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booklovw · 11 months

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Chapter One: Love and Loss

A/N: I am posting this story on Wattpad as well, under the same name. Not sure how many parts this will be, but it’ll be angsty as hell!

Summary: Amara had everything she could have ever wanted in life. She had found her family, she had found her purpose, and above all, she had found her mate. Her equal in every way. The dark to her light.

Forty nine years ago, Amara made the biggest mistake of her life. She allowed her High Lord to be captured, and Pyrthian to be ruled by a killer Queen.

When the reign of terror ends, nothing is as it was before. Will the love between Amara and Azriel be another casualty of war?

Content Warning: 18+ only. Blood, violence, mental health issues, sexual scenes, swearing

Before

"None of you are coming with me," Rhys said, seated at his desk. The look on his face was hard enough to cut glass.

"Don't be stupid, Rhys. We all know you can handle yourself, but you need back up," Mor fired back at him, eyes burning into her cousin from her position on the velvet sofa.

Cassian and Azriel grunted in agreement at the statement from where they leaned in the doorway of Rhysand's study. This argument had been going on for the last two hours, since the invitation to Amarantha's ball had arrived.

The Night Court had a reputation for cruelty, hostility, and violence. Which meant that party invitations didn't exactly come in the mail every day. Or, well, ever.

So this event posed a unique problem: very few people outside of the Night Court knew who the Inner Circle was. To reveal all of their identities at once by attending this party could be dangerous.

Rhys had insisted on going alone, arguing that revealing everyone's identity is an unnecessary risk, all to go to a stuffy ball.

Cassian, Mor, and Azriel had argued that Rhys would need the protection of the Inner Circle, since this was basically one big get-together for everyone who hated the Night Court.

You agreed with Rhysand, thinking that dragging out the entire Inner Circle was overkill. Plus, you secretly thought Amren's mere presence might inadvertently start a war, since the firedrake was liable to steal someone's Crown Jewels.

But, like with most Inner Circle disagreements, you and Amren were content to stay silent and let the hot-heads bicker amongst themselves.

All of this led you to where you were now: watching the four of them argue, while you and Amren watched the back and forth exchanges like a tennis match.

"Like you said, I am a big boy. I can take care of myself," Rhys shot back, glaring right back at Mor.

"You're horribly out of shape, Rhys. Need I remind you about our training session last week? You could barely land a hit on me! You need us to come with you," Cassian snapped at him, repeating himself for the tenth time.

"Put your fragile male ego aside, cousin," Mor added, earning a growl from Rhysand.

"This isn't about not being able to handle yourself, Rhys. It isn't a good idea to go alone, given your history with Amarantha from the War," Azriel added quietly, ever trying to be the peacemaker of the bunch.

The same argument over and over again, with no solution in sight. It had become tedious an hour ago, and now it was just grating on your nerves. You made eye contact with Amren across the room, and gave her an exasperated look. She just rolled her eyes and went back to filing her nails into points.

Sighing, you pushed yourself off the wall, emerging from the corner of the room where you had silently been listening. The movement startled everyone enough to draw their attention, too absorbed in their bickering to remember your presence. You felt their gazes follow you as you walked to stand in front of the desk Rhys sat behind.

"I agree with Rhys, we don't all need to be there," you said, cries of indignation already sounding out from behind you.

You whipped your head around to glare at Cassian and Mor, silencing them with a look. Azriel just looked at you, expectantly, waiting for you to continue.

"But," you resumed, turning back to face Rhys, "you should to take two of us with you."

"I don't need any chaperones to attend a gods-damned tea party, Amara," Rhysand said as he bent forward over his desk, head in his hands as he rubbed his temples.

"Probably not, but this is the compromise, Rhys. You don't want any of us to go. They want the entire Inner Circle to attend. Let's meet in the middle. You take two of us with you, one to guard the perimeter and one to guard you," you said.

You and Rhysand exchanged a long look, and you could already see him thinking of ways to shoot down your proposal.

"Showing up alone may send the message to our enemies that we aren't as strong as we appear to be," you finally finished, crossing your arms over your chest. You narrowed your eyes at him, daring him to disagree.

You could practically see the wheels turning is his head as he begrudgingly saw the validity in your argument. Some of the tension left his shoulders as he leaned back in his chair, physically exhausted from the arguing.

"Fine. I'm only taking one of you though," Rhys ground out, purposely avoiding meeting your gaze.

"One of us, and three of our spies," you fired back, unwilling to stand down.

"Fine," he hissed, clearly unhappy with not getting his way, but willing to compromise to appease his Inner Circle. "Figure it out amongst yourselves. Now get out of my office, I'm sick of looking at all of your faces," he said, shooing you away with a flick of his hand for emphasis.

Cassian was the first one to storm out of the office, Mor hot on his trail. A string string of curses and mutters of discontent trailed after them as they stormed down the hall. You would have to face their wrath eventually, but right now you had matters to discuss with your High Lord.

Amren stretched like a cat and sauntered out of the room without a word. You'd have to fill her in on the details later, considering she probably had only listened to a quarter of what was discussed today.

Azriel was the last one out, still leaning against the wall by the door, arms crossed and face carefully blank as he looked at you. You could read the unasked question in his eyes though, Do you want me to stay?

You gave him a single shake of the head and he was gone, closing the door quietly with a click.

"I thought I told you all to get out," Rhys said, his voice no longer carrying the bite that it had before. You turned to look at him, and stared at him for a long moment.

He was exhausted, that much was obvious. To an outsider, he probably looked to be the definition of poised grace, hair perfectly combed, not a wrinkle to be seen on his black tunic. None of that fooled you. You could tell by the subtle droop of his shoulders and the way he refused to meet your gaze that he was being eaten up by his own thoughts.

You walked around his desk, and perched yourself on top of its wooden surface to face him. He let out a long exhale, annoyed that you just sat on the reports he was pretending to look at. Now he had no choice but lift his head and meet your assessing gaze. The bleakness you saw in his eyes concerned you more than you'd like to admit.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" You questioned, allowing some of the worry you felt for him to show on your face.

You and Rhysand always had a close relationship, willing to share with each other things that you wouldn't dare speak aloud to anyone else. You had first met during the second year of the War, when Rhys was stationed at the front lines.

You were originally a daughter of the Day Court, growing up as an only child to parents who conceived you very late in life. They faded into the afterlife before your third decade, leaving you a little lost in life.

Without any familial ties in Day, you left your home to explore the world in which you lived in. You spent a decade roaming from Court to Court, continent to continent, picking up odd jobs to fund your expenses.

When work became scarce, you realized there was another way to make money: trading secrets. Turns out you were quite good at it too, lurking in the shadows, slipping in and out of places unseen.

Secrets from other territories were worth their weight in gold, and you were more than happy to capitalize. Living a vagabond lifestyle meant that you had no real ties to any territory. You were happy to live that way of life, carefully gleaming information from unsuspecting people to trade as currency at your next destination.

That all came to an end when the War started, and you joined the fight against Hybern. Having picked up necessary self defense skills from your many journeys, you enlisted as a common foot soldier for the Day Court. Because of your previous line of work, you quickly found yourself amongst the top spies in the War, working as a double agent and constantly moving from battalion to battalion to convey critical information about enemy movements.

You had first met Rhys when you barged into his personal tent at three in the morning on the eve of battle and demanded he move his troops to a different location. The male had taken one look at you and tried to bed you immediately, thinking you were some prize his soldiers had sent for him.

Pig.

Four hundred and twenty years later, and you still wouldn't let him live that one down.

After convincing him that you were not, in fact, a prostitute, you explained to him that he and all of his soldiers were about to be slaughtered by a Hybern troop that had been winnowed into position two hours prior. A force that was thrice the size of his own.

He had been able to reposition his troops in time and snatch a victory out of the jaws of defeat, thanks to your timely intel about the enemy forces.

After the battle, you returned to your life of espionage, working your way through the ranks of the Loyalists as a double agent. Despite your less-than-stellar initial impression of the male because of the whole... prostitute fiasco, fate was intent to keep shoving you together at every opportunity.

There was the coincidental run-in at a small town ale house where Loyalists were meeting to discuss field positions. He would have blown your cover in his drunken stupor, had you not discreetly pressed a knife to his groin. That shut him up quick enough.

Then there was the unfortunate situation where you were posing as an actual prostitute to take out a fierce Loyalist fighter, stationed at a tavern Rhysand apparently frequented.

"I could have sworn you said you weren't a prostitute." The voice from the shadows had caught you off guard, since you were too busy trying to get your target out of his heavy battle armor, making him easier to stick with the pointy end of your knife.

The memory made you want to hit the male in front of you again.

But you took the distraction Rhys had caused and used it to your advantage, knifing the enemy male in the chest and taking out him out before he could cause any major devastation on the battle field.

Rhysand had helped you dispose of the body. You decided then that maybe the male wasn't as bad as you thought he was.

Somewhere along the way, he managed to convince you to spy exclusively for the Night Court forces. To this day, you weren't sure how that happened, since you bickered like an old married couple everytime you were within five feet from the other.

Despite the rocky start, the bond between you two grew with each passing mission, and soon you were inseparable. In the midst of all the chaos and bloodshed, your friendship had been born.

He was your first true friend, and you were his lifeline during the War, while his own friends were scattered in the wind.

He had held you together in the aftermath of your first capture by enemy forces in Rask, where you were tortured nearly every day for two weeks before your liberation by Autumn Court soldiers.

You had helped him search entire battle fields, looking for any sign of his friends among the fallen.

In the lull periods of the War, you two spent hours and hours exchanging stories from your youth. You talked about your travels, telling him about the string of broken hearts you left in your wake and the sights you've seen.

