a little tighter. Maybe it was in light of recent events, but for some reason it touched you more than it should have. And in that moment, you realised just how much Dean had always taken care of you.

Whether it was remembering your favourite ice cream, patching up your scraped knee when you fell off your bike as a kid, or offering you a shoulder when you needed one.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “Thank you,” you murmured, and you meant it.

Dean just smiled.

You cleared your throat, shaking off the sudden wave of emotions. “Need any help? I may be half a step into the land of the dead, but I am still good with my hands.” You wiggled your fingers in his face, only for Dean to swat them away with a laugh.

“Nah, I got it. But in exchange, you could give me a scoop of that.” He nodded toward the ice cream.

Your grip on the tub tightened. “But—”

Dean arched an amused brow.

And just then, as if on cue, the TV blared Joey Tribbiani’s infamous line: "Joey doesn’t share food!"

You pointed blindly in the direction of the TV. “What he said.”

For a second, there was silence—then both of you burst into laughter.

“Alright, alright,” you relented, wiping at your eyes. “You can have one tiny scoop.” You winked and left him to it. 

Dean rolled his eyes, but his grin never faded as he got to work on dinner.

“Seriously, dude, you should open your own burger bar or something,” you groaned, sinking into the couch as you took another blissful bite.

Dean snorted around his own large mouthful, shaking his head. He watched as you practically melted into your seat, eyes fluttering shut, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. It was equally parts disgusting and endearing.

You had no shame when it came to food. Talking with your mouth full, letting sauce smear your chin, completely oblivious to how you looked to others. It warmed him at how comfortable you must be in his presence to not care about such things. 

Like right now, you sat cross legged on the couch, your hair thrown up in a messy bun, a worn-out, oversized t-shirt, that looked vaguely familiar, hung off your figure, and you had on a pair of sweats one size too big. Your face was makeup less but even so, you were beautiful. 

After devouring your burgers, you moved on to dessert, despite claiming minutes earlier that you were “way too full.” 

“Theres always extra room for something sweet.” You’d claimed, giving Dean a proper bowl of ice cream instead of the pathetic spoonful you'd originally offered. 

You sat side by side watching some comedy, he didn’t remember the name of. But it was all the same, a storyline he’d seen a million times but, even so, there was the odd chuckle-worthy moment. 

Not long after, you reached over, setting your now-empty bowl down beside his on the coffee table and as you sat back, he noticed it.

“Hey, you got a little—” He gestured to the corner of his mouth.

“Hm?” You wiped at the wrong side.

“No, here.” He pointed again. You missed it.

Dean huffed before leaning in, swiping his thumb against the chocolate smudge himself.

You stilled.

Your wide eyes flicked up to meet his, and suddenly, he realised just how close he was. His hand still cupped your cheek, thumb lingering at the corner of your lips.

The air thickened. Your breath mingled with his.

Dean’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips out of habit. Your gaze flickered down to the motion, and his stomach clenched.

And then—he wasn’t sure who leaned in first but suddenly, your lips were pressed to his, soft and warm, more confident than last time.

Dean didn’t think—he just reacted. 

One of his arms wrapped around your back, the other tilting your chin as he deepened the kiss. You melted into him, fingers threading through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. 

A low, guttural groan rumbled from his chest at the sensation. You tasted like chocolate and marshmallows, sweet and sinful, and fuck—he was already addicted.

Then, as if kissing you wasn’t enough, you shifted, climbing into his lap, pressing yourself against him like you had no idea what you were doing to him. Had he died? Was this some fever dream?

Before he could fully process what was happening, before he could stop you, before he could stop himself, you settled in his lap completely. And there was no hiding what you’d stirred beneath his jeans.

But you didn’t pull away.

Instead, a soft moan escaped your lips, vibrating against his own, and fuck.

He was done for.

His arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly close, and then you moved. A slow, testing rock of your hips, then another, then a third—more confident, more deliberate. Dean groaned, eyes dark and hazy with lust.

