my name is, Jordan, you can call me Jt, Jay, or Jordy. I write for many things, my requests are open, and if there’s something that’s not on my masterlist I will try my best to write whatever you want me to. it might take me a bit, but I hope to capture what you want. I also don’t roleplay, sorry not sorry.
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synopsis: You woke up married to a man you didn't know. Now that you know him, you don't want to get divorced
tw: fem!reader, one use of y/n, there's a fair bit of swearing, it's mentioned that reader has a cat, they both fall in love exceptionally fast, my really lazy attempt at writing a fight scene that doesn't last long, it alludes to smut but there's none actually written, barely edited.
fic, ficlet, drabble, request
I'm back on my Joaquín shit I guess. Is there even still an audience for his fics?? I hope so.
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You woke up very confused, the sheets weren't yours, your walls weren't white, and you definitely did not have a breathing pillow. Your pillow wasn't a pillow at all, you noticed, it was a man. A handsome man, but a stranger too. You gently untangled yourself from the man before sitting up, thankful you at least had a shirt on. A paper on the desk caught you attention and you got out of the bed before walking over to it.
Certificate of Marriage
This is to verify that
Y/n L/n and Joaquín Torres
were united in marriage
at Get It Done Marriage House
on the 30th day of July in the year 20XX
"No, no, no, no, shit," you muttered to yourself, reading the rest of the paper. You were married to this stranger?
You looked back over at the bed to see him waking up, which caused you to freeze and stare at him. "Uh, hi," he mumbled, clearly just as confused as you are.
"Are you Joaquín Torres?" you asked him.
At least he didn't seem freaked out over you knowing his name. "Yeah, why?" You said nothing as you silently walked over and handed him the paper you were holding. "Oh," he sighed and you nodded, messing with the hem of the shirt you were wearing. And shit, you were wearing his shirt and naked underneath.
You waited a few more seconds before filling the silence. "I have a wedding I have to go to in a few weeks out of town, but in about a month we can get to a lawyer and get divorced," you offered.
Joaquín nodded slowly. "Ok, that works for me," he assured you. The two of you moved around the room and got dressed again, you bashfully handed over his shirt again. That was the moment the two of you noticed the rings, each of you having one simple gold band on your ring finger.
"You can keep the certificate if you'd like," you told him, typing your number into his phone.
You didn't see it, but there was something that flashed across Joaquín's face. "Sure, you got someone you don't want to see it?"
"Just a cat," you joked. "But no, I'll just lose it," you admitted. You finally looked up from his phone, a small smile on your face. "I guess we'll be in touch," you offered before leaving.
✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧
Callie, the bride, was chatting away about how Matt, her soon to be husband, agreed to have three kids with her. You zoned out after a little, it wasn't that you were being mean, you were just the only one here that was single. Well, technically you're married, but they don't know that.
You mumbled an excuse to the bathroom and stood, leaving them to take a breather and actually use the bathroom. You were washing your hands when your phone went off, you decided to check it before you left.
Joaquín: Hey, just wanted to check on you
Mrs. Torres: I'm good, just hiding in the bathroom of a cafe as friends talk about their plans for children
Joaquín: Not your kind of conversation?
Mrs. Torres: More like I don't need to be asked when I'm going to find someone to settle down with
Joaquín: You didn't tell them you're married?
Mrs. Torres: No, did you tell yours?
Joaquín: Not yet, maybe later
Mrs. Torres: Ah, maybe I'll tell mine when you tell yours. If you make it quick I can tell them at lunch
You were pulled out of the messages by Morgan walking into the bathroom. "Girl, are you ok?"
"Yeah," you nodded. "Why?"
"You've been gone for a minute and we got worried," she informed you.
"Sorry, just got sidetracked," you mumbled.
Morgan led you out of the bathroom, her smile kind. "The others had to go, but I'm free if you'd like to go to lunch or something."
You and Morgan were best friends and you have been since you were in middle school. "Sure," you looped your arm through hers as you two left the cafe.
"Is that a ring?"
"Oh, uh," you blinked at Morgan for a second.
"Is that where you disappeared to the night before we left DC? Did you go get married to a stranger?"
"Maybe…" you muttered.
Morgan laughed as you two kept walking. "Are you going to stay married?"
"We said we'll talk about it in a month, he's out in DC and I'm now here."
"Is he at least nice?"
Your phone went off again, you quickly checked the message just to make sure it wasn't one of the others saying they left something. "Yeah, he is," you nodded, showing her the message where he sent you 30 dollars to pay for your lunch.
"Wow," she nodded. "I think drunk you stole one of the last good men," she laughed as you joined her, sending a quick thank you and assuring Joaquín he didn't have to send you money.
✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧
Joaquín had started sending you messages every day, starting with good mornings to telling you about his days to good nights. And as much as you loved Callie and your friends, it made the month in Florida and with constant asks if you were single bearable.
You realized, maybe at the wrong time considering it was during the rehearsal dinner, that you were falling for Joaquín. Which was crazy considering you had that one actual in person interaction that you remember and a whole bunch of texts.
You were freshly showered when you decided to call Joaquín, bored out of your mind in your hotel room. "Hey," Joaquín answered almost right away.
"Hi," you smiled as you slid farther down the bed to get comfortable.
"Is everything ok?"
"Yeah," you assured him. "Just in my hotel room and bored," you told him.
"Want to tell me about your day then?"
"Sure," you muttered before going on about your day. Joaquín listened and even asked questions at the right time. It was easy to love Joaquín you realized as you both talked, feeling supported and loved even over the phone.
"Sounds like you're having fun," Joaquín's smile was evident in his voice.
"Would be more fun if you were here," you found yourself saying before you even thought it through.
Joaquín's laugh floated through the speaker and you wanted the earth to swallow you whole. "Would it, Mrs. Torres?" he teased.
"Shut it," you muttered. "And I don't ever remember changing my last name."
"Details, details. You're still my wife," he was just teasing you but there was something about hearing Joaquín call you his wife that made you smile.
"Ok then, husband, how was your day?" you asked, and you couldn't see him but his smile went soft hearing you call him your husband.
Joaquín told you about his day and you listened and asked questions at the right time. It was just as easy for Joaquín to love you as it is for you to love him. Both of you thinking you're crazy for falling for someone you barely known and have barely known. Your yawn cut through the call and Joaquín softly smiled at the sound. "We can talk more tomorrow, cariño," Joaquín told you. "Good night, Mrs. Torres."
"Good night, Mr. Torres," you responded before you hung up.
✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧
The wedding was very pretty and you teared up listening to Callie and Matt say their vows. You sent Joaquín a message once the ceremony was over just do he'd know. "How's the husband?" Callie was suddenly next to you.
"How do you know about that?" you asked her, your heart tracing over getting scared.
"Morgan, she let it slip earlier," Callie waved off your question. "How is he though?"
"No clue, he hasn't answered me today," you informed her.
"How rude," Callie joked, nudging your side. "Come on, you're dancing with me," she pulled you to the dance floor before you could get away from her.
You were having fun with Callie when the first scream sounded out, causing everyone to pause and look over. There was a group of men with guns in the tent with you all, a stark contrast to the the pretty pastels of Callie's weeding.
There was more shouting as they started moving around, but you took a deep breath when you saw Captain America run in. Everyone was shuffling around trying to stay out of the way as Captain America and Falcon fought the men. "Holy shit," you muttered.
"What? Are you ok?" Callie asked, she was mostly behind you since Matt was on the other side of where the fighting was happening.
"I just realized I married the Falcon," you told her, your eyes on Joaquín.
"Seriously?" Callie laughed, which drew the attention of your husband and his friend as they finally got the last guys down. "This is actually amazing," she announced. "I'm not even mad that this happened on my wedding day, not if it means that you just now learned that your husband's the Falcon!" You wanted to hide as all eyes turned towards you, but all you did was raise your hands to hide your face. The little gold band still sitting snug on your finger as you did so. "No, seriously. I wanted a wedding to remember, I think I got it!"
"Callie," you groaned, embarrassment flooding your veins at being the center of attention.
Matt ended up being your savior, walking up and taking his bride's hand in his. "All drink are on us for however long we need to be here for the heroes and police to take statements!" Matt called out, effectively sending all attention away from you.
"Thank you," you sighed, removing your hands from your face.
"I've got your back," he told you. "But not always, this is for you to face," he winked as he walked away.
You were confused for only a moment before a pair of arms wrapped around your waist. You looked over your shoulder to see Joaquín's face there, smiling at you. "So you told your friends," he muttered as you placed your hands over his where they rested on your stomach.
"Morgan saw the ring and told Callie, actually. Did you tell yours?" you asked, turning around in his arms to face him.
"I did," Joaquín confirmed.
"I guess the fact you came in here in your suit and fighting people is the reason you haven't answered your phone today."
"Did you send me texts?" Joaquín lit up and pulled his phone out of a random pocket. You watched as he read through them with a smile on his face. "You look gorgeous by the way," Joaquín told you after getting to the very first message you sent of the day, one of you in your dress before your hand and makeup was done.
"Yo, Joaquín!" Sam called him over.
Joaquín looked between you and Sam but you only gave him a smile. "Go, your job is important," you told him.
"Just this once, after this, you come first," he promised before running over to Sam.
You made it a few steps towards the wedding party when Morgan ran up to you. "Oh my god, he's totally in love with you," she squealed, leading you towards the rest of your friends.
✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧
Joaquín had to stay until the very last man was safely in a cop car and taken away. The entire time he watched as car after car left from the wedding, wondering if you were in one of them. "Ready to go?" Sam asked Joaquín.
"Uh," Joaquín caught sight of you sitting alone on one of the benches. "Nah, you go ahead," he told Sam.
Sam's eyes shot to you. "Alright, good luck, man," Sam patted Joaquín's shoulder before taking off.
"You didn't have to wait for me," Joaquín said as you looked up.
"I wanted to," you assured him. "Plus, I want to talk about something," you added.
"Ok," Joaquín crossed his arms.
"I know we talked about divorce but I don't really want to," you muttered.
Joaquín lit up and you saw it. "I don't either," he admitted.
