Emerald Seagrave

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˚⊱ Dean Winchester - Supernatural ⊰˚

Touch Starved Dean Winchester Canons Touch Starved Dean Winchester Canons Part 2 Bonne Nuit A Transcendent Fourth of July

⋆｡‧˚ʚ Soldier Boy - The Boys ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Call Me Officer

Sine Wave

Banner credits here and here!

Bonne Nuit

pairing F!reader x drunk Dean Winchester

content fingering, kisses, nipple sucking and biting

word count 1211 sweet n short

10pm 

11pm

12pm 

1am 

2am 

3am

3:07 am

3:07 am is the time when you peek out the window to see the black impala at the parking lot. You can see him in his maudlin state. His eyelids cover his eyes, as all that Dean sees is a stygian darkness, a darkness he believes is burrowed well inside of him, a poisonous darkness he thinks he is. 

3:08 am is the time when you make a pell-mell dash out of the house towards the impala. The cold air pokes your exposed skin like needles because you forgot a jacket. You go to the impala without a care of the painful goosebumps forming on your skin, as you prioritize proving Dean ministrations. 

“Dean!” You pat on the window, as the coldness causes a cloud to come out of your mouth.

Dean is unfazed, as eyelids shield him from seeing you. His head rests on the window you vigorously tap on. He has a sour frown. Alcohol doesn’t always make one happy.

3:09 am is when you rush back into the house. You go to the miscellaneous kitchen drawer, as you roughly tug it open. The contents inside jiggle causing a harsh cacophonous sound. You hand scampers in the drawer hunting and groping your way through. 

3:10 am you sprint back to the impala; still without a jacket, but with the spare impala key. You unlock the door, and yank it open. Dean falls on you, causing you both to collide on the ground. The empty alcoholic bottle on his hand shatters on the pavement, into an infinitesimal amount of ubiquitous pieces. 

“Dean!” You beg, as your arms pathetically fail to push his limp moribound burly body off you, “Wake up! Please! I can’t carry you! You’re heavy!” 

All that is heard is pin drop silence. 

SMACK

The sharp sound of your palm hitting your cheek echoes in your ears. You elicit Dean’s eyebrows furrow and his glabella to crease. A disjointed grumble falls out of his mouth. 

“Baby wake up!” You plead, nudging him to get off you, so you both can get off the ground. 

Dean squeezes his eyes further, as he slowly opens them once more. However, not fully but in a drowsy squinted manner, yet very winsome to you.

“Get up!” You urge, continuing to nudge him off your trapped body, as you so far have failed to mollify this situation. 

3:13 am Dean somewhat lifts himself off the ground, you were the litchpin in getting him on his staggering feet. His eyes are daring to close, as he heavily rests himself upon you. You tilt trying to accommodate his weight. 

3:15 am you both manage to merely stumble into the threshold of the front door and the outside. 

“Let’s get you up the stairs into the bed.” You try to direct the both of you to the right side, where the stairs are. 

Dean repudiates you, as he heads to the front, where the sofa is. You have no choice but to show your acquiescence, as you do not have enough elbow grease to get him into the bed or even direct him to the bed.

3:16 am Dean hugs you as he falls onto the sofa, trapping you once more.

“Dean!” You yelp at the unbidden movement, as you are now entrapped between him and the sofa. 

Dean peppers some extremely lackadaisical, wet, and sloppy kisses among your neck. You giggle, as he does not care about the fact you are extremely ticklish. He brings his kiss up, going to the tip of your chin, heading towards your lower lip. 

You look at his dull emerald eyes, chagrined of himself, as he sucks on your bottom lip. You groan in response, however it suddenly turns into a yelp. Out of the blue, Dean grips you tight and and for a split second bites your bottom lip, concomitantly. Before you can even muster a word to Dean, he smashes his lips upon yours. 

3:19 am you both are still going at it. He breaks from the kiss, and drowns his face in your breasts. Your hand moves up and starts brushing against his scalp. Dean’s hands are starting to get more adventurous; one of his hands is at your solar plexus and the other begins to rove down to your pussy. 

“Now?” You question, and arch a brow, as Dean’s energy seems too cadaverous. 

Dean grunts signaling yes. It seems you underestimated his energy. His hand goes into your boxer underwear, and begins massaging your slick folds. You break out a moan as he inserts two curled fingers. Normally you would assume he is moving his hands in a dilatory manner, but due to how sapped he is of energy, you don’t make such an assumption.

Dean arches his hand, causing his fingers to insert themself in you and concomitantly his palm rubs against your pearl. You gasp at the additional sensation. 

You gently tug at his hair, as Dean’s face, still burrowed in your tits, begins nibbling and peppering more kisses. His pace is a little wayward, however, you can still make it work. 

You hook your legs around his back, as Dean gets his free hand to pull down your babydoll top. One of your right breasts gets completely exposed to the air. Well, not for long as he takes your breast into his mouth. He swirls the bud of your nipple with his tongue, as he does the same for your clit with his finger. 

You hold his head, pushing it deeper into your breasts, as you throw your head back. 

3:25 am you can feel the climax bubbling. Dean begins to bite your nipple, and pulls his head back along with your nipple. He allows it to slowly scrap against his teeth, as your nipple slips off from his grip. You groan, digging your head further into the sofa, as you begin clenching your pussy. Dean’s head flops back down onto your breasts. 

His fingers move at a pace where he fails to outdo a snail. You don’t mind, as you curl your toes in anticipation for the orgasm. However, his pace begins to get dangerously slow. Already his face lies on your breasts with his mouth agape, and drool falling out. 

“No!” You whisper, perking up, (well attempting to because you got a burly man above you), “Baby please a little bit more.”

But it is a fait accompli. Sleep stole his attention. 

He lies there with his fingers inside of you, frozen in place. It is as if you both are frozen in a block of ice, because you can barely move beneath him. You try to nudge him off you, but this time he is long gone. His big frame is very big, too big to even move for you to even touch yourself. 

You lie in your supine position, staring at the ceiling, as your wet pussy aches for touch. Unfortunately, you are left unsatisfied, with a second heartbeat vehementaly pounding for attention. 

3:48am sleep finally beckons you. But it does not beckon the tension, as all night you dream about the night going a bit more your way.  

authors note hehhe why do i have a recurring theme of some form of cockblocking? divider credit

tag list

Sine Wave

pairing Solider Boy x f!reader

summary MDNI, you and Soldier Boy have some fun with candles

Content temperature kink, unrealistic candle wax play, mathematics (sry math haters), kissing, squeezing, testicle play, pet names like doll and sweetheart, Soldier Boy blindfolded, mention of bumpkin, profanities, fluff, mention of cunnilingus, asmr ball squishing, groaning, unintentional spanking, f!reader blindfolded

warning!! (some spoiler so maybe read this last) please do NOT try whatever I have written here. If you want to use a candle, please purchase proper candles/wax for such activities to avoid burns ect. Do not do what the reader did to any guys balls, it will hurt them (not in a pleasurable way). The only reason I have written this as is, is because Soldier Boy is a supe and has a supernatural durability to pain.

word count 5490

You huff, as you ignite yet another candle for the umpteen time. You sprinkle the room with lit up candles, instead of watching him spread over your screen just like your legs for him. You look at the curvaceous fire that dances due to the wind instead of his chiseled sharp features. The candles and the fire look quite picturesque, but you want to see the very picturesque Soldier Boy.

But here you are, battling the stygian darkness caused by a power outage with the dreamy and glowy golden light the candles provide.

You place the last candle, as you are content with how ubiquitous the candles are. You sigh as your brain draws up a blank of what to do. 

You take a step back, and bump into a warm hard coiled wall. You furrow your eyebrows, as you are certain, there is no wall behind you. You turn around, and there he is. 

The lighting the candles give him is the most quintessential lighting as it pronounces his sharp chiseled nose, cheekbones, and jaw. You exhale, as you are practically dumbfounded with his presence, a presence you were substituting with him on a corpulent screen. 

“Daddy’s home.” His emerald eyes twinkle, as he pulls out his notorious filthy smirk, with the masculine sharp ends of his canines poking out. 

You let out a gleeful smile, as you reel him into a hug, “Welcome home!” You pucker your lips as you move your head closer to him. Due to your height difference he bends down to allow you to pepper a kiss on his cheek. Your lips land on his beard, and to you it feels like you were exfoliating your lips. 

“I’ve called the electrician. There’s a power outage.” You sigh as you pull back from the hug, which causes his hands to comfortably rest on your hips, “Such a shame. There is nothing to do.” You pout.

Soldier Boy’s eyes do not falter from looking at your classic beauty, but his eyes do fall to your virginal pink lips. His smirk is still plastered to his face, “Is your name nothing? Because I will do nothing.”

You let out a joyful chuckle at his corny joke, “Come on! We always make love. Let’s do something fun together!”

“We can stuff my fat fucking balls in your little throat.” Soldier Boy proposes, raising an eyebrow and probably his dick at the same time.

“Ew!” You giggle, as you playfully slap his chest. 

His fingers twirl in your hair, as he lets his cavalier attitude continue to boom,“Or give flaming amazon a go?”

You arch up a brow, “Spare my bush.”

All of a sudden, Soldier Boy’s eye sparkles, “I’ve got a hell of an idea, doll,” He proudly smiles. His gleaming eyes are glued to you as his fingers brush upon your pastel blue scarf. The silk scarf wrapped around your neck is as thin and long as a tie, yet nowhere as thick as one.  

Your eyes falter to your scarf sliding off your body into his grip and back to his beautiful green eyes, “What are you doing?” You coo as you are breathless, as your eyes fall onto his face that holds a cocky smirk. 

“Shhh.” he softly coos, pouting his thick plump lips, as he brings your rectangular scarf over your eyes. 

You see the soft baby pink ranunculus flowers that were handpainted on your scarf, until you see a stygian darkness once more as the scarf fully restricts your view. 

As Soldier Boy fiddles at the back of your head, tying the scarf, you groan, “I just want to see you.”

You want to stomp your foot and cross your arms as you are tired of a darkness hindering the view of the man you oh so very want to see. Life is evil. 

Soldier Boy completely disregards your wish, as he lifts you up. You practically claw onto his very muscular back, a back that your nails have scratched (yet you lack the strength to gift him an art of scratches because you are a mere human). Feeling his sturdy grand back under your palms, makes you smile as you rest your head on his muscular shoulder. 

You feel him bend down a little. Gravity plays its role as you begin to slowly slip out of his grip. He gently, with caution and care, places you down on the sofa, in a supine position. Your head rests on the arm rest, in this case it is a headrest/pillow. 

You feel his large toasty warm arms drag up from your calf towards your thighs. Along with his very welcomed hands, your dress rides up. You can feel the air freely roaming around your core, which makes you assume he can see your pretties. Thank god you didn’t wear the one with his face plastered on it. 

He runs his fingers on your left thigh that feels like a soothing massage, “You like that?” He questions in a soft sensual tone.

You may be blind folded, but your are certain Soldier Boy is looking at your face at this very moment, “Yes.” You whisper. 

“Do you like this, doll?” Soldier Boy asks, as he gently plants some scattered kisses on your upper thigh that get beautifully close to the gusset of your panty.

“Yes, that’s heavenly.” You whisper, as you tilt your head back and close your eyes, despite the fact you cannot see. 

“And this?” He questions, as you can feel the thick press of his warm moist tongue upon your thigh running pretty close to your pretties. Your thigh clenches, as you yearn to shift your body in a manner his tongue runs upon the cloth of your panty. 

“Oh, I love that.” You smile, as he removes his tongue causing the area he licked to become chilly. Due to the chillyness, you desperately miss his tongue because it gave you warmth and pleasure.

“What about this?” Soldier Boy queries, however, with his tone you can just sense something is up. 

Your gasp, sitting more erect. Your eyebrows furrow as you swiftly take off your blind fold to be met with the crepuscular light, and Soldier Boy holding a candle. 

You gaze down at your thigh, where the unbidden melted candle laved over. It looks strikingly similar to when he disgorged himself on you. You almost giggle at the thought.

“Did ya like that?” He asks, intensely staring at you, probably hoping he did not fuck up. 

The sudden warmth did not burn - at least in an unbearable manner. You may have yearned for the warmth of his tongue, but the wax felt like a good substitute. 

“Actually,” Your eyebrows remain furrowed as you gently nod, “Yes. I liked that.”

Soldier Boy’s lips stretch, revealing his pearly whites, and the creases at the outer corner of his eyes become apparent, “Fuck yes.”

His smile is so contagious to you, before you know it, you as well are showcasing your pearly whites. 

Soldier Boy begins massaging your thigh once more, as his burly hand runs up and down it with the perfect amount of pressure, “Tell me if it ever burns.” He demands, as his eyes look at you as if you are a precious doll that can break at any moment. 

“Ok.” You respond, gazing at his beautiful features, such as how beautifully his hair flows as he tilts his head downward. It makes you remember his angular nose and how sharp it felt against your clit. You soak it all in like a sponge, “But, I don’t wish to be blindfolded.”

“Okay.” He complies, as his hand runs up your same thigh. He tilts the candle, ready to pour more wax. 

Before he can, you begin to speak, as you innocently tilt your head,“Why don’t you be blindfolded?” you ask in a decorous tone that contradicts what you just uttered.

Soldier Boy does not tittle or chuckle; he lets out a boisterous laugh. A laugh that may bring tears to his eyes. However, this time, you do not laugh alongside him. 

His smile dies down, “You’re serious, Doll?” He raises his eyebrows causing some creases upon his forehead.

“Yah!” You ejaculate, as you grab your scarf. You straddle his lap, as his hands mellowly rest on your hips, “Please.” You tilt your head back pouting once more, as you stare at his telegenic features.

“You’re going to have to beg a hell of a lot more to convince me.” Soldier Boy simpers. You both deep down know he will succumb to your wishes, it is just a matter of time that is not scarce.

You sprinkle some kisses on his neck which causes his eyes to roll to the back of his head, “Please,” You whisper sotto voce against his neck. You trail all the way up, to his luscious pinkish lips. You grab his bottom lip with your teeth, with your sinless eyes gazing at him. You tilt your head back, causing his bottom lip to stretch. Soldier Boy creases his eyebrows, causing his glabella to also crease. You let go of his bottom lip, causing it to flap back to it’s normal position. 

“Pretty please,” You sink your lips into his for a split second and then swiftly disconnect the touch, “with a cherry on top.” you plead with an ingratiating tone. 

Soldier Boy presses his forehead against yours, as he wraps his hand on the back of your neck, “Say what I want to hear.” 

A smile spreads out on your face, “Please.” You scoot closer to him, having both your bodies press more against each other, “Ben.”

His emerald eyes twinkle in the candlelight at his honorific, “Now, how can I say no to that, doll.”

“You can’t!” You giggle and leap off his lap concomitantly. 

You swiftly grab your scarf, giving him a good view of your butt. But not for long, as you place yourself back on his lap, straddling him. His hand wanders from the side of your ribs all the way up to the sides of your breasts. His thumbs get dangerously close to your nipples. You slowly place the scarf around his eyes. You lift yourself up, to tie the scarf behind his head. But what also happens is, you kinda smack his face with your breasts. 

“Sorry.” You slyly erupt a cachinnation, not moving your breasts, especially because Soldier Boy starts lavishly peppering some kisses upon them. You may or may not press his head further into your tits. 

As you tie the blind fold you wish you could run your hand through his hair. He presses his palms against your upper back, pushing your breasts more into his face. You are quite sure he cannot breathe right now. 

You sit back, causing him to let out a melodious groan and the cold air to hit your breasts. The fact his kisses were sloppy and wet does not help. 

You freeze. Right in front of you lies the most powerful man of America in a vulnerable position. You can’t help but giggle, causing him to raise one of his eyebrows. With lissome grace, you sink your knees to touch the opulent persian rug. 

You are positioned right in front of him, and he towers over you. The Supe Suit he wears makes his pectorals bigger than yours. Or how his suit latches onto the curves and muscles of his biceps is absolutely breathtaking and mouthwatering. You divert your gaze down, to see his bulge poking out despite the colossal amount of padding his suit has. 

You run your finger on his metal belt that has a star smack dab in the middle of it. You circle your finger on the star, and trail your four fingers (not your thumb) to the button edge of his belt. Your fingers slowly spread out, as it slides under his belt, including your thumb. You hear his breath hitch, as your fingers reach to the zip. The zip is hidden by his star metal belt. 

