#angel!reader

“— and it’s not even like she means to do it, you know? Like she calls and it starts normal, totally normal, we’re talking about groceries or whatever, and then BAM, like clockwork, it’s ‘so how are your evaluations going’ and ‘have you thought about residency yet’ and I’m just sitting there like… yeah, mom, funny you mention it, I think about it all the time, constantly, obsessively, in a way that is probably not healthy for my long-term psychological stability.”

You cast a sidelong glance at Dr. Abbot, brows arched expectantly, silently imploring him to jump in and extinguish the slow, smoldering anxiety that has spontaneously combusted in your mind and body and soul.

He doesn’t bite.

Instead, he offers you his trademark stoic gaze, effectively deflating your balloon of expectation on impact.

“Your evaluations will be fine,” he says shortly. “You’ll match. Now type, please.”

“Sorry, charting, right. Doing that now,” you mumble, snapping dutifully back to the glowing screen like a golden retriever who briefly forgot what sit meant.

Your fingers move with genuine, industrious purpose for approximately three whole seconds before inevitably, you’re speaking again.

“But, then she mentions marriage and having children, multiple children, as if one isn’t intimidating enough, because why wouldn’t she? Perfect natural segue. And now all I can think about is this random fertility rabbit hole I fell into afterward. Which, by the way, was a lot. That was a lot of information. Like I’m literally sitting here as we speak, losing eggs by the second, practically fossilizing before your very eyes.”

You hear him release a short huff of air. Can picture him pressing his forefinger into the space between his browsz

“Kid, you’re — what, all of twenty-something?”

You wave a dismissive hand, not looking up. “Twenty-something with eggs dropping like New Year’s confetti at midnight. Tick tock.”

“You’re not even close to egg depletion,” he says dryly, nudging your chair slightly with his foot. “Trust your attending on this.” 

You roll your eyes, immensely grateful he can’t see your face.

“Easy for you to say. Your biology lets you remain fertile until, like, the heat death of the universe.”

“Wasn’t aware you’d taken such a keen interest in my reproductive potential.”

You swivel around in your chair without warning, knees knocking lightly into the desk as you tip your chin up at him.

“Well, listen, I was actually thinking that if I hit a certain age and still have no romantic prospects, we could make a pact,” you muse. “You generously contribute your objectively excellent genetic blueprint, I carry the resulting small human. Voila, instant legacy preserved. It's a win-win.”

The words have barely left your lips when Abbot nearly sputters coffee all over his pressed white coat. His hand shoots up swiftly, coughing discreetly as his gaze flicks sharply, incredulously, up at you.

“Jesus — at least give me a heads-up before you proposition me for genetic samples,” he mutters under his breath, eyeing you cautiously now, like you’re a lab specimen who’s suddenly started speaking fluent Latin.

You gasp, pulling a hand to your chest. “Dr. Abbot, please — I was referring exclusively to a very professional sperm donation arrangement. Entirely above board, paperwork involved, sterile conditions, the whole thing.”

“Of course,” he drawls, skepticism coloring his voice. “Nothing questionable about that.”

“It’s all part of my incredibly thorough contingency plan. That I created last night,” you assure him, nodding fervently. “Proactive and forward-thinking, exactly the qualities you’re always nagging me to develop. See? I listen.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, fixing you with a stern, pensive look. “Face the screen.”

You obediently face the screen, fingers tapping out a half-hearted sentence once again, before your curiosity inevitably gets the best of you again, eyes flicking over your should to peer at him through lowered lashes.

“Not hearing a hard no,” you hum.

“It is a hard no,” he starts, leaning in to talk against your ear, “because If I decide to help you out with that particular problem, it’s going to be the old-fashioned way.”

He straightens smoothly, unbothered as he walks away, leaving your heart stumbling over itself in dizzy little circles.

The warehouse smelled like rust and sulfur. Dean's head rang as he slammed into a concrete wall, his knife sliding somewhere across the floor too far to reach. "Dean" Sam shouted from his spot on the ground– too hurt to move, too worried not to say anything.