He told you about the two males he called his brothers, speaking about them with longing and love. It made you feel like you knew the males yourself, despite the fact that they had no idea who you were. You wouldn't meet those two males for another hundred years, actually.

Then, Rhysand and his soldiers had been captured by Amarantha and her forces during the final battles of the War. You had been the one to locate the camp that he was held at. When you got there, the carnage was horrifying. Rhys was in bad shape and there weren't enough healers to go around, not even for a High Lord's son.

Clear that he could fight no more, you had taken Rhys away from the front lines and back to the cabin he purchased with his friends. You stayed with him for two months, nursing him back to health as he recovered from his injuries and trauma. You had seen Rhys at his lowest points and comforted him when the faces of the dead haunted his dreams.

All those past experiences led you to where you were now, watching your oldest friend battle away the demons of the past that still haunted him.

"Why is she back, Amara?" Rhysand finally asked. The bleakness in his eyes turned into something sharper. Something more panicked. "You saw what she was during the War. How she acted. Someone like that doesn't just... come back centuries later to atone for their sins."

"I know, Rhys. I don't know what her angle is either, but we will find out," you promised. He leaned his head against the outside of your thigh, shutting his eyes as he heaved an exhale.

"I'm worried...," he started, pausing to chose his next words carefully. "I'm worried that she's been sent here by the King of Hybern as some reconnaissance mission to test the High Lord's strength. I'm worried that this whole ball is some plot to expose our vulnerabilities to be used in a future war. I can't risk them, Amara. She can't know about them, she can't know who they are to me," his finished, his voice reduced to a whisper at the end.

He didn't need to tell you who they were. Cassian and Azriel, his brothers.

This exact scenario was often the topic of one of his most chilling nightmares. Rhysand would dream that it was his brothers, not his soldiers, begging for mercy and death as they were tortured by Amarantha during his capture as she tried to get him to break.

You reached out and ran your fingers through his hair in comfort, something you had done often in the months following the War.

"They won't be at risk, Rhys. We will make sure of that. I will make sure of that," you said firmly. "Cassian and Azriel will be no where near that party if I have anything to do with it. But, you need someone there with you. You are always trying to protect us, but we need to protect you too," you said, with a sad smile on your lips.

"I know you're right. I've been in a panic ever since that blasted letter arrived this morning. The compromise makes sense, but I hate knowing the danger it may put everyone in. I'd rather go and face this all alone than drag any of you into it, but... you're right. I will need someone there if this all goes sideways."

"I knew you would come to your senses eventually, O' Mighty High Lord," you teased, leaning back as he reached a hand up to swat at your shoulder. Turning serious again, you said "I'll have some of my spies look into it. Find out where Amarantha has been slithering off to when she's not trying to woo her way into the High Lord's good graces, and what the real reason behind this party is."

"Thank you, Amara. Now, get out," Rhys stated curtly, stars twinkling in his eyes again. "I believe you have to go answer to the beasts about your compromise suggestion, and I have to go get measurements taken for a new tunic that I intend to spend an obscene amount of coin on. I won't be upstaged by Beron and his sniveling, immaculately dressed brood."

Rolling your eyes and laughing, you exited the room. He was right though, you did a pack of beasts to answer to for your actions.

#azriel #shadowsinger x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #rhysand #acotar #azriel fanfic #sjm spoilers #cassian acosf #morrigan

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sarah-dipitous · 5 months

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Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 318

Lebanon

“Lebanon”

Plot Description: the Winchesters make a magical wish that grants them a family reunion and alters time in the process

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: I now know that if I had a sword, I’d just get to slicing. Actually, an Indiana Jones movie taught me that. This just reinforced it

They’re going by Campbell here?

You never do get to hear what local teens think of them, til now. But apparently Cas is their weird sidekick and Jack always had a Bambi look on hus face…they’re not wrong

Can’t believe they were stupid enough to let a teen girl steal Baby

Hah! Sam can’t scam the location of this girl out of the mail carrier but Dean can get her to tell him where the girl’s mom can be found. And by scam I mean charm

Oh good. It’s not ALL clowns…

Dean will not let go of Sam’s love of serial killers and hatred of clowns

This show is so messy to bring JOHN WINCHESTER back while Mary is hooking up with au Bobby

Why does John think it’s 2003 when this show didn’t even start til 2005?

SO. MESSY. To bring her back to the bunker NOW. I’m obsessed wtf

I’m so sad though at the same time. The thing they made the wish on was supposed to give you your heart’s deepest want, and after all this time, after everything he put Dean through, the one thing Dean wanted was to see his dad??? 😭😭😭 (Eldest sons with crippling and insurmountable daddy issues are such a weakness for me)

Goddddd, these hyper complicated family dynamics are fuckin getting to me

I’m terrified to see what’s gonna change. It’s starting small, like a few people around town not recognizing them…but what else? Hello?? Look, I know Dean’s been on the fbi most wanted list before but…I’m hoping these beheadings this “time has changed” Dean did were still monsters???

Omg It’s that motherfucker Zachariah. Is it bad I’m almost excited to see him? I HATED him, but this could be fun. What won’t be fun is seeing Cas be his little lackey

Castiel doesn’t get pop culture references again. I should be sadder about this

It’s gotta be weird to be playing what would be pre-season 4 Cas

Aww, Zach’s gone again so soon ☹️

Can they get that one family dinner before John goes away??

John telling Dean what he wishes for him and then asking him what’s next…I’m…I’m not okay

They also did that episode a long time ago of who they’d be if none of this would have happened. Can’t remember if Dean’s memory of that got wiped

I still don’t know why it had to fuck with time and not do something along the lines of what Amara did. Almost, just almost seems like a waste of an episode except to tug at heartstrings

#hellsite nostalgia tour 2023

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dotthings · 3 years

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The thing is, we already know Dean feels the same way. I know it’s something of a fandom meta trope that Dean is the repressed one, Cas is the openly emotive one, but look at how S11-15 kept touch-stoning, heavily, on how much Dean loves Cas. Look how long, how often, Dean has been emotionally bleeding out over Cas. Dean who wouldn’t give up on Cas when he was possessed, where Cas was the true heart bond and Amara the false thrall, Dean who who gave a mixtape to Cas, Dean who keeps leaving Cas voice mail messages, Dean mourning Cas like a widower, spiraling in grief over Cas, who called Cas his big win when Cas came back, Dean and Cas movie nights, Dean dressing Cas up as a cowboy, just so happy Cas was back, Dean on his knees in purgatory weeping and praying to Cas because he was so scared he was about to lose Cas. If we already knew Cas loved Dean like this, without having to see this great big mic drop from Cas, why does anyone doubt Dean feels the same way, but there was no time, literal Death was pounding at the door, Dean does struggle to say things right to Cas’s face, Dean was absolutely stunned, and scared, because if Cas was pouring his heart out at Dean’s feet like that, in this desperate circumstnace, Dean knew it sounded like goodbye, and Dean didn’t even get to catch his breath and figure out exactly what was going on he was so poleaxed so he could say it back to Cas’s face, and then Cas was gone.

Cas is going too fast for Dean.

There is another step in their arc here, it’s the other shoe, waiting to drop, let the series play out before judging, before you call it half-canon or assume Dean doesn’t reciprocate, because of how this went down. It was a lot, and Dean didn’t have a chance.

#Destiel #Dean WInchester #Castiel #Dean meta #Castiel meta #Destiel meta #spn meta #supernatural season 15 spoilers #spn #supernatural

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twofrontteethstillcrooked · 3 years

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24 Oct. Suptober: Movie Character Mischief

Halloweens came and went; prank revenge was forever.

au somewhere in the s11-12 era (no possessions or Amara): deancas

Note: There is a fake film mentioned in here that spoils a basic plot point of the real movie, Last Christmas (which I have not seen because life is so short). So heads up on that. :)

Waking up in a bed devoid of linens -- no sheets, pillowcases, blankets or mattress cover -- was the last straw. At this point, Dean declared total war.

Yes, he'd hidden Sam's toothbrush behind the toilet. And Sam had hidden Dean's favorite robe, the soft gray one, in a box that required a recitation of fives lines of Latin plus a splash of fresh sheep urine before it could be unlocked.

Yes, Dean had accidentally-in-scare-quotes dropped gum into Sam's hair, requiring an impromptu trim. And Sam had replaced the movie night DVD Dean thought was cued up; instead of the cold open pipe organ chords of the cult classic Cathedral of 10,000 Cadavers, the bunker TV started spewing Last Thanksgiving, the single stupidest film ever made about a woman causing turkey-related botulism at a family gathering while falling in love with her organ donor ghost.

(Did Dean watch it -- cough, again, cough -- anyway, because Cas vaguely indicated he wouldn't mind seeing it? Yes. It was very gratifying that Cas wound up hating it.)

And yes, yes, all right, Dean had texted a select few friends and well-wishers a recent photograph he'd taken of Sam snoring, three pieces of crispy bacon resting peacefully on his slack-jawed face. Sam had mailed every cassette tape Dean owned to Jody -- who was a dirty conspirator Dean would be dealing with separately one day, once he figured out how to do that in manner that wouldn't end up with her just straight up killing him -- and the one tape Sam did leave in Baby was Lawrence Welk and Myron Floren Present Polka Favorites, which was way more lit than it had any right to be.

How had Sam removed all of Dean's soft, clean, 600-thread or better bedclothes when Dean was sleeping on said bed? Who cares. The relevant fact was, Sam needed to be punished. The nuclear option was the only choice left. Dean spent the whole day driving from nearby little town to nearby little town, and the new purchases strewn out along his bare mattress proved the depth of his commitment.

He glanced at the clock on his bedroom wall. He, Sam, Eileen, and Cas were due at a hunters' Halloween costume party in three hours in Hastings.