Alarm bells blared in his head, warning him to stop, to think—to rationalise what was happening, why it was happening again. But how the hell was he supposed to think straight when you were rubbing against him like that?

Fuck.

His hands slid down your back, gripping your hips like he was holding onto his last thread of restraint. And then you did it again. A shudder ran through him at the friction, his head tipping back against the couch as he looked up at you. His expression was raw, wrecked—like you had all the answers, and he was desperate for them.

Your movements slowed as you leaned in, your lips grazing his jaw, then his ear.

“Are you down for some fun, Winchester?” you husked, your voice dripping with temptation. You nipped at his earlobe, making his eyes snap shut, his grip tightening on your hips.

“What kind of fun?” he asked, playing dumb, but mostly because he needed to hear you say it.

“The naked kind.”

Dean exhaled sharply, fingers flexing against your hips, his cock aching beneath you.

“I’ve always been curious about you,” you murmured, your lips trailing back to his, teasing, just brushing.

“You have?” His voice was rough, uneven. His heart pounded, not just with lust but something deeper—something dangerously close to hope.

“I grew up with the rumours,” you admitted, pressing a slow, torturous kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ve heard the women you’ve brought home… wondered.” Another kiss. “I’m curious.”

Dean nearly groaned. The idea of you—you—wondering about him that way, thinking about what it would be like between you… Jesus.

And then you kissed him, slow and deep, and Dean was gone.

“I don’t want to think about politics right now,” you confessed breathlessly against his lips. “I don’t want to think about consequences, or what’s right or wrong. I just want you—right now. If you want me too?”

Dean knew there should be a pause, a moment to reconsider, but the second the words left your lips—combined with the way you were looking at him like he was something to be devoured—every logical thought went out the window.

Fuck it.

Instead of answering, he kissed you—hard. And when you moaned appreciatively against his mouth, all bets were off. This wasn’t about feelings or what-ifs. This was heat and need, two people chasing a high neither of them was willing to resist.

With a firm arm around your back and the other gripping your thigh, Dean stood effortlessly, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. You gasped, clinging to him, arms around his neck, legs wrapped tight around his waist. He felt everything—every inch of you pressed against him, driving him insane.

Your lips never broke apart as he carried you toward your room—the closest out of the two.

And maybe, deep down, there was a nagging voice whispering about consequences. About what this meant. But right now?

Right now, he wasn’t listening.

And neither were you. 

Your mind was screaming at you.

What are you doing?

This is Dean.

But you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. You were too wound up, too sexually deprived, too drawn to the way he looked at you—like you were something sacred, something he had to taste, to touch, to have. And he was right here. Willing. Eager. His hands gripping you tight as he carried you into your bedroom, lips never leaving yours.

The door barely clicked shut before he was lowering you onto the bed, his weight settling between your legs, pressing you down into the mattress. His mouth moved over yours with aching precision, slow but deep, savouring, like he had all the time in the world. Like he wanted to take his time.

It was intoxicating.

Dean groaned as you arched up into him, his hands skimming down your sides, exploring, memorising. His lips broke from yours just long enough to kiss a trail down your jaw, your throat, sucking lightly where your pulse pounded against your skin. It made your head spin.

And then lower.

He lifted your shirt inch by inch, his calloused fingers dragging over your heated skin as he peeled it up and over your head. His breath hitched.

“Jesus.”

Dean’s eyes darkened as he took you in—bare from the waist up, nipples hardened from both the cool air and the sheer intensity of his gaze.

“Fuckin’ knew you’d be perfect,” he murmured, running his hands over your stomach, thumbs grazing just beneath your ribs.

Then his mouth was on you again.

Soft, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, a flick of his tongue just above the waistband of your sweatpants, then back up. Slow, torturous. His lips followed the curve of your ribs, his nose brushing against the underside of your breast. 