A demon's hand closed around the eldest Winchester's throat before he could recover from the crash, black ink swirled inside its eyes as he grinned. "No guardian angel this time" The hunter’s chest tightened because he was right– Cas hadn't answered a single prayer in the last three days. He was probably stuck dealing with another shitload of drama God knows where. The demon squeezed hard enough that dark spots flooded Dean's vision.

Then warmth flooded the room– not heat, not power. Warmth, the kind that wraps around like the sun on your face in a mid-july night. Like a blanket waiting for you after a long winter day… The demon froze in its tracks, the pressure around the blonde’s throat vanished and he collapsed to his knees, coughing. "Dean?" Soft hands settled on his shoulders, he looked up– you. Standing in front of him, your brows furrowed with concern, hair slightly messed up, there was blood on your sleeve. "Are you hurt?" You asked quietly.

Dean stared, the demon behind you looked terrified. "Sweetheart…" He croaked, throat still raspy from the previous choking. "Little busy admiring the miracle right now"

You blinked, suddenly remembering the threat still very much present right behind y’all. "Oh" The demon lunged– without even standing up, you looked back over your shoulder, lifting a hand. White light spread across the warehouse, bright and sharp. The scream lasted less than a second before there was nothing left. Silence settled over the room and your attention immediately shifted back to the man in front of you. "You're bleeding"

Dean looked down– his shirt was soaked with blood from a nasty gash across his side, already mixing up with the dirt and grime that covered his clothes. "Huh"

"Huh?" You repeated, head tilting with confused disbelief. If there was one thing angels had in common, apparently it was that puppy-like head tilt whenever y’all were trying to understand something.

"Yeah, that's usually my reaction"

Sam walked over, limping slightly. "Good to see you too" He said, letting out a tired, soft chuckle at your overbearing worry for his older brother.

You smiled brightly– the kind of smile that always made Dean's stomach do stupid things. "I'm sorry I was late" The Winchesters exchanged a look. ‘Late’. You had arrived in time to vaporize a demon and quite literally save both their lives and somehow you were still apologizing.

Back at the motel, Dean sat shirtless on one of the beds while you patched him up. (Sam had conveniently disappeared to get food) Though the blonde suspected his brother knew exactly what he was doing. The traitor. You sat beside him with a first-aid kit in your lap, sure you could heal him with a snap of your fingers but for some reason the hunter insisted on doing it the old fashioned way. Despite his stubbornness, your fingers still glowed faintly as they hovered over the wound– not quite healing him, but easing his pain.

Dean sighed half in relief and half in amusement. "That's cheating"

You glanced up from what you were doing, soft eyes meeting his sharp green ones. "What is?"

He huffs, gesturing vaguely at your hands. "The whole… being an angel thing"

A small laugh escaped you– Dean loved making you laugh. The sound was rare, not because you weren't happy, but because you always seemed surprised that anything could be funny– like every joke was a wonderful gift you got to experience. "You should still rest" You hum softly.

"Y’sound like Sammy"

"That's not necessarily a bad thing"

Dean gasped dramatically, ever the extra man he was. "Since when are you on his side?"

You rolled your eyes and he nearly melted– he'd known you for almost two years. Two years of hunts, two years of movie nights, two years of watching you quietly help strangers whenever you thought no one else was looking. For God’s sake you carried injured animals off roads, you left money for struggling waitresses, you remembered every birthday, every favorite snack, every tiny detail. And somehow you still didn't understand why Dean stared at you like an awestruck idiot. "Why are you looking at me like that?" You asked.

Speak of the angel. The hunter smirked to himself, softer than his usual teasing, smug smiles he always carries. "Busted"

You frowned, head tilting once more. "I don't know what that means"

"Means you caught me"

"Oh"

You returned your attention to his bandages and Dean couldn't stop smiling. Cute– ridiculously cute, dangerously cute actually. "Y’know– " He said, " –most people at least buy me dinner before they start taking my clothes off"

Your hands froze– Dean regretted nothing. A blush spread across your cheeks, an actual blush. From an angel. Dean Winchester had just made a literal angel of the Lord blush. "I—"

"You walked right into that one, sweetheart" He hummed proudly.