Plenty of time, then, for Dean to transform himself with pigtail wig, floppy shoes, oversized striped jumpsuit, four strategically placed wads of cotton balls, white gloves, pingpong nose, ten colors of grease paint, and one pair of yellow plastic fangs smeared with red lipstick into the most grotesque homage to Honky the Clown (of Honky the Clown Slays Again! infamy) the world had ever beheld.

Was Dean looking forward to chasing his baby brother through the bunker and wielding Honky's signature weapon, a pickaxe stained with the blood of orphans (or in this case, ketchup)? Yes, yes he was.

Halloweens came and went; prank revenge was forever.

"Dean?" his treacherous lil snake of a bro called from the library. "Can you come out here for a sec?"

"I don't know what you did with my shit," Dean was saying, as he rounded the corner into the library. "I don't care what either, um. Wha. What?" He skidded to a halt in every way, using his one working brain cell to put a question mark on the end of the last syllable he was able to utter.

"Hey, so, Eileen needs to be picked in Riverton," Sam said, "so we'll need to skedaddle out of here maybe half an hour earlier than planned." Leaning against a pillar, he was dressed like a priest and his demeanor was Bored plus a dash of pure unmitigated evil.

Somewhere amidst Dean's fraying sanity, he took the opportunity to be petty about the lack of creativity that had gone into the priest costume. They already owned those freakin' cassocks, for pity's sake.

What Sam was wearing wasn't important.

Dean tried to rally his strength. He looked at the other person in the room, who was just standing there in front of a bookshelf.

Dean kept looking even as his mind unraveled further. "Cas," he finally said.

"Hello, Dean." Cas tipped his cowboy hat in his direction.

Sam coughed.

Cas startled slightly and said, "Oh. I meant to say, Howdy, partner."

"Uh hmm," Dean said in as strangled a voice as possible.

Here was the thing.

Dean could under extremely rare and specific circumstances -- say, during dreams or violent kidnappings (his own) -- admit, somewhere in the vicinity of out loud, that his old friend Cas was not difficult to, you know, perceive. Great arms, not that Dean had ever noticed because why would he. Cas was usually wearing at least as many layers as Dean himself was. Columbo and Constantine could have a fight to the death over Cas's wardrobe.

Cas himself? Cas was just some guy. Shy! Nerdy.

...Devastatingly handsome, Dean had once told someone in public. All right. Sure. Was Dean lying? No. Had Dean otherwise been the soul-- Nay, the master of discretion with regards to discussions of the physical attributes, pleasing or otherwise, of his best friend whomst he loved as, as, family, and certainly not in any other way?

Also no.

(Also no. Oh no.)

A dangerous smile was playing at the corner of Sam's mouth.

Cas shifted his weight, maybe 'cause he wasn't used to wearing cowboy boots. Nice ones, plain and sturdy, like a person'd wear to rope calves or bale hay. The blue of his long-sleeved shirt matched his eyes, made 'em seem more like a clear sky from 'neath the brim of a fine Stetson, and there were white patches on the shirt shoulders embroidered with little cacti. The shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, and around the collar Cas had chosen to wear a bolo silver medallion embossed with a bull head.

Cowboy chic, Dean's brain dialed in for a moment to comment.

Then there were the jeans. He'd seen Cas wear jeans before? Yes? This pair fit like Cas'd been sewn into them. Belt had a nice heavy buckle, and this...oh, this was where Dean started to stutter, silently, like a man having a stroke, because the belt -- obviously -- encircled Cas's waist. Cas had a waist. Hips. Hips. That one hip cocked just the smallest amount, to account for the way he stood.

Eat your heart out, Urban Cowboy.

The smile Sam smiled matched his steady, lethal eyes.

KO, Dean thought. I have been murdered by my own brother. How dare.

Also, I have been standing here ogling my best friend for seven years.

"Dean?" Cas ventured, sounding, indeed, just the slightest bit shy. But his expression was open, bright, like, like…

Like he liked the way Dean was drinkin' him in like Cas was a cold canteen of water a man'd drink with the sun beating down on him and the trail hot 'n' dusty.

"Y'know, I think I might skip the party," Dean said, looking at Sam. He schooled his expression into one he hoped was not too humiliating, for all he was begging for a truce. "Feeling a little tired. Ran around all day, you know how it goes."

"Of course," Sam said, a portrait of generosity. "No problem. The gang'll miss you."

"Oh. If you're not going to the party, Dean -- Sam, do you mind if I stay home? I have no real investment in Halloween." Cas looked genuinely apologetic. "I appreciate the costume advice, though."

"Yeah, Halloween's not my favorite either." Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean.

Dean narrowed his back. Then let it go.

Sam backed down. A kinder, much more genuine smile lit up his face. "Eileen likes the holiday for dressing up. We'll say hi to everyone for you." He patted Dean on the shoulder as he wafted by in ministerial serenity. "Have a nice quiet evening on the lonesome prairie, y'all."

"Well," Dean said to Cas when Sam was out of range. "Guess I'll fix some dinner later. Maybe tacos."

"I'll help you," Cas said, because he was generous like that even though he never ate more than one or two bites.

He was generous about a lot of things. Dean tried to breathe through a wave of longing for him, well aware the feeling was neither new nor temporary.

"Do you happen to know why someone left a big stack of linens on my bed?" Cas asked. "I think I recognize your comforter in there."

Dean sighed. "It was a strategic maneuver."

"Oh."

"Sam's."

"Okay."

"I lost," Dean said.

"So I gathered," Cas said. He smiled after saying it, then looked thoughtful again. "What was your costume going to be?"

"Homicidal clown."

"Was that going to require a change of clothes?"

"Hey," Dean said, scandalized and elated.

"Hmm." Cas shifted his eyes to Dean mischievously, and Dean was reminded of the sheer immensity of Cas, cowboy-sized currently or not.

They looked at each other for a while longer.

Eventually, willing his voice not to break like he was twelve, Dean said, "Gonna go deal with my linens and stuff."

Cas nodded. "I can help with that too."

They went down the hall side by side.

Dinner never was managed, but thankfully, the prairie, subsequently to be known as Dean's bedroom, proved to be anything but lonesome.

#suptober21 #spn #deancas #fic #suptober #destiel

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holylulusworld · 4 years

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One loose end

Summary: Dean ends things when he gets to know the truth about you. He didn’t realize he lost more than the omega he loves.

Pairing: Mobster! (Alpha)Dean x Ex-cop!(Omega)Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester, Benny Lafitte, Jack Kline, Charlie Bradbury

Warnings: angst, language, abandonment, Dean being a douche, mafia business, A/B/O, A/B/O dynamics, suffering omega, loneliness, unplanned pregnancy, threats, nesting

Dean leans back in his chair, legs spread he lets his eyes travel down your body, making you feel exposed and vulnerable. Forgotten are your strength or past when you face your alpha, the man holding your heart and body in a tight grip.

“Do you know why I summoned you here,” he’s using his alpha voice and you wonder why your fiancé looks angrily up at you. His green eyes darker than usual he licks his lips. “Answer me, omega.”

“I don’t know, Dean,” he growls, even grits his teeth as you did not address him with his presentation, and you wonder what rubbed Dean wrong. Usually, he’s all soft around you. Most of the time he only lets the alpha out to protect you or scare other alphas off. “Benny said I shall come to your office, so here I am alpha,” you add his presentation to calm the angry mobster. He’s not in a good mood so you try to walk on eggshells and make him feel better.

“You see,” he gets up, scraping the chair over the floor, making you flinch when he suddenly stands in front of you to roughly grab your chin with his hand. Dean forces you to me his eyes and you know – something is wrong with your alpha. “I heard not so nice things about you…”

“Boss,” Benny tries to intervene but Amara holds him back, watching the alpha, her boss with angry eyes.

“Not so nice things,” you huff, patting the hand which tightens the grip on your chin. “Whatever you heard, just tell me about it. I know we came a long way, okay. Not everyone liked that I’m an ex-cop. In your kind of business, I’m the enemy. But that’s in the past…”

“Is it?” Dean furrows his brows, still not letting go of your chin. “I heard differently last week. You know, I didn’t want to believe the rumors or the pictures. I even refused to watch the footage someone sent to me but the fact that you met up with Ellen Harvelle not three hours ago proved me wrong…”

“Ellen?” you blink a few times. “Yes, I met up with her, Dean. I told you so this morning. As usual, you didn’t listen but Sam was there too. Ask your brother,” you slowly get angry. People might think you are an obedient omega, always following Dean’s order but truth to be told, you’re a stubborn bitch when someone crosses a line.

“You met up with a goddamn cop,” Dean grasps for your phone, slipping it into his pocket. “I should’ve known better. Ex-cop, investigating my family and our business is in the past my ass,” your hands start to twitch when Dean pants into your face.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Dean. Ellen retired around fifteen years ago. Right after her husband got killed. It was his partner; a corrupt cop and she just couldn’t trust anyone at her department any longer. My father was a good friend of Bill and Ellen. She’s my godmother for fuck’s sake.”

“A good cover, I must admit,” Dean’s nostrils flare and you know, he’s not making a bad joke. Dean Winchester, the head of the Winchester empire is threatening you, his omega. “Did they pay you well for being undercover for that long, for spreading your legs for me?” Your hand hits Dean’s face before your brain can stop you.

“I told you about my job, Dean. It was me coming to you, telling you about my assignment. I quit my job, gave up my friends who were all cops. The only person left in my left is Ellen, I told you so before we became a thing. You knew about her past too. She’s the only family I got left,” tears well up to your eyes but you blink them away.

The vulnerable omega whines in despair but the independent woman shields her from any harsh word leaving Dean’s lips. “If not for your connection to that woman, you would be dead by now.” You gasp, stepping backward. For a moment you just look at Dean, at the alpha you believed would claim you after your wedding but now you realize, he never intended on doing so.

