I would like for you to consider the curve of Jensen's bicep under a tight black t-shirt.
It’s solid. Almost hurts when you rest your head on his arm in bed. If he’s flexing, forget it, he can almost knock you out with the firm muscle. But, it’s your favorite spot. When he holds you close, pulling you hard against him, you feel his bicep pulse against your shoulders and it feels like Heaven. When he’s relaxing and you can sneak up on him, your lips always find the dip just below it, that soft patch of skin that feels so good to taste; a little bit sweaty, a whole lot of warm.
From afar it’s pure intoxication. You can see those big arms from across the set, and even beneath layers of costumed flannel, you know what’s hiding. You know what strength lurks beneath the canvas jacket, the thick soft flannel, the tight black tee.
He strips between scenes; summer sun beating down on him until he can’t take it anymore and the layers peel away. He stands, listening to the director or chatting with some crew member when it happens: he crosses his arms. It’s a simple act, something he does without even thinking about it, but it’s enough to drive you wild.
You race across the lot, sidestepping P.A.s and caterers, running towards Jensen with one thing in mind.
He startles, smiling down at you with a laugh as you wrap your arms around his neck and tug. “What’re you doin’?” The sunshine is bright and his eyes are like jade.
You can feel his arms tense around the small of your back as you lean up on your tip toes and press your lips to his ear. “Need you, Jay. Now.”
Five minutes in his trailer is never enough and he leaves you soaked and whimpering as he’s called back to set, his cock still hard and stuffed back in his jeans. He tugs on his flannel as he stares at you splayed out on his couch, shirt torn, panties askew. That huge bicep pulsing as he covers back up.
“Wait here,” he growls, a wolfish smirk on his lips making your body shiver with anticipation and stunted passion.
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
My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon~ My Original Works on Amazon
“Ya know what the biggest problem with the end of the world is? No me sex shops.” Negan’s lips curled into a sexy smile, baring fang-like white teeth as his dark eyes bore into yours. “But you know what they say about necessity, don’t you?” He tugged on the silk tie in his hands, locking your right wrist into place on the wall. He had you strung up and naked, hanging off of hooks he’d had drilled into your bedroom walls, making it feel all the more like a dungeon. “Do you know?” he asked, leaning in, taking a deep, slow breath of your heat and anticipatory fear.
You swallowed hard, your body already weak with lust; his exhale making you shiver as it passed over your lips. “It’s the...mother of invention?”
Negan beamed. “Hot damn, she is fucking smart, too!” He leaned back and away, his body curving in an almost unnatural way as he cheered for you. A little “whoop!” fell from his ruddy lips as he looked you over. “I knew I made good choices, but darlin’ you are confirming every single one of them right now.” He took a step forward and cupped your bare tits in both hands, bouncing them, checking their weight. “Just fucking perfect.”
Your nipples responded to his touch, hardening under his rough thumbs and sending jolts of arousal straight down into your cunt. You bit back a moan and your shoulders curved inwards.
“Oh, you like that.” He pinched both at once and you cried out, your knees buckling just a bit. “You really fucking like that.”
Breathing quickly, you nodded. “Yes. Feels so good.”
Negan’s touch pushed between his front teeth, pink and wet. “I bet you wish I could just clamp you up top to bottom and leave you here dripping.”
A shiver took you over. “Yes...fuck.”
“But as I said, no more sex shops.” Negan clicked his teeth in mock disappointment and then backed away, leaving your skin to chill in his absence.
Hanging off the wall, you watched as he sauntered to your desk, jeans slung low on his trim hips, white tee barely hiding anything for all its tightness.
“We have to make due,” he said, opening your drawer and rummaging with two fingers, “with what we got.”
Your heart was racing as he slowly came back to you, a flash of silver in his right hand. “Mhm.”
A quick smile flashed over his face as Negan pushed up against you. “And ain’t that fun…”
“Y-yes.”
He’d already tied you up using all sorts of string and ties, and now he was set to clamp your tits with the shining paperclips that he pushed between his teeth. Your blood sang with arousal and your stomach tightened.