The next hunt should have been simple. Should have– which meant it absolutely wasn't. Dean was halfway through investigating an abandoned church when everything went sideways. (Why do these two idiotic brothers always split up in the worst possible situations?) The sigils on the floor activated, power surged through the room and suddenly he couldn't move.

"Dean" You appeared beside him instantly, having sensed his distress from miles away and quickly running to him.

The witch responsible smiled, stepping into the church. "Perfect" Dean's stomach dropped (God he fucking hated witches) the trap wasn't for him– it was for you. Chains carved with glowing enochian letters shot from the floor and wrapped around your wrists. You cried out at the grip, the metal squeezing your skin–  the sound hit Dean like a knife to the chest. Never in all the time he’s known you had he ever heard you scream like that.

The woman laughed, dismissive and sharp. "You angels are so easy… Always rushing to save somebody, loyal little puppies you are"

Dean fought against the paralysis spell but nothing happened, his feet still firmly glued to the ground.. You struggled against the chains, the usual glow of your skin flickering down. "Hey" The hunter shouted in a desperate attempt to shift the witch’s attention from you onto him– ever the savior complex.

The witch ignored him, your knees hit the floor– fear twisted ugly inside Dean's chest. Not for himself (never for himself) for you. Because despite all the power angels had– you never fought like angels were supposed to. You didn't enjoy violence, didn't enjoy hurting people. You always held back. Always chose mercy. "Please" You said softly, trying to get her to reason and not force yourself into killing.

She just sneered. "No, dear. I don’t think I will stop just yet– I have big plans for your human pet" The witch’s steps echoed inside the abandoned building as she approached y’all. Dean saw the exact moment something changed– you looked at him, really looked at him. At the blood on his clothes, at the tension in his frame, at the panic in his eyes… Your whole demeanor flipped, your usual softness sharpening into protectiveness. Not angry, determined. The room shook, enough to make the witch's smile disappear, confusion flooding her face. Dean had only seen your true grace a handful of times– each occasion had been utterly unforgettable. Golden light burst from beneath your skin, the shadows of your wings stretching across the room behind you, the chains that held you shattered and fell, every window exploded in shards of glass, the building’s foundation groaned… The hunter could feel power vibrating through the air– ancient, terrifying, beautiful. For one breathless second, you looked like every single story humanity had ever told about angels.

Then it was over– the witch was on the ground, the light vanished and you swayed on your feet. Dean lunged forward just in time to catch you, your body felt frighteningly cold in his grasp. "Hey, hey, hey" His hand carefully taps your cheek to try and keep you awake.

You blinked slowly. "Dean?"

"Yeah, sweetheart m’ right here" You looked exhausted, drained of your usual light. "Gave quite the show"

A weak smile tugged at your lips. God, you were half out of it and still you managed to smile at him. "Sorry"

"Stop apologizing for saving my life"

By the time he drove y’all back to the motel– you were barely staying awake, your head resting against the Impala’s window and eyes fluttering open and closed every couple seconds. Using that much grace had drained everything out of you. The moment y’all stepped into the room, Dean sat beside you on the bed while Sam grabbed supplies. (What could they even use to heal a burned out angel?) Your head rested against his shoulder– for once, you weren't arguing or stubbornly insisting you were fine. You just looked tired and he hated it.

"You scared me" The words slipped out before he could stop them, soft in a way that was rare in a man like him, let alone in a Winchester.

You lifted your head, looking up at him. "What?"

"Scared me" He repeats, shifting to get a better look at your face from where it rested against his shoulder.

Your expression softened. "Oh"

"Yeah, oh" His hand gently reaches up to brush the side of your head, gently caressing your messed up hair.

Silence stretched between you. "You scare me too sometimes"

Dean laughed, a breathy, deep rumble from his chest. "What?"

"When you're reckless"

"Excuse me?" He scoffs, feigning offense despite the fond smile tugging at his lips.

"You jump in front of monsters"

"Occupational hazard"

"You pick fights with things much stronger than you" The hunter opened his mouth– closed it, opened it again. Okay, you had a point. Fair enough. "I worry about you"

The confession was so quiet he almost missed it, his chest tightened at the honesty behind your words. "You worry about me?"

"A lot"

Dean smiled. "Y’know, most people would call that caring"

Looking down at your hands, you murmured softly. "I know"

Something shifted– small, fragile, important.