As you slowly unzip his trousers, his right hand begins to wander. You look up to his face to see the underside of his sharp rectangular nose causing your core to ache. You squeeze your thighs closer to each other giving yourself somewhat of a good sensation that lasts for a painfully Lilliputian amount of time. 

His fingers are covered with a red glove all the way up to his fingers - a red so perfect to express the lust and love and desire you are feeling. His fingers land on your upper shoulder, trailing all the way up to your hair. You instinctively tilt your hand towards his warm grip. 

You place your other than under his metal belt. Both your hands latch onto his waistband. Like the zip, his belt covers the waistband too. You can feel his warm supple skin as your fingers curl on his waistband concomitantly his hand rakes through your hair. 

You gently tow his waistband, causing him to buck his hips to help you. It also smacks his bulge into your face causing you to yelp. Payback for the boobalicious smack? 

In response the action plus your yelp gives Soldier Boy a good boff. The moment you look up, you see his canines sharp and sparkling under the candle light. You leaned so much into his touch you did not realise how close your face was to his dick. You giggle, as you pull your head back and pull down his pants with ease. 

His monolithic bulge is desperately poking out of his boxers causing you to gulp in anticipation. Your fingers gracefully and sensually rove up from his upper thigh eventually getting to the band of his boxers. You can feel the moisture in your mouth increasing, along with his bulge. 

As you latch onto his skivvies band, you bestrew some light kisses upon his upper thigh. In response you can hear a grunt from him. Halting the kisses, you smile, biting your bottom lip. Your latched fingers gently tugging his boxers down. It first exposes more and more of his delicious v line that practically makes you want to drool. You could drool right now of the sight in front of you, unbeknownst to Soldier Boy.

However, you don’t as you pull his boxer further down, until he is completely exposed to you. Your chest heaves up and down, as his dick springs up and touches his belly button. You softly suck onto your bottom lip as you notice the shift of Soldier Boy’s ball texture. At the gush of the cool air, his ball contracts, becoming tight and firm, moving more to his dick, conserving heat. The candle light creates harsh lines where you can see the mix of accordion-like folds and the wrinkles of a raisin. The flame of the candles flickers and dances causing the shadows and light upon his prune skinned balls to move as elegantly as waves of water. You are practically entranced at the view graced in front of your eyes.

“The last time a chick was so close to my asshole is when I was doing the blumpkin with Rita Hayworth.”

You slightly jerk at his unheralded deep cocky voice, stopping you from looking at the way the light shifts on his ridged balls. 

You giggle at what he says. He always does weird sexual acts with woman, that’s how you know he won’t judge you for what you are about to do. You can feel your heart rate quickening, and the beads of sweat forming on your palm as you pick up a light innocent pink candle that can almost be mistaken for white for the untrained or unattentive eye. 

You can see the radiant glowy wick that slowly blurs into a dark sinful charcoal color. You can feel the heat of the flame. You can feel how you are burning, but not due to the flame. You want a different type of flame, a flame that might have the same yellow undertones but with a pink tip. 

“Tell me if it ever burns.” You mimic what he said to you. Contradictory you do not look at him as if he is a precious doll, because frankly his superpowers make him quite the opposite. 

Soldier Boy lets out a crazed smile that makes you feel soused, “Sure, Doll.”

As you move the candle closer to Soldier Boy, you see the flame twitch and dance at the gush of air. You pause, giving the flame a second to normalize itself. 

You gently tug on his upper thigh with your free hand, “Come more forward,” You request, as your voice is light and airless. 

Soldier Boy complies, as his butt gets to the edge of the seat, his head perfectly hangs over the back cushion. The back cushion and the seat cushion form a 90 degree angle. The way Soldier Boy moves his back causes his back to become a hypotenuse of a right triangle, with the seat cushion and the back cushion becoming the legs of the right triangle. 

You lick your lips, as you see his sky-high frame, so freaking perfect you cannot believe this is your reality. You grab the base of his cock, causing his eyebrows to furrow and lips to immediately part. Typically at this stage, you stroke him. This time, you gently and mildly press himself further into his abdomen. This causes his balls to be even more exposed to you, afterall, due to his arousal his balls have tightened creeping closer to his cock. You smile at the sight, and at the thought of what you are to do. He can hear your giggles, causing him his heart to burn knowing he does not know what is to come. Your stomach flutters, as you bring the candle closer and closer to his balls. You can see his skin reacting to the heat, as the valleys and ridges of his ball skin become more prominent and protruding. 

You falter, unsure whether to start at the top of his left ball, or the left side of his left ball right at the halfway point. Before you can decide, a drop of the melted wax plops on to the left side of his ball, perfectly halfway of the ball's size lengthwise or the midpoint. His muscles clench, and his ball immediately puckers. 

You can hear the sound of Soldier Boy pressing his head back into the sofa cushion, “Christ on a fucking cross.” He draws out.

You giggle, as you press his cock further into his stomach eliciting a groan sotto voce out of him. You do not pay heed to the precum, as for once both his cullions have grabbed your attention.

You gently tilt the candle, allowing its melted wax to splatter from the left-hand side of his left ball. His ball puckers more, becoming more and more wrinkled. You move your hand, hence the candle, making the wax that falls on his outer ball curve upwards. You can hear his ragged breath. 

“Do you like that?” You talk with a silky subdued voice as you peer up at him, with an innocent and tranquil countenance he cannot see, but he can sense. 

His plump portly mauve lips part again, “Yes, doll.” He weakly lets out. 

A smile erupts on your face, “Yay!”

Your hand drifts from the bottom of his cock upwards to half his cock so the wax does not get onto your hand. You hear his guttural groan, as his elephantine hand curls into your hair. You stretch and hold his dick more up than it naturally is to your junoesque beauty. It allows you to more precisely drop the wax onto the upper curve that intersects at the top his left ball and the very bottom left of his cock. He twitches slightly, as his poor balls have probably creased more than it knew it can crease, wrinkle, and pucker. And it will do so more and more. 

Some of the wax drifts away from the curve of his ball due to gravity as it glides down parallel to his scrotal raphe. You place the candle down, and with your thumb, you silkenly rub off the wayward wax. His balls spasm, jumping slightly at your warm touch. 

“Fuck.” Soldier Boy susurrated ever so softly it causes your clit to tingle.

Regardless of that fact you already brush off the wanton wax, your thumb lingers on his ball, moving side to side. Since one of your thumbs is moving, your other thumb of the hand that is wrapped around his cock pressed against his stomach also lusciously moves side by side on his cock, “It feels good, right?” You softly croon, but your voice is slightly louder than his susurration. 

His fingers run through your head, giving you a beautiful massage, as his other hand is clenching onto the armrest, “Yes.” He grunts out with his deep voice causing you to be breathless.

A smile stretches across your face, as you remove your thumb. You pick up the pink candle once more, as you allow the wax to drop slowly in order to keep the integrity of the natural curve of his balls. You drop some wax at the top of his scrotal raphe, causing his balls to twitch. Your breath hitches, as you hope the vellication does not disrupt the direction you wish for the wax to roll down once again. Thankfully, it moves in a way you are pleased with as it glides down, coating the entirety of his scrotal raphe. 

Soldier Boy groans once more making you pulse, as the wax wanders all the way down to his perineal raphe. You once more innocently look up to see his nose creased, and his pillow soft lips parted. 

“You’re making me go crazy.” He husks, as his head lulls to the side, and you notice his chest heaving up and down, probably nervous at how vulnerable he is. It is not like you can squeeze his balls and hurt him as he is a Supe with otherworldly tolerance to pain. 

You snicker in response, “Good!” You chirp.

He lets out an amused hum in response. With a corpulent smile upon your face, you scoot back slightly, to allow yourself to drop your head further down towards his balls for a better position and view for the artwork of wax you are creating. It is also for you to be more pedantic as you tilt the candle to drop more wax on the underside of his right ball. You do it gently and slowly, as you do not wish for gravity to do its job or even his balls to have a sudden pulse and ruin the perfect curve of pinkish white wax beneath the curve of his right ball. 

Your grip on his cock has softened, causing you to press his stomach more once more. Soldier Boy hangs his head back at the movement, swallowing a lump in his throat. You can see his Adam apple bob up and down swiftly. Your mouth parts, as you wish that movement happened when you were above him - pear smashed against his Adam apple. It seems that shall happen another time.

His balls jump a bit at the heat of the wax. You drop more wax to follow the curve of the underside of his right ball, all the way up to the midpoint, where you started just on the right ball. 

Due to how content you are, you sigh, admiring your work. With a steady hand and utmost precision, you have created a beautiful sine wave among his balls. You can’t help but place a little kiss on his left ball. As you feel the leather like skin against your lips, Soldier Boy jolts, tightening the grip of his hand on your hair. You snigger at his response, as you pucker your lips and gently kiss his right ball. Both deserve love. You can feel how he is trying to loosen the grip on his hand to his head to try and play it cool. You pull your head back, to see a beautiful pinkish white sin wave plastered around his balls, and smack dab at the middle of his balls, two lipstick stains are adorned there. 

Soldier Boy’s pearly whites are showcased as his sharp smile lines become prominent, “Godammit, the things I let you do to me.” His deep gruff voice draws out as you place more wax upon his balls. 

Your cheeks hurt from how much you are smiling as you place the wax sinusoidally. As the wax softly platters on his sensitive delicate skin, his muscles contract. You are practically drawing sine and cosine curves that would go upon an oscilloscope. It slowly is becoming a bit messy with the layers of wax in repeated places. 

Your fingers coil around his cock, pressing his cock for the umpteenth time to his stomach. Like clockwork, another moan comes out of him at the sensation. You suck your bottom lip, as you slowly drop the wax at the lower left of his left ball. Because it is exposed skin that is entirely free of wax, his balls once more crinkle like a wrinkled candy wrapper once the wax touches it. A bird can fly into your home, but you won’t notice as you are too attentive to making the wax fall perfectly on the bottom right of his left ball. 

Once it does, you move your head back causing you to chuckle. 

“What?” His gruff voice interrupts your amusement. 

You bite your lower lip, “It looks like the lowercase greek letter a, alpha.” You tilt your head, as your chest heaves admiring your work. 

His hand leaves your head and begins to fiddle with the makeshift blindfold. 

“NO!” you squawk, as you press your hands against his. 

“Doll, I wanna see.” He grouses as you put his hands to his side. 

You giggle, as you let go of your grip on his hands, “This is your punishment for the bajillion times you don’t let me see!”

Soldier Boy groans in response as he drops his head back. You grab his cock once more, pressing it against his abdomen. 

You grab the candle once more, “I’m gonna make it infinity now!” You giggle at the thought. You have to stop yourself from giggling and chortling like an evil witch - spoiler, you fail. You can barely stabilize your breath, as your laughter is almost blowing away the candle. 

The pathetic man cannot even properly act mad, as a smile breaks out on his face, “Make it what you want, kid.”

“I will!” You sing out, as you are still normalizing your heart rate. 

You place the wax on the right hand side of his right ball. The flame dances causing the shadows and the light on his wrinkled ball to dance to a tune that is unbeknownst to you and Soldier Boy. 

“It’s infinity now.” You joyfully say, as you look up to the man. His eyes are covered but you can still sense the neediness in his eyes.

“Now c’mere.” he demands, extending his grand muscular arms perfect to bite. He is always priggish. 

“No.” You retort pulling back, “I wanna cover all of your balls with it now.”

Soldier Boy lets out a horselaugh, as he waves his white flag by relaxing back into the couch. 

Before you allow the wax to fully pool among the entirety of his balls, you decide to make frenzy lissajous curves. You wantonly jerk the candle in all directions, causing the wax to splatter and coat over your lipstick stains. His balls become tremulous and pull back into his body becoming less saggy. You chortle, as it looks as if you are a painter trying to master the blottesque painting technique. However, you are no painter, so it looks like shit. The texture of his balls once more become one of a prune as his balls twitch and jump - practically dancing as more and more heat is put upon it. The wax flies in a wayward manner upon his balls, and even at the base of his cock, the sides of his thighs, and your own hand that holds his cock. 

“Settle down, doll,” Soldier Boy remarks as he can barely settle down his own laughter that is all every single earth inhabitant can hear. 

You stop, coating the wax on his balls as a more peaceful manner, allowing you to cover every single nook and cranny. You shift your hand from his cock to lift his balls slightly to get a bit of the underside. 

Gleaming with pride, you settle down the candle, “Okay, I’m done!”

Soldier Boy whips the blind off, as he begins to reel you into him. Once more you bestride him. You pause, tensing as you get an idea he will either hate or love - no in between. You try to prep yourself of the words to say for the tete-a-tete. 

“Wait,” You murmur, pulling a bit back from his grip that is practically engulfing you, “You don’t really feel pain right?

“That’s right, doll.” Soldier Boy places his notorious obnoxious cocky smirk. 

You suck on your bottom lip, mischievously gazing at him. The cockiness of his smirk dies down, he knows something is up (not just his dick). 

You readjust yourself as you are on him, “Do ya know asmr videos?” You query, studying his reaction, as if you are to drop a bomb any second now (you kind of are going to). 

“Mhm,” He softly moans in approval, as his hand begins to latch onto your ass.

“So…ummm” Your brain spins trying to think of how to say this perfectly so he approval of what you wish to do causing you to gibber,“You know how they pour wax, let’s it harden…and uh,” You lick your lips trying to find the words, and your eyes falter up and down. 

“Jesus, you’re something else,” Soldier Boy becomes convulsed with laughter, reading your mind, as he squeezes your butt, “Give it a whirl, doll.” he adds on with his husky voice.

Your eyes widen, as your butt falls more into his grip on his hand, “I-it won’t hurt you right?”

You underestimating him cracks him up, as he lets out a boisterous laugh, hanging his head back for a second. Taking that as an answer, you swiftly give him a peck on his cheek, as you go back on your knees. You place it on the persian rug where it is warm from where your knees were before. 

Sweat builds up on your palms, as you crane your head up to bless your views with a view of his intoxicating face. Your hand slowly makes its way to his right ball. For both his balls, the wax has dried up. You gently cup his right egg shaped ball with your hand. You pause, looking down. 

“Go on, sweetheart.” He coos, as his emerald eyes intensely look down at you. 

You lather your lips with your spit, as you slowly squeeze his ball. In the most satisfying way possible, the wax cracks and crumbles onto the ground. It is going to be hell cleaning it off the rug, but that is a problem for another day. 

You once more cock your head up, with the sole intent to study his reaction. His eyes shine with adoration, as he himself is studying your reaction. You squeeze his ball a bit hard, to destroy the coating of more of the wax causing the sounds of it to fill up your ears. As usual, his ball does become wrinkly again, but not due to pain. 

This time, without hesitation, you move your hand to his left ball. You squeeze it, as the cracking sound blesses your ears, along with the sound of Soldier Boy groaning and you giggling. This is your most elysian moment, as you can start to feel his ball under the wax. It feels as soft and squishy as a boiled egg. 

“May I pour more wax?” You ask, as you look at him as innocently and pure as possible as if you just did not squish his balls. 

“You don’t gotta ask sweetheart.” He replies, with a smile that lights up your heart. 

You swiftly grab the candle once more, tilting it, ready to handsomely pour it upon his balls. 

The doorbell rings.

You both whip your head to the door. 

“Who is it?” Deep, gruff, and without the playful tone he has with you, Soldier Boy yells out. 

“The Electrician!”

You groan, slouching your posture, thudding the candle back on the table. Life is evil. 

Soldier Boy huffs a laugh, as he brings up his boxers. He cups your cheek as he does so, and winks at you “Next time.”

author's note wow this is my longest tumblr post! also notice the use of supernatural in my warning hehe btw requests r more open than my legs

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@supern0va03

A Transcendent Fourth Of July

FOURTH OF JULY SPECIAL!

Pairing Dean Winchester x f!reader

Warnings: cunnilingus, smut, fluff, profanities, licking, some overstimulation, cunnilingus during period

Word Count: 1935

The impala halts. You peer out of the window to see the sky - it is naked. No stars, no fireworks. However, you can hear the crackling of the fireworks, quite identical to gunshots. 

“Son of a bitch.” Dean murmurs as he looks at the sky like you. It is dark, but the scant light illuminates his sharp cheekbones. He looks breathtaking. 

You chuckle at his words, lolling your head back. Dean grips the steering wheel tightly, as he ignites the engine. 

You swiftly grab his shoulder, “I don’t care if I don’t see fireworks today.” You scoot closer to him, having the right side of his hip meet the left side of your hip, “I just want to be with you.”