“Hold still,” he laughed, backing up so that he could grope your breasts once more. He worked carefully, spreading the paperclip with his teeth as he twisted your left nipple, and the pinch was harder than you expected.
“Fuck!” Your cunt quivered as the pain settled into a dull, delicious ache, and Negan moved on to the right side. The paperclip snapped and you grit your teeth as the pleasure and pain mixed inside of you.
Negan hummed and stared at you as if he were eyeing a porterhouse steak. “Mmm. Bet that hurts like a son of a bitch, don’t it?”
“Mhm.” Your eyes opened to find him staring, one more clip dangling from his lips. “Oh, god…”
“Yep.” His eyebrows wiggled and he took the clip between two fingers and dropped his hand down to your bare pussy.
Pleasure clouded your brain for a long moment as Negan fingered your cunt, slowly rubbing his left hand between your thighs, and dipping inside every few passes to excite you. When your clit began to throb, he squeezed it tight between two fingers and pushed the paperclip around it. He removed his hand and you screamed as the clip closed tight around your sensitive bud.
“Holy shit! Fuck!” You could feel the arousal dripping from your pussy, and so could Negan. He teased your entrance with his fingertips and grinned as your hot mess collected in his cupped palm.
“Goddamn, sweetheart! This fucking pussy is wet as fuck!”
Your head was rolling as he fucked you on three fingers, roughly shoving them inside, his wrist grazing your pulsing clit again and again. “Please!”
“Nah.” Negan sucked his teeth and pulled away, turning back to the desk. “I think I’m gonna leave you here for a while, let you drain a bit.”
“W-what?”
The devil was in his eyes as he returned to you with a bowl from your desk, just recently emptied of stale, dry corn flakes. He set it down on the floor and kicked it until it was directly beneath you, ready to catch anything that fell from your slick cunt.
“I’ll be back later to check on you. I wanna see that bowl full.” He winked and gave your tits a hard slap before spinning away, proud of his handiwork and interested to see what would come of your predicament...
Hey, I read your post on mental health and I'm so sorry you have to go through hell like that. But may I suggest you try prayer. Believe me when I say Jesus heals. Any hurt, any pain, any sickness or disease. Jesus will heal it. What's happening to you doesn't sound like mental health and there isn't anything a doctor can give to you to take that away. There is a story in the Bible of a man who went through everything you just described. Please just give God a try. Praying for you 💛
Thank you for your prayers, darling, I do appreciate the thought. <3
While I respect your beliefs, I do have to say that sending a message like this is extremely dangerous. I do have a medically diagnosed mental illness, one that does require prescription medication to deal with. Praying, no matter how comforting it may be, cannot take away the physical pain or hallucinations that I deal with.
Prayer is a comfort. It is not magic.
I grew up in the church. Two, actually, as my father was a Lutheran Minister (with a PhD in theology) and my mother is Roman Catholic (and I spent my summers going to RC church with my grandparents). I study religions, as a hobby, and I respect anyone’s personal beliefs. My IRL best friend is Evangelistic Christian, and while our beliefs are different, we respect each other’s beliefs and it’s never been an issue. She’s even on anxiety medication when she needs it.
I went to church my entire life, I’ve been baptised, confirmed, even married in a church with the Bishop of New York City presiding. My children have been baptised, and we went to church every sunday, every holiday up until a few years ago after my uncle passed away. He had HIV and passed away from bone cancer very suddenly and I never got to say goodbye. The anger and pain of that passing pushed me out of the church for many years. Praying did not help me get over the loss, but it was a comfort. My relationship with God is private and not something that I care to discuss often.
I understand the power of religious belief. It can help when you are sad, it can be good to put your faith into a higher power, but I cannot and will not advocate telling someone not to seek medical attention when they are suicidal or in pain. This is how people die.
I have a tattoo on my arm that reads “I HAVE FAITH”. In God, yes, but in myself first, in humanity, in the ability of people to be good and save themselves, to seek the help they need. I will not put my faith in a God that punishes people with mental illnesses or tells them not to seek help. Nor will I stand by and let people preach to me about praying instead of taking the pills that are making my desire to physically harm myself go away.