“It was a trick,” you slide the engagement ring down your finger, carelessly dropping it to the floor. “You tricked me. When I came to you, telling you after that drunken one-night stand who I am you took the opportunity to snake your way into my life.” Laughing bitterly, you close your eyes, calming your nerves for a moment.

“That wasn’t my intention,” Dean grunts, not missing the tremble in your voice or the way your lips quiver.

“Newsflash, Winchester,” your eyes are cold when you open them again. “I’m not undercover. I don’t have any connections to cops or feds. All I got is a retired godmother who hates her former job,” you shake your head, not believing you were foolish enough to believe you found your alpha.

“I want you gone, now. I’ll drop your shit at any place but go before I change my mind and kill you,” the gun in Dean’s hands leaves no room for arguments so you turn your back on him, forget the good news and happiness.

“I hate you, Dean. For once I believed someone didn’t try to use me to his advantage. Sadly, I was wrong all over again. If I ever see you again, you’ll regret it,” you leave the room, flee toward the exit almost bumping into Sam.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” Sam gasps seeing the tears run down your cheeks. “What happened? Wait…wait up…”

“Ask your asshole of a brother. Keep that piece of shit away from me or he’s dead…” you spat, pushing the omega you let out only for Dean back into the pit of your existence.

“Two months and you found a whole lot of nothing, Dean,” Sam leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “Jesus, Y/N didn’t lie. Ellen Harvelle retired fifteen years ago, got a bar called ‘the roadhouse’ and doesn’t give any cop a discount,” Benny sighs, looking at Charlie who shrugs.

“Boss, I didn’t find any trace. No bugs, manipulated e-mails, calls to unknown numbers. I got nothing either,” Charlie clears her throat, shoving a manila folder toward Dean. “Ellen Harvelle is clean, just like her daughter. Y/N didn’t contact anyone but you, Ellen, your brother, and her doctor.”

“Doctor,” cocking a brow Dean looks at the folder. “Maybe that doctor is a cop?” Sam scoffs, pushing off the wall. He looks at his brother shaking his head before he turns to leave the room.

“Unbelievable, Dean!” Sam throws his hands up in surrender. “You chased the only girl who never cared about your reputation or money away. Your omega, Dean! How could you be that stupid?”

“She’s a traitor! I just know it,” Dean yells now, not giving in. “It must be or else I would’ve…”

“Yeah, lost the only woman you ever loved. You and your hasty decisions, Dean. I wonder if she would ever take your stubborn ass back,” Sam slams the door shut behind him, not caring his brother will be mad at him.

“Five and a half month later,

Most of the days are good days. Well, not good, but you get through them without crying or your instinct telling you to crawl back to Dean.

Today is not such a day. Today you stand in the middle of a shop for synthetic scents. “How can I help you, ma’am,” a young boy asks, and you wonder if he’s old enough to work at such a place. “I know I look young, but I know my job. I’m Jack Kline and would like to help you.”

“I need a scent,” you swallow the lump in your throat, slowly opening your coat. “My alpha, he left me. I’m an abandoned omega, a pregnant one. The first months I could get by without his scent, but it gets worse.”

“We will need a blood sample of you. This way we can find a matching scent to make you feel more comfortable, ma’am,” the young man smiles, pointing toward a chair. “It won’t hurt, promised. You are not the only one coming here. Even strong and tall alphas come her to get a scent.”

“I’m not ashamed, just…,” you shrug, not knowing how to describe the loneliness or how it feels to know your child will never get to know his father. Even worse, that you were simply a pawn in Dean Winchester’s masterplan. “Just tell me what I must do.”

“Hello, I’m looking for a specific scented candle,” an alpha calls for Jack. “My mate, she’s so in love with that scent…” Sam stops in his tracks when his eyes land on Jack who wants to push a needle into your arm. “Whoa, hands-off, bastard.”

Sam aims a gun at Jack’s head, unlocking it. “Get away from Y/N or you are dead before you can hurt her. How can you be that stupid to attack Dean Winchester’s mate in the middle of a store?”

“Sam,” you scream, jumping up to shield the boy with your body. “He wanted to take a blood sample, not kill me. Are you crazy?” you pant, resting one hand onto your belly.

“Y/N?” Sam’s eyes drop to your baby bump and his features soften. “You’re expecting. Oh-fuck, no. Does Dean know?”

“Why should the great and all-knowing Dean Winchester be interested in getting to know he got me pregnant with his child before he threatened to kill me. Let me tell you this, Sam Winchester,” you get your favorite knife out of your garter, pressing the tip into Sam’s chest. “If you tell him you saw me or the pup in my belly, you are dead. Now leave me alone. I need this scent…”

“You’re suffering, Y/N,” ignoring Sam’s words and his worried look you turn your attention back toward Jack. “Let me help you.”

“There is nothing you can do, Sam. It’s done. Whatever Dean and I had, is dead and gone since he threatened to kill me. I should’ve known he used me. No alpha wants to wait until the wedding to claim his mate,” you wave your hand, sending Sam off. “I’m only a loose end to your brother. If you excuse me now…”

“Not that bad,” you sniff at the pillow before you add more of the synthetic scent onto the clothes on your nest. “It’s not your fathers but it’ll do,” you rub your belly, watching one of your dog’s lie next to the bed. “Good boy, always so protective, Morning.”

Your German shepherd whines, before slowly getting up to trot toward the door. “Star,” you call for your dog when Morning dashes out of the room to attack whoever dared to enter your apartment.

“Get off me you son of a bitch,” Dean barks, fighting your dogs. Whilst Morning circles the mobster like prey, Star already sinks her teeth into his pants, tugging at the fabric, tearing it apart. “Y/N, tell the dogs to back off.”

“Morning, Star, kill him,” voice cold you cover your body with your blanket, ignoring Dean calls your name, begs you to stop your dogs.

“I will kill them if you do not stop them,” snarling Dean gets his gun out and you click your tongue. “Morning, Star, come here, protect mommy.”

“Fucking shit, Y/N,” Dean limps into your bedroom, glaring at the dogs who flank your bed. Teeth gritted, eyes following the alpha the German shepherds protect you and your unborn child. “Good dogs. Fine dogs. I got a steak in my trunk.”

“What do you want here?” you do not turn around, rather snuggle into your pillow to inhale the synthetic scent Jack gave you. “I thought I clarified you are dead if you ever come close to me again.”

“That’s my child inside of you. Now be good and pack your things,” Dean purrs, looking at you. He believes your omega will give in, will follow his order but you chuckle at his words, clicking your tongue.

“No…no…not again!” Star pounces on Dean, pushes him to the ground with her weight. “Y/N, please tell that beast to get off me.”

“Morning, give him the rest,” Morning trots toward Dean, purring for a moment before he starts to lick Dean’s face. “Yes, lick the falseness off his ugly face.”

“Eek, that’s disgusting. Tell the furry beasts to leave me alone. I’m still your alpha,” you snicker silently when you turn around to watch Star grit her teeth to attack your former alphas crotch. “No, please…shit…take that dog off me or I’ll shoot the beast.”

“Star, kill his manhood,” you smirk, watching Dean look at you in horror. “Do it slow, baby. He likes it when you tease him a little, take him deep enough to tickle my throat.”

CHOOSE YOUR ENDING UNDER THE CUT.

Bad ending…

“Y/N, I know I hurt you but please, give me the chance to explain that I made a stupid mistake. Please, I still love you and I want to raise my child with you,” Dean pleas but you are too hurt to ever forgive Dean.

“No, Dean. I gave up everything to be with you. I never even thought about betraying you. If you would love me, you…,” your voice cracks and you need to take a deep breath before you face Dean. “No one who loves his omega forces her to leave and threatens her life. I want you to go and never come back. To me you are only a loose end from now on…”

Alternative ending…

“You had your fun, sweetheart. Now tell the dogs to get off me,” you smirk, humming to yourself. “Baby? That wasn’t the plan!”

“It wasn’t yours,” you swing your legs out of the bed to kneel next to Dean, looking at your alpha. His face covered in slobber; pants ripped apart he looks up at you. “You know, when you told me you’ve got a rat in your organization and that you need to know I’m safe, I didn’t plan on spending months hidden in a shabby apartment, Winchester.”

“I found the culprit,” Dean points toward Star, whining when she opens her mouth, revealing sharp teeth. “Baby, please…”

“I don’t know, Dean. Seeing you so helpless underneath an omega makes me feel so good,” you smirk, sliding your hand over his chest. “I had to buy a synthetic scent, Dean.”

“It was for your safety, Y/N. Now let me get up and scent my omega. I need to have you back in my arms,” one click of your tongue later your dogs relax, even lick Dean’s face again. “No…fuck, …no…eek! I’m no food…”

——-

“So…,” you rest your head onto Dean’s chest, patting his thigh, “you found the big bad guy?”

“Girl,” humming you close your eyes, inhaling Dean’s scent deeply. “Sorry, I know that I promised to come back sooner. It’s been a hell of a month. I never thought it was Amara who rats us out.”

“I’ve missed you, is all. Why didn’t you tell Sam about the rat? Why only me?” you look up at Dean who gives you a soft smile. “Dean?”

“It had to look realistic. I needed the traitor to believe you are out of the picture and that I think you are the one who told the cops about our plans,” Dean pecks your hair, thankful he finally has you back in his arms. “Sammy is mad at me, though.”

“Figures, alpha,” you yawn, relaxing in Dean’s arms. “He’s your brother and wants you to trust him unconditionally.”

“This wasn’t about trust; it was about protecting you and not involving anyone else. Sam, he would’ve insisted on keeping an eye on you or to help me. I had to play my role well, get my brother and anyone loving you mad at me.”