A moment passed where you both just stared at each other, processing that you're staying married. "My car's in the parking lot if you need a ride somewhere," you offered. Joaquín gave you the name of his hotel and watched as you smiled at him. "That's where I'm staying," you laughed.
"Well, Mrs. Torres," Joaquín offered his hand and you took it, standing up to walk him to your car hand in hand. "I think we have a wedding night too recreate sober this time. If you're ok with that."
You smiled at Joaquín, pausing at your car for a moment to lean in and kiss him. "I'm more than ok with it," you winked. "But you're driving, Mr. Torres."
"Yes, ma'am," he took your keys before unlocking your car and opening the passenger door for you. You couldn't wait to officially tell everyone this was your husband.
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♈︎ 𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ you’re naturally bold, friendly, and just flirty enough to make dean’s eye start twitching when someone else gets too comfortable around you.
๋࣭ ⭑ he tries to play it cool. he really does. then somebody touches your arm while laughing at your joke and suddenly dean’s beside you, hand settling at your lower back, making it very clear that he’s entered the conversation. he insists he’s not jealous. he just thinks the guy is “annoying.” sure, babe.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ your impulsive charm makes him nervous, but sam is more likely to watch quietly than start a scene.
๋࣭ ⭑ he notices every person who looks at you. every single one. he won’t interrupt unless someone crosses a line, but the silence afterward is suspiciously heavy. you ask if he’s okay and he says, “yeah, why?” with an emotional wound the size of europe.
♉︎ 𝖙𝖆𝖚𝖗𝖚𝖘
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ dean trusts your loyalty, but the second someone mistakes your warmth for availability, his mood changes.
๋࣭ ⭑ you’re steady enough that he doesn’t spiral easily. still, he doesn’t enjoy watching someone flirt with you while you politely pretend not to notice. he’ll slide into the booth beside you, steal one of your fries, and start calling you sweetheart more than necessary. very subtle. nobody notices. except everybody.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ sam gets quietly possessive because your affection feels rare, safe, and a little too precious to share.
๋࣭ ⭑ he doesn’t make a scene. that would be too easy. instead, he gets closer. his hand finds your knee under the table. his answers get shorter. if someone keeps pushing, sam gives them one calm, unreadable look that somehow feels worse than a threat. you activate the part of him that has already mentally placed your toothbrush beside his.
♊︎ 𝖌𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖎
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ you flirt conversationally without even trying, and dean absolutely can’t tell when you’re being friendly versus when someone needs to be salted and burned.
๋࣭ ⭑ you’re laughing, talking fast, lighting up the room, and dean’s across the bar pretending he doesn’t care. five minutes later, he’s suddenly standing beside you with a drink in one hand and a very pointed, “who’s your new friend?” in the other. he loves your charm until anybody else enjoys it too much.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ sam trusts your mind, but your social ease has him overanalyzing every interaction against his will.
๋࣭ ⭑ you tease everyone. you make strangers talk. you can create chemistry with a brick wall when you’re bored. sam knows this. he also knows he’s being irrational. unfortunately, that doesn’t stop him from replaying the conversation later and asking, far too casually, whether you thought the bartender was attractive.
♋︎ 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖗
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ you care so naturally that dean gets territorial when someone else starts relying on you too much.
๋࣭ ⭑ it’s not always romantic jealousy. sometimes you simply spend too long comforting another hunter after a bad case and dean gets weirdly quiet because that softness is the thing he wants most and knows least how to ask for. he doesn’t want to share the version of you that remembers whether he ate dinner. emotionally mature? no. painfully transparent? yes.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ sam falls hard for your tenderness, so watching you give it freely to someone else stings more than he wants to admit.
๋࣭ ⭑ he understands that you’re caring. he likes that about you. loves it, actually. but when somebody leans too heavily into your attention, sam gets quieter and more withdrawn. later, when you ask what’s wrong, he says he “just didn’t want to interrupt”. tragic sad little giant puppy behavior.
♌︎ 𝖑𝖊𝖔
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ you attract attention by breathing, and dean’s leo placements take that as a personal challenge from the universe.
๋࣭ ⭑ you walk into a room and people look. dean notices immediately, then spends the entire night pretending he finds it funny while becoming steadily more possessive. one hand on your waist. one sharp look at anyone lingering too close. one smug little smile when you turn your attention back to him. he’s not beating the territorial allegations.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ sam admires your confidence, but he does get insecure when everyone else seems to want a piece of your warmth too.
๋࣭ ⭑ he won’t compete for attention loudly. if anything, he pulls back, which is somehow worse. sam starts wondering whether you would rather be with somebody lighter, easier, less complicated. then you seek him out across the room and he softens immediately. embarrassing for him. sweet for you.
♍︎ 𝖛𝖎𝖗𝖌𝖔
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ dean gets jealous when someone else starts appreciating your competence a little too enthusiastically.
๋࣭ ⭑ the flirting itself might slide past him. the second another hunter starts praising how smart you are, asking for your help too often, or looking at you like you hung the moon because you solved the case? dean’s suddenly hovering. he claims he only came over because he needs you for something. he does not. he just dislikes sharing his favorite person with the group project.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ sam is deeply attached to the feeling of being understood by you, so somebody else becoming your intellectual favorite is his personal nightmare.
๋࣭ ⭑ you and another person get absorbed in a theory, bouncing ideas back and forth, and sam goes painfully still. he doesn’t interrupt. he waits. then, later, he casually brings up three better sources, corrects one minor detail, and acts as if he’s not academically peacocking for your attention. subtle king.
♎︎ 𝖑𝖎𝖇𝖗𝖆
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ your charm is effortless, your smile is lethal, and dean doesn’t enjoy watching an entire room discover that at once.
๋࣭ ⭑ you’re polite. that’s the problem. people think they have a chance because you make everyone feel special for five minutes. dean knows you’re not doing anything wrong, but his patience still gets dangerously thin when somebody starts leaning into your space. he becomes extra charming too, except his hand is firmly on your hip and the smile does not reach his eyes.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ sam tries to be reasonable, but your social grace makes it difficult because people are always drawn to you.
๋࣭ ⭑ he watches for longer than he should. not because he distrusts you, but because he distrusts everyone else’s intentions. if somebody gets too bold, sam steps in gently, asking whether you’re ready to leave with a politeness that somehow translates to back off immediately.
♏︎ 𝖘𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖕𝖎𝖔
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ you’re private, magnetic, and difficult to read, which means dean’s jealousy goes from zero to a billion in seconds.
๋࣭ ⭑ somebody looks at you for too long and dean notices. somebody makes you laugh quietly and dean notices harder. he hates not knowing what you’re thinking, especially when another person seems to have your attention. the jealousy comes out sharp: more teasing, more touching, more eye contact that feels almost accusatory. very normal behavior from a man having a silent crisis.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ you trigger the quiet, intense kind of possessiveness sam wishes he didn’t have.
๋࣭ ⭑ sam doesn’t get loud. he gets watchful. still. almost unnervingly calm. he trusts you, but when somebody pushes too close, something in him hardens. his hand settles at your back. his voice drops. he doesn’t need to say much. you’re getting the version of sam who knows exactly how dangerous silence can be.
♐︎ 𝖘𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖚𝖘
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ dean loves your freedom until it reminds him that you could walk away whenever you want.
๋࣭ ⭑ you’re friendly, spontaneous, impossible to cage. that’s exactly why he likes you, and exactly why you make him nervous. if someone else makes you laugh or invites you somewhere reckless, dean gets competitive fast. suddenly, he has a better plan. a better joke. a better reason for you to stay close.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ sam gives you room, but your unpredictability occasionally sends his overthinking into orbit.
๋࣭ ⭑ he doesn’t want to control you. he knows better. still, there are moments when you disappear into a crowd, come back with three new friends and a ridiculous story, and sam has to remind himself that you chose him for a reason. he gets quieter, then melts when you lean into him again.
♑︎ 𝖈𝖆𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖓
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ you don’t give your attention away easily, so dean notices immediately when somebody else earns it.
๋࣭ ⭑ you’re composed enough that he never knows exactly how worried to be. then somebody impresses you, makes you smile, or gets invited into your carefully guarded inner circle, and dean starts acting strange. sharper jokes. extra swagger. unnecessary offers to help. you make him compete for approval without even trying, which is honestly very funny.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ sam knows your loyalty is valuable precisely because it’s not automatic, so the idea of losing your respect scares him more than flirting does.
๋࣭ ⭑ somebody else flirting with you? manageable. somebody else becoming the person you trust with the difficult things? unacceptable. sam gets jealous in a deeply capricorn-compatible way: quietly, seriously, and with enough repression to power a small city. he won’t ask for reassurance. he’ll need it desperately.
♒︎ 𝖆𝖖𝖚𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖚𝖘
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ your independence drives dean insane because jealousy doesn’t work properly when the other person refuses to perform reassurance on command.
๋࣭ ⭑ you have your own life, your own thoughts, your own weird little orbit. dean loves that until somebody else enters it and you don’t immediately explain the situation. then he gets grumpy. not angry exactly. just suspicious, sarcastic, and suddenly very interested in who texted you. aquarius, you make him feel clingy. he hates you for the experience.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ sam respects your space, but he can get insecure when you retreat into your own world without telling him where he stands.
๋࣭ ⭑ he won’t chase loudly. instead, he starts reading into things. the distracted replies. the private jokes with somebody else. the fact that you said you were “fine” in a tone he doesn’t trust. sam wants clarity, but asking for it feels vulnerable, so he waits too long and makes himself miserable. classic.
♓︎ 𝖕𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖊𝖘
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ dean gets jealous when somebody else receives your softness because he secretly wants all of it, even when he pretends he doesn’t need any.
๋࣭ ⭑ you listen too kindly. you make people feel seen. dean watches somebody open up to you and starts feeling left out before he even realizes what’s happening. he gets sulky in the most dean way possible: jokes that land a little sharper, shoulders tenser than usual, one quiet “you ready to go?” that’s absolutely not a question.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ sam’s weak for your empathy, and the thought of somebody else becoming your emotional priority quietly wrecks him.
๋࣭ ⭑ he understands why people are drawn to you. he’s drawn to you for the same reason. but if you start worrying over someone else too much, sam slips into the background and convinces himself he’s being mature. he is not. he is sad, jealous, and hoping you notice without forcing him to say it.