The blonde reached over and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you even closer into his side as if you weren’t quite literally glued into him. "Good"

You looked back up at him and Dean forgot how breathing worked. (Again) Apparently it was becoming a recurring issue whenever he was around you. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Your voice was barely above a whisper, genuine and soft. "Why do you always flirt with me?" It wasn’t supposed to be awkward or pressing him– you just didn’t know any better, social cues weren’t exactly an angel of the Lord’s forte per se.

Dean nearly choked– across the room, Sam immediately looked up from what he was doing, quickly extracting himself from the situation. "Nope"

"Sam–"

"Leaving"

"Sam"

"Good luck" The door slammed shut behind him. That traitor.

The blonde rubbed a hand over his face, stubble scratching against his skin. "You really wanna do this now?"

"Did I ask something wrong?"

He lets out a breath, soft chuckle/breath, nervous and fond all at once. "No, sweetheart, ‘course not" You waited patiently for him to continue talking. Dean hated how impossible it was to lie when you looked at him like that– because you actually wanted the answer. Not a joke, not an excuse, but the actual truth. So he gave it to you. "S’cause I like you" He decided to power through before he could chicken out. "Actually, scratch that. I really like you– like hopelessly in love, chick-flick kind of feelings"

You stared, eyes wide with awe and confusion, lips softly parted in a quiet breath. Then: "Oh"

Dean groaned. "That's not exactly the reaction a guy hopes for after opening up like this, sweetheart" There he goes, leaning back into humor and jokes as a defense mechanism– very on brand for him.

"No, I–" You looked flustered, he could (and will) treasure the sight forever. "I just didn't know"

"Sweetheart, I've been flirting with you for two years"

"I thought you were being nice…"

Dean covered his face with his free hand, barely hiding the embarrassed smile on his stupidly handsome face. "Un-fucking-believable"

A laugh escaped you– a real one, bright and warm. "But you were nice"

"I was trying to date you" He huffs softly, glancing down at your face, still gently pressed against his shoulder.

"Oh"

"There it is again"

The laugh grew louder. Dean thought he could listen to it forever, God that sound was better than any Zeppelin song to ever exist. Then your fingers found his hand and the room suddenly felt very quiet, smaller in that comforting, private kind of way. "I like you too"

The hunter froze– sure, he’d just confessed to you. But it was a helluva lot different when you did it to him. "You do?"

"Very much"

A grin spread across his face. "Y’know, that would've been useful information"

"I didn't know humans said those things out loud to eachother…” Dean laughed so hard his side hurt– worth it. Absolutely worth it.

The drive home to the bunker was peaceful. For once? There were no monsters, no emergencies, no world-ending disasters… There was just the Impala rolling down a dark road beneath a sky full of stars, Sam asleep in the backseat, Dean sat behind the wheel and you curled next to him– your head resting on his shoulder, the radio playing softly in the background. Dean had one hand on the wheel, the other intertwined with yours. A comfortable silence filled the car– your voice cuts through it in a quiet murmur. "Humans write songs about this"

The hunter glanced down at you. "What’s that?"

"This feeling"

His smile softened, something warm and amused flicking over his expression. "Yeah"

"I understand why now" The admission was so sincere it nearly broke him. The big bad Dean Winchester, on his knees for a soft spoken angel. You looked back up at him– sleepy, safe, happy.

Dean leaned over at a red light and pressed a kiss to your forehead and your smile appeared instantly. There it was– the thing he'd spent years falling in love with. Not your grace, not your power, not the fact that you could destroy demons with a thought. Just you– gentle-hearted, kind, good. The light turned green and Dean started driving again– for the first time in a long time, everything felt right. The road stretched endlessly ahead, the stars shined above them… And the angel who kept saving his ass was asleep beside him.