“In other words, you made a hasty decision and didn’t want to stop when you realized it was a dumb idea. You know, in your office I wanted to rip your head off. It felt so real my inner omega was hurt,” Dean sniffles, looking at you.

“Tomorrow, I’ll bring you home. You and the two killers you call your pets,” you nod, wanting nothing more than to finally reunite with your alpha…

Tags in reblog

#One loose end #a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #angst #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #MOBSTER!AU #mobsterdean #mobster!dean x reader #mobster au #mobster!dean #mobster!dean x you #mobster!dean winchester x reader #alpha!dean winchester #alpha!dean x omega!reader #alpha!dean x reader #alpha!dean x omegareader #alpha!dean

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i-look-better-as-a-pirate · 2 years

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The beginning of a Destiel fanfic that I started writing in November of 2016. Have not touched it since. Loosely based around the movie You’ve Got Mail with Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. Not putting a ton of effort into this but I’ll post it for shits and giggles. Might be better to switch the characters around but at the time didn’t really know what would work. Maybe even change the business. I thought what I had was cute so I’d love to share.

Description : Struggling boutique bookseller Castiel Novak hates Dean Winchester, the owner of a corporate chain store that just moved in across the street. When they meet online, however, they begin an intense and anonymous Internet romance, oblivious of each other's true identity. Eventually Dean learns that the enchanting man he's involved with is actually his business rival. He must now struggle to reconcile his real-life dislike for him with the cyber love he's come to feel.

You’ve Got Mail

January 24, 2000

Dean sits at his laptop, drinking a beer. He really should be out celebrating his 21st birthday, but Amara is out of town for work as is the rest of his immediate family. Bobby, his father, promised to fly back into New York by evening, but fog had rolled in delaying his flight from Chicago. The fog wasn’t any better here either. So instead of drinking alone in public, he decided to drink alone in the comfort of his flat. Of course he wasn’t technically alone; he had Chevy, his golden retriever, to keep him company, but Chevy preferred to spend his time in his bed that’s about the size of an inner tube.

The machine finally comes to life, still making a few connection sounds. As a joke, Dean navigates his way to the chat rooms. He has never gotten this far, and the computer asks for him to make an account.

Username? What should he make his username? Well, what about NY152? No, that’s his address. TheImpalaMaster? No, he isn’t a douche. It finally hits him, and he enters the name with a chuckle.

ChevyDiePie.

Dean finally makes it into the main chat room, but the one he sees first is the 21 to 30 group. Hey, he’s now finally 21, so why not?

It takes another moment to connect, and while it loads, he gets another beer. Although he just turned 21, this isn’t his first time drinking. Bobby was liberal with Dean drinking the stuff, as long as he didn’t act stupid. Chevy looks up at Dean from his throne as Dean sits back down at the laptop. It looks like he has been logged in.

CHEVYDIEPIE has joined the chat.

At first, Dean thinks he is the only one on. It is late on a Monday, so most people would most likely be in bed. As Dean hovers to exit, the beep of a notification comes.

WINGMAN : Hello. I’m guessing you’re an insomniac also?

Dean laughs slightly to himself. Maybe he won’t have to be alone tonight.

CHEVYDIEPIE : At the moment, no. Just celebrating my 21st birthday in a 21 to 30 chat room.

WINGMAN : Happy birthday.

CHEVYDIEPIE : Thanks.

WINGMAN : You’re welcome.

Dean doesn’t really know what else to say after that. He contemplates getting off when he gets another notification.

WINGMAN : So you’re usually an insomniac though?

Dean doesn’t usually talk about this sort of personal stuff. Or really talk to people, besides Sammy and Adam of course. But this is… this isn’t real life. He can actually talk to people. They don’t have to know anything about him, or anything real that is.

CHEVYDIEPIE : Yeah, I usually just try to get my 4 hours and that keeps me going through the day. With the help of a cup of joe, of course.

WINGMAN : Coffee is indeed one of God’s greatest creations.

CHEVYDIEPIE : Maybe not one of the best, but I see what you mean.

WINGMAN : What else could be better?

This gets Dean smiling again. He hopes this guy isn’t serious. There are so many better things in life. Like... sex. But he doesn’t wish to bring that up with Mr. Anon over here.

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yagamisdiary · 2 months

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been reading eldia since the damn beginning. ALMOST 3 YEARS WITH THIS DAMN BOOK. I HAD JUST TURNED 18 NOW IM ALMOST 21 i refuse to let it go but thank you babes for the rollercoaster of emotions. can’t wait to see how you end it all🫶🫶🫶

THREE YEARS IS CRAZYYYYYY AHHH THANKS FOR STICKING AROUND SO LONG MUAH

#amara's love mail #eldia

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inks-books · 2 years

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Find the Word Tag Game

I was tagged by @ashen-crest! My words are curl, soft, tear, and storm.

Curl

There were snarls above and laughter. Yasar yelled something incomprehensible as the sound of steel against steel rang out overhead, distorting his words. A roar of an angry lion sounded on deck and began running towards the hatch. One of the dwarves yelled for the hatch to be closed and suddenly the moonlight from above was blotched out save for the stairs that led on deck. There were shadows guarding the stairwell, and they flickered and danced as if there were firelight above as well. When an explosion went off, Amara screamed, terrified, and curled into a ball to protect herself. Tursanay was doing her best to stand on her own two feet, but the turmoil of the ship that was now bobbing up and down like a lure in the water was making it impossible to get a purchase on the wood beneath her feet.

Soft

Come to us, become a part of us, and we will become like you.“No!” she shrieked. She looked back to the mouth of the alley, sight blurred with tears as she called for her mother, and saw a small figure not much taller than her standing and watching with silent horror. In a moment of panic she reached out to the brown haired boy, screaming for help, and lost her grip on the stonework. Her reflection pulled her in swiftly, her screams abruptly cut off as a ripple went through the glass and they both disappeared in a blur of color. The echoes of laughter chased the boy down the alley and back out into the street. He screamed for his sister and ran for all he was worth away from that sound and the sight of the girl being attacked by her reflection. The echoes in the alley faded and the darkness ebbed away. The only signs anyone had gone down that alley in weeks was the small soft plush toy lying on the ground soaked by the rain, and a small, fresh basil leaf.

Tear

He chanced a look over the bushes, and his eyes went wide, the very sight tearing a scream from his lips. A creature that looked like a mix between a velociraptor and a komodo dragon reared up, striking at the dark skinned woman with vicious claws. There was a saddle on its back and a bridle around its face, but that didn’t hinder it from snapping at the woman. She thrust out her knife to parry the blow, cutting the creature across its limbs. When the stranger holding the Dai-Nē child screamed, both the creature and the guardian turned their heads to look in unison, locking eyes on him. The creature took advantage of its opponent’s distraction and lunged for the bushes where the stranger knelt, the familiar scent it was hunting emanating from the bundle he held.

Storm

They walked through the mirror station and into the open city bustling with activity. The centaurs were working on trash duty, carrying carts behind them and throwing the weekly waste into them. The mail curriers - riding great winged elk and carrying their satchels of holding - flew up and down the street quickly delivering letters and scrolls at a brisk pace. There was new graffiti painted on the side of one of the mirrored buildings with a political statement about the Council etched into the glass. It moved and waved to get people to see its message. Some stopped and read it, others continued on with their heads down against the wind. There was a storm moving in soon.

I LOVE these! Thanks for the tag!!! With no pressure, I tag the following: @void-fireworks, @vivji, and @authorlaurawinter!

#Tale of Dai-Ne #excerpts #tag game #inks writes

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thekitschdiet · 3 years

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the kitsch diet part II

part one alr posted!! this chunk is about 3,000~ words long... let me know what u think :-) thank u all for all the luv already!!! looks like I really will hit 31 followers by easter!!!!!!!!

Who is the Kitsch Girl?

I think this is more loosely defined, but The Chic Diet did a truly admirable way of reducing a girl to her YSL bag and her really skinny legs. Now, that implies an archetype, or a population in a specific location. I think kitschness is kind of the niche you fill when you’re not really much of anything else, sort of your own conglomerate of mainstream-specific. One major requirement, though, is being a little too into something somewhat uncool. And the whole illusion falls apart if you have any sort of outward insecurity. See, the Kitsch Girl is somewhat undefinable because she is so much of everything. She exists in multitudes, in a way that is also quite simple to understand; think of a list of axioms, or principles to live by. And now add a section to each one that says “but…” to make a collection of verified exceptions. Say, the kitsch girl will never wear jeans. But she thrifted this pair of vintage flares she just loves. She doesn’t reply to texts efficiently, but sometimes she will within a couple seconds. No mascara, no dinner forks, candles are to be collected not burned; but that was a gift, or something. It’s not personal, of course, those are just the contradictions she exists in. Don’t try to understand it, the enigma is essential to the facade. Or maybe she just lives like this, and her character is so homogenous with her inner world there’s no sense in trying to separate it. You have to have a little bit of an individuality complex about the whole ordeal, which is normally so eugh, but if you’re kitschy enough it works on you. Trust!The Kitsch girl is not someone unlikeable, but amiable and well heeled. I double checked that last one, assuming it meant liked by most, but apparently means affluent. I suppose that is an aspect of the kitsch girl too, having seemingly endless frivolous expenses with no real strain, but that’s not important right now. People that don’t like her think so out of jealousy, or something. Envious that her clothes are all kind of shake-it-up-esque and her highlights desperately need touching up, but she still seems so enthralled with the whole of life… How does she enjoy her own company so much when other people want to know her better? Doesn’t she feel weird about blowing people off to make a joke about reading Kafka in the bath? Why would she document her cluttered, unexciting life on Instagram so delicately, so vibrantly? Of course, no one would say this to her face because they are really baseless claims. She’s nice, generous, and valuable to have as a friend. Trade-offs exist, as they do with anyone. But I like thinking it’s easier to overlook a forgotten birthday when your kitschy best friend gave you a multi strand pearl necklace to celebrate the welcome breeze of June. Or some other made-up holiday. She is so unassuming if you’re not really looking. Girls want in on her inner circle. Or they just don’t care. Nothing wrong with being liked or thought of naught, for the most part. Boys are either enthralled or repulsed by her. Her doctor knows her as something of a hypochondriac, but only minorly. It’s just carpal tunnel, don’t worry… The sales staff at CVS turn a blind eye when she slips an eyeliner pencil into her tote bag. She shoplifts on occasion, just to see if she still knows how. But she is not a shoplifter. $9 here and $6.45 there doesn’t really add up to much. Everywhere she goes, she makes a tertiary friend or two. The term of friend is loosely used here, of course. But it is nice to tell a stranger you like her earrings. Or her phone case is so fun, is it Wildflower? The kitsch girl has an eye for this kind of detail. Simply put, she is sort of unspectacular. But in a way that makes you sort of wish you knew her better.