Your pussy throbbed, desperate and aching, as he finally took one of your breasts into his mouth, sucking lightly, swirling his tongue around your hardened peak. Your back arched, a needy sound escaping you. He took his time, learning every sensitive spot, making you squirm, making you need.

And then he was moving again.

Dean took his time undressing you completely, peeling away your sweatpants, your panties, his hands exploring each new inch of bare skin like he was memorising a damn map. 

He wanted to remember this, wanted to carve the image of you into his mind—the way your body responded to him, the way you trembled under his touch.

He shoved down any nagging thoughts, anything that whispered about how this might mean something. Not tonight. Tonight, all he cared about was this.

You.

Dean settled between your legs, kissing his way down again, teasing at your hip bone, the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You gasped as he nipped at the sensitive flesh, as he breathed against your aching core, so close yet so cruelly far.

“Dean,” you whimpered, hands threading through his hair, nails scraping lightly at his scalp.

He groaned at that, and then—

His mouth was on you.

Your whole body jerked as his tongue flicked against your clit, hot and wet and perfect. He took his time, using slow, deliberate strokes before sucking you into his mouth, making your thighs twitch, your fingers tightening in his hair.

You had never felt anything like this.

But now you understood.

Now you knew exactly what all those women had meant, why they couldn’t stop coming back for more.

Dean Winchester could ruin a girl.

And right now, you were happy to be wrecked.

Your thighs threatened to squeeze around his head, but his hands gripped your hips, keeping you open, keeping you at his mercy. He worked you relentlessly, alternating between slow, teasing licks and firm, dizzying pressure. The coil in your stomach tightened, higher, hotter—

“Dean—”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he muttered, voice husky against your slick folds. “Let me taste it.”

That was all it took.

Pleasure crashed over you in waves, stealing the air from your lungs. You cried out, arching off the bed as your climax ripped through you, your entire body shaking. Dean groaned against you, drinking in every last bit, licking and sucking you through the aftershocks until you were trembling beneath him, completely undone.

When he finally pulled away, his lips were slick, his pupils blown wide.

And then he was kissing you again, deep and desperate, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he pressed you back into the mattress.

All too soon he pulled back, shifting onto his knees. You blinked up at him, dazed, still trembling from your release, but your breath hitched when he removed his t-shirt in one fluid, over the head motion. And then you watched in anticipation as his hands move to his belt.

He made quick work of it, the metal clinking softly in the quiet room before he popped the button of his jeans, dragging the zipper down. He didn’t look away from you as he shoved them down his hips, along with his boxers.

Your mouth went dry.

Dean Winchester was beautiful.

Broad shoulders, toned stomach, strong arms lined with freckles and old scars. And lower—your thighs instinctively pressed together at the sight of him, long and thick, already so hard, flushed, the tip glistening.

Heat surged through your body, desire burning anew.

Your hands moved on their own, reaching for him, fingers wrapping around his length, feeling the weight of him in your palm.

“Jesus,” you breathed, stroking him experimentally, watching how his abs tensed, how his jaw clenched.

Dean groaned, low and guttural, but his hand shot out, gripping your wrist and stilling your movements.

“Don’t,” he gritted, his eyes almost wild as they locked onto yours. “Not now. I—” He swallowed thickly, exhaling a shaky breath. “I won’t last.”

The admission sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, and the way he was looking at you—so desperate, so wrecked—made you dizzy.

Dean inhaled sharply, trying to compose himself, then rasped, “You got a condom?”

You nodded, reaching for the drawer in your nightstand. Your hands fumbled slightly as you pulled one out, but before you could tear it open, Dean’s fingers brushed yours.

“Let me,” he murmured, his voice like gravel.

You swallowed hard, watching as he ripped the foil, rolling the condom down over his length with practiced ease.

The sight alone had you clenching around nothing.

And then he was over you again, bracing himself on his forearms, his lips hovering just above yours. His eyes searched your face, softer now, less frantic.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice quieter, rough with restraint.

Your heart thundered.