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hey babe!! do you think u could pls do smut for dean winchester x reader where she’s really tough and mean, she’s a hunter, but when she’s in bed with him she’s all shy and whiny?? :3
hiii !! of course, hope u like it:))
ALL BARK, NO BITE
wordcount: 2623
summary: Out there? You’re stubborn, mouthy and unapologetic– the moment Dean gets his hands on you? It all melts away.
warnings: fem!reader x dean winchester, established relationship, mild arguing, cursing, dean being a smug little shit, brat-ish? Reader, smut (dry humping, groping, grinding, fingering) think that’s all for now!!
“You’re unbelievable” you snapped, slamming the motel bathroom door hard enough that Sam probably heard it from his own room. To be fair, the shitty walls were thin, but still. Meanwhile, Dean chuckled while plopping down onto the bed– low, smug, entirely too entertained for someone who’d just spent the last hour being yelled at for something he didn’t even remember. Something about him not taking your hunting knowledge seriously, was it? Never mind, it’s not like it was a huge deal– you were just more… opinionated than others.
“Gonna hold this grudge forever, sweetheart?” He drawls, lazy enough that you can almost feel the stupid little smirk that was definitely on his face.
“Yes”
Dean huffs with dismissive amusement, more than used to dealing with your temper. “Cute”
You yanked your jacket off your body with enough annoyance to nearly dislocate your shoulder. “You are the most annoying person I have ever met”
“And yet–” Dean drawled from the bed, “ –you keep me around?” He adds, adding a sarcastic tilt to his voice to fake innocent curiosity. Asshole.
Heat flared instantly up your neck. Half from frustration, half from that ridiculously attractive gravel in his voice. God, you hated when he did that. That stupid voice– that same stupid grin from before you could feel without even seeing it. You opened the bathroom door just enough to glare at him. The Winchester looked entirely too comfortable sprawled against the headboard, green eyes bright with amusement, one arm behind his head like he didn’t have a single care in the world despite his girlfriend currently berating him.
“You’re insufferable”
“Mhm” Dismissive. Smug. Amused.
“You’re cocky” You continue, listing off all the different reasons Dean had pissed you off tonight.
He tilts his head to the side, a teasing glint to his eyes– further testing your patience. “Usually means I’m right”
“As if” A scoff escapes your lips as you plop down onto the mattress beside him– craving his closeness even while technically arguing with him. You were stubbornly looking at the other side of the room, away from his preying gaze, so you didn’t see the slow smile pulling at his mouth when all of your attitude disappeared the second his hand slid over your waist. Because suddenly, the same girl who’d spent all evening mouthing off at him was melting against his chest over one touch. And Dean noticed. Of course he did.
“Oh” he murmured quietly. No matter how many times y’all did this little dance, the back and forth– he’d always act as if it was new to him, feigning surprise just to get a rise out of you.
Smug bastard.
“Shut up” You huff out, shifting away from him once more– though your voice lacked some of the earlier bite.
Dean’s hand tightened slightly against your waist before dragging you back against him with embarrassing ease. (Stupid Winchester genes and their ridiculously large men, built like fucking tanks made for hunting and surviving on the road)
“There she is” He murmured, nose nudging against the top of your head.
You rolled your eyes instantly, even as your body betrayed you by sinking into his warmth– your back melting into his broad chest. “Don’t start”
“Start what?” His lips brushed the shell of your ear, voice dipping lower on purpose. “Pointin’ out how mouthy you always are until I touch you?”
Heat slowly creeped out your neck and towards your cheeks– not that you’d ever admit that, or let him see. “You’re so annoying”
“Mhm” Dean sounded entirely too pleased with himself. “Y’ve said that already, sweetheart” Before you could retort with another protest, his hand slid under your shirt– rough, warm palm splaying against your stomach, making your breath catch in your throat before you could stop it. And that– that was exactly the problem– because Winchester’s always noticed everything. Especially smug Dean Winchesters, looking for another thing to tease their girlfriends about. He pressed the proud grin you’d been avoiding all night against your shoulder, letting out a quiet chuckle. “Wow”
“God” you groaned, already annoyed and flustered, shifting even more away from him– back still flush against his chest, only now your face was practically buried into the pillows.
“No, sweetheart, c’mon” His fingers spread slowly against your skin, almost innocent, but you knew him better than that. He never did anything out of pure innocence, not when it came to getting under your skin. “You were just yellin’ at me five seconds ago”
“Still am” Your voice is muffled into the fabric of the bed.
“Sure y’are” You hated how weak you’d sounded compared to earlier. Hated it even more when his hand drifted higher– teasing the space between your breast and making your thighs pressed together automatically.
Dean went quiet for half a second, absorbing his quiet victory.
“There it is” He coos– voice soft, low and gravely as he murmurs against your skin, his face burrowing into the crook of your neck. Your face burned even more, hating how smug he was inevitably about to get.
“Shut up” Your boyfriend just laughed quietly against your neck, the sound warm enough to make your stomach tighten.
“Nah” He murmured. “Think m’ finally startin’ to understand something”
You groaned into the pillow once more. “If you say one more smug thing, m’ leaving”
“That so?” His hand slid higher beneath your shirt, fingers spreading slowly over your breast– squeezing it between his long fingers– until your breath caught again. “Then why’re you still here?”
You opened your mouth with a comeback already prepared– something sharp, mean and satisfying– but it was forgotten the moment his teeth grazed the spot under your ear. The noise that escaped you was humiliatingly soft. Dean went still for exactly half a second before you felt him grin against your skin.
“Oh, sweetheart” He said, low and rough. “You are not helpin’ your case here”
“Dean” You warned– but it came out ridiculously weak compared to all the earlier words you had to throw at him..
There was no bite left in it– you knew it and Dean definitely knew it.
His hand tightened on your waist, dragging you fully into his lap with ease. “Where’d all that attitude go, huh?” He teased softly against your skin. “Thought you were gonna keep yellin’ at me”
“I can multitask”
That actually made him laugh. A real laugh this time– not the teasing chuckle– a sudden, fond sound that wrecked any chance you had at staying irritated. (Whatever once of annoyance was left inside of you)
“Cute” He mumbled, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your jaw.
“You’re still annoying”
“Mhm” His lips brushed the sensitive spot caught between your jaw and neck, stubble scratching your skin. “But now you’re whinin’ about it”
“Am not” You retorted– flushed and embarrassed by how easily he could always get you to shut up and melt into his arms. Dean only hummed, entirely too pleased with himself, before tilting your chin up just enough to make you look at him. God that was a mistake. Because Dean Winchester looking at you like that– lazy and heavy-lidded and smug underneath you– was enough to make every coherent thought in your head disappear.
“There’s my girl” He said under his breath, proud like he’d won something.
You hated how your body brayed your stubbornness– reacting to his gravelly tone. One look, one touch, one stupid soft spoken sentence from Dean and suddenly all that sharp attitude melted into something embarrassingly soft. His thumb brushed slowly along your jaw, eyes fixed on your face like he was watching your walls break down, brick by brick.
“Look at you…” He murmured quietly. “Can barely mouth off anymore”
“I can too” You argue weakly– was it childish? Totally. But you needed to grasp onto whatever ounce of dignity that remained inside of you.
“Yeah?” His eyebrows lifted slightly in a quiet challenge. “Then do it” The dare should’ve been easy– it usually was– you’d moth off at him all day, any day. Usually you’d have ten insults locked and ready before he even finished speaking. But his other hand slid down your back, gripping your ass hard enough into his lap to pull a breathy moan from your throat. A slow, proud grin spread across his face, leaning in close enough for his lips to brush yours when he spoke.
“That’s what I thought” Then he kissed you– that slow, lazy movement of his mouth he always did after getting what he wanted– working you up just by being his unbelievably asshole-ish self. Your hands instinctively pressed to his broad chest, hands tightening on the fabric there to anchor yourself to him.
Dean groaned quietly at the touch. “Jesus Christ” He murmured against your lips. “You get this needy from a little attention?” Heat surged straight through you, flooding at your core.
“Shut up–” Repetitive much?
The words broke apart into a gasp when his free hand joined the other one on your ass, kneading the flesh there while dragging you more firmly against him– making the hard bulge of him press into your core through the fabric of y’all’s pants. A broken, needy moan escapes your lips– shame gone the moment his cock strained through his jeans and into you. He actually smirked at that. As affected he was himself, he still needed to relish in your embarrassment a little more. “What?” Dean asked innocently, despite the way his hips thrusted up to meet yours. “Thought you were still mad at me” He batted his unfairly long eyelashes up at you.
“It’s complicated” You huff softly.
“Bet it is” He replies with faux sympathy– his mouth moving down your throat slowly, deliberately slowly over the spot that always made you lean further into his touch. Your head tipped back before you could stop it. Dean (of course) noticed how your body followed his touch, his hips now shamelessly grinding up against you. A quiet chuckle brushed against your hair when you buried your face into his shoulder, clearly trying to hide even while still meeting his thrusts halfway. “Oh c’mon” he teased softly. “Now you’re shy?” He asks, hands slowly pulling your shirt over your head.
“No” Defensive, sharp– but weak.
“That sounded real convincing, sweetheart” He hums dismissively, turning his attention towards your newly exposed breasts, large hands cupping and kneading the flesh while peppering soft kisses over your collarbone. You made a noise somewhere between a groan and a complaint, which only seemed to amuse him more. (Even if you were struggling not to moan pornographically at his touch) “There’s that attitude again–” Dean murmured approvingly, his breath brushing your neck. “Missed it for a hot second”
“You’re so full of yourself”
“Mhm” One of his hands slid down to the small of your up your back before flipping you down into the bed below him. “You’re about to be too” The proud little smirk on his face when saying that– he thought he was so slick.