✧˖°. second week ˊ˗

ᯓ★ guns and roses ⇢ bucky barnes x reader prompts: free use / gunplay / anal sex summary: you should’ve known better than to bet against a century-old assassin at the shooting range. but your ego said “no way i’ll lose” and now here you are…paying up in a way bucky couldn’t be more happy about. release date: October 10th

✧˖°. third week ˊ˗

ᯓ★ lust for life ⇢ congressman!bucky barnes x assistant!reader prompts: public sex / overstimulation / size kink summary: you knew working for a congressman would involve long hours, fancy events, and lots of stress. what you didn’t know? that you’d end up tucked away at the gala, trying and failing to stay quiet while your boss fucks the shit out of you. release date: October 20th

PSSSST… for even more filth go check out bwatober! ~yours truly, sophie xx

⋆⁺₊✧ MAIN MASTERLIST

“Uhm- can you take off your shirt and bra f’me?” He nodded at you, your cheeks warming up at the words. “Here, I’ll-“ he murmured, turning around to give you some sort of privacy, his back facing you. You tugged off both garments of clothing, and swallowed the lump that formed in your throat when he turned to look back at you. You sat back down on the chair.

“You all good?” He asked you, trying his best to look at your face rather than your tits as he walked closer to the chair. He grabbed the cleaning supplies, cleaning near and on the area where you wanted it before drying your skin off.

“Mhm.” You nodded, watching as his eyes traveled down your body, a spark in his eyes, he moved his hands slowly, beginning to line the little bow stencil up. His hands grazed the skin of your breasts, causing your breath to hitch. You held them in your hands, shielding them from his eyes.

“Okay… you said right here, correct?” He spoke, glancing into your eyes as he placed the stencil where the valley of where your boobs were, trying his best to remain professional despite everything. God, he hoped you couldn’t see the way his cock started to stir in his pants.

You nodded at him, him poking his tongue out of his mouth as he put it against your skin, smoothing it against your body before peeling it back, the ink now on your skin.

He sighed out in relief, it was perfectly placed and he hadn’t given away that he was rock hard.

“You want a water?” He asked you, you nodding at him. “Alright. I’ll be back.” He spoke, you finally taking a breath when he walked out of the room.

Not only was it an almost seemingly very long appointment, he made it worse every time you felt his hands brush up on your body.

You tried your best to have casual conversation, but god, was he making it hard.

“Hey, did you ever tell your parents about this?” He asked you randomly, you looking at him with a furrowed eyebrow. “Just out of curiosity. I know how they are.”

“Definitely not. They would kill me. They already think that anyone else with tattoos is ‘sent by the devil.’”

He chuckled, “heard that one before.”

You found yourself staring at his pillowy lips when he spoke, or his hands when he traced over the stencil carefully.

And once it was done, he gave you a fucking discount.

“Wait, whys it cheaper?” You asked him, looking at him with confusion on your face.

“I told you, you’re my favorite client. Plus, I can’t say I disliked the view I got during it.” He was getting bolder, a smirk making its way onto his face.

Cheeky motherfucker.

You tilted your head to the side with a little pout on your lips. “Are you sure? I feel bad.”

“I’m sure, princess.” He chuckled. “Just come back, yeah? Needa see you more.”

“Well, actually… if you want, I’m having this party next weekend… you know,” you shrugged, casually leaning over the counter. “My parents are out of town for a while.” You told him, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he raised his eyebrows at the invitation.

“Yeah?” He hummed out.

“Mhm.” You nodded, “you should come!”

“Oh, I definitely will.”

You smiled at him, leaning further over the counter to kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you so much, Rafey!” You told him when you turned around to leave, waving bye to him.

“Anytime, angel!”

You know you shouldn't be doing this, but it all felt too good to stop. Your visits alone to the Earth without approval could've landed you in hot water, so it was safe to say your punishment, if any other angel found you in your current position, could go as far as being cast down to Hell itself. Lust was a sin, wasn't it? Maybe that's what you were feeling, or perhaps it was something more, something more pure in its intentions. You didn't know. It didn't matter, not when you were with him.

His hips bucked into yours, moans spilling from both of your mouths, Abel burying his head into your shoulder to muffle the noise. Nothing in Heaven could compare to the pleasure coursing through your body as he made love to you; there was just something so... human about it, and you adored it all of it.

"Feels too good," he whined, hips stuttering with a welcomed overwhelm, the feeling something he only wanted more of. "Fuck, I love you. I love you so much," he moaned, soft blue eyes looking down into yours with utter devotion.