But there wasn’t a single doubt in your mind.

“Yeah,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his.

Dean didn’t hesitate.

The first push was slow, stretching, filling, overwhelming. A deep, strangled groan rumbled from his chest as he sank into you completely, his forehead pressing against yours, his arms trembling as he held himself still.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “You feel so good.”

You clung to him, breathless, nails digging into his back.

He gave you a moment, then started to move—slow, steady rolls of his hips, pulling out just to push back in, his cock dragging against all the right places. The pleasure was immediate, sharp and electric.

Dean’s lips ghosted over yours, his hands gripping your hips, his movements deepening.

You could feel everything.

Every inch of him, every shuddered breath, every lingering trace of restraint slipping away with every thrust.

Your body arched into his, overwhelmed by the way he filled you, stretched you. The heat coiling in your stomach wound tighter and tighter, your nails digging into his shoulders as he drove into you at just the right angle.

“Oh, God—” you gasped, head tipping back against the pillow, eyes screwing shut.

Dean groaned, dipping his head to press his lips to your throat, sucking at the sensitive skin.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped, his breath ragged against your neck. “You feel so fucking good. You—” His sentence cut off with a sharp inhale when you clenched around him.

Your whole body was alight, buzzing, your mind a mess of sensation as he thrust deep, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Dean—” His name tumbled from your lips, needy, desperate, and that was all it took.

Like a snapped tether, pleasure crashed over you, stealing the air from your lungs. You clenched around him, back arching, hands fisting the sheets as wave after wave of ecstasy ripped through you.

Dean groaned at the feel of you squeezing him so tightly, his rhythm faltering.

And then he was right behind you.

His movements turned erratic, rough, as he buried himself deep with a strangled curse, his muscles going rigid. His breath stuttered, and then he was gone, undone, spilling into the condom with a deep, shuddering groan.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breaths, your hammering hearts.

Then, Dean collapsed on top of you, panting hard, his body heavy and warm, his face buried against your neck.

You felt like you were floating. Like something inside you had fundamentally changed, but you shoved the thought away, fingers absently trailing through his damp hair as you both struggled to come back down to earth.

Dean let out a breath, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. After a moment, he shifted, bracing a hand on the mattress and rolling onto his back beside you.

A beat of silence.

And then you exhaled a breathless laugh.

“Wow.”

Dean chuckled, running a hand down his face. “Yeah.”

You turned your head to look at him, still gloriously naked, his chest rising and falling steadily, his skin flushed, his hair thoroughly mussed.

There was a something beginning to bubble in your chest, something unwanted, as you looked at him and so you forced yourself to push it down. And then a thought came to mind, a very reckless, possibly disastrous, thought, but you went with it. 

“So…” you started, rolling onto your side, propping yourself up on an elbow.

Dean turned his head toward you, his expression unreadable. His hair was still a mess from your fingers, his skin warm where it brushed against yours. Too close. Too easy to want more.

“What now?” he asked, his voice rough, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

You swallowed. Don’t think about how it made you feel. Don’t think about what it meant.

“Well,” you said carefully, forcing a smirk, “that was… really fucking good.”

Dean huffed a quiet laugh, mirroring your smirk. “Not gonna argue there.”

You hesitated, fingers tracing idle patterns against the sheet beneath you. Then, before you could lose your nerve, you pushed forward.

“I have a thought,” you murmured, glancing at him from beneath your lashes. “A proposition, if you will.”

Dean’s expression didn’t shift, but he hummed in acknowledgment, silently urging you to continue.

You bit your lip, playing it off like it was nothing. “We’re obviously… good at this,” you said, your voice light, teasing—though the weight in your chest begged to be acknowledged. “And we’re friends. We trust each other, right?”

Dean frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Yeah?” he drawled, curiosity flickering in his gaze.

You shrugged, forcing yourself to sound casual. “I was thinking… maybe we don’t have to stop.”