The moment you’re under him, your whole face changes– morphing from that barely restrained frustration into a doe eyed mess, already breathing heavy for him. God that fed right into his ego. His sharp, mouthy, hunter girlfriend all soft and pliable beneath him. Out there? In the real world, on the field? You stood your own. Here? Beneath closed doors? Dean could make whatever the Hell he wanted out of you. His inner dialogue is cut by the feeling of your gentle hands trailing under his shirt, pulling it up– demanding without words. He huffs out a soft, quiet breath of amusement, sitting back on his heels before pulling the fabric over his head and tossing it somewhere onto the floor. “Better?” He hums knowingly, hovering over you, forearms braced on the bed and mouth latching onto your bare chest.
You make a barely there sound of agreement as you nod, hand cupping the back of his head as his lips seal around your nipple, fingers threading through his dirty blonde hair while your back arches off the bed and into his warmth.
“Bet you’re all nice and wet for me aren’t you sweetheart?” He murmurs against your skin, green eyes flicking up to meet your dazed expression. Instead of answering (you were too gone for words) you simply lift your hips off the bed, grinding up into the hardness of his jeans. “Take that as a yes” Dean hums to himself as he traces his hands down your sides, hooking his thumbs into the elastic of your sleeping pants (You’d changed into them while raging at him from inside the bathroom) and slowly peeling them off your legs, leaving you completely bare under him. “Such a smart girl all drippin’ for an asshole like me?” He continues talking to himself, smug admiration in his voice as he trails the kisses lower and lower until they reach the sensitive patch of skin under your navel.
“Shut up n’ fuck me” You protest, trying to sound firm despite the breathiness of your words.
“Yes ma’am” Dean hums against your skin, placing one more kiss for good measure before pulling back. He sits back on his heels, rough hands working fast to unbuckle his belt and push his jeans off– leaving him in his boxers, already stained with a patch of precome. Despite how cocky he was acting, he clearly had been getting affected himself. “Sure you’re ready for me, baby?” You hear him talk, but you’re too distracted by the feeling of his fingers suddenly stretching you out. His fingers are big– like pretty much everything about him– thick and impossibly deep inside your pussy. The movement is meant to check if you’re stretched out enough for his cock, but he also simply enjoys seeing how you squirm, pushing down into his fingers whenever he curls them just enough inside you.
It was supposed to be a quick check– a push of his fingers before pulling them out. Instead, he starts thrusting them into your pussy, deep, slow pushes that reach spots you could never touch by yourself. You try to protest, say something snappy about how he’s an asshole for teasing but all that comes out of your mouth is soft moans and pleas.
“I know, I know, sweetheart but you can take it” He coos, voice low and gravelly with need of his own, even when fully focused on taking care of you. “Wanna see you cum on my fingers first, then I’ll fuck you real good, ‘kay?” He says it with such softness that it almost makes you forget he’s currently pounding your walls, his fingertips relentlessly pressing into your g spot. Dean knows your body better than you do– he’s spent countless hours focused both on the outside and inside– he knows what buttons to press and how hard to press them to get you undone.
Just when you think it can get any more intense, his thumb joins into the movements, pressing sharp circles on your clit. A sharp cry of his name escapes your lips, hips arching up from the bed– though you’re not sure if it’s trying to escape or follow the feeling. “Mhm” He hums, smug with dismissal as he keeps working you closer and closer to the edge. “There she goes, come on sweetheart let go for me”
That’s all it takes before you’re cumming all over his fingers, thighs clamping around his arm as embarrassingly loud moans escape your lips– completely opposite from the tough, mouthy girl from just an hour ago. His name falls on repeat from your lips, quiet and breathy.Fucking Dean Winchester and his ability to make you crumble.
when bucky asks to try something new, you expected bondage or maybe a headlock. what you didn’t expect was bucky wanting you to take the lead. (it doesn’t last long.)
bucky barnes has a reputation, even in your relationship. he’s always the one with a plan, always the one making decisions, always the steady hand guiding things. you joke that dating bucky is like dating a very affectionate drill sergeant. he’s bigger, stronger, older in every sense of the word, and you’ve long accepted that letting bucky take charge is just part of loving him.
so when he shyly asks if the two of you can “try something different,” your imagination immediately spirals. something adventurous. something complicated.
instead, bucky’s request catches you completely off guard. he wants you to take the lead. and out of the 8 months you’ve been dating, he’s refused to let you be on top.
but because after decades of carrying everyone else, making impossible decisions, and feeling like he always has to be in control, he’s curious what it would feel like to let someone he trusts hold the reins for once.
the problem?
you’re terrible at being in charge.
bucky is six feet of muscle and old-fashioned manners who blushes when you compliment him too much. meanwhile, you’re overthinking every little thing because you’re terrified of doing something wrong. the first attempt is awkward. the second is interrupted when you accidentally burst out laughing because bucky, who once fought aliens, gets embarrassingly flustered when he’s the one being fussed over. he watches you carefully. he's trying really hard not to take over. he knows this is about trust. trusting you to lead. trusting himself to follow. he swallows hard when you laugh. he knows he's not good at this. he's not used to being led.
you take a deep breath, moving to straddle his hips. you’re both fully clothed, but decided maybe dry humping would open a few doors. his hands hover uncertainly at your sides. he's not sure where to put them. he's used to gripping your hips, your waist, your ass. but right now, he's trying to follow your lead. so his hands just hover there, fingers twitching with the urge to grab on.
"okay?" he asks quietly, voice rougher than usual, looking up at you with those too-blue eyes. he's letting you be in charge. and you can see how much effort it's taking him not to take over. not to guide your hips. not to set the pace. "you want me to grind on you?" you ask, testing the waters. "yes?" he says, like a question. because he's not used to you checking in like this. you're usually the one getting directed, getting told what feels good.
you start grinding slowly, testing the way it feels. your clit presses against his hard bulge through both sets of clothes. you bite your lip, watching bucky's face carefully. his eyes are glassy, his breath is shallow, but he's still not touching you. his jaw tightens. he's getting hard. he can feel you moving against him. he's not used to this. he's used to being the one moving. the one taking. he's used to pulling you against him. pushing you down on him. he's used to being in control.
you grind down harder, pressing your lips together to keep from moaning. bucky's face twitches, his nostrils flaring. his hands curl into fists at his sides, knuckles turning white. "fuck," he grits out, eyes squeezing shut. you lean forward, pressing your hands against his chest. you feel his heart pounding beneath your palms. you grind your hips harder, feeling his dick swell against you.
you suddenly stop moving. bucky's eyes fly open, his breath coming in harsh pants. he looks up at you, confused and desperate. "don't... don't stop," he pleads, voice breaking. his control is hanging by a thread. "please..." you freeze, a little bit confused by his uncharacteristic begging before bouncing back.
you suddenly start moving again, faster this time. bucky's eyes roll back slightly, a low groan escaping him. his hands twitch at his sides, like he's physically restraining himself from touching you. "fuck, fuck," he chants softly, hips lifting slightly to meet your movements. “take, fuck- take it out,” you all but demand, pawing at his chest.
he looks at you with complete surprise, like he can't believe you're telling him what to do. then he realizes what you want and his brain short-circuits. he shoves his pants down, freeing his hard dick. no underwear today. you immediately grind down on his bare dick, feeling it slide against your underwear. bucky lets out a strangled sound, eyes locking onto yours. his hands hover uncertainly over your hips, squeezing the air like he wishes it was your flesh. "shit, shit, shit,"
you lean back, bracing your hands on his thighs behind you. you start rolling your hips, using his dick to rub your clit through your underwear. bucky's eyes are glued to the sight, mouth hanging open slightly. his hands are still hovering, like he's waiting for permission to touch you. “you look so-" he stops himself. he's not supposed to be describing things. you're supposed to be in charge. you grab his hovering hands and slam them down on your hips. "touch me," you order, voice shaky but firm. his fingers immediately dig into your skin, like he's been holding back for years. "fuck,"
his hands move of their own accord now. one stays on your hip, pulling you down harder against his dick. the other moves to your ass, squeezing and spreading your cheeks apart so he can feel you better through your underwear. his hips start lifting to meet your movements. “more,"
i’m you shakily reach down, tugging your panties to the side. his breath catches audibly. he watches you expose yourself to him. he sees your wet pussy, the way your folds are puffy and swollen. his mouth waters. his dick twitches against your opening. he wants to thrust up and fill you, but he waits.
you rub your wetness against his bare dick head, coating him with your arousal. bucky throws his head back and groans loudly. his hands tighten on your hips possessively. one hand slides down to grip your ass cheek firmly, pulling you apart again. "stop fucking teasing me,"
you slap his cheek, “who’s on top?” he pouts at the light but prominent contact. “you are.” he says with a heavy breath. he swallows hard, hands moving back to your hips but not taking control. he's waiting for you to make the next move. his dick is throbbing between your spread legs, dripping with your wetness. "please... sit on it," he begs softly, breaking his own rules.
you feel a little jolt of power go through you. bucky barnes is begging. you've had him under you before, but never begged quite like this. never let you lead. never looked at you with such raw, needy desperation. you position yourself just right, his head brushing against your entrance. you look down at him, watching his face contort with want.
he's staring up at you, eyes wide and pleading. his mouth is open, breathing heavy. his tongue flicks out to wet his lips. "come on... sit down..." his hips twitch, trying to lift up and push inside you. "please," he begs again. you slowly lower yourself onto him. you're so wet that he slides in easily. but you're also tight, and he's thick. so it burns a little as he stretches you open. you bite your lip against the sensation, hands flying to his chest for support.
ohis face screws up in pleasure as you take him inside. he grips your hips tightly, fingers digging in as you sink lower and lower. when you finally bottom out, his dick buried deep inside you, he lets out a shaky breath. "oh fuck... fuck...” he resists the urge to thrust up into you, waiting for you to set the pace. his hands move to your ass, spreading your cheeks and squeezing as he holds you down on him, feeling you pulse around his dick. "move... fuck, move on me," he urges hoarsely.
you start moving, lifting up and down slowly. you watch his face as you do, seeing the way his eyes flutter closed and his mouth opens slightly. he's so handsome like this, desperate and out of breath. you lean forward, placing your hands on his chest and grinding down on him. his eyes roll back as you lean forward and grind down harder. he can feel your tits pressing against his chest, your hands squeezing him possessively. he loves this view - you towering over him, riding him like he's your own personal fuck toy. "yes...” he hisses.