Dean smiles, as his pointy canines point out causing your heart to skip a beat, “I promised to show you fireworks.”

“Wherever we can see fireworks is not isolated.” You chime, as you straddle him. His hand comfortably rests upon your hips, “You did make another promise.” 

His emerald eyes meet yours, as he brushes a strand of hair away from the soft skin of your face. His plump pillow soft lips part, “No fireworks today then?”

You nod your head, as you marvel over him. 

He raises his eyebrows slightly, “Ya sure?” He runs his hand down your back, causing your smile to widen at the free massage. 

“Yes,” You sit more erectly as you open the car door. 

As you grab his hand, you both make your way out of the car door. The only sound heart is the car door shutting. You bite the bottom of your lip as you prop yourself on the hood of the impala. 

You try to lie in a fully supine position, but you lie around ¾ fully flat due to your back resting upon the windshield. Your palms are next to your back and they touch the hood of the impala, close to the windshield wipers. 

In a lissome manner, Dean leans in front of you, where you can smell his hot breath of cherry pie. He slowly puts his weight above you, causing you now to fully lie down as your hands grab the sides of his face. Your palms can feel the slight stubble beginning to form.

The moment you both smash your lips into each other, you hear the booming sound of a barrage of gunshots. Disregarding the sound you both melt into each other, as you tangle your hands through his luscious brown hair. As you both are practically massaging each other's tongue, you just happen to open your eyes. 

You freeze in glee causing Dean to pull back. 

“Fireworks!” You breathlessly whisper, as you look up watching the colors boom in the sky.

You can hear Dean chuckle, as he lifts himself fully off you. He stands straight, on the ground as you watch the fireworks on the hood. With a playful gleam in his eyes, Dean grabs your ankles and pulls them. 

You squawk in response to the unbidden movement that causes your head to rest on the hood, as your legs dangle down the hood. Your butt and onward rest on the hood.

“Where are you going?” You murmur, crinkling your eyebrows, as the corner of your eye sees a burly  junoesque figure walk away. 

“Getting you a pillow, sweetheart.” Dean beams, “Look at the fireworks.”

With a radiant smile on your face, you comply, turning your head back to the fireworks. You see beautiful colors booming on the sky at once and then falling and then the cycle repeats. 

Before you know it, Dean gently with full on adoration lifts your head as he stuffs a pillow beneath it. Your head is comfortable and you have a majestic view. 

Dean sinks to his knees and you are met with a dilemma. Do you look at the sinewy man below you or the fireworks?Both your eyes meet, as his eyes gleam with excitement. 

“Look at the fireworks.” He coos as his fingers massage your inner thigh, 

Once more you heed what he says as your head fully rests on the pillow once more. He grabs your thighs and pulls you even closer to him. Your hand runs though his hair, as he hitches up your denim skirt. You are wearing a white shirt, but unfortunately you could not find anything red. 

“Oh.”

Your body stiffens. You lift your head up to see the commotion. 

Dean’s beautiful eyes meet yours with his gaze softening, “It’s alright, baby.” He replies seeing how your eyebrows creased, “It’s just - you got a pad?”

Your eyes widen, “Now!” You remark, “It had to start now?!?”

Dean's eyes do not move from your face as he smirks at you, “Baby, it doesn’t change a thing.”

You arch a brow, as usually whenever you get your period you both typically cuddle. He is the little spoon, because you like the heat of his back soothing you. 

“U-unless you are in pain,” Dean’s eyes widens a bit, correcting himself. 

“No pain,” You murmur. You lick your lips, causing you to nibble on the little one. You lie back down, looking at the art upon the sky. 

“You’re okay with me doing this?”

You can hear his voice laced with concern coming below, you smile, “Yes. I find it patriotic that I am bleeding. Afterall, I didn’t wear red.”

Dean chuckles, but it is muffled as you can feel warm and wet kisses on the inside of your thigh. You clit tingles at the sensation, as it becomes increasingly desperate for attention. You gaze on the fireworks that are red, white, and blue. Your red white and blue blooded face breaks out a jovial smile, as your fingers run against his scalp. His hair feels awfully soft, you suspect he has been using your shampoo. 

However, your thoughts fly away, as you can feel your underwear slide off you in a slow and sensual manner. The cold air introduces itself, as it roams around your bare flower. However it is for a short while, as you are treated with more kisses. It causes you to giggle. 

The fireworks vigorously boom in the sky, as all of a sudden the thick press of his tongue runs on you. He is practically lapping you. A lilting moan breaks out of you, as you press your head more into the pillow to see pink fireworks. You can hear the wet noises from yourself and his thick flexible tongue making music. On top of that is the dominating sound of the fireworks making it a unique tune you won’t hear typically when you are with Dean. 

Your grip in his hair tightens slightly - afterall you do not want to pull and hurt his hair. You can feel him part your lips, and make his tongue roam among every crevice. The thunderous sound of the firework causes you to twitch, making your clit abruptly meet his tongue. You mewl at the heaven your jewel just felt. His tongue stops touching you, as you feel his thumb run up you as if he is smudging paint on a canvas. He stops at your clit, playing with it. 

Your eyelids become drowsy as your mouth is agape. Lusty red fireworks burst in the sky. You both coalesce into one, when you feel his tongue delve into your sluice. You moan once more at the heavenly sensation. 

“You like that?” He asks, however it is all garbled up because his tongue is literally in you and his mouth is pressed against you. 

“Yes,” You moan, as you arch your back because his thumb intensifies the pressure on your clit. 

Your breath begins to get shallow, as you are huffing and puffing. You are almost to a point of being a dog with their tongue out with drool falling out. 

Yellow and red fireworks fill the sky, as you clench. You feel his cyclopean finger enter your gummy walls. Your body stops clenching, causing your head to rest on the pillow with more pressure, as his finger thrusts in and out your effulgent wetness - on top of that he curls his finger perfectly as he knows you. 

You are so close to closing your eyes, as you are practically hit with a barrage of sensations. The loud thunderous booming sound of the fireworks, the commotion going on in your velvet walls, and the tingle of your refulgent clit being addressed. All Dean is doing is making your opening a bit more cadaverous for his two or maybe three fingers. 

“The fireworks stopped.” You groan due to pleasure and due to disappointment. 

Now you can just hear the squelching sound of his finger vigorously moving (not that you are complaining alot).

“Shit.” Dean murmurs, lifting his face off, “I’m sorry baby.”

“DON’T STOP!” You whine as you push his head down with your hands. You hear him chuckling and give a sharp yet gently bite to your clit. In response, you clench your thighs in a pathetic attempt to squeeze your folds together, afterall, Dean is between them and you do not have the strength to smash his head in. 

Dean takes it up a notch as he sticks another finger in causing you to moan his name in susurrations. You just know he has a cocky smile at the mention of his name. He is slowly and slowly sparking your orgasam. It is starting from a lilliputian sliver of the organ's sensation that is increasing and increasing, until the inevitable. Your heartrate quickens. You look in the sky, as Dean makes you feel so good, your mouth is practically so wide a firework can fit it in. 

Your lungs are becoming avaricious for air, as you can feel his tongue vigorously flicking up and down on your pearl. Your chest is heaving up and down, as his fingers are squeezed by your insides. He probably can feel a whole goddamn pulse down there that is different from the one your heart has. 

You clench, practically pulling Dean’s hair forgetting not to be gentle as he quickens the pace harder and faster to your reaction. Your head is lolling back, your eyes become shiny like nacre, as you can see literal fireworks booming in the sky. 

Your breath is becoming unwavering, as you can feel a small film of sweat surrounding you like foreskin on the tip of a dick. You slowly begin to moan a melange of works as you feel time starting to go slow. 

You interlock your ankles, as your whole body is slowly starting to shake, twitch, jerk, and your voice is undulating. 

You hear the uproarious sound of fireworks and the majestic sound of Dean’s voice, “You are doing so good, baby.”

That was the last straw on the camel's back. Right at that instant you once more hear the dominating sounds of fireworks like an unpredictable staccato beat of music concomitantly as you feel a vigorous fire begin to feel a fire to pool low in your abdomen. Or maybe you feel fireworks pooling down your abdomen, seems fitting. Whatever you are feeling it causes your vision to fade to black for a split second. 

Once you can see once more, the sky is void of fireworks (again). You feel the chilly air roaming on your bare and glossy core as you can feel warm fingers pull up your underwear. You lie on the hood of the impala, dazed. Your eyelids are daring to close. 

“How was it?” Dean queries, as he pulls down your skirt. 

You softly murmur, “Transcendent.”

Authors Note! This is my first time writing cunnilingus! I hope I did well! Sorry this is also rushed because I got this idea last minute and I wanted to post this on 4th of July. Don't be shy, give me requests! Happy 4th of July!

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@supern0va03

Banner Credits here, here, and here!

Touch Starved Dean Winchester Canons Part 2

Part 1 this is the last part

Banner Credits here and here

Touch - a vital thing for Dean Winchester.

Sometimes Dean nettles you to a point you grip his chin. You practically squeeze his cheeks together causing his chin to jut and his lips to pucker out. He grits his teeth, giving you a perfect view of his anterior teeth, especially his sharp canines. His eyebrows slightly crease, however he will always look at you so submissively as you chide him for pestering you. His gaze will be soft, as his eyes gently roam around your face. Sometimes a smirk will try to break out, even if his cheeks and lips are squished together. His hand will wrap around the wrist of the hand that is gripping his chin. Unlike your grip, his is soft, because deep down he is in an elysian sense of peace and calm. All because he knows deep down he is loved by you.

During a hunt, Dean protects you, even for the most trivial things. You do not want the dangers that lurk nearby to know of both of your presence - his verbal warnings do not help. He will verbally warn you about the spiderwebs nearby, tell you to be careful of the crack or the rock on the floor, and ask if you can see well in the darkness. It all nettles you to the point, you turn to him, and cup your hand on his mouth, hushing him. You should immediately remove your mouth, however it remains there for seconds too long. He freezes a bit, creasing his eyebrows, because he is never used to being touched in such a loving and gentle manner, that is also, scolding. The crease between his eyebrows soften as his beautiful green eyes stay glued to your eyes. His eyes may dart down to watch how your lips move as you chide him. But he always nods in response, looking back at your eyes. 

Fever is a sickness that attacks everyone - including Dean Winchester. Whenever that happens, you wet a hand towel or a paper towel with cool water. You gently place it on his forehead, as the coolness battles the warmth the fever induced. His glabella creases, as his eyes give in to the darkness, as you straighten out the wrinkles of the paper/hand towel. His lips part, as you stretch out the paper/hand towel - to ensure it is evenly spread upon his forehead. He loves how pedantic you are about it, as not only the paper/hand towel gets stretched, so does his forehead. It is tantamount to a forehead massage, a transcendent experience he is deprived of. You practically lull him to feel elysian peace, causing his head to naturally turn and rest nearer to your hand. Sometimes he scrunches his nose due to the sheer discomfort of the fever. Your hand wanders from his forehead to his hairlines. You run your finger there, in circular, diagonal, zig zag patterns. He falls asleep knowing your presence is near. 

Sometimes when he is tired after a hunt, he will plop his ass on the bed. His eyes will droop fully until they are closed. At times, you sit beside him, and run your hand down the side of his face, from his hairline, to his temple, to his cheek bone, to his jaw. When your hand is slowly moving from his cheek bone to his jaw, he will gently move his head to your palm. His eyes still closed, he peppers some kisses on your fingers and palm, that causes you to giggle. He fully falls asleep, with his face in your hand. You are his safe place - a place that he usually is. 

Dean can have a revolting sense of humor that can be so dehumanizing to women. Whenever he says such vile stuff, you may reprimand him by gripping him by his hair. He is immediately silenced, as his eyes gaze on you. His pupils go left and right, as if he is reading a book. But he is practically reading the look in your eyes, so intense it causes his heart to skip a beat. He loves to loss of control, as your grip on his hair causes his head to tilt towards your hand. Either his mouth is drawn to a straight line, or he flashes a toothful smile trying to dilute your anger. His warm toasty hand snakes around your palm, gentle and comfortable like a bracelet. You reprove him, causing his eyes to linger on your lips. He may try to place a facade as if your anger does not bother him, but deep down he is panicking, hoping he did not destroy your relationship. This happens a handful of times before he and he himself and sense of humor matures. 

Bye guys I go poop now. Lmk if I should turn them into one shots and requests are more open than my legs.

TAGLIST

Touch Starved Dean Winchester Canons

Part 2 that is the last part

Banner Credits here and here

Pairing dean winchester x f!reader

Warnings mention of angry sex

Touch - a vital thing for Dean Winchester. 

Whenever you run your hand from his zygomatic cheek to the temple of his forehead all the way up to his hair line, he will always try to look insouciant - especially if this happens in public or there are people near. But you can tell he is looking at you in awe. His beautiful green eyes will look at you with his plump lips either closed or his mouth slightly parted. He will plaster a slight smile, try to act like this is as rudimentary as a mere pat on the back. But the slight smile dies down in seconds, because he knows this is intimate. The iris of his eye will move left and right as he soaks your features, as his heart rate relaxes. He will put on a mask on his face, that illustrates that the touch does not affect him. The mask conceals how he is spiraling. Thoughts of how much he loves you, how much he misses you, how much he fears for your safety, how much he craves you, how he yearns for you will crash like a wave in his head. He knows you are his peace. 

Like every normal couple you both have your kerfuffles. Even during your anger with each other you cannot deny the attraction you both have for each other. You both can’t keep away. You both cannot resolve your dispute (yet), but resolve the unbearable tension. He pounds into you, making you both one physically but not mentally due to your dispute. You both are always in a position where you can see the hatred and the love on each other's face. You roughly grip his chin. Your grip depends on your anger. Sometimes, your grip pushes the skin on his chin upward causing it to fold. His emerald eyes glare at you intensely, in return, you glare back. His nose scrunches up. His upper lip quivers, not out of fear but the sheer anger he has for you. But his eyebrows are relaxed, because deep down, he loves you. 

Sometimes when he gets roughed up from a hunt, you grab him by the chin asking if he is okay. His dark jade eyes always connect to your eyes, as the blood on his face trickles down. The blood can be from his forehead, nostrils, lips ect - it depends on what happened during the hunt. He looks at you in sheer pain, as his eyebrows furrow or rise due to unease. The worry lines on his forehead become apparent, as he wants to fall into your arms. You can see the exhaustion transparent on his face. His steps stagger, as his mouth is parted. Sometimes he huffs, or his spit dares to drool out. His eyes are dull and drowsy, as he tilts in your embrace and you can feel his chin digging into the palm of your hand.

At times when he is sitting down and you stand in front of him and cup his cheek in your hand. He immediately puts some of the weight of his head onto your hand and his eyes close allowing him to take a breather from his pain concomitantly. Once his eyes are closed, he exhales as his muscles can finally relax. It is not sexual or lustful. It is just pure love. Dean sinks in and relishes the feeling of your hand slowly brushing down his cheek. The skin on his glabella creases, as his jaw clenches and he gulps. He remembers his mother. The pain stings him as all he wants deep down is love, not lust. Sex and alcohol is a bandage plastered to a wound that deserves stitches. Sometimes you do this when he is sitting and you are standing. You gently nudge his cheek to the side of where your chest is, as he rests his head between the valley of your breasts. You continue stroking his exposed cheek with your hand and/or thumb. It is healing to him.

Other times when you cup his cheek, he does not close his eyes - his striking emerald eyes look at you. He establishes eye contact, with his eyes full of pain. Sometimes they are glossy like nacre. You straddle him. Your bodies press against each other, to a point you both can feel the warm breath from each other's mouth. Sometimes either your foreheads press against each other, or your lips brush against each other. You both remain as still like a statue and disregard the fact both your chests heave as you both breath. You both just stay there, relishing the proximity, and soaking in each other's presence. It always ends up with you both reaching physiological synchrony, because you both are connected.

Part 2 is going to come soon! Lmk if you guys want to make any of these into one shots.

Call Me Officer

Banner Credit: cbv3rwhxre Divider Credit: HERE

Pairing soldier boy x f!reader

Warnings ice cube play/kink, officerxprisoner rp, smut, fluff, profanities, teasing, spanking (occurs once), begging, crying, licking, nibbling, comfort, some overstimulation

Word count 3605

You have a hawkish stance with your opponent, sleep, who you have not been able to conquer for a copious amount of days. On the bright side, you have the perseverance of a fighter. Therefore, you heroically buy a sword to fight your opponent to succumb to your needs. This sword you purchased comes in a form that does not entail violence, unless you count battling your cells and brain activity as violence. This sword has various weapons coalesced into one, such as antihistamines that block histamines (an wretched enemy that makes your body alert), and melatonin that fights to promote sleep in your sleepridden body, and lastly valerian that coos your nervous system to be calm so your sleep can be of great quality. 