His brows lifted in surprise. That was not what he was expecting. Hell, what was he expecting? This whole situation was... He didn’t even know at this point.

Dean didn’t say anything at first, and the silence made your stomach twist. You felt the need to fill it—to justify.

“The way I see it, neither of us wants the hassle of a relationship,” you continued, keeping your tone light, matter-of-fact. “I mean, you’ve said it yourself—you don’t do relationships. And I’ve kind of… given up on the idea.” You gestured vaguely between you. “So why not just—enjoy this? No strings, no expectations. Just… fun.”

The words felt wrong in your mouth, but you ignored it.

Dean’s fingers flexed where they rested against the mattress. His gaze stayed on you, unreadable, and for a second, you thought he might laugh in your face. Call you crazy. Tell you this was a terrible idea.

Instead, he exhaled softly, nodding.

“Yeah. Okay.”

You let out a breath, relieved. Ignoring the tiny voice in your head screaming this is a mistake.

Dean didn’t want more.

And if you pretended you didn’t either, you could have some part of him, at least.

Better than nothing.

You had no idea he was thinking the same damn thing.

AN: I hoped you guys enjoyed this part, things are really stating to get moving 😅, there is a lot more of this story to come, more of these two idiots not realising what is so obvious! 🥲 As always I'd love to hear what you all think? ❤️

Side note: The scene I had in mind 😂 👇🏻

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @fangirlingfromdownunder @cevansbaby-dove @star-yawnznn @piptoost @shadysoulangel @deansimpalababy @megara0224

Next time...

Slowly, you padded across the floor, stopping just outside the shower door. With one last exhale of doubt, you pulled it open and stepped inside. Dean startled, his head whipping toward you, eyes wide with a mixture of alarm and surprise. “What the—” Before he could finish, his expression twisted in pain, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Shit.” He hissed, rubbing furiously at them as soap trickled down into his lashes. Biting back a laugh, you reached for his arm and guided him under the spray, watching as the water rinsed the suds away. Okay, maybe this wasn’t quite as sexy as you had planned. When he finally blinked his eyes open, he turned to you, first in disbelief—then in something far more dangerous. His gaze darkened, sweeping over you from head to toe, and fuck. He could never get used to this. To you. Perfect. “Well, this is somethin’,” he smirked...

[pigeonbksimp]

we get katsuki bakugou and akashi seijuro arm wrestling before gta6

KYRHFjHQUSHDIYDKHRSJY5RO6TU5W97TUTWI7THR2I6RUYGJTRILTUT97 I WISH YOU SAW MY REACTION ON REAL TIME. I've been screaming, squirming, giggling, KICKING THE FUCKING AIR and strangling my pillow for 10 min straight trying to cope, I kid you not.

Like, WHY IS HE SO HOT, that arm for the love of God, I'm gonna pass out- he is always hot but like, he's EXTRA hot in here. I wanted to faint the second I read "boyfriend" in there, WHY AM I GOING SO FERAL OVER THAT???? OVER EVERYTHING, OMG.

AND YES, HE IS ALWAYS LIKE THAT, I LOVE HIM, I LOVE YOU. I can't stop looking at him, he's so pretty, he's so beatiful he's so my everything, my baby, omg, I need to kiss him.

90% of my brain is mushing over bakugou right now, but letting that aside, I'm forever thankful, I never thought I could go as shocked and crazy over a drawing like I just did, I'm showing off this to my friends in two minutes ( @kovu-bunnbunn LOOK AT THIS NOW !!! IT'S MY BOYFRIEND AND ME WITH MIGUEL AND SEI) you do not understand how much this means to me

The whole situation is hilarious, Katsu doing his best always melts my heart, I do not care about the result cuz he is my forever number #1, the you low key blushing over sei is living rent free in my head, look at your guy doing everything to impress you, and omfg, KATSU DOING THE SAME FOR ME, I'm dying. In fact, I'm dead. My soul transcended to a different plane of existence the moment I lied my eyes on this masterpiece.