you start bouncing on him, using his chest for leverage. he watches your tits bounce with each movement, the sight making his mouth water. he lifts his head, catching one nipple between his teeth and biting down gently. his hands slide up to your back, holding you in place as he sucks. you yelp at the sudden bite of pain, arching your back. your hands fly to his hair, gripping tightly as he sucks hard on your nipple. you keep bouncing on him, using the new angle to take him even deeper. he releases your nipple with a pop, only to start kissing and biting his way up to your neck.
his breathing is ragged against your throat now. his hips start moving up to meet yours, thrusting into you from below. he can't help himself anymore. his control snapped the second you bounced on him. “can't— can't just—" he gasps between thrusts, his mechanical arm wrapping around your waist to hold you down on him. he starts fucking you in earnest now, his real arm joining the mechanical one to hold you in place as he pounds into you from below. his face is buried in your neck, his open mouth sucking bruises into your skin.
your arms are wrapped around his neck, holding onto him tightly as he fucks you hard. you can feel every ridge and vein of his dick as he thrusts into you. you're so wet that it's dripping down onto his stomach. the sound of his hips hitting yours fills the room.
he suddenly stops moving, his dick buried deep inside you. he looks up at you with a determined expression, his arms still holding you tightly. "turn over," he demands suddenly, his voice hoarse and commanding. "i need to be on top now." his hips twitch inside you.
you whimper at the demand, immediately understanding his need to take control. you lift off his dick with a wet sound and quickly turn over onto your hands and knees. before you can adjust, he's gripping your hips and slamming back inside you from behind.
he starts pounding into you immediately, his hips slapping against your ass with each thrust. his mechanical hand reaches around to grip your throat, pulling you up so your back is against his chest. his other hand moves down to toy with your clit. "fuck, so tight," he grunts in your ear. you whimper and moan, your hands gripping the sheets tightly. you can feel his thick dick stretching you open with each thrust. his hand around your throat is squeezing just enough to make you see stars.
his thrusts become more erratic as he feels you squeezing around him. his mechanical hand tightens on your throat, cutting off your breath. his real hand works your clit faster, applying more pressure. he's fucking you so hard the headboard is hitting the wall with a thudding noise. he leans over you more, practically folding you in half as he fucks you from behind. his broad chest is plastered against your back, his heavy breathing ghosting over your shoulder. he's so big that he's practically swallowing you whole with each snap of his hips.
you feel his dick twitch, knowing his heavy load is on the way. his eyes roll back as he feels his orgasm building. his hand on your throat tightens even more, his fingers digging into your clit roughly. he buries his face in your neck, biting down as he starts to come. “fuck— fuck— i’m gonna fill you up,”
he slams into you one last time, his dick pulsing as he comes hard. you can feel his hot seed flooding your insides, coating your walls. his hips spasm against your ass as he empties himself completely. his mechanical arm wraps around your stomach, holding you in place as he keeps you full of his cum. “i…what…what happened to me being on top?” you breathe out, tapping at his bicep.
he huffs out a laugh, still buried deep inside you, still coming a little. his hand finally releases your throat, moving to gently rub where his fingers dug in. "you felt too good bouncing on my dick. had to take over, doll."
he slowly pulls out of you, his softening dick slipping out with a wet sound. a flood of his cum follows, spilling out of your well-used pussy and onto the bed below. he collapses next to you, pulling you into his side and throwing a heavy leg over your hips.
he kisses your forehead, his arm wrapping around you possessively. he's still breathing heavily, his mechanical heart rate slowly returning to normal. he can feel his cum leaking out of you and onto the bed, marking you as his. "next time, i'll let you stay on top longer," you huff a tired laugh. you don’t believe him in the slightest.
Foaming at the mouth for big brothers Sam and Dean especially after Sam stars really getting involved in the dynamic 😭
They love playing good cop / bad cop with Sammy being so sweet and Dean being so rough but sometimes they need to switch things up and it’s reversed and it fucks with her head so bad in the best way and they love watching her desperate little baby brain trying keep up with them both teasing her mercilessly about it
They're absolutely impossible to keep up with!! They can both turn on a dime depending on what they think will fuck with your head the most, and you swear they're telepathic the way that they're connected. Dean might be more gruff, a little more obsessed with teasing you and seeing his handprints all over you just for the fuck of it, but if you piss sam off you can kiss any chance of a pleasant evening good bye. It's normally a good bet that sam will baby you, taking everything slow and not wanting to fuck you up too fast, but he's also the more sadistic one. All dean's gonna do is slap you around a little and call you names that make you a little teary, but you can never predict what sam's going to do if you piss him off.
You can be completely at dean's mercy, bent over his knee with belt marks all over your ass, and most of the time sam will take pity on you, scoop you up under your arms and make dean play nice, but if he feels like you're trying to take advantage of his kindness to get out of a well-deserved punishment? He's taking that into his own hands. Suddenly, dean is being instructed to twist your nipples while sam crams a dry finger up your ass. If he feels like you're taking the new treatment okay, accepting that you deserve to be put back in your place, he'll gently take your ass to remind you how big he is, how understanding he is, and let dean cum down your throat. If you're still being fussy, acting out, you're getting tied to a chair and gagged to be reminded of who you're really fucking with. You know dean loves to watch you get manhandled, but even he has a pitying look on his face when sam pries your mouth open for a ring gag.
"Can't trust your big brothers know what's good for you, huh? You just had to keep acting like a little fucking brat?" Then sam would watch you, that calculating gaze making you feel totally iced out while you drooled on yourself. One time you tried sticking your tongue out to lick it up, try to save yourself from some embarrassment, but sam used one end of the nipple clamp on your tongue, forcing you to either keep your tongue out like a dog or painfully pull at your tit. Even though you could see dean's dick trying to press through his jeans, the look on his face told you how guilty he felt.
"You need to be put in your fucking place, baby," sam told you, squatting down to your eye level. "Gotta remember that it's our job to teach you what's right and wrong, and acting like a crybaby when you get what you deserve wrong."
Your eyes shot to dean, silently pleading with him to help you out of this.
"Jesus, sweetheart," dean scoffed. "Really goes in one ear and out the other with you. Can't even look sammy in the eye when he's telling you that you gotta learn to take it." He swung a chair around, sitting on it backwards close enough that you could feel his breath fanning across your face. "Seems like little sis is on her own tonight, huh? I know I don't feel like gettin' you out of this."
Your eyes darted to sam, and he shook his head at you.
"A little piece of advice? Decide whose side you're on before you're tied up."
ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ get your compatibility reading ; support my work .ᐟ
♈︎ 𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ 11 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ you know something’s wrong, but your first instinct is to fight the problem, not sit there decoding his emotional hostage situation.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ 10 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ you notice when sam gets quieter, but you’re too impatient to wait for him to unpack it gently, so he just shuts the box harder.
♉︎ 𝖙𝖆𝖚𝖗𝖚𝖘
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ 7 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ you don’t catch it immediately, but once you do, you become impossible to shake—steady, stubborn, and quietly present.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ 6 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ sam’s calm act works on you for a minute, but the second his routine changes, you know something is rotting under the surface.
♊︎ 𝖌𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖎
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ 9 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ you catch the inconsistency in his jokes, but sometimes you play along too long because the banter is simply too good.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ 5 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ you hear the shift in his words fast—sam says “i’m fine” too logically, and you’re already side-eyeing.
♋︎ 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖗
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ 2 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ dean barely has to breathe wrong before you’re looking at him like, “who hurt you?” which is his personal nightmare.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ 3 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ you feel the heaviness in him before he says a word, and sam hates how gently you notice what he’s trying to bury.
♌︎ 𝖑𝖊𝖔
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ 8 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ you recognize pride because you have your own, but dean’s performance can still distract you when he makes it charming enough.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ 11 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ you can tell when sam is off, but you might mistake his silence for distance instead of pain, and that gives him room to hide.
♍︎ 𝖛𝖎𝖗𝖌𝖔
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ 3 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ you notice everything—the fake laugh, the extra drink, the shoulder he’s favoring, the way his eyes don’t match his mouth.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ 1 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ sam cannot hide from you. you read the pattern, the posture, the research spiral, the over-politeness. embarrassing for him.
♎︎ 𝖑𝖎𝖇𝖗𝖆
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ 6 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ you can read the room well enough to know when dean’s charm is doing overtime, but you wait for the right moment to press.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ 8 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ you sense the tension, but sam’s composed sadness is harder for you to confront because he makes it look so reasonable.
♏︎ 𝖘𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖕𝖎𝖔
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ 1 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ you see straight through the smirk, the jokes, the swagger, the “i’m good.” dean hates it. dean needs it. dean will deny both.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ 2 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ sam can hide from most people, but not from you—you smell the guilt, the fear, the self-punishment before he even names it.
♐︎ 𝖘𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖚𝖘
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ 10 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ you want to believe the joke because it keeps things lighter, and dean uses that opening like the emotionally evasive criminal he is.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ 12 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ you assume sam will talk when he’s ready, which is sweet, but unfortunately this man would rather research folklore until his feelings fossilize.
♑︎ 𝖈𝖆𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖓
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ 5 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ you know the look of someone functioning through pain, because you do it too, so dean’s “i’m fine” lands suspiciously familiar.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ 4 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ you understand his control too well. the tighter sam gets, the more obvious it becomes that something inside him is cracking.
♒︎ 𝖆𝖖𝖚𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖚𝖘
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ 12 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ you understand detachment, but that’s the problem—you might respect his space so hard that he disappears into it.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ 7 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ you can read the mental spiral, but emotions make you both act like two haunted laptops trying to connect to bluetooth.
♓︎ 𝖕𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖊𝖘
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 ⭑ 4 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ you don’t need proof. you feel the sadness under the sarcasm, and dean immediately regrets having a soul around you.
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐦 ⭑ 9 / 12
๋࣭ ⭑ you sense he’s hurting, but sam’s pain is so quiet and controlled that you sometimes soften around it instead of calling it out.