One of my best friends has been admitted to the hospital multiple times for legitimate suicide attempts because her family has tried to convince her that God doesn’t want her because she’s just lying and dramatic. That if she wants to die so badly, she should just do it, because God would want that. I even spoke directly to her mother on one occasion, and the mother told me not to worry about it because it was all bullshit and God would fix it.
God is not fixing it. Therapy is helping to fix it. Professional medical help is fixing it. Medication prescribed by a medical professional is helping to fix it. Jesus did not pump her stomach when she swallowed two bottles of sedatives. The doctors did.
I’ve spoken to many people who feel scared to speak out and tell their families about their pain because of strict religious beliefs. People who have to hide their mental illness instead of getting the help that they need because mom and dad and grandma laugh at them and say “go to church” or “you’re just being punished by God.” Most often than not, those people have made attempts on their lives because help was not given. Jesus did not help them. Jesus did not cure them.
Jesus is a comfort, not a cure. If you find peace in praying, I am happy for you. I respect your beliefs. But please, do not tell someone who is publicly dealing with severe mental illness that Jesus will fix their problems.
Jesus is not a doctor. Jesus is not a magician.
Jesus and the Bible, are parable stories meant to help us get through the hardship that is being a human being on this planet. I have read the Bible. Cover to cover on my own desire to study and understand it. I have spent years studying the church and researching religions from around the world. I enjoy this. Theology is a hobby of mine.
I do not begrudge or judge anyone for following their religious beliefs.
But to tell someone and advocate prayer instead of medical attention in the case of mental illness is dangerous and irresponsible and can lead to death.
If you wish to pray for them, please do. That is a lovely thing to do, and I thank you for your good wishes and prayer. But please, Never tell someone that Jesus can cure their mental illness.
REMOVE THE STIGMA AROUND MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES.
SEEK HELP IF YOU NEED IT.
YOUR LIFE IS IMPORTANT.
Hello <3 For your one-word drabbles: Dean + "Help"? I love me some Angst :D
HELP
Dean, Reader
612 Words
Warnings: Angst. Death.
My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon~ My Original Works on Amazon
It was one word pushed through the painful silence. Your ears were still ringing from the explosion, your blood pumping so hard you could feet each heartbeat in your limbs. Your body was pulsing, shaking, adrenaline coursing to stave off shock.
“Help…”
It was weaker that time, but still clear. His voice pushed through the confusion in your head and you turned towards it, trying to place yourself back into your body and surroundings.
He had been at your left, just a few yards away, but now the space was empty, only flaming debris where his boots had been. You climbed to your feet, stumbling as your balance was thrown off by a stabbing pain in your gut. The bomb had thrown you backwards and out of the chapel door, and a piece of it had come with you, buried a few inches into your side. The blood flowed quick when you pulled it free and your scream ripped through the smoke.
“Help!”
Pressing your hand against your wound, you grit your teeth and ran up the stairs, into the old cursed chapel and into the flames. Smoke billowed as the broken pews caught, fire licking at the time-worn wood, the holy grains splintered and ablaze.
“Help…”
Dean’s cry pulled you forward and your heart stopped when you saw him. His chest was pinned beneath a ceiling beam, a long, thick slab of wood that was slowly crushing his ribs to dust.
Panicked green eyes flew to yours as you fell to his side. “Y/N, please. Fuck, help. I can’t lift it. I can’t-” A shuddering cough brought blood to his plump lips, spilling out from the corners, staining his teeth and chin. “Y/N.”
Grunting to summon your strength, you pushed at the beam, desperate to free him. “I got you Dean. It’s OK.”
Again and again you pushed at the beam, barely able to lift it a centimeter. Each time you lost your grip, it fell a little more, crushing into Dean’s chest. He gagged on his own blood and his shaking fingers grabbed your sleeve.