Seriously, you're the best man

(This isn't staying like this- I still gotta finish the color version of the drawing of you and sei dancing, but after that im making more)

[sheikfangirl]

Aryll's gift: A Pre-Calamity short story.

Note: For the best reading experience, please click on the first panel and scroll from image to image. ♥️

... Link forgot.

Hope you enjoy this one.

Cheers!

[ghoulspaw]

"how can we solve this"

MC: well, actually, haku-

[saucy-mesothelioma]

[justanintrovertedweirdo]

"Gangle's too shy to speak up."

We're winning with this episode abstragedy shippers!!!

[bit-was-here]

some kinda rough (ford)^2/fiddauthor doodles for drawing practice!! trying to relearn a more cartoony and lose style :3

(also in case it’s not obvious, ford is supposed to be sloshed in the second pic, i was gonna have em holding solo cups but it was looking kinda terrible….)

also also if you’re reading this, lemme know which ship name you prefer for them. low stakes question, i’m just genuinely curious what the fandom thinks. i personally love (ford)^2 because like..cmon…they’re both nerds…it’s so perfect (im also a math nerd to maybe im biased….)

wow that description overstayed its welcome i’ll never do that again my apologies

[cowboyidiot]

steve rogers // sun bleached flies, ethel cain

[georgiabulldogsfan37]

The Official Owner Of My Heart

[aemondsbabygirl]

Thinking about Aemond’s grunt, right before he calls Aegon an idiot in High Valyrian.

[ladyminaofcamelot]

That scene in Squire's Tales where they're going through the lake with the eels is sooo good and hits so hard even today because Terence is fourteen, at most. He's cold, he's tired, and he's terrified because he's in a lake surrounded by poison eels and he's CRYING. I cannot emphasize enough how much I love love love when a character, especially a young character, cries because they're scared. We see screaming, we see freezing up, we see running away, but for some reason crying in terror is very rare in media even though every child I know does it. And then. And then Terence is still forging ahead. Still walking. He's so scared he's crying but he is doing it scared.

And Gawain sees this. He can probably hear him sniffling, hear the tears in the dark and mist, knows that in spite of those things Terence got down to WALK through that murky water to lead the horses. He's watching this boy do something that it is even rare for men to be able to do, not because of the physical task itself, but because a terror like that would normally be debilitating. And I think this is the moment. They've had their adventures before, have been getting to know and care for each other, but this is the moment that Gawain realizes he can trust Terence with his life. Because no matter the danger, no matter the terror, Terence will not break and run. He will stand firm, and he will do it scared.

When I was younger I didn't quite understand this. I didn't realize why Gawain was so impressed by Terence walking through a lake, but now I get it. It was never about the task itself. It was about Terence shivering and crying in terror, and taking the next step anyway, and I think that's beautiful.

[rushthehollow]

you are my sun, my moon, & all my stars

♠️ steel vengeance - cedar point ❤️ iphone 14 / slightly edited

[courtney-deserved-better]

telling myself i can't start another tdwt rewrite but dear god do i want to write one focusing on alejandro and courtney in this weird situationship thats a lot more nuanced than just alejandro manipulating courtney and her falling for it. like theyre best friends they dont trust each other theyre the same person they dont know anything about the other one theres a mutual attraction theyre pining for other people theyre codependent they dont care about each other theyre platonic soulmates like i just want to do a deep dive into how messy that relationship couldve been building off of their friendship that exists in my head except the line between romantic and platonic is so fucking blurred they have no idea what they are to the other person

[dyke-will-graham]

I love how every one of us agrees that Angel! Crowley uses she/her pronouns because she literally is THE SPACE GIRL and the prettiest Angel ever and I always said “omg she’s perfect” and I’m glad it’s a general consensus

[crismakesstuff]

ok i know I’m probably like 1 of 5 people that still ship nolan and debbie together after (gestures around) everything that happened

but I vote that their ship name be deblan who’s with me