Phone cases

The phone case is, like, religious for the kitsch girl. Sorry, but there’s just no other accessory as flippant and expensive and single-purpose as a trendy little iPhone case with some semitacky stickers plastered over the design. I used to have an iPhone XS- extrasmall- with like, 18 phone cases. It was kind of a sordid affair. I jest, but really… owning that many phone cases was kind of sick. We get it, you are frivolous and spontaneous and sooo stylish! Stop posting mirror selfies on your Instagram story, your crush isn’t going to see it. Kidding again. Having an extensive collection of phone cases is just so fun because while attainable, most people just simply do not partake in it. That makes you kitschy and unique. I really thought I had more to say about the IDEA of the phone case, but I guess in practice it is all very, very simple. You can slide your driver’s license in the back of a clear case. At what point does it stop being cool to have legal operational control of a vehicle? I don’t display mine because I don’t really like the photo. I look round. In the eyes but also just in general, swollen, unglamorous. Whatever. Not like I drive a Nissan or anything. I drive my *Mom’s* Nissan. Playing Bladee in the car seems sacrilegious. She would hate it.Back to phone cases. Sonix ones are cute but kind of overpriced retail- unless you have like, an iPhone 12 Pro Max or whatever the fuck is new this year, just go to Winner’s. They always have Xs and 11 cases. I had a cherry one for my previous phone, like the exact one Lana Del Rey had? Thank god I sold it before she got outed as a copfucker or whatever. Casetify is for an inadvertent flex. Flexing your lame, lame taste. Sorry, I know you bought it because you liked it, but what you failed to consider is just how un-Kitsch they are. SO common, and they advertise on Instagram. Sorry, I just can’t get into it! Kind of how I just never liked the Brandy Amara tanks. Or lowtop converse. Otterbox is just distressing. Like, if my boyfriend gave me an otterbox phone case I would probably break up with him because somebody clearly isn’t paying attention- one of my favorite, potentially overused joke is how Otterbox cases are the equivalent of orthopedic insoles. Sorry but if you have poor arch support or whatever, but no pain is worth giving up a good pair of Margiela slingback tabi heels. Obviously I couldn’t afford that right now because all loose income goes directly to Wildflower and my cig boy. But like, one day. I hope you want to punch me in the face a little bit after reading that. If Wildflower isn’t your thing, at least have the decency to get a beaded phone strap. But not from String Ting. Pray tell you aren’t keeping score, but they are one of my several parasocial enemies. That should have been ME collaborating with Wildflower! Should have been ME mailing shit to Caroline Calloway (more on her later, but she is the only blue check I follow. I adore her! I was on her patreon for a bit I thinkl!!) …. Side note. Phone cases are cute but there is no way to properly protect your laptop without looking just absurd or colossally lame. The foam sleeves… ick.

Having the shittiest music taste ever

So like, here’s the thing. I’m an Apple Music user, which sort of reinstates my status as an unironic My Bloody Valentine Hyperpop Death Grips kinda gal. Read; volcel. My most recent conquest ended up being a huge L on my part, but also… I totally dodged a bullet. The guy had an iPhone 11 (female trait) and didn’t know who Rei Brown was, which just seemed suspicious given his Niche. I just know he had a “making out playlist” comprising entirely of like, Joji. Which isn’t a bad thing I guess but so unembarrassing it horseshoes back to being humiliating.Like I said. Having the worst music taste. It’s nice how subjective and deeply personal your music taste can be; no one really Needs to know you’re a die hard drainer. But there’s also no point in being a die-hard drainer and Not capitalizing off it somehow. I added it up and I have well over 150 hours of just Bladee and Yung Lean. Which is so yass? The more I write, using myself as a case study, I realize just how desperately jobless I am. And Yogenfruz isn’t even hiring! UGH!I think there is something very kitschy about liking hyperpop in the least ironic, least obnoxious way. Sort of feeds into a “I’m not like other girls” thing, but I mean… That’s kind of the idea of kitsch, isn’t it? Be a little different but also the very same as your lipgloss brethren?!Side note. If you make monthly playlists I am genuinely kind of afraid of you. That is just so organized!! I just make playlists with esoteric titles and then make a new one when I’m sick of the stuff on the last. I have exhausted most genres but I think my favorite is the “I’m wearing f****ng air forces and my teeth are SO white”. Guess what genre it is. Or don’t, but it’s probably what you think is. Okay, moving on….

Curating a scent

I like thinking I smell like mango and peach, Glossier you, whatever citrus is in that Lush shower jelly and mint 5Gum. But of course it is probably less distinct and just kind of generally fruit-floral-mint. Anyway. I think Glossier You is the perfect scent for anyone with a rather elementary understanding of the whole.. Perfume business. Every bottle of intentional fragrance I own was made via aesthetic choices… it really helps that Glossier You is so cute And so universal. Now, Glossier is kind of interesting to me because it really is at the intersection of cheugy and kitsch. Kind of basic, overplayed, unspectacular. But also…. Often popular things are popular because they are good. Glossier has excellent customer suurv, they ship SO fast (and no import duties! W!) and their stuff is just so sweet and nice if not unoriginal, in kind of the same way strawberry ice cream is. Which is still my favorite, of course, especially if there’s a vegan option. I was talking about Glossier. What the hell! It’s really worth trying out. A huge principle of kitsch is just… having as many possible layers and appendages to your composure as possible. And adding a signature scent just really completes that! When curating your own, I say this as a complete amateur, know-nothing; make it something that comes kind of naturally to Your Character. Like, I’m just not a Chanel No 5 kind of girl. Odds are you aren’t either. My bottle (before she asked for it back when I told her I didn’t use it, in exchange for a Nordstrom’s gift card) was from my grandmother. Ummm.. Yeah, I really have no expertise in curating a scent. But it is nice to have a signature. And having a bottle displayed on your dresser next to your aughties McDonald milkshake themed beanie baby and a handful of lip products is just way too fun! This is the kind of girl I am, everyone! Cluttered, but prioritizing pretty-delicate things!

Cheugyism

Cheugy is a relatively new word that has unfortunately wormed into my vocabulary to replace “uncouth”. Which I use to mean graceless or tacky, but if that isn’t what it means…. Don’t tell me. That would hurt more than weighing myself after a “feast” slash pastry binge at my dear Grandmothe’s house. Like I was saying. Cheugy. It’s sort of a fucked up concept to me because it is a critique on consumption, but not the pace or volume or magnitude of it. But rather… the idea of not being “good” enough at engaging in microtrends, or involvement in the fast paced fashion cycle. Don’t get me started on TikTok, or do, but… yeah,. No. That will require a cigarette because I’m so sorry, but writing a thinkpiece on social media is so lowbrow I would need to find about six ways to aesthetically counteract it…. Moving on. I think the idea of cheugy is good, we really do need a word to simply and efficiently define “out of date/uninspired/lame”. But the way it is used to shame others for not liking the same trends or whatever is kind of gross. If you use cheugyism to put other people down and not as a neutral identifier umm… you will become what you fear. Sorry, that’s what happens. Some things that I think are cheugy or embarrassing, or just not part of my stylistic lexicon are… 1. Hooded or zip up clothing, or things with a large graphic on the back. Bingo if it's all three! I just can’t get behind it. Side note, my summer home outfit is brandy sweats and a tube top (Urban Outfitters tank I ripped the straps off) and a large cardigan that should have belonged to a stoner, but probably didn’t. I can dunk on bulky, uninspired clothes because I would honest to God NEVER be caught DEAD out of the house wearing any of it. I’m so serious. Next segment should be about the kitsch girl’s inadvertent affinity for diuretics. Remind me….. One of the ports of my laptop is dead. Not really sure what to do about that.

Eye makeup and what it means to me….