“Dean, no.” Falling down next to him, you shook your head as tears filled your eyes. “No. Not like this, damnit! You hold on. I’m gonna go get help.”
The fire was growing hotter, the smoke choking you both. There was no way he was getting out.
“Go,” he whispered, deep crimson bubbling in his throat. “Go.”
“Fuck you, I’m not leaving!”
His fingers closed around your wrist, weak and numb. “Please.”
To your right, a window shattered as the fire ate at its frame. You ducked, covering Dean’s head as the shards rained down.
“Y/N, go. I can’t…” He strained to breathe, his eyes open wide as he drowned in his own blood, the fiery wreckage of the church collapsing around him. “Help Sammy, k?”
You clutched his hand and kissed it hard, nodding in promise. “Yeah. I will.”
The roof began to creak and the old wooden building swayed as the walls succumbed to flame.
“Go!” With this last breath, Dean shoved your hand away, pushing you from the room just as the plaster came falling down in heavy chunks.
The grass felt cold beneath your cheek as you jumped down the steps, a cloud of smoke and soot following close behind. On aching hands and knees, you scrambled for the safety of the Impala and turned just in time to see the once white building collapse in on itself, sealing Dean inside.
Your phone felt strange in your hand as you dialed, eyes still glued to the debris.
“Sam?” Words failed, falling dead on your tongue save one: “help.”
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
good morning beka! for your one word drabbles if you’re feeling it: castiel + denial
IS IT SO WRONG?
Castiel x Gender Neutral!Reader
547 Words
Warnings: Longing, Bittersweet Fluff
My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon ~ My Original Works on Amazon
There were many things that he was denied.
He was an Angel of the Lord, after all. A weapon of Heaven. God’s commissioned soldier. He had no right to the comforts of humanity or the pleasures of Earth.
Time and again, Castiel had to remind himself that he wasn’t allowed to get too close, to allow himself the comfort of love, but with you, it was different.
With you, he felt a pull like no other, something deep in his ethereal soul that kept him tied to you. His vessel’s heart would race, his palms would dampened with nervous sweat, his borrowed cock would swell. Castiel couldn’t help it; he was in complete control of his vessel except when it was near you.
So often he found himself staring, hoping to catch your eye. When you looked his way, his soul would scream and ache and sing all at once, filling with forbidden love, with unholy desire. When you were close to him, he imagined pulling you into his arms, feeling your body press against his, tasting your lips. He daydreamed about laying you down, peeling away the layers of clothing between your bodies until you came together in perfect and undeniable harmony.
But Castiel wasn’t allowed such things.
Heaven denied his prayers.
On one particularly dark night, when the world seemed to be ending for the final time, when the Winchesters were stumped and the whiskey was flowing, Castiel sat in the Library, watching. He kept his eyes on you, wondering what the point of it all was, debating his Faith and his very creation. If he couldn’t love, if he couldn’t feel, what was he defending? What was it all for?
As he stared into the space between the worlds, you snuck away from the boys and slipped into the Library, liquid courage pulsing in your veins. Castiel startled as your hand pushed into his and squeezed.
“What are you doing?” he asked, eyes narrowing and brow creasing in confusion as you sank into his lap and leaned close.
“What we should have done years ago,” you answered, finally giving in to the secret love you’d kept hidden away. “End of the World and all.” You smiled and pressed your lips to his, but Castiel remained frozen, shocked by everything. “You don’t want me?”
He could hear the tears in your voice and he shook his head quickly. “No. I do. Very much, I… It’s forbidden.”
Sitting back, you stared him down. “By who? Chuck?” A bitter laugh tickled your throat. “Fuck him. I’ve always loved you, Cas. Always.”
You leaned in again, but he turned his face, blocking the kiss. “I can’t.”
“Would it be so bad?” Your whisper fell against his stubbled cheek. “Is it so wrong?”
He blinked and came back to you, sapphire eyes clear and focused. He cursed himself for the years spent in utter denial, in the prison he’d created for himself by following one stupid rule. He’d broken a thousand, but none mattered more than this one.