Yes, you are so deprived of sleep, you read about the mechanisms of how your swords work in ways that are unequivocally insignificant to you. You plop your sword, which is in the form of a pill into your mouth. 

“Put your hands up.”

You freeze. You recognize the deep gruff voice of a man who basks in power. A man who manipulates women to his liking, a man whose new victim is you. Your shoulders become stiff and the pace of your heart beat quickens that the rate of a butterfly's wings vehemently flapping. 

With pin drop silence, you lift your hands in the air, complying to him for the umpteenth time. 

“You have the right to remain silent, my dear.” You gradually turn around to see Soldier Boy. In doing so, your flowy silk dress brushes against your legs, reminding you of the feeling you dolorously yearn for when he had brushed himself upon your legs. He has a cocky smirk plastered on his beautiful telegenic face. He holds his right hand out with the chain of the hand cuffs drooping down his pointer finger. You breathe in his ravishing statuesque look that makes your pussy have a heart beat of her own.

Your breath hitches as he advances towards you. He walks as if the integrity of the floor is treacherous leading to your supposition that he is intoxicated. He gets close to you to a point your propinquity enables you to pick up the smell of alcohol drifting from him, vis-a-vis he picks up the arousal lingering off of you.

His insatiable breath flies upon your face, as if he is teasing you that he will touch you. The only touch you had been graced was your dress flowing on you. Your nipples coarsen through the thin silk fabric that shields it, his eyes falter, noticing. Your body twitches a bit, craving for him to brush his giantesque frame against you. But he takes his sweet torturous time to merely stand behind you. 

He circles his toasty large hands around your lifted right arm. You’re afraid your palms will break out in a sweat, but he would not notice as he coils his fingers around your wrists. He brings your left hand at your back concomitant to the front of your back dimples. 

His other hand, brings your right arm to fall as gracefully as a swan, all to have both your wrists constrained by his left hand. You can feel your clit tingling and becoming tumid, as you slowly begin to become breathless.

With extreme ease, he roughly pulls you back, towards him. He does it with a libidinous intent, as you can feel his monolithic bulge in his suit pressing against your bum. Your mouth parts as you gasp, relishing his touch as you are ready to melt under him like chocolate. You slightly crease your eyebrows, as your stomach churns due to how unsatisfied you are of his touch. You want more, you crave more. You are so desperate, that you are willing to claw your way through anything in order to obtain the passionate desire he ignites in you. 

With his bulge still barely pressing against you, he uses his left hand that is holding both your wrists to direct you to the bed. You feel utterly crestfallen at the lack of friction he purposefully controlled. He is a god damn tease. The bed is a mere five steps in front of the both of you. He makes you sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress presses slightly under you, however, like the dress and his bulge, the force of the touch is painfully too insignificant to please you. He has not cuffed you yet, yet your wrist stays as frozen as a statue. 

“We’ve got to get you in your prisoner uniform, doll.” He remarks as his mossy green eyes ogle as your silk night dress adorned with delicate and diaphanous chiffon ruffles. He can tell the hardness your nipples once had has fizzled out. His eyes maunders upon your cleavage. Your dress reveals a great amount of your cleavage, that if you move with some twists and turns, it is capable of revealing the entirety of your bare breasts. 

“Oh.” You softly whisper, as your eyes are locked on his viridian eyes. He reciprocates, by staring right back at you, something he is colossally exceptional at.

His warm tender fingers gently slide off the strap of your dress. He watches the strap fall gracefully, with his fingers lingering on your shoulder. Your shoulder begins to feel a bit chilly, as he removes his warm pleasant fingers to repeat his actions for your other strap. Once the last strap is unable to latch onto your shoulder, it immediately causes your dress to glide as smoothly as butter. Your breasts become exposed. Your nipples congeal once more the moment air kisses them.

Your neck cranes up, as your eyes stare as a man unequivocally nowhere as close to being tenderfoot when it comes to sex, “What have I done wrong, officer?” You query with completely faux innocence, nibbling on your bottom lip.

He chuckles at the sight that makes his dick throb in the beat of the pornhub introduction drums, “Make me harder than Cassy Teal has ever done” he coos.

Sensually, his fingers pokily trickle down your hip, and then latches on to your dress, and continues sliding his fingers down to your calves. You lie supine, but you lift your legs, to assist him in giving you only the dignity of a silk panty as pink as cherry blossoms. 

He throws your silk dress to the side, that falls down in a lissome manner. Once it has fallen, Soldier Boy turns his head back to you. His jade eyes gleam, as his fingers sneak under the portion of the strap of your dainty panty that rests your hip bone. He causes your panty to descend; he does not pause when you are completely bare to him. When he notices the gusset of your panty sodden, he does not pause. He only pauses when the only cloth touching you is the bedsheet you lie upon. 

“Whoops.” He smirks, admiring the beauty of your face, “We have run out of the prisoner uniforms.”

You bite your bottom lip as a flimsy attempt to hide the raw sticky happiness that came from his 11 words. However, you are as transparent as glass to him, causing him to have a noxious smirk.

“It’s alright,” you whisper, trying to play it off, as your chest heaves up and down, causing your breasts to subtly jiggle.

“Well, allow me to take you to your cell, darling.” He once more grabs your wrists, and drags you lying supine from  the edge of the bed to the head board, “Since you are placed in high security, you must be cuffed.”

Before you have any time to react, the gelid metal cuff wraps around your left hand first causing shivers down your body to your core. He weaves the cuff on the head board, and introduces the last bone-chilling cuffs on your right wrist. 

With your hands locked above your head, you resort to huffing to fly the stray hair tickling your face. Soldier Boy benignantly wipes his hand on your face, brushing away the hair. However, his large left hand remains on the majority of your right cheek that is slowly becoming florid.

He grunts as he comforts himself above you in your supine position with his left hand remaining on your supple and glabrous face. He reaches out his right arm to the bed side table. 

“Who says a police officer and a prisoner cannot have fun?” His emerald green eyes become radiant as they glow. He burrows his right hand in the bucket that rests on the side table. You head lulls to the side. You look at his hand, the hand that you are voracious for it to penetrate somewhere that is as tight as a hose, not the cavernous opening of a bucket. 

You perk your eyebrow up, as it seems to you that Soldier Boy must be parched. The bucket holds champagne bottles, from the celebration earlier. However, the champagne bottles are kept mollifyingly frosty due to the ubiquitous ice cubes bountifully sprinkled around the bottle. 

“I don’t fuck with the formal pussy crap champagne.” He groans for the umpteenth time, as he has an affinity for manhattans. 

His groan causes your clit to tingle a little bit. His hand rummages around the bucket until he finds an ice cube that has not begun weaning into its other form. 

He glissades his whole large frame down you, until his sublime face just hovers against your stomach. Because his left hand remains on your right cheek, you tilt your head to the right. The tips of his strong fingers brush and twitch against your plump, soft, and greedy lips. You gently and cordially pepper some clement kisses on the tips of his fingers. 

You softly smile, as you feel a bit cheeky and brash. You begin to tease his finger, by meticulously licking the tips. However, you don’t lather your tongue or spit…not yet. 

In response, he readjusts his silky smooth arm to skim over your right nipple. You softly whimper, as the sensation your nipple undergoed was too light to your liking. Instead of giving attention to your ablazing nipple, he gently pierces his fingers into the wet warmth of your luscious pink lips that are in front of your pearly whites.

He brings out an ice cube, causing your eyebrows to furrow. With a risque smirk, he rests the ice cube right above your belly button. A gasp breaks out from you, completely halting the action you inflicted on his fingers that he gleefully faced. 

You become stunned at how nippy the ice cube is on your junoesque skin. Your nipples temporarily harden once more. Both of you know his left arm over your right nipple can feel the hardness poking him. You suck in your stomach due to the ice cube. In response, the ice cube slowly slides down towards your pussy, leaving its watery snail trail. 

Soldier Boy halts the ice cube in its place seconds before it would have reached your desirous needy core, as if he properly timed it as a slight tease. He glides the cube back up to your belly button, causing you to produce a susurrus at the algidness attacking your body. He leans down, with his wet and in contrast, tepid tongue playfully roaming over the snail trail. His beard scraps against your skin, not as callously as an exfoliant and not as lightly as a feather. 

You abruptly suck in your stomach and jolt, as you begin to sonorously giggle. His face tickles you, causing your legs to move in fetal position. Actually, your legs did a pathetic attempt to move in the fetal position, the elephantine man on top of you restrained your legs from doing so. Your back and legs still attempt to pathetically crimp. 

He completely disregards your titters as his tongue glides upon your lower belly, sometimes in zig zags, sometimes in a straight line. Your vocal cords let out a melange of a cacophonous laugh and a soft moan, relishing this exact moment. You guys have never done this before, therefore, you fail to anticipate what comes next. However, the excitement is one factor for the wetness you caused below you. 

He once more moves the ice cube, making a grotesque unsymmetrical watery heart upon your ribcage. Afterall, he is America’s hero, not an artist. You deeply suck in, in response to the ice cube, making your ribs ever so faintly visible. You bite your lower lip, trying to subdue your reaction of being tickled. 

“Suck.” He barks an order, as he shoves the ice cube into your mouth, “Do not bite.”

You comply, sucking in the ice cube with hints of your body lotion. You disregard the extra spice. You drink the water oozing from the ice cube, concomitant to Soldier Boy licking the cockeyed heart he created upon you. 

Your eyelids flutter shut, becoming a bit overwhelmed from the warm wetness of his tongue, and the cold wetness of the ice cube. You attempt to clench your thighs shut, causing him to press his chest deeper into your thighs to make sure you are not impermeable. 

Soldier Boy takes out the ice cube from you, and he himself sucks on the ice cube. You look in complete awe, as his blooming thick mauve lips become glossy with the wetness. Some of the water droops down his beard and patters onto your bare skin, however, your lustful gaze stays upon him.

He takes out the ice cube and drags it along where the wire of your bralette typically would rest. His tongue slowly chases where the cube goes, causing you to sink your head in the pillow concomitant to you letting out a deep guttural groan to a point you are undulating.

The feeling of being tickled has flown away, as he is now focusing on your chest. He removes his left arm that was resting upon your nipple. You momentarily furrow your eyebrows, as he has redacted his warmth, inviting the cool air to make your nipple protrude. You ever so slightly frown at the lack of balance of how one nipple is hard and the other is soft.

He grabs the sides of your ribs. The ice cube has gotten significantly smaller, as its lost liquid is robust upon your torso. Soldier Boy once more places the ice cube in his mouth. You gently tug at the chains, yearning to have the pads of your fingers roam upon his scalp. And to tug his head in the direction you please, just you cannot decide whether you want him to go up or down. 

Soldier Boy graces your ribs with feathery kisses, in contrast, his beard scrapes against you. Once more, you can’t help but let out some laughs of raw joy and glee. Your pearly whites are showcased and you can feel him smile against you. 

Suddenly, you gasp, as he drops the ice cube from his mouth onto you. The navigates it to rove on you; the ice cube feels so cold to a point it feels like it is sizzling hot. 

Soldier Boy grins, as he stops roving the ice cube, as he maneuvers it to draw two circles tangent to each other. 

“BEN!” you squeal, “You’re a child!”

He swiftly spanks your breast, “Officer.” He glares, correcting you. 

“Sorry, Officer.” You pout, with your wide naughty eyes staring at him.

He can’t hold it in, as he laughs as he heads back to his canvas and finishes drawing a large dick, in all the meanwhile, the room is filled with your lavish laughs. 

He begins lathering his tongue on your ribcage, circling around your bellybutton, and even nibbling you. When you close your eyes shut in pure peace, he shatters it. He places the ice cube upon you, with its coldness giving a sense of discomfort that you oddly like.

He drifts the ice cube until it becomes non-existent. He lifts some of his weight off you, as he fetches another ice cube. 

Soldier Boy gently rests his chin upon your liver, with his eyes sparkling of adoration. He holds a sultry countenance along with a cheeky smile. He serenely circles the ice cube on the circumference of your right breast. He leisurely brings the ice cube closer to your nipple in a spiral direction. 

With a couple more spirals, the ice cube would touch your nipple. That is when those emerald eyes scan your face, intently looking at how it will pinch, twist, and contort. 

You look back, with eyes not as big as how eager your nipples are becoming, a mouth parted suddenly dry, a tongue brushing upon the lower lip as your other set of lips as left alone. 

“Yes.” you softly moan, as the ice cube is getting beautifully close to your right nipple. This is what you have been waiting for. Your chest heaves up and down in anticipation. 

“No!” You keen, prepared to throw a hissy fit, you dig your finger nails in your palms in anger as you tug the chains. 

A sinful chuckle erupts from Soldier Boy, as he traverses the ice cube around your nipple, it glides upon the many radii of your breast that it is making the petals of a flower.

“Please…Officer please.” you mewl with your head lulled in sorrow. 

He ignores your pleads, as he continues his way with you - exactly how he wants. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your head in the pillow, groaning. 

“Please Officer.” you cry weakly with tears ready to stream down your florid cheeks. 

The ice cube runs throughout the entirety of your breast but not your desirous nipple. 

You sigh with the utmost sorrow, your lips part ready to beg, but nothing comes out. Why? Because you are frankly frustrated. 

Finally your vocal cords begin to work, just it makes your voice crack, “Officer please.”

He still disregards you. The ice cube is almost gone, like your patience. You and the ice cube cannot do anything about it. 

“Ben.” you make a feeble sob. 

“You win, doll.” He rasps, as he slowly brings the ice cube next to your nipple. 

A small smile spreads across your face, your toes curl. Your thighs clench, and you suck in a deep breath making your breasts rise. You keep your breast raised in anticipation. 

You can feel his heavy gaze upon you, however, you are looking at your right nipple and the ice cube that just needs to move just a bit to please you. 

Not even a second. Probably quicker than a millisecond he swiftly brushes the ice cube quicker than a cheetah, upon your nipple. 

Tears stream out of your eyes at how frustrated you are. Your eyelids close your eyes like a wrinkled waterproof blanket. However, you do not want to open them. 

“Did I not tell you to call me officer?” Soldier Boy sternly responds feeling no remorse for the wetness on your face that is not caused by the ice cube. 

In response, you turn your head away from him. You do not want to give him the satisfaction he already has of seeing you like this. He is unfazed, as he continues allowing the ice cube to be Dora the Explorer on your breast (not your nipple).

Your breasts heave up and down, as the tears stream down your face quicker than basking oneself in the shower water. 

“Stop crying like a fucking baby.” Soldier Boy’s voice bellows through the room. 

If he does not listen to you, why should you?  You cry louder with raucous cries. 

“Stop it.” He sneers. 

“NO!” You yeet out of your throat with energy depleting. 

You start throwing your legs in a puerile manner, making the sheet awry. Soldier Boy grabs your legs, as he lies prone above you. He tries to control you, stopping you from moving so vigorously. You are beginning to get exhausted, and your interest is evaporating at a quick pace.

That is when you feel it. Unbidden, the thick press of his tongue, right upon the ablazing bundle of nerves your nipple holds.

Your cries die down, as the majority of it was sheer drama. You do get what you want in the long run. 

Your wrists may be cuffed, but you finally feel free. Your nipple becomes hard, as he scraps his teeth against it. Soft moans break through you. He flicks it rapidly with his tongue, causing you to melt into the sheets. The warm sheets welcome you to close your eyes and give in. Your eyes widen. The sword. No! The sleeping pill!

“You like that, huh?” He speaks with his lips pressed against your nipple. 

“Mhm.” You smile, groaning in pure pleasure, trying to shoo away your thoughts of how the sleeping pill is beginning to make you drowsy. A yawn threatens to break out of you. But you will not give in. You will not allow sleep to beckon you. 

He speaks with his deep gruff voice, “The other one deserves love too.” he smirks, intently eyeing you once more.

However, all he has are eyes that are droppier than Soldier Boy before he saw you. Right as he is hovering above your left nipple, seconds before his mouth plays with it, a darkness invades your senses, inviting you to win the battle you awaited for so long. However this victory cost you the loss of another battle, dare I say, a more imperative battle you wish you could have prioritized. 