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younger sam winchester who is so so afraid of hurting you or laying a finger on you in a wrong way. he's always asking "is this okay?", "are you sure you want this?" before he moves his hand near your skin. his touch is always so gentle and featherlight and shaky, it makes you shiver.
he feels guilty for even thinking about you undressed, laying so pretty under him. he feels guilty for thinking about you when his hand is moving up and down his cock when he's alone and he feels like a real asshole when he closes his eyes and imagines it's your lips wrapping around him instead of his hand. he can behave like a prude sometimes.
older sam winchester who fucks you like his life depends on it. actually fucks you till your eyes roll at the back of your skull and your vision turns white. he likes caging you under him, holding you down and slamming himself into you so deep, you can feel him in your stomach.
he likes the sounds you make, or try to make. the moaned out "fuck, sam" and whatever gibberish your fucked out head manages to pronounce. he likes the way his hands look around your neck, or on your tits, and the way your hands look trying to desperately claw on his chest or the sheets beneath you.
older sam winchester has a filthy mouth. mainly because he knows how crazy it makes you. how fast heat pools between your legs the second "be a good girl and take it" leaves his pretty lips. and when he feels you tightening around him, this thumb immediately moves to your clit, his head leaning down to mouth and bite down on your neck, enough to make you shake.
with him, it feels like sam knows your body more than you do.
a/n don't come for me for the size of this now... it's finals week :(
ROADHEAD ━━╋━
mdni .ᐟ drunk!reader, head while driving, oral (m), gagging, spit kink, teasing / mocking...
halloween 2006,
dean winchester was driving you to and from your little halloween party and god were you a sight for sore eyes in the tiniest excuse of an angel costume. not even a minute down the road and already pawing at his jeans and tugging at his belt.
you're the tiniest bit tipsy with your hair all ruffled and roused, of course you'd lost your make shift halo in the chaos of loud music and drinks. dean can't help but let his lips quirk up in a mean smirk, and of course he had to mock your current state, with one hand on the wheel cruising through endless dark back roads of quiet suburbia, watching you finally unzip his pants down the bulge of his already hard cock.
"baby, what the fuck happened at that party— you end up in the mosh pit ?", he quips low and musing, his smirk only growing when you reply with a little pouty scoff, blinking up at him all pretty as you leaned across the car, your head practically in his lap with little hands rubbing over his clothed length.
"don't be mean—"
"what—? it was a question," he lets out a deep huff of a laugh, almost cooing.
"lost your cute halo 'n everythin' angel."
then he sees you hesitate, you give a little frown about yo sit up and dean was not having it.
"okay, okay— i'm sorry baby I was being mean."
god the way you pout all sad, lips jutted out with your little frown and that tipsy, half there look behind your eyes had heat pooling low in the pit of his stomach. don't even get him started on how your tits spilled out so pretty from the top of the little dress that had the tiniest sway of your hips showing of the round plush of your ass.
dean could feel his cock twitch beneath his jeans, as you give a lazy drunk smile, so pretty, always wanting to please.
you tug out his cock, the thick length flush in your hands and you're practically drooling as you lean down again, giving him a good view of down your top. half his focus is on the empty road, one hand gripping hard on the wheel as he let out a deep shaky sigh as you eye up the pretty twitchy cock, faint veins leading up to his flushed pink tip already dribbling with pale precum.
"you sure about this babe ?"
like he would ever refuse head.
"eyes on the road dean—"
you lick your lips before sinking down, slurping messily at the thick tip, you don't even hesitate before taking the tip of him into your mouth. the initial taste of faint, saltiness lays heavy on your tongue. he draws a sharp breath, his hand grips tight on the wheel and the other snakes up into your hair, not pushing or pulling just present, fingers curling through the strands.
you close your lips around him, drooling over him with your tongue, all sloppy and slow, just how he likes it, working slowly at first, getting used to his size. after a long second, you take more of him in your mouth, feeling the thick of his length at the back of your throat, prodding as you sink your head lower, squeezing your eyes shut as they prick with tears at the effort.
you hear him hiss out, adjusting his hips beneath you and let out a half nervous laugh.
"fuckin' killing me baby—"
you reply with a muffled slurp. you were sloppier tonight, probably because of the drinks you had earlier, whatever it was dean liked it.
ignoring the slight burn, you push past the initial resistance, taking more of his thick inches, enough that your nose pressed against the rough of the denim of his jeans. the sensation is intense, borderline uncomfortable making you gag slightly on reflex before you swallow hard and push through it.
you want all of him. you slide down his full length, the smooth head bumping against the back of your throat. your eyes gloss over prettily from the pressure, but you hold him there, letting the sheer size of him fill your mouth heavy and twitchy, his cock demanding attention.
a low groan escapes deans throat, muffled but undeniable. his fingers tighten, gripping into your hair, pushing down just slightly, enough to anchor himself.
"jesus," he weakly groans, his head tipping back against the rest of the seat, eyes half lidded as he keeps half his focus on the road and not how you're choking on his cock like you re trying to swallow him whole.
you begin to move, slow and deliberate sliding up and down his shaft as you drooled and dribbled down his length. it doesn't last long, not when he tastes so good, not when he feels so heavy in you're mouth, not when you're distracting him just right.
you pull up, enough to glance up at him and dean knows whats coming, that cheeky glint in your eye that tells him everything he needs to know. that's all it takes for him to swerve to a halt on the side of the road.
"you're fucking psycho—", he laughs deep squeezing the back of your neck, then carries on half serious.
"could've got us in trouble baby— what if i—"
"but you didn't —", is all you reply before licking over your lips and sinking back down.
"fuck—"
he hisses pressing youre head down and you feel your eyes roll back and heat pool between your legs, making you squeeze your thighs together. your head bobs up and down now, pace borderling frantic. it's a deep, wet pressure, the friction slick and intimate and disgustingly messy.
dean focused on puling over his chevy impala. you focused on the sensation, the taste, the desperate want, how your nails dug into the fabric covering his thighs and how tense they were. the faint sound of the radio and the night were utterly and completely irrelevant compared to the sound of deans ragged breathing and the wet noises and moans your mouth made around his cock.
another slurp and a squeeze and a lazy kiss to his stomach had him tensed and on edge, so, so, so close you could feel it.
dean groans out your name, fisting at the soft of your hair as his hips lift of the seat just slightly as if to urge you on or hold himself back from fucking your throat. all of a sudden he cums hard and deep, you feel him hot down your throat and you swallow without thinking, without even gagging. you pull your head back, tongue dragging the under side of his now limp cock before slurping slightly at its head.
he watches you in awe, like youre an actual angel, panting as he pulls himself back together.
summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ years after dean walks away, a chance reunion in a park turns into a very casual, definitely-not-a-date dinner where monster goo, too much cologne, old feelings, and second chances all end up sharing the table.
pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ dean winchester x reader ( f )
wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 2243 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ giggling
warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ mutual pining, unresolved feelings, references to past relationship and heartbreak, awkward flirting, dean being hopelessly down bad, monster gore mentions, nostalgia, slow-burn energy
notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ tagging @bitchinwallaby @kissesfrommercuryyy because yall asked for a part 2 and here i am providing 😌 ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ read part 1 ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ
dean doesn’t ask you on a date.
that would require calling it a date, which would require admitting that he spent the better part of an hour sitting beside you on a park bench while your daughter built structurally questionable sandcastles and slowly remembered exactly how easy it is to make you laugh. it would require acknowledging the fact that he kept finding reasons not to stand up. another question. another story. one more minute watching you peel the wrapper from a granola bar because your kid insisted she could do it herself until she very suddenly and passionately could not.
so, no. dean does not ask you on a date.
he scratches the back of his neck as your daughter races toward the slide, sand still clinging to the knees of her leggings, and says, “you eaten yet?”
you look at him over the rim of your coffee cup. “it’s four-thirty.”
“yeah, well—i’m planning ahead.”
“planning ahead,” you repeat, with the same amount of belief you gave his big park guy routine.
dean narrows his eyes. “some people appreciate organization.”
“you used to pack one shirt for a three-week hunt.”
“it was a good shirt.”
“i’m pretty sure it had holes in it.”
“ventilation.”
the smile happens before you can stop it. his follows a second later, quieter and a little crooked around the edges, and there it is again—that strange pull low in your chest, too familiar to dismiss and too old to feel this new.
he glances toward your daughter, then back at you. “there’s a place a few blocks over. decent burgers. actual tablecloths. no laminated menus stuck together with syrup.”
“high standards.”
“i’m classy now.”
“you have mustard on your jacket.”
dean looks down immediately. you laugh when he realizes there’s nothing there, and he gives you a deeply unimpressed look that would probably work better if his mouth wasn’t twitching.
“you’re still mean,” he says.
“you liked me mean.”
his eyes catch yours just for a second. long enough to remind you that this hasn’t always been teasing on park benches and careful questions about where you live now. long enough to remember motel mattresses, his hand around your wrist as he tugged you back beneath the sheets, his sleepy voice against your shoulder telling you to stay another five minutes when both of you knew there was nowhere else you wanted to be.
dean clears his throat. “yeah,” he says, quieter. “i did.”
your daughter shrieks happily from the slide. the moment breaks before either of you has to do anything dangerous with it.
“my mom can take her tonight,” you say, trying for casual and getting close enough. “if you still want to… catch up.”
“catch up,” dean agrees quickly. “yeah. exactly. two old friends. food. normal amount of catching up.”
“what would be an abnormal amount?”
“guess we’ll find out.”
you agree to meet dean at the restaurant at seven-thirty. he checks his watch afterward and realizes he has just under three hours to help sam kill whatever has been dragging people into the storm drains beneath the town, shower, find a clean shirt, and pretend he hasn’t spent the last decade occasionally thinking about what your laugh sounds like when you’re trying not to let him know he’s funny.
it should be manageable. it isn’t. the creature takes two iron rounds, a machete, one extremely undignified wrestling match in approximately three inches of sewer water, and a final shot from sam before it stops moving. even then, it manages to rupture something wet and foul-smelling all over dean’s chest on the way down.
dean stands there in the dark tunnel, breathing hard, covered from his hairline to his boots in a greyish slime with the texture of half-set gelatin.
sam lowers the shotgun slowly. “you okay?”
dean looks at him.
sam presses his lips together. he makes it almost three seconds before laughing.
“shut up.”
“you smell terrible.”