“No,” he said finally. “I don’t think it would be.”
His arms wrapped around you, pulling you in while his lips pressed into yours, and for the first time in eons of existence, Castiel found what he deserved.
My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon ~ My Original Works on Amazon
Dean raced back to the motel room with Sam on his heels. The nest was slaughtered, the captured girls released, and he alone remained to be taken care of.
Samuel was bringing over the cure, but Dean still wasn’t too sure about it. He wasn’t too sure about anything at the moment except the pull of the blood in his veins, the monster lurking deep inside. He could feel the urge and even being so close to Sam was making him itch with desire. He wanted to feed, wanted to rip out his brother’s throat and suck him dry.
“I can’t take much more of this,” he said, leaning against the wall as Sam unlocked the door.
“You’ll be fine,” Sam murmured, pushing open the ugly green door. “I’ll go check on Samuel. You wait here.” He stepped back to let Dean inside, his eyes narrow with suspicion. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Like what?” he sassed, slowly pushing away from the wall, “get turned into a vampire?” Dean sucked his teeth and groaned, his stomach lurching forward as Sam’s neck came into view. “Just go.”
The door slammed behind him and Dean was alone for one blessed second. He sat at the foot of the bed and closed his eyes, breathing deep and trying to calm himself. Perhaps he should be paying more attention to his condition, make some notes on how the vampiric disease was affecting him, but all he wanted to do was get rid of it.
“Dean?”
Y/N’s voice pulled his eyes open and Dean gasped. He’d forgotten she was there, left behind during the hunt because of a twisted ankle. She hobbled out of the bathroom and came towards him, her face lit with a gentle smile.
“Are you OK? What happened? Where’s Sam?”
Dean caught her hand before she could cup his cheek and brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles sweetly. “I’m fine. Sam went to get the cure from Samuel. He’ll be back soon.” Her skin felt so soft and warm in his hand that he lost his mind for a moment, kissing her again, keeping his lips pressed hard against her. His eyes fell closed and Dean could feel her blood pulsing through her body, pumped from her strong heart and down into her wrist, her fingertips. He could feel each beat. He could smell her.
“You sure you’re OK, baby?” she whispered, suddenly kneeling between his bowed legs, fitting herself into place so that she could look up at him.
Dean sucked in a heavy breath and dropped her hand, pushing it away from his hungry lips. “Yeah. Just need to get this curse off me.”
Y/N sat on her heels, her hands gently set on his thick thighs. “What does it feel like?” she asked, looking up curiously.
“What?”
“The...being a vampire.” Her voice was kind and her touch was a strange comfort.
Dean huffed. “It sucks. It feels like there’s a freakin’ alien inside of me trying to get out.”
She pushed up onto her knees and her hand laid softly on his cheek, pulling his gaze back to her. “I’m sorry you’re hurting. Can I do anything?”
In a strange moment, Dean’s heart melted and stung at the same time. His chest heaved with a strangled breath as the desire for him crept through him. He could feel the urge, the hunger, he could smell her blood as it warmed his cheek through her flesh.
“No,” he grit. “Go away.”
“Dean?” Her brows knit in confusion and she sat up, pushing closer still. “What’s wrong?”
Pain gripped his body and his shoulders curled inwards as he fought against the desire. “I can’t. Please. Back up.” He could barely breathe, his whispering plea doing nothing to dissuade her. “Y/N…”
“It’s OK, Dean,” she said honestly. “I’m here.”
His eyes rolled as the fangs dropped and Dean’s ears flooded with one noise: the steady beat of her heart. The blood was flowing just for him and he leaned forward, plush lips parting as her heat invaded his senses.
“I’m here…”
Losing control, Dean’s arms moved on their own, wrapping tight around her shoulders as he held her close.
“Dean!” She struggled but Dean’s grip was absolute.
Dean pushed his big hand through her hair and tugged, yanking her head to the side and exposing her creamy skin and pulsing artery.
“No! Dean!”
But Dean was gone, unable to hear her over the monster in the blood. He kissed her throat, feeling her pulse race under his lips, and closed his eyes as his jaw dropped slowly...