Authors note this is my first time trying to write good smut! I hope you like it!

ONE YEAR LATER

“IS THAT A HICKEY?” Frank's wrinkly expressive face contorts into shock as his eyes are glued at my neck.

“Babe, this isn’t even my neck.” I reply as I plop myself on the couch trying to find something bearable to watch on the TV. After all, I am completely exhausted from today. 

“There is a hickey on your neck!” Frank fucking stands infront of my TV with his head shaking in that weird way he does it. 

“Your neck.” I correct trying to watch something but this fatty moves wherever the fuck my head goes, “You claim my body as yours. So YOU CHEATED ON ME FRANKY PANTY!”

“I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME!” He throws a hissy fit as he throws his ugly hole ridden beanie on the floor. 

“I DID FRANK! I LOVED YOU FOR ONE AND A HALF DAY!!” I yell back as I cannot even fucking enjoy my life after a long ass day of work, “CAN WE HAVE ONE FUCKING GOOD DAY?”

“YOU CHEATED ON ME!” Frank yells, probably ready to call his uncountable about of fucking kids to slime me out. 

“AND YOU SAID YOU ARE A REAL ESTATE AGENT BUT YOU ARE A DRUGGIE BUM!” I yell back at the raisin skinned fuck. I only keep him because his dick is longer than the eiffel tower and his experience is insane.

My phone starts ringing and Frank snatches my phone. 

“GIVE IT BACK!” I seethe, as I punch the fuck. 

He loudly groans like a dad cleaning the mucus out of his throat in the morning. Blood litters down his nose to him lips and chin and I could not give even one and a half fucks. 

“SHUT UP!” I glare at the poopy cum sucker as I pick up the call. 

“Jettie.” Mr. Yarbrough's voice invades my ears.

“Hello Sir,” I respond. Fuck did I do something wrong? Maybe I should not have called the Mexican man a taco wacko. 

“JETTIE!” Frank yells, clutching onto his ugly ass face. Either way, it is a fucking shock he pulled me. 

I put myself on mute, “CAN YOU STOP BEING AN EMOTIONAL BITCH?” I practically growl at Frank trying to disrupt my imperative call. 

“We got a lead on the Winchesters.” Mr. Yarbrough responds. I freeze. My eyes light up. 

My chest begins to heave up and down. The time halts. I let out one of my rare small yelps. I can feel my adrenaline spikes. 

“FUCK YES SIR!” I yell into my phone as Frank's glossy eyes look betrayed, “I can come to the office right now!” Suddenly my exhausted body is more energetic than a ten year old boy. 

“That would be ideal.” He cuts the call. 

I squeal, “FRANK! THERE IS A LEAD ON THE WINCHESTERS!”

Frank groans rolling his eyes as his blood rolls down his shirt, “You always talk about the stupid fucking ugly Winchesters!” He kicks on the chairs like a rotten little boy with mommy issues. 

“Well, yeah.” I respond a bit stunned. 

“I AM TIRED OF THEM!” Frank yells. 

I roll my eyes, “Oh my god please stop being a dramatic cunt.”

Frank opens that big fat mouth of his showing every single tooth of his, “YOU ALWAYS TALK ABOUT HOW YOU AND THIS BEYONCE GOT CONFUSED AS THE WINCHESTERS AT THE MIDDLE OF NO WHERE.”

“Huntsville, Alabama.” I correct as I am so not turned on. I am drier than a dessert. 

“AND THEN THE WINCHESTERS NEVER CAME. AND YOU CRIED.” He yells so fucking loud it is a miracale my eardrums haven’t burst.

“OF COURSE I FUCKING CRIED!” I yell, “THOSE FUCKS JEAPORDIZE THE SAFTEY OF THE CITIZENS OF AMERICA!”

“I LOST THEM!” Frank mimics me raping my ears with his loud cacophonous voice,, “MY PLAN WAS GENIUS. I HAVE BEEN WATCHING THESE GROSS WASTS OF OXYGEN! I HAVE BEEN ANALYSING THEM! I DO NOT UNDERSTAND HOW THEY DID NOT FALL FOR MY TRAP!”

“Thank god you did not pick acting as a career.” I reply, picking up my angel kiss purse as I head towards the door. 

“YOU ARE JUST GOING TO LEAVE?” Frank yells, his frail bony body standing up that it sounds like bones smashing into each other attempting to be as musical as wind chimes. 

“Yes!” I turn around and face him with a sweet sweet smile. A smile the wrinkled cockroach does not deserve. 

“YOU ALWAYS WILL PRIORITIZE YOUR WORK OVER ME!” He yells for the umpteenth time. 

I groan, throwing my head back more than he has ever made me do in bed, “STOP CALLING ME LIKE IN CINDERELLA FOR PETES SAKE CAN’T YOU DO YOUR JOB WITHOUT ME OR COMPLAINING TO ME?” I yell back. 

“IF YOU LEAVE THIS DOOR JETTIE THAT MEANS YOU CARE ABOUT THE WINCHESTERS MORE THAN ME.” He throws in an ultimatum, crossing his arms as if that’s gonna do shit to me. I ain’t missing a man who cannot afford a fucking old iphone five. 

I chuckle at the monstrosity in front of me, “Baby, the love I have for my work exceeds the love I have for any romantic relationship.”

Frank yells, enraged, with his screams facing the ground like an immature kid, “YOU WILL NEVER FIND THE WINCHESTERS!”

I laugh even harder to a point it makes me snort like a fat pig, “Finding a clit is easier than finding the Winchester and you never found my clit!”

Tears start to drool down this immature cunt’s face and begin to fuck itself in his red bodily (or should i say bloodidly) fluids, “IF YOU LEAVE WE ARE OVER!”

“Thank god,” I merrily smile, “When I come back I expect you and your things to be gone.”

I close the door and smile. 

I HAVE BE REVIVED! MY LIFE PURPOSE HAS COME BACK TO ME! 

The chances of the winchesters presence to be picked by the FBI radar has been drier than me throughout the entirety of my relationship with the alcoholic fuck Frank Gallagher. I will NEVER date an alcoholic fucktard once more. 

I practically lunge into my impala as I turn on the engine. Even though the engine sounds the same for every single day in the past year, this time I swear it is roaring to life. It is like my passion has become dusty and right now, I am dusting off the dust ready to ignite it once more. 

I cut through the streets, but of course without risking the lives of the great citizens of America. I park in my designated parking spot of the hidden location of the FBI facility. 

I rush, scanning my card more than a hooker's customers ever scanned for her. 

“Mr. Yarbrough!” I huff, as I am a bit out of breath. 

“Agent Catstars,” Mr. Yarbrough greets me back as he turns to a cliche expiring white man with hair whiter than jizz, “This is Mr. Baylord.”

“Hello Mr. Baylord,” I shake his hand, proud of myself for not accidently calling him Gaylord. 

“Ms. Catstars.” He firmly shakes my hand back super duper freaking slowly. I wanna get into the action, I am sick of the mundane formalities. 

“He works in the surveillance department and has found the footage of the Winchesters.” Mr. Yarbrough explains as I sit on a chair across from the two men.

“That is so peachy.” I respond with a smile. God damn I am so fucking fake, I sound like I am a girl from georgia who fucked her dad and liked it. 

“Let’s see the footage.” Mr. Yarbrough clicks on a remote facing a gigantic TV on my left. 

The TV turns on quicker than Frank Ghallager has made me. It shows some footage of the interior of an Arby restaurant. 

Dean sluggishly sits on a table, creating wrinkles in his already wrinkled black suit. Sam the fucking sky fucker walks literally as non chalant as non chalantly possible with no wrinkles on his suit.

“Hello,” Sam barfs shit out of his mouth in his most sincere way possible, “I’ll take a pecan chicken salad wrap, a cheese burger, and some pie.” 

The cashier begins taking in the order of the men who deserve to eat fucking horse balls in a cell for the rest of their lives, “I am sorry sir, we do not have pie.”

“THERES NO PIE?!” the hissy baby abruptly yells turning to face the cashier, “SAM YOU TOLD ME THEY HAVE PIE.”

“Well, Dean.” Sam rolls his eyes, “I am obviously mistaken.” 

“I ain’t eating from here.” Dean sits up from the seat, as Sam groans following his ugly petulant ass brother.

“Dean, we literally can go to a place with pie afterwards.” Sam negotiates as the camera switches to them walking out of Arby. 

“I want pie with my burger.” Dean responds just like the needy child Frank Ghallger is. 

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I am tired of manchilds.

Once more the camera switches to the parking lot where the impala is. There is some figure in the back seat and Sam and Dean drive out. The footage ends, as they are no longer in the purview of what the camera captures. 

“Go back.” I ask leaning forward, in response, Mr. Baylord clicks the remote. 

“Stop right there.” he pauses at Dean’s impala, “Zoom in at the backseat.” 

“We have not been able to identify the man in the back of their impala.” Mr. Yarbrough replies, “We believe he is wearing a suit, like the Winchesters.”

“That means the Winchesters have been doing whatever sick work they are doing and posing as people they are not.” I reply with my eyes glued to the screen as if it is Anthony Starr naked. 

“Show her where we got some of the unknown man’s face.” Mr. Yarbrough commands Mr. Gaylord. 

He fast forwards pauses at a certain time. He zooms into the backseat and plays the video slowly. 

It shows a man’s brunette head slightly turning. He has a sharp nose and despite how many pixels the lip area of his face has, he probably has fairly plump lips that’s skin tone blends quite well into his face. 

I tilt my head as it hits me harder than a school bus. 

Oh my fucking god. 

“That’s Agent Beyonce.” I whisper, stunned. 

“What?” Mr. Yarbrough responds, flabbergasted. 

THE WHOLE TIME THE FUCK WAS BRUNETTE LIKE THE WINCHESTERS? 

“That is Agent Beyonce.” I repeat, louder and still slow as if I am processing a big dick stretching me out. My heart rate incrases, “Oh my fucking god.” I turn to look at the men across from me, “He was a double agent!”

TAG LIST

Sam leans forward towards his brother, as he begins to speak “So get this -”

Castiel suddenly appears right in front of Dean, concomitantly in between Sam and Dean. 

“Cas!” Dean exclaims as he is seated and his view is right at Cas’s dick, “We got to work on your teleporting!”

Cas raises a brow moving away from the Winchesters, “Sorry Dean.”

“Cas, is everything going well?” Sam asks, genuinely concerned with his eyebrows furrowed, “You usually don’t come so frequently.” 

“No.” Cas looks at the confused Winchesters, “We should have gotten her a role as a rock goddess, now she is going to chop her nipples off.” Cas tells them. 

Sam and Dean are utterly dumbfounded. Sam is disgusted at the imagination roaming in his brain, and Dean is weirdly turned on. But he will never admit that. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean almost yells, concealing his new secret kink unlocked with horror.

“Jettie said she will chop off her nipples if you both do not come to Huntsville, Alabama.” Cas responds as he is tired of Jettie’s presence. He does not fancy being in the FBI. 

Sam's mindboggled face dies down into a vacant bored countenance, “Cas! She was being sarcastic once again.”

“Oh.” There is silence, “Well, like Dean always says when he is drunk and alone, ‘I don’t understand women’.” Cas responds, causing Dean to roll his eyes, just like the women who rolled their eyes at Dean when he did not understand them.

“What are you here for, Cas?” Dean responds, as he just wants to get drunk and think about nipples. 

“We are staying at Quality Inn Hotel-”

“Crappy ass hotel.” Dean murmurs. 

Cas pauses and then continues, “I don’t have the 53 bucks to pay for the night.”

“Cas, doesn’t the FBI cover that up?” Sam queries, closing the screen of his laptop that is probably frozen on porn thanks to Dean. 

“She said this is off the books,” Cas responds. 

Sam is unlocking his rusty lawyer brain thinking if he can get Jettie in trouble as he slowly says “That is really odd.” His brain draws a blank so he decides he will figure it out later and go for the flow at the moment,“Dean will pay.”

Dean huffs, he is annoyed knowing his brother has enough money, but he pulls out his wallet. There goes his money to get drunk. It looks like it is just him and porn. 

“I think Catstars has a perilous bank account,” Cas looks at Dean as he takes the cash, “Give me more money to pay for her night.”

Dean stares at Cas, heavily annoyed, “My bank account is pep-peri-”

“Perilous.” Sam aids his brother, internally smirking at how uneducated it is. 

“Perilous too, Cas.” Dean continues, extra pissed off at how much aura he lost. He brings out an extra and his last hundred dollar bill for Jettie, “It is not my fault she did not become a rock goddess.”

Cas opens his mouth but Sam quickly cuts him off, “No Cas, we can’t find her a position as a rock goddess.”

“Okay.” Cas responds with the cash awkwardly in his hands. 

“Don’t look like this is the first time you have touched cash before.” Dean responds, with a sour face as he misses his money.

“Other than the dollar bill you gave me, it is.” Castiel responds. 

Dean rolls his eyes. 

“Do teal wigs contain a zombie drug?” Cas asks. 

“What?” Dean asks as his face twists into the sassy face of a rotten teenage girl.

“There is no xylazine in wigs.” Sam responds by opening the screen of the laptop once more.

Dean’s eyebrows are furrowed as he dares not to try to pronounce xylazine given what has happened.

“Ok. I must go now.” Cas intensely stares at them, “She already thinks I take too long in the bathroom.”

Before Dean and Sam can say their farewells, Cas disappears. Like poof in the thin air. 

JETTIES POV

Jettie: oh baby. u are my heart.

Unsaved Contact: grrrrr my heart roars for you babydoll 

Jettie: oh my! i was thinking of buying special lingerie to only show you, you beautiful hunky piece of sweet white chocolate

Unsaved Contact: that makes daddy and daddy junior very happy 

Jettie: I am just short on cash baby 

Unsaved Contact: your daddy shall give you a gigantic stack of cash as gigantic as my dick,  you my dumpling 

Unsaved contact sent $700 via apple pay. 

That fucking fool. I snort looking at my phone with a smirk. In two hours, the FBI will come to this fat ugly fucks house and arrest him because because his stupid ass gladly participates in child prostitution. It is not my case, but I get the big fat bucks from it. 

I sigh contently at my beautiful bank account. I look up to see the king of taking a million fucking years to poop returns back to me after an ungodly amount of time. I get up from the couch that probably has the shape of my voluptuous butt molded in it due to the sheer time I sat on it.

“Thank fuck.” I glare that the long pooping king, “I thought you shitted so much your intentions came out and you had to fuck yourself with the intestines.”

He halts, flummoxed, right under the bright white light. His ugly teal shiny plastic teal wig shines more than my future. 

I roll my eyes at the man who lacks social skills. It makes my coochie dry, “I was joking.”

“Ok.”’he responds with his voice and face void of any emotion. Probably what his mom had when he slithered out of her. 

We make our way to the receptionist as Agent Beyonce practically follows me as if he is gripping my hair and using it as reigns. 

“We would like to book two separate rooms, please.” I ask as I pull out my apple card that now can afford this ugly ass useless hotel. 

“That will be $123.67” the receptionist responds looking up to us. However, she does not even look like she enjoys this job even remotely as her young face is as sour as a lemon. 

Agent Beyonce brings out two crisp hundred dollar bills from his trenchcoat. I furrow my eyes brows as I swear on my beautiful ass that that fuck has only a dollar? Or did my hunger for a donut hallucinate his hundred dollar bill as a dollar? 

“Here.” Beyonce hands the women the bills. The bills are crisper and straighter than my back. 

So this whole fucking time, I could have gotten that donut? 

THE NEXT DAY

Some stupid fuck with a death wish has the audacity to knock on my door at 5 am sharp. 

“GO AWAY!” I yell, pulling the cozy hot covers over me. 

“Jettie.” Stupid fucking ass annoying ass early bird ass Beyonce ass speaks, “We got to work.”

I squeeze my eyes shut trying to savor the scarce and last seconds I shall have of sleep, “We can start late.” I respond, rolling out of my bed that is as cozy as a fireplace. I open my door and behold, he is there,“Think of this as a sleepover.”

Beyonce cocks his head to the side with those blue vacant eyes staring right into me. 

“Beyonce, have you EVER had a sleep over?” I question, yawning in the most ugly and unfeminine manner. But it is okay, I am not trying to impress Beyonce with my beautiful lethal beauty. He seems like a gay twink, afterall. 

\

“No.” He responds lacking any sort of emotion as he typically does. I move out of the way for him to enter my room and sit on a sofa as stiffly as a barbie doll. 