“yeah, no kidding, sam.”
dean checks his watch and swears. loudly. with feeling.
the motel shower has the water pressure of an elderly garden hose, but he stays beneath it until his skin turns pink and the water finally stops running an alarming shade of brown. he shampoos his hair twice. then a third time because he catches a faint whiff of sewer monster when he leans closer to the mirror and refuses to risk it.
his cleanest shirt is only slightly wrinkled. his jeans are fine. his boots have survived worse. he stares at his reflection, rubs a hand over his jaw, then reaches for the bottle of aftershave beside the sink.
not enough.
dean opens sam’s toiletry bag.
“touch my stuff and die,” sam calls from the other side of the bathroom door.
“why do you have three different bottles in here?”
“because i know how hygiene works.”
“this one says eau de toilette.”
“put it down.”
“what the hell does that even mean?”
“it means you don’t need half a bottle of it.”
dean uses some anyway. then a little more aftershave. then, on the drive across town, he stops at a gas station and sprays himself once with the tester bottle of cologne locked inside a dusty plastic display beside the register, because dignity is a flexible concept and he’s already running twelve minutes late.
by the time he reaches the restaurant, he smells less like a dead monster and more like an airport duty-free shop. you’re already waiting near the entrance.
for one stupid second, dean forgets every excuse he rehearsed in the car.
you’re not dressed for anything fancy. neither is he. but your hair is loose around your shoulders, and there’s a softness to your mouth when you spot him weaving between the tables that makes his palms damp in a way he’d prefer not to examine too closely. you smile. dean smiles back before he remembers he’s supposed to be annoyed with himself for being late.
“sorry,” he says as he reaches the table. “case ran long.”
your eyes drag over him, taking in the damp hair, the faint nick beside his temple, the clean shirt he has clearly pulled from the bottom of a duffel bag.
then your nose wrinkles. “did you bathe in cologne?”
dean slides into the chair opposite you. “no.”
you raise a very questionable brow at him.
“there was an incident.”
“an incident.”
“monster goo.”
you bite the inside of your cheek. it does nothing. your shoulders start shaking anyway.
“glad my suffering’s funny to you.”
“i’m sorry,” you say, entirely insincere. “i’m trying to be sympathetic. it’s just—”
“i smelled worse before.”
that does it. you laugh into your hand, warm and helpless, and dean stares at you with the beginning of a grin he can’t quite suppress.
“much worse,” he adds, because apparently he’s willing to humiliate himself for the sound of it now.
“i believe you.” you reach across the table without thinking and brush your thumb lightly over the scrape at his temple. the touch lasts barely a second before you pull your hand back. “you okay?”
dean goes still. you used to ask him that after every hunt, usually while patching him up in some motel bathroom with your knees pressed against his and your medical kit spread across the sink. he used to lie. you always knew when he did. sometimes you’d let him anyway. “yeah,” he says. “nothing serious.”
your eyes stay on his face for another moment. “what was it?”
“ugly bastard living beneath the storm drains. sam’s digging through the lore. had these teeth—” dean holds two fingers apart, warming immediately to the story. “seriously, they were huge. and it moved fast. faster than it had any right to move, considering it looked like a melted halloween decoration.”
you listen as he talks, interrupting with questions in the right places, your expression shifting with easy familiarity when he mentions sam nearly losing his footing in the tunnel. by the time the waitress arrives, dean has stopped feeling quite so aware of his own hands. by the time your burgers come, he’s made you laugh twice more and learned that you still steal fries from other people’s his plate without asking.
“you have your own,” he says as your fingers retreat from his side of the table.
“yours looked better.”
“they’re the same fries.”
he pushes his plate slightly closer to the middle anyway.
it should feel stranger than it does. there are years sitting between you, too many of them, full of things neither of you knows how to ask without making the evening heavier than it’s allowed to become. but some habits survive untouched. dean still eats the pickle from your burger because you slide it onto the edge of his plate without asking. you still nudge your knee against his when you laugh too hard. neither of you acknowledges the contact. neither of you moves away.
eventually, he asks about you. not in the easy, polite way people do when they are waiting for their turn to speak. dean wants details. where you work. whether you still hate mornings. how long you have lived in town. whether your mom is nearby. what your daughter’s favorite cartoon is and why she apparently considers apple juice a matter of national importance.
you tell him more than you mean to. about preschool drop-offs and your job and the apartment with the unreliable kitchen faucet your landlord keeps promising to fix. about the way your daughter insists on wearing mismatched socks because matching ones are “too serious”. about your mother taking her tonight and giving you a look so unsubtle it should legally qualify as harassment.
dean laughs at that. “she still hates me?”
“she never hated you.”
“she threatened me with a carving knife.”
“she threatened everyone with a carving knife. it was her favorite knife.”
“comforting.”
“she asked whether you were still handsome.”
dean pauses halfway through reaching for his beer. “what’d you say?”
you pick up a fry, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking embarrassed. “i told her age had been very cruel to you.”
“wow.”
“tragic, really.”
“and yet here you are.”
“free burger.”
“right.”
his smile lingers afterward. yours does too.
the plates empty. the restaurant grows quieter around you. someone begins stacking chairs upside down on the tables near the window, and you realize with a start that you’ve been sitting there for almost three hours. dean glances toward the closing staff with visible betrayal, as though they’re personally responsible for the fact that the night has to end.
he pays before you can argue properly, but you argue anyway. he ignores you with the smug ease of someone who has always enjoyed irritating you in very specific, carefully cultivated ways.
outside, the air has cooled. your car is parked beneath a streetlamp at the edge of the lot, but neither of you moves toward it immediately. dean stands in front of you with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, rocking back slightly on his heels. for a man who has faced demons without blinking, he looks strangely uncertain now.
“so,” you say.
“so.”
“this was nice.”
“yeah.” dean looks down, then back at you. “yeah, it was.”
the silence isn’t uncomfortable. it would be easier if he gave you a grin and some teasing line, something familiar enough to hide behind. instead, he watches you with an openness that feels almost accidental, as though the part of him that usually shuts every door has forgotten where the locks are.
“what time do you work tomorrow?” he asks.
you blink. “eight-thirty.”
“i could drive you.”
your eyebrows lift. “dean—”
“or we could get coffee,” he says, too quickly. “before. after. lunch, maybe. doesn’t have to be—” he exhales through his nose, frustrated with his own mouth. “anything. i just thought i could see you again.”
the honesty of it settles between you. slightly awkward. too specific. very dean, even if he looks as though he wishes he could grab the words and shove them back inside his chest.
you should make him work harder for it. maybe you will, eventually. he left once. you remember that too. the motel room door closing. the impala disappearing from the parking lot. the horrible, childish part of you that waited for the sound of the engine returning even after you knew it wouldn’t.
but he’s here now. smelling faintly of too much cologne and looking at you with that small, nervous smile he probably doesn’t realize he’s wearing.
“coffee,” you say. “before work.”
dean’s shoulders loosen. only slightly. “yeah?”
“yeah.”
“i’ll pick you up.”
“seven-thirty.”
“on the dot.”
you laugh softly, pulling your phone from your bag. “you’re a little out of practice.”
“been busy.”
“with sewer monsters?”
“amongst other things.”
you exchange numbers even though some stubborn, embarrassing part of you still remembers his by heart. dean sends himself a message from your phone, then hands it back carefully, his fingers grazing yours.
“i’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.
you nod. “tomorrow.”
he takes one step backward. then another. he looks reluctant to turn away, and it makes your chest ache in a place you thought had learned better.
“dean?”
“yeah?”
“you’ll show, right?”
his expression shifts. the teasing leaves first. what remains is quieter, stripped of every easy escape he has relied on since the moment he saw you wearing your grandmother’s ring.
“i wouldn’t miss it.”
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.
You reflect on how Bucky has changed you for the good.
I'm very behind on these, I'm suffering from some serious task paralysis at the moment and basically couldn't move forward with this one holding me back. Hopefully getting this one done is turning a corner! Could be read alone, could be part of the kind of semi-linked June scribbles for Bucky.
Warnings: none
Words: 293
June Jukebox Masterlist | Bucky Masterlist
The party was louder than you needed it to be tonight.
You'd slipped out without anyone noticing. The sound of Sam losing badly at cards filtered through the apartment door and into the cool, dark hallway.
It was more peaceful out there. That was the problem.
You knew this feeling. You’d worn it like a second skin for most of your life - this particular quiet, this particular alone.
The Red Room had given you just as many things as it had taken, and one of them was a very high tolerance for your own company and a very low tolerance for needing anyone.
Natasha had called it armour once. She was, as with most things, probably right.
You could get addicted to a certain kind of sadness. In a lot of ways, it was comfortable - it asked nothing of you. You knew exactly how it would feel tomorrow and the day after.
But shit, it was lonely.
Happiness, on the other hand, had too many variables.
Happiness was terrifying.
How was it possible that after so many years, you now felt so happy you could die?
That shouldn't be a thing.
You heard him before you saw him, holding the handle so that it didn't spring back, opening the door just enough that he could peer out.
He didn't ask if you were OK. Instead, he let the door click quietly closed and leaned against the wall beside you, close enough that his right arm pressed against yours, heat radiating from him.
"Cards is getting ugly in there," he said.
"I heard."
His kind of quiet was different to yours - it never felt empty, and it never made you feel isolated.
more ruminating on the positive influence of Bucky. direct continuation of day 9.
warnings: none
words: 235
June Jukebox Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist
Back in the room, with the clouds shaken off you once again, Bucky had his sleeves pushed up to his elbows - demonstrating the severity of his situation.
From across the room, you watched him laugh. His head tipped back, a real belly laugh that carried over the sound of Sam’s protests at the selection of cards in his hand.
You still weren’t quite used to him being so openly happy.
You still weren’t used to being so happy yourself.
You’d left a lot to get here. Looking at him now, the crinkles in the corner of his eyes and the sliver of tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, you couldn’t remember most of it.
Once upon a time, you would have known every exit, every window, who was closest to the door, the quickest way out, the easiest direction to travel in…
Tonight, watching Bucky had brought you something you'd always dreamed of - peace.
If you allowed yourself to think about it, every night's another reason why you left it all. Every night, every day, he gave you reason after reason.
As if he felt the weight of your gaze, he looked up.