Personally, I am one of those people who never wears foundation and kind of has a complex about it. The kitsch girl wears fluffy eyelashes and owns a plethora of sparkly eyeliner. Or maybe she doesn’t, but she has something distinct and a little ritzy, if not haphazard. We all saw Euphoria and it like, totally imprinted on us. The way glitter sits on your face after a long day is so resplendent. When it’s shining and a little bit melted off from your long, semi-productive day… ugh! Just made for film. Pictures on film. But not the Prequel app. I keep getting fucking ads for it. But it’s so embarrassing. Like, isn’t the whole point of film the authenticity of the moment? The texture of the afternoon? Why would you fabricate that? Prequel is just so cheugy. More on that later. But anyhow. Wearing a ton of eye makeup kind of fits with the idea of film too I think. Like, look at you, in the moment. With your strip lash falling off! It’s all so tres-chic. Plus, for whatever reason, it’s kind of unique or notably dedicated to ~Pull up to the function~ with more eye makeup on than everyone else. Sorry, but it really doesn’t take that long! But yes I will gracefully accept your praise… it’s kind of like the dropshipping of complements if you think about it. Easy to source with little to no effort in the curating. Side note, lashes are like $20 for 40 weeks if you cut them in half and use each pair about 5 times. You could probably do more but I lose track. How the fuck is it almost June? I was trudging through the snow to check the mail for my Online Ceramics shirt just last week, I swear. The trick to cutting your lashes (the way I do it anyway) is pretty simple. Get out two lashes that are symmetrical. Find the middle and cut one slightly to the left and one slightly to the right. This means you have two sets (one set is a little more dramatic than the other but at least they are symmetrical) with longer outer edges. Glue this to the outer corner of your eye and you will look so Composed… obsessed with how this layers with three eyeliner tails (one traditional one pointing up and one pointing down directly below it, sort of like the tail light on a 2019 Lexus UX) and one below your eye, like a clown. Fun, irrelevant fact, is the first time I added this third tail to my eye makeup, my dad had just gotten home from the hospital because he was sure he had like appendicitis or something and it was actually.. Not that. Typical indie hypochondriac. He made me bring him cottage cheese on a plate with a teaspoon that evening. I put black pepper on it for flair, which he hated. Walking up and down stairs with a plate of cottage cheese is much more imprinting than most of the multiplication tables. Don’t forget to use a bright shimmer eyeshadow in your inner corner. It really opens up your eyes. I recommend Too Faced. One time I got a little bit too high and tried to film an “editorial” makeup tutorial. You will never, ever, ever see that video. But I essentially covered my whole eyelid in the ABH shadow “palermo” and smudged out the edges with a tan Tartelette Toasted shade, coupled with my long-expired Milk Makeup holographic stick. Lopsided lashes and near-blinding eyeliner experience aside, it was kind of cool. My point is, you really cannot go wrong with an arsenal of shimmers, taupey mattes and a good eyeliner pen.

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themutantages · 2 years

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Amara and Tabitha finally consummate their relationship in "Cruise Control," a summer vacation episode of X-Men Evolution that aired out of order. We threw it in before the season finale, although technically we should have watched it before "X-23".

We'd love to go on a tropical cruise just like the X-kids in this episode, although of course Boom-Boom and Bobby get into a load of trouble for being a little too flamboyant with their super-powered queer selves. It all works out, nobody dies, and the kids get to feel like heroes at the end of it all.

X-Men Spotlight: Amara Aquilla, a.k.a. MAGMA!!

Listen to it here!

Next episode: "Dark Horizon - Part 1," X-Men Evolution

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E-mail us your feedback at [email protected] or follow us on Twitter at TheMutantAges, MIDImyers and RyanPagella.

If you like what you hear, please consider supporting us via patreon.com/themutantages. Thanks!

#x-men #x-men evolution #the mutant ages #mutants #marvel #marvel comics #comics #comic books #cruise control #x-men podcast #podcast #boom boom #nightcrawler #magma

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smol-and-grumpy · 4 years

Text

Something Just Like This - CH18

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

Warning: NSFW

WC: 3568

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dean drives them to the bunker and she thinks that he deliberately drives in circles, most likely it’s because he tries to make sure that they weren’t followed. She kind of hates it because she has now completely lost her sense of orientation.

They then drive into a tunnel until they come to a garage door that opens automatically.

He sighs before he parks his car at the only empty spot. There were a lot of cars. She wonders if they’re all his. His expression is cold, somehow he is unreadable, as if something is bothering him.

“Is something wrong?” She asks. Couldn’t not ask.

“There are too many cars. They’re having a freaking party and I’m not really happy about it.” He answers grumpily. “Come on.”

“But, should I be going in? I mean, I’m not.. You know...” She gestures with her hands. She knows that he must know what she means.

“It’s okay, you’re with me.” He says, his voice is audibly softer.

They get out and he takes her hand as they walk along the cars to a door at the end of the garage. Dean stops shortly before opening it, turns to her and places the hand that’s not holding hers on the back of her neck, lowering himself a little to be able to look her in the eye.

“Listen, I want you to know something, alright?”

She nods as she looks him in the eye.

Dean Winchester’s eyes are the greenest of green.

“Just know, when I step through that door, and see my people, that the man you see is not really me, alright?”

“Okay?”

“All I’m saying is that you might see a part of me that you don’t like but it’s not really me. It’s just how I have to be, how they need me to be, you understand?”

“I guess.”

“Good. Because apart from Sam, you’re the only one who knows how I really am.” He says, and then he grins. “Let me steal a kiss before we go in.”

They walk into chattering, it’s like they really have a party. People mingling, talking, laughing, drinking. However, the voices died down as soon as they heard Dean and her approach.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Dean says and he’s angry, she can feel it. He lets go of her hand as he makes his way down the stairs but waits for her at the bottom.

“Dean,” Sam says, “Cas mixed up some names for the schedule and suddenly people start to stay when they should be gone and because they hadn’t seen each other for a long time, they were sitting together and before I knew it, it morphed into this.”

“Great. What is this? A fucking intervention?”

“Hey, it’s nobody’s fault.” Sam says, and it’s like he just notices her now, nods at her before returning his focus on Dean.

Y/N scans the faces around her, doesn’t know all the people, only saw a handful of them maybe, but there must be at least a dozen of them in a room that looks like it could be a library.

“I want everyone who doesn’t have a business being here gone.” Dean growls.

“But,” Inias throws in but doesn't say anything else because Dean’s sending him death glares.

“EVERYONE. OUT. NOW!” He shouts, the sound of his voice makes her flinch. She’s never seen him so angry before.

Slowly, people start to move. It’s like they know how Dean can be. Some of them didn’t even bat an eye, just leave without a word.

“Why is she here?”

The voice is familiar and she looks at the source to see Amara.

“She’s with me.” Dean says calmly.

Amara snorts out a laugh. “Nice skirt. Where did you get it? Thrift shop? Goodwill?” She looks back to Dean and Y/N’s sure that Amara couldn’t have missed the stains on Dean’s dress pants because Amara purses her lips into a straight line.

“Move along Amara, and don’t forget your shovel.” Dean jumps in.

He actually didn’t have to, it’s not like she can’t defend herself, somehow she’s still glad that he did.

“My what?” Amara asks, looking back, one foot already on the stairs.

“The shovel you use when you dig for fucking gold.”

Sam and Cas lower their faces, laugh to themselves and she looks over to see Amara’s red face. “You are a fucking moron, Dean Winchester. And that hurt.”

“Well, do you think your words didn’t hurt when you say shit like that to my girl? Think before you speak! It’s not fucking rocket science!”

“Your what?”

Y/N thinks she sees Amara’s throat turn red too.

Dean looks at Amara. He’s annoyed, she can see it on his face. “Oh, you heard me fine, Amara. Don’t act like you didn’t.”

“What’s so special about her, huh?”

“Do you want a list?” He asks, “I could mail it to you by tonight. Hope you’re up for a good read.”

Amara turns to Y/N then, and Y/N knows she could talk back but she doesn’t feel that it’s her place. “He’s nice isn’t he?” Amara whispers, “Tells you things you want to hear. Sweet things, right? Too bad he doesn’t mean it, though.”

“Amara,” Dean growls and it’s a warning.

“Fine, I’ll leave.”

Dean then turns to Cas. “Who’s with her?”

She knows who her is, even if Dean doesn’t say the name.

“Jess.” Sam says, “We’ll be out in a minute.”

“It’s okay, you can stay.”

“What are you guys doing here?” Sam asks.

“We’re gonna use the gym. You up for a round?” Dean raises his eyebrow.

“Nah, thanks, don’t wanna beat your old ass again.”

Dean rolls his eyes, and she can’t help but let out a laugh at that.

Dean walks her along a corridor and there’s something nagging at her. Something Amara said.

“So, Amara, huh?” She starts, doesn’t really know why she feels like talking about that bitch.

He stops and sighs, leans his back against the wall. “Knew you’d be thinking about that.”

“Well, I mean, it’s obvious she has a huge crush on you. Did you fuck her too?”

“Does it matter? I don’t know about all the men before me either.”

She gestures with her hands, before holding up three fingers to emphasize it, “There were three okay? Three before you came along! And one of them is a freaking stalker!”

He takes a step towards her, pushes his fingers underneath her chin, making her look up at him. “I didn’t say that I wanna know it, sweetheart, because I would want to kill each and everyone of them for finding you before I did, and I usually do not kill innocent people. We can talk about that stalker though. I can make it look like an accident.” There’s a playful tone in his voice.

She doesn’t smile.

Dean exhales, “Yes, okay, I had sex with Amara. But in my defense, it was at homecoming while still in high school and I was under the influence. Weed and booze. I don’t even really remember it but she’s been coming on to me since.”

“So you just tend to stick your dick in women you and your family work with.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Dean rubs over his face. “How did I not make myself clear enough when I said that I only want you?”

“I get it. It’s just too easy to wind you up.” She grins and he’s on her before she can blink, kissing her hard and fast.

He breaks the kiss to come up for air, leaves his forehead on hers. “One of these days, you’re going to give me a heart attack. I hope you’ll be happy about it.”

Dean takes her hand, walks her down the hall until they reach the gym. It’s sparse, mats on the floor, some cardio machines, weights and punching bags.

He closes the door behind him and walks to the adjacent room. “I’ll change and you can just... lose your skirt?” He says it with an amused look, as if it’s really funny. She rolls her eyes at that but he didn’t see it, is already in the room and she can hear him opening a bag.

He walks out as she’s stretching, warming up because it’s what she always does before she’s doing any kind of sports. Her dad always thought it’s important to warm up and she kind of sticks to her routine.

“God dammit, Y/N!” Dean growls as he sees her.