I crease my face in confusion, “Do you have any friends?”

He pauses, “Uh yes, Sa- The pizza man.” He responds, in a way avoiding looking me in the eye. Shit, I’d be embarrassed too if I was a loser whose only friend of mine is a pizza man. I doubt he even knows this dude's name. 

“Okay.” I yawn once more, “So you are just ready to skiddale like, right now?”

“Yes.” He responds looking at the mess I have created. There is fast food from yesterday night’s dinner loitering around and my leather jacket and dark wash jeans thrown around.

“Well, I am gonna go shower and get ready, ok?” I turn my back towards him, discreetly picking new undergarments. I pull out a dark brown suit that is a more sexy brown than Dean’s leather jacket. The pants are baggy, yet straightened more than my hair, the coat has sharp shoulder puffs, with two buttons. I pull out a basic white formal button up shirt to wear underneath. 

I start the shower and close the bathroom door. 

I enter the shower, “Beyonce, wanna know the plan?” I practically yell until my vocal chord becomes as damaged as the split ends in my hair. 

“Yes.” He responds, “Are we going to start by going to the victims house?”

“The news we published does not reveal the victim's specific address." I shout as I soap myself up, “As tempting as it sounds, we cannot make it too easy for them.”

“The Winchesters would probably get suspicious.” Beyonce yells back. 

“Exacto perfecto!” I yell back as I wash the soap off of me, “So, they will look for the victims house by asking people.”

“Okay.” Beyonce yells back.

“I have been watching them. They typically go to the police with the ugly fat audacity to impersonate us. They go to the news channel or people related to the victim mentioned in the paper with some faux alias. In the paper we have not mentioned any victim.” I yell, as I just stand in the shower. I am done, but I gotta enjoy the sizzling hot water on me, “They won’t go to the police given what has happened.”

“The Winchester would go to the news channel?” Beyonce responds.

“Most likely. It is a small news channel so they do not talk much about the BOLO search and whatnot for the Winchesters.” I respond, turning off the shower, “However, wherever they even go in Alabama, they are more deep fried than mc donald french fries that have been burned into charcoal powder.”

I dry myself with the white towels the hotel provided. I start clothing myself in my beautiful suit that shall witness me arresting the Winchester once and for fucking all.

“Ok.” He responds. I get out of the bathroom and he gets up to the door. 

“What the hell are you doing?” I howl as he lifts his hand to touch the handle. 

He turns back to me with his eyebrows creased, “Are you not ready?”

“No!” I retort, “I got to wear makeup. Jeez, have you ever had a girlfriend or something?”

“Does the pizza man count?” He responds as serious as a lion ready to kill a hyena.

I know for a fact this teal haired fuck is gay, “I guess so.” I get to the desk and dump my angel kiss purse revealing all my makeup. 

I quickly do a simple classic look with brownish toned shades to align with my brown coat. However, this teal haired fuck is still in his trenchoat. Does it not stink of his sweat?

“Okay.” I respond, giddy as fuck, “Let’s skidaddle!”

I walk out of my hotel room as Agent Beyonce trails behind me like my personal slave that knows not to run away even if they don’t have a leash or chains. We make our way back into my beautiful sexy car. 

I plop my butt on the driver's seat. 

“Take a left.” Beyonce responds, looking at the map. 

I softly smile, a wee bit proud of him. He is getting used to being the GPS -  gross pathetic system. 

I take a sharp left and BOOM!

My eye are fucking harrased with bright ass red and blue lights. Very patriotic but very fucking annoying. 

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME??!?!” I scream, as Beyonce himself is puzzled. 

Stupid fucking police cars surrond us as if we are a billion fucking bucks.

“DEAN AND SAM WINCHESTER.” An ugly stupid police officer yells, “STEP OUT OF THE CAR.”

“NO!” I yell throwing my head on the steering wheel, “these stupid fucks think we are the Winchester’s!”

“You do drive the same car at them,” Agent Beyonce responds, unfazed by the fucking police lights. 

“No, HE fucking drives the same care as me and how fucking dare he!” I sneer back at Beyonce. 

“DEAN AND SAM!” The ugly ass police officer who deserves a smack so hard he flies all the way to China, yells, “GET OUT OF THE CAR NOW1”

“This whole fucking this is gonna take hours, hours we do not fucking how.” I groan. 

I am so done. Just fucking done as how incompetent and stupid the police are. 

TAG LIST

“SAMMY!”  Dean grunts, making sure his voice is deep and assertive. “RISE AND SHINE!” 

“Yeah,” Sam groans, adjusting his pillow to his comfort, “Five minutes, Dean.”

Dean gently kicks Sam on the leg, as he puts on his leather jacket,“GET UP! I found us a case.”

“Mmmmm,” Sam groans into the pillow, still heavily asleep. 

Adjusting his jacket, Dean rolls his eyes as he throws his head back. He turns around and bumps into a rock hard chest. 

“CAS WHAT THE HELL!” Dean yells, as he takes a step back, “Personal space!”

Cas remains there with his hands drooping down like a stiff Ken doll, “Sorry Dean. When I teleported myself, I didn’t realise I would teleport so close to you.”

Sam is perked up, as he still lies down and turns around to see Cas in all his glory.

“Cas,” his upper lip squishes upwards with a wrinkled nose, “Why is your hair teal?”

“You guys told me to wear a wig when I meet Special Agent Catstars.” Cas tilts his head. 

“The only thing special about her is she is a special pain in my ass” Dean murmurs, as he sets himself on his bed, separate from Sam’s.

“Cas,” Sam begins to sit up, “We meant you get a natural hair colored wig. Like a blonde wig.”

“Oh.” Cas responds, yet his voice lacks the emotion usually experienced when someone says oh. 

“Anyways, did it go well?” Dean asks, as he begins to tie the shoelaces of his boots. 

“I got a permanent solution.” Cas responds, standing in front and equally distant from each of the Winchester’s beds. 

Silence. Dean looks up and Sam eyebrows crease. 

“And…what is this superb solution?” Dean impatiently queries with a sarcastic smile. 

“We need to get her an opening as a rock goddess.” Cas responds, looking at the both of them. 

“Rock goddess?” Sam asks, as he runs his hand through his hair messier than the vines of a jungle. 

“How the hell does that solve anything?” Dean queries, with his anger increasing. 

“Well she told me in the car, ‘We just toil as a meagerly paid FBI agent when I wish to be a rock goddess.’.” Cas replies. 

“Cas,” Sam chuckles as his eyes dart down and then up, “I think she was being sarcastic.”

“Oh.” Cas once more responds. 

“Did she suspect anything?” Dean asks with his eyebrows raised. 

“I am not sure, but she makes very strange jokes just like Dean.” Cas replies as if he is the Winchesters robot. 

Sam chuckles, as Dean seems a bit taken back. He does not like how similar Jettie is to him, especially the fact they both drive a Chevy Impala 67. 

“She actually let me drive her Impala.” Cas replies, as he begins to take a seat on the hotel’s lovechair.

Dean ignores the connotation of what Cas just said, “Aren’t you supposed to be with her right now?” Dean asks, trying to move on. 

“Well,” Cass sighs, “I cannot be here for long because to her, I am currently passing a stool in a 7/11 bathroom.”

“Those bathrooms stink.” Dean grimaces. 

“Okay,” Sam responds, gently nodding his head, “In the meanwhile, Dean and I will be working on a case.”

“Good.” Cas responds, just sitting there, awkwardly staring at them. 

There is pin drop silence. 

“Okay Cas, I believe you have finished shitting.” Dean responds, unsure what to do now as he is ready to go. 

“Where is the case?” Cas ignores Dean. 

“Huntville, Alabama.” Dean smiles, proudly because he has found a case before Sam, (a little competition they were having) “A man was killed and his intestines were wrapped around his neck and he still survived.”

“It is fake.” Cas calmly responds, “It is a trap Jettie and I created.” 

“What?” Sam responds, as he stands up, stunned.

“Are Alabama and Home Sweet Alabama the same thing?” Cas cocks his head slightly, “Because she keeps calling Alabama, Home Sweet Alabama.”

 “Arent the FBI roaming around Rhode Island?” Sam blatantly ignores Cas’s question. 

Cas turns to Sam, “Yes. But Jettie believes the opposite of what the FBI believes. She believes you guys will not hide and will continue to find cases.”

“So the case is fake, and the FBI is looking if we are hiding and not hiding.” Dean responds, as his heart beat quickens. Not of fear, but sheer annoyance on what a pain in the ass Jettie is to him. 

“Yes.” Cas responds. 

“What should we do?” Sam asks Cas. 

“Not go to Huntsville, Alabama.” Cas responds to the obvious, causing Sam to be slightly annoyed, “I must go now.”

“Bye Cas.” Sam and Dean say at the same time as Cas vanishes. 

“Now what,” Sam huffs, with his famous puppy dog eyes as he turns to Dean. 

“We ain’t gonna stop.” Dean scoffs, “I found us an alternate case. But, you can sleep a bit more.”

Dean had not found another case, but he sure as hell wanted to win the competition.

JETTIE’S POV

“What the fuck is taking him so long? Is he dying his fake ass teal wig brown with his shit?” I murmur to myself, as I grab a chocolate donut from the donut stand. 

I stare at it, slightly less appetized by it as I have just thought about shit and the donut is covered by chocolate that looks like shit. My imagination is my curse. But it cannot curse my hunger away. I walk towards the cash register. 

“Hi Mr…” I read his name tag, yeah I cannot pronounce Rajeshwarishaturikitra Baladvinderaja, “Just this please.”

“Okay.” He responds with a thick indian accent as he rings up my delicious donut that is making my mouth water. 

“7.67 dollars, Madam.” He looks at me.

7.67?!?! WHO THE HELL PAYS THAT BLOODY MUCH FOR A MEAGER DONUT. 

“Yeah,” I stuff my hand into my pocket of my tight black leather jacket knowing I only have a crushed up five dollar bill, “I’m sorry, I just remembered I am on a diet.”

“I always forget too,” he laughs as he points to his beer belly. 

I smile back, as I retreat with an empty stomach. Agent Beyonce FINALLY makes his way out of the bathroom. 

Thank the holy fucks of fucks. 

“How fucking long does it take for someone to taking a fucking shit?” I walk towards him and sneer at him, “I got grey hairs due to how much time you took!”

Agent Beyonce furrows his eyebrows as he looks at my beautiful black hair, “I do not see any grey hairs.”

“Argh.” I groan, rolling my eyes. The chemicals from his teal wig must have seeped into his brain, altering it from understanding my hilarious jokes. Or he is just plain stupid. “Anyways, Budiddy, do you have any cash lingering about?”

Agent Beyonce reaches into the pockets of his trenchcoat, and pulls out a crisp one dollar bill. He smiles like a robotic puppy as he hands it towards me. 

“Keep it.” I snarl. He can afford a hideous teal colored wig but not enough money to buy a bloody third rate donut. 

We make our way into my impala. 

“You take a break and let the zombie drug from your teal wig take over,” I tell Beyonce as I walk to the driver's seat, “I shall do you the honors of driving us to the hotel.”

“Okay.” Agent Beyonce responds, with a slightly raised eyebrow, as he sits next to me. 

I start the engine of my sexy car as I make our way out of the 7/11 parking lot. Shortly after, we drive past the sign that welcomes us to Huntsville. 

“The name is quite nice.” Beyonce says as he is now on the vomit inducing map duty.

“Yes, we are hunting the Winchester. It fits.” I remark, as I turn to look at him. My hunger must be making me crazy because to me, it seems Agent Beyonce was thinking of another meaning of the name. “So, Beyonce, what's your first name?” I purse my lips in curiosity. 

“Umm..” Agent Beyonce takes a long ass moment to himself that is so long, my BBL is bigger, “Halcyon.”

“Halcyon?” I raise my eyebrows absolutely appalled at how ugly and unequivocally absurd the name is, “Like idyllic time or whatever?”

“Uhh…yes.” He responds, weirdly uncertain of his own name, as if he is a deranged man escaping from the mental asylum without any social skills. 

“Your parents have some taste in names.” I murmur, taking a turn, as I internally sigh at this fireball of knowledge. 

“What is the plan?” Halcyon Beyonce asks. I wince, I cannot believe a mother and a father thought it was a merry idea to name their fucking baby Halcyon. Does the whole family come from a mental institution or some shit? I CANNOT take that name seriously. 

“Well, I have been tracking the Winchesters response time to come to a case.” I reply, trying to act as nonchalant as possible, especially because I want to bully him, “So, I have a supposition that around the time we reach Huntsville Alabama, the Winchesters will almost be there.”

My fellow uncanny teal wagged comrade turns to me, just to intensely stare at me. 

“Okay, thunder eyes,” I nervously chuckle as his blue eyes seep into my skin, “You got something you gotta tell me, budgay?”

“What if they never come?” he queries like a zombie. 

I boisterously laugh at the stupidness that just flew out of his mouth, “I will chop off my nipples if they don’t come.”

Agent Beyonce's eyes widen a bit as he turns his head away from me. I roll my eyes, why can’t the FBI gods bless me with an agent that gets me and can take my jokes?

“What do you know about the Winchesters?” Halcyon asks me, “Outside the files.”

“Well,” I giddy smack my lips ready to erupt my barrage of information, “I bet they are one of those poor fucks who think they met God or angels or what not.”

“You don’t believe in God?” Agent Beyonce asks, I think he seems a bit piqued. 

“I believe in God. But I do not believe you can meet God until the afterlife.” I respond as I focus on the wheel, “It is like me believing ghosts and demons exist.” I chuckle at the foolish thought. 

Beyonce just remains there with a phlegmatic expression. I swear the only way to get true emotion out of agent Robot Beyonce is by sticking 20 carrots up his asshole, tickling his g spot. 

“They are cocky. They are dangerous criminals who hinder the safety of Americans and believe they can get off scott free.” I lightly rant, “You know they impersonate the FBI! Our prestigious FBI people that undergo years of training.”

Silence. I ever so patiently wait for him to say something. How the hell did he become an FBI agent, I swear he is special needs. And he probably had and currently has no friends because whoever befriends him probably needs so much patience that eating his teal wig is a more sustainable lifestyle.

“That is terrible.” Beyonce replies with a monotone after my perky boobs became a deflated balloon due to age.

“Whoever impersonates the FBI deserves to have the skin of their balls peeled off and made into lapshades.” I spew out, as I can feel the hot molten lava of my anger rising throughout my body, “Each finger nail deserves to be peeled off and stabbed into their eyeballs. I can prattle on and on.” I chuckle, “I don’t want to bore you.”

“Okay.” Beyonce responds, looking straight ahead at the road as if he is an injured sigma lion trying to be demure.

“We are here.” I drive the car to park into the parking lot. 

Agent Beyonce intensely looks at the huge sign reading, ‘Quality Inn Hotel’.

“Quality my ass.” I retort, “But you don’t get too fucked over for 53 bucks a night.”

“I thought the Bureau covers our costs.” Agent Beyonce queries as he gets out of the car.

“Well,” I pause, pondering whether I should throw in a white lie that may or may not be a white lie, “This is off the books, therefore, we have to pay.”

“Ok.” Agent Beyonce responds as we head towards the entrance, “I have to go to the bathroom first.”

AGAIN? I swear to god this uncanny fuck JUST pooped.

“Can you hold it until we check in the rooms?” I ask, with my eyebrows raised. “Did you take miralax or something?”

“Uh no,” Halcyon responds, “It is healthy to have bowel movements thrice a day.”

“Shit. Really?” I turn to look at him, but I remember my doctor telling a young constipated me to eat more veggies because I don’t poop enough, “Oh right you do.”

Before the doors can even close when we enter the check in area, Agent Beyonce rushes towards the bathroom. I roll my eyes and scoff. I sit on the welcome sofa, getting my bum nice and toasty as I wait for his ass that is probably riddled with poop rashes. 

---

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TAG LIST

Pinching my clit wouldn’t get me as angry as I am today. 

“I sincerely apologise.”

“For not getting your eyes checked up?” I retort glaring at the man, wishing my eyes could expel laser beams on him. 

“I’m sorry?” He furrowes his fat eyebrows which looks like emo black caterpillars passionately kissing. 

“How the hell did your stupid ass not notice not one, but TWO HUNKY FAT NOTICEABLE men escape?” I query leaning close to the man, “One night. You couldn’t even hold them for one fucking night. Hell, not even 6 fucking hours!”