Ohhh s11 eh?? In a relationship with dean and so hurt and confused with the amara "connection"
Very Last Kiss
Dean x Reader
746 Words
Warnings: Angst. Heartbreak.
Saturday Drabbles Masterlist ~ My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon ~ Find My Original Works on Amazon
You slammed the door shut behind you, hiding your tears from the world, from him. Ever since your first kiss, you told yourself that you’d stay strong, be there for him, be the loving presence that he needed, but it was wearing on you. The last two years had been hell and now this…
The knob turned but you didn’t look back, eyes shut, arms crossed over your chest, refusing to see who it was. You already knew.
“Babe, please.” His voice was deep, sad.
Dean shut the door gently and walked to you, fingertips brushing your shoulder before you spun away, leaving him hanging.
“Y/N…”
You wiped the tears from your face and cleared your throat. “What?” The hardness in your voice wasn’t meant, but unavoidable.
Dean sighed. “Well, that’s kinda what I wanna ask you.”
Finally, you looked at him; hands stuffed in his pockets, flannel sleeves rolled up a few inches. He was wrinkled and tired, circles dark beneath his eyes, time and pain pushing down hard on his broad shoulders.
“It’s nothing,” you said, brushing him off. “Just tired.”
He rolled his eyes a bit at the lie. “We’re all tired,” he countered, sadness washing over his face. “You’re mad at me.”
Tears sprung back up but you pushed them away, biting your tongue instead. “I”m not...mad, Dean. I’m…I don’t know what I am.”
He took a step to you and you stayed put, staring at the man you loved who probably no longer loved you back. “Talk to me, please.”
“I just…” Words were hard, but the secret was harder. The lump in your throat made it difficult, but you swallowed it down as best you could. “I feel like I’m losing you. It’s like we finally get you back, and then this whole...Darkness thing...I can’t… I’m gonna lose you for real this time. I know it. And I don’t know what to do.”
Dean’s face twisted, shocked by your confession. “Amara?” He shook his head. “No, baby. I- I’m not leaving you. Not for her. Not for anyone.”
Your shoulders sank. “Dean, you can barely say her name without shaking. She’s...got her hooks in you or something. I don’t know what it is, but I know you… you want her.”
He clenched his jaw. “No. I don’t.”
Reaching for his hand, you uncurled his fist and threaded your fingers through his. “Be honest with me, please. I see how distant you are. I know you’re thinking about her whenever your lips are shut. When you talk about her, it’s as if…” You stopped, in too much pain to go on. “It’s… you never look like that when you talk about me. You’ve never looked at me the way you look at her.”
His fingers tightened in your grasp, his head fell as he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
It was just a whisper, just two words, but your heart shattered.
“You do want her,” you said sadly, choking around the pain.
He looked up, green eyes wet, a single tear escaping to slide down his stubbled cheek. “I swear to you, everything in me wants to kill her. To end this. But… I don’t think I can. She’s…”
“You love her.”
“No.” He grit his teeth. “No. I...it’s not love. It’s…”
“What?”
“It’s a pull, Y/N. Something inside me needs to go to her and I have to fight myself every fucking second.” You tried to look away and he grabbed your other hand, pulling both to hold against his chest. “But I’m not going. Whatever she wants with me… I won’t give it to her. I won’t leave you, Sam. I can’t.”
Leaning forward, you kissed the hands that held yours. “I know you’re struggling, Dean, and I’m sorry.”
“You don’t believe me,” he said, tears flowing freely now.
“I want to, but… if she calls for you, really calls, you’ll go. I won’t be able to stop you, or Sam, or Cas. You’ll go, and I’m gonna lose you for good.”
He kissed you out of nowhere, grabbing you up into his arms, using your lips to ground himself, to distract you, maybe both, maybe just to say he was sorry and you were right. Whatever it was, you let it happen, slipping your hand around the nape of his neck to keep him there, holding him, savoring the pain of what could very well be your very last kiss.