She’s bent down, her ass on full display because she chose a thong from the stack of panties to wear after Dean slipped out of the changing room in the store.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, stretching her arm behind her body.

“You know what’s wrong,” He says, walking closer and spanks her ass with his right hand, leaves it there and kneads her ass roughly. She hates to admit that she loves it. Loves to be spanked, it’s a whole new side of her that she’s discovering. “I bought you so many panties and you choose to wear a thong? It might as well not be there!”

“What’s wrong with that?” She grins and knows it’s cocky.

He lets out a frustrated groan, “One day, you’re going to kill me or make me kill someone for you and you’ll be on the stand and all you will say is ‘what’s wrong with that?’ with that look in your eyes and you know what’s really disturbing about it? Everyone will think that nothing’s wrong with it. All of the jury will think that you’re right because there’s not one single thing wrong with it.”

“That’s a nice story. So you gonna keep on talking or will you let me kick your ass?”

Dean’s eyes widens. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Ready to get laid, Winchester?” She asks, turning herself around and he places his hands on her waist, pulls her closer so that she can feel his half hard cock.

“Ready whenever you are, sweetheart.”

Her movements are fast, she’s good but Dean’s stronger. He goes easy on her though.

It isn't long until he has her pinned onto her back.

“You lost.” He says, bends down to give her a kiss and that’s a rookie mistake because she’s incredibly strong for such a small girl.

Before he knows it, she has her legs around his waist and turns them around so she’s on top. Her knees pressing his arms to the mat on either side and she’s sitting on top of his chest.

“No, you lost.” She says triumphantly her face beams and who is Dean if he doesn’t give her that win.

Her cheeks are flushed, it’s really red, her hair’s standing out in all different directions. It really shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does.

“Okay, okay, you won. Happy?”

“Yes,”

Dean looks up at her, sees her smiling down at him, he’s still turned on very much, even more so when she grins so fucking cockily. And then he has an idea. “So since I lost, I think I have to go down on you.”

“You what?”

Dean wiggles his eyebrows. “Come on, sit on my face.”

“I’m not gonna smother you. You’ll die!” She laughs, as if she really thinks he’s joking.

“Then it’s a great death! Come on now, hop on!” He signals with his hands for her to straddle him.

“Dean, I don—”

“—Would you please for once do what I say?”

“Okay but if you should not get enough air and die, I’ll get the Impala.”

“I give you my apartment and Cuddles on top of it.”

“Fine!” She says, moves up his chest and hovers above his mouth.

“Sit down.” He says, but she’s still not sure about that. “I’ll tap out.” He adds, to reassure her.

She sits down softly and he immediately starts to mouth at her clit through her panties. And he was right before, they might as well not be there because it’s so thin and he can even taste her through it.

His fingers hook around the waistband, and he didn’t even use too much force but the fabric falls apart. So much money wasted. He thought that they would at least last a day.

“Dean! They’re new!”

“I’m not sorry,” He mumbles into her crotch and then pushes the fabric out of the way to lap at her delicious pussy, swirls his tongue around her clit, sucking it in and nibbles at it. Knows that it drives her fucking crazy.

“Fuck,” She breathes out, leans back a little, braces her hands on his chest and starts to ride his face like a dirty cowgirl. “That feels so good.”

Dean hums his approval, making her moan some more. Tries not to laugh because even though she was reserved at first, she starts to love it now.

He sticks his tongue out, lets her grind on him, her hand in his hair, pushing his face against her pussy. He never pegged her down to be so demanding when she’s on top, certainly not when she’s riding his face but yet here they are and fuck, he’s loving every second of it.

She’s grinding hard, uses him for her own pleasure and there’s a time when he really has trouble breathing but he didn’t do anything, didn’t make her stop. Would have been a great way to pass out.

It doesn’t take long for her to come on his face, she can let herself fall and reach orgasm so easily. He likes that, a lot, it’s a huge turn on. That way he could really really test out how many it takes for her to reach her limit.

“Oh my god, I drenched you!” She says as she climbs off him, her hands rub at his face, trying to get the slick off and cleans the hand on her leg.

“Come on, let’s take a shower to get it off properly. And who knows I might get you off again.” He stands up, pulls her along with him.

“Dean! You already gave me two orgasms in the span of two hours. I don’t think I have any more left in me.”

“Is that a challenge?” He laughs, picks her up and throws her over his shoulder as he makes his way out towards the showers. His hand on her thighs and her bare ass, spanking her some more, for good measure.

“I’m not wearing underwear!” She punches at his back.

“Relax! Nobody will see you here. They’re all on the other side of the bunker.”

Dean turns on the shower head. It’s a big open space with a couple of showers lined next to one another but he figures they’ll only need one.

He peels himself out of his shirt, shorts and underwear, stands there naked, his dick hard from letting her ride his face. What does it really say about him that he enjoys himself this much while his only intention was to get her off?

Getting under the spray, he lets the water wash away the slick from his face, and then he looks at her, she’s still hesitating.

“You coming?” He asks, raises an eyebrow and then adds, “No pun intended.” Snorts out a laugh because that was really funny. “Well, maybe a little pun. We’ll see.”

She rolls her eyes and he thinks it’s cute how much he can annoy her but she still isn’t really weirded out by it.

“You sure nobody is going to come in here?” She asks, her hands are crossed over her body.

“Well, someone will come in here if you know what I mean.” He’s laughing at his own lame joke but then he gets serious. “No, sweetheart. No one will even walk past this room.” He thinks about the last time someone came to shower in here. Only remembers that it’s him and occasionally Sam.

“Okay,” She says, and Dean thinks it’s more like she’s saying it to herself than to him.

Y/N takes off her top and her bra, steps into the shower spray with him and he hugs her to his chest, his hands on her ass. Yeah, he can’t not touch that sweet ass.

He bends down, picks her up, makes her hook her feet behind his back and her arms fly around his neck as he whispers, “Besides, we found out that it turns you on when someone could be walking in on us, didn’t we?”

She buries her face in the crook of his neck, even with the warm water, they are warmer against his skin. He thinks it’s so cute when she’s embarrassed.

And Dean feels like he can’t not. Can’t not press her against the shower wall, can’t not kiss her and sneaking his hand between them, can’t not push two fingers inside. He feels her tensing at the intrusion, but soon she begins to relax.

“You still sore?”

“Nuh-uh,”

“Is it okay if I use another finger?” He kisses her cheek, the corner of her lips as she nods her approval.

He lines his third finger up at the entrance, goes in so slow it hurts himself more than the stretch will hurt her, mutters a fuck through his gritted teeth. Thinks he’s probably never going to get used to how tight and wet she is.

“So good, baby. Such a good girl,” He whispers as he sucks at her throat and he moves his fingers, in and out, getting faster with every move and he feels her heels digging into the flesh at his back.

His thumbs press into the front, rubbing at her clit and the position they’re in is not really comfortable but he’s not going to change because she’s moaning so sweet and it damn near breaks his heart with how much he wants her.

Hooking his fingers up he moves faster, harder, hears the squelching sound of wetness that he’s sure isn’t coming from the running showerhead above them. His fingers are already drenched in slick.

“Fuck, look at you,” He says, his voice low, a little strained from the excessive work of his fingers inside of her.

There it is, the tight squeeze that almost pushes his fingers out of her and her legs cramp around his middle, nearly breaking him in half. He takes his fingers out quickly as her cum shoots out of her, lines his hard cock up and carves his way in. It’s tight, so fucking tight with her still coming but if it’s not worth it, he’d be lying.

Y/N’s blunt nails dig into his back, and he thinks she might even leave marks, but he doesn’t care. How could he, when she’s coming so fucking prettily with his name on her lips. Wants to record it, set it as his ringtone for when she calls him but knows that she’ll give him hell for it.

He pushes her up a little further against the wall, so that her cunt lines up perfectly for him to fuck up into. She has her eyes closed.

“How are you feeling?” He asks her, kisses the top of her head, one of his hands leaves her thigh to pinch at her nipple.

Her eyes fly open and she gives him a smile, “Good,”

“Too much?”

“No, you can go harder and deeper. Love it when you go deep.”

Fucking hell, this girl.

He’s close to creaming when she talks like this.

Dean follows through, goes in deeper, deeper than he dared last night. Watches her face while doing it for any signs of discomfort. There was a flinch, a swift crease of eyebrows.

“You okay?”

“Stop asking me if I’m okay and start fucking me, Dean.”

His eyes widens and he kisses between her eyebrows, “Such. A. Fucking. Brat.” He says, emphasizing each word with a thrust of his hips, fucks so deep he feels like her cunt’s going to bite off the tip of his dick.

“Fuck,” She breathes out, bites down on her bottom lip.

“Can you come again, baby? Come for me?” He asks because he’s so fucking close already and he wants to feel her coming on his cock just one more time.

“I don’t know,” She says, but one of her hands leaves his neck and goes down to rub at her clit.

“Yeah, just like that, touch yourself for me,” He says, kisses her as deep as he fucks her but not for long because he’s quite out of breath. “You’re fucking amazing.”

“Dean, I...shit,”

“That’s okay, baby, I got you.”

She lets herself go, he can feel her pulsing around his cock, loves the tight squeeze, becomes addicted to it in such a short span of time.

Dean follows her over the edge, comes so deep and hard inside her he thinks his soul left his body for a minute.

He laughs, his forehead on her, still panting hard. They’re both out of breath. “Jesus Christ, Y/N, you’re fucking perfect. You know that?”

She doesn’t say anything, buries her face in his throat.

“Let’s get ourselves cleaned up before I get hard again and fuck you raw.”

“Is that a threat?” She opens up her eyes to squint at him and yeah, this fucking girl will kill him one day.

CH19

#something just like this #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #mobster!dean #nathalie writes

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