He stands straight, running a hand through his afro, “Like I said, I apologize about my incompetence. I had no intent whatsoever to have them abscond from our custody.”

I roll my eyes at the man. I wish I was black so I could cuss him out in the most premium way possible. “Because of you, the Winchesters are going to practically bully and taunt me.”

His innocent eyes gleam with hope that should be fucking shitted on, smeared across rough textured walls, and smushed by a hydraulic press, “There is a manhunt for them right now, a BOLO alert alerting -”

“That they escaped, yada yada,” I huff with my shoulder as flaccid as a dick. 

“In essence,” he rests a hand on my shoulder with a soft smile, “We will find them!” 

I push my head back, “Don’t underestimate the Winchesters. Those fucks are long gone. We are back at square one.” I shoot his soft smile down and it seems whatever dumb words he wanted to say to calm me down. “I can't believe the Winchesters grew a bloody spine and escaped.” I remark practically murmuring the obvious to digest my earlier than anticipated downfall.

“Yeah,” the Agent smiles and chuckles. 

“NO one should escape the prison without clearing with me first?” I stab my pointer finger in my chest, “Who the fuck do they think they are?”

“Think positive.” He smiles like a gleeful puppy, “Being victorious a second time will be sweeter. Dare I say insatiable.” 

“What?” I shake my head and cross my arms at the tomfloorely that just rolled out of his mouth.

“The Winchesters have merely defied you to capture them once more.” He literally blabbers like sophisticated chat gpt, “You have proved this task is right in your purview. They think they have absolute dominion of the law, by the way they blatantly disregard it. You will find them again and can make them pay with a draconian sentence.”

“Draconian sentence,” I chuckle for the first time after this God forsaken fiasco, “Oh, I will make it draconian alright.” 

He laughs along with me, “I am pleased to have cheered you up despite this harrowing time of yours.”

“Thanks…”

“Jamal.” He softly smiles once more. 

“Jamal.” I look at my shoes due to the awkwardness and back up, “Okay! I am going to go now. Because I have to meet my boss and I am not looking forward to it.”

“Okay,” he stuffs his hands in his pockets. 

Awkwardly turning around from him with a smile, I make my way to an empty hallway. My smile immediately drops down the moment Jamal can’t see me. I am so not ready to meet Mr. Yarbrough.

“Just bless me with something to find these Winchester mooks shitting on my reputation.”I chant an invocation to the FBI gods.

“Hi.” a pallid voice that profusely irks me, interrupts my imperative solo time. 

Creasing my eyebrows I practically spin around to face a - WOAH! 

I face the biggest jumpscare of my life. I am gonna piss my pants, not because I was scared of him, but because of his ugliness. A man in a trench coat has practically adorned his mysterious natural hair color in a cheap dollar store wig. A fucking bright TEAL colored wig. Is he colorblind or some shit?

“Hi?” I look at the man with thunder blue eyes that are intensely seeping itself in my soul as if I painfully waxed his armpits without his permission. 

He pauses in silence, just staring at me with a facial expression that probably tastes as trite as water. 

“Who are you?” I question ogling at his cheap teal wig eager to learn his natural hair color. Is he bald? Got really bad alopecia or something? Did he get gum or cum stuck in his hair?

He shows his agent badge, upside fucking down, “I am Ca- Agent Beyonce. Our boss Mr. Yarbrough has partnered us up for me to assist you in detaining the Winchesters.” he intones. 

Hell to the fucking no. 

I whip myself away from this fugly teal haired man and scamper off to find my boss that wrongly so underestimates me. 

I notice Mr. Yarbrough with his peppered hair looking more salty than pepper in the span of 10 hours. He notices me with his silver eyes as dull as the tone Agent Beyonce talks with. I swear he mentally prepares himself as I march right over to him.

“I see you met Agent Beyonce.” He responds with his under eye bags more apparent than ever. 

“I feel bad for him.” My fake ass puts both hands on my heart, as a showcase a distraught frown and woebegone eyes, “You gave him the hope that he is actually valued by me.” 

“You can use his assistance, Jettie,” He flatly responds.

“The Winchester's escaping is not my fault, sir!” I cried indignantly!

“Consider yourself in luck, Jettie.” He spits out no longer being the playful boss from our last encounter, “I procrastinated to inform the haughty pantheon of the FBI of your feat. Had my procrastination not overcome me, it would have been quite a persistent stain on your reputation. ”

“This is stupid.” I huff, crossing my arms.

“Take the help, Jettie.” He puts a supportive hand on my shoulder. 

“I am taking this as a personal affront.” I riposte, as my arms remain crossed like a petulant child.

“Jettie.” He responds like a strict dad.

“You better pay me more than you pay him,” I raise an eyebrow.

He sighs, but his shoulders never slouch down, “Deal”.

“Yes! Okay, but do I need to work with Agent Beyonce? For pete's sake, he has ugly teal hair.” 

“Jettie.” he rigidly responds, practically shitting on my attempt to negotiate.

I huff once again, “Fineeee” I slouch my shoulder, turning around to find agent Beyonce. 

“Good luck” Mr. Yarbrough wished, except his voice lacked benediction. It seemed he just awaited the ripe retirable age of 65. 

“Wait!” I turn around and face him, “Can I say whatever I want to him and not get in trouble with HR?”

He closes his eyes and sighs, and then opens them, “Sure.”

“Yes!” I exclaim as I allow my boss to relax as he is free from my presence. “BEYONCE!” I yell in the hallway where our first encounter occurred. 

He turns around like a goddamn NPC and walks up to me. 

“Hello” he responds just like how I would imagine the boring soulless color grey would. 

“Well, I have yet to introduce myself. I am special Agent Catstars” I lend out my hand and he firmly shakes it. 

“It’s…nice to meet you Agent.” he replies as if he is slow in the head. 

“A gaggle of our people are trying to hunt the Winchesters. But we…we are going to do it our way.”

“Our way?” he queries, cocking his head to the side, but his arms remain straight and low. 

“Yes! I will smell Sam's disgusting oils from frying chicken and capture him and his alpha wanna be brother!” I give him a cheeky smile, but that dies down as his eyebrows furrow. Christ, does this man live in a cave? I sigh, “The man hunts and whatever else is trying to capture the Winchester  are trying to find where they are hiding. I have been analysing these people, I can bet my beautiful thick noir hair that they are not in fact hiding.” 

He slightly cocks his head to the side, as his arms still droop down like a stuffed animal, “Then where are they?” 

Goodness gracious, this man needs chapstick.

I cockily smile, “The Winchesters always go to a place where a recent death happened. It is always something on the news. And it is always a weird death, like… a man's eyeballs exploding green poop.” 

His iceberg blue eyes become wider than a hooker's legs, “A man's eyeball can explode green poop?”

I jerk my head back, “What. No! That was just a made up example man.”

Seriously, why do I get paired up with the weirdest men? First that bacon stick twink and now this mentally insane man.

“Okay,” he responded in the most bland manners of bland manners.

“They just always go wherever a weird death happens.” I clarify, ready to get the hell away from here.

“Okay.” Jesus, I am missing the dude with all the questions.

“We are going to make them come to us!” I showcase my beautiful pearly whites.

He just stands there like a goddamn NPC, the only thing that moves is his lips that yearn for moisture, “How?”

“We are gonna stick a tracker in their loose buttholes” I joke, knowing HR would fuck with me. That is the only bright side in this case.

“Okay.” He yet once again utters out. I groan, because I feel like I am talking to a robot programmed without any social skills. 

“Bro, I was joking.” I awkwardly admit, why the fuck did I even make the joke in the first place, “The plan is, we are going to plant fake news of a death so ridiculous, their whole body is gonna tingle so bad they are gonna have to go.”

“Okay.” He once again fucking responds. I am ready to cry. A fuckass baby crying nonstop is more entertaining than this lifeless body of flesh. Can this idiotic say something more than hello and okay? Is it transform his teal wig into a dehydrated pee color? 

“We are going to Huntsville, Alabama!” I cheerfully respond as a last resort to induce something even similar to a smile from him. 

He somewhat gets the hint. However, with his arms still low like a flaccid dick and his face more neutral and boring than the color beige he says, “Uhh, Yay.” His voice even lacked the vocal variety. He makes me want to claw my heart from my chest and vigorously smack him so hard with it, it invokes some sort of emotion.

“Follow me.” I order, as I turn around and make our way to my car. 

As we walk, Agent Beyonce resembles a fat lost puppy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he only knows the food court part of this place, otherwise, he follows me as if I am the reindeer Santa is so dependent on. After centuries of awkwardly walking, well actually he was awkwardly walking like an NPC, making me feel awkward to be seen with an NPC, we make our way to my car.

I pull out my key quicker than a man without a condom. I turn to see Beyonce a little taken back by my mode of vehicle. His eyebrows are creased like small tits being smashed together in those strapless and backless bras. 

“You drive the same car as Dean Winchester?” he slowly asks the so very obvious. 

“No” I totally frankly respond, “I drive those mobile home truck things that you can poop in.”

He stands there as the wind makes the plastic strands of his teal wig go up and down like an ocean wave. 

“Okay budiddy,” I perkily chirp, “Can you drive?”

“Uhh yes.” 

“Splendid!” I toss him the car keys and he awkwardly catches it. I plop my butt in a shotgun, practically melting in the sexy seat. 

Agent Beyonce very stiffly settles himself in the driver seat of the car with a posture more straight than a hard dick. 

“We need to go on I-95 S. You know how to get there?” I ask. 

“No.”

Fuck.

I look at the fat paper map like a lost bitch. My stupid fuck accidently purchased the map in spanish. 

“So umm, just take a left….” I respond totally knowing this area on the back of my hand. 

He takes a left by running the red light. 

“Now take a right.”

My tired screech as we take that right, running the red light again!

“Who taught you how to run oodles of red lights? Dean Winchester?” I ask. 

“Sorry?” he is wide eyed as if I caught him jacking off. 

“Nevermind.” I let his driving slide as we are on an FBI case, “I have been analysing the Winchesters too much.”

“Okay.” He responds, keeping his eye on the road.

“Take another right, because I am always right!”

“Okay” he responds in a boring manner as he takes the right, “Did we not just start here?”

I look up to see we went in a fucking circle because our pro asses arent acquainted with this place of the great USA. I am not made for this map shit. 

“The map is in Spanish, okay!” I exclaim, pissed off, “I can not read Spanish! Therefore, I cannot give good directions!”

“I believe that is English." He responds looking at the back of the map. 

I flip the map just to see it is in fucking english. You are fucking shitting me. 

“Okay, we need to get on High St, next left on Charles St, and then to Japonica St to merge on I-95 S.” I practically bombard him. 

“Okay.” He responds. 

He drives past the delicious McDonalds that makes my mouth water. Using every single ounce of my self control I direct myself away from wanting to make myself a fat American. I cannot fit the stereotype now can I? Until I remember something.

I open the glove compartment and pull out stone cold mcdonald french fries from probably 3 days ago. Yes! Beyonce looks at my fries, “Want some?” I respond with my mouth disgustingly stuffed with them, “Warning, they are like 3 days old.”

“No thank you” He responds, keeping his eye intensely on the road. 

I pull out my phone, “I am gonna call the local news in Huntville, Alabama to put some fake news to lure the Winchesters.” 

“Okay,” he responds, “We are on 1-95 S now.”

“We are gonna be there for a long time, pal!” I respond dialing the number for Waff 48 news.

“Okay.” He responds, I mentally roll my eyes.

The phone rings. Every ring makes me more fired up to make the Winchersters cry. 

“Hello. This is Elegance from Waff 48 news. How may I help you today?” 

“Hello. This is Special Agent Catstars.”

---

To be more realistic, I wrote this while really needing to poop.

[Title may be changed. Recs would be more than welcome]

It’s getting real. I knew this day would come, I just expected grey hairs by the time it came. No, I actually expected to become bald with all this god damn stress the Winchesters gave me.

I grip the steering wheel, practically giving it a hand job with the amount of god damn turns it is taking to go to the police station. My heart rapidly beats to the sound of this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ&list=RDdQw4w9WgXcQ&start_radio=1 ,as I am moving on to the next chapter. This case is finishing, shockingly quicker than how quickly I come.

“Who even are you?” Sam queries in his puppy dog way. 

I swallow hard as my stupid stomach begins stinging probably due to the excitement, “I am special agent Catstars and-”

“I don’t think we’ve ever had a taxi driver work for the FBI too, Sammy!” Dean casually chuckles, nudging his brother with his shoulder. 

The pain in my stomach is increasing to a point I am so fucking done. That fucking poop colored hair twink mustered up the audacity to fucking down grade my job that takes 6 to 7 years to prepare for, for a stupid job a blind five year old can do. I will whip that fat nasty motherfucker so hard he will forget his daddy issues and develop daddy kink. That little bitch looks fucking disgusting that dumping him in a toilet filled of shit could’nt make the twink uglier than he is. He shouldn’t fuck with a god damn FBI agent unless he wants his small ass balls electrcuted until they become so black people will think he stole a black mans balls and got surgery to have em. Or maybe the so called "Michael Jackson Skin Diease” he apparently is a victim to. 

But nooo! I can’t spew out my beautiful insults that Shakepere is envious of, because it will be considered “police brutality”. I have to dial it down many notches so his ass doesn't get his mugshot with tear stained cheeks. 

“Ah yes” I plaster the smile I plaster to get a rich man to buy my drink, and top it off with a sugary sweet innocent voice, “this taxi driver will take you to a place where you can showcase your bluesteel. One last time.”

“I don’t think it will be my last time” He cockily smirks. Smirking like that is supposed to be my fucking thing! 

Fuck the song rythym I said my heart beats like, it beating so fast, faster than the godamn time it takes for fucking cheetahs to run. I am so glad this horrendous case is coming to a cease because these stupid ass Winchester can suck my fat dick as I become a horny ass french person and bifler Dean with it to a point his cheeks are scared with dick marks. 

I take a deep breath trying to get my brain to create a remark not too vulgar or offensive. Instead the deep breath causes some pressure to tickle my goddamn butthole. I shouldn’t have eaten fucking indian food. I squeeze my ass cheeks shut, ‘come on Jettie, you can wait twelve minutes and think of something to say’.

I sigh, responding “Maybe you, Mr. Losechester, will rot in a mental facility because you are delusional”. 

ONCE AGAIN this fuck smirks. He is smirking so fucking much it is making me miss that bacon haired stick boy and his never ending questions. I am not in the mood because it is taking the force of hulk times infinity to keep my ass shut, and disregard the sharp stings my stomach is stabbing me with. 

“As long as the nurses are hot” He remarks. 

My brain clicks with the words right on my tongue like yesterday night guys kids. I grace their eyes with my quintessential smirk, fighting through the pain of my shit trying to slither its way out, “Don’t worry, Nurse Steve and Bob are extremely good looking.”

“Luckily for you I don’t swing that way” 

This time his smirk showcases his pearly whites. For a man traveling around the country like a goddamn rodent he miraciously has the time to get a tooth cleaning. My nose flares, as my fingers twitch unable to pull every single god damn tooth of his and push them into his eye socket to ruine his fucking ugly ass smirks. The only fucking perosn who should be smirking is me! 

“Luckily?” I could not think of any thing to say because my stomach is fucking doing the macerana. It is grumbling and more cranky than an old person being put into a group home. And I am clenching my buttcheeks so much, my butt better be fatter than the Kardashians. 

“Because” He licks his lower lip and once fucking again smirks,  “I would take all the competition away.” 

Oh that little shit! My knuckles become whiter than the whitest person, as my toes curl ready to be shoved down his throat permanently shutting up this useless oxygen inhaler. That motherfucker is calling for me to hit his fat head so hard it becomes fatter than a beach ball. I am so ready to throw his old ass out my Impala so he becomes road kills and the rats fucking eat him and cry becuse he tastes like pickled eggs. I wish I could scare him so bad is bushy armpits stink so bad the whole of Rhose Island becomes suicidal because putting his nasty stink ass in the washer failed. 

My ass cheeks and my ego cannot take this torture any more. I ignore the fat fuck causing a permanant dent to my backseat. I take an abrupt left on Lyman street and pull to the side of Sheffeild Ave. My feet pushes the pedal when it should have fucking kicked Dean. The car halts to a stop on the side of the street causing all of us to lean forward and eat the sit infront of us.

“Dude!” Sam groans.

“I rate you one star!” Dean lets out, intently staring at me as he becomes a big alpha daddy for injured Sam.  