The laugh softened into something else entirely. Something that was just for you.
Every night's another reason. Every morning too, if you were honest.
You'd left it all, and somehow ended up exactly where you were supposed to be.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Pairing: formerly Sam Winchester x fem!reader, eventually Dean Winchester x Fem!reader
Summary: you come to a new realization.
An: I would like to say before you read this, I tolerate no Sam hate. None. But I’ve been holding out on Dean and I thinks it’s time to give husband #2 the stage. I’ve thought about doing this for so long but I never wanted to be messy. But yk what let’s get messy fuck it! This part is short, next part will be longer and possibly smutty. Because I just know later seasons Dean… all I’ll say is “best night of my life” Dean Winchester in his early twenties. Imagine him in his thirties.
WC: 678 - Sam Masterlist - Dean Masterlist
It was late in the afternoon, Dean was out, Sam was out and you were drowning in tequila.
At this point you weren't sure if the burning in your throat was from the alcohol, or your constant need to cry.
You took another swig, straight from the bottle wiping your teary cheeks roughly when suddenly the door opened, and in walked the biggest reason for your sorrows.
Sam Winchester.
You barley spared him a glance, nor did you try to hide the tears rolling down your face. He dropped whatever was in his hands and rushed towards you, worry completely covered his face as he said your name "are you okay"
You stared forward, refusing to look at him, you took another sip. "Go. Away." You muttered.
Sam's eyebrows pinched "wha-" he looked at the bottle clutched tightly in your hand "you're drunk" he said before attempting to take the bottle.
"I will shoot you" you warn with malice in your tone. Sam was clearly taken aback, having never been at the receiving end of that tone. "Go Sam, leave" you tell him again.
He swallows, shaking his head "I can't just leave you like-" "why not?" You cut him off, your red, teary eyes finally moving to look at him.
He blinked rapidly, trying to understand where it all was coming from. "Why can't you leave Sam? It's that you always do when I need you" you stand up, still sober enough to keep your balance and move away from him.
His face drops. He says your name quietly but you don't let him. You shake your head "no. No you don't get to come back and win my heart again. You don't deserve it." You hissed, angry tears rolling down your face, the bottle still clutched so tightly you were shaking. "You left me Sam. Again. And I-" your voice broke, you licked your lips "i won't let you break my heart again."
Your chin shook "after college, after ruby, after everything that you've done I have loved you like a damn idiot. When Dean was in purgatory, you told me- that you needed space. I gave you that, but after a while I started calling. Every day for months Sam. Because when Dean dies I don't just mourn him, I mourn you too." You turn away from him, not being able to stomach the guilt ridden look on his face.
"And then he comes back and I find out that you- you were fine. You were happy, with some girl and her stupid fucking dog!" You shout the last part.
You down the rest of the bottle, throwing it to the side. It lands with a thud but you pay it zero mind.
Your jaw clenches "we've fought the end of the world together. Twice. I don't know how deep that kind of bond goes for you. But now I think… I think I chose the wrong one. Dean wouldn't do that to me."
Sam sucks in a breath "your trying to be hurtful" he says. You turn towards him, a deadly look in your eyes "is it working? Maybe then you'll feel a fraction of what you made me feel."
Sam's jaw clenched, your glare never wavered. Suddenly the doors opened, and in walked Dean himself. He paused, the tension in the room was so sharp it could lice him in two.
He saw the broken and twisted look on your face, the guilty and solemn look on Sam's. He realized that it had finally happened. You finally snapped.
He realized, thy maybe, as sick as it was. Maybe it was his turn to show you, to show Sam what you really deserve.
Because he may be a broken man, but he promised himself at the mere age of twenty, that if there was even the slightest chance, that he could finally have you, he wouldn't mess it up. Especially not like his brother has.
His eyes connected with your red rimmed ones. That was it, that was his confirmation.
dean winchester and his girl best friend, who are way too comfortable with each other (og post!)
They’ve always been that way — too touchy with each other and not enough with anyone else. Sammy’s seen the brunt of it for the most part.
The late night talks on the sidewalk outside of their motel room, where she leans on Deans shoulder, and nudges his work boots with her sneakers until he picks her legs up and throws them over his lap.
On long drives, where she desperately wants to get the hell out of the car but won’t say it, so instead she’ll bend forward and wrap her arms around Deans shoulders. Dean will pull into the next gas station he sees, and help her crack her sore back. She’ll wrap her arms close to her chest, and Dean will lift her off the ground and to his front. Afterwards, she lets out a big sigh of relief and Dean will pat her lower back — well, he used to.
When Sam was sucked into the cage, it was only the two of them. Somewhere in that time, they lost a lot of care for what ‘best friends’ are and aren’t supposed to do. Her and Dean don’t seem to notice the difference, but Sam does, once his soul is back.
Their first ‘normal’ hunt, all three of them back together, she wraps around Dean four hours into the drive.
“All good, pretty?” Dean turns his head a little, just to nudge hers which sits on his shoulder, but still watches the road. She nods, and holds him tighter.
Sammy’s used to that — it’s kind of refreshing, actually. To see something that’s so normal in their everyday life, compared to everything that’s been happening. Y’know, like, angels and the devil and not having a soul.
Dean still pulls over, twenty minutes later. She leaves the back seat immediately, stretching her arms over her head and raising up on her tippy toes. Sam watches the pair unconsciously as he leans over the other side of the car.
Dean pats her arm, shoves it a little, so she’ll turn around. He lifts her off the ground effortlessly, and her head falls back on his shoulder in relief.
“Better?” He asks, while she turns back around with a grin.
“Yeah.” She nods. “Thanks, De.”
“Ah,” He grins right back, tilting his head. “Always, pretty.”
Then, she turns once more, to open the back door and hop in, and Dean pats her on the ass. Twice.
“Alright, let’s get this show back on the road.” He jumps back in the drivers seat, leaving Sam frozen, and quite honestly, disturbed, outside of the car. That…that was not refreshing.
Neither was the time Dean went to go get food when Sam was supposed to. It’d been mutually agreed that they switch back and forth every time they get take out, but the last time they’d been near their current place of stay, Deans girl had a wonderful milkshake at this diner that was pretty far. He wanted to get her one, but obviously, he can’t just say that, and Sam won’t go to a random diner ten more minutes away than the others in town just ‘cause’, so Dean opts to take another turn grabbing dinner.
The problem here, though, is that that decision was made while she was in the shower.
Twenty minutes later, she bursts through the bathroom door in nothing but underwear and a covering her chest.
“De, where’s my pajamas- oh, my God, Sam!” As quickly as she entered the room, she’s back in the bathroom. “I’m so sorry, I thought you were Dean!”
Sam, with heat crawling up his chest, and ears burning red, is so sick of them.
“What difference would that have made!” His head flips in the opposite direction of the bathroom, even with the door closed again. “You just walk around naked when i’m not here?”
“Well-it’s Dean, it doesn’t matter!”
Sam’s so done. There’s no point in continuing to argue about it with either of them, because it gets nobody anywhere. They still continue acting all lovey dovey and clueless, and everyone gets more irritated.
Somehow, neither of them understand why people think they’re a couple so often — the motel clerks when they get a room with one bed, random old ladies in stores watching them swing their conjoined hands and giggle, bartenders and waitresses passing every tab Deans way, the list is endless. Hell, their first time at the Roadhouse, that crew thinks so too.
“So, uh,” Jo starts, from next to her mother. The brothers were conversing with Ash, and left her back with the two woman over on the other side of the bar (she didn’t feel like getting up, and dean didn’t have the heart to make her). It was a nice change of pace, really, to not be surrounded by so much suffocating testosterone, even if they had just been holding her and the two people she is the closest with at gunpoint. “When’d you meet those two?”
“Couldn’t tell you,” She shrugged, taking a gulp of her water. “When Sam was okay with being called Sammy.”
“Huh,” Ellen scoffs. “Well how ‘bout that.”
“When’d you get with the little one?” Jo interrupts her mother’s reminiscing, leaning over the counter.
“Uh,” She laughs a little, confused. “Dean? What do you mean?”
“Y’know, like when’d start being more than just real good friends?”
“Well, I mean he’s always been my best friend, if that’s what you mean.” She shrugs, and a little smile makes it way onto her face. “Guess if I had to find a point it’d be when we were all playing with Bobby’s dog, and I fell and scraped my knee in sixth grade. He cleaned it up and stole me some Cracker Jack and then we listened to Led Zeppelin.”
The three sit in silence for a minute, her, staring over at Dean at the other side of the bar with a wide grin, and the mother and daughter sharing a look of disbelief.
“…so you’re saying you aren’t dating that guy?” Jo tries one last time, pointing over in Deans direction.
“Me and Dean? No,” She shakes her head, and laughs it off. “A lot of people think that, though. I don’t get why.”
The other two woman share another brief glance at one another, before the Winchesters and Ash come barreling over. Sam sits on the stool to her left, and Dean stands close enough to her right that she can lean against his chest.
“Anything good?” She asks, peering up at him from next to his heartbeat.
“Oh, yeah, pretty,” He grins right back, wrapping an arm around her. “Ash’s checking some stuff out, thinks he can track the demon down.”
“Oh, great!”
“Sammy said Ellen’s found us a case while we wait. Somethin’ with clowns.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and they both turn to ‘oooohhhh’ in Sam’s direction.
“Oh, just-shuddup!” He grumbles, stomping outside to the busted van. She shoves her face in Deans chest as they cackle at Sam’s expense, before eventually crawling down from her seat.
“I’m gonna use the bathroom before we get outta here. Meet you in the car, yeah?” She does a quick stretch, backing up towards the bathroom a little, only for Dean to palm her waist and pull her right back against him.
“Alright.” Dean plants a kiss to her forehead, and gives her waist a gentle squeeze before backing off. “Hurry!” He shouts on his way out the door.
Ellen and Jo watch the pair go their separate ways from behind the bar. Ellen grabs a beer, and sighs.
“How long you think that’s gonna last like that?” She grumbles with plenty snark.
“Who knows how long they’ve been like that already! Oh, poor Sam…” Jo shakes her head.
Yes. Poor Sam, indeed.
(part three)
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