Sparkles car stops behind me as she steps out of the car with her eyebrows furrowed. 

“WATCH THEM!” I yell at Sparkles and the boney boy, as I run into the park. 

Thank fuck it is dark and no one can see me. The wind slaps my face as I run to the opposite side of the park. I look back and can barely see my car. I frantically scramble around, clenching my ass cheeks, finding a bush. 

I pull down my jeans along with my panties and let it all erupt. It comes out as the sound of drums on crack. I sap all of it out of me.

“Ahh” I moan as the stomatch pain shits itself out.

I greedily pluck some leaves from the bush. I make sure the leaves cover my whole hand, because I will stab myself if I come back with shit smeared hands. I violate the leaves, manipulating them to scoop up my poop kissing my butthole. 

“What the HELL are you doing, lady?!?” 

Oh shit.

My heart beats rapidly as I look up to see a man with tattered hair, wrapped in a blanket smeared with dirt and leaves. He fucking stinks of rotten gag inducing potatoes. His dark eyes can see me in all my glory, with my coochie bush more bushier than the bush behind me. I couldn’t afford a god damn wax because my boss docked my pay because I am too “incompetent to capture the Winchesters”. 

“I am marinating the soil.” I humbly respond nodding my head in pride, “A-actually fertilziing it to promote the growth of trees, letting out CO2, and fresh air for the dear children who play here.”

He raises his brow. Well, it is hard to see with how dark it is and the dirt on his face so I think he raised a brow, “Young lady, you realise there is a public restroom right over there?”

Well, I be damned. 

“I did not” I stare at the ground in the utmost shame, “I would appriciate some privacy to make sure I don’t smear shit on my undies” 

“You realise this is a crime?” He crosses his arms as if he is my father. Except my fathers shirts aren’t riddled with these many holes.

“Yes” I groan, as every single crime is memorized in my head, “I fucking know this is a fucking crime. I ate some delcious indian food, however, it is packed with shit that is more effective than god damn miralax or any type of laxatives. So you get your stinky ass out of here because I will backhand you for invading my privacy.” 

His bare feet steps backs and makes the most Karen move ever,“I am calling the police”. He talks as if he is a sassy ten year old boy. 

I huff. Whipping myself with one last leaf. “Sir, I am an FBI agent, ok?”, I throw the poop ridden leaves infront of him causing him to step back. I pull up my pants, and cross my arms, “Back off”. 

He lifts his chin, “Where is your badge?”

I let out a breathe and smile, “Forgive me for not bringing my fucking badge because I had the worst case of explosive diarehha. It is in my car.”

He raises a suspicious eyebrow pulling out a flip phone. Fuck. I can’t handle this right now.

“You know what. Let us just forget this happened.” I take some steps behind me, putting my hands infront of me. 

“If I see you again I will call the police.” He sternly remarks reminding me of me when I scold criminals.

“You won’t” I respond with the lies the criminals barf out. 

I walk off to the public bathroom. I am greeted with a stink that my explosive diarrhea cannot top. Wishing I had a mask, I wash my hands. The god damn humilation I have just endured sticks to me like wet clothes on skin. Who the fuck created this park layout? Did their mama drop them as a baby? Could they not have make it crystal fucking clear where the bathroom is? Not hidden like their negligent father?

I make it back to my car where Sam and Dean are erectly sitting like little dolls. 

“What happened?” Sparkles queries with the twink by her side. 

I brush my hand through my black hair, “I’ll tell you later. We need to get these schmucks at jail”

I am taking what happened just now to the grave.

We make our ways into our cars. 

Before I can get comfortable, Sam decides to run his mouth, “It is quite unprofessional to-”

“Cry about it.” I turn on the engine and with sharp turns I make my way back on East Ave. 

“Some little kid wants their insult back” Dean stares at me. 

It seems his smirks twerked away, as I have insulted poor little defensless Sammy that induces a great amount of tears that are greater in the volume of the shit I have just shitted out. Mad Dean looks like a pre-puberty boy trying to mog me. His eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are practically pouting as much as an insecure girl who believes their lips are too small. His philtrum becomes much more prominent making him a wrinkly old raisin. 

“That little kid would have made you cry by now” I respond, shoving away insults that can get me in trouble. I probably am in trouble by now.

“Speaking from experience?” The cheery gleam from his green eyes evaporated from our previous talk, as this fuck is looking at me with digust. As if he is a judge literally judging me for murdering his mom and chopping off his fathers ass cheeks. 

“Why do you think your Papa Johny isn’t here? He is crying right now.” I plaster an obviously fake sympathic look.

“Dean just ignore her. She likes the bickering.” Sam butts in with his eyes deader than their mother. 

“You both should enjoy the human company. For all you know, I may be driving you guys to solitary confinement.” I shrug as I merge onto I-95 S.

No response, as if I was their maid. I focus on driving as they want to look out in the window in the most performative way ever. 

After what it feels like, hours of silence, we finally reach Donald W. Wyatt Detention Facility. I park the car as Lutenent Sparkles grabs the cloud kisser. This leads me to grabbing Dean’s biceps, roughly pulling him from the backseat. 

“Hey, easy there. I don’t like it rough” He retorts, widening those eyes of his with a slight smile. 

“I do,” I quip as I look ahead of me. 

 We bring the Winchesters in, as the officers ogle at our achievement.

“I’m gonna park these bad boys here.” I smirk as the officers drag the Wincehsters in their cells of doom and despair. 

Finally, Dean can be a headache for the other cops. I did not expect him to piss me this much, but I guess my diarehha ruined my tolerance for Dean.

I make my way to my boss who is nodding his head in pride. I am so happy I almost skipped like a little girl.

“Catstars,” he puts his hand on my shoulder, “You did good tonight.”

“Thank you Mr. Yarbrough.” I cheekily smile extremely giddy, “Since I got the Winchesters, will I get my previous salary back?”

He grins at me, practically making me wait for his response more than the time it took me to find the Winchesters. 

“Oh come on, Boss!” I sigh, almost stomping my foot.

“Yes. I’ll do the paperwork.” He chuckles, showing his wrinkles that are insanely similar to James Franco.

“Yipee!” I effervescently clap, blinding him with my beautiful pearly whites.

“Go to the hotel and relax.” He fixes a strand of his silver hair, “ Big day tomorrow talking to these boys.” 

“Thank you!” I respond, I can finally get that coochie wax!

Just when I am about to leave, Lutentent Sparkes parks herself right infront of me. 

“You mind telling me what happened at Oak Hill Park?” she queiring raising her thin ozempic eyebrow. 

“What?” I respond, completely taken back. 

“Where you publicly urinated and whatnot.” She rests a hand on her hip.

That fuck called the police on me. How dare he. 

I give her a sweet smile,“I was practicing for April fools.”

“April fools?” Once again her skinny eyebrow is raised, unlike what her expectations of me should be.

“Honey,” I chuckle, “That's tomorrow.”

“Oh wow really?” Now she is the one who looks taken back.

“Yeah!” I run a hand through my stygian charcoal hair, “I’m gonna go to my hotel room. See you tomorrow?”

“Next time don’t practice or pull a prank during work like this. Okay?” Yay! Another person who has disciplined me like my father today!

“Understood.” I nod at her as I sofly walk off.

THE NEXT MORNING

RING A DING A LING A DING A LINGA

Who dares ruin my beauty slumber? I can barely open my eyes as the sun is practically smacking me from the curtains. 

I groan, rubbing my hand into my eyes. 

RING A PING A ZING A RING RING RING RINGGG

I huff, tired of this desperate person calling me. I pick up my phone to see it is Lutenent Sparkles at 3 fucking am. Who the fuck wakes up at that time. 

“Hello?” I yawn, picking up the call, and regretting it. 

“Catstars,” her voice is robust with urgency, “the Winchesters escaped. Come now.”

I chortle, “April Fools to you too! I wish you let me have more sleep though.”

“Arghhh” she groans, “This is serious. They are actually gone.”

“Honey,” I continue giggling because this is my favorite April fools joke, “The jig is up. Now I shall sleep.”

I yawn once more, cutting the call. Right when my head hits the pillow my phone rings once more. 

I pick it up, “Okay this is annoying please let me sleep.”

“Catstars, I'm dead serious.” Her voice pierces my eyes this time, “The Winchesters escaped. This is NOT an April fools joke.”

I’m silent. My heart is frozen.

“I swear to god” I practically seethe into the phone, “If I come and it is-”

She immediately cuts me, “I swear on my children it is not”

“You are telling me the fucking Winchesters ESCAPED?!”

“Yes.”

---

Criminal.

According to Merriam-webster a criminal is “one who has commited a crime” or “a person who has been convicted of a crime” (Merriam-webster).

According to FBI Agent Jettie Catstars, a criminal’s epitome are the notorious Winchesters.

[Title may be changed. Recs would be more than welcome]

“An FBI agent can’t even buy her mensural products in peace.” I murmur to myself as I practically sprint out of the CVS.

“Don’t arrest them!” I hiss into my phone, “We need more evidence of their crimes.”

My butt smashes the driver's seat of my sweet ride as I quickly put Lieutenant Sparkle on the speaker.

“Okay, Suspects on Blackstone Boulevard. I am tailing them” her voice booms through the whole interior of my car.

I smirk, I knew coming to Providence, Rhode Island was a genius move. My horseless carriage roars to life as I violate the speed limits of Hope Street. “I am on Hope Street, just about to turn on Rochambeau Avenue” I swiftly respond, taking a harsh left causing my tires to squeal in excitement.

“It seems they are going into Swan Point Cemetery."

My face crumbles in disgust, “Lord, these sick mooks, I turned onto Blackstone Boulevard. I am behind you.”

I tail behind Sparkle’s sparkly new police car. However, she forces me to kick the brakes. 100 goddamn miles from the cemetery she parallel parks her car. My eyebrows furrowed, I park behind her.

She exits the car with some twig boy as she gasps for air. She bends down clutching her knees as if the boy will ram his di-

“Catstars, we gotta stop here, I cannot stand cemeteries, they make me violently throw up” she gags clutching onto her spineless stomach.

I huff and unfortunately do not puff away her phobia of cemeteries, “Are you going to make me pull up my big girl pants to arrest these pairs of dildos myself?”

“Not necessarily, you can take Jake” she points to the bacon haired twink, “He is an apprentice!"

I give him a pissed off stoic look, not daring to blink as if it was some cringe staring competition.

He loses the competition as his pimple lathered mouth barfs out some stupidity, “I-I know how to fire a gun and to arrest someone”

I sigh. I will bet my perky tits that I am going to arrest these people, why not let a weakling learn the ways.

“Follow me, uneducated youngling” I valiantly cross the street walking towards the entrance of the cemetery.

Thank the holy gods I can see them. Their eyes intently read every single name of every single gravestone.

“Their robust list of crimes includes grave desecration,” I whisper to the kid, who I swear glued orangutan fur to his head, “I can bet the children locked in my basement that they are going to do commit this crime without miraculously feeling the heebie-jeebies”

“Why?” The kid queries to me ever so nicely, informing confidential information that took me 6 7 years to acquire.

We seek refuge from the dangerous eyes, crouching behind the tall grave of Henry Becker born August 13, 1853 yada yada yada.

“Haven’t you heard curiosity kills the cat?” I spit back, making sure the rats reincarnated as humans cannot see us as they do their arm work out of stabbing, lifting and throwing dirt.

“Why didn’t you arrest them already?” he bloody badgers me.

“Oi, I don’t know mate,” I randomly turn British, “maybe I am curious?”

“So are we going to wait here until they dig up the grave?” gods annoying creation of curiosity questions one more time.

“No, we are going to my flat to eat a bag of crisps.” I look at him with my eyes sizzling with fury at his goddamn stupidity.

“Why are you British now?” the golden child queries yet again!

“To bang your mum” I bit my tongue in regret as soon as I said it. I may love laws more than my own mother, but the law that prohibits me from saying life altering rot is my enemy, “Sorry, I get nervous during this moment so I become weird” I fib. I do not want another meeting with humorless HR.

“Uh, it’s ok?” his voice slowly dies down. Even his non question sentence sounds like a damn question.

The cocksucking brothers pull out salt and sprinkle it on the grave.

“Why are they sprinkling salt on the graves?” he questions, yet again!

“Gee, I have no clue.” I turn to him, plastering a saccharine smile as if he is the cure to cancer, “Maybe they are bone eating cannibalists who prefer their bones to be a little salty” I remark, miraculously patiently waiting for the exact moment to arrest these doofuses.

“A lot salty” the kid finally says something that elicits a mere giggle from me. Thank god for the parent that gave him the once in a bluemoon funny gene.

The short one fingers his pocket, furrowing his eyebrows with a slightly pouted frown.

“Hey man, gimme a match”

The gloomy hunk of tree bark touches himself, in hunt for a match.

“Action time!” I giddy whisper.

“May I say it?” the ugly dimwitted redheaded stepchild ever so stupidly proposes.

“Fuck no, I have waited too long for this” I respond as we stand up.

“You have the right to remain silent” My voice booms, making our presence more known than the bacon head being in the closet. Unfortunately they don’t bow to my ethereal feet whimpering and begging me to immediately arrest them, in awe of my lethal sirenic beauty. So, I was forced to continue gifting them the opportunity to hear my melodious voice, “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” We advance to the suckers stunned as if their balls were electrocuted. “You have the right to an attorney.” As I take out the hand cuffs I cutely smile, another criminal to lay my hands on, “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you”.

My cuffing victim is the one who is short, yet, unfortunately makes me look like a tripping hazard. The ugly fat rat has the bloody audacity to smirk at me. He is probably hiding his pain knowing these are not the breakable pink fluffy cuffs that he is probably acquainted with his master numerous times on a daily basis. I mimic his soon to be depressed face, as my icy hold hands slime around his warm wrists. I finger the cuffs for the cuffs to finger his wrists. Just like his wrists in bed, we all know the wrists will jerk and shake with the useless hope of being free from the unbuldging cuffs.

Bacon hair finishes fingering the cloud sniffer by hindering his wrists wiggle movement with the harsh metal cuffs. I smile with glee, these roaches are not going anywhere.

“So, what are your names?” the piglet's long lost brother asks the two hunks without my permission.

The bigger stands there like a goddamn NPC. But I shall do him the honors of promoting him to a KFC (Kentucky fried human).

The one I arrested yet again smirks, practically batting his long eyelashes like a horny slut, “I go by Delcan Bornkamp.”

“Definitely an omega” I whisper to the fire crotch as I let out a snort. He chuckles as the shorty raises his eyebrows in amusement.

The pointless giant musters up a smile, probably copying the aura his ‘Declan Bornkamp’ has, “I-I’m Moe…”

“Lester?” I question, as ‘Declan’ and ginger giggles.

“N-no!” his eyes widen as if he is a molester, “I am Moe Brown.”

I nod my head pouting my lips, “Such a pity that you Winchesters are showing early signs of dementia!”

Their face dies down knowing the jig is up. I smile showcasing my pearly teeth because the two men in front of me have no reason to.

The pathetic worthless carrot top gained too much confidence around me as he says, “maybe it is Dysnomia?”

“Can it, twink” I hiss at him, staring him in the eye like a mother discipling their naughty kid.

I lift my chin up, as I grab Dean’s bicep. My hand fails to even wrap halfway around his humongous bicep. He would be a good stripper. The twink grabs the 67 foot virgin.

“We are taking the two victims of a botched plastic surgery to my car” I demand as we walk out of the cemetery.

As we walk to my car, Dean is taken back by what his eyes are laid upon. He widens his eyes, staring at me as if I make his one night stand gay.

“Oh come on, Dean”, I say in my sugary sweet voice with a mawkish smile as I ever so nicely open the backseat door for him, “You are nowhere near special to be the only one who drives an Impala 67.”

“My mother says I am special” he jokes with that god damn cheeky smile, his puke green orbs gazing at me through his thick eyelashes.

The over confidence in him is practically oozing out of him, begging me to give this man a reality check.

It is right on my tongue, the mean thing that can kill his smile, and I tilt my head with fake pity and say it. “Such a shame your mother said lies during your limited time with her.”

I am the most talented predictor on earth, as that smile dies down, to a frown. A man who has sacrificed the safety of citizens for his petty crimes does not deserve to smile. He deserves to rot in a cell ugly fat and lonely.

“Hey” the tall one chirps towards me, “I know you are arresting us, but you can at least be polite about it.”

“No.” Icy and cold, it runs out of my mouth.

⋆˚꩜｡